#I didn't have the energy for a fully fleshed-out fic but I still had Feelings (TM) that I needed to commit to print...

[the-genius-az]

Back at it again with the Ludwig XIV- I mean Azula absolutist fic

====

The thick robes of the Firelord flew behind her as she marched down the cold halls of the Palace. Maids scattered and hurried out of Azula's way as quickly as they heard her heavy footsteps approach. On a good day, the Firelord might only lightly punish them for taking up space she so rightfully owned. And on a bad one...the public would get another execution to watch.

Azula stomped into Katara's bedroom with a loud call of the waterbenders name.

There was no answer, yet Azula could feel the irritated energy of her soon-to-be radiating from the windows.

Stepping onto the golden-railed balcony, Azula took a look around. And sure enough, Katara was leaning against the shimmering railing on the far edge of the tiled balcony, her face stubbornly facing away from Azula. Katara didn't even acknowledge her Lord. Azula bit back a scowl that threatened to crease her features before she stepped closer.

"Katara."

No answer. Not even an annoyed huff.

Azula glared as she stood next to her. Katara refused to cooperate even further. She was dead set on staring at the horizon of the city. Azula's eyes narrowed, the snarl finally engulfing her face as she loomed over the waterbender.

She was The Firelord. The most powerful being on the archipelago and even beyond the bounds of the borders. She, Azula, should be bowed down to, not ignored, and dismissed without a second glance. Her anger bubbled and burned her insides while she stared at Katara.

How dare she... Does she not care that Azula is Agni personified?! That Azula the Sun itself? Her inner flame raged as Azula grabbed Katara's face in her own crushing grip. Ice cold blue eyes met white-hot mad amber ones, each fighting for dominance over the other.

"I will not have this disobedience present in my Palace! You answer when you're called to. You are at my beck and call, and you will obey."

Azula stepped right infront of Katara, blocking any escape. Her anger heated the air around them, turning the warm evening into a blistering sauna.

"Or have you forgotten what happends when you refuse?"

Azula hissed out, her other hand gripping Katara's still healing wrist. The waterbender had snuck out of the Palace a while ago, determined to escape the power-hungry Azula. But she underestimated Azula's devotion and need for control.

A fully fledged search was carried out for weeks with Azula refusing even a minute of rest for her search parties. In that time, everyone suffered from Azula's nerves snapping, having a chance to get close and personal with her scorching fire. The Palace reeked of charred and burnt flesh for days after.

Katara was found in a insignificant coastal village trying to board a boat to the Fire colonies in an attempt to escape Azula. Safe to say, she failed and got immidiately taken back to the Palace.

After she was returned to her rightful place, she got branded by Azula's iron grip as soon as the Firelord had her back in her grasp. She now sported two big burns in the shape of a handprints on her wrists and sores down her entire body from Azula's harsh bedroom treatment.

"...what do you want? Here to give me more useless junk?"

"No."

Katara raised an eyebrow, clearly taken off guard at Azula's words. But...Azula only really interacted with her while trying to win her over with overly expensive gifts and to spend the night in her bed. What could she mean? The piercing glare of the Firelord's golden eyes sent a chill down Katara's spine. Whatever it was, Azula meant it seriously.

"I came here to put you under strict house arrest. You are not to step a foot outside your room, you are forbidden from talking to any of these peasants-"

Azula gestured out towards the maids scurrying around the Royal grounds, doing their chores as fast as they could lest they be met with the wrath of the Lord they served.

"-and you are to have constant supervision."

Kataras brows furrowed once the words settled in. Having guards follow her around the Royal Gardens was humiliating and annoying enough...and now they will guard every entrance her room...the complete loss of freedom that Katara so loved made her eyes widen in bewilderment as Azula's words sunk in fully.

"W-what...?"

Azula could practicaly smell Katara's turmoil. Oh, how she loved having this affect on people. The level of uneasiness and fragile calmness surrounding Azula's aura was strong. Strong enough to set off even the most cruel and stoic of politicians and ministers and convert them into sweating, stuttering messes.

The Firelord's perfectly manicured finger came to tip Katara's head backwards, the nail digging into the soft skin of her neck.

"I will know everything you do. Every move you make. Ever word you mutter. If you wish to help those low-lives, why don't you live like them as well?"

A dark, sadistic smile stretched across the previously harsh Lord's features, her sharp teeth glistened in the evening sun and making her appear all that more malevolent. Katara knew better than to speak again while Azula's hands were anywhere close to her neck. So she held her tonge.

Clearly taking Katara's silence as a win, Azula leaned closer to her ear, her crushing grip loosening around Katara's face. The Firelord leaned closer, her warm breath brushing the shell of Katara's ear. It felt less like a normal exhale and more like a warning from a dragon right before it spewed fire.

"I would think twice before refusing me again..."

Azula whispered in Katara's ear, her hand placed heavily on the others shoulder. There was no space left for arguing. With one last warning glare, Katara was standing alone on the balcony, left to listen to the lock on her door scratch and creak closed.

=====

Kinda hate how it turned out, but whatever

-Squid

Bro, I think you accidentally posted your fic here!

I love it, although it bothers me that Azula abuses her girlfriends, she wouldn't do it! She is so devoted that she would die before hurting them. 😭

[theimpossiblescheme]

One thing that always struck me regarding the 1950 Cyrano is how almost ominously absent Le Bret is for the final act.  In the stage version, he’s the first person to bring news of Cyrano to Roxanne when he comes to visit her at the convent, and he expresses how worried he is. Ragueneau doesn’t show up until later to bring the bad news.  But in this movie, Ragueneau seems to have taken Le Bret’s place as Cyrano’s confidante, asking about the satires he’s written and worrying about him.  And given that the last time we saw Le Bret, Cyrano had just barely saved him from a couple of Spanish soldiers at Arras, it got me thinking…

We know it was a harrowing battle.  The Spaniards reclaim Arras, leaving the cadets to escape by the skin of their teeth.  Christian is dead, along with God only knows how many other brave young soldiers.  They drag themselves through the mud and viscera back to Paris, and Le Bret keeps up most of the way, staggering doggedly next to Cyrano at the front of the formation. But there’s a set to his face that Cyrano doesn’t quite recognize—a tightness in his jaw, a vein throbbing slightly at his temple, an almost wild glint in his eye that doesn’t belong there. Usually so calm and collected, but now as if he’s summoning all of his remaining energy to make it back to familiar ground and stay strong in front of his regiment if it kills him.  Nothing exists but the road in front of him and whatever pain he’s attempting to fight off.  Cyrano doesn’t say anything—he hasn’t had the energy to speak all day—but he puts a hand on his shoulder as they walk.

Then, as soon as they reach the guardhouse, Le Bret collapses, his legs just folding like cheap paper under him.  Some of the younger, less tired cadets instantly run over in concern, but de Guiche barks for the surgeon and Cyrano practically growls for them to get back and give him some air.  It’s easy to be angry in the moment, but there’s an almost blinding terror biting at him as he grips his friend’s hand, anchoring him to consciousness.  He’s already lost Christian, and Roxanne as well… losing Le Bret would be the last straw.

The surgeon’s diagnosis is an almost lethal loss of blood.  A man can only be stabbed so many times, even if it’s not through a vital organ, before his body starts to give out on him.  Again, anger comes easier, and Cyrano chides him for attempting to hide his wounds for so long.  Le Bret, however, points out that that’s extremely rich coming from him, and it prompts an exhausted and melancholy, but still sincere smile out of Cyrano for the first time in days.  He missed the old bear’s growling more than he realized��� it’s the one constant left in his life.

To everyone’s sorrow and Le Bret’s great displeasure, he’s housebound until he grows stronger. Cyrano’s confident that he’ll be back on his feet in short order—he’s nothing if not resilient, and he’s seen harder battles than this before.  In the meantime, he assures Le Bret that Ragueneau, in his infinite patience and generosity, has been “keeping an eye” on him in his absence.  “At the very least, he will never allow me to starve,” Cyrano says with a chuckle and notices the distinctly relieved look on Le Bret’s face.

Winter is hard on them both. The cold winds gnaw at their respective injuries; Le Bret looks faint next to anything other than a huge roaring fire, and Cyrano has to use a cane for balance more and more to circumvent the shrapnel that clipped his shoulder and the back of his skull.  The first year, they were more optimistic—if they can survive this, they can survive anything else afterward.  Between snowfalls, Cyrano has only three destinations: the bakery for some peace and quiet in the back room to write, the convent to comfort and cheer Roxanne if possible, and Le Bret’s flat to keep him company.  The two talk over a bottle of brandy about anything except war.  About their remaining friends, about de Guiche’s surprising change of heart, about these foolish new batches of new recruits (even then, Le Bret’s eyes will grow dark at the implication of what will happen to these bright young fools and the subject is quickly changed).  Cyrano goes to see a new play and brings back an entertaining review.  Le Bret laments his thin walls and recounts some of his neighbors’ more amusing exploits.  They try to make each other laugh because God knows there’s little enough of that in the world right now.

The first winter goes by. And then the second.  And then the third.  So many more winters pass in a long dreary sequence… and neither of them really improve.  The cadets have a completely new roster now, save for these two relics.  Meanwhile, Le Bret is still constantly pale and shivering with tired eyes, and Cyrano is nearly whittled down to half of himself from hunger and fatigue.  He feeds himself entirely on the scorn and hatred of the aristocracy while the other scrounges for any bit of warmth the world has left to offer.  How strangely appropriate, Cyrano thinks.

They still avoid grim subjects as they talk and drink and Le Bret inevitably apologizes for not being a terribly interesting host—“It’s difficult to come up with conversation when I spend most of my life these days in a single room”—and Cyrano always waves it off with a quip that he has adventures enough for the both of them.  But one evening, after Cyrano recounts the wrath he’d instilled in a certain marquis who took exception to his criticism, Le Bret slams his glass down with a very black smile

“Promise me one thing, my friend,” he says, wrapping his cloak tighter around one shoulder.  “If, God forbid, you should die before I do, that it won’t be over something as ridiculous as that.”

Cyrano just laughs, feeling a rush of affection toward the other old soldier, and refills his glass. “I make no promises, but I shall avoid it if I can.”

[miseries-mistress]

BY THE WAY I LOVE U

but however, i would still really like to request a fic (at least a small sketch/drabble) on mark renton, maybe something with obsession.

I will look forward to it, i so want to see mark in yer performance, honey!

THE EYES OF ANOTHER | MARK RENTON

Synopsis: The led lights ghosted over Mark's skin, the music a constant thrum under his fingertips. He was out drinking again with his friends, the remains of heroin being the perfect high to get through the night without a woman at his side- or so he thought. 

Warnings: female reader, mentions of sex, alcohol, heroin, making out, pretty mild tbh. W/C: 1592

Notes: I have been sick for the past two and a half weeks, so i am so incredibly sorry for the lack of updates. i will try to post more frequently and get some of my requests done. this has been sitting in my drafts for months, and i have finally found the energy to edit it. i will try to write something else with possession for mark and tag you in it, but right now, this is the best i can do (btw i love you too <33)

em masterlist

Mark Renton had come to know a few things in his life. He had what most men could ever want, heroin, pure as the devil's snow, and a couple of friends to share it with. For a while, Mark was content with the few necessities of life he had acquired. After all, what problem was there that heroin couldn't solve?

It turned out that a bar was where he found the answer to that.

He was sitting between Spud and Tommy; the remnants of the heroin in his veins let him coast between the paradise of no worries with a flimsy grasp on reality, just enough to make him remember the euphoric feeling when it left his system entirely. 

Begbie was waving his hands sporadically, his voice carrying above the bass of the music pumping. He had a girl, drunk enough to be a blackout, hanging off his arms while his hands roughly grouped at her flesh. He didn't know where the fuck Sick Boy or Spud's first girlfriend in six months was, and from the looks of it, they didn't know either. Then there was Tommy's girlfriend, who snuggled under his muscular arms while he moved wisps of her hair out of her face. 

Disgusting, Mark thought to himself, turning away from the affectionate couple. He was surrounded by people clouded with lust or, in Tommy's case, love that Mark realized what heroin in all its glory could never do for him; sex. 

It was a weird writhing feeling in his chest that persuaded him to abruptly stand from his seat, his mind fixed on drowning the foreign feeling in his chest. Yes, anything was better than wallowing in self-pity when his mind could be floating further into an infinite abyss where his anxieties could never truly reach him. 

He flagged the bartender, and the man gave an acknowledging nod, knowing Mark well enough to have his order memorized. His fingers tapped against the sticky hardwood. Well, his skin stuck to a mixture of alcohol, and…he couldn't tell what was mixed with the alcohol besides the dash of blood. Out of boredom more than anything else, he laid the palm of his hand against the surface. He let his hand stick before he pulled it off, his flesh stretching as it clung to the stick before his hand was fully released. He flexed his hand, the substance adhering to his palm in an uncomfortable sticky mess.  

His drink was set in front of him, and his hand dived into his pockets to fish out the appropriate change. He stopped his eye from becoming as wide saucers as adrenaline began loudly thrumming through his poisoned veins. 

He didn't have his wallet. 

Now Mark knew damn well that he had stuffed his wallet in his jeans. He never left the house without it. Meaning, from the limited options he's left with, it's been stolen. 

He curses himself, his mouth moving to form more profanities before a self-assured, feminine voice speaks up. 

"And that man's drink, too, since he seems to be having a bit of trouble."

What caught him off guard was not someone else paying for his drink or the apparent lack of a Scottish accent but the…woman in the voice... 

A woman was talking to him. 

Him. 

Mark Renton. 

His head moved at the sound of your voice as you slid over the appropriate change. The bartender almost imperceptibly raised his eyebrow, knowing him well enough that women never talk to him and surely none of your stature. But, on the other hand, Mark is sure he's never seen anyone so beautiful. The sight of you was enough to start that climb that he could only reach with the addictive buzz of drugs. 

"Thanks," is all he manages to utter, his eyes still fixated on you. 

"No problem…Mark Renton?" His ears perk at his name, leaving your lips. It's such a sweet sound, like it was laced with seduction and all things beautiful, incarnated into one voice that seemed to rise brilliantly above the rest. He's almost too caught up in his love-sick daze to realize you know his name. 

Almost. 

"How do you know my…." 

Your fingers thread through the fading wallet, raising it between your fingers for show. It takes Mark a second to recognize the wallet as his own, and his body snaps to attention. How in the world did you pickpocket him? Was he that far gone not to feel a hand in his pants- not to mention yours? 

"I couldn't help myself. I hope you don't mind," you sheepishly smile, tossing the wallet back to Mark. Immediately his hand digs into his cash, frowning at the amount. He definitely left his apartment with more in there. 

He stares at you, dumbfounded, before it clicks, and his face falls into understanding. Not only did you pay for his drink with his own money, but with your own. You chuckle, raising your glass to your lips, as you seem to understand his expression. 

"I warned you." You take a sip, taking pleasure in the sight of Mark while he blinks at you before taking his drink, swallowing the pale brown liquid while his irises observe you curiously. 

Before Mark had given himself any time to think about it, he took a bold step forward. He wasn't one to initiate things; hell, he hardly moved from his seat next to Spud, but now this odd sense of purpose was filling his chest. It took ahold of him, grasping him firmly towards you, a woman who had heartily captured his attention and his heart. 

"What's your name?" 

"Why do you want to know that, Mark?" you purr, meeting him halfway, drink still loosely held in your hand, your cocky smirk never diminishing.

Under the strobe lights, headache-inducing music with just the right amount of heroin and alcohol consuming any insecurity he might have previously had, he takes time to admire the structure of your face, the slope of your nose, the curve of your brow, the flutter of your lashes with the gentle purse of your lips, igniting a flame inside him that he had not felt for a long while; desire. It slowly filled him, tainting his mind into wanting something beyond playful banter. 

"Well, I like you a lot," he shouted over the music, and your smirk dissolved into a smile.

"We just met."

 "That's the point." You both share a laugh as you shake your head. Mark's irises remain transfixed on you as if you're pulling him in with some kind of spell. You must feel the electricity brimming in your veins because you look up to find his eyes overflowing with an admiration you don't often see in men. 

That same electricity winds around his heart, pulling him closer. His heart pounds so wildly against his rib cage that his mind briefly flickers to the possibility that you're able to hear it. Within seconds, your lips crash together, molding forcefully and earnestly with your honeysuckle ones. The kiss is filled with wild abandon, desperate for contact as Mark's hands find your waist upon instinct. Electricity sparks with each touch, sending you both spiraling further down the rabbit hole of untamed passion. It consumes you, molding you into him, and you can't think of a time when you've fit so perfectly with someone like pieces of a previously unsolved puzzle. 

Mark finds himself much in the same boat, his thoughts wrapped around the noose of arousal, suffocating him under his own craving. He can see why his friends are so addicted to sex. If a kiss felt this good, then your body would be an unimaginable pleasure he was certainly not worthy of.

His tongue pushes its way through the barricade of your teeth, exploring every crevice he can find, his body pressing closer to yours to chase the sweet friction you grace him with. 

He earns a delicious whine from the depths of your throat, and it spurs him on further. While swept up in your aromatic taste, he floats on a cloud, drowning in bliss and yearning as the rest of the bar fades into white noise. 

Unfortunately, Mark tugs his lips from yours first, gulping in the stale air while his eyes, shaky with pent-up lust, find yours, surprised to discover them in a similar state as his. 

"I never got your name." You chuckle, your head falling to his chest, your finger running over the fabric above his heart. Finally, you whisper your name, and his eyes close in bliss, the echo of your words turning his heart into mush. Yeah, Mark could get used to this.

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Their Doll 5

Throw a punch

B.Barnes x Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

series synopsis:  y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.

Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing

Chapter Summary: y/n finally beats Bucky, he has a surprise for her when she returns from her first mission.

Warnings: smut, violence, mention of death/murder

A/n: The timeline in this has been altered, as there I things I wanted to include but I also wanted this fic to follow the storyline/timeline of Winter Soldier and Civil war.So for purposes of this fanfic, Peter Parker was discovered by Tony at a much younger age - when he was bitten - and has been an intern with him since, almost like a protégée.(For the purposes of this story Peter was bitten much younger too - more like when he was 9 or ten rather than 14/15)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

3 years. 3 godforsaken, bloody torturous years. That's how long I'd been in this hell hole. How long I'd been repeatedly beaten up by my only form of solace daily. How long I'd been whipped for simply not being good enough to beat a super soldier. How long I'd endured endless torture. And today, today is the day that it will all end.

If there was one thing the last three years taught me, is that I should duck and run rather than throw a punch. At least that's what I thought, and I'd never really been willing to risk a broken jaw to prove my theory. That is, until today.

Come on, y/n, you can do this. The words were repeated in my mind, my own mantra, in order to psych myself up for what I was about to do. There was a fire grip on my arm - arguably much tighter than necessary - as the guards dragged my down the hollow hall to my training session with the Winter Soldier. Pft, more like two hours of humiliation and a sore ass, I though, a little smirk spreading on my lips at my own joke.

"What're you laughing about? Something funny, Stark?" The guard who had the grip on my arm spat through gritted teeth and the smirk was instantly ripped from my lips, instead reverting back to the hard expression I had been trying to maintain while around anyone who worked for HYDRA.

So basically everyone.

We walked in silence the rest of the way, like normal, and the guard roughly shoved my into the room by a hand between my shoulder blades, like normal. But today wasn't like normal - no, today was the day I was the one to throw a punch.

They removed the silencer from my head and let me take a gulp of water before The General was barking the order for us to begin.

I walked into the centre of the room, shoulders back and stare cold. The soldier's gaze matched mine as his cerulean eyes bore into my own, his jaw clenched and hands already curling into fists as I stood before him. We maintained the stare for a moment - almost as if the other was waiting for the other to make the first move, an open opportunity to take the win.

And so I did.

Using the speed I'd worked up to over time, I farted towards the soldier, ducking on a seconds notice as his metal fist flew out. I landed a jab to his stomach, one hard enough to make him cough slightly with the knocked up air but far from hard enough to actually make him stumble. Distracted, he barely noticed me as I slipped under him - through his legs out by his back, which I was quick to jump on. I let my legs wrap around his muscular waist and my left arm wrap around his throat, making the soldier grit his teeth and attempt to pry my arm away from his neck as he began to choke.

When he attempted to fling my forward, I tangled my right fist into his brown locks, yanking painfully and making the soldier cry out as I lowered my lips to his ear. Another thing I'd learnt in the past three years is that the soldier was only affected by my powers under two conditions:

One, he was off-guard or vulnerable - hence the choking - and two, I was as close to him as I could possibly get.

I began to him a soft tune - one I had discovered was most effective in lowering my opponent's defence and lulling them into a false sense of security. I practically smirked irksomely when I sensed his eyes rolling back in defeat and his assault on my arm falter - body falling limp and relaxed under the quell of my voice.

When I was sure I'd lowered his defences enough, I slowly climbed down from his back and admired my handy-work.

The Winter Soldier, stood dopey and barely lucid before me, without so much as the energy to even move his arm, let alone land a heavy punch like he normally would. I took my chance, the man nothing more than a pile of flesh and bones as my leg swept through his, bringing the soldier down the the ground with a loud noise that resembled a mixture of a crash and a thud.

Of course, the impact made my tune immediately ware-off and the soldier was now fully lucid, but I could barely contain myself as I punched my fists into the air triumphantly and a grin curled across my lips.

A lonely applause filled the tall room, bringing me back to earth as I realised the situation. Footsteps angled towards me, slow and calculated as the claps slowed to a stop, The General standing before me with a tight-lipped smile.

"Well done, Miss Stark." He congratulated, looking around him and outstretching his arms. "It only took you, what? Three years?" He mocked, the taunting laughter of the guards making me feel nauseous. But I kept my composure, returning his mocking, tight-lipped smile that didn't even dare go near my eyes - which were alright with anger. "And now your training is complete. We shall have to teach you how to use a gun, I suppose?" He said lazily. I clenched my jaw.

"I knew how to use a gun perfectly fine, General." I gritted and his eyes brows shot up as he turned to face his comrades.

"Did you hear that, gentlemen? Looks like she doesn't need another three years to learn to fire a gun? My, my, haven't we lucked out with this one?" He mocked cruelly, coming back to face my burning eyes. He smirked, grabbing my chin between his thumb and his finger and angling my head up to meat his eyes. "Take her away, and get her ready for her first mission." He demanded, eyes churning with something that resembled pride, but darker. He kept his eyes on me as he spoke, before roughly jerking my chin away and letting the guards refasten the silencer over my mouth before they were grabbing and arm each and dragging me from the  training room.

The pulled me back down the hollow hall - passing my usual cell.

"W-where are we going?" I asked, swallowing heavily as they halted to a stop in front of an unfamiliar door and we shoving me inside. There was nothing gentle about the HYDRA guards, not that I ever expected there to be.

Once I was in one of them tugged the door shut, the other throwing a bundle of clothes at me, which I fought as the flew at my chest. I opened the ball of fabric out, finding a skin-tight leather tactile suit - red HYDRA symbol embellished on either arm and over my heart - along with underwear and some black tactile boots.

The men stared at me expectantly, eyeing me up and down by never making the move to leave.

"Aren't you supposed to give me privacy to change?" I asked sheepishly. As humiliating it had been to be whipped for three years the sight toppled in front of these men, the idea of willingly getting changed while they were stood staring at me like I was a piece of meat made bile ride in my throat.

"I highly suggest you get to it, unless you'd like us to help out, of course." One of the guards said with a sickening expression, making me grimace and begin to tug my shirt over my head.

"And how about you do it...slowly, if you don't mind, Miss Stark." The other remarked, arms crossed over his chest as he bit his lip and glued his eyes intensely on my body.

I gulped, continuing to pull the shirt over my head. Oh boy, this was gonna be a long day.

…

Blood and soot cakes my nails, the icky feeling of the grime a haunting reminder of what I had just done. I was in the shower room, scrubbing the mud and blood from my body as quickly and efficiently as I could. I was used to cleaning my own blood from my skin, but the feeling of someone else’s just made me want to-

I shivered, hands shaking the the brush tumbling out of my grasp and clattering to the floor. I braced a hand on the wall, letting my head hang forward as I took a deep breath, before looking back up and wincing as the cold water streamed over me.

No hot showers at HYDRA. I hadn’t felt the feeling of warm water rush over me since the last time I had a long bubble bath back home...

I shook the thought off, carding my fingers through my hair and attempting to pick the dirt and gravel out of it. My breath was ragged as I felt a hot steam of air on my neck, the faint tickle of fingers brushing over my hips and up my body until two large hands - one flesh, one metal - caged my head to the tiled wall.

“Soldier...” I moaned breathily, letting my eyes slip shut at the feeling of his hot breath hitting the back of my neck. It was an intoxicating feeling, really, especially after being void of affectionate human contact for so many years. The soldier buried his nose in my hair, inhaling deeply before bringing his lips to my eye.

“I can’t stay away from you.” He murmured, flesh hand coming down to grab a handful of my ass roughly before letting go. I almost whined at the loss of contact before I felt a harsh spank against my right ass cheek. What surprised me the most was the expected cry of pain did not escape me, but rather a moan of pleasure.

I could feel the soldier’s smirk against my skin at my reaction, my eyes still shut as his hand trailed over my hip once again, before slipping down my front and running a finger through my wet folds. I jerked away as his fingertip brushed over my sensitive nub, pressing my lips together to surpress a needy groan at his low chuckle, the sound going straight to my core and causing a pang of arousal to dance through me.

“Ever been touched here before?” He husked in my ear and o shook my head, almost in embarrassment. “No?” He checked and I shook my head again. “I’ll try to be gentle.” He muttered, but before I could protest his cold with gliding through my folds, now coated in my wetness and slowly sheathing itself inside of me.

A raspy moan tore from my throat, the soldier groaning behind me as his hand moved to my hip in a vice-like grip. His cock stretched me beyond my limits, and to say it was painful was an understatement. After a moment of keeping his cock fully seated within me, the soldier pulled his hips back slowly before slamming back roughly. A burn formed in my cunt and I let out another moan, dropping my head forward to to cool shower wall when he thrusted into me again.

After a few more thrusts the pain started to dissipate, instead turning into a delicious and pleasurable burn that sent tingles through me. When one of my hands reached backwards to grip onto the soldier’s thigh, he took it as a signal to speed up snapping his hips into mine until the only thing that could be heard were our skin slapping together, my breathy and broken moans and the soldier’s frankly feral and animalistic growls and groans in my ear.

A sharp gasp crawled up my throat when his hand transferred from my hip down to my core, two fingers flicking at my bungle of nerves. I could feel every vein, every ridge, every part of him as I clamped down around him, throwing my head back to rest of his shoulder as his pace somehow increased again - fingers drawing tight and fast circles on my clit in time with his thrusts.

My knees buckled as I came with a shout, falling back into him as my legs gave up on me. He let out a growl as his thrusts faltered, a few more strokes and he was shooting his load deep into me. I winced as he pulled out, falling forwards into the wall as I tried to catch my breath - breathing laboured.

As I turned to face the soldier, maybe pull him into a kiss, he disappeared. It was like he had gone into thin air. The only trace of him left was his cum dripping down my thighs, tickling my skin.

[simon-egg]

Benthan Week Day 1 - Hurt/ comfort

Title: Digging In

1873 words fic with art. TW for blood, torture and injury. Physical hurt followed by comfort with a happy ending. Benji is taken and physically tortured in an unusal way.

~○~

Benji lurched forward as something connected with his torso followed by another sudden movement which caused pain to shoot up his side. His eyes snapped open.

“Get up.” Spat a voice from above.

The agent realised he was on a cold, hard floor in a dimly lit space. His chest was bare and he shivered with short gasps. With no recollection of how he got there and a dizzying feeling, he realised he had been drugged. The last thing he remembered was driving home after a long day writing up mission reports which could have been minutes or hours ago. Before his mind was clear enough to fully assess the situation he was in, he was roughly dragged to his feet. Whatever drug they had given Benji had sapped his energy and he sagged, unable to control or defend himself. Benji registered one person holding him firmly upright while another, a man with thick clothes and gloves, began to unwind a roll of barbed wire. Without hesitation, one of Benji's arms was pulled forward and the wire was pulled over his palm and roughly bent around his wrist. The barbs began slicing into his skin and Benji let out a shout of agony to which seemed to spur his captors on. Over and over again, the wire was roughly twisted around his arm at various angles, each coil bringing more barbs puncturing his skin. Grimly, Benji noted that the drug which kept him from fighting back did nothing to stop the pain. As soon as Benji thought the pain was growing too much to bear, the wire was looped through a ring bolted to the ceiling and his other arm was subjected to the same torture. This left him standing upright with his arms trapped above his head. By now whatever drug he was given had worn off enough that he could hold himself up straight. The two men stepped back and in front of Benji, seeming to gleefully eye up the state that they'd put him in.

Benji recognised the men as members of the Apostles who had not yet been tracked down. The one who had used the wire began to speak.

“You're going to die here.” He stated matter-of-factly. “Whether it takes hours or days, it doesn't matter. Just know that all you'll know until you die is pain-“

Benji tried to kick at the men which only caused himself more pain. “Why would you do this?” he choked out.

“You and your friend, Ethan, shouldn’t have tried to stop us. We may not have been able to cause mass suffering but If Ethan finds you strung up here, dead, knowing there will have been nothing he could have done to save his precious friend. That. That is enough for us now.”

Before Benji could think of a reply, the men turned and left.

He could smell his own blood which coated his arms and dripped down past his elbows, some splashed onto his chest and further to the floor with a barely audible wet sound. As time passed, his vision adjusted and he understood from the corrugated iron walls that he was in an old, rusting shipping container but with little light and no windows, he had no idea where he was or how long he had been there. All the while, the barbs caused searing pain and his muscles began to ache as he was forced to hold himself in position.

Light coming through cracks in the door and walls had brightened gradually, indicating to Benji that the sun was rising outside of the box. Some of his blood had dried to a brownish crust while fresh blood occasionally oozed. Hours continued to pass and the only thing keeping Benji from giving up completely was the hope that Ethan might find him. He had to try and stay alive because his captors were right; the thought of Ethan finding him strung up and dead was almost worse than the physical pain he was in. It was peculiar to Benji how those around him, even those he fought against seemed to immediately pick up on the bond between him and Ethan but then again, maybe it wasn’t so odd after all. They had so much faith in one another, kindness, loyalty and shared experiences that Benji found himself growing ever closer to the other agent. In fact, the feelings he had for Ethan had begun to develop past friendship after Kashmir and into something else. Benji made a promise to himself that if by some impossible miracle he was to get out alive, he would tell Ethan how he felt. With his eyes screwed shut against the pain, Benji found comfort in picturing Ethan talking to him, reassuring him, laughing at his jokes and smiling with that kind old smile that he might never see again.

The cruellest part of this torture, Benji came to realise was that despite the exhaustion, blood loss and agony which coaxed him to pass out, he simply could not allow himself to move or relax. He knew that doing so would make the barbs to twist deeper into his flesh. For now, he noted that no barbs were deep enough to hit any major blood vessels or the blood loss would have killed him by now. Despite this, he was still loosing blood and Benji began doubting that he could stay awake and tears began to sting, threatening to spill. Maybe he should give in, even if he died there, at least the dead don’t feel pain.

Benji was jerked from his thoughts by the sound of metal scraping against metal as the door was forced open and light flooded into the container.

“Benji…” Ethan’s voice echoed.

Ethan rushed closer but Benji didn't move, too physically and mentally drained to respond. He simply stared down with dull and unfocused eyes. Ethan’s gaze flicked over Benji's form, horrified at the situation Benji was in. A gentle hand was on Benji's face, and Ethan's thumb caressed his cheek.

Softly, Ethan whispered "Look at me" and after a few seconds, Benji's eyes flicked up to meet Ethan's.

“i'm so, so sorry Benji...” Ethan felt a rush of anger. He wanted to cry but he had to hold himself together for Benji. He was lucky to have found Benji alive. The two Apostles who took Benji did not anticipate just how determined and fast Ethan would be with the help of Luther who had tracked Benji's location by hacking security cameras. Luther was waiting nearby in a van.

"I can't remove the wire from your arms, it could cause more damage but I promise you, this will be over soon. I'm taking you home"

Benji was too weak to hold himself up and Ethan knew that if he simply cut Benji free, he could collapse and cause more injury. Ethan also understood that removing the barbs there and then would only cause more pain and bleeding too.

He used his left hand to steady one of Benji's arms in place above his head, careful to avoid pressure on the wire, then used a pair of cutters with his right to cut through the wire that held Benji's arm up. Ethan then slowly lowered that arm to Benji's side. He did the same to the other arm then awkwardly shuffled closer to Benji's side and manoeuvred an upper arm to rest across his neck, attempting to steady him. After failing to shuffle forwards holding Benji up like this, it became evident that Benji did not possess the strength to walk at all and Ethan didn’t want to put any pressure on his arms.

“I- I can’t, Ethan, I just-“ Benji coughed out.

“It’s okay, I’ll carry you” and Ethan resorted to gathering Benji up and carrying him out. Benji noticed the bodies of the two apostles outside and the last coherent thought he had before he passed out was thinking of how warm Ethan's arms were.

~

Benji woke up again to find himself in the back of a van. Pain continued to flare up his arms and he groaned, his chest throbbed and his head pounded. A reassuring hand stroked through his hair and realised his head was in Ethan’s lap.

“i've got you, you're going to be okay" murmured his friend. One of Ethan’s jackets had been draped over Benji's upper body to try and keep him warm for the journey and a quick glance up he could tell Luther was driving. “We’re not far from a hospital now, you’re going to be just fine.”

Luther had called ahead to notify the hospital and upon arrival they were met by a team of paramedics. Benji was taken inside and immediately given some strong pain killers along with fluids. The rest of the day passed in a haze, scans were taken of the tech’s arms to determine how close any barbs were to blood vessels, tendons and nerves. Then, Benji was sedated and the painstaking process of removing the wire began.

~

The next time Benji awoke he was relived to find that the wire had been removed from his arms and hands which were mostly covered in bandages. The painkillers had worked their magic and he mostly just felt subdued and so, so exhausted.

“I’d hold your hand if I could” Ethan murmured, catching Benji’s attention. The older agent sat in a chair next to the bed and Benji could have sworn he looked like he had been crying. The comment and Ethan’s expression caught Benji off guard and he briefly wondered if he had imagined it.

“I’m sorry.” Ethan paused, contemplating what to say. “I’ve just… come to realise how much you mean to me, I care about you so much, more than you know and it shouldn’t have taken me so long to realise and tell you that. I understand if you don’t feel the same-“

Before Ethan could continue, Benji quietly interjected “Thinking of you while I was in that place kept me going, kept me from giving up, so yes, yes I feel the same.”

“Are you sure?”

Benji perked up slightly “of course, I’m bloody sure!" He chuckled "I love you Ethan Hunt and can not be more relived that you feel the same!”

Ethan beamed and moved closer to the bed, then pressed his lips to Benji’s gently, a sweet kiss that Benji smiled into and a promise of many more in their future.

When Ethan pulled back he spoke again, “I was thinking, if you’d let me, once you are discharged from here, can I come back with you? To your place? You won’t be able to do much without full use of both arms for a while and I want to help you. I want to be there for you and if I’m with you I’ll be able to make sure you’re safe. Not that you’re not capable of looking after yourself I just-, while you recover which I know will take some time, both physically and mentally”

Benji grinned, feeling a wave of affection for Ethan “of course, I’d love to have your company… and maybe you could stick around with me after I’m mostly healed?”

“That sounds like a plan.”

[inactive-luv]

Normal

normal

normal

TW: depression, gender dun dUN DUN

word count: 2216

a/n: i’ve got a lot more gender neutral Spencer Reid fics loading :P

(Spencer's POV)

On a normal day, I would set my alarm for five in the morning and wake up slowly. I'd pour a cup of coffee and make myself some toast. I take a shower and brush my teeth and maybe listen to an audiobook on my way to work. I got this recommendation from Garcia, Ready Player One. I listened to the narrator's voice at a pace 'normal' people would read.

A part of me always felt self-conscious about myself, how I was different compared to everyone else. My mom called me special but that just made things worse. Special still sounds like there was something wrong with me. And that was just my I.Q, later on, I constantly got made fun of for the way I dressed, how I wasn't 'normal' enough. Never 'masculine' enough.

I haven't had a normal day in months. I started to wake up naturally around three am, if I ever slept. My thoughts kept me awake, thinking about the insults and taunts I got. I lay in bed most days. I told Hotch I was sick and stayed in a comatose state for most of the day. I would stare at the ceiling and wonder about myself.

I couldn't do anything. I couldn't eat, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't use the bathroom. The thought of having to stand up in front of the toilet. Washing my hands in a men's restroom, everything just made me sick. I hadn't gone to work in a week. It sounds odd but I didn't feel safe there. Work used to be where I could concentrate and use my abilities to my advantage, I watched and analyzed people's emotions for a living but now, it became so hard to think about myself.

I felt exposed in the workplace, at home I felt more comfortable using my own bathroom and I could wear my own clothes. I felt like someone else in the bullpen, someone different. Having to hear my name makes me feel imaginary. I didn't feel real in my body.

Getting out of bed this morning exhausted me. I dragged my feet across the wood and looked down at my sweater. The temperature in my house was always hot, something with the thermostat, but I couldn't stand looking at my own skin. I wore a thick sweater and a robe on top of it, long pajama pants and big socks. I knew I had to take off these clothes if I wanted to go to work today. I really did, I missed my friends, I missed having to do something.

Having a purpose meant a lot to me. I lost sight of what I was meant to do with my life, I would just mope around my apartment without doing anything and I still felt exhausted. I hated being here, I needed to do something. I couldn't just stay here for the rest of my life. I so desperately wanted my normal life again, but I couldn't even think about stepping outside my house.

I hate thinking about having to do normal things. I hated using public restrooms and wearing my normal clothes. Life becomes meaningless if you can't even look at yourself in the mirror.

A while back I put towels over all of my mirrors, this morning I lifted the one in my bedroom. I looked at myself for the first time in a long time. I looked at my eyes, the bags underneath them screamed tired and disgusting. My whole face looked blue and purple. I saw the veins in my neck, and when I touched them I winced.

Taking a deep breath, I started to remove the robe in front of me. I watched the fabric fall to the floor when I felt the ends of my sweater. A burst of energy filled my gut and flooded through my veins, causing me to haphazardly lift the shirt fully over my head and shimmied my pants off. I felt angry. Angry at myself for not being able to do the easiest things. And sad watching my body shake and my skin crawl.

I forced myself to stare at my chest. I stared long and hard at the flat shape and bare skin. I started to run my hand over my abdomen and I could feel my ribs protrude out of my skin. Tears started to fill my eyes when I glazed over my underwear. I could see the outline of my legs and the thought of what was between them made me sick. I felt like throwing up.

I rushed to the bathroom and clutched at the sides of the toilet. I quickly thought about all of the germs and bacteria and immediately lunged away from the seat. I washed my hands five or six times until my skin curled underneath the stream. I splashed the water on my face and began to sob. I ran my hands over my face and my eyes tinged from the tears.

When my hands roamed their way back to my chest I fell to the floor in a mixture of emotions. I felt depressed, gross, I felt cheated in my own flesh and blood. I felt contained to the bottom of my bathroom sink. The tears relaxed and I started to slowly lift myself off of the cold tile.

I wobbled back to my bedroom and tried to open my drawers. I reached for a dotted shirt and slowly buttoned the clothes on myself. With each button, I sniffed and let out a heavy sigh. I wanted to change my underwear but every time I slid my fingers past the waistband I cringed. I couldn't bring myself to look past my abdomen.

I just tried to pull on a pair of work pants without my eyes and slide a brown belt through the loops. I stared at myself in the dresser mirror and reached for another layer to put on over my body, a brown cardigan. I wanted to smile. I tried to force the corners of my lips to move upward but they only drooped a little lower. I swallowed my tongue and went to get my coat.

...

I walked into the lobby and saw people walking throughout the halls, I felt so out of place. I slowly slumped up to the elevator and pressed the button. It was halfway through the workday, a little after lunch. It was raining so hard outside I could hear it through the elevator walls, I heard the pat pat pat just outside the floors and I started to feel thirsty. I hadn't drunk much water in public because I didn't want to have to use a public bathroom. It wasn't a problem until one day I had to be sent to the emergency room.

I got nervous as the elevator doors began to open. I lifted my head and was relieved not to meet anyone as I stepped out. A sore feeling manifesting itself in my throat. I look up to see everyone in the conference room. I barely catch Rossi's eye when I start to walk up to the bullpen. Soon I can feel everyone's eyes on my back when I rest my bag on the edge of my seat.

J.J. walks out of the room to wave me over. I watch her walk back into the room, I look at her heels and her pretty blouse. I think back to what I'm wearing and feel gross. Why do I keep stressing about these sorts of things? Morgan doesn't worry about how he's dressed. Hotch doesn't care about shoes or what he has to wear. Rossi was the one who probably cared the most and even he didn't notice the things I do.

I rush up the stairs noticing how everyone is waiting on me. My pace slows down as I get closer and closer to the threshold of the conference room. "Hey, pretty boy's here!" I clench my jaw at the sound of that nickname. My stomach turns inside out and I think about just running out of the room and heading back home, or anywhere but here. "Why don't you sit down we were just starting." Garcia tries to talk to me in her sweet voice. I missed her so much, I missed everyone.

"No thank you," I whisper. I hadn't spoken words out loud in a long time. I don't talk to myself and I hadn't seen anyone else in days. I clear my throat gaining a sliver of strength from the anger in my gut. "No thank you I," I start stronger before pausing mournfully again, "I think I need to say a few things before I come back, officially. C- can you all please sit down." I choke in my breath and all of their faces turn worried when they look at me.

"Uhm, I know I haven't been here in a while but uhm," I turn my head to the floor, "I want to be able to come back, I do, and I uh," It gets really hard to talk without tearing up. I swallow hard when J.J tries to pat my arm, I don't mean to but I flinch and try to push her hand away. "I can't come back until," I'm afraid I'll start hyperventilating, "God I'm sorry." I move my hands up to my face and wipe away a few tears before swallowing and whispering again. "I can't come back until I figure out what's wrong with me."

"Kid there's nothing wrong with you-" "Yes there is! I- I- I can't sleep! I can't get dressed by myself! I can't even use the bathroom without feeling sick!" The words pool out of my mouth in a harsh tone and J.J. steps back when I flail my arms, "I can't look at myself in the mirror," Tears stream down my cheek when I turn my face around the room. "I need things to be different around here." Even Hotch's expression turns saddened and weak.

"I-" I choke and wipe my eyes with my sleeve. " I hate the name 'pretty boy'." I try to turn my eyes from Derek who's leaned over to see my expression, "I hate being referred to as 'Sir' or 'Mr.'" I bite my quivering top lip and draw my eyes back to the floor. "I hate hearing," I pause and clear my throat again thinking it would help stop my cracking voice, "he did this or it was him who," I sniff looking at Garcia whose eyes are also filled with tears.

"I'm not comfortable," I whisper and Emily gapes her mouth as if to say something then closes it rubbing her nose instead. "I haven't been comfortable for a long time. I don't know what I am anymore." The word 'what' sticks in the air for a minute before J.J. tries to pat my arm again and I let her. She eases in to hold me and I shut my eyes to stop sobbing.

"I- I- need," I start before shaking my head, "I'd like people to treat me differently." I furrow my brow thinking what to say next, "I looked online," I wipe my face again trying to slide J.J away from me, "and all the labels really scared me but uhm," I pause again "I think I'd like to try something I've been pushing down for a while." Rossi nods his head.

I feel awkward standing in front of all of these people, my friends. Years ago I could trust them with my life but now I felt so exposed and broken. I was scared of how they were going to react, I felt like screaming in my stance and running out of the room crying. I muttered out the first words before shaking my head and trying again. "I think," I clear my throat again, "I want to try different," I look at the group, averting my eyes off the floor while the edges of my lips curl into a saddened smile, before whispering the last word, "Pronouns."

I see Emily mutter a small "Oh," and Morgan's face turns confused. I slump into a hunched position and continue to cry softly when people start nodding their heads looking up at me. "Well," Hotch starts and people start to look at him. "I think that what you're asking for is," He pauses looking to the group then back at me.

"Perfectly reasonable and we will do or call you whatever you want" They all nod and mutter incoherent words. "Yes, yes of course we can." Garcia stammers wiping tears from her eyes looking at me from across the room. "What, uhm what would you like?" She asks rubbing her hands together, "To, you know," she shakes her hands before wiping more tears from her face.

I smile for the first time in weeks. It's not a toothy smile or a cheek to cheek grin but, it makes me feel safe knowing I can still do the things I used to. Come into work and smile. I catch my sighs and draw in a deep breath before looking at Garcia, "They/them." And the rest of the team smiles too.

...

[bookwyrminspiration]

WAIT. I'm late to the party but I just remembered all those anons were sending in "why I send you asks" and their reasons and I actually really want to participate, so I hope you will accept late applications?

The reason I send you so many asks is because you've just...built such a nice feeling that anything can be discussed, and it's never too niche or cringy or boring, and that's really relieving and amazing.

I'm sure you (along with many others) have realized by now, but I suffer from....really bad anxiety, both social anxiety and just in general, and it very often gets in the way of my life. Because of this and past experiences, I'm always very scared and hesitant to talk about my interests and my thoughts on anything.

But every time I've sent you an ask, even if it was, in retrospect, probably really annoying to read through the one hundred "sorry"s and "my bad"s, you've always been nothing but kind and interested in my ideas, and that was just...so surprising. Because I never really knew anyone who was willing to talk about anything, and it was just...really amazing to meet someone who was! Especially because I love and am interested in so many different things and kind of need someone to bounce ideas at. And it was really cool to see someone that was unashamed of their own interests and thoughts, but didn't make others feel bad for having different ideas.

Every time I send you an ask, you always have something interesting to say back. Something I hadn't thought of or considered, or a query that would make me rethink my own theories, or just a very well-thought-out answer to a question. I remember sending in tons of asks about the wings AU before it was released, and writing those was probably the highlight of my day, because I knew you'd take them and run with the ideas, and do your best to match my energy, and I was really grateful for that. And you were always willing to dig deeper, to think "but what if there was more?" and that's just...incredible! I don't have any other word for it!

I love sending you asks because you don't dismiss an idea or deem it as stupid, and you're just...such a kind and wonderful person that can make even the most obscure subject infinitely more interesting than before, and you never fail to make me consider things again, to expand my thoughts and views, and I'm really grateful for that.

So, because it should definitely be said by now, thank you!

And, well, that's why I love sending you asks :]

- pyro

there is no timeline so there's no way to be late! and I'm answering this a few days after you sent this, so if you believe yourself to be late then we can both be late together :D. you are fully welcome to participate if you want to (which you said you did)! it was mostly just a random question I had because i'm just as analytical with myself as I am with keeper, and knowing how other perceive and think of me is helpful for that--and I was curious about how i'd aquired so many asks so quickly, and then you all just turned it into complimenting quil hours for some reason !! (but on to your ask before I get even more distracted)

(note from a quil who has answered all of this: got very long so that's why there's a readmore! i love you /p)

this means so much to me--specifically your use of "built" because I do try pretty hard to maintain a positive atmosphere and welcome everyone in and treat everyone with the same attention. it didn't just fall into place, i try to be encouraging to everyone and support all the amazing work--art, writing, ideas, etc--I see from people. (note: i've been wanting to do a thing where I ask for fic/art/other recommendations from others (can be friends or their own) so i can go through and reblog a bunch of them with comments and the like, I just want to get through more of my asks before I start something like that). But you're right--nothing is too niche! there's so many details in the story it's impossible for one person to notice anything, so people bringing up the obscure and their own thoughts makes the story richer and more fleshed out for everyone else! and i think it's really cool to just see what other people focus on (like I said, my analysis isn't limited to characters, but I'm not like dissecting you all to understand each of you in a creepy way or anything. I just like to get a better sense of someone so I can respond in a way more tailored to them when we interact)

anxiety can really suck, so as someone who also has anxiety i am giving you a comforting hug if you'd like one. it genuinely impacts everything you do and think about, rewriting how you experience life. a single, inconsequential experience to someone else can literally change major aspects of how we think, which makes interactions so scary sometimes. i remember things people said years ago and still base my actions around them, but those people have absolutely no recollection of ever saying it, but just the fear of having done something wrong once permanently altered my thinking. (this is not to make this about me, I'm just trying to show I understand by sharing an experience of my own).

reading through all your "i'm sorry"s and "my bad"s wasn't annoying and never will be. you have never had anything to apologize for, and I know that sometimes you feel you need to enter a conversation and first apologize for being there, but I'm thrilled to have you here and always love seeing you in my inbox. I don't know how to articulate this properly, but I'm going to try. i saw your apologies and your apprehension as...a puzzle? that's absolutely not the right word but I can't think of the right one so please let me explain (I don't mean to imply you're like something to be solved or a problem in any way. words can be difficult and I'm trying to describe something very intangible rn, so I hope this doesn't sound bad). I didn't see it as annoying (you're never annoying), I saw it like it was something to work through, and while it's not my job or anything to help other's with their personal problems, it was like if I could just provide one space where I could encourage you (not just you, but anyone) as a friend to try shifting your language and start thinking of yourself more positively, then I wanted to give that.

because I am interested in your ideas! and I want to be kind and welcoming to you! but I also want you to be kind to yourself, so any impact I've had to give anyone a safer, less scary space is really cool. I don't know if that made sense, but I'm not trying to talk down to you or anything or be like I'm this high and mighty figure harboring lost souls or something, just that connection is important and I like being there for people. kinda worried that sounded bad because it feels worded strange but I'm trying to reciprocate and say i appreciate you and am happy to talk about anything!

i love bouncing ideas back and forth and you are more than welcome to say anything and everything you're thinking about. talking to you is always an absolutely joy and I get so excited when you send me an ask and when you're reading my response, because it often feels like this like...buzz? like we're just vibing on this frequency and it makes it so much fun to throw ideas back and forth and just listen to each other talk. i am very glad to have surprised you and met you! I don't know a lot of people like myself either, so having someone like you interact with me and just go all out on these little things and what we personally like about different parts of the so much fun. a lot of the other people I know irl feel like they just scratch the surface, they say things just to get credit for it and to appear like they know what they're talking about while ignoring all these other things that have such an impact, so it's amazing to have found someone else who looks at everything and anything like I do. my brain really is "a little bit of everything all of the time" so knowing you have so many different interests too is really cool. i am giving you an internet high five and pretending you aren't so far away.

I spent so much of my life being quiet when I had so many thoughts, so now that I have this kind of outlet I just! want to say everything I can! i want to look at everything from every perspective possible! the world is a huge collection of things tied together and I love following the strings to find the connected pieces! but I think that's a way of approaching the world not a lot of people share (I could be wrong), so it's really cool to hear you think my thought process is interesting!! my brain is practically composed entirely of questions. any subject at any time of the day and nearly all of my thoughts are just wanting to know more and trying to understand things, so having that opportunity to ask further questions and just learn things (about what other's thing, how things work, etc) is so much fun. you might've seen me ask some questions of other's in a few of the asks I answer, but those barely scratch the surface of just how many I have. my handle is in_quil_sitive (inquisitve) on nearly every social media platform (except for this one) for a reason.

I remember some of your asks from before the wings au was published, too. those were absolutely incredible, and I got a rush of excitement every time I saw you sent another. those were the the highlight of my week, too!! your enthusiasm and excitement for something I hadn't even posted yet gave me so much motivation to continue and you helped me think through so many future ideas and consider things from new perspectives. i know i specifically wrote that you inspired one chapter in the notes, but you've had an impact on every single chapter of this story/ it wouldn't be what it is without you, and I mean that with complete sincerity. you were the one who made me think "what if there was more" so I could make this au even better and work towards something bigger. I just have so many thoughts about everything all of the time, I can't go more than a few minutes without being distracted by a different train of thought, but knowing there was someone who would want to hear all the weird, disjointed ideas i'd strung together and composed into a more cohesive format was so cool. there's just so much to think about!!

I probably sound repetitive at this point but I love answering your asks because you're so receptive to the way i say things and it's like you're actually listening and want to hear what I specifically have to say, not just the general ideas. you want to know my unique, personalized opinions and perspectives and don't just dismiss them when they're not what you expect to hear or aren't generic. you're incredibly kind, too, I hope you know. I love the description of how I can "make even the most obscure subject infinitely more interesting than before." that is such a meaningful compliment to me. I just keep thinking about this line over and over again and it just...it really means a lot. because you're saying it's me that interests you and not just what I talk about. I could talk about anything and you'd still want to interact with me and that's so fucking nice. I hope you know the same goes for you. we can challenge each other's thinking together and make things even deeper and more complex before together <33.

thank you for being here and being my friend, pyro. talking to you is always one of the highlights of my day and gives me a very positive feeling that I carry around for a while. I do this thing sometimes where I film myself to later observe my behaviors in the middle of intense emotions to understand myself better (back to that whole analysis thing again), but it's not just negative things, it's also when I'm really excited or pleased with something and jumping around and stimming and all that, and some of those are from when I interact with you. that might sound a little weird but I mean it positively, as in talking with you makes me ecstatic.

I have said. so many things. so I will stop (for now). but I really appreciate having you in my life <33