#he's good at keeping his cool under social pressure

[sflow-er]

So many thoughts on the fabulous Barbie film, but especially on how anyone who thinks it’s “hateful towards men” clearly isn’t getting the message.

SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT

[Credit for both gifs goes to their makers!!]

I mean... Ken’s arc is secondary to Barbie’s, and rightly so. This is her film, and her message deserves to be the main takeaway.

That being said, I just find it really sad that the people who could’ve definitely used the point of Ken’s arc just let it go right over their heads. Maybe it’s because they aren’t great at reading subtext, or because they just balk at anything presented as feminist, I don’t know.

Because to me, Ken’s arc is about as far from “hateful towards men” as you can get. It’s a multi-layered depiction of how restrictive, outdated views of masculinity can hold men back and make them susceptible to harmful ideologies that promise easy solutions for all their problems but only make those problems worse and hurt others around them.

The first layer is an allegory for real men don’t show their feelings. In the movie, this is represented by Ken’s need to look tough and cool all the time, and to keep his insecurities and sadness bottled up. Barbieland is a utopia where being happy is a social norm, and the main Barbie also starts to struggle with that. The difference is that she eventually tells her friends, and they all support her. Ken just puts pressure on himself not to look weak - in front of Barbie, or in front of the other Kens.

Which brings us to the second level: a competitive and inherently hostile view of the other Kens, aka. toxic male relationships. Some of them are friends, and all of them work together for a while to build the Patriarchy, but they don’t actually bond for real. Even their boys’ nights are mainly about getting back at the Barbies for all their girls’ nights (which really were about bonding). When push comes to shove, the Kens still see each other as competition, which is one of the reasons why the Barbies are able to play them against each other.

Another reason is the third layer: the idea that Ken only has value if Barbie loves and admires him. It starts out as unrequited love that makes you feel sorry for him...until he turns bitter. He basically starts on the path that could lead him down the incel/mra rabbit hole and into a mindset where Barbie owes him love and admiration and the relationship he wants in exchange for his devotion to her. He decides that everything would be better if Barbies were subservient to Kens, but of course that’s not true. None of the Barbies’ newfound admiration for their Kens is real, and his own Barbie still rejects him.

All this is of course underpinned by the final layer, which is Ken’s lack of self-respect and sense of purpose. He’s got a pointless job, he’s not particularly qualified for anything, and he just feels kind of lost in Barbieland - a society run by successful Barbies who are living up to their full potential. That’s why he gets so caught up in the idea of the Patriarchy, which is supposed to make him successful, get others to respect him, and give him a sense of purpose. (This can be generalised to all kinds of harmful ideologies in the real world, e.g. the alt-right movement.)

However, the success he achieves is superficial and not based on any real passion; he even admits that he wasn’t happy in his new position and already lost interest in the ideology. The (forced) respect of others does feel good for a while, but it only goes so far. At heart, the whole thing is still mostly about his feelings of inferiority and unrequited love for Barbie, and instituting this harmful new system did not resolve those for him.

So what does? In essence, breaking out of all these harmful patterns and internalising the idea that he is enough.

He ends up reflecting on his feelings, finally puts them to words (or rather, song and dance), and manages to connect with the other Kens through those feelings. He even cries in relief and acknowledges that it doesn’t make him weak. He and Barbie finally have a proper talk, he lets go of their (non-)relationship, and he listens when she says he needs to figure out his real self. He starts to see himself not through his job, his girlfriend, or even his competition with the other Kens, but as just Ken, who is enough.

I honestly can’t think of a less hateful message to send men and boys.

[theblueflower05]

Mi Ti’ong(In Bloom)

A/N: Usually I try to keep my readers pretty ambiguous so that everyone can envision themselves, but this ones gonna be a little more distinct. If that isnt your jam, please dont read! No use of Y/N. Reader nicknamed Flora. Based on the character from Winx Club! And this art!

Word Count: 6k+

Warnings: Size difference kink.Mature Language. Smut. Overstimulation. Oral sex(female receiving) Neteyams a munch, it’s canon now.

Summary: Neteyam can have anyone and yet he only wants you. A small human who can usually be found among the flowers. Neteyam x Human! Reader

Sugar, honey, iced tea. Bumble bee on the scene.

Yeah I’d give up my bakery to have a piece of your pie, ugh!

-See You Again, Tyler the Creator.

The forest is alive, the beating heart of Eywa felt in each and every leaf among the trees.

Every glowing piece of flora and fauna, every creature whose calls echo through the vastness.

This time of year is special and it's as though it is known. Deeply and primitively by all. The rains had come and gone, nearly a month of bruised skies that had bogged down the village and its daily life.

But as they always do the skies cleared, and the sun made its reappearance. Glittering and glimmering- triple rainbows breaking out in kaleidoscope like figurations. Beaming down with all of it’s warmth and vitality.

The earth is well fed and fertile, the soil rich and blooming with new life.

It’s that new life that brings the talioang(water buffalo like beasts) back. The creatures return in great migrations to the lush pastures of sweet new grasses to have their babies. The fish swim upstream, battling the roaring rivers, to spawn. The fruit hangs heavy and ripe in the trees. All around there is nothing but full bellies and joy.

This period of abundance is the Great Mother’s gift to her children.

It had always been Neteyam’s favorite time of the year.

Everything lush and bursting with life, the excitement a low constant hum amongst the tribe. The Great Hunt is coming and his father had given him the okay to take lead.

In his nineteen years, he had never been appointed with so much responsibility.

Jake tells him it will all be fine, nothing but easy smiles. This will be good. A fantastic way to show the clan that he’s ready to take on the title of Olo’eyktan once his father steps down. Although he manages to keep is calm and cool demeanor in public, he’s so fucking nervous he can barley function.

It’s why he’s here, trudging through the branches.

The village is buzzing with excitement. Everyone wants a moment of his time, their voices overlap as they wish him good luck.

Question his competence as head of the hunt.

Subliminally hint that hunters twice his age have never gotten the chance to do what has been so freely handed to him.

Remind him that their daughters are pretty. Unmated. Makes the best steamed Teylu. Are fertile and willing to give him strong children-

Fuck.

The moment he could, he’d slipped away. Disappeared into the foliage and had booked it deep into the trees, desperate for a moment alone. For a moment of silence and the peace of being away from prying eyes.

He doesn't even really know where he’s going.

Only that he just needs to be away. If only for an hour. He needs to recharge his ever draining social battery, to get his head on straight before tomorrow's hunt.

Neteyam has always performed his best under pressure.

Things that made others balk and cower ignited something in him. A need to fight. To prove himself- it’s not the prospect of high adrenaline and stampeeding hooves that makes him squirm. It’s all of the attention its garnering.

He know’s fully well that being the next Olo’eyktan means that attention comes with the territory. But that doesnt mean the thought of everyones focus on him doesnt make his indigo skin crawl.

He’s leaping aimlessly between vines when he remembers his sisters earlier proposition.

“Come with me and Flora to the watering hole today! The waterfalls are so pretty during this season- We’re going to go swimming!”

It’d been tempting this morning, and now it is even more so. He could use a dip in the cool waters and Kiri was always an ear to vent to when he got overwhelmed. He’d clear head and then leave-

He wouldn't get stuck staring at you.

Again,

No.

He can't pinpoint exactly when this happened.

It was like one night you were just another human at the Outpost. Another familiar alien face he’d grown up around. Just like Spider you’d stuck close with the Sully children. Your cheeks always flushed beneath your exo-mask and your fingernails always dirty and caked with mud from the hours and hours you’d spend tending to any and all plants that came in your line of vision. You were always so soft. Too soft for his liking sometimes. You’d cry at just about anything whether it be one of those old Tawtute movies the scientists played at the lab or the sight of an injured shimmyfly.

And then suddenly gone was that snotty, teary little girl he’d always known. And in her place was…you. A woman grown. Beautiful and bold- and there was strength in your softness now. You’d proved him wrong so many times- made it clear that you weren't another responsibility he’d have to shoulder-

“I can take care of myself, Neteyam” you’d insisted, never letting him carry your heavy baskets or tend to your scraped knees.

It’s maddening, the way that you shrug off any and all of his advances drives him fucking insane.

Neteyam approaches the secluded bank of the watering hole that his family loves best slowly, keeping in the treeline. Just out of sight. Just like he’d expected he finds you and Kiri on the familiar sands. Kiri is lounging in the sun, eyes closed and humming a pleasant tune to herself-oblivious to anything around her. He’d have to chastise her about her complete lack of situational awareness later.

You’re knee deep in the lake- tending to the water lilies that grow close to shore. Your back is to him but he bets your nose is all scrunched up, just like it always is when you’re around anything green and growing. His eyes drink you in greedily. All of your sun kissed skin is on display in the tiny faded pink panties you don for swimming.

He’d never found humans particularly pretty before you. The intense differences in their bodies had never appealed to him-

But Eywa, are you something to look at.

Time had been kind to you, and as you’d grown your body had morphed into something goddess like. You’re a real looker, his father had claimed. Would’ve been a total knockout back on Earth.

You’re all plush curves. Your breasts are pert and sit like rip hanging fruit on your chest, your hips wide and thighs jiggly and thick. And your waist…he’s sure if he put his much larger hands around them, his fingers could touch. He could cage you in his hold.

That thought has him biting his tongue, hard enough to taste metallic. You turn a bit, your laughter chiming over the glittering water like soft wind at some dry joke Kiri made.

Your hair color is light, lighter than any Na’vi’s and falls down around your shoulders in thick waves. He can only make out the side of your face but your full lips are pulled into a coy smile and your light jade eyes sparkle and all hell. Neteyam is so gone on you.

You’re like nothing he’s seen and definitely nothing he’s had.

And since his Iknimaya he’s had his first pick of the women of the clan.

He’s tasted passionate huntresses and flexible dancers alike and none of them satiate his thirst. None of them are able to replicate what he can only imagine you might taste like. It’s almost pathetic how many women he’s had and how many times he’s almost called out your name as he emptied his seed.

Neteyam’s more discreet about his romps than his brother, that’s for sure- but still. It’s a known fact that he’s an unmated male at his prime and that comes with a certain appetite. He can have anyone he wants, any Omatikayan woman would be glad to spend a night with him.

Yet somehow he’s lurking, hiding in the bush. Watching you longingly. Simpering like a pre-teen and pining over the way that the sunlight plays in the strands of your hair.

He shakes himself from his embarrassing reverie.

No one would be able to tell that just moments before he’d been debating on stroking his cock to just the sight of you, lurking in the trees like a creep. No. As he approaches its with his head held high and a sharp smile on his handsome smile.

“Brother!” Kiri grins, sitting up once she clocks him.

“What are you girls up to?” Neteyam greets. Cool as a cucumber.

“Nothing much, just been here since dawn. The waters so high this year!” Kiri picks up a fruit from beside her, peeling at its tender meat “everyone’s been out here today-on the other side, but no one knows how to get to this spot so we’ve had the beach all to ourselves”

You’re coming in from the lapping shore, beaming at him “Look at all the paysul(waterlily) that’ve bloom! I’ve never seen this many- isn't it amazing?”

“They are very beautiful. The rains were hard this year. I’m surprised the flooding wasn't worse” Neteyam tries not to focus on how tiny your chest covering- the bra as you call it- is. He turns his attention to his sister instead.

“Where’s Tuk, I cant believe she’d miss a chance to swim with you guys”

“She’s with mom, stuck on weaving duty since she tore grandma’s favorite tapestry” Kiri snorts because her baby sister had thrown a complete fit when she had been told she couldn't come “What about you? I thought you we’re too busy to hang out with the likes of us”

“I was able to make a little time for my favorite girls” Neteyam jests, amused by your eye roll and Kiri’s scoff “Plus, Lo’ak told me you need some humbling. Seems you forgot who’s the best diver in the family”

“Oh, you’re on, Teylupil(penis face/dick head)”

After stripping down to only his cloth, his cumberband and com left on shore, he slips into the cool refreshing water with a pleased “Ah”. Enjoying the gentle current against his skin-only to be tacked under the surface by Kiri and all of her bony lanky limbs moments later.

The sun soaked afternoon is filled with laughter and splashing. It’s exactly what he needs.

The three of you play in the river like children. Neteyam and Kiri go at it like the always do- careful to be gentle with your smaller form as you join in. It’s easy to forget the looming pressure of the hunt while he’s jumping from the rushing waterfalls and racing his sister, discreetly preening when he wins and you cheer him on with little claps.

Eventually you all tire.

Kiri floats on the water and goes to that place in her head that she so often does. Completely at peace to be surrounded by nature. She claims it’s when she can best hear Eywa.

Neteyam keeps a bit of an eye on her to make sure she doesn't randomly fall asleep again. Hoping she’d have the sense to get back to the beach before that happened.

Water floods his face and goes right up his nose.

His head snaps to you, spluttering and wiping at his eyes, “What the hell?”

You just giggle innocently before disappearing beneath the surface.

Neteyam’s tail flicks with interest.

He decides to let you get your little head start. His heart speeds up with the promise of a hunt before he starts his chase.He might be bigger then you but you're quick and slippery. Your mask giving you the advantage of not having to come up for air like he does.

When he grabs your ankle, so sure he’s got you, you all but kick him in the face to get away.

You little shit.

Fine.

If you want to play dirty, then he’s game.

He allows you to think you have a chance. That you may be winning the little game. You’re heading for the waterfall, planning to hide behind it.

He’s bigger and more trained than you could ever hope to be.

It only takes one well planned move and you’re done.

He yanks a hold of you, secure. He holds you then, your back against his chest and his strong muscle corded arms wrapped around you from behind before propelling the both of you through the pounding waterfall and into the small, closed off cave behind it.

“Neteyam!” You whine, squirming in his hold like a fish and he just laughs because honestly. He can barely feel it. You’re trying to escape with all his might and he’s holding you the way he might hold a child throwing a tantrum.

He leans in close, burying his face in your wet hair, close to your ear “I win, Sylaung(flower)”

He feels you shiver in his arms and it just makes him hold you tighter. He could keep you like this forever, if you’d only let him. Instead he can feel without you even saying so how hesitant you feel about this

“I think I deserve a prize” he pushes on even further and you give him a confused, side ways look. He so graciously allows you to turn in his hold until your chests meet, face to face.

“Like what?” you wonder and you’re too cute. You’re looking up at him, struggling to treading water with your smaller legs- Neteyam lifts you higher, until you’re bracing your hands on his broad shoulders and he’s holding you above the current. Supporting you totally.

“Well what can you give?” His inquiry is almost condescending and you shrug.

“I’m fresh out of gold stars” you tease and he barks out a laugh. Do you think he can't tell? That he can't see the way your cheeks flush and your pulse hammers beneath the delicate skin of your throat?

“What about a kiss” he offers offhandedly and your face scrunches up in a glare automatically.

“You don't want to?...”

“Why do you make fun of me like this, Neteyam” It’s not often he hears your voice this hard, soured by embarrassment and self doubt.

“I’m not making fun of you” he insists with a sigh “I don't know why you always say that. When have I ever given you the impression that I’d do that?”

You won't meet his gaze. Your green eyes flick, anywhere but on him. Zeroing somewhere behind his back. All too interested on the rocky cave wall.

“If it wasn't for this damned mask” Neteyam husks, low and sincere “I’d kiss you right now”

Even still, you don't seem convinced. Won't look at him until he takes your face in his hand, his fingers gentle but insistent. They grip the mask at your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Why don't you believe me?”

“I’m nothing like the Omatikaya women you’ve been with” you say plainly like it's so obvious. Like it's a problem.

“I know”

“You didn't even like me growing up. You thought I was annoying”

“That isn't true-”

“It is” you insist haughtily “you’d make fun of me for talking to my plants”

He doesn't mean to laugh, really he doesn't. It’s not the time for it and it just pisses you off even more. He doesn't let you out of his arms even when you swat at him. “Listen, I’m sorry. I think it’s very sweet the way you talk to your plants. I want you to talk to me just like that, please”

That earns him a little giggle and he feels very pleased with himself.

You play with his hair often, most times it's mindless. A way to distract yourself. Your small deft fingers twirl along his adorned braids. He craves the scritch of your manicured nails on his scalp.

“How do you want me to kiss you? If I have my mask on” The interest in your hair is only just veiled. Your attempt at being nonchalant fails.

“Hmm” Neteyam feigns thinking, face screwed up “I think I could come up with a few ideas”

A few thousand more like it. You were the star of all of his fantasies. You, twisted and contorted into positions that would surely make you blush. You, with your mouth hanging slack in pleasure. Screaming his name-

But you hadnt agreed to that. You only, just barely, agreed to let him kiss you.

When he leans in its slow. Slow enough to give you time to push him away.

The waterfall roars in the background, white noise, but even it can't drown out the thunderous beating of your frantic heart.

Then his lips are pressed against your throat, gulping in the sweet scent of you. He cant kiss your mouth, but he can kiss the sweet, smooth column of your neck. Your clavicle. Your quivering shoulders. The heavy flesh of your breast. His kisses are open mouthed, his rough textured tongue dragging over your skin, leaving saliva trails in their wake-

You gasp sharpley when drags the skimpy fabric of your bra down so he can get at your pebbled nipple. He’s just about to suckle, when the moment is broken.

“Guys! Where’d you go?!”

It’s Kiri. Obviously awake from her nap like meditation time.

Your eyes go comically wide and Neteyam reluctantly releases you. Not wanting to get caught with an armful of pretty, half naked human. He’s thankful for the cold water and the way that he can hide the hardness tenting his tweng.

He catches you by the wrist before you can dip beneath the falls-

“We’re not done here, Sylaung” the promise leaves his lips fevor laced and full of heat.

You can only gulp and nod dazed, “I still owe you a kiss” your sweet voice reminds, before you’re ducking back under the water.

Leaving him dazed and buzzing for a moment before he gets it together and follows.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Days later he still hasn't gotten his prize.

Although he’s celebrated by his clan, praised for his successful hunt, he feels like something is missing.

The Harvest Season and its celebrations are well underway. Every night there's dancing and singing around the large bonfires we’re fragrant spiced tailong meat roasts. Neteyam is highly decorated; feathers adorn his freshly braided hair and he's donned his most ornate cumberband. He’s hauntingly handsome

Spider and Lo’ak are sat near the main fire, laughing heartily and sharing a leather gourd full of liquor between themselves.

Spider’s obviously drunk and eyeing Kiri hungerly as she dances with Tuk- he’d never do that sober. Not with Neytiri so near. Lo’ak is lounged out, an attractive female in his lap. She giggles madly at whatever filth his little brother whispers in her twitching ear.

Jealousy bubbles acidicly in Neteyam’s belly and again, he wonders where you are. Why you arent here, in his lap. Letting him woo you.

He figures he’ll have to go to you then, if you won't come to him.

First thing to do is find you.

“Hey, Spider!” the human man is the best place to start. Spider’s eyes are glassy under his mask and still. His friend is excited to see him, greets him with a hand shake and a small hug.

“Neteyam, man! Where have you been all night?”

“Around, you know how it is” Neteyam shrugs, sitting sown on the log, accepting the gourd and taking a swig of the thick sticky sap inside. It burns all the way down.

“This partys essentially for him- I’m surprise you we’re able to get away from dad” Lo’ak shit-talks, like he always does. It’s good natured for the most part “I thought he might throw you a parade or something. Call in the clans-”

“Fuck you, man” Neteyam chuckles, shaking his head at Lo’aks theatrics. “Don't be jealous”

“Jealous of dad? Nah” Lo’ak “Now the women you’re getting? That I might be jealous of”

“Hey!” the girl in his lap, a weaver from a modest family, squrims, pinching at his shoulder “You’ve got all the woman you need for the night, sayrip”

She squeals when Lo’ak squeezes her tight around her middle and blows wet raspberry kisses into her neck.

Neteyam just rolls his eyes and shares a little look with Spider. By the next eclipse, Lo’ak wouldve moved on. He has a knack for loving and leaving.

“Why arent you out there, bro? I saw Amitsa giving you the eyes! She’s so hot and she doesnt ever give anyone the time of day” Spider juts his chin and sure enough. The woman is giving Neteyam longing looks from across the fire. She’s a pretty thing and her sultry voice is renowned in the tribe. He’d be lying if he said he wasnt attracted to her “You’re not gonna go try to get at that?”

No. He’s not.

“Uh” Neteyam scratches the back of his neck “I was actually looking for Flora, I havent been able to find her around lately”

Of course, that sets of a exactly what he knows it would.

His brothers are assholes and have teased his merciesly since discovering his obsessive crush. Spider knocks his much smaller shoulder against Neteyam’s and Lo’ak hoots with laughter.

“How someone can be pussy whipped for pussy they haven't even had is beyond me” Lo’ak snorts and Neteyam gives him a warning growl, his lips snarled up.

It’s nothing he hadn’t heard before.

Lo’ak finds it endlessly amusing that Neteyam had his eye on you, the tiny human he’d grown up so lukewarm about. It had always been his siblings; Kiri and Lo’ak and Tuk that were close with you growing up. Neteyam had never shown a speck of interest until your figure had grown curvy and supple-

“Piss off, I wasn’t asking you” Neteyam gives his best big brother stare down. His golden eyes hard and unimpressed before looking to Spider, hairless brows raised “You know where I could find her?”

“Listen man, she said wasn’t interested in hanging out with anyone tonight” the human man starts with a sigh and Neteyam’s growl is low and warning “-but I’m sure you can find her where she always is”

Neteyam wracks his brain for a moment “The Greenhouses?”

“Bingo” Spider nods, an almost sympathetic look in his eye as he watches Neteyam jump to his feet and set off.

Lo’ak sniggers and the girl in his lap scoffs and mutters something about “shameful, being that twisted up about a tawtute” but Spider says nothing.

Instead his plixr hazed eyes focus on the figure dancing close to the firelight. Kiri lets out a twinkling laugh at something Tuk says and yeah. Spider understands Neteyam. He understands being completely obsessed with something you’ve never had.

Instead of taking a note from his much braver brother, he lifts his mask and takes another shot of the acidic syrup.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Neteyam could make the trek through the forest to Hells Gate in his sleep..

He’d spent a good chunk of his childhood retracing these exact steps, headeded for the familiar concrete fortress that made up the last human outpost on Pandora.

Neteyam had always been far too similar to his mother, for countless reasons. But his distaste for everything industrial was one of the main reasons. As he got older he spent less and less time here. Couldnt be found in the cold echoing hallways like Lo’ak and the girls coul

But even he could admit.

There’s something beautiful about the Greenhouses.

With their dome like structure, the big glass buildings are a fortress for the humans. Inside they’re as hot and humid as the Pandoran rainforests- but circulating Earth air so that the fruits and vegetables that are native to Terra Firme can grow, even on this alien planet.

Neteyam makes his way inside, plugging in the codes into the keypad and letting himself in through the pressurized doors that slide closed right behind him. His eyes are peeled, taking in all of the foreign greenery, hoping to catch a flash of tanned skin or light hair in the cracks between trees.

The Greenhouses are huge. There’s orchards of apples and oranges and long deep garden beds full of root vegetables. Enough to feed the Hell’s Gate settlement throughout the year, to trade with the People of the Omaticaya.

No matter, he’s a blooded hunter after all.

He hones in on that training as he tracks your path. Your footprints along the cement floor are light, and really you barely leave any trace of yourself at all. You float along with light steps and Neteyam truly thinks if you had been born one of the People you would’ve made a fine huntswoman-

He finds you in the shade of the orange trees. You’re up on a stool, gathering the plump fruit and humming a pleasant little tune.

You’re ethereal in artificial sunlight.

You’re something out of the books that Norm used to read to them when they were kids. His favorite had been the one about the boy who would never grow up and the island of Neverland. And the tiny golden dust covered pixi that flitted from page to page.

A fairy.

A being not quite real. Too gentle and feminine to exist.

He likes the tawtute clothes you wear. The small top that clings to your breasts like a second skin and the flowy patterned skirt. Of course if it was up to him you’d only ever wear the garments of the People- or even better, Nothing at all.

You reach too high, strained up on your tippy toes and Neteyam feels irrational fear at that. At all of your delicate skin and breakable neck-

He’s beside you in an instant and he doesn't need a ladder to reach the high hanging fruit you’d been struggling for. He grabs the fruit with one hand while the other stabilizes you, his big palm spread out across the small of your back.

You gasp at his warm touch. Your head snapping in his direction and legs going wobbly.

“Neteyam!”

“Flora” He sighs as he urges you down from the ladder, takes the heavy bucket of fruit from your hands “You really do need to be more careful”

You splutter for a moment, still shocked at his sudden arrival “I- ugh! I was fine!” you insist haughtily “It’s not like I don't do this all of the time. You didn't need to come help me, I can manage perfectly fine on my own”

“Need to help you?” Neteyam cocks his head a bit.

“Yeah…I mean. Why else would you be here?” you ask, scratching awkwardly at your arm for a moment “Tonight's the celebration. You really should be back with the clan-”

“As should you” He cuts you off firmly. Not liking the way that you’re trying to separate yourself from the tribe. From him “I have not seen you for days. Do you not want to feast with our people?”

You sigh, looking away from him. Biting at that plump ever pink bottom lip of yours. Always shy, he knows he needs to bring you out of your shell. You’ll find a way to run away from him again if he doesn't.

“I didnt come here to help you” Neteyam admits because he’s selfish and because you’re too beautiful. Even more so, since you’ve been hiding from him. Avoiding his attention.

“Oh really?” you’re not coy by nature but there's something in your eyes. In the way you’re looking up at him “Then what are you here for?”

“My kiss”

Your pupils expand, just the tiniest bit but he can see it. He can see it all. Every inch of your pretty face, unbridled by that cumbersome mask you usually are forced to don. He can see every freckle and blemish- and the way that a blush creeps across the apples of your cheeks.

“A deals a deal” Neteyam insists at the prolonged silence. At your nervous flicking gaze.

“Okay” is your sweet reply and he can only stare at your plump lips. A man with one thing and one thing only on his mind.

You don't protest when he reaches for you. When his big hands go around your waist and tug slowly until he’s enveloping you in his chest. You fit so perfectly, right under his sternum. Stare up at him with wide eyes that flutter closed the closer he inches his face towards yours.

The kiss is wet and electric and Neteyam wants to eat you whole.

Any awkwardness that comes from the size difference is soon overcome by the desire that simmers between you. You let him lead, always so willing to go with whatever flow he may give. Let him nip at your delicate bottom lip until he can almost taste the metallic twang of blood. Let him stick his much bigger tongue into your warm mouth, and then down your constricting throat.

As you make little gasping choking sounds, he imagines it's his huge pulsing cock stealing the air from your lungs instead.

You gasp for breath when he pulls away, as he trails kisses down your soft jaw. He cant stop, wants to taste you everywhere. Every inch of skin. He know it must be overwhelming- if your heaving breaths and mewls are anything to go by, he knows you’re feeling every inch of the mind spinning need that he is.

Still,

No matter how much he gropes at you with rough hands and drags spit soaked kisses over your neck and chest, youre so good for him. Such a good girl. Holding on for any ride he might take you on. Your fingers twined in his silky braids arent there to push him away, but to pull him closed.

When he grasps you by the back of your thighs and hoists- you wrap your legs around his slim waist, your ankles hooking at his lower back.

The helpless noise you make goes straight to his groin.

Neteyam lies you down on hard floor. He’d rather have you in the warmth of his Kelku, or under the stars, but at least here he can get at your maskless face. At your bare lips. Once he’s cradling your head safely and tucked in between your spread thighs he's at you again. Ravenously.

You’re so docile, so eager to let him take whatever he wants.

“Flora” he husks into your hair and you shiver.

“Yeah?”

“Flora” Neteyam brings your little body even closer.”You have no Idea. I have to have you. I need-”

You squeak needily “You can have whatever you need” and gasp when Neteyam kisses your cheek. Your lips. Your jaw. Your neck. Your nerves are on fire and your hips grind against his.

“I need this body. I need to see all of it, you drive me crazy” Neteyam armits as he tugs on your top and you help him pull it up over your head. You dont wear a bra, why would you? Your pretty rosy nipples are all on display for him. Pebbled and begging for attention, He laps slowly with his wide textured tongue at the puffy nub.

He suckles like a newborn until you’re chivalry and making hurt little sounds, until your pretty chest is covered in blooming bruises.

And then he’s dragging his wanting mouth down. Past your heaving ribs and over your soft belly. Neteyam hikes the flowy material of your skirt up high, until he can bend down and poke his head underneath.

“Oh!” you gasp, writhing a bit. Your thighs trying to close on instinct.

You’re so wet for him, the smell of it is thick and heady and he digs his nose into your inner thigh and snuffles. Its mouthwatering.

And it bit mortifying, from your end. Having the large man with his head buried under your skirt as he sniffs at your core-

When he licks a fat stripe over you, wetting up the thin material of your panties you cry out. No ones ever touched you like this and here he is, licking at your clothed pussy. Over and over until the fabric is translucent and sticky with your flowing juices.

“Please” you mewl, gathering the fabric, yanking until you can see him.

Its filthy and erotic. The sight of his hulking blue body between your trembling tanned thighs. So alien. So taboo-

“Please what, sylaung?” Neteyam taunts, his golden eyes meeting yours. They shine with mirth, and lust. So much lust. When he noses at your pink flowery panties you throw your head back, eyes squeezed closed. Unable to take the sight any longer “You want me to take care of you?”

“Yes” you sob because you’re pulsing and you can barley breathe you’re so horny “Please take care of me with your tongue”

Neteyam strips you then, out of your skirt and cute little panties and you’re lying under him. Naked and flushed and wanting.

He shoulders himself exactly back where he wants to be. Where he’s always wanted to be.

“Don't worry, I’ll take care of this sweet pussy for you”

Oh god. Your head is spinning.

You can barely think as he kisses on the jiggling fat of your thighs.

“I’m sorry” you gasp.

Neteyam hums right against your core and you can feel the vibrations throughout your entire body “What for?”

“I’m so messy” you whisper, that pink blush blooming all over your body.

Groaning, Neteyam can't wait any longer. Your flavor bursts along his taste buds. Tangy and earthy and decadently sweet. He’s had his fair share of cunt before, but he’s never tasted a humans and he’s shocked at how saccharine it is. It’s sticky and coats his mouth and throat. His lips and nose and chin as he digs in.

“Neteyam!” You wait.

“Fuck. Oh, Eywa. One Second” Neteyam sits up and adjusts himself where his painfully hard under his tweng and the ache in you deepens. You try to be good, try to be still as he leans in and licks at you again. Kisses your pussy in that same beautiful passionate way he kisses your lips.

He’s good. Too good at this. He’s had too much practice and you never had a chance againts that oversized mouth.

“Holy fuck” the words sound even more vulgar in your honeyed voice “Fucking hell, Nete. Nete. I’m almost there”

Neteyam grin is hidden between the lips of your pussy. He doubles down, letting you hump and soak his face. Then lapping back at inside of you in a repetitive and ceaseless rhythm, One that has you shaking, arching up off the ground. Your plush thighs closing, clamping around his head as you come.

Your orgasm cinches tight and rushes around you, inside of you, out of you with a gush of slick. It’s so deep. So strong, that it takes a moment for you to truly peak and it leaves you in a daze. Out side of your body as you fuck up againts Neteyams mouth like a wild animal.

You’d never come so hard in your life and it takes a while for you to recenter.

Once youre able to focus past the rushing in your ears, the first thing you notice is Neteyam’s face streaked with wet. Your blush blooms across your cheeks as you both breathe unevenly into the quiet.

“Did that feel good?” Nereyam knows it did, but still. He needs to ask. Needs to hear you say it.

You giggle, girlish and airy as your dainty hand releases his hair and cups at his cheek “So so good. I’ve never felt anything like that before”

His grin is all too feline and seeing those white canines gleam so close to the most sensitive part of you is a little alarming.

“There’s so much more to come, yawntutsyip” Neteyam promises, leading back down. His fingers play with the jiggle of your thigh- so different then any of the Omaticaya women he’s had You squirm a bit, clearly overstimulated, but keep your legs spread anyway.

Neteyams long digits prod gently at your pussy lips. You’re oddly pretty here. All red and rosy and inflamed, like that blush he loved so much on your cheeks. He spreads you with two fingers so that he can look at you inside. At your quivering pink folds and your tiny little hole that clenches when he runs his finger along it.

“You’re so small here” he whispers, completely hypnotized by it “So fucking tight. You’ll never be able to take me”

You whimper unhappily “Don’t say that. I want to- please just try”

“Shh,” Neteyam soothes your cries. Your dazed worries. He distracts you with his tongue, as it swirls over your throbbing clit. It feels a bit like sandpaper to your nerves, but you can get enough.

When his finger begins to breach you, you hold your breath.

Its big, but youre so loose from your first orgasm, so desperate to be filled that he sinks in until the hilt.

Its maddening after that and you grind the back of your head into the hard concrete under you- your eyes closed and your mouth hanging open. The sounds you make are feral and raw-

Neteyam fucks you open with one and then two fingers until its easy. Until the sweet stretch doesn't burn- instead its slippery and wet.horribly wet as Neteyam feasts on you as he fucks you with his fingers-

“Too much-Fuck” you weakly try to pull away from the assult of pleasure but he he’s too strong. Pins you down. Makes you take whatever he wants to give you.

When he lifts your hips up even higher to take a curious lick at your puckered asshole you white out.

This orgasm isnt like the first. You sink under the waves of this one. Your muscles cramp with the intensity. You cant come back to yourself, you can’t cling to anything but Neteyam. You cant even scream.

He’s everything, as he soothes you. As he makes you feel things you’ve never felt before.

“H-hurts” you whimper, eyes filling up with tears. Pussy aching.

“Just a little more baby” Neteyam huffs as he licks at you and stuffs the hand that's covered in your cum down his own tweng. It lubricates the fast and furious pumping of his fist along his rock hard cock.

He cant fuck you tonight, thats something the two of you will have to work up to. He’ll teach your tiny body to take him. To crave penetration.

But with his tongue buried in your pulsating pussy and your scent all around him its easy enough to pretend. Easy enough to imagine shoving himself into you slowly. Stretching you’re ruined. Your hole would never be the same. You’d forever gape because of him-

Neteyam comes with a roar and dirties his loincloth up like a teenager.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Later, after he’s cleaned you both up the best he can and gathered you to his chest. After he’s taken a sip from the breathing mask and nuzzled ar your wispy soft baby hairs that are plastered against the side of your sweaty head-

That he has the urge to read that book again. The one with the fairies. As he watches your slumbering face, your nose scrunching and lips pursing, he thinks the onlt thing missing is the gossamer wings,

His own little fairy.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

AAAAAAND we’re done.

First and foremost I want to give the wonderful @oakbuggy her accolades. Her Neteyam x Flora art inspired this fic 100%. A couple months ago I actually messaged her begging her to let me right this for her because I just couldn't get over this crackship of dreams. Thank you for being so patient with me. I hope you enjoy that overstimulation, baby!

PLEASE GO CHECK OUT HER ART. It’s sooooo delish.

This was a monster to write because I just had so many different ideas of what I wanted to do with the two of them and couldn't pinpoint where exactly I wanted the plot to go. Even now its a bit messy but still. I’m a fucking sucker for Neteyam x Flora and I would be more then happy to write more of them if thats something everyone would be into.

Please give me some feedback. What did we think about this writing style? Do we like the Y/N route more?

Until next time sweet honey bees!

[thewulf]

The Quiet Between || Azriel

Summary: Request -Hiyaaa loved your Az story. So freaking good. I had one in mind and wonder if you could write it? Maybe some deep Azriel and reader angst? I'm picturing a scene where Azriel, drowning under his duties and secrets snaps harshly at the reader, our newest healer at the Night Court when she gently suggests he talks about what’s weighing on him. His words sting, making her doubt her role at the court... Read Rest Here

A/N: Whew this was challenging to write but I really love how it turned out! Please let me know how you like it below. And as always, keep sending in your requests!

Pairing: Azriel x Female Reader (Dawn Court Reader)

Word Count: 6.2k +

TW: Mean Az, Harsh Words (soft ending!)

When Madja, the esteemed healer of the Night Court, realized the growing demands of her duties required an apprentice she petitioned the High Lord for permission to seek out a promising candidate. Her search led her to Dawn Court where your skills and unique approach to healing caught her attention. Impressed, as she often wasn’t, she offered you the chance to study under her. A chance to take over for her in a few hundred years. It was a proposition that both excited and terrified you. Normally you were more risk-averse but something within urged you not to let this opportunity slip by. Accepting the offer might be a decision you'd regret forever if declined.

Your arrival at the Night Court was a mix of awe and overwhelming pressure. You were acutely aware of the Court’s reputation with its warriors and schemers, and its dances of politics and power. Yet, as the years unfolded you found more than just acceptance. You found a place where you felt like you just might belong. Madja was an exacting teacher and under her guidance you thrived. Your skills became indispensable to the Night Court.

Mor, your favorite social butterfly, took it upon herself to integrate you into the Court's vibrant life. She invited you out with the girls to Rita's where the music and laughter helped weave you deeper into the fabric of Night Court society. Cassian with his easy grin and boundless energy offered to train you in physical defense. He said it was essential for everyone at the Court to know how to protect themselves. And even Rhysand himself showed you how to fortify your mental shields as a necessary skill amidst the intrigues that often played out around them.

Yet despite these warm inclusions, Azriel was the only one who kept a cautious distance. The shadowy spymaster was polite but reserved. He often watched you with a contemplative gaze that suggested he was trying to figure you out from a safe distance. His reluctance to engage was not overtly hostile but it was clear he held reservations. His own shadows clinging too tightly, perhaps, to allow another close. This delicate balance of respect and curiosity marked your interactions, or lack thereof, with the spymaster. You often caught glimpses of Azriel as his presence like a whisper in the vast halls of the Court. He was always just out of reach, both physically and emotionally. His aloofness didn't hinder your duties. But it did create a space of unanswered questions in your mind.

One cool evening in the Night Court the opportunity to bridge that distance between him presented itself unexpectedly. Azriel returned from a particularly grueling mission. His arrival unannounced except for the quiet clatter of his boots in the hallway of the healer's quarters. As he pushed open the door, the grimace etched across his face spoke volumes of the pain he was enduring, both visible and hidden beneath the surface.

You ushered him in, your professional demeanor in place yet your heart beating a tad faster with the realization that this was the closest you had ever been to him. His usually guarded expression was replaced with a rare, unguarded grimace of pain. It revealed a vulnerability he typically masked beneath layers of shadows and silence making you feel a touch uneasy.

"Let me help," you offered softly while guiding him to a seat where you could better assess his injuries. The proximity to him in this moment tending to his wound felt like an unspoken permission to finally address the silent questions that had lingered between you. It was an opening to understand the man who had so thoroughly perfected the art of being untouchable.

"Let's take a look at that," you murmur while taking his hand in yours. Your hands are steady and careful as you gently peel away the fabric near his wound. The cut isn't deep, but it's laced with poison, enough to have caused significant discomfort. “I’m sorry. This is going to sting.” You whispered as you rushed off to grab the needed supplies.

As you apply a soothing salve you notice Azriel's clenched jaw and the way his muscles tighten under your touch—not just from the sting of the wound. You've seen warriors in all states, and you recognize the signs of inner turmoil as clearly as physical injuries.

"Azriel," you start, your voice soft but firm, "even the strongest warriors can benefit from sharing their burdens. It doesn't make you weak to speak about what's weighing on your heart." You try and sound confident in your words, but it comes out as meek.

His reaction is immediate and sharp. It cut through the air like a freshly sharpened knife. Azriel's eyes snap up to meet your with a coldness in them that freezes you in place. "You think you have the right to offer me counsel?" he says with his voice low and biting. "You, who have barely seen a fraction of the darkness I have faced. Yet you presume to understand my duties, my sacrifices?"

You open your mouth to apologize. To clarify your intentions but he doesn't give you the chance. "No, don’t," he snaps. Cutting you off as your heart begins to sink. "Don’t patronize me with platitudes and naive compassion. You know nothing of the burdens I carry. Of the secrets that consume me. You see surface wounds and think to heal a soul scarred by centuries?" It was the most you had heard him speak and unfortunately for you those words made your heart nearly twist in two. Surely that wasn’t what you were trying to do.

Your eyes begin to burn. His words slicing through any defense you might have had. You look down instead focusing on the bandage. To hide the hurt that’s welling up, threatening to spill over. "I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—"

"Save your apologies," Azriel interrupts with a tone as harsh as a winter storm. "They mean nothing in the face of what I endure daily. You wish to help? Do so by not overstepping your bounds again." You drop his arm after finishing up removing the poison and sealing the cut. But he wasn’t done, no. You just wished he’d fly away instead of cutting you even deeper. You had no intention of offending him yet here he was, hurt by your very own words. You’d never truly felt like a helpless child in all your centuries until this very moment.

As he continues his words grow even colder, each one a deliberate stake right into your very own heart. "Understand this, healer. My life, my pains are not fodder for idle chatter or curious minds seeking to 'fix' what they perceive as broken. You cannot begin to comprehend the wars I fight within the shadows. Wars meant to protect you and everyone else here from horrors you should hope never to encounter." His words were final, offering you no chance at rebuttal. Not that you would have been able to find the words. Your mind was racing in horror about what had just transpired in your very own healing hall. You, the one who was meant to mend broken souls might’ve just torn his right back open.

He stands abruptly with his wound tended but the air around him colder than the stone walls of the court. His departure is swift, leaving a wake of silence so deep it echoes through the chamber. You're left alone with the sting of his rebuke more painful than any physical wound you've treated. His words replay in your mind as a harsh reminder of the chasm between his world of shadows and your desire to heal. Guilt begins to consume you as you replay the words that struck you so hardly in your mind.

The room feels overwhelmingly empty as you struggle to compose yourself. The impact of his dismissal weighing heavily on your heart. You realize that healing Azriel might be beyond your reach. Not for lack of skill, but because the wounds he carries are far deeper and more complex than you ever imagined. Perplexed and deeply hurt you find yourself grappling with a tumult of emotions. Confusion is the first to surface. You had approached the situation with genuine concern. Your offer to listen driven by the empathy that defines your role as a healer. His aggressive response, then, feels like an undeserved refusal. A dismissal not just of your words but of your very intent.

You replay the conversation in your mind, dissecting each exchange, each barbed word. His accusation that you, nestled in your world of herbs and healing, could never understand the scope of his darkness stings sharply. It's true though you realize. That the depths of his secrets are beyond your grasp. This acknowledgment doesn't ease the sting of rejection. If anything, it deepens the wound. You had not claimed to understand. You only wanted to listen. And yet, he had cut you off, leaving no room for reconciliation.

As the initial shock fades, a deeper, more persistent ache settles in. You're hurt. Undeniably so. Hurt by his insinuation that your attempts at comfort were trivial, naive even. Does he truly see you as just another court member? As just a healer? Naive to the true workings of his world? The thought is disheartening, and you feel a profound sense of isolation creeping in. A sense that perhaps you are out of your depth in this court of shadows and secrets. Perhaps your mother was right. You weren’t built for the Night Court. You had a wonderful, easy life in Dawn. She had even picked out a high-ranking husband for you that would’ve provided and kept you safe. Her nagging words pricked at the back of your mind as the last five years here almost fell all for nothing. Five years was no time in the world of fae, you knew this. You were still the new healer, but you had thought that maybe you were finally finding your footing here. But then again maybe you were wrong.

Yet, beyond the hurt and confusion there's also a glimmer of resolve. You're a healer, trained not only to mend wounds but to understand the people you treat. Azriel's outburst, though harsh, reveals more than his disdain. It highlights his immense burden. His profound isolation. Perhaps your approach was too direct. Too unguarded for someone so accustomed to concealing his emotions.

As you clean up the space a quiet resolution forms in your mind. You won't push him again, no, not without invitation. The sting of his words lingers, and you decide that perhaps the best way to handle this is to give him the space he seems to fiercely guard. He may have dismissed your concern today but it's clear that what he desires most is distance. Not the compassion you offered. In this moment of reflection, you recognize the complexity of healing. It’s not just about tending to visible wounds. It’s also about understanding when to step back. Recognizing that some scars are too deeply etched to be approached without consent. Azriel has his walls, high and fortified. And you, you decide, will no longer attempt to scale them. Instead, you resolve to avoid him, believing that distancing yourself is the kindest thing you can do for him right now.

This decision doesn't come easy. You're a healer, trained to offer solace and aid to those in pain. Yet, in this case, the healing you want to provide is not welcomed or perhaps even needed in the way you thought. You accept that sometimes healing means stepping back. It means allowing wounds to close in the solitude they were opened in. Maybe with time he will seek you out if ever he feels ready to lower his guard. Until then you'll focus on those who welcome your help carrying with you the lesson that sometimes the best way to care for someone is simply to let them be.

After the confrontation in the healing room the atmosphere at the Night Court seemed to shift becoming dense with an unspoken tension that hung heavily in the air. Azriel quickly became burdened by the discomfort of his own harshness. It wasn’t often but he felt an acute sting of regret. His words, sharper and colder than he had intended, replayed relentlessly in his mind. Each sentence an echo of a reminder of the pain he had inflicted on somebody so kind.

Late into the night he found himself wandering the quieter corridors of the court trying to clear his mind.. The stone beneath his feet was cold and unyielding much like the mask he wore so well. With each step he attempted to outpace his regret, but solitude brought no relief. The memory of the genuine shock and sadness in your eyes haunted him. A vivid image that refused to fade into the shadows where he so often retreated.

Why had he lashed out? Azriel questioned himself. His normally composed thoughts unraveling with unusual disorder. He knew the stress of his duties as the spymaster often left him on edge, a blade perpetually sharpened and ready. Yet, it was more than just the strain of his role. It was the fear of vulnerability. Of opening those darker parts of himself he fought so hard to control. Seeing your concern, so innocent and genuine, had somehow threatened the walls he had meticulously built around his emotions for centuries. He couldn’t become undone by your one simple question.

He hated himself for how he had responded to you. How his instinct to protect his inner turmoil had manifested as cruelty towards you. The more he thought about it the more he despised the part of himself that had become so adept at pushing others away, especially those who dared to care.

As Azriel continued his nocturnal wanderings the shadows around him seemed to whisper of solitude and sorrow. Yet, it was the sorrow in your eyes that lingered most prominently in his mind. He realized then that his actions might not only have hurt you but could also have damaged whatever budding respect or friendship could have grown between you. This thought tightened the already constricting band around his chest. He had messed up badly and he knew it. His shadows knew it.

Resolving to seek redemption, not just for his peace but to mend the fracture he had caused, Azriel decided he would apologize to you. He needed to explain to you. To make you understand that his outburst wasn’t a reflection of his feelings towards you but a misguided defense against his own insecurities.

His journey through the night didn’t erase his regrets, but it solidified his resolve. He would try to bridge the gap his words had created hoping that you would understand and perhaps forgive. In the quiet before dawn Azriel finally stopped walking, the decision firm in his mind. Tomorrow, he would face you again, not as the Night Court's daunting spymaster, but simply as Azriel… imperfect and remorseful.

As he moved silently past the gardens the moonlight cast a serene glow over the night-blooming flowers illuminating the path with a ghostly light. Drawn by the soft, muffled sounds of distress his shadows unconsciously steered him towards a secluded alcove hidden by tendrils of ivy and the long shadows of the towering trees. It was unmistakably you. His heart tightened as he approached. Driven by a mix of concern and a need to understand the impact of his earlier harshness.

There in the dim light, he found you seated on a small bench. You were not alone, but with one of the younger assistants from the healer's quarters he had recognized. The assistant, whom you often mentored, sat beside you with a hand on your shoulder. Her presence meant to support you as you struggled with a flood of emotions.

"I don’t know any more Helena. Maybe I just don't belong here," you whispered between sobs. Your voice shaky with uncertainty. Tears streamed down your cheeks unrestrained after holding them back for so long. Azriel's words had not just stung. They had acted as a dam break, releasing all the pent-up doubts and fears you had about your place in this illustrious court. "I keep thinking maybe I should just go back to Dawn. My very own mother always said I was chasing a fantasy coming here. Maybe she's right. Maybe a quieter life away from all this would be better for me. Maybe I’m not cut out for the Night Court."

The young assistant, Helena, looked up to you not only for your healing skills but also for your kindness and leadership. She listened intently. Her expression one of deep empathy and concern. "You can't think that way," she responded softly. Her voice earnest. "Everyone here, especially Madja, respects you so much. Cassian, Mor, even Rhysand—they all see how much you bring to our home. It's not just you’re healing. It's your spirit. You're meant to be here with us. Please don’t think like that. I’ve learned more than I ever thought possible from you. We need you here."

Her comforting words were meant to bolster your spirits, but the reassurance felt hollow against the backdrop of your raw emotions. Despite her encouraging tone, the doubts seeded by Azriel's harsh outburst lingered. They tainted your thoughts with shadows of uncertainty about your place in this world you had grown to love yet still sometimes felt alien in.

Azriel was hidden just out of sight. He felt a deep pang of regret as he listened. The raw pain in your voice and the sight of your tears struck him more profoundly than he had ever expected. He realized then that his careless words had cut far deeper than he had intended, not just challenging your confidence but piercing the very core of your sense of belonging. Knowing that an apology would be necessary but not sufficient, Azriel resolved to actively show that you were valued and essential. Not just as a healer but as a vital member of their community. His thoughts solidified in the quiet of the night. He would make amends, starting with a heartfelt apology and followed by actions that would hopefully restore your faith in your place at the Night Court.

It was an ordinary yet busy day in the healer's quarters of the Night Court. You were deeply focused on tending to a young fae warrior who had sustained a minor but painful injury during training. As you carefully applied a healing salve the sound of urgent voices and heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway.

"He needs help now!" Azriel's voice carried a tone of dire urgency as he burst into the room. He was supporting a limping Cassian whose leg was bleeding profusely from a deep gash surely laced with poison. These damn Illyrians always coming back with some form of poisoned injury. The sight of such an injury would normally have you on your feet and rushing over. But the presence of Azriel, the harbinger of your recent heartache, gave you pause.

For a split second your gaze met Azriel's and the memory of his harsh words and cold dismissal surged through your mind. You looked away as quickly as you could. Your chest immediately tightened with anxiety at the thought of what to do. It wasn’t fair to Cassian to ignore him, but you didn’t think you could face Azriel right now. Terrified of another confrontation and still raw from the last you quickly turned your attention back to the young fae before you.

"This one's in a critical state, I need to focus here. Helena, please attend to the General." you called out your voice slightly louder than necessary. The lie laid bitter on your tongue. It wasn't entirely untrue. His injury did need attention, but it certainly wasn't as dire as Cassian's condition.

Helena, who had followed in behind Azriel and Cassian, quickly stepped forward to assist, sensing the tension. "I've got him, don't worry," she spoke as she moved to tend to Cassian with a swift efficiency that you were grateful for.

As you focused intently on the young fae's injury with your back turned to the drama unfolding behind you, you heard every strained whisper and shuffling footstep echoed ominously. Despite your efforts to concentrate your mind spun with anxiety and dread. You knew your actions were a protective shield guarding you from a confrontation you felt unprepared to handle.

Behind you, Azriel's concern for Cassian was palpable. His usual stoic demeanor was pierced by urgency. His voice a low, constant murmur as he assisted your assistant. Yet, his mind was partly on you. He was troubled by the palpable tension and the rigid set of your shoulders. The memory of his previous harshness towards you weighed heavily on him, mixing regret with a newfound caution. He wondered if his actions had broken something essential. Perhaps fearing that your trust in him might be irreparably damaged.

Cassian, despite his pain noticed the strained dynamics as well. As your assistant worked on his wound his eyes flicked towards you, then back to Azriel. "What happened between you two?" he hissed under his breath not missing the unusual distance you kept. Azriel's silence was an answer in itself. It was filled with remorse and resignation. Cassian's frown deepened. Concern for his friends overshadowing his physical discomfort. "You need to fix this, Az," he muttered, firm yet worried. "She’s not just any healer. She’s part of this family now. She’s going to replace Madja someday."

Once the immediate crisis was handled and Cassian was stable Azriel made his way towards you. His steps were hesitant, each one heavy with regret. When he paused by your side his presence felt like a cold shadow. His usual warmth for his family became obscured by the barrier that had formed between you.

"Thank you," he said softly. His voice low and perhaps understanding more than you wanted him to. "For all that you do here." You sucked in a breath at his words. Was he apologizing? Was he sorry? Were you completely misreading the situation yet again?

You didn't turn to face him. Fear of what you might see in his eyes—anger, disappointment, or worse, indifference—kept you fixed in place. "Of course," you managed to whisper. The words barely escaping your lips. He sensed that this wasn’t the time nor place to dig deeper so he resolved to keep his words simple. He would find you later when you weren’t busy working. He truly needed to apologize to you.

After he left the weight of the encounter settled heavily upon you. You felt a mix of relief at having avoided direct confrontation and a deep-seated guilt for your evasion. You knew this wasn't just about professional duties. It was about the fractures within a team, a family you had grown to cherish.

Later, as the healer’s quarters quieted and the evening settled in, Cassian found you in the gardens, where the night’s cool air seemed to echo the chill in your own thoughts. It was your favorite place to relax and unwind. Your sanctuary in the chaos that was the Night Court. He approached with a confident stride despite his recent injury and his expression was serious.

"Hey," he started. His voice carrying a hint of his usual directness mixed with concern. "Things were off between you and Az today. He’s worried, and frankly, so am I. We’ve all had our rough patches, but we don’t let that drive a wedge between us. Yeah?"

You paused, looking down at your growing herbs rather than meeting his gaze. You let out a soft sigh before answering him. "I’m just scared, Cass. I’m worried I’ll say the wrong thing again. It’s like... I’m tiptoeing around landmines with him. How do I even start to fix that?"

Cassian nodded. His features softening slightly. "Az can be intense. I won’t argue with that. But he’s also one of the most upright guys I know. Just be honest with him. Tell him you’re trying to avoid making things worse. He respects straightforwardness. Always has." He took a step closer, lowering his voice. "And remember, it’s not just about avoiding the landmines. It’s about clearing the field. Start with the truth. It’s always been the best foundation for us here, no matter how hard it might be."

You nodded appreciating his words. He was right. The truth got you so much further. "Thanks, Cass," you replied feeling a resolve begin to form. "I think I’ll talk to him. Just lay everything out."

"That’s the way," Cassian said with a brief nod. "We’re all here together, and we keep no secrets... save Azriel,” He smirked knowing that’s likely what got the two of you in the situation in the first place. “At least not the kind that hurt. If you're honest, he’ll listen. And if there’s anyone who can understand the value of facing hard truths, it’s Azriel."

As Cassian left you to your thoughts the weight on your shoulders didn't lift entirely but you felt more prepared to face the challenge ahead. Honesty would be your approach; you would share your fears with Azriel, hoping that it would bridge the gap between you. After all, in the Night Court, even the darkest shadows were faced together, not alone.

The next night you found yourself back in the serene confines of your herb garden where the evening light softened the edges of each leaf and petal. You were deeply absorbed in tending to a cluster of chamomile. The quiet focus on your plants provided a necessary reprieve from the swirling anxieties that had occupied your thoughts lately. However, your calm shattered when a shadow loomed unexpectedly over you. Azriel.

Startled, you looked up, only to find him standing there watching you with a curiosity you’d never seen from him before. His sudden presence was imposing and unexpectedly close and sent a rush of panic through you. His height and the intensity in his eyes seemed to fill the space making the air around you feel thinner.

"Oh! Azriel, you surprised me! I didn’t hear you walk over," you blurted out. A nervous chuckle escaping you as you hastily tried to gather your scattered wits. "I was just, um, focusing here, and—you know, plants don’t really talk back, so I guess I wasn't expecting any company."

He paused after noting your discomfort. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you," he said gently. His voice a soothing rumble. "I came to apologize. For the last time we spoke. I was too harsh. It was unfair to you."

Your response tumbled out in a rush. Your words tripping over each other. "No, no, it’s fine, really. I mean, not fine fine, but you know… I should’ve been more aware or something. I’m usually not this jumpy, I swear. Maybe a little—actually, maybe a lot right now because, well, you're kind of, um, imposing? And this wasn’t how I imagined our next conversation going..."

Azriel’s slight smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it did appear to carry a hint of amusement at your rambling. "I appreciate you saying that, but truly, I am the one who should be apologizing. I’ve thought a lot about what I said... and I regret it deeply. You didn’t deserve that." He took another step toward you as you stood.

You swallowed hard trying to steady your racing heart. "Why are you apologizing now?" you managed to ask feeling suddenly very aware of how close he was standing. The question felt bold, but your voice was anything but confident.

He took a slight step back giving you a bit more space. "Because I realized I might have made you feel unwelcome or undervalued here and that’s… that’s the last thing I want. We all need to support each other, and I failed in that moment. I want to make it right if you’ll let me."

Your mind raced with every thought, but you nodded feeling a mix of apprehension and relief. "I... yeah, I’d like that. I’ve been feeling a bit lost here. Like maybe I don’t belong. It’s been tough, and, well, your words stung. But maybe, I don’t know, maybe we can start over? Try to understand each other a bit more?" As you offered him a tentative smile the garden seemed to return to its peaceful state. The earlier tension dissipating slightly.

Azriel’s gaze softened with a rare flicker of amusement lighting his eyes as he noticed your unease. "You handle the complexities of healing with such ease," he commented with a slight tease in his voice, "yet you seem quite disarmed by a rather simple conversation."

You gave a small self-conscious laugh appreciating his attempt to lighten the mood. "Well, it's one thing to deal with herbs and potions. They tend not to talk back. It's another to navigate apologies and emotions. Especially with someone who usually keeps his cards so close to his chest."

He smiled and it transformed his face, softening the usual stern lines. "Fair enough," he conceded. Then, his expression turned more serious. The playful glint replaced by a depth of sincerity. "I really am sorry, though. For everything. I know I keep saying it, but it’s because I mean it. I’ve been... difficult towards you these last few years. And I don’t want to burden you with the things I’ve carried. Of the decisions I've had to make. It’s not your weight to bear."

You listened, understanding dawning as you saw the heavy cloak of responsibility he wore. Something that was so integral to his identity yet so isolating. "Maybe not," you replied softly, "but sharing those burdens doesn’t mean you're passing them on. It just means you’re not alone with them anymore. We can share without it being a burden. Sometimes, sharing is how we heal."

Azriel looked at you with something like wonder flickering in his gaze. "I suppose you’re right," he admitted. "It’s just not easy for me. I’ve always thought keeping my troubles to myself was a way to protect others. But maybe... maybe I’ve been wrong about that." The conversation deepened as each of you explored the nuances of forgiveness and the strength found in mutual understanding and empathy. Azriel learned about the power of vulnerability. Not as a spymaster but as a man. And he saw how your empathy and gentle nature enriched the court in ways that strategy and strength could not.

"I've kept many secrets," Azriel confessed. His voice a soft murmur against the backdrop of rustling leaves. "Not because I enjoy the solitude but because I fear the consequences of those secrets unraveling."

"You don’t have to tell me everything," you assured him. "Just knowing that you trust me enough to admit you have these secrets is a step. We all have secrets Azriel. What matters is how we face them and who stands with us when we do."

Azriel nodded. The corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as he smiled. A real smile that reached his eyes. "Thank you for understanding."

You nodded but still felt a nagging question at the bottom of your heart. The gardens around you seemed to hold their breath as you voiced a concern that had been shadowing your thoughts. "Azriel, back when you... when you were upset. You called me 'healer.' Is that… is that all you see me as?" Your insecurity got the better of you. The question sounded so much more childish as you asked it aloud, but you needed to know the answer.

Azriel’s expression changed instantly. The regret in his eyes unmistakable. "Gods, I am so sorry, Y/N. I was angry and overwhelmed and I unfairly took it out on you." His voice was thick with remorse. His usual stoicism giving way to a rare openness. "You are so much more than just a healer to us, to me. I should never have made you feel otherwise." Seeing the sincerity in his gaze you felt a complex knot of emotions begin to untangle. Yet, there was still a shadow of sadness in your eyes. A remnant of the hurt his words had caused.

Noticing this, Azriel did something completely unexpected. He stepped closer. His presence enveloping you whole, and hesitantly, almost awkwardly he opened his arms. "May I?" he asked softly giving you the choice.

With a small nod you stepped into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. It was a rare gesture from him as he was known for his guarded nature. It spoke volumes of his regret and his desire to make amends. His shadows ever a part of him, seemed to curl around the both of you gently. A comforting whisper against your skin.

As you stood there held in his careful embrace Azriel spoke again, his voice gentler than you had ever heard. "I’m truly sorry, Y/N. For everything. I let my anger and frustrations dictate my actions and you bore the brunt of that. I promise you this, I will do better. You deserve better."

Pulling back slightly he looked down into your eyes, ensuring you could see the truth in his. "Thank you for giving me the chance to apologize, to make things right. I don’t take your forgiveness lightly."

Your heart that was once heavy with doubt and hurt now fluttered with a burgeoning sense of renewed connection. "Thank you, Azriel, for understanding, for this," you said, your voice steady despite the emotions brimming within.

This conversation that was once a tentative path to reconciliation had blossomed into something deeper. A genuine connection fostered by understanding and shared vulnerabilities. Azriel's willingness to show his softer side, to bridge the gap with both an apology and a hug, marked a new chapter in your relationship. One filled with potential for even greater understanding and closeness. Together in the quiet of the herb garden you both began to navigate a path toward healing. Your relationship strengthened by the honesty and empathy of your exchange. It was a tentative step forward. One filled with potential for deeper understanding and a strengthened connection.

As the weeks turned into months, the atmosphere between you and Azriel visibly shifted. You both continued with your roles at the Night Court—Azriel, cloaked in shadows as the spymaster, and you, weaving magic and medicine as a healer. The sharp edges of earlier interactions softened replaced by a mutual respect and an unspoken understanding that grew with each passing day.

One evening during a relaxed gathering at the Night Court, the air was filled with the soft murmur of conversations and the warm laughter of friends and allies. Under the gentle glow of twilight you found yourself beside Azriel discussing something that excited you greatly—a plan for a new herb garden specifically designed for healing and restorative properties.

As you outlined your ideas your enthusiasm was palpable. "I’ve been researching some rare herbs that could thrive here under the Night’s eternal stars," you explained with your hands gesturing animatedly. "There’s this one flower, Lumina Blossom, known for its potent healing capabilities with poison but incredibly rare. I think with the right care, we could cultivate it here."

Azriel watched you with a soft smile playing on his lips as he listened intently. The usual shadows that clung to him seemed to lift slightly instead replaced by a light of curiosity sparked by your passion. It was a stark contrast to the brooding intensity he was known for. His gaze was fixed on you, clearly fascinated by your knowledge and the excitement that lit up your features.

"Have you considered adding Dawnlight Belle to your garden?" he suggested. His tone encouraging but slightly hesitant, as if he were treading on unfamiliar ground. "I've heard it's a good one. Especially for salves used in treating deep wounds, which unfortunately, we encounter often here."

You paused, your expression a mix of surprise and delight. "Azriel, I'm impressed you’ve heard of Dawnlight Belle," you said while nodding enthusiastically. "Yes, it's remarkably effective for healing deep wounds and incorporating it here would indeed be incredibly beneficial. It's also a bit of home but with a practical use for the Night Court."

Azriel’s smile widened slightly. His usual reserve melting away in the warmth of the conversation. "I thought it might be useful," he said softly. "It’s important to have pieces of home with us. And you’ve done so much to find your place here. It’s only fitting your garden does the same."

The conversation flowed easily between you as it slowly had come to. And as you spoke more about your plans Azriel's responses were thoughtful, showing his deep respect for your work. It was clear that he was not only listening but also truly engaged in what you were sharing.

As the evening wore on you found yourself more relaxed and open to discussing your hopes and dreams for the garden. Azriel's attentiveness and the sincere interest he showed in your passions brought a new depth to your interaction. A sense that something meaningful was blossoming between you, rooted in mutual respect and a shared sense of purpose.

Together you sketched out potential layouts for the garden. His strategic mind complementing your creative vision. The project that was born from a casual conversation was shaping up to be a beautiful symbol of regeneration and unity. It was a confirmation to the growing relationship forming between you as you both discovered the joy of collaboration and mutual understanding.

From across the way Cassian caught Rhysand and Feyre’s attention, nodding subtly towards you and Azriel with a wide grin. "Look at that," he chuckled. "Seems our resident shadowsinger has found a bit of light. Never thought I’d see the day."

Rhys, with a sly grin and a sparkle in his eye that matched the mischief in his voice, glanced over at you two. "Oh, I’d say there’s a bit more than just gardening going on there," he quipped as he leaned back with an air of casual intrigue. "Wouldn’t you agree, Cass? Feyre? It seems our spymaster might just be more enchanted with our lovely healer than he lets on."

Cassian laughed. His loud voice booming across the room. "You're one to talk, Rhys. Just don’t start planning their mating ceremony yet. Let them at least decide if they like each other first."

Feyre, who had been quietly observing the exchange from her place next to Rhysand, chuckled and shook her head. "She seems so good for him I must admit. But don't you dare meddle, Rhysand. We know how that turns out," she teased. Her eyes gleaming with humor. "Remember the Great Cake Incident of '49?"

The group erupted into laughter, including Rhys, who rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a grin. "Alright, alright, no meddling," he conceded. His voice still laced with laughter. "But for the record, that cake deserved better and meddling here would only help them."

The evening continued with the stars twinkling above as conversations flowed around the room. Your interaction with Azriel, now less guarded and more genuine, did not go unnoticed by those who knew him best. As the night deepened, the easy banter and shared smiles between you and Azriel spoke of something that was quietly strengthening. It was clear to everyone, even without Rhysand’s playful meddling, that something significant was blossoming. Something that went beyond the professional respect of two court members.

Together, you and Azriel discovered that even in a place as mystical and imposing as the Night Court, the true magic lay not just in ancient spells or hidden power but in the connections forged through vulnerability, trust, and perhaps, the beginnings of something deeper.

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[deconstructthesoup]

Thinking about a Nerdy Prudes Must Die swap AU

Steph---the mayor's kid who was put under a lot of academic pressure growing up, resulting in her getting lumped in with the nerds despite her struggling in school. She has to try twice as hard as everyone else, which gets seen as her being a buzzkill who does nothing but study, which makes teachers expect more from her... and, yeah, she's infinitely stressed. So stressed and burnt out, in fact, that when a pop quiz gets thrown at her out of nowhere, she finally breaks and asks to cheat off of...

Pete---one of the few popular kids who's popular not because he can play football or soccer or whatever, but because he's genuinely nice. He's taken Ted's advice just enough so he can seem cool without actively being a sleazeball, and he's even managed to be class president. Of course, he's still got a lot of nerdy interests he keeps under the rug, and he's also a lot smarter than he passes himself off as---so he never in a million years would've suspected that the mayor's cute nerdy daughter would want his help on a test, but he's prepared. Until, of course, they get caught by...

Max---the pastor's son who's well known throughout the school to be a judgmental and self-righteous asshole, holding himself and others to ridiculously high standards. He's still an untouchable menace, but instead of it being because he's a football star, it's because every single teacher and authority figure is swayed by his Good Christian Boy attitude, despite the fact that he has a C average (hey, you don't need to worry about grades if you're just going to take over running the church when you grow up). By all accounts, he's pretty much perfect---except for the fact that he has a secret thing for...

Grace---the head cheerleader who still grew up in a very Christian family, but she's embraced her crazy and has successfully talked her parents into letting her do more stereotypical high school stuff like, well, cheerleading ("it looks good on my college transcript, and it's a way for me to get steady exercise and keep myself in shape") and the occasional party ("it's just a fun thing between friends, and if any of them do anything reckless, I want to be there to help"). In reality, of course, she's the most unhinged popular girl in the history of ever, and nobody fucks with her because she's the type of girl who will bite you if you give her shit.

Brenda and Kyle are Steph's fellow struggling nerdy friends---Brenda got lumped in with the nerds because she's in the fandom zone, despite the fact that her head's usually in the clouds and she can barely pass classes, and Kyle's the awkward theater guy who's a total romantic but can't even properly talk to people he likes. By contrast, Richie and Ruth are Pete's friends, and while they aren't exactly cool, everyone knows Richie as the weirdly funny school mascot, and Ruth is Pete's incredibly cocky vice president. So, social clout.

And, uh... yeah

[warsamongthestars]

After the roaring rage of the last few days, how bout some hope?

ONWARDS TO THE CLONE WARS!

Me rewatching the TBB TCWshow Arc (... [sigh], again), and I caught a new thing.

See, Hunter and Rex are meant to be narrative foils to one another.

Rex is upright and honest, whilst Hunter is evasive and snarky.

Rex is a clean cut commander who is having doubts about the war, and Hunter is a scruffy sergeant who isn't really taking all this that seriously.

Rex using an algorithm to vary strategies and relies on defense. Hunter aggressively rushes in, and he and his team trust instincts instead of orders.

Rex keeps his cool under pressure, and when he loses his cool, he gets aggressive. Hunter tends to be a snippy worrywart, and shutsdown as a response to aggression.

The new thing is that, on other end, Echo is also meant to be a Foil and Contrast to Hunter... But where Rex and Hunter don't compliment each other--Echo does compliment the Bad Batch, just as much as he'd compliment Rex as a character.

When we get reintroduced back to Echo, inspite of his circumstance, he maintains good humor and though its a life threatening situation, he not only maintains his cool, he's back on his feet in hours.

He's got humor and optimism to Hunter's cynicism and worry, and can even work to outsnip him. Determination against any fears and pressure in the face of danger, to Wrecker's emotional state and phobias.

Social graces to Tech's technical graces (To a point, but I don't really want to rely on this as their contrast, but its the only one I've spotted outright... because its kriffin' typical. )

And to Crosshair? Well, instead of the "Reg"ular clone, meet the "Reg"ulations Clone. In fact, there's actually a comparison here. Both of them will simply march up to any officer and tell 'em how it is--with Cross its usually for purposes of hostility, but for Echo, its purposes of forwarding goals. I know a lot of HCs and Fanfics go into how Echo, with his regulations reading, is about chain of command--but Echo has never respected chain of command. As a Cadet, he outright jumped to General to ask for a Transfer. Echo gives no fucks.

Honestly, by his introduction into the Bad Batch, he fits right in.

If such relationships were given a show to expand on these comparisons and contrasts, it would've been great.

[your-average-teenage-mess]

One of my favorite types of stories out there, is the one where the story shows multiple different perspectives and scenarios in which the same SPECIFIC real-world problem is explored from different angles. Bonus points if the problem is categorically something that mainstream media is incentivized to overlook.

Example: so I just watched Beetlejuice 2, and I legit really REALLY loved how the story of "girl/woman feels isolated from society because of problems in her own life that are legit too much for her to handle, gets involved with guy who really fucks her up", which in the real world, happened too many fucking times to count, got explored in this film through three different stories, WHICH ARE ALL REAL.

Jeremy's the edgy asshole you thought was really awesome when you were way too young to recognize red flags when you saw them, who you thought was so charming and cool because he was just so sweet at first, who dragged you in when you just wanted someone to listen and ended up locking you into genuinely dangerous situations because he just didn't fucking care. That's real. That happens. And I'm glad it was shown.

Rory's the exploitative fucker who will find you when you're in a low point, love-bomb you when you're too emotionally drained to do anything but cling onto his support and manipulate the hell out of you in order to turn you into a codependent object for his use. Now, the Rorys of the real world are usually not as often in it for the money as much as they are for the emotional validation that comes from satisfying their savior complex, but there definitely ARE cases in which they financially exploit their partners. That's real. That happens. And I'm glad it was shown.

Beetlejuice is (and this one I actually have quite a familiarity with) that equally broken enabler who feels so much more free than you to walk around fucking other people's shit up according to his whims in ways that genuinely terrify you but you don't dare to say anything about, who keeps clinging to you and saying that you and him "understand each other so well!" And you can tell that his behavior is basically what your behavior could be if the societal trauma forcing you to repress and turn your untreated mental illness onto yourself was gone, so that you genuinely DO feel a sense of comradely with him, even though he's fucking scaring you, won't take no for an answer and treats you as an equal target as anyone else for his own issues which he insists on turning into everybody else's problem. That's real. That fucking happens. And I'm SO FUCKING GLAD IT WAS SHOWN.

Also, another reason I'm glad this specific scenario was shown- women in media are so often portrayed as these perfectly put-together centers of reason and balance, and GOODNESS am I glad to see a movie that for once actually explores what it looks like when they get crushed under external pressure. Because like. That happens a lot. There's a lot of pressure to living as a woman in society. It often crushes women. And people really only want to explore that in specific case studies of discrimination and abuse. But not here, and I love that.

And also, like. Presenting MULTIPLE socially-outcasted women who's personality isn't immediately turned into a prop that is then used to further the development of their male love interest IN THE SAME STORY? LOVE THAT LOVE THAT LOVE THAT.

So anyways, yeah, that's why I consider Beetlejuice 2 to be an incredibly feminist story which does an amazing job as showing female characters as real people while also presenting specific gendered struggles which they face. Love that.

[utilitycaster]

Wizard Breakdown Tracker: Mighty Nein Reunited, Part 2

Gather ye wizards while ye may, though with the return to Campaign 3, we are finally headed to Yios, where there are wizards, once we finish with the Gloomed Jungles, where there are were-creatures, which are also very cool. The hierarchy is, as always: paladins; wizards; were-creatures; literally everyone else; dhampyrs, kalashtar, changelings, and "hey DM, can I play a tiefling bard with intelligence 7". But I digress.

Ludinus Da'leth: So at this point (ie, shortly post-this episode), Caleb, known bridge between the Cerberus Assembly and the Cobalt Soul, has taken a job at the Soltryce Academy, which means any efforts to make a new, slightly more palatable volstrucker program and quietly keep it from Archmage Becke are going to go straight out the window. The walls are closing in, and he doesn't even know that Jester can go to the Feywild. 7/10.

Astrid Becke: Caleb listened and took the job! That's one success in what's got to be a thankless new position in many ways. Also I still really want to know who the hell has become Archmage of Antiquity, or if the Assembly just writes that one off as "make a deal to bring back a powerful Age of Arcanum entity and raise it to godhood once, shame on you; make a deal to bring back an powerful Age of Arcanum entity and raise it to godhood twice, shame on us and also what the fuck are we going to do with two nickels in a society that uses gold, silver, and copper currency." 3/10; Astrid's doing better than she ever has in this tracker, and good for her.

Eadwulf Grieve: Caleb is still keeping him in mind, which is good, because he really is like...look, he's a wizard, so he's not dumb muscle, but compared to his two former lovers he's very clearly the 'And Peggy' of the bunch. On the other hand this means he's probably just organizing the Temple of the Raven Queen Yulisen Night Potlucks and inventing the Exandrian equivalent of Minnesota Hot Dish or something. 0/10.

Yussa Errenis: Is aware of the storm on the horizon. Is chilling in his tower. Is largely unbothered. Other people pointed out that while he has developed a reputation for fucking around and finding out, he has also technically never physically left his tower to do so, which is honestly impressive, but does explain why Beau did not have to bamf out a partially dissolved old wizard when she ended up in Uk'otoa's gullet. Anyway, glad he's keeping up with Caleb and making potions. 3/10, for being aware of the storm.

Allura Vysoren, whose name I keep misspelling: Yasha did give Kima back the sword, and Caleb doesn't seem to have her staff, and she helped make a new, cooler sword! 2/10 for League of Miracles reasons only.

Essek Thelyss: Still under a lot of political pressure, regardless of where he is...but he's also getting, as Figueroth Faeth would say, his kisses in, so better than I expected! 5/10.

Caleb Widogast: So here's the thing. It is, as the other post said, about the green beans. And it is, as my last iteration of this said, not time for deep Caleb meta in here. But I do have a lot of thoughts about the similarities between Caleb and Fjord, as I always do, and about how neither of them really had much of an understand of what happens in their life past That One Big Thing They Need To Do, having already woken up at some point and been like *Mitski voice* I used to think I'd be done by 20. I do feel that the Caleb Widogast of part 1 of this two-shot was truly a Caleb Widogast who could go either way re: the T-Dock usage, and the Caleb Widogast of part 2 of this two-shot is not; the event has not (in my understanding, at least) occurred but the decision has unconsciously been made. Also he's dating Essek and he gets to have Dragon Time, which sounds like Floor Time but better. He does get a 4/10 though, because he takes it upon himself to become the Mighty Nein's Social Event Coordinator. As someone who just had to cancel a carefully scheduled D&D session for tonight because I am sick but also the DM and if I have to talk for 2 hours while simultaneously using my brain I will cry, this is very stressful.

Veth Brenatto: Camp's going great! Only one kid died, and not permanently! 1/10.

Known Gem Wizard Hotsauce Lutefisk: Oh so the demigod leviathan CALAMITY SNAKE gets released from its prison beneath the sea, three seals in three temples broken in under 18 months, and yet, I, Halas Lutagran,

Bonus!

Warlock Breakdown Tracker

Fjord: For real? Who knows. I personally imagine that it does, as they say, briefly go to 11, because though Uk'otoa is dealt with and Zehir seems to have understandably gone "you are way too interested in love and the ocean for me to give a shit, I'm going back to bed", Fjord (not unlike Caleb) has to sit with the fact that he's done with that and he's happy OH GOD HE'S HAPPY WHAT THE FUCK DOES HE DO WITH THIS. Also he has to deal with the orphanage, which is going to be traumatic and unpleasant for sure, plus you know someone named "Grankton" is going to be holding a massive grudge against the world at large. But with time, it settles back down somewhere more reasonable, only to briefly spike and resolve again during Kingsley's little maneuver. So you know. Some numbers, probably.

[bcbryar]

I would be interested i would be sooooo incredibly interested. Tubbo compulsive self harmer not for selfhatred but because its a very intricate ritual and its important to him. Idk how it would happen but tubbo and scar meet irl and the topic comes up and tubbo shows scar the scars nonchalantly and scar goes Hrrgh. Keep it in man. But he is so obviously weird about it in the best way

I love love drunk Tubbo I gotta sneak that in imagine Scar and Tubbo at some afterparty and they're both regretting coming cuz their social batteries are drained, so Tubbo fixes it by drinking copious amounts of alcohol and Scar fixes it by hiding in a corner. Tubbo finds Scar and all his filters are gone all his rational thoughts are out the window, pulls up a chair beside Scar and they get to chatting, Scar's amused by Tubbo but he's also a little nervous, secretly he kind of looks up to Tubbo (for being so upfront with being gay, for being so successful so young, for getting to embark on all these cool opportunities, for being so unapologetically him), and somehow the topic comes up. Maybe Tubbo's scratching at his scabs through his long-sleeve, maybe the topic of injuries comes up, or stress management, content creator pressure, something happens, and Tubbo pulls up his sleeve to show off his scabs. I imagine fresh Scabs, he definitely cut them the night before in the hotel room (oh my god Tubbo was holding a knife yesterday night just a floor below Scar's hotel room). Shows them off to Scar. Butterfly bandages over deep cuts, yellow-green scabs on the brink of infection, old welting scars. The sight of it is an absolute shock to Scar, he's never seen anything like this irl, barely even believed that people really did that. And Tubbo tells him it's a good way to unwind, just have common fucking sense and go to town, so easy, so quick, instant gratification and adrenaline release and that's good for you did you know, like that whole release of uh enodrphins uh endro those those hormones, leans close to Scar's ear and whispers that it's kind of hot too right, bouncing back as quick as he'd leaned in, giggling with a hand over his mouth, scabs stretching as he moves his arm. And Scar just can't stop thinking about it. That night in his hotel bed. On the flight back. When he's sat behind his desk playing on the Hermitcraft server. Alone late at night in his bed with his cock in his hand. I think he should consider it. Think back to the dark red grains of coagulated dried blood on Toby's arm.

Should imagine himself pressing a knife to his arm, should imagine the relief, the rush, the blood welling up. He should give in after weeks, shamefully take a knife from the kitchen, slice into his skin. He should take photos. He should send them to Toby. No context. No warning. Attached to a message of 'thought you'd like to see them'. Beads of blood shining under his phone's flash.

Or he should think about running his fingers over the scarred and scabbed skin of Tubbo's arms. Should think about pressing down on the fresh cuts, opening them back up again, new blood spilling and nestling into his fingerprints. Should think about jacking his cock over fresh cuts on Toby's thighs, should think about making the kid cut for him, shallow breaths as he presses the blade inti his skin upon Scar's command. Should think about cumming into open cuts, wide and down to the fat, cruel and so so hot. Should think about his name carved in Tubbo's skin, deep slashes making up Ryan, etched into skin forever.

[krbkss]

i think it’s really beautiful how mha slowly makes you realize that “this is the story of how i became the greatest hero” won’t mean what you thought it would. you’re rooting for izuku, thinking he’ll be number one after all might, that’s so cool, that’s a dream come true, and then, oh, wait, maybe the chart does more harm than good. it affected the todoroki family, it’s part of the villains’ social critique and oh, maybe it’s also a bit fucked up, because it creates pressure when you’re at the top, leading you (toshi) to self sacrifice, and maybe it’s also a bit empty, because when endeavor was finally at the top he thought he had a role to play instead of working with sincerity and oh, maybe it’s a bit meaningless at this point because the number two is a kid who was brainwashed to become a weapon and killed a man in cold blood and there’s absolutely nothing heroic about that so is it even a good thing at all? is it even a list that we should or want to strive to be on? the whole system doesn’t work, the old generation wants to kill and sweep the core of the problem under the rug meanwhile the mc wants to actually listen, to give villains the time of day, to reach out his hand, to save them or at least to keep trying, which is the actual effort the hero makes. and so you slowly realize that greatest hero doesn’t mean number one hero at all – but something more true and much, much more meaningful.

[astudyinfreewill]

ADAM INFILTRATING BOUDICCA!!!! YOUR MIND!!!! pls elaborate the people need this

oh boy!!! unfortunately my brain is a little too fried from work (i just think video calls of over two hours should be illegal unless you’re bantering with the besties) to come up with any actual plot but like. ok hear me out.

i simply think that it’s such a tragic waste of potential to have this guy who is paralleled with criminals not once, not twice, not thrice but FOUR times (kavinsky/declan/the gray man/mór o corra) and not have him be a little criminal at least ONCE. in fact i genuinely thought, after we were introduced to the fairy market in cdth - what a fucking cool concept btw, and hey isn’t it insane that these were marketed as kids’ books in some forums?? - that this was the direction we were headed!!! bc like declan brings ronan to the market, and tells him to be cool and calculated and wary, but of course ronan is ronan, so that doesn’t end up happening so much. you know however who IS cool and calculated and wary and would have done so so well in such an environment? yeah, you got it, good old adam “lizard son” parrish.

there are hints of this grittiness potential throughout trc as well i think. for instance, adam is the one who thinks to get his dad’s gun at the end of trb; and granted, he actually does so out of protectiveness for his awful mother (because the one thing that keeps adam distinct from his shadier narrative foils is that he has a huge heart, and he keeps choosing goodness even when it’s not his first instinct) - but he still is the one who reaches into that seedier world, where ronan would rather wield a chivalrous sword and gansey shies back from weapons altogether.

we also know what adam is capable of when he doesn’t chose goodness, even if he usually does it for sentimental reasons still: for example, refusing to spare whelk after whelk threatened to kill gansey; or, more glaringly, hatching a nefarious plan to blackmail greenmantle when he threatened ronan’s life. yes he had good reasons for his actions, but he can and WILL go darkside if need be. my dude plotted out a whole criminal case involving grisly child murders specifically to make sure that greenmantle would not only be put away, but put away for a crime that had very good chances of getting him killed.

the other characters are aware of this too - greenmantle himself, yes, but we also get admiring comments from the other two overtly criminal characters in the series - from declan calling adam “a creepily clever little fuck” to the gray man thinking that adam is “cool and resourceful” under pressure and would handle himself well specifically in the context of a shootout. his “criminal adjacent” characterisation stays consistent with that in the trilogy, from scamming rich kids with blatantly fake tarot readings, to oh yeah— hacking into several government databases apparently???

so yeah, when boudicca was introduced as a powerful, shady organisation operating within the magical mafia world, of COURSE i thought adam was gonna be a part of that plot. i was not entirely serious about him infiltrating them since it’s an all-women collective, but he could certainly infiltrate their records if he so chose. a guy who can both hack into your computer AND scry into your thoughts? a guy who’ll point a gun at you AND call down lighting from the sky? that’s a scary fucking opponent, man. i wouldn’t want him for an enemy.

anyway yeah these are my thoughts on mob wife adam who would actually be a lot better at the mob life than his supposed mob husband ronan “let me just hand over my social security number” lynch

[princelylove]

W-we are friend now, ahhh. I'm so happy~ thank you so much

Btw do you know about the yandere alphabet (here: https://www.tumblr.com/dear-yandere/188860909008/yandere-alphabet). Do you accept request base on the yandere alphabet? If yes, then I'd love to request:

+ F, H, N for Noriaki

+ I, J, L for Josuke

+ B, Q, X for your favorite yandere :)

~ 🏵️ anon ~

You’re welcome. Sure, I’ll bite. Forgive the formatting here, I’m still trying to figure out how to make it all pretty. For my "favorite" I just did someone I was in the mood for tonight.

F: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Noriaki is displeased, to put it lightly. He doesn’t understand why you won’t just behave, he’s doing everything right, by all means. If you resist him you might as well just be begging for restrictions. He doesn’t even restrict you that much, he doesn’t have any plans to kidnap you! Stop acting like he’s some obsessed creep and behave. 

H: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Losing your autonomy. If you are incapable of acting right, he’ll make you act right. It’s not like it’s hard to puppet you. He knows how you talk, walk, even how you rest when you stand still for too long. And he just adores the way hierophant green looks on your wrists and ankles. 

Also the social isolation. Once you notice it, it’s too late. 

N: How would they punish their darling?

Noriaki is very, very understanding. He researched how most victims react to overbearing obsession, and to be honest, not very good results! His goal isn’t to harm you, he wants you to flourish! He punishes you socially, have you ever been talking to a group of people and one of them stops the entire conversation to chide you? Social shaming and peer pressure is killer.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Josuke wants to settle down. He’s always been sorta jealous of people who had really loving families, and sometimes family means you, your darling, and maybe a dog. He wants his darling to play house with him. 

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Only sorta. He’s cool if you show him lots of attention; He doesn’t want to be one of those overbearing boyfriends who ruins every friendship you’ve got. He’s an asshole, yeah, fucking ok, but he’s not gonna get in the way of your friends. He’s not insecure. 

On that same note, it’d drive him up the wall if you talked about another guy like he was better than him. He’s sitting right there, you absolutely cannot be serious. He blows off steam by working out, and telling himself he’s way better than that scumbag you’ve definitely got eyes for. 

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

I think he inherited his father’s persistence. He can’t take a “no” for shit. He’ll go a seemingly normal route- saying he wants to spend time with you, getting your phone number, doing things he thinks people find attractive when guys do. He peacocks quite a bit, and for good reason, he’s quite handsome. He takes you out on a couple dates before he decides to properly ask, and if you say no, he’s just going to take that as a “Not yet.”

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Leone is prepared to kill for his darling, and that’s entirely with his hands. He doesn’t use guns, and his stand isn’t one for combat, so it’s either his bare hands or something he can bash someone’s head in with. It’ll be such a pain to get this blood out of his clothes, but he really doesn’t care. He has a job. He can buy new clothes. He can’t buy a new you.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

Never. If his darling died while under his care, he’d kill himself. End of story. What’s the point in keeping his life if he let you rot? He’s a disgusting excuse for a man, he should’ve never gotten impatient and snatched you up. If you ever escaped successfully, it wouldn’t be for long. He’d brood for a week or so- that’s your period to get the fuck out of the country- and then go hunting for the only thing keeping him going. 

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Total reverence. Leone absolutely adores you, you make him a better man. He pretties himself up entirely for you- you’re his main motivation for everything. He can’t be lazy, who wants a lazy boyfriend? He can’t be so slovenly, who wants to make out with that? Leone gets rather meticulous about his makeup, Mista’s rushed him out of their shared bathroom more times than he can remember. Get a vanity, man, you’re interfering with poor Mista’s schedule. 

Leone loves to just sit and watch you. He gives you space, careful not to step on your metaphorical toes, and just sits quietly to watch. He won’t look away if you look over while he’s giving you that stupid, lovestruck stare. He’s so lucky he gets to witness you. Your every need is taken care of, he’ll even get down on the ground to rub your feet if you told him to- as long as you’re doing what he wants. If you break his fantasy of you actually liking him, he falls into a bit of a depressive rut, and slacks a bit with your needs.

[solosikoasgf]

nothing like loving you, chapter one

previous chapters: prologue pairing: solo sikoa x oc (nariah 'riah' perry) themes in this chapter: tense family dynamics (bloodline), initial magnetism + unspoken chemistry word count: roughly 2.4k author's notes: besitos on all the love for the prologue! taglist: @rez-luvs-hook — @southerngirl41 — @harmshake — @christinabae — @dreamsinfocus — @thesamoanqueen — @thewarlordsworld — let me know if you want to be added! song recommendations: heavy by tank and the bangas,

— riah ,

news of the draft flows through the corporate office, and the office is abuzz as our section starts rearranging content schedules to accommodate the changes. rumors buzz through myself and leah, my coworker and other content associate. we met when we both started as wide eyed interns, and we both cried and got terribly drunk when we got hired full time, and spent countless nights up together when we got paired to handle content for nxt. our first year together was spent all over the country, bunking in rooms together, downing red bulls, and making friends with the budding talent. even though it was technically off limits - we saw these people every day, every event. it was impossible to not make some friends.

"i'm so excited for indi," leah mentions, leaning back in her chair to scoot over into my cubicle space. "she's gonna be crazy good on main roster."

"oh yeah. i talked to her a couple days afterwards, she's so excited. the women's division is really ramping up to be something special. indi, alba and isla joining is going to take it over the top, really." i click through a couple press articles, switching to twitter to get a read on how fans are responding to it all. "do you think with the shakeup, we could be changing divisions too?"

with draft changeups came staff change ups - people moved divisions, got promoted, and the like. i honestly liked being at nxt - it wasn't has high as pressure and roadtripping with my work bestie made it even more of a party than work.

leah's eyebrows knit together, and she scooted in closer, leaning her elbows into my desk. "we're the newest, so i would hope not....you don't think dan would try and break us up, do you?" she pouts slightly, running hand through her bright ginger hair. i smile, leaning my head into hers.

"and split up his best content tag team?" i roll my eyes, brushing off her worries - just in time for our manager dan to walk up to my desk.

"nariah, i know our one to one is later, but you okay with it happening right now?" he questions, flashing a smile at leah and i. i nod, picking up my laptop and giving leah a shrug before following. dan was cool - i worked under him as an intern and he got promoted to manager when i got hired. he didn't ride me too hard and always tried to look out for our best interests.

i take a seat opposite him in meeting room we snagged, watching as he settled in, a wide white smile that contrasted with the smooth brown of his skin tone. he leans into the table, like a kid with a secret he can't keep.

"you're getting promoted."

"i'm sorry, excuse me, but what?"

"molly and i have been really impressed with your work. the metrics and engagement on the content you've personally been in charge of has been some of the best posts we've gotten across all our socials. and a lot of the nxt talent has praise for you - especially when you've handled their personal brand posts and not just the ones for general nxt. so we think you can take on some bigger talent. we're promoting you from junior content associate to content coordinator, and we're changing your division." his smile grows even wider with every sentence, and i can't form a sentence.

i didn't think this was going to happen - shit, i thought i would be with nxt for the next one or two years before anything happened. all the content i did was work, but i had fun editing, or brainstorming new ideas. and it was fun to interact with fans and see what they responded best to, to figure out what should be signature for talent.

"too shocked to talk?"

i laugh, shaking my head. "i just did not expect this by a long shot. thanks, dan, really. you really have been my mentor this entire time and i really appreciate you."

"no, nariah. this is all you. i gave you the tools, you went above and beyond with them. that's what we look for."

my smile won't go down, and my cheeks hurt, but i can't stop - until my mind brings leah to the front and it falls slightly. "what about leah?"

"you know i can't talk to you about her, but i am splitting you both up. she's doing good too, but she'll be going to a different division. y'all are both rising up the ranks."

i let out a breath of relief, but a little saddened i'll be away from my partner. "what division am i going to?"

"main roster, men's division. in particular...." he leans back in his chair, with a wider smile. "you'll be assisting in the content for the bloodline specifically."

holy shit?

"excuse my language, but you're shitting me right now. you're putting me on bloodline content?"

"yeah. we think your ideas could be really good in helping where the story is going next. and we've gotten word they want to start pushing solo a little more, and since you worked with him a little in nxt, we think you'd be great to take point on that when the time comes. we actually want you to head down to pensacola to meet with them and start shadowing, since the next two weeks of matches will be down there. you'll be working under tyrese. so after you wrap it up today, head down tomorrow."

i study his face to see if he's serious, but the smile remains, and dan doesn't tend to play games when it comes to work. i leave the conference room a lost for words, replaying the conversation in my head on repeat until i can grasp the full understanding. when leah and i leave later, both shocked with the days events, i hug her a little tighter, and we both look at each other in wonder: things are really changing for us.

________________________

a roadtrip and several phone calls later - including a long one with leah as we bounced around ideas of what we could do for our respective assignments - find me falling in step behind tyrese, who takes point on bloodline content, with some others personally picked by the talent to handle personal brand posts. we hadn't really spent much time together, but word around that he was a good guy, just harsh on deadlines and the kinds of edits that went out. but considering the kind of press that surrounded the bloodline, it made sense, but i'd be lying if i said it didn't put me on edge a little.

"so the guys tend to drift between gyms - josh, jon and sefa all have multiple gym memberships so they go wherever. joe has a spot where his trainer is that he prefers so it'll be rare you really see him like that." he turns to walk backwards, keeping his eyes trained on me. i squirm internally, trying to keep a neutral but interested face. since i had shown up, i had felt a little under scrutiny, and it took me far too long to even pick an outfit, settling on my usual streetwear casual - slightly baggy cargos, a slightly oversized tee, nikes. spent half the morning fighting with my curly bundles to make this slick back low ponytail full. i wanted to feel like myself, but wanted to look approachable. my hands still smooth over my tee, still feeling slight scrutiny from tyrese's eyes as he goes over some scheduling details.

as we round the corner into the training room, i take a deep breath, hearing booming laughter, and try to put on a smile to calm my shaking nerves. we come upon the twins and solo, all engaged in conversation until they see tyrese, who they great with enthusiasm, like a long lost brother. "aye guys, this is nariah, i told y'all she'd be joining us as apart of content."

i smile, swallowing down nerves as both usos take turns shaking my hand.

"damn, new content? i got high expectations since our boy been holding us down." jimmy grins.

"i'll try my best, but i think my work speaks for itself. i think we can add some fun stuff as well as some really edgy things for y'all. as long as your open to it."

my eyes drift to solo, who's held his spot quietly without moving since i came in. his hoodie is just pulled back enough so a peek of blonde shoots through, and his sleeves are rolled up, revealing tatted forearms. he doesn't give a smile, a nod, a word, not a single bit of acknowledgement at my presence. even now, he stares at me with intensity that doesn't come off as friendly, and i'm stuck between feeling awkward and a little offended. truth be told, i hadn't mentioned to anybody how we had met previously, or what had went down.

it wasn't like it was bad, either. it was quick and fleeting, but my neck still felt warm at the thought of our last encounter, only calmed by the thought that he may not remember anything of that night. but then why the hell was he staring at me so hard for?

so i hold his eyes, trying not to let it get to me. "looking forward to working with you guys."

— solo ,

i don't have the time to mess around with whatever new people the office sends down here, seems like one or two cycles through and gets transferred out every couple weeks, not being able to hack it. i'm always more focused on the problems in front of us, and it's always like i'm damn near the only one. as friendly as things seem behind the scenes, there's always an underlying feeling of tension that flows through all of us, even amidst the smiles and camaraderie. when sami left, the rift got a little bigger, and with my brothers losing their titles, it's grown.

if anything, it's left more pressure on me to deliver.

i've never been one for alliances or any of that buddy shit - i've always looked out for myself and made my own path independent of everybody else. i didn't have the elder's support like roman, or have a twin like my brothers. it's always been just me - and that's why i'm solo. but since joining the roster, that feels threatened. i don't know the peace of my own rules and judgement, used as a guard dog of sorts for roman.

and it's not like i mind - the closer i am to roman, the more i have leeway for what i want in the end - but it's almost like i'm a pet, and i ain't never been with that shit.

i like to train when it's late - the quiet of the training facility is easier to navigate. it's just me and tupac, the weights and my own determination. it's what i look forward to - or at least i did, until i find somebody else in there instead. i glance at the clock - one in the morning. the hell is anybody else even doing in here?

there's a low hum of rnb music as the quiet and shadowy figure goes through a series of stretches in front of the mirror. it takes me a moment to place the face as nariah - the content girl from earlier. she doesn't see me and her eyes are closed as she sinks down into the yoga mat, stretching her body over the floor, with audible deep breaths.

i clear my throat and move toward the center, pulling my hood down. it startles her, and she jumps a little, sitting on her knees and her head snapping up. once she recognizes me, she exhales, hand on her chest. "sorry. didn't see you."

"yeah, i can tell."

she doesn't respond, looking at me in the mirror as if she was waiting for words.

"you gon' be in here much longer?"

her eyebrows raise. "maybe. there's enough space for both of us, you know. i won't get in your way."

not the answer i wanted. i shove my hands into the pockets of my hoodie, scowling. "what are you even doing in here this late?"

"the trip down here was long and fucked up my sleeping schedule a little. couldn't get my mind to calm down so i thought i'd get some time in. i should ask you that. weren't you in here training earlier?"

"don't mean i can't train on my own."

"true." she stands, facing me from her spot. "i won't bother you. unless you want to stretch with me before you get started."

i snort, and i swear there's a playful look in her eyes. "what?" she asks, eyebrows raised. "big guy like you can't be flexible?"

"ain't nobody say all that."

"then come on."

i hesitate, but step beside her, looking at her face in the mirror for guidance. she doesn't smile, but her face lights up just a bit, content in my choice as she leads me through stretches. the lights in the training room are still somewhat dim, so i rely on her low voice to guide me along the sounds of the music playing in the background. after a while, my mind empties - no longer concerned with my earlier problems.

i focus on feeling my body connect with my mind, and the tasks that i've done to get me here. i focus on nariah's voice, and then her face as we sit across each other for seated stretches. her voice fades out a little as i find myself more tuned into her face - dark eyes with light circles under them - no doubt from the late nights. full and glossed lips, long and slender limbs. after a while, i realize i'm not moving anymore, and neither is she, and we're both just quietly staring at each other.

something's there.

i don't know what it is, but it's there. pulling me in, making me want a little more. the air feels a little heavier, and her eyes hold mine with quiet intensity for another moment, but something in the back falls with a clatter, and it breaks the tension, and she clears her throat, averting her eyes and scrambling to stand.

"i'm gonna go. you're good, right?" she dusts herself off.

"yeah..." i stand, putting some more space between her.

"alright then i'm gonna..." she mumbles, rolling up the mat and looking for her bag, "i'm gonna go now. see you later, i guess."

"uh-huh."

i watch her disconnect her bluetooth and scramble out the door, and it takes me a moment to come to myself, shaking my head. no time to be distracted.

with everybody on home turf, the next two weeks were going to be brutal. and i needed to focus.

[matcha-goblin]

Okay, here’s my favorite analysis of Light’s character in Death Note. He’s absolutely obsessed with how other people see him. His whole world hinges on being able to control his image socially, far before the events of the story. It’s a fundamental part of who he is. (This is part of why I headcannon him as autistic as well: he’s forced to put all this energy into masking his autistic traits to appear more normal, and that’s where this all begins. He’s put under a lot of pressure to perform as well socially as he does academically, so he’s learned all the social rules and perfected the art of being a normal guy. Ultimately, this suppression of his true obsessive, intense personality is part of what makes him so unhinged.) That’s why the conflict of the story is so perfect and devastating for Light as a character. Now that he’s Kira, everything depends on making everyone perceive him in a certain way: namely, a non-murderer. How in the world can he overcome his insecurities when they are the only thing keeping him alive? Then he meets L. Once again, L is the perfect rival for Light. L is everything Light works so hard not to be: he’s awkward, unkempt, kind of creepy, too intense. He wears weird clothing and sits funny and says exactly what he thinks. And on top of that, he’s brilliant (and an unmasked autistic according to me). L shatters Light’s whole worldview because he doesn’t give a flying fuck what people think of him as a person, and yet he’s still wildly successful. Light has to prove that he’s better than L, not just because he’s obsessed with intellectual superiority, but because if L isn’t a worse detective than him, maybe everything Light has worked so hard for is pointless. Because deep down, Light wishes he could wear clothes he’s actually comfortable in, and say something without double checking that it’s safe, and be himself without compromising his ideology. He believes that he can’t do this, and that he’s superior because he abstains from it. Light sees things in terms of a complex social dance that he is forced to participate in to get anywhere in life. Everyone is plotting the perfect steps around each other, making careful moves and capturing as much material as their intelligence allows. Light believes his value as a person is tied to his ability to play this game. And Light’s good at it. And L’s terrible at it. And now both their lives depend on their ability to play it anyway. It’s who Light is, as a character and as a human being, that makes the central conflict of Death Note work. That’s really fucking cool.

[bellalampwickrossi]

Disney Descendants: Alexander (From Pinocchio 1940 ) X Princess Eilonwy story ideas Part 2

Eilonwy was very closed off before she met Alexander. It's hard being queen. She wanted to project authority and power to be taken seriously. Alexander was fun and he was fun to her - where they could debate and talk about all the new things they were learning and both be a bit of know it alls together. He helped her open up again.

They like the summer because it's the fruit festival. They go to see people pick fruit, sell it, cook with it, and just enjoy Llyr healing. It's so nice seeing how far it's come. And the snacking and dancing and games don't hurt. Berry juice is delicious too.

They try very hard to keep cool in summer. It's hard under the thick clothes royalty wears! They always stop at rivers to cool off and try to avoid heat stroke. They drink lots of juice and eat lots of fruit too for the water content. It's nice to feed each other apple slices and sip lemonade on a hot day though.

They like to go to the bakeries in Llyr. Alexander is a snob who thinks Italian is always better, but he's coming around. 😛 They get bread fresh every day and often pick up lots of pastries for guests too. They need dessert! It's a nice thing to pick them up when they get a lot of pressure as royals. They can sit and enjoy toast together. ❤️

They like having people over. It's a chance to show off how well Llyr is doing. Alexander usually does the greeting, and then he gets to announce and show off his awesome, hot wife. She'll laugh and they can get down to business. They're very well coordinated and know what each other is thinking so they're a well oiled machine. They're a power couple!

They go to Italy occasionally. They have to specifically map out time for it but it's always nice. Sienna loves Eilonwy and they get along very well. Alexander has to go around and see what's changed in town. Eilonwy likes to get a taste of what the place that means so much to him is like. And yeah, Italian food is the best to them. XD

They kinda resent having to remind people who they are. Llyr is not UNimportant just because it's little. They want to be recognized for what they bring to the table and so they're very good at getting attention. That's part of why they make sure they're one of the 'cutest' couples at social events. Attention for Llyr is important!

Thanks @askauradonprep / @blenderbender1811

[pearl484-blog]

My issue with Senti-Adrien

One of the reasons I don't like the senti-adrien theory is because I feel it takes away an important element of the environment he's grown up in: that pervasive feeling that it's wrong to not be okay with something, that it's wrong to disobey.

In the culture I've grown up in, Doublespeak is used A LOT. You are NEVER supposed to insult someone or have an impolite conversation with them. You can't express discomfort, and I always seem to find myself in disgreements where if I leave to cool down, that's not the right option.

Everyone -especially the women who face more social stigma- is likely going to get into a situation that they CAN'T leave. They don't know how, and they may not even have the tools to recognize that they WANT TO. That it's not healthy. After all, if someone hasn't done something OBVIOUSLY WRONG, you can't be impolite. Even if you're uncomfortable.

Of course, then it becomes a slow boil, the things you have to not react to (and sometimes even pretend you enjoy) become worse and worse, but never so much worse than the last time you didn't react.

In the end, a lot of people don't understand why you would be near people who make you feel uncomfortable. Why you can't stand up for yourself. Why you treat people who treat you like shit kindly.

Adrien could've been a girl and depicted this. A high class girl constantly under the spotlight for her father's fame could easily be pressured to be a sweetheart, a good girl, and everyone could see "oh, well, she's a girl. Of course she'd be taken advantage of eventually. An abusive father? Well, I'm not surprised."

But Adrien’s a guy who is under the same social pressures as a girl in a believable way. He's not expected to be abused in that way. He's a guy. Guys "can't be emotionally abused/not know this is wrong". Except, yes, they can. Anyone of any gender can be abused by anyone of any other gender, and a guy may show traditionally female signs of abuse and grooming as abused to the traditionally masculine agression and acting out.

First off, Adrien is a model. He's used to being constantly objectified. His body is literally posed for everyone to stare at as his job. He's also a teen model, and almost certainly has had to release private details of his life for strangers to obsess over in an environment that says this is normal. This is good.

He can't complain because much like girls here, it would ruin his reputation as a nice guy, so he's defaulted to a very normal coping skill in these parts. Rationalization. See, it's easier to keep your temper if you can excuse others behavoirs as perfectly reasonable to yourself. And with enough practice, ANYTHING can be reasonable. Combine that with the classic downplay, a classic of everyone in these parts -for the sake of politeness of course, and your reality is normal, bearable, not worth complaining about.

But it obfuscates mistreatment to outsiders. Outsiders who haven't internalized "this is okay. This is normal. This is expected". As Adrien interacts more and more with these outsiders, and they realize what Adrien does not, what he cannot, they become concerned.

And Chat? Chat Noir offers hope. Chat is proof that Adrien, without those social pressures, CAN stand up for himself, and he can do it while still being kind and empathetic and considerate. Chat is proof that deep down, Adrien would thrive outside of those pressures.

Yet, without Plagg, without his ring or an escape, he cant. He can't think of a way to do that since his reputation is on the line. It's enormous, that desire to make people think you're good, that you're not a trouble maker, that you're useful to them. Adrien, I feel, portrays that well.

It is a completely invisible, omnipresent force that outsiders cannot understand. You dont even understand how much of an effect it has on you until you're away from it.

The senti-monster theory makes that force one you LITERALLY cannot disobey. Now, some may argue that makes it work as a metaphor, but no. I think the fact that you CLEARLY have no choice, as seen by an outsider is to its detriment. Yes, being in that situation makes you feel like you have no choice, but to an outsider?

It looks like you do, you're just not taking it. It looks like you're too weak, or indecisive, or stupid to do the obvious thing and realize you're in an abusive situation and leave. There’s nothing an outsider can blame your "flaws" on, no excuse, and under the amount of pressure, nothing that you can say that would justify you be so weak/stupid/indecisive. Because unless you've been outside that culture in a way that let you realize what it did to you, all you can think is that it was just you.

[resident-gay-bitch]

Day Two of @steddie-week - bittersweet / fluff and-or angst / fade to black

find the previous day here :)

Eddie never thought he’d end up here. 

After all this time, he never thought Steve would be the one cradling him and checking over his wounds. He’d always had to fight the urge for it to be the other way around, to hold himself back when he’d see Steve get shoved to the ground, or after he showed up to school with bruises on his face, or that night after the mall fire when he was in the back of an ambulance beaten and bloody and crying. 

Eddie had always wanted to comfort Steve, but he’d always stopped himself. Steve had other people. People that mattered more. People that weren’t Freaks (except like Buckley now, but she was a cool freak, so…). People he’d actually like to be helped by. 

But fuck, the universe was never good to Eddie, was it? 

First it gives him the most heart harrowing crush on Steve fucking Harrington and burdens him with it for four long years, and now it makes Eddie bleed out in his tanned, muscular arms. 

What a way to go, huh? 

“Hey man… don’t… don’t close your eyes.” 

Eddie could barely shake his head as he tried his best to smile, “Couldn’t keep ‘em cl- closed if I… wanned too, St-Stevie.” 

“Why’s that?” Steve sobbed, his minds focus set on keeping Eddie talking, not really thinking much about it, as his hands applied pressure where the blood seeped from his pale skin as Nancy tried her best to tie his wounds off. They could both hear Dustin wailing into Robin's shoulder in the near distance. 

“Cause you’re… beautiful.” Eddie managed to croak out, his mouth filling with more blood as he coughed and spluttered and whined when he saw it splashed up onto Steve’s wet cheek. 

Steve was covered in his blood. 

Eddie’s blood. 

Eddie was going to die like this, and the last thing he’s going to see is Steve crying and covered in his blood. 

The universe was so fucking cruel. 

Eddie couldn’t do this anymore. 

“Hey! Hey!” Steve was slapping his cheek and Eddie forced his eyes open. 

He was so tired. 

“I’m…m’wake…” Eddie slurred and huffed and attempted to roll his eyes, “Ms…” he clicked his tongue and hoped Steve would get it. 

Steve did. He let out a tiny little laugh and shook his head down at Eddie. Only then did Eddie realise Steve had a hand under his head, because he felt Steve’s fingers scratch his scalp and it was a very nice feeling. Eddie suddenly knew exactly how dogs felt now. He wanted Steve to do it again. 

“Don’t worry, Eddie.” Steve said, his voice as calming as he could make it in this moment. 

Eddie could tell it was hard for him to do, his tone still strangled, but god he appreciated it. He appreciated everything Steve had done for him and all his little sheepies now. Steve was far better than he’d always thought, and maybe that’s why the universe had pushed Eddie to fall for this pretty disaster. Maybe the universe could see Steve needed someone a little different like Eddie to love him. Someone who never cared about social status, or the prejudice shit thrown his way every day, or anything like that. Maybe Steve just needed someone with a big heart and a lot to give to hold his hand through all the bullshit he’s been through. Maybe the universe was trying to push Eddie towards him from the very start, because maybe that would have changed things. Maybe that would have made things easier for the both of them. 

Either way, Eddie loved Steve now, every little crack and splinter of his hollowing heart- because Steve was good. Steve was soft, and kind, and yeah really bitchy but in a good way. And Steve needed someone to love him. 

And Eddie could have been that person. 

But he guessed he’d never know now. 

“Ms. Clicks not here right now.” Steve forced a smile, “Don’t worry… don’t worry-“ 

“Good.” Eddie gritted out, and he was really struggling now. He could feel Nancy's nimble fingers working double time to keep his blood in, but he could just feel it spilling out in other places, “Hurts.” 

“I know.” Steve said, and it was softer. It hurt more. Eddie didn’t like that tone. He didn’t like it one bit. He didn’t want Steve to hurt anymore. He hated he was the one hurting him right now, “I know, Eddie.” He scrunched his fingers against Eddie’s scalp again and it was heavenly, “It’s okay, you’ll be okay.” 

Eddie smiled and shook his head, “N-nah… man.” 

“Yes.” Steve said, and it was almost forceful. 

Eddie looked at him for a moment, tracked the fresh tears that ran down Steve’s pretty cheeks and carried away the splattered blood. Eddie had about a hundred new songs swimming around in his head right now, ones of love and loss and hero’s. It’s a shame he’d never get to write them. A shame he’d never get to play them for Steve. 

“Ok-ay.” Eddie whispered and attempted to nod his head. 

He gritted his teeth because it hurt. Everything hurt. 

He looked back up at Steve, and he could barely comprehend anything else. Steve was looking at Nancy, they were talking, but Eddie couldn’t understand. He couldn’t focus on their fast paced words and half their conversation was shared with silent looks anyway. Eddie didn’t need to understand to know it wasn’t good. 

He’s already made as much peace with it as he could. 

“I wish you’d notice me.” Eddie spoke softly, because it’s all he could muster at that moment, his eyes boaring right at Steve as if looking at anything else would bring his end along quicker. 

Maybe it might. 

Maybe he’d live a minute or two longer, just for Steve. 

“Huh?” Steve turned his attention dead on Eddie (yeah, I know, not the best use of words right now), “Oh… I notice you.” 

Eddie smiled softly, blinked a few times, “I… I wish you’d… see me.” He swallowed, and he hated the metallic taste that came with it. He wanted this to be over already. All of it, “S-see me… th-the way I…” 

“Take your time.” Steve whispered, his hand that was drenched in Eddie’s blood moving up to cradle his cheek so softly. 

“I… s-s-see y…ou.” Eddie spluttered, and it hurt. Not just everything, but his heart. It felt like it was being split in half right now. 

“I do.” Steve muttered, learning over Eddie more, his bloody hand smoothing over Eddie’s wet cheek and holding him tighter in place, “I do, Eddie.” 

Eddie shook his head, “N-no… I’m- I m-mean, I-“ 

“I know.” Steve sobbed and kissed Eddie right between his eyebrows, “I know… and- and I see you. I see you so clearly. You’re the brightest star in my galaxy.” 

Eddie sobbed and hated - more than he’d hated anything in his life before - the blood that bubbled between his lips and spluttered out onto Steve’s face again. His own pretty lips and cheeks now splattered scarlett red and stained with Eddie’s death. He tried his best to raise a hand and wipe it away. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t move. He was paralysed. 

All he could do was cry. 

“I’ve got you, Eddie.” Steve whispered and pressed their cheeks together, his voice a soft song in Eddie’s ear and he hoped it would play for the rest of his life, “I see you, and I’ve got you.” 

Eddie nodded his head and felt Steve’s fingers scratch against his scalp again. 

Fuck the universe. 

Fucking fuck! 

They could have had everything. 

But soon they’ll  have nothing. 

Eddie would just have to pray that now was enough for Steve, because it was certainly more than Eddie could have ever asked for. 

Eddie mustered the biggest smile he could give, and gave it all to Steve, “Y-you’re s-o… beaut-beauti…ful.” 

“So are you.” Steve muttered, cradelling Eddie close, and he could feel hands on his body and movement all around him, but he didn’t care about any of that, he just begged his eyes to stay open so he could keep them on Steve, “So beautiful, Ed’s.” 

“Mhm.” Eddie swallowed and spluttered again, a groan when someone’s hand hit a tender spot on his stomach, “S-Steve…” 

“Eddie.” Steve whispered back, “Eddie Munson.” 

“F-f…reak.” 

“Mine.” 

Eddie whimpered and felt his heart clench. All the pain in his body suddenly went numb. All he could feel was Steve. 

“Do you like that?” Steve asked, his eyes darting out and around before focusing back on Eddie below him. 

“Mhm.” Eddie mumbled, struggling to get his thoughts together. His eyelids were so heavy, “S…te-eve.” 

“That’s me.” Steve said quietly, “Steve Harrington.” 

“K-ing.” 

There was a moment of hesitation before Steve nodded and said, “King Steve.” 

Eddie tried his best to shake his head and smile, “Was.” He said simply, “N-now… m-mmm-mine.” 

Steve almost laughed at that, and Eddie didn’t exactly understand why. He thought maybe he’d gotten it wrong. Maybe Steve wasn’t his afterall. Maybe he’d gotten his dumb stupid wish and been like one of those many girls he’d send dirty looks to that hung off of Steve’s arm each week. Maybe he was Steve’s, but Steve wasn’t his. 

“Yours.” Steve repeated simply, “For as long as you’ll have me, Eddie.” 

Eddie would have him forever, if he could. 

But now would have to do. 

He closed his eyes. 

“O-k-kay.” 

“Okay.” Steve said back. 

“G’bye… S-ste…vie.” Eddie choked out. He wished he could see whether Steve was smiling right now. He hoped he was. He hoped he’d die with Steve’s pretty smile shining down on him. But he was far too tired to open his eyes again, “S…ee y-you.” 

“Soon.” Steve said, like a promise, “I’ve got you, baby… I see you.” 

Despite being on death's doorstep, Eddie did feel pretty damn good right now. 

**

read Day Three here

\/ a dodgy art piece for this one \/