#but I can make these without weeks of pain

[buttercuparry]

1k+ notes over a day, only for the fundraiser to barely have moved at all in 12 hours.

I don't know maybe you are tired of hearing about Siraj Abudayeh ( @siraj2024 ) but you have to remember that he is trying to survive through a genocide. I can guarantee you that he doesn't like asking for help either, rather everyday he struggles to reach out to people. I mean it is kind of horrible to have gone through Zionist harassment and then finding out that people have stopped responding to you in every way. It kills something inside, especially so soon after finding out that the occupation forces have once again bombed your already destroyed house for no purpose at all, except to flex their power .

Right now Siraj's family is struggling to make do. With the early set in of torrential rains, they don't know what is going to happen. They don't know if the 10 children of the family and the elderly parents will survive through this incoming winter! It is so horrible to have to beg for a chance to survive. So horrible to explain every detail of your life, your every action which in this case entails why he had to increase the end goal of the campaign. I don't know why the donations have stopped but you do realize that he wouldn't be bothering any of you if a settler colony was not bent on destroying Gaza to cement its existence right? He would have been in his home. His kids, his nephews and nieces would all be in the home he took a decade of pain to built. They wouldn't be terrified of the harsh winter ahead and that house of theirs would have given shelter to generations!

Siraj is begging you to donate so that he may buy shaders to water proof his tent. If in the next week the rains start without mercy, then the family at least wouldn't have to worry about leaks of icy water.

$80,121 / $82,000 CAD

1.8k to go. Please help Siraj reach the goal BY TOMORROW so that he may at least buy the shaders to waterproof the tent. Boost and Donate.

Vetting #219

[mikichko]

The Bad Ending + help with the fallout

Hi everyone. I've sat in front of this computer trying to find a way to start this post but the words don't seem to come to me.

Last summer I finally mustered up the courage to open my home and my heart and adopted a 7-year-old kitty. She was named Almond and was the absolute sweetest, cuddliest cat that I had ever encountered. I fell in love with her and I like to think that she also fell in love with me too. She'd greet me at my door every day after work, sit and watch me while I cooked, curl up with me on the couch, and would even curl up right next to me while I slept.

Over the past year, we noticed that Almond's health started to decline and she was diagnosed with Chronic Kidney Disease last month. Her results showed a bleak prognosis but it looked like she had at least a year left.

Sadly that wasn't the case.

This weekend I had to take her to the pet hospital because she had stopped eating and drinking over the past week. She was hospitalized for two nights with the hopes that she would get better. Though her numbers improved, they were not improving to the point where she would be making a full recovery.

Her primary vet theorized that she might not have actually been 7 but a much older cat when she came in. She probably had had Kidney Disease long before I got her and I just managed to bring her home during her last year.

So she's back home and being pampered for her last few days.

I've had to make the difficult decision to put her to sleep sometime this week. It might be sooner, it might be later, but ultimately these are my last few days with her.

I don't really know what else to say besides the fact that I'm gutted. I love this little girl with all my heart. I was looking forward to spending so many more years with her and even taking her on adventures with me. But it just wasn't meant to be.

It's been a turbulent 72 hours of given hope and having it crushed but ultimately I'm glad that I can let her go without much pain.

The whole situation has been incredibly turbulent not just emotionally and financially. Between hospitalization, medication, and her vet visit, we’ve racked up about $5.3k in vet bills.

I’ve set up a fundraising goal over on my kofi to help get some funds to cover at least part of this bill. If you’re not able to donate for whatever reason please share this if possible. I’d greatly appreciate it.

Update: Trying to sort out Kofi so it doesn't show my personal information. If you're still looking to donate I'm also on cashapp as mikichko

Current Donation Standing: $350/$2698.3

Thank you again to all of you for your support. It means the world to me.

[jasmines-library]

Hey Jasmine, sry idk if ur taking requests of not but I was wondering if I could do a supernatural fic where the boys take their sister out to hunt some werewolves but their sister gets scratched and has a bad cut and has a panic attack, it’s up to the boys to calm her down and get her stitched up…

Caught Off guard.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•

hey hey hi! thanks for the request anon! I actually have something fairly (?) similar here! but i wanted to write this for you too. sorry its a little short.

Word Count: 733

Warnings: Blood. stitches. panic attack.

⛧ SPN MASTERLIST ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

The wound was deep. And it hurt like a bitch. That was for certain. Three, ragged gashes splashed across your torso from just below your ribs to your belly button. Your blood seeped from it like paint, staining the fabric of your shirt and beading across the smooth expanse of your skin. 

The werewolf had caught you off guard. You and your two brothers Sam and Dean had been hunting the pack for just short of a week now and you had managed to take them down without much of a problem once you found them. However, werewolves were clever. And this one had decided to play smart.  It had caught you just as you were about to leave, it had jumped out from its hiding spot at the last second, slashing at you in the process. You screamed, the sound ripping from your lips as your flesh tore open. Your brothers were on the creature quickly. But not quick enough to stop the damage from happening. 

Your wound burnt. Skin searing with an immeasurable pain as you looked down at it, fingers moving to touch it only to come away tainted with blood. And then Sam was in front of you. His slender fingers resting on your cheek, tilting it to look up at him. 

“Hey. hey. Look at me.” Sam said. His voice broke through the haze you hadn’t even realised you were in as he tried to coax you into following his instructions. Despite the panic he was feeling internally, his face betrayed nothing. His eyes were soft and calming as he tried to soothe you. “Breathe,” he told you. 

You hadn’t even noticed until now, too hyper fixated on the wound, that you were hyperventilating. Your chest was heaving, a rasp sounding in the back of your throat as you struggled to suck in air with tears threatening to spill from your eyes. The all too familiar feelings of a panic attack hit you full force.

“Calm down.” Sam told you gently. “You’re okay. You’re alright. Breathe.”

You sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady your breathing. 

“That's it, Sweetheart. Good.” Dean’s hand was on your shoulder. The other one reached to pull your hand away from your wound, placing it on his chest to urge you to follow his breathing. The feeling of his heart beat beneath his shirt was grounding. Slow as steady. 

Another breath. Another second trying to slow your breathing and the rapid rise and fall of your chest which caused a disturbance in your wound, only adding to your pain. 

“Good girl.” Sam said softly as your breathing slowed. “It’s okay. You’re going to be fine.”

Dean gave your shoulder a squeeze, trying to hide the grimace as he looked at your wounds. Red raw and still oozing blood. “....she’s going to need stitches.”

Your breath hitched, but Sam squeezed your hand. “It’ll be over quickly, princess. Okay?”

You bit your lip, swallowing thickly before nodding hesitantly. Dean moved quickly, grabbing the first aid kit from Baby before sanitising the needle and threading it before handing it to Sam, who has a steadier hand. Dean’s hand replaced Sam’s gripping yours tightly as Sam reddied the needle, positioning it over your skin.

“I’ll be gentle as I can, ok kiddo?”

You nodded, trying to look anywhere but Sam and the needle in his hand.

“It’ll be a quick pinch, okay sweetheart?” Dean reassured me. “You can squeeze my hand as much as you need. Okay?”

“.....okay.”

After taking a breath, Sam pushed the needle into your skin to make the first stitch. His fingers moved with swift precision, determined to get this over as quick as possible and keep it as painless for you as he could. You couldn't help the small whimper that slipped out of your lips as you gripped Dean’s hand tightly.

He squeezed your hand back reassuringly. “That’s it kid. Just a little more.”

Sam worked nimbly, closing the wounds with a  few stitches before covering them with a gauze pad and bandages just in case. When he was done, he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, allowing you to take a breath.

“All done sweetheart. It’s all done. It’s over.”

You shuddered a sigh, relaxing back into Dean a little bit who gave your hand one last reassuring squeeze. 

“You did good kid. So good.”

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

SPN TAGS:

@xxrougefangxx @hell-o-kittys @inlovewhithafairytale @harleycao @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @rosecentury

[lacyscabinet]

Okay but now imagine reader didn't die through sickness, imagine they committed suicide. That they gave up hope completely and left a message for the other girls to use you and to make sure Natalie did too? That they hated life but loved her and even if they didn't make it, they wanted to help her survive. I'm not well about this.

Death cap

A/N: I'm not well about this either anon you are so seen. Hello my dear anon ik that you probably thought I wouldn't write your request at this point but here I am 😭 life absolutely SUCKS lately so what do I do? Go to therapy? Adopt a carnivorous plant? NO! A WRITING COMEBACK! It's pretty short but enjoy and stay safe 🤍🤍

!!!for those who don't know the anon is referring to my fic "the wilderness dance", here it is. You can totally read this without reading the other one as well:)

Absolutely not proofread! :) BUT beta read by my brotha @pinkmoonzzz 🤍🤍 and the ex gf reminder™ @littlelqtte

NAVIGATION

TW: suicide via mushrooms (tlou stans rise), CANNIBALISM!!!!! It's only implied but still, reader is DEAD!!!!!!, pain and suffering. Please please please do not read if any of these topics disturb you in any way!!!

Autumn had slowly died right before your eyes. You could tell. In the mornings, the cold, stinging air blew onto your face, while in the evenings, it was almost impossible to stay outside the cabin without a crackling fire warming you up. Hence why, when Jackie stepped outside the door that fateful night, you knew you weren't going to see your team's captain ever again.

Predictably, the situation aggravated even more after that day. And there's only so much a teenager can take. Surviving was a privilege at this point, and if being privileged meant eating your dead friends, you weren't sure if you wanted to be there at all.

Natalie was away most of the time, and it's not like there was much to do inside the cabin. The days went by, and slowly your brain started to fog: memories of life before the crash appearing blurry and messy. All your hopes of watching flowers bloom again soon vanished in the dark attic where you spent most of your sorrowed days. Soon enough only death and hunger were left in you.

So one particularly cold night, after slipping out of Nat's arms and placing a small peck on her forehead, you went up the unstable ladder leading to the attic. In the dim light of an old candle, you rummaged through a small, hidden box where you kept all your things, or at least the things you didn't want the others to know about.

You took your diary, scribbled down what you needed to say, and then rummaged in the box a little more. And right there before your eyes, you saw it.

Amanita phalloides.

Or more commonly known as Dead cap. You had found it weeks ago, picked it up, dried it, and then stored it in a jar, always making sure that no one could find it. It was deadly poisonous after all. But you still kept it. Just in case.

"Natalie?"

Nat heard a quiet voice coming from the cabin's porch. Snow crunched under her boots as she kneeled in the snow, hand holding onto something colder than the hauntingly freezing weather.

"Go away, Misty," she didn't hesitate to say, not moving an inch. Still facing away from the blonde-haired girl, hiding her tears from anyone who wasn't the lifeless frame of the girl she loved.

"Nat" Misty called out for her again "We found something that you might want to see," she then suddenly announced, finally catching Natalie's attention. Wiping her damp and cold cheeks with the back of her old jacket, she finally turned around, meeting Misty's eyes.

"I told you not to touch her things," she instantly spat in Misty's face, noticing her holding your beat-up diary in her hands.

"We were trying to find something to light up the fire. We ran out of wood. We wanted to use some empty pages, but as I said, I think there's something you might want to see..." she looked down at the object, holding it out for Natalie "....Something you might want to read."

Confused, Nat took one last look at your now blue, pale, and stiff body before getting up, immediately snatching the diary from Misty's claws, holding it to her chest while walking back inside.

When she entered the living room, everyone looked up at her from their spots on the floor. They had all gathered around the fire, all snuggled in raggedy blankets. She could recognize the blanket she wrapped you up in just days before you passed: it was now keeping Mari warm as she stirred something in a big pot, probably some sort of watery soup. It was all they had left after all.

She didn't sit down with them though. She needed to be alone, because no one around her was you, and that killed her every day since you had left.

So she walked straight to the kitchen, sitting down on a chair at the table, feeling the leather on the cover of your diary under the pads of her freezing fingers.

Her hands trembled as she opened the diary, the weight of your final words pressing down on her. She skimmed through the pages, each line made her feel uneasy, gut-wrenching revelations of your despair and resignation were the only things that could be found on the paper. The pain you felt, your ultimate choice, and, one last plea for Natalie to survive, even if it meant feeding off of you, literally. It was all laid bare right before her eyes.

Natalie’s eyes welled with ,tears as she read your desperate farewell. The stark realization that you had been so hopeless and alone was almost too much to bear. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, suppressing it just like she had grown used to suppress the almost constant rumbling in her stomach.

But the sobs came uncontrollably and the hunger couldn't be disguised.

The diary fell from her hands. She clutched her chest, trying to keep her cries silent, but the anguish was too great.

Then suddenly, a noise from outside pierced through her grief: the sharp, rhythmic sound of someone sharpening a knife. Her breath hitched as her eyes widened in horror.

The cabin was awfully quiet.

Your body was still out in the snow.

Natalie’s mind raced. She stumbled out of the kitchen, her feet slipping on the icy floor as she rushed to the door. The cold air hit her like a slap as she forced herself outside, the snow crunching under her weight once again. She followed the sound, her heart pounding in her chest, each step a struggle against the biting cold and her own rising panic.

As she neared the edge of the clearing where your body lay, she stopped in her tracks after noticing everyone already huddled up around you, flashbacks of Jackie appearing before her.

And maybe, Natalie would've tried to stop them from reducing you to a bunch of bones she would have to throw away in the site of the plane crash when the morning came.

But, they had already started.

A/n: skibidi, skibidi toilet. I love you pls don't die.

my ask button is now active again so go crazy:) send some happy requests please 😭😭

shiver me timbers

[thoughtsforsoob]

when their s/o gets hurt - txt

note: hello!! I finally found some time to write so please enjoy! I’m doing my best in my classes so please wish me well 💘 anyone in school/uni, good luck! You’ve got this!! This was highly inspired by an incident that happened today after dinner 😭 pray for my scrape to heal soon without getting infected. Please enjoy this and let me know if you like it.

yeonjun

he’s more worried than you are. you actually have to help him not have a panic attack. you two decided to have a cute little picnic at a nice park. you made lots of yummy snacks and finger foods! He was munching on a pbnj while you were looking around. You found a cat and reached out to pet it but turns out, the kitty wasn’t wanting to be touched because they scratched you. The kitty scurried away and yeonjun rushed over to you. He was struggling to not scream his head off and hyperventilating. You look at him and put your not bloody hand on his shoulder, “baby, relax. It’s just a small scratch. well go get it checked now and they’ll just give me a little shot.” You kiss his cheek and after a while, he calms down and drives you to the urgent care room.

soobin

big softie tries not to show any worry because then he knows it’s going to scare you even more. you and him were walking and at some point, you got stuck behind him while talking on the phone. your friend had called about some plans for later that night. because you weren’t paying attention, you failed to notice the poll right in front of you. You crashed right into it and let out a yelp. Soobin was quick to turn around and gently pull you close to him. He checked to make sure you were okay and noticed the small bruise forming on your nose. He let you say goodbye and then took you to get ice for your face.

beomgyu

he’s like your best friend. he’s loosing his shit when it happens but then gets so worried and feels bad for laughing. you were walking down the street with him, enjoying an evening of shopping. You had a bag in your hand with the new gentle monster jelly sunglasses! you weren’t paying attention so you tripped over a crack on the side walk. You fell and the bag went flying, falling hard on the floor. Beomgyu started to giggle but when he heard you start to sniffle, he crouched down to pick you up. your palms were all scraped up so he rushed to grab your bag and took you to the nearest pharmacy to get stuff to clean your hands. it stung of course but he was careful. he was also sad to see you pout about your broken glasses so next week, a new pair was sitting on your best, plus another pair!

taehyun

he’s so calm, much like soobin. he doesn’t want to worry you but he himself is also not to worried. he knows his girl is tough and can get through anything. you were fixing up your hair to go on a date with tyunnie. While straightening a section of hair, you went up a little too high and burned your ear! You cried out in pain and dropped the straighter. He heard your cry and rushed over from the bathroom where he was fixing up his own hair. “Oh my, what happened hmm? A burn?” He examined the burn sight and wordlessly went to get some burn ointment. “You’re gonna be okay. Right? For being so strong, I’ll get you a little prize. How does that sound?” He’s collected and calm and you remain calm too.

huening kai

he was with you when it happened and he was panicking! he is such a caring guy so when it happened, he’s rushing to you to make sure you’re breathing and alive lmao. you were playing by the pool at your family home. you’d brought him to meet your parents and you two had an afternoon to yourselves. you weren’t listening to his warnings to not run and you fell! you slipped on water and he was flying out of the pool to help you up. you were luckily okay, just a scrape on your knee. That’s what you were thinking but kai was worried. He rushed you inside, made you tell him where the first aid kit was, and he nursed you back to perfect health. what a sweetheart, is what your parent says upon hearing about this.

[leiascully]

Can I request a smutty/angsty prompt? Mulder initiating more sex because he’s secretly having a bit of baby fever which opens a very serious (fight/?)conversation about having another kid. Set anytime after the truth

Here you go. 1500 angsty words; rated M for sexual situations. Trigger warnings for discussions of infertility, pregnancy, medical interventions, PTSD/trauma, etc.

They’re in South Dakota, maybe, in a small dingy motel room on the bad edge of town. But it doesn’t matter, because they’re together. They’re finally out of the car and she’s pushing her hands under the hem of his t-shirt and he’s unbuttoning her jeans and it hasn’t been that long since they made love (days? A week?) but she’s nipping at him like she wants to devour him. Time loses its meaning on the road, and so does space. But they’re here, both of them, and that’s all he cares about.

He kisses her breasts. They’re different than they were before: softer and lower, the shape of them changed. The breasts that nourished his son. He worships them with his mouth and his hands. She makes wanting little sighs and kisses his head. She’s quieter now than she used to be. Less free, maybe. In his apartment, she used to scream her pleasure. It’s not like the neighbors weren’t used to it.

Her nails prick at his skin. She’s grown them long, painted them red. He doesn’t like it much, but it does disguise her. And he likes the feeling of them scratching welts down his back. After everything, maybe he shouldn’t enjoy the pain, but it’s on his terms now.

He lays her out on the bed. The comforter is scratchy and thin under his belly as he wallows between her thighs. She moans and tangles her fingers in his hair. He’s grown it out. She brushes it tenderly off his forehead sometimes, but it’s better when she tugs at it like she’s doing now. He still can’t feel everywhere. Nerve damage from whatever happened to him. But the scratches, the prickling in his scalp, the slightly damp skin of her palm wrapped around his cock: he can feel those things.

She writhes under him, murmuring his name. He slides up her body. Her body is different too. Her belly is softer, rounder, striped with silver where their son stretched her skin.

He wants to have another baby with her. He wants to be there this time, to hold back her hair when she vomits and feel her belly swell under his splayed fingers. He wants to spill himself inside her. The urge is primal, nearly overpowering. His woman, splayed open under him. He loves her incandescently. He wants to fuck her through the cheap bed until her body goes limp with pleasurable exhaustion.

This urge to plow into her, to put his child inside her, terrifies him. The veneer of civilization is already rubbed thin by their transient life. They don’t need a baby with them in the car. But he wants to hear her call out his name, and he wants to lose himself in her body, and he wants to see the look on her face when she realizes they have been granted another miracle.

He prowls up her body to kiss her mouth. She licks the taste of herself from his tongue, greedy for his kisses. She’s in a wild mood. She sucks at his lip, lips at his nipple. He pushes two fingers into her, thumbs at her clit, makes her squirm under him. She gasps. He takes his cock in hand, rubs it between her folds. The slick head of it rests against her entrance. He can feel himself thick and heavy with need.

“Mulder, wait,” she says. “We need a condom.”

“I thought we could do without one,” he says, withdrawing just a little. His shaft slides against her clit and she arches into him automatically.

“I’m out of birth control,” she says. “We can’t.”

“I thought maybe,” he starts to say. “I thought we could try.”

“Try?” She looks up at him, puzzled, and then her eyes widen. She wriggles out from under him and sits on the bed, pulling her knees up and locking her arms around them. “Mulder, no. We can’t.”

“Why not?” He rolls onto his side. “I know it’s not the best idea.”

“Do you have any idea what I went through?” she asks. Her voice is quiet but it trembles. “Mulder, do you have any idea?”

“I know the birth wasn’t what you wanted,” he says, and trails off. Because the truth is that he doesn’t know. He wasn’t there. He knows she knows that. He was gone, and she suffered alone: not just the nausea but the fear. But he suffered too.

“I didn’t know if I would give birth to a child or a monster,” she says. “Was it a miracle, Mulder, or some strange experiment? I love him - I loved him - beyond all reason, but I still can’t answer that question. Every day, I was afraid. I was sick with it. Every minute I carried him in my body, I was afraid for his life and mine. And I was alone.”

“You wouldn’t be alone,” he offers.

“How can you ask me this?” There are tears in her eyes. “How dare you ask me this now?”

“I thought….” He shakes his head in frustration. “It doesn’t matter.”

She’s crying now, tears rolling silently down her cheeks. One hand is pressed to her belly. The other still clutches her knees.

He rolls out of bed. The moment is gone. His cock is already drooping. He drags on his underwear and a pair of shorts, finds his t-shirt. His socks and sneakers were discarded on the floor in a more hopeful moment. He picks them up and puts them on again.

“Going for a run,” he says, as if it matters what he says, and then he’s out the door.

It’s hot. The air shimmers above the road, and there’s nowhere to run but the shoulder. He starts too fast, relishing the way the air burns in his lungs. He doesn’t have the stamina he used to, but fuck if he’s limping back early. She needs her space. So does he. There’s a chasm between them he’ll never be able to bridge with words. He might have done it with his body if he hadn’t been so rash.

It takes two. But his yearning doesn’t stack up against her avulsion. He remembers the toll the IVF took on her. She can’t learn that William’s conception can’t be replicated outside of a lab. He understands that. She can’t lie on her back with her legs up, stare at a pregnancy test that refuses to reveal the results she wants, track her cycle. He remembers the shots and the mood swings. He remembers the way disappointment crushed her. He remembers the way her back ached the last month of her pregnancy, how she couldn’t sleep.

But god, he wants a child. He wants a family, with her. He wants their child. William.

Leaving felt like erasing their tracks. It felt like starting over. For a moment, he let himself be overwhelmed with the potential of it. Now he plods down the road, legs heavy, and begins to understand the nerve he’s touched. He’s angry, and he’s aching, and he’s mourning the peace they might have known. But she’s aching too, and furious, and guilty, and ashamed.

There’s a hole in their hearts where their family might have been. He can’t fill it. Instead, he runs away, across the baking plains. He runs until he’s tired and then he turns around.

The door is unlocked when he gets back to the motel. Not safe, not their protocol, but he left the key with her. He’s sweaty and covered in dust. He stinks. He’s exhausted. The room is dark when he enters. He looks for her in the bed. She isn’t there. For a moment, panic shoots through him. But the car was in the parking lot - he leaned against it to stretch.

As his eyes adjust to the dim, he realizes she’s curled up in the armchair farthest from the door, her feet tucked up under her. Her lashes are stuck together from crying. Her sleep looks uneasy but deep. His heart breaks a little at the sight of her. It hurts, too, to know he hurt her, and it hurts to feel his own pain unacknowledged. But the ties that bind them have been snarled and knotted for years. He knows the bite of that rope as well as he knows his own heartbeat.

He slides the comforter from the bed and tucks it around her. She murmurs in her sleep but doesn’t stir. The air conditioner rattles and hisses. The air in the room is icy as the blood in his veins. He gazes down at her. She’s made herself so small. That’s his fault. That hurts. Another cut to add to his thousand. Death has already come for him and spit him back up. Now he’s a walking wound, and so is she. He forgets that sometimes, or tries to. It didn’t work this time.

She hasn’t woken by the time he’s finished his shower. He should go find them some dinner, but he’s weary to the bone. He slides into the lumpy bed alone and pulls the thin sheet over himself. It’s cold, but he’s been cold before. He knows the lonely chill of the grave. It’s unwelcome, but so familiar he’s almost comforted. The sheet is a shroud. The room closes them in, a coffin for two, suffocated by the once-fertile earth of their dreams.

[ladyknightellen]

It's a Mobility Aid...Not a Fucking Prop!!!

I guess it's just my brand at this point to go mia for a few weeks, then come back with a rant about some new, mildly infuriating realization I've had.

This particular realization is one that's kind of been buzzing in the back of my head as something that was kind of off, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was until now. The 'aha' moment came when I was looking for pictures of Kaz Brekker to add to my collection of stickers on my binder for school. As I scrolled through, I began to notice a frustrating trend in the fan art...

Kaz Brekker, a canonically disabled character, who uses a cane to walk is consistently being drawn holding his cane as if it's just a prop, or a weapon, rather than what it actually is A GODDAMN MOBILITY AID!!!!

And before you start with 'but he hits people with it' I'm going to stop you right there. Yes, he does use it as a weapon sometimes, and it's even described in canon as being designed with the intention of using it as a club if needed, but it's still a cane. It is still a mobility aid that he needs TO WALK, and when you treat it like nothing more than a prop or a weapon, you erase a very important aspect of who Kaz is as a character, and honestly, as a cane user with chronic pain myself, it feels almost violent to see how often it happens.

Whenever I see art of Kaz standing with his cane in his hands like a billy club, or holding it across one or both shoulders, all I can think about is how much pain he would be in to hold a position like that without using the cane for support. At numerous points in the books during Kaz's pov chapters, we get several very detail descriptions of what it feels like for him on a daily basis as a result of his chronic pain. We also get several instances of how it feels when he has his cane taken from him, when he uses it to fight, or when he's disguised and doesn't want to give himself away. We see the toll it takes on his body to do this, and he always pays for it later.

Kaz does not swagger around Ketterdam with his cane over his shoulder, occasionally taking a swing at rival gang members. If this is the image you have in your head of him, please, I beg you to get rid of that image. Kaz is DISABLED. He has severe chronic pain and walks with a heavy limp and that cane is making contact with the ground on every step. Based on the kind of injury he had, I would imagine that his injured leg might even be a bit shorter than the other, which would possibly be evident in a visible lack of symmetry in the height of his shoulders. And that's just one possible way it could affect his body beyond just his leg that would be outwardly visible.

There are many more, but the point is that injuries like the one Kaz experienced can affect the entire body even with the best care and therapy, and Kaz didn't have any of that. I'm not asking you to be a medical expert just to draw fanart, but I am begging you think about things like this and at the very least, PLEASE draw the mobility aid being used as a mobility aid, not a prop. Stop erasing and sanitizing what little representation we have. If you think it makes him 'look more badass' or whatever to have his cane over his shoulder, I kind of don't really care.

P.S. And don't use the tv show as a reference because Freddy Carter is yet another example of a non disabled actor playing a disabled character.

[m00njelly]

I’d sneak into your closet while you were in the shower.

I’ve been watching you for weeks. I know you keep that spare key under the doormat. I know you won’t hear the door open over the sound all the noise your shower makes, and you definitely won’t notice that you closet it cracked open just a little wider than you left it. You never do. Usually I’m content to watch you. You dry off and lotion up before laying in bed and masturbating til you pass out. You look so perfect, especially while you’re sleeping. You breathe so softly. Usually looking is enough for me, but tonight is different. Tonight I need to feel you, taste you.

I hear the water cut off and know my chance is coming. I watch you walk into the room and drop your towel. I’ve seen your body so many times and yet it never ceases to amaze me. I watch as you moisturize yourself, your arms, your chest, your legs, from your thighs to your feet and back up again. I can hardly wait to let my hands explore your body like that. You finish up, turn off the lights and crawl into bed. It’s almost time. You put your headphones on and pull up one of your favorite videos. It’s rough, probably painful, what they’re doing to the girl in that video. That’s what I’m going to do to you. You start touching yourself, pinching your nipples, giving your tits a little smack here and there to try and put yourself in her position. You work your way down to your cunt. The sounds you make are disgusting and beautiful all at once. I can’t wait anymore. I pull the knife out of my pocket and creep out of my hiding spot to the side of your bed. You don’t even notice me until the metal is touching your neck.

“Don’t scream”

I whisper it, even though I know I don’t really have to. I can see the fear and confusion in your eyes mixing with the pleasure from your fingers still being inside you.

“Don’t stop”

You continue as you’re told. You understand the implication of disobeying. You’re not entirely sure if that’s the only thing compelling you to listen. I trace the knife down your neck to your chest.

“I don’t wanna hurt you. You understand?”

You nod slowly. You keep working your fingers in and out of your slit. They’re shakier than usual, understandable. I place my hand over yours.

“Let me help you, baby”

You flinch at my touch. I move your hand aside and trace circles around clit. You start to open up bit by bit. I slide the flat surface of the knife across your chest to your nipples. They’re practically solid. I take one into my mouth and slide the knife back to your neck to hold it there. You taste as good as I’d imagined. I slide a finger into your cunt, and then another. You’re squeezing onto them so hard and dripping. You’re struggling to keep your moans in, probably afraid that if you make too much noise I’ll slit your throat. I know it won’t come to that, though, because you love this. You love what I’m doing to you. I can feel it. I feel you tighten up around my fingers and a splash on my hand. I look at your face and you’re off on another planet. I grab you by the throat and drag you back to reality, pressing the tip of the blade into your cheek just enough for you to feel it

“Now baby, who said you could cum without permission?”

-🐻

God yes please want to cream all over your c0ck and be filled!!!

[goodoldfashionedengineer]

TUA Tumblr Simulator pt. 1

Find more here: pt. 2

—

🪩traumallama Follow

The Umbrella Academy never should have existed. Those were CHILDREN!! They were THIRTEEN when they first appeared! They KILLED people! Two of them DIED! It really goes to show how much you can do if you have money

FUCK Reginald Hargreeves

🌺thinkingthings Follow

Wait 5 DIED?!

🪩 traumallama Follow

It was never confirmed, but honestly, seems the most likely that they would have just covered it up. If he's still alive, I hope he got to live a nice life without that cult

10,846 notes

💗L0veOnLo4n Follow

Every journalist, interviewer, fan, whatever, who is asking Allison Hargreeves about her brothers or her father should just be sent to space. How would you like it if I bring up your childhood trauma constantly?

🌫️love-h4te-whatevs Follow

Didn't she like kill people?

💗L0veOnLo4n Follow

She was a CHILD! It was all planned by their father, he was the one who "trained" them. He should go to prison but that won't ever happen. Not to mention he didn't just adopt those children, he bought them

3,245 notes

🌌jupiters-moons Follow

WE GOT A BEHIND THE SCENES UMBRELLA ACADEMY BOOK OWNDNAOWOE

🌌jupiters-moons Follow

I am so excited to go read this

🌌jupiters-moons Follow

Starting off: WOW Reginald Hargreeves was an even bigger asshole behind closed doors. Who would have thought?

🌌jupiters-moons Follow

Okay, okay okay WHAT WHAT WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK?!!

ALLISON Hargreeves and Spaceboy were IN LOVE WITH EACH OTHER?!

WEREN'T THEY LIKE SIBLINGS?!

I know the book says that they weren't really a family... But they were?? They are clearly described as brothers and sisters?

🌌jupiters-moons Follow

Had to put the book down for a while

Gosh, that so surprised me

I used to have the BIGGEST crush on Spaceboy but now I doubt I can think of them the same way ever again

🌌jupiters-moons Follow

Calmed down, I'll continue now

🌌jupiters-moons Follow

BIG MISTAKE, BIG MISTAKE

WHY ARE YOU TELLING US ABOUT THE TIME YOUR MOTHER TOLD YOU AT DINNER THAT YOUR BROTHER HAD HIS FIRST WET DREAM!

That does NOT belong in a book!

🌌jupiters-moons Follow

Drug addiction by age 13, damn

🌕eyestothesun Follow

Wait who was addicted to drugs

🌨️twirlingandwhirling Follow

The Séance. Kinda surprised so many people are shocked about this. There are quite a few interviews with them in which it is just blatantly obvious. Look at his eyes in this one for example. Or in this one he is so chill, not really there, but his siblings do all the talking

🌳drrrrreams Follow

Wow first time I've heard about this but this is so... Incredibly sad.

👥lurkeringlurrlurr Follow

Honestly? I'm more surprised that not more of them are addicts after all they've been through

🌌jupiters-moons Follow

Thanks for the additions!

Five's tragical disappearance. This is the worst part of it by far. They were so close and you can just feel the grief. And to never know what happened, damn

And one of their brothers can see dead people...

I don't know if I'd want to ask him or not. Asking for closure's sake, but if you don't, there is still hope that he'll come back some day.

This is just so sad

🌌jupiters-moons Follow

Spoke too soon, it can get sadder

Ben was their glue, his death was so brutal. He died so young and so painful, I can't imagine what that must be like. For him or for the siblings.

No wonder they disbanded after that. It makes you question your own mortality

8,799 notes

🚵rolly-molly Follow

Wait what happened to Spaceboy? Did he give up on missions and move out?

🤺theyseemen0t Follow

He died

🚵rolly-molly Follow

WHAT

🤺theyseemen0t Follow

I mean, it was never confirmed, but he got really badly injured on his last mission, lethally, and hasn't been seen since

🚵rolly-molly Follow

I had no idea. Rest in Peace

🍇thelandbeforewine Follow

False news, he got injured, but he survived. Otherwise we would have known about it from "Extra Ordinary" which came out last week, given that all the other family secrets were shared in it.

🚵rolly-molly Follow

Ohh, thank you so much! That makes me really happy, I was really worried

2,840 notes

[crisis-starter]

Heya!

Back with another part!

Isabeau time!

This is the CIAS version of Bad Touch if that makes any sense.

I hope you enjoy!

)•{+}•<>+<>•{+}•(

The favor tree was always a marvel to Isabeau. A gargantuan tree, capable of granting wishes, or at least giving you hope. Faux hope or not, it always brought a smile to his face. He was tempted to wish for confidence in what he wanted to do. But, for the current situation, that felt selfish. So he wouldn’t wish that for now. After all, maybe he could muster the courage up himself with no help from some ethereal god! Plus, the change god was lazy. They wouldn’t really care about a silly confession, right? Wait, maybe thinking that may be considered a tad sacrilegious. Stop thinking about it, Isabeau.

Siffrin approached, holding an almost exhausted expression. Isabeau could tell that something was up. Siffrin, despite sleeping for a few hours, looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. Isabeau saw Siffrin muster up a strange expression. Eyes closed, smile a little too wide. But still decided that this wasn’t going to worry him too much. Siffrin faced Isabeau and said, “Isa.” Isabeau decided to comment on the exhausted demeanor, but try not to be too mean, “Sif. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed? I get it.” State that he can relate! Good step! But it didn’t look like it did anything.

Try again! Maybe… a distraction? Isabeau looked at the favor tree with a bright smile, “Anyway, I was just looking at the Favor Tree! Isn’t this tree cool?” Siffrin’s expression didn’t change. But he responded at least, “Yeah it is…” Isabeau replied, cheerfully, hoping it was contagious, “Glad you agree!” Siffrin’s expression didn’t change. Something was wrong. Nothing was really working!

Siffrin spoke up again, “One could say it’s a pretty…” This tone… it was set up for a pun! Isabeau looked at Siffrin, ready for the laugh of a century, “Uh huh???” Isabeau always loved to hear Siffrin’s puns. Not only that, but their voice, their combat skill, the look in their eye when he spends time with everyone, everything, every tiny detail that someone might not notice right away… is it not understandable why Isabeau’s heart fluttered around the little rogue? And here came the punchline, “…TREE-mendous tree.” Isabeau ignored the unchanging mask in favor of uncontrollable laughter. Siffrin joined him!

Isabeau felt like grabbing Siffrin’s shoulder as he wound down, but stopped himself. Siffrin’s expression changed to something… odd. It looked like they yearned for something as they kept their eye on Isabeau’s hand. At the same time, it held some level of desperation. It made the fighter sad. He stopped himself, once he caught Siffrin’s gaze and remembering Odile’s warning. Siffrin looked back, clearly coming to some kind of conclusion.

A sharp pain started to develop in Isabeau’s head. Siffrin’s expression turned serious. This… perplexed Isabeau. So he tried to ask, “…Uh, Sif? Ah—“ Without a word, Siffrin grabbed his shirt, pulled him down to his level and…

What?

Wait.

What?

In shock, Isabeau pushed Siffrin back to process what on earth happened to cause the rogue to kiss him out of nowhere. Or, rather, the whole situation itself. The headache was getting worse, the air growing sickly sweet. He didn’t like it. But it took 2 seconds to find a second detail that triumphed over the change in the air. Siffrin expressed… horror. Complete and utter horror. But, seemingly, it wasn’t with Isabeau, it was with-

The headache stopped. The air changed. It was back to normal. Siffrin’s expression quickly changed to that smile from before. But for some reason, it was more unnerving and fake, “Hi Isa! I need to do the Favor Tree thing!” Still recovering from the shock regarding the kiss, Isabeau responded, “Oh! Sorry, I’m in your way then, aren’t I? I’ll get out of your hair, see you at the Clocktower!!!” As he witnessed Siffrin walk towards the tree, he called, somewhat quietly, “Sif?” Siffrin ignored him, Or maybe they didn’t hear. He sighed, then proceeded to walk towards the field in the north of Dormont.

He took a breath in, and out. Then he started to think. What about that first one? Start with the first weird expression. That expression he saw Siffrin had when Isabeau was about to touch him. Didn’t Siffrin have a problem with touch? If so, why did they react like that? Like they were waiting for it. Almost silently begging for it. Why?

Second issue: the air and the headache. Awfully convenient, them happening at the same time. Not convenient. That makes it sound good. Coincidental? Strange? It just felt the slightest bit like a bad omen. Was it Craft? If so, what kind? It felt like time was pushed back a few minutes, so it might be time craft. But wasn’t the use of time craft a death sentence? Then again, the King is using Time Craft just fine. Keep a pin on it just in case.

Third issue: the conclusion, and the sudden change to seriousness along with the actual kiss. It was impulsive, yes. What conclusion did Siffrin come to to warrant such an action? What happened to warrant such an expression? Did Isabeau do something wrong without realizing?

Fourth issue: Siffrin’s expression before time decided to… malfunction? Horror. Pure terror. The way they hugged themselves implied that they were horrified by themselves. Honestly, Isabeau would be very disgusted with himself if he did that but this… that was… he almost wanted there to exist a kind of craft that help someone read minds. It would be royally invasive and Isabeau might never use it because it’s rude at the very least. But it would still be nice to know exactly what he had to work with to make his friends (and crush) happy.

Hold on… Isabeau was forgetting something. The exhaustion… Siffrin wasn’t sluggish, but he did look a bit tired. Or maybe ‘a bit’ is an understatement. The laugh that Siffrin produced also sounded vaguely fake. Like the scene was practiced. And the fake smile after the time rewind thing? It just looked like they were… improvising.

Then there was the case about Mirabelle acting odd, running up to him in a panic before Siffrin arrived. Asking him questions about things he didn’t remember. Maybe he should keep a close eye on those two in the house.

Isabeau approached the meadow overlooking the House of Change. The sight of such a building being distorted so badly did not help alleviate the worry that filled his being. He sighed quietly, hoping to calm his nerves. Isabeau sincerely hoped that Siffrin would recover. Or at least things would get better soon.

Then there was the case about Mirabelle acting odd. Asking him questions about things he didn’t remember. Maybe he should keep a close eye on those two in the house.

)•{+}•<>+<>•{+}•(

Haha, I was going to post this last night.

But I just passed out before I finished editing.

Fair, it was 2:30 AM and I definitely should not have been awake.

I’m having a bit of trouble with Mirabelle’s so it might take me a bit.

Also uh…. This is not being posted in chronological order.

[typicalopposite]

Thanks @priincebutt for the tag 🫶

slowly making my way through chapter 7! 🫠 sorry this has become my whole personality lately 😂 this is my main fic at the moment!

“Kinard!” Captain Collier calls from his office, nearly causing Tommy to drop the laptop he has meticulously balanced on his (extremely, dreadfully, embarrassingly) large belly. He has long since been able to comfortably do anything at his desk— the bump getting in the way, and sitting at an angle hurts his constantly aching back— so he has been using the bump instead… God knows it sticks out far enough anyway. He lifts the laptop off, and sets it on the table; crumbs from the bag of chips he was eating topple from his shirt to the floor when he stands. He frowns at the mess and grabs the broom he keeps close by (this happens often) and sweeps them into a pile. “Tommy?” Collier repeats softer this time, poking his head out of his office. 

“Uh, come— coming Cap!” He tries in vain to bend and reach the dustpan. He holds on to the desk for support but he feels like he’s going to tumble forward every time he starts to lower himself. Then he sits back down and tries again… still with no success; he even tries to flip it onto the broom and balance it up to the desk.

“Let me,” Collier says, now beside him. He takes the broom then bends down and sweeps the crumbs into the dustpan. After he throws the crumbs away he straightens back up and sits on the edge of Tommy’s desk. “Tommy…” he says again, and just from the look on his face, Tommy already knows what he’s about to say. “Listen. I know you want to work up until you deliver, but I really think it’s time.” Tommy can feel his mouth pulling down and Collier sighs.  “Hey… come on, don’t do that.” 

Tommy is trying desperately not to humiliate himself by ‘doing that’— i.e. crying— but it has gotten so much harder lately. He feels huge, and heavy, and tired, and sore all the time! All that meshes together and has made him somehow even more emotional. 

“What did you do to him, Cap!?” Lucy gasps, walking into the hanger. 

Collier sucks at his teeth and pushes off the desk. “I didn’t do anything but suggest he make these last weeks easier on himself.” 

“Well,” Lucy says… more so to Tommy. 

“Not you too, Luce?!” Tommy feels his pout deepen. 

Lucy laughs, and comes up behind him, squeezing and massaging his shoulders before wrapping her arms around him. “Don’t get me wrong, work will suck without you, and I am going to miss you so much; I don’t want you to leave…” she says. “I just want you to get some rest… you know the whole cliche you better sleep while you can because you won’t once baby is here— except you’re gonna have two babies keeping you up, and I honestly can’t remember the last time you’ve come to work and not looked exhausted… you’re overdue for some rest.”

Tommy would argue, except he knows he can’t; she’s right. The twins are growing beautifully, which makes him so happy and relieved… and massive, and miserable. He isn’t upset at the weight he’s gained, he is confident in himself enough to know he can lose it once they're born (and honestly even if he doesn’t lose a single pound, he is so happy both babies are healthy and thriving he wouldn’t care). However, he’s not been allowed to lift above his head since he announced the pregnancy, and getting something from lower than his waist at this point is damn near impossible. Lacey says he shouldn’t be carrying anything more than 15 pounds; and between the twins using his bladder and his lower spine for kickboxing practice, he is either in the bathroom or pacing the hanger trying to ease the back pain. 

He’s exhausted from the lack of sleep the pain is causing, and he needs help doing pretty much anything that’s not sitting and typing, and that is not something they even need him at the station to do. Collier has been trying to convince him to work from home for a couple months… Tommy’s just— Hell even he’s not a hundred percent sure why he’s holding on to working for so long… He looks past Collier and Lucy at the helicopter’s, and he can’t even fly at the moment, but it’s been nice being near them. Watching them take off, watching them come back… he misses it. He’s going to miss this, and his team. “You’re probably right…” he finally admits. “I guess I should take advantage of the last few weeks of calm.” 

Lucy smiles, and hugs him. “Good for you; you have more than earned a break,” she says squeezing him. “I’m gonna miss you, Kinard.” 

“I’ll miss you too, Luce,” he replies, voice soft and shaky. 

“Hey,” she says, pulling back to wipe the tears that are starting to fall from both their eyes. “This is not a forever goodbye, okay? I am going to come by and get my baby fix every day I have off… you’re gonna be so tired of me!” 

“Never,” he laughs.

Tagging: @onthewaytosomewhere @30somethingautisticteacher @judymarch15 @nine-one-wanton

@bidisasterevankinard @kinardsevan @somethingaboutfirefly @bucksxkinard @mmso-notlikethat

@sunnywithachanceofbi @herrmannhalsteadproduction @marvelousbuckley

And anyone else who wants to share their writing 🫶🫶

[wishcamper]

Nessian Week Day Two - Yearning

Happy angsty as fuck day for @nessianweek! I've brought some pain for you. I'm a little nervous about the dual POVs so I hope it's not confusing.

You can read here or on ao3.

Is This It?

Toxic!Nessian situationship where Cassian is part of Nesta's rotation following the war.

CW: reference to unintentional voyeurism, generally toxic behavior

Can't you see I'm tryin'? I don't even like it I just lied to get to your apartment Now I'm stayin' there just for a while I can't think 'cause I'm just way too tired Is this it? Is this it? Is this it?

"Is This It?", The Strokes

Nesta spots him over the male’s shoulder as he enters the crowded bar. She tilts her head to the side, slowly drawing her fingers down to the base of her necklace. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. She checks in: have his eyes found her..? Good. He looks like someone just poured cold water over his dark head. She picked Rita’s on purpose, and from the way he’s staring at her she can tell he knows it; from the hard clench of his fists, that his blood has just turned to boiling.

A female comes up to him, offers to buy him a drink, but Cassian ignores her. His friends are beckoning him, throwing dirty glances over their shoulders at Nesta and her prey for the evening. As he slides into the booth he notices she’s wearing a dress he’s never seen before, the deep V showing off her collarbones and the curve of her breasts. Her hair is down, the way he likes it. Any lingering thoughts of a good time fly out of his brain as he understands it’s going to be one of those nights again, when she dangles some unsuspecting somebody in front of him to make him suffer. He throws back his drink in one go and sinks lower in the booth. It’s working.

With a cold smile Nesta leans in to whisper something in her date’s ear, laying a hand on his forearm.  Are you sorry yet? she wonders as she pulls back, sparing Cassian another subtle glance across the room. It’s mean, she knows, but it only seems fair. He left her alone for months after the war, told her everyone hates her, and now he’s going to get a dose (or twelve) of his own medicine.

The unremarkable male across from her makes a dumb comment about what females like, but Nesta doesn’t care enough to correct him. She’s too busy watching the group at the far booth put their heads together in conference, probably talking about how Cassian can do so much better than her, knowing he’ll never believe it. Once she has their attention back, she leans in again and captures the male’s lips with her own, closing her eyes to the four astonished faces across the room.

Cassian wrenches himself from his seat and carves a wild path to the door, ignoring the protests of his friends behind him. His muscles are on fire, screaming, begging to tear something apart. As he bangs the door open the night air stings his face and he breathes it in deep gulps, trying to calm down. His heart squeezes tight, fists clenching and unclenching as the images flood through him. 

In his mind, he sees wrapped around someone else, her long fingers threaded in someone else’s hair, as she makes those little gasps that are only hers. Sees her body in his memory and her own, the nights he’s been the one in her bed, the carousel of replacements he’s felt down the bond since Solstice. 

He fights the urge to retch-- it’s his own fault, after all. This is his penance, and he’ll bear it as much as he can. He fucked things up first by running away from his feelings, and if she wants someone else, all he can do is leave her to it.

The lie is comforting, a drip of honey in a tonic, but it doesn’t mask the bitterness.

By the time Nesta resurfaces Cassian is long gone, and a curl of panic rises in her stomach. He’s supposed to be the witness, that’s the point, and without him watching over the stranger in front of her seems too foreign, dangerous. 

Across the tavern Rhysand looks murderous, Mor disgusted. Azriel is half-concealed in shadow, as if torn between warning her off and letting them hash it out again. Without explanation she leaves the table and then the bar, bypassing the mutters and glares with her chin in the air.

The click of her heels is the only sound on the lamplit street a moment later, and as she searches the main thoroughfare a quiet desperation begins to creep in. The winter air feels sharp and dry, the metallic tang of impending snow. Velaris is a different city after sundown, and she doesn’t feel afraid so much as exposed, wondering if he expects her to follow, if he even wants her to. Afraid he’s perched on a rooftop somewhere, watching her search for him the way her mind does every time she's lain with someone else since Solstice. 

When Nesta finally finds him, Cassian is sprawled on the steps of a darkened shop. He has one arm flung over his face, shipwrecked, and she almost feels bad for how he’s been dashed against the rocks of her retribution this time. Then his cruel words echo in her ears, the condemnation of his family and hers. 

Guilt curdles quickly to contempt. 

Nesta approaches without masking her steps, and before she can think of anything to say (What’s the matter with you? Why are you acting like a child?) he curls his arm tighter about his head, as if trying to squeeze out his imaginings of her and the male she left back at Rita's. 

Cassian doesn’t need to look up to know it’s her. He can feel her everywhere, in his blood, his bones, ever since his side snapped on that snowy bridge. Now no matter how hard he tries he can’t shut her out, can’t decline the private audience to her nighttime wanderings even as it spikes his heart straight through. Can’t un-love her, can’t unknow how it feels to fall into her gravity.

A light, powdery snow begins to fall, gathering in the fold of her crossed arms.

He should leave, he supposes, but his self-respect died the first time he felt her pleasure down the bond while alone in the House of Wind. All he wants now is her mercy. The voice that rings out from his chest surprises even him with its sadness.

“Look, we both know how this is going to go. I’m going to tell you to stop because it’s killing me, you’re going to say it has nothing to do with me. And we’re both going to know that’s not true but we’ll pretend like it is. Like this has nothing to do with me." The words pour out of him, all on top of each other, his breath clouding the air. He has no dignity left, only hunger. His love for her and contempt for himself wrestle each other, unraveling his thoughts, tying his gut into knots. “Like you running around and pushing these males in my face isn’t about you trying to show me that I fucked it all up. So just spare me the torture, okay? You’ve already done enough tonight.”

Cassian feels her indignation sweep through him and wants to fall to his knees on the cold stone before her, to confess that he can already see everything she’s doing even when she doesn’t shove it in his face. It will scare her, he thinks, so he holds it in, the strain tearing through his body. He fails to contain his desperation, and sits up to face her, arms flinging wide.

“Is this some kind of joke? Because really, who even is that in there? You don’t know him. You probably don’t even like him. But you’re going to go home with him and you’re going to…”

The rest won’t come. Her rage is incandescent, and he can't help but relish the warmth as she turns that blistering heat towards his cowardice, as she’s always done. “What? I’m going to what?”

“You’re going to fuck him because you know that’s exactly what will fucking destroy me, to show me just how much I don’t deserve you.”

Nesta feels her insides roil listening to him, reading the broken plea in his eyes, because this is not how it’s supposed to go. He’s supposed to get angry, to tell her she’s being selfish and reckless and wrong, then promise to love her well again. Only then can she do what she wants to, what she always thinks of, when she lets his mouth meet hers and the world goes quiet. But Cassian continues to careen off course, saying the secret words aloud. 

“But here’s the real joke-- I know. I fucking know, Nesta,  know it more than I’ve ever known anything. I know I never deserved you in the first place. I knew I was going to ruin it from the very beginning.”

He grabs great fistfuls of his snow-damp hair and tugs as if trying to wrest the images from his head once more. She registers somewhere that this might be the most honest he's ever been with her, but the thought evaporates before she can grab hold. There’s a satisfaction in his outbursts she hates herself for, to see him so distraught. It’s born from the same part of her that hopes he’s been watching, that fears the loss of his regard. 

Now she wonders if she’s gone too far. He’s crumbling in front of her, showing the cracks from each time she’s smashed him with the hammer of her pain.

“I guess I wanted to ride it out because you made me feel like I was something more. But it turns out I wasn't. I'm sorry, Nesta. I'm so fucking sorry.”

His voice breaks at the end and he deflates backward once more, head thunking loudly on the stone. She sits down next to him on the steps, feeling the defeat radiating out from so strongly she’s surprised it doesn’t warm the night air. The part of her that just wants to fold over into his lap sparks alive and she snuffs it out. She studies the rough callus on the pad of his thumb, tries to forget how it feels on her throat.

“I don’t remember his name,” she offers, expressionless. “And I’m not going to fuck him, as you so delicately put it.”

“No?”

“No.”

Cassian feels his face break into a weak smile, for the first time in what seems to him like decades. Having her next to him again, her scent washing over him, feels like being saved from drowning. He peers up at her, counting the strands of golden brown hair that have fallen from behind her pointed ear. It’s almost unbearable to feel her recede from him even as she draws closer.

“I miss you, Nes. I think I’ve been missing you ever since we survived Hybern. Come back, please. Please.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

He feels the pleading in his eyes as he sits up, searching her face for some hint of warmth and finding none. “Then give me something, anything. I need to know that I’m not-- that I wasn’t..”

‘Nothing’ is the word Nesta hears in his silence, and it makes her furious. “You did this, Cassian, not me. You left me all alone. You treated me like I was nothing.” The anger bubbles in her throat, the words rising sharp and acidic. “I don’t owe you anything.”

“You don’t,” he concedes, with a sadder smile this time. “But I have to ask anyway, because otherwise I don’t know what to do.”

It's exhausting, talking like this, she thinks. They’ve done this dance a thousand times, the steps always the same. She wonders if through repetition he hopes to master it one day, master her, as he has his blade. Knows for his every move forward she’ll take a step back, because that’s how she learned.

They will fight and fuck and forget, start over as if it will make a difference. She feels how the past cages them, shackled far enough apart that they can only touch when they both stretch as far as they can.

Nesta leans her head into his shoulder because that’s the only thing left to do, the only thing she can offer. Cassian's arm goes around her waist. They sit for a long while, not saying anything, just breathing.

She feels him shudder on an inhale and almost feels guilty, knows she should for causing him pain, but the apology he deserves rots before she can pluck it from the vine.

He holds her against him like something made of glass, not wanting to press his luck but knowing he may never get another chance.

When he finally speaks, his voice sounds as tired as she feels.

“Let me take you home, Nes. Me. No one else.”

When he kisses her she doesn’t give herself away at first, grasping at his shirt weakly. He plucks her hands from his chest and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling her in until he feels her begin to melt. She gives up, letting herself feel good instead of strong, and even as she submits she hates him for it. He tries to say everything he can’t manage to find the words for, to pour himself into her, to hold every part of her he can't have. 

They both feel the way they weaken themselves to be together, how they're sacrificing some part of their hearts to live in the world where they answer to each other's names. He wants all of her, and knows she’ll never give it to him. She betrays her sense of pride, of what is right and what is wrong, making him the exception instead of the rule. 

It's all they can manage for now. The world turns somewhere else. They wake up next to each other in the morning.

[newtsinboots]

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

MDZS x ISAT part 1: In Stars and Necromancy.

(Part 2)

[buglaur]

[skyward-floored]

also what happens to Malon after she's arrested????? (does she, perhaps, find smth out about her deceased husband 👀)

- hero-of-the-wolf

@hero-of-the-wolf

...

Malon was tossed into a holding cell without a word, and without so much as the hope of a trial or lawyer or anything of the sort.

She heard a distant laugh as the door was slammed behind her, and exhaled wearily as she sat up, brushing some dried blood from her cheek as she moved. The trip here hadn’t been long, but it had been one unpleasant moment after another, harsh shoves and sneers and glee at her arrest, and even a shock she’d gotten when a guard’s hand had wandered and she’d punched him.

Add that to the bruises she’d gotten from the fight earlier with Warriors, and most of her body ached.

Malon closed her eyes, thinking of her husband’s brother. Warriors had stayed beside her as long as he could after she’d been arrested, a hand on her arm until he'd been called away and had to leave. Despite the fact that they’d had to feign indifference and hatred towards one another the whole time, Malon had found his presence comforting. She’d missed him, and he reminded her of Time, and better days.

She only wished she could have spoken to him more. It didn’t take superpowers for her to see that he was barely holding it together.

“...Hello?”

Malon stilled, and raised her head, looking around the tiny cell.

It was essentially a stone box, small with no windows, a toilet in the corner, and two somewhat-cushioned benches by the walls that Malon supposed were meant to be beds. A girl who must have just been asleep was sitting up on one of them, holding her arm tight to her chest as she looked warily at Malon.

The girl couldn’t have been older than Legend, though her face was worn in a similar way that made Malon’s heart pang. Her blonde hair was messy and was trying to hang in her face, but her indigo eyes were sharp in the artificial light, and watched Malon with a calculating look.

“Are you a super?” she asked bluntly, and Malon blinked, then smiled, easing up to her feet.

“Hello to you too. Yes I am, but with nothing that’ll get us out of here I’m afraid,” she answered, wincing as she walked over and sat on the opposite bench. “Is this room temporary? Or am I going to be here a while?”

“I don’t know. I’ve only been here for about a day,” the girl replied, holding her arm tighter to her chest. “And don’t worry about your powers being useful or not. They’re blocked in here.“

Malon hummed. “That’ll be hard to test, seeing as they’re animal related. But thank you for the warning.”

The girl nodded and messed with her hair, letting silence fall between them. Malon studied her again, trying to figure out if she really was the same age as Legend, and her heart ached at the reminder of her son. She hoped desperately that he and the boys had gotten away— by now they must be close to Sky’s, even if they were being cautious.

All of them except for Twilight.

A deeper pang of worry shot through her as she thought of her other son, and she bit her lip.

Oh Twi, please be okay...

Malon sucked in a slow breath, and gave the girl a gentle smile. “My name is Malon,” she said, in an effort to keep herself distracted from her worries. Being anxious about her family wouldn't make them any safer. “How about you?”

“...Zelda,” the girl said quietly, then shrugged. “Or Zel. Or Zellie. Or Fable.”

“Fable?”

Her mouth quirked up. “I know another Zelda, we did nicknames to make it easier. Somehow that was just what got picked. It’s what I tend to go by, honestly.”

Malon smiled. “I know how that goes. I have two sons named Link, and more Links beside that rarely go by their names. Long story,” she added at Fable’s confused look.

Fable sighed and leaned against the wall. “Well, I’ve got time.”

“I was hoping to use mine to somehow get out of here,” Malon said with a glance around, and Fable closed her eyes.

“You’re welcome to try, but I’ve had no luck. I’ve gotten food once while I’ve been here, and they threatened to shock me if I tried anything with the door open. Not that I could with this,” she huffed, gesturing to the arm she had cradled to her chest.

Malon looked closer, and realized that the arm was swollen and bruised, the skin an unpleasant mix of purples and bluish-greens.

“Are you okay?” Malon asked worriedly, and Fable shrugged one shoulder.

“It’s just a broken arm. It got hurt in the fight before they arrested me, and nobody’s done anything for it,” she said in a pointed voice at the doorway.

The door stayed silent.

Malon frowned, and carefully stood and approached Fable, sitting down beside her. “...May I?”

Fable hesitated, then slowly held out her arm, the limb shaking a bit. Malon took it with a gentle hand, and studied it, feeling cautiously along the skin. Fable winced, but Malon made sure to be careful, and after a couple minutes, was fairly sure that the break was near the middle of her forearm.

“It doesn’t seem like it’s too bad,” Malon said, gently releasing her arm. “It’s swollen, so maybe that’s why, but I couldn’t feel the actual break. It’ll set easily if it is one, but we should probably figure out a way to get a sling for you.”

Fable wrinkled her eyebrows at Malon like she couldn’t quite figure her out, but she nodded. And she didn’t try to stop Malon when she pulled off the apron she still had on (she wondered briefly what had ever happened to the bacon she’d been cooking), and worked on tying it around into a suitable sling.

“So... what happened to you?” Fable asked after a minute of Malon fiddling with fabric. “If you don't mind me asking. You said you're a super, but you're not even in uniform. What did you do to get thrown in here?”

“Me? Oh me and my family have been doing a lot under ol’ Dark’s nose for a while now, and everything finally caught up to us,” Malon sighed, figuring a true explanation would take too long. Wind and Four alone would probably make Fable think she was crazy. “They came after us at home after we tried to help somebody. My family that was at the house made it away, but my one son was on duty... I don’t know where he is.”

Malon breathed out a sigh she told herself wasn’t shaky, and cleared her throat.

“How about you? What did a nice girl like you do to get arrested?”

Fable blinked, and looked down at Malon's attempts to secure the sling, not speaking for a moment.

“I fought back,” she said after a long minute of silence. “I just— I just hit my limit. I couldn’t take it anymore, what they’re doing, how they treat us...”

Fable’s voice wobbled.

“My... father died. And I know it wasn’t by natural causes, I found proof, but I couldn’t do anything with it. It was an official who’d had him killed, and I knew I had to keep acting like everything was fine like I didn’t know and I just... I snapped. It didn’t end well. Obviously.”

She swallowed thickly, and Malon, finished with the sling, gave her a gentle look.

“I’m sorry hon, that must’ve been awful,” Malon said softly, and Fable pulled her legs up to her chest.

“I've definitely had better days. At least I got to toss a few people into the harbor,” she murmured, then swallowed and looked away. “Do you... think your family is okay?”

“I hope so,” Malon replied softly. “Twi... Twilight— he’s my oldest— he’s tough, and his powers enhance his senses, so he should be okay. My youngest can turn invisible, and he has somewhere safe to go, and friends with him. I’m worried about them all, but... I trust their skills. I think they’ll be okay.” They'd better be okay.

I don't think I can lose anybody else.

Malon took a deep breath, and looked over at Fable, giving her a smile.

“And I’m not planning on sitting around here and waiting for them to rescue me,” she said firmly, and squeezed Fable’s shoulder. "Or see what sort of sentence or punishment either of us is going to get. I'm gonna to do my best to escape. You wanna work together and bust out of here?"

Fable looked at her in surprise, and hesitated, eyes scanning across her face.

Then her eyes hardened with determination.

“Yes. I don't want to stick around and see what they're going to do to us either. I'm in," she said with a deep breath, and Malon took her uninjured hand in hers, and shook it.

"In that case, we'd better get to work," she smiled, and Fable returned it. "What can you do, hon?"

And as Fable explained her powers, already looking less pale and defeated then she had when Malon had first been tossed in, Malon felt the hope that had started to dim in her heart flicker back to life.