#a book hasn't held that long in a while

[transgayhawkeyepierce]

Sat down and read Peter Darling in one sitting

[batboyblog]

Copy Right and Public Domain in 2024

Happy 2024 all! its also Public Domain Day! a magical holiday here in America where things enter the public domain. Works published in the year 1928 (or 95 years ago!) have entered the public domain, which means they belong to us, all of us, the public!

Mickey's Back!

Yes! I'm sure you've heard, but Mickey Mouse (and Minnie Mouse too) is entering the Public Domain today. This has been news for a few years and indeed Disney's lobbying in the late 1990s is why our copy right term is SO long. So what exactly is now public domain?

Most people know about Mickey's first appearance Steamboat Willie, but a second short film, Plane Crazy was also released in 1928 so will also be public domain. So what's public? well these two films first of all, you're allowed to play them, upload them to YouTube or whatever without paying Disney. In theory you'll be allowed to cut and sample them, have them playing in the background of your movie etc. Likewise in theory the image of Mickey and Minnie as they appear (thats important) in these films will be free to use as well as Mickey's character as he appears in these works will be free to use. Now Mickey's later and more famous appearance

will still be protected. Famously the Conan Doyle Estate claimed that Sherlock Holmes couldn't be nice, smile, or not hate women in works because they still held the copyright on the short stories where he first did those things even though 90% of Sherlock Holmes stories were public domain. It's very likely Disney will assert similar claims over Mickey, claiming much of his personality first appeared in works still copyrighted.

Finally there's copyright vs trademark. Copyright is total ownership of a piece of media and all the ideas that appear in it, copyright has a limited set term and expires. Trademark is more limited and only applies to things used to market and sell a product. You can have a Coke branded vending machine in your movie if you want, but it couldn't appear anywhere in the trailer for your movie as thats you marketing your movie.

Where trademark ends and copyright begins and how trademarked something in the public domain is allowed to be are all unsettled areas of law and clearly Disney in the last few years as been aggressively pushing its trademark not just to Mickey in general but Steamboat Willie Mickey in particular

Ultimately the legal rights and wrongs of this might not matter so much since few people have the money and legal resources of the Walt Disney corporation so they might manage to maintain a de facto copyright on Mickey through legal intimidation, but maybe not?

And Tigger Too!

All the talk about Mickey Mouse and Steamboat Willie has sadly overshadowed other MAJOR things entering the public domain today. Most people are aware Winnie the Pooh entered the public domain in 2022, but they might not realize his beloved friend Tigger didn't. Thats because Tigger didn't appear till A. A. Milne's second (and last) book of Pooh short stories, The House at Pooh Corner in 1928.

Much like Mickey Mouse only what appears in The House at Pooh Corner is public domain so the orange bouncy boy from the 1960s Disney cartoon is still on lock down. But the A. A. Milne original as illustrated by E. H. Shepard is free for you to use in fiction or art. His friend Winnie the Pooh has made a number of appearances since being freed, most notably in a horror movie, but also a Mint Mobile commercial so maybe Tigger too will have a lot of luck in the public domain.

Other works:

Peter Pan; or the Boy Who Wouldn't Grow Up

Peter Pan is a strange case, even though the play was first mounted in 1904, and the novelization (Peter and Wendy) was published in 1911, The script for the play was not published till 1928 (confusing!) meaning while the novel as been public domain for years the play (which came first) hasn't been, but now it is and people are welcome to mount productions of it.

Millions of Cats

The oldest picture book still in print, did you own a copy growing up? (I did)

Lady Chatterley's Lover

The iconic porn novel that was at the center of a number of groundbreaking obscenity cases in the 1960s and helped establish your right to free speech.

All Quiet on the Western Front and The Threepenny Opera in their original German (but you can translate them if you want), The Mystery of the Blue Train by Agatha Christie, and Orlando by Virginia Woolf will also be joining us in the public domain along with any and all plays, novels, and books published in 1928

for Films we have The Man Who Laughs who's iconic image inspired the Joker

Charlie Chaplin's The Circus, Buster Keaton's The Cameraman, Should Married Men Go Home? the first Laurel and Hardy movie, Lights of New York the first "all talking" movie, The Passion of Joan of Arc, The Wind, as well as The Last Command and Street Angel the first films to win Oscars for Best Actor and Best Actress respectively will all be entering public domain

For Musical Compositions (more on that in a moment) we've got

Mack the Knife by Bertolt Brecht, Let’s Do It (Let’s Fall in Love) by Cole Porter, Sonny Boy by George Gard DeSylva, Lew Brown & Ray Henderson, Empty Bed Blues by J. C. Johnson, and Makin’ Whoopee! by Gus Khan are some of the notables but any piece of music published in 1928 is covered

Any art work published in 1928, which might include works by Frida Kahlo, Georgia O'Keeffe, Alexej von Jawlensky, Edward Hopper, and André Kertész will enter the public domain, we are sure those that M. C. Escher's Tower of Babel will be in the public domain

Swan Song, Public Domain and recorded music

While most things are covered by the Copyright Act of 1976 as amended by the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, none of the copyright acts covered recordings you see when American copyright law was first written recordings did not exist and so through its many amendings no one fixed this problem, movies were treated like plays and artwork, but recorded sound wasn't covered by any federal law. So all sound recordings from before 1972 were governed by a confusing mess of state level laws making it basically impossible to say what was public and what was under copyright. In 2017 Congress managed to do something right and passed the Music Modernization Act. Under the act all recordings from 1922 and before would enter the public domain in 2022. After taking a break for 2023, all sound recordings made in 1923 have entered the public domain today on January 1st 2024, these include.

Charleston by James P. Johnson

Yes! We Have No Bananas (recorded by a lot artists that year)

Who’s Sorry Now by Lewis James

Down Hearted Blues by Bessie Smith

Lawdy, Lawdy Blues by Ida Cox

Southern Blues and Moonshine Blues by Ma Rainey

That American Boy of Mine and Parade of the Wooden Soldiers by Paul Whiteman and his Orchestra

Dipper Mouth Blues and Froggie More by King Oliver’s Creole Jazz Band, featuring Louis Armstrong

Bambalina by Ray Miller Orchestra

Swingin’ Down the Lane by Isham Jones Orchestra

Enjoy your public domain works!

[teddybeartoji]

toji is a cat dad. the cat looks so fucking tiny next to him that it's a little comical actually. they spend every morning together – the cat twirls around and between his legs as he's grabbing the food, quietly meowing and purring. toji smiles softly to himself at the little thing's neediness. so cute.

the cat also just loves to follow toji around the apartment. always. he goes to the bathroom? the cat goes to the bathroom. he's cooking in the kitchen? the cat is in the kitchen. he's asleep in the bed? the cat is in the bed. (big man toji stomping around the house with the smallest cat in the world running after him.......... guys i'm melting i'm dying)

ok but he was a little weirded out by the cat's need to be in the bathroom with him lmao. like he's taking a piss and he looks over his shoulder only to find the little kitten just staring up at him with big eyes😭😭😭 toji grumbles under his breath and tries to ignore him but then he ends up looking over his shoulder again, hoping that he left but no. he's still there. sitting like :3 😭😭😭😭

"yer fuckin' weird..." is what toji tells him as he places the cat on the bathroom counter and he just gets a cute meow back as a reply. the cat watches him brush his teeth and toji has to fight the thing because he's now in the sink????? toji needs to spit out the toothpaste but the critter is getting comfortable in the bowl and he actually feels bad abt pushing him away... wahh he's so soft actually guys i can't do this anymore.

if the cat happens to be a big meower, toji's definitely talking back to him. he literally goes "what're ya yappin' about, lil man? 🤨🤨" while looking at the tiny creature. but he loves it, he thinks it's so funny. he picks the little guy up and just stares at him up close O.O (plss the cat is literally like the size of his palm i'm dying it's so cute).

he also likes to carry the cat on his shoulder. i think every cat would actually love toji so much, this is also canon here you cannot argue with me. and i think they'd all find him very comforting? and i think they'd love to sleep on him. so whenever he's cooking and the cat paws at his legs, he just picks him up and places him on his shoulder.

he once did that when shiu was over and he was just ????????? like man what are you doing put the damn cat down ????????? and toji just went. "no. he wants to see." with a blank face. to him it's very obvious. c'mon, the cat is so little, he has no idea what's happening up here, ofc he wants to see??????? smh shiu do better😒😒😒

oh and this was definitely just a stray cat he took in btw. after a long day at work, he was just walking home with a cig between his lips when he heard the teeeniest tiniest little meow coming from behind the dumpster in an alley. and well... the curiosity got the best of him and he went to check it out aaand lo and behold!!!!!!! itty bitty kitty!!!!

big eyes peering up at him behind a thrash bag, he just knew he couldn't leave the poor thing there. he reached out his hand, letting the kitty smell him and he almost dropped his cig when he actually leaned into his touch immediately!!!! that's his baby now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

he held the cat to his chest as he made his way home and he even stopped by a little corner store to buy him something to eat. the cashier did look at him with a raised brow bc what the fuck this massive man is holding the smallest cat in the world, but toji didn't mind. he didn't care. the cat slept on his back that very same night.

ALSO. thank u @kentophilia for putting this idea in my head ily<33 during the late hours of the day, toji lays in bed while reading his book with his glasses on – the cat stands on his chest with a determined face. he's already purring even though toji hasn't even done anything. he's just soo comforting and the cat just loves him soooo much okay:((((( toji lowers his book to look at the thing before scratching the top of his head and smiling to himself when the cat closes his eyes and purrs even louder.

the cat ends up trying to make biscuits on him and that makes toji yelp lmao. the tiny little claws dig into his warm skin as the he kneads toji like he's a piece of dough. purring and content – toji doesn't have it in him to make him stop either. it's not like it actually hurts, he was just caught off-guard. he didn't get scared by a cat btw, he didn't. in the end, he keeps reading his book with his one hand while petting the creature with the other. this is their routine. they're family!!!!!!!

anyway. he loves his little kitty cat with all his heart and he would literally kill for him:33333

[kingkat12]

art on art (eric draven x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, piv sex, oral sex (female receiving), drug mentions, nasty fluff tihi

summary: why hasn't Eric reached out after leaving rehab yet, and how long does it take for marker ink to fade?

word count: 5,272 PART 1, PART 2, PART 3

a/n: this is part 3 of my Eric Draven fanfic draw you! thanks again for the overwhelming support of this series, and enjoy!!<333

Some broken part of me never expected to see Eric again. I knew that the previous men in my life would leave the second they got what they wanted out of me, so why should I hope for this one to be different?

I had been out of rehab for exactly two weeks now, and I knew this meant that Eric was out as well. He had my address, he had my number, and he weirdly enough also had my email address... yet I hadn't heard anything from him. Not a single thing. I wasn't quite sure why my heart was breaking at the realization I had been thrown away again-- I should be used to this.

In actuality, I knew exactly why my hopes were up.

The last time I saw Eric, had been right before I was about to leave rehab. We were standing in my room, the guards no longer watching me as I was technically excused and only there to get my stuff. I was packing everything into a big cardboard box, unable to meet Eric's green eyes as he sat on my bed-- he just looked so damn sad, I couldn't bring myself to watch. 

At the same time, I couldn't believe that he was upset about me leaving; no one had ever cared for me like that before. "Why do you look like that?" I eventually asked, stuffing his drawings into a book so that they wouldn't get ruined during the move. 

"Like what?"

"Like I'm about to shoot a puppy,"

Eric snorted, a slight smile finally forming across his lips. "Just thinking about how shit these next days are going to be without you here,"

I dared to gaze at him, watching his chest rise and fall in a long sigh. Even while doing the simplest act of sitting, Eric looked downright gorgeous. His dark hair had grown even longer during the time we had known each other, which allowed slight curls to form along his forehead. Draped in pink, tattoos peeking up from the collar of his jumper, green eyes soft with feelings-- the sight was almost enough to make my breath hitch.

"Oh, you won't notice I'm gone," I mumbled, trying to lighten the mood at the same time as I tried to be discreet about shoving my underwear down into the box. "Time will fly by, don't you worry."

Eric shifted, moving closer to the edge of the bed. He stopped me from picking up the next batch of my stuff, leading my hands into his as his rounded eyes sunk into mine. "You're saying that as though I won't miss you,"

I held my breath, unsure what to say. 

Eric noticed my hesitance, squeezing my hands; "I will miss you. Do you understand that?"

Oh, I most certainly did not understand that. Not at all. But it didn't stop my heart from swelling, beating harder than it probably ever had before. It also didn't get any better when Eric led me between his legs, letting go of my hands so that he could put his against my waist. He looked up at me through his thick, long lashes, clearly trying to make me understand the longing lingering in his body. "Will you miss me?"

There was no question in my mind that I would. I'd miss him every second of every day, as I already did. However, I wasn't sure whether it was smart to tell him this, or whether that would make him lose interest like my previous flings. But weirdly enough, something told me I could trust this guy-- or was that just his pretty face doing the talking? "I will," I said, taking his face into my hands, brushing my thumbs over his cheeks in a newfound sense of affection.

Eric's previously glossy look suddenly became a hopeful one-- he pulled me even closer, my hands going up into his hair as he buried his face against the crook of my neck. 

There was something so sincere about him, that I couldn't help but smile. Even now, as I remembered it. Was I stupid to imagine that it had all been real? That he hadn't acted like he would miss me just out of pity?

This was definitely my insecurity talking. I needed to get it all out of my head-- which is exactly why I ended up going out tonight, my friends by my side as we made our way into our usual spot at the club downtown. Being back in the darkness of this place, music blasting through my ears, brought a lot of memories back; specifically the dark ones. 

However, I wasn't drinking. I wasn't taking anything, and I wasn't planning on doing so. In the back of my mind, I kept imagining a scenario where Eric would finally reach out and find me relapsed... and that was certainly not ideal. Then he'd definitely not want to be with me.

Maybe I just needed to forget about him?

And so I began trying-- it didn't take long before I sat down next to some guy trying to tell me about his life story. I had never been this disinterested in my life, allowing him to put his arm around me as I stared up at the light-show on display across the roof, lost in thought.

I wondered where Eric was. What he was doing, who he was with, where he was. Whether he thought about me at all. It quickly hit me that being sober at a club took away all the fun, and with alcohol floating around right before my eyes, I wondered whether I should bother staying sober or not. I didn't exactly have anyone to stay clean for, as I thought I would. 

And just as I was about to ask the guy next to me whether I could have the tiniest sip of his beer, I spotted a familiar tall frame across the room. I blinked several times, straightening up in my seat as though I was a woman possessed. I was sure it was him-- I immediately knew the second I saw the tattooed poem on his back peeking through the top of his shirt.

As though I had heard a gunshot, I got up from the couch, my whole body tingling with unexpected excitement. This was an adrenaline surge unlike anything drugs could give me, and it only grew stronger as Eric seemed to be leaving. 

Panicked, I sped up into a light jog despite being in heels, making my way through the crowd on the dancefloor. It didn't take long before I caught up to him, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt.

Eric had a bewildered look about him as he frantically searched who it could be that had held him back from leaving. When his big, green eyes finally landed on me, they widened as he broke out into a look of relief. "There you are!" he exclaimed, his large hands grabbing my shoulders. "I've been looking for you all over!--"

I was sure I would've started crying if I hadn't reached for the collar of his shirt, tugging him down to my level to press my lips against his in the neediest kiss I had probably ever shared. I flung my arms around his neck as he pulled me closer, both of us letting out relieved sighs at our reunion. 

I wanted to stay like this forever, swimming in the bliss of being reunited with the man who had haunted my every waking thought. However, I couldn't let myself revel in the joy before I got the answer to my question; "You never called!" I said, my hands now at the sides of his face. "You never fucking called!"

Eric hummed, connecting our foreheads as he closed his eyes. "I did... just from a different number. You never answered, so I had to track you down all the way here,"

My thumbs stroked over his cheeks, my anger simmering down into a slow ache. The thought of Eric calling without getting a response made me feel worse than bad. "How?" was all I was able to say, leaning forward to kiss the tip of his nose.

Eric blushed a little before pulling away, and I was unsure whether the reason for my sudden dizziness was the loud music or his smile. God, he was gorgeous. "Our dealers are cousins," he said, wrapping his arms around my waist as we swayed on the dance floor. "And your guy told me I could find you here."

"I see," The loving look in Eric's eyes nearly made me melt— it was clear that he had missed me as well. But my questions kept coming to me; "Why did you get a different number? Is everything alright?"

With that, Eric's smile faltered just a little. His grip around my waist tightened as he brought one hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear in a loving gesture. "I... suppose there's a lot I have to tell you, now that I've come all this way,"

I could sense that this was serious— I had seen enough of those guilty eyes for one lifetime. "I see," I repeated, pulling him in for another kiss, reveling in the feeling of tasting him again. There was nothing I had missed more about rehab than this. "Let's talk it out somewhere else, then?"

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

It wasn't every day that I brought back men from the club— my policy was no men at my place at all, just in case I encountered a serial killer in disguise. But this thing with Eric was different; he could've moved in for all I cared. He could also proceed to burn it all down, rip me apart with his bare hands, and I'd let him.

However, the difference between Eric and the other men in my life was that I knew, deep down in my heart, that he would never hurt me; which is why I let him into my apartment.

I watched as Eric took a look around, his hands tucked into his front pockets as he whistled; "Quite the place,"

Shrugging, I made my way towards him as he towered over everything in my living room. "Sure is,"

Eric turned to me, a raised brow on display. "You're telling me you're loaded?"

I felt a bit embarrassed— I knew that once Eric found out the truth, he'd think of me just as all the other ones did. The spoiled girl who had nothing else to do but turn to drugs to get a high out of life. I couldn't help but grow nervous, unsure how to explain the truth to him; "Well... It's my parents' money,"

Eric nodded to himself, stepping towards me. "Are they around much? I didn't see them visiting you in rehab,"

The truth stung. "They don't want to look their biggest disappointment in the eye," I mumbled, my gaze falling to my feet. "But they make sure I'm still alive, I suppose. So it's not that bad."

There was a silence before I suddenly felt Eric's long, slender fingers beneath my chin, tilting me up so that I could meet his gaze. I wasn't sure what I was expecting to see, but it certainly wasn't this; compassion. "Their loss," he said, the emerald green of his eyes engulfing my being with unexpected kindness. "At least you got a great apartment out of it."

I let out a warm laugh, now keening against the palm of his hand as he placed it to my cheek. "I've missed you,"

As Eric smiled down at me, it was obvious that his heart fluttered at the sight of me. I had never thought someone would ever look at me like that. "I've missed you too," he breathed. "Thought about you during every waking moment of every day. You have no idea how glad I am that I found you."

I could barely believe this was real— didn't stuff like this only happen in movies? "If only I had known you called," I mumbled, placing my hand on top of his. "Being without you was just hell... What happened?"

Eric inhaled a sharp breath, an unintelligible emotion swimming in his eyes. "I want to be honest with you, but... I'm afraid you'll run,"

In a flash of desperation, I placed his hand against my heart. "I have nowhere else to run but to you,"

Eric's green eyes rounded out, his lips parting in confusion— was I maybe not the only one stunned by the confessions of complete and utter love tonight? "I— Fuck," 

With that, Eric's strong hands gripped my waist, pulling me towards him as our lips came together in a hungry kiss. The sheer force of it, along with the element of surprise, nearly had me stumbling a few steps back. But Eric only followed; I nearly moaned out as I felt his tongue against mine, my hands flying up into his dark locks and pulling him closer. I had missed him more than I had ever missed anything in the world, including drugs— all my swarming feelings of never-dying love had me pushing away all my needs for an answer from him regarding his phone, and I let my back hit the surface of the couch as Eric hovered above me.

"Missed you," he breathed in between kisses, a slight growl to his voice. Something told me Eric was trying to melt himself into me to make sure we would never be apart again— it only made my need for him stronger. I clung to him, my legs wrapping around his tall figure as I attempted to pull him even closer than he already was. 

Fuck, his lips were so soft. Deadly soft. The way Eric was nipping at my lower lip, occasionally sinking his teeth into it to draw out a whimper, was making a familiar knot form in my lower abdomen. I barely registered that my dress was gone before I watched him discard his shirt somewhere on the floor— now that we finally had time, I let my fingers run over his tattoos, smiling into the next kiss as I realized we would finally have that messy morning I was promised. I couldn't wait to lie in his arms, tracing every piece of art on his skin, taking it all in— this was heaven. Everything about finally being alone with Eric was heaven. 

"Missed you too," I eventually managed to moan out, feeling him grow hard against the apex of my thighs. "I don't ever want to be without you again." My breath hitched as Eric left wet kisses down jaw, neck, breasts, and stomach, knowing exactly where he was heading. I drew my hand towards my mouth, gently biting down to suppress a rather girly squeal. 

"You'll never be," Eric purred against my skin, sinking his teeth gently into my thigh to evoke a sound. "If you think we're ever going to be apart from now on, I need you to scour that pretty little brain of yours once more."

It was impossible not to smile, and I squirmed against the couch before Eric's big, strong hands grabbed my hips, holding me in place as he pressed a kiss against my clothed sex. However, I couldn't shake the feeling that he was doing this to avoid telling me what had happened in the moments we had been apart. Despite wanting to give in to the pleasure, let him tease me and keep me on the edge through the night, my mind wouldn't let me.

In the moment Eric threw my underwear to the floor, now kissing up my thighs and leaving me breathless, I propped myself up on my elbows; "Hold on," I breathed, reaching down to run my fingers through his hair in hopes of getting his attention. "Eric, wait--"

As he looked up at me through his brows, eyes wide with confusion as he paused for me, I didn't know whether I could go through with it. This moment was so damn precious, something I had been longing for ever since the moment I saw him; so why couldn't it wait? With a sigh, I laid back down. 

"You okay?" Eric asked, his thumb rubbing a soothing circle against my hipbone. "Wanna stop?"

That was definitely not it-- I let in a lazy breath, my eyelids drooping over my eyes as my body shivered at the feeling of his hot breath against my cunt. Everything about this situation was making my brain shut down. "No... I don't want to stop," My hands reached for his, and Eric let out a hum, his free hand now ghosting over my sex. "Just wondering whether you drew it or not."

"Drew what?"

"What we did in that stairwell,"

Eric's eyes sparkled with amusement as he laughed, placing a wet kiss against the inside of my thigh. "You bet I did,"

"Will you show me?"

He hummed against my skin; "Later... I'm a little busy here, as you see," Eric hooked his arms around my legs, dragging me closer to him as I yelped. I could only laugh, the realization that I had finally gotten all I had ever wanted hitting me just as I felt the warm trickle of spit running down my cunt-- my hips bucked up in surprise, my breath escaping me. I was about to prop myself up on my elbows for a second time, hoping to get a look at what the fuck he was doing, but as he ran his tongue up between my folds with a ridiculously soft touch, I could only whimper.

The memory of Eric saying he would take his time with me when we were out of rehab suddenly dawned on me-- I was in for the long run.

It didn't take long before he had me writhing beneath him, a whimpering, panting mess. With every swirl of his tongue around my clit, every time he sucked in my aching bud between his plush lips, I held back the urge to buck my hips up against him. It got increasingly hard to keep still, especially when Eric pulled away to simply breathe down on my sex, knowing exactly where he had me. 

"Fuck," I cried, reaching down to run my fingers through his hair-- I did my best not to tighten my grip, fighting the urge to use his dark locks as handles. 

I could feel Eric smiling against me, leaning down to press a soft kiss against my clit; my breath immediately hitched, bucking up against his mouth in an attempt to beg for more. His fingers dug themselves into my thighs, driving my legs further apart as he made space for his broad shoulders. I whined at the loss of friction when he tilted his head to look up at me, and a shiver ran up my spine at the look of his face, slicked with my arousal. 

A mischievous smile spread across Eric's plush, glistening lips; "Someone's impatient,"

I could feel my cheeks redden with embarrassment, lolling my head back down against the couch-- looking at him only made it worse. "Can you blame me? You're doing this on purpose," 

Eric hummed, one hand leaving my thigh to lazily rub soft circles around my clit, using my slick as a lubricant. It only made me squirm, letting out a shaky moan as my back arched slightly off the couch. Even worse, was that I started to feel a small tremble appearing in my hands. "Can't handle a little teasing?" he said, biting his lip as he watched me attempt to suppress my noises. "You keep saying you've waited for me... What happened to your patience?"

I held back the urge to simply kick him-- but that thought immediately slipped out of my mind the second Eric flattened his tongue against me, licking a stripe all the way up to my swollen clit. It was impossible to suppress the hitch of my breath, and the tug I gave his hair in response was purely instinctual. It surprised me further to hear him enjoy it; I decided to keep that observation stored for later.

I had a feeling Eric knew my mind was buzzing, that he wouldn't be able to toy with me much longer. There might've been a few giveaways that I was at my wit's end-- all of which left me feeling like an even bigger mess than I already was beneath him. "I- I can't," I whined, my words leaving me as Eric sucked me in once more. "Wait, please!--"

He hummed against me, now pressing his lips against the crease of my thigh as a chuckle built in his throat. "Fine, fine," he said, playfully sinking his teeth into my skin, his green eyes watching my every move. "I suppose I'm dragging this out... I don't know why I'm feeling nervous."

Nervous? Eric didn't look very nervous to me. "It's just me, though?" I tried, attempting to catch my breath as I laid my hand on top of his. My next words came out shakier than anticipated, especially now that he was kissing way back up my body; "You don't need to be nervous."

Eric hummed, his large, tattooed hands kneading my chest, kissing along the hem of my bra. "It's just... When you left rehab," he started, his lips pressing along my collarbones. "I realized it took me days to recover after a dream with you in it."

The rush of joy surging through my veins reminded me of a hit of amphetamine-- it was all-taking, consuming, and I wanted nothing more than to press him so closely that we'd melt together. "Eric--"

"I've drawn you over and over," he breathed, kissing up my neck with a toe-curling softness. "In every way possible. Imagined the way you'd look at me after waking up in the morning, how it would feel to kiss your pretty little face good night..." Eric's lips hovered above mine, our shared breaths hot and shaky against one another as he continued; "I want you to burn into me like warm glass, mold into one. It sounds insane, but... how else can I ensure we stay together?"

My eyes were wide, finding his, as my hands reached up to cup his face. Like this, I finally had the time to admire the tattoo above his right brow, the deep scar on his cheek, and the tattoo above it. I stroked my thumb over the ink, holding back from connecting our lips just yet; "If you think I'm ever leaving you, I need you to scour that pretty little brain of yours" I breathed, watching his pupils dilate as I bit back a smug smile. "Do I need to remind you that I'm all yours?" My fingers now ghosted over his lips, still wet with my slick, as an idea suddenly hit me. "Actually..."

Eric watched in confusion as I shifted beneath him, now reaching for the table right by the couch. There, I had left a marker which I had previously used to write a birthday card, and I took it into my hand before laying back down, looking up at the puzzled look on his face. "I'm not able to physically melt into you, but..." 

Eric's green eyes widened further, watching as I popped the cap and drew a tiny little heart on the peak of his shoulder.

I met his gaze, beaming up at him; "I can leave my mark,"

The most unexpected thing happened-- The sight of Eric welling up in tears was not something I had counted on when I let my impulses take the lead. For a second, I got genuinely worried I had overstepped all boundaries until he pinned my hand above my head and pressed a needy, passionate kiss against my lips.

I couldn't control the moan that escaped me, my hips bucking up against his, feeling his hard length grind down and brush up against my clit as our chests came together, pulling each other in as close as possible. The need I felt for Eric was undescribable, ravaging through my being-- I had never wanted anyone as bad as this. 

Mind dulled by anticipation and pleasure, I barely registered that he had managed to pry the marker from my fingers and pull it into his hand. Eric disconnected the kiss, pressing his wet lips against my cheek before propping himself up on his knees, scanning his canvas. "I'm definitely dreaming now," he whispered, mostly to himself, hovering above me as he drove the marker tip to the point where my ribs met on my chest. 

I could only smile, watching my favourite artist at work with admiration blossoming in my chest. Knowing I would be decorated with his work made me even more hot and bothered; I did my best to get a look at what he was drawing without disrupting his process. 

Eric drew a line down my chest, a few leaves scattered along it-- it dawned on me that he was drawing a rose. A beautiful, big rose, with that same scratchy style that I recognized from his previous creations. I watched him dart his tongue out, keeping it between his lips, focused; I couldn't help but find it endearing.

"Art on art," he breathed, pulling away to drink in the sight of what he had drawn on my body. Eric's green eyes found mine, his shy smile returning to his plush, glistening lips. "You're beautiful. You're so beautiful."

"So are you," I held back the urge to cry happy tears, my hands reaching out for him. "I love it, Eric. I'm scared of needles, so I won't be able to get this tattooed... Meaning you'll have to draw it over and over. Would you do that for me?"

Eric let out a choked laugh, eyes glossing over as he put the cap back on the marker, discarding it somewhere before returning to his place above me. "I'd do anything for you,"

I hadn't smiled so brightly in what felt like years. Like this, at this moment, I was sure this was it. He was it. 

Before I knew it, we were completely lost in the fiery kiss that ensued-- Eric's tongue against mine, hands lost around my waist as my fingers hooked into his dark locks, our chests heaving at one another. I was so gone, so dizzyingly aroused, that when I felt his thick cock pushing past my sopping entrance, I could only gasp. 

Eric let out a grunt, both of us moaning into the kiss at the immediate relief-- I could barely believe that this was real, that we were back as one. In a sense, this was the melting together that we had both craved so badly. 

My nails dug into his back, leaving crescent marks in their wake as I let him push further into me. Eric buried his face in the crook of my neck, letting out a breathy groan against my skin when he finally moved. His cock stroked my walls the same way it had that one evening in the stairwell, the exact feeling I had chased as I buried my fingers deep inside of me every night since-- I had forgotten how the real deal had felt. How mind-numbingly good it felt to have Eric in me.

I whimpered as I felt his cock throb upwards, immediately hitting my sweet spot, and I wrapped my legs around him, wanting nothing more than to stay like this forever. Knowing I bared his mark on my chest, knowing he had dreamed of this as well, only strengthened the electricity running all the way up to the tips of my fingers. I didn't know how I was supposed to last long at all, especially when I heard Eric moan out my name-- I shivered, pressing my lips against the heart I had drawn on his shoulder. 

I noticed a blush creep up his cheeks before he connected our lips once more, but it was hard to kiss properly when we were both in a heavy daze of pleasure-- we ended up mostly breathing against one another, Eric's green eyes watching as I let out a string of moans with every stroke of his cock. 

"You're everything," Eric rambled, nipping at my lower lip to suppress another grunt. "You're everything, you're-- Fuck!--" His hands dug into my hips, fucking me properly into the couch as he deepened his thrusts. 

My heart fluttered in my marked chest as I realized we were both looking down to watch our union-- the sight of Eric's cock pumping in and out of me, the wet sounds of our love filling the room, was almost enough to bring me over the edge. I also caught a glimpse of the petals drawn over my body, realizing I was admiring both the art and his body against mine. 

My back arched off the couch as Eric shifted, angling his thrusts upwards-- now, he was dead on pumping his cock against my sweet spot, which had me mewling out against his lips. "Eric, I-- I'm not gonna last, a-ah!--"

With glossy eyes, I watched a smirk spread across Eric's lips; "Let go if you need to," he cooed, his dark hair now kissing his forehead as he let out a laboured grunt. "We'll go again, baby-- hah, don't worry."

That was all I needed-- my heart fluttered, realizing we had all the time in the world to fuck all through the night. 

Forever, if we wanted to.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

This was nice. Stupidly nice. Nothing in my life had prepared me for this moment.

The softness of his fingers running up my bare shoulder, the kindness with which he bathed me-- I didn't even know this existed before now. I looked up at Eric, my head nuzzled against his broad, tattooed chest as we lay in post-coital bliss. I reached out to trace the heart I had marked him with, and I wondered what else I could draw on his beautiful body.

However, I knew I had to ask the question he hadn't been willing to answer yet. I had to look past how heavy his beautiful lashes looked in his drowsy state, and how badly I wanted to reach out and trace the upward slope of his nose, to ask what needed to be asked. "Eric?"

He hummed, glancing down at me. 

It was incredibly hard to take my eyes off his kiss-swollen lips. "You never told me,"

"Told you what?"

It felt as though we'd had this conversation about three times now; "You didn't tell me why you changed your number. Or why you waited to reach out. Or, better yet, why you didn't just show up here... I even gave you my address," I couldn't stop the imminent pout appearing across my lips-- I had forgotten how upset I was about this. "I waited for you. I nearly drove myself crazy thinking I'd imagined it all."

Sighing, Eric's gaze diverted to the ceiling. "I'm sorry. I will tell you everything. Just... could I have one more day?"

"What?" Something told me that his secret was a lot more damning than I initially thought-- why was he so reluctant to tell me? Did he think it would change how I felt?

"One more day," he echoed, his tattoed hand mindlessly traveling up into my hair as his eyes glossed over.  "Just give me one more day..."

I didn't know what to say, at a loss for words. Instead, I popped the cap to the marker in my hand, realizing I wouldn't be the one to deny him his one wish. Eric closed his eyes with a sigh of relief as he felt the tip of the marker against his skin once more; time was a gift I was willing to give him.

I was willing to give him absolutely anything he'd ever want-- I just hoped it wouldn't be the death of me.

(a/n: PART 1 and PART 2 linked here<33 thank you for reading!!)

[xqueen-of-disasterx]

Maybe one with bunny!hyrbid!reader and Natasha “adopts” her and just fucks the shit out of her with her strap (or her real cock if you prefer to write that)

Run Rabbit Run

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: fem!bunny!hybrid!reader x owner!Nat

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐲: Natasha can’t help but grant her bunny all her little wishes

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, dom!Nat, sub!reader, age gap (legal), ownership, size kink, strap on, artificial cum, slight breeding kink, pillow humping, slight somno, masturbation, crying during it,

!Disclaimer English is not my first language so please excuse any grammar or spelling errors. This story is completely fictional. I do not own these characters!

𝐌.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

What to do with all the money you make as an Avenger? That was a question Natasha had ask herself more times than she could count. Sure currently was her monthly pay check and all the money she made from interviews and social media was rotting away in her bank account, because she was never a fan of making herself gifts nor did she have time for it. But now with Easter just around the corner the Russian decided to not only do something against her overload on money but also against her loneliness.

She wanted a hybrid, not just some brainless pet but something that could actually understand her. The concept of owing a hybrid wasn't new of course it had been around for years, back in the days they actually hunted them from nature but nowadays there was no need after they got a hang of how to domesticate such a creature.

Natasha stepped foot in one of the only places in the whole of New York who sold these rare creatures- Tony had recommended it to her after once more bragging about his large collection. The over friendly employee showed her the different enclosures all while the employee tried to keep it together- after all you didn't see an Avenger daily not even when working for a prestigious company like she did.

Natasha first visited the cat hybrids, cute but too stubborn, then the dogs, too dependent, foxes were too clever for her taste though especially the polar foxes caught her eyes. Bears and any other large animals would be too much work and needed too much space. The right pick was right on her nose she wanted to get herself a bunny.

Standing in front of the enclosure which held you and a few of your companions Natasha and the employee stood, her gaze never leaving your body. You didn't alter much from a normal human, except for the fluffy bunny ears, little tail and over all smaller build you looked like any other girl. You were going to cost her a hefty amount of hard earned money but for your rare breed, Natasha couldn't care less about that in the moment. The way you stat there so carelessly reading some book which laid in her lap, made you different in her eyes more intelligent maybe? She wanted connection and not some braindead doll after all.

"The one in the pink collar… is she still to have?" Natasha asked the employee you gave her a quick nod. "Yes, she hasn't been here for long though the ones like her normally get adopted quite quickly." Nat only hummed in approval she couldn't wait to have you in her home. "I'll have her in a private kennel"

Meeting a potential owner made you nervous of course you had been trained to and prepared on how to act in such a situation, how to appeal to any potential owner - though you secretly hoped for a female buyer. You tried your best to hide your shy nature from the older woman who awaited you but Natasha found it charming how your, compared to your body, large floppy bunny ears hang low but twitched up when she spoke to you in a gentle manner.

Natasha approached the situation with a calm demeanour- she knew about the shy nature of a bunny like you. As soon as you were comfortable enough to approach her she started to pet over your smaller head with careful hands- and you loved it. By the end of your get to know each other you sat on the redhead's lap clinging on to her. But you weren't parted for long Natasha signed all the paperwork the same day and at the start of the next week you were able to move in with her.

She had given you a nice room, with many books, TV and games to entrain yourself with while she would be working. You came with the clothes from the centre, a basic white bluse, white skirt everything in white , like any other hybrid except for your coloured coded collar which adored your neck so the employees had an easier time keeping hybrids a part. Natasha started to take great joy in precisely choosing each outfit for you. Price didn't matter to Natasha, if she found something to be cute she bought it for you and Nat was known for expensive taste. Sooner or later your closet was fuller than hers, filled to the brim with shorts, blouses, floral summer dresses anything which had a playful feel to it.

Natasha was a busy woman though, often being away for days at a time, she normally made up with expensive gifts and extensive cuddling for her little bunny girl. But that hardly was enough to satisfy your need to be close to the older woman, not to mention that you were worried sick about your owner once you had found out that she wasn't a simple business woman but an avenger.

Natasha came home at around 3 AM after a long mission in Europe the jet lag and sleep deprive was killing her, and since she thought you'd already be asleep at such a late hour- and way past your agreed on bed time, she'd just go to sleep already. As soon as she had stripped to her underwear and her face had it the pillows she was dead asleep, little did she know that you weren't.

Next door you were awake, not only that but you were desperate. This had never happened before yet you immediately knew what it was. You had your first heat, and nothing helped, no toy's from the centre, no playing with yourself, no nothing. You had a pillow under your hips probed up at the seams you humped the pillow like your life depended on it.

You mewled as your already sensitive cunt graced over the edge of the pillow. You were close to cuming but you couldn't bring yourself over the edge. That's when you heard Natasha rummaging through the house you're floppy bunny ears twitching up to detect the source of the noise. You waited patiently in your room trying to find some sleep, maybe Natasha could help you out in the morning. But you could feels your juices sticking to the inside of your thighs.

With small steps you made it into Natasha's bed room tears of frustration already building in your eyes threatening to spill over your blushing cheeks. Carefully you climbed into her bed to find her in a deep slumber laying on her back. You sat down on her on her thigh your pussy making contact with her soft skin.

Slowly you started to rhythmically move it against the limp muscles of her thigh small whimpers falling from your throat in between the sobs of frustration paired with the cries of her name and the tears rolling down your cheek it made a whole picture.

Natasha peaceful face scrunched up in confusion of the sensation when she slowly woke from her slumber she was utterly distraught. Her sweet little bunny humping her thigh like a bitch in heat. With careful hands she stopped your hips and you immediately broke out into a new round of sobs and cries.

"Sheesh" she hushed you petting over over your low hanging ears "You're just in heat bunny, it'll be over soon" She assured you when you pressed your face into her neck. "I want it over now!" You cried out "what about the advice the centre gave you?" She tried but feeling you so desperate and need had an affect on her too.

"Doesn't work" You huffed out "I want you to play with me" Nat was startled by the request, was it morally right for her to sleep with you? It was the main point of criticism surrounding owing a hybrid, but what if not the owner but the hybrid wanted it. "Please" you whined and the assassin's strong will broke right there. "Wait here bunny I'll go get something" You nodded and released Natasha from your grace watching her go.

She came back with a noticeable bulge in her sleep shorts, which upon seeing made your thighs clench together. "It's not going to hurt bunny" She assured and got behind you pulling her shorts down to reveal her, to your body size massive, strap on. She pressed the fat tip against your entrance and your hooded eyes flew open in surprise at the shear size of the toy.

"Natty, it's to big" You mewled out your cotton tail twitching "It's not gonna fit" Natasha scoffed shaking her head as if you had just made an outrageous statement. "I'm gonna make it fit bunny" She pushed forward and your bunny hears flew up in surprise of the stretch. You hands dug into the soft pillow underneath your head as you whimpered in a mic of pain and pleasure.

"Natasha!" You cried as she bottomed you out the stretch being much greater than you could've accomplished with your little fingers. "I'm gonna move now bunny" You nodded and felt her starting with a comfortable rhythm which made the pain turn into pleasure.

By your sweet moans she could tell how much you liked it and fastened her pace to finally give you what you wanted. With deep thrusts she stroked your G spot making you see stars as she too enjoyed the feeling of the strap running against her clit. You mewled out some words she couldn’t make out but took at as a sign of approval for her to keep going.

With both of her hands on your hips she forcefully slammed into your tight heat making sure to not actually hurt you. You arched your back one hand sneaking to your neglected bundle of nerves rubbing it in tight circles. “Fuck are you close?” Natasha asked there was a certain tiredness in her voice still. She clenched down harder on the silicone and mewled out “Yes, please”

“Fuck cum with me” with a few more fast thrusts you came first you’re juicing coating the lower stomach of the black widow. She had a surprise for you when you noticed a thick liquid gushing from the strap into your womb as she came. After having cum herself she pulled out to watch in an awe how the white cum was dripping from your stretched out hole.

After having cleaned you up Natasha could finally rest but not without you resigning on her chest of course. Call it what you wanted for Natasha those feelings of affection were real and of no ill intent she just did whatever you wanted to ensure happiness. With that thought and still cum dripping from your hole both you and Natasha fell asleep.

:)

[fungateshortcakes]

Fight or flight (Logan Howlett x Reader)

Summary: Your sister invited you and your husband Logan to her wedding! Too bad that the wedding was held in your hometown, which was days away from america if you drove by car. There was no other option than to use a plane - Logan wasn't exactly thrilled about it.

Warnings: implied sexual themes (Blowjobs, anal fingering), flight anxiety, possible spelling mistakes bc english Isn't my first language, overall just comforting fluff

Wordcount: 1.1k

Authors note: Does anyone want to peg Logan? Or have some sub!Logan stuff in general? I would write something like that because I have seen so little fics of it, but that makes me wonder if that’s even something people want :/ #JusticeForSubLogan

__________________________________

Logan hated this, he was only doing it for you. Your sister was getting married tomorrow and invited you and Logan to take part at the ceremony. Very nice of her, that also wasn't the issue. The problem was - she was getting married in your hometown, which was days away from america if you drove by car.

So that's why Logan found himself in a plane that was just about to take off.

You had booked a three-seat row to be a bit more comfortable on the eight-hour flight. You could store your bags on the empty middle seat between you and Logan to have free range of motion for your feet and legs. While you sat at the window, he was the furthest away from it. He couldn't bear to see the ground thousands of feets below you, it made his skin crawl.

He had fastened the seatbelt to the point where it was noticeably too tight against his abdomen, but it gave himself a sense of security. That and his right hand clawing at the arm rest while his left hand was crushing squeezing yours as if he was pushing out a baby. He certainly breathed like that was happening right now.

"Relax, the plane hasn't even started to move yet" you giggled softly, wincing at his strong grip. It definitely was a sight to see your husband all tense and stiff next to you, his chest heaving like he had run a marathon. It was amusing and pitiful at the same time.

He gritted his teeth and huffed, trying to calm himself. "We're gonna crash" he pressed out, looking down to his feet. "We are not gonna crash" you told him, squeezing his hand in reassurance. You knew about his past regarding planes and flying in general, that it was traumatic for him. Not to mention his fear of hights that made him feel anxious like nothing else. He felt sick to the stomach, like he was about to throw up. His chest was thight and he couldn't help the laboured breaths escaping him. You weren't doing this to see him suffer, but you weren't about to travel for a week by car and boat just to be at your sisters wedding for a day and traveling back for a week to america.

You lifted his hand up to your lips, kissing his knuckles soothingly. "Nothing will happen to you, nothing will happen to me. I promise"

He scoffed. "I hate you for putting me through this"

You nodded your head and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "I know" you cooed. "Don't think I am doing this for fun. But at least she is my only sister to get married, so when we are back in america, you won't have to set foot in a plane for a long while, okay?"

Your words only did a little to sooth his nerves, but he nodded his head anyway. It was one, sharp nod followed by a thick swallow. Logan jumped as the plane started moving suddenly, getting out of his parking spot and heading to the departure zone. He pressed his eyes shut and held his breath, mumbling something to himself you couldn't make out.

You rubbed your hand up and down his arm, softly shushing him. You felt a bit useless in this situation. You wanted to help him, but there was no way you could. Nothing you would say would take his fear and anxiety away, but you were determinded to make it better.

The closer the plane got to the departure zone, the faster was Logans breathing. A few flight attendents passing through had been worried about him, asking if he needed something. But he was so scared he couldn't even answer nor look at them.

"First time flying" you lied awkwardly and asked for a pair of earplugs for him. They were brought to you shortly before the plane was starting to become faster, speeding down the lane and picking up the pace. Logan was busy doing some breathing excercises so he wouldn’t completely pass out. That would have been a better option though, because the second the plane took off and gained more and more distance from the ground, his ears ached like a dagger had been rammed into one ear and went out the other. He hissed deeply at the change of pressure, his grip on the armrest nearly cracking the plastic. For others, the pressure gave them a mild headache, but with his heightened sense of hearing, this was torture, like his skull was slowly ripping apart at the seams.

You shoved your bags on the middle seat under your feet and put the armrests up between the seats so you could pull Logans head closer to you. You twisted the earplugs into his ears and held his head against your chest, one arm looped back over his shoulder and covering his eyes, the other on his chest, feeling the strong and erratic thumpthumpthump of his heart. You kissed the crown of his head, your hand moving from his heart to his arm, softly rubbing and squeezing. He whined softly in your grip at the pain the change of pressure brought him. It was still there, but not as bad.

"Shh, I know. It's gonna be over soon. I won't ever take you on a plane again, I'm so sorry" you whispered to him. "Once that wedding is over and we get to the hotel room, I'm gonna make you re-live our own honeymoon. Gonna make you feel good, I'm gonna make you cum so much to make you forget this experience. I want to make it up to you, baby" you cooed into his ear, your quiet voice only muffled, but he heard you anyway. The image of you handling his cock flashed across his mind. When you were really into pleasuring him, nothing could pull your mouth off his dick. You would be busy devouring him, a few fingers loosening up his tight hole while your tounge circled the throbbing, angry red tip of his cock, making him cum his brains out by just pressing the pads of your fingers against that delicious sweet spot inside him. And you wouldn't stop until he only remembered your name.

He shuddered in your grasp and only a small smile pulled at his lips. Well, at least there was something to look forward to. And he was sure you'd pamper him for fighting through this.

As the plane was at it's desired height, his headache lessened and you were able to let him go to sit up straight again, but not before he gave you a soft, thankful kiss. He was a bit calmer now, not as rigid anymore. All thanks to you. He could do this...but only if you continued to hold his hand and smile at him as if there was not a single thing to worry about in this world.

[readychilledwine]

Hi Liz! I have been following you for a while now and I absolutely adore everything you write. You are incredibly talented and deserve all praise for it ❤️

I have never actually requested a story from any author simply because I will devour almost any content by fanfic authors and truthfully it makes me feel a little greedy and I never want anyone to feel forced to write anything. However, I have had this idea since I read one of your stories and I feel like no one else would be able to do it justice like you would.

Essentially, the reader is the youngest Archeron sister and is mated to Azriel (mating bond has been accepted and they have been together for a couple of months now) but she is inexperienced (her first time was with Azriel) and Nesta has been giving her some of her hard core smutty books and now the reader wants to explore some kinks with Azriel (somnophilia, cock warming, wing play, bondage) but she’s embarrassed to bring up the conversation with him. Anyway, she eventually has that conversation with Azriel (he’s all too happy about it because no one can tell me this male doesn’t have a corruption kink) and smut ensues.

First of all, thank you for the endless compliments 💜💜 I'm so excited you're here and have welcomed me into your world for entertainment purposes.

Second of all, I could NEVER deny an Azriel corruption kink fic.

Breathe

Summary - A year of sexual exploration hasn't even began to touch the things Azriel would like to do to you.

Warnings - throat fucking, breath play, references to knife play, auralism, jealous Rhys and cassian at the end, mentions of other explored kinks and sexual senerios

Azriel pushed his fingers further unto your throat, his shadows forcing your hair back as he held your book in his free hand.

“I've been wondering why you've been sending me wave after wave of arousal all day,” he rose a brow a passage involving the male character using a knife to pleasure the female main. “Is this what my pretty little mate reads when I'm away? Her big sister's smut novels?”

He watched as you gagged, drool and spit coming to the corner of your mouth as you struggled to breathe and looked up at him doe eyed. “Want me to fuck you with Truth Teller, mate? Does the thought of coming on a deadly weapon soak your little lace panties?” He chuckled darkly. Mocking your inability to answer. 

“You're trained better than this, slut. You know to answer me when I ask you a question.” You whined around his fingers. You  could feel the tension in his body, feel his need for stress relief. 

The two of you had just began exploring physically together. The bond finally snapped after your 20th birthday. After the Mortal queen and the deathless God had been dealt with. After Elain finally let her claws out of him long enough for him to notice you. To feel you.

He had not pushed sex, knowing from Nesta you were the only one of the 4 of you to hold onto that seemingly special thing so tightly. It had taken a year for you to spread those pretty thighs and let him take you, but after that, you fucked like rabbits. Trying every dirty thing and kink your mind wanted to explore.

Azriel had allowed you to dominate him, whining as you rode his cock and denied him orgasm after orgasm, fingers dancing his scarred wings.

He had tied you from the ceiling his dungeon, harnessed up like a swing and fucked you to sweet oblivion.

He had taken every tight hole, came anywhere he could. Marked you in his scent and musk more times than you two could count.

But you were still his sweet innocent girl. 

His little untouched angel exploring your sexuality and urges like an animal in heat sometimes. Your recent needs were punishment. You liked him hurting you, dominating you, watching as you cried. You liked breath play lately, hence his fingers sinking deeper as you struggled, black beginning to form in your eyes until he took those fingers out and slapped you.

“Need you to suck my cock, princess,” he began unlacing his leathers, mind lost in the pleasure your mouth would bring him. “Open. Now.”

You obeyed, throat relaxing and mouth opening as his cock sprung free. Hard leaking and angry from weeks away from you. He pushed in without hesitation, setting a gentle pace as he tightened his grip in your hair.

“She couldn't breathe,” his deep voice began reading from the book, making you whine around his cock as he pushed it down your throat ensuring you couldn't either. “The feeling of the cold hilt in her warm walls causing her to feel wave after wave of shock and pleasure.”

He looked down at you, smirking at the sight of your flushed cheeks, at you swallowing around him as spit pooled the corners of your mouth. His eyes went back to the book. “There was something about the danger, the thrill of this deadly weapon being used to push her to the edge that had her crying out, begging and pleading for more and more as she met every thrust with her hips. Fucking herself harder and harder on her mate's weapon.”

You were aching, dripping for him, and tapped his thigh for a quick breath, watching as he pulled out and looked down at you unimpressed. You panted a few gulps of air before taking him back in your mouth and bobbing your head, hallowing your cheeks and licking each vein on his shift. 

Azriel groaned loudly above you, setting the book down before his now free hand joined the other one tangled in your now messy hair. He began fucking your throat harshly. Barely allowing you moments of air as he chased his much needed high. 

You could do nothing but hold on for life when he did this. When he lost control for you. He pushed all the way in, gagging you again and held you there, nose pressed against his skin. “Breathe,” he commanded in a moan. “Being such a good girl, y/n.” 

Throat fucking as new to you. An unexplored territory you hadn't even considered until he had asked gently. You knew it was more for him than for you, but right now you felt this sense of power as he moaned above you, wings shuttering as his body shivered. 

That power reached a deep set need in your bones, allowing you to relax and enjoy this more with a small moan. “There we go, angel,” he whispered. “Just like that for me. I'm so proud of you.” He began thrusting again, allowing you to hear his pleasure, allowing you to feel that power you had over him. “Keep breathing, baby,” his voice was almost a whimper. “Just keep breathing, I'm right there, y/n. Please honey.”

Him begging had you moaning against him, relaxing your throat further as your watched his breathing pick up, his plump lips part, his eyes scrunch. 

Without warning he pushed all the way in, spilling down your throat, as a roar tore through his own. He pulled back slightly, releasing the last of his cum onto your stuck out tongue with a satisfied smile. 

He kneeled down to you, shadows bringing him a notebook and pen and he wiped the small bits that hit your face off with his thumb before forcing you to suck that digit. 

He flipped through the notebook, a page dedicated to each sexual act and kink you two had explored with a rating and comments from both of you before landing on the page he needed and the adjoining blank one. 

“1 through 5?” He asked you gently, removing his thumb and kissing your forehead. 

“3.5,” you admitted with guilt. “I only enjoyed it because you do, and it made me feel slightly in control.”

He nodded, writing your response as you two both moved to sit cross-legged from each other on the floor. “Do not feel guilty. I am just happy it ranked high enough to be in the rotation. How about the reading to you thing?”

“4 out of 5. I enjoyed it a lot when you were doing that.” Azriel jotted it down.

“And what the fuck is going on in this novel? Do you want to try knife play?”

“Only with you,” you answered. 

Azriel leaned forward, kissing you gently. “It's one of my favorites. I've done it with a couple play partners. I can answer any questions you have.”

The two of you sat there, filling in a few more pages of the book you had started to keep during the beginning of your exploration a year ago, smiling at the things you've already done, going on your list of retries. 

Love was free flowing down the bond, soaking the room and fabric in it's scent, filling the Riverhouse with its presence with every passing moment. 

Rhys and Cassian sighed from downstairs, tapping their feet on the wooden floors as they waited for Azriel to come give them his mission report. 

“This happens every fucking time,” Cassian sat down on the couch. “Is it us? Is fatherhood killing our sex drive?”

Rhys shrugged. “I don't know what's killing your sex drive, brother. Mine is fine. Hince 3 little ones. If you could figure out what's keeping theirs so... passionate, though, I'd appreciate it.” 

[loveydovey-leviathan]

hii! if it’s not too much trouble could you write headcanons abt the obey me brothers with an mc who likes to be babied/pampered and just wants affection? thanks!

obey me x gn! reader

a/n: written as romantic. -> do you hug your pillow when you sleep, anon? /lh. also sorry, this kind of escaped the request a bit 😔

.

𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑:

He is slightly concerned for you ngl-- and he wonders if something happened in your life that made you be this way.. but he won't look a gift horse in the mouth.

Thinks you're the cutest when you're not afraid to ask for affection.

Isn't ashamed of giving you his love in public but he does try to refrain himself. Key word is 'try' because once he gets a little too drunk or jealous, he's holding you like there's no tomorrow even with people around.

Also, his brothers will accuse him of favouritism to no end if he shows a little too much pda and that's always annoying.

He knows he's a bit too soft towards you and maybe he spoils you too much, but it really isn't his fault-- how could he resist? Especially when you lean into his cheek as he's holding you, when you snuggle impossibly closer to him while you're cuddling, or when you chase his lips just as the kiss ends in hope of receiving more.

He likes cheek and hand kisses the most. It's simple and quick, but the sugar-sweet gesture has his old heart fluttering. Don't make fun of him too much-- he's a fan of the classics.

Usually he teases, acting all smug like he doesn't know exactly how you feel when you're gone for just a bit too long. Like he doesn't crave the feeling of your lips on his every second of the day, like he doesn't think of holding and being held by you during the early hours of the morning, as though he too doesn't want your affection as much as you want his.

He's prideful and maybe that will be the death of him one day, but he thinks as long as you love him just the same-- he doesn't mind too much.

𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐎𝐍:

you 🤝 mammon -> a constant want for affection.

-though he is incredibly adamant about denying it, but it's Mammon so what can you do.

That being said, he absolutely will pamper you to your heart's content. It's just-- he'll probably spew out every excuse in the book while doing so.

Won't stop him from linking arms while you're walking. He still kisses and hugs you as a greeting. It'll still take you ages to convince him to let you go while the two of you are cuddling.

His brothers are constantly teasing him about babying you-- but as much as he complains and yells, he hasn't stopped at all.

But if you need the genuine truth for him, as in just transparent honesty about how he feels-- he'll give that to you too. He's just perfect like that <3.

PDA is a bit complicated with him. He isn't afraid to kiss you in public but as soon as he gets confronted about it, he'll blush like crazy.

As embarrassed as he gets in public, his favourite way of showing you affection is in front of other people-- even if it's in the most subtle ways.

He likes giving you forehead kisses. Don't ask him why because he honestly doesn't really know the exact reason. He thinks it's the everything in the action, really.

He loves holding your cheek and gently leaning the top of your head to his lips, the way you look at him like he's your treasure. How you squeeze his hands right after as a gesture of appreciation.

It's soft and sweet-- like how he feels about you.

𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍:

Girlie is trying his best. He really, really is.

Thinks you're so beautiful and lovely and handsome and everything else nice that can be said but the dude is hella awkward.

He just doesn't know how to handle it. He's already amazed that you want to date him-- and now you're telling him you want his affection??

Don't get him wrong, he'll do it. It just takes a few hours to muster up enough courage to do so.

A lot of the affection has to be initiated by you at the start of the relationship, but as you spend more time together, he starts to gain some confidence.

Takes his time when he's kissing, leans towards you when you're sitting next to each other, relaxes into your hugs more and more.

And eventually has the courage to initiate his own affection. Most of it is from romance anime so they might be a little cliche.

He soon realizes that you like to be pampered and he has to stop himself from fangirling too hard. Again, he tries his best to fulfil your affection quota every day.

Lengthy sessions of cuddling, giving kisses throughout the day, hugs when he sees you-- he's a bit shaky in public but he wants to make you happy so he does it anyway.

He likes extra-long hugs more than he likes to admit. It calms the constant anxiety in his heart and silences the thoughts in his head for as long as the hug lasts. Plus, you seem to really like it as well.

𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐍:

He is the gentleman of all time.

Seriously though, his affection is so old-fashioned because he reads a bunch of outdated classical romance books.

If you want a demon who kisses your cheek whenever see each other, a demon who gives you flowers every week, a demon who writes love poems about you by the fire, a demon who imagines you and him every time he reads a romance novel; this is the demon for you.

His brothers tease him way too much about it- INCLUDING Lucifer for some reason, even though Satan's sure his older brother is way worse than he is.

Teases you if you're shy about asking for his affection but gets so red if you're upfront about it.

His favourite date activity is reading by the fire when you're cuddling up to him. Everything about it is absolutely perfect-- the way the light of the fire illuminates your face, your arms wrapped around him as he rereads another romance novel, and it's late enough into the night when everything and everyone is asleep.

He adores making you gifts. Paper roses, flattened flowers for bookmarks, that kind of stuff.

And they always have some sort of secret message. The paper roses have little notes of his 'i love you's inside the petals, the bookmarks he makes you always represent how he feels.

He is curious to know what exactly made you this way. Did you not receive much affection growing up? Were you too afraid to ask for it from the people around you? Or is it something else?

He won't push it, of course. Either way, he'll love you like no one ever could; determined to make your heart flutter as you do his.

𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐔𝐒:

You will literally never feel unloved again with him around.

He kisses you in the morning, he does his skincare with you, he makes sure to buy you plenty of outfits (and compliments you in every single one), and much, much more.

Is the least shy about pampering you and thinks you're the only one who can measure up to him when it comes to cuteness.

You're the only one who's ever made him feel like this, the only one who makes his cheeks blossom in pink whenever he thinks of you, so of course he'll have to repay it tenfold.

His favourite thing to do is make you tailored outfits. He gets to be close to you during measurements (despite already having them memorised) and he spends his time doing something he enjoys while making you happy. It's the perfect combination.

He gives you so many kisses throughout the day that you've gotten used to the feeling of sticky lipgloss on your cheeks and lips. Make sure to carry around a package of wet wipes.

Loves showing you off on Devilgram-- you don't even have to appear physically, he just loves talking about you.

He's never told anyone this, including you, but he writes love songs. They're tucked away deep inside his closet, locked with a charm and a key. It's a reminder of all the things he loves about you (like he doesn't think about you as much as he does himself).

The best thing he looks forward to after each day is cuddling up to you when you sleep. Nothing is heard except the both of you whispering, talking to each other about your day. He always says goodnight to you with another kiss-- one that lingers for longer than the rest, a promise for tomorrow.

𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐙𝐄𝐁𝐔𝐁:

He's the gentle teddy that every person needs.

His hugs practically engulf you- even if you're just as big as him, he still manages to make you feel like you're being hugged by a friendly bear.

He's more observant than most people give him credit for so it's not long before he figures out you like to be pampered. And pamper you, he will.

He prefers giving you physical affection and doing things for you because he doesn't think he's that good with words.

Big hugs at the door, kissing you awake, buying you food (when he can), that sort of thing.

But when he does use his words, it's the most heartfelt phrase you'll ever hear. He doesn't feel the need to be embarrassed about how he feels, you make his heart fuller than anyone else and he'll tell you that when he can.

His kisses are really warm, too. They feel like the sun and they're as gentle as daffodils.

Speaking of, he's always incredibly gentle with you. He's big and strong and he knows that. The worst thing he could do is hurt you and he vows to never let it come to that.

His favourite dates are the simple ones. Watching a movie, cooking together, feeding each other food. He doesn't tell anyone but Belphie his more domestic dreams. The ones where he comes home to a warm meal and enough love to fill his stomach.

𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑:

He's a little shit but when is he not.

Loves to tease you about wanting affection but then whines if you try to leave. Such a hypocrite smh

He is very clingy and your his designated pillow so he's kind of always affectionate with you.

When he's not nuzzling up to you, he's either giving you small little kisses around your neck or he's asking you to give him some.

Similar to Beel, he prefers physical affection but only because he's too embarrassed to say how he feels out loud.

A lot of hugs and cuddling with each other.

You wouldn't know this but he's pretty romantic when he wants to be. Sometimes he writes letters for/about you but it's a 50/50 chance whether or not you'll get to read them though.

He ups his pampering when he's around his brothers because he's just annoying like that lolol

Have I mentioned how clingy he is. He will not let go of you when you're lying down together, you'll have to rip him off.

His favourite thing to do with you is watch the stars with you on his lap or him on yours. His hugs feel different like this, they're tighter and more desperate like he's afraid you'll leave.

It's usually here when he tells you how much he loves you. His words are littered with small sarcastic jokes but you can feel his sincerity.

You both usually end up falling asleep there but strangely enough, Belphie stays awake for a bit to watch you sleep.

[lynnie-ee]

Day 5; Gloves.

╰┈➤"Holding hands comes naturally in a relationship, is what you'd expect. Until you realise, Azul has never removed his gloves, hasn't he?"

╰►Gender neutral reader, oneshot, 1k words.

╰► Character: Azul Ashengrotto, pre-established relationship.

╰►Note: The prompts are based on words I found interesting and then I put them on a roulette to decide when I would write about them, lol. English is not my first language, so please let me know if there are any grammatical mistakes <3. Not proof read, I haven't written in a long time, so I apologise if anything is out of character.

╰►Masterlist / Inktober Masterlist.

⤿

⤿

“Azul?”

“Yes, angelfish?”

“How come I’ve never held your hand?”

“We’ve held hands dear, multiple time already.”

“Of course, but I mean, without your gloves on.”

“Oh…”

(Y/n) laid on one of the sofas of Mostro Lounge’s VIP room, a book on their hands that they were supposed to read for their History of Magic, which was now left behind as they were more interested in Azul’s answer. As usual, the housewarden was on his desk, working on some contracts, promptly leaving his pen down to focus his attention on the magicless student.

The couple had been together for a few weeks now; enough time for Azul to get used to sharing his time, but not enough to openly speak his mind without filter.

“Well…I guess we’ve never had the opportunity to do so.” He replied after thinking about it for about seconds.

“How about now?” The Prefect asked, leaving their book on a table nearby, resting their elbows on the armrest of the sofa to look at housewarden more properly, being able to observe the delicate reddish tone that made its way to adorn his cheeks.

“Aren’t you supposed to be studying?”

“And you’re supposed to be working, yet you’re indulging me, so don’t make excuses.” They chuckled softly, observing Azul for a moment, before frowning slightly. “Perhaps I didn’t consider that you may be uncomfortable by the sensation of someone touching your skin. Do you have hands, when you’re on your octopus form?” The Prefect asked genuinely.

“Of course, I do! Why are you even asking that?” Azul answered immediately, his voice an octave higher due to how absurd their question seemed to be.

“Because I’ve never seen your octopus form and I’m not even from this world, there’s no way for me to know.” They explained nonchalantly. “The Coral Sea culture is as unknown for me as the land culture was for you at first.”

“I’ll let you know that I’m very knowledgeable in land culture, dear.” The Octavinelle second-year defended himself, a slight frown on his face.

“Last time we went into town we saw a bunny and you asked me if it was a dog. You may be smart, but you don’t know everything.” They laughed, this time a bit louder, offending Azul even more. “But we weren’t talking about that. So, if you have hands in your merman form, is it because mermen don’t usually hold hands directly? Or is it that you aren’t used to the sensation of something touching your skin?”

“No, they do hold hands in the same way humans do.” The second year explained. “And I’ve been on land for a while, now, so I’m very accustomed to the sensation of touching things directly without gloves.” He answered their second question.

“Then why don’t you want to hold hands now?”

“Well, that’s….” Azul mumbled, fixing his glasses as a way to partially cover his face to prevent the Prefect from being able to see the embarrassment on his expression. This only increased (Y/n)’s curiosity, making them wonder of the reasons, until something popped up on their mean.

“You…you’ve never had someone hold your hand before, haven’t you?”

“Nonsense! I…”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” The Ramshackle student declared, Azul’s face being enough evidence for them. They got up from the sofa to take a seat on the chair in front of Azul’s desk, finding the merman avoiding eye contact with them. “It’s okay if you haven’t, you know?”

“As far as I’m concerned, people around my age should be expected to have more experience at this, so forgive me for my lack of it.”

“I don’t care about that; I hope you know it.” (Y/n) answered tenderly, extending their arm to softly angle Azul’s face so they could look at them. “Besides, it would be nice to do it for the first time, wouldn’t it?”

“I guess you’re right…”

“Can I?” They questioned, this time signalizing his hand, as he nodded. Then, the Prefect gently took his hand, one of their own delicately holding his wrist as the other removed the glove carefully with a slow pace, occasionally glancing at him.

If there was anything (Y/n) had learned about Azul in the past weeks, it was that he was far more delicate than he let others see, his vulnerable side being more difficult for him to expose, even in front of them, as it was too early. Perhaps, in a year or two, they would talk casually about more intimate matters, but for now, this was enough, one step at a time.

“Well, this is rather nice.” Azul mumbled, and the Prefect could only chuckle softly, lightly squeezing his hand as an answer.

“Your hands seemed to be very soft-Oh!” (Y/n) started calmly, trying not to rush Azul, getting surprised when he was the one who actually took their hand as soon as they removed the glove. His fingers laced their own fingers gently but quickly, as he was expectant to experience the sensation.

“Is it like you expected?”

“I’d say it’s better than I thought.” He answered. “Now I understand why so many couples seemed to have their hands glued to each other when they walked together, back in the town…”

“Yeah, maybe we could try that.” They suggested, promptly raising both of their hands a bit higher, so they could place a kiss upon the back of his hand, watching the housewarden blushing immediately. “Too much?”

“No…But I’m considering that perhaps, I should wear my gloves less when you’re around.”

“You have such nice ideas sometimes.”

They stayed in the same position for a few moments, changing the topic of conversation, as (Y/n) occasionally caressed the side of his hand with their thumb, Azul eventually relaxing at the contact, his paperwork next to him being left on the past, his attention solely focused on his loving partner.

“The next step maybe could be you showing me your octopus form?”

“Absolutely no.”

⤿

⤿

[pintrestgrl]

hihihi i saw u we're asking for requests so i was wondering if u could do maybe a theo nott x reader but it's his gf and she's stressed about exams? i'm definitely not projecting rn idk what u mean

also could i be 🦇 anon if it hasn't been claimed? 💕💕 i've been stalking ur blog atm and i love ur writing :)

hiiiii 🦇 anon !! u seem sweet ily ! but yes i can do that !!

and thank you for love on my writing, it means the absolute world to me 🥹 ily

also if you want a different plot with this idea, but containing smut pls lmk !! i’d love to write it for u !!

please enjoy !!

bf!theodore nott with stressed!reader.

this was probably the most amount of stress you’d been under in a very, very long time.

o.w.l.s were coming up, and it was safe to say that you were nervous.

you had been going bed to late after studying, and waking up early to study some more.

you didn’t mean too, but it was more then likely that you had been avoiding your boyfriend theo, as well.

you had been yet again studying, books thrown all over your desk, when you heard a knock at your door.

you were confused, not remembering any reason why someone would be at your dorm right now.

you opened the door, seeing an expectant theodore at the door.

the second you saw him, it all came flooding back to you.

you had made plans with theodore a while ago for this day, but clearly it had slipped your mind.

the minute you saw his excited eyes, you felt your own flood with tears.

you walked into his arms, collapsing into his chest and likely wetting the fabric with your eyes.

he rubbed your back, his brows furrowing with confusion by the sight of you crying suddenly.

he spoke.

“hey, hey— what’s wrong, baby?”

you sniffled, pulling away and meeting his cold eyes with your own teary ones.

you spoke.

“i’m sorry. i forgot— about our plans, i mean. i was studying, and, and—”

he held your face, kissing the bridge of your nose sweetly. he’d noticed your extra studying, and how you hadn’t really been responding to his texts much.

he thought it was better not to say anything for now, though.

he spoke.

“i know. it’s fine, okay? don’t cry, bella.”

you nodded, feeling his large hands wipe away the salty tears that slipped out of your eyes.

he led you inside, his hand pressed against the small of your back as he clicked the door shut behind him.

he subtly turned off the lamp at your desk, allowing your mind to be freed from any thoughts of the upcoming exams.

he laid down with you, allowing you to rant about all your worries for the exams to him.

he listened, planting sweet kisses on your face every time you got a bit too worked up.

soon, you grew tired in his arms. shifting your position, laying on top of him as he mumbled in your ear.

“gotta quit studying so much. i miss you, bellissima.”

you nodded, humming sleepily in acknowledgment at his words.

he played with your hair for a few minutes, before hearing you whisper in his ear.

“i love you, theo.”

you said, planting a soft kiss right on top of his jaw.

he smiled softly, hand stroking your back softly.

he spoke.

“i love you too, mia secchiona.”

[iisasarcasticlittleshite]

The First Man

In most situations, when shit hits the fan, it's Lucifer you call. Lucifer the oldest, Lucifer who knows what to do and how to do it, Lucifer who thinks clearly and rationally in any situation.

Except, when it comes to MC.

When MC first arrived, half of what they did either confused or terrified some poor demon or angel. They weren't used to a human who hasn't been immersed in magic and demons and angels for years. Solomon was not a good standard to start with, everyone found that out the hard way.

MC takes in the world with wonder and without restraint. When that lack of restraint gets them in trouble, it's not Lucifer they call.

It's Mammon.

Mammon's the one Asmodeus calls when MC wanders off during a shopping trip and he can't get hold of them. He's the one Levi calls when MC drops suddenly off a call while walking home, the one Solomon calls when MC fails to arrive on time to an appointment.

It's become a source of...pride, for the second born, no matter how much everyone may call him scummy, or unreliable, or irresponsible, when it comes to the human, his human, everyone is second to him.

Even after MC forged pacts with each of his brothers, even after Lucifer's pact-mark painted their skin, still people looked to him, now it's for other reasons.

MC forgot their homework? He knows where they keep it.

Satan wants to buy them a suit for Diavolo's next fancy shindig? Mammon knows their exact size in every store they like.

Barbatos wants to surprise them with dinner after a rough week? Mammon knows their comfort foods and their current cravings.

No one knows his human better than he does, Mammon tells himself that whenever doubts creep in, he's reminded of it every time they smile at him, every time MC calls him their partner in crime.

Still, when his phone lights up with his older brother's name, he's expecting everything but what came next.

"MC has had an anxiety attack." Lucifer's calming drawl betrays the urgency of the situation. "I have brought them to the meeting room. They are staring off into space...I do not know what to do."

Mammon is off at a ground-eating pace immediately, pushing past demons in the bustling halls of RAD. It's the middle of the day, after all.

"I'm on m'way, just keep 'em somewhere quiet. They've been havin' a bad week for that anxiety crap."

"They appeared calm this morning."

Mammon chuckled sadly. "Yeah, I know."

"I see...I will wait here. Do not be long."

The call fell silent, and Mammon broke into a run, shoving people aside if he had too until he burst into the meeting room, finding MC sat in his usual seat at the table, curled up with their chin resting on their knees, staring off into nothing with glassy eyes.

Lucifer stands in unusual insecurity beside them, shoulders sagging in relief as soon as Mammon enters the room.

It wouldn't hit Mammon until much, much later, how much of a big deal it is that LUCIFER, called him, called him for help.

He couldn't think about that now, right now, he quietly slid into the seat beside his human, gently brushing the hair away from their forehead and watching their eyes slowly focus in on him.

"Hey human. Need a break?"

MC blinked, nodding slowly as they leaned into him. Non-verbal.

Mammon didn't make them speak, merely held out his hands and let them cling to his arm while he cast Lucifer a meaningful look. The eldest smiled gratefully.

MC shut their eyes, pressed their head against Mammon's shoulder and let him lead them home.

MC likes to do things with their hands when their anxious, once back in the safety of their room, they curl up around a colouring book, Mammon always close by if they need anything.

"Lucifer was worried." MC muttered, leaning into the demon's side was they cradled the hard-cover book against their knees.

"He'll live." Mammon whispered, reassuringly running his fingers through their hair. "Wanna tell me what's been on ye're mind?"

MC's eyes didn't wander from what their hands are doing, even as they softly share whatever comes to mind, talking without a filter. They don't need one, not with Mammon. He'll listen to whatever they have to say without judgement, always.

He can always be found, loyally at their side when they need him most.

[hollowaluminumvessel]

Post-114 (Still Not Ferin Well) headcanons 🤗

long post, Hcs for gillion, Jay and chibo under the cut ♥

Gillion(real)

-since his lay on hands wasn't an immediate reaction, all of his missing skin and the holes in his hands became scar tissue.

-once they got back to the ship and everything was calm again, his hair was soooo ratty and knotted. The crew spent ages combing it out, washing out the blood and grime, and making sure it was tied up next time they did something like that.

-when doppelgilly was voided and became a husk, Gillion felt bad. He knew that he shouldn't, he knew that doppelgilly was some evil copy of himself but doppelgilly looked, acted, and felt like himself. It was like looking in a mirror.

-to chip, Jay, and the rest of the crew, he has literally never looked worse. He looks exhausted, he looks beaten. To gil thoigh, he thinks that hes seen worse. He hasnt. The moment he was healed, they sent him to the tub.

-he nearly fell asleep in the elevator, and then while Jay and Gryffon helped with his hair.

-Gillion WILL have lasting trauma and you are NOT changing my mind. I mean no chance he doesn't right?? A Triton literally said to him, WHILE CHAINED, "YOU ABANDONED US." COME ON BRO THATS NOT EVEN THE WORST OF IT

-when Gil was first taken, his neck literally broke. It's verbally stated that if he hadn't casted death ward, he would literally be dead. And he was yanked upwards, as if he were hanged. That bitch should be DEAD AF DAWG. DEAD

Jay

-Jay is second guessing herself like the sky literally fell and it's her fault. She's questioning her role, her right to be a leader, even her life. She spends that night crying as quiet as she can. It felt good, she hasn't had a good silent sob session in a few months. She needed to let it out.

-When Jay put together that Gillion was actually doppelgillion, the loud noises started happening and she fuckin BOOKED IT over to the leviathan room. She got them into this mess, if she didn't get them out she'd never forgive herself.

-when gillion was sent to the tub and the rest of the crew left to do whatever they pleased, chip held Jay back. He told her that it wasn't all her fault. He said that he doesn't blame her for indulging on information about her sister, because why else are they going to the hole in the sea? For laughs? No, it's for chip to do the same thing. They hug then. And then they go about their day/night.

-Jay's hair is singed. When they finished with Gillions hair, they turn to Jay's and cut it as short as she'll let them. Her hair used to be around waist length, as she'd ignored it for a while, only doing so much as to brush it every morning and night to prevent knotting, and goddamn that shit was greasy. She wasn't the only one though so they didn't put it past her. Her hair after the cut is probably upper back to shoulder length. Queen comes along and helps her style it so she doesn't look stupid like she thinks she does.

-she denies that she likes it at all. She's lying and they all know it.

Chip

-im gonna be so fr with myself and say I haven't paid the most attention to chibo so if I get anything character-wise wrong, mercy 🙏

-chips bones are weaker now, some even broken from when he opened the drawer and the ringing rang. Griz said it splintered through his bones, I'm not letting that go

-anyway think like Hector from coco. Some bones are split and broken, some are being held together with medical tape, etc. Basically he's more broken than ever.

-in the fight with the holloweds on the ship. One of them managed to get a lucky shot right on the hole in his chest where his heart should be. Later that night, it burns. He scratches, he rubs, he does anything he can to make the burn go away but nothing works. It seems to have lessened the next day though, so he's not worried.

-theres discolored bruising around his neck where the slimy tongue is.

-on the same note, chip was being dragged much slower, so his neck didn't break, but he was held much tighter.

-when chip told Jay it wasn't her fault, it was all he could do to keep from crying. Because deep down, he thinks it was his. He's the one taking them to the hole, he's the one that brought them into this mess in the first place. He wished he'd never met anyone on this ship, so at least they'd be safe, home, and away from this. He's disappointed in himself. He's angry and sad and he's so upset that he's putting his crew through this nonsense.

-chip thinks the fact that doppelgilly pulled some of the worst cards back to back was hilarious. Then he looks at gillion later on and sees how he's contemplating and he rethinks. He doesn't really change his mind, but he rethinks.

[pessimisticpigeonsworld]

I have mixed feelings about the decision to make Alicent and Criston romantically involved.

On one hand, I find it extremely satisfying. Alicent, who hated and berated Rhaenyra for cuckolding (with Laenor's full support) her gay husband, has been engaged in a long term affair. Like, if any more proof was needed for her insane hypocrisy, here it is. I also like that they actually followed through with young Alicent's implied attraction to Criston.

I think this also feels a bit more like book Alicent than anything else done with her character. Book Alicent was a hypocrite, she exploited her children, and attacked Rhaenyra for things that it was implied she herself did. Show Alicent trying to get Rhaenyra convicted of treason/adultery while simultaneously committing treason and adultery is the most in character decision they've made in season two.

However, I'm also just...so tired. Like, Condal hasn't been shy about making Alicent a hypocrite. He literally said he wrote her like a "woman for Trump". She's been hypocritical for almost all of season one, that's like the one consistent part of her character.

And yet, both the writers and fans continue to make excuses for Alicent. Despite the fact that Alicent was written to be hypocritical and in the wrong, she's still simultaneously made to appear right. No matter what she does: cheating on her husband, attempting to main/kill a child, attacking the heir, usurping Rhaenyra, Alicent is portrayed as a victim and therefore shouldn't be held accountable.

Basically, I know that no matter what Alicent does, no matter how shitty or hypocritical, she will still be treated as a hapless victim by the narrative and her fans. This information doesn't change the fact that HOTD still wants you to view Alicent as morally equal to Rhaenyra. They refuse to have her actually see the consequences of her actions because they themselves refuse to treat her as autonomous.

Edit:

So, I wrote this before the first episode aired, so back when Cole and Alicent's relationship were just a leak. That's why I'm kinda vague😂

So despite the fact that the two of them didn't sleep together while Viserys was alive (which I guess I am kinda glad they didn't do that), they still very much had an emotional affair. Alicent being a hypocrite still stands though, as she has now slept with a man out of wedlock, even if it wasn't adultery.

[wordsinhaled]

dream overworking himself and sulking and stressing everyone out in the dreaming until he basically gets sent on an enforced vacation, so he's all, well, i suppose i must go to the waking then. who do i know in the waking?

which of course results in dream showing up on hob's doorstep entirely unannounced, probably in the middle of the night too in true dream fashion, like, "i will be here a fortnight." and hob is all, okay, on the one hand, it is 3 in the morning and what the fuck, but on the other hand—delighted! this is lovely! this is amazing! because dream, who, miracle of miracles, just came back to him, is now back again and it hasn't been a hundred years, it's been a month. hob hadn't thought "come back anytime" would be taken with any sort of seriousness at all, and of course he's happy to open his home to dream (and also his heart, but he's very resolutely not thinking about that. at all)

so hob is all, "of course, love. my home is your home," totally also not dwelling on the fact that he's never actually called dream "love" before except in his head, and he ushers dream inside, and shows him around, and laments the fact that it's getting to be the middle of term so his flat is a bit of a mess. he gallantly offers dream his bed, no matter that his back is going to be protesting something fierce after two weeks of sleeping on the couch, it's dream, he should have the bed

and then hob remembers it's the middle of term and he actually has to work... he explains this to dream and assures him he'll try to be there as much as he can, and dream momentarily looks like hob's job had not occurred to him at all, but then adopts a look of utmost unaffectedness

hob told him my home is your home so dream just... hangs about in hob's flat while hob is at work. going through his refrigerator and trying all the random bits of things hob has in there, not because he actually needs to eat but because no one has offered him this type of hospitality before, their space, their home, and all the things in it. reading books from hob's bookshelves. talking to hob's plants. flicking through hob's vinyl collection; putting on random records. (incidentally, this is how he discovers glass animals...). drinking all the sparkling water hob has. feeling the dream-history of hob's presence in the space and in his possessions, and it feels almost like... being held by hob, even though that's never been something they've done

on the first night when hob wanders into his bedroom to use the bathroom at 1 am he learns that dream doesn't even sleep; he just sits up against the headboard and reads with the bedside lamp on or he literally... sits in the dark... and stares off into space, eyes glimmering faintly, like he can see things in the shadows that hob can't see

dream sticking his head out from beneath the blankets of hob's bed in the mornings, watching as hob meanders into the ensuite to shower before work and swears when he realizes that he's running very late for his first lecture. hob rushing out of the bathroom with just a towel around his waist and a hair-tie in his teeth. hob forgetting entirely in his haste that dream of the fucking endless is in his bed and is not actually averting his eyes. dream watching hob pick out his work clothes and making dry commentary; hob most assuredly not blushing about the fact that dream is unashamedly watching him get dressed from their bed like they're some kind of lovers when they're most definitely not that

hob comes home from work each day and his flat is slightly rearranged, but also marginally tidier than it was before, and he's a little taken off guard but also... he'd meant it that his home was dream's home and it warms a part of hob that's ached for far too long to mention to just... have dream here, to have evidence that dream has been here, even if it's temporary

hob also has to contend with the fact that apparently dream of the endless likes to go around barefoot in just skinny jeans and a t-shirt when he's neither centennial nor a stranger anymore, which is... a whole thing, a whole situation, dream's apparently got arms and a clavicle and ankles and lord... hob still remembers when dream had been buttoned up all the way to the throat centuries ago and looking at hob like hob was a fascinating specimen of insect pinned to a board, but now dream is here asking him about his workday and he has to focus on making dinner for them to regain some of his sanity about all of this

they watch a film together one evening a few days into dream's stay and at first dream is stiff on the couch but over the course of the movie he gradually relaxes into the cushions and the next time hob looks over dream's got his legs crossed and a throw pillow tucked against his chin resting on it and hob has a litany of i'm fucked i'm fucked i'm fucked just playing in his head because seeing dream for a few hours every century is one thing, but having dream in his home? having him just there? the first time dream laughs??? to have dream's coat hung up in his hall closet and his boots at the foot of the bed??? fucked

the two of them talking late into the night after the movie is over, until hob falls asleep and tips over onto dream, and he wakes himself up on the jarring boniness of dream's shoulder and the soft brush of dream's t-shirt against his cheek. hob opens his eyes to see dream's hand hovering over his head as though he'd been about to touch hob's hair, and he smiles before he can think better of it, and dream smiles, and it's so disarming... because now he knows what dream's smile looks like not just in the warm light of the new inn but also in the bluish light cast by the DVD pause screen in this small gentle moment - a tiny angular smile, so fleeting that looks like it exists just for this moment alone, but hob will remember it long after it's gone

hob also realizing dream said he would be here two weeks only so his time with dream is Finite, and reminding himself he should absolutely not get used to making breakfast for two people or to being able to just come home and tell dream things instead of jotting them in his commonplace book

dream realizing he likes being made breakfast, and he likes hob's little flat full of plants and books and music and old things lovingly preserved and curated. he likes hob's big bed covered in blankets and quilts and pillows. he likes the way the sunshine streams in through the windows of the flat. he likes the way hob makes his tea for him and the way the heat of the mug feels. he likes feeling not-alone even when he's by himself at hob's place because traces of hob are everywhere

dream realizing he likes hearing all the little things that happened in hob's day, even the things hob hesitates to tell him because he worries they're boring compared to the broad strokes highlights he used to give dream during their meetings every hundred years. he... likes... the way hob looks in the mornings, sleep tousled and yawning; and the way he looks focused and thoughtful when he's rehearsing a powerpoint presentation for a staff meeting; and he likes the way his voice sounds when he teaches zoom class; and he likes... a surprising number of things about hob gadling, really

to his immense surprise dream likes feeling like part of the human life hob gadling has built for himself

dream and hob both feeling like Something is Happening Here and not wanting to name what it is but also not wanting it to end. feeling like... something has happened but nothing even has happened, they've just been sort of... listing towards each other... and it's been no time at all but also feels like it's been all the time in the world

hob feeling upset with himself because once, he would have given anything to have two entire weeks with his stranger and now he feels like it wasn't enough. dream feeling reluctant to return to his responsibilities and unsure how such a short time around hob has unspooled him like this. it was supposed to be something that would ground and center him so that he could return to the dreaming and be his usual collected kingly self, and it has grounded him but perhaps... it has grounded him a little too much

I JUST NEED THEM TO BE DOMESTIC AND FALL IN LOVE .....glfkjlh AUGHHGHGHG

[pparacxosm]

stream of green

(stanfordera!tashi duncan x fem!nursingstudent!reader; tw injury; me taking my headcanon and furtive desire to be an english major and making it everyone’s problem; tw art donaldson typical guard dog behaviour; tw iced matcha dependency; anyway you get it; some of you have seen this before; everything is about wanting to kiss tashi duncan, except for wanting to kiss tashi duncan, which is about war and peace by leo tolstoy)

Tashi's Literature course is doing Tolstoy.

In the book, Natasha frolics in fields in a dandelion dress. She sings on her balcony at Otradnoe.

Natasha simply sits in an opera box, and she inspires white hot desire like dribbling crimson from a fresh wound. Raw and unequivocal.

Everyone could hate her. Hate this beautiful thing wrapped up in silk in lace and purity; Natasha has all the opportunity in the world. And there is something to ruining a beautiful thing.

Smouldering rose petals. Butchered sonatas.

Destroy it so nobody can enjoy it.

But they can't. They can't, right?

Because Natasha's vivacity persists like a man parched and desertborne. And Natasha's tremendous joy exists independent of any external condition. And Natasha is a courageous young woman who is willing to pay the price for giving her heart. And it pays off. Her kindness and tenacity and charm and dreams of flying to the moon will pay off. It all pays off. It has to.

And—okay—Tashi hasn't finished the book. She's bad at finishing books. Always has this lingering sense of dread that something's bound to give. So she'd like to think that Natasha's passion will pay off, in the end.

But her knee gives in the second set.

With a visceral pop that makes her gaze fizzle like static TV.

The poky infirmary is tucked away in a hushed, tepid corner of the school. Tashi stares at the smudged carcass of a smacked bug, a fingersized smear against a gleaming white brick on the wall across from where she sits and rots. She thinks of things once living and now dead, and her eyes, pinkrimmed and tender, begin to water again.

Art hangs his head beside her, wincing when she whimpers as her leg twitches. Tashi is glad to know that he feels so bad over what's happened.

Natasha is beautiful, young, ripe for the taking. She's engaged, sure, but not taken yet. Anatole doesn't let Natasha's commitment to Andrei get in the way of his wanting. Art chases Patrick off like a stray hopefully pawing at the door. Tashi is glad for that, too, as much as she can be. She gets the sense she won't be too glad at anything for a long while.

Your sneakers squeal against the linoleum floors as you walk in, clipboard held comically close to your face. You've only just gotten new glasses frames, but they pinch your nose bridge like a bitch, and you keep taking them off and forgetting where you've set them down.

“Okay...” you trail off, lowering the page, having gleaned fuck all from Nurse Roche's already hieroglyphic handwriting. “Uh, who's the patient here?”

One of them strikes you as more of a Natasha Zola Duncan (Deacon? You squint at Nurse Roche's scrawls. No, Duncan, definitely Duncan) than the other, but you're taught not to make assumptions, in your field.

Tashi is halfprone on the bed, stiff as sediment. Her knee is cloistered in thick layers of bandages, propped up upon a folded towel. Her face is pale with shock and steelsolid.

She parts her dry lips, a quiet ferocity in her tearweary gaze, but what comes out is a thin whistle.

“Maybe the one whose leg is wrapped up in enough gauze to clothe an inuit village.”

It's pretty stark imagery. It's sort of funny, but you think better than to laugh. She sounds harsh. She sounds rattled.

You have this sudden flash—a fragment of a memory of a large, sprawling poster on the cafeteria wall, the aptly emboldened text of DUNCANATOR!!! printed beneath a picture of a girl, clear and hot as freshblown glass, crowing like a gladiator with a racket in her hand.

You can't be certain it's even her. You're not good with faces, nor have you ever cared about tennis.

This girl, pensive and seething and lachrymose, her blonde acolyte seemingly too scared to dote on her properly, even as he clings to their proximity, bears little resemblance to the indomitable Duncanator who is said to glissade across campus with all the grace of Misty Copeland and the colonydecimating rage of Joan of Arc.

You only smile.

“Exactly. So why the friend?” you say as kindly as possible, gesturing vaguely toward him with your pen.

There's a pretty strict rule about nonfamilial tagalongs. One too many drunken partygoers convinced they're practically kissing the gates of death, ushered in by two dozen members of what they claim is their inner circle. The room is only so big.

“He's emotional support,” she says firmly.

You raise an eyebrow.

You hate to be anal. But you'd rather be a bit of a bitch to a peer who won't remember you than shoulder another warning from Roche and risk losing this shadowing gig.

“Boyfriends really aren't allowed in here,” you try again.

“What are you going to do, kick her out of the ER?”

It's the boy now. He's glaring at you with all the intensity of a water jet. You glance off to the side, halfawkward, halfjaded. You've seen your share of the white knight playlet.

Tashi pays him little mind. “I want the nurse.”

“Unfortunately, she's quite busy today,” you smile, “So it's me, or another hour wait.”

Her eyes narrow to serrated slits of amber. “Fine.”

You round the bed to stand to the right of her. The boy sits in direct obstruction. You gesture to a seat across the room with your pen.

“Could he sit over there? Might be a bit easier to see your...” you trail off, squinting at the clipboard again, “Right leg.”

She nods at him sharply, and you're a little tickled by his silent obedience, standing from his place at her side and jogging around the bed to sit at her... other side.

“Not quite where I pointed,” you note.

“Can you just order an X-ray or something?” Tashi's voice is frayed at its edges and clinging to its hardness. She feels like crying again, like letting loose those tears stuck at the corners of her eyes. But she doesn't. If she started now, she'd never finish. “I'm in pain and I have work to do.”

“Sounds important,” you say, reaching for the little first aid box latched to the wall beside her and unsheathing a disinfectant wipe.

She scans your profile, and you cannot tell if she wants you to notice her scrutiny. “Because it is.”

She doesn't seem to believe herself.

“If I had talent, I don't think l'd bother with coursework,” you muse aloud.

She seems, at once, pleased and disgusted by this sentiment.

“Well, people need skills beyond just hitting a ball with a racket.”

Beside her, the boy shifts at this choice of words. He runs a pale, feverish hand over and through his wheat field hair. He blows a thick and heavy breath out of lips bitten raw.

“Maybe,” you shrug at length, snapping on a pair of gloves. “Now, let's see what we're working with...”

Tashi, with a barely concealed wince, shifts her leg closer toward you, and you sweep gently over her skin with your hands. Her skin is very warm.

“Are you a nurse? Or, like, an intern?” she asks.

You smile, crouching down to be eye level with her knee. “Neither. Student.”

“So you're aspiring,” her boy supplies uselessly. You can't be sure if he's inquiring or stating. You hum an acknowledgment in any case, shrugging. To aspire seems such a daunting word.

Tashi levels you with a look laden with... something.

Then she hisses in pain when your thumb prods a little too hard through the bandaging.

“That's the most painful area,” you say, and it's more of a statement than a question.

“Obviously!” she groans, and the boy beside her fixes you with a territorial glower.

You think to try telling him to kick rocks again, but you only sigh, pursing your lips to the side pensively.

“On a scale from one to ten, ten being the worst, how bad is the pain?” You're still holding her leg, but you're no longer pressing.

“One hundred,” she replies.

“Is she always like this?” you smile, and cast her golden consort a wry glance.

He seems to have some choice words for you.

“Art, go,” she says.

Was it something I said? you want to say. But he's gone—hesitant, but dutiful nonetheless—before you can land. Probably for the best. Tough crowd, the two make.

���Just get me a brace and call it a day, please,” she huffs.

“I don't have that kind of authority,” you muse, which isn't totally true, but you need to follow the checklist of wound assessment protocol before you make any sort of call. Even though she will probably be needing a brace. “Can I ask you to rotate your leg for me, like this?”

She watches you straighten, and gather a bit of the fabric of your skirt, drawing the hem upwards and twisting your leg in demonstration. She shakes her head promptly and firmly.

“We need to be able to determine what we think is wrong, to specify what the techs are X-raying. If you could move your leg, l'll have a better idea,” you say, cringing sympathetically. And you mean it, the sympathy, but she's sort of not buying it.

“It's going to hurt. I don't want to do it,” she says.

“Are you crying because the pain is that severe?” you frown. “Or do you just want me to feel bad for you and stop asking to move your leg?”

“I'm not crying,” she grunts, wiping the tears on her cheeks. They quickly replace themselves. Like this perennial stream. Like she has just emerged from water, over and over.

“Right...” You give her a look. “So that's, what, spontaneous moisture on your face?”

You write something on the clipboard, and she makes an obvious effort to see what it is.

“You shouldn't be a nurse. You're too annoying.”

You don't know, yet, if you're gonna let that hurt your feelings.

She hadn't meant it meanly, just honestly. She could be nice—she is nice—but you're, decidedly, not making her bad day much better.

You smile, sort of laughing. “Move your leg. Please? I can give you something if it's that serious, the pain you're in.”

“Of course the pain is serious! Why the hell else do people come here?” she snaps. She's snapping now. Gnashing teeth like a cornered dog. But, really, you think she reminds you more of a wounded bird.

Tashi feels something queasy in her stomach, the prelude to dryheaving. She feels a new set of tears well in her eyes. She feels betrayed by her body. And that stings. Of all the things that have happened to her, of all the bruises, scrapes, of all the disappointments, that probably stings the most.

“You'd be surprised,” you smile. “Let me go find a real nurse.”

Natashas are meant to repent. Or, at the very least, suffer a tragic, agonising loss of self. The world is their oyster, but they can never see any of it through. All they can do is accept their miserable lot in life. It's pure prose.

“Alright, here we are,” you walk back in with a backpack on your shoulder. You should be knocking off in a few minutes time.

You're holding a little paper cup with two pills inside.

“What is it?” Tashi holds it under her nose.

“They're pills, they don't smell,” you say. “And they're an extra strength ibuprofen. Might make you a bit woozy.”

“Sounds like a real trip,” she mutters. She swallows the pills on their own, and takes a courtesy sip of the water you offer after.

“Roche is gonna come soon to undress and clean your knee,” you say, slumping your bag on the edge of her bed, careful not to disturb her throbbing leg. “So I'm gonna try and move it now. Can you bear it?”

“Have I not been bearing it?” Her teeth are gritted like padlocked prison bars.

In the dim room, one small window casts a narrow shaft of light across her face. The whirring AC renders every breath of air glaciercool and clinical. But Tashi's skin seems clammy with fever, her face beaded like a tapestry with the sickly sweat of pain and shock. You don't quite like the look of her. Especially as your fingers ghost her wound.

“You take ELIT?” she asks, her voice thick with saliva and strained like tensed elastic. You think she's hoping to distract you as your fingers approach the painful spot again. You hope she's distracting herself, even if it's inadvertent and spiteful. “1048?”

“Uh,” you pause, holding her leg. You're a bit unnerved at the pointedness there. You can count on your two hands how many times you've attended your English Literature lectures this semester. “Yeah.”

You clear your throat.

“You're flunking,” she grits, eyes closed, and she's not really asking. You don't totally appreciate her tone, but you don't suppose you can hold it against her in her state.

“Uhm... no, actually,” you say.

“You're just, like, antisocial?” And that does sound like a question, at least. Or maybe an assessment.

“Maybe,” you say, at length. Then, “Yeah.”

She clicks her teeth. “Gotta come to the lectures,” she says, and you don't make the face you want to make out loud. “You don't get a pity degree for being antisocial.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

“You read the book?”

She doesn't say it in any sort of way, and you try not to take it in any sort of way, but you are stricken with the sudden biting suspicion of her opinion on you. Does she think you aloof, or uncaring? Maybe you're a little uncommitted. You're no star athlete, that's for sure. Tashi's knee throbs like a beating heart in your hands.

“Um. I mean, I read it in high school,” you say. You cough.

Her eyes shoot open, but they are narrowed and pained and maybe growing fatigued.

“Did you just cough on me?” Tashi pulls back. “You're a nurse, you should know better.”

“Sorry, sorry,” you mutter, “Aspiring.”

“Oh, sure.”

A pause.

“You should read the book,” she says.

“Yeah,” you nod, reaching for your bag and slinging it back over your arm. You know better than not to wear it on both shoulders. Your first year portfolio for your Health Systems Sciences course was on scoliosis awareness. But still.

She is either subsumed by a sudden ache, or she is displeased with your dismissal of her advice, because she sort of grimaces. And are you being dismissive? Maybe. But she's talented and beautiful and probably clever. And you're not a nurse yet. So you think you get to be a bit shitty.

“I have to leave you,” you say. “Think of me while you get better.”

Tashi's eyes linger bitterly on you, like she's trying to calculate whether she'd feel better if you dropped dead before you made it out the door.

She settles that, in fact, she would not.

When her shoe's sole gave way like it was on ice, Tashi had been struck. Not by the pain—there hadn't been pain right away, though; in that moment, that wretched, fleeting moment, she had felt a strange sensation of nothing at all—but by the noise. A horrifying crack like a wet towel smacking a wall in a fetid locker room. Echoed and nauseating.

And she thought, in that moment, she heard Patrick's voice in her ear, whispering sort of feverishly, okay, I'm sorry, you psycho!

It had sounded like something worth clinging to.

But what she hears now doesn't sound like Patrick at all.

“Just breathe, young lady.”

She wishes you'd have told her, before you left, how Nurse Roche is a heavyhanded, unsympathetic, cigarettestenched shrew.

Tashi thinks she's fighting off the medicine. She can almost imagine her fists swinging wildly, even has they lay stiff beside her, gripping the sides of the bed with the absent ferocity of a corpse.

It's almost like she wants to punish herself. Scratch that, of course she wants to punish herself. She's a Natasha, after all.

Nurse Roche unwinds the wrappings around her knee.

They cling to her stubbornly with a putrid crust of brownred. She's been bleeding, and the thought makes her a little uneasy. Nurse Roche has to tear the cotton from her skin.

A fresh trail of tears cut a swath through Tashi's face.

She cries like a waterfall.

Nurse Roche is binning the gauze when Tashi sees it.

The swelling, a violent red and angry purple like spilt wine. The bruising, a deep blue and the blackest black. The joint itself, deformed and swollen. Swollen as it is, a few parts of the structure of her knee are still visible. Should she take a closer look, she wonders, through the miserable morass of her drugaddled brain.

Nurse Roche says she's seen a few swollen knees in her time. But nothing quite this bad.

Even in her suffering, Tashi Duncan is remarkable. She'd laugh if she had the strength.

“Fuck...” is all she manages, before her head falls back on the pillow and she closes her eyes.

When she opens them again, it's late afternoon and the room is empty. Vivid orange light pours in through the window and washes the walls in panels of warmth and sunheat. Tashi can hear birdsong. She thought she'd be happy to see the sun kissing the tops of the university buildings through yellowgreen leaves, but she's just okay about it. Coming back from what she was sure, for a moment, was the brink of death hasn't changed her outlook that much, it seems.

Tashi lifts a heavy hand to her bruised knee. They've rewrapped it now, tight and neat. Still, the bruises pulse angrily, making themselves known to her. She scratches a little under the top seam of the gauze, even though she knows she shouldn't.

“You shouldn't do that.”

Someone is standing in the doorway. Coming in, to be precise, and holding a cup of iced coffee? No, matcha. Tashi feels her dry mouth go slightly damp. It's you. You, with your backpack on both shoulders now. A sweater you weren't wearing before. You're smiling. Tashi feels so relieved she nearly falls back asleep.

“Hey, sleeping beauty. Your parents are here. They're gonna take you to the hospital to get your X-ray,” you inform her, coming close to the bed.

You rest your fingertips on her forehead briefly. Tashi turns her head to avoid your touch, but not in any earnest way, and your fingers move to her jaw, then under her jaw. It’s almost clinical, but, if it were, you’d be using the backs of your knuckles. This feels sort of tender, Tashi thinks.

“Your fever's down, at least,” you say, sitting down in the vacant chair beside her. “Roche's glad you got some sleep. She said you were basically speaking in tongues while she redressed you.”

Tashi wets her lips. She feels feverish anyway. She tries to speak. “Where'd you go?”

“Good question,” you reply, and she's sure you're being friendly, but she still bristles a bit in her fogginess.

She's so muzzy and paranoid, when you reach into your bag, she thinks she wouldn't even mind if you unsheathed a pistol and put her out of her misery. But you don't. You take out a dense paperback novel that has seen better days. You hold it in her field of vision like that's supposed to mean anything to her.

“Bought it just now, at the secondhand library,” you say. And then, feigning longsuffering, planting your elbow on the hard, thin mattress, just beside her head and resting your cheek in your palm, looming over her, “I thought you'd be pleased.”

Her eyes flutter closed, but she turns her face toward you, a sheet of copper sunlight catching her eyelash and gilding it. She is, actually, so beautiful. You were able to give her poster a proper look today, when you left, and you think it doesn't even do her justice. Even as she lays here, lifeless and forlorn. Her skin is absolutely smooth. Like tepid, gleaming, milky tea. Her lips look like fruit flesh in early summer. When she notices you admiring her, she makes this pout, like a reproachful duck.

Her eyes, three-quarters-lidded, are watching you, through her lashes, with the intensity of a wildcat. She is not in the mood to be admired, they say. But they're pretty all the same.

“And I ran into your boyfriend,” you smile, your finger idly tracing the clothed bend of her knee.

Tashi looks like she wants to kick your head off. But she remains as still as midnight in a prairie, a light clench of her jaw the only indication that she's heard you at all.

“Patrick?” she whispers after some time.

You make a face. “No,” you say, dragging out the syllable. You don't know what you're supposed to do about that. Well, you guess you don't need to do anything. It's not like you're her boyfriend. Instead, patting her knee and eliciting a tiny, shuddering whimper, you say, “He told me you don't drink coffee, only matcha. He asked if he can come see you.”

Tashi resents being asked after by fucking Art, of all people. But her curiosity takes precedence. “What did you tell him?”

You look down, embarrassed. “I said he can't come see you...”

“You...” she starts, but cannot repeat the whole sentence, as if the words are part of a madeup language.

“You didn't seem any more or less emotionally supported when he fucked off, is the thing. And Roche says it was like an exorcism, getting this stuff on you.” Your fingernail scratches almost imperceptibly over the coarse beige surface of the crepe bandage. “Said you were sweating and spitting and cussing her out like a flank eruption.”

Tashi's body twitches. Once. Twice. And it is with a guttural moan that she heaves her body, seeming at once leaden and weightless, to face you, curling in on herself with what strength and dexterity she is able, like a stilltailed foetus. Shuddery and nascent.

“I wouldn't want my boyfriend to see me like that,” you say.

Tashi feels something like nausea, even as her belly whines with hunger.

She reaches an aimless hand up, and it flails in feeble slowness until it lands on your shoulder.

Her face must show that she is absolutely pleased, because you laugh. And the motion of it makes her hand drop with a lifeless thunk against the mattress.

“Don't worry,” you say, turning to grab her matcha, and the rattle of the ice against the plastic cup makes her eyes, mucus laden, flutter fully open like an activated sleeper agent. “I don't expect a thank you,” you say, “If it makes you feel better, I didn't go to that much effort. He seemed a bit spooked about the whole thing anyway.”

It doesn't make her feel better. You stab the straw into the lid of the matcha. You carefully lower the mouth of it between her teeth. She sips in earnest, and a stream of green dribbles down the side of her face.

“Patrick?” she asks again wearily. You tug the hem of your sleeve over your hand and use your clothed knuckle to swipe at her cheek. She is so pallid that her skin blooms with a faint streak of red where you'd wiped. But it's hard to see. The room is getting dimmer.

“Patrick...” you repeat in thought.

You have a bit of a guess. There was a tall, dishevelled, dark haired guy, skulking out the room all shellshocked and marooned shortly after what sounded like a bit of commotion in here. You think you'd heard a yell, something that sounded like ‘Patrick’, but you can't be sure. Still,

“I wouldn't leave the light on for Patrick,” you say, bringing the straw to her parted lips again.

She suckles with the breathy listlessness of a newborn. She doesn't appreciate the commentary on her love life, but she knows she asked.

“Why are you here?” she says, teeth green and voice, despite the lingering slur, as fullbodied as it's sounded in a while.

You glower down at her in wry disapproval, using your damp sleeve to swipe her lips again. Little flecks of skin come off, clinging to the fabric of your jumper.

Tashi regards you. “You said you didn't expect a thank you,” she reminds you.

You two stare at each other in silence for a few uncomfortable moments.

At length, you speak. “I couldn't not come back. I felt bad. I feel guilty. I don't know.”

You have no reason to feel guilty, but Tashi nods as though you do, anyway.

“Oh, poor you,” she says.

You smile.

“How's the pain now?” you ask, “On a scale of one to ten?”

Her leg twitches again. Like a bug smeared against a wall. Halfway alive. You glance at the amorphous slope of it beneath the bandaging.

“Twelve. It's at twelve,” she hisses.

You look up at her face, a little taken aback.

“That's a lot better than a hundred,” you say encouragingly.

“Fuck you,” she returns.

“I'm sorry for hurting you,” you sigh.

“I'm sure you had a very hard time.”

You bring a palm, cool and wet with the condensation from the cup, and splay it upon her forehead. You drag it up, upwards, slicking her tousled hairline. On the poster, she has a slicked back ponytail, a thick, dark braid cascading down her back like a foetal tail.

“Duncanatorrrrr,” you whisper in a low growl, the corners of your lips twitching.

Tashi scowls. Her eyes trace your form as you stand, taking the book—War and Peace, she is now sound enough to discern—and stuffing it into your bag.

She nods, a curt, jerky, miserable motion. She can hear her parents' warbled voices from beyond the door. Her red eyes scream with the sting of going damp again.

“You have a boyfriend?” she asks.

You sling your bag over one shoulder. You're about to thread your other arm through, but you pause at that, humming in question.

“You said...” she trails off, blinking blearily.

“Oh!” you say.

You smile, shaking your head.

It takes the strength of a battalion, but she hoists her head just barely, and swivels her neck to trace your receding form. When you reach the door, you wave goodbye, your shadow turning bright and disappearing in the sunlight.

Natashas everywhere must suffer.

Tashi drops her head heavily back onto the bed as it if were the chopping block. She eyes the iced matcha, condensation creating a wet ring on the sidetable, the bitten straw. She lets herself feel the torment. It's survivable, as tortures go.

Clung to the side of the cup, gathering water, is a little sticky note. Tashi makes out the first few digits of a phone number. She closes her eyes and hears her parents bustle in. They sound relieved, and concerned.

“Oh, Natasha!” wails her mom.

[delicatebarness]

winters widow | chapter xiv

Summary: It has been two months since Little Lady left Winter's Reach and returned to Belova. And, Lord James hasn't been taking it well.

Warning: Isolation | Mental Distress | Heartache and Loneliness | Impulsive Behavior

Word Count: 1588

Support: Ko-FI

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A/N: @lanabuckybarnes started talking to me about dragons last night so naturally I ended up wanting to write Lord James. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

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The stone walls felt colder than usual as Lord James sat at the long council table, his hands clasped loosely before him. Stewards, advisors, his father– the voices droned around him. The exchange of reports and strategies blurred together, the words distant and unimportant. His icy blue eyes traced the frosted patterns that danced across the thick windows. The lacework could only be woven by winter’s touch, you used to marvel at them. 

He caught himself staring, once again his mind had slipped from the matters at hand. Since you left for Belova, the trust was that he hadn’t felt at home. Winter’s Reach and its icy beauty felt hollow. He would close his eyes and thought he could almost see you beside him, eyes wide and full of awe as you gazed out at the snowy landscape. Your breath clouded as it hit the air and you laughed. Those memories were now a constant ache, reminding him of the warmth you brought to his life.

“My lord?”

Lord James blinked, all eyes were on him as he realized the council had fallen silent. A lean man with a heavy brow, looked at him expectantly as if waiting for a response. Lord James had not registered the request. 

“My apologies,” Lord James muttered, his voice flat. “Could you repeat that?”

With a tight nod, the man spoke. “I was asking, my lord, as there have been sightings of mercenary bands… Did you wish to increase the guard detail along the southern border? Nothing has been confirmed, but it is enough to worry the villagers.” 

“Yes,” Lord James’ answer was automatic. “We don’t want to take any chances, double the patrols.” 

His advisors exchanged wary looks, and a slight pause settled over the men. Each of them could sense something amiss; he could see their eyes lingering on him, their quiet pity that barely masked their expressions. He tried. He tried to force himself to focus, to listen as they moved to the next topics but again, his mind slipped. His mind only allowed him to have thoughts of you. 

He pictured you in Belova, standing under a spring sky, wildflowers blooming around her. He knew you longed to see the color, to walk beneath trees that were not shrouded in frost. And yet, as much as he wanted you to be happy, in a landscape as beautiful as you are, he couldn’t shake the selfish longing he held– to have you back, beside him. It was a painful irony– you found yourself in the warmth of a constant spring, while he was left. Freezing and alone, in the heart of winter. 

“James.” His father prompted gently, breaking the silence. 

Lord James straightened, and he took a slow breath trying to steal himself. “Yes. Proceed.”

It was not only during council meetings that you haunted his thoughts. The longing grew sharper in the quiet moments, too– late dark evenings when he would find you hiding in the library, your nose in a book, or the early mornings when you’d wander to the stables with him, wrapped in thick furs. Every chamber, every corridor held a memory of you, and it was as if you had left pieces of yourself behind that he couldn’t reclaim. 

He hoped burying himself in his duties and the daily grind of his lordship would keep his mind from drifting back to you, somehow. He began training twice as hard, riding the entire length of the Reach, and held meetings after meetings. However, each time he returned to his chambers, his loneliness crept over him– He could not stop the image of you lying beneath the furs on his bed, your unbraided hair, soft and inviting, spilled across the pillows. 

After one exhaustive day, Lord James sank into a chair by the hearth in his quarters. A glass of strong wind in hand, hoping it would dull the ache that had taken up a residence within his chest. Shadows cast across the room, and the fire crackled as he sipped. His eyes fell on a piece of parchment resting upon his desk– the letter, the small note of goodbye you found the time to leave him before you returned to Belova. 

The handwriting was soft, slightly slanted, and he could hear your voice in the words. He pictures your small, shy smile as you hand it to him. His thumb would trace over each letter as he remembered his promise to you. The promise you would never be alone, yet now he was the one who felt abandoned. Though he knew he made you leave, he had no right to ask you to come back. 

Lord James looked up, almost startled by the knocking sound at the door, he was caught between realms. A steward stepped in, bowing with a quiet understanding in his eyes. “My lord, there is trouble in the northern village. The roads have iced over, and a cart was overturned blocking supplies. If you wish, I can send someone up…” 

“No,” Lord James spoke, rising quickly from the chair as if the task could keep him from drowning in the longing. “I’ll do it myself.” 

The steward nodded, but with a thoughtful gaze, he lingered. “Forgive me my lord, but you know she’ll be back, don’t you?” 

Though it felt brittle, Lord James forced a smile. “Yes, I know. But the waiting is… difficult.” 

Lord James rode out with a small group of his men into the bitter cold and biting winds. Once again, he allowed himself to imagine you beside him, riding on Honeybreeze and laughing rising above the howling in the wind. The snowflakes fell thickly around him as he rode further north toward the village. His head held high, and his resolve began to harden with every steady hoofbeat as Alpine carried him onward. 

When he arrived, he took charge immediately. He helped the villagers clear the overturned cart, and he ensured the path was safe. Yet, with every interaction with the villagers, he was reminded of your gentle presence. He knew you’d be at ease here, helping wherever you could, and making the villagers feel truly at home and taken care of. You have an uncanny way of drawing people in and warming even the coldest of places. 

The ride back was solemn, and his men had sensed his mood, choosing to keep their distance. His steward was waiting for him by the stables as he returned and took Alpine by the reins as Lord James dismounted. 

“I’ve prepared the letter for Belova, my lord,” he said, his voice low as if it was forbidden to mention Belova. “Will you be writing again?” 

“Yes,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, I will.” He wanted to tell you of the village, and their small crisis, he wanted you to know how he helped and how he’d managed to resolve it, desperately hoping that might bring him closer to you in some way. 

He poured himself another glass of wine and settled by the fire with a fresh piece of parchment. He wrote the longest letter to date, it spoke of the village, their quiet resilience, and how he had missed your voice. And, he ended as always with the promise he was determined to keep.

“Winter’s Reach is waiting for you, my love– and I am, too. I will bring you back.” 

Lord James sealed the letter, a small flicker of warmth inside him as he set it aside. His fingers lingered over the edge of the parchment as if letting go would be releasing you from his arms all over again. The night’s quietness pressed in, deep and still, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire, and his heavy breath. But even the fire seemed to be beginning to weaken these days, and it was barely holding off the cold clawing at him.

Restless, Lord James rose, unable to stay in the room that felt stiff in the silence. His gaze instantly met the heavy clock that hung by the door, and, without hesitation, he grabbed it.  His heart pounded as he threw it over his shoulders, his steps fell silent in the dark as he left the chambers and moved through the empty corridors of the Reach.

Once he was outside, he headed toward the stables. His breath fogged in the chill night air. Asleep by the fire, the stable hand didn’t stir as Lord James saddled up Alpine in silence and moved with a purpose that he hadn’t felt in two long months. His stallion nickered softly, sensing the tension in the lord’s hands as he shifted under his touch. 

Lord James mounted the horse swiftly and turned him toward the south gate. He guided Alpine into a gallop as they moved through the snow-covered paths and roads. Endlessly stretching above him, the stars were sharp and clear against the winter sky. Finally, he welcomed the harshness of the cold air biting against his face. He was reminded that he was alive and that there was still a reason to move forward. 

Thundering through the forest, the ground became a blur beneath them and something in Lord James’ chest began to thaw. There were leagues and leaguers between Winter’s Reach and Belova, the miles stretching out but he didn’t care. The realm shrank to a steady rhythm of Alpine’s hooves and a promise that lay waiting for him. 

He would not wait any longer, he was going to find you.

---

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