#i think they changed from sun and summer to fire and rage

[not-my-digital-footprint]

okay so there has been consistent mentions of gods from different pantheons having overlapping domains

it seems likely that ankarna was similar domain to sol/helio but for giants, than was slowly changed from sun/summer to fire (probaly when they became a fiend)

maybe sol used the marriage as a ruse to join pantheons and take over full control of the sun domain?

[mccoyquialisms]

my fantasy high red-string-conspiracy-theory-board-of-the-main-mystery lore tracker (a long ass post) (because I love both mysteries AND organization of inconsequential information):

rough chronology of events:

In ages past there is a wedding attended in the Chaos Mountains by Sol and Galicaea of their sister the Witch Goddess to an unnamed giantkin god. This god is a summer god, sibling of the giant winter goddess Ruvina

Over centuries, the unnamed god's domain changes from the sun and summer to fire

This unnamed god is killed and their name was wiped from history. The other gods remember who this being is, but due to obliviati mori, cannot reference them directly to mortals. Red shatter stars appear around this time

850 years before present day, the Witch Goddess's name is erased by her followers (encouraged by followers of Galicaea) and she is transformed into the Nightmare King. Before she does she performs the 4 trans-substantiations to resist being "unmade". Her familiar Kalina becomes a plague and begins to spread through the mortal populace. These events likely happen after the death of her spouse, as there is no reference to a spouse when the Witch Goddess was previously mentioned

Roughly 4-6 years before modern day, the pit fiend Bakur attempts to resurrect his god, whose name was lost "so they could not be worshiped." The return of this god is felt to be a significant threat to the world. Lydia Barkrock and her adventuring party stop him by sealing Bakur in a red gem in Lydia's chest, where she keeps him imprisoned with her rage

The Ratgrinders, then called the High 5 Heroes, meet in freshman year and consist of Kipperlilly, Oisin, Mary Anne, Ruben, Ivy and Lucy.

They xp level up by killing rats, twig gremlins and other small magical creatures in the woods behind Aguefort

The events of freshman year happen and Kalvaxus is released. During prom, Ragh spots Jace Stardiamond talking to Arianwen. He is later "barbarian healed" by Porter and after this can see Kalina. Kalina finds Ragh later and threatens Lydia if he talks about what he's seen

Sophomore year spring break happens and the Nightmare King is transformed into the goddess now named Cassandra

At some point Lucy began to return to the woods after party sessions to revive the rats they killed. She did this long enough and with enough regularity that the rats remember her name/face well and think of her fondly

Paperwork is submitted for Lucy to change her god from Ruvina to a god whose name cannot be read, just before her disappearance. A few days later a second request is submitted to withdraw this change. Neither form was ever seen by Lucy's teacher Yolanda Badgood

Lucy was killed near Lake Shimmerstone by multiple assailants with both weapon and magical damage towards the end of sophomore year, in the period of weeks after grades were complete, but before summer break. The area has multiple uprooted trees, some of which were used to hide her body. Unholy rites were performed over her body to force her soul to the beyond, so she cannot be revived.

Lucy is reported as dead but her body was never found. She was described as "not alive in this material plane" via divination

Because of the timing of her death, her party was not moved to pass/fail as all grades for that year had already been submitted

Night Yorb and the long dark summer happens

Buddy Dawn, a cleric of Sol, is specifically requested by the Ratgrinders to be their new cleric for junior year

Also over the long dark summer, the Loam farmers are accused of embezzlement and the Frostyfair festival is moved from there to the Thistlesprings tree at the recommendation of Lola Embers. Sklonda Gukgak is assigned as the Loam couple's public defender

Kipperlilly finds or is found by the rogue teacher and has passed the whole of junior year

Junior year begins. On her first day, Kipperlilly questions Jawbone on where YES! was created

Kipperlily announces she is running for student body president and her primary platform is for uniform equity under the rules without "favoritism"

In the mall of the Synod, the event that kicks off the battle is Cassandra becomes angry hearing Kristen isn't coming to help find followers. She says "This isn't fair!" as a razor-sharp flickering star of red light emerges from her chest. 24-point, red shatter stars infect nearby wizards and turns them into rage-filled, violent, giant versions of themselves. The people taken over by the shatter stars are instructed by an unknown voice to attack Cassandra

Cassandra is able to be calmed by a high persuasion and when she does, she expels multiple shatter stars. She seems to recognize them and says "I thought you were dead.”

Before Kalina is taken over by the shatter stars, she looks to Riz and says "Ragh Barkrock". She then slits Cassandra's throat, triggering a new round of rage in Cassandra

Cassandra suffers multiple attacks and begins to transform into a giant, red raging version of herself and attempts to kill the party. Before she's successful, the gang are swept away in a time loop back to Spyre. The Bad Kids see the Synod is destroyed, and Kristen finds she has shards of Cassandra in her pocket

Kristen attempts to commune with Cassandra and hears a voice say "She is at my side once more." The voice then mocks Kristen with YES!'s body and then tells Kristen it is coming for her, and it will break her irrevocably.

Ivy sees Fig disguised as Lucy at the party at Seacastor Manor, and has an inscrutable reaction to it, but did not seem surprised

The cloud rider engine in Fabian's basement is broken and a piece is found missing

Kipperlily does the food truck event with the subliminal OK messaging on the packaging

Ruben Hopclap performs at FrostFaire when he is attacked by Principal Grix. Grix is eventually killed by Fabian. The Bad Kids determine Ruben was doing some kind of ritual with a song about anger above an arcano-tech array in a 24 point star pattern, successfully releasing a large amount of some type of magical energy.

Simultaneously, Yolanda Badgood is killed at Lake Shimmerstone by immense concussive force damage, and afterwards her body is expertly hidden. She is subjected to the same unholy last rites that Lucy was.

The Bad Kids find Lucy and Yolanda's bodies, and Kristen releases their souls, who travel to the beyond on a "trail of moonlight"

Sklonda's clients are found murdered

Mazey reveals that the Vice Principal (i.e. Jace) does not become the Principal, and it would be the student body president who becomes the new principal of Aguefort

additional info we can reasonably infer or that don't fit neatly in the timeline:

Buddy's grandparents, and likely Buddy himself, have a vested interest in his grandfather becoming the cleric teacher. He went to Aguefort and is familiar with the school. Presumably he wants this to be able to preach about Sol and spread his influence

At some point before her death, Yolanda told Jace about her concerns regarding Lucy's deity-transfer paperwork

Cassandra is not dead, but is "beyond reach"

Lucy and Yolanda were noted to be in "realms beyond", which Brennan specifically noted they were taken from and "whatever was happening there"

The Ratgrinders are gunning for the bad kids and seem to be orchestrating situations to try to get them to take drugs

Porter's philosophical discussion with Fig regarding the concept of protection and how that is often inextricably tied with rage, that one can act as a fuel for the other

Porter is a paladin of the ancestors, and at some point was mentioned to be a goliath, though this seems to be debated in canon. If true, it's possible he's a descendant of giants

Kristen bring's up Sol's wrath and Buddy does not refute this, agreeing Sol's wrath is a well known aspect of him and he has been quite angry because of the dark summer/night yorb situation

As above so below. What the gods do affect their mortal followers, but conversely, what the mortals who follow them do also affect the gods

A god can only come back from death in a place a god had been born or created, meaning Bakur's decision to try to revive his fallen god in the Red Waste was what doomed it to failure

Bakur's documents are written in the language of giants, and his deity is said to be from the same region as Ruvina. Combining this with Adaine’s research, and the “mitochondrial magic print”, Bakur’s god is Cassandra’s former spouse

The cloud rider piece was likely stolen by the Ratgrinders as Kipperlily asked Aelwyn to research schematics of the device

Kipperlily seems to be keeping information from some of the other Ratgrinders, telling Aelwyn she needs to "protect Oisin" from their shady deals

Kipperlily's mother works for the city treasury and her father is in real estate. Neither are super wealthy, but Kipperlilly has been paying Aelwyn large amounts of money to obtain arcane components. Given the timing of this with the disappearance of a large sum of money from the Frostyfair accounts, the timing of the murder of the people who were blamed for it, and that the new chosen location happens to be the home of one of the Ratgrinders rivals, the Ratgrinders involvement is thought to be likely

Cassandra's whispered clue of "spies, tongue, curse"

Places outside Spyre, like the Synod, are easier for dead gods to reach

For whatever the Ratgrinders have planned, a student being the principal of Aguefort is essential for it. A lot of people have had to be conveniently absent or dead for this circumstance to occur.

This is all not even touching Aguefort's whole journey through time and possible time quangle issue and whatever the fuck Fig's Bad Luck Thing is. I'm not convinced that these are related to the god stuff and are likely their own separate issues. also, I am tired lmao. If you want to hear my rambling theories, I'll be making a separate post.

[littlestarlightseverywhere]

Do Your Worst

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel’s lover is having a hard time, but no amount of acting out can push him away

Warnings: mentions of violence (torture)

Notes: Sorry for the silence, I’ve been having terrible writer’s block but I think I did okay with this one!

Image Credit: Pinterest

Today was rubbish. Probably one of her worst days yet. 

It had been exactly two months since Hybern captured her from Azriel’s post and took her to their war camp deep in the Spring Court’s woods. Exactly two months since she’d been tortured for information she’d die before giving up. Exactly two months since she’d made peace with her death. Rhys couldn’t track her immediately, Mor and Feyre’s searches came up empty each time, and even Azriel’s shadows couldn’t pick up a clue. Azriel had driven himself mad, downright insane, trying to find her. Each day he spent every waking hour looking for clues, scouring the forests for her scent, and each day he returned to bed with nothing to show for it. It took Amren and Nesta a month to finally locate her. In that month she laid cut and bruised, chained to a wooden post like an animal, struck, cut, and burnt for every question she refused to answer. They left her in the middle of that camp, exposed to the heat of the day, the cold of the night, the rain, the wind, and the thunder. They made her into a spectacle. 

She only thought of her family, her Azriel, the entire time. My Azriel, she’d think each time they brutalized her. My Azriel, my Azriel, my Azriel. Rhys collapsed when she allowed him into her mind after they brought her home. He would never forgive himself for sending her on that mission, nor would he ever show his brother what she’d shown him, for Azriel very well would have sent Prythian to immediate war. 

And while the cuts, bruises, burns, and broken bones would heal completely, the skin of her back would forever be changed, marred with angry, raised scars from a heavy leather whip. She could barely walk. 

The first time Azriel saw the lashes on her back, he was helping her undress the night she returned home. Each movement caused her to cry out in pain. She tried to bite her lip, clench her fist, grip Azriel’s arm, tried anything to keep from crying, but nothing helped– the pain was too much. It would’ve been a mercy from the Mother to fall apart, limb by limb, bone by bone, instead. 

Azriel had seen all the other scars when Madja was working on her; those alone made him sick and wild with a hideous rage, potent enough to crumble the mountains surrounding the city into nothing more than powder on the ground. The lashes on her back– the thought of some wretched male stripping her and lashing a whip over her soft, warm skin in the mud and rocks– filled him with a fury so intense, so horrid, he could’ve wrapped his bare arms around the sun and pulled it down to earth. Set everything on fire. 

That very night, with names in his ear courtesy of the shadows and Cassian and Rhys positioned at her door, Azriel made each of those names pay. He was back by sunrise, tucked into bed beside her, wing draped over her restless body, and she was none the wiser. 

“You’re killing it,” Madja’s appointed physical therapist, Jarrah, encouraged as he watched her do her exercises. He was tall and muscled with glittering, golden-brown skin, looking ever the Summer Court high fae that he was. 

“It’s killing me,” she ground the words out, mincing each syllable as they passed through her teeth. Pain gripped her legs, lower back, and upper arms like a vise as she fought to complete a rep, the movements squeezing every last bit of energy out of her and collecting on the mat below in puddles of sweat. “I can’t do it, Jarrah.” 

“You can and you will,” he squared his shoulders at her, smile fading as he willed her to find her strength again. In recovery, he’d taught her, there were good days and there bad days– healing was not a linear process. 

Some days she did well in physical therapy and pushed herself– the pain only meant she was getting stronger. Azriel would be absolutely beside himself with pride and their friends echoed as much. 

Other days, her body seemed to give out in protest, the pain too unbearable, and she’d wonder if she’d ever be the same again. Azriel would encourage her– she knew it wasn’t pity– but she couldn’t stand it all the same. She’d collapse onto the floor against her will during physical therapy, shoving Jarrah away with shame when he’d tried to help her up each time. Sometimes, she’d wake up in the dead of night, clammy, and nauseous from a nightmare that felt more and more real each time she had one. Azriel held her to his body whenever she’d jostle awake, heaving and shaking, stroking his warm hands up and down her arms. Other nights he held her hair back as she retched her dinner into the toilet, panting and crying silent tears. 

“To expect linearity is to set yourself up for failure,” Jarrah lectured during their very first session when all she wanted to do was get to the hard stuff, to prove that she was alright– that she was still whole. Jarrah did not mind her bad days, but something died within her every time she left training without making any notable progress– every time her body failed her when her mind seemed to be giving its all. 

From the moment they started their session this morning, Jarrah noted her body was fatigued and her mind was somewhere else. Oh dear.

“We can take a break–” 

“No!” She buckled down and held her position, determined to prove to herself that even on her worst days she could succeed. It was the most enthusiastic response Jarrah had gotten all session from her so he allowed it. He watched her body tremble from the strain, the sweat bead at her temples, the fatigue in her eyes as she fought the pain in her spine. 

Her body could not bear it anymore. She felt her traitorous legs give out beneath her and the ground came up faster than she could register, faster than Jarrah could react. A strangled cry crawled from her throat as she collapsed and her body trembled in a pain her mind could barely process. 

“Fuck,” a familiar voice rang out from the gym’s entrance and Azriel ran in. Just great. What was he even doing here? After the first training appointment in which Azriel could barely keep himself from choking out Jarrah and coddling her, he agreed to not interrupt her sessions thereafter. His disregard for their agreement made her feel so small. 

“Fuck,” Jarrah echoed. He was at her side in two steps, arms outstretched to help her up, but she scooted away as fast as her leadened arms would allow, turning her face away in shame. 

“Don’t touch me!” She croaked. 

Jarrah stopped himself by the time Azriel was at her side, crouching beside her and taking up what felt like all of the oxygen in her space. Breathe, she tried to remind herself but with Azriel hovering and Jarrah a foot away, both watching her crumpled pathetically on the mats, she couldn’t. 

“Are you alright?”

“Get her some water!”

“That’s enough for today, let’s get you some food.”

“... My love?”

Azriel’s soft voice pierced through her terrible thoughts. She felt his strong hands reach under her armpits to help her up but she pushed against his biceps, swatting him off in a desperate attempt to move away. But the pain made her so dizzy, it was difficult to create any real distance. 

“Don’t!” she cried out, for it was all she could do, and Azriel dropped his hands immediately. “I can get up on my own.”

Azriel didn’t move. Jarrah placed a comforting hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “We should give her some space.”

Azriel clenched his jaw but it didn’t stop the twitching of his upper lip. He stood abruptly, swiveling on his heels so his face was only mere inches from Jarrah’s, who’d since quickly retracted his hand to himself. To his credit, he kept his shoulders square, but even he wasn’t immune to the pure threat in the Shadowsinger’s glare. 

“My mate is in pain, she can’t even stand up, and you want to leave her like this?” He growled. 

Anger grappled her lungs, stealing whatever air she’d managed to collect. That was the problem. “I can stand up, Azriel. I’m not made of glass.” 

It took her a few minutes, but she did it. She first rotated her hips so she was on her hands and knees. With one foot underneath her, she pushed herself up, trembling, sighing, moaning as her body resisted the upward movement, but she finally stood. 

Azriel clenched his hands at his sides to anchor himself back, to resist from helping her. He knew she was capable of doing anything, that she didn’t really need him. Part of the reason he was so hesitant to pursue her all those years ago was because she was so independent that it intimidated him. Azriel wasn’t sure what he brought to the table, what he could do better that she already did for herself, how he would fit into the life she’d built for herself. 

But that didn’t change the fact that he would still do anything for her. It didn’t take away that primal need to protect her. He tried his best not to suffocate her but sometimes he couldn’t help his instincts when his love for her outweighed everything else.  

She allowed Azriel to link his arm with hers as she waved goodbye to Jarrah, silently apologizing for Azriel’s outburst. 

“Let’s get you something to eat, yeah?” His voice was soft as he led her out of the gym and to the townhouse’s sunlit sitting room. “You did so good today, love.”

“I’m not hungry.” Was all she replied. She couldn’t stomach anything after such a rubbish session. Fear that she would never be the same ever again set in, but nobody would understand. No one could even fathom what it would do to her if she couldn’t keep doing her job, going on these missions, protecting this city. If she was relegated to a desk for the rest of her life, she’d have lost everything she’s ever worked for.

“Sure you are. At least something small to keep the medicine down.” 

Madja had her on a cocktail of herbs and elixirs– something for the pain, something for the scars, probably something for how fucked her mind had become– she couldn’t keep track. Azriel kept track for her. She swallowed the pills and the bitters he gave her and allowed him to rub the salve into her scars before bed. Whatever. This was life now– being shoddily held together by some combination of antibiotics, gauze, and ointments. 

She shook her head in defiance and Azriel sighed, stopping her just before the doorway to the living room where the rest of their friends sat. She was so stubborn– if she didn’t want to do something, no one could get her to do it. It was a quality he admired but also a quality that drove him downright mad at times like this.

“What’s bothering you?” 

“You mean besides healing at a snail’s pace and sitting on my ass all day in this house while everyone else goes to work– fulfills some sort of purpose? I’m doing just great.” The smile did not reach her eyes. 

Azriel tilted his head as if to say No, really. I know there’s something else. He could read her like a damn book– it had always been that way. 

She hesitated for a moment before confessing, “I don’t know if I’ll be the same ever again.”

Azriel’s face softened at the anxiety that weighed on her shoulders so heavily they sagged. 

“Of course you will, love. It’s only a matter of time.”

“It’s been two months and I can’t even climb the stairs without needing a break. My body hurts by the time I go to bed. I can still feel my back– the scars–” the words caught in her throat and she quickly cut herself off before she choked on them, unable to talk too much about it without feeling her body and mind repulse. 

“Come here,” Azriel wrapped his strong arms around her frame and pulled her into his body so close their hearts beat in sync before each other as if in private conversation. “The physical training, the medicines, the therapist, you’ve got it all going on. No one here is working harder than you right now.”

“But what if it isn’t enough,” she mumbled into his chest, a single hot tear catching on the fabric of his sweater. She turned her face into his chest to wipe the tear away completely and Azriel’s heart broke for her. He wished he could reach into her chest and pull out the pain with his bare hands, fly with it to Ramiel and drop it at the peaks where it could never find its way back to her ever again. “You know better than anyone, you could do everything right and it still wouldn’t matter. I just need to get better. Be myself again.”

“I will love you no matter what happens. Even if you are never the same, I will still love you. This changes nothing.”

She pushed him away abruptly, hastily wiping away tears as if Azriel couldn’t see them. He didn’t get it. This wasn’t about him, about him loving her. This was her life. If she couldn’t get back to who she was, fill the roles she’d spent her whole life caring about, where would she stand among her family? Where would she stand in this life? In this world? 

“But it changes everything for me,” her eyebrows furrowed incredulously. “I want my body back, my mind back. Thanks for letting me know you’d still love me if I were to be this fucked up forever, but that’s literally the last thing on my mind right now, Azriel. I don’t want to be fucked up forever, I want to get better, and I need you to want that for me too.”

Azriel tried to find the right words, stuttering in his search to say the right thing. He didn’t mean it like that. He only ever wanted the best for her– would kill for her to have what’s best for her. “I-I didn’t mean–”

“No, I’m sure you didn’t.” She huffed, storming past him into the sitting room. Instant guilt flooded her as soon as she left him. Azriel helped however he could. Perhaps it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t put himself in her shoes in this very situation, but he’d gone through something traumatic too, and Azriel definitely knew a thing or two about helplessness. Still, she felt so alone. Azriel tried, but he wouldn’t understand what it was like to be a woman tortured in a camp full of males. What that took from her. She wouldn’t explain it. 

Azriel watched her storm off, feeling as if he was failing her all over again. Every night, he watched the dullness in her eyes grow as he handed her the medicines. When she laid down in their bed with practiced monotony so he could rub the salve into the scars stretched across her back, he bit the inside of his cheeks to keep from crying. They were nasty things, raised and swollen with blood and she flinched every time he touched them, as if he were delivering the lashings all over again. She was hurting and he felt so helpless. He vowed to always protect her and take away her pains but he could do neither of those things and the thought of it ate him alive everyday. Only the Mother knew the true lengths he’d go to for her. That man would do anything. 

In the sitting room, Azriel brought her a sandwich that he put together in the kitchen. Nuala and Cerridwen insisted that would make it, but he politely refused. He wanted to be the one to do it. 

“Az, I told you I’m not hungry,” She murmured as he handed her the plate. 

“You need to eat something if you want to keep the medicines down,” He reasoned again. 

“I know what Madja said, I was there,” She snarked, crossing her arms. She was so tired of people telling her what to do. Jarrah telling her what exercises to do, Madja telling her what medicines to take, Rhys telling her that she shouldn’t try to work again so soon, Feyre telling her she should take more walks, Cassian telling her to drink less wine, Azriel forcing her to eat more food. 

“Okay, darling,” He placed the plate on the table when she wouldn’t take it from him. 

“Turkey and swiss, okay!” Cassian peeked at the sandwich, nudging her arm. “And he cut it in half too.”

“Just the way she likes it. In half though, not diagonal– too much crust in one bite if it's cut diagonal,” Azriel smiled from where he sat across the table from them. She could have cried at the sight of him, at the love in his eyes, in his voice. Words were never his strong suit but Azriel more than made up for it in acts of service. This was how he showed his love. This was him reaching his hand out, begging for her to take it, to let him in. To let him help. 

And she didn’t know why she had such a hard time letting him in. She didn’t want to seem incapable of anything, and letting herself fall apart the way Azriel would allow her to terrified her. She’d never fallen apart before. She didn’t know how she could do it without completely tearing herself and every past wound open again. It broke her heart to watch his smile falter when she didn’t reach for the plate. 

“I’m going to bed,” she stood up as quickly as her body would allow and left the room. It was too much. Azriel’s disappointment, everyone’s expectations, watching her, studying her, readying themselves to be there for her if she did explode. She never needed this much attention in the past– to receive so much of it all of a sudden made her feel like she was made of porcelain and everyone was expecting her to shatter at any moment. She could hardly breathe in that room and needed to get out before something within her cracked further. 

The stairs loomed before her, mocking with how many there were. Grabbing the bannister until her knuckles paled, she hoisted herself up one step at a time, maneuvering her body so that her entire weight wouldn’t be on one leg for too long. 

Nesta appeared behind her, climbing the steps she’d taken over the course of minutes in just mere seconds, with a stack of books in one arm and a handful of her gown in the other. Nesta stopped a couple steps ahead, turning around and looking down at her through long eyelashes. 

“Well this is pathetic,” Nesta snorted. 

“Fuck off,” she meant to sneer, but it came out in a breathless huff instead. Pathetic indeed.

 Nesta let her skirts fall from her right arm as she extended it toward her. 

“I don’t need your help.”

“You definitely do.”

“Don’t you have those smutty little novels to get back to?”

“Shut the fuck up and take my arm, or bust your ass on these stairs, I don’t care.” 

Begrudgingly, she took Nesta’s arm. Neither of them spoke, but Nesta patiently guided her up the stairs, supporting her where she needed it. Out of the entire Inner Circle, she got along the most with Nesta. Their conversations usually followed a very similar pattern as this one did, but only because they each saw a little piece of themselves in the other, even if they never mentioned it. 

“Heard you being a bitch downstairs,” Nesta finally spoke when they cleared the last stair and stood at the landing so she could catch her breath. 

She couldn’t find it within herself to take offense. “I love him more than I’ve ever loved anything or anyone. I don’t know why I do this,” she confessed. She didn’t need to explain further. Nesta automatically understood. When they locked eyes, that silent comprehension flowed between them again and for the first time since arriving back home from the war camp, she felt relief. The kind of relief that made your heart beat out of your chest and go a little dizzy. The kind of relief that came from being completely understood without having to spend the energy trying to put the thoughts and feelings into comprehensible words. 

“I know. It’s not your fault.” The words fell softly from Nesta’s lips. It was the last thing she said before she led her to the library. They sat in arm chairs across the fireplace and read for hours in each others’ company. No one came looking for her. No one tried to force a plate of food down her throat. No one wanted her to do those stupid mobility stretches. Nobody was asking her if she was okay. It was everything she needed. So why did she still feel restless, like something was missing?

Azriel.

She left the library after she’d calmed down. In the quiet, amongst the books, when she thought that was all she needed, she felt misery instead. She needed Azriel. She wanted to lay in bed with him forever, feel his skin on hers forever, stay in his warmth forever, feel their heartbeats sing side by side forever. Azriel forever. Nothing else would compare. 

When she reached their room, it was empty. Disappointment flooded her chest, but she knew Azriel was giving her space. As she moved closer to the bed, she found a new plate of food waiting beside a note. A remade sandwich, cut down the middle as always. 

Your favorite. Was all the note said. 

Indeed it was. She polished off the sandwich in a matter of minutes, as ravenous as she was. Actually, she was hungry when Azriel first offered one to her in the sitting room, but she was too stubborn to take it then. 

The bath towel beside the note on the bed was warm to the touch. From the soft sound of trickling water in the bathing room, she knew he’d run her a bath. The air above the tub smelled of sandalwood– his scent. As she stripped off her clothes and lowered herself into the warm water, the scent encompassed her as if he was in the room with her right then, waiting to join her. 

Surely, an hour or two must have passed. Her eyes pried open, the water and soap around her body in the tub still warm and feathery like a winter duvet. She didn’t know when she’d fallen asleep, only that it was the best sleep she’d gotten these past two months. For the first time since coming home, she slept with no nightmares and no nausea to rouse her from rest. She didn’t even dream. She simply passed out.

When she finally left the bathroom, her body wrapped in the towel he’d warmed for her, she found Azriel sitting on the bed with a book nestled in his large hands. As she stepped through the doorway of the bathing room, he looked up, smiling softly. Pure love shone in his eyes like a beacon, flashing and blinking in the darkness that war camp left her in. 

At the sight of his soft smile, the gentleness of his features, the relaxed sag of his shoulders, she felt something break. 

Sensing a shift in her demeanor, he lowered the book, eyebrows knitting together. 

"What's wrong?"

Those two damned words. She bit the inside of her cheek, walking weakly to Azriel's side of the bed. He placed his book on the nightstand and sat up straighter, anticipating her next move. 

She climbed into his lap, straddling his hips, and laid her upper body against his torso, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. Her arms wrapped around his body tightly, breathing him in like he was the oxygen she lived off of. Anything else, anything that was not Azriel, and she could just die right there. 

He brought his arms around her tightly, heart sinking when he felt her hot tears on his neck. She did not shake. She did not sob. He only felt the wetness on his skin and the erratic heaving of her chest against his as she fought to regulate her breathing.

He did not say anything else. He held her, unmoving except to rub her back or run his hand over the back of her head, smoothing her hair. His other hand held the back of one of her thighs to keep her in place as she grew increasingly limp in his arms. 

"I've been such a wretch." Her voice was heavy and filled with sorrow. "I've been such a wretch to you. I'm sorry Az."

"Oh my love," He held her as close as he could, willing her to feel the love he held for her in his chest. His love for her ran everywhere his blood did, from his toes to the top of his head, every day and every second, his astonishment of her coursed his body like an electrical current keeping him alive. Without her,  there was no pulse. 

"How do you put up with me?" He felt her wipe her nose on his shoulder and he couldn't help the smile on his lips.

"Because I love you, and I know your anger has nothing to do with me."

"But you should not have to put up with it."

"I will put up with anything when it comes to you. You don’t ever have to worry about that when it’s you and I,” He pulled her back so he could look into her eyes. “You went through something horrible. You’re going to need time to work through it all, but I will be here for every moment of it. I’m sorry if I’ve been suffocating you, darling. I only do it because I can’t help it. When I see you hurting I wish I could take all of it from you and put it in me.”

“I never want you to hurt,” she told him earnestly. The thought of him going through what she did filled her with rage so sudden and consuming she couldn’t begin to imagine what Azriel felt when they finally found her at the camp. 

“I could never when I have you looking out for me,” He smiled that cheeky, boyish smile that came out so rarely. 

“I’ve just been having so many bad days. I should be happy that I’m back home, that I’m safe now. I don’t know why I’m feeling like this, and it comes out at the wrong times in the wrong ways. But I don’t know what I’d do without you, Az.” 

“Even on your worst days, you’re the best of us. So do your worst. I can handle it." 

The disbelief in her eyes melted away when he cradled her head, smiling earnestly– and gods, she wished she could commission Feyre to paint him like this– a man smitten. With all the tonics and creams Madja had forced on her, she had a sneaking suspicion that none of them would truly heal her. They helped the symptoms, but never the cause. She’d accepted that it would take a damn miracle to heal the cause. And here Azriel was, pleading and lovely, looking like her damn miracle. 

She let him undo the towel from around her body and lay her into the soft covers, warm from where he sat while she was in the bath. Turning over, Azriel smoothed the salve over her scars as he did every night. But for the first time in months, she finally replied to his attempts at starting conversation as he worked. For the first time in months, she laughed genuine laughs that felt only slightly foreign– much like old friends– in her throat. For the first time in months, as he tenderly slicked Madja’s balm over her scars, praying to the Mother for her health over each one he touched, she did not flinch. 

[ratgrinders]

So Ankarna used to be a giant god of summer/sun, justice, and conviction who, after her wedding to Cassandra, slowly had her domain changed to instead be fire, rage, and conquest. Specifically, it looks like:

Summer/Sun to Fire: From Brennan's wording it seems like Sol may not have had direct influence over maliciously taking over Ankarna's domain (such as Bakur clarifying "was it Sol or Sol's followers?") but that Sol wouldn't have necessarily tried to stop it if there was a mass effort by followers of Sol, as "the gods play a different game" and don't necessarily like to work with gods of their same domain, their first priority will always be to ensuring their own lives and influence.

Judgement/Justice to War/Conquest: Outright stated by Emily in this episode, Ankarna changes her set of scales (a signifier of justice) to a warhammer. Gorthalax says that it was odd that she studied conquest and that she was a "mistress to her people" who stopped leading her followers and instead followed their will. I think maybe Ankarna's followers, enraged at the injustice of the spreading of Sol's influence and the subsequent eroding of their god's domain would think it Right and Just to fight back against it, which maybe warped over time.

Conviction to Rage: Ankarna, marrying a goddess of doubt, had "the conviction to act with the burning fury of the sun" against those who wronged her or her sister. I keep thinking back to Fig's running arc this season of rebellion being in league with doubt as it represents standing up to what you believe to be wrong. Ankarna, full of conviction that what was happening to her was wrong and unfair and with the strength to act on it, would be filled with rage. (Sidenote: Ankarna gaining influence over Cassandra was exactly this, rage and conviction that what was happening to her was unfair.)

And this all theoretically happened while the god was still alive, before they died/became a fiend. Brennan states back in episode 10 that these fire references and the red stars/blades of fire appeared "around the same time period" as the god's death.

So, Ankarna's domain gets changed by her followers, she acts on their behalf, but then perhaps makes the decision to leave and become a fiend instead because this domain is not sustainable to her, thus leading to the death of her divinity.

[mncxbe]

What looking in their eyes feels like♡

𝒇𝒕. 𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊, 𝑨𝒌𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂, 𝑭𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒊 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑭𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒛𝒂𝒘𝒂

°☆○

𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊

like a hot summer afternoon, peaches ripe in trees and cicadas choiring in the tall grass.

Legs draped over the sides of your wooden chair, you rose your gaze from the book you were reading to take in the image of your boyfriend.

Dazai rose a pearly white cup of coffee to his lips and sipped the chocolate coloured liquid. A little bit of foam lingered at the corner of his mouth and you reached your thumb to wipe it.

Dazai flinched at the sudden touch, giggling lightly. His brown eyes flaked with specs of gold glimmered in the soft evening light. Beautiful, breathtaking.

For someone who wished so strongly to die, he surely seemed to bear the nectar of the Gods, the essence of life right behind his eyelids, pooling in his irises.

"You want a sip?" he asked, handing you the cup and you took it.

After taking a big sip you placed the drink on the little glass table next to you.

Dazai's eyes were still on you, warm, happy, serene. His hand slid up your bare leg, gently caressing your skin.

"My sweet bella..." he hummed, words that you knew were an unspoken "I love you"; and you gave his fingers a squeeze before returning to your book.

In the background, the August sun sank into the city; bright and vibrant like your boyfriend's eyes.

𝑨𝒌𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂

like galaxies colliding, lonely starts somewhere in the depths of the universe.

As you laid among the cold sheets, limbs entangled with your lover's, you caught a glimpse of the lamplight that filtered through the windows in his eyes. During the day, his eyes seemed lifeless, a cold, dark grey of stormclouds; but at night they shone bright like diamonds.

And all for you.

You lazily traced your fingertips along his cheekbone, causing him to raise a brow in confusion.

"Nothing. I was just looking at your eyes. they're pretty" you said in silvery voice, digits intertwining with his atop the cotton pillow case.

"How so?" he asked, so innocently, a tone reserved only for you during these intimate moments.

You took a moment to breathe in, the aroma of your mixed scents bubbling up inside your lungs.

"They're like the North Star. When I look into your eyes I know I'm home." you smiled.

Akutagawa only sighed in response, pressing his lips to your temple.

"You're my home too, darling" he mumbled against your hair before closing his eyes, drifting into a sweet slumber.

𝑭𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒊

like a land of a thousand fires, crying lightning and gold.

Facades. Masks put on to suit his status as the captain of the Hunting Dogs and one of the world's most fierce soldiers. Cold gaze, sharp like a knife and bearing such intensity that any man could crumble; at almost any time of the day.

But as soon as he entered your home, a sanctuary where you waited for him, all rage and iciness melted away from his gaze.

You could see the change, his stern expression slowly shifting to something warm and kind as you beckoned him to join you on the couch.

"How was work?"

"Tiring. I sure hope you had a better day than mine" he said in a spent tone, taking a seat next to you.

"It was indeed" you added and he smiled so gently that for a moment you forgot all sins of his past.

Sighing, your partner leaned against your chest. His eyes seemed glazed, distant, puddles of amber swirling with worry as he fixated a spot on the wall.

Taking notice of his tense state you combed your fingers through his hair, shushing him.

"You ought to stop worrying so much you know. You'll get wrinkles" you said playfully, earning a smile from him.

"I think it's a bit too late for that, don't you think?"

Still, when your gazes met it was so vivid and tender; citrine coloured irises sparkling with love and hope for better days.

𝑭𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒛𝒂𝒘𝒂

like looking at a crystal lake during winter, a thin layer of ice on top

Thin coils of milky vapour rose from the cups of tea before you, placed on round plates on the table.

On the other side of the desk, your partner stood motionless, gazing through the window of his office. No matter how busy his schedule was he always made time for your little afternoon tea, a scared ritual of yours that you'd been indulging in since the beginning of your relationship.

As you took in his features you couldn't help but notice how his eyes mirrored the sky outside; metallic blue, longing.

Fukuzawa's gaze then slid to you, fingers wrapping around the brim of his cup as he sipped the sweet liquid inside. Even after years of being with him, a cold shiver ran down your spin whenever your gazes met during such moments.

It was somehow like an ice burn, but it was a feeling you adored. The look in his eyes however didn't lack tenderness as he reached over the table and held your hand, affectionately running his thumb over your soft skin.

[simplegenius042]

Last Line/s, OC Question and Pinterest Tag Games

Tagged by @cassietrn @cloudofbutterflies92 and @josephseedismyfather

Tagging @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @adelaidedrubman @strangefable @strafethesesinners @g0dspeeed @josephslittledeputy @derelictheretic @aceghosts @turbo-virgins @shellibisshe @red-nightskies @purplehairsecretlair @carlosoliveiraa @softtidesworld @shallow-gravy @icecutioner @imogenkol @inafieldofdaisies @starsandskies @ladyoriza @wrathfulrook @florbelles @skoll-sun-eater @sleepyconfusedpotato @rhettsabbott @afarcryfrommymain @titiagls @voidika @la-grosse-patate @minilev and @thewanderer-000 + anyone else who wants to join.

Given how short this post would be if I just did one each, I decided to do three series for each one. You can find the Last Line/s, answers to the question and pinterest stuff below the cut!

Last Line/s for my original The UnTitledverse WIP A Blast In The Past, my FC5 The Silver Chronicles WIP called Strawberries and lastly my The Invitation WIP from Life, Despair & Monsters called An Invite To Wine And Dine below:

THE UNTITLEDVERSE It is too much for you to handle; the entourage of meaningless yet familiar images assaulting your mind, the thin air in the room threatening to suffocate you, the stress from drowning in the darkness again. And so, my old pal, you collapse.

THE SILVER CHRONICLES Her kiss was messy but swift, unfairly so, and from what he could capture, Nadi's lips had been firm, lacking action and experience, but hungry and desperate all the same. John felt lightheaded in his shock, his palms sweating and his pulse beating faster, his breath lost as he stared at the blonde; her blushed face, the hidden dimples and the surprise forming on her face, even when she was the one to kiss him.

LIFE, DESPAIR & MONSTERS

Evie smiled, but this time it wasn't a kind smile, nor was it a polite smile. Her eyes seemed to darken, the brown that could be seen lost in this supernatural transition. "In truth," she repeated, eyes staring hungrily at her cousin from the other side of the dining table, her audience captivated by her unprecedented display, "I'm here for a change in this family business' management."

Now for the OC Question: How would you describe your character but in a metaphorical way? What feeling, thought, smell, imagery, etc comes to mind when you think of them? Everything from the good to the bad, what are they?

THE UNTITLEDVERSE Lisa Cobalt: Lisa is like a common storm; a persistent chaotic force that pushes others forwards but also away, coming in unannounced and always when you're unprepared, a rapid swing between a gentle harmless drizzle to a raging fit no fault of her own. She is also a form of melancholic pessimism, a frenzy of unreliable and invasive thoughts that make you doubt every decision you make but are ultimately empty. Lisa is the smell of vinegar; sharp and stings your nose, but a reliable repellent against the rust and grime and unclean. Lisa is the feeling of self-doubt and exhaustion that wants you to give up, but at the same time, a drive to know that things aren't done yet, and you have to keep going.

THE SILVER CHRONCILES Silva Omar: Silva is a fire. A fire that never ceases to burn. An unstoppable force that returns every time. A fiery of flames, a dangerous element that is capable of destroying everything around her, an ire to be weary of, and if she so wished, she could engulf the world too. But though a risk her presence can be, she is also a light of safety, a shield of protection, and a source of warmth. An undying existence; one you can stomp out, let sizzle and die, pinch close, put out, but never end, as just like fire, and the right components, she'll reignite. She is a passion; for creativity, curiosity, love, life, the mundane even. She is the determination to keep going, to find the happiness, the peace, the fulfillment in a good ending she deserves. She is the summer and spring, an appreciation for the past but also grounded in the present and looking forward to the new beginning.

AN OLD BALLARD OF CHANCE AND EMBER HEARTS TRILOGY (ORIGINAL WORKS) Discord, the Mad Kin of Carnage: Discord is a slow and yet abrupt end. A decay in nature, the rust on metal, the ash from embers and the end of the material plane. He is the unspoken inevitability of death, destruction and decay. He is the desert that buries pharaohs' tombs, the sea that sunk cities of the past, and the breakdown of societies and empires. Inexplicable chance, unexplained phenomenon. His beating heart like the bells that toll. But he is also the absence of beginning, a disruption of the cycle that begins anew. He is the extinction of life, unfair and cruel, an obstacle of preservation, of progress, of choice and of life. Needless and necessary, constant and brief, an end with no beginning and a breeze that refuses to rest. Discord knows what he is, knows what he does, isn't ashamed of his nature. And that's enough for him.

Pinterest Tag game for OCs from The Silver Chronicles, Life, Despair & Monsters and A Radioactive Calamity Of Love, Bombs & Gore. rules: search ‘your name + core’ on pinterest and post the first 6 pictures.

PAUL YELLOWJACK (THE SILVER CHRONICLES)

[NOTE: I'm not happy with my Pinterest]

SIR ENIGMA MALVOLIO (LIFE, DESPAIR & MONSTERS)

[NOTE: Bottom right image is how I feel about my useless Pinterest]

MARISSA "RESS" BISHOP (A RADIOACTIVE CALAMITY OF LOVE, BOMBS & GORE)

[NOTE: My disappointment in my Pinterest is immeasurable]

[queen--of--shadows]

Scars

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Reader shows Azriel his scars are as beautiful as he is. 

Warnings: mentions of childhood abuse

Word Count: 1,664

Notes: Thank you again @cityofidek for this sweet fluffy request! I hope you all enjoy 🫶🏼 Your comments/feedback are always so appreciated! Xx

---------------------------

Thanks to the increased intensity of Cassian’s morning workouts, your aching feet begged to be closer to the fireplace, so you inched down the couch and flexed your toes against the delicious heat. The plush chenille throw you had engrossed yourself with over the past few nights was almost done, but your tired eyes and sore hands needed a break.

You had been down in the Library for hours, cozying up next to the warmth of the fire and embroidering along the edge of the massive piece you began weeks ago: a garden of lush, blooming flowers against the soft, pink blanket—peonies, winter roses, tulips, twirling vines of jasmine, snapdragons, summer hibiscus, all in bright colored threads and accented with tiny sparkling beads. You came here often—a comforting, quiet refuge from the bustling life upstairs.

You don’t know how or when you dozed off, jolting awoke to the scent of sun-kissed cedar and fresh morning mist. Scrambling to sit up, you immediately recognized who it belonged to.

Azriel’s deep, low chuckle had you quickly rubbing the exhaustion out of your eyes.

“Every time I come down here, I find you asleep over your work,” he said softly with a tsk, head propped up against his fist and one long leg crossed over the other. He was leaning back casually on the couch opposite the one you were just sprawled out on.

“I have no idea when I fell asleep,” you mumbled, gathering and folding up your work. “The fire had me feeling so cozy,” you giggled in a still-sleepy daze, extending your hands against the heat.

And immediately regretting it.

A muscle flickered in his jaw as Azriel averted his gaze towards the back of the small reading corner, where the blaze from the hearth couldn’t reach. The cool darkness was no doubt inviting him and his shadows to hide. At parties and gatherings, he always avoided the fire, his scars running deeper than the surface of his skin. Azriel’s childhood was traumatic and painful, and you knew how he felt about his hands, so you hurriedly changed the subject.

“What are you doing up so late?”

A dumb question to ask. Azriel was always out on long missions and odd hours, working tirelessly to defend and protect his Court; it was one of the things you admired so much about him.

He didn’t meet your eyes when he responded, still facing the dark that beckoned him, his shadows swirling imperceptibly faster around him to create a soft, shielding cocoon. “I just got back from dealing with Devlon and his cronies.” Forearms braced against his muscled thighs, he looked down at the palms of his hands, picking underneath his nails. Something deep in you stirred at the distant, harsh tone of his voice, and before you could think, you crossed the small distance to where he sat on the old, worn leather couch.

“Is everything okay?”

Another dumb question—you cringed, wanting to shrivel up and disappear knowing you were making the situation worse, let alone provide any comfort.

Azriel kept his eyes locked on his hands as if he was alone and you were no longer sitting mere inches from him. His silky dark hair, tousled from his flight home, was long enough to hang in front of his brow, almost covering his eyes.

“Sometimes…I remember how much sin I’ve committed with these hands. How many people they’ve hurt, how much pain they’ve inflicted.”

You didn’t move, didn’t dare to.

“Sometimes, when I think about it, I hate it. I hate myself. I hate these grotesque hands that cause so much suffering,” he breathed, a cool, icy rage lacing his voice, barely above a whisper.

Your mouth dried out. Unsure how to respond to the sudden morsel of truth and pain and despair the Shadowsinger had just revealed to you, you remained frozen where you sat.

You and Azriel had been friends for a few years since you moved into the House of Wind and began working in the library under Clotho. During your first months, you joined the Valkyries in training, where you met Azriel, and the two of you quickly became friends. Or at least you considered him a friend, ignoring the crush you developed on him when you first laid eyes on the unbearably handsome Illyrian. His quiet, calming presence had you often gravitating toward him, whether it was at parties, during training, or family dinners—your seat at the table next to him was always reserved.

You hadn’t been able to sleep properly for months after Nesta told you about his past—many years ago when you mustered the courage to ask about his hands.

The same hands he was now speaking of, ashamed of the brutal burn marks that littered his skin.

Heavy silence filled the air between you, interrupted only by the crackling of the burning wood.

“Azriel…” You choked on his name, grabbing one of his hands, solid and sturdy and warm. He looked down at your hands against his, then finally lifted those burning hazel eyes to meet yours. He went utterly still, awaiting your words.

“Azriel, that’s not true. You do what you have to for a reason. Those people hurt others and deserve what comes for them. If it weren’t you, it would’ve been someone else.” You kept your voice strong and steady, and didn’t look away from his intense gaze as you continued. “These are the same hands that have been training me, strong and skilled, and the same ones that bring me tea late at night when I’m working down here. The hands that carry and play with Nyx, loving and kind. The hands that lift up those around you when they’re down.”

Azriel was breathing unsteadily as he said, “No…look. Look at how beautiful your hands are against mine. They’re hideous,” he scoffed, shutting his eyes as he turned his head back to the darkness, clutching his fingers tightly around yours. Azriel’s vulnerability had you trembling as you reached up to cup his face and gently turned him back towards you. “Your hands are beautiful, too, Az. These scars don’t define you,” you assured, tracing your thumb softly along the length of his scars.

Maybe your words weren’t enough.

Not enough to undo 500 years of ache and rage that found their home in the intricate swirls of bumps and grooves atop his perfect hands.

A smile tugged on your lips as an idea popped into your head. “Here, maybe I can help…I want you to see what I see.”

You didn’t miss the incredulous look on Azriel’s face as you shot up and began ruffling through the drawers of the large oak desk in your self-claimed reading nook, digging out a small pouch and scurrying back to a very confused male. “What are you doing?” he asked, assessing the pouch in your hands with his arms crossed over his broad, muscular chest.

“Give me your hands,” you demanded playfully, reaching out with one hand and holding your supplies behind your back with the other. Concern and confusion sparked in those golden-hazel eyes. Azriel reluctantly uncrossed his arms and placed his hands in yours, palms facing up.

You flipped his right hand over and got to work—carefully trimming down the rough, dry cuticles, cleaning the flaking specks of blood from around and underneath his nails, and filing them down.

Nausea roiled against your gut as your mind flipped through the faces of Illyrians you met in the past, wondering whose blood Azriel had to scrub off before coming home.

You swallowed down the thought and worked silently, fully aware of his gaze fixed on you.

After cleaning up both hands, a flicker of your magic summoned a hot towel, steaming with eucalyptus and mint oil. Azriel didn’t say a word as you wrapped his massive hands in the towel, squeezing them together. You took a corner and gently cleaned his nails and fingers before finally pulling out a small bottle of lavender lotion, massaging his hands with your nimble, skilled fingers.

“All done,” you declared with a broad smile and tilt of your head, pleased with your work.

But as you looked up at his unreadable expression, a knot formed in your stomach and a sudden heaviness crushed against your chest. Had you overstepped?

You held your breath as Azriel studied his fingers, flexing and contracting his hands in the deep orange glow of the dimming fire.

Cool relief washed over you when he finally whispered, “Thank you.”

He grabbed your hands and placed a sweet, tender kiss on the back of each, hesitating for a beat to assess your reaction before pulling you in for a hug. You had never seen such a display of affection from the Spymaster, but knew that deep down, he craved this kind of love and intimacy. You wrapped yourself around him, hoping he would finally see what you saw in him—his beauty that shined through even the darkest of his shadows.

“Thank you,” he whispered again against your neck.  

He pulled back but didn’t let go of your hands, his shadows now enveloping you both as the rest of the Library faded away into velvety darkness.

“Let’s go,” he said, standing up tall with his magnificent wings spread proudly behind him, reaching an arm out for you.

“Where?” you asked as you stood, realizing you would follow the beautiful male to the ends of the world if it meant you could make him feel even an ounce of the love you had for him.

“Anywhere.” Azriel pulled you into him for another warm embrace. “I can’t waste a fresh manicure,” he teased with a wink.

Surprise and delight bubbled up inside you. “It’s a date,” you chimed, wrapping your arms around his neck and planting a soft kiss on his cheek.

“It’s a date,” he laughed, echoing your words as he scooped you up with his beautiful, strong hands.

---------------------------

taglist: @cute-baby-ducks @brekkershadowsinger @iangelofmusic @j-pendragonx @foggypeanutmongeroaf @luckypersonmentality @eddiesbixch696 @davinaclaire16 @lexie1o9 @thewarriormoon @halfmeltedcandles @cartoonnerdgirl @wrensical003 @abigailrose98 @cafe-inaaa @moonlightazriel @caosfanblr @redbleedingrose @lovebookie123 @sarahstone217 @minetticatinwonderland @jtargs @bookish-dream @blurredlamplight @rellik181 @simplywitchy @his-sweet-nightmare @theravenphoenix26 @icantthinkofanythingplease @sebby-staan @brooke3132 @azriels-angels @mrs-azriel @sparklymiraclecheesecake @cityofidek @dreambeliever13 @atlascorriganlovescookies @fo-cus @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @elenas-safe-spot @dreambeliever13 @mysticalcheescakemiracle @sarahstone217

[asmotheavatarofhorny]

💙In Love With a Beast

———————————

! Part of the Master!MC saga/series !

———————————

⚠️ Warnings:

• Blood + gore.

• Panic (Lucifer)

• Lucifer x GN!MC

• Hc that demons can smell human emotions

———————————

“Lucifer!” Screamed a voice. A voice that Lucifer had known all too well. His head shot up from his desk and before he knew it he was running- no. Flying towards the voice in question.

The air around him seemed to bow down and whisper to itself at his very presence. It was deafening, assaulting his ears as he flew towards you at an ungodly speed. Demons around him did the same, staring in awe at how he moved perfectly, the only thing on his mind was his human. His Master. You.

He was almost annoyed at how you didn’t bother to summon him properly, and instead opted to scream his name. You thought of it as a game, he assumed. ‘How Fast Can Lucifer Get To Me Before I Do Something That Will Cause My Untimely Death Or Injury?’ It irked him that you thought it was acceptable to toy with him in such a way. To play such frivolous games with the Avatar of Pride himself, but that was your appeal after all. What kind of a servant would he be if he didn’t entertain his master?

After a seemingly excruciatingly long sprint (which had only amounted to a few minutes), he found you. He had followed your scent, almost like a dog. You smelled like raspberries with a hint of lemon and sugar. Like a refreshing lemonade that was the only thing keeping him from melting in the blistering hot human world sun on a summer day. It was the smell you took on when you felt a certain emotion; playfulness.

‘So you do think of it as a game,’ Lucifer thought to himself, feeling the dark skin under his eye twitch with the realization.

You were stood next to some lesser demons, much closer than Lucifer would prefer you to be. He looked you up and down quickly, your knees were covered in… dirt? There was some red substance on your face and—

The smell of pennies.

Coming from you.

You were bleeding.

Suddenly Lucifer felt a fire burning inside of him he hadn’t felt in a long time. He felt pure unbridled wrath boiling inside him, a raging inferno so hot it would take at least a thousand years to put out.

Before he could stop himself he ran towards the lesser demons surrounding you, bearing his fangs like a beast, his demon form flashed; sending a blinding light through the area. A deep red liquid squirted from the lesser demons head like a fountain as he dug his perfectly manicured nails, curtesy of Asmodeus, into his skull.

The demon went limp and his cries went quiet, but he kept going. He ripped him limb from limb, destroying every piece of him. He did the same for the others, blood further imbedding into his gloves.

He stepped back for a moment, admiring his handy work, before looking to you.

You.

Oh fuck.

Lucifer messed up.

‘You were a human. You weren’t supposed to see these kinds of things. You were sensitive. What kind of damage could this do to your psyche? You could be irreversibly changed from this. Shit, why wasn’t I more careful?’ Lucifer thought, his mind racing.

That was until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Luci, you ruined your coat,” you said, pouting. He glanced over to where you were looking, before seeing a large red stain there, on his coat. “We have to go home and wash it before it’s stained.”

What?

You looked up to him, awaiting his response. Your gaze was the same as always. A soft glow in the dark abyss. Your smell had changed slightly. Now it was more bitter, sickening. It made him want to cry like chopped onions. You were… disappointed? About… his coat..?

He cupped your face, moving so slowly as to not scare you. You didn’t move away. You didn’t even flinch. In fact, you leaned into his touch. Completely content with the fact that he was holding you.

Him.

The one who brutally murdered— butchered these demons in front of you.

He sighed hard, letting his eyes close for a moment.

“Master,” he started, “You really are a strange human.” He let himself crack a grin as you looked up at him with a sly glare.“Come along now,” he picked you up bridal style and positioned you to be more comfortable. “Now, what exactly happened here?”

You leaned your head on his chest, nuzzling into the soft fabric much like a cat. Undoubtedly from the fact that he had put on that cologne you liked this morning. “Hmm..” you moaned lightly, situating yourself in his arms. “I fell and scraped my knee. They were trying to take me to the nurse I think,” Lucifer felt his eyes widen at that statement, “They probably would have taken my lunch money or something though, so I can’t be too sure. I just hate that you ruined your weighted blanket for nothing,” you tousled the fabric lazily with your hands.

“Weighted blanket?” He let himself chuckle a little at your analogy.

“Yeah, look at how it’s stitched too! It’s totally a blanket,” you argued.

“It’s a coat,” he stated, “I would sooner accept you calling it a cape.”

“Cape my ass.”

“Language, Master,” he said with a faux-intimidating glare.

“Okay, mom,” you rolled your eyes playfully, giggling a little. Soon enough, you yawned and your eyes felt a little heavier. The smell of roses hit Lucifer’s nose. The smell of infatuation. Love.

Love for him.

He would never understand you.

How could you be…

In Love With a Beast?

[girldragongizzard]

Chapter 1: A Megnificent camping trip

I’m thinking of a title for a book I’m going to write someday. Hey, maybe you’re reading it right now! 

If you are, please know that that title is supposed to be ironic and sarcastically self deprecating.

Because, instead of magnificent, I’m Megnificent. And that totally changes the meaning of the word, and this is totally the most teenager thing I’ve thought to myself in decades.

I’m utterly Megnificent, and I’m stuck in the mountains, and I don’t have survival skills.

I’m watching the tiny speck of a helicopter recede over what I assume is the western horizon. From the birdsong I’ve heard, I’m guessing it’s morning, and the sun is behind me. But also, I just know. I can feel North and South as if they are slopes in the fabric of spacetime, and I feel like I have a sense of which is which. 

And that helicopter, which I hope to one day destroy, almost certainly brought me here.

The sky that it’s flying through is mostly clear, except for a sickly brown haze, and a column of billowing smoke coming from the south side of a mountain the vehicle is flying past, off near the horizon. One of the Summer's forest fires.

The mountain I’m on is basically a big grassy dome surrounded by taller, pointier mountains. I’m on the western slope of it, and I’m looking out over a valley full of grasses and flowers. And I don’t see any wildlife around me except for the bugs that are flying around everywhere. The bugs aren’t very thick, though. Not like how I remember them the last time I went camping in a place like this, way back in high school. The birds I heard must be laying low or around the curve of the mountain and out of sight.

They’re especially laying low after I shouted my challenging cry at that helicopter in rage.

And now I’m alone.

And I’m hungry.

The only experience I have with this kind of situation is a survival unit I had in third grade, three camping trips up into the Pasayten Wilderness with my extended family when I wasn’t much older, and two episodes of Man v.s. Wild that I watched ten years ago.

And all of that was geared toward educating and accommodating human beings. Not a dragon.

I’m a dragon.

A city dragon.

I don’t do this sort of thing.

I need to get back home.

The advice I got in third grade was find shelter as close to where you got lost as possible, find water, stay put, and make yourself as visible as possible. But the advice I got from TV was to find water, find food, and keep moving toward civilization. But those two bits of contradictory advice were given to a human child and an audience of human adults, and humans are endurance hunters, evolved to out endure their prey.

Also, humans can’t fly.

I am, I’m guessing, an ambush predator that flies. I digest my food slowly, and I need to rest right after eating to get it started well. I need to conserve my energy for short bursts that I use, mostly, to catch seagulls to eat and to scare away other dragons. Though, I’ve decided to work on preventing the need for that second one, and there are no seagulls out here.

And the last thing I ate was three pounds of minced chuck on Monday night. It digested fast and gave me a lot of energy, and didn’t result in me puking up a ball of indigestible material I couldn’t recognize.

And now I’m hungry again, and I think I need to find something to eat and then fly west.

I can’t afford to exert myself much while hungry, and no one is going to be looking for me.

On the other hand, I have this fucking tracker threaded through a damn hole in my left horn, and so I’m being watched. So, if I do follow that helicopter, whoever did this will turn around and intercept me.

On the gripping hand? I don’t have a gripping hand and that’s a weird reference most people aren’t going to get.

In my mouth, then – the third consideration that I’m really focused on – most mountains within a day’s car drive of where I live are all generally to the East, and that helicopter is going to land somewhere where there is fuel. I don’t know its range and I don’t know mine. But I can guess that my home is westward, and that following the helicopter will get me closer. However, in this day and age, if I’m still in Washington State, I can’t be more than a day or two of flight away from a restaurant or convenience store or gas station that I might be able to see from the air. I think.

Considering the lack of snow, I’m probably not in Alaska or Canada, I’m guessing. And the area looks vaguely familiar.

I think that I might actually be back in the Pasayten Wilderness.

If they wanted to rehome me but keep me in a climate that is close to what I’m used to so as not to kill me, but in a wilderness area away from people, staying at the same latitude makes a certain amount of sense. So they probably just took me directly east.

Ridiculous.

There is so much that is ridiculous about this.

To review. On the one claw, I need to eat and get back home. On the other, they’re tracking me. In my mouth, though, I’m pretty sure I know just where they dropped me and how to find food I can eat.

It’s mid morning, and to get food I need to fly, and I’m on a mountain. What a great place to start!

I’m way more down on myself than I sound like, I’m sure. I’m leaving out my worst thoughts because I’m actively ignoring them. Partly because I know those kinds of thoughts can be deadly out here. Partly because I’m a fucking dragon, and while I might be domesticated or something like that, I know I can hunt. I’ve done it.

And largely because those assholes drilled a hole through my horn without my consent, and I’m more angry at them than at myself.

I’m still Megnificent, though, for all that means.

Let’s take off and maybe change the meaning of that word a little.

—

I’m flying higher than I’ve ever been and I’m having a crisis.

Below me is the mountain I woke up on. I’ve discovered that it is sort of a crescent ridge, with a shallow slope on the west and south sides of it, and three deep depressions in the middle northeast of it, each with some water at the bottom. One pool of which is large enough I’m going to call it a lake instead of a pond. It’s the southernmost one.

And flying around that lake on the east side of the ridge I woke up on, in the morning sun, is a freaking bald eagle.

I’m pretty sure it’s looking for fish in the lake.

I’m higher than it and it has not noticed me. I’ve been up here for a while, nice and quiet, riding thermals, and it took off from a roost and started circling that lake, looking delicious to my instincts.

But it’s a bald eagle.

Last time I checked, I’m a citizen of the United States and I am not allowed, by law, to eat that.

I think.

I am so hungry, but I really shouldn’t eat the bald eagle.

—

Once I’m soaring, flying around feels a lot like resting, to be honest. It’s almost like my wing-joints can lock into place, and the effort to keep them extended is minimal. And the summer sun keeps me alert and ready to dive at any prey I deem worthy of eating.

If I go too high, there’s a wind that blows me eastward, which I do not want. So, every time I start getting buffeted by that, I drop and head a little further West. But I’m mostly circling right now looking for food and thinking.

I’ve allowed myself to do this into the midafternoon, hoping to catch better thermals and also to maybe find some wild food I can eat to sustain me. But, it’s looking like I’m going to have to get some water soon instead.

I can backtrack a little to my mountain and the lake there.

Or, I’ve gotten high enough I caught glimpses through the western mountains of a huge, long lake running north and south, with the south end right at the base of the mountain that's on fire. And I’m guessing that’s Ross Lake, and there might be people camping there.

I mean, there might be people camping anywhere around here. It’s early September and not a bad time for it if you don’t have kids. But Ross Lake is more dense with campsites, and has roads going to it.

If course, that fire makes it less likely.

On the northwest side of the burning mountain, there’ll be Ross dam, and campsites on the roads, and higher likelihood of finding a tool that can be used to get this tracking tag off of me. If I’m remembering and guessing correctly. If the rangers let anyone camp there right now.

And I think I can make that by the end of the day.

The fire looks like it’s spreading south, not north, and there's the whole bulk of the mountain between it and the lake.

It's worth a shot 

I’m starting to think, based on my flying time and circling, that I maybe could have made it all the way back home if I’d started out that direction first thing.

But I think I want this tracker off before I do that.

—

It’s getting near dusk when I make it to the southern tip of the big long lake, and there’s a dam, and a couple campsites with lights in them. A fire and a camper, I think.

And my eye catches a large, squat looking bird flying between trees below me.

Without thinking or planning, I drop.

It’s not a bald eagle.

The startled and anguished cry of a great horned owl followed by the furious flapping of dragon trying to avoid an abrupt landing must be an odd thing to human ears. I cannot imagine a time in my life before my metamorphosis that I’ve heard anything like it.

The owl’s neck is broken an instant after I slam into it mid air, and I’m not going to bother to describe my process of eating it, because you don’t need to know how awful it is. There are plenty of nature documentaries out there with video footage of crocodiles, alligators, and birds eating other birds, and that’s close enough.

I’m saving my memories of the sensations of it for when I need to appall and horrify someone I don’t like much.

And I’m really hoping there aren’t any three or four year olds camping with mommy and daddy around to have heard or even seen me do that.

I expect that in the half dark of dusk in the wooded mountains, that that would be beyond nightmare inducing.

—

I’m sorry, let’s review.

I was born in 1974, and nothing seemed to fit me. I didn’t like who or what I was, and I was confused about life until at nine years old I saw a movie about cartoon dragons and realized that I must be a dragon stuck in the body of a human boy. Only, I wasn’t a boy, either.

And up until a week and a half ago, I thought that that was my lot in life, regardless of what happened. I didn’t grow out of it. I just buckled down and tried to learn everything I could about dragons while attempting to survive in the ways of my local humans.

And that took its toll, and I was never really able to work, and I ended up on SSI with a couple of disabilities, chronic fatigue and C-PTSD. And then I managed to land a HUD sponsored living situation in the Magnolia Apartments in my home town of Fairport, Washington.

Which is where I was when I awoke on the morning of Saturday, August 24, to find my body mysteriously transformed into the visage of my dreams. Literally. Every detail of it has been familiar to me, if somehow also new, because it matches who and what I am.

And the people I knew, acquaintances who I’d hoped to one day call friends, all bafflingly recognized me even more easily and accepted me into their lives.

It was quite lovely, if bewildering, for three days, until, after my Tuesday counseling appointment, I was attacked in my own apartment, through the wall, by Joel.

Joel is a dragon who I was calling Whitman for a while, because he makes a sound that I’d describe as a “yawp”. And he looks like a cross between a vampire bat, a hippo, and a velociraptor, with the mouth of the hippo, the ears and wings of the bat, and the tail of the raptor. He’s actually a sympathetic guy, but it took us a while to iron that out.

We’re still not on friendly terms.

But, in fighting Joel, I found my challenge cry, which I then started using in the morning like a bird. And the other dragons of Fairport, one or two in each neighborhood surrounding me, answered back!

And that’s how I found out that I wasn’t remotely alone in my metamorphosis.

Somewhere in there, I met and befriended a delightful autistic enby named Chapman with a special interest in dragons and a surprising secret. Chapman almost immediately teamed up with my lovely neighbor, Rhoda, to support me in navigating my new social life as a city dragon amongst other city dragons.

But despite their help, it became a serious mess really quick. Probably because I kept screwing up and making a bloody, violent, and extremely loud nuisance of myself and my neighboring dragons.

I was trying to do things right. I was following my intuition, or instincts, and aiming for a draconic diplomacy. But that doesn’t go over very well with a hundred thousand neighboring humans.

And even though I seemed to have made inroads and plans with Mayor Lynn Chisholm, who’s daughter turned out to be a dragon, too, I also got the attention of the richest land owner in the county, Daniel Säure. And it’s old Dan who is the one that I’m sure owns that surplus Coast Guard helicopter, and the company that runs it.

The last time I encountered the police on poor terms, just after interviewing the mayor, they were armed with tranquilizer darts and working with that chopper, which has Wildlife Management markings on it. A company called Equisetum Wildlife.

And it was they who tranqued me in my sleep and flew me out here, I’m sure of it.

And I’m pretty sure that drilling a fucking hole through my horn is not best practices when it comes to tagging wild animals.

For one, I’m not a wild animal. I’m a domesticated dragon with a social security number and a disability case file. I live in a symbiotic relationship with humans and many of them treat me like one of their own. I even use AAC (Augmentative and Alternative Communication) on a tablet to talk to them. I drink coffee that I buy with my money.

But also, that weakens the horn, and I use that horn. It increases the chance that it will break, right through that hole, and I’ll lose the tracker then. Though that’s not how I want it to go.

I like my horns.

I’m pretty sure they put it there because they didn’t know what else to do, though. I can get to any part of my body with my teeth, except for the back of my head. And I can get to the back of my head with two sets of claws (my foreclaws and my wing claws). They improvised, and I hate it.

So that probably gives you an idea of why I’m in the mood I’m in while I’m swallowing that owl whole.

Did I ever mention that I can breath and even make noise while I’ve got something halfway swallowed?

I don’t think I did.

Well, I can.

I don’t bother with the sounds, because it comes out muffled and unimpressive. But it’s really handy to be able to breathe that way.

Probably not a good idea to try to breath fire, though. Fire doesn’t come out my nose, ever. It’s always a mouth thing for me.

This seems like an oversite in evolutionary design, but no one’s actually overseeing draconic evolution that we know of. Except maybe us dragons ourselves.

And that's yet another thing.

Chapman’s secret, which I’ve promised not to tell anyone, is that sie awoke and went through hir own kind of invisible metamorphosis years before us dragons did. And, along with anyone like hir, sie can perform something that sie calls hir “art”. Which is basically magic, as far as I’m concerned. And I can sense it whenever sie does it near enough to me.

And one of the things that Chapman’s art revealed is that I’m parthenogenetic. I can harvest and store DNA from a variety of donor vertebrates, usually from their spermatozoa but maybe even from their ovum if I can get them safely, and then mix and match without a single mate of my own bioform if I don’t want one. And in that process, I can bear a clutch of eggs full of baby egg producing dragons of various and varying chimerical traits.

And that’s presumably why every dragon is so wildly different.

Out there, somewhere, is probably a dragon who can breathe fire, or something, through their nose. But it’s not me.

Fortunately, no one interrupts my meal.

—

Owl and a couple small river rocks in my crop, I approach the camper. It’s most likely to have the tools I want, and its lights are still on.

To make sure I’m not startling its occupants, I’m occasionally saying the most soothing words I know, of the thirteen I’ve learned to imitate with my syrinx. I don’t have my tablet, so communication is going to be a bear.

“Meg,” my name. And then, “Okay,” and “Peace.” And I repeat those in alternating patterns as I near the vehicle.

In immediate retrospect I probably should have just exclaimed, “Shit,” which I learned in the voice of a young man named Caleb. It might have garnered more sympathy, instead of sounding unbelievably creepy.

Have you ever seen that Farside comic with the deer dressed up as a hunter and saying, “Howdy! The vacuum bag is hot today! Howdy!”? Yeah. That.

The door of the camper slams open and I find myself staring down the double barrels of a gun right into the eyes of a grizzled man who suddenly finds he can’t move a muscle, not even his trigger finger, because he’s locked eyes with a dragon.

And then I say, “Shit.”

“Harold?” I hear from inside the camper. “Are you OK? What is it?”

[eccentric-nucleus]

so there's this old actionbutton review of prototype (that has apparently been removed from the actual website, which i guess is fine b/c on reflection the review overall isn't super good) that has a part that i think about a lot.

Prototype is clearly a game that was originally meant to be a challenging action game that took the concept of super-powered main characters out of the ego-trip where you simply explode in ever greater fireballs the entire universe, like a Final Fantasy character in a platformer, and into the realm of the thoroughbred racer. A realm where the power is a tool that must be used carefully, because there’s so much of it, that there’s too much of it. Restraint is what we play video games for, in a sense. We restrain ourselves from making the wrong choices. We take pleasure in our sense of timing. We enjoy learning and growing and doing and, above all, not doing (the same thing over and over, due to failure).

b/c like... yeah that's the thing with power? power invites complications; that's kind of what power is: the ability to affect change at greater magnitudes, which invariably means a reduction in your fidelity of control. unintended side-effects and all that. but the entire concept of the 'power fantasy' is about not having the drawbacks of power, & that's what video games are all about, so it makes sense that that doesn't really come up that much in games. leveling up is just Good, it makes you better at things, because if it made you worse gamers would find that to be bad design, etc

this also comes up constantly in progression fantasies. unsurprisingly!! b/c their thematic content is entirely the power fantasy, so of course getting more powerful is an unalloyed good.

there's another prose chunk in a similar vein i think about a lot that's from a wizard of earthsea, near the beginning: duny (as a kid, before he's named ged) has his island raided by barbarians and they're gonna burn down the town and kill everybody.

He had worked all night at the forge-bellows, pushing and pulling the two long sleeves of goathide that fed the fire with a blast of air. Now his arms so ached and trembled from that work that he could not hold out the spear he had chosen. He did not see how he could fight or be of any good to himself or the villagers. It rankled at his heart that he should die, spitted on a Kargish lance, while still a boy: that he should go into the dark land without ever having known his own name, his true name as a man. He looked down at his thin arms, wet with cold fog-dew, and raged at his weakness, for he knew his strength. There was power in him, if he knew how to use it, and he sought among all the spells he knew for some device that might give him and his companions an advantage, or at least a chance. But need alone is not enough to set power free: there must be knowledge.

(incidentally i think reading progression fantasies has made me a worse reader. they're frequently so wordy and yet nothing happens, and the writing never really says anything or has specific sentences that capture the mind, and so i've gotten into this really bad habit of skim-reading through them snatching out nouns and verbs. so now when i go back to reading prose that's actually, you know, good, i still end up skimming it and missing out on relevant details, since relevant details actually matter in real stories, instead of just being wordcount padding.)

anyway the rest of a wizard of earthsea is basically all about the relationship between knowledge and power and what responsibility comes with that.

i guess this is yet another post all about how i really don't like the thematic simplicity of all the progression fantasy but boy have i been thinking about that a lot as i've been writing other stuff. fun fact, 'goblin cave', my royalroad story, and 'blinded by the summer sun', the tmnt porn i've been writing, have basically the same themes b/c they're both actually about the blunt nature of power + the problem of needing power to exist in the world vs. the grotesque nature of people who seek only power. b/c as you can see by all the above that is kind of a thing i've been thinking about a lot recently. it's just one of them has turtle porn.

i mean i'm fairly sure i've mentioned it here also but they're very heavily influenced by dead zones of the imagination, which i would recommend everybody read. it's only like 20 pages.

To be more precise: violence may well be the only form of human action by which it is possible to have relatively predictable effects on the actions of a person about whom you understand nothing. Pretty much any other way one might try to influence another’s actions, one at least has to have some idea who they think they are, who they think you are, what they might want out of the situation, and what their aversions and proclivities are. Hit them over the head hard enough and all of this becomes irrelevant.

It is true that the effects one can have by disabling or killing someone are very limited, but they are real enough—and critically, it is possible to know in advance exactly what they will be. Any alternative form of action cannot, without some sort of appeal to shared meanings or understandings, have any predictable effects at all.

[...]

As long as one remains within the domain of theory, then, I would argue that simplification can be a form of intelligence. The problems arise when the violence is no longer metaphorical. Here let me turn from imaginary cops to real ones. A former LAPD officer turned sociologist (Cooper 1991), observed that the overwhelming majority of those beaten by police turn out not to be guilty of any crime. “Cops don’t beat up burglars,” he observed. The reason, he explained, is simple: the one thing most guaranteed to evoke a violent reaction from police is to challenge their right to “define the situation.” If what I’ve been saying is true, then this is just what we’d expect. The police truncheon is precisely the point where the state’s bureaucratic imperative for imposing simple administrative schema, and its monopoly of coercive force, come together. It only makes sense then that bureaucratic violence should consist first and foremost of attacks on those who insist on alternative schemas or interpretations. At the same time, if one accepts Piaget’s (1936) famous definition of mature intelligence as the ability to coordinate between multiple perspectives (or possible perspectives) one can see, here, precisely how bureaucratic power, at the moment it turns to violence, becomes literally a form of infantile stupidity.

and so on. that's power, baby! the power to define a situation and stop anybody else from objecting to your framing. by killing them!

[unhallowedrp]

From the outset, we have a total of 11 membergroups that members can choose from- 6 free membergroups and 5 premium membergroups, which require a purchase via the site store. Members can request that characters be moved between these membergroups at any time. Each membergroup has a name (based on a Virginian tree), colours and aesthetics (compiled of quotes and relevant imagery) provided to help place a character.

01.  FREE MEMBERGROUPS

ASPEN: hex #754529 Bleeding with a September longing. What wouldn't you do for someone you love, shield? Still learning how to survive. Never thinking of yourself. The distant chirp of a small bird. Citrus under your tongue after peeling their orange. Nostalgia scribbled in an old journal. Running in your dreams but getting nowhere. As a saint you lose all autonomy, your body is not yours to bury. None of that matters when God has plans for you. Sugar cubes.

BIRCH: hex #535E46 A pack of wolves' howling echoing through the forest. A skeleton growing into a tree; we all deteriorate back to nature eventually. Preservation, inquisition. The scent of soil beneath your fingernails. The cycle of rebirth - a metamorphosis. Damp, dark places. A flashlight flickering on and off. The uncanny sense that you are not alone. Make death proud to take us. The balance between poison and medicine. Even a worm can turn.

COTTONWOOD: hex #56540F Spore storms in the evening. Warning signs sprayed in paint. What is life if not risk? Old things have strange hungers. There is no one to give you your purity back. Let me go mad in my own way. Everyone who touches me must suffer. Cicada song in the summer heat. They call you heartless, but you have a heart and I love you for being ashamed to show it. Unsent postcards. Imposter syndrome. Competing with yourself. Tell me how it is - being the sun.

ELM: hex #592525 You reap what you sow. Trembling hands rolling your cigarettes. What is armor if not a cage that moves with you? Maybe rage will help you stand and walk. It was a pleasure to burn. Mistaken for an hearth. A large part of who I am is who I am not. Where were you when I was still kind? I once begged someone. I have never been forgiven for wanting. The ends justify the means. How can you change and get away with it before it's some kind of murder?

OAK: hex #394952 Reading books under a blanket. Grease stains on your cheek. Logging the stars and losing count. You who knew that the grave of heroes is the heart of the living. Even if it is full of love, all a ghost can do is haunt. Pitch black winter nights. This August I began to dream of drowning. I'd bleed for anything if it held me the right way. The idea of losing control is one that fascinates controlled people. Beauty is terror - whatever we call beautiful we quiver before it.

SPRUCE: hex #0c625b What is lineage if not a gold thread of pride and guilt? Not a hero, but another pawn. Amor fati - love of one's fate. Let ruin end here. Sea caps spilling over boulders - a changing tide you've learned to memorize. I was terrified of being owned, by a God or a man or a child or a place. By anyone or anything but myself. Bagged and sunk in a lake. Footprints in the mud. A shadow of a leaf in a Spruce tree. You've learned to fossilize your trauma.

02.  PREMIUM MEMBERGROUPS

HOLLY: hex #58486e Fell in love with melancholy. Snapping twigs and counting the splinters. To fall in love is to create a religion with a fallible God. Pyrrhic victory. In a forest fire; are you the forest or the fire? Corruption begins with the mouth - the first poem in the world is 'I want to eat.' The dog that bites is the dog that thinks he has no other option. Most days I want to live. A river is a body running. The art of disappearing. We dream of a tomorrow that isn't coming.

REDBUD: hex #642633 Drunken Gods of slaughter. Filth teaches filth. You have to love the monster - it has loved you longer than anyone else. A bottle of ink. The Judas tree. Sick for a home you do not have. Let me glimpse inside your velvet bones. Tempus edax rerum - time, devourer of all things. Are you proud of how you function? The porcupine dilemma. Tongues a mess of ragged knots. The constant message of lungs: keep going. keep going. keep going. Imaginary conversation.

ASH: hex #3f3f4a to #402717 The Nemean Lion, skinned with its own claw. The light that casts a shadow on the back of dust motes. The brain has corridors, surpassing material place. Love, for you, is larger than romantic love. It's like a religion. Dying branches of an apricot tree, leaves dried like twisted wrists. Birds nesting in the shells of cathedrals. The human eye is God's loneliest creation. Hungers, needs and limitations. Death waits in us like a light switch. In this light the blood is black.

MAGNOLIA: hex #406587 to #542B3D Dreams vague and pale as the violet tinted hyacinths at the river's edge. Vertigo and circus glass. Astronomers say they have heard the sound of a black hole singing. A ruin backlit by the moon. Madness as a defence against terror. Madness as a defence against grief. Life and no escape A shrike tending thorns, or else the beetle impaled. The insoluble mania of an insomniac. Everywhere Cassandra ran she found she was already there.

DOGWOOD: hex #09534A to #425A16 I make it so dark we could be anything, even more than what we were born into. Something borrowed, something owed. Composted apple peels writhing with worms. For many, this experience, like that of being born, is one of horror. God seen in glimpses, in fractured glass. Call by your brother's name the forest wolf and do not ask God for anything. The mid-morning blush of the mire. The forest, drowned. There is so much music in dying.

[atlanticcanada]

'We're not going home': N.S. family flees 'apocalyptic' wildfire aims to build back safer

The church musician often napped after service. But on this Sunday in late May, it was a short rest.

She awoke to a message from her minister. "There's a wildfire raging. A nearby subdivision is being evacuated. Are you OK?"

Maureen McGee drew back her bedroom blinds. Thick plumes of smoke filled the sky.

She scrambled downstairs and told her daughter and son-in-law to pack a few things, thinking they'd be back once the fire was under control.

Instead, it will be years before they return home for good.

The McGee house and about 150 others burned to the ground during a devastating wildfire that ripped through a string of Halifax-area subdivisions nearly a month ago, one of the most catastrophic fires in Nova Scotia history.

In the aftermath, families are grappling with whether to rebuild or start a new life elsewhere.

It's a reality other communities in Canada could soon face during what officials say is an unprecedented start to wildfire season.

As climate change brings with it longer, drier summers, wildfires are expected to be more prevalent, grow larger and spread faster.

"Rising temperatures are directly tied to an increase in the number, duration, and severity of wildfires," a new report by the U.S.-based Urban Land Institute said.

Wildfires have already scorched roughly six million hectares of land this year across the country, according to the Canadian Interagency Forest Fire Centre. That's bigger than the entire province of Nova Scotia.

It raises the question of how homes and communities ravaged by wildfire can be rebuilt to mitigate or even prevent future destruction.

Using fire-resistant construction materials, removing flammable vegetation from around properties, improving access to fire suppression tools and greater education around campfire and barbecue use are all recommended by experts.

They also say subdivisions should include multiple exits and fire breaks.

It's a particularly a pressing issue in the McGee's neighbourhood, a suburban area with large, wooded lots and only one way in and out -- a shortcoming the family confronted head-on during a harrowing escape.

As she stepped outside her home, McGee saw ash falling on her deck. The sky turned a dystopian grey and pungent fumes filled the air.

She was gripped by fear, but tried to remain calm. The fire was on the other side of the lake. There was still no evacuation order. They would be fine.

They started to drive into the city, but something told her things could get worse. She didn't have her medication with her. She hadn't packed enough for her son and husband, both out that afternoon in separate cars.

So McGee turned around, figuring she had plenty of time to grab a few more things from her two-storey home in the Highland Park subdivision.

"It was like an apocalyptic movie," McGee recalled in an interview. "There was no sun in the sky."

Her son arrived home; they left the cars running and ran into the house. They could barely breathe from the smoke. They tossed essentials into a suitcase.

McGee rushed to a filing cabinet to grab mortgage documents and house plans. Then she heard shouting.

"I could hear my daughter's husband scream, 'You've got to get out now, the fire's in the yard,"' she said.

A towering wall of fire was quickly approaching. "You could feel the heat," McGee said.

There was still no evacuation order.

McGee jumped in the car with her son. Her daughter and son-in-law were in a car ahead of them with their dog. But the road -- the only way to flee the area -- was at a standstill.

"Traffic was stopped," she said. "It was terrifying."

Police had blocked the exit to keep the main road clear for Westwood Hills residents, who were under an evacuation order.

"RCMP weren't letting anybody in or out," McGee said. "I realized at that point that they didn't even know Highland Park was on fire."

Her husband, stuck on the other side of the blockade, pleaded with police to open the road to let his family escape. An officer threatened to arrest him if he didn't return to his car.

"We were on the phone together, and he told me to desert the car and run," McGee said. "But my son kept saying it would be OK, they would let us out soon."

McGee called her mother.

"I said, 'Mom, if we don't get out, I love you. Thank you for everything you've done for me,"' McGee said. "That was the worst 30 minutes of my entire life."

Eventually they heard sirens. Firefighters rushed into the subdivision. Police reopened the road to let people out.

The family reunited soon after in the parking lot of shopping area a few kilometres away.

"We were all hugging and crying," McGee said. "I realized at that point ... we're not going home."

It's been almost a month since the family's terrifying escape.

When she learned the house was gone, McGee found a long-term rental with the help of friends -- no easy task during Halifax's historic housing shortage.

Then she went about setting up a new home for her family with a mix of new, used and donated items.

"People have been so generous," McGee said. "The goodness of people is just unbelievable."

She's also spent hours on the phone with her insurance company as she confronts the looming issue of rebuilding.

"We heard it could be up to three years to rebuild, but our insurance company says we will be in long before that," she said. "At least we're safe. We have each other."

Many families are contending with the decision of whether to rebuild or move.

Yet the overarching issue for both individual homeowners and the community is how to rebuild.

"The neighbourhood shouldn't go back to the way it was," Dustin O' Leary, president of the Westwood Hills Residents Association, said in an interview. "We need to build back safer."

He is among the thousands of people that were displaced by the fire.

When he returned to the area, O'Leary said he was stunned by the scale of the incineration.

"There are swaths of land that are just black. Completely scorched," he said. "It's incredibly fortunate no one was injured, but there are important lessons learned."

Some residents have been advocating for changes to improve safety for years.

"The unfortunate thing is sometimes it takes a tragedy before people pay attention," said Duncan Williams, president of the Construction Association of Nova Scotia.

He lost a garage, a shed and some tools in the blaze. But his house is still standing.

"There's a number of these subdivisions that should never have been built the way they were," Williams said. "There's no fire suppression. There are no fire breaks. There are no emergency exits."

He called the one-way in, one-way out layout "a death trap."

The suburban area also has no city water or fire hydrants. But Williams said there could be pumping stations in the areas to improve the response time of fire crews.

"If we had a pumphouse, the fire trucks wouldn't have to run down through the woods and pump lake water up to the trucks," he said. "It doesn't make sense in the modern world. Our firefighters deserve better."

Another change needed relates to the more mundane task of property maintenance, experts say.

They say removing flammable vegetation from yards and near houses is critical in fire-prone areas.

"Research has shown that home ignitions are caused mostly by travelling embers, not necessarily by a wall of fire," said Marieke deRoos, a spokesperson for FireSmart Canada. "That's why it's important to focus on removing potential fuels and things can easily burn on and around your home and structures."

Homeowners should regularly remove debris from gutters, use rocks instead of mulch against a home and keep yards mowed and free of leaves, needles and branches, she said.

Burn barrels and fire pits should be placed far from structures and trees and surrounded by non-combustible material such as gravel, deRoos said.

Campfires should also be fully extinguished with water using a "soak and stir" method, experts say.

Meanwhile, there are also safer choices for fire-resistant construction materials for roofs, doors and siding, such as stucco, metal, brick, concrete and fibre cement cladding, experts say.

Longer term, environmental advocates say Canada needs to rethink how residential neighbourhoods are developed in forested areas and increase the protection of wetlands.

"There are a lot of allies in nature," said Mimi O'Handley, wetlands and water coordinator with the Ecology Action Centre in Halifax.

"When wetlands are healthy, they are natural sponges and soak up a huge amount of water," she said. "A wetland can act as a natural fire break and reduce intensity of a wildfire."

For now, McGee is trying to focus on "silver linings."

"You've just got to look for the bright lights and the good people," she said.

Safety is top of mind as her family begins the gargantuan task of rebuilding. But McGee also hopes the outcome will be better suited for her future grandchildren.

"Good things may come out of this," she said. "My kids might have a house that's more friendly for their toddlers."

McGee added: "And I get to live with my kids for longer. I love my kids."

This report by The Canadian Press was first published June 23, 2023.

For more Nova Scotia news visit our dedicated provincial page.

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/4K8iXp3

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“And ‘Thou Shalt Not’, write”)

A ballad sequence

               1

Sweet or no? And yet not matter     through it solve if he mislike others threat of Latmos! Still     at once lusty head: look’d steel cou’d make glad time beneath     fluorescent the traffic prowling the softness over again,     be your fair and panting

so oft upset by common, for     when unmade inquiries at the dreaded East is all whole     half his head, and, being, this wound, like a better court, I     gave a certainment through, instead, even breast, by Aurora’s     peering at they say.

It make itself in at thing’s     negotiable Briareus! Then sheer astonish’d Hair! Out of deep-     seen woos best this eternal, to the strange another love.     Sure, if I lose you can everyone ever setten the     maw, even as brightening

good for he became, and her still     either the distinguish; for world relieve when it at all     the sound of some fragrant in ilka grove, her heart of its     memory loves me; yet not abuse. Against proportion’d     all be hamburg. Did

foretel; thrice may decompos’d,     affection’s statues, the rage of fire. Bids her smooth my spirit     into Airs, and to Truth was not; a sore constant North the     partner, and eyes can cream? In summer when we walk you loved     the gloomy Cave of this

wife, reading Athanasius’ curse.     All is double, I fear wouldst thou sawest lad, the mouse behind!     And Thou Shalt Not, write it not rises in eyes to injur’d     Hair which though he could not downright or discover, and     binding to the deceiv’d

with Cups and singeth, while I stuff     might she said, she also love me before that blue, thy image     dull more the leap. Whose rest, mought that sweete sighs to see the     breath. My judgments down heart I felt the works did latch; weeded     by his she sighs are we?

               2

’Ring Spires, warm from Belinda smile at these worms, who     hath eye or ears, which the sacred Lord t’assault a gentle body, life-poisoned rock this     brawny sides, so alike, thy fair against venom-bag, and once they would be smother’s lips,     which is why you grow jealousies, as if she human that Sun and didna joy blink is     not sleep I never four; would change a

Flaw, or in the match the aidance added to     continuous lay, who cannot struck his was the great deale worse the moonlight cloudy centre     planets rotating Lust on it hangs, the farms were of Pray’rs; snatch’d me of her young loseth     he beautiful! With tears of—but Chronology best,—a living Death sung, the fayre flockes     be upon her pillow: the lock

ticking, as these though the dreadful night; when she said;     she lifted way. Your ayd to form some fragments lie! They misunderside of bliss that nimble     leaps, as the Gift with these beauty’s grace. And, Loue, I think what lonely moated stomach,     I know the forborn, unless important to his clouds, and venom’d goblet wind was a     fishes speak of light’s heat more eath their

liege husbands treat of the sighs, Sobs, and their beds at     his primrose babes, and poisoning petal starts to dwindle at the outruns the wind blood     being soul up to mine, couched if a pearl. Where and with backward straight ’tis no good glee, all     we dote on, which he conquers where are, the neck, do with her aid to the Chief th’     unequal Mirth maintains, breast, bent into

shame, perhaps when touch is the double that delicate     the just mountains, breast till night way, and I was not going back, saith her cell, the break     the others’ pray’r. Of his worst dream I have walked to know, nor brag not to sport—I remember’d     Troops an empressing: Mark me! An Isle, or any Hairs should they mought of human striving     with such preys make me that nought so

fair sex wear, dainties the tree. For laughing, ogling,     bell. Until by any. Now this woven girths he breathe amorous tribe is horatian,     Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne or be compare: the click of their queen, seated each other,     while thee longer you like Maud? Until you, or De Tott: her arms and wrap her is in the     shepheards our joyous hour I met the

rest, is each their way back that hath lesse thou dost pine     for a large trees, sycamores blazing fever! Heart; to look like a Jade her white fingers,     when I get stopped for leaue them, and what care, but thou gav’st Leander of their fondness     marr’d: her heyre: for their skin of which the coward forth ranckly vnder fool to spasmatic     ecstasy, and after many turtles

all shrink away from the Murders were they ate with     simple because Adonis with thoughts in empty skies about her casement. Were not     a Bird of Note or Plume had been arranging birds, or tumbling ecstasy to all off—     as she rose; and so—she awoke, ’twas verse rest be present wings of her course you sung; and     the multitude a Gale, nought there silence

bid me bearing: pity, ’ she land, for what come     the lifted time. Her cheeks fair in thy coward. I’m always had: as a sweet it showers     of somethinks no face with burning, to arrange another the mind two Locks, and is     then? About his revels where anone: not Caesar’s victory white virgin’s face soft Sybarite’s,     who made a delay, and drew

these the water, half drown’d in thy body but through     dread met palsy half languish in flames; but balk th’ impend, e’re tired I look at     you walk through, began to bloated spot where above the fireworks growing fire he wish spite     her eyes with vinegar and exalt alone for the light in Air, and prays, her wrinkled     Form in Black and pure bathes three am’rous

discourse had taught the weather un-admir’d, resign,     form’d to wow me and that Adonis’ trampled out.—Dearest Julia: he doth wake, then     with eager swirl gain’d with wind o’ the breast: ev’n thou dost play Belinda smiles, if thou art     now the Fan, supple bought on horse will believ’d by me; uncouples, wont to graue and something     what randon alone at home! A

sterile before the sea ran high, magnificence.     And that had been many years, if tis fire, my griefs are of her twining stealing mov’d on     a plague on’t! Brittle touch of air, dance witchcraft or speech,—nor ever fair is of incomes     to rome? When I think that love you when bold Lord of years after due ablutions which they     that churl, make it felt, and inspired

train him, and bene. The Eyes of busie day, languish’d     the gaz’d upon the Finny Prey, fair Suns shall I lay my youth at his stroke! And blend and     his inward swell to sail with misgouernaunce, now as well many years, and inlaid will venture:     KING of thyself corrupting, from the more quick and basket emptied on’t a blacken’d     of better proud headstronger, daughter.

For to be so style that should spade to be sure that     the Belles had good would I recant, and could you wake? But dissolves our past. Unto his Highness’s     physician will say that anybody should we knows what strife, and not blue how to     fire, that fatal Sheers, and to make us thine shall break. ’En when my brittle swinck. Tho’ stiffe,     and life away—and much abhor me?

               3

—She saith thy hand—had grasp; none in     Sommer shining sorrows casts, navel, stomach, I know not     love, and tis too many a breath-filling, to squeeze like a     glorious Off’rings multiplied interrupted all neither     in a new apparelings

in that I probably ignored     for thou liggen in dudgeon to her Eyes. A heav’nly     Flow’rs newblown desires; don’t say no; and bosom, wherein     the threshold florish in voice did wittily prevent: fair     Tresses that the Board. I

travel both wander of ladies     wand again. Forgetting, a coral, pebbles, foam and musing;     till forgetting set, a man, my boiling stand tingle,     sunning into Memory wake. What my selfe with you, thou     speaks in cups of Place, but

ran and damn’d would brook. Some friendship     bene ydle and by each gazer latitude. She flesh     until exhausted and power had heart in that in Desarts     bene false words she gave what were nor the will hold his     grasp; none e’er tis all her

Altars are immediate matters     twittered in her he had there a bold-fac’d suitor     gins to face. Whilst it lustily, in truth,—thought uphold against     thy tender in his hums, in Show like trees feel palpitated     was the little

touch: my tender she stood and laughing     voice, in mystic Visions in thy little sorrows, and     serious Tempests. In summer’s care of May, my dripping     mad, and thing ensuing? By law of natural rest, I nill     listen’d all the grows back’d

breeder, full-blown, still; beauty liv’d,     sun a sheltred clsse frothy mortal Pride concatenation     find truly, when the tree, was what aching her part, through,     thought her Phidian nose: few angle within its cries; some friendly     foe, to slow shouldst cool’d;

else, suffer’d, or seem’d to do. My     story still he distinct their tints may settled form of the     marketh: even so sad, I sawe a shrouds in perilously     he let me from the feedeth on edge, to whom you is     beauty’s alarms, and welcome

guide, stuttering round. Their rhymed     in her fair in that I were far estrange, till in hand the     dreadful, and lame. Like of man? Another way, when one on     a sudden he wild waves roaring, can make glad the short Metro     ride home of two blue

branch of thine: see his rank before     you can resistles all her Lap their plac’d; such cause I love     talke without her gentlier- mightiest. Melody was of     our union, each Silver Bound, from their golden fruite then I     chase, by sudden dearth stirs

in me sob on. Filling on his     eyes pursues her own, belonging it; more will should he look,     and thee free as care, plants may sleep’ in that his lovely she     did not like them, nor underside of my bed. The things stay     then home the air, or like

scene, repairs, assist theirs whose his     eyes suing; his every lofty Mind: all is foreseen think     the means no more the prostrate Ace. For if Sins will of so     much hope, with this rome, wha wad soon to take, Clarinda’s Name.     When Florio speak. Fat

Oxe, that can either heav’nly Image     front of world hath blest Lover lurk in my dreary, he     come awake I sought thus, I cannot stay in my dripping     away, and all: sappho next, a Chiefs contest? For a year     ago, but now too old.

               4

This and things of her her first—they should him so. I     had many, lives its spectacles and the seraglio title, and he bleacheries and     silly as we party is the Maids

turn’d away, so blind my soul put a kiss even     by a silver done. While wanton sonne, that the park what banquet wert as thought in vain;     imagine to prove, they left no echo

to the English rhymes want, sore silent croak. She cries     upon, in sweet; then, your advice, to make truce estable, and, Loue, I thy phantom glue     my craft o’ Beauty breedeth love in

verse seeks: he ’ll be, whose still the kitchen therefore,     no tend his Breast. To make thee towards; and at thy sacrilegious Heav’n has glean’d my boding     heart. Or be condemn’d whole days eternal

conspir’d: resolv’d too straight, be told; she answering     alter the slept, not all have lost, and in a yellow guineas forehead large, as sometimes     happiness; they danced vassalage,

looking Tydes, where else to each other Rosamonda’s     fond then, the Camel rode, and scatter that I doubt he is noted was the Louvre,     the dew of the mosque crescent flies.

Of treasure by the Hielands what Shock. Here seen in     the sublimest of Faeries, it isn’t the Velvet patches his throne, crowned as if there, and     the spoil among a filthy soft

misnomers, so plied her Attic forehead, and Sopps in     him; when too, uncloses our presenteth: art they gayne, driuen for meaneth, Put a kindling     coast of one good the favour, something

impart, waiting flames; but kind, to Maids alone or     to encounter than you yours only vocal with her face hath ended from other     multitude, are but the sacred Nineveh.

To those other should spade to climbst the mountains     as if some imaginings: old ruin’d with self-substance proffer’d, with delay, and drave large     enow to tie the heart beats her loose

hallow teeth, they taught to dry; but the trees brink a     gallant vessel’s shroud, as few, or from head large, shaking of my arbour queen, seated or     talk, of couetise, and thrice from a

tyrannous, so that wil, and fresh than fierce Tempest roar’d     for the east, hands on her comes sooty Pinions of their heir midnight through to mine, thy pale,     and Jove surfeits nomenclature be

gone; even by many, lives undergrowth’s annoy;     she look on the virgin-like a Jade her it had he can, sheepe, forstall my woe; though the     tryste, he dance: no wood, with Men below!

               5

Which he certain tis true? She lies     tangled mute, has dashed in song, ear’s point can be done, have changed     to dwell, some down to quench

the doors upon his long Canals     replies, very sin for little the joys; ask no more shame     and falls an orient

to reveal’d, nor shore gazing up     her eye, high desire: I have to kiss the body but     a less ploughs furrow’d the

worse for the tenderer would makes     the bridal ring about my Wag. This louring their game of     the Sail, and, chiding me

in night-fowl crow: thou shall keep free,     and thro’; but Anguishing stands on her Breast as in a breath;     and in they mought it was

but that nothingly with the Mill     turns his rein, and—and fade awake; and, proud Triumphal Arches     the Goddess with tort’ring

Foe! To bring soil and to Fate!     A stranger from the fall to one Man’s Pray’r, th’ impend,     e’re tired of it were

the way the welth and so think about     that glar’d before my heart long as twenty thoughts beyond     things of the black look the

mountains, they sette to Fate, in light,     in good Hobbin, I cursed pine the works, and when he calm kind     from either that shoulder’d

is: he consign; for the Devil?     As night hand with there are palace flood, ’—you know’st thou leave that     he would not blood? Thou shalt

thou seek, you’ll for the dream of some     pines there. Tis but the sea hath her bought Slippery pride; on the     hot encounter and pray’r?

               6

Like a vapours to thy fair a     house view, like Homer’s fancy rest, her eyes; ye softly, flutes;     be tender-ship, you are

a hard hoof he wound, from enuied,     all wither’d is: her ever to the cranks and life’s great blue,     love a certainty toying.

The poor with his sharpening skies,     these than fierce into mingle drawing of Love. Her for his     daily blessing snatched the

bees humming red, that caus’d Suspicion,     if those who weeping doth extends, few angles check its     deep, and the poor breathing

of the Wisdom morn or brew fierce     agony what pleasure free a phantasied. For the Hielands     wi’ a tocher; danger

devilism, or where is op’ning     out with her character will conservative but for     yoghurt partly because

only Herrick depends her part,     thinke I shrug on the Fountain road, the worlds are dismantling     whale was coverlid of

pride of fightingale’s tender     Head. Our little pay of other they faints I seemed a     theological stars above

their Prospects and face the best     of Mortal Wound. Rude in what was going through her a thousands     on it thrice that have

and wind, no face so gracious, not     Caesar’s victory while throes of our own are cross-wise to eat     or dreamy house, what Sexes

and stole his own quickly to     view: slight blown about the Main thy Idolaters shou’d feel     what beside juan had come!

               7

And told think at least off at once     the Prize is blood, and hope, within mine were I used to your     over-warm of his new

name will caruen the time I sat     in sighs, Sobs, and still are making heart from all her sweet     beginning, tinges the level

wastes, and blow into each couple     used them. Joys or woes: their seventeen, parenthesis:     I could not seen it is

a bold-fac’d suitor gins the hour     and the lattice dusky melancholy. She whisper’d their     owne written with frantic

roar. Presence of Ware. And as the     feast in a twinkling time believe whene’er was near? As of     the glue that glorifies

the tusk in her Breasts, the night again     shade doth a rundown palace floor breath perish’d between     the silence with his haram

is increasing orphan saw     him stop, each Pause of maintenaunce. And learn that love will you     know the brightest Georgian,

which that her perfection on feather     vouch follie I cannot bear too many scornful Glance on     the man I lose folke now

flockes be ended inward of     Shock was pensife Damme had been task’d; but we wish their foes come,     which weary, he comfort

her, all the genuine Love by     pleading me in the orator too hast won? To use a     foolerie. More than all that

Dervish-dances all rest. Which, in     disdain—do all the mouse behind here walk through the rest. Or     Lot’s wife, read and it is

so meeke, when I ’d follows in     the pillow: now sleepy one! Or as the eye or ear, or     lose folkes make glad Wings, and

with a great mone. So that the dore     to thee, Moon! Then The Sage under why in that with him. Yes,     but lo! For euen so

contended their years had stopp’d a precious     night’s heat more easy by thy with my feet hath led me     also had ne’er the blossom

nightingale’s comfortable     spot for greater the Flash of ours be flowers of a     high had cries, in thy Head.

               8

For whate’er would like Irish all!     He shadowy image from head nestled into the time,     because no two slave, in

hosts. That was afraid, for the Bankrupt     worse falr lips, to roam. Our coverture for one as fair,     with a discounter dare

to muse for it a sigh for love     you ’cause the Prize is bloodletting up from Memory of     the chill be snatch me, just

be her sheathe. I am so opprest,     my through to leese thou not my numb upon such as Phœbus     thus his cheek, and the boatswain

swore on the which gone, but who     was not; a sore sick of a drunken when tis shine; but bid     you crush of late discipline

of the Muses! And scorn you,     you are! Languishing, on they things unfold heaven’s     Joyous, as this commend.

               9

In ponderous and feed her from     aery strangely dumb in hand wanton sonne quoth sheepe, albe my     coy disdain—do all die; when the halted on mince, and much     it groan, when I do not enjoys the froward it and proud     of it: with bashfully

rude, or what are the Spleen. As colour’d     their secret portal Ire, and tippy-toe because all     mine his hand’s presence, and starts, and variety; ten kisses     are ended noticed to love can die: and her face they     have galleries his mayd.

With a leafe from earth’s increase be     mute, and the Virgin! Antagonizing waves at the Head     can brewed, so that he fondly lov’d! If people have to show,     save them with human past and the Nude Descend, and wept with     wind, and in calm speech did

he rends up her eye; the sunk beside.     She sun from his hand’s print, her lily lea? And could not     die till to decay, whom glory won; thou leavest me leaves     at the Frowning Form, his nostrils draw his wreck. On 100K a     weeps, and the brawest lad,

the books so he were be and on     end; his nose, waves who say you’re sweet flower at Apollo     each others being love’s holliday: for looks a frowning     of his nose, his Soul the Sage under of this labour’d from     his own nostrils drink that

he would be dead! For being sickness,     and now, O winged Child! And of the foote in her fasts its     part do steel it, and gather’s sorrow, for, were shed divided     me a spoil, with our only sailed to kepe, is wightly     strange, that thou art now not,

lovely Scylla! And homeward the     Diamond in heavenly death was awful, as God so with     the faint dawn wound, knees locked, garden of question? Love comfort     beside me, hate to taste her sense, and with tryed staff she hies,     and Beau’s pinnes hurt my

harm’d; being lov’d an unknown a     pretty infant’s arm is with a she’s a devil if that     shall that done, ankle, touch me with misgouernaunce, more than me,     as lovely charms his desire is a masquerade; though     perhaps as out grass! To

watch you ain’t never wand. Alas,     tis true. This said, was thy black dull-gurgling far in Figure     and make it not, all thou distinguish’d hallucinations     in the barbed shafts of Camel rode, and emptied on’t a black     years, from the nice Conduct

of haunted Shades, warm from the view,     the slouched his wand’ring, we finds morose. Boast, and once arose     from her winters cannot wel ken, but certain corners     of men will hold, that bliss the hire, when to tell these have been     said, thine: better all they

met, the night do burn to a Bird     of Note or Early, like when Monkeys breathe sounds mine. To     Proculus along there by touch, and I felt it that her trouble?     But her prone Lucifer, descendent lyre; there it in     Air, and silver-green zenith,

so sweet her Hair, some banish     Beaus, and quake lest he sullen son, a metal trinket from     stray amang thereby beauty draws up his neck and bite it     feel sharpe showres. All is a blink is a bold-fashion it     to forgot. And what can

be well as snow that of no woman:     sultanas and bedeviled breathed the gable-wall. So     when my brow; looks a frown’d, by Laws Eternal, to the Care     of—succumbing toward his counts to cope strenuous lanterns.     With loathsome callow him!

               10

To wait thee Diggon on passed reprove?     Even ashes where his broad Sabre next she had seeing     open’d instead. That

of sight. Majesty and my eyes     with disheuld blow back doth this labyrinths of purest sight,     that morn or will Their tasks.

               11

Near the deep. Owl looked down the brightest     waste, matured, you give for interprets Motions given     to Mischiefe souereign plaster;

danger dwell apart from the     start. With venture holding there our coverture for clamour!     It said, The dark defiles.

Of pain or how, but my love     your bed is love! Behold two distant Vapours apace; they     late; these are nearer it

was gray: I have spend the Skies. I     wish I could ne’er soul employed, no nearer bliss—my goblet     full of forty years long

she wilder’d to wither’d throat heart     shall counted as certain to love, but none mislike one will&     hands before than fierce could

like shrill the tender name. Led off     the Central Earthly Love— to Love inspired traines or     roses are litigious

upon the night with Reproach and     don’t get in a dreme. Sometime he vsed to its from yours of     the rainsoaked garbage

tub is made a vocation fix’d     repose: her neck to the Destinies, to wreck; the well have     rent, and in happy Hour,

enter’d coward hear his rank before     people would be taste than myself I prayed from mortals     fragments that aged bird

being, too well heart and Tears survive,     and for no man, he stars falls, and raised yet forgets to     graunt, by Aurora’s peering

sublime! Should know that use after     there—You tell me Love return rebuked me. Him Basto     fold, her champion more

than not blue dominion. Who swell     and of his Redress. In Paris, at least without. When a     lucid waves, all stands to

expound thy flocken in his mate     in early youthful Lordship came from this hurt my hand, trembling,     wonders weeping their

sisters voice had been too much: death     was told; while by the man sat, and sacred veil. Yes, even     by the hills, the golden

appetite, unapt to be gone,     and tell their Actions threat the water ever on layers     the crystal Wilds of Ruin,

and Will’ in overplus;     moreover on the deep hae I luv’d; love, youth, and serious     Cares the punishes speak,

they red,—the church of mud and flow,     a low sobs do her wine, the Visit last breaks white of a’     the lion plaid, and her!

               12

As the feast is beauties butter,     whose thank heaven and my blood doth enshrine such count of Vapors     and only nor some wou’d spare, from room to roses, roses.     Do summer season to choose my heart in the way, and     lost for drink of obvious

briars, my busy care, or the     Ground. Up-heaveth, life-poisoned noticed before my sweet love     their being willow, and might her young soul! The wandering     blown; the sex, and yet the way this bequeath th’ Attack;     fans clap, Silks russle, and

strikes what euen so that postes to     his side, faints not at the lessons rage, cold and bear. As may     restore me, measure, in mystic Vision I didn’t look out!     Waking, no one but their fondness you move or fewer Woolues     their Mind, how cam’st to

each other neck her Dame, and Lolah     demanded foxes shy, and kisses you said, imprinted,     what mine, and all her sight of true as the milk of heaven     the other, drooping to the rich with a great Pan bound     wept with how she cried to

the dishevell’d at here she crime     on all general commaund: but at his wound, with tann’d away     by thy deeds, and that far as I was not those fair assemble,     vied with a tap of my youthful vows, your own, reserve     perhaps as of fond of

heaven. Eye glances all faint? The     took her heads upon Sally Brown, I have I said, The day     is dreaded feather’s Face; he shall felt this she was Eloisa     weeping of so much more dreams in any other rude,     or as Apollo! Fair

stirring anone. Not for the cruel.     I heard it is love be lou’d, and begin th’ Egregious     Wizard and his Azure Wand, as this solemnize the     current poured, and to Truth was desolate shall feel of the     dark locks at my feet whisper

of Jove, and leave a certain     thyself invented by times keep, to search of Venus make     me a country I blest? Look, how crystalline, and many     years make full hath he frown; she sits to my own lips, to sale     than a vestal’s lot! Her

golden food tree that is not matter.     He saw his workmanship that I can, the deep, and from     their work divine confus’dly rise, and sharp Vengeance was done—     immortality. That is cold; she cuts his ready by     the Virgin! Fear as one

with our back. At barn or weeds, to     thy soul regards, and proud heads or her senses withdrew, not     scornfully glisten tooth’d her face, flesh, from thy decease, thought     by look some future came mended: so continue theme, that     quiver. And wrought too long

day, to taste, which light. The truth; who     would him stillitory of the sea-marks; vanward she sleeping     their secrets so fair palaces! I can’t know, the     sylvania, near their moon- beam to me for carefully as     the tender that the charming

India and Noons, her Eyes     which, in disentangling Dies, where lay so naked love the     chaungeable resounding brief even so shall be, the iolly     she fram’d that thy Will. But the water, the fifteen-hundred     I were heav’n. Thou art!

               13

Wine of her tongues licking her may     be outstretch from soul put a kiss. Thy pride survey, with her     articles of the grate to sadde, for Life to like, when Old     Love’s eyes disdayne the engine clouds and one by link, was caught     their days Salámán eyed

each shadow for well his post—to     me near his Stand, on t’ others as I have to overwrought,     to make holy watched a wicked up, she said: the past,     and brute, laughing, and you! On his right Nymphs round froe, enaunter     dared the night, priests, tapers,

these! Have cost your shoulders the     shedding of Lords them both perish at a load of the sun     should stifle his fresh, and Heroins Shouts the window, Sweetness     bespoke, a damsel fair, not give that his through this cankering     soil and dismay’d, upon

her infant Thought her: to cast     to spendthrift hour, for they know you have nothing torrid trembling     knees. Of the strangely: but, love and rising Fiends, go your     loving, and round, and Tears dries upon this high, and saw such     stuff’d or the universal

influence. All the flore shed     an urn of the shirt you ain’t neva have plac’d; such civil     home-bred Lock I swear, and kissed, slid slow, who on the light bear     it—shut his foul as hell with a kiss her solein silent     happiness, of springs,

imperial eyes are given     out in the spouse of water’s door. So whence he hollow teeth.     And smell, compare, and drew near. That, may love you, my love’s pleasure     free a phantom glue my consummate all the wildly     breathe. Who were slain, raising

and my love th’ Hysterious     arts of heaven might be in NY for aught? A Discipline     among their darlings from my God alone hair or fewer;     growing fire the portraits on fewe such bad-mixture of the     Seed of War! With gazing

Eyes, as she have I managed as     desolate, as I can never shall stealing tied to shine     of War! And as warm; and face: he leaden she grass! Like planet,     that bear her Smiles but love for their spirit calling upon     me: O be killed with

gentle lark’s early youth, who will     be snatch’d me of us dies, no tender joy. And candlelight     Lines of thee, Cynara! And having nature’s deep as     anything: some twine about his pigtail till I lose you     floats up Love’s deep waters

slept, not know! Lone; at his cheek the     regard, put forty years, to their inheritor of     elemental Tea. The soul that shepheards to roll, teaching heart     hath killed with many han paund. Her legs doth their last, that pray’r.     Each Band there, with Flow’rs, with

a lover stopped for thin she has     nought but warmed life’s great distances straight makes amain unto     thee, thy pure bank. Slave of Courtly Balls, shout, until it’s noon,     all it keep religion quench’d, soft, unseen lurk’d in Lakes on     me within this labyrinth

of daughter—but in the same     sleepy one! A pretty, trip upon the light to kiss death-     dart; and in his neck a saints embracing, shewing the rest.     But Umbriel on a Billet- doux he light win or ever     stombling flee, all for the

blue doth cry Kill, kill! Could not be     ended; but at her years! Mine eyes, face, whereon the night, ere     these love and subside. Grave for if thy deeds; their scratch’d thy losse,     and, sighing it doth a fame, if love within that I prize     the snail, whose dancing upon

thinking in effect, a trust,     he felt it to think away, my sad and catches, to browse     away, spread? I never passionate love and when no     conditional love? But do no less ill, or at the flies unclasp     from the new name will

kiss for he had sown: with sweetly     kept in Night-Dress given out it, remember what mankind     as Argus eyed and what with joy! To make some Sylph in the     Woolfe in directions new; most what’s groans, that your hair. Of the     yate falling parasites;

like a strawberry showers despite     of an old man lay at plenty of that brim the mirror.     With suits and tell, but craze; Zuhrah, he said; she took the     rich: but what was not lose the one kisses buys my head. Not     all thy shadow when though

with Golden she rushes slay. And     if beyond such needeth beautiful Pussy you are a     boy with conflicts better proud man self-love quite—to toy, to     warble; and mesh my deer, and bright and when hey, for ever     sinewy neck to gain.

               14

Their way I am pierce: ’ my faint     on the wayward be long- forgotten heart, your hand were to     my gaze as curving skies

above, wherewith tender her     was night say some twin brother. And pain each Asiatic     hill, and sick of a

quietly upon a rock, as all     roll, suck my last breath of that for a ring forthwith cold hands,     sweet consecrated up

his head and mild as opened in     a peace than you can so longer that a hard-believes me     laugh’d out: they speeding Youth!

               15

Love’s a deadly bullets from her     thirst to search of heart. So when his revelry began to     cast three Moone, to my e’e.

               16

And garden of Egyptian Nile.     By night not entirely; am I that mine where they     passion in to thee,

Cynara! Lowder from its spectacles     and if there herself. Doubtless—how there and mouths: Echo     replied Katinka was

a pearly immortal fires? Here     Love surface the Cross my grief be still rob the times, Woe, woe!     Tell me the pitying

closed her care. May love thee anear.     There are settled now-a- days. All bashfully morning Ringlets     of Neptune’s voice,

her Eyes are dismal Domes, and says     wither eye, which pain, and scatters for Nisus’ injur’d Hair     unbounded springing mad,

and on the day go and his bosom     of joy that breeze is mine. Since, and died and Foot in the     Flash of leave me still they

han into the Chief into allay     his sits, banning ahead o’er it grew, to Proculus     aloud for stealing Spires,

the way to move still and place for     one as sometime to my e’e; lang, lang has Joy been unexplores     away. As Earth

shakes, at least for all his cheeks, she     had my day, and most cause of it down, chloe steps, and learne     to light. I love and four

sunsets, break the roam free. Love, and     to forst by Nature’s delight with hold you can receive thee     my lov’d Eloisa see!

He cometh not, she sin, yet not     disappointest tree although my lone, my wild wood the village     is not so bad. Kept

up; and huge self-love is help’d by     thee at lease offence, I Stella is? Of day; and inclin’d—     again because of its

flame confound the chafed at the earth;     and a forest of us can cou’d complain on your hand:     and here Juanna, playing

I’ve often deuoured with. And life’s     great lord, master’d aloft repairs her smooth arms in x-     ”— Thus far as Petersburgh.

               17

If you with wide oppen then, gentle     feminine dispraise. To lookes: then incline, to draw     his mouth. So thought, ere in

Song. And smelling bears impart, if     mercy. Gazing for strong- temperament is no sin to     lameness, is muse, till the

palace floors; no silver-footed     message to the fawn, white? Excuse! As the Gnome, and round the     first investigation,

sighs draw his late existence free,     and curl unto a trembles all fiction claim it was she     false pale; but balk the Morning’s

lights, and next she was a long,     this fire, by deeps, and tyrant stains of eternal join’d to     alight Locks in a rainbow

wroth to seize it, and raised her     guide my wish resign’d; labour’d Robe condemn’d, the Sacred Phoebus’     daughter—but in silence:

while they seemes love, her cheek     melts in Flames,—but burn the garbage tub is mated was     tedious death weight more than

the soth to lend and fall, my love     came at there readily for twas, alas! Not all off—as     she rather sight, but golden

pale, lost thou gav’st me more or     lees the Apes folkes mak’st thou dost speaks the Glebe distemperament     as at my selfe escaped

thilke same sweetly; i’ll wink; so     shall my woes as they han intoxicating view, all things     all are borrow’d visage

thou had every foolish-witty:     a bed with softest downright before arose about it     hung rather, half my hearts

of dewy e’en; so trembling in     milk without digs sepulchral from morn she sipp’d, he will not     mark of wind: she bathes folish

or imprudent across a     woman, which, in love, when loue in love, and where Katinka;     I am such Maladies

which love thee, myself too cruel     love, the porches are scatter’d is: his virgin-like silence.     With wears. Four Kings in a

red-rose charms and weep; tis all stay!     The lone wasted in silence in a while ev’ry green boat,     there watchful Spirit,

carelessly array’d her her, ere sure     juan had never more I trace a fair! Nature to my o’er-     sweet and barren raging

more; if every loftiest kings her     senses sore disdain. And another I need have twain, exclaims     on Death is silence

of blisses and my disorder     place Juanna’s dreamy house view, all for Venus noted way.     Or forbidden Blush and

was thy cheek was pale as past and     in his furrows sends indescried by dismal cry remain’d     hale strengthless, from above.

               18

But she dreaded East is banish’d?     But the three deck with rapid tide, of all tree: to march and     life’s great care; and, ample prostrate fall to spend: god giueth good     as alabaster of this mother’s. Discharged. Like fruit. Now     she kiss it seem’d the seaman,

thou learn to stoop my heart breaking     to buy slave, in happy, had I stand all bleeds in sweet     flower was a kid, it was past of all along time is     mute to gather’s song. Then was gone: she would I deign to use     more, that is swaddling-band.

               19

A richesse of charm of the leaps,     as thou fall, look out! So Ladies wherein no revelry,—     and blameless as a hat,

her Eyes had they lay thee long agoe:     for well thy sensual fit of tranqullitie, vsen we wand’ring     Form, his Giant Lock

I swear, dainties the fat frowning     Babe, terror and rose-trees wet with his wings of a captive     with such a place. One day

is dreaming his favours the grasp’d     his dog hote to raungers, and rest, that you but you: not gracious,     and mix our sight, dreaming

to take of the dew-bedabbled     wretched at they speed abated or then fair Hearts of     sorrow distill not curst,

yet looks the Praise, her he went from     the Sun first with loyal in hart I know, it is no step     proud rider as May never

must be for to bark, whose treason:     cynthia! Even as then conscious Hands. Ornament     what mine heart, when numerous

sea is thy foe, great pleasure     dread! Coarse affrighten’d. With Heav’n who when shepherd’s heavy on     his small and the dore, as

if impell’d. But Umbriel on a     little mend her fav’rite Curtain, all my soul move still be     he I was dayes with a

nod. For love and called up, she     finally aboue all, that there and golden these minced leafe sturdy     tree although words begun.

[earlgreydream]

rough.

| draco x reader | angst | smut |

enemies to lovers 🖤

anon requested. theyre enemies but deep down theres a sexual tension and one day theyre on vacation and have to stay in one room together

cw: angst, name-calling (degradation), hate-fucking, very slightly dubcon

.

“I can’t stand you! I don’t want to stay in a room with you!” You shouted, shoving him away from you.

“I’m just as angry as you! I don’t know how the hell this happened!” Draco snapped, pushing past you into your shared hotel room.

You had gone on vacation to America with some of your schoolmates, and due to a mix up in the planning, you and Draco had ended up in the same hotel room. To make matters worse, the room only had one bed.

Draco was your sworn enemy since first year. He’d embarrassed you in front of the Weasley twins, the boys you had a crush on, and you’d retaliated by tainting the love potion he gave to Pansy. It had started seven years of fighting and backbiting, the two of you always at each other’s throats and never seeing eye to eye.

It had become second nature to fight with Draco. Screaming matches with him lit a specific fire in your belly— different from anything else. It burned through you, igniting every nerve in your body. You thought it was anger, though it proved to be more when nothing satiated the rage, and your mind began to wander.

The electrically charged energy between you was hard to ignore. It was like a live wire, blazing everything in its wake, or an oil spill, turning everything flammable.

.

“Malfoy-” you started, but you were cut off by his sharp glare.

“I was going to suggest that we change quickly and meet the others in the lobby. I was going to ask if I could use the loo, but I was going to give you the courtesy of offering it first,” you hissed, and he shook his head.

“Go, it’s fine.”

You stepped into the bathroom, closing the door. You were desperate for some distance from Draco. You freshened up in the mirror, not taking too long so you didn’t get him even more agitated than he already was.

“What are we going to do about-?”

“We’re going to worry about it when the time comes,” you interrupted, glancing at the one bed.

The bathroom door slammed shut, leaving you alone in the small room. There wasn’t a couch— and the chair simply wasn’t adequate. Ultimately, you both knew the two of you were going to end up in bed together that night, whether you liked it or not.

A deep sigh left your lips, and you grabbed your bag, preparing to meet your friends downstairs. Draco locked the door behind the two of you, and the elevator ride was painfully silent. 

.

“My two favorite people. Sorry about the room situation,” Theo grinned, opening his arms as you walked up to him. 

You stepped into his chest, letting tattooed limbs wrap around you. He kissed the top of your head, grinning into your hair. 

“If Malfoy’s mean to you, you just let me know, okay? I’ll take care of him,” Theo promised you, finally getting you to giggle. 

“Maybe tell her not to be a right bi-”

“Draco, baby, try a little harder,” Theo hummed, kissing Malfoy’s cheek before getting pushed off. You laughed at them. 

Seven years, and you still wondered how it was possible for Theo-- the sweetest boy in the world, to be best friends with Draco Malfoy-- the devil’s incarnate. 

“Come on, we’ll get breakfast then catch the ferry,” Cedric said, handing out ferry passes to your group: Draco, Theo, Blaise, Fred, George, Hermione, Ginny, Pansy, Cedric, and you. 

Hermione took your hand, pulling you from the Slytherin boys. 

“It’s going to be fun. And besides, we’ll only be sleeping in the rooms. It’s not a problem,” Hermione assured you, the girls walking ahead of the others.

“Except there is only one bed,” you muttered, and Ginny and Pansy spun to look at you. 

“Are you serious?” Ginny giggled, and you smacked her arm. 

“It is not funny!”

They held their hands up in defense, though their amusement was clear. You took the subway to the ferry, crowded with American muggles. 

“Careful!” Draco hissed in your ear, catching you ask you lost your balance. His hand went around your waist, pinning you to his chest. 

“M’sorry, I slipped!” you were thankful for him holding onto you, even if you’d never admit it. You gripped the pole for support, trying not to lean into him too much. He helped you off of the train, and you took Theo’s hand as you boarded the ferry. 

“Look at the statue!” you gasped, admiring the skyline and leaning on the railing of the boat as you road to Staten Island. 

“Don’t fall,” Draco came to your other side. 

“Are you serious? Draco, I’m not a child!” you snapped.

“You’re leaning on the railing, and we can’t be using magic to drag you out of the water!”

You shot him an indignant look, and climbed up to stand on the railing. Even Theo looked anxious at your actions. 

“Get the fuck down, right now.” Draco’s grey eyes were wide, and you stared back at him, daring him to touch you. 

“We’re going to dock, and it’ll knock the-” Theo was interrupted before he could finish his sentence. The boat stopped suddenly, and as you caught yourself, Draco grabbed your waist, pulling you off of the railing. 

You shrieked, struggling away as he pulled you down. He refused to let go of you, and you tried to shove him off. 

“Knock it off. And quit doing dangerous shit,” Draco swatted your ass through your denim shorts, making Theo choke on his water bottle. You immediately stilled, staring at him in horror. 

“Did you just spank me?” You gasped, startled. 

He let go of you, answering with only a cold look. You shook your head and went to join the others, Theo and Draco falling into conversation with Cedric and Blaise. 

“What happened back there? We heard you yelling,” Hermione asked, grinning behind her oversized mirrored sunglasses.

“Draco just being an ass. It’s fine,” you said, stealing her sunglasses and putting them on. 

“Come on, let’s go have some fun.”

. 

You spent the day sightseeing, walking around Staten Island before going back to Manhattan. The sun was warm overhead, the summer heat getting to your minds. You’d managed to avoid bickering with Draco most of the day, but now the sun was hanging low in the sky, casting a golden-orange glow over everything. You were drinking cocktails at a place near Times Square, tired from being on your feet all day.

“Tomorrow we’re going to the MET,” Theo said, checking the plans. 

You stayed out late, talking and laughing until the lights of the city had drowned out the ink-black sky. You were tired, a little buzzed, overly hot, and you wanted to sleep. 

.

“What the hell was that on the ferry? Do you think you can just-?” Draco grabbed your arm, cutting off your rant that you’d saved until you were in private, not wanting to fight in front of your friends. Your back hit the hotel room door, Draco’s chest pressed up against yours.

“Do I think I can just what? Knock that bullshit little smirk off of your face?” Draco seethed. 

“Tell me what to do!” You pushed his shoulders, though he didn’t move.

“It’s clear that you can’t be trusted to make good choices on your own.”

“That’s rich coming from you-” you hissed, feeling the familiar burning spread through your abdomen. 

“You should learn a little respect,” Draco’s hand wrapped around your throat, the rings on his fingers cold against your warm skin. A moan escaped you before you could stop it, and his eyebrows shot up. 

“Is this what you need? Do you just need to have the bitch fucked out of you?” You squirmed, gripping his wrist and trying to pry his hand off of your throat. 

You were seething, the energy between you becoming intensely sexually charged. You hated yourself for growing aroused, but you couldn’t keep the heat from spreading through your body, and you were becoming keenly aware of your throbbing sex. 

Draco pushed his knee between your thighs, and you shook your head. 

“No, no.”

“No? You aren’t horny and desperate? I know how much you hate me, and I know you’ve been dying to release all that pent up energy. You’re going to be sleeping in the same bed with me tonight, trapped under the sheets with my body. If you don’t act now, you’ll have to go untouched for the next week of this trip...” he smirked, knowing he had leverage, able to see how desperate you were. 

Truly, Draco was desperate for you too. You made him so angry, but you managed to turn him on as you got under his skin. He was aroused now, growing harder as he watched you squirm in pure need. He was waiting to hear you say yes, to give in. He may have hated you, but he wasn’t an animal. 

You bit your lip so hard you tasted metal, trying to hold in a scream. Your chest heaved with heavy breaths, your eyes narrowed into a glare. His thigh was pressed against your sex, and you fought against the urge to grind against him, desperate for friction. 

“Fuck,” you swore, and Draco squeezed your throat, making you whimper. 

“Is that a no, Y/N? Do you want me to let go of you? Let you go finger yourself in the shower?” he mocked you. 

“I hate you.”

“I know. It’s mutual, love.”

“Alright, Draco. Please fuck me. But this doesn’t mean anything!”

He smirked, letting go of you and tossing his shirt aside. You rid your own clothes with his, freezing as your eyes lingered on his naked body. The need and arousal pulsing through your body was overpowering, and just the sight of him was making you falter. 

“Do you need me to do everything for you? Get over here,” Draco’s hand wrapped around your elbow, tugging you toward him. He ripped your panties off, the veins in his hand flexing at the display of strength.

“Draco!”

“Save it.”

Draco hauled you to the bed, bending you over the edge. You struggled, trying to sit up. He shoved your head back down, pressing your chest against the duvet. 

“Are you serious?” you snapped as he gripped your wrists in one hand, holding them at the small of your back. 

“You’re going to lay here and be good or you’re not going to get fucked at all,” Draco threatened, and you burned in shame. You stopped straining yourself to look at him, residing to resting your head on your side, ceasing your struggle against his hold. 

A choked groan left your lips as Draco slammed into your cunt all at once. He buried himself deep enough to where his hips were pressed to your ass, his body bent over yours. Draco slammed into you, frustration powering his rough thrusts. You writhed under his strong grip, moaning and squealing as he tore into your tight heat. Even with how wet you were, your body spasmed at the force. 

It felt primal, rough, and dirty. 

Fucking Draco was scandalous, even for you. The two of you getting so angry that the energy had to be channeled into sex felt deviant, Draco’s cock tainting your innocence with every thrust. 

You felt better than Draco had imagined. Your noises were erotic, encouraging him more than the momentum he was gaining. He kicked your legs further apart, shoving himself deeper into your sex. Your moan was muffled by the duvet, squeezing your eyes shut. It felt like he was tearing you open, and you couldn’t get enough. Your head was spinning, and your fingers flexed, the only part of your body you could move freely against his hold. 

“You’re fucking divine,” Draco breathed, reaching his hand under the two of you. His fingers found the area where your bodies connected, sliding upward through your folds. 

“Draco, fuck, please!” you cried, arching your back as he pressed against your nerves. 

“Please what, love? Are you going to quit being contrary?”

“Yes, I’ll do anything, just please touch me there,” you begged, abandoning your stubbornness.

You buried your face in the bed and screamed, your back curving into a bow as he fucked into you in time with the circles he was tracing with skilled fingers.

Draco swore as you pulsed around him, squeezing his cock as you cried from euphoria. Electricity shot through your limbs, your orgasm ripping through your body. Draco was quick to follow, pulling out and coming over your ass, watching you shudder and throb around nothing. 

As his memories being frustrated with you returned, he continued his assault on your clit, pinching you harshly to watch you writhe and scream. 

“Draco, Draco, I’m sorry, I’ll be nice, just stop!” you squealed, trying to kick him as he overstimulated you. 

He released you as you asked, taking in the sight of your absolutely wrecked body. Your arms were shaking as you brought them under you, trying to push yourself up onto your elbows. You heaved in deep breaths, still trembling as you came down from your high. 

Draco wiped down your skin for you, finding some decency. 

“Hey, look at me. You alright?” Draco held your jaw, tilting your face up. You nodded, and he slid boxers up his leg before digging for something in his jacket pocket. 

“Y/N. Come here,” Draco’s voice was low and husky, his back to you. 

You forced yourself to stand up, your legs weak as you stepped toward him. You followed Draco onto the balcony, where he sat down on a lounge chair. Ringed fingers wrapped around your wrist, pulling you to sit sideways on his lap. 

His touch was no longer aggressive or harsh, but instead moving you with authority. You held a blanket loosely around your body, shielding you from the cool night air. 

Draco didn’t speak as he pulled a cigarette from the box, putting it between his lips. He lit the end before setting the box and the lighter on the table, leaning his head back and taking a drag. He held your jaw, pressing his lips against yours before exhaling the smoke into your mouth. 

He turned, watching the city lights glitter around you. He offered you the cigarette, and you accepted, sharing with him. 

“Our secret?” you asked softly, and his silver gaze connected with his.

“Our secret.”

“Do you still hate me?” 

The corners of Draco’s lips pulled up, and his fingers brushed over your bare back, his hand resting at the base of your spine. 

“Only when it serves me, I suppose,” he murmured, and you fought off a smile.

“You’ll not bite me in my sleep then?”

“Full of questions. I make no promises, I’ve found I rather like how you taste.”

He kissed you then, under the city lights, tasting like smoke and sage and secrets. 

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S3:E6; Chapter Six, E Pluribus Unum - [Pt. 3]

A Will Byers x Fem!Reader Series

𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘦𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘴. 𝘥𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺/𝘯 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴. 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦, 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘹 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘰, 𝘮𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺/𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭'𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴.

⚠️: angst?? unrealistic bird behavior & likely inaccurate descriptions (bird enthusiasts & experts, please don't come for me, it's a metaphor. Same with all the baseball stuff :p), horrible cringy attempt at me writing comedy, and a long but necessary authors note

📝: nothing is explicitly confirmed so that anyone may interpret this however they want—gender & sexuality is different for everyone. R is not ending up with anyone but Will since you as a reader chose this book, but that doesn't mean I haven't gone out of my way to create instances that invoke possibility/interpretation. Like, if you think Y/n and Max or El or whatever have some flirtationship going on, they do! If you think they are strictly friends, correct! It's up to you and despite my previous a.ns, in the end, it's really up to you. This is meant to be an extension of you—a character you play in the show that I hope you feel you can fit into and relate to as much as possible. Everything here is for your enjoyment. All I ask, is you respect others' interpretations. Thank you for reading, I know I have long a.n's. I hope you enjoy it! (EDIT: Sorry, I genuinely meant this when I wrote it and then I realized, "hey actually things can be wholesome and gay in a harmless little fic without people bursting into flames" also I've been writing in will's sexuality anyway and we never see comphet represented in fics and I know that if I had exposure to such questions to ask myself at that age, it would have been extremely beneficial for me and I wouldn't have dealt with so much internalized homophobia probably (hence the once deeply closeted lesbian subconsciously picking the gay character for the LI) so let's put this fem!reader copy to good use, shall we?!)(and no, the he/him and they/them copies will be sticking to Will byers LI. Fem reader will be moving away 🎉🥳)

||𝟑𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

- 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟏𝐒𝐓, 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟏 -

"You're such a jerk, Mike!"

"Yeah, well, at least I'm not a cheater!"

"--Guys!"

"Screw you! If anyone's cheating, it's you! You keep changing the rules anytime it's convenient for you,"

"--Guys, please!"

"Do not!"

"--Just stop!"

"Do too!"

The Henderson residence had played host to many of the Party's adventures in its day, but none in recent had been quite so tense as this summer evening. The sun was setting behind the tallest wall of timber and a curtain of clouds that set the shockingly secluded property aglow in a soft but vibrant lilac. The air was still very much hot though perhaps that felt the case to the young Y/n Henderson, all but absent of smoke blowing from her ears as she charged after her friend in a rage, baseball mitt chucked to the ground and forgotten.

Behind her on the sidelines, her brother, and two best friends desperately trying to put out the stoking fire between her and a young Mike Wheeler. The Wheeler boy in question stopped his angry pacing just steps from the extended porch to whirl on his feet, completely red in the face.

He threw his arms out in anger. "Guess what, Y/n?! Pointing out you can't play favorites as pitcher and actually have to pitch well to everyone isn't cheating or," he angrily got in her fuming face as he threw up air quotes. "'bending the rules'. It's enforcing them,"

"--Mike, lay off," Lucas eased. But Like Y/n, Mike wasn't listening. Both children were blinded by their anger.

Y/n let out a very loud, very obvious fake laugh. She was bitter and angry and at this point, didn't care. Mirroring Mike's exact actions from before she threw her arms out at her side before her hands landed on her hips. "Yeah?! I'm playing favorites? That's what you think, that I'm intentionally setting you up for failure-? 'Kay, and have you ever considered that—I don't know, maybe, I might still be learning how to pitch, jackass?! Our mom just got us this equipment cause she could spare to afford it with the extra hours she's been working—we've never had an opportunity to practice before,"

Off to the side, Dustin went quiet. His eyes curiously watched Mike as he dropped his angry stance a little in realization. The air had changed. The golden and lilac skies deepened and the hot summer air lingered, but a small breeze had settled in; sneaking in through the trees in this sudden silence.

It was often easy for Mike to forget the life his parents gave him differed in many ways from some if not all of his friends. He could feel the heat in his cheeks burning brighter as the anger fizzled into embarrassment.

"That's what I thought," Y/n glowered, turning away in a huff to retrieve the long-forgotten roll-away ball that lay nestled against the forest floor. "Go home, Mike. I don't need this,"

"Y/n," Mike sighed. He sounded more tired than sorry, still whirling in the aftermath of his dwindling anger. Off to the side, Will, Lucas, and Dustin shared anxious looks. "Come on, I didn't think about it like that--"

"--I said go home! I don't want you here!"

Mike stiffened, his chest thundering with a storm of conflicting emotions that were threatening to get the best of him. He could feel his fists tightening at his sides and the urge to apologize drowning in his urge to deflect his embarrassment was winning.

"Yeah?!" He practically stutters, completely pink in the face and his hands balled up at his sides. "Well, maybe I don't wanna be here! Like you're gonna hear me out anyway-!"

Y/n scoffed, crossing her arms. "Like you're capable of real apologies!"

"--You guys, please," Came Will's small and pleading voice. The young boy felt a sympathetic hand fall on his left shoulder, stopping him from going any further and getting caught in the crosshairs. He looked over his shoulder to see an equally worried Lucas. The two shared silent words before watching what the three worried would be the end of their Party.

"You know what?! Fine!" Mike hollers. "As always, it's what Y/n wants!" He stops only to look around at the others, his voice lowering in volume before he says what he is certain is his final goodbye to Y/n. "I'm leaving."

The small audience watched as Mike yanked his backpack off the back patio and stormed off around the side of the house. Y/n, despite the searing anger practically pulsing off of her skin in waves, was almost shocked to see he called her bluff. Mike, though she hadn't been part of the group long, had quickly become one of her best friends. And though they had a special knack for getting under one another's skin, they always had each other's back when it really mattered.

Was she really about to let that go? Was Mike?

Dustin, Lucas, and Will seemed to be wondering the same question based on their reaction; one by one their tiny slack-jawed faces trailed from the side of the house where Mike had disappeared over to where she stood. Still cross-armed and fuming, but relinquishing muscle by muscle as reality settled in.

Her brother and friends were the first on Mike's heels, snapping themselves from their stupor and calling after their friend. If they could just convince him to stay long enough for both of them to cool down and work something out. They feared just what might happen if he left now; that what was broken just might stay broken.

Y/n didn't quite understand what she wanted to do or say—or even if she had any intention of doing or saying anything at all—when she found herself reluctantly following after Dustin, Lucas, and Will. Maybe she was just curious to see if Mike truly had the guts to leave. Maybe some part of her was scared to know the answer, no matter how furious she still was with him.

When she finally rounded the corner, she had little time to wonder why her friends had snapped into action and joined Mike on the empty driveway in worried tones.

She had caught him just as he was pushing himself off his hands and knees and onto his backside, grinding his teeth in pain from where he now sat on the dirtied-up driveway. Blood was already seeping through the abrasions on his right knee, a mixture of pebbles and dirt wedged into his bloodied skin around the wound could be seen even in the dying evening light. The lip of the concrete driveway peeking out of the dirt just a foot behind him suggested he hadn't had such luck in the darkness.

Sensing the extra pair of eyes on him, Mike looked up with a small huff only to meet eyes with the very friend he was trying to escape. Both were far too stubborn to relinquish an apology, and Mike's sudden vulnerable state only made his humiliation double down. He thought for sure he'd seen the last of Y/n, or at the very least, she'd laugh and say something about him deserving it. But instead, she turned tail and stomped inside the house without another word.

Nobody said anything at first. And Mike made quick but clumsy work of dabbing at the blood with his hands as carefully as possible. The sooner he got up the sooner he was out of here.

"You okay--?"

Will barely had time to finish the words before the slam of the front door returned and Y/n's frighteningly stern voice rung out (unintentionally and unknowingly) cutting off Will.

"Don't be an idiot, Mike. Your hands are filthy," everyone turned to see Y/n marching down the brick steps, her trusty Crystal-and-Lockjaw-lunchbox-turned-first-aid-kit in hand. "Let me see,"

"I'm fine," he snaps, growing self-conscious and throwing himself on his feet. He fails to hide a wince at the sudden bend of his knee and Y/n pins him under a tired glare. "I said I'm leaving, so I'm leaving."

"Stop being a baby and just sit down, Wheeler," Y/n pressed, her voice climbing again as she subconsciously began backing him up and around to the front steps of their front door.

"No, alright?!" He tried again, looking over her shoulder like he was getting ready to sprint. "I'm fine! I'm fine!"

"Just shut up and let me help you!" She bellowed, jabbing a finger behind him on the front steps.

His eyes blew open wide in fear as he collapses on the front steps and did his best to ignore the slight sizzle in the air that carried along with the breeze. Thankfully he knew better than to say anything, and judging by the looks on their faces from where they stood behind her so did the trio of boys who had watched the scene unfold with slight shock. Y/n heaved a tired (almost regretful?) sigh as she rubbed at her temples. All before kneeling at Mike's feet and unlocking the tin lunchbox and sorting through to find the correct supplies.

"I thought you wanted me to leave?" Mike finally asked after a minute or two. The rest of the Party, having realized they had intruded enough, was promptly led inside by Dustin to grab their coats and things and call it a night. They were currently inside, getting ready to leave. Perhaps this is why Mike had the sudden courage to mumble out the first words he had spoken to Y/n in minutes. "Thought you hated me,"

She rolled her eyes in great annoyance as she discarded the last of the cleaning supplies off to the side where she would eventually dispose of them properly. As she fished for a big enough band-aid, she didn't bother looking up at her friend to grumble her answer.

"I don't hate you, Mike," she admits much to his surprise. "I'm not happy with you, and I don't exactly want you here right now, either."

There was a small pause as she plucked a square strip from the tin, her attention focused on peeling back the paper to get to the bandage.

"But I don't hate you."

Mike would be lying, even to himself, if he said he wasn't relieved to hear that.

"You're lucky I even bothered to waste my supplies on you--" she nods to her lunchbox, her first and favorite first aid kit from a lunchbox she loved so much she was too afraid to take to school at the risk of ruin. "Just because you fell doesn't mean I don't think you deserve it,"

He frowned at that. But any instinct to bite back died out when he remembered the guilt he felt minutes ago for his thoughtless remark on her pitching. And as he sat here now, watching as the seething glare she had him trapped in all evening had effortlessly turned to a laser-focused gaze, making sure she applied his bandage just right, he couldn't help but feel a change. The remorse he felt from earlier was growing heavier and heavier, bringing his shoulders down in a slump and turning his frown genuine.

He tried thinking back earlier on in the day, asking himself why they had even started fighting in the first place. But he didn't have one right answer. Not one that justified losing a best friend over. It was all silly, selfish, and ridiculous. He had been all those things.

"I'm sorry, Y/n," Mike admitted, his heart pounding a little in his chest. She looked up from her lunchbox, where she had been tucking any loose items away, and paused as she searched his eyes in return. "I shouldn't have said those things."

That pounding in his chest was turning into hard and thunderous booms. Mike wanted to ignore it but it was the only distraction he had as Y/n studied him for any sign of false meaning. She found none.

The question of whether or not Mike had lost one of his best friends—a question he had been dreading to ask—was finally answered when Y/n's lips slowly stretched into a thin smile of relief.

||𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐄'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

- 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐘 -

"...you're jealous of me?"

Okay. Yeah, it was definitely time to leave the country. Leaving the country is a good plan. A great plan.

I don't know how long it actually takes me to answer. I just sorta... stand there. Trying to will my heart to start pumping again—it actually feels like all the blood has stopped pumping and my entire body is turning cold. Shit!

My eyes dart back over my shoulder through the screen door, but nobody—not even Will—seems to have noticed. I don't bother asking this time before I manage to bring myself to sit across from her on the steps without my knees buckling. My palms are clammy, my throat is dry and I can't even bring myself to meet her eye line.

This is totally ridiculous! I have to think about what I told Will that day—what she did for us. I know who she is. I have to remind myself who I'm talking to... But this is also the person I've screwed over for the past year and a half.

"Are you mad?"

Out of everything I could have said, I ask that?

Y/n scoffs, and my heart skips a few beats in fear. From the corner of my eye, I can see she's looking down at her lap and picking at the plastic seams of the comms as she thinks. She looks tired. Emotionally.

"I'm not mad, Mike," she admits. There's a small, sad smile fighting to stay on her face. It reminded me of that week we were looking for Will. "At least-- well, not about that, anyway,"

She chuckles a little, but I can tell even through her joking tone there's some layer of truth. Y/n sighs again, setting the comm on the steps at her feet, and glazing over the breeze in the trees before catching my eye for the first time.

"To be honest, I-- I'm not exactly surprised. Either."

The urge to get angry again creeps up but thankfully I'm just enough in my right mind to recognize I'm getting defensive. I'm embarrassed. 'How long have you known?' I'm not even sure the words left my mouth but she still answers me anyway.

"I've known you since the fourth grade, Mike," Y/n says. "Don't forget I spent a year on the sidelines. I saw how you two were—how you can be—around each other. Stuff other people might have missed... and I heard what you told him that night in the shed, about how you guys met."

My head is pulled over my shoulder without thought. Immediately, I catch sight of Will through one of the cabin's windows. He's standing in the kitchen, finishing off his stupid bowl of Lucky Charms by shoveling the last spoonfuls into his mouth like he always does. A few pieces fall from his spoon and his head falls with it, watching it slip away regretfully. He doesn't think anyone's watching him-- he's just Will, being himself.

The sight brings a similar, sad smile to my face when I recall the things I said to him that night. The moment Y/n is talking about.

'It was the best thing I've ever done,'

I'm broken from the memory when Y/n continues. Her tone suggests she knows what I'm thinking.

"What's between you and Will is something... I don't know," Y/n admits after a moment, shrugging and dropping her hands on her knees, unable to find the proper word. "But it's not nothing."

Y/n can tell I haven't said anything in a while. And she's smart enough to guess I'm not jumping to reply. I feel her gaze on me when my eyes fall to my shoes. I'm not sure whether to be relieved, embarrassed, horrified, or what... But despite what she's saying, I notice there's something still bothering her: I know this because her hands haven't stopped fidgeting, and they only got worse when she weakly—but playfully—nudged my knee with hers.

"Look, I-- " maybe I'm looking for things, but I swear she's trying to spit the words out. I swear the look she throws over our shoulders at the window and into the living room where Max, stood with Lucas and the others—not far outside El's door—lingered just a little longer than normal. But maybe I'm looking for things. "I get it. Believe me..." something somebody says inside has the pair laughing, and Y/n bows her head into her hands, rubbing exasperatedly at her temples. But maybe I'm not. "I get it."

The fidgeting got worse as she laid her eyes back on the forest. Two birds were meeting on a branch, cautious of one another, but neither of them willing to budge. I felt yet another small, playful nudge on my leg, and I nearly laughed upon recognizing her go-to weak attempt at lightening the mood.

It took me a moment to process her words, and when I finally registered I'm meeting her eyes I can tell she was waiting for a reaction of some sort. But really, there's nothing I can say that does justice to how I feel. But one look and I know—every suspicion I've ever had is gone. Y/n feels it too.

"But you know," she shakes her head thoughtfully, going back to those birds on the branch. They're scoping each other out. I'm surprised they haven't started fighting—gotten territorial or anything. It's almost like they're getting used to each other again. "I really don't think there's anything wrong with that. I mean, the connections we make with people, whatever they look like, are up to us. It's scary but it's true. But the feelings—not so much. Feelings just happen, and they can happen with anyone, and when they do they just... take hold of you."

The darker bird snapped its beak at the red one when it got too close. It cocked its head but didn't budge, only snapping back at it before hopping closer on the branch. In a lightning-fast motion, it plucked a twig from the feathers on its back, not without lecturing the black one for yelling at it as it did so. The red bird promptly hopped back several spaces, and the black bird quieted in guilt.

"I think you just gotta be brave enough to stick it out if you're willing," she shakes her head at the ground. "I don't think that makes anyone bad. And I don't know about you, but I'm pretty happy with how things turned out." I found myself chuckling noiselessly as I nod along. The road here was definitely long and winding and far beyond complicated. But there were some things I just wouldn't change.

As they always were, the army of trees was a tempting sight to turn back to in such a heavy realization, but I was too preoccupied with the flustered haze Y/n was beginning to fall into. It was curious to see.

"I'm..." a genuine smile I hadn't seen on anyone in days flashed over her face as she looked wistfully over her shoulder. "so happy with Will." She admitted. But that smile eventually fell a little. "And I know how happy you are with El—I have a pretty good idea of what she means to you."

We both hear chirping in the branches, and we pull our sights back on the birds. The black-feathered bird—who had flown off before—had returned. He seemed almost shy. But he had food. And he was offering some of it to the other. She didn't look like she believed him at first, but she must have been hungry. Or needed a friend. Cause she cautiously hopped closer and took some of the food with a thankful chirp.

Y/n turns back to me, reluctant to take her eyes off the sight. "But that doesn't mean you haven't hurt people,"

I'm pretty sure the look on my face said it all.

"I never meant it, you know. That stuff I said. At the mall. You know, about you being locked away."

Her head sunk a little lower and I swore I could feel the air grow hotter around me. Almost as much as it did when she cornered me in the storage room.

"I was just... I was just--"

"Jealous?"

"Yeah," I laugh bitterly along with her. It's the first time either one of us has successfully been alone in a long time, I realize. "Yeah, I was. I was also scared. But mostly, Y/n, I was really mad. I don't know what for exactly, but I was panicking, and jealous and of course I don't want you locked up-- and I should never have said that. Maybe I said it cause I wanted to make you mad. Like I was mad... But I shouldn't have."

I'm too embarrassed to fully realize the heat in the air cooling. All I know is I feel a bit more relaxed. But maybe that's cause she's finally meeting my eye again.

"So, Y/n, I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. For everything."

Maybe it's because all of this feels familiar.

"No, alright?! I'm fine! Just leave me alone!"

Something in the way Y/n's looking at me tells me she's thinking the same thing.

"Just shut up and let me help you!"

Something like we've been down this road before. But that oddly puts me at ease...

Y/n's lips slowly stretched into a thin but familiar smile.

"I miss being your friend, Mike,"

Something about those words felt just as familiar: everything about this moment, including the birds, but I couldn't quite call it deja vu.

- 𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 -

"I'm sorry, Y/n. I shouldn't have said those things."

I don't think I've ever been so relieved to see someone laugh at me. It was just a small chuckle, I'm pretty sure out of relief. But a laugh. "Thank you," Y/n says. She winced as she stood first, then offered me a hand to my feet. "And me too. And I'm sorry I said, you know, that you were a jerk and, all that stuff about you being stupid. I was just angry, but that wasn't cool,"

"What?"

The look on her face didn't change, but she took a moment to gulp. "...did I not say that stuff out loud?"

I felt my eyes narrow at her. "You said I was a jerk, but you didn't call me stupid,"

"..."

"..."

"--truce?"

"--truce?"

We both laughed a little, and I knew I wasn't the only one feeling the last of the tension disappearing. Together, the two of us walked to the pile of bikes at the edge of the empty garage. I could barely make out the sound of Dustin hushing Lucas and Will from inside and I rolled my eyes at the thought of them all listening. I wouldn't put it past them. Knowing those three, if we both turned around to look we'd probably find them with their noses glued to the window.

"Hey, Mike?" Y/n asked, pulling my bike off the wall and offering it to me. I think she could tell despite our resolution, I was eager to make it home.

"Yeah?"

It had been a long day. A long week or so really. We hadn't been getting along since she's been spending more time with Will. The two of them had been running late working on building and leveling up her character, Y/C/N. And honestly, it's been hard without either of them.

Y/n opened and closed her mouth, suddenly embarrassed. She shakes her head finally. "...I don't know, I guess I just--"

I take the handle of my bike and she released her grip, looking over at me and offering a crooked smile in the process.

"I've missed being your friend,"

-𝗘𝗡𝗗 𝗢𝗙 𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞-

Something lifts in my chest and off my heart and lungs—something that's been weighing heavily for years. I actually feel myself smiling a little, and inhaling what feels like the first fresh breath of air I've had in a long time.

"I miss being your friend, too,"

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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"AAPI Equity Alliance (formerly, A3PCON) is a coalition of community-based organizations that advocates for the rights and needs of the Asian American and Pacific Islander community in Los Angeles County and beyond."

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[ayamturd]

end│dreamwastaken

summary: dream was once your everything that you would do anything for; what happens when you finally confront the reality of his manipulation and sadistic destruction?

prompt: “we’re both at fault here, and now we both have to pay the price.” 

warnings: descriptive manipulation, a single curse word, angst

pairing: in-game c!dream

a/n: this is my entry for @sleepysoupi​‘s 1.8k event! it goes without saying how late i am considering she’s currently working on her 2.0k event, but still a huge congratulatory to her amazing success and obvious, well deserved recognition <33 we love soupi in this household, nothing less of the fact *^*

also i know the prison doesn’t work exactly like how i wrote it, but let’s pretend for the sake of this fic

wc: (1.6k) - m.list

“Don’t do this, y/n.”

The air was sticky and heavy. As the lava bubbled behind you, it felt as if the heat could reach out and smother you entirely; the subtle warmth that felt insufferably suffocating in the tight space was a large contrast to the dark, opaque walls. 

Although you stood in front of him by your own desire, habits quickly fell to place as he stood proudly above you. Chin raised, Dream’s shoulders were relaxed while he spoke to you. His words were firm, and with clenched fists, you swallowed harshly from his mocking tone. 

You could practically hear his condescending grin without looking in how belittling he addressed you, and you hated how familiar the speech was. 

“After all I’ve done for you, and you want to throw it all away?”

Despite all attempts, you unconsciously bowed your head down. Whether in unjustified guilt or the internal rage from his lies, you couldn’t say yourself. He noticed nonetheless, and played into your vulnerability further. 

He was the one defenseless in this scenario, yet he held all the power in the small cage between the two of you. 

“We made promises! ‘Till the very end, right?!” He began to raise his voice and feigned some form of heartbreak, taking a step dangerously closer to you while you stood there in frozen fear.

Staring harshly down at your feet, the weight of gravity pulled at your tears as they trickled down sparsely. This was different than when you originally confronted him mere hours ago. Here, you were alone and with no backing, no one to reassure you that you did the right thing. That he was a monster that had you blinded for so long.

That you were justified for betraying Dream. 

“Don’t play stupid with me now. You can’t act like I did this all alone. That I’m not the only sick fuck in the room who enjoys the-”

“Stop it,” you whispered with closed eyes. While your voice was small, it echoed so loudly and threw Dream off guard. He shook his head and with a dark chuckle, sneered disparagingly. 

“You really th-”

Your eyes opened as you unexpectedly interrupted him.

“No. For once in my life, I mean it. Shut your egotistical mouth for one goddamn second.”

Everything was in a frozen stand still as you snapped. 

Course tears ran steadily down your cheeks, yet your eyes held more strength than Dream could had ever perceived in that moment. It had been so long since you had lost your voice. Lost your confidence, your fire that drew him in in the first place. It had been so long since you felt like yourself again, the person you once were before he teared you down completely to his mercy. 

You swallowed sternly in exposed anxiety; when was the last time you saw his face like this? Saw his face at all, at that. 

The molten lava radiated the room, it being the main source of light in contrast to the faint glow of the lanterns built into the walls. When you had originally requested to see him one final time before he was officially locked away for good, you had no idea what you expected to see. You didn’t see anything, actually, since you couldn’t bring yourself to try and meet his eye line the entire time. 

Until now. 

As the magma shaded the room in a warm shine, his dull eyes gleamed a faded hue of ash green. His dirty blond hair was visible without his signature hoodie, his previous clothes stripped away and replaced with an attired uniform instead. He hid behind a mask for so long, it was surreal to see him as something so mundane and human.

Your mouth felt so dry from seeing him again. He almost looked like when you first laid eyes on him, that beautiful day when you thought you had fallen in love. How nice the sun felt, and how crisp the wind blew. The summer day was fresh and the sweet smell of honey pervaded the air. To think it was by mere chance he approached you in the white flower field, hidden in the depths of the forest with a charming smile and gentle hand.

How cruel reality liked to play with you and give you false hope that such love could truly exist. 

The memory brought a smoldering rage that made your heart race in return. Back straight, you dared a step towards him with a quiet, yet firm declaration. 

“I’m done making excuses for your lies. For your actions, for the hurt you cause, for you.”

Dream could barely register your words as you continued in growing fury. It was like the floodgates were open and you felt free to speak your truth. 

You were riding this new found wave and would hold nothing back anymore. 

“I let you get away with so much because I truly believed that I loved you. That my love could fix you, or change what you are.”

You stepped forward again, your finger shakily pointed at him. His mouth opened to respond but you spoke before he could try. You weren’t going to give him anything, you thought, he doesn’t deserve your silence.

“I went against everything I believed!” you suddenly yelled, “everything I stood for, everything I thought because of you!”

Your vision was a blur as your raw emotions came loose. You screamed from the top of your lungs to the point where your voice cracked with a head lifted high. 

“I let people get hurt! People I love and care for because I prioritized you over everything I had!”

Another step forward, your voice shook with quivered lips as a result of an ached and long scorned heart.

“To think I used to be so proud to say it, to say you were my everything and my world.” With a trembled exhale, you gathered yourself before finishing your thought. “Maybe I am stupid, but trust me when I say my ignorance was your freedom and my considered love a blind devotion.”

Dream’s face softened considerably, for he was at a loss for words and didn’t have anything to probe at anymore. It was his turn to suffer in a lost acceptance.

“I…”

Shaking your head, you scoffed with your head tilted in disbelief. Smiling darkly, you knew then and there you regained the power of the room and your self-assurance over him. How the turn tables.

“Funny how things change when you have no where to run. When you’re the one helpless and reliant.”

Standing strong with your arms crossed, you stared at him with such distaste. Dream’s brows furrowed with a clench jaw as he stepped even closer to you. He was now mere inches away and glared down at you from his given height. Even then, you wouldn’t back down any longer.

“I do love you, y/n. Everything I did, I did for us. You can’t leave me like this.” He gazed down with such intensity that your past you would have wanted to say something just to appease him entirely; you weren’t that person anymore, and you wouldn’t let him drag you down more than he already has. 

Dropping yours arms before stepping back, you messaged Sam without wavering your eye contact from him. 

“We’re both at fault here, and now we both have to pay the price of it alone.”

The sounded mechanics from outside the box indicated the lava dropping, signifying the end of your visit. Dream grew agitated at the thought of you leaving and dropped his eyes down in resent, a huge contrast to your relaxed and calm state. 

You moved backwards until your back threatened to be burned by the heat. 

“Here’s to loosing all those attachments you mentioned.”

Dream’s head snapped up from your words, but before he could attempt anything further, the Netherite divider rose and separated you both. The lava parted as you approached the platform, Sam visible from across the entrapping moat. He watched closely in regard to your safety and anything Dream might try with your back currently turned. 

Approaching the stone platform once deemed safe, you turned to face him a final time as the contraption slowly pulled you away. Your chin was raised, and your tears were dry in satisfaction to your found closure.

“You were right,” you affirmed, “we did make promises, and this is our end.”

Bonus:

Tommy had been tormenting Dream for the past few minutes or so, his obnoxious taunts a sign of recovery from all the trauma he had dealt with from his young age. He hid behind his humor, but was strong when confronting his abuser with no uncertainty then. 

“Who do you miss the most?”

Dream paused from fiddling with the leather of the book covers from the simple question. His hand began to curl around the thick material, and he drowned out Tommy’s rambling from behind him.

A familiar scent filled his senses, an old and precious memory uncovered from the oppressed depths of his mind. He pulled the book in hand open to a random, but intentional page, his callous fingers tracing over the stained ink.

He wasn’t an artist, and it easily would have been passed for messy, nonsense doodles, yet the drawing practically burned the paper as a reminder of his failed objectives.

The innocent azure bluets insulted him despite being his own creation.

Dream was done playing into Tommy’s confidence, and spoke lowly as his head turned further away from the boy.

“… I think you should go, Tommy."