#It merely gives them a greater weight

[bunnygirllover45]

— THE THRILL OF THE HUNT.

♱ TRIGGER WARNINGS: Johann literally hunts down the reader, Small outburst at the end, and a lot of bullshit talk about hunting because I like it, DEAD DOVE. No violence was used.

Synopsis: You escape from Johann, he has to track you down. WORD COUNT: 1.6k

Johann wasn't exactly the thrill-seeking kind. He always preferred a slow-paced life, not filled with many excitements or tragedies. He wasn’t an adventurous spirit or a fiery soul in search of greater meaning. In his head, the only thing he needed was you.

And maybe that’s why this exact moment made his blood boil with newfound rapture, he could swear for a moment his skin bumped at the feeling of his heart throbbing so quickly against his ribcage. The thrill of the hunt, like his father used to say, made mere men become beasts, some because it was vital for their survival, others because of the rush of power it gave them.

But he couldn’t quite understand it until now. For him, hunts weren’t that exciting. The game was always too easy to track down, the footsteps effortlessly concealed. The gun didn’t feel heavy enough. His breath didn’t quicken at the mere chance of letting his prey slip away; he’ll always find a way to reach them again, after all. Animals have their habits; they’re easy to decipher once you know their true nature.

This is the type of hunt he’s been craving for so long. Johann had to press a hand against his mouth to prevent a low chuckle from escaping. Oh, how right his father was. This was truly trilling to the core, the kind of thrill that made a foreign heat rise towards his head and seep into his very brain tissue.

Humans aren’t like animals, their behavior is a little more erratic, animals can be divided between highly intelligent beings and straight-up dumb ones, but humans? All of them had their quirks, you couldn’t easily guess how prepared someone could be under certain circumstances. “Isn’t that so fucking interesting?” 

Lowering himself to the ground Johann reached to touch the freshly shaped footstep that his precious prey left behind. If they’re leaving such a pretty trail behind they’re expecting me to find them, what a tease.

“You know what kind of animals roam these types of terrains?” His voice was loud enough to carry its sound through the extremely quiet, when the hunt begins, the forest goes quiet, no need to scream. “Bears, moose, sometimes even wolves. Had to detangle a lot of ‘em from traps before, not without properly securing they won’t be able to bite, ‘course.” 

His heavy boots made the rotten wood and debris scattered around the forest soil yield under their weight, no need to change onto more quiet shoes, his bunny wouldn’t be able to hear him coming, surely their heartbeat was the only thing resounding inside their ears. Reaching into his pocket he took out his watch, starting a countdown. “I’ll give you two minutes to gain distance, cover your tracks, you can try hiding if you want, but I wouldn’t recommend staying still, it makes you easier to spot.” 

“Once the two minutes are done I’ll begin searching, I'll make a bird calling each 45 seconds, and once three minutes pass by, I’ll stop making bird callings and hunt in earnest, ‘kay? Just want to make the game easier for you, it isn’t fun if I’m the one with the upper hand all the time even if this is my subject.” 

With a deep sigh, he crouched down again, his hands fidgeting inside his pocket until he found a cigarette, the last one actually. Grabbing his lighter he lit up the tip, taking a slow inhale before letting the smoke escape from his lips. 

His free hand reached to grab the gun he always had with him, it was an old friend of sorts, stuck by his side in all the worst situations, a lot of people meeting their death at the end of this same barrel. Maybe it should have your name, after all, people do name their guns sometimes.

The forest grew more eerily quiet, the sun setting down in the distance while Johann quietly awaited the starting gunshot of the race, he didn’t really need to put the time on his watch, he could already count the time down to the millisecond inside his head. “Forty-eight, forty-nine…” His gloved fingers tapped against his lips, hands tightly clad in leather gloves, perfect for the harsh Austrian winter. 

A part of him wished you didn’t even make the effort to run away, maybe finding you curled up against a rock or a tree just waiting for him to find you was more exciting than actually pursuing you, after all, that meant you truly gave up on the idea of leaving him behind—still, another part of his brain screamed for you to run, so he could find you and make sure you won’t try pulling up bullshit like this again.

Slowly he stood up, the watch making a low beeping sound before he began to walk, settling the gun back onto the strap around his thigh. Holding the cigarette in between his lips he began to prepare the clothes you were going to use once he caught you, after all, little you decided to escape both barefoot and barely dressed, the worst thing in this forest beside him was the cold. Holding the spare jacket he always brought with him inside his bag and a blanket he continued to walk nonchalantly, not even sparing a single stare in any direction that wasn’t just dead front and center. 

Johann's stare drifted onto the floor, a little disappointed that you didn’t take his recommendation into account, there, clear as day, were your pretty little marks for him to follow like a bloodhound. Johann even took the time to carefully make sure he didn’t accidentally step into any of them, not wanting to overshadow the loving tracks you left behind for him with his heavy boots.

He knew very well he was taking all of this too lightly, this was a high gamble where he could lose everything or gain all, but still the elated sense of happiness and bubbling excitement made him more self-confident, too sure you wouldn’t get away too far, and even if you did, he’d stay in the damn forest all the time necessary for you to realize you need to go back onto his loving arms.

Stopping dead in his tracks he turned around as he heard a small sound coming from behind a fallen stump, dead bark peeling off the tree’s corpse. There you are.

And there you were indeed, curled up in a ball, back pressing against the rough bark as you held your arms around your torso, bracing yourself from the harsh winter cold, from the shiver that ran down your shoulders towards your legs or the sight you so pathetically defenseless made him smile, a blush creeping up onto his features.

“You didn’t even run far enough to let me do any bird calls, are you that tired, baby?” He kneeled down in front of you, but as soon as you jolted up in surprise Johann’s hand shot to grab your wrist with unnerving quickness. His dark eyes bore into you, a small smile gracing his lips, but there was no emotion behind that expression of his. “That’s okay, next time I’ll give you some proper equipment, some shoes wouldn’t hurt.” 

His thumb caressed the skin of your wrist, while his other hand threw away the now almost half-smoked cigarette that Johann held in between his lips. Eventually he reached to grab your head in between them, rubbing your cheeks with such tenderness that it could be even soothing in a different situation. “There, you did good. Not good enough to grant you a reward, but you did have me a little scared back there.” His smile widened as he lied through his teeth. You frowned, tired, freezing cold and also breathless, but still with enough energy to try and pry his hand away from your wrist, it was useless, he was latched onto you like a handcuff. “Fuck yo—” Before you could even finish he reached to clasp his free hand onto your mouth, the sudden movement making you stumble backward, head pressing against the tree. “Fuckin’ language.” He whispered between his teeth, staring at you dead in the eyes. “You should be grateful I didn’t put a damn bullet in between those pretty eyes of yours. Runnin’ away from me like that? After all I did for you? I let you away from my sight for just a second and you go jolting away like a fucking rabbit.” 

Taking a deep breath he lowered his head, slowly pushing his hand away from your mouth, his face leaning closer to you, the only warm feeling gracing your warm body being his hot breath against your face. “Sorry ‘bout that.” He pushed your lower lip with his thumb, pressing a soft kiss onto your flesh as some sick and twisted kind of apology.

“I won’t be as lenient next time, ‘kay? You know I care about you a lot, meine Liebe, don’t want you getting hurt.” He forced a smile, leaning his forehead against yours, but again his voice was masked by the thumping sound of your heart against your ears. “Let’s get you back to the car, I’ll get you all warmed up and cozy.” 

You just let him grab you, his hands effortlessly grabbing you and carrying you bridal style as both of you made your way back toward the car, you stole a few glances at Johann’s face, finding a small smile and that darn blush in his cheeks that showed how much he enjoyed himself, maybe a twisted part of him was truly pleased by all of this, even if it just started as a rebellious act of trying to escape from your part.

“Hear that? It’s a White-tailed eagle. Birds of prey, always hunted them with my father as a child.” Suddenly the forest wasn’t so quiet anymore, the hunt has ended.

[aventurineswife]

Can I make a request for Veritas and Kaveh and how they react to the reader taking care of them after a long day of work, even when they insist they're fine? (Established relationship).

Tides of Solace

Tags: Ratio x Reader, Kaveh x Reader, Established Relationship, Fluff, Comfort, Caring/Supportive Reader, Gentle Touch, Vulnerability, Emotional Healing, Slow Burn, Introspection.

Warnings: Mild exhaustion (physical and emotional), Light mentions of overworking/stress, Mild pride issues.

It had been a long day. Ratio had spent hours in the Intelligentsia Guild's archives, poring over documents, theorizing new methods to combat ignorance, and lecturing on the importance of knowledge. As usual, he pushed himself to the limits of his intellect, all while dismissing any signs of exhaustion that might have crept up on him. He was a man of intellect, after all, and to rest would be to acknowledge weakness.

Yet, as he entered the modest quarters he shared with you, a shift in the air told him something was different tonight. The warm glow of the lamps softened the edges of his usual sharp demeanor, and a quiet peace seemed to settle in the room. He hadn't noticed you sitting at the small table, an empty cup of tea still warm beside you.

Ratio sighed softly, running a hand through his hair, the weight of the day lingering on his shoulders despite his attempts to mask it. "I'm fine," he said, though the slight tremor in his voice betrayed his words. "A mere nuisance. Nothing to worry about."

You rose from your seat, walking over to him with a soft smile. Without a word, you reached up and began to remove his arm braces, carefully placing them aside as he silently watched you. His usual air of self-assurance melted as your hands moved with such precision, as though you knew his body better than he did himself.

"Veritas," you said gently, "You don't always have to carry the world on your shoulders."

"I do," he replied without hesitation, though there was a quiet softness in his eyes as he met your gaze. "Who else will? The ignorance of the universe is vast, and it's my burden to bear."

You smiled, knowing how much his sense of responsibility weighed on him. But tonight, you wouldn't let him carry it alone. You led him to the couch, settling beside him as you wrapped a warm blanket around his shoulders. You didn’t speak for a while, letting the silence speak volumes. Slowly, his shoulders relaxed, and the tension he'd been holding onto all day began to ease.

"I’m not asking you to bear it alone," you whispered. "I’m here for you, always."

Ratio’s eyes softened, his gaze meeting yours for a moment longer before he closed his eyes. For the first time all day, he allowed himself to truly rest, his mind quieting beneath the comfort of your presence. He could feel his intellect slipping into peaceful surrender, and for once, he allowed it.

“Thank you,” he murmured, so quietly you almost didn’t hear him.

Kaveh had spent the entire day overseeing the restoration of one of Sumeru's ancient landmarks. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and his body felt the toll of the hours he'd spent bent over blueprints and giving impassioned speeches to his workers. Yet, in his heart, he was content—he had done his part to contribute to something greater than himself.

When he entered his shared living space with Alhaitham and you, however, the fatigue hit him all at once. His usual jovial smile seemed a little more strained, his usual wit absent as he made his way toward the small table where you sat, already preparing a warm cup of tea.

"I'm fine," he said, brushing a lock of hair from his face as he collapsed into the chair opposite you, though his tone was less certain than usual. "Really, it's just... a long day. I can handle it."

You didn't respond with words; instead, you set the tea aside and stood, moving toward him. Your gentle touch on his shoulders made him sigh deeply, his back slumping under your hands. He knew better than to resist—after all, he'd seen how you took care of him in small, thoughtful ways, but his pride often kept him from asking for help.

He chuckled softly, though there was no humor in it. "I suppose it’s a bit embarrassing, isn’t it? Letting someone take care of me. I’m supposed to be the one helping others."

"You don't always have to be the one giving," you said, guiding him to the couch. "Let me help you for once."

As you began to loosen the straps on his sash, Kaveh allowed himself to let go of his usual walls. He leaned back, eyes closing for a moment as you worked. His heart, too, seemed to soften in the quiet of your touch.

"You always know just how to make me feel better," Kaveh admitted, his voice tinged with both vulnerability and gratitude. "I don’t deserve it, but I’m glad you’re here."

You could feel his tense muscles begin to relax as your hands worked over them, loosening the knots of stress he'd carried all day. His breath deepened, and for a moment, the worries of the world melted away. You settled beside him, offering him the tea you'd prepared earlier, and he took it with a faint smile.

"Thank you," he said, his eyes meeting yours with genuine sincerity. "I’ve always thought of myself as strong, but I think I’m realizing that I’m stronger when I have you by my side."

Kaveh’s heart, ever so tender and full of passion, found peace in your care. The idealist within him might have once rejected this form of help, but tonight, he welcomed it—and, in doing so, he welcomed you deeper into his life.

[thewulf]

Frosted Steel || Cassian

Summary: Request -Can i request a Cassian x Reader?? Here's what I'm thinking-Reader is from winter court. She's gifted with unique ice-binding magic from her home and arrives in Velaris to help Rhysand finalize a critical peace treaty?... Read Rest Here

A/N: Well... this one got away from me hahaha but I had a blast writing it. Def in the zone writing these ACOTAR fics so please keep sending them my way!

Pairing: Cassian x Female Reader (Winter Court Reader)

Word Count: 9.8k + (WHOOPS)

TW: swords, reader gets cut, blood, general ACOTAR warnings

In the silent, shimmering halls of the Winter Court you stood before Kallias, your father and the formidable High Lord. His piercing blue eyes reflect both concern and determination as he addresses you. The throne room was usually a place of austere beauty but felt colder today. The frost patterns on the walls mirroring the tension in the air.

"Velaris is not just another city, and this is not merely a diplomatic visit my daughter," Kallias begins. His voice resonant and commanding. "Rhysand needs our support to finalize a peace treaty that could stabilize relations of the Winter Court for generations. I need someone who can represent our interests with both power and delicacy. Someone like you."

You shift slightly with your boots whispering against the icy floor. "But father, my magic is suited for creation not conflict. Surely there are others better suited to navigate the intricacies of a peace treaty?" You tried your best to convince him, but it was sure to fall of deaf ears. When he had a plan there was no talking him out of it.

Kallias rises. His height and presence filling the room with an almost tangible force. "No one else possesses your unique abilities or your perspective," he insists. "You understand the fragile nature of peace. This treaty needs more than just political acumen… it needs the trust and bond that only your magic can foster." You knew exactly what he was doing. He was trying to flatter you. You lowered your gaze knowing there was no talking him out of this. You felt the weight of his expectations pressing into you. It is an honor yes, but a daunting one, nonetheless. The responsibility feels as heavy as the ice that clings to the peaks of your homeland.

Seeing your hesitation Kallias softens before stepping down from the dais to place a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "I would not ask this of you if I did not believe in your ability to carry our hopes," he says. His tone infused with a rare warmth. "You have always risen to the challenges presented to you, greater though they may seem."

Drawing a deep breath you nod, accepting the mantle he's offering. "I will go to Velaris. I will help broker this peace." You spoke even though you truly did not want to go.

Kallias smiles with pride evident in his eyes. "Rhysand has arranged for an escort to meet you at the city gates. They will ensure your safety and aid in your acclimation to the Night Court's ways. Spend some time there. Get to know them. It will only aid in our recovery efforts after the war.” As you turn to leave your heart steadies itself. The path ahead is uncertain and is filled with potential alliances and hidden perils. But as the frost air fills your lungs you feel your resolve harden. You will meet this challenge as you have met all others with the cool grace and quiet strength of winter itself.

He didn’t give you long to get ready to leave. Within a day you were already finding yourself at the outskirts of Velaris, the once hidden city of the Night Court. As you step through the threshold into the city your senses are immediately overwhelmed by the vivid contrasts. Unlike the icy, silent elegance of your homeland, Velaris pulses with life. Its streets bustling with faeries of every conceivable form and hue. The air here carries the warmth of starlight even into the night. It was a stark contrast to the crisp, cold air of the Winter Court. Your unique ice-binding magic was a rare gift in your cold dominion, and it stirred within you responding to the latent energies of this foreign land.

Your arrival isn't just a mere visit as your father had informed you. It's a mission charged with the weight of potential peace or conflict. Directed by your father you are here to assist Rhysand, the famed High Lord of the Night Court and one you were incredibly intimidated by, in finalizing the critical peace treaty. The responsibility weighs heavily on your shoulders as the outcome could define the future relationships between your frigid realm and the temperate lands of the Night Court.

As you glide through the throngs of fae your eyes marvel at the architectural wonders of Velaris. The buildings around you display intricate designs that emit an ethereal glow, seeming both ancient and vibrantly alive. Despite the surrounding beauty you remain vigilant, your magic at the ready. Your heart beats a complex rhythm of excitement and caution as you near the meeting point. In Velaris, amidst allies and strangers, you must navigate the intricacies of court politics. Utilizing your magical talents for diplomacy and perhaps learn to defend yourself in more ways than one.

However, a different sensation stirs within you—a blend of nervousness and unease—as you anticipate your first encounter with Rhysand and Feyre. Both are Daemati, a kind of power that deeply unsettles you. This fear stems from a harrowing past encounter with a Daemati under Amarantha's command who had mercilessly killed twelve children of the Winter Court. One of these children was your Ivy. She was a young fae you were mentoring. Ivy, like yourself, possessed potent abilities but her promise was brutally cut short. She was a loss that still haunts you to this day.

Now as you approach the House of Wind with your escort a mix of fear and determination tingles through your nerves. You replay the pain of your past and the loss that continuously gnaws at your spirit. Yet, you steady yourself with the knowledge that your father has prepared you well to shield your thoughts. He had trained you relentlessly once he returned from under the mountain. At the time it frustrated you but now, in this moment, you are profoundly grateful for his persistence.

Rhysand and Feyre greet you at the grand entrance. Their presence was both awe-inspiring and intimidating. Rhysand's dark hair and piercing gaze are balanced by a surprisingly warm smile. While Feyre's poise and grace exude a calm strength. Though their reputations are fair and just leaders precede them you can't shake the lingering trepidation of their unique abilities.

"Welcome to Velaris," Rhysand says. His voice both smooth and inviting. "We are honored to assist the Winter Court in these crucial talks."

You manage a polite nod making sure to keep your mental shields tightly woven, an invisible armor against any potential intrusion. Rhysand’s eyes seem to glimmer with a hint of understanding, but he makes no move to address the unspoken tension.

Feyre then steps forward with a gentle smile. Her empathy palpable even without words. "We hope you find comfort here during your stay. If there's anything you need at all, please let us know."

As they lead you through the corridors of their home filled with the light of glowing crystals and the scent of night-blooming flowers you remind yourself of the mission at hand. You are here to negotiate peace. To secure a future for your court. Despite the warmth of their welcome, you remain vigilant, prepared to protect your thoughts and heart from the painful memories of the past and the daunting power of the present.

After showing you to your room, a beautiful space with a view of Velaris that twinkles like a starlit sky, Feyre gently suggests that you join them for dinner. As you follow her down to the dining area your nervousness manifests subtly. Your leg shakes rhythmically, a silent tick showing the unease churning inside you. The room is beautifully set with candles flickering softly. They cast a warm light over the array of dishes that smell of spices and something sweetly floral.

You take your seat making sure to deliberately avoid the gazes of Rhysand and Feyre who try to make the atmosphere as welcoming as possible. Your leg continues to shake under the table and despite their friendly demeanor you find yourself unable to meet their eyes. You choose instead to focus on the intricate patterns of the tablecloth. You felt terribly out of your element. Why had your father sent you here? You couldn’t even look them in the eyes, how were you going to negotiate peace with them?

Noticing your discomfort Rhysand addresses the elephant in the room with a gentle directness. "It must be quite unsettling being far from home and surrounded by strangers. Especially strangers who possess abilities that might seem... invasive. We both understand the significance of mental privacy and consent," he begins. His tone imbued with empathy. His acknowledgment of his and Feyre's Daemati powers catches your attention prompting you to glance up briefly.

"We're committed to using our powers to protect and heal, never to harm or coerce," Rhysand continues hoping to ease your worry. "It's a rule we hold sacred in Velaris. A promise to each other and to those we welcome into our home."

As Rhysand speaks there is a sincerity radiating with each word. You find the courage to lift your eyes and meet his gaze for the first time this evening. Something in his expression, a deep-seated earnestness, cuts through the fog of your apprehension. You nod slowly acknowledging his pledge and the safety it promises.

"Thank you," you speak quietly. "I've heard much about both of you and your abilities. Forgive me for being so… cold." The smirk that follows is light and tinged with the irony of your homeland's icy reputation.

Your gaze shifts between Rhysand and Feyre. Their attentive postures encouraging you to continue. "The reason for my caution," you explain, "stems from a… an awful experience. One of the children taken by Amarantha's enforcer was under my protection. Her name was Ivy. I was supposed to shield her. Protect her. To nurture her abilities. But I could only watch helpless as her mind was torn apart. Piece by piece. It was... traumatizing to say the least. The fear of that power. The fear of it being used again so mercilessly has stayed with me." You let out the breath you were holding feeling a weight being slowly lifted off your shoulders in your admission.

Taking a deep breath, you fight through the tide of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. "Ivy was more than just a pupil to me. She was like a daughter," you begin. Your voice trembling as the words spill out. “Young and brilliant. Her very presence could brighten the darkest winter nights. She had a rare gift for ice magic. The kind that comes once in a generation. Ivy could weave frost into intricate sculptures of breathtaking beauty. She could coax snowflakes into patterns that told stories. Her magic wasn’t just powerful, it was art. Art in the purest and most captivating form."

Your voice cracks as the memory surges forward, raw, and as sharp as the day it happened. "When the enforcer came, I tried to shield her. I stood between them. I begged him to take me instead. But he just laughed..." Your hands clench into fists at the memory with you nails digging into your palms as if to anchor you against the pain. "And then he turned his attention to her. Ivy was just a girl. A beautiful little girl brimming with potential, and I had to watch from a distance… utterly powerless, as he ripped it all away. Her screams... the look of sheer terror in her eyes... it's etched into my memory. A nightmare that never fades."

Pausing, you swallow hard, feeling the sting of tears as they threaten to breach your composure. "I couldn't save her. The guilt of that moment, the utter helplessness. It’s haunted me ever since." You wipe away a tear that manages to escape, your voice a whisper now. "That’s why I’m so wary around Daemati. That’s why your powers… even though I know you use them for good, initially stirred such deep fear in me. The memory of what was done with similar abilities. It terrifies me still."

As you finish the room is enveloped in a heavy silence. Rhysand and Feyre absorbing the depth of your pain. Each of their faces etched with compassion and sorrow for your loss. Feyre's reaction is immediate and visceral. Her eyes fill with tears, and they silently overflow as she listens to the end of your harrowing experience. Moved deeply by your pain and the horrific loss of Ivy, she can barely contain her distress, reflecting her profound empathy.

"I'm so sorry," Feyre whispers. Her voice quivering as she reaches across the table, seeking to provide comfort even as she struggles with her own reaction. "That you had to go through that, to witness such horror... it's just unthinkable. I can't express how deeply sorry I am for your loss and your pain."

Rhysand's expression is one of solemn resolve as he observes both you and Feyre. He places a reassuring hand on her shoulder offering her a silent strength before turning his attention to you with a serious yet compassionate gaze. "What happened to Ivy, the terror she endured—such things are what we fight against every day," he says firmly. "Under my watch we hold ourselves to a promise: that we use our power to protect, to heal, not to harm. What you experienced will not happen here. You have my word." He nods his head in reverence.

The sincerity in Rhysand's voice and his protective assurance coupled with Feyre's empathetic tears create a poignant moment of understanding and solidarity. It offers a small yet significant reassurance that in Velaris you might find not only safety but also allies who genuinely care about your well-being.

As dinner progresses the conversation gradually shifts towards lighter topics. Focusing on the details of the peace treaty. The atmosphere has eased significantly with Rhysand and Feyre both engaging in thoughtful dialogue about the future plans and the roles each court might play in fostering peace. You find yourself becoming more invested in the conversation feeling a bit more at ease with each passing moment.

Just as you're beginning to relax fully the door bursts open and two figures storm in, deep in a heated debate. Their voices are raised, each trying to overpower the other with their arguments.

“You think charging in without a plan is the answer, Cassian? That’s reckless, even for you,” the darker-haired one asserts, his expression intense and clearly frustrated.

“And you think waiting around is going to solve our problems, Az? We can’t just leave it unresolved!” the larger man retorts with his broad frame gesturing emphatically.

Rhysand sighs, setting down his utensils before looking between his two friends. “Alright, what’s this about?” he asks, ready to mediate with a practiced ease.

As Cassian and Azriel's loud entrance interrupted the dinner your eyes immediately locked with Cassian's. Despite the intensity of their ongoing argument something about his direct gaze halted all other thoughts. It was as if a gust of wind had swept through the room, leaving you momentarily breathless. Amidst the unexpected disruption the corner of your mouth quirked up in amusement. Such candid, boisterous dynamics were a rare sight back in the Winter Court and the sheer openness of it all struck you as refreshingly odd. Even as the argument continued your focus remained riveted on Cassian. You found it impossible to break away from his gaze, his eyes holding a mixture of passion and warmth that was intensely captivating.

Catching your amused smile, Cassian halts mid-sentence. A playful glint appearing in his eyes. “And who do we have here?” he asks. His tone shifting to one of curiosity mixed with a hint of charm. “A spy from the Winter Court come to watch us squabble like market hagglers?”

Azriel rolls his eyes at Cassian’s dramatics. “Ignore him. Cassian thinks every new face is part of a grand intrigue.”

Rhysand chuckles and intervenes before Cassian can respond. “No spies here, just Kallias’s daughter from the Winter Court. She’s here to assist with the peace treaty negotiations. Remember?” Rhysand explains gesturing toward you with a warm smile. “And apparently to witness the Night Court's General and Spymaster in their, let’s say, natural habitat.”

Cassian’s face lights up with a broad grin as he extends a hand in greeting. His earlier fervor now redirected into welcoming you. “Well then, welcome to Velaris! I’m Cassian, the General. And the brooding shadow over there is Azriel, our Spymaster. Seems you’ve got a front-row seat to our tactical disputes.”

Azriel gives you a nod, his earlier annoyance fading into a reserved smile. "It’s good to meet you. Please don’t mind us. We argue, but it’s all in the spirit of making the best decisions for our people."

Your initial amusement grows into a genuine smile, touched by the warmth and candidness of their welcome, even amidst their lively disputes. This evening has certainly turned out to be full of surprises. Painting a vivid picture of the Night Court as a place of vibrant personalities and fierce loyalty.

As the energy from their spirited discussions simmers down and the laughter echoes into a comfortable lull you take the opportunity to express your amusement at their robust debate. Greeting Cassian and Azriel warmly you share how refreshing you find the candid nature of the Night Court. It's a stark contrast to the more reserved and formal interactions typical of the Winter Court, sparking your curiosity about the dynamics of this lively group.

"Well, it's certainly different here," you comment with a light laugh. "I'm looking forward to seeing more of this... enthusiasm during my stay. I'll be here for a month or so. I hope to learn as much as I can."

Rhysand, seizing on your mention of an extended stay, exchanges a quick glance with Cassian. He gave him a sly smile as he senses his brothers attention shifting toward you almost immediately. "A month or so gives us plenty of time," he says thoughtfully. "If you're interested in learning more than just politics perhaps you'd like to join some of our training sessions? Cassian here leads our warriors and I'm sure he could arrange something that accommodates your skills and interests."

Cassian’s eyes light up at the suggestion. He was always eager to bring someone new into the fold of his training regimens. Especially someone as unique as you seemed to be. "Absolutely," he agrees with an enthusiastic nod. "It’s not all sword swinging and strength training. We focus on strategy, agility, and even some elemental control that might align nicely with your ice magic. It could be a good way to blend some of the Winter Court techniques with ours."

As Rhysand suggests joining the training sessions you hesitate, a flicker of doubt crossing your face. "I appreciate the offer but I'm not really a fighter," you admit slightly apologetic in your nature. "My strengths lie more in diplomacy and magic, particularly ice magic. I'm not sure how well I'd fit into a warrior's training regimen."

Rhysand, observing the interplay at the table, seems particularly keen on your participation. His insight as a leader might allow him to sense the undercurrent of interest from Cassian toward you. Something potentially deeper than it appears. He pushes gently but with a knowing smile, "It’s not just about fighting. It’s about understanding different perspectives and disciplines. It could be a valuable experience."

Cassian although typically straightforward and jovially aggressive, adopts a slightly softer demeanor. His usual bravado tempered by earnestness. "Training can also be about balance and harmony. About integrating the physical with the magical. Your skills could bring a fresh perspective, not just to our tactics but to our understanding of magic and combat."

Then Azriel, who normally stays quiet in such discussions adds his own encouragement. His subdued voice carrying weight. "It’s worth exploring. Sometimes stepping into unfamiliar territory reveals more about our strengths. It could be enlightening for all of us."

Cassian's expression briefly reveals his surprise at Azriel’s interjection. It was a small, almost imperceptible lift of his eyebrows signaling to you that Azriel's encouragement is out of the ordinary. This small gesture subtly hints at the importance of the moment.

Feyre as if sensing the nuanced shifts in the conversation supports their suggestions with a warm and inclusive gesture. "It’s also a way to connect with everyone here. Our training sessions are as much about building relationships as they are about building skills. It would be wonderful to have you join, even just a few times to see how it feels."

Encouraged by their collective support and Cassian's surprised yet approving glance following Azriel's seemingly rare endorsement you find yourself reconsidering their proposal more seriously. "Alright. I'll give it a try," you agree, a tentative excitement building within you. "This will be very… interesting."

"Excellent," Cassian says. His eyes brightening with enthusiasm. "We’ll start at a pace that feels right for you. It’s about growth and learning, not just exertion."

As the dinner concludes and plans for your training begin to take shape you can't help but feel an intriguing pull towards what lies ahead. The possibility of new friendships and perhaps deeper bonds begins to form, hinting at the start of an enriching journey within the Night Court.

On your first day at the training grounds, the crisp morning air of Velaris is invigorating, filled with the sounds of clashing weapons and distant calls from sparring partners. Cassian leads you to a quieter section reserved for one-on-one sessions away from the more vigorous activities of his usual warriors. The atmosphere is slightly tense. The space between you filled with cautious curiosity. Each of you is clearly gauging the other trying to find a comfortable rhythm in this new training partnership.

"Let’s see what you’ve got," Cassian suggests. His tone friendly but carrying a hint of challenge. He watches intently as you demonstrate some basic maneuvers with your ice magic. You created delicate yet sharp frost patterns that float gracefully in the air. His nods of approval are sparing, and you can tell he’s mentally noting each display of skill though he keeps his feedback measured and professional.

As the days progress the initial stiffness that marked your interactions begins to melt away. Cassian’s coaching style is intense. His commands are sharp, his expectations high. However, as you meet his challenges with increasing confidence you begin to understand the method behind his rigor. You also start to catch glimpses of humor in his sharp eyes. A sign that there’s more to this formidable warrior than just discipline and strength.

"Try not to freeze my soldiers. We’re running out of good men as it is," he jokes one morning after you skillfully direct a swirl of ice around a training dummy skillfully stopping just short of a group of soldiers watching nearby.

With a small laugh you shoot back, "I thought the Night Court could handle a little cold."

His laughter in response is hearty. A sound that seems to echo around the quiet corner of the training grounds. It's a turning point, signaling a shift from mutual respect to something warmer, more friendly.

By the end of the week your training sessions are characterized by easy banter and playful challenges. One afternoon Cassian dodges your icy projectiles with nimble grace only to slip slightly on a patch of ice you cunningly left in his path. "Not bad for a scrawny little thing," he grins while steadying himself with the agility of a cat.

In response you flash a mischievous smile and with a subtle flick of your wrist, you freeze his boots to the ground. "And not bad for a brawny brute," you retort. Laughter bursts from a few nearby trainees who have started to look forward to these exchanges between the two of you.

Cassian manages to break free before brushing ice from his boots with mock indignation. "You’re going to pay for that one," he warns though his eyes sparkle with amusement.

As the week draws to a close the training ground has transformed from a place of cautious appraisal to one of growth and friendship. Your sessions with Cassian are no longer just about learning to integrate your ice magic with physical combat. They’re also about the laughter shared over slipped footing, the shared grins after successful maneuvers, and the light-hearted jests that now flow freely between you. This evolving camaraderie promises not just improved skills but a deepening bond, hinting at the development of a relationship built on respect, challenge, and mutual delight in each other's company.

The atmosphere at the training grounds is usually charged with the sounds of diligent practice but today there’s an added layer of excitement due to some young onlookers from the Night Court. Cassian plans a session that balances demonstrations of your unique ice magic with some basic combat techniques hoping to impress not just you but the eager young fae watching from a distance.

Wearing your elegant Winter Court attire, which was more suited for display than combat, you find yourself not in your usual training leathers. Today was supposed to be about finesse and control not full-contact sparring. As Cassian readies the next exercise you catch the eyes of the children peeking out from behind the trees. Their expressions were filled with awe and curiosity. Smiling back at them your attention momentarily drifts from the task at hand.

Cassian notices your distraction and the intricate fabric of your attire raising an eyebrow in mild concern. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to change into something more... practical?" he asks you once more. His voice laced with skepticism.

You shake your head while stepping forward confidently. "I believe today's session can benefit from a different approach," you explain. Your voice steady, confident. "My attire from the Winter Court is designed not only for aesthetics but for mobility in a certain style of combat. It’s more strategic and less about direct confrontation. It might offer a new perspective for your warriors."

Cassian looks dubious but intrigued by your assurance and the potential learning opportunity for his trainees. After a moment of consideration, he nods slowly. "Alright," he concedes. His tone cautious yet curious. "We'll adjust today's training to focus on technique and precision. We'll go light on the physical combat to accommodate your attire."

Grateful for his flexibility you prepare to demonstrate that finesse and strategy can be as effective as brute strength hoping to prove the value of your unique approach and the versatility of your court's combat style.

As dusk deepened over the training grounds, the session with Cassian was intensifying. He was fully focused on you, guiding, and challenging you with each swing of his blunted training blade. He did not notice Azriel's silent approach until his brother was almost beside them, landing softly. The sudden appearance of Azriel, so smooth and silent, caught your eye at the crucial moment.

Cassian, thinking you were prepared and about to dodge, continued with his planned attack and swung the blunted blade in a broad, sweeping motion towards you. Normally you would have sidestepped smoothly but distracted by Azriel's unexpected arrival you froze. The blade, though blunt for training, struck directly against your side with surprising force due to your lack of movement. The impact was hard enough to slice through the delicate fabric of your Winter Court dress and nick your skin, drawing a line of blood.

Immediately realizing the mishap Cassian dropped his sword and rushed to your side, his expression flooded with concern. "Are you alright? I thought you saw me coming," he asked quickly as his voice was laced with worry.

Trying to mask the sharp sting and the sudden warmth of blood seeping through your dress, you attempted to reassure him, "I’m okay, Cassian, really, it was just a shock more than anything—"

But as you spoke a wave of dizziness overwhelmed you, your knees buckling under the dual assault of pain and sudden faintness. As you started to fall Cassian instinctively reached out, catching you just in time. His hands which were initially meant to steady you felt the wetness of blood through the fabric of your dress. His eyes widened in horror as he saw the bright red on his hands realizing the cut was more serious than a mere scrape.

Without a moment's hesitation Cassian scooped you up into his arms. His movements were swift and filled with urgent care. He looked up at Azriel who had stepped forward, concern etching his features. "Keep the training going, Az. I’m taking her to Madja, now," Cassian instructed firmly. His voice carrying the weight of his resolve.

Azriel nodded understanding the gravity of the situation and stepped back to allow Cassian to pass. Cassian, holding you securely, moved with purposeful speed towards the infirmary. His mind was racing with worry. The flight was quick. His powerful wings beating against the cool air of the evening, each stroke propelling you further away from the training grounds and closer to the healing hands of Madja.

As he flew you clung to him feeling the cool air against your face, which helped alleviate some of the dizziness. "I'm really okay, Cassian," you tried to assure him again, your voice soft, noticing the tension in his body, the way his jaw was set with worry. "It’s just a little cut, I think. I’m sure it’s already healed up."

Cassian only tightened his hold, a gesture of protective care. "We're not taking any chances," he said firmly. His tone brooking no argument. "You’re getting checked out, no arguments."

Suspended in the air, held securely in Cassian's embrace, you noticed the tension in his expression. His jaw set firmly as he navigated through the skies. Wanting to alleviate his concern and lighten the mood you looked up at him, your voice competing with the rush of the wind. "Okay, no arguing," you conceded with a soft, reassuring smile. "But how about an even less swordy day at training tomorrow?"

"You know, maybe we should consider taking a rest day tomorrow," Cassian suggested hesitantly. His voice carrying a protective tone. "Just to be sure you're fully recovered. It might not be wise to jump right back into training."

You looked up at him feeling the warmth of his care but also a spark of your own determination not to be sidelined by a small injury. "I appreciate your concern, Cassian, but really, I feel fine," you countered quickly. A hint of stubbornness in your tone. "A light day as planned with some tactical drills. Nothing too strenuous. I think it would be good for me. For you"

Cassian raised an eyebrow with a small smile breaking through as he sensed your resolve. "Oh, how quickly you've changed your tune, princess," he remarked with a playful smirk. The affectionate tease in his voice floated on the wind as he continued to fly, his grip around you reassuring and strong.

The brief exchange brought a light-heartedness to the moment and Cassian's smile broadened slightly appreciating your spirit and resilience. "Alright, tactical drills it is then. But at the first sign of any discomfort, we're taking a break," he conceded. His tone still carrying a hint of caution but softened by his growing trust in your judgment.

As you both neared the infirmary the flight through the crisp evening air felt less like a rush to aid and more like a shared journey back to stability. Cassian's initial hesitation faded, replaced by a quiet confidence in your resilience and a deepening sense of connection between you. The city of Velaris spread out beneath you, a silent witness to the bond that was strengthening with every beat of Cassian's wings and every word exchanged above the rooftops.

Landing smoothly at the infirmary Cassian carried you inside where Madja was already preparing her tools. Cassian gently laid you down on a cot as his hands lingered for a moment longer than necessary. His eyes were searching yours for any sign of further distress.

Madja quickly assessed the situation. She cleaned the wound and confirmed it was shallow. Though the blood loss and the shock had caused your faintness. "You'll be fine. Just a little rest and you’ll be up in no time," she reassured both you and Cassian, more so Cassian, who finally allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief.

You turn to Cass with a smirk playing on your lips. "See, told you so, General," you tease in an attempt to ease the palpable tension that had followed you from the training grounds.

Cassian's relief is immediate and visible. He lets out a deep breath, the tightness in his shoulders relaxing as he returns your smirk with a wry smile. "Fine, you were right. But let’s avoid making this a habit, shall we?"

Before you can respond the infirmary door swings open abruptly. Rhysand strides in, his expression a mixture of concern and command clearly having been summoned by Cassian’s urgent mental call. His eyes are wide as he quickly scans the room landing on you sitting relatively unscathed on the infirmary bed.

"Are you alright?" Rhysand asks. His voice tight with concern. He moves closer. His gaze flicking from you to Cassian, seeking an explanation.

You nod reassuring him with a calm smile. "I’m just fine, Rhys. Really, it was much less dramatic than it seems. Cassian has been worried enough for everyone," you say, glancing at Cassian with a playful raise of your eyebrows, signaling that all is truly well.

Rhysand's gaze softens though the lines of worry don’t completely disappear. "Cassian briefed me but seeing you well makes a world of difference. These training accidents... Well, they shouldn’t happen. We’ll review the protocols to ensure this is an isolated incident."

Turning to Cassian, Rhysand claps him on the shoulder. A gesture of support mixed with a mild reprimand. "Take care of her. Make sure she follows all of Madja’s instructions," Rhysand instructs, his leader’s tone resurfacing.

Cassian nods solemnly, "Understood. I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again."

With a final nod and a comforting smile directed at you Rhys exits the infirmary, his presence leaving as quickly as it arrived. The room feels lighter now, the earlier tension dissipating with the confirmations of your well-being.

Cassian stays by your side. His relief evident but his watchfulness remaining. "Now, about that 'less swordy' day tomorrow..." he begins, ready to shift back into the lighter, teasing dynamic that has marked your growing friendship. Grateful that the day’s scare has ended on a reassuring note.

As Cassian suggests a less physically demanding day focused more on magic you can’t help but giggle. A slight relief moving away from any activities involving bladed weapons. “That sounds perfect,” you agree with enthusiasm brightening your voice as you discuss potential exercises that would let you showcase and refine your control over ice magic without the physical strain.

As the conversation continues Cassian helps you up ensuring you’re stable on your feet and offers his arm for support as you begin the walk back to your quarters. The corridors of the Night Court feel quieter than usual. The soft echo of your steps mingling with the fading adrenaline of the day’s events. There’s a palpable shift between you and Cassian. A new layer of closeness brought on not just by the day’s scare but also by the accumulated time spent together over the past few weeks.

Cassian’s voice breaks the comfortable silence. His voice softer, more reflective than before. “I’ve really enjoyed these last few weeks with you,” he admits. His gaze fixed ahead. “You’ve taught me more than you’ll ever know.” His words hang in the air laden with a sincerity that draws your attention fully to his expression. It’s open, honest, and there’s a hint of vulnerability there that you hadn’t noticed before.

You look at him, touched by his confession, noticing the slight hesitance as if he wants to say more but is holding back. Maybe it’s the fear of crossing an unseen boundary or the uncertainty of your reaction that keeps him from continuing.

Encouraged by his openness you respond warmly, “And I’ve learned a lot from you, too, Cassian. Not just about fighting or training but about what it means to really care about your warriors, your friends.” You pause searching his face for a reaction. “It means a lot to me, all of this time we’ve spent together.”

Cassian’s eyes meet yours and there’s a moment of silent communication. A mutual understanding and appreciation that seems to deepen the bond between you. “I’m glad,” he finally says with his voice low. “I hope we can keep this going, no matter what the training schedule says.”

As you reach your quarters there’s a reluctance to part between the both of you. A desire to prolong the connection that has clearly grown beyond the confines of instructor and trainee. Cassian lingers at your door, his usual confidence tempered with a newfound tenderness.

“Get some rest princess,” he says softly before stepping back with a reluctant smile. “We’ll start fresh tomorrow. Less swordy, more... magical.”

You nod, smiling back at him, feeling a warmth that extends beyond the fading pain from your injury. “I look forward to it, Cassian. Thank you for everything today.”

He nods, then turns to leave, but not before throwing a look over his shoulder. It was a promise of more shared moments, more lessons, and perhaps, deeper revelations yet to come. The door closes softly behind you leaving you with a sense of anticipation for what the next day might bring, both in training and in your evolving relationship with Cassian.

After the incident at the training grounds and a night of rest you dive back into the treaty negotiations with renewed focus. As the talks commence you are at the forefront, your diplomatic skills shining as you navigate the complexities of the discussions. Your adept use of magic not only impresses but also serves as a poignant reminder of the Winter Court's strengths and capabilities. The treaty talks progress smoothly and a successful agreement begins to take shape much to the relief and satisfaction of all parties involved.

However, despite the importance of the negotiations and your central role in them your thoughts intermittently drift to Cassian. The memory of his concerned eyes, his protective stance, and the warmth of your conversation lingers with you, distracting you more than you'd like to admit. As you mentally rehearse your next points in the discussion, you find your mind replaying moments from the training sessions, his laughter, his teasing remarks, and his unexpectedly gentle care.

Unbeknownst to you, your mental shields—usually so meticulously maintained—begin to slip slightly amid your daydreams. Rhysand, who was not actively probing but is always somewhat attuned to the emotional and mental state of those around him, picks up on your wandering thoughts. He catches snippets of your internal musings about Cassian, not enough to grasp the full context but enough to piece together the gist of your distraction.

Throughout the meeting a knowing grin slowly forms on Rhysand's face, amused by the realization of your burgeoning feelings for his brother. He doesn't comment on it during the talks. Making sure to maintain his professionalism and focusing on the successful closure of the treaty. However, the little smile that occasionally plays at the corners of his mouth doesn't go unnoticed by those who know him well.

Later, as the meeting concludes with handshakes and a collective sigh of relief over the treaty's ratification. Rhysand pulls Cassian aside just before your evening training session. In a quiet corner away from prying ears Rhysand's grin broadens.

"I think someone has managed to catch more than just your training expertise," Rhysand teases as his eyes twinkled with mirth. "Our Winter Court princess seems to be a bit distracted by a certain general." As Rhysand delivers his playful revelation, Cassian's initial surprise quickly shifts to a broad, almost uncontrollable grin that spreads across his face. The sudden display of joy is uncharacteristic of the usually composed general, revealing just how deeply the news has affected him.

"Oh? And what makes you say that?" Cassian tries to maintain a semblance of composure, but his voice betrayed a hint of excitement beneath the casual façade.

Rhysand notices the change in Cassian's demeanor. The light in his eyes that hadn't been there moments before. "Well, let's just say that her thoughts were a little less guarded than usual," Rhysand replied. His voice laced with amusement. "She might be more interested in the person teaching her than just the lessons themselves."

Cassian's smile widens and he shakes his head slightly almost in disbelief but clearly delighted by the prospect. "Is that so?" he murmurs more to himself than to Rhysand, his mind already spinning with the implications.

Rhysand watches Cassian's bright grin, a knowing look crossing his face as he teases, "Seems like those training sessions are about more than just tactics and spells."

Cassian’s expression remains upbeat but a hint of seriousness creeps in. "They’re enlightening," he admits while giving a nod. "There’s something unique about her… beyond just her skills."

Sensing the depth in Cassian’s tone, Rhysand's demeanor shifts slightly, becoming more contemplative. "Just be careful, Cass. It’s easy to let your guard down when strong feelings are involved."

Cassian pauses as he felt a weight in Rhysand's caution. He looks at his brother, a silent plea for understanding without words. Rhysand, ever perceptive, senses the depth of Cassian’s feelings, realizing this might be more than just a fleeting fascination. "Cassian, do you think she could be…" Rhysand trails off leaving the implication hanging in the air, heavy with the weight of possibilities. His question is subtle, probing—asking if Cassian feels the deep, fated connection of a mate.

Cassian meets Rhysand's gaze with his own eyes reflecting a mix of hope and uncertainty. "I don’t know," he confesses softly. "But there’s something there. Something that feels… right. More than I've felt before."

Rhysand nods slowly as he processed this new revelation. His initial caution softens into a more supportive stance. "Then take it seriously but carefully. If this is what I think it might be, it’s not just significant for you but could be for the Night Court as well."

He places a hand on Cassian’s shoulder with a firm, reassuring grip. "Follow your heart but keep your head with you. She’s not just any visitor. She could and is likely to be much more."

As Rhysand walks away leaving Cassian to ponder the future the conversation not only cements Cassian's resolve but also clarifies the stakes. It’s a turning point. Marking a shift from casual interest to considering the profound potential of a deep, lifelong bond. Cassian feels empowered and cautious now acutely aware of the significant path that might be unfolding before him. This is no longer about training or simple affection. It could be the beginning of the rest of his life, your life.

As dusk settles over Velaris with the fading sunlight casting long shadows across the training grounds, Cassian awaits your arrival. His mind a jumbled swirl of thoughts from the earlier conversation with Rhysand. His anticipation is palpable, heightened by the significant discussions about feelings and futures that may be closer than he's admitted to himself.

During that first meeting in the dining hall his mind was a whirlwind of emotions. As he and Azriel entered mid-argument his initial focus was entirely on their spirited debate not the important dinner he was walking into. The sudden sight of you was an unexpected and striking presence. You brought a sharp halt to his thoughts.

Cassian was immediately struck by your poise and the quiet confidence with which you held yourself among such esteemed company. His first impression was of your elegance and the serene way you observed the dynamic entrance he and Azriel made. There was something about the way you carried yourself as a blend of strength and grace that captivated him instantly.

Embarrassment quickly flooded him with a blush creeping up his neck as he realized the discordant note their arrival struck in the otherwise serene setting. There you were, seated elegantly among the dignitaries of the Night Court with an aura of quiet confidence radiating from you. Despite the potentially disruptive entrance your expression remained unflustered. The slight, knowing smirk playing at the corners of your lips, and the amusement twinkling in your eyes spoke volumes. It was clear you were not only unfazed by the raucous disruption but also mildly entertained by it.

What struck Cassian more deeply was the way your attention seemed focused solely on him, as if the room and its other occupants had faded into the background. This singular focus, paired with the amused arch of your brow, left him feeling both exposed and intrigued. It was as if you could see right through to his typically hidden insecurities prompting a mix of vulnerability and a compelling desire to engage further.

Cassian felt a twinge of chagrin for not having presented a more composed entrance. Especially in front of someone who commanded such a presence as you did. The initial embarrassment, however, slowly morphed into a quiet determination. He was keenly aware that he had an opportunity to make a more meaningful second impression. One that could perhaps intrigue and draw you in just as you had captivated him from that first shared glance.

As he moved to regain his composure, smoothing back his hair, and adjusting his jacket, Cassian was already plotting how to transform this awkward beginning into an opening for deeper connection. The evening had just begun, and he was determined to show you a side of him that resonated with the depth and discernment he now saw reflected in your gaze.

When Rhysand later suggested that Cassian take the lead on your physical training, he seized the opportunity without hesitation. Training was his domain where he felt most in command and most himself. He anticipated that in the structure and discipline of physical training, among the straightforwardness of drills and exercises, there might be space for more informal interactions. For laughter and light conversations that could bridge the gap between formal dining hall introductions and a genuine connection.

Cassian saw each upcoming session as a canvas. As an opportunity to impress and engage you, not just with his skills but with his insights and his approach to teaching and leadership. Privately he knew he’d have to thank Rhysand for the suggestion—whether it was a calculated move or just a fortuitous throwaway idea, it had given him a golden opportunity to explore the potential that he sensed bubbling beneath your initial poised exterior.

He was intrigued, more so than he had been for a long time. The initial physical attraction was strong. Yet it was your demeanor, the intriguing mix of diplomacy and candor, that truly piqued his interest. Cassian left the dining hall that evening with his mind full of questions and curiosities about you. He was eager for the next opportunity to interact and perhaps to understand the compelling figure you were beyond just the surface.

From the memories of that first dinner to the present moment on the training grounds, Cassian's journey of understanding and admiration for you had woven through weeks of anticipation and subtle discoveries. Each interaction had added layers to his initial perception, enriching the image he held of you in his mind.

Then as if to punctuate his thoughts you appeared for the training session, garbed unmistakably in Illyrian warrior attire. Much different than the training leathers and Winter Court apparel he had grown used to see you in. The traditional leathers of his people clung to you, accentuating both strength and grace in your every move. The sight of you in such commanding attire sent a jolt through Cassian. His reaction visceral and immediate. His eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and admiration flashing across his face as he took in every detail—the way the leather fit you, how it moved with your body, and the undeniable air of confidence it brought to your demeanor.

The transformation was not just in your appearance but in the energy you exuded. Standing there you embodied the strength and resilience of an Illyrian warrior, qualities that resonated deeply with Cassian’s own identity. It struck him then how seamlessly you seemed to integrate into his world. How naturally you adopted its symbols and its strength. This was no longer just about training or sharing skills. It was a visual affirmation of your integration into his life and culture.

As he approached you his initial shock gave way to a profound respect. The way you carried the weight of the armor, the casual yet respectful nod you gave him as he walked up. These small actions spoke volumes. Cassian felt a renewed sense of connection. A deeper bond forming not just from shared interests and conversations but from seeing you embrace a part of his heritage with such ease and honor.

In that moment as he closed the distance between you, Cassian realized how deeply he was drawn to you, far beyond the physical allure. It was your spirit. Your willingness to step into his world, to don the armor of his people and stand ready to engage on equal footing. This realization brought a warmth to his chest and a smile to his lips. One that was both proud and welcoming.

As you stood before Cassian in the Illyrian warrior attire your presence was a striking blend of determination and slight apprehension. The soft evening light cast long shadows across the training grounds accentuating the quiet resolve in your posture. You were about to propose a change to the day’s lighter, planned routine. While confident in your suggestion there was a hint of nervousness tinged your voice, reflecting the care you took in challenging the agenda.

"Um, Cassian," you started, your voice carrying a cautious undertone, "I know we planned for a less sword-intensive session today..." You paused trying to gather your thoughts. But before you could continue your eyes met Cassian’s, their intensity like a direct challenge, causing a sudden vulnerability to flutter in your stomach. His gaze was penetrating, studying you with a warmth and focus that unnerved you. For a moment the confidence you felt started to waver under his scrutiny. The depth of his attention making you want to melt into a puddle right there on the training grounds.

However, drawing a deep breath, you summoned your resolve. Despite the shake in your confidence, you pressed on bolstered by the knowledge that this was an important step in your training. "I feel fine. But I've been thinking. I'm already quite familiar with my magic, and not as much with swordsmanship." Your voice grew slightly firmer as you continued, "Maybe, if it’s alright, we could incorporate more of that?" As you reached the end of your proposal a slight stammer betrayed your nervousness. "If you're okay with that, that is," you added with a nervous smile. Eager yet uncertain of his response.

Cassian, still somewhat in awe of your striking appearance and the commanding aura you exuded in the traditional leathers was momentarily taken aback. His response was on the tip of his tongue, an agreement forming, when Azriel quietly joined the duo. Observing the scene, Azriel noted your determined stance and Cassian’s admiring gaze. A knowing smirk crept onto Azriel’s face. "Looks like she’s going to give you a run for your money, brother," he teased unable to hide the amusement in his voice.

Cassian was caught between his brother's teasing and your challenging proposal but managed to regain his composure. He cleared his throat and stepped forward, his confidence rekindled by the familiar banter and the prospect of a spirited training session. "Alright then," he agreed with a nod. A smile breaking through as he embraced the challenge, "swords it is. Let’s see what you’ve got."

As the session progressed Azriel lingered on the sidelines, his eyes shifting between the clashing swords and Cassian’s animated instructions. Every now and then he couldn’t resist throwing in a light-hearted jab especially when it seemed like Cassian was particularly impressed by your quick learning curve or deft movements. "Careful, Cass, I think she might just outdo you in your own game," Azriel called out after a particularly skillful maneuver from you. His tone teasing but proud of you.

Cassian shot a mock-glare at Azriel, but his eyes sparkled with humor and something softer, an undeniable delight in your prowess and enthusiasm. Despite himself Cassian found that he enjoyed this, the mix of training intensity and the undercurrent of playful rivalry. Not just between him and you but with Azriel's involvement as well. It felt oddly, natural. You’d found a way to integrate yourself into the court within only a month of being in Velaris.

Throughout the training Cassian’s admiration for you only grew. Every block, every parry you performed with increasing confidence seemed to not only impress him but also deepen the sense of connection that he felt. This wasn’t just about teaching you how to handle a sword. It was about sharing a piece of his world, his passion, and seeing you embrace it with such fervor was both exhilarating and endearing.

As the sun dipped below the horizon Azriel’s teasing remarks faded into the background, replaced by a quiet acknowledgment of the shift he saw in Cassian. It was clear to him that his brother was, indeed, in trouble. But in the best possible way. Cassian's usually unshakeable demeanor was softer when he looked at you, filled with a mix of pride, respect, and a burgeoning affection that went beyond the confines of the training ring.

When the session finally wound down and the cool evening air settled around, both you and Cassian were catching your breath, reveling in the afterglow of intense physical exertion. It was then that Azriel, unable to resist the opportunity for a little brotherly teasing, stepped forward. Clapping Cassian on the back with a broad grin he couldn’t help but comment, "Well, that was quite a performance. And here I thought today was supposed to be less about swords."

Cassian, still a bit winded from the session, shot Azriel a quick, warning glance. But even he couldn’t hide the amused smile that tugged at his lips, indicative of his own acknowledgment of the shift in plans. Your puzzled look darted between the two brothers catching the tail end of their dynamic, your smile mirroring Cassian's albeit with a touch of confusion.

"Less swords, more magic, but I guess plans change when you're dressed for battle," you chimed in attempting to play off Azriel's comment, still somewhat oblivious to the deeper layers of teasing.

Azriel’s smirk widened as he observed the interplay, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Absolutely, plans do change. Especially when a certain someone decides to show up looking ready to join the ranks of Illyrian warriors," he teased you, turning his gaze back to Cassian with a sly expression. "Makes a general reconsider his strategies."

Caught in the moment, you shared the origin of your attire, a light chuckle escaping you. "Feyre absolutely insisted on me wearing the traditional leathers," you explained, your smile fond as you recalled Feyre's insistence. "I thought it was just for protection, given the training. She seemed really adamant about it."

Cassian’s expression softened at this with a brief smile acknowledging the hidden hand of Rhysand in this setup. Though he connected the dots, realizing his brother's likely involvement in Feyre's insistence, he chose to keep this revelation to himself. Instead, he simply nodded, appreciating your earnestness and perhaps, deep down, thankful for the unintended push it gave him to see you in a new light—strong, capable, and utterly captivating in Illyrian leathers.

As the training session drew to a close and the night deepened around them, the playful banter and shared laughter began to ebb. Azriel's remarks, though lighthearted, had hinted at the shift he observed in the dynamics between you and Cassian. A development that seemed to promise much more than just companionship in the future.

Recognizing the cooling air and the perfect, serene evening that enveloped Velaris, Cassian suggested a leisurely walk back through the city. "How about I walk you home tonight? It's a nice evening to cool down and stretch out after training," he proposed. His voice casual but with a hopeful undertone.

Azriel caught the subtle inflection in Cassian’s tone and simply couldn’t resist one more jab, his knowing smile broadening into a full-blown, mischievous grin. "Sure, take your time," he teased, his voice rich with implication. With a final chuckle and a wink at Cassian, Azriel spread his wings and took to the skies leaving you both to the quiet of the evening streets.

Cassian walked beside you there was a thoughtful distance in his initial steps. As if he was contemplating the right words or simply savoring the shared silence. Gradually, he drew closer, his presence a comforting constant at your side. The soft lighting from the streetlamps cast gentle shadows and the faint rustle of the leaves created a backdrop that enriched the moment with a quaint, almost magical quality.

Every now and then his hand would lightly touch your arm or guide you around an uneven patch on the cobblestones. Each contact sending a quiet thrill through you. Despite the casual nature of the walk there was an undercurrent of something deeper. A thread of anticipation weaving through the air between you.

"Same time tomorrow?" Cassian finally broke the silence. His voice a blend of softness and something undefinable yet unmistakably tender.

"Definitely," you replied with your smile genuine and wide. The connection you felt with Cassian was undeniable and while you might not fully grasp the depth of his feelings, the pull towards him was strong and only growing stronger with each passing day.

When you reached your quarters Cassian lingered for a moment, his demeanor protective and gentle. He seemed reluctant to part ways, but he was satisfied to know you were safe for the night. "Make sure you rest well tonight," he said with his hand resting briefly on your back, his smile warm and lingering as he wished you a good night.

Retreating to your room, the echoes of the evening replayed in your mind. The laughter, Azriel's teasing, the soft, serious timbre of Cassian's voice asking to see you again. There was an excitement brewing within you. An eagerness for what these sessions and these new feelings might lead to. It was an intriguing mix of anticipation and a bit of nervousness, stepping into this newfound connection with Cassian, but every instinct told you it was a path worth exploring. As you settled down with thoughts of the next day’s training, and more importantly, of seeing Cassian again, it filled you with a warm sense of expectation and a quiet joy.

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[moronkombat]

I don’t know if you’ve done this before but I’m begggggging you for a Reiko alphabet 😩😩 no one ever writes anything about him

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Satisfied and quite pleased with himself and his partner's performance. Aftercare is not something he is fond of in terms of giving and receiving. The most Reiko will do is lay close to his partner with them resting against his chest while his hands lay confidently beneath his head

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Reiko is proud of his overall physique. His body has been trained for war and destruction and it shows. He is particularly fond of his shoulder blades. Why? He feels he can carry the weight of the world atop them

Their thighs. He knows just how...powerful those lovely muscles can be and he loves being so buried in them, feeling just how they strain against him as his tongue devours and claims

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Prefers to change it up. Some days he will absolutely fill you to the brim, cumming all over your tender and sore insides. Other times he prefers to paint you as if you a blank and awaiting canvas

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Reiko doesn't have many secrets in terms of bedroom activities with his partner. If he is wanting to do something, he will propose it. He is quite fond of having sex after killing his enemy. He is riled up and wants to share his raptor with you

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Has enough experience to know what feels great and feels even greater. Reiko likes to be well versed in everything, sex is no exception. Though, sex for him is relatively casual. He does not see sex as something you do with someone you love. It is merely an excellent way of rewarding the body

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

His favorite position is you on top of him. He wants to see you riding and bouncing. He doesn't want to miss a single second of the pain and pleasure that is written on your face

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Reiko is not overly serious but he is not exactly humorous. For him, sex is a battle. He is a dominant individual but a switch in the bedroom. If you want to be the dominant one, you need to fight him for it

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Clean and smooth. Reiko is very much a purist in how he portrays his body. He wants nothing to be hidden by hair and so it is all removed

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Not romantic. Well, he is in his own way. For him, to battle his partner is the most romantic thing one could ever do. Will he buy you flowers? No. Will he bring you the head of his enemy? Yes. Sex is not romantic, it is fierce, rabid and untamed

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Typically isn't one to partake in such pleasures. No, Reiko will seek out his partner over everything else. There is no need to pleasure himself when he has a beautiful partner's legs to slide between

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Marking- He will always leave marks on you and you better leave some on him as well. Everyone is leaving that bedroom painted in the glory of love making. He never hides the marks you give him. He wears them with pride and will even boast about them if he catches others looking. Yeah you guys are that annoying couple that openly talk about your sexual adventures. You better not hide those marks either. Not only will he find it insulting, he'll be hurt by it.

Bondage- Reiko is a fan of bondage solely for the purpose of escaping it or having you escape it. It is thrilling to him to break the chains that he keep him from touching you. He relishes in watching you rip the leather he's coiled you in. Liberation is the fun of using bondage

Pain Play- Sex is a battle. In battle there is pain. He will be in pain and so will you. The two of you are always finding ways to tear into each other. Except to leave the bedroom bruised and a bit battered

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Reiko is not too picky. He enjoys having sex anywhere when it comes to his partner. Though he does find himself a bit more excited to fuck you in the barracks or on the sparring grounds

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Victory and glory. When he is triumphant in a battle, he is brought into ecstasy. When he sees his partner's strength he wishes to taste it along with everything else

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Insubordination to the greater cause. He will not tolerate his partner not following the ways that he has been taught. Nor will he be receptive to forms of aftercare following sex. He finds it odd and boring

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Reiko will give and he shall take. He prefers neither over the other, happy to change it up as the battle between the two of you rages on and on

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Expect to leave the bedroom sore and bruised. Everything to Reiko is a fight even sex, especially sex. Sex with him is often incredibly long and full of blood and teeth. He bites, pulls and scratches and he wants you to do the same. The bedroom isn't a place for tenderness.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

They can happen but not often. He prefers when sex takes awhile, that way he and his partner can truly consume and tear each other apart

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Reiko will try just about anything. Danger is exciting. Danger is victory. If you two will be harmed then so be it, that is the fun of it after all

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Long time. Very very long time. Reiko will not allow for anything less than perfection. Expect to be encompassed by him for many many hours

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Reiko has different toys and will use them. Most of his gadgets, however, are related to bondage, and other BDSM related topics

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

It is not that Reiko is unfair, it is merely his partner must earn their place in the bedroom. If his partner wants to cum then they must show that they are demanding it and not requesting it

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Loud. Way too loud for his poor underlings. By gods they will hear the two of you going at it for hours

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

One of the most intimate things a partner can do for him is apply his warpaint. Reiko is completely exposing himself to his partner then and it is a silent affection between the two. There are no words said as fingers dip into tar and mark up a face that's seen and lived horrors of war. He doesn't let anyone get this close. This is a right reserved solely for you

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Muscular and broad. If he looks like he can knock you out with but one punch then he most certain can. He is well defined and shaped. His cock is girthy and ever thick. The head is the most tender area. He also likes shoving it against the back of your throat

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

High. Very high. Being a warrior, he is surrounded in battle and battle is a great turn on. He will seek out his partner often for sex

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn't usually fall asleep, though he is quite spent after the act. He will prefer to admire the marks you've given each other before laying with his partner for a little while

[femoso-seben]

Humanoid Monster

Part 1, Part 3

Laswell sighed as the delegation dragged on. Of course, neither side sent their leadership only lackeys to demand impossibilities for the others to complete. They still tasted blood in their mouth for their fallen. The human delegation was a man called Vladimir Makarov, a young Russian who led his paramilitary group in deep Siberia.

“Why should we agree to these terms?” Makarov asks, how he knew, or let alone who taught him English was beyond Laswell. Most humans don’t know more than one language. Rarely do they speak the languages of countries far away from them. Humanity is landlocked. It was a way to ensure humanity never teamed up to defeat the monsters.

“Why should we agree to your request either?” Laswell sneers her wings twitching, from her anger. She read about this man, how he slaughtered many monsters and used their pelts as decoration. He was fighting for a greater Russia, with only humans in it, abolishing any monster or hybrid in sight. A human utopia!

They were talking in circles, Switzerland’s military standing at watch ready to shoot both delegations dead if given the chance. They weren’t achieving anything here.

“Since this is a peace treaty give us the names of your task force,” Makarov asks, Laswell knew it was personal for him. 141 and he was in a long constant struggle.

“Give us the files on the Pale Death, White Fang, Angel of Death, and Hunter.” Laswell strikes back. Each one of those women caused so many problems, that they must have been resistance rebels.

Makarov pursed his lips and glared at Laswell, “We’ll give you the files for White Fang and Hunters. As for the Angel of Death, she wasn’t one of us, but as for the pale death? No, we will not.”

“Then you will only get the files on, Roach,” Laswell spoke. It seems like Makarov is only giving information on the dead so she’ll do the same. Makarov frowns.

“Deal.” They both knew a single member of Task Force 141 was far better than any human, dead or alive, all except for the Pale Death.

By the end of the meeting, they had only agreed to share files of the dead and nothing more they merely moved a single inch to the finish post. As Laswell walks out Soap, Price, Graves, and Ghost we’re waiting for her.

“Where’s Gaz?”

“Helping the Hapries to fly,” Soap rolls his eyes, “the human woman can’t even raise a harpy! They should need the least amount of training!” Price touched his shoulder silencing the Sergeant.

“What happened?” Price asks.

“Not much, I was able to get information on White Fang and Hunter,” Laswell sighed.

“Those two are fucking dead, at least get the Pale Death—”

“Their delegate is Makarov,” everyone froze and a low growl imitated from all of them.

“He’s here? That terrorist?” Ghost steps closer to Laswell.

“C’mon let’s review the files maybe their connections, sure White Fang and Pale Death worked together,” Laswell spoke up.

Jezebel reappeared and began to lead them to a place outside of the meeting point, a spacious military camp where they were staying. It was more like Switzerland wanted to watch them, making sure they didn’t unpack them negatively.

Laswell hands over the packet to Price, Ghost, Graves, and Soap. They slowly scan through the files.

White Fang:

name: Belinda Wolf

Age: 23

Height: 5’9”

Weight: 140lb

History: grew up on a resistance compound deep in Akaska forest. Grew up hunting animals to survive. Favorite targets were werewolves said they were the apex of trotted a hunter could win.

statue: KIA

The photo was of a plan-looking woman, nothing remarkable, but for Soap he felt a sense of victory over this wretch. He hunted the White Fang down and butchered her like she butchered his troops. He hated her flesh making sure she was truly dead.

Hunter:

Name: Rawiya Abadi

Age: 31

Height: 5’4”

Weight: 120 lbs

History: The daughter of a wealthy (free) man she grew up owning and hunting exotic animals. She soon turned radicalized and began to hunt down every predator species of hybrids for their pelts and horns, wanting to collect every type of monster.

Status: KIA

“We’ll these aren’t helpful.” Price grumbles.

“A bunch of psychos.” Soap drops the file onto the table.

“We’ll theirs one thing for sure,” Graves spoke up, “White Fang didn’t work together, and White Fang came after Hunter.”

“What are you insinuating?”

“Maybe their master and apprentices? After all, they share the same M.O. two hunters, maybe they did meet up but it’s not stated here.” Graves continues.

“We never found Hunter’s body, maybe Hunter set up that compound and trained up an apprentice?”

“What about mother and daughter?” Ghost brought up.

“That could be plausible,” Soap said.

“Makarov said the Angel of Death isn’t connected to the resistance forces.”

“That human is lying.” Soap sneers his sharp claws poking out.

“It could be plausible,” Ghost spoke up. “The Angel of Death was in deep monster territory, to be a resistance force is unlikely as it was hard to pick that human out of a crowd. She acted like one of the enslaved.”

“That one is most likely inspired by the resistance.” Price grunts out.

“The fact Switzerland allowed a killer like the Pale Death to live here is insane,” Soap said.

“Mother Maia… how insulting.” Graves notes, “The Pale Death working with our children?”

“I bet Maia isn’t her real name,” Soap mutters.

“Agree,” Price grunts out smoke leaking from his maw.

“Why don’t we do some recon whilst we’re here” Graves stands up, “Price you stay with Laswell, Ghost asked the young Gargoyles about their life, and I will talk to Mother Maia.”

“What are you planning?” Laswell folds her arms, “Shepard wants a smooth deal where we get our concessions.”

“I know, but something feels fishy about this place.” Graves adds, “It feels… stage.”

“Let me—“

“I want you and Gaz to watch the children, and see if their body languages give anything away.” Sops clenched his fist but nodded and sat down.

—————————— /\ ——————————

Gaz looked at the little harpies their little down feather wings gathered around him like lost chicklings looking for their mommas. He felt himself smiling at the small yet wide-eyed little owls just staring at him.

Pricilla is seventeen, and the oldest person there. She had also spent the longest time at the orphanage.

“So you’ve been an orphan this long?” Gaz asks.

“No, Mother Maia is my adopted Mother,” Gaz eyes widen.

“When did she adopt you?”

“I was eight.”

“Does she have any other kids?”

“No,” Pricilla sighs. “She cannot adopt anymore, in Switzerland only monsters can adopt monsters, same with humans. We came to Switzerland mother and daughter,” Gaz nods and looks at all the little Hapries.

“There’s so many children here,” Gaz mutters there were at least fifteen harpies of flight age.

“Many monsters abandoned their injured kids here, many of them have actual parents who don’t want them, but a small few made it here on their own… the human orphanage is way more kids.”

“Human orphanage?” Gaz questions.

“A lot of humans give up their babies because they can’t care for them, some are given up because their parents died after arriving.”

“how do you know this?”

“We all go to school together.” Gaz’s mouth drops. Humans? Monsters! Together? In school! No way!

“We’re gonna narrow their football field for this flight practice.”

“… you know this land used to not be Switzerland,” Gaz said as they walked a mile to the place.

“I know it was a part of France, right?” Pricilla answer. Gaz nod.

“We monsters don’t use the old colonial name the humans created.” Pricilla nods, she soon arrives at a school and there a few humans are playing.

“Jakob,” Pricilla calls out, a blonde boy, around Pricilla’s age wave.

“We need to barrow your football field.”

“Why?” He asks walking over to the fence of the tennis court.

“Flying practice!” Pricilla cheers.

“I’ll go tell Gramps he can turn on the lights.”

“Thank you!”

“You seem friendly with that human,” Gaz said trying not to growl at her. How could she forsake her kind and be around humans? Doesn’t she know they are destructive and cruel?

“He’s my classmate.” She bashfully said. Cold realization dawned on Gaz this young harpy like that human. He was a decent-looking boy but it made his blood boil.

By the time they reach the football field, the lights turn on.

It was going to be a long night, the sun was setting and they had a few hours to teach them. The wind picked up, his wings flared out and the older harpies watched him, eyes wide and eager to learn.

Gaz couldn’t help but smile at these small harpies taking flight, their wings clumsily flapping in the air.

Taglist: @kkaaaagt, @kaoyamamegami, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore

[prime-adeptus]

NOTHING IS LOST (YOU GIVE ME STRENGTH) – FUSHIGURO MEGUMI & READER

As minimal as this may seem, you wonder if he knows how much it means to you that he came. Your days have been lonely with you feeling increasingly out of touch with everything, but everything feels fine with Megumi by your side. Or, the one where you find your way back home.

TAGS.⠀gender-neutral reader; ambiguous relationship; childhood friends; aged-up au/canon divergence; brief smoking; angst & hurt/comfort; mental health issues, talks of death/suicide ideation, implied past suicide attempts; mild gore; near-death experiences; drifting apart and coming back together. hopeful/happy ending. SFW. 3,9k words

A/N.⠀my first work after so long and it's just a ventfic LOL sorry i have been looping phoebe bridgers and lorde for ages.

CROSS-POSTED ON AO3

For as long as you can remember, you’ve always felt things fervently.

One moment you’d feel euphoric, like you’re walking on air and nothing can get you down, but then everything crumbles and you’re left as nothing but an empty husk. It’s ironic how emptiness can feel so heavy, a constant weight on your shoulders, constant tugs at your heartstrings. 

Despite all the things you hate about yourself, there’s still one part of you that you’ll always remember with pride: there is no limit to the unconditional love you can give to people. It’s taken some time for you to decide you want to live and love as much as you can. 

But for some reasons you couldn’t fathom, these days, you feel as though your love is forced. Unnatural. Ingenuine. Like it’s just something you’ve gotten used to doing passively. Like you no longer believe, like you are living a lie. 

In a way, maybe you are. The longer you are surrounded by your fellow Jujutsu sorcerers, the more aware you become of how rotten this world can get. Plagued with death, unhappiness and turmoil on every corner, and with humans repeating the same mistakes, you’ve begun to believe that this is all hopeless. You’re well aware that it’s quite a pessimistic view to hold, but in the world that you are in, you find that it keeps you grounded. A realist. 

Or, as your beloved teacher Gojo Satoru would call you, a downer.

The sound of his voice referring to you as such makes you click your tongue in irritation. There’s not much you know about him, but the bitter part of you believes that  he  of all people should at least understand how you feel. You hold your position as a jujutsu sorcerer in high regard and with honour, but as time passes by, you’ve started to contemplate if it’s even worth it at all.

You wonder if people know that you weren’t always this way — as a child, you were bright-eyed and innocent, full of love for people and the world. Growing and going through life shattered it all, making you a husk of what you once were, and even now, you still don’t know who you’re supposed to be.

You lie and you cheat, tricking people into believing that you’re independent and fine on your own, but you are lonelier than words can describe.

And just what do you live for? You’ve survived time and time again by sheer instinct and reflex, but you still don’t know what your purpose is. You fight and you risk your life to keep other people safe at the cost of your wellbeing. Every day is a task to complete for the greater good, but what’s in store for you? You’ve grown distant from your parents — on your end, anyway; it’s difficult to read people — and your once close friends rarely contact you anymore. All you have are your peers, but you still feel so out of place among them. 

The cigarette burns between your fingers as you stare off into space by the edge of the river. At the mere age of nineteen, you feel as though you’ve lived several lives, all of which have harrowed you to no end. Nicotine flows in your system as you take yet another drag, wondering if this is what your youth was meant to be. Years of saving the city in favour of feeling like you’re wanted, needed should’ve made you feel happy. Yet here you are, alone in the streets of Tokyo, all because there’s nothing waiting for you at home.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” a voice says from beside you. It’s deep and quiet, almost monotonous, but you’d recognise the hint of concern anywhere. Megumi slightly grimaces at the sight of you exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“I don’t.” With a scoff, you put out the cigarette in the ashtray and turn to face him instead. “How’d you know I’d be here?”

He frowns. It amuses you how it seems to have been a permanent expression etched on his face since you were kids. You don’t remember if you’ve ever seen him with a different look, but that’s on you, you suppose. You haven’t spent much time with him for a while now. Time ages you and your weariness distances you from those you wish to stay close to.

When he doesn’t reply, you speak up again, “I'm trying.”

“I know.” He glances at you. As blunt as he sounds, you know he means well; that’s just the way he is. He looks like he has more to say but he doesn’t, instead opting to hand you a packet of your favourite mints. Any other time you’d take it as an insult, but you find yourself getting sentimental over the fact that he still remembers what you like. 

“Thanks,” you mumble, popping one into your mouth. “Sorry, it’s been a long day.”

The corner of his lips quirks downward for a split second. With a quiet sigh, he lightly flicks your forehead, not reacting at all to the indignant yelp you let out. 

“Where’s your jacket?” he asks in a chiding tone, though there isn’t any venom in it. “You’ll get sick. I don’t want you sneezing on me.”

“You always take care of me, though,” you grumble without thinking, putting on the jacket that was previously tied around your waist. Another beat passes before you realise what you’ve blurted out. Were you being too familiar with him? You’re not sure if he still wants to be friends after all that isolation you’ve been doing. You part your lips to apologise, but he interrupts with a huff and a flick to your forehead again.

“Shut up.” The pink flush on the tips of his ears betrays the irked expression he wears. You’re not sure whether it’s because of the chilly air or if it’s because he’s blushing, but it brings a smile to your face nonetheless. “Let’s go back.”

As minimal as this may seem, you wonder if he knows how much it means to you that he came. Your days have been lonely with you feeling increasingly out of touch with everything, but everything feels fine with Megumi by your side.

You were only twelve when you started seeing Curses everywhere you went.

You’d never been the type to get scared too easily, but there was something about those creatures that unsettled you to the core. They seemed horrifically disfigured and hungry, ready to pounce at any moment, and you could only be brave for so long. You tried telling your mother and your friends only to be met with suspicious and concerned looks. 

They thought you were crazy. You didn’t blame them for that. You never believed in the paranormal, so this sudden change must’ve been quite a shock. It wasn’t until two years later did you learn what they were and that you could exorcise them, somehow like they did in the horror movies. Your memory of your recruitment is hazy, but you did remember sitting with Megumi and Gojo in the car and asking the most questions you’ve ever asked in your lifetime. Your new teacher found it amusing; your classmate, however, did not.

Your mother didn’t seem to mind sending you to a boarding school. With an elaborate lie about your full scholarship told by Gojo, she’d beamed in joy and helped you pack your bags. She’d be too busy to actually notice your absence, but that didn’t stop her from sending a message to check in on you every once in a while. At some point, you stopped responding. Not because you were annoyed, but rather, you just didn’t have the energy to.

Ironically, for a school with quite a handful of staff and students, you never felt lonelier in your life. You stuck by Megumi’s side for the sole reason that he was the only one you felt comfortable enough to approach. You didn’t talk to him much, but he was good company and you came to consider him a friend. Eventually, he started approaching you as well, and you’d spend time together like regular friends would do. It felt nice to be able to be around someone and not have to explain yourself all the time. 

In hindsight, you think it’s your fault that you’re so distant from everyone now. You don’t quite know when it all began—the depressing thoughts, the near-uncontrollable impulses, the lack of care for your safety and well-being. Every time your teachers or a peer brought it up, you’d simply dismiss it as just a ‘hormone thing’ which seemed enough to make them stop asking. Megumi didn’t believe a thing. He doesn’t have to tell you for you to know that.

But what else could you do? You’re alone, and it’s not like anyone can help with whatever the fuck is happening in your head. Your mother got you in touch with professionals to help with your troubles, and even if she doesn’t say it much, you know she’s always worried sick and thinks you should just come home. You’ve been able to keep yourself in check since then, but with the sadness now mostly gone, you now have to deal with the void in your chest that plagues you constantly.

The forest surrounding the dormitories is quiet save for the leaves rustling in the wind and the cicadas chirping their evening tune. You’re not sure how long it’s been since your last official mission. You haven’t been good at keeping track of the time for a while now. But at the very least, you know that it’s been too long.

There’s no doubt Gojo had something to do with it, you think bitterly. Otherwise, you’d be as busy as your peers right now. If there’s one thing you hate about this place, it’s the fact that no one here ever really gives you a proper reason. You feel trapped, ignored, and maybe if you were more carefree you’d look past it, but you’re not. If they didn’t believe in your abilities, you’d show them; you don’t think being the underdog is that bad, after all. Maybe they’ll finally recognise your prowess and respect you.

With your heart pounding hard against your chest, you grab your ootachi and flee, letting your instincts guide you to wherever feels the most dangerous, exciting. The more rational part of you tells you that you’re going to be in trouble if you don’t turn back now, but you find that you really couldn’t care less.

You need to feel alive. You need to feel afraid, to feel something, anything. While you don’t mind resting, you also didn’t overwork yourself to the bone just to remain stagnant. You didn’t spend weeks training with every weapon the school had to offer just to let them rust. You didn’t hone your cursed techniques only to not use them at all. So punishment and criticism be damned, you’re going to do what you want whether people like it or not.

You find yourself standing in front of a dingy abandoned shrine in the woods. Unease settles in the air as you slowly creep into the light of the moon. It’s dim, incredibly so, but you can’t afford to be afraid of the dark now —you have something to prove, and you’re not going to let yourself be intimidated by something so childish. There are blood splatters on the cobblestone steps, both fresh and dried, and your grip tightens on the handle of your sword. Your instinct to fight rears its head within your body, adrenaline and the humane need to survive rushing through your veins, but you breathe and try to rein it all in.

You have to think.

(It’s quite ironic how for someone who doesn’t give a single shit about their life, you always fight your hardest so you can live.)

You take another step. A twig snaps beneath the weight of your foot. The dried leaves crunch and rustle like someone (or rather, something) is sizing you up, keeping itself unseen to take you by surprise. Incomprehensible gargled sentences echo from within and the stench of death and decay grows stronger. Even when fear starts to wrap you in its cold embrace, you walk through the gate and into the dark shrine. Your blood runs cold and your breath gets caught in your throat, but you force yourself to face the task at hand.

You’re met with a grotesque mass of green; all of its endless bloodshot eyes leer at you as its tendrils slither in your direction. Misshapen hands protrude from those tendrils and reach for you, taunting you with the blood and entrails stuck to their skin and nails, telling you that you are next. 

Not today.

An aura of black and purple coats your sword as you withdraw it from its sheath. It’s not the best space to utilise such a long sword—the shrine is somewhat cramped and is lacking in space for mobility, much less combat —but you grit your teeth and decide that you will adapt. Electricity crackles from your blade, and without any more hesitation, you charge. Its tendrils are faster than you had anticipated; they come close to wrapping themselves around your legs until your cursed energy latches on to them and forces them to disintegrate.

The curse glares at you in fury. You can practically hear your heartbeat as you slash through its tendrils, splattering the wooden floors with its steaming blood. A guttural growl leaves the curse and the air feels thicker; it’s getting hard to breathe and your vision is starting to fade. 

Am I going to die here?

There’s a sharp pain in your gut. The sword slips out of your grasp and blood sputters out of your lips. When you look down, you realise that the curse has pierced through you.

It hurts it hurts it hurts it fucking hurts.

But you can’t die here. Not like this, not without a fight.

Shakily, weakly, you put your hands together, breathe, and with the last of your strength, you fire a powerful blast that hits the curse square in the centre, making it screech in pain. Vapour rises from its form as it melts into the ground and eventually dissipates. A relieved sigh leaves you, but then the world spins, your body hurts even more, and before you know it, everything goes dark.

You fall into nothing.

(Somewhere not too far from the shrine, apprehension crawls into Fushiguro Megumi’s system.

He doesn’t hesitate. He follows the curse residue and he runs.)

You wake with a dull ache between your ribs.

The first thing you see is never-ending walls of white. There’s a generic decorative painting on the wall along with an old clock that tells you it’s a quarter past noon. Blearily, you realise that you’re in the infirmary, and judging from the soreness that spreads through your body and into your limbs, you’re still alive.

Somehow, you’re not as happy about it as you should be.

You feel like you’ve been through hell and back. In a way, you did. You’re too tired to regret your poor decisions from who knows how long ago, and you’re not a stranger to deliberately ignoring whatever makes you feel like shit. So you do just that all while staring blankly at the wall in front of you, hoping that you’ll eventually fall asleep again and forget. Maybe even not wake up until the month ends.

(You’ve come to a realisation that you don’t want to die anymore; you just want to stop existing for a while, get yourself together then come back when you’re ready. Like pausing a game or a video being played, you don’t lose the progress, but you sure as hell forget what the hell happened earlier.)

The door slides open. You contemplate pretending to be unconscious again, but your ears pick up heavy footfalls on the tiled floor and you decide maybe you shouldn’t. 

“Hey, Ieiri-sensei,” you croak out, weakly raising two of your fingers in a peace sign. “I’m alive and moving.”

She hums, amused as she makes her way over to your bedside. “Yes, you are. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit?”

“Good. You would’ve been dead if Fushiguro-kun hadn’t found you. Can you stand?”

She gently urges you off the bed, hoisting you up by the shoulders as you try to maintain balance after being bedridden for hours. Or days. Or even weeks. You’re not sure.

“You’ve been unconscious for three days.”

The concerning duration of your bedridden state goes completely ignored. All you can think about is the mention of Megumi. 

You would’ve been dead if Fushiguro-kun hadn’t found you. 

“What do you mean he found me?”

She smiles wryly. “That boy’s been worried about you. Ran off from Satoru as soon as he felt a ‘weird pressure.’ What were you fighting?”

You shrug and wince at how stiff you feel. God, you hate this. Your legs are shaky as she helps you walk out of the infirmary and on the familiar path back to the dormitories. The school is quiet, making you wonder where everyone’s gone for the day.

“Some curse thing. Had tentacles and slimy skin. It was gross.”

“Well, that thing punctured you right there.” She gestures toward your chest. “Surprisingly it didn’t hit any vital organs, but you still lost a lot of blood. Did you exorcise it in the end?”

“I did.” A beat of silence passes. “Am I in trouble?”

“Yaga-sensei’s suspended you for a month. Oh, Fushiguro-kun. Just in time.” She helps you sit on a stone bench as Megumi approaches, his fingers furling and then relaxing by his sides. “They still need some support when they’re walking, but they’re healing quickly. They’ll be fine..”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“I’m still in my thirties, silly.” She ruffles your hair affectionately. “Be careful, hm? Come see me if there’s anything else.”

As Ieiri-sensei takes her leave, Megumi sits down next to you on the bench. His brows furrow the same way they always do when he’s thinking of how to say something nicely. He opts for silence instead, eyeing you cautiously. It almost feels offensive, but it’s only then that you’re aware of the bandages that cover essentially your whole upper body, so you brush it off. If someone else were in your position, you’d be worried sick too.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this visibly upset (well, for someone like Megumi anyway) over anything, and knowing that it’s because of you strikes you with a pang of guilt. With your lips pursed, you avoid his demanding look and glance at your hands instead. The bruises have almost faded away by now. Ieiri-sensei must’ve worked herself to the bone to patch you up.

“I’m not happy, Megumi.” Your throat closes up and your nose burns as the tears start to form and fall. “I’ve been trying to force myself to feel something. It didn’t matter what it was. I just hate being like this all the time.”

It hurts to cry. It hurts trying not to. Your state of mind is in tatters and you’re desperately doing your best to hold yourself together, but the way he’s looking at you makes you drop your guard completely.

“I know I’m surrounded by people, but I still feel so alone.”

Megumi doesn’t say anything. That’s fine, you think. The last thing you’d want to do is pressure him to speak his mind. He takes every word into consideration and thinks a lot by default, and if he’s still the same boy you knew all those years ago, he’d prefer to let his actions speak for themselves. 

“You didn’t have to come for me,” you murmur. “I’m sure you’ve got things to do.”

“No.” He pauses for a moment as if he’s trying to formulate what he wants to say into words that won’t feel like jabs. He huffs quietly. “I want to stay with you.”

Hearing him say those words practically has you melting on the spot, your heart fluttering as warmth rushes to your cheeks. You reach for his hand instinctively and with the slightest bit of hesitation, he responds by lacing your fingers together. 

“I’m sorry.” Your voice comes out barely above a whisper. You don’t know if it’s because you’re still exhausted or if it’s because you’re worried you’ll upset him somehow. Either way, it takes so much out of you just to talk anymore. “I’m trying.”

He squeezes your hand softly. “I know.”

“I say that to you a lot, don’t I?” you chuckle, leaning against his shoulder. I’m trying. You tell it to him every time you don’t have anything else to say, but it hardly feels true. Or maybe you’re just overly critical of everything you do, expecting yourself to reach certain heights before you consider yourself enough. 

“You are trying,” Megumi says. “Even now.”

You smile weakly. “You think so?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.” He lets go of your hand and your heart sinks, wondering if you’d done or said something wrong, but then he gently flicks your forehead the same way he always used to do when you were kids. “I found you bleeding out on the ground.”

“Pretty gnarly, wasn’t it?” you joke, laughing nervously. He shoots you a glare that shuts you up immediately.

“We were worried about you,” he continues, ignoring your interruption. “I was worried about you. I thought you were going to die.”

“Is this the part where I tell you that all jujutsu sorcerers die at some point?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry,” you say meekly, “I didn’t know I was that important to you.”

“We grew up together.” You feel a slight weight as he rests your head on top of yours with a sigh. “You’ve always been with me. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t there.”

It’s unusual for him to be this open about his feelings; he’s never been the overly sentimental type like you are, so to have him be this vulnerable with you makes you feel like you’re going to burst. The cool breeze passes by as you hesitantly take his hand again, and for the first time in so long, you find yourself genuinely smiling. He cares about you. He loves you, despite what that voice in your head tells you otherwise. It’ll take a while for you to change or get used to knowing these things, but for him, you’ll do everything you can. You’ll live — if not for yourself, then for him. And as slow and tedious as your path to recovery may be, both physically and mentally, you think that it’ll be worth the endeavour because you’re not alone. 

You are loved.

You are loved by him, and for now, that is enough to quell every anxiety in the back of your mind.

You glance at him. “Wanna watch a movie later?” 

Almost imperceptibly, he smiles back. “Sure.”

(You never end up finishing the movie.

Halfway through, exhaustion gets the better of you, and you fall into a deep sleep on the bean bag you borrowed from the recreation room. When you wake in the morning, you’re sore and aching all over, but the blanket draped over your frame and the arm around your waist makes you forget about it for a moment.

With a content smile, you curl closer.

He’s still the same Megumi you’ve always known.)

[takami-takami]

Stray Dogs Will Crawl Home.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. angst (with a happy ending).

warnings— gn!reader. breakups. keigo's trauma because i can't give this man a break and he needs to heal.

For better or for worse, Keigo has always been thrust into the role of decision maker.

Sure, on the inside, his emotions pick and chew at his open wounds; but the man has driven the proverbial and literal knife into far too many backs to hesitate when he leaves you.

He can do what needs to be done. It's for your own good. You deserve more than half a man, more than the scraps of whatever is left crawling to your door after another day of putting his goals of building a peaceful society before you.

The night before he left you, stone-faced to contrast your tears and begs of 'why' on the cold of your doorstep, he lay on his side and watched you sleep. Tracing the bridge of your nose with the tip of a finger, he wondered, throat tight, what you'd think of him if you knew the truth of what he's done.

He can't bear to offer you a man who's already sold himself. You shouldn't have to shoulder the weight of his sins. He tells himself it's for the greater good, but under the cobwebs of his bed, he knows a smaller, childlike voice is telling him you deserve someone who isn't dirtied by a life counting shades of moral grey.

It aches like he's dying, sure, but that's what hero work is for, right? He can throw himself into the trenches, hour after hour, until the sun looms over the horizon and the lovebirds' chirps announce the arrival of another morning without you.

For what everyone in the media says about him being a 'golden boy', he just doesn't feel the sun without you.

His subordinates ask more than a few questions about the bags under his eyes, why his glowing smile has fizzled to a mere plastic performance. It's even easier to brush them off than it was to brush off you, to smile wider and turn the question on them— an unspoken order to fucking drop it.

But Keigo's kryptonite, the deep burn that itches under the layers of his skin, is that he's well aware of what happens after someone like you becomes single. The thought crawls under the remains of his bones, and as he perches on the highest point of the city, he makes the mistake of allowing himself to entertain it. If he wasn't weighed down under the drags of sleep deprivation, he'd curse himself for being so weak.

Deep down, he knows what happens after the weeks of digging through tubs of comfort food on the couch are over. You'll stop sobbing over the phone with your best friend. You'll probably start scheduling little dates with people who remind you less and less of him with each passing one.

You're going to move on.

Someone else's fingers will press against your skin. Someone else's quips will cause you to laugh into your sleeve, someone else will hear your shaky breaths under the cover of the night, someone else will whisper promises they can't keep.

Someone else is going to make a spouse of you.

He winces. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he takes a single stride off the ledge and surges upwards with the beat of his wings.

He makes a note to add another shift to his schedule. Maybe two.

Are you thinking of him? If you were here, he knows you'd tell him to be open with you, to stop 'being so goddamn stubborn'. You'd tell him he deserves a break from pushing his emotions down, that you knew damn well what you signed up for when you decided to be his, and to just trust your judgement for once.

To make matters worse, you'd frame it sweet, hook the words around his heart like a taffy lasso, make it so he can't resist. You do know how much he likes it sweet.

It picks at the anger thrumming in his veins. You expect him to lay himself bare? To expose the rawest parts of him, despite the commission's repeated orders not to? You expect him to be selfish?

Why does he want so badly to be selfish?

He should definitely add two more shifts to his schedule.

His phone begins to ring, startling him from his musings. He knows exactly who it is from the first note. Your favorite song plays on his speaker; the one you confessed reminds you of him, with your thumb swiping over the raised hairs on his skin. His heart hammers in the cavity of his chest, pleading to be let out.

He can't be fucking rid of you. Keigo's heart, his mind, his very bones crackle with the fire he frantically tries to put out. God, he wants to burn, wants to drag himself by his fingertips to the door of your chapel and beg you to just finish him off. He wouldn't mind serving as the ash of your incense. He'd do anything for a chance to fill your lungs.

Shit. He scrambles to dig his phone from his pocket, nearly dropping it like hot coals when he attempts to pick it up.

"H-Hey, sweetheart!" He cringes at the puppy-like excitement in his voice at the mere sound of yours. "I'm s-sor— I," he stutters for far too long before he finally gives up. Sighing into the speaker, resigned, he squeezes his eyes shut and says exactly what his mind is screaming he shouldn't.

"Can we talk?"

[edwardsissyhandsthtdanceslikeabb]

crazy person check: did you see Richie being eviscerated by Syd in steadily personal and intense ways, until he was ultimately bothered / defeated, after belittling and undervaluing her. while also backdropped by past gems of empathy/connection and fondness.

all culminating in them getting in each other’s faces, and Syd brandishing a knife against him, and a part of you didn’t see it as a mere symptom of the chaos erupting in the kitchen, but as a greater manifestation of their tension (despite the good), especially with how needlessly close and frankly abetting/low Richie was speaking, not stepping away from the challenge, which later led you to realize that you actually ship it?

Especially bc he valued Sydney’s words sm that it borderline induced his S2 psychological spiral (which is fckɪɴɢ hilarious lol), exemplifying her impact/value to him, and how she’s equally if not more unhinged than him. and was allowed her retaliation in a grander, more intense way which validates her feelings against Richie, and elevates her above a passive recipient. With this tension transcending into S2, with their pointed tentativeness whenever they would initially interact, although awkward, it was evidently made so by all the things unsaid.

And doubly appreciate the detail of S2 ending with Carmy and Syd on repeatedly bad/disconnected footing and Richie conversely, earnestly imploring Sydney trust him, wanting to be utilized by her, giving himself to the person who arguably holds the most weight (was the one who really saw his inherent issues/needed to prove himself to) and was thusly crucial in pushing him to grow. and how sydney trusted him, chose to in fact — despite everything — which allowed her to achieve a huge part of her dream, actually being there for her - in opposition to his prior trend of self-centeredness (and so becoming endearing to you and smth you really appreciate). And the easy synergy this brought, evidencing their compatibility and natural gravitation — so while sydcarm are mirrors, their fallibilities tend to distance and depersonalize them from e/o - at least in carmy's case. Did this make you admire their depth and dynamicness and their uncanny ability to complement each other, whether piercing under the skin or building the other up? Did their [initial] tension make you think they were gonna makeout, but are you satisfied even tho they didn't (OOC, duh), but lowkey think they wanted to/should, like sydrichie nasty sickonut hɑτefuck when (with knife even)?

Would you lowkey love it if the show trolled and ended up not pairing sydcarm but unexpectedly the two that challenge each other - with sydrichie, despite many ppl falling to their knees in wallmart. Should sydrichie kiss sloppy style with τoɴɢue to make me very happy?

Do I need help? And is it an obvious problem that I ship Syd with any cousin 🐻 that breathes (she can't help that she's so charismatic and wifey 🤷🏿‍♂️)? Yes, yes. Clearly indicative of a hashtag normal person, very well adjusted yes.

[sunsblaze]

cont. || @the-moonbreather-rp

His childhood was something he did not speak freely about, very few knew much at all about Yoriichi’s past, his adolesent life, nor the life he had shared with his beloved. It was much to painful to stir up memories of the past and let them leave his lips, especially when it came to her. His Uta. Throughout his life Yoriichi attempted to make his presence as small and insignificant as possible, he dared not breathe too loud nor did he barely even made a sound as she shuffled about in the background of his family’s life, a delicate dance to ensure he would make no ripples in the water, for they turned into waves. One wrong step would lead the Tsugikuni family to ruin- or at least that is what their father had Yoriichi believe. For years he had belived that his mere existance was a fluke, according to father he should have never been born, he was a cursed child and the mark he bore was irrefutable proof. Everything he did was for the sake of his family. The sole reason he began speaking after being silent for so long was to extinguish mother’s worries of him being deaf, she was already in a fragile state at the time, so if he could take this one weight from her shoulders, he would. All he wanted was to be like his brother, he looked up to Michikatsu, the one who would come to him behind their father’s back to ensure he had a full belly, the one who had crafted little toys by hand for his entertainment- the one who kept him from simply withering away in that three tatami mat room. His brother was his hero and in return he wished to serve by his side, saving others as his brother had him. That’s all it was though. A wish. One that would not come true for fate had other plans as Yoriichi’s true talent came to light. Their father would plot, plan to push the elder brother to the side in favor of the younger twin’s natural strength and skill. Michikatsu would be sent off, Yoriichi would inherit everything his brother had been working so hard for. He would not have it. He would leave the very night their mother died, he knew it was coming, her body showed the signs well before, he had already starting mourning before and even as he shared the news with his brother, his heart ached. A simple smile was the only parting gift he had to offer, he had nothing else to give to Michikatsu before he would depart. If only Michi knew the admiration Yoriichi held for him and the sacrifice he had made to unsure his brother had the chance at the life he wanted. Many years had passed since they last laid eyes upon one another, the years apart greater than the years they had spent together as children and as slayers. Still, he vividly remembered the day he found of his brother’s betrayal to not only the corps, but to him. He had taken the head of the master and had become the very thing they sought to rid the world of. The news had stilled him and deep inside this sorrow he held only spilled over, dripping from his eyes. It hurt. It was agony to lose yet another he cared to deeply for and the act of betrayal wasn’t the end of it. Yoriichi would sit before the other pillars and their master’s heir as they discussed his fate, he would be the one to pay the toll of his brother’s sins. Originally, the other pillars pushed for him to commit suicide, to slit his own belly, that would not come to pass, their new master and the flame pillar had argued against such a fate and in the end he was exiled from the corps. Alone once again. He always seemed to find himself alone in the end.

Now the sun user would let his tears flow freely down his sunken cheeks as he stood before the twisted image of his beloved elder brother, his heart aching painfully in his chest. Holding his blade in opposition to his own blood put a strain on his old bones, it was as if his body was trying to reject the truth of what needed to be done. That he needed to cut down his astray twin and let his soul pass to the other side so he could finally be at rest. He knew once this was done his own time would come to an end, even now he could feel his body failing him, yearing for rest. “Every creature that grazes this land will eventually come to the end of its life, so is the way of life and death…though some meet death in an untimely manner, some live well beyond their years.” In the end the Gods sought to reclain the souls of every living being, it was what made life worth living, the separation of life and death, an unpredictable cycle. “I admit I share the blame for it was my teachings that marked you and our comrads for death, that I will carry to my grave.” Yoriichi could not hold the fear of a life cut short against his brother, no one wanted to die, not at such an early age, still full of life and ambition, but becoming a demon, a beast that consumed the innocent, that is what lead to this moment. The moment he would hold his blade against his own kin. “This path you speak of, is it truly what you desire? The strength you speak of has been given to you at a price, a price you will come to pay, you will be shackled to that man until death.” Yoriichi appeared to simply be a frail old man, thin, frail, easily broken, his hair once a fiery-raven color now white, the ends tinged in silver. “My heart breaks for you, brother.”

[cassioo]

“Drown.”

Tashi Duncan x fem!reader

TW: angst; reflection; inner monologue; feelings-thoughts-feelings about thoughts-thoughts about feelings; endless circle of self-consciousness and self-hatred established into ourselves from that tricky thing called genetics. Fuck genetics. wc: 1,3k Author’s notes: I’m drunk and in my feelings rn + listening to Russian songs that don’t help the cause. English isn’t my native language, for that matter. (Something short to let out after a shitty week.)

If anyone ever told you two months ago that THE Tashi Duncan would let her eye fall upon you, a mere mortal that was just entering the field of sports—tennis, precisely—in this myriad of chaos and chronic prostration, you would’ve let out a laugh of the week from how impossible and absurd the thought sounded aloud. Because what the fuck? Have you seen Tashi? Have you seen yourself? No, but really... when was the last time you really looked into the mirror and saw something more than the reflection of the person you remember was running down the halls of the middle school, gossiping about boys who you totally ‘didn’t’ like—what was there to like about them?—or the halls full of voices that didn’t give you a migraine or two from just needing to spend another second thinking,

Am I the only one who doesn’t want to know anything about all of this? ...about all of them?

What was your life about if you were not thinking, weighing your options, thinking about the options you weighed, weighing if the options you weighed were even worth weighting, or if it was in your damn head? Always your head.

Head... where was your head exactly when you graduated? Tashi liked to joke, ‘shoved up the crevices of your ass, apparently,’ which wouldn’t be so far away from the truth, considering all of this started because of your head. Not your heart, no—because you didn’t have one.

Remember when your mom used to say you were meant to do something greater than where you are right now? What was that greater exactly now? Slipping into the covers with the wife of your best friend? Seeing their friend, Patrick, stealing drunken kisses and leaving sweaty marks on Tashi’s latest Gucci—she could not deserve anything less—cashmere jacket, and then grabbing those calloused, manly hands and guiding, sliding, them into your underwear, while judging Tashi’s dishonesty? You were anything but truthful, and less to your own self.

What was there about ‘friendship codex’ which you heard years ago in one of the bathroom stalls when you first kissed your friend’s ex? Seems like a pattern no, doesn’t it? Thought you learned the lesson even though your eyes always seemed to strike away from Art’s? Out of pure respect or utter guilt—unknown.

What is good? What is bad? What is correct? What defines it? Humans? The engrained morals we’ve been carrying within ourselves since the origins of our birth? Was it what our parents used to yell into our faces when we would ‘accidentally’ let out a curse or two to our teachers under our breaths and they would ‘accidentally’ overhear them? Was it the recognition that the apple, indeed, doesn’t fall far from the tree? No matter how hard you might try and fail, over and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and...

What are we if not sinners meant to work for what we did in Sodom and Gomorrah? Was it fair if it happened centuries ago when humans couldn’t possibly imagine if they were gonna be able to survive, and to procreate for more masses that would eventually lead to this?

“Swallowed your tongue?” You remember Tashi asking you one day after yet another strenuous practice in which the ball hit your head so hard that you must’ve forgotten who you were talking to if the first thing leaving your mouth was,

—Patrick told me you two had broken up.

The following silence was accompanied by a feeling that you couldn’t properly describe now, but it was something akin to when your parents pushed you into the water so you would learn—by sheer instinct—how to swim. The utter panic. The terrific realization that you are, indeed, falling into the pit that was about to drown you if you don’t move your ass and fucking do something. Was it a dream? Another example of your overdrawn imagination that you never lacked, even when you were alone? When weren’t you? Don’t we come alone and go alone in this life? What was the point of trying to make friends if anything was meant to end like this... with Tashi staring at you as if you’d disappointed not her— her entire line of thinking that was practically built around both of you these two months that you knew were meant to end. What hasn’t ended if this life is all about the natural order of things: creating — ending it.

“I’m just thinking,” you told her in the most sincere way you could manage through the gathering tears that you wanted to scratch out of your eyes, because what the fuck, weren’t you enough,, haven’t you done enough to deserve this tone thrown into your face like the bag that you saw was pushed under Patrick’s feet with Tashi’s heel? After all, we all are dispensable and meant to be thrown away, isn’t it? It was good while it lasted... right?

“Why’re you looking at me like this?” Gosh, you sounded pathetic—get it together, girl; were your trembling hands, your prickling eyes, your thrown to the brim feelings, the seemingly unstoppable sensation of trying to make your way out of that water that seemed to grow hands and claw their way over your sinking body worth it? Your overcompensated circle of victim-victimizer: ‘I’m not worse than Tashi if she does the same’?

And blurting out, unthinking, really, “I haven’t done anything you wouldn’t in my place, too. Weren’t it us from the beginning?”

“You were never in the equation.” Okay, shoot her, it would’ve hurt less than whatever the hell Tashi just straight-up shitted in her face. “You want to feel special, want to be part of something?” That questioning hm felt like a finger being put on the trigger about to be shot, and not just anywhere. At you.

“Then play like you are something; I have no interest in playing with a person who can’t see their own worth.” The way Tashi crossed her arms and tilted her head felt like a mother disapproving of a child who just said they haven’t studied in the time given for that same purpose— but Tashi wasn’t a Mother Theresa, nor was she a lifeline, or the hand that you saw blurry waving out of the water for you to grab. Help yourself yourself. “What worth can be there if you can’t even focus on something as basic as not sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong?” she muttered the last part to herself. Ouch, for fuck’s sake.

“You wanted to be alone? Felt overly confident in your strengths, saw an opportunity and struck like the snake that you always were? I taught you this, after all, I should probably feel proud ‘n shit—but the only thing that comes to mind is that I want to choke you right now.” Your eyes could only watch how Tashi grabbed that cursed bag with big cursive capital “Art” sewn into the fabric, before throwing it over her shoulder like it weighed nothing. It probably didn’t in comparison to the weight that was left on your shoulders, leaving you grasping the doorframe as if it would’ve saved you from the undone damage. ‘No, it wouldn’t,’ whispered your consciousness, ‘you started this — now watch her finish it.’

“Please; be fucking alone.” Tashi never said a mere thank you to you, so to hear a simple please felt like everything you had and couldn’t have.

You could have if you had a heart, which you don’t.

[bipolarman2022]

The Spanish man, shorter and of a thin build, stands in front of the imposing figure before him, a 40-year-old Arab man whose mere bearing fills him with a mixture of reverence and submission. His gaze is timid at first, but he can't help but take in every detail of the man, as if in his presence everything else disappears. He feels small, not only in size, but in essence, as if before him were someone from a superior race, a being made to dominate, to lead, to be admired. And then he begins to speak, his voice soft, almost hesitant, but full of respect:

"Sir... I have never seen such an imposing figure, so full of strength and authority. From the first moment I lay my eyes on you, it is impossible not to feel this presence, this energy that emanates from each of your movements. Your beard, so black and rough, seems like the insignia of a warrior who has lived through a thousand battles and has emerged victorious from them all. In each of those rough hairs I see the mark of power, a sign that the man I have in front of me is not just any man, but someone destined to command.

His chest, covered with that dark, thick hair, is like a natural armor, a symbol of raw, indomitable masculinity. I feel overwhelmed by that skin, as dark and hard as the earth itself. My hands, weak compared to yours, could never match the strength that I imagine hidden under that skin tanned by the sun and the years. I can only imagine what it would be like to be under your control, to feel the The weight of your hand on me, controlling me, teaching me what it means to be truly strong.

Your eyes… those dark eyes that pierce me mercilessly. When you look at me, I feel like you see beyond my exterior. There is nothing I can hide from that intense gaze, full of wisdom and judgment. Your eyes make me feel transparent, as if I could not lie or hide who I am. And that, sir, makes me want to be more, makes me want to be at your level, even though I know that is impossible. I am aware of my inferiority, of my weakness, and that leads me to bow before you.

Your shoulders are like mountains, firm, broad, capable of supporting any weight. That strength of yours is not just physical, it is something that emanates from deep within you, an unbreakable force of will. And I, at your side, feel weak, fragile. Every step you take is a declaration of your superiority. The ground seems to give way to your power, while I remain still, trembling at the mere thought of your control. Everything about you screams dominance, an authority that doesn't need to be imposed, it just exists, and I... I can do nothing but follow it, obey it.

Your hands, large and strong, seem designed to rule. I imagine what it would be like to feel your touch, that unwavering firmness that could easily handle me, bending me with a single gesture. I know that with those hands you could make me yours, mold me to your will, and I accept it. I am nothing more than a man who recognizes the greatness in you. Your body, your presence, everything about you is a manifestation of power, a power that I not only respect, but revere.

And I, here, in front of you, realize my place. I am small next to you, inferior in every way. But there is something in that inferiority that fills me with peace, with gratitude. Because, standing before a man like you, I know that I am before something greater than myself, something that I cannot reach, but that teaches me what true strength means, true virility. You are what every man should be, and I can only admire you, from below, with the respect and devotion that you deserve."

The Spaniard finishes his words, breathing deeply, his body almost trembling at the intensity of the scene. He knows that he is in the presence of something much bigger than himself, an Arab man who, just by existing, teaches him his place in the world.

[mischiefmaker615]

Be Prepared

Rating: R

Request: Loki request prompts: “No one makes me weak like you do. Or so fucking angry.” and “You’re lucky you make me so damn hard.”

Request For: eleniblue

“No one makes me weak like you do. Or so fucking angry.”

You glare up at Loki as your eyes follow him in his slow and steady pace around you. Your limbs were sore, both from being bound to each corner of the bed and by trying to get out of said bounds. Your energy was quickly spent in the first few minutes upon before taken into this mysterious room where he did nothing but relieve you of your SHIELD uniform, right down to your undergarments. Your body still shivered at the temperature as you stopped trying to guess where you were, it could be anywhere by now considering you had woken up from being unconscious. ‘’what did I ever fucking do to you-‘’ Your words were cut short as he moved to your side with his hand shooting out to grasp your jaw, his face looming close to yours with his eyes alone feeling like daggers. ‘’it’s the fact that a creature like you is merely wasted on trying to help useless mortals like them in a scheme to try to stop the inevitable.’’ He hissed, his grasp tightening as you wince, doing your best not to give him the satisfaction on crying out before his touch returned to being gentle once more; his thumb even stroking your skin. ‘’and yet you still refuse to join my side, even when there is clearly no hope for your so-called Avengers to stop me. I will have my thrown.’’ Your head turned to the side as he continued to stalk around the bed, his gaze dragging over your body hungrily as you tried not to squirm under his gaze. ‘’they don’t see your potential, your skill, beauty- you can be appreciated here..’’ he purred and your glare returned to him with your mock tone coming back. ‘’what’s stopping you from using the scepter then? You want my help so badly? Take it.’’ it was a stupid move, but if you had no choice in the matter anyway, at least your sarcasm had a small chance at pissing him off in the long run, giving you a win. Yet all he did was laugh. His laugh made you shiver all over again, his timing making you feel like the answer wasn’t clear even though his eyes said it all as he placed his finger tips at your ankle and slowly dragged themselves up as he spoke. ‘’there are two flaws to your accusation darling. One, using my scepter on you would surely disintegrate the fire in your eyes and spirit I oh so love so much. And two, I never exactly said I wanted your help.’’ ‘’join your side is what you said, like I’d ever try to hurt-‘’ ‘’perhaps I didn’t explain myself clearly love. I don’t wish for you to betray your rights to fight for mine.. exactly. What I merely am asking is that you become my queen.’’ He purred and your eyes widen, even as he sinks down onto the mattress beside you once his finger tips had passed your thighs and hovered right where your intimate area was- just being covered by a pray and your panties. ‘’and w-what gives you the idea that I would agree to that position?’’ ‘’hesitant? Think me a tyrant?’’ he smirked, almost hurt as he placed a hand on his heart for dramatic affect. ‘’you killed people-‘’ your words were cut short as his long finger hooked into your panties and moved them aside, revealing your intimate parts for open access. ‘’don’t you da-‘’ With a flick of his free hand, a tie formed around your mouth and dampened your words as you turned your head from side to side to try to remove it. no luck. Of course, you were cure he understood the string of cussing following after. ‘’your people kill people. Every day darling. SHIELD is all about the greater good, correct? Instead of rehabilitating others or sending them off to prison, they decide to shoot first. Even your people have weapons that are meant to knock mortals out rather than expire them.’’ Loki shook his head, as if disappointed with her before he places his hand beside her to rest his weight while his free hang ghosts between her legs, causing her to flinch and tense her muscles at another attempt to break her bonds. No such luck. "I can't blame you. I'm afraid I've built quite an unfortunate reputation for myself in this realm. Can't trust me any further than you can throw me, I suppose. But I do assure you that I will not hurt you Y/N, or I would already have done so.’’ He smirked, flaunting his upper hand in the matter before he lightly presses the tip of his middle finger to your clit, remaining fingers remaining up as if in a dainty position before he slowly began to rub in circles. Your eyes squeeze shut as your teeth sink down into the gag, trying to fight the pleasurable feeling and any sounds that would try to escape as your limbs fail to free you. Useless. ‘’how about a recap shall we?’’ he asked with a light hearted tone in his voice as if their situation was as simple as having tea in the morning. His eyes slowly moved from her face with a smirk as they dragged down to where his hand was in action and he already felt his bulge begging for some relief. Restraining himself, he added his ring finger along side his middle and gently dragged them up and down, up and down in an agonizingly slow pace that would keep her pleasure at bay but just at that edge where he wanted her. ‘’you are mine and I am very much yours. You are to be my queen and together we shall rule this world where you can also finally see the potential you have upon your skills, they impressively have been holding back from you. You can do far more damage than you think and they shall pay for the years of waste upon your devotion to them. While we have plenty of free time in between, I will take it upon myself to pleasure you, in all the ways I know you craze despite how you even now are trying to deny it. but I suggest you stop trying to lie to yourself and to the very God who can detect it, it only makes me want to punish you..’’ his voice got huskier as the tip of his middle finger ghosted upon your entrance and barely curled in as it passed, making your hips rise ever so slightly before you were quick to shove them back down but he had already noticed. “You’re lucky you make me so damn hard.” He purred as he removed his fingers and your eyes quickly looked away, wanting to hide your disappointment from the loss of touch before his hand found your jaw again and forced you to look at him. ‘’because lying to yourself is like lying to me.’’ A smirk returned to his lips after his serious expression and he slowly moved down your body before dipping his head to your cunt. ‘’but if that is what you wish darling, then I hope your prepared for punishment..’’

[anony-man]

Chubformers drabble #91!

Characters: Megatron (& Soundwave - TFP)

Word count: 842

The arena was alive with shouts and cries as Megatronus prowled. They had come here for a fight, and for his success by the chanting of his name in the air. A fight is what they wanted, and a fight is what he would give them.

His success had crossed the boundaries of Kaon and drawn in hundreds, if not thousands, of bloodthirsty and sadistic viewers. His gruesome successes and fiery speeches caught the attention of just the right bots, it seemed, and while he was still aiming for the abolishment of Cybertron’s awful systems, Megatronus was starting to gain more than just a crowd of curious audials and willing viewers.

The sway of his belly followed each thundering step he took around the ring, and Megatronus swung his helm back and forth in a show of aggression as he searched for his next willing opponent. The pits were about putting on a show and nothing less, and he’d grown accustomed to doing just that.

His name wasn’t the only thing growing these days, and neither was his growing victory streak. Gartering attention from those above him meant making a statement, and Megatronus had discovered a foolproof way of doing just that. Megatronus was great, but his reputation would be greater.

What better way to gain the attention of his people than to gain himself? The crowds loved it, his opponents mocked it, and Megatronus came out on top every time.

“Who out there is brave enough to fight against me, Megatronus, reigning champion of the gladiator pits?” he shouted, pounding a fist against his protruding chest as he studied the crowd.

The people roared, servos pumping the air and fingers pointing as a new figure crept through the entrance. Megatronus watched, waiting curiously for the first sign of his next victim.

“Well?” Megatronus continued, servos on his pudgy hips as he waited. “Show yourself, coward! Come face me!”

Unlike his past opponents, the new arrival was hardly cocky in his approach towards the ring. Each step was crept forward with calculated movements, and the bot’s face—a full visor covering his expression—bore no sign of the ridicule or shock Megatronus had received before.

A fair fight, then. Megatronus had been dying for one of those.

He waited for a battle cry, or a speech, or a show of power, but the only thing he received was the mech pausing at the center of the arena and lowering his helm, allowing Megatronus to make the first move.

Easy work then. At least, that’s what he had thought.

It took all of ten minutes for Megatronus to force his opponent to the floor, but when he went in to pin the mech beneath the weight of his belly, he hesitated. The crowd around them was up on their pedes and shouting his name in a chanted mantra, desperate for the cry of war and success he uttered after every defeat, but this… this was no success. It was no simple fight, either.

The bot beneath his belly made no attempt at a struggle as the weight of Megatronus’ massive frame was rested atop him. Instead, he merely gave in and allowed himself to be pinned. Strange, he thought, but the fight was still on, and the people were hungry for a show. There was no time to linger on such an occurrence, no matter how badly he tried.

“I am… victorious!” he shouted, and the silent crowd began screaming his name.

“I am victorious,” he continued, leaning into the pinned mech beneath him. “And I will continue to succeed. Hear my name and mark my words, for I, Megatronus, will bring about a change to Cybertron as we know it!”

All optics were on him, just as they were meant to be. Megatronus reveled in the attention and soaked up the joy of the moment, but never once stopped thinking about the silent, submissive bot he’d defeated that still lay beneath his belly.

Even after the fight had ended, and after the bot had crept back into the shadows to nurse his wounds with only a brief glance back at the fat gladiator who’d defeated him, Megatronus couldn’t get it out of his processor. There was something different then, something different about the fight, and about his opponent, and about his reputation that had changed then.

He was still Megatronus, the fearsome gladiator of the pits of Kaon, and his days would be lived in the light of his success. Even so, he could hardly forget that blank visor staring back at him. With every downed opponent and every mech torn apart with each bloody battle, Megatronus could only wish more and more for that familiar yet foreign face to be the one staring back at him.

Soundwave, he later learned. Soundwave was the mech who had caught his attention, and it would be Soundwave standing by his side who would put an end to the reign of fruitless fights and empty victories of crushing bots beneath the weight of his frame.

[rillils]

no bc at the end of the day, when steve and bucky were on the helicarrier, and steve already stopped it from killing a bunch of people, steve didnt fight back

because at the end of the day, he took every single one of bucky's punches thinking that its his fault that this happened to bucky

because at the end of the day, Steven Grant Rogers just stood there while he was getting beaten up

because at the end of the day, James Buchanan Barnes knew him

NO BECAUSE AT THE END OF THE DAY, STEVE WAS WITH HIM TIL THE END OF THE LINE

oh god THE FEELS, honey, why do you do this to me 😭

oh. oh no. darling I must ramble, I just, I can't help it, I can't *shrieks*

just. how relieving it must be for Steve, to know that he doesn't have to fight Bucky anymore, that he doesn't have to hurt Bucky anymore. now that his mission is complete and the world is safe again, Steve doesn't have to be Captain America anymore, and you can see the shift in him the moment he lets himself leave all of that behind - the world, the public, his mantle, his duty. it's like a weight has been lifted off his chest and he can finally breathe.

he physically divests himself of all of it: he takes off his cowl, lets go of his shield, and stands before Bucky as only Steve Rogers - because at the end of the day, that's the man Bucky knew, that's the man Bucky saw whenever he looked at him.

it's kind of like that day, in that bar, 70 years before, when Bucky told him that no, Cap wasn't the one he was ready to lay down his life for: Steve was.

what Steve is saying now is just, the other side of the coin. Captain America might have other priorities; he might have to put the greater good first, and worry about the rest later. But Steve's number one priority is Bucky: everything else is just background noise. and the man standing before Bucky now is Steve, as vulnerable and true as he can be.

he's not an ideal, or a symbol, or an abstract concept: he's a man made of flesh and blood, and he's in so much pain, and he's stubbornly forcing himself to stand upright rather than curling in on himself like his body desperately wants to, because there's no agony worse than knowing that Bucky's right here, and still just out of reach.

you know, we always say that Steve stops fighting back in this scene, but that's not quite true, I don't think. Steve is still fighting, just not in the same way as before. and what he's fighting for now, is for Bucky to come home.

Your name is James Buchanan Barnes, he says. You are my friend. You've known me your whole life. Come back to me, he says, I'm here waiting for you.

this is how Steve's fighting back against Bucky's rebuttal: not with his fists, not with his shield, but with his heart. each time Bucky hits him, vibranium against mere human flesh, breaking skin, bruising bone, desperately trying to make Steve shut up, resorting to violence because that's the only way Bucky can defend himself against the nightmarish reality that's coming down around him, Steve responds with love. with all the incommensurable love he's been carrying in his heart for Bucky all these years, through time and death.

Steve responds with the only thing he's got left to give, after he's given all of himself; and, incidentally, the thing Bucky has been denied the most, ever since he fell out of that train.

what Steve is saying to Bucky, in every way he can, is: I love you.

You have a name. You're not a machine, you're not a thing to be owned and used. You are a person. You are Bucky. I know you.

and how many times have we said that to know someone, to really know them inside and out, is to love them?

I know you. I've shared my whole life with you. I love you.

but even more than that, I think he's telling Bucky, You know me, too. You loved me, too.

because Bucky may have been told otherwise for 70 years, but he too has a heart. he too is allowed to feel, to care, to love, to think, to just- be. to a man who has been brutalized beyond all comprehension, weaponized, dehumanized by any means possible, Steve is saying, You are human, and they cannot erase that, no matter how hard they try.

and I think this is where I start crying, 'cause gsjdkfldkg

choosing to echo Bucky's own words from when they were younger, that's, god that's just.

first of all, it tells you just how important those words were to Steve, how deeply they touched him, and how much he cherished them all his life, if they've stayed with him until now. second, it's easy to assume that possibly, nah, probably, nay, definitely, it didn't happen just the once -- Steve must have heard Bucky say it time and again, right? every time Steve got too stubborn, when he thought he should shoulder the weight of the whole world on his own, Bucky must have reminded him of his vows, and told him that he would never be alone.

but- but we don't even need speculation here, do we? we have proof of that.

when Steve asked Bucky if he was staying in Europe to keep fighting, didn't Bucky tell him he would follow him, yes, even "into the jaws of death"? when Steve tried to tell him to save himself, didn't Bucky scream No, not without you? and isn't the true meaning behind those words always one and the same? I'll be by your side until the end, no matter what.

that's a lifetime's worth of loyalty, of love, of selfless devotion that Steve's offering back to Bucky now. This is who we are, you and I, Steve says with what little strength he's got left. This is who we have always been. We don't give up on each other, we don't leave each other behind.

and if it's true that Steve's Bucky is gone forever, if it's true that he died a long time ago, broken over and over, then the least Steve can do is stay with him, with what's left of him, until his own dying breath. because that's what they promised each other. besides, Steve's already lived in a world where he'd lost Bucky; he's not going to go through that again.

Then finish it, he says. If you must, if that's what you need from me, then kill me. If your hands are cold, lay me on your fire to keep them warm. I'm not letting you down again.

and when a glimpse of recognition finally appears in Bucky's eyes, moments before the glass pane under them crashes and Steve falls, and you know that Steve's words have finally broken through the programming, then--!!! *SCREAMS*

for a second before he falls, just for a split second, Steve looks up and there's Bucky looking back at him. doesn't that just kill you??? that Steve probably thinks he's dying, just when he'd finally got Bucky back? must they always be just out of reach of each other? must one of them always, inevitably fall, ripped away from the other?

but. but Bucky gives their story a different ending, this time.

Bucky jumps after him. with a dislocated shoulder, a possible concussion, several bruises, and a fucking storm raging in his head, he dives into the Potomac and grabs onto Steve for dear life, dragging both of their spent bodies back to the shore.

he has to go; but first, he makes sure Steve's still breathing.

and and and and and honey, just, the way he pauses and looks down at Steve for those endless seconds, without saying a single word, just lingering there for a while, I'm- I'm getting emotional just thinking about it.

what is he seeing? does he remember Steve's name, has it come back to him? is he fighting off a different image of Steve, resurfacing from the back of his mind? does he want to reach out, touch Steve again just to make sure he's real? is he wondering why he jumped in the first place? is he struggling to understand? to figure out where this instinct to protect Steve comes from? is he trying to commit Steve's face to memory, afraid that he'll forget again? is he saying goodbye? is he hoping Steve will wake up and beg him to stay, tell him more, call him by that name again?

ALL I KNOW FOR SURE IS I'M CRYING AGAIN

[halaxia]

repost from old blog :)

“Is it better to speak or to die?”

The sudden question caught you by surprise, prompting you to tear your gaze away from the moonlit lake and face the dark-haired boy beside you. Megumi looked deeply concentrated on something, seeming almost as though he had voiced his thoughts aloud without even realizing it.

“Depends on how you look at it,” you answered after a few moments, hands supporting your weight against the damp grass beneath you. “Depends on the situation, really.”

Megumi brought his attention from a blade of grass you’d placed playfully on his leg earlier up to you, though you had directed your own back to the body of water before you. The water glistened in the moonlight which, in turn, reflected brightly onto your face, illuminating your most prominent features. He felt his cheeks warm at the sight and glanced back up towards the moon.

“What do you mean?” he asked curiously, mirroring your movements as he, too, let his hands support him against the grass.

“Well, what if you knew that speaking would result in something terrible? Far worse than death?” you suggested casually, swinging your legs gently back and forth in the water beneath you—you saw a small frog hop away, disturbed. “Would it be selfish to speak, then? Or would you be selfless and sacrifice what you had to say for the greater good of others?”

The crickets around you chorded in time with Megumi’s racing heart, though he could hardly hear them over his suffocating nerves. He wondered, then, if he should be selfish—should he speak? Lay his soul bare for only you in the dead of night and let his mouth run freely without his words being filtered into lies by his brain, but speak the pure truth from his heart?

“And what would you do?” he asked finally after swallowing a lump in his throat. “In the name of love, let’s say—would you rather speak your truth? Or die with all of the love you never had a chance to give?”

You were silent for a moment, in thought, as you stared up at the starry sky. For a moment, Megumi thought you would say nothing.

“I would rather die.” You furrowed your brows after answering his question, almost as though you were unsure of what you’d said, yourself. “If your love was unrequited, then what? If they, too, loved you, but couldn’t afford to be with you, what then?” You shook your head, a sigh falling from your lips—Megumi’s heart felt heavy in his chest. “Death is better than risking living a life loveless and full of misery.”

You both went quiet, then, and you looked up to meet the boy’s gaze which was still trained on you. Only the chirping of insects, hooting of owls, and gentle splash of water could be heard as the two of you stared into each other’s eyes, wordless. It was a mere moment, but to Megumi, it felt like an eternity. It took everything in him not to close the gap between the two of you in a kiss, to take your face in his hands with the utmost care and feel your lips against his, to hear you whisper his name with the same longing he felt for you.

You turned back around just as quickly as you’d faced him, this time laying down comfortably against the grass, smiling slightly as it tickled your cheeks. Megumi did not follow your actions.

“Why do you ask?”

Megumi turned away from you to direct his gaze toward the lake, pursing his lips in thought; why did he ask? What answer was he expecting to hear? That, he wasn’t sure.

At that moment, Megumi decided he would continue to wallow in death; he would love you silently and from afar, watching as you went on to find love of your own, leaving him behind to curse himself for his cowardice. He was scared, terrified that, if he were to speak the truth, declare his love for you without a care in the world, you would give him the same look of pity he’d seen you give many others before him before letting him down gently, “I’m sorry, Megumi, but I just don’t feel the same way.”

He found himself agreeing with your answer to his question, and he decided that death would be a better fate than living without the one person he held most dear. Megumi couldn’t be selfish, not when you were involved.

“I don’t know,” he answered simply, voice free of any indication that his heart was, indeed, breaking. “Just wondering, I guess.”

A thick cloud shrouded the moon in a matter of seconds, leaving the two of you in darkness.

[grumpyoldfker]

If love is a trait the Matriarch represented and you could be reunited with her, would you give your son, the one known as the Shepherd, a second chance at life? I can twist your cursed fate, and make your life one less filled with hate...

The Patriarch’s eyes darkened, narrowing to slits as the offer hung in the air, cold and taunting. The mere mention of his “lost son” sent a tremor of emotion through him, his fingers curling into a fist. Lazrael. A name heavy with the stench of betrayal. A boy who had squandered the love given to him in life and turned to ruinous selfishness in death. The memory was a stain on his legacy, one that filled him with both fury and sorrow.

But the mention of the Matriarch pierced deeper, cutting past his anger like a blade to the soul. She had been the light, the love, the foundation upon which he had built himself, only for fate to rip her from his grasp. The ache of her absence was constant, a hollow space he carried with him. To feel her presence again, to hold her beyond the veil—that thought flickered dangerously in his mind, offering a glimpse of solace that was almost too tempting to resist.

He closed his eyes, reaching for her, seeking the sound of her voice, the warmth that had once steadied him. But there was only silence. His thoughts wavered, and for a fleeting moment, he saw the image of a feather caught in the wind—graceful, untethered, and beyond his reach. His jaw tightened as his eyes snapped open, the anger returning, colder and sharper than before.

And then, through the din of his thoughts, a voice broke through.

"I can’t do this alone."

It wasn’t the Matriarch, nor the Lionesses haunting voice. It was softer, trembling with quiet strength and vulnerability. His daughter.

The words struck him with a force greater than any blow, carrying with them the weight of need, of trust, of a bond that had not yet been severed. He saw her—bright and fragile, a reflection of the Matriarch’s love still enduring in the world. She was his legacy, his anchor, the reason he still stood amidst the ruin.

Had the question been posed to him months ago, he would have answered without hesitation, with the rage of a father scorned and the grief of a lover torn apart. But now, her voice tempered his anger and gave him clarity. To rewrite fate, to risk unraveling what remained, would not bring joy—it would destroy it.

His gaze, cold and resolute, fixed on the whispering entity. He leaned forward, his voice quiet but unyielding.

“No.”

It was a simple answer, but it carried with it the weight of all he refused to sacrifice.

@kelzthalassunwhisper

@themadamelioness mention