#literally why are there so many tags

[theaprilfools]

convinced the twins to watch the world cup and root for brasil with me >:P

we're def gonna win trust me @1-800-disaster-twins

[sanshinexx]

After Angband, Maedhros had a complicated relationship with his hair for a long while. The thing he once used to cherish and carry with pride, inherited from the mother he had left behind, was now tainted with memories of unwanted attention and derogatory touch.

After his rescue, it had to be cut short for the sake of his recovery, and he could never quite figure out whether he was more hurt or relieved by the act. It was Fingon, during those times filled with anxiety and doubt and shame, who helped him learn to accept his own appearance again– from the stump of his right arm and the scars littered across his freckled body to the locks of copper hair, ever so slowly regrowing to their former glory.

And little by little, the lingering memories of malevolent hands harshly yanking at his scalp were replaced by the feeling of tender hands carefully braiding familiar golden ribbons into his hair, once again beloved.

[sinematically]

watched avatar 2 with my mom yesterday and her review was “not enough violence, Jake should have listened to his wife” and yeah I agree mom.

[heartless-curr]

low effort kunidazai shitpost

[og under cut]

[ohbo-ohno]

merry christmas @luminousbeings-crudematter, here's the ghoap x reader purge au! (a week and a half after you posted about it... im so sorry)

5.7k, mind the tags <3

cw: ROUGH NONCONSENUAL SEX in all caps, pwp, under-prepared/painful anal sex, some pretty intense fear stuff, people covered in blood and referenced violence (it's a purge au lol)

Your hands tremble where they’re tucked close to your chest, blood sticky and thick between each finger. You feel coated in it, like someone has taken a brush and gone over every inch of your skin, painted you in red.

It’s in your mouth. You can feel the warmth of it on your tongue, the taste of iron sickening. You tell yourself that maybe you bit your tongue, that it’s not really your ex Phil’s blood coating your teeth.

Your thin pajamas are hardly any protection against the chill of the night air, less so with how soaked they are. The stench of piss is heavy in the air, a mixture of yours and his, but you don’t have time to go back inside and change.

You’re running on pure instinct, an animal urge deep in your mind insisting you run. You’d always thought you’d have more of a flight instinct than fight. Despite how you feel now, how your legs itch to carry you as far away as possible, the cooling corpse left behind tells you the truth. 

You stumble into the wall, a wave of nausea knocking you off balance. There’s a trail of red left behind as you use one hand to balance yourself, the other held protectively over your heart. 

Your security system - cheap, but usually enough to let you sleep through the Purge - is completely destroyed. There’s no chance of it protecting you, and the bust in windows will let anyone on the streets see your vulnerability. You’ll never feel safe there, and you can’t shake the need to run.

There’s no chance of any of your neighbors helping you. There’s some neighborly camaraderie between your floor-mates, but that all disappears on Purge night. It’s every man for himself, every year, without fail. You know that. You even think the same as them, pretend no one else exists when that siren goes off every year. 

But now, shaking and terrified, you wish you could knock on a door and see it open. Hear the security system disengage and see a familiar face, beg for help and thank them on your knees.

It’s a nice fantasy. Reality is less kind, seeing you shake with a dawning chill as you manage to shoulder open the door to the stairwell, cringing when it slams behind you.

The cold cement is rough on your feet, and a distant part of yourself worries about slipping - your feet are slick with blood, and you can hear yourself leaving a trail of footsteps. You don’t try to slow down, holding tight to the metal railing and shuffling down the stairs.

You’re halfway down the first of four flights when the door on the next floor opens, a large figure stepping into the stairwell. Your stumble to a stop before you even register that you’re not alone anymore, and you’re backpedaling before you even fully realize.

He’s big, his face covered in a red skull mask. From your vantage point you can see his hair is shaved into a mohawk, and he’s shirtless with only a pair of gray sweatpants on.

He’s drenched in blood. Even more than you, and you feel like you’re drowning in it. If you’re painted in blood, someone took a bucket and dumped it on this man. You can hardly see any unmarked skin, and you wonder for a split-second if the skull was once white.

There’s an audible grin in his voice when he calls up to you. “Look’it you, bonnie thing. You tryin’ to run?” He steps to the side, leaving a wide open space for you to pass him to the next staircase. You’re frozen where you’re leant against the railing, hardly able to breathe. “C’mon, give it a shot.” 

You listen, scrabbling further back and all but throwing yourself up the stairs on all fours. You’re only the need to get away, an innate fear that tells you to get as far from the blood-soaked man as quickly as possible. You swear you hear him laugh as you launch yourself up the next flight, panting already.

There’s no safety found in going up though, as hardly two flights later you’re tugged to a stop by your instincts alone.

Standing above you, hardly six feet away and blocking the door he must’ve just come from, is another giant. This one fully clothed and with a white skull mask, somehow bigger and more intimidating than the man you can hear coming up the stairs behind you. You can’t see even an inch of skin, black gloves on his hands and mean black combat boots reaching nearly his knees.

There’s a moment, before the chase ends, where you contemplate jumping over the railing. There’s no going up, there’s no going back, and you can’t even begin to imagine what these two men want with you. The only thing that keeps you from throwing yourself over is the fear that you wouldn’t die on impact, that you’d be left injured and even more vulnerable to these men.

You’re not sure you could’ve tried that plan had you even wanted to, because the moment it forms fully in your mind a pair of thick arms wraps around you, and a heavy weight forces you to the ground.

You cry out at the sudden shove, palms scraped raw against the cement. The man behind you covers your body completely - his knees bracket yours, his hands rest on either side of your head, and there’s no part of the back of you that isn’t cloaked in him.

He doesn’t say anything as he ruts against you, the blood from his chest soaking through your tank top and making you cringe further away. You can’t stop the quiet stream of whimpers as you try to shrink into the stairs, try to get away from the beast behind you. He doesn’t care, only drops more of his weight onto you and pantomines fucking you.

You can feel the outline of his cock through his pants, as thin as the clothes both of you are wearing are. If you weren’t wearing your shorts, if he tugged the waistband of his pants down, he’d be inside of you.

The thought makes you tear up, makes you want to slam your head back and try to knee him in the balls, makes you want to fight.

But all your fight is gone. It died with Phil and your security system, and you’re left only with a weight in your bones that makes you wish you could sink through the floor. 

The hard plastic of the skull mask presses to the sensitive skin of your cheek, biting into the fat there. You can see the gleam of bright blue eyes in the sockets, the creases at the edges that tell you he’s smiling.

“You gonna fuck her here for the first time?” The white skull asks, voice deep enough that you hardly register the words. Your eyes are jerked to his form and it makes you shiver to see him sitting on the top of the staircase you’re pinned to, legs spread wide as he stares down at you with a cigarette between lips exposed by the tilted mask. You feel like a sacrifice, thrown to the stairs of a temple for a god.

“Can I?” The man over your shoulder pants, accent roughened from his own movements. You can’t tell if the wetness between your thighs is piss, blood, or an even worse option. You bite your tongue to hold back a whine, wince at the burst of iron in your mouth.

The man above you tilts his head, smoking blown into the air. “You fuck her here, you won’t get to go again on the roof. Don’t need you gettin’ spoiled.”

Your nails dig into the concrete, folding beneath the pressure as you shake beneath the red skulled man. He whines over you, like a petulant kid being told no for the first time, but goes still against you. That alone has you blinking open damp eyelashes, watching him from the corner of your eyes.

“Alright, I’ll wait,” he pants, chin resting on your soldier. “Give ye some time to get ready, huh lass? It’ll be easier for ye then. Just think about what we’ll do to ye, how good it’ll feel to get properly fucked, yeah?”

You sob when he grinds one final time against you, your hips pushed into the harsh edge of the stairs. 

He’s dragging you up after that, hardly letting either of you stand fully before shoving you up the stairs. You can’t catch your balance and let out a small cry as you fall back to your knees, mouth twisting in pain at the unforgiving surface against your naked knees.

You flinch when a gloved hand grasps your chin, tugging up until you’re forced to look towards the white skull above you.

You’ve landed between his feet, a boot on either side of your body, and if you’d moved forward even another half foot, you’d have face planted into his lap. 

Your heart skips a beat when you realize you’re making eye contact with him. The dark brown of his pupils blends almost seamlessly with what must be black paint smeared around his eye sockets, and the only reason you even realize you’re locked in a staring contest is the way the light reflects off the whites of his eyes.

You don’t have time to try and move away from him on your own (or, more accurately, to throw yourself backwards and pray you didn’t break something falling down the stairs) before a pair of bare hands are shoving you up from beneath the armpits, making you almost squeal as you jerk in the direction you’re forced.

“Up, c’mon,” red skull grunts, hands flitting from one part of your exposed skin to the next as he herds you upstairs. “Need to get inside ye, kitty, fuckin’ walk.”

You sob as you stumble up the stairs, the top of your foot scraping painfully against the concrete. You glance over your shoulder just in time to see White stand to follow you two, but you’re nearly sent sprawling again when Red only shoves you all the more harshly.

“Pl-please,” you manage to gasp, shoulder roughly bouncing off the wall. A glance up tells you you’re two full flights away from the rooftop. “Please, I don’t know what you want, b-but…” You can hardly talk around the sobs floating in your throat, choking you. “Please, please don’t hurt me.”

Red groans as he tugs you nearly off balance, the sound echoing off the walls and full of what you can only describe as hunger.

“Fuck, haven’t even gotten ye naked yet ‘n yer already beggin. Knew ye’d be perfect for us.”

You can hardly see through the tears in your eyes, the rest of the trip up to the roof all gray with streaks of red and black. You can’t focus enough to try and get away again, can’t get enough of your panic under control to fucking think.

The red skull catches you when you almost go careening over the rails, one broad hand catching you by the chest and gripping.

He groans, you flinch. “Fuck, cannae wait to get my mouth on these.” He pinches with his whole hand, your breast going sharp with pain on every fingertip. You whine, flinching further against his chest and trying to shrink away.

“Keep movin’, Soap.”

“Aye,” Red - Soap - pants, and you can practically hear the saliva gathered in his mouth when he swallows. “C’mon, kitty, only a little further.”

The blood on your hands has dried by the time White is shouldering open the door to the roof, your hands itching and the red flaking away every time your fingers twitch. The night air is a cold shock, just jarring enough to tug some reason back into your brain.

Soap doesn’t stop his herding until you’re far enough from the door for his partner to block it with an old metal chair, the back tucked under the door handle. You tuck your hands beneath your arms, shoulders curled in in an attempt to preserve warmth.

You wouldn’t have expected the night to be so cold. Half of the street is burning - flames painting the sky, giving you the exact opposite impression of the biting chill you feel. There are dozens of people in the streets, carrying guns and axes and chainsaws and all sorts of other weapons you can’t see. You feel bile rise in your throat when you realize the dark pools reflecting flames in the street are blood, not water.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Soap grumbles, and you don’t have any time to think before his mouth is pressed forcefully against yours, tongue shoving at your lips.

Your eyes are wide open, unlike his, and you make a shocked sound high in your throat at the sight of his maskless face. You can’t really see what he looks like with the way he’s pressed against you, but it’s a shock nonetheless.

You keep your lips pressed tightly together, no matter how much his tongue prods and tries to force its way into your mouth. You feel more than hear him laugh against you after a few long seconds, and one of his massive paws comes up to cradle your jaw pointer finger against your temple and thumb under your chin.

He stops trying to force himself between your lips after almost a minute, instead shifting to just… licking your lips. His tongue paints wide across your mouth, soaking you in his saliva. He’s almost scarily determined in the way he accosts you, his grip tight on your face as his other hand shifts to bruise your hip, covering what feels like the entire bottom-half of your face in his spit. You can’t help but grimace, trying to pull away from him, but he’s pressed too close.

“Can’t fuckin’ wait to be in ye,” he pants, breath warm and wet against your cheeks. “I know yer gonna squeeze me just right, bonnie, can tell already.”

“Please,” you say, voice weak. “Please, don’t, I don’t want you to-”

His groan is guttural. “Ye wanna know a secret, bonnie?” His voice is quiet between the two of you, bright blue eyes boring deep into yours when he pulls back. To your endless frustration, he’s handsome.

He leans close, whispering so low that you almost have to strain to hear hum. “That’s what makes you fun. Wouldnae be draggin’ you up here if ye wanted it, could get you any other night of the year for that. But it’s Purge night, lass… so you go ahead and fight as much as ye want, yeah? Just makes it more fun for me.”

You can’t help but sob at that, fat tears streaming down your face as he maneuvers you. You feel disconnected from your body as he forces you down to the ground, your soft belly left exposed when he pushes up your tank-top to cup one of your breasts, a whimper crawling out of your throat at the way the gravel presses into you.

You feel his breathing grow heavier as his hands move down to your shorts, shoving them off your hips and leaving them loose around your calves, completely disregarding your pitiful attempts at crawling away.

“Poor thing, been stuck in these the whole time? They fuckin’ reek, bonnie, no offense. That his piss or yours?”

You shake your head against the ground, face twisted up in acute humiliation. For some stupid reason you don’t want to even begin exploring, you find it necessary to whisper, “H-his.”

Soap hums, and you curse yourself inwardly when the humiliation is slightly alleviated.

“Get ‘em off her,” the white mask says, and you can’t help but jump at the sound of his voice. He’s sat on a large box only a few feet away, leaning back and relaxing, looking for all the world like he’s settled in for his favorite show. “Don’t want anythin’ of his touching her now.”

The sound Soap makes at that is animalistic, a snarl coming from deep in his chest that makes you flinch as he all but tears the shorts from your body. You wince at the wet splat of them landing several feet away.

You force your forehead into the gravel when your knees are forced wide, a rough hand and another pair of knees spreading you.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no…” you can’t help but beg, voice trembling. “Please- god, please don’t-”

“Fuck,” he moans over your shoulder. “Yeah, keep goin’, lass.”

You sob at the feeling of warm skin against your bared behind, his thick length slotting itself smoothly between the slightly spread lips of your pussy. Your eyes squeeze shut and it takes all your willpower not to keep begging.

He slides himself back and forth against you for a few long breaths, using online the slight slickness from a mixture of piss and blood to get some friction. But to your immense horror, it only takes a few moments for the sensual movement against your clit to have your body preparing itself.

The slight wetness at your hole might be a betrayal, but it’s not nearly enough to ease the way when he pushes inside of you with no warning.

You nearly scream, a high sound of pure panic and pain when it feels like you’re being split in two. Somewhere off in the distance, you hear someone laugh. Right above you, Soap groans.

He’s buried himself to the hilt inside you before the pain has had any time at all to fade, and he’s fucking into you hardly a second after that.

Every thrust forces a grunt from your throat, the entire weight of him slammed into your back each time his balls smack against your clit. Your face is twisted up in a grimace, your whole body racked with pain that your assaulter couldn’t care less about.

“Fuck, kitty. Yer squeezin’ me so good, such a good girl, shit-! Knew you’d be ti-tight as a vice, fuck, but didn’t know you’d be squeezin’ me so tight I can hardly move.”

Your whine is plaintive, his moan is filled with pleasure.

“Yer gettin’ so wet for me, bonnie. Ye like this, huh? Bet you like it just as much as I do, gettin’ thrown around and takin’ advantage of. That it, kitty? Ye like being forced?”

You sob and shake your head against the ground, crying all the more when sharp pebbles dig into your cheeks.

“Naw, I think ye do. Why else’d you be- fuck, squeezin’ me like that?” 

“Cause- because-” you try, but you can’t get the breath in to get more than a single word out.

“Huh? Cause- cause-?” Soap mocks, his voice pitching up to mimic you as he plants himself deep inside you, grinding his hips against the meat of your ass. “C’mon, kitty, tell me why. Go on.”

“Cause I want you to stop!” You cry, balled up fist slamming into the gravel. You can’t help but whine ow when the sharp rocks poke into your skin, and Soap’s laugh shakes your entire body.

“Good,” he whispers, breath hot against your ear. “Squirm all ye want, lass. I love it when you fight.”

You can do nothing but go limp beneath him as he begins fucking you again, his pace somehow faster and even more relentless. It’s a small mercy that there’s no fight left in you, that you can’t give him any more pleasure. 

It certainly doesn’t stop him, though. Despite the fact that you’re doing your best impression of a dead fish, Soap pants and moans against your shoulder like you’re the single best thing he’s ever slept with. His cock is painfully hard inside of you, and his pace never once slows.

He’s loud when he finally comes, the sound of his orgasm clear enough that you know he’s thrown his head back to the sky. You can only whimper as he rolls his hips against you, working the last spurts of cum out of his cock and into your unwilling body. 

“Fuck,” he sighs in your ear, sounding far more satisfied than he has any right to. “Good girl, kitty. You were perfect.”

You sniffle beneath him when he slowly pulls out, both of you groaning at the sensation. He gives you an almost perfunctory pat on the ass, and stands to walk away. You manage to open your eyes and focus just in time to see him slide to the ground in front of his partner, leaning against the wall.

“Yer turn,” he sighs. “Warmed her up good for you, Lt.”

Despite the hatred boiling in your gut, you can do nothing but lay limp on the ground and watch as his partner stands, cracking his neck and moving towards your prone form. 

You want to run, you want to fight, but you can only watch the executioner come closer and wait for the metaphorical axe to fall.

He crouches by your head first, grasping your chin and pulling up until your torso tries to follow to alleviate the tension. He stares deep into your eyes for a long moment, and you find that it’s impossible to even tell where his pupils are with no real lighting. You feel like you’re truly looking into the empty eye sockets of a skull, no man and no mercy to be found.

“You’ll call me Ghost when I fuck you,” he rumbles, thumb stroking over the scrapes on your cheek. He doesn’t wait for a response, simply hauls you up by the shoulder and turns you onto your back. 

He’s rough with your limbs as he shoves your legs together and up, his forearm banding across the backs of both of your knees and holding them to your chest. You whimper and wiggles as best you can, but the bruising blow against your thigh is enough to have you gasping and stilling.

“Don’t fight,” he warns, and you feel his gloved fingers running up the crack of you. “You’re hurtin’ enough as it is, and I’m not gonna help. You wanna make it worse too?”

You shake your head, unsure if he can even see you through your legs. He doesn’t respond, and hums when he swipes two fingers through the liquid gathered between your lips.

You whine when those fingers move further down, a fresh panic creeping in when he presses around your back hole.

“You should be glad Soap fucked you so good,” Ghost drawls. “He gave you all the lube you’re gonna get.”

You feel like an animal when you whine again, unsure of how to even begin trying to speak. You yelp when a thick finger slides into your hole, completely disregarding any resistance and forcing its way in until it’s buried to the knuckle. Your cries go ignored.

“Quit squirmin’,” Ghost scolds, pulling his finger out to smack your ass before shoving two back in. “You’re fine.”

You’re not, you’re terrified and hurting and upset, but none of those things matter when Ghost only coaxes more of your slick and Soap’s spend to your unused whole so there’s less resistance. 

The only blessing you have is the fact that you can’t see more than the outline of Ghost’s figure with the way he’s got you positioned. You try your best to close your eyes and float into disassociation, and while you can’t fully manage it, the fact that you can’t see his face - his mask - helps you distance yourself from what’s happening.

The moment you realize this is of course the moment it stops being true. 

He seems to decide you’re ready after scissoring three fingers inside of you, hefting himself up so that he looms more fully over you. You can only whine as you feel the movements of him unbuckling his belt, feel the weight of him slap against your slightly spread cheeks.

Fresh tears fall past your lashes as you stare up into the fathomless darkness that are Ghost’s eyes. There’s nothing there, just a cold empty skull prepared to ruin you.

You don’t even have the energy to beg.

The stretch of him inside your ass is five times worse than Soap was. There’s no natural lubrication, and nowhere near enough synthetic lube either. Your hole feels like it’s on fire, the stretch white hot as he gives you no mercy.

You’re not even fully sure what you’re babbling as he slowly sinks to the root, only aware of the pain and fear and panic sitting heavy in your heart. You fear you’ll choke on your tears, head jerking back and forth.

He sighs when he bottoms out, heavy barrel chest forcing your knees past your shoulders. Your hips strain, just another pain from the endless abuse.

“There,” he grunts, patting your thigh when you go limp from it all. “Stay nice and still now, just need a place to dump my cum.”

Upsettingly enough, that hurts. The idea that you could mean nothing to this man is somehow worse than the thought of him having some other twisted feelings for you, your hormone-addled mind deeply insulted. 

His thrusts are long and slow, each one pulling nearly completely out before slamming back in. The sound of your skin slapping together is embarrassingly sexual, and a distant part of you is aware enough to pray that no one nearby had heard your screams and cries.

Ghost is near silent as he fucks you, the opposite of Soap. You can only hear the occasional grunt when you squeeze him because he’s inches away from your face - you can even feel the occasional gusts of breath when his hips start working a little faster. 

There’s nothing you can do but lay limply beneath him and take it, just a vehicle for his pleasure. You almost manage to float away, to pretend none of this is happening or has ever happened, when his free hand moves from your thigh to the top of your cunt.

You nearly squeal when he rubs your clit, the smooth leath gliding over your slick bud. Your eyes fly wide open, back arching as much as you can with three hundred pounds of man holding you down. The loud laugh from several feet away only makes you writhe more.

“Make her squirt, Lt!” Soap shouts, his voice carefree.

“Shut it, Johnny,” Ghost grunts, voice roughened with pleasure. You don’t even have time to focus on the fact that he’s just told you Johnny’s name, far too preoccupied with the tidal wave of pleasure rushing towards you.

You have no idea why it happens. You’re never quick to come - almost every single partner of yours has complained about you taking so long to get off, it’s been an Issue in several relationships. 

So it makes absolutely no sense that after hardly a minute of rough circles against your clit, you’re clenching down on the cock in your ass and moaning loudly as your orgasm overtakes you.

The natural clench of your body only makes the pain worse, a sharp spike of it running up your cunt and making your moan shift into more pained sounds. Ghost only moans in tandem above you, his thrusts becoming slightly less even as he lets your orgasm coax out his own.

You sob when you feel his cum paint your insides.

Unlike Johnny, Ghost doesn’t pull out after he comes. He lets your legs fall limp on either side of him, just barely managing to catch them for you before you slam your ankles to the ground. He leans his torso over yours, elbows resting on either side of your shoulders while you do nothing but wait beneath him.

He’s sweat off some of the makeup. This close, you can see hints of pale skin in the sockets of the mask. There’s nothing to read in his eyes, but that flash of skin tells you he’s still a man.

You swallow, trying to work moisture back into your dry mouth, and whisper, “Will… will you let me go now?”

You know it’s more likely he’ll kill you. It’s what you can only imagine happened to all those bodies in the streets, what you know happens to tens of thousands of women every year. 

So it’s not a surprise when he doesn’t answer you verbally, instead covering your mouth with his palm and pinching your nose shut with his fingers. 

Your eyes flutter shut after a moment, lungs tightening already, and all you can hope is that suffocation is a quick death.

———————————————————————

You wake, gasping, in a dark room. 

You’re lurching forward before you’re even fully aware that you’re awake, coughing loudly and gasping when it feels like your throat is bleeding.

“Oh, poor thing,” you hear a familiar accented voice coo, and a moment later there’s a warm hand patting your back. “Yer alright, deep breaths.”

You jerk back from Soap - Johnny - as soon as your coughing is under control, scrambling back on your palms and staring at him with wide eyes. He only grins at you, looking for all the world like any other normal man in his sweater and sweatpants.

He got changed at some point - these pants are clean. He’s not wearing his mask either, and you’re struck dumb by how non threatening he manages to look.

He also changed your clothes - or Ghost did, maybe. You try to cover your chest with one hand, but there’s no hiding the fact that you’re completely naked. 

Johnny only laughs at your attempted modesty. “Been starin’ at them for hours, lass. Ye’ve got nothin’ to hide.”

That’s… horrifying, and does absolutely nothing to calm you down.

It’s then that Ghost rises from a chair, stepping forward and making you aware of his presence. “Calm down, Johnny. We don’t want her panickin’ this early.”

Soap fully pouts, tilting his head at you before glancing up at his partner. “I haven’t even done anythin’, Ghost. Was just sayin’ hi, tha’s all.”

Ghost snorts, gripping Johnny’s mohawk and tugging back until the other man sprawls back on his ass. “You know how you are, pup. Give your kitty some space.”

Johnny listens, crossing one leg beneath him and bending the other close to his chest, looking casual as can be. Meanwhile your heartbeat only gets faster, and you wince when you happen to lean too far one direction and feel a throbbing reminder of what these men did to you.

Ghost steps forward again, crouching just out of arm's reach. You realize he’s not wearing the same skull mask as before, but a balaclava with a printed skull pattern instead. His eye sockets are unpainted, and you’re shocked by how such little things make him look so much more human. 

“You can calm down. Long as you behave, nothin’ much worse’ll happen to you.”

You find yourself almost comically not-comforted by that, and can do nothing more than stare at him with wide eyes. 

“Where…” Your voice cracks, so you swallow and start again. “Where am I?”

It’s Johnny who speaks up. “Our place. We finally brought ye home with us, kitty.”

The world feels like it’s slowed around you, and your eyes drag from one kidnapper to the other. You have to swallow again to work any moisture into your bone-dry mouth.

“Is the Purge over?”

The creases at the corner of Ghost’s eyes are painfully obvious with how pale his skin is, and you shudder at the thought of him smiling.

“Been over for… what, five hours now? Somethin’ like that.”

You can’t fight the tremble in your voice now. “Then… then you have to let me go.”

Ghost’s head tilts, the creases get deeper. “Do I?”

You nod with as much conviction as you can - which is almost none. “You can’t keep me here. You’re breaking the law.”

Ghost leans closer on the balls of feet and you lean further back, your spine pressing into the wall behind you. “Are we now? And who do you think will stop us, pet?”

“The- the police. Someone will report me missing, they’ll come looking.”

“Oh? And you think they’ll come here?”

You nod as best you can, and jump when Ghost laughs. It’s low and quiet, only a few beats, but it’s like gasoline thrown on the small fire of panic in your mind.

“You have no idea where you even are, and you think they’ll find you? I hate to break it to you doll, but you’ll be lucky if they look for you for a week. You have any idea how many people go missin’ after the Purge?”

Your breath is quickening. “So that’s it? You’re just going to… going to keep me here, forever? What are you even going to do?”

His laugh is sharper, meaner this time. “We’re gonna do a whole lot more of what we did last night, pet. Keep you as a little cocksleeve, a pretty thing tucked in the basement just for our entertainment. Ain’t that right, Johnny?”

You manage to tear your eyes away to look at Soap and see that he’s nearly salivating, having inched closer and closer and shifted so he’s knelt behind Ghost. There’s a feral spark in his eyes that has every hair on your body standing straight up.

“Yeah, tha’s right. Don’t worry, lass, we’ll make sure yer never lonely. Might even stay the night with you, cuddle up in the winter. Bet ye could keep our cocks nice and toasty in the cold, huh? Gonna let us use ye as a little heater?”

“A heater, a mattress, a fleshlight… your future’s lookin’ bright, sweetheart,” Ghost drawls, mockery dripping heavily from the cruel words.

Your eyes dart back and forth between the two men and their predatory stares, your heart racing against your ribcage.

It’s not a conscious choice for you to launch yourself towards them, reaching out and clawing your sharp nails down Soap’s face with a feral scream that tears your throat to shreds. 

Even as Ghost throws you off and forces you to the ground, you vow to fight these men to the end. You’ll kill them both if you have to, leave them dead and wander however many miles it is back to your apartment.

Ghost only laughs when you shout this in his face, and you scream as you lunge forward, just managing to catch his masked chin between your teeth and bite.

With your fight instinct back in full force, you’re ready to make their lives hell.

[jaxyscreams]

Fucking sobbing at the convo between Toby and Harriet in episode 9

Though it’s through metaphors it’s so obviously two autistic people talking about the struggles of not fitting in with allistic people

And it’s such a beautiful moment of emotional connection

Especially with the combined shots of Harriet fidgeting with the pocket watch that Toby handed her (his obvious safe item) for comfort

[fairyroses]

He was about to kill you, Lex. Or divulge something you didn't want me to know.

— SMALLVILLE, "Forever" (4.21)

+ bonus from "Arctic" (7.20):

[dukeofthomas]

I can't find it now but there's a post about suspension of disbelief and how it's broken when the story starts trying to excuse it. "character gets knocked unconscious for hours but there's no further issues from this" okay 👍 "and actually this makes perfect sense because of this and that" um no it doesn't why are you lying to me. like i am willing to ignore the holes and the discrepancies!! all you need to do is let me and not bring unnecessary attention to it!!!

and all that is my issue with the whole robin child soldier argument. like i am willing to ignore it i am willing to engage with the fantasy literally all you need to do is NOT try to convince me that Actually It's Fine Because They Want To Do It or whatever. like literally just shut up about it and i can engage with the fantasy!!

[the-gene-mile]

SEASON 14 WILL BE REAL VERY FUCKING SOON

[skitskatdacat63]

Fernando Alonso & His Relationship With Cards

I'm sure we're all familar with the cards on the back of Fernando's Vegas GP helmet by now, but did you know his relationship with cards goes a lot deeper?

I. Magic Tricks

You've probably seen or heard someone at least mention Fernando's propensity for card tricks. As far as I can tell he was doing them(publically) as far back as 2003 all the way to as recently as 2018. Even once performing a card trick, with a condom and a teddy bear(!??!?!??!!), in front of Valentino Rossi who said "How was that possible?"(x)

But how did this start? According to James Allen, "Fernando admits to having been heavily influenced by his grandfather, a mercurial figure, who taught him magic and card tricks, still one of his passions away from the race track."(x) And I'm not sure the validity of this one, because I couldn't find an actual source, but apparently he once said: "My parents are responsible for the two things I like doing most - driving and magic tricks. They bought me my first go-kart and a magician's kit."

In several interviews he described it as his hobby off track, and that he loved learning new tricks and surprising others in the garage with them! So clearly cards are pretty important to him both as a hobby but also to who he is as a person since they've been with him just as long as racing has.

II. Card Symbolism in His Helmets

This is the reason I originally made this post, but I thought I should also explain the origins of his card fascination first. As I said, we probably all remember the cards on the back of his helmet in Vegas, but did you know that wasn't the first time he had cards on the back of his helmet?

From 2008-2013, he used to have a pair of cards on the back of his helmets. The symbolisms of the cards themselves as well as the evolution of their design is really fascinating to me! Even more so with the recent development of the card choice in 2023.

Fernando said he wanted to reference his two titles in some way on the back of his helmet and after his friend sent him several ideas, he decided on having two cards(an ace of clubs and an ace of hearts, sometimes pictured with 05 and 06 on them as well), saying: "I picked the cloverleaf [the ace of clubs - Ed] to give me luck, but the only pity is that it doesn't have four leaves!"(X)

2008.

Here's the very first appearance of the cards! They're displayed flat, with the 05 and 06 clearly visible

2009.

Very similar to 2008, but with a slightly different design, and they're maybe a bit more straight with less shadow?

2010.

This is the first major change! I was sad they didn't have the years on them anymore, but then I realized they're sparkly to match with his signature lightning bolts on the top of the helmet!!

2011.

Honestly I'm still somewhat unsure if this is the actual 2011 helmet? It's pretty difficult to find clear photos of the back of helmets from older seasons. It's easiest to find them on replica sites or auction sites so I'm not 100%? But anyways, I like that this has the championship years on the underside of the cards

2012.

This is when I started getting weirdly emotional about the helmets. Do you see how they've progressed from being a centerpoint to being curled up and sad at the bottom of the helmet? Not listing the year anymore??

2013.

Same thoughts as 2012. And after this season, they cease to exist (just like his ferrari chair in the garage, WOAH CALLBACK), until cards make a reeappearance in his Vegas helmet, albeit in a different form

2013 Monaco(Honorable Mention):

For some reason 2013 helmets were easier to find proper pictures of, so I happened to witness this absolute beauty. The creativity of this helmet genuinely blows me away??? Wanting to keep the card motif, but making sure to incorporate it into the rest of the puzzle piece design?? Mwah! There was another special 2013 helmet but they didn't change the cards at all so I really applaud this one

2023 Las Vegas(The Return of The King):

The magnificent return! But look! The cards are different cards! Instead of being two aces, it's now an ace of hearts, a four of hearts(his driver number of course!) and, the, now iconic, representation of himself as a Joker. I literally could not believe my eyes when this helmet was released and I saw the Joker card, what a fucking silly old man....I really wonder if he felt nostalgic having cards on his helmet again or if he didn't think about it all and was just like, "ah cards because Vegas!!!"

III. Why Does This Matter?

*The rest of the post was factual, this is moreso my personal thoughts on the symbolism of the cards/designs

This post spawned from me recently watching the 2010 Bahrain gp and noticing "hey wait a minute...are those CARDS ON THE BACK OF HIS HELMET!?" It's a really tiny detail that's unfortunately covered up by the HANS device pretty much whenever he's wearing the helmet, so it's really difficult to spot! But I became fascinated with the fact that he had cards on his helmet before that recent helmet, and now here we are!

There's something to me about how the design of the cards evolves over the course of six seasons from the cards being front and center to being smaller, more folded up and closer to the bottom of the helmet. As I said, the 2012-2013 ones genuinely made me depressed because it feels, symbolically, like his hopes for getting another Ace are becoming more and more unlikely and falling away until they eventually fall falt and fade away entirely after 2013 and disappear for basically a decade.

But when they return? They're not the same cards! Instead of representing Fernando's championships, they now represent him as a person, displaying his driver number and his persona of being a Joker!! Though I do think it's interesting he happened to keep the Ace of Hearts, even though he talked more about the Ace of Clubs before. I'm not sure it's actually this deep in reality, but I like to think that it's him not letting his championships(and the lack thereof) define him, but rather letting who he is as a person shine and be the centerpoint instead! But on a sadder note, as @suzuki-ecstar said to me, maybe the Aces aren't there anymore because he's lost all hope for a chance at a third Ace entirely :(

[dear-ao3]

Next time add a tag when you post something about Taylor Swift because seeing anything having to do with her makes me irrationally angry and I have every possible thing blocked

thank you

this also you?

[fairyofshampgyu]

he’s literally so beautiful and handsome

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

MDZS Equineswap 2: The girls are here too

[Horse-side of the swap]

[slytherinboysappreciation]

If you do requests could you make one with either Enzo or Theo or both(?) x a male werewolf reader? Where the chosen boy smells too much like another person? Doesn’t have to be the whole plot just want that to be mentioned….

Common Scents - T. N. & L. B. X male werewolf!Reader

A/N: Thank you so much for the request! I was so excited when I saw it that I wrote this whole thing at 1 am lol. I did, in fact, make the request the entire plot, but I think it turned out good. I used both boys because they both just fit so perfectly I couldn’t choose between them.

It’s actually edited and beta read a bit this time. No use of Y/N. Rough Italian translations are at the end.

CW: Lots of talk of smelling people!! (If you’re not comfortable with that, then don’t read, please!); reader has enhanced senses; Theo is Italian (I am not nor do I speak the language, so I’m sorry if the Italian bits are off or anything); reader gets a bit possessive over his boyfriends; passionate kissing/making out a bit; scent marking, I guess; fluff;

708 words

You knew something was up the second they walked into your room. Something was different. And you couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Heya, handsome.” Enzo slings an arm around your shoulders, giving your cheek a kiss. “Missed seeing you in the stands during practice.”

You can barely smell anything over his smell and it makes your nose wrinkle. Sweat and hormones. Fantastic. “Enzo, I love you, but you reek.”

Theo laughs, coming up on your other side. He wraps his arm around your waist, sandwiching you between them. “Il mio caro ragazzo. Are you saying you don’t like our smell? What happened to ‘I can’t get enough of it’?”

Your cheeks warm. “That’s— Oh, come on, Teddy! You guys just got back from quidditch practice!”

Still, when it’s the both of them so close to you, you don’t mind quite so much.

On your next breath, though, you catch a whiff of something new. Something floral and feminine. It makes you bristle. That’s what was different about them.

Both boys notice it. “What’s up?” Enzo asks and Theo asks something in Italian. You try to shrug it off, but the scent bothers you.

You know your boyfriends are popular among the girls. For the most part, it doesn’t bother you. But every now and then, especially around the full moon, you start to get possessive.

“You smell like a girl,” you state, frowning. Your voice has a low growl to it.

The boys exchange a puzzled look. “A girl? What do you mean?” Theo asks. His hand starts to play with your hair. It calms you a bit.

“I mean, you smell like you were touching a girl.”

Enzo smells his arm as if trying to pick up what you’re talking about. Then he shrugs. “I can’t smell it.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course not, Enz. Werewolf senses, remember?”

“Ohhhh!” Both boys nod at the same time.

You lean closer to Theo and smell his shirt. He definitely smells like something flowery. “I don’t like it.”

Enzo scratches the back of his head. “I’m sorry you don’t, love; but we didn’t talk to any girls on the way up.”

“What about during quidditch practice?” The smell is making you restless. They don’t have enough of your scent on them.

“Oh!” Enzo snaps his fingers. “You’re smelling Pansy!”

Theo nods. “I forgot. She gave us good luck hugs before practice.”

“Oh.” You calm immediately. The floral scent does smell a bit like Pansy’s perfume. And you can tell they’re not lying by the soft sounds of their heartbeats.

Enzo grins and leans in to give you a kiss. Theo watches, smirking a little. “Worried we were with some random girl, amore mio?”

You break the kiss with a soft growl. “Don’t tease me, Teddy. I’ll show you worried—“

He kisses you before you can finish. Enzo starts to kiss down your neck, nuzzling his face against your skin. You melt into the kisses with a soft moan, unable to help yourself.

Theo wraps his arms around your waist as Enzo sucks a hickey onto your neck. You know what they’re doing. They’re rubbing your scent on themselves, marking themselves in a way only you can sense.

And you love it. It relaxes you, calms you down. You feel like you can breathe again, now that your scent lingers on their skin.

After their showers, the three of you end up cuddling on your bed; the boys each wearing a sweater of yours. You lie between them, breathing in the wonderful combinations of your mixing scents.

“Better now, love?” Enzo asks, lightly playing with your hair. You nod and nuzzle into his touch. “Yeah. I like it when you smell like me.”

Theo chuckles and gives your hand a soft squeeze. “Trust me, tesoro. We know and love it too.”

A smile curls across your face. At last, you fully relax between them, all worries and possessiveness finally gone from your mind. “I love you. Both of you.”

Enzo kisses your cheek while Theo gives your lips a soft peck. “We love you too.”

Il mio caro ragazzo = My darling boyfriend

amore mio = my love

tesoro = sweetheart/darling

[ragzonacamrencruise]

For the first sentence of a fic ask

Katara’s choking sound filled the room which gained the attention of her friends until Katara stopped and turned to face Azula with a shocked face.

hello bestie!

this is too funny . . .

okay so hear meowt-

***

THE PROPOSAL

Katara’s choking sound filles the room, which gaines the attention of her friends until Katara stops and turns to face Azula with a shocked face.

Azula, sitting closest to Katara in the enormous dining hall, is half way down slurping her noodles when she notices the racket. Her own eyes grow wide as she witnesses Katara holding her throat and gasping for air, but not getting any.

Now, for the people who've been following Azula around in the palace since she was a little kid, they know it's common knowledge that Azula, would quite normally, enjoy watching the person choke themselves into oblivion instead of rushing to help them.

And in this case, Katara being the one who's the traditional healer of the group, no one else knew what to do in this situation. They could only sit and watch their friend choke helplessly. The waterbender's eyes begin to water as she looks all around frantically.

So, it's safe to say that it comes as a surprise when Azula calmly places her chopsticks near her almost empty bowl, stands up, walks behind the now standing Katara and envelops the choking waterbender in a hug from behind.

Everyone's too shocked to speak as Azula places a fist right under Katara's now matured chest and pushes it into the waterbender forcefully. Katara jumps up high in her arms at the impact. But Azula simply does it again.

And again.

And again.

Until Katara coughs something out of her mouth and it comes flying out to hit Sokka on the head, who's sitting exactly opposite to Katara. The waterbender gasps in a lung full of air and then lets out a string of coughs, her hands desperately holding on to Azula's strong arms wrapped around her stomach, keeping her from collapsing.

Azula flattens one of her palms over Katara's back and rubs soothing circles. "There, there, peasant. We don't want you dying on us now, do we?"

Katara wipes around her mouth with the back of her palm, trying to calm down from the sudden adrenaline rush of almost dying. Sokka, being the naturally curious person that he is, bends down under the table to pick up whatever the hell hit him on his head. When he brings it out to the light, he gasps out loud.

"It's a Water Tribe betrothal pendant!!"

Katara looks at the round, blue, glimmering, piece of jewellery in Sokka's fingers. She immediately extends her hand to take it from him.

"It's not stone!" Katara exclaims, running her eyes all over the pendant. "It's some kind of . . ."

"Copper." Azula states as she removes herself away from Katara's person and takes back her seat, picking up her chopsticks non-chalantly to gobble down the rest of her noodles.

Katara turns to her immediately. "What?"

"It's Copper." Azula says with a roll of her eyes. "Clearly you peasants have no knowledge about this metal's existence. It's crystalized Copper. And very difficult to carve, by the way. I spent literally hours trying to get that thing carved."

The waterbender blinks, not believing what she's hearing. "Y- You made this?!"

"Yes."

"Why?!"

"For you, of course." Azula shrugs, filling her mouth with noodles.

Katara could only let her jaw hang.

"You're giving my sister a betrothal necklace?!" Sokka's voice is a high-pitched shriek.

Azula looks confused. "What are y'all yapping so much about? Isn't it traditional to betroth a girl when she's 16 in the Water Tribe? I know I'm an year late, but it still counts, right?"

"You're asking me to marry you?!" Now Katara's voice is an octave higher.

"Wow, you filths really are dense in the head." Azula wipes around her mouth with a napkin kept at the table like the proper royalty that she is.

"No!" Katara exclaims.

Azula looks at her with her brows furrowed together. "No, what?"

"No, I will not be marrying you! Are you crazy?!"

The princess stands up, having done with her meal. "I was three years ago. But not anymore." She says with a smirk, before bowing curtly and leaving a hall full of dumbstruck people.

....

Katara flips the pendant in her hand, deep in thought. She looks down at it, tracing the intricate carvings that adorn it with a finger. She's lying on her stomach, on the bed inside her room in the Fire Nation Palace, having had an eventful supper. She frowns when she notices something strange.

The carvings look exactly like her mother's betrothal necklace. Not even a single line out of place. She touches her mother's necklace and gasps softly.

Azula must have one hell of a brain if she can carve something out just from memory.

Then she thinks back to everything that conspired during their meal.

She must've slipped the pendant in my noodle soup when I wasn't looking, or something, to surprise me.

The pendant's beautiful. Too beautiful. She would've mistaken it for glass if it didn't radiate such a glossy blue glow, refracting candle light through it in a translucent haze. It's mesmerizing.

But the thing that nags her the most is, why would Azula of all people give her a betrothal necklace?! Does she like her, or something?!

Sure, Katara couldn't help but get lost in the princess's elegance from time to time, and blush like crazy whenever the firebender got even remotely close to her, thankful for her complexion hiding her flustered state, but that is beside the point.

Katara sits up. There's no way in hell she's going to sleep without talking something through with the very firebender that proposed to her. Determined, she gets up, wears her night robes and walks out of her room to the princess's chambers.

....

"Your highness?" Katara calls out softly, peeking inside a dimly lit, enormous room. Her eyes look all around before falling on the princess's frame by the table, sitting on a chair and reading a huge book by the candlelight hanging above her head.

The firebender takes a second longer to acknowledge Katara, her eyes hurriedly running over the last few lines on the page she's reading, before looking up. "I figured sooner or later you'll be here."

"Ha ha." Katara laughs humorlessly as she walks into the room and shuts the door behind her.

Azula places a peacock feather over the page she was reading and closes the heavy book. "State the purpose of your visit this late at night, peasant."

Katara scowls. But she's unable to hold it much longer when she spots the princess pulling out another chair by the table, gesturing her to take a seat.

The waterbender's bare feet make no noise when she walks up to the table, adjusting the chair a little bit, before sitting down, close to the firebender. It's the beginning of winter and nights, even in the Fire Nation, are getting pretty chilly.

When she finally settles down, with her knees almost touching the side of Azula's thigh, she looks up in contentment. The princess is still waiting for her answer, when Katara's eyes fall on her.

Katara takes in a deep breath. "I still haven't thanked you."

Azula frowns. "Whatever for?"

"For saving my life."

Azula clicks her tongue, in irritation. She turns back to the book before her. "Leave. I still need to complete this chapter and I need peace and quiet."

"No, I mean it. Thank you, your highness . . ."

Azula doesn't answer as she flips open the heavy book again.

"The remedy for choking is still not known by many." Katara says softly. "Where did you learn it?"

Azula's eyes find Katara, without ever turning away from the book. "I read about it somewhere." She explains before letting her eyes fall to the book before her again.

Katara hums. She unintentionally falls silent as her gaze finds itself helplessly drawn to the princess's perfectly crafted face. She traces curves and crevices sculpted in astonishing precision, even when the firebender is devoid of any make up. Her golden brown eyes shimmer in the candle light's flicker, and the sight puts Katara in a trance.

"You can stare all you want after you marry me." Azula says without turning away from her book, and that jolts Katara awake.

"Who says I'm marrying you?" The waterbender is quick to deny, her face getting heated rapidly. "I never said yes to your proposal, remember? If you can even consider that a proposal. You didn't even ask me properly!"

"Your father." Azula states.

"My father? What about him?"

"Yeah . . ." The princess looks up from the book. "He met with Zuzu to negotiate a stable course of action, considering the amount of overwhelming peasants from the Water Tribe opposing the idea of working together with the Fire Nation."

Katara's eyes are wide and attentive as she can almost predict where this is going.

"So," Azula continues. "They put their heads together and came up with this; a marriage alliance. And as Zuzu is already planning on marrying Mai . . . You're stuck with me. Personally, I think it's okay, considering how nothing really is satisfying you barbarians."

"Hey!" Katara exclaims. "If anyone's a barbarian, it's you people! You started the hundred year war and butchered an entire nation!"

Azula stares at her. "Out of all the things I said, that is what you choose to respond to?"

Katara pushes her chair back and jumps up, her knees bumping Azula's thigh. "Whatever! I'm gonna talk to my dad first thing in the morning to cancel this supposed 'marriage alliance'."

"Suit yourself." Azula says, turning back to her book as Katara storms out of her chamber in anger.

....

The next morning, Katara finds herself grumpily sitting in the dining hall for breakfast all alone, as all others have already had theirs. The meeting with her dad dragged on longer than she would've liked.

It's stupid, considering the fact that Katara never really entered her father's chambers to discuss the crisis at hand. She just paced outside his room, for a long time, contemplating what to say and how to say it. To be honest, she wasn't really that opposed to this marriage alliance anyway. She came here just out of spite. She was turning on her heels, already loosing her nerve and giving up, when her father came out, ready to head for breakfast. And it certainly did not help when she randomly blurted out 'I don't want to marry Azula' out of no where when he greeted her with a good morning.

Her father had just laughed it off stating it's just jitters and he's "seen the way you look at Azula".

Katara had then spent her whole morning contemplating living under a rock from embarrassment, but then her stomach growled and she dragged her feet to the dining hall reluctantly.

Her brooding comes to an end when she finds the object of her crisis walk into the hall, her hair up in a small topknot and the rest of it long and falling freely over her shoulders, her signature bangs still in place. Katara's eyes follow the princess as she takes a seat opposite to her, clad in a simple, light red, yukata with short sleeves.

The waterbender notices Azula's skin coated with a slim layer of sweat, making her glisten in the morning sunshine wafting in through the hall. She averts her gaze hastily.

She's not supposed to be feeling this way towards her! Even when she's supposed to marry her!

"Slept in?" The princess's mocking voice makes Katara look back up at her.

"Not really." The waterbender replies politely. Then she catches the drift of what Azula's implying. Didn't she tell her yesterday night that she was gonna call off the marriage alliance? It really is a slap in the face for Katara when she realizes that she never broke off the betrothal. And she's not ready to make peace with the fact that she doesn't really want to break it off.

Their breakfast arrives and Azula's upon it even before the servant places it on the table. Katara looks at her with amusement. "One would think you were starved for weeks." The waterbender teases at the way Azula gobbles up the food.

"Never go easy on breakfast." Azula swallows a mouthful as her manners of not talking while eating kicks in. "Especially after a good workout and training."

"Training?" Katara raises an eyebrow. That explains the sweat.

"Yeah. Every morning. You don't?"

"Not really." Katara chooses to say again, trying not to pay attention to the way the princess's arms flex when she's using them, fresh out of a workout.

They both fall silent, only opening their mouths to eat. When they're done, Katara wipes her hands and face in the hot napkin placed on the table and stands up to leave. So does Azula. The waterbender walks out of the hall, slowing down near the doorway to wait for Azula when she comes out.

But she never comes.

Instead, Katara hears someone speaking beyond the dining hall inside what she thinks is the kitchen. And because it's so quiet in the morning with only the chirping of birds to keep her company, she frowns softly as she follows through the kitchen to where the voices are coming from.

She hears Azula speak, so she braces herself against the wall beside the entrance to the kitchen, out of sight from anyone who might want to look outside.

". . . but the flavours were thick. Make sure you simmer down on the basil and lift up curry leaves. It would provide useful and time saving and, dare I say, delicious. And, Zata? We need to incorporate more from other nations if we're supposed to excel at anything we do. This goes to cuisine as well . . . And prepare stewed sea prunes for lunch, will you? I'm told it's the Water Tribe princess's favourite." The princess is saying.

"Yes, princess." Katara guesses it's Zata who agrees with the firebender.

"Keep up the work." Azula says finally.

Katara hurriedly makes herself scarce from the vicinity as she hears the princess's footsteps staring to echo out.

Katara's sure her blush is visible for miles when she makes her way to the royal gardens to cool off.

....

The lunch, as expected, fills the whole dining hall with the aroma of stewed sea prunes and Katara doesn't even have to look at the bowl before her to know it.

Azula's sat directly opposite to her and the waterbender can no way in hell meet the golden brown gaze annoyingly fixed on her. She struggles to make it through one spoonful of stew without blushing like a maniac.

This is so absurd! Get it together, Katara! It's not like she gave you the whole world! She just made you your favourite dish. It's not a big deal!

But . . . it's Azula we're talking about! When has she ever done something this nice to someone else?!

"Is it not to your liking?" She hears a voice in front of her and she has no other choice than to look into those scrutinising eyes.

Azula's eyebrows are merged together, deep in thought, watching Katara struggle to eat her lunch, unaware of the problem. The waterbender, however, is hyper-aware of it, the smell of the stew reminding her every second that it was because of Azula.

Katara offers her a small, nervous smile. "It's good, your highness."

Their friends are present in the dining hall, so Azula doesn't press the issue further. But her face remains thoughtful the entire duration of their lunch.

Katara is the first to leave the hall, having gulped down the hot stew directly from the bowl, in an attempt to get out of there soon. She can heal her burned tongue later. She just needs to . . . get out.

She hurries off to her chambers, plopping down heavily on the bed, shutting her eyes close.

....

The royal gardens, that evening, sees Katara watering the plants, temporarily trying to get a certain firebender out of her insistent thoughts. The setting sun casts a warm glow over the flowers and trees, beautiful and sophisticated. A cool breeze flows in the garden and the waterbender is grateful for it, given the way her body heat seems to rise up eveytime she thinks about the fire princess.

Katara bends the water from a nearby pond and lifts it up, gently letting it fall, spraying over the fire lilies. She smiles, feeling rejuvenated with such a simple act. When she's about to turn around to water the other part of the garden, something, or rather someone catches her eye as she looks up.

She almost has a heart attack when she realizes it's Azula, leaning against a courtyard pillar, watching the waterbender do her thing. Katara freezes, eyes locked on the fire princess helplessly.

Azula, realising her presence is no longer unnoticed, pushes herself away from the pillar and steps into the garden, her gaze never leaving the waterbender. She walks towards Katara, gaining distance by the second and the waterbender's no longer in control of her own breathing.

The setting sun hits the firebender's eyes, and Katara's put in yet another trace with the way it gleams, looking at her in a way that makes her stomach flutter.

When she finally does get close, close enough for Katara to feel her warmth, Azula lifts her hand up, gently moving a strand of hair away from the waterbender's shoulder to expose her neck. She eyes her mother's necklace already placed on Katara's delicate neck and shifts her gaze to the waterbender's sparkling blue ones again.

"Marry me, Katara." Azula says, ever so softly. It's a command, but it sounds so desperate and so loving, that the waterbender's heart starts raging against her ribs. Katara can only let her lips fall open in a silent gasp, dumbstruck with the way Azula's making her feel.

The firebender searches her eyes, waiting a second longer for her to answer, before letting out a soft, glum sigh of defeat, turning around and walking out of the garden as quick as her own lightning.

Katara finds it difficult to catch her breath, even after a few minutes of just standing there.

....

That night, Katara finds herself standing before the giant doors of Azula's chambers again. She thinks of knocking, but then decides to just screw it and opens the door.

She enters the room and shuts and locks the door behind her. When she turns around, she notices that Azula's sat in the same table over the same book. Her wide golden brown eyes fall on Katara as she watches her with a rare glimmer, completely uncharacteristic of her.

When Katara walks inside, Azula stands up to meet her halfway. The flicker of the candlelight hanging above right beside them, bounces off of something shimmering, catching the firebender's sharp eyes right away.

Azula lifts her hand to Katara's neck, an ecstatic expression filling her face. She touches the cool, smooth, carved, crystal Copper hanging from the necklace on the waterbender's neck, and lifts her gaze to the matching blue eyes looking at her with longing.

Their eyes stay locked for a moment longer, before Katara opens her mouth to gasp, "Yes."

Azula's hand immediately reaches out to grab the waterbender's waist, as she pulls her flush against her. Katara swears she can practically taste Azula's smile when she leans forward and kisses her, deep and long.

By the time they break apart for air, Katara's brain is stuck in one giant daze, blinking up at Azula, hanging onto her shoulders desperately, unable to form coherent words except, "Your highness..."

"Bed. Now." Azula's voice is deep, bathed in dark hunger, and the waterbender can do nothing but nod frantically.

Katara didn't know that almost dying would end her up with a fiancé, but she isn't complaining much now at all.

....

"You really didn't like the stew, huh?"

"No. I loved it."

***

butterflies. straight up butterflies when i wrote this.

this could've been longer. but i tried to make it simple 😭🖐🏻 its funny because i was already thinking of their dynamic in marriage proposals and BAM the perfect opportunity presents itself in the form of an ask inbox.

thank you for the ask bestie! @waterfire1848

[b4kuch1n]

making of a feathered thing