#I think this one is considered hurt/comfort

[spoonyglitteraunt]

Ok another case of my tags grew out of control so putting them in a reblog instead (sigh, this is happening a lot lately it seems)

I think one could say that the original virtue, the original intent of fairytales isn't just humility, but often it is being social and kind is good actually. It's showing kindness to someone you had no reason to show kindness to and getting rewarded for it. It's banding together against greater evils, because there is power in working as a team. It's about caring for others instead of your own more selfish desires. Yes there is a lot of saving of others (in all directions), but it's often to show that we are not an island. That we need others, just as they may need us. And that last one is so important. Because this rejection and mischaracterisation of fairytales and "save the princess" narratives (whether that is the actual narrative or not) has a side effect I think many don't realise. It's not the intention, but it's very much real and damaging. See, I know that much of the backlash towards damsels in distress is because it got overused. Especially in ways that were less fairytale and more, women can't be competent and do things, they are just there to be a prop. I get that, but instead of recognising that what we need is more variety, more diversity in stories and female characters. Instead of realising that any trope can be good or bad depending on its usage. It seems like society just flipped the switch to only girlbosses, nothing else. Now I don't begrudge people their empowerment fantasies. Mini me was fully on board with the saving yourself idea, even before this fully started to be a thing. But then I got sick. Chronically ill and severely disabled to the point where I'm now housebound. And suddenly people mocking and ridiculing any story where a princess needs saving hurts. The constant bashing and picking apart of fairytales, of any narrative that dares to have a woman need saving. Every call out post. Every bad cynical hot take. Every cutting joke and "satire". Even when people call for more diversity in female characters —sick of how the girlboss trope is just as limiting as before — damsels and princesses are still constantly treated as a no go. Considered wrong, bad writing, weak characterisation, un-feminist. All the marks of a no good, very bad, horrible writer story. You know what that says to people like me? That we have no right to exist. That stories should never include us. That we are wrong. A trope born only from misogyny and bad writing. That we are bad women, bad allies, bad people to even want stories like these. And while I know that's likely never the intention, it's still the result. It hurts every. Single. Time. Because to me and many like me — the sick, the hurt, the suffering* — there is comfort and value in seeing stories where someone matters enough to be saved. Even if they are weak, or passive, or scared. They have value. Princes come to rescue them. Huntsmen and dwarves give them aid and shelter. Fairy godmothers help them escape their horrible abusive situations. Magical creatures reward simple acts of kindness and show up in their hours of needs. No trope is inherently bad. No story format is evil. It's all in how you use it. And you never know how much one of those may mean to someone needing some comfort, and to see even just a hint of themselves in a story. So please stop. *Do not come for me with the bad take that "'Actually disabled people can save themselves!" Some can, some are entirely dependant on others for aid. Neither of those is wrong. And sometimes, even if you can save yourself, you just would like to not have to be the strong one for five minutes. To just have the fantasy of someone else doing the fighting for you. For being valued enough to matter. Because you're tired and you need a fricking break.

Those "modern fairy tales where the princess saves herself" types of books not only misrepresent the gender roles in fairy tales (there are tons of stories where girls get to save the day), but they fundamentally misunderstand the entire genre.

Fairy tales aren't about saving yourself.

These aren't epic myths or heroic legends about the great warriors who slay every monster in their path because they're so awesome. Fairy tales are almost always about ordinary, even incompetent, people who get thrown into strange situations where they only succeed because of the help of others.

It's not a gendered thing. The boy who goes off to seek his fortune is usually the dim-witted third son whose older brothers are the strong, smart ones. The third son succeeds because he is kind to the magical helpers who then complete the tasks for him--and the exact same thing happens when a girl is the main character.

The characters in a fairy tale rarely succeed because they embrace their own strength and take their own path. Much more often, they are told step-by-step what to do, and they succeed because they obey--respecting the wisdom of others.

The core virtue of a fairy tale is not pride, but humility. It's not a story about the strong, but those who are weak, small, helpless. The people who can't do it all on their own, but can recognize the worth and wisdom of others.

Turning this story into a "girl power" (or even a "boy power") story warps it into something that is fundamentally the opposite of a fairy tale, and it has nothing to do with the gender of the main character.

[scariusaquarius]

rehab. 37.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

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A/n: I'm very sorry that this took so long to write. A lot of things are happening irl that need my attention, and my sleep has been prioritized because of how little I actually sleep. And i have a massive headache today, so that's why there is no story summary ;-; I'm sorry yall Also, if you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee! If you would prefer to read Rehab on Archive, you may do so right HERE!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

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Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

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Author: ScariusAquarius

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rehab masterlist. / rehab masterlist 2. chapter 34 / chapter 35 / chapter 36

Knock, Knock, Knock

In the sleeping quarters of the Wakandan Citadel, Steve Rogers had been drawing in his temporary quarters when the knocks came at his door. The second he opened the door, Bucky came in with a frown, pushing past Steve and turning.

"We really need to talk."

Steve's eyebrows shot up slightly, but not at Bucky's words. It was (Y/n), who was looking small, cheeks wet and eyes puffy from crying. She was following closely after Bucky, looking nervous and distant as she glanced around the room, and Steve glanced at Bucky with a look of confusion before shutting the door.

Wordlessly, (Y/n) sat down where Steve had been drawing, her eyes drawn to his notebook, and though Steve didn't mind, his ears still turned a little red from the self-consciousness that tickled at his mind.

"What's going on?"

Bucky looked over at (Y/n) before looking at Steve with a stressed look on his face.

"I'm really doubting having Raynor here. I know she just wants to help, but I don't think her methods are going to be helpful. She's too pushy."

Steve immediately sighed, his shoulders falling slightly, and he sat down on his bed as Bucky paced slightly, Steve watching him closely. Steve mulled over his words for a moment before he settled on asking.

"Alright, why do you think that?"

Bucky stopped pacing, looking at Steve with a frown and talking quietly despite being aware that (Y/n)'s enhanced hearing was going to pick up his words either way.

"Raynor sent her into a panic attack. It was so bad, (Y/n) practically launched me across the room with a single punch. One."

"She hit you?"

Steve glanced at (Y/n), watching the way her fingers ghosted over his artwork; her eyes staring sadly at the page as her ears pricked to listen. Bucky immediately said, raising a hand to gesture at Steve.

"She didn't do it intentionally. She had a flashback, and I fucked up."

At the sound of (Y/n) sniffling, Steve glanced at her, his shoulders falling slightly.

"I-I didn't mean to...I just...I..."

Her voice trailed off, and Bucky sat down next to her, the woman looking up at him with the saddest look he had ever seen her wear. Steve watched quietly as Bucky comforted her softly, his voice just above a whisper as he spoke.

"It's okay, I promise. I'm not mad. If anything, I'm the one who should be apologizing for touching you without warning."

(Y/n) then shook her head as she looked down at Steve's artwork again, a doubtful look within her eyes as she murmured.

"I don't belong here...I...I should've...went back."

Her words made Steve and Bucky's blood run cold, and Steve finally sat down across from (Y/n), who refused to look the man in the eyes as he spoke.

"You were scared and had a trauma response. That's not a crime...but what would be a crime is to go back where they would make you feel the way that you did in the moment over and over again."

(Y/n) was quiet, blinking silent tears out of her eyes, and she whispered brokenly.

"I remember them...I remember all of them...all the people I...I had to hurt..."

Blood on her hands, the taste of flesh in her mouth, the sound of a man screaming as she tore his throat out with her bare hands.

"I don't...want to do that to anyone again...but...I don't know how to complete this mission...I...I don't know how to proceed."

She sniffled and gently thumbed the artwork again, and Steve shared a look with Bucky. They weren't sure what to say at first, silently communicating with each other before Bucky sighed.

"I remember them all too."

(Y/n) glanced up at him, staying quiet for a moment as his words struck a chord in her, and Bucky continued, looking down at his hands as he messed with his vibranium fingers.

"I dream about them, think about them...sometimes, I'll even hear them too...see them...feel them."

Bucky then glanced up at (Y/n), stating earnestly.

"But we owe it to them...to make amends for what we've done. To try, even if it's hard. We might not know how to complete this mission, but as long as we do, that's what matters."

"But what if I fail? What if I never...make things right?"

Steve then gently spoke up, his voice gentle as he looked at (Y/n) the way a brother would their younger sibling.

"You can, and you're going to. Everyone here believes in you and wants to help you achieve that. It's not going to be easy, but even if it's hard, we're going to make it."

(Y/n) as quiet for a moment before she asked quietly.

"Do I even deserve it?"

Steve sighed slightly before he offered carefully.

"I think that's a matter of opinion, not fact. And if you ask me or Bucky? I think the answer will always be yes."

(Y/n)'s eyebrows furrowed a bit before she looked down at her hands, whispering shakily as tears filled her eyes.

"I remember...a target...HYDRA effectuates no witnesses...but...the witness that was with my target...they were just a child."

Her breathing became shallow as she stared down at Steve's artbook, her sketched eyes looking back at her.

"He begged me not to kill her...used her as his shield, but if she had lived and told someone...HYDRA would be at risk. So...I wrapped my hands around her skull, and I squeezed and squeezed until her head cracked and her blood gushed around my hands...they tried to erase me...but no matter how much they tried, I couldn't stop seeing her."

(Y/n) then looked up at Steve, her face contorting into a serious expression as the tears fell down her cheeks.

"Can you still say yes now?"

The room was silent; so quiet that if a pin had dropped, it would sound like an explosion. (Y/n) was still looking Steve in the eyes, but her lips were quivering; hands trembling, and she had to look away. She didn't understand why she felt so angry, but there was a part of her that was furious.

Her fists were clenched, the fear and confusion coursing through her veins like an intrusion, and (Y/n) clenched her jaw as her heart began to pound within her chest. It was quiet for another moment, the only sound of that of the blood rushing through her ears, and suddenly, Steve spoke firmly.

"I can't forgive what HYDRA made you do, but I can forgive you."

Her eyes flicked to his for a second before her lip trembled. The tears hit her like a freight train; the emotions that were trying to spill through finally breaking through the wall, and she began to cry quietly. Her fists clenched again, and Bucky shared a look with Steve before he gradually placed his hand on her shoulder.

(Y/n) didn't flinch. Instead, she allowed Bucky to comfort her through his touch; the warmth of his hand contrasting greatly with the cold that was permeating through her flesh and bones. Steve felt horrible for making her cry, but Steve couldn't lie. It wasn't in his nature to be anything but honest.

But honesty always came with a price.

Bucky spoke softly, his tone twinged with sadness and regret that haunted his words like an unforgiving ghost.

"We can't change what we've done...we can't take back our actions...but we have to take responsibility and be accountable."

(Y/n) glanced down at her lap then, her face blanking slightly, and although both Steve and Bucky became confused by the way she seemed to completely shut down, they were both patient; simply sitting with her in silence as she slowly processed both of their words collectively.

Sighing, Bucky then sat back and took his hand off of (Y/n)'s shoulder, glancing at Steve, and Steve slowly gestured to the door with a nod of his head. Standing up, both men stepped out of Steve's temporary sleeping quarters to talk quietly. Steve's shoulders were tensed, his blonde brows furrowed, and he placed his hands on his hips as he turned to Bucky.

"Bucky, I really think you should let Dr. Raynor take over on this."

Bucky sighed heavily, staring at the door that was separating the men from (Y/n), and Bucky said quietly.

"I don't know, Steve."

Steve shook his head, his eyes gentle but his words firm.

"Listen, I know that you care about her, Bucky, but it's starting to get dangerous. We're too close to this-to her. If we push too hard, we're going to push her away."

"So, what, you want me to just not care?"

Steve gave Bucky an annoyed look, retorting.

"That's now what I am saying, and you know it."

Bucky scoffed, shaking his head as he quipped.

"Sounds a lot like you just said that."

Steve sighed, giving the man a moment to relax before he stated.

"Bucky, I know that this means a lot to you. I'm not saying to walk away, but I am telling you to be careful. You can't pull (Y/n) out of therapy just because you might not like Raynor's methods."

As much as Bucky didn't want to agree, as protective as he was becoming, Bucky knew that Steve was right. He wasn't properly equipped for this; to be helping like this, and he sure as hell wasn't in a position to give advice on how to feel. The only thing that he could do was be there for her.

But Bucky didn't know how to do that without being, well, him.

Steve then clasped Bucky on the shoulder, breaking the man out of his thoughts as Steve encouraged him softly.

"Be there for her, but let Raynor do her job, Bucky. Your job right now is to just be there, alright? She trusts you more than anybody else right now, and that is a really big deal."

Bucky slowly nodded before he glanced at the door again and murmured.

"Alright."

When the men went back into Steve's temporary sleeping quarters, (Y/n) was staring out the window, her eyes distant, and Bucky gently sat down next to her with a sigh. (Y/n) glanced at him through the corner of her eye, and Bucky asked her gently.

"(Y/n), do you want to try again with Raynor? I know it was difficult earlier, and you don't have to if you don't want to, but I think...maybe trying again would be good."

"What if I hurt you...or Raynor?"

Her voice was soft, anxious and small, and Bucky shook his head comfortingly.

"You don't have to worry about that."

He didn't add anything else to his words, but there was no need to. (Y/n) could pick up on the weight of his words; of the promises he was silently offering, and (Y/n) nodded after a moment. Bucky smiled slightly, and he glanced back at Steve, who nodded to him encouragingly. Bucky turned back to (Y/n) when she asked him softly.

"Why did this happen to me?"

Bucky wasn't expecting the question, and he pursed his lips after a moment of thinking. Glancing down at the table, Bucky wasn't exactly sure how to answer.

"Bad things happen to good people for no good reason...it's just the way that life is."

(Y/n) bit her lip then, saying softly.

"I want it to stop hurting."

Bucky was quiet, mitigating his thoughts before he settled and agreed gently.

"I know. Me too. We're going to get there though, okay? One day, things won't seem as heavy or confusing...and you won't feel so lost."

(Y/n) stared at him for a moment, her (e/c) eyes seeming to glow within the sunlight that was filtering through the window, and Bucky's heartbeat began to quicken for a second. His jaw slackened just the slightest, and (Y/n) turned away from him then, her facial expression almost sad.

"I don't...know what is real and what isn't. All the things that I remember...from before HYDRA...I can't make sense of them."

In her mind, (Y/n) knew that the memories had to mean something, but how could she connect to those memories when the main part of her mind was certain these things had never happened? (Y/n)'s existence came about when she was introduced as a Winter Soldier. That's who she had always been...so how was it possible that she had lived a life before it?

These were the thoughts that were starting to get to her; this unknowing and confusion and uncertainty of what is real and what wasn't. It was leaving her mind jumbled, panicking her every time she started to remember because what if it wasn't real? What if these memories were just things that her scrambled mind were putting together?

What if they were implanted memories?

What if they were a part of her programming?

What if they were never hers to begin with?

The woman took a deep and shaky breath, and she finally nodded, whispering softly.

"I would...like to try again."

Bucky nodded before he stood, informing (Y/n).

"I'll go get Raynor then. In the mean time, why don't you get something to eat with Steve?"

(Y/n)'s eyes flicked over to the named man, Steve's kind eyes glancing to her, and he smiled softly as he teased slightly.

"I hear lunch is supposed to be pretty good today."

(Y/n) nodded slowly and stood, glancing back down at the sketchbook, and she asked Steve slowly.

"Did you do that?"

Steve's ears reddened slightly, and he grabbed the sketchbook with a shy gait to his movements.

"Yes. I like to draw when I have the time."

(Y/n) was surprised by the notion, and she bit her lip before the curiosity ate at her enough for her to ask softly.

"Can I...see more?"

Steve was stupefied before he shrugged, Bucky smirking at Steve's shy demeanor as the man agreed.

"Sure, I don't mind."

(Y/n) grabbed the purple crochet bag, murmuring.

"I can...show you the journal too."

Steve's eyes lit up, and he nodded.

"I would enjoy that. Come on, let's get something to eat before you meet with Raynor. A full stomach is always best."

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STORY NOTES:

TRANSLATIONS:

None

TAGLIST: @softpia @thebl00dwyrm @buckvoidsyy @chonkybonky @seemsxsketchy @tilldeathripsusapart @vicmc624 @mgchaser @aash3 @samfunko @seventeen-x @valckenaux @babybeeelle @sc4rrc @cjand10 @bane-y-zane @notsostrangerthing @thenameswinter99 @bumblebeebutter @torntaltos

[inthehouseoffinwe]

Tyelko isn’t one for excessive gold or jewellery, and most of it though decorative, serves a practical purpose. Most importantly, it must be completely silent no matter how he moves.

Fëanor made all the pieces himself to ensure they met his Silver Hunter’s requirements. Whilst his other sons wore all kinds of pieces, Celegorm only ever wore what his father made. These lasted everything Valinor had to offer.

But not Beleriand.

A few years into the endless night, Celegorm’s chains snap under the force of Morgoth’s orcs. He manages to escape with a few cuts, but the grief of losing this piece of his father, lost to the flames, almost undoes him.

He doesn’t wear any jewellery for years. Curufin could recreate it but Celegorm refuses, holding onto his rubies and shattered gold in a little pouch around his neck.

Until little Tyelpë, grieved at his Uncle’s pain, takes the chains in secret one night and reforges them stronger than before. Celegorm wakes to his nephew anxiously holding out the remade jewellery.

“I know you miss grandfather… but I think he’d want you to remember him for more than his death.”

Celegorm takes the pieces reverently. The rubies shine brighter, the chains are threaded with a silver gleam where Celebrimbor reinforced the metal to make it stronger than chainmail. This isn’t just jewellery. It’s armour. Of the body and heart.

Celebrimbor’s way of trying to protect his dearest Uncle and ease his pain.

Looking at the child - though he hasn’t been a child since the First Kinslaying, not really - Celegorm can only wrap him tight, tears gathering in his eyes, and thank him, kissing his forehead and cheeks. Celebrimbor leaves his room with a bounce in his step, and for the first time in years, the Hunter prays.

‘Whatever grudge you hold, let it end with us. Let him be spared.’

Celegorm never takes this chain off, wears it through every hunt and battle, trusting in the hands that crafted them. Sure enough, they never so much as dent even as swords and fire-tipped arrows come flying from every angle in the Bragollach.

When they reach Nargothrond and Curufin quietly asks him to help push his son away, he’s horrified. But he understands. And just like Curvo, he’s never been prouder of his little nephew than when he stood up to them and said “No.”

Just before they flee, he holds out the chains. An offering of peace. Celebrimbor holds enough shame from their actions, he doesn’t deserve to have such a meaningful piece tarnished by them too. But he just hands the hairpieces back.

“You’ve broken my heart enough, Uncle. Don’t break it even more.”

So Celegorm wears it through the Nirnaeth and all that follows, but when they reach Doriath, he pulls the chains loose, puts them back in the pouch with a small note, and slides them into Maglor’s pocket. A Doom is about him now; he can see his end in sight and he is glad.

But Celebrimbor’s heart is soft despite everything, he will be hurt. Perhaps the jewellery will give him some comfort. Perhaps he’ll look at it and remember Treelit days and nights learning of Valinor’s animals under a watchful eye. Perhaps he’ll remember his Uncle’s smiles rather instead of his bloodstained sword.

Celebrimbor, when he receives the chains with a small note from twin half-elves, remembers all this and more. And for the first time since he heard of Celegorm’s death he breaks down into tears, clutching the jewellery close, grieving for all that he’s lost.

‘Neither blood of Doriath nor Sirion touched these chains, Tyelpë, and you know I wasn’t wearing them the night of Alqualondë. Consider this an inheritance from your Uncle and do with them what you will. Never doubt that I love you, my little Silver Star.’

(Meanwhile in the Blessed Realm, Oromë did in fact hear his favourite Hunter’s prayers and protects Celebrimbor as much as he can: neither bird nor beast in the Vala’s domain will harm the youngest Fëanorian.

But it’s a very different kind of wolf that rips Celebrimbor’s throat in the end.)

Been a while since I experimented with realism, so have a Celegorm with his invisible chain hair jewellery :)

Art only allowed for personal use ie. phone/laptop wallpapers.

Do not repost or upload. Reblogs are always appreciated.

[ethicaltreatmentofcowplants]

simply lilac outtakes: dodo & minta

previous - backdated to round two eliminations

DODO: How did it go?

ARAMINTA: As these things do, I suppose. I doubt that anyone leaving was surprised.

DODO: Did you want to talk?

ARAMINTA: I do. But I don’t know how to word what I’d like to say.

DODO: You could try? And if I don’t understand something, I’ll ask?

ARAMINTA: It’s the show. It’s making me feel bad about myself.

ARAMINTA: I should be so happy. And when I’m not dwelling on things too much, I am. But then I think of all the different contestants, about half a dozen of who seem like they would be so well suited to Lilac, and then everyone else who you could have been happy with instead of me. And I wonder, did you choose wrongly? For yourself, I mean.

DODO: Well, I don’t wonder that.

ARAMINTA: But I do.

DODO: I wish that you wouldn’t.

ARAMINTA: So do I. But I don’t know how to stop.

DODO: But you’re the one who’s out of my league.

ARAMINTA: What?

DODO: What do you mean, ‘what’?

ARAMINTA: I just can’t understand how you could ever think that way.

DODO: Well that makes two of us. I’ve been overshadowed by my brother my whole life. And look at how messed up I’ve been since we got back.

ARAMINTA: Only due to trauma, and you never got a break from it the way we did with the rotations. And Leo’s not one tenth of the person that you are. Sorry, I know that he has his qualities. But he’s so attention-seeking and insecure that he has to try and insert himself into everything - even on your show! 

DODO: [chuckle] He does do that, yeah.

ARAMINTA: You’re confident and generous and selfless enough to share the spotlight with others. Look at how you play football. You know when to take a shot at goal - and when to pass the ball and set up a teammate who’s in a better position. Leo couldn’t spell ‘team’ without a ‘me.’

DODO: ‘Couldn’t spell ‘team’ without a ‘me?’ I’m so saving that for another day.

DODO: Okay, so I understand how you could feel considering - well, just look at my past BCs. And I know how things were with your father. Just because for some plumbed up reason he was incapable of loving you, it doesn’t mean that no one else is.

ARAMINTA: I know.

DODO: But knowing something isn’t the same as believing it, I guess?

ARAMINTA: No. It’s not.

DODO: I know that my mother loves me. And we have a good relationship. But Leo always had her attention growing up. And that was bad enough. I can’t imagine how much things with your father messed with your head. Do you realise how in light of that, it was so brave for you to even apply for the show? To put yourself out there and still have hope that things might work out?

ARAMINTA: I - admittedly - never had much hope. Mostly I wanted to break out of my comfort zone, perhaps learn something about myself, and to make some new friends.

DODO: And you did all those things, and more. And I definitely could have been more discreet.

ARAMINTA: We didn’t have a lot of privacy. And you were just doing your job.

DODO: No, I definitely could have.

ARAMINTA: You had all the decision making power. Well, Leo had all the decision making power. But it’s only through Lilac that I’m beginning to understand just how much stress and pressure that can bring, knowing that the decisions you make could directly impact the happiness of others, or that you would make the wrong choice.

DODO: Yeah, that wasn’t fun. But I was only worried that I would hurt other people. I never worried about choosing you - don’t you see? 

ARAMINTA: I am trying.

DODO: It wasn’t about passion and romance - well, not exclusively. It was about friendship and trust, and who I could see myself with beyond the initial spark. Because that can wax and wane, you know? [dryly] Or so I’ve been told.

ARAMINTA: [weak chuckle] So far I’ve yet to perceive that from you, yes.

DODO: It was about someone who saw and accepted my flaws, and who doesn’t judge me for them but who also doesn’t let me get away with them either - and who will give me the support and space to grow. Someone who’s always striving to be the best version of herself, so that I’m encouraged to do the same too. Someone who I can see the best version of myself in.

DODO: I guess I’ve always wanted to fall in love with my best friend. And now I’ve made a best friend, and she’s also the love of my life.

ARAMINTA: I - thank you. I needed to hear that.

DODO: Anytime.

ARAMINTA: I was wondering if - it’s not that you’re unaffectionate towards me. Lilac’s always joking about just how affectionate you are. But I don’t think there’s such a thing as being told too often for me.

DODO: Oh, challenge accepted. [...] You know, this gorgeous blonde once told me that I gave great hugs.

ARAMINTA: Oh, did she now?

ARAMINTA: I saw that these days, the ‘WowWow Hut’ is functioning as a vacation rental. And what I’m about to suggest may sound strange, but I was wondering if we could go back? Perhaps it may help to make it feel more like it’s ours.

DODO: Or we could make some new Sulani memories while we’re there.

ARAMINTA: I would like that. [...] Could I sit on your knee?

DODO: There’s always space on my knee for you.

ARAMINTA: I think that I should go and see the onset counselor.

DODO: I think that’s a great idea.

ARAMINTA: If I like them, would you want to make an appointment too?

DODO: Yeah, I would.

DODO: Hey, did you know that Watcher Ana once gave me the UNFLIRTY trait?

[Both laugh]

ty @akitasimblr as always for dodo harper and for your help with this!

[becksmoon120]

*sigh* I’m just tired at this point…

This is a highly random thought that popped into my head just now but the bit about it being a “creative decision” has always struck me as odd. Like I kind of get it, Tim was probably just tired of people saying that this was just the “gay wee-woo show” and decided to shock us I guess? But then there’s the whole “realism” thing but the promo for the next episode is water being on fire? Ok Tim. Sure.

The random thought I had was what if they were using AI to write the two parter and obviously that would have caused a scandal and so now they feel like they have no choice but to run with the storyline and that’s why they are so adamant about Bobby staying dead. Maybe they used it again for this episode but put in more specific parameters to fix their mistake and that’s why the characters all felt so off (although I would expect even an AI trained on the show would know that Buck wouldn’t be as fine as he presents after only two weeks or that Eddie would have been on a plane immediately after hearing the news).

Picture this, we’ve had the feeling for a while now that they aren’t putting as much effort into this season because they’re getting ready for the Nashville spinoff. Writers being told to focus more on the new show so they start using these tools to get these episodes of the old show out when they’re supposed. However, now their characters are becoming more unrecognisable and the storyline are becoming less realistic (not more Timothy) until boom dead Bobby.

Is this a crazy leap in logic? Yes. Does the theory have holes in it? Probably so many. Is it likely true? Who knows. But does this explanation hurt less than the writers and creative team behind the show caring so little about the characters, the actors (not just Peter Krause) and the audience that gave them all their success over the years and who consider(ed) this their comfort show? I don’t know.

But I am going to start crying again soon if I keep thinking about it so I’ll just say this. It is not a bad thing for shows like this to be unrealistic. Most people don’t watch this show because they are expecting a hyper-realistic portrayal of firefighters nowadays. They fell in love with the characters and their relationships with each other and were routing for them even when they made poor decisions. The world is shitty and terrifying these days, if we wanted realism we would turn on the fucking news.

Anyway, it’s too late, I’m crying again.

I’m going to give it until the end of this season and if it doesn’t get better, I’m taking the fanon version and going with that. Not even Buddie canon can save you now because I don’t even trust ye with that. More on that later.

Edit:

Okay it’s the next morning so I’m slightly more coherent. None of this is meant to make the writers who do care about the show look bad. I understand that it’s up to the people above them to decide how to move the story forward. I don’t mean any disrespect by comparing the writing to AI gibberish. It’s just something I thought of last night in frustration and decided to put it out there. I am also not trying to go all conspiracy theorist either, looking for clues in the episodes. It’s just one of those things where if we ever do find out that is the case, I won’t be as surprised as I would like. Hurt, yes, but surprised? No.

[illyrianbitch]

Somewhere, There Was Love

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel meets you on a Saturday. He loses you on one, too.

Warnings: angst, some hurt/comfort, slow burn in reverse, bittersweet ending, love and everything broken it brings

Word Count: 3k

For @sjmxreaderweek Day 1: Beginnings/Endings

re-read one of my fav works of mine and got tempted to write in present tense again. enjoy this last min work <3

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Some poets argue that the greatest stories end in the same place they began.

Azriel is’t sure what he thinks about that— what he thinks about poets, and poetry, and pretty words in general. 

He only knows this: He met you on a Saturday. And he lost you on one, too.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It’s evening when Azriel sees you for the first time.

He’s trailing behind his family, half-listening to Cassian grumble about something or other as they stroll through the River District. His wings ache, the sky’s too blue, and he’s already planning how to disappear before dinner even starts. That’s when his shadows twitch, a subtle ripple of attention tugging him slightly off course.

Your eyes lift at the same time his do. You meet.

You’re standing across the street, half-hidden behind stacked moving boxes. Your hair catches in the wind and your sleeves are rolled up past your elbows. There’s a smudge of dust on your cheek.

For one, suspended second, you hold each other’s gaze. There’s nothing dramatic about it, not really—no lightning bolt, no crackling bond. Just a glance. But it hooks something in his chest.

He thinks, absurdly, that you must be a dream. 

He almost asks if you need help. Almost. But Cassian shouts his name, and by the time Azriel turns back, you’re gone.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You arrive with Feyre a week later.

She introduces you as her friend. A traveler who’s decided to settle in Velaris—for now.

“She’s been all over,” Feyre says. “Autumn, Day, even parts of the mortal lands.”

“I like movement,” you explain. “The idea of not belonging anywhere.”

Azriel watches the way you speak. The way your eyes flick toward him sometimes, like you remember him from that moment in the street. Like it meant something to you, too. 

After what feels like forever, Feyre steers you straight to him.

You smile at him like you know exactly what she’s doing. There’s amusement behind your eyes, mischief curling at the corners of your mouth. “Hi.”

Azriel’s shadows still. And his heart—traitorous, stupid heart—stutters. He doesn’t realize he’s smiling back until Cass elbows him.

“Azriel,” he says, holding out a hand. He’s never done that so naturally. “Nice to meet you.”

You shake his hand and hold his gaze. “I saw you when I was moving in.”

Azriel nods, caught. 

“You didn’t offer to help.”

“I almost did.”

Your smile deepens. “Almost doesn’t lift boxes.”

He’s never felt his shadows this interested in anyone before. They lean forward, curious. So does he. He’ll think about this later. How simple it all seemed. How dangerous it already was.

He knows, deep down, that he’s a goner.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You start showing up more.

Azriel considers you a friend, even. 

Dinner invitations. Walks. Late nights spent sitting near each other while everyone else is loud and laughing. You tease him, lightly at first, then with more confidence. Azriel isn’t used to someone challenging him like that. You laugh at his dryness, at the way he reacts. He finds himself smiling more than he ever has.

One night, you brush your foot against his under the table. A test. He doesn’t move away. You tilt your head. He mirrors you. There’s a private smile between you, and Azriel feels young. Reckless. Seventeen again.

That night, he tells you you’re beautiful.

He means it like a prayer.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The first kiss comes two weeks later. Azriel isn’t sure if thats fast or slow for him. Time doesn’t really exist when it comes to you, he’s noticed. It never feels real. 

You’re sitting beside him on the roof of your apartment. 

You talk about the world. About places you want to go, cities you want to see. Azriel listens like he always does—with everything he has.

“It’s fun,” you say, tipping your head to rest against his shoulder. “To think about all the places you and I can go.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. "It is."

He turns to look at you. Your eyes are already on him, and there's something soft there. Something he thinks might be meant just for him.

He kisses you then. Slowly. It feels like he’s beginning to learn the language of you.

And when you pull away, breathless, you whisper, “You taste like rain.”

He kisses you again. 

You make a small noise of contentment and curl your fingers in his shirt. He thinks, for a terrifying, beautiful second, that he could love you.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You redecorate all the time. Az thinks its funny—how unattached you are to furniture, how quickly your possessions cycle out of your hold. 

He helps you carry a shelf upstairs, and you thank him with a crooked smile and a story about the city you lived in before this one. You always talk like you're halfway out the door, like everywhere is temporary. But still, you stay for now.

He flies with you one night. You giggle against his chest at the way the wind tickles your skin. You land on the roof of a nearby apartment, your knees brushing as his shadows curl protectively around your shoulders.

You talk about traveling again. How you want to see every court, every continent. You tell him about the sea-glass beaches of the Summer Court, the northern stars in Winter, the caves in the wilds.

You want to see everything. “Even the places no one thinks are beautiful,” you say. “Because I think they are.”

Azriel listens. Nods. Smiles when you do.

You don’t notice that he never once says he wants to go.

He doesn’t know if you’ll ask him to come.

He doesn’t know what he’ll say if you do.

It’s all a fantasy anyway.

So he just says, “Tell me where we’d go first.”

And you do.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

He finds a small bag in your closet one night. Just sitting there. Like it’s been packed for a while.

“You going somewhere?” he asks.

“I always keep one ready.”

“For what?”

You shrug. “In case I wake up one day and the air feels wrong.”

Azriel doesn’t ask if you’ve ever done it before. He doesn’t want to know the answer. But it sits with him for days, like some sort of warning. Some sort of promise.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You fall asleep on the couch beside him. Head tipped toward his shoulder.

Azriel doesn’t move for a long time. Not even to breathe too deeply. As if the whole room might shift and you’ll wake. Or worse—vanish. 

His shadows curl toward you and brush lightly against your hair. One of them flicks your wrist like it’s counting the beat of your pulse.

You don’t stir.

You trust him. That knowledge sits heavy in his chest.

Azriel gently reaches down, brushing a hand over your temple. He’s going to miss this moment. It’s already a memory.

He thinks—not for the first time—that he should leave. Walk away before it means something he can’t undo. Before you mean something more.

But his shadows refuse.

They’ve already decided.

And Azriel is starting to think he has, too.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You fall into a rhythm. Slow mornings. Rooftop evenings. Shared coffees. He reads journal entries you’re too shy to show anyone else. You sketch him once, from memory, and it unnerves him how well you capture the softness he tries to hide.

He tells you that you smell like smoke and sweet things. You kiss him in the quiet of his room. He starts keeping your favorite fruit in his kitchen. His nightstand looks like you.

“I’d like to disappear,” you say one night, sprawled across him. “Just pick a direction and keep walking until it feels like enough.”

“You’d get tired,” he murmurs.

“Maybe. But I’d get free, too.”

He falls asleep to your breathing, only to wake up an hour later. You’re still lying on his chest, fingers trailing across his exposed skin. His shadows are asleep and he can barely pry an eye open.

It’s funny how exhausted he is around you. In a good way. He’s never slept this good.

You trace shapes—stars, maybe. Then words.

“What are you drawing?” he murmurs.

“Nothing important.” He feels the pull in your cheeks as you smile against his skin. A teasing, little thing.

He tugs you closer, closes his eyes, and welcomes sleep again. 

Before he succumbs to the darkness, he focuses on the pattern of your fingertips. You’re writing something. Words. He can’t help it. He decodes them.

I love you.

He wraps his arms tighter around you, afraid to breathe, afraid to say it out loud and shatter it. But he feels it. Deep in his bones.

And the feeling already hurts.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It’s an early morning when he says something dry and sarcastic. You roll your eyes and call him a liar. He doesn’t deny it. You lean forward and say, “You’re not nearly as mysterious as you want everyone to believe.”

And then you kiss him.

He smiles into this kiss, as he always does now, and his hands come up, fingers curling around your jaw like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. His shadows wrap around you both like instinct.

Later, he tells you that being with you has made him afraid in a way he’s never been before. You frown and ask him why. 

He tells you the truth. He’s never had anything of his own to lose.

You tell him, “Yeah. Me too.”

You make love that night and Azriel finds himself memorizing every part of your body— every sound, every movement. Like he knows, somewhere in his bones, he is bound to lose you. 

Azriel has always loved like this—as if time is already running out. He holds joy like it’s a ghost.

That night he says, “Stay.”

You blink. “I am. I’m spending the night.”

He shakes his head. His eyes are wide and pleading. He’s sure he looks like a hopeful child. “No,” he says, “You know what I mean.”

Your brow furrows. You still. Think. Then answer, “For how long?”

“I don’t know. Just—stay.”

You stare at him for a long time. Then nod.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The cracks start small.

You ask him where he’s going. He says he doesn’t know. Just a lead. Just a hunch. You tell him that it worries you. That he can’t expect you to be okay with these constant missions. 

He says, “I’ll be fine.”

You say, “You don’t know that.”

He tells you he’d never leave you. You say, “You do. Every time you walk out that door. And I’m not always going to be here when you come back.”

Azriel pretends he doesn’t hear it. For both of your sakes. He goes on the mission anyways. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Still, you stay. Because when it’s good, it’s so good. Azriel cooks you breakfast. You read to him while he sharpens his blades. He writes little notes and slips them into your journals.

You teach him how to write poetry. He never lets anyone else read it.

One night, Azriel props himself up on one elbow. 

“Okay,” he says, grinning proud and pink-cheeked. “I think, if we had a daughter, she'd be dramatic. Like you.”

“Like me?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “Tiny. Stubborn. Would boss me around.”

“She sounds amazing,” you say, a little breathless.

He’s quiet for a beat. Then: “I’d marry you, you know.”

You swallow hard enough for Az to track the movement.

“I’d marry you tomorrow.”

The wine is burning in his chest. He doesn’t look away. “We could do it barefoot. Somewhere stupid. I wouldn’t care. I just want—”

You kiss him before he finishes. Az keeps his eyes closed, floats in this dream of a life, as you murmur against his lips, “The Autumn court has beautiful chapels.”

You’re happy like this, Azriel thinks. Even when there’s a slight fantasy to it.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You don’t go to dinner with his family. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t realized it before Rhysand brings it up. 

Azriel asks, “Are you coming tonight?” while pulling on a jacket.

You don’t look up from the book in your hands. “No, I’m alright.”

There’s a pause. Just long enough for you to feel it settle. Then—

“You don’t like them,” he says. Not a question.

You sigh. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

You close the book. “They’re your people, Azriel. Not mine.”

“I thought you were friends with Feyre.”

“I’m friendly with Feyre.”

He frowns. “That’s different.”

“I know.”

Az studies you.  “I’m not trying to be cruel,” you say. “But this isn’t my home.”

Something shifts in him — not all at once, but a tilt. A slow dawning. He realizes, maybe for the first time, that you don’t want it to be.

Later, in bed, he turns toward you and whispers, “I used to think I liked being alone, too.”

You smile at the ceiling. “You don’t.”

Silence again.

“I need them,” he says eventually. “I need my family.”

“I know,” you whisper. 

He wants to ask if you have anyone like that. Wants to ask why you don’t need anyone the way he does. But he already knows you won’t answer. Not out loud.

So he doesn’t ask. It’s probably some answer about how you’re bound to leave, anyways. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“You’re concentrating awfully hard,” you muse, propping your chin in your hands. “It’s just a silly report, baby.”

“It’s not just a report,” Azriel mutters, still focused, his eyes never leaving the paper. “And you’re in my light.”

You gasp, pressing a hand to your chest. “In your light? And here I thought I was the light of your life.”

Azriel doesn’t respond, eyes narrowed as he shifts the paper to the side. But his lips twitch, just slightly. He likes when you say things like that. When you acknowledge that, maybe, you have an important place in his life. Somewhere you fit.

You shift closer. “It must take an incredible amount of focus,” you muse, “I mean, what if you get distracted?”

“Won’t happen.”

“Mm.” You tilt your head, considering. “You don’t get distracted?”

“Never.”

“Even if I do this?”

You lean in, tracing your fingers over the ridges of his spine. Your fingers wander further, brushing over the sensitive base of his wings.

A slow inhale escapes him, but still, he doesn’t falter.

You lean closer, close enough that your lips nearly graze his ear as you whisper, “What about now?”

Azriel’s movements still.

Without warning, he turns, his wings flaring slightly, blocking your view of the table as he cages you in with his body.

His duties are long forgotten as he pushes you back onto his bed and devours you for the night. The way you say his name makes him shiver. Tonight, though, it also makes him sad. He’s mourning, he realizes. He’s preparing himself for a loss. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Az traces the beginning of the end back to a stormy Thursday night. 

It’s two in the morning when he comes back home. To your apartment. Not his. He stops in the doorway. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, jacket still on, staring at the floor.

You don’t look up. “Were you going to tell me?”

Azriel hesitates. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“It was a suicide mission.”

“I knew I’d make it out.”

“But what if one day you can’t?”

Silence.

You let out a quiet laugh. “How can you be so sure of yourself and still hate yourself like this?”

He flinches. He doesn’t think that’s a fair thing to say. “You’re angry.”

“I’m tired.”

“Then come to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“I’m not that kind of tired.”

Azriel kneels. Reaches for your hand. You pull away.

“You keep doing this,” you say. “Throwing yourself into these dangerous missions, acting like it’s no big deal.”

“It’s what I’m meant to do.”

“No. It’s what you’ve convinced yourself you’re only good for.”

He doesn’t speak. Just looks at you like he’s hearing it for the first time.

“Love’s not enough if you don’t want to stay alive for it. What's the point of staying for a ghost?”

Azriel apologizes. You send him on his way and, for the first time in months, he lays awake in his own bed. Alone.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

There’s a lull. You try. You both do. He brings you dinner. You sit on his lap and kiss his cheek and he murmurs that he loves you before making love to you like you’re something holy, something divine, and he’s desperate for salvation.

But he’s always leaving. And you’re always waiting. Azriel knows it can’t last. Waiting is not in your nature. Not really. You’ve been inching toward the door for weeks. He’s been pretending not to notice. Pretending not to feel it.

Until one day, you sit across from each other, knees barely touching. And neither of you has the energy to lie about it anymore.

You say, “This isn’t working.”

He nods. There are tears in your eyes and he’s not sure if he’s allowed to wipe them when they fall. 

Azriel says, “But I love you.”

“I know,” you say. “I love you too.”

And somehow, that makes it worse.

Because love wasn’t enough. Because it was love. So much love. And still—

He thought heartbreak would be louder. More cinematic. Shouting or slamming doors. But it’s this: A quiet room. Your knees touching. And the terrible understanding that you both meant it—all of it.

Azriel doesn’t cry.

He just sits there, blinking. Wondering why his chest feels cracked open and hollow and free, all at once. How grief and relief can sit beside each other like old friends.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It’s Saturday evening when Azriel sees you again.

It’s been weeks since that night.

He’s walking beside his family—shoulder to shoulder with Cassian, wings stretched and taking up space as they pass through the River District. The sky is a perfect, boundless blue. His shadows drift lazily in the sunlight.

He’s already smiling. It's a family dinner night. They’re having his favorite —Nyx’s favorite now, too. The boy has begged to help make it, and Azriel is going to let him, even if half the sauce will end up on the floor. Az is excited for his hands to smell like basil and roasted garlic for the rest of the night.

Then his shadows stir—not with warning, but recognition.

Azriel glances across the street.

You’re standing there, sleeves rolled up, half-hidden behind stacked moving boxes. There’s a smudge of something on your cheek. You laugh at something someone says, head thrown back in that way he used to love. Still does, maybe. A little.

Your eyes lift and meet his. A quiet ache settles in Azriel’s chest. Not the sharp kind it used to be. Not grief that grips the ribs or hollows him out. Just something soft. Lingering.

For one suspended second, he sees you as you are — happy. Free. You smile at him, and he breathes through it. He smiles back.

Cassian calls his name. Azriel turns, says something back, distracted. And when he glances over again, you’re gone. Just like the first time.

He never sees you again.

Eventually, he stops searching for your face in crowded streets.

But sometimes—when the air is quiet and the night feels like a memory—he lets himself think of you. Wonders where you are. If you found a place to settle. If you're happy.

He hopes you are. And he hopes he never hears about it. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

authors note: it feels diff when i write in present v past tense. like past tense is my usual writings, fun little stories with fun lil plots. present tense always makes me sad and nostalgic, strangely enough

i'm a bit scatter-brained rn bc of some family issues, but yall best believe ill post all my random wips soon!!

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[infinitie]

“You're mocking me now. Jerk.” There's no venom in his own tone – he expects these kinds of jabs from Suguru, and knows that he doesn't mean them to hurt him; and if there's anything that he hurts, it’d be his pride. He can take blows to it for Suguru’s sake, anyway. 

It’s amazing how Suguru has come to find a way to assuage Satoru’s worries without words. When his thumb brushes over his knuckles, Satoru squeezes his hand in turn - tight enough to reassure him, lightly enough to call the gesture tender. He can’t expect him to be the same as him, always blurting out the first thing that comes to mind - always needing to put things to words to make them tangible. It’s these subtleties that make Suguru so beautiful at times, and when Satoru sits back and shuts his mouth to notice it, he finds that he appreciates them. It may be in his nature to be so outspoken, but it’s not in Suguru’s. Maybe he’ll learn to see it that way more. Even though they’re practically soulbonded, maybe there are still things that he could learn about and from Suguru. 

As Satoru’s back touches the futon, he curls up a little against Suguru. He lifts his leg and brings it to tangle with Suguru’s until they’re thigh to thigh. Satoru considers himself cozy like this, and the only thing he’s missing now is his Agumon plush, but Suguru is just as comfortable to cuddle with – maybe more. He doesn’t think twice about this gesture. They’re just two guys – two halves of one soul, really, basking in coziness. 

Satoru pauses as he considers his technique. “Nope. I mean, I can, but… if the area is too abstract in my memory, I’ll probably run into a building. Or a tree. Or a cave. Whichever I’m more unlucky to have.” He chuckles as a memory occurs to him - a fairly recent one. “I tried going to some other country for a day – you know, as one does,  and I got scared and ended up in the middle of water. Thankfully, it wasn’t too far off from the shore, but… it’s not completely perfected. That just means I have a ton more memorizing and traveling to do. You’ve gotta come with me for it,” 

His expression falters again, but just for one moment until he’s smiling again. “Yeah…” Satoru mutters. “But you know what? I’ll stretch it out for us the best I can. Hell, I’ll probably request some time off to carve out more time for you. I just… want to be with you more. It’s like I never get to see you anymore. I miss you a lot. So…” 

“Hell yeah I’m staying. You think I was just gonna strip down to my boxers for the hell of it?” He grins. “I’m your problem, and you don’t get a say in it… I mean. Unless you want me to leave. I’ll be oh so sad… and I’ll cry… and weep…” He fakes a sniffle, burying his cheek further against Suguru’s shoulder.

@lustraveil

"Absolutely it would be you." there's a familiarity of his deadpan, dry humor coming back to him. It's easy to in his company. "Your voice could move the heavens themselves." he plays along, "that's what you expected to hear, right?" knowing his best friend well enough to know that sort of thing was what he was used to hearing from people around him. Knowing he's unfazed by that sort of thing, unless it comes with a small subdued joke.

Something about being in Satoru's presence makes it easier to feel lighter. Even if only for a few moments at a time. The hand in his squeezes, and though nothing's actually said verbally out loud, Suguru feels it. Intuitively knows his best friend. The unspoken words in between. He hears him. The part that wants to know and understand. He knows. Of course he knows. They've always known how to read between the silence. Suguru doesn't look over, but his thumb still drifts over Satoru's knuckles, almost apologetic in his motion.

Once he feels his cheek press to his shoulder, Suguru doesn't seem to flinch. Doesn't lean in either, but he allows his weight to rest there naturally. A quiet acceptance of the closeness that's always been present between them. And once again, he listens, softening at the easy tone of Satoru's effortless ability to fill the silence. Keep doing that. With that, he adjusts the throw pillows behind them subtly. Not because he actually needs them, but because Satoru might. So, he nudges them both backward, guiding them gently to settle onto the makeshift futon.

"You still can't teleport that far?" his tone quiet, and curious, but actually intrigued. "What happens when you try?" Genuine interest as always in these things, he doesn't say he wishes he was there too. He doesn't need to. There's subtleties in small gestures, like in the way his fingers haven't let go of Satoru's. In the way he's still listening to him.

Finally, he turns his head slowly to glance at him. There's a number of expressions that are all left unsaid on his face. Gratitude. A touch of guilt. Appreciation that Satoru keeps trying so hard, and he recognizes it. He exhales, knowing he has to effort something in return. "This is probably one of the only weekends we'll have off in a while," he points out, his tone casual, but the subtext is evident. I know what you're doing. Subtle appreciation. With that, he lets go of his hand long enough to roll onto his back, folding one arm behind his head, elbow bent to prop it up slightly.

"If I've got the time?" he repeats, "Like it's not already a given." arching a brow as he slowly reaches for the remote, clicking off the TV, the room now falling into a gentle quiet. "So..." he tilts his head a little closer, eyes catching his in the dim light, "You're staying?" It's not really a question. He already knows the answer, and still.. he wanted to hear it from him anyway.

// @infinitie

[elisedonut]

Thinking about perclin soulmate au during the war again

But specifically you know those photo series that are like a window just over and over as the world around the window changes like Colin with a whole album of just the sight of the outside world from a specific window in Percy's flat

sometimes there's an actual subject sometimes it's just scenery

he just takes at least one everyday there

[featthekiller]

An Angel and a Bastard

Slightly nsfw scene snippet under the cut

“What's your poison, Joey? Your preference.” Phoenix leaned forward, his hands digging into the mattress beside his shoulders.

There was a hint of menace in Phoenix’ tone as he nosed Joey's chin up and pressed kisses to his pulse. His lips resting there as his heavy breath rushed over Joey's skin.

“How do you mean?” Joey tried to clarify as Phoenix rolled his hips.

“With your lovers, how do you like them?”

Joey felt like he'd missed some part of the question, he was asking like he was supposed to place an order. He was confused and his field wavered uncertainly against Phoenix'.

“I like you?” Joey hazarded and Phoenix huffed a laugh against his throat.

“Obviously,” Phoenix kissed him softly, “I mean on a scale of one to ten, one being the most standard sex ever and ten being I kill you during orgasm. How rough am I allowed to be?”

[pickaropoprocks]

No idea what route they're gonna go for Kana5 but I do think that it would be absolutely hilarious if it was the most fluff a prsk key story has ever been, especially after all EN has been theorizing is that it's going to be absolutely devastating and have irreversible effects on Kanade's psyche

[geekyanglophile]

God dammit… I’m gonna have to start reading Good Omens fanfiction again

[w-40-k]

I was debating giving Angelo a tiny braid.

(Pherhaps his parents or that kid that became his friend for the summer made it. One of the few things he has to remember his family and, dare I say even home planet, by. Really it's part of why he's drawn to stargazing. He loves his brother's, but the chance he actually get's to go home is near zero, and sometimes the longing for his first family strikes him)

As a neophyte, he used to fidget with that thing when he got nervous. Grew out of that habit at some point, but he does touch it when he needs to think.

He looses that thing either when:

- he dies for the first time (big 'fuck this guy in particular' in addition to Dad dying and also a couple months later finding out you got spit out about two centuries to late)

- he's lost his helmet, is delirious and about half feral (imagine a bio-titan but in miniature, he get's caught in that things gas cloud, his healing factor just bearly enough to repair the damage he takes), trying his utmost to get the geneseed of his fallen brother's home (*can't* fail. *won't* fail) and at one point he get's swallowed by an oversized tyranid (perpetual tyranids. Now that's terrifying)

Point being, in both scenarios he misses when he looses his braid and he's only going to notice once he is far enough removed from the situation that he won't even be able to recover the lost braid.

(Like the first scenario takes place on a ship in a room, potentially the braid get's shot off by a stray bullet, either way that thing get's cleaned up with everything else after he gets put down like a rabid dog.)

(The second is possibly, lost in an active warzone burried under several Mt's of debris to be added to the tyranid biomass, dissolved by corrosive gas, dissolved in tyranid stomach acid or spit, or just plain burned or cut of)

Angelo's usually pretty cheerful. Keep your chin up, take joy in the little things wherever you can; quick to rouse to laughter; remember those who died, because their memory deserves to be remembered, even if it's just by one person.

My gut reaction says he would be angry. A single moment where he would be furious.

But probably more likely he'd just be stunned speechless, absolutely devastated for sure and just plain sad. Anger might come later for now he mourns this piece of what he lost.

He wouldn't withdraw physically but he becomes quiet and melancholic.

Does a lot of star gazing, the stars in the rough direction of his homeplanet can hold his attention for hours at the time (would be a shame if that place got exterminatus'ed, they do have that warp portal).

Puts on a smile whilst performing his duties, but an outside observer can see that his heart is not in it, despite his efforts.

He was already a good listener, but during this time especially he enjoyes to just sit in a crowded space and listen. (Bit like a drooping flower.)

(When deep in thought, he still reaches for the empty space where the braid would be, catches himself most times, but briefly presses his lips into a tight line every time it happens)

give your whumpee a comfort item.

give them a doll, a stuffed bear, a photo, a book — anything at all. regardless of what it is, give them something that means the world to them. even if it seems small or insignificant to others.

perhaps it’s the only comfort whumper allowed them, or a gift from a deceased loved one. whatever way whumpee ended up with this possession, have them become so completely and utterly attached to it that they can’t be parted from it. make that simple object be the only thing they’ve been able to cling to through years of torment. have it act as a reminder of safety, of being loved, of anything whumpee holds dear.

then tear the item from their arms and destroy it.

[nana-au]

More bff!mark content please I BEG YOU

(Bonus points if it’s smut)

absolutely anon! MDNI

𝐁𝐅𝐅! 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 | your first time together gets ruined by sex pollen

note: this is rlly shitty mb i just wanted to write some dirty freaky nasty smut

warnings: corny sex pollen trope, afab/fem! reader, unprotected sex, slightly rough sex, tummy bulging, marathon sex, cum eating, sloppy gross makeout im sorry

bff! mark who always pictured your first time together as this slow and sensual moment where he confessed his deepest desires. he imagined himself taking his time - kissing up and down your body until you're putty in his hands... until you are so pliant and needy and breathless. he always knew he wanted to massage the fat of your thighs, the same ones he practically drools over whenever he has the pleasure of getting to see you in shorts. he knew he wanted to play with your tits; he was desperate to find out how sensitive they were. always wondering if he could make you come just from sucking on them. all and all, mark knew for his first time he wanted it to be special. unfortunately, the universe had other plans.

bff! mark who goes on some random mission cecil sends him on one hot summer day. he expects to be there and back by the days end, and he was. the alien creature that was disturbing some beach goers was shockingly easy to defeat. the only thing he wasn't expecting was the sweet gas it let out upon its death that left mark woozy. his flight home was a blur - he couldn't remember the plane he narrowly missed or the flock of birds he frightened. all he could think about was getting home. not to his - but yours.

bff! mark who stumbles through your bedroom window - not before flying right into it first. you were surprised it didn't shatter from the impact. you jump upon hearing the loud thunk of his body hitting the glass before running to your window to see mark in a daze on the ground below. your friend rips his mask off in an attempt to orientate himself and you call out to him. he shakes himself awake, floating back up and gliding into the now open window.

bff! mark who is not acting right. he's sweaty and jittery and completely out of it. he can barely form a sentence let alone a thought - unless it has to do with nestling his cock deep in your pussy. it takes you an embarrassing amount of time to realize what is happening. at first you think he must've lost too much blood - all though he looks pristine all things considered. your hands search over the fabric of his suit, trying to feel for what your eyes are obviously missing as mark all but hangs onto you. your palm skims over the ridges of his abs while your other arm shakes from supporting his weight on yours. he digs his face deep into your neck upon the invasion of your hand on his abdomen - his body practically vibrating under your attention as he lets out a soft moan. "mark, talk to me. what happened?" you ask, desperate to discover what has your best friend acting like this. the only response you get is his raspy breath in your ear. your skin tingles from his heat on you and you struggle to keep the both of you up right.

you guide the two of you to your bed, setting mark down on the plush fabric of your comforter causing him to slump over. he groans from the loss of contact - his eyes squeezing shut while his mouth pleads for you. "i need you, please," he begs. his arms feeling heavy as he reaches out for you and his whole body shakes, like he was suddenly in pain.

"mark what happened?" you ask, grabbing his hand that was lamely searching for your body. he wastes no time dragging you down beside him - suddenly having no issue finding his strength.

"please," he sobs, pulling you flush against him. "it hurts when i can't feel you," he admits which only leaves you more confused.

"i don't understand, mark," you tell him. his eyes shoot open and it's then you notice how large his pupils are. "jesus mark..." you gasp at the sight, his eyes almost completely taken over by the blacks of his pupils. "we need to call cecil," you tell him and he groans.

"don't need cecil... i need you," his bottom lip quivers and his hands abandon you as he searches for a way to get his suit off. you watch your friend struggle with the suit he wears every day - desperately grabbing at the fabric before ultimately deciding to rip it off. you hear the tear loud in your ears as he rips it down the center, exposing his glistening skin and a whole lot more underneath.

"mark, oh my god," you cough out, not before looking away upon the realization he is completely naked underneath. you can tell he is struggling ridding his limbs of the tight fabric from the way the bed shifts under his weight.

"i think we really need to call cecil," you tell him shyly, refusing to look over at him. you hear him groan again - much more childish then before. he's getting frustrated - and desperate. his hand reaches for yours and you jump at the contact.

"c'mere" he practically whispers, pulling you by your hand back into him. you close your eyes when your head makes contact with his chest - terrified of seeing your friend's naked body in such a vulnerable state. you can tell he successfully freed himself from his suit by the soft skin of his legs rubbing against your own - clad in only your sleep shorts. you lay tense beside him, unwilling to move which just wont do.

bff! mark who pulls your body onto his. he picks you up like you weigh nothing just to plop the fat of your ass against his dick. you're rigid against him, realizing you can feel his dick throbbing against the curve of your rear. "fuuuuuuuck," he lets out, his own body relaxing after finally getting an inch of the attention he's been needing.

"mark," you can barely get out, swallowing roughly while you feel your best friend rock steadily against you. his precum wicks against the fabric of your shorts and you feel the cold, wet fluid on your right cheek. "mark... what are you doing," you ask him - unsure if he even knows. he doesn't respond, just grunts while bucking pathetically against you and you feel terrible for taking note of just how big he is - but how could you not? it had sprung out of his suit painfully red and stiff and here he is rubbing it on you. you begin to grow dizzy from the realization of what was actually happening to you: mark, your best friend, the guy you grew up with and had a painfully pathetic crush on is hot and bothered underneath you, of all people. while you're deep in thought, he shifts, grabbing the base of his dick and shoving it into the right leg hole of your shorts before continuing to rock - savoring the feeling of his cock sandwiched between your shorts and underwear. you're speechless - utterly confused yet entirely turned on. you feel guilty - sure that mark has absolutely no clue who you even are at this point.. that is until he grunts out your name which causes your eyes to open. you look down at him, his usual doe brown eyes are black and his mouth is slack from looking up at you in awe. his hips start to pick up pace upon seeing your eyes on him - his body burning for more.

bff! mark who can't wait anymore. he needs to be inside you. "in.. in.. in.." he's chanting, moving your body as he pleases without so much as a struggle. he flips you around until you're beneath him, his toned body resting just above yours. you can practically feel his heat wafting off of him - threatening to cook you alive. his eyes are still glued to yours - like they're the only things he wants to look at. they're intense which causes you to look away, now focusing on his wide shoulders encompassing you. you feel oddly safe underneath his strong body before an overwhelming wave of arousal ripples down you. he shivers above you - his whole body shuddering like he felt the exact same sensation as you just now. he reaches down - ripping your shorts and panties in one go - freeing them from your body and giving him access to where he wants the most. his hand reaches down to check if you're ready for him and you both gasp at what he finds. his warm fingers explore your cunt - running his calloused pads against the velvety skin that is slick with your desire for him. it's almost like his brain has a moment of clarity - like he knows its his first time seeing your cunt and he should take the time to savor this moment - to feel your walls snug against his digits but that goes as quickly as it comes and he's back to his mission of getting his dick as deep inside you as possible.

bff! mark who all but forces his way in. he's on autopilot - plunging his tip past your entrance and sinking himself in. he can feel your pussy resisting his girth and a whine catches in his throat. "mark.." you cry out softly, "go slow... please," he hears you and normal mark would rather die than hurt you. normal mark would have taken hours to prep you for him to ensure when he finally sunk into your warmth that you would be ready for him. but this wasn't normal mark - this was mark high on something and the only cure for it was his tip kissing your cervix. he continues pushing himself deeper and deeper and your body has no choice but to accept him completely. you're uncomfortably full when he reaches the hilt and he breathes out a sigh of relief. you sniffle below him and instead of pulling out and apologizing until his vocal chords fry he only reaches down to kiss the tear streaming down your cheek.

"d'you feel me?" he can't help but ask... god do you feel him? he can see himself poking through your tummy! "s'sooooo good," he murmurs, dragging his dick out of your gummy walls, only to shove himself back in. he's hypnotized, watching how when he inches out the bulge disappears - only to reappear when his cock slides right back in.

"mark -god," you cry, feeling his veiny cock drag against your walls, each drag sweeter than the last as your body gets used to his intrusion. your winces turn into whines that mark catches in his mouth. his lips are soft against yours and they feel like the missing piece to your puzzle. you move your lips against his and he sinks down lower, resting on his elbows. your bodies rub against each other as mark fucks you. you can feel every bump of his perfect abs and smooth pecs beneath the fabric of your tank top. the same tank top that has ridden up your body from each snap of hips that fuck you into your sheets. you reach behind mark, running your palms down his muscled back - enjoying the feeling of the individual muscles moving as he guides himself in and out of your sweet cunt.

bff! mark who you realize can last for hours. he's been fucking you for what seems like an entire day - failing to run out of steam - or even cum. he's fucked you in every position imaginable. you've been on your back, on your stomach, your knees, your side, on him....

you two only have the sounds of your pussy - stuffed full of his cum - to listen to. the squishy sounds bounce off the walls of your bedroom and into your ears. the sweet snap of his hips punish your g-spot repeatedly - his full weight on top of you, his cock slipping inside of you from behind. by this point you are more out of it than mark, who by his fourth orgasm is finally starting coming back down to earth.

"i always knew you would feel this good," he huffed out, breath hot in your ear while his tongue reaches out to lick the ridges of your earlobe. you can't speak at this point, the only thing on your mind is the rhythmic plap plap plap of his hips against yours. both of you are covered in each other's arousal - spreading it all over every time your skin meets. his v-line is drenched in your sticky arousal and he doesn't think his body could look any better than this.

"you still with me?" he asks you, calling you by your childhood nickname. he chuckles to himself when you don't respond to him, still just focused on his fat tip reaching places you didn't know existed. he's been in his right state of mind about two orgasms from you ago, but instead of that causing him to stop - he realized he only gets one time to give you a good first impression. and he was definitely going to give you a good one if he could help it.

bff! mark who doesn't hesitate to eat his cum out of you once everything is said and done. what can he say? nothing in this world could taste better than the flavor of you both connecting in the most intimate way possible. his tongue drags and slurps against you while you twitch and cry. of course he's eating you out from behind, ensuring his nose teases your entrance while his tongue flicks on your little clit. you're laying flat on your stomach, face buried in one of your pillows from the overwhelming feeling.

when he finally comes up he's drenched - lower face coated in your mixture and he pulls your head up to give you a sloppy kiss. ensuring you, too, get the essence of the both of you on your face.

[luveline]

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞

you get a good dose, confess your affections, and leave poor, oblivious hotch to fix things up neatly. 

cw painkiller high, light suggestive theme 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

“Hello.” 

You lift your gaze without blinking. Hotch is standing in the doorway, making his way in with a bouquet of flowers tucked under one arm and a white envelope against his chest. 

“Hello,” he says again, meeting your wide, still eyes with concern. “You okay?” 

“Flowers for me?” 

“You’re the one here in a hospital bed. They’re from me and Jack. He insisted.” 

You nod up and down robotically. Your heart is unhappy today. You’ve been fast and slow and now it’s running fast again, a tip-tip-tip on the heart monitor that makes Hotch frown. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “They told me you were on a lot of pain medication, you shouldn’t be hurting anymore. Is it not working?” 

“I feel a lot.” 

“And that’s unsettling,” he surmises.

“Can I have my flowers?” 

Hotch offers them to you immediately. “Why don’t you count to a hundred for me?” 

“They’re beautiful, but there’s not that many.” 

“Count to one hundred. I can start. Do you need me to start for you?” 

You dip your face into the flowers. “I love when you say stuff like that.” 

Hotch doesn’t answer you. You begin counting, hoping he’ll say a nice thing if you do as he asked. The numbers get mixed up after thirty five, there really aren’t enough flowers to count to a hundred, but when forty five and fifty four begin to feel like the same number spiritually, Hotch reaches for your forearm and gives it a squeeze. That means job well done. Nobody else in the team gets arm squeezes —they’re for you. Nobody else has noticed, but you have. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

You beam at him. The heart monitor beeps in slow loops. “You’re welcome. Did it help?” 

“I’d say so.” He takes off his suit jacket and puts it over the back of the chair, pulling the chair towards the bed with his foot, and getting comfortable beside you, a little lower down than you but tall regardless. “Are you feeling alright?” 

“I can’t believe you got me flowers.” 

“I got you flowers the last time you were injured.” 

“I know,” you say with a laugh. “I know, it was amazing.” 

“Here’s your card from Jack. I’ve opened it for you, I hope that’s okay.” 

“I cannot open anything. I tried to stab my pudding open with a spoon and broke it and can’t find the sharp part in my blankets. I’m worried it’s going to poke me.” 

Hotch stands from his chair. “That’s not good.” 

You take up Jack’s card, pinching the folded printer paper and pulling all of its homemade glory from the envelope. The front has a red heart drawn with bandages wrapped around it, and inside is a message written in impressive penmanship considering his age. To Y/N, it says, Please get well soon. We are hoping you to have a speedy recovery! Love you, Jack and Aaron 

“It says you love me,” you say. 

“Mm, Jack wrote the message. He misses you.” 

You catch the feeling of Hotch’s hand where it slips between your legs and almost burst, giggling excitedly, which makes his hand jump away from you like a fish out of water. “You have the spoon!” 

“Found it. No more danger.” 

“Thank you. I knew you could find it.” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

The pain medication Hotch spoke of is starting to make itself known. You hadn’t felt very different to begin with, the only worthy note your absence of pain, but right now you feel weird. Light. Happy, but strange, like the opposite feeling of missing a step. You know something’s wrong and you know it’s the medication, but you’re elated at the same time. Hotch is here. Maybe it’s just him. Maybe he’ll know. 

“Do you think I feel happy ‘cos of you or the morphine?” you ask. Softly, slurring, you swallow and try not to sound as drunk. “I feel amazing.” 

“It’s the morphine.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Well, it’s been a long time since I had some myself, but I remember feeling amazing at the time, and you’re on a lot more of it than I was.” Hotch sets himself back down in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Are you staying for long?” 

“Until they make me leave,” he says. 

You breathe out a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. Yesterday you were here for ten minutes and I felt like my heart was bruised.” 

He doesn’t speak for a moment. His eyes seem darker than usual. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I had to be home to take care of Jack.” 

“I know you had to, it’s not your fault, but I still missed you.” 

You prop Jack’s amazing card on the nightstand with a proud grin. You love Jack Hotchner, he’s the smartest, kindest, sweetest boy you’ve ever met, and it must be because of his parents. You’ve not met Haley many times, but Hotch is amazing. It makes sense that his kid would be just as awesome as he is. Turning your attention back to the flowers, you find the courage to ask, “Do you think you could bring Jack to see me?” 

“I think he might be a little young for hospitals, I’m sorry.” 

“Well, maybe I can see him when I’m out of the hospital? How can I say thank you for the card? Does he still like bears?” 

“He has enough bears,” Hotch says gently. “You don’t need to buy him anything, he just wants you to get better soon.” 

“You’re such a good dad.” Your lashes kiss with the force of your smile. “You’re lovely. Jack is really kind.” 

“Thank you.” 

“You’re handsome,” you continue, slinking down in the bed. You feel tired but not sleepy, craving a really big, hot sandwich. Hotch holds your gaze. “Can I ask you a question?” 

“What?” he asks quietly. 

“Can you please get me a big, hot sandwich? Maybe with hot chicken? Or spicy chicken in a burrito? I really need it to be hot.” 

Hotch laughs aloud and reaches for your forearm to squeeze you again. “Of course I can. I’ll call Derek and I’ll make him get you both of those things, if you like.” 

“Oh, good. I really really don’t want you to leave but I really want the sandwich more than I want you to stay.” You tip your head to one side. “If you hugged me again I’d say I want you to stay more than I want the sandwich, ‘cos you haven’t hugged me in a long time.” 

“Does that bother you?” he asks, the pad of his thumb working against your wrist. 

“No, I know I’m not supposed to want you to hug me.” 

“We’re friends,” he says, shaking his head, “good friends, aren’t we? It’s alright if you want a hug. I should be better at giving them.” 

When he was with Haley you wouldn’t have dreamed of wanting it, because your affection for him has always been more than a friend‘s. You’ve guarded the secret carefully over the years. What’s more unfair to a wife than to fancy her husband? But Haley left Hotch, and he’s been single for a while now, and you think that lately he’s actively dating. He’s always had pride in his appearance, but his suits are tailored again. His hair is left to grow beyond what’s easily maintained. He and Dave occasionally joke about him getting back out there —he doesn’t need to get out there, you’re right here. 

You can’t help frowning. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“I think I’m a bad friend.” 

“You aren’t a bad friend.” 

“I am, I have ulterior motives.” 

Hotch rolls his eyes. “Honey, everybody does. You’re fine. You’re a good friend. You know you’re the sole member of the team who’s remembered Jack’s birthday every year? Remembered mine?” 

“I don’t do that to be a good friend, I just love Jack.” 

His hand slips down to yours. He holds it briefly. “I know you do.” 

“It’s why I remember yours,” you say, shaking your head, annoyed he’s taken his hand back but ready to move on to better things. “Can you ask Derek for my sandwich now, please? Please, please, I’m so hungry I’m gonna die.” 

Hotch gives you a funny look. “How about I go and get you your sandwich? I’ll be very fast. I’ll go to Sam’s across the street, would you like that?” 

“Can I have maybe a donut too?” 

“Sure, honey. I’ll get you a half dozen.” 

“Really?” 

“Sure. Do you want any in particular?” 

Hotch goes off to get you a sandwich and you click the button for more morphine without really thinking. You’re asleep before he gets back.

—

You wake up shaking. 

Aaron straightens in his chair. He hadn’t meant to doze off, but it’s nearing the end of your visiting hours and he’s been here since three. Your sandwich is stone cold in the bag and he’s not sure how he’ll get it warmed up.

Your arms are trembling badly. 

“Are you alright?” he asks. 

“Sorry.” 

“What for?” 

“Hotch, where am I?” 

Aaron stands. “You’re in the hospital. You’ve had some morphine and it ended up sedating you. The shaking will calm down soon, but nothing’s wrong, okay?” 

You’re noticeably confused, and Aaron hates it enough to sew his fingers between yours. His are thicker by quite a bit, but he’s used to smaller hands. He’s careful with you. He can’t stop thinking about what you said earlier. 

The undercurrent of fear you’d been harbouring begins to ebb. You let Aaron hold your hand and settle back down into your sheets, turning your face toward him and shutting your eyes. You don’t seem sleepy. He’s not sure what’s wrong. 

When you say you love him, he understands. He loves you, too. He doesn’t think that he’s in love with you, but he could be. He’s had enough guilty daydreams about it, batted them away, moments doing the dishes or at the gym or when you’re standing together working a case, where he forgets to forbid himself the pleasure and imagines you in simple intimacies. He sees himself taking your hand. He pictures waking up to the smell of you on his pillows. When he’s especially pent up and you’ve haunted him with your bare face or a shy smile, he ends the day thinking of you. How he’d kiss your head with just a little of his weight atop you, or a lot. 

And then he feels so horribly wrong for doing it that he resigns himself to the distance between you forever. 

Aaron doesn’t know what you want from him, but he knows he could fall in love with you if given the chance. He has to determine how honest your morphine-confession was, and there’s no time like the present. 

“Are you feeling okay?” he asks softly. 

“Yeah,” you whisper back. 

“I brought you the donuts and a sandwich, but I’ll have to reheat it. I’m sorry.” 

“Did I ask for a sandwich?” you ask, startled.

“A hot one. You emphasised.” 

“Thank you, Aaron. I don’t think I’m hungry now, I’m kinda queasy.” 

“You had a little bit more morphine than you should’ve.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Sweetheart,” he says under his breath, “that’s not your fault.” 

You squeeze his hand weakly. Any want to draw the truth from you is quickly dwindling. All he wants now is to make sure you’re okay. 

He spills himself closer to you and, without untangling your hands, brings your thin blankets to your shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay. The queasiness won’t last long. In fact, eating might help, but we can wait.” 

“Don’t you have to go home?” 

“No, I can stay if you want me to.” 

“Please, I want you to.” 

“You’re still on the morphine,” he says, rubbing your hand, “I can ask them to lower your dosage if you don’t like it, but you have to remember that it’s keeping you unaware of your pain.” 

You hesitate. “I don’t want it to hurt.” 

“Then it won’t,” he promises. You had more than your fair share of pain. 

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you whisper. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“This is all I want. For you to look after me.” 

He takes a measured breath. “I would love to look after you.” 

You turn your head half an inch to see him. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah, I think so.” He’s trying to blend the half of him you know at work with the half of him responsible for his outer life, the part of him that flirts with beautiful women at bars, the part of him that loved being a husband. “I don’t know what you want, and now isn’t the time, but,” —he prepares to be brave— “if you want me to look after you, then I will.” 

“You promise?” 

“I promise.”

“Can you kiss me?” 

His heart skips a beat. “No, honey, I can’t, I’m sorry.” 

“Not even on the head?” 

His stomach aches, but it’s a good feeling. Like worrying you lost something and finding it in the first place you’ve looked. “On the head I can do.” 

You squeeze your eyes closed in wait of his kiss, a light, chaste brush of the lips to your temple. The morphine makes you laugh, a girly, giggly bubble of it as you burrow into the sheets, like he’s tickled you. He’s twice as endeared when you squint at him like you’re waiting. 

“Can I–”

“One more,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss your forehead again. “Any more than that and you’ll die of embarrassment when you’re not drugged out of your mind.” 

“I’m not out of my mind. I’m just hallucinating. Or having a great dream.” 

He’s inclined to agree, but he knows with confidence he hasn’t had any heavy medication today. He gives you a fond look and sits back down, obliging you when you scramble to put your hand in his again. It’s a weight he could get used to holding.

“I really like you,” you confess quietly. 

He quite likes you in return. “That’s great, honey. Do you want to talk about it later? Maybe you can have one of your donuts.” 

You don’t take his misdirection as rejection, you just pull his hand to your chest and smile. “No thank you. I can wait.” 

He can wait too. 

[avelera]

*whispers* Viktor never once says anything mean or belittling to Jayce after they become partners. Not one insulting "you" statement, not one disagreement where he doesn't remained focused on the point of contention. He never makes ad hominem attacks, he never insults Jayce's appearance or intelligence.

Literally the single meanest thing he says to Jayce that could be considered a "you" statement is "Your mind has become rigid." Basically, he's saying that Jayce has suffered so much recently that it's closed his mind to broader intellectual possibilities like, that is barely an insult, and clearly Viktor just means it as a statement of fact, if not a challenge for Jayce to joyously consider possibilities again. And by the way? That statement is when Viktor is in his full his villain arc. It's remarkable because it's the only time he's pointed out a perceived flaw in Jayce since the night when he questioned if Jayce signed his notes out of being egotistical.

From the moment Jayce told Viktor about how beautiful magic could be, arguably once Jayce became a person to Viktor rather than a subject of academic discipline or skepticism, Viktor has not once leveled a personal attack against him as a person. Not even during the fight on the bridge. Not even when he called Jayce's Councilor work a waste of our time. Not even when Jayce was considering making Hextech weapons, Viktor still remained focused on the substance of the argument, expressed incredulity, anger, even disgust that Jayce would consider making weapons, but he never said it was because Jayce was stupid or privileged or blind. He pointed out specifically that he knew Jayce felt trapped by the decision, he knew Jayce was being manipulated, and then, in a very pointed manner, Viktor reminded Jayce that there's always a choice, challenging Jayce to stand firm and do what was right.

Even when they parted ways in 2.02, Viktor didn't say there was anything wrong with Jayce. He just said their paths had diverged, again not saying anything was wrong with Jayce, or even his choices, but rather that they're two different people who had stayed together longer than their diverging goals normally would have allowed because of the affection they held for each other.

I don't know, I get why people write Viktor as catty or mean or dismissive of Jayce. There's definitely some quotes from the day they met, before they become partners, that lend to the idea that Viktor can be quite dry and sharp with others. And conflict is the stuff of good fiction so again, totally get putting some conflict between him and Jayce in fic.

But I also think there's a tendency in derivative works like fic to Flanderize the characters, or worse, put them into narrow archetype boxes that are vastly different from their more interesting and nuanced canon selves.

How many times have we seen a wiggly man/straight man or blue vs. red personality partnership duo? How often have we seen those partners not be able to fucking stand each other, who are bickering all the time, who are snide or backtalk, or are perpetually sarcastic?

It's so common that I get why people see it with Jayce and Viktor but that's why it's so damn fascinating to me that they aren't like that.

Jayce and Viktor don't suffer each other unwillingly at any point, even when they're having a goddamn flying superhero fight in the final episode they're talking about how they're happy to see each other and praying that the other will please step away from this destructive path! They don't want to hurt each other, even verbally!

During the years of their partnership, they're constantly delighted by the other's presence, they are instantly comfortable together and never have a bad word to say to or about each other. They actually don't bicker! When they have disagreements, they stay entirely focused on the point of the disagreement and they never dip into personal attacks of any kind.

Even the tone of the time Jayce yells at him on the bridge, arguably their most acrimonious moment in the whole first season, isn't an actual argument, no more than a parent yelling at their child for running into traffic is an argument. Jayce says awful things but it's clear his anger comes from fear for Viktor and for their precarious situation. And it's clear this is a deeply unusual moment for both of them, Viktor is taken aback at how unusual it is, Jayce once called out backs down immediately, arguably because it's so unnatural for them to fight at all that it takes the wind out of the sails of Jayce's anger instantly when he realizes he's crossed a line.

No one can drag a bad word about Viktor out of Jayce, and vice versa! When Singed implies that Viktor might lose loved ones over his choices, Viktor immediately (and correctly!) states that Jayce will understand.

They are rigorously protective of one another too. Arguably all the times Viktor excludes Jayce from his Hexcore experiments in S1 is to protect him from his reckless and likely illegal experiments (as well as not wanting Jayce to stop him and wanting to live, but it can be many things). Jayce constantly cites Viktor as his partner and constantly reiterates that Viktor is his priority in life, that saving Viktor comes first. Jayce overthrows the goddamn founder of the city in order to protect Viktor!

Jayce's love for Viktor is so extreme that literally in S2, the only person who can convince Jayce to hurt Viktor, after seeing the post-apocalyptic Hell of a future that is caused by him, is Viktor himself. Jayce doesn't even get mad at Viktor after he learns Viktor is the cause of what he saw! He is instead desperate to get back, to avert the damage caused by their joint work in Hextech, and saved Viktor from the fate worse than death that is Mage Viktor's total isolation in the aftermath. And every step of the way, even knowing what he knows it's clear he's in agony at the thought of having to raise a hand to Viktor at all.

Now of course I'm getting into just how insane their love for one another gets in S2, but I just feel so baffled sometimes reading fic where Viktor is constantly undercutting, insulting, or belittling Jayce every which way. He never once does that after the partnership begins. And it makes me so insane because we have so many partnerships in media that do devolve into sarcasm, cattiness, and backbiting but Jayce and Viktor aren't one of them and that's really really fucking interesting and worthy of exploration I think.

[xjulixred45x]

Imagine an adult Yuu who arrived at Twisted Wonderland PREGNANT.

This could be considered part of the Yuu! Parent variables (?). Perhaps the poor woman was returning from an early ultrasound (at 2 or 3 months old) when the black carriage hit her, scaring her to death upon her appearance in TWST. She must have thought she was about to be sacrificed to a cult.

I can definitely imagine the Squad characters being much more understanding/soft of this Yuu, especially Ace and Deuce. Ace wouldn't be so malicious at the beginning of the game (I'd like to believe that not even he would be capable of laughing in the face of a pregnant woman), and instead feels obvious guilt because Crowley has entrusted her with a mediocre job.

Deuce, my sweet boy, will set off all his alarm bells. He's the most outraged that the headmaster is forcing a pregnant woman to work ALONE, and if his dorm leader hadn't been so strict in the beginning, he definitely wouldn't let Yuu sleep in a dorm that's falling apart. Has Crowley gone crazy? Does he have no shred of decency?!

Grim probably thought at first that Yuu had eaten her baby, haha, and had to receive the wonderful "birds and the bees" lecture (much to Ace's amusement at Grim's horrified reactions). Let's just say Grim now insists on standing sentry in case Yuu decides to do anything too "dangerous for the baby" (humans are fragile even with magic; he has to take care of his minion!).

Jack, bless him, also tries to help make the ramshackle dorm safer alongside Epel, whether by removing the most rotten parts of the structure, helping clean, assisting with Yuu's errands, etc. Especially when she starts showing more of her bump.

GOD, IMAGINE THE DORM LEADERS!

Riddle was probably the only one who didn't realize Yuu was pregnant until the events of the Savanaclaw episode. And when he found out he almost seriously hurt a PREGNANT WOMAN? Trey and Cater practically had to keep him from banging his head against a wall for half an hour out of embarrassment and shame. He also drafted a LONG apology for Yuu, which was delivered with a giant strawberry cake (and one of those exaggerated bows I KNOW Riddle would do).

Thanks to his mom (for once in his life), Riddle is the most knowledgeable about useful pregnancy stuff! Whenever Yuu goes to Heartslabyul, she has access to calcium- and iron-rich meals (prepared by Trey), and teas that boost her immune system and combat morning sickness. Riddle is careful not to give her things like black tea or rosemary tea, knowing they could have negative effects (if it were up to Riddle, Yuu probably wouldn't walk unaided).

Leona is much more respectful to a female Yuu, we know that, but I don't think he has the energy to be rude, or be especially , well, Leona, to a PREGNANT woman. This ends up bringing out a side of Leona no one thought existed: an almost delicate side. Sure, he's still lazy and sarcastic, but he doesn't say no to Yuu when she asks for help with something, whether it's bringing something to her dorm or dealing with a difficult situation. he dosent even COMPLAIN. what did he do to the real Leona??

We all know Crowley doesn't give Yuu and Grim enough money to live comfortably, let alone considering they could soon have a new member on ramshakle. Yuu is now surprised to find extra money in the dorm after certain visits. Not that he'll admit it, but it makes everyone feel more at ease.

Again, I want to believe Azul wouldn't be capable of leaving a pregnant woman homeless, at the very least he offered her a place to stay in Octavinelle. It turns out the twins (especially Floyd) quickly took a liking to Yuu.

A cute scenario I came up with, when Yuu already has a prominent baby bump, is that she tries to joke with the Leechs that the nickname "shrimpy" doesn't suit her anymore, and that maybe they should change it to "whaley."

AND FLOYD IS LIKE, "Why are you saying that, Koebi-chan? :( Is someone calling you that? Come on, tell me :)"

I think the Octavinelle folks genuinely don't know how human pregnancy works, so they're surprisingly gentle and caring with Yuu (even when the baby is born, I can see Monster Lounge having a kids' menu for them).

Kalim, my god, Jamil is going to have to stop him from giving Yuu a completely equipped nursery for both her and the baby. Ironically, the one who's the most normal about pregnancy (the guy has 30 younger siblings, so he KNOWS about these things) and genuinely knows some home tricks that helped his mother when she was pregnant.

offers to organize a baby shower/gender reveal party! The bad thing is that it ends up being a whole festival with all of Scarabia participating. But hey, it's the thought that counts.

There's no way Yuu, who's already 6-7 months along, will wear the school uniform simply for comfort, so if you need help finding comfortable AND cute clothes, Vil will gladly help! Obviously, he's not as strict or harsh with Yuu due to the circumstances, but he still wants the best for her. Who knows, maybe they can pick out some clothes for the baby in advance.

Idia is afraid to get close to Yuu, not only because of social anxiety, but because of the thought that he might "ruin" the baby in some way. He needs a lot of support from Ortho and Yuu to even allow himself to have normal physical contact with Yuu, and just as he does, the baby kicks. Idia's heart is gone (everyone wants to feel the kicks now, especially Ace, Floyd, and Malleus).

They probably use some STYX or Ortho equipment for some of the baby checks, and he even gives an approximate due date, which feels bittersweet. Even if everyone does their best, Yuu still hoped to have his baby at home, but he doesn't complain when the boys do all this for them. It feels like Home.

Malleus is another who doesn't fully understand human pregnancy and is incredibly intrigued. It doesn't help that Lilia's answers to his questions are even more confusing, so he ends up going straight to the source of his intrigue, Yuu. Malleus is completely mesmerized the first time he hears the baby's heartbeat, completely fascinated by what human life is like compared to fairies/dragons.

That said, he proceeds to "scold" the baby when it kicks Yuu for "hurting its mother," not quite understanding the concept, but he has the spirit. Malleus is very scared of the idea of childbirth once he's educated on it (WHERE will the baby come out? HOW!?) and will probably try to improve his healing magic SOLELY because of that.

All I can say is that if the baby is born in Twisted Wonderland, they'll have a wide array of adoptive siblings, father figures, babysitters, and weird and eccentric uncles who will take very good care of them and its mother. So you can rest easy.

__________

(ESPAÑOL)

Imagínate una Yuu adulta que llego a Twisted Wonderland estando EMBARAZADA

Esto podría considerarse parte de las variables de Yuu! Parent(?)Talvez la pobre mujer estaba regresando de un ultrasonido de los primeros meses (2 o 3 meses) cuando el carruaje negro le paso por encima, dándole un susto de muerte cuando apareció en TWST. La pobre mujer debio pensar que estaba a punto de ser sacrificada a un culto.

Definitivamente puedo ver a los personajes del Squad mucho mas suaves con esta Yuu, especialmente Ace y Deuce. Ace no sería tan malicioso al principio del juego (digo, quiero creer que incluso el no seria capaz de reírse en la cara de una mujer embarazada) y más bien siente una obvia lastima de que Crowley le haya metido en un trabajo mediocre.

Deuce, mi dulce niño, le disparan todas las alarmas. Es el más obviamente indignado de que el director haga trabajar a una mujer embarazada SOLA, y definitivamente si su líder de dormitorio no fuera tan estricto al principio, no dejaría que Yuu durmiera en un dormitorio que se cae a pedazos ¿¡que acaso Crowley perdió la cabeza, no tiene el mínimo de decencia?!

Grim probablemente al principio pensó que Yuu se había comido a su bebe lol, y le tuvieron que dar la maravillosa charla de las “aves y las abejas” (para diversión de Ace por las reacciones horrorizadas de Grim). Solo digamos que ahora Grim insiste en actuar como centinela en caso de que Yuu se le ocurra hacer algo demasiado “peligroso para él bebe” (los humanos son frágiles aun si magia ¡tiene que cuidar a su secuaz!).

Jack, bendito sea, también trata de ayudar en hacer el dormitorio destartalado mas seguro junto a Epel, ya sea quitando las partes mas podridas de la estructura, ayudando a limpiar, ayudar con los mandados de Yuu, etc. Especialmente cuando empieza a mostrar mas la panza de embarazada.

DIOS, IMAGINENSE LOS LIDERES DE DORMITORIO.

Riddle probablemente fue el único que no llego a darse cuenta que Yuu estaba embarazada hasta los eventos del capítulo de Savanaclaw ¿y cuando se enteró que casi lastimo gravemente a una MUJER EMBARAZADA? Trey y Cater tuvieron que físicamente detenerlo de que se golpeara la cabeza contra la pared por media hora por la vergüenza, también redacto un documento LARGUISIMO de disculpa a Yuu, que fue entregado con una gran tarta de fresa (y una de esas reverencias exageradas que SE que Riddle haría).

¡Gracias a su madre (por una vez en la vida), Riddle es el que sabe más de cosas útiles para el embarazo! Cada vez que Yuu va Heartslabyul, tienen acceso a comidas nutritivas en calcio y hierro (hechas por Trey), Tés beneficiosos para el sistema inmune y para combatir las náuseas matutinas, aparte de que Riddle es cuidadoso de no dar cosas como Te negro o romero, sabiendo que podrían tener malos efectos (si fuera por Riddle, Yuu probablemente no caminaría sin ayuda).

Leona es bastante más respetuoso con una Yuu mujer, eso lo sabemos, pero no creo que tenga la energía para ser grosero o especialmente, bueno, Leona, con una mujer EMBARAZADA. Esto termina sacando un lado que nadie creía que existía de Leona, un lado casi delicado. Claro, sigue siendo perezoso y sarcástico, pero no le dice que no a Yuu cuando le pide ayuda en algo, ya sea llevar algo a su dormitorio o con una situación difícil.

Todos sabemos que Crowley no da ni de lejos el dinero suficiente para que Yuu y Grim vivan bien, mucho menos pensando que PODRIAN TENER UN NUEVO INTEGRANTE PRONTO, por lo que Yuu ahora se sorprende después de ciertas visitas, aparece algo de dinero extra en el dormitorio. No es como que lo vaya a admitir, pero todos están más tranquilos de esa forma.

De nuevo, quiero creer que Azul no sería capaz de dejar sin hogar a una mujer embarazada, aunque sea le ofrecería una estancia en Octaville, ya que, además, resulta que los gemelos (especialmente Floyd) se encariñaron con Yuu muy rápido.

Un escenario lindo que se me ocurrió, ya cuando Yuu tiene una panza de embarazada prominente, es que ella trata de bromear con los Leech de que el apodo “camarón” ya no le queda bien, y que a lo mejor tendrían que cambiarlo a “ballena”

Y FLOYD ESTA COMO “¿Por qué dices eso Koebi-chan?  ¿alguien te está diciendo asi? Vaaaamos, dímelo ”

Creo que genuinamente los de Octaville no saben muy bien cómo funciona el embarazo terrestre, por lo que son sorprendentemente gentiles y cuidadosos con Yuu (incluso cuando nace el bebe, puedo ver el Monstre Louge teniendo un menú infantil para ellos).

Kalim, dios mio, Jamil tendrá que detenerlo de regalarle a Yuu absolutamente toda una guardería completamente equipada tanto para ella como para el bebe. Irónicamente el que es el mas normal al respecto del embarazo (el man tiene 30 hermanos menores, el SABE de estas cosas) y genuinamente sabe algunos trucos caseros que le sirvieron a su madre cuando ella estaba embarazada.

¡ofrece organizar un baby shower/ fiesta de revelación de genero! Lo malo es que termina siendo todo un festival en el que participa todo Scarabia. Pero hey, la intención es lo que cuenta.

No hay forma en la que estando ya en los 6-7 meses Yuu use el uniforme de la escuela por simple cuestión de comodidad, por lo que si necesitan ayuda en encontrar ropa cómoda Y bonita ¡Vil le ayudara con gusto! Obviamente no es tan estricto ni duro con Yuu debido a las circunstancias, pero sigue queriendo lo mejor para ella. Quien sabe, talvez puedan elegir algo de ropa para él bebe de adelantado.

Idia tiene miedo de acercarse a Yuu, no solo por la ansiedad social, sino por la idea de que podría “arruinar” al bebe de alguna forma. Necesita mucho apoyo de Ortho y Yuu para siquiera permitirse tener contacto físico con Yuu de forma normal, y justo cuando lo hace, el bebe patea. A Iidia se le salió el alma del cuerpo (ahora todos quieren sentir las pataditas, sobretodo Ace, Floyd y Malleus).

Probablemente usan algo de equipo de STYX o Ortho para algunos controles del bebe, incluso el da una fecha aproximada de nacimiento, lo cual da una sensación agridulce. Aun si todos hacen su mejor esfuerzo, Yuu esperaba poder tener a su bebe en casa, pero no se queja cuando los chicos hacen todo esto por ellos.

Malleus es otro que no entiende el embarazo humano completamente y esta increíblemente intrigado, no ayuda que as respuestas de Lilia a sus preguntas son aún más confusas, por lo que termina lleno a la fuente de su intriga, Yuu. Malleus se queda completamente hipnotizado la primera vez que escucha los latidos del bebe, totalmente fascinado por cómo es la vida humana en comparación a las hadas/dragones.

Eso sí, procede a “reprender” al bebe cuando patea a Yuu por “lastimar a su madre”, no entendiendo bien el concepto, pero tiene el espíritu. A Malleus le asusta mucho la idea del parto una vez que se educa al respecto (¿Qué el bebe saldrá DE DONDE? ¡¿COMO!?) y probablemente trate de mejorar en magia curativa UNICAMENTE por eso.

Solo puedo decir que si el bebe nace en Twisted Wonderland, tendrá un vasto abanico de hermanos adoptivos, figuras paternas, niñeros, tíos raros y extravagantes que lo cuidaran muy bien a él y su madre. Así que pueden estar tranquilos.

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