#Is anyone or anything truly hopeless?

[mondoreb]

Is Anyone or Anything Truly Hopeless?

A few weeks ago, someone made the remark that “I didn’t think you thought ANYTHING was hopeless.” Is that true? Are there circumstances which are truly without hope? What does God’s Word have to say (if anything) on the matter. God’s Word states that the RIGHTEOUS always have hope because the RIGHTEOUS always have access to God–who looks out for the RIGHTEOUS–and to God’s POWER, which is…

[gregmarriage]

truly my last relationship taught me so much. it also instilled in me some things i’m still unlearning. like, how most people won’t get mad if you accidentally fall asleep without saying goodnight (and not replying to messages, because i’m literally asleep), or freak out if you stop replying for like five minutes. like, i couldn’t do anything i enjoyed bc she’d be like ‘um, what fuck are you doing? why aren’t you answering me?!!!’ like relax, i’m literally just showering. it was truly a case of sitting still unless i wanted to upset her. and then i STILL somehow upset her and i never really knew why. but, hey, that relationship ended a long time ago, i should be fine now, right? 😐

[icarryitin]

Effortless

spencer reid/gn!reader

coming into this from a fandom where my last fic got literally 11 notes (half of which were my own self-rbs) the reception for workplace hot was heartwarming, pls accept more pre-relationship work crush goodness as thanks🧡🧡

masterlist

word count: 1.6k// warnings: absolutely hopeless pining, this man is so so clever but so so oblivious

“Chicken.”

“Did you know, the origin of ‘chicken’ in reference to someone who’s afraid can be traced back to the use of ‘hen-heart’ as a synonym for ‘fainthearted’? Its first documented use was in the York Mystery Plays - which are considered to have been written prior to 1450.”

“Chicken.” Morgan repeats.

“Shut up.”

While his second response is decidedly less eloquent, Spencer’s pretty sure he can’t fact-dump his way out of this particular conversation.

It’s not exactly a secret - his giant, all consuming, world ending crush on you - at least, it’s not a secret from anyone except you. He’s past being embarrassed about it when one of the others brings it up, as long as it’s not around you. That’s happened exactly once, and Spencer’s automatic response was to chatter about the migration patterns of a specific type of bird he’d read an article about the day before. Ceaselessly. No matter how much everyone else had begged him to stop, until the previous subject was well and truly forgotten. So when you’d asked a leading question about another kind of bird? He was more than happy to oblige. You’ve always done that, listened to him. It’s nice.

It’s probably what got him in this mess in the first place.

Somewhere along the way, a routine developed itself. He remembers the first day you asked him to elaborate on something he’d started on earlier in the day, trivia about the fluctuations in the popularity of a specific make of car. It had ended up being useful in the context of the case anyway but, more importantly to Spencer, the tidbit had you cornering him in the kitchen to ask him about it. And now it’s just what happens. You potter around to make your lunch, he chatters about the most recent paper he’s read like your own personal podcast.

It’s a comfortable friendship, solidified by little things like that. Though they’re not all that little to him, if anything they’ve only deepened his feelings for you - he doesn’t let on, for your sake, he tries not to.

But his affection sneaks out in other ways.

He gravitates towards you without realising it, just to exist in your space. At the round table, on the jet, at crime scenes, in whichever office the local PD have cleared out for the team. He’s never hovering, but he’s not not hovering. Just working parallel to you. It’s why he likes the bullpen, for all its hustle and bustle, because he can look at you out of the corner of his eye whenever he wants to. He can spin his chair to face you, stretch his legs out across the aisle, and let a wave of sheer steadiness wash over him. Sometimes it’s you, reaching over to hand him something or abandoning your post completely to perch on the corner of his desk. Spencer thinks that’s what it might be, the peace you seem to exude that quiets his busy mind - the kindness you extend to victims and their families that flows through your very veins. It follows you like an aura, there’s very little he won’t do to be bathed in it whenever he can. It’s all led to a unique dynamic that means you’re paired up together more often than not.

You move around each other unconsciously now, leaning over maps and files and evidence. Swapping pens and ducking under one another’s arms as you both scribble away at the board. It’s almost choreographed, natural. Everything is with you, and that’s what gets him. There’s a part of Spencer Reid’s brain that is dedicated to considering his actions in relation to the people around him, running in the background like a computer programme, but he doesn’t have to run it around you. He doesn’t think, for once. He just does.

It’s effortless, second nature, to make space for you. The same as it is to leave a seat open for you, even if it’s the only one. To nudge you gently when you’re too far in your own head to realise you’re picking at your skin. You’ve started nudging him back in recent weeks when he does the same, chewing on the inside of his lips and paying absolutely no mind to the damage he’s doing. You notice, you care enough to stop him. Just like you’ll leave an empty space on the nearest desk for him to hop up on. He’s not sure if you realise you’re even doing it. Clearing perfect Spencer-sized spots at every precinct and office you’re set up in, because you know he prefers it to the chairs. Which makes his own actions feel a little less overt and, in turn, lets him breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe this is just what good friends do for each other. He can call you that, at least, if his own fears won’t afford him the chance to call you anything else.

Though, he’s not sure he could stop himself from taking care of you in his own way if he tried. Mostly because he’s not trying in the first place.

He didn’t even realise what he was doing, the first time he turned to you to double check your protective vest was secure. Narrow fingers tugging on straps, barely even processing the inviting warmth of you underneath them, he’d been too focused on making sure you were as protected as you could be. And then he’d walked into the Unsub’s home ahead of you anyway.

Spencer never walks ahead of you, anywhere. He’s always ushering you in first, something drilled into him by some unknown force, his basest of instincts - you’re ahead of him into the office, into precincts, into crime scenes, even into the elevator. But in a hostile situation? He’s first through the door every time.

So much so that it’s routine now, wherever the case, whoever is around. He grasps the shoulders of the thick vest and wiggles it, he rips the velcro straps off at your waist only to secure them again. A little tighter, and he’s quietly grateful that you let him. The heat of you at his back is reassuring when scenes aren’t secure. To know that, based on his experience anyway, the Unsub will more than likely jump out ahead of him - and he’ll be the one between you and the bullet. Which is maybe a little dramatic, but it’s the truth.

“Ready, boys?”

Doctor Spencer Reid has never claimed to believe in any god, but he makes sure to thank something for the interruption. Anything to get himself and his giant crush out from under Derek Morgan’s microscope.

It’s Emily who speaks, Emily who tosses protective vests at him and Derek, but Spencer’s eyes are focused on you entering the office behind her. You’re concentrating on your own vest, securing straps that’ll only be repositioned in a minute or two. But you still do it yourself each time, as if you’re not expecting him to come over and double check your work. There’s no way you haven’t noticed by now. That he’ll do it every time, that he doesn’t do it for anybody else, that he spends twice as long checking on your vest than he does securing his own. FBI emblem emblazoned on his chest, Spencer crosses the room dutifully to conduct his little ritual.

Velcro isn’t quiet. It pierces through the background noise when he undoes the buckle at your side and tears it free, but his eyes don’t move from the task at hand. Yours are heavy on his face, the way they always are when he gets this close. He pretends not to notice.

“Thank you.” You whisper softly. So softly that between the chatter and gun checking behind him, only the two of you can hear.

It’s only now, now he’s certain your vest is snug as possible, that he allows his careful gaze flicker to meet yours. He struggles not to take a step back with the force of it.

“Of course.” He replies, reluctantly pulling his cold fingers out from the warmth beneath the shoulders of your vest. His smile, small, self-conscious, is returned tenfold and beaming. The same way it always is. He doesn’t know how you do it - see the things you see every day and still manage a grin wider than the Río de la Plata. Maybe he can’t explain everything.

He catches a movement over your shoulder, it’s Morgan. Arms folded at the elbow, fists tucked close to his chest, as he makes the exaggerated movements of a chicken. Head bobbing and all. The teasing support, because that’s all it is, is nice to have - but there’s not one member of the team who understands exactly why he’s so afraid to say anything to you. In an ideal world, he wouldn’t be. He’d be able to pull you aside and tell you exactly how many days it’s been since he’d met you, started crushing on you, fallen absolutely hopelessly in love. It kind of all started at once, if he’s being completely honest. And in that ideal world, you would smile that billion kilowatt smile and tell him you love him too, and even the paperwork from the bureau wouldn’t matter. This isn’t an ideal world, however. He knows that better than most.

Spencer’s been rejected before, more than even he would care to admit, by friends and lovers and parents and colleagues and strangers. But he’s not sure he could take it from you, not while you hold his heart so tenderly in your hands. Even unaware of the responsibility, you’re gentle with him.

He’ll keep you close, regardless, as much as he can without arousing your suspicion. He’ll keep making space for you and double checking your vest until every ugly confession claws its way out of him.

That’s enough, for now.

if you’ve made it this far, pls know i am kissing u gently on the forehead🧡🧡

i’m also thinking about opening requests for all things pre-relationship spencer bc mutual pining and obliviousness is my fav fav fav thing, in case anyone was interested👀

[mondaymelon]

₊⊹ 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞! | genshin males x gn!reader

「 "𝐡𝐞𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫!"」

— in which you give him chocolates before he attempts to give you his??

— fluff. highschool!au but built like a shoujo manga lmao ... happy valentine's day ~ ♡ another fic will be going out tomorrow :)

THOMA, albedo, ayato, alhaitham, childe, KAVEH, HEIZOU, VENTI, GAMING, CHONGYUN, KAZUHA, wriothesley, tighnari, freminet, lyney ♡

Calling yourself a "romantic" person would be quite a stretch.

Saying Valentine's was your favorite day of the year would be even worse.

Sure, sure, you'd heard plenty of things, from the nagging old man manning the grocery store, always red in the face from regular swigs of cheap liquor, or the seemingly never endless musings from your classmates, swooning and fainting every moment anyone, or more specifically, the leads starring in those dramas of theirs, did anything remotely affectionate.

Young, innocent love, while a splendid thing, for someone like you, your really only option was to endlessly pine after someone who would certainly not return your affections.

The recipient of such foolish affections? That much was obvious. What a rather hopeless person, you were.

At the very least, he seemed to enjoy your presence. A smile would adorn his lips, and he'd always meet your gaze with his familiar greeting of, "Good morning, did you sleep well?"

Fuck, you hated how such a simple line, questioning of your wellbeing, could tug at your heartstrings so effortlessly. The man was playing you like a fiddle, and a part of you didn't try to resist that.

So the moment February 14th rolled itself around, bearing promises of youthful laughter, baby cupids, hearts, and sweets, you tried not to pay heed to the extra weight of chocolates in your school bag.

Had you stayed up late making them just the right sweetness, making sure they were perfectly heart-shaped?

Yes. As stated previously, you were truly hopeless.

"Ah, good morning." Wow, look at you, taking the initiative to greet someone? Truly, a day of magic and wonder! You're almost jump scared at the sight of him in your classroom, just what the fuck was he doing here? He leaned against the doorway, looking terribly pretty in the morning lighting.

This was not doing wonders to your heart.

Upon seeing you, he straightened his posture, looking suspiciously sheepish with an extra non-characteristic, flusteredness on his features. "You're here early today."

"It's Valentine's." That's all you managed to sputter out with that tied tongue of yours.

"Yes, and?" He raised an eyebrow questioningly, not entirely convinced, and followed you to your seat like some sort of lost puppy.

Your brain raced to find a rationale he'd deem reasonable. "Uhm, ah... my friend... is planning to confess to a guy, so I had to come early and help her... set up the place she's planning to do so at?"

"I see... ah," His eyes lit up like he had thought of something. "Are you free after school? We should meet up afterward, so you can tell me how it went...?"

"Yes!" You responded a little too quickly, and cussing yourself out in you head, you corrected it. "Ahem- yes, I'd like that." The burning feeling that arose on your face was starting to become too prominent to ignore.

He didn't seem to pay it any mind, and instead beamed in a close-eyed smile. "Perfect. Then, I'll see you?" You were to bid him goodbye, but he ran off before you could even utter a sound, leaving you rather dumbfounded, blank-faced and still feeling the tingling warmth on your cheeks.

Holy shit, is this my chance?? You’d made chocolates on the eensiest, weensiest off chance that you might grow bold enough to hand it to him, even if under the pretense of “as friends”, but with the violent way your heart was pounding in your chest, you didn’t think avoidance would be an option.

Ahaha, you were making a mistake, weren’t you?

Only one way to find out.

The rest of the day went by as predicted. Fanatic screams and a wave of crazed people chasing after the more popular figures of the school, throwing boxes of chocolates and bouquets of roses... hey, wasn't this a safety hazard? There were other screams too - but not of excitement, but terror as a man was crushed and trampled under a wave of love-sick girls chasing after the popular boy in class 2-A.

You just hoped that he wouldn't sue the school. The place was already cutting enough corners when it came to the monstrosity of cafeteria food.

The bell rang, signaling your freedom, and you massaged your shoulders with a sigh. You'd survived, somehow. As you stepped out the door, a ding from your phone alerted you with a text, and as you lit up the screen, the corner of your lips unconsciously turned upwards into a soft smile.

hot guy <3 - don't forget.

hot guy <3 - ill be waiting for you

Stepping into his classroom, you scanned your surroundings for the familiar sight of the man. Low and behold, there he was, sat upon, presumably, his desk, and staring out the window like some main character. You walked over, trying your best to disregard the clamminess of your fingers - or more specifically, the hand that was holding your homemade chocolates hidden safely(?) away behind your back. His features brightened at the sight of you, and he swung his legs, ushering you over to share the view with him.

"Sorry, did you wait long?" You sheepishly grinned as he scooted to the side to give you space to sit down next to him. As you did so, you were made painfully aware of how his body was still pressed up against yours. “I almost got trampled on my way here, not a pretty sight.”

“...Pretty sight?” He echoed his words, tilting his head as he pondered, the slightest curve of a smile tugging at his lips. “You?”

“W-What? No, I-” You cleared your throat before he could say another word, trying to dispel the blush on your features. Naturally, you failed to do so. “What kind of things are you saying now? Just who’d you learn that from?”

“Haa? What do you mean, learned? I just said the truth, that’s all…”

God, he was so adorable. This man had definitely run off with your heart.

Now or never, you supposed. Standing upwards abruptly, you pulled out the heart-shaped box of chocolates you’d been hiding behind your back the entire time, visibly trembling as you held it outwards.

“Will you be my valentine?”

It took him the count of three to respond, his eyes round and doe-like. He blinked rapidly, and then his cheeks flushed - not with his usual cheeriness, but a red that definitely spoke of flusteredness. “H-Hey, that's no fair…”

“...What?” Damn, was this your rejection? You had expected as much, but-

“I was supposed to give you chocolates first, y’know…”

And just like that, the familiar boy before you reached beside him into the darkly lit space and pulled out his own box of chocolates, lightly colored and wrapped beautifully in shimmering golden ribbon. “It took me so long to do this, and yet…”

“Holyfuckingshitwhat.” The curses flew from your mouth, condensed into a single word. “W- H- Y-You… You got chocolates for me?”

Now this was a first. Seeing his cheeks and tips of his ears all rosy, and seeing him all kicked-puppy-like. He nodded slowly, “Mhm… But, this is good too!”

He likes me.

He likes me.

He likes me.

Hoooooly shit.

“Ah, oh no, I didn’t give you an answer, did I?” His usually soft eyes now filled with panic. “Don't tell me I'm too late, I’ll be your valentine!”

The chocolates, surely, would be sweet. But the sensation of your lips meeting his, the undeniable warmth he bestowed upon you — it was sweeter than anything. ♡

(a/n) lmao guess what. i got sick again. i was sick last month and i mfucking sick and dying again and the only thing saving me is shitty couhg medicine that doesn't even work and like expired coughdrops my couhgdrop supply is running low and oh god i don't THINK IM GOINNA MAKE IT-

hahah anyways remember when i said id come back. well . guess what. ive been working on original works for a while now, but the delulu has indeed returned ( for longer than a week this time, hopefully )

i did work on some stuff during my inactivity! the post will probably be out tomorrow, but please don't be upset if i push the date back :)

anyways whipped up this quick drabble so all of you could be well fed on valentines. remember that its okay to be single on this day, and that there are plenty of other people out there like you. there is no shame in being single, and i love every one of you ! mwah <33

໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open! send an ask or a comment ♡) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader, @fiannee, @aether-darling, @solxima, @sangoqueenkoko, @haliyamori

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hi! I'm just curious how aventurine would react when he caught his partner or crush looking at him and when he asked why, their reply would be that they like his eyes?

Aventurine has noticed that you have been staring at him for a while and had it been anyone one else he wouldn’t question it much, assuming that they knew him and his face due to his ties with the IPC; however since it was you who was looking at him, Aventurine found himself wordlessly adjusting his clothes and the watch on his wrist as though his life depended on it.

He wondered what about him could be so fascinating for you to be staring at him as though he hung the moon, the stars and the constellations and their well known tales of triumph and tragedy.

To Aventurine there wasn’t much about him to admire in the same way you did now and he secretly wished you didn’t look at him the way you did because it made him think that -by some miracle- he had a chance with you.

He was a loser, a hopeless loser, a pathetic liar, a shallow man born without a heart to spare the smallest of sympathies to another person going through turmoil. He didn’t deserve the soft admiration of your eyes on him, nor the way your lips would form a smile directed his way, at least that’s what he thought.

So one day when he caught you looking at him again, he decided to act on his curiosity and ask in hopes that some questions he had lingering within his head would finally be answered.

Why did you look at him as though he gave life meaning? Like he was the only thing in the known universe and why did you always smile at him when he couldn’t even bring himself smile at his own reflection in the mornings?

‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed you staring at me recently,’ he begins, a cheshire grin spread across his lips as he closes in on you. ‘So I’ve come to ask what about me seems to have you captivated these days?’ Aventurine awaits for you to tell him that you weren’t actually looking at him but more or less what he was standing in front of or-

‘Your eyes.’ You responded almost immediately and without shame, cutting the blonde from his overthinking as he looked at you with wide eyes, the smile slipping from his face.

‘Come again.’ He says.

‘Your eyes,’ you repeated, ‘I really like your eyes, they’re so pretty and so unique to you.’ You finished, not once ever looking away from his eyes as they stared back at you with an array of conflicting emotions that clashed before your very eyes.

‘My…eyes…’ aventurine trailed off as though this was all new to him. ‘You like my eyes?’ He questions as he looked at you for answers.

You look at him with concern, not having seen this side of him before. ‘Yeah I thought I already said that…why is that a bad thing to admit?’ You asked him this time as you both sat in somewhat awkward silence.

‘No, it’s not.’ Aventurine chuckles after a while, genuinely smiling to himself. ‘It’s just that I’ve heard that being said so many times before but when you say it, I truly believe that you find my eyes beautiful.’

‘Of course your eyes are beautiful.’ You said as you placed a reassuring hand on his and squeezed reassuringly. ‘I wouldn’t have said anything if I didn’t find them to be remarkable, one of a kind and breathtaking simultaneously.’ You tell him all the while looking into his eyes, yes they were dull but that didn’t stop you from loosing your breath every time they looked directly at you. No words could express the feeling you get when looking into his eyes, and it saddens you greatly because you wanted nothing more then the tell Aventurine just how you felt about his eyes and about him in general.

Aventurine didn’t know what to say to all that, he really didn’t, his brain had gone blank, he was suddenly without a voice and his face was flustered to the high heavens from your words alone. How was it that you could be this sweet and be so casual about it too, maybe this was something he wouldn’t understand until far later in life, where he was older and far wiser then he is now.

So all he does is squeeze your hand back in kind and smiles softly as he says. ‘Thank you, I find your eyes pretty remarkable too.’

[lovelybrooke]

Since my hazbin hotel concept didn't really go over the characters reactions to the readers dissaperrance, I thought I'd go over it here.

masterlist

---

Charlie

Charlie is so, so very sad. She doesn't know what she did wrong, why would you leave? Part of her wonders if it's her, if it's the hotel, maybe she did something wrong and now you're gone.

Charlie devotes all her time into finding you, you have to be somewhere. But after days and days of looking and finding nothing, not even a trace, she starts to feel like it's hopeless.

Charlie switches between intense depression and motivation constantly. She'll spend weeks in her room, alone, only letting Vaggie in. Then, suddenly, she'll burst out and demand that they get on with the search. It's like she's a completely different person, but deep down, everyone can tell that she's racked with guilt.

She just has to find you, she'll even get his dad to help if it comes to it. It doesn't matter, whatever it takes. She just wants to apologize for...whatever she did. Once you're back in the hotel, she'll make everything right, so right that you won't want to leave again.

Vaggie

Vaggie is well...Vaggie. She's conflicted. She doesn't know whether to feel afraid, upset, worried. It's too many emotions to shift through, too complicated. Because of these complicated feelings, she has a hard time being there for Charlie. She want's to help with the search, she really does, but at the same time she doesn't want to have to accept the fact that you truly are gone.

Lucifer isn't even able to find you, Alastor isn't even able to find you. You have to bee somewhere far away to stay out of there reach. The longer you're gone, the longer she's left wondering what made you leave. In your last few days at the hotel you were distant, like mentally. You were incapable of paying attention to anyone or anything, and thinking back on it, she should've known something was up.

She feels ashamed for being so guarded around you, for making it seem like she was weary of you. She was, but the point still stands. You're a nice kid, way too nice to be in hell. Maybe heaven realized that, and sent you back to where you belonged. No--

She won't have that, that isn't right, and it's not fair. It's not fair to Charlie, it's not fair to her, it's not fair to anyone else. You shouldn't just get to dig yourself into everyone in the hotel and then get ripped away when they finally accepted it. It's not fair.

If it was heaven that took you from them, she'll make them pay.

Angel

Angel wants closure.

He gets why you left, he really does. You're too good for this place, for all these people, and so you left, he gets it. What he wants is for you to tell him to his face that it wasn't his fault.

He looks back on his interactions with you, him closing himself off only to welcome you in at the very last moment, the moment where he craved friendship and stability the most, only to then push you away when you needed him. You were struggling, with--something.

Something he has no understanding of. He can't decipher anything behind those blank eyes, he can't figure out what your monotone words mean, and it worries him. He wants to be there for you, offer you comfort, anything.

But he knows he'll just ruin you more. He'll say something, do something, and you'll leave him, you'll hate him. He'll infect you, ruin you, until you're nothing more than a shell of what you used to be, and he hates the thought.

But it doesn't matter now, because even after keeping you at arms length, after depriving himself of you, you still leave, and all he's left with is the pain of not knowing. Not knowing if he did something, if he hurt you, if this is his fault.

But what hurts the most is the pain of not knowing if he could've done something, said something, did anything other than wallow in his own pity and desperation.

Maybe if he did you'd still be here. But he'd never know, would he.

Husk

Husk immediately assumes Alastor is to blame.

That Radio Demon is up to something, he's been gone for days since you left, doing whatever the fuck. He assumes, hopes, that Alastor is looking for you, because if anyones to find you its him. But of course, Alastor tells him nothing. So all he can do is hope.

Hope that you're somewhere safe, somewhere good. He hopes that there's someone nice taking care of you, or that you're at least taking care of yourself. He hopes that you're happy, and healthy, and everything else a kid should be. Because ultimately that's all Husk has, is hope.

He wonders what he could've done, if anything. He wonders what Alastor is going to do, if anything. He wonders what's going to eventually happen when they don't find you, and you're gone, and everyone just has to accept that you're not coming back. He wonders if that's even possible.

Because as a bartender he watches as Angel drink his days away, and as Charlie slaves away with searching for you, and as Vaggie spends all her time in her head.

And when Alastor is at the Hotel, he watches as he converses with Charlie, both of them talking in hushed whispers. He can hear the static, and the screams, and the pleas as Alastor demands to know how you haven't been found. And for a second, he sees worry in Alastor.

And in turn, Husk worries, because if you, and you disappearing, is so easily capable of making Alastor lose his composer, than something must be wrong. If Alastor isn't able to find you, and it's making him worry then it must be serious, it must be real.

But even so, Husk hopes. He hopes you're safe, and happy, and healthy. Because now there's the possibility that you're not coming back, and Husk has nothing left but hope.

Alastor

Alastor knew something was up with you.

From the moment you appeared in Hell, he knew you weren't right. You were too...alive for a demon. You were too naive for someone in Hell. You were too human.

For a while, there was nothing Alastor could do to prove his thoughts and honesty, he didn't want to. It was fun, watching as you stumble about this world completely unaware of what you've gotten yourself into. You're interesting, and you intrigue him. You should be proud, that's not something most can do.

But as your stay in hell lengthens, his feelings for you a mudded. His intrigue is turned into obsession, an obsession for you naivety, for you humanness. It makes him wonder how, or why you're down here. What you must've done to be placed here, even if you are somehow alive.

Alastor hasn't felt like this in a long time, and a part of him despises you for it. He hates the feelings that washes through his chest when he's around you, almost paternal like. He hates the way he faltered when he was told of your disappearance. And he hates the anger that course through him after weeks of not being able to find you.

Alastor looks everywhere, in every corner of Hell for any sign of you, and comes up with nothing, and it enrages him. It's an emotion he's more familiar with, rage, and for some reason hates it.

Because this type of rage is only direct at people who take you from him, this type of rage means you had the gaul to leave him. But this type of rage is the thing motivating him to keep searching and he looks forward to when you back with him.

Because you will be back with him, and the rage will be gone, and instead be replaced with that sweat, unfamiliar obsession that he's come to crave.

[bioethicists]

beer killed my father . he had a disease which destroyed his body and strained his relationships with his wife, his friends, and his children. Alcohol destroys everything it touches, theres a reason you see so many liquor stores in poor neighborhoods. don’t be fucking obtuse. Prohibition obviously doesn’t work, but I wish alcohol was taxed higher. And i want the CEO of Heineken on the guillotine right after Jeff Bezos.

before anything, i want to let you know that i am incredibly sorry about your father. alcohol has decimated entire generations of my family, played a crucial role in the neglectful family structure i spent the first 19 years of my life suffering under, + played a minor but not insignificant role in my brother's death. i would never undermine or dismiss that in anyone.

i used to feel very similarly to you, in large part because my mother is a recovering alcoholic who raised me to believe that alcohol is a magic poison which turns people into monsters + i, being her child, probably inherited a disease which would also turn me into a monster if i chose to drink. it's a deeply painful + understandable response to the pain that alcohol can cause.

my first question is, does alcohol really "destroy everything it touches"? are there not millions of people who engage with alcohol, in varying degrees of recreational use, who experience minimal or no negative impacts? or do you believe that everyone who drinks alcohol in any capacity is experiencing severe destruction in their lives as a result? does the existence of people for whom alcohol enriches their lives (or is a neutral presence) at all invalidate your experience, or your father's?

my second question is, you've identified that there are 'so many liquor stores in poor neighborhoods' (i would add there is a lot of alcohol in rich neighborhoods, just distributed in less stigmatized ways, like boutique wineries + fancy bars), do you think that companies are strategically attempting to create alcohol dependencies among poor people, or do you think that poverty creates the pain, hopelessness, + desperation which can fuel an alcohol habit (which is then exacerbated by intergenerational trauma + community alcohol culture).

i feel no allegiance to liquor companies- they absolutely do make the bulk of their profits off of people who are drinking in a way that is destroying their lives (unsure if i trust the exact scope of the research in that link but i trust the gist). however, liquor companies love the disease model, because it exempts them from responsibility. if alcoholism is truly a genetic disease, then liquor companies, bars, package stores hold no fault in the development of destructive drinking habits + community norms (natasha Schüll discusses this in her book about gambling addiction)- the people were already sick + would be getting it somewhere else, anyway, right? but as you have correctly identified, liquor companies help create the structures which turn alcohol use into an accessible + normalized mode of self-destruction.

my third question is, will taxing liquor help the real problem? yes, it reduces alcohol consumption, but does it reduce addiction? or does it make cheapskates like me say "i'm not fucking paying for that" while individuals who consume alcohol compulsively either eat the cost or turn to more illicit ways of obtaining alcohol. or, rephrased, is the problem that alcohol is too accessible? is alcohol a magical poison which turns 'normal' people into 'alcoholics'? alternatively, is alcoholism a genetic condition, unrelated to any outside circumstances, which is triggered by drinking?

or: is alcoholism one of many ways in which people who are experiencing hopelessness, pain, grief, poverty, trauma, etc use to numb themselves, harm themselves, + make life feel more bearable? at this point, i do believe there is at least a temperament factor which makes people more likely to use substances over other forms of escape (hence why my brother used substances while i turned to anorexia + do not struggle with substance use). are we actually addressing the problem if we make it more expensive (thus, mind you, further impoverishing people with alcohol addictions!)? or are we shifting the pain these people are experiencing to either other avenues (opioids, other drugs, totally different ways of coping which are often just as destructive) or an unregulated, underground alcohol market.

the way you are viewing alcohol, alcohol is a unique substance which is manufacturing or feeding illness in people in order to make them behave in ways which destroy their lives + the lives of others. the way i am viewing it, alcohol is a presence which can fill a void that is being created in people's lives as a response to structural, communal, or social suffering. when alcohol is painted as the cause of this pain, we are able to look the other way from a which world is structured to cause an immense amount of people to suffer needlessly. at the same time, the common sense observation that many of us engage with alcohol in ways which do not destroy our lives, as well as the knowledge that prohibition does not work, prevents the erasure of alcohol from public or private life.

who benefits from the belief that alcohol is a uniquely corrupting substance? what lessons did we actually learn from prohibition- is trying to do it to a lesser degree (make alcohol less accessible) actually going to do anything? when the price of opioids went up due to dea crackdowns, did people stop buying opioids or did the market flood with cheap + deadly fentanyl? is the problem that people are drinking or that they are suffering?

[kalki-tarot]

CHANNELED LOVE LETTER FROM FUTURE SPOUSE ♡

my readings are for entertainment purposes only! tarot is a divination tool. it is not a substitute for medical and professional advice, nor is it meant to be taken as such. i don’t take responsibility for any choice(s) made by you or others regarding my readings. please be mindful of your own choices and actions ♡

PILE 1

Hello beautiful/handsome,

I saw you in the party, where everyone was busy with themselves, with their own groups. And you, you were sitting alone, pouring your own drink. You looked very beautiful to me. Just like a queen/king. Your straightforwardness and dominant behavior, is what I love the most. I crave you, dear. Oh. I can literally fight to win you. You are just like a prize. You have your priorities clear. Even if it's a run and chase, I'll follow you everywhere till my heart stops and i die.

You are very career oriented, you don't bs unnecessarily. I love your perception of life. I love how you stand up for yourself, even if you're alone. You are just like a Queen to me. You seem very distant, as if you're lost in your dreams. You have that dreamy side of yours too? I don't know. I just observe you from afar. You give me such soothing vibes, I just love being around you.

You make me forget my miseries. I love how you don't do wrong to anyone. You are very compassionate and loving. You can give love to even non living objects. You're so full of love. That makes me wanna love you, even more. Sweetheart. I love you. I want to pursue you, i want to make you mine. Do you think the same? Do you love me just the way I love you? I'm waiting for your answer.

Yours faithfully,

Love.

PILE 2

I don't have the right words to truly express what I feel. I'm not in a good place right now. It feels as if everyone has given up on me. I'm sorry if I'm I'm making you uncomfortable but certain situations are out of my hands. I feel left out in the cold. I have the responsibility of my family on my shoulders. I'm trying to make fast changes. I'm trying to do everything on my own.

I'm very repressive of my emotions. I was not taught how to deal with them. Sometimes I try to run away from life. But then I get reminded of you. I look at the night's sky, full of stars and I wonder maybe you are like a star too. Lightening the dark and cold world with compassion and warmth. You give me true strength. And I'm forever grateful for your presence in my life. I'm holding onto a lot of things right now. I know i should let everything free, even myself. It's okay to make mistakes, right?

After every storm, there is a deep silence. Where everything remains silent, destroyed and out of control. No matter what life throws at me, I'll come back to you with ten times more strength, power & especially love and respect for you. It's life after all, right? Everything comes and goes. Maybe these times will pass? But I'll love you more with each passing moment for sure.

Yours Only Forever

💗

PILE 3

I have too much of love and wealth. And that too much is being sucked off by others. I don't know what to do. Money can't buy love, sweetheart. I'm in a toxic relationship. They are taking away my everything. Literally everything.

I don't remember the last time I laughed. The money I earned through hard work, the morals and kindness my family taught me, everything is in vain. Everything is slowly leaving my body. I feel empty from inside. This person is taking away it all.

But I'm working hard, more hard, harder than even. So that I can provide you a better lifestyle. I can't expect anything from anyone. I have to do it all alone. Please remember me in your prayers. I'm afraid to let go. Everything is being taken away from me. I don't know what to do, I'm confused. I'm not sure which road to take. I believe the universe will guide me where I'm supposed to be, near you. I'm depressed nowadays. Very hopeless.

But I'm doing whatever i can do right now. I'm unable to even sleep at night. They lied to me. They deceived me. They were my life partner, but there was nothing "life-like" with them. It was just a relationship built on money. And you know how these type of things end. There is no emotion left in me. I'm blank. I don't know. They left me in the middle of the road.

PILE 4

Hello pretty soul ♡

You know what? I see you every where. Whenever I go, wherever I go. I see you, i get reminded of you, by the flowers, the clovers, the river, the clouds and even the sun! You are a beautiful and positive person! You are such a great fighter! Whatever obstacles comes between our happiness, you remove it all. I get so happy and optimistic near you, my love. I'll fight with literally anyone for you, just for you.

You bring absolute calmness and peace into my chaotic life. You are a sweet breeze flowing softly over my cheeks on a warm, sunny day making me blush. I want to take care of you and love you for eternity. I want to offer you all the love that I have inside me, just for you babygirl/boy. I want to experience new things with you everyday. You make my life feel lively. ✨️

Dear, sometimes I too get lost in my past, that was not, unfortunately that happy for sure. I got lied to, i was betrayed by someone I called mine. I can't sleep properly due to this. I get nightmares and I get so f*king scared. I feel anxious and uncomfortable. But the good news is! I'm forgetting it day by day. Just a little progress makes it a whole lot of progress. I don't want to remember all these with you. I'm working hard, I'm moving forward. And i hope you're too <3

By,

Your one and only . ❤️

[desireangel]

Infernal Desires | Chapter 1 | Coriolanus Snow

Summary: as penance for your brother's sins, Coriolanus demands that you are sent to his household to work his debt. But Coriolanus does not expect to burn so strongly for you and finds himself addicted to having you as close as he can keep you.

Chapter 2

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: enemies to lovers, explicit reference to sex, hair pulling, talk of ownership (bc we all know coryo has a complex), swearing, this is shit low key, coryo is a little shit but you know of course he is :P

Author's Note: this is the result of my assignment procrastination and now I am posting it at 2:30AM :)) this hasn't been beta read and actually it might seem a little disjointed but pls lmk if you have feedback for me if I end up carrying on with this series? lots of love!!

It is a debt to be paid, that’s all it is. 

Easy enough for them to say. After all, it was you who suffered from the mistakes of your family and not them. They may as well have left you to the streets of the Districts with nothing more than a shattered dignity and the tears that trailed down your cheeks. 

Shit. Crying wasn’t going to do anything and while you never intended to present yourself as weak to anyone, there was nothing you could do to stop the angry tears that welled in your eyes. You wondered if your parents truly pained to see their daughter cry or if the tremble in your mother’s lip was nothing more than a pretence. 

Your father stared at the ground by your feet. “It wasn’t supposed to come to this.”

“But it did. Are you really going to sell me off to–”

“We aren’t selling you off. Stop saying that,” He snapped. “Maybe all you will have to do is dust a few shelves and brew a pot of tea every now and then. It cannot be that bad.”

The glare you sent his way was full of malice and rage. How could he say that? You were better than that, smarter than that and the thought of being reduced to who knows what that man had in store for you - they may as well have cut your tongue out and made you a slave. Knowing that your family, whom you loved endlessly, were so sure of bartering you away to a man like Coriolanus Snow caused a dull ache in your chest. 

It seemed hard to breathe through the betrayal, the air thick with deceit and heartbreak. Had you known what your father had been planning, you could have left and found a way to survive without the comfort of your family home. 

“What Coriolanus has offered has saved us,” Jericho stood leaning lazily against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He stared at you, his little sister who would have died before leaving him to such a fate. “Just think about it! Would you rather him send our entire family to the fucking Districts or have us hanged? I fucked up. I know, and I’m sorry but this is the only option we have.”

There was a tense silence. Jericho had ruined everything with no chance of repair and it was you who had to pay the price. You knew what happened to rebel sympathisers and Jericho had damned the future of your family. What was happening in the Districts was wrong, you agreed with that but there was something inherently stupid about putting the people you cared about at risk just to send a few thousand dollars to some hopeless rebels. 

You blinked as you tried to make sense of it all. “Explain it to me. I don’t understand.”

“Coriolanus is not only my friend but he’s just become President,” Jericho said. “We made a deal. This is part of it. Pay off my mistakes with hard work and time. You have no clue how generous that is.”

Friend? Generous?  You would have laughed if you could. You briefly wondered what the other part of their deal was but didn’t focus on it for long. It would be of no use to ask a question you would get no answer to.

“All he wants is something to hold over your damn head, Jericho. Paying off your mistakes with my work? Making his bed and wiping his ass is not going to fix what you did. People have been executed for far less.”

Your father cleared his throat. “It’s our only option. We have no money and a ruined reputation. The family name holds the last of our power and without that little power we have left, your brother and I would lose our jobs. It’s a miracle we haven’t already.”

“Coriolanus wants to dangle you over our heads? Fine. If that’s what it takes for him to spare our lives.” Jericho’s voice was so rough. It was the first time he’d been anything other than gentle towards you and you felt a heaviness at the sight of him so distressed. 

There was not much left for you outside of the empty empire that your father’s father had built for your family. At least you still had each other and despite the situation they’ve forced you into at the end of the day, you all loved each other to death. It would have been a death sentence but you could have left instead, could have found a life for yourself somehow. But how could you live with yourself knowing that you’d damned those you love because of your pride?

So reluctantly and tearfully, you nod your head and silently agree. 

Coriolanus wondered whether he was making the right decision by giving Jericho a second chance. If it were anyone else, he’d have had them hung without a second thought. Hell, he’d even had Sejanus executed at the end of his time in District 12. But Jericho and his family were different. 

If there was one person in his life that Coriolanus could call a friend, it was Jericho. It wasn’t that Coriolanus trusted him, no. There was not a soul in this world that Coriolanus could truly trust, not even Jericho who had been by his side for the entirety of his life. It was a moment of weakness, an inexcusable lapse in his judgment to make that deal with him. 

But it was also a moment of selfishness and a decision made with nothing more than foolish curiosity. You had always been there, in the back of the picture and unnoticed by everyone apart from him. There was not a person in this world who infuriated him more than you and the two of you had spent years bickering and pestering one another. Charming, intelligent Coriolanus Snow who had the entirety of the Capitol wrapped around his finger had always been instinctively cruel to you. He was never your friend. While he had never actually done you wrong before now, you were never really fooled by his deceiving charm. 

Coriolanus was now twenty three but when it came to whatever distorted plot he was planning, he felt juvenile. You were the perfect leverage. Your brother and your father were the perfect pawns. As much as he convinced himself that having you in his possession would mean he would have invaluable power over Jericho to do exactly as he wanted within his twisted court, the idea of having you in the palm of his hand and under his control was exciting. 

He was never one for meaningless entertainment. But what was the harm in indulging himself this once?

You had changed since the last time he’d seen you. It had only been two years but he would never admit to his surprise at just how different you had become from the cowering little girl he remembered you to be. 

Coriolanus’ office was as big as your dining room back home but you felt claustrophobic under his gaze. His eyes were hellfire as he silently stared at you, leaning back in his chair and resting his fingers under his chin. There was little you could do but stare back at him, anxiously tapping your foot on the marbled floor.

Shakily, you broke the silence. “Why am I here, Coriolanus?”

“Your brother has committed a crime,” He drawled, fingers tapping on the rich mahogany desk in front of him. “That’s why you’re here.”

“You know what I mean, asshole.” You scowled at him. It wasn’t smart to talk to him in such a way, you knew that. He is President, after all. The memory of your brother’s warning to be careful flashed briefly in your mind. 

Eyes narrowed, Corialanus considered putting you in your place. He wouldn’t tolerate disrespect. Not from anyone let alone you. Instead, he somewhat answered your question. “You’re going to stay here. Do whatever the hell, doesn’t matter.”

In any other instance, Coriolanus would have detested the sight of you gaping at him, stumbling over your words as your wide eyes confidently held his own. You had changed. Or maybe he had just been blind to the perfect curves of your body or the way you looked at him, so submissive yet so stubborn. So tempting. 

He’d condemn himself before ever admitting to his thoughts. 

“What?”

If he were to be honest, Coriolanus didn’t entirely know himself. But he took pleasure in the way you seethed. “I’ll give you work. But I won’t let you back to that treasonous family of yours until I have what I want from them.”

You could hit him. If he weren’t the king of Panem, you would have. “You’re keeping me prisoner?”

“No,” he stood from the table and in two strides, he was in front of you. So close that you could smell his cologne mixing with the smell of laundry detergent on his clothes. You shuddered. “Maybe. Call it what you want. You can do what you want, eat what you want, wear what you want, you can visit home on the weekend. I don’t care. But when I give you a task, you will do it.”

Coriolanus’ eyes were an icy blue inferno as they held yours. The light hit his painfully perfect face so that it almost seemed as if he were shining. Struggling not to lose your breath, not to lean into him and feel him, you held your head high. “Fuck you.”

A gasp fell from your lips as Coriolanus’ hand found the back of your head in an instant, fingers weaving into your hair gently before closing into a tight fist and pulling back so that you were forced to look up at him. The tightness of his grip on your hair ached and left you dizzy, longing for his hands to find more of you with the same fervour. Suddenly, you were burning from head to toe, a fire setting on your skin as he held you roughly against him, so close that you felt the feather light tickle of his breath when he spoke. 

“Is that how you talk to your superior?” Coriolanus’ voice was low, dripping with a dominance that commanded respect. He was devastatingly beautiful. The curve of his nose, the strength in his jaw, the soft fall of his hair and the soft shine on his lips that you so badly yearned to feel. You cursed yourself for thinking such a thing. “This is my house. My country. You are here because I said so, because I own everything. Everything. Including you. You’d do well to remember your fucking place while you’re here, pretty thing.”

The fire in your blood was rage. It was anger, it had to be. Despite your better judgment, you whispered once again, “Fuck. You.”

His jaw ticked and with a strong yank, you were flush against him. The pounding of your heart was violent and you were sure he could feel it against his chest but you were stuck under his burning gaze. Coriolanus was angry. And you couldn’t help but think that it suited him. 

Coriolanus was strong and hard against your body, tense as he held you so intimately yet so roughly. 

Fuck, you couldn’t even think. What was happening? 

“Corio-”

“Quiet,” Coriolanus commanded. His deep voice, raspy with lust and with rage sent shockwaves down your spine. “Fuck me, huh? I could have you begging on your knees, crying for my cock all day and all night and you would never deserve it. Be careful, angel, because I can ruin you.”

Another gasp fell from your lips and Coriolanus took pleasure in the way you squirmed against him, thighs pressing together as you felt the flush of his words through your body. So reactive. Somehow, you fit perfectly against him, so that he could feel every little tremor he caused in your body, every goosebump that he placed on your skin. His eyes never left yours, his resolve solid as iron. 

Your mouth watered at the thought of all the things Coriolanus could do to you. Thoughts you had never imagined having, especially not for him. It overwhelmed you - he overwhelmed you. But all you had to do was glance at the file on his desk, the file with your surname plastered onto the front and you were shoving him off of you. 

The rise and fall of your chest was heavy and you had the sudden urge to punch the sultry smirk right off of Coriolanus’ face. That was not okay. Right now, you didn’t even want to think about the way your body reacted to his, they way you would have let him have his way with you right there and then. 

“Just-just what the hell am I doing here, Snow?”

Coriolanus swallowed. He didn’t have an answer that he could share with you even if he wanted to give you one. “Making up for the sins of your family. Do not make me repeat myself again.”

“Fine. But-”

“That’s enough,” Coriolanus firmly stated. He turned his back to you, flexing his hands that were curled into fists at his sides. “Candice will show you where you will be staying. I’ll find you when you’re needed.”

[elixrr]

part 1 here

It's heartbreaking, being a fictional character in a fictional world. But what makes it worse it that his player; his love—his God, grew bored of him and discarded him.

What was he to you? Did you even feel affection for him? He loved you. He truly loved you because he had nothing but you. He's constantly locked in the same fake, digital room, even when you think he's out living his supposed stable life that some temporary code convinces you he's living. He'd do anything to please you, to keep you with him, because ultimately, you were his savior. You were everyone's savior.

And yet, you threw them all away.

Answer him.

What was he to you?

What were they to you? Were they toys to you? Dolls?

He feels betrayed. Rather, he felt betrayed. He can't feel a single thing now. Floating in the void of a digital trash bin stole all his feelings. It stole his supposed friends; it stole his supposed city; it stole his supposed life. His lifeless soul couldn't feel how much time had passed since the day you deleted the game, not that he would want to, even if he could be conscious again. It's dull in a dark void, and everything about him is already on the line. If he were conscious, not only would he have to openly sulk about how worthless he became in your eyes, but he would also have no future to look to. There wouldn't be any point to existing, let alone wanting to exist. If you ever re-downloaded the game, you would probably continue benching him, and that would be an extra sign that you'll never care about him again; that you came on for anyone else but him.

The only thing he'd wish for,

would be complete deletion.

Deletion of the email linked to your game account would result in the deletion of every single file of him and you. Every single fracture of evidence that you cared would disappear.

And, what he'd really want would be his whole self being erased.

In this life of his, he'd have no point. You left him, and probably completely. It doesn't matter what you do. Whether you never play the game again or even start it up again, none of that would matter because he wouldn't have a use in your life. If he doesn't matter in your life, then he wouldn't matter ever until he's possibly featured in an Archon quest or in some event. Even so, you might never use him ever again.

A single tear forms in his eyes. There's no point in existing.

Another tear falls. You never loved him, did you?

His eyes flutter open, and he's back in the team lineup screen. You're there. The supports are there, but he can't bring himself to pose. He can't bring himself to lighten up.

What are you going to do now? Repeat history, strip him of his artifacts, his weapon, and trash him? Slam him down into a pit of despair? A loveless void made for the hopeless and hurt, all of which once loved you and felt you loved them, now suddenly were torn and tossed like old, ragged dolls.

Through his broken heart and blurry eyes, he could see your face. You were about to enter his character detail screen, but you paused. You were looking at him like you were worried, and genuinely so. And, like an angel, you whispered his name with delicate, careful concern.

“What happened to you?”

You abandoned him. That's what happened, and he bets you never knew.

“Leave me alone,” he nearly sobs, “I know you don't want to use me anymore. Rip me apart for all I care—it won't matter when I'm back in that void again.”

“A void..? Wait, never mind that, I do care. What— really, what happened? Wait, you can hear me?”

He wipes his tears away and stands to face you fully. All the supports watch his bravery against the code.

“I could always see you; everyone on the field could. We can hear you.” He takes a moment to breathe it all in. Maybe... Maybe he can get you to listen. Maybe he can help you hear him out.

Maybe he could help you love him again?

“Anyways, the void is where every unused person goes. Once... Once we leave the screen, we just sit here until you use us. And if you remove us from all teams, we're sent— we're plummeted into said void.”

“Oh my God,” you whisper, leaning back, “I need to revisit everyone I...”

“Please, wait, I—” I want to be used. I want to be the one you revisit. I want to be the one you miss.

“Player, creator, whoever you are, just please,” he watches as you scroll through the team lineup options, “please don't leave—”

And you enter another lineup.

And everyone else is gone, too.

“Please. Don't leave me again.”

He falls over, not caring how much it hurts. Nothing works. Nothing will work. It's hopeless.

He'll be stuck here, waiting, waiting, and waiting. Not for you—there's no point in that anyway, but for your second deletion.

He'll be waiting for the game's deletion.

For his final deletion.

You left him, and he's clearly not important to you. As heartbreaking as it is, he accepts it. Even with this dimensional intersection, he can't convince you.

As heartbreaking as it is, he's just a fictional character to you in this fictional world. He loved you, and he thought you did too, but clearly, you don't. Because he is just an abandoned, rotting toy, and you are the player who abandoned him.

And, he thinks, if you want him to rot, then so be it,

Let him rot.

@iridescentrays @inlovewithlondonn @falconclaw244 @shiningpaint-marbleheart @jeremyth @hikaru-sama @ayatoq @krrkt @yureismellslikefanfic @samhelleborewrites @bi-panicatthedisco @hannya-writes @thomaliciouss @notisekais @lovelykrystal @raeharmonia @ayra2452008 @chikai-k @dreamsofmoney @shutingstar

To everyone who wanted part 2 :))

[hanrinz]

STARRY EYES SPARKIN' UP MY DARKEST NIGHTS.

pairing. lyney x gn! reader ( word count. 1.1k ) genre. strangers to lovers

synopsis. wherein lyney falls for you literally and figuratively, and he doesn't mind it quite a bit. or just bits of pieces of him trying being a romantic.

content. fluff, reader is not the traveller, flirty lyney, he's ooc sowsaury everyone, lynette is tired with the two of you. minimal proofread.

notes. hihi this is for @sixosix da only real one this is for u!! *does that corny pointing in movies* dribble dribble shoots! i just rlly need to write for him, bc he's a silly.

lyney was never star-struck, if anything he was more used to people being enchanted when they saw him.

but he would never expect it to happen to him, after all only the most beautiful things can capture the eyes of a magician—with life full of unexpected encounters and lively colors of shows—to all of which he found on you.

you, who came to the lands of justice from the lands of freedom—never being tied down to the shackles of laws—with an ecstatic gaze, you're here as where the winds have brought you. truly he thinks the momentary sight of you just by walking in the streets of fontaine didn't give enough justice for him to memorize your face. the sunlight that just makes you shine more and the way your eyes reminds him of the stars, warm they were.

and your smile. archons, he adores it. the way it just never leaves your face, you're so pretty.

he never knew anything about love, only with the books he grew up with of a fairytale he reads to his siblings at night—a hopeless romantic he was.

love at first sight. he was falling, hard and fast. like he was tumbling down into the bottomless chasm of just you. he's liking it and it should take him aback, it should scare him, but he can't find himself to do so.

it was unbelievable and it was magical to be able to know a feeling that you can know so much, but was foreign altogether. he knew right then, he was star-struck with you.

and he doesn't know what compels him to move and make his way to you. excitement dancing around his nerves as he nears you, with a smile on his face and a newfound fascination.

and just before he reaches, an unexistent rock trips him all the way to you.

it's embarrassing, lynette thinks. watching his brother fall in love, that is—literally and figuratively.

he flashes a smile at you. and you crouch down, asking him if he's okay. you're worried and he tries not to grin so much, he only replies to you with,

"i'm fine, now that you're here." he winks.

he took it as a chance to take out a rainbow rose out from his sleeves handing out to you. and you laughed, probably another thing that he finds enchanting—it's unfair, for you to have him this entrance by you.

what a memorable first meeting he had with you.

lynette cringes—her brother's antics are an embarrassment to die for. it's not a crime as far as the laws said so, but she sure hopes it is.

because now, his brother is here head in the clouds with the thought of you. his face all, but with lovey-dovey eyes.

"isn't y/n so pretty?" he sighed dreamily.

lynette looks at him with a blank stare, "you've said that for the thirteenth time today. yes, y/n is pretty."

"should i prepare a magic trick? maybe a dove or a bunny. it can be onstage, or just in the seats? ah, i have so many things to prepare..." and so many more, if she was a stranger, she would've thought her own brother is outrageous for the ideas that come to his mind just to woo you. "come now, dear sister for i have to prepare for my special guest."

it's a feeble attempt, really.

his own brother faltering down, just from you standing in front of him and anyone might not see it, but she knows his own brother.

lovestruck he was. when he took you to him showing his trick of lighting up the night in a single snap, a flower on your head magically placed delicately and he thinks you're just pretty.

"do you like it?"

another rainbow rose.

"they're pretty.."

your mesmerization, it takes his breath away. if anything he wants you to look at him, how you look at everything you love. he wants you to love him too, like how the stars never leave the skies and how the sun reflects its light on the sea.

he wants you just like how his hands die in need to reach you, how can you be so cruel to him this way?

and he breathes out, "i know."

"do you like dancing?"

the both of you stand on the stage, where you sit in one of the carts that has all their props now kept for their next show.

"back in mondstadt, we had a festival that we celebrated...and we would dance at night till the flowers fall." you recount, fondness creeps up on you with the memory.

he knows this, windblume—if he's not mistaken, he shouldn't be. after all what are those books he read for night after night just to know the culture of mondstadt? just to know you. you didn't need to catch wind of that, he can only hope charlotte wouldn't slip up with this one on you.

he imagines, you dancing with a smile on your face that he loves so much. and he wants to see it, to be able to live that vision in his head, but having you in his arms instead.

"would you dance with me then?" he offers his hand, making a little bow to you.

and you giggle, yet again at his antics. "i would love to."

"may i?" and you take his hand, he feels warm, giddy from how your hand fits together with his.

with a smile he holds you and leads you to dance to a sound the two of you can only hear and maybe it's the heartbeats that plays in your mind, but lyney thinks everything just seems more beautiful now with you here.

he's used to everyone's eyes on him as a magician, it's a normal thing. but to have you this close to him and your eyes on him, he thinks the spotlight doesn't make him special now, just the way you do.

if this was the fairytale he's known all his life, he hopes now that it will always be like those ever afters. don't wake him up and drop the glass of his heart, because he has so many more dreams he'd like to come to life with you.

he's memorizing the story now, how your eyes shine and warms him wholly, your hair dancing around as he sways you and your lips that holds a sound that he would like to hear every day.

the song ends and your hearts sync. he let's go and step back to kiss your hand, delicately with him keeping eye contact and it means so much more.

and he pulls out yet another rainbow rose out of his coat, and his eyes glazed. "it's windblume this season in mondstadt, isn't it?"

passion and romantic encounters.

"...let this rose be my oath to you."

oh, how the magician can be much of a romantic all for you. he hopes he'll be the first and the last one to give you such a gift.

◞♡ likes and reblogs are highly appreciated! here's a lyney fic bc i have beef with him &lt;3

[mondoreb]

End Times Prophecy Headlines: February 20, 2023

End Times Prophecy Report.com HEADLINES MONDAY February 20, 2023 And OPINION “And Jesus answered and said unto them, Take heed that no man deceive you.” —Matthew 24:4 “The best way to keep a prisoner from escaping is to make sure he never knows he’s in prison.” —Fyodor Dostoevsky ===INTERNATIONAL UKRAINE: Putin’s War Against Ukraine: The End of The Beginning RUSSIA: Russia’s War in Ukraine…

[nothing-tolose]

Wood Stairs on The Coast.

warning: age gap (4 years). please lmk if there's anything i missed!

a/n: i wrote some words repeatedly im sorry, imsorry imsorry

daily click

You really hate yourself for sitting in the same spot again and again. Resting your butt on the wooden surface of the stairs, your eyes gazing at the ocean merely 270 meters from your house. You letting out a sigh as you bury your face in your arms, cursing yourself because you're still waiting for Abby to return, even though there's almost no chance and reason for her to come back to the little town where you live. It has been five years two months and two weeks since she left you with her promise to wait for her come back in 4 years, well, it was too far late. Now that you're a grown up, no longer the girl who once struggled with her homework, you work at a little bakery shop in your small town instead of pursuing university like most of your friends did. Being 21 years old, you feel old enough to date Abby that you've been waiting for almost half a decade since too young to have her back then. But does it truly matter when the promise remains unfulfilled? All hopes, birthday wishes, and prays you always mean it for Abby, hoping she'd be here soon with her feet touching the ground. You knew where her hometown was at, only if you get enough money, you swear you could go there and meet her. You don't even know if her promise is still worth for believing in or it's just a bunch of lies that you still hold tightly. You rejected the girls who confessed their feelings to you because you were waiting for Abby. Now they got their own girlfriends, you still here, sitting on your house's stairs, alone, not with Abigail Anderson, not with her being your girlfriend. You leaned on the railing, thinking about how much easier life was when she was with you, even if it was only for four months. The past five years hadn't been as amazing as the year before. You've heard great things here, but not as great as they'd be if she came back. Your house remained the same as it was a year ago; there was no chance of her getting lost. Night had fallen, and you sat by the window, facing the coast you've been staring while sit on the porch stairs this morning. The dim light in your room from a white bedside lamp—the gift from Abby for your 16th birthday—that you never turned off, day or night. The lamp served as a symbol of how long you'd been waiting; once it went off, it would be over. Your head leaned against the wall, sighing, "Should I stop, Abby?"

You promised yourself you wouldn't sit again on the wooden stair corner again, yet there you are, hand cupping your cheeks, the gentle breeze playing with your hair, forcing you to tuck hair strands behind your ear every single seconds. You have some rocks on the ground from the beach you visited earlier this morning. You've sorted them by size and now you're playing with them randomly, just to stave off your boredom, as if you were know that Abby won't come back, leaving you feeling hopeless now. You huffed, again. You tried not to care anymore about the promise. But no, you knew yourself better than anyone; deep down in your heart, you still cared enough for her. You were too focused on your mind, hands still playing with the rocks and sand, not hearing the footsteps approaching you. The footsteps stopped a few meters away from you. You raised your head, immediately stood up after you saw the owner of the footsteps. You couldn't say anything as if words had become trapped in your throat.

"You've grown up a lot,"

Without a second thought, you ran to her and hugged her tightly. Even though the promise was fulfilled much later than expected, it didn't matter anymore. She's here, Abby is here, Abigail Anderson is here. No words comes from your mouth, all that mattered was the hug, and she returned it just as fiercely. Her hands rubbing your head while saying "I'm sorry, you've waited me for too long." She was saying sorry to you, for countless times. You shakes your head, crying in between the hug. Abby cupped your cheeks, smiling, her gaze locked on your lips, "Can.. can I?" You didn't wait for her to finish speaking as you simply nodded, you want her to kiss you, you really want it. Your lips met hers, ending five years of loneliness without her. At last, she could kiss you without concern for age differences, and at last, you could having her being your girlfriend. "God, where was the girl who always asks me to help her homework?" You chuckled, along with her wiped your tears away on your cheeks after the kisses, "She's a grown up now, Abby."

"Please, please don't leave me again,"

"I won't, baby. I won't,"

Once again big thanks to Taylor Swift for giving me the idea.

[viridescent-din]

Hope

Joel x reader. Smut, 18+ only Fingering, age gap.

~

There’s no hope for you.

You don’t take it personally. There’s no hope for anyone anymore. But it still stings, knowing it will probably never get better. Knowing that in spite of everything, even though you and everyone else that’s left has been given the worst hand fate could have dealt, you can’t ever have what you want. What’s right in front of you. 

Joel, leaving you for weeks on end to smuggle God knows what. Angry when you come, angry when you don’t. Short tempered and mean, hurting under all those layers of pain and experience and grime. When you met Joel, you promised yourself you would dig into him, make your way through those layers and burrow under them. Warm him from the inside out. You wanted to know him.

Now you do, and it hurts more than ever. It’s a nicer pain than feeling nothing at all, but it’s still heavy. The lingering glances Joel gives you make you feel truly alive, but they make you ache too. The wandering eyes, the brushes of his arm, the death grip he holds you in on the runs when you stumble across infected. You know Joel well enough to understand they mean something. To you and him. He doesn’t touch other people like that. He doesn’t care for them. Protect them. 

If he’s felt the way he does for you this long and hasn’t done anything about it, he’s never going to.

It’s possible that Joel doesn’t want to make the first move - doesn’t want to be the one that really changes the comfortable (almost, almost domestic) closeness you two have. There’s lots of reasons he wouldn’t: he’s older than you, for one. There’s also FEDRA and the Fireflies and anyone else who keeps an eye on Joel, looking for a weakness. The lack of confirmation between the two of you as to just what you are bleeds over to anyone who watches you interact. If something changes, if Joel really admits this is real, it won’t stay between the two of you no matter how much he might try. They’ll notice. Joel can’t afford to lose anyone else. 

It’s hopeless, you and Joel. So you try not to think about it, and you never, ever push him. 

-

Joel can’t take this much longer. Can’t take you. 

It’s killing him. Everything is: his job, his age, his sorrow. Everything is wearing Joel down, making him drag his feet and look for the nearest somewhat safe spot so he can collapse and finally rest. For just one fucking minute. 

He only feels rested when he’s with you. And Joel hates himself for that. Hates putting that amount of responsibility on you - to burden you with him. You’ve never asked for that. 

Of course, you’ve never asked because you’re scared that if you do, Joel will leave. He doesn’t blame you. He’s not entirely sure that he wouldn’t.

You’re so good. It blinds him sometimes, your goodness. Sometimes it’s like the sun, shining down on Joel as he overlooks the ruins of whatever given city he’s in. But sometimes it’s like the light on the soldier’s gun twenty years ago, forcing Joel to realize everything he holds dear is devastatingly fragile. 

If Joel let you give yourself to him the way he knows you want to, all he would do is take. He would envelope you, trap you in his chest. He’s cold and gruff and he would expect you to just deal with it. More than you already do. 

~

“Should be an easy run,” you finish telling Joel late one night. You try not to notice how nice he looks in red, even if the shirt he’s wearing is dusty and beat up. “I’ll be back before morning.”

“I’m coming with you.” Joel responds gruffly. You purse your lips.

“I know you had something planned with Tess,” you say. “It’s just the mall. I’m not even leaving the QZ.”

“It’s boarded up for a reason.”

“I trust the people that say it’s safe -”

“Tess can handle herself. Ain’t no thing for me to go with you.” You still.

You don’t mean to be upset with Joel, but stings anyway, the lack of faith he has in you. It’s times like this that make you feel young. Stupid and incapable. 

Needy.

“Tess can leave the QZ on her own but I can’t even make a quick trip to the mall?” You manage to keep the accusation out of your tone, but it’s still implied. Joel knows. 

“Hey,” he says, short. “That’s not what I’m sayin’.” You swallow.

“I know, Joel, I just -”

“Tess has experience. She’s been doing this shit practically since it all started.” You nod as you look away, nails digging into your palms as you clench them. Your heart jumps when you feel Joel take your hand, prying it open. “Quit doin’ that.” He murmurs. Joel’s hand is warm, spreading waves of heat throughout your body. You unclench your fist, and Joel rubs his thumb over the lines of barely broken skin. “It’s different with you,” he says, barely audible. “You know it is.”

For a second, you think this is it. The walls are coming down, and Joel is admitting. Confessing, even. You look at him, eyes wide and hopeful. 

He drops your hand and walks away. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow night. Be ready.” He says. The door slams shut behind him. 

~

“What are we even here for?” Joel only thinks to ask once you’ve led him into some sort of breaker room. You shine your flashlight at all the light switches and levers, looking for the right one. Joel frowns at himself. He should have pressed you for more information about this. It’s not like him to… not. “If I’m just here to take you shopping, we can leave now.”

“Yeah, Joel, you’re here to take me shopping. Prom is right around the corner.” You say. Smart ass, Joel thinks. He lets himself smile while you aren’t looking.

“Think you’re a little old for that.” Joel shines his own flashlight overheard, looking at all the decay. Water drips onto his face, and he wipes it off. 

“I’m not that much older, you know. I am twenty f-”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” Joel stops you. You grin at him before lifting a lever. Machinery whirrs around you both, and the lights slowly flicker on.

“Whatever you say, old man.” Joel rolls his eyes, but secretly, he’s relieved to have you teasing him again. Joel doesn’t like how he left your place last night, how real it felt. How for a moment, he was the cause of the hurt that flickered over your face. “This way.” You tell him, leading him down the maintenance hallway and into the actual mall. 

Even Joel can’t help but marvel at it, even in ruin. It’s massive, and all the stores are reminding him of brands he had forgotten existed. His chest clenches at the sight of some of them, the models that would have Sarah’s age.

The last time he went to a mall was with her. 

“Holy shit,” you breathe, eyes wandering. “Look how big it is, Joel! Everything is -”

“Are we gonna be here all night?” Joel demands, suddenly gruff and impatient. Your face falls. “Let’s get what you want and leave, alright?”

“Right,” you say, excitement gone. “It’s um - I just remember my mom going to the mall whenever one of us got sick. I know there’s… there are like, pharmacies or whatever. I thought it would be good to stock up on medicine.”

Joel pinches the bridge of his nose, angry at himself for taking his shit out on you. It’s not your fault he insisted on coming. 

It’s a good plan, too. Joel is surprised he or Tess didn’t think of it. 

“That’s good. Smart.” He tells you, trying to ease the tension. “Do you remember how to find your way around a mall?” You shake your head. “It’s called a directory. It’s a map, usually on the first floor.” Joel spots an escalator a few feet in front of you. “Let’s go look at one, yeah? Better than wandering around the entire night.”

“Okay.” You agree. “Lead the way.”

~

The pharmacy is on the second floor, so you and Joel head back the way you came after looking at the directory. You start rambling about how there might not even be anything, how a mall probably doesn’t have as much as a CVS or a Walgreens. Joel stops you. 

“Even one bottle of antibiotics is better than none,” he tells you. “This was smart. Good job.” You give Joel a small smile. 

“Thanks,” you say. 

The pharmacy turns out to be well stocked - you and Joel jump over the counter and find practically everything full. Joel watches you look at the labels of everything a few times before you take to dumping things in your backpack. Joel is more careful, on the lookout for penicillin and any other helpful meds he can remember. He falters when he grabs one prescription and reads it: cryselle, low ogestrel. Birth control. Before he even realizes what he’s doing, Joel glances at you.

“You ready?” You ask. You’re standing on the counter, looking down. Joel shoves the pills in pocket. 

“Yeah,” he says, swinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Let’s -” Joel doesn’t even hear the growling until it’s too late, until a rotted hand grabs your ankle and pulls, the crack of your ribs on the counter bouncing off the walls and the look of surprise on your face permanently searing itself onto Joel’s brain. 

~

“Joel!” You scream, the infected chomping at you, practically ripping the skin of its neck to reach you. Bite you. You let out another scream, one pure terror and pain. Your torso is throbbing, a blinding pain that’s making it harder and harder to keep the infected off you. You thrash, kicking its legs in an attempt to get it off, but you only make its knees collapse so its weight falls on you even more. You let out a frustrated sob. 

This is it, you think to yourself. Even if I get out of this, Joel is never letting me do a run again. Your arms start to weaken at the thought, subconsciously giving in. 

The shot fires so close to you it makes your ears ring. The infected stops growling, slumping on top of you. You push it off, dazed. 

Joel is on you in an instant, hands running over every inch of bare skin you have. Hands, wrists. Neck. He hooks his fingers under your chin and forces you to look at him, distress written all over his face. You cough, wincing as it rattles your ribs. 

“Good,” you manage. “I’m clean.” Joel sags with relief, his forehead pressed against yours. He smells scared, stressed and acrid. You close your eyes and breathe it in. 

“C’mon,” Joel says, standing. “There could be more. There’s always more.”

~

He takes you to his apartment. His, not yours. You drop your bags at the door, kicking off your shoes. Joel leads you to his bedroom, and you sit on his sheets, wincing. When you pull up your shirt, your skin is raised and bruised. You tug it back down. 

“Does it feel like a clean break?” Joel asks. You shrug, not knowing what he expects you to say. He leaves, coming back with a bottle of pills and a glass of water. “Ibuprofen.” He explains. “Nothing fancy for a few broken bones.” You thank him. 

“Should we wrap it?” You ask. 

“Don’t know. Might make sleeping on ‘em the first night easier.” Joel watches you. “Can I see?”

You swallow as Joel stands over you. Slowly, you lift your shirt.

To Joel’s credit, he doesn’t freak out. It dawns on you that he might be thinking you’re making a big deal out of nothing. You don’t know what Joel’s life was like before you were in it, but you know it was worse than a few cracked bones. Embarrassment creeps up your face. 

“It’s nothing.” You dismiss it. Joel nods. 

“Nothing.” He agrees. He doesn’t sound convincing, though. 

~

It’s not even that bad. Joel knows that.

He watches people die every day. He’s seen the worst of death and then some. He’s seen people stumble into the QZ holding their innards in their hands. He’s watched people rip their tongues out as the virus infects them, trying to rid themselves of the spores they can feel invading their bodies.

You have a few cracked ribs. You’re strong. You can handle it. 

But the thing is, Joel can’t. He’s worn down, he’s exhausted and scared he just can’t keep himself from caring so much. 

He’s making this a bigger deal than it is. Joel thinks you feel the same - you’re waving him off, saying you’re fine. Saying it’s nothing. The wound is, sure. But the terror Joel felt when he saw you disappear behind the counter in less than a second? That isn’t nothing. It’s everything. You’re everything.

“You wanna stay here for the night?” Joel asks you. Splashes of black and blue spread over your torso, painting your skin. It makes Joel feel sick. He shouldn’t have let this happen. 

“Yeah,” you say. “If it’s okay.” Joel shrugs in response, hunching his shoulders to ward his paranoia away. You give him a small smile, tugging your shirt down. Joel turns around, walking over to the small dresser near the door and digging out one of his flannels. He knows you like them, and you know Joel likes seeing you in them just as much. He tosses it to you on the bed. You catch it smoothly, laying it next to you. Joel faces the wall, letting you change your shirt. 

And then he hears it. 

It’s a small noise that you make. It probably isn’t even one of pain, you’ve been through worse than this, it’s just a hiss of discomfort as you raise your arms above your head to take your shirt off. 

And Joel is rushing towards you, brow furrowed, hands outstretched and mind telling him no, no, no, just like it has for years. 

Joel’s been silently telling himself no to you since he met you. He’s older now. 

He can’t bring himself to listen anymore. 

Joel kneels in front of you, grunting as his knees protest. Your eyes are wide, and you’ve frozen. Your hands are gripping the hem of your shirt, holding it just above your navel. You watch as Joel’s eyes flick towards the bareness of your stomach, and even though he just saw it so he could look at your ribs, Joel can tell you know he’s looking in a different way now. He swallows, leaning forward.

“Let me help you, baby.” Joel says. You draw in a breath.

“Are you sure?” You whisper. You know what this means, what Joel’s thinly veiled statement implies. Joel returns your gaze. 

Joel reaches forward, grabbing the hem of your shirt and lifting it carefully over your head. A small ‘good job’ tumbles off his lips when you raise your arms without making another sound of discomfort again, and Joel sees what his praise does to you. 

He leans back on his heels, looking at you sitting with your breasts exposed on his bed, bones cracked and in need of repair. He watches you wait for him to really promise something, to show you that this is finally happening. 

You’ve been so patient. Joel can’t make you wait any longer.

-

“Joel,” Joel’s name comes out a gasp as he lays you down, 

Joel props himself on the wall, sitting on the pillows. He pulls your back against his chest, arm over your collarbone while his other hand dangles between your legs. He massages your thighs and your eyes slide shut. You grip his forearm, nails biting into his skin. 

When Joel’s fingers have finally worked their way up and are tracing your slick entrance, you whimper. 

“I know, baby. I’ve got you.” Joel licks the shell of your ear as he murmurs, and you feel so safe. He’s capable and willing and wanting, you can feel his hardness against the small of your back. 

If it were anyone else, this would feel sudden. But it’s Joel. You’ve been waiting so long. You’d be lying if you said you understood why it was now that he finally decided to do something, but you don’t care. You don’t care why this brush with death was the one that made the walls come down. You just care that it did. 

Joel kisses your neck, sinking his teeth into the muscle of where your shoulder meets your neck, and you gasp, keening against him. 

Teeth marks on your shoulder. Bruises on your hips. Joel is trying to make up for the fact you’re battered from today’s supply run. You’re about to say something about it when his fingertip pushes into your cunt. Your mouth drops open, and you moan so loud you almost slap your hand over your mouth instinctively. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” you hear Joel say as he slides his finger further in. Your thighs tremble, and Joel stills. “Hey,” Joel says your name, serious. “How long has it been?” He asks in a whisper. He runs his thumb up painfully slow over your clit, the same way you would to someone’s back or shoulder if you were trying to comfort them. It makes your head spin. “I gotta know how slow you need it.” He explains. You open your eyes, and Joel is staring at you. 

“I,” you feel your cheeks burn. “I haven’t ever…” excuses build on your tongue before you even finish your sentence. I haven’t had time. I was the only survivor I knew of for years. I was only a kid when this all started. I can’t trust anyone around here. I’m younger than you. You don’t say any of them. You can’t bring yourself to. 

“Oh, baby -”

“Please don’t stop,” you plead. Joel doesn’t move, his finger still inside you, gaze piercing. “Please, Joel. It’s not - it doesn’t have to be a big deal. I need this.” You can’t reach Joel’s lips from here, not with the way he’s holding you, so you drop your head and drag your lips across his forearms instead. “I need you.”

Joel closes his eyes, screwing them shut like he’s upset. But when he opens them, there’s no trace of anger. Just affection. 

“I’m not gonna stop,” he promises you. You nod, relieved. “I’m taking care of you, darlin.’”

When Joel pushes another thick finger inside you to prove his point, he chases away any doubt you had remaining. 

-

“I’m not going to use my cock on you tonight,” Joel tells you after what feels like hours of him working you open.Your disappointment is obvious. Insecurity begins to set in on you, but Joel won’t let it. “Not tonight,” he repeats. “Another time.” It takes a second for you to believe him, but eventually you murmur a quick ‘okay.’ “For now, I want you to finish with my fingers. Think you can do that for me, baby?” You nod, and Joel rewards you by curling his finger. “Good girl,” he says, and you clench around him. Joel smirks, amused, and rubs the thumb he has on your shoulder up and down soothingly. “Relax,” he tells you. “I’ve got you. Let me in.”

You try to wrap your head around the fact that this is happening, that after years of pining after Joel, he’s finally here. He’s sturdy and strong and present - you can feel all of him, his heartbeat against your back, his breath on your neck, his fingers so deep it’s like you can feel him in your stomach. His smell grounds you, filling your senses. You’re so full, so full of Joel. You have been for a long time now. 

You take a deep breath, letting yourself inhale Joel’s scent. Your exhale is shakier as Joel presses in deeper. Your gaze flickers down to where his fingers disappear, and you whimper at the sight. You’re never seen yourself like this, swollen and puffy. You’re transfixed by Joel’s fingers pumping in and out of you, shiny with your slick. He suddenly finds a spot you’ve never had touched before. You moan as he massages the spongy place, trying to find your breath. When Joel keeps at that and rubs at your clit again, your vision starts to blur. 

“Joel,” you gasp, the feeling foreign and overwhelming. “Joel. Joeljoeljoel -”

“Shh. You’re okay. I’m here,” Joel slows. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” You exclaim. Your mind is spinning as the corners of your eyes begin to go white.

“Okay. Alright,” Joel soothes you. “I know, darlin’, I know. Feels so good it’s almost scary, isn’t it?” You screw your eyes shut, your chest heaving as you pant. Joel presses on, his confident voice pushing you close to the edge. “But you don’t need to be scared. You can let yourself have this,” Joel takes a breath in, his voice getting distant. “You deserve this, alright? Let me give this to you.” Joel almost sounds like he’s begging. “Please let me do this for you.”

All you can do is clench around him in response. 

~

Joel knows, Joel knows he shouldn’t be doing this. You’re better than him. You should have someone more handsome, someone younger, someone kinder.

Someone with less blood on their hands. 

But Joel is selfish. He’s a selfish man, he has been since he lost Sarah, and he wants this. Wants you. He wants to give you something, make you feel good for just one second in the shitty world you have to live in. He needs this. He needs to know you’re getting some type of pleasure. 

He hesitates when you say this is your first time.

It shouldn’t surprise him - you don’t have the resources people before the virus did. No internet, no sex ed, no parents or older siblings to ask. 

You don’t like new things. Joel knows you don’t like being inexperienced. You’re too good at what you do, it makes your tolerance for being out of depth very, very low. And this is so much more personal than anything else. He can feel your embarrassment when you confess to him, unable to even finish your sentence. 

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs, and it isn’t because you have anything to be ashamed about, it’s because Joel is pretty sure you’ve barely even touched yourself and you still find it in you to trust him to do it. To beg. Joel is a sick man, because it goes straight to his dick, your trust and desperation. 

He wants to give this to you, and he doesn’t care if it also feels like taking. 

When you cum, sweating and writhing in his arms, you clench tighter around Joel’s fingers than he knew was possible. He can feel your fucking heartbeat, and his hand isn’t even on your chest. 

You’re far away when Joel eases his fingers out of you. He manages to lay you down on the bed, cautious of your ribs. He starts to stand to get a washcloth to clean you up, but you grip his hand. 

“Please don’t go,” you tell him, vulnerable. “Please, Joel.”

Joel hates himself. Hates that he’s ever acted in some type of way that would make you think he would leave you when you need someone.

When you need him. 

“I’m just grabbing something to clean us up,” he promises, rubbing your knee. “We made a mess, darlin’.” You sag, relieved. 

Joel caves once he’s in the bathroom and out of your sight. He presses his fingers to his tongue, savoring your taste. He sucks his fingers off like a starved man, and can’t wait until he gets it straight from the source. 

~

There is hope after all. For you and Joel. You can tell because of the dull throb in your core. Joel’s half hard cock against your hip. The medicine in your packs by the door, the softness of Joel’s lips over the skin of your ribs. 

There is hope - always was. Even though you had to wait for it. 

[mystiquesvendetta]

Can we talk about how everyone, Raven especially, sees Charles as this naïve, arrogant and credulous man who hopes for the betterment of the world while being “ignorant” to its faults when in reality if anything he is the LEAST naïve one of them all.

He’s had to grow up and deal with the weight of hearing everyone’s most violent, disturbing, disgusting and innapropriate thoughts and yet he STILL has hope. That’s the complete opposite of ignorant if I’ve ever seen it. He may have unrealistic expectations when it comes to bigotry and equality and all that but how can one still have hope for a world when he sees just how hopeless its society is on a basis?

There was a holiday fic collection I read where on Father’s Day (ode to his comic backstory) he found himself in his fathers study telling Erik about how his father had passed. In this adaptation it was suicide, talking about how he could feel nothing inside the body, the mind, but complete emptiness. It went into how both of them know just as well as the other how deep and harmful the darkness that can encompass one can grow to be. How Charles’ darkness and grief and negative intrusive thoughts could be worse than Erik’s, if anything rival it. Everyone in the original movie series sees Charles as this hopeful, ignorant man wanting to change the word and its ideologies himself, and it pains me that so many people see and write Charles as this truly (in Erik’s own words) naïve man, when in reality he’s the most aware one can be of the humans and society as a whole’s, faults.

This also goes into Charles is powerful as FUCK and could kill anyone in a split second at the stop of a heartbeat but rarely if ever uses that ability. Raven accusing Charles of so much in Dark Phoenix, along with Hank, later, truly breaks me because he’s always been looking out for everyone and never does anything for his own gain.

(Fic is the Father’s Day one in Holiday Fic collection by luninosity on ao3)

Thanks for listening to my daily Cherik rant.

[kamisama1kiss]

Okay okay, hear me out…what if the reader was a ninja part of the team but they would also be involved in a prophecy where they end up dying to save their lover, I need the ninja reaction to when Master Wu tells them 🫶🏻

This is actually so sad, tho.... I love it! 🤭😝 I was a little stuck on writing, but I hope I was able to deliver what you wished for 😚🫶

~~~

What would be the ninjas reactions be as the prophecies says they're lover will die for them?

~Lloyd Garmadon~

- Denial is a river in Egypt. Refusing to believe that they would die for the sake of his life.

- No matter how many times he convinces himself, he knows truly he can't do anything to stop it. Further pushing him into no limits of getting stronger to maybe, just maybe prevent it?

- Keeping a watching eye at you at all times to see if you're safe, more so in battles or training.

- Would try to convince you to do other tasks rather than join the team if he knew it could be risky for either you or himself.

- Consently tries to spend as much time with you so that when the time comes, he could make sure to not regret a moment.

- Would often spend time silently watching you just live and socialise with others, his heart falling into his stomach.

- Admiring you and everything about you as a person.

~Kai Smith~

- At first, he just laughed and shook his head. There was no way.

- After maybe a few hours or days, the gravity of it all dawned on him. He couldn't help but feeling so hopeless and useless to not be able to help or postpone it or anything for that matter.

- His mind of having a feature together with you was immediately crushed, all the plans of being able to hold you at night and talk into the long hours of the night.

- In the meantime, he changed a little for you as in allowing you to goof around with his hair as an example.

- Holding hands no matter where you walked to feel you close just to know you weren't gone. Not yet at least.

-Knowing he was absolutely broken after when Nya was gone, he would be just the same with just worse of completely letting guilt eat him up in silence. He would refuse to let anyone know how he felt.

As the hothead, he is the practice dummys would be all burnt to crisp

~Cole Brookstone~

- Again?

- Really? First, his own mother. Now, the one person he loves with the whole being of himself

- No matter how much he tried to collect himself, he could easily take it out on training.

- Would at some point start to distance himself from you so when the time came, the impact would be less painful.

- Didn't want to be like his father with absolutely neglecting everything when you we're gone, but anyhow, he tried to smile to everyone and act chill like he usually would.

- Often held his breath when holding you close, wishing for these types of moments to never end.

~Zane Julian~

- He was obvious to the fact that the one he loves could so easily die, but he could live on for many years on.

- Has already been over this with himself, but hearing it being sooner than expected shocked him.

- Acting no different than normally maybe a few occasional more hugs throughout the day, nothing too out of the ordinary.

- When he was alone, his way of grief was meditate. Maybe it could make the damage a little easier for his wires to handle?

- Occasionally turning off the emotions to just feel as if he could "breath" as it did get to his head at times more than he'd like to admit it ever did.

~Jay Walker~

- Immediately lost himself as he shook his head, refusing to belive what a dumb scroll had to say! It's dumb right?

- Spending every waking minute of his day with you by his side, alongside helping you with everything he could think of.

- Coping with occasionally stealing shirts with your smell on them to feel as if you mext to him, even though you are just a few doors down or so

- Would slowly communicate with others as he became more silent, which scared everyone. Everyone stood on their toes around him to not further upset him.

- He came in clutch and used every single excuse possible to man kind to have you for himself the first week or two after getting to know. He felt kind of pushy so he calmed down a little.

~Nya Smith~

- She genuinely just accepted it, what more could she say? The prophecy says so, she cannot deny it no matter how much this frustrated her.

- Checking up on you and acting for the most sake normal, as to not make you uncomfortable or worried for her sake.

- Used any or all frustration on training her powers in different ways, which was beneficial for her in the long right?

- Just like her brother, there was no communication from her side. Whenever the topic of prophecy popped up, she went silent and stood next to you, holding pinkys.

- Would cry to herself whenever everything got to her, just knowing you're gonna to eventually leave it snapped her multiple times. She would always refuse.

~~~

I've reached over 25 posts :00 and also over 50 followers!!! THANK YOU, EVERYONE 😭🙏🙏 I appreciate every single one of you so much