#and shadow. shadow doesn't even know she's there

[rhysazriel]

Only Angel [Mafia!Azriel]

SUMMARY: Azriel's a dangerous Mafia leader, Y/N is his favourite dancer at his strip club. His usual Friday night dance turns into something a little more. (6.2k)

WARNINGS: mentions of the mafia and illegal activities, kissing, teasing, swearing, smut; dirty talk, sexual intercourse, spanking, fingering, lap dance.

A/N: This is a rewrite of a very old fic from an old fandom I was in. I’ve edited it the best I can to fit around Azriel’s character, so I apologise in advance if anything appears out of place :) 

Azriel owns a lot of businesses. From stores to hotels, to apartments to clubs. To many, he's a man of business, a man of money. To those aware of the world around them, he's a man of the mafia. Powerful and dangerous. Maybe that's what caught her eye all that time ago, the mysterious aura that bubbled around him.

Y/N's been a dancer at his club since it opened three years ago. It started as a joke between her friends. She was fresh in college and desperately needed a part-time job to pay her bills after she was laid off from the bakery she'd been working at. Callie had mentioned a new strip joint opening on the outskirts of Prythian, that it was a more underground, elite sort of club.

Y/N had laughed it off, joking that she'd look into it and then didn't think of it anymore. But after two weeks of job hunting and no luck, she found herself bumping into a group of young women in a restroom at a bar, and somehow snagged herself an interview at said club.

Eria Vanserra, manager of the club, had hired her the second she opened her mouth and her pretty little voice spoke her name. Y/N was attractive, there was absolutely no doubt in that. She had that look of pure innocence in her eyes, but her lips were wicked. 

The girls had trained her up, taught her the basics on the pole. She's grown close to them, thinks of them as her sisters more than colleagues. They're a team, have each other's backs when new customers try to take advantage and hype each other up for when the regular 60-year-olds come in and request private sessions. 

Y/N -- or rather Angel -- only offers private sessions for one customer: The Boss. They met just over a year into her employment, and it was on their first greeting that Azriel took an instant liking to the devilish dancer, and she took the same approach with him. 

Y/N's been teased for it relentlessly; snickers made from a few of the girls that didn't like how much Azriel liked her, but she didn't care then, and she doesn't care now. Not when every other Friday night, he has her booked for an intimate performance in the back room -- the room that's only ever reserved by him. 

It's been a long week. Classes were cancelled due to some ongoing investigation with one of Y/N's professors, and so she's been able to pick up shifts every night at the club. Shadow's is an elite place, and Y/N knows it. It's a home for the best dancers and the richest of men that sneak off to get their fix. 

It's not a brothel -- at least, not primarily. And none of the girls is ever forced into anything they don't want to do. That's one of the first things Eris made very clear. 

You're here to dance. Private sessions are your own choice, and anything that goes on behind closed curtains is your decision. If you want to offer extra services, the club doesn't touch that money.

Y/N's never been one to stray from the pole. She knows her strengths, and she knows her weaknesses. She's strong, it's obvious, but even the strongest of dancers find it unsettling to be behind a closed curtain with a strange man that clearly can't get much outside of what his money can buy.

The thought unsettles her, but she's never let her own discomfort project on the other girls that spend hours in private rooms with a different man every twenty minutes. They're the real talent, she thinks. Inspiring and badass, and Y/N wishes she had that extra ounce of confidence that they do.

Or at least, she used to wish so. Before she met Azriel -- before he started watching her whenever he stopped by. For two years, she's the only dancer his honey eyes have watched, and something about that knowledge gives Y/N all the confidence she thinks she'll ever need.

Because she's the one that gets under the mafia leaders' skin. His eyes are always on Y/N. She's the one that occupies his mind and tightens his pants from her presence on the pole. It wasn't until almost five months ago that Azriel made a move to ask for a private dance. 

He's done it before, many times. He's had his dick sucked more than he can remember behind those red curtains, but never by a woman as captivating and as talented as her -- his Angel. 

Azriel still remembers the first time he laid eyes on her, upon that risen stage with soft lights offering a halo effect on her silhouette. He saw her hips first, her long legs as she wrapped them around the poll and jutted her ass out deliciously. Then he saw her face -- those angelic eyes and sinful lips, and he knew he was fucked.

He remembers pulling Eris to the side, eyes still on her as he asked who the fuck she was, and why someone so beautiful was working for him. Remembers the way Eris told him her stage name, how it had his cock springing to life in appreciation for the way she moved. 

It all seems like a lifetime ago when he thinks back to it. And while there have been plenty of Friday nights that he frequents the club, he's yet to take things outside of the red room. 

And it's not that he doesn't want to, because he does -- more than he wants a lot of things. But Azriel is a man of honour (even in his line of work), and he's never been one to pressure a woman into something he wants. 

But Angel isn't like any woman. Not to him. 

Azriel deems she's by far the most precious thing he's ever laid eyes on, and he has a need to hold and protect her and show her just how a woman like herself deserves to be treated. 

He could give her the world, and they both know it. 

Tonight is like every other late Friday evening. Y/N's dolled up to the nines as she reapplies her lipstick. She's been at the club since seven, and three dances later and a round of waitressing, it's nearing midnight. Y/N's ready to go to bed. 

She's ready to call it a night, to tell Eris she's heading out early after picking up so many shifts in the week. Not only because she's tired, but also, Azriel hasn't shown up yet, and he's never come this late before. 

Just as Y/N is adjusting her bra straps, she sees Mor’s head pop out through the corner of the door through the mirror. The blonde has a wide grin on her face, and she knows exactly what that suggests. 

"He's here."

Y/N rolls her eyes. "He's also late. My shift ends in ten minutes."

Mor pouts out her lips, shaking her head, and her breasts bounce slightly on her covered chest. "But he's asking for you. And stop pretending like it's such a burden. You love when he shows up, and he loves when you dance for him. We all know it. Quit acting like you don't secretly enjoy it." She bites back, stomping her foot to make her point and Y/N spins in her chair to look at her full on.

Mor raises her brows. "All the other girls would kill to dance for him, to have him ask for them. Myself included. Stop acting like a brat and put on a fucking show."

Y/N isn't given a chance to reply because Mor is sauntering out of the dressing room, and she's left alone to swiftly get ready. She pretends to ignore the rampaging butterflies in her stomach at the idea of seeing him again. 

She's never scared, could never be. Y/N knows Azriel would never hurt her. But, she's nervous. Azriel always gives Y/N his undivided attention when she's dancing for him, and it's intimidating and exciting all at once. His eyes are so dark and calculated, and he's always so damn respectful when she sits on his lap­ -- never wanting to make her uncomfortable. 

Sometimes, Y/N just wants him to take charge. Even knowing exactly what he's capable of, she wants him to take her. Ravish her. Have his way with her. She wants him to completely dominate her, and often, Y/N finds herself wondering what would happen if she riled him up enough to get him to that state. 

If she acted like a brat, would he throw her over his lap and spank her?

If she talked back, would he pull her hair or spit in her mouth?

If she asked for him to touch her, would he grip her ass and kiss her neck?

Y/N's mind swirls with the unanswered questions every time she sees him, and it's getting a bit much to keep to herself. She's getting tired of being a little plaything to him –- not that she has the right to be upset, but she is. 

She doesn't like that he only comes to her every Friday night. To the club. Is she not worth more than two hours a week? 

Then spirals the anxiety.

Is he only coming to her because he thinks she's easy? Is he doing it because he knows he'll never have to do anything more than let her dance? Is he doing it out of pity? Because he thinks she's lonely, so it's to make her feel special? 

Is Azriel even attracted to her, or does he just do it for shits and giggles? Does he go back to his brothers and his men and laugh about her? At her? Is it all a bit of fun to him?

Y/N gets too in her head, and then the idea of seeing him again is revolting. She doesn't know him -- she can't say whether her thoughts are crazy or valid. She doesn't know the kind of person he really is -- despite the rumours. 

But though she goes through these motions, Y/N pushes them to the back of her head and gets on with it. She puts on her smile, and she dances. 

Azriel tends to book her out for an hour at a time, sometimes two hours if he's feeling extra needy or he has the time. And he's generous with his money, too. Typically, he pays double for her time, which is a month's rent for Y/N but pocket change for him.

It makes her feel dirty, but she has to remind herself that actually, this is her job and he does have the money and means to pay for her time.

That's all he's doing -- paying for her time. For her. Like some sort of cheap and easy prostitute that he can go to whenever he needs a fix. And she never touches him (not under his clothes), but it still makes her feel dirty.

Y/N knows what the other girls do in the private rooms; the type of shows that they offer. She doesn't judge them, she could never. They're all in the same or similar boats: broke and trying to make a living, to make ends meet. But none of them dance for the owner. None of them are ever requested by him. 

Y/N takes a deep breath and composes herself. She can't look in the mirror for a moment longer because if she does, she'll start seeing every flaw she has, and she'll never leave the damn dressing room. 

The club is busy, it always is on a Friday night. There's a party in the upper left tier, a few dancers that have been hired for the night and Y/N is more than pleased that she wasn't booked for it. It's a bunch of frat boys celebrating one of their friend's birthdays, and from Y/N's place on the lower deck, she can already recognise a few familiar faces from her classes.

The last thing she needs is for people to know she's an erotic dancer at one of the most elite, secret clubs. 

She doesn't bother questioning how the younger men know about the place. 

Y/N makes her way toward the private booths, and the one to the far right has its curtains closed. She takes a deep breath, knows he's sitting behind it, waiting for her.

She doesn't give herself any time to hype herself up or change her mind, because she's pushing through the red velvet curtain and closing it behind her. 

The booths are all the same. Dim lighting and velvet cushioned seats. The walls are deep, silky pink, the furniture all an intoxicating shade of red, and in the centre of the rounded chair, Azriel sits. 

His legs are spread wide, dressed to the nines in a slick black suit, and his bulging arms are outstretched across the back of the chair. 

He's shed his blazer, has it hanging on the side, his shirt sleeves folded up to his elbows, swirls of black ink coating his dark complexion. Everything about his attire screams power and sex, and Y/N hasn't even looked at his face yet. 

"There’s my pretty girl."

Her eyes dart up, his lips are parted. There's a knowing smirk on his pink mouth, and Azriel's eyes are a glimmering caramel under the dim light. Y/N thinks he's never looked more handsome, but that's always her thought whenever she sees him.

She can't help the contagiously shy smile that tugs on the corners of her plump lips. 

"Little late tonight," she mentions quietly. 

He doesn't say anything, and his eyes are too busy taking in her appearance. He hasn't seen this outfit before; a lilac cami bodysuit, entirely of lace. The chest of it is plunged yet lifted, and her supple breasts look the most inviting they've ever been.

Azriel struggles to wrap his head around the sight of her -- he always does. Always thinks she looks even prettier every time he sees her.

Azriel finally shrugs his shoulders. "I'm a busy man, Angel. Thought you knew that by now." He doesn't take his eyes off her, he can't.

Completely fucking mesmerised.

Y/N shrugs. "Must've been extra busy to be this late." She tells him.

Y/N is making her way closer, her hips swaying with every small step and Azriel's sure he can feel his cock twitch in his pants from anticipation.

"I was starting to think you weren't going to come."

He raises a brow as she settles herself in his lap, his scarred hands–that she’s never shown any distaste to–slowly yet respectfully finding her waist.

"Oh, I always come, baby."

She knows there's a double meaning to his statement — can tell by the smirk on his lips and the tone of his voice. Always a smooth talker.

Y/N decides that if he can play, so can she. 

"I wouldn't know."

Azriel's the one to stop her hips from moving on top of his, and he chases her gaze to lock eyes. She's deadpanning -- void of emotion on her pretty little face and Azriel thinks this newfound side of her is the sexiest thing he's witnessed in a long time.

He cocks a brow. "Playing like that tonight, are we?" He asks, his thumbs pressing into the fleshy skin of her side.

Y/N shrugs her shoulders, plays coy. "I don't know. Are we?"

She twists the question, unsure where this surge of confidence is coming from, but she isn't about to back down from it, from him.

She wants more than just a lap dance. She thinks Azriel does too.

Azriel stays quiet for a moment or two like he's toying with the idea of having his way with her -- of letting her have him.

He squints and tries to look for an ounce of uncertainty or hesitancy. He comes empty, finding nothing short of confidence and desire. But has she thought it all through?

Has she thought about what this could mean? Has she accepted the fact that they may never see each other again -- something so silly because Azriel quite likes the girl, but if he kisses her, touches her -- what if it inherently puts her in danger?

She senses his dismay and offers an ultimatum; one that she knows she'll win. 

"Because either we are, or you need to find a new dancer."  

The threat awakens something in him. Something primal — animalistic. His eyes flash, darker and darker until his swelling pupils almost completely drown out the honey in his eyes.

His grip on her hips tighten, and Azriel forces her closer; lace-clad chest bumping against his clothed one. "I don't want a new dancer." He tells her. His voice is firm, tone even and stable. He knows what he wants, and now, she knows it's her.

Y/N lets her fingers reach for the longer curls on the nape of his neck. She intertwines her fingers around them, generously tugging, so his head pulls back just enough for her to use her other hand to grip his chin. Azriel's lips are parted, eyes hooded. He can feel her breath fan across his face as she brings hers closer.

"But that's all I am to you, right? Just a dancer?"

He isn't sure what she's doing -- whether she's fishing for something more or if she's about to walk out of the booth and leave him panting and painfully hard.

He plays into it, though. Let's see where this is going.

"More than just a dancer, baby." He promises.

Y/N ghosts her plump lips over his. "Yeah?" She breathes, her voice an airy whisper and Azriels got the perfect fucking sight of her cleavage. Reckons he wants nothing more than to bury his face between her pert tits.

He nods. "Mhm, you're my Angel." He tells her.

Azriel's hands reach around for her ass, grabbing handfuls and pulling her cheeks taut. He removes his hand and strikes it back down on her warm, fleshy skin. Y/N jolts into his body, teeth gnawing painfully on her lower lip to bite back her desperate pleads and whines.

Azriel gropes her again, massaging her cheeks and grabbing fistfuls. "My Angel."

His. She's all fucking his.

Her breathing is laboured as she takes in his words. Y/N tries not to let him see how riled up they make her, but she knows Azriel can see straight through any facade she tries to hide behind.

"Well, if I'm an angel, that must make you the devil."

Y/N's words echo through his mind, and his grip on her waist tightens in a squeeze before it loosens. His eyes find her chest, lip taut between his teeth.

"Maybe I am. Tell me, Angel… are you really ready to be corrupted?"

His eyes find hers, low and hooded and full of so much excitement and darkness, he gets lost in the way she pulls him in. Y/N's hands find his on her waist, her fingers gripping over his and his hold tightens again.

She rolls her hips against his crotch. "Maybe that's exactly what I want," she whispers, her lips trailing over the shell of his ear and her warm breath fans across his neck. "Maybe I'm already a little wicked."

She pulls away, nose brushing past his but he doesn't let her put any more distance between them. He wants her close, likes the feel of her warm breath on his face, likes the sweet scent of vanilla and coconut that's splattered on her skin and lingers in his mind.

Her lips are parted, as is Azriel's, and he can see the little peek of her glistening tongue, teetering between her teeth. His own does the same, subconsciously matching her teasing and his length throbs beneath her; something they both feel but neither say.

"If we do this, there's no going back. You're not just a fuck to me."

Y/N's heart skips, her heat quivering and chills run down her spine. So she is more to him... but what will this mean after?

"If I'm not just a fuck, then what am I?" She pries.

Azriel nudges the tip of his nose with hers. A smirk ghosts on the corners of her lips as they brush against hers. "My Angel," he whispers. "My only Angel."

Y/N envelopes Azriel's lips in hers, fingers reaching for the back of his head and they tug at the curls on the nape of his neck. It's hot, fiery. She can feel her soul ignite in bursts of white flames, and Azriel's no better at controlling himself.

His mind is foggy, judgement clouded, but he knows he never wants to live a day without feeling her pillowy lips on his. So he kisses her harder, grips her hips with such force they both know she'll bruise by morning. But she loves it, loves the idea of having him mark her and the animalistic part of Azriel craves it too.

"I'm not gonna go easy on you." He warns her breathlessly through the smacking of lips, but Y/N rolls more rigid atop him; pulls his hair that little bit eager.

"Good," she pants, pulling away. "I want it hard."

Y/N stands between his thick, parted thighs. She lets her mouth water as her gaze takes him in. Azriel's no better. His cock is leaping eagerly in his pants at the sight of her. Perfect body in a perfect set, lips swollen and eyes wholly fucked. Her hair is a mess, lipstick smudged and fuck, does he want to shove her face into his silk pillows and ram her little pussy from behind until she can't breathe.

"You're gonna kill me, Angel." He chokes out through his lust-filled daydream, chest heaving in anticipation.

Then she starts to sink to her knees and rubs her palms up his inner thighs, and Azriel about loses it. He shakes his head, breathing hard through gritted teeth and his hands find her wrists, halting her movements.

He shakes his head as he pulls Y/N to her feet, dragging closer until she's straddling him again. Azriel's hands cup her jaw, fingers tangled in her hair. "Gonna take my time with you, have you squirming beneath me until you beg me to stop." His promise has her drooping eyes flutter close, and her lips parting. Thinks she's the sexiest thing he's ever laid eyes on.

His nose bumps hers, lips touching but they don't kiss. "But right now, I need you to be a good girl and turn around." 

Azriel's voice is stern, commanding. It makes her pussy throb and clench and gush, and he knows it. She nods and moves on trembling legs, turning so her back is to him, and Azriel's hands find their home on the swell of her ass.

There's something about him being so strong and dominant to her that has Y/N a puddle of arousal and submission.

She bites back a squeak as he smacks a palm down on her cheek, her eyes squinted closed while Azriel licks his lips at the way her flesh moves with the force of his strike. "Perfect fucking ass."

Y/N gnaws on her bottom lip, teeth piercing the skin but the slight sting of pain only spurs her on -- makes her even more eager for him. She sways her hips, ass a perfect peach shape as she does so and Azriel grips her hips and forces her on his crotch.

Her arousal is sticky against the lace of her panties as she can feel the thick outline of Azriel's cock when she gets seated over his clothed centre.

"Holy shit," she gulps.

Y/N has heard the rumours, the ones that are whispered in the shadows of the night -- of the one that's half man, half something else.

Now she can feel him directly beneath her, and Y/N's mind is heavy and clouded. "Feel how hard you make me?"

His lips are ghosting across her ear; teeth nibbling hauntingly on the shell of it which sends shivers down her spine.

Y/N nods, breathless and wanton. She can't make sense of anything, but she knows she wants this -- needs this.

"Use your words."

She swallows, shaky whimper teetering on the tip of her tongue. "Yes, I can feel you."

Azriel's sick behind her; full of himself as she strokes his ever-growing ego. There's something about hearing her so vocally express how much she wants him, how much she can feel him that has Azriel seeing stars. He isn't blind, he can see just how desperate and hungry the woman is, but a little verbal confirmation never hurt anyone.

His hands rest upon the globes of her ass again, swatting and smoothing however he pleases. The hits have her jolting and shrieking — they have tears stinging at her eyes but fuck, she wants more. She needs it harder.

"Please," she coos softly.

Her voice is cracking and unsteady like she's walking on eggshells.

"Please." Azriel mimics, voice high and childish, one that has her squirming in his lap.

He spanks her again. "Please, what?"

There's a pause of silence as Y/N attempts to catch her breath. She knows what this man can do to her, how he can make her feel. She knows he'll be far from vanilla, and maybe that's exactly what she wants and needs.

"Please, sir." She breathes. "Fuck me."

Smack!

A shrill shriek tears through her chest, and Azriel strikes his palm back down on her skin. His other busies with his belt, tugging it open and popping the button of his pants. He drags down the zip, a sound that echoes through her ears and sends shivers down her spine.

Y/N looks back over her shoulder, her hands steadying herself on Azriel's parted knees when she sees him. Thick, long... oozing with his sweet arousal that she wants to suckle up and swallow down her throat.

His cock stands tall, smacking against his lower stomach and he's big -- better than anything Y/N's ever had before. Her mouth waters at the sight. She can feel her cunt pulsing when his scarred hand wraps around his length and tugs deliciously at himself.

She whines, eager and needy. Azriel's eyes are on her ass, hasn't even realised that she's looking back at him.

He toys with the lace of her panties that disappears between her cheeks. Looping his pointer finger under the fabric at the top of her ass, he lifts it and bunches the lace in a fist, effectively tugging friction across her cunt as he gets a better view of her ass.

She's glistening, he can see. Y/N's pussy is swollen, and the sides of her lips threaten to spill out of the fabric that barely covers her.

"I'll fuck you, baby." He tells her.

Azriel tugs the lace to the side, her pussy soaked and perfect. He swipes a thumb through her wetness, swirling around her tight hole and bringing his thumb to his mouth as he suckles her arousal.

Sweet. So fucking sweet.

He grasps his cock in his hand again, pumping a few ample times before holding himself at the base and lining up with her sopping cunt. Azriel teases her for a moment, smacking the ruddy head of his prick against her pussy and she whines, rolls closer to him.

With a sick grin, Azriel massages his tip against her hole, jutting softly as he pushes in just enough to get comfortable. A low whine echoes through the room, but neither of them knows who it belongs to.

His hands find her hips, squeezing at her flesh. "But you won't be dancing on that pole for a few days."

Lifting his hips and pulling her down by hers, Azriel sheathes into her at once. Her frantic gasp tears through her lips, and her eyes are wide and watering with complete bliss and pain.

Azriel's gritting his teeth, sharp breath spitting through between them. He can't believe how fucking tight she is, and Y/N is fairly confident she can feel him so deep in her fucking stomach.

"Such a tight fucking cunt, Angel." Azriel's mind is in turmoil, can't quite fucking believe a cunt can feel this good.

Y/N is no better; she's a quivering mess on top of him, her grip on his clothed knees surely carving half-moons upon his skin but if it's causing Azriel any pain or discomfort, he seems to love it.

"So big, feel so full," she whines out.

Her ass is nestled in his lap, the coarse hairs of his pubic bone tickling at her supple skin and Y/N rolls her hips experimentally against his. He's still gripping her hips as she moves, her cunt clenching deliciously around his length and he's positively amazed by just how fucking tight she is.

"Yeah? Feel me in your tummy, Angel?" 

She's nodding, whining filthily, and she can't comprehend how sex can feel this good. One hand of Azriel's snakes around her body, tips of his fore and middle finger massaging tight circles on her clit.

Y/N's cunt is on fire, swelling and pulsing and fucking gushing all over the thickness of Azriel's entire dick. He's a mess below her, though. He can't believe how well she's taking the entirety of him.

She's snug, tight — warm and fucking soaked. The feeling of her swallowing him up is completely euphoric; has Azriel's eyes rolling to the back of his head.

His rhythm on her clit is furious; strong, tight circles that have filthy cries and moans slipping past her flawlessly painted lips. Y/N's still gripping his knees, hips rolling and pussy squelching.

"Yeah, right in my tummy. God, it's so good. Don't stop, Azzy... please don't stop."

Y/N is a blubbering mess, eyes squeezed shut and jaw slack. She bounces quickly on top of him, feeling every vein and ridge of his thick cock as it pounds into her and tears her apart. Her walls are slick around him, desperate to milk him dry and take his sticky cum.

Azriel lets his eyes focus on her ass, the way it's spread just a little and how the imprint of his ringed hands are starting to bloom on her supple cheeks. Azriel's eyes divert lower when he sees it, sees her take him.

Her lips are swollen, clinging to his length as she comes off him. The base of his cock is soaked, the start of a creamy ring forming around him and Azriel can't get enough. He relents his assault on her clit, makes for her ass instead and pulls her cheeks as far apart as he can. 

His hands massage her skin, saliva welling on his tongue and parting his gritted teeth for a split second, he spits down on her puckering hole and rubs the lubricant across her ass.

Y/N keens at the touch -- the welcomed intrusion -- and bounces faster. Azriel's thumbing at her hole, teasingly rubbing the tip of his thumb around her but it has her a quivering and desperate mess.

"Please, please." She pants out, head falling back and eyes tightly shut.

Azriel gnaws on his lower lip, biting back a smirk, but his hooded eyes are a dead giveaway he's having the time of his life. "Yeah?" He rasps. "Want me in both your holes, Princess?" He baits. He knows it's exactly what she wants.

Y/N nods quickly, crying and pleading for something. He knows precisely the effect he's got on her right now, the power Azriel holds over her, (not that he sees it that way, but knowing she's in such a besotted state from him playing with her ass a little, is feeding Azriel's ego tremendously.)

"Now that's not very Angel-like of you, is it? Angel?"

A shriek leaves her lips as the tip of his finger pushes through, immediately enveloped in warmth and softness. She's blubbering, can't make sense of fucking anything and it feels so damn good.

Azriel never anticipated such a reaction from her, but he's got it, and he fucking loves it.

"Who would've thought," he pants, feet firm on the ground as he fucks up into her cunt, completely obliterating her soul, "that my Angel likes having her sweet little ass stuffed?"

A borderline pornographic cry teeters past her silky tongue, and Azriel's mind is keening. She's still as she hovers over his crotch, letting him fuck her however he damn well pleases. His pace is fast, cock brushing every overwhelming part it reaches as he pushes his thumb deeper into her ass.

"Your Angel," she whimpers out, eyes watering and thighs spasming. "I'm yours, all yours. Only want you stuffing me this good."

Her words are drawled in a matted string of barely comprehendible syllables, but Azriel can understand what she's saying.

"Yeah? Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum, sweetheart."

"Cum! Please, cum in me, wanna feel it."

Azriel curses silently behind her, can't believe how fucking perfect this woman is. His balls feel tight, can feel her squeezing him harder and he knows she's about to come too.

"Yeah? It's gonna be a lot baby," he warns. "Think you can handle it? Think you can take my cum, Angel?"

Y/N nods quickly, vigorously. "I can take it! Please, I promise."

She's despondent, like a child. The need in her voice spurs Azriel to his edge, and as his cock bloats and shoots his arousal across her walls, she reaches her own high of euphoria.

They're both panting, grunting and moaning and whining. Y/N's gushing around his cock, creating a decent spillage on the base of him but even as he softens, he's still quite hard.

Azriel doesn't move, no. He makes no endeavour of pushing her off him. Instead, Azriel slowly pulls his fingers from her ass and cooing at the winces and whimpers that resound through the private booth. He shelters his arms around her waist to pull her back flush to his chest.

They both whimper, bodies spent, and eyes hooded. The back of Y/N's head is lounging on his shoulder when Azriel finally gets a glimpse at her face.

Totally fucked.

A wheezing laugh rumbles deep in her chest, and he reaches for her face, cupping the side of her jaw and guiding her lips to meet his in a messy, wet kiss. She pulses around him.

"You're fucking phenomenal."

Another breathy snicker falls past her lips to his. Azriel pinches her hips. "How are you feeling?"

Y/N puffs, eyes fluttering as she slowly raises, bites back the whine she wants to pout at the hollow feeling of him slipping from her cunt.

"The big bad Mob boss wants to know how I'm feeling?" She tantalises.

Azriel watches her make quick work of pulling her panties back over her cunt, halting his cum from leaking out and down her thighs, but he makes no effort to tuck his softening, yet still majestic, length back in his pants.

He lies back with his arms outstretched across the back of the oval couch. "He does," he agrees. "Cares about you, if you didn't already recognise that."

Azriel doesn't miss how she shies away from his gaze, turning her back to him to alter her outfit and to take a moment to compose herself. He takes the opportunity to fix himself too, before he's right behind her, nosing at her hair.

"I meant what I said, Angel," he murmurs. "You're not just a fuck to me."

Y/N turns, chin raised as she eyes him. Her shoulders are strained back, and Azriel knows she's making this posture move to assert confidence, and he doesn't doubt her one bit.

"Then what am I? And don't say your Angel."

"You're a strong, elegant, smart, badass, sexy, intelligent, confident woman," he begins, his hands finding her hips. "And I want you. I want you all to myself."

She peeps, her heart thumping sporadically in her chest. For a moment, it's like the mind-blowing sex from just seconds ago has been utterly omitted.

"You trust me enough for that?" She asks, and Azriel knows precisely what she's asking.

Does he trust her with who he is and what he does? Does he have trust that she will keep her mouth shut and not see him differently when she learns what he's truly capable of? Does he trust that she's all about him?

Azriel quirks a brow. "Do you trust me?"

Does she trust him with her life, because that's what it boils down to? Does she trust him enough to put her life in perpetual danger? Does she trust that he will only desire her, that he will put her before his work? Does she trust that he will never harm her?

Y/N nods. "I trust you."

Azriel drops his head, face closer to hers and the tips of their noses brush.

"Then I advise you to get your things and let me take you back to my place. Because you're in for a long fucking night, Angel."

Thank you for reading!! If you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a reblog and leaving some feedback!! <3

[bruciemilf]

So glad you clarified that "Alfred bleeding out at brucie's day party" was step 1 in becoming pennywaynes. I was just about to ask lol

Also thinking that Alfred doesn't say "fuck" because Thomas says it enough for both of them. And how they're both feral in opposite directions (loud and vulgar vs poised and eloquent) makes me wonder what direction Martha is feral in. Exceedingly painfully viciously polite? Barefoot in the dirt, she'd love poison ivy fae-tinged feral? Does this make sense? I'm sick. All I can think about is Thomas and Alfred preparing to carve someone up and you don't even know who you are supposed to be more scared of

I like to imagine Martha as Morticia Addams feral. Regal, majestic, peculiar, and could wipe the floor with your self-esteem in a minute if crossed. Bruce’s mama was a silent badass for sure.

I like to think Damian inherited her affection for animals! Hers pets were just more… Unique, let’s say.

Imagine you’re Alfred. You’ve been working at the Wayne manor for about two weeks now.

Thomas, your husband boss hands you a huge chunk of bloody meat hanging from a butcher hook, while yelling violently at a business partner on the phone.

“Al, go feed Bruce, will ya?”

“?????????????”

Bruce gently grabs Alfred’s hand (Alfred has to tilt down) and he’s taken to the pool area.

There’s a big ass tank.

There’s a big ass, 20 foot long, great white shark in that tank. Bruce hugs the glass. Alfred may or may not pass out. Martha gently takes Bruce in her arms, kindly asks Alfred to clean the floors, and vanishes in the shadows.

She also has an albino ball python that Bruce adores. Occasionally, she wears him as a scarf. Alfred is severely loving and regretting his life choices.

[evelynpr]

Genshin Official Relationships and Status

Something to take note off in character relationships is what their "official and known" relationships are. So, I decided to try to make a chart of one with the playable cast and some extras.

This is a draft though. If you have criticisms and comments, absolutely please do leave them because I don't think my interpretations of these government systems are that accurate.

Anyways, here they are! The higher the placement, the higher the authority. Distance does not apply, and the legend is in each of the pictures.

Mondstadt: That's a lotta knights

They can be split between the Church and Knights, but the Church is still under the Grand Master as far as I know.

Power is surprisingly concentrated to 1/2 individuals only for a nation of freedom...Mond you gotta work on that...

Jean, Diluc, Kaeya, and Lisa are arranged the way they are in reference to the Klee summer event where they passed on who was looking after Mond.

Diluc still retains his high position because he has so many high credentials and connections (The Darknight Hero, Mond's richest man, high status in an intelligence network), despite being the Ex-Cavalry Captain.

Rosaria is an official recognized nun, but her vigilante works are by her own accord, hence the colors.

I am not sure whatsoever where Jean and Barbara's father, the Cardinal, should really be placed, or if he even still holds the position.

Poor Noelle does so much more Mond, but is lowest in status...please just make her a knight already T__T

Liyue: Zhongli and his powerful lesbians

I really am not sure if Ningguang is who Liyue's closest "leader", but that is how I felt during most of Liyues events

I'm assuming that the adepti now have a lesser status in Liyue because of the shift in power to the humans during the archon quest

How high Beidou's status is is, completely informal. She's right beside Ningguang because they do find each other to be equal competitors in their own way.

Those directly connected to Zhongli are those I assumed to have taken direct orders from him, hence why Beidou and Keqing are not included although they do respect him as their archon (Keqing in her own way)

I feel like I'm missing people here, compared to Mond, so uh, help me out here-

Inazuma: They just had a civil war...woops

I am reallyyy unsure how to label Sangonomiya island's status. Are they under the shogun? Are they their own separate territory?

Otherwise, Inazuma is pretty straightforward with its 3 factions and families

Sumeru: The whole government was just overthrown

Are there like, genuinely so sages right now, or replacement Grand Sage??? Nahida you need to do something asap-

Scara doesn't exactly have equal status to Alhaitham as Acting Grand Sage, but I felt it was more important to show that Scara is working directly under Nahida

Speaking of which, the title "shadow" is used because it's the same role that Ei served to Makoto, which I find poetic. If there is an official or better title tho, I'd love to hear it.

Hopefully, as time passes, there will be more representatives from the desert with high status. Poor Candace is carrying the desert's status on her back-

Should I have included the Corps of Thirty even if there are no playable characters...?

Fontaine: Fancy Schmancy Titles

I honestly reallyyyy wished that Neuv and Wrio were on equal standing, but in the eyes of Fontaine, that probably just isn't true.

Even so, absolute do not underestimate how important Wrio's role is in Fontaine's justice system, because without the Fortress functioning as it is, so much of Fontaine's justice would fall apart.

Despite Furina's death penalty and retirement, I still believe she deserves the title of archon with the highest status. No matter what happens, she is still Fontaine's idol and savior. (Besides, if she wanted/needed anything, Neuv would give it to her.)

How high Navia, Clorinde, and Chevy's statuses are in relation to each other in reality is...not explicit?

Really, Clorinde is just another employee under Fontaine's justice system, and isn't a head in anyway, while Chevy and Navia are actual leaders. But, Clorinde is the best Champion Duelist, so does that make them cancel out...?

Anyways that's all from me! It's pretty interesting to me just how much of the cast are part of their respective nation's government, which only makes sense given the kind of ruckus the traveler causes. Have a good day!

[polarisjisung]

LOVE ON THE COURT | 20 ... WITH BENEFITS??

SYNOPSIS | every college student has their struggles, but raising her younger brother has Y/N top of the list, struggling her way through college whilst balancing her academics and basketball captaincy is difficult no doubt and with Jaemin, her ex best friend and captain of the guys basketball team, and his growing one sided hatred towards her, it doesn't seem to be getting any easier

WARNINGS | swearing, sexual innuendos, kys/kms jokes, y/n has daddy issues for the sake of the plot

NOTES | I have no idea why this update took me so long to post I'm so sorry 😭 I don't like making chapters like this too sad (don't worry there's still gonna be some angsty chapters) but I don't want the written stuff on its own bcs that feels too espresso depresso or wtv the phrase is so this is a bit of a longer chap than usual.. anyways if ever you feel bad for y/n, don't worry you're gonna feel worse

19:21, dinner the night before

Y/n shuffles in her seat.

Jaemin greets her with a smile, and though she offers one back, that sinking feeling in her stomach doesn't seem to settle.

Suddenly now that she finds herself face to face with her once best friend, no menus in hand since they'd already given their orders, no way to avoid conversation for just a couple seconds longer, Y/n finds herself at a loss for words.

What was anyone supposed to say in this situation?

Sure a thank you would be ideal, considering Jaemin had somehow managed the impossible, but the words escaped her. Like they rested at the tip of her tongue but she lacked the drive to speak them.

It's not that y/n wasn't grateful, no, she wouldn't be here if she wasn't, in fact she didn't know what it was, what confused her so deeply that she sat there silently. Her thumbs twiddling against one another, as she stared down at the table in front of her.

There was a nagging whisper in her mind, one that cast shadows over her once clear thoughts, leaving her in that haze of uncertainty that she recognised all too well. Recently it was all she could feel around the captain.

Something about this situation in particular makes her palms sweaty and the hairs stand on her neck, every glance at Jaemin feeling like a shadow of what had once been, a reminder of how it had all been lost.

Even just sitting opposite Jaemin isn't simple.

Not at all.

It's like sitting across from a mirror that once reflected shared laughter and secrets, now distorted by fractures of lost trust and unspoken words. She supposed that was the thing about mirrors and shattering. No matter how hard you tried to glue the pieces back together, it would never quite be the same.

Perhaps that's why y/n is lousy in her attempts, grateful to Jaemin but unbothered to express it. The thought that no matter how desperately she hoped, this couldn't be restored. That there was no point in pouring energy into a friendship that would never be resolved.

"So" it's undoubtedly jaemin who breaks the silence, a soft tone to his voice, not quite as gentle as the other night but still warm "are you feeling better? like really okay?"

For a moment she wonders whether she'll break at the sound of his voice like she always had. Would she go back to that point in life where it was so easy to lie, so easy to say she was okay, so easy to pretend, in front of everyone else but never in front of him.

"I'm fine, honestly." She lies.

There's a shy sheepish smile that creeps across her lips and slightly accents her words

Jaemin hasn't seen much of her positivity be directed his way, and seeing this ignites the little hope in him that they could move on from this, from everything.

"You didn't have to work on it without me you know, it was just as much my project as it was yours and you putting in all the effort isn't fair on you."

"You did most of the preliminary stuff anyways, and I really didn't want to ask you because of the other night" Jaemin finally admits, though not willingly, his words extracted more so by her sharp stare and the cold atmosphere.

"Right..." Her attempts at changing the subject, clearly in vain— he really needed to stop asking about the other night. Y/n wasn't sure how much h longer she could hold back the tears, the looming feeling of inadequacy as a guardian still strong. She should have been more careful.

She knows its her turn to speak, opening her mouth to do so.

But again, y/n struggles.

The words play hide and seek in her mind, leaving her to grasp at empty. The atmosphere grows heavy with the weight of unspoken words. Her mind races, a jumble of what to say, thoughts of how easy conversation once was, how effortless it had been, all such a stark contrast to now.

Jaemin watches, a mix of intrigue and concern in his eyes as she contemplates in front of him, quiet but with an expression that spoke volumes.

The silence between them seems to bite louder than any conversation they once held, each dish in front, a reminder of the bitter aftertaste of a friendship turned cold.

"It's just Minjun and I" she breathes out, voice shaky, and Jaemin realises that those nervous cues in her slumped posture and shaking hands had never changed "It's just been the two of us for a while" she whispered. "That's why I was so scared"

Jaemin's hand hovers uncertainly beneath the table, unsure if the gesture would be welcomed or misunderstood, caught in the delicate balance of care and concern.

Admittedly, Jaemin catches himself slightly intrigued, still confused what could have lead to her practically perfectly family turning into this.

But he knows better than to let his curiosity get the best of him.

He wants to stop her, tell her that whatever it is that causes her brows to knit together and her pretty eyes to gloss over isn't something she needs to force herself to talk about, but he doesn't know how.

For a moment he's kicking himself under the table— how had he ever let go of the person who meant so much to him?

Even now, knowing everything she had done, he couldnt help but question why hadn't he tried to get past it then?

At the sight of her downcast features suddenly everything that he once despised her for seemed so trivial.

Jaemin sees himself, a younger, less mature version that stands on the court, hair matted to his forehead from the rain, a ball long forgotten somewhere behind him, cold, betrayed, and so painfully alone. Those burning tear stained cheeks, the harsh whistles of wind, the bitter feeling of failure still clinging to his skin, he remembers it all.

But every feeling he recalls so well, so vividly, is so easily dismissed when her eyes shine with a painful tint, red from the piercing tears that she holds in them.

"My dad" she cuts him off, gaze now avoidant as he grabbed her cold hands in his, "he walked out on us not long after ...whatever hapenned between you and me. He never came back, didn't answer a single call, not even a text, no form of communication except the papers he sent in the mail so I could become Junnie's legal guardian."

I missed you, she wanted to say. I needed you she'd liked to add.

"That's why it's just the two of us now" she said instead, trying to find more words to stop the tears from flowing, like her words were the only thing that could hold them back.

Back then, Y/n remembers vividly the feeling of wanting to fall, to sink, to drown but still somehow keeping her head above the surface to hold on and stay strong for her younger brother. She wondered if Jaemin had been there, would it have been easier? Would she have let herself fall, would she have someone to give her a hand, to pick her back up again and hold her hand through it all? Would things have ended differently?

"I'm sorry" his words weren't new, they weren't special, they were the same as what everybody else would say but the fact that they came from him, Na Jaemin who now stood by her side with his arms wrapped around her, was enough to dissolve the feeling of emptiness.

08:25 present time

Y/n looks over at Minjun, still deep in slumber, smiling before she steps out of the room.

There's way too many toys sprawled out across the living room floor, a blanket she finds herself folding as she subconsciously begins to clean up. Her eyes land on the kitchen counter, wondering what to make for breakfast. She was never particularly good at cooking, but she'd been learning for her brothers sake.

When she gets to the black jacket resting over the couch, it hits her. She catches sight of her puffy eyes in the mirror, and a hand runs through her hair hurriedly.

"Why the fuck did I tell him all of that" she let's out a frustrated sigh, running her hands across her face, "I'm supposed to hate him" she reminds herself, though her tone isn't convincing in the slightest.

"You don't hate him though" Heeseung's voice comes out muffled, the toothbrush between his lips making it difficult to understand his words.

He had been the one to stay over last night, her friends still taking turns to accompany Minjun and her every night since he'd walked out of the apartment, a gesture that made her heart swell. Although up until now she was pretty certain he was still asleep. Clearly not.

"I can't hate him" she sighs, falling back into the couch "is it bad I want to be friends with him again?" she asks, even though Heeseung had retreated to the bathroom to finish brushing his teeth.

Regardless he pokes his head out into the hallway, a sly smirk across his lips "with benefits?"

Y/n rolls her eyes.

He emerges again not long after, smiling from ear to ear "no y/n it's not bad if you want to be friends again" he takes a seat beside her "you can only fight your feelings for so long, let yourself be vulnerable, take the risk and try again" he says, hands resting on both his knees.

"and if you're feeling really risky, you can always—"

"shut up Heeseung" she smiles, lightly pushing against his arm "I guess it is worth a shot though"

"he's right next door anyways so sneaking around won't be hard at all"

"I meant being friends. Just friends." she stands up, walking over to the kitchen "you down for pancakes?"

He nods.

"You know it could be good though, he's hot, you're hot, there's enough tension to make things interesting and it ticks your not ready for a relationship box pretty well too"

Despite the pointed look the captain offers him, Heeseung doesn't let up, and secretly, she wouldn't have it any other way.

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[astroa3h]

Lilith Through the Signs ✨

Let’s talk about Lilith, because she’s that dark, seductive part of your chart that you’re probably a little afraid to look at, but trust me—you need to. In astrology, Lilith shows us the hidden, raw parts of our psyche, the things we suppress or even deny. She’s our wild side, our deepest desires, and sometimes, our untapped rage. Wherever Lilith is in your chart, she brings out this primal energy that cannot be tamed. And let me tell you, she doesn't play nice. You’re going to feel it. If you don’t confront her, she’ll push until you have no choice. 

If Lilith is in Aries, then honey, you’re all about raw, impulsive energy. Lilith in Aries doesn’t ask permission. You fight for independence at any cost, and sometimes, that can mean bulldozing through life without thinking about the consequences. People might call you selfish, but really, you’re just unapologetically you. You struggle with authority and anyone telling you what to do. In relationships, this placement is about the constant power struggle. You want freedom, but you also crave someone who can handle your intensity. Here’s the thing: you have to learn how to channel that fire without burning everything down. Maybe take up martial arts or something that lets you express your aggression in a healthy way.

With Lilith in Taurus, you are drawn to the pleasures of life, the sensual side of things. It’s about indulging—whether that’s in food, sex, or luxury. But here’s the shadow side: you can become possessive, even obsessive, about holding onto what you have. You want security so badly that you might cling to things (and people) that are no longer good for you. This placement craves comfort, but you can get stuck in your comfort zone, unwilling to let go even when it’s time. In your love life, you’ll likely attract relationships that push you to confront your fear of losing what you hold dear. Learn to trust that true security comes from within. You don’t need to hoard it; it’s already yours.

Lilith in Gemini? Oh boy, you are a master of words, and you know exactly how to twist them to get what you want. But watch out, because this placement can make you feel like you’re always wearing a mask. You can say all the right things, but inside, there’s a part of you that feels unseen and unheard. You’ll attract people who are intrigued by your mind, but they might not get the real you. In relationships, it’s all about mental connection, but sometimes you use communication as a weapon. You can be manipulative when you want to be, and if you’re not careful, you’ll push people away with your mind games. The key here? Be honest. Be vulnerable. You’re smart enough to know when someone isn’t on your level, but that doesn’t mean you have to hide behind cleverness.

With Lilith in Cancer, you’re dealing with deep emotional wounds. There’s a part of you that craves nurturing but also resents it at the same time. You might have grown up feeling like you had to be the caretaker, even when you weren’t ready. And now? You have a hard time letting anyone take care of you. You build emotional walls, but inside, you’re yearning for someone to break them down. In relationships, you might sabotage things when they start to feel too safe, because deep down, you’re scared of being abandoned. Your healing comes when you stop looking for that motherly figure in other people and start giving yourself the care you need. You have to learn that vulnerability is not a weakness.

If Lilith is in Leo, girl, you’re the queen—and you know it. You want to be admired, adored, worshipped, but you also fear that you’re never enough. This is a placement where ego and insecurity collide. You want the spotlight, but you’re terrified of what people will see when they look too close. Relationships become about power. You want someone who puts you on a pedestal, but the second they don’t, you’re out. The challenge here is learning that your worth doesn’t depend on external validation. When you own your power without needing applause from the crowd, you’ll find that the right people are drawn to your light.

Lilith in Virgo brings a complicated relationship with control. You strive for perfection in everything, but the more you try to control, the more things slip through your fingers. You might have a tendency to obsess over the details—whether it’s your appearance, your work, or your relationships. But this perfectionism is exhausting. You attract situations where you’re forced to confront the idea that control is an illusion. The real work is in letting go. In love, you might feel like no one is ever good enough for you, or worse, that you’re never good enough. But the truth is, you don’t have to fix anyone, least of all yourself. Your healing comes from accepting the messiness of life.

Lilith in Libra? Oh, this is a tricky one because you want harmony and balance, but deep down, you might feel like you’re constantly at war with yourself. You attract people who reflect your shadow side, and it’s easy to lose yourself in relationships. You want to please others so badly that you forget your own needs, and then you resent them for it. This placement has to learn how to set boundaries and stop giving away power just to keep the peace. In love, you might find yourself drawn to partners who are controlling or manipulative, and it’s because you’re not owning your own power. Stand up for yourself. Relationships are meant to be equal, not a battleground.

If your Lilith is in Scorpio, honey, you’ve got intensity for days. This is one of the most powerful Lilith placements, but it also comes with deep emotional wounds around trust and betrayal. You crave deep, soul-shattering connections, but you’re also terrified of being vulnerable. In love, you attract relationships that push you to confront your darkest fears—jealousy, obsession, control. The challenge for you is to let go of the need to dominate. You’re not going to lose your power by being vulnerable. In fact, true power comes from letting others see the real you, scars and all. The key here is to trust that you won’t be destroyed by love. It’s transformative, not destructive.

Lilith in Sagittarius is about freedom—wild, uncontained freedom. You’re always looking for the next adventure, the next thrill, and you can’t stand to be tied down. But here’s the thing: running from commitment isn’t going to fill that void inside. You attract situations where you feel like your wings are being clipped, but it’s because you’re not allowing yourself to fully engage. You might avoid deep connections because you’re afraid they’ll hold you back. In relationships, you crave freedom, but you also want someone who understands your need for independence. Your journey is about finding a way to commit without feeling caged. Trust that you can have both stability and freedom.

If Lilith is in Capricorn, you’re all about power and control. You crave success, but deep down, you fear failure more than anything. You’ll push yourself to the brink just to prove you’re worthy, but this placement often comes with a deep sense of insecurity. You might feel like no matter how much you achieve, it’s never enough. In relationships, you attract people who challenge your need for control, and it forces you to confront the fact that true success isn’t about power—it’s about vulnerability. Learn to let go of the idea that you have to be the one in control all the time. It’s okay to let someone else take the lead. You’ll find that it makes you stronger, not weaker.

With Lilith in Aquarius, you’re the rebel. You don’t like being told what to do, and you’re always pushing against the grain. But this can also make you feel like an outsider, like you don’t belong. You attract relationships where you feel like you have to sacrifice your individuality, but deep down, you know that’s not the answer. Your challenge is to find a way to be in a relationship without losing yourself. Don’t be afraid to stand out. The world needs your unique vision. In love, you might push people away because you’re afraid of being controlled, but real freedom comes from allowing yourself to be fully seen.

Finally, Lilith in Pisces is a placement of deep emotional sensitivity. You feel everything, and sometimes, that can be overwhelming. You might have a tendency to escape through fantasy or avoidance because reality feels too harsh. But this placement also gives you incredible intuition. You attract relationships where you feel like you’re drowning in emotions, and it can be hard to find your footing. The key here is to set boundaries—emotional boundaries. You don’t have to take on other people’s pain as your own. Your healing comes when you learn to stay grounded in reality while still honoring your deeply spiritual side. Embrace your empathy, but don’t let it consume you.

Blessings,

Ash ✨

Get your own reading at astroash.net

[asherraccoon]

Genuinley thinking about combining my two hyperfixations/special interests and making a "Five Nights at Hazbin(Hotel)" AU 😭

I EVEN HAVE SOME OF IT PLANNED OUT??

Charlie- She dosen't move until the 3rd night. She's not very good at hiding, however, and her bright yellow eyes and rosy red cheeks will often give her away if she hides in the shadows, so be on the lookout for that

Vaggie- She moves on the 2nd night. Her eyesight is poor, so sometimes she won't see you in the office. It's best to keep the light off as much as possible on her side of the hall. If you do turn it on, keep it on for less than 5 seconds to avoid her seeing you.

Angel- He's the first to move. He's the 2nd fastest compared to Niffty. He will move cameras quickly, but he also wont stay at your office for very long.

Husk- He's be similar to Foxy. Check the bar camera fairly often to make sure he's still there. If he's gone, quickly close the left door before he gets there.

Niffty- The fastest of all of them. She's difficult to see on the cameras because she's so small and hides in the shadows. Keep a look out for her big glowing eye. Don't see her? Check the kitchen camera, she might be making noise in there. She also likes to hide in your vents. Check them frequently and lock her out if you see her, otherwise she will drain your battery.

Alastor- He's a rare one to see. Most likely to appear on the 5th night, bonus 6th night, or the custom 7th night. He will appear in the corner of your office with a "static" effect surrounding him. Flip your camera up and down to make him leave your office, he doesn't like it when your attention isn't on him. If you see him outside of the office on the cameras, keep your camera on him until it glitches and he disappears. He may like attention, but he hates the cameras.

Other characters such as Cherri, Pentious, and Lucifer haven't been figured out yet! If you have any ideas on what they'd be like in this AU let me know!

I might make some art for this AU hehe

[taemcains]

your faith between my teeth — cainlane

a night, a dawn, and so a different night. ao3

🎧 julia shortreed - taste

The world doesn't die in Rotkov.

It lurches after them like a wounded beast, lugging the guts and gore of all that they've witnessed there. The pursuit is slow but ceaseless on a road laid in blood. It can’t let them go; it will not rest without gagging on their last cuts of sanity.

An abandoned railroad station mercifully swallows them first, housing them in its hushed ribcage, offering them a few swigs of safety, and a tattered blanket of quiet to settle over their shoulders.

Well, it was quiet, Lane thinks sourly, too exhausted to forbid herself this indulgence in petulance.

Night had been washed away like ink, fading without notice, leaving behind a blanched dawn stained by voices of every color. Even the most muted members of the squad argue their case along with the familiar, intense tones of Anna and Noah.

In the end, survival is an individual instinct, and each member had to ensure theirs. Lane's mouth lifts faintly. Does the General know it wouldn't take all that much for his leash to fray?

A tall, muscled woman speaks up, frustration further twisting the scar cleaving the deep brown of her face. ‘We have no way of powering the snowmobiles. Setting off with barely any charge left is suicide.’

A retaliation of ‘We have two injured people with us!’ flung, knocked away by Noah snapping ‘Do you think they give medals for dying ten miles closer to Adam?’

Anna looks up sharply, hand clenched by her side, and Lane sighs inaudibly, falling back into her mind as another bout of squabbling begins anew.

Roused minutes before dawn with a stiff neck and a dull, throbbing ache in her body, Lane has been quietly leaning against a table, haggling with her mind whenever the squad's deliberation went off course. To dissolve every touch stinging like salt on her skin, to send them rippling over her body when moonlight is the only voyeur, to not have them cresting over every moment, eroding the present.

But the material is precious, rarer than a memory untainted by its future, and just as unrelenting. It slithers between the muffled din of the squad, burning fingers tracing her collarbone, the cold of a cross sliding down her neck, so vivid and real she nervously glances at the corner of the room as if his intent eyes are watching her from the writhing shadows.

Her eyes snap back to the squad as Greg rises from where he's been crouched on the floor and squares his shoulders, adopting an unfaltering stance. Though it's a weak specter of the General's vulcanized presence, the squad quietens, their bickering dying to a whisper here and a jab there.

‘Getting stranded without shelter around is riskier. For the injured,’ he swallows, ‘and the rest. The safest option,’ for most, goes unsaid, ‘is sending the coordinates of this station and waiting for the base to get us.’

Calls of protest cut through a fog of relieved sighs, mollified when Greg turns an affable smile on them. ‘Why don't we check out the snowmobiles again if it'll satisfy you?’

The smile cracks when Anna stalks out of the room with a venomous look as goodbye. The tall woman who'd spoken earlier claps him lightly on the shoulder. ‘I'll come with you, let's go.’

Guilt adroitly plastered and painted over in hardly a few seconds, he meets her with a winning grin, draping an arm over her shoulder. ‘Why freeze out there? Imagine the kind of things you can find in these drawers.’

‘Of a station? Get out of here,’ she says, laughing as she pulls away.

Watching them, Lane recalls an old feeling; her first friend, the most loyal of them all, of being wrong. Born too cold, too aloof, too asleep to this world, she could do nothing but peer like a berated child from the back rooms as the rest of them tangoed through life, switching between partners, comfortable in the arms of pain, misery or happiness.

As she'd grown older, she'd managed to snatch a table for herself, watching with shark eyes as her peers stole away into the crowd, dancing and fighting and falling, and she convinced herself it need not matter to a person with ambition like hers.

But someone had come for her, come to her, graceless and inept that she is, holding out a hand with the promise of a turn around the sky itself as their ballroom. Who had seen her among a bevy of buoyant dancers, who had picked her out from a cast of white capes, who had sat by her side, looking ahead as their boots quietly kissed and kissed.

Lane sighs irritably as self-awareness oozes in like rancid oil, blistering under her skin. He can't allow her a single thought without tailing it like a comet.

She pushes herself off the table, intending to find a spot obscured to all but sunlight, when she pauses, eyes snapping up in unison with the squad, as an abrupt thud sounds from the floor above. Hands creep to their sides, relaxing as feathers sweep past rusty walls, an eerie shushing noise echoing with every step.

Wings large enough to brush the walls. Her heart misses a beat. Not Anhea.

She swallows, mortal eyes vainly trying to scatter the dark of the doorway as her heart skips impatiently, zero point eight seconds lavish when he’s not around. A new shadow bolsters the existing gloom. She inhales sharply, lungs taking in the last sips of air before his presence siphons them, only to deflate as the immortal steps inside.

Red is garishly bright in a room abandoned so carelessly.

Lane watches with distaste as Pileon saunters upto Greg, ignoring the squad who visibly shy away from his path. ‘Anhea and I are done with our shift. I hear you're choosing to stay?’

Greg nods. ‘We'll be sending the coordinates after checking on the snowmobiles. Tell Cain to take over patrolling.’

Pileon eyes him disdainfully. ‘Do I have any more duties after an entire night of flying?’

A short, obtrusively muscled man grumbles as he gets to his feet. ‘We spend half our time looking for that angel.’

Cain's deadened eyes, the labyrinth of his mind they invite her into locked and shut, and the exhausted set of his shoulders jostle their way to the front of her mind, and an odd sting of irritation shoots through her, shoving past reason or rationality.

She speaks before she could think. ‘I'll let him know.’

Greg turns to her with a confused smile, pleasantly surprised and vaguely suspicious of her volunteering for a cause that does not concern her. Pileon looks at her with mocking amusement, going as far as to gallantly sweep an arm out.

‘Go on. The prince needs his frog. Or is it the other way around?’

Ears burning in humiliation, Lane does something she wouldn't have dared to under the General's sovereignty, and dismisses herself, wrenching past them without a second look, chased into the shadowed passageway by the demon's knowing gaze.

The further she retreats, the more her shoulders slump, until she pauses, exhaling soundly as the squad's chatter dwindles to a faint buzzing. The relief doesn't last long; on her subsequent inhale, the dust motes from the air transmute into hundreds of moths inside her, fluttering in anxiety, scattering the words she had torn apart and thrown away.

Remember this. Look and don't forget.

She scoffs as she nudges a door open. She hadn't ever forgotten. How does one forget divinity, when it glints through gleaming white feathers and eyes laden with the weight of time? It had simply… faded into the background like the hushing of the sea to a coast dweller. What would be a staggering roaring to the others, terrifying in its unknowable depths, was a quotation hum to her.

But to get used to the sea is a fool's wisdom. His rage crested over them, and she was left blinking through the fear drenching her at the savage aftermath. But maybe the destruction wrought by three pairs of wings and incinerating eyes is not more than what he broke in her, for her to look at a seraph and see a metamorphosis instead: Beautiful. Petrifying. Beautiful.

She peers into yet another ransacked room, reliving last night. Gone. Here. Gone, she'd thought, still as a sacrifice, left at the altar of his hands. Humanity is scant in her, but his fingers were greedy on her skin, leaching what he wanted, and thoughtlessly, callously brimming her with need.

No, what she had forgotten is this: that for all his sins, he is still an angel, and for all of hers, she is only a mortal.

The last door in the hallway springs upon her as if in ambush, cracked open and leaking dark like the waiting maws of a wolf. She's allowed a fortifying breath before it swallows her, and spits her out onto a chessboard of shadows and struggling daylight, with archive boxes, overturned chairs, and her, she supposes, the pawns to the angel lucent and quiescent in the corner of the room.

She makes her move, cautiously stepping around office paraphernalia like a thief in the night, trying to think ahead, not to win, but to challenge, to put up a fight, only to slow and then stop entirely.

He's… sleeping.

A few ghostly steps and she's in front of him, close enough to coax out deception, close enough for her knee to brush his in a way that an excuse of ‘accidental’ would be met with pinched skepticism. She gets to work, casting her scrutiny on him.

The sun falls back in its rising, to linger and worship him in a pour of light like white wine. Unmoved by its adoration, he dreams in a bare office chair, legs crossed carelessly, wings arcing over the armrest and flowing to the floor like a heavy veil. Truly, assuredly asleep.

The verdict lays out the next course of action. Step back to a safe distance, rouse him, deliver the message, and leave. Clear, efficient, and rational, all of which would appeal to her in any situation, so why does she hesitate now?

She glances to the side, as if sharing a look of disbelief with a stranger over an act of public idiocy, except both the idiot and the onlooker in this scenario is her, before sighing softly, stirring the wisps of his hair as she leans down.

Just this once, she thinks in a heedless rush of curiosity-apprehension-longing, inflamed by an achingly familiar voice laughing in the back of her mind. I just need some ammunition, anything.

The first shot is fired at her, by her own useless observation that Cain is almost too beautiful to bear from this proximity, too beautiful to watch and not want.

Strands of silk-white hair fall over his eyes, fitting them with a frayed blindfold, shrouding the webbing of translucent blue veins on his eyelids. His temple rests on an uncurling fist, fingers skimming his cheek like slender branches. His lips part innocently for steady exhales, oblivious to the kind of thoughts they set off in her.

Despite his unearthly beauty, catching him in such a vulnerable position almost feels like evidence. For all his perilous power, he too requires rest, implicating him in the same weakness that plagues mortals. Almost human, she thinks blasphemously.

Her mouth twists wryly. What is she doing? Her hand rises of its own accord, fingertips hovering over the spill of moonlight over his ear. Trying to knit his veins to hers, to make them of the same blood? Her finger follows the orbit of a stray lock of hair, silk sliding against her skin. Trying to make him human? It slips and grazes the delicate shell of his ear, her touch so light she can only confirm its reality when her entire arm trembles.

So close, she thinks, suddenly hollow, empty. Close enough to feel you breathe, mind eons away.

His eyes slit open.

Her heart leaps and she almost follows its wake, too panicked to worry about tripping over his feet, before going boneless, meek as a rabbit sagging dead between the jaws of a fox, when Cain lifts his hand, lazily catching her wrist.

The seconds draw out as if slogging through honey, and it's twice as sweet when he leans his face into the palm of her hand, nuzzling into it like a sated stray cat with a soft sigh of reprieve.

She stays limp in his feather-light grip, mind and body in agreement for once, to be a mute witness to his tender spot, his soft underbelly, the way the faint heat of his skin leaches into her cold palm.

Miraculously, her mind tolerates the warmth budding through her veins and blossoming in her chest for all of five seconds, before hissing and clamoring over why, to stretch the moments of his weakness, or to memorize the feeling of his skin, her softness?

She can tell the exact moment his scheming mind catches up to his gentler body, and sweeps away the last vestiges of sleep, already spinning new webs. His lashes flutter like a baited bird, tickling the sensitive skin of her fingers, sweetening the parting as he draws his face away.

He releases her hand like an afterthought, so nonchalantly it could be nothing less than calculated. An insouciance mirrored in the slow routine of running a hand through his hair, and shaking off sleep, silver cross briefly catching fire in the sunrise.

‘What?’ He doesn't grace her with his gaze as he speaks, voice lower and rougher than usual, dredged from his throat where sleep was holding it in shackles.

‘The squad asked you to take over patrolling,’ she replies, mouth emptying words mechanically, even as her mind scrambles, grasping at the fire illuminating what she had assumed to be a shameful fantasy.

He sighs, dropping his head back. Distantly, she admires the strong, graceful line of his throat, a serene backdrop against her violently overspilling thoughts. When he straightens and his eyes finally catch hers, it's not by being garbed in one of his thousand disguises, but honestly, tiredly.

He lifts a brow when she stays rooted to the spot, still blindsided by her dream confessing to be a memory. ‘Planning to let me go?’

She shoves what would be a deeply satisfying retort into an armoire of other worse things she's held back around him, and wordlessly steps aside, her real gratification the brief, confused flit of his eyes as he rises, strolling to the center of the room.

His wings stretch out, curling and uncurling, a field of moonflowers blooming in front of her eyes with every motion, as their owner twists his shoulder with a hand, wrestling with the consequences of a night spent in discomfort.

Lane watches his back, the familiar loose, languid lines now distorted as in a nightmare, shoulder blades pressed high and tight together, tensed.

Did he realize that I remember? The mystery of why, or how, her flimsy, threadbare blanket had held her tightly till dawn, entrusted to her to solve with only the barest wisps of hints. A flash of white spiked through her lashes, a kiss of cold against her neck, a whisper of feathers in drift.

She'd thought it was a dream.

‘Better not linger.’ His voice steals into her memories. She looks up as his head turns slightly, offering her the slashes of his cheekbone and jaw blade first. ‘I might’ve heard squeaking.’

He doesn't look at her.

Lane has always felt curiosity like an itch, aggravating and intolerable until she could find an answer she deemed satisfactory. But this feels new. Different. Sharper, stronger, violent like the sea, more useless than the anger it cowers behind.

But no. She's only curious. Curious about why her mind follows him like he's North Star. Curious about why she needs to look for him in every room. Curious about why she's always the fool here, on her knees to a god deafened to all but his own solitude. And angry, angry that her heart won't beat for her own pain but twinges when he's discomforted, his unease echoing in her chest.

She just has to know–

Maybe that's what possesses her.

‘Cain-’

He swivels around in a sunburst of feathers and as her vision clears, her stomach plunges. Wings fanning out behind him like a crucifix, the sunrise lending a lethal blade of crimson to his eyes, his image is of deity, angel, and sinner in synchrony. If God still lived, he would’ve walked in his shadow. Her fingers snaked around his wrist almost feel like desecration, if only she had the power to touch him.

Reverence settles over her like the hush of first snow, smothering all her gasping worries, soothing all her lacerating feelings. Her insignificance isn't a burden, but a nave she walks to faith. Her fingers slacken, unable to bear the burning perfection of divinity, when he speaks.

‘Yes?’

His voice is low, wrong, disorienting as a note missed in a fervent oratorio. Her knee jerks and she takes an unconscious step back as he arches his hand, sending her fingers sliding over a swathe of bare skin evading his sleeve. His wrist bones strain to kiss her fingertips through ludicrously soft skin, and his eyes anchor to her face, twin wreaths of fire hardly quelled by the snow of his hair falling into them.

‘What is it?’

Her nail snags on a seam, and she watches with horrifying desire unfurling claws in her stomach as his sleeve inches back. A flash of tantalizingly smooth skin marbled with sculpted blue veins, hot to the touch. When it's swallowed by night-black fabric, it feels like punishment.

When her eyes rise back to his, she finds them still, still as the air before lightning. Dimly, she realizes she should be afraid. Killing her isn't the worst of what he can do to her. He could hone and hand over her own desire like a dagger, annihilation without a touch of blood on him.

‘You're not answering me.’

His tone remains carefully flat, a void coming up to meet her hands when she reaches for a clue to predict his next move. A drop of disquiet finally rolls down her spine and this time, she's overly conscious of the distance between them as she shuffles back, stretching like a fraying cord long past its limit, a sharper tug from either side enough to snap it irreparably.

He tests it.

Lane's eyes widen as he follows her lead, a slow, perfectly overestimated step barely grazing her knee with his, before drawing back to position, locking them in a strange dance. She doesn't know the steps, but she knows she's tithing her hand to a cunning partner. She knows her body will only glide to the melody his fingers play.

She jolts as he resumes their game, forearm gliding against the loop of her fingers, firm muscle and chiseled veins straining against the obscenely thin material. His rapt eyes track every twitch and exhale of hers, pulled by the allure of even a simulation of his skin and all of it just verges on the edge of too much.

Cain tilts his head in an uncanny imitation of genuine curiosity. ‘Should I take your silence as an invitation to guess?’

He doesn't wait for her reply, accurately assuming she would need far more than a few minutes, or the distance of more than a day, to pry out coherent words.

‘You want something from me.’ The hypothesis, spoken so plainly, spoken like the truth, is shockingly crude from the mouth that spins half-truths and full lies with the prosaic ease of a spider. He cocks his head, considering her without seeing her at all.

‘No, not want.’ He leans closer and she tenses, praying his teeth would be gentle on her neck, conned into faith by his intoxicating scent. ‘Something worse.’

The sun, now seething and glorious, bleeds all over him. Two memories twine in her head, backlit by flame; the two times he's alluded to his priesthood, but only now does she see. His eyes are enough to extricate your worst sins from the bars you trap yourself in, to lay them bare on your body and flay them with a single word.

He wouldn't need to do much, she thinks, lightheaded, flushed down to her throat. Anyone would willingly sink to their knees if condemnation sounded like this, voice dipping suggestively, almost rasping the words out. ‘Need, maybe?’

Hardly able to think past the dizzying fog of something both heady and subtly sweet emanating from his skin, she makes a miserable attempt at shaking her head, silenced by his hand arcing up to brush her cheek, fingertips sliding into her hair.

Silver ensnares her peripheral vision. Though her eyes flit back to him when he draws in a silent breath, uneven around his own abstinence, a thought won't let her go, provocatively dangling in her mind.

The crimson of his eyes deepens to sanguine. Lane swallows painfully, stomach folding it on itself, anticipating the climax, the crescendo, the cuts his cunningly bladed tongue would leave.

She'd expected words. She should've remembered his touch, its fatal softness.

She jerks minutely, stifling a gasp as his hand lightly trails over her hip. ‘Are you confused?’ Waist, ribs—her heart stops—the faintest brush over the side of her breast. ‘Hopelessly excited for nothing?’ Higher still, till his slender fingers collar the side of her neck. Eyelids slipping, he presses slowly, until her pulse is whimpering against his fingertips. ‘Is your godless body always starving?’

In dazed snatches, she wonders why. Why no blood wells up now. Why, if he meant it to hurt, it feels like a confession instead, given to be absolved by her own whispered sins.

The idea of Cain miscalculating a single word, look, or touch, much less a bacchanalia of all three is what gives her pause.

He wouldn't. He wasn't.

She slumps in his dreamlike hold, delirious and preening from the victory of finally, finally sneaking up to where he schemes, the second wave of intoxication sent by the thought of what he was insinuating exactly, submerging her inhibitions, suspending the consequences.

She twists in his grip. Lightly, just enough to turn her head and catch the drooping cross in her mouth, feeling it sink into her bottom lip and indent it.

He stills.

His wings shrink and flare, flare and shrink, but he remains frozen like a god amidst the myths that keep him alive. He exhales slowly, a sigh of soundless agony, rippling the air anticipating them.

Her teeth instinctively bite down on the metal clutched between her lips as his thumb brushes her jaw, turning her back to face him, interrupting her hazy fantasy of tasting the skin it kisses religiously.

Under half-lidded eyes, she watches as his eyes rove over her face, brow furrowing in a look of almost pain. She wonders if this is his one face that isn't painted on, naked as it can only be in a moment of undiluted agony or unrestrained ecstasy, and shivers.

His thumb slides over her bottom lip, hot against the warming metal, as his tongue snakes out to wet the corner of his mouth. Watching her eyes track the movement, lips parting unconsciously, he murmurs, gentle. ‘You might be.’

Tenderness was his mistake. She could reluctantly accept her body betraying her for the worship of an angel—understand it even, when she treats it like a tool at the best of times—but the quiet affection in his voice, real as blood, nothing like the cloying pity they'd glazed as love, sends something in her skittering.

Maybe it's fear. Scared of what lurks in his eyes, scared of what she would have to dredge up within herself and hold to light. Scared enough to stumble.

Lane flinches as a storage box home to obsolete equipment skids across the floor, clattering like her mind trying to process that it was her who was the catalyst for this turn of events. Even Cain starts, looking so much like a lover booted out mid argument that she lets out an entirely inappropriate breath of laughter. I’m definitely in shock, she thinks as his unblinking eyes fall on her.

He looks at her for a long moment over the rabid pounding of her heart, before stalking out of the room and taking the sun with him, wings shooting past her like neat rows of white-flamed arrows.

She moves to follow him, body and mind working on autopilot, but staggers, identifying, recognising his parting look.

Because he didn't look like the deity from last night filled with empty curiosity, or the angel from dawn reaching for her to rest, or even the priest from sunrise touching selfishly for once. The table catches her hip, steadying her. He looked like a common sinner, just as lost as her.

✟

The night is a courteous host to whoever knocks at its door. It welcomes her into an alcove of time where obligations cannot find her, taking her worry lined coat and hanging it onto the next sunrise's hooks. Lane sits on the edge of the roof, letting the wind titter and caper around her dangling legs, playful in her fragile, exquisite peace. Silence isn't the same as emptiness apparently.

So spellbound by the tranquility drifting through her like snow, she only notices her deification, the shadow-feathered wings resting on the ground, a second before he speaks. ‘What is it about this bleak view that inspires brooding?’

He sounds less far away than last night.

Her body straightens subtly, not moths, but fireflies flitting about her spine, tiny flash fires set where his fingers strayed.

‘I wasn't,’ she replies, eyes trained onto the star-pricked sky.

‘Already have your answers then?’ His voice is blank as glass, glued together from words like shards, warping the real meaning behind them.

She inhales slowly, siphoning courage from the unsuspecting stars, before raising her head, turning to look at him. Standing against the night, all of him in shadows. The god, the man. The angel, the sinner. She gives him the only truth she can afford.

‘I might.’

She does. She'd been so desperate to fill the singular blank in her mind, furiously circled and underlined in red, so as to shelve it and let it fade forgotten, that she overlooked what has always been right in front of her eyes: Cain exists in duality. Helping and hindering, savior and ruinous, the holiest thing her hands have held, and sometimes more human than she has ever been.

Not her perfect answer, not an answer that will allow itself to be shelved and forgotten, not an answer at all, but so right it could almost be called the truth.

Lane can't read his eyes through the veil of dark.

He's still for a heartbeat, two, before dropping down next to her, wings fanning out and sinking into the dirty snow, in a motion so smooth she wonders how she wound up in his distant embrace again. He leans back on his palms, tipping his head up to the sky, and heaves out a soft sigh, heavy as time. ‘Good for you.’

‘You sound bitter.’ She peers at what he offers of his face, a flash of an eyelid, the slope of his nose, soft pink lips, all caressed by moonlight's pearlescent sheen. ‘Are you still struggling?’

‘Not in the way you're thinking.’ His words float to the mirthfully twinkling stars, following the line of his stare. ‘More so with how I chose to be blind for such a long time. And of course, the consequences taste bitter now.’

She considers him thoughtfully, angling her body to his and tucking her knees to her chest. Rare that Cain pouring words like water into her hands is, she wants to savor it. Underneath that, a smaller, stupider reason. She just… liked listening to him.

‘Long, even to an immortal?’

‘Time doesn't always exist in a straight line.’ His head tilts, gaze sliding to her. Not empty, but haunted. He looks through her, at a past neither can touch anymore and when he speaks, she's not sure if it's to the her trapped in the present. ‘Some moments run in circles, for all of eternity.’

Lane thinks of her own life. She thinks of the glowing, heatless thing in her chest after an achievement that she named happiness. She thinks of the silence ringing in her childhood house, the gaze that seemed heavier when it was turned away. She thinks of the daze of awakening as something new and seeing him, not knowing a thread of blood and snow bound them. She thinks she understands.

‘I see,’ she says quietly.

His gaze sharpens, red splintering the opaque ice of his eyes, emotions finally whirling up in them. ‘Do you now?’ he bites out, almost accusatory, somehow brittle.

Her first contention is that she understands now, what he's really asking.

Her mind reminds her that one cannot understand someone without knowing them. And how can you know a person who disappears like a card trick between your fingers, there and then wholly new when you flip it?

But a smaller, startlingly insistent part of her tells her to wait, to look. And so she does, catching all that sloughs off of him like raindrops in her hands. When they flower open, in lies a mirror, reflecting what haunts her own nights.

Forsaken and forsaking their own kind, nowhere and never to call home, the humanity gouged out of her heaped onto him. Sometimes, in her weakest moments, she believes they'd fit like two halves of a pomegranate if they let each other.

Or perhaps—her eyes flick to him—it's only the strange logic Cain lives by, and therefore pulls her into.

Leaving her cold, and then burning. His fingers on her forehead, gently chilling the feverish skin, and the heat radiating off him in an inferno, hands reaching to crush her head. The closest anyone has come to the rotten thing inside her, and so far her hands would only brush air if she reached out.

So impossibly sweet and so inexorably dangerous.

She has him—her eyes flutter shut briefly—and she doesn't.

It's so quiet. It's only the two of them in the falling universe when she speaks. I want to. ‘I can.’ Better presumptuous than incriminating.

His eyes narrow. The only warning she's conceded before he's leaning in slowly, bracing a hand dangerously close to her thigh.

‘Anything?’ he asks, red eyes boring into hers, impenetrable to the moonlight hammering weakly against them. ‘Whatever it is?’

He's turning the same look on me, she realizes with a bolt of recognition. Rooting for the trick in her words. Absurdly, her next thought is I want to touch him.

Cowardice cannot be shed in a day. Lane only gazes back into his hollowed eyes steadily, hoping what she can give would be enough for now.

Adequately chastised, he sighs, lowering his head, and she counts his breathing silently. She blinks when the rhythm breaks, stopping with a faint shudder. Her eyes follow his line of vision and her own breath catches, an odd intermingling of shame and something hotter coiling in her stomach.

She'd needed to cut into something, cling onto someone, to draw out the restraint to hold still and not surrender a single gasp last night. The aftermath of which manifested on her palm, in a trail of half-moon red marks.

When he falls back, it's with the loot of her hand with him. Cradling it delicately in one hand, he traces the testament to his effect on her, written plainly on her skin. A barely there touch, half apology, half prayer.

He speaks when the motion has eased from stirring to soothing, still watching their hands.

‘Another promise? Besides my protection and kindness?’ Lane barely has the time for incredulity to rear its head before he continues, eyes shadowed when he glances at her. ‘Don't you know greed is a sin?’

Her eyes fall to the rosary guilelessly skimming her palm. Not my worst.

Cain smiles. While it's not his usual infernally soft one, there's a tremulous quality to its edges, a frailty in his eyes too light for her to recognize. ‘I'm joking.’ He squeezes her hand gently, yielding to her more than just his words. ‘You'll have to teach me this too.’

The idea of him entrusting her with teaching something she hasn't even crawled up the steps to makes her breathe out laughter, along with real honesty. ‘I'm not the right person for either.’

His reply comes soft as a breath held, swift as a hope dashed, both impossibly full of possibilities like raindrops suspended in time. ‘Then we'll learn together.’

Lane isn't quite as delusional to believe this isn't an aftereffect of needing her in his own esoteric pursuit; not his path, but only a detour. But leeched from that look he let slip like porcelain, shattering at her feet and dissipating the haze she was wandering in, she knows that if his words bloom like wisteria in her lungs, she'd at least be a thorn in his heel. He wouldn't be able to stagger away from this untouched either.

Even so. The thought that however briefly it, this, lasts, it wouldn't be Cain, or Lane, but CainandLane is tart and bright as biting into a berry, bursting sharp on the tip of her tongue.

Together.

She turns her hand in his wordlessly.

Not his perfect answer either, but his shoulders relax minutely, fingers tightening around hers, the rosary kept warm between their skin, and she wonders if summer will be sweet this year.

[adachimoe]

A long and meandering post about Adachi and the Investigation Team

I have no idea what to title or describe this as. This is a long ass rambling 2.5k+ word post that consists of like 5 drafts I had sitting around that all felt somewhat related. It starts with the part where the Investigation Team tells Adachi to get over himself, then devolves into talking about Adachi punching himself in the face repeatedly (metaphorically), before ending by exploring the idea of Adachi as the Investigation Team's collective Shadow. it rly is tl;dr.

Adachi will remember that

At one point in Magatsu Inaba, the Investigation Team takes turns responding to Adachi in verbal turn-based combat. They all have varying responses and levels of understanding of him.

Chie doesn't understand why Adachi even became a cop, Rise thinks he's full of shit, Kanji tells him a 2008 version of "go kys" (tbf, he's never been eloquent with words), Yukiko tells Adachi that he sounds like a kid, Naoto calls him out for finding life annoying while being a damn annoyance, and Yosuke tells him he's just a criminal.

What Yukiko says to him in particular appears to sting Adachi, evident by how he "!" emotes in reaction to her. Or idk maybe he's secretly into getting bullied by women. I think Yukiko has Adachi's number here, and he knows that. After all, part of his schtick is that, "Oh, you stupid fuckin' kids, you don't know what I've been through or how I feel! Get off my dungeon lawn!!!" And yet, one of those stupid kids is able to tl;dr his life. He later even repeats what she said back at Sho during P4U2.

What Yukiko says here, I think, stands out in particular not just because of Adachi's reaction but also because it resembles a sentiment found in other media: The contradiction of being alive while not "truly" being alive. This often goes like so: A character can be alive in that they are most certainly physically living and breathing, but they are largely closed off from the rest of the world and going through the motions. Thus they are said to not truly be alive.

In the context of Persona 4, I believe Adachi fits in with this trope. As Yukiko has assessed, life sucks, but it's not like he's in any hurry to die. From what we see of Adachi in the plot, he's going through the motions. He wakes up, goes to his job, goes to Junes to bum free air conditioning, and sometimes gets dragged over to Dojima's house.

I don't think it's bad that people fall into these routines by default. Some find them comforting, some appreciate the simplicity, and some make up for the monotony of adult life with the more fascinating things they do outside of work.

But this doesn't apply to Adachi, who openly groans about his life and job. He seems to want to live and fit in with society, but he wants to do with more than what he has right now, yet he also seems unwilling or unable to put in the effort to get what he wants. He tells us he's lonely and wants a girlfriend, but when the old woman from his Social Link tries to hook him up with a girl, he finds it all annoying. He thinks of himself as an elite detective who is above Inaba, but he is regularly made out to be incompetent, sloppy, and careless.

It's like he's stuck but not doing anything to become unstuck. Following the tropes, Adachi would move from being a character who is "alive without really being alive" to "Truly Living" once he figures out how to get himself un-stuck. If he truly wants to be a hotshot detective in the big city with a smokin' hot wife, then something needs to change because he won't get those things as he is now. But how does Adachi approach the subject of "change"?

Maybe the world really is just a shitshow?

Adachi being exposed as the murderer is a major turning point for the murder investigation. And after the Investigation Team chases him into the TV, one of the many things he talks about is "change", or rather a lack of change.

As far as Adachi is concerned, the world can't / won't / doesn't change. He criticizes the world and its inability to change, how society works, and how people will latch to whatever you tell them as the truth.

Some things he says might resonate with us, especially nowadays with the spread of social media and misinformation. However, despite these criticisms, it sounds like he still desires to be part of society. He has been trying to blend in as a normal guy since April despite being a murderer. I think it's worth reiterating that his complaints about his life weren't anarchist but more like, "I don't have a cute girlfriend who cooks for me." Furthermore, he was trying to take advantage of misinformation to get away with murder by pinning it on Namatame.

Adachi doesn't like the current world and doesn't think it will change. Thus, he is forcing it to change in a completely catastrophic way. He really is throwing a tantrum: Like, what, you can't get away with murder? All right, throw the whole world away. With this approach, it is not Adachi who must change to fit in with the world, but rather the world that must change to fit Adachi.

Change isn't a good subject with him, which, honestly, is relatable. Change is easier said than done. Even within Persona 4 itself, after getting Magical TV Powers, an event that feasibly might add spice to one's life!!, the same old routine still runs Adachi's life. What has changed is that he's now waiting for Namatame to kill someone. Showing up looking for a dead body in the shopping district is simply a new part of his routine.

This topic of Adachi and change gets wrapped up after the fight against Amenosagiri. Adachi challenges the Investigation Team: >>>If<<< they think they have the power to change the future, then do it.

After entering the TV World, Amenosagiri responds to Adachi's wish and makes his wish come true as the dungeon deadline bad ending shows. That was Adachi's own so-called power to change the future. So what is the Investigation Team's?

Yosuke then replies that everyone has the power to change their future. As in, you don't need special powers from a gigantic disco eyeball inside of a TV to do that. In context, Yosuke is telling Adachi, "This is a 'you' problem," or "Skill issue." And tbh, I think Yosuke is more or less correct here.

In which we revisit the topic of "dumbass" and effort

In some ways, this topic might seem odd to approach. Everyone on the Investigation Team - besides Chie - seems to have a better life situation than Adachi had when he was their age. Are they punching down? Perhaps it feels like a hollow reflection of the collectivist culture that the solution to these antagonists who go "BUT SOCIETY IS WHAT IS WRONG" is always to beat them up and force them to conform--

…..but hold on. That line of thought would be giving in to what Adachi says before his boss battle. And, based on how he quits talking about how "waaah society is unfair" afterward, I find it difficult to think that is what he genuinely believes about his situation.

When I suggest that Yosuke is correct, I don't mean this in a "You aren't special, Adachi, everyone else's life sucks too, just deal with it" kind of way. What I have in mind is how the game seems to support that this is an Adachi problem, not an everyone else problem. Throughout Adachi's Social Link, his other interactions, and what Atlus has said as meta / Word of God answers, you get the idea that people were trying with Adachi, but he wasn't meeting them halfway.

For example:

This entire post is about the effort the MC puts in just to get called a dumbass (though I'd bet that the protag considers Adachi calling him a dumbass to be like a Badge of Honor). Even their gay ass Fever Time in P4D tells the story of Yu trying to reach out and Adachi going, "No!!!"

The old woman in his Social Link is trying to wingwoman for him and hook him up with women in Inaba, but Adachi seems unwilling. Instead, he tells Nanako and the protagonist that he's never getting married. Despite his loneliness, he justifies himself by saying, "Marriage is the graveyard of a man's life."

The Dojima family and Adachi interact briefly throughout the game, both in the story scenes and in his Social Link. As his letter at the end of the game shows, Adachi felt lukewarm about their interactions because he wasn't quite aware of what he had with them until he no longer has their company.

The way I see it, when Adachi rants about the world not changing, he is not actually bitching about the world. Rather, this feels more like a form of projection. He says the world doesn't change, but perhaps he is talking about himself and his own inability to change. Which would reframe it as more like… He knows he's the issue that holds himself back - his own worst enemy, perhaps - but he says the world is wrong to justify himself.

You learn a bit about Adachi through his Social Link. During rank 6, in dialogue that can tragically be missed, Adachi will admit that he is lonely, but he also thinks it's easier that way. And really, easier is just another way of saying "less effort".

On one hand, this might show Adachi's annoyance with other people. But at the same time, for him to call the protagonist a dumbass for investing so much in him and their relationship, I think the unspoken bit here is that Adachi does not think he is worth the time or effort, to begin with. His lack of effort isn't just him being annoyed with people or not giving a shit about things. I'm no expert, but I think the majority of us would wager that this is depression.

As the game's timeline unfolds, we really only know Adachi as the pathetic, silly murder guy. Did he start distancing himself from people because of the "oops, I murdered someone" part? Or was he like this even before then? When he talks more about his past, he doesn't go into a great amount of detail.

Going with my gut here, but I get the feeling that Adachi's obsession with Mayumi - something from before he became a murderer - suggests his distance from people is not a new thing for him. Consider: Meeting people? Forming relationships? Even before we talk about romance, how the hell do you even make friends as an adult? (The answer is BL btw. Go find some girlies who ship the same pairing.) I think Adachi said fuck it to all that bullshit. It'd be easier - less effort - for him to just be alone.

But… What if the magical TV just tells you exactly who your soulmate is? Well, shit, that's easy. For the lonely guy who just got transferred to Inaba and generally keeps his distance from people, I imagine it would be quite convenient to just be told, "This is who your soulmate is".

And that wouldn't be the last time Adachi gets a freebie from the TV. It happens again in December, as Adachi finds an again "easy" solution that does not involve changing himself or doing something annoying that requires effort from him. Having been enabled by the magical TV, Adachi is something of a static character.

Adachi is the Investigation Team's Shadow

In the P4G Premium Fan/Fun/Fsomething book, Atlus defines the Shadow by the Jungian definition, then talks about how the Shadows in-game represent "alternate possibilities" for the characters. The specific example it gives is how Chie's Shadow holds a great deal of animosity towards Yukiko. The real Chie doesn't feel this way towards Yukiko; in fact, she treasures her. Thus, Chie's Shadow is an alternate possibility.

When you look at Chie and what she says about accepting her Shadow, her Shadow seems to be born from a real insecurity (her jealousy of Yukiko) and part of it really does resemble Chie. But part of her Shadow is also this… caricature-esque thing. Hence why Atlus calls it the "alternate possibility". In turn, Chie accepts that she is jealous of Yukiko, but she does not accept the Banana Hat Dominatrix trying to exert control over Yukiko. She even realizes that rather than Yukiko needing her, it was actually her who needed Yukiko.

(I refuse to carry on with this train of thought further than talking about Atlus's own example with Chie because it would inevitably mean having to talk about how Atlus sees Kanji and Naoto's issues/Shadows/dungeons, and I'd need like bottles of wine to get in the mood to even type a paragraph of that.)

During her P4G winter Social Link scene, where her Persona evolves, Chie brings up Adachi and how she could have become him. She continues that anyone could have turned out like him.

Indeed, Adachi very much feels like a, "this could happen to anyone" character. He is an everyday normal guy who accidentally gets involved in something beyond him: a Like a Dragon side story NPC stuck in a game about high schoolers and friendship. Based on how you see these characters, you can correlate many of their issues to Adachi's own issues.

Really, in some ways, he feels like he was written to be the sum of the Investigation Team's insecurities, all bundled into one guy. As Chie's Shadow twisted her jealousy of Yukiko into a desire to control Yukiko and showed an alternate possibility for who Chie could have become if she had let jealousy consume her, perhaps Adachi shows an alternate possibility for who all of them could become.

As Amenosagiri later reveals, the truth torments the Shadows. Your party identifies that is what causes the Shadows to attack people.

When we consider how the game has gone until now, then those moments where the Investigation Team told their Shadows, "You're not me!" must be the moment that Amenosagiri was describing. The members of the Investigation Team come face to face with a being who claims to be them and seems aware of the same issues that gnaw at them. But these beings pervert their issues issues in a direction that doesn't reflect who the Investigation Team really are. And so they challenge that this being is truly them. They, sigh, "reach out to the truth", and it causes their Shadows to go nutso and attack.

And, of course, these repeated scenes where they tell their Shadows all lead up to the last time we see this kind of sequence...

Just as the Investigation Team had to face themselves and pick apart the truths from the caricature, they, too, come to face Adachi and can cut through the bullshit, rejecting his attempts to justify why it's okay for him to merge the TV World into reality and screw everyone over.

That said, though, if we are to compare him to their Shadows, then we must acknowledge that, much like how the Investigation Team's Shadows come from their own real insecurities, Adachi's frustrations with the Investigation Team and with the world at large must also come from something real.

On this screenshotted line in particular, he even uses the more masculine "ore" as his pronoun in Japanese. He usually uses the more boyish "boku", but he seems to swap to "ore" to indicate that he is speaking quite genuinely--or perhaps speaking from the heart.

While he is a whiny murderer throwing an apocalyptic tantrum, I'm sure there are circumstances that made him the person that he is as an adult. Tbh, I've already made a lot of posts talking about the factors that might have contributed to *why* he feels like this, so I won't drag this out further.

By Arena Ultimax, Adachi has come to accept the murder case as the inciting incident that causes him to change as he finds himself finally owning up to his actions from the previous year. He's no role model lol, but life now has more meaning to him than just something you go through every day. Perhaps it's at this moment that he can be said to have gone from merely being alive to living.

(Let's be real tho, jail gives you 3 non-cup noodle meals per day? Damn. It's like he's living his best life. Speaking of which, food feels like such a fitting metaphor for his emotional nourishment.)

In the aftermath of the dungeon and the almost-end-of-the-world, Adachi agreed to start playing by the rules, and became more of a dynamic character. At the beginning of Ultimax, Adachi's commitment to this gets questioned as Yu, Yosuke, and Chie find him allied with Sho (like 5 cutscenes after Yu is so confidant he's behaving himself too, tsk tsk). But Yu reaches the roof, hears Adachi's cringe ass dialogue (I'm pretty sure that Adachi would not have said half that shit if he had known Yu was standing around the corner), and reaffirms his belief that Adachi was genuine about his promise to play by the rules.

The Investigation Team are not on the best of terms with Adachi. Regardless, they went into his dungeon, called him out on his bullshit that had been mixed in with his own real shortcomings and insecurities, punched him, and as we can tell by Ultimax, came to accept him in their own ways as they did their individual Shadows. As Yu says, perhaps they have strangely enough decided to trust in Adachi.

[ultfreakme]

Jon and Co-dependence: my boy's mad at me. i'm going to make him move in w/ me and make him popcorn

Absolute Power: Super Son gave me a lot to think about. In terms of writing I really can't complain, it was executed very well for a one-shot. But in terms of characters, I'm frustrated(in a way indicative of good writing) about Jon and Nia.

This issue does not resolve Jon's problems, it brings them to audience awareness in an explicit manner. People who've been keeping a keen eye on Jon saw this coming since 2021 in SOKE but no writer stated it in clear terms on page this way. Avoidance, denial, and an inability to think in terms of his humanity and only as a tool or a part of a whole(family, romance, friendship). Jon knows he's avoidant, he doesn't like thinking about his trauma or talking about it, he will suffer through it alone. Even in his deepest, most lowest moment, he speaks of his own trauma in terms of his family.

His autonomy and individuality have been slowly chipped away by the prospect of being Superman. Superman does not live for himself, he takes risks and sacrifices himself for the greater good. That label and the shadow of his father in that suit has been following him since he was 9-10 years old.

The only thing Jon seems to want solely for himself, is Jay.

Up until this point, Jon has been fairly chill and normal about seemingly on the surface. Their relationship was always very sweet, they were always on the same page and never had a reason to fight. There is a deep admiration and respect between them. But the understanding, the ability to see the person for who they are at their core, has yet to happen.

Regardless of that, Jon loves Jay in a way that is damn near unhealthy and codependent.

His love for Jay is what breaks Jon out of Brainiac Queen(BQ)'s control, but it makes him reckless and impulsive. He needs Jay in his life. Throughout the issue, Jay was pointedly not present in the dreams Nia constructed to keep Jon's mind safe from BQ's attack. This is precisely what kept breaking any shield Nia put up.

Jay's absence drives Jon deeper into spiraling. The lies Nia made for Jon never, ever worked because Jay was missing. A dream of his which Nia repeatedly showed Jon and which Jon has admitted is his wish to move to San Fran and get an apartment with Jay in it.

Nia gave him the apartment and the city but not the man and that always, ALWAYS broke Jon out. When Nia isn't around to keep things in-check, Jon just spontaneously remembers Jay on his own and inserts him into the dreamscape.

Nia built those dreams to protect Jon, but also to help him in fighting back but Jon was extremely weak to BQ's control regardless of those efforts. The only time Jon manages to find the strength to fight back is when Nia drops the dreams and instead just shows him the truth of BQ and acknowledges his trauma. She correctly identified that Jon needs help to fight back, but not through falsehoods, but through the truth.

That's when Jon fights back and breaks out of the control. At every turn, Jay and the things he stands for are what pull Jon out of false comfort.

There's those phrases right? Sweet dreams. Ugly truths. That's Nia and Jay.

The reality with Jay is nothing like a dream but Jon would rather take the pain of reality than be trapped in fake happiness. There was a pattern in the issue where Jon kept texting Jay after every dream session with the Amazonians. Jay checking in asking if he's okay, Jon replying he's 'totally fine' despite not feeling like that. Jay was his guide to the truth in SOKE, AOSJK, and now Super Son.

Jon's had his reality fucked with a LOOOOOOOT. Manchester Black, Waller & BQ, Injustice Universe, and the whole space trip. Jon has had this existential turmoil since he was a child, it was made worse by his trip to space with Jor-El. The impossibility of his existence is frequently emphasized. Most people see it as a miracle, Jon sees it as point of fear and doubt about his existence. He needs something, anything to stay above the surface and that is Jay.

Like, it is now canon, that Jay is Jon's tether to reality. He is the one thing he will selfishly ask for himself and by golly is he selfish about it. He clings. It's a repeated pattern.

The night they become official, the tendencies start showing.

SOKE establishes that Jay is always the one letting go, and Jon is always the one holding on by any means necessary. This leads to so truly ✨Problematic✨decisions on Jon's part.

A list, if I may:

Gives Jay a new suit and half-proposes to him with a legion ring

Nearly fights Batman over him

Goes to Jay's counterpart in the injustice-verse with no evidence of if he may be good or not and just trusts him blindly

Took Jay to his own Fortress of Solitude and planned on keeping him there during the Siege of Gamorra

Burst in through a wall because he thought Jay was in danger

Asks to move in with him and move across the country with him

Safe to say, Jon needs Jay in some deep, fundamental, and kind of unhealthy way. The last one happens when Jay suggests it's not going to work between them if Jon insists he must forgive Nia. You don't define your own reality based on one person if you don't got issues, and unfortunately Jay does dish it like it is and calls himself the truth so like Jay was doomed from the second he opened his mouth and posted his recordings online.

Jay suggested breaking it off-- for understandable reasons- and within five minutes Jon dropped his very first "I love you" to Jay and asked him to move in with him.

This kind of leads to Jon deifying Jay and not seeing him entirely as a person. Jay is deeply upset about his mother's death, when Jon just rush at him with moving in together, Jay cries but doesn't immediately agree. He actually pulled away and seemed like he might have protested if not for the Amazonians calling Jon in to stop Waller.

Jay's relationship with Jon is filled with this, and Jay has to call Jon out to slow down and address Jay's issues(this makes him sound so bad, he really isn't, he' just gets too caught up in "protect him protect him protect him" mode when he's under distress). He does this when Jon is about to leave him to go fight Bendix, and in AOSJK when Jon's being all happy about getting to go out freely in public while Jay's stuck wearing disguises.

Jon's tendency to view Jay as his tether leads to him dismissing Jay's very human, raw and awful emotions. It's why he's so shocked when Jay feels nothing about Nia's death. It's also why he's quick to just ignore the topic and because yeah he feels terrible about it but if he keeps pushing this, Jay will leave him.

Jay's story.....is one of a loss of autonomy, just as much as Jon's. It happens in how he gains his powers, the way Nia betrayed him, the loss of his secret identity which he HEAVILY relied on to convey news, the seeming loss/ lowered involvement with The Truth news streams, and frequently with Jon where Jon chips at it with his desperate need to keep Jay by his side.

Jay doesn't dream of San Fran. Jay doesn't dream of shared apartments. No one has yet to properly let Jay cry about the loss of his country and his mother. Jon's avoidance strategy HURTS Jay here in an immense way.

If this keeps going, this relationship is going to break. Jay's always putting up with this, with Jon, because at this moment, he has no family. Jon is his closest tie to anyone, he can't let him go either because if he does he loses his entire support system but he's willing to since he actually prioritizes his grief over his mother. Jon centering Jay as a concept around his desire for himself is going to cause huge problems in the future.

Anyways, Jon's a freak, free Jay. Stan toxic yaoi.

[uglygirltrying]

summary - enemy!ghost x enemy!reader - both have been separated from their teams. in the middle of desperation, and a snow blizzard, ghost makes the (stupid) choice of helping the enemy.

you kept falling in and out of consciousness, your eyes fluttering open for a moment, and then closing again the next. cold snow surrounded you, as you laid limp on the ground, heavy blizzard blowing down on you and wind hitting your face. the adrenaline started to slowly wear off, and you could to feel the bruises all around your body from the explosion. suddenly, you perked up. footsteps, coming from your three, snow crunching under the heavy steps of whoever was coming towards you. your breath came our desperate and slow. your eyes fluttered open once more. but this time, even through your hazy sight, and the blizzard around you, you could make out a shadow standing above you. your breath hitches, but you couldn't find the strength to keep your eyes open any longer. you went under again. how convenient.

your head throbbed violently, pain radiating around your body. crackling of fire filled your ears. it's warm. hot even, compared to how you were, in your mind, just a moment ago. slowly, and with great effort, you managed to open your eyes. you're in a cabin. not a fancy one unfortunately, a rotten, and dust filled one. but at least you're out of the snow.

"stay calm." ghost didn't want to spook you, but he wanted you to know about his presence. even if it came at the price of your tiny frame tensing up and looking around franticly. finally you found him, your brows furrowed, and your eyes wide, in fear. ghost sighed. he just had to make his life even harder. but he couldn't resist a pretty woman. even less, a pretty damsel in distress. even if she's supposed to be the enemy.

"yer lucky you didn't need stiches. wrapped you up bloody good tho." ghost murmured, standing up from his spot, and making his way closer. he kneeled down beside your form, snug in his sleeping bag. your wide eyes followed his movements, obviously wary of him, the enemy.

ghost ignored your stare, knowing that you're still far too weak to attack him, even if you wanted to. ghost ripped open a mre packet, and began to feed you crackers. embarrassment flooded your mind, being hand-fed by a intimidating enemy soldier. the brit chuckled at the blush decorating your soft cheeks. eventually, he tossed the mre packed aside.

"you gonna let me in, luv?" ghost sighed, pulling down the sleeping bag's zipper. you couldn't keep in the whimper as he slowly moved you. "i know, luv, i'm sorry..." ghost murmured, gently moving you, until he fit next to you in the sleeping bag. his big arms wrapped around your small form.

"you gonna kill me in my sleep?" ghost chuckled, his fingers running up and down, on the bare skin of your arm. your head shook meekly.

"no?"

"bet yer afraid of what i might do..." ghost darkly chuckled in your ear, and nuzzled against your soft cheek. ghost basked in the feeling, when you kept quiet without an answer.

"don't ya worry, luv... i'll make sure we'll be alright..." he told you. his arms were wrapped around you, the fire and his body kept you warm, your wounds were taken care off, and your stomach was full.

maybe you'll be alright.

tried to write in another style. first person pov makes me kinda uncomfortable because i don't like to force the reader to accept one thing without alternatives idk ifykyk 😭that's why she doesn't say anything, sorry if this is crap, im just yapping

[moonsandmobilityaids]

Fraud

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: Amycus Carrow wants to prove that you can walk. Warnings: Ableism, bullying Series Masterlist

The echo of your wheels against the stone floor is a steady rhythm in your ears, emphasising the silence that fills the vast corridors. It's a quiet day at Hogwarts; the castle's usual cacophony is subdued to a hushed murmur, almost peaceful.

You're humming a little tune under your breath, the melody weaving through your thoughts like a comforting friend. The Gryffindor common room waits for you at the end of this journey, a sanctuary filled with laughter and warmth. You can already see James' eyes lighting up as he recounts his latest Quidditch manoeuvre, Sirius' infectious laugh bouncing off the ancient walls, and Remus' soft smile as he listens, content.

But before you reach the familiar portrait of the Fat Lady, you sense a change in the air, a shift that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. A presence, unseen but palpable, looms behind you, the slow, deliberate footsteps growing louder.

You stop, your heart pounding against your ribcage, and look over your shoulder.

There, standing tall and menacing, is Amycus Carrow. He's a seventh-year Slytherin, known not for academic prowess or sporting achievement, but for the cruelty that seems to radiate from him like a dark aura. His eyes are cold, devoid of empathy, and his lips curl into a sneer that sends shivers down your spine.

"Well, well," he drawls, his voice slithering through the corridor like a serpent stalking its prey. "If it isn't the Gryffindor girl who plays the perfect damsel in distress."

His footsteps draw closer, deliberate and menacing, blocking your path to freedom. Your heart pounds in your chest, a rabbit caught in a snare. He shouldn't know this. Only the boys have seen you walk, and you trust them implicitly—they wouldn't betray you.

You keep your face smooth, knowing that any sign of fear will only fuel his sadistic pleasure. "Out of my way, Carrow."

He doesn't move. Instead, he steps closer, a dark cloud casting shadow over your world. His hand twitches at his side, and you notice the wand loosely held between his fingers. The air around him feels charged, like a storm ready to break. "I've been hearing rumours. Interesting ones. That our little Gryffindor here can stand up just fine. Walk, even."

You swallow hard, a knot forming in your stomach. "I don't know what you've heard, but it's none of your business."

Carrow's smirk widens, and he twirls his wand lazily between his fingers. "Oh, I think it is my business. I don't like liars or people pretending to be something they're not. So why don't we find out the truth?"

You grip the armrests of your wheelchair, feeling the tension build in your body. You've dealt with people like him before—those who don't understand or care about the complexities of disability and see it as something to challenge. But this feels different. More dangerous.

"Let's see what happens when I remove the chair from under you," Carrow proposes, a sly grin creeping onto his face. "Perhaps your legs will remember their purpose."

Suddenly, the sensation of being lifted from the ground fills your senses. It's not right. Your body is still, yet it feels as if invisible hands are tugging at your limbs, pulling you upward. Panic seizes you, and your fingers dig into the armrests, knuckles white with strain.

"Stop!" you shout, your voice echoing off the stone walls. "You have no idea what you're doing!"

"Oh, but I think I do," Carrow retorts, the corners of his mouth twisting into a cruel smile. "I'm testing the validity of your claim. We'll see if the 'crippled' Gryffindor is as helpless as she says."

The pressure increases, insistent, and you feel your body rise ever so slightly from the chair. Your legs dangle uselessly, a stark reminder of their betrayal. You will yourself to remain calm, to think, but fear is a wildfire, spreading through your veins, consuming all rational thought.

Then you hear it—a sound that pierces through your terror. Voices, familiar and strong.

"Put her down."

It's Sirius's voice, sharp as a blade, cutting through the haze of your fear. You twist your head towards the sound, and for a moment, your heart dares to hope. There, just steps away, stand James, Remus, and Sirius, their faces twisted in anger, their wands raised and ready.

Carrow seems taken aback by the sudden interruption, his grip on your arm faltering ever so slightly. But he recovers quickly, his sneer returning as he keeps his wand trained on you. He tilts his head, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Well, well, what have we here? The brave Gryffindors come to play? I was just seeing if your little pet here is as helpless as she seems."

James is the first to move, stepping forward. His face is a mask of fury, but his voice remains steady, laced with an authority that belies his age. "Put her down, Carrow. Now."

Sirius follows suit, wand already drawn, pointed directly at the older boy. The threat in his eyes is as palpable as the magic crackling at his fingertips. "Touch her again, and you won't be walking for a long time."

Carrow's wand wavers ever so slightly, the beginnings of uncertainty creeping into the edges of his resolve. He glances from James to Sirius, then back to you, clearly weighing the risks of pressing on.

Then Remus steps up, placing himself between you and Carrow, his usual calm demeanour hardened by the situation unfolding before them. His voice cuts through the tense silence, carrying a note of danger seldom heard from the quiet Marauder. "If you want to hurt her, you'll have to get through us first."

Carrow's eyes flicker between the three of them, his grip on his wand flexing. There's a change in him, a falter that speaks more of caution than bravado. He's outnumbered, outflanked by their united front.

Before of your floating form, they stand like sentinels, each bristling with an energy that pulsates through the room. Their faces are masks of determination, hard lines and narrowed eyes speaking volumes of their readiness to defend. The air shimmers with tension, and for a moment, it seems that Carrow might push back against the tide rising against him.

Then, abruptly, the levitation spell is released, and you're falling. A gasp escapes your lips as you land heavily back in your chair, jarring your already bruised body. Carrow's wand lowers, the sneer on his face deepening into something even more unpleasant.

"Very well," he says, his voice dripping with disdain. "Keep your secrets for now. But don't think the others won't start asking questions about what you're hiding."

James steps forward, wand raised higher, his stance unyielding. There's a new hardness in his eyes, a promise of action should Carrow overstep his bounds. "Leave, Carrow. Before I make you."

Carrow's lip curls into a sneer, but he remains silent, weighing his options. He casts one last glance at you, a look that speaks volumes of unfinished business, before turning on his heel and marching down the corridor. His footsteps echo off the stone walls, a fading reminder of the threat he poses.

As soon as Carrow is out of sight, you release a shaky breath you didn't know you were holding, fingers still clenching the armrests with white-knuckled force. The boys are instantly at your side—Sirius drops to his knees in front of you, hands resting lightly on your own, while James and Remus hover nearby, their concern etched into every line of their tense bodies.

"Are you all right?" Sirius's inquiry is softer now, though the anger hasn't entirely left his voice.

You give a small nod, even as your pulse continues to race. "Yes, I'm fine. He didn't... he didn't harm me."

James's fingers tighten around yours, offering silent reassurance. "We should've hexed him on the spot. The nerve of him—"

A pause hangs in the air, long and heavy, before Remus speaks again. His hand remains steady on your shoulder, but there's a flicker behind his normally calm eyes—a hint of the storm raging beneath the surface. "If he so much as looks at you wrong, we'll deal with him."

"I could have handled it," you insist, your voice barely above a whisper. You force a smile, but it wavers, unconvincing. "I just didn't want to... escalate things."

Sirius shakes his head, his hands still resting on your shoulders as if to shield you from the world outside this quiet corner. "You shouldn't be dealing with this alone, Y/N," he says, voice rough with unspoken emotion. "We're here. We've got your back, always."

James leans forward, his forehead pressing against yours for a moment—a silent promise of solidarity. His breath is warm and steady against your skin, a stark contrast to the chill that has settled in your bones. "No one has the right to treat you like that," he whispers fervently, his words laced with an anger not directed at you, but fiercely protective of you. "Especially not some bloody Slytherin."

Your lip worries between your teeth, and you glance at the three men who have formed a protective barrier around you. In their eyes, you see not only concern but also a fierce determination to keep you safe. "I didn't think it would be this bad," you admit, voice barely a whisper. "I didn't tell anyone I could walk."

Remus's gaze softens even as his brow furrows deeper. "We didn't breathe a word of it either," he assures you, his tone gentle yet firm. "Carrow must have suspected or deduced it on his own. It doesn't matter now. He won't get another chance to harm you."

Sirius rises from his chair, crossing the room in long strides until he stands before you. His hand lifts, hovering for a moment before finally settling on your cheek—a touch as light as a feather yet grounding in its familiarity. "You don't owe anyone an explanation," he says, his voice a low rumble that reverberates with the promise of protection. "Especially not him."

A lump forms in your throat, but you manage to choke out a response. "I just... I didn't want anyone to think I was pretending."

James's lips press against the top of your head, his voice a low rumble that resonates with the steadiness you've come to associate with him. "No one who matters would think that. You're not pretending. You're just being you, and that's all we could ever ask for."

Sirius nods, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder, a silent pledge of solidarity. Remus continues to rub soothing circles into your back, his touch a grounding presence amid the tempest of your thoughts.

They are here—standing guard, standing with you, ready to face whatever may come. With them, you know you won't have to face it alone.

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

tagged by @mkdecimation this week (thank you <3)

got some more vampire au goodies for this week just in time for the temperature dropping here and the leaves changing color, it's very much spooky season for me already.

warnings for blood and gore descriptions, but mostly its just Price waxing poetic about his conflicted feelings over his hot vampire gf

It's not the first time he’s seen her in this state. Covered in blood that isn't her own, drenched to the point her clothes are a slick oil spill of black, the fibers so steeped in it they reflect the light. Her mouth drips red, crimson pouring down her chin. It’s always a startling realization to see her in her glory, a beast with prey, rending flesh from bone. The metallic tang of copper hits his nostrils and oozes down the back of his throat. It’s a stench he knows all too well, and not just because he’s involved with a vampire. It's a scent he carries with him. His hippocampus storing it. A reminder linked to memory, to emotion. Fear. Danger… The way she moans. He shakes his head, clearing the thoughts. Refocusing. 

The way she feeds in seclusion, hidden in the dark— this isn’t the way she treats him. There’s no romance here. The way she drinks from him is an act of bonding. Something tender, draped in all of the seductive elegance Rory had always carried with her. This— this is predatory. Violent. Cruel and crude as she satiates her most base need: to eat, to perpetuate her life. Even her undead one still requires sustenance.

That doesn't stop the disgust that burrows deep within him on a level he doesn’t quite understand. That primordial fear of the things in the shadows that go unseen, the reason why man sought fire in the dark. He’s learned not to let his emotions get the better of him when it matters, not to fall prey to instincts that went against his training, but witnessing the woman he loves turn into the very thing that parents have been checking under the bed and in closets for for centuries still needles in his brain.

She’s the top of the food chain, and he knows it.

The complete lack of humanity in her as she feeds on their enemies is a grotesque thing to witness. She had always been cold when it came to her kills, resolute with a trigger, never questioning her motivation to take a shot. Now, the weapon was removed from the equation. This was all just her. No switch flipped or order given. She was in her natural setting. 

Her long, sharp fangs descend and they don’t merely puncture small wounds into the artery to drink. Instead, she rips the layers of skin away with the frenzied delight of a child and a gift’s wrapping paper on Christmas morning. Giving into whatever it was that sustained her, whether disease or curse, he couldn’t be sure. No one did. It was just the truth of things. 

John lingers just out of sight, in the shadows watching, feeling like a voyeur as she grips at this stranger's dark hair, clawing at his scalp as she forces their head back and latches on with the same persistence as a leech. Her lips (the same one he’s fantasized about being on him) wrap around the throbbing pulse point, flooding her throat with their essence. Bleeding them like a stuck pig. Draining them until they're little more than a husk— as dry as the bloody desert. 

He grimaces at the spectacle. The body tossed away from her when done. Discarding the trash. A lesser life form that’s only use is to be fed upon after being a bullet sponge, fodder for some piece of filth they’ve been sent in to deal with.

Her hand drags over her lips as she smacks them and her tongue dips over plump lips, drenched in the color of life while she remains so plainly dead. Pale, pallid. Forever perfect like one of those stone angels guarding over tombs in a cemetery. 

A quiet groan of sated pleasure echoes in the silent room as she stands there, bodies strewn around her, and his breath hitches. He’s caught only the last dregs of her feast, her plate finally cleared. It’s clear Rory has a near insatiable hunger, an unquenchable thirst that constantly drives her, and he can only imagine the sheer will it must take her not to devour an entire base of soldiers when she’s stationed at one. She could do so far too easily. How she hasn’t lost control and torn his throat out yet, he can only imagine. The indomitable strength she carries was something he always recognized in her, it had never been more apparent than in this moment. She glances over her shoulder and the swirling depths of scarlet in her irises regard him as if he’s caught her in a lie, a secret, something that was never meant to be divulged to him. But there's no judgment in his stare, just the same unreadable gaze of a man who’s seen and done monstrous things-– 

Who was he to cast the first stone, after all?

tagging the cod list folks [opt in/out]

@taciturntraveller @writeforfandoms @imagoddamnonionmason @chadillacboseman @efingart

@alypink @roofgeese @harmonyowl @g0dspeeed @simplegenius042

@voidika @strangefable @direwombat @la-grosse-patate @josephseedismyfather

@statichvm @clicheantagonist @tommyarashikage @aceghosts @inafieldofdaisies

@raresvtm @cloudofbutterflies92 @justasmolbard @finding-comfort-in-rain

@imogenkol @cassietrn @carlosoliveiraa @confidentandgood

[bucktommyfanfic]

A list of BuckTommy fics posted on April 6, 2024

These fics are carefully read through to ensure that they are BuckTommy positive. Any listed works do not feature character/ship bashing (apart from the Buckley parents or Gerrard, who do not count). These fics may feature other mature or triggering content, so please read author tags and warnings carefully and don't forget to leave some love!

Fic Recs - Navigation Page – Send a Message

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at the station house table by kitthekazoo Oneshot | General | 464

Buck tells the crew about his boyfriend.

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Buck, Realized by @some-little-infamy Oneshot | Teen | 3308

A lot can change from a front door to a kitchen island.

Buck is about to realize that, and a whole lot more.

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'Deed I Do by @cauldronoflove Oneshot | General | 2334

Her hand flattens between his shoulderblades, he doesn't even think she realizes she's doing it, splinting him. The gentle application of pressure to relieve the strain and alleviate some of the pain.

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don't need to run the yellow by Alidravana Oneshot | Teen | 1196

“Buck?!”

The table cloths were that classic picnic stripe, bright red and white criss-cross, both matching and clashing with the brightly coloured dining plates that adorned their table.

A simple Margherita pizza for two following the best breadsticks that he had ever eaten, and now the two of them were debating dessert, Buck wondering if he had the courage to suggest that they actually split something. Like a real date.

But then a familiar voice pierced through the restaurant saying his name, and his name, which normally sounded so right coming out of that person’s mouth, suddenly had Buck feeling small.

He wasn’t ready for this.

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don't you worry none, just take it like it comes by Anonymous Oneshot | Teen | 789

When Buck accidentally leaves something in Tommy's car, it prompts Buck's coming out and his family seeing him love-struck in a way they've never seen before.

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Good with Your Mouth by wilddragonflying Oneshot | Explicit | 4176

Buck's in his first relationship with a man, and he's ready to learn about all the differences that entails.

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i'm not saying never by @jennypigalle Oneshot | Teen | 1338

“Do you wanna come up?”

“Putting out on a first date?” Tommy asks, and it could be suggestive, could be teasing, and Buck could bristle at the implications, but instead all it is is soft and affectionate, and he knows, Buck knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that sex is only going to happen if he insists on it.

Or, some moments after their first date

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I've had other lips, I've sailed a thousand ships (but no matter where I go you're the one for me, baby.) by @livelaughbuck Oneshot | Explicit | 5083

When it comes to dating Tommy, there are a lot of firsts Buck experiences. First kiss, first date, first boyfriend. He's dated in the past, of course he has, but this is different. Something new and unexpected. Something he wants to get right.

A collection of firsts.

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I've yet to be the king of my castle by elizaria Oneshot | Teen | 1320

Tommy enjoyed kissing Evan, too bad work came between. Good thing there's a date coming up because that stunned adorable look with those soft lips? Tommy just wants a big bite of that.

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Illumination by @les-pompiers118 Oneshot | Not Rated | 1261

Hen notices that Buck is a little distracted during their shift. Buck decides she's just the person to confide in about what happened at his loft last night. A little coda ficlet for 7x04 ("Buck, Bothered and Bewildered").

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it's a strange way of saying that i know (i'm supposed to love you) by @babyboybuckley Oneshot | Not Rated | 1699

Buck couldn’t help the small smile that crept across his face at seeing Tommy. He still couldn’t believe he’d acted like such a teenager a few weeks ago, and he felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude to Maddie in that moment for figuratively slapping some sense into him. Buck paused in the middle of the engine bay, letting the sense of comfort and home just wash over him, and he must have blinked for a moment too long because when he opened his eyes, Tommy was suddenly in front of him.

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just kiss me slowly by @capseycartwright Oneshot | General | 1026

tommy does this thing, when he kisses buck.

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Like a lightning bolt, your heart will glow by @aesthetictarlos Oneshot | General | 2204

Tommy walked out the front door ten minutes ago and Buck's still rooted to the spot, leaning against the kitchen island. His lips are still tingling from Tommy's soft kiss, and if he closes his eyes, he swears he can feel the phantom of Tommy's fingers tilting his chin up. Tommy– Tommy kissed him, and Buck has had his fair amount of kisses but he's pretty sure no one has ever kissed him with such reverence and tenderness before. It was brief and chaste, barely-there, but ignited something in his chest, a fire he hasn't felt in a while, maybe ever. - Or, the one where Buck's finally free and goes on a date with Tommy.

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Like Butterflies With Metal Wings, Tearing Me Up At The Seams (Letting All This Light Inside) by olistark (daxamsquarry) Oneshot | General | 604

Buck realizes that when walls come down, light comes in.

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like real people do by yourcatfishfriend Oneshot | Teen | 1016

Buck, after a kiss.

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My Forever by Bucksloverboy Oneshot | General | 1073

Moments where Buck realize that Tommy is his forever.

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Nightcap by @inell Oneshot | Explicit | 4366

After their first date goes a bit astray, Buck invites Tommy to his loft for a nightcap.

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No story I could weave would have ended like this by @daddy-kinard Oneshot | Explicit | 2410

“Interesting place for someone to get their mouth on you.”

Chimney scrunches his face in confusion, and it takes even Buck himself a moment to understand the dawning realization in Hen’s eyes. Because Buck’s tall and broad, and a bruise sucked into the space where the base of his neck meets the curve of his shoulder doesn’t make sense for any of the girls Buck’s previously hooked up with. Doesn’t make sense unless the person that gave him that bruise was behind him, tall enough for their head to fit over Buck’s shoulder.

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not a thing, but the lack thereof by @tiltingheartand Oneshot | General | 658

Buck’s beer is still cold.

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Quell My Soaring Thoughts by finbish Oneshot | Teen | 1129

Buck knows he’s falling in love with Tommy, but he won’t allow himself to admit it.

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Ready or Not by lwcast Oneshot | Teen | 1715

Tommy doesn’t know Buck isn’t out.

He stops by the 118 to surprise him.

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rebirth by @renecdote Oneshot | General | 752

“Bisexual,” he says aloud, just to hear himself say it, to taste the way it feels on his tongue not just as a word but as an identity. It feels like an exhalation, trembling at the edges but not just with fear, or excitement, but with relief. He thinks of that first breath of air when his head came above water in the tsunami, he thinks of being struck by lightning, he thinks of stepping into Station 118 for the first time, he thinks of catching the Jeep keys Maddie tossed him in the dark of a Hershey street all those years ago. Buck knows what it is like to be reborn, but he has never had a kiss make him feel like this before.

Buck introspection, post 7x04.

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set ourselves free by @filet-o-feelings Oneshot | General | 785

That was new. He thinks so, anyway. He may have to examine some prior interactions with other men. Has he been flirting with Tommy this whole time? Has he ever flirted with another man? He tries hard not to think about Eddie as he examines this.

This isn’t about Eddie. Hell, this isn’t even about Tommy, not really.

This is about Buck. Evan Buckley, who is currently realizing some things about himself that he’d never considered before, but they’re making a hell of a lot of sense.

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Step 1: Slow, Steady Hands by TrustDivineChaos Oneshot | Explicit | 1627

After spending the day together, Buck invites Tommy back to his place…even though the butterflies in his stomach are making it hard for him to take their relationship to the next level.

(Takes place after they’ve had at least a couple dates together; i.e. this is not the outcome of the “Saturday” mentioned in episode 7x04)

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stick with me baby, i'm the fella you came in with by @kirkaut Oneshot | Teen | 1989

It takes him a few tries and most of the date to get the words out.

It's all very start-stop and stilted, but they just keep tangling on his tongue or catching behind his teeth before he can form an actual sentence.

Tommy doesn't push, though. Tommy waits him out, all patience and understanding and yeah, maybe a little bit amused. But he doesn't push, so Buck is eventually able to get it out all on his own.

“I've, uh, I've never.” He stops, and swallows dryly. “I've never…done this before?”

---

Buck and Tommy go on that date. Buck does his best not to 'Buck it up.'

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Teach Me New Things by @jesuisici33 Oneshot | Explicit | 1899

“Found it,” Tommy sounds so smug. His fingers keep rubbing that one spot inside Buck. That one small part of his mind that still has the capacity to think is now understanding all those women he’s been with when they kept demanding right there, more, and don’t stop.

“Fuuuuck! God, holy shit, fuck!” Buck moans. “Is that-is that my G-spot?”

“You mean your prostate?” A chuckle escapes Tommy’s lips. Buck loves the sound of Tommy’s laugh. Would want to hear him laugh at Buck like that if it meant he kept touching Buck right there for the rest of his life. “You like it?”

“More. Don’t stop, keep going,” Buck can only respond. He’s pretty sure there’s drool coming out of his mouth. He’s too out of it to care.

Or, bucktommy smut, because we deserve it

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third time's the charm by @gregorygerwitz Oneshot | General | 1594

Buck and Tommy's first date takes three tries to get it right. After the first two attempts result in an awkward double date that only two of them knew the details of, and a three year old giggling at an animated movie every five minutes, Tommy finally figures out the perfect solution.

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To Be Free by heartofash Multichapter | Teen | 5184

“It's like I’ve been looking for something I didn’t even know was missing but then-then it was there right in front me and it felt so right and I just kinda went-” Buck’s voice breaks “oh.” - Picking up directly after 7x04, Buck comes out to his family.

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What Do I Do? by Sonayesul Oneshot | General | 1789

Buck comes to Maddie after his kiss with Tommy, worried he's going to mess it all up. He's never dated a man before, what if it's different than being with a woman? Maddie talks it out.

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when we were younger, we didn't how it would be by xhaoticghost Oneshot | Not Rated | 2409

"Tommy is strong and masculine. He's bigger and taller than Buck, and although not by much, it's enough that Buck has to strain his neck and push his face upward just a bit when Tommy leans close to him. His stubble scratches against Buck's chin when he kisses him."

-

Buck kissed a man. Well, he was kissed by a man. Buck was kissed by Tommy Kinard. Buck is fine about that, he's not freaking out. Not at all. (Thankfully, he knows someone he can call for help.)

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You Need To Calm Down by StarrySummers04 Oneshot | Teen | 1383

Buck's world had been turned upside down when Tommy kissed him and he didn't know what to do so why not call TK Strand, the firefighter turned paramedic that he met once for advice?

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[romanticatheartt]

"Elain is hurting two men at the same time😒☹️"

😐😐😐

Good God… Once again another man's action is being ignored and we blame the woman. No, Elain isn't hurting anyone, she's actually the hurtee here… Idk if it's a word or not lol. Azriel is the one who's hurting 2 people here, Lucien and Elain. He's being selfish and arrogant, having a one-sided beef with a person who doesn't even acknowledge his existence. He's hurting Lucien, all the while he knows and has grown up with the concept of mating bond. He's claiming a woman who doesn't like to be claimed and be treated as an object.

And Elain? Elain is hurting. She's still having a hard time accepting that she's now a fae and not a human, she's trying to ignore it as best as she can. So accepting or even acknowledging Lucien would mean she has moved on and is becoming agreeable to her situation. And Azriel, who Feyre has described him looking like a human around Elain, with his round ears and his shadow's recoiling from Elain, makes her feel more at ease. She's taking refuge in Azriel's presence to feel as close as she's able, to the normality she knows. And what a refuge he was, calling her "a mistake" several times and one time to her face and leaving her alone without an explanation.

And yes Lucien might be (definitely is) hurting from Elain's actions but it's all a reaction to his biological, his shared bond with her. He's not emotionally attachd to her. Lucien also lost a loved one who he thought might be his mate. He's been living for centuries with the idea of his mate being dead, so he didn't expect to have one at all. He's probably cautious around this bond as much as Elain because accepting her means letting the idea of his former lover go. But Lucien is one step ahead of Elain. While she's determined to ignore this bond and never try anything with him (for now), Lucien is ready to take action and try (as long as she agrees). So he would come to see her when he's invited, bring her gifts and wait… he waits, keeps his distance, and doesn't demand anything. He never put a claim on her and never disrespected her boundaries. Now do you think this male, would ever be mad at Elain for perusing another male?

We see Rhysand, knowing Feyre is his mate and he still was ready to let her go. He would let her be as long as he knew she was happy and she was loved. He would see her being married to the love of her life, even if he's not that person. The same goes with Lucien. He won't be mad at Elain for trying with another person, on the contrary, he would let her. But he will be mad at Azriel for his behaviour toward Elain, for staking a claim on her, for knowing she's a mated woman and he still perused her and disrespected the bond Azriel himself put in such high regard. He will be mad at him for speaking for Elain and thinking he knows what's good for her and what is not without asking or consulting her.

So you see Elain is not the problem here, never was. But most of the fandoms would rather take the male's side and pamper him because of their low standards for the male characters. All the while, the female character should never feel emotional, be angry, confused or selfish. She should be a perfect doll for the male character, being considered, selfless and always being on her best behaviour.

Just like how society behave toward women...

[eri-pl]

Silm reread 13: Maeglin (The 13 is a fitting number)

TW, CW, all kinds of warnings: Eol is in this part. And Maeglin. So, you know. All that stuff will be mentioned. And some discussion of what Maeglin's plans were.

Aredhel wants to leave, Turgon's reply is interesting. It's not "my heart", but "my reason objects" which a) is a rare phrasing (but makes sense here) b) it turns out that Turgon does have a functioning reason. Also, he says it will end badly for both of them. Huh. I have a feeling that turgon does not very well distinguish between foresight and reasoning.

Aredhel feels as if he was trying to command her and gets upset. I don't think he is. I think Turgon is more worried about his secrets, than sexist and trying to command her, because he is the brother. He says it, even. The problem is people knowing the city's location going out.

The only remotely patronizing thing he says is "there are dangers the princess doesn't know about". But I don't feel like his whole attitude towards Aredhel is patronizing.

Thingol hates the sons of Feanor so much he doesn't let their friends in, or at least people who are visiting them. Which… it's after he learned about Alqualonde, right? It makes a lot of sense.

So Aredhel goes through the spider-country. I knew it will appear somewhere. Her "bodyguards" are lost and have to run away, but she's fine and competent and goes to C&C's home but they're not home.

Also, only on this reread I realized, how far those journeys are. Also, elven timescales. C&C are chillin with the 3rd C on a vacation and it lasts over a year. Aredhel gets bored, wanders into Nan Elmoth and :(

So, Nan Elmoth. Enchanted by Melian long ago, but now dark, the darkest forest. I did talk about Melian being Melkor-aligned, haven't I? (Not as in: evil. As in "she was close to him conceptually by "birth" but did not join the rebellion.) This is just my hc, but I felt like mentioning it.

So, Eol. Eol is very dark too and kind of sus. He doesn't like Doriath, he fled when Melian did the Girdle (why?), he loved shadow. He is a goth and this is kind of sus. He's also pals with Dwarves (who were evil in the early Legendarium). This in itself is not evil, but feels like a foreshadowing nonetheless. Also, I think no matter his morality, in each case he would be much more likely to use poison than the Noldor were. (Maybe non-lethal poison, if he was a nicer person). Also, he invents cool black goth!mithril galvorn. And he made the two coolest swords in the Legendarium, but this will be said later.

Also, he blames the Noldor fot Morgoth's return (unjustly) and for some other things, as we see later (justly).

Also, the narrative feels the need to explicitely tell us that he is not a Dwarf, but a noble Elf. Also he is sad but handsome and has darkvision. Which is cool.

What is not cool starts here. He sees Aredhel being pretty and wants her so he magics her into not being able to leave the forest and into wandering into his house, where he invites her in.

And they get married. In circumstances not elaborated about, but even if she did fall in love, the gps-jamming trick was very not ok as a way to flirt. And yes, he explicitely did it because he wanted her.

"Nobody claims the marriage was non-consensual" says the narrative. which very much reads as Pengolodh going "I will not claim it for lack of proof, but I think it". Anyway, ok, let's take it at face value, she fell in love, ok, fine, he was handsome and had cool swords, I get it.

Aaaand as her husband he ordered Aredhel to not go in sunlight, and to not meet the sons of Feanor or even any other Noldor. this guy really needs a course on relationships. (To be honest to Eol, his parents are never mentioned and such stuff often is generational, so his fault might have been less that it feels. But still. I want to punch him.)

Maeglin. He is really good at reading people's minds, and at commanding people. Also, he's tall, dark-eyed, dark-haired, pale and Noldor-shaped. Tl;dr: he is really handsome.

Dad takes him to visit the Dwarves and Maeglin learns stuff. Mom tells him about the Noldor and Maeglin wants to meet Turgon and the Feanorians. Eol rants at him, partially reasonable (they mourdered our close kin and stole are lands), partially not (you are my son, so you will do as I say or I will bind you).

Ugh. his idea of a family. I'm pretty sure he had some orcs in the line, or at least some escaped thralls with a lot of emotional damage. This sounds like Angband logic.

Maeglin doesn't seem to love his father either: he wants to leave with Aredhel, because he learned all that he could from Eol (and the Dwarves), so what use in staying. I don't blame him. So they leave.

C&C don't like Eol (not surprising with his attitude towards the Noldor) and Curufin is said to be hasty (before it was Caranthir. I guess they both are?)

OK, I don't get it. Curufin disses Eol, but still he does tell him all he needs to know to find Aredhel (who is his friend, the book said, or at least Celegorm's). I guess this is the hasty personality at work.

Please, do not be like Curufin. when a suspicious / unknown person asks you about your friend's wherabouts, shut up, and check with your friend first. (Curufin did not have a phone, but still, he could have shut up.)

Also, Curufin, out of all people, gives Eol a sort-of-prophecy! With all the "my heart is telling me". Which checks out later.

"I can't kill you because the laws of the Eldar" — well, it is before Doriath, so maybe he still cares? Or maybe it's just "Maedhros would be mad at me".

Eol is good at sneaking, I suppose, but the guards of Gondolin are better at guarding. They catch him and, because he says that he's Aredhel's husband, they do not kill him against the king's explicit orders on what to do with tresspassers. I have no idea what to make of this whole situation (not logically, logically it makes sense. But narratively, thematically.)

Eol sees the city and is amazed, and gets even angrier and more hateful at the Noldor. It reminds me of something. "you have a lot of cool stuff, I hate you even more" is rthe exact same reaction as (canonically) Melkor has after his release from Mandos. and Turgon, just like Manwe, is clueless not reading people's minds and it wouldn't be posiible in this case anyway. And is kind and gives him the benefit of doubt.

Eol refuses to shake his hand, like an upset preschooler, and disses Turgon. He starts very reasonably (this is our land, you are proud and did a lot wring, also I don't care about your city's secrets), but then he gets on the sexism again. And heavily.

His argument is "I will take my son, but if you as the brother claim Aredhel, I am ok with this". Seriously. What. Where did you learn it? Dwarves? Are Dwarves this awful? Angband thralls? Orcs?

Also, he tries to kill Maeglin on the logic of "you can't keep what is mine", which (I am sorry to everyone who will feel offended on part of their blorbo) sounds like Feanor's attitude about the Silmarils. Or worse, depending how you read Feanor. Would Feanor rather see the Silmarils destroyed and noone getting them, or see them going to the Valar? This may need a poll. ;)

Aaand he curses Maeglin too. Idril has some kind of foresight and this curse makes Maeglin sus in her eyes.

Maeglin is going strainght to the top, he's important in the city, widely respected and appreciated by Turgon. He's got a circle of friends: people like metalworking gravitate towards him. He is in the city council, and does well and wisely. He is also a brave warrior and fights in the Unnumbered tears. And does very well. He is by far not a loser.

But. He is in love with Idril (happens, especially when you have emotional trauma falling in love is random and weird and not always with the best people for you). And he never talks to anyone about it. Which is understandable with his background, but also very unhealthy. It kills him from the inside.

Idril (who is apparently also really good at osanwe) notices his love for her and is freaked out. Which is fine on both sides. Not "fine" as "pleasant" but as "no blame here". Emotional issues often lead to someone's emotions "leaking out" and being uncomfortable to be around without any actual bounduary-crossing. Just the vibe. And Elves have this much more, they have semi-telepathy! Also, Idril is under no obligation to love him back, and she does treat him politely, so no blame here either.

It will get worse, of course. On his side. But now I think it's not. also, I need English quotes.

"he loved the beauty of Idril and desired her, without hope" — this sounds as if he accepted the fact that she won't love him. Which is the appropriate reaction. Probably the only Tolkien quote, where "without hope" is a positive. Well, semi-positive. If he had some hope (or at least'; was open to the possibility) of finding another love or learning to live single, things would maybe go better. Still, this sounds like acceptance to me.

BUT

"But as the years passed still Maeglin watched Idril, and waited, and his love turned to darkness in his heart." — waited for what???

The interpratations I can think of:

Pro-Maeglin:

waited for this feeling to pass

just generally waited, as in: "he grew and stuff happenned"

waited for something to happen even though it was not possible — it worked for Indis after all, and I'm sure he knew this story — but fully passively and with no plan to do anything creepy (which I think would be an ok reaction, maybe unwise but not bounduary-crossing)

Mixed:

this sentence and the "without hope" sentence came from two different sources (both in-world and when Cristopher Tolkien complied the silm) with different characterizations of pre-capture Maeglin

Negative:

he regained "hope" (inquotes because it's a very nasty kind of amdir in this case and doesn't deserve the word) and flirted with her despite her protests, he was a creep

was even worse a creep and waited for the opportunity to "wed" Idril his father's way or worse (not only deceit but force)

had no hope for wedding but waited for revenge "if I can't have her, I will kill her" AKA his father's way again

I have no idea what the intended meaning is in here.

The "darkness" may be anything from trauma (more unprocessed emotions), through hopelessness (if I can't have Idril, I can't have anything good and y life is meaningless) to outright premeditation for rape.

Meaglin is a very ambiguous character in the text. He will get worse, but he will get worse after close contact with Morgoth, so it isn't necessarily a good measure of his personality at this stage. But there isn't one clear reading of him, at least in the text itself.

(eol is …. not ambiguous, but very ambivalent. He's got a lot of common sense! His political opinions about the Noldor are not all correct, but many of them are very on-point and better said than Thingol's. But also he's awfully sexist and violent.)

Also, no mention of Anguirel. :(

And I would love to see a connection between his unrequited love, "darkness" and the sword. This needs some HCs one day. The feelings resonating with the black blade, making it more deadly and precise. The metal cooling the feelings, making them a dark, icy thing that cannot be talked about. definitely needs a hc or fic.

[wereh0gz]

Making myself sad thinking about ghost maria......