#and utterly failed his brother in the process

[vegaseatsass]

Just rewatched DFF ep 9 and I really do think this show is so beautifully meticulously artistically written, with themes and layers and so much thoughtful care. I trust wherever it leads, even if it doesn't lead to the places I want most in my heart (PerthNon vs. PheeTan revenge teams at crosshairs, culminating in a heartfelt brotherly reunion, lol if playfully grudging at how much they fucked up each other's plans despite having the same goals, and a Non who has moved on with someone who has life experiences similar enough to his to actually understand him, listen to him, and trust him. But most importantly A HEARTFELT BROTHERLY REUNION). It's just always fun to watch a show where you can expect to be surprised, you can expect to be angry at the characters, you can expect to not get what you want, and you can still expect to appreciate the writing and enjoy the experience. Love to let the story seduce me you see

[writerfromthestars]

DP X DC PROMPT: DANNY'S AN ASSASSIN?!

So Danny gets adopted by the Waynes somehow.

Now, he's a teenage vigilante, he knows all the signs. And he can clearly tell that Damian and Tim are sneaking out under the cover of night to fight crime as Robin and Red Robin.

While ordinarily this would lead to the connection between the Waynes being Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, and various other assorted vigilantes, that's not what we're here for, so instead, what happens is that Danny thinks that his two absolutely normal little brothers are sneaking out, meeting strange people dressed in spandex and Kevlar on rooftops, and punching criminals.

He has no issue with this.

The only issue he has is that Tim and Damian are inexperienced, I mean, Damian's twelve or something like that, he can't have been Robin for long. He's not particularly willing to get back into heroism himself, though, so this leads to him casually dropping random tidbits of information that only an ex-vigilante/hero/assassin/other part of the caped community, would know into regular conversation.

Like, if Tim's using bandages on his hand, Danny will suddenly drop the fact that that particular brand is very absorbent and works really well to take care of large, bloody wounds, like bullet holes in important places.

If Damian's reading a book about different knives, and their creation processes (because be real, he totally would) Danny will read over his shoulder a bit and then just point out a knife that would particularly good for stabbing someone in the stomach, or slitting someone's throat. (he knows this because of a. his rogues trying to kill him and b. Dan likes sharp things.)

The three of them are watching some superhero movie or something, and Danny goes on a twelve-minute rant about how the fight scenes would never work that way.

Tim and Damian come to the conclusion that their new brother has been trained by the League of Assassins or something.

Here's the issue. Danny hasn't.

So Damian starts dropping little hints that he knows that Danny was part of the League, for example a reference to a technique that only a League member would know. Danny, who has been trained in hand-to-hand by Dan, who was trained by dead League assassins in the alternate timeline, knows the moves.

Danny is just happy that his baby brothers are taking his advice, and opening up to him too. Damian is even starting to talk about fighting with him, and he thinks that they might actually tell him about their nighttime activities soon.

Finally, the two confront him on it. And by that, I mean that like the emotionally constipated bats they are, they utterly fail in their interrogation because they can't just come out and say it out in the open.

Tim: so Danny, I noticed how you know a lot about fighting. and first aid, and stuff.

Damian: I have noticed this as well. Might I inquire as to where you gained these skills?

Danny just thinks that they have figured out his past as a vigilante and that they are worried about him being hurt.

Danny: Don't worry about it. I don't do that type of thing anymore.

Now that's a deflection if Tim's ever heard it.

Damian, digging for more information: I wish to know. Maybe I can learn from whoever it was that taught you?

Danny grimaces slightly before answering.

Danny: Trust me, kiddo, you don't wanna learn from the people who taught me this stuff. They squash you like a bug.

Tim and Damian take this as confirmation that Danny was involve in the League. Danny just means that pitting his rogue gallery, which consists of exclusively ghosts, against living boys would be unfair.

[muntitled]

𝐀 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥

Aegon Targaryen x Fem!reader

Summary: You were the only one who truly saw the tortured king. Not his mother, not his brother, and certainly not his wife.

Warning: Language, Infidelity, Humiliation, Toxicity, King Complex, Slight Angst, Smut (+18) Minors DNI, Canon typical Incest, Grinding, Forced orgasm, King Kink?, Dom/Sub Themes, Controlled Orgasm, Ownership Kink, Dub/Con, Groping, Humping, Pussy rubbing, Exhibition Kink

This isn't very good, I admit. I just needed to get it out of my head.

Despite your eye following the pathway of High Valyrian ink splashed on the weathered pages of your book, your brain takes forever to process the words.. It is a story you had enjoyed since the days of your wetnurse but now you are focused on the utter injustices occurring by the dinner table before you. You always found your nose nestled in a book throughout dinner, all save for this one.

The Queen mother is bent over her plate, forgetting her table manners in the vehemence of her passions, while Aemond assumes a hostile glare from his perch at the head of the table. Aegon sits slumped in between you and Helena, with his half lidded eyes so painfully tedious as he prods at his food, while these fake gods scold him from above.

"And to make matters impossibly worse, you failed to display even a shred of sympathy towards his condition-" Despite the nature of his mother's tone, it does not stop Aegon from rebutting where necessary, with a quick, sharpness on his tongue.

"This 'condition' you speak of, being the imprisonment of a wealthy merchant's stupid son." Aegon releases a short, winded chuckle, one that you share behind the concealment of your book. "Perhaps he shouldn't have gotten himself captured."

"He is apart of your battalion, Aegon- fighting your war-"

"I am not at war. As I sit here, I am not harbouring any ill feelings towards any party-"

Aemond interrupts, "All you think about is fucking and drinking-"

"Precisely brother!" Aegon proceeds to turn to his mother, with his hands splayed outwards he reiterates, "All I think about is fucking and drinking,"

A loud, unladylike snort escapes the confines of your throat which you attempt to sheath with a cough as you study the words in your book. Aemond rolls his eyes while Aegon throws a blatant smirk beside you- "See Mother! Now our dear cousin has fallen ill as a result of the animosity stirred by your incessant scolding!” Aegon’s voice is doused in sarcasm as he rubs his hand into your shoulder, “All because of your nagging, mother," Alicent’s eyes darken as her voice descends into caution "Aegon. Tomorrow you are to formally apologise to that Knight. He is a seasoned member of your Kingsguard-" The politics was becoming far too much on him. His grip has yet to leave your shoulder.

"Why the complete and utter fuck should I be pandering to my subjects?"

Aemond is the first to inject "Have you not a shred of Diplomacy, you fucking imbecile?" You eye Aemond from above your book, and you cannot begin to imagine the younger brother would ever inject himself into Aegon's business, no reason except perhaps, jealousy?

Aegon promptly ignores Aegon, and, with his eyes on Alicent, he leans over the table and whispers:

"If Rhaenyra wishes to have the crown, she may gladly take it-"

"AEGON!" The queen's thunderous voice settles over the table like a tempest, injecting all those present with a sharp, instinctive flinch, all except Aegon, who remains lax and unaffected by her outburst, only fueling the Queen's anger to first born tenfold.

"I cannot rely on you for anything, Aegon, NOTHING! For a mother to be so utterly embarrassed by her son- her eldest son," there is venom in her incredulity, one that has your brows curving as you send a sympathetic gaze at the Usurper. You lower your novel and lean slightly closer to the battlefield that has befallen the dinner table. Aegon’s hand drops from your shoulder, landing in your lap. You clasp his trembling hand in both of yours.

How a simple visit to see your cousins in King's Landing had turned into a public execution of Aegon's dignity, is utterly beyond you. You decide that you simply will not allow it, you cannot allow it, and solidarity is all you hope Aegon feels radiating from your clasped hands under the table.. You look up at him, thinking you might look up to find anguish in Aegon's eyes, but all you find there is a sly, almost secretive smirk dancing along his visage.

"You govern this country like a child-" Aemond begins but you're quick to snip back,

"Perhaps we should be mindful, cousin of the fact that Aegon still is a child. He is but 20 years in age!" You exclaim, with your own incredulity coating your laughter, "Aegon's destiny was pre-written when you were barely able to wipe your own shit, Cousin." Aegon fails to conceal his crass bought of laughter.

"I've no time for this," Alicent says, pushing herself out of her chair before rising in silent anger, "Helena, come," she commands before leading a slightly aloof Helena out the dining hall without another word. Helena mumbles something about broken unions in iron castings before disappearing.

The silence is deafening as Aemond's one eye studies the two of you - he is not able to see your hand underneath the table, you don’t think…

"Before you think about fucking our cousin, at least think about fucking your wife." Aemond announces, to an amused Aegon who keeps his amused gaze lowered to the table. It is then that Aegon squeezes your hand, still seated on your lap. His fingers encircle yours in what you initially deduce is acknowledgement of your solidarity, but what you quickly realise is something much more sinister.

"I cannot say I will heed your counsel, brother," It is then that Aegon grabs ahold of your hand, guiding you until your palm is cupping his hardened cock. "But you can trust that your council is solemnly heard."

Aemond watches you from above the rim of his chalice as he empties the final traces of his wine before placing his chalice back on the table. His exit is a slow one, one that has your anticipation expanding and Aegon's patience waning. In all honesty, hearing your valiant defence to preserve his dignity raised an intense feeling of desire in Aegon. Even though Aegon's only feeling ever, always seemed to be desire.

"Come here," He says once Aemond footsteps have echoed away, "I need your mouth," Despite his command, Aegon is already leaning in with his hand cupping the back of your skull. Soon, all you can smell is him. All you can feel is him. All you can taste is the drunken and sunken taste of him.

His tongue forces its way into your mouth, ripping a fresh groan from inside you as he twirls you into his lap. He has you arrested on him, his front to your back, with your arse pressed on his crotch. His hand on your face cranes your neck backwards and forces his mouth on yours, promising that even if you wanted to free yourself, you may never be able to.

"I love how you see me," He whispers, never breaking away too far, in fear of you disappearing, "How utterly pleased I am with the version of myself I see living in your eyes," His words spill out of him and slip inside your mouth bridged by your shared saliva.

"He is not useless. He is not pitiful," Aegon breaks away from the kiss, to lay a palm on your cheek.

As one hand lovingly strokes the side of your face, Aegon’s other hand is ravenous, as it palms your sensitive breasts through the bodice of your dress.

"Thank you for not judging me," He all but whimpers as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He breathes you in until his hips attempt to grind into you like a touch starved adolescent boy, while he ventures under your soft skirts.

"You don't have to thank me, Aegon." Your hands reach backwards to cradle his head into the crook of neck just as Aegon's fingers reach around to hook into the seat of your underwear. You aren't nearly as aroused as him, but somehow that fact has Aegon spiralling even further into arousal. His eyes are squeezed shut as he leans into you, smelling you, while his fingers drift over your pussy, searching desperately for a reaction.

"It is very rare that I find myself wanting to give any woman pleasure," Aegon's admits, with a low, dense drawl. His actions steal the breath from your very lungs as you feel the first sign of wetness begin to coat your underwear. He is in utter awe when he feels it. Quickly descending into a level of pleasure that he was not even sure existed, "I fucking love your cunt," He murmurs in his desperate drunken haze, "I wish to play with it and taste it and fuck it until you’re barely able to speak-"

"God's, Aegon!" Your voice is hoarse and your cries reach the highest rafter of the dining hall. Despite your degenerate wails, Aegon does little to stop them, in fact he encourages them, as his fingers push your underwear aside.

"When did you get so fucking wet?" The warmth of his breath fans against your cheeks, as he presses his front against your behind, "Did I get you this wet?" He asks, before getting the strongest surge of arousal as he whispers, "Did your King get you this wet?"

All you are able to accomplish is a nod as your mind explodes with vibrant visions of your near release. Soon, you're moving your hips in tandem with Aegon's fingers squeezing sloppily at your clit before rubbing with vicious surety.

"Please-"

"Call me by my title," He whispers, completely stripped from his sensibilities. "Tell your King to make you come," Aegon's brain is filled with what he suspects is determination. He is determined to see the most lecherous parts of you crack, and have it done by his design. He rubs your cunt with furious passion while he pushes up from underneath you, utterly destroyed by the idea of having a monopolised control over the workings of your body.

"Fuck- please my King!" The ache between your legs is as warm and erratic as Aegon's hands. "Please let me cum-"

"Tis only I, who can get My Lady this wet and needy," He murmurs, quite literally to himself, as he pushes his hips against your arse.

"Only you, My King." You decide to humour him, seeking the quickest way to your release, "Only you can make me cum," Throughout his tirade, Aegon's other, unoccupied hand has reached around and clasped itself against your throat. He is violent in his actions, squeezing deliriously until your throat is vacuumed of all its air. It's an utterly depraved situation you have both found yourselves in.

Anyone could decide to walk in at any moment and Aegon affirms as much. "You're such a pretty little whore, making a mess on my fingers like this. Fuck, The servants could decide to walk through at any moment," His grip on your throat relaxes, allowing you gasp hungrily for air while the first spots of your organs threaten to surge through you.

"P-Please, My King-"

"What would they think if they find you humping my hand like such a needy, little whore?" He is rubbing rough circles against your cunt until finally, you're unable to resist teetering on the edge much longer. As your orgasm washes over you, and your body shudders above him, Aegon's own orgasm is triggered as he forces your hips further onto the seat of his pants.

"My Lord," your voice is shallow but a restless tremor settles on your limbs, "Have you no shame," you're partially jesting, as you try to come back from your previous delirium.

"I've already been branded a devil," He says, "There is no Grace left to fall from."

<3

© to @mphountitled on tumblr; do not repost

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Wingspan

Word count: 4.4k

Warnings: Minors denied. Don't want me to write the list of all shameful things I wrote under the cut

Because I've spent whole week with sick 2 years old child, managed to get sick as well and I'm deprived of Azriel because last two months I'm writing only Heal me and as soon as he appeared on scene, this invaded my mind.. Honestly too many reasons to write something silly ⁄⁠(⁠⁄⁠ ⁠⁄⁠•⁠⁄⁠-⁠⁄⁠•⁠⁄⁠ ⁠⁄⁠)⁠⁄

"Okay, guys. You know why we are here," I started. "At first I'd like to thank you that you voluntarily signed up as subjects for this research."

"We compare our pricks whole life. It's our pleasure that somebody finally took it seriously and wants to write a whole book about it," Cassian teased, laughing hard.

Rhysand was trying really hard to keep a straight face the whole time, but after Cassian's comment he was about to lose it, and Azriel standing in the dark corner rather disappeared in his shadows after this comment.

How did I even get into this situation? Well, I knew how. It all happened because I was a passionate researcher. Too passionate for my own good.

It all started with mated Archeron sisters and Mor who wouldn't stop debating about this thing of a correlation of wingspan with the size of Illyrian male's private parts. It picked up my interest and I searched the entire library to find out more info about it. Utterly failing in the process, there wasn't a single mention. There wasn't even a proper documentation of their wings alone. So I took it upon myself to collect necessary data to confirm or deny truth of this rumour. I briefly mentioned it to Rhys hoping he could help me find enough subjects for the research. Which he did in surprisingly short time. And as if it wasn't enough he and his brothers signed up, too.

"That part I will leave to you. I hope I can count on you to deliver accurate numbers. If you try to cheat I'll have your mates to do it properly," I laughed, but I meant every single word.

"I'm sure Nes would be all for it," Cassian grinned proudly.

"As if Feyre wouldn't," Rhysand lost it. I had to laugh. I was afraid it would turn into something awkward, but with these two it was impossible. They were like kids, turning everything into a funny game.

I met Rhysand under the mountain. He witnessed the moment my ex betrayed me and when Feyre saved us all, he picked up my remains and brought me to Velaris to heal. In the end I decided to stay here. I buried love, lust and everything related to it as deep as possible and focussed on what I liked - research - occasionally helping inner circle.

"At least they certainly won't cheat," I smiled. "This research origins in their concern after all."

The three of us laughed so hard we cried. Only Azriel stayed silent hidden in his corner.

"And who will make sure Azriel doesn't cheat?" Cassian wondered.

"Why should I," Azriel stepped out from his hideaway, lowering a challenging gaze at me.

"I believe Azriel is the last one of three of you to use such dirty tricks to manipulate the results," I said, returning his gaze. "But if he does, I'll personally make sure he delivers true data."

His hazel eyes lit up with mischief and corners of his full lips slightly moved upward in a hardly there smirk. He wasn't so different from his brothers. More serious than these two? Certainly, but he could be playful, too.

"Okay, guys, let's get it done. Who is the first to show off the wingspan?"

This was the part I'd been looking forward the most. Illyrian wings, the most important subject of my research and to be honest, the main reason of this fuss. So sacred that sometimes even their lovers weren't allowed to touch them. Not that I could touch them by any mean. Boys only granted me to take measurements and a close look to make detailed sketches. Totally understandable given how sensitive they were.

All three of them took turns one in a time, helping me when my arms were too short. I took measurements of different parts of their bodies, too, just to be sure I have all I could possibly need to get accurate results. I wrote down numbers into my notebook, already amazed by the results.

"That's all for today. Thank you for your time. When can I expect the other data?"

"You can get them even right now, if you want, but I guess you don't want to see it, do you?" Cassian, always such a tease. I shook my head laughing.

"Would tomorrow morning be a soon enough for you?" Rhysand purred, flashing a smile. "Tonight we're going to have a lot of fun with Feyre."

"It would be perfect," I agreed. The sooner I was done here, the sooner I could go to camps to collect data from volunteers Rhysand had found for me.

Cassian and Rhysand left soon after, but ever-silent Azriel stayed behind.

He seemed to be so flustered and nervous while I was taking his measurements. Cassian was picking on him for that, but Azriel stoically ignored him and held still. It seemed he didn't even breathe. I knew he didn't like to be touched. It was the biggest of the surprises that he voluntarily signed up for this, so I was extra careful with him.

Ever since I met him, he was always very kind and considerate to me. However it took some time until he opened up. It's just few months since we started to hang out more. Not that I wouldn't like him. If I were honest, I would admit that he was very interesting person, I liked him a lot and he was so incredibly handsome. Too handsome to be real.

But that's exactly the way I wasn't suppose to think about him. I'm the type who falls easily and hard, and loves with all her being. That's why I was so devastated last time. Nobody could possibly love somebody like me. I'm unbearable in many ways.

Plus he is too high league for somebody like me. He can have anybody he wants and the line of prospects is long. Elain and Gwyn for example compete for his attention for years. Successfully. There's no way he would think of me that way. I shook my head to get rid of these self harming thoughts.

Turning I smiled at him encouragingly. Azriel cleared his throat, wings rustled behind his back. He did this often when he was nervous or uncomfortable.

"The camps.. are you planning to go there alone?" His deep voice always did this strange thing with my insides. And today was no different. I pushed the feeling aside, to the box of things I shouldn't think about and shut it closed.

"No, I believe last time Rhysand mentioned something about sending an escort. Mor is going with me, too."

"Okay," he nodded. His one word responses the were death of me. It was so hard to keep conversation going.

"Uhm.. So tomorrow? You don't have to hurry if it's inconvenient for you."

"Tomorrow is fine."

"Oh.. So.. uhm.. I'll see you tomorrow." Shadowsinger just nodded looking down at me a little longer than necessary and then finally he turned and left. I let out a long breath.

Next day Rhys came as the first one as soon as I entered my office. I guess he couldn't wait. Cassian stopped by as soon as the training with priestesses was over. I checked their results with their mates during the lunch break just to be sure the numbers are correct.

It was almost evening and Azriel was nowhere to be seen. I packed some of the stuff I needed to take to camps and took a look around. There was nothing else to keep me occupied, so I decided it's time to go home. I was about to open the door when a knock sounded. It was Azriel.

"You came," I greeted him with smile.

"Yeah, I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner. I was-"

"It's okay," I interrupted him. "You really don't need to apologise. I'm grateful you signed up for this."

He made a small noise and handed me a piece of folded paper. I took it and returned to my desk where I left the notebook with all data.

"Were you going to go home already?" he asked while I unfolded the paper.

"Yeah, you came just in time. One minute later and I would be gone." I looked at the number and froze. No way, this was certainly wrong. I compared it to the other numbers. Definitely wrong.

"Something's wrong?" he stepped closer, peeking down on me.

"What?" I was so immersed in my thoughts I didn't hear him. "Excuse me," I said boldly and reached for his crotch. Just to make things clear, I wasn't completely myself, otherwise I wouldn't dare to even think about doing so. In that very moment I was simply researcher and nothing else.

Azriel sharply inhaled, eyes widened, but he held still, blushing heavily.

"As I thought," I mumbled to myself releasing him. "Sweetheart, you were supposed to measure yourself when you are.. You know.. 'excited'. I really didn't think you would try to sabotage the research," I tried to joke to lighten his embarrassment. "With your .. equipment.. there's no reason for you to lose. I thought you are quite competitive."

He just silently looked to the side while the shadows danced around him as if trying to hide him.

"Or did you want me to help you with it?" I smiled teasingly. His head snapped up, hazel eyes finding mine. "Sit down there," I pointed to an armchair near the window. While he did as I asked him, I took a chair, placing it next to the armchair, facing the other side. I took the notebook, a towel and a tape measure I used the other day, and sat down on the chair.

I looked at him amused. From this angle I could see only his face and shoulders. "Go ahead. I won't look." With that I opened the notebook looking for the page, but he hadn't moved gazing up at me.

I smiled still leafing through pages. "Let me tell you a secret, okay? We have something in common, Az." I leaned closer to him as if it was really a secret I was about to reveal. "When I say I won't look, then I really won't do it." I looked straight into his eyes to make it clear that I meant it. "I can even measure you without seeing it. I don't need to touch you either. All I need is for this measure to touch you. That's all. So take your pants off and let me know when you are ready."

At this moment he was panting heavily, his pupils dilated. "Do you want me to chit chat you through it? Or do you prefer silence?" I added, arching a brow at him when he just sat there gazing. Finally he moved and I heard as his pants slid down. Azriel's gaze darkened, his eyes never leaving mine.

He swallowed, his broad chest heaving. "I'm ready" he rasped, his usually deep voice deepened even more. I'd be lying if I said it didn't effect me. Now it was my turn to blush.

I handed him the towel. "Cover yourself." I stood up slowly to give him enough time. I turned to him placing notebook on a small side table within arm's reach. I gasped when I looked down at him. My heart went crazy, running for marathon and I could only wish he didn't hear it.

Azriel sat in the armchair in full grace as if it was his throne, his bare legs with muscles on right places spread wide, towel crumpled in his fist. He grinned challengingly.

Okay, maybe we have more than one thing in common. I hate losing, too.

My mouth went dry and I was panting as heavily as Azriel. My head emptied. It took me every ounce of self-control to step between his legs, control my trembling hands and measure him. But I did it, I didn't break.

"Much better," I said coolly as I wrote results down. I collected my things, ready to leave.

"You want to leave me like this, Y/N?" Azriel growled lowly.

I made the mistake and looked into his beautiful eyes. I wasn't sure what I'd seen in them, but it dug out all forgotten feelings. As wave of lust washed over me I lost control over myself. I sat down on the armrest, my legs brushing his thigh lightly. I placed hands on his shoulders and leaned in.

"You are right. I should repay you," I whispered inches from him.

For a while Azriel watched me as a starved man. Slowly, very slowly he erased the distance between us, his soft lips colliding with mine. The moan that came out from his throat made me forget whatever happened after that.

When his fingers found a waistband of my pants and started unbuttoning them, it was like a cold shower. I broke the kiss, untangling my fingers from his silky dark strands. Eyes still closed, his lips followed after me. I squeezed his fingers in my hands and he looked up at me. I could see he wasn't pleased that I stopped him, but he didn't try to pressure me.

"This part of me is not on offer," I said calmly sending him a sad smile. There wasn't reason to be mad. It was my fault in the first place, I was the one to provoke him. "For you it might be just another one night stay that you forget all about very next morning, but I'm different." I stood up fixing my clothes. "I take male to bed only when I have feelings for him and vice versa." He frowned, ready to say something. "I'm trying to say.. for me it isn't just sex.. To do it, I need real relationship, real feelings, security.. Lust isn't enough. I'm sorry." I left quickly and he didn't try to stop me this time.

Next day early in the morning I left to collect data at camps. Work helped me to forget about that night, but as soon as I stopped, it all returned. The most scary thing was to return back to Velaris and meet him. So I extended my stay as much as possible.

Four months later I was sitting in a sitting room of River House, chatting with Feyre and Mor by the fireplace after the family dinner. I collected all data to get some presentable results and currently I was half through writing in down. (Just between us, the rumors have proven to be true. Larger wingspan equals bigger you-know-what)

It was few weeks since I returned to Velaris and so far Azriel was avoiding me as much as possible. When we happened to be in the same room, he didn't even acknowledge me, looking the other side. So much for my fear.

Did it hurt? As hell. He was my friend. The feelings he awakened that night also didn't disappear over night, haunting me down every spare minute I had. I pushed them deep down, but it was too late. I'd already fallen for him.

During our stay at camps, Mor found out that something must have happened before we left, but she'd never asked about it. Which I was very grateful for. I wasn't ready to talk about it.

Now she kept peeking somewhere behind me, biting on her lower lip, unusually silent. Something was obviously bothering her. I could ask her straight away, but I decided to give her 5 minutes to see if she would start to talk on her own. It took exactly 3 minutes.

"Uhm, Y/N, tell me. Something happened between you and Az?"

"I may have hurt his male ego. Why?" I replied as casually as possible.

"He keeps eyeing you and I know that look too well. He watched me like that for five centuries, but it's never turned into something so... Desperate?" She turned to Feyre. "What do you think?"

Feyre inconspicuously peeked behind me, too. "Yeah, definitely desperate. And sad. Rhys said that lately he isn't himself. As if something was wrong with him? Maybe bothered him? But he won't talk about it."

Mor nodded. I had the urge to turn around and see for myself, but I resisted.

"What happened?" Mor asked and Feyre leaned closer, eager for details.

"Well, he kind of misunderstood the situation.. and I told him.. that I don't do the one night stay thing.."

"He actually went after you?" Mor beamed lowering her voice.

"Not really. I might have provoked him a bit," I reluctantly admitted.

They giggled like small girls, looking at each other.

"Y/N, believe me when I tell you that you can't provoke him," Mor whispered enthusiastically. "Nobody is able to break him. He is like.. granite."

"There must be something more behind it," Feyre added. "You should go and talk to him."

"You should," Mor agreed. "He looks to be on the verge of total breakdown." She again peeked behind me. "Go. Right. Now."

They both gave me nod, stood up and moved to another chat group. I stayed alone, just like Azriel who sat in an alcove with window behind me. I inhaled deeply, slowly breathing out. I could at least give it a try. Standing up I took my glass and walked to him.

"Hey."

"Hey," he answered lowly. I hardly heard him. His face was as unreadable as usually, but his impossibly beautiful hazel eyes.. Yeah, they were right. He looked to be on verge of breakdown. Even his posture was all wrong. Slumped shoulders, hunched over, wings hanging down. The shadows hoovered around him like embodiment of his current mood.

"Everything alright?"

He nodded looking away. Ouch. He didn't want to talk with me. I probably hurt his ego more than I thought. I was lost for words. Did he expect me to apologise? I certainly wouldn't do that. I had every right to stop him back then.

Oh, male and their ego. Suddenly memories of my ex flooded my mind. And I got mad. Rage was the only emotion that never disappeared completely nor healed.

I turned around, ready to leave before I could take it out on the wrong person. Strong fingers wrapped around my arm, stopping me. They held me gently, but firmly. I looked back at Azriel and all the rage was gone instantly.

"Would you mind to it down with me?"

I couldn't speak, still shocked by the pain in his eyes. Just when I was seated in the alcove, he released me and sat back down, too. Silence stretched between us.

"I meant to say this much sooner," he started slowly. "I'm so sorry for my poor behaviour. I'm so ashamed." My fingers curled into fist, but I didn't dare to interrupt him. "I know you were just joking to make me feel better, to relax. I knew it even back then. I wish I could explain why I did it, but I can't. I was.. dick."

And how big dick. I had to bite down on my lip to stop myself. This was serious situation. But in all seriousness, he broke the records. Nobody had bigger than him.

"I should have covered with towel as you asked me. I shouldn't have stopped you. I shouldn't have kissed you," he whispered the last sentence. "I should even be sorry that I kissed you, but I am not. I wanted it. Really wanted. Still want it. I'm trash." He stood up quickly. I managed to pull him back down before he could run away. My pulse skyrocketed.

Waitwaitwait. Had he just said that he still wanted to kiss me? My rational part demanded answers. I had to solve this question before my reckless heart could come to own conclusion. I didn't need another heartbreak.

I looked deep into his eyes. I looked only for truth and nothing else. "Tell me, Az, why? Why do you still want it?"

He blushed fiercely and tried to look away, but I wouldn't let him. "Please."

"I..love you," he whispered and my heart stopped for second only to start racing at a crazy pace later.

I wasn't sure he really said that. That must be just my imagination, right? I gazed at beautiful, elegant Elain with big doe eyes sitting on the other side of room, laughing with her sisters. Yeah, I imagined it. But when my eyes slid back to him, he was gazing right back, tensed, waiting.

"I'm sorry. I think I misheard," I smiled nervously.

"I said.. I love you," Azriel repeated quietly, but clearly.

A single tear rolled down my cheek. I didn't think. I couldn't. I just surged forward and hugged him. He stiffened for a heartbeat and then his strong arms wrapped around me and held me firmly. Another tear followed the first one and then another, until it turned into an endless stream. I felt a cool touch of his shadows. They hid us from prying eyes. Or so I thought.

World tilted to the side and we were in my office where it all had started.

"More private," Azriel whispered when I released him to take a look around, confused.

I quickly wiped tears away. "Oh." I still wasn't ready to talk. My head was a total mess. Love. Azriel just told me he loved me. And he was still waiting for my answer. But I wasn't currently able to put the words together to make even a simple sentence.

"Do you need water?" he offered, helping me to sit to an armchair, the very same armchair where he.. Nope, I couldn't think about it now. It would be too much.

What was the question? Ah, water.. Did I need it? I nodded anyway and he handed me a glass. I emptied it immediately.

Azriel watched me carefully as if I could explode any second. I was trying to find something to ground me and my eyes fell to the notebook. "Wingspan," I blurted. His brows furrowed. "You have the largest wingspan."

He huffed in amusement. "Do I?" Azriel took a step back, his eyes were sad again.

Maybe I was crazy, but I reached out and pulled him down on me. "I believe I still haven't repaid for your help."

He shook his head. " You don't have to-"

"I want." I cupped his cheeks between my hands. He hesitated searching my face, his body tensed above me.

Azriel slowly leaned down and kissed me. It was nothing like the last kiss driven by lust and desire. This kiss was careful, exploring. I pushed against his shoulder and we exchanged our positions.

Just like the last time, Azriel was sitting in the armchair and I was above him. I made sure there was space between us. I didn't want to provoke him, sex was out of the question yet. He knew it, too, and kept his hands on my waist.

I deepened the kiss and soon enough we both turned into a panting mess. Azriel's moan startled me.

"I'm sorry," he rasped.

I giggled. "You moaned back then, too."

"I can't help it," he smiled. Azriel leaned forward, keeping small space between us. He hid his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply again and again. "Touch them."

I swallowed. "What?"

"You can touch them," he spread his wings wide around us. "I've never allowed anybody to touch them. But now I want you to do so."

I was speechless second time today. Sacred Illyrian wings and he asked me to touch them. This was Illyrian way to say he trusted me. He trusted me even with his life.

I ran my fingers through his soft hair. "You know that.. there will be no sex today nor any time soon.." I hoped it came out as a joke. Truthful, but still joke.

He laughed breathlessly. "I know. That doesn't change the fact I want you to touch them. You said you want to repay me. So please.." He kissed the sensitive spot under my ear.

He got me there. If he only knew what he had called upon himself. I wanted to touch them, badly, but not only because they were his. I wanted it because I was the damn researcher which equals to a monster at times. I longed to feel the texture of the skin, to feel every single bone and muscle in them, everything.

"Are you really sure about this?" My attention was already trained on the beautiful enormous wings around me. This was his last chance to back out of this.

"Absolutely. So put those damn little hands of yours on them already," he rasped, landing another kiss to that sensitive spot.

He didn't need to repeat it again.

I gasped as tips of my fingers traced the soft skin around the bone. It. Was. Perfect. I expected them to be cold and rough to touch. Even though I touched him just lightly, I could feel every single muscle, even the smallest ones. The bone seemed to be so fragile and strong at the same time. Skin was so warm, stretchy and impossibly soft like baby's skin. I mapped every vein running through the membranes, his pulse drumming under my hands. I traced every scarred tissue I found, paying it extra attention.

I was so immersed into exploring his wings that I hadn't noticed what my curiosity did to Azriel until he came under me with a wall shattering roar. I winced, looking down at him.

His head was tilted back, eyes closed tightly. He was trembling and panting, his broad chest heaving heavily. Streams of sweat were running down the column of his exposed neck. His hands were fisting the material of armrests so tightly he almost torn it into shreds.

I couldn't believe I'd missed something so..amazing. Azriel was a piece of art in every possible meaning. My fingers traced the vein that bobbed out on his neck. He shuddered, his eyes slowly opened, looking up at me. Shadowsinger smiled weakly. "Only you can do this to me," his voice was hoarse.

I brushed away a damp strand of hair that fell to his forehead. My heart was beating wildly as I leaned in and kissed him slowly and deeply. His hands embraced me, pulling me closer.

"I love you," I whispered to his mouth.

I wasn't scared anymore. In this very moment I was more confident than ever that I would spend the rest of my life with this perfect male. Because he was mine and I was his.

[55sturn]

✮ SWALLOWIN’ MY PRIDE

series masterlist!

pairing: boston bruins player!chris sturniolo x fem!reader!

synopsis: in which chris is forced to swallow his pride as he comes to terms with the new that y/n has shared, realizing it’s not just her fault. however when he mentions the alternatives, he fails to see how much it hurts his girlfriend.

warnings: swearing, angst, chris not wanting a kid, verbal arguments, big talks about abortions and giving the kid up for adoption, mentions and descriptions of vomiting, a loooot of angst tbh.

important things to note: this is a heavy chapter so please keep that in mind if you choose to keep reading, i’ve done my part and have warned you about what this chapter entails so please do yours and close out of this fic if you cannot handle those topics. i am not your mother i cannot stop you, but if you choose to keep going despite being uncomfortable with the things i’ve warned you about, you are not allowed to get upset with anyone but yourself. enjoy<3

THIRD PERSON POV

chris was left utterly speechless as he stared at the thin plastic stick in his hand. the only thing running through his mind, was “what am i going to do? i just signed the contract today?” he felt guilty being so absorbed in his doubts about his career but it was something he had worked for his entire life. he knew his concerns were selfish, he knew that, but he couldn’t stop worrying about them.

the words “we’re pregnant, chris.” rang in his ears like a bell chiming, he felt his breath get stuck in his throat and he wasn’t able to breathe. he quickly shifted y/n off his lap so he could begin pacing, he held his head in his hands as his skates clunked against the padded locker room floor.

“what the fuck are we going to do y/n?” chris spits, his voice broken and unsteady as he looks at his girlfriend, her eyes red with unshed tears as she shook her head softly and shrugged.

“i don’t know chris.”

“why weren’t you careful?” chris exclaims, unintentionally putting all the blame on her as her head snaps up, her brows furrowed tightly as she breathes out a listless laugh.

“how is this all my fault?”

“i’m not saying it’s your fault. but why didn’t you just get an abortion?”

“in case you forgot what you were taught in fifth grade health class, it takes two people to make a baby, chris. you were the one that wanted to hit it raw and you promised to pull out but clearly you didn’t. and i didn’t want to abort it without your input because this child is half of you, too. and i would not be able to sit through that alone!“ she scoffs, tears dripping down her cheeks as she stares up at him, guilt and regret chipping away at the slight glimmer of hope that chris would be okay with it that she held.

“i just signed a good contract baby, i can’t miss my games for this shit.” chris sighs, his heart rate slowing down, but his mind was still racing, leaving him blind to the internal battle his girlfriend was facing.

he felt sick, he had everything mapped out for the next five years and this baby completely threw a wrench in everything that he had meticulously planned. there was no way a baby this early in his career would look good, it’d make him look reckless and uncaring about his job.

“do you not think i’ve been thinking about that, chris? that’s the only thing i’ve been thinking about since i found out or even had the slightest idea i was pregnant, i have been terrified of derailing the life plans you’ve set up for yourself and i don’t know what the fuck to do but what i do know, is that we’re pregnant and we have to make a decision about this. so until you’ve processed this, you can stay with one of your brothers, i will be waiting at home.” y/n replies, her voice gradually getting quieter and breaking even more as she finishes. wiping her tears, she quickly exists the room, the need to vomit overcoming her.

her mind wouldn’t stop racing. it brought every possible scenario to the surface and she was beyond scared. what was she going to do? chris sure as hell didn’t seem to want the baby, and she thought she didn’t either but talking about it to chris had her realizing that she wants a family more than anything.

as she knelt in front of the toilet, she couldn’t help but laugh internally. finding out you’re expecting a child was supposed to be a joyous and happy time. finding out that you’re carrying a life that is half of yourself and the person you’re in love with, the person you’re fully committed to for life, was supposed to have you feeling over the moon. and instead, it had y/n’s stomach twisting with guilt, regret, heartache, and distress.

ash she wiped her mouth and flushed the toilet, she sat on the edge of it, letting her tears fall as she let the feelings of hopelessness and loss fully consume her heart. would she really see this pregnancy to term if chris didn’t want anything to do with her and the baby? if she did, would she let chris back into her life when he decides he wants a family? or would he seek a family somewhere else?

“how the fuck am i going to survive this without him?” she whispered to herself, quickly exiting the public washroom and making a beeline for the front entrance.

chris on the other hand, was stoic as he stared at the wall opposite of him, the thin plastic stick beside him taunting him and his mind, almost as if it was telling him that he was acting selfishly. instead of comforting his girlfriend, who was as equally terrified of their recent news as chris, if not more? he blamed her. he yelled at her.

he callously told her to abort their baby to be. to get rid of the life growing inside her as if it meant nothing. as if it wasn’t the product of two people that loved each other deeply. even if it wasn’t planned or considered, that child to be was still the result of chris and y/n’s love. of the fact that they held each other so closely that they made love without any preventative measures. but chris couldn’t look at it that way, he didn’t want to.

his focus was on his career, hockey was everything to him. it made him everything he is. but was hockey really the only thing that mattered to chris? as he mulled over the answer, images of y/n sobbing as she held the freshly positive test, of her sobbing and scared in front of him waiting for him to pull her into his arms in the middle of that locker room flash through his mind. he felt guilty, he hadn’t even hugged her as she sobbed, he so badly wishes he could rewind the clock a few minutes so he could react differently but he couldn’t.

he knew he wanted a family at some point in his life, but now? it was so early. he wanted to bask in all the glory of being the newest and youngest star on the bruins without the responsibilities of his personal life hanging over his head. but that wasn’t possible.

as his team made their way down the hall, chris shoved the test into the side pocket of his hockey bag and plastered a fake smile on his face. the team cheered and hollered as they had won the game. chris joined in on the festivities, briefly forgetting the decision he had to make as the team got dressed in their suits and dress clothes, deciding to hit the bar in the lounge above the rink nd celebrate their win and landing bracket in the playoffs.

y/n was in the complete opposite state, she sat at the table, the meal she had prepped hours ago as soon as she got home after leaving the game early sat on the table in front of her. it had grown cold and stale as she tried to bring the urge to eat to life but she couldn’t bear the thought of choking back her food. she hated eating without chris. she knew he wasn’t going to join her after she told him to stay with one his brothers, but out of pure muscle memory she made a plate for him and it sat across the table from her, taunting her, as if to say “this is what your future will look like if chris decides he doesn’t want the baby.” and it broke her heart into a million shards.

could she really handle a life without him? they’ve been together for so long as it is. was it worth it to go through everything that they have already, just for a child to tear them apart? she didn’t know the answer to that and she didn’t want to. she hoped that somehow, chris’ mind would change and he would have this great epiphany and realize he wants this, the family life with y/n.

she knew how important this spot on the bruins’ team was to chris, she knew that more than anybody else. but was it more important than a life with the woman he called his soulmate? was his career more important to him than his relationship?

y/n, truthfully, had began to believe it was. he would call off dates and anniversary dinners to go hang out with the team, he would come home late the nights he promised to be home early. he put so much of their time together on the back burner, and maybe this child was the wake-up call she needed. maybe she wasn’t cut out for the life of dating a superstar hockey player.

sighing, she cleared the plates off, putting the leftovers in an air-tight container and leaving them for her or, hopefully, chris to eat another day. she quickly loaded the dishwasher and started it before cleaning the rest of the kitchen. as she had finished, she flicked off the main kitchen light, leaving the light above the stove on so that when chris came home, if he had made up his mind yet, he wouldn’t be surrounded by complete darkness. but she knew in the back of her mind, chris coming home tonight was just wishful thinking.

as she laid in bed, she scrolled through instagram, chris’ story updates catching her eye. pressing down on his profile circle surrounded by a pinkish purple ring, she was met with the sight of chris and john shot gunning beer in their suits, leaving her slightly hurt that instead of talking about things with her or his brothers he chose to party with his team. she knew that making an appearance at the after parties was important, she had just hoped their situation was more important. but refusing to let herself dwell on what she meant to chris, she rolled over and willed herself to sleep.

it had been a few days since her confession to chris and she had yet to hear even just a single word from him. and the silence was killing her. after her doctors appointment, which confirmed that she was in fact two months along, she had received texts of congratulations and more from his family so she assumed he had said something and maybe he wasn’t completely ashamed of what was happening, but she had a gnawing feeling of doubt in her stomach telling her that wasn’t the case.

“matt i don’t know what to think.” chris sighed, looking to his more level-headed brother for advice in this situation.

“well chris, do you really want her to abort it? like can you live with the fact that you’re putting her through that, you know that she’s completely all for it, but it’s different when it’s the one going through it. so would you be able to live with the fact that you’re pushing her to take away this chance, both of yours and hers, at a family right now?”

“well when you put it that way-“

“and who’s to say that you won’t be looking at having a family the same way down the line if, let’s say, she aborts the baby now and this entire thing happens again? would you put her through it twice? when you could just as easily implement all the later plans with your career that included a family into your plans for now. it would be much easier to maneuver things around right because the ink on your contract has barely dried yet. you do it later down the line and shit could go up in flames. but if you’re still dead set on pushing her to an abortion, by all means do it. it’s up to you man but from the way you’ve talk about it, y/n wants to have a family so what you’re doing is most likely killing her, and if you pushing her to do this wrecks your relationship, you won’t find another girl to love you the way she does. and i know you didn’t actually ask for it, but my opinion is that you’re being a fucking idiot. you and i both know that all you’ve wanted with y/n is to raise a family. you talked about your future kids’ names with her two months into the start of your relationship. so i’m not sure why you’re doing all this shit, chris.” matt rambled, his words cutting directly into the flesh of chris’ heart, he knew matt was right. every word he spoke nothing but truth clinging to it. so why was he putting both him and y/n, mainly y/n, through all of this? sighing, chris nodded and thanked him for the advice before plucking his keys off the counter of matt’s kitchen before heading out the door and climbing into his car.

chris made quick work of driving home to y/n, he felt so unbelievably guilty for leaving her alone with her thoughts for as long as he had. as he stepped into their shared home, he felt like an intruder, he didn’t feel like himself, because in what world would chris, the same chris who is so unbelievably and irrevocably in love with y/n, push her to terminate their child? chris should’ve been ecstatic and sobbing over the news. instead he let his job cloud his judgement and focus, and he felt terrible.

“baby?” chris calls out, quickly climbing the entryway stairs and standing in the main hallway, waiting for y/n to answer.

“in here.” she calls back, her voice tired and strained from all the crying she had done. as chris rounds the corner into their room, his heart breaks at the sight of her curled up on his side of the bed in his hoodie.

“i am so sorry y/n, i’ve been an asshole.”

“i’ll say.” she whispers, shifting back to her side of the bed as chris climbs in beside her.

“i want to apologize for blaming you, it’s not your fault. and for suggesting an abortion without actually hearing what you want. if you want one, i’ll support you. i talked to matt and he made me realize what a jackass i’ve been. if you genuinely want this baby, then i do too. i love you, and i want you to be safe and happy. and if having a family makes you happy, then i’m willing to raise this baby with you because in all honesty, i do want this baby.”

“what about your career?”

“we’ll figure that out when we need to.”

“okay. i love you.”

“i love you forever and a day, y/n. i’m so sorry i’ve been so shitty, i was scared and lashed out on you when i should’ve acknowledged that you were scared too, i shouldn’t have let you deal with it on your own.” chris hums, wrapping his arms around her as she dries her tears and rest her head against his chest.

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© 55STURN 2024 ! REBLOGS NOT EXPECTED BUT GREATLY APPRECIATED ! [ you do not have permission to copy or save or share my work to other platforms and devices! ]

[theheirofthesharingan]

Since there are many readers of The Everlasting Love, I want to say that not being able to write from Itachi's point of view is kind of suffocating. No character has made me feel so suffocated like Itachi did. In the fic, even if I'm not writing from his POV, the truth is, he still has nightmares the way he used to in the past. Right now, seeing Sasuke in front of him makes literally everything far more bearable to him. He can never forget the people he'd killed, his parents' final moments with him, the way he hurt Sasuke, and all his failures. Here, Sasuke has had some comfort, even if he's clinging to Itachi for his own life, but he's not lost his way like he did in canon.

Itachi on the other hand is completely, utterly lost. He had a goal in the past, a hope, and something to look forward to. As a child he wanted to end wars and conflict. When that failed, he had the goal of dying in his brother's presence. That failed too. And now, he has no idea what to do with himself anymore. He sees Sasuke with his friends and realizes he doesn't fit with them. He sees Sasuke being free, not worried with Team Taka, and he realizes his relationship with Sasuke would never get normal. He misses their past interactions and he wants to say so much, but the habit of keeping his feelings in his heart is very old. So, he doesn't say out loud that he's actually very, very lost with no goal in his life. And he's also very scared because he doesn't know what future holds for him or with people who've accepted him as if he isn't the monster everyone believed he was. He's processing everything with a different view, unsure why anyone would love him, why anyone would not hate him. He doesn't understand why can't Sasuke see he's actually a monster. If someone said he's a bad guy, he'd immediately agree. And he's constantly torn between wanting to stay by Sasuke’s side and leaving him because of his guilt. He doesn't see the nuanced circumstances as much nuanced and considers them completely black and white because he was supposed to find the solution and he failed. So it's all piled up on him.

Sasuke grasps some of it but not the entirety of the extent of his guilt. And Itachi would never, ever let Sasuke know any of it. Which means, in the story too I'll never write it. But it's all there nonetheless.

[we-will-be-reun1ted]

Lumine absolutely did not just up and walk away onto the next quest after her brother left her for the abyss like she did in the game.

In Genshin she showed very little emotion afterwards and seemed to just immediately move on to go to Inazuma and be completely fine.

No way is Lumine, who has never been separated from her brother before and is practically co-dependant on him, going to take him leaving lightly.

In her eyes, he’s abandoned her. He’s turned his back on her. On everything the twins had before.

At first she’s silent as the portal disappears. Staring at the empty space. Contemplating what the hell actually happened. She’s not yet processed that Aether has actually left her. It’s as if she’s expecting him to just appear again, say it was all just a big joke. Take her hand in his and ask her to go back home with him.

Hearing Paimon is what sets her off. “Don’t be too sad, look on the bright side, we got some really useful information!”

It’s a blur to her after that. Her emotions completely taking over. Screaming at Paimon to shut up. She doesn’t know what it’s like. Screaming at Aether to come back. Struggling to catch her breath.

She’s on the floor. Her head in her hands. Her wails echoing off the walls of the cave. Paimon tries to come over to comfort her who gets aggressively pushed away by Lumine. It’s not okay. It never will be okay. She can’t stop sobbing. Gods she’s so weak.

She’s not the same after that. All the quests. All the people. Everything anyone does, it’s all like a blur to Lumine. For months after she barely sleeps. Barely eats. She doesn’t talk unless necessary, even to Paimon. She’s completely broken after the event. There’s so many questions. The main one being ‘why?’

Why would he choose the abyss? Why did he go down that path? Doesn’t he care about her anymore? Why would he not go home to her?

She feels weak. She feels as if she’s failed him. Why wasn’t she faster? Why did she let him talk? Why didn’t she just grab him and refuse to let go?

She’s utterly distraught. She gets more and more angry and snappy with people whenever they ask her for something. She doesn’t want to help save nations. She doesn’t want to help kill hilichurls. She doesn’t want to defeat monsters and solve the mysteries of the world. She doesn’t care.

All she wants is Aether. And now he’s gone. And Lumine doesn’t know if he’s ever going to come back.

[whumpwillow]

Demon's Haven 16

a guy who is just an idiot

—  

masterlist

warnings: past torture, blood, whumpee thinking caretaker is new whumper, self-harm references (he's aggravating his own injuries), vague dissociation references

—  

I just wanted them to respect me.

Words he’d never dared to utter out loud before. Hell was a vicious place where weakness wasn’t tolerated, and vulnerability got you nowhere. So he’d learned to keep his thoughts to himself, and to manifest his more…envious desires in other ways.

He’d never have admitted it to himself if all this hadn’t happened. He spent long hours working in his study just to occupy his mind so that he wouldn’t have to think of such things. And yet there it was, the undeniable proof that he was weak. That he had to resort to base means in order to try and garner respect when his other siblings were capable of it just by virtue of their very existence.

Hah, virtue.

His brothers had the lesser demons looking up to them as if they were gods and all they had to do was walk into a room. Pride especially was a perfect example of this. He was like the sun—he drew attention to himself as if his presence was itself a gravitational pull. Envy hated it. He wanted it. He didn’t have the ability for that sort of thing and had to take the scraps of attention that he was owed, grasping and strangling.

He thought the other demons would be awed or at least cowed by his display of brutality in the human realm, but then Lust had gone and one-upped him without even trying. Envy, as always, faded into the background. His actions forgotten by all the people he wanted to have remembered, yet was brought up again now only to serve as a reminder of his failings.

It was such a stupid farce. All of it.

He clenched his hair in his hands, disregarding the broken fingers. He let the pain consume him. He wanted to disappear.

Throwing his hands down in frustration did nothing to stop the riotous feelings welling inside. Did nothing to stop the voice of the angel. That burning, stinging, cooing voice. It told him he was a sinner. That he should suffer, that he should be punished, that he should live his days in fear and regret and utter misery. The angel made him believe it to be true.

The angel’s voice played out in his thoughts, telling him to be afraid.

Warm hands wrapped around his thin wrists. Envy drew in a sharp intake of breath, his gaze locking onto the witch’s.

Oh, Haven.

Why had he told her who he was? She was going to hurt him now, surely. She said she wouldn’t—many times, in fact—but how could he believe that? How could she not want to?

And yet. She held his wrists in her hands but did not squeeze the bruises there. She did not yank him forward or send him tumbling to the floor. She continued to surprise him by showing familiar actions that usually preceded violence and replacing them with kindness and Envy didn’t know what to do about it.

He wanted to be free of pain. He wanted to be free of his thoughts. He wanted to pay for his sins. He wanted to rest.

He tried to think of what to say as an excuse for his actions, and what had tumbled off his lips were truer thoughts than any he had said in years. Perhaps ever. He struggled to think of anyone he’d ever told his deepest secrets to and came up blank. Such was his life, what he used to think so highly of and yet what crumbled in mere moments.

He was crying again, goddammit. His eyes stung and the back of his throat burned, the feeling distinct from that of holy water being forced down it. Sharper, deeper. Utterly humiliating.

Haven wiped a stray tear from his cheek. Envy allowed his eyes to flutter closed as he savored the touch. When had anyone ever touched him like that? Like he was something worthy of being held so gently, like he was more precious than all the gemstones in his court?

“You’re bleeding again.”

Envy blinked dumbly at her in response to the statement. Finally catching up after a moment too long, he processed the words and turned to look over his shoulder. Sure enough, the lashes from the silver whip had turned the gauze a cherry-red. He was in less pain than he’d been in since…well, the beginning of his imprisonment, so this could actually have been seen as an improvement that he hadn’t noticed.

“Ah, I see,” he said, with utmost intelligence. Clearly.

Haven settled herself on the bed next to him, more carefully than before. He knew it wasn’t because of his injuries, but because of who he was. She was afraid of him. He’d seen it in her eyes when she jumped from the bed, instinct urging her to run from him. He almost wished she had. He only wanted her to be happy, not afraid.

But he was a selfish creature, and he couldn’t stop himself from the need that raged in him, that which made him desperately not want to be left alone. It was the same desire that made him grab her wrist earlier, and what had compelled him to think he could order her to stay while he bathed even when he knew she would have preferred to be elsewhere. He just couldn’t stop himself from causing problems for her.

And know she knew who he was. What he’d done.

Worse, she was a witch. She was of the ilk that he had carelessly slaughtered for amusement and recognition, and now Envy was at the mercy of her decisions. He wondered if she would take revenge for her kind that had died at his hands, or at those of his brothers’. The thought made his chest ache something fierce, but he couldn’t tell her not to. He didn’t have the right. After everything, he was still the same awful being that he was always was and he didn’t want her to treat him any differently than she had been.

He knew he didn’t deserve her kindness. Oh, he knew. The angel had made sure that he believed every awful thing she ever said about him, but by everything he was borne of, he wanted nothing more than for Haven to remain as she was.

“I’ll need to stitch them. The wounds on your back,” she said to him.

There was no malice in her voice, nor fear. The second emotion, however, was plain on her face even as she tried to hide it.

Envy nodded listlessly. “Alright.”

He realized this going to be a long night and that he wouldn’t get to drift off so soon. If he got lucky, she’d let him sleep while she worked. He might even be able to—he’d gotten lots of practice in sleeping in uncomfortable positions while in terrible pain.

Envy nodded, the motion stilted. He braced himself for what was to come and whether or not the witch—Haven, lovely Haven, such an apropos name—would take this as her opportunity to turn on him.

She didn’t, at least not right at that moment. Instead, she pursed her lips, forming them into a mildly displeased moue. Envy winced and cursed his tendency to nod rather than reply with actual words. That must have been what had done it. She was angry with him now for not being treated with the proper respect, of course. Because he was a demon prince, fallen so far, now at the mercy of those once considered beneath him and of course, of course she would want him to demonstrate just how much their positions had changed. He was just so tired, so it was easier to opt for a nod rather than to force the sounds from his throat that was still so raw from begging, screaming, pleading, pleading—

“We should get some rest.”

Haven set her hands down on her lap and stood, then brushed off her skirts. Envy watched her. Blinked once, twice. The witch began collecting the bandages and rolls of gauze from the bed.

“What?” Envy asked, confused.

Haven paused, then looked at him. “We’re both tired, you’re not going to bleed out, and I’m sure you would appreciate not being stuck with a needle while I try to sew you up half-asleep. We can do it tomorrow.”

Envy couldn’t seem to process the information he was hearing. She was going to let him sleep? Not just that, but to let him sleep unhindered by additional pain? What was the catch?

Haven bent down to pick up a bandage roll that had fallen, but Envy slipped off the bed to get it for her. He didn’t account for the fact that he could barely use his legs, and ended up falling ever-so-gracefully to the floor like an utter disgrace. His knees hit first, cracking loudly on the wood slats, and the rest of him followed soon after, crumpling like wet paper. His chest pitched forward and he, thankfully, turned his head to the side so that his cheek hit the floor instead of cracking his chin on it, though it still smarted. The pain shot into his broken ribs had him keening, sending out a high-pitched whine as if he’d become a tea kettle. The angel had humiliated him plenty, but this really did it for him.

He at least managed to wrap his fingers uselessly around the stray bandage he’d meant to offer to Haven.

The witch herself had released her burden entirely, dropping her arms to her sides so that all the gauze she’d previously gathered now fell at her feet and rolled away, adding to the existing mess on the floor. She knelt in front of Envy and gingerly placed her hands on his upper arms, and she was saying something he couldn’t make out. The world was incessantly loud all of a sudden, ringing in his ears. Pain, his only sensation.

“H-help—” Envy croaked.

Fear rose in his throat, burned in his belly, and inflamed the space of his chest. It beat against the inside of his damaged ribcage, fighting to get free as if it were a trapped animal. Envy thought it was kind of funny, to think of it like that. To understand and sympathize with an emotion itself, because he too, was once a trapped animal.

His hands shook.

“-vy! Envy! Your Highness! Prince whatever!”

The witch called out to him. Envy struggled to take in a breath. He felt her rubbing her thumbs up and down where she held his arms, and that too, made an emotion well inside him. He couldn’t place the name of it.

“P-prince whatever,” he said, once he could take in a full breath.

His throat felt raw and scratchy.

“I didn’t know what to call you,” Haven replied, sheepishly.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gave him a wobbly smile. Envy tried to maneuver his lips into doing the same, but he felt…odd. Disconnected from his body in a way that was not unfamiliar to his time spent in the cell with the angel, on the days where he would go someplace faraway into his mind when the pain became too much to bear. Even before, to a lesser degree, the numbness would come for him without warning. He saw it as being better than the torture, at least.

“Are you…” Haven said, but trailed off and bit her lip.

“Fine.”

Envy was not fine, had never been fine, and likely would never be fine again for as long as he lived. But he was just that—living, and that was all that likely mattered to the witch, if she even cared at all.

He regretted that last thought when he saw her face all scrunched up, appearing at once both sad and irate. Her eyes became red and misty, though no tears fell. She bunched her hands into fists at her sides and Envy thought she meant to hit him, though she only glared.

“Why did you do that?” she yelled.

Envy opened his mouth, but found he didn’t have an answer, or even any idea to what she was referring.

“I—” He remembered the bandage roll grasped loosely in his damaged fingers. “Oh.”

He held it up to Haven as far as his arm would give him the strength to, which to his dismay, wasn’t more than a few inches.

“I wanted to help,” he said.

Haven put a hand to her face and closed her eyes, then exhaled. When she looked at him again, her expression had softened. Envy noticed her unclench her fists and his shoulders sagged in relief.

“Just focus on getting better. Okay? That’s how you can help.”

—

next

(taglist in reblogs)

[blood-mocha-latte]

luztoye 61 drabble 💖

61. “I love you. I’m completely and utterly in love with you. Please don’t get married.”

gigi this took me approximately One Thousand Years to develop and for that i apologize PROFUSELY… for some reason the prompt would Not click in my brain it was tragic. after much work and pleading and bargaining, might i offer you a rather unhinged snapshot into a loosely based princess bride fusion??

The way his steps seemed to drag across the stone of the flooring, cold and as impersonal as its master and echoing the hopeless sound of every person who’d ever been within its walls, told Joe everything he needed to know. 

It was matched by the low, grinding sound of the door opening, the heavy wood of the thing heaving against the flooring as George pushed it open, then closed again.

He didn’t spare a glance towards the bed, immediately crossing the few feet over to his desk, plainer than the rest of the room and adorned only with a jeweled box. 

Joe watched him, impossibly fond, before reminding himself it wasn’t the time for it. He could love him blindingly, all-encompassingly, once they were both safe.

The quiet rasp of the box ran down his numb, unfeeling spine as George opened it. Joe tried again, just as fruitlessly, to move in any way. He failed.

The dagger inside of the box was just as neatly adorned, though Joe was less focused on its jeweled handle than on the way that George grasped it, the way that he bore the fine cording of his neck to its blade with a careful hesitation that could almost be construed as melancholy. 

The new consort will be dead, murdered by the opposing kingdom by morning, and the prince will have his war. 

“Please don’t.” Joe said, hoarse and with some strained effort, before the dagger could get any closer to George’s neck. “It’s — you’re perfect in every way, but I’m not sure I’d like what a slashed throat would do for your visage.”

George’s head turned so fast that it almost made Joe huff something close to a laugh, painful as it may have been, as his eyes widened, shot through with the bloody setting sun that fell in through the window as he surged to his feet, chair toppling over in the process.

For always being loud, for always being brilliant and light, Joe’s name falling from his lips was quiet in comparison, and George dropped to the mattress, pressing a palm flat over Joe’s heart before even a second could have passed, dagger already forgotten at the desk. 

His other hand curved along Joe’s jaw, cradling it carefully as lips pressed immediately to his own, nearing harsh and open in a quiet pant of nonsensical words of relief before trailing over his cheek, the corner of his mouth, his forehead, anything George could reach.

“Joe.” He said again, and Joe did his best to kiss back, clumsy, trying to both feel and become accustomed to George’s weight on top of him. “Joe, I thought you were—”

Joe just hummed, clumsy against the corner of George’s mouth as the other curved his palms along the back of his neck, drawing him into an easier kiss. He tried, for the thousandth time, to even move his foot, and found it impossible in a frustrating mix of numbness and ache. “I don’t know what I was.” He said, which was true enough. 

He remembered The Pit of Despair, the… well, despair, and then darkness. Guarnere had summed it all up to him clumsily, wrapping up the confusing conclusion on Joe being almost-dead to his brother's killer and six fingers. 

George pressed his lips to the skin under Joe’s eye, trailed back to his cheek, parted lips finding Joe’s own for the thousandth time, and Joe didn’t really care about any of that. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, still quiet. The hand on Joe’s chest shook slightly, barely a tremor, as he traced the same loving path down the curve of his jaw, kissing at the gentle space below his ear. Joe hummed, the sound more of an awkward rumble from the depths of his chest that just made George shift on top of him, chest bleeding warmth into Joe’s own from the way they pressed together.

“What makes you think something’s wrong?” Joe asked, not as dry as he’d like as he shifted, managing to twitch his fingers against George’s wrist enough for him to twine their fingers together, not pausing where he pressed another kiss to the bridge of Joe’s nose almost absentmindedly. 

George just hummed, closed his eyes briefly to press his forehead to Joe’s own before kissing him again. “It’s not like you to not hold me back.” He said, a careful swipe-and-parry of spoken swordplay as his eyes shone, ever present in some sort of warming joke. “How—” Another pause, this time his mouth falling to his brow, “how did you get in? Everything’s been so locked down—”

Joe grimaced, didn’t want to think about it. George soothed the expression with his fingers and mouth in well under a second, kissing him again before considering his careful crusade. “Figured I had to save you.” He said, slightly muffled as George kissed the corner of his mouth, just below his lip with a hum.

“I need saving?” The words were bright, almost like a dance, and Joe clumsily took his hand in it with a short huff, kissed back yet again entirely too clumsily. 

“What you were about to do seems to tell me that you did.” It wasn’t really a joke, but George dismissed it with the soft exhale of a laugh as his mouth found Joe’s neck again. 

“Oh, please.” He murmured, came back to his mouth and kissed him for longer, this time, more reverent. “I was only going to do it because I thought you were gone.” 

Joe made a soft sound against his lips, managed to press his own kiss into the soft corner of George’s mouth. “We need to get you out of here,” He said, wanting the corners of George’s eyes to crinkle in the same ever laughter. “That doesn’t sound like you at all.” 

George just hummed, pulled back enough for Joe to see the way that his eyes shone, something between glassy and mirth. “Well,” He said, and when he dipped down to kiss Joe again, there was a faint taste of salt. “That’s because I’m not me if you’re not there. You know you’re the same way.” 

Joe made a soft noise against his cheek as George settled against him more fully, slowing his kisses if only to further sink into him. “I don’t like that.” He murmured, but didn’t protest when George just huffed, blinking rapidly and pulling away just enough to see the familiar way his mouth curved upwards.

“How can I help you, Dread Pirate?” He asked, voice settling into the more familiar swing and settle of a joke that Joe grasped onto carefully, turned over in his mind to help glide along the easy line they could walk. 

“Came to crash a party.” He said. George just hummed, both hands coming up to curve at either side of his face, thumbs running along his cheekbones. “Worried I might be too late, though.”

George just huffed, shook his head briefly and pressed the pad of his thumb into the careful dip below Joe’s cheekbone. “We didn’t say ‘I do.’” He said, eyes warm and wide, dipping closer yet again to kiss the other, pressing his lips along his jaw, the hollow of his cheek, his temple, the bridge of his nose in a reverent dance. “It doesn’t count if you don’t say ‘I do.’”

Joe hummed, managed to tilt his chin upwards enough for George to understand and press their mouths together again. “What a horrendous wedding.” He murmured against the others lips, got a breath of a laugh in agreement. “If that’s the case—” A pause, as the kiss sank briefly into something deeper, “—could I say something?” 

George kissed him more fully, pressed their foreheads together as his thumbs kept tracing their path along Joe’s cheekbones. “Please.”

“I love you.” Joe said and didn’t hesitate. Couldn’t, when the sun set both slowly and rapidly outside of the window and dyed George every color he saw behind his eyes, couldn’t when it was truer than anything else he’d ever had to say. George just hummed, a bit shaky, kissed him again. “I’m completely—” Another kiss. “—and utterly—” Another. “—in love with you. Please don’t get married.”

George’s huff of laughter was something Joe had heard dozens, thousands of times, had possibly dreamt of even more. He still couldn’t move, and still everything ached, but it seemed less, now. Always was less, with him. 

He didn’t respond, instead just kissed Joe again, deeper. “I’d like to run with you, this time.” He said, curving over Joe enough to kiss his cheek again. Joe kissed back clumsily, as best he could, wished he could push a hand through George’s hair. 

“You’re better at swords than I am, anyways.” He said, tried to find the swing and line that George loved to walk, and earned another warm breath of laughter, lips pressing to his temple before going to his lips again. 

It wasn’t a denial.

They could do it. They could get away, this time.

[chaotic-multi-fandom]

Holden Caulfield

So, I just finished “The Catcher in the Rye”, and it was very different from what I expected. This book has a reputation of being somewhat extreme, and making teenagers more angry, depressed or even violent because of its main character Holden. However, now that I’ve read it, I fail to see why. I can understand why at the time of its publication Holden’s internal monologue could’ve been seen as alarming, specially to adults, but not as much in the present time, and definitely not as extreme as it said to be. He’s also constantly called annoying, pretentious and an asshole, which he sometimes is, but once again, In my opinion, not to the extreme people present him as. I didn’t mind being inside of his head the entire novel, nor did I ever find him as insufferable as most people seem to, and definitely not a monster, if anything I had a lot of empathy and understanding towards him. 

To me, Holden simply came off as a lost 17 year old boy, grappling with grief, identity, and having lost his innocence at a very young age. He’s clearly suffering from depression, and is generally angry and disillusioned with the world, however given his implied experiences it’s only natural, even just the death of his brother prior to the events of the book cold easily explain his behaviour, however there’s definitely other elements, which choses not to reveal, that have contributed to his current state. 

To me, Holden never came off as extreme or violent, at least not enough to be sent to a psych ward or o incite the alarmed response people seem to have to his character. In fact, despite seemingly being done with the world, and not caring about anything anymore, Holden seems to have this constant thrive and need of protecting the world. Despite all of his utterly depressed, frustrated, and negative inner monologue, he’s constantly through out the novel, carrying out these little acts of kindness towards children. He helps two boys find a section of the museum, and explains to them what everything means, he helps a girl tie up her skates at the roller rink, and rubs off nasty messages left at schools so that the children don’t read them, and most notably he does anything and everything for his younger sister Phoebe.

Most of the time, he’s left in awe of the world when he interacts with these children, specially with Phoebe, it’s the only moments were he even says he feels happy. He seems to be impressed by children’s minds, and has this urge to protect and help them every time he encounters one, going to great lengths (such as buying a limited expensive album for his sister) in order to make their days better. Then, he hears a child sing the song that brings the name of the novel “the catcher in the rye”, he sings about a body catching another body in the rye,. When later in the novel he wonders about he’d want to do in the future, the song is the only thing that comes to mind. He imagines that he’s in that field, where children are playing near a cliff, and he’s the one that catches them and leads them away from the cliff, he’s the catcher in the rye. To him, this means saving children from losing their innocence as young as he did. It’s the only thing he can imagine himself doing. 

This truly shows that Holden, is in no way some disturbed violent mind, he’s just a 17 year old child, who lost his innocence at a very young age due to traumatic experiences which he’s only now processing, he’s also going through the grief of his brother’s death, which his parents don’t help with, his mother also suffering from depression, and his father always being away as a big shot lawyer. He’s disillusioned with the world and humanity, because most of his life experiences, and contacts with older role models have been very negative, including the one with his older brother whom he once had a good relationship with, but is now a shame to the family due to his work as a prostitute. He’s desperate for the children around him not to suffer the same fate. 

While he may seem utterly disgusted and done with the world, I think that he actually holds a lot of hope in his heart for his sister Phoebe and all the children he meets. Holden’s problem isn’t that he has no hope left, it’s that he has too much of it no matter how hard he tries to repress it. He holds a hope so great for the world, that he can’t help but stay despite his suicidal thoughts. Holden, fantasises about ending his life several times throughout the novel, but then, as soon as he’s even close to getting sick with a cold for example, he becomes extremely anxious, scared and even obsessive, thinking that he’s going to die, which he desperately doesn’t want to do. Even when he is attacked with those suicidal thoughts, which never last long, he’s always immediately reminded of Phoebe, and realises he couldn’t bare her going through grief. 

Holden desperately wants to stay in this world, and he’s constantly looking for reasons to do so, he’s in awe of the purity and innocence of children, and wishes the world would be kinder and better for them. Holden is lonely angry and depressed, which can result in him acting violently in instances, but essentially, he’s desperately trying to improve the world around him, and repeatedly not giving up on it. As he puts it, he never hates anything for long.

Well, this had been my small Holden rant, however do be aware that, I'm writing this approximately 30 minutes after finishing the book, so my ideas aren't completely settled, and given that I haven't looked AT ALL into actual analysis of the novel, I may be way off, and made a fool of myself but oh well. At the end of the day they're almost no wrong answers when it comes to interpretation, and this is how I personally perceived Holden Caulfield.

[ravencincaide]

Nameless figure, selfless help

Summary:  You couldn’t take it anymore, you couldn’t stand your life yet were too cowardly to end it. So you ran, and ran through the streets of your old city, your old life until you ran blindly into a new one. OR The time you got to see that not all mafia were evil  

Pairing: Suicidal reader  x Chuuya Nakahara 

Raven’s Special prompt: “Can you do Chuuya x fem reader where the reader is abused by her parents and tries to run away from home after a failed suicide attempt and ends up in PM territory”

Warnings: Dark content with triggers, proceed at your own risk!

This fic contains: suicidal reader (who’s made an attempt), hint at cutting and mention of blood, hint abusive-manipulative past/family, cursing, Chuuya comfort/help, I think I didn’t miss anything.. i hope. Enjoy?

“ Aj aj aj, this is not a bathroom, you can’t come in and out anytime you want;  Y/N get your scrawny ass back inside this house or help me god–” You were out the front door before your mother could start the all too familiar lecture. Of you- about you; how ungrateful you were to the family that raised you, how greedy you were to make a big deal of sharing your earnings, how utterly insatiable you were. Always damning more, desiring for more, lusting for more.That’s why your friends didn’t stay with you. That’s why you always struggled with meeting new people; not like your brother. Your brother was a good student, a good boy and good children, good boys  and  good girls always got what they wanted. What they deserved. And bad ones had only their karma to blame.- You knew the rant by heart. Knew that you were going to get an earful the second you came back- and yet your feet carried you even faster down the dark streets of Yokohama. Was this what the will to live felt like? Just moments earlier you had wanted nothing more than to die: and feel the suffering, this very existence come to its end. 

Yet now your heart was pumping in your chest. Each breath burned and filled you with a nervous kind of energy. The one that made your legs sprint down the packed streets, weaving past blue collar workers trotting home after a busy office day or groups of high school students exhaustedly dragging their feet after evening school. You saw familiar uniforms up ahead and felt your cheeks flush an angry red. Tears stung in your eyes- of humiliation and anger. Your mothers words echoed in your mind; a poisoned lie you’d normally ignore. 

But what if her words were the truth, your mind taunted. What if you were imagining things; what if your friends were actually not your friends. But put up with you out of pity? What if– Your feet carried you down the nearest alleyway away from the hoards of students and the main streets. Away from the buzz of life and down a much quieter alley filled with bars, food stalls and laughing patrons.

Yet somehow it felt ominous. Threatening. A different sense of nervousness- of panic- grew in your chest as you came to the bitter realization that you were lost. Your mind seemed to register that fact long before your body did. And still you ran. One foot set eagerly in front of the other, your eyes not even noticing the darkly clad man who stepped out of a bar and into the narrow dimly lit alley until you bumped into him in your rush. You tripped over you feet in the process.

“ The hell?! Watch where the fuck you’re going?” His voice was loud yet concerned; one gloved hand had caught your wrist, the only thing that kept you from face planting the ground. You felt your cheeks flush darker; how much more humiliating could this day get? “S-sorry” you muttered, using the other hand to wipe at your wet cheeks as the strange man pulled you up into an upright position. He didn’t let you go though. The second your eyes flickered to him in question he twisted you to face him fully, then twisted your arm upwards as if to see it better; the ‘it’ being your mangled skin and cuts which you had haphazardly covered up with whatever after your failed attempt earlier in the day. The man dug his gloved fingers into your flesh in displeasure. You yelped out in pain then paled at his sharp glare. Piercing blue eyes stared into your own frightened ones. His demeanor screamed trouble; his entire appearance radiated importance and anger. “ You’re in Port Mafia territory, kid” he growled, a bored sound which filled you with dread; your mind barely able to comprehend how badly you fucked up. 

You didn’t know whether you should laugh or cry; You had just calmed enough to give life another chance yet here you were, in the most dangerous part of the city, no doubt minutes away from having your life ripped away from you. Undoubtedly the man opposite you was mafia too, and you had heard all too well how the Mafia dealt with anyone  who dared infringe onto their territory. You felt your shoulders slump in surrender. Accepted your destiny; Prepared for the sharp pain of knife and the cold touch of death. Which never came- 

Instead, you heard the ginger sigh audibly, a sound which made you jump “ Ahh what the hell” He groaned again before he began walking, pulling you along with him with a surprising amount of strength. Even if you wanted to you’d have not been able to pry his grip off your arm. “ You’re bleeding; ain't no civilian hospitals round here, sweetheart. You’re fuckin lucky I’m in the mood to get rid of some spare bandages” the man grumbled as he pulled you further along behind himself; through the streets on the outskirts of the city you knew and  further into the shadow city you’d come to know and love. But of course you couldn’t know that. Not yet.

In fact you didn’t even know his name; the name of the man who saved you. But once you’d learnt it you swore you’d never forget it. You swore you’d find a way to repay him. To thank him for giving you a spot inside the comforting darkness by offering to bring him to the light.

But now I am getting ahead of myself; spoiling a future that’s yet to come.. 

Author note: This prompt broke my heart in more ways than one. But I hope that it brings comfort to the anon who requested it. <3 Liked this work and want to see more? Check out Raven's masterlist for more stuff to read!

[samanddean76]

Joyous Memories Amongst The Sorrow

Sam knew Bobby thought that he had lost his damn mind.  That much was clearly evident given the look on his weathered face, the one that he kept trying to hide from Sam, whenever the old hunter would glance over at him as Sam white knuckled the steering wheel of the Impala.  The man that both he and Dean had always thought of as a pseudo-father figure.  Bobby had insisted that he accompany Sam on this errand, saying that it was something that Sam shouldn’t be doing by himself.  That this was no time to be alone. 

As much as Sam loved Bobby, there was simply no way that the man could truly ever understand what Sam was going through at that moment.  The one and only person who possibly could was no longer there.  And that was precisely why Sam was suffering. 

Dean was dead.  Dead as a fucking doornail dead, after having been ripped to shreds by a bloodthirsty hellhound.  All the while Lillith had laughed at the agony that washed over Sam’s face as he watched his big brother being slaughtered.  Being taken away from him, just a few feet from where he was pinned to that goddamned wall in the Norman Rockwell ode to Americana nightmare home.  Lillith had tried to kill Sam, but her plans had gone off the rails completely then, and Sam was left alive.  And alone. 

Totally, completely, and utterly alone.

Sam had pulled Dean’s ravaged body close, as he cradled him tight, as tears streamed down his cheeks, as he sobbed out his pain and misery to the uncaring universe.  Knowing that there was absolutely nothing that he could do, not then anyway.  Because Sam had needed to devise a plan.  Knew that he had to keep Dean’s body safe while he did so, because it couldn’t be allowed to go up in flames, because once one of Sam’s desperate plans finally succeeded, Dean would need that body to use. 

And that was all there was to it.  Period.  End of discussion.

Bobby had been justifiably skeptical, had tried to insist that Dean needed to be given a proper hunter’s funeral, but Sam had let him know in utterly unmistakable terms, and in the harshest of tones, that that was not going to happen.  Ever. 

So, Bobby had come along, as Sam drove the Impala through the night.  Searching for the one place that he knew Dean would want to be.  Where he would want to rest for all eternity were Sam to fail in his all of his many plans. 

It had been a beautiful night, when Dean had driven them to that field in the middle of nowhere.  John had been dutifully passed out, sleeping off another successful hunt, and Dean had told Sam that he had a surprise for them to share.  Sam had been all kinds of excited energy as Dean had driven the Impala, out past anything that might cause alarm or draw undo attention.  He had pulled off the road, driven into the tree lined clearing, turned off the Impala, and handed Sam the keys. 

“Surprise is in the trunk, squirt.”  Sam had grimaced at the nickname but had gotten out to see what Dean had been waiting for him to discover.  Once the lid to the trunk lifted, Sam couldn’t stop the mile-wide grin that had split his face, as he looked at the full box of fireworks. 

They had shot off every single one that night, almost burned down some old, abandoned house in the process, but it had been so incredibly wonderful to see Dean’s brilliant smile as he held the roman candle aloft over his head, as each colorful puff of smoke and fire lit up the night sky. 

The handle of the second shovel of the night splintered and broke, and with a savage cry, Sam threw it away, as he fell to his knees and began to use his long fingers to claw at the hard earth, so that he could dig the hole that he so desperately needed.  So that he could keep what was left of Dean safe.  Protected until Dean would inevitably need it back. 

Bobby’s hands were on his shoulders then, as he tried to hold him, offer what little solace he could.  Sam shattered then, as he screamed and raged at all that had come to pass.  As the tears flowed in an unending stream of sorrow.  As Sam tried desperately to pull himself back together, so that he might be able to finish this.  One. Goddamned. Thing. 

Bobby pulled yet another shovel from the trunk, and he finished digging Dean’s grave as Sam sat nearby, cradling Dean’s cold corpse close.  Without another word spoken, Dean had been lowered into his final resting place. 

A place that had held such joy once.  But now only knew sorrow. 

After having knelt on the freshly churned soil for hours, Sam finally let Bobby drive them back, as he curled up on the backseat. 

Wishing on all the shooting stars they had ever witnessed streaking across the vast night sky.  Hoping for a miracle to occur.  Praying that he was still alive to see it. 

That his everything would come back to him one day.

[nerves-nebula]

hi. Here’s the promised suicide fic. It’s about the reasoning of the process, not the actual act of committing suicide itself, just as a heads up.

He realizes he wants to die early along the line – it’s very hard not to. It’s a wonderful daydream, one where he won’t have to feel quite as tired. An endless sleep, soft and gentle and merciful; everything life isn’t. 

The next step is planning. He spends hours constructing his family’s faces in his mind when they find out  – weeping, enraged, resigned, indifferent. Imagining their judgement leaves him almost embarrassed. It is an inevitability, but it still leaves him wrong-footed. The worst thing about all of it is the thought of his body, limp and bloated, being found and dragged around most of all. He contemplates methods too – most of them seem terribly slow, and therefore get discarded as possibilities. He doesn’t have the guts for it, quite frankly, doesn’t want to flail around or panic when it’s already too late. He’s never quite been as good at handling pain as any of his siblings.

Would he even want to be found at all? There’s ways to mitigate that, he knows. He’s the smart one, he could figure it out. Even a pathetic genius has his uses. Which would be worse for them? 

His reflection period ends slowly. The realization trickles in slowly, until it’s inescapable. It’s quite simple; he is living on borrowed time. He lets life push him along only when he needs to. The others are moving. 

Life slips through his fingers, in an endless blur. He is just waiting for the right moment now. 

His heart stops beating the moment failure becomes more frightening than success. He imagines it. Imagines his weeping brothers by his bedside. The very notion is exhausting. Maybe that’ll be the final straw to get him shipped off to a psychiatrist, wether he wants to or not. He imagines the gossip and wants to claw his ears from out of his skull. It’s a feeling he is utterly tired of, add this to the list of reasons. He’s got more than thirteen, now. It’s not going to be as neat as that either. He isn’t one of those pretty girls and he won’t leave a body like a fallen angel either. Graceful, tragic, beautifully sad. The kind of body he has is far more suited to be found face-down and bloated in the sewers he grew up in, or in pieces on some weirdo biologist’s counter. 

He has a body that gets picked apart and torn through and bloated and stained and smeared on the walls. He’s tired of that one too, tired of being not-quite human or animal or yokai. There is only one great majority he could possibly qualify for, and maybe this is all he’s ever been meant to be. Draxum’s not a bad scientist, but everyone has failed projects. It’s better to catch it early and build it new from ground up, but sometimes you just need to let go. 

It’s alright. He’s always known he wasn’t meant to live. Every litter needs a runt. Every family has black sheep. Soon enough he’ll be gone, and all of that will die with him and it will hurt like hell, but it will be mercy. 

Firstly: AUGHHH yeah that hits the spppot. That’s the good shit. Especially the parts about it feeling inevitable, and feeling like you weren’t meant to live. Like. Yeaghhhh.

Secondly: for some reason this made me think of a scenario where he plans to kill himself and sets up for Bishop to receive his body, since bishop always did wanna dissect him. It’d be kinda funny cuz the turtles would be freaking out and then bishop would show up like “hey guys what’s up”

Or like, Donnie would try to kill himself in a New York alley and Bishop would show up early like “yo it’s cool u wanna donate yourself to science but I’d get better data if you were alive” that’s just sooo funny to me.

Anyway point is: AAAAAAAA thank YOUUU

[kozukatt]

i wanna see those ninjago headcanons pleaseeeeee

ask and you shall receive :3

Lloyd:

𑁍 he would be the one to sneak food out of the kitchen

𑁍 whenever Zane’s baking he’s there ready to taste test and steal chocolate chips

𑁍 everyone keeps forgetting he’s just a kid in an adult body so even though he acts tough Lloyd is actually terrified of fighting 

𑁍 after Harumi died in the collapsed building he took a few days off to process the whole thing

𑁍 Kai is a big brother to Lloyd so whenever he’s upset Kai’s always there to help

𑁍 same thing with Nya; she’s a big sister and the middle sibling of the RGB trio

𑁍 Lloyd respects everyone on the team for practically raising him and dealing with his evil phase

Kai:

ꕥ will ironically say “FIYAAAA!” But everyone is used to it so there’s no reaction

ꕥ literally an oven

ꕥ remember in s1 when he found Zane in the fridge? Yeah he never lets him live it down even though he chilled in the oven around that time

ꕥ blames himself for every little thing that goes wrong on a mission

ꕥ takes criticism hard

ꕥ grew to be less protective of Nya but he still worries about her time to time

ꕥ relies on his elemental abilities so when they��re taken away (s10) he feels utterly useless 

ꕥ avoids water because 1: he’s terrified of it and 2: so he won’t ruin his hair

ꕥ Kai’s only afraid of bodies of water so anything more than Nya’s abilities is terrifying to him

Cole:

 he’s simply a bear

 a plus size god

(Minor TW for eating disorder)

 developed an eating disorder during the 1 year time skip as a way to punish himself 

(TW over :3)

 video games are his outlet

 never actually had a crush on Nya he was just confused and felt like he had to feel like he liked her

 amazing at sarcasm

 his and Jay’s bromance can never be broken

 even though his relationship with his dad got better he still never feels like he’s enough

 is afraid of singing because of a deep rooted fear of failing stemmed from his dad

 he’s an amazing listener and comforts the team whenever they need

Jay:

✫ has repressed his comic nerd until Lloyd came along

✫ ADHD at its finest

✫ hyper fixated on comic book characters to try and escape his responsibilities 

✫ gaming with Cole is one of his outlets 

✫ doesn’t like to be called out on his faults but will take them well and improve

✫ still feels resentful to his biological mother and father for leaving him but is glad he has Ed and Edna

✫ his hair is always staticky and always shocks people

✫ isn’t allowed in the kitchen because once he tried starting a fire and blew up the oven

✫ his freckles developed after acne and are a result of scars from said acne

✫ a natural ginger

Zane: 

❄︎ his hair is individual strands of synthetic hair

❄︎ whenever his skin got damaged in s1-3 it would mend back together like real skin

❄︎ when he rebuilt himself he only had basic functions but as time went on Jay added on the ability to feel temperature and other things

❄︎ he constantly has imposter syndrome for being a nindroid

❄︎ he has immense respect for his team and Wu

❄︎ the only rational braincell of the group

❄︎ acts irrationally though when it comes to family (Falcon, the ninja, etc.)

❄︎ he sometimes gets rusty and has trouble moving without pain

❄︎ constantly cold but doesn’t feel it so it takes fire or some other super hot thing to make him even a little warm

❄︎ cooking and baking for the team and people he cares about is his way of showing love

❄︎ whenever someone is having trouble with something he will be there to help no matter what

Nya:

༄ she’s a buff queen

༄ one of the tallest of the group

༄ doesn’t have a good relationship with her mother until the end of seabound

༄ even after she reached her full potential Nya is constantly afraid of failing 

༄ her and Kai relied on each other a lot when they were growing up

༄ they didn’t have a good relationship when they were younger but after Wu took them in they had a stable environment and were able to have a better relationship 

༄ wants to prove to herself and others that she’s worthy of being on the team

༄ has a grudge against Dareth for trying to downplay her 

༄ HATES being put into stereotypes 

༄ never backs down from a fight 

༄ even when she knows she can’t win Nya’s able to stall until catching them off guard to gain the upper hand

[thenightfolknetwork]

um, hello. sorry, i’m a bit new to this “writing-in” thing, hopefully this isn’t too much of a mess.

you see, about a week ago, i met with my brother for the first time in… a while. about ten years to be exact. i was turned fairly young, when i was about 16, and my brother was only around 5 at the time. thing was, when i was first turned, i didn’t tell my parents. they would have hated the idea of me becoming a creature of the night, let alone a hematophage.

i didn’t quite understand how feeding worked at the time, or the sudden hunger that would strike me if i didn’t eat regularly. so, not quite sure how to handle myself yet, i nearly starved. i blacked out. and i bit my brother.

i didn’t mean to, i promise. my parents took him to the hospital almost immediately. they asked to keep him from turning, and told me to stay away. so i did. for about two weeks i would leave and come back to the hospital, only to be turned away by a family member or nurse refusing to let me see my brother. i would go home, only to find my parents had put in iron and silver all around, burning me whenever i tried to enter.

so i left. there wasn’t much i could do. i grew up staying with friends, other people of my genus, never staying to long in one place. i settled down fairly recently, got myself a home and a new boyfriend. and a job at a small shop downtown. one day, as i’m walking up to get inside, i see my brother. he’s looking in the window at some new posters we had gotten. i was so happy. i ran up to him, perhaps coming on a bit too strong, and introduced myself.

i understand that i hurt him in the past. i know i scared him. i hate that i ran away, and left him. but to see my own brother, staring up at me, terrified, holding a silver stake? it was a new kind of pain.

i see him almost every day now, but i keep my distance. he made his message clear. he works next door, apparently. sometimes i leave notes, apologies that i find crumpled in the gutter between our stores.

please. i miss my brother. but he hates me now, and he refuses to speak. i’d rather he renounce me, scream that he hates me, or do something, anything other than staring at me with his hand on his belt ready to pull out that damn stake. what do i do?

The first thing that strikes me in reading this letter is the ages of everyone involved. You say you were “fairly young” when you were turned. Reader, you were a child. You were a child, going through a change that is frightening and difficult even for adults who have freely chosen this path.

You were a child, and you were failed, utterly, by the adults responsible for keeping you safe. They failed to provide a supportive environment for you, so that you felt the need to keep this transformation a secret. In so doing, they failed to protect both you and your brother from the obvious, foreseeable consequences of that secrecy.

You didn't “run away” or abandon your brother. You were driven away – again, as a child. You had no agency in this situation, no chance to choose how you wanted to act. Please, be a little kinder to yourself.

I am also struck by your brother's age. He's not an adult man choosing to cut you out of his life – he's a 15 year old boy, already muddling through the slings and arrows of adolescence, suddenly confronted by the reappearance of his estranged sibling.

I'm afraid, reader, you may be asking too much of him. You have no idea what your brother has been told about you.

You don't know what he's been told about the events preceding your departure from the family home, or how your parents have raised him to think about the creature community in general. (Though, if he habitually carries a silver stake in his belt, we can certainly make some inferences.)

His reaction to you speaks more of shock and confusion than outright hatred and anger. It might be that he just needs time to process your reappearance, and to decide how he wants to proceed. Give him that time.

I recommend approaching him one more time, in as calm and neutral a manner as you can manage. Let him know you aren't going to push this – that you'd like to spend some time with him, perhaps get a cup of tea and chat a little, but that it's entirely up to him. Give him an easy way to contact you, and then, reader – walk away.

I hope your brother has a better support system around him than you did at his age. I hope there are adults in his life who can help him through this difficult process and reach a decision that feels right for him.

But that's not something you can control. All you can control is how you treat him – with respect and dignity, taking an adult's share of the emotional burden so it does not fall entirely on his young shoulders.

And by that, I do mean you need to take responsibility for your own emotional well-being here. Whether you find support from your friends or seek out professional help, you need to work through your grief and trauma around your parents' behaviour towards you.

At the risk of sounding patronising, I urge you to remember that you are also still very young, both by sapio standards and even more so by the standards of other, more long-lived genuses.

Your youth does not undermine your right to safety or happiness, or your right to have your grief taken seriously. But it does mean that there is time for this situation to change.

In time, your brother may grow out of the narrow view of the world in which your parents have raised him. I hope so. And by working on yourself and your own emotional health, you will be ready to be better sibling to him if and when he does choose to have you in his life.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

[idontknowreallywhy]

Estera - Ch 20 - Thread

Things are ticking along nicely aren’t they? Could so easily leave it there… but… nah, life isn’t that easy chaps.

It’s been a while since we last saw the rambling chaos that is (in my imagining at least) the inside of Scott’s head. So we shall have a little catch up with that. And a smidge of Estera’s too, just to keep it even.

Recrudescence (to which this is a sequel) and earlier chapters are here.

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The interior designer had done everything possible to make it not feel like a clinical setting but you only needed to come a couple of times before the high-end-hotel-lobby look developed an association with the reasons behind the reason you were there.

Scott sat in the waiting room and tried to lose himself in the wallpaper. John had managed to spend 7 minutes tracing a continuous line through the swirls from one side of the room to the other but frankly Scott didn’t have that sort of patience.

He sighed and looked up at the ceiling, casting his mind back to the time they had come to see Patricia together. It had been good. Awful. Genuinely awful. He shivered. But objectively a good thing. As she often said “It usually needs to get worse before it gets better”. He couldn’t help worry that sitting there and telling his younger brother of some of the horrors had made things more ‘worse’ than they needed to be, however. And then hearing John’s calm but clearly emotional description of witnessing his elder brother relive that time while feverish and incoherent…

Scott hissed quietly to himself. It went against everything he stood for. He was supposed to have been the strong one, he was supposed to have shielded them from all of that.

Too late now. His clear cut role as the protector had shifted irrevocably. He knew John, Virgil too, would now always feel more of a drive to look after him because they’d seen him at his worst, his weakest. He hated it. He hated it so much he wanted to burn the last three months from history and restore their innocent belief in their big brother’s invincibility again.

But.

The revelation had been what he saw in John’s eyes that afternoon.

The horror, he’d expected.

The simmering anger, yes.

But it was what he didn’t see but had dreaded for a decade if the truth ever escaped in this way - the disappointment, the pity. They were missing, miraculously, gloriously absent from his brother’s reaction. What he saw instead was respect and admiration and acceptance and it had blown his mind. The idea that he could so utterly fail to be what he was supposed to be and John would still look at him that way was… well. He guessed he’d be processing that one for a while yet.

Scott hadn’t told him everything though. Not the very darkest part. He’d said only what was necessary to explain what his little brother had been forced to endure with him. He hadn’t mentioned Her: His first great failure.

Then she’d exploded back into his life and it turned out that she wasn’t.

He hadn’t.

They… hadn’t.

Ten years of nightmares as his subconscious picked through what they’d told him and treated him to the lowlights. What she’d endured because of his arrogance in thinking he could make a difference. How much more painful and humiliating her death was thanks to him. He’d seen it so vividly he’d sometimes woken believing he’d somehow been the perpetrator, having to race to the bathroom as his stomach let him know it was as disgusted with him as his mind was.

He knew now his mistake had been to show weakness. His reaction had clearly tipped them off that this… THIS was a way to torture him where more conventional methods had been less than effective. He should have spotted the story became more embellished each time. Should have realised what they were doing. They’d even brought an interpreter to his cell, just to make absolutely sure he understood every last detail. The man had looked so sick, so disgusted by the words he was forced to say. He wondered what happened to the guy… if it ever kept him up at night too.

If only Scott could let him know it wasn’t true. They hadn’t… he hadn’t.

She wasn’t.

Because it meant everything. He blinked back tears as the relief washed over him yet again. If they’d only known it was much easier to make him cry with relief than with pain.

Nothing was immediate though, not even Thunderbird One and especially not the process of persuading his unconscious mind that things had changed. Probably 75% of the times an image of her came to mind it was… not a good one. As Virgil had suggested, every time it happened he tried to imagine her face as she’d sat across the table and teased him about the action figure. The little grin and flash of mischief in her eyes. But that memory was weak and fleeting compared to how reinforced the decade old ones were.

Which was why he was here to see Patricia.

Because he wanted to see Estera again.

Yes, of course it was partly to check she was ok… he was still worried about her. She still seemed very alone, although she had at least opened up a little in her messages he was concerned that might be her only outlet beyond the weekly half hour session with the state-provided counsellor. Oh, and the dog. Seemed like she talked to the dog a lot.

But the real, selfish reason was he needed to see her with his physical eyes again. To reinforce his belief she was real, that he wasn’t imagining it. So he could more easily picture her alive and happy. Hopefully then his subconscious would catch up and maybe sleep would be less… complicated. Was it ok to want to do something just because it would make him happier? People often said it was… he’d just never been convinced.

If she hadn’t been keen, he’d forget it. He wasn’t THAT selfish. But she seemed keen last time he mentioned it. She’d even seemed pretty pleased to hear from him when he’d accidentally called her in the middle of the night, once she’d gotten over the very Virgil-esque half-awake grumpiness. Scott had nearly called again several times since but couldn’t quite think of a good enough excuse and so had ended up channelling his desperation to know she was alright into another silly joke or a jibe about the British weather or asking after the kids in her class.

He had spectacularly failed to follow Patricia’s previous advice about not letting himself feel responsible for the woman. He already felt as though the fact Estera was alive was an invisible thread holding him together, keeping him steady, keeping him here. That… might not be ideal.

It was certainly going to be a different Patricia conversation to the usual. For once, he knew exactly what he wanted. The question he needed to get straight was: was it a good idea?

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The sky was a brilliant blue.

So very close to the shade she loved most of all, toned down perhaps a little by the faintest wisps of cloud lingering in the stratosphere. As she let the surgery door swing shut behind her and paused at the top of the ramp, the wind dropped to the merest breath as if the world was pausing, waiting for her next move.

“Look, see? The UK can manage sunny weather after all.”

Ah, she was doing it again. Chatting away in her head to the imaginary blue-eyed friend she’d carried with her so long he felt closer than family. Not that he ever spoke back… she wasn’t that far gone.

It was still a bit of a shock every time she realised she could actually communicate with the real life version now - she took a quick photo of the sky and a seagull swooped into shot just in time. Nice. She sent it over and watched for a few moments to see whether it would show as received. It didn’t. She pushed back the tendril of panic that edged up her spine. He was just busy. And he’d said Dawn would let her know if anything happened and she hadn’t heard anything so logically everything was fine. Everything was fine.

The gull wheeled, seemingly aimlessly, far above and she watched it for a while before shaking herself and striding purposefully towards the footpath for the main road and the bus stop. She’d booked herself a treat for after the appointment today and didn’t want to miss the bus that would get her there in good time.

That had been the 6th session of the 12 she would get, and so in theory she should be half way there to sorting herself out. It was always hard to know immediately afterwards, as she generally came out feeling as though she’d been run over by something large and extremely weighty… perhaps Virgil Tracy’s big green behemoth… but things were improving. The dreams were still an issue, but she wasn’t losing focus on the present nearly so often during daylight hours and that was definitely something to be thankful for.

The guilt, ‘survivor’s guilt’ as the counsellor called it though Estera hated the phrase because, as she’d pointed out on at least two occasions, she had done far worse than just survive, was perhaps the heaviest thing. She understood and mostly agreed on an intellectual level that it was irrational and, particularly as the supposed victim of her actions didn’t appear to blame her, it was something she should let go of. She knew it in her head. But the knowledge hadn’t made it as far as her heart and she accepted it likely never would. Perhaps she was just supposed to carry the burden… as a way of redressing the balance somehow.

She jumped backwards as a seagull dived to snatch a discarded piece of pastry from a few feet in front of her. She wondered if it was the same one she’d photographed and proceeded to distract herself from more unhelpful trains of thought by trying to work out whether it had been pasty or pie it had scored. A small piece of filling remained behind on the pavement - probably apple? Or potato. Bez would have happily eaten it either way of course.

The bus tracking display on the shelter clicked over to “due”. She straightened up and pulled out her phone in readiness to pay but it vibrated suddenly, slipping from her hands and skidding into the road. She saw the message notification pop up just as the bus swung around the corner.

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Chapter 21…