#they’ve been through/will go through enough | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 2 days

Text

Heavy

Summary: Reader's having a depressive episode and needs some comfort from her mate

Content Warnings: Depression

Author's Note: I should be finishing my Vamp!Rhys fic but I got sad and wrote this instead

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

Velaris is beautiful at night, from the glittering stars overhead, to the soft gurgle of the Sidra rushing over time worn stones beneath the city’s many intricate bridges. The music makes the whole city feel full of light and laughter, couples often dancing and humming in the streets. It’s one of your favorite places to be.

Usually.

Tonight it’s just… there. Though you stand in the heart of it, everything moves around you, never quite touching you. It’s as if you’re suddenly a stranger in the place you love the most, the emotional distance between you palpable.

You jam your hands in your pockets and keep walking, though you’re not really sure where you’re going, your body moving on autopilot. It’s been like that for a couple weeks now, if you’re honest, you’ll be half way through the day sometimes before you realize you’re not sure how or when you even got out of bed, or gotten dressed. Did you even eat? Kiss your mate good morning? Rhys has been working long hours in Illyria lately, most nights you’re already asleep before he’s even tumbling into bed, but, now that you’re thinking about it, that could also be because you’ve been going to sleep earlier too.

You frown at your boots as you walk, trying to remember when this happened. It’s not new, you’ve had bouts of this since you were a teenager, but they’ve been better thanks to regular sessions with Madja and some other healers. Art therapy in the Rainbow has helped too. Usually you can tell when you’re starting to slip into the darker places in your head, but it crept up on you this time.

By the time your mindless wanderings bring you back to the Townhouse, the light from your upstairs bedroom is already on, meaning Rhys somehow finished his business and beat you home. You’d only planned to grab some takeout so you wouldn’t have to cook, and yet, here you stand, hands as empty as your stomach.

The door opens before you can even reach for your key, soft light spilling out into the entryway. “There you are!” Rhys says by way of greeting, as if he’d been waiting by the door for you. Your mate leans in to place a quick peck on your lips as he guides you inside.

“Did you go to Rita’s with Mor?”

He should be able to tell you hadn’t, since you’re wearing the same sweatpants you had been for a week, but then again, he also hasn’t been home enough to know you haven’t changed out of them.

“No I…” you hate talking about this stuff, hate feeling like you’re burdening anybody with the weight you feel pressing down on your chest. “Uh, went to get dinner.”

Rhys stares down at your empty hands, eyebrows raised teasingly. “Did you forget to bring it back?”

You run a hand over your eyes. Cauldron they’re so heavy! Why is everything always so heavy? Your whole body feels like it’s made of bricks, just the effort to kick off your boots feels like it takes every single drop of energy you have left. “Sorry.” Even speaking feels like too much.

Rhys frowns, “Darling, are you ok?”

“Just tired,” you say, avoiding his eyes now.

He steps forward, placing a knuckle under your chin and tilting your face towards him. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m tired,” you repeat, but your eyes are watering now.

He stills, violet eyes roaming over you, assessing for the first time tonight how you look, the dark circles under your eyes. He knows you haven’t had trouble sleeping, he’s barely been able to wake you when he comes home at night. “It’s getting bad again, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, tears falling in earnest now.

Rhys’s features soften as he lifts you into his arms, the bond flooding with warmth and understanding as he says, “It’s not your fault. You can’t help it.”

You rest your head on his shoulder as he carries you upstairs. “I thought I was doing better… but everything just feels heavy again.”

He kisses your forehead gently as he climbs into bed and settles you down against his chest. Twisting, his wings unfurl so he can curl one around you, cocooning you in the warmth of his body. “What can I do to help?”

You wrap an arm around his waist as you settle your face against his chest, his heartbeat steady and even beneath you. Madja had said once that this was helpful if you got overly anxious, the steadiness of his breathing helping yours level out, and it helps now too, gives you something to focus on. It’s grounding and you let your breathing sync up, your chest rising and falling against his own. Madja hadn’t been able to stress enough how important it was to find something to ground you in the present when you got like this, lest your thoughts start to spiral deeper and deeper into the dark.

“Just need you to hold me for a little while,” you say.

Rhys pulls your favorite blanket up over the two of you before wrapping an arm around your waist. “I love you,” and the bond floods with more warmth than you think you deserve, but it doesn’t let up when those thoughts sneak in. “I’ll do anything you need me to.”

You place a gentle kiss to his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he replies, fingers tracing shapes in your back. “No one has all good days.”

“But nothing even happened,” you protest. “I just woke up one morning and it was just so heavy to be awake.”

He kisses your temple. “We can see Madja in the morning, if you need, but you can’t beat yourself up. You have no control over it.”

You press your temple into his chest and breath in the jasmine and citrus scent of him. “I hate it.”

He places another kiss to the top of your head. You know he hates it too, hates that it’s a battle he can’t fight for you, no matter how much he wants to. “It will pass.”

Rhys is warm, his presence soothing, the darkness that seeps from his skin on the days he hasn’t had the time to expel enough of it, drifting over your body in soothing motions. This is safe and quite and peaceful. Your body starts to settle more and more as time goes on.

“Do you really believe that?” You whisper. “That it’ll pass?”

“Yes,” he says. “It has before, and it will again.” Knowing he’s had the experience himself, you’re inclined to believe he’s right.

“I’m glad you’re with me,” you admit.

Rhys holds you a little tighter, “Till all the stars fall from the sky, my love.” He holds you all night, whispering all the things he loves about you as you start to fall asleep.

You let yourself fall into it, hoping tomorrow will be better.

#rhysand x reader #Rhys x reader #Rhys x reader fluff #rhys acotar #acotar fic #acotar fluff #my writing #my fanfic #fanfiction #Rhys fic

93 notes · View notes

fiveredlights · 2 days

Text

that daniel retirement au but like also loml by taylor swift where the love of his life was f1 until it turned into the loss of his life (because max will crawl through the screen and yell at me if i made him the loss of daniel’s life… even if the lyrics “the coward claimed he was a lion/i’m combing through the braids of lies/i’ll never leave/never mind” is very maxiel coded but i’ll be quiet no one needs to know me linking the ttpd songs to maxiel) and instead we’ll just say the lyrics “it was legendary/it was momentary/it was unnecessary, should’ve let it stay buried/oh what a valiant roar, what a bland goodbye” was the inspiration

Daniel finds Max sitting in the grandstand opposite the podium. He’s pretty sure there were a few straggling fans still sitting there, whether or not Max scared them away or promised them something to get the grandstand cleared out, he’s not sure.

He smiles when he notices Daniel walking through the seats, patting the one on his left and all Daniel can think is how wonderful and lovely Max has been through all this. If it was the other way around Daniel couldn’t promise he’d handle it the same.

Maybe it was a good thing it happened to him and not Max.

“Daniel? Are you okay?” Max notices, because he’s Max.

He plops down on the seat next to him and tangles their ankles together, needing something to stop him from floating high above the grandstand. “Yeah, Maxy. Just thinking. I’m okay.”

Max looks over and searches his face for any sign of lies and he must cover it well enough because he nods once, satisfied. His eyes never leave Daniel’s face, and that’s one thing that hasn’t changed over the years.

It’s always been: Walk in a room. Look for Max. Find that he’s already looking back, even if he shouldn’t be. Max has always been stupidly brave when it comes to them, so he tells himself he can be brave too when he reaches over and slides their hands together. Their fingers slot easily together, as they’ve done a million times over and he wants it for a million more.

“Daniel,” Max whispers quietly, looking down where their hands are linked together. He knows what he’s saying, what he’s asking. That once it’s out, it’s out.

Are you sure?, conveyed through the squeeze of a hand.

“I don’t care anymore,” Daniel laughs wetly, surprising himself. He hadn’t realise he was tearing up. “I’ve already given so much. I’m not going to let them take this away too.”

Max reaches over to brush the tears off his face, running his fingers lightly over cheekbones, trailing down to his jaw. It’s intimate, romantic, deliberate—there’s no denying the existence of a relationship when the photos come out. He hasn’t looked at the pitlane, but he knows that the photographers are there.

The photos are probably beautiful too.

But it’s not theirs.

He also knows there’s probably a couple of people from their comms team who are staring them down, but he finds that he doesn’t give a fuck anymore. He’s played his role, he’s done his part, he stopped being a F1 driver the second he got out of the car. He should be allowed to have this—they both should be allowed to have this.

Max runs his thumb over Daniel’s jaw for a couple seconds more before leaning down and kissing his forehead. He smiles, small and soft before Daniel shuffles down on the seat, leaning his head in the crook between Max’s neck and shoulder. They sit like that for a couple minutes, watching the pitlane get quieter and quieter as people start to leave.

“I love you,” he whispers, tilting his head up to meet Max’s gaze. “Thank you for doing this with me.”

Max’s gaze softens, a small smile creeping onto his lips. “Of course, Daniel.” He knocks their legs together and mumbles into his hair, “Always I said we would be together, no?”

He does know, all the way back in the beginning of the year where Daniel wanted nothing more than to melt into the sheets of the bed after another disastrous race, another race where the noise had grown louder, and Max had pulled him up and held him until he resumed some semblance of a person. How he reassured him that it was okay to let go of something he loved when it started to cause damage he wasn’t able to repair.

“I love you,” he whispers again, because he doesn’t say it enough for Max to love him the amount he does. He thinks if they chopped up every single atom in his body and rearranged it he would still end up loving Max. They’ve intertwined and weaved their way into each other's lives before they even realised what they meant to each other.

“I love you too, Daniel.” Max pulls where his hand has been on Max’s thigh and kisses the back of it, three times in quick succession before resting it back where it was. “I’m proud of you. It will be okay now.”

And when Max says it so earnestly, Daniel finds he starts to believe it too. If Max believed, Daniel would too.

They both watch as they close the shutter doors of his garage.

He hopes he’ll be able to visit one day and not be so angry about it anymore. One day where he’s not angry about his own career, not angry about the people or events that drove him down the road he thought wouldn’t appear so soon.

One day where he’s not so angry that the sport he loved so much stopped learning how to love him back.

(But that’s for the future.)

Right now he’s sitting in a grandstand with Max, who holds him with all the love in the world, like he’s the only thing that matters in the universe.

And he’ll go.

Quietly.

(bonus)

[Photo: Taken from a top down view; Max and Daniel’s ankles and feet tangled together, resting on the back of the plastic grandstand seats. His right hand is tangled in Max’s left, the ‘3’ tattoo on pinky is barely visible, their hands are resting on Max’s thigh.]

Liked by sebastianvettel and others

daniel3.jpg 🪢

View all 20,383 comments

maxverstappen1 💙

tengreenstopsigns I’M GOING TO BE SO INSUFFERABLE

8 December

#this is my offering to the race gods may both of the husbands do wonderful may daniel score some doints may max win etc #maxiel #five writes #daniel retirement au #me: he goes quietly #also me: he also comes out so not all that quiet but you can pretend the bonus doesn’t exist

93 notes · View notes

raineandsky · 2 days

Text

#117

tw: gun violence, murder

The hero gets out of bed, folds their sheets back the same as always, and starts their day.

They put the TV on for the background noise, but it’s far beyond that now. The hero can recite this news story word for word.

“—and what’s to say this fiend can be stopped? I’m joined here by villainy expert Joyce Peterson for a glimpse into what may be….”

The hero pulls a box out of the cupboard, throws some cereal into a bowl. The same flake as always bounces off the edge and escapes onto the floor. They eat in silence, the buzz of the TV enough to fill the space for dread in their mind, and think over their plan again.

It’s been like this for two weeks now. The same news story, the same breakfast, the same glum look on the superhero’s face when the hero walks into the agency. The same “[Hero], a word, please”, the same confession that their villain is going haywire.

The hero wants to say they’ve lost their mind. They’ve tried everything—don’t go to work, don’t talk to the superhero, don’t accept the mission they’ve been given every day for the past two weeks. Even the inconsequential stuff: don’t have breakfast, don’t turn on the TV, don’t go in through the front door. Every day has brought a new attempt to break themself out of this time loop, and so far every day has remained exactly the same.

They look up a little too early when the superhero approaches them at the door. “[Hero],” he says predictably, “a word, please.”

The same as always. The superhero ushers them into an interrogation room for lack of a better place to speak privately. They have the same conversation, the words practically rehearsed in the hero’s head like this is some fucked up theatre performance. Your villain is going off the rails, the hero thinks along with him. You need to bring this to an end before they destroy everything.

The same walk down the corridor, the same idle suit-up, the same wish of good luck from the superhero.

The hero turns to grab the same pair of cuffs before they falter, caught in instinct. They let their hand drift a little further to unlatch a handgun from the wall. Something new. Another attempt at freedom.

Not that it’ll work. It never does.

The hero goes out there to face the villain, as always. They laugh at the hero’s presence, throw themself into the same grand monologue. The hero points their gun at the villain and, without a thought in the world, pulls the trigger.

Killing people is a lot easier than trying to catch them. The hero’s never wanted to kill someone—god, they can’t imagine what it’d be like to want to kill—but it’s a curiosity sated. It feels bad. They hate it. The villain is dead, the gun is hot in their hand, and this will all reset tomorrow.

The hero returns to the agency with the news. The superhero doesn’t seem to know whether this is good or not. “It’s another evil off the streets,” he says, but his brow furrows as he says it.

The hero goes home that evening, their routine slightly altered with their new line of action. The water of the shower is cold, their dinner made when the streetlamps outside the window are already flickering on.

They tumble into bed without a care. What will they try tomorrow? Maybe they can try just incapacitating the villain this time. Shoot them in the leg or something. They go to sleep and dream of another day of the same.

Morning. The hero gets out of bed, folds their sheets back the same as always, and starts their day.

They put the TV on for the background noise, but it’s far beyond that now. The hero can recite this news—

Wait.

“—No one’s sure what happened. The public has gathered here to celebrate this victory, but not everyone is so pleased about this. I’m joined by a citizen, who wished not to be named, who was there at…”

The hero stumbles into the kitchen, wrenching their usual box from the cupboard. They pour it into a bowl, and all the flakes stay inside.

The drive to work is a blur. They stagger in through the doors and another hero bounds up to give them a pat on the back. “Someone needed to put the trigger on that one,” she says brightly. “They weren’t going down without it. Good job.”

Their routine is shattered; they cringe away from the other hero’s touch. This is wrong. They weren’t meant to get out. They were in a time loop. Where’s the superhero? Where’re his usual concerns about the villain’s destruction?

They know they’re meant to be glad. They broke out of the same loop they’ve been in for two weeks. The relief of a new string of events should be palpable. All the hero can seem to feel, though, is overhanging, gnawing dread.

They’re free. They’re a murderer.

#creative writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writing community #heroes and villains #hero x villain #time loop #tw gun violence #tw murder

64 notes · View notes

hogans-heroes · 17 hours

Note

“Oh, honey, you’re safe now. I promise. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

could i request this one for buck and bucky 🥳🥳

Sometimes it starts with the train.

Gale and John are shoved in with the rest of the prisoners, shivering and scared, murmuring words to each other that will never be enough, until suddenly the cars are screeching to a halt and they’re being unloaded by shouting guards. Once on the ground John grabs onto Gale, but in the chaos they are quickly torn apart and Gale struggles to keep sight of John’s broad shoulders and knit cap as the crowd begins to get desperate.

“Bucky!” he shouts. “John!” But the crush of prisoners jostles and shifts and Gale looses his footing. When he straightens, Bucky is gone. Gale tries to shove through the press in any direction but he’s too weak, limbs numb from the cold, and the guards are taking stations in elevated spots, setting up machine guns on the tops of the train cars.

He hears Bucky calling his name, real fear in his voice, and Gale yells back as loud as his dry throat will allow. The prisoners are panicking now, their shouting and stampeding drowning out all other sounds, and the shrill whistle of the train pierces Gale’s skull as he claws at the backs and shoulders and arms crushing him.

Bucky! Bucky! John!

And then the shooting starts.

……..

Gale awakes with a gasp to Bucky straddling him and gripping his shoulders tight enough to hurt. His eyes are wide and his bare chest heaving, curls wild and falling in his eyes. Gale gets the sensation he’d been trying to wake him for some time, and when he swallows his throat is sore. He wants to say sorry, but they’ve been through this too much and he knows he owes it to Bucky to be honest.

“The train,” he chokes out.

Bucky releases him with a pained sigh. It’s not the first time, for either of them. Bucky sinks down and slips his arms around Gale, pulling him to his chest and wrapping him so tight he can hardly breathe, can only feel Bucky’s warmth and his pulse through the skin pressed to his.

“Oh honey,” Bucky breathes into Gale’s hair, followed by a kiss. “You’re safe now. I promise. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Gale sucks in a breath and lets it out, tries to calm his frantically racing heart, and Bucky doesn’t rush him, doesn’t force, just holds him. The trailing of his fingers up and down Gale back make him feel protected in a way no warplane or weapon ever could.

#my mota drabbles #mota #masters of the air #buck x bucky #clegan #inspired by the convo I just had with Avonne

55 notes · View notes

raina-at · 1 day

Text

Nightmare

I've set myself the unofficial goal of hitting all my AUs this month. So have some Spare Parts Boys. All you need to know, though, is that this AU is totally canon compliant until TRF save for two things: One, Sherlock and John were together before the Fall, and two, they live on Titan in the 24th century.

----

It takes a while for Sherlock to accept how much he still has to learn when it comes to anything to do with interpersonal relationships.

Case in point, just because the person you love most in the world has forgiven you for the horrible thing you did to him, doesn't mean it's not still haunting both of you.

John has nightmares. John always had nightmares, even back before Sherlock jumped. John has enough trauma Sherlock isn't responsible for to keep him in nightmares for the rest of his life.

Like his father's death. Or the incident on Mars that is responsible for his synthetic arm.

John had PTSD and was nearly suicidal when Sherlock met him, on his way down the bottle or his sidearm. Sherlock shocked him out of that state by providing adrenaline on a daily basis. In the beginning, the adrenaline was chasing criminals through the streets of New London and the frozen plains of Titan. Later, that adrenaline included sex. But John still had nightmares, and the bed they shared before Sherlock jumped was often besieged with these night terrors. John would wake up screaming. Sometimes he’d claw at his artificial arm as if he wasn’t sure what this thing was doing on his body. Sometimes he’d whimper and beg for it to stop, whatever was torturing him.

Sherlock hated these nightmares. Still does.

But it’s a special kind of hell when you’re the thing that haunts the person you’d literally die for. When you become the nightmare.

It’s been a rough few days. John’s clinic was busy, and they had a truly gruelling case, human trafficking, sympathetic victims, and an unsatisfying outcome. They got the local thugs and they freed the victims, but the big fish escaped their net.

They went home and both of them fell asleep as soon as their heads hit their respective pillows.

Sherlock woke suddenly to John screaming his name, over and over, panting with fear. Sherlock did what he always does, he gathered John in his arms and whispered, “I’m here, it’s all right, it was just a dream. I’m here. I’m here,” kissing John’s brow and breathing with him as he slowly calmed down and fell asleep again, still clinging to Sherlock like he was going to vanish if he let go.

It’s getting a bit old, to tell the truth. It doesn’t happen that often anymore, but it happens frequently enough to bother Sherlock. He’s also more than a bit disgusted at himself for having the nerve to be annoyed at John’s subconscious. It’s been two years, a small, insidious voice inside his mind whispers. When is this going to stop?

Probably never. That’s the short answer. The long answer that it’s probably going to be less and less frequent, as the scar tissue over this particular wound in John’s subconscious grows thicker.

Sherlock still feels like shit every time it happens. Because it shows him, time and again, that no matter how much they’ve grown and changed and forgiven and promised, no matter how good he’s been, there’s a part of John that still lives in that moment. There’s a corner of John’s mind that’s stuck with the worst thing Sherlock has ever done.

When he’s sure John is fast asleep again, he gets up and sits in the window seat, watching the clouds race over the murky sky, revealing glimpses of Saturn. Occasionally, a shuttle passes through his line of sight, or a hovercab. The city is quiet at this time of night. Never asleep, but dozing.

John’s hands are warm on his shoulders, caressing tense muscles with soothing strokes. “Come back to bed,” John whispers in his ear, soft breath tickling against his neck.

“In a minute,” Sherlock replies, making room for John to slip into the seat behind him, letting John rearrange them so he’s resting against John as John’s arms come around him.

“What is it?” John murmurs into his hair, his voice soft and quiet and gentle.

Sherlock knows he could say nothing. He could just take John to bed and distract them both from the dark of the night with the heat of their bodies. Instead, he takes John’s hand between both of his and traces idle patterns over his palm. “It’s always going to be there. Isn’t it?”

He can feel more than hear John sigh, his chest heaving with the deep breath he takes and then lets out, slowly. “Probably.” John meets his eyes in the window’s reflection. “Doesn’t mean I don’t forgive you. Doesn’t mean I want to be anywhere but here.”

“I know.”

And the thing is, he does know. And it still hurts. Both of them.

“You know, I have patients who ask me why their synthetic limbs feel pain.”

Sherlock sighs, because he has a feeling he knows where John is going with this. “Are you going to give me another lecture on how ignoring pain is stupid?”

Sherlock can hear the smile in John’s voice when he replies, “I’m that predictable?”

Sherlock brushes a kiss over John’s knuckles. “Never.” Another kiss. “Well. Sometimes.”

John chuckles, kissing Sherlock’s hair. “Well then, Mister I-Know-What-You’re-About-To-Say-Before-You-Do, tell me what I was about to say.”

“That pain is good, because it shows you your limits. That pain reminds you of past mistakes. That it’s a teacher, and a guide.”

“A bit more poetic than I would have phrased it, but shockingly accurate as usual,” John answers, and Sherlock can feel him smile against Sherlock’s hairline.

“I know all of this. What bothers me is that you’re in pain because of my mistakes.”

“I know. And that’s the reason why I forgive you,” John says gently, moving their joined hands over Sherlock’s heart.

Sherlock says nothing, pressing John’s hand closer against his heart. He can’t express what John’s forgiveness means to him, what this second life they have together has given him. And he knows that the pain he feels every time he watches John live through his death is both his penance and the price he has to pay. He just wishes he was the only one who had to go through it.

“Want to go back to bed now?” John asks, pulling Sherlock even closer.

Sherlock smiles. “In a minute.”

In a minute, they will go back to bed. They will chase away melancholy thoughts and lingering aches with hands and mouths and words of adoration breathed into sweat-slick skin. They will fall asleep entangled and wake together to greet a new day together.

For now, though, Sherlock kisses John’s palm and together, they watch their city doze the night away.

-----

Periodic reminder that I'm collecting all of these ficlets here on AO3.

Tags under the cut as always, please let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged.

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @jrow @peanitbear @jolieblack @meetinginsamarra @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @friday411 @givemesherbet-blog-blog @weeesi @thalialunacy @thegildedbee @dapetty @salmonsown

#johnlock #bbc sherlock #my fic #may prompts 2024 #nightmares #spare parts #realigning gravity #my most canon compliant au ironically

54 notes · View notes

ghoul-slime · 2 days

Text

Mushy May Day 12&13 - First Time & Just Wanted to Hear Your Voice (Aether/Dew)

Uh oh, starting to fall behind now. Here's my combined entry for days 12 and 13. A million thank yous to @forlorn-crows for putting together Mushy May again this year and to @ghuleh-recs for the dividers!

Day 12 & 13: First Time and "Just Wanted to Hear Your Voice" - Aether/Dew, first time phone sex, praise kink, no other warnings, rated E/Mature, 1929 words

It’s late when Aether’s phone starts to buzz. He’s already tucked into bed and ready to turn in for the night when Dew’s picture pops up on the incoming call notification. He picks up before the second ring.

“Hey,” Dew says casually. Aether can’t help but immediately notice the tired edge he hears in the fire ghoul’s voice.

“Hi Dew,” Aether answers, happy to hear from his favorite ghoul despite the late hour of the night. “How are you?”

Dew gives a noncommittal little grunt. “Fine,” he answers. “Bored though. Horny. Nobody around, though…” he trails off.

Aether lets out a laugh. The little ghoul must be lonely. As hard as he’s trying to sound nonchalant about it, Aether knows how much he hates to be alone. That he prefers to spend his nights pressed against one of his packmates. That privilege used to fall on Aether more often than not, at least it did before he stepped away from the band to dedicate himself to helping in the infirmary full-time.

“Who are you rooming with tonight?” Aether asks, genuinely surprised that Dew would ever find himself all alone.

“Nobody. Phantom ditched me to spend the night with Swiss and Rain,” Dew answers with a yawn that he hopes will hide the disappointment in his voice.

“Well that’s new,” Aether answers, sitting up in bed, genuinely intrigued. He's happy that it sounds like the newest ghoul is finding his place in the pack, though he feels bad that Dew seems to be feeling a little left out because of it.

“Not to me it isn’t,” Dew says, sounding more than a little bit annoyed. “They’ve been going at it nonstop for the past week. You should see the three of them trying to cram themselves all into Swiss’ bunk to fuck on the bus.”

Dew is quiet for a minute. Aether can hear the blankets rustle over the phone as he settles into his bed. He can tell he’s turning something over in head, so he gives him time and waits for him to speak again.

“I just wanted to hear your voice, Aeth,” he admits softly. “Lonely out here without you.” Dew lets out a sad little sigh.

The sincerity in Dew’s voice breaks Aether’s heart. He knows that if he were out there with them, he and Dew would probably be curled up together between scratchy hotel sheets, making the most of their night off with lazy kisses and wandering hands. He wishes he could reach through the phone and pull the little ghoul into his warm nest back home, to wrap his arms around him and remind him how loved he is.

"I want to try something," Aether says after a few moments of silence. “You can say no if it’s not something you like, though.”

Dew perks up. “Yeah?” he asks, already interested. “What is it?”

“Will you take your clothes off for me?” Aether asks, a little nervous, but hopeful. “Get undressed and get yourself nice and comfy on the bed. I want to take care of you tonight.”

Dew is silent for a moment, and then Aether hears more rustling, the sound of blankets and pillows moving around as Dew adjusts himself on the hotel bed.

“Already in just my underwear…,” Dew answers quietly. If Aether were there he’s sure he’d see a light blush dusting the little ghoul’s sharp cheekbones. That Dew would insist he isn't embarrassed despite it. They’ve had each other in every way imaginable by now, but this is the first time either of them have ever done anything over the phone. Up until now, they’d never been apart long enough to warrant it.

“Take those off too,” Aether asks. “And put the phone on speaker.”

He listens as Dew shuffles around on the bed, and Aether can just picture the way he lifts those skinny little hips up off the bed to shimmy his underwear off and slide them down his thighs. Distantly, he registers the soft little thud of fabric hitting the floor.

“Dew?” Aether checks in, “You ok with this?” He knows Dew would tell him otherwise, but this is new territory for both of them, so he feels that he has to check in, just in case.

“Mm, yeah,” Dew affirms. “Gettin’ hard already, Aeth. Now what?”

Aether grins to himself. He knew Dew would be game, and he’d be lying if he said this wasn’t something he fantasized about doing the second he found out he wouldn't be going out on tour with the rest of the pack.

“Lie back and get comfy, baby,” Aether purrs. “Get comfy and close your eyes, think of me there with you. I want you to hear my voice and imagine it’s me there. That I’m the one touching you.”

“Can you do that for me, Dew?” Aether asks, voice low and gravelly, imagining just how sweet Dew must look spreading himself out on the sheets out there all by himself, just waiting for Aether’s instructions.

“Yeah,” Dew answers in a breathy voice just above a whisper. “Yeah, I can.”

He must have the phone propped up on the pillow next to his face, because Aether can hear his shallow little breaths loud and clear through the phone receiver. He takes a minute to adjust himself in his sweatpants at the thought.

“Good, now touch yourself for me, baby,” Aether tells him, “Want you to run your palms up your chest nice and slow.” He stops, gives Dew a moment to do as he asked him. “Do it just like I would. How I would stop and feel those sweet little tits in the palms of my hands. Now give a little tug on your pretty jewelry for me, just enough to get your nipples nice and sensitive.”

Aether walks him through it, has Dew wet his fingertips with his tongue and pinch and tug at those sweet little buds, soft at first and then harder. Just like Aether would do if he had his mouth on him. He has Dew play with his chest until he’s panting in his ear over the phone, soft little breaths becoming more urgent as Aether works him up with his voice in place of his hands.

“Good job, love,” Aether praises. “Bet you’re nice and stiff between your legs for me now, aren’t you?”

“Y-yeah,” Dew answers, “‘M hard, Aeth. Getting all wet for you too. Want you to touch it. Please.”

“Lemme touch it, then, sweet boy. Lemme see how wet you’re getting for me,” Aether answers. “Spit in your hand, Dew, get it nice and wet for me. Just the way I would do it.

The wet sound of Dew spitting into the palm of his hand has Aether growling and tugging his sweats down to pull his cock out. When he hears the sound of Dew slicking himself up, he wraps a hand around the base of himself and squeezes.

“Good,” he praises, breathing hot into the phone. “Is it dripping now?”

Dew answers with a weak little uh huh, as he slicks himself up with a palm full of spit, mixing in with the pre his cock is undoubtedly dribbling out at the sound of Aether’s voice.

He has Dew jack himself off for him, reveling in the wet sounds of Dew’s hand working sensitive flesh. In the sweet little sighs and purrs as Dew imagines Aether’s big fist wrapped around him instead. When Dew whispers that he’s close, Aether tells him to stop, hands off, and the choked little whimper he hears lets him know that Dew’s done exactly as he’s been asked.

“Doing so good for me, baby,” Aether tells him, breath shallow as he starts to stroke himself. “Two fingers in your mouth for me now. Get ‘em nice and wet.”

Aether hears Dew suck two fingers into his mouth, hears the wet little sounds of him lapping at the digits. How he can tell Dew pushes his fingers all the way to the back of his throat, just far enough that he struggles not to gag, before pulling them out and waiting for Aether’s next instruction.

“Spread your legs now, nice and wide,” Aether instructs. “Touch yourself down there, just like I would. Start slow for me and feel yourself open up when you put ‘em inside.

Dew goes silent as he does what Aether asks, running his wet digits around the rim of his already wet little hole. He feels what Aether would feel if it were him fingering him open. Feels the way he stretches so easily as he pushes inside, how easily he takes two fingers.

“Got two fingers inside now, Aeth,” Dew whispers. “Oh, it feels nice. Feels like when you do it.”

Aether has Dew finger himself like that. Tells him to feel how hot he is inside, how soft. Tells him to feel the way his rim flutters around his fingers when he pushes in deep and crooks his fingertips just right.

“Can you get three inside for me now?” Aether asks after a while. “Gotta get you nice and stretched out for my cock, my love.”

“Y-yeah,” Dew answers, breathless and sweet as he pushes three fingers inside himself just like Aether asked. “Want your cock in me, Aether.” Dew sighs at the stretch, feeling full the way he would if it were Aether’s cock breaching him instead.

“Hold the phone between your legs for me, baby? I wanna hear how wet you are.”

There’s a moment of shuffling, the sharp scratch of the speaker dragging across the pillow fabric, and then Aether can hear it. The slick, rhythmic sound of Dew fucking his fingers in and out of his wet little hole. It’s completely filthy, the obscene, unmistakable sound of sex, and to Aether, it’s the sweetest fucking sound he’s ever heard in his life.

He groans, jacks his cock faster, working to match the rhythm of Dew’s fingers. If he closes his eyes he can picture it perfectly. Dew laid out in front of him, legs spread wide as Aether stuffs his tight little hole with his cock, fucking him deep and perfect until they’re both shaking with it.

A high-pitched moan from Dew breaks Aether from his vision.

“G-gonna cum, Aether,” Dew warns. “Gonna cum on your cock like this. Oh, wanna cum with you inside me, Aether,” Dew babbles, fucks himself faster, pressing in so deep with his fingers that Aether can hear his rhythm falter as he works himself closer to the edge.

Aether’s not far behind as he jacks himself faster, the slick sound of Dew’s fingers and his breathy little moans and cries working together to send him over the edge. He cums with a shout, just as he hears Dew give one final guttural ohhhh, as he clamps down on his fingers and shoots his load.

They come down together, panting into their phones as they catch their breath.

After a few moments of silence, Dew speaks up.

“Well that was fucking hot,” he snorts. “Got this bed all wet though, good thing Phantom isn’t coming back after all.”

Before they hang up, Aether tells Dew how much he loves him, that he’s counting down the minutes until he gets the little fire ghoul into his bed for real again.

Dew says goodnight, tells Aether that he loves him back, sounding happy and spent and breathless - the tired, sad tinge to his voice chased away for the night as he falls asleep with a smile on his lips.

#mushy may 2024 #dewther #aether/dew #aether/dewdrop #aether x dewdrop #aether x dew #dewdrop ghoul #aether ghoul #ghost band fanfic #ghoul-slime fic #ghoul-slime mushy may 2024

59 notes · View notes

pennylanefics · 2 days

Text

Nostalgia - Jack Drury

a/n: this took me so long to finish, but i'm glad to finally be done with it :) i'm very far behind but i will absolutely get all these done!

summary: you meet jack's parents for the first time over dinner

word count: ~2.3k (i got carried away a little)

“I’m not so sure about this now,” you stop Jack by grabbing onto his hand, your other hand wrapped around your stomach. His eyebrows furrow together as he turns to face you, grabbing onto your hands with his.

“What’s going on?” He wonders, a concerned look on his face.

“I don’t know if I can meet them,” you let out a nervous sigh, feeling the tears well up in your eyes. He frowns and squeezes your hands, thinking over his words carefully.

You two were on the way to his parents house for dinner, the first time you were going to be meeting them. He’s been talking about it for a while, and now that your relationship is more serious, he wanted you to meet them, however, in this moment, you were overthinking everything.

“Why not? It’s all they’ve been talking about for the past few days, they’re so excited to meet you.” He tries to lighten the situation, but your anxiety was through the roof.

“I…I’m scared,” you finally admit, gazing into his hypnotizing eyes. Even in the dimming light of the day, they still shined as bright as they do under the blinding lights of a hockey arena.

“There’s nothing to be scared of, babe. My mom has been waiting to show you my baby pictures since I brought up the idea, she even got the baby book out and has kept it in the living room. My dad is also looking forward to showing you all the hockey memorabilia stuff he has and pucks and other things from when he played.”

“But what if they don’t like me?” Your insecurities were taking over and once they start rolling, it’s not easy to stop. “What if they don’t think I’m smart enough or they think I’m too shy and quiet and-”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jack coos, bringing you into his arms, holding you tightly against him. “Don’t say any of that. They’re absolutely not going to think any of those things about you, I guarantee it.”

You let his words settle in for a moment before sighing and pulling away from him.

“Alright,” you whisper.

“Do you still want to go?” He asks. You have yet to leave the hotel parking lot, Jack stands there, his eyes scanning your face for any sort of doubt or silent words you weren’t wanting to say.

“I do,” you nod in agreement. “I’m just…I’m worried.”

“I know, but there’s nothing to be worried about, I promise. They’re seriously going to love you.” His hands cup your cheeks so that you stare right at him, making sure that you knew every word he was speaking, he was telling the truth. “I’ll be right by your side the entire time. If you want to leave, how about…you tap my shoulder three times and I’ll make up an excuse for us to go. Does that sound fair?”

This is one thing you loved about Jack. He is always extremely considerate with your feelings and your well-being, giving you a chance to silently tell him things that you sometimes struggle speaking out.

“Yeah,” your voice cracks a little, which Jack notices. He sighs softly and leans forward to capture your lips with his.

“I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, baby. If you don’t think you want to meet them tonight, just tell me and I will call them and say I’m sick.”

“No, no, I don’t want you to do that. I’m good with going, I swear,” you grin at him. He pauses once again just to make sure, narrowing his eyes at you for dramatic effect. This elicits a giggle from you, which in turn makes him laugh, and suddenly, your nerves are at ease hearing the sweet sound.

“Alright then, let’s get going.”

The drive isn’t too far, so within fifteen minutes, Jack was pulling up into his parent’s driveway, turning the car off. You sit there for a moment, staring at the large, fancy house, when Jack grabbing your hand breaks you from your daze.

No words are said between the two of you as he gives you time to process everything. It’s not until you start to exit the car that he follows in suit, immediately reaching for your hand and squeezing it tight; to make you even more comforted, he brings your entwined hands up to his face and presses a long kiss to the back of your hand, gazing down at you after he parts.

With a nod, he walks right into his house, calling out to let his parents know that you two have arrived. Within a few seconds, they’re rushing into the living room and instantly, his mom hugs you tight, rubbing your shoulder in a friendly manner.

“Hi! It is so nice to finally meet you!” She beams as she steps back. “I’m Liz.”

“Nice to meet you,” you smile at her before Jack’s dad walks over.

“It’s very lovely to meet you, (Y/N),” Ted says, shaking your hand and patting your back gently, just like his wife did.

“Nice to meet you as well. Jack’s told me a lot about you.”

“And nothing about me? That’s so rude of him,” Liz teases her son, slapping his arm in a playful way, making Jack chuckle and his face flush.

“He has mentioned you quite a bit, too,” you try to cover yourself, your heart racing in your chest. Jack sensed you were already on edge so he stepped over to you and placed his arm around your waist, pulling you close to him.

“Well, dinner is almost done, the chicken just needs to cook a little bit longer, but why don’t you guys head to the dining room for now,” Liz says, changing the subject quickly. Ted follows her to help her finish up, and when they disappear, you let out a breath that was stuck in your throat.

Jack kisses your temple and hugs you tightly.

“How are you feeling?” He wonders, his voice quiet as to not worry his parents.

“Still really nervous, but they’re so nice. I feel a little bit more relaxed in that sense.”

“Everything’s going to be fine, okay?” You nod against his shoulder and pull away to follow him to the dining room, where there were four nice plates set out, along with silverware and glasses.

“Are your brothers not home?” You ask him, continuing to look around the decorated dining room.

“No, they went to their friends’ houses for the night. My parents didn’t want to overwhelm you just yet,” he chuckles, caressing your cheek gently. A blush heats your cheeks up under his hand, and he can tell right away.

“Well, I appreciate it.”

“They’re asking about meeting you too,” he adds. “Owen wants me to take them bowling, with you, of course.”

“That sounds like fun, actually,” you agree, surprising Jack; he thought there would be some push back to his statement, but he was more than happy to hear you were open to the idea.

Just as Jack was going to respond, his mom calls out that dinner is ready. Jack grins and sticks his hand out for you to take, which you do, and he leads you right into the kitchen.

Dinner goes quite smooth, his parents ask you about yourself, as expected, the conversation is pretty light rather than interrogating, which is what you thought it would be like in your mind the entire drive over.

Jack offers to help Liz with the dishes and packing up leftovers after everyone finishes eating, leaving you and Ted to interact.

“(Y/N), come with me and I’ll show you the set up we have in the basement,” Ted says motioning for you to follow him over to the door that leads to the basement. With a look back at your boyfriend, Jack waits for you to use your signal, but when you just give him a soft grin and walk towards his dad, he can’t help but break into a huge smile.

“She’s very sweet,” his mom says once she hears the basement door shut. Jack nods and grabs a few Tupperware containers for the leftover food.

“She is. She was really nervous for tonight, so I’m glad to see her more relaxed.”

Ted brings you down the stairs to the furnished basement, first finding a large sectional against one wall and a blank wall facing it; that’s when you notice the projector above the couch, a perfect place to watch movies.

He walks over to a separate part of the basement and that’s when your jaw drops. Photos and jerseys hang along the walls, and theres a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf filled with plaques, pucks in special cases, all kinds of things, taking up an entire wall.

“Wow,” you whisper, looking over all the items. First game pucks from all the different teams he was on, autographed photos of people he’s played with, even some of Jack’s things, like the puck from his first NHL goal just a couple years ago, the Whalers jersey he wore for Whaler’s night earlier in the year, so many items covered the bookshelves, it would take too long to explain every single thing.

“It used to be just my things, from my time in college and the NHL, then Jack got drafted and I knew I had to make some space,” Ted explains, walking over and picking up a plaque. “This is an award Jack won when he was young, when he first started playing hockey. He was on a youth team here in Illinois, and was voted best player by his coaches and teammates.”

“You must have known he would be something special in the future,” you smile, looking over the wooden plaque with gold plates, his name and team name on it, along with a photo that slides in and out of a plastic sleeve.

“Oh yeah. I was always bringing him to the rink with me, he could skate really well by the time he was five, maybe even earlier. He loved it, I was always teaching him things and working with him at the local rink.”

“Well, I think you did a great job. He’s an incredible player, much like yourself and your wife,” you comment, making Ted laugh.

“Thank you, thank you. I uh, I always knew he’d get into it, and I’m glad he did. Is that how you guys met? Through the Canes?”

“Yeah, kind of. I’m friends with one of the guys’ wives, and I met Jack at a fundraiser for the team. We hit it off and just kept talking.” Ted smiles as he listens to how you two met, and you are surprised that Jack never told them the story. Though he wasn’t one to tell all of his business, even to his parents.

Ted keeps showing you things and bringing up stories from his time in the NHL, mentioning that he has a ton more that’s not displayed packed away, having to make room for Jack, of course. About fifteen minutes later, Jack comes jogging down the stairs, now wearing an old Harvard sweatshirt, a smile still on his face.

“Hey, enjoying the collection?” He wonders, stepping close to you and wrapping his arm around your waist. Your own hand wraps around him, running up and down his back.

“It’s really amazing,” you say, looking up at him for a second before looking forward again, your eyes scanning over the vast wall of memorabilia. “Lot of history.”

“Lots of nostalgia too,” Jack replies, joining you in looking at the memories from his life. “I remember some of these games, like that one puck, it's from my dad’s last game ever, in the DEL. We traveled there to watch, it was my first time out of the country.”

You smile up at your boyfriend as he describes the memory, his dad also looking over at him with a proud expression on his face.

The two of them start sharing even more stories with you and you don’t even realize how late it’s gotten until Liz comes down to check on you guys.

“It’s almost nine o’clock, you guys have been down here for a while,” she walks over to where the three of you stand, her arms crossed over her chest.

“I think we lost track of time,” Ted states, doing the same as his son and throwing an arm around his wife’s waist, pulling her into his side. Jack looks down at you, silently asking if you are ready to go. With a simple nod, he sighs and looks up at his parents.

“We’re gonna head out for the night anyways, we have some plans for tomorrow in the city,” he says, parting from your side to say goodbye to his parents.

You do the same, hugging both of them and thanking them for inviting you over and for dinner. After a bit more conversation, Jack is guiding you back upstairs and out the door, after gathering your things.

Jack stops before opening the passenger side door, instead bringing you in for a tight hug.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispers. “I know how nervous you were and I’m so glad that you stepped out of your comfort zone for the night.”

“Your parents are lovely so they made it pretty easy,” you chuckle softly against his chest, pulling away to lean up for a kiss. He gladly gives in, and neither of you are aware, but Ted and Liz are watching the two of you from the living room window.

“I love her already,” Liz comments to her husband. Ted nods and closes the curtain to give you two some privacy again. “If he doesn’t marry her in the future, he’ll be making a huge mistake.”

#jack drury #jack drury imagines #jack drury imagine #jack drury x reader #jack drury fanfic #carolina hurricanes #carolina hurricanes fanfic #hockey fanfic #nhl fanfic #nhl imagines #imagines #fanfiction #fanfic

40 notes · View notes

seriouslysam8 · 2 days

Note

Soooo it's Tuesday!! Can we... Maybe... Possibly... Most definitely get a sneak peak into the new Jily dies story 😃🤗

You would ask for this.

Sure. Why not?

Sirius crouched down to Harry’s level, tying the kid’s black tie with ease. He could remember tying Regulus’ ties more often than not when they were kids and forced to attend some posh boring party. The summer before Regulus attended Hogwarts, Sirius had to actually teach the kid how to do it for himself. Sirius had learned when he was small from his Uncle Alphard, because Orion couldn’t be bothered to actually spend any amount of bonding time with his sons.

Adjusting the tie, Sirius offered Harry a closed mouth smile. The kid looked cute in his Muggle black suit with his shiny new shoes. The reason for the outfit made Sirius want to die inside though. Reaching into his pocket, Sirius pulled out a tie clip for Harry. His godson stood patiently, too still for a fifteen-month-old.

“Look at us, we match,” Sirius said, running his fingers through Harry’s hair to try to smooth it down even though he knew it was fruitless.

Harry reached out to grab Sirius’ black tie. They even had matching tie clips, courtesy of Andromeda and Ted. They had gone out with their measurements to buy Sirius and Harry suits for the funeral. Sirius had been grateful, because he didn’t want to leave Harry nor did he want to take Harry out in public.

“Can we talk?” Sirius asked, settling down onto his bum. “About today?”

Harry peered at him, his fingers still playing with the tie. Clearing his throat, Sirius gently tugged Harry onto his lap. Harry gazed up at him, looking so innocent and inquisitive.

“I know things have been… well, they’ve been different lately,” Sirius started, his eyes locking with Harry’s. “I know it’s been very confusing for you. I know you’ve been asking for your mum and dad.”

At the names, Harry perked up. He started to look around the room. Sirius didn’t think his heart could shatter any more than it already had.

“We’re going to see your mum and dad today, Harry,” Sirius continued in a strained voice.

“Mama? Dada?” Harry asked, his gaze snapping to Sirius.

Sirius attempted to swallow down his sorrow. “They’re going to look like they’re sleeping, okay? They won’t be able to talk to you or, or hug you or anything. You’ll come home with Marly and me afterwards, okay? Because you’re going to live with Marly and me from now on.”

Harry only blinked at Sirius, his face blank and clearly not understanding. “Mama. Dada.”

Sirius sniffed, wiping his fingers underneath his eyes. “I miss them too, kid. I know I’m a poor replacement for your dad, but I will always be here for you. No matter what.”

Harry burst out crying, sobbing for his parents as he pressed his face into Sirius’ dress shirt. Sirius could only hold him, whispering comforting words in hope it was enough to calm him. But they felt empty and insincere. Nothing was all right. Nothing would be better anytime soon. There was just a pit of darkness that had engulfed them, threatening to drown them. Somehow, he was supposed to put on a happy face and pretend like a part of him hadn’t died on Halloween as well.

21 notes · View notes

fumifooms · 1 hour

Text

Helki compilation

Helki is a prisoner-turned-servant. He’s a criminal canary and was implicitly one of Milsiril’s charges, and now that she’s retired he’s become her servant.

He must have gotten into Milsiril’s good graces, wether through attachment or convenience, which is a feat considering Milsiril’s a socially anxious recluse. Which is interesting because it’s not like he seems like the agreeable type, shifty upbeat delinquent style… We really don’t know much about him, not even what crimes he did, so there’s a lot of space for speculation on all grounds.

He seemed to be acting out of his own initiative in the Rin comic, he doesn’t look thrilled to be there in many post-canary comics but he also seems content enough. He restrains Milsiril in the Mithrun cleaning comic which is interesting to think of for their relationship.

It’s fun to notice how he’s the only one that didn’t get bored of looking after Rin, and then reports back about her condition… I’d say he was getting used to taking care of kids which would come with the job of serving Milsiril, but then, not enough for him to clean the blood off himself hah. In this way it’s interesting to think about his relationship to the idea of parenthood, he’s probably the closest thing to a father figure/male role model Kabru had growing up, without mentioning the other kids. I feel like he’d consider himself an older brother, cousin or uncle figure sooo much sooner than a father, but even then I do think it’s just his job and he’s not really invested or forming real relationships with any of them much.

It’s curious to note that he’s dressed in canary uniform presumably after having been pardoned and living with Milsiril? Which you can tell by the armor bits (the yellow strips of spider silk). In the Kabru training montage and the Rin comic specifically. It seems very implausible for him to have still been a canary while being a retired Milsiril’s servant and being with her all the time, and the cleaning with Mithrun comic (where he’s not in uniform) happens after Utaya so it could happen after Kabru was taken in but around the time of the Rin comic. So why uniform? It could be one of the best outfits he has, so it’d make sense to wear it around especially if you’re sparring or getting… Blood on you? Could just be because that's how Milsiril wants him to dress. But yeah we don't know when exactly Helki becoming Milsiril’s servant happened. We do see Mithrun’s charge Cithis be tasked with taking care of him, so charge being given a servant-caretaker role doesn’t seem all that out of the ordinary, sometimes even prior to retiring.

Imo, if he doesn't work for Milsiril he goes back to jail/the canaries/has to try and get a job instead of just tending to her, so Helki is staying with Milsiril because she's the best option for him. He’s her milsiril's personal servant and does mostly dull tasks involved in that. He’s not particularly suited to the role but they’ve gotten used to each other to him so she took him with her, and he does prefer it to canary work so it works out decent for him. I think he’s used to reading her and managing her moods and he’s one of the rare social connection she has.

Under spoiler is stage 2 interpretation stuff, bigger speculation, in a reblog I’ll make soon I’ll go over my thoughts for stage 3 interpretation lol. Helsiril I’m coming for you

Translation of the canary hierachy chart used is by Thatsmimi, here

#Dungeon meshi #spoilers #dungeon meshi manga spoilers #Helki #Compilation #lmk if he’s pictured anywhere else #Helsiril my beloved I need 30 fics of you it shall have 10 metric tons of extrapolation from canon but it shall be tasty indeed #Might do comps/short explanation posts of the other minor canary characters like Misyl and Erique. Ik the Flamela shippers would enjoy #He has less screentime than Dandan. Tragic. Though I guess he’s just not even remotely involved in present canon business so fair enough #The canaries have a batman system… No literally https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Batman_(military)#Helsiril #In reblog addition I’ll make… soon #I imagine him kinda being like Mickbell personality wise #Did you know soldier-turned-servant like here with the canaries was a thing historically. No really:#https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Batman_(military)#He looks full of mischief… Alas shackles are minimizing the whimsy and he must act responsible and obey #Helki x milsiril #The helki-kabru potential dynamic is super interesting too #I do like to think seeing milsiril & helki growing up hammered “it’s use or be used” into him… Will elaborate in reblog

22 notes · View notes

xclowniex · 23 hours

Note

Every time people talk about how Israel isn’t losing as many people in wars, I want to groan so much that my throat gives up on me. Like, dude, why do you think that is? It’s not because Hamas doesn’t try. It’s the fucking Iron Dome, which takes a huge amount of money and portion of the budget to keep going. It’s because the buildings are specifically been designed with a shit ton of infrastructure that can survive missiles and rockets. It’s because there’s the bare fucking minimum in Israel of bomb shelters

You know that it’s actual regulation that almost every building needs to have some sort of shelter? They do this with flats too, my cousin and her boyfriend’s shelter is literally their bedroom because they NEED this and there wasn’t enough space to put it in other places. It used to be just shelters below buildings, but they’ve changed it to other rooms too because in the 90’s the chance of missiles which used toxic gas were becoming increasingly high (this is something my parents went through, once there was a missile attack, they were told it could be gas too so they couldn’t go to the shelter. What they had to do was stay in their homes and just put wet towels on ever window and door that had a gap in it. My parents were on the phone the entire time, they were both beyond terrified and my mum thought she was going to die)

And here’s the thing— Gaza could absolutely have that too! Gaza could have missile diverting technology, Gaza could have shelters, Gaza could have strong infrastructure that can survive bombings much better. But they don’t. And the reason— Hamas takes all of this aid supplied, billions of dollars, and either siphons it off for their leaders in Qatar to enjoy, or uses it to build their tunnels and buy more weapons. And it’s a fucking tragedy, when I think about it I start to feel sick and you should too. Because this is horrible, and Gazans deserve so much more than this. But they can’t have it, because their government (if you can even call the mess that is Hamas a government) has decided that their lives aren’t valuable enough

You can criticise Israel for its current assault on Gaza, absolutely. While the idea that the idf as a whole (not talking about individual soldiers, which is still horrific when it’s only a person and not a system, don’t get me wrong) is actively targeting civilians is ridiculously wrong, and leans into the ‘bloodthirsty Jew’ trope. What you can say is that while the idf provides warning, they still aren’t putting civilians high enough on their priority list. They’ll warn a family and help them get out if they’re about to bomb their house or near it, but they won’t not bomb it if the family refuses to evacuate. You can absolutely cut criticise that (just make sure you understand that, very upsettingly, this is a very common thing in war). But this— acting like Israel using aid to help its own civilians, and then implying that it’s its fault for somehow not doing the same for Gaza? This? Is fucking bullshit, and all you’re doing is showing that you care more about the perceived reality of the ‘evil oppressor Israelis who have never faced anything in their lives’ than you do about the truth and real people’s lives

(Also side note, why do they always point to Tel Aviv to be like ‘see! Israel isn’t affected by the war at all’?? Like, of course Tel Aviv isn’t going to be affected by rockets and missiles much. It’s well in the Iron Dome’s territory and very far from Gaza. If you want to see the devastation from this war for Israel you can go to Sderot, or any Bedouin village, or the Golan if you want to see what Hezbollah’s done. They just live in a fantasy world lol)

I 100% agree.

#israel #i/p #palestine #i/p war #gaza #ask clownie

21 notes · View notes