#cannot wait to hear your thoughts on this

[itzpookiepooh]

hiii pookie hope you're doing well💖

something really funny happened to me rn😭 i was changing my tshirt and didn't close the curtains (thought it'd be a quick change) but i accidentally ended up flashing a WINDOW CLEANER😭😭😭😭 thankfully i was wearing a bra

anyways it got me thinking how the lads men would react if you end up flashing someone accidentlly and tell them

YOU WHAT?????? Omg…friend 😭😭😭😭

FLASH!

“You what?” Xavier asked blinking in disbelief. You didn’t say that. Of course you didn’t he’s hearing things.

“I flashed Charlie. I didn’t know—“ Xavier stood up abruptly making you pause as he walked to the window.

“What are you doing?” You ask a bit scared of your flurry of light.

“He won’t remember by tomorrow.” His voice cold and deep. You jump up grabbing his waist.

“Xavier wait!” It took you almost ten minutes to talk him off the edge. Poor Charlie was saved by your heroic act.

“So you flashed the neighbor?” He questions in confusion. You nod frantically.

“I was half sleep and thought I had my pajama shorts on.” You groan in embarrassment. The neighbor was polite enough to cover his eyes though!

“I’ll handle it Pips.” He caresses your head before you hear his gun cock.

“Caleb—“ He walks to the door with you hot on his heels.

“I just wanna talk to him.” He casually spoke as he opened the door. “Caleb relax—“

“I just wanna talk to him.” As he walks onto the lawn with the gun raised. You try to catch up with him.

“Caleb don’t.” You try to sound authoritative but it doesn’t work.

“I’m just gonna shoot him.” He calmly says aiming for his front door. Long story short the guy begs for Caleb’s forgiveness as you scold him for scaring the guy.

“It was an accident! I’ll have to be more careful next time.” You explain embarrassed. You didn’t know Rafayel had to change the curtains because they got paint of them.

“There won’t be a next time.” He says confident as he starts whispering in Lumerian. You quickly cover his mouth with a glare.

“No curses.” You say sternly making him roll his eyes. You walk away only for him to continue. You fly in the air to tackle him.

“I said no curses!”

Sylus does not play about you and you know it. As soon as you tell him he makes whoever it was disappear and with the snap of his fingers. You were shocked by his dramatic reaction.

“Was that necessary?” You snap at him. You just wanted to forget you embarrassed yourself.

“Yes because this’ll make him forget.” He shrugs before walking away.

“Where did he go?” You ask following behind the tall man.

“I’ll return him before sundown.” He pats your head making sure you don’t worry. We all know Sylus wasn’t going to bring him back by sundown.

Zayne pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. He asks you to explain again how you got yourself into this situation. It wasn’t your fault the currents were open! They’re on a timer they open themselves! Zayne asks who saw you as you panicked.

“The neighborhood dog!” You cover your mouth as he stood there. He took a deep breath before he spoke, “The dog?”

“Yes! What if he’s traumatized?” You panic grabbing your hair. Zayne grabs your hands softly taking them out of your hair.

“My love. He’s a dog…he cannot speak.” You froze at his words. Your brain registers what he said.

“Oh.” You say before nodding. “Did you forget?” He asks genuinely concerned.

“Psh no!” You wave him off still thinking about it.

“You forgot.” He murmured standing up straight. Your jaw slacks as you stare at him. “I did not!”

As you can see I didn’t know how I wanted to display Zayne’s situation 🤫

[chaoticwriting]

Old Friend 2

Part 1

In the car

Vlad: So, young Daniel. I'm not really trying to pry but may I know how you know young Cassandra?

Danny: *Grunts* We met a long time ago. Way before I became Phantom. I was kidnapped when I was young by a group of cultists.

Vlad: What!? I never knew any of this.

Danny: Of course you don't. My family never dares to bring up the topic since they are afraid it will trigger my trauma or something.

Vlad:.......

Danny: And for the longest time, they are not wrong. Imagine, you are 5 years old, waiting for your parents who go out to hunt some ghosts when suddenly a group of men in fully black clothing cover your face with black clothing and knock you up. Next thing you know, you are standing in the middle of a group of children. Scared just as much as you while being surrounded by a group of assassins.

Danny releases a sigh as he remembers his past.

Danny: It is not easy to survive. They train you like you are a robot. If you don't complete your task, they will either punish you or ignore any of your needs. Sometimes both. For them, kids who fail to complete tasks are as worthless as a grain of sand.

Danny: I stayed there for a full 4 years. Training, fighting and killing. I do whatever it takes to survive. Just to see mom, dad and Jazz again. It was there I met her. She's just like me although her circumstances are different.

Danny: A kid who is raised unwillingly as an assassin. We used to escape our observes eyes and meet up in a forest. For the longest time, it was like that. Sometimes we talk about escaping. But most of the time we just talk, or show each other things that we found interesting while we were out on a mission.

Heavy silence falls in the car as Danny stops talking.

Danny: However, things changed one night. I waited and waited in the forest. But she never came. When I returned back to the base, I heard a commotion. "The Perfect Weapon has escaped". I don't know what to feel then. It felt like I was betrayed and yet I felt relieved and happy to know that she was no longer there.

As Danny stops speaking, they arrive at the hotel Vlad booked. Vlad is not good at comforting people but he knows from Jazz that sometimes giving people time alone is a good way to comfort them.

They eat dinner from the room service and decide to go to bed early tonight. As Danny lays on his bed, visions of the past return to him. The bitter and the sweet. Looking at the clock that is past midnight, Danny gets out of bed and takes out a long coat. If he can't sleep, might as well get rid of this excess energy.

---Wayne Manor---

Bruce silently nods as he hears his daughter's story. Honestly, it frustrates him that such a thing could happen and yet he cannot do anything about it. Sometimes, he wonders if he should really just kill all his rogues.

No. He shouldn't think like that. Returning his focus to his daughter, Bruce calmly rubs her head.

Bruce: It's fine. I'm sure you could talk it out with him. From what I see, he is not fully hostile to you. I'm sure he would understand if you explain it to him.

Cass: Hmmm.

Bruce: Do you still want to go on patrol tonight? I think Tim is free to fill in your spot if you don't feel like it.

Cass: No. I'm okay and will be. Just need to process my thoughts.

Bruce: Alright sweetheart.

Suddenly, his phone starts ringing.

Oracle: Hey, Bruce.

Bruce: Yeah?

Oracle: You might want to check in soon. There have been reported shootings at a factory near Scarecrow's territory.

Bruce: Alright. Inform the others to get ready.

As the call is cut off, Cass quickly goes down to the Batcave. She will think about how to contact Danny later. First, there is a shooting to quell.

[livvymd]

w2s headcanons - some nsfw

he absolutely cannot fall asleep without touching you.

iIt doesn’t matter how hot it is, or how tangled the duvet is. he has to be touching you. face buried in your neck, his entire arm flopped over your chest, one leg thrown over yours like he’s anchoring you to the bed. even in his sleep, he subconsciously adjusts to pull you closer. and when you try to wriggle free in the morning, he just groans and mumbles, “stay.” dragging you back like a human teddy bear.

love language:

harry’s love language is experience-based gift giving. he might be busy with work or filming, but when he wants to show love, it’s always intentional. random flower delivery on a hard day. your favourite chocolate waiting on the kitchen counter. but mostly? surprise weekends away. “pack a bag. don’t ask. just trust me.” he just wants to watch you smile in the sunlight somewhere quiet. time with you is his favourite reward.

PDA:

he’s fine with affection, but always thoughtful. hand-holding? always. arm around your shoulders? definitely. kissing in public? only if it feels safe. he’s protective like that. he knows what people online can be like, and he doesn’t want you dragged into that. vut in private? he never stops touching you. always pulling you close, kissing your temple, murmuring little things like; “come ‘ere. missed you.”

he’s physically attached to you 90% of the time. fully believes your boobs or lap are his designated resting spots.

like if you're both on the sofa? he’s immediately lying down with his head in your lap, fingers curled around your leg, cheek smushed into your thigh. or he’ll shuffle over during movie night, look at you with that slightly pouty expression, and just wordlessly collapse onto your chest like it’s a weighted pillow. and the moment you start playing with his hair? gis whole body goes slack. “you’re gonna make me fall asleep mid-movie, I’m warning you.” (he does. every time.)

he tries to get you in every video like it’s a game.

he’ll be mid-challenge and suddenly swing the camera around just to show you in the corner. “that’s my girlfriend , she’s judging me. she thinks I’m shit at this.” and even if you're off-camera, you’ll always hear a little: “can you pass me that? say hi to the vlog.” he just loves that people know he has you. not to show off, but like, “look what I’ve got. look who loves me.”

he’s got zero filter when it comes to talking about you on camera.

he’ll get asked something dumb like “are you seeing anyone?” in a sidemen video and immediately beam: “yeah. she’s unreal. my actual dream girl. sorry, lads.” doesn’t even blink. doesn’t tone it down. he means every word.

he thinks you’re the funniest person alive and will repeat your jokes to the boys like they’re his own.

you’ll say something casually hilarious in private, and then two days later, you’ll hear him using it in a group video. “where’d you hear that?” “..dunno.” (it was you. he just wants to sound cool.)

nsfw warning!!!

kinks.

harry’s definitely into both praise and degradation, but only when he’s giving it. one minute he’s calling you his “good girl,” stroking your cheek while he fucks you slow, the next he’s got your thighs shaking as he mutters things like “so needy, aren’t you? can’t go five minutes without my cock.” but if you ever tried to degrade him? nope. not happening. he gets sulky real quick. “shut up. you love me.” lso: total exhibitionist. wants you in his lap at parties, whispering filth in your ear while you try to focus. will pull you into a half-lit stairwell at a club just to get his hands on you. the idea of nearly getting caught makes him harder. “keep your voice down, babe. unless you want everyone knowing how good I fuck you.”

harry loves a good mirror. loves watching the way your body reacts to him. arching, shaking, writhing. loves whispering filthy things while you both watch. “look at you. look how good I make you feel.” pulls your chin so you have to see yourself falling apart. and when he’s still dressed? oh, he lives for you palming him through his joggers. hrins like a lunatic when you say he’s big. “yeah? you want it that bad, baby? ho on then. take it.”

aftercare.

despite his chaotic, insatiable energy in bed, harry is soft as hell after. he might rail you into next week, but the second it’s over? he’s carrying you to the bathroom, running a warm bath, pressing kisses to your shoulder like he’s grounding himself too. wraps you in one of his massive hoodies and flops on the sofa with you curled on his chest. might go, “want tea? or like, chocolate? I’ve got those fancy biscuits you like.” puts a movie on even though he knows you’ll both fall asleep five minutes in. he just wants to keep you close while you come back down. he adores taking care of you. it makes him feel needed in the way he craves.

secret kinks:

i feel like he would be so into mutual mastuebation.

watching you touch yourself? my god. he’ll sit back, fisting his cock while staring at you with blown pupils and a filthy little grin. loves hearing you whimper his name. loves seeing how wet you get for just him. aand when you’re apart? he’s got Polaroids of you hidden in his suitcase. one in a bikini, one in lace, one with nothing but your smile. “you’ve got no idea how often i look at these. fuckin’ obsessed.”

He gets turned on so easily. It’s actually kind of hilarious.

like, you wear his hoodie with nothing underneath and bend over to grab something? he’s immediately hard. you kiss his neck for more than three seconds? boner. you call him baby in that soft voice? game over. sometimes you’ll just brush past him in the kitchen and he’ll go: “don’t do that. i’ve got shit to do today. now I’m thinking about you riding me on the counter.”

He gets addicted to whatever makes you moan the loudest.

once he hears that sound, the one that makes your back arch and your nails dig into his arms, he will chase it forever. tries to find the exact angle, exact rhythm, exact words that pull that noise out of you. and once he does? “there. that’s it. fuck, do that again. do it for me.” losing his mind over you, every time.

[hanniescookie]

please marry me - lsm

—⁠☆ you're aware of how handsome your boyfriend is, but hearing him sing at a wedding makes you pull something you could've never expected from yourself.

pairing - seokmin x f!reader

genre/warnings - fluff, romance, skinship, kissing, proposal, extremely handsome seokmin, mentions of jealousy, girls swooning over him, one curse word

wc - 729

A/N - hi lovelies, here's the drabble i promised!! seeing seokmin sing in the recent wedding video made me jump into my cutie friend's dm and tell her, "i'd fall to my knees and propose him." hence, this is born.

| @hannah81141418 @iamdkayyyyy @selenophyyy

On a daily basis, you know that your boyfriend is unfairly handsome.

To the point that it gets hard for you to go out with him because women swoon over him despite his girlfriend sticking to his arm. On the flip side, you often find yourself resisting the urge to throw yourself at him at all times.

Hence, there's no mistaking that you're well aware of Seokmin’s magical charms.

Yet tonight, under the soft glow of the wedding reception lights, he is on another level. As his voice, smooth as velvet and sweet as honey, fills the air, you find yourself dreamily sighing. You watch, completely captivated, an indecipherable warmth blooming in your chest. It isn't even just his voice; it is the way his eyes crinkle when he hits a high note, the gentle sway of his body, and the pure joy radiating from him as he sings for the happy couple.

Then, you hear gasps from tables around you, whispers fluttering through the air.

"Oh my god, his voice is so dreamy!"

“He's so handsome!"

"I'd marry him right now!"

“Is he single?”

A tiny frown touches your lips. You hear this every day—girls gushing over your Seokmin, your perfect, dreamy, and handsome Seokmin. Yet it stirs a strange mix of pride and possessiveness in you. And Seokmin looking like that doesn't help anyway.

You feel a little too much at the moment. Perhaps, if it were any other circumstances, you'd have uncaringly fallen to your knees and proposed to him.

Hell, you'd even—

Wait. What?

The thought strikes you like a jolt of electricity, cutting off your air supply for a second longer than you'd have liked. You quickly gulp a sip of your champagne, mindlessly twisting a paper napkin until it forms a tiny, makeshift ring.

By the time Seokmin finishes his song, you have your plan.

The moment he steps off the stage, still flushed with the performance, you grab his hand and pull him through the crowd, past the admiring gazes, and out into the quiet wedding garden. The air is cooler here, scented with blooming jasmine. You turn to face him, the paper ring clutched tight in your hand, and before he can even ask what is going on, you drop to one knee.

"Marry me, Seokmin," you blurt out, the words tumbling over each other. "I'm so sorry for how sudden this is but like, it's your fault! You're so handsome and perfect and husband-able, I cannot take this anymore!”

Seokmin’s eyes are practically popping out in surprise, but he's also smiling and somehow that boosts your shrinking confidence.

“Every single girl in there was practically proposing to you with their eyes and I just… Will you please, please, please marry me?"

He stares down at you, his smile bubbling into a giggle that quickly turns into a full-blown laugh. He throws his head back, his rich laughter echoing in the night, a sound you sickeningly adore.

"Marry you?" he manages to say through his amusement, his eyes sparkling. "As in marry marry?”

You nod earnestly, holding out your crumpled creation. He reaches out, his warm fingers gently taking the paper ring from you. His laughter softens into a tender smile, and he slips the tiny paper band onto his ring finger. "Yes," he says, his voice husky, "A thousand times yes."

You squeal, standing up and throwing your arms around his neck. He stumbles a little at the impact, but manages to steady you both anyway, his sweet laughter returning. “Funny, because I was going to ask you tonight anyway.”

Your giggles come to a halt as you pull your head back to look at him, eyes full of surprise. “Really? You were?”

He hums, “Uh huh, but guess that ring will have wait. For now,” he pulls a little away from you, taking out a tissue pack from his pocket. “Can you make one for yourself too? I think I'll suck at this.”

You let out the dreamiest, most satisfied laugh, nodding at him as you begin folding the paper into a ring. Once it's done, Seokmin carefully slips it into your finger. It crumples a little more, but you don't care.

You just press your lips to his, satisfied to hear the girls pass by and gasp.

“So he wasn't single?”

“Fuck, are those paper rings?”

“How cringe…”

©HANNIESCOOKIE | ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

[timble-tumble]

SHIDOU FALLS DOWN A FLIGHT OF STAIRS AND THEN YOU START BRAWLING IT OUT

TAGS: Absolute pure crack, slightly suggestive (if you squint)?, gn!reader x Shidou, Shidou being Shidou, mentions of boners (Shidou.), minor injuries (both of you), established relationship (not hinting towards anything too romantic tho)

A/N: You can tell this is a personal reflection about how much I despise what I'm learning abt in math (and math in general) 🙏💔 I had a lot of fun writing this tho

You and Shidou had barely made it through the last and worst period of the day– math. Even though you barely did any work and instead opted to muck around and play fight at the back of the class, it felt like several weeks before the sweet chime of the bell whisked you out of that classroom.

Shidou stretches his arms up, cracking his neck, “ugh, finally! I’m so done with math, why do I needa know how to calculate linear equations? It’s not like I’m gonna need y= mx+c to know how to score a goal.”

You continue the conversation, complaining with him. “I know right, I CANNOT wrap my head around this. I refuse to believe I’m ever gonna use this in the future, like when am I even going to say, ‘oh yeah that’s y=19x+5’ to some random cashier?”

While you two bitch and yap about how useless math– well at least linear is, you trudge down the hard concrete staircase, barely giving a thought (just like in math class) about where you two are stepping, when from across you hear Shidou let out a loud, “OH FUCK ME-”

You quickly turn towards his now comically tumbling body thunking and rolling its way down the rest of the steps.

“OH MY GOD SHIDOU-”

“Owie…..” Shidou rubs his lower back like an old man as he wobbles, attempting to stand up, looking back and glaring at you, “You gonna help and injured person or what?”

Before you can run down to check on him, you can’t help let out a small snort.

Then just a tinsy-winsy cackle.

And then burst out laughing.

“BAHAHAHAHAHA I CAN’T- I’M CRYING, OH MY GOD THAT’S TOO FUNNY– NO ‘CAUSE THE WAY YOU JUST ROLLED LIKE A FUCKING TUMBLEWEED DOWN THE DAMN STAIRS, I’M SORRY I CAN’T STOP LAUGHING BAHAHAHAHAHAH-”

Shidou narrows his eyes as you wipe away your slowly forming tears from how hard you were laughing. “…” He shoves his hands into his pockets, limping over to your figure still tweaking on the staircase.

“..Hey man, you like explosions?”

You pause and stare him dead in the eye like he’s called you an idiot in 50 different languages. “What? Did the fall rearrange your brain or something-”

Before you can finish, Shidou sprints up the stairs, jumping a step before swinging his leg right at your head. He laughs maniacally as you barely manage to slip down a step in an attempt to dodge his attack.

“SHIDOU WHAT THE HELL-”

“THIS IS WHAT YOU GET FOR LAUGHING AT ME.”

He chases you down the stairs, into the hall while swinging a few kicks just right above your head. “USE YOUR LINEAR EQUATIONS TO DODGE THIS-”

“RYUSEI SHIDOU GO FUCK YOURSELF STOP TRYING TO GET ME CONCUSSED AS WELL.”

You duck down, sweeping your lower leg at his shins to try and trip him. He dodges, stepping back as he wipes a little bit of drool escaping out of his mouth while he grins. You grab a hair-tie slung around your wrist, narrowing your eyes at him. Shidou waits for you to finish, circling closer and closer towards your figure like a shark smelling fresh blood.

“Come at me,” you taunt.

Like a command, he lunges forward, knee flying right at your face. You quickly react, slapping your hand right down on it and pushing it away as you go on the offence and aim a kick right at Shidou’s groin.

He springs backwards, “Woah woah, my beautiful soccer shooter is OFF LIMITS. Touch it again and I’ll touch yo-”

You jump, swinging your leg down on him, “STOP CALLING YOUR PENIS YOUR SOCCER SHOOTER.”

“But it’s my glorious goal scorer! My very soccer genes and cells are all in this bad boy,” He points down to his crotch area as he grips your calf, throwing you off him.

With a loud BANG!, you hit the floor, grunting as you hear your heart throbbing in your ears. You hazily look up, trying to focus on the yellow and pink blob smirking deviously down on you as your vision rapidly blacks out.

He kneels down, extending his hand a little for you to grab onto. “Admit defeat?”

“Shit, that really hurt…” You rub your neck as you place your hand on top his.

“Whoopsies,” Shidou hoists you up, dusting the potential dirt that could’ve gotten on your uniform.

You glare at Shidou, immediately pushing your hand up to his forearm and gripping it hard, as you slam! him down onto the floor, his body facing impact for a second time.

“You dick.”

He grins wildly, body still limp, “oh man, talk about explosions! That was wild, I’m basically hard-”

You squat down, lightly poking his cheek. “don’t start, you creep."

jumpscare

[emoisthenewemu]

YUTA OKKOTSU SMAU SERIES

SUMMARY: My man! My man! My man!

pt1, pt2, pt3, pt4, pt5, pt6, pt7

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You don't think you've ever felt this nervous in your life. You sit on your bed, wrapped up in a fluffy blanket as you pick at the skin at your fingernails. Heart pounding so loud you can hear it, taking deep breaths in and out. Somehow, the anticipation of knowing you and Yuta are about to confess to each other—finally certain that the two of you are on the same page, makes it all so much more nerve wrecking. So many things can happen now, what if it ends bad? What if things don't work out and you go back to being strangers? How could you ever be okay with that? And although you are ninety nine point nine percent positive he likes you back (because, duh) there will always be that little voice in your mind which works hard to convince you that you are about to embarrass yourself.

So when you hear someone fumble with the door handle, having left it unlocked for him you swear the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. In he walks, in baggy pajama pants and some graphic tee shirt of a horror movie you've never seen, his hair is rustled, a small smile on his face as it feels like all the negative thoughts have left his body.

All except one, an idea which cannot be entertained right now.

You can't help but laugh at the idea that this is the boy who is making you feel so nervous that your hands tremble, you clasp them together in an attempt to keep your cool. He doesn't look so intimidating as he saunters over, immediately wrapping his arms around your waist.

This hug feels more intimate than others, the closeness at which he holds you leaves not a single gap of space between your bodies. His head nuzzles itself into the crevice of your neck, exhaling a deep breath that feels as if he had been holding it the entire day. "Yn" Is all he says, almost as if to remind himself who the hell is latched onto. His hand slides to your hip, you watch curiously as he untucks himself from the comfort of your soft skin. "I like you"

Oh, he is wasting no time. You expected to dance around the subject a little longer than this. Your breath catches in your throat, unable to say anything.

"And I'm tired of.....hiding from it" Lying is the word he would rather say. The confession is on the tip of his tongue but he cannot find it in himself to do it. Especially not when he is finally certain he may have a chance with you. He would do anything for just a moment of your time. "I've liked you since I started at this school...and I thought if I would just ignore it that it would go away. Or maybe I'd just wait until we graduated but by then you'd probably have a boyfriend which means I'd never get a shot but I was fine with that. I-I've never been with someone before. I don't know how to be a boyfriend but I want to learn for you. I wanna buy you flowers and make you feel special. I want to be the only person who makes you feel that way"

You are silent, too quiet that it makes him nervous. You aren't even smiling, just staring right at him. "Are you sure?" Out of all the things you could have said-he is confused that is the reaction. As if the speech was not a plea enough.

He practically laughs in your face. "Did you not hear  a word I said?" He wipes his sweaty palms down the side of his pants again. "Is the sky blue?"

"Well don't be a smart ass" A smile tugs at the corners of your lips, cocking your head to the side as you study the way it seems like every part of his body has tensed up in anticipation for an answer. "A-and Rika? She's okay with it?"

The fact that it would even come across your mind to ask a question like that lets him know that he is choosing the right person for him. You are so considerate and kind hearted, it is the thing he admires most about you. "Of course she is" He stops for a moment to think. "If she wasn't then I think we'd know by now"

The boy takes a step forward, heart beating fast but his mind feels calm. He brings a shaky hand up to cup your cheek and leans in—until he pauses and takes a shark breath in. Furrowing his eyebrows, he tries to fight the quiver of his voice. "C-can I kiss you?"

You gulp, suddenly back to being the shy one. Maybe the two of you can bond through that awkward feeling. The fine line between rushes of emotion that make you bold before reverting back to your usual self. Things with Yuta have been a rollercoaster to say the least, you'd like to indulge in the fact that you finally have what you want.

So before you can even let the words leave your mouth you grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him in for a kiss that certainly takes his breath away. Uncertain of where to put his hands, they rest uneasily at his sides. When you pull apart they gravitate to the place they need to be the most, cupping either side of your head to ensure he can get the best view of every square inch of your face.

Breathless, he speaks. "You're the most beautiful girl in the whole world yn"

You are honest in your emotion, a thing you have always cowered away from until now. Perhaps it is a growing point for both of you. He showers you with compliments the rest of the night, gazes into your eyes with nothing but pure adoration as you rub the skin on his aching forehead. He always looks so exhausted when you see him, it makes you worry.

So you make a promise to yourself—and to Rika. As Yuta lay asleep on your chest, your manicured nails lazily scratching his scalp you say it out loud, just to make sure she can hear you.

"Rika....I promise I'll take good care of him" You can feel the slight shift of cursed energy wavering through the air, as if she is trying to communicate something to you. "I have enough room in my heart for both of you"

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

°:. *₊ ° . ☆ °:. *₊ ° . ° .•

TAGLIST: @loveyislost @ravenbc @practicoi @chiefinvestigatoremma @gradmacoco @yuzurixx @pumpkintoad @digitaltrippers @sexylexy12 @sttaejoon-blog @galactacium @kekeanna266 @jfbwiwndinrkaidbrnskzhr @2dmenfr @love-me-satoru @kaidostwin @timascorner @artsjiwoo @underlinedkasis @lightbluefog @seleyaaaa @isuckatmakingnames @restrictionsapply @domainexpansionmypants @masternutswag

@tryingtofeelbetteraboutmywriting @isuckatmakingnamess

LMK IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ADDED!

[luvfromlou]

Hold on (I cannot lose you) ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Summary: After a hunt gone wrong, you’re left dazed and damaged as you fight against death's cold grasp. Sam and Dean race to get you help.

Alternatively, You’re knocking on death's door and the boys say ‘no’

Word Count: 1.8k

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Notes:(This will be added to AO3 at some point, just waiting for an invitation!) (Also feel free to give any criticism I haven't wrote anything like this in a while!)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Two rough hands are the first things you feel. They rip you from your cold, hollow unconscious state that you find yourself eager to remain in. An array of pain plucks at your drowning senses as your exhaustion is briefly battled away by a forceful grip shaking you desperately. Your eyes peel open, fighting an innate instinct that tells you to rest again.

The first thing - currently the only thing - you feel is pain. A stabbing, grasping, squeezing, throbbing pain that ravages the side of your lower stomach. This singular site overcomes all natural sense and drives tears to pluck at your tired eyes, heavy lids that threaten to close any moment again now. Pain so unbearable that you find any form of consciousness begging to fall back into oblivious darkness. Yet you thrash against this desperation as he calls. 

If not for your ringing ears beginning to fade, you'd be out by a light by now, instead they clash with other noises, noises that you can’t quite make out for a moment, but now you can hear the unmistakable low rumble of the Impala and the begging shouts of the man who wrestles desperately with any awareness you may have. His hand grips onto your shoulder, a gentle shake with something deeper than concern behind it. It's only as he calls out your name again do you begin to feel somewhat aware of what exactly happened. 

A small, rural town somewhere in Missouri may as well have begged for the three of you to ward off a demon that infested its water with how quickly you responded. (You were fairly sure Dean had some female business to attend to) After all the research and the careful preparation you’d put into your hunt, things turned to shit within a minute, although you weren't entirely sure how it happened, you paid the price. Initially, you’d heard it coming, although adrenaline hadn’t kicked as the thoughts of salt circles and traps kept you falsely secure. And then it was in front of you, its rotting, bulging eyes glaring at you as if you were a five-course meal. It was far too late the moment you’d noticed the trap had failed, and it was far too late when it then began to attack mercilessly. 

You were no frail thing, no weakling out of her league in a world full of demons. That's why it surprised you when in seconds you were on the floor. And goodness - it's not like you didn’t defend yourself - Lord knows you tried - but this thing ripped, tore and churned your skin, essentially making your ‘innards’ your ‘outards.’ 

It did not stop as you screamed, nor did it stop as Sam swung at it. It wanted the kill.

Other than Dean’s wide eyed face as he screamed your name, trying too to fend off the demon, you can’t remember much. But now you were here. 

You force your eyes to open just a little further, they rest on the roof of the Impala as you gaze upwards, desperately wishing for the dark roof to be illuminated with blinking stars that remind you of countless nights spent stargazing with your mother as a child. You grumble to whoever’s listening. No words, purely incoherent mush which escapes your mouth in a confusing attempt to speak. 

Sam whispers your name, he shifts, your head still laying comfortably - as comfortable as you can be - on his lap. He hushes you as you try to shuffle. His jacket strewn across your cold body, the only part of you remaining warm being the gaping wound still dripping fresh with blood, despite the constant pressure Sam is applying. 

“You're going to be okay- we’re nearly at the hospital” He places a hand on your cheek, gently letting his thumb glide across your face. “Dean, how much longer?” There's an urgency in his voice as he holds you tight.

“Sammy, I’ve told you-” Dean speaks through gritted teeth, clearly they’d had this conversation before, “We’ll get there when we get there, I’m going as fast as I can.” He hisses with an urgency that matches Sam’s 

Your hand begrudgingly drags up to your abdomen, it drops harshly atop Sams. He presses his jacket over your wound as a makeshift-bandage - as good as they could get for the hurry they were in. His hand blesses yours with a warmth that you crave. You’re so cold.

You grimace slightly as your breathing is still steadily laboured, and here in the cold you can't help but wonder if this is how you die. 

You hadn’t lived, not really anyway. You’d always wanted more than this, you knew that. But you fell into the trade of hunting so young - too young, that it was really all you knew. You had tried, and God you’d tried so hard to fit back into civilization so many times, yet with your eyes - the eyes of a hunter - it was impossible to look at things the same as anyone else. You were a freak. A pitiful freak with no-one (aside from these two boys) to really remember your name. You were like a ghost, drifting from town to town, saving these poor souls from threats they weren’t aware of. And - God - All you really wanted was to stay in one place. You wanted to settle down, finally make some sort of real impact, craft something the whole world could see. 

Tears squirmed down your face as you stared up at him. Despite your great discomfort and the fear of the end of the road coming your way, you were glad if anything, it was in his arms. Sam cradled your broken body as well as your heart. You’d had eyes on him since the first moment you saved his sorry-ass. Something about him was so alluring, so different, so perfect. And each time you stared into those big green doting eyes, you felt someone staring back at you like he knew you. The real you. There was no need to hide.

And it was this very reason you clung on.

Although in all your time together there had been nothing besides jokings of flirting and the occasional adoring glance from across a room, nothing real had ever come of it. But you knew one day it would, and oh- you dreamed. Dreamed that one day the two of you would quit hunting and settle down, just like you had hoped. In a safe little town that was alive with a kind community. You’d have a little cottage nearby the forest where your two children would spend their afternoons playing games whilst you and Sam kept eachother company with nothing but love, Dean would visit - you could never see him escaping his life long mission of hunting - And that would be all that mattered.

It was that hope of a dream-like world that was so distant, yet cradled you in its arms that kept you alive. 

Whilst you clung onto any hope by dazing into Sam's eyes, the Impala screeched to a halt. 

Sam moved, his strong arms securing your fragile, wounded self as he shuffled urgently to the door, yet he wasn't the first out. 

The driver door had slammed open and shut within the same moment the Impala had landed in front of the hospital, and if you hadn’t closed your eyes by now (the blinding hospital lights had dug daggers in your retinas) you would’ve seen Dean climb out and begin running like a mad-man on a mission. He had been screaming. “WE NEED SOME HELP OVER HERE!”

Sam followed close after, sprinting towards the doors, you in arms. Whilst assuring you that you were going to be okay, and that you just needed to hang on a little longer. You tried- tried so desperately to keep yourself from fading back into the darkness that beckoned you like a stray dog, however the universe had been asking too much of you with too little reward, and you were too weak to avoid death's call. 

Your heart had stopped 3 times that night. And each time it was thought that you wouldn't be coming back. The doctors had called it nothing short of Divine Intervention, and hell- maybe it was. Something was ripping your soul back into your body, although now wasn't time for questioning or investigating why. All they could hope was nothing bad would come from it each time your pulse returned. 

Dean was rifled with anger. He paced up and down the waiting room desperate to hear something. Anything. He was snappy and argumentative with the poor workers trying to go about their shift. All he could think about was anything he could’ve done differently. Maybe then you’d be okay, and instead of the fear you would be but a memory in a few hours, the three of you would be out celebrating in a bar for a hunt gone good. 

Sam was quite on the opposite end of the spectrum. He had been dead-pan staring at the wall for hours in a deep rooted silence, only broken by the occasional question from Dean. They were both spiralling, Sam felt himself dying each moment you were in surgery. He prayed - God he’d never prayed about anything harder - hoping to all that was holy you would be okay. He took the time to acknowledge his own feelings, this immense fear of losing you was different to anything he’d felt before. Of course he’d lost Jess at the start of his venture, but it was so sudden in comparison to - well- this. The waiting was the worst of it. Not knowing whether you were going to live or die gnawed at his bones until he felt brittle and weak. His very soul shook, he cried, he waited. 

It was 5am by the time you’d gotten out of surgery. They’d carted you off to your own little room where you remained unconscious and unstable. It was 20 minutes later that they’d told Sam and Dean they could visit. Both had rushed to the room, sleepless and messy from the hunt, yet desperate to see your face. And although the two of them were still anxious about your state, their worries eased as they looked at your bruised face, and it hit them for the first time in 6 hours that you were okay. You were alive. 

Sam had refused to leave your side. When he eventually sat down he battled sleep like it was a distraction, worried that if he took his eyes off of you for a mere moment, the universe would whisk you away. He couldn’t deal with that lingering in his dreams, not again. 

So he remained, even between trips Dean had made to get a motel room nearby, even between Dean getting the two of them food, even when he had to answer questions about what exactly happened. He was reluctant and never parted your side. And it was worth it.

He had your hand enveloped in his when your eyes had fluttered open. You both shared a smile. One of love and prayers answered. 

Although it was weak and barely audible, Sam knew that you meant it with every part of your being when you told him that you loved him, and he knew more than anything that he loved you too.

[dimonds456-art]

After weeks of toiling away, studying magics and practices he'd never really seriously considered using before, and after going to any length to get all the ingredients he needed, Stanford finally stood over his brother, ready for the nightmare to be over.

It had been so stupid, really, that a split-second reaction could topple a mountain. But the proof was in the pudding, and Ford prided himself on building anything from the ground up- his life, his career, his friendships, his house- and now, this. He'd taken the broken pieces and replaced them, sewing up his mistakes into something better.

He took in a breath, giving the body one more look-over, before his face hardened with resolve.

"This is it," he murmured to him. "Just hang on, Stanley. I'm almost done."

He strode over to the lever mounted on the wall of his study, and heaved it downward.

Electricity crackled through the air, and Ford watched with detached fascination as the body spasmed. His hairs stood on end, fingers twitching.

After approximately ten seconds, Ford pushed the lever back up, halting the flow, and waited.

The body remained still.

Ford felt his body loosen, eyeing his brother with a half-lidded gaze. "C'mon, Stanley," he grumbled, "now's not the time. You-" he swallowed, "you gotta get up."

He stepped closer, and could swear he heard the faint traces of breathing. But as he closed in, there was no such thing.

His fingers felt for a pulse. He felt the very last beat of a weak heart before it stilled again.

His breath caught in his throat. "NO!" He darted over to the medical shelves he'd brought in, ransacked from a hospital a ways away, and grabbed defibrillators. He rushed back, flicking them on and rubbing them together, not caring about any of the other steps involved. He only heard the hum of electricity before he slammed them down on Stan's chest, watching his body twitch violently.

But he still remained as he was.

Ford shook his head, then did it again, shouting "COME ON!" as cold metal met cold flesh.

Still, nothing.

Ford panted, shaking away tears as he did it one more time. He raised his arms up, taking a deep breath. "I don't care what I have to do," he growled, "just GIVE HIM BACK TO ME!"

He slammed the controllers down one last time, and a bright flash of white enveloped the room.

Ford raised his hands up to block it, but it remained. The world had gone quiet. Eerily so. It reminded him of when Bill would visit, how their surroundings would go greyscale as he sped up his thoughts- or as he slowed down time.

Floating above his brother was a large, pink salamander.

Ford took a step back, then hardened his resolve. "Where is he?" he demanded.

The creature tilted its head at him, making a soft noise of pity. "He is in my care," it responded, voice soft and etherial- an opposite to the shrill sound of Cipher's voice.

Ford shook his head. "Well, release him! He's not yours to own!"

It tutted, swimming through the air a bit towards him. "I do not own him," it stated plainly.

"Then you should have no qualms giving him to me!"

"You do not own him, either."

Ford sputtered. "I never said I did!"

It gazed at him sadly, then swam upwards in the opposite direction. "Stanley Pines lived a hard life," it said, softly. "He is now resting. He is more at peace now than he was before."

Ford felt something pulling at his heart at that, but he shook his head, trying to dislodge the feeling. "I can give him that. His death was an accident, I do not wish for him to- to go away, just yet."

The salamander shook its head, frills swaying gently. "You cannot even speak the word."

"What does that matter?" Ford grumbled towards the ground. "I'm making it up to him, aren't I?"

"That is not your decision to make."

"Then whose is it?" Ford's head snapped back up. He crossed his arms, glaring. "Is it yours?"

"It is his."

Ford paused, letting his arms drop. "He's here? Can he hear me?"

The god of death shook its head. "He may return if he wishes. But I do not give up those in my care often." It swam closer, just in front of Ford's face. "Stanford Pines, if I return him, you must look after him. I do not wish him to return to the life he had before. He shall not return to needless suffering."

Ford paused, brows creasing. "Needless suffering?"

"He shall tell you," its wispy voice said, "it time. Should he choose."

Ford swallowed. He took a step forward, lifting his eyes to meet the creature's. "He won't suffer anymore," he declared, making sure his voice was loud and clear. "I'll take care of him. And if we…" he glanced away for just a moment, "if we drift apart, or separate, he'll always be welcome in my home again."

The beast paused, then nodded. It turned away from him, swimming up towards the sky and disappearing behind the light.

A moment later, it swam back down, carrying a familiar face in its small arms.

"He is ready," it said. "He shall see you soon."

Time began to resume, the light disappearing as the defibrillators went off. The force of them knocked Ford back a bit, stumbling as he reached out for any surface to catch himself on.

From the table, Stanley gasped.

Ford's head snapped up, his eyes taking in every detail. Stan was breathing, face twitching in discomfort while his hands flexed and bent, likely stiff.

Ford dropped the equipment, startling Stan into opening his eyes.

Ford took a small step forward. "…Stanley?"

Stan didn't react immediately. He instead let his eyes roam across Ford for a moment, taking in how battered and tired he must look.

But then he smiled, letting his head fall back onto the table. "Hey, Poindexter."

[tacobacoyeet]

tbh i think you and all the other blogs are being dramatic about the minors stuff like it's really not that big of a deal

tw: mentions of sex

picture this: you're 17. it's a summer afternoon, golden and slow. you’re lying belly-down on your bed, your phone in hand, talking with friends about everything and nothing—sex, desire, the world opening up around you. the window’s cracked open, laughter floating in like dust motes in sunlight.

your little brother—8, maybe 9—keeps hovering at the door. you've told him to knock. you've told him to wait. you’ve told him, “you’re not old enough for this yet.” but he's curious. he hears the word orgasm and asks, "what’s that?" he hears you joke about positions, heartbreak, adult feelings—and he keeps saying, "what does that mean?"

and you roll your eyes. you shoo him away. but later, he gets on the ipad. he looks it up. and then he keeps looking. and looking. and looking. and by the time your mom finds out what he's been watching, what he’s learned—his perception of intimacy, of bodies, of love—is already warped.

and when she demands, “where did you even hear about this?” you realize: it was you. you didn’t mean to. you weren’t trying to hurt him. but he didn’t respect the boundary, and you didn’t enforce it hard enough—at least that's what you're telling yourself. and now you have to live with the guilt of being the reason your little brother lost his innocence too soon.

that’s what it feels like when you ignore the “18+ only” on our blogs. when we say, "please don’t interact," and you do anyway.

we’re not trying to be dramatic. we’re trying to protect you. and we’re trying to protect ourselves from being unwilling participants in someone else's coming of age. it is the simplest matter of boundaries. we're not asking for anything other than respect.

respect the sign on the door. if you’re not meant to be here—don’t be here.

and listen—this isn’t just a hypothetical. while this isn’t exactly how it happened for me, i was in mdni spaces far too young. i saw things i didn’t understand. things that reshaped how i thought of people, bodies, love, power. it changed me. it warped me in ways that took years to unpack, and some that still linger. it’s not something i would ever wish on someone else. especially not someone who still has time to grow up slower. softer. safer. i cannot protect all of you. do your part and protect yourself.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🔭🔭🔭🔭🔭🔭🔭

Oooooo I’m so curious!

📸📷📸📷📸📷📸📷📸📷📸📷📸

Reallllllllyyyy excited for this one!

Your WIP’s always give me such joy!

Thank you so much! I am so glad!

21 for 🔭:

---

“You can go in and watch the planetarium shows,” Eddie tells Chris, sitting his son in Eddie’s cushy computer chair in the back office. “And you can sit in here and color, read, play on your Switch, any of that. But you can’t wander around the museum, okay? Too many strangers come in and out.”

“Okay,” Chris nods. “I want to see the planet show.”

Eddie smiles. He’s always loved that Chris thinks what he does is cool. Even if it’s not as cool as Eddie used to imagine it might be. 

“Alright, buddy. I’ll grab you before the first show. Sound good?”

“Yep!” Chris confirms.

“And what’s our rule?” Eddie asks. 

“Don’t go with anyone but you or Micah,” Chris says. 

“Correct,” Eddie tells him. 

“Don’t talk to strangers!” Chris adds.

“Perfect,” Eddie praises.

---

39 for 📸:

---

He’s not sure how to just go about life normally. He’s not sure he wants to. He needs to address this somehow. It’s significant! 

So he texts Hen.

Are you awake? 

It’s earlier in LA than it is in El Paso, and it is technically still early in El Paso. But Hen has kids. She has a job that’s left her with the same fucked up sleep schedule as Eddie. She might even be at said job. He might be in luck. 

She replies a few minutes later.

Just got back from a call :( What’s up? 

See? Lucky. 

Remember how we talked about me trying dating people who are not women? 

He’s barely hit send before his phone is ringing with an incoming FaceTime call. Eddie laughs. He loves Hen. He misses her. 

“Hey,” he answers the call, smiling at the sight of her in the fire station living area. “That was fast.”

“Eddie?” She asks, grinning. “Did you…” 

“Before I say anything, you have to promise me Chim and Bobby cannot overhear me,” Eddie says sternly.

“Let me go to the roof,” Hen says. “Chim has sensitive father of a newborn hearing right now.” 

Eddie waits until she’s certain she’s alone. 

“Okay, spill.” 

“So, the first thing I have to say is that I’m annoyed with all of you,” Eddie says. 

“Excuse me?” Hen raises an eyebrow.

“Nobody thought to warn me I might run into Evan Buckley and his daughter in my hometown?” Eddie asks. 

“Oh,” Hen says.

“Yeah. Oh.” 

[riooooooooo]

Dearest,

Today was quiet at camp. Too quiet in some ways, the only sounds were boot stomps and commanding of training soldiers. I fear battle will soon befall our camp. For the stillness is like the eye of a hurricane, there’s only a bigger storm to come.

We trained heavy today, I even took leave from my paperwork duties to watch our men prepare. Most looked ready, courage blazing their eyes. Yet I saw some shake as they held up their guns. I fear some of our men don’t have the willpower to fight this battle.

I’ll be speaking with the commander soon to see if we can excuse them to civilian life. No man deserves to die afraid or for something he truly isn’t prepared for.

How is Damien? I heard whispers of something happening to him. Though it may be mere rumor, for the men here do like to churn that wheel.

How are you? Healthy as always? Gods, how I wish to see your face against. To feel your warmth and comfort like a lullaby. I hope for it sooner than later. I hate to admit the strain this war puts on my psyche.

Forever yours,

Worm Dealer

My love,

It's wonderful to hear from you. Perhaps my wish has been answered, a day of calmness, peace, granted to you. Peaceful times do not last long in times of war, but I know whatever comes, you will be ready for it.

It is true, some men do not have the heart for battle, no matter what face they put on their eyes always give them away. It is a good idea not to shun them for it, but to thank them for trying, and let them go lead their old lives. I know you're making the right decision in letting the men without a will to sacrifice leave. After all, your heart for the people is always something I cherish.

No matter where you are, gossip spreads, even in the army. Sadly, I cannot say these rumors are false. Damien has been, changing to say the least. He's becoming more and more like you, it's funny considering you're not even around right now, yet he acts as if you're right there, guiding him, leading him on every choice, every shape that builds the structure of his personality. But, there is one thing that he's gaining from you, sometimes it comforts me, but on those quiet nights, with no sound but my heart beating, and my loud thoughts clawing at me, it scares me. A warrior's heart. I can see it in his eyes, as much as he says he's happy down in the bunker with me, I know what he truly wants. He's a fighter, much like you. He wants to be beside his father in the battlefield. I don't know what the right decision is. He's so young, I can't possibly let him go. He thinks I don't know, but sometimes he sneaks out, goes to his own makeshift little training ground. I know it's what he wants, I know I can't shelter him forever, but he's just too young, and I know you'd never forgive me if I let him onto the battlefield.

Other than the handful Damien's dilemma has been, things have been pretty peaceful down here. Physically, I am quite alright, never better. Yet, emotionally, I find myself weakening. I get these dreams, dreams that you won't come back to me. I long to see your face, it's become a little desperate. But I will wait, patiently. I know what you're doing is important to you, so I will wait. I cherish the idea of your early return, but sadly war is war. I cannot wait to see you again.

Yours truly,

Rio

[astra-ravana]

The Aetherglossa

There is a current of magick whispered only in dreams, a language that predates writing and even thought. It's not Enochian, not Theban, not even infernal. This is the Lost Language Of The Liminal. It is called:

"The Aetherglossa" — The Tongue of Spirits Not Yet Born.

This language is not spoken by living lips but dreamt by entities waiting to incarnate, shouted in reverse in the womb, or breathed in during sex, death, or deep trance. It is a precognitive tongue, carried by unborn daemons and whispered through veils.

Where It Exists

• In dreams you wake from with a phrase stuck in your head you cannot translate

• On the backs of mirrors, or between the letters of ancient grimoires

• In songs that get stuck in your mind without cause—they are encoded transmissions

• In the air of ritual spaces just before manifestation

Magickal Use

If you channel this language, it doesn’t work like invocations. It works like keys that twist the locks of time and identity.

How to Begin:

• Dark mirror gaze; light a candle behind you, sit before a mirror, and gaze into your reflection in shadow.

• Whisper nonsense syllables until one catches fire in your mouth—repeating it should shift your consciousness.

• Record them phonetically, but do not translate. These are not meant to be interpreted—only used.

• Charge the phrase by speaking it during, orgasm, breath retention at the top of a trance, just before falling asleep, and in ritual circles to call forgotten gods.

An Initiation Ritual of the Aetherglossa

• Tool: A small mirror, obsidian or black glass is best

• Timing: Third night of the Dark Moon

• Offering: A single drop of blood or saliva on the mirror surface

Incantation:

"By the tongue unborn and the song unsung,

I break the circle of known things.

Let the syllables of the dead not-yet breathe through me.

Open, mouth of void, and let me speak the unspoken."

Possible Effects:

• You may dream in an alien tongue

• Hear whispers from your mirror or walls

• Begin writing symbols that resemble but are not any known alphabet

• Develop a personal daemon dialect—a sigil-language of your own spirit’s shadowline

• Trigger synchronicities that teach you rather than confirm you

Where This Leads

Aetherglossa is not just a language—it is an initiatory path.

It leads to:

• Creation of thought-forms born of non-time

• Reconnection with future selves already watching you

• Integration of pre-birth karma or forgotten daemon pacts

• Working with entities like Astraroth, Leviathan, Azazel, Chavajoth, Abaddon, Tiamat, or Iyrzarel—those who speak “before speech”

Most magicians look to the past or present, but the Aetherglossa is a future tongue trying to be remembered. It is a whisper from the void, hidden in your own soul’s distant echo.

[gildedtragedies]

YOU KNOW WHAT IM GONNA ASK 👹🦩

WOOOOOO i have been looking for an excuse to share snippets here we go (these are unedited bear with me) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 👹:

Claudius blinks, processing the absurdity of this whole situation as a slow grin spreads across his face.

“Wait. You did all of this because you couldn’t send a text?”

“I didn’t know how to word it!” Petra protests, but he can barely hear her over the sound of his own laughter. He starts to catch his breath, but one glance at her puffed-up cheeks sends him spiraling all over again.

“Stop laughing! I should’ve let you die when you had bronchitis.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just not used to being around anyone who sucks at this worse than I do.”

Claudius finally manages to calm down, wiping the tears from his eyes while Petra sits there glowering and looking like she might just use him for target practice after all. 

“This is all Dash’s fault.” Petra says. “I’m never taking advice from a Four again.”

“So, same time next week?” 

“Not even in your wildest dreams.” Petra slides her textbook into her bag and stuffs the flashcards into the front pocket. She turns to face him, her expression caught somewhere between annoyance and fond exasperation. “I’m gonna go make out with Selene and try to forget that you exist.”

She walks off before he can come up with anything clever. He shakes his head, muttering, “What the fuck, Petra,” under his breath as she closes the door behind her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 🦩:

With a groan, he heaves himself out of bed, rubbing at his eyes as he stumbles into the living room. Petra’s sprawled on his couch, one arm dangling off the side and a puddle of drool darkening the fabric beneath her face. It’s a miracle anyone can fall asleep to the sounds of the Village’s new inhabitants—Mating? Fighting? He doesn’t care. The only sound he wants to hear from those damn ostriches is the sizzle of them roasting over an open fire.

He risks a glance out the window and immediately regrets it. Add that to the ever-growing list.

“Oh, fuck’s sake,” Brutus mutters, throwing open the front door.

It’s worse than he imagined. They’re not mating. They’re not fighting. No, they’re racing.

The first emotion he feels is betrayal, because gathered in a circle, cheering and placing bets, are all the people who should know better—his own mentor, two of his Victors. He’s seriously considering throttling Devon and Artemisia with his bare hands when Petra stirs behind him.

She sits up in a daze, wiping the drool from her cheek with the collar of her pajama shirt and snatching her cane from the back of the couch.

“Did I miss the race?” she asks, rising to her feet with a wince that Brutus respectfully ignores. “I had money on Plutarch Feathersbee.”

Brutus stares at her, words failing him for a long, agonizing moment. Finally, with the weariness of a man who has seen too much, he exhales.

“No, sweetheart,” he says. “You didn’t miss it.”

[whatareyoudoingwithamaserati]

need to bite ur face off hope ure having a good day xoxo

HIIIIIII VANCE BELOVED you can bite my face off anytime you wish <333 can I kiss the blood off of your lips in return?

[backpackingspace]

Okay I know Athena praying to Poseidon is just part of her disguise as mentor. however I cannot stop thinking about the meta of it.

Like gods praying to gods how does that work? Is it just a message system? Do godly prayers /feel/ different. Is it a power dynamic thing? And that's not even taking into account Athena and Poseidon's rivalry.

[kindahoping4forever]

Ashton Instagram Live - 14 June 2024

Including acoustic performances of:

"Breakup" from BLOOD ON THE DRUMS

"Lose You" from BLOOD ON THE DRUMS

"I See The Angels" from BLOOD ON THE DRUMS

A teaser of "California Holds Her Breath" from BLOOD ON THE DRUMS Side 2

"Under The Milky Way" by The Church

"Straight To Your Heart" from BLOOD ON THE DRUMS