#I needed a few days to just. handle feelings on all that

[business-as-usual-bats]

Okay, alright, I'll level with you because we're really on the same side, y'know.

All of us can't ignore what's happening, obviously. That would be devastating. We can't all turn away. Of course, there's power in education and in being informed.

But! This is not about everyone in the whole world or country. And, likely, this is not about those with significant political power or financial power. In comparison, it's about a relatively small group of people, those who can't be activists without doing considerable harm to their health. These people from my experience are usually already well-informed and very much so want to help!

Mental health is as important as physical health. I think we can all agree our brain is pretty important, right? Mental disabilities such as severe mood disorders, can be debilitating and deadly. We've already seen suicides hotlines increase more than double since last November. Some people have mental health issues so severe they just can't fully participate in activism like they want to do, and as a result feel like they're failing or that they're bad people or otherwise letting down their communities. This post is for them. It's telling them, "Hey, it's not fair that you're made to feel guilty when you don't currently have the capacity to handle this information like others might be able to. Please survive. Please focus on keeping yourself safe."

The people who are feeling guilty and sacrificing their health often are the minorities in question, which is a BIG problem because those groups are at higher risk of trauma and suicide. The people who need to pull away and keep safe the MOST are often minority groups.

Since November, especially since mid-January, I've been on the front lines handling these mental health crisis situations. Every single suicidal kid I've talked off the ledge these past few months is part of a minority and have been becoming increasingly suicidal because they felt too ashamed to pull away from the onslaught of politics. And I'm telling Tumblr what I told them- if keeping updated isn't something you're able to do without it being detrimental to your health, then your job is just to survive. That's it. Survive to see another day, survive to thrive in a better future.

It's SO HARD for people accept this in themselves, even as they agree with me, that they need to step away from politics, even as they're on the brink of killing themselves, because there's so much ethical obligation to stay informed, so much shame, so much peer pressure. And I've been there! I've pushed myself until literal hospitalization!

I used to say I would rather be dead and informed than alive and ignorant. Then, I realized the dead can't be informed or uninformed. They're dead.

Immediate survival MUST come first. There's no point in activism or fighting for a better future if the people we're fighting for aren't here to see it.

I don't want to say, "Hey, it's okay if you need a break, though really try not to because it's all hands on deck -" I am shouting:

"Hey. It's more important you live. You hear me, motherfuckers? Don't you DARE take risks to your health. Informed in the short term is not as important as you being here in the longterm. I know you're doing your best. You are not a bad person. I see you and I am begging you to take care of yourself."

Survive.

I HATE this insistence that we have a moral obligation to worsen our health for the "greater good!!"

"Don't ignore politics-"

STOP. STOP IT. If that's what it takes for you to survive, do it.

There's a reason in the mental hospital they block the news channels! It fucks people up! People find the world so damaged, future so hopeless, and situations so overwhelming they literally kill themselves!

Yes, yes, the activism guilt-tripping is supposed to be for those who simply don't care, but the disabled people who do care are the ones who wind up feeling guilty!

"It's a privilege to be able to ignore politics-"

No, it's a privilege to be able to pay attention to politics without having to be literally hospitalized.

Do. What. It. Takes. To. Survive.

"I need ALL of you to start paying attention-"

Wrong. You need all of us who are ABLE to start paying attention.

Do what it takes to survive.

They are asking you to join in a 70-mile hike up a mountain, where in order to win, as many people as possible must reach the top as quickly as possible! But you are in excruciating pain and have no legs! There is no accessible way up the mountain! In trying to climb the mountain, you will cause yourself irreparable harm and likely death! You feel bad, you're letting everyone down, you can't keep up, you're about to fall, but your friend is saying "hey, I get it, sometimes my legs get super sore, but you have to keep climbing! It's our duty! Keep going! The only way to save everyone is if we do this together!"

They DON'T get it. Even if they say "well I know so-and-so who also has no legs and he just uses his arm-strength and he's at the top already, what if I carry you for a few steps until you have your strength back?" You're not him! He's clearly aquired tools and strengthened muscles you have not, and might never be able to! Only YOU know what you can handle. Do not fall to your death because you feel guilty!

Survive.

Survive.

Sometimes, the biggest act of resistance is surviving.

[modernquackfare]

How about Simon having a wife that is a toymaker and makes plushies. Wife!reader comes to the base and gives each of the tf 141 a plushie that looks like them. All of them gets one… except Ghost

Needles to say, he’s very upset, all day, that he didn’t get one.

Only when he gets home, he sees plushies of himself and the reader on the bed

A/N: okay omg i'm so so sorry this has taken forever but I've lost my draft three times 😭 luckily i wasn't TOO far along writing/had it copied but HERE U GO <33

Ghost x Fem!Reader - Toymaker Wife

For such a special day, you come prepared. It's the first time you're setting foot on Spec Gru's European base, thanks to your husband's insistence on security and containment—whatever that means. After much begging and many strategically missed video calls, Simon finally extends an invitation.

It's a cold, concrete world, Simon tells you. Nothing like you, love, or so he says. Does he think being a toymaker for work is synonymous with an inability to handle a few more military men than you already have? It's hard to believe that anyone on base could be more threatening or deadly than Simon himself.

Or Ghost, as they call him here. It's a little funny—reminiscent of middle schoolers that roleplay wolves named Luna or Rebel, but he'd have your head if you ever say such a thing, regardless of how true it might be. You've considered making him a wolf-ear headband just to prove a point and laugh at his furrowed expression. You're sure that his friends, those large men and women in the photo he let you keep, would find it equally funny.

"Sergeant Gaz, Captain Price, Sergeant Soap…” You count, knocking each handheld plush into your bag. It feels just a little childish, showing up to a military base with a pack full of toys-but in your defense, they're the product of your profession and adorable. Each is handmade to recreate the likeness of every member of Task Force 141. They'll probably like the gifts, if Simon's description of each's personality is accurate. Soap's boyish charm, Gaz's calm demeanor, and Price's warm, but dry sense of humor—that's something you can work with.

***

"It's—is this a mini me? This is braw, you've nailed it, lass." Soap lifts his plush into the air, as if holding a newborn babe to the sun. "Down to the scars. I'll be."

You can't help the ripple of a laugh when beside him, Gaz similarly examines his miniature self. "Not bad," he breathes, wiggling the doll's arms as if to make it dance. "Not bad at all. What a handsome fellow."

Soap lifts his doll, moving its head as if it were speaking for him in a poor attempt at ventriloquism "Finely crafted, maybe. Handsome? Well, that's up for—"

"Well, pass yours on over then, let's see that Yule log you call a mohawk," Gaz sneers back, matching Soap's doll's movements with his own.

It's a successful introduction, you think! Simon watches on in silence, loving warmth evident in his eyes as he does. He's not dragging you away and shipping you back home, so things must be going well—as silent and distant as he's being.

"Do you like them?” You ask, hands folded in your lap.

Price fidgets with his, admiring the tiny boonie hat that you've included, small strips of Velcro lining the bottom to adhere the hat to the head. "Never thought I'd ever be the owner of my own doll," he murmurs. "Got the hat just right, didn't you? Spot on."

"Aye, but don't leave it lying about," Soap grins, making his doll trot on over and speak in pitched up tones. “That hat of yours might just disappear. I've got hair too, Cap'."

"Yeah, hair that needs covering."

"Oh, bolt, ya dobber."

Amidst the light chatter of your newfound friends in Simon's comrades, you glance over at the man. There your husband stands, arms crossed tight against his chest. He's got that look—definitely pouting under that mask of his, as much as he protests, saying that it isn't pouting, it's brooding. The others seem to take notice of your wandering gaze, though, and suddenly all eyes are on Simon and his very obvious lack of a personalized doll.

"Don't look so solemn, Ghost," Gaz grins cheekily. "You've almost got me feeling bad for you. You're the one with the dollmaker for a wife, mate.

Simon doesn't respond. His dark gaze, gentle brown eyes hardened into rocks, finds Gaz. Shut it, he seems to say without even opening his mouth.

That grey cloud seems to follow him throughout the day. Convivial conversation with his other friends on base falls flat when the spotlight falls on him, his responses limited to a scant "Hmm," or "Uh-huh," or even a quiet look that verges on a glare. He'll pull away when you reach for his hand, casually enough to pass off as an accident or fault of imperceptibility. As if you didn't know him better—that his reflexes and peripheral vision weren't as sharp as blades.

"Stupid anyway," he mumbles to himself, catching your ears. "Stupid toys."

You frown. He knows better than to speak this way—you've discussed it before, about how much you treasured your work and hated having it dismissed by words like stupid and childish. “I don't think they're stupid," you interrupt, never too intimidated to speak up against him.

Simon immediately softens upon realizing that you've heard him. “It's not—that's not what I meant. You know I don't think they're stupid."

Right, but he's acting strange all day. Still, you can't find it within yourself to probe. "Something is, though. Right?"

"The way they play with them,” Simon immediately speaks, shoulders stiff. "Just…grown men, playing like children."

"Ah," you hum. Somehow, you can't bring yourself to believe it—but you don't ask. It's not as if it's even remotely big enough of an issue to need addressing, after all. You just hate to see Simon so withdrawn. At least, more so than usual.

***

Simon is absent from dinner in the mess hall later on, after giving you an extensive tour and dropping you off at one of the on-base cafes. That's how you know something's off. He would never normally give up an opportunity to share a meal with you, even in a noisy, crowded cafeteria like the one on base.

"Wasn't hungry," he only shrugs when you find him in his on-base unit, boots kicked up as he nurses a neat whiskey. Oh, he's pouting.

You can't help yourself. "Aww, baby," you coo, lingering closer. "Are you feeling alright? You've been gloomy all day…"

"Mmph," he shrugs, gaze flickering up to yours—and he can't help how he all but melts at the love in your eyes. "Just…tired. Go'n and get your shower done. Wanna snuggle."

And how could you say no to that? Your growing suspicion had been that Simon was feeling left out, or forgotten, not receiving a doll of his own. Little does he know, you giggle to yourself.

***

You're in the shower when Simon emerges from his brooding, lurching off the couch and trudging towards the room, where he'd made his bed with clean sheets and set up fluffy pillows for his wife's arrival. The bitterness of being left out of her sweet benevolence has largely faded. She is his wife, after all.

He nudges open his bedroom door, set on his dresser to shed the heavy layers of the day, the mask, and finally exist as Simon for the rest of the night. With you. No doll could ever distract him from you.

He's pulling a hoodie over his head when tiny figures catch in the corner of his vision. A hallucination? No. Dolls.

You and him, smiling and snuggled together. You in your favorite sundress, rosy cheeks and cute face. Him in his mask—which is removable, he discovers on closer inspection. Simon gently tugs off the cloth skull mask, curious to see his own likeness rendered in doll form.

"Handsome bugger," he mutters, thumb brushing over his doll's small face. Blond with stern brown eyes, but smiling. Soap was right about the scars—each placed with perfect accuracy. The one extending from the left corner of his lip up his cheek. The one across his eyebrow. You even got the one under his chin, tucked under the plushie's soft, round face.

On the right hands of both dolls, he realizes, there is a hidden circle of Velcro. So they can hold hands in any orientation. It's such a you thing to do that it hurts.

When you emerge from your shower, all three are gathered in the living room, watching TV. Simon with his legs up on the coffee table, and your miniatures holding hands in his lap. It's hard to help the beam that curls up on your lips—and why would you want to?

"Looks like someone's found the kids," you coo, swaying over and plopping down beside him. “I'm glad you like 'em. Did I do you justice?"

"More than," Simon rasps, scooting close, flush against your side. "They're better than that git, Soap's, that's for sure."

His words coax laughter out of you as you press your head to his chest and scoop up the two little toys into your arms. "Careful, Si. They might hear what you said and tell him.”

"They can go on and tell the whole base, for all I care. Your skill went as far as it could go, it's his face that's the problem." Simon snorts, tugging you close and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Better believe I'm showing this one off tomorrow. Might have to keep it in here, though. I'm not risking a theft."

"You say that every time," you laugh, snuggling close and shutting your eyes for the night as he wraps an arm around you—warm, solid, and safely his.

Request Archive

[bbokvhs]

𑣲 — mornings like this.

pairing : needy!felix x sleepy!reader ((afab))

synopsis : your boyfriend wakes up with a case of morning wood.

content : not really medically accurate but im not a doctor so idrc, breeding kink, unprotected sex (don’t do it!!), dacryphilia, pet names for reader (sweetheart, angel, pretty girl), overstimulation

a/n : written at 2am running on 3 hours of sleep so it is possibly not as good as i would like it to be 😓. also, it may not be much to some of you, but tysm for the love on our dangerous secret!! it means a lot, especially since it was my first piece ♡ so here’s a small surprise from yours truly :D please let me know if i forgot content warnings! NOT PROOFREAD 🤕

( taglist + anon emojis )

your boyfriend’s phone softly buzzed in the bed next to him, his eyes blinking lazily as he awoke. he had to run errands for the day, and didn’t feel like getting shit from chris or minho for being a few minutes late like the last time — well, the last 4 times.

he sat up, hissing immediately at the stinging sensation flooding his body. he looked down, only to be met with the sight of his imprinted hard-on in his sweats.

"how convenient." he sighed, rubbing his eyes and trying his best not to move as to not agitate the problem.

minutes passed, his erection only growing worse. felix felt himself tremble, debating whether or not he wanted to do something about the situation. he could just go into the bathroom, fuck his fist, and go on with his day. but, another voice inside him told him he was craving you.

he looked over his shoulder, watching your limp, sleeping body softly breathe, your slumber looking as peaceful as ever. he didn’t want to interrupt your beauty sleep, but god, how bad he wanted you. how bad he needed you.

he gulped, worried about irritating you. waking you, and asking for sex the second you woke up? you’d think he was a creep, probably. but he couldn’t stop thinking about how bad he could show you his affection right now. he’d make you feel good, love you all over just the way you like in the bedroom. sure, you two loved having rough and sweaty sex every now and then, but you were mostly into sensually making love.

he shifted his body to face you, reaching his hand out, drawing semi-circles on your forearm with his thumb. he watched your body slightly jump from the action. he chuckled to himself, finally deciding to give into his thoughts.

he shook you lightly, watching your pretty eyes flicker open, smiling as soon as your gaze met him. you were going to attempt to say hi to your lover, but instead were met with something far more shocking.

"baby— baby, i know it might be a little much to ask at this hour, but could i please fuck you? i woke up and had a little morning surprise."

"felix—"

"please! please— oh my god, please. i would go into the bathroom or try to keep quiet next to you, but i couldn’t handle it. my cock aches just for you, always for you."

your eyes, now widened with shock, blink repeatedly as you try to understand his words. "i would, but isn’t is a little ear—"

felix interrupted your speaking, grabbing your hand and placing it on his erection. "please, i need you. 'm all yours. i’ll be so fast, i’ll do just the tip, anything you want."

you lay there, dumbfounded yet honestly turned on tremendously. was it everyday you got to see your boyfriend all needy and whiny for you? absolutely not. were you going to take advantage of this vulnerability? absolutely!

you smiled, basically signaling your boyfriend with your face that you would allow it. fuck you wish you had your camera open on your phone, because his reaction to this information was priceless. he was cheering and giggling to himself, very loudly of course.

your boyfriend got up from the bed, immediately pulling his sweatpants down and sliding them off his body, doing the same with his boxers. with his full hard-on on display, you couldn’t help but feel a bolt of excitement rush to your pussy.

"are you okay with no prep today? i can’t wait any longer, need it so bad." he whined, frowning.

"alright. just this once though, m’kay? it really hurts when you don’t help me."

he nodded, climbing onto the bed, removing his shirt on the way. he sat on his knees in front of your laying body, positioning your tank top over your tits, practically drooling at the scene. snapping out of his elusive state, he grabbed your shorts, along with your panties, and slid them down your body fully, excluding them across the room.

"so pretty." he groaned, mumbling a few words to himself before positioning you comfortably below him. "need you so bad. i hope you love me like i love you, want you forever."

he positioned his middle and ring finger atop your folds, rubbing up and down slowly as he used his other hand to stroke himself. "always ready for me, hm?"

your face was hot with embarrassment, yet you spoke not a word during the moment, not wanting to spoil your boyfriend’s fun.

he stopped abruptly, scooting closer and aligning his tip with your entrance. "so ready for me, i can already sense it." he spoke, looking down as he watched his insertion, your pussy basically engulfing his cock.

felix groaned loudly, cursing under his breath from the way you clenched around him.

"ohh, fuck! so amazing, ‘m not gonna last long in this pretty pussy."

you looked up at him, your face scrunched up from pleasure. he made eye contact with you as he began to move inside of you, slowly and gently.

he leaned down, his face buried in the crook of your neck, beginning to thrust at a slow stride. "sweetheart, dunno if i can make it with you, too gorgeous, so fucking beautiful."

you closed your legs around his back, making sure he was feeling the same sensation you were feeling inside. "fuck me, lix!— love you so much, so, so happy to have you."

felix obliged, beginning to quicken his pace. he lifted his head a bit to plant sweet kisses all around your jawline and collarbone. while his head was busy kissing up a storm on your face, his free hand was caressing your left tit, watching as your face had raw emotion pained all over.

"too-" he planted a final kiss on your neck, "gorgeous."

he slammed his cock into you even more, roughly changing his hand position from your chest to your clit, circling it with his small fingers.

your eyes tightly shut, trying your best to not overstimulate with sensations. "mm, love it when you touch me, baby." you lazily let out, your body slowly becoming more and more fucked-out.

"oh, yeah? love the way i can split you open with my huge cock. so fat and generous to my lovely girl, isn’t it?" he whispered in your ear, practically pounding your cunt at this point.

you turned into mush under his touch, not being able to verbally respond, reaching around his torso, squeezing him closer, grabbing a fist full of his long blonde locks.

he moaned into your ear, along with small inaudible praises.

"so much better than my hand," he hissed, "wanna use you everyday of my life. need you making a pretty mess all over your needy boyfriend’s cock." he hummed, biting his lip, feeling his abdomen begin to tighten. "fuck, angel. do you mind if i cum inside? need to watch it spill out of your breathtaking cunt. please."

"yes! anything for you— shit!" your head leaned back into the pillow forcefully, attempting to give your skull some comfort.

"hell yes. oh hell yes, baby," he bit his lip, lifting his head a final time to watch your face and body reactions to his techniques. "want my baby inside you? fucking— shit!" he exclaimed, watching your tits bounce in the rhythm of his cock thrusting into you.

"gonna fuck the lee bloodline into my angel, gonna give you a beautiful baby, only for my girl." he spoke between grunts, going as fast as he possibly could to try and please your aching pussy. "wanna get you big and pregnant to show my friends how much of a cum slut my princess is."

that line. the way he pronounced every word. the way he rambled on about getting you pregnant with his baby. it was too much for you, your cunt clearly trying to tell you something. you squeezed his back tighter than ever, feeling your pussy begin to squirt all over your boyfriend’s dick.

felix noticed immediately, looking down then back up at you, smiling through his physical exhaustion. "so fucking stunning."

you moaned out his name countless times, beginning to sob your eyes out in front of him. felix lifted his head to wipe your tears, only to see your fucked out crying face terribly attractive.

"here’s your baby, oh fuck! baby’s on the way, my love. can’t wait to watch my cum spill out of you." he spoke hastily, his high approaching rapidly.

he grabbed onto your hips, pulling you closer and kissing your lips harshly as his seed spilled into your walls. you groaned into the kiss, the warm notion of his cum making you want to pass out.

felix thrusted his last few lazy shots before pulling out, kissing your sweaty forehead, removing the greased down strands to the sides of your face. "so good, love. you did so good."

he quickly remembered his words and rushed to position himself for a view of your pussy, watching his release ooze out of you, slowly spilling onto the bedding. he bit his lip, wiping some of the excess up with his fingers and reaching them up to your mouth.

"wanna taste me, baby?"

you immediately nodded, sucking the cum off his fingers sloppily, like a dog lapping up a large bowl of water on a hot day.

"that’s my girl." he smiled brightly. "now let’s go take a nice bath, yeah? that sound nice? we can soak and get ready to start our day."

you smiled back, watching your boyfriend disappear into the bathroom, the faint sound of the faucet running filling the empty atmosphere.

what a great start to a day, right?

© bbokvhs — please do not redistribute my work anywhere it’s greatly appreciated <3

[cowboylu]

I’ll Make You A Believer

Hey…👀 sorry I disappeared forever lmao but here’s this. Also apologies to the anon who had to wait for literally ten business years for this hope you’re doing well xx also if there’s any mistakes or typos pls don’t be afraid to tell me cause I’m so fuckin tired lmao

There’s loud music playing when you step into the cabin, the cabin you and abby share on an old couples ranch in exchange for a few hours of work each day. The sight of her hat on the coatrack, on the hook next to yours, makes you smile and you idly balance yourself by hanging onto her jacket so you can take your spurs off.

You don’t bother with your boots however, and Abby must not have either ‘cause her boots aren’t in their designated place.

It feels good to be back. To be home.

You love working on the ranch, looking after the horses while Abby handles the cattle, even if being a wrangler wasn’t exactly what you ever saw yourself doing. The sunsets and sunrises are the best you’ve ever seen out here and Eleanor and Abraham are sweethearts, always offering tea and cake on the rare occasion you make your way up to the big house. Still though, ain’t nothing like seeing Abby’s boots next to yours.

Ain’t nothing like hanging your jacket on her hook so she’ll put hers on yours.

Ain’t nothing like finding her waiting on the porch for you or vice versa.

Ain’t nothing like coming home to your girl.

ᨒ ོ ☼

When you get closer to the kitchen, you realise the song playing is by that Tyler guy you know she likes, something about following someone to Virginia or Virgie or whatever. Said Tyler guy also coincidentally happens to be the husband of one of your favourite singers.

You're ready to say hi when you round the corner, but the view you're blessed with demands you to take a moment to just look at her.

Her oxblood coloured T-shirt strains over her broad shoulders and it's a little damp from the sweat of the sun. Her blonde braid hangs down between her shoulder blades and the dark fabric of her T-shirt accentuates the stray hairs that have escaped from her braid, bleached lighter by the same sun. Your eyes travel down and back up, her boots, her jeans, the wrangler tag just under her belt and her ass just under that.

Lord...that ass.

If you ever needed proof that god existed, it was proven without argument when you met Abby.

After all, an angel can only be created by something capable of creating perfection...and it's either that or dumb luck.

Either way she's standing in front of you, letting you observe her without even knowing she's being observed. Without trying to be anything but herself.

You don't get to observe much longer though, 'cause her dog hears the creak of the old door jam when you lean against it and barks, startling Abby.

You greet Alice when she stands on her hind legs to put her front paws on your thighs, her way of asking for attention. You grant it, obviously, and smile at Abby when she comes towards you and kisses your cheek.

You stand to your full height and Alice gets the message, going back to where she was sitting on the armchair, giving you the chance to appreciate Abby closer. She's holding a spatula you realise, having completely not noticed what she was doing 'cause you were too focused on her.

"Good afternoon..." You say with a small smile, wrapping your arm around her neck to kiss her properly. "Been missin' you."

"Yeah?" She replies quietly against your lips and the hand not holding the spatula slips into your back pocket. "That's good."

You pull back to look at her and - Jesus Christ-the view is even better from the front. Which is saying something.

Those freckles...those eyes...those lips...that goddamned scar on her cheek that she got after a fight gone wrong in high school...the one that you cleaned footloose style while she lay in the bed of Manny's truck as Nora explained to you how to use paper stitches, god bless her.

The way the bottom of her eyebrows grow up and the tops grow down, the crease between them when she gets confused, the dip in her-

"What're you lookin' at?" She breaks your train of thought with a pretty laugh from her pretty lips.

"I'm so in love with you." You reply completely seriously, still gazing into her eyes like she's a statue that just came to life. In awe.

"Thank god."

Her lips meet yours again and your free hand runs up her arm, feeling her muscles and her warm skin.

She's always warm, even when she's cold.

"I love you too." She whispers against your lips, blindly tossing the spatula onto the counter so she can put both hands on you.

You back her up against the counter as you kiss, your hands on that ass that you love so much, squeezing and feeling and cursing the material of her jeans for being so thick. Even though they make her ass look so good. So good.

Abby pulls away, making you groan, but she rests her beautiful head on your shoulder and pulls you in for a hug, so you can't really complain.

From this angle, you can see the eggs she was frying over her shoulder and you smile when you notice they're burnt to hell.

"You're gonna have to make new eggs."

"Are they burnt?" She murmurs softly into your shoulder and you can hear the smile in her voice.

"Like shit."

"God..." she smiles as she pulls away and turns back to the pan, but you keep a hold of her around her waist, uncaring for the little voice in your head that calls you annoying for it because you like it too much.

You like Abby too much.

It's an hour or so later when you're done with dinner and relaxing in the two chairs on the porch. Alice lies in the dry grass a few feet away and Abby is staring out towards god knows what, but your eyes are on her.

You decide you want her to look at you, and so slowly rub the pointed toe of your boot against the inside of her right knee. She doesn't look, however, just pulls your leg up onto her lap.

You huff.

Her hand slips under your jeans to rub the slightly calloused skin of your own knee, but you want her to look at you. To react to you.

So you tilt your foot forwards and run the toe of your boot over the length of her inner thigh, following the seam of her jeans up and down...up and down, up... down...up, up, up...and down.

Abby's chest rises and stays there, but she still doesn't look at you.

Fuck it.

Your foot hooks around the leg of her chair and you turn her to face you yourself. Your beautiful girl.

"Pay 'tention t'me..." You murmur. "Let me look at you."

Abby sighs and you smile, because she lets it happen. You know she's not someone who does things she doesn't want to. Everyone knows it.

"You're beautiful." You say, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Stop..." for all that she's brilliant at, she's never been good at loving herself.

"Never..."

your foot rests on her chair, right between

her legs, to keep her attention on you with the anticipation.

Abby's eyes dart down to your foot before back at your face and when her pretty lips press together, you know you've got her.

"I wanna look at you forever...touch you forever..."

And with that, you press your boot forward, pressing into the belt buckle that sits on her navel.

She takes a deep breath like before and her hips twitch. Her fingers twitch like she wants to move too, but she's not very sure where to put her hands. The anticipation stops her from moving anyway.

You tilt your toes back and straighten your leg a little so your heel cap catches on the seam of her jeans, right over her clit.

Abby looks at you for permission, a small raise of the start of her eyebrows, and when you nod she tilts her hips to grind on you.

You admire her for a while. The way her own heel digs into the wooden porch and the way her denim stretches over her thighs. Her hips and her stomach and her chest and her collarbones and the muscle in her neck-

Your thoughts are stopped before you can admire Abby's hands and arms and shoulders and the sweat stains that you can just see on the maroon fabric of her T-shirt under her arms when she makes a small noise.

"Fuck..."

Abby exhales and grabs onto your foot, making you pull it away.

"Ah, ah." You interrupt her before she can complain, waiting until she slumps back in the chair to put your foot back on her. Though this time you use the outsole of your boot, under the heel of your shoe.

"Behave."

And behave she does, because Abby stays still and lets you set the pace. Lets you rub her cunt with your foot through her jeans.

Seeing her like this always makes pride swell in your chest. Pride and a sense of protection.

She could fight you for it, but she doesn't. Abby lets you have the control. She wants this. Just as much as you do.

[custardtartsfan]

Tim Drake headcanons that have accumulated over time

this has been a receptacle for all of my tim thinkings over the past bit..may make another one and publish it when its full enough..

general him ₊⊹

he doesnt like coffee, too bitter. hes a bang energy kinda guy. Black Cherry Vanilla specifically

he has myopia from all the staring at screens in dark rooms like a goblin he does. he has glasses, but will not wear them cause he thinks they look silly. do NOT ask him to read something from more than 5 feet away he cannot do it

he has occasional breakouts. probs from stress. and hes only mildly confused and uncomfortable about his partner slobbering over it

SHRIMP POSTURE 🫵 doctors will end up naming a condition after him. he complains his back hurts like hes not leaning over his laptop at a perfect 90* angle

he genuinely enjoys math. like actually likes it. calculus soothes him, in a way. maybe cause its a problem with a clear answer instead of all the bullshit he’s dealing with day in and day out

does not handle his weed well. he consistently gets too high and then wakes up very sad the next day

hes pale as fuck. he does not tan, he will turn bright red. hes ghastly in the winter

his favorite food is cosmic brownies. i do not have an explanation for this it just feels right

i think he dresses pretty basic. but like in a nice, old money, chillest guy at the school athletics banquet kinda way

this is my vision

however, i do not think hes averse to the occasional ironic t shirt

he fears public bathrooms, really and truly. he cannot piss in a dairy queen, theres poors in there.

i can see him being a bit of a scent bro. like not jeremy fragrance but the people at his local Sephora know him by name

i also think hes a big dill guy. like not necessarily even pickles, the dude just likes dill flavored things. like chips, fries, whatever. big dill guy

romance.. (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

big fan of taking pictures. not on the phone though, not only cause he’s paranoid. also cause phone cameras are too damn high quality now WHO NEED TO SEES MY PORES??

anyway, he loves taking candid photos of his partner. on film or his digicam. his favourite is when his lover is conked out on his chest and he gets a photo of their cute sleeping face..hopefully he turned the flash off

he will SHILL the fuck OUT for you like actually. dont take him shopping with you, youre gonna leave with an untouched savings account and anything you spared a glance at

we all know the man has some attachment issues. as in when he is attached he will not un do that. this would also apply to his partner (i am choosing to ignore his choices in the mid to late 90s #notmytim)

hes like an elderly dog. complete with the spinal problems. separation anxiety like youve never seen

just like..sit with him..please. he likes to be sat with

i feel like he can only date someone hes very close with. like youre his best friend, Kon is cool but hes no you

his ideal lover is a bro he can kiss tbh

hes a lip biter. he likes to chew on his lips when hes thinking, which is always. so theyre littered with little cuts and intends. he gets all huffy after you mention you can feel it when you kiss him. you meant it in a nice, its cute way!

hed be a big believer in promise rings. he knows its a little redundant, but the sentiment is sweet and he’ll do why he wants damn it

hello icons! im sorry ive been dead for a few days, my final semester has been an unhappy one so far! i cant wait to be done Ethics im not a fan ϵ( 'Θ' )϶. anywho i hoped you liked and have a good night!

[howlett-dekarios]

𝙻𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚢 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢

▏Hugh Jackman x Reader

▏Summary: You didn't handle breakup with your boyfriend well, and Hugh ended up picking you up from the club in the middle of the night.

▏Warnings: throwing up | breakup themes | alcohol | actress!reader | toxic ex-relationship | a lot of drunk behavior |

▏Word count: 3,8k

▏A/n: Scenario of him despite it being fucking 3 am, picking you up while you're shit-faced drunk and him taking care of you? It's just too much to handle. I used the "abcdefu" fragment and also obv inspired the title on one of Fergie's songs.

You’re the fans favorite. Even though you are one of the most recognizable actress in the whole industry and still young, you’re also down-to-earth woman. Not hiding from the world or doing anything special to look better, coexisting with fans, which was the reason of many arguments with your manager. But that was the promise you made to yourself when starting it all; being true to yourself, modest and just polite to the world which gave you a chance. Enjoying every day without acting like you’re anyone special. Because in your opinion, you really weren’t. Of course there was no doubting your pure talent and hard work you put into your development but still, a horrendous part of your successful career was just a pure luck. Right place, people and time. 

One of these people was sitting beside you, laughing his ass off because of the joke you’ve just made. You knew Hugh for a few years now, almost instantly clicking the first day on set of one of the x-men movies. You just understood each other, having similar characters and valuing the same things in life despite the age difference. That’s way your energy on screen was probably such an impregnable thing, natural chemistry of two friends off the set pass on the final products.

“Y/n our source gave as an info about you breaking up with your long term partner, is it true?”

How the fuck did they know it? You couldn’t tell. It was still fresh and honestly you wouldn’t have been surprised if that ‘source’ would be your ex himself, wanting to put you in a bad light. Make you embarrass yourself in public eyes. The look Hugh was giving you wasn’t making it any easier, since you haven’t told him yet. His eyes full of worry and damn knowing him, he really would like to talk with you outside of the cameras before you’d answer this question.

“Well, yes, unfortunately we separate our ways.” You forced yourself to smile “But it was a mutual agreement. We decided that it wasn’t working for us anymore. Wish him all the best, though.”

Best your ass. He was a controlling freak who was so scared of you cheating on him with one of your co-stars that he ended up having some lady sucking his dick himself. It all started months ago, arguments about what you can and cannot do, his family pressuring you to help them out, saying how you will never be enough for their saint and lovely boy. His tantrums about you spending too much time on sets, or how you’ve been wearing too revealing clothes on premiers or other events. For the last months you’ve been feeling like a prisoner, used only for money. Which was only worse considering your public image of strong and independent woman, a feminist who would never allow that to happen. You felt ashamed of yourself for it, for how you’d been okay with him treating you like a complete trash.  

Hugh knew about it all. He has been giving you advices, being your arm to cry on after another fight in the middle of the night, suggesting a break up long before that asshole cheated. But of course, you’ve been to blind to do anything. Blindfolded by love and old memories when he had been a good guy.

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” Interviewer smiled apologetically, but you knew better than that to know hoe pleased he was with all of it. Having a hot take to treat media with. “Well, I’m sure a lot of guys gonna stand in line offering his hearts to you.”  You really did not need that now. You have enough of ‘fans’ both men and women posting nasty comments online. “Thank you guys for your time and wish you further successes.”

“Thank you very much.” A forced smile once again appeared on your face and Hugh did the same.

After all the cameras went off and you were on your way out, Hugh stopped you, feeling of his big palm on your arm too familiar to mistake it for anyone else.

“You okay? Why haven’t you told me?” His eyes full of concern. He isn’t mad about you not telling him, rather about that he found out this way.

“It’s just.. it’s still getting to me, okay? I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be. He was a dick who didn’t deserve to breath the same air as you.” But Hugh also was quite aware of how deeply you loved that asshole. If that was up to him, he would’ve knocked the shit out of him long time ago but just for your sake he stayed silent.  “You’re sure you’re fine? Want to talk about it?” It was the least he could think of right now. Knowing your character and how young and unpredictable you were..  well it was the best for everyone if you won’t be left alone for a while.

“No, no, it’s okay. As you said he was jerk anyway. I’m completely fine, no need to worry, Hugh.” You smiled, no really sure who are you trying to convince now.

“Okay, just.. call me if you need anything. And I mean anything, Y/n, you get it?” If you gonna do something stupid, he’ll rather like to know what.

“Thanks, but everything’s fine. I got it.”

He has been reading at his place when Ryan texted him. Nothing unusual especially considering how the last adjustment to the schedule of shots to new Deadpool were made. But the time got him curious.

‘You should check it out.’  And two twitter links below.

One took him on your ex’s profile where this scumbag posted some teary statement. Rearranging whole narration of your relationship, how he was the hurt one, how you aren’t the person you’re showing to public and many, many more words that were just bunch of lies. At this point he was fucking sure that this scumback was the one who spread the information about your breakup to the media.

Not good.

But the latter one.. it was even worse.

Video of you in the club, dancing and drinking with random people. Your pupils were enlarged, forehead sweaty and your voice a bit more rough than usual, which gave him enough insight to know that you are very drunk.

It was like jumping in a rabbit hole. After one post, there was another, and another. All from the same club and all very recent. Fans being overjoyed how you were taking photos and socializing with them. Drinking shots and paying round after round on you. You dancing and singing at the top of your lungs in a top that showed almost everything that was to show and pants that were put low enough, displaying straps of your thongs. Of course in the comments people were sharing the exact address of club where the party was hosted, saying how you confidently agreed to stay until closing time.

“Shit.” He sighed. Not a chance. He checked the hour and there is no way of you staying there any minute longer. “Fuck, no.” His fingers deepen in his hair, gripping them tightly.

Thank god that he hasn’t had any drink tonight.

‘I’m on it.’ A quick text to Ryan, as a way of thanking his friend for his effort.

When he got there, the music was rumbling even outside of the club.

“I’m too old for this shit..”

At first crowd of people standing in line tried to protest, but as soon as they’ve realized who is it, the flashes of their phones were on his face. Fortunately enough for you the bouncers didn’t let paparazzi in, probably due to the club policy. Some guard at the entrance stopped him, but having a recognizable face had its advantages and now Hugh wasn’t in any position to not use them now.

As soon as he entered the lights and heat hit him. The place crumped to the brim, drunk people trying to ask for autographs or photos.

“Not now, guys, please back off.” He really tried to be polite but after a minute he realized there is no point. When another guy pushed a camera into his face, he got enough. “Not now!”

Pushing through the crowd wasn’t an easy task, but he had to do so, knowing you are having your time on the stage. The Dj at that point was your personal service, playing whatever you asked for. All fans with their hands up and phones out recording the footage that’ll be definitely a one big headache foe your agent. 

“Come on, guys! A-B-C-D-E, F-U! And your mom! And your sister! And your job! And your broke-ass car! And that shit you call art! Fuck you and your friends that I'll never see again! Everybody but your dog, you can all fuck off!” You yelled out, cheered by crowd, zeroing your drink that you honestly couldn’t remember the amount of you already had tonight. “Love you all! Fuck him!” Your drunk laugh was probably one of the most disappointing things Hugh has heard in his life.

He finally got in front of the crowd, when you’ve been dancing like your life depended on it to one of Ariana Grande’s song. And then when he was just a step ahead of you, you finally realized who it was.

“Hugh?!” You sounded surprised but not disappointed at all.

The next thing you did though.. it caught him off guard. How you tried to close your face together and only because of his reflex he had stopped you in the process, holding your wrist tightly. If this happened.. it would’ve ended up as a disaster.  A true nail in your coffin considering how many people were recording the whole situation.

“Party’s over, Y/n. I’m getting you out of here.” His tone stern.

“What?! No! I’m just starting!”

“You are not. It’s the opposite, you’re finished, princess.” His arm tried to pull you off the stage but instead he was the one brought up it which was met with cheers and screams. Just freaking perfect.  For a girl who probably couldn’t walk straight you were damn strong. Or maybe it was just him not wanting to hurt you by using full strength.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Hugh Jackman is joining the party!” A forced smile appeared on his lips, not wanting to give away how this all was out of control.

“Thank you for tonight, but unfortunately the party is over! We need to go but it was lovely to meet you all!” A quick damage control when he dragged you down and to the exit in accompaniment of flashes and yells.

“I didn’t finish my drink!” you tried to tell him but he had none of it, his grip on your wrist still tight.

“You had more than enough, Y/n.” In attempt to shield you from all the paparazzi outside, he covered you with his body, walking you like this until you both reached his car. “Get in.”

The drive was rather silent, him focusing on getting you to his place safely while you’ve been trying to stop your head from spinning so much.

“I can go back by myself..” When you got no reaction out of him, you continued. “My place is the other way..”

He sighed, knowing that arguing with you when you're like this is pointless.

“I'm not taking you to yours. You're coming to mine where I can keep an eye on you and ensure you're safe."

Once you two arrived, him helping you out of car, ensuring you won’t stumble over. Steadying you, hand on your waist while gently making you sit on the couch. The way your head fall backwards and your eyes are squeezed tightly, he could tell you probably gonna puke. It was a miracle you haven’t done it in car.

"Are you feeling nauseous at all?" He asked, concern evident in his voice.

But the sound you were making were enough answer. How you tried hard not to do it there.

“I-“

Seeing the signs, Hugh quickly hand you a nearby trashcan, gently guiding it towards your face.

"Go ahead, let it out. You’ll feel better afterward."

He rub your back soothingly, trying to comfort you as you deal with the unpleasant sensation.

“I don’t want to..” But the alco in your stomach is trying to get out more frequently. You won’t be able to hold it longer, no matter how hard you’d have tried to.

“Princess, you have to let it out. Holding it in will only make the nausea worse. It's okay, just let your body do what it needs to do."

And with that you started to puke your guts out, one oh his hands holding your hair, the other gently soothing over you back, trying to give you any comfort and reassurance that it’s alright. Tears rolled down your cheeks, your mascara all over your eyes now.

Once you finish puking, he offered you some water and a tissue to wipe your face.

"Feeling any better? Take your time."

Instead of answering you lay your head on the back of the couch, crying in embarrassment, trying to catch your breath, all events of the night slowly forcing themselves through your cloudy mind.

Your tears streaming down your face made his heart clench, all anger gone by this point. He gently place a hand on your shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.

"It's okay, princess. Let it out. Cry if you need to. You're safe here and I'm not going anywhere."

He grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around you, trying to provide a sense of warmth and security.

“It’s so embarrassing. I’m so pathetic. I’m sorry.” You stammered out.

He shook his head, voice gentle but firm. "No. It’s not embarrassing, and you’re not pathetic. You made a mistake tonight, yes, but that doesn’t define you. We all make mistakes, it’s part of being human. What matters is that you learn from it and take care of yourself. You should’ve called me  but you’re not alone anymore, okay? I’m here for you, and I’ll support you through this.”

“My head is spinning..” You close your eyes again, trying to focus but without much success. “I’m sorry, Hugh.. I shouldn’t have made you do this for me, shouldn’t have to be your problem.” You recall all the night, or bunch of information that stayed in your mind and you started sobbing even more. “Fuck, so many people had seen me..” it’s clear for him how you’ve started to overthink everything. A light panic attack is on the way from your organism being overwhelmed.

“It’s nothing we can’t deal with later, princess. Now I need you to calm down and breath, in and out, alright?”

He didn’t leave your side even for a second, you swinging back and forth in attempt to get in control again. After you sobered a bit and calmed, your breath steady you tried to talk with him again.

“Sorry for the bother, Hugh..  I’ll pay you back for gas..”

“I don’t fucking care about the gas.” He couldn’t believe that it was your biggest concern now. He  gave your shoulder another gentle squeeze, hoping to reassure you. "Just focus on resting and recovering. We’ll talk more in the morning when you’re feeling better, alright?" He stood up, offering his hand to help you up. "Come on, let’s get you into bed so you can sleep this off."

“W-what? No. I-I should get home, I can call a cab..”

“There is no way I’m letting you walk out of here tonight, let’s make it clear.” The paparazzi had enough of content for one night. “You’re not in any condition to go anywhere right now. You’re tipsy and you need rest. Let me take care of you for tonight, alright? I have a guest room where you can sleep and recover. In the morning, we’ll see how you’re feeling and figure out the next steps."

“Hugh..” The shame which build up inside of you showing up. Especially remembering what you’ve almost done. Kissing him would’ve not only effecting you, but probably ended u being a big mark on his career too.. fuck you were so freaking dumb.. “Why are you even helping me?” Yes, sure he was your long time friend, but picking you completely shit faced from club in the middle of night, getting caught on many records… you definitely weren’t worth the price he’ll pay for it later.  “What have I done to deserve it?” His kindness and care..

Considering all what happened it made him chuckle softly, touched by your question.

“You don’t need to do anything to deserve a friend like me, N/n. That’s not how true friendship works. I’m here for you because I care about you and want to help you, plain and simple. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done, right now you need someone to care for you, and I’m honored to be that person." He gave you a gentle smile, hoping to lift your spirits. “Now, come on. Let’s get you to bed, princess.”

“I’m serious Hugh.” Your voice most sober now than the full night. “Why me?”

"You have so many qualities that make you a wonderful person. You’re talented, passionate, and kind. You have a great sense of humor and you always know how to make things fun. But most importantly, you’re loyal and genuine, and those are qualities that I greatly cherish in a friend." He paused, studying your expression. "And that’s why I’m here for you now, Y/n. Because I know that you’d be here for me too, if the situation was reversed."

But deep down he knew it wasn’t the full truth. The feelings he had towards you.. obviously he was worried when he found out about your breakup, but some part of him was happy about it. As selfish as he could sound, it gave him a chance. Chance that he has been waiting for so long now. Maybe if you weren’t drunk and fans weren’t recording everything that happened.. he would be more than okay with what you’ve tried to do in the club.

“I won’t change your mind on me staying the night?”

Hugh only chuckled on that, shaking his head. He lead you to the guest room and after giving you one of his shirts and making sure you had everything you needed, he left to finally have some sleep himself.

The next morning you woke up before him. As a form of apology you’ve prepared him a breakfast and fresh coffee, just so he could go through the day after lack of sleep you were responsible for.

"Morning." His voice still groggy but a smile formed on his face, showing the wrinkles that so many fans were crazy for. "You didn’t have to do this, you know."

“Yeah, I wanted to make it up for you.”

He took a seat at the kitchen table, watching you finish up the eggs. "Well, it’s certainly appreciated. Thank you,". A quick study you for a moment, noticing the dark circles under your eyes and the lingering signs of the previous night. "How’re you feeling this morning?"

“Like shit.” You didn’t see a point of lying to him since he had seen you in worse condition. “Been throwing up all night, honestly I’m surprised my guts are still in tact.” A deep sigh left you, while serving the food. “But other than that I’m fine. Bit hangover.” A glass of water and a package of paracetamol being a clear evidence of it. “Gonna be out of you head soon. Used enough of your hospitality.”

“Don’t say that-“

“Seen the posts of my party and you dragging me outside went viral all over the internet.” You bit your lip, knowing how  you’ll have to fall on your knees in attempt to apologize to your manger. Since he hasn’t called you yet, you assumed that before going to bed, Hugh made a few calls here and there.. another thing to be thankful for.

“You’re young, Y/n. You’re allowed to make mistakes-“

“Yes, but not everyone’s fuckups are getting caught by paparazzi.”

“Called Derek.” Here it comes. “He will try to get rid off most of the footage.”

“You know better than me that things like this just don’t magically vanish.”

“People gonna get bored. Follow the next big affair and forget about it in a week.”

You only nodded, not being in any position nor feeling like arguing with the man who literally saved you ass last night.

“As soon as I will do the laundry I’m gonna give it back to you.” Your gaze dropped to the too big tshirt you’re wearing.

“Don’t worry, you can keep it.”

The silence echoed the room, him eating the only sound around. You knew hot you have to apologize for one more thing.

“Listen, Hugh, there is no explanation for what I’ve tried to do, it was inappropriate and-“

“I don’t mind it either.”

What.

“What?”

“I said, I don’t mind.” He looked up from his plate, looking in your eyes.

“But I-“

“Yes, I know what almost happened. Believe me, if we were alone and you weren’t intoxicated.. let’s say, it could’ve ended up other way.” It made you stunned, eyes wide open, your brain not sure if it’s still some drunk daydreaming or the reality. “When you’ve said you two broke up.. I admit I wasn’t as concerned as a good friend should’ve been.”

“I-I don’t think I’m following..”

A low laugh got to your ears and the next thing you knew he was standing next to you, his big posture towering compared to your small body.

“Okay, what if I told you I don’t want to be just friends? That I never wanted? That every time I’ve seen you miserable around him I had to stop myself form kicking his balls and stealing you so his nasty hand couldn’t reach you ever again?”

“Hugh I-“

“And what if I want to finish what you started last night?” His finger cupped your jaw, leaving your lips a bit open. Shit, you looked so fucking good like this. In his clothes, in his home, in his hands. “Would you like that?”

“Fuck, please, yes.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear.” Your lips met in a desperate kiss that was postponed too long for his liking. When you two finally get apart he smirked teasingly. “Knew it would be perfect. No screen kiss ever compares to a real one. So.. Date? Tonight?”

“I-I should talk with Derek..”

“I’ll handle him. Besides we got rid off one issue.. In the end I’m allowed to pick up my girl from the club, ain’t I?”

[vamosmarc]

So, like any good internet goblin, I watched the Imagin podcast with Marc and need to ramble about it or I will explode. I will also add that I do not speak Spanish, and so watched it with the auto-translate captions on, thus probably missing some of the nuance, but alas. I will put my stream of consciousness under a cut to spare the world if they don't wish to read it.

Firstly, mad respect to the host, because he NAILED it. Respectful, funny, intelligent questions, let Marc yap to his heart's content, great chemistry. Fresh material, in that Marc hasn't really discussed that aspect of his life very much, at least where I can find on the internet, but still not entirely invasive.

I LOVED the way Marc explained the economic side of navigating a relationship, and the way he spoke about Gemma in particular. The way he explained that while Gemma offered to contribute when they moved in together, he is in a position where its not necessary, but that just in offering, it speaks greatly to her character. He also expressed that while that's their reality, he had to take care not to make her feel inferior, and to never make her feel inferior, or reliant on him, economically.

He also talked about his parents and how that relationship works, to some degree. Specifically, he said that his parents didn't give up all the extras to afford the motorcycling only to turn around and expect repayment when he succeeded. They did it because they love him and Alex, full stop. I don't doubt that Marc does everything he possibly can for his parents, but they don't expect him to do it, either.

Most us know that Marc is a very intelligent person, but this podcast really highlighted that for me. He realizes when he needs experts to handle things, how to delegate, and that nobody can know everything. When interviewers ask limited, repetitive questions, they really sell him short on a lot of things.

He also has a way of phrasing things like, xyz statement- why?- because xyz, that I find very endearing lol.

Anyways, if anyone gets this far, thank youuuuuu and I'm sure I'll have more to ramble about in a few days <3

[forsaken-headcanons]

Elliot and Chance wear glasses, Two Time has contacts, all three of them are near-sighted. Two Time also has their glasses but prefers the contacts, Elliot doesn't wear his glasses during rounds because he's afraid they'll get damaged, and Chance only wear his sunglasses (yes, neither of them can see stuff over 1-1,5 meters and Chance keeps getting headaches and stuff from it because they're squinting to aim)

Two Time probably tore their contacts once in a round and couldn't find a spare pair so they had to use their glasses instead for that time.

Slight hc that the Spectre doesn't let things the survivors had with them when they got forsaken break or get destroyed, or not for too long, so one night sometime after Two Time's contacts got torn a few pairs of new ones just appeared in front of their door at the cabin along with some cleaning fluid for the contacts. They're supposed to be monthly ones but Two Time notices no change in how they feel (or their quality) even after months so they keep wearing the same pair.

Elliot also had contacts, but they got lost somewhere in the cabin (maybe one day he'll find them), and Chance hates the concept of having to put stuff in or take them out of their eyes, he tried getting contacts once and couldn't even put them in at all so he didn't end up getting any, plus he's scared of them accidentally getting stuck under their eyelids. Chance probably once saw Two Time taking their contacts out and had to look away. ITrapped definitely teased Chance about this before they got forsaken.

I hc that 007n7 needs glasses for both reading and seeing far away, because he's old and I think it'd be funny. He usually has contacts or glasses for far away in rounds to spot the killer easier but this makes it harder to use the c00lgui.

Guest 1337 has 20/20 vision I feel like, however he doesn't have the best hearing. Also takes him a few seconds to understand what people said if they just suddenly started talking to him or asking him stuff out of nowhere.

Shedletsky's sword sometimes strains his wrist so he has wrist braces he wears sometimes, and for Builderman, his fingers/hands cramp from building sentries and dispensers in very hectic rounds so he and Shed sometimes help each other by massaging the other's hand or something similar when they see the other be in pain between rounds.

If Noob gets stressed or scared enough, he'll get lightheaded or even pass out because of vasovagal syncope (vasovagal syncope is when your body overreacts because of certain things, like for some the sight of blood and extreme emotional distress, etc.). Guest 1337 once had to drag him away from the killer and wait for him to wake up in a round because he passed out.

I don't know a lot about Dusekkar but I could definitely see them floating being because their legs can't handle the strain of running that well or at all maybe.

And I didn't mean for this ask to get so long, whoopsies-

-🐾 anon

Poor little fellas. I could definitely see all of these.

Don't worry about the length of it.

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Be Mine - Chapter 2

Summary: With work out of the way for the time being, you’re able to spend your time on more interesting things.

Warnings: Minor Language, Sexual tension

* * * * * * *

Work consumes you in the following weeks, leaving you confined to either your office at the company or your office at home.

Aside from the needed breaks to eat and shower, all of your time is taken up.

The non white collar aspect of your work had your head very deep in the books. Despite having numerous people running the business of your other establishments you still very much had to manage the finances of all of them. It was up to you to decide how to spend the money that was coming in, between paying all your people and allocating the appropriate amount of funds to each business, you were swamped.

The very legal business you were running saw to it that you had endless paperwork and video call meetings to handle, which led to consulting with your CFO and, at times, members of your board of directors. Kissing their asses was nowhere on the list of things you enjoyed doing at work but you did what needed to be done to continue prospering in all your business ventures.

“Miss Udaku I assure you, you have my full backing. The clowns who oversee my international relations aren’t always the brightest.” Your tone remains smooth, a charming smile thrown in to help assuage the Wakandan woman’s frustrations.

Hard brown eyes remain narrow, the woman leaning back against her sleek leather office chair with her arms crossed. After a pause her accented voice speaks up,“ if they don’t know how to handle things I would rather not go through them in our future dealings.”

You nod,“ I will send you my personal contacts as soon as possible. No middlemen, you will always speak directly with me.”

That seems to chip away at the attitude she had when she first called. A curt nod is given to you as her shoulders relax in the slightest.“ Their little run around game has set my operations back by weeks.”

“I understand, and I apologize for that.” Your hands clasp together as you lean forward on your desk.“ I am more than willing to offer my finances and resources to you. I believe a good friend of mine has some prototypes that would be of good use to you and your project.”

“Prototype of what?” Her voice holds controlled intrigue and you know you’ve gotten her exactly where you need her.

Your gaze shifts from the monitor on your wall to the door as it opens, Steve stepping in with two cups in hand. The instant the slightest whiff of the caffeine in the cup hits your nose, you nearly groan.

Before you get lost in your need for caffeine, you focus on the woman on your monitor.“ Nano tech. Top of the line and very exclusive.”

She’s silent. Then she smirks.“ How soon can you get it to me?”

“Three days tops. I’ll make sure it’s more than a big enough sample.” You assure, giving her a smile that she returns.

A few minutes are spent hashing out the finer details of the deal but she’s satisfied with it in the end, so you hang up feeling accomplished.

With a heavy sigh, you collapse back onto your couch. Steve crosses the room and hands the coffee cup over, watching as you take a long sip and drop your head back.

“Long day huh boss?” Steve drops back into the armchair beside the couch.

You huff, finally opening your eyes then nodding.“ I had to convince Xu Xialing not to terminate our contract and just finished talking Shuri Udaku out of looking elsewhere for a partnership. Between the two, my INT. department is completely fucking up. Now I’m going to have to kiss Stark’s ass to get my hands on a sample of Nano tech.”

“Good luck with that.” Steve snorts, knowing how difficult the billionaire could be. His massive ego and sarcasm is mainly to do with that, otherwise he’s not as much of a pain.

Sighing, you take another sip of coffee just as your phone pings. It’s no doubt just a notification reminding you of yet another meeting, one probably less important than the ones you’ve already had today but still something that you planned to handle.

You get up to go check it, finding that it’s exactly what you thought it was. It’s a pitch meeting. Technically speaking, you could have whatever presentation there is sent to you or you can send your assistant and she could handle taking notes for you and you could go over them at home tonight or tomorrow.

“You know,” Steve pipes up, turning in the chair a little,“ Buck wanted us to swing by tonight.”

“Oh is that so?” Amusement laces your tone.“ I’m almost positive that the invitation was mainly extended to you.”

The blonde can’t deny that, of course his boyfriend wanted to see him. But you’re also his friend and they both love spending time with you. That, however, wouldn’t be quite convincing enough for a workaholic such as yourself.

“True. But he’d still love to see you,” his blue eyes divert to his cup of coffee,“ and I believe a certain redhead is working tonight.”

Now that, that certainly grabbed your attention. Your gaze slowly pans from the papers on your desk to the man sitting across the office. There’s a knowing look on his face that makes your eyebrows raise.“ Do you have something to say, Rogers?”

With a small smirk he says,“ just that I noticed the way you watched her dance. We’ve seen dozens of girls on that stage but none caught your attention quite like she did.” Your jaw drops in the slightest at his words, eyebrows practically shooting into your hairline.“ It’s either her or we drop by the bar and see if the other redhead shows up. I saw you slip her your personal number.”

“Steven,” you pause to come up with a response which just makes him laugh softly,“ I have no clue what you’re talking about.” Is your best comeback.

He snorts, then stands and walks over.“ Come on boss,” a gentle hand lands on your shoulder as he looks down at you,“ time for a break. A real one.” He adds when he sees you about to rebuttal.

The two of you enter a stare down. If you weren’t trying to intimidate him with your glare, you might’ve outright laughed at the situation. The moment reminded you of your earlier days together.

You and Steve have known each other since your freshman year in high school, having met in a class you shared and finding out you had many things in common, the two of you became best friends fairly fast. He was the kind of person you knew would be a lifelong friend and you were right.

Through the years you noticed that you were far more well off money wise than he was. In freshman year of college, his parents passed and his finances got worse. He was struggling to get by and was close to dropping out of school when you had what you deemed the most brilliant idea ever.

At the time, you were a pain in your parents’ asses. You knew of the family business and understood the dangers it presented to you, but you also believed you could handle yourself and you hated having black suited men follow you around campus. This always led to you ditching the bodyguards they assigned to you.

Your idea was for Steve to become your bodyguard. You trusted him with your life already and he wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb in school, your parents also saw him as a son so that was a plus. It was considerably easy to convince them with the promise of behaving added to your request.

Steve was soon trained by your parents’ best guards and has been your guard ever since. The two of you have gone through more life or death situations than most best friends but those moments only drew you closer. In between those scenarios, were the ones such as this, the two of you trying to convince each other to do something.

This time around, it’s Steve who wins your stare down.

“Alright, fine. We can go see your boyfriend.” You grumble, shutting your laptop and collecting your stuff before following a smiling Steve out of the office.

On your way down to the car, Steve’s idle chatter fading to the background, your mind wanders to the topic of conversation in your office.

Steve was absolutely right. Since the moment you saw her step on stage, Natasha has been in your head.

Her attitude towards you wasn’t surprising, she no doubt dealt with a bunch of rich assholes all day and wasn’t impressed in the slightest that you owned the club. Your charm might not have meant much either. It seemed you got her with your comment on her eyes though, but you just chalk that surprise up to the fact that she’s probably used to sexual compliments on her body rather than genuine ones regarding anything else.

Yes, you did admire her body because she’s drop dead gorgeous. But you especially couldn’t get the image of those green eyes and that little smirk out of your head. The sound of her sultry voice also plagued you, it being something you wanted to hear again.

Alongside her was the redhead from the piano bar, Wanda. She too was gorgeous, but her looks weren’t the focus of your thoughts on her. She was also mysterious, maybe even more so than Natasha. Her marriage failed and she seems to like strawberry margaritas, and that’s all you knew. You want to know more but the likelihood of her ever calling some random stranger from a bar for “a distraction” was very low.

Work kept you from obsessing over the women, but they crept into your mind whenever the opportunity arose.

A knock on your window startles you from your thoughts. Steve’s expectant expression meets your eyes through the tinted glass and you realize you’d made it to the club, not even sure how’d you gotten into the car with the way you were so lost in thought.

Throwing the door open, you get out, adjusting your suit jacket and the collar of your shirt.

“Everything okay?” Steve asks, brows pinched together.

You respond with,“ just peachy,” delivering a slap to his arm before you make your way towards the club.

The place is much more packed tonight, which is expected with it being a Friday evening. Much like last time, music plays from the speakers scattered around the building, dim lights add to the ambience.

Bucky is quick to approach and you give him a greeting, falling into brief idle catch up before you b-line for the bar, leaving the two men to their alone time.

The bartender is quick to approach, taking your drink order and making it along with a few other cocktails. Once you have the whiskey sour, you turn to the stage. One of the new girls is gyrating and twerking to a fast paced song, the men surrounding the stage throw cash and shout vulgarly at her.

A roll of your eyes accompanies a sigh. Crossing the floor, you plop down onto the cushions of a luxurious leather couch in the corner. It’s no better than the couch in your office but the change of scenery does. . . something, so you sink into the couch, head laid back with your eyes closed.

It’s far from silent here and the chatter gets louder when Bucky and Steve join you in your section. The shift of music suggests a change in dancers and the type of music lets you know you won’t be much interested in who is on stage.

With the occasional sip of your drink and an eventual refill, you unwind in the slightest. A waitress comes by and you hear Steve place an order, your ideal meal from here being listed among the others.

As you’re sitting there, a part of you wishes you’d just gone home. Your bed would be a million times comfier, you might’ve actually fallen asleep. Steve might not have agreed though, knowing that you somehow would have made your way into your office.

The thought of going home is quickly dashed when a familiarly sultry voice sounds from above you.

“You look stressed sugar, want a dance?” Her voice is accompanied by the feeling of her hand trailing up your arm to your shoulder.

Smirking, you crack your eyes open to look at the redhead standing right in front of you. When you lift your head, face no longer bathed in darkness, you can see the way she falters ever so slightly: smirk replaced by a small frown of surprise.

Purposely, you wait to respond, using that time to both drink in her appearance and make her sweat a little.

“Now that you mention it, I’d love a dance.” Your hand lifts, palm facing up, waiting to see if she’ll take it.

Her hand smoothly slips into yours and she shifts to hold it properly. Standing up, you let her guide you away from the section, eyes catching onto the sway of her hips.

The private rooms are down the hallway parallel to the one occupied by the staff/office area. It’s a slight shift in scenery: the walls aren’t as dark, the lights a little brighter, and the music more seductive than raunchy.

Natasha takes you into one of the rooms, the curtain being drawn shut after you’ve both entered. The back wall is curved, a plush black sectional fitting perfectly into the space. In the middle of the semi-circular sectional is a golden pole, sitting on a platform underneath a ring of light.

The redhead raises an expectant eyebrow at you, with a chuckle you walk over to the couch and sit down, spreading your legs as your eyes roam over the room.

“I’m surprised it took you so long to come back.” Comes her voice, making you look at her with blatant shock.

Shifting to sit up straighter, you ask,“ and why is that?”

With a shrug to appear nonchalant, she presses a few buttons on the panel on the wall, plunging the room in a dark red light as she responds,“ this is your business. And with the way some of the girls spoke about you, you’re here often.”

A light chuckle falls from your lips, head shaking.“ Often huh?” You then stand and cross over to the bar cart to fix two drinks.“ What exactly is often meant to mean?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs again, trying not to look awkward as she steps onto the small platform to wait by the pole,“ one a week maybe.”

You nod.“ Well I certainly don’t come often. This isn’t my only business and even if it were, I trust Bucky and Melina to run things without me hovering.”

Turning back, you allow a small frown to fall over your features. Admittedly, her expecting you to actually want a dance is fair, given that’s what you said. But in truth, that’s not what you accepted her offer for.

“You don’t have to,” setting the glasses on the table, you hold your hand out to her,“ dance I mean.” She hesitates, eyes narrowed suspiciously.“ Don’t get me wrong, I’d enjoy watching you, but I really said yes so that we could talk.”

“What, are you going to fire me?” She remains on the platform, watching you as if your response will determine if she takes your hand or not.

Shaking your head, you tell her,“ not at all. I just- our first meeting left me curious, I want to know you, Natasha.”

As you partly expected, the denial of you firing her results in her taking your hand and allowing you to guide her to the couch. The two of you sit, drinks in hands seconds later. While she remains upright, back perfectly straight against the back cushion, you tuck one leg under yourself, uncaring of the wrinkles the position will cause in your suit.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” is your immediate and honest response, followed by a sip of your drink.“ But perhaps we could start with whatever your willinging to share.”

You certainly never missed her hesitance toward you, attributing that to her not trusting you or your intentions. She’s likely met many men in a position such as yours who had very clear intentions that were far from what yours are. She’s probably heard a million and one lies from people trying to get something from her that she wasn’t happy with giving. If she’s anything like the other girls, she has every reason to question people.

“I’m 30 years old, I live in Manhattan-”

“Okay, okay, maybe we can try something I didn’t read in your employment file. Like uh, what is your favorite song?”

The inconsequential question makes her laugh quietly. Head shaking, she tells you,“ at the moment, I’ve been kind of obsessed with Cheap Thrills.”

“By Sia?”

“That’s the one,” the smile she gives is borderline shy.“ I like the beat and it puts me in a good mood.”

When you smile, there’s nothing but genuineness in it. So much so that Natasha cracks a real smile for the first time.

Shifting closer, her knee brushes against yours, as she leans her shoulder against the back of the couch.“ What’s yours?” Green eyes shine slightly with intrigue.

You laugh softly and answer honestly,“ I’ve been a little obsessed with Something Just Like This by the Chainsmokers.”

“Ooo, I really like that one.” In a completely unexpected display of how much she likes the song, Natasha begins to softly sings the lyrics of one of your favorite songs.

As if you weren’t fully captivated by her before, your jaw slackens and your eyebrows raise in the slightest, every shred of your attention now solely devoted to watching and listening to her sing. If anyone else were in the room, they would say you full on had heart eyes while looking at the woman.

Her singing voice is soft but still carries the heaviness that her speaking voice has.

Whatever metaphorical spell she casted on when you first saw her dancing, you fall further under it at this moment.

A knock from the other side of the curtain pulls you out of your reverie and stops Natasha from singing. Both your gazes snap to the offending sound and, admittedly annoyed at being interrupted, you bark out a,“ what?”

“We gotta go boss, it’s urgent.” Comes the voice of Steve.

Cursing, you tell him you’ll be right out, before you down the rest of your drink and stand. Natasha follows suit, setting her glass on the table and adjusting her set.

Not wanting to just walk out, you turn to her.“ I’ll likely be too busy to come back this week but I’d still like to see you again, soon.”

Gazing at her expression makes you frown slightly as it appears to revert to what it was before you came in here together, her walls are back up and her skepticism has returned.

“Look, Natasha,” the way her name rolls off your tongue has green eyes snapping to yours unwaveringly,“ I understand your reluctance to believe me when I say that I want to get to know you. This place has a certain clientele and unfortunately, the men who frequent here are a dime a dozen-”

“And you aren’t?” Her tone is clipped but you don’t let it deter you.

“Not at all.”

She lets out a disbelieving huff.“ So, you’re not looking for some way younger than you, blonde little thing that you can take to all your important events and show off?” She challenges.

“Definitely not. Flaunting has never been my thing, I’m quite selfish in that way,” you admit, slipping your hands into your pockets.“ When I find a remarkable work of art, I buy it and keep it to myself.”

One of her perfectly arched brows quirks up.“ So you wish to buy me?”

You can’t help but chuckle at that. You certainly didn't think getting her to believe you would be easy and you were right in thinking so.“ No. My only wish is to earn your time, your trust, your respect. And prove myself worthy of keeping it.”

It’s clear that your words take her by surprise, even though she clearly tries to hide it. For the first time in minutes, her gaze drops from yours.“ How would you earn it?”

“Well, I could tell you but given that my words don’t hold much weight with you as of yet, I’d prefer to show you.” Slightly tilting your head down, you catch her eye, offering a small smile.“ I just need one chance.”

Another knock sounds, more urgently and you huff, knowing you can’t stay any longer. You’re sure that, given another minute or two, you’d be able to sway her.

Just before you draw the curtain, she speaks up.“ Lunch, tomorrow at 1, the bistro over on 5th.”

“I’ll be there at 12:45.” You respond, shooting a wink over your shoulder at her.

Due to your back being turned, you don’t see the little smile that Natasha pulls.

[bluephoenixprincess]

Ok time to expand on this before i go to work.

So failing at challenges isnt the only way suitors can be eliminated.

Interactions between the suitors and the sought-after demon are often pretty heavily restricted for the tournaments' duration. The biggest being Suitors are not allowed private interaction with them unless explicitely invited, and even then a friend, family member or their Champion is usually outside the door.

Demons are still demons after all and many will probably be too impatient for the perceived pomp and circumstance of the tournament. So some, or many, might try to say "screw it" to the whole Affair and just Courtnap the object of their desire anyway.

But if/when they get caught doing this by the sought-after demon's entourage, Theyre disqualified. And usually bound and paraded before the remaining suitors as an example and reminder to behave themselves.

Tournaments last multiple days, and the mornings often begin with the parading and shaming of those who have been disqualified by getting up to shenanigans in the night.

Ok now back to Wukong.

In addition to the minimum of 3 courting tournaments, i see him having at least one set not on earth, but in heaven.

See the Heavenly court gets the bright idea that maybe if Wukong had a Celestial spouse, not only would that solve the problem of all those rowdy demonic suitors; but such a union would, ahhh strengthen relations between Wukong and the Jade Palace (IE make Wukong easier to control)

Wukong is even LESS enthusiastic about that prospect than mating with a random demon.

Not sure where this would hypothetically fall in the timeline, but if the Pilgrims are gone/unavailable im picturing Nezha stepping up to be Wukongs champion for this one. (Or maybe Erlang depending on how you view their relationship, tho Erlang could also be participating in the tournament as a Suitor)

Maybe the Heavenly courting tournament is somewhat of a last straw for Wukong. And after preforming one last particular task for Heaven with the condition that if he does this they will never pull shat shit again. And So Wukong is made to seal DBK before entering his 500 year seclusion.

He strengthen the warding and barrier spells around FFM to an almost absurd degree to keep any future suitors out. And after enough time has passed without Wukong being seen in the outside world he's FINALLY left alone in terms of demons trying to mate him....

Fast forward to LMK times.

Its post season 5, Wukongs been leaving Flower Fruit Mountain more often to spend more time with MK, understandably hesitant to let his successor out of his sight after the whole Pillar Disaster.

But his increased presence in the outside world, along with the whole Worldwide powerboost that happened with the breaking of the Stones, mean that for the first time in centuries, Demons start popping up and making bold declarations of making Wukong their mate.

Wukongs response to these encounters is to put his head in his hands and let out the longest suffering sigh to ever be sighed.

Not this shit again.

He deals with it as discreetly as possible for a bit. But eventually he's unable to hide it from the Monkie Kid Crew. Who express various levels of concern. Wukong tries to brush them off. Its only a few demons, he can handle it.

...until he cant.

After a particularly loud close call where some pumped up demon nearly did succeed at snatching Wukong away, Nezha steps in to suggest maybe Wukong needs to hold another courting tournament to buy himself a couple more centuries of Peace?

Wukong lets out a longer and even more suffering sigh.

So wheres Macaque in all this?

Well... 2 options. Either he's been in background having FEELINGS but mostly accepting of letting Wukong deal with this since, as much as it INFURIATES him to see these lowely nobodies going after his king (his Sunshine) He also knows he and Wukong arent quite ready to repair their relationship to that extent yet.

Wukongs a big Monkey, and one of the strongest beings to ever exist, surely he can handle himself right?

Then Nezha shows up and Mac is just like "A courting tournament? What do you mean by ANOTHER?!" A reaction that gets somewhat lost in more of the Monkie Kid crew asking essentially the same thing.

So Nezha begins to explain the many previous tournaments. And Macaque is just lurking in the bavkground with his good eye slowly getting twitchier.

The other option is Macaque is off somewhere on his own, maybe dealing with that whole "being hopped up on chaos juice" cliffhanger from the end of season 5 and doesnt get back till After Wukong decides to go through with another tournament.

Idea: Demon Courting Tournaments

So seeing so many Epic the musical Ithaca Saga AUs for Lego Monkie kid got me turning some thoughts in my head like fidget toys.

At this point i think most of the LMK fandom is familiar with courtnapping as a trope in some way and the afformentioned Ithaca sage aus, especially allthe ones based on The Challenge song, have given me thoughts.

So... what if.

COURTING TOURNAMENTS.

When especially powerful or desirable demons are being pursued by too many Suitors and theyre sick of having to deal with each one individually, a more organized solution is called for.

Ideally with the help of friends and family the sought after demon will call all their suitors together and set forth a series of challenges to win their hand.

Common challenges include things that show off a suitors strength and ability to provide, ya know fighting, races, hunting contests. But also more unexpected things like say, cooking competitions or Art and poetry or a judging of gifts, to determine which suitors actually know the interests or desires of the person theyre courting.

The challenges narrow down the pool of suitors until the final decision is made.

Buuuuuut

If the sought after demon doesnt wish to mate and marry, they can appoint a trusted friend or family member as their "Champion" in the tournament.

The Champion's job is to act according to the pursued demons' best interests, knocking out undesirable suitors, acting as the eyes and ears for them to see if any of the suitors might actually be compatible. Amd if it comes to it, winning the tournament themselves to assert the pursued demons right to remain single.

So where am i going with all this?

Well one i wanna write a Spicynoodles fic with this sort of premise but, while i was planning that i had MORE THOUGHTS.

Specifically thoughts about Wukong.

Sun Wukong returning home from his legendary journey now a god, a hero and, to his dismay ...

Single.

With Macaque's absence and presumed demise, Wukong finds himself with dubious honor of being perhaps the most eligible single demon in all of Asia, much to his chagrin.

Not only does he have no desire to find a new mate (he has... had a mate, his only mate, his dear lost Moonlight) The increasingly frequent attempted courtnappings are interfering with his efforts of rebuilding Flower Fruit Mountain (His Kingdom, His people all he has left except his pilgrim brothers).

Its pissing him off to say the least. And perhaps one or two especially powerful suitors wind up causing Wukong to make enough of a commotion that Heaven urges Wukong to find a more Orderly Solution.

A Courting Tournament.

Wukong is Annoyed but if this spectacle results in him finally getting some peace and quiet hell do it.

The Pilgrims are at his side through the whole fiasco.

And it works... for a time.

See the Handsome Monkey King, Great Sage Equal to Heaven, the Victorious Fighting Buddha, is just to tempting of a potential mate for all these demons to take the hint.

So in his long Life Wukong has to Suffer through multiple courting tournaments being held in his dubious honor so that all these randy demons will get the hell off his mountain.

At least 3 happen. One of Wukongs Pilgrim brothers acting as his Champion each time, all of them fighting increasingly fiercely to protect their Little Big Brother from the careless affections of his many suitors.

[kcwriter-blog]

Lavellan as Empathy

When talking about what kind of rare and marvelous spirit Lavellan might be, we usually settle on Hope. It makes sense. As the Herald/Inquisitor it is her job to inspire hope.

However, I would like to posit an even rarer spirit. Empathy.

Empathy is the ability to be aware of others' emotions and to try to feel those emotions from their perspectives. It isn't sympathy which often involves feelings of pity. Empathetic people do not judge. They do not jump to conclusions about how another person is feeling, they offer support and they listen. They walk a mile in another person's shoes.

Being empathetic is hard. It is often seen as a weakness. That's why it is so rare. Empathy doesn't mean you agree with a person all the time. It just means that you understand why they are doing what they are doing. That understanding can lead to you saying the right thing to get them to pursue a path that doesn't hurt others.

We see our Inquisitor do this all the time if we are trying to play a "good" Inquisitor. We choose to ask questions before we make a decision. We help the refugees, side with the mages and offer comfort to our companions. Even if we don't side with the Templars, we feel for them. We understand why they made the choices they did. We may even spare Samson because we understand where he is coming from. And Solas sees all of this.

Also consider how Lavellan (and any high approval Inquisitor) approaches Solas. She actively listens to him and asks questions about the Fade. When his friend dies, she offers comfort and support (The next time, you don't have to mourn alone.) She appreciates his efforts. She wants to understand him. He isn't just her Fade expert. He is a person. She weighs his words carefully before making a decision.

Solas himself will say he is not used to support from others. You can interpret this a number of ways but given what we know about him from Veilguard, I choose to interpret this as very few people showing him anything approaching empathy.

Do you know what flows from empathy? Wisdom. If you can walk a mile in another person's shoes, you can make wise decisions that help that person. Compassion flows from empathy. Self-sacrifice flows from empathy. Altruism flows from empathy. Forgiveness also flows from empathy. If you understand a person's feelings and motivations, you can more easily offer forgiveness.

Lavellan displays all these traits in DAI.

We see this in Veilguard as well. When everyone is discussing tricking Solas or forcibly binding him to the Veil, she is the only one besides Emmrich who advocates trying to talk to him. She does this knowing what Solas has done and what he intends to do.

She empathizes with him, even if she may not agree with him and her suggestion about how to handle him is based on that. She knows he needs forgiveness so he can forgive himself, so she offers forgiveness, compassion and understanding.

And, I would argue, empathy is something Solas struggles with. He is not empathetic to the plight of the Dalish, for example - until the Inquisitor asks him to put himself in their place (what course would you set for them, that is better). When he does, he understands their struggle and the obstacles they face and recognizes that they can't do what he wants.

I think Solas knows this about himself. He knows he should be less judgemental. He knows he should listen more and react less but the part of him that is becoming a Pride spirit resists this. Her ability to empathize is something he admires. He respects what she is the same way he respects what Cole is. He wants to find his way back and she offers a road map.

SO I think the spirit Solas recognizes in her is Empathy. Something he desperately needs to set a better course for himself.

And with regard to Mythal. Consider. Benevolence or Justice needs to be tempered with Wisdom otherwise they become Retribution and Vengeance. Wisdom needs to be tempered with Empathy other wise it descends into Pride. Mythal needs Solas but she does not respect him. Solas needs Empathy and he admires her.

[redsrooftopprincess]

Hi!! I love the way you write the bayverse boys, especially your headcanons! My favorite has to be your disability headcanons, I'm disabled and I love seeing representation. Would you be willing to write some headcanons of how the boys would act with a disabled partner? I know that's kind of a vague request since there are so many different ways to be disabled, but maybe some general headcanons on how they'd be with a partner that just has a hard time doing the "everyday" stuff, like getting out of bed/brushing teeth/walking around for a long time? I understand if you're not comfortable with writing this!

Hello, my dear anon! You're in luck! Luck? Is that the word? Idk. I, myself, am disabled! I'm only really comfortable writing the disabilities I'm intimately familiar with (without extensive conversation with people who do have them), but I CAN speak to the ol' classic combo of ADHD, Autism Spectrum Disorder, and Sensory Processing Disorder (I have an alphabet full, but these are the main 3 that cause me daily issues).

AuDHD Reader Headcanons

Here are some ways our boys would actively love a Sensory Avoidant Autistic with ADHD (much, non-physical love to my fellow neurosparklies), and a few things they might have a little trouble with.

Leo

Don't worry about a thing, love. He's got you covered.

Need a dark quiet place to hide for a while? His room exists. It's already perfect.

Leo's a light sleeper, so your very soft morning alarm, *will* wake him, but he loves that he doesn't have to endure an obnoxious wake up call.

If he's not there to fix them himself, your current breakfast foods and drinks are already on the counter waiting for you. A lunch box / containers sitting behind them, just in case you can't eat yet.

Always has a portable safe food on hand in case you get distracted or forget to eat AND forgot what he laid out for you, as well as earplugs, sunglasses, a water bottle in whatever temperature you prefer, and a soft hoodie just in case you're having one of *those* days where *everything* is too much.

Expect him to be checking in every few hours. He doesn't want to overwhelm you with constant attention, but will ensure meds, water, and food happen.

If you can't speak, he'll usually be pretty good at picking up on what you need until you can talk again.

Issues:

Leo has OCD. While at first, he may be fine picking up after you when you leave a mess, it could build resentment after a while, so try not to keep your stuff in his room.

Leo's never had an issue with executive function, so expect him not to understand why you can't just *do* the thing. It'll take a bit for him to get that your brain needs to play before it's capable of doing a task that doesn't give you dopamine, and he may give you a hard time about "getting the important thing done first."

Raph

He's got this. Donnie's autistic, so he has an idea of what to expect... at least, he thinks he does. Hopes he does. Regardless, he'll figure it out.

He cleans the HELL out of his room the first time you come over, no chaotic mess or wierd smells allowed. He may have a bit of an issue *keeping* it that way, but if he notices it's affecting you, he'll handle it.

Pressure. Therapy. My guy gives the BIGGEST BESTEST hugs and will hold you as long for as tightly as you need. (This is really all of them, but I have a favorite, okay?)

OT anyone? Existing physically is hard when you feel like you have to tell every part of you, separately, what to do. Posture and overall muscle mass and flexibility suffer. Raph is there to make sure that doesn't happen. He won't be a dick about it, and he'll find ways to make the weightroom more sensory friendly, but he won't be okay with you neglecting yourself.

Similarly, nutrition! Raph has this uncanny ability to make just about ANYTHING into a safe food. Up to and including removing things after the dish is done cooking. If you order take out and you don't like mushrooms (or your disliked ingredient of choice), expect them to be removed before you even sit down. Multivitamins and hydration are also priority, and expect him to occasionally shove a water bottle in your face. He has a vested interest in you staying healthy.

He usually knows how and when to interrupt you to avoid the bulk of hyperfixation rage, and even when you snap at him, he knows not to take it personally. He's used to Donnie's "moments," so he'll just silently raise a brow ridge and wait for you to fully come back to earth.

Loves to sing and when you lay on his shell the reverb of his rich baritone feels niiiiiice. 10/10 for sensory regulation.

Listens oh so patiently to your info dumping. Half the time he has no idea what your saying, but he loves the sound of your voice and he loves how excited you get about your latest hyperfixation. Seeing you bouncy and bright eyed about... cereal or whatever, can fully turn his day around.

Issues:

Raphael is a physical guy, If you are touch averse, expect this to be a problem. He'll try not to take it personally, he knows it's not personal, Donnie doesn't like being touched either, but it does mess with his head for a while. During those times you're okay with physical contact, try and give him all the reassurance.

Can be a bit pushy about your health and safety at times. Usually it's easy to determine when there's an actual threat and when he's just being overprotective. He's getting better about the latter.

Donnie

'Tism twins!!!

While there is the usual social tapdance of "what type of neurospicy are you?" when you first meet, you both know how important it is to get as much information as possible right up front, so you know how to operate around each other.

Infodumping becomes an art form. You can see be working in silence for hours when one of you will start talking, already halfway through your own conversation in your head, and the other is instantly on board. You learn a LOT from each other about the most beautifully random things.

Expect him to keep a small fridge/pantry stocked with safe foods (when he remembers) and drinks (when he remembers). You more or less end up taking turns restocking everything when you notice the other's safe foods are out.

Fidgets. Everywhere.

Understanding that when either of you check in with the other to make sure they're staying on task, it's not passive aggressive, and your genuinely asking if they need help staying focused.

Has a "Sensory Regulation Chamber" in the lab that's essentially just quiet room stocked with anything either of you need to regulate. Sunglasses, fluffy sweaters, a drum set, you need it? He'll get it.

Issues:

Beware the usual issues that arise with Neurodivergent couples, when your 'tism clashes with his. If you need quiet and he needs to infodump, you can direct him elsewhere, but you're his person, and he wants to tell YOU. So expect pouting.

Hyperfixation rage on both sides can be a huge problem, and if you're not careful, it can quickly turn into a full blown fight over nothing.

Mike

It's all good, Angel. Whatever you need.

The most chill about it, and will fully roll with the punches whenever something happens he isn't expecting.

Snacks? Snacks. No need to worry about the stress of sitting down to, or putting together a whole meal. He's got your safe snacks on hand at all times.

His hoodie is now your hoodie. Full stop.

Want to watch the same movie, listen to the same song, play the same game, or eat the same food seventeen times in a row? Hell yeah! Let's go for the record!

Many with SPD (sensory processing disorder), know how helpful cannabis can be. He and Donnie are already tinkering with some plants, so he'll put a few aside to breed into something that tones down the world without leaving you tired and foggy.

Will listen to you infodump for hours with a goofy lovestruck smile on his face. You'll think he isn't listening, but he'll surprise you with something later that shows just how closely he was.

Issues:

OVERSTIMULATION. And NOT in the fun way (maybe the fun way, but that wouldn't necessarily be an "issue"). Both he and his space are bright and loud and there's a lot of stuff with very little organization. which we all know isn't a problem... Until, suddenly, it really *really* is. Set up a quiet space. You will need it.

Similarly, he's got a bit of a codependency issue. They all do, really, but Mike's is pretty extreme. Before you, things were... dark. And now you're here and things are awesome and what do you mean you don't want to snuggle on the couch right now? Did he do something wrong? Handling touch aversion and your occasional need for solitude takes him a WHILE.

ALL OF 'EM

These boys are sensory heaven. It's like they were made for sensory regulation. From textured skin to big strong arms to their churr basically solving every problem in your world, if only for a little while, expect them to be your safe space and refuge.

...

Tag list

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @daedric-sorceress @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo @sacred-holy-light @celeste-clearwater-06 @pheradream-15 @its-a-me-emmabee

[bobasbn]

a flame that ignited fire (2)

1.6k words again | Sylus achieved his goal and is finally having a daughter but now he must deal with his wife's pregnancy cravings. Read part one <- here

-

“Are you alright, my love? Is the pillow fluffed up to your liking? Should I get you some snacks? Do you want anything else?” Sylus asks you profusely. He’s been nothing but attentive and worrisome ever since you were confirmed to actually be pregnant. 

Sylus was driven to tears when you showed him a positive pregnancy test after all his effort to convince you that a baby is just what you two need. It’s been six months since then, you haven’t gotten the chance to even feel any discomfort without Sylus swooping in and pampering you with every available resource he has. 

“Everything’s fine, thank you,” you say with a smile. You hold onto Sylus’s hand, your thumb gently turning the wedding band on his finger. All you wanted to do was lounge on the couch and watch a movie but your husband refused to let you move without him preparing the couch for your maximum comfort. 

Sylus lowers himself to his knees in front of the couch, resting his elbows up right beside you. His eyes have been carrying a certain sparkle to them lately, an undeniable softness has been gracing his features, reminiscent of the way he looked at Riley when he realised that the baby wasn’t afraid of him. 

“I’ve been having the tendency to be… overbearing,” Sylus admits sheepishly. His hand raises to smooth your hair back in a soothing manner. “Just tell me if you need me to just shut up and leave you alone.” He reminds you. He’s more than aware of his new habit of pampering you to an almost overwhelming degree sometimes. It’s endearing for the most part except for the select few times where your mood was naturally sour due to the pregnancy and you had chided Sylus for not giving you space. 

“You know I will,” you joke, admiring the way Sylus has been stealing your pregnancy glow. You definitely envy it, the way his skin has been glowing and eyes glistening. You always thought it was the pregnant lady who was supposed to have that shine laid upon her skin, not her husband who is far too elated to be a father. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against your knuckles. He never fails to remind you of that either. “My precious girls.” Sylus gently rubs his hand over your pregnancy bump. Along with being driven to tears once he found out you were pregnant, his waterworks started up again when you found out you were going to have a daughter. You swear he’s been bearing the larger half of the emotional instability and moodiness between you two. 

A girl is exactly what you were wishing for. The idea of giving Sylus a daughter that will melt down his tough exterior and bring out this vulnerable side like this is heartwarming. 

Sylus stayed home because he was feeling worried after you had expressed your discomfort in your lower back. He prepared hot water bottles, fluffed up all your pillows and catered to your every request. 

“Aren’t you tired? You’ve been awake all day,” you ask Sylus as you climb back into bed. After an adventurous day of laying on the couch on this bright weekend, you’re back in bed. 

“Truthfully, I’m a little fatigued. But it’s nothing that I can’t handle,” Sylus says, but he’s already sitting up in bed with his hands folded in his lap. His eyes look like they’ll fall shut at any moment now. 

You fix the blanket over your body. You’re just about to say something back to Sylus but when you look back at him, he’s already snoozing away. You can’t help but chuckle. Of course he pretended as if staying up all day didn’t bother him at all. 

You relish in the moment of silence that lulls you to sleep in the peaceful atmosphere of the room. 

In the early hours of the morning, about 4am, you’re jolted awake by your own senses. 

You were feeling warmer even though the temperature of the room hasn’t changed. A sudden itch prickles around your abdomen and you feel some discomfort from the position you ended up in while sleeping. You lean over to turn the lamp on your bedside table on, feeling yourself involuntarily becoming more awake. To top it all off, you have a hunger for something cold. Cold, sweet and fruity, slightly floral. You smack your lips, noticing that your husband isn’t up and around like he usually would be at this time. 

Despite not abiding by his usual sleep schedule, he’s still an incredibly light sleeper and his scarlet eyes are soon open and adjusting to the dim lighting. 

“Sweetheart? Are you alright?” He husks, his deep voice almost inaudible from just waking up. He stretches his arms out, his muscles flexing as he props himself up. 

“I’m not feeling good,” you admit. Sylus immediately becomes alert. 

“What’s the matter?” 

“I’m hot, I’m itchy, uncomfortable and I want blueberry lavender ice cream,” you list out your issues. Your husband’s fingers touch your cheeks, noting the slight warmth to them. 

“Blueberry lavender ice cream? Where would I find that at… 4 in the morning?” He inquires out loud, already planning on how he’ll fulfill your craving at this ungodly hour. 

You shrug your shoulders, your mind running a bit too rampant about all the negative things you’re experiencing and not caring at all for the new quandary you’ve imposed on your husband. He gently rubs your back as you stiffly sit up, your joints feeling as if there’s something jammed between the sockets. 

“I’ll be right back,” Sylus assures. His tiredness from just a moment ago disappears in a blink as he walks out of the room. Soon enough he comes back and props a hot water bottle behind your back and adjusts your pillow to make you more comfortable. 

“Ice cream…” You mutter, clutching to the fabric of his shirt. The more you were awake, the more you craved the cold, sugary treat. You felt as if you would die without the ice cream you desire, like your stomach will simply twist up and kill you. 

“Of course,” he responds and immediately nods his head. He presses a chaste kiss to your temple before heading out on his exploration for ice cream, specifically blueberry lavender ice cream which isn’t just found anywhere. Sylus has never run so fast in his life for something so trivial as ice cream. He knows he’s on limited time but the task isn’t an easy one, and every convenience store he stops by doesn’t have this specific flavour. 

You rest your head against the pillow supporting your neck, shifting a bit as you absentmindedly rub your hand over your pregnancy bump. This daughter of yours is already giving you such a hard time before she’s even been born. She already has her father running mindlessly through the streets to fulfill her every whim. 

Half an hour goes by and your cravings do not settle at all. If anything, they’re growing stronger. You try to distract yourself with your phone but everything is swirling into blue and purples hues, breaking into mosaics and forming the image of blueberry and lavender in your mind. It’s driving you insane. 

The door almost breaks down when Sylus makes his return and he immediately starts making a big clatter downstairs which catches your attention. You tried to ignore it for the first few minutes but your curiosity grew to know if he ended up getting the ice cream or not. You muster up all the strength you can to push yourself off the bed and you pad downstairs curiously to see what your husband is up to. 

To your surprise, when you enter the kitchen you’re met with the sight of Sylus handling an ice cream machine. A violet mixture churns in the machine, looking like the product of all your wishes right now. 

“You’re making ice cream?” You lean your head against his arm, earning a kiss on the head from him. 

“I couldn’t find it anywhere. But, fresh ingredients will taste much better,” Sylus says calmly. He had gone ahead and bought the raw ingredients just to make the ice cream you want at home. Despite being married to him for a significant amount of time, he still finds ways to make your heart melt. 

You watch the ice cream being mixed for a few more minutes before he opens the lid to get a peek of the creation inside. You couldn’t resist swiping a finger through the smooth cream, taking a taste and your body instantly rests as you do. All the senses in your mind that were screaming for blueberry lavender ice cream were silenced the moment you finally got access to the fruitful, floral treat. 

“Yes, this is it,” you nod. Even though the ice cream wasn’t set, it was calling your name. You served yourself a large bowl with every drop of the ice cream that Sylus made for you. You brought the bowl back to bed with you, your husband following behind closely like a puppy making sure that this was enough to satiate your craving. 

“Is it good, sweetheart?” He asks. You hold up a spoonful of the ice cream to his mouth, it’s more cream than ice. He takes a bite, eyebrows raising with delight. 

“I’ve been waiting my entire life for this,” you murmur. You hog the rest of the bowl, shoveling spoonful after spoonful into your mouth as your husband watches with a sense of admiration for you. He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, a small smile on his face.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” he gently taps his finger against your nose. His eyes flit down to your belly. 

“I can’t wait to meet her,” he whispers, his eyes full of wonder. He wouldn’t get annoyed even if he had to fly to the ends of the Earth to satisfy your cravings. It all didn’t matter as long as he was helping you feel better, and that he was getting closer everyday to meeting his daughter. 

He was already ready to give up everything to take care of you two, his girls, his entire world. You two were definitely going to be spoiled rotten by Sylus. 

-

[beef-brisket]

Lucifer followed this guy for a few weeks, figuring out his routine and what times he's alone.

Turns out the fucker limes to spend his evening alone. Good.

He contemplated leaving the Devil behind him, start new. But who was he kidding? He was the Devil, body, and soul. He couldn't get rid of that side of him, no matter how hard he tried.

Lucifer watched as the house lights turned off, and after a few minutes, he stepped out of the bushes and slowly walked to the back door. He smiled as he felt the weight of the knife in his pocket.

It's been too long.

-

Adam left an interrogation room and closed the door. Rubbing his face, he sighed. He was exhausted. Mentally and physically. Emily made him go to at least one appointment a week with her.

And to say it was helping was an understatement. Adam was used to pushing things down and forgetting about them, but she would always come in with a damn shovel and try to dig shit up.

Standing at the photocopier, Adam waited for his papers to copy. He enjoyed with brief moment of silence.

Angel: Hey partner! Long time no see!

Adam did his best not to sigh. He likes Angel, but each time he looks at him, all Adam sees is the face he made when him and Lucifer took his work from his house.

They haven't talked about that night or anything after. And as much as Adam wants nothing more than to move on, he can't help but feel like it's hanging over him.

Adam: Hey, Angel.

Angel: Ooh, you sound like you're in a mood. Tough case?

Adam shrugged: Simple robbery. Someone got attacked. Their pressing charges. I'm just interviewing the accused.

Angel could tell things had been tense with Adam but he was hoping it would have sorted itself out by now.

Angel: ...Do you need a hand?

Adam gave Angel a tense smile: No. I'm just copying some statement forms, I didn't have any left.

Angel: ...Hey, um... the guys and I are going out for some drinks tonight, want to join?

Adam could already feel his heart racing, but he covered it up and smiled at Angel. His copying had just finished, so at least he could leave.

Adam: Thanks Angel, but I'm tired, so I'm just gonna-.

Angel: We don't hate you, Adam.

Adam: I-I have to go, Angel. Sorry.

The cop sighed as he watched Adam walk off. He knew Adam was going to say no, but there was hope that he wouldn't.

-

The next day, everyone at the station was in a panic. And while Adam tried to just focus on his work, he was soon pulled into the middle of it.

Angel: Adam!

Looking up from his computer, he eyed Angel: Afternoon, Angel.

Angel: Fuck off with that shit, he's back. We got the wrong guy.

Adam: ...What? What are you talking about?

Angel: The Devil. It's not Michael Magne. He's still out there! Look...

The cop took out a photo from the pile of paperwork he was holding and slammed it on the desk in front of Adam.

The agents eyes widened and he picked up the photo.

It was definitely the Devil. The heart. The stab wounds. The blood. And written in the middle of the wall with the victims blood is "I'm back!".

Adam stared at the photo for a few minutes before handing it back to Angel: Better get out there.

Angel: Yeah, exactly what I was thinking! Let's go!

Angel walked away but turned around when Adam made no movement: Come on, Adam!

Adam: Your team can handle this, Angel. You don't need me.

Angel: ...What?! Are you serious?! Your THEE guy to go to about this case! You're coming, Adam!

Adam: No! I had nothing, alright?! Just a fucking hunch that was wrong! I had no evidence! The only evidence I got was from Michael- that's it! I'm not closer than you are! I was wasting time... I didn't do anything... nothing... and because of me, L-Lucifer got hurt. And I did the hurting. I can't do this again, Angel. I can't... I'm... not getting any fucking better, but I don't want to get worse... I'm sorry, Angel. Really.

Angel: ...So, you're giving up? Letting him go free?

Adam: ...There's nothing I can do to bring my parents back... I've been taken off the case, it's not my problem.

Staring at Adam for a few moments, Angel scoffed: I expected others to give up. But not you. Guess I was wrong.

Adam: ...Guess so.

He sat there in silence as Angel walked off. He couldn't look at the photo anymore. He couldn't be close to it, but he also couldn't get it out of his mind.

Pushing it to the edge of his desk, Adam quickly stood and turned everything off. Grabbing his bag, he started to leave the building.

He couldn't stay here, not when everyone was talking about the Devil and looking at him like he owes them something.

He couldn't do it. He had to get away.

Serial Killer x FBI Agent

Bonus points: Lucifer is the senior agent training Adam and is also the killer he's training Adam to find.

Stalking

Possessive behavior

He would (and will) kill for Adam

How did you know I love problematic!Lucifer?

Poor Adam just wants to do his job, and now he has a serial killer after him.

[themareverine]

Hi!! For your valentines day event I was hoping to get a drabble with Charlie Kenton or Leopold! You pick! I'm leaving this totally up to you and PG-13 is okay, I'm 23 and use she/her pronouns o7

tysm!!

— Renaissance

Leopold Mountbatten x fem!reader

tags: fluff, some backstory added in for context, reader is an ex-girlfriend of Stuart's, Kate x Stuart mentions, definitely some blue balling of a kiss.

a/n: this definitely got away from me, honey! I haven't ever played with Leopold, and it was so much fun! This was quite the challenge. I've kinda been in a writing funk the last few days, so I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this, but, please enjoy it anyway, if you can!

☆ ── 💌FROM MARE WITH LOVE

They don’t lie about the city that never sleeps. 

It doesn’t, not truly. Sunlight may exit left and give way to starlight, but the city’s blood never stops pumping in its concrete veins. Forever time starved and anorexic in the thrumming life of a big city, there’s never enough of the twenty-four seven left.

The clock always spins out of control, there’s always a redline, nothing is ever on time but somehow, also, never truly late. 

Anonymous faces are millions among millions, rubbing elbows and fighting to look away all while never really accomplishing the task – one is truly nameless in a neverending current, without really even having to be anyone at all. 

New York is a Goliath that breathes unlike any other giant of its kind, and she didn’t really realize how right Hollywood got it until her sneakers had scuffed Jamaica Station’s dirty pavement three weeks ago, feet throbbing as her calf muscles all but lacerated from bone.

Still, the chill of spring cutting through her clothes kissed her in the early mornings, watching the fingers of skyscrapers reaching from the earth into flat, gray sky.

It had taken an hour tracking her luggage, fighting the hive of bodies at JFK on a Friday – that crushing feeling of being packed into open air like a sardine had her head spinning, buildings and street signs blurring together like watercolors. 

Veins of taxi-yellow had conquered her dreams the first night she’d dreamed, curled under comfortable blankets in her college best friend’s apartment — she’d lost a cab to a local, who’d all but shoved her off the curb with nothing so much as a by-your-leave. 

Cabs mocked her, public transportation chuckled and would shake its head, if possible, at the naive little lamb behind her eyes, taking in the wilds of the urban jungle all too much of the first time. 

Her first day alone in the city, Stuart had warned her not to venture far from the apartment without escort – his vacation from his mad scientist work didn’t start until the weekend. “We’ll go out and you can get your first taste of the city, just you wait — but stay here. Bart needs the company anyway,” he’d offered nothing else, naturally. Stuart never had felt a need to share important details. 

Simply just thrust the half-abandoned coffee in his Back to the Future mug into her hand as she took up the doorway to his room, speaking around the pencil between his teeth as he wrangled into a jacket.  

And Bart was quiet enough, sure. She liked dogs — her parents had four of them at the farm, coupled with the flocks of geese and chicken, horses and the odd smattering of dairy cows laying around the lazy sunlight of spring. 

They’d all but donned black in grief when she announced she would be taking time in New York to see Stuart, the man she was supposed to be married to, if heaven allowed. 

Overwhelmed at the prospect of their progeny returning to the only man who had ever bothered to date her romantically, they’d deflated as soon as the evidence became irreconcilable — Stuart’s girlfriend, Kate, would be only a phone call away if she needed anything. 

Her mother had gasped so audibly it could be heard from the team currently bunking at the International Space Station. 

But where Bart was good company she could handle, Stuart’s unexplained roommate — Leo, no, Leopold right? –  was not.

Very much unexplained, actually, his presence in her ex’s apartment.

Stranger things certainly happened within the lines of New York City, she knew. And Stuart hadn’t felt it necessary to share this information with her the first night in.

What a guy. 

She’d almost felt her heart eviscerating into atoms when she’d padded out of Stuart’s room in socks, a too-big Batman T-shirt and sleeping shorts — thank God she's opened to sleep clothed. Looking like hell warmed over and in desperate need of caffeine, to boot.

Stuart didn’t possess a mirror in his room, and a passing glance by the TV offered somewhat of a reflection that confirmed she’d slept like the dead. Hair similar to something from the 80s, wilding in every direction – hadn’t even bothered.

Why would she? This was Stuart’s apartment, he confirmed he lived alone. Or, well — had. Past tense. 

Last night’s booze from Stuart’s tragic supply of in-apartment food still lingered in the back of her mouth, threatened to make a reappearance when Leopold had just  stood up from the couch in the living space, stretching long arms over his head in a catlike, very-much-there stretch. 

Stars aligned and her anatomy reborn in places you don’t confess, in the blink of an eye. As he’d come about sharply on his foot, wide eyed and milk white with surprise, as if she were the unexpected intrusion into Stuart’s little apartment. 

Three weeks ago she’d thrown War and Peace at the Duke of Albany’s head, all but threatening decapitation. An offense that, in Leopold’s time, surely, would have her head rolling. 

She believed him, of course. Why would he lie about time travel? Why would Stuart have scientific evidence and K-Mart photographs, all for lies? Stuart didn’t even like K-Mart.

He could barely carry on a conversation with the same barista he’d been getting coffee from for three years. 

It wasn't unthinkable, time travel. God himself had parted seas, held the sun in place for Joshua. Time travel was not beyond the realm of the Almighty, reasons aside.

How and why didn’t really matter, not in the blip of a grand scheme of a person’s life — Leopold had stumbled into the modern age for a reason, bless him. For what, who was to know? 

Divisions of her were grateful, three weeks into the arrangement, to not be the only one in the city not from here. To have company that understood the shock and awe of new wonders, of a city with it’s own voice.

Leopold was as naive and innocent to this world as she was to New York, a combination she found riveting and more thrilling than she’d admit in therapy. A renaissance man in an era that had forgotten renaissance. 

What a trip. “Lost in your thoughts again, hm?” 

Jarred by the light brush of Leopold’s hand against the back of her own as they cut through the bodies clogging  the afternoon sidewalk, she tucks a little closer to his side. Rests a stabilizing hand on his arm, trying not to knock into those waiting at the crosswalk. 

Often during these last three weeks, she got so lost thinking not only about Leopold’s situation, but him — how he takes up more space than God, but not in an aggressive way. A smile as bright and lovely as any Monet, that races the sun.

How his otherworldly charm cracks like a whip when he wants it to but isn’t cutting or belittling to those without — and the way he moves. Regal and alive in a way that’s as raw and natural as the world beneath her feet. 

He’s more alive than any man she’d ever known, so otherworldly. 

Reading a thousand fantasy manuscripts in her nine-to-five had ruined her for most men in the world, the idea so far away in between pages font choice. Nobody of Leopold’s caliber existed outside of fiction, she’d stake her life on it. The upper echelon was an understatement—people just didn’t dare dream about men like him.

A prince charming on a white horse— minus the horse and the Cinderella-esque backdrop. 

“Yeah, just a little,” her spine straightens a little more as his hand comes to linger at the low of her back, a sort of medieval courtesy that’s only ever written about. It sparks low embers in the fire of her gut as they cross the street with the others, she nods towards the subway stairs cutting down into the earth,  “Sorry, just—thinking. We’re going this way, I think,” puffing out a breath, “if my sense of direction is right.”  

He hums quietly, taking to her left to allow her access to the stair’s rail, “You possess more of a head for direction than any other woman I’ve had the pleasure to know,” he chuckles, his elbow extending politely, the nod of his chin gesturing for her to loop her arm through his.

“I trust you implicitly in this, my dear.” 

My dear.

Her heart kicks like a mule against her ribs.

“Such blind faith you have, Leo,” her nose scrunches, and she dips her gaze to her feet lest he notice the pop of color on her cheeks, “Could be leading us to Timbuktu for all you know—I’ve never been to New York. You probably know this city better than me, my lord.” 

His chest rumbles with a low, pleasant chuckle that’s almost growling.

“A venture to Timbuktu does not sound so unpleasant, such company considered."

His smile is genuine, nearly flawless—wrinkles around his eyes deepen with the effort as he leans in to whisper in her ear, “And—do be careful about such flattery, my lady. I’m prone to blushing under the attentions of the fairer sex.”  

Heat pouncing into the pit of her stomach, she swallows the gaps that threaten to knock her back teeth.

For all of a few seconds she expects to be speechless, but his endlessly charming wink produced a wry little smile of her own. 

“Is that right?” Elbowing him gently in the ribs, she giggles, “You don’t strike me as the type to blush, Leo,” brushing a curl behind her ear, “especially not with the ladies—not with all that suave charm. I still can’t believe you’re not married in your world,”

It's a topic she’d been hesitant to address, but he’d assured her he didn’t mind discussion the affairs of marriage over the course of their quick and blossoming companionship.

“But I understand. To give your heart away is a divine act. To love, well — that’s selfless. And hard.” 

He nods, once. Firmly. Too firmly for a man of his stature.

“Indeed. If I recall my uncle’s frustrations properly, ‘tis one of my many fiercely tiresome flaws, I’m afraid,” the venom behind his words is contained, but on a blade’s edge. Wlilling to fly at any moment.

The muscle in his jaw ticks with effort, “And to love is to be selfless, certainly, though in some cases it demands more of us than we think we can bear.” 

Weighty shadows behind his eyes shoves her into silent corners. 

Her arm slides through his proffered one like it’s the easiest thing in the world, more at home at his side than she’s ever felt. Leopold leads her down the stairs graciously, hand over hers on his arm in a sort of protection she’d only ever seen depicted in period films.

The landing comes up quickly, and he guides her a little closer to his side in the crowd, until her hip brushes his. And how the fibers of her jacket kiss the little pull of Stuart’s leather jacket draped across his frame may as well topple mountains in her soul.

The maw of the subway track looms beyond them, dark and ominous, more dungeon-esque than she’d ever imagined.

People pile in. Open air shrinks around them rapidly, forcing her to a snug against Leopold’s side that, by all counts, is far too intimate for her conservative liking.

He doesn’t seem to mind, however, too busy watching people and eyeballing for the train. She can feel the thrum of his heart from here, the bite of aftershave he’d borrowed from Stuart so alive on his skin it may as well reach out to smack her. 

His hand firms over hers still looped through his arm, the rumble of an engine in the darkness signaling the arrival of their train.

“Extraordinary,” he shakes his head, marveled as the subway comes up quickly in a burst of light and steel. It pulls to a sharp stop as the doors pop open with a static hiss, and Leopold is frozen in an airy, almost fond, wonder. 

“Whoever would have thought, beneath this very city. Boggling, simply wondrous.”  

Taking her arm, he tugs her forward into the car not at all unlike an eager child. A sweeping gaze down the length of the car and Leopold decides they will stand, reaching above his head for the standing bar.

His chest opens to a broad that empties her mouth of any and all moisture as she collects her breathing, straightens the line of her long jacket. 

She situates her purse when Leopold’s arm gently slips around her shoulders, drawing her into his chest beneath his arm. His smile down at her is soft, a tender gaze considering the features of her face as she shyly peers up at him through her lashes.

Here against his ribs, she can feel the throb of his heart, how his lungs fill with breath and empty steadily, like the rising of the sun. 

And he’s so beautiful, so everything she’d only ever wrote about in diaries and film and poetry she’d never showed the world. 

His warmth intoxicates her blood, she’s keening beneath his quiet shadow — she can’t breathe properly when his gaze drops from her eyes to her mouth.

It’s that Hollywood moment everyone talks about, but few ever experience, and her skin explodes with chill when he manages to pull in a sharp little inhale that straightens his spine, squares back his shoulders. 

Gnawing on the inside of her cheek, her toes curl within her sneakers — it’s almost surely that moment. Her brain laps with the thought of kissing him, wondering how he’d taste; experiencing for the first time how a kiss could shatter the very glass ceiling of the known universe. 

At one point in her life, she’d never imagined kissing anyone but Stuart—the man her parents loved like a son. How long ago that felt, almost as if it were another lifetime, on another planet. 

She can’t fathom how, in any time, he’d be the right man when the right man stands right in front of her. 

His arm around her shoulders shifts to gently skip his thumb along her arm, tenderly. “Do you know you are beautiful thing?”

A small smile forms around the words when her eyes snap up, breathlessly, and Leopold drops his hand from the standing bar above them to tip her chin up with tender fingers, “I have seen many women in my time, but few so fiercely beautiful,” his eyes hold hers, and she can’t help but notice he swallows a little breath.

“Stuart is a foolish man, letting you slip away if he truly once possessed you as his own. Unimaginable.” 

Tears well behind her lashes, his warmth pounding at walls around her heart. The way he looks at her, his eyes soft and so deeply honest, rattles her places she can’t quite identify. It’s like ripping open heavy curtains to a darkened room deprived of sunlight, flinching at pervasive light. Hurts, but in a good way—like removing a thorn. 

And there are thorns to remove, many of them — Stuart had contributed little to what the world has done. 

Looking away, she goes to step out from beneath his arm. Leopold retaliates, pressing her closer, his arm firm along her shoulders. Unyielding, like a sentinel pillar.

Wanting to rest a hand on his chest, she pulls it away as if he is a furnace — the heavy throb of his heart beneath her hand is all too hot, all too intimate, to fathom. 

His brow lifts, curiously, “It would please me if you’d allow me to kiss you,” with all seriousness he graces her with title, breath shallow and even.

He edges her a little closer, and almost mindlessly, she lifts on her toes to meet his angle.

“I’ve wanted to do so since the first moment I heard you say my name.” His lower lip rolls in, tempted, “Say my name. Speak it, and I’ll be yours.” 

It escapes her, suddenly, how many times she’s said his name in the last three weeks — but it doesn’t matter. Now it takes on an entirely new meaning, a weight that threatens to change the small universe between them.

Only able to be reborn beneath his gaze, she feels her chest swelling with warm pride—with a riotous joy that rattles her all the way down. 

Never had she imagined hearing such words, such love. In seconds, she’s Aphrodite, lost to the ages in the weight of his gaze, adrift in his words. Who even spoke like that, anymore? Nobody, she knows — nobody here, nobody like you. It only could be the words of a man out of time, a man in renaissance.  

Weighing the weight of his name on her tongue, she swallows how wrong the short of Leo feels, now.

He can never be Leo again — Leo was a man shacking up with her ex boyfriend in New York City, starry eyed and funny in his innocence. A friend, someone she could enjoy talking to. 

He no longer existed. Leopold took his place, burying any boyish fantasy between them.

He was a man, standing like the sun, extending to her a sort of thing only ever envisioned. Where Leo was a boyish wonder, Leopold was a man of purpose, driven. Powerful. Man enough to bend the very boughs of time and space. 

Her lips form around the syllables and consonants of his name. And it tastes so good, a sweet thing that she’ll dine on with every breath God decides to lend.

How many times does she say his name to make him hers? A hundred? A thousand?

Uncountable lifetimes of him would never be enough. 

So she says it again, again, again and again. 

“Leopold.” 

@sidkneeeee

@thevoicefromanotherworld

@misscrissfemmefatale

@eternallyfrustratedwriter

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

@laaadygisbooornex3

@itsafullmoon

@kmc1989

@steviebbboi

@matronmothercrone

[thefairiesinthegarden]

I’m tired of trying -pt3

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Hey guysssss this is parttttt 3

Lemme know if a part 4 is needed

I just wanted to say that this part gets really dark and has themes of suicide and depression and really dark thought so please read with caution

Word count: 2500

Azriel x reader

Warnings: suicide and attempts, depression, dark thoughts

Please read this is caution

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The Summer Court’s gentle breezes and soft warmth felt more like a prison than a paradise. Every day in this perfect realm was a reminder of the life you once had, a life that seemed impossibly far away now. The palace’s beauty—its glittering walls and lush gardens—did nothing to ease the weight in your chest. Instead, the brightness only seemed to mock the darkness inside you.

You had been here for what felt like months, though you knew it was only a few weeks. Time no longer had meaning when every day was spent in a haze of numbness and pain. Your body had grown weak from the lack of food and movement, your mind lost in an endless cycle of sorrow and hopelessness. Nothing mattered anymore.

The healers who visited you daily became more insistent, their soft voices urging you to eat, to drink, to take the potions they offered to ease your pain. But their words washed over you like the wind—present, but meaningless. You had nothing left to give. Every ounce of energy you had was spent on merely existing.

And then there was Azriel.

He had come to you again and again, his presence a constant shadow in the room. Sometimes, he spoke in that low, rough voice of his, trying to apologize, to make you see how sorry he was. Other times, he simply sat in silence, his golden eyes filled with regret and sorrow. But no matter how hard he tried, no matter how sincere his words, it was never enough.

You couldn’t feel anything for him anymore. You were too tired to feel.

He had broken you in ways you didn’t even know were possible. The things he had said to you that day—those cruel, cutting words—had shattered something inside you. You had fought for him, for the love you thought you shared, and it had never been enough. It would never be enough.

And now, here you were, in a beautiful palace, surrounded by caring people, but utterly alone in your pain.

Tarquin had been patient with you, more patient than you deserved. He checked on you often, his voice soft with concern, but never pushing you beyond what you could handle. Yet even his presence—his kindness—felt like a burden. You didn’t want kindness anymore. You didn’t want anything.

Your hand absently traced the delicate veins of your wrist, where the skin was thin and pale. The thought had been circling in your mind for days now, a whisper in the back of your mind that grew louder with each passing hour.

There’s a way out.

You don’t have to feel this way anymore.

The thought was seductive, offering you a kind of peace that you hadn’t felt in so long. The pain could end. The weight of your heart could finally be lifted. All it would take was one moment—one decision—and it would all be over.

But something held you back. Some small part of you, buried deep beneath the layers of pain and hopelessness, still remembered who you used to be. That part of you still wanted to live, still clung to the idea that maybe, just maybe, you could find your way back.

But it was growing weaker every day.

Azriel hadn’t left the Summer Court in days. Not since he had seen the state you were in, the way you had looked at him with so much pain and loss in your eyes. The guilt had consumed him from the moment you left the Night Court, but seeing you like that—so broken, so fragile—had nearly destroyed him.

He had tried everything he could think of to make it right. He had spoken to you, apologized over and over, poured his heart out in ways he had never done before. But no matter what he said, no matter how much he begged for your forgiveness, it never seemed to reach you.

Every day, you grew weaker. Every day, you slipped further away from him.

Azriel sat in one of the Summer Court’s grand balconies, his hands resting on his knees as he stared out over the glittering ocean. The sunlight reflected off the water in golden waves, but he felt no warmth, no peace. His mind was consumed with thoughts of you, of the life you used to share, and the devastating realization that he might never get you back.

Rhysand had told him to give you time, that you needed space to heal. But how could he give you space when you were unraveling before his eyes?

“Azriel.” The familiar voice of Tarquin pulled him from his thoughts. The Summer Court’s High Lord stood a few feet away, his expression troubled.

Azriel turned to face him, his jaw clenched. “Is she…?”

“She’s the same,” Tarquin said, his voice soft. “Physically, she’s holding on. But emotionally…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen anyone this broken.”

Azriel’s heart tightened. “Is there anything I can do?”

Tarquin sighed, his brow furrowing in sympathy. “I don’t know. She’s shutting everyone out—even you. And I fear if she continues like this…”

Azriel didn’t need him to finish the sentence. He knew what Tarquin was trying to say. If you kept going down this path, there was only one possible outcome.

And it would be his fault.

That night, you stood in front of the mirror, staring at your reflection but not really seeing it. Your once-bright eyes were dull, dark circles etched beneath them. Your skin was pale, almost translucent, and your hair hung in limp waves around your face.

You didn’t recognize the person in the mirror anymore.

Your hand shook as you reached for the dagger that Tarquin had given you for protection when you had first arrived in his court. It was a beautiful blade, crafted from pure silver, with intricate designs carved into the hilt. You had barely touched it since you arrived, but now, it felt like the only thing in the room that made sense.

The blade gleamed in the dim light as you held it in your trembling hand, your fingers wrapping around the hilt. The weight of it was oddly comforting, as if it could finally bring you the release you had been craving.

You took a shaky breath, your heart pounding in your chest. This was it. This was the moment. The pain would end. You would finally be free.

But as the blade hovered over your wrist, something stopped you. A voice, soft but insistent, echoed in the back of your mind.

This isn’t the way.

You can still come back from this.

The voice sounded like Azriel’s. And for a moment, you hesitated.

But then you remembered the way he had looked at you that day—the cold, dismissive words that had cut deeper than any blade ever could. He had broken you, and there was no coming back from that.

With a sob, you pressed the blade to your skin.

Azriel had been unable to sleep that night, his mind too restless, too filled with images of you—your broken form, the pain in your eyes. Something felt wrong. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach, the cold, sinking feeling that had been building all day.

He couldn’t shake the thought that you needed him. That something terrible was about to happen.

Without thinking, he rose from his seat and moved swiftly through the palace, his shadows curling around him as he made his way to your room. The guards didn’t stop him this time—they knew better by now.

As he approached the door, that cold feeling intensified, a sickening dread settling in his chest. His heart pounded in his ears as he reached for the handle, pushing the door open without knocking.

What he saw stopped him in his tracks.

You were sitting on the floor, the silver dagger in your hand, pressed against your wrist. Blood was already welling up, dark and red against your pale skin.

“No!” Azriel’s voice was hoarse, desperate, as he rushed toward you, his shadows flaring in panic.

You didn’t seem to hear him. You were lost in your own world, your body trembling as you pressed the blade harder against your skin. Tears streamed down your face, but your eyes were distant, unfocused.

Azriel reached you just in time, grabbing your wrist and pulling the blade away. You struggled weakly against him, your body too weak to put up much of a fight.

“Let me go,” you whispered, your voice broken, tears streaming down your face. “Please, just let me go.”

Azriel’s heart shattered at the sound of your voice, at the sight of you so lost, so hurt. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as you sobbed against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry.”

But you shook your head, your sobs turning into gasps for breath. “It’s too late, Azriel. I’m already broken. You can’t fix me.”

His arms tightened around you, his wings curling protectively around your fragile form. “No,” he said, his voice firm. “You’re not broken. You’re not. I won’t let you go.”

But you didn’t respond. You just cried, your body shaking with the force of your sobs, as if you were trying to cry out all the pain that had been festering inside you for so long.

Azriel didn’t let go. He held you through it all, whispering apologies and promises, vowing to do whatever it took to make things right.

The following days were a blur of healers and potions, of Tarquin’s quiet concern and Azriel’s constant presence. He never left your side, not even for a moment. He watched over you as you slept, as you fought through the waves of despair that crashed over you. He refused to leave, even when Tarquin suggested that space might be best. Azriel didn’t care. He wasn’t going anywhere.

The wound on your wrist was healing, but the deeper wounds, the ones that had been carved into your heart and soul, were far from mended. You rarely spoke, rarely ate, barely moved. And though your body was growing weaker, it was your spirit that worried Azriel the most.

He had tried everything to bring you back—to get you to talk to him, to react, to do anything other than lay in that bed, staring blankly at the ceiling or curled in on yourself. But nothing worked.

Each passing day was another weight on his shoulders, the crushing realization that he had done this to you—that his words had driven you to this breaking point.

He had never felt so helpless. The shadows that had always been his allies now seemed like enemies, swirling around him in confusion, mirroring the chaos in his own heart. He couldn’t fix this with a sword or a plan. He couldn’t strategize his way out of this. This was something he had no control over.

And that terrified him.

One night, after hours of silence, you finally spoke. Your voice was so quiet, so broken, that Azriel almost didn’t hear it.

“I don’t want to be here anymore.”

Azriel’s heart lurched in his chest, and he leaned forward, his hands shaking as he reached for yours. “Y/N… don’t say that.”

But you didn’t look at him. Your eyes were distant, your face pale and gaunt from days of neglect. “I can’t keep doing this. It’s too much.”

His grip tightened around your hand. “I know it feels like that now, but you’re stronger than this. You’ve always been stronger than this.”

You shook your head weakly. “Not anymore. I’m tired, Azriel. I’m so tired.”

The tears that Azriel had been holding back finally spilled over, hot and painful as they streaked down his face. He had been trying to be strong for you, trying to hold himself together, but hearing you say that—hearing you give up—was more than he could bear.

“You can’t leave me,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Please. I can’t lose you. I love you.”

You flinched at the word. It was as though the very sound of it hurt you, and Azriel’s heart shattered all over again.

“I loved you too,” you whispered, and the past tense of your words cut deeper than any blade ever could. “But you didn’t want me. You said it yourself.”

“That’s not true,” Azriel said quickly, his voice thick with desperation. “I never meant what I said. I was scared, and I said terrible things, but I didn’t mean them. You’re everything to me, Y/N. You’re my everything.”

You didn’t respond. You just turned your face away, closing your eyes as if you were too exhausted to even speak anymore.

Azriel stayed by your side, holding your hand, his chest tight with fear and guilt. He didn’t know how to bring you back from this. He didn’t know if he even could.

Two more days passed in the same unbearable silence. You refused food, only drank the water Tarquin’s healers forced upon you. Your once-vibrant eyes were dull, your skin growing more fragile, your strength slipping away. The healers tried everything they could to coax you back into health, but nothing worked.

And Azriel—Azriel was drowning in his own guilt.

He couldn’t stop replaying that last argument, couldn’t stop hearing the cruel words he had thrown at you in his anger, couldn’t stop imagining how different things might have been if he had just told you how much he loved you, how much he needed you. If he had just been honest instead of pushing you away out of fear.

Azriel watched you closely, his golden eyes filled with fear as each second passed. It was unbearable—seeing you like this, wasting away because of his mistakes. His hands trembled as he reached for your face, gently brushing the stray strands of hair from your forehead. He leaned in, his voice low and rough, thick with emotion.

“Please, Y/N. Just tell me what to do. I can’t lose you like this.”

You didn’t respond right away, your gaze still fixed on the ceiling as if you were far, far away. The quiet hum of the Summer Court’s night breeze filled the room, mingling with the soft crashing of distant waves. But your heart… it felt as though it was miles beneath the surface, buried so deep you weren’t sure it could ever be reached again.

Azriel’s hands, usually so steady, so sure, shook as they held yours. His shadows curled around him in confusion, sensing the depth of his despair. You could feel his presence, his warmth, but it only reminded you of how cold and numb you had become.

He had broken you. And yet here he was, still trying to put the pieces back together.

“I don’t know if I can come back from this,” you finally whispered, your voice fragile, almost inaudible. “I feel like there’s nothing left of me.”

Azriel swallowed hard, his throat constricting with emotion. “That’s not true. You’re still here, Y/N. I know you are. You just need time, and I’ll give you all the time in the world. But don’t… don’t leave me like this. Please.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, a tear slipping down your cheek. His words sounded sincere. They sounded desperate. But how many times had you believed him before? How many times had you thought that things could change, only to have it all fall apart again?

“Why now?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. “Why are you fighting for me now, after everything?”

Azriel didn’t hesitate. “Because I was a coward. I didn’t realize what I had until I lost it. I didn’t realize how much I loved you—how much I needed you—until I pushed you away. And I hate myself for that. But I’m here now, Y/N, and I’ll fight for you every day, for the rest of my life if I have to.”

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest, torn between wanting to believe him and the overwhelming doubt that had built up inside you. You had heard words like this before—had thought that love could fix everything. But love hadn’t been enough. It hadn’t been enough to stop him from saying those terrible things, from pushing you away when all you had wanted was to be close to him.

“I’m so tired,” you murmured, your voice breaking. “So tired of hurting, of trying.”

Azriel’s grip on your hand tightened, his thumb brushing softly over your knuckles. “Then let me try for you. Let me be the one to hold you up this time. You don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him, for the first time in days. His face was drawn with worry, his eyes rimmed with exhaustion. He looked as broken as you felt, as if your pain was his own. The guilt etched into his expression was raw, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw the man you had fallen in love with—the man who had once made you feel safe and cherished.

“I don’t know if I can do this again,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “But… I hope you can try for me, Azriel.”

His breath hitched at your words, the smallest spark of hope lighting in his eyes. “I will,” he promised, his voice shaking with emotion. “I’ll do whatever it takes, Y/N. I swear it.”

You gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, and though it was barely a gesture, it was enough for him. It was enough to make him believe that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance to save what had been broken.

But as you lay there, staring up at him, the weight of the past still heavy on your chest, you couldn’t help but wonder if love alone would ever be enough. Would it be enough to heal the wounds he had caused? Could you truly let him back into your heart after everything?

As Azriel leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, a tear slipped from your eye.

And somewhere, deep in the recesses of your heart, you felt the beginning of a new ache—an ache that whispered, What if it’s too late?

The thought lingered in the air between you, unspoken, but undeniable.

What if love would never be enough?

Azriel pulled away, his hand still gripping yours tightly as if he feared that if he let go, you would slip away forever.

And maybe… just maybe… he was right.

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Attached below are places you can reach out to if you need support.