#two thousand and twelve

[tyquu]

Buried by clouds, cradled by the sea.

It’s a beautiful lie, if I could just breathe a little deeper

[mumbeau]

foreshadowing

[pilgrimattinkercreek1974]

the world is made of pudding voice losing your virginity is like getting multiplied by 1. I’m lowkey the exact same but a process has occurred

[gummiix]

Tell me in the tags what u answered + why you think that is if you want! (age range or generation data would also be interesting)

[lulu2992]

Ask meme!

I was tagged by @glowwormsmith! Thank you :)

Rules: Spell out your URL using song titles that can describe your muse/OC/pairings, then tag as many people as there are letters in your URL!

My URL isn’t the best for this game because it simply consists of the same two letters twice (I didn’t take the numbers into account), but I still scoured my entire music library to find titles that worked! I chose my OC Taylor Rook, John Seed, and the couple they form in my heart because of course I did. There are four letters in my username so I’m tagging four people: @cassietrn, @laindtt, @simplegenius042, and @strafethesesinners (only if you feel like doing this, of course)!

(Not all the tracks I wanted have lyrics, so I did this a little differently than you did and wrote a little “story” instead):

In Hope County, Taylor really became a “Lurking Danger” [Yoko Shimomura - Final Fantasy XV] and had to walk along many “Unfamiliar Paths” [Cliff Martinez - Far Cry 4]. John kept telling her, “Let The Water Wash Away Your Sins” [Dan Romer - Far Cry 5], but she remained “Untouchable” [Niels Bye Nielsen - HITMAN 2]. As for the Baptist, deep down, he was just a “Lost Child” [Brian Tyler - Far Cry 3], but on the outside, the thing most people noticed and talked about was his “Unsettling Aura” [Yoko Shimomura - Final Fantasy XV]. I wish he had had time to “Learn To Let Go” [Kesha - Rainbow]*, but all he did in the game was try to be “Unstoppable” [Sia - This Is Acting]*. Their story didn’t end well, so in another world, one that only exists in my head, they decide to “Let It Go” [Demi Lovato - Frozen] and stop being “Under The Gun” [Motörhead - Kiss of Death] all the time because I just want them to sing “Love Me Forever” [Motörhead - 1916]* and “Underneath Your Clothes” [Shakira - Laundry Service]* to each other instead!

*actually for these the lyrics also work

[102ki]

prophetic...

[showing0resultsforsanity]

they live in Sandwich, duh

i’m glad we don’t have To hunt for our food any more.. i don’t even know where Sandwiches live 

[ephemeralstarss]

you know i could always just. make the chapters shorter

[maryellencarter]

i think the hill i'm going to die on here is that lasting anti-fascist activism begins and ends with unrestricted social services.

protests are great. kind of indispensable right now. but in times when we can be less reactive, you want to know what you're protesting *for*, not just against.

today i saw a post elseweb saying "why aren't white women fleeing maga? they have to know by now that tradwife means sex slave". and like... it's very simple. they can't leave because they would end up like me.

they're, we're, deliberately made unemployable so that we'll have to marry whatever mediocre white man picks us out. as it happened, i was unappealingly intersex, fat, butch, and autistic, so none of the mediocre white boys of my generation ever took a second look at me, but that didn't give me job skills or career connections.

i knew multiple women whose husbands divorced them and took the house as part of their midlife crises. they had to send the kids to live with relatives and take dead-end jobs like bagging groceries because they were in their forties with zero job experience. if they'd rejected the worldview, if they'd alienated their families and what few friends didn't victim-blame them for the divorces, they'd have had nowhere to turn.

it's been over twelve years since i got out. psychologically, medically, i'm healthier. but i've chased a fresh start through half a dozen states. i spent my inheritance getting a degree. none of it helped. there are no supports for abandoning (or being abandoned by) your support network.

you won't defeat fascism until my people are free to leave the cult if they realize they want out. until we can access free housing to get away from financial abuse, free comprehensive job training and placement services to help us start careers, national healthcare so we can flee across state lines if necessary without losing any medical care we're lucky enough to have access to, protections for children and teens so they can flee without needing a parent's help... universal basic income would be really good but there are smaller steps that could help with financial independence.

and it all has to be available to everybody, including people you think are "unworthy". people who hold the wrong opinions. drug addicts. people whose husbands or parents make too much money. people who aren't from around here. unrepentant bigots. if they want out, you have to give them a path out. minds can change later, once people are less scared and less pressured.

(i'm ex-catholic. do you want to hear about what happens when you force people to profess certain beliefs in order to access basic assistance? i have two thousand years of examples.)

"but if they really wanted out they'd do the Right Thing and leave without support!" Better to be one man's sex slave than turning tricks on the street. "staying just proves they're actually evil and there for the bigotry!" Live in your car for six months in 100°F heat, twice, and then talk to me again. There's no virtue in cutting yourself off from society just to prove some kind of moral point. All that does is get you dead or worse.

("JT, you're not dead" I'm a fucking cockroach. Most people would be dead by now. Survival bias goes both ways; we're not all the same model of airplane.)

[kalique]

i’m 26 in like a week which is very funny as i was 25 for about 2 minutes. and i was 20 thirty seconds ago

[queen-susans-revenge]

One for sorrow Two for joy Three for a girl Four for a boy Five for silver Six for gold Seven for a secret never to be told

Eight for a wish Nine for a kiss Ten for a chance you must not miss Eleven for a wasp Twelve for a bee Thirteen for a coffee Fourteen for tea

Fifteen for a pencil Sixteen for a pen Seventeen to hear these options once again

Eighteen for pepper Nineteen for salt Twenty for an accident in which you were not at fault

Twenty one for Jerry Twenty two for Tom Twenty three - where are all these magpies coming from?

Twenty five no seriously Thirty this is weird Forty eight from where have all these magpies suddenly appeared?

Sixty two stop counting Seventy just run Ninety nine the revolution of the magpies has begun

Two hundred no more sorrow Five hundred no more fears One thousand for how long the empire of the magpies will last in years

(John Finnemore)

[asce-of-hearts]

milf reader and barely legal gojo blehhhhh, not proofread!!!!!!!!

part 2, part 1.5, part 1.6

Barely Legal!Gojo who uses his first day as an adult going bar hopping, getting so drunk he's kissing everything and everyone.

Barely Legal!Gojo who gets dared by Suguru to go and talk to the gorgeous, curvy and very obviously older woman who is dancing with her friends, a fucking MILF. Who is so drunk he doesn't hesitate as he stumbles your way.

Barely Legal!Gojo who can't lie when asked about his age. Who feels disappointed when the only thing you allow him to do is buy you a drink, or two, or twelve.

Barely Legal!Gojo who feels himself getting hard when you cling to his arm and whisper to him sweetly: "I wish you were like eight years older so I could flirt with you properly."

Barely Legal!Gojo who lets all coherent thoughts leave his mind as he turns to kiss you, not caring if the bar is full, he will be groping you over your dress.

Barely Legal!Gojo who fucks your throat in the bars bathroom. Stuffing your throat full of his fat cock like you're a college whore who has done too much coke.

Barely Legal!Gojo who fucks you like he has had a thousand years of experience. Who folds you in half, spanks your ass, manhandles you with ease.

Barely Legal!Gojo who makes you cum at least three times every time you two fuck. Who can go hour after hour after tortuous hour fucking your gorgeous womanly body.

Barely Legal!Gojo who flashes a shit eating grin at the black haired boy you introduce as your son when you tell him he's your boyfriend.

Barely Legal!Gojo who makes you scream in your bed, where you surely slept with your ex-husband before. Who is sure he's just so much better than him in every way by what you've told him. Your ex husband was a loser who was addicted to gambling, in debt and submerged in alcoholism. Nothing like him, the thriving jujutsu student in the prime of life.

Barely Legal!Gojo who has to resist the urge of poking holes in his condoms, because he just has to claim your body like that other loser did. He has to have you round and glowing with his little bastard.

Barely Legal!Gojo who loves to suck at your tits. Who goes almost catatonic as soon as he gets to latch to your nipple and suck as if you could give him milk. Who can't get enough of those beautiful breasts of yours, of groping them, of slobbering over them like a dog.

Barely Legal!Gojo who loves your curves, your cellulite, your stretch marks, your dimples and freckles and crevices. Who loves to have a MILF on his bed.

Barely Legal!Gojo who shows you off to all his friends. Who shows them your pictures fucked out over his bed, bouncing your ass on his cock and moving your hips in enticing 8-shaped motions, who relishes on the jealousy they feel at him getting to fuck every young and dumb fuckers wet dream.

Barely Legal!Gojo who feels heartbroken when you tell him you can't see him anymore. Because your ex-husband promised to work things out with you, and you don't want to break his heart. You promise him someone else will come, someone prettier and younger, but no, he wants you. And he will have you.

Barely Legal!Gojo who realizes he fucked up when he decided that he was going to beat up your looser, gambling addicted ex husband.

Barely Legal!Gojo who swallows down hard when he realizes that your ex-husband, the gambling addiction, irresponsible, in debt, is nothing more than the Toji Fushiguro, who will make sure nobody but him gets to have your pretty pussy.

this is a mess idk idk idk

Gojo M.List

TAGGING: @sunnymmoon @lilithlunas @imvivian @eroscastle @goldenglow149

@lurexin @stranger00001 @delicatelycraftedbambi @rania200527 @kitzusune 

@mizzhellsingsstuff @lakxcpsta @coolnekochan9961 @notreallyablogger @akirahyoshi

@lilyalone @oliviathatgirl @eeelieschariot @hannas16 @surelynotaspider 

@mimihaitani @raxshall @ayn-yurbestie @xxj0rd13xx @gojo-saturu-sweet-tooth

@mokingbrd78k @janeisnotonline @sukunaspillow @architectofsuffering @mrstraffy

[beggars-opera]

Supremely fucked up in our society that 99% of the things you buy are a simple fixed price and yet when purchasing a car or a house, the two most expensive things, you are expected to do extensive research and negotiation training and seemingly go through the twelve labors of Hercules so that a salesperson who doesn't care if you live or die won't con you out of hundreds of thousands of dollars

[captain-huggy-bear]

The Collection

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: N/A

Summary: You keep every single puck that Quinn has ever given you, he finds your collection that you've been shyly hiding away. It might just be the thing that makes him realise you're the girl he's going to marry.

Notes: I just want a boyfriend who'll give me a puck from every one of his games, is that too much to ask?

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

It starts quite simply enough with an ice hockey game, like most things did with Quinn Hughes. The two of you had known each other for a while, acquaintances through Kiefer, acquaintances who then had become somewhat friends, but by no means were you close. That had changed one afternoon when Quinn had asked if you'd come to watch him play, not watch the team, not watch Kiefer, but watch him. This had seemed quite the clear hint that he was interested, or at least Quinn had considered this a neon flashing sign telling you he was interested. He considered this him shooting his shot.

It later transpired that Quinn considered this your first date, despite the fact he was on the ice and you were beside the penalty box, and that he'd not mentioned once the word date to you, but that's a story for another time.

The important part of this first-date-that-didn't-seem-like-a-first-date was not just that it set in motion your changing relationship status from somewhat friends to boyfriend and girlfriend, but that it was the first time Quinn Hughes ever gave you a puck. Something which to many would seem inconsequential. People got hockey pucks every day, every game. Thousands of fans owned pucks from hockey games, in that sense you were not particularly special.

It had felt so silly, and so girlish at the time, to be excited over an ice hockey puck of all things just because Quinn had tipped it over the glass to you specifically. And it had been for you, the glare he'd sent to those around you who even looked like they might snatch it had been lethal. It had felt even sillier to take that puck, cradle it the entire game, squirrel it all the way home only to write the date and a simple sentence on it in metallic gold pen, 'Quinn asked me to his game'. You're not entirely sure what had possessed you to do it, why it felt like something you needed to record. It had felt so...silly to do but you'd been unable to resist.

You'd squirrelled the puck away in a box in the back of your closet, out of sight of prying eyes, but it hadn't been forgotten by you. In fact, it was seen every single time you went to one of Quinn's games. After each game you'd inevitably come back with a new puck, another one to add to the collection of pucks that you were growing. At first the number was relatively slow to grow, you didn't go to every game, not during the weird stage where Quinn had yet to outright ask you out and you, oblivious as ever didn't realise he'd been trying for weeks.

As Quinn and you began officially dating you found yourself constantly receiving pucks, every game you went to he had a puck for you and at the end of the night you'd write the date and a simple sentence on it of something that had happened that night, something significant in your relationship or simply something significant to you even if it didn't seem significant to anyone else.

Still, the box remained hidden in the back of your closet, something you almost felt too shy to share. Even now that Quinn and you were in a relationship, even now 2 years down the line when he'd asked you to move in with him once your lease was up, it still felt scary to share it. Realistically you knew Quinn wouldn't be put off by it, the sort of sentimental person he was, he'd likely love it. That didn't stop the irrational fear. Especially given how personal some of the pucks were to you. It just felt embarrassing like showing him your blog from when you were thirteen or sharing a sketchbook from when you were twelve.

Moving apartments had been as simple as moving apartments could get, which is to say not simple in the slightest. Moving your things into Quinn's place had felt a little like playing Tetris, trying to find spaces for all your books and knickknacks without completely taking over his space. Trying to find a balance between his things and yours. In that chaos you'd managed to sneak your box of pucks in and to the back of your section of closet, a, in your opinion, perfect hiding spot.

It was not in fact a perfect hiding spot. Perhaps you were naive to think that Quinn wouldn't ever find them even when you shared such close quarters? Or perhaps you'd simply been avoiding the reality, trying to forget about it except in those few moments when you got home from a game before him and rushed to write on your puck and throw it into the box along with its brethren.

Either way, whether naivety or a desire to avoid the issue, it didn't stop you from finding him in that moment sat on the floor of your shared bedroom, looking incredibly cozy in a big hoodie and sweatpants, but pawing through your box that lay in front of him. The cardboard worn and battered from years of use.

"What are doing?" You knew exactly what he was doing, you could see two years worth of pucks piled high in front of him, one currently being turned over in his hands, but the panic seemingly made your brain stop working. Processing the scene felt impossible, you could see what was happening but couldn't quite comprehend it. Quinn was careful with the pucks, almost reverent as he put the one he was currently holding off to the side and reached for another, reading whatever you'd written on it.

"You kept them?" Quinn's voice is quiet, soft, an almost whisper that has you stepping further into the room even as you twist your fingers together nervous of his reaction.

"How...how did you find them?" Perhaps it was silly to think you could keep them hidden, after all you couldn't exactly claim you'd hidden them in some elaborate or overly complicated fashion. They were simply in a ratty old cardboard box in the very back of your half of the closet. It's not like you'd hidden them in some secret compartment.

"I was looking for my ugly Christmas jumper for the party on Sunday...didn't realise you'd kept them all. Why'd you hide them?" He smiles up and over at you from his spot, looking boyish and sweet even as you internally panic about the discovery he's made.

"I...I just...it's embarrassing." You shuffle nearer even as you say it, seeking his reassurance without quite truly realising it. When you're within reach of him, Quinn tugs on your hand to pull you closer from his position on the floor, cross legged and leaning back against the side of the bed.

"Baby, it's not embarrassing, it's sweet...you kept every puck I've ever given you. That's...I love that. C'mere." He tugs you down to the ground, until you're sitting side by the side with him and he can wrap an arm around you. He's warm and smells like the laundry detergent you use, it's calming, reassuring even as you still feel that rush of embarrassment at being found out.

Quinn reaches for a puck he'd put off to the side, it's worn and tarnished, dents from being hit across the ice during warm ups marring it, the logos of Seattle and Vancouver hidden underneath your writing in gold metallic pen.

"See, look, this is the puck I gave you on the day we had our first kiss." You'd written across the front 'Quinn kissed me today!!!!!!!!!' followed by more exclamation marks than was reasonable for anyone to use. You could remember the game clearly, Quinn had asked you to come along, you'd still not quite realised that he was trying to date you and your obliviousness had set a fire underneath him. He'd been so fed up that he'd forgotten what subtlety was. After a hard fought win, he'd rushed towards you in the corridor by the locker room and kissed you in front of half his teammates, all of whom had decided that was a great time to cheer and whistle like they were at a football game. You'd been surprised by it, taken aback, needing a few moments to process before returning the kiss, but you hadn't been unhappy with the sudden turn of events that had you practically unable to form words afterwards.

Quinn's careful as he puts it back before reaching for another puck, rooting around in the box before he pulls out one with the Canuck's orca emblazoned across it. Quinn takes a moment to read it before practically beaming over at you, eyes bright and excited.

"This one is from the game where I took you on the ice after and taught you how to skate," The puck had a creative attempt at drawing yourself and Quinn in ice skates, stick figure form of course, 'Quinn tried to teach me to skate after the game.'

"You mean you tried to teach me how to skate...last I remember I'm still not great..." You tap a nail against the 'tried' in your handwriting and Quinn just grins at you, any lasting embarrassment has started to disappear, and instead you're left with a sense of warmth. That you have all these memories to look back on, moments you might have forgotten about otherwise.

"You're just a work in progress, baby, you can stay upright...most of the time..." You shake your head at him, rolling your eyes as he teases you. It was a well known fact that you were nowhere near as graceful as Quinn was on the ice, having never really ice skated as a child.

You reach into the pile and pick another puck out, a pride night one, reading the caption quickly and very much deciding that this is one Quinn doesn't need to see, "Oh, not, you're not reading this one!"

"Give it here!" You reach away from him, arm as straight as you can get it to hold the puck as far from him as possible. Naturally, it does very little, Quinn and his long arms simply lean over you and pluck the puck from your grip with ridiculous ease.

You groan, pressing your face into his shoulder to hide away from whatever judgement might pass across his face as he reads off the puck, one of the early ones, from before you even realised he wanted you. From the days when you were pining, crushing hard on a man you thought you'd never have.

"Quinn smiled at me during warm ups'...Oh, baby, that's cute," Quinn grasps the nape of your neck in his hand, pulling until you turn to look at him, your cheek still smushed against his shoulder.

"We weren't dating then...and you were always so locked in..." You try to justify it, that back then his smiles were rarer, he was always so focused on the game that a smile was special, that any little interaction felt special because he wasn't yours yet, but it doesn't stop you feeling silly and embarrassed that you'd felt a smile during warm ups was important enough to put on a puck. At the time it had felt like the only thing that mattered, that Quinn had smiled at you, that his focus had been on you.

"I always have a smile for you...even back then, I was always excited when you agreed to come to a game...it made me want to play ten times harder, baby, still does." Quinn can't remember a time when he wasn't excited to see you at a game, to know you were there to support him, even in the early days. If anything the early days were even more exciting, simple because it didn't feel like a given that you'd be there. You weren't his girlfriend back then, you didn't have to be there, he couldn't complain if you weren't. So seeing you had always felt like he'd won a prize because you'd given up your time to watch him play in a freezing cold arena even knowing you'd barely get to talk to him.

"They're silly..." You gesture to the array of pucks, the number feeling ridiculous. How had you managed to collect over 100 pucks? Why had you decided to keep them all?

You stop your self-doubt and wallowing at the feeling of Quinn pressing a kiss to your hair, tugging you into his lap until you're as close as he can get you. Quinn is gentle when he runs his palm from the nape of your neck down to the base of your spine and back again, a soothing rhythm that makes you feel more confident when you look him in the eye.

"They're sweet...this is our entire story in pucks, can't get better than that..." The way he smiles at you is so soft and sweet that you wonder why you were ever scared of him finding them, "Don't stop doing it, baby...Promise me."

"I'll run out of space in my box though..." You look down at the almost full, falling apart cardboard box from one of your deliveries 2 years prior, the corners starting to tear, the free space inside almost non-existent.

"Then I'll get you a bigger box. I want to be 90 years old and have a thousand pucks in a giant box, each with something you thought was special enough to write on it... even if it is..." He picks up a puck squinting at it, "'I made Quinn laugh.' or," Quinn finds another from the pile, "'Quinn said my hair looked pretty', although maybe I need to be setting the bar higher, baby" He teases you, flipping the puck between his fingers with ease.

"I was pining after you, okay, and I wasn't sure you liked me back then!"

"Yeah, I forget, me asking you to come watch me play wasn't clear enough!" Quinn has been adamant for years that it was obvious he was asking you on a date, that you were just oblivious. He was, of course, wrong. Asking someone to come watch them play hockey was not in any way an obvious invite to a date and you refused to take responsibility for the earlier miscommunication which was clearly all his fault.

"It's not clear at all, honey! People ask people to watch them play all the time, it doesn't make it a date!"

"It was so a date!" a date in which you spent near 3 hours in the freezing cold and barely spoke to Quinn...definitely what a date is supposed to be. No wonder he was single for so long when you met him.

"Honestly, I'm starting to think you're lucky I liked you enough to put up with you..."

"...I am lucky...I'm lucky you gave me a chance and that you liked me enough to keep all these pucks and I'm lucky you agreed to move in with me even if you hide pucks in the closet like some weirdo." Quinn grips your hips, squeezing gently, smiling up at you sweetly even as he calls you a weirdo like he's not the one who thought watching him play hockey would be a good first date idea.

"You'll be lucky to sleep in the bed tonight if you keep that up,"

"You'd kick me out of our bed, baby? Really?" Quinn pouts at you as you grin down at him from your perch on his lap, arms wrapping over his shoulders and crossing behind his neck.

"...I'm joking, I can't sleep without your snores." If you could call his barely there noises snores, the lightest of snores, the sort of snores that were almost perfectly rhythmic rather than annoyingly inconsistent. Before Quinn you'd been adamant you couldn't date someone who snored, that it would make it too hard to sleep, now? Now, you genuinely missed them when he was gone. The noise a comforting backing track.

"You should put that on the next puck, 'I can't sleep without Quinn's snores in my ear and his manly arms around me'."

"'Manly arms'?" You pull back from him slightly, brows raised in question and an amused twist to your lips.

"You don't think my arms are manly, baby?" You laugh as Quinn raises one arm, flexing his bicep. You can't even see his muscles underneath his baggy hoodie, too well hidden within his cocoon of comfy cotton and polyester.

"I think you're ridiculous...." You shake your head at him, settling back in against him as he peers down at you with eyes that can only be described as loving, soft around the edges and almost hazy.

"Well, I think I'm in love with you."

You sigh happily as you reach for the box of pucks just behind you. You find a puck you know from sight alone, plucking it from the box and handing it to Quinn in response. You watch him read it, the way his smile turns to a full grin that beams at you like you've given him the moon. When in reality its just a ratty puck that says, 'I think I'm in love with Quinn Hughes'.

[charlesoberonn]

Bed against zero walls: You're a freak

Bed against one wall: Acceptable, but you can do better

Bed against two walls: Perfect

Bed against three walls: Do you live in a closet?

Bed against four walls: How???

Bed against five walls: What? That makes no sense...

Bed against six walls: Stop...

Bed against seven walls: I said stop!

Bed against eight walls: What are you doing?! That's too many walls!

Bed against nine walls: We've gone too far, I don't think we're in normal reality anymore...

Bed against ten walls: Hello? Is anybody there? How are there walls all perpendicular to one another?

Bed against eleven walls: We're definitely not in normal reality anymore

Bed against twelve walls: I think we're the only ones here. Just me and the bed.

Bed against thirteen walls: It's weirdly... cozy over here.

Bed against fourteen walls: Could this have been what I wanted all along? Solitude?

Bed against sixteen walls: Wait, Did you see that? We skipped 15.

Bed against twenty walls: No, this is definitely too much. Somebody get me out of here!

Bed against twenty eight walls: The skips are getting bigger, the walls are closing in...

Bed against forty walls: They're suffocating me...

Bed against sixty walls: Help...

Bed against one hundred walls: ...help.

Bed against two hundred walls: ...

Bed against five hundred walls: . . .

Bed against one thousand walls: . . .

Bed against five thousand walls: . . .

Bed against twenty thousand walls:

Bed against one hundred thousand walls:

Bed against five hundred thousand walls:

Bed against one million walls:

Bed against one billion walls:

Bed against one trillion walls:

Bed against one quadrillion walls: . . .

Bed against one quintillion walls: . . .

Bed against one sextillion walls: . . .

Bed against one nonillion walls: ...good night.

[idkyetxoxo]

Little Star | Azriel | Series Masterlist

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Summary - Rhysand’s sister—the little star of the Night Court. Beloved. Brilliant. Until Rhys went Under the Mountain… and she stopped burning. Bit by bit, she let herself be reduced, forgetting how to shine. Believing love meant pain, and healing was for other people.

But Azriel? He sees all of it. Always has, always will. And all he wants is for her to let him love her.

A story of a girl who lost herself, and the male who would burn the world to bring her back. Of the family who never stopped loving her, and the Shadowsinger who would wait a thousand years more if she asked.

Tags - slow burn, friends to lovers, healing, found family, yearning so intense it hurts, saved and saving.

Contents -

☆ One | The Calm Before the Storm | 2.9k words

☆ Two | How the Star Faded | 2.9k words

☆ Three | Where Smoke Lingered | 2.2k words

☆ Four | Falling Awake | 2.7k words

☆ Five | Breathing Room | 2.9k words

☆ Six | A Light to Follow Home | 2.5k words

☆ Seven | The Hurt We Carry | 2.4k words

☆ Eight | A Heart Laid Bare | 2.1k words

☆ Nine | Beneath the Silence | 2k words

☆ Ten | The Cost of Loving Her | 2.1k words

☆ Eleven | Ignite Me | 2.7k words

☆ Twelve | A Soft Return | 2.7k words

☆ Thirteen | Until You | 2k words

☆ Fourteen | A Thousand More | 2.3k words

☆ Fifteen | Written Among the Stars | 2.8k words

ACOTAR Masterlist

A/n - This series will include content warnings at the start of each chapter, so please be sure to read them before continuing. I'm so excited to finally share this—I already have a few parts written, so it’s just a matter of editing and posting from here on out.

I haven't written for ACOTAR before, so I appreciate any and every thought. Please don’t hesitate to like, comment, or reblog along the way, it truly means the world to me. <3