#emotionally petrified

[drowningbpdbodies]

The horrors persist, but me? Not so much

[stupidlittlespirit]

waow it’s laser day again keep me in your prayers

[direquail]

so Murderbot is great and I love it, however I would like to bring to tumblr's attention another series by Martha Wells, the Books of the Raksura. I recently finished "The Cloud Roads" and honestly I think it's the perfect book for tumblr because it's for people who want to fuck dragons and love pretty men who are also wet cats

[patchdotexe]

tbh every time i watch defunctland or, like, any theme park youtube thing, i get nostalgic abt going to cedar point as a kid. its not really feasible for me anymore because of the distance (and was mostly, like, somewhere my older sisters would take me when i was really little so my memories are all fuzzy) but the bits and pieces i remember were really cool

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 1000 FOLLOWER MILESTONE PT. 1

synopsis: zoro's inexplicable feelings for the crew's newest member leave him a flushed and confused mess. he can't eat, he can't sleep, he can't think... and he can't possibly talk to her.

cw: fluffy fluff, comfort, (nsfw in pt. 2), zoro is emotionally constipated, reader's a sweetheart, girl talk, zoro is so adorable i cant, i love making him awkward

a/n: tried to be a bit more prosey lol <3 literally why i had to split this it would've been entirely too long (pt 2 is gonna be even longer tho sigh)

Zoro's appearance was deceiving.

He was an imposing figure among his fellow members of the Strawhat crew; people would often think twice before approaching him.

Some would claim it was all about his look: his glare—a look that would feel like a stab the moment it settled upon oneself.

Immobilizing, evoking uneasiness, as if in them there was an unforgiving tint that would petrify.

Moreover, the scars littered all over him—one of them rested across his chest, elongated along his clavicle and stretched well past his hip—were not only marks of his chivalry, his bravery, but also marks that warned others about his fierceness, about his staggering strength.

He was threatening to be around, to say the least.

Still, as rough, relentless, and brutal as he could be, even the roughest stones can be smoothed over time.

Yet achieving such a thing is no easy task at all.

Not for everyone, at least.

"You're in love, Zoro." Robin, the ship's archaeologist, had been the first one to point it out to him, the expression of the swordsman contorting into one of surprise.

It did not dawn on him until that very same moment.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He grumbled, turning away from her gaze, whose smile did not waver in the slightest—but instead it deepened.

Frustration took over Zoro as he bit the inside of his cheek—he could not handle himself.

Being in love... it was rare, at some point even displeasing.

This, the fact that he could not deny it, that he could not help the warmth taking over his cheeks, that his heart would do nothing but race in his chest at the sole mention of you.

He blamed himself for acting so helpless, for turning ever-so hazy at the thought of you.

But he couldn't help it, to grow fond of that very same softness.

It was corny, yes, but what could he do against it?

That day, he struggled to sleep throughout the whole night, restlessly gazing up at the ceiling, in consideration to his feelings and the great dilemma of what to do with them.

A thirst that began to become so eloquent that he could no longer turn a blind eye on it—that he could to turn a blind eye on you anymore; because the once glances turned into gazing with undeniable longing and admiration.

Soon enough, you would reign over every minute of his life—in thoughts, in feelings that would dwell in his mind.

Love sickness, one could conclude, but also the impotence of not being able to do anything beyond that because, even if he accepted his feelings for you, the uncertainty of you doing the same was offsetting to him.

Maybe you'd never look at him that way, maybe it is just a silly crush weakening a heart that should only beat with the motivation to fight and protect, and nothing more than that.

But then, again, what is the motivation for protection?

To protect there needed to be a resolution, and the resolution to protect almost always derives from love.

Love is inevitable, love is everywhere.

Love can come in all shapes and colors.

But then again, this is the first time it had ever come to him in this way.

His resolution to fight, once for his dream, once for his friends, soon enough began to include you into the same picture, and even if not at a higher priority, it became his motivation during training, during meditation.

And with that meditation, with deep introspection, he began to reason; if there was a time you would open your heart up, would it be for him?

Would there be any chance?

But then, why would you?

What makes him worthy of you, after all?

But even if he talked himself into you never looking at him, he could never fight the fact that he was so head over heels over you—the feeling did not diminish at the end, but doubled.

And so Zoro began to die of thirst, and the drought could only intensify over the time and, the more he thought about your beauty, your smile, your presence, your voice, he could not help himself—it felt as if his hands were tied, and it was inevitable for him to not just surrender to the feeling.

Nami thought all of this was cute to see from the outside—Zoro was just helpless when it came to women: Every time he would be approached, he just couldn't bear the fluster invading every single corner of his body.

In fact, she, as your longest and closest friend on the crew, was the first to notice and tell you.

Fed by the way he behaved towards you, she couldn't stop herself from wanting to give him a push.

In her morning stroll across the Sunny, she spotted you sunbathing on the deck, and decided to join you.

"What's with that smile?" You knew the redhead well enough to know that with that smile came mischief.

"Noooothing..."

But you knew it was written all over her features, and so you raised an eyebrow at her.

She was up to something.

"I don't believe youuuuu..." You sang, mimicking her, which made your friend burst into a giggle.

And that was the moment she told you.

The Strawhat's swordsman was in love with you.

To be honest, Zoro was no more than fellow crewmate to you, even if you deemed him handsome in all his roughness, yet never did feed that thought beyond fantasy.

When Nami told you, she had pointed out a truth that, up to now, had remained unbeknownst to you, mistaking his indeed love for you by shyness of being around women.

"How do you know all of this?" You asked her, heart shaken up at such an unexpected confession.

But Nami just pressed a finger to her lips, giggling and shaking her head.

There was something more important than thinking about the way she found out.

There was a fiber in you that had been moved, something that tingled within you with this information.

You thought about him, but now his image held something more than just being the ship's swordsman.

There was something different now in your perception of him, something that led a wave of fuzziness to bubble in your gut.

"Y-you thinks he likes... me?" You pointed to yourself, blinking in disbelief.

Her eyes sparkled with sincerity—not to say that Nami was a dishonest person.

You knew she would never lie, even more now that she indeed found you two compatible.

"It's obvious!" she retorted, giggling, "Don't you see how he is around you?"

"He's always like that with women. He's... awkward?" you asked, still surprised.

"It's different," she emphasized; she knew for a fact—Robin, another one who rooted for you and the swordsman—that he would ask about you, or do things so his care for you would be implied.

Robin, in all her kindness, saw the goodness in Zoro, and knew that he could be the right one.

Nami agreed with her, claiming that your warmth and your sweetness was one to get easily attached to.

"Besides, he's aaalways looking at you," she nudged you, squealing in excitement. "Always asking about you..."

She trailed off, but by the time you could ask her what she meant by that, she had already dashed away, her excuse being that she had promised to meet up with Usopp.

And ever since that moment, you began to ponder her hypothesis: you became observant, attentive.

You started talking to Robin about it, and all the proof had seemed to turn toward the conjecture of the ship's navigator being true.

So you began glancing more his way, gaining another perspective from the swordsman.

Firstly, with curiosity, then with something more: a feeling that would tingle in your stomach when reciprocating glances that he would break no sooner he realized your sight on his.

To you, seeing the heat spread on his cheeks was absolutely heart-warming, and no matter how much anyone tried to reassure him, Zoro would slur out an excuse and walk away so he could finally breathe.

Adorable—that was what he looked like to you.

And so you began to fall for him.

Yet few were the moments in which you could actually get closer, and you wished it would escalate to more than just stolen glances.

But rescues, training, liberating—a plethora of other circumstances—would always get in the way of you two.

But, even so, no obstacle was as hard to sort as his awkwardness.

Zoro was aware of that, and often wished he could just "grow a pair", as Sanji would tell him and gain the courage to approach you, yet to no avail.

Helpless, it would all end in a what if, something he dreaded, but also something he could do little about.

Knowing this, frustration would take over your chest, an oppression that would become hard to ignore as you watched him turn every time he thought about coming closer.

Watching him had begun to become impossible, to the point that yearning would be unbearable.

A moment with someone you love is always difficult, yes, and even more in this case.

But at the sight of the circumstances, it was up to you to make the first move.

Making a move and praying it worked.

One good day, you woke up feeling lonely; feelings had been escalating to the point that, now, the ardor, the desire for your now favorite swordsman burned in your skin, and you found yourself missing him.

Missing him so much, that not just a glance could calm you, nor the monosyllabic responses of his.

Nami came to wake you up, staring with surprise at the fact you were already long awake before her arrival, given your habit of oversleeping.

There was a wide smile on your face as you finally got to go outside, breakfast having already been served, which you ate fast before before heading off to your chores.

"Think I'll train with Zoro today."

The few stragglers still in the kitchen—Brook, Usopp, and Robin—turned to each other as they wondered whether you were all right; judging by your large grin, and the way you were behaving—shining even brighter than usual.

The answer was obvious:

You were not all right.

And Zoro didn't expect any of this, of course.

He was, like every other day, completing another ruthless training session—starting by endurance training, followed by weight room, finishing with meditation.

Being in a constant state of go often helped him take a break from his insistent, lovesick heart—at least for a moment.

However, as he could not gather any sleep lately, he'd grown even less lenient than usual.

He kept his training harsh, curiously resembling a certain gloomy warlord when practicing his swings, or glaring at interlopers in his count.

Though, a tap to his arm from behind took him by surprise, and when he turned, he swore the air ceased to flow into his lungs.

"Hey."

He could barely stammer a greeting back at you after that; it was the first time—or at least one of the first times—that he was this close to you.

It was the first time that he got to see your beautiful eyes gleaming as you looked right at him; the first time that he got to see your smile spread for him.

It was the first time that he could see you early in the morning, where the sun shone right upon you, highlighting your breathtaking self to the point that his heartbeat turned erratic.

"Training extra hard today, I see..."

Your lips curved upwards in a bright grin while a faint wave of heat crept up your cheeks, you internally praying he didn't see—the swordsman was too busy trying to get his soul to come back to his body to notice, though.

From every single thing that could take him by surprise, this was one of the most unforeseeen to him.

Of course, he would wish and long for just a minute in which he could see you, his gaze often looking for you even if he did not want to.

You were so bright, so...

...Pretty.

Zoro felt as if his throat was closing.

The summer sun felt even more boiling on his stinging face—face that he might have been unaware had turned undeniably red.

Awkwardness immediately took over him, and so he did really forget how to utter a word correctly, without stumbling.

You did not miss any of this; it was obvious—you wanted to believe it was—and that got your heart fluttering.

"Yeah," he blurted, unable to look away from you, when he normally would.

But, how could he even look away, if any time you were around, even if you were unaware, his gaze was always upon you?

It was as if, out of reflex, he had trained himself unconsciously to look in the direction of his heart.

Of course.

"Mind if I join you?"

The question took him aback, and if he had been petrified before, he now stood as stiff as a tower.

Joining him?

You... wanted to join him?

Which meant staying until late afternoon with him?

Which meant staying together, which meant being close to one another—

—Oh, shit.

A nod left him without much of a second thought; it was faint, but overt.

It didn't fail to make you giggle.

You knew you were right to like him, and just how obvious he was with his non-verbal language could only make your heart race.

"All right, then!" you beamed, tugging a hair tie off your wrist and pulling up your hair. "You gonna show me the ropes?"

You turned to Zoro, oblivious to the leverage you had, even more so when your gaze laid ever-so charmingly on the swordsman.

However, before he could respond, some of your crewmates—Usopp, Brook, and Franky—had been unlucky enough to be caught by said swordsman in the middle of their giggling.

Whether at you, or at his helplessness, he was unsure, until his gaze flickered to them—to which they had been quick to turn away.

"What's so damn funny, huh?"

His voice wasn't loud, but it had lowered several octaves to the point that it came across as a deep hiss—needless to say, this was enough of a threat.

You, ever oblivious to what was going on, pressed your lips into a thin line in order to stifle a laugh.

It was indeed cute to see how he could assert such dominance and fear.

Your poor, terrified crewmates were quick to run and begin their chores, since it was known that Roronoa Zoro's threats were not empty ones.

So, while everyone began to scatter, the awkward silence arose once more.

Zoro tried hard to keep his gaze away from you, tried to distract himself with the workout he was supposed to be doing—but even so, you could still sense how tense he was.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" You spoke up eventually, a while after your training had begun.

There came once again your attempt to break the ice.

At first, it was a strenuous task, his answers coming in single syllables and mumbling until, as the day progressed, he would untense, and allow your conversation to develop into something more fluent, more relaxed.

Zoro eventually found himself being more verbose as you continued.

Whether it was getting used to being near you or just being partially focused on completing his training, he actually felt at ease with you, comfortable.

All of these feelings combined, plus the sight of you laughing—or just being, in general—made the feelings he kept for you bloom even more.

The same could be said about you, as well.

As he spoke, you couldn't help but allow yourself to memorize every one of his details.

The way the tip of his eye scar wrinkled as he talked, or the way he would hold back the desire to look at you—even at times it would be inevitable to do so.

Or the way that whenever he talked, there was a flicker of his eye, going down, then up, then back on you.

Or the way in which, from time to time, his lips would curve upwards into brief smiles that were ever-so heartwarming.

He showed himself genuinely to you, and this made you fall for him even more.

Which only made you want things to escalate more.

Were you nervous? Of course.

But your nervous heart commanded your movements, your actions, your words, forcing bits of excitement to bleed into your voice and make it crack in the slightest as you spoke.

And so, what was first deemed new soon enough turned into regular, and Zoro would even find himself delaying his training for you, waiting so you two could chat together, even go for a walk together.

Just like the day it happened.

[mycurrentobsessionis]

@pink-pearl-plain-jeans took a few days but here. hope this is something you actually wanted lol. this is lowkey a ramble but it is an informed ramble.

First, you are gonna seriously regret asking me, because I have nearly 300 hours logged between these two games and half a masters degree in clinical psychology.

Second, to be fair, you don't have know a lot about ballroom dancing -- I know almost nothing. Toward the end of Step 4 on Baxter's route, he will joke to Jamie about the irony of ballroom dancing, which requires both a partner and a certain level of intimacy, is his most beloved hobby, when the ability to form close, intimate relationships is his biggest struggle.

Baxter is a pretty good example of what disorganized, or fearful-avoidant, attachment looks like in adults. He both desperately wants to form emotional connections with others and intensely fears those same attachments, viewing them as inherently unsafe and unstable. The player can see this in the way Baxter attempts to form lots of superficial connections where he overshares personal details while also being evasive about his deeper feelings. He is aware that he needs some level of human interaction and works to fill that need without leaving himself vulnerable to being hurt or abandoned. This can occur in individuals who had inconsistent parents growing up. Baxter's relationship to dancing mirrors his emotional progression with attachment to others.

As a child, he has a stable group of friends and dances at the country club competitively, and thus likely has a stable, consistent partner with whom he performs. We know very little about Mr. and Mrs. Ward, except for the following:

They are older.

They are wealthy, and likely old money.

They are bigoted, like being queerphobic and racist.

They expected Baxter to behave with greater maturity than would have been typical for his age and "at times, as if he was even older [than them]."

He did not want to spend his first summer after college with them, so they shipped him off to a tiny beachside tourist town, either not caring or not knowing that he is petrified of the ocean.

Something about Baxter would be a problem, and they would hate him if he were someone else's child.

From this, we can garner a few things. The first is that the Wards were likely emotionally immature, possibly parentified him, and likely played "it's okay if it's you" card. When we meet Baxter as a child in OLNF, he is clearly very fond of Qiu, Ren, and possibly Tamarack and Franky as well. These relationships likely provided insulation from parents who alternated between being emotionally distant and overcontrolling. It also makes sense that Baxter would be drawn to younger children here. Baxter chalks it up to his own immaturity, but I would argue that it is in fact because he is precocious that he chooses a younger friend group. Kids his own age would likely be put off by his attitude and may take it as condescending, whereas younger children would appreciate him as older and wiser. Additionally, younger children give him the opportunity to play and engage in silly antics that he may have missed out the first time.

I also wouldn't be surprised if there was some cognitive dissonance as well, since his parents probably espoused queerphobic ideals while also professing to love Baxter, who himself is bisexual and knew very well that he was attracted to boys by the age of 12. Given this, and the amount of bitterness with which he later speaks about them, it also would not surprise me if they had some influence on his drifting apart from Ren and Qiu as they got older. Not that this has to be the case, but I could see Baxter avoiding bringing his very-visibly queer friends (including one who is also a POC) around his parents to avoid hurting them.

He grows up and appears in OLBA as a teen who is somewhat adrift. He doesn't appear to have a stable friend group or sense of identity, and he has limited his contact with his parents to the minimum amount that he feels obligated to contact them. Now, shifting identity is pretty normal for young adults, but Baxter's seems less stable than it should be. What I actually thought was really interesting is the subtle shift between Baxter as he presents himself and as he actually is. He presents himself as accommodating, complimentary, confident, and friendly. The person he actually is -- the one he thinks no one will like -- is sardonic, self-effacing, mischievous, and lonely. In his desire to be included, he avoids imposing his will on others -- Jamie can even convince him to wear a swimsuit and go into the ocean if they really want, something he is terrified to do. He is only able to be genuine if either (a) Jamie has made an explicit effort to show him he is accepted or (b) he is emotionally dysregulated enough that he is unable to keep up the charade

Anyway, at this point, he is presumably no longer competing, and no longer has a steady partner. In his first interaction with Jamie and Cove, he is immediately offering to be their partner, which is a deliberate double-entendre. He comes on strong, because he needs the relationship to begin quickly in order the get what he needs out of it. He has no intention of actually taking the time to get to know people or build a genuine connection with them. It's about control here. Also note that he offers this with the implication that he would be teaching them to dance. Even in asking for a temporary connection, he's framing it as him offering a service in exchange for their company because he doesn't see himself as valuable on his own (Qiu also does this btw). In summary, he is dancing with people he barely knows because while the steps won't be familiar or comforting, he doesn't have to worry about mistakes either. (dun dun dun, the mortifying ordeal of being known!)

As an adult, he shifts this into a more formalized version. He isn't stupid, nor does he enjoy hurting people. He knows that most people are unwilling to abandon relationships so quickly, and he knows he's hurt people. The thing about attachment styles is that you can develop a secure attachment style as an adult. The problem is that you do this by essentially re-parenting yourself. Learning to treat himself with self-compassion is really difficult, though, because that's a learned skill. He needs community or a therapist. The problem is that because of his disorganized attachment style, forming a community is difficult and he would probably also have trouble finding a therapist because that would require a level of vulnerability that he struggles with. Baxter also heavily relies on avoidance as a coping mechanism. When he enters into a relationship, because he is primed to view them as unpredictable and conditional, it activates his fight-flight-freeze response. He then attempts to escape the situation by (a) leaving, (b) ghosting/ignoring, and (c) distancing himself using social niceties to avoid confrontation. If he is cornered (like the end of step 3), he switches to fight mode and becomes caustic. This may indicate that if he entered a therapeutic relationship, he is likely to end therapy prematurely to avoid thinking about his loneliness and attachment issues.

So, because he knows he hurts people by doing all of this, and because he doesn't know how to maintain a relationship, he formalizes the arrangement. People literally pay him for a service (planning) and because he is "in" on such an intimate event, he still gets the feeling of getting to know people and be included, without the emotional risk. Same thing with dancing.

That's why dancing with him after the wedding is such a big deal. Yes, it's a callback to a very special moment for Baxter, but it's also a metaphor for re-entering a relationship. He's been looking at and judging his relationships on the ruptures not the repairs, and to be able to repair a relationship after the mask has come off, the set's been wrecked, and the crowd is gone means that he has lived a lonely life for no reason.

Anyway, all this is to say that Cove was 100% right when he clocked that Baxter was insincere and interacted with people in a really weird way. No one listened though.

[mraustistic]

@enchantedchocolatebars

Kid Philip Wittebane Meets Eclipsa Butterfly

Song of choice for the fic

Philip Wittebane. Devout, and absolutely certain he was going to be smited at any moment.

One second, he had been kneeling in prayer behind the chapel with a heavy heart and cold fingers after being slapped on the wrist nearly 50 times for writing with his left hand. The next, there’d been a sharp crackle in the air—like lightning trying to speak—and now he was… here.

Wherever “here” was.

The room was dimly lit by floating candles, none of which dripped wax. There were couches too fancy to sit on and a piano playing itself with suspicious whimsy. A teapot floated by. Everything smelled like lavender and….Chocolate?

Philip stood near the door, knees locked, heart racing.

“Hmm,” a woman said, sitting on the couch finally drawing attention to herself ��Well aren’t you just a little drop of dramatic lighting.”

Philip flinched. The woman had strange hair, Teal-green, styled in classic vintage waves. A even stranger dress, A long, dark purple Victorian-style dress with a white ruffled bib collar. The collar has a crescent moon symbol on it.

He backed up a step. “W-Where am I?”

“My parlor,” she said casually, plucking a floating teacup from midair. “Lovely ambiance, questionable structural reality. You’re safe—probably.”

Philip swallowed hard. “I…I was praying. Then there was a light. And… now I’m here…. Where’s…where’s Caleb!? Where’s my brother..!? He was right next to me!” His voice cracked embarrassingly at the end.

“Oh, honey.” She set her cup down and studied him like a museum exhibit. “You’re brother is safe no doubt…No need to worry.”

He didn’t respond. His whole body was tense, like one wrong word would summon a demon.

Eclipsa took a step closer. “Want some cocoa?”

He stared at her. “Is it… cursed?”

“Only emotionally,” she said with a wink.

A mug floated toward him. It was purple, covered in bat-shaped glitter stickers, and filled with steaming cocoa topped with tiny pink glitter marshmallows.

Philip looked at it like it might explode.

“I’ll just… stand,” he muttered,as he hesitated before taking the cup. “Quietly.”

Eclipsa stretched out on the chair like a cat with a sigh. “You know, I was expecting chaos today. Maybe a political coup or a surprise mew-man uprising. But you?” She smiled. “You’re a little shivering church mouse. Kind of refreshing.”

He said nothing. Just stood there, staring at the glitter marshmallows like they might report him to the church.

Eclipsa’s tone softened a little. “Look, kid. I don’t eat children—anymore. You’re safe here.”

A shadowy creature slithered from the corner and gently draped a fuzzy black blanket around Philip’s shoulders. It smelled faintly of peppermint and lavender.

Philip flinched. Then didn’t move.

“I… I miss my brother,” he whispered.

Eclipsa looked at him for a long moment. Her expression shifted—just a little. “Yeah,” she said. “Family can be a real pain… until they’re gone. Then it’s worse.”

The room quieted. The candles flickered lower, casting long, slow shadows. The piano switched to something soft and melancholy. The marshmallows finally stopped squeaking.

Philip didn’t sit. But he didn’t run, either.

Philip hadn’t moved in twenty minutes.

Eclipsa had watched him from her velvet lounge, swirling her tea and debating whether he was petrified by magic, manners, or mild trauma. Probably all three. Honestly, she could relate.

He was still standing near the door like it might be a trap. The blanket the shadow beast had gifted him was slouched over his narrow shoulders. He looked like a child playing ghost at a Puritan funeral.

Finally, she stood and clapped her hands.

“Well, I suppose I can’t leave you sulking in the parlor all day,” she said with the upbeat tone of someone planning a questionable field trip. “Let’s go.”

Philip blinked. “Go… where?”

“Cultural enrichment,” she replied, smiling too brightly.

“I don’t want to be enriched.”

“Tough nougat.”

She opened her wand like umbrella and picked up Philip

Philip yelped and instinctively crossed himself.

“Oh relax,” Eclipsa sighed. “I am a very good flyer, I only crash 4 out 8 times”

“That’s not comforting!” he squeaked.

“Then lower your standards,” she said cheerfully. “Now come along. We’re going to the Monster Market. I want you to meet a goat-headed gentleman who sells psychic eggs.”

[loveamongdragons]

Hey!! Im sorry, this is a really weird question and you really don't have to answer but I love your atla posts sm and they really make me think. Love your fics too. Here's the thing... I actually just know atla via fandom osmosis so I have no clue what you're talking about in this post:

https://www.tumblr.com/loveamongdragons/774408895286460416/hey-can-we-talk-about-this-as-apposed-to-this?source=share

Could you please elaborate? Thank you! I hope you're doing well, take care and stay hydrated! <3

Hey there! So happy you like my stuff ^^ it's not weird to ask at all, welcome aboard.

So, I concede that I might be grasping at straws here, but at the same time: the thought had randomly occurred to me and then dug its claws into my brain with no warning whatsoever.

My point is that the scenes at hand are quite similar: one person shoots an arch/circle of fire, and Katara is on the receiving end. Her reactions though differ significantly.

I find it intriguing, shall we say, that she shows zero fear when Zuko, "the face of the enemy", the guy that had spent the entirety of the show up until then hunting them, casts the fire in anger, but is petrified when Aang, her friend and love interest, casts fire in his chipper way. Like, isn't that curious?

In that same vein, it is curious how Zuko is the only person whom she ever shows the depth of her anger. You'd think that hurling all sorts of accusations at a person who you perceive to be your enemy, and whom you perhaps even believe to be evil at heart, might scare you a little bit? Or maybe you'd at least expect to deal with retaliation or something. Instead, Katara is perfectly comfortable with her anger around Zuko, up to the point where she turns her back on him in the Crystal Catacombs and starts to cry. With Aang though, she is consistently walking on eggshells and trying to stay amiable and motherly.

At the same time, she seems to be perfectly fine with Zuko's anger, too. For heavens' sake, she looks concerned and confused, and not scared in the slightest when Zuko shoots fire at them in the second gif. In regards to Aang, we get this line from Katara though: "I'm not saying the Avatar State doesn't have incredible and helpful power … but you have to understand … for the people who love you, watching you be in that much rage and pain is really scary."

Yeah, so it's as if Aang's bottled up feelings of pain and rage have always been more scary than Zuko's explicit pain and rage. And it's just curious how in those two scenes Katara has less trust in Aang's ability to control himself than when she encounters a pretty emotionally distraught Zuko - who both do the same damn thing, with VERY different consequences, of course.

Now, you could say: hey, it's just because Zuko was a proficient firebender, and Aang wasn't, and Katara thus knew she couldn't rely on Aang's abilities, but she could rely on Zuko's (and... girl... the way this alone sounds!). Which, I fully accept that this might be the case. But it still wouldn't take away from the fact that it's curious as hell that Katara did not show any sort of fear in that scene with Zuko, and the argument becomes interesting again when you imply that she even at this point had enough trust in Zuko that she didn't even perceive him as a threat.

I must say: I adore this scene! I love this encounter between Zuko and Katara because I think it's the first real emotional exchange they have. Katara offers to heal Iroh! She is concerned! He pushes her the fuck away. (Mirrors their later encounter beneath Ba Sing Se, too). Did Zuko spend the next days thinking about her offer? Did he wonder in secret late at night if he should have accepted? Did he find himself feeling cozy, warm, sad feelings towards her, and then pushing them away? Did he think about it when he met her again in the Catacombs, and then later at the Gaang's camp? Did she?

[sha-brytols]

bethany and esther's relationship is also incredibly fucking arduous for. very good reason LOL esther's so cold to her. absent father but she's your older sister. when carver died there was this moment where bethany tried to talk to esther about it, and esther. emotionally closed off and of the belief she has to be the Strong One. just said "carver's dead. he won't come back if we just cry hard enough." and walked away.

esther also wouldn't let bethany do ANYTHING for those first couple years in kirkwall. in the red iron, esther's biggest rule was bethany waits outside while esther goes in and handles the business. business in hightown? too many templars. bethany stays home. esther does everything alone, but bethany has to do everything with esther. there's a point in a fic i never finished where bethany's just shopping for food across the street, and she realizes esther's tailing her. like she wasn't even being subtle about it LOL.

buuut come the expedition, bethany starts taking on a more independent role and that's partly because everyone around them was actually treating her like a person and not "hawke's charge". varric's a big part of this, because he recognizes how smart she is and how esther's stifling her and deliberately nudges situations so bethany's more involved. so esther sees how capable she is and also that she needs bethany just as much as bethany needs her. and this actually works. bethany's the one that does almost all the talking when they're tracking anders because it turns out "nice and polite" is way better for information-gathering than esther's whole "threaten everything that moves" routine. and not only that, but bethany demonstrating that she's a mage too is what convinced the darktown refugees to trust her and tell them about the healer.

and it's because of bethany's contribution that they're even able to get the money for the expedition. and throughout this whole process, bethany and esther finally get a chance to be sisters. esther stops treating bethany like she's fragile or a child and lets her make her own choices and bethany stops being so desperate for approval that she lets esther make all her decisions for her. they're finally friends. esther's proud of her and bethany's proud of herself and it's soooo great, and you know what? mother's wrong, you SHOULD come with us! you've done just as much work for this expedition as we have! for ONCE esther gives bethany her own agency instead of just dictating what she can or can't do.

and then bethany gets blighted ❤️ and she's dying. and she looks just like father did on his deathbed. and esther's whole brain is going a thousand miles an hour because bethany's dying and it's her fault. she let bethany get involved, she encouraged her to jump headfirst into danger, she wasn't ready. and she's so desperate to fix this mistake that she takes anders' suggestion without even considering bethany's input. it was a mistake letting bethany go with her. she has to make this right. so once again bethany has no say over her own future, esther just decides to hand her off to the wardens without even a second of thought and bethany. can't say no. because how selfish would it be to choose death when there's a way to avoid hurting your family?

and it's in the wardens that all of this slowly begins to sink in for bethany. this wasn't what she wanted. esther was so eager to be rid of her that she sent her away to the first solution she could think of. she wasn't even important enough to actually fight for. and she allowed this for years, always telling herself never to add to the burden her family carried by having a mage in their house. and for years esther made her feel like she was a liability. like her existence was a constant problem that esther had to manage and solve. she spent so much of her life in constant petrified fear of the templars that she didn't even realize her own sister was just a templar without the armor. a cage with a loving warden is still a cage. and in the end it didn't even matter because she was taken from that gilded prison anyways, only now she was alone in a much darker one where her life must now be spent in the pursuit of killing and being killed. and she's ANGRY.

bethany only writes to esther once (☝️) just to tell her she survived and nothing more. and then there's that moment, in the middle of the qunari invasion, when esther and bethany reunite. and esther's so relieved to see her and she's talking a mile a minute because so much has happened since she left.

"i need to tell you about mother—"

"i know."

"...you don't care?"

"mother's dead. she won't come back if we just cry hard enough."

and then bethany just leaves her standing in the street and walks away without saying goodbye and esther is. stunned. and it hurts because she knows bethany's all she has left and she's so cold, she's never been this cold. she's the one that's supposed to be strong in the face of hardship, but bethany doesn't even look sad. she's changed. it's all her fault for letting her get hurt. she's failed her. just like carver and mother. she can't even be there for the last family she has left.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Bluebird — Part VI — (Azriel x Reader)

Hi! Here’s Part VI! Thank you for reading 💕 hope you enjoy!

Warnings: none for this part.

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It would be an outright lie to say that doubts hadn’t begun to sneak into your mind.

There were so many things wrong about this. So many things you imagined would have your mother turning in her grave.

A fae male — you’d willingly invited a fae male into your home, into your company. Into a situation where it would just be the two of you.

You should have been petrified. Sick to your stomach. Regretful and guilty and ashamed to have even considered any of this.

But the triumphant feeling of the entire following day was simply excitement. A nagging eagerness for night to finally sweep in, and for Azriel to return.

You’d laid awake in bed, trying to conjure up the sound of his voice in your mind. That lilting, graceful quality to it that felt like chills skittering over your skin. You ached to hear it again; to revel in it.

Your day dragged by torturously slow. The only visitors to the inn had been the two village guards who had paid you a visit to ask if you’d seen or heard anything around the time of Polly’s death.

No, you’d told them. I was here at home all night. The lie had come to you so easily. And you were past the point of trying to convince yourself that you’d ever tip the authorities off to Azriel’s presence in the village.

He’d be accused of the deaths in a heartbeat. And you knew — you knew he’d done nothing wrong.

So you passed your day wistfully waiting for the daylight to trick away. When your father announced he was leaving for the festival, you didn’t beg him, this time, to allow you to attend. You merely wished him a good evening, and dead-bolted the door shut behind him.

You knew that Azriel wouldn’t need to come through the door. Not with his…abilities.

The sky’s summer evening hues eventually bled into a dark blanket of stars above the village. It didn’t bother you, tonight, that you were the only one left behind.

Didn’t bother you one bit.

Not as you felt a strange, pleasant prickle of awareness on the back of your neck. You knew what to expect this time.

You turned just as Azriel stepped out of thin air, right in the inn’s main bar area.

The two of you stared at each other in silence, your gaze slowly drinking in the tall, broad sight of him. He was resplendent in his dark, artistic leathers. His hair sat a little tousled and windswept on his head, his tan cheeks bitten by the breeze.

He studied you just as intensely, the caramel specks in his eyes seeming to darken.

But then one half of his full, sensuous mouth kicked up into a smile. “I didn’t frighten you this time.”

“No.” A breathy laugh escaped you. “I knew what to expect.

He cracked a grin far too beautiful for you to stare at for too long, lest it render you a speechless, boneless form incapable of thought. Lips tipped up into a smile, you quickly looked for something — anything — to say.

“Would you like a drink?” Making drinks was where you were comfortable; something you did day in and day out without a second thought. It occupied your hands well enough.

Azriel inclined his head. “That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

You breezed past him, fully aware of the pleasant tension that followed you, an entity entirely of its own. Azriel left a respectful distance as he followed.

There was something amusing about the way he perched on one of the barstools — just like any old punter that frequented the place. Except that your usual punters tended not to have wings or a level of beauty that seemed almost prohibited. An inexplicable, emotionally charged giggle wanted to force its way up your throat, and you quickly tamped down on it.

Clearly the thrill of such a clandestine meeting was having an effect on you.

If Azriel noticed your amused expression, he didn’t comment — though he did watch you closely, intensely, as you stopped behind the bar and reached for two glasses. You didn’t ask him what, exactly, he wanted to drink — another of your quiet talents seemed to be the art of taking one glimpse at a person and just knowing what their poison of choice would be.

You were curious to know if that extended to the non-human variety of person.

Your movements around that small area were entirely fluid; almost graceful. A routine that flowed from one movement to the next. You reached for the finest whiskey that The Bluebird Inn had to offer, its smoky aroma wafting up to you as you poured a measure into each glass. And despite the honeyed gaze that was trained on you, you were entirely at ease, natural—

Until a strange, cold, feather-like touch tickled the underside of your forearm. You yelped, almost dropping the bottle as you stepped back; just as a dark shadow skittered its way back to Azriel.

“I’m sorry. They’re curious about you.” His voice was soothing. “They won’t harm you.”

You studied them — really studied them, for the first time. There was an artistic quality to the way they coiled around Azriel’s figure like a dancing, protective shield. Like a sentient mist that moved entirely of its own volition. They were—

“Beautiful.” You breathed the word aloud.

Azriel’s cheeks seemed to darken slightly. He dipped his chin. “I command them, but…they can also act upon their own thoughts and feelings. Their senses.”

Indeed, you watched as one shadow — the very same one that had brushed your arm — snaked out towards the two glasses filled with amber liquid. It was with pure fascination that you observed the way it wrapped around one glass and dragged it closer to Azriel, as careful and firm as a hand’s grip.

“Did you tell it to do that?” You blinked in amazement.

“I didn’t — though I could have. It acted entirely of its own choosing.” Azriel accepted the glass, lifting it to his lips. He paused, glancing at the seat beside him. “Sit with me?”

Right. Because the bar felt like a barrier between you. A nuisance.

You felt too aware of every one of your movements as you took your drink in hand and traipsed round to the other side of the bar. You were too human; not at all graceful and masterfully elegant like Azriel was. The toe of your boot caught on one of the stools’ legs, sending your body hurtling forward and the liquid in your glass sloshing—

But Azriel’s hand shot out without a lick of hesitation, steadying your waist and keeping you upright. You could have sworn that his palm burned through your tunic.

“Sorry.” You cleared your throat.

“No need to apologise.” So gently, like he feared startling you, he prised your glass from your hand and set it down beside his. And then pulled out the stool directly next to him.

His hand continued to steady you as you climbed up. And only when you were seated — not at risk of falling flat on your face — did he retract it. You tried not to think too much about how cold your waist felt in its absence.

The position was…intimate; legs and arms close enough to touch, scorching gazes only centimetres apart. You lifted your eyes to his. Found him already staring at you.

You paused. “What is it?”

“I feel like we spoke so much about me last night.” Up close, Azriel’s voice was even more of a caress. “I want to know about you.”

This was the embarrassing part. You didn’t have five centuries of experience to share — didn’t even really have twenty-one years of experience, given how sheltered your life had been. When you stopped to think about it, you were really quite…boring.

“There’s not much to know.” You admitted, your cheeks flushing. You gestured to the room around you. “This is me. This place is my life. I’ve always been here, and I suppose I always will be.”

Azriel’s head tilted almost imperceptibly. “Through choice?”

“What do you mean?”

“If it were up to you, would you choose to always be here?”

You stared back at him, pursing your lips. You knew the answer without having to ponder it; gods, you’d thought about it often enough.

No, if it were up to you, you wouldn’t always be here. You didn’t mind helping at the inn — sometimes, you even enjoyed it. But if you were given half the opportunity, you’d snatch up a little more vibrancy to lighten up your insular life. Even if it was just…a few friends to meet with regularly, to break up the mundane. A chance to be your own person.

But everything your father had ever said and done was for your own good. He simply didn’t want you ending up like your mother.

You gave a half-hearted shrug, not quite liking the answer as you replied, “It’s irrelevant what I’d choose. This is my life.”

Azriel’s eyes flicked around the room, drinking in the polished wooden tables, their chairs stacked atop them; the wall at the back that housed bottles and bottles of wines and spirits; the scuffs in the floor and the marks on the walls and the dark, dingy stretch of room that never seemed to get much light.

Part of you was curious to know what he was seeing, thinking. Another part of you was scared of the answer.

“It seems like a lonely life.” He eventually surmised. “You…you’re always on your own.”

Your body tensed. He wasn’t wrong, but…to hear it come from somebody else…to hear it spoken aloud and not just clanging around in your melancholy thoughts…you were surprised to find your guard rising a little.

“My father needs me.” Was your response. It sounded as pathetic an explanation as it felt.

Azriel’s gaze landed on your face, searching your expression. A muscle in his jaw ticked. “And what do you need?”

You shrugged. “Who cares what I need?”

“I care.”

You faltered. Stared back at him.

Why, you wanted to ask. Why bother? Why accept my invitation instead of laughing in my face?

You didn’t have the courage to ask, though. You grabbed your glass and knocked back the liquid in one go, fully aware that Azriel still watched you. Tension swirled thickly between you like shadows — his shadows.

But then he, too, reached for his glass and knocked back the liquid. And there was something light, playful, in the way he nudged your arm with his. “Do you want to know what I need?”

You coughed a laugh. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

His eyes glittered, a devastatingly beautiful smile tugging his lips up. “I need,” he said, leaning close enough that his scent shrouded you, “to hear you play your music again.”

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It was different this time.

Azriel didn’t put distance between you; didn’t keep to the corners of the room.

He perched at your side on the piano stool, watching up-close, in pure fascination, as your fingers danced across the keys. Every few seconds, your arm would brush his.

The only way you were still breathing, still concentrating, was by focusing entirely on the music. Because if you thought too much about the hard press of Azriel’s muscled forearm, or inhaled too deeply that intoxicating scent of his, you weren’t sure you wouldn’t just…cease to exist. Or at least collapse onto the floor.

Your heart galloped wildly in your chest, thudded loudly in your ears. And as you reached the climax of the composition, you knew Azriel’s gaze no longer tracked your fingers. It sat firmly, dedicatedly, on your face.

And even though he undoubtedly made you nervous — a fact you didn’t want to linger on for too long — you knew it didn’t come from a place of discomfort. At his side, you were entirely at ease. Not frightened, like you always thought you would be within such proximity to a fae male.

Your fingers slowed until the music faded out. And then silence blanketed the room.

You waited for Azriel to say something, anything. When he didn’t, you lifted your eyes from the keys to meet his. The intensity there was blazing.

“You…” He shook his head, as though he’d become a little dazed. “You are so brilliant.”

Your cheeks flamed at the praise. “Thank you.”

“I never really had the opportunity to learn.” He nodded to the piano. “But I kind of wish I had. The city I live in has an entertainment district that we call The Rainbow. The best performers of all types of arts put on shows there nightly. I’ve seen some excellent pianists there — just like you. It must be wonderful to be able to lose yourself in the music like that.”

The Rainbow. A place where people just…performed and appreciated art. It sounded like an absolute dream. And that Azriel had likened you to the pianists there—

You weren’t used to such praise. The compliment was almost too much to bear. Without thinking, you blurted, “Give me your hand.”

Azriel stopped short. Stared at you. “What?”

You cleared your throat, holding your own hand out. “I’ll show you how to play.”

There was a pause. A moment’s hesitation. But then his hand slid into yours.

He wore no gloves tonight.

The weight and warmth of his hand was startling — and dangerously pleasant. The scarred skin brushed against your palm in a way that made you wonder what it would feel like all over your body.

The thought almost had you jumping right out of your too-hot skin, out of your roaring thoughts. You may be entirely inexperienced, but that didn’t mean you hadn’t thought about such things, like close proximities and heated touches—

Never like this, though. Never so…raw. So curiously.

You batted the thoughts to the darkest corners of your mind, focusing on the reason you’d even asked for his hand in the first place. Both you and Azriel watched as you slowly pressed his fingers against the keys, producing a sweet, simple tune that you used to absentmindedly play when you were much younger and certainly not as good a pianist as you were these days.

Azriel, too, watched closely. Your arms brushed against each other, and you wondered if he felt it as totally as you did; wondered what he might be thinking.

The tune came to an end. Neither of you moved your hands.

“There you go.” Your voice was a tad rough. You lifted your lips into a soft smile. “You just played piano.”

Azriel laughed quietly, not breaking his stare from your joined hands. “I certainly don’t think the pianists in The Rainbow will be feeling threatened by my skills any time soon.”

You couldn’t help your smile widening into a grin. “Keep at it and they won’t know what’s hit them.”

Another trill of your soft laughter mixed with his, the sound a kind of music of its own. It was beautiful, you thought. His shadows swirled around you contentedly.

Just like you thought his hands were beautiful. Painfully so.

You couldn’t help staring. Not because you meant to gawk at the brutal scarring, but because you feared the story behind it. Whatever it was, you knew, had to be unimaginable.

Azriel watched your hands, too. Still joined together, yours on top of his.

You couldn’t stop yourself.

Which such slow, careful movements, you traced a finger over the marred skin, introducing yourself to every brutal bump and jagged line. Azriel said nothing; you weren’t even sure he was breathing. And that seemed to be confirmed when you brushed your fingers over the back of his palm, and he sucked in a breath.

You paused your movements immediately, eyes darting to his. “Is it painful?”

“No.” His voice was tight, like…like he was trying to hold himself in check, or something. He shook his head. “Not painful, no. It’s actually quite…soothing.”

Soothing. You gently picked your movements back up, tracing his skin, exploring it. He found it soothing.

You couldn’t begin to imagine the kind of pain he must have experienced. After a short stint of silence, you couldn’t hold your words in any longer.

“What happened to you?” You whispered.

For a while, Azriel said nothing. Perhaps it was wrong for you to have asked — perhaps he simply wasn’t comfortable. You opened your mouth to apologise, to reassure him, but he beat you to speaking.

“I was the bastard son of a lord.” His voice was rough, raw. “I lived at my father’s keep, but I certainly wasn’t welcome there; my stepmother and two stepbrothers didn’t take kindly to my presence. The living conditions were…not good. And worst of all, I wasn’t allowed to see my mother very often. Just an hour every week. I think perhaps they were trying to break me. And when I was eight, my stepbrothers poured oil over my hands and set them alight. My father’s guards heard me screaming and found me, but…not soon enough to limit the damage it left me with.”

Every inch of your body had gone ice-cold.

It was suddenly as though there wasn’t enough air left in the room; like Azriel’s words had winded you. Bile rose in your throat that you swallowed down with the hard lump of emotion that had grown there.

To think that somebody could be so callous, so cruel…you couldn’t bear it. Hot tears burned your eyes.

Azriel was suddenly leaning closer, and he frowned. Studied you. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m just so sorry that happened to you.” Your voice wavered. “It’s so evil—”

His hand slid out from beneath yours — only to move up to your face and cup your cheek. The pad of his thumb caught the first tear that fell.

“Your compassion is beautiful.” He swallowed. “But that was a very, very long time ago. I bettered myself. I decided not to let them win.”

You stared up at him, hoping it showed on your face how…in awe you were, of such bravery. Such strength. You sniffed, blinking away further threatening tears. “I’m glad that you did.”

Azriel didn’t reply. But you caught the way his eyes shifted down to your lips, and his throat bobbed.

You didn’t need a wealth of experience to know what the look on his face meant. Both panic and hope warred inside you.

You wanted what that look meant. What it would bring. And when Azriel said nothing, simply stared, you found yourself spurring him on.

“What is it?” You whispered — as if speaking too loudly would rip him from the moment.

Momentarily, his gaze clashed with yours again. “I would…” he cleared his throat. “I would really like to kiss you.”

A heated thrill shot through you that you’d never experienced. Of course, you’d laid awake some nights and imagined kissing and touching and what it would be like to be…to be wanted like that. You were just as susceptible to desire as any twenty-one-year-old woman.

But you imagined most twenty-one-year-old women had probably had their first kiss by your age. Unlike you.

That was what had you hesitating. Not reluctance to give in to such desires, but to do it wrongly.

Azriel entirely misread your hesitation, though. He began to slowly move back. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”

“No—” you grabbed onto his hand so fast, you knew the redness of your cheeks deepened. “I want to. Really. I just…I’ve never…” you inhaled a slow breath as realisation dawned on Azriel’s face. “I don’t think I’d be very good.”

He stared at you, a strange, warm intensity in his eyes. And then his thumb swept over the back of your hand. A soft smile pulled at his lips. “I can show you. If you truly want me to.”

You knew your face must be flushing as scarlet as the blood that human and fae alike had shed over centuries. You were blushing like mad, as you nodded. And Azriel’s gaze seemed to soften even more.

You waited. Watched. Figured the best way to avoid doing anything wrong or unwanted was by just…keeping still. After a moment of silently studying you, Azriel slid his hands out from under yours. He brought them to your face, their warmth and roughness pleasant against your skin as he clasped your cheeks and slowly tilted your jaw up.

You knew you must be trembling beneath his touch. And as he lowered his own face until it was a mere hair’s-breadth from yours, you thought maybe you jolted. He exhaled, his breath fanning your lips.

“If at any time you want to stop,” he murmured deeply, “we stop. Okay?”

You nodded. “Okay.” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

Azriel adjusted his hands, moving them up just slightly until they each cradled one of your cheeks. And then his thumb was brushing your skin there. You couldn’t look away as he closed the gap between you.

You felt it — the exact second his lips made contact with yours — through every part of your body.

They were surprisingly soft, despite his harsh, rugged appearance. His mouth carefully slanted over yours, and you felt the beating of your heart in your chest and your head and your ears and your throat. Azriel probably felt it, too.

His thumb gently brushed across your cheekbone, and his lips applied just a little bit of pressure. You followed his lead, doing the same, meeting every touch and press with your own.

It was a sweet, closed-mouth kiss. The kind you expected of a very first one. But you knew it could go deeper, further.

You wanted it to.

Azriel paused, and for a split second, a bizarre worry jolted through you that you’d somehow communicated that thought to him without speaking it. His lips hovered at yours, barely touching, now, and you wondered if he was dissatisfied. If he didn’t want it to go further. You wouldn’t blame him.

But then he whispered to you, deeply, roughly, “You doing okay?”

“Yes.” You matched the volume of his voice. You nodded. “Are you?”

“I’m more than okay.”

Before you could muster a response, he was closing that tiny gap once more. His lips moulded to yours, and a surge of confidence had you leaning into it and matching his pace. His thumb swept over your cheek, his palm clasping your jaw a little firmer.

And then you felt him run his tongue over your lips.

The sensation was…nice. More than nice. And your body reacted without much willing from you. You gasped, lips parting, and Azriel’s tongue tentatively slid in.

At once, his taste was storming your senses. He tasted…cold, in the most dizzying, lovely way you could imagine. Like those frosty winter nights you loved so much, when chilled mist hung in a thick layer over the village and froze the grass and had your breath clouding in front of your face. It was like bathing in winter, catching snowflakes in your mouth and your hair, feeling the chill bite your cheeks and turn them pink. And beneath the cold lay a warm, smoky undercurrent, the lingering taste of whiskey.

Azriel’s tongue swept around yours and tasted you just as thoroughly as you tasted him. And you…you felt yourself growing in confidence even more — figured he would have pulled away by now, if he wasn’t enjoying it. With a boldness you didn’t think too much about, you shifted on the piano stool so that you were sat astride it, and Azriel did the same, followed your movements, not once breaking from your kiss. You scooted closer to him, moving a hand up to thread your fingers within his hair. You applied pressure, kissed him harder—

Until he abruptly pulled away. He stared at you, panting slightly, his own cheeks flushed. His swollen lips were parted.

You studied him, wondering if you’d pushed it too far, done something wrong. You could only watch as his eyes shuttered.

“It appears I don’t need to show you how.” He breathed, opening those honeyed eyes again to meet yours. “Gods.”

You swallowed. “Was I…was it okay?”

“Okay doesn’t come close to what it was.”

You thought that was a compliment…maybe. Hopefully. But you didn’t care to think too hard about it. Or talk too much about it. You wanted that feeling and taste back. The pressure of his lips and the starlit frost of his mouth. Azriel watched you closely, reading every thought on your face as he brushed your cheek.

You glanced up at him. “Will you kiss me again?”

He swallowed. “Yes.” His voice was rough. “Gods, yes.”

It wasn’t as slow, this time, as he lowered his mouth to yours. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you waited for that intoxicating sensation, for him to kiss you hard and fast—

A huge thud, thud stopped you both in your tracks. The bangs were loud enough to rattle the windows. Had you damn near jumping out of your skin. Azriel looked up, immediately on alert.

“Someone’s at the door.” You breathed, and another thud coursed through. You pushed clumsily to your feet. “I should answer it. You should…stay hidden.”

Right before your very eyes, he was moving fast as lightning, becoming nothing but mere shadow. The sight was so magnificent that for a second, all you could do was gape, but a fourth bang had you jumping into action.

You hurried through, unbolting the door and pulling it open. You fell still at the sight of Devin — the young, handsome Guard in training — on your doorstep.

He smiled at you as though he hadn’t been close to breaking your door in.

“Devin.” You breathed, suddenly aware of every place in which your lips and skin tingled. “What are you…why aren’t you at the festival?”

“I was.” He placed a hand on the hilt of his short sword. “I came to check on you. To make sure you’re alright.”

You swallowed. “I’m fine.”

“It must be disconcerting, being the only one in the village while everyone is at the festival. Especially with recent events.”

Right. Someone had died last night. Somehow, you’d managed to forget that startling fact.

“It is…disconcerting.” You’d been anything but disconcerted, in Azriel’s company. You straightened yourself up. “But I’m okay. The property is secure, and I have my dagger.”

Devin studied you, his pale blue eyes almost too assessing. He pursed his lips. “Still — perhaps I should give the inn a once-over and check that nothing is untoward.”

“There’s really no need. You should go back and rejoin the fun—”

As if you hadn’t spoken, he was ushering you out of the way and slipping past you. Your heart lurched as he strode into your home, his gaze seeming to be everywhere at once.

“You haven’t seen or heard anything unusual?” He reached out, checking the lock on a window.

“Nothing.” Your eyes darted cautiously to the door that Azriel was behind. “Really, it’s just been quiet. There’s no need—”

He rounded on you, a frown pulling at his handsome features. “You’re sure you’re alright? You seem a little…skittish.”

Gods. You were going to give yourself up from your behaviour alone.

“I’m fine.” You insisted. “Like I said…it’s just disconcerting. What happened to Polly.”

Devin nodded. “That it is.”

Before you could speak another word, he was striding through to the main bar area. “It’s barbarous, what those fae scum are capable of.” His eyes danced over the area. “Young women can’t even enjoy a village festival, anymore, without being attacked.”

You paused in the doorway. “You know for sure, then? That it was a fae attack.”

He whirled on you, his brow pinching. “Of course, it was, Y/N. What else would…”

At first, you didn’t know what had caused his words to trail off.

That was, until you followed his line of sight. To where yours and Azriel’s empty glasses from earlier still sat on the bar. Devin turned back to you as you stiffened.

“Have you had company?” He asked.

“Of course not.” You answered too quickly. “One of the glasses was my father’s. He had a drink before he left for the festival.”

The Guard studied you. And you knew…you knew from the set of his jaw, the slight narrowing of his eyes, that he didn’t believe what you’d said.

You lifted your chin. “I just hadn’t got round to clearing them away. I got engrossed in playing the piano.”

There was a moment’s silence. You waited for Devin to question you, to dispute your story. But then he smiled. “You and that piano.” He strode closer, and you stepped back, drawing him out of the bar area and back into the entryway.

“I’m done playing for the night.” You told him. “I’m tired. I think I’ll just go to bed.”

In other words — leave.

He stared at you, again, in that too-assessing way. And then he was stepping closer to you. “I understand.” He said. “I’m sorry if you feel like I barged my way in here. I just wanted to make sure that you’re safe. Because I care. You know that, don’t you?”

You pressed your back against the wall. “I know that.”

“Good.” A smile lifted half of his mouth. “Then I’ll not keep you any longer. Get some sleep.”

You didn’t think you breathed properly as he traipsed back over to the door and pulled it open. He turned at the threshold, glancing at you. “Don’t forget to bolt the door. You never know who could be lurking around.”

Surprisingly, you found yourself having to clamp down on your lips to stop a dangerous, hysterical giggle from crawling its way up your throat. You knew exactly who was lurking around. You forced your expression to stay neutral as you inclined your head.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight.”

As soon as both his feet were out of the door, you couldn’t close it fast enough. You made a point of bolting it as loudly as possible, and pressed your back against its surface, waiting a beat, two.

After a few seconds, gravel crunched under Devin’s retreating feet. You blew out a deep breath.

Sudden awareness tickled the nape of your neck, and as quickly as Azriel had made himself disappear, he was materialising in front of you.

“Friend of yours?” He raised a dark eyebrow.

“Kind of…maybe. More of a customer, really.” Your eyes snagged on his lips. “He’s training to be a Village Guard. He came to check on me.”

Azriel’s gaze shot to the door, as though he could see right through it to Devin’s retreating figure. You weren’t sure you understood the expression that shaded his face.

“I got rid of him.” You said.

Hazel eyes dipped down to yours again, and a soft smile tugged at Azriel’s lips. “Still…perhaps we shouldn’t tempt the fates too much in one night. I should probably go…in case he comes back.”

Disappointment stormed you — even if you knew he was right. You’d enjoyed yourself so much tonight that you simply didn’t want it to end.

“I’ll be back.” Azriel promised, seeming to read your thoughts on your face. “I swear it. We’ll do this again.”

And you believed him. It was enough to satisfy you. You nodded eagerly. “I’d like that.”

“As would I.”

His fingers reached out, brushing some hair from your face. He studied you as he tucked the strands behind your ear. “Rest well.”

You knew they were parting words. And you were filled with one last injection of boldness, of confidence. You didn’t want him to disappear before you acted on it. His shadows were already coiling around him, seeming set to carry him away.

“Azriel,” you breathed his name, and he and the shadows halted.

He tilted his head inquisitively. And before you could talk yourself out of it, you pushed up onto the tips of your toes, capturing him in a kiss.

It wasn’t the hot, needy kiss he’d given you earlier — you weren’t quite confident enough to orchestrate such a thing. But its sweet, soft nature didn’t seem to bother him as he leaned into it, sliding a hand to the small of your back.

He kissed you gently, tenderly. And after only a couple of moments, he pulled away. A soft groan sounded in his chest, surprising you. “Do that, and I won’t have the willpower to do anything but stand here and kiss you all night.”

Your cheeks scorched, and you dipped your head, a soft laugh slipping past your lips. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. Not for that.” He leaned closer, pressing one last kiss to your forehead. “I’ll see you soon.”

Soon. You really hoped so. You stepped back, giving him the space to leave before you did something stupid. Like kiss him again.

His mouth tipped up one last time into that beautiful smile, and then he was gone.

His taste wasn’t, though. It lingered in your mouth, on your skin.

You pressed your fingers to your swollen lips and smiled.

You slept well that night.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

azriel tags: @hanasakr @positivewitch @ruler-of-hades @brekkershadowsinger @nightscourtt @imperfect0angel @luna-1-3-5 @hyacinthoideshispanica @lucyysthings @lahoete @littlemoonash @blacksstarrynight @azriels-mate123 @ghostly-poetic @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @a-frog-with-a-laptop @illyriansimp @morrie-rose @passingthroughfireandshadow @illyrian-dreamer @azrielsbabyg @96jnie @mich0731 @mulansaucey @truthtellerfanclub @acourtofbooksandmagic @insightsonmylife @basicbittywitty @curbside-cyanide @acourtofchaosandmess @123345566 @starrynights-frostbites @eos-princess @thesillyyogourt @ona-raising-07-l @acediahamartia @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying @polli05927 @asdfjklbooks @azriel-luvr @amysangel @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @wildflowernightmere @shannonsaid

[cheesit-notes]

Simon Riley + Hand Kisses

tags: kissing obviously, ptsd for simon basically, gn!reader, overthinking simon, simon getting violent at one point, a/n: sorry i was gone for a week! i want to say i worked on stuff but ive been busy with things and this was the only thing i did. im not all that happy with the time to result ratio of this tbh but i love the idea of Simonand hand kisses so enjoy!

Ghost who cannot stand any and all kinds of intimate touches. he doesn’t like intimate touches. no, actually, he loathes those touches. it reminds him of a time he’d really rather forget. there’s no way to really kiss him without having to slowly practice. underneath the mask, he’s nothing more than the emotionally scarred, vulnerable Simon Riley who went through far too much for any human.

the first time both of you technically kissed, you had asked if you could kiss him, he said yes because you looked like you wanted it so badly. the two of you stood awkwardly in his barracks. he’s wondering if he should’ve changed clothes earlier, he just got back and was still in his uniform, probably smelled fowl, but you didn’t say a word. ah, he thought he could handle it. he really did. but to kiss was a lot easier said than done. and he’ll never fully forgive himself for shoving you away slamming you against the wall, and he was choking you. he didn’t actually hit you, you tell him that everyday, but the fact he fully intended to hit you for the moment scared him. plagued with the thought that he truly was no different from his father; he could barely look at you for the weeks following that, much less talk to you. no, he refused to do so much as to stand near you; petrified he wouldn’t snap out of it in time, terrified he’d hurt you.

months later, he asked if it’s alright to try again. the kissing thing, you know? it was months after the previous attempt, you and Simon had already reconciled, as much as possible anyways, so the question left you a little confused. you were happy to, but only if he was really ready. and he said he was, he swore it. although.. looking at you, thinking back about the previous attempt, made him anxious. but he already said he would. so he should? he should stick to his words, right? youd probably think hes a coward. god, a man shouldnt be a coward. and he cant be a coward. and all these thoughts ran through his mind. he doesnt realize he’s zoned out and that you’re staring at him with a concerned look on your face. its not until you decide to speak does he snap back.

“are you sure you want to do this?”

he’s not even sure what to respond. what did he want?  he’s only really thought about what you wanted. it’s not like his wants really mattered in his eyes.

“you know, we don’t have to do this. we can still have a perfectly fine relationship without–”

“no! absolutely, no, we.. we have to kiss.”

he insisted, almost yelling like he’s afraid he wouldn’t be heard. and that you’d leave him because you’d think he couldn’t kiss you, because he couldn't give you of a normal relationship. and you deserved it. you deserved a normal relationship with someone who could give you what you wanted. and god, he wishes he were normal.

anyone could tell he was agitated. honestly, it isn’t easy for you. you could tell he wouldn’t handle it well if you kissed him directly. but if you didn’t then he’d isolate himself, thoughts spiralling like a roller coaster in his mind, and you couldn’t be sure when or where the ride ended. so, grab his hands, hold them in yours, and plant a gentle kiss on each. you hold his hands, looking into his eyes, and for what felt like hours, the two of you stayed put like that. until Simon told you to leave.

it caught you off guard, you’re a little taken back. but respecting his wishes, you leave the room. not even a minute after you leave, Simon slumps against the wall, he can’t stop the hot, burning tears from falling. maybe it was how soft your lips felt against his caloused hands or how careful you were with him, how you knew that he likely wouldn’t react well to either choice and yet you made the perfect one.

Simon Riley who sometimes holds your hand, silently hoping you’d kiss his hand again. he likes it when you give each knuckle a peck. if you bent down on one knee, you’d look like a knight kissing the princess’ hand, and Johnny would say this whenever he saw the chance. Simon Riley who still isn’t ready to kiss you directly, but he’s slowly working on it. Simon Riley who will probably learn to like different types of kisses, but right now, he's smitten over you and your hand kisses that make him feel oh so loved.

next time he holds your hand, give him a kiss, will you?

[stararch4ngelqueen]

Guessing Game

My lovely little Ghost pregnancy not short Drabble.

Word Count: 7.7k

- - -

Moments of silence with your husband were usually tranquil and serene in the comforts of your own home. It was rare for the aura between you both to be fueled with unbridled tension and hesitation to even breathe properly.

The two of you said nothing for the longest time in the sanctuary of your living room, on your comfortable couch. In the silent man’s hand, he held a test, which he proceeded to set down on the coffee table in front of him.

Positive.

A little pink sign on a tiny screen, bright as day, staring at you both like a sore thumb.

That’s supposed to be a good thing, Positives usually mean good things. Happy, joyful, erratic, exciting. Good.

Positives however, can also be scary, terrifying, petrifying.

Your heart sank deep into the bottom of your stomach, a dreadful ache following suit that lingered as every minute passed in this silence.

You hated it, but you didn't know what to say.

It started off as an odd feeling, just a couple of days ago. A bit of dizziness in the morning, a slight queasiness after, but nothing more. You blamed it on allergies, or a migraine due to lack of proper sleep, anything but that single, simple idea of what it could’ve been.

The signs grew more unquestionably obvious with every day passed, the sickness, the shift in your emotions, the sinking feeling as the possibility grew more and more intense with each passing hour.

You went out during a grocery run, and couldn't stop yourself from arriving at a pharmacy, heading towards that one particular aisle containing just what you needed.

You didn’t even know when or how-

You stopped yourself right there. You’d be an absolute fool if you considered finishing that thought for a sentence.

You know how it happened, of course you knew. Question was, you couldn’t exactly remember when. It sort of happened quite often.

Just for good measure, you had also bought three other boxes, which were currently jumbled in your bathroom sink, each revealing the same exact message.

A part of you, a tiny part of you, buried underneath all the stomach burning anxiety and dread of this new onset reality was kind of delighted, excited in fact, bringing forth upon you a wish you never realized you’d forgotten about. One you believed you had no right to have after the life you lived.

To have a baby with the man you loved, truly loved. A fair amount of the population’s absolute dream.

An honest, beautiful dream, but for all you knew, it was only yours. At one point, not once did you ever think if it was his dream as well.

That was until a few weeks ago once it was brought up, during a late-night discussion in bed.

“How do you feel about a baby?”

An honest, curious question had never made the man stiffer in his life, feeling his hands on you grow stiff like dead branches before he released you, catching you completely by surprise.

The both of you were stable, financially at least. Emotionally however, all that bustled through Simon’s head were the great cons that outweighed the pros.

An honest, simple question turned into a forty-minute discussion over both your heavy worries and concerns. His concerns, his fears, his terror of bringing a version of himself to this dangerous, unpredictable world of chaos and death, bred by the man who enjoyed creating such.

You reassured him constantly, by then just wishing to end the topic then and there. An honest question grew too harshly awkward, painfully dragged out at the realization that Simon may not have wanted children at all.

It was a thorn you shouldn’t have pricked your finger on, so you were content to step back and let the topic go.

Simon’s face, brows contorted with distress still, realized your ache at this discussion. You didn’t wish to scare him, and the last thing he wanted was to scare you, which was exactly what he was doing.

When it came to you, his heart softened at the reality of you being the doe eyed mother of his child, born with your love and beauty, your charisma and valor. A headstrong boy or girl with a mother like you to guide them along the way, this world lacked that kind of bond in the places no one dares to check.

“Is this something you want?” Simon finally speaks his mind, concerned over what was going through yours.

Immediately, you begin to release everything, slowly listing out a series of options that came to the top of your head, ones he wasn't expecting to hear. Going to a clinic, figuring out your options, that sort of thing if he didn’t want the baby.

Simon immediately stops you from speaking further.

“Forget about me for just a second,” Simon states, realizing he may have come off too harshly on this matter towards you, potentially giving you the wrong idea.

“What about you?” He asks in a calm, softened tone. Me?

“Is this something you want?”

You hesitate, glancing everywhere but him as your fingers clench at the bedsheets.

His hand takes yours, his other lightly sweeping through your hair. “Tell me the truth. I won’t force this on you.”

You look him in the eyes, those eyes you absolutely adored.

Oftentimes, you hear him say he doesn’t deserve you, but sometimes you can’t help but find him adorable for him being blatantly unaware of when you think in vice versa to this.

His consideration on your behalf melted your heart to its very core.

“I’ve always wanted this, Simon.” You admit, unable to hold back the tears as you look down.

“At one point in my life, I never even thought of it, but lately… “ You huffed out a weak laugh, wiping your soaked cheeks with the back of your fingers.

“I don’t know, I’ve always wanted to be a mom, but there’s so many worries I have.”

“Like what?” He asked.

“If I’d even be a good mom,” you proceeded, the tears continuing to fall. “If I could even take that responsibility, if the man I thought I’d marry when I wanted to grow up would be there alongside me all the way and have a cute little family.”

The dreadful worries began to crowd your head, much against your better judgment. If you’d carry them to full term, if Simon would stay the entire way, if he second guessed and didn’t want the baby any longer, or if something happened to the baby?

He holds you close, cradling your head close. Softly, he hushed against your forehead, his nose pressed against the crown of your hair.

“But, what if you don’t want-“ you proceeded, feeling his head shake against your head.

“No,” he stops you. “Don’t say that, love.”

He goes quiet, growing lost in his thoughts as you continuously sniffle, patiently wiping your eyes repeatedly. His comforting hug felt so stiff, so foreign, so tense. You always melted in his embrace, but the hesitation that flooded your bones prevented you from doing so.

“I don’t know if I can hold that responsibility of bein’ a good father.” He brings himself to admit, a personal truth that hurts even him to exhale it. Maybe it’s the shock still setting in that makes him say this, but it's still pure, brutal honesty.

Your heart sinks at those words. Even if you were to try to convince him that you could physically see him pacing around a pink or blue tinted nursery, swaddling a baby in his broad arms, he’d never see it that way, feeling himself incapable of clutching something so delicate and pure in his hands.

Never did he see himself being a good father, compared to the life he had, but your words gave him a bit of an epiphany.

If the man you wanted to marry during your childhood’s hopeful dreams was going to remain to help raise a beautiful child and have a happy family, that didn’t mean you’d be doing it alone. He’d take on this role, and he wanted to stay beside you, regardless of it all.

A child with your eyes sounded wonderful. It was interesting really, you were thinking the exact same about him, the excitement and anxiety deep down in both your stomachs still.

“But I want to try,” Simon admits, holding your hands securely in his.

- - -

“Can we start this over?” You spoke up, breaking through this painfully tense silence you’ve felt unable to sit through for a second longer.

He quietly nodded, watching you rise up, plucking the test from the coffee table before walking out of the living room.

You stopped in the middle of the hallway, feeling your fingers trembling as your nerves refused to settle.

This wasn’t how you wanted this to go. You wanted to surprise him in some cuter, more innocent way, but he had caught you completely by surprise as you opened the bathroom door, finding Simon standing on the other side.

Seeing his head tilt down and catch a glimpse of that test immediately destroyed every possible opportunity to surprise him, though you knew it was something you couldn’t be disappointed at forever.

Taking a calm breath, you gather up all the excitement you could muster in your body before turning around, quickly heading back towards the living room entryway.

Before you could muster a word, you were met with a strong wall of warm, black shirt clad muscle, your husband enveloping you in his broad arms, clutching you like his only saving grace.

Simon heard your laugh erupt from your lips, this sudden gesture catching you by surprise as you hugged him back, feeling your feet lift off the floor once you secure your arms around his neck.

With your happiness came tears, joining in with your wide smile. Simon’s eyes glistened with pure, raw emotions, consisting of adoration and raw, unfiltered love the second he looked into your eyes before flooding you with passionate kiss after kiss.

He was scared though. He would always be scared, but for now, he turned his walls into open gates, allowing you to flood his very being with warmth and light, feeling the happiest he’s ever been, following second to his proposal to you.

“A little you,” he muffled against your lips after kissing you for a final time.

“A little you,” you repeated with a giggle.

“With those pretty eyes of yours.” You whisper up to him, grazing your free hand against his cheek once he set you down.

“Christ save me if it has your attitude,” He mutters against your forehead before placing another kiss on it, forcing a snort from your nose in amusement.

That night, he brought you flowers and your favorite chocolates, promising to take you out to eat at your favorite restaurant the next evening. Even after all this time, he still wasn’t a fan of public places, but this was such a celebration, he would do it all in the name of you.

5 weeks.

It wasn’t enough for an ultrasound worth seeing to check for something exciting beyond the size of a pearl or rice grain, but now there was something here. Someone there, and it would soon rely on the two of you to protect it, to love and cherish it.

This would mean you would have to be away from your military lifestyle, taking on this new role while Simon continued on with his. You had to admit you were jealous, especially as the wave of maternal thoughts continuously reminded you of this new position.

With this blessing came so many worries. Simon would have to continue his lifestyle, meaning he’d be gone for long periods of time. How could you cope exactly with this? What would happen, especially after the baby was born?

Maybe you were just thinking ahead.

Only time would really tell if you were true to your word of physically and mentally preparing for it.

Your only regret for the moment was not preparing an adorable pregnancy reveal surprise for him, though time will tell if you have a chance to make up for it.

- - -

You were craving s’mores, but not just any s’mores.

You were dying for that crispy, burnt marshmallow taste, but despised the idea of smoke from a campfire, your nose suddenly souring at the thought, and the rainy weather outside had been unforgiving these past few weeks.

You’ve taken to baking a lot lately these past few evenings, scattered along the last few weeks, keeping your area lit up with the warm stovetop light, melding perfectly with the cozy ambience of your kitchen.

Your kitchen had been your experiment room, your science lab, smelling of rich chocolate and burnt marshmallows as you set your clear glass pan onto a heat protected surface, closing your oven with a gloved hand.

A Graham cracker crust, a rich, fudgy brownie filling, and marshmallow fluff that toasted delightfully on top, thanks to the broiler in your oven.

They were just a more aesthetically pleasing version of slutty brownies, delicious looking ones at least.

21 weeks in, the changes were growing ever so obvious. Your abdomen grew a bit plush, but still thankfully secured under the sanctuary of Simon’s gray t-shirt.

Since you woke up this morning, all you craved was brownies. But fuck it, it was a better craving than something sick, like ice cream and soy sauce, or some other horridly confusing craving you discovered other pregnant women had.

Don’t even bother trying it.

“You gonna finish it this time?” Simon piqued as he stood at the other end of your kitchen counter, watching you cut into this delectable creation, hearing the crunch of the graham crackers as fudgy chocolate and gooey marshmallow clung to your knife from the cut.

It was in the oven for about fifty minutes, but the possibility of raw eggs was nothing compared to the amount of sugar in this invention. At the very least, he made sure you had eaten proper, healthier food throughout the day until now, so satisfying this craving wouldn’t truly hurt every now and then.

“Of course, I will,” you looked up at him after plating four sizable slices on the plate, bits of melted marshmallow coating your fingers of your opposite hands. “You think this is all just for me? You’ve wanted s’mores just as much as I have.”

You tilted your head to the stove, gesturing towards the kettle that whistled for attention during your discussion. “I want some of that earl grey tea too, please.”

You say that because he usually doesn’t drink sweetened tea with his desserts, that was his given fancy. Plain tea cuts through the sweetness perfectly.

“Alright, as long as you only eat two of those. That much sugar will drive you up the damn walls.” Simon mentioned while gathering two mugs from the top cupboard, setting them on the counter.

“Bite me, Riley.” You muttered in amusement, clutching hold of the tray with a still gloved hand while making the final cuts to your dessert.

“I have. Can still see it from here, love.” His voice trailed into your ear from behind you as he passed by, his form lightly, yet innocently brushing along your backside to get the earl grey from another cabinet.

You smiled, a tint of color flushing your cheeks as you licked the remnants off the side of the knife before placing it in the sink.

It was silly, really. With sugar, came the surge of arousal. Hormones really loved to mess with your mind and turned you from his ever doting, needy little wife into his ever doting, needy little wife. It was a tough price to pay.

Tough price to pay indeed.

- - -

“Once this baby sees you, an’ once it touches your skin, they’ll see you as their entire perfect world.” His lowered tone rumbled deliciously from his throat, trailing along the skin of your neck in a similar fashion to his hands.

“You’ll be a wonderful little mother.” He mutters this promise to you, this elegant truth, whether your mind allows it to be believable or not.

Simon’s soothing words mumbled along the shell of your ear, his arms secured around you like a shield of comfort, more secure than any soft blanket after being tossed in the dryer.

You were fresh out of a warmed bath, warm enough to sleep in without being scalding, scented with your favorite bath soaps and oils, turning you into a glistening queen as he sat beside the tub to keep you company, talking about anything and everything to your heart’s content until the water was bordering the edges of lukewarm and cold.

You seemed more concerned over how you appeared as time passed, as if Simon would ever view you any less than desirable. He didn't understand this sudden change in attitude at first, viewing you as nothing more than a diamond after spending decades trapped in coal. Pure, utter perfection bred from years of mind melding pressure from the eyes of the world.

Scars or not, your changing body was gorgeous to him, going through a beautiful process to nurture your growing child.

Simon’s war weathered hands worked wonders along your skin, massaging along your shoulders down to your legs, working the muscles that would eventually grow swelled with time. He never minded this, knowing you’d deserve everything you deserve and more for this laborious task of carrying his child.

Old Friends of yours, and the internet of course, recommended that moisturizing was key during pregnancy, to combat those stretch marks.

The sweet almond oil was merely a plus, as well as the vanilla scented cocoa and shea body butter you used to seal in the moisture. You glistened like an absolute goddess, perfuming his dreams as he cradled you close at night.

It was even working on him, his hands always felt a little bit softer after such a routine each evening.

“An’ before you know it, our little kid will be drinkin’ their tea through their sippy cups.”

A small smile tickled the corners of your lips, a short, amused snort leaving your nose from the comment.

There it was, that smile that Simon adored so much.

A part of him knew that this wouldn’t be the last time these raging hormones would drag you down, but what good was a husband if not an anchor to your worries and concerns?

- - -

“Just one sip?”

“No.”

“But Si-“

“No.” Came his firm reply yet again, all while reading through today’s mail.

Wine. You wanted wine. You craved it desperately, but you couldn’t have it.

Whatever idiotic, controversial topic you had read off your phone or heard from one of your girlfriends was something he wished he could rip from your head and shove it back to where it belonged.

He knew you liked wine, particularly sweet ones, and was aware you had very well missed it, but regardless, he was dreadfully against it.

He cut back on cigarettes for his baby, so like hell any single drop of alcohol was going to touch your tongue, even if it was just for a taste.

Simon got you sparkling grape cider after you spent two days complaining, but it wasn’t the same. Who cares? It was sweet and didn’t have alcohol.

“But the doctor said-“

“The bloody doctor’s not here, is he?!” Simon’s voice raised instantly, leaving you stunted as he glared at you from the corner of his eye. Like hell you were going to use that no-good doctor’s words as an excuse.

You groaned, rolling your head back before stomping out of the kitchen.

“Fuck you, Riley!” You shouted at him from down the corridor before shutting yourself in the bedroom.

“Love you as well,” he mutters, gathering the ripped open envelopes in his hands.

The silly stories of men being concerned, if not frightened for their wives’ outbursts sounded absolutely absurd. If anything, he tried his very best to hold back any sign of amusement, any twitch of a smile or accidental huff of laughter at how adorable you looked being irritated over something you couldn't have.

It’s not the worst he’s seen you before, but thinking that now, he wasn't sure if he was speaking too soon.

You’ll get over it.

- - -

“You’ll be a wonderful father, Simon.” You reassured him, remaining by his side as a subtle roar of thunder echoed in the horizon from miles away.

30 weeks, 30 weeks and the broad, physical changes started to set in.

The bump stretched through most of his shirts, but you were more than content to be comfortable in his black hoodie. You found him after dinner outside after he had done the dishes, leaning on his crossed arms against the porch fence, a lit cigarette in his hand as he took in the storm’s afterglow ambience.

You rubbed his forearm soothingly, settling your hand against his open palm as his fingers relaxed from the touch of yours.

You knew he still struggled with the new mentality of this reality.

Every day, you saw it flash across his eyes once or twice a day, leading him to disappear every so often for minutes at a time to gather his bearings. Ten minutes grew into thirty, evolving into him remaining on your front porch for an hour, watching the rain fall merely inches in front of his face.

“I never saw myself bein’ a father,” he admits slowly after such a long silence, his lowered tone almost muffled by the storm.

You nod to his confession, despite the burn in your heart to hear it.

He says this due to his mother’s words, an echo of a memory voicing through his thoughts from so long ago.

“He’s your father and there’s always gonna be a piece of him in you.”

The thought alone was more terrifying than his fear of you going into labor if he wasn’t around.

If the bastard was alive, he’d make sure he’d stay dead in a ditch far from society, making it impossible for him to ever learn of his child’s name, preventing him from even mentioning it in crude vain.

“But seein’ you like this,” He continues on, giving your fingers a gentle squeeze, “Seeing you carry my child, our child I mean, made me realize exactly why.”

You nodded slowly again, feeling a bit more considerate to his truth. He didn’t need to voice it, for it was a truth you’d known for quite a long time. You didn’t need to know a cruel, heatless man to understand that your husband was nothing of the sort, not by a long shot.

“You’re not your father, Simon.” You squeeze his hand as you say these words, feeling his gaze trail to yours.

“You know not what to do, how not to act, and I know it's not going to be easy, but I’m here too,” You gently encourage him, trying your best to keep hopeful for him to see what you saw.

“We’ve got each other, right? And like you said, once they see you, they’re gonna view you as the perfect father.”

Simon wondered how he got so lucky to have a woman like you in his life, sporting a gentle love he had only known from his mother.

Stepping away from the railing, Simon lowered his hand along the smooth fabric shielding your belly. Smoothing his palm against it, his eyes followed your fingers as they trailed along his inked tattoos, mindlessly swirling over the patterns as you stepped closer to him.

“We should get ready for bed. Now come inside, I’m not supposed to be breathing this stuff in.” You softly say to him, meeting his nod as he chucked out the cigarette towards the puddles of mud out in the yard, before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“You chose to come out here.”

“Because my husband needed his wife and child to remind him how much we love him.”

- - -

“What is that?” You ask from the entryway to the kitchen the next morning, lured in by a new scent melding with the usual aroma of ground coffee and toast.

“Food.” He curtly replied, standing in front of the stove.

The fragrant, slightly spicy smell was delightful to you, but you weren’t sure about what it was. You had an idea, but you dreaded what it could’ve been. Maybe that’s why your husband stood the way he did at the stove, purposely blocking your view from the pan.

“Simon, what is it?” You asked again, your curiosity getting the better of you.

His head craned a little, sparing you a glance over his shoulder, seeing you slightly hidden behind the wall. “You won’t like it.”

“Just tell me what it is.”

“Black pudding.”

“Oh.” The contorted face you made immediately confirmed your views on it.

“Want to try?” Simon offered as he glanced back towards the pan.

“No.” He expected that response. You were content with everything he enjoyed in a full English breakfast except that, everything but that.

“Y’sure?” He piqued while plating both your foods, setting the pan back on the stove before setting one of the plates down on the table. He motioned for you to sit with a tilt of his head, watching you hesitantly approach.

He plated the so-called monstrosity on both your plates, knowing very well you couldn’t deny the hunger, despite being well aware of your thoughts for it. Won’t like it until you try, at least.

“Why does it look like that?” Your nose almost scrunched at it as you sat down.

“Cause it’s made with blood, love.” Simon states while filling up two mugs with hot beverages. “Good for ya.”

The look you gave him made it almost impossible to hide a smile any longer.

“Won’t disappear the longer you keep starin’ at it,” Simon chimed after watching you prod at your eggs once he sat down.

“Why’d you do this to me?’ You looked at him with a bit of a pout, frowning at his held back smirk as you proceeded to put your portion onto his plate. Christ, you’re like a little child with steamed veggies.

“Cause it smells good, yeah?” Damn him for knowing that.

You shrug. “I guess.”

“Won’t cause harm in tryin’ it,” Peering back down at his plate, he worked at his own helping, hopefully taking this opportunity to change your mind on what he viewed as essential to an english breakfast.

“Here.” He offered a tiny amount on the tip of a fork to you. You hesitated, your head retching back like a kid avoiding a foul-tasting medicine.

It looked so horrid to you, even if it did look like charred, sliced sausage, but it smelled incredible.

“C’mon, or I’ll keep ya at the table.”

He sounded so strange when he teased, his jokes as terrible as this blood pudding appeared. Nevertheless, you opened your mouth, accepting the food.

“It’s spicy.” You mutter as you chew slowly. By now, Simon couldn't hold back his amusement any longer, watching you swallow before glancing back at your plate, particularly towards the now vacant spot beside the tomatoes.

“Still hungry?” He pried.

You nodded. There were many other tasty options for you right in front of you, but as you picked up your fork, you refrained from selecting anything else.

“What do you want?” He questioned after noting your continued silence.

“That.” You muttered almost shamefully.

“What?”

“That.” You craned your head to motion at the black pudding still on his plate.

A fraction of a smirk formed on his face as he placed it back onto your plate, a low chuckle leaving him. “Good, right?”

“I guess.” You shrugged before putting a more sizable piece in your mouth, almost looking ashamed to eat it.

You weren’t ashamed for eating a peanut butter sandwich with pickle slices in it. How is this worse?

It was truly amusing, if you weren’t pregnant, you wouldn’t even be in the kitchen at this very moment.

“This a new craving now?” Simon couldn't help asking midway through you popping another piece in your mouth, hearing you muffle in agreement while covering your mouth.

“Our little one’s a true Brit now, yeah?”

“Don’t say that ever again.” You chuckled into your hand, cutting another sizable piece with your fork. Simon couldn’t be more amused and ever so happy that you were his wife and mother to his child.

- - -

The anxiety of the small baby shower that was soon to happen later on in the day prevented you from getting a good night’s rest, so you settled to do your favorite little hobby: baking, at six in the morning.

Specifically, making specialty cupcakes for the party.

Usually, you would’ve used boxed mix for that quick fix, but in this case, you did what you called “doctoring up” the cake mix.

An extra egg, swap the amount of water for milk, and use the good vanilla paste from Mexico.

He walked in on you shutting the oven after checking on the baking goods, the warm vanilla swirling deliciously in the air alongside fresh brewed coffee, lightly fogging up the kitchen window in front of the sink.

Six months.

Six months went by so terribly fast. With every passing day, you beamed with motherhood soon to come, spending your days as comfortable and as lazily as possible.

Those cupcakes would soon eye him every time he opened the fridge later today, making the mystery of the truth grow all the more curious in his head.

Only you knew the true gender, a secret you guarded very well the moment you two were alone after the doctor’s visit.

“You’re banned from the kitchen once I start frosting, you know.” You spoke up, showing him a little smile as you pulled out multiple sticks of butter from the fridge, setting them on the warm stove so they’d come to room temperature faster.

“More concerned for you walkin’ around half asleep.” He approached you, watching you huff and shake your head. “I’m fine-”

“Now now, don’t wanna hear any of it.” Simon gently takes you in his arms from behind, feeling you sigh against his chest before relaxing in his embrace.

Slowly, he trailed his hands down over your belly, cradling the underside of your swollen, unborn child.

His favorite activity, his most cherished act to do during his pastime, regardless of where the two of you were, was to hold them. To rest his hands along where he imagined little hands would press, or little feet that would kick back against.

He’d lightly rest his head against the side of your tummy in silence, feeling your fingers comb through his hair as you watched with content, seeing his facial muscles relax, his brow lowering in various thoughts of how their child would look like. These silly, innocent little thoughts always lulled him to sleep, temporarily banishing any and every harsh, dark thought that threatened to overtake him.

“You sure you wanna do this?” You softly ask, hinting towards the baby shower later this evening.

The baby shower was a shared idea between you and Kate’s wife, who began calling a few times a week to check up on you, taking a sort of maternal role on your behalf, providing a fair amount of support without being overbearing.

He was never one for parties. Public parties, anything that involved more than five people at least. But he knew all who were arriving and worked alongside most of them through thick and thin, they may as well be a sort of second family.

Simon had stepped plenty out of his comfort zone alongside you these past few months, doing grocery runs with you, eating out when neither of you felt like cooking, attending local events so you didn't feel cooped up in the house too often, despite Simon’s silent persistence that he would’ve preferred you to remain at home, except for the occasional doctor’s visit.

This baby shower will be here at home, a nice little event where everyone can have fun and bring the baby gifts. After learning what it meant, he couldn’t rob you of that experience.

“I’ll be alright,” He settles your worries, taking a gentle hold of your shoulders to guide you towards the door. “You need rest, love. Get a few hours to yourself, I’ll wake you for your breakfast.”

“Wait,” You tried to stop your steps, despite Simon insisting you continue walking forward.

“Make sure the cupcakes are taken out after fifteen minutes-”

“Will do.”

“And just set them on the-”

“Heat proof pans,” Simon confirmed, “I know. Go get your rest, love.”

- - -

You’ve never seen Simon so relaxed after a delicious dinner, sitting with most of the men in the living room, sharing a couple of beers, the good beers that Soap had brought for the party, conversing happily over various topics and stories, catching up after some lost time.

Through every shared chuckle, every change in subject between the men, Simon couldn't help but shift his attention over towards his wife, standing with Kate and her beloved, chattering your head off while mindlessly resting your hand over the baby bump.

You looked so vibrant, glowing in extravagant excellence. You wore a loose light pink dress that went past your knees, with comfortable, soft puffy sleeves. Tons of tiny blue flowers decorating the fabric of the skirt, accommodating your pregnant tummy beautifully.

You sipped a sparkling elderflower mocktail, thanks to an elderflower nonalcoholic beverage Simon had gotten you that you actually enjoyed.

Alejandro and Rodolfo arrived around four in the evening, apologizing profusely for being two hours late, but the fact that they even arrived had significantly warmed your heart.

“There’s no way we’d miss this special day, Princesa,” Alejandro stated after sharing a warm, heartfelt hug.

In Rodolfo’s hands he carried a large gift, a baby gift set his sisters had made for you, decorated in various yellows and soft, pastel greens, with kisses of pink and blue, a giant mystery to what the baby’s gender might’ve been. It gladly joined the rest of the presents that piled up in the corner of the room, remaining untouched until a particularly exciting event took place.

Kate’s wife immediately helped take the gift to add towards the pile. She had been an absolute dream with you, being as mindful as Simon, if not more than him, when it came to your needs. Arriving a half hour before the party began, helping with dinner, making sure you didn't stand for so long to rest your sore feet.

She was the apple of Kate’s eye, their relationship making you smile delightfully each chance you could.

“So, what’re you gonna do about the job?” Soap couldn't help but ask Simon, a question lingering in the air like a shadow.

Despite Simon never once minding the fact that he stayed home for you, there was the inevitable possibility that he’d have to go back to work, which meant he’d be far out of his family’s reach.

He hated it, the thought alone shooting a sour taste over his tongue. He couldn't avoid the topic forever, but it was a discussion he’d need to have with you. It wouldn't be a pretty one, but he had to have it at some point.

“Don’t quite know yet, Johnny.” He replied, glancing back over towards his wife before looking towards the Sergeant. “An’ I’d appreciate it if its not brought up again.”

“No no,” Soap held up a hand in calm defense, “I get it. Honest, wouldn't blame ya if you stayed. Doubt she’d let yer ass through the door.”

Simon huffed, slightly joining in on the man’s chuckle. That’s a level of unbridled new mother rage he’s hoping he’d never get to see.

“Are these it?” Gaz called your attention from the kitchen, holding the tray of cupcakes you kept in the freezer.

“Yep! It is.” You cheerfully replied, getting Kate to gather the men towards the dining room, either filling up the limited chairs or standing around. Simon was adamant on giving you a seat to rest in, but after some quick, hushed words, you convinced him to sit down, remaining by his side once the cupcakes were passed out with little napkins.

“So, what’s the game here?” Alejandro questioned, taking the cupcake once you offered it before passing it along to someone else.

“The game is we each take a bite and tally up the color we get. Odd color wins, gentleman. Place your bets now.” Kate announces, hearing Gaz huff while peering towards the Scotsman, muttering a few hushed words.

“Ah ah ah! Not literally, you idiot!” You quickly speak out, going against Soap, who purposely leaned back against his seat to pull out his wallet.

He snickered, purposefully acting the way he did to simply get a rise out of you, finding every chance he could incredibly amusing.

“No bets at my baby shower, John.” You ordered, watching him raise his hands in playful submission.

The man himself wore a dark blue shirt. As blue as the Scottish flag, he had stated after giving you a hug when he arrived. Despite the idea of a boy, he did mention a girl would be just as, if not, even more delightful a thought.

He could see any child the both of you had absolutely loved to death regardless, not only by its parents, but by everyone else who came to show their support.

The man himself offered to begin this little game, the suspense forcing him to chuckle as he bit into the cupcake, causing cold buttercream to smear the tip of his nose.

His eyes significantly widened the second he looked down, quickly turning around for the others to view the small pocket of pink hidden underneath the dome of piped frosting.

A small chorus of laughter and cheers erupted from the table, watching the man gather himself as he set the cupcake down, licking the frosting from his lips.

Gaz was next, helping himself to the cupcake in front of him. He took a more interesting approach, proceeding to bite into the frosting rather than the cake, revealing the purposefully pastel blue dyed frosting, casting a smile upon the man’s face as the color matched the light blue button up he wore.

“Alright! We got a boy!” He announced, chuckling along with a few others before he set it down.

“Unless you’re jestin’ us and hinting that yer havin’ twins.” Soap added in while licking his thumb of frosting after enjoying another bite.

The strain and hesitant laughter that came from you was forced, feeling your hand give Simon’s a decently firm squeeze, quietly reveling in the secret blessing that it wasn’t. It was interesting enough learning from just one, you wouldn't know what you would’ve felt with the possibility of twins.

Up next was Rodolfo, who had worn a white long sleeve, but that didn’t stop him from scoring a dark blue bracelet he had lifted up in defense to failing the dress code, something you didn’t hold against him. He held up his cupcake, presenting it like a trophy to reveal the pocket of blue underneath, cheering with the others.

“Oye, you should sell these. Open up a little bakery,” He proposed before taking another bite, watching you smile and giggle. It was good to see your love for baked goods get appreciated by others. It definitely saved money from buying them elsewhere.

Your altered taste buds despised the store-bought stuff anyway.

Alejandro wore a light pink button up with rolled up sleeves, biting into his cupcake once his turn came around. His eyes widened at the blue frosting, faking a pitiful look of sadness before chuckling it off in amusement.

“Really pushing it on a boy so far!” He chuckled, shortly agreeing with Rodolfo’s comment on how tasty the cupcake was. All it was missing was a hot cup of coffee and he was set.

Kate’s wife wore a pastel pink sweater vest over a white shirt, biting into a pink cupcake to her absolute delight, almost tearing up herself over the welcomed match. Kate herself had gotten a blue cupcake, matching coincidentally well with her blue scarf resting around her neck.

“In our defense,” Kate’s wife states while clutching her beloved’s hand, “We’ll love who they are regardless!”

“They’ll be getting spoiled either way,” Kate added in, chuckling along with the flat-out truth.

Price wore a cerulean shirt, but gladly accepted your request to pin a pink little bow on the far right of his shirt collar.

By now, as the buttercream came to room temperature, a bit of pink tinted frosting clung to his mustache after his bite, but chuckling to the realization of this little mishap didn't bother him in the slightest.

“Well, look at that!” He chuckled as you quickly handed him a few extra napkins. “I’m on the same boat, they’re gettin’ absolutely spoiled by all their aunts and uncles.”

“Sure thing, Gramps.” Gaz pitched, purposely avoiding the captain’s gaze, hiding his smile in his own hand.

“That’s a name they’ll be calling you in about a year or two,” You pitched in, smiling at the smirk that inevitably spread across the captain’s face after the comment.

“Your turn, dear.” Price gestured to you, leaving you to nod along with excitement, despite already knowing the truth.

As basic as it was, you’ve never held so much disdain for this simple vanilla cupcake, this painfully bland dessert, especially when it came to the multiple test cupcakes you’ve made prior.

The toughest challenge was making the buttercream thick and pearly white, hiding the color underneath perfectly.

You’d be more than happy to make any other cupcake rather than this tragically boring mess, leading you to simply tear open the cake in your hands without tasting it, revealing to the crowd the flush of pink underneath vanilla sponge and frosting.

The tally was set.

An even number of four on four so far, all that was left was the final cupcake to break the tie, the final cupcake that sat in front of Simon.

Simon wore dark gray, insisting that it didn’t matter to him what gender the baby was, he’d love them regardless, just as everyone else. He didn’t want to think ahead and assume too fast, too nervous at the high expectations, keeping all those thoughts bottled up until he learned the truth.

He didn't realize just until now how much pressure was placed on his shoulders, being the last man at the table, a plethora of pink and blue cupcakes flooding his eyes, down to the simple, plain cupcake in front of him.

Sweet frosting coated his taste buds once he took a bite, the room dreadfully quiet after this action.

The suspense grew thicker and thicker, all eyes on him as his wife’s hand settled on his right shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze, soothing his heartbeat drumming in his ears.

Licking his lip, he glanced down at the cake in hand, unable to wait any longer.

Right there, in the center of the swirl of thick, smooth buttercream, topped with round pink and blue sprinkles was a soft, flush pastel pink pocket of icing.

Never in his life had he been so delighted to see such a color.

You watched Simon’s eyes light up, almost wider than saucers at the discovery. You stared at him with your hands over your mouth, a bright smile hidden underneath your fingers, your eyes flushed pink with hot tears.

“It’s a girl!” You quickly state towards the others before he could turn it around, watching multiple eyes light up, followed by large amounts of cheers and applause, those who sat rising from their seats instantly.

Simon had risen so fast from his seat, almost causing the furniture to tumble over as he secured you tightly in his arms, feeling your tears of joy dampen his shirt sleeve. His head buried deep into your neck, his light scruff prickling your skin as he purposefully hid his face from everyone who cheered in congratulations.

With your growing belly, Simon found holding you close to be a more endearing action as the days went by. Before the both of you knew it, your little girl would be squeezing between the two of you, urging to join in on such a hug, simply for the surge of attention from her parents.

Your fingers clung to his shirt, your ragged breathing muffled against his shoulder. Beneath the excitement, he heard you mutter to him how much you loved him dearly, repeating these words over and over. In response, he urged you to shift your head just enough so he could take you in a long, heartfelt kiss, before returning to you the same hushed words against your lips.

How you loved each other so. Simon never wanted to be away from you, the thought growing now more than ever.

He remained facing away from the crowd after you were let go, your attention immediately taken aside by Kate’s wife, who trapped you in a tight hug.

“Ya alright?” Soap approached Simon, seeing his refrained stance from the crowd, refusing everyone else to see him this way, teary eyed and emotional, all while keeping quiet.

Simon nodded, sparing yet another glance over towards his wife, smiling as wide as possible, bright tears beading the edges of your eyes, staining your beautifully flushed cheeks as Price took you in a hug, soothing your happy sobs with a comforting rub of your back.

This was better than you had ever hoped for, A wonderful make up for being unable to surprise him the first time.

A girl, a beautiful baby girl.

His future addition to the chamber of his heart, the apple blossom of his eye, his hopeful little dove soaring across an endless sky.

A daughter with the woman he loved most in this world.

For a moment, and just for a moment, he refused to let any dark thought in his mind ruin this happiness that flooded his bones and warmed his haunted spirit, lighting up the darkness like a small pink birthday candle.

He could hardly wait now.

[zero-and-crew]

Anti!AU :D

So! At least 70 people voted yes on this poll we posted here ! Which means there's a few people who decided they're interested in hearing about our AU idea! Information under the cut!

(Adult) Anti!Irep Reference image!

This was a collab piece with @bubbleberryuniverse ! It did the line art :3 it also has its own au, Petrified!Peri ! You should check that out!!!

Content warnings for kidnapping !

The AU starts during the events of Fairly Oddbaby, when Anti-Cosmo manages to get his hands on Peri— and successfully take him to a second location. (The location is unknown to anyone but AC! And Wanda, Cosmo and Timmy— along with pretty much every fairy in fairy world) search EVERYWHERE they can think of for poor little Peri.

Anti-Wanda is kept there too, for a short time. That way she can't accidentally foil his plans. And, she gets to help take care of the cute little bouncing ball of a baby.

Anti-Cosmo keeps him there to keep him hidden, he doesn't start to drain the babies magic like he does in the original episode— his plans are much more long term. His plans are to raise Peri, who is still called Poof at this time in the AU, to use his magic for evil. (Side note, I'm not thinking AC would torture Peri! I imagine he'd be like an emotionally distant dad or teacher at worst, if that makes sense?)

Peri, still a baby, is slowly turning evil. It's how he's being raised, after all. His mind is being filled with evil thoughts, ideas and beliefs. There's still a piece of him that's nice... deep down.. Somewhere. But he's losing more of it as the days go by. He's never known anything other than this life with AC, and occasionally getting visits from AW.

The specifics of this aren't quite figured out yet, but, after several invasions from the fairies searching for Peri, they slowly start to lose hope. Some probably thinking the fairy baby was never born, some might think he died. Whatever it is, the searching slowly stops.

Then, suddenly, a square anti-fairy baby named Foop is born.

But no one notices. No one cares.

Except his parents, of course!

Both of them are excited to have their own son— just as they are in the original! Anti-Wanda might be a bit of an idiot, and Anti-Cosmo may be emotionally lacking as a father, but they are happy to have him! Honestly! Anti-Cosmo even takes him to meet Peri! But... his son doesn't seem too excited about what he's doing. Maybe with time, he'll grow to enjoy helping out! Right?

Irep doesn't talk about those days, ever. The only three people who truly know what went down are Anti-Cosmo, Peri, and Irep.

Well.. One day, Irep had enough. He was tired of being used to help train his counterpart— it hurt. It hurt him in many ways. But with his limited knowledge of the world, it took him a while. Eventually, he found some fairies who might be willing to help an anti-fairy.

EDIT: We have more for this! We just have to draw up Peri's ref, and wanted to start small. If it gets enough engagement, we might make a sideblog for the au specifically.

[nochukoo97]

boyfriend drabbles (pt.13)

pairing: jungkook x reader

summary: after you and jungkook’s argument, you decide to sleep in the guest room, not wanting to see him. but when a thunderstorm strikes, you find yourself back in your boyfriend’s arms.

word count: 500+

boyfriend drabbles masterlist!

You’re staring blankly at the light on the ceiling, its glare causing a strain in your eyes to slowly form.

Sighing as you wrap yourself tighter under the blanket, the sound of the rain pattering against the window of the guest room fills the air.

You know that the right way to resolve your argument with Jungkook wasn’t to hide in the guest room of his apartment, but rather to talk it out with him.

But you were way too emotionally unstable to even begin to talk to your boyfriend, afraid the moment he says something to you, that you would lose all control over your emotions.

The argument you had an hour ago replays in your mind, you’re overthinking and cursing at yourself for saying some things.

Maybe you shouldn’t have yelled at Jungkook. But to be fair he had raised his voice at you in frustration, which ticked you off at the point of time.

Both of you had been in the wrong, blaming each other for it when it was a huge misunderstanding. But both of you were equally too stubborn to apologise first.

You jolt and squeak in shock as a huge rumble of thunder rings through the air, you should have expected it considering the flash of lightning that came before that.

The light in the guest room gives way, causing the whole room to turn into a void of darkness.

You only hear Jungkook’s muffled gasp from outside the room, before you begin to hide under the blanket in petrifying fear.

It was a stupid fear you had, you weren’t even scared of horror movies, yet the darkness had brought out another side of you, making you vulnerable and scared, of not being able to see your surroundings.

Normally, you always had Jungkook to run to, your boyfriend who would oh-so-sweetly comfort you and embrace you in his hold, whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

But this time instead of running to you, Jungkook is hesitant, he’s standing outside the guest bedroom, unsure if he should step in to embrace you like he always does, or if you would push him away because of your unresolved conflicts.

Your boyfriend immediately cranks open the door knob the moment he hears a sob emit from inside the room, rushing over in the darkness, tripping over something on the floor.

He spots you curled up under the blankets in the darkness, but he can barely see from the lack of light in the house.

“Baby,” Jungkook hushes you as he guides you to sit in his lap, your face now buried in his chest as your tears soak his shirt.

He can feel your hands grip onto his shirt, as you sob, body shaking.

Given the chance to, you would’ve probably stayed mad at him, but you were so terrified being alone, in the darkness, not being able to see anything at all.

“Kook,” You sob as Jungkook shushes you, trying his best to comfort your crying self.

“Jagi, I’m right here, breathe for me yeah?” He’s whispering in your ear, tightening his hold on you.

Jungkook guides you to lay on the bed with him, as he let’s you cry into his chest.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you Gguk,” You hiccup between sobs, feeling terrible that Jungkook had put aside everything to come and console you even thought you had been screaming at him earlier.

“Baby, it’s okay,” He laughs, petting your head, “We’ll talk it out when you feel better ‘kay?”

You nod, snuggling deeper into his hold as your sobs turn into sniffles.

[rebouks]

Previous // Next

[vomiting] … Brynn: Is supposed to me be throwing up, not you. [Wyatt hummed, slightly flustered by his reaction; it was supposed to be the other way around] Brynn: Are you frightened? [Wyatt huffed a half-hearted scoff through his nose, frightened was an understatement-.. he was petrified] Brynn: Is normal to be scared, I think. Wyatt: Hm… Brynn: You never once think about creating a family? Wyatt: I didn’t plan on having children, no. Brynn: Why not? Wyatt: What do I know about parenthood? I had three terrible examples-.. I’m selfish, depraved, emotionally faulty… Brynn: You are not usually so unkind to yourself. Wyatt: I’m more than fine with who I am, but that doesn’t mean I think it wise to raise another me. Wyatt: I don’t feel things the way I’m meant to, Brynn-.. how the hell am I supposed to bring someone up right if I’m not right? Brynn: I not think you give yourself enough credit. You feel things for me, don’t you? Wyatt: That’s an anomaly. Brynn: I think over time it won’t be such an anon-.. amon-.. I can’t say that word, but maybe it’ll feel more normal to you in time? Is nothing more special than having a baby. Wyatt: There isn’t-.. but I don’t know the first thing about being a father. Brynn: I not know how to be a mother either, at least we are lost together! Wyatt: I prefer having a map… Brynn: Hm, life does not come with a map-.. I recently accept that I am not so great at thinking things through, and you are not so great at feelings, right? So, maybe we are perfectly mismatched for a baby. [Lost in thought, Wyatt fell silent; perhaps Brynn had a point…] Brynn: What did you want when you were tiny? [Wyatt squinted, unsure how to respond] Brynn: I never feel loved, seen or safe when I was small, is what I’ve tried-.. and mostly failed to find since. [Wyatt chewed at his lip absently; he understood what Brynn was getting at, but surely it wasn’t that simple] Brynn: Come on! What did small Wyatt wish for? Wyatt: I suppose I just wanted to be wanted. [Brynn grabbed Wyatt’s wrist and tugged him toward her, gently placing his hand against her stomach] Brynn: You tell me you not want this? [Brynn held Wyatt’s gaze unwaveringly, waiting; though she already knew the answer] [Wyatt never thought he’d have a child, but he didn’t not want one either-.. perhaps that was why it was so terrifying] Wyatt: [furtively] No-.. I do. Brynn: Then you are already better than my father, and yours…

[penny-anna]

been reading a lot of Owl House fanfic lately & have some Hunter Thoughts (long post + cw for discussion of child abuse):

run into the take a couple of times now that the other Coven heads (in particular well-meaning characters like Darius & Raine) should have done more to help Hunter. and while i do agree that uhh almost every adult in the show let Hunter down i have 2 responses to that

FIRSTLY: i could be wrong (i watched s2 in a pretty choppy manner) but i don't think there's any indication that Hunter's abuse is happening anywhere other than behind closed doors. it's very possible that the outward image of Hunter & Belos's relationship is 'this is the emperor's special favourite nephew who he dotes upon'.

it's like. self-evidently the case that Hunter is being neglected emotionally but probably no-one had any reason to think he was in physical danger. remember that most people were under the impression that Belos was a benevolent ruler & the minority who'd figured out what his game could have reasonably assumed that for all his faults he wouldn't hurt Hunter.

Darius expresses concern about his social life but seems to read uhh nothing whatsoever into this interaction:

which suggests to me that he hasn't seen any prior indication of physical abuse & just assumes Hunter is being very dramatic!

(side note i just noticed Flapjack covering his eyes with his wings gdlkjfhglfjh omg Flapjack)

& all of this is very plausible! let's face it not all abusive parents IRL give off obvious red flags to anyone external to the situation.

SECONDLY: to be blunt, the position Belos put Hunter in was such that i don't know if anyone could have helped even if they wanted to.

Hunter being elevated to the position of Head of the Emperor's Coven is clearly an unusual move & one that was made in direct response to Lilith defecting. It's a clear signal that Belos doesn't trust his remaining Coven Heads and wants to keep a closer eye on them. they have good reason to believe that the Golden Guard could u know. report any of them to Belos as a Traitor at any time.

whether Belos would actually automatically believe him is another matter but like, as stated above, they don't know how Belos treats Hunter behind closed doors. for all they know one word from Hunter could get them idk petrified.

their behaviour towards him isn't nice but his presence is both threatening and also kind of insulting. he's wrapped up in the internal politics of the court in a way that makes it difficult to anyone to respond to him with anything other hostility. which is uhh not a position Belos should ever have put his 16 year old ''''nephew'''' into.

for all Darius knows if he starts being nice to the Golden Guard & relaxes in his presence he's gonna end up saying something that'll get back to Belos. he doesn't let down his guard around Hunter until seeing u know. multiple clear signals that he's actually willing to lie to Belos.

like. Hunter is dangerous! bcos we as the audience are so familiar w this Hunter:

easy to forget that most people in the Boiling Isles only know this guy:

he's a very real threat to everyone around him by virtue of being the emperor's Right Hand! just look at how Odalia reacts to him showing up:

people are actively afraid of the Golden Guard & him being 16 doesn't make him any less of a deadly threat. he's functionally untouchable. trying to suggest that hey, maybe the head of the police force shouldn't be a 16 year old boy is liable to get you thrown in the conformatorium.

like. even if someone did put together that Hunter was in danger from Belos what are they gonna do about it? u can't exactly call social services on the God Emperor.