#and it's not as if he was cut out of them (just not credited)

[ewyuzu]

mooncake festival with lads men 🥮🌙

a/n: late post but happy mooncake festival! wishing you all happiness, good health, and togetherness this mooncake festival. may the moonlight bring peace and joy to your heart!

- sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel and caleb x reader

sylus

the mooncake festival is alive with color and light. lanterns of every shape and size hang from strings above, casting a warm, golden glow over the streets. laughter fills the air, and you can hear the soft melody of traditional music playing in the distance. the night feels magical, but despite the excitement around you, it’s sylus’s presence beside you that holds your attention the most.

he walks quietly, his gaze sweeping over the festival, ever alert as always. but there’s a softness in the way he walks next to you, like he’s more relaxed than usual. his hand brushes yours occasionally, sending small sparks up your arm, but he doesn’t take your hand. not yet, anyway.

“you’ve been quiet tonight,” you say softly, glancing at him.

he turns his head slightly, those red eyes of his meeting yours for a brief moment. “just thinking,” he replies, his voice low and smooth.

“about what?” you ask, curious. sylus rarely shares his thoughts openly.

“about how different this is,” he admits, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “from… what i’m used to.”

you tilt your head, intrigued. “different in a good way?”

he doesn’t answer right away, but his gaze softens as he looks ahead at the glowing lanterns. “yeah,” he finally says. “in a good way.”

you walk together for a while, weaving through the crowd. despite the lively energy around you, there’s a sense of calm between you and sylus, an unspoken understanding. the two of you stop in front of a group of people dancing in the square. the music is slow, melodic, and the dancers move gracefully under the lantern light. you watch them for a moment, caught up in the beauty of it.

“do you dance?” sylus asks, breaking the silence. his voice is quiet, almost as if he’s testing the waters.

you blink, a little surprised by the question. “uh… not really,” you say, laughing nervously. “i mean, i can, but it’s not exactly my strong suit.”

he looks at you, his expression unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes that makes your heart beat faster. “let’s see,” he says, holding out his hand.

your breath catches in your throat. you didn’t expect him to actually ask you to dance, especially not here, in front of all these people. but the way he’s looking at you, calm and confident, makes it impossible to refuse. you hesitantly place your hand in his, and his grip is firm but gentle, his skin warm against yours.

“sylus, i’m really not—” you start, but he cuts you off with a soft smile, the kind that makes your knees feel weak.

“i’ll lead,” he says simply, guiding you toward the quieter side of the square, away from the crowd but still under the lanterns. the music continues to play, and before you know it, sylus has placed one hand on your waist, the other still holding your hand, and he begins to move.

you follow his lead, your body unsure at first but quickly falling into rhythm with his. his movements are smooth, controlled, and it feels almost effortless dancing with him. there’s something about the way he holds you, the way he looks at you under the soft glow of the lanterns, that makes the world around you fade away. it’s just you and sylus, moving together in perfect harmony.

“you’re better than you let on,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine.

you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “only because you’re leading.”

he tilts his head slightly, his red eyes never leaving yours. “maybe. or maybe you’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

his words make your heart skip a beat, and you feel a warmth spread through your chest. the closeness between you feels almost overwhelming now, the way his hand rests on your waist, the way his fingers are intertwined with yours. you’re not sure how much longer you can hold his gaze without completely melting.

“i didn’t expect you to dance,” you say quietly, trying to break the tension.

“neither did i,” he replies, his voice soft, almost thoughtful. “but… something about tonight feels different. lighter.”

you smile up at him, your heart swelling at the rare glimpse of vulnerability he’s showing you. “i’m glad,” you whisper.

the music slows, and so do your movements, but neither of you lets go. you’re standing so close now, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, close enough to hear the steady rhythm of his breathing. the air between you feels charged, like something unspoken is lingering just beneath the surface.

“sylus…” you begin, but the words die on your lips when he shifts closer, his forehead almost touching yours.

“stay with me tonight,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

your heart races, and for a moment, you’re not sure if he means here, at the festival, or something deeper. but before you can respond, he pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours.

“just… don’t leave yet,” he adds, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable.

you nod, unable to speak, and he smiles—just a small, brief smile—but it’s enough to make your heart flutter.

later, the festival becomes too much. the noise, the crowds, the constant buzz of energy—it’s overwhelming. you feel it creeping up on you, that need to escape, to find some peace away from the chaos. sylus notices before you even have to say anything. he’s always so attuned to you, as if he can sense your every thought and feeling.

“want to get out of here?” he asks quietly, his voice cutting through the noise.

you nod, grateful, and without another word, he takes your hand, leading you away from the lantern-lit streets and out into the quiet countryside. the night air is cool against your skin, and soon, the sounds of the festival fade into the distance, replaced by the soft rustle of leaves and the gentle chirping of crickets.

you walk in comfortable silence until you reach a small lake, its surface smooth and still, reflecting the full moon above. sylus leads you to a large stone by the water’s edge, sitting down and gesturing for you to join him. you sit beside him, the cool grass beneath you, and breathe in the peacefulness of the night.

“this is better,” you say quietly, looking out at the moonlit lake.

“yes,” sylus agrees, his voice soft. “it is.”

he pulls a small box from his coat pocket and opens it, revealing two mooncakes. he hands one to you, and you take it with a small smile, your fingers brushing his as you do. there’s something intimate about the simple gesture, the way he thought to bring something just for the two of you.

“didn’t know you had a sweet tooth,” you tease lightly, taking a bite of the mooncake.

he chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. “i don’t. but i figured you might.”

you raise an eyebrow, amused. “you’re thoughtful, aren’t you?”

“only sometimes,” he says, and there’s that rare smile again, the one that makes your heart do a little flip.

you sit together in silence for a while, sharing mooncakes and watching the reflection of the moon on the lake. the air is cool, but sylus’s presence beside you is warm, comforting. at some point, you lean back, your shoulder brushing against his. he doesn’t pull away, and neither do you.

“it’s peaceful here,” you murmur, glancing over at him.

he nods, his gaze still focused on the water. “it is. i could stay here all night.”

“me too,” you whisper, feeling a warmth spread through your chest.

the night stretches on, the two of you sitting side by side, saying nothing but understanding everything. in the quiet of the moonlit lake, it’s like the world has shrunk down to just the two of you, and for once, everything feels simple. everything feels right.

zayne

the festival is alive with vibrant colors, lanterns glowing in every direction, casting soft hues of red, gold, and orange across the crowded streets. laughter and chatter fill the air, but zayne walks beside you, quieter than usual. his gaze shifts around, observing the details with a thoughtful expression.

“there’s something i want to show you,” he says, his voice low but steady. without another word, he gently takes your hand, leading you through the crowd. your pulse quickens, feeling the warmth of his hand, and for a moment, the noise of the festival seems to fade away.

he brings you to a quieter part of the festival, where people are writing wishes on lanterns. they carefully attach their slips of paper to the lanterns, watching them drift upward, joining the sea of glowing lights floating towards the sky.

zayne hands you a small piece of paper and a pen. “it’s tradition to write down your wishes for the future,” he explains, his gaze fixed on the lanterns above. “then you let it go.”

you glance at the paper in your hand, the smooth texture between your fingers feeling heavier than it should. “do you believe in these kinds of things?” you ask, curious.

zayne shrugs, though there’s a softness in his eyes. “i don’t know if wishes come true this way, but… maybe it’s more about letting go. letting the universe know what you want.”

you watch him for a moment, his expression unreadable. slowly, you write your wish down, feeling the weight of the words settle in your chest. you glance at him, wondering if he’s already written his wish.

he hesitates, his pen poised over the paper. his eyes flicker towards you briefly before returning to his blank slip. “i’m not very good at this,” he murmurs, his voice almost too soft to hear.

you smile gently, nudging him with your elbow. “it doesn’t have to be perfect. just write whatever comes to mind.”

he lets out a quiet breath, and you see his hand move, writing something down with careful strokes. when he finishes, his fingers linger over the paper for a moment longer before he folds it and attaches it to his lantern.

you both stand there, holding your lanterns in your hands, the soft glow illuminating your faces. “ready?” you ask, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and vulnerability.

zayne glances at you, something unreadable in his gaze. “yeah. ready.”

you release your lanterns at the same time, watching them drift into the sky, their light growing smaller as they join the others. there’s a quiet moment between you, the festival noise a distant hum in the background, as you both watch the lanterns disappear.

after a long pause, zayne breaks the silence. “what did you wish for?” he asks, his tone casual, but there’s a hint of curiosity behind his words.

you smile, shaking your head. “i’m not telling. that ruins the wish, doesn’t it?”

he chuckles softly, a rare sound that makes your heart skip. “fair enough.”

you tilt your head, looking at him thoughtfully. “what about you? what did you wish for?”

his eyes meet yours, and for a brief moment, he hesitates. then, a small smile tugs at his lips, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “i think i’ll keep that one to myself,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

but the way he looks at you, the intensity in his gaze, tells you everything you need to know.

the night grows quieter as the festival winds down, but the sky above still dances with bursts of color from the fireworks. zayne leads you away from the busy streets, toward a quieter spot by the lake. the soft lapping of the water against the shore is a soothing contrast to the earlier excitement.

you sit down on a bench together, the cool night air brushing against your skin. the lanterns hanging from the trees reflect off the water, casting a soft glow around the two of you. zayne leans back, his arms resting casually behind him, eyes fixed on the sky.

“it’s peaceful here,” he says, his voice low, almost as if he’s speaking more to himself than to you.

you nod, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. there’s a calmness in his posture, but his gaze is distant, as if his mind is elsewhere. “you’ve been quiet tonight,” you say gently, hoping to draw him out.

he turns his head slightly, looking at you. “just… thinking,” he admits, his tone softer than usual. “about things. about the future.”

you tilt your head, watching him carefully. “what about the future?”

he’s silent for a moment, his gaze drifting back to the water. “sometimes, i wonder if i’m doing the right thing. if the path i’m on is leading where i want to go. or if i’m just…” he trails off, shaking his head. “i don’t know.”

you reach out, placing a hand on his arm, your touch gentle. “you don’t have to have all the answers right now, zayne.”

he lets out a quiet breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly at your touch. “it’s just… when i’m around you, i feel like maybe things could be different. better.”

your heart skips a beat at his words, the vulnerability in his voice catching you off guard. “you make things better too, you know,” you say softly, your thumb brushing against his arm in a comforting gesture.

he turns to look at you, his eyes searching yours. “you really think that?”

you nod, meeting his gaze. “i know it.”

there’s a long pause, the two of you sitting in comfortable silence as the fireworks continue to light up the sky. the colors reflect off the water, casting soft hues across his face, making him look almost ethereal in the moonlight.

without warning, zayne reaches out, his hand covering yours. his touch is warm, steady, and the simple gesture makes your breath hitch. he doesn’t say anything, but the way his fingers curl around yours, the gentle pressure of his hand, speaks volumes.

“thank you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the moment is too fragile for louder words.

you smile, your heart swelling with an emotion you can’t quite name. “for what?”

he doesn’t look away from you, his gaze steady, almost intense. “for being here. for… everything.”

the night stretches on, the sounds of the festival fading into the background. and as you sit there, hand in hand, under the glow of the moon and the lanterns, you realize that sometimes, the quietest moments say the most.

xavier

the festival is in full swing, the streets alive with the vibrant colors of lanterns and the buzz of excited festival-goers. as you and xavier weave through the crowded pathways, he stays close, his presence steady beside you. the laughter and chatter of the crowd seem overwhelming, and you can’t help but feel a bit disoriented.

“stick close,” xavier says, his voice low but firm as he gently guides you through the throngs of people. his hand finds its way to your lower back, a reassuring touch that keeps you close to him.

you glance up at him, noticing how focused he is on making sure you’re safe. “thanks for staying so close,” you say, feeling a mix of relief and warmth at his protective gesture.

he meets your gaze with a soft smile. “it’s my job to look out for you,” he replies, his eyes reflecting the glow of the lanterns. “especially in a crowd like this. you never know what could happen.”

as you continue walking, you can feel the occasional bump from other festival-goers. each time, xavier’s grip on your back tightens slightly, his body subtly shielding you from any potential collisions.

“you’re really good at this,” you comment, trying to lighten the mood. “you could be a professional crowd navigator.”

he chuckles softly, a sound that feels warm and comforting. “well, i’ve had some practice. but honestly, it’s not about navigating crowds. it’s about making sure you’re okay.”

you feel a flutter in your chest at his words. “i’m fine, really. but it’s nice to have you looking out for me.”

xavier’s smile softens, and he leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. “i wouldn’t have it any other way. i care about you too much to let anything happen.”

just then, someone jostles you, causing you to stumble slightly. before you can react, xavier has you firmly pressed against his side, his arm around you in a protective embrace.

“careful there,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing presence in your ear. “it’s easy to get bumped around in these crowds.”

you look up at him, noticing how his expression is a blend of concern and calm. “i guess it’s a good thing you’re here.”

he nods, his gaze meeting yours with a warmth that makes your heart race. “i’m always here, as long as you need me.”

you walk together, the crowd slowly thinning out as you approach a quieter area. xavier’s grip on your back remains steady, a comforting reminder of his presence. when you finally reach a less crowded spot, you both stop, taking a deep breath and enjoying the calmer surroundings.

“we made it through,” you say, glancing around at the more peaceful scene.

“we did,” xavier agrees, his hand lingering on your back before he slowly pulls away. “and i’m glad i could be here with you.”

you smile at him, feeling a deep sense of appreciation for his care. “thanks for looking out for me.”

xavier’s smile grows, a genuine, warm expression. “anytime.”

the festival has wound down, and the streets are quieter now, the earlier buzz replaced by a gentle calm. xavier leads you to a secluded corner away from the main crowd, where the soft light of the lanterns still casts a gentle glow. the air is crisp, and you feel a sense of tranquility settling over you.

xavier pulls out a mooncake from a small bag he’s been carrying. “i thought we could have a little quiet moment away from the hustle,” he says, handing you the mooncake with a grin.

you accept it with a smile, feeling the warmth of his gesture. “that sounds perfect.”

as you both sit on a nearby bench, xavier takes out another mooncake and breaks it in half, offering you the larger piece. “here, you take the bigger half. it’s only fair.”

you laugh softly, taking the mooncake from him. “you’re too kind. but i insist you have the bigger piece.”

he shakes his head, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “i’m fine. besides, i’m more interested in sharing the moment with you.”

you both take a bite, savoring the sweet taste of the mooncake. the silence between you is comfortable, the occasional sound of distant laughter and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze the only interruptions.

“it’s nice out here,” you say after a moment, breaking the silence. “it feels peaceful.”

xavier nods, his gaze fixed on the moonlit sky. “yeah, it is. sometimes, it’s good to step away from the crowd and just enjoy the quiet.”

you glance at him, noticing how relaxed he looks. “do you come here often?”

“not as much as i’d like,” he admits. “but whenever i need a break from everything, this is where i come. it’s a good place to think.”

you nod, understanding. “what do you usually think about?”

xavier looks thoughtful for a moment before answering. “a lot of things. my work, my goals… and sometimes, just how nice it is to be in a moment like this.”

you smile, touched by his openness. “i’m glad we’re sharing this moment together.”

he turns to you, his expression softening. “me too. it’s special to me.”

you finish your mooncake, feeling a sense of contentment. “what about you? what’s your favorite part of the festival?”

xavier takes a sip from his cup of tea, thinking for a moment. “i think it’s the way people come together, sharing these traditions. it reminds me of what’s important.”

you nod in agreement, feeling the connection between you deepen. “i feel that too. it’s nice to be reminded of the simple things.”

xavier’s eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world around you fades away. “yeah. and it’s nice to share those moments with someone who understands.”

you smile, feeling a warmth spread through you. “i’m really glad we’re here together.”

xavier reaches out, his hand brushing against yours in a gentle, lingering touch. “so am i.”

the night continues, the festival lights now distant but the feeling of togetherness strong between you. as you sit there, sharing a quiet moment with xavier, you realize how much more meaningful these simple times can be.

rafayel

as the mooncake festival fills the streets with glowing lanterns and soft laughter, rafayel stands beside you, his usual calm demeanor present, but there’s something different in his eyes tonight. a quiet intensity, like he's carrying a secret.

“let’s step away for a moment,” he says, his voice soft yet certain. he gently takes your hand, guiding you through the crowd, away from the noise, until you find a quiet corner near a beautiful lantern display. the warm, flickering light casts soft shadows across his face, highlighting the small, subtle smile playing at his lips.

“i have something for you,” he finally says, pulling a small, wrapped box from the inner pocket of his jacket. his eyes flicker to yours, almost nervously, before he holds it out to you. “i thought... it might be fitting for tonight.”

you take the gift from him, fingers brushing against his briefly, and unwrap it slowly, savoring the moment. inside is a delicately crafted lantern, but not just any lantern. carved into its surface is a symbol—one you recognize from lemurian culture, something ancient and meaningful.

“rafayel… it’s beautiful,” you whisper, tracing the symbol with your fingers. “did you have this made?”

he nods, his gaze steady but filled with something deeper, something unspoken. “it’s a symbol of protection,” he explains quietly. “i wanted to give you something that would... keep you safe. especially tonight.”

his words are understated, but the weight of them presses gently against your heart. he’s never been one for grand gestures or loud proclamations. this, however, feels more intimate than any words could express.

“thank you,” you say softly, looking up at him. “it means more than you know.”

rafayel looks down for a moment, almost shy, before meeting your gaze again. “i don’t usually give gifts,” he admits, a hint of awkwardness in his tone, “but i wanted you to have something... special.”

you smile, feeling the warmth between you both, not just from the lanterns around but from the quiet affection that rafayel often keeps hidden. you step closer, feeling the moment stretch between you, unspoken but deeply felt.

“i’ll treasure it,” you promise, holding the lantern close. rafayel gives a soft nod, a rare, genuine smile tugging at his lips, as the night deepens, the festival around you a soft backdrop to the intimacy you share.

later in the evening, after wandering through the festival and enjoying the sights, rafayel pauses by a quiet area where lanterns hang low, casting a golden glow on the cobblestone path. he looks at you with a thoughtful expression.

“sit for me,” he says, pulling a small sketchpad and a few brushes from his bag. “i want to capture you... right now, under the light.”

you chuckle, a little shy but flattered. “right here? now?”

he nods, already setting up his canvas. “the lighting is perfect. it’ll only take a few minutes.”

you settle onto a nearby bench, feeling the soft warmth of the lanterns overhead. rafayel’s focus sharpens as he begins to work, his hands moving with precision. the strokes of his brush are deliberate, and you can tell he’s completely lost in the moment, immersed in the way the light plays across your features.

“you’re really serious about this, huh?” you tease lightly, but there’s admiration in your voice.

“i’m always serious when it comes to my art,” he replies without looking up, though there’s a hint of a smile in his voice. “and when it comes to you.”

your heart flutters at his words, but before you can respond, something soft brushes against your legs. you glance down to see a small, fluffy cat weaving its way around your ankles. you stifle a laugh, knowing rafayel’s well-known fear of cats.

the cat, curious and bold, leaps up onto the edge of rafayel’s canvas, knocking his brush from his hand. he freezes, his eyes wide in alarm, completely thrown off by the unexpected intruder.

“oh no... a monster...” he mutters, his voice tense, as he tries to inch away from the cat without making any sudden movements.

you can’t hold back your laughter anymore. “rafayel, it’s just a cat!” you giggle, standing up to shoo the cat away. “it’s not going to hurt you.”

“i know that,” he says defensively, though his body remains stiff. “it’s just... i don’t particularly like them.”

the cat, seemingly sensing his discomfort, decides to settle right on top of his palette, smudging the paint in the process. rafayel’s expression is a mix of frustration and panic, but you can’t help but find it endearing.

“you’re going to have to include the cat in the painting now,” you tease, trying to gently lift the cat away, but it stubbornly remains on the palette, its tail flicking.

rafayel sighs, shaking his head. “i suppose i don’t have much of a choice, do i?” he says, the corner of his mouth quirking up despite himself.

“come on, pose with it,” he adds, his tone lighter now. “let’s make this a proper portrait.”

you sit back down, this time with the cat in your lap, and strike a playful pose. rafayel, still a little uneasy, starts painting again, but the moment has turned softer, funnier. you talk while he paints, teasing him about his fear, and he plays along, opening up more than usual as the night drifts on.

“you know,” he says quietly after a while, “i’ve never painted anyone like this before.”

“like what?” you ask, curious.

“someone who can make me forget everything else,” he murmurs, his eyes soft as they meet yours. “even the things i’m afraid of.”

the intimacy in his words, in the way he looks at you, warms you more than the lanterns surrounding you ever could. and as you sit there, cat in your lap, rafayel painting your portrait under the moonlight, it feels like the world has shrunk down to just the two of you, sharing a moment that’s as tender as it is unforgettable.

caleb

the soft glow of lanterns hangs in the air, the sky above skyhaven illuminated by the full moon. you and caleb sit side by side on a low bench, surrounded by the bustling energy of the mooncake festival. despite the crowd, it feels like it’s just the two of you, tucked away from the noise, with a plate of mooncakes resting between you.

caleb nudges the plate a little closer to you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “think you can catch it if i toss it to you?” he asks, already floating a mooncake slightly off the plate with his telekinesis.

you laugh, shaking your head. “you’re just going to make it hover out of my reach like last time, aren’t you?”

“i promise i’ll be nice this time,” he says with a playful grin, though you’re not entirely convinced. the mooncake hovers in front of you for a moment, just close enough to touch, before it floats upward, just a little higher. you make a grab for it, but it drifts back, teasing you.

“caleb!” you protest, though you can’t help but laugh. “you’re cheating again!”

he chuckles, watching you try again, letting you get just close enough to almost catch it before pulling it back once more. “what, you didn’t think i’d make it easy, did you?” he teases, his smile wide and warm.

you roll your eyes, standing up this time to get a better angle. “you’re impossible, you know that?” you say, taking a playful swipe at the mooncake. this time, he lets it drift into your hands, your fingers brushing against its soft surface.

“there, see? you won,” caleb says, leaning back with a satisfied smirk. “but i still had fun.”

you hold the mooncake triumphantly, though the look on his face tells you he let you win on purpose. you sit back down beside him, bumping his shoulder lightly. “you’re lucky i’m a good sport.”

as you take a bite of the mooncake, caleb shifts slightly, his hand reaching into his jacket pocket. you watch him curiously as he pulls out a small box, his expression softening. he opens it slowly, revealing a delicate necklace with a crescent moon pendant, its silver surface glinting in the lantern light.

“what’s this?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“it’s for you,” caleb says quietly, lifting the necklace out of the box with his telekinesis. it hovers between you for a moment, the moon-shaped pendant catching the light in a way that makes it seem to glow. “i saw it and thought of you.”

you can feel your heart skip a beat as the necklace floats gently toward you, stopping just above your chest. caleb’s gaze softens as he watches you, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something more sincere, more intimate.

“caleb, it’s beautiful,” you whisper, your fingers brushing the pendant as it hovers in front of you. “you didn’t have to—”

“i wanted to,” he interrupts softly, his voice low. “the moon... it always reminds me of the time we spent together, back in linkon city. this festival... it’s special to me, because you’re here.”

he uses his telekinesis to carefully place the necklace around your neck, the cool metal of the pendant settling just above your collarbone. the gesture is tender, almost too intimate, and you find yourself leaning a little closer to him, feeling the warmth of his presence beside you.

“you’re always showing off,” you say, teasing him gently, though there’s no malice in your tone. “but... i really love it. thank you, caleb.”

his lips twitch into a small smile, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. the quiet between you feels natural, comfortable. the lanterns above flicker softly in the evening breeze, casting a gentle glow over the two of you.

“you know,” caleb says after a while, “i always liked teasing you back then. it was the only way i knew to get your attention.”

you chuckle, shaking your head. “some things never change.”

he grins, leaning back slightly as his hand comes up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. the touch lingers for just a second longer than necessary, making your heart race.

“i guess some things don’t,” he murmurs, his voice almost lost in the sounds of the festival around you. “but i’m glad we have moments like this now. i wouldn’t trade them for anything.”

you smile at him, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “neither would i.”

as the night stretches on, the two of you sit in comfortable silence, the moon shining brightly above you, the delicate weight of the necklace against your skin a constant reminder of the quiet, unspoken bond between you and caleb.

[whatdudtheysay]

Context - You're on a boring 'date' with the duke of the north. But a certain someone keeps catching your eye...

Tw - slight nsfw but nothing major.

Note - this series will have switching povs to show inner thoughts of both main leads <3 - might include other important characters.

Credit - @cafekitsune

You sighed softly as you woke up in your large bed, stretching with a light moan.

Another day of pretending to be poised and demure. You got out of bed and stretched once more before heading over to the long and big rope bell in your room.

You shook it tiredly and only 0.5 seconds passed before five different maids entered, two carrying hot buckets of water and three empty handed.

They all curtsied in sync, smiling at you warmly.

"good morning, your highness."

"good morning." You greeted back.

The two with the water moved into your ensuite to prepare your bath while the others went to your huge closet, holding out different dresses until you decided to choose a simple light blue dress. They nodded, offering comments like "excellent choice" and "you'll look amazing in this dress, your highness."

But you've heard it all before. You were then ushered into the bathroom for a bath, the maids helping you undress before helping you into the warm water, their hands helping wash your hair.

It was nice of them to do but you thought it would stop when you were 16. However, your mother insisted.

Luckily, time passed quickly and you were out of the bath. luckily, after you 'kindly' told them to excuse you to dress yourself, they did.

After they left, you laid back on your bed, your towel slightly slipping off. You were dreading today. A date with a duke? He's probably been divorced 4 times and has 7 children.

You were dreading it. But it wasn't like you had a choice. You sat up quickly and pulled on some underwear, your stockings, then your dress and then your jewellery.

After a long thirty minutes of doing your hair and drowning yourself in rose perfume, you finally got up and headed downstairs.

There, you entered the dining room and saw your father at the head of the table, smoking a fat cigar and reading the royale newspaper as usual, your mother beside him, drinking some tea.

"good morning." You greeted before taking a seat opposite your mother.

"Morning, sweetness. Are you prepared?" Your father asked.

"Prepared?" You feigned ignorance, staring at the window as the maids served you breakfast.

"do not play dumb, y/n. It isn't befitting-"

"-of a Princess. I know, mother." You cut her off gently. "But do I have to go on this outing? I know you all want what's best for me but a duke?"

"you rejected 30 princes, 5 imperial knights and an earl. This is for your own good since you love being stubborn." Your dad sighed, turning the page of his paper. "I'm guessing you got that from your mother."

Your mother gave your father a glare before she refocused on her breakfast.

You wanted to argue further but you knew that they'd make the situation worse for you. You hated how your parents acted when it came to your life...

It was your only chance at living and yet you weren't in control. You were just a doll to them... And then you'd be a doll to your future husband. The cycle wouldn't end.

"Very well, then. I shall prepare." You grit out before getting up and leaving your breakfast untouched.

You were walking. You didn't know where but you were angry and you just needed to walk it off before you got yourself in more trouble.

You continued to mumble to yourself, ignoring the different palace helps who stopped to greet you. After almost five minutes, you looked up and realised you were in a deeper end of the palace.

Unsure, you glanced around. Despite living here since you were born, you'd never explored this much. You weren't allowed to. Funny.

You continued going deeper. At least if you got lost it would give you an excuse to hold off on the date with the duke. Eventually, you found a room at the end of the hall and pushed it open, revealing a large hall.

"woah." You audibly mumbled. It was so big. A bit smaller than the main... You guessed it was a spare....

Hesitantly, you stepped inside and noticed a lot of portraits around. So this was where your childhood ones went. One of you as a baby, a child, then the most recent was from your 18th, just a few months ago.

You were about to let your hand gently brush against the golden frame when-

"A beautiful portrait."

You gasped and turned around to see.... Him...

Lieutenant Fushiguro.

"Lieutenant- what're you doing here?" You asked. Did he follow you? You hadn't noticed... Or heard him.

"forgive me for starting you." He bowed. "The king wants me to guard your date with the Duke...I tried to find you but the maids said you stormed off in this direction."

Oh.... That made sense....

You somewhat calmed down and nodded. "I see. Sorry...I didn't mean to waste time..."

It was a lie. You did.

But you couldn't deny, the view was... Delectable. The view of him in that tight dark blue and cream royal guard attire... The brooches on his blazer, his hair that was slicked back yet somewhat messy...

It was hard to ignore that delicious shiver that kept tingling down your spine.

"It isn't a problem...besides, I'm sure you are...dreading the meeting?" Toji supposed.

You sighed in relief. It felt like he was the only one who wasn't lobotomized around here.

"Finally! Someone who isn't brain-dead. Uh, no offense." You huffed.

He chuckled deeply in a way that made molten heat pool in your lower stomach.

"I'm not sure a woman such as yourself should settle for anyone you find below your standard." Toji shrugged simply, taking a few steps between you, eating up the distance.

You found yourself nodding to his words almost eagerly. How did a stranger manage to see it and say exactly what your heart wanted while your parents believed the complete opposite?

"I'm glad someone understands." You mumbled, glancing back at your portrait.

"Well sometimes you need a change of perspective." He spoke calmly, his voice a lot closer than before.

You glanced over your shoulder, swallowing thickly when you noticed he was merely a step away from you.

Before either of you could speak up, the doors suddenly opened and your father entered. You glanced at toji, then your father, noticing the stare off they were currently having.

"Y/n. Down to the main hall. The duke is waiting for you." Was all your father said.

But he said it in that voice. The voice he used when you were two ticks away from trouble. So, you moved around Toji awkwardly and quickly left the hall, your father closing the door behind you. Curiously, you pressed your ear against the door, overhearing some muffled words but nothing coherent.

"my lady."

You almost screamed at the sudden voice, whirling around to see your lady's maid and friend, Nobara.

"Gosh! Nobara, I told you not to sneak up on me anymore!" You lightly chastised, moving to interlink your arms, hoping your father hadn't realised you'd been eavesdropping.

She laughed softly. "Sorry. But I was told you'd be going out today?"

"yes... Just got a while. I hope." You sighed, remembering your 'date.'

"in that case, should I tell the emperor you'll see him next week?" She asked.

You raised a brow. Satoru wanted to see you? But why?

"I guess so. I'll probably be tired after the outing." You nodded. Now you wished you didn't have to go.

Satoru was your childhood friend before he inherited the Gojo empire. You barely ever saw him because it was situated in the far north and snow was fun until you got frostbite.

But you had to face reality... Before you got yourself into more trouble.

As you walked ahead, you took one last glance at the hall. The bigger part of you hoped you hadn't gotten Toji in any trouble...

ㅤㅤㅤ⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭ ⊹────⊹

(TOJI'S POV)

Fuck, it was hot. He was in the carriage with you, staring out of the windows, alert as usual.

But he was also discreetly staring at you. The heat was no match for a royal either. You were lightly fanning yourself, a bead of sweat moving down your collarbone, settling between the deep line of your cleavage.

Fuck. He had already ensured your father biting his head off about being near you earlier and now he was staring at those pretty tits eyes of yours. You kept glancing out of the window and then to your lap. Your fidgeting was making him nervous at this time.

"You alright, princess?" He asked, causing you to look up quickly.

You huffed, fanning yourself more. "Of course I am! I'm just... Thinking about my wonderful future wedding with the duke."

Toji chuckled, causing her to shyly avoid his gaze.

"I'm sure you'll receive many blessings of wealth and fertility." Toji hummed, making you gag.

"Ew, Ew, Ew! Don't!" You huffed, becoming more worried.

Toji sighed slightly. He could tell you didn't want to be bound to some random man and pop out more babies for him. Besides, who knew what the duke would make of the kingdom when your future husband took over.

Sadly, the ride slowed to a stop and toji helped you out of the carriage. He glanced around the large estate. It was....clean, kept...nice. befitting of a royal.

A woman came out, short and she had blonde hair.

"Good morning, I hope the the ride wasn't too eventful." She smiled, mostly at you than Toji.

"Oh, it was smooth, thank you." You replied with a smile as you had been accustomed to.

She led you up the path, Toji tailing behind, ensuring to keep an eye on the surroundings just in case...

They finally got into the estate, moving into the parlour which was thankfully, a lot cooler than the summer heat outside.

But then you suddenly stopped. Toji was a lot taller so he looked over your head and noticed a man sat, waiting...staring deeply into you.

Short silky blonde hair, regal robes and two different brightly coloured eyes. He had a wry smirk upon his lips and an odd look in his eyes as you stared at each other.

Naoya...the duke of the northern region.

Tags ღ - @blobkvna , @byerno6 , @iseeyouuu , @iloveaustinelvisandmannymore , @aloserprobably , @tojislittleprincesss , @meforpr3sident , @someonejasjsj

A/n - by changing povs I mean the story will focus more on one person than another just to lyk <3

Please don't steal or copy my work. None of the art in my works are mine 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

[shadowmaat]

Shatterpoint Shuffle, pt. 2

Here's more of the Padawan Mace & Initiate Kenobi AU. Part 1 can be read here. Credit for the original idea once again goes to @bitter-chocolate-stars and @krazykupidspoems.

-

Padawan Mace Windu did not stomp down the corridors; he had far too much control for that. It wasn't that he was mad about his test score, no matter what others might say. His issue was with the fact that Master Radorm refused to accept two of the sources on his paper the Last Battle of Ruusan even though the Master of the Archives herself had found and approved them.

A small, muffled sob broke his concentration. He stopped, head canted as he listened. There were several sniffles, the quality giving the impression of a small, enclosed space.

"I don't care! I don't wanna see him!"

The voice was high-pitched but came out in a hiss, as if the speaker didn't want to be heard.

Expecting to see a pair of younger Padawans, perhaps, Mace stepped around the corner and regarded the empty hallway. There was an access panel of some kind near the floor, looking slightly off-kilter.

"Hello?" He took a step closer. "Does someone need help?"

Silence, broken by the sound of hitched breathing and smothered snuffles. Could two younglings even fit in that vent, or had one of them abandoned the other?

He considered his options, but really, what choice was there? Someone- and they had to be small, judging by the side of the panel- was hurting. Misery, shame, anger, and resentment hung thick in the air.

He'd be late to his next class, but that was fine. He sat, leaning back against the wall next to the panel.

"Perhaps I'll just stop here to meditate," he announced.

He closed his eyes, centering himself before stretching his senses in the Force. It twisted around him, spinning him in circles.

He clapped a hand over his mouth and reached into his pouch for one of the anti-nausea pills he always kept with him.

As it dissolved under his tongue, he took deep breaths, waiting for his stomach to settle. At least now he knew the likely identity of the person hiding in the vents.

He'd crossed paths with the human Initiate Obi-Wan Kenobi several times over the past few years. Part of that, he was sure, was due to his Master's machinations, but sometimes, like now, it happened more… organically.

Obi-Wan was still an absolute mess of shatterpoints, but he'd come to terms with the fact that it wasn't the boy's fault, it was simply how he was. As unsettling as he could be to look at directly (and even worse in the Force), he still shone with a clear warmth to Mace's senses. A warmth that had dimmed since their last encounter.

"It's strange that this hall isn't as bright as it should be," he said. "Almost as if there was someone very sad nearby."

The vent huffed.

"If only I had some way of finding who it was, I might be able to help. It is, after all, one of the duties of a Jedi to help those in need."

Another huff.

"I know what you're doing," Obi-Wan said.

The vent cover rattled and Mace helped set it aside and extracted a dusty, disheveled Obi-Wan Kenobi.

His eyes were red and tear tracks cut through the dirt on his face.

"I don't need your help," he continued with a sniff. He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his Initiate tunic, smearing more dirt. "I'm sorry to have interrupted your day, Gen- Padawan Windu."

Prickly. Very prickly.

"It's a welcome interruption, if I'm honest," Mace said. "What about you? What brings you to this conveniently broken vent at this time of day?"

"It was already like that!" Obi-Wan snapped. His glare turned to one side and he rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I just needed to get away from people for a while."

He shifted, turning his back on whatever was in the hall that Mace couldn't see.

"I understand," he said. "People can be overwhelming even at the best of times, and when the Force has blessed you with a particular gift it can be even harder."

Obi-Wan gave him a narrow-eyed look. "A gift?"

"Sometimes gifts can feel like a burden," Mace said, rubbing his thumb against the base of his wrist. "Like psychometry. Or shatterpoints. Or whatever ability it is that you are developing."

Obi-Wan scoffed. "Or maybe I'm just crazy, like Bruck 'n them keep saying."

Shock, followed by an all-consuming rage that threatened to swallow him. Mace closed his eyes and breathed deep, acknowledging the anger while recognizing that it wasn't helpful in his current situation. Calmness replaced the rage, but it was the calm of purpose. Banking the fire, as his Master called it.

"No," he said, looking Obi-Wan in the eye. "You are not crazy. The Masters may not have found a reference for your ability yet, but it's clear the Force has gifted you with an important tool. You may not have learned how to use it yet, but-"

"Gossip seems like a stupid tool," Obi-Wan said, glaring at a point past Mace's shoulder.

"Gossip?" He resisted the urge to glance back. "Gossip can provide a lot of unexpected information. Spies in particular covet it."

"Whatever." Obi-Wan shrugged and began trying to straighten his hair and clothes. "Not like I'll ever get to use it anyway. Everyone says I'm too angry to be a real Jedi."

Mace's eyebrows shot up. "Everyone?"

Obi-Wan stood, shaking out the wrinkles in his tunic. "Master Tlah, my teachers, the training Masters, Bruck."

Mace joined him in standing, banking another wave of anger.

"If anger disqualified you from becoming a Jedi, I wouldn't be here right now," he said.

"What?" Obi-Wan stared at him, wide-eyed. "You? But you're perfect!"

It startled a laugh out of him.

"Please be sure to tell my Master that. She'll be very surprised." Waving off Obi-Wan's attempted defense of him, he continued. "No, but I'm serious. There's nothing wrong with having negative emotions, it's even healthy to experience them."

He checked over the Initiate, smoothing down a tuft of hair and unkinking the hood of his robe. The shatterpoints seem to have stilled. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

"What's important is how you handle those emotions. Has anyone shown you how to channel your anger into something more productive?"

Obi-Wan shook his head, and Mace began to mentally compose a letter to the Master of the Crèches for their lack of oversight into the management and teaching of the Clans.

"Well, then. How would you feel about some private lessons from a lowly Padawan Learner about how to use your anger for good rather than letting it control you?"

"What, really?"

"Really."

The Force didn't express emotions, but if it did, he was sure it would be laughing at him. Cyslin would definitely laugh when he told her about it later. She could tease him as much as she liked, but this was less about picking a future Padawan and more about giving a struggling child the tools he should have already been given to help him.

"Yes! Thank you, Padawan Windu!"

Mace watched, distracted, as some of the shatterpoints around Obi-Wan actually healed. He'd never seen that before.

Then Obi-Wan grabbed his fingers to walk with him, and for half a heartbeat he thought he saw figures in the hallway with him, gone before he could fully register their presence. A possible future, an echo of a different present, or just a sign he needed more sleep? Whatever, as Obi-Wan liked to say. Best to focus on the now and leave the rest to be Future Mace's problem. He gave the boy's hand a companionable squeeze and set off for their first lesson.

[cloudraker]

What would the tfp autobots (your pick) reactions would be if their neutral NB cybertonian ally goes, "Oh? You didn't know? I have a Conjux now :)" and brings the motherfucker predaking.

But hey! Atleast the predacon is a green flag. The man would do anything for the reader, respects them, and is utterly smitten. At that point the autobots wouldn't have to worry about him anymore since reader is their ally

This has been rotting in my inbox for so long,, anon if you see this thank you for your patience

TFP Preadaking with a Neutral S/O

Under the cut :)

Setting this after the war/the return to Cybertron

Assuming you didn't fight in the war, you're probably the most normal person he knows. You're probably the most normal person on Cybertron at this point. The others don't think much of it when you start spending more and more time out by yourself- there's a lot to take in now that the war is over and cybertron is so different

Your little adventures start at a few hours, then it's half a day, and before long you're gone for days at at time. That's when they start asking questions

Where have you been going? What could possibly be so important that you go missing for days at a time when there is- what do you mean you met somebody?

Having to explain that yes you met somebody and yes they're on Cybertron and well you don't know if it's a good idea if they all met him. It's all very "he goes to a different school you don't know him"

They eventually get you to agree and when you actually bring him around the Autobots are.. well they sure are there and that sure is a guy you've brought home

Predakind, to his credit, is on his best behavior. He's standing behind you (a respectable distance away from them) as you talk the others out of shooting him then and there

He doesn't stay long, much to your disappointment. A few conversations with both sides reveals their past history, leaving you caught in the middle.

The overall consensus on the Autobot side is "you're an adult, we can't stop you but it's also a really bad idea-"

Ratchet would be the most understanding- which isn't saying much. He's upset but he also knows you don't have the same feelings towards Predaking as he and the other Autobots do- to you, he's just some guy you met. While he makes his many grievances known, he also makes it clear that if anything happens you'll still have people supporting you

Magnus is.. conflicted. On one hand, part of him is glad that there's some sense of normalcy for somebody- a hope that things will be okay. On the other hand, he doesn't have an other hand

He doesn't count as an Autobot but Knockout would warn you against the predacon, calling him things like dangerous and a brute while also trying to dig any gossip out of you. Will begrudgingly make sure you're polished and shiny before you go out if you ask him for help. Very "you're going out dress like that?"

Once they get more familiar with the idea, Predaking starts making the occasional appearance

At first it's just flying by overhead, letting you know he's still around even if you haven't been able to see each other much lately. Then it's coming to meet you when you've got plans and then he's making very awkward small talk with Bulkhead while he waits for you to come out

Everybody starts to relax a bit when they see just how good he is to you. This hulking beast of a robot, built for fighting and dragged into a time not meant for him, bending to take your hand and kiss your knuckles whenever he sees you. How you never come back with a so much as a scratch on your pain and only with good things to say

He gets some serious side-eye when he enters the base for the first time, and everybody is a bit tense, but it (thankfully) all goes well

He's eventually asked to help with some repairs or some mundane task and- while somewhat reluctant- he complies. For you, of course, in an attempt to make life just a little bit easier

It's a very, very slow journey to having both your partner and the Autobots start to build even a semblance of trust, but you're willing to put in the work and Predaking is willing to put in the work for you

[cloudofash]

Nomura climbed out of his cave to tell us that not only is he possibly retiring in a few years, but that he will either finish the series before he retires or retire and let someone else finish the series. What a bombshell today has turned out to be.

If he retires and decides to finish the series, KH4 will ultimately be the last Kingdom Hearts game.

Meaning our last Kingdom Hearts game is Dream Drop Distance 2.0

Take a minute to let that soak in.

Sora and Riku clawing through the streets and alleys of Quadratum, Riku desperately searching for Sora and Sora (not knowing Riku was coming to save him) searching for a way back home, the two finally reunite after Yozora (possibly) turns Sora into a popsicle and Riku thaws him out (with his love), then Sora realizes Riku is the one who is always saving and protecting him and realizes that Riku is his Light. The two then fight their way through the Lost Masters and Master of Masters who is possibly responsible for Yozora's body being swapped and make their way home holding hands with fingers intertwined (and with Strelitzia in tow). The rest of the cast celebrate their return, Strelitzia returns to her brother. Cue end credits.

Something like that (but with much more detail, addressing many more story plots and maaaybe not as romantic lol) would pretty much be Dream Drop Distance Soriku the Game all over again.

If the entire series wraps up in a single game, there's no way to fit everyone else into the story. They will probably all show up in between cutscenes here and there and then return once more at the end when Riku brings Sora home. The main focus, the final focus, would be on Sora and Riku. Endgame would be Soriku. There would be little way to fit SK into the current scenario given that K is all the way in the Kingdom Hearts realm training under Aqua and won't be a major part of Quadratum at least for the first half. Unless they complete her training mid-game and shoehorn her in to save Sora at the last second then I guess that ship would sail, but I simply don't see it happening. Nomura just hasn't been the one to use K that way, at all. Ever. He has yet to shoehorn any character anywhere, he always makes sure the characters fit in with purpose. The only time would be the FF7 cast in the Limit Cut episode and that was only after huge demand from fans asking for the FF7 crew. If Nomura has no intentions of making use of characters then he simply doesn't use them and he makes it very clear.

Plus if KH4 is the last and they confirm Soriku, then they don't have to care about fan backlash because the series would just be over. There would be nothing left to lose with no future titles to worry about tanking. It would work all around.

Of course, if he retires and decides NOT to end the series then anything could happen. Literally anything. Even a SK endgame if the new writers or director are fans of SK. I hope Nomura finishes what he started, for the sake of everything that has been built up towards this game. Or we're going to have to hope the new team follow Nomura's notes and don't diverge.

Okay that's enough brainrot for me, goodnight all

Adding in that I think they'll squeeze in a final game, KH5 (or Kh4 Part 2.7292728 w/e tf Nomura decides to name it), but I really don't see too many additional games since they take like 8 years to develop. 2 more games alone will tack on 15-16 years.

[how2dream]

epiphany

you and spencer are best friends. a conversation after movie night changes your relationship for the better.

pairing: spencer reid x bau fem!reader genre: fluff!!!!! tags: pet names, mutual pining, best friends to lovers, love confessions, kissing, cuddling, mid to late seasons spencer word count: ~1k

It’s late Friday evening when you finally leave the BAU and head to Spencer’s apartment for movie night. The tradition started when you first joined the team, and you hope that it will continue to last for as long as you know him. It’s something you both look forward to at the start of every week.  

When you get to his place, a sense of calm washes over you, the stress from work instantly leaving your body. You gather snacks from his kitchen and sit down on the couch, close enough to feel the warmth he radiates. This time it’s your turn to choose the movie. Neither of you are surprised when you pick a rom-com, your favorite genre to watch. Spencer pretends to be annoyed by it, but you know he secretly enjoys them. Even if he won’t ever openly admit it.

It isn’t until the end of the movie that you regret your decision. The two main characters end up confessing their love for each other after a scene filled with tension, their lips colliding in a passionate kiss. You hold your breath, your muscles tense. Spencer’s gaze is burning into the side of your head, and it makes butterflies fill your stomach. 

You’re quick to shut the TV off as soon as the credits start rolling. It’s only then that you realize how late it’s gotten after glancing at your watch, the time reading close to midnight. 

“I should probably get going,” you say quietly, still avoiding Spencer’s gaze by keeping yours focused on your lap. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be out by yourself this late at night. Can you stay over, please?” he asks. 

You nod and finally look up at him, your cheeks warming at the clear concern evident in his features. “Yeah, I can stay,” you say, then frown. “I don’t have any of my things, though.” 

“That’s okay. You can wear something of mine, and I have extra toothbrushes.”

“Oh,” you breathe. “Thanks.” 

Once you’re finished getting ready for bed, you stand there in Spencer’s bedroom, biting your lip as you rock on the balls of your feet. He gives you a curious look as he slips under the covers. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Fine, I just—I think I’ll take the couch—”

“You’re not taking the couch,” Spencer cuts you off with a shake of his head. “I think there’s enough room in here for the both of us.”

You gulp. “Are you sure? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

He says your name softly, and a look of confusion crosses over his face. “You don’t make me uncomfortable, I promise.” 

A deep breath passes through your lips as you nod. With your heart feeling like it’s about to leap out of your chest, you cross the room to the other side of the bed and crawl under the covers. You lie there stiff as a board while Spencer reaches over to shut off the lamp on his bedside table, shrouding the room in darkness. You exchange soft goodnights before a comfortable silence settles over the two of you like a warm blanket. 

Not even a few seconds have passed before you speak again, unable to relax enough to fall asleep. “Spence?” 

You watch as he shifts to face you, his eyes roaming over your features once he settles again. “What’s up?”

“Do you… do you believe in love at first sight?” you ask softly. “You know, how it was for the characters in the movie?” 

He’s quiet as he takes the time to think of his answer before he responds. “No. At least, I don’t think I did before.” 

“What changed your mind?” you ask, frowning.

Spencer gazes at you for a few moments, his tongue darting out quickly to lick his lips. “You did.” 

Your mouth drops open and you stare at him, your heartbeat loud in your ears. Did he just say what you think he said? You try to formulate an articulate response, but he’s rendered your mind completely blank. All that you can come up with is a single word. 

“What?” 

A small smile curves his lips, and you’re close enough to him to notice his cheeks turning a visible shade of red even without any light to see by. “It happened the first day I met you at the BAU.” 

Your heart rolls into a never ending somersault. “Spence.” 

“Yeah?” he asks softly.

“You… you’re saying that you love me?” you manage to whisper.

He nods and reaches forward to cradle your cheek, his hand nearly encompassing the side of your face. The pads of his fingers are feather-light against your skin, warmth seeping from his palm, and you lean into his touch. “Of course I do, angel,” he says, the words filled with so much adoration that it makes your eyes water, your breath catching in your throat at the pet name. 

“I—I love you, too.”

Spencer beams, and the sight makes your heart flutter. “Can I kiss you?” he asks shyly. His voice rises an octave, something that you’ve heard so many times, but you never thought that you’d be the cause of it. 

You nod. He’s still grinning when he scoots closer to you and presses his lips to yours, kissing you like he’s a man starved and you’re his last meal. You respond instantly with just as much fervor. The two of you are breathless when you break apart, the sound of your soft pants filling the space between you. Then you start to giggle, and so does he, and it might be one of your favorite sounds in the world. When you both finally start to calm down, you’re still grinning as you gaze at each other. 

“Goodnight, Spence,” you say. 

He slips an arm around your waist and tugs you close to him so that your chests are pressed together. His legs tangle with yours, and soon you’re so entwined that you’re not sure where he ends and you begin. Your eyes flutter shut when you feel him press a feather-light kiss your forehead. 

“Goodnight, sweet girl.”

[inky125]

Mary Linton and Jack Marston meeting in 1922

Okay but these are just my headcanons for the very improbable scenario that they end up bumping into each other in the future. / My headcanons for what they would do with their lives after the events of rdr/rdr2

(I'm going to explain them under the cut)

Okay so, starting with Jack:

I want to believe Jack lived a more or less normal life after killing Ross, successfully getting away with this one (1) murder, and having that as a skeleton in his closet. Not finding peace really, so the whole revenge thing doesn't fix his miserable life but he can go on to try to do something with his life. Gunslinging doesn't really have a place anymore here.

When the US joined WWI I know that boy DID NOT join the US Army, he would NEVER join the group that killed his dad, or make the same mistake as him and make a deal with the government. He would rather be jailed for dodging the draft, what will they do, threaten him with what? He has nothing to live for really, so they can't make him. I don't think he cares much if he gets shot (he has a like saying as much in rdr when he duels Ross).

After the whole jail thing he'd go back to a more or less normal life, I'd guess he would have to have a regular job and write whenever he's able (I want to believe that one Easter egg in GTA is canon...it is to me...), but I don't think he'd be able to make a living just from writing.

As for Mary, I always wondered why Mary was dressed the way she was during the credits cut scene in Rdr2. Because I'm guessing it takes place in 1907 (given that most cut scenes appear to happen at the same time more or less than the epilogue). But I wondered why Mary was dressing in black; I mean, during the Victorian era there were very specific mourning traditions, especially for women. Wearing black was pretty much a part of a social thing, you'd publicly mourn. The extension of your mourning would depend on who died and what was your relationship with them.

And here is the thing, Arthur had died 8 years ago by then, we could assume Mary had found out shortly after of his dead because newspapers in the Rdr2 universe love to brag whenever law enforcement/Pinkertons kill renown outlaws. (Even Arthur and Hosea get mentioned years later in some sort of article in 1907 too). And additionally, we know that Mary kept up with how the gang, especially Arthur, was doing through the news on the newspapers. So again, it wouldn't be crazy to assume she knew about Arthur's death back in 1899.

So then, why is she wearing a black dress to visit his grave in 1907?. Black is the color of mourning, but as far as I am aware (and correct me if I'm wrong) it was not required to visit a grave back in the day. So I like to headcanon Mary mourning Arthur like a widow, because widows would have to wear their black weeds for 2 years (there were different periods of mourning, for instance Mary's clothes could be classified under the 'half-mourning' type, meaning there has been at least 6 months since her loved one passed away, meaning she could now wear some jewelry, other colours, ect.

But here is a little extra, Queen Victoria popularized among some women the practice to never abandon their period of half mourning, and especially, keep wearing black the rest of their lives even if they move on, as a sign of love for their dead husband.

Mary and Arthur never got married, but I like to think Mary lived as a widow for him. Continuing with her life as normal, of course, but always having that bittersweet ache in her heart, dressing in black out of respect and love for him and the life they couldn't have. Even if she had wanted to move on from him after she realized they couldn't be together as Arthur wouldn't leave the gang, I think she would have folded if Arthur had gone after her (I mean she did re-initiate contact after they were supposed to never speak again), and I think she was still preparing herself emotionally when she heard the news that Arthur was dead, ironically not moving on from him.

She didn't remarry, Jamie made good money and maintained her, Mary knew the kind of life she didn't want and she could be respectable and old as a widow. Plus marrying someone new at her age would be a titanic task.

I think Mary kept her mother's brooch Arthur returned for her as her reminder of him, given that she returned the picture and the ring. In fact she's wearing it when she visits Arthur's grave in-game!. So I kept that

It just warms my heart to think of the very few people left who knew about the gang finding each other in usual ways. Maybe next time I'd do Sadie or Charles. I'm just a sucker for this kind of things

[ryuzakemo128]

Grim Reaper Part Seven

Pairing: Poly 141 x female reader / Female reader/ You x Her mental health x König

Content Warning: Bloodshed, fight between a man and a woman, tech talk, injuries, future implications of murder on the horizon. Use of your nickname for König.

Words: 2628

Masterlist - Prequel - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven

Supernatural AU - Poem

Credit for Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Summary: “Who says I was going down to their level? When that level I go to is clearly lower?”

Just because you can, it doesn’t always mean you should.

Sometimes it better to walk away.

Letting things lie.

Leaving them in the shadow of what could have happened if you wanted to act upon your urge to be rid of them.

Your fingers trail along the mask. An incredible gift in your eyes. The sleek material cool beneath your fingers, the curves forming over your face.

As if the material itself bonded together with your face, the digital HUD flickering to life with a gentle hum, casting a soft glow in the otherwise pitch-black room.

Simon took a tentative step towards you. He looked at it, he said, "It's a beauty," he whispered with a hint of envy.

"Lightweight, customisable, and undetectable by most standard security systems, protects my face from dust, debris, and potentially harmful airborne particles." you described part of it.

Other functions of your mask were less visible but equally important. It had a built-in respirator allowed you to breathe without revealing your position through foggy breath in cold environments or leaving a trail in smoke-filled rooms.

The mask's indented 'teeth' served as a silent venting system for the excess heat your body produced during intense combat. It was a marvel of modern warfare technology, and it complemented your lethal skill set like a second skin.

You don’t know when the chatter around started to grate on your ears and eat away at your nerves. Part of you thinks it was because of a certain part of you being denied sustenance. Thrill of a fight itching to be satiated.

Itching. Aching. Burning in the bottom of your stomach like a meal denied.

“We are all doomed. We are not special. None of us are special. We live on a tiny rock floating amongst other tiny space rocks. To imply we are special is to deny the truth. You are not special, just as I am not special.”

You were tired of the excuses. You were tired of them. “You are mediocre at best and tolerable at worst. I don’t care about you or anyone else here. Your existence is finite.”

“You are mediocre at everything I have seen you do.” You repeated with a narrowed glare. “Everything you are. It could and would be forgotten as long as your superiors benefit from it.”

“You don’t get to keep something someone else owns. Not ever. I don’t need a ‘saviour’ stop implying that I need one.” You murmured, your voice as fierce as a cat's growl. Your hold on his throat base stayed firm, as relentless as desert sands.

Despite your injury, you retaliated fiercely when threatened sufficiently. The cut deep enough to insert at least three fingers. You were always considered difficult to your peers. You didn't care about their opinion as much as they believed.

Imagine talking about someone’s trauma and labelling them as the ‘difficult one’ pathetic morons can’t consider the fact trauma changes people.

If they knew how trauma worked, they wouldn’t be flapping their pathetic mouths so much.

They need to learn to shut the fuck up.

Projecting their morals onto others like they’re the only people in the world.

Shut the fuck up. Most of you are more likely to have the privilege to never go through it.

Stupid pathetic moronic children who can only think of themselves first.

I see Simon receive the same treatment by women who label him the ‘difficult one’. It makes me want to smack the shit out of all of them.

Assault of any kind should not be tolerated. They need to shut the fuck up before I make them shut up.

I am tired of them. I am sick of their justifications of labels on people.

Shut the fuck up, I hate you all.

Trauma isn’t something you belittle. Yet you seem to have fun in doing just that. I hope you die and reach a depth of hell most won’t be able to reach.

It is what you deserve. It is what I want you to have. Now more than ever.

You think you snapped when it happened. Not that you aimed for a psychological snap any time, sooner or later. Yet the whispers and murmurs grated on your nerved like nails on a chalkboard. Call me pathetic and I will give you death.

I will give you a death even your so called god will not look away.

Your enemies cannot reach you. Sleep well, the clock ticks on.

The stars do not know you, prepare, they’ll whisper you your fate.

They look at you and wonder how you are even alive. Fear mixed with disgust. You feel it. You see it. They keep you because otherwise you would have been a darker shell of yourself.

He pushed you far enough to get here. Yet it caused you to laugh. To giggle. The blood gushing from your nose, a bit from your mouth, you laugh. You laugh because you know it’s all a game to them. A game of fear and power. And in that moment, you had all the power. You knew because the stars had already whispered to you, and they had never lied.

"An itty bitty knife? Are you fucking serious?" you taunted him.

The man snarled back a response, "This isn't a game, bitch," as he raised the knife, ready to strike fear into your heart.

“Are you scared? Are you going to run crying to your superiors, little bitch?” you taunted relentlessly. “Gonna cry now?”

A beast circling its wounded prey, every nip, every bite and every taunt. You became more beast than human when your anger wound-up tighter than a coiled snake. Posed and poised to strike. His eyes widened with fear, his breaths shallow, and his smugness replaced with a desperate plea for mercy.

Simon intervened, trapping you inside a headlock, the guy silently murmured and thanked for his timely intervention. He got off lightly in your opinion. Though getting stabbed by a butterfly knife put a damper on things.

"You're the one who should be scared." Simon's voice was cold and firm as he held you back, his grip tight but not painful. "You're better than this. Don't let them bring you down to their level."

“Who says I was going down to their level? When that level I go to is clearly lower?” you growled like a feral creature, clawing at Simon’s arms as he held you firmly in his grasp. His eyes, a mix of concern and irritation, searched yours for any hint of sanity left in the rage-filled maelstrom.

“We need him alive for intel," Simon reminded you, his tone still unyielding. You knew he was right, but the desire to rip the man’s throat out was a hunger that demanded satiation.

“Tell him that. The fucker stabbed me not you.” You jerked your chin towards the man cowering on the floor, trying to push Simon away, but his grip was like steel bars.

You knew he was right, but the adrenaline and anger pumping through your veins made it hard to think rationally.

You felt the warmth of the blood trickling down from your nose, mixing with the saliva on your teeth. It tasted metallic, a flavor you had become unfortunately accustomed to.

“Calm down,” Simon whispered in your ear, his grip on your arms tightening. “Remember who you are. Remember why we're here. And we'll get the stab wound looked at, I promise.”

“I'm not calming down for his sake.” You reminded him.

“No,” Simon's voice was low and controlled, “You're calming down for ours. We need you focused.”

You let out a breath, trying to regulate your breathing, which Simon knew was a sign that you were listening to him. You nodded slightly, allowing him to loosen his grip.

The room fell silent, except for the distant sound of gunfire outside the abandoned warehouse. The man on the floor was trembling, his eyes darting between you and the knife clutched in his hand.

Soap walked in moments after the whole debacle, his eyes scanning the scene before his gaze settled on the trembling man. “Well, well, look what we have here. A little stabbing party and I missed the invite,” he quipped, a smirk playing on his lips. He knelt down, pulling the knife from the man’s shaking hand with ease. “Looks like you’ve had enough fun for one night.”

You were about to leave the rest to Simon and Soap when Soap dragged you out instead, muttering things about not letting the bloodlust get to you. “I could have walked outside you know?” you muttered to him.

“You're a liability like this,” he shot back.

“Like what? Stabbed?” you countered.

Soap's smirk grew wider, “Exactly. Now, let’s get that wound patched up before you go full on Wolverine on us.”

“The animal or the mutant?” you snorted. “My life would be easier if it was the mutant. He heals instantly. Don't roll your eyes at me. I read so many X-Men comics growing up.”

Soap chuckled despite the gravity of the situation, his Scottish accent thick with sarcasm. “Ah, so you’re telling me you wish for the gift of healing rather than the rage of the beast?” He led you to a makeshift medical station set up in the corner of the warehouse, the harsh lighting revealing the stark contrast of the crimson blood against your pale skin.

“I mean that would just come with the healing right? With how Wolverine is, I wouldn’t mind the rage as much. The claws would be a bonus.” you quipped.

Soap shook his head, his amusement clear despite the seriousness of the situation. He took a deep breath, his eyes focused on the wound, “Well, we’ve got bandages, not adamantium, but it’ll have to do for now.”

Simon glared at the comment made from a bystander calling you cute when you are clearly not. You had wanted to be called it when you weren’t bloodied with another person’s blood on your uniform and your knuckles.

Once you were isolated, Price looked at you from the sidelines, his expression unreadable. As you let your aggression out on a punching bag. The smacking of gloves against leather in the background as they continued to speak about the fight between you and a guy who happened to be taunting Simon.

It grated on you enough to lash out. Ending in bloodshed. Despite these fights being rare, they are bloody enough for people to remember them. You felt the weight of Price’s gaze, his silent disapproval heavy in the air. He couldn't be upset with you entirely as you don't escalate them as much as people would love to believe.

“You okay?” he finally spoke, his tone flat.

“If you're angry with me just say so.” you told Price.

Price took a drag of his cigar, his eyes never leaving yours, “I'm not angry with you.” He said, “I'm just concerned. This isn't the first time you've lost it like that.”

“And it's not the first time they escalated it either. But you don't see that part because by the time you're here. They're on the ground and I'm already stabbed.” you reminded him. “Lecture them before you lecture me.”

Price's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he took a step closer, his voice dropping to a serious whisper, “Look, I know you've been through a lot, but we need you sharp. We can't afford any more… incidents like this. Do you understand?”

“How about you tell them to keep their hands to themself?” you countered.

Price sighed, his gaze flickering to the side, “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes it is. Its called keep your hands to yourself. Don't touch someone without their consent.” you reminded him.

Price knew you had a point, but the situation was more complicated than that. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch your shoulder. “I’ll handle it. But you need to control your temper. We're in a war zone, not a playground. If we don’t keep our heads on straight, we're all going to end up dead. Or worse, captured.”

Like the god Hades, you will never been seen as anything other than a monster of your own creation. Maintaining a balance most will never see. Passive. Altruistic. A creature made by whims and wants of others. A creature made and remade repeatedly.

A story retold to fit the whims and wants of those they want to appeal to. Hades went from passive to a main villain because of the lack of media literacy to think clearly. Whittling down his wife to a lost lamb in distress. When she is in fact his queen with strengths of her own.

A falsehood created by those who would rather see their version of a tale prevail than to see a man be gentle with his wife. Better to dehumanise the king of the underworld than to think otherwise.

They don’t seem to understand. Evil has no shading. Darkness does not equate to evil, and living in the shade of blissful ignorance will not save you.

Just as fire causes destruction. It also has a hand in creating life.

Neither side is good. Neither is side is bad. Both sides would have been considered good and great given the angle someone would take. Both sides can be considered a great evil. No matter what happens from this point forward. You will always be referred to as the name you are given. No matter how tainted you feel about yourself.

They will still refer to you by this name. Now, today and tomorrow.

As Elysium and Tartarus are both heaven and hell. It is both. It will always be both.

Choosing to believe one version of a tale over the other reeks of bias.

Much like Hades. You don’t have to go to them. People will come to their own end when they come to you. A fruitless endeavour to ever hope they could live to see tomorrow if they were your target. They are good as dead.

You are the least evil amongst them. It also didn’t mean you are harmless like a pup as much some might think.

“They will all come to me eventually. Regardless of how they feel on the matter.” You muttered. Mostly to yourself than to Simon.

Simon decided to interject, his deep British accent breaking through your deep meditated rhythm. The punches against the bag hard enough to shake through a concrete wall. Strong enough to go through a wall made of wood. You wore specialised earphones to block out background noise.

Now all there is left of you there are memories. It’s been a month since your kidnapping, entering into a second month now. They turned to your private thoughts of your journal in the hope they would find you sometime soon. Hoping König would not kill you out of boredom of you.

People fear death and fawn over theatrics.

People hate you because you represent the end of life.

Death. Grim Reaper.

Retellings will tell them you took them. Kidnapped them.

Even though your intentions were revealed to them and them alone.

Behind closed doors.

Twisting your words against your memory.

Even when your intentions were not what they will assume.

They mix up benevolent with kindness. You will show them, won’t you Mäuschen?

You will show them what it means to evoke the name of death upon their lips, right Maus?

The walls of your old bedroom, no longer the same as they once were. Not like you cared now. It was a moment of another time. Inside a lifetime, you thought you had all to yourself. Fleeting, as they were, finite. You were glad they were gone. As you were about to something so heinous. Even your mother would have disowned you.

No. She isn’t here anymore. She can not save you. No one outside this room can save you apart from yourself.

Rely on your instincts.

“What’s the matter, lamb? Are you scared?” You cooed into his ear. A plan forming in the back of your mind. If this was the game, he set up. He should be prepared for you to win it.

Fair is fair after all.

What is his will become yours.

What is yours will never be his again.

[itsevanffs]

wip wednesday

it's wednesday in no sense of the word but honestly the past two weeks have been wack as fuck and my concept of time is shot to all hell. thanks for the tag @scribespirare!

i've been working on a select few tomarry fics still, every once in a while, and this is one of them. to the anon that said my vibe is 'incest tomarry'; you get a gold sticker for prophecy

---

“Look at you,” Tom murmured, impressed. “Tell you what, let’s get out of here. Aside from your stunt this morning, I’d say your behaviour has been more than reasonable today. How about a treat? I need to do groceries anyway, we’ll stop on the way.”

Harry stared at him, an expression of disgust on his face. “Am I ten?”

“Closer to ten than my age,” Tom said, rolling his eyes and grabbing his coat from the coatstand in the corner. “Now or never, Harry. What do kids like, anyway? Nando’s?”

“I’m going to throw up,” Harry deadpanned. “I’m puking right now. Take me to McDonald’s like a normal person.”

When they eventually got to the promised McDonald's and made their way inside to the counter, Harry surprised him by pulling a bus ticket out of his jacket pocket.

"Dailies are only valid for one day, you know," Tom drawled, about to add that they don't count as cheques, either, when Harry cut him off.

"No, you git," his nephew hissed at him. "There's a voucher on the back. It's good for ten weeks and I'm not about to waste it."

Tom's raised his eyebrows, but to the boy's credit, there actually was a voucher on the back. One ninety-nine for a Big Mac and fries, instead of whatever the usual price was. Three quid something. All spare change to Tom, honestly, but he couldn't help enjoying his nephew's oddly generous mood, so Tom let Harry do as he pleased.

"You don't want anything?" Harry asked him once they were sitting at one of the rickety plastic tables, Tom's nephew having just scarfed down about ten fries in one swallow.

"No," Tom answered, crossing his arms a polite distance away from the probably rancid tabletop. "I'm selective about what I put in my body."

Harry snorted inelegantly, grabbing another handful of far too salty fries. "You're a snob," he said, and crammed the fries in his mouth.

"You're disgusting," Tom retorted, relaxing. It felt easy, this. A routine, almost, some habit to fall back into. "I've got food at home."

"Oh yeah?" Harry started to goad, but Tom reached over the table to stop him with a grimace, clamping his hand over his nephew's mouth.

"Swallow before you speak," Tom said, disgusted.

"Tha's wha' she said," Harry said, muffled, and despite his mouth being covered, Tom could tell he had a shit-eating grin on his face.

---

tagging @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger, @moontearpensfic and @mosiva :D no pressure obviously. open invite to the rest of you, btw

[caffeineforbucky]

Cruel Summer

(Part II) Read part one here

WC: 1,032

Pairing: 'Captain' DBF!John Price x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: Minors DNI 18+ etcétera…

A/N: I forgot to credit the text dividers in the last one. so sorry xx, so here's that. Special thanks to @inkedreverie This is also dedicated to those who took the time to read this and support me in the trials and tribulations of being a writer. Thank you!

John was restless.

The man could not, for his life, catch an ounce of sleep. And not for lack of trying.

His mind was racing—fevered—caught in a loop of forbidden thoughts. He tossed and turned in bed, images of you flashing behind his eyelids any moment he closed his eyes. That dress...your pretty smile...your curves...

He groaned into the cotton twill of the down pillow, ridding his subconscious of such notions. You were his friend's daughter for Christ's sake. What in the bloody hell was wrong with him?

A sharp breath escapes him as he pushes himself up, the warmth of sunlight hitting his bare chest as it peaks through the curtains. The room was quiet, save for the ceiling fan circulating the cool air. He rubs the fatigue from his vision with the heels of his palms, dragging his fingers down his face before glancing at the clock on the bedside table.

It was almost eight in the morning and there was no chance in hell he was getting any sleep now.

He swings his legs off the bed, the cold wooden flooring a harsh contrast to the temperature of his skin. The sound of crashing waves on the beach penetrates the walls of his room, the French doors leading straight to the sand. He had to remind himself to thank your parents for letting him spend the summer here. He might've been distinguished, but he was a sucker for a gorgeous view.

With a resigned sigh, he finally stands, stretching his arms over his head, the muscles in his back popping from the movement. He grabs a pair of sweatpants from his suitcase, slipping them on and forgoing a shirt for now. The hot weather didn't exactly call for layers.

Pulling the door open, he steps out, padding barefoot down the corridor and for the stairs, straight to the kitchen, hoping a strong cup of coffee might clear his foggy mind.

"The whole summer?"

Your voice graces his ears, compelling him to pause in his tracks.

"I can't stay the whole summer, ma," You try to reason with her. Though, it seemed your efforts were going in one ear and out the other. Like an impenetrable brick wall.

"And why not?" She turns her gaze away from the eggs on the pan to shoot you a disappointed glare. It makes an inkling of guilt creep up on you. "Don't the benefits of being a teacher include a free summer?"

Oh, this woman made you want to tear your hair out sometimes.

"Teaching doesn't mean I don't have other commitments, Mom," You protest, trying to keep your voice steady. "I have a life back home, friends... responsibilities." You add, your fingers drumming anxiously on the kitchen countertop.

"What about your family?" She shoots back at you, her tone carrying an indication of hurt. "Isn't spending time with us a responsibility too?"

Her words make a pang hit your chest, the guilt blossoming into a greater weight on your shoulders. You hadn't seen them in two years.

"That's not fair..." You mumble, rubbing your arm as you tear your eyes away from her, burning holes into the floor. "You know I didn't mean to be away from you guys. I just—"

"I know," She cuts in, letting out a sigh as she clicks off the stove burner. "I know. I know you have a life, friends, bills, a career, and Aiden, but—"

Her voice comes to a halt at the sight of your eyes, how devoid of life they seemed, and the tears barely brimming at the mention of your boyfriend, the hard swallow that made it seem as if it was jagged.

"Mornin'," John's baritone voice suddenly fills the kitchen, effectively interrupting the tense moment between you and your mother, offering a semblance of respite that you're grateful for.

The moment he steps into view, your lips snap shut and a rush of blood fills your cheeks.

Lord have mercy...

You hadn't expected him to still be here, let alone be displaying the full glory of his toned, battle-scarred body. The sight of him, standing there, half-naked in the kitchen was enough to leave you speechless. His presence was a palpable interruption, but also a welcome distraction from the ongoing argument with your mother.

He pours himself a cup of coffee, seemingly unfazed by the tension in the room. "Didn't mean to interrupt," he says, "I just needed some caffeine." His casual demeanor causes some of your embarrassment to ebb away, but your mother's next words bring it all rushing back.

"Nonsense! We were just discussing how nice it would be if my daughter stayed with us for the summer." Your mother's presumptuous words cause your heart to drop. You shoot her a glare, but she doesn't seem to notice. "Right, honey?"

As you part your lips to argue, John seemingly cuts you off.

"That reminds me, Mary," He starts to say to, bringing the rim of the mug to his lips to take a sip. He swallows, letting his eyes find your mother's. "I wanted to thank you and Frank for letting me stay here for the summer. Christ knows I could use the vacation. At least until I'm shipped off on another assignment."

With a wave of her hand, your mother dismisses his gratitude, shaking her head in kind. “Don’t thank me, or Frank. You’re family, John. And family,” She emphasizes that word. “—Is important. Right?”

She gives you a pointed look, clearly expecting you to agree. You let out a sigh of resignation, knowing full well you're not going to win this argument. "Right," You mutter, rolling your eyes. But deep down, you know she's correct. Family is important, and maybe it's high time you started prioritizing yours.

Fuck me. You thought. She won.

“So it’s settled…?” Your mother looks at you expectantly, a glimmer of hope shining behind her eyes and you’re reminded that you can’t say no to her.

"Fine," You huff, throwing your hands up in surrender. "I'll stay." The smile that lights up your mother's face is almost enough to make the looming dread of an unplanned summer vacation worth it. Almost.

So sorry this parts so short. (More of a filler, really) Just to kickstart my mini series. I really wanted to get sm out there for you guys. I’ve recently lost my abuelita, and I haven’t really gotten the motivation to write. So, I wholeheartedly thank you for your support and understanding. Will try to upload again as soon as I can. Lots of love xx- Angela

[crescent-moon-mollymauk]

The livestream last night was fantastic for many reasons, but another great thing about the stream: it felt really nice to openly hear Sam and Taliesin describe FCG and Ashton as nonbinary. Like obviously we’ve had their he/they pronouns since day one, but it means so much to hear the two of them use the word Nonbinary, y’know?

[heymeowmao]

Things are getting more and more interesting...

[artsy-1diot]

ULTRATOBER DAY 4

i was originally gonna put minos and sisyphus in the same post but then it turned into this so now they're separate. :3

drawing was inspired by a conversation I had with my brother. I also accidentally deleted a different minos sketch I created yesterday oops

ultratober by spaccadt and paulacaulfield

[ereborne]

Song of the Day: December 6

"Your Body Is A Weapon" by the Wombats

[sailoreuterpe]

A job! A Job! My surplus labor for a job!

[castielmacleod]

Another one for the ride-or-die season 6 Crowstiel au soundtrack