#why can’t i live like my peers around the world? why can’t other people live like their peers in other countries?

[caramelcuppaccino]

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[hp-hcs]

Reader (male preferably) x T.N and M.R

Where reader gets into fights a lot. Like a lot. Almost double the amount that Theo and Matt get in combined in just a week. The only reason Dumbledore lets him stay at Hogwarts is because he’s top of every class. What bugs a lot of his peers is the fact that he doesn’t try. He doesn’t study, he just gets it straight up, he barely shows up to class, he fights everyone and anything that speaks bad about the slytherin house, and he’s got the face every guys jealous of. Reader is just made to make people mad, is how he’d be described. But he’s not aggressive. He doesn’t lose his temper easy, it’s just when his house or Theo and Matt are mentioned that he loses it. It’s like a trigger going off in his brain, to protect what’s his. And Merlin does that turn them on.

NSFW (optional)

Reader loves to mark them as his. To have everyone be able to see the dark hickeys or slowly healing bite marks. To display a type of claim over the two. They’re his. And he knows exactly how to make them feel good. Make them writhe for him. Degrading Mattheo while edging Theodore, wrapping his bloodied hands around their throats while he pushes them up against the wall. Fuck and when he’s all beaten up after a fight? They can’t fucking resist him.

• smut • bloody knuckles — poly! sub! sweetie pie! theodore nott x poly! sub! brat! mattheo riddle x gn! poly! dom! reader

❕no pronouns or gender/assigned sex markers of any kind!❕

warnings: SMUT MDNI, BLOOD KINK JFC IS THERE A GODDAMN BLOOD KINK IN HERE, same with degradation holy fuck, pain(?) kink, violence, mild descriptions of gore/wounds, usage of the word ‘blood’ or ‘bloody’ approximately 12000000 times, THE BOYS ARE ROMANTICALLY & SEXUALLY INVOLVED WITH EACH OTHER, some pretty aggressive dom/sub roles for ya silly little deviants

i don’t know why i gave the boys pure opposite personalities. the dichotomy of man, i guess.

this is quite easily the filthiest fucking thing i’ve ever written, and i was too embarrassed to let my allosexual boyfie edit/help with this one so it’s real bad 😬 enjoy your asexual-written smut? ig? i did my best, anon, i’m so sorry

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Seamus Finnegan was not expecting to start off his Monday morning with a broken nose.

To be fair though, it was kind of his fault. I mean, six years of school together and the boy still decided to run his mouth without a single care in the world.

“Heard Riddle’s a slut. That true?”

Your head snapped up and a furious look crossed your face. “What?”

“Hot though,” Seamus shrugged. “‘s why y’keep ‘im ‘round, yeah?”

Your hands clenched into fists down by your sides.

“He a good fuck, at least?” Seamus asked carelessly, seemingly unaware of your brewing anger. “I bet ‘e is. Think ‘e’d put out?”

Before anyone could even blink, you had Finnegan down on the ground. His face quickly became the victim of your furious fists.

He tried to shove you off, but you just smacked his hands away and got a solid hit to the center of his face, punctuated by the sound of snapping cartilage.

Blood rushed in your ears and the crowds fell away as you focused solely on Make him pay. Make him pay. Make him pay.

You were abruptly brought out of your bloodthirsty rage by a pair of arms wrapping themselves around your torso and yanking you off of Seamus.

You spun around in anger, the question of who the fuck-? dying on your lips when you saw the concerned face of Theodore Nott, and the bright red face of Mattheo Riddle.

~~~

“Darling-”

“Shut up, it’s my love language,” you pouted.

Theo rolled his eyes fondly, leading you by your shoulders into their dorm’s bathroom. “You know we can handle ourselves, love. You’ve met both of our fathers; we’ve had much worse than some Irish pipsqueak theorizing about our sex lives.”

“Well, I thought it was hot.” Mattheo interrupted with a cheeky grin. “Our badass lover who’s willing to throw down with a Gryffindor to protect our honor? Proof that chivalry isn’t dead.”

“Well, I just don’t want other people talking about you like that,” you scowled.

“We know, love,” Theo grinned, crouching down to dig the first aid kit out from under the sink, patting your thigh in a patronizingly reassuring gesture. “Now, lemme see how bad it is.”

You huffed in faux annoyance, holding out your bloody hands in front of you and lifting your chin so he could see the state of your face.

Theo sighed and began his millionth lecture of the day as he started dabbing antiseptic ointment on the few small scrapes scattered across your face.

Mattheo was unusually quiet, adding nothing to the playful bickering between you and Theo.

You glanced over at him, only to find that he was practically enraptured, staring at your hands. His eyes followed a single bead of blood’s meandering path down your knuckles and fingers, watching as it dripped off the tip of your index finger and splattered onto the tile floor.

You could’ve sworn you saw him lick his lips.

You traded a knowing look with Theo before speaking. “Whatcha looking at, Matty?”

His cheeks flushed red and his gaze snapped back up to your eyes. “Nothing!”

You took a step forward. He took a step back.

“Oh, really?”

He gulped.

You reached forward to rest a hand on his shoulder, gently pressing him up against the wall. “A blood kink, huh? Shit, you really are a slut, love.”

Mattheo looked down, cheeks heating up in embarrassment.

You gripped his chin and forced his head up to look at you. His eyes widened in surprise at the firmness of your grasp.

You pressed two blood-streaked fingers against his lips, groaning at the sight of his tongue instinctively darting out to kitten-lick them.

“Shit, Matty,” Theo whispered from behind you.

You trailed your fingers down his jaw and the side of his neck before loosely wrapping your hand around his throat.

He gasped and his eyes rolled back in his head. “Y-Y/n-”

“You like this? Hm?” You crooned as the blood on your hand smeared onto the skin of his neck.

Mattheo nodded frantically—as much as he could with the limited range of motion.

“That’s fucking disgusting, Riddle. What a filthy fucking boy.”

(He whimpered. He fucking loved it when you called him by his last name.)

You let go of his neck, stepping back and leaving him with a pleading whine caught in his throat as you turned to your other boyfriend.

“And Theodore, my pretty little angel,” you cooed softly, running your fingers through his hair and cupping his cheek. “How’s my little lovebug doing?”

He watched you with wide eyes, his tongue darting out to lick his chapped lips. “Y-Y/n…”

You ran your thumb over his cheekbone, smiling softly. “Answer my question, pretty boy.”

“I-I’m doing good, love,” Theo whispered, his voice cracking as you trailed your thumb down the side of his neck and swept it across his collarbone.

You abruptly pulled your hand away, spinning on your heel and leaving the en-suite without another word.

Your boys followed you into the dorm room like lost puppies, trailing after you with confused and needy expressions.

You sat down on one of the beds, lying back against the pillows with a relaxed and unbothered expression on your face. “Teddy, over here. Matty, go sit in the chair.” You waved your hand towards the desk chair, lazily motioning for Theodore to take off his shirt and join you on the bed.

Mattheo pouted and whined. “What? But- darlin’, I’ve been-”

“A greedy bitch,” you scoff as you yanked off Theo’s trousers and boxers in one swift motion, rolling him over onto his back. “Now sit down and wait your damn turn. Don’t you dare touch yourself. You’d better keep your hands where I can fucking see them.”

Without waiting for a reply, you turned back to your other lover. You ignored Mattheo’s protesting whines in favor of wrapping your fingers around Theo’s dick, appreciating the way Theo’s hips jerked up with a startled moan and his hands scrabbled for anything to hold onto as you did so.

“Riddle. I changed my mind. Get the fuck over here.” You snap, narrowing your eyes at the boy wiggling uncomfortably in his seat. “Hold Teddy’s hand.”

He jumped into action, quickly clambering onto the bed next to the pair of you and scooping up one of Theo’s hands in his.

You nodded, pleased at his cooperation, and slowly started jerking Theo off.

“Pretty, isn’t he, Matty?”

You expected him to say something in agreement, or tease Theo lightly, but your question was met with silence.

You glanced over, curious as to what caught his attention. Mattheo’s eyes were laser focused on Theo’s lower half. You followed his line of sight, confused as to what he was looking at, when you realized.

The blood from your busted knuckles had smeared itself all over Theo’s cock.

“Suck Teddy off.” The demand left your lips before you could even fully think it through.

Neither boy seemed disinterested in your proposition, if the way Mattheo all but scrambled down the bed as he leapt onto your boyfriend was any indication.

Mattheo kneeled between Theo’s thighs and pinned down his hips, practically drooling at the perverse sight in front of him.

Theo moaned brokenly as he felt Mattheo’s tongue lick a long stripe up his dick before taking him fully into his mouth. You hummed appreciatively at the gorgeous view in front of you, reaching out to stroke your hand along Theo’s hip and thigh.

The dorm was quickly filled with the sweet sounds of Theodore’s little moans and sighs, and the filthy wet sounds of Mattheo’s mouth.

He drew Theo closer and closer to his release. But right as your sweetest lover’s body began to shake, you caught sight of one of your brat’s hands subtly sneaking between his legs. You growled, tightening your grip in his hair to warn him to pull off.

As soon as Mattheo pulled off of Theo’s cock, panting for air, you harshly grabbed his jaw and yanked his head up to face you.

“Greedy fucking whore,” you sneered, “I told you not to touch yourself. Apologize to Theo for being such a self-centered brat.”

“S-sorry! So-sorry! I-I’m sorry, T-Theo!”

“Good boy,” you murmur, petting his hair and lightly scratching his scalp with your nails. “Good, love. Continue.”

Mattheo let out a shaky breath, still reeling from the whiplash of your sudden gentleness as he leaned back down to continue his earlier ministrations.

He quickly realized why you’d been so suddenly sweet when he felt your hand start roughly palming him through his trousers. He whined around Theo’s cock, which in turn made Theodore gasp and moan loudly.

You grinned at your boys’ reactions as you leaned down to murmur in Mattheo’s ear, “You can cum if you get Teddy off, alright sweetheart?”

Sparked with renewed interest at the incentive, Mattheo resumed sucking off Theo with vigor. Theo’s thighs shook as he babbled incoherently, a mix of “Fuck!”s, “Merlin-”s, and “Y/n!”s.

“Good boys, that’s it,” you cooed sweetly, brushing sweaty curls off of Theo’s forehead. “You’re just so close, aren’t you, my love?”

Theo sobbed pitifully and nodded. “Pl-please- Y/n- please!”

“Go ahead,” you whispered, stroking his cheek with your thumb.

With your permission, Theo fell apart with a loud moan, his entire body shaking and spasming. You continued palming Mattheo, intent on keeping good on your promise.

“Come whenever you’re ready, Riddle,” you murmured. He had pulled off of Theo by now, and stared up at you with wide, glazed-over eyes. You wiped a smear of cum from the corner of his lips with your thumb, grinning teasingly at the pair of them as you promptly stuck it in your mouth and swirled your tongue around the digit.

With one final moan, Mattheo’s body stiffened up and broke down into shudders as he was wracked with the force of his orgasm. His arms gave out and he collapsed onto the bed, tucking his face into the hollow where Theo’s thigh met his pelvis.

You gave both of your boys a minute to collect themselves, murmuring gentle praise as you littered their faces with soft kisses. “Both so good for me, my best boys. So perfect.”

You sat in a contented quiet for a few more minutes, just caressing them gently. But once their breathings had steadied out, they startled you by sharing a look and abruptly tugging you down and rolling over on top of you.

“Your turn now, love.”

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

duos silices ad ignem

Just a Rollo fic I wrote based off of this post

I write Reader/Yuu as female

Also my writing may be a bit biased but I refuse to write Deuce as nothing but a sweetheart even in an angst fic

“You’re ‘used to it’?” Rollo repeats incredulously, looking at you as though you’ve gone barmy, “Oh you poor thing. I can’t blame you for becoming numb to the absurdity after spending every day swimming in it.”

You open your mouth, ready to dismiss his words and defend yourself, but you find the words clogging up at your throat, refusing to leave. The stoic Student Council President continued to look at you, concern overcasting his features, so you swallow thickly as you feel your heartbeat in your ears and mutter that you think you hear Professor Trein calling you before making a much too hasty exit.

You’ll admit that initially, yes, the concept of magic terrified you. Why wouldn’t it? After spending a lifetime without it and then being thrown into the both metaphorical and literal lions’ den with no support whatsoever was the stuff of nightmares. Especially when you consider your first overblot, where everyday was the physical representation of out of the frying pan and into the fire.

But you learned to see the beauty of magic, learned to see how it can help and heal, how it can mend broken bones in seconds instead of months, how it can protect you and make you soar. 

Though why do you feel resentful? Why do you feel that tang of bitterness when you’d see someone wave their pens and have an entire room spotless in a blink of an eye? Why does it cause such discomfort to witness a meal magically prepped to perfection? Why does watching your classmates using spells to play around in class and make their life easier fill you up with so much dread?

You love magic so why do you still flinch?

‘Maybe,” your mind supplies, “it’s because they’re so used to it. They’re so lackadaisical about throwing around spells because it comes to them without a thought. To them it’s mundane. To you - well, it’s proof that you don’t belong here, that you’re not yet home.”

Later on you find yourself sitting in isolation on a bench, far removed from the festivities of your peers, as you watch them produce fireworks with seamless flicks of their wrists, laughing gaily with every spark and flicker.

Why was it that a complete stranger could see you, hear your unspoken thoughts, much better than an entire castle full of people that you’ve spent months with? Why was it that this wiry, unfeeling, looming presence was able to piece together what was laid out in front of him much better than the people you brushed with death with to save?

Was it pity? The thought should have filled you with offense, that this person you just met is treating you with such infantilising condescension. How dare he patronise you without even knowing what you’ve done, what you’ve lived through, how you’re barely holding on to the tattered shreds of your sanity before it slips through your fingers-

How dare he be so right.

Maybe it is pity, maybe his patronising words were warranted. Maybe, just maybe, you’re so desperate that you’ll take it, that you’ll take anything if it meant someone would look close enough to see that you’re not okay, that you want out.

You’re left alone with your thoughts now, as you watch your schoolmates with a blank look, your eyes fixated on their high spirits but not quite seeing them. Your thoughts that liked to remind you of how small you are, how insignificant against the might that was magic, how easy it was for you to sign away your life to Azul with a simple signature, how eye contact or a few words was all it took for Jamil and Ruggie to own your mind and body, how Vil cursed your food without a word to you nor a care in the world.

How completely breakable you are in this twisted world of vices and villains.

Even the other first years, who are considered the least powerful in regards to magical capability, could end you as fast as lightning flashes.

You think back on the scars that coiled and burned along your skin, how the foreign slivers of jagged discolouration were littered along your body, a sadistically twisted storybook that mapped out your past, present and future torment. The deep reddish-purple lesions and inky black cracks that spiderwebbed your once young, innocent and untouched complexion were nothing more than a perpetual reminder of all that you’ve lost, all that’s been taken from you in this world. That you weren’t who you once were and you can never go back to being her.

(“Deuce,” you whispered to your friend late into the night. Ace and Grim were contentedly dozing away on the mattress you’d placed on the floor of Ramshackle’s living room, leaving you and Deuce the only ones awake on your couch, the dim light of the television bathing you in opalescence and and the tinny sounds it played turning into white noise. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice just barely a mutter but you heard it loud and clear. “Have,” you took a breath and looked down at your twiddling fingers, “have you ever looked at a mirror and saw a stranger?”

“Yeah, I have,” Deuce replied. Your head cants upwards and you see his blue eyes piercing through the darkness, “it was right after I heard my mum crying on the phone to my grandma. I didn’t know who I was. I just knew I didn’t want to be who I saw.”)

But it’s okay now because they are your friends.

That’s the mantra you chanted as you surveyed everyone in front of you. 

Riddle who called you pathetic who didn’t hesitate to make a mockery of you who attacked you with both his words and his thorny rage, diligently listening to an NBC student explain the history of Fleur City.

They are your friends

Deuce who was your best friend who you trusted with your life who you can’t tell any of this to and Epel who’s a victim like you who wants out like you who’s still destined to hurt you like everyone else, talking animatedly about their magical wheels as they eat their candy apples.

They are your friends

Ruggie who can control you with one word who still has the fangs and claws of a predator who you still don’t know if you can trust, munching on as many baked goods as he could.

They are your friends

Azul who’s sadistic and manipulative and uses and takes for his own benefit who happily made you homeless and still has everything despite all that he’s done who’s predatory eyes burn you whenever he’s near, looking for your next weakness to exploit and Jamil who used and kidnapped and manipulated you who hypnotised you and ripped away what little control you had whilst playing pretend as your friend who took pleasure in your suffering were surveying the stalls, asking the vendors questions about their wares. For some reason, the thought of joining them felt like acid crawling up your throat.

They are your friends

Rook who’s an enabler just like everyone else who watched on as his housewarden cursed your food and tried to poison and kill someone who can easily hunt you down and find you no matter where you are or how well you hide, laughing along with everyone’s merriment and spouting out verbose french poetry that you weren’t sure you wanted to understand.

They are your friends

Idia who took Grim from you who unlike everyone else was an actual genuine friend before he overblotted who played his part just like everyone else did, looking like he found Nirvana as he was surrounded by stray cats and kittens.

They are your friends

Silver who you don’t even know yet who could still be part of this twisted ploy to cause your downfall who could hide a person as sadistically corrupted like everyone else, napping on a bench near Sebek who hates your existence who hates that a human would dare to breathe the same air as his liege who doesn’t even hide his contempt for you who was watching Malleus who’s never there who never helps who just does what he wants and you can’t say anything because who are you compared to him with his usual starry-eyed worship.

They are your friends. They’ve changed. It’s alright now, You easily washed away the red of their sins so everything’s all good. You’ve moved on - forgive and forget, right? Sure they hurt you but it’s all water under the bridge. They won’t hurt you again. So why, why- 

Then why does your stomach feel like lead now. Why do your eyes sting so badly, pinpricks dotting the edges of them as you feel the telltale drip of water run down your cheek.

All you want is to survive

But how do you survive in a world that wants you dead?

Apart from Ace, Deuce, Grim and the ghosts that haunt your dorm, not one person looked at you and saw you as someone other than the magicless prefect who stops overblots and cleans up messes that they had nothing to do with. Not one person who’s hurt you had stopped to think that you were someone who could feel hurt, that your feelings matter, that you don’t fight death every other second because you want to but because it’s the only way you could survive in a place where you have been abandoned. 

Shakespeare was right. There are daggers in men’s smiles. In every predatory grin, in every saccharine leer, in every simper that coiled and tightened around you like a serpent, with its poison-laced fangs prodding at your carotid, just waiting to strike.

You feel him before you see him, his lanky figure joining you in your shadowed refuge. Without a word, he sits down beside you.

“Do you believe in fate?” you ask idly, your stare never once wavering from where you watched Professor Trein who’s in on it who, just like every other adult, has failed you who never once punished anyone except you and your fellow students, “that things happen and there’s nothing we can do about it because that’s just how things are meant to be? That the people who do bad things just get to do those things and everyone’s supposed to live with it because that’s how the story is written?”

He regards you for a second and then turns and looks straight ahead with a gaze like steel, “I believe in justice. That without it, humanity is doomed to live in a delusion of peace. I believe that the only way to be truly free from the sins that swarm and bite us, that follow us around like a plague, is to take the reins ourselves and use our power to free us from them. The past is just a tragic history but the future has several names: for the weak, it is impossible; for the fainthearted, it is unknown; but for the valiant, it is ideal. And once the gavel of justice has done its duty in punishing the wicked and freeing the innocent, even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.”

You feel a cold, thin hand placed over yours and you let it rest there. It was grounding, comforting.

Maybe, it’s about time you stop being a victim of the narrative and take control of your own story. You’ll rid yourself of your tragic ending and fashion a new happily ever after.

In NRC, you found horrors beyond your comprehension.

In Rollo, you think you’ve found your guardian angel.

[punkpandapatrixk]

❣️How Abnormal Are You in Love? ♦︎ Timeless Pick A Card

Don’t be too hard on yourself with this PAC. Everybody in this world’s pretty much abnormal anyway. We all want something that’s extremely rare in this world: Love. Sometimes, we go crazy after mistaking shit for Love. But we all heal. Eventually, we all learn to love more healthily and sanely. And really, that’s all that matters. The crazy is also part of the character development~♥︎

☆♪°・.

‘Hey, actually, when was it that I began to realise that there’s no such thing as forever? Even so, I’m prouder than anybody else about the fact that the days we spent together were at least not a lie.

Even though it’s true that the length of time we have lived is only slightly different, just the fact that we met, that we loved, though we may never love each other again… I won’t forget.

Hey, why do I still want you by my side, thinking that I won’t do without you, even though this is hurting me so much? Even so, I became a person who could be grateful for the smallest things in life. It’s because, even the most casual of words were so meaningful between us.

Because we met, because we loved, though we may never love each other again…I’ll be fine with turning all of it into proof that I’ll survive, whilst facing all of truth and reality.

I’m just glad that we met. I’m just glad that we loved. Though we may never see each other again… I won’t forget.’

☆♪°・.

Those are words from Ayumi Hamasaki’s legendary song, LOVE ~Destiny~. At some point in Life, Ayumi said in an interview, ‘I loved one man so much that I destroyed myself.’ I can’t help but think this song could be about…it? Maybe hahah Just a vibe, gals~♡

SONG: LOVE ~Destiny~ by Hamasaki Ayumi

MOVIE: Snakes and Earrings (2008)

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 3]

[Patreon] [Paid Readings]

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 1 – What I Can’t Let Go Of, Really, Is My Pride…

VIBE: kiss by Chara

what is, Love? – 4 of Swords

Well, it seems quite obvious your past was somewhat chaotic. I think throughout childhood you felt like you were crossing a battlefield or had to fight the stormy seas all by yourself. Because of this, you deeply crave a Love that can put an end to all of those noises. In fact, it’s only fitting. Deep down you’ve always known that Love is something that’s pure, sweet and gentle; that it’s supposed to put you at ease. You understand that the world is in chaos because nobody has Love in their hearts.

You, never wanted to be like those grownups who were fighting with their own spouses. Even if you’re young, you feel like an Old Soul—the only one who seems to truly understand what Love is and is not. And you see that 99% of people literally don’t know what Love is, let alone how to love right. And you’re afraid. What if you can’t find that one person who can love you right?

Deep in your subconscious, you have these standards and ideals you desperately want to maintain. But nobody you’ve ever met seems to understand where you’re coming from. What you want is something so pure. People are rarely pure of heart, so nobody gets it. And it feels incredibly lonely. And at some point, you might’ve begun to doubt if your standards are even fair…

why do you chase, Love? – King of Wands Rx

So you grew up a bit and began to wonder what might happen if you lower your standards…a bit? You want to experience passion, right? You’re seeing all these peers around you kissing and holding each other and you crave that, too. You know very well it’s not like they’re in love—they’re just silly, infatuated, hormonal fuckers; but you wonder how it would feel to be intimate with someone. To actually have someone want you like that. To be wanted. To be held. To be kissed. To be…loved. No matter how shallowly.

Now you’re willing to look for someone passionate. You could try with a puzzling character. You like that kinda shit. Any kind of an intriguing fucker with some semblance of a mystery; making you curious to dive deep into their side of crazy. How do I figure out your particular brand of bullshit? Anybody you can’t immediately figure out would excite you to a point of insanity. And you thought this was happiness. You thought, this level of excitement surely must be happiness. Perhaps…even Love? Otherwise…

How do you explain this feeling that suddenly strikes, rattling your heartstrings, making you realise that there’s somebody in this world you’d want to care for other than yourself? Just the idea that you even fantasise about growing older with this mysterious fucker… How is this not, Love? And if this isn’t Love…what is? How else are people supposed to know happiness if this excitement alone isn’t enough?

what happens when Love, dies? – 8 of Cups Rx

To begin with, you’re not one to trust easily. It takes a lot for you to allow someone to see your vulnerable side. And when you go in, you go all in. It may not feel like it immediately because you’re cautious, but once you’re in…because you feel sure of someone…you’re in deep. Too deep it feels like you’re drowning in this whole situation, if anything. And you’re proud of how much you’re able to give.

And…you’re generally proud of your boundaries and the standards and ideals you’ve imposed upon yourself and others. So, the fact that you’ve given so much, revealed so much to someone who wouldn’t be there for life, is beyond frustrating. It’s world-shattering, at least. What have I been in this situationship/relationship for if it ain’t gonna last?!?! I can’t just let it die like that! Maybe I’m doing something wrong?! I must’ve! Lest none of this would’ve happened…

When Love dies, it feels so shameful. It’s a shame you trusted the wrong fucker. It’s a shame someone was able to see you that vulnerable. It’s disgusting that you thought this was The One. What was I thinking? Now everything becomes clear. It’s not the loss of that person’s Love you’re crying about. If you’re being honest now, you couldn’t care less that such a loser’s gone from your world. If anything, it’s such a relief. It was just the shock from knowing you made a mistake that made you cry… It’s OK now.

MY HEART, MY PRIDE🔻💜

sacrifices I’d made – Green Magus (John Magus)

I’m glad I was able to love – Priestess of Ambition

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☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 2 – I Can’t Tell If I’m Passionate or Just Immature

VIBE: Boys & Girls by Hamasaki Ayumi

what is, Love? – Ace of Pentacles Rx

To begin with, you’re not exactly a rational person. Not saying you’re dumb! You just have a lot of passion for something that’s unexpected or foreign. You like mysteries and you aren’t afraid to dip your toe in uncharted waters. This desire could’ve developed from having a childhood that felt constricted tho. I think you grew up surrounded by so many rules and laws and forbidden things and that’s how you developed a taste for, DANGER~

It’s exciting, from time to time, to think about throwing all your caution to the wind and breaking all rules. You want to disappoint. If you’re being honest, you’re damn tired of following everybody’s whims and concerning yourself with their expectations. What about what I want?? You want to live. You want to feel alive. There are so many exciting things outside of your everyday Life, why can’t you have any of that? At some point, you could’ve dreamt of being rescued from your Tower by a handsome daredevil of any kind of a fucker.

If that fucker happens to be handsome and rich, even better. But that doesn’t really matter. You just want someone brave enough to approach you and actually uproot you from your boring Life. Surely, Love can do that to a person…? I don’t need stability, let alone predictability; what I want is a romantic hero who’ll take me on a grand adventure of Love! And if that daredevil happens to be dumb…

why do you chase, Love? – 9 of Swords

In many ways, you’re totally not an innocent person. You want to hurt. If whoever daredevil tries to fulfil your fantasies of being rescued from your miserable Tower happens to be dumb, you’re gonna be having a field trip! XD You want to terrorise and traumatise a person, really. It’s vengeance for all the years that you were serving others. Now, it’s your time to be served. It doesn’t even matter if they don’t worship you. You’re ready to find another dumbfuck to toy with. You’re hardly ever sincere anyway~

Why bother with sincerity? Ever since you were a kid, you’ve observed that none of the adults you knew was ever sincere. What even is Love? I think you know of it conceptually. But what exactly is its purpose? What exactly is so good about it? And how? How exactly must one be in order to attain it? You don’t believe in it some days. You deeply crave it some days. You could die for it some days. You want others to die for your Love most days.

Life is confusing. Love is confusing. Sex is easy. Money is easy. Food and jewelleries are easy. Let’s live easily. Life is exhausting if you think too much about everything that could go wrong. I’m done feeling terrible about my own existence, so I want someone to spin me around and make me forget. That’s ideal. Is generally your motto when chasing… Love♡

what happens when Love, dies? – 8 of Wands Rx

You don’t care about it. You don’t particularly care about losing people. It’s expected. If anything, because you’re never serious with quite anybody anyway, ghosting is the best way to go about it. You’re the type to ghost, block, and you don’t even mind if you’re the one ghosted or blocked. Basically, you just don’t want any contact with someone you’ve lost interest in anyway. So that only makes it easier for you.

In many ways, I think you sometimes regret being this kind of a callous person. There are days you wonder if you’ll become someone more sincere. You’ve wondered what it would take to actually love someone. To actually be loved back. Surely that must be so nice. You want to be happy, honestly. But it feels like a distant daydream. You don’t particularly understand how two people can be happy living together. After all, you find people exhausting most of the time.

All you know is that you’ve lived with yourself for the longest time. And if you have to compromise or sacrifice anything…you’re not willing. You’ve sacrificed shit before, a looong time ago, and you got nothing back in return. You gave someone a rose and they gave you back thorns and strangled you with it. Surely that can’t be happiness. Two people who don’t know how to love can’t be happy together. Life is better lived alone.

MY HEART, MY PRIDE🔻❤️

sacrifices I’d made – Red Alchemist (John Dee)

I’m glad I was able to love – Priestess of Innocence

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☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 3 – Damn, Why’s Everybody Crying for Love?

VIBE: Sunglasses by Utada Hikaru

what is, Love? – 2 of Cups Rx

Uhm…you’re a comical Pile for sure. Your psychology is so complex, although it’s also super straightforward (to you), but some people are not gonna have an easy time figuring out if you’re sincere or not. Most of us have got a lot of exposure to tragical romance, right? A lot of people get deep and insane in Love. And here you are wondering why everybody’s crying for Love. Why is everybody suffering in the name of Love? That’s not Love. People are silly for falling continuously for the wrong people. It’s all a Game for them. Me? I don’t play games.

But you do! Everybody does when it comes to falling in Love, to various extents. That’s what’s really fun about falling in Love. If you could face yourself, you’d realise you have a bit of a God-complex within this context. In the sense that…because Love and romance actually aren’t such a big deal to you, and somehow, you have an almost all-too-natural inclination to attract the right people, you can’t really empathise with those who cry in the name of Love.

For some though, if the above doesn’t really resonate, you’re the type that has an innate understanding that you must protect yourself from falling into those tragical romantic setups. You have a highly developed sense of boundary and you keep high standards for what kind of a romantic relationship you want. You’re kinda similar to Pile 1 in this case, but you most likely haven’t experienced sacrificing your standards for, EXPERIENCE~

why do you chase, Love? – 10 of Wands

In comparison to certain types of people in the world, you’re not exactly a dreamy type. When it comes to relationships you think straight towards building a matrimony with someone. You’re a traditionalist in a sense. You’re the based kid who knows that a girlfriend-boyfriend relationship is a training ground for a marriage. You think long-term. You’re realistic like that. But the problem is…you’re totally missing out on the passion of Love itself.

You don’t really see your partner(s) for the person—the Human—that they are. You care only for the practical, pragmatic facts surrounding their reputation or status or whether or not their physical appearance is decent enough. Stuff like that. And the dreamy ones who look at you, look at you with a pang of sadness in their chest, for although you seem responsible and blessed…you appear to them as someone who looks at another with an eye of business.

You’re the type that thinks love is an investment. An investment of attention, affection, time and money, and all that shit. That’s not Love; that’s something to be exchanged at the market. The dating market, OMG~

‘Freedom and love go together. Love is not a reaction. If I love you because you love me, that is mere trade, a thing to be bought in the market; it is not love. To love is not to ask anything in return, not even to feel that you are giving something—and it is only such love that can know freedom.’ – Jiddu Krishnamurti

what happens when Love, dies? – 6 of Pentacles

When Love dies, you celebrate. You’re wise enough to know that Life doesn’t end just because you broke up with somebody, even in terms of friendship. You’re spiritually mature enough to know you’ve learnt from the experience, and now, you’re just going to prepare for the next big thing to experience. Life goes on without a hitch like that for you, for the most part. I can’t tell if you’re really that spiritually mature or you just don’t give a fuck about emotions LMAO

Not saying you’re a bad person, btw. It just seems like you haven’t got a lot of crazy in your birth chart or that you haven’t experienced a lot of sorrows and soul-shattering heartbreaks, so…it’s kinda just a matter of not having, PERSPECTIVE? Coupled with the fact that you take Life very unseriously seriously…? Like, you’re serious about not being an asshole and wanting to do the socially right thing, but in doing so, you become an annoying insincere jackass in the lives of those who have (or will) dated you XDD

Basically, you’re not the type to get super crazy heartbroken when a relationship ends. You’ve got all of these other blessings anyway. Why would you focus on just the negative, right? In a sense, I believe that’s an incredible spiritual maturity which others are still struggling to figure out XD But yeah…rather than this being something abnormal about you, I think it’s just that your Higher Self designed for you not to experience the dramatic highs and lows of immature romance HAHAH

MY HEART, MY PRIDE🔻🧡

sacrifices I’d made – Gold Alchemist (Roger Bacon)

I’m glad I was able to love – Priestess of Luck

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☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 3]

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[deliciousbasementtrash]

Playing Nurse for the Batfam

Summary: you are a nurse working for Gotham General Hospital. On your way home from work, you encounter an injured superhero. You have seen his secret identity. Now what will he do about it?

Pairing: Slowburn Jason Todd x reader, (maybe a why choose with Dick Grayson as well?? Idk tell me what you guys want)

Warning: Adult language, verbal abuse, parental abuse, severe injuries

Word Count: 1.5k

Note: These characters are not my own they belong to DC. The only character that is 'mine' is the reader. I am going to be as nondescript as possible for the reader as well for physical attributes. This is a continuation series; I’m not sure how long it will be. Also for some reason, my replies to comments are not showing up. I’m not ignoring your comments Tumblr won’t let me respond :( But please, please comment I live for it 

Part One: Is that Trash or a Man?

There is calm chaos when working in the emergency room. You get used to the cacophony of beeps and alarms. Of moans, crying, screaming, and arguing. You get used to being on your feet all day and moving from task to task, from patient to patient. You get used to it because there is no other option. People need care and they need it now. You either step the fuck up or switch to a different unit. Or move to a calmer, cleaner, less crime-filled city. Calm wasn’t really my vibe. Maybe externally that’s what I portrayed, but internally my mind craves the chaos of the ER. It craves the chaos of Gotham. And the Gotham ER was an entirely different beast.

I finished nursing school about a year ago. A lot of my peers used it as an out. They went to more stable cities in New Jersey that had better funding and less chance of getting knifed in the staff parking lot. I was one of the only ones that stayed. I definitely was the only one that worked in the hospital. I couldn’t deny the demand for nurses was high, and the paychecks were even higher at Gotham General Hospital. And maybe some small pathetic part of my brain wanted to make the world a better place. I wanted Gotham to be a better place. Every day I worked. I convinced myself that how matter how shitty it got; I was making a difference. Even if it was only a handful of people in the grand scheme of things. 

I could convince myself that I mattered. That everyone mattered. That these people deserve more. They deserve better; they deserve a second, third, fourth, fifth chance. If I stopped trying to convince myself of that I know I would give up entirely. Seeing gunshot wounds, stabbings, overdoses, mutilations, burns, crushings, poisonings, beatings, day after day is a lot like erosion of the soul. Little by little it wears you down. You become jaded and jagged with time. Empathy becomes blame. Hope becomes desolate. Love becomes anger. The only thing you can do is gaslight yourself into thinking you’re making a big enough difference. That you’re helping enough people. After all, the brain can’t tell the difference between truth and irony. You tell yourself so many lies, you can start to believe them, right? 

Gotham City: 16 Years Ago 

“Dad, when is mom coming home?” My small voice asked. I was scared to make Dad yell at me again. I didn’t like it when I made him yell.

“She’s got stage four fucking cancer she is coming out of the hospital in a body bag, y/n.” 

I fought the tears that burned behind my eyes. Dad would get even angrier if he saw them. It was stupid of me to even ask. 

I felt him turn to me. His eyes bored into my skull. Quickly, I looked down at his feet. 

“Have you tried again?” He asked. His tone clipped. I knew he expected a timely answer.

Involuntarily, my fingers ruthlessly picked the skin around my nails. The sting was grounding in a way. 

“No, sir. Well yes, I have tried, but I… I failed,” the last word felt like a hot poker being placed through my throat. 

“Look at me.” Breathing became difficult, but I looked up at my father. He leaned his face close to mine. I could smell Jack wafting off him. “What good are you? What good is having healing powers if you can’t heal your sick mother?”

The simple hangnail became a chunk of missing skin. I lowered my head. Fighting back tears. 

“Sir,” my traitorous voice wobbled as I tried not to cry, “I keep trying but… I don’t think my power is that strong. I can close cuts, fix broken bones, but tumors are… hard.”

My father tilted his head back and laughed. Hard. He grabbed my wrist as quickly as a viper, “If I could put your mother’s cancer in you I would. You’re about as useful as a wet match in a dark cave.” 

I couldn’t help the tears that fell down my cheek. It felt like I was involuntarily waving a white flag.

Gotham City: Present Day

I had to be stealthy with my gift. I couldn’t heal every one of the patients to full health right away. That would lead to suspicion. But if I could help it I could stop the major damage. I would heal internal organs. Replenish blood. Reduce ten fractures to two or one. It all depended on timing and if people were watching me. 

I was walking home from the hospital. I only lived about three blocks away. I got off shift at around 20:49. I didn’t start my next stretch for another three days. And I was milking my walk home. Stopping to smell the roses or whatever. That is normally not a very smart thing to do in Gotham at night, especially as a woman. But part of me didn’t care. 

Earlier, I looked at my phone and frowned when I realized the date. 

Thursday, May 19th. 

My mom died 16 years ago today. Waves of emotion flooded my senses. Anger at myself for not remembering. Sadness that she had been gone more of my life than she had been in it. Restlessness for what my father might do or say. Some years he likes to reach out. Others he doesn’t. But most of all I was feeling reckless. Like I wanted someone to give me a reason. Obviously, I would only hurt someone to defend myself or others. But there was so much anger living in my body, part of me hoped some idiot would try something with me tonight. 

So, I walked home. Slowly. 

Normally, you keep your head down and you keep moving. You don’t look or gawk. You listen out of necessity. I was listening just because I could. It was the normal stuff. Men smoking cigarettes and catcalling. Women were offering their nightly services. Random people either praising or damning superheroes. Drug deals. Graffiti artists. Fights. And of course, people who simply were walking home from work. Gotham had range and was never boring that’s for sure. 

But something picked up on the very edge of my senses. Despite my better logic, I turned toward the very quiet sound. It could have just been rats, but it sounded so familiar. It sounded like a death rattle. The thing you hear just before shit hits the fan and the patient codes. 

Without thinking I ran down the alley toward the sound. At first, it was nothing. Just trash and rats. But then I saw it. He almost blended perfectly in with the shiny black garbage bags. His cape was the same color but reflected the light less. 

“Sir? Sir, are you alright?” I walked hesitantly forward, grabbing my pepper spray just in case.

The man did not answer, he only garbled and coughed. My work brain took over my fear. Instantly I rolled the man over and began assessing him. I suppressed a gasp when I rolled him over and a familiar cowl mask came into view. It was cracked down the middle. His face was bleeding from an unknown location. His breathing was labored and staggered. 

Calmly, I closed my eyes and pressed my hands against his chest. 

Oh yeah. Batman was dying. He had several broken ribs. A pneumothorax. A bruised liver, kidney, and pancreas. His cardiac output was a joke. The man had no perfusion. 

I didn’t think. I didn’t hold back like I do at the hospital. I just healed. And healed. And healed. I healed him down to his bone-on-bone knees, sprained ankle, and fractured wrist. 

God, this guy had a lot of injuries. 

I was close to passing out by the time I was done. I had done too much, ate, and slept too little. My powers were demanding when it came to energy. If I didn’t eat or sleep within 30 minutes I was about to pass out next to bat boy himself.

I gave him one last assessment. After double-checking that he would live and that I didn’t miss anything I finally looked at his face again. 

This time I gasped. Batman was the billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne? I shook my head like I was clearing cobwebs. I didn’t have time to dwell on it. Much like Batman, I didn’t want people to know what I could do. The last time people knew…

Just as I turned and took a few steps I rolled my eyes at my nagging thoughts. 

What if someone sees him before he wakes up?

Reaching into my tote bag I pulled out a black medical mask. I not so gracefully MacGyvered it across his exposed face so that it was covered. And with that, I made my way home.

My cat, Hashbrown, eagerly greeted me at the door. I nearly fell asleep locking it. I bent down to pick her up and gave her a kiss on her perfect little cat head. I ripped my gross work scrubs off, threw them in the wash, and crashed on the couch in my underwear before my brain could process what happened.

I healed Batman. 

I healed… Bruce Wayne?

Part Two, Part Three

[agendabymooner]

ollie on thin ice(man) || ob8 (+ kr7) scenario

ollie bearman x raikkonen!ofc (ft. dad!kimi raikkonen)

EXTENSION TO ICE ICE BABY (SMAU)

ANOTHER RECOMMENDED READ: STOP THE WORLD I WANNA GET OFF WITH YOU (KIMI R. SMAU)

Summary: It was the Formula 1 summer break, meaning that The Iceman’s two driving children, including his beloved Romania ‘Aroma’ Raikkonen, were home. This also meant that a certain Ollie Bearman would make his presence known to the Raikkonen household- which was unpleasant for Kimi’s part.

Content warning: Dad!Kimi being protective, Andrea Kimi Antonelli is addressed as ‘Kimi’ by the Raikkonens but is addressed as ‘Andrea’ in narration, humour, wooing, Ollie wanting to cry really bad, Antonelli x Raikkonen!OFC (Rooney)

Note: this might not make sense to most but… enjoy regardless xx read the recommended fics for more context.

a - n masterlist // o - z masterlist

if you’d like to get on one of my taglists, check this post out

For Kimi, it was never a problem to have people over.

 He was retired and he pretty much had nothing all day but to spend some time with his kids all while his wife, the Academy Award winning director Vera Coppola, worked on days end while she travelled to New York for a week. 

It was a life he loved to live, really.

To have people over was a usual case for the Coppola-Raikkonen household, as Kimi had three children that were at the age when friends and peers were important. 

Kimi and Vera always thought that it was much better that they allowed their children to have friends over than having them go out and about at night— better be free at home than rebellious and endangered, right?

It was now the summer break of this year’s F1 season, which meant that his two children were also home and didn’t need to be travelling with their mum to wherever the next race was.

It meant that they didn’t need to do their schoolwork on the plane while their private tutors sat with them on the way to wherever. 

It gave the two young racers the break they needed from competing, anyways. If there was something that Kimi knew, it was that his eldest daughter and oldest son had the same drive as him. 

Though, if he was being honest, his son was more like him in terms of interviews and personality in front of the camera. But still… both were racing out of pure joy.

Thank goodness, their mother was a Coppola and Kimi made millions before this. 

“Dad, Kimi’s here,” Johann-Lauri Francis Coppola-Raikkonen, or simply Jo, announced as the fifteen year old walked into the living room where Kimi and his two younger kids sat. 

Andrea Kimi (whom Kimi was never confused with whenever Jo or any of his children said the name ‘Kimi’ as they addressed their dad as ‘Dad’) made his presence known to Kimi as he waved, “Good afternoon, Mr. Raikkonen.” 

“Ah! Andrea,” Kimi nodded. “Nice seeing you. When did you get here to Italy?” 

“Hm… We just got back from Nice two hours ago,” Andrea replied with a purse on his lips, “Mamma and Papa made sure I got here in time. I even brought an overnight bag.”

“Okay,” Kimi said with a nod, “Johann, did you clean your room?”

“Yes, dad,” Jo replied.

“Do you want me to order food later?” Kimi asked.

Just the mere utter of the words ‘order food’ had Kimi’s second daughter running from the home library to the living room.

“Dad? Why is it that every time Kimi’s around we always order food? Why can’t we order food when Kimi’s not here?” 

Rooney Italia Coppola-Raikkonen, at the age 17, never once enjoyed the presence of Andrea. But that was because they were both at that age when pissing each other off was just a phase. Now here she was, complaining about Andrea getting a special treatment.

“Bwoah, he is a guest, Roo,” Kimi answered plainly. “Mama isn’t here right now, and I’m sure you’d like some pizza too, no?”

“For dinner?” Rooney whined. 

“You can order off the menu and tell me later,” Kimi negotiated, making Roo jump excitedly. 

“Nice,” Roo said with a grin before she glared at Andrea, “You suck, Antonelli.”

“Rooney Italia—“ Kimi was about to scold his daughter, but she had already sped off to the home library once more.

Kimi sighed, watching the two teenage boys head upstairs to Jo’s room. Kimi looked down at his little boy and his toddler girl. Both little kids were less of a menace than the older ones, thankfully. 

Betty-Elina was suckling on her pacifier when she looked at Kimi and raised her comfort blanket up to Kimi’s chest level.

“Thank you, kulta,” Kimi told Betty with a grin. He turned to where his youngest son was. 

Henrik was snoozing on Kimi’s lap, not even minding the noise that his big siblings were making just about now. 

God. What a life he was living. 

Somewhere in the mansion, rather down the hall of the east wing, was a quiet muffling sound of a girl who was speaking to herself. Well, Romania Eleanor was barely speaking to herself.

She was streaming. It was her first stream ever since F2 had gotten to her system. 

Having to fight her friends to keep her second position before the season ends told her enough about how taxing racing could get. Thus she did the second best thing to racing and streamed cozy games to her fans.

Aroma, once she heard a knock and a creak of the door, looked over to see her younger sister Rooney. She paused her game, trying to see what the girl wanted all while her stream remained running.

“What’s up?” Aroma asked.

“Dad‘s going to order food,” Rooney started but was quickly cut off.

“Let me guess: Antonelli?” Aroma quipped.

Rooney huffed out, “As always.”

Aroma knew that the two, for some reason, hated each other’s presence. Or rather, Andrea Antonelli was simply amused at the one sided beef Rooney had with him. 

But regardless, the ART Grand Prix driver chuckled as she nodded. Aroma said, “If Dad is ordering from Signora Leona’s restaurant, can you ask if I can have some seafood fettuccine Alfredo?” 

“Got it,” Rooney raised a thumb up before she left the room. 

Aroma watched Rooney leave and shut the door behind her before she sighed, proceeding to play her Animal Crossing as she spoke to her stream, “It’s like I’m watching a cringe version of enemies to lovers.”

Ollie Bearman was never scared of anyone.

Anyone but one person that wasn’t his parents: Aroma Raikkonen’s father, Kimi.

He’s heard stories about The Iceman and how he couldn’t care less about anything that didn’t involve him nor his children.

Sure, for most people it wasn’t a scary thought. But in some ways, the British man was involved with Kimi Raikkonen’s eldest daughter. 

That alone was a scary thought. He’s had a crush on Aroma since they started racing together, back when Aroma raced around Europe while her mother Vera took her to travel. Ollie was a welcome face to everyone in the Coppola-Raikkonen household. 

But god… People called Kimi ‘The Iceman’ for a reason, Ollie thought. 

Kimi’s icy stares and cold demeanour were always directed to Ollie and no one else. Ollie knew the difference between ‘icy’ and ‘indifference’ especially when it came to Aroma Raikkonen and her ‘wholesome’ father. 

News flash: Ollie called bullshit on Kimi being a sweet man. Kimi’s stare could burn holes and Ollie could rot on them— so much for being the ‘Iceman’. 

Now here Ollie was in Italy, hoping to hang out with Aroma…

To sum it up: Ollie and Aroma had some sort of thing going on. One that Ollie wouldn’t dare show to Kimi because god only knows what the Finnish driver could do to the Brit. 

Anyway.

Ollie patiently stood in front of the Coppola-Raikkonen home, his posture still calm. He had just rung the bell, now he was patiently waiting for anyone to answer. 

He didn’t expect for the patriarch to answer the door, his brown eyes meeting Kimi Raikkonen’s blue eyes. 

Ollie grinned and politely greeted, “Mr. Raikkonen-!” 

“-You’re not the delivery man,” Kimi stated bluntly. 

Well… Ollie stood there awkwardly and nodded, “I am not, sir. I am here for Romania.” 

“…Bwoah?” Kimi asked, his head tilting as he watched Ollie nod in confirmation. “I was not told.” 

“I- uh,” Ollie’s demeanour grew awkward and uncomfortable as he stammered, “She- she didn’t tell you?” 

Now this could go two ways: The British driver would have to go back to his accommodation in Milan and wallow in self-pity because Aroma Raikkonen had completely forgotten about their plans during the summer break OR he would die in the hands of Kimi Raikkonen because Kimi’s daughter had forgotten to tell her father about the said plans. 

Either way, Ollie knew he was screwed. 

Kimi stated, his typical indifference seeping through his voice, “I can check with her.” 

Ollie sighed in relief and smiled politely, “Thank you-“

Kimi had already shut the door on Ollie, making the younger man sigh and wait by the front porch for five minutes…

Then five turned to ten…

Then ten turned to fifteen. There was no sign of Kimi. No signs of Aroma either. 

Ollie sighed and took his phone, trying to ring and text Aroma. There was nothing. So he did the next best thing and rang the only other guest in the Coppola-Raikkonen household. 

“Ciao, Ollie,” Andrea Kimi Antonelli spoke from the other side of the call, in the background was a multiplayer game of FIFA.

“Hey Kimi, listen,” Ollie started and looked around while he spoke, “You’re inside, yes?”

“Yes,” Andrea said shortly as he let out a ‘Idiot! Johann!’ “Anyway, why do you ask?”

“I’m outside—“

It seemed like Ollie was distracting the boy from an intense online game with him and Kimi Raikkonen’s eldest boy Jo. Because the next thing that interrupted Ollie was a, “Andreaaaa! What did you do?!” 

“Listen, if you’re looking for Aroma she’s streaming— okay, ciao!” Beep.

Ollie was on the verge of tears; Being left alone in front of the house of the girl he was wooing (supposedly) by her father wasn’t in Ollie’s bucket list this summer break. He could have sworn that Kimi Raikkonen hated him. 

Now he did the last best thing: pay his way into the house.

[OLIBEAR8 HAS DONATED €5: “i just spent money so you can open the gate for me] Aroma listened to her text to speech donation as she was preoccupied from playing her game and paused briefly. “Huh?” She asked and looked at the text. 

She didn’t even realize who it was until she saw the donor. It was Ollie. 

“Ollie..?” The moment she peered down on her phone she saw the countless notifications on the screen. 

oli 🐻: hello 👋

oli 🐻: miss maam 🤓🤓 i’m downstairs

oli 🐻: if u see this i’m stranded downstairs. i can hear ur little siblings laughing at whatever ur father is saying

oli 🐻: if u see this i’m also prolly dead lmaoooo plz come downstairs

5 missed calls from oli 🐻

oli 🐻: aroma 😭 please i’m begging

“What the hell…” Aroma trailed off before asking aloud (particularly to no one), “Did Dad not even realize you’re at the front?” 

But it seemed like she was heard by a certain individual who remained watching her stream at the front porch since he donated once more.

[OLIBEAR8 HAS DONATED €5: “he did but he doesn’t like me”]

“Oh my goodness,” Aroma muttered and paused her stream, standing up as she said, “Dad needs to stop with the Iceman act already!” 

“Dad!” 

Maybe her father had good intentions, Aroma thought, but she knew better. Her father might be reserved half the time, but it didn’t mean that he had a hidden agenda when it came to her dating life. 

So much for being a ‘cool father,’ right? 

♡ moony’s reminder 🅶 (general): @hiraethrhapsody @avaleineandafryingpan @enhacolor @roseandtulips @woweewoowa @magnummagnussen @happy-nico @architect-2015 @hiireadstuff @biancathecool @scorpiomindfuck @stinkyjax @youdontknowmeshh @hyneyedfiz @decafmickey @lightdragonrayne

[silver-ink-iron-words]

“Are you happy, in this relationship?”

The protagonist’s entire body stilled. “Of course.”

“Really? Because I’m not.”

The two of them were in the most romantic setting the protagonist could think of – a little boat winding lazily down a gentle river, shaded by lush forest on both sides. It was bathed in the soft golds and pinks of early evening.

“I can be better,” the protagonist said.

But their soulmate only smiled. “That’s impossible, dear. You’re already perfect.”

The protagonist’s chest tightened as though boulders were piling atop it.

“You’re smart,” the soulmate went on. “You’re kind. You get my sense of humour. And you have this way of viewing everything . . . [Protagonist], it’s breathtaking to see the world from your eyes.”

“Then why are we having this conversation?”

“You’re my perfect puzzle piece. The matching shoe . . . all that dumb stuff they said about soulmates. But this . . .” They gestured to the romantic scenery. “I wasn’t meant for this.”

The protagonist stared at the slow churning water. “Are you breaking up with me?”

The soulmate gave an infuriating shrug. “I don’t know.”

“Well, alright then.” The protagonist laughed, tight and bitter. “Just tell me when you decide whether or not you’re going to ruin my life.”

“See, this is what I hate about having a soulmate. About being a soulmate. Why do I have to be this wonderful, amazing thing for someone else? The thing you need to live, apparently. Why can’t I just be a person?”

“I never asked you to stop being a person.”

“I’m not making myself clear.” The soulmate sighed. “Just, doesn’t it strike you as odd that they never presented this soulmate thing to us as a choice? Like, of course we were destined to find each other. Of course we’d want to be together forever.”

“Well yeah. That’s what a soulmate is.”

“You’re never just . . . absolutely furious that no one ever told us there were other ways to be happy? That we didn’t have to do this?”

“You’re still not making sense. What could be better than a soulmate?”

“I don’t know. Dinner parties. Family road trips. A bunch of friends sitting around a campfire, getting high together ’til the sun comes up.”

“Those are all things the two of us can do together.”

“But they’re also things we can do with everyone else. Fuck, [Protagonist]. Give me one reason why I have to value one person over literally everybody else in my life. Why do people always insist that I need a soulmate?” Their eyes glistened, and their voice was hitched. Almost pleading. “Sometimes I feel like I’m getting fucking brainwashed.”

“Right. Because loving your own soulmate is brainwashing.”

The soulmate leveled a stare at them. “Do you even love me?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re good at hiding it. And you never take it out on me. Which, in my own way, I love you for. But I’ll see the dark circles under your eyes. And the moments when you go really quiet. And the mornings where we wake up together, and I can tell that it actually hurts you to talk to me.”

“[Soulmate] . . .”

“Tell me right now that you’re happy, and I’ll believe you.” Their eyes bore into the protagonist. “I’ll never question you on it again.”

The protagonist paused. They had what they wanted, right?

The soulmate seemed to imagine an alternative life for themself full of people and community. But in the protagonist’s darkest hours of the night, they imagined . . .

The mud soft beneath their boots, the invigorating rain splashing their face. The smell of rich, dark soil. The sound of wind in the treeline. Of twittering, of rustling, of life. The budding spring branches, reaching like children’s hands up into the infinite sky.

The protagonist, alone. Just them and the wide-open world. It wasn’t lonely, never lonely. It was a freedom, the likes of which they’d never actually known.

But still.

The protagonist peered steadily at the person they’d always been fated for.

I can’t be the fuckup who couldn’t make it work even with my own soulmate. 

“I’m happy,” the protagonist lied.  

----

Loosely inspired by this post by @aromantic-spinda

A-spec stories taglist:

@feline17ff , @piept , @doublericenobeans , @vioqueenofmushrooms , @pigeonwhumps , @thelazywitchphotographer 

[phosphorusab]

Things that I liked about Ricky Potts being an explicitly disabled character (because rewriting him as able bodied with curable PTSD, because people don’t want to see/work with real disabled people onstage is fucking stupid)

1. Him being disabled should’ve been an opportunity for other disabled actors, who often don’t get a chance to shine in big roles. It’s also kinda weird to suggest that one’s disabilities will disappear when they go to the afterlife, as if they wouldn’t be allowed in if they didn’t. Karnak letting Ricky speak/sing was important, but removing his crutches/wheelchair is just erasing the fact that Ricky was disabled in his life.

(Also, when Karnak was going over Ricky’s life, I’m pretty sure the characters casted as Ricky’s parents made random hand gestures instead of actual ASL or LSQ. I find it bizarre that the Potts family would just make up a whole new language, rather than learn ASL/LSQ with Ricky when he lost his ability to speak.)

I could totally see some really creative and neat choreography with crutches or a wheelchair. Hell, Glee fucking did that with an able bodied actor. There are literally people who do dancing tricks with crutches out there, why can’t they do that on stage? It honestly shows a lack of creativity.

2. While all the other Ricky’s were very talented, there was a big difference between how Yannick Mirko portrayed him and how the able bodied Ricky’s did. I noticed that some of the able bodied Ricky’s portrayed him as very nervous, soft spoken, passive and genteel, almost to the point of woobiefication.

Yannick Mirko’s Ricky was none of those things. His Ricky was very sassy and charismatic (which makes sense for Space Age Bachelor Man, now that he got to express his thoughts out loud) and did not take any shit from Ocean.

3. Speaking of Ocean, I think that Ricky being disabled really showed Ocean’s true colors- casual cruelty and literal eugenicist ideals in What The World Needs (Ocean is arguably the character who goes through the most growth in the show).

Ocean is a character that pretends she’s all woke and stuff, but her core philosophy is social Darwinism. Her song demonstrated to the audience that she was not only better than the rest of her peers, but that she was the only choir member fit enough to live. In the song, Ocean mentions that Ricky didn’t deserve to survive the crash because of his (in the original script) degenerative disease, so reviving him would be a waste.

Despite her true feelings about how her life should be prioritized over Ricky because he was disabled, she made a big deal about adding him to the choir despite his mutism, using him as a prop to make the choir look more “inclusive”.

She also constantly infantilizes Ricky for being disabled, and was at first disgusted that “sweet little Ricky Potts” had sexual desires and enjoyed porn. One thing I noticed when Yannick Mirko was Ricky, is that he visibly did not like Ocean, unlike the Ricky’s of the past who seemed to be afraid of her. Mirko’s Ricky would give Ocean attitude, talk back to her- and I remember this one moment where Ocean pushed Ricky around in his wheelchair without asking, causing Ricky to be visibly irked and freaked out.

Ocean is always shown to be in the wrong. So the lesson the audience *should* learn from her is to not treat disabled people as a burden on others and to not infantilize them, they are adults with the same needs, interests and sexual desires as able bodied people.

4. Yannick Mirko being cast as Ricky should have set a positive precedent for other disabled actors. Instead, it seemed like the opposite happened. It just goes to show how shallow and cruel the theatre world is to disabled actors. As an actor with a chronic illness that causes lots of pain and fatigue, I can do literally everything my able bodied castmates can do- I just would need some accommodations and support. I’ve had that before, it’s literally not that hard to be accommodating. But some people see people with a health issue and think that they are such a burden to work with.

A new layer of irony has been added to Ocean’s line, “Accessibility for All 🥺”.

And it really stings.

[theres-a-tvjoe]

as long as stars are above you - drw x sfk

Hi hi hi I’m back with another sanny fic because I can’t stop myself 🫡

Set in the same universe as ‘nice guys throw punches’ and just unmitigated, completely indulgent fluff.

Tags: proposal (!!), engagement, conspiring siblings, family fluff, softest boys in the world

READ ON AO3

- - -

“Okay, I’m just pulling up to the house to pick up Sam,” Josie whispers into the phone, not waiting for Danny to even say hello. She has one hand on the steering wheel of her car as she pulls up out front of the Kiszka family home, peering out the window to make sure Sam isn’t waiting outside.

“Why are you whispering?” Danny whispers back, sitting in his own car a block away where he won’t be spotted. “They can’t hear you.”

“Shut it, asshole,” Josie rolls her eyes, knowing Danny will be able to hear that even over the phone. “Which one of us is taking this plan seriously?”

Danny snorts. “I really doubt anyone is taking this plan more seriously than I am, considering it was my idea and I’m about to walk myself into the proverbial lion’s den.”

“A lion’s den you’ve had your own key for since you were like, 15. I’d hardly classify your second family’s home as a lion's den.”

“You know what I mean,” Danny nearly whines, sighing. “I’m nervous, Jo.”

Josie sighs fondly, sitting back against the driver’s seat as she puts the car in park.

“I know you are,” she says gently. “But Dan, they adore you. You’ve been a fixture in the Kiszka family for over a decade - well before you and Sam ever started dating. And now you’ve been together, what? Five years?”

“Six,” Danny provides, heart fluttering.

“Right,” Josie says. “So this isn’t going to be a surprise to them. They’re going to be thrilled and they’re going to be so touched that you wanted to do this.”

Danny exhales, nodding even though he knows Josie can’t see him.

“I just -,” he swallows. “Yeah. You’re right. Thanks, Jo. And thanks for helping.”

“You’re my big brother, Danny,” Josie says, her smile obvious through the phone. “And Sam is one of my favourite people - it’s not like it’s a hardship to hang out with him, even if I have to pretend it’s for a super secret early birthday present for you.”

“You better get me something good,” Danny says, smiling.

“Oh yeah, don’t worry,” she quips. “I already pre-ordered your big pile of nothing, just have to go pick it up -”

Danny hears a door close in the background of the call, and his heart kicks in his chest.

“Oh shit, he’s coming out,” Josie whispers. “You’ve got two hours - go ask for your blessing! Love you, bye!”

Danny doesn’t even get a word in before she’s hung up. He blows out a breath, starting his car and waiting until he’s sure Sam and Josie are gone before driving up to the Kiszka family home. A break from touring and Christmas coming up means everyone is home under one roof.

Danny gets out of the car, wiping his hands on his pants and taking a steadying breath. Here goes nothing.

-

Danny knocks twice on the door before opening it, just as he’s done since he first met the Kiszka family. It’s so instinctual even though Karen constantly reminds him he doesn’t need to worry, that he’s welcome any time.

“Knock knock,” he calls out, praying his voice doesn’t betray how nervous he is. He can hear sounds coming from the living room, the odd twang of a guitar amidst lively conversation.

Karen’s head pokes around the corner and she smiles widely, immediately coming forward with arms open for a hug.

“Hi honey!” she says, pulling Danny down for a hug. “I didn’t think we’d see you today - Sammy just left.”

“I know,” Danny says, hugging Karen tightly. She’s always been so kind to him, welcoming him with open arms as a gangly teenager and never letting him go. “I actually came to see you all, if that’s okay.”

She presses a firm kiss to his cheek, patting the other one with a gentle hand.

“Of course it is, Daniel, you know that,” she gently admonishes him. She brushes a few errant snowflakes from his shoulders before leading him to the living room. “Come sit, we just made coffee.”

Everyone is seated comfortably in various spots, Jake reclined on the floor with his back against the couch, guitar in hand. Josh is folded like a pretzel in the arm chair, an obscenely large mug in one hand and a book of Mad Libs in the other (concerning, Danny thinks, because the last thing Josh Kiszka needs is a structured game for fart jokes, but he’ll worry about it later). Ronnie is sitting on the other side of the coffee table on the floor, working diligently at untangling a gnarled rope of twinkling lights.

“Hey kiddo,” Kelly says, smiling from where he’s seated on the couch. “Didn’t think we’d see you today - you want a coffee? Come sit.”

“I uh,” Danny clears his throat, wiping his palms on his pants again. God, why is he so sweaty all of a sudden? It’s snowing outside, for fuck’s sake. He’s wearing one of his favourite sweaters (re: one Karen bought him a few Christmases ago that’s covered in little knitted pine trees) and a nicer pair of pants, but he suddenly feels underdressed. “I came to talk to you guys, actually. All of you, if that’s okay.”

It seems to get their collective attention, Karen sitting with a worried expression next to Kelly and Jake setting his guitar down.

“Is everything okay?” Ronnie asks, hands stilling on the tangled lights.

“Yeah, yep,” Danny says, cracking his knuckles nervously. “It’s not - it’s good, not bad. I hope.”

“Sweetheart, why don’t you sit down?” Karen says gently, gesturing to the empty loveseat across from them all.

Danny nods, sitting.

He stands back up almost immediately, too nervous to sit still. He shifts on his feet, swallowing.

“Okay,” he says, more to himself than to the family sitting in front of him. Josh is giving him a worried look, and Jake’s gaze is steady but gentle. “Okay, yeah. So. Alright. Um.”

“Danny,” Josh says, shifting a little to sit forward. “It’s just us. What’s going on?”

Danny looks at them all, taking in the kindness and concern so evident on all of their faces. Faces he’s known for most of his life now. Faces he loves. Faces that are so reflective of the one he loves most in the world.

He nods, blowing out a breath. He makes himself sit down, resting his elbows on his knees and threading his hands together just so they’re occupied.

“You’ve all known me since I was so young,” he starts, praying his voice won’t break. “And you’ve never been anything but welcoming and kind. You gave me a second home like it was no big deal, fed me, cared for me, treated me like I was one of your own.”

Karen takes Kelly’s hand, squeezing it like she’s anticipating something.

“I want to thank you for that,” Danny says, looking at them. He’s doing his best to keep it together, but it’s getting harder by the second. “All of you. It means more to me than I could ever say, and I’m so grateful for each of you and the room you made for me in your lives. It’s a privilege that I don’t take for granted, and I want you to know that.”

“Of course we know that, Danny,” Kelly says, smiling softly. “We love you, kid.”

Danny nods, swallowing. He can feel tears burning behind his eyes, but resolutely keeps them at bay.

“I love you too, so much,” he says, and his voice wobbles a little. He clears his throat. “The respect I have for each of you and for this family is - I can’t even really put it into words. Your opinions and perspectives carry so much weight for me, and I know they do for Sam as well. You’re his world, you know? This family is everything to him, and he’s everything to me.”

“Danny -” Karen says gently, like she’s worried he’s about to fall to pieces.

He gives her a reassuring smile, laughing a little. “Sorry, I know this is kind of weird,” he says. “But I’m almost there, I swear. I just have to say this. It’s important.”

Karen nods, squeezing Kelly’s hand and giving Danny an encouraging nod. Josh, Jake, and Ronnie are still watching Danny carefully.

“I got Josie to take Sam out this morning because I wanted to do this just us,” he explains. He sits up a little, heart pounding. “To have this moment, this conversation. And - well, I guess it’s not really asking for your blessing because we all know that Sam is going to do whatever he wants regardless of what anyone says, but -”

Karen gasps, pressing her hand to her mouth.

Danny smiles, letting out a shuddering breath as he nods. He digs out a little box from his pocket, holding it in his hand.

“I’m going to ask Sam to marry me,” he says, and the words feel like a song. Like the perfect progression of chords, like a rhythm that never ends. He can’t help the nervous laugh that follows, because he just dropped his heart onto the coffee table and has to hope for the best. “And I wanted you all to know first, so that we could talk if, you know, if there was anything you were worried about.”

There’s a moment of silence, certainly no more than a few seconds, that feels like an eternity. And then it’s suddenly broken by a sound, a half hiccuped laugh punctuated by a sniffle.

It’s Jake. His chin is wobbling and there are tears filling his eyes faster than they can roll down his cheeks and he’s smiling.

“Oh, Jakey,” Josh sighs fondly with his own eyes shining, immediately getting out of the armchair to join his twin on the floor. He wraps his arm around his shoulders, tugging him close.

“Jake,” Danny breathes, his own eyes burning. He sits forward, half out of his seat. “Are you - hey, it’s okay -”

Jake shakes his head, still smiling while wiping roughly at his eyes.

“No, it’s - these are happy tears, I swear,” he croaks, voice breaking and choked with tears. “Jesus, Danny. You’ve been our brother for so long, and now it’ll be official.”

“If you’ll have me,” Danny manages to say, tears finally spilling over as he looks at them all. “If Sam will have me.”

That seems to set everyone into motion, all of them getting up and tugging Danny into a massive hug. They’re all crying, happy tears and excited laughter bubbling from the tangle of limbs they’ve made.

“Oh, this is just so special,” Karen sniffs, finally letting Danny go and wiping her eyes. “My first son-in-law!”

“Wait wait,” Ronnie says, holding her hand out. “You had a ring box. Show us!”

“Jake just stopped crying,” Danny teases, earning a whack from the younger twin. He opens the little black box, revealing the gold and black band inside. Golden letters shimmer through the silken black enamel:

ALWAYS

“You’re setting the bar way too high,” Ronnie sniffles, taking the ring out and looking at it. “He’s going to love it. God, he’s going to freak.”

“When are you going to do it?” Josh asks, taking his turn with the ring.

“Well, I was thinking tonight,” Danny says, grinning. “We’ve got a few days before Christmas, so we can celebrate and still leave room for actual Christmas stuff.”

“And then it’s your birthday,” Jake points out.

“Yeah, but that’s whatever,” Danny waves it away. Jake rolls his eyes in disagreement.

“There's supposed to be really nice snowfall tonight,” Danny continues. “So I think we’ll go for a walk. I’ll bring something warm to drink and tell Sam to bring his camera and then,” he wiggles the ring box.

Karen claps her hands together, looking at Kelly. “We can have everyone over tonight,” she says excitedly. “Danny, your family knows, right?”

Danny laughs, her excitement endearing. “They know, yeah.”

“Okay, oh my god,” she says, half spinning on the spot looking for her phone. “Kelly, call Dan and Lori, tell them we’re coming over. We can get everything ready there and then bring it back here so Sam doesn’t suspect anything. We’ll get champagne and snacks and when the boys get back we can surprise Sam and celebrate!”

“Mama,” Josh laughs, reaching out and grabbing her shoulders. “Maybe check with Danny and see if that’s something he wants as part of the night.”

Karen immediately presses her hand to her mouth, turning and grabbing Danny’s hands.

“Oh, of course,” she says. “I’m so sorry, honey! I’m just excited. But whatever you want, if you want the night to yourselves -”

Danny shakes his head, pulling her in for a hug.

“That all sounds amazing,” he insists. “Having everyone together would be perfect.”

Karen claps, nearly jumping up and down on the spot. She turns, looking at her family.

“Alright, Kiszkas. We have work to do!”

-

By the time Danny manages to wrangle Sam out of the house for an evening walk, the sun is beginning to set. They’d enjoyed dinner just the two of them, the house conveniently empty.

“Alright, I’ll admit it,” Sam says, looking through the lens of his camera. “You were right. The light is really nice - god damned winter golden hour shit.”

Danny whistles. “Wow, I might have to write that down. You admitted I was right about something.”

“I’m known for my benevolence.”

“Uh huh,” Danny laughs, holding out a hand for Sam to take. It’s cold, but not so cold that it’s miserable to be outside. They’re bundled up, noses turning pink and breath visible, but the way the setting sun reflects off the snow makes it all worth it.

“Let’s go this way,” Danny says, leading Sam down the path to the nearby park. “Josie was telling me they strung up a bunch of twinkling lights over the bridge.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to put the moves on me, Wagner,” Sam wiggles his eyebrows. “Are you trying to romance me? Woo me? I’m a tough sell, you know.”

Danny snorts. “Oh believe me, I know. You make me work for it.”

“Yeah, but worth the effort,” Sam grins, swinging their hands. They talk about everything and nothing, Sam artfully dodging questions about what he did during the day, thinking he’s keeping a birthday surprise for Danny a secret.

It’s incredibly endearing, and it eases the nerves fluttering in Danny’s stomach.

“Oh wow, that’s pretty,” Sam says, taking his hand back from Danny to snap a photo of the snow dusted park bridge. It’s small, arching pleasantly over a now frozen pond, and twinkling golden lights are strung from the trees on either side and through the railings.

“Here,” Danny says, holding his hand out for the camera. “Go stand on the bridge, I want to take a picture of you.”

“You have a million pictures of me,” Sam says, but hands it over as he walks onto the bridge, standing in the middle.

“Yeah, but this one is special,” Danny murmurs, holding the camera up to his eye. Sam is smiling widely, the glowing sun behind Danny lighting him just enough to paint him gold.

Once he takes it, he moves to join Sam on the bridge, thankful they have the park to themselves in the quiet evening.

“C’mere,” he says, pulling Sam close and pressing their cheeks together. He holds the camera out, hoping it’s at least a little in focus as he takes the selfie.

“That’s what front facing phone cameras are for, grandpa,” Sam teases, still smiling.

“Yeah, yeah,” Danny says. He swallows, heart beating a million miles a minute. “Hey, do me a favour?”

“Nope,” Sam says immediately, popping the p as he starts fiddling with his lens cap.

Danny rolls his eyes, because of course.

“Just -,” he grabs Sam by the shoulders, turning him to face the opposite way, his back to Danny.

“Don’t manhandle me, Daniel -“

“I have a surprise for you, you brat,” Danny laughs. “Shut up and let me do it.”

Sam makes a delighted noise. “Well in that case, carry on.”

“Thanks,” Danny says drily.

The sun is below the horizon now, stars just starting to twinkle overhead. The lights in the trees and on the bridge are casting everything in the golden glow and - just as Danny takes a deep breath - big, fluffy snowflakes start to fall.

He takes the ring box out of his jacket pocket, and lowers himself to one knee. He doesn’t feel the cold - every bone in his body, every nerve ending, every cell, every bit of stardust he’s made of is focused solely on Sam.

“Okay,” Danny says, thankful his voice comes out steady as he opens the box. “You can turn around now.”

Sam turns around, and it takes him a split second to realize Danny isn’t standing. His hands come up to his heart so fast that it almost looks like it hurts.

“Are you fucking serious,” he blurts.

Danny laughs, head thrown back. It’s the most Sam reaction he could’ve hoped for.

“Yeah, Sammy,” Danny says softly, smiling up at him. He can feel the tears in his eyes, but he couldn’t care less. “I’m serious. You have to let me say what I want to say, alright?”

For once - ever, maybe - Sam says nothing, simply nodding, hands over his heart like he’s trying to keep it in his chest.

“Shit,” Danny laughs, wiping at his eyes. “Was really hoping I’d keep it together.”

“You’re doing great,” Sam nearly whispers, the tremble in his voice so painfully sweet that it brings fresh tears to Danny’s eyes.

Danny takes a steadying breath, looking up at Sam.

“Sam,” he starts, no longer fighting the emotion in his voice. “You’ve been my best friend for what feels like my whole life, and if I’m honest, I think I’ve loved you for just as long. You push me, you challenge me, you comfort me, and you understand me like no one else in the world. Every day that I wake up next to you feels like I’ve won the fucking lottery.”

“Even when I steal the blankets?” Sam asks, tears running unchecked down his cheeks.

“Yeah,” Danny laughs, sniffling. “Even when you steal the blankets. Sometimes I think about what life would be like if we hadn’t found each other, if fate or the universe or god or whatever hadn’t brought us together. And… I can’t see it. Not because it’s too painful to imagine, but because I know that there’s no world, no universe, no reality where there’s a me without you. There’s no existence where there’s a Daniel Wagner without a Samuel Kiszka to follow anywhere and everywhere. And -“

He has to take a second to wipe his eyes and take a breath, voice breaking.

“And that makes me feel like I could take on the world, Sam,” he whispers. “It makes me feel unstoppable. Knowing I have you next to me, in my corner and by my side, it makes me feel like there’s nothing I couldn’t do.”

He reaches out and tugs one of Sam’s hands down, pressing his lips to the cold skin of his knuckles.

“You make me so fucking happy, Sam,” he says. “And if you’ll let me, I want to spend the rest of my life doing everything I can to make you feel the same way. Will you marry me?”

There's a long moment of silence, and then before Danny even registers that the other man has moved, his back is hitting the snow and he has his arms full of Sam Kiszka.

“Yes!” Sam cries, the sound muffled by Danny’s hair and jacket and probably a mouthful of snow. He’s pressing furious kisses to Danny’s neck, then his jaw, and then all over his face, each punctuated by another ‘yes!’.

Sam sits up, straddling Danny’s lap, hair flying wild and snowflakes kissing his eyelashes.

“I’m making Daniel Wagner my husband!” He whoops, so loud that Danny can’t help but laugh. He rests his hands on Sam’s thighs, content to stare up at him for as long as he can.

Sam looks like an angel, cheeks flushed with cold and lashes still damp with joyous tears. Danny takes Sam’s left hand, setting the ring box on his own chest to pull the gold band out.

“There,” he says, sliding the band onto Sam’s ring finger. “Official.”

Sam lifts his hand, looking at the band. His smile is radiant, eyes shining.

“Always,” he reads aloud. He leans down, holding Danny’s jaw with his left hand as he brushes their noses together. “Promise?”

Danny smiles. “Promise.”

-

“Shh, they’re coming!” Ronnie hisses, nearly skidding on the floor as she runs to hide behind the couch.

All the lights are out in the Kiszka home, everyone tucked behind various pieces of furniture to conceal themselves from view. Strung over the fireplace is a massive banner, lovingly but hastily painted with hearts and ‘CONGRATULATIONS DANNY AND SAM’.

“Man, this will be awkward if Sam said no,” Josie remarks, yelping when Lori pinches her side in reprimand.

The sound of a key turning in the lock makes everyone quiet down, the door opening.

Sam is tapping his boots against the hallway mat, shaking off the snow. “Daniel, if we still have the house to ourselves then I’m about to give you the ride of your life -“

Danny’s eyes go wide, cheeks flushing. He knows everyone is within earshot. “Sam -“

“SURPRISE!”

The lights turn on and everyone pops up from behind couches and bookshelves. Sam nearly jumps out of his skin, screaming and instinctively grabbing for Danny.

“Thank god we interrupted that sentence,” Josh quips, blowing into a paper party horn. Danny looks up at the ceiling, shaking his head with a grin.

“Well?!” Karen asks, bouncing on the spot.

Sam doesn’t move for a long moment, face impressively passive.

Danny pinches him and Sam breaks into a wide grin, holding up his hand. The gold band is there, a perfect fit.

“We’re engaged!” He hollers, immediately kicking off his shoes and jumping into the chaos of family, everyone shouting in excitement and piling in for hugs.

Danny grins, taking off his jacket and shoes, letting himself savour the view for just a moment before joining the fray.

“I like the banner,” he says once he’s exchanged hugs and kisses with everyone, putting his arm around Sam. Around his fiancé.

“Let’s just say there was a battle of wills to end up where we are now,” Dan says, giving his son a rueful smile.

“I maintain ‘same penis forever’ is a great engagement banner,” Josh says, somehow now in possession of a paper party hat that says ‘bridesmaid’ on it.

“It is,” Jake agrees.

“Alright,” Karen claps her hands, ignoring the twins. “Time for a toast!”

Kelly pops a bottle of champagne, filling glasses as everyone passes them around. There’s music playing in the background, the fireplace lit, the Christmas tree twinkling in the corner. Danny’s pretty sure he’s never been happier in his life.

He pulls Sam close, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“We’ve all been family for so long,” Dan says, holding up his glass. “But it feels like magic to welcome you officially into the family tonight, Sam. We couldn’t ask for anything more in a son in law, and couldn’t ask for anyone better for Danny. We love you.”

Danny presses his face into Sam’s hair, trying to keep more tears at bay, but it’s useless. He’s too happy, too fucking grateful for this moment.

“Thank you, Dan,” Sam says, eyes shining.

“And to our gentle giant,” Kelly says, raising his glass. “Danny, it’s our honour to officially welcome you to our family. You’ve been a brother to Jake and Josh since you were just a kid, but to Sam you were always more - his lighthouse, his rock. You make each other better, and we are so proud of you both.”

“To Sam and Danny,” Jake calls, lifting his glass.

“To Sam and Danny!”

The clink of glasses sounds like ringing bells as Danny leans down to kiss Sam properly, smiling against his lips.

“To us,” he whispers.

“Hell yeah,” Sam grins. “Always, baby.”

[sophies-junkyard]

Seeing the new PJO content has me thinking way too hard about growing up. Its crazy because it’s like…. I think that chapter of my life is over? Which is a BIZARRE feeling. It’s all pretty stupid to write out but I’m drinking coffee and staring out the window and don’t have class for another 6 hours so lemme scribble some thoughts.

I read the Percy Jackson books when I was the same age as the characters, and so whenever I look back on those stories I sort of… remember them as peers? I remember how much I related to them and looked up to them. It was the first story that ever told me my ADHD could be a gift, and that it made me just like my heroes. It was so, SO important to me. I JOINED TUMBLR for the PJO fandom! I made camp t-shirts and painted necklace beads! I learned to draw because the fanart inspired me. Those books were such an escape for a lonely kid. The characters grew up right alongside me, and eventually got older than me. So when I picture our trio I still picture people… more competent than me? People I would aspire to be. But seeing that trailer and remembering like… holy fuck they were kids. I was a kid. This is a faithful adaptation because they were TWELVE… where did the time go?

It’s just strange because if you scroll back through my tumblr you’ll find a kid who camped out for the release of HOH. Who saved her allowance for a year to get an autographed copy of the Blood of Olympus. Whose eyes would glaze over in euphoria at the idea of my favorite thing in the world coming to screen. At the idea of a new BOOK!! And from Percy’s perspective?? That girl would’ve exploded. This was HER blog! Push a few buttons and you’ll find her!

So how odd is it that… it’s simply not for me anymore. When I saw that the book was set in Percy’s senior year of high school, I had a tiny flash of disappointment. Obviously I can’t relate to an 18 year old, and I felt myself frowning. “Why isn’t Percy for ME anymore?” I wondered. And I immediately felt silly. The answer is because… I don’t need that world anymore.

They’re not making this show for me. They’re bringing it back for the next generation of kids who need those role models and those stories. When I watched the trailer I thought “oh that’s cool” instead of “oh my god I can’t wait!!” Because it just doesn’t make my brain light up like it used to. I’m never going to relate to it like I once did. Ever. And that’s okay because I’m not that kid anymore! Insane.

It’s not like the series doesn’t mean anything to me anymore. There’s a copy of The Lightning Thief on the bookshelf directly across from me. Its smooshed between The Secret History and a level 4000 Spanish textbook. It’s yellowed with age and shredded around the corners. The first sentence has been underlined repeatedly in smudgy mechanical pencil. There are about a thousand folded pages and the back cover is missing. I don’t remember the last time I opened it, but it’s moved with me for years now and I have no intention of letting it go.

Those stories and that fandom shaped me into the person I am today. I wanted to be brave like Percy and smart like Annabeth. I believed it was possible because I saw myself in them, and it turned out to be true. So while it’s sad to know those days are behind me, I’m so SO glad that other kids will get to have that experience. I hope these stories live on for decades to come.

I don’t really know what the point of writing this was. I think I just wanted to have these thoughts written out somewhere. A sort of acceptance that time goes on and things change, ya know? And to clarify: this is NOT meant to discourage ANYBODY from watching the new series or reading the new book. People should absolutely go back to the things that bring them joy, should discover new worlds to escape to, etc. live your life baby! Hell, I’ll probably end up liking everything PJO related that floats across my dash. Nostalgia is a powerful thing. If you read this entire post I hope you have a great day lmao.

[punks-never-die205]

Souled Out

Fem Reader x Demon!Eustass Kid

CW: Blood, religious tones, original creation myth, ritual, violence, dubious consent, 18+

Chapter 2: Soul Stipulation

The demon’s eyes go wide at your declaration, and when it peers at you again, it feels like it’s trying to peer into you. The intensity of the gaze tickles the edges of your discomfort, but it’s not bad.

“Huh, it really is mostly gone. There’s bits and pieces hanging onto you, I guess that’s how you were able to survive.” It muses. “So you want me to help you find your soul, just so you can give it to me in payment?”

You nod. “If someone other than me is going to have my soul, I’d rather decide who gets it. I don’t like that it’s gone without my say.” You answer.

“Hmm…” Its eyes go half-lidded, a bemused smirk on its face. “The more you chirp little bird, the more I’m interested. Okay, is your blood offer all there is in our deal?”

“I know I included my body in the payment, and I’m not going to try and rescind that, but I do have a request regarding it.”

“If you say something ridiculous like ‘no sex’ to someone like me, I’ll tear this circle apart and drag you to the depths with me.” It promises testily, dark scales shivering over the smooth marble skin again.

“No, I don’t care about that. Even when I had my soul, I had no hang ups about casual sex, my request is that you don’t break or scar my body until we get my soul back.”

“Eh? You want me to be gentle for an indeterminate amount of time?” Its face crinkles, but you shake your head.

“I’m not saying you can’t hurt me; I’m saying that I don’t want new scars or broken bones. Even if it’s just for a moment, I want my soul and my body back exactly how they were before my soul was stolen.” You explain. “After that you can tear me apart if that’s what you want.”

“Mmm, I can accept that.” It agrees. “I have a couple stipulations of my own.”

“I… alright, what are they?” Frankly you had expected a demon would simply do as it pleased. That it would, instead, be making a list of things like a true contract, caught you off guard a little. Though, it made sense, according to the lore demons lived and died by contracts.

You had simply assumed that part of the lore was nothing more than a way for humans to fool themselves into trusting a demon.

“My name’s Eustass Kid. Call me that, or Master, and stop thinking of me as an it or a demon. I’m already annoyed by it.”

“Don’t read my mind then.” You retort.

“Some of that shit’s impossible to block out, especially when you’re thinking about me and looking at me. It’s like tryin’ to ignore someone yelling in your face, so fucking work on it.”

You let out a sigh and level a gaze at him and think to yourself how summoning Eustass Kid might be the biggest successful mistake of your life. But you’ll be damned if you were ever going to call him Master.

Eustass grins, licking his lips again. “Look here, honey pot, you sold your soul to a demon like me, you already are damned.”

“Are we agreed then, or do you have another stipulation?” You ask, ignoring the taunt.

“One more,” he says, stretching as all his perfect muscles shiver and roll. The action seems functional and not intended to seduce, but you could easily watch him do it again. “I expect to be fed.”

“… what do demons eat?” You’re hoping he’s not going to expect you to hunt humans for him.

“Whatever the fuck they want, doll face. Normal human fare works fine. I don’t need to eat souls or whatever shit people think we eat.” He adds. Looking down first he catches your gaze with a crooked grin. “I don’t have any clothes for this world either.”

Your brows furrow. “Wait - are you requesting room and board?”

“And clothes. I don’t think you want the kind of attention that would come from me walking around like this.”

“… I had already intended to provide for you as best I could, so that’s not an issue.” You say, pinching the bridge of your nose. It was refreshing to feel a twinge of emotion, but why did that emotion have to be this?

“The bed’s big enough, and if you want it all to yourself, then I can fit on the couch. I’ll need a couple hours to go find clothes that will fit you, and while my funds aren’t endless, I am capable of buying food for,” you look at his size and get your japes in while you can, “the small army I’m sure lives within your stomach.”

“A sense of humor, that’s impressive.” He grins, arms folded across his chest. “I can’t bitch anyway, but I’ll earn all that food when I find your soul, little contractor.”

“… (Y/N).” You say, standing up. “Breaking the circle will free you on this side, correct?”

Eustass grins. “Yup.”

You walk away and into the kitchen before coming back with a bucket of hot water. It’s tempting to throw it on him, but you’re not trying to push the limits of your contract. You toss the water across the floor and as soon as the blood wavers, the light dims, and the spell breaks. Eustass Kid steps forward and takes a deep breath before leering down at you.

You look up at him, somewhat blankly and are about to ask what’s on his mind when strong hands grab and lift you. Before you’ve registered that you’re moving you’re up against the nearest wall roughly.

Hot, surprisingly painted and hungry lips press into yours, coaxing your mouth open with impressive skill. The taste of the kiss isn’t bad, it’s sharp like fresh spices and cleaner than you expected. It was delicious. The intensity is enough that you have no control, and your breath is wrested from you as hot hands wander under your shirt.

The lack of air makes you dizzy and causes your blood to rush, and you let slip an approving hum. The actions are far from gentle, but there’s no violence in them. It’s more passion than you expected, and your only regret is how little you’re able to appreciate it.

If this was how kissing an otherworldly being was like, you should’ve researched demon summoning a decade before your soul had been stolen.

Eustass leans back, amber-gold eyes shining under their own power. You’re breathing heavily, but only because you were out of air. Your face is flush from the sudden assault, but you can see his eyes narrow.

“When’s the last time you kissed someone?” He asks. There’s irritation in his voice that isn’t showing on his face just yet.

“Twenty years ago.”

“Last time you soaked your pants?”

It was a crude way of putting it, but you knew what he meant. “… Twenty-three years ago.”

“Fuck.” He pushes you into the wall in aggravation before letting you slide down the floor. “No soul, no fucking soul!” You can see the scales shiver across his body again. “Wait - no soul means no emotions, that’s how you knew, wasn’t it?”

You nod.

His pupils are like slits, and his hair seems to actually catch fire for a brief moment. He grabs your collar and yanks you close, leaning down so you’re practically nose to nose with him.

“I’m not going to be happy if I’m going to be celibate while we look for your soul.” He growls, and you can feel frustration rolling off him. You’re almost envious of how emotional he’s getting.

“I didn’t say I had to enjoy it,” you point out. “You can use my body, I’m okay with that.”

He straightens up, both hands over his face. “No, it’ll just piss me off.” He leans back down, growling in your ear, tongue slipping along your skin as his voice melts over you. “The sounds, little mouse, the squirming, the struggling, the delicious moans that are my fault and the pleading cries for mercy as pleasure overwhelms the little morsel whose mind is shattering from my cock buried deep in their soaking - needy - fucking body - is the point!” By the end he’s leaned back, growling the last few words in aggravation.

“If all I wanted was to nut and be done with it, I wouldn’t have answered you.”

“We can figure something out.” You insist. “One problem at a time. I need to buy you clothes. You can’t prowl the clubs looking for a screamer naked.”

You change your clothes, the back of your shirt was smeared with blood when he slammed you against the wall and you can’t go out into public like that. Making sure you don’t have any blood on your skin you fix you hair up and gather your keys and wallet.

Eustass has been scowling at the ceiling the entire time, his tail whipping against the concrete flooring of the apartment.

“What were you like before your soul got snagged?” He questions absently. You’re pretty sure he’s asking what you were like in bed.

“You can read my mind; can’t you see memories or something?” You ask.

“I’m not an incubus or a succubus, you little shit.” He grumbles, looking up at the ceiling still caught up in his own frustration.

“I… I was probably your kind of twisted.” You admit, feeling his gaze shift to you. “I don’t remember it clearly anymore, and I can’t hold onto the emotions enough to be sure, but I reveled in pleasure. I miss it.”

“Sex?”

“Feeling.” You clarify. “I haven’t felt pain, pleasure, rage, aggravation, joy, love, grief, or much of anything in twenty-five years. Imagine knowing you’ve orgasmed, but not feeling anything. Your body tenses, your pulse quickens, and that’s it. There’s no rush, no euphoria, no fear that it’s too much, nothing.” Your words and expression are softer than you actually feel about it, but you can’t force the anger up to the surface. “I still have all my accessories, feel free to look around while I’m gone. I’m just going to get you some basic items, enough for you to buy what you want tomorrow.”

You start toward the door and stop for a second. “Look, this is all weird as fuck, and I appreciate you being reasonable about it.” You feel like you should say something more, but it’s hard to sort out. Emotions guided a lot of your decisions, like it or not, and your struggle with social interactions had only gotten worse as more time went by.

You give a small nod, and leave.

There’s a long silence in the room and then Eustass practically growls an exasperated sigh of frustration. “Feeling fucking sorry for a human.”

[dropintomanga]

A Shout-Out to the “Manga in Libraries” Guide

For those who don’t know, I’m a fan of borrowing manga from my local library. I’m very thankful that I’m in a situation where my library has managed to hold off budget cuts every year. And more importantly, there’s some damn good librarians in New York City who care about manga. Around 2021, I found out about a librarian in my area specializing in Japanese pop culture who started a website curating information on how to advocate for manga in libraries. The librarian’s name was Jillian Rudes, who has gone on to do amazing things in the North American library scene for manga. She’s the founder of Manga in Libraries and earlier this year, she released a book for teen librarians called “Manga in Libraries: A Guide for Teen Librarians” on how to get started in promoting manga for educational purposes at their respective library branches.

I managed to borrow a copy from my library and I’ll say that it’s a solid resource.

At first, I was surprised at the size of the book (it’s about 130+ pages) because I was somewhat expecting a huge book due to reading various large books on manga over the years. Don’t be fooled though because there’s a lot of great information found carefully catered to the librarian and educator audiences. Jillian starts off by saying “Why Manga?” followed by a introduction to manga itself, how the text needs to be read, the various genres, U.S. publishers, etc. 

The book is followed by chapters on developing a manga collection in a library, representation in manga, social-emotional learning, manga programming, and teaching in manga. Several interviews with notable manga experts are featured as well.

While every chapter is great, the strongest parts of the guide in my opinion are the chapters on social-emotional learning and teaching in manga. Jillian does an excellent job in explaining the core concepts of SEL and how they can be applied to libraries. She even discusses topics like emotional intelligence and the feelings wheel as well. Jillian makes a powerful case in how manga supports SEL using Komi Can’t Communicate as an example.

Jillian would later highlight Komi Can’t Communicate among other titles when she discusses how to use manga as a teaching tool in the classroom. She provides a template on how to go about creating a course on manga using her own experience in teaching manga to 12th graders at her school. It’s a very thorough one as Jillian explains specific activities she would incorporate to slowly get students engaged in learning through manga over a certain amount of weeks. The payoff is getting students REALLY involved in the teaching/learning process as they are told to create their own manga reading guides for the manga titles being discussed in their class.

As someone who doesn’t work in a library, I can only speak for the two chapters on SEL and teaching manga honestly because of my experiences and background in researching community-based initiatives for mental health. I’m all about thoughtful reflection with the help of peers and support systems outside of healthcare. I think Jillian does a wonderful job in explaining how manga can help in that area with those 2 chapters.

Reading the Manga in Libraries guide makes me glad that there are people who are trying to promote manga to teenagers in an educational manner. I think manga can change young lives for the better and I’ve seen it over time. Personally, I credit reading comics at a young age that got me on a journey to become a lifelong reader. I also like that the Manga in Libraries guide is in print because trying to find information on manga online can be a bit of a mess and very scattered. Jillian manages to condense a lot of resources in an easy-to-find manner for her guide.

Jillian makes a note in the end of the book that reading manga can create joy for those who read it. I believe it does for many people, especially teens who often feel out of place in the world we live in. And on that note, the Manga in Libraries guide is a joy that anyone interested in and/or advocating for manga education should not pass up on. 

[simcardiac-arrested]

scenecut

i dont know if you know this (looks around) but i fucking love robots. Like badly. it’s terminal. it’s so so terminal. if there’s some shit i’m watching or reading and there is a little robot thang i will fall in love with them immediately. #1 fave speedrun like ohhhh oh my god. good fucking gtacious. I LOVE ROBOTS SO MUCH !!!! IT’S LIKE. i dont even know where to start. i think their character design is always banger of course. i love futuristic sleek robots and i love robots that are big and clunky. love when they have wires and perhaps buttons and latches and other such things … love when their metal is rusty or perfectly shiny. LOVE IT ALL SO BAD !!!! love when robots don’t look like anything at all and are just these abstract fucking cubes but i also utterly love animal and creature adjacent robots and humanoid robots. just straight up human looking robots too you guys are ok you can get in the pile . second of all why i love robots. it’s the themes ma.n . it’s the themes and narratives. of being something Other. of being created by someone to do something specific and then growing to be your own person. of learning to be human and sometimes learning you don’t have to be human at all. of expressing yourself in your own way. of living in this world how you see fit, not how other people want you to. THERE ARE SO MANY POSSIBILITIES !!!!! and yeah look i know it’s hashtag problematic to interpret robots as aroace or autistic buuuuut idgaf IDGAFFF !!!! DIDNT ASK !!!!!!!!! I LOVE DOING THIS TO ROBOTS I AM HITTING U WITH MY AAA BEAM !!!! FOREVER !!!!!!!!! because robots as a whole just. don’t fit in. they are ostracized because they are not inherently human. and they often tend to have AAA traits of not really understanding humanity and attraction . Cuz like look im aroace and autistic and yeah it’s cool and sexy and whatever but also to be serious for a moment. it’s isolating! it’s lonely. i often feel isolated from my friends and peers and (joker voice) Society as a whole. because there are many things i do not understand just, on a fundamental level. and see robots do this too because of simply Being Created . being not Born Right into this world . and i lauve it. i love robots who’s core theme is Not Fitting In. sentient robots who can’t quite fully relate to humans but also no longer relate to normal programmed robots. CYBORGS !!! MY MAN GENOS FROM ONE PUNCH MAN iiii have been uatistic aabout him for far too long. because look he is a cyborg, he doesn’t fucking fit in anywhere in the opm universe—he is not human, but he’s also not a monster, but he’s also not 100% robot. he’s just his own thing. he often questions his humanity, and one of the main themes of opm is that we don’t change because we’re human, we are human because we change. and throughout the whole story you can see genos changing and opening himself up to the world and. OKAY INB4 THIS TURNS INTO AN OPM/GENOS RANT (sorry i love him so much it’s licherally not my fault) what im trying to say is like. robots. of the metal variety . 👍So gooud

[feminismisstillahatemovement]

Found a saved copy of this ask from a few years back, before my original tumblr got nuked for no reason. Still stand by it:

______________________________________

Anonymous asked: Do you believe all feminists are hateful? I use the word but I just want equality, and that includes standing up for trans people, male rape victims, etc

-----------------------

No, I believe the great majority of people who identify as feminist are otherwise rational, concerned, well-meaning people who have been hoodwinked and peer-pressured into supporting a hateful, bigoted and appallingly destructive ideology by having it sold to them as a force for good through a relentless campaign of hysteria-inducing propaganda and brute force attempts to corner the market on the word ‘equality’.

On the other hand, I think the great majority of radical feminists are either profoundly damaged or sociopathic individuals seeking to project their own internal uglinesses onto the rest of the the world, people we would all avoid like the plague if they did not have this ‘we just want to help the poor defenceless women, you don’t hate women, do you?’ mask to hide behind. And the problem is, all feminist theory (’The Patriarchy’, ‘rape culture’, ‘the pay gap’, etc) originates only with radical feminists - yes, becoming more diluted as it reaches the mainstream, but still exclusively rooted in the same unhinged, irrational, ideology.

Radical feminism is not fringe feminism but core feminism: the ‘why can’t we all just get along’ feminists don’t write the books on feminist theory taught to young, impressionable minds in gender studies classes around the world, or teach those classes, or draw up the petitions to lobby for anti-male legislation, or organize feminist action groups, etc. The feminists who make a life of it (and a living off it) are all RadFems, and the proclamations pretty much every single one of them make about ‘MEN’ would sound like the most unmistakably horrific genocidal hate speech to everyone overhearing them if they were only talking about any other group of people on planet earth. If you don’t believe me, just try mentally inserting the word ‘black’ or ‘gay’ in front of the word ‘men’ the next time you read any feminist text or listen to one of them rant.

If you want equal rights and treatment for all people, there are other words you can use to describe yourself rather than ‘feminist’ - such as ‘egalitarian’ - which are far less loaded with hateful bigotry and accompanying crazed ideological assumptions about the world. You don’t need 60 years of hysterical conspiracy theories to say you don’t want women or men to be discriminated against, all you need to do is say what you think.

So my recommendation for you would simply be to express what you think and believe on your own and in your own way, without being forced to adopt the ideological framework and scaffolding of a hateful political movement with its many accompanying agendas.

Distrust the hive mind. Be yourself.

[kindheart525]

Celestia’s sun shone brightly in the sky on this summer afternoon, bathing the world in a warmth that was toasty but not sweltering. A soft breeze blew over the land, creating a ripple along the lake’s surface. Anypony who peered into the lake would find their reflection distorted by the waves—a humorous sight.

Much like the aunt and niece relaxing on its beaches now.

“There’s a version of my Dad in your world? And he had a crush on Queen Twilight!?”

“Yeah! I almost can’t believe it myself!”

The two sat there talking and laughing, catching up on a whole lifetime they’d missed out on. A lifetime that was filled with so many joys yet so many sorrows. But now they finally had time to talk about it.

“But he’s a really nice guy, he stood up for the people he cared about when it counted and he sure was fun to be around. He was in a band…maybe he still is. And he had quite the sense of humor. If the Flash Sentry here was anything like that, I can see why Sunburst would have liked him.”

Sunset Shimmer chuckled to herself, reminiscing back to her high school days and long before that, when she was young and carefree and close with her little brother.

“I think he did mention being in a band at one point!”

Luster Dawn laughed along. The pain of her loss wasn’t gone, it would never go away completely, but for once she could also feel joy while remembering the ones she missed so dearly. Like they were still alive, in memory.

“He was in the royal guard, he had to be all serious for his job but when he was with us he was nothing but fun. Papa could be stressed a lot of the time but Dad was always making him laugh, it was almost embarrassing.”

She felt a deep pang of guilt remembering the last time she saw them.

“And well…I wish I hadn’t been so embarrassed. I didn’t want to be around them, I said a lot of things I wish I could take back, and—“

“So did I.”

Her aunt suddenly broke her spiral, taking her hoof in hers with a compassionate but wistful smile.

“I was an awful pony when I was younger. An awful person. Nothing was ever enough for me, I was always looking for more power—“

She stopped, not wanting to delve into her whole backstory.

“Anyway, my relationship with Sunburst suffered for it. I said a lot of things I wish I could take back too. I regret it all the time…”

Sunset started to feel choked up, but she focused back on the niece who needed her so much.

“I know exactly how you feel.”

These words meant the world to Luster, knowing she finally found somepony who understood her situation perfectly. Somepony older and wiser, who could help her get through it.

“How do you live with it?”

She asked, desperate for a nugget of wisdom.

“It can be hard. Really hard.”

Sunset admitted.

“But the version of me that was so nasty back then isn’t here anymore, I try every day not to be like her. And I hope that the ones I’ve lost would be proud of me, and the ones I meet in the future will know who I’ve worked hard to become. Just look at you!”

She pointed to Luster’s reflection in the water, her eyes focused on the real filly before her.

“I’ve only just met you and I already know you’re an amazing filly.”

“Really?”

Luster was humbled by this, she had spent so long wallowing in her regret that she often forgot to think about all the good qualities she had.

“Yeah! Witty, smart, talented, where do we even begin?”

Both of them laughed together, a weight lifting off their shoulders as they finally allowed themselves to just be.

It was a few minutes of just wordlessly enjoying each other’s company before Sunset spoke up again.

“You know, I’ve always wondered how my brother’s life turned out. If he was happy, if he ever found ‘the one’ or accomplished everything he wanted to. But I don’t have to wonder anymore.”

“Hm?”

“Because your dads raised you, and that’s all I need to know about them. They would be so proud.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Previous: Peach Pit Next: Ginger and Lemon Tea With Honey

[gardenofnineveh]

Lucerys is so Princess Diana-coded. Like ever seen that pic of Diana in a blue dress falling asleep days before she announced she was pregnant with Prince William? That’s so Lucerys. Literally the hair, the eyes!

Aemond is also Princess Diana-coded. Behind that tough psycho facade, it’s clear he needs love and help and more love, just Princess Diana did when her marriage with Charles started falling apart.

Engagement -

Media: Are you in love?

Lucerys: Why yes, of course? [blushing and casually showing off his sapphire engagement ring 💍 , yes even the engagement ring is Diana coded 😩]

Aemond: Whatever love may mean… [smiles at Luke cuz my boi mond ain’t a cheater!]

I need the really emotional and real marriage struggles, and Aemond finally going on record after years of staying silent and playing the bad guy in the royal family in the eyes of the public.

Interview -

Interviewer: There were reports of you, your Highness, struggling with self-image and trauma. Is that true?

Aemond: [Think the shy, downturned look from the bts interviews] Hm, yes. Yes, I did. Even though I did not realize at the time, I did. The scar… the missing eye.

Growing up I was not… the most handsome, or pretty, boy around. And people around me made that clear, but the eye situation magnified and intensified every problem I had… with people, family, and friends.

For a while, after the eye, I told myself I didn’t care. I rode Vhagar, the largest dragon in the world. I was doing better in both swordsmanship and my studies than my peers. But there was always something unsettling in my heart. Something I neglected and tried to overcompensate for. Hence, the tours in the Riverlands, the Stepstones. My behavior and so called “acting out” at Storm’s End… It really gets to you when the media always portrays you as the villain because well, I look like one. So I thought, why not let their dreams come true? Why can’t I really embrace being the villain?

It really took years of work and being in a loving relationship and just being recognized for simply who I am for me to really see that. That I was hurting, and I was reaching out for help but not in a way others may understand. That I wanted to have a stable married life and be loved.

Interviewer: How was your relationship with the Queen?

Aemond: Well, there were initially three of us in a marriage, so it was a bit crowded. [classically Diana omo]

She was and has always been a loving and wonderful mother to Luke, and being a father now, I can somewhat see why she was the way she was.

It came down to a choice, between she and me, for Luke. We forced Luke to make a choice. And I, as well as she, knew that I had no chance of winning.

Interviewer: What were your reactions when your separation from Prince Lucerys was announced to the public?

Aemond: Well, we have been living apart for a couple month by then, by the time it was announced on television. We never had an official separation, no. We just thought that living apart would have helped resolve the issues we had with our marriage.

Then the journalists caught wind of it and published photographs of Lucerys attending the Queen’s charity banquet alone, dropping off our children to school alone.

The people, when they saw this… I asked, when it was decided that a statement ought to be made on this matter, that the news is aired before the holidays because that way our children wouldn’t. They were at school, and they were very well-protected at school.

Interviewer: That was the one holiday where you weren’t there with your husband, is that right?

Aemond: Yes, I remember watching the Christmas messages to the country and the morning mass broadcasting on television alone. I didn’t know that Lucerys with 6 months pregnant was our third child. We haven’t seen each other for three, four months at that point.

I remember the red cloak he wore inside the church and really couldn’t hide it from the cameramen when they came outside after service was over. The country was in shock, seeing this live for the first, and I remember being there with them - shocked but a good sort of shock.

(All grown up, communicative Aemond muah)

And Luke would be backstage and be so supportive and proud of Aemond. Lucemond hugs 🤗