#let it die unfed

[thrythlind]

This.

(image ID: a series of screencaps of hbomberguy, a white bearded man with a torn lab coat, addressing the camera, with the subtitles "I want to clarify right now that if anyone harasses Somerton on my behalf, they are worse than him and will not see the light of Heaven.")

I'm adoring the dunkfest but with the knowledge that a lot of people are learning about the hbomb video from posts without necessarily watching it, I wanted to make sure this particular bit got shared.

[nakedbibi333]

Thinking Fourth Dimensionally - Neville Goddard

“The condition which I desired and assumed that I had, becomes  objectified within my world and bears witness to the power of my assumption.”

Summary: think outside the boundaries of the 3D world. Think beyond the things that have happened in the physical world, what could happen, what's possible. Think outside of reason, the rules of the world, think outside of logic. Allow your desires to be impossible, magical, and instant. Allow yourself to be free from the constrictions of what life has taught you it is.

Concepts Discussed: The Inner world, Self-Concept, The 4D, Instant manifestation, The Carnal Mind: The conscious mind, The Mind of Christ: The subconscious mind, The sabbath, and The importance of your inner world (mental diet).

The conscious mind is strapped by reason and the 3D world.

It can only experience the present moment as reality

Because it is physically in front of you and you can experience it, it feels more real than anything else (but it isn't).

The past only feels like an illusion and the future doesn’t exist yet 

It does not think that it can access or change the past or future

The 4D is the subconscious mind.

In here, the past, present, and future are all happening at the same time, now.

Leave the 3D alone and take time to nurture the 4D, your inner world. 

When you go into your imagination and create a new reality there, you are effectively changing your state. By assuming the wish fulfilled and walking in that assumption (thinking from and acting as if), you will be persisting in that state.

“A concrete reality, displaced in time”

5th Chapter of the Gospel of Mark (3 stories)

“Be not afraid, only believe”

Fear is the absence of faith.

To be fearful is to go against your belief in the law of assumption, in your own belief in yourself.

“Are you living in the dead past?”

The past no longer exists at this moment. It is completely changeable and it has no power over you now. The only way you can give it power is by assuming that the past is immovable and unchangeable. Your own assumptions based on your past are what are holding you back.

“If you are living among the dead, your prejudices, your superstitions, and your false beliefs that you keep alive are the tombstones behind which you hide.”

When you refuse to let go of the old man, state, beliefs, and assumptions you have carried with you for so long, you refuse to change your inner reality. If you do not change your inner reality, you won't change your outer reality.

The 4D reveals a new approach to life.

Dying to the old state and resurrecting to the new state is how you change yourself.

Think outside the boundaries of the senses. 

Don't allow yourself to be stuck within the laws and rules of logic and reason.

Get rid of limitations.

Cleanse your mind of your former concept of self

“As your mind is cleansed of your former concept of self, you assume you are what you want to be, and remaining faithful to this assumption, you give form to your assumption.”

“But now having assumed that I AM what formerly I desired to be, I cannot continue desiring what I AM conscious of being. So I do not discuss it. I talk to no one concerning what I AM. It is so obvious to me that I AM what I wanted to be that I walk as though I were.”

You stay true and faithful to your assumption and then you walk through life as though you have it. THINK FROM IT.

“When you do become cleansed and you are free, then the womb, your own mind is automatically healed. It becomes the prepared ground where seeds, your desires, can take root and grow into manifestation.”

Die to your old state, feed your mind for your new state, tell no one, walk in that assumption, and persist.

“Things I am not attentive to fade and wither within my world, regardless of what they are.”

Since you created everything in your experience, you have the ability to remove your attention from them.

“They are not born and then remain unfed. I gave them birth by reason of the fact that I became conscious of being them. When I embody them within my world that is not the end. That is the beginning. Now I am a mother who must keep alive this state by being attentive to it.” 

By removing your attention from what is undesirable in your life, you are starving it. 

Things in your life are fed by attention. Remove your attention from that which you do not desire and turn your attention on that which you love.

Your attention must remain on your new state

Do not revert back, only feed your desired state.

“Close the door to your senses”

The 3D world is merely a reflection. It is not the source. It is not concrete and immovable. It is not unchangeable. The 4D world is the true source. Imagination is the source. 

So, close the door to the physical world and move only in your imagination. Grant yourself your desires, become who you desire to be, and leave reason, limitations, judgment, and other people’s opinions out of there. Here, anything is possible. Anything can happen and you can have anything you desire, no matter how unattainable it may seem. Think about it right now. In your mind, you can have all the money in the world, and you can bring anything you desire into existence. You can have anyone you want, You can be successful and loved and revered. You can love and be loved. You can be anywhere in the universe that you can possibly imagine. You can literally close your eyes and imagine yourself on the moon and it would take absolutely no effort on your part. In imagination, all things are yours and all things are possible. This is the source from which all things in the physical 3D world come from. So, if you truly allow yourself to create, to be, and to give yourself anything you desire, then your 3D world can reflect a magical world filled with all your desires fulfilled. 

“I no longer look for confirmation. I completely deny the evidence of my senses, which mock my assumption and do not discuss with others whether my assumption is possible or not.”

You don’t look for confirmation, you don’t ask anyone (even yourself) if it’s possible. It is possible because you said it’s possible. And that’s that. Be stern with yourself. Begin standing up for yourself, your desires, and your imagination. You deserve to have your 3D reflect to you exactly what you want. No less. 

“I shut out of that state everything that would deny it” = You literally ignore anything that would go against your desire. You have to be so stubborn. You have to be like a spoiled child, denying anything that does not exactly align with what you want. You don’t take no for an answer, you don’t allow it to half-manifest, and you definitely don’t allow “signs” and “small manifestations” to come. You don’t settle for anything less than you deserve, which is everything you desire, down to the smallest detail. 

Creation is man’s I AM

We were always meant to be creators.

Man’s consciousness is GOD. There is no other power out there.

Are you free of conditions?

“Do you believe now that you, without the assistance of another, need only assume that you are what you want to be, to make that assumption real within your world? Or do you believe that you must first fulfill a certain condition imposed upon you by the past, that you must be of a certain order, or a certain something?”

Ask yourself this: are you truly allowing yourself to be the sole power of your experience? Do you truly believe that you can have, be, and experience anything you desire? Do you actually think that you don't need to do anything except imagine yourself as you wish to be and it will come? Or are you still reasoning, doubting, and conditioning?

SELF-CONCEPT

“Of what are you conscious of being?”

Neville begins talking about the importance of the self-concept.

Everything you experience comes from you. Your entire world and reality is created by you. Are you ready to completely accept that everything is coming from imagination?

“Although you cannot see your objective with the limited focus of your three-dimensional mind, you are now that which you have assumed you are. Walk in that assumption and remain faithful to it.”

Even if you can’t see your desire immediately manifested in the physical world, you ARE what you have assumed. Your assumptions, beliefs, and manifestations are true and real. You continue to remain faithful to these new assumptions, this new conception of self, so that it can show itself to you in the physical world. It must be made manifest, there is no exception. If you assume something, and persist in that assumption, it MUST manifest and reflect in the outer world.

“I alone possess the power of the first person.”

I AM - only able to refer to myself. It is a first-person experience as GOD. This is your reality. Your own personal world and experience. Only you can manifest for yourself. 

“No man can get in [the pool] before you”

No one can take your manifestations from you

No one can beat you to manifesting something or someone

It’s only you

The Sabbath

“When you are not at all concerned about the opinion of others, when you walk as though you were, you cannot raise one finger to make it so, you are in the Sabbath.”

“I cannot be concerned as to how it will be, and still say I AM conscious of being it”

You are not truly in the state of having what you desire if you are still worrying about how it will come to you.

You would know that you are in the Sabbath if you are no longer questioning.

Because if you already had it, you wouldn’t be concerned about any conditions, because you already have it. If you find yourself in confusing thought patters regarding your manifestations, ask yourself this question: If you already had it, would you be thinking like this?

The Story of the Woman of Samaria

Harvest happens now, not in a period of time

Your imagination gives you fulfillment immediately

You can think of anything and it comes to mind instantly. There are no conditions, reasons, steps, there is no how. You don’t have to do anything but bring it to mind. That is manifestation. That’s all.

The well of everlasting quenched thirst

This refers to your imagination. There is no thirst or hunger in imagination because you can instantly imagine yourself fulfilled. If you are thirsty, you can imagine yourself drinking water. If you are hungry, you can imagine yourself eating anything you desire. If you desire something, you can instantly bring it about in imagination. There is no wait for harvest in imagination, only instant fulfillment.

Your subconscious mind “Sees [your desires] as now in a dimensionally larger world, existing now, taking place now.” It has ways that are outside the limitations of the 3D mind, the conscious mind that you have access to. Allow it to do what it was made for.

“Your five senses impregnate you morning, noon, and night with their limitations” 

You are constantly bombarded with the limitations, reasons, rules, and opinions in the 3D world. It takes effort to remove yourself from this cycle and allow yourself freedom from this.  They “dictate to you that which you must accept as true.”

Basically, your 3D world is trying to gaslight you into thinking that you have no power. 

The story of feeding the ducks (mental diet)

“Man is a psychological being, a thinker.”

“It is not what he feeds upon physically, but what he feeds upon mentally that he becomes. We become the embodiment of that which we mentally feed upon.”

The mental diet is extremely important. If you truly want to live a dream life, you need to create a world in your mind that is aligned with the fulfillment of your desires. Manifestation is not only about getting one thing you desire and then going back to the life you were living previously. It is about changing completely.

Notice your thought patterns, notice what you are assuming and imagining and change those things that do not align with your fulfilled desires.

Abdullah and Barbados 

Now this is the most famous Neville story there is and, unless you’re new here, you’ve heard it a thousand times. 

“You are in Barbados”

Neville was unemployed, lived in a tiny room in New York, and he wanted to go to Barbados.

Abdullah tells Neville, “As you walk through this door now you are not walking on 72nd Street, you are walking on palm lined streets, coconut lined streets; this is Barbados. Do not ask me how you are going to go. You are in Barbados. You do not say ‘how’ when ‘are there.’ You are there. Now you walk as though you were there.”

He kept repeating to Neville that he was already in Barbados, when he would complain that he had no money, “you are in Barbados” he would complain that he’s no closer to getting there “you are in Barbados” he asked how he would get there, “You are in Barbados.” That is all he would say. Because that’s all he needed. To believe he was already there. And once he did, everything aligned, and he went to Barbados. His family members begged him to come, gave him money for clothes and essentials he needed, his brother would pay for his entire trip, and then he somehow got into 1st class because somehow there had been a cancellation. He didn’t even move a finger to get all of this done for him. He didn’t even ask his brother for help. It simply happened.

“You are in Barbados, Neville. You want to be there; wherever you want to be, there you are. Live as though you are and that you shall be.” - Abdullah

“I was identified with the feeling of being there. I slept as though I were there, and the entire behavior of man was molded in harmony with my assumption.”

Identify with your fulfilled wish

“Feast on the idea [your fulfilled desire], become identified with the idea as though you were already that embodied state. Walk in the assumption that you are what you want to be. If you feast on that and remain faithful to that mental diet, you will crystallize it. You will become it in this world.”

Identify that which you desire to have in life (or who you desire to be), walk as though it is already true, assume it as your new state, and stick to your mental diet.

“Suspend judgment, refuse to accept what reason and the senses now dictate, and if you remain faithful to the new diet, you will become the embodiment of the ideal to which you remain faithful.”

You need to ignore anything that does not completely align with your fulfilled desire. 

Logic and reason do not exist in imagination. The 4D world does not follow these rules. The 3D is lying to you by telling you that you are constricted within conditions.

“To one’s imagination all things are possible.”

“The dimensionally greater self took my assumption as the command”

Your 4D self, your inner man, is only there to take commands. 

What you assume to be in your conscious mind and persist in, will be taken as a command by the 4D self and then manifested into the 3D.

Neville mentions that the only way you can genuinely believe in the law is by testing it. Don't simply listen to his lectures, read blog posts, and watch videos about the law of assumption. Actually apply the knowledge.

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Cookie's Fic Recs

I feel like no one really does rec lists anymore! But last night I was feeling and sappy and mushy and decide to put together my own little list of fics I love. These are in no particular order, and they don't follow any real theme/tropes other than I dearly love them all, and you should definitely give them a read!

*I tried to tag everyone I could find a blog for, but if I missed anyone, please let me know I can tag them!

The Instinctual Gravitation Towards Warmth by kimkhimhant (@kimkhimhant)

This is my comfort fic. No joke, this is what I read when I want to die. It’s angsty as all hell, it’s made me cry, but it is so indescribably good. Kim is an addict going through recovery, finding love and family along the way. He hits rock bottom—arguably multiple times—but always claws his way back, always with the support of the people that love him. It’s such a beautifully written and cathartic story, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read it. But it’s almost certainly the fic I’ve reread the most. 

Error in the Code by BlackwaterVial (@blackwatervial)

Sneaking this VegasPete onto my otherwise KimChay list bc it altered me. I think most people already know what it is, but jic: it’s a sci-fi/cyberpunk/android AU, and it’s one of the best things I’ve ever read. I go feral for androids and this fic delivers in all the best ways. The world building alone makes me weep. But all of the characters interactions, the way we get such an in depth feel for everyone despite the limited PoV, and the most satisfying take I’ve seen on android artificial intelligence ever—I can’t recommend this story enough. 

Idiots & Idioms by snickerdoodlles (@snickerdoodlles)

This one is actually a series, and it's genuinely so much fun to read. For the most part it's a SocMed fic with Chay taking over Wik's twitter and making it everyone's problem, and it's fkn hysterical. This one is actually a series, and it's genuinely so much fun to read. For the most part it's a SocMed fic with Chay taking over Wik's twitter and making it everyone's problem, and it's fkn hysterical.

Silver for Truth by snickerdoodlles (@snickerdoodlles)

This fic is the Kim & Khun vs. Tawan team-up we deserve. Kim is a ruthless, demented bitch, that's too cool to beat Tawan to death bc what if he messes up his wrists right before a show?? Big, get 'im. Kim is the feral-est cat ever, leaving behind evidence and bodies for Kinn bc saying "hey bro, I still love you/look out for you" is too much emotion for him. The fic is also from Tawan's PoV which also makes it the funniest thing ever, for reason that I won't spoil <3

The Wiked Lies We Live by shubaka (@shubaka)

Oh my god, this fic. Canon divergence (technically??) where most things happen as normal... except KimChay have been bodyswaped at the start of it. The little twists Shu puts on the events of canon, given it isn't the correct characters experiencing them (such as Big being very confused about why Kim is suddenly nice to him??) are so much fun.

A Portrait of Affection by froginthesun (@froginthesun)

Kim is an artist and Chay is the part time nude model he hires. ‘Nuff said right there, except no it isn’t, this fic is beautiful. Kim’s frustration with his craft is palpable, and so is the way he rediscovers his passion through Chay. The writing is wonderfully detailed, every chapter felt like walking through a museum. And tension slowly building between them—unf. 

Sunshine in My Closet by moneskin 

This is an A/B/O AU that is so satisfying to read. Typical hilarious boundary violations (Chay stealing Kim’s clothes, a bewildered Kim handing over a freshly worn outfit, having barely any idea who this strange kid is) characteristic of the AU, but then the story also delves deeper into more serious topics. Chay has a history of abuse from a past alpha that he has to learn how to navigate with Kim, who is incredibly patient and works hard to make Chay feel safe and loved. Overall a very sweet and comforting read. Seriously, this fic makes me melt.

Your Body Feels Like Disrespect by Blue_Jay (@bluejayfiction)

This fic is so funny because it begins with Kim blurting out, in the middle of an Important Mafia MeetingTM, that he and Chay aren’t having sex, and then wanting to die about it. Followed by Kim’s family trying very hard to both support and terrorize him. It’s hilarious, sexy, and one of my favorite reads when I need a pick me up. (Bless Kinn’s determination to be a Good and Supportive Brother, and Vegas for being the Worst Person Ever.) 

In Silent Screams (In Wildest Dreams) by BelladonnaWyck and StratsWrites 

This is definitely a darker fic. There’s DubCon, Kim is generally Sketchy, but it’s very hot. And I love explorations of his character where he isn’t just outwardly psychotic and cruel. This fic shows the kind of dark that I think Kim could have been, if you just tilted his character a little to the left. He still seems very much the way he is in canon, but he’s also… a lot more calculating and cold, sometimes. I love it. 

Forget-me-always by bisexualbard (@bisexualbard-writes)

I cannot sing the praises of this fic enough. I think it’s probably tied for IGTW for my most-read fics. I’ve probably read this one more often in reality, but only bc it’s shorter. But oh my god, does it hurt. Kim gets struck with amnesia post-break up, does a little light stalking, and gets Chay to help him learn/remember who he is. In the process realizes that wow his life sucks, and there’s no way he wants to go back to it. Especially if he’s the kind of person that hurt Chay. He would rather start over. (Ofc, he doesn’t get to). This fic makes me cry, it’s so good 

Coffeehouse Play by AirgodSLV

This is a canon divergence AU that I adore. The KimChay characterization is on point. I love that despite everything going on around them, they also get to be two boys that hang out and play videogames and try to shove each other off the couch while Porsche makes dinner. Given the age difference it’s so easy to make Kim Older and MatureTM, but he’s still a kid, and this story never once forgets that. It felt so honest and true to his character that Kim does have a lot of plans, and he’s very smart, but he’s also still so young, and sometimes shit just goes wrong. 

Want and Need by bisexualbard (@bisexualbard-writes)

God, this fic. T h i s f i c. Post-canon Chay goes to therapy and becomes a camboy (in that order) and it’s delicious. Watching the steady breakdown of his and Porsche’s relationship is so satisfying. Everything one of them does to make things worse feels awful, but is so in character that it’s hard to be mad at them for their decisions. Kim readily giving up control if it means he can be with Chay, and Chay getting a crash course in how to dom. All of it is just. So good. This is such a good fic

Your Look, Through This Lens by WildelyDawn (@wildelydawn)

AU where Chay becomes Kim’s photographer. This fic emotionally hobbled me. Just a fair warning. You will cry. But that said, the ending isn’t nearly as sad as the tags would have you believe! At least in my opinion. I think it’s fairly open/hopeful, and beautiful either way. I love the way this fic shows how Kim balances being Wik while also being part of the mafia. And I love how temperamental he is; always hot and cold, while remaining pretty even as far as how he expresses himself. Always very aloof/detached, just out of reach, with Chay never really sure where he stands/what Kim wants. But at the same time the fic happens just before Kim gets a big break, and the subtle ways he shows his excitement and nerves as things start coming together—it’s wonderful. 

Love’s a Two-Way Dream by giraffeter (@giraffeter)

This fic is dark. Kim atticwife’s Chay and it’s not a good time. But!! It’s not just dark for the sake of it; Kim is a genuine sociopath, yes, but it unfolds slowly. You get a sense of creeping dread as he does things that are just a little bit off, until finally the Big Bad Thing happens. At first he seems normal, playing the part of good and respectful boyfriend. But it just goes downhill from there, and I love every word of it. The ending especially is very satisfying. 

In the Dark of the Night by bisexualbard (@bisexualbard-writes)

Not to recc everything Bard writes, but… This is a rape recovery fic that I feel handles the subject matter incredibly well. There’s no gratuitous rape scenes, and even with the flashbacks, I don’t remember any of them being incredibly detailed. I think Bard handled the fic with incredible respect and grace. This is another one that’ll make you cry. The way Chay handles his past trauma while trying to have a relationship with Kim is so painfully real. And so is the way Kim wants to help him, but doesn’t really know how. But they figure it out together, and it’s amazing. (Also Kim acquires a stabby child in the form of an OC that I adore.) I just love the path Chay's recovery takes in this fic, it's so visceral and relatable. It's all around just. So good. I love this fic for the same reason I love IGTW and it's because both fics show an excellent depiction of recovery.

Chains and Crowns, A Flower Can Both Make by Sweet_William (@sweet-william-writes)

Incredibly Regency AU. Historical AUs are some of my all time favorites, and this is everything I didn’t know I needed. Sweet_William captures the essence of an Austen-esque style while still making this feel like the KinnPorsche characters. Chay is wonderfully feisty, Kim is delightfully complex, and the various family interactions always had me cackling. 

Simple Little Secrets by CorvusCloudburst (@cloudburst-ink)

Chay sees the future when he touches people. Kim thinks he’s either insane, a spy, or a conman. Oh, and Chay’s visions of Kim? Always sex-related. The shenanigans are endless. What more do you need?? They’re both crazy4crazy and it’s my favorite thing ever. Their banter is snappy and fun, the writing is sexy, and it never once gave me second-hand embarrassment despite Chay’s horrible situations. 

[dragon-kazansky]

When the raven calls

Morpheus x Female Reader

You, his raven, die protecting Jessamy while rescuing the Dream Lord. When Morpheus returns to his realm, he mourns your loss, only to find a stranger waiting for him in his throne room. The stranger claims to be you, now in human form. He doesn't understand, but his raven will always watch over him.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Chapter Eight - Friends through time

☆☆☆

1389

The first time Morpheus met Hob was a long, long time ago. Dream had longer hair back then. You had been there too, just not inside the tavern.

No, you had to wait outside. You waited on a wall, muttering to yourself about how unfair it was that birds weren't allowed inside. Then remembered you were among mortals and had to hush up. It would only be complicated to explain why a raven could talk.

You had agreed with Death that it would do him some good to spend time among them. Dream had disagreed, but he also didn't take much coaxing to get him out here.

Death was proud of him for tagging along. You were just there for moral support.

Death had come out first. She smiled at you and then went on her way. You waited patiently for your king to exit, too.

Soon, the door opened, and Dream came out. He looked amused. He walks over to you.

"I've just met the most curious human."

"That so?"

He chuckles softly and then gestures for you to follow him as he returns back to the Dreaming.

☆☆☆

1489

Once again, you're left outside. You can't see or hear anything that's going on. Dream said he wouldn't be too long. He didn't expect this meeting to go on for very long as he assumed the human would wish for death.

Dream had explained that a man by the name of Robert Gadling refused to die. Death made the man immortal. She would never come and take him the Sunless Lands unless he asked for it.

A hundred years had passed and Hob still wanted to live.

Dream thought this was fascinating. He told Hob to be there in another hundred years.

As Dream left the tavern, you followed.

"Well?"

"He wishes to live. Another hundred years it is then."

"Who is he?" You ask, flapping your wings gently.

Dream doesn't reply. He just smiles.

☆☆☆

1589

You had requested Dream sit by the window when he came to see Hob this time. He said he would try for your sake. However, when Dream arrived, Hob already had a table set up in waiting for him. You sigh and decide to hide in the trees.

Hob Gadling had apparently become rich. He had made some gold and was living life to the fullest. He was knighted and everything. He was happy.

So, of course, he wanted to live.

When Dream came out of the tavern, he was with a young man. You heard him refer to the man as 'Will'. You flew off after them, keeping a distance, furious as to why he had left Hob. Surely their meeting wasn't over already?

Dream would later tell you he met a curious man. One who wishes to write the most wonderful plays to inspire men.

You weren't surprised Dream took an interest in him.

☆☆☆

1689

You finally got to see Hob Gadling. Dream was there first and sat as close to the window as he possibly could. You perched on the window sill outside and peered in. No one paid you any mind, except your king who checked of you were there.

A man is trying to get into the tavern. He is being held back and told he can't come in.

"Let him be. He is my guest."

You look at the man who had come in. This can't possibly be the same Robert Gadling you had heard about. Last you heard, he was rich and doing well for himself.

Then again, a lot can happen in a hundred years.

Hob sits at the table and shoves food in his mouth. He was starving. You watch curiously. Humanity was so fascinating, and he, especially so.

Dream listens as Hob regails the story of how he lost everything. Even his wife and son. You know Dream has felt loss too.

Yet, Hob Gadling still wanted to live.

You were amazed. He was so resilient. Humanity really was something special. You almost wished to experience it for yourself.

Unfortunately, someone spots you outside the window and shoos you away.

Dream hears you fly away.

☆☆☆

1789

To say you were obsessed with the way Dream looked was an understatement. You always admired how your king looked, but he certainly looked regal now.

You were sat by the open window listening to Hob tell Dream of all that had happened since they met last. Hob was confused by why Dream insisted on sitting near an open window.

Other than Hob getting into slave trading, the conversation was going smoothly. You had been listening with great interest in how the world worked. That's when she walked in.

Constantine.

With her were two henchmen she had paid. Their services apparently involved harming others. You were not too happy to see Dream being threatened.

She puts a drawing on the table. Dated last century. This woman knows there's something strange about these two.

While Hob makes jokes and messes with her, Dream remains quiet and firm.

The need to protect your king takes over, and you do not hesitate to fly through the window as Hob fights the thugs. You fly right for Constantine and distract her. While she tries to swat you away, Dream stands up and takes a handful of sand into his palm. He blows it into her face, and you land on the tables.

Constantine is plagued by her past.

Hob looks confused. "That bird came out of nowhere."

"So it did," Dream says, smile tugging at his lips.

Hob looks down at you as you look up at him. You caw. He looks back at Dream.

"You need not have come to my defence."

Hob has a suspicion he was talking to the raven and not him. Yet, he answers regardless. "Clearly. Still, I didn't want to be drinking alone here in a hundred years' time."

You look up at Dream who merely smiles.

They part ways. You fly back out the window to meet Dream outside.

He is still smiling when he returns to you.

☆☆☆

1889

Dream walks down the street in his cloak and top hat. You have taken to sitting atop the hat, determined not to let him meet Hob alone in case something happens this time.

"You need not come with me."

You scoff and look down at him. "Um, yes, I do! What if you run into trouble again? I'm telling you, sir, you're kind of hopeless without me."

You think you hear him chuckle, but you're not entirely sure.

He's accosted by a woman singing outside the pub before you can even ask him. You sigh as she tries to flirt with him, knowing full well it won't work. The woman is soon dismissed by Hob, who appears behind her.

"Sorry about Lushing Lou."

Dream steps into the pub. Hob takes note of you on his hat.

"You, uh... you have a raven nesting on your hat."

"I'm aware." Dream replies.

"That bird... it can't be, can it?" Hob takes a closer look at you. "That was the bird that from last time with Constantine."

"Sure is," you say, cawing at him.

Hob looks absolutely flabbergasted. "It talks!"

"She does," Dream confirms. "She is my raven."

You caw again.

Dream removes his hat from his head, and you sit on his shoulder instead. They two sit down, though Hob can't stop looking at you.

"Lushing Lou. Is that what they call her?" Dream decides to change the subject.

Hob takes a moment to answer him back, still trying to grasp the talking bird.

"Well, in here, they call her "the hospital.""

"Why?"

"Because she's in 'em a great deal, and because she's sent so many men into 'em. No idea what her real name is."

"Louise Baldwin," Dream tells him. "Her father was in the British army. Her cousin raped, impregnated, and deserted her when she was just a child."

"How do you know all that?" Hob asks.

Dream has never once told this man who he is. He never explained anything.

Dream still does not answer him.

"Your cup is empty. You need more wine."

You chuckle. Hob glances between the two of you.

"You knew Lady Johanna. You know Lushing Lou. You know everyone, don't you?" Hob asks.

"I saw her again, you know."

"Who? Lady Johanna?"

"She undertook a task for me and succeeded admirably, I might add."

"That might be the only thing I've learned after 500 years." Hob smiles. "People are almost always better than you think they are. Not me, though. Still the same as ever."

"I think perhaps you've changed."

"Well, I may have learnt a bit from my mistakes. But, uh... doesn't seem to stop me from making them."

They both smile.

"I think it's you that's changed." Hob says to him. You look at Dream curiously.

"How so?"

"I think I know why we still meet here, century after century. It's not because you want to see whether or not I'm ready to seek death. I don't think I'll ever seek death. By now, you know that about me. So, I think you're here for something else."

The silence from Dream made you uncomfortable. He was generally a quiet person, but this... this was something else. He didn't look pleased.

"Dream?" You called softly.

He doesn't look at you. He keeps his eyes trained on Hob.

"And what might that be?"

"Friendship. I think you're lonely."

"You dare..."

"No, look, I'm not saying-"

"You... dare suggest one such as I might need your companionship."

"Yes. Yes, I do."

Dream stands. You remain seated on his shoulder.

"Then I shall take my leave of you and prove you wrong."

Hob stands.

Dream marches out of the pub. You take flight, soaring above him once you're outside. It's raining, but you don't mind.

Hob chases after him.

You hear him say that if they meet again in a hundred years, it will be because they're friends.

Dream doesn't not answer him.

☆☆☆

By 1989, Dream is locked up in the basement of the Burgess house, and you are dead. Well, as far as Dream knows you're dead.

You're actually back in the Dreaming getting used to your new human form.

Hob isn't even a thought after everything that's gone on.

Hob Gadling sits in the bar alone.

Dream did not come.

☆☆☆

You stand with your arm still looped with Dream's standing at a fence. The pub had shut down. You turn and look at Morpheus.

"I'm sorry."

"What for?" He asks, his voice as gentle as always.

"About this."

"It is not your fault. This place wasn't going to last forever."

"I suppose not..."

Dream looks at the fence and sees the red paint. The New Inn. He looks at the line, which goes along the fence and around the corner.

He starts to lead you down that way.

"Where are we going?" You ask, following him. Your arm was still looped with his, so you had no choice.

"For a drink."

Dream leads you to another building. The New Inn. You smile as you realise what that sign meant. It was a message.

Morpheus leads you inside.

There he sits. Hob Gadling is marking some papers in front of him. Slowly, he lifts his head, and his eyes meet Dream's. He smiles.

"You're late."

Morpheus smiles, too. "It seems I owe you an apology. I've always heard it impolite to keep one's friends waiting."

They smile at each other still.

Morpheus pulls up a chair for you, holding it until you're sat, and then sits beside you. You look between him and Hob, who is staring at you.

"And who's this beautiful soul?" Hob asks, smiling at you.

You feel shy again.

"This is my raven." Dream says, smiling.

"Your... raven?" Hob is suddenly struck with the memory of the talking bird. "So I did not dream the raven."

You chuckle. "Hello, Hob."

"You're not a bird."

"I am sometimes. Not today."

Hob chuckles and then glances at Dream. "I hope he's looking after you."

"It's me who looks after him." You say.

"Oh, that I believe." Hob laughs.

"Hey." Dream looks at you. He is amused, you can tell.

You laugh. Hob laughs. Dream gives in and chuckles.

Hob orders you a drink, but you dare not touch it. Human things are still new to you. However, you listen to his stories.

And you feel Dream hold your hand.

☆☆☆

@missdreamofendless - @kpopgirlbtssvt - @sitkafay - @snowsatsu - @ladyofdreaming - @thoughtsfromlayla - @modest-irish-goddess - @mystic-mara -

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

A Song of Ice & Shadow

Part 12

Summary: After the deaths of her fathers, Y/n past traumas resurface, leading her to do what she does best- push everyone away, including her sisters.

Warnings: angst, suicidal tendencies, substance abuse/addiction, grief, unresolved trauma, self-destructive behavior.

A/N: Y/n is heading down a dark path. If you thought she and Azriel were getting closer to something more, then you’ve seen nothing yet. We’re back to them being strangers- or better yet, she’s just beginning to show her cruelty toward him. Poor Az.

I don’t usually specify eye colors, but trust me it’s somewhat relevant to the plot.

WC: 3.8 K.

You can read previous chapter here. Fictober Challenge

Y/n finally opened her eyes, long after the war had ended. They had won, but at what cost?

“You’re awake! I’ll inform the others,” Elain said quickly, rushing outside. Y/n remained still, taking in her surroundings, trying to piece together what had happened. They may have won the war, but she had lost.

Moments later, her sisters and Rhys appeared in her room. “You’re finally awake. We were so afraid we’d lose you- we nearly did,” Feyre said softly, a flicker of relief in her gaze. “Azriel brought you to Madja and Thesan the moment you collapsed. They managed to save you just in time. If he’d been a minute later…” She trailed off, her voice heavy. “We would have lost you.” 

“Did it ever occur to you that I didn’t want to be saved?” Y/n’s voice was low and cold, stripped of any emotion.

A startled silence filled the room. “It took great effort to save you. Not many received that chance,” Rhys said quietly.

“Then you shouldn’t have wasted it on me. You should’ve just let me die.” Her tone was flat, unyielding. 

“Y/n, how could you say that? We love you.” Elain’s voice wavered with hurt.

“I think we should let her rest,” Feyre said gently. “If you need anything, we’ll be right outside.”

As the other left, Nesta lingered, her eyes searching Y/n’s face for a moment before she, too, left. At the door, they ran into Azriel, who had just arrived and asked if he could see her. Feyre hesitated, warning him of her fragile state, but he was insistent.

He entered and took a seat in the armchair beside her bed, leaning forward slightly. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Nothing. I feel… nothing.” Her gaze was fixed on the wall, her expression blank.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Why?” She turned to look at him slowly, her face emotionless.

“I… because I wasn’t there to protect you.” he murmured, searching her eyes for a reaction.

“You wouldn’t have, even if you were there,” she replied, her voice chillingly even. “He would’ve snapped you like a twig. Or maybe he would have ripped your wings from your body, watched you writhe in agony before slitting your throat. And there would’ve been nothing you or I or anyone could do about it but watch.” The detached way she said the words unsettled him, sacred him. The Y/n he knew would have shown fear, pain, or some flicker of emotion, but this…this was something- someone else. 

She turned away from him, pulling the blanket up slightly. “I’d like to rest now.” 

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Finally, he nodded to himself and left the room quietly. 

Over the next few days, they brought her food, but she refused to eat or speak to any of them.

Until one day when Feyre visited again. “We buried your father next to ours. Would you like to visit them?”

“No.” Y/n’s answer was flat, her gaze distant.

Feyre hesitated, then reached into her pocket. “Azriel found this when…when he carried you,” she said, offering her a letter.

Y/n looked at it but didn’t move to take it. “I don’t want it.”

“It was from your f-”

“Throw it out, bury it, I don’t care.” Y/n interrupted, her tone sharp and final.

Feyre bit her lip, placing the letter on the bedside table. “You should eat something.” She kept her voice gentle, leaving the food nearby, but Y/n remained silent, her gaze unfocused, lost.

Elain and Feyre took turns bringing food and encouraging Y/n to get out of bed. But Nesta kept her distance, visiting one once since Y/n had woken.

The day Y/n decided to get out of bed was anything but pleasant. She demanded a place of her own, far away from the others, and Feyre agreed. Y/n gave Feyre Truth-Teller to return to Azriel, but Feyre hesitated, hoping that Y/n might be willing to give it back herself- maybe even talk, show some emotion. So Feyre suggested she give it to him directly. Y/n took the blade without a word and left the house.

“Where are you going?” Feyre asked, watching her intently.

“To find a house.”

“You’re going to walk all the way? I can winnow you to the city.”

“I don’t want your help.” If they thought the Y/n they knew was cold and heartless, they were in for a shock with this new Y/n. 

Azriel found her that evening, after Feyre had told him what happened. She was wandering through the city, her gaze blank, unfocused. 

“Hey,” he greeted softly, but she brushed past him, her attention elsewhere. “Feyre is worried about you. We should head home.”

Usually, she’d retort with something like. “That’s not my home,” or argue with him, but now she remained silent.

Finally, she turned to face him, her icy blue-gray eyes meeting his, and held out Truth-Teller for him to take without a word. As his scarred hand brushed hers, he noticed her fingers were cold as ice. 

“You’re freezing,” he murmured, concern tightening his features. She simply turned and began walking again, but he reached out, gently grasping her wrist and pulling her back around to face him. “Y/n, talk to me. Say something, anything. Just, please, don’t-”

“I don’t feel cold,” she replied, her voice flat, though she didn’t pull her hand from his grip as she met his hazel eyes.

“You’ll catch a cold if you keep going like this. I’m taking you home,” he insisted.

“I want to walk,” she said, her tone barely softening. It was the most she’d said to him in days, so he agreed, keeping close to her. 

Once they reached the Town House, Y/n informed Feyre she’d found a place. Feyre agreed to let her move in on one condition: Y/n was to stay at the Town House for a week, eat regularly, and only then, once Feyre was satisfied she was alright, could she leave. Y/n said nothing and headed upstairs to her room. 

“And we should be able to see you at least once a day,” Feyre added as Y/n climbed the stairs.

And so began the week of forced togetherness. Since Feyre didn’t specify how many times she’d need to eat, Y/n chose the bare minimum. She would come down once a day, eat either lunch or dinner, and then retreat back to her room without a word. 

On the third day, everyone was gathered around the table for dinner when Y/n entered. Since it was the last meal of the day and she hadn’t come down for breakfast or lunch, she was compelled to sit with them. To everyone’s surprise, she took a seat next to Cassian.

“Missed me? Because I sure missed you,” Cassian tried, throwing her a playful grin, but she neither looked at him nor replied. “Come on, Y/n. By now, I would’ve expected to say something snarky or insulting… nothing?... Does that mean I finally won?” He leaned forward, trying to provoke a reaction, but she just looked at him, expression unreadable.

“Pass me the salt.” Her voice was even, unfeeling.

“Say please,” he taunted, his lips curling in a grin, but she ignored him, quietly starting to eat. Feyre shook her head subtly, warning him not to push any further. Cassian relented, handing her the salt. 

“You’re welcome,” he said, though his smile faded as he studied her still, expressionless face.

Rhys was recounting a light-hearted story, trying to lift the mood, until someone jokingly mentioned his death and resurrection by the High Lords. Y/n froze. She hadn’t known. She knew nothing of what happened after the King of Hybern’s death. She hadn’t heard about Amren turning into a High Fae, or how Rhys had sacrificed his life, or how close they’d come to losing even with the King defeated. She didn’t know where Feyre and her sisters had buried their father, or about the treaty discussion that followed, bridging peace between the courts and the courts and the mortal realm. She had known none of it- and didn’t care to, but hearing how Rhys got a second chance struck a nerve.

“So you and your mate get to live, while everyone else who sacrificed their lives remains dead and forgotten,” she said, her voice cutting as she turned to Feyre. “Tell me, why do you deserve to live while they do not?”

Silence blanketed the table. No one seemed to know how to respond. But she went on, her voice low and hard. “You all act as if nothing happened, but if he’d stayed dead, I doubt any of you would be laughing now. You want me to come down and sit and eat with you, but if it had been your mate who died, I wonder if you’d be able to do the same.” She set down her fork and stood, her expression still unreadable, before turning to leave the room.

“Y/n, no one expects you to go back to normal. You have suffered so much,” Feyre said softly, her voice thick with emotion. “I wasn’t trying to force you into anything.”

“Yet you put these conditions on me when all I want is to be left in peace,” Y/n replied, her tone weary and final as she turned and disappeared back up the stairs.

Rhys reached for Feyre’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Give her time,” he murmured, attempting to reassure her.

On the evening before Y/n’s planned departure, it was Nesta who came to see her.

“So, you’re just gonna leave me here with them?” she asked, standing by the door, her tone wavering between anger and vulnerability.

You didn’t turn to look at her, her gaze fixed outside the window. “You are your own woman now. If you don’t want to stay, then don’t.” 

“So that’s it, then? You’re going to abandon me again?” Nesta’s voice broke slightly, her fists clenched at her sides.

Y/n’s gaze remained unfocused, her words sharp. “I never abandoned you, but if that’s how you want to see it, then so be it. I don’t owe you an explanation.” Her tone was cold, far harsher than she’d ever spoken to Nesta before.

Nesta’s face hardened, her eyes narrowing. “You’re a coward. Running away again, just like back then. Instead of facing your problems.”

“Is that what you tell yourself before bed? That I ran away?”Y/n’s voice grew colder, a bitter smile playing on her lips. “What about you, Nesta? Where were you when Feyre risked her life, hunting to keep you alive?”

Silence stretched between them, thick and painful. 

Finally, Nesta’s voice softened, a hint of raw honesty breaking through her frustration. ”I need you, Y/n. We just lost our father.”

Y/n’s lips twisted into a bitter smirk. “Don’t pretend you care now. You hated the old man. Or are you feeling guilty because, in the end, he still loved us, no matter what?” Her words were cruel, and even as she said them, she felt a strange emptiness behind them. Nesta’s face fell, and her mouth opened and closed as she processed the words. She had never expected Y/n to say something like that to her, she was heartbroken.

After a beat, Nesta’s eyes hardened, and she uttered words she regretted the moment they left her lips. “You want to talk about guilt? What about you, huh? You let them die. You had all this power inside of you, and instead of using it, you did nothing. You just watched, waited until they were dead, and then you struck. It’s almost as if you wanted them to die.”

Nesta’s words struck Y/n like a blow, and for a moment, her carefully constructed mask cracked. “You’re right,” she said bitterly, voice low. “I did let them die. I failed them, and now… I just don’t care. You, Elain, Feyre, you can take care of yourselves. I am done trying to protect you. Mother knows I did a bad enough job of it as it is.” She let out a huff, dismissing the pain in her own words.

“You did,” Nesta whispered, her voice breaking as tears pooled in her eyes.

Y/n looked at her coldly, her voice quiet but cutting. “You’re no longer my responsibility. And I wish you’d stop being my weakness.” 

Nesta’s face crumpled, a single tear slipping down her cheek as she turned and walked away, leaving Y/n alone in her room. It was the last time they would speak to each other for a very long time.

After Y/n moved into her own apartment, Nesta soon did the same. Neither of them interacted with anyone from their past lives, but at least Nesta would meet Feyre briefly every month. Though their reasons for isolation were similar, each went down their own path of self-destruction. Nesta frequented bars, either drinking herself to sleep or fucking her way into exhaustion with reckless company. Y/n, on the other hand, brought the chaos to her doorstep. Each night, she invited people over, and they partied until sunrise, indulging in every dangerous substance she could get her hands on.

In the past, she’d avoided even casual drinking, saying it dulled the mind and that she needed to be alert, in control. Now, she wanted nothing more than to escape her own thoughts, to numb every feeling, to let go of everything. It began the day she moved out. She’d gone to a bar and asked for the strongest drink they had. The bartender sensing her desperation introduced her to someone with access to stronger poisons. Soon after, she met others who reveled in the same reckless abandon, who didn't care about anything either. When they discovered her identity, they were wary, but she assured them that as long as they didn’t cross her, they had nothing to worry about- no threats from a certain High Lord. The wild gatherings became a nightly ritual. People came to her place, taking all manner of poisons, but no one dared to touch her without permission. She was repulsed by physical contact; even a friendly brush would make her recoil. Yet, as she saw it, life was good- an endless cycle of highs and freedom from responsibility, a blissfully numb existence.

One day, Feyre visited, hoping to explain the Fae cycle to Y/n and offer her help when the time came. But Y/n dismissed her, saying she’d handle it herself and that it was none of Feyre’s concern. She made it clear she didn’t want Feyre;s or anyone else’s assistance and even told her to not contact her unless absolutely necessary. Feyre, unsure of what else to do, convinced herself this was Y/n’s way of healing.

As Winter Solstice approached, Rhys found himself standing on Y/n’s doorsteps. She opened the door, half asleep, assuming it was one of her usual party guests. But when she saw who it was, her body went rigid. 

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice flat.

“Solstice is in a few days. I- we expect you to be there,” he replied, his tone firm.

“To hell with that,” she scoffed, leaning against the doorframe, barely meeting his gaze.

“It’s your sister’s birthday. You owe her that much.”

“I owe her nothing.”

Rhys’s eyes narrowed. “She’s paying for your apartment and…other activities, whatever they are. If you don’t come, those payments stop.”

Y/n’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “Fine. Family reunion it is. Yay, can’t wait.” She let out a bitter laugh before slamming the door in his face.

Conveniently, Y/n and Nesta arrived at the same time, neither of them acknowledging the other. Inside, the others were exchanging gifts , laughter filling the room until they noticed the two standing by the door. Feyre hurried over to open it, offering to take Nesta’s coat. Y/n, however, wasn’t wearing one despite the snow blanketing the ground outside. Elain appeared in the foyer, linking her arm through Nesta’s and leading her toward the living room. Y/n and Feyre exchanged a quick look before Feyre guided her twister inside. 

“I’m glad you came.” Feyre said softly.

“I had no choice,” Y/n replied, her tone indifferent.

By the fireplace, Azriel’s gaze fixed on Y/n, his hazel eyes brightening at the sight of her. His shadows trailed after her, drawn to her presence. Though she looked worn, there was at least a hint of color to her cheeks, a sign of life he hadn’t seen the last time she’d stayed. Back then, she’d seemed like a ghost- just breathing, merely existing. 

“We were just starting with presents” Elain announced to her sisters, giving Y/n and Nesta a warm smile.

After wishing Feyre a happy birthday, Nesta began a brief conversation with her, speaking in low tones. The others gradually resumed exchanging gifts, the festive atmosphere returning. Elain handed Y/n a small package from herself and Feyre, and Feyre offered another to Nesta. 

“I don’t need anything,” Y/n muttered, eyeing the package with reluctance.

“It’s a gift. Just take it,” Elain insisted gently, her eyes hopeful. “Don’t you want to know what it is?”

Y/n noted her sister’s excitement and let out a quiet sigh. “You seem more interested than I am… fine, I’ll open it.” As she removed the wrapping, she revealed a simple, embroidered navy-blue gown. 

“You always liked handmade gifts,” Elain said, a hint of pride in her voice. “Feyre designed the pattern, and I embroidered it.”

Y/n studied the gown, her expression unreadable. “I see… I didn't bring anything for you” she replied quietly.

“You’re here. That’s enough.” Elain’s voice softened, her words laced with relief.

As the gift-giving continued, Azriel took the opportunity to move closer to Y/n. He’d hidden a gift for her, something he’d intended to give her ever since he’d found it at the Dawn Court when things between them had been good, or as good as they could be. Seeing her reaction to her sisters’ gift, he realized this wasn’t the moment. Still, he couldn’t resist the urge to speak with her, to hear her voice directed at him once more. Though his shadows had kept him updated on her wellbeing, he hadn't seen her since the day she left.

“Happy Solstice,” he murmured, his gaze steady, searching her face.

She glanced at him briefly, her expression impassive. ”Nothing happy about it.” Sheshifted away from him, choosing a seat beside Elain and remaining silent.

As the evening wore on and everyone began to tire, Y/n muttered a quiet goodbye to Elain before heading toward the door. Feyre followed, handing her a slip of paper.

“Here. Payment for rent,” she said softly.  

Y/n accepted it without a word, slipping it into her pocket as she exited.

Moments later, Azriel appeared at her side, a coat in his hand. “You didn’t bring anything to keep warm. Here,” he said, extending it to her.

She looked at the coat, then at him, her gaze cool. “I’m not cold.” She turned, begging to walk away. 

Ignoring her protest, Azriel draped the coat around her shoulders, his voice gentle but firm. “Even so, you’ll catch a cold. I’ll walk you home.”

“Get back, Spymaster.” The title was cold, distant. She’d only called him that once before- when they first met, when he was nothing more than a stranger to her. Since then, he’d gotten used to her calling him Shadowsinger, the name laced with familiarity, even warmth. And on the battlefield, when she had finally called him by his name, it had melted his heart. But ever since that day, she had barely spoken more than a word or two to him. From sleeping on his chest before battle to treating him like a stranger now- it shattered him. 

“I will, once you’re home safe.”

“I don’t want your company.” Her voice was flat, devoid of the spark he once knew.

Azriel’s jaw clenched. “Aren’t you tired of all this?” His tone sharpened with a mix of frustration and desperation.

“What I am tired of is you and your family. Why can’t you all just leave me alone?” She narrowed her eyes, her words like a wall she was intent on building. “I was perfectly fine on my own.”

“Fine? You mean the partying and taking every poison you can find, just to see which one will be the one that finally kills you?”

Her lips twisted into a bitter smile. “Ah, so you’ve been keeping tabs on me?”

“Of course I have. Did you think I’d stand by and let you go down this path without even checking on you?” His voice softened, a hint of pain slipping through.

She let out a weary sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Stop- just stop. I need you to stop caring.”

“Why?” His voice held an edge of anger now. “Because if I, Mother forbid, or anyone else tries to get close to you, you’ll push us away?”

“You’ve got it aaall figured out, don’t you?” She forced a laugh, but it sounded hollow.

“Come back to the house.” There was a plea in his voice he couldn’t suppress.

She snorted, shaking her head. “I don’t want to be part of your happy family. Stop trying to make me fit in.” With a defiant motion, she let the coat fall from her shoulders and land on the snow-dusted ground. 

“That’s not what I-”

“I want to be left alone. What I do with my life is none of your business.” Her voice grew colder, words clipped. “If I choose to waste it, it’s my choice. Stop following me, and don’t send your shadows after me again.”

Azriel’s face softened with hurt as he reached for her hand. “Don’t shut me out. You used to-” But as soon as his fingers brushed hers, she recoiled, her eyes narrowing, a shiver visibly running through her. For the first time, she could see the heartbreak on his face, the pain her reaction had caused. 

“What I used to be is in the past. The Y/n you knew is dead. Move on.” She turned her face away, her voice lowering. “There are things better left unsaid. Don’t make me say things that will hurt you.”

His expression hardened, masking the pain her words had caused. “You’ve already done that. So go ahead. Say what you want.”

Her eyes met his, cold and unyielding. “You’re not worth my time.” She shook her head, walking away from him and disappearing into the dark streets. 

But he followed in silence, staying in the shadows, his heart heavy. And though he moved unseen, she knew he was there- she could feel him, a silent presence lurking in the dark.

Tags: : @st4r-girl-official @judig92 @5onedirection5 @nayaniasworld @blackgirlmagicforever @stained-glass-eyes0708 @slytherintaco @aehllita @nebarious  @t0uch-starved-h0e @bravo-delta-eccho  @sylvermoon @going-through-shit @latinxbipride @i-am-infinite @azrielrot @fuckingsimp4azriel @theravenphoenix26 @hanatsuki-hime @fantanbietsson @rcarbo1 @weasleymagic @secretsicanthideanymore @spymaster03

[takami-takami]

A Dog Unfed.

includes— hawks x reader. angst. hurt/comfort.

warnings— animal abuse analogy. discussion of drugs and cravings. be warned and avoid this if you need. sorry for spoiling the subtext lol, but it needs a tw. though, i encourage you to apply this however you feel it apply.

perhaps we all have a dog.

Did you ever tell him?

The fullest extent of it all, the thorny vines that adorn your past— more bondage than decoration, a dragging weight against your throat and up your nasal cavity. A growth, an infestation, a plague on your subconscious.

It is a dog you unwittingly adopted— a drooling rottweiler that smacks its jaws and begs and paws at your thighs, pleading to you each night: "I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry. Please feed me, I'm hungry."

Everyone who has ever seen your dog has mistaken you for it.

Everyone who has seen your dog has peered down their pudgy little noses, muttered "mutt", spit it and clinked their heels away; or perhaps they simply looked on in sneers of smiling horror, down past their clutching pearls.

"This is you? By god, my goodness! An animal, an animal!"

You used to hate your dog.

You used to lock it in chains outside, let its fleshy paws burn and blister against the cement in the heat of the blaring sun. You grew tired of feeding it, of crushing up its kibble, of leaving it out to dry then quenching its bottomless thirst.

Now you just sit with it.

You sit by its side with your knees to your chest, listening to the cicadas chirp their prayers. Some days, you even let your back burn against the molten floor, a grounding heat while you lie down flat; but every day, every position, your eyes always remain locked on it.

You stare as it rests on its side, fusing to the glistening cement. You listen to its keening whines and dying breaths with a familiar pity and an unbearable disgust.

You blink, unfeeling again now.

You're sure it will never die, no matter how many hours it spends dying.

You never wanted to show Keigo your dog; even though a part of you is screaming and begging to present it to him. A gift from your innards, dirty in the palms of your blistering hands.

Keigo is just like everyone else, you assume. He is kind, he is gentle, he is an angel among men and he is the exact same as everyone else.

You've come to realize a person's good qualities— openmindedness, kindness, empathy— mean nothing in the face of what one is taught. No one is immune to propaganda, and there is no shortage of that nowadays against people with dogs.

The part that makes you doubt your assumptions is this: Keigo has honey in his eyes. Flicks of gold specks dust along the amber of his irises, a sticky kind of love swimming in them that drips down to his lopsided and infuriatingly safe smile.

You could never fathom his nose upturned, as he has been on the ground too many times to do that to another; nor could you picture a sneer from a mouth as sweet as his, honeysuckle and gentle, bright yellow.

So one night, you allow it to spill, hoping for him to soak up your blue one last time.

It's not uncommon for you to spend the dim of your nights at Keigo's home— his real home, the one the commission has never barged themselves in, the one he keeps hidden from every soul in this world but one.

It is uncommon for him to listen to the water of his shower run for several hours.

If you had feathers as sharply perceptive as his, you'd detect the nervous pacing of his leather boots against the carpet of his bedroom floor, even through the sheetrock that separates the two of you. The patter of the showerhead is far too consistent for his liking, very little movement being detected at all and his mind is bouncing off countless possibilities while sticking to none.

Those worries overflow from the cup of his bleating heart, bleeding when he turns sharply toward the bathoom door, resolute.

With a barely audible thud, his forehead traps golden strands between it and the wooden door it rests against.

He doesn't ask you if you're okay. Keigo never bothers with questions he already knows the answer to.

"Baby, open the door. Please," he begs. "I promise, it's okay— just need to be with you. Please."

The song of your sobs muffled through the door causes his feathers to sting an unbearable itch.

How his heart is just as red as those wings. It begins to drip, the string connecting him to you pulled too far for him to take. It— he needs to be with you right now.

A palm slides up the plane, resting firm by his cheek. The air of his breath hits the wood, fogging back against his lips.

"Please, let me in?"

His hopes blossom in the heavy pause that follows.

"...The door's unlocked," you answer.

Keigo knows. He could have pried it open in a heartbeat with a single feather even if it was locked, but trust and respect are precious commodities. They are irreplaceable, yet entirely and easily breakable.

Slowly, the knob creaks open, the careful movement still startling your spine stiff. The heels of your feet gently propel you backwards, firmer against the icy wall at the furthermost corner of the shower. The expanse is wide enough to accomodate fierce wings, wide enough to swallow your comparitively puny body in its open jaws.

Curled in on yourself, soaked, and trembling; this is what Keigo sees when he enters the room. This is what he sees when he dashes over, mumbling words you don't quite catch— some are familiar. "Dove", "sweetheart", "oh, my baby."

Down, he kneels by your side under the pour of the synthetic rain. The fabric of his shirt clings to his skin now, hair soaked just like yours; a wet dog all the same.

And with your tears plopping down against the flat tile, scratched knees held to your chest, you allow it to spill.

It spills through the hiccups, it spills through the wet of your cheeks; and above all, it finally spills through your confession, nose upturned to look up at his shaky gaze.

"Oh, angel..."

You can hear the palpable crack of his beating heart in that voice; but even if you didn't, the rustle of scarlet feathers that puff out in protection give his wounds away.

Keigo busies himself with a racing thought: how could he not notice the signs? He knew there were secrets nestled in the cavity of your ribcage, tandrils of some sort of ivy even he couldn't quite recognize.

You have a weight. Shackles chaining you to be left out in the midday sun.

He could tell. It's not the same as his— it's another flavor, another disease, another beast of its own— but in the most abstract of ways, Keigo could see it: you're just like him.

"Why didn't you tell me," he rasps, cupping your cheeks with shaky palms. They tap and squish like they're searching for signs— distress, hurt, anything.

You smile a mimicry of his, pulled from your most precious memories, and silently beg for that wobbly smile back; but it does not come. Instead, his eyes begin to shine, glassy and wet.

You've never seen him cry before.

You've never felt as desperate for his yellow as you do now, but you have felt this pathetic and small, once. You have felt like an animal, desperate to be domesticated— a synonym for loved.

"Y-You don't need to worry! I'm good, I'm still clean, see? See?"

As if that's the only thing that matters, you tip your chin towards him to offer your pupils as proof.

Such a gesture may shatter hearts, and Keigo is but a man. Despite it all, he is but a man.

He declines the offer, your words more than enough for him— his body opts to tackle you in an embrace instead, clutching your skull close to his hammering chest.

With each wide-eyed blink, the droplets resting on your lashes flick onto his chest. The soaked strands of your hair cling to him, both bodies drenched now by the roaring downpour above.

Water cascades in heaps onto the floor below. It never stops.

With your cheek pressed against his sternum, his scent invades your senses. He smells like cedarwood cologne and thickets of the forest, a warm signature. It matches his labored breaths: sturdy and weighty and masculine.

"I thought you wouldn't see me as a person anymore," you confess.

He hushes your worries as your eyes flutter shut, kissing the crown of your head with unwavering pride.

"Dove... You're my person."

Keigo thumbs away your tears and pulls back to offer you a wobbly smile.

You offer your own in return— a real one, too, this time.

---

The greatest advice you've ever been told was "don't start".

The words felt feeble at the time, like a joke passed down through unproductive seminars in high school out the mouths of stuffy men in suits, men who spoke of the boogeyman and jumped out behind chairs.

It meant nothing at the time.

It means everything now.

It helps you explain a little better to people who've never had a dog.

The words "don't start" are a language they do not speak; and yet, it helps to say it to their mirrored face, to imagine the breadth of your world could be pressed compact into those two tidy little words.

Talking to yourself helps you pretend you're understood.

Even though it is not necessary to be understood before you can be loved:

Don't start.

[blueteller]

So, I discovered the "random incorrect quotes generator" and had some fun with it. Here you go 😂

Alberu: So. Choi Han and I were crossing the street, and this dude drove by and honked at us Cale: *sighs* …What did Choi Han do? Alberu: He chased him to the next red light, then reached into his window and… Choi Han: *smiles innocently* Do you need a steering wheel, Cale-nim?

Cale: We need to get through this locked door. Bud, give me your money Bud: …Ok, here? Cale: *pockets it* Thanks. Choi Han, kick down the door Bud: …

Eruhaben: While I'm gone - Raon, you're in charge. Raon: Yes!!! Eruhaben: *whispers* On, you're the one actually in charge. On: *whispers back* Obviously.

Basen: Where's Lily? She isn't answering Violan: I'll call Basen: Father and I have both tried six times ea- Violan: Lily! Lily: *in distance* Yes?

Cale: What's a word thats a mix between 'sad' and 'mad'? Choi Han: Disgruntled, miserable, desolated- Raon: Smad! Cale & Choi Han: … (How can he be so cute)

Tasha: Alberu, tell Mary about the birds and the bees Mary: *stares silently* Alberu: *sweats* Alberu: …They're disappearing at an alarming rate

Cale: What doesn't kill me should run, because now I'm f***ing pissed Gods: *shiver* (Why do I hear boss music-?)

On: Dandelions symbolize everything I want to be in life Raon: Fluffy and dead with a gust of wind? On: Unapologetic. Hard to kill. Feral, filled with sunlight, bright, beautiful in a way that the conventional and controlling hate but cannot ever fully destroy. Stubborn. Happy. Bastardous. Friends with bees. Highly disapproving of lawns. Full of wishes that will be carried far after I die. Hong: …edible! Cale: *shivers in the distance*

Cale: Would you stab your best friend in the leg for 10 billion gallons? Choi Han: *thinks carefully* If you stabbed me, you could just heal me with a potion, and then we could buy another big-a** villa somewhere Clopeh: *enthusiastic* You could stab me too, and then you'd have 20 billion! Choi Han: *pulls out his sword with a smile* …Good thinking

*Archie and Paseton sitting in jail together* Paseton: So, who should we call for help? Archie: …I'd call Cale, but I think I feel safer in jail

Rasheel: *sarcastic* How petty can you get? Mila: *smiling* I once edited historical documents to win an argument I was wrong about Rasheel: *scared* What the f-

Alberu: ...You know those things will kill you, right? Eruhaben: *pouring himself a glass of vodka* That's the point. Choi Han: *smoking 10 cigarettes at once* We're trying to speed up the process. Cale: *nods while eating raw cookie dough*

Witira: You have to apologize to Paseton Archie: …Fine. Archie: 'Unf*** you', or whatever

Cale: Looking left cause you don't treat me right Choi Han: Looking right because you left Raon: Looking up cause you let me down Alberu: Looking down cause you f***ed up White Star: *bleeding from having his arm ripped off* …What is wrong with you guys??

Alberu: *walks into his bedroom* …Hello, people who do not live here. Cale: Hey. Choi Han: Hello. Raon: Hi cookie prince! Hong: *chewing* Alberu: You know I gave you the key to my place for emergencies only, right? On: *shrugs* We were out of cookies

Cale: I've come to a point in my life where I need a stronger word than 'f***' Raon: Human, you poopy dumbo!! Cale: … Cale: …that works, I guess

Alberu: Instructor-nim, why do you always wear black? Choi Han: So that when someone points at your black clothes and asks whose funeral it is, having a look around the room and saying 'Haven't decided yet' is a valid response. Alberu: *thoughtfully* Hm. I should try that at the next nobles meeting

Shapeshifter: *transforms to look like Eruhaben* Eruhaben: *hairflips* Fool, are you blind? You look nothing like me. First off, I'm taller. Secondly, I DO NOT look so sleep deprived. Also, if you could drag comb through that hair you would be a 7 at most, everyone knows I'm a constant 10-

Raon: Human, you'll have a hard time believing this because it never happens - but it seems I made a mistake! Cale: *sighs* ...What did you do this time?

Deruth: You see, children, nothing in life is free- Lily: Love is free! Basen: Knowledge is free Violan: Artistic inspiration is free Cale: *smirks* Everything is free if you simply loot it

White Star: I learned some very valuable lessons from this. Sheritt: I'm guessing they are all horrible distortions on the lessons you actually should've taken away. White Star: Death isn't real, and I'm basically God.

(Cage remix) Cage: *drinking* I learned some very valuable lessons from this. Taylor: ...I'm guessing they are all horrible distortions on the lessons you actually should've taken away? Cage: Death isn't real, and neither is God God of Death: *sobbing in the distance*

Deruth: Cale… just how many kids do you have? Cale: …Biologically, emotionally, or legally? Deruth: 0_0

[writegoblin]

I have been severely craving my boy. No no, not Michael. Boseph uwu

Look at him. Unf.

Anyways.

Bo Sinclair Headcanons!

SFW

- You ended up in Ambrose because your car alignment decided it had enough of these off road shenanigans.

- Your reasons for being out that way, for story purposes, are running from your old life. All your old family and friends are shitty so you an conveniently disappear bc smthn smthn deus ex machina

- HOW you find out about your car alignment is another story. Let's just say, tumbling in a car is much more painful than it looks. What's worse is landing in a roadkill pit. Yeah boy. You know what time it is B)

- Lester almost shit himself when you came from over the highway. He thought you were dead and was going to call Vincent when you punched out the front seat. That's hot. Alright stranger, you're coming with me!

- He tries to clean you up and get your name. Takes you back to his place because he doesn't want to catch the twins off guard. But the day you spend there is lovely.

- You get the Ambrose and immediately shits off. Long story short, you become something of a live in maid. They can't kill you because it would be a lot of hassle on their end (another deus ex. You're related to a cop or something idk), and they COULD turn this situation around. Get use out of you.

- Bo likes how witty you are. You don't like to be bossed around which is clearly why you ran away from home (what are you, 10?)

- At first he's very callous to you and makes no effort to understand you. As far as he's concerned, you're another spoiled out of towner, just impeding on he and his brother's strange get rich scheme (more on that later. I'll explain in end notes.)

- What's worse is you're argumentative. Whenever he asks you to do something (read: yells at you), you always gotta talk back. You say funny stuff sometimes but it's annoying mostly. Vincent enjoys it much more than he does.

- You make nice with Vinny first. When you aren't forced to do chores, he lets you help him with the wax. Bo sees this and eventually realizes that while you are certainly mouthy, you are human with like hobbies and shit.

- He's a chef he's a gourmand

- He cooks for he and Vincent because Vincent, due to some brain damage, has a weird palette. So anything he makes either has way too much seasoning, or it tastes like cardboard. Bo on the other hand, grew up running around the streets of Baton Rogue with his friends after school. He KNOWS how to cook good.

- He's also good at first aid. The actual surgery and medical stuff is Vincent's wheelhouse but once you broke your arm trying to fix some shutters he told you to fix. He felt bad so he very gingerly fixed your arm. It healed really nicely but you'll never forget the way those blue eyes of his were so warm when he looked at you, touching the bend in your forearm and his voice, gentle as the day you first met went, "does it hurt?"

- Yeah but you looking at me like that bout to get me pregnant hurts worse sir

- As a boyfriend he's only jealous/protective around tourists. But as a dude in a town with a population of technically 3.5 if you count Lester's visits, he gets it. He does not mind his twin ogling you. He does not mind sharing EVENTUALLY. At first, he's very apprehensive.

- Bo's love language is physical touch. Even nonsexual touch is nice. He likes laying his head in your lap while yall watch TV and you rake your nails through his scalp gently.

- When he gets night terrors he likes to hold onto you in the dark like hope. He puts his face in your chest and he's almost like a little kid for a second. You have no choice but to coddle aw noooo aw man can't believe I have this hot sexy guy in my lap crying ohbhughghh

- If you're pear shaped? He loves your hips. Man, woman, ethereal creature, it don't matter. He was born an ass man he'll die an ass man.

- If you like star gazing, he'll listen to you rattle off about constellations. He likes listening to people ramble about unique special interests because it gives him a little taste of variety in his quiet life.

NSFW

- big. Thick. Cut.

- leftward pitch and he loves doing mating presses.

- much more inclined to rough sex (obviously)

- I do know he likely and unfortunately assaulted those ladies on the wall but in my HCs I like to think it was CNC instead. What stops him from doing the same here is you're too loud and mouthy, so the attraction is initially not there.

- As you soften up because of Vin though, and start opening up and smiling and being cute, he can't help but let his mind roam sometimes.

- Loves fantasizing you in different little costumes to dress up in. A visitor once visited and she was a cam girl! In your size! So lucky!

- please were garter belts this man will not be normal

- Loves intercurral. To punish you if he catches you masturbating, he'll fuck your thighs until he cuts, leaving you all hot and bothered.

- The basement does not come into equation until after the first time. And the first time is more of a gentle, romantic moment of vulnerability.

- Your first time was during a thunderstorm and you were telling him about your past and how so many people hurt you. Abused you. He felt so connected to you. You always held back your anger and he let you express it by throwing stuff and by the end of it you were a sobbing and screaming and laughing mess and he was standing in the debris and he saw himself and he reached out and kissed you in an attempt to ammend himself.

- When he made love to you that night, he decided your ass is never moving out sorry lol

- Exhibitionist. Likes to take you to Baton Rogue for little dates and fucks you in alleys and parks. The most exciting was a drive in theater he took you to where you gave him head. He fucked you in the wooded area outside after.

- PRIESTKINKPRIESTKINK

- Hahaha okay but what if you confessed and he fucked u in the confessional would that be crazy or what

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have a few HOW headcanons actually!

- the boys do the whole house of Wax thing in an attempt to get rich. Bo decided "oh I guess I could be mayor but hm no money here" and he rubbed two cells together and was like "WHAT IF WE MADE AN ATTRACTION THAT WAS THE BESTEST."

- tricked Vin into it cause "they're carrying Mom's legacy :(((( she'd love this trust me we're gonna expand the house into a town it'll be great."

- Lester's there cause he loves his brother's and is also admittedly a bit crazy himself. He's definitely tied a few people up and intimidated people, but that's not his usual job. He's too baby.

- Canonically, where Ambrose is located, it would be a roughly 30 min drive (or 2 hours I forgor lol) to Baton Rogue! So fun fact. They're Baton boys uwu

- I think even though Bo is a good cook, gumbo is Lester's wheelhouse cause he's just got that swagger to him. Like if I met Lester and he was like "do u want me to make you gumbo" I'd say yes, no hesitation.

[beanghostprincess]

Look, I love Luffy as much as the next guy and he is my most specialest boy ever, I love him to death but if there is one thing about him that I had to point out is that...

He only bathes once a week, rigth? So that means that guy's hair is just... not to be offensive but to put in the nicest way I can possibly show its probably the most uncombed, unkept, unfed,  undernourished looking mass of strings that's as dry as a desert in july and if I were to put a hand throught it I would feel that its pretty much the same consistence as the straw his hat is made of, if not worse. Or its covered in enough grease and body liquids we don't even know about that you could harvest it from his head and use it to lubricate an entire wasteland. And this is me being nice.

Its all the results of the possibly the worst higene in the east blue and doing the most random ass things that get you covered in dirt and debris every day, people don't talk enough about how much sand and seawater can damage your hair and he lives in it. Like at least Zoro, who also bathes once a week if not less, has very short hair so the damage isn't as noticeable and its already cut and regrown in a few weeks.

I bet Sanji cries when he sees it, like genuine feeling of sadness, pity and grief because he takes great care of his own and meanwhile Luffy is just tumbling in the salted sea water, letting the sun dry him afterwards and calling it a day. If Sanji ever tried to fix it he would need at least 20 bottles of 12 different products, work on it for 4 hours for a mediocre result and it doesn't matter cause Luffy is gonna fuck it up in the following millisecond by bathing in corrosive liquids for fun or something.

And the worst part is that he doesn't care about the absolute dumptruck on his head, but honestely I'll just let him be, he has worse things to worry about. And maybe his terrible hygene is actually the source of his strenght.

I'm always saying I'd be friends with Luffy but I am a liar. I wouldn't be able to be near him. I'd die. I love my boy but it's so gross I would go Sanji mode and start crying. I think Nami and Sanji just,, Beg him to let them fix his hair. It has to be so,,, Greasy. Ughhh. I don't like thinking about it and now I want to take a shower suddenly.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

TMA Appreciation Week, August 8: Favorite Scene

Menagerie

(Note: sort of spoilers for the whole show? Takes place Somewhere Else.

Warning for absolute tooth-rotting sweetness.)

Brains were funny, funny things, even when one's own might currently be made of eyeballs.

Martin… You’re not, uh. You didn’t die here, did you?

He had actually asked that in the middle of a crisis. He'd done that! Asked that! While they were about to be eaten by worms!

What? What? No! What?

No, I just… No, just the way you phrased that…

Did you think I was a ghost?

Only for a moment!

He had thought it, though. Ugh.

The image won't leave; the memory won't fade. It's just one of those nights when he can't let go of the memory and what followed.

Jon had been sure after this that Martin thought he was an idiot.

It had led to many nights of mortification, staring at the ceiling.

It had led to hours of verbal processing, wailing in Georgie's patient direction.

It even tormented him later, when he'd feared that Martin would become a ghost - after he'd been saved from the Lonely, and struggled to retain himself.

Did you think I was a ghost?

Ugh. Jon made an unhappy sound and pulled his pillow over his face.

Martin shifted in the bed and slid onto his chest, warm and pleasantly heavy. "Hey in there," he said, and tugged at the pillow.

"Hey," said Jon, muffled, and pulled it off his face.

Martin, in the moonlight, grinning up at him, was the most incredible thing he had ever seen (and as Jon saw everything, he knew he was right).

"You okay in there?" said Martin.

"Did I wake you?"

"Well, you groaned, so, yeah."

"I'm sorry." Jon slid his fingers into Martin's curls, their color leeched by the night. "Didn't mean to. Or to groan, for that matter."

"Oh, it's fine. I'd rather be awake to keep you from spiraling, anyway." He shifted close enough to kiss - taking his time, for both their sake - before settling on his chest again, watching him. "What was it this time? Daisy again?"

Jon's smile was wry. "No, nothing grim. Not this time."

"Good!" Martin's relief was palpable. "Then what was it? What little silly thing could you not stop thinking about since we went to bed... oh... four hours ago?"

Jon traced Martin's forehead, his cheekbones, his lips, as if Martin were the greatest treasure in the world. Which he was. "Ahem. 'Did I think you were a ghost?'"

Martin started giggling. He tried to keep it in and failed utterly, and the whole bed started squeaking, which got Jon giggling, too, and at that point, the gig was up.

From downstairs, their pet birds woke and began chirping, clearly hoping for early breakfast. A big, bass bark joined them - possibly telling them to shut up - but at least Titus stayed downstairs.

The cats, of course, came up. They both jumped on the bed in purring welcome, hoping for early breakfast, too.

"It's two in the morning, you heathens!" Jon said to them, which started Martin going again, which started Jon going again, and they clung to one another like vines up a trellis and laughed.

"A ghost, that's me," said Martin between guffaws. "All fifteen stone of me, positively ghostly."

"You are completely sneaky, I'll have you know," Jon said.

"And happy to be. Pulling anything under your radar is a trick and a half."

Jon's smile would not go away, but the embarrassment finally had. "I can't believe you still liked me after that."

"You're adorable. Of course I still liked you."

"I am not adorable."

Martin moved higher, and this kiss lingered, and Jon exhaled, the last of his tension gone. "Adorable," Martin pronounced, and settled beside him at last.

Jon wriggled up against him, happy to be the little spoon, all his eyes closed, his thoughts finally calm. "Should've done this earlier."

"You only need ask." Martin kissed the back of his neck. "Friendly neighborhood ghost to the rescue."

They both giggled a little more, and gradually went back to sleep. The cats, unfed, gave up, and settled for pressing against Martin's warm back, content to wait until morning.

@tmaappreciationweek

[deaith]

the light of the campfire flickers and dims incessantly as the flames slowly but surely die of their own accord, unattended and unfed by the distracted party, the too-dark of the world around them seeming even darker by the shadows thrown by it. the night is quiet, foreboding, clouded with a static sense of dread. for a creature like rýsir, such things are typical, normal, welcomed. the same cannot be said for his unlikely companion.

@proditeur's skin is warm against rýsir's palm, all hot flesh and running blood and too-many veins (all vulnerable and on display), his heart-thrum a tempting familiarity that he ignores and forgoes for the time being, gyryth all too focused on the more important task that rests in his hands. his body is burning, his soul incandescent - a bleeding fissure in the known fabric of things, gushing and filling and overflowing with raw and scaling magic. regulus' very presence is music to rýsir's ears, the taste of his soul's blood still sticking to his tongue and teeth like some savory and irresistible thing. he can feel him cracking at the seams now, and rýsir knows he burns in this moment not because of the fire at their sides, but the magic that eats him alive from inside. eats him. what a curious thing.

hand cups one side of the sorcerer's neck, as if he is a friend instead of a near-stranger, one that rýsir has not taken pity on but rather has found a convenient use for. rare is it that he eats so regularly, yet regulus, with his bizarre predicament, offers a temporary and satisfying solution. his teeth are on the cusp of sinking into the soft of regulus' neck, lips nearly grazing the pulse-point, ready to bite, bite, bite. and then regulus speaks, and rýsir is not too distracted nor too hungry to not pull back, to listen.

" that's not proper etiquette. "

" and what is proper etiquette, alyima? " is the snap-quick response, rýsir's clawed thumb pressing oh, so lightly against that pliant and vulnerable spot just beneath regulus' jaw, where all it would take is a swift and precise jab to claw the underside of his tongue. there is a pause, short and noncommittal, before the gyryth eases his grip, shifts the pressure from talon to finger-pad, and moves his face just that much closer to regulus' own. he is going to bite, sooner rather than later. his hunger is a tangible, insatiable thing; this, regulus knows.

" would you like me to bring you wine first, and feed you with my hands? " tail swishes and shifts upon the earth, and despite the suddenly cooing tone of his words, there is a note of appalled condescension in the slight lilt of his voice. he inches closer, and though he does not tighten his hold on the hollow's neck, the way in which he slowly and gently runs his thumb against the other's adam's apple is threat enough. " should i find you a nice, expensive bed with nice, expensive sheets, so they may cushion you and hold you when you faint? " rýsir moves closer, sighing against regulus' cheek, speaking into his ear: " do you want me to tell you it will be okay? "

proper etiquette. what proper etiquette is there when you are dying? when the you that exists, has existed, is dying? what niceties and polite courtings can be offered when your very identity and self thrive on nothing but smoke, when even mayflies seem to have more fulfilling and promising lifespans than you? something like a growl rises in rýsir's throat, irritation ringing clear - not so much so as a result of regulus being difficult and denying him a quick and easy meal, but because he cannot begin to understand what the point in waiting is. rip the bandage off, tear the scab, let yourself bleed and get it all over with until it's time to do it again.

" you run on borrowed time, princeling, and right now, you are beginning to split. you may not have time for etiquette - much less all of this talking. "

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

please write under the adoration of aemond's face, his hooked nose, got me whipped

Hello, nonnie!

Being asked to write about Aemond's beautiful face is a breath of fresh air considering some of the absolute filth that has been finding its way into my asks of late, so thank you for this reprieve.

Let's take a moment to look upon this masterpiece, because it truly is a thing of beauty:

I'll start from the top and make my way down...

We'll start with the forehead. Ideal size. Sure it has a lil widdy bit of a scar on it, but at least it's not a great big fuck off megamind fivehead like his older brother. Perfection.

His eyebrows are delicate enough that they're inoffensive. One sits above one of the most gorgeous baby blue eyes you'll ever see in your life. That blue eye conveys more expression than most people are capable of with two. Then there's the left eye - it's a mess, yeah, but surely that is part of his appeal? I doubt so many people would be foaming at the vagina over this man were it not for his eyepatch and subsequent scar. He is not opposed to having you touch it, kiss it, lick it. The fact you accept him exactly as he is would drive him fucking wild. He'd likely stop wearing the patch altogether. And so he should. The man is a stone cold stunner.

His cheekbones are sharp enough to cut yourself on. I am a big fan of bone structure and this guy is packing fucking suitcases of it. God bless this gaunt king.

Now we'll move onto that that Roman/aquiline nose. This thing is gorgeous. If you have a nose of this shape (I do) and have ever felt insecure, I want you to know that you are fucking STUNNING. If you find Ewan/Aemond hot, then you must know that this nose shape absolutely FUCKS. It makes sitting on that beautiful face all the more satisfying as that proud nose of his effectively acts like bunny ears on your clit while he eats your pussy to the fucking bone (making those little "mmmm" noises all the while)

Then we have those full, curved, perfect little meow meow lips. These lips were MADE to be kissed. They are soft as shit and taste amazing. They heighten the sensation of everything he does with his mouth, whether it's sucking your clit like a Dyson vacuum cleaner or latching onto your nips, it will feel AMAZING.

Lastly, we have that chin. GIVE ME THAT FUCKING CHIN, DADDY. It's so pronounced. He has a fucking jawline for days. Imagine him coming up from eating you out and your slick is just dripping off that CHIN. RIP to you. That would be the last thing you'd ever see. You'd die. It would be like looking directly into the face of god. Nobody can survive that.

Anyway, I hope you have enjoyed this. Sorry I got grotty and carried away, but I think you knew I would, otherwise why else are you here? I take in the hungry and depraved and I feed them.

Let's end by taking another close look at this absolute pussy eating champ's visage.

UNF.

[thevelominati]

Vengeance of the Moon Knight

Some written thoughts now, actually...

I was a little wary that Reese jumping into therapy with Andrea would feel a little contrived – it worked for Marc for obvious reasons, and as much as I’ve enjoyed Andrea as a character and how good she was for Marc, repeating her for Reese didn’t feel like it was going to be the most interesting move. I’m glad that’s not quite what it turned out to be come the end of the issue though, so Mackay’s once again proving himself as a thoroughly competent writer and I really need to stop kneejerk worrying about the directions he occasionally chooses to head in.

Aside: Reese still looks fucking awesome in the suit.

“Marc had two gods, neither of whom he was on good terms with.”

It’s a simple line, but I do appreciate it. I’ve said it before, but I’ve really enjoyed how Mackay has tried to pull through the battle with religion and identity (and Judaism/his upbringing) that was so present in the 80s run to the present, because it did feel like a lot of the 90s/00s dropped that in favour of specifically focusing on Marc’s issues and relationship with Khonshu which – yeah, interesting and dynamic, but it’s most interesting when you consider what it’s played off against. He’s not just a man with dubious mental health and dubious trauma processing skills who’s the avatar of an Egyptian god, he’s a Jewish man with all of the above and a contentious relationship with every god (and father…) figure he encounters!

Ben Grimm is so good, I love him. I love the fact that Jake played poker with him and Ben insisted on remaining a connection with Judaism for Moon Knight as a whole, regardless of Marc’s … everything.

I am interested in what kind of conversations Marc had about funerals/his death he did actually have with anyone else in the Mission though. How did it come up? Why did it come up? Did Reese and co strongarm him into having a discussion about ‘so, what the fuck actually happens if you die?’ because I’m not sure I can really buy him sitting down and having that conversation of his own free will.

I wondered if we were going to see Marlene and Diatrice, or Frenchie and co, but them not knowing Marc’s dead (unless it’s covered in the news and they find out that way, I guess) and no-one at the Mission having a way to get in touch with any of them makes sense. The only characters it doesn’t mentally make sense for IMO is Gena and Crawley – I can buy both of them (more Gena than Crawley) not wanting anything more to do with Marc and everything he brings into their lives, but I don’t think either of them would have moved away from NYC in the same way Marlene and Frenchie have evidently done so.

I do find it interesting to note that Marc apparently did speak about JP and the rest of them a little bit though, given the comment about “any of the old crew”.

I feel like there are probably some interesting thoughts to be had on how Marc viewed being MK as his debt, duty, and everything about his life, whilst Reese is very much ‘I’ve got a lot of (un)life ahead of me, this isn’t going to be what I do forever’ about it. Where Sterman expresses concern about how Reese is processing or not her grief, it feels like this is quite an IC way for Reese to process her grief.

Tigra! My beloved! I love the contrast between Reese and Tigra (also, Tigra’s arms, unf) and the reminder that Tigra can be very brutal herself. There’s a reason why Marc and Greer have always gotten along, after all! I also really appreciate how whilst Reese’s approach at this point is to try and reflect the way that Marc was, to an extent, trying to run the Midnight Mission, she’s not aware of how much Marc didn’t let her see his brutality and questionable methodology. She’s not necessarily got any illusions about the type of person Marc was, but she didn’t get the same type of exposure to how fucked up he could be and the amount of blood he could be willing to spill.

Which kind of brings us to her not recognising the ~~new Moon Knight. I am really excited for the potential of came back wrong! Marc and what that’ll mean for the Mission, but I don’t want to wait until Feb 14th…

(Also poor 8-Ball. Everyone forgets about him. Don’t worry Jeff, we love you…)

[tirfpikachu]

something they don't tell you about being a writer (literally my gender identity at this point /s) is that you can be pregnant

with, like, story ideas and characters and concepts.

they become your kids/pets and you gotta tamagochi lvl them up before they can be fully formed and ready to be published

but the thing is it's so easy to be neglectful bc you're easily distracted and maybe have a touch of the 'tism or the adhd or are just very reluctant person when it comes to doing tasks. disgusted by tasks. so sometimes the ideas/characters/concepts you were harboring end up being unfed neopets. and it's not horrible like how tamagochis just fucking die, it's not that bad, but it's still like seeing your neopet be in a miserable mood bc of you. and you're like... damn kiddo. i'm sowwy. i'm so bad at being consistent. y'know, we're like that with ourselves too, self-neglect. the thing is, you can always pick it up again. you can always start treating yourself well and feeding your muse & hobbies. your muse will be annoyed but you'll patch things up real healthily and actually realize all your wacky story ideas

maybe we all need to shamelessly become eccentric writers

maybe it's okay to neglect your writing ideas maybe you can parent ideas the way that shitty men do it. be your own muse's deadbeat dad. it's fine. you can just focus on yourself and then pick it up again in a few years when you're bored and got nothing to do.

beat up your shame abt never writing but still identifying as a writer

writerkin

just fucking write honestly. even after years

do weed maybe

relax

pick your creative hobby up again. it's like a stray dog, but like one of those proud strays in cartoon movies. so it'll just do its own thing when you're busy with stuff or weren't in the mood for it. and it'll come back for food and attention. i think we need to make sure to constantly feed our inspirations like hungry furbies. you start feeling upset and restless if you don't write for weeks and weeks. writing is like one of the needs bars your sim was born with. the lovely hobbies meter. except writing can be even more than a hobby, it can be a whole ass career even if it's not profitable. if we hadn't felt so ashamed of ourselves, if we didn't carry the burden of shame about how long it's been since we did a thing, and tormented ourselves about it and ruined our moods, how much would we have written by now? how many books? comics? smutty fics? essays? thinkpieces?

goddess knows i would've written a terrible amount...

whatever. picks myself up by my armpits. let's go do it now kiddo. over time i'll learn more discipline. it's only getting easier and easier

[takami-takami]

THANK U FOR THE TAG MWAH MWAH Was tagged by @aquadenks to rec some of my own fics so! Some author's notes too, spoiling the subtext lol but giving some behind the scenes info! I'm just gonna pick my favorites, not so much the ones I'd recommend.

For recomendations: Stray Dogs Will Crawl Home for sfw; How to Fix The Ache or Can't Help Myself for nsfw

My faves:

Nightmares. | angst, hurt/comfort

I wrote this to cope with the GRAGGGHH feeling after watching the Lady Nagant episode. Like I wrote this late as hell at night too in order to be normal. I like the way I wrote the panic, it was fun to try and tweak it to be more in character and make the body language and dialogue believable. I find his theme of corruption and being used by the hpsc and feeling shackled to be very interesting to explore. I had to write the boy being comforted for his past or I'd die.

I Think I Love You. | fluff

The cutest fic I ever wrote. Pure good feelings. I genuinely love this one, I think it's adorable and head-over-heels!Keigo is my weak spot. I giggled so hard to myself when I wrote about the platonic kiss to ground himself. He's so cute. Fuzzy feelings. Happy happy happy.

Happy Birthday. | angst

Pure angst. PURE angst.

I had this in my notes for a long while, actually, and had the idea in my head for longer. It's a catharsis piece, very personal. Whenever I would have a moment related to a Thing, I'd pull out my notes app and work on this and just vomit my feelings onto the page. I still remember stopping in the middle of grabbing groceries and pulling out my phone to type the "what did you make me do" part as soon as I thought of it. Typing outside on my phone like a madman. Very therapeutic. Even though it's my least popular fic (probably because of the subject matter and lack of x reader) it means a tremendous deal to me.

How To Fix The Ache. | smut

The smut fic of the bunch— HEAR ME OUT, this is one of my favorite smut fics so I picked it as a representative (My other favs are Crybaby, Accidents, and Sweet, Sweet Indulgence. Not including the mini drabbles. I can answer which of those I like if anyone's curious!). So I'm putting it here. KEIGO YANKING IT MY BELOVED!! I like the pacing here, the tension building, the payoff at the end where he mcLoses it. Sexually frustrated virgin mess Keigo :(((((.

A Dog Unfed. | angst, hurt/comfort

This is my most recent fic but also another favorite of mine! Literally helped me so bad to write this. Do not know where I would be if I didn't write it. I feel like, I honestly didn't want to turn this into a fanfic at first. It was just supposed to be a thing for only me to see about how I'm feeling because the feeling was overwhelming; but I wanted to share it, so I turned it into a thing with Hawks (which also helped a ton)! I think you can tell, at least in the beginning part. I break the fourth wall at the end a little which I thought was cool but definitely was worried about doing. I let go of a lot of inhibitions and a desire to Appeal to Others when writing this one. Like I told myself when I was writing over and over, "all my writings are mine but this one is Mine." Very special place in my heart. <3

But my FAVORITE fic is still being written. Idk when it will be finished though, it's a big one— I don't like posting chapter by chapter, so I'm just gonna finish all the chapters first and then slam it onto the table hopefully.

Tagging ANYONE steal this. :3

[wroteclassicaly]

I'm a bit tipsy on vodka spiked coffee and I am once again asking for this

beautiful man to rip my heart out and eat it. Let it bleed in his hand, crimson rivulets running down his slender wrist as I die before I hit the floor. Let the organ that sustained me, sustain him.

Can't think of anything more romantic 😭

Miss and love you babe!!!!

Tipsy babydoll! 😘

Unf, this is absolutely a visual I’ll never stop thinking about, even if the show aired years ago. Just so fucking delicious. To suck on that man’s fingers…