#so I hope this post can do even a fraction of that too

[atrirose]

⠀⠀⠀ ONLY FOR YOU ε🪴⁺ you making them flustered

synopsis : things you do that makes them flustered

ft . bf ! enha x f ! r cw. kissing, skinship .. sfw, fluff ✶ wc. 1k ◜ ◝ seiu : hope you enjoy ^^ its the enha pov of my pervious post that ik i did long back but its alright.

HEESEUNG

his hearts melt when you reassure him, tell him you are proud of him or compliment him, he is a sucker for it, could be any moment and he would just turn into a puddle for it.

he looked at you in disbelief as you emptied his portion of cake that he baked “yn, that was mine you already had yours” he pout, on the verge of tears “baby you baked so good it was so yummy i couldn’t control myself sorry but you are such a great cook” if he had a tail it would have been wagging right now “you think so? oh my okay you know what i will make more for you, im glad you liked it” he rubbed his cheeks on yours , while you celebrated escaping that.

“i’m proud of you hee” you plop yourself next to him as he put his head down on your lap “you did great out there” after a long day work these words are his favorite to hear, it makes it all worth it. he looks at you big eyed

“you make everything fade into the background”

JAY

pda and sweet or flirty messages always gets him smiling, though jay likes to keep it nonchalant and cool on the exterior but if you hold his hand or kiss his cheek in the public his ears will turn read despite his best efforts to stay cool “we are in public my love” he whispers “so what” you smile.

also giggles when you text him, tries his best to not show or answer your text in a fraction of a second and focus on his work but he fails miserably everytime “today was so tiring, i want to stay home with you always” collapses on you, hugging you tight “and you are a meanie too, teasing me like that” you giggled at his whiny voice “you can always come home jay”

“i could spend a lifetime just watching you.”

JAKE

being centre of attention by you, he loves attention but from you only, it makes him giddy “then this step was a little difficult but i worked hard on it, so i guess im good now, maybe?” you were doing your work but jake bust in to show his new dance to you so of course you had to give up everything and watch him “it’s really clean jake you did a great job” you got up from the sofa and pecked his cheek.

his whole face got red, not like you haven’t kissed his cheek before but nothing gets him like you sweet compliments and your dreamy eyes giving him 100 percent of your attention, even if he is trying to pull something stupid.

“i must be dreaming because there's no way you're real.”

SUNGHOON

wearing clothes he picked out, sunghoon takes pride in knowing his girl better than anyone, no surprise he picks up on your dislikes and likes, he tries his best to style something that makes you feel like the most beautiful “i was out yesterday and i thought this white dress would look great on but then i saw this necklace and then i thought its the prefect match so here” he smiles,“thank you so much i love these kind of dresses you know me so well” you hug him, inner him is jumping and rolling.

“i’m ready hoon let’s go” he turns back to see you wearing the dress he bought you “oh my goodness, how can you look so beautiful effortlessly” you giggle at his compliments, he is a gone case, a loser if you may, for you. totally smitten and starstruck.

“how am I supposed to look at anything else after seeing you like this?”

SUNOO

loves handmade gift, it gets his heart racing, he feels the most special when you sit to crochet after learning it online, even though the heart bag looks more like a square he would accept it lovingly, in fact he is the most happiest you would ever see him, he would be seen with that bag at every given moment “i love it no please” he said as you tried to take back the bag “but it’s embarrassing sunoo” , he is the type to have all your handmade cards and notes stacked in a box, polaroids of you and him, all your favorite memories to look back to.

“anything you make for me is never embarrassing, i will treasure everything with my whole heart”

JUNGWON

making direct eye contact or looking at him heart eyes when he is talking, nothing gets him all blushing mess, ears red, hiding his face like you do, you always look at him lovingly, humming and nodding, listening carefully. randomly touching his cheeks or tucking his hair behind his ears, gracing his ears “go on hun”

“no” he said burying his head in his hands, all flustered and red “why not” you giggled “because you are teasing me” he huffed glaring at you “stop playing yn”

“sorry won you just look so beautiful when you talk” you bite his cheeks “ow meanie” — “what were you going to say”

“you are so stunning i forgot what i was going to say”

RIKI

pulling him by his tie to kiss him , him being tall is extra fun when he can tease you when you try to kiss him “riki please” you tip toe to reach his lips only for him to smirk and not help you “please what yn?” you pout at his smug face boasting his height “bend down” you pulled on his tie which caught him off guard, your lips smacked on his.

his hands snaked around your waist to pull you closer him, your body flushed with his, your hands still gripping his tie “you can really make anything possible huh?” he giggled , cheeks red “you can let my tie go now” he tired to free his tie trying to hide the fact his heart is beating so fast “now you get how it feels to me teased” his hands still on your waist, he kissed your cheeks.

“how did i get so luck to be with someone like you”

[avatar-anna]

i saw this post on and got inspired. enjoy!

"It was nice running into you."

"Yeah, yeah, you too. It was—I'm glad we could catch up."

You held your bag in both of your hands and leaned back on your heels, waiting for the sudden tension to cease. Harry scratched his neck awkwardly while you looked down at the cobbled streets beneath your shoes. When a minute passed and neither of you said anything, when two couples excised themselves to walk past you, you finally decided to break the silence.

"I'm headed this way."

"Me too. We can walk together?"

"O—Okay."

Harry extended his arm out, a clear message for you to go first, so you did. For a split second, his hand grazed your lower back in that protective gesture he always used to use when you walked anywhere. But that had been when you were together, and now you weren't, and even though his hand merely hovered awkwardly behind you, you swore you could still feel it.

"Your hair looks nice. I don't think I've ever seen it so short before," you said, needing to break the silence all over again before it consumed you.

"Thanks, I, uh, I shaved it a few months back. It's finally starting to grow in."

It must've been soon after your break up, you realized, quickly doing the math in your head. A change, a fresh start after the end of a long relationship. You understood that, knew neither of you needed to comment on it, or the fact that you no longer wore the necklace Harry bought you for your first anniversary, though you'd seen him glance down at the missing piece of jewelry multiple times since you ran into each other.

"It's cute," you said, resisting the intrusive urge to reach up and touch his hair, instead clasping your hands behind your back.

"Are you across the bridge?" Harry asked, gesturing to one of the many bridges that stretched across the Tiber.

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

Harry shrugged, the canvas bag on his shoulder slipping a fraction. "You always liked Trastevere."

You smiled, charmed by how Harry still seemed to know you so intrinsically. "And you? Are you staying in Prati?"

Harry shook his head before waving to a fan who had spotted him. He didn't stop, though, and kept walking beside you, asking about your family, specifically your grandmother, who was his Scrabble partner nearly the entirety of your relationship.

"Good. I play Scrabble with her on the weekends now. I'm pretty sure she thinks I'm not a good enough opponent, but she'll never say it to my face."

"Graceful as always, your nan," Harry nodded in agreement. "Probably wouldn't say the same thing about chess, though."

"No, probably not. Do you still play?" you asked, tilting your head up to look at him.

He was so close, close enough that the sleeve of his green shirt grazed your bare arm. Close enough that if you really wanted it to the back of your hand could graze his. Instead you shifted your hand away.

"When I can," Harry said, his mouth twitching as if recalling a memory. "I've been focusing on writing most days, but I play whenever I'm stuck."

"How's that going?"

"How's work?"

"Sorry, go ahead," you said, blushing a little. Would it always be this awkward around him? You hoped not. Harry had been a friend first, and even though you knew you shouldn't,y you missed his companionship some nights. Lots of nights. Most nights.

"No, you go. Catch me up on all the latest drama at work."

So you did, falling back into familiar, neutral territory as you brought Harry up to speed on your co-workers.

Before long, you'd made it to the apartment you were renting, your palms suddenly warm as you searched your purse for your keys. You were stalling, you both knew it, but Harry didn't comment, nor did he leave, didn't offer any reason to finally say goodbye.

You knew this was where it was supposed to end. That a chance encounter with your ex in a foreign country really shouldn't have gone on this long. You knew that, and yet...

"Do you want to come in?" you asked, scrambling for any logical reason as to why Harry should follow you into your apartment. "I—I, uh, I could make us coffee and—"

"Please. I mean—Sure. That would be...that would be fine."

Relief flooded through you, though that was quickly replaced by a guilty sort of anticipation as you unlocked the door to the main building of the apartment, as Harry followed you up a couple flights of stairs, as he waited once again for you to unlock a door. When you were inside, when you set your things down on the small dining table, you turned to face your ex.

Harry's gaze was once again lowered to your collarbones, to the place where the necklace he gave you used to sit. Then he met your eyes, the expression in them clear. It was the first time you'd seen them since running into him today. He'd kept his sunglasses on the whole time, perhaps to hide his expressions more, because now that you properly met his gaze, you saw it all. Those green eyes you still loved so much betrayed his every thought, and you knew yours probably did as well.

It was hard to say who moved first. If you grabbed the front of Harry's shirt before he wrapped an arm around your waist and fisted your hair in his other hand. But none of it mattered when your mouth met his, when your hands traveled up to cup the sides of his face, your thumbs tracing the familiar planes of his face.

A graze of his teeth against your bottom lip had you gasping, had him smiling as if that was the exact reaction he'd been hoping for. You responded in kind by dragging your nails down his scalp, satisfied by the groan that vibrated against your mouth as his tongue caressed yours.

"This isn't—It's not—" you tried to say, losing focus as Harry left a trail of kisses from your jaw to the base of your neck and back up again. "This doesn't mean—"

"I know," Harry breathed, his forehead pressed against yours as he toyed with the bow that held the front of your blouse together. Your breath hitched as his knuckle grazed your exposed stomach. "This doesn't change anything. Now take this off."

You almost made him do it just because he ordered you to, but you knew why he wanted you to be the one to untie the knot of your blouse. It meant you were saying yes to this moment, it meant you were saying yes to doing whatever it was you were about to do.

So you pulled at the blouse until it came undone, leaving it open so it revealed a strip of bare skin going right up the middle of your body. The rest you would leave up to him.

Harry shrugged out of his own sweater and t-shirt before reaching out to push back the shoulders of your shirt until it was off completely, falling into a puddle of fabric at your feet beside his. His gaze alone was too much and not enough, more explicit than it had any right to be. He stood there and drank you in for a full minute as if in a daze, taking in every mark and imperfect like he was reacquainting himself.

It was hard to get the words out, but you managed. "Still broken up?"

"Yeah," Harry said, his eyes still roving over every inch of your body that he could see. Then he blinked as if remembering the situation for what it was. "Yeah, still broken up."

There wasn't much left to say after that, really.

[macfrog]

walking through fire | one shot

just something that's been on my mind the last few weeks. i hope that you're all ok going into this difficult time of year. and if there's any part of this, big or small, that you find yourself resonating with - there will always be a warm, cozy chair in my inbox/dms, free for you to come sit, hang; we can talk about everything or nothing at all. love you guys. 🤍

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you’re neck-deep in a bout of seasonal depression. your boyfriend suggests an autumnal walk. (better than most healthcare systems offer amarite)

warnings: quite literally about depression & anxiety so please read at your own discretion. established relationship, fluffy soft!joel takes care of his girl, implied suicidal thoughts, use of medication to treat depression/anxiety, feelings of worthlessness/burdening, but hope! in the end! a wee sliver of hope!

word count: 2.7k

main masterlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🖤

November turns on itself all too quickly.

Your body feels like lead, sinking deep into the mattress. Like a broken, rusted shipwreck at the bottom of the ocean; your hand lying limp above the bedsheets like a sailor’s last attempt at reaching over the waves for help.

Joel opened the blinds today. Nuzzled into you, the scruff of his beard sharp on your numb skin, and then stood up and slowly unveiled the glaring light of white cloud. You shrunk further into the bed, your hot breath suffocating you under the sheets. Inhaling and exhaling, breathing in your own rotten air.

He pushes the door open and shuffles across to the bed. Your sea dips when he lowers into it, two arms slipping around your waist like a lifebuoy. He pulls you into his chest; his warm body melting the ice of your bones.

“Hey,” he whispers, and drags his nose across your cheek. He kisses your temple, combs his fingers through your hair. Dabs his thumb along your bottom lip and then says again, “Hey, darlin’. You awake?”

Your eyes flutter open, only enough to see the blurry shape of him; the strong curve of his shoulder, the binary of dark cotton and pale skin.

“Hi, baby. How you feelin’ this mornin’?”

The words catch on the dry cliff of your throat, dangling for a few seconds like panicking climbers, before plummeting into the abyss. You settle for an incoherent mumbling, a vibration on your lips that Joel understands through the pad of his thumb.

“Yeah,” he sniffs, “not so good, huh? That’s okay. You know how much I love you?”

And that peels your eyes open a fraction more. Only enough to sharpen the image of him, to find the dark pools of his eyes and the way the flame in them flickers as he says it.

“Love you so much,” he whispers. The tiny fire thaws the very bottom of your heart, even if only enough to keep the blood pushing heavily through your veins.

Your eyes close over again, and you take his shirt in two weak fists, pulling yourself into his body. Your head fits in the crook of his arm, burying into his side.

“You feel like leavin’ the house today?” he asks, voice sweet and earnest. “Just for a little while? We could go for a walk, could go for a drive. Just you ‘n me, sweet girl.”

You shake your head, your eyes prickling from the sincerity of his question. The guilt beginning to creep its way over your shoulders.

“No? You don’t wanna?” He lifts his head, staring out at the view from the window. “’s a nice day out. Cold, but it’s dry, ‘n the leaves are all orange and yellow, just like you like. Not even for a half hour?”

That same guilt – sneering, bullying – pokes a sharp-clawed finger in your ribs until you answer him. “Tired,” you mumble, screwing your eyes shut until you see the sudden, violent assault of stars in your vision.

“I know you’re tired, baby,” Joel says, stroking your back. “But it might do you a little good to get some fresh air. And you’d be with me, and we can come back home whenever you decide.”

Your fear and shame seem to cower beneath his words; melted by the soft timbre of his voice. They retreat inward, burrowing deep between the cage of your ribs, twisting and mangling around your pale bones.

“We can come back whenever?” you whisper, defying their threats.

“Whenever, darlin’. Promise.”

You surrender yourself, letting him take you in his arms and carry you over to your closet, where he sets you down gently. Keeping an arm around your waist, Joel waits patiently as you pick an outfit, and then helps drape it over your frame. You feel more statue than human – solid substance rather than plush flesh. Cold and brittle; the tender touch and lively glow drained from your skin the same way it drains so quickly of energy.

You’ve been fighting for years. Months and months and months of one step at a time and just keep going. Being told you’re more than what’s going on in your brain, being told not to let it become you. But there are days when you stand before the mirror, and you don’t recognize the figure staring back at you. The dark tunnels in place of eyes, the thin line of her lips.

There are days you can see the marks on your skin from how tight your anxiety and depression bind you; wrapping like ivy around your body until there’s nothing left of you to see through the dark green leaves. Just a haggard, shapeless thing. A skeleton too tired to carry the weight of yourself; a heart too weary to beat in time.

There once existed a time you had smiled, even laughed – you know it, you have the lines scored deep into your cheeks to prove it. Sometimes they ache when you think about it, like even they miss the feeling. Joel knows it, too – you sense it whenever he tells some dumb joke, sense that he’s searching your face for the slightest lift, the slightest dip of a dimple. And it fucking kills you, when you realize you have nothing sincere or true to offer him. No swollen cheeks, no flash of teeth. At best, a heavier exhale pushed from your nostrils.

It all feels so long ago, that lighter, fresher, happier you. It feels so far from your clutches. Like you’re drifting further and further from the surface, disappearing into the murky depths of your own mind.

The doctors, the articles, the fucking motivational posts on Instagram all say the same. Keep fighting it. Confront your illness. Prove it wrong. But you’re so fucking tired of fighting. Fighting it the entire drive to work, your heart threatening to burst; fighting it every conversation you have, your façade slowly cracking. Swallowing the panic like you swallow the medication; both of them sticking in your throat and refusing to go down.

There is no fighting it. There is no overcoming through confrontation. If you broke your leg, shattered every bone to dust, would they say the same? You gotta walk on it straight away to make it strong again. You don’t think so.

Joel doesn’t seem to think so, either. Joel, with a heart of molten gold, ready at every turn to let it pour onto your skin and paint it the color of sunlight when you can’t do it yourself. Joel, with his strong arms and wide reach, bundling you up over the top of all that foul ivy and snapping its thick stems with just his fingers.

Joel, who will sit at the edge of your bed and watch you take your meds; kiss your forehead and squeeze you tight when you show him your empty mouth. Joel, who will hold you in the dead of night and tell you stupid stories about his brother when they were kids, rubbing your back and chasing the dark ghosts from your mind.

Joel, who still sees something in you – whether he’s imagining it or not – and decides each day that it’s worth protecting. Worth saving. You’re worth saving, even on the days you don’t believe it yourself.

He drives for ten minutes, a little out of the suburbs and into a thicket of fire-colored leaves and solid, frozen ground. Fall sinks its teeth deep into the roots of the earth, drying up the bloom of summer and replacing it with something harder, something tougher. Nature is dying in the November breeze – the amber leaves painted the color of the trees’ blood as they fight a losing battle against the shifting of time. You feel yourself decaying with it: a drawn-out, painful surrender to the bleak days and dark nights.

Joel keeps his hand on your thigh the entire ride; you keep your fingers intertwined with his. The fluttering in your chest gets quicker and quicker, spreads its wings wider the further you feel from home. Your mouth dries up, forcing you to swallow after every third breath. But his hand stays there, planted on you like the root of an ancient tree: never shifting, no matter how strong the wind throws punches.

A shaky breath falls from your lips when he slows to a halt, the truck parked by a long wooden gate. He cuts the engine and turns to you, squeezing your leg lightly.

“We’re just gonna walk down there,” he nods out the window, “and back again. As slow as you like, ‘n we turn back when?”

“Whenever I want,” you whisper, nodding.

“Whenever you want, darlin’. Just say the word, alright? Sound good?”

You nod, blinking away the strain of tears across your vision. Your knee bounces, the metal buckles on your boots clinking in the footwell.

Joel rubs his thumb against your cheek. Lifts your free hand and places a delicate kiss to your knuckles. “I am so proud of you,” he mumbles against them, like scoring it into the bone.

You fill your cheeks, flattening your lips together, and he pulls on his door handle.

Five paces from the car, you realize how cold it is. The bitter air snaps at your cheeks, drags the salty tears from your eyes. Joel quickly fixes the collar of your jacket and pulls your scarf over your face.

“You bring gloves?” he asks.

Your head shakes in response.

“Here.” He fishes in the pockets of his tan jacket for a dark brown pair, flicking his fingers for you to hold your quivering hands out. He slips them on, all too big for you, and then knots his fingers through yours and leads you on down the sloping backroad.

Bordered by tall trees on either side, you feel secluded and hidden from the rest of the world. It fills you with equal parts comfort and terror: nobody else is here. No one can see your vacant eyes, the wet stain of fallen tears on your cheeks. Not the vice grip you have on your boyfriend or the weak quiver of your voice.

And at the same time: nobody else is here. No people, no sign of life. Just an isolated track, the looming trees overhead, the squelch of muck and the bite of fall for company.

Joel matches your pace, strolling along by your side with your arm through his and his hand resting on top of yours. He catches your glances over your shoulder, sees the jittery movements of your head as you scan the scene around you, and pats the back of your hand tenderly.

“Take a deep breath for me.”

You fill your lungs with a chilly gulp of air, pushing it back out again as steadily as you can.

“And again.”

You repeat the exercise, your chest swelling against your buttoned up coat.

“You’re doin’ great,” he says, looking down at you. “You feelin’ okay?”

“I’m – Yeah, I’m just…” you twist back to search for the wooden gate, “…can’t see the truck anymore.”

“’s right there, promise ya. You wanna go back?”

He pauses, and your boots scuff to a halt on the stony terrain. You chew the inside of your cheek, eyebrows arching to release more tears from between your lashes. “No,” you breathe, “I wanna try to go further.”

“Then let’s try to go further. Yeah?”

You nod, setting off when you realize he’s waiting for you to take the lead.

The fields on either side of you are strung with a thick blanket of mist from one end to the other, masking the trees at the opposite side and obscuring the line between earth and sky. Your body close to Joel’s, your heartbeat attempting to match the steady pace of his, you feel safe, protected. The promise that you can call it a day whenever your body begins to weigh too much, whenever your lungs begin to falter.

Somewhere between the thinning of the hedgerows, another slanted, shabby gate materializes. Its crisscross panels and worn wooden posts separating you from the first company in your twenty-minute walk.

“Joel,” you call, loosening your grip on his arm and wandering over to the long, dewy grass towards a chestnut horse, a sliver of white fur diving deep between her eyes.

She slowly thumps over, huge hooves sinking deep into the soft dirt. Her long tail swishing, navy rug wrapped around her midriff. She docks at the gate, puffing a heavy breath – hot, thick clouds shooting from each nostril.

“Hi,” you say quietly, lifting a floppy-gloved hand for her to sniff. “Joel?” you say again, glancing down at her swollen belly, the low droop of the rug. “I think she might be pregnant.”

She tosses her head up, ears flicking, and nuzzles into the soft material of Joel’s glove. You feel her wrinkled muzzle, the strong, solid bridge of her nose. She blinks slowly; huge, deep brown eyes twinkling in the late-morning light, and you swear she’s trying to communicate something to you.

“Hey, girl,” Joel says, running a careful hand down her mane.

The horse sighs serenely, eyes flitting between the two of you. Her nostrils flare gently, light brown lashes fluttering. You tilt your head, stroking her and letting her teeth graze the sleeve of your jacket. Her bulky head turns to-and-fro, glancing up and down the trail you’re stood on, contently waiting for the passage of time. Enjoying her view from the misty field before it all changes again.

Unexpected and unwelcome, the absence of compression in your chest suddenly makes itself known. Dread spills into your lungs, thick like tar. You turn on your heel and cast Joel one fleeting glance.

He catches it, and without missing a beat, asks, “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Is that okay?”

“’s more ‘n okay, baby. You did so good today. Didn’t she?” he asks the horse, who huffs another hot breath. Joel tosses a thumb towards her. “See?”

You step back over to the animal, now preparing to wander back on home, and give her one last tender stroke. She blinks twice, tosses her head a final time, and her broad body turns, thudding off back up the slope.

As he links your arms again, Joel blinks down at you, the corners of his mouth slowly lifting.

“What?” you ask, shyly.

“Look at you,” he says, nudging your shoulder with a glint in his eye. “You’re smilin��.”

Autumn flashes by as Joel drives you home – ginger and bronze and honey and cinnamon blurring into one as you pass them by. You settle back against the headrest, moving with the sway of the truck, your tired fingers tracing blind shapes on Joel’s palm.

Nature is burning. Perhaps dying is too harsh a term. Burning in preparation for the winter, when it will lay dormant and restful. Quiet, save for the crunch of snow beneath your feet. Bland, save for the sparkle of frost on your windowpanes. The droplets of beauty laced through, the little reminders that not all has been lost.

I am burning right now, the earth says, but wait until you see what I can become.

The days will turn to night. The sun will tear the sky to tatters, set the whole thing fucking ablaze, go down in a battle stained in red and orange and deep, dark blue – and she will still return, spilling golden all over the horizon. She always does.

The clouds will cover overhead, dampening the color on earth. The blues will fade to gray, the yellows will undoubtedly pale. And then the sky will clear, when it is ready; the clouds will break in two to let a ribbon of cerulean burst through.

The leaves will fall to the ground and feed the soil; new ones will sprout from buds left in their wake. The ground will thaw, will soften again in time to welcome the push of daisies and burst of heather. The horse will foal, the birds will sing to their babies, the buzz of insects will irritate your ears; the rivers will gush and the trees will sway and you will be okay again.

You will be okay again.

[aftaylorglow]

i want so badly for taylor swift to speak out against israel and the genocide this apartheid state is committing in palestine. im so proud of her and everything she has achieved this year, starting from the eras tour to her successful rerecords. it’s not a surprise she’s on top of many year-end most influential/best of the best lists.

but what then? what use is her ever-growing influence? it’s ridiculous to say but she’s the only one who has enough of a sway to make people actually pay attention to something. just look at how the voter registration in the US spiked again when she posted about it a few months ago. how the NFL had boosted views for the simple fact that she was attending the games. can you imagine how much the tides would change if she denounced israel’s atrocities? if she rallied for support for palestinians? the legions of swifties would actually listen and pay attention. because right now only a very small fraction of us care, truly care, about what’s happening. the rest are too busy fishing for a taylor nation notice.

yes, taylor swift cannot end wars. no, it’s not taylor swift’s job to make life better for an oppressed population. but she has the platform, the momentum, and the voice to bring all these issues to light.

this is not to mention how the apartheid state has been using her pictures, her lyrics, even the friendship bracelets to further their propaganda. did taylor not fervently oppose the n@zis who were calling her an aryan goddess a few years ago? even if this is all she does now, ask them not to use her for their propaganda, it would already do so much.

instead she’s silent. when her influence is needed the most, she’s not there.

the sad thing is, we all know she’ll live and thrive if she chooses to stay silent. hell, i have tickets to see her next year. she’ll continue to be successful and she will put out more albums and she’ll earn more money and she’ll be safe and happy. palestinians have none of any of this. some of them are dying under the rubble after their house is hit with b0mbs that israel is dropping as im typing this.

but if she uses her influence? if she puts pressure on the government, on joe biden whom she proudly endorsed, there’s a chance that she could tip the scales. and even if it doesn’t work, isn’t it better to have at least tried? even selfishly, will your conscience not feel lighter knowing you did something instead of nothing?

taylor, you have a ton of resources at your disposal. i hope you use them, and i hope you use your influence to help the palestinian people.

[boyfhee]

യ CRUSHED : PARK JONGSEONG TEASER

SYNOPSIS : fifteen years, a lost love, untold feelings, a breaking heart— crushed. they say if you wish desperately enough for something, the whole universe gets together to give it to you. perhaps, it's the reason why you find yourself back in your highschool, fifteen years ago, with a fluttering love, some lingering feelings, a doting heart, and your first heart break— park jongseong.

or wherein, life gives you another chance with your first love.

GENRE : fantasy, angst, romance, time travel

WC : teaser is 0.7k, est 10k+ for fic

WARNINGS : angst but with a happy ending guys trust me, a lot of mentions of crying, alcoholic drinks, more will be added in the main fic post

NOTES : i knew my jay era would give birth to a jay long fic i say we cheer :› NO BC THIS MAN IS SO FINE just like this fic i'm planning saur. please read. i hope u enjoy the teaser, send an ask / drop a comment to join the taglist

it’s the invitation you’ve been looking at for ten minutes now, standing outside the venue. papers coloured rose, golden letters engraved, names and air spilling with love. it’s the mood of the day, the flow of a typical august wednesday that carries you inside the venue, to the celebration hall. the air inside smells of fresh roses, it’s expected when you see a huge bunch used as decoration in every corner and on table tops. and then you look at the invitation again.

joo miran weds park jongseong.

your best friend weds your other best friend, your first best friend. your first crush. your first love.

the subtle silence in the air was deafening until you see jay sneaking into miran’s suit, or so you assume, although it’s true. from sneaking into her classes to sneaking into her room at night to take her out for a midnight date, sneaking across hallways to catch a glance— just one look, even a fraction of a second is enough— to now, sneaking around the wedding hall to savour that ‘just one look’ at the bride, his bride, as if a lifetime isn’t waiting for them. 

“i thought grooms and brides weren’t supposed to see each other before the wedding,” it’s your voice that stops jay from kissing her cheeks, although you know he would’ve still done it if he wanted to.

“ah well—” he rubs the back of his neck, it’s a habit that gives away his nervousness. habits are hard to change, let alone letting go of one. “do you really expect me to hold back when she looks like this?” and he looks at her as if she put the stars in the sky, or as if she’s a star herself, graced upon earth for him, and only for him. knowing jay, he would say it. 

“you look good too,” you look perfect, you wanted to say. however, you don’t. you don’t know why, it’s normal for friends to compliment each other. you don’t know how many times you’ve called him handsome, you don’t know the last time you called him that. “congrats, by the way,” 

and loving jay is a habit. 

“thanks,” she smiles, looking at you. “wouldn’t have been possible if not for you,”

it’s something you can’t get out of yourself. no amount of blind dates can do it for you, no amount of heartbreaks can colour him bad. 

“no really,” his voice pulls you out of your thoughts, and you unconsciously smile a bit more. “thanks for setting me up with miran,” 

no amount of time can push you forward to move on from him. fifteen years, a lost love, untold feelings, a breaking heart— crushed. the world moved on, you did too, yet your heart is still there— gyeonggi suwon international school, fourth floor, the first class from the stairs. fourth desk, the one right next to the window, a view expanded across the school ground, a way for you to watch jay’s football matches between lessons. 

his heart is with someone else while yours is where you realised your feelings for him, left behind— crushed. 

and it’s a shame to live like this, as if there’s no point to life. to hold back tears at your best friends’ wedding, to force a smile when they kiss, to stare from a distance when she threw the bouquet, to cry in the washroom after all is done. head buried in your hands, muffled sobs as you hear a few women talk outside your stall. you don’t pay attention to them, you couldn’t. you had realised you couldn’t pay attention to anything that wasn’t him or about him. so you just sit there, head buried in hands, eyes closed, not paying attention to anything.

yn.

you hear your name. 

once.

yn?

twice.

“yn,” thrice. “are you okay?” and you turn around, it’s the same scenario— gyeonggi suwon international school, the fourth desk by the window, the sunlight falling upon. your eyes meet his, and then his smile. your best friend, your first best friend.

your first heartbreak.

“wanna get ice cream on our way back home?” you nod instinctively, habitually. it’s how things went fifteen years ago when you had realised your feelings for him. it feels the same, fluttering love, lingering feelings, a doting heart, and park jongseong.

crushed. 

[katelynnwrites]

You Look So Pretty (Pretty Like The Sun) | Sydney Lohmann

warnings: not proof read

word count: 2557

summary: after making your own name, you realise it's not enough because you are still missing your sunshine

a/n: i wasn't going to post this but i'm on a mission to leave all my bad writing behind in 2023 so here's part two of this fic

It’s with a certain amount of trepidation that you walk onto the Bayern Munich training pitch.

Both you and the facility have undergone a major change in the years that you have been away but one thing is the same.

You know when the love of your life is near.

It seems that the blonde can still sense your presence too because she looks up and visibly pales the second she sees you.

‘Sydney.’ You breathe but she shakes her head.

The German player’s eyes are wide and panicked.

You are torn between staying where you are, on the very edge of the pitch or making your way to her.

This is the closest you have been to her since the day she broke up with you.

Luckily or unluckily, your new manager spares you and calls your new teammates over so that you can meet them.

Seeing Magda and Pernille again is a welcome distraction.

The older women had practically adopted you as their own when you were at Chelsea and you sigh contentedly as they wrap you up in a hug.

‘I missed you two so much.’ You mumble.

‘I hope you’re prepared for dinner at our place tonight. You can tell us all about why you didn’t tell us you were coming to Munich.’ The Swede says.

Pernille gives her a fond swat, ‘Oh don’t sound so serious love.’

Conspiratorially, she turns to you and loudly whispers, ‘Magda just wants the chance to mom you again.’

You giggle at the defender’s immediate protests.

******

Meeting the rest of your new club teammates goes smoothly.

All except for one.

Magda and Pernille help with the introductions, easing you back into the Bavarian team.

For all your fame, you’re still shy so you are grateful for the help.

They’re not all new faces, most are familiar.

You grew up playing for the youth teams with Klara and Lea. Some others you know from international games or as opponents that you once played against in the Frauen Bundesliga.

It’s with laughter that you reunite with Lea, the older woman teasing you that you’re still shorter than her.

Your introduction does not last long but by the time you have properly met all of your new teammates, Sydney is nowhere to be seen.

And you hate how awful that makes you feel.

Maybe you didn’t make the right decision in coming back to Munich.

******

Sydney is still Sydney. That much you have come to realise. The blonde has grown up but at her core, she’s still who you fell in love with.

You are content to watch forever as she shines on everyone. There is never going to be anyone else like her. Sydney Lohmann is a singularity.

She shows up to training sessions just a fraction of a second early and drinks far too many coffees for her own good.

Her fancy footwork on the pitch puts everyone else to shame.

The sound of her laugh still makes you happy and her smile brightens up every room that she is in.

Unlike before, none of that is directed towards you.

These days, all she has for you is indifference and silence.

She doesn’t even look at you and from the only interaction you have had so far, the one from your introduction, the midfielder has made it clear that she doesn’t want you back at her club.

You try not to let it affect you or your performance.

The faking it till you make it must be working because you are all set to be a starter just two weeks after rejoining the Bavarian club.

******

Syd doesn’t start that particular game and it gives you an overwhelming sense of relief.

It’s already stressful enough to have to prove yourself good enough to start without adding on your standing with your former girlfriend.

You’re doing well against Köln and you’re proud of how you are adapting back to the German style of play, if you do say so yourself.

There is only about a half hour left of playing time when the blonde is subbed on.

She doesn’t look at you and you keep your gaze down.

Unfortunately, for her, her playing time is cut short. It is like a bad deja vu of her previous injury against Köln, a few years ago.

One second she’s jumping up for a header and the next she is on the ground, holding her ankle.

You hear her cry out and then you are sprinting.

Lina is already at her side and just before you reach her, you freeze.

Sydney doesn’t want you anymore.

So you stay away from her but just far enough that you can still see how she is.

It doesn’t look good.

The medics come on and it is agonising for you to have to listen to Syd’s pained whimpers and do nothing about it.

You are trying your hardest not to flinch when Lea comes up to you.

‘Go to her. She needs you even if she doesn’t know it yet.’ She quietly says.

‘Schülli…’

‘Go. I know you want to.’

Hesitantly, you approach the injured midfielder.

Sydney’s eyes are tear filled and when she sees you, she immediately stretches out her hand.

It is instinct for you to put your hand in hers.

‘You’re gonna be okay.’ You murmur soothingly and she closes her fingers around yours.

The blonde shuts her eyes, more tears escaping despite her best efforts.

You keep holding her hand until the medics signal that she needs to come off.

Your ex girlfriend cries even harder at that and you help her get to her feet.

The German woman stifles a whimper as she does so and you worriedly ask, ‘Do you want a stretcher?’

‘No! Please no.’

‘Okay. Lean on me then.’ You whisper and Syd nods.

She puts her arm around your shoulders and you wrap your arm around her waist, supporting her weight.

‘I got you.’ You assure her, as she limps towards the sidelines.

Once there, it is with great reluctance that you let her go, the medics taking over.

You look over at the bench where your manager is preparing the subs and you signal for you to be replaced.

‘I’m coming off too.’

‘No.’ The blonde snaps.

‘Syd this is not up for debate.’ You insist.

Your meaning and intentions are clear, making Sydney let out a frustrated noise.

‘No. You are going to stay on and be a star. Okay? Go be a star and play for us both.’

She squeezes your hand tightly, wanting you to know how much she means her words.

‘Are you sure?’

Your ex nods, ‘Go.’

‘Okay.’

Syd’s hazel eyes are filled with tears and she looks so vulnerable that you can’t help touching your lips to the side of her head.

‘I’ll score a goal for you. Promise sonnenschein.’

In running back onto the field, you miss the way she lets out a soft sob.

She doesn’t know if she cries harder because of the old nickname, the feel of your lips back on her skin or because of the way the pain in her ankle practically doubles once you are gone.

******

You keep your promise to the German midfielder.

Scoring not just one goal but two before the referee blows the whistle for full time.

Then you rush straight to the medical room where you had been told Sydney is.

You slow down, the clicking of your studs becoming quieter as you approach. Tentatively, you knock on the door before you open it.

Syd’s all alone, sitting on the bed with her knees drawn up to her chest.

Her injured ankle has been fitted with a moon boot and her face is pale.

‘Sydney?’ You ask softly.

‘Why did you come back?’

‘Because I wanted to check on you.’ You answer immediately.

The blonde scoffs, ‘Not here here but Munich.’

‘I don’t understand.’ You murmur even though your stomach drops because you understand perfectly.

Sydney’s eyes narrow with anger.

‘Don’t give me some bullshit answer. You were doing so well for yourself over in Barcelona so why come back? You left before so why return now?’

Her words are clipped, filled with more than just resentment.

You sigh. She still knows you too well.

‘You. I came back for you.’

Sydney’s face goes blank.

‘No. You came here to win the league. You have won the English and Spanish leagues. The Champions’ League and Euros too. This is just one more thing on your list.’

Wincing audibly, you take a step forward.

‘I came back for you. You and you alone Sydney.’

‘No.’ The blonde adamantly says, even as her bottom lip starts to wobble.

‘Syd…I came back for you. I promise I came back for you.’

You are pleading with her now, almost begging for her to believe you.

The midfielder searches your face for traces of lies, tears spilling down her cheeks as she does so.

‘No. No. You chose to leave and I wasn’t enough to make you stay before. Why would I be enough for you now?’

‘Sydney I never wanted to leave you. It broke my heart to leave Germany with how things ended between us.’

Raw pain is evident in your admission and now it is your ex’s turn to flinch.

‘Why didn’t you come back earlier? You could have played for Germany. We could have played together just as we promised to all those years ago.’

You shrug.

‘I was eligible to play for England too and you made it clear that you didn’t want to see me anymore. I know me being here is the last thing you want but I just couldn’t stay away from you anymore. Not when I never stopped loving you.’

Sydney loses the little composure she has left.

Harsh sobs wrack her body and she covers her face with her hands.

‘I’m sorry. I-I’ll go now.’

You turn to leave but the blonde chokes out your name and a plea for you to stay.

‘What?’

‘I never meant for us to break up. I never meant to push you away. Fuck I am so sorry. S-So sorry.’ Syd stammers.

‘Sydney what are you talking about?’

Your words aren’t unkind, just genuinely lost. The German player’s actions have been plain and constant ever since you left. They have been nothing short of obvious in recent times.

Sydney doesn’t want you.

The midfielder wrings her hands, her voice barely a whisper as she says, ‘I love you too. There’s not been a fraction of a second where I haven’t.’

You are floored.

Literally because you have to sit down.

You stare at her silently and the only sound in the room is your ex’s quiet cries.

Eventually her tears slow and she sniffles, looking up at you.

‘Say something.’ She breathes after the painful silence continues.

You don’t know what to say so you go over to her and sit down beside her on the physio bed.

Sydney is trembling but she tentatively wraps an arm around you, getting you to lean your head against her shoulder.

After a few minutes, you curl completely into her side and the blonde sighs in relief.

It is how the rest of the team finds you later, Lea smiling a secret smile to herself.

******

You end up going with Syd back to her apartment. She gives you her address and you drive her there in your car since she can’t do it herself due to her injury.

The blonde keeps stealing glances at you as you drive, wondering if she is dreaming.

She thinks it would be too much if she puts her hand on your knee the way she used to, when you were hers and she yours.

Sydney is so busy overthinking it when you slip your hand onto her knee.

You keep your eyes on the road the entire time but a smile forms on both your faces as Syd covers your hand with hers.

Neither of you have said a word to each other but that’s okay cause there will be time for that.

******

It’s after you have helped the blonde onto her couch and brought her a mug of tea that you realise whose jersey is framed on the wall of her living room.

The three lions crest is familiar, the last name and autograph even more so.

‘Sonnenschein that’s mine.’ You murmur.

Your former girlfriend sets her tea down and nods.

With growing curiosity, you inspect the match worn jersey.

‘From the Euro final in 2022.’ Syd confirms when glance at her.

‘How?’

‘I bought it at an auction. I think it’s the one you wore during the first half.’

You remember now, the England staff had got the team to sign the jerseys before sending them off to some charity organisation.

‘Why do you have it? I would have given it to you for free if you’d asked.’ You question.

You have so many of them that this is as good a place to start as any.

‘Because I was so proud of your achievement. Even if you had to beat me to win that gold medal.’ She explains, picking up her mug again just so that she has something to fiddle with.

‘And I didn’t ask you because I was afraid.’

‘Of me?’

You try not to sound hurt but it bleeds through anyway.

Syd’s hazel eyes gloss over.

‘Not of you. Never of you. J-Just how you would react I guess. Nothing like your ex girlfriend coming up to you after you’ve won your first piece of silverware for your country to spoil the mood.’

The midfielder lets out a strained laugh.

You frown, ‘You wouldn’t have. I wanted to approach you that day too but I didn’t know how. I thought you hated me.’

‘I could never.’

‘It felt like it.’ You softly say. She's, after all, been point blank ignoring and avoiding you ever since you resigned for Bayern Munich.

The blonde grimaces, ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘You said that I made you feel like you weren’t enough when I left for Chelsea. I’m sorry for that.’

‘You needed to leave. I get that now. Leaving Munich was the best thing for your career. Bayern might be my home but it wasn’t yours. I couldn’t see that at nineteen and I can’t tell you how sorry I am for letting my selfishness ruin us. I treated you the way I did all these years because of how guilty I felt.’

‘Sydney…you didn’t ruin us.’

‘Didn’t I?’ She hopelessly asks.

‘I played a part too. It wasn’t entirely your fault.’

The German woman looks defeated and sad. Her hazel eyes are downcast and her usually healthily pink cheeks are pale.

You sit down next to Sydney and take her hand in yours, ‘We’re not ruined. You are still here and I am still here.’

She squeezes your hand in hers, ‘A-Are you saying that you want to give us a second chance?’

‘Only if you want to.’

Your former girlfriend doesn’t need a second to consider it. Her mind is made up.

******

Sydney is pretty like the sun. You’ve always thought so.

Now that you have your sunshine back, you’re not leaving her again. She’s not letting you go again either.

German Translation:

sonnenschein- sunshine

[senanatheskenana]

Hello! I loved your Sinclair post about their S/O leaving them. If you would like too could you please write a part 2 where the S/O comes back and the talk it out? Happy ending if at all possible only if you want too, I hope you have a great day!

I'm glad you enjoyed it :)

I hope this is ok, i tried my best but i've been a little bit rusty after my break from writing <3

Part two of this

The Sinclair Boys' S/O Comes home.

Bo Sinclair

Bo had exhausted nearly every option of where to find you.

He knew that even if the chance of getting you back was slim, he had to at least apologise- promise to be better. For once he needed to prove to someone that he was worth the fight.

Most of all, he needed to see you.

And he never admitted it, but a part of himself needed to see if you looked even a fraction of the way he did.

Bo turned up on your doorstep, hat in his hand, face covered in dirt, sweat, and who knows whatelse.

You had to admit he looked awful- worse than you'd seen him in months.

Even when Bo recognises he's done wrong, he doesn't always feel bad and her certainly never apologises for it.

Until now.

~~~~~

You stand there on the porch, staring expectantly at Bo as he struggled to find words. His throat was dry, and all of the things that he wished to say- the large speech he had spent days rehearsing and rewriting- melted into nothing at the back of his throat. He looked at you briefly before diverting his attention downward at his shoes.

"Beauregard, please say somethin'. I don't wanna stand in the cold all day," when he doesn't seem to respond, you more to shut the door on him. He panics and in a moment of adrenalin, sticks his hand in the doorframe to stop you from closing it. He doesn't so much feel it as he does hear the scraping crunch, letting out a hiss when you immediately reopen the door to let his trapped fingers go.

The next thing he knows, he's in your kitchen with a bag of ice wrapped around his hand. The lights in the kitchen are too bright for Bo, making everything but you seem hazy in the sleep deprived state hes in. You can see that hes not in a good state, but it worries you how he got here

"Bo, did you drive all the way by yourself?" you hope he says no, that Lester had driven four hours to get here. However, from looking into his truck, you know it was just him.

Bo looks at you like you're stupid. "I drove. Din't ya see the truck?"

"Don't make that face at me, Beauregard. Why are you here?"

He stares at you a little longer again, his resolve cracking further. It's been so long since he's seen you and now he can barely look at you out of shame.

"Sugar, you know i ain't the type to apologise for anythin'. An' i know you deserve someone who does..." but now he looks you in the eyes like a kicked dog, "I haven't be'n treatin' you like I shoulda."

"Bo-"

"No, please lemme say this cuz i wanna get the chance before you chuck me out." he sighs.

"I know I'm no good for you, and i know i dont deserve the time of day from you but i do love you... Sugar, i love you so much it hurts when you ain't around no more. It's like i'm continuously choking on smoke. Now I ain't trying to guilt you into comin' home- Ambrose. "

"Bo please just say it"

"I'M SORRY- I know that don't make up for how ive treated you- or anyone," Bo shifts and mores to grip your hand, "But i wanna be better for you, i wanna show you i love you, and make you feel loved"

You remain silent for a time and he feels his stomach sink slowly to his feat and he deflates, retracting his hand.

"I-I'm gon' head out soon, get outta your hair for good. I just wanted you to know i was sorry."

"No you're not, you're in no state to drive Bo. Stay the night here. We can head back together tomorrow" at that his face lights up. "You can have a shower before you get anywhere near me though," you tease.

He smirks and scampers up the staircase, "Yes, ma'am"

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent made no attempts to find you.

After all, why would he try to bring you back if you were only going to leave again.

He figured he may as well cut his losses and try to get over it.

So he tried.

For weeks.

Then for months.

But he just couldn't.

He saw you in everything he did.

He could swear that he saw you in his paintings or in visitors' cars.

Hell he thought he saw you getting out of Lester's truck right now.

Until he realised you actually were.

But something was different.

~~~~~

Through the glass he could see you hopping out of the cab of the truck, thick winter sweater consuming your figure. He's sure its one of his.

Vincent rushed through the house to the front door, swinging it open on its creaky hinges. You hardly get the chance to look at him before he's wrapping his arms around you tightly.

Lester stands to the side watching.

"Yer lucky i was drivin' west otherwise she might not've made it t'all"

Vincent turns away to sign to Lester but you dont catch it because he's moving his hands so fast.

"She's tryin' to get back to ya but ran outta gas before i found her"

He was shocked. You were trying to get back to him? Why, he was sure you wanted nothing to do with him this entire time.

He signs slower so you can understand,

'Why did you come back?'

You look at him sadly. In truth you felt bad for running away with no notice- leaving Vincent all alone with no explanation.

"I had to." you started, "Because i love you. And it wasn't fair to run away, i know, but i was scared of what you might think, or do"

Though you cant see, Vincent looks puzzled under his mask, you can tell. he signs again.

'Why did you leave- what were you afraid of me for?'

Your eyes water and you look down, arms wrapping around your torso.

"Vincent, I.." the words get stuck in your throat and he moves to cup your cheeks but you grab his hands before he can. You don't think you can say it. Your trembling hands guid his callused palms to your stomach. His eye widens when he feels the protrusion there.

There was no way. He stiffens and stays like that for what feels like forever until your shoulders start to shudder with sobs. Vincent snaps out of it and panics, trying to calm your cries. He moves to embrace you again before frantically signing to you.

'No please darling, don't cry. I'm not upset- i could never be upset with you'

You sniffle, "I'm sorry i left you. It was only meant to be for one day- to go to the clinic but then i found out i was pregnant and then i got scared that you wouldn't want it so i went to a hotel to try to think about what to do but i never manages to figure anything out."

Vincent feels his heart crack a little bit at your distress. He should've been more intuitive- maybe let you know that he'd care about you no matter what.

He gently puts his hands back on your tummy and looks at you. He doesn't even need to sign for you to know what he was trying to say.

'It'll be ok'

Lester Sinclair

Lester was a good guy, you knew that.

To you, he was perfect.

He never even raised his voice at you, and you're sure that if he even scratched you, he'd feel horrible for days.

And if you were honest, you still missed him.

You knew what he was doing was wrong but you still loved him.

Before you can stop yourself you're calling his mobile, waiting for the beeps.

He picks up after a single ring, like always.

~~~~~

"Heh-hey hun!" he tries his best but you can hear he's happy that you called him. "Is everythin' ok up there?"

You had to admit, it was sweet that even now, he cares about things like that.

"Hey, Les..." you don't really know what to say but he's patient, "Sorry im not really sure why i called."

"It's ok, please, i ain't gonna complain" you can almost hear his smile through the phone.

"I'm sorry about what i said-"

he cuts you off, "No, no you're right. What we was doin' was horrible, i know. But i- i wantcha to know that i told Bo that i ain't doing his dirty work anymore."

That surprised you. You know that Bo's a strong, stubborn character and Lester wants nothing than to impress his older brothers. This was big.

"I'm glad, Lester. Just stay outta trouble." You tease him and he giggles.

"I'm tryin' my best out here." an uncomfortably long period of silence takes over the line before he speaks again. "Jonesy misses ya... she just sorta stares at the door at night, expectin' ya to come walk through it."

It sounds sort of sad when he says it like that, he realises. "Not that I'm tryin to trick ya into comin back, im jus' sayin' that maybe you'd like me to bring her up to you some time." It's a ploy so that he can see you again, he knows.

"Oh no, Lester don't go all the way out here to let me play with YOUR dog, thats unfair." you pout through the phone and he laughs again.

"I don't know- i'd get to see you again, so it seems like a good trade, hun."

You dont know what got into you.

"Lester, I miss you."

The line is quiet again for a few seconds before he replies, "Really?"

"I know you've done some horrible stuff, but i still love you, and i dont know, if you're tellin' the truth about leaving that stuff behind, then maybe we can make it work."

He fights back a squeal of delight when he hears that.

"You stay right there, Huneysuckle, I'll be coming to get you as soon as i can." you laugh at his enthusiasm, "I'm getting in the truck, ill see you soon!"

[hamcakevaletguy]

My thoughts on the Damien situation, from the POV of someone who’s relatively uninvolved with posting on social media:

As a newer fan of Smosh myself (I watched some videos in 2012, but haven’t really kept up since, and only started regularly watching the last year or so), I went through the backlog of content that they have because I enjoyed their more recent videos. Zayna, a newer Palestinian fan, did the same and found this joke in an old TNTL disappointing and wanted him to address it firsthand and make his stance clear.

For anyone saying Damien has already made it clear that he is in support of Palestine: it’s not a given that the fan who brought up the clip would have already known about Damien’s stance on Palestine. Yes, he’s talked about it in a couple of his streams and posted Insta stories about it, but a newer fan of Smosh, not necessarily Damien himself, wouldn’t know about those unless they were looking for it because they are:

temporary (IG stories only have a lifespan of 24 hours unless you take screenshots) or

a few minutes hidden under several hours of game streams on a separate platform (he talked about Palestine several months ago and has streamed a lot since, unless you know the specific Twitch stream and the timestamp when he talked about it or had clips of it, most casual fans wouldn’t know either)

In his defense, Damien himself has recently said that more fandom stuff has reached his timeline than he would like, so maybe he thinks more people know about his activism because of that. However, even if Zayna did know, wanting a straightforward statement apologizing for the insensitive joke (because bringing up the "Israeli-Palestinian conflict" [as it was called back in 2019, not accurate to what has been going on for 70+ years and counting, which is an ethnic cleansing] for shock value, as he himself said, is insensitive) is not an unreasonable request.

More under the cut

When all you have is 240 characters per reply, the things that you do choose to say matter even more. When you parse out everything in Damien's replies, he doesn't come out looking too good. Yes, he did apologize for the original joke. In his replies, he said:

using it as shock value was in poor taste and naive of him,

it was in poor taste back in 2019 and he wouldn't make it now

(in response to his first couple of replies) he is sorry for reacting in frustration and he'll learn from it,

and, in his final reply, his parting words were "With all my heart, I hope for safety for your loved ones. Be well."

However, he also says and does things that undermine his apology in the same replies:

questioning why the clip was brought up in the first place, as if bringing up old content wasn't something fans regularly do with things they're interested about and as if it's not still a public video fans can easily find,

bringing up that the fan in question had 19K followers, a fraction of the followers he has as a public figure,

saying that this conversation could have been done in private, as if an initial DM request wouldn't be buried in his other requests as a public figure, and as if he doesn't have the capability to start a DM himself to clarify things after the initial reply/post,

saying that the original tweets tagging him should have been deleted after his first response when he never asked for that, and just assumed it would happen for some reason,

deleting his replies a couple of hours later,

and blocking Zayna and several others who were only interacting with Damien through quote tweets (I'm not sure how quote tweets work, do they notify the OP?), some who don't even say anything remotely critical of him - in his defense, blocking is not inherently a bad thing, it just means that he doesn't want any further interactions from them for whatever reason. However, silencing any Palestinian voice isn't good, to say the least.

Damien has always been a proponent of “trying to understand and see from different perspectives” so his response here surprised me, personally. I get that he has a fear of being misunderstood, but jumping to the conclusion that the other party is purposefully trying to be incendiary is the opposite of that.

I'm not going to try to make excuses for him. He knows better. He's been a content creator for years. He knows he has more influence than any normal fan would. His autism is not a part of this conversation either. Mental illness is an explanation for behavior, it doesn't absolve you of the consequences of it. If you're citing Damien's autism as an excuse for his behavior, you have to also account for Zayna's autism.

People are also bringing up the possibility of Damien getting death threats as a result of this, which we have no proof of and won't have proof of unless Damien himself decides to disclose that. He has only stated that he is taking a social media break, which has been a long time coming, not necessarily only because of this, because he has been busy and tired in recent months. What we do know has happened is that Zayna has received death threats (weird of people to want the death of a Palestinian when the original argument they're defending Damien for is that he is in support of Palestinian liberation).

This isn’t an issue of cancel culture, it’s an issue of accountability and frankly, hero worship of Damien in the part of people attacking Zayna and other people on Twitter.

When the only people who had spoken about their support of Palestine in their own words, however briefly, are two or three cast members, some people are naturally going to put them on pedestals. This hero worship of Damien has been exacerbated by his image as the most politically correct member of Smosh, and Smosh’s (until recently) silence about the issue.

While we're at it, for people saying Smosh's sudden outward support for Palestine and joining Creators for Palestine is in response to backlash about Damien, or only in response to the block list going around:

It's only been a few days since the Damien's whole ordeal. Smosh is not that fast, and historically, their response to backlash would have been either complete radio silence or unlisting or privating the TNTL that the clip is from, combined with silence.

I’m sure Shayne, Ian and Courtney have been working on it for more than a few days, based on their liked posts, to get everything straightened out with the organization themselves and adding their names to the list of creators.

People have been asking for Smosh to be more public about their views on Palestine. Some of the cast members have said their piece on their personal social media, but their views could have changed. Those posts were made shortly after the events of October 7 brought even more media attention on Palestine and the Gaza Strip, which was not necessarily in favor of Palestine because of the effects of U.S. propaganda. It's been several months since then and people have a lot more information now, and more clarity.

Up until now, the only indication of Palestinian support not from social media is a brief statement from Ian who said something along the lines of "travel watermelon", while they were talking about their rejected roasts during Anthony's Funeral After Show in December, which are codewords that were used in TikTok for Free Palestine. However, this is heavily censored, behind a paywall, and temporary, because of the nature of their live shows. This support of CFP is the bare minimum of what Smosh could do, but the bare minimum is more than they were doing before.

They listed Smosh as the name under their $15,000 donation to CFP, not just Shayne, Courtney and Ian, which could be intentional, referring to Smosh as a whole company, or just referring to the three that have posted about it as a collective. Unless Smosh makes a full statement about it, themselves, it's still up in the air.

The timing of it is unfortunate. Damien has been silent about it so far, making his original posts about Palestine seem performative to some. However, it’s only been a few hours and he is on a social media break. The only thing he has briefly gone back online for is to promote something he's doing with Nintendo, which he could have been contractually obligated to do. He may or may not say something when he fully comes back from his social media break, but for now, that's everything we know. People can make their own conclusions based on all of this.

I am being very intentional with every single word I say on here, as to not be misconstrued in any way, however, if I missed anything or anyone else has anything to add (constructively, like images of either the actual conversation had by Damien and Zayna, or the cast and crew's support of Palestine prior to CFP, not outright anger and disagreement), please do. If anyone has any genuine questions about the situation, please feel free to message me directly and not bring it into this post, which is supposed to be a civil discussion surrounding more facts and events, less speculation. If I feel those questions have relevant points to add on here, I will add on in reblogs.

[miokki]

# VALENTINE’S WITHIN THE FORTRESS

✰ synopsis: the ways of human love are unstoppable and yet, need work to thrive.

✰ paring: wriothesley x gn!florist!reader

✰ warnings: nothing just fluff

✰ notes: ngl i was supposed to post this yesterday but i had a surgery and only remembered when i woke up. anyway, happy valentines!

all kinds of human life exist within the fortress of meropide, some artists and some of estranged descent. and while all have broken fontainian law to end up under the sea, life goes on. love is no exception to this, whether people might find themselves promising to meet each other on the surface or vowing to live their lives beneath the surface. valentine’s day doesn’t halt within the fortress of meropide either. within the month of february, coupon earning and spending is at its first peak of the year in coupon exchange—people go through all types of thing to both sell goods to those who want to love and to acquire goods for their loved ones.

those with more connections with the surface make a living from it, and those good with their hands receive commissions to make rings, necklaces, bracelets. of course, there are inmates who that can’t afford either and have to get creative or work extremely hard to afford these inflated coupons prices. some years the inflation rate was so high that most ended up with some paper, a pen and some origami hearts. although, a handwritten, heartfelt letter or two can mean more than any sweet or flower—those words could save a life.

this is all information the duke told you. naturally, you hadn’t believed any of it until your boyfriend had actually taken you under a week before valentine’s. you think it’s cute, not the criminals, but the way humans will always find ways to show affection—even in the hardest of conditions and circumstances. it’s reassuring to witness; it ignites hope into one’s heart and a dream to be loved in a humanly way.

that said, valentine’s day is a lot different on the surface and yet all the same meaning. you stare as your bouquets and others sweets and jewellery get sold like their necessities to life due to humans wish to love. at times some wish to love more than they want to live. although, such is a day that can hold absolutely nothing at all if you have no one to love. you can’t say the same, as there is your one wriothesley that you wish to love, though he lives far from your home, your flowers, and your heart. and most of all he lives under the sea in a life protected by bolts and metal barrier. but you both make it work, because what is love if it doesn’t have its own obstacles?

—

today you wear a smile. bright and ecstatic as any other lovestruck person as you continue to climb down the fortress of meropide. the heels of your shoes clacking against the hard metal as you made your way down with much more bounce in your step then you’re used to. as you, you who holds a gift from the surface. one that cannot thrive here, or cannot even survive. however, it is your own gift to the duke, wriothesly. and while it does not compare to signify your love, you hope it can at least illustrate the tiniest fraction of it as you hold the gift—wrapped in fontainian newspaper and brown wax paper and tied of with a baby pink bow.

most stare as you travel your way to wriothesly office, staring straight of what’s in the palm of your hand. it’s something of a rare sight down here and you know it. they know it too, yet they’re more than willing to do everything but ask it of you. it’s the duke they’re scared of, not you. it’s the most unlikely of cases that they would be you—you’re not the type of person that would thrive down here, and it’s a worry that your lover might not agree with it.

“wriothesley! my love!” you call out as you skip up the stairs up to his true office, your steps echoing on the curved walls.

when your view meet his frame, your not even all the way up the stairs. yet, your eyes caress his figure, all seriousness lost from his eyes as he drops his pen. his line of sight meets yours a spit second after. it’s only then that you slow down—watching as your boyfriend stands to meet you half way. you end up facing each other near the sofa before he takes you into his embrace,

“you brought me flowers? thank you, darling.” he smiles before placing a kiss on your forehead, which leads you to step back and gift them to him.

“i know it’s little but i’ve order so many flowers over the past week that i had just enough for a tulip and lilac combo.” you say, looking at him as he takes them from you.

wriothesley chuckles, “they’re beautiful, dear. on that thought though, i got something for you too.” he lays a kiss on your temple, giving you a tight squeeze before heading behind his desk against.

you follow suit, yet you find yourself on the other side of his desk while he searches through his drawers. “did you receive stares when you walked over here?” the duke asks while moving his hand inside a drawer. “i always get stares,” you reply, observing as he lowers himself to a drawer lower. he breathes out a nervous laugh. “well i can’t imagine you teleporting into my office, but did you get different stares?”

the flowers.

“well i was holding flowers, it’s not like you can grow them down here,” you joke.

soon as you back down your boyfriend makes a sound of discovery as he opens on of the last drawers in the desk. subsequently, wriothesley lifts himself from his squat, a sense of victory in his eyes as he holds to you a small velvet box.

wait what?

with surprise in your eyes you open the box still in his hand to reveal a ring slotted in the middle of the white cushion.

“is this—”

“oh, sorry i should have said something, i’m not asking you to marry me,” he specifies.

you breathe out in relief, releasing the breath of air you’ve been holding in.

“were you hoping it would be?” the man asks, his voice cracking through the atmosphere.

“i was hoping it wouldn’t be,” you pause, “wait, what i meant was that i don’t want to live a life of this.” you point up.

“could you explain further?” his seriousness returns to his face.

you can’t live a life down here; is what you want to say.

“i—i guess when i think of a marriage with you, i think nuts and bolts and vitamin d deficiency and living down here. and as much as i love you and want to be with you, i can’t do that for myself—i won’t allow it.” you say instead while staring at his desk.

but then you breathe. you look up. he stares back. he smiles.

and then he smirks, taking the ring out of the box, reaching out for your hand, “you’re just like a flower you know,” wriothesley says while you lay you hand into his grasp. “you could survive on the light down yet you need the raw sun to thrive. you need water but not from the sea. now, i may live down here but i would never force you to live a life of this.”

the cold metal slides onto your middle finger and you can finally breathe again.

“thank you, again.” you voice getting giddier as you talk.

your hand moves to his face as you cup the pale skin of his cheek. slowly guiding your love forward, so you can kiss him. first, starting at his left on his left cheek, then his right. the duke’s skin surprisingly soft, before your lips connect with his scar under his eye. and lastly, you push you lips on his pink ones—furthering the kiss when you feel him smile against yours. your other hand sitting on his chest as you pull away. and despite the almost silent tone, you find that wriothesley has printed some words on your lips. which you read to be ‘i love you too’.

do not copy or repost any of my works.

@ miokki 2024

[animelovelover123]

Hey there! You don't have to answer, but what do you think (insert DMC charas of your choice) would do for Valentines Day? Love your work btw. Always makes my day when you post 🥰 Have a great evening

Devil May Cry Boys Valentine

Parings: Dante, Reboot Dante, Vergil, Reboot Vergil, Nero, V x Reader

Author Note: Thanks for the suggestion! I woke up late today (was up and down all night because of period pain) and when I saw this and started imagining scenarios it made me feel better. Hope you like it, happy Valentine’s Day/Singles Awareness Day!

Dante

This mans straight up forgot, like always. He is always forgetting dates and holidays, especially if he is out on a mission in some remote place so doesn’t have the typical festive decorations that litter stores to tip him off that some event is approaching. Even when he is at home though, sometimes he holes up in his house just eating delivery food and relaxing so the world outside and the passage of time goes on without him.

He scrambles to prepare something, anything.

What can he set up in less than a day? What do people do for Valentine’s Day? He is not used to having a partner.

Fancy restaurants? Can he get into any of those? No, they have all been booked months in advance.

Okay, candlelit dinner at home. Should he order something? No, that’s not special enough. So he should cook. He can cook, right? It can’t be that hard.

It was… it was hard.

Well while that disaster is on the way, what else can he do?

Flowers? Flowers sound nice. Again though, most florists are sold out of the traditional roses, but at least he can make his own with his demon abilities (see Lucifer from DMC4). How many does he make though? One? Six? A dozen? Well now Dante has enough roses to fill a hot tub but that’s fine, he can just sprinkle the petals around. What does he do with the stems? Uh… just throw them in the closet for now.

What else?

He should dress up! He still has a suit, right? Does it fit him still? He hasn’t worn it in years.

In the end, you have dinner with Dante who tries to act cool, despite the fact that he is in a suit that is two sizes too small, his food is a mushy mess (a good-tasting mush might I add but still), he nearly set the place on fire with the old candles he used, and you both have little nicks all over your hands from cleaning up the rose stems that came cascading out of the closet when you tried to hang up your coat.

He swears up and down that he will do better next year. Yes, it was a disaster, but by god he tried.

Reboot Dante

Dante is not into Valentine’s Day and how commercialized it is. Every ad, shop, and website proclaims that if you don’t buy your partner <insert product name here> then your relationship will fail. What bullshit.

But you know what is kind of fun? The day after.

Pounds and pounds of chocolate and sweets on sale for cheap.

Popular hangout spots mostly barren as everyone just went.

Bars and restaurants with half-used bottles of wine and champagne that are usually multiple tens of dollars a glass now being sold at a fraction of the price because it was quickly going stale.

Valentine-themed lingerie and sex toys practically being given away at stores.

So hold off on the celebration baby. Save that cash you would have spent.

The next day you and Dante will go on a shopping spree, buying more chocolate than you two could eat.

And as you two indulge in said chocolate, you can bounce from one place to the next, enjoying bougie alcohol at empty restaurants and practically having places like amusement parks, arcades, and waterparks all to yourselves.

And when you two get home, well you now have a drawer full of new lingerie and sex paraphernalia that Dante is dying to try. Which one does he want to try today? Oh no baby, you don’t get it. Dante wants to try them all.

Vergil

Vergil is the kind of man who did not see a point in doing anything special for Valentine’s Day. He gave you love and affection all year round, why would doing something specifically on this one day mean more than any other?

But if you show even the slightest sliver of disappointment at this, he will do something. Nothing basic though. If he was going to go out of his way for this then he was going to be extra about it.

So on the day he picks you up from work, school, or just your home, in a limo.

He takes you to a dress and suit rental shop filled with gowns and suits of all styles and colours. He also made sure to find a rental place that also offered accessories so jewellery, headdresses, and shoes were also available.

He will not exert his will over your choice, but he does want to be present for you trying things on and he will suggest some things. He claims that he simply wants to make sure you are presentable, but he secretly is having a lot of fun seeing you in different styles, patterns, and colours. He takes mental notes of what kind of things you look good in so he can get them for you later.

Once you pick out whatever you like he takes you to a dance hall where a ball is being held. Men, women, and everyone in between are dressed to the nines and dance around the room to live music. The way the lights shine, the glitter of jewels sparkle, and the fabric of all the dresses swish around creating a dream-like atmosphere.

Vergil will lead you in multiple dances. If you seem nervous or mess up the steps, he does not criticize you. He brushes it off as there is no need to worry. Yes, this was an elegant ball, but that should not restrict you. He did not bring you here to try to force you to act fancy.

He brought you here to make you happy, and that’s all he cares about. Not just today, but every day.

Reboot Vergil

This man is always working and unfortunately does not spend a lot of one-on-one time with you. He makes exceptions for special events though, such as your birthday, anniversaries, and Valentine’s Day.

He will spend time with you for these events. Note, though, that the likelihood of Vergil actually spending the specific day with you is low. His social life must work around his work, he warned you of this before you started dating. So your Valintine’s Day celebration will happen in about a month's vicinity of February 14th.

When the time comes though, Vergil spares no expense. Literally, this man is loaded and he will use this opportunity to shower you with luxury and attention to make up for all the time he spends working.

We are talking about a multi-day vacation to anywhere in the world you want to go to do whatever you want. And you know exactly where you are going because you are the one that planned it all. Again, Vergil is a very busy man.

This isn't to say he will not have a few surprises in store for you.

Despite what it may seem, when you are talking at him while he is typing away on his computer he is listening. He has a specific file on his computer that lists all of the things you are interested in and said you wanted and will secretly add to it while you talk.

The surprises he gets you for Valentine’s Day will be extravagant, not a simple book or game you have been interested in. He just buys those for you whenever they come up, if you don’t take the initiative and get it yourself with his card. So be ready for things like private concerts from your favourite singer and/or group, getting to play the beta version of an unreleased game you have been waiting years for, or getting to play a minor role in an episode or two of your favourite TV show.

The time you two had together would be relatively brief, as only a few days were scheduled and he reminded you that he would have to return to work as soon as possible.

It was almost two weeks later when he could finally pull himself away from you.

Nero

A traditional lover from a traditional city and religion.

Even if Nero was not really into the rules and restrictions of The Order of the Sword, some of his beliefs did line up with theirs.

For example, Nero wasn’t interested in getting you something sexy for Valentine’s Day as he felt it was a bit sleazy and he worried that it would give off the impression that he was only interested in sex. However, if you are the one to gift him with a special something something in the bedroom then he will be all for it.

No, Nero wanted to keep things clean and simple.

Flowers, chocolates, and a card filled with some personal and deep feelings that you better not tell anyone about because he would die of embarrassment if it got out.

He’ll take you out on a date, but not to a restaurant or anything. Instead, he planned a picnic for you two. He made all the food himself, with minimal help from Kyrie. Mainly she just acted as a recipe book and made sure everything he made was safe to eat. Nero was a decent cook, but he did not want to risk making you sick. It may not look immaculate (he doesn’t have a normal right arm, give him a break) but it tasted great.

On the day he will take you out of town, somewhere nice and natural. A peaceful place with a beautiful view and no one around for miles that can get in the way of you two being together.

V

This will be the first Valentine’s Day V ever celebrates, period. He knows of the day, of course, and many of the traditions that accompany it. But he has never gotten to experience them.

It was also a bit troublesome as many of the typical Valentine’s Day activities, such as fancy dinners, either at home or going out, giving flowers and reciting poetry were things V did for you regularly.

So if days with him are already filled with elegance and refined shows of affection, how would he make this day special? Well, he will do the opposite.

V invites you to make homemade chocolates with him. With his lack of experience, it is a messy task and the finished product is far from immaculate, but that did not matter to him.

He could clean later and his familiars could eat any mistakes created. (They were demons, they could eat chocolate despite their animal forms.)

What mattered was experiencing something new with you. To spend the day working together, laughing at the mess-ups and sharing the prideful joy of success.

And he also quickly discovered the appeal of licking chocolate off each other.

[phantombre]

Uh...

...Rema?

Remember in the birthday post when I said that I had some more sketches?

Well I have more sketches:

Some other guys that I don't have posted designs yet but I really like.

Your Contrarian to me is very cowboy coded. I know he's the Bard, but... I don't know... He got yeehaw energy. (For the record, I do not think this is a bad thing. In fact, Cowboy Contra is a really interesting idea actually...) Also, I can only hope that my take on Contra has even a fraction of the smug that yours has.

World record for Living Being with the Most Sass obviously goes to Oppy. Your version, especially.

Paranoid is just the most adorable guy... Just look at him! Ahh!

I like to think that Cold can flare out his cloak like a peacock as he floats about. (As if his aura isn't intimidating enough.) Very spooky. :)

And I thought this was all...

...but it ain't...

As I was sketching, I had this idea:

My Hero was already pretty tall, but it'd be funny if he was still somewhat dwarfed by your Bard. (Also, the eye. Holy shit, I didn't know he even had eyes 'til I saw your redesigns. So unnerving. It's perfect.)

And wow! I still wasn't done. The hell is wrong with me?

I remember seeing the Guts Trio comic (which I adore, btw). I really like this panel:

...and this is all I can think about:

It's that scene from the animated version of the Little Mermaid with the pipe and the- ahhh! It's so good!

Poor Skeptic, though. He seems really roughed up trying to hang with Stubborn and Hunted...

Actually, you know what? I can't have this. He deserves better...

God, I haven't done a digital painting since my Long Quiet... Feels good. Need to do more...

Anyway, there he is! The reason this took me so long to post. Loosely based on that scene in your fic. Had to give him the utmost respect. He is a classy Detective, after all.

Okay... Just two more, I promise...

Part of this one was actually supposed to be part of the original gift:

Yep! I originally had the Narrators, but I couldn't finish it in time (also was trying to look for any references to your designs). I ended up recycling it for this comic idea.

But oh? What's this?

But of course! Your helmless Smitten is absolutely gorgeous! The most beautiful man!

Writing his dialogue, however, was the hardest thing for me. (Not even sure if I did it justice here...)

It was at this point that I completely ran out of steam (not permanently, but man, my brain hurts). I had a concept for a part two to the Smitten comic, but I am drained. I guess I can give the dialogue for it...

My Narry: Good Lord, he talks endlessly...

Rema's Narry: Yes, perhaps the most annoying of the bunch.

My Narry: Glad we don't have one-

?????: Oh, on the contrary, villains!

Rema's Narry: you can't be serious...

My Narry: WHAT THE SHI-

Gee, wonder who mystery dude is...

Anyway, this post is way too long. I am so sorry. My brain autopilots too much.

These are all additional birthday gifts for @remaking-machine. I hope you enjoy. Your art is very inspirational. I had a fun time.

Time to eep

[haithamuse]

☆ 7:11 PM ─── FT. REO MIKAGE

something is missing ....

cw. fluff : intentional lowercase : gn!reader

"reo, look."

at your behest, reo‘s eyes left the tv screen. his gaze shifted towards your hand, which was expectantly stretched out towards him.

reo didn‘t even think twice about what you wanted, just grabbing it and intertwining his fingers with yours out of habit. however, he didn‘t expect the unsatisfied squeal you made as you pulled your hand out of his grasp. "no, i said look. not touch."

now you had his full attention. "what?" his eyebrows shot up and his voice held a tone of full-on confusion — clearly not expecting this reaction from you. but you were unphased and just cocked your head towards your once again extended arm, "look at it."

prompted by your request, reo glanced at your hand for a second but quickly whipped his head back to you when he didn‘t notice anything out of the ordinary.

your hand seemed perfectly fine — granted it would look better in his, but he didn‘t think this is what you were hinting at. reo was completely dumbfounded, while you looked at him with raised eyebrows as if he was missing the most obvious clue. "what is it?" his voice carried a sense of urgency, suddenly wondering if something had happened. should he be worried?

though finally, you dropped the act as you couldn‘t help the corners of your mouth from crinkling into a smile. you burst into giggles upon seeing the frown on reo's face — he looked too adorable.

when he realised what was going on, your boyfriend simply rolled his eyes while you tried to stifle your laughter. "alright, what kind of prank are you pulling this time?"

"none at all!", you wholeheartedly insisted.

"oh, is that so?"

"let me phrase it like this." you shifted on the sofa, now fully facing reo. he followed your lead and you once again stuck out your arm. reo eyed you sceptically for a moment, before hesitantly reaching out when you didn‘t seem to pull away. "do you think anything is missing?"

"four fingers and one thumb — looks perfectly fine to me", he told you in earnest.

"well…. it does seem a bit lacklustre to me."

reo cocked an eyebrow at your reply and snorted. "what, do you want a second thumb? or a second pinky?"

"no!"

"then tell me, what is it?"

you sighed, a bit frustrated with the guessing game that you had started. in your defence, you wholeheartedly trusted in reo and his wit to crack your little puzzle. but alas….

"i think it‘s missing a ring."

it didn’t take a genius to figure out the implication of your statement — even less so when said man was sitting right in front of you. in a fraction of a second, you could visibly see how reo’s face contorted from a face of confusion into one of absolute glee. “you’re right. it totally is, isn’t it?”, he practically beamed at you before tackling you in a hug and throwing you both onto the couch.

luckily for you, reo had the perfect solution to your problem, in form of an engagement ring tucked away in one of your many dressers — which were filled to the brim with lavish gifts your boyfriend had gifted you. he knew you would never look there since most of them haven’t even been opened yet, due to the frequency reo spoils you. that should suffice, right?

let’s hope he can find it again.

wanna be notified of when i post? click here.

[anticomedygarden]

they all want your white body

5 times Alex defends Henry (and Henry is pleasantly surprised) (though he should really know better by now) + 1 time Henry defends Alex (and Alex isn't surprised) (because no matter what anyone says, Henry is the goddamn bravest man he's ever met)

title is from billy joel's 'everybody loves you now'. the whole quote i wanted to use for the title was, "they all want your white body/and they await your reply/but between you and me and the Staten Island Ferry/so do I," but i figured that was too long

cross-posted on ao3

-

1. The Charity Gala

As much as Henry wished he could pretend he didn't know the man walking toward him, he knew that once those beady eyes latched onto him, there would be no escaping Mr. George Blackwell.

He had just enough time to whisper, "Run while you still can," into Alex's ear before Blackwell was upon them in all his glinting golden glory. Honestly, where did he find all that precious metal? "Ah, Mr. Blackwell. I'm glad you could make it," Henry bit out, raising his champagne flute to his lips and suddenly wishing for something a bit stronger. His words were at least a kernel of the truth for the man's only redeeming quality at functions such as this was his extensive bank account.

Blackwell gave him a once over. "Yes, good evening, Your Royal Highness." He turned to Alex. "And this must be-"

"Alex Claremont-Diaz, Henry's boyfriend," Alex interrupted, causing Blackwell's face to take on a delightful red color. When Alex stuck his hand out for a handshake, Blackwell hesitated but eventually took it for a fraction of a second.

"That's lovely." He turned back to Henry. "Say, did you hear that George Jr. just finished his enlistment?"

Henry put on his camera smile, the one Alex hated so much, and said, "Is that so?"

Blackwell nodded and continued to prattle on about his son and his particularly bland life with his particularly bland job after his particularly bland whatever, and Henry tuned him out, instead choosing to rub Alex's inner thigh under the safety of the table cloth, at least until one jab broke through the reverie.

"...But it's such a shame nowadays that some men won't take up their proper place to enlist. Real men are becoming few and far between."

Henry nearly rolled his eyes, unfazed by the unoriginal insult.

What did surprise him was Alex. The dark haired man set down his drink, leaned forward, and said, "You're right; it is a shame." Henry raised his eyebrows at him, but Alex didn't stop. "It's a real shame that men still think their masculinity is in jeopardy if they don't have enough dominance over other people."

Blackwell spluttered, but, again, Alex continued. "No, really, I'm so glad a huge chunk of the government's budget is going toward ensuring men like you can get off feeling superior to not just everyone else in your country, but everyone else in the whole world."

Henry didn't think his eyebrows could go any higher, but one look at Blackwell had them trying. Nevertheless, he thought it might be a good idea to take Alex out before he goaded this man into a fist fight.

"I'm ready to go, Alex. How about you?"

Alex glanced at him sheepishly, not looking a bit apologetic, and, honestly, Henry didn't want him to be. Watching Alex argue with bigots only got more fun the longer they were together.

The second they were out in the hall, they both broke down in laughter. Henry could hardly breathe.

"God, did you see his face?" Alex gasped.

Henry nodded, still laughing. "I thought he might hit you!"

"No way he was gonna punch me, not with witnesses."

Henry shook his head, though he was smiling. "I love you so much."

Alex put his hands on Henry's neck and pulled him in for a kiss. "I love you, too."

2. Philip

Henry woke to an empty bed.

Groaning, he flopped his arm across Alex's side in the hopes that his boyfriend was somewhere over there but regretfully came up with nothing.

He decided on a different approach. "Alex?"

There was no answer.

He really didn't want to get up.

David clearly didn't either as he had burrowed into Alex's empty nest of blankets.

Henry got up.

Groggily, he meandered around the upstairs, and, determining Alex wasn't up there, he walked slowly down the stairs and stopped when he heard Alex's voice, tense and angry.

"No, we're not going to do that," he was saying. "No - stop - stop talking...You're not listening to me! We're not doing that because we're not your happy little queers to parade around when you need media points, Philip!"

Ah. Henry sat down on the stairs. This was sure to be an interesting conversation, one that wouldn't make him feel guilty at all.

"Yes, it is. Whether you like it or not, that's exactly what you're trying to do."

There was a moment of silence as Philip said his piece.

"I don't care what your Gran thinks."

Oh, Philip was sure to love that.

"How the hell is this our fault, Philip?  You want to control the tabloids? Get better libel laws."

There was the sound of something being slammed on the counter, and then Alex appeared at the bottom of the stair case. He did a double take. "How long have you been sitting there?"

Henry rested his elbow on his knee and his head in his hand. "Long enough. How long have you been up?"

"Only since Philip called, so about a half hour."

Henry winced. "I'm so sorry."

But Alex waved him off. "It's fine. You know how much I love yelling at people for you."

"Still." Henry hummed, then something occurred to him. "Did Philip call you directly?"

It would be incredibly odd if he had. For one, the two had always had a contentious relationship, barely speaking to each other when they were forced to and certainly never going out of their way to converse. For another, Philip knew full well that Henry would be far more willing to lie down and take whatever he had to say.

Alex shook his head. "Your phone started ringing, and I thought it was mine. I didn't want to wake you up."

Henry really should be used to it by now, how considering and amazing Alex was, but it still surprised him every time.

He got up and walked down the stairs, right into Alex's waiting arms. "Thank you for yelling at Philip for me, darling."

"Anytime, sweetheart." They stood there for a moment. "Let's have waffles for breakfast."

"Alright." They broke apart and began gathering the stuff for breakfast. "What did Philip want?"

Alex didn't look up. "Nothing important."

3. The Crown

Merely a week after his and Alex's engagement was released to the public, Henry came home from work to discover a ridiculously large envelope addressed from the Crown stuffed in their mailbox.

Had it been any other day, Henry would have waited until Alex got home to open it to, you know, preserve his mental health, but on this particular day, Alex wouldn't be home for several hours at least, and he was still riding the high from being newly engaged, so he opened it.

That was his first mistake.

His second was attempting to sift through the pages and pages of legal documents and wedding information after a full workday without caffeine in his system.

Immediately, he got a sick feeling in his stomach, the same feeling he used to get when Philip came to Kensington or when news came of Gran delivering her orders. The Crown was trying to control every last aspect of their wedding, from location to color scheme to wedding party.

He was just starting to feel the beginnings of a migraine when his eyes caught on one sentence in particular.

You are to live in Kensington once the honeymoon is over.

No.

They would have to give up everything they had worked for in New York. Alex would never be a politician or a lawyer. They would have to leave the brownstone permanently. No more dreams of a ceremony in Texas.

Just like that, Henry was done. He crossed his arms on the kitchen table and laid his head down. In the back of his head, he pulled out a thought he had been entertaining for weeks now, ever since he'd decided to propose.

There was the sound of the front door opening and shutting, and then David skittered into the foyer, presumably to bring Alex to Henry.

Sure enough, the next thing Henry heard was Alex entering the kitchen. He still didn't raise his head.

"Sweetheart? What's wrong?"

Henry felt tears prick at his eyes. How could he be so horrible, subjecting his wonderful fiance to people like this, people who were so determined to make them suffer?

A hand began carding through his hair, and he heard Alex start pulling papers toward him to examine.

The hand in his hair stopped, and Henry whined. Alex must've figured out what the papers were for because he didn't acknowledge his fiance's groans.

"This is bullshit, babe," Alex said, voice sounding incredibly restrained. Henry appreciated that Alex was trying to remain calm for him, but he'd honestly rather Alex be screaming. It's what he deserved. "They can't force us to do anything."

Henry laughed humorlessly. "As long as it's a royal wedding, they own it."

Alex shook his head. "Fuck 'em-"

"That's not how it works," Henry explained. "They'll make you convert to Anglicanism." His voice dropped. "They'll make us move."

His third mistake was believing the Crown could control him, or, better yet, Alex.

"Fuck that, babe. We can do whatever we want. We can fly to Vegas and elope under the ministrations of fucking Elvis-"

Alex continued like that for a while, and as Henry watched the man he loved most in the world nearly knock over their salt shaker as he gesticulated wildly, Henry knew what he wanted to do.

"I want to abdicate," he said.

Alex stopped suddenly, mouth open, hands still in the air. "You what?"

Henry sat up finally and looked Alex in the eyes. "I want to abdicate."

Looking a bit lost, Alex cleared his throat. "Okay, not that I don't fully support this, but," he paused. "If you're just doing this because of the wedding, there are other options. I wasn't kidding about Vegas-"

Henry shook his head, a fond look on his face. "No, I've been thinking about this for a while. I don't want the Crown holding themselves over us for the rest of our lives. First this, then what? When we have kids, they'll try and force us into surrogacy to preserve the line of succession. They'll fight you on all of your political opinions. We'll never get a break. At least this way, there'll be some degree of separation." He stopped himself, afraid he'd work himself up into crying again.

Alex took Henry's hands then and pulled him closer so he could whisper in his ear. "You're sure?"

Henry nodded, and Alex twisted so he was sitting in his lap. "Well, alright then."

4. Twitter

The article was a joke. It was the kind of thing one was only supposed to see at the checkout of a grocery store, but somehow, the internet got a hold of it, and now it was plastered on every social media site everywhere.

But seriously, who would believe that Henry has murdered someone? All of Twitter, apparently, because he had been getting notifications about it all day, even though he was the least likely of all the royal siblings (and the Super Six, really), to murder someone. The article didn't even name the person he had supposedly killed, simply saying it was a boy from Eton.

Henry tried to tell Alex it was just another rumor that would die out in a week, especially with as ridiculous as it was, but Alex insisted on saying something. At least Henry had convinced him not to address it directly, knowing acknowledging it would only give it power.

In the end, Henry turned off Twitter for a week and put Shaan in charge of his phone.

When he finally looked at Twitter again, the first thing he saw was a post from Alex.

[image of Henry reading on the couch with David curled on his stomach]

Happy Tuesday to the most amazing person I've ever met. Hen, I'll stand by you in everything you do because you've never done anything wrong in your life. Love you, sweetheart!

Little shit.

5. Henry himself

As soon as Henry woke up, he knew it was going to be a bad day. The distance from the bed to the hallway seemed like infinity, and he barely found the strength to roll over. Alex was nowhere to be found, and Henry hoped he would be gone at least until Henry mustered the energy to at least leave the bed. He hated people seeing him like this, even if having Alex here would probably make.him feel so much better.

He laid there for another hour? Two hours? Henry didn't know, but at some point, Alex quietly opened the bedroom door and came to sit next to Henry.

"Hey, sweetheart. How you feeling?" He set something on the bedside table and turned back to Henry, carding his fingers through his hair. "And don't lie."

Henry blinked his eyes open, awed that Alex knew something was wrong before Henry had even woken up. "Not great."

Alex hummed. "I brought you tea and Jaffa Cakes for whenever you're ready." He stood from the bed, and Henry watched him walk around to the other side. He closed his eyes and felt the bed dip as Alex laid down, curling around Henry in a parenthesis.

"How did you know?" Henry whispered, finding himself caring more about the answer than he really has any right to.

Alex made a confused noise. "Babe, it's 1:30." Henry didn't have it in him to be surprised, but he was sure when he was feeling better, it would hit him hard. "I figured you were either feeling bad or coming down with something."

An arm came down around Henry's middle. "I'm sorry. I know this isn't easy for you."

Alex shook his head against Henry's back. "It's the easiest thing in the world, sweetheart."

+1. The Queen

"I simply cannot allow this. You will release a statement in the morning rescinding the announcement.

Alex didn't have to look at the queen to know she had that stupid little smug look on her face, the one that meant she was being a bitch, a bitch to her grandchildren no less.

Alex also didn't have to look at Henry to know that he had one of his various press faces on, the one that signaled practiced neutrality. It was better than the press smile, but not by much.

"No, they won't be doing that," Catherine said. "For one, you can't control whether or not they're engaged." That's great, Alex thought, except she actually could. "Ignoring that, they can't rescind now without you coming off horribly in the press."

Again, that would be great if she didn't believe the entirety of the UK's population were huge homophobes, something Alex would say if he could get a word in without being interrupted by a certain someone.

Mary started again. "The country is simply not ready-"

Suddenly, Henry clutched Alex's thigh hard enough to elicit a gasp, and everyone's eyes turned to them. "That's enough."

And, holy shit, Alex's jaw fucking dropped because Henry just interrupted the queen of England. Well. Alex had always wondered what being beheaded felt like.

Mary opened her mouth to say something, but Henry held up a hand. Yep, they were 100% dead. "No, I've sat here and listened for long enough. You know what I came here to tell you today?" He took a deep breath, and, alright, this wasn't how they'd discussed breaking the news, but, apparently, this was happening. "I'm abdicating."

The room went silent as everyone processed the news. Bea, of course, already knew, and simply sipped her coke, but Philip's face was completely white. Catherine's eyes were wide, betraying a glint of pride. Queen Mary, though-

"Over him?" she said, poise slipping minutely. "You would give up your birthright and embarrass your family for this American man?"

She said it with such disdain that Alex tried not to be offended, and he had to try even harder to keep his mouth shut.

Henry, it seemed, was not taking the same precautions. Alex squeezed his hand in support. "Yes, Gran, I would." He stood, taking Alex with him. "I love him, and I don't want to have to hide my whole life. I don't need your prejudice. I'm done."

With that, he dragged Alex from the room, leaving behind the open mouthed stares. As soon as they were out in the hall, Alex had Henry up against the wall, mouths pressed together. It wasn't nearly the sexiest place or situation they'd ever been in, but goddamn if Alex wasn't hard as a rock.

"I love you so much," he murmured into his fiance's mouth. "You're so damn brave."

Henry pulled back abruptly to burrow his head in Alex's neck, and Alex brought up a hand to rub his back. "You did amazing in there."

For a second, Alex thought Henry was about to start crying, until he whispered, "It's all because of you."

That really made Alex's heart swell. It was too bad it was wrong. "No, sweetheart. That's all you."

[nahoney22]

Congrats on the 3k! Not shocked at all, you're wonderful and deserve it! 💜 I was wondering if you'd do a smut piece with Echo and fem reader with the NSFW prompts 'can you feel what you are doing to me?' And 'you are the biggest turn on'? But would it be possible to add the 'accidental brush' prompt to it? If not, no worries! But maybe like a mutual pining/idiots being in love with each other and not realizing it until something finally caves? I'm a sucker for that stuff lol

3000 Prompt List Celebration

Echo X F!Reader

word count: 1.6k

NSFW

prompts:

• “Can you feel what you are doing to me?”

• “You are my biggest turn on.”

• & ‘Accidental Brush’

warnings: NSFW, explicit sexual content, mutual pining, idiots in love, female reader, first kiss, flirting, handjob, fluff, aftercare.

authors note: oh @theroguesully I’m so sorry about the wait! This was completely lost in my drafts and it was scheduled to be posted literally months ago but Tumblr said no. Anyway, hope this is okay and thanks for the support! Love this idea.

“Are you busy?”

You glanced up to find Echo near, his mechanical hand cradled in his grasp. "I've got time," you replied as you set your previous task to the side, observing him settle next to you as he lays his prosthetic down gently. "What seems to be the problem?"

"It's acting up. No clue what happened. I've tried everything," he explained, a hint of frustration evident in his voice. Your lips curled into a knowing smile.

"You think I might have a solution?" You took the cybernetic hand, studying the connections and circuits. "When did it start acting up?"

"Roughly an hour ago," he admitted, his gaze intently following your movements. Most people made him feel self-conscious about his enhancements, but with you, he felt different. It was your gentleness, your genuine care. And the undeniable fact that you were the most enchanting individual he'd ever encountered - a secret he guarded closely. Though he had his suspicions that maybe Hunter knew. And Wrecker… and everyone else. Just hopefully, not you.

"Hang tight, I'll sort this out," you said, pinpointing the malfunction. "I can bring it over when I'm done."

"You trying to send me away already?" He teased.

"N-No, it's just—" You stuttered, forever caught off guard by Echo's smooth presence. From the moment you'd met, you could not deny the fact he made your heart skip a beat. He was also so tentative and kind, not to mention utterly handsome too.

“Mind if I stick around?”

The intensity of his gaze caused your hands to waver just a fraction, betraying the storm of emotions raging within you.

"Of course," you managed to reply, trying to sound more composed than you felt, then refocused on the task at hand.

As you began to work away, Echo was captivated. Watching you effortlessly navigate the intricacies of mechanics always left him in awe. In his eyes, your skill rivaled that of even the most seasoned experts like Tech. Or perhaps he was simply biased.

But as time passed, his appreciation began to shift. While you remained engrossed in fixing the issue, his eyes strayed to the gentle curve of your lips, the way you absentmindedly bit down on your bottom lip as you concentrated. It wasn't meant to be enticing, yet he found himself stirred by the sight. He swallowed hard, an uneasy tension filling the air around him. Shifting uncomfortably, he hoped you wouldn't notice the effect you had on him.

Echo's sudden fluster caught your attention, making you smirk mischievously. "Everything okay?" you teased, having caught his uneasy demeanor.

"Just... feeling a bit warm," he replied, his fingers absentmindedly adjusting his collar.

"Well, don’t worry because I’m now done." You handed over his fixed prosthetic, your heart fluttering as you awaited his verdict.

The ease with which he reattached it and the grin that spread across his face told you everything. "You really are something," he whispered, though not quietly enough to escape your ears.

You leaned closer, the playful edge in your voice unmistakable. "And what’s that?"

He met your gaze, a warmth emanating from his eyes that had your heart skipping a beat. "Brilliant," he replied, his voice firm with conviction.

Taken aback, you offer a shy smile, averting your gaze. "I should get back to my work," you murmur, gesturing to your previous task. He follows your gesture and nods in understanding.

"Do you need a hand?" Echo offers, his eyes searching yours for an answer.

"No, it's just some minor tweaks left. But hey, if your arm gives you trouble again, let me know," you reply warmly, your words making him feel an unexpected surge of warmth.

He returns the smile, more genuinely this time. "I appreciate that. Is there any way I can thank you? Anything you need?"

Caught off guard, the first thing that comes to your mind spills out, "A hug?"

His eyes widen, clearly taken aback. You've shared casual touches, sure, but a hug was stepping into new territory.

Seeing your hesitation, he responds with a soft smile, "I'd like that."

You both stand and Echo's eyes search yours for a moment, and then with a gentle determination, he opens his arms to you. The galaxy seems to slow as you step into his embrace. The surprising warmth of his body against yours feels both unfamiliar and comforting, the steady beat of his heart syncing with the rapid thumping of your own.

You rest your head against his chest, discreetly inhaling the unique scent of him - a mix of metal, oil, and something distinctly Echo.

But, something feels different.

You pull back from him slowly and that’s when you see it. Your mouth subsequently waters and a sudden heat pangs at your core.

Your heart races as Echo, completely forgetting that his previous arousal hadn’t completely faded and the hug, only sprung it back as you accidentally brushed against him.

“It’s not what it looks like.” He utters quickly, eyes wide and absolutely mortified but you’re too stunned to speak.

And you’re not at all upset. In fact, you are rather in awe. “Then… what does it look like?”

Echo's face burns, the combination of his embarrassment and the close proximity making it all the more intense. He struggles to find words, his confident demeanor faltering in the face of his unexpected vulnerability.

"It's... I mean..." he starts, trying to form a coherent thought, "Being close to you, feeling your warmth, it just... affected me. And watching you work…”

Your eyes remain locked onto his, the weight of the realisation settling in. The physical evidence of his attraction had been a surprise, but in a way, it also confirmed what you had both been dancing around for so long.

Taking a deep breath, you muster the courage to admit, "I affect you, huh?"

As you didn’t back away, in fact coming closer, Echo let out his own deep breath and sincerely hoped he was reading the look in your eyes correcting. “You’re my biggest turn on.”

With your eyes dancing in delight at his confession, you couldn’t help but lick your lower lip, enticing Echo more whose eyes flicker straight to your lips that he had been thinking of kissing for so long. “I think I’ve thought of a new way you can thank me, Echo.”

“And what’s that?” He rasps.

Closing the distance once more, you gently let your hand begin to palm the aching length in his pants, having him shudder and moan in satisfaction. “I think you know.”

Without a second thought, Echo’s lips are on yours. He kissed you like a man starved, tongue diving deep into your mouth as you manage to slip your hand into his pants, taking a grasp of his warm cock that twitches beautifully under your grasp. “Fuck, Echo,” you compliment as you feel how big and perfect he was.

“Can you feel what you are doing to me?” He breathes against your lips, earning a grin of your own as your pussy throbs in response.

“I never thought you’d feel this way about me,”

“How could I not?”

Pulling his pants down to his ankles, you take a second to break the kiss and to admire his length. Both of your hands come into contact with him and he grunts at the sensation. “You look so good stroking my cock,” he whines, leaning against the control panel as he gazes down at your hands that start a perfect synchronised rhythm, pumping against his as precum lubes up your motions.

You lock eyes with him, his hooded with lust as you pleasure him with your hands, watching his chest rise and fall with heavy breaths. “Do you like this?”

“I love it, I love it so much.” He whimpers, knees shaking as you cup his balls, gently fondling them whilst your other hand maintains its rhythm. “D-do you want me to touch you?”

You smirk but gently shake your head. “I just want to focus on you today, I want to show you what I’ve always wanted to do.”

He blinks, surprised and incredibly aroused. “You have?” He says with a soft grunt, biting his own lip as he feels his climax start to build.

“Mhm, I’ve… I’ve always wanted to do this. With you.”

“Well,” he reaches his hand up and cups your cheek before sliding his lips over yours in a quick and heated embrace, “don’t let me stop you.”

Your pace begins to quicken, and his breathing becomes more stuttered as his hips involuntarily start to roll, sliding his cock in and out of your grasp. “Not - oh fuuuck - not going to last much longer sweetheart.”

“Cum for me Echo, cum.”

He’s saying your name over and over, his head tilted back as you pump frantically at his cock until you feel a beautiful warm texture paint your hands. You gasp at the feeling, his silky white cum covering your hand.

When you pull back, you quickly grab some tissue and clean yourself up, shyly handing over some for Echo who takes it, completely flustered. “Thank you.”

“So,” he says slowly once he’s tidied himself up and pulled his pants back up, “can I ask what this means?”

“I mean,” you shift in your position, sincerely hoping you’ve read the situation between you both correctly, “I think it’s obvious that I have feelings for you.”

At this, he blows out a breath of relief. “Good. Great,” he smiles warmly, “I’ve had feelings for you for a long time too. I just didn’t think you’d feel the same.”

You approach him again, this time you both instantly fall into each other's embrace. “You’re just going to have to thank me next time in a different way.”

His eyes widened slightly, a playful smirk forming on his lips. "Is that so?"

You nodded with a mischievous glint in your eye. "Definitely."

Echo chuckled softly, his hand resting gently against the nape of your neck, pulling you closer. "I look forward to it. Just know that I have plenty of ways to show my gratitude."

☀️ Requests Open until the 15th of October. ☀️

Masterlist

Tags: @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova a @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @kixs-husband @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @imalovernotahater @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @raevulsix @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad @photogirl894

[wyvernquill]

Another Dreamling Anastasia AU Snippet

So, this AU somehow gained some new traction over the past few days, and I remembered I still had this in my drafts! It's a direct continuation from the last post - the first time their paths cross, though I think I'll save their actual first conversation (already written!) for the next part. Mostly a lot of background and exposition, but I hope it'll be enjoyable nonetheless! Thanks everyone for your enthusiasm for this AU!!!

(Masterpost here!)

(Tag list, let me know if you want to be added or taken off: @10moonymhrivertam @martybaker @globglobglobglobob @anonymoustitans @sunshines-fabulous-legs @dreamsofapiratelife @malice-royaume @kcsandmanfan @acedragontype @okilokiwithpurpose @tharkuun @silver-dream89 @i-write-stories-not-sins-bitch)

(I don't know why it just won't let me do the proper tag sometimes... I hope the people Tumblr refuses to let me tag will see the post anyway, I'm very sorry...)

---

There is a fight just about to break loose at the White Horse Inn.

It will happen because of a man; a pale, stick-thin skinny thing of a man, barely more than an ashen, grimy face under a mop of coal hair balanced on top of a ragged black coat, loitering close to the fireplace and trying not to be too obvious about soaking up its warmth. At his feet, half hidden beneath the torn hem-line of his coat, there is a bird, some sort of corvid, following the other guests - and their purses in particular - with its beady little eyes.

The bird’s master is watching, too, watching the inn’s staff collect coins and shove them into their pockets, watching the plates and bowls of food being carried about, hungry, starving-

And then he’s noticed watching, a barmaid muttering a word or two to the innkeep over by the beer caskets - and the moment the man’s eyes find the stranger, they narrow.

And in turn, the moment the stranger notices the hostile eyes on him, he seems to brace himself, something feral in the way his lips draw back from his teeth as the innkeep makes a beeline for him through the crowded pub.

Words are exchanged.

Words are exchanged, loudly.

An arm is grabbed - and the bird jumps up with an angry caw, beating its wings at the innkeep’s face, and the scullery boy runs over to help, as does the burliest of the barmaids.

(There’s that fight now.)

The stranger shouts and scratches and twists as he is dragged through the common room, towards the door, growling profanities in a hoarse, dark voice, while his bird squawks, wrapped in the scullery boy’s apron.

It’s a right mess, but perhaps not an unusual one - the White Horse makes quick work of unruly drunkards (and those who are here to pilfer money rather than spend it), and even as some guests are following the fight in fascination and with half a mind to join in just for the pleasure of throwing a punch, most of their clientele barely spares them a look. Soon, the stranger will be cast out into the cold and the night again, far away from the warmth of a fireplace, or the smell of food, or opportunities for thievery. Nothing special. Soon, it will be just a quiet evening, like any other…

If it weren’t for the fact that, over in the far corner, a familiar man, and a familiar something-altogether-else still managing a rather sound impression of one, have been nursing their drinks for a good hour already, trying to drown their failures in ale.

(The humans have robbed Destiny of his powers, torn his realm from him, burned his book - but destiny still shapes the lives of mortals and immortals alike; and it is that power, which makes Robert Gadling look up from the sad remains of his beer, and, for just a fraction of a second, lock eyes with the vagabond currently in the process of being removed from the premises.

That is enough.

With just one look, the wheels of fate are already set in motion, and our story can begin in earnest.)

"Hey, Gil." Hob nudges Gilbert's arm, not taking his eyes off the struggling, furious stranger. "Over there. Look."

"Hm?" Gilbert blinks owlishly, following Hob's nod to the commotion behind him. "Oh, yes, yes. Ghastly, isn't it? Disgraceful, that some hoodlums cannot conduct themselves in public houses with the appropriate decorum - in my days, I tell you, when the Endless were still-"

"No, look!" Hob cuts him off. "The hoodlum. Look at him, really look."

"Hrmmm," Gilbert makes a sound of polite displeasure, and fiddles with his circular little glasses, peering through them and across the room, where the haggard stranger is spitting abuse at the innkeep even as he is in the process of being shoved out of the door.

And then, "oh, good lord!" Gilbert gasps, and drops his glasses.

"You see it too, then?"

"I… yes. Gracious, yes. Like a ghostly apparition." Gilbert gropes for his glasses with one hand, eyes never leaving the stranger. "The physical resemblance - most uncanny. A good deal more malnourished and, ah… rather grimy, it seems… and yet, overall…"

"A dead ringer for Dream of the Endless, isn't he?" Hob finishes, nodding. “Better than any of the men that auditioned for us, certainly.”

“Heaven help,” Gilbert’s voice is weak with emotion, “even knowing it isn’t him, I feel like… ah, Robert, if he were only given a bath, some better garb… it would be as if His Lordship walked again!”

“Would be?” Hob’s grin is bright and hungry, like a hunting dog smelling his prey, as he pushes himself up from his seat. “Will be!”

“-and if I see either you or yer blasted bird thievin’ in here again," the innkeep snarls, tossing first the haggard stranger, and then a squawking bundle of black feathers, out into the snow. “I’m callin’ the coppers! Y’hear?”

The word the stranger spits back, gathering all his limbs and his dark coat around himself as he staggers to his feet and off into the night, is so filthy even Hob would blush upon saying it. A bit rough around the edges, this man, not exactly the model of a fairytale king - but such things can be taught, can’t they. Hob’s seen a production of Shaw’s Pygmalion, years ago, and if Higgins can make a fine lady out of a flower girl, then Hob and Gil can make a Dream Lord out of some vagabond.

“Begging your pardon, good man.” Hob leans against the doorframe, watching the stranger’s dark shape angrily stomp off through the snow, bird hopping along at his side. “Howsabout this, a shilling for anything you can tell me about the man you just tossed out of your establishment.”

“Whot, Murphy!?” The innkeep blinks. 

Holds out his hand.

Hob dutifully deposits one of his last few shillings in it.

“Thank you kindly, sir, much obliged.” A tip of the hat, and the coin disappearing in the innkeep’s pocket. “Murphy’s one of the local beggars. A filthy thief, too, and no mistake. He’s trained that raven of his into it - heard the city even pays him some little pittance to control the birds in the area! They wouldn’t do it if they knew what he was doing with ‘em. I don’t like seein’ him around the Horse, not with the trouble he’s causing. Stealing leftover scraps from tables I can forgive, might even give him a full meal now and then in the name of charity - but if he goes for the pockets of my regulars, the regulars don’t come back, understand? Can’t have that.”

“Course not.” Hob agrees readily. “Bad for business, a pickpocket.”

“Just so, sir. He’s been in the London area for… oh, eight, nine, maybe ten years? Hasn’t got a trade, not very willing to do an honest day’s work in any case, can’t hold down a job for the life of him as a result. Still thinks himself better than the rest o’ us, anyway. I’d leave him alone, if I were you - he’s vicious as all Hell, bit the kitchen boy once and the lad needed to get his arm stitched up afterwards. And that raven - the thing’s a demon, swear to God. A familiar, like witches have. If we were livin’ in a less civilised age, they’d’ve strung old Murphy up for witchcraft and devilry years ago!”

Hob hums thoughtfully. “Do you know if he has fallen in with that crowd? Not idle hearsay, mind, but facts. There’s still some men in London who practise the Old Arts, does he meet with them?”

(Hob has heard that the old Magus of Wych Cross died perhaps a year or two after his greatest accomplishment; for all his powers that tore Endless spectres from their lofty thrones, in the end he couldn’t defend himself against his own son finally snapping, smothering him in his sleep, and running off with the gardener. Good riddance to the old goat, in Hob’s opinion - but he had a good handful of supporters in every major city, and they can’t all have died with him.)

The innkeep takes his time answering, staring out into the softly-falling snow.

“...not that I know of, sir.” He finally says, cautiously. “He doesn’t meet with anyone, really, ‘xcept the birds. Solitary type, is our Murphy, with no family, and no-one to miss him if he freezes himself to death some night. But.”

A pause.

“There’s something wrong about that man, if you ask me. He has a look in his eyes… whatever it is, it’s not natural. Might be magic. Might be madness. I really couldn’t say.”

“I see.” Gears are turning in Hob’s head, puzzle pieces slotting into place, plans unfolding.

A man sleeping rough, with nobody to miss him or know much of him, fierce and angry and constantly on the brink of starvation, looking just like Dream. A diamond in the rough, and quite possibly desperate enough to actually agree to their mad plan just for a few weeks of guaranteed food and a roof over his head.

Dear God. He’s perfect.

“One more question, about Murphy.” Hob beams, half-giddy. “Where do you think I could find him, say… tomorrow?”

The innkeep’s eyebrows rise up into his hair.

“Can’t see why you’d ever want to,” he mutters into his beard. “But very well. On your head be it.”

He names a nearby small park, where Murphy often goes to feed his birds, and is rewarded for it with another tuppence; and then Hob saunters back to his and Gil’s table, already feeling like he can almost taste the promise of eternal life on the tip of his tongue.

(“We cannot know for certain that he will agree, Robert. He sounds like a most prideful young man - he is much like His Lordship in that regard as well, I suppose.”

“Oh, he’ll agree. I’ve been where he is, Gil, and there were times I would’ve sold my own mother to the devil for a warm meal and a bed to sleep in. Not that the devil would’ve taken the old bat even if I’d paid him, of course, but it’s the principle of the thing.”

“That hardly makes it much better. We’d be taking advantage of the poor man’s unfortunate situation!”

“Everyone’s situation is unfortunate these days. And we’d be improving his, on the whole, along with ours.”

“Let it be noted, dear fellow, that I am voicing my ethical and moral quandaries.”

“I really don’t think our plan to scam the Endless is very ethical in the first place, Gil.”

“...now that I cannot possibly argue with.”

“There we are then.”

“However! You will have to be the one to suggest it. I will help you instruct him and present him to the Endless if you do convince him - but for now, I wash my hands of the matter.”

“Fair enough.”)

[obislittleone]

Tw: suicidal thoughts (don't be alarmed I'm just venting)

I am so tired. I am so worn out. It doesn't matter what I say. It doesn't matter what I do. I have been financially and physically giving to Palestinians and Israelis who have been injured and were innocent victims through this war. The organization my family and I are working with has done so much to try and save lives. I have done all I can possibly do, but it's not enough. Those of you who drop in my dms or my asks to call me a 'genocidal colonizer' are so truly lost. I hope you all get help, because the amount of hate I've seen against not only myself but against literally every Jew I know is absolutely abominable. Don't say 'from the river from the sea' unless you know what it means, and if you say it, don't say it to a jew. You may hate Israel, and you may even think that all the people there deserve to die, but have you ever taken into consideration that the innocent Jews of either Israel or the rest of the world have nothing to do with their government or the mistreatment of Palestinians? Did you ever once think before you commented on a Jews post to 'wipe Israel off the face of the earth'? Chances are you did not. Chances are also that if you did, you probably just hate jews. Don't comment any bullshit on this post, I'll just remove it. I'm not here to fight anymore, I'm just here to say a few words, and give a perspective to those who think I'm some devil worshipping satanist just because I'm jewish.

These are the asks in my inbox on the daily:

Do you have any idea how this mentally affects a person? Do you even know how horrifying it is to know that so many people want you dead? I've had run ins with depression and suicidal attempts and thoughts my entire life, but never have I been this influenced by outer forces into thinking that I should be dead. Never once has anyone encouraged me to pull a trigger or off myself. Not until this has happened.

The comments and reblogs on posts about my best friend who lived in Israel, and her mother (who is arab, btw) that was killed in the October 7th attack are beyond wild. I can't even imagine how crazy it must be to live in the middle east as a jew. This is only a fraction of the hate that I experience in my day to day life, now.

The middle fingers I get from pissed off passersby at Walmart because I wear a star of david, or the slurs I get called because I told someone I had to leave an event early for Shabbat. It's all hatred, and it all sucks.

The violence, and the aggression that innocent jews are getting from random people who hate them. The little old man who stood on a street corner and held a sign in protest of Jewish hate that was killed today by a pro-hamas protestor. Its all too overwhelming. Why? Because even if you choose not to see it, or even if you condone it and think its 'not that bad', Jewish hate is getting dangerously close to what it was during the time of the holocaust. What's worse? It's being praised. Not just accepted, but encouraged. I posted on my instagram asking for prayers over my friend who's having to hide in a bomb shelter because of the war. The amount of comments saying 'just let her die' were astounding.

I have to ask you, where is your humanity? When jews can not only feel compassion but openly support Palestinians and try and give their services to save their innocent women and children from dying in the war, where is your compassion for innocent jews? Where is your willingness to feel an ounce of sadness for the loss of a life? Are you so hateful that you will condemn a teenage girl to die because of the violence her government commits? And if it happens, will you be so heartless that you will praise the notion that she is dead?

A common phrase used when I ask pro-hamas bloggers what their stance is on the beheading of children or the raping of women is, it usually comes out as: "well what do you think declonization looked like?"

I am always shocked. Every. Single. Time... why? Because I hope with every shred of naivete i have in me that people who have lost so much will understand the pain of those who are also losing so much. When you condemn one government for killing your children, and bringing a genocide upon Palestinians, why do you not also condemn the murdering of children and innocent Jews? Is it because 'that's not your team?' Is it because you want to win so badly that you don't care what the cost is? Do you think that turning into the thing that killed your people will make you a hero? The only thing I can possibly think of that would make a person respond that way is bloodlust. When you condemn an entire nation (including the innocent people) of killing your own, then turn around and do the same thing to their innocents, do you think you've proved something?

Whenever I address these things I'm usually met with the same stuff about how I'm a Jew so I'm biased and I don't get to have an opinion... but I don't think it's fair to say that to someone who's literally living with the repercussions that your hate is causing. Don't tell me to be quiet if you're spreading nazi rhetoric about jews and telling people to kill us.

Again, don't bring any bullshit on here. It will be deleted, and you will be blocked. I've spoken my piece. If anyone is interested in learning more about the organization I work with and donating to help Palestinian and Israeli families getting caught in the crossfire, please drop me a message, I'd be glad to give you more information.