#genuinely want this measure tattooed on me

[jameswilsonsupremacy]

potential future tattoo??? (but without words just bc a lot of my planned future tattoos have words and apparently it’s Not Cool to have a bunch of words on your body instead of images)

House MD enjoyers, what are ur thoughts?

[daycourtofficial]

Love Potion No. 9 Part 2

Summary: Azriel’s been subjected to the effects of a love potion, causing him to be incredibly clingy to you. You have to take care of him until it wears off.

Author’s note: ask and you shall receive! The people wanted it, the people got it! I’m also open to doing a short part 3 where they find out that Cassian and Rhys gave Az the potion - but let me know!

(Part 1)

You open the door, stepping back in. Immediately you are surrounded by shadows circling every part of your body, twirling through your hair, around your legs, your waist, your wrists.

“Thank gods, you were gone for hours,” Azriel whines, striding over to you, picking you up and spinning you.

“Az, sweetie, I was gone for five minutes.” You reply, chuckling as he sets you back down.

“It was days. I was starting to worry I’d need to eat my foot.” His hand gently caresses your face, before he crouches down and picks you up over his shoulder. He dashes over to the bed, placing you on top of it and then laying directly on top of you.

“You’re squishing me,” you mumble into his neck.

“Yes,” he replies, not elaborating more.

You huff, moving your arms out to get more comfortable. Without saying anything, his hands grip your waist, and he flips you two so you’re on top of him. Your legs straddle his waist, and he holds you impossibly tight to his chest.

“My turn!” He exclaims, and you’ll have to note that love potions make you 1) incredibly clingy and 2) essentially drunk.

You lay on top of him, wondering if he was going to fall asleep like this. He has been busy the past few days, and you always worry when he’s gone whether or not he sleeps properly.

You hear his breathing get deeper and you think he’s fallen asleep until he murmurs, “feels s’good.”

You didn’t even realize you were lazily tracing your fingers up and down his arm. You still yourself, worried that this was too much, that when he sobered up he’d feel violated. Cassian’s words ring through your mind, “I’m sure Azriel can find it in his heart to forgive you if you took advantage.” Was that true? Could he?

You feel yourself getting a little too comfortable, when a realization hits you. “You stink,” you say, beginning to untangle yourself from him, “you need a bath.”

“Trying to get me naked, sweetheart?” He asks, waggling his eyebrows as he stands up and starts undoing his leathers.

“No! No, you just have been gone a few days. You reek of the forest.”

He stops undoing the straps his arm covers, “do you not like forest men?”

You shake your head no, “no, I like clean smelling men. I’ll start a bath for you, okay?”

He whines, “will you help me bathe?”

You sigh, the pitiful look on his face working on you. “No, I think you’re capable of bathing yourself.” Being a healer, you were used to nudity, it didn’t bother you, except for when it came to the male you were head over heels for, who was currently standing in front of you.

He starts undoing his leathers again, taking his shirt off and throwing it on the floor. You can’t stop yourself from staring - watching the tattoos that cover his chest as they practically dance across his skin as he’s moving. Tracing your eyes down his arms, watching his fingers move, undoing his pants and letting them fall to the floor. You genuinely can’t stop yourself from ogling this man standing completely naked in front of you.

You, Feyre, and Nesta had all gossiped about which one of them you thought would be the biggest, all three of you declaring it would definitely be Azriel. Staring at this marble statue of a male, the three of you were right. There’s no physical way the other two brothers could measure up to him.

“Like what you see?” Your head whips up to meet his eyes, looking at you with drunken amusement. He chuckles, enjoying the way you looked at him. Your cheeks are on fire, you’ve never ogled a patient before. But also, Azriel’s never been in such need of patient care.

He walks over to you, and you take a step back. “You’re drugged, and it would be a terrible idea for anything to transpire while you’re in such a state.” You declare, trying to maintain some sense of professionalism.

“So you don’t want to join me in the bath?” He asks, trying to step closer, as you side step him. “That would be a very bad idea,” you say, stepping away from him and toward the bathroom.

“Actually I think I got injured on my mission,” he says, a pained expression overtaking his face, “I don’t think I can bathe myself. Can you help me?”

His expression shows mock pain, but his eyes are aglow with amusement.

You laugh, “okay, fine, if you get in, I’ll help you.”

-

You didn’t take into consideration just how much he would enjoy your touch on him as you bathed him. Honestly it was actually very pleasant - you lit a few candles for him, and gathered a few washcloths and some soap. He was still covered in dirt from his mission, so you started by dipping the cloth into the water and cleaning off his arms.

You start humming, enjoying the peace and quiet of the bathroom. His room was nice and cozy, a surprising contrast to the image he wishes to portray to the world.

After cleaning his arms, you ask him to tilt his head back, “so I can wash your hair.”

He does as you ask, and you had actually stepped out to your room to gather your bathing supplies for him. His room was sparse of supplies, so you figured he could just smell like you for a day or two.

You cup your hands together, forming a basin with them, gather water, and pour it gently over the top of his head. After wetting his hair enough, you lather some shampoo in your hand, gently coursing your fingers through his hair.

You hear him practically purring at the situation of your fingers rubbing into his scalp. “Does that feel good?” You tease.

“Gods, yes. I’m not sure anyone’s ever done that for me before.”

Your heart breaks a little at the admission, not sure how anyone can be so cruel to him. Teasing aside, he was always incredibly kind to you and all the other members of the inner circle. You swear you haven’t had to open a door for yourself since coming to the night court and you’ve never been worried that they don’t like you. The male before you had always made you feel so included, even when you hardly knew anyone.

“Well, if you want, you can ask anytime and I’d be more than happy to help.” You say, trying to get the sentiment across.

You two continue in peaceful silence, before he asks, “can you sing for me? I once heard you singing, you were in the kitchen, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

Gods, you thought, he’s really trying to make me a puddle.

“Sometimes I hear you singing in my dreams.”

“What do I sing about?”

He thinks for a moment, “seeing me again. You only sing in my dreams when I’m away. You sing to me, asking me to come home.”

His admission makes you want to squeal, but you oblige his request and start singing an old song, one you had heard in your home court at a bar. You sing as you untangle his hair, a tale about falling in love as if some force was pulling the subject of the song to the singer.

“You have delicate hands,” he says, his head still tilted back. You had finished rinsing out his hair, but he was so calm like this, you just kept raking your fingers across his head.

“And a beautiful voice. A beautiful everything, really. I’ve never seen someone so beautiful. And kind. And smart. You’re so nice to me.”

“I could say the same things about you, Az. You’re also incredibly kind and beautiful.”

He just kept his head tilted back, enjoying the peace of this bath. You’re wondering what he’s thinking about, when he starts speaking again, “can you do this every time I come back from a mission? Might make me come home faster too.”

You giggle, “sure, I can do this after every mission.”

You didn’t mind agreeing - either you got to do this or Azriel will completely forget he asked. Gods, you think, will he remember any of this? On one hand, you know he’ll be incredibly embarrassed and flustered, on the other, you’re not sure how you can pretend none of this happened.

You help Azriel out of the bath, handing him a towel so he can dry off when he grabs your wrist. “Thank you,” he says, looking into your eyes.

You’re not sure if the effects of the potion are starting to wear off, but he seems less loopy, but still just as clingy. You smile in response to him, turn to leave, when he tightens his grip on your wrist.

“Can you dry off my wings? I hate going to bed with wet wings.” He says, and his hand has reached up and is caressing your jaw now.

“Won’t that uh, make you.. ya know?” You say, gesturing with your hands trying not to say the words.

“Make me…?” He asks, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

Your cheeks burn with heat, “aren’t wings like super sensitive?” You practically whisper. He laughs, “yes, but mostly just to touch from someone, rubbing a towel on it isn’t that seductive, I must say. Knowing you’re the one holding the towel, however..” he trails off, and he spends a moment just looking you up and down.

“Stop that,” you say, grabbing a towel.

“Stop what?” He asks, spreading out his wings for you to dry them. You start dabbing his wings with the towel, rubbing the towel up and down his left wing.

“Stop looking at me like I’m a meal,” you say, focusing on his wing.

His hand grasps your thigh. “But darling, how can I not? You’re taking care of me, touching me. Regardless, if I was a condemned man, I’d pick you for my last meal.”

You stop cleaning his wing at his words, “sweetheart,” he groans at the pet name, “nothing can happen while you’re still under the effects of this love potion, talk to me when you’re clear-headed.”

You resume cleaning his wings, honestly amazed at all the nooks and crannies. You’ve always wanted to see Ilyrian wings up close, but have never been confident enough to ask any of them. You know they’d probably let you look at them for medical knowledge, but they feel so… personal.

“But baby, I’m not under a love potion. I’m under your love spell.” He waggles his eyebrows, still with his eyes closed, enjoying both the cleaning of his wings and making you fidget like this.

“I did not cast a love spell or love potion on you!” You say indignantly.

“You existed and charmed me immediately.”

“I did not,“ you reply.

“After I met you, I spent days trying to learn everything I could about you. Your powers, where you’re from, your favorite cookies. Rhys caught on super quickly, unfortunately, and wouldn’t tell me more about you. ‘Ask her yourself’ he told me,” he says, doing a quite spot-on impression of the high lord.

“And did you ask me yourself?”

“I tried to get Cassian to do it, the bastard figured it out pretty quickly. You were just so pretty, how was I supposed to walk up to you and go ,”hello, tell me everything about yourself, I’ll listen. Are you free forever?” He looked so lovestruck, you couldn’t believe you could have this kind of effect on him.

You giggle, “well, I’m pretty easy to impress. I’m ashamed to admit it but that line would have worked on me. Honestly any line from you would have worked on me.”

He bolts upright, “you mean to tell me we could have been having gloriously hot sex this whole time?”

Your cheeks flame, “well I mean hopefully there’d be other stuff too, I’m not that easy.”

He tilts his head back in laughter, “you might not be that easy, but I am.”

You laugh, “okay Mr. Nice and Easy, I’ve finished drying off your wings, how are you feeling?”

He thinks for a moment, “honestly, I’m pretty tired. I don’t sleep well on missions - too wired to sleep.”

In addition to the clinginess, the love potion is making him so vulnerable. It’s nice to have him open up to you like this - how can you go back to how it was? You two were very friendly before, but this? This is a whole new level of vulnerability.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize that as he was leaned against the cupboard, he had started falling asleep. You convince him to lay in his bed. He agrees, but “only if you come with me.”

He insists on you cuddling with him. You tell him you’ll go grab some pajamas, but he whines and takes off his shirt, handing it to you. “Your room’s too far,” he says, “besides I think you look adorable in my clothes.”

-

Azriel woke softly, a warmth pressed against him. He genuinely can’t remember the last time he slept so well - usually only when he’s injured and you or Madja provide him a concoction to sleep for days to heal.

He looked down, seeing your head nuzzled into his neck, his mind exploding with questions - did we do it and I forgot? Was I drunk? Gods, he thought, I hope not. He lifted the blanket a smidge, and both of you were fully clothed, eliminating that possibility. He did note that you were wearing his shirt, the back slits undone so we could see little slithers of your back. His hand was resting there, touching the exposed parts of your back.

He starts trying to remember what led him here - the mission, coming home, his brothers, the debrief, waiting for you to come check on him. Oh, gods. It all came back to him. He grabbed your ass, shamelessly. He flirted with you, shamelessly. He flirted with you, while he was naked. You bathed him. He wouldn’t let you go farther than 6 feet away from him. You dried his wings. You sang for him.

That’s it, he thinks. I’ll have to move. There’s no way she’ll want anything to do with me after forcing myself on her for hours. Maybe I can work for Helion in Day.

His thoughts are interrupted by you nuzzling your face into his neck. He swears he feels you kiss his neck, but he’s not sure.

He feels you stir after a while, and you look up at him, a sleepy smile adorning your face. “Hi sweetheart, how are you feeling this morning?”

He groans, “you can stop the nicknames, I think the potion’s out of my system.” He sees your face falter for a split second before composing yourself.

“Ah,” you say, “how much do you remember?”

He sighs, tightening his grip around you. Convinced you’re about to disown him and want nothing to do with him, he’ll take all the physical contact he can get right now. “I remember all of it, and I’m… I can’t believe I did all those things.”

“I don’t think you should feel too embarrassed,” you say, rubbing his arm.

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, “and why not? I’ve practically been forcing myself on you for twelve hours.”

You giggle, still rubbing his arm, “did you know that love potions only work if you already have feelings for someone? Love potions work by just taking what’s there and bringing it to the surface. It smells different for everyone, smelling like things you’re attracted to.”

He stills at your words. He could deal with the embarassment of being all over you, but the knowledge that you now posess that he has deep feelings for you? It’s too much, he thinks, putting his face in his hands.

“People who take love potions are often covered in the smell of it, and it comes off of their breath like alcohol.” He feels your hands wrap around his that are still covering his face. “I uh couldn’t smell it on you. I smelled your canteen out in the hallway,” you pause, “it smelled like books, and fresh ink, and you.” His eyes snap to your face, and you look directly into his eyes.

You clear your throat, so what you’re about to say will come out as clear as possible. “If I drank a love potion right now, I would be hanging all over you, telling you how beautiful you are and how much I think about you. I’d probably also tell you that it was incredibly difficult not to give into your advances yesterday, because I did not want you to regret anything. As much as I wanted something to happen, I didn’t want it like that. At least, not the first time.”

He keeps your eye contact, searching your face for any trace of amusement.

“There’s a first time?” He asks, a smug look overcoming his face.

You laugh, “there’s as many times as you’ll have me.”

“Well I think it’s only fair for it to be your turn, falling all over yourself, telling me how beautiful I am.”

“Yeah?” You ask, putting your hands on his face. “Yeah,” he replies. “Well in that case,” you start, leaning in closer, “you are devastatingly gorgeous,” you kiss his cheek, “incredibly kind,” you kiss his other cheek, “oh so smart,” you kiss his forehead, “and I am hopelessly obsessed with you.” You lean forward, catching his lips in your mouth. Your lips move in harmony, his hands gripping your waist. You press yourself into him, deepening the kiss.

After minutes, hours, or days, you pull your head back and tell him, “now, uh, if I’m supposed to be hopelessly in love with you, I think you’re supposed to take care of me and give me a sponge bath.”

[agentarc]

i’m just gonna bite the bullet and post a wip of this fox whump fic i’m cooking

important background info: quinlan is undercover as a maintenance tech for senate droids, and he’s concealing his tattoos via makeup

also i’m genuinely always trying to improve my writing so constructive criticism is welcome

content warning for graphic panic attack and self harm by way of exacerbating injury — please let me know if there’s anything i missed

(also also hi if you like this and you’re in a clone trooper discord please invite me im dying to be social in the clone trooper fandom)

His quarters are on this floor — Fox is reasonably sure — but the distance his feet must carry him to get there stretches and warps until it may as well be a parsec away.

A good soldier would weather the storm and march on. A functioning clone wouldn’t struggle to expand his lungs, put one foot in front of the other, and navigate to his own quarters. Fox is not a functioning clone. Fox is hardly even a soldier.

He must abort mission. He will not make it to his office. He lurches for the nearest door. The keypad flashes red at him.

His knees wobble, and he’s supposed to be a soldier, a marshal commander; he’s knees don’t wobble. His knees can’t wobble, not when he needs to stand steady and lead the Guard; not when his brothers are depending on him to keep them safe. Not when his entire existence hinges on his ability to contribute. Not when he needs to face the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic and pretend he’s in full functioning order when he’s constantly grasping at the fraying edges of control. Fox doesn’t know if he’ll come back when the threads fly apart.

Time does something funny and Fox is on his knees. The keypad sparks and sizzles. The door remains tightly sealed.

“Commander?”

The world slams to a stop. His eyes fly open — when had he closed them? He’s too vulnerable, it’s not safe to fall apart here, he can’t — and a natborn human is hovering at the hallway junction, 20 steps away.

They take a half-step in his direction, and Fox doesn’t have enough control to mask his full-bodied flinch. He knows the natborn sees it because they instantly freeze, raising both their hands in a display of easy surrender.

“I’m not gonna hurt you. I just want to help.” Movements measured and slow, they lower their hands until they’re relaxed at their sides, palms facing out. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Fox can’t. Can’t push words through his teeth, can’t steady his hands, can’t take a full breath — can’t choke back the strangled noise that builds in the back of his throat —

It’s like his armor is see-through, all his cracks on full display, his skin flayed open for the natborn and the vode and all the little gods to feast. It’s not safe. He needs — he needs —

Thorn, he signs desperately, the shape of his brother’s name mangled by tremors. His fingers aren’t listening, but natborns don’t know battlesign anyway, so what’s the point? Fox is well and truly going to die. Fox is going to shake apart right here on the floor of the hallway, his heart is going to smash through his ribs, and the Chancellor will have been right about him all along. Fox is going to die and it won’t even be in the glory of battle, protecting his brothers like he’s meant to, like he wants to. Fox is going to die, and he is going to die an embarrassment; a failure to the Republic and a failure to his brothers.

“Commander,” someone says, and Fox’s attention snaps back to the stranger so fast that it rends a shock of pain through his skull. They have not come closer, but they could have — could have slid up and pricked him with a hypo or put a blaster to his head, and at this range the bolt would zip through his bucket like wet flimsi, and Fox isn’t paying enough attention, this place isn’t safe —

“My name’s Quin. I’m a maintenance tech,” the stranger continues from the junction. They speak firmly, but soft enough that their voice doesn’t echo. “You’re at Guard headquarters, on level 83, maintenance hall 7B, and you’re safe. I think you’re having a panic attack.” Their hands are still visible, but their arms are positioned in a way that suggests they had just used their commlink — to call whom? Maintenance techs don’t usually have direct lines to upper command, who did he call — “You were trying to get into that storage closet, right? I’m going to come closer and open it for you, okay?”

Fox expects them to start approaching, and he flinches reflexively, his body wound tight enough to snap right in half, but the stranger doesn’t move, yet. They watch Fox carefully, though Fox can’t make out the features of their face through his blackening vision.

He shudders through the concentrated wrongness knotted in his chest, eyeing the stranger as would a cornered, dying animal.

It’s perhaps desperation, perhaps the stranger’s disarming words, or perhaps a result of Fox having fully lost his mind that leads him to nod, once.

Only then does the stranger cautiously begin their approach, step after measured step, both their hands loose and empty and visible — a human man, Fox finally notes through the haze of his malfunction — and Fox tracks his movements as he smoothly glides into Fox’s bubble.

Fox cannot move, will not flex a single muscle, because if he does, he knows he will die. He thinks his trachea may be collapsing, gripped by some invisible force —

He jolts against phantom hands (you must stop struggling, Commander) that exist and don’t in equal measure (hold still, now) [end this smoothly, god i can’t be bothered rn]

“Almost got it,” the stranger says from somewhere above him, and Fox inhales sharply, shallowly; the exhale punches out of him with a low keening whine. It could have been seconds or cycles but eventually the man backs off in one casual, languid movement, and the door to the storage closet whooshes open.

Fox all but tumbles inside. He vaguely thinks he should be embarrassed, but as he presses his shoulders into a corner and lets his head hang between his knees, he figures that he deserves a death just as pitiful and undignified as his life was.

The trill of an incoming comm — not his own, because the Chancellor insists he not bring it to their meetings — has him whipping his head back up to attention. The man has stayed behind in the hall, standing off to one side of the open doorway. He raises his wrist comm and a bolt of terror lances through Fox at the reminder that he called someone.

“This is Commander Thorn. What’s going on?”

Fox could cry, and he probably is.

“Commander Fox is in distress. He’s safe, but I think he hurt his hand. We’re in storage closet 83-7B-A113.”

His hand? Fox flexes it and gasps with a detached sort of surprise at the burst of sensation. He hears swearing and shuffling from the other line.

“I’ll be there in 10. Do not touch him, and do not let anyone else approach.”

Fox chokes on a sob. Thorn is coming. It’s going to be okay. Thorn is coming.

“Of course.” The man signs off, but Fox isn’t watching anymore. Thorn is coming.

“Hey, Commander Fox? I’m gonna leave the door open, ‘cause the mechanism’s kind of messed up and I don’t want it locking on you.” A brief rustle of fabric, and, “I’m just gonna keep watch until Thorn gets here, yeah? I’ll head anyone else off.”

When Fox risks a glance at the doorway, the man is no longer within sight. Alarm and relief flood him in equal parts — eyes on all threats at all times, trooper, you’re not out of this yet — but despite his lack of visual on the stranger, he’s finally and blessedly alone in the storage closet.

He paws at his bucket until he remembers he will almost certainly die if he takes it off, and curls his fingers around the edge of his cuirass instead. If it weren’t for the hard plastoid, he thinks he’d sink his fingers into his chest to still his thundering heart himself. Maybe preventing it from racing around would fix him. Maybe it would kill him. Either option is preferable to the way dread creeps into every corner of his mind, every organ and limb, buzzing like holo static in his hands as they scrabble at his armored chest.

A renewed shock of feeling from his right hand abruptly pulls the world into stark contrast. It aches, maybe, behind and underneath the layers of wrongness, a single shred of reality, and he closes his fist to feel the sparks again and again.

It’s not pain — not quite. It wants to be, but Fox’s nerve endings are misfiring, severing themselves from his synapses as his body corrupts. It’s starbursts of sensation that sear through an impenetrable, suffocating fog; clashes of a cymbal to accompany the percussion of his heart and the unfaltering hum of the fluorescent lights above.

Fox understands pain, but he doesn’t understand this. He understands pain for the lessons it can teach, but he is failing to learn this lesson. He’s not sure this is pain at all. Pain is getting caught outside of cover and taking a blaster bolt to the gut, or not being fast-strong-cunning-ruthless enough on the training mats, or failing to dodge the Red Guard’s electrostaff during the Chancellor’s extracurricular lessons. Pain is useful; endurance of pain even more so. A soldier unacquainted with pain can’t function on a battlefield, or learn from critical mistakes, or (gods forbid) tolerate torture without cracking open.

If this is pain, and pain is meant to be some sort of lesson, what lesson is Fox evidentially incapable of learning? Just how defective is he? He squeezes his right hand in his left, lets the pain-not-pain fill his awareness until there’s no room left for this wicked miasma eating him alive.

Suddenly, there are hands on his wrists.

A twisted thing crawls up his throat and tears out through his teeth, and he swings, disoriented, clamoring for a single inch of control in a tumultuous storm. The grip holds fast against his thrashing until Fox abruptly registers the staccato being tapped out on his vambrace. Vod. Vod. Vod.

A brother — Thorn, Thorn is here — hovers before him, the determined set of his shoulders betraying none of the alarm Fox thinks he’d see in his eyes if he had the strength to look. “Fox,” Thorn says, “Fox’ika, I’m here. You’re safe.”

He’s not safe. He’s not, but Thorn is here and whole and keeping the danger away, and that’s not nothing.

“Let’s get your bucket off,” Thorn suggests, and then to the tense breath Fox hisses out in response, “It’s okay; Stone’s outside, he’s keeping watch. It’s safe.” And Fox believes him, because Thorn never lies to him. Thorn tells it like it is.

A snap-hiss, and Thorn gently lifts Fox’s helmet off. Cool air rushes over his face and fills his lungs.

“Good, that’s good. A couple more of those, like this.” Thorn takes a big breath, and Fox tries to copy him but his lungs are broken; the breath he takes is in starts and stops. A strangled whine squeezes out with his exhale. “I know,” Thorn says, “It’ll get easier.”

And it does. Thorn has worked his thumbs between Fox vambraces and blacks, rubbing small circles into his wrists, and it feels like everything. The lighthouse coming into view from out on a choppy sea. The anchor that keeps him tethered to the waking world. The offer of shelter from a vicious storm.

His sense of time is fractured. By the time Fox can inhale and exhale a complete breath it feels as though hours have passed, Thorn murmuring words of encouragement and squeezing gently whenever Fox starts to get sucked back into the fog.

Fox opens his eyes, and Thorn meets it with a smile. “That’s it, vod. I’m right here. Keep breathing.”

Thorn is here. It’s safe. The tension he didn’t realize was holding him together suddenly abates, rushing out of him like debris out an airlock, and he sags forward into Thorn’s waiting arms. Thorn’s free hand comes up to card through Fox’s sweaty curls, the other still encircling Fox’s wrist, as the marshal commander presses his forehead into his brother’s armored chest.

Sorry, Fox signs shakily, but he feels Thorn already shaking his head.

“Don’t you dare. You have nothing to apologize for.” Gently, as though Fox is something deserving of of reverence, Thorn removes Fox’s face from his chest and pulls him into a keldabe. They breathe in sync like this for a long, peaceful moment. “How about we go see Lore and fix your hand, and then have some midmeal in the barracks?” At Fox’s dour expression, Thorn rolls his eyes. “Alright then, let me rephrase. We’re going to medbay, and then having some midmeal in the barracks. You’ll feel better. Think you’re ready to stand?”

Fox thinks he might never be able to stand again. He does, though, and with Thorn’s support, ambles through the threshold of the supply closet. Stone sweeps in to support Fox’s other side.

The stranger is nowhere to be seen.

[yukidragon]

Can you analyze the new picture of nick sauce drew?

I presume you're talking about this one, right?

I actually did a mini analysis of this picture in a comment I made on the original post that everyone should check out directly, but I can expand on it here.

On the note of commenting, please consider leaving a comment of your own to Sauce's lovely art and let them know how much you enjoy it! Artists thrive on feedback. And since I'm plugging, consider joining the SnaccPop Studios Patreon where a very spicy picture of Jack got posted recently~

Now onto analyzing this marvelous piece of art. Remember, this is all headcanon and speculation on my part, but that's pretty much what you come here for anyway. It's going to be a while yet before we really know what's going on with Nick.

Let's start off with the obvious - expression. Nick is looking sideways at the viewer, giving the impression of being annoyed and tired. It serves as a contrast to how put together he is, dressed up in a cool and sexy outfit. It also gives a good view of his broken heart tattoo on his face. Couple this with the upside-down hearts in the background, it makes me think Nick has tried and failed to find love in the past, and it's exhausting.

What's also exhausting is his job. Nick is an online influencer and dom. He's always got his face plastered online. He needs to create content to draw people in, and a big part of that is his physical appearance. This is especially true when he's selling a fantasy to his followers on LonelyFans. Sex sells, and Nick knows how to sell it well, but it's also dehumanizing.

That's what I think the power strip and CRT scan lines are alluding to. Nick always has to be plugged in online to an audience, always watched through a monitor. He's popular, he's successful... he's a product. He's dressed up in a pretty bow for his audience, ready to be shipped through lines of cable to his customers' screens.

Nick presents such a shiny and beautiful life, all sparkly and alluring. He's a dom, seductive and in control. That's how he presents to the world, a pretty mask. It's what earns him a living.

But a mask is exhausting to wear all the time. An online influencer is having to wear that mask virtually every day as they churn out content, especially when they're the content being farmed out for engagement. It can be pretty dehumanizing. You can forget what it's like to have a genuine connection with people offline rather than through a screen. That's where I think the caption comes in.

You've been so out of touch.

I think it plays back to the interaction Nick and MC have at Yogurtopia. Nick presents himself as he actually is and not the mask he wears. He's a shy, awkward person looking for something sincere. He wants a genuine human connection, not someone lusting over his persona. He's probably been burnt trying to find that connection online, only for his fame to create this parasocial image of him that the real Nick can't measure up to.

It's so exhausting having to be so shiny and perfect. It's heartbreaking when you constantly let down everyone's expectations of you. When people see him as the cool influencer, the always in control dom, they probably were disappointed when they finally saw the real Nick behind his sparkling mask.

That's what I read into this picture anyway. I could be totally off base and it's just Nick acting all cool and disinterested while being dressed for succ-sex, hahahaha. I hope you enjoyed my thoughts!

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur @kurokrisps

[possibilistfanfiction]

Delicate

it's been a weird day already.

but not, like, bad: the sky is clear and it's not windy, which is such a welcome break from the weeks and weeks of rain you kind of want to dance down the sidewalk or something (you don't, but only because you have on this cool new pair of pants you thrifted last week and one over-exuberant roll through a puddle and they'd be wet for the day); there wasn't a long line at camila's coffee shop, so you were early to work; none of your appointments, even, have been late. good-weird sometimes feels way more unsettling than bad-weird, though, or at least that's what you've told your therapist who nodded — trauma responses, this and that, or so she says.

your first two clients are easy — small, simple stuff, which is always nice to start off with. chanel is finishing her last session on a wicked cool back piece with a chill client, and it's all pretty vibey until you're outside on the little front patio of the studio eating the pizza you'd grabbed from down the street for a late lunch, casually people watching. it all happens so fast: you're taking a bite and then, bam, there’s someone on a bike skidding out of control and then falling with a thump, tangled up in the metal frame and pedals spinning.

'shit,' you say, even though the person is already struggling their way out from under the bike — a good sign, overall. but still, you put your pizza down on the table chanel insisted you buy and wheel down the ramp until you're on the sidewalk, close enough to be able to ask, 'are you okay?'

the person — a very, very hot person, in carhartt overalls, a pristine white t-shirt, and blundstones — groans but then nods, stands up fully from the street and hefts the bike back upright by the handlebars. 'yes. i'll be fine. a minor fall.'

there's an embarrassed blush rising behind freckles and, 'you're bleeding.' it's roadrash, nothing serious, along an elbow, both palms, but still — 'my shop is right here.' you point behind you. 'let me patch you up, we have all the sterile stuff and everything.'

'i — okay.'

you smile, then smile even bigger when this very hot bike-falling blushing stranger takes her helmet off and her short hair — slightly sweaty — is tousled, a little messy on the top, even messier after she tries to brush it back with her fingers. 'sweet.' you offer your hand, even though she's dragging her bike alongside her. 'i'm ava.'

she leans the bike against her hip, grants you a small smile, and meets your eyes, even though her blush gets worse. 'beatrice.'

her hand is calloused and warm and she locks her bike against your railing, then follows you up the ramp.

'so you're who moved in,' she says, not unkindly, and you nod. it's a beautiful studio — you'll claim it was 50/50 design choices all day long, but it really was mostly chanel who chose the perfect shelving, the easy colors, the furniture that was simple and comfortable and cool as fucking hell, all at once. 'me and chanel, the other artist and owner,' you say. chanel's gun is very quietly buzzing behind the partition that separates her station from the front desk, and you lead beatrice back to your station.

the scrape along her elbow — delicate, one of the most difficult places to tattoo properly, all small, sharp bones and live-wire nerves — isn't deep or particularly dirty, so you clean it quickly and without too much discomfort, if her comfortable quiet and measured breathing is anything to go by.

'you're an expert on this, i suppose,' she says, as you get out your second skin once everything is clean and dry.

you laugh. 'tattoos aren't too dissimilar.' you allow yourself to look — after a lot of restraint, thank you very much — at her nearly-finished sleeve: fine lines and tender greyscale of flowers and plants, a few bugs, woven together. there's space on the underside of her wrist, still, a little unexpected. 'this is beautiful.'

beatrice smiles softly, a little sad. 'thank you.'

'no, like, genuinely.' you take your gloves off once the second skin is on perfectly and roll back in your chair to see it a little clearer. 'it really is.'

that blush again. 'i'm a gardener,' beatrice says, as if that explains everything. you have a few silly tattoos along your thighs — some are from you practicing along your own skin, a perk of not feeling anything below your waist — and your favorite along the top of your right hand. it's the first chanel did for you, the start of how you became friends — and business partners, eventually — and it's not hard, really, to remember the control you felt when you got to choose to make your body in your own image, when you had someone you trusted to help.

'that's awesome.'

she nods, once, like it's a finite truth. 'along with my sister, i run the florist shop on the other side of camila's. we farm all of our own flowers, only local pollinators.'

'permaculture,' you say, 'sick.'

it gets a laugh out of her — fucking delightful, and, whew, you want to keep making that happen — 'it is.' she stands, looking almost — dare you say it — regretful. 'unfortunately, i do have to get back to said shop for the afternoon. but maybe i can buy you a coffee?'

'camila gives me my coffee for free.'

she blanches and it takes a few seconds before you reach out and pat her hand with a laugh. 'i'm sorry, i was just messing with you. i'd love to get coffee with you.'

'yeah?'

'dude, are you kidding? i want to know all about your plants.'

she's got the most proper accent of all time, and you're kind of wishing for her to say something like, and i, your art, but instead she just nods, a little tongue-tied, you think, which is endearing in its own way too. 'thank you again, ava.'

'anytime.' you pause. 'well, not the exact same circumstances. don't need you flinging yourself off of your bike just to say hi to me again —'

'i didn't fall because of you —'

'i know i'm, like, cool and stunning, but you really should be more careful.'

she rolls her eyes, but there's still a smile on her face. you know you're, as chanel puts it, dangerously charming, so you'll take it.

you watch her walk down the ramp and unlock her bike, then walk it two doors down to the florist that always had swathes of wildflowers in the windows. you've only been here a few weeks, and you'd been very busy setting everything up and getting your clients in asap, but you'd planned to check it out eventually. now, you have even more of a reason to.

and, like, maybe it's a little gay, whatever, but you transfer out of your chair to sit more comfortably at your station while you wait for your next client and start to sketch some wildflowers and their pollinators. bees, your favorites, and maybe it doesn't mean anything or maybe it means something. you don't really believe in everything but you do think that people can be kind and that the earth itself is overwhelmingly good. that's enough, most days, really.

chanel finishes with her client and it's a good-good-weird day because she offers to order dinner without you even having to whine. you fall asleep later at home thinking abt how warm beatrice's skin had been, how it had been easy to make sure she would heal well, all the flowers there, blooming; her freckles and her blush. maybe, if you're lucky, she's thought of you too.

[fairy-writes]

Okay sending in another since I thought it might be easier in two messages

Could I also request Be My Forever with Uta for the event? I hope you've been doing well, and congrats again! 😊

BE MY FOREVER

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Tokyo Ghoul

Pairing(s): Uta x Gender Neutral!Human!Reader

Song: Be My Forever by Christina Perri

Notes: Hey! It’s been a hot minute since I saw you on my dash! I hope you’re doing well!

This is also pre-Kaneki, so pre-Tokyo Ghoul.

__________________________________________________________________________

Your relationship was a disaster waiting to happen. 

Uta should have known. A human and a ghoul could never have a safe or stable relationship. 

But neither of you cared. 

We're on top of the world.

We're on top of the world now, darling, so don't let go

Can I call you mine

So can I call you mine now, darling

For a whole lot of time

My heart finally trust my mind

And I know somehow it's right

He met you when he first opened up his mask shop. He had been in his early twenties at that point, just starting out. The business had, of course, been slow at first. No one knew about the little shop in the fourth ward that sold masks to humans and ghouls alike. 

But once the word got out, ghouls started trickling in for masks to hide their faces from Doves. Occasionally, humans would come by for one reason or another. 

And one of those humans was you. 

And oh, we got time, yeah.

So darling, just say you'll stay.

Right by my side

And oh, we got love, yeah.

So darling, just swear you'll stand right by my side.

He looked up from the coffee he was drinking in the back room as the bell above the front door jingled. Setting the drink down, he meandered his way into the main room, where you were looking at all the masks. You crouched down to look at one on one of the lower shelves, tracing a finger down the design of the leather.

“Welcome.” He said simply, and you jumped to your feet, whirling with wide eyes to stare at him. However, once you realized it was only him, you relaxed. You didn’t seem to mind nor care about his appearance. A fact he found the most intriguing. Usually, people would recoil at his looks, thinking he was a ghoul. And he was, but no one else had to know that. So he hid his kakugan under the guise of it being tattoos like everything else on his body.

“You are the mask maker, yes?” You asked him curiously, getting closer than most people did unless they had to. Again, you seemed at ease with him. Yet another thing that was intriguing about you. 

“Call me Uta.” He said, and you brightened,

“Alright, Uta. Can you make me a mask?” He liked how his name sounded coming from you. So he found himself readily agreeing. 

We're on top of the world.

We're on top of the world now, darling, so don't let go

Hmm, I've got something to say

You're perfect in every way. I'm gonna shout it out

I'm wanna tell you now

'Cause I know somehow it's right

He took your measurements, asked you a couple of questions about what you wanted, and found himself genuinely enjoying your company. So much so he was almost sad that you left. The two of you exchanged numbers strictly so he could message you when your mask was done. 

It was strictly business. 

At least, that’s what he told himself. 

And oh, we got time, yeah.

So darling, just say you'll stay right by my side

And oh, we got love, yeah

Darling, just swear you'll stand right by my side

Even after your mask was finished and you paid for it, you still messaged him from time to time. It began business-like enough. Questions on how to care for the mask or requests for minor repairs as it wore over time. 

Then it evolved when he was drunk on blood wine and messaged you asking you to coffee. It was innocent enough, right? It was just coffee. 

Just coffee.

Be my forever

Be my forever

Be my forever

But one coffee outing turned into two. That turned into four. Soon Uta didn’t call them outings. He called them dates. Was this a date? He hadn’t done that before. He had been too busy as the leader of the fourth ward in his earlier years, and he hadn't bothered once he had opened his mask shop. 

Be my forever

Be my forever

Be my forever

“You’re a ghoul, right?” You asked him one day when he was walking you home. He had taken to doing that when he discovered you lived in the eleventh ward. That was where Aogiri resided and was nearly inhabitable for humans. But you told him the rent was cheap and the apartments were nice enough, so that’s where you would stay until something better came up.

Part of him wondered if you’d move to the fourth ward with him. But he was too scared to ask. 

“I am. Does that bother you?” He replied, and you shrugged, hand brushing his as you keep your eyes forward. His heart stutters at the feeling.

“Well, are you planning on eating me?” At this, he shakes his head,

“Of course not.” You glance at him and grin, your hand reaching forward and entwining fingers with his. 

“Then no, it doesn’t.” 

You're my bright blue sky.

You're the sun in my eyes.

Oh, baby, you're my life.

You're the reason why

It doesn’t take long for things to change between you after that. 

Uta holds your hand whenever he walks you home. He touches your shoulder when you practice making masks because you tell him you want to learn how. He has a special coffee cup explicitly reserved for him in your apartment, and you have your cup in his. 

We're on top of the world.

We're on top of the world now, darling, so don't let go

(1, 2, 3, 4)

He kisses you under the moonlight precisely a year after you first met. 

You taste like sugar and coffee, and your arms play with the hair at the back of his neck as you lean in close. His hands fit snuggly at your waist, and he doesn’t let go until he has to come up for air. You lean your forehead against him, brushing noses with him as you grin that brilliant smile reserved just for him. 

“I love you.” He says, and you lean in to peck his lips again.

“I love you too.”

And oh, we got time

Yeah, we got love

So, darling, just swear you'll stay right by my side

Oh, and we got love, yeah

So, darling, just swear you'll stand right by my side.

The bell jingles above his shop, and he turns from his worktable. Uta finds a small smile playing on his lips when he realizes it’s you. You wander over and lean your weight on his back, pressing a kiss to his temple as you peek at the current mask design he’s working on. 

“What do you think?” He asks, more out of wanting to hear your voice than anything. He knew it would look good. He hadn’t worked this hard to hone his skills for nothing. 

“I love it. It’s not my mask, but I love it nonetheless.” You tease, running a hand through his hair and gently working the elastic from it so it falls down his shoulders. 

“I’m glad you like it.” He leans his head against your shoulder and presses his nose to the underside of your jaw. 

You smell like coffee and sugar, and the particular smell that was unique to you alone. 

It was his favorite. 

Be my forever

Be my forever

Be my forever

He should have known things would go wrong, especially when you didn’t show up or contact him for three days. 

Uta unlocks your door with his key and opens it. 

And immediately smells blood and the stench of a ghoul. 

He drops the sunflowers he had purchased in an attempt to appease any anger you might have held toward him because that was the only thing that made sense. You had to be mad at him. That was it, right?

Be my forever

Be my forever

Be my forever

You are in the kitchen. 

What’s left of you anyway. 

Your eyes are glassy and dead. Blood spatters up the cabinets, and viscera is strewn all over the floor. The window is open in the other room. That must’ve been how the ghoul got in. 

Was this a hit from Aogiri tree? 

He didn’t care. He couldn't even find it in him to cry as shock rooted him to the ground. 

Will you love me forever?

I'll love you forever.

Be my forever

He had known all along, somewhere deep in his heart.

He shouldn’t have gotten attached. 

Your relationship was a disaster waiting to happen. 

But that didn’t change the fact that he wanted you by his side forever. 

He wanted you to be his forever. 

Be my forever

Be my forever

Be my forever

[navnae]

Eddie genuinely couldn’t tell anyone what happened to Steve’s appearance after they started dating but he wasn’t complaining in the slightest. Steve ditched the whole clean cut look awhile ago and went for a more grunge darker look. His makeover was all his idea and he asked Eddie to help him out with the accessories that he wanted to add to his new outfits. Eddie got him several ripped jeans, shirts that were torn sleeveless, and big black boots that would do damage if they were put to proper use. Overtime chains, bracelets, belts and piercings would come into the picture which Steve loved instantly. Both of them stared getting plenty of tattoos together along with piercings that were extremely painful but so worth it. Eddie had dabbled with a few piercings and tattoos in the past and none of them were on the level of Steve’s. His had a sleeve tattoo on his arm that was so big that anyone could make out the design from a distance, he got an eyebrow piercing not to long ago then a tongue and lip piercing within the same day. Eddie couldn’t keep up with everything that Steve was doing but he was so attracted to all of it. The day he realized that Steve could pull off any look was when Steve trusted him with a pair of scissors and told him to go absolutely crazy with them. Eddie didn’t hold back at all, he cut Steve’s hair short but not too short. After a few cuts Eddie took his hand and gave the top of Steve’s head a rough rub making sure that his hair was more on the messier, wilder side. Steve didn’t know if he looked good or not and he started to doubt if he somewhat looked appealing. His concerns were thrown out the window when Eddie kissed him desperately after taking in his new look, if anything he showed Steve in many ways he would always catch his eye.

Both of them cooled down when it came to what they wanted to do with their bodies and if they had any ideas of what their next tattoo or piercing was neither of them spoke up about it. Until one afternoon Steve brought up that he wanted to get a belly button piercing and that shocked Eddie because he thought he would’ve been the one to think of getting something like that. He could tell that was something Steve thought about for quite some time and despite looking like he could beat the fuck out of anyone that looked at him the wrong way, somehow he was able to look at Eddie with hesitation and shyness. Eddie could already see how amazing that would look on Steve, so with his impulsive thinking he wanted to get it done as soon as possible. That would explain why Steve was laying on Eddie’s bed waiting for Eddie to come back from cleaning a needle that he found in a random spot in his room and he had an old piercing in his hand ready to go. Eddie smiled from ear to ear as he returned to his room to see Steve still laying in the same spot like before and now that he could see the needle in Eddie’s hand his smile slowly started to fade. Eddie made his way over to his bed then got on top of Steve basically straddling the side of his legs. Steve’s breathing started to become uneven as he kept flicking his eyes to the needle and Eddie noticed.

“Nervous, baby boy?” Eddie asked softly. He gently rubbed his fingers over Steve’s stomach to make him feel comfortable. Steve laughed lightly at the feeling and shook his head.

“No it’s just… last time I saw a needle up close was when I was younger. That doctor had no idea what he was doing. Now that I’m thinking back I don’t even think I was his patient.” Steve joked. Eddie started laughing and Steve followed. Usually when Steve was nervous about something he would make a really bad joke.

“Well with me there’s nothing to worry about. I’m going to make sure that you can barely feel a thing.” Eddie hoped that he could keep his promise. Steve smiled as he placed both of his hands on Eddie’s hips.

“Can I get a kiss then, you know for good measure?” Steve started to slide his hands under Eddie’s shirt letting his fingertips linger over the soft skin. Eddie knew this trick all to well and he slapped Steve’s hands away earning an ‘ouch’ in response.

“You’re actually nervous. Babe I know when you’re stalling and right now is one of those times. If you don’t want to do it then we can just stop right here.” Eddie reassured Steve that whatever he wanted to do was up to him and he had every right to put an end to this. Steve sighed as he looked away from Eddie.

“Okay, maybe I’m a little nervous but I still want to do it. I’m positive.” Steve said happily. That was enough for Eddie to lean down and give him a quick kiss before focusing on the task at hand. He gave Steve’s stomach one last rub then aligned the needle at a certain point that he thought looked good.

“Alright. I just want you to know that this will probably hurt more than your other piercings, so if you need to yell or anything just let it all out okay?” Now Eddie was the one getting nervous because he didn’t want to hurt Steve in the process.

“Okay okay I just want to get this over with before I change my mind.” Steve said while avoiding to look directly at the needle.

Eddie sat there for a few seconds wondering how he was going to tackle this without Steve getting hurt but there wasn’t really any way around it unless he just didn’t do it at all. As he let out the breath he was holding he took his hand and laid it on Steve’s stomach while the other hand with the needle hovered over his skin. Without thinking Eddie just went ahead and stuck the needle into Steve’s skin causing him to buck his hips upwards, the piercing wasn’t even in halfway when Steve started squirming underneath Eddie.

“Fuck… fuck Eddie. Shit.” Steve cursed repeatedly. He couldn’t stop moving and that only caused the piercing to move even more. Eddie needed to push it down so he wouldn’t be in pain anymore.

“I know it hurts baby but I have to do one last thing then the pain will go away. Hang in there for a little be longer, you can do that for me right?” Eddie asked softly. Steve nodded his head quickly then closed his eyes.

Eddie took this opportunity to push down the piercing and the cry that came out of Steve scared him to death. Tears rolled down Steve’s face while his face starting turning red. Even with tears staining his cheeks Eddie could help but feel like Steve was the strongest person he ever knew and he was so proud of him for taking the piercing like a champ. Eddie smiled widely before kissing Steve, he was cautious not to press down anywhere near the sensitive area. Steve smiled against his lips and let out a light chuckle.

“I think that was worse than the tattoo.” Steve admitted. Eddie thought that was insane, he would’ve taken a belly button piercing over a tattoo any day.

“I’m not sure about all that. You did amazing though I’m so proud of you and if you were wondering it looks so fucking good on you too.” Eddie meant every single word. To say that he’s never done that before he would definitely recommend himself to someone in the future.

“It better because that little bastard hurt like hell,” Steve said semi joking. Both of them started laughing until Steve had a thought pop into his head. “Hey, why don’t I give you one right now?”

“Oh absolutely not. You and a meddle does not sound like a good idea. Besides we can’t use this one because it’s not clean anymore.” Eddie could’ve easily washed the needle but he didn’t think he had it in him to get a piercing right now. Steve frowned slightly that Eddie wouldn’t be able to get one at the moment.

“That’s a shame. Maybe next time?” Steve whispered as he pulled Eddie closer to him.

“Of course.” Eddie said then they kissed each other softly.

And just like Eddie thought the next time Steve was going to be the one with the needle in his hand it sounded like someone was getting murdered inside of Eddie’s trailer. His tolerance for pain was no where near Steve’s and they had to stop several times. At least in the end both of their piercings looked good and they were matching.

[xtaketwox]

It Looks As Though You're Letting Go - Chapter 6

Fic Summary: Everyone is born with an arrow on the back of their hand which points to their soulmate at midnight on their eighteenth birthday. After her parents' disastrous marriage and her father's subsequent depression following her mother's death, Nesta realized a soulmate is nothing more than guaranteed heartache and ruination. On the eve of her eighteenth birthday, she packs up her car and leaves her family and life behind forever. What she doesn't count on, however, is having a soulmate like Cassian, who may be the one to prove to her that a soulmate is what she needs.

Fic Rating: Explicit

Warnings: None

Chapter Word Count: 3436

Based on this prompt

Read on AO3 Fic Masterlist

Chapter 6

Two Years Later

“I can’t believe you’re getting married.” 

Rhys chuckled as he straightened his tie. “Because no one would want to marry me?”

Cassian frowned. “Of course not.” He struggled to find the words to express how happy he was for Rhys. Cassian didn’t know anyone more deserving of happiness, except perhaps Nesta. The fact that after all that Rhys had been through with Amarantha, he had then stumbled across his soulmate despite having a square tattooed over the arrow on his hand was nothing short of miraculous.

Rhys, in that uncanny way he had of reading Cassian’s thoughts, clapped him on the shoulder. “I know.” He pulled Cassian in for a quick hug. “Thank you.” When he pulled away, he smirked at Cassian. “Maybe someday soon, you’ll be standing at the end of the aisle yourself.”

Cassian just barely resisted snorting. His relationship with Nesta made little sense to his friends, but especially Rhys. Despite Cassian’s assurances that he was fine with things the way they were, his friends knew him well enough to spot his lie. 

Oh, his friendship with Nesta was great. They had spent the past two years in an endless stream of coffee dates, texting chains, and group hangouts. Cassian had spent almost as much time with Gwyn and Emerie as he had with Nesta. He was well aware she was using her friends as a buffer, they were all aware, but they all allowed it because it was Nesta. 

However, he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t starting to chafe, to want more from her. He knew it was wrong. He had agreed to her terms knowing perfectly well that he had little chance of ever changing her mind about giving them a shot at more than friendship. But after ten years with this beautiful, frustrating woman, he couldn’t help wanting more. 

Cassian no longer cared about the fact she was his soulmate. That was secondary to how much he genuinely enjoyed spending time with her. Not even his longtime friends measured up to how much he enjoyed his time with Nesta. He delighted in those times he could get her to laugh, the times she tried to pass off a smile as a scowl were especially his favorite moments. 

“Don’t hold your breath,” Cassian said to Rhys, whose mouth thinned. Cassian pasted on a smile. “Enough about my friendship with Nesta,” he put extra emphasis on the word friendship, “you’re getting married today.”

The ceremony was going to be incredibly small, hardly more than a courthouse ceremony. Neither Rhys nor Feyre cared or wanted a lavish ceremony, so they decided to keep it to close friends and family. 

Rhys’s smile was brighter than Cassian had ever seen it. “I am getting married today.”

“It’s time.” 

Cassian turned at the soft spoken words from Azriel as Rhys gave his already straight tie another straighten and ran his hand over his hair. 

“Enough primping,” Cassian chuckled. 

Rhys didn’t bother to deny it as he turned to the pair of them with a smile. “Time to go get married.”

~~~~~~~~~

Nesta fidgeted in her seat, feeling out of place. She hadn’t seen either of her sisters in person since she had left home over ten years ago, and had only agreed to come to Feyre’s wedding after Elain begged her, saying Feyre would never beg herself but would be crushed if Nesta didn’t come. In a strange twist of fate, her sister’s soulmate ended up being one of Cassian’s closest friends. Since Cassian would be in the small wedding, Nesta had felt a little less apprehensive about attending, knowing she would have at least one ally there. 

Sitting in the front row of the small chapel, she couldn’t help but wonder if there weren’t going to be more people in the wedding than attending it. On the right side of the aisle was a man who could only be Rhys’s father, and she was the only person on the left.

“This seat taken?”

Nesta looked up to find a red-haired man gesturing to the seat next to her. She shook her head. “No.”

He sat down and extended a hand. She paused for a moment before shaking it. 

“I’m Lucien.”

“Nesta.”

“Ah. Feyre’s sister right?”

She nodded, and just because it seemed polite she asked, “How do you know Feyre?”

“We met through Rhys,” Lucien explained. “My family and Rhys’s have run in the same circles since we were kids, but your sister and I struck up a friendship, which is how I ended up with an invitation to this exclusive event.”

Nesta noted one of his fingers tapping his knee and wondered if he was nervous about something. Before she could think of anything else to say, music started and Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel walked to take their places in front of the room. Nesta, Lucien, and Rhys’s father turned to watch first Feyre’s friend—and Rhys’s cousin—Morrigan and then Elain walk down the aisle. The door closed behind Elain and when she was at the end of the aisle, the music shifted before the doors to the chapel once again opened, revealing Feyre. 

Nesta’s throat closed as she beheld her sister walking down the aisle with a bright smile on her face. Her dress wasn’t elaborate, could even perhaps be reworn as a evening gown, but it was the happiness radiating off her that left Nesta swallowing hard against the surge of emotion for her sister. When she glanced back to Rhys, she didn’t blame him for the tears shining in his eyes as he beamed toward his bride.

When they were again seated, she frowned at the glare Elain threw to Lucien. When Nesta glanced over at him, his expression looked guilty. She had never seen Elain look so livid, and widened her eyes towards both of them as a reminder that they were in the middle of a wedding. All three of them turned their gazes back to the ceremony, leaving Nesta to wonder what on earth that was about until she glanced down at Lucien’s hands and noticed the arrow on his was pointing directly toward Elain. 

Ah.

Nesta looked away again. She had her own soulmate issues to deal with. She did not need to get in the middle of someone else’s. Her eyes drifted to Cassian to find him already watching her. Her face heated when he smirked at her, a pleasant warmth winding through her. As expected, the past two years as Cassian’s friend had been amazing. Also as expected, Nesta was finding it harder and harder to shove away her desire to give in, to allow herself to love Cassian fully. 

The ceremony was over quickly, and before Nesta knew it, her youngest sister was married to one of the wealthiest men in the city. She clapped politely as the smiling couple floated back down the aisle, exiting after the other four wedding party members followed them down the aisle. 

Everyone, excluding Rhys’s father and the just married couple piled into a limo.  Cassian gestured for Nesta to sit next to him, so she squeezed between him and Azriel. Elain sat next to Azriel, as far away from Lucien as she could, and immediately struck up a conversation with him. Mor sat on the other side of Lucien and the pair also struck up a conversation. 

“You look beautiful,” Cassian said, his voice low. Nesta tensed to stop herself from shivering at the words spoken like a lover’s caress in her ear. Instead, she frowned at him. 

“You know better than to say that.” 

Cassian adopted an innocent expression. “I can’t tell a friend they look good?”

Nesta snorted. “Yes, tell me, did you whisper in Azriel’s ear as well?”

Azriel responded, his voice dry, “Yes, and it was disconcerting.” Cassian barked a laugh as Nesta rolled her eyes, unable to keep a smile from her face.

The ride to the Night family mansion, where the reception was to be held, flew by and before she knew it, they piled out of the limo. Nesta gazed around, unable to keep the awe out of her expression as she took in the grand mansion before her. It was like something out of movie and she couldn’t help but compare the home she and her sisters grew up in. Hopefully Feyre was ready for this new life. 

“It’s a bit much, right?” Cassian said.

She turned to him. “Something like that.”

His eyes narrowed a fraction before he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the stairs. “Come on. Lets go before the good seats are taken.”

Nesta chuckled at the joke. The entire reception was nine people large, and Nesta would be surprised if Rhys’s father even bothered to join them. Nesta didn’t comment on Cassian holding her hand; the warm sensation worming its way up her arm felt so good, she didn’t want to pull away. 

Her mouth gaped open when they entered the ballroom. “What kind of a house has a ballroom these days?” she asked.

“The pretentious kind.”

Nesta turned to find Rhysand smiling at her. His smile tightened as he looked between her and Cassian, but he still stuck out his hand. “Glad to finally meet my other new sister-in-law.”

Nesta just barely resisted snorting at the obvious irritation in his voice as she shook his hand. “Pleasure to meet you as well. Congratulations on your marriage.”

“Thank you.” His smile turned genuine as he glanced down at Feyre, tucked into his side beaming up at him. “I hope this means we’ll be seeing more of you?”

Nesta tensed, but before she could respond, Cassian linked her arm through his. “Excuse us. We should find our seat.” He pulled Nesta away before either Rhys or Feyre could respond, walking toward where a long table had been arranged in the center of the room. 

“Rhys is just worried about Feyre,” Cassian said, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

Nesta was so tense that it felt like a hard slap on the back would break every bone in her body. “And you, I’m sure.”

Cassian didn’t deny it as he pulled out a chair for her. “Just remember this is their wedding and that Rhys means well. As for me, well, I can take care of myself.” He winked as he sat down next to her. 

It didn’t escape her notice that he sat them at the opposite end of the table from Rhys and Feyre. Lucien took the seat across from Nesta, Mor once more sitting next to him. With such a small party, there wasn’t much one could do to avoid people, but Elain did her best, sitting herself directly next to Feyre, as far away from Lucien as she could.

Nesta did her best to shake off her defensiveness. She had no wish to ruin her sister’s wedding day, although she was beginning to think that would have been more likely had Nesta not attended at all. She felt out of place among these people. Even Lucien appeared less uncomfortable than Nesta, a product of running in the same circles for years no doubt. 

She stared at the assortment of silverware next to the charger in front of her and felt something akin to panic take over. 

“No one cares what fork you use,” Cassian said, leaning close to avoid others hearing. “Rhys’s father is probably the one responsible for it anyway. None of us bother with more than one fork.”

Nesta straightened, lifting her chin. “I don’t care what anyone thinks of me.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “Don’t I know it. But you can’t hide your panic from me.”

“I wasn’t panicking.”

Cassian took a sip of water. “You were panicking.” He reached under the table to squeeze her hand and she took a deep breath to calm herself. She knew what he was doing, trying to get a rise out of her to make her forget how uncomfortable she was, and she hated that it was working. She just needed to get through this evening and then she could return to her life, could stop facing the guilt that had been her constant companion the entire day. 

Nesta was grateful when the first course was served and she had a reason to stay quiet, to pretend to be listening to the conversations around her, and she breathed a sigh of relief when the final course was removed. She just had to make it through cake and watching Rhys and Feyre dance and she could leave without looking rude. 

When a piece of chocolate cake was placed in front of her, she raised her eyebrows. Cutting their wedding cake was apparently another wedding tradition that Rhys and Feyre didn’t care to be fussy about. She grabbed her fork and dug in, nearly groaning at how delicious it was. They may not be fussy, but they certainly didn’t skimp either. Conversation flowed around her as she savored the cake, forgetting her discomfort for a moment. 

As she was finishing up her last bite, the music that had been playing in the background shifted and Rhys held out a hand to Feyre, the pair of them walking several steps to the side of the table. Given how pretentious this home was, Nesta wasn’t at all surprised to find Rhys was an excellent dancer. Once upon a time, before her life had been upended, she had taken several different dance classes, so she could recognize how good Rhys was. He swept Feyre around the room and something that might have been envy tightened in Nesta’s chest at the happiness radiating off the couple. 

She looked away, using her fork to scrape the last bits of frosting off her plate so she didn’t have to watch them, to pretend that she wasn’t envious of her sister’s happiness. 

When the song ended, another waltz started and a hand came into view. Nesta looked up in surprise to find Cassian giving her a sheepish look. 

“Care to dance?”

Her breath caught. “I don’t know if we should.”

Cassian’s brows rose. “Friends dance.”

She knew she should say no, but something in her chest squeezed and she instead found herself taking his outstretched hand. “Ok.” 

It had been well over a decade since she had last danced, nothing much in her life worth dancing for until this moment. Rhys and Feyre were still beaming at each other as Rhys whirled them around the room. Elain and Azriel were also on their way to the dancefloor, leaving Mor and Lucien to follow.

Cassian stopped in the center of the dancefloor, turning his hand in Nesta’s to grasp it firmly, his other hand landing on her lower back as he pulled her closer. Nesta looked up at him, her heart fluttering like a hummingbird in her chest as she peered up into his hazel eyes and found them smoldering. 

“I have to warn you,” he said softly, “I’m not a great dancer.”

Nesta swallowed. “That’s fine.”

Without another word, Cassian began their waltz. Nesta couldn’t take her eyes off him, their breaths mingling as they silently waltzed around the room. Cassian was indeed not a great dancer, but she hardly noticed, too focused on his lips so close to hers. Less than a foot separated them as they twirled around the room and suddenly Nesta forgot she was at her sister’s wedding, forgot she was envious of Feyre’s happiness, forgot the guilt for the years she had abandoned her sisters. All that existed in that moment was her and Cassian.

Before she knew it, the song ended and they hardly paused before another song started. This one was much slower, and Cassian pulled Nesta closer, his hand low on the small of her back as their body’s brushed against each other. He was so tall that Nesta had to tip her head back, her eyes catching on his lips as she did so. When she finally looked up into his eyes, her stomach flipped at the molten look in his eyes. 

She stepped back, dropping her hands. “I…I have to go to the restroom.”

She turned, ignoring Cassian as he called after her, and all but ran out of the ballroom, turning right without knowing where she was going and walking briskly down a hallway next to the grand staircase. 

She had hardly walked ten steps when a hand gripped her arm. “Nesta, please stop.”

Nesta wrenched her arm free as she turned to find Cassian holding his hands up. “What.” She made herself sound cold, to hide how her emotions were roiling. 

Cassian ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Cassian blinked. “I—shouldn’t have kept dancing after the waltz.”

Nesta crossed her arms, straightening hers pine. “Why?”

Cassian blinked again, clearly at a loss at her feigned indifference. Then he pressed his lips together, his expression darkening in irritation as he said, “You know what? I’m not sorry.”

Nesta shrugged. “I don’t care.”

Cassian snorted, crossing his own arms. “I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

“I agree,” she said, “why are you surprised that I don’t care to be pawed at by you?”

She nearly took it all back at the hurt that flitted through his expression before he masked it, anger flaring in his expression. “That’s how you’re going to act? You can pretend there’s nothing but friendship between us, that’s fine. You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me.” He stepped closer and Nesta tensed, refusing to back up. “I saw your face Nesta. You want me as much as I want you.”

Her fingers dug into her arms as she said, “You’re wrong.”

He took another step closer. “Am I?”

She couldn’t help her swallow as her mouth went dry, the heat in his eyes begging her to stop running, to give in. “Yes.” The word came out breathy and she nearly winced. 

Cassian cupped her jaw, his thumb brushing along her bottom lip as he leaned closer. “Then tell me to stop.” 

Nesta’s breath came in pants as she willed herself to pull away, to tell him to stop as he dipped his head toward her slowly, waiting for her to stop him. 

His lips brushed against hers and she let out a strangled sound, his hand sliding into her hair, his other gripping her waist as he stepped fully into her space and pulled her flush against him. Nesta melted against him, the last shreds of her self-control burning up against the heat of the kiss. When he licked the seam of her lips, she opened, groaning again as his tongue slid into her mouth. She grasped the sides of his shirt, pulling him closer. 

She had missed this, had thought about the first and only time they’d slept together more times than she cared to admit, but nothing compared to reality, to the feel of Cassian’s body against hers, his hands sliding over her, his tongue doing delicious things in her mouth. Cassian turned and walked her backwards until her back hit the wall behind them, groaning when she lifted a leg around his waist and ground herself into him. 

As if a tether had been broken in him, Cassian growled into her mouth, grinding himself against her, his hands hot as he slid them over her body on top of her dress. He pulled his lips from hers, sliding kisses along her jaw and down her mouth. Nesta could do little more than pant when he sucked lightly on the spot where her shoulder and neck met.

All at once, he pulled away, turned and strode toward the staircase, pulling Nesta behind him. She didn’t object, her heart racing, her mind strangely empty as Cassian pulled her into the first doorway he came to, which turned out to be a bedroom. He closed the door behind her and pushed her against it, his hands on either side of her head, breathing hard. 

He looked frantic, like he was hardly keeping himself together as his gaze moved between her eyes. “I need to know.” 

Nesta tried to remember how to think as she said, “Know what?”

Cassian closed his eyes, rubbing his nose against hers before he opened them again and said, “I need to know that if we do this, you won’t run away again. That you’ll finally admit that there is more than friendship between us and we can be together.”

The words were like a bucket of ice water over her head.

[sugarstarlights]

> “So I have to do everything I’m told and asked, and like, love every second of it, it’s really fucked up, and I know that, but I still really want to do it, fucking /desperately/. Worse than our angel help programming. It’s going to make me happy. I know it will. I haven’t experienced it really yet beyond a dumb mistake and a conflicting mindset too distracting to be proud of, but it’s going to, it’s the right thing to do, maybe we. Can test it. If anyone..”

Rook stares at Mads Altair incredulously, nose a little scrunched up at the angel’s weird intense energy and abnormal conviction, but raises an eyebrow at the sudden change of tune.

“I thought you wanted me to make you stop enjoying it. Is it /that/ fucked up, that you can’t even truly hate it?”

��..Yeah,” he mumbles, grinding his teeth in a strained grin, “It’s that fucked up, but maybe it really will make me as happy as a dog gets about it, which is pretty fucking happy.”

“Okay, well..” They pause, tapping their wand on their opposite tattooed palm. “Fly a loop around the outside of the house.”

Altair is out the door almost before Rook can designate the location, wings unfolding behind him and flapping a little excitedly in the open room. They watch him leap off the edge of the island like there's something to land on, but instead of hitting a ledge, his purple feathers catch him in the air, taking him with a twist of his body in a loop around the building he'd just exited. Mads lands in a rushed stumble back on floating ground, a shaky grin on his face and a light in his eyes. He rushes back inside, stopping before Rook to step from foot to foot excitedly, truly like a dog after running around the yard on command, face bright with innocent anticipation.

Rook knows what he wants out of this, most likely, or at least what his instincts want, and reaches out to pat Mads' fidgeting hand. "Good job, I think that was a new record. You really got a lot of improvement out of that aerodynamics stuff, huh, that's impressive." Their compliment is genuine, and hits home, filling the empty space that this magic had created in the angel's inner soul.

He very much feels it, a pure joy and pride that wells up into the hole in his chest and overflows, a feeling like Mads had done something incredible, that mattered, like he had earned some measure of worth. The latter thought, when caught, lingers, a deeply tempting reason to let this continue..just to feel like he's worth something, more than being useful on his own could ever let him. But lower in his soul, suppressed under the magic and its rush, the nauseating twist of knowing these actions and feelings were chosen for him taints the man's aching desire for inherent value. This isn't a favor to him. It's just another careful lesson to make him more fun to play with. He doesn't want to be fun, Altair would rather be a broken puppet left to rot than 1 in use, strung up and along and forced to smile and laugh while he appeases someone cruel. Even wanting this, Mads' fear, deep down, what it always came to in the end, intensifies beyond his ecstasy. The terror as he looks up at his own strings from their helpless grip, seeing new threads wrapped around his mind, is too much, and the angel's smile falters into shaking, his hands clenching into tense fists.

"No, this. This isn't. Right. It's- it's how it should be- I can't take it. I don't want it. I'm so fucking trapped, /please/, if you can at least. Make me stop..thinking. Like this. About it."

Madison Rook may not be Madison Altair anymore, but their deepest fears are still shared, and they understand what draws the man's doubts to the surface of his manipulated mindset. They understand, they sympathize, but that doesn't mean they won't use it to their advantage. Rook tilts their horned head, considering their twin and his active crisis.

"Apologize for what you did to me, first. And mean it. Then I'll help you."

Mads' shoulders tense, but he laughs, even more strained but giddy at the manageable command, his words dragging his thoughts along behind them as they leave his lips against his will.

"Fantastic, sure, yeah, I fucking stabbed you, multiple times, I'm so sorry, really, definitely, I-"

Rook interrupts the chipper claim and its accompanying twisted smile and says "And don't enjoy it. Just make it normal and sincere."

Pausing, Altair blinks and takes a deep breath, momentarily freed from his inescapable glee. He tries again, and somehow it hurts more.

"..yeah. I hurt you. You hurt someone I cared about, more than was necessary, you left invisible scars and made her afraid of me because of what you did. I knew that you..regretted it. When I confronted you. You apologized. You'd already punished yourself. But I needed to do it myself, to make sure it was done right." It isn't hostility, but discomfort in his thin voice through gritted teeth, explaining himself in terms that sound cruel even to him, even as justified as they felt for so long. "I thought I needed to go as far as you did. For the lesson to sink in. ..But I could've stopped 1 sword in. Or I- I could've just not done that at all, and just yelled at you," he corrects himself as Rook glares, dissatisfied with the reluctance to fully retract his intentions.

"You could've not yelled at me, either. You called me horrible things. Maybe I needed to be confronted about my actions, but considering you were trying so hard to redeem Patches, you sure didn't seem willing to give me any second chances." The tiefling speaks with bitterness in their tone, remembering all the pain they'd been dealt. "You still haven't apologized."

"You're. Right. I'm. ..Sorry. You..didn't deserve. The excess punishment. That I took upon myself to give." He stares at the floor, unable to keep hiding his shame under sharp defenses. "I've made mistakes just as bad, and. If you had done that to me, for what I did..I guess I'd be just as upset and scared as you were..and. Still are. It feels like something I would have deserved, yeah. But I still wouldn't have. Deserved it from you. You didn't, either. And you shouldn't have had to be so afraid of being around me for so long. ..I realize that was. As long-term a wound. As you gave. If not more so. I remember when you tried to. Change your face, so you wouldn't have to look at me in the mirror. And so you wouldn't make me upset by existing around me. I..I'm sorry I made you feel that way about your identity. And for hating you just for being me, for so long after that."

Rook is quiet for several seconds, considering what the man they used to be had admitted and regretted, before they respond, "Look me in the eye, and say you regret hurting me."

They make eye contact, narrowed and pained meeting narrowed and judging, and there's a longer silence than there should be for a magic as urgent as this.

"..I regret. Hurting you. You came a long way and made up for a lot, far more than what I judged you for..and I sure didn't contribute to that. In any positive way. You helped me more than I deserved for how I treated you. I'm sorry. That I took that anger out on you."

Analyzing his stare, his resigned but sincerely mournful voice, Rook decides that's real enough for them. Reaching out again, the sorcerer puts a violet hand on the sleeve of Mads Altair's suit, a blue glow surrounding their hand as the gentle sound of rushing ocean tides washes away his thick layer of enforced enthusiasm for this state, like lifting heavy mud from his thoughts, freeing dozens of panicked complaints suppressed to the point of silence, complaints that immediately give the angel plenty of new things to stress about. But those are just noise under such a relief to have his mind fully his own again, despite what the strings may make his body do in the future. A freedom he often takes for granted, so easily returned from what felt like an immovably forceful grip. It's as if he scoops up all his now-freed feelings and opinions and gives them a warm hug, but for lack of that proper expression towards his state of mind, Madison Altair hugs his duplicate instead, grateful for the results of their spell.

They go rather stiff at first, but relax, hug Mads in return, and pet his hair a bit. Rook understands his fear of control. And they understand his relief to be free of it. It's the least they could do for finally forcing a makeup conversation, to release the charm given to twist him into a better toy. He would do the same for them. He understands their fear too. It's better if they're on each others' side. Few others would be able to support each other like this. ..They've wanted his support for a long time.

"Alright. Thank you. I believe you. ..I forgive you."

Mads doesn't respond, just makes a weak crying sound from the shoulder of Rook's cloak, and hugs his recurring savior tighter.

[tired-fandom-ndn]

Juicy details on why the white beard pirates hate?? If you want, I'm mean. I am entirely ambivalent towards them and in my limited One Piece bubble only see the occasional Marco stan but you always have such good takes 😌

I talked about this recently but I'll rehash it because I think about it CONSTANTLY.

The Whitebeards are predatory. Straight up. This is canon. Just basing Ace's "recruitment" (which is treated as TOTALLY NORMAL by all the Whitebeards), Whitebeard and his crew deliberately target young and vulnerable captains, basically cornering them to absorb those captains and their crews into the fleet.

They canonly captured Ace, who was as far as I remember injured with his crew under attack, and kept him hostage for at least a few months by my guess. He was not willing, he didn't go with them by choice, and he was actively trying to kill Whitebeard. And then he suddenly. . . isn't. He agrees to join the crew, calls Whitebeard pops, and then the Spade pirates are not only absorbed into the fleet, they're separated. We don't really see any of the Spades post-Whitebeard except Ace and Deuce; I don't even know if they were all allowed to stay, considering Whitebeard doesn't seem eager to have "daughters."

I know that the implication in canon is that Ace just ended up liking Whitebeard and his crew but. . . it's all just very weird to me. It feels like it would make just as much sense in a canon context for Ace to be fucking miserable and terrified, possibly without even realizing it. Whitebeard using Ace's issues with Roger especially feels manipulative to me, deliberately targeting the most vulnerable parts of Ace to convince him that the Whitebeard is the only one who would love him as he is (which is wrong!! Luffy adores him and always has!!!) and the only chance he has at a family (wrong again!!!! Luffy get your ass over here!!!!!!).

And again, Ace wasn't willing to stay on the ship without being kept prisoner. He wasn't allowed to leave, he definitely wasn't allowed to go find and protect his crew. So canonly speaking, joining the Whitebeard pirates was Ace's only chance to regain some measure of freedom and reunite with the other Spade pirates. You can't even argue that he was too much of a threat to Whitebeard to let go; he was a teenager going up against an emperor and clearly had no hope of ever actually touching Whitebeard, let alone injuring him. If they actually cared about Ace's opinion, they could've just fucking dropped him off on some random island instead of giving him Stockholm syndrome.

And, again, Ace's treatment was treated as so completely normal that there is no possible way to interpret it in any way except for this being something the Whitebeards do on a regular basis, which would explain how Whitebeard managed to grow his fleet to such an absurd size. It would make a lot of sense if most of his fleet joined and stayed specifically to be close to the captains that Whitebeard stole.

So yeah, while the Whitebeards are framed as a loving family, it would be just as valid to use the canon information to interpret them as highly manipulative kidnappers who steal promising young captains and absorb their crews. Maybe Whitebeard genuinely cares about them but doesn't notice or care how his actions affect them, maybe he's deliberately trying to get powerful captains under his flag to keep them from becoming threats to his power, or maybe (and this is my favorite interpretation) he collects young and interesting captains as a sort of novelty for himself and sees them more as leashed and muzzled pets than his children.

(This darker interpretation of the Whitebeards also gives his crew member's jolly roger tattoos a much more somber meaning. When you see Whitebeard as someone who steals and claims captains for himself, the tattoos seem less like a sign of affection and more like a brand of ownership. A full back tattoo of an emperor's jolly roger would be a very difficult thing to hide or remove if Whitebeard's precious Ace ever decided to leave. . . . . .)

[eoieopda]

Hihi, Jade! Hope you’ve been well and are doing good hehe

I started learning the pre-chorus + chorus to Like Crazy and when I tell you it’s groovy as shit. Like damn. Though, if this doesn’t improve my hip-control, I genuinely have no idea what will 🤡

On another note, I’m meeting up with one of my friends on Monday! We’re going out for coffee and window shopping and I’m pretty excited because I haven’t seen her since the beginning of February of this year, and I’m excited to talk to her face to face (hah see what I did there ;))

I also did a little brainstorming for a story I’ve wanted to write since August of 2020, and I’m hoping it’s gonna help with my immense writers block concerning the idea itself lmfao

I was also wondering, but do you bake? I know it’s a pretty random question but a lot of my friends bake, and I’ve only ever baked once with one of said friends. We made chocolate muffins and, despite them being relatively messy, they actually tasted pretty good! I’m a bit sad we didn’t have chocolate chips though, I would’ve loved to take the famous(?) “you measure that shit with your heart” post as inspiration to make a mostly choc-chip choco muffin hehe.

Do you draw at all, either? I don’t draw much, and when I do I almost always draw exclusively doodles, but I’ve had a couple which came out pretty well. I drew this really tiny dragon a while ago (probably a few years back) which I thought came out pretty well hehet.

By the way, on a less random and softer note, I’ve been meaning to tell you but kept getting shy and insecure about how to say it, but I really appreciate you, you know? I know we don’t know each other super personally and everything, but our exchanges have been a consistent highlight to my everyday life since I’ve become your mutual.

Like, I can’t even begin to say how big of an impact you’ve had on me as a person just with a couple of our (admittedly short) interactions. Your posts brighten up my day, and I really love how full of love you are, and how you’re so unapologetically yourself. It’s really pushed me to become more comfortable in my own skin, which I couldn’t thank you enough for.

I know that probably went from zero (0) to one-hundred (100) real quick, lol, but I thought it was about time, you know? Sorry for putting something like this in an ask, I probably should’ve sent it in a PM but I thought, “I’m here, I might as well do it while I have the courage” 🥹

Anyway, sorry for all the blabbering xd.

I hope you have a wonderful day (or night, I’m not 100% what time of day you’re at rn)!

I hope this isn’t coming off as creepy as it’s starting to sound in my head 🥹 I admire you a lot is all; sorry if this makes you uncomfortable if it does lemme know pls. Okay bye ily 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

this is quite possibly the sweetest thing i anyone has told me in a very very very long time, and i am — OOF — misty in the damn eyeballs. like, i don’t even know how to thank you for that 😭🫠 i’m a whole mess omg. YOU ARE SO SPECIAL, LIL BABY HAN 😭💓💕💗🫶🏻

now i’m gonna stop wheezing and answer your actual questions and pretend i did not just fully tear up, lmao.

i do bake, but not as often as i used to? i kind of only do it when i’m home with my mom which is rare but will resume soon when i move back to my home state to be close again!! def prefer baking to cooking because there is some ridiculous disconnect in which i can do one fairly well but will burn the shit out of whatever meal i’m attempting and/or burn myself. i do not know why i am like this!!

i draw, but also not as often as i used to 🤪 like, i drew/designed all of my tattoos and used to be really into art, but my brain only lets me have 1-2 hobbies at a time, and this one fell by the wayside 🥲 rip art-phase jade.

and good luck with your wip!!! seriously, tag me in anything you post because i love FFF so much that i would surely love whatever else you write 💕🥹

[struggle-but-its-all-ocean-floor]

PJM1 will be huge. There's so much anticipation for Jimin's album already. I wonder if this is what people mean when they talk about YG's strategy to starve Blinks of content to generate hype. Jimin is the least active member right now, with the least number of solo or self-written songs, yet he's the most anticipated, partly because we don't know what his personal style is yet and we can't even begin to guess what his album will sound like. I can't say that I know what to expect of JK's album, for example, but the other vocal line members have specific styles we associate with them. JK -> EDM pop (Stay, Euphoria, Magic Shop), RnB (Begin, My Time, and Stay Alive in terms of vocals), romantic songs/non-traditional ballads (Love is Not Over, Film Out, Your Eyes Tell), fan songs (Still With You, Stay, Magic Shop, My You); V -> ballads, acoustic sentimental songs (his Soundcloud songs and OSTs), Jin -> power ballads, sentimental tracks. I guess Jimin's style so far is easy pop (Christmas Love and Promise) and songs with powerful performances? But Lie, Filter and Serendipity have nothing in common with each other or with Christmas Love, With You, and Promise.

The thing with Jimin is that he's an IT boy. That is literally the best way to describe him. He's an excellent model (the best in BTS imo), has great fashion sense, is loved by celebrities and people in the fashion world, is sexy, bold, shy and cute in equal measure and that is a very charming and powerful cocktail (he drives people insane by being cute and sexy, often at the same time), is a major stan attractor - 'locals' probably bias him the most and he's usually the first member first time listeners notice (for his unique voice, cuteness, dancing, looks). He has that it factor. He seems impossibly cool and sexy, yet also ridiculously cute, lovable, comforting. Mostly, there is something aloof about him, especially now that he's become so private, and that makes people even more curious about him.

To me, Jungkook is the boy next door. He's sweet and cute in a very innocent, boyish way, though he's sexy and powerful on stage. He's a bit awkward in photoshoots and interviews but very approachable and earnest - he often talks about wanting to show fans the real him and has the most fan songs of all the members. He doesn't have that it factor that makes people instantly go insane over him the way we do over Jimin, but he's super popular anyway (more so, in fact), just in a different way. I kinda see V has an it boy/boy next door combo - an it boy to locals and more boy next door to fans. He comes across as aloof, cool, eccentric, stylish, handsome, and cute to nonfans, but fans know he's also sweet, caring, approachable, genuine. He loves Army too (like Jimin, of course, but he releases more content for us). To be clear, I'm not saying Jimin isn't sweet, genuine, approachable - he is, and even locals know he's an angel - but in a godly, not-for-us-mere-mortals kind of way, unlike JK who's more puppy-like...?

Jimin will likely get the most explosive reaction of all the members, with V coming up a close second. I feel like we've seen enough of JK that we're less curious for his album and he'll be a silent killer. In my experience, JK's fans are a bit more lowkey, but he can absolutely steal the conversation from all other members. Half the comments about BTS's 2020 Idol performance on Jimmy Fallon, the LA PTD On Stage concerts (especially after the wardrobe malfunction), the GDA performance where Suga made an appearance post-surgery but JK showed up with blond hair, Muster Sowozoo (tattoos!), etc. were just about him. I remember so many BTS events and concerts where I think Jungkook dominated the conversation. He's a silent killer in the sense that, imo, he doesn't have that Harry Styles-esque appeal, but will break records and perform really well without seemingly getting as much hype from the gp or even fans.

I don't know how else to explain it, but I just find it so interesting that the maknae line have really different types of fame and appeal, with V being a sort of crossover between JK's boy next door, yet powerful and cool on stage, persona, and Jimin's it everything. I'm JK biased but Jimin drives me insane the most with his personality, outfits, shoots, etc. He's crazy attractive.

[zolusbian]

so im a ltitle over four months post-breast reduction, yay! here are some thoughts

1. my scars are settled; they’ll lighten over time, but i don’t think i’m going  to take any measures to make them lighter or tattoo over them or anything. i do not find them ugly and they do not cause me dysphoria of any kind. i do genuinely think this has part to do with having a transmasc partner and frequently associating with transmasc people; any form of top surgery scars to me has become more normal than scar-less chests.

2. any science that says breast reductions have no strong correlation to reducing back pain are a LIE and are an example of MISOGYNIST SCIENCE. my life is COMPLETELY DIFFERENT. the back pain has essentially vanished. i used to spend my entire day at a baseline 3 or 4 of pain, which would spike up to 7-8 after chores like washing dishes or hanging laundry. the worst my back pain ever was was actually at my pre-surgery consultation when the surgeon did my marks; i had to stand on my feet with no sports bra for about 30 minutes and i was nauseous, dizzy, knees shaking, almost passing out and puking levels of pain, a straight-up 9 or 10. i have not experienced any of this. i get some very, very mild level 2 back pain every once in a while that goes away by sitting down for a few minutes. before, to go down to base level, pain meds would not work and i pretty much had to go to sleep and hard reset my body. HUGE difference.

3. relatedly, adjusting to my (lack of) pain levels is strange. i keep expecting to run out of energy and keeping putting limitations that are not actually necessary on myself. i frequently find myself doing chores and thinking “okay, i’ll take a break soon,” even though i’m not actually tired, because i am anticipating the tiredness. it consistently shocks me when i can keep going through my day. on the flip side, the fact that some pain is manageable is very strange to me; i expect it to knock me out for the rest of the day but, like i said, a few minutes of rest or at MOST a mild pain med and i’m back at it.

4. i can cook now! turns out like 75% of my hatred towards cooking was the fact that i had to stand on my feet to stir things. i still do not enjoy cooking, but if i want to make a special recipe, or noa is tired and isn’t up to it, or i want to bake a cake, i can, with no pain.

5. my breasts are still lumpy. this is particularly true of my left breast, which has what feels like a marble at the bottom. feels super gross! but it’s getting smaller so hopefully no more lumps in a few months. (they are, however, a perfect, squeezable handful, lumps and all).

if you are considering breast reduction, or any other kind of top surgery, feel free to send me asks! i went through a sizable reducton and my partner had complete top surgery, he had drains and i did not, and we both had great experiences and wouldn’t mind talking to anybody with questions :)

[binders-and-beanies]

Suicide trigger warning and all (I’m fine) but tattoos are quite literally suicide prevention for me. Not so much in a short term sense (it’s not like when I’m at my worst I get a tattoo and it makes me feel better that day or week) but I do feel more like myself with each tattoo and like life is more worth it the more I like myself.

Like genuinely the first and most impactful thought that crosses my mind as to why I don’t want to kms is bc I wouldn’t want my tattoos to go away (in whatever form that may take/ whatever happens physically after I die). I’ve put years and thousands of dollars into building a body I like living in, not for immediate gratification but as a purposeful way of planning for future/long term contentment.

I get more and more tattoos so that when i'm 50 and 60 and 70 i'll have given myself that gift in advance. So when i do feel borderline suicidal the most convincing reason why not is bc i dont want to throw the tattoos away or else what was the point of all that. same logic applies to transition and college in a more zoomed-out sort of way but tattoos are what prevents the spiral in an immediate crisis. Not necessarily Getting a new tattoo but Having all these tattoos. Built in preventative measure as opposed to a band-aid intervention

[1punch]

get to know PEACH ~ ! ♡

what's your phone wallpaper: saigenos honeymoon they make me ill

last song you listened to: luck runs out from EPIC the musical I've been obsessed with that musical lately

currently reading: nothing new im rereading mp100 & opm & also want to reread dnangel and maybe check on sxf

last movie: whisper of the heart it was a masterpiece

what are you wearing right now?: a long black & purple cotton sleeping gown

how tall are you?: genuinely don't know i haven't measured myself in forever

glasses / contacts: i used to wear glasses but i've had surgery a year ago now im freeEEEE

piercings / tattoos?: i dont have tattoos & i only have a double pierced earlobe weh

last thing you ate?: i just had tea with milk & biscuits at 2:30 am

favorite color: pastels & blacks!!

current obsession: saitama & genos GET OUT OF MY HEAD

do you have a crush right now?: god i wish

favorite fictional character: SHOU SUZUKI 😭 my love for this boy needs to be studied

last place you travelled: i went to Egypt last year ! very chaotic beautiful place

[gaoau]

it's so warm (五 ; five ; cinco)

you're standing right in front of me. I'm so sorry I can't see you. hey Koko, I'll protect you. it's so warm under your gaze.

pairing — Kokonoi Hajime x reader word count — 2.6k note — this is a spin-off of it's so cold. it can be read on its own, but some context might be missing. thanks for reading!

mikey wraps my hands up perfectly, something he's done nearly a billion times before. we're used to this whole ordeal of seeing our things get broken and then fixing them. I sit beside him on top of the world and drown in the silence of his sealed lips. it's suffocating while I remember he once enjoyed resting his head on my shoulder without tears in between. when it becomes too much for me to bear, I sigh to myself in exasperation. I get up and consider jumping to my death.

I can't leave mikey alone, though, so I tuck the thought away. he makes a promise of getting lunch together. he wants to make sure I actually eat; I want to make sure he actually eats. without much complaint, I head back downstairs, phone to my ear as I order take-out. by the time I'm done with the call, I'm striding back into the lounge room.

my brows jump in slight surprise when I catch Koko rising from the floor. he blinks blankly at me before flashing me a soft smile. I notice the bloodied paper towel crumpled in his hand. "sorry about that," I squeeze out the words between my teeth. there's a grimace painted on my lips that hurts him more than me.

he doesn't pay my words any mind. he doesn't even shake his head to dismiss them. "are your hands okay?" I want to laugh. there's no use in patching up a sinking ship, Koko. but, still, I see how his cold eyes fixate on my bandages like metal sticks to a magnet. I see how he'd take better care of me than mikey.

so I give him a grateful simper that will hopefully reach him. "yeah, thanks."

Koko's nice. he's really nice. he's always been nice. I didn't think it could be real, let alone that it would be Koko, but I've come to find he's selfless. he sticks to mikey's side not for power and not for riches—those, he can get himself—but because he's genuine. he covers it up a little, but it's useless when I've already seen him. he lets a shrug bounce off his shoulder and sticks his tongue out at me. "think you can touch up my make-up?" I pretend I don't see him anymore, but he's right here in front of me. I do my best to hate the things I'm dying to have.

he doesn't need me to draw a few lines on his face. he knows how to do it by himself perfectly well. it's a funny request that makes me chuckle. it makes me wish for choices that would have me abandoning mikey in a heartbeat. Koko is careful when he asks, he's mindful as he doesn't demand; he makes sure to know when he is allowed to cross the line or when he isn't welcome. so I wonder what it'd feel like to be loved by Koko—something so warm and gentle, never violent and always wanted. love he can measure, because Koko knows when to push and when to pull.

this is the most I can get from where I'm chained. what do I do with this double dose of mikey when the only thing I want is you, Koko? I think I'd hate myself forever if I let him get hurt. "sure," I laugh carefreely, airily, from the core of my chest. this is the most I can get and there's nothing better.

just as much as I've seen mikey die again and again, I have plenty of other memories from futures that no longer exist. somehow, for some odd reason, Koko is in all of them. it's strange when I stop to think about it, so I don't put much thought into it. when toman becomes kisaki's, when manjiro drags me to manila, when all my friends find the happiness we worked hard for, Koko is there. he's a nice constant to have, though I wonder if he'll be coming back after all of this is over, too.

he let his hair grow, falling over his shoulders with more grace than anyone could ever hope for. he sports that same damning tattoo that burns on my shoulder blade. he wears clothes too expensive to be worn. I'd have the heart to tell him that the white hair suits him nicely, if only I didn't hate mikey's cheap attempt at dressing up like izana. but I don't.

Koko is tired of me being stupid. he walks into my office with two cups of coffee from that cafe he frequents. a smile grows on his lips when I meet his cold eyes. sometimes it's like he's scolding me for wanting to die. we live in the city of the sick and of the damned. he doesn't want me to shake hands with the reaper. taking a sip from his drink, he shows off the one in his other hand. "they got my order wrong again," he explains even if I don't say a word.

what are you doing, Koko? "bummer." what am I doing, Koko?

he shoves the cup in my face, blocking my view from my screen. I hate to make him look so saturated, but I still make him sigh, "you can have it."

I'm not stupid. the baristas at that cafe should know his order by heart at this point. he would've shot them dead if they actually kept fucking up his order so frequently. I don't want him to worry about me anymore. "okay, thanks." I reach my hand out to grab the coffee from him. his fingers are warm when they brush against mine. it's terrifying to think I could cave.

I'm afraid of what I'm seeing because I know I'm not dreaming. Koko nods and his smile doesn't waver. then he leaves so I can choke down the truth that's staring at me. I don't dare sip this drink when I'm sure it's exactly what I'd order for myself. it's enough to make me cry.

I feel a shiver running down my spine as Koko calls me by my nickname. a tear threatens to slip from my eye, but I catch it in time. there's a weight in my hand that I carefully rest on my lap on instinct. "sorry, what was that?" I turn my head to blink at Koko beside me, trying to reorient myself.

he stares at me like I've grown a second head. only for a moment. "think you can review this for me?" he repeats with patience.

"ah." I shift my attention to the screen in front of me. when did his laptop get in my hands? I should probably get my shit together. I hum, "yeah, sure." if I keep slipping like this, I might as well lose the little things I have.

silence falls as I read over every word Koko carefully typed down. he sits beside me and waits, leaning back on his chair while he watches me work. it's comfortable, really, far lighter than I've felt in so long. it's easy to tell he's worried, though, because he's seen me space out too often. he's here with my feelings and my thoughts.

"did you eat anything?" he speaks up softly. he knows I like it when it's quiet.

I shake my head and he instantly rolls his eyes. "mikey said he wasn't hungry."

Koko hates it when I'm stupid. "are you hungry?" I can feel his cold gaze piercing right through me. he wants to slap me in the face back into reason.

"yes."

it's all he needs. isn't it great that we're the only sane ones here, Koko? he rises from his seat with a sigh. "I'll order you some take-out." he's bringing his phone to his ear before I can say anything. "be right back." just like that, he steps out onto the hallway. he doesn't need to ask what I'd like to eat. he knows my likes and dislikes far better than I want to admit.

I've learned through the years what his love language is—platonic, of course. it's nice to feel, and I wonder if I could let myself feel it a little more. he likes to give to the people he cares about. I don't understand why he cares about me. I know Koko isn't mine to keep. he's very soft. he's selfless. he's so gentle. does he feel responsible because he's a little bit older? I'm afraid he'll somehow get hurt. I don't want that for him.

the first time I properly met Koko was on christmas—I already knew about him and his money-making fame. ken wanted to head home, but I needed to keep riding to remind myself of shin and kei a little longer. then mikey wanted to help takemichi at the church. I couldn't bear it. I dismissed the two of them and told them I'd catch up later. the only thing I could do was drive to the cemetery. joining the lifeless, back then I was starting to feel the chains strapped to my limbs.

that was the home where they grew up and died. was there a reason why I just wanted to hide? standing before kei's grave, I had my first taste of freedom in so long. but then I foolishly went to check on shin. there was that family name carved into the stone. I was chained to the sanos whether I liked it or not.

I don't know how much time passed while I sat there. I never did end up catching up to mikey and ken. when I heard footsteps crunching on the snow, I thought mikey had come back to fetch me. I thought I'd never hear the end of it. I should have taken an umbrella with me, I realized, letting the cold pile up on my body. then I craned my neck to meet cold eyes, rather than the darkened gaze I'd expected.

I blinked at the white uniform he was wearing. "ah."

"ah."

we held each other's stare for longer than I could count. "black dragon," I assessed him.

"toman." just as sharp.

"did mikey let you guys go?" for sure, something must have gone down at that church. takashi had been in hot waters with black dragon because of hakkai. 

Koko smirked at me and I saw his shoulders loosening. "how d'you know we didn't kill him?"

I didn't mean to cackle like I did. the chortles bubbled in my chest and slipped from my tongue with genuinity. "it's never that easy with mikey."

as silence fell between us once more, I caught him glancing at the grave I was sitting by. the fleeting furrow in his brows told me he didn't understand why I'd be here on christmas. as far as he knew, I wasn't a sano. he wasn't entirely wrong. it didn't really matter to him, seeing as he turned his back on me. I only learned later he was at the cemetery for a family name that also wasn't his.

before he could vanish, I spoke up, "what now?" I wasn't sure if he'd heard me.

he threw a glance over his shoulder, halting in place. "huh?" Koko's eyes have always been cold to me. colder than anyone else's I've ever met—colder than mikey's, even. on a snowy christmas night, they were the coldest thing in my presence.

"what will black dragon do?"

he gave my question some thought. "fall under toman, I guess." he shrugged like it was a minor detail to him. he didn't know what he was getting himself into.

"hear that, shin?" I whispered towards the gravestone before me. we were one step closer to mikey's dream, but unknowingly a billion steps behind. shin's legacy and manjiro's empire were merging into one. with a light-hearted chuckle, I looked up into Koko's cold gaze again. "welcome, then, I look forward to working with you, Kokonoi." little did I know I'd be working with him in every timeline. although he later left us for a moment, he came back. Koko came back and stayed.

"same here." he stuck his tongue out at me. "Koko's fine, by the way."

I could feel my heart breaking a million times over. with aching limbs, nearly numb from the snow, I rose to my feet. I offered him my open palm cordially. "merry christmas, Koko." my fingers were freezing, but he was wearing gloves; I wonder if it already was far too late to save me. I caught the look in his eyes. it was so cold to the point it burned. it was warmer than anything I've ever felt.

"merry christmas." he addressed me by my nickname. would Koko be able to tell me if I was ever alive? the world that night was just too cold.

I wanted change. I walked past him to head back home to mikey, wherever he might have been. being next to Koko felt warm for a moment, even if it was brief and nonexistent. maybe I could find him in a parallel story where I'd be allowed to keep him.

I'm drowning and can't catch my breath as the rain beats down on me. Koko only slapped me gently on the back to unfreeze me, but watching mikey kill someone and knowing I've failed brings me to my knees. there's no need to breathe when I'm dead. I never thought I'd be wanting to die like this. Koko grasps my arm in an attempt to help me stay upright and I know I'll never forget the way he looked at me on christmas.

mikey is too far gone—by proxy, so am I. I can't leave his side. I've known all this time, but now I have to cement it, now I have to get my shit together. I don't fool myself. I hug mikey's soaked jacket to my chest as I ignore Koko's palm on my back trying to keep me from falling apart. his warmth seeps through my clothes. I don't want him to be a part of this. he doesn't need this and he doesn't need me.

it takes senju bowing her head to mikey for the battle to be actually over. I shake Koko off my body while rising to stand straight again and a part of me wonders if mikey saw me crumbling right in front of him. my first concern is to take him by the hand so I can force him to shower before he gets sick. I'll never leave him; everything I need is in order in the void of his gaze. from the corner of my eye, I spot Koko picking up what's left of takemichi off the floor. he's selfless, he's nice, and I pretend to be naïve.

if mikey killed me, would Koko come to my rescue as well? it's a nice thought—it's nothing but a wish.

it's so warm.

—あごす (agosu) • 2022