#i am stronger than my anxiety.

[jkwearebothgay]

This is me taking control for the first time ever. I can create my happiness and my life changing. Tonight I learned about avoidance and numbing and all the surrounding things that attributed towards those behaviors that come from ptsd. I have been holding myself back from experiencing a better quality of life my trauma created avoidance which in turn created numbness. By shoving down all my avoidances for so long all I did was supercharge them creating the numbness. I am also surprised to learn this is also attributed towards me having no friends. My ptsd and trauma created this avoidance and numbness which told my brain that it was better to not create connections and to not reach out in order to avoid being hurt again. This is a behavior I can change, there is recovery and methods that I can practice and utilize, and holy crap when I tell you this is something I’ve been waiting for for so long… when I put up walls to protect myself from all the bad things I didn’t want to get in.. I also stopped all the great things from coming in. The walls are down and I’m ready to start my life looking forward NOT looking back.

Positive affirmations for tonight:

I am taking care of myself

I put on clothes today that made me feel good

I am creating a better life for myself by no longer living in the past and self sabotaging my future.

I am a great lover

I am a great person

I am open to new things and do not have fear or anxiety towards them

I KNOW I can do this

I AM doing this

I am PROUD of myself

I love who I am becoming

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Shout out to all artists who had to work without any strong direction or instruction.

I wish you a merry “the client likes it anyways”

[vaguehotels]

had the most braindead repetitive conversation/argument with my parents. buzz cuts are too masculine but if you dye a design on it it become effeminate which is bad because then you look weak and if youre weak then society falls apart (all societies ever that have fallen apart for any reason are actually because of feminine men) and we start sacrificing babies. and also all mental illness is invented because only 4 people had anxiety in the 90s and covid was made up so that we would all become gay and trans and then the government can control us better and be joe biden's little sex slaves. and also i need to keep my hair long because my father finds it attractive. what

[killuaisaprincess]

happy new years to the person who stalked and bullied me with their 1,000 plus twitter followers while I had like 30 lol

Stillll was the best thing that ever happened to meeee NOT JOKING

THANKS FOR HELPING ME BECOME MY TRUE SELF ALMOST THREE YEARS BABY OF BEING TRUE ME

AND HAPPY NEW YEARS FOR EVERYONE ELSE LOOK AT THE PRECIOUS BABEY PRINCESS 🥺🥺🥺🥺 I AHHHHHHHH

[mars-ipan]

i’ve been trying to get more comfortable with calling myself disabled

[lotussokka]

any time i dress up, usually in a flavor of high feminity that boomers particularly love, i find myself wondering if any queer people think i have a grabbable little waist (masculine)

[selfshippinglover]

vent(ignore)

[cextra-loz]

The longer it takes for my doctors to prescribe me anything other than metoprolol the more powerful my rage and fury becomes.

[whileurmine]

the one universal truth of life is that god is a fucking comedian who thinks himself very funny so whenever ur meds start working he gonna start throwing triggering shit ur way as a laugh

[jkwearebothgay]

Checking in — still here, still working on myself. Rebuilding relationships around me. It’s been long enough that I can’t remember the last day I cried and had a panic attack, so I’d say that’s progress. Keeping it short and sweet because I have a headache but.

I’m proud of myself.

[dream-of-fennec]

i was in a second hand store today to further test the effectiveness of my anxiety meds. at first i panicked and walked out again instantly. but after walking for 20 minutes or so i tried again and was successful.

also i got a cool pink flannel shirt for 50cents, thats a second smaller win.

i am acquiring more things to become a flannel gay.

buying women clothes is scary but cool. making progress.

[skyeateyourdonuts]

shootin star rollercoaster ROUND ROUND ROUND

[acid-ixx]

brutus: out for blood (villain au concept)

ft. neglectful yandere! bruce wayne x gn villain! reader

— masterlist !

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: did anybody ask for this? no! did i decide to write this anyways? abso -fucking-lutely. is this a rantfic? mayybee. anyways, this is not my best piece nor will anything i write be my best piece but i just love destroying my happiness with angst and altho writing a very anxiety ridden mc is fun, i also love to dabble in sadomasochistic traits for a main character. like i said, i am not proud of this but i figured i should post something. erm... leave comments bec i love reading whatever stuff u guys have in store hehe.

you've tasted blood on your tongue far longer than you've felt the loving touch of a family.

it's metallic. it's salty. it twists every vein in your gut.

it tastes of broken metal pipes in playgrounds, destructive tantrums and broken dreams, of skipped classes and detention rooms, of ripped test papers and missed diplomas. it reminds you of your bitter past every single time; one you swore you've buried six feet deep into the ground. a burning memory with nothing more than heartaches and heartbreaks.

you taste blood whenever they reject your advances for even a single moment of bonding time. you feel it pumping slowly, steadily, painfully whenever you stumble upon a room, only to see them, smiles and all, huddled together in a group with junk food in their hands and a movie playing in that stupid flat screen tv. you know it's the only thing accompanying you whenever he misses another event in your school. it becomes the only friend you have whenever you're alone, inside your too-small room, with shatters glass scattered around and bruised knuckles.

blood, for most, is vile, utterly repulsive. it reeks in every corner of a room, its scent is overpowering, it stains, it's hard to clean. it imprints. and it will always remind you it's there, in the depths of your body, curdling and boiling and ready to burst out of the seems every time you rip at your skin with a razor sharp blade. blood has always been your only friend, like a scar that will never fade away.

yet you embrace crimson like it was the color of your soul, and accept how it's the only color you allow in your grim life. black has never provided you solace, but red allowed for a mantra of emotions to trail into your very being.

blood. it's more homely than you let it out to be.

and you're far more familiar with it than anything else. you cradle it like an unwanted child, you kiss its wounds, allow it to fester and grow into an abhorrent disease that crawls like a lump in your throat that you could never get rid of.

in moments of solace, of quaint prayers and hours of kneeling into the floor— it is the thing that slides on cold, hard tiles. it is the warmth, the numbness, the thing that seeps out of your bruised knees, your scratched neck and your thighs with fingernails buried deep into flesh.

you've come to love blood, cherish it even.

especially if it's your own.

especially if it came from the punch of none other than your father.

left, right, left, right.

his punches were cruel and his kicks can easily crush bones into powder. he demands answers with every strike he delivers, he exudes an energy far more adrenaline based than yours. batman is methodical in the way he moves, the way he acts, and you're not; you're impulsive, you had no plans to counter the towering man— no counter for the brutal hits he lay upon you. you let him, you open every doorway world to beat your body black and blue, with red painting the canvas as a finishing touch.

he's stronger than you, and every time he bashes your head into the wall, the urge to spit into his face, to piss him off, to laugh at him and his Idiocracy; it all becomes stronger.

yet all you do was allow him multiple openings, denying yourself the pleasure of attempting to even take your abandoned gun at the corner and shoot at his cranium— you want him to suffer, even if it costs you your mobility by the near future, fuck it.

up, down, to the side, then an uppercut to your jaw and you're nearly depleted of anymore moves to counter. you want to seem like you've given up; but you want him pissed off, enough to punch you 'til blood seeps into the fibers of your mask. until your face starts bruising, until your nose breaks, until he finally rips your mask off and sees your face.

and he'll come to regret.

you shift to the side, and ignore the sting of your throat, the lull of your head and the soreness of your entire body.

because if you hadn't dodged, then your head would've left an imprint on the walls. you would've preferred that now, rather than the disgusting feeling of sentimentality that creeps into your heart at the implication that his blows were slowly, but surely, weakening.

he's holding back, you hold back a sneer.

as if he actually cares about you.

maybe he does, maybe he doesn't. you know he cares far more deeply for his enemies than he does you, and you hate how glad you are at the pride that finally, just finally are you being acknowledged. at the opposite end of his side, as enemies. but for once you can feel the care he offers others, most of which were nonexistent back when you were just some... nobody.

batman never kills; but he can hurt, he can injure, and he can destroy. and right now, you feel all the air leaving your body as the cloaked vigilante delivers the last punch to your ribcage.

you fall, on your hands and knees, a loud thump resounding through the empty abandoned building. all you hear are your crackling joints, and heavy breathing. heavy, like your eyelids, about to fall, about to shut until black encompasses your vision. if not for the remaining adrenaline coursing through your veins, you would've fainted— but you won't, you wouldn't, not until you see him, see his face.

the thumping in your heart beats louder, and your hands. god, they feel like jelly, it's burning, it's one step closer on collapsing under gravelly concrete and piercing skin into rocks. yet you're forbidden any time for grace, not when he lightly shoves you out of your position, and not when you fall to your sides, hands paralyzed, tears prickling against your cheeks at the pain that burns throughout your body.

"you don't deserve peace after shooting that family in front of that child, you know it."

his voice, domineering, absolutely fucking vibrating with a tremor of sheer anger. he directs his words at you, without empathy, without mercy. he wants you to learn to never mess with him in the streets of gotham. but you'll never... not until he notices you. fuck, you just want him to notice you. and now, he is, with utter vexation that causes a lump in your throat to form.

shit, you've never felt so happy.

it's when his tussled form — heavy, pitch-black boots slathered with crimson liquid — enters your sight that you cough, violently, out of breath, and you can feel it one second, then taste it in your tongue the next.

blood.

you grin, and slowly, ever-so eminently, did you spiral into a cackle. your throat gurgles crimson liquid, and yet it only builds into a cacophony of a broken record. you move your head, look through your nearly shredded domino mask, with so little strength to accompany you, to look at the man above you, eyes glinting with a glow never so alive until now.

you're genuinely so fucking happy.

batman, he who strikes fear into the hearts of gotham villains and civilians alike. he who protects the city at night. he whose name is said with wavering uncertainty— he's looking at you, only you.

'bruce wayne: my dad— is finally looking at me.'

and you! you're laughing, the sounds that emanate from your throat are so scratchy, so utterly decimated that it sounds like vultures feeding through a dead corpse; but you don't let your chuckles die down, because you're so, so happy.

he looks at you, with contempt, with disgust, you don't know; but you're still so overjoyed.

"y-yeah... it's me, i did it. are you proud of me...?" you ask as you look up, through the tears that flow out your eyes, through the grin that couldn't die down. he looks at you like you're insane, and you know he's confused, shifting uncomfortably as he gives someone a status update through the comms, his eyes never leaving your pathetic form—

you look at him like he means the world all throughout.

"call for red robin, i have one of the culprits," he orders through the intangible device, eyes squinting as he takes you in— you whose chuckles slowly calmed down, as your breathing finally becomes heavier, as blood, yours, seem to seep into clumsily made apparel. you, who bruce realized seem too oddly familiar, too small, too childish, whose moment of spiraling insanity is too damn innocent to ignore.

you're not like the typical rogue he encounters, no. and right before you finally allow sleep to overcome you, you muster the last of your energy, to stare back at him with shining eyes, expectant, and like a child's, you ask with the meekest voice.

"hey... dad, i have a surprise." scratchy, absolutely broken, yet spilling with joy, with... your last word right before you continue, bruce's heart thumps ever the slightest faster.

"take my mask off, please?"

crimson began to overtake your entire body, and bruce should've never complied with your... request, but as he kneels and finally gets a grasp of what you truly look like, he notices the frailness, the vulnerability, as if you were never built for... combat. with just how quickly you succumb to the depths of rest, with how oblivious you are to the fact that if it were anyone else, they would've killed you.

you're not properly trained, you fight out of impulse, and he knows it with just how swift you gave up midfight.

when he pulls the domino mask (which seems oddly inspired by the shape of... his vigilante partners, the robins...) off your face, did his heart finally hastened its pace, loud thumping crawling its way to his ears, his eyes registering your face: its form, its shape, your eyes, your nose—

all similar to his, all an amalgamation of your mother's, too.

no... wait, no.

it's not...

it's not his... child?

you?

your eyes, flickering one last time stared at him, softly, like that of a child who looks at their father with pride like nothing else. your hand, it shakes, it shivers, as your fingers find its way creeping to his hand, holding your mask. fingers so dainty, now pulverized bones lay atop his shivering hand, tenderly, as if trying to comfort the very same man who has nearly killed you.

batman— no, bruce looks at you. at what he's done, and only now did he realize his greatest mistake. a child, his child, one whose innocence retained through heinous acts, now a villain, whose actions were all a testimony to merely wanting their father's attention.

he failed you, his child. he failed to protect you, who he has never held up close until now— as your body is hastily taken into his arms. so small, so easily wrapped around his body, so unbefitting of committing criminal activity. now bloodied and laid into barren ground by their very own father.

bruce wayne never felt this much terror, for nearly killing his child.

this, this day marks his sin.

and you? dearest you feel like today is your greatest day.

crimson, nearly every part of you is stained with that putrid color.

yet blood has always been your best friend, no? and right now as you bleed into the arms of your father, you find yourself grateful that it is the last thing you see before a black cloak wraps around you, before black fills your entire line of sight.

short rant ahead: another author's note??? wow. yeah this was such a hard drabble to write. plsplspls leave a comment or some sort of input. anything will do. ive been so demotivated to write lately and i feel like anything i write is just, so bad 😭 like is my pacing good? are the emotions out of place? am i even doing this right ?? i don't know, and i feel like every time i post something i always put up expectations on myself that I should've done better so yeahh. is this attention seeking behavior? probably. but i don't get how people have come to like the stuff i write when i hate whatever i write hence why im in a constant cycle of hiatuses and short breaks. and really, it's just so hard to come into terms with things and i need input lest i accidentally get into a year or two of hiatus, lmaoo.

[kingkat12]

pornography (eric draven x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, foul language, groping/fondling, dry-humping lol, mentions of substance abuse

summary: when you finally talk to Eric Draven in rehab, it doesn't take long before you get drawn together by a force stronger than anything you have ever encountered. it doesn’t help the situation that you eventually find out Eric has been drawing pictures of you… nude

word count: 2,337 PART 1, PART 2, PART 3

a/n: this is for all the girlies like me that just came home from watching The Crow and got their mind blown by how hot Bill was in it... holy fuck. had to write this blurb because I am so shaken up, I can't feel my face. enjoy!! there will be more parts hihi...

"I fucking hate pink," 

I couldn't believe that was the first thing I said to him-- the dark and broody stranger I had been eyeing through my first few weeks in rehab. He stared back at me, confusion swimming in his big green eyes, probably pondering why I had sat down next to him in the cafeteria. "Pardon?"

"It's a little ridiculous," I tried, watching as he put down his cutlery, pushing his food away as he gave me his full attention. Tugging at my pink sweater, which we were all wearing, I let out a nervous chuckle. "Whose idea was it to put a lot of addicts in pink, anyway?"

My eyes darted down to his hands as I waited for his answer-- they were huge up close, and completely covered in tattoos. I hadn't noticed them from afar; I had only noticed the ones peeking through the top of his shirt when he would pass me by in the hall, or the big eye he had on his chest that I had seen while passing by his room. I knew it wasn't nice to peek into his room while he was changing, but I was quite frankly starved of any male contact-- any girl would go crazy in here. 

He eventually shrugged, giving me the answer I least expected; "I guess pink is supposed to be a calming colour. It's not that bad," I watched as the corners of his mouth tugged upwards, giving away hints of amusement. "Aren't you girls supposed to like pink?"

"Maybe," I mumbled, nudging food around on my plate with my fork. "I just don't like to wear it. It doesn't suit me."

The handsome stranger didn't seem to agree, another shrug following accompanied by a shy laugh. "I can't figure out whether you're being sincere or searching for compliments,"

This was most definitely not how I wanted to come off. I straightened up, resting my elbows against the table as I cleared my throat. "I'm just trying to make conversation,"

"... Why?"

"Because you've been staring at me almost as much as I've been staring at you," I put down my fork, hoping he didn't see how nervous I was. In truth, he had been staring-- it wasn't all purely one-sided. I had caught him staring at me in the courtyard, on my way to the shower, and I had also caught him lingering outside my room several times. He would usually leave when I came out, disappearing down the hall with speed I wouldn't even dream to catch up with. 

He finally gave in to a smirk, nodding to himself as he lowered his head. "Sorry," It was clear that he hadn't thought he'd be called out like this. However, something told me he wasn't too upset about being caught either. 

"Don't be," I said, feeling my anxiety ripping through my veins. Why was I indulging? "I just--"

It was at this moment that a guard appeared behind him, yanking him away from the table with a harshness that made me gasp. I clasped my hand over my mouth, watching as he barely reacted to the brutality. 

"Guys and girls eat separately!" the guard yelled at me, slamming his fist down on the table. 

My eyes widened, looking back at the handsome stranger. "But I-- I was the one who sat down here, he didn't do anything!" I protested, watching as the guard grabbed him and led him away. Groaning, I ran my hands through my hair, frustrated with the rules at this place. Why was it so fucking strict?

I eventually looked up just in time to see that the man had managed to turn around, smirking my way; "I'm Eric!" he said, holding back a laugh as he was shoved along the cafeteria for everyone to see.

Despite the horror washing over me for getting him in trouble, I managed to croak out my name as well. It seemed that he appreciated that I had at least tried to stick up for him-- What was it that I had just started?

My question would be answered a lot quicker than I had expected. 

A few days passed, and more looks and stares were exchanged. I was dying to talk to Eric again. I knew I hadn't been sent to rehab to make friends or get feelings for someone, but something was gnawing at me to talk to him again. I wanted to be around him constantly; what was happening to me? I recognized this feeling-- it was the same feeling I got when I really, really craved something... Fuck, how I missed drugs. Maybe Eric was turning into a substitute?

It wasn't often that the door to Eric's room was open, but today it was. I wouldn't have noticed it if I hadn't taken the extra lap around the institute as usual, hoping to get a glimpse of him through the small window in his door. But today, I didn't have to get on my tippytoes to get a look-- there he was, picking up several drawings that had been scattered around the floor. His room looked like a mess, completely unlike how I was used to seeing it through the tiny window. This looked like the result of one of those raids that the prison guards sometimes did when they suspected there were hidden drugs in a patient's room. 

I felt sorry for him; I knew how horrible it could feel to have someone rip through all your stuff. But as I bent down and picked up a few drawings that were at my feet, my lips parted in surprise.

It seemed I wasn't the only one caught off guard; Eric noticed me standing in his doorway, letting out a relieved sigh as he watched me inspect his drawings. He called out my name, leaning against the wall as he sized me up and scanned me, crossing his arms over his chest. 

I cleared my throat; "Is this... me?" I held up the first drawing of the bunch. It was a sketch of me sitting in the courtyard, and I was sure that it was me-- I suppose it was my shock asking for confirmation. 

Eric snickered, kicking off the wall. "Yeah... Sorry,"

"Stop saying sorry," I shuffled through the drawings, finding he had drawn me in multiple settings, and it was clear that I had been watched the few weeks I'd been here. "These are beautiful, Eric... I guess I'm honoured--" My words trailed off as I finally approached the last drawing. Was that...?

He didn't even try to take it away from me. Eric sighed, looking away as his cheeks flushed a light pink, similar to our uniforms. 

Judging by his reaction, I had a feeling he wasn't so against me seeing this. It was a sketch of me, after all-- nude. 

I had to swallow rather hard for anything to go down. I couldn't pinpoint why I wasn't absolutely horrified at this.  "So... this is what you've been up to in here, huh?" There was no stopping the smirk that spread across my lips, holding back a flustered giggle. "This is next-level pervy, do you know that?"

It didn't take long before Eric's big hands ripped the drawings out of my hands, turning away as he shook his head. "Every artist needs a muse, no?"

"A muse? How can I be your muse if we don't know each other?"

"That's not how it works," he mumbled, throwing away the drawings into a heap on the bed. "Your beauty is all I need to get inspired."

This was enough to shock me into silence. I inhaled a sharp breath, stepping into Eric's room despite knowing it was forbidden. "So now you think I'm beautiful?"

Eric hummed, finally turning to meet my eyes. "It hasn't been the biggest secret, has it?" There was something playful about him, shameless, as though it didn't matter to him that I had just found his handmade porn. "It gets a little lonely in here, I guess. These drawings just... run out of me like water. Can't control it."

There was something so unimaginably tantalizing about Eric. Everything about him made me want to jump him then and there-- was it maybe the result of my withdrawals that were turning my brain into further mush? In a normal setting, this would have creeped me out to infinity and beyond, but knowing this was coming from the man I had been lusting after from afar for several weeks made me excuse it in a heartbeat. 

I had no idea what possessed me to close the door to his room and lock it, knowing the repercussions could be severe if we were caught. But Eric didn't seem to mind; his green eyes widened, watching my every move like a hawk.

"It was really pretty and all... The drawing, I mean," I said, inching closer to where he had sat down on the bed. "But would you maybe want some inspiration for the next one?"

Eric's plush, pink lips parted, eyes rounding out in surprise. Despite his shock, his big hands reached out for me as I came closer, and he pulled me in between his legs. I could feel him caressing my back through my shirt, holding me with the utmost gentle touch. "I'll take all I can get," he murmured, looking up at me through his brows, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. 

I let out a giggle as he pressed his lips against my stomach through my shirt, enjoying the intense feeling of someone against my skin again after all this time. Eric pulled away, glancing at the door before slowly trailing his fingers under my shirt, testing the waters. 

It didn't take long before that wasn't enough for him-- my breath hitched as Eric grabbed my waist, pulling me down with him on the bed. I barely had time to think before the euphoric feeling of being kissed engulfed me. Our lips met in an open, soft kiss, almost as though we were scared to break the other if we were too needy or harsh. As I straddled him, I felt his hands tugging at my shirt, dipping back under the fabric once more. His fingers gently ghosted over my lower back, eventually ending up trailing small circles with his thumbs along the underside of my bra. 

If I hadn't been so starved of any human contact in here, I would've never jumped the opportunity like this. But none of us knew how long we had until the guards would bust us, and it only fueled the adrenaline pumping through our veins. Our kisses became desperate, hungry, and I let out a whimper against his lips as he took the liberty of cupping my chest, feeling me up to his heart's delight. I knew I had been waiting for this moment since the first time I saw him, and I wasn't about to let it slip through my fingers-- I decided to let him do whatever he wanted to me, no matter what. 

I could feel Eric's cock twitch beneath me, clearly aroused. It was also at this moment that he made me sit up, tugging my shirt off of me before laying back down to scan me. Was he memorizing my body for his next sketch? It wasn't every night that I had a handsome stranger beneath me like this, so I allowed him to trail his hands up and down my body, lips parting in delight. "Fuck... Yeah, this will do," he murmured, pupils dilating at the sight before him whether he wanted them to or not.

"You sure?" I asked, giggling to myself. My hands rested against his broad chest, letting out a sigh of delight; God, he was sexy. As I shifted in his lap, Eric's breath hitched as I seemingly sat down in the exact right spot. Almost as though he was possessed by instinct for a moment, he grabbed my hips, rocking me against him through the fabric of our clothes. 

Who would've thought I'd be dry-humping this stranger and enjoy it so much? My hands gripped his shirt, a quiet moan spilling past my lips-- I had forgotten this feeling. This was mostly something I did when I was a teenager, before I figured out how to have proper sex with my high school boyfriend. But it felt so damn fucking good, desperate; it didn't take long before I leaned back down, capturing his plush lips in another kiss. 

I craved him like water. I wanted him against me, in me, for him to take me in every possible position ever-- a deep, dark part of me knew I would be insatiable from now on. 

But our moment of ecstasy was interrupted when a guard started banging his fist against the door, his muffled yells barely registering through my arousal. Despite my dazed state, it didn't take me long to drape my shirt back on, climbing off Eric with wobbly knees. "Shit," I mumbled, turning to him with wide eyes. "I'm screwed. We're screwed."

Everything about him was so damn beautiful. The kiss-swollen lips definitely didn't help how gorgeous I thought he looked right now. Despite the situation, knowing we were in deep shit, Eric let out a soft chuckle; "I don't think you're screwed enough, actually. We'll get to that another time," 

My eyes widened as I gave into a light giggle. There was no way this was happening-- had my naughty rehab dreams come true? The guard banging against the door was drowned out by the incessant ringing in my ears that festered through my mind as Eric leaned down to kiss me one last time; "I hope to see you around, if they don't kill us,"

"Yeah," I breathed, only now realizing how tall he was as I looked up to meet his gaze. This man was towering over me. Holy shit. "Can't wait to see your next masterpiece."

I couldn't wait. I really couldn't.

(a/n: PART 2, PART 3 here!! enjoy<33)

[soulofapatrick]

A part of me is tethered to you - Azriel x female reader 

Summary: you can’t sleep and go to see out your best friends but end up going to Azriel

Warnings: none really; more fluff than anything 

Words: 4.3K

Y/N's POV

I toss and turn in bed, every position more uncomfortable than the last. My sheets are tangled around my legs, and no matter how many times I close my eyes, the restless feeling gnaws at me. Sleep refuses to come, my thoughts too loud and the remnants of my nightmare still clawing at the edges of my mind.

With a sigh, I sit up, running a hand through my hair. It’s no use—I won’t find peace tonight, not like this. Feyre or Cassian is probably still awake; they usually are, always up late. Maybe talking to one of them would help, at least enough to shake off this tension.

I slip out of bed and pull on my robe, the cool air of the House of Wind whispering over my skin as I step into the hallway. The house is quiet, its usual warmth a little muted in the dead of night. The stone beneath my feet feels grounding, steadying, but as I make my way down the corridor, something shifts inside me.

As I pass Azriel’s door, an invisible pull tugs at me, soft but insistent. I stop in my tracks, my heart suddenly beating faster in my chest. His door is closed, but the moment I’m near it, it’s as if something deep within me is drawn to it. A feeling I can’t quite explain—like I’m being called to him, to his presence, without words or reason.

I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t.

I’m supposed to be heading to Cassian’s, but my feet don’t move. Instead, I find myself staring at Azriel’s door, the weight of my unspoken feelings pressing against my chest. I’ve tried to keep them buried, tried to convince myself that what I feel for him is nothing more than friendship—admiration, respect for the way he carries himself, for the quiet strength he exudes. But I know it’s a lie.

It’s so much more than that.

The truth is, I’m drawn to him in ways I can’t even fully comprehend. There’s something about him that calls to me—his shadows, his silence, the way he moves through the world with such restraint, such quiet intensity. And then there are the rare moments when his gaze lingers on me just a second too long, when the soft brush of his hand against mine sends a shock of warmth through my entire body.

I’ve been fighting these feelings for too long, pretending I don’t care. But standing here now, the pull toward his room stronger than ever, I can’t deny it anymore.

My hand hovers over the doorknob, hesitation prickling at the edges of my mind. What am I doing? I shouldn’t be here. He didn’t invite me in. But the draw is too strong to ignore, as if my heart knows something my mind doesn’t.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I grip the handle and twist, slipping inside as quietly as possible. The door shuts behind me with a soft click, and I’m immediately enveloped by the warmth of his space. Shadows flicker lazily along the walls, but they seem calm, almost serene.

And then there’s his scent—cedarwood, smoke, and something distinctly him. It fills the room, wrapping around me like an embrace, and I find myself inhaling deeply, letting it seep into my skin. My heart races, but it’s not from fear or anxiety. It’s from something deeper, something that stirs in my chest every time I’m near him.

I step further into the room, my eyes falling on his bed. It’s perfectly made, the dark blankets smoothed out neatly. The pull tugs again, more insistent this time, urging me closer. My fingers graze the soft fabric, and a shiver runs through me. His bed looks so inviting, so warm, and without thinking, I let my hand glide over the blanket. I know I shouldn’t, but the temptation is too much.

Before I can stop myself, I’m pulling the covers back and slipping beneath them, sinking into the softness of his mattress. His scent is even stronger here, enveloping me completely, and I can’t help the way my body relaxes, every muscle softening as the warmth of the bed wraps around me.

It feels… right. Comforting in a way I hadn’t expected. As if being in his bed is exactly where I’m meant to be.

My head sinks into his pillow, and the overwhelming sensation of him makes my breath catch in my throat. My heart pounds in my chest, the awareness of what I’m doing—the intimacy of it—settling deep into my bones. It feels forbidden, like I’m crossing a line, but it also feels… so good. Like I’ve been craving this closeness, this connection, for longer than I want to admit.

I close my eyes, breathing him in, letting the warmth of his bed and the quiet of his room seep into me. There’s something about this space that makes me feel safe, something about him that makes the chaos in my mind go quiet. My feelings for Azriel—those hidden, aching feelings I’ve tried so hard to suppress—bubble to the surface, and for a moment, I let myself indulge in them.

What if… what if I didn’t have to hide them? What if he felt the same? The thought sends a thrill through me, but I push it aside, knowing it’s dangerous to hope for something like that.

Still, as I curl deeper into his bed, I can’t help but imagine him here, lying beside me, his presence a quiet comfort. I can almost feel the weight of his arm around me, the warmth of his body pressed close. It’s a fantasy I’ve had more times than I care to admit, but here, wrapped in the reality of his space, it feels closer than ever.

And as the scent of him and the softness of his bed lull me further into warmth, I let my eyes drift shut, letting the fantasy take over, letting myself believe—for just a little while—that this could be real.

Sleep comes easily this time, with Azriel in my thoughts, the pull on my heart finally settling as I drift into a dream.

The gentle caress of fingers across my cheek stirs me from sleep. It's soft, featherlight, and for a moment, I think I'm still dreaming. But then it comes again—a slow, deliberate brush of fingertips against my skin, followed by the feeling of someone smoothing my hair back from my face.

I blink, eyes fluttering open, the world still hazy with sleep. It takes a second to register where I am, but when I do, my heart lurches in my chest.

Azriel is sitting on the edge of the bed, his dark eyes watching me with an expression so soft, so tender, that it sends a wave of warmth rushing through me. His shadows curl around him, flitting in and out of the room’s dim light, but there’s something about the way they seem to reach for me—gentle, almost curious, as if they’re part of him, mirroring the way his hand is smoothing my hair back. His touch is delicate, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he presses too hard.

My breath catches in my throat. This isn’t a dream.

Azriel’s gaze is steady, his eyes full of something I can’t quite name—something that makes my chest tighten and my skin flush. There’s no anger, no judgment. Just a quiet intensity, like he’s trying to figure out why I’m here, in his bed, yet there’s no trace of displeasure in his expression. If anything, he looks… amused. Fond, even.

I can’t breathe. My mind scrambles, replaying every step that led me here, and embarrassment crashes over me like a tidal wave. I’m in Azriel’s bed. His bed. Without permission. Without an invitation. Oh gods, what was I thinking?

Heat floods my face, and before I can stop myself, I yank the duvet over my head, retreating beneath the heavy fabric as if it could somehow shield me from the mortification that’s burning through me. My heart is hammering in my chest, and I’m sure my face must be crimson beneath the covers.

I hear a soft chuckle—low, barely audible—and it only makes my humiliation worse. Azriel, the Shadowsinger, deadly and unreadable, is laughing at me. Of course he is. I’m in his bed, hiding under his duvet like some child, utterly mortified by the fact that he found me here.

I can still feel his presence beside me, the warmth of him seeping through the blanket, his hand still resting lightly on top of the duvet where I know my head is hidden beneath. His fingers brush the fabric, a comforting gesture, as if to coax me out from my hiding place.

But I can’t. I can’t face him right now—not with my heart pounding like this, not with the knowledge that I’ve crossed a line I didn’t even realize I was crossing until it was too late.

His voice breaks the silence, soft and soothing. “You don’t have to hide.”

The sound of his voice sends a shiver down my spine, and my grip tightens on the duvet. He sounds so calm, so gentle, and I don’t understand how he can be so unbothered when I’m dying of embarrassment under his blanket.

“I—” I try to speak, but the words get caught in my throat. What can I even say? How do I explain that I felt drawn to his room, that the pull was so strong I couldn’t resist? That I didn’t mean to invade his space, that I was just so tired and somehow, being here, surrounded by his scent and his warmth, made everything feel right?

I squeeze my eyes shut beneath the blanket, heat still rising to my cheeks. This is a nightmare. But instead of running, he stays—quiet, patient. His shadows curl around me, and I can feel the gentle pulse of his presence, waiting for me to emerge. Waiting for me to face him.

I take a breath, trying to calm my racing heart, and slowly—hesitantly—I pull the duvet down just enough to peek out at him. He’s still there, his dark eyes fixed on mine, and the warmth in his gaze makes my stomach flip.

His lips curve into the slightest smile, and it takes everything in me not to hide again. But there’s no judgment in his eyes, no anger. Only that quiet, steady intensity that always seems to surround him, as if he’s seeing something in me that I’ve tried so hard to keep hidden.

“I didn’t mean to…” I trail off, my voice barely above a whisper, not knowing how to explain myself, not knowing how to make this less awkward. “I couldn’t sleep, and… I just…” I glance away, feeling the burn of my embarrassment all over again.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just watches me, and then his hand moves again, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his touch so tender it almost undoes me.

“You’re always welcome here,” he says softly, his voice like a whisper in the quiet room.

Azriel’s soft gaze lingers on me, and I can feel the warmth of it, steady and reassuring. I should feel more embarrassed than I already do, but there’s something about him—his presence, the way he’s just there—that soothes me. His hand is still gentle in my hair, smoothing it back in a rhythm that makes me want to close my eyes again and sink into it.

“What’s going on?” he asks quietly, his voice barely above a murmur. It’s a tone he uses when he wants someone to open up, when he’s coaxing out a truth they’re too afraid to admit. His fingers pause in my hair, and my breath catches in my throat. I don’t want to lie. I can’t lie—not to him.

“I’ve… I’ve been having nightmares,” I admit, the words coming out in a rush. I shift under the duvet, suddenly feeling vulnerable, exposed. “I haven’t been able to sleep. But last night…” I glance up at him, the blush rising again in my cheeks. “Last night, I slept. In here. In your bed. It was peaceful. I don’t know why, but it was.”

Azriel’s expression softens further, something like understanding flickering across his features. He studies me for a moment, his shadows still swirling around us like they’re listening too, before he nods. He doesn’t ask why I didn’t come to him earlier, or why I kept it to myself. He just accepts it, the way he always does.

He stands slowly, his movements deliberate, and I realize for the first time that he’s still in his armour—his siphons gleaming faintly in the dim light. The realisation sends a fresh wave of heat over me. He must’ve been out, maybe just returned from one of his late-night missions, and here I am, taking over his bed. My guilt surges, but then I see the calm in his eyes, and it melts away.

Azriel starts unfastening his siphons, setting each one down with a practiced ease, and as I watch, something strange stirs in my chest—something that makes me feel both breathless and desperate to look away. But I don’t. I can’t.

He removes the last of his armour, and his hands move to the hem of his shirt. In one smooth motion, he tugs it over his head and tosses it aside. My heart stutters as my eyes take in the sight of him—his toned chest, the ripple of muscles beneath his skin, the faint scars that only seem to add to the raw power that radiates off him. My gaze moves lower, following the line of his stomach, and I feel my face burn as I realize how little space there is between us.

I should look away. I should turn around and give him some privacy, but I don’t move. I can’t. My body seems frozen in place, my breath hitching in my throat as he unbuttons his tight trousers and shimmies out of them, leaving him standing in just his black boxers.

He’s beautiful. Inhumanly beautiful. His wings unfurl slightly behind him, leathery and dark, casting long shadows across the room. They’re massive, strong, and powerful, but there’s something almost graceful about them, like they’re an extension of him in more ways than just physically.

A strange ache settles low in my stomach as I watch him. The air between us feels charged, and my heart pounds in my chest, each beat louder than the last. I feel that tug again, that invisible thread pulling me toward him, urging me closer.

Azriel’s eyes meet mine, and they’ve darkened—intense and unreadable, like he knows exactly what’s going through my mind. His gaze seems to burn into me, the weight of it making my pulse race, and I swallow hard, trying to steady my breath. But it’s impossible, especially when he moves closer, closing the distance between us with slow, deliberate steps.

“Move over,” he murmurs, his voice rougher now, and it sends a shiver down my spine. I blink up at him, my body too tense to react, but then his lips curve into the faintest smile, a soft nudge to break the tension. “Come on,” he says, softer now, his eyes never leaving mine.

I scootch over, making room for him, though my heart pounds so hard I’m sure he can hear it. He slides into bed beside me, his body so close I can feel the heat radiating off him, and my breath catches again, the space between us suddenly feeling too small.

Azriel settles beside me, his wings curling slightly around us, cocooning us in a soft darkness. His presence is overwhelming in the best possible way, and as he lies there, inches from me, I can’t help but feel like the world has narrowed down to just us—this bed, this moment.

And I can’t help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—he feels it too.

Azriel shifts closer, the bed dipping beneath his weight, and before I can react, his arm slides around my waist, pulling me against him. My heart stumbles in my chest, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. He’s so close—closer than I’ve ever been to him. His warmth seeps into me, the solidness of his body pressing against mine in a way that feels both comforting and electrifying at the same time.

I should pull away, should give him space. But instead, I melt into him, my body fitting against his as if we’ve done this a thousand times. The scent of him—night-chilled air, cedar, and something uniquely Azriel—fills my senses, grounding me and setting me alight all at once.

His breath is warm against my hair, and I can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my hand. I’m not sure what to say, how to fill the space between us now that we’re like this, but then his voice breaks the silence, low and rough.

“You shouldn’t have to sleep alone if it’s that bad.” There’s a hint of something deeper in his words, something that sends a shiver down my spine. His thumb begins to trace slow circles along my waist, and I swear I can feel each stroke burning through the thin fabric of my clothes.

I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. “It’s not just the nightmares…” The words slip out before I can stop them. I don’t know why I said it—why I feel the need to bare the truth of what’s been gnawing at me. But now that the words are out, I can’t take them back.

He tenses slightly, his arm tightening around me. “What else is it, then?” His voice is softer now, but there’s a heaviness to it, like he’s afraid of the answer.

I hesitate, my pulse racing. The air between us seems to thrum with something unspoken, something that’s been simmering beneath the surface for so long I don’t know how to let it out. But lying here, wrapped in his arms, with the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear, I feel braver than I have in a long time.

“I sleep better when I’m with you,” I whisper, the admission barely audible, but I know he hears it. I feel his breath catch, the shift in his body as my words sink in. “Last night… it was the first time in ages I didn’t wake up in a panic.” My heart is pounding now, and I can feel the flush spreading across my cheeks. “Being near you… it calms me.”

There’s a long stretch of silence, and I bite my lip, wondering if I’ve said too much. If I’ve crossed a line. But then, slowly, Azriel moves, his fingers tilting my chin so I’m looking up at him.

His eyes are dark, swirling with emotions I can’t quite read, but there’s something there—something raw and intense that makes my breath hitch. His thumb brushes along my jaw, and I lean into the touch without thinking.

“I didn’t know,” he says quietly, his voice rough around the edges. His thumb strokes my skin again, almost like he’s testing the waters, and I feel that ache in my chest grow sharper. “I didn’t know it was like that for you.”

I blink up at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Azriel, I—” My voice falters, my throat tightening as the weight of what I’m feeling crashes over me. I’ve kept these feelings buried for so long, locked away because it never felt like the right time, because I didn’t think he’d ever see me like that. But now, with him holding me like this, the truth feels too close to keep hidden.

His hand moves to cup the side of my face, his touch so gentle it makes my heart ache. “You never have to hide from me,” he murmurs, his eyes searching mine. There’s a softness in his gaze, a vulnerability I’ve never seen before, and it takes my breath away.

My chest tightens, and I take a shaky breath, feeling the tug in my heart pulling me toward him, drawing me in. I don’t know if it’s his shadows or something deeper between us, but every part of me is screaming that this is where I’m supposed to be—here, with him.

That tug in my chest tightens, and suddenly, I know.

It’s not just attraction. It’s not just this bond between friends, or the warmth of being close to someone who understands me. It’s something more. Something I can’t deny anymore, no matter how hard I try.

“Azriel…” My voice is shaky as I look up at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt. “Do you feel that?”

His hand moves from my waist to cup my face, his thumb brushing my cheek. He nods, his jaw clenched, as if he’s struggling to find the right words. “I’ve felt it for a while now,” he admits, his voice low, almost hoarse. “I just didn’t know if it was real. If it was possible.”

I swallow hard, my heart racing as the realization settles between us. It’s not just a pull, not just a bond forged in battle or friendship. It’s deeper than that. Stronger. My emotions have always been sharp around him, heightened in ways I couldn’t explain, and now I understand why.

We’re mates.

The thought crashes into me like a storm, and I see the same realization flicker in his eyes. His breath hitches, and for a moment, he looks at me like he’s afraid to believe it, afraid to hope. But I feel it—the undeniable truth, the connection between us that’s always been there, waiting to be acknowledged.

“I didn’t want to push you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s always been there. That pull… every time I’m near you, I feel it. Like a part of me is tethered to you.”

My chest tightens, and I bite my lip, trying to steady my racing heart. “It’s the same for me,” I admit, my voice small but certain. “Whenever you’re close, I can feel it. Like you’re part of me.”

His thumb strokes my jaw again, and I shiver at the touch, my skin tingling under his gentle caress. “I thought I was imagining it,” he says quietly, his gaze never leaving mine. “But now… now I know.”

He leans in closer, his forehead resting against mine, and the warmth of him, the strength of him, floods through me. “We’re mates,” I whisper, the words heavy with meaning, and his grip on me tightens as he exhales shakily.

His eyes darken, and I see the raw emotion there—the longing, the need, the fear and hope all tangled together. “I never thought…” His voice breaks off, and he shakes his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I never thought I’d be this lucky.”

I feel a soft tug in my chest, that same pull toward him, and without thinking, I press my lips to his cheek, just a gentle touch, barely there. His breath hitches, and before I can pull away, his hand slips to the back of my neck, gently pulling me back toward him.

His lips are on mine in an instant, and the world falls away.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as if we’re testing the waters, but it deepens quickly, becoming something more. It’s not just a kiss—it’s the release of everything we’ve held back for so long, all the unspoken feelings, the quiet longing, the need to be close. His hand slides to my waist, pulling me tighter against him, and I can feel his heart beating wildly beneath my palm.

I melt into him, my body pressing against his as his wings flare behind him, cocooning us in shadow. His lips move against mine, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every second of it, and I can’t help the soft sigh that escapes me as I kiss him back with everything I have.

It’s not enough. I want more. I need more.

When we finally break apart, both of us are breathless, and I can see the same hunger in his eyes that I feel in my own chest. His forehead presses against mine, and his voice is a ragged whisper when he speaks.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing along my lower lip. “Wanted you for so long.”

I close my eyes, my heart full to bursting, and I press my lips to his once more. “I’ve wanted you too,” I whisper back, my voice trembling with the weight of the truth. “I think… I think I’ve always known.”

Azriel pulls me closer, and I rest my head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my ear. His wings wrap around us, sheltering us from the world, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel truly at peace. 

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

[ask-spiderpool]

Hey mod, are you okay? It’s been a while since you posted (no judgement!) and I just wanted to see if something was wrong. Love you and I hope you stay strong🫶🏼

Bless you anon! I appreciate you checking in! I don't post a lot of personal updates here, but I have been going through the wringer lately... hough.

Lately I've been battling with anxiety, you know, same as everyone. It's kind of made things that I used to enjoy kind of stressful for me. Everything becomes stressful for me. Even not having things to stress about makes me stressed. I'm at my most Peter Parkeriest, in the worst sort of a way.

I thought it was a brain thing – that it was all in my head. I have a new, stressful job, and a stressful living situation, and some family issues I'm dealing with. It'll pass. So I kind of tried to power through, until my body shut down on me last year. And as it turns out, when I got checked out by the doc, it's not just a brain thing. I have a tumor (her name is Lamar, and she's benign, buuut...) she's producing 5x the normal amount of stress hormone in my body. The doctors think it's insane. I think it's hilarious. I feel like it's some kind of joke.

I've been battling this ridiculous chronic stress for years, thinking it was all in my head, but actually, biologically, I'm an overflowing reservoir of stress, and it's something that can be measured in my bloodstream. And it's been going on for years!

So, lately I've been devoting a lot of time to forcing myself to relax. Doctors orders. I can't get stressed about things. Every day I have to effectively diffuse a bomb. And the bomb is me. I'm so pumped up with involuntary stress, and I have to devote my time to keeping it at a manageable level. And so there are a lot of backflips I have to do to keep myself human right now, and not turn into a bomb.

See... posting to the blog doesn't exactly calm me down. It makes me anxious, most of the time. So I've been telling myself it's okay. Only post when you feel good. You have enough things to worry about, and the blog can't be one another thing to worry about. It can only be for fun. If it doesn't feel like fun, don't do it.

I need to do a million little calming activities to function. The blog used to calm me. But it doesn't, anymore. I still love it, and I still have so many scripts I'm excited to do, but... I just have to be patient with myself, right now. I can't bug my head over something that can wait. It can wait. Right now isn't the time. My health is the most important thing. I can't get that back, if I lose it.

Right now I'm about keeping my head above water. Keeping calm. Doing meditative things, that aren't necessarily productive... (trust me, I am SO upset about not being productive. I miss it a lot) but they force me to take it slow and force me to not worry. I'm learning the banjo (she calms me), and I spend a lot more time in nature, having staring contests with ducks and pigeons, and befriending beetles and bugs.

I'm a very positive person, and I know I'll make it through, and I love myself for all the effort I'm making to keep myself from breaking. Because I know if I didn't force myself to calm down, I could snap like an elastic band. I – I don't want to break, like I did last year. I need to be good to myself. And relaxing is an effort. It takes a lot for me. And certain calming routines work for a little while, and then stop working, and I need to make the effort all over again to find something new. It's kind of insane how much time I need to calm back down again. I remember, once upon a time, it being baseline.

Luckily there's a surgical solution, so hopefully I'll be normal again soon, and there won't be any more bees buzzing in my brain!

I hope you'll all be patient with me! And hopefully I'll make it out alive and stronger than ever, soon.