#friendships ebb and flow

[biblicalhorror]

My boyfriend's friend got me this candle as a late birthday present and I am howling it's so good

[drops-of-universe]

Missing the way someone used to be is such a restless type of longing. it’s not love or hatred. it’s just forever living with the gap in your life they once filled and won't ever again because they aren't that person anymore

[ikjun]

please write your novels about seventeens friendship!I love their friendship and I could talk about it forever

there is just something so profound about 13 different people, unlikely to all get along on any given day at the same time, to forge a bond together that is so genuine and strong that it makes me all warm and fussy inside. i think the fact that they never hid that they fought sometimes, that they sometimes spent days and weeks and months fighting or arguing in the early days, is the reason they work so well together even beyond the individual clusters of closer friends in the group. they actively cultivate and adjust and forge their friendship to remain and prevail, are unafraid for it to change or shift, and that makes it even possible for them to be in a group together. when dk was asked what’s the reason for their continued work is and he said “it’s love, of course” that is precisely what it looks like. this is what it’s like to work with people who love and wilfully love the work you do with your friends / band-members / second family atp.

[bloomingsalma]

okay... so I get why I was hesitating to watch soulmate (2023)

[bunnyboy-juice]

i want to whine and cry about friendship/wanting friends but i also feel like i dont deserve to do that rn

[sonotpattismith]

YOURE WRITING IS LIT AMAZING OMG- I had an idea: Sukuna switching in and telling u yuji likes you (romanticly and sexually) and eventually switching back and the aftermath…. 🙏🙏🙏

forgive me for whatever i do. (yuji itadori x reader)

word count: 4.9k warnings: a teeny bit dark, angst, suggestive content, 18+ a/n: y'all, I think I kind of altered what the original vibe was meant to be for this request, but I am apparently physically incapable of not making a fic angsty, I'm SORRY. Also, this was a bit inspired by Remember You by Dominurmom, link if you wanna listen cause it makes me cry. I hope you all enjoy and please remember my requests are always open! 🥹🫶🏻

Friends. It was a good word— a safe word. It was one you had found solace in hiding behind for years. How could you dare risk the beautiful ebb and flow you had found within the days of while you’d experienced with your best friend? No matter the pools of warmth that engulfed your chest with each glittery-eyed smile-- no matter how the both of you had always found your way back to each other whether rain or sunshine-- no matter how much you loved Yuji Itadori. Friends; it was a safe space. 

There was a time when you wanted something more. It was so early on, before you were too scared to lose him yet. When you two had first met, you felt undeniably pulled toward the bright-eyed and charismatic boy. Both of your lives had been overwhelmingly and newly hectic, what with your being thrust into a life of curses and sacrifice. Similarly, Yuji was still coping with the abrupt weight of managing the demon he now shared a body with. It was never the right time. 

So, your timid glances and blushing compliments soon turned into confiding conversations and fierce loyalty. You two fell into the gentle and safe rhythm of a blossoming friendship. Of course, deep down within the confines of your cowardly hearts, you were always drawn to one another. There was always a hope, never communicated, that maybe once your lives found a peaceful medium, you two would no longer need to hide behind the solace of friends.

This certainly wasn’t how you wanted it to happen. 

Yuji had always made it appoint to keep you and Sukuna at opposite ends of his world, in all senses of the phrase. He barely spoke of him to you at all, in fact. It was actually something you argued often with him about, worried about the impacts of keeping that kind of burden locked away would have on him. In typical Itadori fashion though, he wouldn’t even entertain the notion of an argument with you. No, he’d just squint his honey-brown eyes, and flash that bashful smile to you, a half-assed excuse about why it wasn’t that big of a deal falling easily from his lips. 

The truth was though, it was a big deal to him-- a massive one, in fact. After having already witnessed what that counterpart of his could do, the havok it could ensue on those important to him-- nothing scared him more than the prospect of you coming face to face with Sukuna. Yuji felt this fear so much so that he spared you the details. He didn’t want you to think of him in such a way, to know that any part of him was capable of such atrocities. Yes, he’d bear it all if it meant none of it touched you. 

So, when he felt his own body deteriorating rapidly in tandem with the whaling blows of cursed energy courtesy of the special grade the two of you had been cornered by, the thought flickered in the back of his head. Heaving out a pained groan, Yuji’s gaze found yours, and he pushed it back down. But you screamed. You screamed, and he couldn’t help you-- he couldn’t move. You screamed, and he was trapped beneath the concrete pillar that had fallen so unceremoniously over his heaving chest. You screamed, and suddenly, it was his only option. 

“Sukuna!”

The King of Curses was not one for favors, especially not for the brat that held him hostage in what was meant to be his vessel. He assessed the situation before him-- the one he’d been watching intently from the safety of his own shrine. Through his insolent vessel’s eyes, he could only see you. It was all the brat would look at, you were all he ever looked at. Whether it be the back of your head, hair swaying gently as you’d turn to smile at him, and Sukuna would always feel the boy’s heart clench fouly at the sight. On some occasions, you’d be looking right at him, your eyes with stars behind them, and the demon wanted nothing more than to rip them right from their sockets simply for the way his vessel would tremble under your gaze.

Pathetic. 

Maybe if the brat had been looking toward something else for once, they wouldn’t have been in this predicament. But he was racing toward you at every chance he got, taking blows that were meant for you, countering attacks that you had antagonized. He couldn’t understand how someone could be so weak.

So, he laughed. In the back of Itadori’s frenzied mind, Sukuna cackled at him. The boy whispered a plea, tears stinging his eyes as he watched you stumble to your feet in a grave attempt to escape the repeated blows being landed on you. 

“Anything, I’ll do anything, please!”

The demon liked the sound of that. Yuji could feel the control slipping away from him, his consciousness being sucked up by the all consuming darkness lurking within. For just a moment, he fought against it, staring up at you in an almost drunken haze. 

“I’m sorry. Please,” He called out to you, voice hoarse and morphing into one you didn’t recognize. “Just look away.”

In mere seconds, the boy you loved was shifting before your eyes. His features were sharpening; sinister, black marks pooling onto his skin like ink. The second set of eyes below his own snapped open, and they were looking right at you. Maybe, Sukuna thought, if he saw it for himself he’d understand, without the barrier of this boy’s soul in the way. Still, as he stared into your fearful eyes, he felt nothing but indifference-- no-- disgust.��

Jagged chunks of concrete rubble sliced through the air around you, knocking into your already weak body, some even slicing through the special grade in front of you. Blinking back the dust that invaded your sight, when your eyes opened again, the curse was desecrated; an explosion of grotesque, purple evidence of what it once was. 

Sukuna didn’t care to save you. What enticed him more for the approximate two minutes he had left in control of this body, was breaking down the brat a little. In all fairness, when you stood there so helplessly, so vulnerable with eyes full of fear before him, how could he resist? His impossibly sharp teeth flashed under the moon’s light as he stepped toward you, torn shirt hanging loosely off his shoulder and chest. 

You wanted to apologize to Yuji, to tell him that you tried to look away like he’d asked. It wasn’t a fair request though. No, not when your best friend, the boy you loved, was being held hostage. You feared if you looked away he might do something awful to him-- unaware of what lurked in the dark chasm of his thusfar imprisoned mind. 

“I’ve gotta say,” Sukuna’s gravelly voice reached your ears. It didn’t hold that playfully boyish cadence you had come to love. In its place was one that mocked you, laughing boisterously in the face of your trembling fear and anticipation of what he’d do next. “In the flesh, you’re pretty underwhelming.”

You gulped down the bile that threatened to rise from your stomach. Still crumpled on the ground from the last hit you’d taken, you weren’t sure if you should attempt to stand; unsure if he’d find that acceptable. Sukuna tilted his head at your silence, taking two slow and calculated steps forward. 

“Disgusting.” He spat suddenly, gripping you by your elbow to haul you up. You yelped in surprise, trying not to shed the tears that welled in your eyes at the sting of his nails against your skin. “This brat spends day in and day out allowing himself to be consumed. And for this?”

Your brows furrowed at his words, and you pulled against his grip. 

“Give him back.” You gritted through your teeth, fear igniting your body in tremors. 

Sukuna’s red eyes, all four of them, lit up sinsiterly, grin widening in a manner that appeared painful. You realized for that split second that he likely didn’t have much time at all to wreak havoc, and he was enjoying this. He wanted to hurt you-- to hurt Yuji, even with the limited scope of his abilities at the moment. 

“How romantic.” He cooed mockingly. His hand came up to grasp your jaw, forcing you to look into the eyes of your best friend, but he wasn’t there. Your stray tear betrayed you, slipping down your mangled cheek. Leaning forward with gusto, he licked a debauched stripe up the path your traitorous tear had taken, cackling madly as the salt tainted his tongue. Pushing you back a bit, his voice was suddenly booming, cracking at your abused eardrums with fervor. “All day!”

You tried to keep your face neutral, to be unwilling to give up the shred of dignity you had left-- for Yuji. 

“All day this brat pines and trembles and burns with the thought of you-- pathetic!”

For a moment, you felt your heart stop at his words. Surely he wasn’t implying that Yuji, even in the slightest sense, saw past more than just your friendship. You knew you shouldn’t. It wasn’t him, but your lips were moving to a different rhythm than your mind was, and you were whispering to him in hushed bewilderment, 

“What?”

“And you’re so stupidly oblivious, too? How revolting.” Despite his disgusted words, the baleful smile on his face grew that much wilder. It struck you then, how much you had disconnected yourself from the fact that the body before you, holding your body weight up with a deafening grip on your jaw, was Yuji. You didn’t see him. When you looked at that pink hair and felt the familiar curves of his hands, he wasn’t your best friend. “I suppose you’re not the only ignorant one. I can practically feel the way your weak little heart pounds everytime that brat looks at you.”

Your cheeks were burning at this point, and if he couldn’t see it in the dim moonlight, he could surely feel the heat under his mean fingers. Blinking away your tears, you willed your lip to stop trembling. 

“He doesn’t know it, you know.” Sukuna chuckled, spurred on by your painful silence. “I spend all day having to listen to him whine about his unreciprocated, little love-sick infatuation.”

It was making your stomach churn, the way he was turning your feelings for one another, ones that you were only now becoming privy to, into something so revolting. The words falling from his lips were ones you prayed so long to hear. You had spent so many sleepless nights staring back at your best friend where he laid sprawled out on the other side of your bed, both of you too traumatized from the day’s monstrosities to sleep alone-- to leave each other. This isn’t how you wanted to find out though. 

Amongst the desecration of your normal lives, you wanted to grasp onto the hope of innocence, of pure and untouched love and fondness. You hoped for bashful confessions and spontaneous kisses, ones that were purely Yuji’s intent. Sukuna was snatching the opportunity right from beneath you two, and he knew it. 

You shook your head, or tried to with the grip that was forcing your gaze on him. 

“My days are filled with his insolent whining, and I don’t find solace at night either.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think by the eager way he was spilling these thoughts out to you that he was happy to spend his fortitude in such a manner. You did know better though, and you knew what he enjoyed was the chance of domestic normalcy he was ripping away from the boy that held him hostage. “No, he touches himself at night.”

“Stop it.” You spat, unable to hold back the dam of your tears any longer. They spilled freely down your cheeks, and you swore you could see his red eyes roll into the back of his head. Your weak hands came up in a desperate attempt to shield your ears from the intimate secrets Yuji likely never intended for you to hear-- not like this anyway. The hand that held your jaw quickly fell, and he laced his fingers through yours mockingly, forcing you to listen. 

“That brat thinks of you all night when he’s beating himself off like the degenerate he is. Sometimes he calls out your name too, when he--”

You couldn’t take it anymore, feeling as though you might throw up. Above all else, your heart ached for Yuji, and you wondered if he could hear what was going on, if he was clawing his way out. You wanted to apologize to him, tell him you never meant to find out this way. You wished you could forget.

“Yuji!” 

Your cry made the demon smile, but it quickly faded with a knowing furrow of his brows. Eyes drooping lazily as he looked toward you, he shook his head. The marks on his face were slowly absorbing back into his skin. His upper lip curled in disgust. 

“Pathetic.”

In an instant, he was falling to the floor limply, bringing you down with him. When you looked up in a frenzied haze at the head that fell onto your chest, you noted with relief that it was Yuji again. His eyes fluttered open deliriously, taking in his surroundings. Looking up, he was met by your grief-stricken expression, fresh tears clinging to your face. His freshly healed arms were pulling himself up clumsily, hovering over you in a way that made it obvious that fear was gripping at every nerve in his body. 

“What— what did he do? Are you okay?” 

It was Sukuna’s very intention, the manner in which you had no choice but to see Yuji so differently now. As he hovered over you, unintentionally entrapping you under his tensing arms and bare chest, you couldn’t help but blush as the curse’s words rang in your mind. The thought of the boy you’d dreamt about for so long thinking of you in such a way, touching himself to the thought of you, longing for you-- and he was right there within your reach. 

“You… you don’t remember?” You whispered, trying to calm your racing heart. 

Yuji quickly shook his head, his comforting brown eyes tracing down your body as if to assess the damages. When his hands molded around your waist to pull your shirt up, the one that was slowly flooding through with blood from the gash on your side, you gasped and flinched away. He gulped back his nausea at the racing thoughts of what Sukuna could have done to you to warrant such a response. His hands reeled back to his sides, and he sat back on his knees. 

“I got pretty messed up back there… I think I was still healing.” he explained slowly, wanting so badly to help you, but unsure of how you viewed him now-- how scared you were of him. What he didn’t know was that you weren’t scared of him, not at all. In fact, you wanted to pull him in, hold him close, tell him that you’ve loved him all this time as well. It should have been an idyllic occasion. In the back of your mind though, you knew if Yuji hadn’t confessed to you himself already then there was likely a reason, and you shouldn’t force the decision onto him just because the curse residing in him ripped away the layers of protection that shrouded those feelings. “Please, I’m sorry. What did he do to you?”

He didn’t remember, and maybe it was better that way. At least one of you could be spared the humiliation. It took some time, but you had convinced Yuji that you were simply shaken up from the fight, though you felt he still wasn’t entirely convinced. His movements were painfully careful as he carried you to safety. It was so clear in the way he touched you with such delicacy, that he feared scaring you more than he thought he already had. 

You stared up at the ceiling that night, tears clouding your vision as you toyed with the edge of the gauze that wrapped your abdomen. In all the time you two had known each other, you couldn’t wrap your head around why he was so scared of opening up to you about the monster he shared a body with. Countless nights you’d spent after missions, as he stared unblinkingly at a wall, begging him to confide in you. In just under five minutes with the thing though, you understood the cruelty he was trying to protect you from. 

There was a soft knock on your door, and you lifted your head up as it slid open. Yuji stood tentatively at the entrance, looking like the absolute picture of health compared to your mangled self. He was scratching at the back of his head awkwardly, a little quirk you’d grown to love, much like everything else about him. Flashing you his attempt at a bashful smile, he tilted his head at you. 

“Thought you could use some company.” He offered. It was somewhat of a routine of yours to meet together after a particularly grueling mission. The two of you would lay in bed, facing each other with moronic smiles on your lips as you talked about everything-- everything but the horrors you’d witnessed. It was the only way you could find yourself calm enough to fall asleep. If you two talked each other’s ears off about the comparable strength of two manga characters, or argued halfheartedly over what was the superior horror movie in your already trash-fire line up, if you distracted one another line by line-- the two of you would forget about what you saw. Just long enough to allow your eyes to forcefully drift in exhaustion. 

Now though, as he stared undecisively at you, you could tell he wasn’t sure if he would still be allowed such privileges. Despite being lost in the labyrinth of your own mind over the night’s events-- over him-- you smiled softly for his sake and patted the spot beside you. Your breath hitched as he eagerly closed the door behind him and climbed into bed beside you. His sigh of relief fanned over the side of your face despite his attempt at concealing it. You felt his eyes on you, his body already on its side and facing you, awaiting for you to do the same. 

“Oh, your side.” Yuji sighed in ackowledgement, and you simply nodded in agreement, not wanting to reveal that you simply couldn’t look him in the eyes without bursting on the spot. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as he reached out to softly graze his hand over the wounded area. The boy saw the way your breath hitched and your expression shifted, slowly retracting his hand. “Listen, I’m sorry for whatever happened back there. Please, look at me.”

A little piece of your heart broke off at the pained desperation in his tone. Blinking back the tears that threatened to form, you turned your head to the side to look in his wide, distraught eyes. Softening your gaze, you struggled against your pain as you forced yourself on your side to face him. 

“No, Yuji, it’s okay--”

“No it’s not!” In an instant, he was sitting up, looking down at you as his chest heaved with purposeful breaths. “He’s taken everything from me, and I…”

His shoulders slumped, and a rosy tint rushed to his cheeks. 

“I won’t let him take you too-- I can’t. So, please, just tell me what I have to do to make you not scared of me anymore, and I’ll do it, okay? I’ll do anything.”

Unable to take it anymore, you moved to sit up with a grunt. Yuji’s hands quickly shot out to help you until you were facing him. He looked back at you with such conviction, such longing in his gaze, and, with hindsight bias, you wondered how you never saw it sooner. 

“You’re my best friend, Yuji… I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Then why can’t you look me in the eyes?”

You pursed your lips, tentatively taking his hands into yours to hold them between you two. His breath hitched ever so slightly at the connection. Scraping your thumb over his knuckle absentmindedly in a manner that was scrambling his brain like eggs, you thought carefully on your next words. 

“You don’t think anything could ruin our friendship… right?” You asked timidly, eyes meeting his through your lashes. His brows furrowed at your question, and he found himself leaning forward to gaze into you sincerely, shaking his head quickly. 

“Nothing. Don’t you think we’ve been through too much together already? You’re kinda stuck with me.”

The hesitantly joking tone in his voice made you smile softly. Yuji had a way of easing your anxiety that way, as if there was a little door in your mind that only he had the key to open up and gaze into whenever he pleased. It gave you more confidence to continue your pursuit.. 

“And there aren’t any secrets between us? Nothing you’ve… not told me?”

Gulping thickly, he felt his face pale. There was something he was keeping from you, something he had come to terms with being content with if it meant he’d never put your relationship in jeopardy. An attempted smile broke into his face, but the corners of his lips were twitching anxiously. You could have melted at the sight. 

 “Uh… no. You know I tell you everything.” The lie stumbled from his lips unconvincingly. Your lips set into a firm line as you shot him a knowing yet playful look. Suddenly, his eyes were darting everywhere but you. They were at your hands, on your nose, on the ceiling, anywhere that would allow him to gather his thoughts. “Is this about the dent in your bathroom wall? Cause I promise I have a good explaination, a-and I was going to tell you, but you were already upset about the--”

“I love you.” It fell from your lips, permanent, unable to be drawn back in. In truth, the both of you could have died that night. Yuji was practically pinned under a building, and you had been face to face with the king of curses. The sentiment of either of you dying without having heard the depths of your feelings for one another was not lost on you. The lifestyles you led were perilous, self-sacrificing, and morbid. You already lived in fear that your next mission would be your last, and, as you were blanketed by the comfort brought upon by the proximity of the boy you loved so dearly, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel this type of fear too. Not for Yuji. 

“Take it back.”

Okay, maybe his blunt order hurt more than the boulder that flew into your side earlier, but you still stood by what you said. A small, breathless gasp fell from your lips as you stared at his solemn expression. 

“Oh,” you muttered out meekly, and, despite your burning embarrassment, you couldn’t tear your eyes from his. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“I wanted to say it to you first.” He reiterated, his lips pulled to the side in frustration, eyebrows furrowed as he regarded you. “I spent years thinking of what I wanted to say to you. Take it back.” 

Relief flooded your system like a drug, flowing through your veins and relaxing your constricting muscles. In its place came a bashful flush at his words. Smiling softly in disbelief, you shook your head a bit.

“Okay,” you drew out slowly, watching him square his muscles back as if preparing for his line. “I take it back.” 

Despite his previous determination and insistence that he had something profound to say, all he could do was lean forward to press his lips against yours clumsily. He couldn’t help himself, not with the way your twinkling eyes stared up at him expectantly, glimmering with an excitement he felt he was alone with for years. A muffled huff of surprise from you was swallowed right up by his eager lips as he lunged forward to deepen the connection he’d just forged. 

“‘M sorry,” Yuji mumbled against your mouth, reaching up to grip at the side of your face as if you’d ever run from him. “Know I talked all that shit, but I forgot what I was gonna say. I love you. I just love you. I’ve always loved you.”

He didn’t allow you any room for a response because his desperate push against your lips had you leaning back to accommodate the sudden weight, and you fell back against your pillow. The boy eagerly chased you, crawling over your panting form to pour out all the soliloquies he longed to spill out to you with some semblance of eloquence, he wanted it all conveyed to you through his frenzied devouring of you. 

Your mind was reeling with his sudden urgency, and you quickly came to the realization that the both of you had been living with this fear of passing one another up. Your hand snaked up to run along his chest, daring to explore up his neck and into the tufts of his pink hair. A soft moan of your name had you blushing profusely, suddenly remembering what Sukuna had told you about the extent of Yuji’s desires for you. You wondered if this was what he sounded like when he called out to you at night with his hands wrapped around himself. Squinting your eyes, you willed your imagination to take a quick u-turn, remembering that that wasn’t information Yuji had given up willingly. 

“Say it back.” Yuji suddenly demanded, finally tearing away from his assault on your lips to stare down at you determinedly. “Say it again.” 

Your free hand came up to cup his cheek. There was so much fear and guilt and sadness pent up in your chest at the prospect of what Sukuna had taken from him that night. It had never been like you to lie to him or keep things from him. As your thumb ran across his bottom lip lovingly, and he looked so accomplished, so content with how this night had somehow progressed in his favor, you realized that the curse hadn’t taken anything from him. Not when you were there to make sure that kind of hatred never touched him. 

“I love you too, Yuji.” 

His wide, boyish grin lit up the dim room. Swinging back down with fervor, the two of you laughed against each other as your teeth clashed messily. Humming contentedly, his wandering hands traveled down your side and snuck up your shirt. God, he’d dreamed of this for so long, and you were right there- underneath of him and pliable to his every touch. He knew he was getting ahead of himself, he could feel it in the way his boxers tightened uncomfortably against him, but he feared he may wake up at any second back in his dorm room alone, like he had so many times following his messianic dreams about what it may be like to have you. 

As his fingers creeped up, you flinched against his fervent grasp that lit your wounded side ablaze. Yuji was suddenly reminded of the night’s events, and he cursed quietly before reluctantly pulling away from you. Looking down at your flushed cheeks and swollen lips, an unbrittled exhilaration swirled in his chest. There would be so many more nights with you, he would make sure of it. He leaned forward to press a last, longing and solemn kiss against your forehead-- a promise that you two would come back to this. 

Carefully, he pulled his grasp away from your wounded side and settled down beside you. Unlike those countless nights the two of you shared a bed, Yuji laid snuggly against you, locking your knees under his strong legs. With his head propped up on his elbow, he beamed down at you, lovestruck as he affectionately tugged your shirt back down. As his fingers lingered against the protruding gauze, his expression creased a bit.

“You… you never told me what Sukuna did.”

Although he hated that he felt the need to ruin the moment with such dark thoughts, no amount of lust could have driven that fear from the back of his mind. Your smile faltered marginally at his words. Thinking of how excited he was to confess to you, and how ardently he fell into this new role so comfortably with you, exploring you with an innocence that was a stark contrast to the dark world you two traversed, you shook your head. Leaning up to press an assuring kiss to his cheek, you looked right at the slits under his eyes, as if daring the curse to acknowledge you. 

“He didn’t do a damn thing.”

masterlist. ~ requests?

[callmebrycelee]

I've been mulling this over for the last few days and I figured I'd just put what I'm thinking out there in hopes that someone will understand what I'm coming from. I'm reading a wonderful fanfic where Buck leaves the 118 and goes to work at Air Operations. He is paired with Tommy and the two of them strike up a friendship and an eventual romance. I'm only a few chapters into the story and there's a conversation where Buck and Tommy are relaying their backstories to each other. Buck talks about getting crushed by the fire engine, the subsequent surgery and setback, and him suing the LAFD. Tommy talks about his time in the Army and ultimately joining the 118. He goes into vivid detail about every single awful thing he did to Chimney and Hen. He ends the story by telling Buck that even though the Chimney and Hen chose to forgave him, he can't quite move past his guilt and works hard daily to become a better person. The thing I've been mulling over is the concept of white guilt and how it often triumphs over forgiveness extended by people of color. I find this so funny because even when people of color, esepcially Black people, are at their most vulnerable and open, whiteness still finds a way to be greater than.

Now I'm not here to excuse any of what Tommy did during his time at the 118, but I have to admit that the majority of the people I have seen taking umbrage with Tommy and his behavior, even after he has been forgiven by those whom he offended, and even after he has taken strides to change, are white, non-queer individuals. And before we making this a B*ddie versus BuckTommy situation, I have seen individuals from both sides of the fence taking Tommy to task.

Before I jump into my thoughts on this, let me just say that I'm a Black man. I'm also a queer man. Most importantly I'm a Black queer man and let me tell you a little something about poor behavior from white people. It happens so much and so frequent that oftentimes I don't even see it happening until I am allowed to have a moment to process and reflect. With that said, quite a few of my close friends and acquaintances are white and all of them at some point have said or done something deliberately or accidentally offensive to me. Now not all Black and/or queer people are a monolift so let me make this very clear right now. I am speaking on behalf of myself and myself only.

Now that I've gotten out of the way, I will say that in any and all cases where I have been offended, my forgiveness is more for myself than the other person. Forgiveness is something I do to protect my peace. I fundamentally understand how whiteness works here in America and I understand how it operates. You don't get to half 39 years as a Black queer person without learning this. Especialy living in the the south. I also realize that at the apex of whiteness is the white, straight male and whether we realize it or not, we all, for the most part, at some point, seek proximity to him. You see this happen with white women, with Black men, and evenwith gay white men. In fact, the only group you don't tend to see this with is Black queer women and I believe this is because they are truly the antithesis of the white apex.

With that said, any time my friends or acquaintances have behaved badly, especially towards me, especially regarding my race and/or sexuality, I understand where that energy comes from. I really do. And, if we are being truly transparent here, there have been moments in my younger existence where I actively participated in the oppression of Black women and queer people. I, too, was a Tommy who hid myself by participating in the toxicity directed towards queer people. And yes, I felt tremendous guilt for my actions when I had time to reflect.

Here is the thing people forget about guilt. Much like grief, guilt ebbs and flows, and it doesn't really go away. What happens, or what should happen, is that your world gets bigger and bigger to the point where that grief or that guilt doesn't occupy as much space. That's exactly what I believe has happened to Tommy Kinard. Yes, he still feels bad about what he did to his friends back then (and he should) but his world has gotten so much bigger since then. That guilt that was once a loud roar is hopefully only a whisper now because he has done the work to understand why he behaved the way he did and has taken strides to be a better version of himself.

So, to all the white, non-queer individuals out there who have been taking Tommy to task for things he did a long time ago, things he's been forgiven of a long time ago, parts of himself that he has made better, ask yourself this one simple question. Why should my guilt (white guilt) be bigger than the forgiveness provided to him by those he offended? Second question I would ask you to ask yourself. Why am I demanding that Tommy actively punish himself and be punished for something he has already been forgiven of? When you answer that question, there is one last question I want you to ask yourself. Why am I feeling guilty and projecting that guilt onto someone else?

Again, I am not excusing any of what Tommy Kinard said or did during that time of his life. I just find it strange that so many of you are condemining him of something he once did when you should be asking yourself, am I actively participating in the oppression of those around me. There's a 99.9% chance you are so maybe focus on your own garden before you start asking others to clean up theirs. Also, for those of you coming at this from the angle of, well we didn't see Hen and Chimney forgive him. So what! Unless you have a camera following you around 24/7, no one will ever get to see you be forgiven of the fucked up stuff you've been doing. Most of all, stop projecting onto fictional characters. It's weird. Okay, those are my thoughts. Do what with them what you wish. As always, these are my opinions.

[undying-love]

Everything that Paul and John's ex-girlfriends/wives have said about them

Cynthia

"John and Paul always had a special link between them, a chemistry that added to the heat."

Linda

"I was just some chick from New York when I walked into all of that. God, if I’d known what I know now…All I could do was sit there watching them [John and Paul] play these games.”

"They loved each other… they were friends, and it was deeper than any of us will ever know".

Yoko

"He [John] did put it that way, he was 'riding on the boat called Paul, and now I'm going to ride on a boat called Yoko." "I knew there was something going on there. From his [John] point of view, not from Paul’s. And he was so angry at Paul, I couldn’t help wondering what it was really about." "I’m sure that if he [Paul] had been a woman or something, he would have been a great threat, because there’s something definitely very strong between John and Paul." "I’m sure that in the case of Paul there’s that feeling that I’m the woman who took away his partner – it’s like a divorce." “I think it was like he was married to Paul. And now he was married to me so it was like a situation that he didn’t feel like he wanted to go back."

Jane

“When I came back after five months, Paul had changed so much. He was on LSD which I hadn’t shared. I was jealous of the spiritual experiences he’d had with John”. She told Ray Connolly that "to Paul, his relationship with John was more important than his relationship with her".

Peggy Lipton

"John didn't like me being there at ALL. He was mean and sarcastic [...] I got the idea that he thought Paul was an idiot to take a girl so seriously he'd actually invite her to dinner, when all he really needed to do was fuck her AFTER dinner."

Francie

"I have no doubt Paul loved John deeply. But as I said on the Westwood One show, he is twice widowed now. His two great loves [John and Linda] are gone." "He wasn't happy. But the big things that were driving him mad were beyond me. He kept on working and writing, but when John came over, all he could talk about was how much he loved Yoko. That disturbed Paul." "That Paul started painting after John's death is no coincidence. That competition, the clash, the ebb and flow of *that* relationship, was so central to Paul's being, the only love that comes close to being a reasonable comparison is his marriage to Linda and the births of his children." "Please remember, Jane Asher was his first great love (after Lennon)." "For a reason to hold a grudge, think about the possibility of this: She [Yoko] took John from him. And she didn't particularly want to share John with his "ex significant other" on certain levels." "Paul hates Yoko for stealing the love of his life away from him. No, not Linda.... John! Paul has never forgiven her for that." "When John and Paul split up (think of them as a couple for a moment) their second mates had to stand by them."

Dot

"Paul hated Stu. It's true that Paul had his eye on Stu's bass, but in fact, he was jealous of Stu, especially of Stu's friendship with John. What's more, Stuart flaunted it. Time and again, he put it under Paul's nose and gave it a scornful swish."

Maggie

“They would bounce off each other. Their perceptions were different. Paul was softer and John sharper but they could change roles. They were so intertwined and so tight on so many different levels."

[throneofsapphics]

the ebb and flow of fate part 3

(part one) (part two) (part four) (part five) (epilogue)

Cazriel x f!Reader

Summary: Then they looked at each other, some sort of silent communication passing before their expressions shifted back to neutral as they turned to examine the surrounding area. As they turned their backs on her, right when she wanted them most. A tear finally dripped down her cheek.

Warnings: injuries, blood, poison, references to past sa, death, angst

Word Count: ~5.2k

A/N: sorry this took so long!

She paced back and forth in her bedroom, wearing a track in the wood. Overreacting. 

How does she fix this?

Wait. She paused. This isn’t her job to fix it. If they’re going to act like misogynistic, overbearing males and blame her for her sexual assault, she’s not going to give them the time of day. If they’re going to blame her for that, they don’t deserve her friendship.. 

Tears filled her eyes, as she turned to gaze at the mirror. Her hair was dull, skin pale, eyes almost … haunted. This wouldn’t do. A few deep breaths later, and she came up with a plan to get her life back. 

You can explain it, a soft feminine voice whispered in her ear. It might have been Azriel who said the words, but she knew Cassian believed them as well. They betrayed her in their own way, and she wouldn’t run to them pleading. 

If they really cared, they’d ask. She replied silently. The voice hummed. 

Her mind came back to Azriel’s threat. Don’t leave Velaris. She could play by his rules for now. Maybe even take a bit of revenge in her own way. 

-

She went out to Rita’s that night, reconnecting with a few of her friends. Lights flashed overhead as they danced, matching each other shot for shot. Thank the mother she has good tolerance. 

That night, she took out a piece of paper and tried to focus her blurred eyes. Play by the rules. 

One male looked at my ass for a secmpd. 

A female tolded me i’m preeeety.

Is that a danermeous situatomn? According two you it isss. 

She frowned down at the sheet. The words were barely legible, but he’d understand them. Play by the rules. A laugh left her as she folded the paper into fours, filled with messy creases. 

She stumbled out of her room, kicking her heels off before she left, still wearing the short and tight dress from earlier in the night. Her feet carried her down the hallway, the world swaying as she walked. 

She heard him, and slid the paper under the door, making her way back to her room as quickly as possible. 

-

Azriel opened the door, spotting a drunk y/n trailing down the hallway, holding onto the wall. He knew she’d gone out, but how much had she drunk? He crouched and picked up the messily folded paper. Her scent combined with alcohol flooded through him. This couldn’t be good. 

He closed his eyes after he read over the words. This is how she’s going to play. He should’ve known. A male looking at her ass. A female telling her she’s pretty. No threats, the bargain mark didn’t prick at him, but she was doing this to make a point. 

“Fucking brat.” He cursed under his breath. 

“Who?” Cassian asked from across the room, crossing to meet him at the door. He wordlessly passed the paper. 

Something between frustration and amusement crossed the other male’s face. “We should frame this.” 

“We’re not exactly on speaking terms with her.” They’d ignored each other for weeks now, and he knew Cassian was aching to speak to her - to clear the air and get back to their tentative friendship. But, she didn’t seem to give a damn. Going out of her way to avoid them, even training with Mor. If she wanted to play that game, he’d gladly participate. 

She’s the one who all but broke their bargain. He doesn’t owe her any apologies. 

Why didn’t you leave? His own words echoed, the broken look in her eyes took over his mind. She knows him well enough to know he didn’t mean that. He wouldn’t need to actually explain that, right? It could open up conversations none of them are ready for. 

Weeks passed, a few more notes - none of which got any kind of reaction from his bargain tattoo. The male had only sent one letter - in response to a strongly worded one sent by Rhysand. A half-assed apology he didn’t let her see. It wasn’t genuine, and maybe she was better off leaving this in the past. Part of him questioned if he should be making those decisions for her, but he was busy enough with work he could push that down. 

-

Two months had passed since the … incident, and she made her way down the hall. It was a day off for her, and she’d spend it out in the city, going through the various markets. Some fresh air would do her good - sun on her skin, and time away from the confines of the library. Her hair had some of its shine returned, her skin not quite as pale as before, and a bit of new life breathed into her eyes. She felt more like herself than she had in months. 

Of course, she still missed the two Illyrians. But - they made zero effort to approach her, and she returned in kind. 

She paused outside of the doorway to her cousin’s office. Three heartbeats. A new shield she’d experimented with hid her sound and presence completely, and their voices escaped into the hallway, clear as day. 

“Why are you avoiding her?” Rhys asked. She should leave, right now. Eavesdropping couldn’t lead to anything good. 

“Avoiding who?” Cassian hedged. 

An exasperated sigh came from Rhys. “Y/n.” 

“We don’t owe her anything. She’s nothing to us.”

Rhys snarled, she felt his power even from here. 

“Azriel,” Cassian said in a warning tone. 

Nothing. She left now. The damage was done. At least she knows exactly where she stands with them. 

In her distraction, the shield dropped and her heavy footsteps echoed as she broke into a run. 

-

Cassian whirled as he heard the footsteps. How had he not detected her approach earlier? Rhys’s power was still rumbling through the room. 

“I didn’t mean that.” Azriel said quietly. But, she was too far gone to hear that. 

“We need to find her.” Cassian fought to ignore the pure dominance rumbling from Rhys - the overwhelming power threatening to bring him to his knees. It abated, slowly. 

“I don’t think she’ll want to see us.” Azriel countered. 

“Tell me what the fuck happened between you.” Rhys all but ordered. 

They exchanged a glance. “You know about the letters.” Rhys nodded. They’d only shown him what she’d hidden and he could put the rest of the pieces together. 

“We … said things we regret.” At least he does, he can’t speak for Azriel. He’d seen her in the kitchen that day, and turned his back on her. There was more that happened Azriel hadn’t told him about. As much as he pushed, he was a stone wall - revealing nothing. 

“Why haven’t you fixed it?” Rhys carefully watched both of them. His brother’s eyes were almost black, and he saw the tentative leash on his power, threatening to break free and destroy anything posing a threat to his family - even if it’s them. 

“She hasn’t made an effort either.” The words came from Cassian. Suddenly, he felt … childish. Holding onto a grudge like this, foregoing friendship and something else that had built. He should’ve been the better person, to go to her and try and get both sides of the story - to let go of a stupid grudge costing him so much. Azriel was still quiet next to him. Rhys didn’t say a word, only studying the two of them. 

“Fix it.” It wasn’t quite an order. “Before it’s past the point of return.” 

Were they already there?

Alarm crossed Rhys’s face, eyes glazing slightly. His hand reached for the knife at his hip. He knew that expression - danger. 

“She left Velaris.” Rhys stood, shoving his chair back. “Find her.” That was an order. 

It had been months since the last threatening letter arrived - but immortals could be patient. A trap could be laying in wait for her, anywhere. Azriel was still trying to sniff out how they had eyes on her movements outside of Velaris.

“Any idea where?” Cassian asked. 

“I’m locked out.” 

He cursed under his breath. 

“I have an idea.” Azriel sighed, as if the situation was a mere annoyance - a fly fluttering around his head. Cassian fought the urge to snarl. 

“Be quick.” The worry in Rhys’s tone set him on edge. Azriel tensed as well, but grabbed on to his arm and winnowed them, traveling through the world through his shadows. 

The sleeping mountains. She’d told them they’d been used for healing in the past, and explored them before as part of her research, he and Azriel in tow occasionally. A pit settled in his stomach. A sense, tugged against his consciousness. One he’d never heard before, a soft and feminine voice pleading; find her. 

-

Clear mountain air filled her lungs as she winnowed to the first place she’d pictured. 

A sparkling, turquoise lake lay before her - dipped beneath two peaks. A lake for healing. One of the few places she could find complete peace. Where her thoughts seemed to float away, worries became insignificant, silence became healing. She settled herself on the edge of the lake, watching the water ripple across, tossing stones once in a while. The dew from the moss soaked into her dress, coating her legs as she kicked them out, resting back on her elbows. The midday sun was a warm glow on her skin, pleasantly heating her body. 

She tilted her chin up towards the sky, breathing in the fresh, clean, nearly untouched air. She let her mind drift, let the sounds of nature around her float in, acknowledged any thoughts - and let them go. 

The temporary peace was bliss, weights lifted off her shoulders - she felt her body calm for the first time in weeks, maybe months. Almost like a drug, she was high on the absence of how her mind went quiet for once. No memories beating against her mind, rattling and tightening her throat. 

Like everything, it was temporary as she heard the beat of wings. Loud in the way he was announcing her presence. The familiar scent hit her a second later, and her jaw clenched. Rhys had set up some way of notifying as she left the city. Boundaries, she needed to set some fucking boundaries.

-

He spotted her, propped up on her forearms - legs stretched out in front of her, the sheath of one knife. One. outlined under her dress. The midday sun set an ethereal glow around her, as if the light itself was drawn to her. Beautiful. She was beautiful, magnetic, and he hated how it drew him in. That wasn’t quite enough to abate his anger as he landed a few feet behind her, the slope set him a few feet above - towering over her prone form. 

“I didn’t know you were this stupid.” Cassian seethed. Any earlier thoughts of mending bridges disappeared. Her fists clenched as she stood, slowly turning to face him, but she didn’t meet his gaze - her eyes moved behind and a ring of white shown around them. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. In the split second, before he could react, a familiar wave of magic, her magic, shoved him to the ground. 

He was rolling, back on his feet - moving. He spotted Azriel landed ahead of him, no doubt his shadows whispering to him. It passed in minutes. Flashes. And it was over. They needed to leave now, the carnage and prisoners tied in front of them could be dealt with later. The archer, now dead, had come from the trees nearly one hundred paces away. 

It took a few seconds for him to realize her magic hadn’t joined the fray. 

-

A pained cry came from behind him and he swirled to see her, the tail of an arrow sticking out of her thigh as she fell to her knees. An arrow meant for his head. A string in his chest tightened, tugged, and his face went slack. 

Look, a voice had whispered. Beyond. Not at Cassian, she knew that. Her eyes scanned the horizon, magic starting to curl under her skin, reacting to a danger she couldn’t see. Treeline - the leaves shifted in the opposite direction of the wind, a small zing - her magic acted on its own, shoving him to the ground as a blur shot through the air. There was no question about it, no chance she could let that happen to him. Not only because he came after her, but she physically couldn’t let harm come to him. 

The ash arrow that would’ve gone through his head, lodged in her thigh. Magic left her at once, an empty stillness left behind. Azriel had landed as well, him and Cassian moving into action faster than she could think. Don’t look don’t look don’t look she chanted to herself, and palmed the knife sheathed on her thigh, a pained noise left her - it had gone right through the fabric and as she moved it she could feel it. Not lodged, directly through her leg. 

A pained and pathetic noise left her as she fell to her knees. The wood was slick, not like blood - something thicker. Hands shaking, she reached her opposite arm across to try and grab the knife - cut the arrow and get whatever the hell it was out. Wrong wrong wrong, her body seemed to scream. 

A hand gripped her wrist, Cassian’s face pale and raw. “Out,” she screamed, “I need it out.” 

“Hang on a second,” he murmured, examining it. Her body was barely holding her up, but if she fell backwards it would only push it further into her - push whatever was coating it around into her bloodstream.  Azriel was there as well, shadows swirled around her wound, examining. Two shields had surrounded her, tinted blue and red. 

Magic ripped shredded through them like paper. She knew exactly who that was, it sung to her like a familiar sound - echoing the magic she normally could reach. 

Her sister shoved Cassian out of the way, falling to her knees in front of her.

She bit the inside of her cheek harshly enough she tasted blood. 

Azriel’s hazel eyes met hers as he stood behind her sister. Something like grief, pain, and a hint of anger flooded through them. The normal cold mask had disappeared, replaced by raw emotion she’d rarely seen from him. He staggered a step back - his eyes going wide, pupils blowing. His expression mirrored Cassian’s from before. Then they looked at each other, some sort of silent communication passing before their expressions shifted back to neutral as they turned to examine the surrounding area. As they turned their backs on her, right when she wanted them most. 

A tear finally dripped down her cheek. . 

They turned their backs, again. That pain was more than the physical. That pain struck deep into her soul. He’d meant his words. If a friend was so easily discarded, were they friends in the first place? She was nothing to them, just as he’d said. At least she knows exactly where she stands with them now. The air is cleared. 

Mor’s frown followed her gaze - right at the two Illyrians, undoubtedly seeing the tears filling her eyes. She turned to her sister and saw the questioning look on the blonde’s face. She shook her head. Not here, not now, not ever. The last few months proved she didn’t need them. Want is different than need, and want she can overcome. As soon as she was well, she’d drag her sister back in the training ring. Luck or fate had him there in the nick of time, but she couldn’t rely on that. 

Mor had cut through part of the arrow with her magic - her hand now reaching to slide the arrow out, instinct guided her and she snatched Mor’s wrist. 

“Don’t touch it,” she snarled. 

“It needs to come out,” She replied, expression cautious. Gods, she wants it out … but a sense, something tickling at the back of her neck, tells her it’s a bad idea. 

“Pois-” she tried to force air into her lungs, tried to override the panic, but her sister's eyes had widened in understanding. Had the arrow been intended for her? Or designed to down whoever was in her path? 

“Just nod or shake your head,” Mor said softly. “Can you feel your magic?” 

A shake of her head. Mor’s mouth tightened and a small shield surrounded the wound - even as her sister’s magic seemed to recoil against it.

-

Cassian had to turn away from her, had to dig up every semblance of self control he could muster. The bond snapped for him and Azriel at the same moment - but he could see it in her eyes, it hadn’t for her. If he didn’t turn away right then, he would’ve done something abnormally stupid. Maybe Mor knew, because a shield had thrown up around the two of them, blocking out all sound and access. It’s likely Rhys was the only person who could break that down, or tear it away. Sometimes he forgot just how much power Mor has, of what the female was capable of. 

Rhys winnowed in, with a few quiet words he’d explained what he saw. Azriel stood next to them, one eye on the males still unconscious and bound a few paces away. They turned back in time to feel Mor’s shield drop. She met their eyes - and he could read the panic as clear as day. Her brown eyes glazed for a moment, before she winnowed out. 

“What?” He demanded. Rhys paused. Azriel had gone stiff next to him. 

“Some kind of poison.” He said under his breath and winnowed. Take care of this. House of Wind he spoke into their minds. Another clear order. 

-

She awoke to her sister pacing at the foot of the bed, burning a hole in her carpet. Y/n was laid on her side, arrow still poking from her thigh. 

“Don’t touch it.” Mor said, spotting her hand reaching for it. She withdrew it quickly, tucking her hand up into her chest. 

Normally, her sister's anxiety would increase her panic, but this time she calmed, like she needed to be the strong one now. Rhys came back with Madja, and she forced herself, promised herself she would keep her mind steady and centered. The lack of magic felt like a missing limb. 

The healer hovered over her, magic running different diagnostics as she asked questions she could barely answer. Mor explained what she could, still moving back and forth. 

“Good call.” Madja said to y/n, “keeping it in place.” She smiled weakly at the praise. 

“Getting the poison,” Rhys flinched at the word. Madja hadn’t explained exactly what it was yet, and probably for good reason, “is going to hurt.” Like hell. Her eyes had a silent question, do you want them here? She gave a slight shake of her head. 

Madja turned to them. “Both of you out. Keep a shield around here. Do not enter until I say so.” Their faces tightened, but they didn’t dare question her, only shooting a nervous glance to y/n. She nodded at them, looking more confident than she felt. 

“I can’t use any pain relief,” Madja talked her through it. She had spent hours watching the healer before. “I don’t know how it will interact.” 

“Do you know what it is?” her voice was hoarse and each word hurt like hell. Madja’s silence was an answer enough. She handed her a piece of leather. Y/n steeled herself, and dug her teeth into it. 

Her voice was hoarse from screaming by the end - like whatever it was was fighting to stay inside and she felt each droplet leaving, but the healer said she could only get what was clinging to the arrow, what was still clenched to her muscle. Anything in the bloodstream would have to come out the natural way. She’d moved quickly to get it inside a vial - out of the air and before it could make contact with anything. Because of that, it had to go slowly, in all it took around an hour. 

“Now the easy part,” she gave her a reassuring smile and yanked the arrow out before she could protest. Her teeth clenched, but soothing magic ran through the wound, stitching it back together. After what felt like an eternity, she helped her move to sit. Rhys must’ve asked her mind-to-mind, because the door swung back open the second she was situated.

Then - more diagnostics, more notes scribbled in between. Madja’s face was too neutral. 

“What was it?” Mor asked. 

“Bloodbane.” The two winced, although she knew they suspected it. She did, for certain, given she couldn’t feel her magic still. 

“How long?” Y/n asked. 

Madja clicked her tongue. “One week at least. It was a heavy dose,” she shot her a tight glance. “Once it wears off, you’ll need to be cautious. Your magic will come back in a flood.” 

“We’ll take necessary precautions.” Rhys assured her. 

She winced as pain echoed up her thigh, radiating through her body, and waited for the other shoe to drop.  Madja clocked her movement, and slowly added, “there was a small trace of modified hemlock.” 

Silence filled the room, and she could’ve sworn the temperature dropped. Modified? Madja, if she was unnerved, didn’t show it. Hemlock could kill in the right amount. “With the dose and the alterations, you can expect to feel sharp pains, perhaps just in your leg or body. Luckily it wasn’t a full dose.” Luckily. She supposed Madja was right - compared to the normal symptoms of that particular poison, she’d be grateful if that’s all she experienced.  

“What can you give her, for it?” Mor asked. 

From the brief studying she’d done on healing, and the books she’d read - y/n already knew the answer. “Nothing.” 

Madja sent her an approving nod. “We won’t risk any interactions. Nothing for the pain, no drugs, no alcohol.” Maybe this was the Mother’s way of scolding her - of calling her a dumbass. 

Madja clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Try to keep activity to a minimum. Drink plenty of water, let it run its course. I’ll come by twice a day for the first week.” 

She grimaced. If Madja’s insisting on coming twice a day. She’d be lucky if any of them let her leave the bed. 

The healer gathered her supplies and began to take her leave, Rhys walking her out. 

-

Azriel had escorted the leftover soldiers to Hewn City as he flew back to Velaris. Flying faster than he ever had, he realized - like the winds were adapting around him, encouraging him to move faster - faster. 

He landed on the balcony, Az a second behind him. “She didn’t …” his words trailed off, seeking confirmation. He shook his head. Maybe it was the ash arrow, blocking her magic and keeping her from realizing. 

“No.” He responded quietly. “She didn’t.” 

“Do we tell her?” Gods he’d thought about finding his mate before, thought about it a lot over the decades - they all had. He supposed it was some primal instinct in him, always searching for that connection. As soon as she’d taken the arrow for him, her magic working instinctively, he confirmed his suspicion. But, suspecting and feeling it snap were two very different things. 

“Not now.” 

Madja and Rhys’s conversation drifted through the open doors. 

“Keep a close eye on her,” she was telling Rhys, intending for the two of them to overhear. He noticed Azriel’s shadows swirling around him. “The Fae Bane,” he shuddered, “is significant. One week is the minimum.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“I don’t know exactly how they modified the hemlock.” His fists clenched, some of that deadly rage returning. “But the intention is pain without permanent physical damage. Expect sharp pains, depression, nightmares, and possibly hallucinations.” 

“We won’t leave her alone.” Rhys promised her. 

She gave a nod. “No alcohol, drugs of any kind, tonics, or pain relief of any kind. Even if she begs for it.” 

Begs? Would she be in that much misery? His chest tightened. As mad as he might still be at her, the thought of her in agony is worse. 

“Understood.” He replied, as if he’d heard this before. Maybe Madja was sharing it for their knowledge too. 

“I’ll keep looking into it. I’ll be back in the morning” Her careful eyes fixed on them, nostrils flaring. “I need a word with these two.” She fixed a look at Rhys, who gave a quick bow and strode back inside, not bothering to look at them. 

“I’ll keep your secret,” Madja murmured quietly as they approached her. She’d scented the bond - on them? Or y/n as well? Nothing flew past her. “I’ll trust you two to take care of her. She won’t be herself.” Her words felt like a warning and a plea. 

“We will.” Azriel answered, in that cool and voice of his. Cassian was nearly trembling with built up anger and those protective instincts - ready to tear apart the entire house, kill any threat - perceived or real. “Tell me everything, please.” Azriel said mildly.

Madja, of course, picked up on it too - and gave them all of the details she could; in layman’s terms. Depression, nightmares, pain. He picked up on those three - the ones she put the most emphasis on. And instructed them to hide anything that might slow down the healing process. Although, he got the distinct sense the house might do some of that work for them. 

She left them with one final word of caution; “I cannot guarantee how much she will remember - if anything.” 

Rhys, as if sensing the end of the conversation, strode back through the doors. “I’ll take you back,” he said to the healer. 

-

Minutes later, Rhys returned looking drained. “I’m sure Madja explained everything to you.” In more detail than he could know. “I’m not going to force you to babysit her, but your assistance would be appreciated.” 

“She doesn’t need a babysitter.” Cassian countered. Azriel noticed with a hint of amusement that he’d bristled and come to y/n’s defense. 

Rhys only raised his brow, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. Azriel, so far, had refused to process just how close they came to losing her. That’s something he could think about later. “For the next week or so, she does. We can’t leave her alone.” Azriel read through that; he’s terrified of what might happen if they do. 

“I’ll keep eyes on her,” Azriel said with a soft menace. Like hell he’d let anything hurt his … his and Cassian’s mate. Even herself. Even if he still was pissed at her. He kept the neutral mask firmly in place, but part of him felt a bit ashamed at the relief in Rhys’s eyes. He’d harbored some doubt they would help. 

“We’ll work things out.” A rotation, he figured. They all still had jobs to do, duties they had to keep. Rhys or Mor would tell the priestesses she would be off for the next few weeks. Perhaps she could bring some work for her to do here, if she had any moments of lucidity. 

Gods, he had no idea what to expect - and that put him on edge more that he’d let on. Azriel worked on knowing everything, that was his nature. 

“Can anyone else help?” Cassian asked, but he could sense the doubt in his voice. 

“I don’t trust anyone else. Except Amren.” Something pricked the back of Azriel’s neck. He knew Amren wouldn’t harm her, but something about her always made him uneasy. 

Madja hadn’t oversold the side effects. Not at all. When they entered the room, minutes after their conversation with Rhys. Mor was already wiping a wet cloth against y/n’s forehead. 

Pale and wan skin, fists clenched and eyes squeezed as her leg seized. The scar was red and angry. A contrast against the rest of her skin, marring the otherwise untouched flesh. Reflexively, he looked at his own hands. Cassian, putting on a much better show than him, sauntered up to Mor and snatched the cloth from her, nudging the female out of the way. Her eyes dug into his back, but she promised y/n she’d be back later, shooting each of them a warning glance. 

-

They had the gods-damned audacity to show up, acting like everything is perfectly normal. Like they hadn’t torn her soul in half this morning. The day had been too much. So much happening in such a short amount of time, maybe two hours if that. Words, words were too difficult as she clenched her eyes shut - a pain, one she wasn’t sure was phantom or real - ripping through her thigh. 

A gentle hand ran a wet cloth over her forehead, she hadn’t realized she was panting. The bed dipped, and she blinked her eyes open to see Cassian sitting next to her. Worry radiated through his features. Where she could usually feel his or Azriel’s emotions … nothing. Maybe a side effect of her magic disappearing. 

“Talking can wait until you’re feeling better.” He offered. An olive branch. She didn’t want it, so she turned her head away from him. One finger gently pressed against her cheek, dragging her attention back to him - frowning. “If you’d rather talk now, we can.” 

-

She slapped his hand away, gritting her teeth through the pain to cross her arms over her chest. “Why bother?” Her voice was bitter. “I’m nothing to you.” 

Did they both say it in Rhys’s office? She couldn’t remember clearly. Everything was blending together, memories blurring in and out. 

He blinked twice. “That’s not true.” Her eyes slid to Azriel, and he gave a short nod. There was some sort of emotion in his eyes, one she couldn’t read. That pissed her off more. 

“It doesn’t matter.” She muttered. Not now, she told herself. It’s not something she can talk about now. There’s too much to process. What happened earlier … 

“You’re not in your right mind.” Azriel cut in. Her jaw dropped and her eyes rolled. “Why did you go off on your own?” His voice almost sounded pained. Cassian cut him a sharp look, hissing in warning. 

“I’m a free female.” 

“Nearly a dead one. If we hadn’t been there - the arrow still would’ve hit you, and you’d be gone.” Maybe he learned something from the soldiers already. Did he forget she saved Cassian? Well, he wouldn’t have needed saving if she hadn’t left. Her head shook, those thoughts were useless. 

“Not the time Az,” Cassian snarled, standing abruptly and shoving him towards the door. Azriel’s shoulders tightened, and he strode out the door, shutting it softly behind him. Uncomfortable silence filled the room. 

“You should sleep.” He finally said. 

“Then leave.” 

He let out a low edged chuckle. “I wish, but you’re stuck with me princess.” I wish. The words had the effect he wanted and she willed the tears away as she turned on her side, facing away from him. This might be the most miserable week of her life.

taglist: @infinitely-kate @foreverrandomwritings @anuttellaa @morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog @justasillylittlegoofyguy @starswholistenanddreamsanswered

[capquinn]

「 ✦ CAPQUINN’S NAVIGATION ✦ 」

ᯓ★ aimes | she/her | victim of canucks hockey | quinny daydreamer

⋆₊⊹ Fics, Oneshots & Drabbles ⊹₊ ⋆

✧ Twenty-five | Q. Hughes 1.4k / fluff Celebrating the birthday boy... ✧ Two Hearts 8.3k / angst / lovers to exes You and Quinn drift apart, only to be drawn back together, held by a quiet, unspoken pull that lingers even after the breakup. It’s a constant ebb and flow, where the pain of separation and the comfort of reunion blur together, making it hard to truly let go. ✧ In Between | Q. Hughes 4.9k / best friends to lovers Your friendship with Quinn is slowly transforming. There is an unspoken tension and feelings that simmer beneath the surface, keeping you on the edge of friendship and something more. The in-between is where you both linger, uncertain yet drawn to each other. ✧ Sunday | Q. Hughes 1k / fluff A lazy Sunday morning... ✧ Couldn't Tell | Q. Hughes 1.6k / friends to lovers / angsty-ish The relationship between you and Quinn is difficult to define. Friends and something more but you can’t be sure. Sidestepping the issue only prolongs the loop where the potential for something real stays just out of reach until one of you addresses it head on. ✧ Homeward | Q. Hughes 3.5k / 3 times + 1 / fluff Quinn has always been a family guy so it hadn’t been a total surprise when he first mentioned his desire for one of his own one day. ✧ A Closeness ¹⁸⁺ | Q. Hughes 3k / smut / fluff The post-season has arrived and so has summer, and the lake house has never felt smaller. Private moments become something of the past. But after longing touches here and gentle caresses there, Quinn seizes an opportunity. ✧ Still The Same | Q. Hughes 1k / fluff It’s the day after the Canucks Stanley Cup elimination and Quinn doesn’t want to think about it at all. ✧ Under Red Skies | Q. Hughes 1k / angst / best friends to lovers After a fight with your ex-boyfriend, you find yourself in the arms of the one person you know will always have you.

⋆₊⊹ Other ⊹₊ ⋆

✧ hockey fic recs ✧ capquinn chats ✧ capquinn lb

𓂃 ⭑ Requests are open ⭑𓂃

[rebka18]

~Rebka´s SERIREI Fic Masterlist~

Heya,i had this on the works for a long time,after years of recopilation and reading the hole tagg,heres one of my most faves serirei fics,hope yall like it.

Fluff Fics

Try by hmmeid

Astray by 3kanite

Crazy isint it? by onigirikita

Walk in by ruthwrites

Warmth by MMidnight26

Promt-a-palooza by tinkertoysdamm

serirei Fluff collection by skeilig

heartline by ruthwrites

unsaid by shamusiel

Little Things by scorbubby

Pink smoke by anonymus

Communication by tinkertoysdamm

ebb and flow by LucoLoco

Broken,repaired,new by GalacticConfectionist

Ice Ice Baby by BinaryDreams1010

Omamori by oohbrother

Any other day by Toyota_truck_month

300 paper cranes by SoHoldmetight

~Important~ by avividshadeofblue

Reigen arataka:lightweight of the 21st century by seriseppo

My MP100Oneshot Collection by anna_wd

Sometimes thats better by pearlygloom

Collect Call by SinKingSims

I've(Mostly) got it under control by LucoLoco

In the woods by MallowJum

Fathers day ,or free day by Soholdmetight

Reigen's Comprehensive Fool-Proof Guide on How Not To Be Next Door Neighbors With Your Employee (because that'd just be creepy) by Malkytop

Angst (disclaimer they all have happy ending)

Mr Brightside by tinkertoysdamm

Worth having around by azuresquirrel

Round and Round by Phia

two truths and a lie(but its all the same) by BinaryDreams1010

As if Possessed by avividshadeofblue

Past to Present by Approachingthedogpark

nice to go un-unnoticed by Binary Dreams1010

Old friend/New friend by silversinger

pay no attention to the man behind the curtain by Binary Dreams1010

Melodrama is Overrated by tinkertoysdamm

Speak Now by Phia

After the Storm by fallenmoon

Surface Tension by crookedturtle, fend

The final curtain by ketyamine

bloom by cursedwrum

The Pariah Convention by word_dissosiation

retreading paths we'ev walked before by dytabytes

The space Between by Skeilig

A heart like yours by Yessica

Is that better by SoHoldmetight

I wanna ruin our friendship by Skeilig

To Travel by Janekfan

Growth by manfish

in absentia by Malkytop

Tension by Ace_in_the_hole

Sir,thats my emotional support commoner by Thousand_springs

Aus

The Big Woo by tinkertoysdamm

You tickle my cat fancy by tinkertoysdamm

Of Kings and Men by Jadespade

You're still young,thats your fault by tinkertoysdamm

Serizawa-centric

Closing time by tinkertoysdamm

Guarddog by tinkertoysdamm

Out of body by bobmos

Castle by the sea by missydogblog

After today by 3kanite

light breaks where no sun shines by crepusculaire

Reigen-centric

The most beautifull moments in life by drembla

Refrain Boy by Scorbubby

Case fics

Do you count as missing if no one is looking? by BinaryDreams1010

What we make by crookedturtle

Like a Cheap suit,You can Wear me out by Vulcanodon

Goverment Mandated Babbysitting by Aproachingthedoggpark

Series Fics(disclaimer some contain NSFW so readers discretion is adviced only 18+ pls,the fics are all properlly tagged to)

The truth about Arataka Reigen by luvrboywrites

Severed Bonds by Liarian

Wrapped around my soul by Traumatas

A conmans guide to relationship and dating by Silversinger

When the flower Blooms by snapdragonsuplex

Rainbow Medium by BinaryDreams1010

Evicted by janekfan

Soul!Reigen by BinaryDreams1010

[loremaster]

happy birthday to the guy i've been drawing nonstop for the past several months - here's proof!!! he's a lot of fun to draw!

vivia is also a very important character to me for very personal reasons... (cw: family death)

it didn't take long for me to realize he was gonna be my favorite character in the game - seeing him lounging in places he shouldn't be cracked me up, and so did his morbid catchphrase... i totally related to his autistic tendencies, and his eagerness to dwell on depressing philosophical thoughts. i especially love and relate to his love for literature and literary analysis, especially because my eighth grade english teacher was my dad, who introduced me to so many of what are now my favorite books, and showed me how to look closer into what makes them so good. his story structure classes were unforgettable.

my dad passed away in 2020 and i've been going through fluctuating stages of grief since. it ebbs and flows but never really leaves. a lot of my art and stories from the past 3+ years have been ways to process and try to heal from that trauma (especially my pokemon sword nuzlocke comic, which i'm hoping to finish this summer)

so seeing the strange way vivia deals with death - in general, and the death of a loved one - fascinated me and destroyed me. i've spent many nights curled up in bed sobbing myself to sleep thinking about the heartbreak he goes through in the story, the regrets, the destructive cycle of grief, the depths of the emotions he feels in such a unique way (he's so desensitized he never cries once in the whole game!) and the ways he is able to start to grow and heal from it afterwards.

exploring the queer romantic angle of vivia's character arc is also so so so important to me, not only because i'm a queer person who's wanted to tell queer stories since i was a teen, but because my dad was also a queer person, who didn't get to come out as bisexual until the tail end of his too-short life. i know he connected to a lot of the same Boys In Love stories that I did, and i wish we'd had the opportunity to explore that common ground further. but since i can't, all i can do is the next best thing - making art about it and inspired by it. i think my dad would really like vivia and the stories i've been trying to tell about him. (harold and maude was one of his favorite movies - and if you're a vivia fan and you've never seen it GO WATCH IT RIGHT NOW. suicidal teen forms an unlikely friendship with a cheerful old lady. you will cry your eyes out. you will want to LIVE)

so, i guess... thanks kodaka for making this specific character that spoke so deeply to me at this specific time in my life and letting me use him as a vehicle to process my own grief in the gayest ways possible. and happy birthday veeva <3

[brooklynn3253]

Unspoken Signals

It was a crisp autumn morning when I first felt the flicker of something different inside of me. I chalked it up to the change of seasons, the way the sunlight filtered through the remnants of summer, or perhaps even to the pumpkin spice latte I had sipped on my way to work. But something nagged at the back of my mind, whispering that it was more than just the familiar ebb and flow of life in New York City.

I worked as a graphic designer, immersed in deadlines and coffee breaks, but my mind kept drifting to thoughts of him—Bucky Barnes. His laughter echoed in my ears, his deep voice sending shivers down my spine. Seeing him was a privilege, and to be close to the legendary Winter Soldier—the man who had fought epic battles and suffered immeasurable pain—was nothing short of surreal.

Our relationship grew from friendship to something more over time, shaded with the brushstrokes of untold stories and midnight rendezvous. There was an ease when we were together, a safe harbor amidst chaos, but I never imagined it would lead to something as life-altering as… well, this.

I remember that day with clarity. Bucky surprised me with lunch at my office, his deep blue eyes sparkling with mischief. As he sat across from me, stealing bites of my sandwich, I caught the faintest hint of tension in his body language, a cue I instinctively grasped despite my distraction. He was not alone in his thoughts; there was something brewing just beneath the surface.

“Is everything alright?” I asked, my brows knitting together.

“Yeah. Just thinking,” he replied, his smile faltering slightly. I wanted to push further, but the moment passed, replaced by laughter and banter. Still, I felt that something was off, gnawing relentlessly in the back of my mind.

Days turned into weeks, and I found myself enveloped in an unseen torrent of changes. My mornings began with waves of nausea that rendered breakfast impossible, and my body felt more sensitive than usual. I even found myself craving foods I had once loathed. I hadn’t even considered that I might be pregnant. Life was chaotic, and my brain was too occupied to notice the obvious.

Bucky, however, was anything but oblivious. He had always possessed an otherworldly awareness, an attunement to the nuances of the world around him, honed by the super-soldier serum coursing through his veins.

It happened one evening when I was cooking dinner—chopping vegetables, the scent of sautéing garlic filling the air—when I heard the door creak open.

“Hey, Buck!” I called out, hardly able to conceal my delight. He stepped into the kitchen, and for a moment, everything else faded away.

He inhaled deeply, his expression changing almost instantly. A kind of restrained intensity flooded his features, and the jovial vibe vanished.

“Your... scent,” he muttered, a frown pulling at his lips. “It’s different.”

I froze, the knife in my hand tremoring ever so slightly. “Different?”

The silence thickened, crackling between us. He turned sharply, as if battling an enemy I couldn’t see.

“Y/N, I—” he began, his voice trailing off. “I think you might be pregnant.”

I blinked at him, the words landing like pebbles in still water, sending ripples of disbelief coursing through me. “What? How do you know?”

His eyes darkened, and he took a step closer. “Your pheromones... are elevated. The serum gives me an edge when it comes to detecting subtle changes.” He hesitated, searching my face for some sign of understanding. “I—”

The world spun around me as the realization dawned. The food aversions, the nausea, those sudden cravings… Could it be true? A rush of emotions swelled inside me—joy, fear, wonder, and a kind of panic that tangled together in a dizzying ballet.

“What if you’re right?” I whispered, the question heavy in the air.

Bucky took my hands, grounding me with his warmth. “Then we’ll figure it out together. No matter what,” he reassured, his brows furrowing with determination.

I felt the warmth of his touch course through me, and suddenly, all the doubts began to melt away. I had always believed we could weather any storm, together. Perhaps this was our next adventure—a journey into the unknown.

With a surge of courage, I nodded, a determined smile breaking free despite the tumult within. “Let’s go get a test.”

Hours later, standing in the small bathroom, I leaned against the cool tiles, the pregnancy test in my hand. Bucky stood behind me, uncharacteristically quiet, his presence a silent support as I watched the little window fill with color.

“Come on…” I breathed, the seconds stretching into eternity. When the results finally appeared, the world around me faded into a blur. Two lines glared back at me, unwavering, as the surge of realization crashed over me like a tidal wave.

“I’m pregnant,” I blurted, hardly able to believe the words that fled my lips.

Bucky's face broke into the widest smile, a grin that lit up the room. He wrapped his arms around me, lifting me off the ground and spinning me around as though we were dancing in a quiet dream. “This is amazing! We’re going to be parents!”

I laughed, tears of joy spilling over as he set me back down. We stood there, lost in the enormity of it all, his strong hands still resting on my waist, grounding me in the present.

“I never considered this,” I admitted softly, gazing up at his handsome face.

“Neither did I,” he replied, a hint of vulnerability breaking through his bravado. “But it’s also the greatest thing we could have ever hoped for.”

As we stood together in that little bathroom, I realized that while life would never be the same, we were not alone in this journey. With Bucky by my side, I was ready to embrace the future—uncertainties and all—with open arms.

And so, our story continued, one filled with love, laughter, and the promise of a new adventure we never saw coming, yet desperately wanted to cherish. Together, we were ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

[helslastangel]

Compatibility Observations 》

Capricorn Moon

Disclaimer: This is based on my own experiences as a pansexual Capricorn moon woman and won't resonate for everyone. If it doesn't apply, let it fly 🪽

Willow Smith has Moon in Capricorn ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

with cardinal signs

°☆ Cancer moon x Capricorn moon

Closest BFFs or friends to lovers. This pairing provides security and protection to one while injecting warmth and comfort into the other. Onlookers often become jealous of the ride-or-die dynamic between this pair and will try to drive a wedge between them. They may grow apart and become distant over time if either one becomes emotionally unhealthy and selfish towards to other. Otherwise, the only thing that will separate these two is betrayal, which Cancer Moon especially cannot tolerate or forgive.

°☆ Libra moon x Capricorn moon

This pairing often begins and ends with a big question mark on both sides. These are the on-and-off friends who are always drawn to each other, only to remember once again why they drifted apart the last time. Initially, one is comforted by the proactive and stable energy of the other, who enjoys their pleasant and balanced approach to life and conversation. But over time, they can come to take each other's qualities for granted and become annoyed by their differences instead, most notably their values. One finds security and fulfillment in their relationships, while the other finds it in work and accomplishment. This isn't so bad in friendship as they can simply allow the friendship to ebb and flow naturally. However, in a relationship, these two easily become a couple where one is always angry at the other, either for working too much or going out/socializing too often.

°☆ Aries moon x Capricorn moon

Unlikely friends or enemies to lovers. This pairing can provide stability and structure to one while injecting excitement and variety into the life of the other. Their dynamic can seem confusing to people who don't know them, as they may roast or banter with each other quite aggressively. While this pairing can and often does last a very long time, it's not uncommon for the connection to end as abruptly as it started.

°☆ Capricorn moon x Capricorn moon

Perhaps unsurprisingly, this pairing can go either way. On the bright side, they will understand each other completely, even if they don't agree on day-to-day matters or have the same interests. Theirs is the finish-each-others-sentences kind of friendship or relationship. On the downside, it's easy for either one to become too comfortable and stop listening to or truly seeing the other, making the assumption that they "already know what they're thinking." Even if they did, not having any points of challenge or disagreement can suck the passion out of things and lead to an overly predictable dynamic. For some people, this is ideal, so overall, a friendship or relationship between these two will have "twinsies" energy and may be known for acting alike.

with fixed signs

°☆ Scorpio moon x Capricorn moon

This pairing can be deep and uplifting or baffling and irritable, depending on the composition of the rest of the natal charts. Both are similarly intense people who express that intensity in completely different ways. Both are protective, but one is prone to possessiveness and codependency, while the other is generally detached and prone to keeping others at arm's length. A friendship between these two may be consistent for a time before ending abruptly, or last forever, though marked by frequent periods of low/no contact between clashes.

°☆ Leo moon x Capricorn moon

This pairing has the same energy as the class president and the class valedictorian getting together, for better or worse. Usually for the better, though. One is warm and sociable, the other cool and collected. One knows how to work their way around a room, the other knows how to keep the room from falling apart. Now, these two have an interesting relationship in the sense that they want similar things in life, but in different ways and sometimes for different reasons. Whether they are friends or lovers, they can usually agree on the destination but might have completely different ideas of how to get there. Also, they can fall short of each other's expectations on an emotional level if neither is willing to consider the other's perspective. If one can lighten up and learn to be less pessimistic, and the other can learn to not always turn a blind eye to unpleasant realities, these two can complement each other quite nicely and are often really good hosts too.

°☆ Aquarius moon x Capricorn moon

Genuine friendship is not impossible with this pairing, but it is not so common. Both seek a certain level of warmth and compassion from their connections that they are unlikely to find in each other (unless there is counterbalancing synastry. Although they might stay in touch for intellectual stimulation or relief from the emotional demands of their other friends, they might not enjoy each other's company too often or for long periods of time.

°☆ Taurus moon x Capricorn moon

Can you say "IT" couple? This pairing is classic relationship goals. These are the two who everyone just knew belonged together from day one. One is a creature of habit; one of those habits being to make life pleasant and comfortable as possible, and not being afraid to work hard to get that. The other thrives on feeling secure and having their shit together, and respects hard work just as much as they enjoy it. Like any pairing, they can have their issues, such as becoming too comfortable far too quickly and losing all the passion that was present in the beginning of the connection, due to a lack of challenge to keep either one on their toes. This is more of a problem for couples, but even friendships of this pairing can suffer from a lack of excitement and growth. One thing about this pairing though: don't get in the way of them making their money.

with mutable signs

°☆ Virgo moon x Capricorn moon

Instant friends and/or love at first sight. This pairing often feels like they've known each other for their whole lives, or perhaps from a past life. Both value security and stability, and tend to show affection in subtle ways that might go overlooked and underappreciated by most other signs. They are often together for life, as best friends or as partners, unless some unfortunate circumstances or betrayal cause them to part ways.

°☆ Sagittarius moon x Capricorn moon

Opposites attract could explain how this connection starts in the first place, but these two often become frenemies or fwbs who don't like each other. One is highly optimistic and would rather take a chance and hope for a good outcome. The other is realistic at best and pessimistic at worst, unlikely to take any more risk than necessary, and tends to expect the worst. While they can transcend these differences by blending their styles into a third, more balanced approach to life, the truth is that one probably won't sit still long enough to even have that conversation and the other can be exceptionally stubborn.

°☆ Pisces moon x Capricorn moon

A true wildcard pairing. Usually for the best, as one is an aggressively soothing, healing presence and the other is a strong, yet gentle, safe place. These are the friends or lovers who never knew how much they really needed each other until they were in too deep to ever think of turning back. Pisces reminds Capricorn to step away from all the to-do lists and just smell the roses now and then; Capricorn reminds Pisces that while the roses will still be there tomorrow, the light bill is due today. If each one is willing to see the value in the other's point of view, this pairing can be one of the most beautiful for marriage or platonic soulmates.

°☆ Gemini moon x Capricorn moon

In theory, this should be a golden duo, at least for friendship. One is imaginative and full of ideas, the other is practical and likes to build. It's perfect on paper, but in practice, this pairing takes on a parent-child dynamic very quickly. One sees the other as an overgrown child, and who in turn thinks of them as a fossil in a young body. Though they genuinely enjoy each other's insights and can have great conversations, to remain friends or progress to lovers, they would need to accept that while they both like to play, one wants every day to be a never-ending game, and the other wants to play when work is done. They can work out, but it will take some effort for these two not to end up resenting each other and looking for understanding elsewhere.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

↤ go back to the masterlist

[moorishflower]

Eating Out (Dream/trans!Hob Explicit)

i heard we were writing trans Dreamling and then I saw that one ask someone sent @gabessquishytum and I blacked out for a few hours and woke up with this on my desktop please enjoy

Contains: FtM Hob Gadling, public sex, oral sex, free use/multiple partners, voyeurism, multiple orgasms, scent kink, hair kink, little bit of eldritch Dream as a treat

The club is almost violently loud, and the instant that Dream materialises within it he wishes to leave.

He could. There is nothing holding him here. Not even his new agreement with Hob Gadling, that they meet twice a month, holds sway here – they have already held their pre-arranged meetings for December, have 'caught up' with each other, as Hob calls it, though Dream always feels as though he has nothing to contribute. He tells Hob about the unceasing tedium of ruling a kingdom, of settling disputes between his creations, of shoring up the defences of the Dreaming such that it will be prepared for any onslaught, and it is all the same, always the same things over and over again for aeons, but Hob leans towards him and listens with the most fascinated air. He asks questions. He is interested.

Dream would much rather hear about Hob's life. His many lives, in fact, within the last two centuries. It seems as though Hob is always doing something: viewing art with noted professors on the subject, or attending poetry readings, or assisting in the building of various installations of a political nature at protests, or organising a play put on by trans youth from local universities. In this century he is highly invested in matters regarding gender and sexuality – which Dream supposes makes sense. His own gender would have been considered at best a novelty in his own time, and at worst an affront to God. These days, however, he lives openly and freely as the man he has always known himself to be.

It is all of these things, and more, that are the reasons why he is here tonight. The Dreaming is stable at last – there are no pressing matters for him to attend to this eve – but he is shortly expected to meet with Lucifer in order to renegotiate their ancient treaty of tentative peace, and he is, as Hob would say, not looking forward to it. He is, in fact, dreading the experience. He is certain that Lucifer has neither forgotten nor forgiven his brief foray into Hell when he retrieved his helm, and the humiliation they were forced to endure at his hand. He will freely admit that he was. Not as gracious. As he could have been, upon his triumph.

He does not want to think about it. And so he is here, looking for Hob Gadling.

It occurs to him, however, as he watches the ebb and flow of people around him, that Hob may not wish to be found this night. He had assumed, when he'd reached for Hob's presence in the Waking and drew himself towards it, that he would appear in Hob's flat above the New Inn. That is where he is most often to be found, this time of night, unless he has prior engagements.

This club, though...it is of a distinctly sexual nature. Its patrons dressed in leather and latex, and some dressed in almost nothing at all. There are sheltered alcoves with faux-leather seats where two or three or more humans whisper quietly to each other, and kiss, and touch sensuously; there are other stations that Dream recognises, but only from dreams: a St. Andrew's Cross, a whipping post, a wooden bench over which a young man bends while a woman dressed entirely in white lace strikes him with a thin crop, raising fine red weals on the pale skin.

Perhaps he ought to leave. If Hob is here to procure a partner for the evening, then it is no business of Dream's.

Except.

Except the thought makes him. Unhappy.

He examines this realisation with detached interest, because he knows if he allows himself to become invested in the idea there will be no going back. Hob is his friend. They have known each other for over six-hundred years. He does not want to ruin their friendship, burgeoning as it currently is.

Neither does he wish for Hob to be here, seeking something that he believes Dream cannot provide for him.

Is that the crux of it? The source of his displeasure? Hob has come here, seeking fulfilment, instead of seeking out Dream? He would have no reason to approach Dream. Their friendship has never had a sexual component.

Although.

He remembers the way Hob had looked at him in 1589, so proud of the largess he had provided, eager for Dream's approval. He remembers the slow up and down glance of 1389 when he had approached Hob's table, when he had still been a beardless ruffian, binding his chest with scraps of wool. He remembers, in 1789, how Hob had looked at him, how he had tugged at his ear, how eagerly he had come to Dream's defence.

Perhaps he had simply not been in the best position to notice any interest. Hob's, or his own. Too prideful. Too convinced that Hob was just like every other human, grubbing about in the dirt for power and acclaim. Too assured of his own high status – one such as he, friends with one such as Hob?

He knows better now. Knows that Hob has lived rich and varied lives, which Dream has, for the past several months, taken succour in, experiencing them through Hob's tales, learning more and more about his friend. Liking what he has learned.

This, he decides, is a new aspect of that learning. And perhaps a new chapter in their friendship, if Hob is amenable. It has been long and long since he has laid with a human – he spares a moment to thank the memory of his sister for withholding her gift from Hob, for it means that Hob is not, strictly speaking, mortal – and perhaps it would be wise of him to observe Hob in this environment first. If Hob is here, he reasons, then necessarily he will be familiar with the etiquette of such a place.

And if Hob is otherwise occupied with a lover already...

He decides not to continue that thought.

A path forward decided, Dream wends his way through the crowds. The club is densely-packed with people, all ages, all nations and creeds and genders, and of them all he is the least-appropriately dressed in his coat and t-shirt and jeans. He does not bother to change, and no one approaches him – he is as a ghost, drifting between the revellers, a visitor to this holy house of Dionysus and Pan, following the faint trail of Hob that guides him like a ball of twine. Gentle prodding at daydreams reveals that Hob was here at the bar, that he, also, had been dressed-down for this occasion, in a white button-up and a pair of loose trousers. Still, others had looked upon him and had, in gauzy fantasies, wondered what he would look like dressed in less. Had wondered what his stubble would feel like against their cheeks. Had imagined his hands – broad, callused, peasant's hands – on their hips, their thighs, their genitals.

Dream does not linger in these daydreams for long, but pursues his true quarry, slipping through the gathered throngs, enjoying, for the moment, the feeling of stalking his prey. It is only infrequently that he is allowed to feel this, the thrill of the hunt, the pursuit; he is, by necessity, a guardian of his dreamers, but he is dreams and nightmares both, and often he longs for an end to the mournful tedium of his duties. Longs for peaceful oblivion or, at the very least, something that he can sink his teeth into.

The club is much larger than he had initially thought, and Dream follows Hob's trail up stairs and down corridors, until he finds himself in a section of the venue that has been cordoned off; several security personnel stand stationed at pre-set points, keeping a watchful eye on the proceedings within.

There are significantly fewer clothes in this part of the club, Dream realises. And what is worn is designed for easy access.

It is less crowded here, but no less quiet – the air is filled with the sounds of pleasure, moans and squeals and throaty whispers, creating a chorus of rising debauchery that drowns out the thumping music below them. He remains unseen, untouched, as he slides through the gaps in the crowd, around amorous couples, ignoring the slick sounds of bodies entangled and flesh entwined, until, at last, he reaches the end of the trail.

Hob Gadling has arranged himself in a secluded section of the upper floor, where dark curtains have been set up to give a modicum of privacy, though the acts happening just beyond are still within full view of the rest of the floor. He is seated in a chair, one of the low, slightly reclined ones that pepper the rest of the club, though this one has been considerately draped in plastic sheeting. The reasoning behind this is immediately obvious: Hob Gadling sits with his thighs spread, revealing the hole that has been cut in the groin of his loose trousers, and there is a woman kneeling before him, with her face buried between Hob's legs.

Dream does not care about the woman, though objectively he recognises that she is beautiful, and clearly quite happy with her current position. His eyes are fixed on Hob, who has his head thrown back, sweat dappling his forehead, mouth open as he gasps and pants. His neck is pulled taut, revealing the tempting line of his jugular, and his shirt has been unbuttoned to reveal the thick hair on his pectorals, almost completely hiding the scars beneath. The woman between his legs does something that must be particularly pleasing, because Hob's eyes slip shut, and his hips rut upwards, and even through the music and the noise and the crowd Dream can hear the sound of his moaning, reaching a fever pitch as he climbs towards climax. When he comes, all his muscles strain at once...and then he slumps, panting, while the woman leans back and licks her lips. The entire lower half of her face is soaked in fluid, and Hob's thighs glisten with the same. It is clear that he has been here for some time.

There is a small sign, Dream realises, that has been set up beside the chair, and a few people positioned around it, reading its words, watching with interest. Some of them watching with eagerness. Eat me out, the sign says. Accepting all comers. Face-sitting offered for best orgasm. Beneath this titillating invitation is a short list of the things that Hob is not interested in. No PiV, says one, and, No S/M.

He watches the woman climb to her feet and then lean down again, whispering something into Hob's ear. It makes him laugh, whatever she says, a full-throated, beautiful display, his head tossed back as he guffaws. Then the woman kisses his cheek, and Hob takes the opportunity to pull her in for a generous hug. Dream has been on the receiving end of such hugs before, but he has never considered that he might be gifted them under such. Specific circumstances.

Then the woman moves away, and he is treated to the sight of Hob on full display. And Dream stops. And looks. And breathes.

Hob had been beautiful, with the woman between his legs, but now that it is only him he is even moreso. With no one in the way Dream is able to see the thick trail of hair on his belly, leading down to the dark thatch of his pubic hair, curls wet with spit and slick. The lips of his sex are parted, red and swollen from the attentions of Dream knows not how many, and here, too, he is wet and open and wanting, with his cock jutting proudly upwards. The plastic sheeting beneath his seat is soaked in his own fluids, and even as Dream watches a newcomer approaches, speaks quietly to Hob and, at Hob's cheery nod and grin, kneels down and begins to lick the plastic clean.

He could remain here unseen, Dream realises. To interrupt Hob's revelry would surely lead to a foul mood later on, but. But.

He wants.

For all that he is neither flesh nor blood, he responds as the form he has taken bids him to, his trousers growing tighter as his erection fills, his stomach clenching with desire, his heart beating faster. His mouth floods with saliva at the sight of Hob's hairy thighs flexing, the dark, spit-damp and abundant curls of his sex, the thin trail of sexual fluids that drips from his fluttering opening and is caught on the tongue of the man kneeling in front of him. And he feels a flash of jealousy, when Hob reaches down and pets the man's hair, and says something softly to him. He recognises the look in the man's eyes, one of fervent adoration, and knows that, were he in the same position, his own expression would be much the same.

He does not wish to ruin their friendship, but. But.

He must make a decision. To remain here, unseen, a silent watcher, is a violation of Hob's trust in him. To reveal himself is to potentially face Hob's ire, but he might take pride in the knowledge that at least he tried.

Dream inhales, breathing in the sharp smell of lust and sex, and steps forward, allowing himself to be seen.

Hob does not notice him at first, still murmuring to the man between his legs. After several moments, though, he looks up, and Dream sees the exact second that Hob spots him: his eyes go wide, and his legs reflexively clamp shut, nearly trapping the man between them, and his muscles shift as if he plans to launch himself upwards before his expression turns resigned, and he relaxes back into his seat. A quick word is had with the kneeling man, who shrugs and then clambers to his feet; he gives Dream a lingering glance as he takes his leave, as do several others of the assembled patrons.

"Dream," Hob says, raising his voice to be heard above the muffled music and the moans and screams emanating from other rooms on this floor. He is still sitting with his knees locked together. "What are you...I mean, far be it for me to judge what you do in your spare time, but what on God's green earth are you doing here?"

"Seeking you out," Dream says. He takes a step forward, and then another, until he has come to a stop almost directly in front of Hob. There is a pillow on the floor, he notices. He had not seen it before; it bears the indents of many previous lovers. He wonders how many have serviced Hob this evening.

He sinks down to his knees.

"Um," Hob says. His eyes are huge, the pupils so dilated that his irises appear as two drops of ink in white clouds. "Dream? What...?"

"I will leave if you wish me to," Dream says. He lifts his hands, letting them hover uncertainly over the heavy curve of Hob's thighs, but not yet daring to touch. He can feel the warmth emanating from Hob's body, more intoxicating than any wine or stimulant, and another wave of wanting crashes over him. Were he standing he thinks he would be staggered by it. "But. If you have no objections. I would very much like to stay."

"No objections," Hob says, voice rising to a squeak. His legs fall apart again, slowly at first, tentative, but widen with more generosity as Dream accepts the invitation, and lays his palms at last on Hob's thighs. They are just as muscled and warm as he had thought them to be, the hair on them coarse where it rubs between his fingers, against his fingertips, and there, at their centre, Hob's sex revealed to him once again. His cock still firm, jutting upwards, his labia still spread and glistening as Dream lowers his head to breathe in the scent of him.

"You smell ambrosial," Dream murmurs, and Hob barks a sudden laugh.

"I've come six times," he says. The tension is slowly leaving his body, allowing him to slump backwards as Dream strokes his thighs. "I smell like sweat and jizz, more like."

"As I said." And to drive home his point, Dream bends down and presses his nose to the sopping curls of Hob's cunt, inhaling deeply. Sweat, yes, and Hob's excitement, and the saliva of others, easily and summarily dismissed in favour of Hob's natural scent, and his friend's murmured, "Oh, oh fuck," as Dream lets his nose brush along the side of his prick. It strains towards him, twitching faintly with Hob's heartbeat. Impudent thing, Dream thinks, though not without a great deal of fondness, and he looks up at Hob through the wild fringe of his hair, blinking slowly.

"You know, I wasn't expecting this," Hob says. His hands clench at his sides. "I only come here maybe twice a year. I wasn't...You don't have to..."

"I wish to."

"...just because I'm. Here. What?"

"I am precisely where I wish to be," Dream says. "And if you truly have no objections. I wish to sample you."

"Jesus Christ," Hob says, and his head falls backwards, thumping against the cushions. "Yeah. Yeah, fuck. Do you know how long I've thought about this?"

"Since 1789," Dream says. He drags the tip of his nose along the length of Hob's cock, and then presses a soft kiss to the head of it, greatly enjoying the sound of Hob's muttered curses. The smell of him is growing denser, sharper, as fresh wetness drips from his cunt.

"Longer," Hob says. "Since the moment I saw you. Thought about bouncing on your cock later that night, even. I would've ridden you so fucking hard."

"Perhaps later," Dream murmurs, and then, for the first time, takes Hob into his mouth.

The effect is immediate, electrifying: Hob goes rigid, mouth opening in a soundless cry as his hips rut forwards, pressing his pubic bone against Dream's nose. His prick is thick, compact, perhaps three inches of trembling nerves that slide along Dream's tongue like silk. The taste of him here is not as strong as it would be directly from the source, but the musky salt of it delights Dream's senses, enraptures him. He lets Hob set the pace at first, trying to gauge how tired he is, how sore...though it quickly becomes apparent that six orgasms in an evening is not, apparently, his friend's limit. Hob does not cry off, nor beg for Dream to give him a moment, but sighs and moans and laughs as Dream sucks at him, first softly, and then with greater force, tracing the thin skin of Hob's prick with the tip of his tongue, then letting it fall free of his mouth so that he can instead lavish attention on the plump lips around it.

Here, he thinks. Here is where his mouth is intended to be, at the nadir of Hob's sex, where his labia are spread like flower petals and his cunt clenches and leaks. Dream hums to himself in delight as he laps a searing path from the root of Hob's prick down to his twitching, wet opening, kneading Hob's thighs with his fingertips as he does so. There is so much hair here that it is impossible to keep his face dry – nor would he want to, even if he could – and Dream leans in to taste, pushing his nose through Hob's pubic hair, committing the scent of him to memory as he licks and sucks at everything he can reach. His wild hunger makes him crude, inexpert, but when he glances upwards to gauge Hob's pleasure he finds his friend flush-faced and panting, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, one hand pushed back into his own hair. When he sees Dream looking he smiles.

"Do you know how gorgeous you are?" he asks. "Between my legs? I've imagined this for so long."

The encouragement is. Pleasing. More than he had thought it would be. Enough that it makes his own cock twitch as he basks in the pleasure of Hob's praise. "So beautiful," Hob says, and he lifts his hips slightly, demanding. Dream is eager to indulge him, and buries his face once more into Hob's sex, licking, now, at his cunt, pressing the tip of his tongue inside to where he is wettest and hottest, savouring the taste of him. The scent that has gathered in his hair, surrounding him now, filling Dream's nostrils, making him dizzy with lust. He cannot resist the temptation to bury his tongue deeper, and then deeper still, longer than any human Hob would ever have taken to bed. Muscles clamp down around him, and Hob makes a startled, thrilled little noise, and then begins laughing again, one hand at last stealing to Dream's hair. He does not clutch, but strokes, softly, like a favoured pet, and Dream purrs, mouth sealed around Hob's cunt, tongue buried in him until there is no more space for anything but Dream.

"You're a marvel," Hob says; Dream flicks the tip of his tongue against the opening to his cervix, soft, soft, and Hob's whole body goes as taut as a bow. "A fuh-hucking marvel oh God, oh fuck, Dream!"

A crowd has begun to form, Dream notes, though it is distant and unimportant information, useful only as much as these people may now see that Hob has chosen him, that Hob favours him. He is too focused on the task at hand to feel anything but the faintest hint of possessiveness – why should he, when he already has what he desires? – and he sets to it with relish, pumping his tongue in leisurely strokes, deep enough that Hob will feel him later, like a sweet bruise. Above him, Hob swears a blue streak, his neglected cock pulsing, prompting a sharp outcry of pleasure every time that Dream bumps the base of it with his nose. Eat me out, the sign had said, and Dream intends to follow it to the letter – there will be time enough, he hopes, to worship every other part of Hob later.

"Dream," Hob says, "Dream, I'm, I'm close, I'm–"

Dream does not wish to be warned. He wishes to be covered in the smell of Hob, drenched in him, and so he presses his tongue sharply up at the same time as he moves his hand to stroke Hob's prick with his thumb, humming in satisfaction as above him Hob shouts, thighs clamping hard around Dream's ears, a gush of fluid oozing around Dream's tongue as he works Hob through first one panting, keening peak, and then a second one just after, smaller, Hob squeezing rhythmically with his thighs, his cries of completion turning to whimpers and then to silence, just the sound of his breathing, like thunder, and murmured noises of appreciation from the gathered crowd. Dream slowly pulls back, and looks with satisfaction as Hob's gaping cunt, at the trickle of spit and come that drips from him, smoothing the curls there flat and sleek.

"Oh," Hob says. His voice is shaky, but inexpressibly fond as he reaches forward and cups Dream's cheeks with his palms. "Oh, I've made a complete mess of you."

He does not need a mirror to know that Hob's words are true. Dream can feel the warm air of the club brushing cold against the wetness on his cheeks, his chin, where it drips in thin lines down his neck. Hob smiles at him, his thumb stroking Dream's bottom lip.

"I think I might have one more in me for tonight, if you're interested," he says, and then with his foot he stretches out and tips over the little sign he had set up beside his chair. "But maybe somewhere where it's...just us? If there's no objections?"

His voice is hesitant. Searching. Dream gazes up at him, dazed, as he had known he would be, with how much he wants, and not only with how much he wants Hob's body, but his laughter as well, and his joy, and his time and his company. No, there are no objections.

"It would be my pleasure," he says, and Hob, still smiling, leans down and kisses the damp tip of his nose, and then the corner of his mouth, and then Hob's lips cover his own, gentle, and around them the club continues on in its revels but, for the moment, it is only them, and it is perfect.