#i don't want to keep trying when i'm just so tired

[ultimate-shipper-trash-blog]

I'll Send an SOS to Your Heart

-------

"Ok, I'm imagining things."

Steve is laying on his bed watching his lights flicker.

He plugged in one of those space projectors that's supposed to make your ceiling look like the night sky.

It's not weird that they're flickering, the light was a dollar at Melvads he wasn't expecting it to work long.

The weird part is that the stars keep making a heart shape.

He sees the heart flash a couple of times before he flips over and hides deeper into his pillow.

"No." He groans. "No more upside down shit."

If some upside-down monster was flirting with him he quits.

All the lights in his room surge to maximum brightness.

"Fuck off."

The lights draw a middle finger.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" He jumps out of bed and points at the orbs.

It draws a winky face. (;P)

"Who are you?"

His blood runs cold. An upside down monster can't flirt with him. They don't know English. He has an idea but it can't be true.

They left him there. He's dead.

...isn't he?

'SOS' the lights read.

"Fuck." Tears spring to his eyes. "Eddie?"

'Hiya'

-----

He spends a while talking to Eddie.

It's tough.

It takes a while to write everything out and Steve is still trying not to hyperventilate or cry or pass out so it's taking a lot of energy to keep up the conversation.

'Sleep?'

"No."

'?'

"Nothing I'm just...not tired."

'Liar'

"WHAT! I'm not I just-"

'-_-'

"Fine."

':)'

"I'm scared."

'Me?'

"No, I'm scared this is a dream. That I fell asleep hours ago and I made you out of my guilty conscious. I just don't want to lose you...again."

'Back'

"Back?"

'Bring back'

"Bring...you back?"

'YES'

"You think we can bring you back?"

'Plan'

"Yes! I'll call everyone we can figure it out. Oh! We have El to help us this time! You're gonna love her Eds she's just like the kids you look out for and she's magic! I'll call them right-"

'NO'

"No?"

'tom- sleep now'

"I think this is a little more important than-"

'Sleep <3'

Steve looks over at the clock, 4 am.

Shit.

"Ok. I'm going to sleep. Will you...will you be here in the morning?"

'W STEVIE'

"Ok. Goodnight Eddie."

'GN <3'

----

The plan goes off without a hitch.

It takes them about two weeks to formulate and execute the plan.

Steve spends his days and nights talking to Eddie, keeping him updated. Keeping him in his life.

He speed runs a crisis or two when he realizes he wants to spend the remainder of his days speaking to Eddie.

He can't wait until he's here with him.

Alive.

-----

So it's more complicated than he thought.

Maybe there's a hoard or bats blocking them from Eddie.

Maybe Steve throws himself in front of the kids and fights off the creatures long enough for them to find Eddie and get him back home.

Maybe Steve bleeds a little too much and collapsed as soon as they reach the other side.

----

He wakes in the hospital to nine pairs of eyes staring at him.

They're all arguing with each other. Their voices low as if they're trying not to wake them.

He wants to talk he wants to reach out.

Eddie is standing by the door in a baseball cap and sunglasses as if he was trying to be inconspicuous.

As if Eddie could ever hide from Steve. Steve would find him anywhere he is.

God, he's here! He's in the room! All this time apart and he's so close!

"Mphahhpsh" he can't form words but it doesn't matter.

Everyone stops and Eddie's eyes meet his. His eyes look wet and he looks skinny and exhausted.

He's never looked more beautiful.

Eddie's eyes turn down into a determined glare. He pushes past everyone until he's inches away from Steve.

He takes a deep breath and then leans down and kisses him.

Flat on the mouth. In front of everyone.

The shocked noises are what pulls them apart.

"I'm so happy to see you, I really like you," Steve says.

"That's my line." Eddie smiles and kisses him again.

"Don't ever try to save me again I can't ever see you in a hospital again," Eddie presses their noses together.

"That's my line."

Eddie chuckles and pushes his nose into Steve's cheek. "Dork."

"Yes, yes, you're both terrible. Now what the fuck is happening."

They break apart to see the crews shocked faces. Mike's face is pale and Dustin is an interesting shade of red.

Robin is staring at him a little proud.

He sends a wink her way and pulls Eddie in closer.

They'll figure it all out later. They have time.

----

This started with once sentence in my brain and grew into three different plot points I put together in a rush. :P

Please comment I love to read em!

[webslingingslasher]

J!!! I don't remember if nerdy!peter plays video games but I'm pretty sure he does 😓 how would he react when angel keeps wanting his attention but he keeps saying 10 more minutes so she gets annoyed 😓😓

I literally love all your Peter's sm idek how u have the mind for all this!!

*cleaning out my drafts* wheew boy, i hope you guys remember nerdy!peter. he's been on a shelf too long!

peter doesn't even blink when you kiss the side of his face- he doesn't notice in the slightest. you hold in a sigh and mutter out a half-hearted goodbye.

'i'm leaving, i'll call you later.'

suddenly, peter's available to talk. 'woah, wait, you're leaving? why?' you bite your tongue, there's a dozen things you want to say and none of them are nice. if you stay, you'll cause a fight.

'because i'm mad at you and if i don't, we're gonna have a fight.' peter gives you puppy dog eyes, he's pre-apologizing and he doesn't know what for yet. they always soften you but when he turns away to check his screen, you harden right back up.

'i had no eyes, sorry, sorry. med pack, please.' you can only put up with so much and a game taking priority over your relationship was just a straw too much. 'you're about to have no girlfriend.'

peter hits mute real fast, tossing his headset off and standing up even quicker. he's looking at you like a deer in headlights, 'you said what?'

'i shouldn't have to threaten a break up for you to listen to me, peter.'

'i was listening! you were fine then all of a sudden you're stomping out of here and calling me single.' he’s not allowed to care when you get mad, he should've cared the last five times he said ten more minutes.

'i'm leaving.'

peter blocks the door, you cross your arms over your chest. 'talk to me.' you're being petty because it's the first time he's giving you attention since you've been here. it's nice to have him worry over you.

'no, i'm mad at you.'

'yeah, i picked up on that. wanna tell me why?' your eyes narrow, he can’t act cute when you're pissy. 'no.' peter gives you a pity smile but he's not sad at all. 'then i can't let you leave, sorry.'

'you think holding me captive will fix things?' there was a snap with your voice, peter takes a step away from the door. he was half and half with your tone but after that he feels the need to back down.

'you're actually mad at me.' peter doesn't like when you're upset with him, it makes him feel all itchy. 'you can leave, angel. if you think it'll help, you can leave. but i would really like it if you told me what was going on first.'

you and peter make communication a priority but this time you want to be childish. if he couldn't understand why you were mad, he obviously didn't respect your time. you wouldn't act like this if it was the first time, but it’s everytime you come over and he's already on his computer.

you're getting tired of begging for your boyfriend to choose you over a video game, especially after he told you to come over.

'no. i'm leaving and i want you to think about why i would be mad at you.' peter whines in return, he hates when you don't give him an answer. 'angel, please. this is punishment enough.'

the issue is how well you know him. he's going to pout and give you kisses while he tells you how sorry he is and he never meant to make you feel ignored. it always makes you forgive him too quick, you don't want him to apologize for it, you want him to acknowledge it.

'you're gonna try to excuse it and kiss it better and i don't want that. i want you to look me in the eye and tell me you've been shitty.' peter's already giving you that pouty look, you ignore the clench your heart gives when he pulls you closer by your hips.

'i'm still gonna kiss it better, i'll just tell you i'm shitty while i do it.' you don't gripe when he gives you a chaste kiss. you don't tell yourself you're going back on your word, just that he didn't give you one when you first got here.

'wanna tell me why i made you mad?' you love when peter talks to you like this. it's not a whisper, but it's low. it's almost guttural- a ring of sexual if you looked at it the right way. when he pairs it with two wet kisses to your cheek, you have to remind yourself to stay strong.

'your game.' you silently moan when peter pushes your back against his door, he drops a mark to your neck. 'mhm, what about my game?' you're not sliding a hand into his hair to egg him on, it's to support yourself, that's it.

'you were ignoring me again.'

peter's lips catch anywhere they can meet, you think you're about to start sweating. 'i hate begging for your attention, i don't want to do it anymore.' peter's kissing your sweet spot, you try to keep your focus.

'angel, no one has my attention more than you.' there's only so much you can fight and peter's pillowy kisses isn't one of them. you're not forgiving, you're just compartmentalizing. plus peter's the best damn kisser you've ever had.

‘until you’re on discord with your friends.’ you’re reminded of your anger, you push peter off and glare at him. ‘if i didn’t tell you i was leaving, would you have even noticed?’

'of course i would, i check on you every couple of minutes.' peter might suck at giving up a winning streak but he makes sure to put his eyes on you every two minutes.

'making sure i'm still here isn't the same as giving me attention. and dump me if i'm wrong, but i want a boyfriend who's a little obsessed with me.' peter kisses the middle of your throat, it spurs more frustration.

'if you wanted to fuck me, you should've done something about it an hour ago. you don't get to disrespect me then put your dick in me.' peter exhales over your skin, it feels like a laugh. you don't know why he thinks you're joking. he reads your mind before you can say it.

'angel, i'm not trying to seduce you. i'm trying to show you how obsessed you make me.' you give him your neck and he softly bites, just like that, the fight's over. 'go on... i'm listening.'

'i've been shitty.'

peter's kisses make sense, they've been on a subtle trail downwards. he sinks to his knees on the floor, hooking your leg around his shoulder and looking up at you. looking up with his angelolatry duties.

'and now i'm gonna kiss it better.' 

[kimstclair]

Game Night

Game night was in full swing, and the tension was palpable.

“C’mon, Amren, don't be a killjoy,” Cassian taunted, leaning back in his chair with a playful smirk.

Amren poured herself another glass of wine and dismissed him for the third time. “These games are bad for my nerves.”

“You know what?” Cassian insisted, grinning mischievously. “Let’s make a bet! If I win, you have to play two more rounds. If you win, I promise to make sure Rhys will take one more thought at the High King thing.”

Amren clicked her tongue with a smirk. “When Rhysand actually becomes High King, I promise I'll play as many stupid card games as you want.”

“Forget it, Cass, she’s already too old to enjoy life,” Rhysand teased. But before Amren could snap back, Feyre spoke up, stretching her arms out with a yawn.

“You can play, I'm kinda tired.”

“Oh no, darling,” Rhysand interrupted with a sly grin, “you were the one who wanted to play in the first place. I'm sitting this out.”

“Actually,” Azriel cleared his throat, “I have some reports to finish. You all go ahead.”

“For Mother’s sake,” Nesta said aloud, rolling her eyes. “You’re all so dramatic.”

She pushed her chair back and headed toward the door arc. “Where are you going, hon?” Cassian called after her.

“I’ll be back soon,” Nesta replied, already walking down the hallway.

–

Gwyn was engrossed in a new novel Emerie had lent her when Deirdre tapped her shoulder. “Clotho asked me to give you this.”

She handed over a note: You have a visitor.

Gwyn had two guesses as to who it might be, but refused to admit one of them made her heart skip a beat. She slipped out of her nightgown, threw on a casual robe, and headed toward the library.

Visitors weren’t allowed in the priestesses’ dormitory, so it wasn’t surprising to find Nesta waiting for her by Clotho’s desk, clad in an elegant dress.

“Is everything okay?” Gwyn asked.

Nesta’s face lit with a mischievous glint. “How good are you at cards?”

–

Back in the game room, the first round was underway.

“I swear!” Cassian shouted. “I felt Rhys inside my mind.”

Rhysand rolled his eyes. “Cassian, that’s not a thing. You can’t feel when I’m using my daemati powers.”

“So you admit you used them!” Cassian snapped, looking triumphant.

“Let’s just start over,” Feyre suggested, barely holding back a laugh.

Azriel was holding his cards quietly, but Gwyn noted the faintest smile on his lips. She also noticed a card poking out of the collar of Rhysand’s robes and Cassian’s cards sprawled across the table, likely tossed in a fit of rage.

“That’s why I don’t play,” a small, black-haired female Gwyn recognized as Amren said, looking directly at her and sipping her wine.

Everyone at the table turned to look at Gwyn and Nesta standing by the doorway. Feyre greeted them with a warm smile.

"Just found the missing player for our game," Nesta announced proudly.

“Good to see you, Gwyneth,” Rhysand greeted with a smile.

“Good evening, High Lord,” Gwyn replied with a respectful bow.

“Please, call me Rhysand,” he grinned, his gaze twinkling with amusement. “Especially if we’re about to be rivals in a… intense match.”

–

Cassian, clearly frustrated, turned to Rhysand and Feyre. "You two can't be a team anymore; you're always communicating telepathically!"

Rhysand merely smiled. "Are we just too good for you, Cass?"

“Stop stalling, Rhys. Everyone here knows you and Feyre have an unfair advantage,” Cassian grumbled, crossing his arms.

Nesta, arms crossed and expression calculating, saw her chance. “Alright. Gwyn and I could pair up, and you four can rearrange yourselves.”

But after a pause, she reconsidered. “Actually… I don’t trust Azriel with any daemati,” she added, casting a look at Azriel, who merely raised an eyebrow in response. “He’ll do whatever it takes to win.”

Cassian laughed, then had an idea. “Fine, then let’s try this: Nesta and I split to join Rhys and Feyre. That way, we’ll keep them in check.”

Azriel sighed, his calm tone laced with faint exasperation. “Not that I have an issue with the pairing,” he said, his gaze sweeping the table, “but that arrangement would leave Gwyn and me at a disadvantage.”

Rhysand smirked. “Oh, don’t worry, Azriel. I promise I won’t be using… my shadows this time.”

Azriel’s expression didn’t shift, but there was a glimmer in his eyes. He glanced Gwyn’s way, eyebrow raised, daring her to react. She suppressed a smile, feeling the camaraderie—and something else, a subtle tension that she preferred not to examine too closely.

“I think they’re just scared, Gwyn,” Azriel murmured, his tone light yet challenging. “Looks like we’ll have to show them how it’s done.”

Gwyn raised an eyebrow, playing along. “Well, if you think you can handle it, Shadowsinger… I’m in.”

Cassian patted Rhysand’s back. “Looks like we’ve got a match! Let’s see if the shadow-and-singer duo can really take us on.”

Rhysand merely shrugged. “May the best team win.”

“Alright, you two can pair up, and I’ll take Nesta,” Feyre suggested. “Everyone take seats opposite your partners—no one sits next to their teammate.”

As they shuffled places, Azriel passed by Gwyn and leaned close. “Rhys and Feyre will try to read your mind, so keep it focused. And watch out for Cassian; he pretends to get more wine just to peek over at people’s cards.”

Gwyn only had time to nod as everyone settled in.

–

The game quickly spiraled into chaos. Cassian barely made it through the first hand before he got up to refill his wine. Gwyn recalled Azriel’s advice and turned her cards down as Cassian passed.

Rhysand eyed Feyre with suspicion. “You’re not cheating, are you, darling?”

Feyre raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Me? Rhys, I’m hurt you’d even suggest that.”

Amren scoffed. “As if she needs to cheat to beat you.”

Nesta leaned toward Cassian, whispering, “Azriel’s plotting something. I’ll bet a bottle of wine on it.”

“Deal,” Cassian replied, grinning.

Not even halfway through the game, Rhysand suggested a pause. Everyone agreed readily.

“You know, Cassian, considering how many times you’ve refilled your glass tonight, I’d say you’ve had your breaks,” Azriel noted.

“If we’re talking suspicious behavior,” Nesta chimed in, “we could mention the shadows swirling around Azriel’s ears all night.”

Azriel didn’t flinch, though his expression sharpened with determination. Gwyn had seen that same look on his face in training—a readiness to do whatever it took to win. Across the table, Gwyn noticed the glances Rhysand and Feyre were exchanging. She leaned toward Azriel, whispering, “They’re in cahoots.”

Azriel nodded, his voice low and amused. “Who isn’t?”

Gwyn did notice the shadows slipping around her neck, weaving through her hair and peeking at her cards as the game progressed. It was as if Azriel always knew her move before she even played her card, his shadows acting like an extension of her thoughts.

“Feyre and Nesta have a tell,” she whispered to Azriel, leaning subtly toward him. “Whenever they’re holding a bad hand, Feyre always scratches her eyebrow.”

Azriel regarded her with sharp eyes, a faint glint of approval there. “Observant,” he murmured, taking a sip of his whiskey. “And nice work sneaking a look at Cassian’s cards.”

Gwyn flushed, but she couldn’t help a proud smile. It was true; whenever Cassian was too busy gazing at Nesta to notice anything else around him, she took the opportunity to steal a glance at his hand. It was almost too easy sometimes. She hadn’t known that Azriel had picked up on her tactic until now.

“Alright, back to business!” Nesta called, dealing another round.

Apparently, the other pairs had also used the break to regroup and adjust their strategies. Gwyn noticed it was much harder to get a peek at Cassian’s cards now, and Feyre had changed her signal—she now wrapped a lock of hair around her finger, subtly.

Azriel’s shadows were more elusive now, but she could still feel their presence, curling around her, discreetly hidden by her hair and cloak. She also noticed how the shadows played across Azriel himself, moving slowly over his arms, mingling with the tattoos on his biceps.

Gwyn refused to admit how well she knew the details of those tattoos, practically by heart. She tried to justify it as just the result of their countless training sessions together. Surely, she had to pay attention to her trainer’s movements, didn’t she?

Before she could refocus on the game, Gwyn caught Feyre watching her—and suddenly realized with horror that Feyre was reading her thoughts. Specifically, the thoughts about Azriel’s biceps: those sculpted muscles she had definitely admired a little too closely.

Their eyes met, and Gwyn’s went wide. Feyre quickly turned her attention back to her cards, clearly holding back a grin.

But Gwyn had no time to be embarrassed, as she felt Azriel’s gaze settle on her, waiting for her next move. He tilted his head, his dark eyes intense. “Gwyn?” he asked, as if urging her to return her attention to the game.

Taking a steadying breath, she forced herself to look away from his arms, holding her cards ready to play.

From across the table, Amren smirked as she observed the scene. “You really think this game has anything to do with the cards, don’t you? Poor fools.”

“Oh, absolutely, Amren,” Feyre chimed in, playing along. “Everyone here is being perfectly honest.”

Nesta shrugged, giving an ironic smile. “If we were cheating, Cassian would have noticed. Isn’t that right?”

Cassian huffed. “Sure, because it’s so hard to see through your schemes.”

Nesta arched an eyebrow. “If you played half as well as you talked, Cassian, maybe you’d stand a chance.”

“You know I’m excellent at playing and talking at the same time, Nes,” Cassian retorted with a wicked grin, making his wife blush furiously.

To Gwyn’s surprise, she found herself laughing along with the others. The playful teasing between Cassian and Nesta didn’t make her feel out of place at all.

–

Several rounds later, Cassian threw his cards down, visibly frustrated. “Alright, it’s a tie. We need a tiebreaker.”

Feyre, a little tipsy, leaned toward him with a glint of mischief. “How about something more… physical?” She glanced at Rhysand, a grin spreading on her face. “Like… hide and seek?”

Amren scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Oh, perfect. You just forgot your one year old son is sleeping right now. You don't need to play his games.”

“I don’t think it’s a bad idea,” Azriel said.

“Of course not,” Cassian laughed. “You can melt into shadows.”

Gwyn, feeling more comfortable in the playful atmosphere, smirked. “Look, Azriel and I have been up against teams with telepathic powers all night without complaining. I think we can handle a little hide and seek.”

“Oh?” Cassian leaned forward, intrigued. “What’s your proposal, Miss Berdara?”

Gwyn smiled, her confidence unwavering. “Azriel and I will be seekers. If we find all of you within half an hour, we win. If anyone evades us, they win for their team.”

Everyone exchanged approving glances. Ignoring Amren’s disdainful mutter, the rest of them quickly warmed to the idea.

“That’s it for me. If you want to keep playing, so be it. But I’d rather head home,” Amren announced, rising to her feet.

“I’ll take Amren home, and when I’m back, Gwyn and I will start hunting for all of you,” Azriel offered, glancing at Gwyn with a hint of a smile.

–

Gwyn waited for Azriel on the balcony, her eyes tracing the city below. She admired the beauty of Velaris under the moonlight, feeling a pang of longing. She’d thought of visiting for the first time for a while now, and seeing it like this only strengthened that desire.

She was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she only noticed Azriel’s presence when he landed softly beside her, making her jump. Azriel didn’t react much, though his lips twitched into a faint smirk as he stepped closer. “Ready to hunt?” he murmured, his voice low and almost playful.

She straightened, trying to look composed despite the sudden flutter in her pulse. “I think it’s better if we stick together,” she replied, her tone even, though her mind was anything but calm.

And so the game began. As they entered the house, Gwyn and Azriel noticed that most of the corridors were cast in deep shadow, with only a few torches flickering here and there, creating an atmosphere of anticipation. Gwyn decided to light a candle and carry it as they moved.

Azriel raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk on his lips. “Afraid of the dark?”

Gwyn laughed softly, holding the candle steady. “Not at all, Shadowsinger. But if we want to win this game, it might help if we don’t trip over our own feet.”

Moving like shadows, Gwyn and Azriel searched together, silent and in sync. As they crept through the hallways, Gwyn became acutely aware of the closeness between them—of Azriel’s steady, focused presence beside her.

Then, for a brief moment, they found themselves alone in a dim, quiet corridor. Azriel’s gaze lingered on her, deep and unreadable, and Gwyn’s heart raced as she met his eyes. There was a gravity in his look, something she couldn’t quite place, and she felt her own heartbeat quicken in response. But noises coming from upstairs got their attention and they headed towards it.

Finding Cassian and Feyre was almost too easily. Cassian’s attempts at stealth were practically nonexistent, and Feyre, slightly tipsy, clearly wasn’t taking the game seriously. They were both hiding in plain sight, sharing a quiet laugh in a poorly chosen corner. As soon as they were caught, Cassian shrugged with a laugh, slinging an arm around Feyre’s shoulders. “Guess it’s time for more wine,” he announced, leading her out of their hiding spot as they playfully bickered over whose hiding place had been worse.

Gwyn and Azriel moved on, stepping deeper into the house. Their path led them to Nesta’s personal library, where Azriel paused by the door. He glanced at the candle in Gwyn’s hand, then reached out to gently extinguish it.

“It’ll give us away,” he murmured, his voice low, his breath warm against her ear.

She shivered, barely managing a nod. “Good idea.”

Azriel leaned in close to her, his voice a whisper. “Let’s split up. You take the left side of the shelves. I’ll go right.”

–

As Azriel moved down his chosen aisle, he was impressed at how quiet Gwyn was, her footsteps nearly as silent as his own. His shadows flitted through the shelves, scanning for any sign of Nesta, though they hadn’t yet detected her presence. The only light in the library was the silvery glow of moonlight streaming in through a tall window at the end of the aisle, casting soft shadows that mingled with his own.

Azriel was nearing the end of the aisle when, suddenly, something crashed into his torso, and he stumbled back, landing on the floor with a muffled thud.

“Got you!” Gwyn’s triumphant whisper filled the silence.

“Gwyn?” Azriel murmured, surprised. She was perched on top of him, her hands wrapped around his torso. In the dim light, he could just make out her silhouette, her eyes reflecting the faintest hint of moonlight.

“I... I thought you were Nesta,” she breathed, her face mere inches from his.

“That’s alright,” he replied, his voice dropping to a soft whisper. He realized his hands had instinctively found their way to her waist when they fell—and he hadn’t moved them since. Neither had she.

They stared at each other in the dim glow, their breaths mingling in the quiet. But then, a movement broke the spell—a shadow darting toward the door.

“Nesta!” Gwyn leaped off him, sprinting toward the door just in time to block it as Nesta tried to slip through.

Nesta was slightly out of breath. “Alright, you got me. Mother above, Gwyn, you’re fast!”

–

“Looks like we’re winning,” Gwyn murmured, a hint of excitement in her voice.

Azriel held her gaze, and she felt that same magnetic pull she’d been fighting all evening. “Never celebrate victory too early. We’ll just have to keep playing to see who comes out on top.”

Gwyn pushed away the thought that she’d, in fact, been on top of him only moments ago. She could still feel the ghost of his hands on her waist. But whether his words held hidden meaning, or if she was just reading too much into things… she honestly couldn’t tell.

–

“We’ve combed through this whole house!” Gwyn called out, finally abandoning all pretense of stealth.

Azriel leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as he considered. “Rhysand wouldn’t hide somewhere obvious,” he said thoughtfully. “And he’d pick a place that’s clever, just to draw it out. He enjoys making people work for it.”

“What about the training ring?” she suggested. “Technically, it’s within the property, if we’re going by the rules literally.”

Azriel’s brows lifted in appreciation. “Good thinking.” They quickly made their way to the ring, but when they arrived, it was empty.

Gwyn let out a sigh, half frustration, half laughter. “Well, that was a waste.”

“Not entirely,” Azriel reassured, his lips curling. “It was a solid guess, Berdara.”

She studied him for a moment, then seemed to have an idea, her face lighting up with renewed energy. “Do you trust me?”

He blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Yes.”

Without another word, she took his hand and pulled him along, sprinting through the house. As they ran, he pieced together where she was leading him: the balcony, where the game had started. It was exactly the sort of place Rhysand would find amusing.

They reached the balcony, but it, too, was empty.

Gwyn glanced at Azriel, cheeks flushed from their dash. “I’m sorry. I thought he’d be here as a kind of ‘full circle’ thing.”

“Don’t apologize,” Azriel said, his tone reassuring, though his eyes sparkled with faint amusement. “It was a good guess. Classic Rhysand—he’d totally…” He trailed off, then stepped forward, glancing over the balcony railing.

“Rhysand, you ridiculous bat, get up here!” Azriel shouted, shaking his head.

Gwyn heard a soft chuckle from below just before the High Lord soared up from beneath the balcony, laughter in his eyes as he landed.

–

Cassian was practically doubled over with laughter. “I can’t believe you hung upside down like a bat for half an hour.”

“Almost half an hour,” Azriel corrected, glancing at Gwyn. “We found him first. In fact, we found all of you before time ran out.”

“You two make a good team,” Feyre remarked casually, though the glance she sent Gwyn’s way hinted at her true thoughts.

“Well-deserved win,” Rhysand congratulated them. “Though, now it seems like you and Gwyn should face off for first place.”

“Oh, please, don’t start!” Nesta interjected. “Those two will be at it all night if we let them.”

“You’re right, Nes,” Cassian said, pulling her close with an arm around her waist. “Let’s save the grand finale for another night.”

Feyre and Rhys said their goodbyes before winnowing to the River House, and Nesta and Cassian prepared to return to their chambers.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Gwyn said, smiling.

“Oh, hon, you're welcome here anytime,” Nesta replied easily.

“Especially if you're about to beat Azriel’s ass in the next game night,” Cassian joked.

Azriel crossed his arms. “Don’t give her too much hope. Berdara might start thinking she actually stands a chance.”

“As if I’d ever back down from you, Shadowsinger,” Gwyn shot back, matching his tone.

“Save some of that teasing for morning training, you two,” Cassian muttered with a grin as he and Nesta left for their quarters, leaving Gwyn and Azriel standing side by side in the warm, quiet aftermath of the evening.

Azriel offered to escort Gwyn back to the library, and they started down the path together. The silence between them was comfortable but charged with a tension that seemed to grow with each step.

“It’s nice to see you all together like this,” Gwyn said, breaking the silence. “Do you do this often?”

Azriel took a moment to answer. “We used to, before... you know, Amarantha.”

Gwyn nodded, understanding. There was a beat of quiet before she spoke again. “About what happened in the library…” Azriel turned to look at her. “Sorry for, uh… tackling you.”

"That’s alright," Azriel replied simply. Gwyn thought she saw a small tremor at his lips, as if he was on the verge of saying something more, but instead, he simply continued walking beside her, steady and silent.

They reached the entrance to the library, which was now dark and empty, the other priestesses already asleep.

“Well, thank you, Shadowsinger.”

Azriel nodded, his gaze lingering for a second longer. “See you tomorrow, Berdara.”

[autistichalsin]

"What is it like to be so uncaring? I wish I could spend a day being as unempathetic as them. (Unspoken: What's the point of having empathy anymore?")

This is a sentiment that I've seen so many others express, and myself have kinda had to work through too, in the past 24 hours.

And it's a damn good question, isn't it? The people who care for no one but themselves- and worse, who actively want to hurt others not like them- won. They got everything they wanted. Meanwhile, good, kind people lost, and are now being mocked. "Triggered, liberals?"

So what's the point, then? Why should we care anymore?

It's one of those questions where you really have to be your own guide with that. We live in a world that punishes kindness and tries its best to beat it out of people, and sometimes it's tiring to do so.

But I answered that question myself and maybe my answer will help some of you.

In a world like ours, kindness is an act of defiance. Becoming cruel/callous/selfish feeds in to the reality they peddled to steal American democracy for good. By being kind, you remind them that not everyone is like them. And believe me, under their taunting, under their cries of "own the libs", this unsettles them. Kindness is an act of resistance. Love is an act of resistance. You are telling them that they will never change who you fundamentally are, they won't take away the things that make you better than them. And there is nothing evil people hate more than reminders that not everyone is evil!!! Do you remember that scene from The Dark Knight where the Joker had a group of prisoners and ordinary citizens on two ferries with bombs to blow up the other's ship, expecting them to hit the button- but no one did, because they wouldn't take the others' lives? And how utterly baffled he was? Your continued compassion enrages fascists.

You are gaining so much more from remaining kind and empathetic than you can understand. Yes, the ones who lack it won and will get to abuse people, but they lack human connection, and most of theirs are shallow. Alpha male types don't enjoy close friendships; Matt Walsh himself said he never had a friend say he loved him, Tucker Carlson's mom hated him so much that she left him $1 in her will, and Donald Trump's wives only ever married him for his power and status. The few connections they have lack depth and care and genuineness. Sure, they have families, sometimes, who love/care for them. But it is a very different kind of love because it is conditional. That's the only kind of love they know. "Be like me, espouse my values, and then I will love you." They disown their queer children, they fear their wives being independent or their husbands being 'soft.' The instant they become "wrong" in some way, they'll be discarded. You, in seeking relationships with people who genuinely love you for you- and offering that in turn- are never going to know that terror.

You deserve to be loved. You deserve to get to continue to feel the full range of human emotion, which does and should include compassion and empathy and love. You don't deserve to have to give that up just to survive this dystopian hellscape. You deserve better and if this country has failed too much to give you better, you should still at least hold on to what scraps of better you can find.

Things are about to get worse in nearly every aspect; financially, socially, geopolitically, I could go on. Staying your authentic self- loving and compassionate- is one of the only ways you are going to be able to survive what's coming, because you'll need support, and so will those around you.

Not going to numb to what's happening is the literal only way we can fix this. And I'm going to be blunt here, no fix is coming in our lifetimes. We're going to try and salvage something in the future we aren't ever going to see here. But that makes retaining your fundamental kindness even more important, because when there's nothing in it for you, the only way to keep going is to retain a love of humanity, no matter what flaws it has, because otherwise you'll get discouraged and give up. We won't get out of this, even in a few generations, without radical acts of altruism for people who are going to live here after us. They deserve your help even if they're not here yet. They NEED you.

Don't let this change who you are. Who you are is good. Who you are is perfect. You're a normal person in an utterly insane world, and this insane world won't become sane again without people like you.

[silverynight]

Addiction

One thing he didn't know about Fushiguro was that despite his cold demeanor, the boy was actually very physically affectionate. Right now they're sitting on Yuuji's bed and Fushiguro has his arms around the pink haired boy's waist. Yuuji can feel the other's cheek on his shoulder, but it doesn't bother him at all.

Although Yuuji hasn't seen him do that with anyone else, but it's not like he's with him all the time.

"Are you still with me?" Yuuji asks after a couple of seconds of complete silence; he doesn't mind it, but right now they're supposed to be studying for their finals.

"I'm not asleep if that's what you're asking," Fushiguro grumbles back, nuzzling against Yuuji's shoulder.

"So if you're trapped in a place that doesn't let you get out, that makes you walk the same hallway over and over... how do you break that type of curse?" Yuuji asks, genuinely confused, he doesn't like to make calculations; most of the time he punches his way out of any situation.

Finals are the worst. Can't they just send them to different missions instead of making them use their brains to solve something that isn't actually happening to them?

"You're pouting, Itadori," Fushiguro tries to look serious, but Yuuji notices the amusement in his eyes when he turns his head around. "Too difficult for you?"

"Shut up, Fushiguro!" Yuuji chuckles, trying to push his friend away. However, the dark haired boy just growls and tightens his grip on Yuuji's waist. "Come on, solve it!"

Before he can do that though, Kugisaki rushes into the room like it's her own. She rolls her eyes as soon as she notices their sitting positions on the bed.

"You should knock before you walk into a room, you know?" Yuuji scolds her, although it's mostly to bother her because he actually doesn't mind.

"Tch! It's not like I walked in on you two having sex or anything, calm down!" Kugisaki says, making a dismissive gesture with her hand.

"Why would we be having sex?" Yuuji asks, genuinely confused, as Fushiguro chokes next to him. He hasn't moved from his side though, not even after Kugisaki arrived.

"It doesn't matter because you two are going to go shopping with me!"

Fushiguro growls, but Yuuji perks up immediately because he's tired of studying; he needs a break.

Yes, they end up carrying most of Kugisaki's stuff, but Yuuji doesn't mind at all. However, Fushiguro keeps one of his hands free the whole time so he can grab Yuuji's waist.

He does that a lot lately. But it's fine, Yuuji doesn't mind and it seems to help him in social situations; Fushiguro doesn't like to be around people at all, it doesn't matter if they're complete strangers and they're not talking to him.

He hates crowded places.

"Hey, stay here with these while I take Itadori to the next store. I want his opinion on a dress I saw the other day."

Fushiguro doesn't seem to like the idea to be out there on his own, but he eventually nods a lets go of Yuuji.

"Jeez, it's like he's glued to you today," Kugisaki rolls her eyes after walking into the store with Yuuji. "I knew he had it bad, but this is a little bit too much."

Yuuji is not exactly sure what she's talking about, but he supposes it's about their friend.

"He's a little bit clingy now, but maybe it's because during our last mission the three of us almost died..."

"And he's afraid of losing you," Kugisaki cuts him off, surprising him.

"It's not just me–"

"It looks like he's addicted to you now," she says, looking around the store until she finds the light yellow dress with flowers; it's very cute.

"He's not!" Yuuji chuckles, having a hard time imagining Fushiguro getting addicted to something.

"I'm serious... He's in love with you, but in a weird way."

"What do you mean weird way?"

"A boy doesn't look at another boy like Fushiguro looks at you; it's like he is ready to marry you or something..."

"I honestly don't know what you're talking about! We're just friends!"

"Sure, Itadori."

***

When they walk out, there's a girl with Fushiguro, curling up her own hair with her finger and smiling at him.

"Poor thing," Kugisaki snorts. "Thinking she has a chance. Although I must admit she's brave and very persistent because Fushiguro looks like he wants nothing more than for her to disappear."

Yuuji agrees that he looks certainly uncomfortable, although maybe it's just because the girl is not his type.

He considers for a moment making the same joke they did when Gojo was around, but he reminds himself that it seemed to make Fushiguro even more uncomfortable and embarrassed that time.

"Perhaps we should let him handle–"

"Fushiguro!" Kugisaki ignores the pink haired boy completely and waves her hand to catch his attention.

The other girl narrows her eyes, but Fushiguro looks absolutely relieved.

"I didn't know you had a girl–"

She shuts up as soon as Fushiguro walks towards Yuuji and wraps his arms around him, before burying his face in the curve of his neck; it makes Yuuji giggle.

"Uhh, hi, I'm Itadori..." it's too late; the girl is gone.

"You should buy a t-shirt that says 'no, thank you, I'm gay' and save the girls the trouble." Kugisaki chuckles.

"Are you gay, Fushiguro? I didn't know! Good for you, man!"

His friend has to move a few steps away from him in order to properly glare at him. Yuuji doesn't quite get it.

"You're an idiot, Itadori," he grumbles, cheeks turning slightly pink before he pulls a very confused Yuuji into his arms again.

The physical affection increases a lot after that.

It doesn't matter where they are, Fushiguro always manages to wrap himself around Yuuji. When the pink haired boy is watching a movie, lying on the couch, after a couple of minutes Fushiguro walks into the room and lies on top of him; he doesn't even bother to ask for permission.

Which is more than okay with Yuuji, they're friends after all, it doesn't matter what Kugisaki says.

However, even he finds it a little bit weird when Fushiguro starts holding his hand and intertwining their fingers together whenever they go out.

People start looking at them in a funny way, like that girl who was trying to flirt with Fushiguro before she found out he was gay.

When Fushiguro starts taking him to different places without Kugisaki and she outright tells Yuuji they're basically dating, he decides to finally ask him about it.

"Fushiguro," Yuuji mumbles, looking at their hands, feeling the warmth coming from his friend's skin and realizing that the waitress is treating them like a couple. "Are we dating?"

Choking on his coffee, Fushiguro stares at Yuuji before turning his head away and releasing Yuuji's hand. His cheeks have turned slightly pink.

"I'm sorry."

Yuuji rolls his eyes, but he realizes that he doesn't mind going on dates with Fushiguro, actually he's had so much fun and he finds him attractive.

"When you were planning to tell me?"

"I wanted to properly ask you out, but then the shopping center happened and you were so surprised after finding out I was gay I thought you were going to turn me down and I panicked. So I thought that maybe I could take you on a couple of dates and if you didn't like it you'd tell me to stop or to fuck off eventually."

Yuuji can't help but feeling charmed at Fushiguro's shy confession, he leans over the table and cradles his face.

"We can keep dating, but try to tell me what you want next time, okay?"

Fushiguro nods immediately, looking like he can't quite believe what's happening.

"You were sure I was going to turn you down or why are you–"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I thought you were straight."

"Oh," Yuuji moves back into his seat, but Fushiguro walks around the table to sit right next to him. "Well, I thought that too, but the truth is that I like you."

"Works for me." Fushiguro's voice sounds different this time. It almost like he's desperate, it makes Yuuji chuckle because he knows his friend is just being dramatic.

Right?

"Itadori, can I kiss you when we go back to our dorms?"

"Uhh, sure," Yuuji looks around and notices there are a lot of people in the cafeteria so it's probably a good idea to wait.

They still have lunch, but Fushiguro looks particularly impatient that day. It never occurs to Yuuji that it could be due to the promised kiss until they're back in jujutsu high and Fushiguro basically shoves him into his room and closes the door quickly.

"Hey, why are you–" lips crash into Yuuji's before he can even finish the sentence. A gentle hand cups the back of his head and pulls him closer.

Fushiguro kisses like he's starving and although the kiss is good it's a little bit overwhelming for Yuuji at first. When he feels a tongue sliding inside his mouth, he pushes his friend away gently.

"Calm down," he chuckles when Fushiguro chases his lips anyway. "I'm not going anywhere."

With his face completely red, Fushiguro nods before pulling Yuuji into a tight embrace and burying his face in the curve of his neck.

"Can I kiss you again?"

"Yes, just try to be gentle."

This time is Fushiguro the one who cradles his face and for the first time Yuuji looks into his blue eyes enough to notice the want and the need behind them; it sends a shiver through his spine but in a good way.

Sure, the kiss starts gentle and since Yuuji is prepared this time he kisses back and surrenders into it.

However, it quickly escalates to something more desperate and heated; Yuuji moans at some point and Fushiguro hums in approval before pushing him towards the bed.

"Wait. Slow. I want to go slow." He says, breathing heavily and blushing when he realizes Fushiguro eyes are a lot darker now.

"Okay."

They sit on the bed, cuddling and watching a couple of videos. It helps Yuuji's heart to calm down a bit.

"There's something you need to know about me, Itadori," Fushiguro says after a while.

"Yeah?"

"I'm very possessive." Fushiguro whispers, before pressing a soft kiss against his neck.

It's not his words, but the way he says them what makes Yuuji think that he might not survive this relationship. And yet, his heart is very happy at the moment.

***

Patreon

[igglemouse]

It's Friday and for some reason it feels a little peculiar, a little off. The air is a buzz with some kind of weird energy and I don't know why but I have feeling today will be a very memorable day. Just a feeling!

I told you today would be an odd day as Candela, yes, that Candela, texts me? My heart skips a beat as I read the message, confused at what I'm seeing as uncertainty kicks in. Could it be her? I thought I'd never see her again and while she's always been a close friend I wonder...do I want it to be her? Do I want that piece of my past dipping back into my life? Would I want her back in my life? Definitely, but I worry about how much of the past she might drag into my current mostly happy life. I tried to call her but I got nothing back. Maybe that is for the best.

I was ready to dwell on it maybe investigate it further but Pascal comes sweeping into the room, angry about something, likely his kick ball thing. It's always about futbol with him isn't it? I'm proven correct the moment he opens his mouth.

"It's the manager," he starts and his whole face is tinted with his anger. "I keep telling him he plays me too deep, I need to be up more, attacking more! We would have won if-"

"Pascal, my dear, I have no idea what you are talking about," I really have no clue.

"I'm trying to win games here and I'm not sure what he's trying to do? Prove a point? He claims we win the ball more when I play-"

"Pascal!" I reach out for him, my hands finding his shoulders and arms, squeezing, getting a handle of him because he is really worked up about this. "You are speaking another language right now!" I joke, hoping to add levity to our conversation.

"Right," he calms down at once, settling down just enough so that he could think clearly. "You are right. I just wanted to vent, can't vent to the team because that could cause issues you know-"

"Oh," now I feel slightly bad. I have been meaning to learn more about this sports ball game he plays but I've been so busy and tired and pregnant. "Well, yes, you can vent to me! I just want you to know you might have to do more explaining is all!" He really seems to like that and I love that I calmed him down!

Pascal goes off to work and that left me here cleaning which is fine since I feel like I'm really just passing time. I don't have a food stand anymore so for now I have shifted into the more domestic kind of role. I'm sure once I do officially become a mama I'll have less and less time so maybe I should just enjoy the time I have right now!

Despite my feeling that something special might happen today nothing does. It plods on as a normal day but at least Sara decides to stop by and has a new hairstyle as well? I think she looks amazing with it! I wonder if this is because of her new mysterious boyfriend in any way?

"I love it! It frames your face perfectly!" Doesn't it? I can't help but gush about her new style and the smile on her face tells me she's happy with it too.

"Yeah, I was skeptical right after but waking up in the morning and seeing my reflection? Yeah, yeah, I look good, don't I?"

I beam my approval, she does, she's always have. She would struggle with her confidence but you know ladies sometimes a new hairstyle is all you need. "Is the new mystery guy the motivation or?"

That question makes her look a little doubtful and maybe even slightly offended? "No, no, I think he liked my old style to be honest? I just felt like...it was time to change something up?" She seemed uncertain about it, maybe the change was just a whim she had and went with it. Sometimes you have to go with the flow.

"A change is all you really need sometimes!" I chime in to reassure her and she gives me a small smile. Just then, it felt like the right time to dive into her love life or more particular this mystery guy. I was just ready to open my mouth when she beats me to it.

"What about you and Pascal?" She asks, curious as always. "He's been having a rough time out on the pitch lately."

I'm ready to ask what's wrong but she's eager to explain, taking a long breath. "I think they just haven't found the right spot for him, the right space. Chemistry issues. He started the season blazing hot but has slowed down some. I think the defenses are starting to key in on him, getting rough with him, frustrating him-"

"Oh," and I was listening intently but again, she's speaking a new language to me, one I haven't even tried learning. "I wish I knew what you were talking about."

She chuckles and waves it off. "Ah, it's just a kids game, but I guess it is taken a little seriously?" She then looked at my belly which is now hard to ignore. "You are huuuuuge!"

"Yeah, I'm just ready for her to come out at this point," I give my belly a few pats and she responds with a kick, maybe she's ready too.

"I'm definitely not looking forward to that whole process myself!"

"Oh?" My eyebrow raises because I think this is the first time she's talked about becoming a mom. "Are you and ummm, your mystery guy, you two are serious then?"

"I...maybe? It feels right, you know? It just feels...right. He's a good man, dedicated, attentive, driven. It feels right."

I nod, even though I'm not sure I fully understand. This pregnancy was unplanned for me. I'm not saying I regret it, far from it, but life is certainly coming at me fast. So I find that my only reply can be "Sometimes you have to listen to your gut," but I also realize this is my chance. "This guy, who is he? Can I at least get a name?"

She chuckles softly. "Oh, yeah sure, I guess that isn't big deal! It's Simo-"

"Sara?!?!" I cut her off, I wanted to know, I did but... "I-it's go time! C-can you drive?!"

I am thankful Sara was there since I doubted Pascal could make it home in time. She was steady and serious and once at the hospital things really started to just...happen. Needles, nurses, doctors, all in a flurry. All moving in a practiced ritual and moving a sone as if they were a team that had done this hundreds of times before. Maybe they have. I knew I was in good hands but still that wouldn't stop the fear. What if something goes wrong? What if she's not...whole? What if she comes out wrong? What if...

"Don't worry Miss Varela, your vitals are good, everything is fine, she's going to be beautiful," the doctor tells me. I take a deep breath and calm down.

After the 'pre-game' it was time for the first kick. I'll be honest and say it was not fun. All I remember from it was pain and the mantra of push and breathe, push and breath, push and breath, push and breath, push and breath, push and breath, push and breath...

For a moment I wondered when it would end. Hours had passed, how many I could not be sure, but eventually magic begun and after crying and wailing and pain and blood and tears I was holding her. She wriggled and screamed her lungs out, my little Florencia.

Frida Varela - Next Episode 8.5

[skywalkerslvt]

can you pleaseeee write another sub anakin??

he’s being an asshole and we put him in his place, he’s whiny but still being an ass while we edge him. thank you smsmsms !💝💝

a/n: tysm for the request!! i'm so sorry it took me so long to get to it but i hope you like it <33 requests are still open rn so feel free to send more

CW: smut, edging, sub anakin, bratty anakin, 660 words

Anakin had been insufferable all day, acting like the king of the galaxy with every sharp remark and dismissive eye roll he threw your way. You were getting tired of it, the bratty attitude wearing thin. Finally, after he snapped at you for the third time, saying something about how you couldn't tell him what to do, you decided enough was enough.

Without warning, you stepped forward, gripping him by the collar of his tunic and dragging him over to your bed, pinning him beneath you. He looked taken aback, mouth opening to protest, but you didn't give him a chance.

"Shut up," you growled, crashing your lips against his. He fought back at first, but you overpowered him, slipping your tongue into his mouth as your hands found their way to his pants. You could feel his cock hardening, pressing against you, and a part of you smirked.

"You want to keep being a brat?" you muttered against his lips. "I'll teach you how to behave."

He gave you that cocky smirk, eyes narrowing defiantly. "I'm not some— mmph!" His words were cut off as you kissed him again, grinding down against him. His hands immediately moved to your hips, trying to guide you, but you weren't having it. You pulled away just enough to meet his eyes, voice low and teasing.

"You think you're in charge?" you taunted, running your fingers along his hard length through the fabric. He let out a breathy laugh, still trying to stay cocky despite the clear arousal he was barely managing to hide.

"You're cute when you think you're in control," he spat, his defiance making you smirk. He didn't know it yet, but he was playing into your hands perfectly.

You quickly stripped, then freed his cock from its restraints before sinking down onto him slowly, just enough to make him gasp, but not any further. His eyes were already hooded with need, his hands flexing on your hips. He couldn't help but growl at you. "Move, dammit."

You ignored him, rocking gently but never enough to satisfy him. "You'll have to beg for it," you teased, grinding down once more, hearing the frustrated groan from his lips. "I don't think you're quite ready yet."

"Please," he gasped, trying to move his hips up, but you were holding him still. His hands were desperately clutching at your body, the frustration written all over his face. "Please, just fuck me already!"

You chuckled darkly, enjoying the way he squirmed beneath you. "I think you need to learn some manners first, don't you think?" You sped up, just enough to push him to the edge, but not enough to let him over it. He was a mess, squirming and whining, desperately trying to find any release.

"Stop teasing me!" Anakin's voice was a little more desperate now, but still laced with defiance. He was so close, yet you weren't letting him come.

"You've been such a brat all day," you murmured, leaning down to whisper in his ear. "You think you can talk to me like that and get away with it?"

You let go, your pace stuttering just long enough to make his breath hitch. His eyes widened in frustration, then the moment of real desperation hit him.

"Please... I'll be good... I'll listen. Just please, please let me come," he begged, the bratty defiance gone from his voice, replaced with something much more needy. You finally let him have it, speeding up and pushing him over the edge with an almost cruel force. His body jerked up against you as he moaned, losing control completely.

The satisfaction on your face mirrored the one in his eyes as he collapsed back against the bed, panting heavily, a defeated but completely satisfied look on his face. You smirked down at him, running your hand through his hair.

"See?" you whispered. "All it took was a little patience, and now you know your place."

[starmocha]

Affinity 94 Phone Call — As You Wish

This entire phone call was so good, so I recorded the whole thing rather than try to pick a few moments.

Just...Sylus instinctively sensing something wrong from a social media post and calling to check in...and genuinely wanting to listen and comfort.

MC's feelings here are coinciding with how I've been feeling lately. I've been feeling like I'm heading into another depressive episode, so when I was listening to Sylus...I started crying IRL, because it felt like he was validating my own feelings instead of making me feel forced to bottle it up so others don't feel uncomfortable.

"I don't want to be my best self." — this hits so hard. I've been at this low point before, and it's such an isolating feeling when no one understands you and even villainize you for feelings beyond your control, so you just learn to keep things locked up and it festers horribly.

To hear Sylus say, "Give yourself a vacation" is...refreshing? It's almost like saying...you're allowed to rest. It's alright if you need to step back from everything. Find time for yourself.

"Rest if you're tired. Cry if you're sad." — the latter is what I needed to hear the most, because growing up with depression and anxiety, the number of times when I've had breakdowns, I was told to stop crying did more damage than good for my mental health. I love that he doesn't see crying as a weakness, a flaw, a hindrance, a discomfort for others, but rather, it's a necessity to help you heal.

Sylus basically saying, "Do what you need to do to make yourself feel better. I'll stay by your side." 🥺

Sylus being our ride or die ❤️‍🔥

"I'll run away with you." 🥺💞

He's not pressuring you to speak when you're not ready. He would rather you tell him yourself when you're comfortable instead of him prying.

Just...him validating your feelings, your frustration, your anger and sadness.

His voice is so soothing throughout, but especially in certain parts when he's comforting you. It felt like a warm embrace and a gentle kiss.

Group crying session - who's joining me 😭🫂❤️‍🩹

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM BRIDE *  assorted dialogue from the book by ali hazelwood, some lines reworked to suit a roleplay format, adjust as necessary

every second, i want you too much, and every second, i'm on the verge of wanting you more.

you're not a problem, [name]. you're a privilege.

of all the good things i've felt in my fucking life, you are the best.

you think, but you don't know.

i would take anything you chose to give me.

i would take your problems, your gifts, your moods, your passions, your jokes, your body... i would take every last thing if you chose to give it to me.

maybe you're not meant for the way i'm meant for you, but i'm going to choose you anyway, over and over and over again.

you smell like you're mine.

some nights, when i'm walking past your door, i have to whisper to myself "keep going."

what i am is an adult woman with agency and the tools to make choices. feel free to, you know, treat me accordingly.

maybe there is something devastating about the incompleteness of it.

maybe some things transcend reciprocity. maybe not everything is about having.

honey... are we rich?

you make me want to draw again.

that was a badass speech.

stop reading my file.

badass is my middle name.

i don't know you enough to make a judgment.

your jeans are cool.

there is no world, no scenario, no reality in which i'll gracefully allow you to leave me.

spank me and take away my tv privileges.

i have no friends, no hobbies, and no real purpose aside from earning enough money to pay rent in order to... exist, i guess.

stop playing with your food.

other people's approval is a powerful drug.

at times, there are decisions that feel right.

i've seen you use your phone.

you type "google" into the google bar to start a new search.

you need to be told the right things.

you're intelligent and incredibly skilled at what you do.

you're very beautiful to look at.

am i under your protection?

i won't take your freedom. not when so many others have already done so.

if they murder me, avenge me?

any preferences on how?

be creative.

please don't leave.

how the fuck do you smell like this?

you smell like you just came.

i don't know what it is about me that says "please make yourself at home on my lap," but i'll have to fix that.

i could fuck you very nicely right now. i almost did.

i was trying to check my email.

you don't have friends.

what the fuck did you just do?

do you accept?

i am the victim here.

how many people have you killed?

you went limp in my arms, and i was so fucking scared.

i need you to behave.

hope you packed a lint roller.

i fucking love your scent.

can i play with you?

i'm too tired to keep them at bay.

i've taught myself not to care. about anything.

[amoirsetpacis]

★ --;; " ... Thank you," he says quietly, after another stretch of silence. It's not perfect; he didn't expect it to be. But it's something. It's enough, for now. Even after all that sleep, the enormity of the situation has still left him feeling so damn tired. All those walls that Wolfwood had so easily slunk through and ignored so long before stood no chancer when being pieced back together so shoddily and half-heartedly. Vash isn't even sure that they could be put back in their entirety; if they had been, they would have probably been useless again just as they had been before, not matter how much Wolfwood had hurt him.

Because even if the thought of it now makes his stomach churn, Vash had been no better once upon a time, hadn't he? Had carried that anger with him for a century and a half, hot and bright. It had taken all that time to finally learn to simmer instead of boil; Wolfwood's time to process paled in comparison. It's no excuse, not entirely, but the reminder sits in the back of Vash's mind in an attempt to try and quell the hesitation that still sits there with him.

"I can't say it's alright," he finally continues. " 'Cause it's not. It won't ever be." What had been done could never be undone. They both knew that. Wolfwood had just said so himself. Whatever would come to pass in the wake of it would to be stopped from a levy built of apologies. "And I still... I'll forgive you. Just- just not right now. ... But thank you."

He wants to move now, truly, but still feels impossibly rooted to his corner, arm still wrapped around his knees. Because he's at fault too, at least somewhat, isn't he? In letting things get this far.

" ... I'll talk to Knives," he says. "I just... I gotta figure out how to go about it." Instead of moving towards any sort of comfort, his chin finds itself cradled against his legs. "You... we were getting better, you know. 'Least, that's what if felt like. But with everything that's changed, I--. I don't know. If I had talked to him sooner, then maybe..."

He had spoken to him though. And a lot of good that had done, the two of them only ending up in an argument. On top of everything else, the fear that everything will go slipping backwards is still a very real one that Vash continues to try and tamp down-- and it's clear how that had gone.

Another deep sigh. "I'm sorry I made you worry so much. I didn't mean to. Wanted to keep it all under control." Finally, Vash's head twists, cheek against his knee instead so he can look at Wolfwood properly. The hollows under his eyes feel heavy.

"When'd we stop actin' like a team?"

As much as he's one to jump headfirst into trouble, he's also prone to running away; running away's what got him killed, eventually, trying to fight a fight he couldn't handle on his own. He did that again here—and now he has to face the ramifications for it, and he's not the only one. The younger Millions Knives will get back at him eventually, somehow, someway—maybe in a week, a year, ten. Biding his time. Who knows.

But everyone else is going to get caught in it, too.

They were already in it.

"What'm I supposed to do," he croaks out, "when he just— hurts you, the runt, the little guy? Yer brother doesn't even know what that asshole's doin' and he's livin' under the same fuckin' roof as him. Seems happy to turn a blind eye."

Wolfwood breathes in. His lungs feels like they're stinging.

"I know it wasn't right. Ain't right. Knew that when I was standin' in front of him n'you weren't there with me."

He wishes he could drum up some sort of pity for a man like Knives; this younger one reminds him of a frightened, hurt child lashing out, if not leagues more cunning and capable of more harm than a little boy throwing a tantrum. But everything comes back to the harm done to their counterparts, both here and in their respective world's, to he and Vash as well, and rage over his own world's Knives complicity through inaction.

But this world is different. He can't be the judge, jury, and executioner. The title of Punisher doesn't mean anything here. Chapel would laugh if he saw him now. Or maybe cry, he was always so prone to his emotional outbursts even when he tried to present himself as calculating, cold, unflappable. His students just had to suffer the consequences.

He can't... be like that. Like him.

"I'm... sorry. For all of it. ...Everything. For gettin' like that again, for tryin' to kill him, puttin' everyone in danger. And I'm sorry for not tellin' ya about..." He trails off. That... can be another conversation, maybe.

[bunni-bun]

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[aishabellasbigblogofeverything]

I love it when women hate men. I love it when women are allowed to vent to each other about how horrible and creepy men are. I love it when women form friendships with and prioritize each other over relationships with men(whether they're attracted to them or not). I love it when women put men dni in their bios and on their nude photos and on posts on their blogs. I love it when women refuse to mollycoddle and accommodate entitled male feelings with "but this doesn't mean I hate all men, I know a few men who are great, I love my father/sons/brothers/uncles/male cousins/guy friends" I love it when women complain about men WITHOUT "not all men" being a disclaimer. I love it when women avoid socializing with/refuse to be around/befriend/get close to men because they know men can't be trusted. I love it when women make "kill all men" jokes. I love it when women offer absolutely no concern or care for men's feelings and if their misandry offends men whatsoever because why should we, men are the oppressor class who have raped and killed and abused us and kept us as subjugated as second-class citizens for millennia, they regularly mistreat us and the women in their own marginalized communities still every single day and make this world so much harder and more awful for us to be in, and if we choose to hate them and not spare them any sympathy then so be it, and I don't just mean "men as a class" either, you can be a woman who doesn't want to have anything to do with any man on an individual basis and completely cuts off men from her personal life too and ykw I will love and fucking support you in that because men deserve absolutely NOTHING from us. If they're so tough and strong then they can handle it just like they can handle being lonely. If you are a woman who hates men, ESPECIALLY IF YOU ARE A LESBIAN AND/OR A TRANS WOMAN, then just know that I love you. I love you, I support you, and you are safe here.

[rawbin-hsr]

OMGGG Your latest smut fic is so amazing!!! The smut is absolutely delicious! but....the angst is breaking my heart so...could you please write a continuation or part two where the reader confronts Aventurine's dark internal thoughts and comforts them? A fic where they actually get him to believe that they love him for real, where they tell him that he's not a monster and that he wasn't ruining them.

You've got it ! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Aventurine x Reader

You treat Aventurine with more respect than he deserves. (Part 2)

Read part 1 here !

CW: dehumanisation (internal, thoughts Aventurine has of himself, referring to himself as a “monster”), lots of mentions of death, passively suicidal Aventurine, violent imagery (through metaphors, nobody is actually physically harmed), intrusive thoughts, Aventurine thinks kind of vicious things about you (refers to you as "stupid", "brainless", "naive" etc), cursing.

Lmk if there’s anything else I should warn about !!

Small note: Spoiler alert sorry, but you will not completely fix Aventurine in this fic. Making any real progress would take YEARS. The trauma he's gone through and his beliefs about his own humanity are EXTREMELY deep-seated, just one conversation would not be enough to make him truly believe he was loved. Super sorry since I'm sure that's not what you wanted (you specifically requested they "truly get him to believe that they love him for real", but this does still end on a hopeful note so I hope you won't be too disappointed (•ᴗ•,, ) )

Sometimes Aventurine gains enough clarity to remember where he stands. More importantly, he gains enough clarity to remember where you should stand. That is to say, as far away from him as possible. Unfortunately, you are never keen on doing that. 

In these moments of clarity, he distances himself. If you won’t do it, he has to. He needs to. He needs to even when he can feel the little pieces of him that you’ve managed to haphazardly glue together splinter into tiny shards again, even when it feels like every step away is a step walked on shattered glass. He can hardly be called a ‘person’ anyways, what does his suffering matter? He has already lost so many good things, why not add another loss to the tally?

He reads your texts, but he doesn’t respond. He hangs up on you the moment you call. By doing this, he makes sure you know he is alive. Both because he knows it would devastate you if you thought he died, but even more so to make sure you know he is intentionally ignoring you. He hopes at least some part of you hates him. He thinks part of him hates you.

But he can never stay away for long. Like a werewolf called by the full moon; like a vampire to blood; like a siren to a sailor. Thoughts of you always cloud his mind too much to do what is right. He reminds himself he will destroy you. He comes back anyways. He is too selfish not to. 

And you welcome him with open arms every time. Sure, sometimes you yell. Sometimes you berate him. Sometimes you cry. But he never does something beyond the bounds of what you’ll forgive, even though he tries to. You’re patient to a fault. Though he feels bad, he never takes it fully seriously, because you always hold him with so much sweetness, even when your words are filled with righteous anger and justified hurt. You always end it by reminding him that you love him. Something clenches in his chest; something that is not his heart, because he has none. He claims he is sorry, but you both know he will do this again. He always does. You know he will hurt you over and over, even if you don’t know the extent. You know he will test you, that he will ignore you, that he will cling to you and that he will taunt you. You don’t know he will drag his claws through you and tear you to ribbons; you don’t know he will sink his teeth into your neck and drink all your blood; you don’t know he will lure you to sea and drown you. You are never aware of the true danger you are in. 

Maybe that’s why you one day feel comfortable enough to corner the creature that has taken on the appearance of a lover. You sit down next to him in bed one evening after one of his many attempts to push you away, your expression grim. You look straight ahead, right into his dead eyes, unaware that a monster is towering over you. 

“We can’t go on like this,” you say. For one moment, the crushing relief and devastation threatens to consume him, and he’s not sure which of the feelings is stronger. For one moment he can’t breathe. 

He hacks our a laugh, his skin straining. Something is shifting beneath his flesh, something ugly and dangerous. He needs to leave and he needs to do it quickly. 

“You’re right, we can’t,” he agrees, his voice a lot more steady than he feels. He feels the urge to grab you and shake you until you pass out. He feels the urge to suck out your life force until your body is an empty husk. He feels the urge to slam your head into the bathroom sink in the next room over. He feels the urge to shoot himself in the head, because he does not want to do any of that. 

“I love you,” you say, unexpectedly. Or maybe it’s not unexpected. You always say such stupid, brainless things. (You say it with sweetness. The only sweetness he can offer in return is the sweetness of bacteria digesting rotting meat. Is the flesh his, or will it be yours?) He laughs again. 

“I thought we were breaking up,” he says. Smirking, as if it’s funny. (It isn’t.)

“No, we’re really not,” you say firmly. He snorts. 

“Maybe we should.”

You don’t answer. Instead, you come closer. 

Get away, he thinks. Run, you fucking idiot. 

You don’t have many flaws, but the ones you do have are insurmountably big. You are too forgiving, you are too kind, you are too selfless, you are too naive. You will kill yourself doing this one day. You will let him kill you.

Your arms wrap around him. He can’t help but relax. The thing lurking under his human disguise grows more restless. 

“I don’t hate you,” you say, unexpectedly. And this one really is unexpected, because what made you say that? Your arms squeeze around him tighter. “I thought I was being obvious enough about that, but you’re so bad at understanding it.”

The feeling he has is the same as the feeling he gets when he realises a deal is going awry. You are the highest risk stakes he has ever made a bet on: will he ruin you, or will you ruin him? What you could do to him is so much more serious than death. He knows that he is holding a losing hand. He doesn’t even know what he stands to win.

You kiss his neck. He shudders. 

“Why are you so scared of me?” you ask. 

Scared? He is not scared. What an outright laughable concept. Neither of you are scared, but if one of you was, it should be you, but you aren’t, for some reason.

“What gives you that idea?” he chuckles, but his voice is not as steady this time, and he can feel his smile slipping. (What is wrong with him? He doesn’t want to think about it. The answer is always ‘everything’.)

“Your hand is shaking.”

It is, but that is not because he is afraid. Fear is a human response, borne from the desire to live. It is instinctual. It means kicking and screaming, it means clawing your way out of hell for the chance to see another day, it means fighting for the life you don’t want to end. He cannot die, you see. Death cannot occur twice. Just because his body reacts, that does not necessarily mean he can truly fear any longer.

(Then again, maybe his reaction does not come from the thought of his death.)

“I’m not scared,” he says, and his voice sounds a lot weaker than he had expected. You pull him closer, cradling his head against the crook of your neck. His blood is pulsing too quickly.

“It would be okay if you were,” you murmur. “I know you don’t know how to be loved. That’s okay. I’ll teach you. You just have to let me.”

Squash. Slice. Tear.

Maybe you are the monster. He can feel your claws prying his chest open; he can feel your teeth dig into his flesh; he can feel something that is not air fill his lungs. The biggest difference between you and him is that he devours, while you give. You painfully shove something back into the cavity meant to contain his soul, you pump blood back into his system, and you fill whatever gaps are left in him with something that is first cold but quickly warms. 

(He realises, belatedly, that something is pumping inside his chest again. But it can’t be a heart, can it? He lost that so long ago.)

“I’ll kill you,” he manages through gritted teeth, claws digging into your shirt. It is not a threat. It is not a warning. It is just the truth.

“You think too much,” you admonish him. Your tone is as gentle as your words are cutting. “I wish you would trust me more. You’re so determined to ruin your own life, and I don’t like it.”

“That’s just how I am. Deal with it or leave.”

“I’ll deal with it, then.”

Like a werewolf called by the full moon; like a vampire to blood; like a siren to a sailor. He will destroy you. But you accept it. 

He has tried time and time again to push you away, but he is weak. So incorrigibly weak, and though your flaws are insurmountable, his are all-consuming. He is a monster in all the ways that matter. But you stubbornly will not leave despite that. 

(Maybe that makes him a little more willing to try to change his nature. Just a little. Just for you. If you will not leave anyways, maybe he could try to make his presence a little less torturous.)

“Just… please stop ignoring me,” you sigh, nuzzling into his hair. Tenderly, tenderly, tenderly, so tenderly it makes his skin crawl. Your claws are softly piercing into him and he is helpless, unable (unwilling) to fight back. “I can deal with everything else. I just hate it when you do that. I can’t keep going weeks without speaking to you. I know you have some kind of… weird ideas that I’d be better off without you, but that’s not true. I love you, and I love being around you. I can’t help you when you cut me off at every corner.”

Cut, slice, slash.

Something in him breaks. Something he knows cannot be salvaged. Something he knows you would not want to salvage. Something he is not sure if he wants to salvage either, now that it is broken anyways.

He breathes a shaky breath, his fingers — his fingers, not claws, not this time — digging into your back. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, and he does not feel the urge to bite down. Though his eyes feel wet, it would not be enough water to drown you. 

He knows your line of logic is wrong. He knows the fact remains unchanged: he is a monster of a man. He will ruin you. But maybe your presence sparks enough electricity to keep his heart pumping, just for a little while, and maybe he can wait until things actually start going downhill before he lets you go. Maybe he can remember how to be a human for a bit, maybe he can pretend he is. 

“I just… don’t want to do something I can’t take back,” he whispers. “Not with you. You’re the… the only good thing I have left. I don’t know what I’d do if I…”

“That’s sweet, but I’m not as weak as you think I am,” you reply. “I’ve held out this long, haven’t I? Put more faith in me.”

He smiles.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

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My inbox is open, feel free to send in asks or requests, I'd love to ramble about things <3 Also reblogs are EXTREMELY appreciated the final push I needed to finish this was from a very kind individual who reposted and analysed my writing I've been riding that high ever since they did that ily bro

[fisheito]

my princess nonsense is being encouraged watch ouyt imabout to be eneaabled

OK WHATF ATHAT'S SO CUTE I HAD TO MAKE IT i know realistically there's little to no chance that rei DOESN'T know how to work heels 🤣 BUT IMAGINE.....ING.... YAKUMO GENTLY GUIDING REI IN HEELS, WEEKS BEFORE THE BIG GALA AND HAVING NONE OF HIS NORMAL FEAR OF PHYSICAL TOUCH BC HIS [TEACHER MODE] IS OVERRIDING HIS INSECURITY

[mod2amaryllis]

who else haunted by an apology you never got the chance to make???? 🤪🤪🤪

[queen-scribbles]

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