#im honestly beyond caring about cringe anymore

[captain-clandestiny]

grisped. grabbed. snatched. both a symbolic illustration the hold life has had on me lately and a canon event from the Blusleeves storyline

[eye-of-leviathan]

Honestly at a bit of a crossroads IRT what Im doing with Lev, because like. I think what I needed from my urge to revisit my "demonkin" days and identity - god just got back from the Astral talking to Hermes about shit and I look around in my body and its just. all rain outside. it feels like everything including the air itself is drenched lmfao god ok

Credit where it's due - my twinflame @rikagora has really helped me on the digestion of impulses leading me this direction to figure out what I feel about the label "demon", we discussed it a while back but

ANYWAY. i think what I needed was to reconcile the apparently disjointed "I dont relate to anyone anymore like i did when I was open about my Soul Race" and "I just dont want to go back to saying im 'demonkin' because (many reasons but at the forefront was Cringe bc it was my teenage years)" into... "Man there really isnt any options for connecting with Lev and his people in their deeper and darker aspects other than having to do it through the lens of 'demon', which in itself I dont personally agree with as a term"

Like. I'll put it this way, I want to keep exploring and working with those energies but I am tired of christianity always having to be in the background whether its catholic aesthetics or rejection of God for Satan - or its just plain using the word demon. Demon isnt ONLY used by christians I get that, but the idea of using a word for his race that is anything other than a neutrality just isn't for me* - a neutrality as in I want a term that doesnt always have anything to do with god, rebellion, teaching/knowledge, "falling", or the race that i primarily refer to when I say "angel", or even hell or hierarchies or war or antagonism or anything like. I want to work with him in ways that dont have this expectation on him, because even when we say we're divorcing the word demon from christianity, in using the word we are still conjuring a stereotype of them.

The biblical and christian and even demon idea of a demon is... Not one race, its an identity, its a political label, in terms of spirit racism its a racist label lmfao and im not saying people cant reclaim it, Im not saying people arent allowed to use it, i AM saying though that.... Look. Me and Lev (depending on what side of him you get) both enjoy the roleplay aspect of "oh yes I'm a corrupting demon im so scary and dark and haunting" but beyond roleplaying with humans, theres just so little ways of getting in contact w the energy that the label "demon" tends to be attached to

Like I would argue when Lev comes to me as Poseidon he's closer to that than when he's Shiva, Poseidon energy is the deep dark sea and the roughness of it and the stern father and the Ruler and whatnot, it grows close to encompassing black of "Emperor Leviathan" but like. This is what I missed about demonolatry: the mask-off, encompassing and swallowing teacher, the black energies, the bottom of the ocean, the darkness not painted in the light of social rules, the tendency towards elevation and respect of the animal nature, the antagonising of light-and-purity-is-the-only-good mindsets, etc... Insert other personal things from my own "demonkin" memories....

I'm tired, to summarise, of thinking I have to go to demonolatry to get what I want because "demon" isn't a neutral term for a singular race, its an identity label used (rightly or wrongly) by many different people of many different races who agree and vibe and therefore identify with the concept of demonhood; in my opinion in a couple centuries we COULD get the word to a point where it has nothing to do with christianity and its working and on-paper definitions synchronise as simply "spirits of the race of the slowest moving plane" with nothing added about anything religious, but like... right now....

Again. I dont care if others use it. I just have needed to acknowledge that "demon" for me is a really.... For me and my relationship with Lev it's roleplay. We both have an instinct to spook people who are too uptight about shit and get in our face about it, and living this life mostly in a Catholic country and growing up in a catholic school has left a huge impact, I have always felt like Im an antagonistic force by sheer existence to the foundations of catholicism, but honestly... im really neutral towards it nowadays. Now that its not pushed on to me I dont need to push back

Ive sort of been at this point for a while now because... Like how when I came up against the rebirth (more so afterbirth) of the "demonkin" label I knew I had to just jump in to my expectations and familiar places for it to then take me where it needs to go, I need to jump into this new fast-approaching gateway of... I really, really enjoyed the idea of demonolatry religions. I dont know how I feel now, but thats a part of stepping into the gate

As some of you may know, I started making my own religion for personal use with Lev. Its heavily based around the things that I'd been trying to cram and squish into the label "demonic" for years, except now it doesnt have that label. Its raw, its gorey, its animalistic, but refined in the black and adorned in ritual clothing and acts and solemn words decorated with grandeur. Its what I need. I know this much, but I stumble here because I know this is just the start of the gateway.... I thought I had several more paragraphs to go in this text because i FELT them but no, here's where I stop

I guess then I leave it at yeah, I dont like the term demon honestly, I use it for a reason but the reason doesnt fit my work. Trying to fit Lev into it beyond him dancing around in it as a barely-realistic mask to send out certain energies... Just. not feasible, nor is it something I want to do because beyond the fact that he obviously has complex feelings towards it (in positive and self-identifying ways in this case) because its such a loaded term for someone like him. He likes loaded terms, he identifies with antagonistic demiurge-esque ideas of relationships between God/Brahman and him, but like. I just.

Im trying to find, dig up, wear, coax out an energy. People slap the label "demon" (or "eldritch" as a variation, they're similar though distinct) on that energy, im tired of using terms based in/related to christians saying These People Are Evil and uhhh Lovecraft existing

[blackbackedjackal]

dude im kinda wondering.. i get this fear a lot that my own collection- a great deal of skulls, pelts, stones and a huge stack of books and games and whatnot- could get lost thanks to a fire or whatever. and, ofc itd all get lost then, but i kinda dread that everything i worked for, everything i collected, can get lost within the blink of an eye, and a little fire. and then i feel guilty and materialistic or whatever.. so like, my question is, do you sometimes think the same thing too? and

not trying to indirectly call you a materialist, bc ur not hoarding gucci or louis vuitton or whatever like some cringe influencers, but is having a collection still kinda the same way as being a materialist? i follow this one model whos very pro minimalism and anti materialism, and i cant help but to wonder.. i know i kinda answered my own question there, but i dont know if its the right answer. and i just want to know what your thoughts and opinions are on the matter.. thanks for reading tho! 

I think about it a lot honestly! I’ve dealt with mold issues, infestations, apartments close to mine catch fire etc. I’ve lost things, had things stolen or damaged beyond repair. You can’t control everything around you, and as someone with a big collection of just, general things, yeah I DEFFO worry about accidents happening to cause me to lose my entire collection. But living in fear of losing everything I own isn’t how I wanna live my life. I’m happy for the opportunity to curate a collection of things I enjoy. One day I won’t be around anymore and I can only hope that sell/donate/redistribute the things I leave behind. I put a lot of care and respect into the stuff I collect (nice display stands, frames, dusting, cataloging, cleaning, etc.) so even if I lost everything, I’d just see it as a chance to start over. Don’t get me wrong, it would absolutely devastate me to somehow lose everything...but I’d still have the memories that came with the joys of at least having that item for a while you know? It’s about the journey for me, not the souvenirs. Thinking about the HOURS I spent researching some random little item that maybe 10 other people in the world even care about, and finally getting the opportunity to get it after researching and learning and studying what it is and how it came to be is just as fun for me as actually getting the item. Life’s short, and it can be chaotic and messy sometimes, so I may as well do what makes me happy with whatever time I’ve got left.

There’s a BIG difference between buying stuff just for the sake of flexing and showcasing wealth vs. doing something you enjoy as a hobby and wanting to share that enthusiasm with others. I can tell you details about 99% of what I own, what it is down to the manufacturing year, when/where I acquired it, how much I paid, because I LOVE being able to share that info with other collectors or people interested in getting something similar. Not to mention it’s like, I don’t live outside my means either. I pay my bills, put money into my savings, and make sure the house/myself/my pets are taken care of every month before I start being like ‘ok time to browse and see if anything I’m looking for has popped up’. And I never spend more than my designated ‘this is how much you can spend this month and still have emergency/more money left to save for next month’ allowance. And even after all that, you guys will prolly never see the full extent of my collection, because I don’t want to feel like I am flexing or being boastful about what I have. I show the highlights, the cool stuff, things I think people will find interesting because of the story behind it, but like, I collect for myself, so I don’t feel the need to show off every single little thing.This is especially true because of the ‘influencers’ and people who kinda ruin it for others. If I show too much I’ll immediately get like really weird messages and I’m sitting here like ‘you guys know I take art commissions, run a taxidermy shop, and work a full-time job right?’ Not only do I work my ass off, but I’m so damn busy I’m at home anytime I’m not out working, so I collect because it’s a hobby I can do from home. 

Idk I’m just not big on labels either. ‘Minimalist’ vs ‘Materialist’ like, so long as they’re not endangering anyone or not taking care of themselves, they are free do what they feel is best for them (even if they’re acting snooty about it unfortunatly). I feel like somehow labels like that promo some form of elitism between the extremists in those groups. Like you said the people hoarding 300 Gucci bags just to show off their wealth that are then yelled at by the minimalists in high rise NYC apartments that spent $3000 on a coffee table with one succulent on it. It’s apples to apples. What I feel hurts the most is these conflicting arguments make it hard for people kinda suck in the middle to have a voice, and it bleeds that same elitism into other kinds of collector communities. So I just say fuck it, and do what I want while also not being an asshole about it and ignoring the drama. 

Sorry this got on the tangent but yeah like, I don’t think you should live in fear of potentially losing your collecting if it’s something that makes you happy. Shit happens, but sometimes it’s just best to live in the moment. It’ll absolutely suck if something happens, but, for me, I don’t feel that living in fear of ‘something’ is worth not doing the things you enjoy. 

[suits-of-woe]

im shaking.. would you do fluffy hamratio?? maybe like a fix it or something... i love them!!

Thanks for the prompt and sorry for taking ages to write it! There’s honestly so many good options for alternate Hamlet endings that I had trouble choosing, but I went with one where Laertes ends up getting second thoughts about killing Hamlet and ultimately becomes king bc I honestly feel like Hamlet’s ideal life involves him being as far from the crown as possible.

Laertes is the kind of man whois far quicker to forgive than to actually admit he’s forgiven. All thingsconsidered, in Horatio’s mind, this isn’t the best of the new king’s qualities,but, in light of his other virtues, can be overlooked easily enough. Because whileLaertes might not be able to match wits with Hamlet, he’s certainly not stupidenough to think banishment is actually an undesirable punishment for the formerheir. If anything, though he’d never admit it, he’s done him a favor.

The coach is far from fit for aking, but it’s small enough that it’s only natural for its inhabitants to betouching, a fact that Hamlet has thoroughly taken advantage of. He lies withhis head against Horatio’s chest and Horatio’s hands combing through his hairas Horatio murmurs his way through an account of Nero’s early reign. He putdown the book he’d been reading from about an hour ago when his arm started tocramp. Hamlet seems to like his version better anyway.

It’s only when Horatio pausesfor a long moment, stumbling over some half-forgotten detail, that Hamlet openshis mouth.

“You’re a born scholar,” hesays reverently. Then his brow creases. “Of course, you’re going to stay atWittenberg. It’s as good as made for you.”

His intonation doesn’t suggesta question, but Horatio knows him well enough to understand that it is one. Hetries to phrase his answer carefully.

“I didn’t have other plans,” hesays mildly. “And my scholarship still applies as far as I know. It’s probablythe most obvious place.”

“Probably,” Hamlet echoes. “Andthat’s not to say that – I’ll be wherever you are, I mean, if you’ll have me.”

“Of course, my lord—”

“Not your lord,” Hamletinterrupts, a little too sharply. He raises his head and looks Horatio straightin the eyes. “Not anymore.”

Horatio cringes inwardly.

“Right. Yes. I’m sorry. I’msorry, Hamlet.” He can feel color rising to his cheeks. It’s ridiculous that he’sspent more hours naked with Hamlet than he can count, and yet using his realname still feels intimate enough to make him blush. “Force of habit.”

“I know.”

Hamlet smiles, relaxing alittle, but doesn’t lay his head back down.

“That’s the problem with Wittenberg,”he says after a brief silence. “Everyone there only knows me as the prince. Evenyou. Well, no, not you. But you’re the only one who doesn’t.”

“That’s true,” Horatio agreesevenly. He’s been trying not to think about it, waiting for Hamlet to bring itup first. Throwing away that kind of money feels beyond irresponsible, but evenso, it’s complicated.

“And it would be odd, too,without...” Hamlet trails off.

Without Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, Horatio mentally finishes thesentence for him. And it’s true. It’s hard enough to imagine returning withoutthem at all, but considering the fact that Hamlet was the one to have themkilled, he can’t imagine looking their mutual friends in the face. Too manyghosts there now, just like Elsinore.

“Let’s not go then,” Horatiosuggests, and he can tell it was the right thing to say by the way Hamlet’sbrow instantly unknits. “I mean, I’ll need to get my things. And we need toleave the country somehow anyway. But after that, we’ll go somewhere else.”

“Alright,” Hamlet agrees, barelypausing for breath. “We will.”

Horatio presses a kiss intoHamlet’s hair and lets out his own silent sigh of relief. It’s all so differentfrom how he imagined things ending. Hamlet isn’t happy, exactly, but then,after losing both his mother and Ophelia within the week, he can’t imagineanyone would be. But he doesn’t seem to be breaking either, no more than he hasbeen for the past few months. He’s startling...okay.

“Do you mind this?” Horatioasks. “Really?”

“I...” Hamlet pauses,thoughtful, but still steady. “I wish someone would visit my mother’s grave.”

Of everything that’s happened,Horatio knows, the queen’s death hit him the hardest. Of course, if she hadn’tdrank from the poisoned goblet, god knows Hamlet might have been the one tofall for it, and Laertes might not have been moved to expose the king and put astop to his revenge. She as good as died for him. That’s probably why it upsetsHamlet so much, because he didn’t know she loved him enough to do it until shewas already gone.

“She’s with my father nowthough,” Hamlet continues. “That’s...how it always should have been, I think. Notthat I wanted her dead, but they should have been together. And I know Laerteswill look after Ophelia. And I think...I think I’ve honestly had my fair shareof ghosts for a lifetime.”

“Definitely.”

“And I finally have an excuseto force you to use my real name,” Hamlet laughs, and Horatio can see most ofthe clouds over his expression clearing away. “So it could be worse, don’t youthink?”

“I’m just glad you’re alive,”Horatio says softly.

“I am too,” Hamlet agrees. He laughsa little. “Imagine that.”

Yes, Horatio thinks. It’sastonishing how okay they really are after all this.

Hamlet’s eyes light upsuddenly. “Horatio, what do you say we buy a boat?”

“A boat? Do you...know how tosail?”

“Well enough. Pirates aresurprisingly good teachers. You’d pick it up faster than I did, I bet.”

“I suppose if we have the moneyfor it.”

“Perfect. We’re buying a boat.We can take it somewhere warm.” He grins. “We could go to Rome. You’d likethat, Horatio, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d love it, my—Hamlet.”

Hamlet reaches a hand aroundHoratio’s neck and smashes their lips together with a vigor that speaks of bothpain yet to fade and joy yet to come. In a second he’s trailing kisses downHoratio’s jawline, running his hands all over his chest, and by the timeHoratio can make himself pull away he’s already dizzy.

“The driver,” he manages to getout. “It’s not exactly private—”

“So?” Hamlet counters. “We’rejust two common men. Why would he care about us?”

[hiverforesteevee]

:D Surprise :D

General Audiences

TW: Len being a jerk until Mick sets him straight

AO3 link

❄️🔥

Lisa brings home a boy.  Len and Mick ain’t happy, but Lisa gets whatever she wants, and what she wants is a nephew.

❄️🔥

Super awesome grateful thanks to LadyErin for correcting my ignorance regarding human temperatures.

❄️🔥

Len understood that Lisa might arrive a couple minutes late at safe house #2—a two-bedroom apartment with barely enough room for a coffee table, couch, and plasma screen in their dual kitchen/living area—yet at the ten-minute marker, he shoved his feet into his boots.  He was halfway into his parka when his sister finally deigned to appear… with a kid next to her.  Len stared at the stranger: a runt with hair and eyes darker than dirt that had never seen sunlight, over half Lisa’s size, and wearing a hoodie that might as well be a trench coat with how large it was on him.  He ducked away from Len’s slate lasers.

Lisa flung her brunette bangs out of her face before she grinned up at her brother and flared her hands at the runt as if he was a game show prize, “This is Lowell!  Grownups claim he’s unadoptable—but there’s nothing wrong with him, he’s just quieter than most kids his age, which is perfect for our family cuz you gotta be quiet on heists.” She then faced Lowell, who looked up at her olive-gingerbread eyes, “This is your daddy.  Your papa’s not here yet; he’s coming on Friday.” She took his sleeve-hidden hand, “C’mere, I gotta game you’ll love.  It’s old, but it’s cute and artsy like you!”

Len didn’t get a word in before Lisa spirited Lowell into her room.  It hosted Tangled-themed bedding, Rachel Platten posters, and a violin.  Lisa filched her 3DS from her desk and swapped cartridges.  She sunk into her duvet when she plopped onto her bed.  She patted a spot next to her and helped Lowell skitter onto it.  She gave him custody of an extra save file before handing her sticker-plastered device over to him.

“It says you need a ‘basic reading ability to fully enjoy this game’, but you got way better than that, so you’re all set!” Lisa ruffled his hair as she peeked over his shoulder at his sketch of a Raposa.  Within minutes, chirps of “Rapo” and rings of collected Rapo-Coins fluttered throughout the room.  Lisa hung their snow-smeared outerwear in her closet and strolled into the kitchen.

Len groaned and tried to write his sister a reality check, “Social workers call some kids unadoptable because they pick fights and cause trouble.”

“He doesn’t go causing trouble, trouble goes causing him; and he doesn’t pick fights, fights pick him,” Lisa refused to cash it. “Lowell’s just like you in juvie, except he didn’t have a Mick to keep him safe until I came along.  He needs a home and a family, so I gave him mine.  He’s got the same name as Dedushka, Lenny; he’s like, reincarnated and stuff!”

“Take him back, Lise,” Len twitched at her. “Mick and I’ll get charged with abduction at the drop of a hat!”

Lisa folded her arms and hmphed at him, “Not if nobody reports ‘im missing.”

“Somebody’s bound to,” he shot back.

“No, they won’t.”

“Will.”

“Won’t!” Lisa hmphed at him again. “If you and Mick don’t love him if and when CCPD puts out an AMBER Alert for him, you two can take him back, because I won’t.  He’s my nephew, and I love him.”

Len took that bet and awaited his inevitable victory.  What 22-year-old loses to a 10-year-old in an argument?  In the meantime, Len begrudgingly fed this intruder leftovers and leased out the couch.

Mick shouldered the door open one-tripping groceries on Friday, as promised.  A slug wriggled out from under a towel upon sight of the clock on the DVR.  It read 9:13, thirteen minutes after he should’ve vacated.  Mick didn’t sense Lowell’s presence until the latter refolded the towel and snuck it back into the closet.

Sage met dirt.  Lowell gasped out a hiss at Mick like an asthmatic kitten in a chokehold and twitched at the titanic 25-year-old.  Mick blinked at him.  Lowell shivered with his arms tucked at his sides.  Lowell’s head snapped from side to side, ready to flee, when Mick plodded over and pinned a thermometer in the former’s mouth.

Lowell flopped onto the carpeted floor stomach-first and scrunched up when Len entered, freshly showered and shaved and dressed in a gray-black, ribbed turtleneck along with nondescript socks and slacks.  He greeted Mick with a peck before huffing at Lowell.

“Lenny, who is this?” Mick flicked his head at the boy.

“According to your sister-in-law,” Len sneered at the trespasser, “he’s our son.”

Mick figured she’d make a friend while she was in transit from Lewis’s custody to theirs.  Mick retrieved the thermometer when it beeped and gathered Lowell into his woolly arms, “Now I know Lewis gave you some strange ideas of how to parent, but when your kid’s temp” Mick did a double-take at its report “oughtta be a radio station, you cuddle ‘im.  The only reason I ain’t is cuz I’m gonna fix up somethin’ that’ll warm his tummy.”

Lisa interrupted them by kicking down the door, “Mick! Hooray! I see you’ve met—what’s wrong with Lowell!?”

“He can’t do anything on time and now he’s infected,” Len didn’t hesitate to mumble.

“Lowell’s low,” Mick corrected.  His gaze landed on her bundle, “Whatchoo got there, Lise?”

Lisa groaned as she set it on the couch and Len’s credit card on the coffee table, “I’ve been telling Lenny to go out and grab Dedushka Junior at least a blanket, yet all he’s done all week is sit on his butt, so I went out and grabbed one—and a pillow!  Now he doesn’t have to sleep with a towel anymore!”

Mick never understood the phenomenon of falling in love with babies because newborn humans look like naked mole rats: flabbier than seniors in a hot tub with twice as many wrinkles.  However, at 4 years old, Lowell was far beyond infancy, meaning Mick had half a mind to make Len sleep on the couch with a towel tonight.

Mick nudged Lowell into Len’s arms and rifled through the fridge.  Mick growled at Len when the latter merely stood there contemptuously.  Len muttered like a dragon and lugged Lowell onto Mick’s side of the bed.  A pillow could’ve fit between them.  Len returned to reading, not even bothering to tuck Lowell in under the covers.

Lowell cringed at Len with sclera blued like an unpeeled Easter egg.  Len snapped a scowl at him when his teeth clattered loud enough to disturb his novel.  Lowell bolted under the bed.  Len rolled his eyes and left him there.

Earthen chowder and herbal chicken perfumed the room from a bowl of Mama Rory’s Cure for Everything by Dinnertime.  Mick set it on the nightstand and scanned for Lowell.

“All he does is run and hide,” Len scoffed after pointing his pupils downward.

“I’d run and hide too if I was living witchoo,” Mick retorted as he snatched Len’s book out of his grasp and chucked it backwards.  It smacked against the wall and bent some pages when it landed. “I know we didn’t plan on him, but you know what else we didn’t plan on? Meeting our soulmate in juvie.  If you dare call either of those invalid, I got a knuckle sandwich with your name on it.  Lowell ain’t a second-class citizen, he’s our son; and so far, Lisa’s been a better parent to him than you, and she ain’t old enough to be anybody’s parent.” Len slumped against the headboard, stunned, while Mick crouched onto his belly and reached out palm-up to Lowell, who twitched and inched away.  Mick lulled him with assurances, “Hi, Lowell, I’m your papa; I ain’t gonna hurtcha, and if your daddy has a licka sense in him, he won’t either.”

Lowell crept over to Mick, curled into his grasp, and buried his face in the crook of Mick’s neck when Mick shifted them under a quilt and a comforter.  Len pushed up on his forearms and exhaled remorse.  Lowell squeaked when Len reached out to him.

“Now I know you’re not stupid enough to raise a hand to ‘im,” Mick rumbled at Len, “yet just cuz you ain’t treating him bad doesn’t mean you’re treating him well.  You better watch and learn how to treat ‘im well, cuz he stays.”

Mick spoon-fed Lowell once the latter trusted Mick enough to protect him from Len—who didn’t plan on attacking him, but it was a matter of too little, too late to convince him otherwise.  Lowell finished his chowder, taking special care not to make a mess.

“Lenny hates messes,” Lisa rolled her eyes while twirling a lock of her shoulder-grazing hair one afternoon.  They were sitting under a tree and reading one of the few books in the building: an anthology of dead old white dudes’ literature. “I swear, if a drop of milk spills onto the floor, he becomes a volcano; and heaven help anybody who’s dumb enough to stain his room, cuz he will send you to hell.”

She meant it as a joke, yet the damage was done.  And honestly, how was a four-year-old supposed to figure that out anyway???  What Lowell had figured out by now was that some foster families sent kids back for both minor and major infractions, and so far, Len provided no evidence of planning to act otherwise.  Yes, Lowell was still the smallest and the youngest, but Lisa kept him from becoming prey, and this was Lisa’s territory; therefore, this was the safest place on Earth.

Speaking of Lisa, she let herself in and presented Lowell four flossy, lap-sized plushies, “I saw these and thought of you!”

Three of them were wolves and one was a fox.  One wolf was wintery, one was sunny, and one was glittery; the fox was dark.  Lowell took the wintery wolf and manipulated it so it head-butted the fox onto the floor.  Len frowned, sensing impending doom.  Lisa and Mick frowned curiously.  Lisa asked Lowell about it.

Lowell gulped, “Zvezdo wants Zvezdochko to leave cuz foxes are too small and weird to love.”

Mick and Lisa snapped lasers at Len.  Lisa picked up Zvezdochko and assured Lowell, “Nobody’s too weird to love, especially not Zvezdochko.”

“And I like small,” Mick snorted with his arm around his son, who clutched Zvezdochko close to his chest and watched Zvezdo as if Zvezdo would crunch Zvezdochko’s neck. “Smaller makes Zvezdochko easier to hug.”

Len surrendered, his guilt tripling the weight of his words, “....Zvezdo doesn’t hate Zvezdochko; Zvezdo hates surprises.  Zvezdo’s just getting used to Zvezdochko, that’s all.”

Lowell wiggled closer to Mick and flinched when Len thumbed Lowell’s cheek.  Lowell didn’t relax into the gesture today, tomorrow, or even next week, yet he did by Christmas.  It was the best surprise Len had ever received.

[mercyimagines-blog]

First Heartbreak

Requested by anonymous: An imagine about Aaliyah gets her heartbroken and Shawn's being the big protective brother?? And it's fluffy and cute! Thank you!! 😍💝 and im in the imagine too! LOLOLOL 😊

Note: don’t like, don’t read - it’s that simple :)

-

Ever since you began dating Shawn, Aaliyah had automatically taken a liking to you.

She was excited for there to be another girl around, besides her mother or her best friends. Aaliyah looked up to you as a big sister, almost - always asking you for advice.

Whether it be about clothes; school; friends; sports; boys - Aaliyah always wanted to talk to you about something. It actually got to the point where Shawn had accused you of stealing his sister, jokingly, of course.

Lately, though, there was one topic that girl could not stop talking about: boys.

According to her, his name was Ben and he was the most perfect thing to walk the earth. Aaliyah’s words - not yours.

She texted you earlier in the week, letting you know that Ben had asked her to hang out with him and his friends later. Aaliyah was beyond excited and was fully convinced that he was going to admit to her that he liked her back.

There were many theories that she came up with, involving him actually having the same feelings for her and tonight - she told you “I’m right, just wait,” as she left for the hang out.

Shawn snorted at his sister’s remark as his eyes stayed glued to his twitter feed, his hoodie concealing the side of his face as he sat next to you on the couch.

“Excuse me, Shawn, you have something to say?” Aaliyah placed her hands on her hips as she opened the door and he looked back at her, shooting her a smile.

“Nope, have fun, Liyah.”

Aaliyah rolled her eyes playfully before she waved bye to you.

“Good luck!” You yelled, giving a thumbs up before the door shut behind her.

You rested your head on Shawn’s shoulder, his laying gently on top of yours.

“You smell good.” You comment, sniffing his hoodie.

“Thanks baby, I took a shower.” He laughs and you hit him in the arm lightly, smirking.

Believe it or not, these moments were the ones you absolutely treasured the most. The moments when you can all take a breather and simply relax.

About thirty minutes into the second Harry Potter movie and half a tub of ice cream, Shawn groaned.

“What’s up, drama queen?” You spoon another bite of the chocolatey goodness into your mouth.

“I think I have a brain freeze.” His nose scrunched up in discomfort and you lent over to press your lips to his.

His arms wrap around your body and he pulls you into his lap, feeding into the kiss - until you pull away.

“Still have a brain freeze?” You smirk and Shawn looks up at you with his brown eyes, rolling them as his tongue peeked out of his mouth to swipe over his lips.

“No, I think that’s been taken care of.” He smiles and cups your jaw, bringing your lips back to his.

It didn’t last long though, as the front door slammed in anger.

You both spring apart and clamber off of each other, looking at who just walked through the door.

You could tell it was Aaliyah without even seeing her, as she let out a frustrated scream.

Shawn immediately stands up, his brow furrowed and ready to tend to his baby sister.

“Aaliyah, what happened? Why are you back so soon?”

As soon as those words left your mouth, tears welled up in her eyes as she stormed upstairs into her room - the door slamming harshly.

Shawn glanced at you briefly before running up the stairs after her, you not too far behind.

You and Shawn had an obviously uneasy feeling walking up to her bedroom door, able to hear her quiet sobs.

“Aaliyah? Open the door!” Shawn yells through the wood, placing his forehead against it.

It seemed as if in a matter of seconds that this was all happening, Shawn had gotten easily distressed, just by listening to the sound of his sister’s cries.

“Go away!” She yelled back as something thumped against the door, startling you both.

Shawn looks at you, silently asking you to say something - the worry evident in his eyes.

You let out a breath and get closer to the door so she can hear you.

“Aaliyah, it’s me. Can you please let us in?”

“Only Y/N,” she quietly choked out before releasing another sob.

Shawn backed away from the door, annoyed, but he gives you a slight nod as if to say he’s okay and to go ahead. You felt bad for not being able to bring him in too, but if Aaliyah didn’t want him in there, he was going to respect her wishes.

Slowly, you turned the nob and the purple walls exploded into your vision. You shut the door behind yourself, knowing that Shawn would be standing out in the hall, trying to listen to as much he could.

It was cute how he worried for her, they’ve always had a close relationship and you think that only intensified how much they cared for each other.

You take notice of the pillow that sat next to the wall by her door, knowing that was more than likely what she threw.

Aaliyah laid on her bed, stomach first with her face mushed into a pillow; but, she perked up slightly as she felt you sit next to her.

You moved yourself so you could comfortably look at her and run your fingers down her back softly.

It was something your mother did to you whenever you were upset, and you had no idea why, but it would always calm you.

“You want to tell me what happened?” You ask her quietly, noticing how the tears dropped off her cheeks and her brown eyes red and puffy from the incessant rubbing.

Aaliyah props her head up, avoiding your gaze as she wipes her sniffling nose on her sleeve.

“Everything was fine,” she began. Her fingers laced together in front of her face and she kept her eyes on them as she continued on with the story. “Mish’s mom dropped us off at the pizza place and when I saw him, I swear my whole world stopped. Nothing else existed except for him and how I felt about him -” she pauses. “I bet that sounds so dumb.”

You shake your head, disagreeing. “That’s how I felt about Shawn. And I still do feel that way, sometimes. It’s not dumb, Aaliyah.”

“Yeah well, it’s dumb now because it doesn’t matter. I asked if we could go somewhere away from the group so we could talk and he agreed. So, he took me towards the arcade center and we were the only ones in there, so I thought now would be a perfect time to tell him.” Her eyes meet yours for a second before they go back to her fingers. “So I told him and the only thing he says is ‘oh,’ and he starts laughing.”

You cringe, knowing how embarrassing and painful that must’ve been for her.

“He says ‘oh Aaliyah, that’s sweet. I take it you think that I also like you?’ Which made me mad because he sounded like he didn’t care at all and he was like ‘I don’t like you, I only invited you because you’re friends with Mishyia.’” She sniffles and her eyes fill with tears again, immediately spilling over her bottom lashes. “I liked him so much and I honestly felt so stupid when he told me that.” She cries.

“Aaliyah, you’re not dumb or stupid.” You say, wanting to get that point across. “He’s the dumb one if he doesn’t like you. I mean, I’m super surprised boys aren’t throwing themselves at you, wanting to call you their girlfriend. However,” you begin. “You are only thirteen, this is not the end of the world for you, okay?” You whisper as she scoots a little closer to you. “There will be so many more boys out there, so please don’t get too caught up on this jerk, alright?”

She nods, picking at a thread from her pillow, tears still spilling from her eyes still.

You scoot back so you can rest against her headboard and a sigh escapes your lips.

“I told a friend of mine that I liked one of our really good friends once and she told me she wanted us to be together so, I told him I liked him and he turned me down. The next day, he told me he wanted to stay friends. I was fine with that, but it just sucked to see him holding hands with my friend that I told, two days later. They’re still together, two years later.” You shrug, hoping this story will make Aaliyah feel not so alone anymore. “The second really good friend I told that I liked them was a little different though. He felt the same way.”

You stop talking, but Aaliyah looks up at you with her glossy eyes.

“What happened?”

“He turned out to be your brother.”

Aaliyah smiles at the thought and she tells you that she appreciated this conversation and you being there for her. However, she does want to be alone for a while, which you can respect one hundred percent.

“Y/N,” Aaliyah rasps. “Thank you.”

You give her a small smile and exit her room, happy to help.

To your surprise, Shawn was no longer out in the hall as you exited her room, and as you make your way downstairs - he’s doing something that does not look like he’s calm whatsoever.

“What are you doing?” You ask, watching him shove some shoes on his feet and grab his keys - pulling at his hair.

“I’m going to show the little punk that he messed with the wrong girl; baby, that shit doesn’t fly with me.” He snaps, angrily.

You flinch at his acrimonious tone, but you’re able to put two and two together.

“Shawn, you’re not going to beat up a fourteen year old kid.” You try to reason, pulling on his bicep to get him away from the door.

“Why not?” He asks, oblivious to the exact reasons why.

“You know why!” You say, squinting. “Plus, you would never.”

“For Aaliyah I would.” He defends himself, crossing his arms.

“Shawn, you and I both know that’s not happening. I have no doubts that you would fight someone to protect Aaliyah, but Shawn - Ben has no chance against an eighteen year old who lifts one hundred pound weights in the mornings because he ‘likes to.’” You scoff.

“The little shit’s name is Ben? Ben what?”

“Shawn, stop it.” You say.

He takes a second to breathe, and as he does so, he slams his palm against the wall.

A few silent minutes go by before you finally have the chance to say anything, remotely helpful.

“What’s going on? Talk to me.” You quietly pleaded, pressing your hand against his spine.

He straightens immediately and turns around to face you, his cheeks heated from the anger he was feeling.

“It really pisses me off knowing that he’s out there acting like nothing happened and my little sister is at home, bawling her eyes out because of him. That really pisses me off.” He speaks, grabbing onto the back of his neck.

“I know. And I’m sorry that you can’t do much about it, babe. But, you can be there for Aaliyah. I’m sure she would appreciate that.” You tell him and that seems to truly connect with him.

A sigh leaves his mouth and he sets down his keys, shaking his head.

“You’re right. Aaliyah is the only one that matters in this situation.” Shawn licks his lips and walks past you, trying to get to the stairs. “Can I at least try to find him so I can talk to the kid?” Shawn turns around.

“Nope.”

And he treks back up the staircase.

You sit on the couch, hearing the voices of the Mendes siblings conversing with one another. What really gets to you though, was hearing Aaliyah break down in tears and Shawn’s soft ‘you’re okay, you’ll be okay.’

You’ll be okay, Aaliyah.

-

requests are closed at the moment!

fun fact: that crush story was totally true because it happened to me lmao, i got a boy who didn’t like me and backstabbing friend in one package yikes, boys suck sometimes.