#But there's a lot of folks I used to talk to and

[littlespoonevan]

your hand in my pocket to keep us both warm

post 8x08 because i'm SAD in a way that can only be eased with buddie hurt/comfort 💔 title from abstract (psychopomp) by hozier

-

Buck is the one to drive him to the airport because who else would it be?

It feels a lot like deja vu as he approaches the glass doors of Departures but his step only falters for a moment before Eddie’s hand is catching his sleeve at the elbow and leading him through them. It’s further than Abby ever let him get.

Eddie lets him go as far the security line and he almost looks regretful when he turns to face Buck.

Buck would like to think he’s handled this well so far. He’s been supportive, helped Eddie choose his new home, listened to his fears about his parents, reassured him about Christopher, promised to oversee the shipping of the rest of Eddie’s stuff next week. He’s done everything right.

It hasn’t made any of this feel less wrong.

They look at each other now, awkward in a way they never are, until Eddie drops his bag and pulls him into a hug without saying anything.

Maybe because there’s nothing to say. Buck’s heart has been lodged in his throat since he parked the car; he’s not even sure he could say anything if he wanted to.

Eddie’s arms around him are a familiar weight though so Buck allows himself to sink into them. To tuck his chin into the crook of Eddie’s shoulder and to fist his hands in the back of his jacket like if he holds on tight enough he might be able to convince Eddie to stay.

When Eddie does pull back he makes no attempt to leave the circle of Buck’s arms. Instead one of his hands goes to that same spot at the juncture of Buck’s neck – always the same spot – and when his thumb makes contact with the divot in Buck’s throat he seeks out Buck’s gaze.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Buck croaks, the tell-tale burn behind his eyes becoming more pronounced by the second.

“Like I’m Abby,” Eddie sighs. “Or Ali. Or Tommy. I’m not leaving you, Buck.”

Buck tries to laugh but it comes out too hysterical and Eddie’s hand tightens on his neck.

“I’m leaving,” he allows. “But I’m not leaving you.”

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you,” Buck says, the words wobbling in the middle. His hands are still twisted in Eddie’s jacket.

“And you think I do?” Eddie asks with a half-laugh. “Who am I gonna talk to when my folks are driving me crazy? Who am I gonna talk to when I do anything? Besides, you think Chris will accept you not visiting at least once a month?”

Truthfully, Buck has no idea what Chris wants right now but he clings to Eddie’s words anyway.

“Everyone at work is gonna find me insufferable. It was bad enough that last time you weren’t there.”

Eddie laughs again, thumb brushing Buck’s neck seemingly absentmindedly. “No they won’t. And I’ll be on Facetime so much it’ll be like I never left.”

Buck ducks his head but nods anyway, gathering up the courage to say what he wants to say next. “I know you have to go,” he starts, steeling himself as he makes himself meet Eddie’s gaze. “But please don’t go forever.”

Eddie’s expression blanks, his mouth parting over nothing. Buck can only stare back, hoping that just this once it might be different. That he won’t get a, ‘Take care of yourself, Buck,’ and a hand to the cheek before the person in front of him disappears forever.

Eddie doesn’t touch his cheek. Instead he presses their foreheads together hard enough to hurt, hard enough to make Buck’s breath catch and rush out of him on a shaky exhale.

“I won’t. I promise,” Eddie breathes and his hand moves from Buck’s neck to the back of Buck’s head and Buck can’t help wondering for a moment what would happen if he closed the distance between them. If Eddie would kiss him back.

It’s not a thought he’s ever entertained before but he’s thinking it now and it feels…like it makes sense. Like an inevitability.

And what a time to have a realisation like that.

Eddie leans back then and Buck forces himself to unclench his hands, attempting to smooth out the back of Eddie’s jacket with trembling hands.

“You should go,” he says because Eddie won’t.

Eddie nods faintly in agreement and it looks like it takes every ounce of effort for him to take a step back. Buck picks up his bag for him, offers it to him, and tries for a weak smile so Eddie will know it’s okay. That he can go and Buck won’t cause a scene.

“I’ll call you as soon as I get to my parents place.”

Buck nods. “Give Chris a hug for me.”

“I will.”

Eddie starts looking towards the security line again and Buck blurts out, “Tell him I love him.”

Eddie looks back to him, a devastating smile of understanding on his face. “He knows already. But I will.”

Buck nods again and then there’s nothing left to say. Eddie turns to go and Buck does the same because he can’t watch until he’s out of sight. It hurts too much already and he can barely hold his tears back as it is.

He doesn’t need to watch himself get left behind again.

~

He’s just unlocking his car when his phone rings. He doesn’t check who it is as he climbs in, just shoves the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he reaches for his seatbelt.

“Keep me company while I wait for my flight?”

He straightens so quickly the phone almost falls into his lap but he catches it just in time. And he tries to laugh but he thinks it might come out more like a sob. “Keep me company on the drive home?”

“Always,” Eddie says like they’re driving home from work after a long shift.

Buck switches his phone to speaker mode and looks down at the keys in his hand, at the keys to the loft, Maddie’s place and Eddie’s house respectively, considering his options before turning on the ignition.

“So there’s the guy at the gate-“ Eddie starts and Buck lets the sound of his voice wash over him. Allows himself just one singular moment where he closes his eyes and holds his hand to his chest before he pulls himself together and drives out of his space.

Eddie is offering him a play by play of the guy at the gate who’s insisting his luggage is not chirping and Buck gets his breath back enough to make a quip about how that made it through the security scanner.

When he reaches the freeway it takes hardly any thought at all for him to take the exit that’ll get him to the Diaz house fastest.

He’s going home after all.

~

[moomine]

backwash III | daisuke

author's note: thank you to literally everyone who’s reading this! you guys are so so sweet and i love you all <3 if you want to be part of a taglist for future updates feel free to reply or dm me!! (cover image credit)

summary: (daisuke x f!reader) Sleep is increasingly hard to find on the Tulpar. At night the reader spends her time in the cockpit, thinking about home. When she feels the whim to sleep, she ventures back to the sleeping quarters, only to bump into Daisuke. Instead, she joins him for a midnight snack and some conversation in the lounge.

word count: 2,372

warnings: no trigger warnings! all characters are 18+

now playing: Dave Bixby - "Morning Sun"

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

EMPLOYEE STATEMENT 034—

There was this movie I watched once when I was a kid, about a little girl who falls from the sky. Although I can’t remember the title of it now. I do remember that she was a part of another world, a part of something bigger. She was important. I don’t think you have us write these to talk about movies, do you? I’m sure you’d rather hear about the operations on board, or the technical difficulties, or if there’s been any damage to the cargo. You know, the “important stuff”.  Everything is running smoothly so far. Is that good?

I want to be a part of something bigger one day. Hopefully this experience will help me. I’m grateful to have this opportunity.

DAY THIRTY-THREE—

Pony Express allowed a maximum of five hours of sleep to their employees on haul. During those five hours, the Tulpar was shadowed by a veil of utter stillness. A silence not too dissimilar to that of a library, or that painful pause in awkward conversation. It was too quiet, which led you to stare at the ceiling until the fatigue of work or boredom got the better of you. Even when you could fall asleep, it was far from restful. Over the past month you had gotten the worst sleep of your entire life thus far. Worse than when you lived in those co-ed dorms with unruly neighbors and argumentative hallways. Worse than those nights thunder cracked down from the darkened sky and you clutched stuffed animals in your chubby, child hands. After a certain point, you had given up on finding sleep at all.

The computer screens within the cockpit would beep on occasion, the sound barely audible over the soft plucking of guitar strings in your headphones. The coords of some old folk song filled your ears instead. You sat in the captain's chair, curling in on yourself with your knees to your chest and arms around your person. Your head snuggled into the dip in your legs, cheek pressed your knee cap as you stared at the sea of glowing green.

Curly had given you permission not too long ago to sit in the cockpit at night. Within the first month of your apprenticeship, you had grown on him quite a bit. The captain had always been a kindhearted person. He was a people pleaser to his core, a man simply happy to help. Curly saw a lot of himself in you, and he knew what it was like to feel, well, restless.

“As long as you promise not to touch anything,” he had said, prefacing his next words with a comforting smile, “you have my permission to use your clearance to the cockpit at night. But if word gets to the higher ups, they’ll have my head, understood? We wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

Normally, you tried to pay attention to how long you had been sitting there, keeping track of each song that played to count the minutes as they passed, but tonight you hadn’t. With a sigh, you reluctantly stood from Curly’s chair, deciding to give sleep another try. You slipped your Walkman into the pocket of your pajama pants and left the cockpit. Each step you took was quiet, almost imperceivable, as you walked down the hall toward the sleeping quarters. You didn’t want to disturb the others, although you had a feeling nobody else was sleeping all that well either. The rusted, trusty pipes groaned as you passed, their settling moans somehow bypassing the volume of your music. It made you feel uneasy. You reached into your pocket and turned the music up a bit in an attempt to drown out the sound. 

Rounding the corner, you finally reached the door to the sleeping quarters. Just as you reached for the door handle, it slid open seemingly on its own, causing you to flinch. Standing there—holding a flashlight in one hand and with the other placed against his chest—was Daisuke, looking far more caught off guard than you felt. You winced as he shined the light directly into your eyes.

“Holy shit, dude,” he breathed, voice dropped to a raspy whisper. “You straight up scared the hell out of me. What are you doing walking around in the dark?” Daisuke adjusted his aim and shot the beam at the ceiling instead, creating enough light for the two of you to see each other a little better.

With a soft laugh, you pulled your headphones from your ears, allowing them to hang around the back of your neck. “I’m sorry. Couldn’t sleep.”

“You too?” Daisuke questioned.

“I’m surprised anyone can sleep on this thing,” you whispered. “Where are you going?”

His eyes dropped in embarrassment as he used his free hand to rub nervous circles against the side of his neck. “I’m… I’m grabbing a snack from the lounge. You wanna come?”

“Yeah, if you want me to.” You didn’t hesitate. Anything sounded better than tossing and turning. You stepped to the side, permitting him enough space to walk out of the doorway then alongside you.

Daisuke breathed a chuckle at your response. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you to.”

“Then I guess I’m coming,” you said in a hushed, playful tone.

Daisuke looked at you with a smile and nodded, shining his flashlight down the hall as the two of you began to walk in silence. In the quiet of the hall, the door to the lounge seemed to open with a deafening wheeze. Deep, royal blue illuminated the large room. The night-time window screen displayed a starry sky with wisp-like clouds, bathing the room with an otherworldly glow. It reminded you of going to the aquarium as a kid, surrounded by water and the smell of saltwater. You half expected to look up and see sharks and fish swimming overhead, but you knew all there would be was a dull, blank ceiling and slumbering lights.

Daisuke stuck his head through the doorway, peeking to see if anyone was already inside. When he determined that the coast was clear—although it wouldn’t have mattered anyway considering the noise of the door, he motioned for you to follow him inside.

“Hell yeah! The place is ours,” Daisuke celebrated, speaking louder once the door closed behind you two. He walked toward the vending machines with long, intentional strides. You tread on his heels, gaze fixed on him in amusement as he looked over the different options. 

You pulled your Walkman from your pocket, then leaned against the bar, palms pressed to the countertop as you pushed yourself up, and took a seat on the cool, brown laminate. “Is there normally someone else here?”

“Hmm?” He barely heard you, too fixated on what he was going to eat. As he processed what you had said, the words loading behind his eyes in a turning spiral, he ordered a pack of freeze-dried fruit and tore into the package. “Oh, nah. Not usually. I mean, I’ve seen Anya in here once or twice, but she’s always coming from medical bay. Getting coffee for those late nights, I guess.”

“She works too much,” you noted. “I wish she wouldn’t push herself like that.”

“You two seem close.” Daisuke approached, leaning against the counter beside you.

“Yeah. You could say that.” A tender smile graced your lips at the thought of you and Anya being close.

There was a pause, a brief lull in the otherwise newborn conversation. A series of crunches sounded from your right where Daisuke stood as he popped piece after piece into his mouth. You glanced over at him, the tenderness of your smile warping into something more entertained. He glanced over at you in turn, his mouth full of apple as he mustered a lopsided smile.

“Hey, it’s your Walkman,” he exclaimed after a swallow, pointing at the dated tech in your lap. “Whatcha listening to?”

“Oh,” you peeped with a suddenly flustered look on your face. “It’s a mix my mom made for me. Just a bunch of old folk stuff she used to play for me when I was little.”

“Can I listen?” he asked, shoving another piece of fruit in his mouth.

“S-Sure, yeah.” You unplugged your headphones and played the tape. It crackled, the old speaker not what it used to be. Or what it ever was, truthfully.

Maybe the quality of the sound would have bothered somebody else, but not Daisuke. As your small corner of the lounge filled with the sound of guitar—the stories of rural towns, first loves, and early mornings, Daisuke set his snack on the counter and listened intently. It was far from what he’d normally like, but something about listening to it here, with you made it sound perfect.

“It’s funny, actually. I never used to like this stuff back on Earth, but lately this is the only one I want to listen to,” you said over the music.

“You must really miss her.” Daisuke inched closer, standing less than a foot away from you as he leaned against the counter. His gaze flickered up to your face, quietly admiring the curves and arches of your profile. Under the blue light of the night time window screen, any blemish or imperfection on your face seemed to vanish. Not that he had ever noticed any imperfections on you. Matter of fact, for some reason, he couldn’t imagine seeing any part of you as imperfect. Even if he tried. There was a somber look in your expression as he spoke, one that made his stomach twist in knots.

“So much. I didn’t think it would be this hard being away from home.” Your voice was just above a whisper now. You felt your eyes begin to burn, the familiar sensation of tears welling in the corners as you tried to suppress the ebbing flow. With the shake of your head, you let out a quick laugh, feeling the tension gradually lifted from your shoulders. “What kind of music do you like?”

Daisuke didn’t blink or care about the change in discussion. He didn’t care about what the two of you talked about, and he wasn’t going to pry either. He knew that you would open when you felt comfortable enough to do so, and he was happy to wait however long that would take.

“A bit of everything, I guess. It kinda pisses me off when people say that and, like, they don’t actually mean it.” He slid his snack off of the bar and extended it to you, shaking it as the pieces inside rattled against each other. “I have a pretty impressive vinyl collection back home. Got everything from Etta James to Duster. You should see it sometime.”

Weakly, you smiled and took a piece of the fruit from the package. “Maybe when all of this is said and done. After the haul?”

“I’d love that,” Daisuke responded quickly, eyes trailing over your face. After another moment of silence, a brief break in conversation, he shifted on his heels and looked away. “So, you uh… you got anyone waiting for you back home? Y’know, like friends? A boyfriend? Or uh, a girlfriend? If you, like, swing that way or whatever. Which would be totally cool, obviously. I’ve got a bunch of gay friends-”

“Daisuke,” you said with a hint of that ever familiar amusement in your voice. “Relax, okay?”

He looked back at you and nodded. “Right, yeah… So, do you?”

“Friends? Yeah, a bunch. I miss them too. But a partner, not so much…” You felt your cheeks light up, a soft pink flush dusting the peaks of your cheekbones and the ridge of your nose.

“Hey, that’s cool,” he responded, bumping shoulders with you and trying not to sound too happy about your response. “Me neither. I mean, like I said, I’ve got loads of friends. Just not the whole girlfriend boyfriend thing.”

“Look at us,” you mused. “One in the same.”

“Yup, one in the same.” Daisuke glanced back at you hopefully, then looked away. He downed the rest of his dried fruit and crumpled up the package, tossing it in the direction of a nearby trashcan and missing by a couple feet. He winced, feeling a tinge of embarrassment as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“You gonna go get that?” you asked jokingly, pushed yourself from the countertop, and landed on your feet, securely tucking your Walkman back into your pocket as the music stopped.

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolled his eyes and walked toward the trash before picking it up and disposing of it properly. “It’s on the way out anyway. In fact, I meant to do that.”

You trailed after him, following close behind as the two of you approached the exit to the lounge. “Totally,” you teased, smiling up at him.

Yet again, the door slid open with that deafening screech as Daisuke and you left the lounge. Together, you walked back to the sleeping quarters. At the door, Daisuke turned to you and stopped. His brown eyes trailed over your features once more in the darkness, illuminated only by the light of the flashlight in his hands. Even in the blackness of the hallway, his smile was bright. His gap-toothed grin seemed almost bright enough to flood the entire hallway with light.

“Thanks for coming with me,” he spoke quietly.

“Thank you for inviting me,” you responded.

Daisuke opened his mouth as if to speak, but the words he wanted to say seemed caught in his throat. Instead, he just nodded and displayed that same smile. Your brows furrowed questioningly, an expression that made his heart skip a bit. Before you could say anything, he opened the door to the sleeping quarters and ushered you inside.

“Goodnight, [Name]. See ya in the morning.” He bit his lip, walking backward toward his room and nearly stumbling when he reached the door.

“Sweet dreams, Daisuke.” 

With that, you slipped into your room with a strange feeling in your chest. A tightness you hadn’t felt since high school, since hallway crushes and etching names into wooden picnic tables. An ache at the loss of his presence. How strange.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

pookies (taglist): @xcryptk33p3rx @freakyydaisukee @sanctuaryofsmartiess @st4rrysblog @academiq @c4t-n1pp @iiveraii

[phantomrose96]

Aromantically rotating this quote from Jon "The Silt Verses" Ware from the Season 2 Q&A (bold emphasis mine)

Question: I love what Paige and Hayward have going on. How would you describe their dynamic? ​ JON: I saw someone online talk about the, “the paladin and the prophet.” Which I think is a really nice way of looking at it! Whereas I saw them as two people who…both of them have come to the end of the road in their old lives. [...] I think maybe there’s also an implicit question there about whether there’s something romantic going on – maybe I’m reading into it, but that is something that’s on my mind a lot, so I’d love to talk about it more. ​ Because shipping is fantastic and it’s wonderful and it’s cool, but as a writer who’s way too online in a parasocial world, I’m really wary of how I respond to it and how I process it. ​ I personally, I don’t like writing fictional characters where the most important moment in their narrative arcs is when they get together with the person they were always meant to get together with. Generally, it’s just a bugbear of mine in fiction and I’m not sure I agree with the underlying message. ​ But I think if any writer who’s way too online sees, hey, people are getting excited about these two characters hooking up and falling in love and they keep coming back to this idea of them hooking up and falling in love, there’s a real rodent voice in the back of your head whispers, "give the people what they want. Get those likes, get that fanart." ​ Which is the wrong response! Because we don’t understand that maybe people are just having fun exploring these characters or their own interpretations of these characters, we think they must be anticipating a pay-off from us. ​ And again, I think it can send you in the wrong direction, one that ends up being essentially flattening – we don’t think, "if these characters hook up, OK, what new opportunities does that give us to explore them, to understand them in greater depth?" Instead we think we need to perform a climactic moment of love and comfort and happiness to get the audience’s approval. Which can be very much to the detriment of the complexity of the characters, but also, afterwards, where do you go with it? ​ And after we released maybe one episode of The Silt Verses, I saw a couple of folks online going ‘oh, god, I hope this isn’t going to end with Carpenter and Faulkner hooking up,’. And you go, "oh my god, I hadn’t considered that as a possibility for a second, that’s not who they are and that’s not what the relationship is here" - but of course all of us are primed for it, that enemies-to-lovers thread that is so common. ​ [...] ​ So it felt like I could introduce a connection there [with Paige and Hayward] and we could see a different way that they begin to be around each other that hopefully feels like it’s adding new dimensions to both of the characters without me looking over my shoulder going, “Am I in danger of turning this into something a bit stock by turning it into quite a straightforward romantic situation?”

[renthony]

Considering the fact that there's still ongoing waves of covid, bird flu is an active concern, and I'm disabled, no, I don't have in-person social life. And since people refuse to mask up, get vaccinated, or offer virtual participation in things anymore, my attempts to find wider social groups keep getting hamstrung. It sucks. A lot.

I've thought about joining the local French conversation group, but they don't have any covid safety protocols in place. I've thought about going to the weekly free art classes at the comic school, but they aren't covid-safe either, so I just watch the recordings when they upload them on YouTube later. I've thought about going to multiple groups at the local queer community center, but when I asked if they had covid safety protocols, their excuse was that "Ron DeSantis banned mask mandates, so we don't do that anymore," instead of doing literally anything to fight DeSantis. I keep thinking about going back to my theatre & stage combat troupe at the ren faire, but I got sick after the show every single year pre-covid and I cannot risk that "faire crud" being covid proper. I just can't.

I am an active member of a union, but that doesn't count for this poll because I exclusively participate online by video calling into meetings. I play D&D with my parents and siblings every week, but that doesn't count because they're family. I talk to multiple friends and family members every day and regularly check in with folks, but it doesn't count because it's on my phone. I hang out with my housemates and we do all kinds of things together, but that doesn't count because they're the people I live with.

I am being as social as I safely can. It feels really shitty that so many people think it isn't good enough. It feels really shitty to constantly feel like my choices are "be a weird angry shut-in" or "elevate my covid exposure risk." It feels like there's no winning.

If you genuinely believe that it's important for people to have in-person social outlets (and I do agree!), here's what you need to be doing:

Follow the People's CDC's Safer In-Person Gatherings guide (which is due to be updated for 2025 soon).

Get your updated covid booster. People aren't getting their updated vaccines, and it's a problem. If it is available to you, you need to GO. GET. YOUR. BOOSTER. And get your flu shot while you're at it.

Advocate for improved air filtration in the space you want people to meet in. Push for air purifiers if the HVAC system can't be fully upgraded. Help make Corsi-Rosenthal boxes.

At gatherings, provide FREE high-quality N95 masks for people who may not be able to access them. Get some for yourself if you can, and actually wear the fucking things. Over your nose and mouth. Properly.

Stop participating in social dogpiling when people make honest blunders or commit a faux pas. A lot of people have been isolated for years by this point. Social skills atrophy if they aren't used. Is that "weird" person in the group actually hurting anyone, or are they just awkward, intimidated, and out of practice when it comes to social groups?

Stop being a shithead to people who still can't participate. Stop entertaining the belief that people who don't have a robust external social life are "defective" or "untrustworthy." Stop treating people who don't have a robust social life as if they're dangerous, stupid, or shady. Sometimes people just don't have a robust social life. There are many, many reasons. It's not something you should make harsh judgments about.

Evaluate your space for general accessibility. Can disabled people enter and make use of the space? Is it mobility aid friendly? Sensory friendly? Are there things that can help make it easier for disabled people to find, access, and participate in the group? Have you asked any disabled people about how you can make improvements?

Get your fucking covid booster. It's on here twice because data suggests you fuckers aren't doing it. Go get your fucking vaccine.

I know I'm setting myself up for another barrage of, "Ren, it's just some stupid tumblr post, it isn't that serious" comments, but...well, it is that serious to me. I want to participate in social groups again. I want to go places and do things again. I want to go out. But I, and a lot of other people like me, just don't have the option.

You can help give us that option by giving a shit about covid safety and disability justice in your community.

Thanks, Anon!

-submit your poll!-

[redsrooftopprincess]

SOBBINF I LOVE YOUR DISABILITY HEADCANONS SO MUCH,, MIKEY'S IS A STRAIGHT PUNCH TO THE GUT <33

May I possibly request reader x Mikey where they find out how he copes and helps make him feel more comfortable? Maybe they find him stoned and snuggles are just exactly what he needs at the moment? Possibly even attempting to help him through his unhealthier coping mechanisms? Bonus points if reader has depression as well!

Of course, no rush and you totally don't gotta do this if you don't want!! Headcanons or one-shot would be rad either way, if you are interested in this req!

Your writing is just so real and I love it so much oml. You are doing AMAZING (in general- as a fanfic writer as well I understand the effort that goes into this stuff and maintaining a regular life ontop of it) and thank you for all your hard work!!

I hope this is okay! 😅

Crushed

Warnings: Drugs/Alcohol, Inebriation

"That's what this is, isn't it? A drive by?" he says, standing, and putting his clothes back on. 

You're on the couch in the club's green room, after the best sex of your life. The party ended hours ago, and in your E induced haze, you'd taken his hand and dragged him down here. 

"What? No! Why would you-?" You swing your legs over the side of the couch and walk over to him a little unsteadily, "Mike, no..." He doesn't look up at you. "I mean... is that what you want it to be?" You ask, hesitantly.

"That's what it is," he says simply.

You swallow and inhale, tears threatening.

He finishes putting on his belt and looks up at you, he tries to ignore the tears in your eyes. Regret, that's all it is, that you ever let him touch you. It didn't matter, it was almost sunrise, "That's what it is," he repeats, "That's always what it is."

You hear it, the bitterness, the acceptance in his voice. He just doesn't have it in him to hide it tonight. It breaks your heart. "Michaelangelo, please..." 

"Look, it's almost morning. I gotta get back underground. I'll see you Wednesday," he said, not really sounding like he was looking forward to the next party. He leaves before you can protest further. 

He knows what you're going to say. He's a great guy, but he's not exactly normal, you know? He's not exactly someone you can bring home to meet the folks. And he really doesn't need to hear it. He gets it. He does. And he feels like shit would be a lot easier if he didn't. If he didn't know *exactly* how unwanted he is. Only good for a good trip, and a decent fuck, if you're feeling adventurous. He snatches a bottle off the empty bar as he makes his way out into the alley. 

It had to be you tonight. He already hadn't been in the best place when the party started, so there was no resistance when you took his hand. On a good day, you could lead him into hell, and he'd follow with a smile on his face. On a night like tonight, he'd thank you. You're friends, but in these circles the line between friend and lover blurs easily. You've slept together a number of times and he always leaves right after. You mean everything to him, so he'd let you do anything to him. Use him however you like. As long as he doesn't have to hear you let him down easy.

You dress quickly. You know what's happening. It keeps happening. He's shutting down. Shutting you out. He assumes you got what you wanted, end of transaction, and honestly the sex was great, it's *always* great, but what you want is him. Not sex. And your not letting him run away. Not this time.

You follow him down into the sewers, and find him sitting against the wall of one of the tunnels, knees curled up to his chest and tears staining the fabric beneath his eyes. You startle him and he tries to get up to face whatever might be attacking him, but stumbles, drunk. 

He sits back down once he realizes it's you. Now everything is so much worse. He never wanted you to see him like this. He didn't need you to feel bad for him. You ask him what's wrong and he doesn't want to talk about it. You say that's okay, and move the bottle out of reach, sitting next to him. 

You sit together in silence for a few minutes. You're terrified that saying the wrong thing will send him running from you faster. 

"Mike-" 

"I don't wanna talk about it, okay?" He gets up to leave, taking the bottle with him, and has to catch himself on the wall when he sways. 

You sigh and stand, but don't move to follow him, "Why not?"

"Because there's no point." 

"Why not?"

"Because you..." He looks at you and his heart clenches, he sighs, "forget it." He stumbles a few steps away and stops with a heavy sigh, "I can pretend all I want, and so can the rest of you, like I'm normal... I'm not," he turns around to look at you, his face a mask of escalating pain and injustice as his fists clench tight, "I'm not. I'm not normal. I'll never be normal..." he shakes his head with a sickening smirk, "It's just a game. Everyone gets dressed up to be freaks for a night and we dance and drink and trip and fuck, and at the end of the night, everyone else gets to stop playing and go home because they can. But I can't take the costume off," he says, grabbing his plastron where it meets his chest, "This isn't fucking make up. I can't even walk around in the FUCKING DAYLIGHT!!!" He roars, hurling the bottle he's holding against the wall of the tunnel, a shard of glass ricochets back and cuts his cheek. "I'm not a person. I'm the fucking party mascot." He spits, venomously,

You take a step forward, "Mike, you know that's not true." 

Bitter laughter echoes in the enclosed space. "Funny. That's... That's funny. Really. Because I've been coming to these parties, meeting people, for seven years now. I've watched *seventeen* people end up just like Sarah and Ben." Your friends had been celebrating their engagement tonight, Michaelangelo had introduced them at a party three years ago. 

"I don't get to have that... I'll *never* get to have that," he chokes, "even as a joke. Honestly, at this point I'd take a joke. I'm already pretending to be a person, wouldn't be that hard of a jump to pretend to be loved, too. I'd just have to find someone willing to lie to me..."

He trails off and the silence that hangs in the air once the echoes of his voice fades is heavy and oppressive. 

"Like I said, there's no fucking point..." He turns around and starts walking down the tunnel towards home, one hand on the wall for support. "Don't worry, I'll be back to all smiles by Wednesday. We can pretend like this never happened. This doesn't have to be a thing and you don't have to pretend whether or not it matters if I'm okay." He hears you take a step toward him, "Go home, Y/N," he calls back without turning around. 

Fine. If he's going to leave anyway, you have nothing to lose. "No." 

"Okay, fine," he sighs continuing down the tunnel, "do whatever you want." 

"Okay," you say, simply, as you begin to follow him. 

He stops, shoulders tight, face toward the ceiling, and sighs heavily, "What are you doing?"

"Whatever I want?" you reply, closing the distance. 

He turns to face you, tired and hurting. If you want to go another round, he isn't exactly in a place where he can say no. At the very least, he could use the dopamine. He used to imagine it would be different with you. He should have known better. Jaw tight, he sighs before reaching for his belt.

Your eyes widen as you realize what he thinks you're implying, your heart shattering all over again. You bring your hand up to rest gently on his, stilling his movements. His eyes meet yours. Hesitant. Guarded. Unsure of what you're playing at. Your hand tightens gently around his as you step forward, and he tenses as if he might run. 

You reach up, and pull him down into your arms. He stiffens for a moment, he's already hanging on by a thread, but he can't help it, it's you. Instinct takes over, wrapping his arms around you and buying his face in your hair. 

You feel his grip tighten as the dam breaks, and despite his best efforts at keeping his shit under control, a ragged sob rips through him. 

You hold him as he cries, moving the two of you back to sitting against the tunnel wall. Eventually, the tears dry up, and he pulls himself away. He quiet for a long time, and looks down at his hands in his lap. He can't even look at you, ashamed and embarrassed. You didn't deserve that. To feel obligated to take care of him. You have better shit to do than this.

You reach up and twist one of the tails off his mask around your fingers, tugging once, gently. It draws his attention, and he meets your eyes, begrudgingly. You reach up and wipe the blood from his cheek, meeting his eyes again. "I'm sorry," he whispers, "I'm sorry, I..."

You hush him gently and sit up on your knees. Taking his face in your hands, you bring him down to you, kissing his forehead. 

He doesn't get it. Why are you being so nice to him. You got what you wanted, why did you follow him? Why are you comforting him? Why do you even care? He looks at you in bewilderment. 

"Tell you what," you say, "I'm not super comfortable with the idea of leaving you alone right now, and it's going to rain, and I don't want to get flooded out down here, so... What do you say we head back to my place. I can order us a pizza, and we can watch a movie, and you can head home once you're feeling a bit more sober stable..." You smile, you hope persuasively. 

"Yeah... Okay..." He says, as you help him to his feet. You aren't wrong. It is going to rain, and as fucked up as he is, traversing this set of tunnels in particular will be a little iffy if the storm drains start to flood. 

You bring him home. You do exactly as you say. Pizza. Movie. Ice cream for good measure. He's not sure what to do. He's usually the one doing the entertaining, and now here you are making sure he was happy and comfortable. 

It takes time, but by the end of the movie, Mikey's mostly sobered up, both physically and emotionally. You even get a genuine smile out of him as sunrise looms and he begins to make his way out. 

"So... thanks... for this," he says, looking at you softly. It was probably the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him.

You smile, walking him to the window. "Anytime," you say, taking his hand and turning to face him as you come to the window, "and I mean that. Next time you get into that headspace will you do me a favor and try to reach for a phone instead of a bottle?" 

He smirks, nodding, "no promises, but I'll try."

"Thank you," you say as he reaches for the window. You touch his arm, gently "hey, one last thing," he steps back from the window to face you, and you stand up on your tiptoes and kiss him softly. It's simple, sweet, honest, "there's no reason you can't have what Sarah and Ben have," you whisper, before pulling away. 

He freezes. He's misunderstood. There's no way you're saying what it sounds like your saying, because it's what he wants you to be saying, so there's no *way* it could actually be what you're saying... Right?

You watch the torrent of emotions play out in his eyes, and you reach up to tug n on his mask. "Sunrise, Sunshine." You say. 

"Sunrise..." He repeats before he blinks, shaking his head, "Right. Yeah. Sunrise. I, uh, I'll see you -

"Wednesday."

"Tomorrow."

You say at the same time, before you laugh nervously under his gaze, "If, you know, you're not busy." You don't want to have to wait until Wednesday.

Hope flickers in his eyes. It's tiny and buried under so much hurt and insecurity, but it's definitely there, "I, uh, yeah... I mean, I gotta work, but I'll be wrapping up around two... so, if you're still up..."

"I'll be up," you say quickly, and he can't help but smile as both of your faces grow warm and you laugh gently. 

"Okay... I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then," he says quietly, almost in disbelief. Is this... What? What is this? He doesn't know, but it feels... better. Warm. Comforting. The things you said, the things you did for him tonight, this... He wants more of this. He'll do whatever he has to to have more of this. 

You can't help the grin that brightens your face. "Until tomorrow, then," you say, and kiss him one last time before he slips out into the desaturated predawn light, and is gone. 

.....

Tag list

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @daedric-sorceress @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo @milykins

[jsmelodies]

Cassian thought it was supposed to be simple. 

Find the witch in the woods.

Convince said witch to give him Ataraxia.

Rescue the princess from the dragon guarding her tower, with said sword, from said witch.

If only the damned witch stopped getting in his way.

Read here on ao3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

And she's done, folks! Thank you to everyone who's read this/interacted with it in any way. It feels so strange to say goodbye (for now), but I had to finish a multi chapter one of these days.

**Slightly nsfw chapter**

Chapter 4

Being wrapped in Cassian’s arms was her favorite thing, she decided.

He held her close, not letting her out of his grasp as they slept, his breath tickling her where it hit the crown of her head. He was all muscle beside her, his chest slightly hairy and soft to the touch, and she nestled closer, tucking her head beneath the crook of his chin.

She wasn’t used to cuddling after sex. Not in this capacity, anyway. At most, she’d stay for an hour or two, just until both parties came down and their heart rates settled, but her pride always forced her to leave.

She didn’t want to leave Cassian’s arms.

When they’d finished, and Cassian finally separated himself from her, he cleaned her up with such care that she’d almost teared up. Then they’d settled together under the blankets, his arm over her waist while their legs tangled together. Her chest pressed against his, and they’d fallen asleep that way.

Peaceful. That was the right word for it. The slow movements of his fingers on her back, and feeling his heavy breathing beside her—it was everything she didn’t know she needed until she had it.

She felt the moment he woke, when he shifted and let out a long, deep sigh.

“Nes,” he said, with a voice hoarse from sleep, his hand playing with the ends of her hair.

She tilted her face back to look at him, and his eyes blinked open, with the adoration she’d quickly become used to directed at her, mouth curving as he remembered where he was.

“Hey,” she said softly, running her thumb over his cheek.

Cassian’s stubble was rough on the pads of her fingers. In a split second, she decided this was how she wanted to wake up every morning from here on out: across from Cassian’s lazy grin, the warmth of his arm seeping through her as he reached over the crook of her waist. 

She didn’t stop him from leaning down, connecting his lips with hers. He swallowed her whimper with his kiss, and delved his hand into her hair. His tongue lingered on her lips, and she opened for him.

He groaned against her mouth, the sound reverberating through her bones, and his knee slid between her legs. Parted them.

The movement of her hips, as she aimed to get closer, had him pausing. He forced himself away. Forced himself to look, without giving into that raw, physical need.

“We need to talk about it,” he said, resigned. “Before we go again.”

“Do we?”

“Yes, princess.”

She had to admit he was right. Cassian deserved the truth—all of it. “What do you want to know?”

His mouth opened, and closed, as if he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say. Eventually, he settled on, “Why?”

Why.

Why do any of it? She knew that was what he was really asking. “Because I tend to be very, very overprotective of my sister.”

Cassian lifted an eyebrow. “And that’s all?”

Her pulse fluttered. Not out of nervousness to tell the truth, exactly, but because she’d grown used to not sharing her secrets. Secrets that, as her betrothed, Cassian should know. “A lot of people pass through here,” she explained. “I’ve become quite skilled at determining who is good at heart, and who isn’t.”

He waited silently. Patiently. Letting her tell the truth of it at her own pace, face filled with understanding.

“These woods can bring out the worst in a man. More often than not, that’s what I see.” She stroked his cheek tenderly. Fondly. “But in rare cases, it can bring out the best in one, too.”

He clutched that hand in his own, bunching it and bringing it to his mouth for a kiss. “Which category do I fall in?” he asked, the lines of his face crinkled in amusement.

“What do you think?” she said, chuckling. “I have seen your heart, Cassian, and I know that it’s good. And perhaps, selfishly, I kept it for myself.”

She watched it all soften, the look on Cassian’s face. “I’m glad that you’re the one to hold it,” he whispered. “And I think that you are allowed to be selfish, when it comes to love.”

She’d guard it fiercely. And from the look that Cassian gave her, he knew that truth as well.

“Why did you leave?” he asked. “All those years ago. People speculate, and I suppose the witchcraft has something to do with it. But…why?”

“Because my mother deemed me dangerous.,” she said, looking away and drawing circles on his arm. “There was another witch here, once. I apprenticed under her for a time, until she passed away. It’s just been me ever since.”

“How long?” 

“Five years.” Right before she met Tomas. But she wasn’t quite ready to talk about that yet.

“You could have come back,” he said.

Nesta shrugged. “Enough people called my kind monsters,” she said. “And there is a kingdom’s worth of knights who would see any kind of monster killed. So why would I?”

He took her chin, tilting it back up to meet his gaze. She saw guilt, of all things, flash across his eyes. “It must have been lonely,” he said quietly.

“You have no idea,” she said.  “I love it out here. It’s my home. But sometimes, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to life than this.” She opened her mouth to continue. “I…”

She tried to find the words, but they didn’t come to her. Instead, water blurred in her eyes, a tear escaping onto her cheek.

“Hey,” he said, wiping away that stray tear. “You don’t need to tell me all of it today. You know that, right?” he said. “We have a lifetime ahead of us. When you’re ready, I’ll listen to whatever you need. You can throw whatever you need at me; I won’t break.”

For that, she was grateful. 

He got close again, chest going flush against hers. “And I don’t ever want to make you cry, Nesta,” he said against her lips.

She closed the distance, kissing him again. He had no qualms about doing it back, and he peppered them across her cheek, her nose, her forehead.

He traced her curves with his hand, from her breasts down to the small of her waist. “I’ve wanted to touch you like this for days,” he admitted. “From the moment I saw you, I wanted you in my bed. Is that so bad?”

A part of her softened at that. “You can have me whenever you want.”

He chuckled. “No. I didn’t mean that. Well, yes that. But I meant…this.” 

He established what he meant by resuming his earlier attentions. He kissed the crook of her neck, and slid his hand over her back.

“Getting to know what your skin feels like, when it’s been a long day, or week, or month, and to be able to just be with you.” He kissed a freckle on her shoulder. “You are everything to me, Nesta.”

“Cassian,” she said. Perhaps it was a bit desperate.

His voice was guttural as he said, “Come here.” He parted her mouth with a press of his lips, tilting her head up and holding it steady with his hand. 

He lifted up onto his elbow as he kissed her relentlessly, moving to pin her beneath him on the mattress.

But that wouldn’t do. Her promise to herself from earlier came to mind, of what she wanted to do to him, and she halted him with a hand to his chest.

Then, she retreated from the bed. Stood at the foot of it. He watched her hungrily, eyes silently questioning why she wasn’t beside him.

“Come here,” she said, crooking a finger.

Cassian crawled. He made his way towards her, lifting himself onto his knees when he made it to the bottom of the bed right before her. 

“Come back to bed,” he whispered. 

“I will,” she promised. She traced her finger down the side of his face, over his strong chin. “Sit down for me.”

He leaned away, the skepticism clear on his face, but he did as she asked anyway. He swung his knees out from beneath him and sat on the bed.

His face was as hard as stone as he looked down. Up. Over the peaks of her breasts, which he took in his hands, to her hips, and all the way back to her eyes.

His hands slid down, moving to cup the bottom of her thighs. To pull her onto his lap, which she couldn’t find it in herself to stop.

She was unable to tear her gaze away from his cock that had gone hard again, jutting upwards between their stomachs. She wrapped her hand around it, tightening her grip until his head fell back with a groan.

“Nesta,” he rasped, letting her do as she wanted with him. His throat bobbed, and she leaned in to kiss it, relishing in his muscles tightening beneath her.

It wasn’t enough. She leaned forward and kissed him once on the lips before releasing him and kneeling on the ground before him.

His eyebrow raised in amusement. “What do you think you’re doing, Nes?”

“I’d think that’s rather obvious,” she replied, leaning down until her lips were right over the head of his cock. 

Her hands ran up the inside of his thighs until her right one gripped his base, giving it a gentle squeeze. She nearly got her tongue on him before his hand was wrapped in her hair at the base of her skull, pulling her head away from him with a simple tug.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he said, snarling slightly. “Princesses don’t get on their knees.”

Cassian pulled her up to his level, likely assessing what, exactly, he wanted to do with her.

“I should return the favor, shouldn’t I?” she asked, her tone light. “You’re making me think you don’t want my mouth on you.”

His gaze intensified. “I never said that.”

“That’s too bad for you then, isn’t it?” she teased. “Poor Cassian, not getting what he wants–”

He silenced her with another tug to her hair, fingers tightening until the feeling bordered on pain. His hazel eyes glinted as she saw him formulating his plan.

“Such a brat,” he muttered. “Fine, sweetheart. You want to suck my cock so bad? You’ll do it from your throne.”

She was about to ask him what he meant by that until he dragged them both back across the bed. Cassian laid on his back, pulling her thighs over him so they rested on either side of his face. 

“Sit.”

He used his demanding tone that she rarely heard, the one that sent shivers down her spine, and forced her down so that she hovered right over his face.

Holding her leg steady with one hand, he used the other to push her down so her mouth was right in front of his cock, his instructions clear. 

The last thing he said before pulling her onto his face completely was, “I assume you know what to do.”

***

He had her one more time on that bed before they pulled themselves off of each other. After she took him in her mouth, she’d laid down on his chest until she felt him pressing against her once more.

All it took was one amused glance, one twinkle of her eye, for Cassian to flip them over, snarling as he held her hands over her head.

And the rest…Well. She supposed if they had a lifetime together, she could grow used to wasting hours in bed, feeling Cassian move in her.

If she had to.

The sun was fading, flickering through the leaves of the forest when they finally cleaned themselves off and managed to get their clothes back on.

“We should go back,” she said. “I imagine my father will want to have a ceremony in the next few days.”

And she wanted it, too. Even if she hadn’t just brought him to her bed, she’d want him at her side sooner rather than later anyway. Permanently.

She’d fought her feelings towards him since she met him, and she was tired of it. She wanted the entire world to know that this was the man she had chosen, that he was the man she loved.

“It’ll be strange going home,” she said, looking out the window to the field outside the cottage. 

A part of her would always love it here. It was her home when nowhere else seemed to be, and for that, she would always be grateful.

But everything didn’t always have to stay the same.

“I can see why,” Cassian said, agreeing. “It’s nice here, though. We don’t have to stay at the castle, not if you don’t want to.”

“I like it here, too,” she said, looking back at him. “Maybe we could come back here, some of the time.”

“We will.” Cassian extended a hand, waiting for her to take it. “Ready?” he asked.

With one last glance around the cottage, she slid her hand into his. The smile he gave her was warm, bright, as her fingers wrapped around his, and he guided her towards the door.

Something pulled at her. Not at her heart, but the source of her power—

Nesta stopped, and put her other hand to his chest. “Wait.”

Someone was here. The magic of her wards alerted her to their presence. The sensation was neither glowing and warm like with Cassian, or chipped and cold like Kallon and the others. It was…perfectly neutral. 

“We need to start heading back, sweetheart,” he murmured. “It’s going to get dark soon.”

“No, I know. But someone’s here.”

She moved to the window, looking to see who had ventured in. At the very perimeter of the fence were two knights, donned in leather armor that allowed them to move freely.

The wards let them through, and they tackled each other to the ground just as they got beyond the fence.

“I got here first, asshole,” the dark haired one said, climbing on top of the other red haired knight.

“I don’t think that makes much of a difference,” the one on the bottom said with a sneer.

“Do you know them?” she asked over her shoulder.

“That’s Sir Azriel,” he said, pointing at the dark haired one. “And the other is Sir Lucien.”

“And? Tell me of them.”

She looked back, to where his eyebrows had bunched on his forehead. “They’re both good,” he seemed to settle on. “I’m partial to Az because he’s like a brother, but they’d both be good to her. And they’re both fond of her, I know.”

With any other man, she would not have believed the words so easily. But he was Cassian, and she found that she trusted his input, and valued the truths that he spoke. So she turned on her heel, grabbing Ataraxia as she made her way outside.

They were too consumed in their brawl to notice her approach. “You want to marry Elain?” she asked.

Both of the men straightened up in her presence, as if they were two boys caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

The one with red hair—Sir Lucien—cleared his throat, and said, “Yes, my lady.”

She was silent for a few moments, giving the pretense that she was deliberating. Then, she threw Ataraxia onto the grass.

“Figure it out amongst yourselves,” she said. “I have somewhere to be.”

***

It didn’t take long for the two knights to scramble off, dashing back into the forest. When she could no longer see them, Cassian joined her outside, and they once again prepared to depart.

Nesta patted Ruby’s nose as Cassian tacked her up. She admired the way he bent over, how a few stray curls made their way free from how he had it haphazardly tied behind his head.

Ruby pushed into her hand, looking for treats. “She likes me better,” Nesta said.

“She does not.” Cassian ducked under her neck, fixing the saddle on the other side. “Speaking of pets, what’s Bryaxis going to do while we’re gone?”

“Oh, I don’t feed him,” Nesta said. “There’s nothing I can catch that he’d be that interested in, anyway.”

Cassian visibly shuddered, looking up from where he tightened one of the leather straps. “Your cat freaks me out.”

“Again, not a cat.”

“Yes. He’s made that perfectly clear, thanks.”

She chuckled. “He likes you, at least. If he didn’t, he would’ve torn you up ages ago.”

“Reassuring.” Cassian stepped back, patting Ruby’s neck as he joined her. “I’m not going to ask how you came into the possession of a beast that takes the form of a common house cat, because I have a feeling it’s a long story.” He kissed her cheek. “And one that you’ll tell me eventually.”

She thought of the story—of how she’d tracked down the beast in the darkest parts of the forest. Offered him the hearts of the cowardly men who trespassed and overstayed their welcome, and a warm roof over his head, in exchange for the protection that came with his fangs and claws.

A symbiotic relationship, if she had to put a word to it.

“You would be right.”

Cassian merely waved it off, and motioned for her to step to the horse’s side.

He placed her on the saddle, leading the two of them through the forest by the reins. He kept his hand at his sword, as if expecting some threat to appear. She wondered if he was always this way when he ventured through the trees, or if it was different, now that she sat on Ruby’s back.

His more than occasional glance over his shoulder confirmed there may have been some merit to the latter.

When the forest cleared, he joined her in the saddle. She felt the warmth almost immediately as Cassian pressed up against her back, drawing her closer to him with an arm around her waist. Her body relaxed into his, letting him steer Ruby closer to the castle gates. Towards home.

Ruby ran through the grass, and Cassian kept his grip firmly around her, not willing to let her go. And all too soon, they passed underneath the first of the gates, towards the edges of the city.

Knowing he was behind her gave her the confidence to bring down her hood, letting the fabric down to her shoulders.

The sun streamed down, a delicate warmth in the setting light as they walked the cobblestone streets. There were women unclipping the last of their laundry from the lines and putting them into baskets, and the children in the streets paused in their playing, peering at her while Cassian clicked his tongue, urging Ruby along.

Some of the kids ran off, returning with their friends, their mothers, their fathers.

Slowly, the pool of people became larger, thicker, as they emerged from their homes to see who Cassian brought home.

They loved him, she realized. The children watched him with awe, at the show of strength he displayed. They looked up to him.

There was no one better suited for it.

“Nervous?” he asked, tightening his arm slightly around her.

She scowled. “No.”

Even though he couldn’t see her do it, he chuckled at the tone of her voice anyways. “They’re excited to see you.” He leaned in even closer. “Their princess, the woman I am to marry.”

A moment later, “The woman that I love.”

Something about how he said it in her ear, the low gravel, the assurance, had her taking in a sharp breath. Only he could say things like that, could take her apart with just a simple statement.

She wasn’t used to a man being so…steady. Immovable as her insecurities crashed, unyielding in his affection.

It was everything she loved about him.

They spent the rest of the ride in a comfortable silence, and Nesta even dared to smile at some of the folks they passed on their way, giving polite dips of her chin to those that waved. Those looks of shock turned to fondness—that Cassian had found happiness. 

Fondness that was extended to her, even though they barely knew her.

Cassian guided Ruby into the castle courtyard, where the sound of clashing steel echoed over the stone. He dismounted first, his thighs flexing as he landed in the dirt. Then he brought his hands to her waist, lifting her from the saddle with ease. 

He placed her down right in front of him.

“I can get off of a horse myself,” she said.

“Can you?” he whispered. His hands lingered on her waist a few seconds longer than he needed to, though Nesta couldn’t say that she minded. “I wouldn’t want you to fall, sweetheart.”

Maybe he just liked having her close. He’d been that way with her all day, not letting her out of arm’s reach for more than a few minutes. 

With heated cheeks, she realized the rest of the knights were watching. Despite pretending they were busy training, or talking with each other, she knew they were watching every single moment of this interaction.

He cleared his throat. With a flourish, he bowed and brought her hand to his lips.

His eyes flickered up, hazel dancing through his dark eyelashes, and all she could think about was how those eyes met hers in the same way only that morning, his lips on a decidedly less honorable place.

He seemed to remember it too, the corner of his mouth rising into a smirk.

“My lady,” he murmured against her skin.

She fought her blush with everything she had, but she still felt it painting her cheeks. “Don’t call me that.”

Cassian’s grin was a feral thing. “My apologies,” he drawled, “princess.”

Oh, mother.

Princess. The word echoed around the courtyard, whispered from one person to the next. It didn’t surprise her. She hadn’t been seen here in any formal capacity for years, after all. It was too much to ask for her return to be…quiet.

No one dared to approach, though, only looking in with shock, frozen in her peripheral.

Rhys found them first, arching a singular brow when he saw Nesta on Cassian’s arm. 

She’d met the arrogant asshole years ago, when she’d knocked him down a peg in front of his father. He hadn’t seemed to like that.

He seemed to recognize her as well, his gaze hardening as he approached.

He bowed his head, offering deference. “Princess Nesta.”

“Sir Rhysand.”

“Come, now. Only my enemies call me that.” 

Her brow lifted. “And you have many of those?”

His teeth glinted as he gave her a cruel looking smile. “Some things never change, I see.”

Cassian threw his arm around Nesta almost immediately, stroking his fingers against her as he held her in his steady grip.

“Rhys,” he said, a cautious edge to his voice that she wasn’t familiar with. “I’d like to introduce you to my future wife.”

She looked up at him, noticed the set of his jaw in a firm expression. Cassian had his brow raised at Rhys, almost as if daring him to say something.

Drawing his line in the sand. 

Rhys blinked. He paused, his mind thinking, before nodding slowly. “Congratulations to you both. I suppose I’ll be your brother in law soon in more ways than one.”

Cassian noticeably relaxed, the arm around her shifting more towards a touch of affection, rather than a protective one. As if Rhys would be able to harm her, anyway. Even though she didn’t technically need it, the gesture was nice, regardless.

It took a couple of seconds for the words to register. “Feyre?” she asked.

“Yes. We’re to be wed.”

“How the hell did you get her to agree?” Cassian asked. “Last you told me, things were…” he grimaced beside her. “Rocky, if I recall.”

Of all things, Rhys looked away and blushed. “A story for another time.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. If the red mark on his neck was anything to go by, there was more to the situation than he let on. She’d be talking to Feyre later, to get the details. Although, she didn’t have too much room to judge given the way she had let Cassian have her just that morning.

“Nesta!” Feyre dashed down the palace steps, running towards her.

She slammed into her, hugging her as if she hadn’t seen her in years. Maybe…maybe she’d spent too much time away from this place.

Nesta hugged her back. “Hi, Feyre.”

Feyre leaned back, and beamed. “Welcome home.”

***

Nesta’s father smiled broadly when he saw that she’d chosen Cassian. She’d noticed him fidgeting and trying to hide the nervousness from his smiles ever since he broke apart from his conversation with Rhys, and part of her knew that he was terrified of the judgment her father would give.

He’d told her of the insecurities he faced, of being looked down on in the knighthood for his lower status. She hadn’t cared one bit, even though her mother had insisted once that only a duke or a prince would ever suit her. But the woman was dead, and couldn’t input her opinions anymore.

And quite frankly, Nesta hadn’t paid any mind to her words after her mother sent her away. 

Her father welcomed him with open arms, though, saying he was glad to have Cassian as a son. She could have sworn Cassian froze as the man hugged him, eyes comically wide, before returning the gesture. 

Then her father proclaimed they would be wed the following night.

That evening, they ate and they drank as they celebrated the upcoming union. And when Nesta’s mind started to go blurry, Cassian guided her from her seat, gently holding her wrists and saying she’d had enough.

They were set up in different rooms the night before. It was tradition, and as far as everyone knew, Nesta was still virtuous. 

So while the hall was rowdy and chatter made its way through the halls, Cassian led her to her room and paused in the doorway. His was right across from her—so they wouldn’t truly be too far apart, but it felt like it regardless.

He drew her close and placed a kiss on her forehead. “This’ll be our last night apart, princess. I promise,” he said.

She grabbed his wrist, trying to pull him inside. But he stopped her with an easy flex of his muscles, not letting himself be persuaded otherwise.

“You’re drunk,” he said, chuckling. “We’ll play all you want later. Get some rest, you’re going to need it tomorrow.”

They shared one last kiss before he broke away, Cassian pressing his forehead to hers, and Nesta longed for the following night. When she could drag him into her room, and no one would blink an eye.

She watched his retreating form reach his door before she closed her own. And when the world had gone quiet, and she made her way into her bed, she shut her eyes.

***

Nesta ran her hands over the smooth fabric of her gown. For the wedding being this last minute, it was perfect—a satin gown of deep red that she knew Cassian would nearly weep over.

Two ladies from the palace pinned small braids atop her head into an updo that weaved across itself. While she typically favored her coronet, this seemed to suit the occasion. 

They were twins, from the look of it. They chattered as they worked, and Nesta was content to let them gossip the morning away. 

She had years of gossip to catch up on, after all.

“Could you give us a minute?”

Feyre’s voice was the last thing she expected to hear. In the mirror, she could see her sister standing in the doorway, paused by a slight hesitation and an unsure smile.

“Feyre.”

The ladies left the room silently, bowing their heads as they passed her sister. Feyre took a seat on the settee in the corner.

“You look beautiful,” Feyre said.  “Cassian’s a very lucky man.”

Nesta snorted. “It depends on how you look at it, I suppose.” 

“I think we’ll have to disagree on that,” she said lightly. Feyre stalled for a minute. “Elain arrived back today.”

“Did she?” Nesta’s mouth curved up. “With a suitor in hand?”

“With two.” She heard Feyre shifting in her seat. “It’s caused quite a scandal. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Nesta hummed. “I might have been a little distracted.”

“With a certain hulking knight?” Nesta lifted her eyebrows, meeting her sister’s inquisitive look through the mirror. But her sister waved it off. “I’m the last person to judge. Those three can be…persuasive,” she clarified. 

Nesta just stared for a moment, unused to the openness between them. The familiarity in the words. But she couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. “That’s one way to describe it.” Her eyes crinkled with it, and she said, “I’ve missed you, Feyre.”

Feyre’s expression turned hopeful. “Does this mean you’re going to come back home?”

“Can I say that I haven’t decided yet?” Nesta asked. Her shoulders tensed slightly, waiting for her sister’s response. Not that she thought Feyre would cast her off, but…

She’d seen the look of disappointment on Feyre’s face too many times to count, on the days where her little sister begged her to stay instead of returning to the forest. She’d always hated being the cause of it.

But Feyre merely smiled. “You’d make a wonderful queen,” she offered. “If you want a reason to stay.”

“I always thought you would,” Nesta rebutted. “You’ve always been brave, when I never was.”

“Well, that’s not true in the slightest,” Feyre said. “You were always my big sister. Nothing could scare you. Plus,” Feyre added, “You have no trouble keeping all those knights in line. I think you could manage to rule a kingdom.”

“I’m not certain I wish to,” Nesta admitted. “Listen, Feyre. I’m sorry that I wasn’t here, that I didn’t—”

“Don’t,” Feyre said, cutting her off. “I get it, Nesta, I do. It sucked, but I understand why you stayed away.” Her sister stood, joining her in front of the mirror. The next thing she knew, Feyre had wrapped her in a hug, holding her tightly against herself. “I just hope it doesn’t always have to be that way.”

They broke apart, and as Feyre held her hand, her smile still on her face, Nesta couldn’t help but agree.

***

Their wedding took place that evening. 

The first thing that Nesta thought when she saw Cassian standing at the altar was that for once, he was polished. She knew he was nobility, that he was the son of a lord, but this was the first time that he truly looked the part.

He’d always been beautiful in the rugged way, like he was carved from stone. Like the gods themselves had crafted him in their hands. It was the sort of beauty that was wild, that was not meant to be kept behind palace gates.

Today, though, that wild hair was contained behind his head. Instead of armor, he donned his court finery: nice pants and a black tunic with silver embroidered on the edges. Over top, he wore a dark red jacket. Simple, but elegant.

His mouth broke into a wide grin when he saw her at the door. And she found her heart filled with hope, with every step that she took towards him.

It went faster than what she wanted. A priestess named Gwyn tied their hands together with a white ribbon. His palm was beneath hers as she promised her undying devotion, and he squeezed her hand as he did the same. 

His voice wavered as he repeated the words, sparing no attention for the crowd that had formed beyond them, curious to see their princess again. No, it was fully on her. His eyes locked on her own, tears swimming with the hazel, swearing off all others and tying his life to hers. 

She watched as those tears formed fully, streaming down his face as he finished the words, and the priestess started her speech.

And before she knew it, Nesta was declared his wife.

He smiled into their kiss. Chaste, and merely a promise of what was to come later, when she had him alone.

The last few days had been a whirlwind, but Cassian’s hands kept her steady, gentle as they held each other in silent embrace where they stood. The guests began to filter out, but Cassian took the moment to hold her there with him, only separating from her to cup her face in his hands.

“You look beautiful today,” he murmured.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” She reached up to wipe those tears away. “Let’s go make an appearance, husband.”

***

The mid summer breeze was cool when they stepped outside of the temple. There were cheers as they walked through the courtyard and into the great hall, which was bedecked for the celebration.

Despite the short turnaround, Nesta’s father went all out: there was a feast that could feed hundreds, with a roasted pig and barrels of mulled wine that filled goblet after goblet along the walls.

Cassian didn’t hesitate to spin her around and around on the dance floor, and when the guests were distracted he pulled her into an empty alcove where only the echoes of the music could find them.

She half expected him to kiss her right then and there. He hadn’t touched her in over a day, and he was probably as restless as she was. 

He offered her his hand instead, leading her into him gently as the orchestra began another tune. She raised a questioning eyebrow.

“One dance, just the two of us. With no one watching,” he explained.

Her heart melted a bit at that. He pulled her in closer, humming softly to the music that played while they swayed together. 

And although knowing the little things would come over following months, and years, she felt at home in his arms. She knew him. Her soul knew his, connected on some level that she couldn’t explain. Maybe it didn’t need an explanation.

Nesta wasn’t afraid of what she saw. And neither was he.

People she hadn’t seen in years came up to congratulate them as the night went on. With each interaction, her back tensed up tighter and tighter, until Cassian finally took notice and drew her away.

“Should we turn in for the night?”

She blushed slightly, imagining what the guests might say about their early departure. But she found she didn’t care about it in the slightest. She nodded, and his hand slid to the small of her back as he led them to their quarters for the night.

Once he shut the door, Cassian kissed her once, twice before slowly turning her around so she faced away from him.

He started undoing the buttons down her back, his large fingers struggling to separate the tiny things from the fabric that held them together.

“Who designed this?” he asked, curiosity lacing his tone. “The enemy of husbands everywhere.”

She stifled her laugh, trying to stay as still as possible. “It’s part of the wedding night experience, struggling to get your bride’s dress off her.”

“I think you’d be disappointed, sweetheart, if I struggled too much to get it off.”

She was just glad he hadn’t gone the route of ripping it off her body. Though, to be fair, he’d nearly done it the morning before. He was more in control today, content to enjoy the moments of the day as they happened.

And she liked this dress. She was glad it wouldn’t become a pile of shredded fabric, destroyed by a man with no taste.

Once he got it to a point where he could, Cassian pushed the dress off of her shoulders, but there were still buttons going all the way down to her waist.

“At this rate, it'll take all night,” she muttered.

“It’s ok, Nes. I’m a patient man.” His breath was right there, hitting the ridge of her ear. “I’ll have you in that bed soon enough.”

“Something tells me you’re not patient at all.”

“You’re in a mood today, aren’t you?” Cassian bent over then, picking up the bottom hem of the gown and bunching it around her waist. “Since I’m apparently so impatient, maybe I should just fuck you in this.”

She whimpered softly, letting her head fall back to rest on his shoulder. Which he took advantage of. He hummed, leaning in to press his lips into the side of her neck. Her cheek. Her ear. 

“Is that how you want it, Nes? Rough and uncontrolled?” 

“I—” Nesta could barely speak.

Even though she couldn’t see it, she could feel the smirk that graced his lips. “Where do you want me to take you, then? The desk? The wall?” He nipped at the bottom of her ear. “The floor?”

“That’ll destroy your knees.”

“So be it.”

Before he could begin his plan, though, Nesta turned in his hold. She took his chin in her hand, pressed between firm fingers, holding him right where she wanted. His smile only grew.

“Maybe I wish to take you.”

“I don’t think you could manage it,” he teased.

She hummed, considering, then gave a gentle tug with her hand. She watched intently as he bent over, amused as the large, hulky knight that was her husband allowed himself to be pulled without complaint. 

“I’m going to be on top,” she said.

One slow hand ran down her back. “Are you?”

The flecks of green in his eyes sparkled in the candlelight, like tiny stars that were only hers to look at. They roved over her. “In the dress, I hope?”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes, despite knowing she didn’t want to go through the process of taking it off, either.

“Lie down, husband, so I can have my way with you.”

She caught the hitch of his breath, the indication that he was just as excited about the prospect as she was.

He took off his jacket first.

Then, with a fluid motion, he tugged his shirt over his head, revealing the prominent lines of muscles on his abdomen. Which he made sure to flex as he dragged the shirt from his shoulders.

Her mouth parted, struck by the beauty of her husband. Everything from his tanned skin, to the stunning hazel of his eyes, to the jawline that could forge steel. 

He undid his hair, and it fell into its normal waves. All of the heat she normally felt when she looked at him intensified, and he smirked.

He took a step back towards the bed. “Whatever you command, wife.”

***

She didn’t know if she would ever get used to how sweet he could be after they came together.

He kissed her softly, worshiping her like a goddess, and asking if she needed any water, or food, or blankets. Even though she had been the one to ride him until he couldn’t think straight, holding his release with an unrelenting grip until he begged her for it, somehow he was still taking care of her.

She’d collapsed next to him, stray hair from her updo sticking to the sides of her face from sweat. He’d brushed them away, his soothing hands running over her skin, lingering at the dress still bunched at her torso. “Let’s get this off of you, yeah? I wouldn’t want it to be ruined.”

He carefully undid the last of her buttons so that it could slide down past her hips. Then she was bare, and she realized as he held it out to her that he’d brought over a shirt for her to change into, one of his. She blinked away tears as large hands found each of the pins in her hair, removing them and letting it cascade down her back. He ran his fingers through it, combing out the tangles that had gathered over the course of the day, with a heartbreaking tenderness.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked, once he’d hung the dress on the chair in the corner, returning to the bed with her. “I know that was intense.”

She was still tingling with the aftershocks of pleasure, but Nesta found she was completely relaxed. “I’m perfect,” she said. “Come to bed with me, Cassian.”

She grabbed his hand, pulling him beside her, and they made their way under the covers.

“No one else,” he said. “For either of us.”

“No one else,” she replied. With one more kiss before she settled, Nesta said, “Cassian. I love you.”

Her brave knight hummed, and his steady arms were around her once again. This was right where she belonged. The thought came to her as her eyes drifted closed, as she burrowed deeper into the warmth of his body.

“I love you too, Nesta,” he whispered, as she teetered on the edge of being asleep.

It was the last thing she recalled, before she dipped into unconsciousness. And while she safely slept in Cassian’s arms, she couldn’t deny the pure contentment that flowed through her.

[astrow1zar6]

Astro Observations~ 40

Scorpio moons take really long to talk about themselves and their past. Especially when getting to know someone they are romantically interested in (I notice this more with the men) it’ll be years until you really start to know them. This is why many can view them as toxic.. but once you wait out their little game they are loyal to you for life.

Taurus moons would rather pretend they are happy and content than ask for help. This is why they are viewed as emotional stable (but really they’re just repressing a lot:( it’s okay to be not okay♥️)

Aries Venus people get turned on from arguing (especially if paired with a Scorpio Mars)

Fire mercuries were yelled at a lot for talking too loud

Moon in Leo’s and be SO toxic when insecure. Cockiness to the extreme.

Every Leo sun I meet I see attract so many people to them. They really are such magnetic people their energy gives people life (like the sun). As dramatic as they are their confidence is so refreshing & admiring to be around. Their confidence gives others confidence as well.

Virgo suns Leo Venus women smell soooo good usually. Every time I walked someone to smelled like heaven they had this combo.

Aquarius sun tend to mold into their environment. Their personality can become easily influenced but those around them. This is why it’s important for them to surround themselves around positive influences. (Their friend group can usually change them for the better or worse)

Mars in Aquarius folks love things that are out of the ordinary whether it be clothes, sex, people, friends ect. Anything that confuses them or shocks them they usually become obsessed with.

Uranus in the 3rd house sounds like such a smart placement! I never met one person with this placement so I’m so interested on what these people think. (If you have this placement talk about it in the comments 🤗)

Mercury retrograde people are FUNNY omg. For a placement that has a hard time communicating they are absolutely hilarious. They say the most original jokes, shit that makes you think “how do you even come up with that🤣” they are able to see things people normally overlook which makes them so witty.

All Scorpio placements have such piercing dark eyes (sun, moon, rising esp). Even if you have light colored eyes they still appear dark in a way idk how to explain it.

Scorpio risings love people who can hold eye contact. It’s like their secret way of communicating. Insecure types however I see completely avoid it.. but most I notice really dig it. (Especially when it’s their crush 😏..)

Leo risings can exaggerate things about themselves to impress others. They are very dazzling and engaging but you can sense a fakeness in how they present themselves at times. (You guys don’t have to be something you’re not to impress others you guys are so cool regardless 🫶🏽) I’ve seen a lot of people with this placement be actually really awkward and nerdy but most cover it up with a glamorous mask.

Water mercuries can sense when people have bad intentions. They are usually the first ones to see when someone is fake while others might miss it. (Can catch a bad vibe from someone everyone likes then later find out they were horrible people all along).

Moon in Aries women are so HOT. The men are hot as well but very immature and annoying most of the time.

Aqua moons I feel like are the most unconventional and eccentric of all the Aquarius placements. They on a different wavelength then us all.

Gemini Risings in school were usually getting trouble for talking too much or disrupting the class lol.

Sorry I took to long to post I’ve been violently sick all week ♥️🫶🏽

[butchesanddykesandqueersohmy]

Genuine question that I've tried to ask other people and still not had an answer that makes sense

As an intersex trans person where do we fit into this tme/tma way of thinking?

because honestly from the layman's perspective it does just seem to be another new binary cropping up, and which is certainly how I've seen in be used an awful lot in practice out in the wild of social media and such

The reason I ask is because many intersex experiences don't fit neatly into this either or kind of experience, many of us are direct targets of transmisogyny every single day of our lives in real, scary and material ways, but we were assigned female at birth,

but some how many times I've seen folks be told theyre tme solely for having been assigned female at birth when clearly they are regular and direct victims of transmisogyny (and intersexism)

I absolutely understand the need to talk about the shit that specifically trans women face, and I've been in and around the trans community my entire life (thankfully), but I genuinely don't understand this tme/tma stuff and I want to, it doesnt seem to have much room for the nuanced lives that exist in our community

you folks realise TME isnt just a new synonym for transmasc right. like you realize when trans women are talking about TransMisogyny Exempt Individuals that includes, like, for example, cis men and women, right?? if you're gonna throw a fit over TMA/TME being "a new binary" i think you are a) purposefully misrepresenting these terms for the sake of delegitimizing them or b) being taken advantage of by those who do so. check your transmisogyny and do better lmao.

[doomtrooper77]

I've got a story to accompany this image. You can read it below. It is not a cute romantic story; it is more like my images. So, if that is not your thing, skip the story. If you do, let me know what you think of it.

Wrong Side of the Tracks

I had been in the bar for an hour already. It was one of those places off the beaten track where everyone went from what some would call the wrong side of the tracks. Mind you, this place wasn’t rundown. It just wasn’t fancy. The long wooden bar was polished, and the stools were worn but comfortable. Booths lined the wall opposite the bar. In the back of the bar were some big couches and chairs in an open area. Every seating surface was made of that old-school leather that got patina but never grew thin, never ripped. It was all cushioned just right for sitting and drinking the night away. Behind the bar was bottle after bottle of every liquor you could think of. Cases full of bottles of beer and more than a few on tap. However, don’t come in asking for some fancy new-fangled Microbrew bullshit. This wasn’t that kind of place.

Most people who came here were working-class people who came in for drinks and bar food. People who worked with their hands or on their feet all day. You had some white-collar folks sprinkled in, but mostly people who grew up in the neighborhood who managed to get a job downtown but still came back to visit friends and family in the area. That’s not to say it also didn’t have more seedier visitors. It was also a place where locals on the "wrong" side of the law congregated. Depending on the day of the week and the time, there was little you couldn’t find here if you knew the right person to ask.

You need a loan. There was a table in the back where some gentlemen of Italian persuasion sat most days. They were happy to give you some money for a hefty fee. If you needed something to bring you up or down, there was usually someone you could talk to to provide you with whatever you needed. But they couldn’t sell it in the bar. Business of that sort was not allowed in the bar; discussing it was different. If you needed someone’s leg broken, there was someone who you could talk to about that.

The bar was situated behind several warehouses and buildings in an old light industrial part of the city. You had to know where it was to find it and drive a maze of access roads and streets to find it. The bar had an address but didn’t appear on Waze or Google Maps.  The lot was big enough for everything from Harleys to big rigs.  The lot is dim, with most of the light coming from other businesses outside its perimeter.

I was on my 3rd beer when I heard the Harley outside. It was cold in the Midwest in November, but the hardcore bikers rode in the cold air. I was sitting midway down the bar when the door opened, and the crowd started parting. People quickly moved aside, even to the point where they pressed against others to get out of the way of the approaching figure. I got a glimpse of him just as he passed. I thought, “Jesus, he's gotten even bigger!”  He walked past, and you could feel his aura move with him. Predator. It was the only way to describe it. Some construction workers were drinking a few feet down, and one of the bigger guys either didn’t see him coming or had decided he was the alpha in the room. The biker didn’t change his step; his massive shoulders plowed through the big construction worker, pushing him into his buddies and spilling his beer down his shirt.

“Hey FUCK WAD, watch where you’re going!” The big construction worker said. He was big, about 6’5, and easily 280-290 solid pounds. You can tell he was used to being the big guy in the room. The area around them quieted as the biker turned around and took two steps back. I got a good look at him then. He was about 6’2, so shorter than the construction worker. However, everything else about the biker made the construction worker seem small. He had actual doorway-wide shoulders.  Arms are truly as thick as a healthy man's leg. Massive pecs encased under the leather vest. His lats push his massive arms away from his body at a freaking 45-degree angle. A neck so massive that it seemed like his huge shoulders just met his head somehow.  The part of my brain that was pretty damn good at calculating a man's size and weight told me at least 375 actual pounds.

One of the construction workers whispered “shit” as he pulled on his friend's arm. The bigger construction worker was wiping beer from his shirt and shook his friend's arm off as he looked up. Both men’s eyes met, and something happened. Guys know the feeling when you are in a situation where you quickly find out that you are not the alpha in the room. The biker took another step forward and pushed his chest into that of the construction worker. The biker tilted his head to that angle some guys do when trying to figure out how badly they will hurt someone. Not if, but how much. Everything around them quieted and stopped.

I could only see part of the construction workers' faces, but I could see the anger drain quickly away to be replaced by fear.  The Biker saw it and stepped into him more, pushing him back on his friends. Something like a wave of heat seemed to pass over me, and I could feel the raw dominance coming off that biker. It was like being on the edge of a violent storm. You can feel the air pressure change and smell the lightning as it crashes just feet away. Or it is like being on the edge of a vast forest fire, watching a fire tornado spin feet away and your skin both dry and slick with sweat simultaneously.

I felt my balls shrink up and throb at the same time.  “Sorry. Sorry.. man, I’m sorry,” the Big Construction worker was saying. No longer meeting the biker’s gaze, he said, “Sorry I bumped into ya. My fault. Sorry, sorry.”  The Biker stayed crowded in his space for another 15 seconds, stepped back, and looked at the construction workers' buddies, who all looked away. He turned to walk to the back of the bar to the area where the couches and chairs were. There was a dangerous and knowing smirk on his face.

Within seconds, the bar's sounds returned to normal, and people moved on as if nothing had happened—except for the construction workers. Those guys threw money on the bar, paid their tab, and quickly left.

However, I was now intrigued—no, make that obsessed—with the monster in the back of the bar. Over the next hour, I made my way down the bar toward the back of the room. I could see he was sitting with several other bikers and rough-looking men. I couldn’t hear what they were discussing but could see them on the sly. He filled one of the club chairs, his mass covering it completely. He wore this leather vest, black jeans, and big black harness boots. Out of the group, he talked the least.

A couple in the booth was just on the edge of the sitting area, which had a perfect view.  They left when I almost convinced myself that my little spy game had gone as far as it should. Before they could get two steps away from the booth, I slid into it. The waitress came over, and I got another beer.  I took out my phone and pretended to be scrolling on it while I was sneaking peaks at the monster. My cock was so hard in my pants that I had to squirm around a bit to give it room.  Knowing I might never see this guy again, I discreetly turned on my camera and videoed him. I kept making gestures like I was scrolling and typing, but I was filming his every twitch and flex.

I ended up drinking another two beers while getting more and more footage. The angle I had the camera meant I really couldn’t see my screen. I might have noticed when he started looking at me if I had. Only when I looked up to sneak another peek I saw two pools of steel looking at me.  Eyes so bright and grey that they seemed to glow, and they were looking at me. Not glancing but staring at me. I could feel the weight of his attention. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck” was all I could think.  As nonchalantly as possible, I slowly angled my phone away, and while pretending to be texting, I shut off the camera. It was time to go. I couldn’t dare look up at him to see if he was still looking, but I knew. I could feel it—the heat and pressure of his attention.

I had two problems. My cock was still rock hard, and I needed to piss badly. So badly, I thought that if I tried to make it to my car, I would piss myself. SHIT. I took out my wallet and threw 50 bucks and an OK tip on the table. Every second felt like my bladder was going to burst. SHIIIT. Taking a deep breath, I causually stood up with my hand in my pocket, trying to hold my boner down, and started walking across the bar to the hallway with the bathrooms. My brain screamed don’t look at him, my cock, on the other hand, throbbed under my fingers and said, come on one last look.

Glancing in his direction as I walked past the men who sat in front of him, I saw his head turn and track me. Like some goddamn tiger or something. I got to the bathroom and made it to the urinal, and let out 5 beers worth of piss. My hard cock throbbing in my hand the entire time. When I finished, my cock had gone to semi-hard. Stuffing it back in my pants, I washed my hands, took a deep breath, and told myself to walk out of the bar. Walk out of the bathroom and straight out the bar, not looking at him or anyone. Out the bar and to my car.  Go home. Go home and watch all of the videos you took of that beast. My cock twitched and started to harden again.

I opened the door, turned to go down the hallway, and ran into a wall of beef. He stood there, his massive body filling the dim hallway, waiting. I bounced off him and stumbled back two steps. I looked up at his face and those eyes. My body froze. I can’t explain it. I FROOZE. He looked at me, his head tilted as if he were deciding something. My heart was racing, and my mouth was dry. For seconds, I couldn’t say anything. Then I remembered what happened with the guy up front. I quickly said, “Sorry. Excuse me for bumping into you.”  

He started moving toward me. I backed up a step, thinking he was headed to the bathroom. But he wasn’t. He kept walking past the bathroom, and now he was against me. His massive body pushes me forward, my backward pace struggling to keep up. “Uh wait, hey, umm, excuse me.” Every nonsensical word came out of my mouth, and he kept pushing me back down the hallway. I started to fall backward, and I felt this massive hand grab my shirt and keep me upright. With no effort, he lifted me on my toes and carried me down the darkening hall. I kept mumbling until he said, “Shut up.” He didn’t yell. He gave an order and expected it to be followed.

We turned a corner and went down another short hall. There was an exit door. He pushed me through it into the night. Behind the bar, it was virtually pitch black, only lit by moonlight and his eyes. He walked us 50 feet behind a brick shed and pushed me against the wall.  His beard split into a hard grin, and he said, “Phone.”

Stunned and terrified, I said, “What?”

I have never had anyone grab me by my throat and lift me off the ground before. His massive hand clamped around my neck; his other hand went to my pants pocket and ripped out my phone.  Still holding me up with one hand, his other expertly clicks the button to turn the screen on. It was locked. He looked at me and then at the phone. I expected he would demand the lock code. Instead, he turned my head to face the phone and held it up. Even in the dim moonlight, it recognized my face and unlocked it.

The massive hand that wasn’t throttling me expertly moved over the screen. His big fingers press and swipe my screen. The screen lit up his face. Harsh, rough, brutally handsome. In a few seconds, I heard the sound of the bar playing from my speaker.  His hand tightened on my throat.  I watched his face as he scrubbed through the video. His brutal features were darkening. The aura of potential violence made the air thick.

He turned the phone so I could see the video playing, which showed him staring at me and the camera from minutes ago. He pulled me down and leaned all of his weight into me, crushing me to the shed wall. He leaned in where our faces were touching. His steel grey eye was less than an inch from my own, staring into my eye like a laser beam. His beard rubbed against mine as his mouth was next to my ear. His hot, angry breath blew across my ear and neck.  It was intimate. Fear can be intimate.

“Who the fuck are you, and why are you videoing me.” He said. His voice was deep, and his words were spoken normally, but the power behind them made me shiver.  My brain went blank. Words just tumbled from my mouth. Apologies. Explanations. Gibberish. I could see the rage ignite in his eyes as he pressed himself against me fully and repeated himself more forcefully. He asked again, and the anger and potential violence in his voice made my legs weak.

Then froze.  His eyes stayed locked to mine. His head tilted. He let go of my neck and reached down between us.  My brain may have been terrified and incapable of action; however, my cock was having the time of its life.  It could care less that this 390-pound monster was about to rip us apart. All it cared about was that 390-pound monster crushing and grinding me into the wall behind us. I felt the biker’s massive hand grab my hard cock.

The heat in his eyes was still there, in suspension.  Lifting my phone back up, I watched as he expertly tapped, swiped, and scrubbed through my phone. We stood that way for almost 3-4 minutes. I heard numerous videos I had saved to my phone from Leather sites, Raw Fuck Club, videos saved from Twitter and Pornhub. He flicked through them, and all the while, my throbbing cock was crushed by his hand.

Looking back at me, his eyes were still full of heat. “Is that it puppy? You getting some more jerk off material on your phone?” My fear is now joined with shame. SHIT. Shame giving me the power to look away.  His big hand squeezes my cock painfully, and he says, “I asked you a question, boy! You’re videoing me so you can jerk this thing off later?” His hand squeezed and pulled my cock roughly through my jeans. It throbbed and twitched with excitement.

I mumbled, “Yes.”

His face gets close to his mind, and the anger is back in his voice, “Speak up, boy! You got the balls to be filming me for your personal pleasure, be man enough to say it!”

“Yes, that is why I was filming you,” I said.

“Why me?” He said, his voice clearly expecting an answer.

I paused. Thinking of what to say.  Decided on the truth. “I’ve never seen anyone like you. As big as you are.  As tough as you are. As strong as you are.  As mean and scary.“ I stopped myself from going further.

He let go of my cock and pressed himself hard against me, crushing me more than before. “You like’em big and scary, huh?” His face was close to mind. “I’m 400 fucking pounds of the meanest and scariest motherfucker you gonna ever meet, boy.”  He pushed his mouth close to my ear and said, “I do mean and scary shit for fun. Are you sure you want that?” He fucking growled like a beast in my ear.

My cock didn’t give my brain time to think, so I quietly said, “Yes.”

He growled in my ear and crushed me even more against the wall. “Mean and scary it is.” He said.

Spinning me around, he pushed me face-first into the brick wall. He reached around, grabbed the front of my pants, and unbuckled my belt. He slid the belt off. Before I knew what was happening, he had made a loop out of it, put it around my neck, and pulled it tight. “There we go, puppy needs a leash.” He said. I was up on my toes. My skin was hot and cold. Excited and scared.

I felt his other hand grab the back of my jeans and yank. There was a ripping sound, and I tried to grab his hand to keep him from ripping my jeans. “Hey, I can take them down…” I never finished that sentence because I felt a fist hit me in the kidneys. Bright pain lanced up my side, and my legs went weak.

Pressing up against me, he said, “Understand this puppy. You’ve got three jobs right now. One, do what I say and nothing but what I say. Two, do whatever you can to make sure I enjoy using you however I want. Three, Survive. Do one and two well, and three shouldn’t be a problem. You fuck around thinking this is some date, and I can show you a whole other level of mean and scary. Do you understand me, boy?”

“ Yes, Sir.” I said.

He laughed roughly as his hand grabbed my jeans and ripped a big hole in the center. His hand reached through the hole to grab my shorts and grab one of the ass straps of my jock. He chuckled, “You’re a kinky fucker, aren’t you?”

I felt him step back and heard a zipper. He growled deeply again and pressed himself against me. I could feel his hot throbbing cock rub against my ass. He ground his hips back and forth and side to side. Fuck, it was huge. I could feel it throb and twitch as it moved across my skin. He slid it up my back and around my hips so I could feel how big it was.  I whimpered a bit in lust and fear. Leaning in, he growled, “Everything about me is big and scary.”

He slides his now hard cock between my ass cheeks, stretching the cheeks apart with-it’s size. I feel him let out a deep, growling breath as he crushes me between him and the wall.  I felt the big, veiny flesh slide up and down my hole. Yanking on the belt, he growls, “Open up.” He pushes his way in. Fuck its, huge. So damn thick. It just keeps sliding and sliding in. My breath is coming in short gasps. He chuckles as it pushes all the way in. I can feel his pubic hair and zipper teeth on my ass.  I want to yell, but the belt is pulled tight on my neck.

“That’s it, puppy. Take it. Take it all.” He says, grinding his massive body against mine. His cock throbbing deep inside me. Soon, he got a steady stroke going. His strokes are solid and deep. His powerlifting hips alternate from jackhammering into me to crushing me against the wall between him and the shed. He’s growling and breathing behind me like an animal. My legs are weak from the pounding.

I feel him loosen his grip on the belt, grab my hair, and pull my head to the side. I feel his thick beard rub across my neck. I moan as he rubs across that spot. The spot that makes me squirm when the right man finds it. He knows and licks across it. My body shakes. Then I felt his mouth bite down on that spot. Every nerve in my body cuts on and off. His hungry mouth bites and gnaws at my neck. Never breaking the skin. Holding me in place as his massive body goes into overdrive. Powerfucking me against the wall. I feel like a rhino is ramming into me. Time blurs and I don’t know if it has been 5 minutes or 15, but this monster has stamina. His pounding has never stopped.

I’ve never been used like this. I feel his stroke change, and by the 4th stroke, he explodes inside of me. Shot after shot, painting my insides. So much cum. So much I can feel it leaking around his cock and down my legs. He keeps his cock inside me until the absolute last twitch is done. When he pulls it out, I can feel more of it soaking my jeans.

I feel him step back and hear him say, “Turn around, boy.”  My legs are weak and wobbly. I feel like I have just lost a boxing match or been used like a tackling dummy.

He’s looking at me. Fuck he seems even bigger now. A huge fucking shadow in the moonlight.

I can barely see his face, but his eyes shine as he says. “You are not fucking done.” Looking down and then back up, he says. “Clean me up.” I look down, and his cock is still semi-hard and twitching. “You can get on your knees, or I can put you there. Get to work.”

Getting to my knees, I lean forward and take him in my mouth. Just like when he was fucking me against the wall, his hands were soon clamped on the side of my head, and his hips were thrusting his cock deep into my throat. The more I choke, cough, and sputter, the more he likes it. By the time he was done, I was a messy fleshlight. He dumped three more loads down my throat. His big dick was like a firehose. I was so full, weak, and used that I just lay on the ground.

I felt his boot push me over to my back. His huge shadow was standing over me. He puts his boot on my chest, bends down, and shines my phone in my face again. He turns it back around, and I watch as he flicks through it again, stopping a few times.  “You didn’t do lousy tonight, boy. You managed to survive.” Putting real pressure on his boot and my chest, he repeats my home address, work address, and that of my sister. Nothing more, his threat was implicit.  “You better start working out more because next time, tonight will look like foreplay.” Then I watched his massive hand squeeze, and he crushed my phone like it was nothing. It sparked, and smoke started coming out of the cracked sides. I watch him lean back and throw the now burning hunk of glass and metal far further than anyone should be able to. “You need a new phone, puppy.” He says as he walks off into the darkness.  In the next few minutes, I heard a Harley start up and drive away.

Sometime later, I managed to get up and find my way to the parking lot. I smile as I gingerly get in my car, thinking about the cloud backup I have turned on for pictures and video on my phone. I do need a new phone. My dick twitches in anticipation.

[maddiem4]

Well, I wanna be working on a novel right now, but apparently it's time to make a certain kind of post again, as is periodically necessary, because young queer folk keep trying to reinvent the Hayes Code for a variety of misguided reasons. So you know what? Let me lead with the TLDR, and then give my reasoning. If you DNI stuff like incest, I am not just going to unfollow you, I am going to block you.

Now, if you're the type to make assumptions, you might be surprised to hear that I'm not into incest. Sorry to disappoint. Well, unless you count selfcest, but people don't usually lump those together except by technicality. But incest is really not my thing.

That said, I have mutuals who are into it, and harmless about it. Whether it's fictional, RP, or consensual, it's not my business and it hurts nobody. Get used to those words, they're gonna be a mantra here. Further, I've seen how Hayes Queers (hey, I needed a term for them) talk about harmless members of their own community who give them The Ick. The post I'm writing here is a direct reaction to seeing a Hayes Queer post from someone I followed! Reading that, and the comments on it. And lemme tell you: y'all are very quick to throw your peers under the bus with the exact same logic (respectability politics, personal disgust, "making a bad name for us as a larger group", lurking threat to our moral purity) that the conservatives are using to argue for the mass extermination of queer folk. You are bringing pitchforks and tiki torches to the party. So no, I am not going to give you access to my vulnerable mutuals. That's the heart of it. You are a danger to your community, and I'm going to limit the scope of harm you can do. The broader queer/kink communities have worked hard to define harm more carefully than "well I just personally think it's gross." Scat and piss are gross to me, but my mutuals who are into those things do still deserve love and safety, not to be sacrificed on an altar of conservative family values for imaginary "one of the good ones" points. I have a responsibility to look out for my people. So do you, FYI.

So here's the recipe for living online with people whose kinks aren't your business and hurt nobody: learn to scroll past those posts or block those tags, or even block that person. Be an adult. The world does not exist to be personally palatable to you. You are not being harmed, you're being inconvenienced. If you can't handle that, you're the one bringing real-world (rather than imagined) danger to your community. Fuck's sake.

This also finally convinced me to look up what "proshipper" means after seeing it in discourse for years, these dreaded dangerous devils who apparently must be purged from the internet, and... holy fuck, how is this contentious? It literally just means you can disagree about fandom pairings without harassing people? That's just mature behavior in a shared space. That's what the argument is about? Oh my god. If you're arguing about this in 2024, your Aunt Maddie is fully ashamed of you for real.

The dumbest part is that people get doxxed for saying the stuff I'm saying, and maybe it'll happen to me. Guess I'll roll the dice. Which comes full circle: if you're looking at this post and trying to decide how to punish me for it IRL, you are literally being the danger. Stop and think for 30 milliseconds. Maybe I have a point that you are a bigger threat than two trans girls who like to pretend to be sisters for sex reasons. And I don't wanna hear no trauma excuses from any of you little monkeys, fetishes come from trauma a decent percentage of the time, so a lot of the people you're persecuting are victims of the same kind of assault as you.

This is more words than I ever should have to write about a self-evident topic. I know if you're young enough and still figuring out a lot of life stuff from scratch, it may not be self-evident to you. But hopefully it is now before you fucking hurt somebody. Thanks.

[raqualswonderfunblog]

Rebecca Helm PhD., as shared by Open Ocean Explorationa biologist and an assistant professor at the University of North Carolina, Asheville US wrote:

Friendly neighborhood biologist here. I see a lot of people are talking about biological sexes and gender right now. Lots of folks make biological sex sex seem really simple. Well, since it’s so simple, let’s find the biological roots, shall we? Let’s talk about sex...[a thread]

If you know a bit about biology you will probably say that biological sex is caused by chromosomes, XX and you’re female, XY and you’re male. This is “chromosomal sex” but is it “biological sex”? Well...

Turns out there is only ONE GENE on the Y chromosome that really matters to sex. It’s called the SRY gene. During human embryonic development the SRY protein turns on male-associated genes. Having an SRY gene makes you “genetically male”. But is this “biological sex”?

Sometimes that SRY gene pops off the Y chromosome and over to an X chromosome. Surprise! So now you’ve got an X with an SRY and a Y without an SRY. What does this mean?

A Y with no SRY means physically you’re female, chromosomally you’re male (XY) and genetically you’re female (no SRY). An X with an SRY means you’re physically male, chromsomally female (XX) and genetically male (SRY). But biological sex is simple! There must be another answer...

Sex-related genes ultimately turn on hormones in specifics areas on the body, and reception of those hormones by cells throughout the body. Is this the root of “biological sex”??

“Hormonal male” means you produce ‘normal’ levels of male-associated hormones. Except some percentage of females will have higher levels of ‘male’ hormones than some percentage of males. Ditto ditto ‘female’ hormones. And...

...if you’re developing, your body may not produce enough hormones for your genetic sex. Leading you to be genetically male or female, chromosomally male or female, hormonally non-binary, and physically non-binary. Well, except cells have something to say about this...

Maybe cells are the answer to “biological sex”?? Right?? Cells have receptors that “hear” the signal from sex hormones. But sometimes those receptors don’t work. Like a mobile phone that’s on “do not disturb’. Call and cell, they will not answer.

What does this all mean?

It means you may be genetically male or female, chromosomally male or female, hormonally male/female/non-binary, with cells that may or may not hear the male/female/non-binary call, and all this leading to a body that can be male/non-binary/female.

Try out some combinations for yourself. Notice how confusing it gets? Can you point to what the absolute cause of biological sex is? Is it fair to judge people by it?

Of course you could try appealing to the numbers. “Most people are either male or female” you say. Except that as a biologist professor I will tell you...

The reason I don’t have my students look at their own chromosome in class is because people could learn that their chromosomal sex doesn’t match their physical sex, and learning that in the middle of a 10-point assignment is JUST NOT THE TIME.

Biological sex is complicated. Before you discriminate against someone on the basis of “biological sex” & identity, ask yourself: have you seen YOUR chromosomes? Do you know the genes of the people you love? The hormones of the people you work with? The state of their cells?

Since the answer will obviously be no, please be kind, respect people’s right to tell you who they are, and remember that you don’t have all the answers. Again: biology is complicated. Kindness and respect don’t have to be.

Note: Biological classifications exist. XX, XY, XXY XXYY and all manner of variation which is why sex isn't classified as binary. You can't have a binary classification system with more than two configurations even if two of those configurations are more common than others.

Biology is a shitshow. Be kind to people.

[liatai]

Question!

Neurodivergent peeps of Tumblr, I have a question.

I know that "nonverbal" or "selectively mute" are specific terms that mean "I cannot force words out no matter how hard I try," so... is there a term for "I can speak if I have to, but right now it requires extra energy?"

Like, I'm autistic. I have times where I can speak and even hold conversations, but stringing a verbal sentence together takes effort, the same kind of effort lifting a heavy load with your body would but in your mind. I can be perfectly eloquent and verbose in text when this happens, and sometimes I'll even make some of the limited signs I know in ASL without an issue, but speaking aloud uses up all my mental RAM and I can feel the metaphorical fans of my mind-computer whirring in overdrive. X3;

It's exhausting, too. Usually if I've been verbally social for a while, that's when it kicks in.

I can understand spoken words just as well as other times when this happens, as long as I don't have to speak to reply. If I have to speak, the mental effort and stamina needed to do it tends to push details aside in an endeavor to save processing power. ^^;

I know autism is a spectrum, and I'm hoping someone might have a name for this "not QUITE nonverbal but verbal words are VERY hard right now" feeling ^^; "Partially nonverbal" or "partially selectively mute" doesn't seem quite right.

Help?

[royalarchivist]

[A sad violin song plays over an image of a sad hamster]

Pac: This doesn't have anything to do with me – I wear a blue sweatshirt, you're crazy, this mouse doesn't even have a sweatshirt, this hamster! [Reading chat] Am I a depressed hamster?

[ Transcript continued ↓ ]*

–

Pac: Actually– that's fine! I embrace that idea – of course I'm going to be depressed, are you crazy? [He hits his desk, then starts counting off people on his fingers] Fit is gone, Richarlyson is gone, Ramon is gone, Bagi and Empanada who were always there when we were there are also gone, I haven't seen them! It's just me and Tubbo, and sometimes Philza shows up.

Pac: I lost Chume Labs, I lost the Favela, I lost Murder Mystery, I lost Ilha Chume Labs, it's crazy! Look at how much I've lost, and I've gained nothing! Of course I'm going to be depressed, are you crazy?! How am I supposed to be happy?!

Pac: [Reading chat] "You have us Pac," that's true, thank you. No, that's true, sorry.

* NOTE: Please note that this is an incomplete transcript, as I was primarily relying on Aypierre's translation mod at the time and if I am not confident of the translation, I do not include it. As always, please feel free to add on translations or message me corrections.

[willow-wanderings]

I do overnight security in a not-great part of town. Lots of homeless folks and people who are definitely not on meds when they should be, occasionally someboby who's has too much of a good time at the strip club down the street. I have absolute authority here after dark and you know what I do with it?

I let the homeless folks come in to use the bathroom at 2am. I feed the feral cats, some of them follow me on my rounds. I let people into their office when they forgot their keys. I shoo away car thieves and window breakers just by going "dude are you really about to fuck up a nonprofit that helps disabled people?" And one time, talked a slightly drunk girl out of a bad relationship after I found her hiding in a stairwell bawling her eyes out.

I'm supposed to be an asshole for hire who runs people off the property like a junkyard dog and calls the cops any time somebody parks in our garage for more than 10 seconds. I refuse to do any of that and just use my admittedly limited authority to be nice to people and completely ignore "tresspassers" unless they're actively trying to break into the building.

Conflating me with a cop would be like conflating a teenage babysitter with a pediatrician, lol

Acab applies to security guards too.

Okay, so there's two basic kinds of security: public and private

Public security is for government employees like police

Private security is stuff like security guards, bodyguards, and bouncers

As a security guard, you need to pass different licensing exams for different privileges. Someone who might handcuff people needs a license to carry handcuffs- someone who might need to carry a weapon needs a license for that weapon.

I passed my BST exam something like five years ago and stopped there, so I am allowed to carry: A radio

And as private security, again, there are two basic kinds: in-house and contract

Contract security means a company or a person or a location like a park can pay my boss' boss money to send powerless scarecrows in uniforms to walk around and provide what is called "visible presence"

which is, essentially, a life-size cardboard cutout of a guy wearing the classic Spirit Halloween costume, "Black Slacks Law Professional" in size L

So if the entire chain of authority, from a toddler at the mall food court all the way up to whoever happens to have access to the majority of the planet's nukes at this time, you should know that someone like me currently ranks somewhere very slightly above Janitor, but still definitely below Cinnabon Assistant Manager

Which means that if I chose to go rogue and use my powers for evil TOMORROW, I would maybe manage to punch a Cinnabon employee and shoplift half a dozen chocolate bars from the gift shop before I am fired and in jail being sued off my ass with my licenses revoked for life, unable to leave the country or apply for a job at Walmart with my new shiny criminal record

Security guards and mall cops ain't police. We're dressed like police so you don't try and do something illegal in the area, but the vast majority of us can't actually do anything.

Calm down

[i-really-like-phrogs]

When someone else’s art is so good you physically can’t look at it because of artistic jealousy

[ignatiusteto]

i think sacred music in the kryn dynasty would be very cyclical and repetitive in form to symbolize the idea that life is a continuous thing (at least those who are consecuted right right) and is a cycle across lifetimes and yeah