#but I live chronically paranoid

[amanitacurses]

[katsy-kitty]

I'm going to vacuum my apartment, which means I'll be out for the next few days.

Keep me in your thoughts.

[sollucets]

. . .

[seaweedstarshine]

—on the topic of psychotic Summers brothers, I only just caught up with six months of X-Men after stopping for six months the topic of Gabriel referring to the tags of my last X-Men post a month ago — but I was happy to see Scott's torture-induced psychosis didn't (definitively) turn out just to be that he'd calculated what others hadn't. Yes, the woman he'd accurately calculated would save him was Dr. Gregor, not Jean, but that doesn't change that he remained unsure if Jean was real (and thought she was alive) while the all-seeing Enigma knew on the contrary that Scott was delusional because Phoenix thus equally (an equivocation which casts further doubt of Scott's fiery visions ever being genuine, as Jean's dying mind had departed Scott well before Mother Righteous sacrificed Jean's dead fragmented self for Dominion, before Scott was tortured) Jean — were so utterly dead that Rachel and Hope had to cancel out death to reverse it. Yet Scott, hyper-vigilant traumatized autistic brain-damaged neurodivergent soldier that he is, seemingly accomplished all these strategic calculations while having a psychotic “break,” which is extremely in character for him—

[mascflowers]

Happy disability pride month to the undiagnosed. To the people lying in bed, in fatigue or pain, unexplained because their doctors ignore them or don't believe them.

To the people who're suffering but don't have the answers as to why, to the many more that think their suffering is normal because it's been going on for so long or they were thought to be exaggerating when describing symptoms.

I suffered from a chronic illness for years because my doctor, and nurse practitioner, ignored me when I said I was fatigued constantly. It's a miracle I was diagnosed by that nurse practitioner at all.

And I've been living with tactile hallucinations my whole life, but was brushed off in my childhood when I tried to tell people I feel bugs crawling on me when they're not there. (Before I get any comments - believe me. This is disabling. I'd be constantly paranoid without my antipyschotics, and in a way I still kind of am.)

Our doctors often fail us in many ways, even though they're supposed to help us, and in certain countries we even have to PAY large amounts to get ignored by these doctors.

If you relate to my story, I'm sorry. I hope we can both find better luck from the places that're supposed to help us in the future.

[cressidagrey]

Stars all aligned - Chapter 7

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

I'll keep the warnings, even though there is no outright mention in this part: Bashing of like...every IC member? Especially the Archeron Sisters, discussion of chronic pain, discussion of Infertility, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Underage Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please, take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

"I want you out of Velaris, when I have a talk with them," Azriel broached the topic a few days later. Zahra just stared at him.

"I have nowhere else to go," she said drily. 

She had the cottage and that was it. And her tries at winnowing…let’s just say she did not trust herself to winnow anywhere she didn’t know very well. 

Azriel’s face was unreadable, but there was a tension in his shoulders, a tightness in his wings.

He was clearly on edge...but then, he had been for quite a while, whenever the topic of their family came up. 

Whenever she told him about her life in the cottage and later as a maid at the Archeron Estate…he had looked murderous.

"I have a small cottage by the sea you can...stay in," Azriel suggested softly.

Zahra just stared at him. "You have a cottage by the sea," she echoed, amused besides herself.

Azriel moved to stand behind her, where she was washing dishes in the sink and he pressed a kiss against her cheek.

"I am just paranoid," he promised her. "Nothing bad will happen...But I would feel better if you are out of the city, if I get into a fight with Cassian and accidentally level it."

"That's not funny," she told him drily, but bit back a smile, especially as she leaned back against his broad chest, the dishes forgotten in the soapy water in the sink.

"At the coast?" she asked him softly. The coast sounded…nice.

"Rosehall," he explained. "It's...It's where my mother lives."

"Your mother?" she echoed, surprised.

Azriel nodded, his hands resting on her hips as he leaned down and buried his face in her neck.

"I bought it for her a long time ago," he murmured as his lips brushed against her skin. "It's...right there by a little hamlet we turned into a haven for displaced Illyrians. You can stay there...just until my brothers get the stick out of their asses and come to their senses."

Zahra let out a snort of laughter. “Sure, I will just wait around until your brothers come to their senses,” she said with a little smile, turning around and reaching up to brush away the stray strands of his dark hair from his forehead. “And how long do you think that is going to take?”

"Not long," he promised her. "And then I'll get started on your sisters," he promised her, pressing a kiss against her forehead and Zahra melted.

She loved the easy attention, the sweet little forehead kisses he dished out to her so often, nearly absentmindedly. The touch of his hands on hers…

She loved the way he smiled at her...just at her.

And yet…and yet she couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt at the mention of her sisters, even if she tried her best not to let it show.

“You are so sure of yourself,” she teased him, trying to keep her voice light as she rested her hands on his chest.

Azriel just smiled down at her, the expression in his eyes gentle, his wing shifting to wrap around her body as he pulled her against the hardness of his chest.

“We’ll get things figured out,” he murmured as one large hand moved up to run through her braid, smoothing back some of the messier strands. “You don’t need to worry.”

“You sound so confident,” she said, a smile playing on her lips despite herself as she took a moment to admire his handsome face, so close to hers.

His smile was a rare sight, his features so often schooled into a careful mask of neutrality, but as she studied his face she could see the warmth in his dark eyes, and she loved the way his lips curled up in their corners so slightly.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you are arrogant.”

He chuckled at that, and the low sound of his laughter vibrated through his chest.

“Are you calling me arrogant?” he asked, his wings shifting around them again, pulling her just a little bit closer to his body, the powerful muscles of those wings pressing against her back.

“Yes, I think I am,” she said with a smile, tilting her head up to look at him, her eyes flicking between the different shadows on his face.

His gaze held hers for a long moment, the corner of his lips still curled up, a teasing expression in his dark eyes.

“Arrogant and overconfident and insufferable,” she added jokingly and she felt the rumble of a silent laugh in his chest.

"Don't worry," he repeated. "It will be fine," he promised her evenly.

Zahra wished she only had one bit of his confidence

“And if it’s not?” she asked him quietly.

The tension was back in his shoulders, in the hands that were still resting on her hips.

His whole body grew taut in that second but his voice was even as he spoke. “This isn’t the first time we are having a heated disagreement. They’ll get over it.”

“Maybe,” she agreed grudgingly.

But something inside of her didn’t feel so sure, and her stomach was tied into knots at the thought of her sisters catching wind of what was going on between her and Azriel.

Still, if it calmed him...she filled a bag with clothing and toiletries, not that she owned much, and locked the door of her cottage after herself, just as Azriel offered her his hand...and then she dragged him to one of the flower stalls in the city, because she was not going to show up to meet his mother empty-handed.

“Flowers?” Azriel asked her, a smirk on his face as he looked at her with that amused look in his eyes.

She shot him a glare. “I am not going to pay a visit to your mother without carrying anything, and I don’t own a single bottle of wine, so flowers will have to suffice.”

He just shook his head at her, a look of exasperated fondness on his face as he let her lead him towards a stall with a colorful display and an array of wildflowers.

Flowers acquired, Zahra was ready to go to Rosehall.  

"It's going to feel different than winnowing," Azriel warned her. "Just hold onto me."

Zahra just squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fingers around his...and a second later, she could taste sea salt in the air and feel icy illyrian air on her skin.

Even when summer had already arrived in Velaris, the same couldn’t be said here. 

The icy cold air was a shock to her system as she was suddenly assaulted by the brutal cold, the sharp wind and the thick cloud cover.

Zahra stumbled on her feet as her knees nearly buckled from under her and she found herself clinging instinctively to Azriel’s arm, trying to find her footing as she took in her surroundings, blinking as the cold air was slapping against her face.

It was icy there.

She’d known that the coast was chilly, but she was not prepared for that kind of cold.

“You didn’t mention it was this cold,” Zahra said through chattering teeth.

"Let's get you inside," Azriel said quickly, pulling her from the forest where they had appeared, towards a grey stone cottage, nestled in the harsh terrain. If she stood on her tiptoes, she could just see the sea down over the cliffs...a couple more houses dotted around, as Azriel pulled her towards the one with smoke happily puffing out of the chimney.

Zahra had no chance to truly study it, before Azriel was pushing the door open wide and ushered her into the house.

The air inside was warm, a heavy sort of warmth that made it clear a fire had been lighting for a while in the stone fireplace that stood in one of the corners of the room.

Zahra was so relieved to get out of the biting chill of the air and she was about to take a look around, when a voice startled her. 

"Azriel?" A  female’s voice called, and just a moment later she appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. 

For one moment Zahra was struck by how young she looked. If Zahra hadn't known better, she would have thought this was Azriel's sister and not his mother. 

The dark hair, braided and pinned to her head, the same hazel brown eyes... the planes of her face were different though. Azriel must resemble his father more than her. But she was beautiful...even with a vicious, gnarly scar that destroyed the left side of her face.

“Hello, Ma,” Azriel said warmly. 

"And you brought a guest," she said with a smile as her eyes settled on Zahra, studying her.

Zahra shifted, feeling suddenly very self-conscious and nervous, especially as the woman's eyes, so much like Azriel's, slowly appraised her from head to toe.

Azriel just stepped closer to her and placed his hand on the small of her back.

"Ma, I'd like you to meet Zahra Archeron, my Mate. Zahra, my mother Esmeray," he introduced them and a smile stretched over Esmeray's face, so bright and beautiful that her scar was forgotten. Surprised but…pleased.

​​Esmeray's eyes filled up with tears and she made a quick move forward, that nearly made Zahra flinch, but then she had already wrapped her arms around Zahra's shoulders, pulling her into a tight bear hug that nearly had Zahra stumbling from her feet again.

She got a whiff of a scent that had the same fresh and clean scent of Mist that Azriel must have inherited from her. 

"Your Mate!" Esmeray exclaimed, as she pulled back and beamed at Zahra. "I'd given up hope of him ever finding his Mate,” she told Zahra conspiratorially. “But here you are!” 

Azriel rubbed the back of his neck in that familiar nervous gesture, a slight flush in his face and a small smile on his lips.

Zahra, meanwhile, was still struck dumbfounded and all she could do was to give Esmeray a weak smile, when the female suddenly let go of her and turned to her son.

"I cannot believe it!" Esmeray said, her voice nearly a whisper, as she threw her arms around Azriel's neck.

He looked stiff for a moment, like he wasn’t quite used to being hugged, but then a smile appeared on his face and he relaxed in her embrace as he hugged her back.

She pulled back a few seconds later, still smiling up at him, her eyes wide, before she turned back to Zahra.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Zahra said quickly, as the woman's attention turned back to her.

Esmeray's smile only grew bright. "The pleasure is all mine. But look at me, I am being a terrible host," she said, before she took a step back and gestured towards the chairs around the fireplace. "Come, please sit down."

"I brought flowers," Zahra said hesitantly.

Esmeray's attention fell on the flowers and another smile appeared on her face. "How thoughtful," she said, a soft edge in her voice. "Such a sweet girl. But you didn't need to do that."

"She insisted," Azriel said drily.

That just made Esmeray chuckle, a sound that filled the room, warm and low.

“She has very good manners,” Esmeray told her son drily as she stepped to the small table to search for a vase.

Azriel just shot Zahra a little smile as he guided her to one of the chairs around the fire, and pulled out one of the chairs for her to sit down.

Zahra shot him a thankful look, even as her mind was still processing the fact that she had just met his mother. His lovely, kindhearted mother.

Zahra couldn't remember her own mother. At least not really. And Mrs. Archeron…she had hated the very air Zahra breathed. But Esmeray...

Azriel must have caught the look in her eyes, because he gave her an encouraging smile as he sat down beside her and took her hand in his.

His mother soon turned from the kitchen, the vase of wildflowers clutched in her hands as she set in on the table.

“They’ll look lovely on the windowsill,” she said as she took a seat at the table, that smile still on her face as she regarded them.

Zahra bit her lower lip. She had no idea how to handle this kind of situation. So much warmth inside this little house, so much love...she could feel the energy rolling off of Esmeray in waves.

Azriel squeezed her hand, his expression soft, as his mother observed them intently.

"So," Esmeray said a few seconds later, her eyebrows raising slightly. "You found your  Mate."

Azriel inclined his head. 

Zahra shifted uncomfortably in her chair, her stomach tying into all kinds of knots, as his mother's eyes moved between her and her son.

"You want to tell me the rest of what is going on?" Esmeray asked, her voice softer now. "I can see it on your face."

"I need to get back," Azriel said quietly. "Can Zahra stay with you for the night?"

"What happened?" Esmeray asked. "And of course, she can stay with me. What kind of question is that?" She said with a snort. “She’s your mate, she’s always welcome here.”

"We have a few...family problems," Azriel said drily. "I imagine that Rhysand will be ill-pleased with the mating bond snapping and her sisters are...being...difficult."

That was the understatement of the century.

Zahra sat there, shifting awkwardly in her seat as he spoke, but his mother’s attention remained on Azriel.

“Rhysand will get over himself, you know that,” Esmeray said with a shrug, as though waving away a minor inconvenience. "He always does, and he’s smart in many ways."

Azriel smiled at that, but the shadows in his eyes told a different story.

“And the sisters?” Esmeray asked.

There was a pause, then Azriel shifted uncomfortably. "They’re...adjusting," he said, his voice carefully level, his fingers tightening around Zahra’s.

"I am only their half sister," Zahra said carefully. "I am their father's bastard daughter."

Esmeray mustered her with dark eyes. "You do not need to say more," she said drily. “I can imagine the rest.”

It was strange how a feeling of acceptance washed over her at Esmeray’s words and Zahra stared at the female, speechless for a second before she got her bearings.

“You are not bothered by that?” she asked, the words slipping out before she could think about them, her voice shaking. 

Esmeray let out a little scoff. “Of course not. Why would I be?”

The female picked up a cup of the table and took a sip of from it, those dark eyes studying Zahra with a sort of intensity to them. "I gave birth to a bastard myself," Esmeray said, her voice even. "I can probably imagine better than most what exactly your mother went through...what you went through. I would hope that you were treated better than my son, but if your sisters are being difficult about a mating bond for you...I imagine that hope is without reason."

Zahra swallowed, hard. Her throat felt dry all of a sudden, as an aching sort of feeling settled over her at Esmeray's words. The same sort of aching that appeared whenever she thought of her own mother.

She didn't want to think about the past, about any of that, especially not here, in this house filled with warmth and welcome and an overwhelming sense of acceptance.

Esmeray must have sensed her turmoil, because a soft smile appeared on her face. “You are safe here, Zahra,” she said quietly. “I would never judge you for the failings of your parents. Or for what you yourself may have done in a bid to simply survive.”

Zahra just swallowed. There was a lump in her throat and all she could do was to nod, not trusting her voice. Somehow she felt...strangely stripped down. Like Esmeray could see straight through every mask she put up. She wondered how much she had simple picked up on by meeting her for a few minutes.

It was too much, and she had to look away, because she didn't feel like she could handle the kindness in Esmeray's words.

"But enough of that," Esmeray said after a moment's pause. "Do you like cooking? I was going to make some beef jerky."

"I do like cooking," Zahra agreed with a smile.

“Then come into the kitchen when you have seen Azriel off,” Esmeray said simply. 

She got up gracefully and made her way to the kitchen and Zahra was left staring at her in awe for a few seconds before she felt Azriel's hand squeeze hers again.

He met her gaze and her heart gave a lurch at the shadows in those eyes and the look on his face. "Are you going to be okay here?" he asked softly.

"Please be careful," she blurted out.

Azriel just smiled at her, the look in his eyes turning soft at her words as he pulled her a little closer. "I will be," he said softly. "And I will be back as soon as I can. I promise."

He leaned towards her and pressed his lips against her forehead, lingering for a few seconds, his hand curling over the side of her face. He inhaled, taking in the scent of her hair, and Zahra leaned into the touch.

She wanted...no...she...she needed...she caught his face in her hand, gently stroking his cheek, and then tipped up her chin.

If...If gods forbid...if...She wanted to feel this. At least once. She wanted....

Azriel froze underneath her touch for half a second, then he seemed to realize what she was going to do and a smile appeared on his face.

He chuckled, the sound a soft thing that made her heart flutter, before he leaned down and captured her lips with his.

Zahra let her eyes flutter shut at the feel of his lips against hers, the kiss gentle and soft as he ran his thumb along the curve of her jaw, still holding her steady. For just a moment, all that existed was Azriel.

He gently cupped her face in his hands like she was something fragile and breakable, and then he pulled back, gently pressing his forehead against hers and taking a deep breath.

Gods, Zahra wanted nothing more than just...stay. Right there at his side.

"Nothing will happen," he promised her. "I swear."

"I know," she breathed, opening her eyes to look at him.

He swallowed at the look in her eyes, then he smiled softly. "I will see you soon," Azriel said, the words a promise and a vow all at once.

***​​

Feyre couldn’t get her mind of it.

She couldn’t.

The idea was running through her head on constant repeat.

Over and over, the thoughts just kept circling her mind.

As she lay in bed with Rhys, as she went about her day, as the sun rose and then set, over and over, she just couldn’t seem to get her mind off…off one simple question.

Had Zarah actually had an affair with a married man…or had it been something far worse than that?

She couldn’t get that question out of her head. And so she twisted and turned that night as well, until she finally turned to face Rhys.

He still slept, blissfully unaware of her tossing and turning, of the heavy feeling in her chest. Slowly, she ran her fingers over his features, watching the way he slept. Peaceful and relaxed, a sight that usually made something clench in her chest.

He was everything she had ever wanted. She wished Zahra would have the same one day.

But right now….the sight only made the thoughts in her head whirl faster.

This was her mate, the male she was completely and utterly in love with. And she knew, without a doubt, that he would never…he would never force himself on a female. Would never touch a female for any other reason than mutual consent and desire.

But there were other males out there…males who…who didn’t share the same feelings as Rhys. Males who would see a female trapped in a situation th ast had been…dire like Zahra’s, and see it as nothing more than….than an opportunity.

She thought back to these years trapped in the cottage. Thought back to Zahra cooking and cleaning…

Thought about the long hours spent in the kitchen, mending and cooking…

Thought about the bony and skinny girl with the messy dark braid…these green eyes, the way she stayed quiet and in the corner, never raising her voice, never drawing attention to herself.

Feyre had never seen her disappear but then Feyre had often been off in the forest.

She wouldn’t have really noticed the times Zahra snuck off. She’d been so tired after her hunts, too focused on staying alive and keeping her family alive to pay attention to the things going on around her. Had her sister…had she…had she been meeting someone?

Had she snuck out to meet with…with a male?

Had her sister…had Zahra had an affair with that apothecary?

She tired to remember him…tried to remember the long suffering wife of his…her ash blond hair pulled back from her face, their gaggle of three kids…all of them wide eyed and quiet.

He was one of the richer man in the village…with beady eyes and hair struck through with grey…

She remembered the way he’d leer at females who came into his shop for supplies, the way he would look at them as if they were a piece of meat to be bought.

She could remember the way he'd sneer at poor female who'd come in, bartering and scrounging for every copper coin they had, and the way he'd look so smug when he charged them for every little thing…

Zahra had had an affair with him?

There was nothing attractive about him.

Feyre had always hated the way he’d leered at her. The way he'd looked at her as if she was a piece of meat.

There was nothing about him that was appealing in any way.

He was old, cold, calculating and cruel. And to think that a young, pretty female like Zahra…who, despite the way she tried to dress to blend in, was still gorgeous, would have anything to do with him…

Rhys stirred, his face scrunching up in a frown and his eyes slowly blinked open.

Violet eyes met hers, and Feyre forced herself to push her worries aside.

“What’s wrong?” Rhys’s voice was heavy with sleep, his words slow and mumbled.

Feyre let out a shaky breath, running her fingers through his black hair, trying to calm her thoughts.

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “Go back to sleep.”

Rhys grumbled, shifting his head to bury his face into her neck, making a sound of disagreement from deep in his throat.

His arms wrapped around her middle, pulling her tightly against his side.

“Something’s on your mind, Feyre Darling,” he mumbled against her neck, planting a kiss on the skin there. “I can tell.”

“Did you ever…did you ever get anything from Zahra’s mind about…” Feyre trailed off.

A beat of silence fell, and Rhys’s breath against her neck paused, his body stilling against hers.

A long moment passed, before Rhys inhaled, pulling his head back to look at her. “No,” he finally said. “But then…I never even tried to get into her head. She’s as bad as Nesta. Even trying to look at her shields is like staring at a brick wall.”

“But you’ve never looked?” Feyre pushed on, looking into his eyes. Searching for something, anything, any hint of deception.

Rhys’s face softened, a small smile on his face. “The only thing I ever got from Zahra, as a human,  was protectiveness about you, Darling,” he said drily.

A small exhale left Feyre at his words, and she fell back against the pillows.

Rhys shifted, rolling over to lie half on top of her, propping his head on his folded arms that he rested on her stomach. A soft smile on his face. “Is that what’s keeping you up?” he wondered aloud. “Worries about Zahra?”

“I…I need to know if…why she did it,” Feyre said weakly. “I can’t…Zahra would have never taken the risk of having a bastard born child herself, Rhys. Not when she knew exactly how…how that life was. Living in two worlds and belonging to neither,” Feyre said with a grimace.

Rhys’s eyes softened at that, and his fingers ghosted over her stomach, tracing small, gentle patterns. “You’re worried that it wasn’t a choice,” he filled in.

“I don’t know,” Feyre whispered. “I can’t see her…I can’t see her do it willingly but I am wrecking my head and I can’t…if he hurt her…she hid it so well.”

Rhys’s face darkened at her words. It wasn’t hard to see the same thoughts circling in his mind, the same anger and disgust.

“You think the apothecary might have forced himself on her?” he asked quietly, a hard look on his face.

Feyre felt a pit in her stomach at the question. Felt nausea creeping up, bile rising in the back of her throat. The idea of something so…so vile happening to a young, innocent girl…it filled her with horror and sickened her.

“I…I don’t know,” she whispered. “But I can’t… I just can’t see her… taking that risk willingly. She’s too smart for that.”

"Maybe you should try to talk to her," Rhys said carefully. "But Feyre...if she...if she didn't do it willingly...if she had a reason for it, be it she was forced or she did it in exchange for something...she may not want to talk about it," he warned her.

She could see it on his face...could see the memories that she had…

“I…I know,” Feyre said softly. “If…if it’s true, she might not want to talk about it. But…I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about it. I need to know. And if it’s true...I can’t just sit back and do nothing."

Rhys was quiet for a moment, his fingers still tracing small patterns on her stomach.

His face was taut, “And if she truly has had an affair with him…willingly?” he asked quietly.

Feyre let out a shaky breath, closing her eyes. The thought of that being true…it just didn’t seem possible.

She just couldn’t see Zahra doing something like that. Not when she was so well aware of what would happen if she made such a mistake.

It just didn’t seem right.

Could she have really seen something in the apothecary, enough to want an affair with him, at the risk of being saddled with a bastard child?

"She must have had some reason," Feyre said quietly. "Even when it was just...wanting comfort of some kind."

Rhys was quiet, his dark eyes searching her face.

Slowly, a soft sigh escaped him, and he pulled himself up, pulling Feyre into his arms as he sat back against the headboard of the bed.

Feyre buried her face in his neck, inhaling the scent of his familiar, comforting scent.

His fingers combed through her hair, the touch soothing her frazzled nerves.

"I just want you to think about...if you do pull on that thread, you don't know what you are going to unravel," Rhys said carefully. "You need to be prepared that you maybe won't get the answer you think you will."

A shuddery breath left Feyre, and she closed her eyes.

She didn’t even know what she wanted to hear. Both options were horrible in their own way. 

"I know," she said softly. "But I...but I have to try."

And so the next morning...she sat out to find her sister's apartment. She had never gone there before. There had been no reason for it. Even when Zahra had moved out of the townhouse and into her apartment, she had still showed up for Solstice and for Starfall, had still come to dinner. Zahra seemed to have made the best out of her life in Velaris. Had found herself a job and an apartment...just as Feyre walked the streets she realised that...she knew nothing about her sister's life but these two facts.

The realisation hit her hard, and a wave of guilt crashed over her, making her nauseous as she walked down the street.

It had never occurred to her before...but now she realised that she knew almost nothing about her sister’s life now. Nothing about the people in her life, or her dreams, or any hobbies...nothing except the fact that she had an apartment and a job, and that she still came to dinners.

Feyre didn't know about her sister's friends, didn't know about any hobbies she may had taken up...because whenever Zahra had come over, seemingly all they had talked about was whatever went on in Feyre's life. Feyre's worries, Feyre's problems. Zahra's problems hadn't ever been a topic of conversation. And Feyre also weakly admitted herself that the fact that Nesta and Elain wanted to spent time with her now...it was such a rare treat that...that maybe she had forgotten the older sister that had always been there for her for that.

She had been so elated that her sisters were spending time with her, and she had soaked up the attention like a dry sponge.

But now, with the sickening realisation that she hadn’t asked about Zahra’s life hit, a wave of guilt hit her.

Had her sister felt neglected by her? Had Zahra ever felt like a forgotten afterthought?

Feyre felt nauseous, and her steps slowed as she approached the building where Zahra lived.

The realisation that...that while she had been so happy to hang out with her elder sisters, she hadn’t even asked Zahra about her life...she didn’t even know what kind of apartment she lived in, what her home was like…

And apparently it wasn't an apartment at all.

Feyre blinked twice at the cottage in front of her.

A cottage?

The word echoed in her head, over and over, while she stared at the small building before her.

Zahra lived in a cottage.

A cottage that had clearly seen better days.

The exterior of the house was badly in need of a new coat of paint.

A pang of worry hit Feyre as she looked at the home, an anxiety filling her stomach.

How could Zahra possibly be living in such a place…?!

Though it was obvious that Zahra had put time and money into making it her home. It was clean, the windows were sparkling...the door had been painted bright blue.

She had done some work.

And the small garden in the front had clearly been tended and cared for meticulously.

But it was clear that her sister had a limited budget.

The paint job only really covered the worst of the blemishes rather than giving the home an actual makeover, and the windows sparkled, but they still looked old and worn.

It was a tiny cottage, barely more than a two-room house, but it was in the outskirts of Velaris and the next neighbours clearly were far away.

"Seems like I wasn't the only one who had this idea," drawled a voice behind her.

Feyre almost jumped, nearly letting out a shriek as a voice suddenly spoke up from behind her. A voice that she recognized far too well.

She didn't even need to turn around to know who had spoken.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, turning around to face Cassian.

Cassian didn't look the slightest bit guilty.

Instead, a broad smirk was on his face, his wings folded neatly behind him and his arms crossed in front of his armoured chest.

"The same thing you are, clearly," he drawled as he looked at the cottage in front of them.

"You want to speak to Zahra as well," Feyre said more as a statement rather than a question.

Cassian didn't deny it, simply shrugged.

"Why?" she demanded.

Cassian sighed, unfolding his arms and letting his hands fall loosely to his sides. "I need some answers," he said shortly. "Answers, because I am pretty sure that Nesta is wrong about her having just an affair. And if she is wrong..." Cassian grimaced. "The fallout is not going to be pretty."

"And if she’s right? If Zahra did a stupid, young mistake? Then what?" Feyre asked.

Cassian shrugged, a nonchalant look on his face.

"It's not like I haven't done the same," he said drily. "Or worse at that matter. She'll not get judgment from me."

Feyre felt a flicker of surprise at his words.

Cassian was…far more blunt and straightforward than Rhys…but, she thought as she studied his face, he actually didn’t look entirely comfortable.

His features were schooled into a look of nonchalance, but there was a tension in his face and body that hinted that the situation had him on edge, as well.

Still, Feyre walked up the step of the porch that had seen better days and knocked at the door. "Zahra?" she called loudly.

"She isn't here," Cassian said helpfully. "I can't hear a heartbeat. It's empty.”

Feyre’s heart sank at the words, and a curse fell from her lips.

She’d come all the way here…and Zahra wasn’t even home.

“Then where is she?” Feyre bit out.

"Probably at work, I'd guess," Cassian said, a small shrug on his shoulders.

He eyed the house, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

"I’m going to look inside," he said then, making a step towards the door.

"You can’t-" Feyre hissed at him, but Cassian cut her off.

"If you have a better idea, I’m open to suggestions," he said, looking back at her. "But if we’re here already, I want to see if there is anything inside that will give us a clue. Something, anything."

Feyre held his gaze for a long moment.

She knew he had a point, and she knew she wouldn’t win this argument.

"Fine," she gritted out. "But you leave everything as it is. No messing with anything."

Cassian shot her a smirk, before he grabbed the door handle and with a sharp twist, he had opened the door.

Without pause, he stalked into the house, leaving Feyre to follow him.

"You'll better fix this before we leave," Feyre snapped at him, following behind, into her sister's living room.

It was clean...tidy. A couch that had seen better days...and an absolute monstrous plaid chair that looked like it was made for wings. Feyre wasn't the only one who stared at that.

Cassian did too.

A long moment passed.

Cassian, the Lord of Bloodshed, a hulking, tall, intimidating figure, stood in the small living room and stared at the chair as if he was struck mute.

Just staring.

A long moment passed, before he let a shudder run down his spine. "That thing is an abomination," he said gruffly.

​​Feyre watched as Cassian’s nostrils flared, and his eyes widened, like a cat scenting something in the air.

A frown appeared on his face, and he took a quick, short sniff again.

"What is it?" Feyre demanded.

"Az was here," Cassian said, surprise colouring his voice. "More than once."

Feyre’s eyes widened at that, and she sniffed the air.

Cassian was right.

A familiar scent was lingering in the air. So subtle that she wouldn’t have sensed it if it wasn’t pointed out to her, but it was there.

Azriel’s mist and cedar scent, lingering in the room.

"Why was Az here?" Feyre wondered.

Cassian just shook his head as he continued to sniff.

"Not just here," he said, making a step into the kitchen. "In there, as well. And in the bedroom. "

Feyre wasn’t even surprised to find that he was right.

Azriel’s scent was all over the small house, lingering in the air in every single room.

Even in the bathroom.

"What in the Cauldron...?" Feyre breathed as she followed Cassian into the bedroom.

The scent was even stronger in the small room, clearly having clung to the bedding and lingered on the furniture.

"Azriel has clearly been frequenting this place," Cassian said slowly, an intense look on his face as he glanced around the bedroom. "And more than once. It's all over the house."

"He wouldn't...right?" Feyre asked. Had her sister and Azriel been...together?

"I...I don't know," Cassian said slowly.

A pensive look was on his face, his gaze sharp as he looked at the matress.

"We all know how...discreet Azriel is about these things," he said, a grimace on his face. "But Azriel...and Zahra...?"

Cassian shook his head, his nostrils flaring again, clearly trying to scent the room.

"They...I mean, it doesn't smell like sex. But that doesn't mean anything," he said with a shrug. "Maybe they haven't had sex in a few days. Maybe they just have friendly sleep overs and nothing else," he suggested and Feyre snorted.

"Sure, Azriel just uses my sister as his own personal teddy bear and nothing else," she said darkly. "I am going to have words with both of them when they come over for dinner. What in the cauldron is going on?!"

[baby-yongbok]

Remedies

OT8 x Reader

Genre - Comfort WC - 746

Summary - These are ways that I think the boys would help you to get over your mental and/or physical struggles Content Warning - Themes of mental and physical illness/struggles, mention of hospitals, mentions of medications/needles, mentions of food

A/N - I wrote this on my living room floor just now because I’m sick of being sick. I’m sick of being chronically ill, and I needed some comfort, so I thought I’d share it for anyone else who could use some comfort, too. I based these off of my experiences with my illnesses/disabilities. If you can relate then I just wanna say that i see you and you're strong. Keep fighting 💕+ I tried to write this to be gender neutral, I think I nailed it

✧ Masterlist ✧

Hugs from Jisung when your panic attacks have subsided. He whispers sweet praises of “You're okay” and “You're so strong” while he rocks you in his lap. You're still on the floor where he found you. His shirt soaks up every tear and his soft kisses on your forehead bandage every wound. You tell him that he can go, you apologize for causing a commotion, but he just holds you closer.

Laughing with Changbin while he tries to distract you from your symptoms flaring up. He's loud and silly on the couch with you. He's careful not to go overboard, he watches you to make sure that you're still comfortable while he makes silly voices and dances around for you. He's not ready to watch you cry yourself to sleep from the pain but he'll be ready to make you laugh again when you need it most.

Kisses from Chan while you're at your doctor's appointment. Your leg is shaking and he's soothing gentle circles into your back while he kisses your knuckles. He knows that you're scared, he is too. You have no idea what the doctor will say but he knows one thing for sure, no matter what the results are he'll be right by your side. He'll fight with you every single day and he'll kiss the pain away.

Adventures with Hyunjin when he realizes that you're avoiding going outside again. He knows that you get paranoid. He knows that every corner that you turn feels unsafe so he holds your hand. He skips across streets with you and dances on the white lines of the cross walks. He pulls you into shops that you've been too scared to visit yourself and buys you everything that you touch. He molds new memories with you with his bare hands. He'll do it everyday if he has to.

Cooking with Minho when he sees that you've been watching your diet too closely. He's gentle with you. You taste test everything together, he feeds you with silver spoons and kisses your nose with every hesitant swallow. He stands behind you while you stir the contents in the pots and plucks flour at you to see that pretty smile that he loves so much. He feeds you from his fork and he wipes away the mess. He makes it feel like it all goes down easy.

Reading with Seungmin when he comes to visit you in the hospital. He knows that you feel like you're going mad in here. He knows that you want to get up out of bed and walk out of here with him, that's what he wants too. Instead he holds your hand while you rest your head on his shoulder. He reads you each word with a softness that somehow drowns out the beeping of your monitors and the commotion on the other side of the curtain. He transports you to a place where you aren't sick. To a place where it's just you and him.

Cuddling with Jeongin when you feel that dark cloud consuming you again. He knew what was wrong when you let your alarms ring on for the third day in a row. You're huddled under blankets together, unmoving and quiet. His arms circle your waist and he pulls you closer. He weighs you down to reality. He makes you feel something besides the bubbling emptiness in your chest. He hums to you when the tears start to fall. He hums and holds you tighter. He won't let you drift away.

Singing with Felix while he helps you with your medication. There's so many to take that you've been overwhelmed with it all so he puts on a playlist and grabs all your pills. He lays them out and organizes them just how you need them. He uses the TV remote as a microphone, passing it to you when he sees you staring at the medicine littering the tabletop. He has you sing for him when he gives you your injections. He makes them as quick and painless as he can, always joining you for a high note as he sticks the band-aid on for you. He spins and hugs you once you're done for the day. He doesn't have to give you any praise, you can feel the love in his touch. You can hear it in his voice and see it in his actions. He's always going to be there to make it all feel easier.

If you liked this and wanna see more of this content let me know!

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[antlerkitty]

Guide to coping with paranoia/intense fears as a schizospec person

Disclaimer: This is made for people with similar experiences to me. I have recurring brief reactive psychosis (diagnosed I think) and in daily life am along the lines of schizotypal, though that label isn't fully accurate. This may not help if you have more chronic, daily psychosis, or more severe psychotic symptoms than me.

Paranoia of things "beyond this world" (probably biggest category since have lots and lots of experience with this):

Most widely applicable/recommended/healthy:

Humming/singing cheerful tunes or songs. Learned this from Totoro actually! And it really can help with keeping a bit of your brain in reality.

Decorating your space in color and fun and whimsy can make it seem more inviting of positive energy.

Having comfort objects and keeping things the same can help a lot. Alternately, changing things up a bit every once in a while can help with being less paranoid if something gets lost or moved a bit if someone else lives with you or visits you.

Playlist of upbeat, non-creepy songs for when the paranoia and distortions are bugging you a lot (currently using this strategy actually). Funny videos can help too!

Getting up and moving. Engaging with familiar people in person. Dancing, getting outside, etc., or doing whatever moving works for you in your situation!

Stimming.

Bringing pets/people with you when you go to struggle areas. I always bring my cats around the house with me when I am going to places that worsen paranoia and distortions.

Do DBT calming skills if that usually helps you.

Less recommended/works for specific people only/may worsen issues:

Basic witchcraft like protection and cleansing spells.

Keeping creepy-but-endearing things around. I personally find comfort in disturbing and creepy things, I feel like the bridge the gap between my reality and the real world. But I make sure I find them friendly and non-threatening.

Paranoia of others:

Stay in areas with people that you find non-threatening or don't have paranoid fears about. I always make sure I'm near larger groups of people, especially with kids. (May not work for others, may worsen fears)

Carry comfort objects with you.

For relationship-related paranoia (in healthy relationships), try doing something positive and non-threatening with the person/people you're in a relationship very regularly. Ideally every day, even multiple times a day. Regularly talk positively to the other person/people about them, and ask them to do the same for you.

If you find yourself yourself paranoia spiraling, take a break from interactions. Find a trusted person if you have one. Try to not make any impulsive decisions, and alert trusted people if possible.

[loving-family-poll]

2nd Ultimate Incest Tournament - Round 1

Propaganda under the cut:

Klaus/Elijah:

Immortal vampire brothers who have spent a thousand years hurting and loving one another. An elder brother who carries the guilt of not protecting his little brother from the horrors of their childhood and a bastard-child younger brother who considers himself both outcast and judge, jury, and executioner to his siblings’ wrongdoings. Their immortal vow to stand as one, always and forever, has led to a millennium of talking past one another, taking away each other’s loved ones, and, of course plotting the downfall of their enemies together. When faced with death, neither can bear to go alone, and vow instead to die in each other’s arms. Which they do.

They have lived every life possible and yet they can’t escape each other. They have canonically been in love with the same woman at least twice. Elijah falls in love with the woman who Klaus HAD A BABY WITH. Normal brother behavior!!! Klaus begged Elijah to run away with him when they were kids and Elijah is still haunted 1000 years later by the fact that he refused. Elijah once came up with a whole-ass plot to murder Klaus but at the last second couldn’t bring himself to do it and betrayed everybody he allied with to save Klaus instead. They just can’t quit each other!!! And when Klaus is suffering some magical bullshit and has to die, Elijah’s like “yeah I’ll die with you, my life is meaningless without you.” Brothers of all time!

Part of Klaus hates Elijah because he will never be him and his siblings will never love him and respect him the same way (I'm saying siblings, but I really mean Rebekah) but he would also die for him in a heartbeat. He would never admit it but he's living for the attention that Elijah gives him, no matter what kind. He would probably be happy in a polycule with him and his sister if he wasn't chronically paranoid that they actually hate him and want to get rid of him. By which point he punishes them by putting them in a magic coma for a few centuries and bringing their bodies with him everywhere he goes.

https://www.tumblr.com/icebluecyanide/170419680277/dont-speak-to-me-of-elijah-he-loves-you-yes-he

“I need you, brother. The monster in me can only be checked by the monster in you.”

Rick/Morty:

Grandpa/grandson interdimensional soulmates. Literally canonically Rick genetically engineered Morty to be his perfect companion and replacement wife.

Morty canonically desperate for the approval of his grandpa, ignoring his faults and the toxic dynamics as long as he gets to feel like the ‘favorite’? While also being horny? Morty and Rick even have a magical threesome at some point which they seem so blaze about it feels like them fucking on an adventure has happened before.

theyre pretty much canon. they got married. give grandpa a kiss

[local-hellhound-steals-spaghetti]

hey, im assuming its a mistake but just fyi the whole vague "noticing patterns" language is an antisemitic dogwhistle: https://www.tumblr.com/onethirdofimpossible/726829590062006272?source=share

no idea who the account you shared from is, just wanted to pass this on!

Okay so I got this message when I woke up this morning and decided to delete the post until I got around to checking out the OP's blog. Nothing about their blog has anything to do with antisemitic movements or even hints at potential content like that.

The original post is this

It's specifically referring to literature and academia (don't love that it's tagged with harry potter but I know that fandom is still tied up to those circles)

I think we have to be careful about policing speech and "calling out" things that may not actually be there. I get that the point of a dog whistle is that no one is supposed to understand what it means except the Nazis. But these people really aren't as slick as they think they are with this sort of thing.

A good example is the "okay" sign that got co-opted as a white power dog whistle. It's been used pretty obviously by white supremists who think they're being really clever about it but like... they're using it in the middle of a "white power" rally while waving Nazi flags. It's not exactly subtle.

Whereas we also used that sign in scuba diving to signal "okay", with a thumbs up being "ascend" (which confused the hell out of me as chronic "thumb up-er" when I was learning). I'm pretty sure when we're signaling "okay" 20m under the ocean we're not secretly signally "white power". Context is important.

This post and everyone reblogging it is not talking about any sort of conspiracy theory - just how being in a fandom and being excited about something makes you notice patterns and parallels. It's also kind of an "autism meme" too.

But idk... I know when people reach out to "let me know" about something, it's in good faith but it's... frustrating when the context is pretty obviously not that. Being paranoid about dog whistles is kind of the whole point of them.

White supremists/antisemites ect. like having power over others by making them question reality and gaslighting them. But again, they're usually about as subtle as a brick wall about this sort of thing. Not saying they can't be quiet about it sometimes but ... it usually isn't hard to spot. Especially on personal blogs.

Maybe I'm just tired that leftist spaces continue to try to tone police and "call out" their own in-groups *just in case* someone might be a secret Nazi while the real actual Nazis and Christian Nationalists are quite literally taking over the American government (which affects the entire world, especially countries where I live like Australia that are allies with the US and extremely influenced by their politics).

And actual Nazis aren't even using dog whistles any more, they're marching in the streets loud and proud because they feel empowered enough to do so...

So idk... maybe lets focus on that and work on mobilising and organising against what is going to be a really rough 4 years.... Though I wouldn't even be surprised if it goes beyond that, looking at past history and what happens when fascism takes power...

[everestgale]

Blink blink blink b

Can i ask what you think are some hobbies or just casual things the voices would enjoy?? if you don’t want to do all of them rn i would love to hear about skeptic’s (biased)

Ooooh, great question!!! Let me see:

For the purposes of it, I'm going to assume the "usual" scenario for my voices, which is typically some sort of post-Unknown Together ending world (so no Long Quiet). Some HCs are just entirely weird/vibes-based, so, uh, you've been warned!

Hero: Probably has the most random HCs of all my voices. For some reason, I tend to think of Hero as a writer and/or TTRPG enthusiast. He probably tried to DM a D&D campaign for his fellow voices. Regretted it after session 1 /hj

Stubborn: Not being super original here, Stubborn loves physical activity/fighting, but I also have a HC that Stubborn would enjoy occasional woodworking. He also self-appointed himself as Broken's personal coach, much to latter's annoyance.

Broken: My Broken has a mild case of chronic fatigue syndrome, and as a result, he prefers to stay indoors. I feel like he would enjoy origami and knitting/crocheting; he probably made himself a few scarves and sweaters.

Cold: He is an interesting one for me (he always is, such a conflicting character for me). I have a feeling on some days, he sees no point in "hobbies" and spends his time observing whatever other voices are doing with their lives instead. On others, he goes through about 18 different hobbies and odd jobs just to see if he finds anything that satisfies his curiosity. Whenever he does start a new hobby though, he is surprisingly good at it, a very fast learner... which is to his detriment because then he gets bored of it too quickly.

Paranoid: As the resident medic among the voices, Paranoid had to pick up gardening to grow some medicinal herbs. He initially hated it, but over time, he's actually grown to like it; it's quite theraputic. I think he would also enjoy realistic fiction or non-fiction reading.

Skeptic: I am convinced that Skeptic would be a linguistics nerd. Really into different languages and especially etymology. I think he would also enjoy journaling, specifically in shorthand (I stole that HC from a friend). No one else can ever read Skeptic's notes, and that's not even a joke-

That's all in addition to some occasional reading (especially mystery novels).

Smitten: Just like Paranoid is the resident medic, Smitten is the resident cook! And baker! And he is *very* good at what he does. He knows by heart everyone's favorite meals and desserts; he can make pretty much any dish if ingredients are available, and he can make a feast out of just potatoes (exaggerating, but not by much).

Yeah, the voices would all starve without Smitten /j

Opportunist: Oppy is a bit basic in terms of HCs and primarily enjoys some good card games. Even when he is not cheating, he is actually quite good at most of them, but of course, Opportunist knows very well how to sneak an ace or two if needed. I also think he would be a sort-of-collector (another HC stolen from a friend), specifically collecting small shiny objects like coins and jewelry.

Hunted: When he knows it is safe to be outdoors, Hunted just loves to spend time in nature. If not for his skittish nature, he would've loved anything camping. But as is, he enjoys bird watching and maybe photography. Please don't ask why photography, I've warned you that some of these are weird.

Cheated: Gamer Cheated is an inevitable HC for me: card games, board games, video games, anything, Cheated loves it all. Unfortunately, he is Cheated, and he very, very often loses. It is typical for him to play a game, lose badly multiple times, get pissed off at it, and swear to never play that game again. But then he plays it again two days later. For a more random HC, I feel like he would like either model kits or soldering.

Contrarian: He is definitely an artist, maybe a sculptor, and is actually, surprisingly, a really good artist. But only when he wants to be. And he pretty much never does, so he uses all his skill on intentionally terrible shitposts. Once a year or two, he will feel inspired and actually make an absolutely breathtaking masterpiece, before immediately returning to shitposts.

That should be all! These are not entirely set in stone either, it's more of my first instincts + silly memes, but it was still a lot of fun to think about! Thanks for asking!!!

[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

Nick Torres: I Told You Not To 

My first NCIS attempt. I just started watching season 14 and I LOVE Nick Torres. This is set before he joins the team. Let me know how I did in catching Nick’s character. I’m still learning his personality.  

You didn’t know it was possible to be this on edge while simultaneously feeling so fatigued. The fatigue was soul-deep and not something that would be fixed with even the best night's sleep. You felt completely wrung out. It made the hypervigilance that you couldn’t turn off much more unsettling. You have been running for almost two months now. There was the constant fear of being found and killed, or worse. You didn’t have the skill set to be on the run. You didn’t know how to dodge and redirect the dangerous people trying to find you. You didn’t know how to shoot a gun or protect yourself. You were a humanitarian. You came to Argentina to volunteer at an orphanage that doubled as a battered women's shelter.  

You were well aware that you did not have the skill set necessary to protect yourself in the situation and it had never occurred to you that you might need to. Helping people without using the correct channels had never come back to bite you in the ass this hard though. Granted it had always been in America where you had the home advantage. When the woman had come and asked you for help escaping her abusive husband with her young son in tow, how were you supposed to know that everyone else had turned her away in fear of the repercussions of a powerful man. A man who ran an underground child sex trafficking ring. 

The only thing that stood between you and him was an undercover NCIS agent, Nick Torres. He had saved you after his cover had been blown and had been dragging you around since. The man was paranoid, or so you had thought in the beginning, and on constant vigilance. He was sure of a mole in NCIS and didn’t trust anyone. It left the two of you in this constant state of motion. At first, the ordeal had been frightening, a constant rush of adrenaline. It had now turned into a constant uncomfortable prickle of anxiety and suspicion of everyone and everything. It was chronic mental exhaustion. If it made you feel as bad as you did, you could only wonder how bad it was for Nick.  

He was the one who could keep you both alive. You had watched his strange humor which had the desired effect of lightening the mood in difficult and often uncomfortable situations turn into a stoic silence for the last week, maybe two. You weren’t sleeping much but it was nothing compared to him.  

You had scoffed when he told you “I don’t sleep” but had soon found it near close to the truth. He barely slept over the last two months, the last few weeks being the worst. When he did drift off it was light and fitful. Every noise or movement woke him, and it would only be after a complete recheck of the area that he would try to sleep again if he chose to even try. Most of the time he would shake himself more awake and persist wherever he was leading you to next. 

Nick was a handsome man, but he looked rough, sitting next to you on the commercial bus. His body language read exhaustion as did the dark circles underneath his eyes. They showed prominent even over his dark skin which was starting to take a more yellow jaundice undertone. Not that you were judging. You were sure that you looked like a hot mess express. You had been living in Nick’s oversized clothes and showers weren’t a frequent thing. Your hair had been in a braid for almost a week because you couldn’t stand how greasy it had gotten. Most of it was covered by Nick’s plain black baseball hat that he had forced on your head, bill pulled down low to cover most of your face. He liked you as hidden as possible saying you looked out a ghost in the land of the living. A pale white girl who couldn’t hold a conversation in Spanish in a sea of fast-speaking Latinos. It was rude but you couldn’t disagree. 

The bus had just taken off, and Nick was slumped in his seat when a chill went up your spine. You had the eerie feeling of being watched. You knew the drill, no quick movements, you had to make checking your surroundings look natural, causal.  

It was easy to spot him the man. He was a few seats behind you and openly staring. It seems too blatant to be one of the men that you have been running from, but your body tenses and you feel the blood start to pump faster through your veins. “Nick,” Your voice is low and tense. It catches his attention, and you can feel him become more alert and sit up straighter next to you. “Do you see that guy a few seats behind us? He is watching us.” Nick did a much more casual job of surveying the surroundings and when he was done, he chuckled before relaxing back into his seat. You furrowed your eyebrows at him in confusion. 

“He isn’t watching us,” Nick stated flatly. You give a scoff of disbelief and go to object. You may be getting paranoid, but you can still tell when someone is staring. Nick cuts you off before you can get a handful of words out. “He isn’t watching us. He is watching you.” It takes a moment for the words to process. A soft oh falls from your lips when it finally clicks. 

Nick leans into your space, his hand coming up to cup the side of your neck. You exhale in surprise, but the touch is light and not unwelcome. It floods your body with a tingling warmth. “Is he still looking?” You search Nick’s face before looking back at the man. His attention had broken off you and he was now slumped against the wall staring out the window.  

“No,” His fingers brushed your cheek lightly catching a strand of hair that had come loose and securing it behind your ear.  

“Yeah, most people get uncomfortable with public displays of affection. Just like most men will respect another man when they realize that the girl they are trying to flirt with is taken.” He gives you a long look before glancing down at your chest and whispering, “I told you not to wear that.” He dropped back into his seat.  

You made a face at him, you two had gotten into a small argument at the station where you had refused to wear one of his long-sleeved shirts. It was hot and the bus was a hotbox. You had been sweating for days and washing up in the skin hadn’t tackled the problem. You just wanted to be comfortable for your trip. You had snagged a white wife beater out of his bag to put on instead. It was tight in the chest, but it felt much lighter and cooler. Nick had wisely said nothing when you came out in it. 

His comment made you look down at the shirt. I was tight and clinging to you like a second skin but the top where it was pulled tightly across your breast you saw the problem. You had been sporting a bright red bra when you left, and it was the only one you had. Because your boobs were so large there was no way of forgoing it. The flimsy white shirt that had been great for the purpose of keeping you cool did nothing to hide your bra’s florescent color nor the outline of its lace. Your cheeks flushed bright in embarrassment. You were a hot mess and gave quite the show. 

The two of you rode in silence for a while. Nick's eyes were open just a sliver as he tried to keep himself awake. It was a losing battle. He would start to doze, and his head would slide to the side waking him back up. “We have three hours until the next stop, right?” 

“You have to go to the bathroom already?” You glare at him. He had made a point to complain about your need to use the bathroom more frequently than him. “Yeah, about that.” He agreed. You nod in decision and turn to put your back against the corner where your seat meets the wall, your knees turned more toward the center aisle. 

“You should get some sleep,” He looks ready to object, “You’ve already checked everyone out on the bus, and I’ll wake you up before we hit our next stop or if anything weird happens.” He still looks hesitant, but his brown eyes have a heavy exhaustion cut deep into their depths. You pat your lap urging him to rest his head. “You’ll sleep better if you lay down.”  

“I’ll be okay,” He shimmies against his seat trying to get comfortable. The seats are hard and sleeping upright is uncomfortable in the best of circumstances. Nick is stubborn and even with everything he has done for you doesn’t want to ask for any small favors or comforts you can give him. You grab his shoulder and pull him forward to lay down, even with objections on his lips he allows you to maneuver him to lay with his shoulders and head in your lap. Nick, who had complained one too many times about you getting yourself in trouble by being too selfless chuckled lightly into your thighs as you assured him.  

“Don’t worry I’m doing it for purely selfish reasons. If you are sleep-deprived and miss something or get hurt, it will be all over for me.” You tease him, even with the truth of your words ringing in your ears. 

Nick is stiff laying in your lap for a few minutes, but it doesn’t take long for him to readjust and get comfortable enough to fall asleep. When he does, he is out cold. His body is a heavyweight against you, and he starts snoring. The physical contact felt nice. You were no stranger to his touch. Nick had been pulling, pushing, leading, and on occasion dragging you around. All of it had a purpose and none felt like real physical contact. The warmth of his body that lay on yours was soothing. You tried not to examine that feeling too thoroughly.   

Nick being relaxed enough to sleep made your own anxiety settle slightly. You still made sure to look out the window and be aware of what was going on around you, but it wasn’t as needling. You silently wondered if you two had been feeding off each other's nervous energy for too long. That paired with a lack of sleep made for a volatile combination.  

The first hour went by in a blur of Nick’s snores and passing scenery out the window. By the middle of the second hour, your ass and legs were getting numb from sitting in the same position for so long. You were trying not to fidget or shift because Nick was getting some real sleep, and you didn’t want to risk waking him. Another fifteen minutes in you couldn’t take it anymore. You set a hand on the middle of his back and started slowly shifting trying to move your leg. You had moved maybe an inch when you felt the slight jolt of movement from Nick. This body was tensed, you could feel the strong muscles in his back flex under your palm.  

“It’s okay, we’re still over an hour out.” You whisper to him running your hand down his spine. “I just need to sit a little different.” His half-lidded eyes meet yours as he lifts his body a few inches allowing you to pull your leg up onto the seat. You press your back more directly into the wall rotating the way you were sitting on your butt. He half moves half slides up your stomach as you slide down the wall. He ends up draped across you, his head on your stomach his torso resting in between your thighs. One of his hands smooths up your thigh and stops to rest there as he passes back out. 

Your hand still rests on his back. He has a hole in his dark shirt that you fiddle with for something to do. You notice his shirt has ridden up leaving a few inches of tan olive skin showing between it and his pants. The man’s body is all firm muscle. You would have to be blind not to notice how attractive he is, only exacerbated by his cocky attitude and smartass remarks. You try your best to stamp down that thought-examining the way he makes you feel would be a disaster. The only way you want to see him is as a protector. A man who is standing between you and those who want to hurt you. That's all it can be. The rest you know to ignore. You smooth down his shirt where it has bunched around his broad shoulders. You absently continue the motion rubbing his back. His back is a mess of tight knots and muscles. 

You spend the rest of the bus ride alternating between loosening the knots and resting your hand on his back and feeling it rise and fall as he breathes. You noticed the man who had been staring at you earlier kept taking quick glances at you. He quickly would avert his gaze if you happened to look his way at the same time.  

You see the sign for the first stop five miles out. You rub up Nick’s back, he hasn’t moved at all since he fell back asleep. You don’t want to jerk him out of his sleep like last time, so you set your hand over his on your thigh and squeeze it a few times. You whisper his name and see the flutter of his long dark eyelashes. “We are about five minutes out.” You expect him to immediately sit up and start his causal special agent surveillance mode. What you didn’t expect was him to lay there languidly.  

He rolls his neck, and shoulders, and then stretches. You heard a few loud pops, and he groaned in satisfaction. He then rolls onto his back and makes eye contact with you from where he is lying. He has his normal cocky smile back on his lips. The few hours of uninterrupted sleep had done him a lot of good. He seemed to be in much better spirits. You quirked an eyebrow at him in question. “Finalmente encontré tu fuerte (I finally found your forte). You make a fantástica pillow.” 

“I’m glad you approve.” You tease sarcastically. He doesn’t move to get up, so you rest your hand on his stomach, the other on the back of the seat. When the bus stops people make their way off. The man from earlier who had been watching you stops by your seat before he exits. He says something in Spanish. You catch none of it, but Nick does and clearly didn’t like it. His body is still relaxed against yours and his tone is teasing with an undercurrent of hard warning as he answers. The only thing you catch is- Entender amigo. Understand friend. The man glares at Nick before storming off the bus. “Do I even want to know?”  

“Sólo sabes cómo causar problemas (You just know how to cause trouble).” Nick watched as people started to file onto the bus. You sigh and are about to ask him to translate, silently cursing yourself for opting for ASL in school instead of Spanish. Nick’s gaze turns back to you and looks down at your chest which is now basically at eye level before redirecting up to your eyes. “I told you not to wear that shirt.” He repeats. “The next stop is ours. I squirreled away some of my own money there before I went under. Just in case. You can never be too careful, ya know? How does a hotel room sound for the night?” 

You moan in delight at the thought, “Sounds like a hot shower and a real bed. Heaven.” Nick chuckled before readjusting on your lap. 

“We have two more hours before our stop. You mind if I catch a little more sleep?”  

“Knock yourself out. Apparently, I’m a certified pillow.” You smooth his hair out of his face. It’s supposed to be a teasing gesture, but it ends up being a lingering touch. Soft. Comforting. Affectionate in a way that wasn’t intended. If Nick closes his eyes again and leans into the touch you ignore it. Just like the butterflies that are trying to awaken in your cold traumatized stomach. 

I hope you guys enjoyed it! Let me know what you think xoxo 

[sillydeimos]

your post about grunts and disabilities aids got me thinking, so here's a dump of some disability related stuff I hc because you're cool and there NEEDS to be more disability rep in this fandom

Hank: selectively mute, uses sign language to communicate. HOH and missing an eye. autism and ASPD.

Sanford: also HOH due to his job and visually impaired after 12. gets a white cane after he gets his eyes fucked up. OCD.

Deimos: uses crutches on occasion because something fucking up during his cloning process caused him to be pretty frail and weak, at least at first. also keeps stim toys on him. auDHD.

Doc: definitely a cane user. has a severe mouth injury from his time at the AAHW, so he can really only drink liquids. his mask has a thing that automatically amplifies his voice since the injury makes it hard to talk. I also like to imagine either he or Hank have a prosthetic leg. SZPD.

Victor: I can't think of any disability aids he'd have, but he definitely has PPD (as in paranoid personality disorder, not postpartum depression,) and DID.

all of them would realistically have some kind of C-PTSD and chronic pain / chronic fatigue due to the lives they live

anon i literately owe you my life omg....these are all so good! thank you personally for saying deimos would use crutches (<- professional projector onto deimos-er) also him having audhd makes so much sense to me personally, ive always thought he has adhd (like me omg)

on the subject of doc using a cane, may i offer one of krinkels' stream sketches: hank with a cane?

[millylotus]

Duke's cousin Jay

His full name is Jayden Jackson, he's Doug's older sister Patricia & her husband Heaven's son.

Jay's always been a competent guy, physically inclined like his maternal grandpa and just as smart as the rest of his family. But the Thomas have never been particularly well off, so Jay never really got the chance to properly expand on alot of his talents and stuck to what would get him far quick enough & cheap enough.

One of those things was the Army.

After the loss of his parents in the bombing of Bludhaven he had nowhere to go. He wasn't going to bother his Uncle & Aunt, who where raising his baby cousin and caring for Granny Luci. He needed somewhere quick and cheap. He had nowhere else to go.

Nowhere to go but the Army.

At first they where going to use him like every other boy who'd lost people to attacks like the one on Bludhaven. Trauma riddled and gunning for revenge on anyone they where directed at, but Jay just didn't want to be a bother, and being useless was being a bother.

They saw just how good Jay was and in no way where they gonna lose such a useful asset. He learned quick & adapted to everything they put him through. And all those things they put him through where important, so important that Jay was put on teams that required code names and red tape for everything.

When Doug & Elaine went missing & Duke was put in the system Jay wasn't even aware until two years later, and even then he couldn't leave because he was still "fighting the good fight".

Eventually he gets a break, a couple months and with a payout on the bounds he'd stay quite and no one would get hurt. He ran to Gotham, got an apartment and found Duke living with the Waynes.

For a second he thought maybe Duke wouldn't want to live with him, the extravagance, the comfort, it was all Jay had ever dreamed of for his family. But his little cousin jumped right into his arms and suddenly Jay has split custody with Bruce Wayne of all people.

He adjusts to civilian life about as well as he adjusts to that of a soldier, but not quite. Just enough that it doesn't register to him that Duke met him in the middle somewhere between soldier and everyday life.

He'll be back with the special ops eventually, but he has a couple months left with all the family he's got. And by god is Jayden gonna milk every second of that.

---

I generally think of Jay as an easy going if not a paranoid and really awkward guy

I've decided he has anxiety that he just isn't acknowledging right now

He's between Dick & Jason in age leaning more towards Jason

But ya know that's just how it is sometimes

He's not a very high emotions type of guy, most of the people in his family aren't

The most you'll drag out of him is an overprotective streak when it comes to Duke

He fidgets with his dog tags often

He knows how to kill a man in at least 50 different ways

He was the rookie for a solid 6 years before ending up as basically the middle child of his team

He's not sure how he feels about the Waynes but he's willing to take as much child support from them instead of indebting Duke to the army by using their money to care for him

When he finds out Duke is a meta-human he takes that shit to the grave, no-one is using his cousin

Same thing when he finds out Duke is a vigilante

He routinely cries to 16 Carriages by Beyonce

His favorite artists are Beyonce, Adele, & India Arie

He frequently goes to art exhibits and has tried his fair share at painting but is to embarrassed to really share it with anyone

Chronic resting bitch face he gets from his dad

The army aged him and people sometimes think he's Duke's dad

Knows things he shouldn't

Not tired all the time, but definitely more mellow compared to when Duke last saw him years ago, he smiled bigger back then

He's dated one person seriously in his life and that was a girl in high school

A fling there, a tent mate over here, maybe even on old friend who might come back, he doesn't really know

Once tried to eat his dad's belt as a kid

Got Duke hooked on sweets as a kid, much to Elaine's chagrin and now they're both sweettooths together

His favorite subject was art history

He reads plays a lot because they where just in abundance everywhere he went for some reason, and also because he likes dialogue a little more than heavy prose

Only has his GED, never really intended to go to college, now the army gets in the way of that

Figured out the We Are Robin thing quick, the Signal stuff not so much

Lets the WAR kids crash at his place even when he's dispatched

Doesn't like loud noises or the sound of guns

This ruined a lot of his fav trap songs for him

His fave color is yellow

He's jealous of Duke relationship with the Waynes and Robins sometimes, especially Jason, but by virtue of Duke just being a loving guy those feelings never really stick for long

One time he was babysitting Duke and the little man got him hooked on TMNT

He still has his Mikey mask, and Duke still has his Raph one

He's kind of just a guy sometimes

He's my one of my favs now

Jay Jack is just that guy, no excuses

[shakeyloner]

Here is a college paper I wrote about BoJack Horseman having BPD for my psychological disorders class about the depictions of mental and mood disorders.

The teacher was an actual clinical psychologist and I got a 100, with the average being an 86% so take that as you will.

A Critique of the Depiction of Borderline Personality Disorder

Of Character “Bojack Horseman” in Netflix’s “Bojack Horseman”

PSYCH-433

By: (You Don’t get to know)

4/3/2024

“BoJack, just stop. You are all the things that are wrong with you. It’s not the alcohol, or the drugs, or any of the shitty things that happened to you in your career, or when you were a kid. It’s you. Alright? It’s you.” (“BoJack Horseman” Episode 310). Although this is something you should never say to someone with any mental illness, it seems to encapsulate what Borderline Personality Disorder and BoJack Horseman’s apparent struggle with it throughout the series. Although an animated“comedy”show about an anthropomorphic horse who was a past star in a 90s sitcom, now living life as a washed-up star may not sound like the greatest representation of Borderline Personality Disorder, throughout the six-season story, we are able to see how BoJack’s relationships can be affected by it, along with items in his past that could have brought it about.

Let’s start with how BoJack fits the DSM description of BPD, and how he might not. The requirements within the DSM require to show 5 (or more) symptoms of 9 presented. These include: Extreme reactions to abandonment, whether real or perceived; a pattern of intense and stormy relationships with family, friends, and loved ones, ranging from idealization to extreme dislike; Impulsive and often dangerous behaviors; Recurring suicidal behaviors or threats, or self harming behavior. Intense and highly changeable moods, Chronic feelings of emptiness; inappropriate or intense anger, and stress-related paranoid thoughts or severe dissociative symptoms. BoJack checks lots of these boxes, so let’s go through each one, and give an example if it applies.

BoJack is incredibly afraid of abandonment. It is shown several times throughout the series that he is scared when people he knows leaves, such as his half-sister Hollyhock, who after trying to distance herself from him tells him that he is forcing himself into her life, as he becomes a professor at the college she attends. However, nothing is more apparent of his fear of abandonment than his relationship with his roommate Todd. He constantly puts him down, as to keep him to stay at his house indefinitely. This is most apparent when Todd presents his Rock-Opera. BoJack, as his friend, tells him, “That was, and I don’t say this lightly, worse than a hundred September 11ths”. However, once the Rock Opera seems like it might be picked up, and Todd might become successful and leave his house, BoJack sabotages Todd’s chances by getting him addicted to a video game he played as a teenager, which makes Todd fail his pitches to possible producers.

BoJack’s stormy relationships are about half of the show and I could likely fill three pages of just this. He has an on-again off-again relationship with his Agent, Princess Carolynn. His relationship with his roommate, Todd, is often broken based on the consequences of his actions, along with those of his friend and ghost-writer Diane. A romantic relationship with a co-star turned rocky when he nearly choked her to death, as she wanted to leave him, and wanted him to stop with substance abuse. Finally, his relationship with what could be considered best friend, Herb Kazzaz, ended with them not speaking for twenty years after Bojack “stabbed him in the back” while not defending him from media heat. Herb was a comedian who helped start BoJack’s successful career, being a writer for the show he starred in, and despite being his best friend, when the media found out that Herb was gay, leading to his removal from the show, BoJack did nothing to stand up for him, because it believed it would affect his professional career.

He has a terrible sense of self, constantly asking himself, “Am I a good person?”, flipping from wanting to be a star and do more shows to rejecting offers, and leaving projects mid-shoot. In season 1, he approaches his friend Diane, asking, “I need you to tell me that I’m a good person. I know that I can be selfish and narcissistic and self-destructive, but underneath all that, deep down, I’m a good person, and I need you to tell me that I’m good, Diane… Tell me, please Diane, tell me that I’m good…”. Along with that, after catching his life-long dream role, of Secretariat, he leaves the film, mid-production to do something else.

His impulsive and dangerous behaviors are one of the most evident. He goes through several “benders” throughout the show, ranging from alcohol to prescription and hard street drugs. He is known as an alcoholic to his friends and even attends rehab (multiple times), which actually lines up with studies. “In men, borderline personality disorder is more likely to co-occur with disorders such as substance abuse” Along with this he has poor spending habits, such as buying a boat, and an entire restaurant when heated.

He has few, though some recurring suicidal behaviors and threats. This is evident through him driving with his eyes closed accelerating on the highway while letting the wheel go, and when he tells a current girlfriend that unless she tells him that she loves him, he’s going to hang himself, albeit in the form of autoerotic asphyxiation. This may be one of the symptoms he shows the least of, however, because although he is depressed throughout much of the show, suicide is never really his answer to it, rather filling his life with drugs and alcohol.

He does have very changeable moods as well. This is often seen through anger, which I will also cover number 8 with this, that he will be fine one minute, then filled with rage the next, such as yelling at someone over muffins in a grocery store, or going on rants when someone puts pressure on him or he doesn’t get what he wants. Very rarely does this turn into physical anger or abuse, most of the time resulting in him taking drugs.

His feelings of emptiness and boredom seem to create tons of his problems. He has the need to fill his life with something, but he doesn’t know what. He sometimes wants to get back into filming shows, but fails to go through with that, and fills his life with whatever he can. He has rewatched his own sitcom several times to deal with this boredom, and his emptiness can be described through his quote, “you’re going to do everything in your power to fill that hole with friends and your career and meaningless sex, but the hole doesn’t get filled. And one day, you’re going to look around and you’re going to realize that everybody loves you, but nobody likes you, and that is the loneliest feeling in the world.” (“Bojack Horseman” 305).

Finally, are stress-related paranoid thoughts or severe dissociative symptoms. This is the entirety of episode 511, “The Show-Stopper”. The entire episode shows BoJack’s inability to discern reality from the TV Show that he is filming. He believes that someone in the real world is out to get him, despite it being a part of the show, and the show continues to flip between parallels of BoJack’s personal life, to the show, highlighting him losing touch with what is real and what is not.

Finally, all of this can be attributed to past trauma and relationship to his parents. His father would constantly avoid him, and when he was around, would verbally abuse him, and was even shown getting him drunk. This is after BoJack walked in on him having an affair with his secretary. Finally, he was very absent from BoJack’s life, reflected in the episode “The View From Halfway Down”. While dreaming about a dinner with important people from his life, his father is absent, and is instead represented by the racehorse “Secretariat”, who BoJack idolized as a child, showing he might have turned to the racehorse as a father figure more than his actual biological father. Even more, his mother, though we aren’t given too much, has also shown BPD symptoms, including heavy drinking, mood swings, and the idea of abandonment, when her mother sort of “left” after receiving a lobotomy. This could point to the biological risk factor of BPD, though his environmental factors are much more readily apparent.

The show, given a whole six seasons, gives great room to show how Bojack Horseman displays Borderline Personality Disorder. Although he is oftentimes depressed, and even empty, I feel the show could more highlight this part of the disorder. It is an animated comedy, it isn’t meant to be a perfect one-to-one, and a person not doing anything doesn’t make for a great show, This could be however because his sadness is often too quickly “resolved” through his anger, or his substance abuse. His self image is also up for scrutiny, because although in the earlier seasons he has a very mixed idea of who he is, he begins to settle down later in the series. Finally, his self-harming behaviors. Although he does self-sabotage through things like drinking and substance abuse, things such as cutting or any others are not as apparent. This is also the case when it comes to suicide, only appearing a handful of times throughout the show. Again, this could be attributed to the fact it’s supposed to be a comedic show, and a whole six seasons about a constantly suicidal person doesn’t sound that entertaining. Overall, given that it’s put into Netflix’s comedy section, “Bojack Horseman” does a great job depicting mental disorders, not just in how they affect a person, but also the people around them.

References

Bob-Waksberg, Raphael. (Executive Producer). (2014-2020). BoJack Horseman [TV series]. Torante Television; Netflix.

Borderline personality disorder. (2011). National Institute of Mental Health, U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, National Institutes of Health.

[sundrop-writes]

Miss Nectarine

Donna Troy x Fem!Thick!Reader

Miss Nectarine, jawbreaker sweet.

Summary:

Ever since the old Titans have come 'home', Donna has been swimming in stress and grief over the friend they had lost the last time they lived at the Tower. She unintentionally found the perfect way to combat that grief when she accidentally walked in on you in a very revealing situation.

Donna Troy x Fem!Thick!Reader. Friends to Lovers. Smut. Set during Season 2, Episode 7.

Word Count: 2,600

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this is such a random fic lmao; this is primarily smut; this fic does feature spoilers for the canon if you haven’t seen the show before and you want to watch it spoiler-free; mentions of Titans!Bruce Wayne’s intense paranoia; mentions of background (past) Dawn/Dick; mentions of canon violence (no in-depth descriptions); mentions of Donna/Garth (but I never outright state in this fic that Donna and Garth were romantic in the past or if they were just friends - I like them better platonically tbh); mentions of Donna’s grief for Garth as a best friend; this uses the ‘caught masturbating’ trope - Donna accidentally walks in on the reader masturbating and all the lustful feelings she has ever felt for the reader come flooding toward the surface; there is no hard dom/sub, but Donna is more dominant and the reader is more submissive to Donna’s orders and whims; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; she reader is described as fat/plus sized (through a very loving gaze - Donna is very turned on by her body); accidental voyeurism (Donna watches the reader masturbate for a while); clitoral stimulation (the reader masturbating); the reader calls Donna ‘D’ (because that’s a thing in all my fics now); very clear consent is established before Donna touches the reader; mentions of Donna manhandling the reader slightly (using her superpowered strength, but nothing that would be incredibly unrealistic); oral sex/pussy eating (Donna giving, reader receiving); I believe that’s about it. 

A/N: This is named after the recent song Miss Nectarine by Ashnikko, which is about someone struggling with their attraction to women and I fucking love the song so much - the second I heard it, it captured my heart. I highly recommend listening to it. Also, I feel like this fic is not my best work. Idk. I wrote it with a really awesome inspiration in mind (Donna lusting after a thick girl) but I couldn’t really get the writing flow down, and I feel like some parts of it are clunky. But I know that sometimes we should stand behind work that’s not our best, and people still might enjoy reading this. So, here you go!

...

Titans Tower was a place that had a lot of usual features. Things that no other home would ever need. 

The large serenity garden in the center of the house that never seemed to bring anyone serenity. (It was likely just there because the Tower had been built for people who were city-dwelling chronic night owls, the type of people who never saw plants in their natural habitats, and needed a simulated one in the middle of their million dollar condo.) The large, state of the art training facility. The medical bay, stocked with all kinds of equipment and medication - including a freezer filled with spare blood, in all of the original Titans blood types. Which is something that would be insanely creepy to any outsiders. 

And among the more peculiar security measures: none of the internal doors in the house had locks on them. All the bathroom doors, all the bedroom doors, the doors to the training room - none of them locked. 

To a certain extent, Donna understood why. 

The place had been designed by the most paranoid man on the planet - at least, that’s what Diana often called Bruce, and Donna had to believe it wasn’t an exaggeration, because Diana didn’t really believe in hyperbole. There were cameras in every single room, endless security protocols to breach the Tower from the outside - most of which Donna likely didn’t even know about. The place had been designed around its own unique, state of the art surveillance system. 

So, there being no locks on any of the bathroom doors or bedroom doors was just another… quirk. Something implemented for security purposes without ever considering how inconvenient it would be for a person to actually live with. 

It was something implemented with the idea that locks put barriers between the members of a team, and those barriers can create secrets. Secrets cause friction. A team should be one solid unit. That, and it can be dangerous, taking away precious life saving seconds if someone is locked in their bedroom while sick or injured and a door needs to be smashed up in order to get to them. 

At least, that’s what Bruce had in mind when designing the place. 

Back when all the original Titans had moved into the Tower, knocking became the most easily upheld rule in the household. No matter how much they argued over who did the dishes or complained about certain people making noises at ‘impolite’ hours - above all, it was a sacred practice not to barge past a closed door without asking first. 

And as Hank taught them, whenever someone wanted privacy in their room, as a kind of ‘do not disturb’ sign: a sock was to be wrapped around the doorknob as a universal signal that the person inside did not want to be bothered. It was a good old fashioned standby that he had learned while living in a frat house that had shitty, broken bedroom doors with locks that often failed. It came in very handy whenever someone wanted their privacy to masturbate uninterrupted, to unwind and sob without question after a particularly hard mission, or - when Dick and Dawn coupled up - to fuck like rabbits without anyone else barging in on them. 

Somehow, being back in the Tower, it was easy to forget that sacred law of knocking. Something about taking a five year hiatus from living in the strangely designed condo and wallowing in the tense emotions that being here brought back to her - Donna was more focused on the stress of Deathstroke and Doctor Light, everything around her old home that reminded her of the dear childhood friend she had lost the last time she was here. Her mind was a mess, and sadly - it was easy to forget about something as simple as knocking. 

Over the past few days, her mind had been occupied by far too many things. 

Doctor Light’s ‘escape’, and then his strange, untimely death. Deathstroke suddenly showing up again, and the moral conflict of harboring another one of his kids in the Tower. Which was made even worse when she considered that he would be an emanate danger to her - and to everyone else. 

All of this stress was topped off, brought to a boiling point when Donna had walked into her room after doing some yoga and meditation with Dawn (trying to calm the rockiness of their minds) and she found a bottle of orange soda on one of the bookshelves. Not just any orange soda - the orange soda. 

Her memories of Garth were painful enough - she didn’t need to be reminded of him like this. She wasn’t sure if someone was doing this to fuck with her, or if someone had put it there to try and comfort her. As an attempt at reminding her of the good parts of her past. If that’s what they meant, it wasn’t working. 

As soon as she found it, Donna rushed down the hall to your room to confide in you. She simply needed to share this strange occurrence with someone who wasn’t going to jump down her throat with conspiracy theories or brush off her concerns. She needed a shoulder to lean on, maybe cry on. Maybe she needed to reminisce about Garth when she had banned speaking his name since she had re-entered the Tower. 

She thought nothing of it when the doorknob to your bedroom turned under her palm with absolutely no resistance. 

She found herself standing in your doorway, holding the bottle of warm soda in one hand, staring down at it like it was a bomb about to go off. With her other hand still poised on the lockless doorknob, her mind filled with stale grief over her lost friend - when she heard it. 

A soft moan. 

Donna’s head shot up toward the noise, mostly an instinct of her training. The sight she was greeted with instantly shifted all of the energy in her body from confused, saddened, and hurt to pure, blinding lust. 

You were laying in the middle of the bed, your head propped against several pillows, making you look like a fantasy, purposefully displayed and laid out for her - and you were touching yourself. Your oversized, comfortable shirt was shoved up to sit underneath your chin, revealing your gorgeous tits, bared so perfectly for the eye to consume. 

Your lounge shorts with your panties tangled inside them were tossed off to sit around your ankles, clearly in a haste to partake in the act of ‘self care’. (Something different than the calming yoga Donna had been doing to take her mind off things, but just as effective.) This left your wet, wanting pussy out in the open, completely visible for Donna to see, and she even swore that she could smell you - a pungent tang in the air that drove a carnal hunger deep inside her. 

The thing was, as much as Donna had acknowledged in the back of her mind that you were attractive, and funny, and cute, and that your strength when facing enemies put an undeniable heat in her gut - she had never truly looked at you with this much lust boiling inside of her. Not until now. Because she had never truly seen you until this moment. 

Well, up until this moment - she had seen you as a friend, as a companion, as a fantastic warrior, someone she always wanted by her side. But this was the first time she had seen you as a potential lover. As someone she so badly wanted to fuck. 

With you laid bare to her like this, so desperately humping your own fingers and intimately visible, she couldn’t help but to stare. 

Two of your fingers worked furiously over your swollen clit while you held a lip between your teeth, clearly trying to hold any noises tight inside of your throat. This was something that made Donna even more desperate to hear your sounds, to hear what kind of moans or whimpers you would make for her. 

Your breasts bobbed in the air as your chest heaved - two beautiful mounds with peaked nipples, zagging lines of stretched skin where reality had quaked to prepare for your gorgeous muchness. This caused her eyes to trace down your quivering stomach; her gaze following the smooth rolls of your body that perfectly guided her eye down to the beautifully fat mound of your cunt. Your pussy was dusted with hair that was absolutely dripping with your need - so utterly soaked that you were beginning to form a small stain on the comforter below you. 

Perhaps best of all - the wideness of your thighs perfectly framed your clenching hole, clearly so needy and yet untouched as you rubbed sloppy, increasingly loud circles on your clit. It was a space where Donna wanted to slot herself and be smothered by the perfect dimpled thickness of your thighs, wanted to feel the endless warmth there, encasing her in everything that was you and barring out the stresses of the world. 

She stood there, frozen in place for too long, simply admiring you. 

She still had her hand on the doorknob, standing in the doorway, and with your eyes screwed so tight with pleasure and concentration, she knew that you hadn’t seen her yet. 

Part of her wondered if she should approach you. If she should be so bold as to assume that you would want her in your bed. 

But when she glanced down again, she saw the orange soda bottle. And something in the back of her mind was reminded of that haunted past. Something that said she was never meant to be happy. Something that told her living in the moment only fucked things up. Everything she had done back then, it was karma, that-

“Donna.” 

You said her name like it was the sweetest song. 

A soft, delicate moan coming from your lips - not an accusation, not a griped yell for her to get out. 

When she looked back at you, your eyes were even tighter with pleasure, your back arched slightly off the bed, displaying your breasts in an even more perfect way. Your fingers worked more furiously on your clit, clearly trying to make yourself cum with even more intent. Your other hand came down to hook under your knee, lifting your leg up in a way that spread your thighs even more. This made Donna breathless at the visible wave of slick that leaked out of you and the way your fingers dug into the fat of your thigh. 

It almost made her jealous of the act. She should be the one grabbing your thigh. It made her entirely tempted to charge over there and simply take over.

“Fuck, D.” You sighed breathlessly. 

It was clear in her mind: you hadn’t caught her. You were thinking about her as you were getting close. 

Donna’s own pussy throbbed between her thighs, and as she clutched around the glass bottle so hard she swore she heard it crack. In that moment, she could almost hear Garth’s voice in her mind. He was chanting, telling her to ‘go for it’. Telling her that the concept of ‘karma’ was bullshit and she had to make her own fate. He would have told her that she was stupid to pass up an opportunity with ‘such a hot babe’. If he was a ghost, supposedly haunting the Tower, he would probably be her wingman in this. 

Maybe it was his ghost, with a hand on her back, guiding her toward you. Whatever it was - in that moment, Donna felt the impulsive Atlantean side of her take over. 

Or maybe it was the fact that she needed to turn away from all the grief - for the first time since entering the Tower, Donna needed to make herself forget about all the ghosts that haunted the halls. She needed to hold onto something real, something good that was right in front of her - she needed the real, tangible now.

She stepped fully inside your bedroom, shoved the door closed behind her. It was only with that quiet slam that you actually came out of your personal, lustful bubble. There wasn’t enough time for shock to take over as Donna abandoned the mysterious orange soda bottle on your dresser and strided toward the bed with intention and purpose in every single movement. You snapped your legs closed around your own hand, suddenly feeling shy under her ravenous gaze. 

“Yes or no?” She asked you firmly. 

She placed a knee on the end of the bed, looking at you with heat blooming across her cheeks. Her own chest shifted with puffs of hot breath as the lust rapidly increased her heart rate. 

Of course, she would never do anything without your explicit consent. 

Even though shock was still barreling through your system, unsure if this was a fantasy or not, perhaps a strange illusion blurring into reality - you managed to squeak out a reply. There was only one possible answer you could think of when she was looking at you like that. 

“Yes.” 

Donna nodded firmly and then moved onto the bed. Before you could blink, she had hooked both her hands under your knees and, using her enhanced Amazonian strength, she pulled you down the bed toward her. This caused you to let out a sharp squeak - a sound of delighted surprise at the fact that she could move you around so easily. Nobody else that you had been with ever could. 

She placed both her hands on your inner thighs and spread your legs open like you were a book that held all the answers to life’s most demanding questions. She was glad that her hair had already been up in a low bun, because it was out of her way as she held your legs open with impressive force and dove in. 

Years of unrealized lust for you came rushing out of her, concentrated on the tip of her tongue. Feelings that she had been holding back through intense, well-trained self discipline began to pour out the minute that her tongue met your mound. It was a demonstration of her sheer power painted in front of you as she flicked her tongue over your needy clit, fucking you hard and fast. She couldn’t help but to moan loudly at your taste. Sweet like a nectarine. 

“Fuck!” 

You moaned out, unable to take your eyes off the sight of such a gorgeous, goddess-like woman between your thighs. Your mind almost unbelieving that it was real - barely able to comprehend how perfect she looked with her pretty pink lips pressed against your cunt and her tongue working in hard, fast circles as she fucked you in such an utterly demanding way. 

“Oh my god, Donna!” 

Your muscles quaked with the effort, but you were unable to move even an inch to shut your legs around the intense, overwhelming stimulation that she provided. Heat shot through your body from that one point - from that beautiful place where her lips were sealed onto your cunt. 

Donna felt the spasming of your legs, felt the heat pouring off you in waves, and she reached over with one hand and worked two fingers inside of you. This was entirely easy with how slick you were, open and ready for her. You moaned sharply and your face was twisted into a gorgeous pinch of pleasure when she glanced up at you through her lashes. 

There was just one more thing that she wanted. 

She popped off your clit with a filthy wet noise, causing you to whimper. 

“Cum for me,” She demanded sharply. 

You couldn’t help but to follow the order. 

When you fell apart underneath her touch, you couldn’t contain your screams. Everyone in the Tower heard you.

...

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