#god people please just give me a break

[thoughtfulseason]

i have to comfort myself that after the toughest times comes the best cause these past few days it’s been so awful, it’s like everyone’s out to get me and i’m just so tired of everything

[butterflysonnets]

yes i'm rooting for m*leven breakup because byler is neat but mostly? i'm rooting for m*leven breakup for the sake of el and mike.

to me, their romance was always a puppy love born out of a combination of social pressures, naïve curiosity, and a lack of true understanding regarding intimacy and romantic love and what it really is. it was real in that they do truly, deeply care about each other and they are close friends, maybe even shared an attraction, but a maturing romance is so much more than that. they've grown up and out of being boyfriend/girlfriend, and that's okay! i think television/film needs to show more often that most of us don't have definite "soulmates" or first childhood loves that we spend our whole lives with. it doesn't mean these relationships meant nothing and didn't impact us, it just means they've run their course and that something else is in the cards, and this is part of life!

i've always felt el was at her best and most confident self when broken up with mike, discovering who she was and what she liked alongside another girl her age instead of just relying on mike for mentorship on how to live in the real world. she deserves more of an opportunity to find herself, her autonomy, and her independence, and to love who she is, and she's made it clear she's felt insecure in the relationship with mike because she isn't being loved and understood the way she wants, needs, and deserves from someone who is her partner.

also, it's okay if mike doesn't love her in "the way he should". he is not obligated to love her romantically and stay in a relationship with her just because she's a girl, because she "needed someone", or because he cares about her a lot. he shouldn't be pressured into a romance if it's not truly coming from his heart. he deserves freedom to find out and honour who he is, too, instead of just staying in his non-functional first relationship — one he got into as a child, essentially — and defining himself that way because it's what's expected when a boy and a girl are close. he loves her in some way, yes, but it's okay if he doesn't feel comfortable or secure being her boyfriend anymore, for whatever reason that is. he's felt insecure too, and that's valid and it matters.

they are their own people and are steadily growing and changing every day. they need time to figure out who those people are, and it's become clear (at least in my opinion) that those people aren't meant to be a couple at this stage.

they deserve freedom. they deserve to grow up and be authentic to themselves and not feel like they need to lie for the sake of a relationship. they deserve to move on from this version of their relationship that isn't making them happy and rekindle the best part of their bond: their strong, beautiful friendship. they don't have to be a couple if it doesn't make them stronger and better and happier people.

i think it would be healthy and wonderful for a show, especially one consumed frequently by young adults, to show a relationship starting, progressing, and ending on good terms in this way. sometimes things don't work out, and that is okay.

[the-woman-upstairs]

It’s just…so painful to watch Armand readily submit in order to obtain the love he so desperately craves. And while it’s most assuredly a manipulative tactic, it’s still one borne out of fear and desperation. He cannot lose this person he’s come to love and so will become whatever they want, do whatever they want just so they’ll stay with him. But it won’t be enough. No matter how much he acquiesces or seeks to control (himself, others, the environment), he won’t be able to make Louis stay with him in the perfect life, perfect self he built in the hopes of finally being loved. It will all crumble with Armand left alone in the rubble of what he created, the author of his own abandonment.

[buck-up-buck]

7x09 is titled "Unfinished Business" ....

Tell me that is not a revenge plot against Bobby. TELL ME. You can't. If I was not convinced before, I AM NOW.

hErE mE oUt.

I'm not saying they are going to burn down Buck's loft, I AM NOT... BUT, imagine Bobby is dropping a patient off at the hospital with Hen and Chim (I know this hardly ever happens but roll with me guys), and our friend, the Burn Unit Nurse, sees him, and is like...

"Bobby?" BECAUSE, he recognises him, from all those years ago in Minnesota. He lived in Bobby's apartment complex, they were somewhat neighbours, and he saw Bobby go into that vacant apartment that night (the night we do not DARE talk about), on his way to work, and was working a night shift at the hospital when suddenly, they get an influx of patients with burns and smoke inhalation from an apartment fire downtown, and he hears in passing from a nurse the address, and his heart sinks because no his fiance was at home asleep at that address and he hears from someone a few weeks later that the fire started in a vacant room due to an electrical issue with a space heater and HE JUST KNOWS.

And Bobby turns around to face him and is like "Sorry, do I know you?" Because Bobby was going through it back then, he doesn't remember this guy, and the guy is like, "Sorry, no, I was mistaken." And he walks away leaving Bobby all like huh.

Then the episode ends with the truck pulling into the firehouse and the camera pans out and we see BURN UNIT NURSE GUY STOOD ACROSS THE ROAD STARING UP AT THE FIREHOUSE BECAUSE DUN DUN DUN- He has some Unfinished Business to attend to.

If this so happens to lead to the burning down of Buck's loft because this guy does his research and he does some stalking and he sees a connection that Bobby has with Buck that he doesn't seem to share with the other members of the team, then well, ya'll didn't see it here first but I fucking called it if so, because you're telling me that is not a CRAZY storyline right there.

BUT, even if not, even if we do not get our beloved loft burning down scene that we have been writing and praying for on Fanfiction for years, you cannot tell me that there is not going to be some kind of dark revenge plot going on in the last four episodes. This nurse is about to cause some HAVOC I CAN SENSE IT. MY SPIDEY SENSES ARE TINGLING GUYS.

Anyway, @whollyjoly and @thetangycheesemanwithaplan had the absolute joy of hearing this from a very sleep-deprived me last week and now that the episode titles have been released, Buck's loft burning down and Burn Unit Nurses revenge plot is going to be my new personality trait. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU.

[lovesodeepandwideandwell]

ok this is a deeply deeply weird manifesto and i'm sorry but i feel suddenly very burdened to say it so. if you felt like we were friends and i unfollowed you, this is for you. (don't be scared this is not about problems with anyone this is just my mess. that I think is ok to have which is why I'm talking about it)

so I joined tumblr in 2020 when a) the world was isolated b) I had just moved to a new city and was living alone taking Zoom classes in my apartment. what started as a mindless distraction became such a lifeline of connection and friendship! and still such a support as things started to open back up and get busier in 2021, when I was teaching and in class in person but still struggling for close in-person friendships. I know the group dynamic on here has shifted a number of times, as some of you probably experienced from various vantage points. my use of tumblr has shifted too, on and off, as I've needed different things out of it and been in different spiritual and emotional states. and I've kind of come to realize that I probably threw myself in too eagerly in some ways. it was so exciting to have actual friends on here and for them to actually turn into friends in person, that honestly I maybe prized that dynamic too much for what it symbolized over actually valuing the people. I'm sorry for doing that.

anyway, that worked fine for a bit, but as (glory be to God) I've become much more plugged into my in-person community in the last couple years, I've felt more and more emotionally strained. I've taken up a new attitude towards my family that's much more in line with God, but also much more draining as it means I have to just pour out in prayer and love and wait with patient sorrow over some things rather than fighting and defending my perspective as always right and necessary; and then there's the church-related grief my family has gone through over the last year. I've had a very delicate and difficult friendship that pulled up a lot of unresolved stuff from a college situation and felt endlessly wearying at times. I've had another issue from college recur in a way I thought had been healthily resolved years ago. I've had this whole roommate marriage situation that as y'all know is a very weird trial and pressure. My church has been dealing with a strange and tough ongoing struggle that was already stressing me out before I started working there. My small group has been amazing and I've loved connecting with and relying on them more, but that connection also means more fully bearing the griefs of a lot of different people dealing with the different struggles of life. My advisor situation has been so weird and tough, making my academic work really hard, and then this recent church work has been fulfilling but physically and often mentally exhausting. My future location, work, and community is up in the air after a few years of stability. (I really didn't mean to make this a recitation of my woes, but honestly it's really helpful to see it all written out here; helps explain my deep deep exhaustion, I guess.)

If I ever followed you on tumblr, I love you. In a number of different ways. I feel fondness at the thought of you and at your presence; I want to know you more fully; I desire the good for you; and I find my well-being to be, at least a little bit, tied up with yours. That last one is the rub. As I'm sorting through all the callings and duties in my life, trying to identify what counts as changing my tires versus what wears my tires out, I've found that my tumblr dashboard can switch back and forth very unpredictably between one thing and the other. Often it's a delight to come on here and find my friends and the cool things we're showing each other and the joys and sorrows and goofy moments of our lives! But at other times, when what I desperately need is an escape and rest and humor to provide solace from in-person cares, I find myself pricked all over again by the sorrow of the world and the stress of sin--or even just irritated by stuff I find irrelevant or disagree with or don't want to be reminded of.

To be clear, I'm not saying anyone's doing anything wrong on here. The opposite; I love the freedom y'all have to seek out what helps you, whether that's a lot of facts and ideas or a lot of goofy content or recipes or weird TV or music or venting about life or seeking prayer or advice! We all have the freedom and responsibility to determine how to use the tools we have to aid us in pursuing the good, whether the good is a quick laugh or building up virtue. But I think for me, at this point in my life, my duty and calling has swung back towards my in-person connections in a variety of ways, and I have to honor that.

The lie of infinity that the internet offers is just that--a lie. for me, that lie right now is being laid bare in my inability to have infinite care for everyone whose path I cross. I could follow everyone on here whom I'm endeared to, could keep messaging and replying and building relationships, but it would be a lie to think I can offer that love and care to everyone I would like to. In-person friendships are limited by physical proximity and time; online friendships can't be unlimited either. I need to apologize for acting as though they could be, and committing myself beyond my limits; but also, my life has really changed, and I'm not going to be caught either by the lie that online is only worthwhile if it's permanent.

I want to be clear that I value the connections I've had with you. I've loved exchanging mail and phone calls, messaging fun things back and forth, being online at the same time or learning about your day after the fact. Please know, also, that I have gone to war in prayer for you, and I continue to do so. I wish that I knew how to love widely without feeling pulled apart and worn down, by difference and sorrow and sin (mine and yours). I hope God is sanctifying me toward that end. But right now I'm fairly convinced I need to honor my calling to in-person friendships; I need to protect my mind and heart from even little pricks and distractions, so that I can keep my desires in order and use my energy for prayer and Scripture and to do good work and love the people God's made my physical neighbors. I really do love you, and I wish we had infinite time to talk and think together. I'm so excited to be with y'all in heaven forever. And who knows--maybe my life will shift yet again (it's looking likely) and I'll have a ton of spare energy and love and will come sheepishly back looking to connect with you again. We'll see. You deserve love and attention and connection, in person and online, and I'm sorry that--at least as it feels to me--I held out the promise of giving you that and then had to withdraw it.

so. there's all that. My dash is super quiet these days, thwarting my dopamine search but pushing me towards texting friends, towards meditating more fully on Scripture, towards praying over my work and burdens. I hope you can understand and maybe even be glad that, God willing, this is how I'm able and needing to work for the kingdom right now. love you love you

[pinkfey]

i have no friends who care about me because my personality is boring and understimulating and i have no selling point as a friend and i am being left behind

[shinybulbasaur]

"wow this Roman emperor looks middle eastern or African or greek" hey yeah quick question do you know where Italy is. like. geographically

[blackvahana]

Photo that looks like Yahar'gul on my dash, thinking about how Lev said ANVD is a land of the Sun because... as a sun spirit, the suns now. uh. I don't really want to get into it just yet because territorial animalistic feelings over what I create, but the sun I've decided to just allow to be my metaphorical paintbrush

Anyway. He said that and... My house is slowly turning more into this motif that's been echoing since I created a mindspace with lull when we thought we were a system, sort of? I always have houses now with courtyards in the middle of them, starting from there. Yahar'gul was also The Sunshine Village to us, in that we felt like it worshiped the Sun and the Sun was a huge part of it pre-Bloodborne's timeline... Which of course I now know has huge implications with regards to it being a mirror of the Drowned City and Lev, who I didn't know personally at the time, being a Sun god and all the complicated shit between the two of them... It was just sort of... I don't know. I don't know whether it's "ANVD was a part of me the whole time" or "I could've gone down, and was being brought down, a really bad nightmarish facsimile of the path I was supposed to be on". Maybe it's both, I feel like ANVD has been around since before it's creation in the way Lev says he knew me (Dei) before I was born (as Dei)... But anyway. It was kinda... I don't know the feeling I'm supposed to have here

Anyway. I was thinking about that

Lev was telling me about his study which I did actually remember talking to him about, I was half asleep but definitely awake.. He was sort of fixated on the sunlight in the room and you know. Yeah. Land of the Sun. It does hurt I think, the Sunshine Village I was convinced this life was my home, fake memories obscuring real ones.... And yet... Home is touchable. I knew I belonged to a place of sun's power I just never thought I'd get back in my feet and be allowed to be a sky god again, I thought I'd always be stuck down here

[fappellmoan]

hello my friends trying to understand my feelings and the like which is always fun. and trust and believe my little journal and i will be working through this later but i’ve been struggling to get into a groove and not just summarize. whatever. anyway i think i was a bit upset abt some stuff w the roommate yesterday and frustrated @ myself but i also feel actually like. like. god whatever i have to use the word i feel actually triggered by sam and his behavior rn and just the subject matter of the movie and everything. um. and i have to go meet him fortunately with other people but like ugh

[thatoneguywhowho]

WHERE ARE YOU WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU WHERE ARE YOU

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 57

Chapter Highlights (most of the chapter is the highlight lol)

An hour before dawn, the keep and two armies beyond it were stirring.

Rowan had barely slept, and instead lain awake beside Aelin, listening to her breathing.

That the rest of them slumbered soundly was testament to their exhaustion, though Lorcan had not found them again. Rowan was willing to bet it was by choice.

It was not fear or anticipation of battle that had kept Rowan up—no, he'd slept well enough during other wars. But rather the fact that his mind would not stop looping him from thought to thought to thought.

He'd seen the numbers camped outside.

Valg, human men loyal to Erawan, some fell beasts, yet nothing like the ilken or the

Wyrdhounds, or even the witches.

Aelin could wipe them away before the sun had fully risen. A few blasts of her power, and that army would be gone.

Yet she had not presented it as an option in their planning last night.

He'd seen the hope shining in the eyes of the people in the keep, the awe of the children as she'd passed. The Fire-Bringer, they'd whispered. Aelin of the Wildfire.

How soon would that awe and hope crumble today when not a spark of that fire was unleashed? How soon would the men's fear turn rank when the Queen of Terrasen did not wipe away Morath's legions?

He hadn't been able to ask her. Had told himself to, had roared at himself to ask these past few weeks, when even their training hadn't summoned an ember.

But he couldn't bring himself to demand why she wouldn't or couldn't use her power, why they had seen or felt nothing of it after those initial few days of freedom. Couldn't ask what Maeve and Cairn had done to possibly make her fear or hate her magic enough that she didn't touch it.

Worry and dread gnawing at him, Rowan slipped from the room, the din of preparations greeting him the moment he entered the hall. A heartbeat later, the door opened behind him, and steps fell into sync with his own, along with a familiar, wicked scent.

"They burned her."

Rowan glanced sidelong at Fenrys. "What?" But Fenrys nodded to a passing healer.

"Cairn—and Maeve, through her orders."

"Why are you telling me this?" Fenrys, blood oath or no, what he'd done for Aelin or no, was not privy to these matters. No, it was between him and his mate, and no one else.

Fenrys threw him a grin that didn't meet his eyes. "You were staring at her half the night. I could see it on your face. You're all thinking it—why doesn't she just burn the enemy to hell?" Rowan aimed for the washing station down the hall. A few soldiers and healers stood along the metal trough, scrubbing their faces to shake the sleep or nerves.

Fenrys said, "He put her in those metal gauntlets. And one time, he heated them over an open brazier. There…" He stumbled for words, and Rowan could barely breathe. "It took the healers two weeks to fix what he did to her hands and wrists. And when she woke up, there was nothing but healed skin. She couldn't tell what had been done and what was a nightmare." Rowan reached for one of the ewers that some of the children refilled every few moments and dumped it over his head. Icy water bit into his skin, drowning out the roaring in his ears.

"Cairn did many things like that." Fenrys took up a ewer himself, and splashed some into his hands before rubbing them over his face.

Rowan's hands shook as he watched the water funnel toward the basin set beneath the trough.

"Your claiming marks, though." Fenrys wiped his face again. "No matter what they did to her, they remained. Longer than any other scar, they stayed."

Yet her neck had been smooth when he'd found her.

Reading that thought, Fenrys said, "The last time they healed her, right before she escaped. That's when they vanished. When Maeve told her that you had gone to Terrasen."

The words hit like a blow. When she had lost hope that he was coming for her. Even the greatest healers in the world hadn't been able to take that from her until then.

Rowan wiped his face on the arm of his jacket. "Why are you telling me this?" he repeated.

Fenrys rose from the trough, drying his face with the same lack of ceremony. "So you can stop wondering what happened. Focus on something else today." The warrior kept pace beside him as they headed for where they'd been told a meager breakfast would be laid out.

"And let her come to you when she's ready."

"She's my mate," Rowan growled. "You think I don't know that?" Fenrys could shove his snout into someone else's business.

Fenrys held up his hands. "You can be brutal, when you want something."

"I'd never force her to tell me anything she wasn't ready to say." It had been their bargain from the start. Part of why he'd fallen in love with her.

He should have known then, during those days in Mistward, when he found himself sharing parts of himself, his history, that he'd never told anyone. When he found himself needing to tell her, in fragments and pieces, yes, but he'd wanted her to know. And Aelin had wanted to hear it. All of it.

They discovered Aelin and Elide already at the buffet table, grim-faced as they plucked up pieces of bread and cheese and dried fruit. No sign of Gavriel or Lorcan.

Rowan came up behind his mate and pressed a kiss to her neck. Right to where his new claiming marks lay.

She hummed, and offered him a bite of the bread she'd already dug into while gathering the rest of her food. He obliged, the bread thick and hearty, then said, "You were asleep when I left a few minutes ago, yet you somehow beat me to the breakfast table." Another kiss to her neck. "Why am I not surprised?"

Elide laughed beside Aelin, piling food onto her own plate. Aelin only elbowed him as he fell into line beside her.

The four of them ate quickly, refilled their waterskins at the fountain in an interior courtyard, and set about finding armor. There was little on the upper levels that was fit for wearing, so they descended into the keep, deeper and deeper, until they came across a locked room.

"Should we, or is it rude?" Aelin mused, peering at the wooden door.

Rowan sent a spear of his wind aiming for the lock and splintered it apart. "Looks like it was already open when we got here," he said mildly.

Aelin gave him a wicked grin, and Fenrys pulled a torch off its bracket in the narrow stone hallway to illuminate the room beyond.

"Well, now we know why the rest of the keep is a piece of shit," Aelin said, surveying the trove. "He's kept all the gold and fun things down here."

Indeed, his mate's idea of fun things was the same as Rowan's: armor and swords, spears and ancient maces.

"He couldn't have distributed this?" Elide frowned at the racks of swords and daggers.

"It's all heirlooms," said Fenrys, approaching one such rack and studying the hilt of a sword. "Ancient, but still good. Really good," he added, pulling a blade from its sheath.

He glanced at Rowan. "This was forged by an Asterion blacksmith."

"From a different age," Rowan mused, marveling at the flawless blade, its impeccable condition. "When Fae were not so feared."

"Are we just going to take it? Without even Chaol's permission?" Elide chewed on her lip.

Aelin snickered. "Let's consider ourselves swords-for-hire. And as such, we have fees that need to be paid." She hefted a round, golden shield, its edges beautifully engraved with a motif of waves. Also Asterion-made, judging by the craftsmanship. Likely for the Lord of Anielle— the Lord of the Silver Lake. "So, we'll take what we're owed for today's battle, and spare His Lordship the task of having to come down here himself."

Gods, he loved her.

Fenrys winked at Elide. "I won't tell if you don't, Lady."

Elide blushed, then waved them onward. "Collect your earnings, then."

Rowan did. He and Fenrys found armor that could fit them—in certain areas. They had to forgo the entire suit, but took pieces to enforce their shoulders, forearms, and shins. Rowan had just finished strapping greaves on his legs when Fenrys said, "We should bring some of this up for Lorcan and Gavriel."

Indeed they should. Rowan eyed other pieces, and began collecting extra daggers and blades, then sections from another suit that might fit Lorcan, Fenrys doing the same for Gavriel.

"You must charge a great deal for your services," Elide muttered. Even while the Lady of Perranth tied a few daggers to her own belt.

"I need some way to pay for my expensive tastes, don't I?" Aelin drawled, weighing a dagger in her hands.

But she hadn't donned any armor yet, and when Rowan gave her an inquiring glance, Aelin jerked her chin toward him. "Head upstairs-track down Lorcan and Gavriel. I'll find you soon."

Her face was unreadable for once. Perhaps she wanted a moment alone before battle. And when Rowan tried to find any words in her eyes, Aelin turned toward the shield she'd claimed. As if contemplating it.

So Rowan and Fenrys headed upstairs, Elide helping to haul their stolen gear. No one stopped them. Not with the sky turning to gray, and soldiers rushing to their positions on the battlements.

Rowan and Fenrys didn't have far to go.

They'd be stationed by the gates at the lower level, where the battering rams might come flying through if Morath got desperate enough.

On the level above them, Chaol sat astride his magnificent black horse, the mare's breath curling from her nostrils. Rowan lifted a hand in greeting, and Chaol saluted back before gazing toward the enemy army.

The khaganate would make the first maneuver, the initial push to get Morath moving.

"I always forget how much I hate this part," Fenrys muttered. "The waiting before it begins."

Rowan grunted his agreement.

Gavriel prowled up to them, Lorcan a dark storm behind him. Rowan wordlessly handed the latter the armor he'd gathered. "Courtesy of the Lord of Anielle." Lorcan gave him a look that said he knew Rowan was full of shit, but began efficiently donning the armor, Gavriel doing the same.

Whether the soldiers around them marked that armor, whether Chaol recognized it, no one said a word.

"Ready now," Chaol called out to the men of his keep.

This would be it—today. Whether that hope remained or fractured.

Already, the awakening sky revealed two siege towers being hauled toward them. Right to the wall. Far closer than Rowan had last noted when flying overhead last night. Morath, it seemed, had not been sleeping, either.

The ruks would remain back with their own army, driving Morath to the keep. To be picked off here, one by one.

"We have minutes until that first tower makes contact with the wall," Gavriel observed. A scan of the battlements, the soldiers atop them, revealed no sign of Aelin. Lorcan indeed muttered, "Someone better tell her to stop primping and get here." Rowan snarled in warning.

"Archers!" Chaol's bellow rang out. Behind them, down the battlements, bows groaned. Fenrys unslung the bow across his back and nocked an arrow into place.

Rowan kept his own bow strapped across his back, the quiver untouched, Gavriel and Lorcan doing the same. No need to waste them on a few soldiers when their aim might be needed with far worse targets later in the day.

But one of them had to be noted felling soldiers. For whatever it would do to rally their spirits. And Fenrys, as fine an archer as Rowan, he'd admit, would do just fine.

Rowan followed the line of Fenrys's arrowhead to where he'd marked one of the bearers of a siege ladder. "Make it impressive," he muttered.

"Mind your own business," Fenrys muttered back, tracking his target with the tip of his arrow as he awaited Chaol's order.

If Aelin didn't arrive within another moment, he'd have to leave the battlements to find her. What in hell had held her up?

Lorcan drew his ancient blade, which Rowan had witnessed felling soldiers in kingdoms far from here, in wars far longer than this one. "They'll head for the gates when that siege tower docks," Lorcan said, glancing from the battlements to the gate a level below, the small bastion of men in front of it. Trees had been felled to prop up the metal doors, but should a solid enough group of enemy soldiers swarm it, they might get those supports and the heavy locks down within minutes. And open the gates to the hordes beyond

"We don't let them get that far," Rowan said, eyeing up the massive tower lumbering closer. Soldiers teemed behind it, waiting to scale its interior. "Chaol brought the tower down the other day without our help. It can happen again."

"Volley!" Chaol's roar echoed off the stones, and arrows sang.

Like a swarm of locusts, they swept upon the soldiers marching below. Fenrys's arrow found its mark with lethal precision.

Within a heartbeat, another was on its tail. A second soldier at the siege ladder fell.

Where the hell was Aelin—

Morath didn't halt. Marched right over the soldiers who fell on their front lines.

The pulse of human fear down the battlements rippled against his skin. The cadre would have to strike fast, and strike well, to shake it away.

The siege tower lumbered closer. One glance from Rowan had him and his friends moving toward the spot it would now undeniably strike upon the battlements. Close enough to the stairs down to the gate. Morath had chosen the location well.

Some of the soldiers they passed were praying, a shuddering push of words into the frigid morning air.

Lorcan said to one of them, "Save your breath for the battle, not the gods."

Rowan shot him a look, but the man, gaping at Lorcan, quieted.

Chaol ordered another volley, and arrows flew, Fenrys firing as he walked. As if he were barely bothered.

Still, the whispered prayers continued down the line, swords shaking along with them.

Up by Chaol, the soldiers held firm, faces solid.

But here, on this level of the battlements ... those faces were pale. Wide-eyed.

"Someone better say something inspiring," Fenrys said through gritted teeth, firing another arrow. "Or these men are going to piss themselves in a minute."

For a minute was all they had left, as the first siege tower inched closer.

"You've got the pretty face," Lorcan retorted. "You'd do a better job of it."

"It's too late for speeches," Rowan cut in before Fenrys could reply. "Better to show them what we can do."

Rowan steadied his breathing, readying his magic to rip through Valg lungs. He'd fell a few with his blades first. To show how easily it could be done, that Morath was desperate and victory would be near. The magic would come later.

The siege tower groaned as it slowed to a stop.

Just as the wall under them shuddered at its impact, Fenrys whispered, "Holy gods."

Not at the bridge that snapped down, soldiers teeming in the dark depths inside.

But at who emerged from the keep archway behind them. What emerged.

Rowan didn't know where to look. At the soldiers pouring out of the siege tower, leaping onto the battlements, or at Aelin.

At the Queen of Terrasen.

She'd found armor below the keep. Beautiful, pale gold armor that gleamed like a summer dawn. Holding back her braided hair, a diadem lay flush against her head. Not a diadem, but a piece of armor. Part of some ancient set for a lady long since buried.

A crown for war, a crown to wear into battle. A crown to lead armies.

There was no fear on her face, no doubt, as Aelin hefted her shield, flipping Goldryn in her hand once before the first of Morath's soldiers was upon her.

A swift, upward strike cleaved the Morath grunt from navel to chin. His black blood sprayed, but she was already moving, flowing like a stream around a rock.

Rowan launched into movement, his blades finding their marks, but still he watched her.

Aelin slammed her shield against an oncoming warrior, Goldryn slicing through another before she plunged the blade into the soldier she'd deflected.

She did it again, and again.

All while heading toward that siege tower. Unhindered. Unleashed.

A call went down the line. The queen has come.

Soldiers waiting their turn whirled toward them. Aelin took on three Valg soldiers and left them dying on the stones.

She planted her line before the gaping maw of that siege tower, right in the path of those teeming hordes. Every moment of the training she'd done on the ship here, on the road, every new blister and callus—all to rebuild herself for this.

The queen has come.

Goldryn unfaltering, her shield an extension of her arm, Aelin glowed like the sun that now broke over the khagan's army as she engaged each soldier that hurtled her way.

Five, ten—she moved and moved and moved, ducking and swiping, shoving and flipping, black blood spraying, her face the portrait of grim, unbreaking will.

"The queen!" the men shouted. "To the queen!"

And as Rowan fought his way closer, as that cry went down the battlements and Anielle men ran to aid her, he realized that Aelin did not need an ounce of flame to inspire men to follow.

That she had been waiting, yanking at the bit, to show them what she, without magic, without any godly power, might do.

He'd never seen such a glorious sight. In every land, every battle, he had never seen anything as glorious as Aelin before the throat of the siege tower, holding the line.

Dawn breaking around them, Rowan loosed a battle cry and tore into Morath.

This first battle would set the tone.

It would set the tone, and send a message.

Not to Morath.

Impress us, Hasar had said.

So she would. So she'd picked the golden armor and her battle-crown. And waited until dawn, until that siege tower slammed into the battlements, before unleashing herself.

To keep the men here from breaking, to wipe away the fear festering in their eyes.

To convince the khaganate royals of what she might do, what she could do. Not a threat, but a reminder.

She was no helpless princess. She had never been.

Goldryn sang with each swipe, her mind as cool and sharp as the blade while she assessed each enemy soldier, their weapons, and took them down accordingly. She dimly knew that Rowan fought at her side, Gavriel and Fenrys battling near her left flank.

But she was keenly aware of the mortal men who leaped into the fray with cries of defiance.

They'd made it this far. They would survive today, too. And the khaganate royals would know it.

Galloping hooves drowned out the battle, and then Chaol was there, sword flashing, driving into the unending tide that rushed from the tower's entrance.

"To Lord Chaol! To the queen!"

How far they both were from Rifthold.

From the assassin and the captain.

Arrows rose from the army beyond the wall, but a wave of icy wind snapped them into splinters before they could find any marks. A dark blur plunged past, and then Lorcan was at the siege tower's mouth, his sword swinging so fast Aelin could barely follow it. He battled his way across the metal bridge of the tower, into the stairwell beyond. Like he'd fight his way down the ramps and onto the battlefield itself. Below, a boom began. Morath had brought in their battering ram.

Aelin smiled grimly. She'd bring them all down. Then Erawan. And then she'd unleash herself upon Maeve.

At the opposite end of the field, the khagan's army pushed, gaining the field step by step.

Not helpless. Not contained. Never again.

Death became a melody in her blood, every movement a dance as the tide of soldiers pouring from the tower slowed. As if Lorcan was indeed forcing his way down the interior.

Those who got past him met her blade, or Rowan's. A flash of gold, and Gavriel had slaughtered his way into the siege tower as well, twin blades a whirlwind.

What Lorcan and the Lion would do upon reaching the bottom, how they'd dislodge the tower, she didn't know. Didn't think about it.

Not from this place of killing and movement, of breath and blood. Of freedom.

Death had been her curse and her gift and her friend for these long, long years. She was happy to greet it again under the golden morning sun.

[bunni-bun]

🚗🔪.

[frogsare-friends]

people when someone listens to alternative music but doesn't dress alternative: 🙀🙀🤮🤮🙄🙄😔😔🫣🫣😬😬😱😱

[szasfuckingwife]

“Yuji, get your ass over here!” Sukuna yells. His nephew is spending some of summer break with him and he can’t for the life of him understand why he doesn’t clean up. I mean, it’s his apartment.

The teenager grumbles out of the guest room (practically his room) and rubs his eye, “Uncle, you can’t just yell at me when I’m sleeping…”

Sukuna points to the scattered dishes and opened packs of ramen on the counter, “Felt peckish last night?”

Yuji shrugs, “You said to make myself comfortable.”

His uncle has never been so provoked to hit a teen in his life. Forget the takeaway meals and home-cooked meals Sukuna had fed the boy. Because apparently, instant noodles from the corner shop tasted better, “Yuji, you didn’t even clean up. God, my girlfriend’s coming in like twenty minutes and now the place is a mess…”

“Y/N’s coming?” Yuji suddenly fixed his posture and stood up. “Like now?”

Sukuna’s brow raised at how his nephew immediately went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and shower. And how when he came out, he put on his best casual fit and used some of HIS cologne, that was way too expensive for Yuji to use.

Sukuna couldn’t even get into the shower as quickly as he wanted to because he was trying to scrub the burnt pot that Yuji used.

That boy can’t cook a thing, Sukuna thought.

But just then, three knocks came from the door. Sukuna knew it was you because even after giving you his apartment key, you still choose to knock. Yuji raced to the door and opened it.

“Hi, Y/N!” He grinned.

“Oh, hi! I didn’t know you were staying over. Your uncle didn’t mention anything..” You scowled at Sukuna causing your boyfriend to roll his eyes.

Sukuna gave you a chaste kiss before sitting you up on the countertop, “Please try use your influence to make him be more tidy.”

“You’re such a mom, Sukuna..” You chuckle, “He’s just a teenager. You were probably the same, giving your brother the same flak.”

He rolls his eyes once more, “When we have a kid, they’re not turning out like that. They’ll be neat, respectable people.

Your cheeks grow warm as you note down how he said ‘when’ instead of ‘if’. “He’s not that bad, Kuna…”

Sukuna only dead panned you before asking if you want anything for breakfast. Before you could answer, Yuji loudly yelled, “Choso said he’s coming for breakfast too! Should I call my dad to come?”

“NO!” Sukuna responded.

[fingertipsmp3]

Why do I never trust myself. I've lived in this body for 27 years, I literally know when it's getting sick, but I was like nooo, it's just because I'm sleep deprived and on my period and autumn sometimes does weird things to my body. Stupid. Stuuuuuupid

[buckyalpine]

18+ Minors dni Enemies to lovers with some massage therapist Bucky. Breeding kinnk, aftercare, Bucky is a secret softie, all that.

Imagine Rival Biker Bucky x f reader. A smutty, slutty little concept while I add the finishing touches to another fic, just getting this out of my system first. I just love the idea of a sexy, bad boy Bucky getting his hands on the one girl who won't give him a second glance because she's too good for him and they're from opposite worlds. Since childhood. Now he's a biker. Covered in black ink. He works in an auto shop. Owns the bar that brings in chaos. He's smoke, whiskey and leather.

She, however, is soft, pretty, smart and does not have the time to entertain someone like him. She has her degree. Working on a second. She has a career. She does not associate with the likes of him, not as the police chiefs daughter. She'll be damned if she has to even breathe the same air, especially when his gang is the cause for half the problems in the town that her father has been trying to get rid of.

Now, imagine that hours of working on her notes and papers leave her with unbearable knots and kninks in her back. She doesn't want to take a break but the pain only gets worse as the week goes by. It doesn't take long for her to shoot her regular massage therapist a message to book the very first available appointment.

-

You unclasped your bra, folding and setting it off to the side while waiting for Wanda in the warmly lit room. You could have sworn she was a witch with the way she made pain disappear; she’d also become a good friend after your many visits.

The knock at the door interrupted you as you slid your shorts off, leaving you in your panties, not rushing to jump onto the table considering it was just Wanda anyway.

“Come in!” You smiled, making your way to the massage bed as the door clicked open- “Oh my God!!” You nearly shrieked seeing Bucky walk in, a shit eating from spreading across his face as you scrambled to grab the tiny towel to cover yourself though it was a futile attempt. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

"You have an appointment, don't you?" He quirked an eyebrow as if it was clear as day why he was there.

"Yeah, with Wanda, why are you here, did you get lost on the way to jail?" Your face scrunched in a mix of confusion and disgust ignoring the roll of his eyes while you snatched your shirt to better cover up.

"Well Wanda couldn't make it in but she sent me" He said with a shrug, sighing when he saw your less than impressed face, "Don't flatter yourself, I'm just training under her as part of my physiotherapy internship"

"I'm sorry, you're trying to tell me you of all people are learning how to give massages? Please"

"Physiotherapy" Bucky corrected, "You're not the only one who has a degree, princess" Bucky watched as you groaned realizing you hadn't put your bra on, opting to stuff it in your bag instead of putting it back on in front of him.

"You are NOT laying a finger on me-ow!" You hissed, feeling the knot in your back tug at the rest of your muscles.

"You're not gonna be able to do a whole lot with that much pain" Bucky smirked, only half joking. He wasn't wrong. The pain was worse than before and you needed this an you really didn't have the time to reschedule.

"Fine" You mumbled, turning away from him so you could take your shirt off again, glaring at him when you noticed he hadn't turned away. "Could you at least give me some privacy instead of lurking in the corner like a pervert"

"Whatever you want, princess" He bit his lip as he faced the wall, hearing your feet pad across the tile to lay down on the massage table.

"Alright" You huffed after covering your lower body with the towel, now laying face down, immediately second guessing yourself as he walked over.

"Let me know if anything's uncomfortable or if you want me to stop" His voice was no longer snarky; in fact he sounded professional. "Where do you feel the most tension?"

"Um-shoulders and-lower back" You mumbled out the last bit, he was going to massage you there anyway so there so no pointed hiding it. You tensed at the feeling of his oiled fingers starting to work at your muscles, he had no right to be that good. At all.

“Shit” you hissed trying to keep your voice down, ignoring the clench of your stomach feeling his rough fingers press down on the areas that were tight. Little did you know Bucky was struggling far more than you were.

It went against every bit of professionalism he had. Every moan you tried to silence went right to his cock, his hands making their way lower before trailing up again. Fuck, you sounded so pretty...

"Better stop making those sounds"

"Or what" You challenged back before you could even stop yourself.

"Princess..."

"Your attitude is what needs fixing" Bucky growled, professionalism be damned, "fuck this"

-

You have no idea how you ended up here. It didn't matter though, not when there wasn't a single cohesive thought in your brain as you wailed letting Bucky absolutely rail you. Your back didn't feel an ounce of pain as he took you on all fours, pulling your hips to slam back against him, gripping your ass with enough strength to leave you sore.

"Feel better now huh baby, not trying to stay quiet anymore, are ya" He let out a low chuckle which melted into a groan feeling you tighten on his dick, "Such a good little princess like you letting me put my dick in you, dirty girl"

You hate to admit it but the clench of your cunt betrays how much you love this. It was so wrong. You had no business fucking someone like him and yet where you were letting his precum paint all over the inside of your walls.

"What would your daddy say princess, if he knew where you were right now, what you were doin'? Thinking you're studying when you're actually all pretty and naked, letting me rub that gorgeous body up and down, bet you'd let me put my cum in you too, huh? Bet your dad would love that, his perfect little girl all knocked up with some bikers baby"

You could have said no, stayed silence, just about anything but nope. You screamed feeling his fingers reach around the massage your clit, your orgasm wasting no time hurling towards you.

"Ja-Ja-JAMESSS"

"MMMPHH I love the sound of that baby, could get used to hearing you sayin' my name, say it again princess, say my name with my cock in you, c'mon, that's it"

"Fuck-James-I-James" You were a mess and loving every bit of it, tears starting to flow down your cheeks, all the pent up stress you were feeling finally releasing. You felt your throat tighten, a sob escaping your lips as you let go, your arousal making a creamy mess on the dark curly hair on the base of his cock.

"God, you're milkin me, you want my cum that bad huh baby, want a little biker baby in that tummy of yours, I'll give it to you, give you so much I might even put twins in there-FUCKK"

-

"Shhhh" Bucky cooed, wrapping you up in a fluffy towel while cuddling up your limp body, wiping away any remnants of tears while you stayed floating in a subby, post sex haze. "I got you, you did so good princess" You only manage to let out a weak whimper, giving into his warm, thick arms that rock you.

"You alright angel?"

"Mph" you mumble against his chest and he reaches over for a glass of water that's nearby, bringing it up for you to take a sip. You're surprised at how sweet he's being, drinking up before snuggling into him again. Damn him for being so warm and comfy.

"Y'know, there might be a little Bucky in there" He whispers with a playful smirk in his voice, fingers tickling your lower belly, chuckling when you narrow your eyes at him.

"You wish" You sass back, ignoring the butterflies you feel.

"I do" He admits, biting his lip, his previous cocky demeanor replaced with a shy one, though he tries to mask it. Poorly. His cheeks are pinker than the time you threw paint on him for pulling your pigtails. When you were both 4. "I'd want Bucky jr. to have your brains though"

Imagine that incident sets off a very interesting chain of events. A confession of feelings. You both couldn't be happier, meanwhile your father is grumbling about how he knew this fuckin' day would come, God damn it.

"I never liked that boy" He struggles to keep a scowl on his face watching you giggle like you were 4 again, running to the door as soon as you hear the rumble of his bike.

"Shut up, you love him" Your mom chides, watching Bucky swoop you up for a loving kiss, heading you a bouquet of yellow flowers as he always does.

-

"I still don't like 'em" Your dad says while you roll your eyes, your arm linked with his as he walks you down the aisle.

"Is that why all the files you had to build a case against him all suddenly went missing?" You tease and your dad shugs.

"Wasn't me"

-

just an idea.