#I like keeping it over my heart

[dilfsisko]

Also my Klingon Empire jacket

[lotus-pear]

mourning black and the death of ideals

[inkskinned]

so one of the things that's so horrifying about birth control is that you have to, like, navigate this incredibly personal choice about your body and yet also face the epitome of misogyny. like, someone in the comments will say it wasn't that bad for me, and you'll be utterly silenced. like, everyone treats birth control like something that's super dirty. like, you have no fucking information or control over this thing because certain powerful people find it icky.

first it was the oral contraceptives. you went on those young, mostly for reasons unrelated to birth control - even your dermatologist suggested them to control your acne. the list of side effects was longer than your arm, and you just stared at it, horrified.

it made you so mentally ill, but you just heard that this was adulthood. that, yes, there are of course side effects, what did you expect. one day you looked up yasmin makes me depressed because surely this was far too intense, and you discovered that over 12,000 lawsuits had been successfully filed against the brand. it remains commonly prescribed on the open market. you switched brands a few times before oral contraceptives stopped being in any way effective. your doctor just, like, shrugged and said you could try a different brand again.

and the thing is that you're a feminist. you know from your own experience that birth control can be lifesaving, and that even when used for birth control - it is necessary healthcare. you have seen it save so many people from such bad situations, yourself included. it is critical that any person has access to birth control, and you would never suggest that we just get rid of all of it.

you were a little skeeved out by the implant (heard too many bad stories about it) and figured - okay, iud. it was some of the worst pain you've ever fucking experienced, and you did it with a small number of tylenol in your system (3), like you were getting your bikini line waxed instead of something practically sewn into your body.

and what's wild is that because sometimes it isn't a painful insertion process, it is vanishingly rare to find a doctor that will actually numb the area. while your doctor was talking to you about which brand to choose, you were thinking about the other ways you've been injured in your life. you thought about how you had a suspicious mole frozen off - something so small and easy - and how they'd numbed a huge area. you thought about when you broke your wrist and didn't actually notice, because you'd thought it was a sprain.

your understanding of pain is that how the human body responds to injury doesn't always relate to the actual pain tolerance of the person - it's more about how lucky that person is physically. maybe they broke it in a perfect way. maybe they happened to get hurt in a place without a lot of nerve endings. some people can handle a broken femur but crumble under a sore tooth. there's no true way to predict how "much" something actually hurts.

in no other situation would it be appropriate for doctors to ignore pain. just because someone can break their wrist and not feel it doesn't mean no one should receive pain meds for a broken wrist. it just means that particular person was lucky about it. it should not define treatment.

in the comments of videos about IUDs, literally thousands of people report agony. blinding, nauseating, soul-crushing agony. they say things like i had 2 kids and this was the worst thing i ever experienced or i literally have a tattoo on my ribs and it felt like a tickle. this thing almost killed me or would rather run into traffic than ever feel that again.

so it's either true that every single person who reports severe pain is exaggerating. or it's true that it's far more likely you will experience pain, rather than "just a pinch." and yet - there's nothing fucking been done about it. it kind of feels like a shrug is layered on top of everything - since technically it's elective, isn't it kind of your fault for agreeing to select it? stop being fearmongering. stop being defensive.

you fucking needed yours. you are almost weirdly protective of it. yours was so important for your physical and mental health. it helped you off hormonal birth control and even started helping some of your symptoms. it still fucking hurt for no fucking reason.

once while recovering from surgery, they offered you like 15 days of vicodin. you only took 2 of them. you've been offered oxy for tonsillitis. you turned down opioids while recovering from your wisdom tooth extraction. everything else has the option. you fucking drove yourself home after it, shocked and quietly weeping, feeling like something very bad had just happened. the nurse that held your hand during the experience looked down at you, tears in her eyes, and said - i know. this is cruelty in action.

and it's fucked up because the conversation is never just "hey, so the way we are doing this is fucking barbaric and doctors should be required to offer serious pain meds" - it's usually something around the lines of "well, it didn't kill you, did it?"

you just found out that removing that little bitch will hurt just as bad. a little pinch like how oral contraceptives have "some" serious symptoms. like your life and pain are expendable or not really important. like maybe we are all hysterical about it?

hysteria comes from the latin word for uterus, which is great!

you stand here at a crossroads. like - this thing is so important. did they really have to make it so fucking dangerous. and why is it that if you make a complaint, you're told - i didn't even want you to have this in the first place. we're told be careful what you wish for. we're told that it's our fault for wanting something so illict; we could simply choose not to need medication. that maybe if we don't like the scraps, we should get ready to starve.

we have been saying for so long - "i'm not asking you to remove the option, i'm asking you to reconsider the risk." this entire time we hear: well, this is what you wanted, isn't it?

[fleapit]

can we pleasee please please stop fucking fearmongering and blaming trans men for the predstrogen situation. please god. posts about "trans men teaming up with terfs to get trans women banned!" with zero sources all over my dash. blaming "transandrophobia truthers" for all the transmisogyny. have you all lost your fucking minds?? what the fuck happened to t4t??? what the fuck happened to trans solidarity??? why is "transfem separatism" even a subject worth entertaining????

anyone who says other trans people are the enemy is a fucking fed. jesus christ

[carebeardean]

Charles has always left Edwin little notes slipped between the pages of his favorite books, in his science equipment, places he knows Edwin loves. Just silly things—post its that say “hi Edwin :)”. doodles of Edwin with his nose stuck in a book. reminders to stock up on wolfsbane. but.

Then, post canon, Edwin tentatively starts dating people. And it’s ridiculous, because Edwin’s right there, all the time, but Charles..misses him a bit. And his heads a mess, and he can’t sort out what the hell he’s feeling most of the time, and whenever he tries to say any of it out loud it comes out rubbish.

So. He writes down some of the shit he can’t say right, and because he’s a coward, hides them so he doesn’t have to see Edwin’s face when he reads them.

then Edwin starts writing back.

Neat lilac blue little envelopes appear in Charles coat pockets. In his bag. Once, in his shoe? Some nights, Edwin will clear his throat and mention something from a letter, offhand, like they’re just picking up conversation, and Charles can pretend they are. That they always have talked about the basement, the belt, the nameless fear that chokes him every time Edwin walks out the door with someone else on his arm.

Sometimes he can’t. The words get stuck in his throat. Edwin’s not mad, he’s maddeningly, stubbornly kind about it, which is worse.

Some nights they trade. A secret for a secret. Charles learns about the novels Edwin used to hide under his mattress, about all the lonely years before Charles got there. About Simon.

Meanwhile, Edwin is losing his mind, because Charles has accidentally stumbled onto what was a fucking courting ritual in his time. Love letters were something engaged couples treasured for years, kept and reread over and over. (Edwin does. keep them in a special box, will take one out and trace the words, tuck it in his breast pocket for courage).

Edwin would rather have to reattach a limb again than lose Charles trust, all the dark and beautiful things he shares with Edwin only. He knows—knows Charles doesn’t mean to make him fall more in love with him.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Good morning, Sleepyhead.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[crystalpallette]

their kind eyes have captivated me. I love you bunny boys

[benevolenterrancy]

Hi I have caught up to you on having feelings about Zhuzhi-Lang. He's a good boy! 🥺 Good snake boy! 🥺 I had the thought, after Zhuzhi let SQQ leave after SQQ yelled at him... what if they Stole Him. What if.

(Also have you read/been recommended anything by corduroyserpent yet? Big writer of Zhuzhi-Lang fics, including a very cute de-aged Zhuzhi-Lang and some zhushen)

Justifications of bride-stealing!

(AND HE'S THE BEST BOY 😭 I LOVE HIM SO MUCH, SO MUCH!! have some further au thoughts because this has contaminated my brain...)

What I think would actually happen if they stole SQQ? Absolutely nothing good for anyone, LBH would Lose His Fucking Mind xD as a more interesting answer though, I like the idea that Shen "Pedantic Nitpicky Asshole" Qingqiu's primary point of argument is that he is not a bride so he cannot be "bridenapped" regardless of demonic tradition or intention!

This eventually leads to them all completely avoiding the Maigu Ridge incident because TLJ realizes that, somehow, SQQ doesn't realize the depths of his son's feelings for him and decides to put all his efforts into being a wingman for his nephew instead because he finds the entire thing absolutely hilarious and rather satisfying after his own sad romance. Obviously someone like SQQ would do much better with his good, loyal nephew than the disappointing offspring of that disastrous relationship!

As for ZZL he just has to assume that LBH must not be treating SQQ anywhere near the way he should be (and like... he isn't wrong at this point, there is a non-zero amount of torture and terror going on here) if SQQ doesn't see himself as being tied to LBH in any way. And if he's not attached to LBH then there's absolutely no reason he shouldn't make his own efforts to seduce SQQ! After all, if LBH isn't valuing SQQ properly then obviously ZZL has to step up because someone as kind as SQQ deserves the best!!!

[meamiki]

mira !!! :]

[bakudekublogblog]

the way katsuki just IS izuku's first love drives me nutty. like he just had a big ole crush on him with his huge-ass heart eyes and he chased him around with maximum puppy-love smitten energy

[gummi-ships]

Kingdom Hearts Dream Drop Distance - The World That Never Was

[avame]

something about a connection you'll always want but can never make

[kindofsharethat]

“liam payne is dead” is a sentence that will never sound real

[elliewiltarwyn]

okay so like. y'all know me. y'all know what i like. so i promise this is only a temporary thing.

but.

In order to fire up my static to clear UWU, I kind of bet that, if we cleared before one of the healers left for vacation, they could make me fanta to any race they wanted until the next patch.

So. I'm going back for 7.2 at the latest, y'all know I could never leave femroe behind permanently.

but for now. it's time for.

FUCKING

BNUUELLIEEEEE

[sainz100]

📸 by Martin Trenkler

[astracora]

The Cat Curse - MC Edition

Characters: Sylus x gn!mc (poly lads)

Warnings: Heavy hurt|Some comfort, Semi-canon compliant heart condition, Spoilers for current story release (Small mentions of Sylus bond up to 102 and all of Sylus' currently released content).

Word Count: 4170

Written: 23rd December 2024

Notes: New relationship Sylus/MC-centric but poly LADs (this time with group chat), with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me.

Now Playing: Monster, by STARSET

Masterlist

Next ->

You've been responding to his messages, Sylus notes, but something's off. He's been away on some inane business trip, ever since you, the doctor, the fish, the prince and he had visited a new kitty cafe opening. He rarely gets to see you visibly excited, you are worse at showing your feelings on your face than he is. Whenever you're faced with animals, of any kind, even Mephisto, your eyes sparkle and you could easily spend hours upon hours sat with them. Even more so if they let you pet them.

The first time you'd seen the evol kitties, according to the doctor, you'd been unsure. They didn't look like cats. Something off and a little wrong, but they mewed at you and straight away you'd gently stroked their noses. As if unable to hold back.

Since then you would drag any of them along to play kitty cards. You didn't like the game, had no patience for strategy, but you did like petting the cats. Sitting there between every round, barely looking at the board, and tickling small whiskers. Much to the fish's distress.

While Sylus doesn't really care if he wins or loses around you, he's almost assured a win when playing with you because it's simply not something you care about. Distracted and unbothered by the game. He's only relieved that when he sprouted ears and a tail (of the caracal kind), you had been just as enamoured with those. Finally smothering him in affection in the same way, and being distracted by his tail. Though he'd never confess to competing with cats, at this point it's just an everyday occurrence.

He found he enjoyed playing most with the doctor, unlike when the man played with you, he took no soft approach with Sylus, and it was fun to butt heads with him. Stubborn as they both could be. That left you to lean your head on the fish's lap, the prince asleep against your side already, and play with cats, to a backdrop of 'You're cheating', 'I'm simply better at this than you.', 'If you would stop getting distracted-' that you mostly blocked out.

Rounds later, he paid the bill before anyone else got chance to, and picked up some cakes to take back.

Then he'd had his business trip to attend, having moved things around so on your rare day off, you could see everyone. It was never fun to drop you off, Sylus missed you anytime he could not see you, and though he was prideful, he had been honest about not being able to sleep without the sound of your voice. A confession you'd flushed at and tugged at one of the straps of your prosthetic.

He'd watched you waver over how to respond, biting at your lip, and fidgeting, as you fought against your urge to run away from him.

Trying didn't come easy, you'd told him. Honesty and openness, it got even harder when you'd lost your family, it got easier with every day you were given room to breathe by all of them, and every friend you held dear to your 'broken' heart. He didn't want to dig, or poke at old wounds, not now you were trying to live... but he often saw too much of himself in you.

Whether it was because of the way you'd grown up, or his soul inside of you, it made him even more careful and aware of offering you what you offered him.

"I'll miss you too, Sy. Call me, alright?" Your finally settled on, cool metal hand taking his in yours and squeezing. Before he'd left you, reluctant and complaining, he'd pressed kisses over your face, down your neck, and finally pushed you to the wall of your apartment building, to steal all the air from your lungs. Thigh holding you up, as he tangled his hands in your hair.

When he'd tried to pull away, he couldn't quite, leaning back in once, twice, three times, chasing the warmth of your mouth. Over and over.

You'd laughed, pushing him back to breathe, gasping, "It's a week. We'll be fine for a week."

A week... you aren't possessive enough, he thinks, spinning his pen in his hand. Half listening to Luke and Kieran talk. He feels as though he's emptied and lost, missing parts of what makes him who he is, and your messages feel... the same.

He could be reading into it... you're not exactly one to put your heart on your sleeve, or cling. You're independent because you've had to be, and he still hasn't had enough time to get you to lean all of your weight on him.

So he sends a message into the group chat without you, made in order to plan surprises or outings.

🐦‍⬛: Is everything ok back home?

⛄️: Aren't you busy?

🐦‍⬛: I'm taking a break.

They don't have to know he's tuning out his business partners, hoping they'll talk themselves out so he can leave.

🐠: lucky, some of us have r busy

🐠: [Attached photo]

🐦‍⬛: Please tell me that's not paint on my walnut table.

🐠: won't answer u then

⭐️: looks more colourful now

He rubs the space between his eyes, already dreading returning to the mess, and regretting letting the fish use his space for storing work while his studio is being fumigated. The partners at the table tense at his action, but he doesn't bother sparing them a glance, so they relax and resume talking.

🐦‍⬛: Is anyone going to answer my question?

⛄️: Is there a reason you're asking?

He hesitates, it's just a feeling, if he worries everyone, and it's nothing...

No, he didn't get this far by not trusting his instincts.

🐦‍⬛: Kitten's messages have felt off.

Two exclamation reactions are his instant response, the fish and prince. They start to type, then stop, then start again.

🐠: what way?

⭐️: have U called them?

⛄️: Calm down, they took some time off work because of a cold.

🐠: y didn't anyone tell us?

⛄️: I thought they would have asked Tara to contact you, or contacted you themselves?

🐦‍⬛:  They didn't.

⭐️: ive been on mission for a couple of days, i can stop in tomorrow when its over

He puts his phone down too forcefully and looks at the room. He's... irritated. Not like he normally is when it comes to you, a childish way where he can't have enough as he likes from you. Like you're a toy he cannot stop playing with. He's almost angry, but mostly sad.

He's been patient, surely you can at least talk to him if you feel sick?

Sylus is done with this trip, he's bored of listening to people talk nonsense, and he has no need for anything they have to offer. "We're done here, Luke. Kieran."

Waving his hand absently and ignoring protests behind him, he leaves the room, phone in hand.

🐦‍⬛: I'm coming back now.

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

Jenna had sent you home, it's not the first time she has. You're terrified one day she'll get bored of having to keep track of your health. Or you'll really let her down, and get you... or more importantly someone else, hurt.

It's probably not a normal mindset to worry so much about what your boss thinks, or to fear disappointing them like they're your parent.

It's not like you have parents to know what's that like... but gran's disappointment every time you got into fights growing up... well it was enough.

Caleb used to cover for you, within reason. He lectured you, told you to pull yourself up and figure it out. That fighting every battle against every jerk you met, reckless and stupid, would get you killed. "Come on pipsqueak, use that energy for something better. Something worthwhile."

So many reasons you didn't want to or couldn't, you wanted to tell him... a hand clenched over your chest.

You were so tired of disappointing them both though, so tired of seeing worn eyes tending to cuts and bruises. Bandaging your back, or fixing the set of your arm.

Being a hunter was that answer. If you used what little life you had in you, unsure when your busted up heart would give out finally, then you could greet Caleb and Gran with pride. Your life was a tool, to make others better.

So every day you weren't working, felt like a day you were failing them... failing to be worth anything other than the core in your chest. A vessel with no purpose or value but to hold something you hated. That could kill you.

It wasn't like you could work like this though... you'd laughed at your partners when they'd sprouted ears and tails. Especially Raffy, he'd been so disgruntled at the fate that had befallen him. This was... probably karma. Pointed, soft ears on top of your head, pinned back against your skull. Pristine white, so they at least blended into your hair.

At your back, a bristled tail, huge and furry... already having picked up some dirt to sully what had been pure white.

It hadn't settled since it had appeared, and you wondered what that said about you...

Fucked up mess. Stupid fool. Useless.

Too loud, everything was too loud. You could hear your neighbours through the walls, all the cars below your apartment, every child crying, dog barking, cat mewling.

It hurts.

You covered your ears with your hand, but noise filtered in through the new set you'd acquired.

Hurts.

You'd grown accustomed to the state of your heart. If you don't pay attention you can miss something, and you care now... perhaps you always did, just too raw like an open wound to let yourself.

It's racing and panicked. You don't need your hunter's watch to know it's too fast. 

Burying yourself into your bed, you cover your head with the duvet, grab at your headphones to shove them into your ears, turning them as loud as they can go, and bury your head under the pillows.

Your phone buzzes at your side, and you don't want to touch it. Scared to leave the cocoon you've built for yourself.

You'd begged Tara to tell Zayne you were sick with a cold, that you would be fine soon. She'd given you a heartbroken look that had made you bristle further, pity. Always pity.

You didn't want pity.

Before your fraying emotions could get the best of you, you'd fled the hunters association, hood up over your head and run home.

You can feel your tail trembling, struggling to swish under the blanket as you struggle to calm down, to at least get some sleep.

Maybe if you sleep it will go away.

Maybe when you wake up you'll feel better.

Useful.

Worth having around.

Not on the cusp of disappearing with nothing to show for yourself.

-----

When you'd woken up, tail still bristled, and newly acquired fangs digging into your bottom lip. Blood staining the bedsheet, you'd finally fished your phone out from your nest.

3am.

The world was quieter for it, and you wondered if this was part of why Sylus preferred the night to day.

You didn't remove your headphones, but you did finally open up your messaging app, seeing messages from everyone.

TaraTara💖: I hope you're ok bestie, if you need anything let me know.

Number One Lumiere Fan: Tara said you were sick, if you have time, I have a few shows you could watch to waste time. Only one is about Lumiere! Promise!

Simone (the one whose guns explode): Hey! Tara said you weren't doing so hot, if you want some company for a movie night, I make the best soup you'll ever have!

Captain: Remember to actually get some rest, take advantage of the break, alright? Everything will be fine here.

🐠cute fishie 🐠: hey cutie, wat do u think?

🐠cute fishie🐠: [Attached Image]

⭐️little star⭐️: missions going well, how are U?

⛄️sweet snowman⛄️: Tara said you're sick, I'll come over to check on you as soon as I can. Make sure you eat and drink.

🐦‍⬛pretty bird🐦‍⬛: Meetings are always more boring without you kitten, I hope you're missing me as much.

Your tail settles, curling against your side, fur flattening and you try really hard not to cry. You wish you'd thanked Tara when you left instead of fleeing, overstimulated and hurting.

Wounded like the cat you're teasingly referred to as. Feral and ready to hiss and scratch. You've spent so many years shutting people out.

Shutting Gran and Caleb out.

Shutting them out you wasted so much time until it was too late.

Why can't you learn?

You force yourself to respond, trying to sound as much yourself as you can... it's unnerving, to wear a mask over a mask. You wonder if you'll ever recognise your reflection.

You hesitate as you go to respond to your partners. You should tell them, reaching up to roughly pull the ears on your head. They'd understand, they've been where you are. Your brain says you should go to the kitty cafe, find out how to fix it this time around... but being out there, in the noise...

Instead you send some version of you're fine, and things are fine, everything is good. You're good.

You're together. You're useful. You're not a burden.

You aren't fragile and sick and useless.

You are worth keeping around, even when your heart picks up speed again, beating so hard against your chest that you fear the core wants to escape its fleshy vessel.

The straps attaching your prosthetic are digging into your skin, rubbing it raw, but you ache to even try to remove it. Fighting with the buckles and biting at the bit. You're still in your uniform, and you're sure by now you need a shower. The idea of water shooting a shot of anxiety straight into your chest, flaring up your tail, and your ears flatten as far as they can.

No water...

Maybe later.

Or you can really fill out how shit you feel with a wet wipe bath.

Caleb would kill you.

You don't want to think about it anymore. You want to let the quiet take over, or reasonably so with the screamo in your ears. Blasting the noise outside into nothing.

So you go back to sleep. Easing the pain in your heart with the only sure fire way.

---------

You can't breathe. You can't breathe.

Bolt upright in bed, hissing through your teeth, chest so tight you can feel your ribs.

You flounder, pulling at where your straps should be, but they're gone, no leather under your fingers. So you move to claw at your chest with one hand, gasping.

Hands grab you, and you struggle and you fight and you hiss. Fangs out, feral and ready to claw your way free. Arms far stronger than you pull you against a warm chest, tilt your head back and pills are placed in your mouth. You try to spit them out but a hand is on your throat, rubbing at your larynx. You swallow and then water follows it.

You splutter and cough, and you wriggle and struggle. Your head is pressed against skin, and you sink your fangs in.

Out. Out. Out.

"It's alright, you're alright, I'm here."

Blood fills your mouth and his scent surrounds you and you shiver. Blinking as your heart medication begins to do its job, easing the fractured organ in your chest. You spit, trying to clear your mouth of the taste of metal, shivering and shaking but your chest isn't constricting you now.

"Sy-" You cry outloud, he holds you, not bothered by the blood tricking down his shoulder. Of course he isn't, he heals it, the pain nothing in comparison to watching you choke on air you can't breathe. "Sorry. Sorry." You mumble against his skin, licking where you bit, crying and shaking. Wrapping your arm around his neck.

He assures you, and he rocks you both in his arms, rubbing your back and running a hand through your hair. Careful around your ears, not going far enough down to touch your bristled tail.

He hums and he rocks, and he squeezes you tight enough to ground you.

It's an hour or two later when you can finally feel any semblance of stable. You can't bring yourself to look at Sylus, he's stroking your cheek and wiping tears from your face, and all you can do is stare at the bed. You can't think of what to say.

You didn't take your medication, you hurt him... it's not the first time, but when this happened with Caleb you didn't have a cats' fangs.

Between you opening up and me prying, I prefer the former. He'd told you, after a terrible day, listing every way he would support you.

With all your sharp edge, you place your hand over his on your cheek, "I'm sorry, Sy."

He huffs, turning you in his arms so you're facing each other, but his one hand grips your hip, sturdy. Solid, strong. He doesn't hurt, but escaping would be hard. You try hard not to.

Though you can feel the... your tail swishing.

He looks at it, at your ears, then at you, red nosed and disheveled.

"Explain."

It's a command, brooking little argument, and though normally you'd refuse to take orders, you duck your head now. Avoiding molten eyes and seeking out something to focus on. The hand that was on your head, stretches out in between you both, palm up, and you take it quickly. Toying with his fingers, squeezing it in your own. Finding connection in your hand on his.

"Jenna sent me home, my evol doesn't work, I can't fight. I... it hurt. Everything's so loud."

You can't see it as he frowns, as your ears prick, then settle, seeking out all the things that hurt them. "I went to sleep, thought it would make this go away, but it didn't."

"Why didn't you tell me?" You hear it then, the pain, like he's biting down on glass. Your eyes dart up and his eyes are glassy, warm red gone dull. "You left your prosthetic on. It was rubbing your skin raw at the angle you were sleeping. There was blood on your sheets." He presses his forehead to yours and breathes you in, "Then this. Why didn't you tell me?" His voice cracks, and you want to be sick.

You twine your fingers with his and choke on the words, "I didn't want to be a bother."

He hisses, his grip on your hand almost hurts, but you probably deserve so much worse. You lied to him, to them, and you hurt him. More than just biting at him.

"You need to tell me. No matter what. No matter what I'm doing, beloved. No matter the issue." He kisses your forehead, over and over and over again. "Promise me."

You nod, and curl your pinky around his, just like you used to with Caleb when he made you promise to come to him with an injury. The words are too stuck in your throat, your voice too sore to use, but you nod. Desperately.

"You're not a burden to be carried, kitten. Ever. Do you understand?"

You don't. You want to, but it's hard. There is no part of you that feels easy or fun, but you do love him. So much. More than you thought yourself capable of. More than you wanted, on borrowed time.

"I'll try." You promise, and it feels like you've cycled back around to the start. Promising to figure things out at home, promising to aim for something. A future you're not sure you're going to ever see.

He takes it in earnest, you do not go back on your word. You are loyal and once you trust, you trust with your heart and your soul. It is yourself you do not trust.

Instead he eases you back into his lap and stands, you flinch and release his hand to grab his neck with your hand. "You need to be cleaned up, I'll help." You go to tell him no because it's water, and you're more a cat than even he teases you for, but you have your head in his neck at this angle, and his scent is so strong. Your tail flattens and begins to flick, lazy and soothed. You hear him chuckle, vibrating through his chest and through yours. "I'm not going anywhere."

-----------

Sylus eases you through steps. He's seen you injured, he's seen you with phantom pains, and he's watched you battle nightmares. Wanderers with swords through your chest, your heart stopping, an explosion you can't stop. He knows what you look like when wounded, he also knows that you fear his reaction when you are.

It takes time to heal wounds, he knows that intimately. You'd never shed your rage or anger, not really. When someone has made mention of gods you'd scoffed, when someone has talked about EVER and their many plans to help humanity, you'd snarled. You trust no king, no god, no corporation to fix the world or the people in it. He knows you're always scared but you keep walking forwards anyway, and he admires and loves you for it.

He just wishes you'd take his hand when that happens.

He has not felt fear like seeing your heart failing you in his arms before, and no matter the violence of your struggle, he would let you rip him to pieces to survive.

He has so much time, and his greatest fear is losing you too soon.

He cleans, and he dries, brushing hair and rubbing lotion to ease the burns on your skin. He helps you dress, finding clothes that don't irritate your tail, because at least he is intimately familiar with that, and then he sits you down on the couch with vegetable soup. Not handmade, though he'd rather have done so. He doesn't want to leave you alone, so he orders what he needs. Sending the twins running around. He's sure you'd like to see them, but he's worried their exuberance will agitate the overstimulation you're combatting.

Watching your ears flick this way and that, picking up too much. As though you don't already struggle with the world's input.

He almost feeds you, wanting to heal you with his own hands, like he's anything like the doctor... he's not. His skills are in bloodshed, and he is as sharp edged as you are.

Except you have made yourself a weapon, to be worth the pain, and he was made a weapon, to survive the pain.

He does not move far away, however, kneeling at your feet, and massaging your calves while you eat. You try to pull your legs away, but he keeps them held, and continues his movements. You have soothed his body before, stitched his wounds, kissed where his scars would be, and he will not have you lacking his own love and affection.

A dragon does not love lightly. Though you don't remember the depths he has gone to for you. This is an easy act of devotion.

"You need to tell them too." He finally speaks, as you clear your bowl. He's relieved to see your ears are no longer flat, your tail is not bristled, you are as relaxed as you can be. You nod, guilt written in your face, and he retrieves your phone for you on black and red mist.

Sitting at your side, he grabs your brush and begins to brush your tail. You almost leap into the air, startled and dropping your phone onto the couch cushions. "Sy!"

"Cat fur can get tangled, especially long fur." He smirks, pulling you closer, and brushing through it with long fingers, "So let me take care of it."

You flinch at the contact, stare at where his hand is in the new found attachment, then keeping your eyes trained on your phone, you nod.

He's content to let you write out what you need to, to be honest with the others, he doesn't want to have that job. It's your mission to step out of your self made cage. So he brushes quietly, the twitching tail in his hands restless, but soon as soft as you can be in your relaxed moments.

Your head hits his shoulder, ears twitching in sleep as all the pent up energy and stress escapes you. Held in long white furs in a small brush. You mutter in your sleep, words he can't understand, and whistle through your nose, little noises that make him laugh.

The best, however, is the purring in the back of your throat, broken up by sleep, and the tail that has found its way around his wrist.

He does not move you, but he retrieves a blanket and holds you against him, cheek pressed to the top of your head, against your fur ears, and keeps watch while you finally find some peace.

⛄️: Are they alright?

🐦‍⬛: They will be.