#who knows maybe the writing gods will bless me with writing brain and i can churn out some 10k words of beautiful heart wrenching prose

[leclerc-s]

short n sweet

series masterlist

liked by maxjonesverstappen1, isabellaperez, penelopetrevino and others

maejonesverstappen short n' sweet is officially yours now!!!

i feel extremely lucky that each time i write a new record i learn a little bit more about myself, and can create from that place. the making of short n' sweet was one of the most special, honest, up and down, stupid and fun experiences of my life.

i thought if something was funny enough to make me laugh then maybe it belonged in a song. happy or sad!

thank you to my brilliant talented friends, writers, producers, mixers, engineers, and creative minds that helped me bring this world and these songs to life. not a serious thought was thunk yet somehow they wefre..lol i love you and am so grateful.

i will keep this short n sweet buuuut more soon. go listen now and i hope you love it

tagged: jackantonoff, amyallen, julianbulian, johntheblind, julia michaels, sharp_stick, jeff.gunnell

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maxjonesverstappen yeah fuck me i guess..it's not like i sat with you for hours on the piano while jack was on the phone...

maejonesverstappen i love you 💙 maxjonesverstappen okay 😊😊 love you too 💙

user28 MAE WREN JONES!! YOU ARE INSANE!!

isabellaperez i need someone to inject this album into my veins

maejonesverstappen you're insane actually isabellaperez pot meet kettle

user67 this is insane. someone sedate me.

charles_leclerc so this is what you meant by 'no more depresso up in this bitch'?

maejonesverstappen exactly leclerc!! charles_leclerc to be fair, we do love a good sad song maejonesverstappen yes, mr. i helped write so long, london. we are well aware

user19 oh this album has versatility. i was expecting something like espresso to be the entire album noooo.

user27 the range singers have to go from a pop happy song to a sad depressing song will never fail to amaze me user03 for real!! i could never be a singer because i don't have that in me

rhysjones i don't think max will appreciate his wife posting the 5th picture...

alex_albon this is the man who admitted he would sleep with daniel if given the chance... i don't think he cares georgerussell he's too busy talking about retirement in press conferences to care maxverstappenjones1 i'm very secure in my marriage thank you very much maejonesverstappen i however live in fear he'll dump me for daniel and runaway with him

user75 bed chem is about max verstappen.

user47 you're so right bestie. the blue eyes line gave that shit away

schecoperez it's 6 in the morning. i should not have to deal with his screaming this early...

maejonesverstappen i'm very sorry but i warned you against staying with him. maxjonesverstappen1 i would take offense but it's very true schecoperez as the children say...this is my hell

danieljonesricciardo well that's one way to celebrate your anniversary...

maejonesricciardo don't be bitter because i did it before daphne could. danieljonesricciardo my wife released an album on my birthday!! maejonesricciardo tomato tomahto!

oscarpiastri something tells me these guys didn't listen to the full album

logansargeant i know way too much about their sex life baileywinters PINK FUZZY HANDCUFFS??? landonorris SHE'S INSANE!

user54 someone needs to study mae's brain under a microscope ❤ by penelopetrevino, lewishamilton, jensonbutton and others

mickschumacher god bless his mother's genetics indeed

maejonesverstappen this is why you're my favorite mick mickschuamcher 😊

victoriaverstappen it's certainly something... great album, ignoring the songs about my brother that is.

maejonesverstappen NO! VICTORIA LOOK AWAY! arthur_leclerc bit too late for that mae...

user43 i wonder how daphne's doing...is she clutching her pearls?

user30 is she flabbergasted? user90 PUH-LEASE mrs jones-ricciardo has no room to judge. she's written worse, possibly. user43 you're so right. how could i possibly forget about dress and the moaning user30 OH MY GOD?

kellypiquet amazing album 💫

maejonesverstappen thanks? btw max isn't in this post is that why you didn't like it? maxjonesverstappen1 mae, we've talked about this. pr is not happy when you pick fights with people. user13 oh the lore here goes so deep it's insane zoyatorres dear user13 you have no idea just how deep the lore goes here.

lewis hamilton if i hear another song about max emilian jones-verstappen's dick it will be too soon.

charles leclerc and somehow I'M the one with the long name

natalia ruiz you have three middle names. you DO have a long name charlie

mark webber it's too early for lewis to be talking about dicks

max jones-verstappen you're just jealous because you've never had a song written about you lewis

isabella perez 🤓☝️ that's not true jones-bitchstappen george russell ???

isabella perez according to my research, aka a tiktok deepdive with osc at 2 am, one nicki minaj wrote "you ain't fuck nicki, you fucked nicole body" about one sir lewis hamilton

nico rosberg so that is why he ended his career as one hit wonder xnda

lewis hamilton literally fuck you nico nico rosberg you've tried pierre gasly WHAT THE FUCK? lewis hamilton STOP TELLING PEOPLE I'VE TRIED SLEEPING WITH YOU! THAT'S NOT TRUE!

alex albon HE DATED NICKI MINAJ??

lando norris WHO DATED NICKI? alex albon LEWIS!!

lewis hamilton we were friends!

daphne jones-ricciardo weeeellllll lewis hamilton daphne, don't you dare daphne jones-ricciardo i didn't do anything! lewis hamilton YOU WERE ABOUT TOO!

logan sargeant LEWIS DATED NICKI?

freya vettel this is some wild lore we're uncovering here

ollie bearman i thought he was dating shakira?

dulce perez shakira might just be old news, who the fuck knows with lewis

lewis hamilton am i not allowed to have friends now?

george russell unless you're willing to publicly announce your friendship with nico rosberg again, we'll just assume every woman you talk to is your girlfriend bailey winters at least set some realistic standards george, that's never going to happen.

nico rosberg for the record, we are friends

sebastian vettel eh, are you though? fernando alonso stay out of it homewrecker sebastian vettel mark webber ass kisser jenson button you two belong in a retirement home mark webber why am i always getting dragged into shit?

rowan todd wait, lewis dated nicki?

carlos sainz nicki who? pierre gasly nicki minaj she sings that one song about snakes mae jones-verstappen well it's an innuendo for dicks but yes pierre gasly yeah, you would know all about innuendos wouldn't you? mae jones-verstappen this is why rowan's never written a song about you

rhys jones LEWIS DATED NICKI? WHEN?

isabella perez oh back in like 2018 lewis hamilton STOP SAYING THAT! I DIDN'T DATE HER!

zoya torres awfully defensive for someone who didn't date her

jenson button oh he totally dated her

lewis hamilton YOU'RE NOT HELPING? jenson button i'm supposed to help??

daniel jones-ricciardo caught them kissing in abu dhabi

lewis hamilton STOP!

george russell he's actually screaming from his drivers room. i can hear him.

george russell update: bono just went in there an asked what was wrong and he replied with, 'they're driving me insane bono!' george russell and now kimi is asking what's wrong with him. what do i tell him?? ollie bearman nothing, let him live in delusion that all of you are super cool and not at all dumbasses max jones-verstappen who lied and told him we were cool? ollie bearman the internet

lewis hamilton i hate all of you

isabella perez can't wait to force you to do media with charles. especially those stupid song challenges just to play a nicki song lewis hamilton oh my god, what the hell did i sign up for? carlos sainz your own personal hell

esteban ocon what the fuck is happening?

mick schumacher lore dump or whatever they call it these days

maxjonesverstappen1 and maejonesverstappen posted new stories

mae said this was very cutesy, very demure, whatever that means. ps i think she did in fact kidnap one of daph's cats this guy is literally so out of it that he didn't notice that i sent him an old picture and am literally standing right in front of him. ps yes he is literally asleep. pps this not very demure of him.

liked by maxjonesverstappen1, isabellaperez, penelopetrevino and others

maejonesverstappen taste video is out now 💋

tagged: jennaortega, davemeyers, campbellrohan

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rhysjones be honest, did max flip out when he found out you were kissing jenna?

maejonesverstappen it was more of a 'do you really have to?' with a pout jennaortega it was actually a tantrum rhysjones oh i love you. please stick around to humble max jennaortega of course!

isabellaperez petition to have me star in your next music video?? i'll kiss you too

maxjonesverstappen1 back off perez, that's MY wife jennaortega he told me the same thing maxverstappen1 who invited you? jennaortega your wife did actually

user98 this music video altered my brain chemistry. i'm not even kidding

user41 you're so right for that. someone please get them to star in a movie as lesbian lovers user1 she has more chemistry with jenna then she did with barry. as if she would ever dump max for barry ❤ by maxjonesverstappen1 user52 max being a barry hater is so funny to me but you go babe.

lilymhe can i be in your next video??

maejonesverstappen of course my love 👩🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👩🏼 alex_albon i thought you two would grow out of this maejonesverstappen1 wow alex being a homophobe in 2024, what would lewis think? alex_albon I'M NOT A HOMOPHOBE! i just don't want you stealing my girlfriend lilymhe and yet carmen and i never complain when we third wheel you and george alex_albon i-

user30 the chemistry was insane

user54 RIGHT? i need to see them act as love interests in a movie soon user97 max jones-verstappen would probably die user30 he just hates to see a girlboss (jenna) winning ❤ liked by jennaortega user54 it's because he knows jenna could steal his wife if she wanted too ❤ liked by jennaortega

maxjonesverstappen1 you look great and she's there

jennaortega jealousy is a disease, hope you never get well maxjonesverstappen1 i will not lose my wife to a pipsqueak user42 max is currently in the trenches. not only is this man struggling with a fuckass red bull but he's also on the verge of losing his wife

jensonbutton as the children say, i fear this ate

fernandoalo_oficial i don't think you're using that right lewishamilton he is, you're just annoying fernandoalo_oficial to quote jenson earlier, 'you belong in a retirement home' user27 man what the fuck goes on in their group chat? nicorosberg that's a question i keep asking myself every time i open it up. user50 NICO'S IN THE GROUP CHAT?

user34 they ate and left no crumbs y'all

user40 absolutely devoured the fucking plate user62 i blame mae jones-verstappen and daphne jones-ricciardo for my high expectations of music videos now

danieljonesricciardo okay, this one was insane. i love it

maejonesverstappen thank you kind sir danieljonesricciardo of course kind lady user56 if my relationship with my in-laws isn't like theirs i don't want it.

daphnejonesricciardo you're actually insane for this one

maejonesverstappen thanks i got it from my sister 🩷 daphnejonesricciardo i hate you 🩷

nataliaruiz actually run away with me, we'll raise jules as our own

charles_leclerc what the hell did i do to deserve this? zoyatorres i don't think she needs to tell you what you did freyavettel yeah we were all there oscarpiastri i agree with whatever they say charles_leclerc all of you are banned from our house nataliaruiz no, you aren't, don't listen to a word he says.

liked by maxjonesverstappen1, charles_leclerc, rhysjones and others

maejonesverstappen serena and blair (F1 version)

tagged: nataliaruiz

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nataliaruiz i love you the way charlie loves max

maejonesverstappen which is a lot maxverstappenjones1 this is slander charles_leclerc oh so you don't love me? was that a lie? maxjonesverstappen1 oh my god, you're needier than my cats are charles_leclerc this is why you haven't won a race since spain... maxjonesverstappen1 THIS IS WHY I DON'T LOVE YOU!

user09 ferrari x red bull wags are my favorite

user42 personally i love nat and penny too but there's something special about THE lestappen wife and fiancée being besties user58 it's mae being besties with charles but natalia and max being enemies for me

nataliaruiz i might just fight someone with you over the cars

maejonesverstappen oh i am so in maxjonesverstappen1 mae, we've talked about this, you can't fight anyone charles_leclerc silvia said to take this down nataliaruiz silvia loves me, she did not say that

user57 serena and blair taking on f1 was not on my bingo card this year

rhysjones i've heard we're fighting salty spice??

redbullracing i'm sorry what? rhysjones for legal reasons this is a joke maxjonesverstappen1 i can't believe i have to deal with both of you rhysjones this is all because you chose to marry my sister

isabellaperez there are 206 bones in the human body...

oscarpiastri my sisters follow you on instagram... isabellaperez i regret nothing oscar

zoyatorres i thought we were blair and serena?

maejonesversttapen we're more like peyton and brooke zoyatorres you are so right, no man is worth it logansargeant ??? maxjonesverstappen1 YOU TOO?! zoyatorres she was mine first verstappen maxjonesverstappen1 *jones-verstappen please

user86 the matching bows!!!

user31 they're giving black swan and white swan user50 mae being the white swan has never made more sense to me

vancityreynolds i'll say this serena is much more annoying than the original

maejonesverstappen this is why hugh beat the shit out of you in your movie. vancityreynolds suck it vertically challenged!

user26 tall gf and short gf

maejonesverstappen i prefer the term snack sized maxjonesverstappen1 you're literally married to me. you're not natalia's girlfriend. maejonesverstappen never stop your husband from letting you find the love of your life victoriaverstappen oh she's so right maxjonesverstappen1 STAY OUT OF THIS VICTORIA? user26 damn men can't take a joke these days. so sensitive.. user31 it's because max is losing his wife to someone new everyday.

zoyatorres just so we're clear, i'm invited to this 'fighting of people?' there's someone at the top of my list.

maejonesverstappen of course, that's who we're getting first nataliaruiz absolutely kyle_kirwood room for one more? zoyatorres 100% percent! logansargeant please take this down. charles_leclerc please take this down. maxjonesverstappen1 i'm being told to ask for you to take this down. i actually couldn't care less but for legal purposes, please take this down. zoyatorres no ❤️ maejonesverstappen no ❤️ nataliaruiz no ❤️ kyle_kirwood i meant what i said, so no ❤️

¡taglist!

@burningcupcakefire @arkhammaid @applopie @lorarri @bb-swift @thewannabewriter @mypage-myfandoms @stopeatread @hobiismyhopeu @lilsiz @alessioayla @niniluvsainz @au-ghosttype @six-call @justtprachisblog @nichmeddar @unluckyyoshi @cool-ultra-nerd @kami10471633 @1nt3rnetgf @fernandoswarcrimes @arieltwvdtohamflash @brekkers-whore @natcha888 @camdensreg @mycenterfold @dear-fifi @georgeparisole @dan3avocado @nikfigueiredo @bella-182 @namgification @jensonsonlybutton @weekendlusting @trouble-sistar @lesliiieeeee @leclercsluv @33-81 @theseus-jpg @sarah-thatstings-ann @minmira95 @casperlikej @formulaonebuff @hopenshaw @hwalllllllelujah @doodlehunz @prongsvault @anytimeanywherebitch-blog @hopenshaw

¡leclerc-s speaks! this did not age well…but also because one person asked for this i’m posting it.

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

[eevees-hobbies]

don't know if this counts as a request but ..

do you think kaji is into dacryphilia ? him n suo gives me sadistic vibes , to be honest .. ><

HAHHAHAHA, my first thirst. Bless you for this. I love this, anon!

Look, I need you to get out of my brain, ok? Because, yes, especially Suo. I’m writing a Suo smut fic currently, and your headcanon fits perfectly because it has devolved into the intense level of intimacy that he shares with you. I don’t want to give too much away, but…

Content Warning: Fem!Reader x Hayato Suo, Fem!Reader x Ren Kaji, Dacryphilia, smut, overstimulation

—

Being loved by Hayato Suo is to be consumed by him. You better be someone who can handle the marathon of lovemaking that comes with him, or you’re going to feel like you just might fucking break. 

It’s another level of love and intimacy; his tongue in the most sordid of places, his fingers unforgiving as they stroke your core, which has grown far too sensitive long ago. Maybe he’s teasing you because that's his nature, or perhaps it’s the manifestation of his addiction to you because, god to honest truth, he can’t get enough of any part of you, so he needs to savor the experience. I believe it is the latter more so than the former. 

No one would blame you if hot tears formed at the corner of your eyes and started to pour down your cheeks as you beg him for release because fuck, Suo, it’s too much. 

And you know what Suo will do? He’ll smile in your face, kiss those big, cute tears away, and say he knows you can take it—his girl can take anything. And to no shock to you—because you’ve done this song and dance before—he’ll continue to flick his wrist as his fingers curl against that spongy spot of your cunt, stealing orgasm upon orgasm from you. I really hope you can handle it because it either stops when not being inside of your abused cunt is just too painful for him, or time necessitates a quickie. If those conditions aren’t met? Good luck, friend. 

Deep down, you know that seeing you cry is part of the experience for him. It’s just as arousing as seeing you come undone on his cock, so your whimpering and hiccuping through tears is an un(fortunate) reality of being intimate with Suo. 

—

Now Ren Kaji? I think in any other scenario where Kaji finds you crying, he’s seeing red and hunting down the fucker who made you cry.

If he makes you cry because he snaps at you after having a bad day? He feels like absolute shit. 

The exception? When he has you folded over on yourself in the mating press position. He’s so deep in your guts you swear you can taste the tip of his dick on your tongue—you aren’t thinking clearly to consider the complicated logistics of this, too busy being fucked stupid.

And so when something finally snaps in you, something that makes your body tremble, and your core tighten because he’s fucking you like he hates you, you feel warm streaks pour from your eyes, sliding through your hair because the position he has you in has gravity pulling them back. You’re crying so hard that everything in front of you, including Kaji, is a blur.

The first time this happened, he stopped, concerned that he had hurt you, but you assured him that this was anything but pain that you were experiencing, so now he’s familiar with making you a crying mess as he fucks you into the bed.

And, fuck, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t find it hot. Because you crying means he’s doing a good job—he’s giving it to you so good and knowing that strokes his ego an unbelievable amount. 

And fuck, you love his cock this much that you’re a crying mess? Damn, what is he going to do with you? He’ll grit his teeth and fuck you harder because the way you cry, the way you turn into a cute blubbering mess, makes him feel like a god, and he wants to see how many tears he can get out of you before either of you breaks.

—

Yeah, I think they’re into it.

Keep the thirsts coming!

[ghostlywhiskey]

Simon Riley (Priest AU) - Forgive me, Father.

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,203

Warnings: MDNI 18+ ☆ Sacrilege, priest, mentions of prayer and common language used in confessionals - overall religious content that may upset some. Abuse of power. Mentions of being used and somnophilia. Cussing. Masturbation (Simon & reader).

Summary: After having improper thoughts weighing guilt on your mind, you decide to resort to confession. Simon has methods of how you can be forgiven.

Notes: Um, well, yeah. I’m not sure what to say. Writing this whole thing was a 'damn, Catholicism ingrained in me fr' moment from how I literally closed my eyes to remember how I would walk into church & what would be said in confession. Ha. Anyway. Minimal proofreading, I felt too dirty to re-read.

find my masterlist here

You weren't a frequent churchgoer. After years of Catholic school, it all became tiring and felt almost forced at this rate, but you went for the holidays like Easter & Christmas - at your grandparents request to be fair.

But, old habits die hard and one day you find yourself pulling into the parking lot of the church. Maybe it was the Catholic guilt ingrained in you that drew you to go today. 

The large wood doors creaked as you opened them and walked into the church. Every Catholic church looked the same to you - the stained glass, the architecture, the same old wooden pews either their original wood or coated in layers of white paint refreshed over the years. And every church you had ever been to was always so cold - why?

Every single move was like muscle memory. Your fingers dipped into the font that contained the holy water, quietly whispering as you did the sign of the cross and genuflected. 

Your eyes scanned the church, noting the layout as you located the confessional. Once you entered and sat down, you rang the tiny bell to indicate your presence. Heavy footsteps outside getting closer as you heard the priest enter the other side of the confessional, the divider sliding open so you can only make out the figure through the tiny holes.

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." The words are spoken in unison. His voice is clearer to you now as he only speaks now, "May God who has enlightened every heart, help you to know your sins and trust in His mercy." In response, you quietly whisper 'amen' in return.

Clearing your throat and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you prepare to speak. "Bless me Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was 5 years ago. These are my sins.." The list of sins are far more minimal in nature such as disrespecting your parents, gossiping, lying and so forth.

Then, you finally get to what has been weighing on your mind like a ton of bricks. "And impure thoughts.." Your words trailing off, the sound of the priest shifting on the other side noticeable from the close proximity despite the divider separating you both. "In order to truly know the severity, what do these impure thoughts include, my child?" He asks, your body tensing as the question catches you off guard. "Ah, regarding premarital sex acts, Father."  You respond, fingers fidgeting with the rings on your hands. "Explain." This is all he says before the silence lingers in the small space before you speak again. "This is only to help your absolution." His voice urges you to continue, the words trying to ease you to come clean. “Well," Swallowing the lump in your throat, your cheeks burning from embarrassment despite your identity being unknown to him. "The thoughts consist of being used at will by a man. To be degraded and fucked until I'm begging for him to stop, but my whines only encourage him to continue. I don't want him to stop.” Your voice is strained, as if you're scared to admit it out loud. And truthfully, this was the first time you had admitted the thoughts out loud.  Your thighs squeeze together as your brain digs deeper into the thoughts you’ve been suppressing for a few months now. 

The sound of the priest clearing his throat pulls your attention back. “Surely that isn’t all, my child.” He says, and you shake your head in response even if he can’t see. “N-No. That isn’t all.” Rings spinning around your fingers as you continue to fidget from nerves. “Please remember, I need to know everything to offer you absolution.” Nodding, you swish spit in your mouth to coat the dryness to some extent and swallow. 

“I-I think about being woken up in the night, the man already buried deep in me. My body  doesn’t resist the feeling and clenching around him as my consciousness regains from sleep.” The heat between your thighs grows as you now shift in the seat, one leg moves to cross over the other in an effort to control the sensation.

The sound of a zipper coming undone is undeniable as your ears pick up on it, your lips parting slightly from shock as you process what’s happening on the other side of the confessional. “Father?” Your voice barely whispers, wondering if you acknowledge it, then he would stop. “Are these thoughts about anyone specific?” He mutters, his hand palming himself through his boxers. “No, just general desires, Father.” 

He inhales a breath and exhales before he speaks. “Have you acted on these thoughts?” No, but you fucking wish. “No, Father.” And maybe it was your own thoughts warping, but you could have sworn you heard him mumble the words, ‘Forgive me, Father’. 

On the other side of the confessional, unbeknown to you, the priest had now pulled his cock free from the constraints of his briefs. Biting back a groan, his hand comes up to his mouth as he quietly spits into his palm before he wraps it around himself. “For your penance, you must do exactly as I say, understood?” He speaks, his voice sounds low, demanding in a way. 

“Understood, Father.” You reply, your chest rising and falling slowly as you anticipate what he is going to say next. “We must rid you of these thoughts. You need to release them.” He murmurs, his hand slowly pumping up and then down. “Be a good girl and spread your legs.” 

Oh my God. Like actually, oh my God. Your brain rings in your head, doing as you're told and spreading your legs. Hearing the movement, he continues to speak. “My child, what are you wearing?” The question is simple, your hand already sliding down to the exposed panties your dress reveals once your legs are spread. “Knee length sundress.” You respond, your head leaning back against the wood of the confessional as your fingers rub the fabric covering your already wet cunt. “Hmm, and I suppose that length is useless as your legs are spread. Exposing yourself like a good girl, but such a slut.” The word slut drips from his mouth like venom, the tone of his voice sending excitement through your body. “Slide the panties off.” He orders, and you obey as you reach for the waistband and slide them down to your ankles, shaking them off to the floor of the confessional. “They’re off, Father.” You whisper, glancing at the divider. Never in your life did you want to be seen more than in this moment. “Father Simon.” He corrects. “Call me Father Simon.” 

“Father Simon.” You repeat the name he asked you to call him. A quiet groan travels to your side of the confessional and you can’t help but move your fingers to rub between your folds. The fact he was groaning to you just saying his title was causing your stomach to tie into knots. “What do I need to do, Father Simon?” You beg, wanting him to continue directing you. “Such an eager girl to be forgiven. You wouldn’t need forgiveness if you weren’t such a slut.” He hissed. “But you come into this confessional and speak of how you wish to be used. To be degraded. Do you think you can be forgiven?” 

“I-I want to be forgiven.” Your fingers build up your excitement, teasing your folds as your fingers move to give your clit some attention as you rub it gently. “I’m sorry, Father Simon. I’m sorry.” You choke out, almost forgetting to breathe amidst the pleasure. “Just because you’re sorry does not guarantee forgiveness.” Simon’s own hand continues to pump his cock, his thumb brushes over the head as some pre-cum oozes out. “You sound stupid saying sorry. Saying sorry while I can hear your hand moving as you touch yourself. Take those fingers and fuck yourself with three of them.” The order coming out of his mouth leaves you breathing shakily.

“F-Father, three?” You ask in order to clarify his demand. “R-Right away?” You needed time to adjust, even with your own slender fingers it took time before you could even have two. “You heard me.” He responds, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Don’t disappoint me, sweetheart.” Simon’s hand starts to pump his cock faster, his free hand moves to massage his balls. 

While you’re already wet, just to be sure you take your index, middle and ring finger to your lips. Your mouth wrapping around the fingers, sucking and swirling your tongue to coat them in saliva. Pulling them away, you carefully position them, teasing your entrance before you push into yourself. Your free hand covers your mouth as you feel them stretching you slightly. A moan muffled by your hand is the additional sound mixed with your fingers starting to pump in and out of you, the wet stickiness filling the confessional. “Oh, sweetheart. You must look so beautiful spread out fucking yourself with your fingers.” Simon coos through the divider, his breaths shallow. “I wish I could bury my cock into that wet, tight cunt. Let me hear you pray to God for that.” 

Closing your eyes as he speaks, you imagine the priest grabbing your hips and forcing himself into you, despite having no idea of his appearance. Your head against the wood of the confessional again as you try to hold your moans in even with your hand over your mouth, scared if anyone else were to enter the church they would hear you both behind these curtains. “I don’t hear you.” Simon growls, glancing at the divider to barely see the movements of your hand as your body moves in response. “G-God, please. I want Father Simon’s cock.” He hears you whimper quietly, a grin forming on his face. “Oh..such a good, good girl.” Simon’s voice acknowledging your compliance. Your fingers curl inside as he praises you, allowing yourself the small reward. “Father Simon, I-I’m so wet.” 

“Mmph..those pretty little fingers must be slick with your juices.” Simon’s own head leaning against the wood of the confessional now, eyes closed as he pumps his cock faster and pushes down hard. The image of his cock disappearing in between your folds making his thoughts spin. “Keep pumping those fingers. We need to make you cum. Release the thoughts that are rotting your brain.” Simon’s teeth grit together, a soft hissing sound coming out as his pump down puts pressure on him.

Not trusting yourself, your hand is back on your mouth. The sound of your wet cunt getting pumped with your fingers fills both your ears and Simon’s, the squishing sounds push him closer to his own release. And for you, the thought of his cock instead of your fingers pulling you closer to the edge before you jump off and release. Whimpering into your palm, you clench around your fingers and pump a few more times before releasing around them. Your thighs immediately squeezing shut as you try to control your shaking. “S-Simon.” You cry softly, lips parted as you pant softly. “F-Fuck.” He groans, the hand not pumping his now cum covered cock fists and hits the confessional wall. The release that had been building up in him for months now. 

“In addition, you leave your panties behind. Along with that, I expect you to recite twenty Hail Mary’s and twenty Our Father’s after your release. Make an act of contrition.” His voice strained from his recent climax. Dazed from your own climax as well, the words come out of your mouth without hesitation, “My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good…” Pausing for a brief moment, you swallow a lump in your throat. “I have sinned against You, whom I should love above all things. I firmly intend, with Your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin. Our Savior, Jesus Christ, suffered and died for us. In His Name, my God, have mercy. Amen.” After the words leave your lips, you catch your breath again.

The sound of Simon readjusting and zipping himself up is the only sound you hear in response. “F-Father?” You say softly, awaiting for him to absolve you. “My child…” Simon’s voice sounds like it did when you first sat in the confessional. “God cannot give you pardon and peace as of today. Therefore, I cannot absolve you of your sins. Come back in five days after I’ve had some time to rest and ask God for a final answer.” 

And with that, the sound of footsteps fill the church once more, followed by the door to the sacristy opening and closing indicating he would not be seen by you when you left. The response leaves you stunned for a few moments, before your legs get the strength to stand up and exit the confessional. The hand you didn’t use to finger yourself gently dips into the font as you leave, the sign of the cross spoken softly as you walk out.

[gallawitchxx]

hi beeee!! i hope you're doing okay 💖💖💖

ooohohohoho okay for the kiss thingy: god knows why cuz it sounds potentially very painful but i feel so compelled to request 28 🙏

sweet deanna! i'm hanging in, thanks love! 💖 so you & @lingy910y both requested #28 & i want to fill both of your prompts. but because you were (rightfully) afraid of pain, i gave you one that's a bit strange, but has a promisingly happy ending? you can be the judge! xx

- - - - -

send me a number & i'll write you a smoocheroo 😚

- - - - -

#28: ...as a lie ps. this is inspired by this post about dealer!mickey & insomniac!ian, who have now rotted my brain.

Ian hasn’t slept in days.

It’s happened before—endless energy is one of his tried-and-true symptoms of mania—but this isn’t that. He’s taking his meds, his skin isn’t crawling and his mind is fairly quiet. Quiet enough to frustrate him as he tosses and turns and wonders what the fuck’s going on.

His schedule has been all over the place lately; his normal routine lost to the endless cycles of employment and Gallagher family responsibilities. He’d been hoping to add school to the mix this semester so that he could have other, less hectic options than a rig-riding EMT, but he’d pushed it off. A pity, now that all-nighters are apparently his thing.

Night two, he googles a few things, which is a huge mistake. Who can fall asleep after reading about how even just twenty-four hours without sleep can begin to derail your bodily systems? Sleep deprivation can cause or worsen conditions like Type 2 diabetes, High blood pressure, Stroke, Heart attack—his pulse leaps as his phone clatters to the ground.

Night three, he takes to the streets, running around the Southside until his lungs burn and his knees wobble. As he passes the clinic that gave his seventeen-year-old self a lifetime prescription for antipsychotics, he knows that if this lasts much longer, he should call his doctor. Tell them his nighttime meds aren’t putting him to sleep anymore. Nip this insomnia thing in the bud before it can overthrow the delicate balance he’s worked so hard to maintain.

Night four, desperate and a bit delusion, he pulls up a number he hasn’t used in years, saved under a contact labeled, DO NOT TEXT.

He breaks his own rule: Hey. Still making house calls?

The response is almost immediate: the fuck u care for?

Ian rolls his bloodshot eyes, typing: It’s an emergency.

Three little dots herald a response that makes him laugh: a weed emergency?

He stays strong: Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need it.

The next text makes his chest clench: u ok?

He decides to keep it vague—I can’t sleep, but it’s not what you think.—and hopes he doesn’t have to explain further and is relieved to read: u want ur usual?

Another clench: Indica

Two texts arrive in rapid succession: what else do u want? can i give u head while u smoke or no?

There it is: the reason Ian doesn’t use this number anymore.

Maybe in another life it would be a blessing to have a weed dealer to lovers arc with your childhood crush, but in this one, it was a curse. A curse that lasted almost a whole year, bringing with it an endless bouquet of blissful fucks and free weed, and a million moments of tenderness Ian knew nobody else was getting out of the guy. A curse that eventually came to collect payment in the form of bloodied knuckles, broken hearts and ego wounds. A curse that still clings to Ian’s psyche, filling his dreams with gentle, tattooed fingers and bright blue eyes and a sweet and savory scent that can only be described as Mickey.

Mickey, now DO NOT TEXT.

On second thought, maybe he should never sleep again.

The knock at the door makes him hard—a Pavlovian response that irks him more than the three sleepless nights he’s suffered so far. Three raps, one right after the other. The last one no more than a brush of his hand.

Ian adjusts himself and answers the door.

Fuck, one look at that smug asshole and he’s immediately right back in it. Lust and like and maybe even a little bit of reckless fucking love fill his body, rising to the surface like sweet cream. A layer of fat on the roof of one’s mouth; a treat to lick later, a reminder that they didn’t end things because they weren’t insanely hot for one another and potentially soulmates. They were just idiots. Stubborn, petty dicks.

Oh Pride, the great slayer of men.

Jesus, he needs to sleep.

“First one’s on the house,” Mickey says as he crosses the threshold, a joint held tightly between C and K.

Hours slip by. They laugh, they smoke. It feels like old times. Ian’s body is loose in a way it hasn’t been in years. It feels good. Like maybe-he-could-sleep-tonight good. And as he melts further into the couch, he starts to get a little horny too. Because Mickey’s yapping on and on about some asshole that frequents the bar he works at, and Ian’s listening, he swears he’s listening, but he’s also staring at Mickey’s mouth like he wants to take Mickey up on that text message and shut him the fuck up with his dick.

Like he wants to taste the stale smoke of his tongue.

Wants him to stay the night.

Forever, maybe.

Mickey finishes his story. His eyes go soft and he drums his fingers against his knee. “Should get outta your hair, Gallagher,” he says. “Letcha sleep.”

That’s the last thing Ian wants.

“Not tired,” he fibs.

Mickey cocks an eyebrow. “You’re not? ’S been days, man. This shit’s gotta be hittin’ ya by now.”

It’s true. It has been days and this shit is hitting him. Or maybe he’s having a sleep-deprivation-induced stroke. He just knows Mickey can’t go.

“Can’t go to sleep without a goodnight kiss.”

Mickey’s already leaning in when he asks, “Then you promise you’ll hit the hay?”

Ian nods as Mickey presses a kiss to his lying lips.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen

TW: nsfw, angst

You wake up to the smell of bacon, coffee, and something sweet in the skillet.

Usually such a thing would mean you are dreaming, and you need to wake your ass up before you’re late for work. But you roll over to look into your tiny kitchen, finding a sight fit for Playgirl Magazine before your disbelieving eyes.

Dear Penthouse, I can’t believe this actually happened to me…

Detective Tom Ludlow is in your kitchen, making pancakes…in nothing but a towel around his trim waist. His dark hair is combed back, still wet from the shower. His broad shoulders are something to write home about–Kansas farm boys had nothing on this beautiful specimen of masculinity.

Had the night before even been real?

As though he senses your return to consciousness–or maybe the weight of your gawker’s stare upon him–he turns to look at you. “Morning, beautiful.”

You blink with surprise, because he is talking to you.

“Hi,” you greet, clever as ever, and goddammit but are you blushing?

“Whacha looking at?” he teases, spatula in hand. The very picture of domestic bliss. God help you, but in that moment you were 300 percent ready to put a ring on this man.

“Just…the most best thing I’ve ever seen,” you admit, knowing you’ll kick yourself for it later.

However, the smile he pays you, smug yet somehow gentle–it fries your brain entirely.

“Likewise, sweetheart.” He crosses the short space with a few long strides to press his lips to yours. “You like pancakes with blueberries?”

You’d bought the ingredients–and promptly stuck them in the cupboards–for just such a purpose, thinking that someday, when you had time, and weren’t bone fucking tired from working 12 hour shifts days in a row, you’d make a point to treat yourself.

Funny, how that never happened, until Tom Ludlow came around.

Here you are, getting emotional about blueberry fucking pancakes.

“Yes,” is the only answer you can muster, and he kisses you so sweetly that it curls your toes.

His soft smile down at you will be the death of you. “Sleep well?”

“Like a well-fucked rock,” you tell him, winning a bark of masculine laughter. 

“Likewise, beautiful. Definitely likewise.” He vacates the couch to flip his pancake. You continue to stare, still dumbfounded.

“Tom?” you ask, still struggling to wake up.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Did last night…actually happen?”

“Sure did. Don’t you remember driving to Vegas? We got the best Elvis in the building.”

You blink stupidly for a few moments, before registering his absolutely shit-eating grin.

“Very funny. And the joke would be on you, if you married me on a drunken lark.”

“Why?” he asks, seemingly amused by your discomfort.

“I told you. I’m a fucking mess.”

“Far as I can tell? You’re fucking perfect, and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.” 

You’re not really sure why this pithy little compliment brings tears to your eyes, your lip quivering. Only a beat later does he notice, and he rushes over again.

“Hey, hey, no crying, baby, I’m sorry. What’s wrong? I was just joking.”

You swipe at your eyes with the heels of your hands, embarrassed. “You’re just..so sweet, and I actually fucking believe you, when you say this shit, ok?”

He blinks, but god bless, it only takes him a moment to assess, and act. He presses his soft lips to yours, then his forehead to your forehead, as though he can will you to accept his declarations through osmosis. “Believe it,” he tells you. “It’s true…well. Not the Elvis bit. We can do that next weekend if you want.”

You know he’s joking…but it still doesn’t fail to utterly melt your insides. This man who manhandled and harrassed you has turned out to be the biggest fucking softy, and you just might lose your shit.

You’ve already cried in front of him too many times, though, so you play it off and act like what he’s saying is no big deal. “Really? I think I’d rather have Michael Jackson instead.” 

You wonder if he misses being married. If he fucked his wife like he’d fucked you last night…you can’t fathom stepping out on him. But then you also know, that sometimes cops can also be married to their jobs. It could make for a difficult threesome. You imagine going without him, while he was working an intense case, would be absolute hell.

Tom snorts. “Whatever floats my lady’s boat,” he answers, flipping another pancake onto the stack. He ports them to the table with a flourish. “Come eat, sweet girl. You gotta work today?”

“Later. Unfortunately.”

He sticks his full lip out in a pout that should be illegal on a grown ass man. “Then eat quickly, because I’m not done with you yet.” he informs you with a wicked smirk that causes a brand new flood between your already sticky thighs. 

He turns, that broad, tapered back on full display, to finish plating breakfast, and you can’t not watch the tight muscle in his butt shift in the thin towel. You get this sudden strange urge to sink your teeth into him and latch on, and wonder if ancient cavewomen bit their partners to lay claims. Because that’s what Tom Ludlow works on—the part of your spongy brain that developed before speech and theory—the part that wants to bite and howl. 

Evolution is a bitch. 

Oh no, he can cook. And cook good. The pancakes he sets in front of you, drizzled with honey and topped with fresh blueberries, taste like a fluffy heaven in your mouth. Even the coffee is splendid, done up blonde and sugary just the way you prefer. “Tom, damn,” you compliment between mouthfuls. “You went out to get blueberries?” It’s selfish, but the thought of him leaving you alone even to run out and grab something for you makes your insides twist uncomfortably. 

“Oh, no, I borrowed some from your neighbor.” 

Of course at that moment you have an entire mouthful of coffee that you almost spray on his bare, beautiful chest. “What?!” 

He adopts a bemused smile. “Very nice lady.”

“Please tell me you had more than just a towel on?” 

“Less, actually.” 

He bursts into laughter and the astonished look on your face. 

“I’m gonna kick your ass, Ludlow.” 

“She asked me something really interesting.” He wipes a little honey off your top lip and sucks it into his mouth, making you dumb enough to forget you’re annoyed. “She asked me if I’m the nightmare?” 

“I have no idea what she’s talking about.”

“You are a terrible little liar, you know that? I can see your tell from a mile away.” 

“Oh, what is it?” You smirk, shove a bite of pancake into your mouth. 

“You’re lucky I’m hungry,” he threatens, playful and promising, sending a thrill through your chest. 

You grab a glob of honey on your finger and kitten lick it off, almost bold enough to make direct eye contact with him for more than five seconds while you’re doing it. “Or what?” 

He pops up from his seat, and your first instinct is run. Run away. You make it two steps before he has you grabbed around the waist and is dragging you back to his place at the table. 

Your squeals of nervous laughter crescendo into a moan when he pulls you down onto his big cock. It surprises you as much as it did last night, how well he fills and stretches you. Not a piece of your fluttery hole unpunished by his silky, maddening pressure. You immediately grind, eager for that pressure to shift and rub and build you, but he stills you with a mitt on your waist. 

Then his big hands bunch in the ruffled fabric of your sundress, which somehow you never managed to remove amidst both of your eagerness to get to other parts of you instead. Slowly he draws it up over your head, tossing it away somewhere across the room. Before you can even begin to think about feeling self conscious he makes a low sound of appreciation behind you, running his hands down your curves. 

“So fucking beautiful. I just wanna stay inside this pretty little pussy all day,” he tells you, smoothing his wet tongue across your shoulder. You arch into him, and he nips your skin for the retaliation. “Feel her throb while I tell you what I wanna do to her. Jesus, you’re soaked.” 

You try to squeeze your thighs together for precious friction on your clit, but he tugs them back open, chuckling at the pathetic attempt. “You wanna fuck yourself, baby?”

“Yes. Fu-uhck.” 

“Want me to pet that pretty clit while you ride me?” He kisses up your neck, into your hairline, tugs your ear between his teeth and you see white fire. 

“Yes, Tom. Yes. Please.” 

“Then eat your breakfast.” 

It’s impossible to focus on the delicious food anymore. The chunks of stuff getting forked into your mouth are no match for the small taste of him. It isn’t long before he’s done with silverware and hand feeding you, making you lick and suck his sticky fingers clean. 

“Atta girl. Keeping me all warm and cozy.” His mouth traces circles on your upper back that make you twitch and gasp while his heavy pointer and index finger rest on your tongue, sweet and salty-pleasure and pain-the desire to move trumping all of it. 

When his fingers trail up your side and land on your nipple, rolling and pinching, you clench your thighs shut again. He grunts at you, although you think it was meant to be a sound of disapproval before you clenched deliberately on his cock. 

“You want to cum?” 

“Yessss.” 

“Then open your legs back up.” 

You obey with a groan of frustration, widening your hips so that the tantalizing pressure is off your throbbing clit. That means all you can focus on is having him inside you, and that would be great if he would just fucking thrust. 

Knock. Knock. Knock.

He grabs your hips to hold you in place. “You’re busy.” 

“Could be important,” you say. 

“More important than this?” He grinds up, into your cervix, into all the sensitive soaked walls of your cunt, and the answer to his question is no. Absolutely not. There is nothing more important than him or his cock. 

“Tom,” you hiss. 

He sighs. “Alright. I’ll get it. Get dressed.” 

How empty you feel, when you slide off of his cock as you stand on trembling legs. He halts your progress by gripping your hips, pressing his mouth to the curve of your buttocks. You forget about the door, and everything else, turning in his arms so that he can bury his face in your cleavage. “These beautiful–” He kisses one breast cupped in his hand, “Naughty,” a kiss for the other, just beside your nipple, the tease, “titties are in so much trouble.” He sucks on your perked nipple with a pop, making you cry out. 

Knock knock knock.

“Someone’s fucking determined,” he grumbles against your skin. 

Reluctantly you manage to pull away from him, and you remember this state of the art technology in your door called a peephole. Naked as a jaybird, you peer through the tiny lens–and gasp at the sight on the other side.

This clearly interests Tom, his head canting at an angle in question. You shake your head, just knowing a perfect storm is brewing. “It’s no one. Ignore it,” you say quietly, hoping they don’t hear you on the other side, praying they have the sense to go away. You try to distract Tom again with kisses and by trying to pull him towards the bedroom, but dammit this man is solid as a fucking tree when he doesn’t want to move.

“Who is it?” he asks with a lifted brow.

Knock knock. “Y/n? I know you’re home.”

Goddammit.

What can only be described as a wicked grin spreads over Tom’s handsome features. “Oh. Let’s say hello, shall we?” 

[thedarkdisgrace]

Here is my thread from twitter i wrote about my theory about Fyodor’s ability not working on ability users. I wanted to get this posted here before we learn even more about it than in the next chapter probably lol I’m probably wrong given how old Fyodor is there’s probably plenty we don’t know and haven’t seen yet. But I still think this is interesting to talk about :) (Also I had more images to add but I will have to wait till i have access to my PC to add more cause the mobile app won’t let me)

—

So what if Fyodor can’t use his ability on ability users? We haven’t really seen him use it on other gifted, we’ve seen him shoot/manipulate gifted but not use Crime & Punishment on them.

People he did use it on were normal people and the people who have touched him & lived are all ability users.

—

If Fyodor has used C&P on an ability user, please let me know but I can’t find a particular instance he does.

Either way, his ability is probably something he either is consciously controlling or the ability itself is selective in some way with normal people because this kid touches him with a cloth.

—

Meanwhile this agent has gloves on but Fyodor still kills him with C&P. So, clothes/cloth isn’t the difference on its own.

Like i said, it’s gotta either be he *does* have control in some capacity or Crime & Punishment is selective on its own, regardless if it affects gifted or not.

But even if it is selective or controlled why never use it on the gifted?

The people he claims to want gone the most? It would also make sense why he really wants the book to write ability users out of the world. If his ability doesn’t work on them, maybe that’s why he see them as sinners.

If Fyodor has an ability he believes is a blessing or something that’s “holy”, something bestowed upon him by god then him believing ability users are sin/sinners because that “holy” ability doesn’t work on them could make sense. It’s why he wants the book to completely erase them.

But also, a different extension of this is maybe Fyodor views the book as holy because of its power. Maybe someone say, stole the book to create ability users. Fyodor would want to correct that “sin”. And maybe his ability doesn’t work on anything made by the book, thus why it doesn’t work on ability users.

But that aside, either explanation could also explain Fyodor’s fascination with Dazai (aside with his intellect), Dazai’s a walking contradiction.

The ability user who cannot be unaffected by abilities. Fyodor may even see it as Dazai can’t be touched by their “sin” and maybe is tied to the book in some way. Of course such a thing would grab his attention.

It could also explain Fyodor’s reverence for Sigma, a being created by the book. He seems to hold the book in high regard & even Ranpo himself says the book was created by smth “greater”.

If Fyodor sees the book as a tool from god, he would think highly Sigma being born from it. Similar in the way he may view Dazai

I don’t believe Fyodor did anything to Sigma. (Addition to this repost: I still believe this. I still think it’s just information overload. That’s why he’s not waking up with skk. We were told about this for a reason and given Fyodor is old af it makes sense he as SO MUCH information to go through)

As Ango explained, you can pass out from too much information & Atsushi passed out from a small amount.

Sigma requested to know *everything*. I think Fyodor knew what he knows would fry Sigma’s brain. That said, I think Sigma will wake up.

(Again, addition to this repost: now that we know it’s like hundreds of years of information of course that would be hard for his brian to process)

(I will add to this next bit because we have more information from chapter 113.)

Whatever Sigma learned, he knew he had to tell the agency right away. He obviously knows more than just how Fyodor’s ability works but i’m sure he thinks the agency needs to know something *specific* he learned about Fyodor and/or his plans & ability.

(Addition: It’s interesting Sigma said this given he’s only *just now* going through Fyodor’s memories and seeing how old actually Fyodor is. I wonder if that is what he wants to tell them or if it’s *how* Fyodor is so old that he feels must be shared with the agency. I feel it’s definitely Sigma wants to tell them that he knows *how* Fyodor is that old. As he says “I know *what* Dostoyevsky really is. Not who, *what* he is. Interesting.)

—

Back to the main point, assuming his ability wasn’t used on Sigma (it wasn’t), Fyodor hasn’t used his ability to kill ability users.

He shot Dazai’s accomplice, he “shot” Katai as well. He manipulated Ace into killing himself. He wanted these people dead, why not use his ability?

Chuuya & Nikolai touched him without anything happening. Of course like I said, Fyodor can either control his ability or it’s selective on its own. So he could’ve chosen *not* to use it on Chuuya & Nikolai or for some reason his ability just didn’t care about them.

But still, why hasn’t he used it on other gifted? Like the first 3 i listed, he wanted dead right? He also choses to manipulate gifted like Mushitaro or mutilates them like Ivan & we’re not sure if he touched them or not. If he himself did the surgery on Ivan he had to have touched him.

Even with Shibusawa, Fyodor cuts his throat. He doesn’t try to use crime & punishment. Of course, Shibusawa was “dead” already so it could be a different case.

He also never went up against Natsume directly in untold origins, although in the novel Fyodor is only eluded to and we never see. But maybe Natsume is “that man” Fyodor refers to. (Though now it could be Bram given 113?).

You could also throw in Fyodor stabbing Mori instead of using his ability on him in there. But in this case Fyodor’s objective was to pit the ADA & PM against each other so they would take each other out. Though there’s an argument he still could have done that & kill Mori here.

But let’s just assume he didn’t want Mori dead because of his plan to pit the two organizations against each other. So, I won’t touch more on Mori other than he must’ve touched Mori when he stabbed him, but since Fyodor seems to have some control over C&P let’s also say he just didn’t activate it here.

No one knows how Fyodor’s ability works aside Fyodor himself (Sigma might know now, we’ll probably know in a chapter coming up).

Even Dazai, which is why Dazai hasn’t wanted to give him the opportunity to touch him. He’s see what we have, people touching him & dying. So until Dazai knows for sure how his ability works, why risk touching him.

That’s why Dazai was hoping Sigma would help (assuming we believe Dazai when he says he doesn’t know how Fyodor’s ability works).

Sigma should now know both Fyodor’s plans & his ability & i’m sure he’s going to wake up and tell skk. Then Dazai will know.

But what if Fyodor was secretive about his ability because it doesn’t actually work against gifted? He wants ability users gone & it only benefits him for people to believe he can kill anyone with a touch. So why wouldn’t he play into that assumption?

We also haven’t seen too much of his interaction with other DOA members (Addition: aside we now know Fyodor and Bram go way back and Bram may even know more about Fyodor's ability, but he might not). We've only seen Nikolai & Sigma & we only see Sigma touch him once, to get information & Nikolai holding his hands. Nikolai admitted he doesn’t know about Fyodor’s ability either, hence saving Sigma to help.

I believe Fyodor would want to use his ability on gifted if he could, like Ace or Katai etc. People he knew he wanted dead and wouldn’t serve another purpose. But he doesn’t seem to use it. (Again if we have seen him somewhere use it on an ability user please let me know). But since he doesn’t seem to use it on gifted, maybe he just *can’t*.

He could just be choosing not to for all those instances for one reason or another & it does work on gifted and we just haven’t seen it yet. We just don’t really know but I’m sure we will soon.

This is just a fun theory, one that will probably be proven wrong to be honest haha so take it as you will. Everyone has their own interpretations and we will find out in canon soon enough.

[mysteryanimator]

I love your animations, but I'm still struggling to view them without thinking about their last canon interaction. Can you tell me what you envision their makeup would be like?

(Lol I’m so sorry to all the ppl who work on Nocturne reading this 💀 and just generally everyone)

Thank you so much that means a lot! But now, you’ve unveiled my trap card and given me an excuse to write my thoughts on Mizrak and Olrox, so this will get pretty long. Also, this may end up being very subjective/personal taste in some parts so I hope everyone doesn’t mind (and hope you don't mind the funky grammar!) This is an open discussion too, I’d like to hear everyone’s thoughts! 

Now with that out of the way here we go!

(This is old unfinished storyboards for a previous iteration of their makeup scene I did back in jan, never finished them due to uni/another project, I'd like to someday tho because guh the themes.)

Now first of all, I’d like to think that a proper makeup/conversation wouldn’t happen for a bit and would be drawn out because they’re both still hurt, angry, sad, and confused at not only each other but themselves. They’re not the type to get into loud verbal arguments for this, definitely some verbal jabs at each other though. Mean petty comments, oh absolutely. I’d like to personally believe they’d still yearn for each other, perhaps even more so after Olrox indirectly confessed and Mizrak practically turned it down. 

Now, there are soooo many different ways that they’d even see each other again, many different ways it could come to that initial point where they’ve made up. Though I’ll go with one of my personal idea (which people keep egging me on to animate WHICH… I dunno I don’t have free time rn so I’m just blurting it out into written format while I can 😭 I want to though, maybe later in the year for fun if season 2 doesn’t beat me to it). 

Have to establish my vision, but I’d think that Richter, Maria, Annette, Alucard and Mizrak are hopping from abandoned town to abandoned town due to the inability to return to Macheoul for the time being. While Olrox has been on his own (doing what, I’m not even sure my personal headcanon for this.) I think Alucard and Mizrak have a conversation about Alucard’s past in a group setting and it strikes a chord with the monk- since after all, Alucard’s dad is THE Dracula, and his mother (bless her, I miss her) is human. You know how that whole backstory goes, and it parallels Olrox a lot. Also Mizrak and Annette will absolutely have a deep conversation too. Just solely from the comment that was made: 

“We’re all descended from gods, we just have to learn how to draw their power.” Nocturne s1 ep 2

Annette clearly having powers from Haitian gods, absolutely challenging how Mizrak was only certain of one God. Yes, Mizrak is extremely stubborn and it will take him a bit, but he’s different from the Abott in the sense that he will not let religion blind his path to good. He ‘uses his head’ as said before, not god, not the church- his head. Mizrak’s idea of the church and his faith is now a mess and it’s up to him on how he interprets it and rewrites it knowing what he knows now (this is important I swear when it comes to the makeup scene).

Now we’re at the actual scene at hand: Olrox and Mizrak making up.

Side note: oh god I’m practically writing this whole thing as if its going to be played out for an episode, but that’s how it works in my brain LOL but you asked so you shall receive. I am so sorry HAHA

There’s been a lot of build up from this point where they have been meeting up here and there by themselves, but you can clearly tell whenever they do they both hurt and yearn- which would lead to their proper makeup scene. I’m just inserting this for fun, but I’d imagine this would take place in an abandoned church in the town they’re camping in for the night. For a lot of symbolic reasons; devotion, sacrifice, forgiveness, gathering. This along with the simple fact, Mizrak’s relationship to the church has changed completely from here. I’d like to think that even when he’s trying to rekindle that connection with God, it leaves that icky overcoat on his skin. 

“Faith is a company in the hardest of times, when the world abandons you.” Nocturne ep 3

The church indeed had saved him from whatever terrible horrific thing happened to him in the past, however whatever saved him can still be horrible and terrible too. It is infallible.  It is cruel in an attempt to gather community and peace. So, yes- faith can be company when the world abandoned him, but his faith is no longer with the church. He’s taking it back and finding some place else to rest it. (Olrox, it’s Olrox, probably ooc but I’m making it Olrox). 

In this church, the conversation between them will initially start as a discussion about religion, faith and that whole sort of deal. It’ll open up about Mizrak exact struggles from his mouth and how he particularly feels about it, then we get more insight onto Olrox’s thoughts, his perception of the church and perhaps even a deep dive into Aztec history again. Maybe even talk about Olrox’s Quetzalcoatl form, though really this is self indulgent. It’s an aspect I’d absolutely love to be explored and I think it being discussed in revere in a Catholic Church,  with Mizrak actually being open to it due to his new perspective? Oh my god, sign me up. Regardless, it would hold similar energy to episode 6: Gulity Men to be Judged. There’s a weight to it. 

Then it gets heavier when the conversation pivots.  

Mizrak’s attachment in the church was due to him caring about people and, hypothetically, to save him from whatever detriment came for him in the past. The last canon interaction, their falling out they had in season 1 was because he cared about others. To a fault. Now, here he is, standing in front of someone he cares about. It’s going to open a conversation between what’s happening between them and finally properly discuss what happened from their last canon interaction in nocturne season 1. 

A lot of finger and hand brushing from Olrox, which at first I’d think gets no reaction as an attempt for restraint before Mizrak warms up to it and even reciprocates by doing the same thing. All of this is very gentle in my opinion. It’s slow, tender, and most importantly vulnerable. It has the physical contact reminiscent of their first fast rough and tug in the courtyard and piggybacks off the vulnerability they both have when they both stand next to the window in episode 6. They probably also just physically get closer to each other at the moment. Just gradually though. The distance gets closer and closer until their foreheads are practically touching without them realizing it. They’re comfortable though, they don’t want to leave. 

They absolutely get to a point where they both admit to saying “I love you” without straight up saying “I love you” because that’s just a very them thing. Or maybe they do straight up state because Olrox does admit he was in love (with his partner) and doesn’t shy from that fact. It’s a nice conversion of the trope and great to hear from a mlm couple to say I love you… but man do I do love when characters get all poetic-y when their profess their devotion to each other by literally talking in prose, so maybe with good writing both can be done and still be quite powerful but still be gentle. 

In my interpretation YEAH I’LL MAKE THEM KISS AFTER THIS, this is my vision after all. Also, yeah they’re gonna fuck. In the church? Perhaps. Is it a tad OOC, maybe. HOWEVER, consider imagery and symbolism. I just think the image of it would be great, even if it was censored to hell and back, it can be so artistically done. Just imagine the implication alone with me for a second. I think the whole concept of doing it in a church is an interesting build upon the quotes from the show;

“God is not here. This church is an empty box.” From the first Castlevania series.

“House of God? This place is just a heap of bricks and stone.” From Nocturne said by Maria. 

The church is a husk, especially having it abandoned- it’s rather what you do with that box that makes all the difference. The people inside are the driving force, so I think it’s both poetic and funny to have Mizrak and Olrox fucking in an abandoned church. Surface level: fuck you god I’m fucking my hot vampire boyfriend in your house. Deeper level: I could write a whole thing on this but I’ll refrain. You can get the gist of breaking free of restraint, and devotion and letting himself be human, rather than a soldier (which he already slowly does). 

Though also this sex scene isn’t necessary, I just like exploring explicit content in artistic ways, especially if I can throw in religious symbols and heighten that hunger/devotion to a person- but the “I love you” in the church is pretty powerful already.  

Then after all of this they take it at their own pace. However, they only live life once and continue together like that- they both know this concept very well because of the very nature of who they are, so they spend it in each other’s company. 

Now you also get the squad’s reactions, well namely because I do not think this would be an easily hidden thing. Like absolutely could get away with it in season 1, but everyone will know something is up for sure in my iteration. The 'hypothetical' Mystery Animator season 2 iteration. As subtle as their longing stares and quiet hand touches may be reserved for just them- those little interactions are loud.

Richter would absolutely be in shambles over Olrox, the killer of his mother, and Mizrak being a thing. Both in a “this is the most horrible thing that’s happened in my life” and also a he’s going to be an absolute shithead to Mizrak and make fun of him, lightheartedly of course. Alucard would absolutely have an interesting perspective because again, his parents. Maria already has disdain for the church plus the “vampires are evil… and evil has to be fought.” However, in the presence of Alucard, I think a lot will change because he’s half-vampire. Annette, I’m unsure of what her reaction would be, because I’m very sure she’d be receptive to Alucard being a vampire and then would appreciate Olrox’s mindset and values. However, gonna keep hammering, Olrox killed Julia Belmont which I feel will be comedically hammered in if Olrox decides to hang around the squad occasionally. 

And with that, we’re done! (I think)

Thank you for reading 🫶 this probably will not happen in cv s2 but it’s fun blurting out my hc. I’m really excited to see what they do, and even perhaps even go in the opposite direction due to episode limitations… maybe a season 3 👀 who knows.

[thegayloragenda]

“I’ll tell you something right now / I’d rather burn my whole life down / than listen to one more second of all this bitching and moaning,”

“I’ll tell you something about my good name / It’s mine alone to disgrace / I don’t cater to all these vipers dressed in empath’s clothing.”

Hey Swifties — what do you think she’s referring to when she singing these lines? What is she burning down? What is disgracing her good name? According to the media narrative, she is straight billionaire in a heteronormative relationship with a star football player that the entire world is obsessed with. She is literally the American Dream.

What would be a disgrace to her name?

If you think it’s about her on-and-off again 10 year love affair with Matty then why would she choose Ice Spice over him to cover her ass in the press and then rebound with Travis immediately after? That’s not very full throttle through the fences of her.

Ohhhh I know!!!! Is it because she might have cheated on Joe with Matty? Oh wait. No y’all didn’t see that as bad either. She’s still god status.

Hmm…

Is it because she’s a 34 year old woman dropping the f-bomb in her songs? Is it because she’s wearing a sexy little bodysuit or giving a chair a lap dance? No because her “good girl” persona has pretty much stayed intact. I think we can all confidently say that she’s definitely still America’s sweetheart. After all, she’s never had much “edge”.

Maybe it’s because she pissed off some republicans. OH WAIT! They actually forgave her because she’s dating an NFL hero! There’s really only a few Christian conservatives who have dropped her but that’s barely made a ripple in her pond.

The only thing that *might* ruin her would be her political silence (after promising to speak up) and the possible queerbaiting / the use of historical queer flagging. Oh but guess what? She became a billionaire despite both of those possibilities. And what a fucking slap in the face to the queer community and the injustice that the world is currently facing to essentially say “I’m a bad girl because I lie to the public about the things I care about and the type of person that I am so go fuck yourself!” If that’s who you want to worship, be my guest.

I need y’all to put on your critical thinking caps for this one…

Could it possibly be that she’s preparing you for something?

That she’s much more intelligent and deeper than you are giving her credit for.

That she is Machiavellian.

That she resents putting on an act and (cue the tour visuals) is using her final era to put a nail in her own performance art coffin and burning her media reputation to the ground on her way out?

Perhaps, these songs — much like the songs on Midnights — will make sense to you as the clock ticks and more is revealed. After all, wasn’t it the Gaylors who said Midnights was a breakup album? Oh but we got crucified for it until the tour started and she dropped You’re Losing Me to make it all suddenly make sense. God bless the patience of Taylor Swift because having to spell it out for you dipshits when you don’t even fucking have enough brain cells to comprehend what she’s writing about is INSANE.

If it’s not about Joe and it’s not about Matty and it’s not about Travis then I wonder what it could possibly be about…

Well maybe, just maybe, you’ll discover that all along…you weren’t even listening.

[melting-houses-of-gold]

It’s my ✨birthday✨ today! Give me a gift by reading these incredible fics:

I did this last year and it was so fun--one of my very favorite parts of fandom is getting to be in community with people whose work I enjoy and to celebrate them. So, in honor of my [redacted] birthday this year, we're doing another round! Maybe these are some of your familiar favorites, or it's a chance to discover something new.

All of these are listed in no particular order :) and all explanations are a little unhinged. Blame the new mom brain!

Star Wars🌟

Muse by @jewelofmandalore (rexsoka, E, one-shot): What can I say about this fic except that every time I read it, I actually stop breathing for its entirety? Modern AU. College Rexsoka. Art students. They're obsessed with each other. I'm SO SO normal about it.

Labyrinth Hearts by @chocmarss (rexsoka, T, rebels-era, in-progress multi-chapter): We have such a need for time-travel in this ship and this fic, while just a few chapters in, is delivering! Post-Malachor Rebels-era fic holds such a special place in my heart and I love love love this one.

A Remedy for Memory by @ahsokathegray (rexsoka, T, in-progress multi-chapter): I love a good amnesia-induced romcom scenario and this one inspired by the other zoey is so stinking cute. I'm so excited to see where it leads!!

Those Who Can by K.R. Closson (alpha-17/fem!obi-wan, E, multi-chapter): I'm insane about this whole series, which is different paths that Obi-Wan could have taken, but this one is the good shit. I want to inject it directly into my veins. I started it at 11:30 and stayed up until 3 am reading it because I had to keep clicking to the next chapter.

ACOTAR🌹

Poltergeist Darling by @thesistersarcheron (feysand, E, in-progress multi-chapter): Is it even a Feysand fic if Rhys isn't batshit insane for Feyre? As a lover of spooky gothic romances, I clicked into this fic so intrigued by the premise (Rhys bringing Feyre back from the dead after she dies UTM) and the writing drew me in IMMEDIATELY. The vibes are so insane, the two of them are crazy for each other, and literally every word is a gift to read.

Good Luck Charm by @whatishowedyouinthedark (feysand, E, multi-chapter): god bless the daddy kink snail in SVDG's brain because this fic was fucking unreal. College AU Feysand with eager-to-get revenge Feyre and frat president Rhys was EVERYTHING. I had to ration myself to one chapter a day because I might have died otherwise.

Castles Ever After by @separatist-apologist (Feysand, Nessian, Elucien, E, series): Every time I open a MB fic, I know I'm going to have a GREAT time, and this series was seriously so fun. When a mysterious uncle leaves the Archeron sisters three castles across the UK, each one goes on their own journey and finds love along the way. We've got everything—Modern day bodice ripping, fake fiances becoming real, battles staged on castle lawns, Lucien Vanserra being his sassy hot self, chickens—EVERYTHING.

[wannaeatramyeon]

HIII how are u doing girlie😍🤞🤞 Anyways can u pls write a scenario where ur classmates (htf characters?) find out ur dating seong taehoon and their reactions?? You dont need to if u dont want to ofc<333

Hey Anon! Thanks for the ask <3 I'm doing great!! Brain rotting away as expected but HAPPY FRIDAY! Hope you're doing well too and having a good start to the month :)

Don't you agree that there's a disappointingly small amount of writing for our lil nutjob?

Please enjoy the whiplash of my change in tone!

HTF discovering You & Taehoon dating!

Things were tentative between you and Taehoon. You've only been dating for a couple months, and you're still getting to know this side of him. Well. You say this side but it's still the same old Taehoon that you've come to grow very fond of.

The one that tells everyone to piss off but comes running, no, sprinting when one of his friends need his help. Who threatens to beat everyone up, but will come to your defence with no hesitation. This prickly, insufferable little shit.

Sometimes you worry about your own sanity for liking someone like Taehoon, but then he gives you a look in the middle of the company meetings and your feel your entire body flush and your heart palpitate. And you think about just being alone with him, the way that he looks at you like he wants to devour you, the way his hand runs all over your body and god bless his pale skin because it's so obvious how crazy you're driving him despite how cool he plays it- "Huh? Sorry Rumi, I missed that question. What did you ask?"

You know already this guy has no respect for other people's personal space, but since you've gotten together, a complete and utter lack of personal space has become the norm. At least when no one else is around.

Taehoon corners you in the company house.

"You got 500 won?" He's leaning casually on the wall, blocking your path of exit. He wears a smug smirk as his face moves closer to yours.

You roll your eyes, "Get your own 500 won, I'm not lending you any more money you bastard."

He glances down at your lips, "How about a kiss then?"

Bastard indeed. You blush, but with him so close by, with his lidded gaze and goddamn pretty pink lips slightly parted... you couldn't say no if you tried.

You lean forward to kiss him, and Taehoon deepens it before you have a chance to move away. His arm circles around your waist, pressing your entire body against him. You put your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer and his hands start to roam your body. Perhaps you and Taehoon should move this somewhere more private-

A glass shatters. "OH MY GOD!!"

You both turn and see the entirety of Hobin Yu company frozen in shock.

Fuck. This was why you shouldn't be making out in the living room.

Hobin: Very happy for you! Congrats Y/N!!! But then after a moment... wait. Hold on. The reality of the situation sinks in. What?! That psycho Taehoon managed to bag you???

Yeah Taehoon has a nice face but his personality STINKS. How can anyone stand him? AND MOST important of all: how did you guys beat him and Bomi getting together?! Life is so unfair!

Snapper: similiar reaction as Hobin. Who tf can put up with that nutjob. Side eyes you a bit cos surely you must have a few screws loose too. But... the opportunities for a newtube channel! Couple dates, couple vlogging! Ok, maybe this isn't such a bad development.

Gaeul: completely clueless. Even Gyeoul has commented on you two getting closer. This innocent little chick just thought... well, she didn't know what she thought - maybe you guys were just close friends? "You fellas, I'm so happy for you. Now don't you young whippersnappers get up to no good!"

Rumi: Oh Y/N I'm so happy for you! Hold on- let me just text Wangguk to set up a double date. What you doing this Saturday?

Mangi: another cinnamon roll. Gives you and Taehoon the biggest hug, squeezing the life out of you whilst Taehoon is just glaring, gearing up to give him a kick. So so happy for you, wishes you guys a lifetime of happiness (woah, steady on Mangi we've just gotten together!!) and that you are as happy as him and his girlfriend <3

Yeonwoo: You've always been nice and sweet to him. So you and Taehoon? Together? You're making this lil genius's brain hurt. Of course he'll congratulate the both of you, he's too polite to do otherwise. But his protective side flares up to make sure Taehoon treats you right.

Gyeoul: Who fucking cares

Taehoon finding out about everyone finding out: Headaches all around. What the fuck is wrong with these losers? Gets inundated with questions about you and their relationship. "Bastard that's none of your business", "Ask more questions if you want to die".

Temporarily wonders if this is worth it, but then looks at you and ok. Maybe it is. "Fuck, I'm so cringe I'm going to kick my own ass"

[galway-girlatwork]

Fandom: The Last of Us-AU-No outbreak

Rating: Mature-There is angst. Fluff at the very end.

Central Characters: Joel, Sarah, Tommy, Tara (Original Female Character)

Central Relationship: Joel and Tara

Word Count: 2,534

AO3

Please do not copy my work. If you liked it, please re-blog and tag me. Please do not steal my mood board. I do not give permission to copy, translate, or post my work to any other platform.

Music inspiration: Hold On By Chord Overstreet-Hurricane by Tommee Profitt and Fleurie. Never Not Love You by 30 Seconds to Mars. Carry You by Ruelle and Fleuire

Written for @burntheedges Roll-A-Trope Writing Challenge

Amnesia

SUMMARY:

The aftermath of a traumatic car accident leaves a family struggling with fear and uncertainty. The emotional toll weighing them all down as they try to find some normalcy which they all know is impossible until he wakes up. Vulnerability and desperate needs for the man who is the center of their lives to remember who they are and the life he had with them.

Fragile State

It was one the most cliché things that could happen. Something you hear about on the news, read on the internet. You feel bad to those it’s happened to, the “oh god that’s terrible” but then you move on with your day of mundane tasks that you are imprinted on your brain. They were just coming home from picking up dinner from some random drive thru when it happened. Some asshole running the red light, t-boning the SUV they were in, his side taking the most damage, the impact so brutal, they were surprised he had survived.

That was four days ago and before then? Life was normal. It was school, work, soccer practice, backyard BBQ’s and sleepovers. Now it was sleeping on hard cots, hospital food and coffee, unwashed bodies and constant beeps of machines that you swore were driving you slowly insane, each one, one push closer to the edge. Standing you walk into the bathroom, staring into the mirror, you notice bruises turning sickly shades of yellow and purple. The black eyes are second to the blood-filled sclera that surrounds your irises. You and your step-daughter were “blessed” as they put it, minor scrapes and bumps but your body disagreed when you did the simplest of tasks. Washing your hands was one of those tasks, they trembled under the gush of warm water, the room always slightly above sub-artic. Turning off the water, towel grabbed and as you dry your skin, light reflects along your engagement ring, remembering the night he proposed. He was nervous as fuck, not knowing if you’d say yes. Hands gripped the edge of the counter, bottom lip between teeth, hoping the pain would hold back tears. It didn’t and ten minutes later, face now washed, teeth brushed, you walk out of the bathroom and the constant beeps are back, knowing you should be grateful for them, since they marked the fact that he was still alive.

An hour later, doctor and nurses, come and gone tell you the same thing as the day before, there was no change. Tommy and Sarah texted to let you know they were on their way, asking if you needed anything. A quick text back letting them know you were desperate for Starbucks and that you would Zelle money to him. Proficient taps to the screen of your new phone, the other one lost in the carnage of your wrecked car, had money sent, email checked before you put it on the charger. Body slid into the chair by his bed, hand taking his, head resting on his forearm.

“Hey baby. Tommy and Sarah are coming to see you. She’s not happy by the way, that she has to go back to school Monday but I think it would be good for her. Thank god I have as much PTO as I do but Rick’s been really understanding, letting me know I can take as much time as I need so I can be here.” A shuddering sigh, a sniffle taken before you look at him. “Joel, I really need you to wake up. I can’t do this without you. I am not as independent as I pretend to be. Maybe I was before you but now...It’s different. It’s your fault you know, if I’d never met you and Sarah…Let’s face it babe, if I hadn’t met the both of you, I’d still be living in a one bedroom, eating out of take-out cartons. You two changed my life and I can’t imagine it without you in it. So fucking wake up.” Nothing came from the body in the bed, hooked to wires and tubes, head wrapped.  

She must have fallen asleep, a hand on her shoulder, repeating your name, finally brought you out of a troubled slumber. “Tara, wake up.”

“Hey sweetie.” Standing, you hugged your step-daughter who is more yours than not. She was ten when you met her, eyes peeking up at you through a head of curly hair as she partially hid behind Joel. The two you of had been dating for eight months when he decided he wanted you to meet her. It was you had suggested pizza and Disney, wanting to make her feel comfortable in her home. Of course, you were an instant hit because how many women would cater to a ten-year-old? Four months later you moved in. Now she was fifteen, a sophomore in high school dealing with daily teenage angst and peer pressure. “How are you feeling?” Side air impact bags coupled with the fact that she always sat in the middle, meant she’d walked away with just some bruised ribs from the seatbelt.

“I’m ok. Just sore. Tara, when are you coming home? Uncle Tommy can’t cook worth a damn, I think he might be worse than dad.”

A slight chuckle rumbled in your chest. “I’ll come home tonight. Doctors were here earlier, no change, said I should go home, shower and eat real food so…”

Tommy came up behind you, giving an awkward hug and you wondered if he was taking this harder than you and Sarah. Joel was his big brother and even though Tommy could be the biggest pain the ass, it was still his brother. “He’s gonna be ok. Just give him some time. You both know how stubborn he can be.” You prayed that, that stubbornness would keep him around just a little bit longer. You wanted to grow old with him, watch Sarah go off to college, get married, have babies.

Turning, coffee taken from Tommy, you sat on the couch beneath the window, Sarah curling up next to you, phone in hand, scrolling through her Facebook, the annoying beeps taking up space in your head once more. Looking at Tommy, who was pacing like a wild animal, you asked about the job that was now on hold, him letting you know the client was more than understanding, guaranteeing they wouldn’t lose the remodel job. “Tommy, why don’t you go home. There’s nothing you can do here and the rental place dropped off the loaner yesterday so I can drive us home. You look like you are bout to lose it.”

Glaring at you, a mumbled yea was tossed over his shoulder as he left. You knew he blamed you. Not so much for the accident but for the fact that you all were in your car and not Joel’s truck. He’d been such a hurry to get home for soccer, he’d forgotten to put gas in the bemouth truck of his, so of course they took your car, the girlie car as he put it, with all the frilly things on the inside, courtesy of Sarah. Trinkets she bought you for Christmases and birthdays, things she knew you would never buy for yourself. Flowered hair ties around the gearshift, the car freshener from Bath and Body, the little flower key holder that went with the steering wheel cover. Things now lost, kinda like her husband. Feeling Sarah tense up next to her, you hold her tight, shaking your head. “He’s just scared honey. Like us and he doesn’t know how to handle it. No worries, okay?” A nod of her head let you know she understand, may not have liked it but got it.

Hours passed in silence, only broken the few times nurses came in, the look in their eyes spoke volumes if you paid attention and that was something you did. Always paying attention to every detail, it’s why you were good at your job, even though everyone wondered why you were an accountant, it was because of details and numbers. Things you knew were reliable, constant, predictable. This was none of that. A rumble of Sarah’s stomach was the clue that it was time to go, for now. “Come on baby, let’s get some burgers and get home. We’ll come back in the morning.” Nurses reassured you that if anything changed, they would call you but something deep in the recesses of your mind, you knew that call wouldn’t come tonight.

The drive home was nerve wracking, Sarah letting you know to order Doordash when she noticed how clenched hands and jaw were as you left the parking lot. “I think that’s a way better idea.” What you didn’t realize was how different home felt without him here as you stood in the kitchen, mail stacked on the counter, sink full of coffee cups and cereal bowls from the morning of, Sarah staying with Tommy.

“I’ll take care of it.” Was her response when she saw tears silently falling.

“Leave em. We can do it in the morning. Can you order while I shower? Order from where ever you want.” Gathering her close, you hugged her, a little tighter than normal but then what was normal at this point? Nothing. Not a fucking thing. It was okay though because she clung to you just as hard.

It was when you were in the shower, body on the floor, pulled inwards, hot water blasting your back that all the tears finally let lose. Gut wrenching sobs that would have frightened anyone who heard them, sounding as if your soul was being ripped out of your body. Your relationship with each other wasn’t something that either one of you had planned. It was pure coincidence that you had met each other. When the tears dried up, dehydration at it’s best, you scrubbed your body until you couldn’t take the pain anymore, it’s way of letting you know that you were still alive. Hey at least you felt somewhat human now, right?

Both of you were quiet during dinner, food was picked at until you decided you were done. It was after eleven when you both decided to call it a night, the hours from then til now, were filled with a movie that neither one of you could remember turning on. When two am hit and you were still wide awake, blanket and pillow were dragged downstairs, deciding the couch would be better, at least until he came home.

It was on the sixth day that he finally woke up, fighting the tube, panic filled eyes searching the room, one hand gripping his as the other pressed the call button. Suddenly the room was filled with too many people, and you were helpless as you were gently pushed out into the hall, door closed behind you. Sliding down the wall, the velvet ponytail holder violently ripped from your head, fingertips kneading your scalp as you waited and these days, your patience was running below empty.

Minutes felt like hours before the doctor came out, letting you know that yes, he was awake but there was a problem. Standing in front of him, bits and pieces of what he was saying sank into the gray matter of your mind. He didn’t remember the car accident. Thank god for small miracles right? But he also couldn’t remember his name, that he was married, that he had a daughter, repeatedly asking questions before the panic attack started, the need to sedate him and he was sleeping. “Come back later today but don’t bring your daughter, it can be upsetting to both of them.” The drive back home was a blur, the paperwork they’d given you on short term memory loss was still sitting in your purse, once again it was explained that it was from the TBI and it would only last a week, maybe two but there was a rare possibility it could last for months.

What the actual fuck? A million questions came up but the most important one was what would this do to Sarah? Now standing in the middle of the room you both shared, rage bubbled up and overflowed like the volcano you helped Sarah make for her sixth-grade science project. It erupted from your small frame, as one arm swiped everything from the top of the dresser, the fan picked up and slammed against the mirror, reflective glass exploding. Perfume bottles followed suit, leaving the space to smell like a cheap whore or an old woman, take your pick. Collapsing in the space, you lay there wondering who your wronged and why Karma and Fate did this now. Exhaustion must have laid claim after rage took a vacation because that is where Tommy found you two hours later.

He sat you on the bed as he took in the damage. “Sarah’s going to be home by four. She can’t see the room this way, please Tommy?” Nodding, he told you he’d clean up and have a new fan and mirror before then. Asking what caused the chaos, you told him what the doctors had said or what you could remember. “Is it permanent?”

“I don’t know.”

“Go back to the hospital. I’ll be here and we can talk to Sarah tonight.”

“Thank you Tommy. I’m sorry.” You were admitting to your part in this. You had to have some part, right? Maybe reminded him before coming home to get gas. Maybe not fighting him on driving your car so it would be you instead of him. It was a hell of lot maybe’s.

“Who are you?” His voice startled you from the far away place you’d gone while you sat in the chair next to his bed that now had the imprint of your ass on it.

“Hi Joel, I’m Tara.”

“Thirsty.”

“Hold on.” Flimsy Pepto colored cup was filled from the pitcher baring the same hue, plastic straw pressed against dry lips, he drank half before pushing the straw out of his mouth with the tip of his tongue.

“Tara? Tara? I should know you, right?”

“Yes, you should but there was an accident and things are fuzzy for you right now.”

“How do I know you?”

“We’re married. Have been. Three years in October.”

You’d wanted a Halloween wedding but he’d refused to actually get married on the holiday, said it was bad luck, so the 30th was a compromise along with the promise that you wouldn’t wear red or black, his desire to see you in white.

“I wish I could remember.”

“You will, just be patient, something you are not always good at.”

“Tell me more.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“Okay.”

Hours passed as you told him about Sarah, Tommy, the life you’d built together, his job, your job, soccer practice, Sarah’s first school dance, your wedding…conversations peppered with questions, showing him photos that have taken up almost all of the memory of the new phone that now pinged with a text from Sarah, wanting to know how he was and when you’d be home. Texting back, you let her know he was awake, still not remembering, that you’d be home soon and to order pizza, there was fifty dollars in the coffee can above the fridge, tucked behind the fake plant.

“Sorry, Sarah was asking about you and wanted to know when I’d be home.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Joel, why are you sorry?”

“That I can’t remember anything.”

“You can’t remember everything right now. Give it time baby. Be patient.”

“I must have loved you a lot.”

“You did.”

“Think I will again?”

“Yes.”

"Good."

[player1064]

for the carraville prompts: jamie’s pov of your fic it’s just not what’s done, and him doing/saying increasingly gay things that fluster gary who thought he’d never have a chance with the straight boy

honestly I could write a full length fic of this I LOVE this idea but I am exercising restraint (read: i am too sleepy to keep writing but want to post it anyway) and cutting it off at 1.3k words. Jamie is so so annoying in this god bless xx

---

1996.

There’s a weird buzz in the air when Jamie arrives at Melwood in the morning, and not the usual frustration he’d expect the morning after the first team have lost a game. Everyone’s grouped in little huddles, hushed whispers that cut out when anyone else walks by, but the weirdest part by far is that everyone is holding a fucking newspaper.

He walks into the apprentice’s dressing room and snatches a paper out of one of the other lads’ hands. He turns straight to the back page, but there’s nothing particularly noteworthy there – United won the league, big fucking whoop – so he frowns and flips the paper back to the front page.

Jamie would normally dismiss anything The Sun prints as garbage, but a quick glance around the dressing room shows a few other papers scattered around, all with similar headlines. All with the same photo, printed to take up most of the page, full colour even on a weekday.

The Sun’s headline is not a particularly creative one, but is does get the point across quite succinctly: there, right above the grainy, dimly lit photograph, are the words GAY NEVILLE?

“Oh my fucking God,” he hears Michael whisper from behind him.

Gary Neville, right-back, Jamie’s brain helpfully supplies. Manchester United, 21 years old and already eight caps for England.

His next thought is: what a fucking idiot.

He doesn’t give a shit about the gay thing, not really – he did spend two years at boarding school, he knows what some of the boys got up to there. No, his issue is more that United have just won the league, and everyone knows in a few days they’ll be getting the double when they win the FA cup too. 21 years old, a starter for a team that’s about to make footballing history, a spot in the squad for this summer’s Euros, and the stupid prick’s just thrown it all away because he felt like getting off with someone at a club where anyone could see him.

Maybe he should ask his coaches about practicing in right-back. He has a funny feeling a spot’s about to open up on the England team.

 *

2004.

“Not so brave now that yer boyfriend’s fucked off to Spain, are ye?”

Neville gives him a disinterested look from across the tunnel.

“Not my boyfriend,” he says flatly, rolling his eyes like he’s recited that line a thousand times before.

He probably has, actually. Jamie needs to come up with better insults, something more original. He’ll workshop some for next time.

Still, better to dig in on this one. “No, I s’pose he’s not now that he’s traded you in fer better things. Yer not exactly a Galactico.”

Neville’s expression is still blank but there’s a hint of fire behind his eyes, which tells Jamie that he’s on the right track, that if he pushes just a little bit more he’ll be able to tip him over the edge.

He sees Keane step out from his place at the front of the line, turn to Neville and mutter “d’you need me to –”

“Couldn’t give a fuck, he’s not worth worryin’ over,” Neville replies, raising an eyebrow with a smirk.

There’s no time to say anything back, because the referee walks to the front of the tunnel and then it’s time to go start the game.

*

2006.

“How’s it work, then?”

Neville looks up from the bowl of Weetabix he’d been intently focused on and glances around the room, like he doesn’t believe it’s him Jamie’s talking to.

He shrugs. “How’s what work?”

“The gay thing. Did yous get to bring a WAG over too, or is that only for the normal lads?”

“Wouldn’t be a WAG, would it?” Neville mutters snobbishly.

He’s right, Jamie supposes. But that’s obviously not something he can admit, so he decides to lean in to the ‘stupid Scouser’ bit. “Why not?”

Neville squints at him suspiciously. “’cause he wouldn’t be a wife or girlfriend, would he?” He clears his throat, looks back down at his bowl. “If he existed, that is. Only brought my dad over for this tournament, does that answer your question?”

“Hmm,” Jamie says, ignoring the obvious cue to leave and taking a seat opposite Neville instead. “What would they call ‘im, if you weren’t a sad lonely old spinster… husbands and boyfriends… HABs? Doesn’t ‘ave quite the same ring to it, does it?”

*

2013.

“Why’d you never get married?”

Neville – Gary – looks up from his iPad to give Jamie his familiar ‘I can’t tell if you’re having me on or if you’re actually just stupid’ squint. “’s only been legal a few months, give us a break.”

“Civil partnered then, whatever. I don’t get it. You’re rich, you were a footballer. I know you’re ugly but looks don’t really factor into it, if your brother’s marriage is anythin’ to go by.”

Gary scowls at him. “Different measures of attractive when you’re gay. I’ll ‘ave you know men find me quite good looking, actually.”

“Do they fuck,” Jamie snorts, because he’s willing to bet that there isn’t a single man on Earth, gay or otherwise, who finds Gary Neville in his current state attractive. Maybe in his playing days, when he was all lean muscle and intense glares, but not now. “They’re just queuin’ up to get a piece a’yous, are they?”

“Maybe they are. Not that it’s any of your business, but I actually ‘ave a date tonight.”

“And that’s after he’s had a look at you?”

*

2015.

“Don’t go.”

Gary looks exhausted, pale skin and dark shadows under his eyes. His hair needs a trim, his stubble needs a shave, and he needs to not move to fucking Spain.

“Don’t look so stroppy, Carra. You’re about to become Sky’s number one pundit.”

“Don’t want it. C’mon, Gaz, what’m I gonna do for my Monday mornin’ entertainment without tales of your endless bad dates.”

“Most people just read the news.”

 “What’re you gonna do, you’re bad enough at pullin’ as it is without a language barrier makin’ things harder. It’s like you want to spend the next five months celibate.”

“Yer awfully concerned about my personal life, James, for someone who not two weeks ago was tellin’ me that I needed to, and I quote, ‘spend less time thinkin’ about fit men and more on thinkin’ about fit footballers instead.’”

“And I stand by that.”

*

2016.

Jamie’s changing out of his gym clothes when his conversation with Gary earlier in the week echoes in his mind, the dreamy way Gary had said his arms…

The guy probably doesn’t even train as much as Jamie does, probably just exaggerates because for some reason he’s trying to impress Gary. As if Gary is someone you’d want to impress.

He stands in front of the changing room’s mirror and flexes his bicep, notes with pride the bulging vein that leads up from his elbow. It’s a shame, really, that he has to wear suits when he’s on Sky. He’s sure viewing figures would go up if he was allowed to wear something a little more form fitting, maybe he should pitch it to the wardrobe people.

Gary would probably have a fit, his tends to get in a tizz at the suggestion of any change to the strict set of rules he’s got in his head. Jamie had once tried to wear his suit without a tie (because he’d spilled coffee on the one he’d brought, not that he’d told Gary that), and Gary had screeched at him for a good half an hour about professionalism until he relented and went to wardrobe to find a spare tie he could use.

Imagine if he wore a t-shirt. Gary’s head would probably explode.

All the more reason to do it, really.

[polyabathtub]

Apropos of absolutely nothing (my dash losing its collective shit about the Panthers victory celebrations, me repeatedly seeing videos and going “lol that man is most certainly not drunk”), here’s some info on how one might be able to tell that someone is taking MDMA (aka Molly, ecstasy). The common term for this is rolling*.

Disclaimer: I do not actually know what specific people may or may not have taken, I’m just providing some useful information for my fellow fic writers (fic stands for fiction!) should they decide to write fiction inspired by some of the amazing content we saw last week.

I have heart problems so have never been able to take it myself—but I’m friends with a lot of burners**, and have been blessed with the opportunity to participate in MDMA-fueled cuddle piles. It’s a good time but it can also be dangerous, and it doesn’t mix well with a lot of common medications (particularly antidepressants).

MDMA is a party drug. It makes things like pretty lights and textures more interesting. If you’ve seen “Someone Great” on Netflix, Jenny getting super into textures is a pretty good representation (it’s also one of my favorite movies, but be warned you WILL cry). I couldn’t find a gif within 0.2 seconds of searching so you don’t get one, sorry.

MDMA causes muscle clenching. Taking magnesium helps (magnesium threonate for the brain, magnesium glycinate or bisglycinate are also good for muscle spasms, not too tough on digestion and cheaper). It’s also rough on the brain. Taking something like NAC can reduce risk, but in general MDMA isn’t something that’s safe to do frequently, even if you have a good source and you’re testing your drugs before taking them. I’m not an expert on safe use so I’m not going to give specific recs here, but the people I know who take it research heavily and pregame with supplements.

The other thing that’s key—electrolytes. MDMA messes with electrolyte homeostasis, so it’s important to stay hydrated, and that hydration should be more than just water. If I were, say, a professional athlete celebrating a championship win with Molly, I would probably carry around a bottle of something like pedialyte to sip from (though my personal preference would be a sports-oriented sugar containing supplement like Skratch or LMNT).

MDMA removes your inhibitions to physical contact, particularly with people you’re already positively oriented towards. So, slow dancing with your teammates? Absently groping your teammate’s chest while half paying attention? Literally hanging off of whoever is next to you all night? Molly.

MDMA wrecks pupil reflexes, so anyone taking it who is outside of their natural environment (a dark room with interesting lights) is easily recognizable by their absolutely massive pupils. Or squinting like hell when they hit bright lights***.

MDMA keeps you from sleeping until it wears off. The high lasts 3-6 hours but it’ll probably keep you awake until the morning. Also, when it wears off it often causes molly blues, which might last for a few minutes or hours or sometimes up to a couple of days. Essentially, MDMA floods the brain with serotonin, and when it wears off, it can take some time for things to re-equilibrate.

My point here: I really think there’s a lot of fanfic potential in certain Panthers (Barky) trying this thing for the first time and having an amazing night and then suddenly feeling some big “oh god now that I’ve won it, who do I become?” feelings that <player of your choice> then helps them through.

*for an example of “rolling” in a sentence, see this quote from my recent fic wie viel:

Leon briefly regretted not wearing a hat, or maybe sunglasses, which were fairly effective as a disguise but tended to make people assume he was already rolling—the man wasn’t acting like he’d recognized him, though.

That fic relies on Leon showing up to a private party with a ton of cash (because he’s leaving open the option of buying drugs and also isn’t sure how expensive the party will be) and keeping his face bare (so people won’t assume he’s already set for the night). This conveniently enables the misunderstanding that drives the rest of the plot.

**burners: people who go to Burning Man. This is not a euphemism but it probably could be. If you aren’t sure if any of your friends are burners, don’t worry—they’ll tell you! (I say this with affection, but it is exactly like when your childhood friends got back from summer camp and wouldn’t shut up about it for weeks)

***yes I am thinking of a specific photo of a specific 2-way cat

[oflights]

Hi Allie! Love your fics and your prompt fills are great so far! If you still have room for more prompts, do you want to write something about time travel? Your time travel story in hockey RPF is one of my favorite fanfics ever and I would love to see your Drarry take. No pressure, though!

ahh hi, hello!! i have to tell you that this ask kind of broke my brain a little and gave me a new idea (not a Time Traveler's Wife AU, god, never again, bless u though) that i think is probably, sort of, maybe possibly going to turn into a real fic at some point? maybe?

here's 1.6k words of it for now hahaha. this is: professional time traveler draco who goes on an assignment back to the late 80s in surrey and maybe, sort of, possibly, accidentally kidnaps 7-year-old harry potter back to his time. yeah. enjoy? more to come someday???

Draco waits in an anxious crouch at the hearth, thighs straining, cursing himself for not just giving in to his aching back and getting on all fours. Not that that’s great for his knees—and Draco loves doing this mental exercise in his 30s, he really does, it’s—

“What do you want?” Blaise asks when he activates his Floo. He’s sitting with his legs slung over the arm of a chair, a book in his hands—upside down, because he’d definitely just picked it up and posed like that to answer the Floo. Draco rolls his eyes, face turned downward.

“Can you, erm, come over? Right now?”

“Right now?” Blaise echoes lazily. “I thought you were on assignment.”

“Right, I was, but I’m back now, and—”

“I hardly even noticed.”

Now Draco really rolls his eyes, and does not hide it; he doesn’t have the patience for this routine. “You are aware that when I’m on assignment, no time passes for you because I return directly to the moment in time where I first traveled from, right? So of course you wouldn’t have noticed, you never notice, and you just—look. Never mind. I need you to come over, right now.”

Now Blaise pinches the bridge of his nose with a frown. “Ugh. All that talk gives me a headache, you know that, Draco. Not the best way to get me to agree to your demands.”

“What if you agree to my demands because if you don’t, I will go over there and drag you through the Floo by your ear—”

“I’ve a full stone on you; unless you can time magic your way into some upper body strength—”

“I will get Greg and make him do it. Blaise.” Blaise finally looks up, the frown lingering. “I’m not joking. Please come here.”

For a moment, Blaise frowns deeply enough that it seems as if he is going to agree. He even puts down the book he’s not reading.

And then he gives Draco a slow, honeyed grin. “What’s in it for me?”

It takes the promise of a few good bottles of wine, a vow to join Blaise and his mother for tea with the latest stepfather, and all the money Draco has in his pocket—over 100 Galleons, unfortunately—to coax Blaise through the Floo. By then, Draco’s back is aching and it cracks ominously when he stands up, but the drops his hands from it as soon as Blaise steps through.

“All right,” Blaise says with a heavy sigh. “What’s so urgent?”

“It’s—I just—see, the thing is—” Draco paces, wringing his hands together, wincing at how sweaty they are. “It’s just that—oh, bollocks. I just need to show you.” Draco grabs Blaise by the wrist, ignoring his look of appalled offense, and marches him down the hall to the drawing room, where he casts a Notice-Me-Not and inches open the door. “Look,” he whispers, and Blaise pokes his head through and sucks in a breath.

“Is that—” Blaise says, and Draco shushes him quickly and shoves him back as the child looks up, frowning. He’s been frowning since Draco first saw him, hadn’t even stopped when Draco brought him here and scrounged up every abandoned toy Pansy’s girls or Teddy had ever left behind and presented them to him. He’d frowned when Draco asked him if he wanted something to eat, frowned harder when Draco had practically run to the kitchen to throw a jam sandwich together with shaking hands because he knew that, despite what the child said, he was surely hungry, he had to be, he—

“Sorry,” Draco says hastily as 7-year-old Harry Potter turns his frown in the direction of the cracked open door, ending the Notice-Me-Not. “Just, ah, checking on you. Everything all right?”

Harry just keeps frowning. He’s got a small soft toy in the form of a dragon in his hands, but he drops it on the tea table as Draco’s eyes sweep over it, placing his hands quickly in his lap. The plate from the sandwich is utterly empty, devoid even of crumbs, and the glass of milk is similarly drained, and Harry’s eyes flash to them with a guilt that shouldn’t be there, sending another fissure of heartbreak through Draco.

“Another sandwich?” he asks, knowing the answer he’s going to get and knowing the answer that’s true.

Harry shakes his head, the barest hint of movement; his tiny, too-thin shoulders are hunched. Draco takes a steadying breath, gives a firm, determined nod, and says, “I’ll be right back.”

He pushes back, where Blaise is stood to the side now, gaping. “Come on,” Draco whispers. “I’ll explain while I make him another sandwich.”

“Draco,” Blaise says urgently as he follows Draco on another dash to the kitchen. “Tell me that’s not Harry Potter.”

“It’s not Harry Potter,” Draco says in an utterly flat, emotionless voice. Blaise groans out loud.

“It’s finally happened. You’ve lost your mind completely; that job of yours has smoothed out every remaining wrinkle in your brain. Pansy was right, we should’ve staged an intervention years ago, it’s our fault, really—”

“It is, I’m in complete agreement,” Draco says, nodding vigorously as he slams into the swinging kitchen door. Everything to make the jam sandwich is still laid out on the bench, so he slices bread with shaking hands and then turns the knife on Blaise, a glob of jam trembling at the end of it. “I’ll have that intervention now, if it’s on offer.”

“It’s a bit bloody late for it, isn’t it?” Blaise says, rubbing his hands over his face. “Is he—that’s not adult Potter on potions, is it? Is this not as bad as I think it is?”

“No, and no, it’s definitely much worse than you think it is,” Draco says as he scrapes butter up on his knife and then scrapes it over the bread rather desperately. “It’s—look.” The knife drops with a clatter, and Draco whips out his pocket watch, shoving it under Blaise’s nose.

Blaise squints down at it. “I—Draco, you know I haven’t the foggiest what any of these mad instruments say. What am I looking at?”

“Do you see that ticking hand there? The green one?” Draco asks, jabbing his finger at it. “That’s our timeline. And the rest—all the different colored hands—those are other timelines. Sometimes I go to them to fix—things, aberrations, events falling too far out of control. Sometimes I go and—and destroy them, and the hands disappear. And sometimes I just go back in my timeline, the green timeline, and go on assignment, and I get bored because my assignment is in a horrible place called Little Whinging, Surrey, and I have time to kill—don’t laugh—and I decide to peek in on my old school rival and see if I can find any fun childhood embarrassments to make fun of for the next time he forgets who I am and tries to drunkenly hit on me at the pub—”

“Oh, good god, Draco.”

“—you know, when he calls me Dresden and asks where I went to school because he would’ve remembered—”

“It’s pathetic and absurd that you’re still completely fucking hung up on that, Draco, it was months ago—”

“Vengeance takes time!”

“Kidnapping someone from the past is a little far for vengeance! You are insane!”

“No, it’s not—” Draco takes a shuddering breath and turns back to the sandwich, struggling to unscrew the jam jar while still holding the pocket watch. “This isn’t vengeance. You didn’t see—I didn’t know—”

“Know what? What the fuck were you thinking?”

“It was—they treated him horribly, Blaise, I couldn’t—I wouldn’t—”

Draco hears Blaise suck in a harsh, shocked breath. “So this is—bloody hell. You’re not planning on sending him back?”

“I can’t. Even if I wanted to—look.” He whirls around with the watch again and points at a different hand. “See that—that tiny hand, the little red one? That’s a new timeline. It appeared when I brought him back here.”

Blaise stares at him in utter shock, more genuine emotion on his face that Draco’s ever seen. “So you created a new timeline, all on your own? Have you ever done that before?”

“Of course not. It’s utterly forbidden, it’s disastrous, I may have broken the universe. It’s—it’s the end of my time-traveling career.” Draco’s voice breaks on the last few words, and he turns back to the bench, wrenching the jam jar open, piling jam on top of the butter and then pulling out a new plate to serve it on. A flick of his wand and there’s a new glass, milk pouring into it, splashing out a little where Draco can’t keep a steady hand. His breathing is coming fast and a little wheezy.

“What are you going to do?” Blaise asks in a hushed, pitying voice.

Draco thinks about it for a second, trembling in his kitchen. A thousand different scenarios are flaring out in his mind, all the possibilities—he’s always thinking in multiple timelines in his line of work, always considering every possible outcome and calculation and consequence. It brings up an unpleasant buzzing in his head, rushing in his ears, and he has to take a deep, deep breath.

Then he sets the sandwich plate and the glass of milk to Levitate by the door, puts the pocket watch on the bench, picks up the knife, and brings the hilt of it down onto the face of the watch, smashing it to pieces that scatter all around them, dozens of colorful hands and gears and shattered pieces of glass, time strewn all about.

“Right now, I’m going to give that child a jam sandwich,” Draco says.

[artist-issues]

Have you heard "Next Semester" by twenty one pilots yet? I feel like you'd love it.

I don't know if I've ever talked about me and Twenty One Pilots here. I gave my life to Christ in the summer of 2011 and heard a song by Tyler Joseph for the first time the same week. I didn't connect that the passionately screaming singer who made me think about how I couldn't force my emotions to line up with the reality of God, and needed Jesus to do that for me--I didn't connect that that singer was the same guy in the popular emo band until they became popular around 2015. And then I was thrilled. Because around that time I was fighting to submit my own dark thoughts to God, instead of identifying with them, so it really helped that the voice I already knew pretty well was singing those thought-provoking tracks that have made them famous. Then a year later I figured out what I wanted to do with my career, and how that connected back to God, and the first seeds of my whole understanding of storytelling and God as the Storyteller were planted--largely because of a song called "The Producer" which Tyler Joseph helped to write with Travis Whittaker.

So suffice to say, when the band that's been playing the background music of my life's biggest steps in faith makes anything new, you can be pretty sure I'm over here like 👀

I love Next Semester. It's hard, because with Twenty One Pilots, I notice my own commitment to truth and intended meaning and critical thinking at its strongest and its weakest at the same time 😅 Strongest, because you can tell he's so intentional with his lyrics and metaphors, and is communicating some things that he means so well—but weakest, because I'm constantly hoping that he's talking more about Christ and Biblical truth than he probably is. I'm always waffling between fear that Tyler Joseph is deconstructing, resentment that someone so blessed with creativity & hard work-ethic can refuse to come out and talk about the faith that saved him clearly, and...sometimes agreeing with him? Sometimes feeling like, he has a point, the way he creates and is careful to make his audience think for themselves can only lead back to Truth, which is Christ, if they're being as genuine as he is in the emotional content of the songs, and having them think for themselves makes them drop their guards and walk toward truth without "turning them off" by using culturally-Christian phrases—

ANYWAY. You didn't ask about any of that 😅 But the principals of what Twenty One Pilots does, (in terms of the art of communication and what that communication should be for) and why they do it, and what the right and wrong way to do it is, are something my brain is revolving all the time.

It's not really a good thing to keep revolving it, because at some point it's me trying to think exactly right about the whole topic, as if I can control what they do, or the outcome of what I create, if I just get it right. And that's not faith. At some point I have to quit trying so hard to think and do based on my own control! Welcome to you asking a simple question and me word vomiting/getting all preachy. (But lowkey I respect you and think you might appreciate what I'm rambling about, if anyone can. So maybe unluckily for you, you're probably the only person who could've asked me about this on here and gotten this kind of response 😅)

ANYWAY! Next Semester! I love that it's simple so that the emotion of it comes through. There's not metaphor-on-metaphor layering, so you're just left to hang on to his desperate vocals and the gut-check words of the song. I don't listen to it over and over like I do Overcompensate because it takes me to kind of a dark place—but I do love that it ends hopefully. Super hopefully. I started that paragraph above, talking about how twenty one pilots affects my critical thinking, to say this: I'm always having to be careful not to read too much of what I want to hear into the song. But that said, I do think the "person driving" in the song is representative of God. Someone outside yourself, giving you that slap of truth and hope and a fresh-start, who also could've run you down.

So I love that it ends hopefully. For a bit there, with Trench, I started to loosen my grip on them, because it felt like they would do a really good job of saying "We're broken, think about it, see how messed up we are?" And then "but we don't have to stay here," and that was really good. But...then Leave the City seems so obviously to stop at "don't stop." If that makes sense. Leave the City makes it sound like the way out of your depression, doubt, suicidal thoughts, and anxiety is just...movement. It's enough to know that you shouldn't sit in your dark thoughts (and basically sin.) But he won't say where to go instead. And I know it's because he's very genuine, and he doesn't want to say where to go instead if he doesn't know for sure that it's right, but that's not exactly reassuring.

It makes me think of the part in C.S. Lewis' The Great Divorce, where one ghost says something about how "the hopeful journey is much better than the destination." But then the redeemed person is like, "no, that makes no sense—there's no hope IN a journey if you're not moving toward a set destination. The destination is where hope comes from."

So in Leave the City I feel like he takes me by the hand and says "I know how you feel" and "eventually we'll move on from this feeling" but then leaves me at "not that I know where we're going." And it's like, okay, well then why would I ever get hope from moving on? If I don't know what I'm moving on to??

Christ. It's supposed to be Jesus Christ. You can't jump from a sinking ship into a raging ocean and think that that's better. You have to jump from a sinking ship ONTO DRY LAND. Or at least have it in sight, so you can swim in that direction.

Anyway. Next Semester is not like Leave the City, because it ends with hope. 🙃 That's all I'm trying to say. Thanks for coming to my rant.

[smallraindrops-blog]

WMFTD theory time!

My brain immediately wants to jump to Y/n being related to Poseidon due to him also being god of horses.

But I feel that would be too on the nose, and we never really see Y/n have any other connection besides horses. Plus, during the feast with the Olympians, there's never any mention of Poseidon interacting with Y/n and vise versa, so I feel we can rule out them having a relationship. (I assume Y/n never knew his birth parents so you could also say even if they did have any relation Y/n wouldn't know, and I feel Poseidon would say something if he found his supposed son but I digress.)

So let's spitball a little.

Maybe one of his ancestors were a Centaur, and that's why he has an affinity for them?

Maybe he's a child of Epona, who is the patron of horses, donkeys, mules, and fertility? (However, she's from Roman and Celtic Mythology, so that's probably a stretch.)

Perhaps he's not even related to a god at all but a minor deity? Maybe even a nymph of some sort?

Or maybe he's just a man blessed by the Fates to be stronger than most in order to protect their younger brother, and his affinity for horses is just a symbol of his loyalty and devotion.

I dunno I'm just so curious about his existence and how he came to be. (Asdjsj, I talk like he's an OC, but at the same time, I can see myself so easily in him, as self-indulgent that is to say.)

Truly a wonderful story you have written, and I am so excited to see how it ends. And please don't feel too worried about it not living up to peoples expectations. As long as you write it how you want it to end, then I think we as readers will be happy too. nwn

(Of course, I don't speak for everyone, but I do hope I at least speak for the majority of readers with my sentiment ;w;)

You’re making me cry with your sweet words! 😭 Thank you so much! <3<3<3<3

I love that you connected so well with Y/N, it is a fine line to walk and I always try to make sure the readers still have their version of y/n in the story. (It just after two years, the guy kinda wondered off and got a little bit of his own personality without me looking)

and oh my goodness i love WMFTD Theory time! 👏 👏 👏 better than crack. I literally read this ask ten times before responding, giggling and rubbing my hands together like a cheesy 80s bad guy

I will give two possibly helpful, possibly not hints that i am going to place under the readmore.

Hint one:

Whoever/whatever responsible for Y/N can found somewhere in the greek mythology.

(No need to go around the world lol. I didn’t know about Epona, she sounds lovely, so thank you for the introducing me.)

Hint two:

It is funny how memories works against even gods sometimes. Two separate gods so alike, they are mistaken as one.