#recognizable/and finding ways to imply detail

[meringuejellyfish]

ooooh the curse <- he wants to draw fanart its not that serious but ohhh the curse

[meanbossart]

I LOVE DU drow and I love your art style! I also really like how you draw Astarion's hair, it looks flowy but still with his trademark curls.

Can you give any advice on drawing Astarion's hair? I find it a nightmare to draw. Whenever I free hand it, it just doesn't have the amount of curliness I want, and when I try to use a reference it ends up looking rather stiff.

Take care and thanks for the art 😊

THANK YOU though to be honest I'm shocked to find this ask in my inbox because every time I draw Astarion a war is waged between me and his hairdo. But sure, lets give this a shot!

First of all I feel like its a good idea not to be too attached to his in-game model hair when drawing unless your style is very realistic. The only reason why that dry-noodle helmet looks so regal and bouncy is because of the high-detailed graphics. Like you mentioned yourself and many of us have experienced, if you try and stick to it too closely in most art-styles it just ends up looking terribly stiff.

Instead, I suggest just keeping growth-direction and shape in mind and applying as much movement as you want to it when you draw it. Here's some things to remember that might help you with that:

-I employ the liquify tool a lot when sketching his hair because I never get it big enough on the first try, lol. This can also aid you with "distorting" more curliness into your lines if you aren't used to doing that right off the bat, just try not to become too reliant on it!

-I usually leave the areas around the ears and back alone but imply a lot of movement with the top and front of the hair, taking as many liberties as I want even if it's not entirely faithful to the model. I feel like the impression of curliness comes entirely from the silhouette of the hair and little fly-ways that I add, and everything else I just try to do without overthinking it too much for a more natural look.

In truth, I feel like a lot of times we get stuck on things like parting-placement, right amount of curl, which brush we're using yada-yada when in reality we are neglecting what actually makes a character's hair recognizable: Hairline, growth pattern, and shape. If you get these three things right I feel like everything else is entirely just stylistic choice. It's worth pulling away for a moment and checking on these things if you feel like you're continually unhappy with your outcome!

-Astarion has a hairline capable making most men over 30 cry. It's very low on the forehead and tight on the temples with the slightest hint of a widow's peak. As someone who drew a lot of big-foreheaded characters with receding hairlines prior, this was a STRUGGLE for me to get used to and a big reason why I felt like I couldn't get his hair to look "right" for the longest time.

-His hair swoops to the right side of his face in a fanning kind of shape and is the longest at the front and top. You can imply a strong part if you want, you can split it into sections, you can have it falling over his forehead or not at all - as long as it's going in the right direction you will probably be fine.

-A mistake I would catch myself making often was getting the shape totally wrong - making it too slick at the top and putting all the volume in the back when that's pretty much the exact opposite of what his hair does. IT'S ALL AT THE FRONT AND TOP, REPEAT IT TO YOURSELF LIKE IT'S A MANTRA: IT'S ALL AT THE FRONT AND TOP.

And lastly, if you absolutely hate how his hair looks or hate to draw it, you can forego all of this and just do whatever you want. These tips are only worth something if you like how I draw his hair specifically.

Hopefully this was helpful at all!

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 18

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 5.5K

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

While you told Kai you would be going back to the inn, you didn’t feel fully comfortable entering a room where his father might still be awake, unsure how to navigate the awkward silence. Instead of heading straight back, you let yourself meander through the streets, the cold nipping at your nose, turning it a bright red as you sniffled lightly. You smiled politely at the well-dressed females wandering alongside you, their coats lined with furs and shoes polished for winter. Your own attire was more than a little worn, with a practical jacket far from fashionable but essential for survival.

As you made your way down the paths, past the baker’s square and through the arts district, where peddlers sold art worth more than everything you owned, you observed the chic, modern clothing hanging low on mannequins in fashion halls, with females of all ages drooling over the craftwork. Gradually, you found yourself wandering closer to the outskirts of the city, where things began to look familiar. The music of the city faded into the background, and wreaths became less grand, more hastily strung together with bits of wire but festive nonetheless. The streets were more iced over, clearly not as well-maintained as the inner parts of the city. Snow, scraped to the side, was dirtied and blackened from the roadway, piled high and unmelted by the afternoon sun. Your boots slapped into the slush, kicking up bits of snow onto your pants as you huddled closer into yourself. Clotheslines strung above cut through the fae light, casting long shadows.

You knew this place—the faded green awnings, now with more holes, but recognizable nonetheless. The wrought iron stairs with handrails frozen over, icicles trickling down from them, were just as familiar. You squinted down the alley where the faelight shone in small patches. Somehow, this felt much more recognizable than the squares and inner city where you and Kai had strolled. It perturbed you how little you remembered of those places, yet here, memories flooded back.

You remembered chasing bouncing balls down the street gutters as other fae yelled at you to get out of the road, the rabble of children laughing without care. You recalled sitting on the stoop of the now-closed and boarded-up café with your mother, sharing a sandwich. In your memories, this place always seemed brighter, more lively. Now, a gloom settled over the visions. Your mother, still slightly blurred, appeared skinnier, her wrists and ankles bony. The roadways, which you imagined as clean cobblestone, were now filled with more debris and waste. The rose-colored glasses of your childhood were giving way as you made the long trek down the last alley.

Windows were gated over, with faded lights scraping their way through the grime. From a few streets over, you heard a man and a woman laughing—a maniacal, crazed sound. You turned at what sounded like footsteps behind you but realized it was only snow falling from the patchwork metal roof above. Every hair on your body stood on end as the light seemed to be sucked from every shadow. The sound of your boots on the ground was the only noise besides the dripping water and the subtle murmurs of those inside their homes.

As you reached the end of the alley, the faded green door, now more brown than green, came into view, illuminated by the small flickering fae light above it. The knocker, which you remembered so vividly, now tarnished more than you recalled, stood before you. Letting out a slow breath, you watched it curl into the shadows. The knocker, a fae female with nothing more than a piece of cloth draped around her body, her curves accentuated as she smiled slyly, held the knocker below. As a child, you thought she was beautiful, often standing in the doorway just looking at her, the knocker slowly swinging in the breeze. Now, her face was more tarnished, the wood below splintered and peeling. You read the sign to the right of the door: “Titania’s Temptations & Pleasure House.”

Your heart stopped. You remembered Titania, a boisterous older woman who often took you and the other children living in the apartment on evening walks, offering candies and sweets as some of the children cried for their mothers. Titania, who your mother always referred to as Madame. Titania, who had been there for your first steps when your mother was working. Titania, who had tried to keep you and your mother from leaving, begging her to stay. It couldn’t be the same.

But it was. Your breath caught as you tried to parse through the memories. So much of your time in Velaris was spent with your mother—days and days of memories that now seemed untrustworthy. You looked back down the street, recalling how children ran about playing while their mothers and a few odd fae males sat on stoops. You always thought they enjoyed watching the children play, cheering you on in games. Now, you more clearly recalled their gaunt faces, purpled under their eyes from lack of sleep. Many were thin, wearing not much more than their undergarments as they lounged in the sun. Occasionally, a fae would come down the street, and all the children would run up, begging for sweets or coins to spend in markets, surprising the fae with their requests. Titania would holler from the upstairs windows to stop pestering them. Then, with eyes cast down, the fae would knock on Titania’s door, be let in, and leave a short while later with a rosy glint on their cheeks.

You continued to recall memories. During the day, the children weren’t allowed inside the house, and at night, you all slept in quarters with your mothers, or those who could be there. The pieces slowly came together. Your mother was never around at night, only during the day, except on odd days when she had work. When you finally asked her, she told you she washed laundry. And you, being only a child, with memories laced with lies, believed her.

Your eyes filled with hot tears as you stood on the doorstep, a sob choking through your body as you tried to shake the awful feeling rising inside. Your mother worked in a pleasure house. You were raised in a pleasure house. All your memories circled around this place where your mother sold her body. 

You shook your head, sniffling as you stared at the door knocker, now more hideous than melancholic. Why had you done this? Why did you come back here?

Turning, you descended the steps, slipping on the ice and falling hard on your tailbone, causing a sharp hiss to escape your lips as you sat, tears flowing down your face. 

You sat in the dirty snow, a few echoing sobs escaping your lips. The faint tolling of a bell sounded in the distance, eleven gongs before it subsided. Moments later, the door of the pleasure house creaked open, and out descended various fae, both male and female, none of them looking at each other as they pulled their clothing tighter around their bodies. They walked past you without a glance as you wiped the tears from your eyes.

A familiar voice behind you made you turn. Standing in the doorway was a gaunt, bony fae woman with pale, almost yellowed skin. Her hair was an unnatural, bright red, and she lounged leisurely in the doorway, wearing nothing more than a bright red silk nightgown that barely skirted past her hips. Her nails, matching the vivid red of her hair, tapped idly against the doorframe as she spoke to a male fae whose face was obscured by the collar of his jacket.

“This ain’t no charity,” she hissed. “You don’t pay, you don’t play.”

The male fae whispered back, covering his mouth, “I can get you the payment by next week.”

The woman traced a long line up the center of the male's chest with her elongated, cat-like nail. “Now you listen to me. In my eyes, you’ve already stolen from me and one of my ladies. I expect not only repayment but double. If you run off, I’ll have no problem sending someone to find you in whatever hole you’ve crawled into.” She flicked his nose with the tip of her finger. “Understand me, my love?”

The fae male nodded and walked down the steps.

“Oy, you,” the gravelly-voiced woman called out to you. You turned to her. “This ain’t public property. Get your dirty ass off my stoop.”

You quickly stood, wiping the tears from your eyes and the grime from your rear as you took a few steps forward.

You heard the door creak slightly as the woman went to close it. Without thinking, you rushed up the stairs, shoving your arm between the door and its frame. “Wait!” you called out.

The woman whipped her head around toward you as she shut the door. “Are you stupid?” she hissed. “Get the fuck out of here.” She grabbed your hand, her bony fingers pressing into your own as she pushed your arm out.

“Wait, please!” you pleaded as the door slammed in your face. You pounded one fist on it. You heard the multiple locks clicking into place as you cried out, “I’m here about Sile!”

The locks paused on the other side of the door. Then they unlocked, and the door opened slightly, held by a chain. The woman with the red hair peered out at you. “What about her?”

Panting slightly, your breath visible in the light of the hall behind the woman, you said, “I’m her daughter.”

The woman surveyed your face and then, seemingly in recognition, gasped slightly. “Y/N,” she said more than asked.

“Yes.”

The woman shut the door, unchained it, and opened it fully, peering over your shoulder slightly before beckoning you inside. “Come in, come on, you’ll be letting the draft in.” You stepped past her and, as though you had just come in from playing, wiped your feet on the mat underneath you.

“I should’ve known it was you, with that mess of hair!” the woman said as she took you in. She gripped you by your shoulders, holding you at arm's length as she surveyed you. “You look just like your mother.” She ran her hands down the length of your arms before throwing you a smile. Although her face seemed aged with time, her eyes still held a lightness that you remembered from so many years ago.

You smiled back at her. “It’s good to see you, Titania.”

Titania pulled you close and wrapped her arms around you. Awkwardly, you wrapped your own around her small, bony frame. “You too, my love,” she said, pressing a red-lipsticked kiss onto your cheek, which you knew would leave a stain. “Where’ve you been?” she asked, turning you to take your coat off your back before hanging it on the hall rack. “Come on, let’s get us some tea.” She gestured down the hallway, and you followed her, taking in the sights and sounds of your childhood.

The carpet on the floor, once a place where you lay staring at the wallpapered ceiling with its patterns of overlapping branches, now showed stains on its red cloth, and the ceiling’s paint was peeling. The walls were lined with photos of the women who worked in the house. Some you recognized, while others were unfamiliar. You looked for a photo of your mother but couldn’t find her face among the many.

You followed Titania into the small kitchen, which had not much more than an old woodstove with a few dirty pots and pans on its top, and a sink with a dripping faucet. The familiar cadence of the dripping water brought back memories of playing with dolls under the table your mother had made for you from sticks and weeds. Titania beckoned you to sit at the kitchen table, which you did, the chairs now fitting your body instead of forcing you to climb up them as you did years ago.

Titania filled the kettle as the faucet rattled water out of its spout, then placed it on the stove before coming to sit across from you at the table. Her brown eyes scanned over your face. “I never would have thought I’d see you again,” she said.

You smiled lightly. “I thought the same.”

“Why are you here?” she asked, reaching her hand out to take the one you had placed leisurely on the table.

“I’m here for the festival.”

Titania leaned back in her chair, casually tossing one skinny leg over the other. Her red nightgown barely concealed anything as she propped her elbow over the back of the chair, perching her face on her spiked nails. “Oh, so we’re just in town to visit?”

“I’m here with a friend,” you responded.

“I always wondered what happened to you,” Titania said distantly, looking intently at you.

“It’s been a few years.”

“I’d wager more than a century,” she shot back.

You nodded as the kettle started to whistle. Titania jumped up to pull the pot off, then took out two teacups, both chipped in various places, and placed them on the table, pouring the steaming liquid into each. “So,” she started as she placed the kettle down and resettled into the chair, “fill me in.”

You picked up the cup, feeling the heat push through the thin porcelain, and traced your finger around the lip. “What do you want to know?”

Titania scoffed. “Well, my love, you’re the one who’s been gone. I ain’t seen you since you came to my knee.”

“I’ve been in the mountains.”

“I could’ve figured as much,” Titania responded. “And you’ve just now decided to come pay your old lady a visit?”

“I didn’t know how to get back,” you replied, pulling the cup to your lips and taking a sip. The heat singed your flesh, and you pulled it away quickly.

Titania chuckled. “You ain’t got enough sense to ask for directions?”

“Mama told me we couldn’t come back.”

Titania rolled her eyes. “Your mother was a fool.”

You looked at her, scanning her face, which held a displeased look. “What happened?” you asked.

“With what?”

“Mama, me?”

Titania leaned forward, her gown falling open to reveal her incredibly pronounced collarbones. “What do you know?”

You shook your head lightly. “Only that she packed us up and moved us out. She told me we couldn’t come back.”

Titania nodded. “And your mother, where’s she now?”

You looked around the room. “I was hoping here.”

Titania tilted her head slightly. “You thought she was here?”

“She told me she was going back to the city. A long time ago. And then she never came back.”

Her face fell. “Oh, my love, I’m sorry. If she came back, she didn’t come here.”

You nodded, not surprised. It would have been too easy to find her here, if she was anywhere. “The last I saw of my mother was when she was leaving with me that morning.”

You let your hands cup around the warmth of the tea, looking down into the swirling browns as you asked, “Why did she leave?”

Titania shrugged, leaning back. “I don’t know. I tried to stop her, but she insisted on leaving.” She tsked, “You were so sad, cried like you’d wake the whole city when she pulled you down those steps.”

You furrowed your brow. “I don’t remember that.”

Titania nodded. “Oh for sure, you were sobbing, throwing a fit, begging for her not to take you from Gramma Nia.” Titania picked at her nails.

You shook your head. “I remember leaving and feeling excited.” Was your memory wrong?

“I can’t tell you what happened once you were down the street. But when I last saw you, those tears were as big as dewdrops.”

“And she didn’t say anything about why she had to leave?”

Titania sniffed lightly, pulling her teacup to her lips and leaving a red stain on the edge as she cleared her throat. “Your mother was a very paranoid female, always looking over her shoulder and jumping at shadows. As long as I knew her. She just kept saying it wasn’t safe to stay here.” You just peered into the cup in your hands. “You used to love it here.” Titania smiled lightly. “You’d run around the halls, singing those little songs you’d make up. I can’t tell you how many times I had to tell you to get out of the street because you were getting into other people’s garbage. You were always my little adventurer.”

You smiled. “I remember that yellow ball we had that we used to lose in the sewer gutter.”

Titania guffawed. “Oh yeah, and you’d send one of the little boys down the grate to get it back. They’d be smelling like shit for days after, but they couldn’t say no to you, or you’d wallop them.” You laughed lightly with her. “You loved that little ball, told me it was the best birthday gift you’d ever gotten.” Titania sniffled through a laugh. “Do you remember that little girl, Wren?” You shook your head no. “She was pretty little when you were around, but she would follow you around like a little puppy. You used to get so annoyed at her touching your toys you’d come running into the sitting room screaming bloody murder, ‘Gamma Nia, Wren touched my stuff!’ and then I’d go out and find little Wren with her hand in her mouth just smiling.”

You smiled. “I think I remember her now. She had that little rag doll she carried everywhere.”

Titania nodded. “That’s right! She was a sweet kid, always wanted to be just like you. You were her hero.”

The room felt warmer with the shared memories, the nostalgic laughter easing some of the tension.

You looked puzzled, “What-what do you mean?” 

Titania looked up to you through her turned down eyes, “I just-those memories, those were things we did together.” 

“You were always playing some game. And you’d rightly piss off the other children by changing the rules or bossing them around, even some of the older ones.” Titania ran her thumb over the stain on her cup. “I always told Sile that you were gonna grow up and run this place someday.” She laughed a bit louder. “I remember you used to play High Lady. You’d put on one of your mother’s entertaining gowns and shoes, and you’d go clomping down the hall ordering everyone to move out of your way.” Her laughter grew. “And then you made me take you down to our bakery so you could show off to Henri.”

You looked up at her. “Our bakery?”

Titania’s eyes shone with light. “Yeah, the little bakery on the corner. I’d take you every morning for a cuppa and a scone.”

You swallowed. You had always remembered your mother taking you.

“And Henri just loved you. He’d always tell you that you were the finest lady in all of Velaris, and you’d twirl for him in those heels.” Titania seemed lost in the memory.

“It sounds like we had a lot of fun.” You tried to smile at her.

Titania’s lips curled slightly at the corners, the smear of her lipstick much more defined. “I tried to keep you busy. Especially since you had no manners in knocking before barging through doors. Can’t tell you how furious I used to get when you’d interrupt a client and lady.”

You chuckled lightly, trying to pull any of those memories from your mind. “I wish I could remember that.”

“What do you remember?” Titania asked, leaning onto the table slightly.

You thought through the memories. “I remember walking along the river with Mama. I remember playing in the squares, and I remember the trips she would take me on into the mountains.” You laughed lightly. “I remember that when the summer storms would roll through, I would hide under the bed. And if it was night, I’d wake up and cuddle into Mama.” You looked up at Titania, whose face had hardened slightly, her brow furrowed. “What?”

Titania shook her head out of whatever trance she seemed to be in, relaxing her face. “Oh, no, nothing.” Then she smiled.

You looked at her intently. “What are you thinking about?”

Titania threw her hands up. “What are you talking about? Nothing. I was thinking about the memories.”

“Yeah,” you started, gesturing to her, “but you made a face.”

Titania made a tight-lipped smile and looked down at her cup. “Sometimes, the memories aren’t always as sweet as we think.”

You shook your head lightly. “No, no, Mama and I did those things together.”

Titania licked her lips lightly, smearing the lipstick more. “No, my love. We did those things, except the trips to the woods.”

You shook your head more. “That can’t be right.”

Titania sighed, leaning forward once more and grasping your hands in hers. “My love,” she started, “your mother was a very troubled woman.” Your face fell, brows furrowing as you listened. “And she—she would fall into these spells, where she would just sort of lie around all day. I tried to get her up, get her back to work, but she just wouldn’t. So I’d send her out.” You shook your head lightly. “If she couldn’t work, she couldn’t stay; that was the rule. So I’d tell her to go out, get herself back up, and then come back when she was ready.”

You looked down at the table. “I remember her being around.” You looked up at Titania. “I remember her being around a lot.”

Titania threw you a small, sympathetic smile. “Whenever she was around, and she was,” she paused, “when she was on the right track, she would spend all the time with you she could, but she—she had problems.”

You felt a slight rising anger. “What kind of problems? She was sad? I mean, look where she was!”

Titania’s face hardened. “Watch your tone, my love.”

“No,” you cried out, “no, you would throw her out when she wasn’t ‘performing’ to your standards!”

“I would not!” Titania shot back, her fist pounding into the table, making the cups rattle. “Your mother was troubled.”

“You keep saying that, but you're not explaining what that means. What do you mean, troubled?” You glared at her.

Titania shook her head, looking down at the table. “Your mother—she,” Titania seemed to be searching for the words, “your mother relied on certain substances to feel normal. To be able to get out of bed.”

You looked at her, puzzled. “What do you mean, substances?”

Titania sighed. “Your mother, before I found her, was making some very dangerous choices, and she’d gotten in with a rather rough group of people. She was pretty reliant on Luster.”

“Luster?” You asked.

“You haven’t heard of it?”

You shook your head.

“You must have been really deep in the mountains.” Titania chuckled. “Luster is a euphoric. Fae that use it breathe it in as a shining powder to feel like they have some sort of spark in them. It’s cheap to buy and a lot of times is laced with other drugs to make it more potent. I’ve heard them say that they feel like there’s fire in their veins and that the world suddenly seems more colorful.”

“And it’s bad to use it?”

“Fae that use it, like your mother, and a lot of the fae that work in this area, for a long time, seem to not be able to be without it for long. If they go without it, they can go through Lusterburn, and they just sort of seem to be sleeping when they’re awake, or they become enraged, everyone seems to have a different response.”

“And you would throw my mother out for using it?”

Titania’s eyes hardened. “I’d make her leave when she used it around you.”

You leaned in. “Why would you do that?” Your brows furrow in confusion and anger.

Titania’s lips tightened slightly. “I don’t want to talk about this.” She leaned back.

Your face hardened as you commanded, “Tell me.”

Titania ran her tongue over her teeth as she gazed at you. Her leg bounced nervously under the table, and her heel clicked against the floor. “I don’t want to ruin the memories you have.”

“Apparently they’re all wrong anyway.” You responded quickly.

Titania sighed, her eyes softening. “Your mother was an addict, Y/N. She did things she wasn’t proud of, but she loved you. I didn’t want you to see her like that. I didn’t want you to see her when she was down, she’d just ignore you, or scream at you, and you’d cry for hours and she just- she wouldn’t care. That’s why I made her leave when she was using. I couldn’t bear to listen to you seem to lose all hope.”

You swallowed hard, processing the revelation. “So, all those times she left...”

“She was trying to get clean,” Titania finished for you. “She wanted to be the mother you deserved.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you realized the weight of your mother’s struggles. Titania reached out and took your hand, squeezing it gently. “She loved you more than anything, Y/N. Remember that.”

You shook your head, distraught, trying to sift through the memories that you had held so dear, that had kept you going on the darkest days. “She left me,” you whispered softly, to no one in particular. As the words left your lips, they cemented the uncertainty of years gone by, and you considered whether it would have been better to continue living in ignorance.

Titania squeezed your hand again, her eyes turning down to the table. “I’m sorry I don’t know more about what happened to her.”

Without looking at her, you just replied, in a soft whisper, “I don’t know if I want to know anymore.”

The fae across from you took a deep inhale and exhale, as though she had let something go finally, after holding it in for years and years. “She tried to do right by you, Y/N. You have to know she wanted better for you, and whenever she would go on these benders—when she would come down, she would just sob and beg you to forgive her. She really did try.”

“I wasn’t enough.”

“You were more than enough.”

You looked up through your lashes, now heavy with tears, as Titania looked down at you, her mouth fluctuating in discomfort as she tried to find words to make this better. “I wasn’t enough to make her stop. She didn’t choose me.”

“My love, we don’t know why she left you.”

You shook your head. “She didn’t come back either. Even when we were in the village, she would disappear for days, telling me she was going hunting, or to visit someone, or to go gather supplies.” You paused, “And yet, when she never came back with anything, I didn’t question her.”

Titania brushed her nail down your hand. “I know, my love.”

You looked up at her. “Why didn’t she leave me with you?”

Titania took her turn looking down, her heel still clipping on the floor. “Your mother didn’t want you to end up as a pleasure lady.”

You scoffed, “What? She didn’t want me to carry on the family business?”

Titania’s face shifted to one of slight anger. “She didn’t want you to make her mistakes.”

“But we had a good life here,” you cried, tears hitting the table in soft thuds.

“You survived,” Titania responded quickly. “I tried to keep you safe, to feed you, to educate you, but you were sick constantly. You had these fevers that would spike often, and the healers didn’t think it right to use their time and resources on you. But every night when you would lie there,” Titania stopped as if she could see you before her as a child, “you would shake with the chills, and your face would be red, and you wouldn’t speak, just smile at me. Smile like nothing was wrong. And you would ask for her, your mother. You wanted her with you to make you feel better.” Titania choked back a sob. “And when I would try to find her, between clients, to bring her to you, she would just tell me to do my best with you and that she would see you in the morning.”

You wondered if being so sick, combined with your youth, was why your memories seemed so cloudy.

Your lips quivered under the weight of the words that hung in the air like daggers. “Why didn’t you take me anywhere?”

“I tried. I tried to get your mother into a sanctuary, in the library, under the House of Wind,” she paused again, “but the females there didn’t want to take in anyone who might bring in Luster and tempt the others who hadn’t been using it. And I tried to get you to go, but you just wouldn’t. You wanted to stay with us.” She looked up at you. “I’m so sorry, my love.”

You let a sob leave your throat as it burned through you. Your head swam with confusion at everything you felt your life was and had become. You couldn’t seem to stop trying to find her, your mother, her face long since forgotten in your mind, replaced by shadows and blurs which you now thought looked more like Titania than her.

Titania looked at you, her eyes full of sorrow, the red of her lips merely more than a pink now. “She would be proud of you.”

You shook your head. “She would despise me.”

“Look at where you are. Look at who you have become.” Titania urged, her hand lifting yours off the table.

“I have become homeless. I’m mated to a male who hurt me and did things to me I can’t even force myself to think about. I ran from everything and everyone. I have nothing. I am nothing. I’m no better than her.” You shook your head.

“You are not your mother,” Titania whispered as your tears clouded over your sight.

“I don’t even know who that is.” Another sob escaped you, raw and guttural. “I’m so tired, Titania.” Your body convulsed with the force of your emotions, wracking out through coughs and sobs. “I’m so tired of running and hiding. I’m tired of being hurt and never fully healing. I just—” A fresh wave of grief surged, making you gag on the bile rising in your throat. “I’m tired of pretending like the world is anything but lies and pain.”

Titania’s voice was a fragile whisper, filled with sorrow and helplessness. “I know, my love.” Your face grew hotter and wetter, tears and snot mingling as your shoulders heaved with choppy, pain-stricken sobs. She watched you fall apart, unable to stop your anguish. “You are lost,” she finally said as your sobs turned silent, “You are lost, but you are not forgotten. And you may not know the way back, but you can’t stop trying to find it.”

“I’m so tired.” You lifted your gaze, meeting Titania’s tear-filled eyes, the kohl that lined them streaking in black drifts down her cheeks. “I’m so tired of searching for anything.”

Titania’s smile was small but filled with a fierce, enduring love. “You’re not alone, my love. Not anymore.” She squeezed your hand. “And while I won’t let you call this your home, I will always be a home for you.”

Your lip continued to quiver as you looked at her, this woman who you had forgotten but who had never stopped thinking about you. She sat across from you, so full of hope for your future, despite her own life being bleak. Her love and faith in you were palpable, a lifeline you hadn’t realized you needed.

You smiled lightly, a simple gesture that seemed to mean the world. Titania rose from her chair, dropping to her knees before you, wrapping her arms around your neck and back. She held you tight, and in that moment, you felt the promise of home. The sweet scent of peppermint, a fragment of a lost memory, washed over you. You thought of her, of Titania.

As you wrapped your arms around each other, Titania’s bony frame seemed fragile, almost breakable at your touch. “I’m not angry with what you do,” you whispered. Titania pulled back, looking at you with tear-filled eyes. “You take care of people. You offer them a home and hope.” Her lips began to quiver. “I don’t care what you or anyone else does for money. I care about what you do and have done for others, and I can’t thank you enough for what you did for me.”

Titania let another tear roll down her cheek, her gaze locked with yours. “I could have done so much more for you, my love,” she said, her voice breaking. She turned away, but you pulled her back.

“You did what you could.”

The two of you sat there for a few moments, looking into each other’s eyes, sharing a connection forged in survival. You were two survivors of a life neither of you had asked for, yet you had saved each other, drifting apart only to be brought back together by fate. In this moment, in this kitchen, you were alive and filled with hope, held together by memories that refused to fade.

To my readers, I promise this is still an Azriel fanfiction, the boy will be back. @thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll @fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx @romantasyreader28 @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @annabethgranger123 @krowiathemythologynerd @scatteredstardustt @romantacyreader28 @caroline-books @slytherintaco @sevikas-whore @sidthedollface2 @405rry @sleepylunarwolf @acourtofbatboydreams @quiettuba @julesofvolterra @skylarkalchemist @darling006 @rhysandorian

[adobe-outdesign]

could you review the sweet kacheek?

Kacheeks are one of those Neopets that I feel has pretty iconic status in terms of being recognizable as a Neopet. Part of this is because it's been around for a very long itme, but I also think part of it is that they're one of those pets where they're obviously an animal, but which kind of animal remains unclear; in other words, it's a great abstract design.

Visually, they're pretty straight-forward; long tails and a simple vaguely rodent-like body with a flat face and large head. The body is broken up with lighter cream areas on both the tail and underbelly, almost like a fox if a fox was a bipedal rodent thing and not a fox at all. I do wish the off-putting hairs on the head were an actual tuft of fur or something, but otherwise it's a fine design.

Kacheeks are a little hard to place in terms of customization. Stickly speaking, the design itself didn't change at all, but their heads become more proportionate with their bodies, their bodies became less chubby, and their faces got subtly altered, with extra eye highlights, a bigger mouth, and less mirthful eyes.

I'm also not big on the customized version's tail, which feels too long relative to the body and gained an odd shape where it flares out at the base, becomes thin, and then flares out again. Some of the lineart there also implies bends in the tail that don't make sense.

In other words, the customized version is probably better in the sense that it matches other Neopets' visuals a lot more, but it just became a lot less cute in the process.

Favorite Colours:

Plushie: Kacheeks are one of those species that feel like they don't have a lot of stand-out colours, which I attribute to being around for a long time (getting low-effort versions of early colours and whatnot). That said, the plushie Kacheek is really nice. The little heart-pattered fabric swatches are super cute, and there's lot of stitching and and patchwork in the design. The color palette also looks good, using a soft pastel in contrast with the bright blue accents.

The UC/styled version looks cuter and more plush-like, but the converted is still good and accurate for the most part (except for missing the stitching on the tail tip and inexplicably mirroring the blue patches; the pre-conversion art was facing to the left, but the patches would still be on the other side regardless).

Disco: Disco is normally just one of those "whatever" colours, but I don't know, I find myself really liking this one. The Kacheek was originally known as the Badeek, sporting sunglasses in its earliest design, and this colour gives them a fresh pair of adorable oversized green glasses that really add something. Beyond that, the color palette works surprisingly well together and there's lot of details, like plenty of flowers, some striped, and multi-layered coloring on. Groovy.

Halloween: What I really like about the Halloween Kacheek is the mouth, which is perfectly haggard-looking and appropriate for the colour. The green palette works well here, and I love the clothes, which compliment the green with a nice brown and a cream collar to match the tail accents. As a bonus, the clothes are removable in customization and the base itself looks pretty good.

BONUS: I'm counting the mutant Kacheek as a bonus because I really like it but also feel underwhelmed by it, and I'm not sure if the iconic-ness of the design is genuine or just me being biased (being a filthy Mutant Graveyard of Doom lover). The head looks fantastic, with the exposed brain coming right out of the skin, black eyes, and fangs.

However, the lower body is just so... nothing-y. It looks exactly the same as a regular Kacheek minus the much-needed markings. Couldn't you have like, changed the body shape? Added more black or pink accents to the palette? Put more brain matter elsewhere in the body? Like, anything? But like I said, the head looks fantastic, and adding clothes via customization will go a lot way in hiding the mediocre rest of the design.

[inposterumcumgaudio]

Uncle Jack & Foggy Jack

So if you're asking about both of them, I'm assuming that's because you're into the idea that they are one and the same.

I don't dislike the concept, but I like it much more for that the game seems to push that notion while simultaneously giving you nothing to substantiate it and, at times, even giving you details that seem to contradict it than the idea for its own sake. Good shit!

It's another one of those things you'll never have a canon answer for!

And frankly, I've never really found the question of whether Uncle Jack is Foggy Jack that interesting. It's a little contrived, a little obvious, a very basic bitch story. The most famous man in town has a mental breakdown and becomes a serial killer? And he somehow does this despite being instantly recognizable by everyone? And also he's doing this while he's still filming his show every day and looking all normal and shit?

Too, the whole Foggy Jack thing intrudes on the natural predisposition of fledging fanartists to make serial killer OC's.

Foggy Jack also exists as an urban legend in the town in a way I think predates even the toxic fog (and I was given a separate ask about this as well so I'll save my thots about that for then!)

But suffice to say, because I do not find the whole Uncle vs Foggy Jack thing compelling and I'd never really devoted much thought to it, I struggled to think of something interesting to say about it. The only chapter I ever wrote about the subject was actually about why Ollie's surface-level investigation of the crime scene in "A Pomaceous Puzzle" did not arrive at the correct conclusion. It simply doesn't fit the MO.

However... in reviewing what we know concretely about Foggy Jack from the main game, I actually did arrive at a fascinating new theory.

Because we think of this as a duality, do we not? Uncle Jack is one side of the coin, Foggy Jack the other. That's why you asked about both.

Let us go over what we know for sure about Foggy Jack, that was reported in the game, to separate out the unreliable information given in "Lightbearer". There are only two sources of "solid" information about Foggy Jack in the main game:

In "The "O" COURANT - Article 3", we learn that five Wellie women - Annie Chapman, Elizabeth Stride, Catherine Eddowes, Mary Jane Kelly, and Mary Anne Nichols - have been found hacked to pieces in the streets. All of these women are named for real-life victims of Jack the Ripper.

Stated in the above and reiterated in "Interrogation Report", these murders seem to take place on particularly foggy nights. "Interrogation Report" also states that the witness, Daniel Dunglass, reported that the apparent murderer's face looked "oddly familiar" to him.

One further piece of information that we learn in Ollie's act is that Foggy Jack apparently kept a hideout in the Gardner House, at least until plague wastrels overtook it. We know this from the suitcase which contains a cleaver and the "Mystery Note" with the only the phrase "I'm afraid you've come to the end of your time" on it.

And here we learn that Foggy Jack has some interest in Margaret. And that makes sense if he's actually Uncle Jack.

But... what it's it's not a duality.

What if it's a triptych?

What if it's not Uncle Jack, but someone who would have us come to that conclusion? Someone who would want us to think Uncle Jack is avenging his murdered daughter, but is in fact trying to frame him for it?

Why, who would have motive to do that?

Who indeed.

But DJ, you say, that's crazy. You play through Ollie's entire act and not once do they ever imply that he could be Foggy Jack.

Yeah, well, there's a lot of stuff they don't imply through his act, ain't there?

And just like with Uncle Jack, the details don't say anything conclusive but consider.

Ollie is said multiple times over his act to have periods of lapsed memory, both due to the Oblivion he took and excessive drinking. Margaret mentions specifically in both "The Camp of Thine Enemies" and "Cache as Cache Can" that Ollie has trouble remembering things due to his drinking. And it's an interesting coincidence that Ollie also "vaguely remembers" leaving himself a cache of supplies in that quest and its the same sort of vague notion that leads him into Gardner House where he finds Foggy Jack's suitcase.

He's also in deep denial about the limits of his morality and how far he'll go to see traitors get theirs. Still, killing innocent women just to make Uncle Jack look bad? Surely not! Maybe Ollie ratted out a little girl and got her chased down and murdered, but he's not a serial killer!

Then again, if there's one thing Ollie hates, it's a collaborator. Deutschland Über Alles special and all. And you know who about the first people to start collaboratin' with an occupying force are?

Prostitutes.

All of Foggy Jack's not-hallucination victims are named for the "Canonical Five" of Jack the Ripper's victims, all known prostitutes. Which, sure, maybe that's just the reference, but we actually meet Elizabeth Stride before her apparent death. As Ollie. At the Jack O Bean Club, where she works as a cook serving a bunch of collaborationist traitor lovers. She has no love for them, calling them toffs and wankers as she does, but she does also muse aloud to herself about it: "Take the job, she says. You'll never have to suck another cock, she says." Which sounds an awful lot like a thing a (former?) prostitute would say, making it two separate issues to Ollie, really. And why else would a fine upstanding Wellette be out on the streets at night anyway? That's how Foggy Jack gets you!

And for my most tenuous point: remember that guy from the Interrogation Report? Daniel Dunglass. I looked his ass up and

Reminiscent!

Dunglass (the character, not the actual guy) also says that the murderer's face is "oddly familiar" to him. Uncle Jack is familiar, but not oddly so. Ollie isn't exactly a nobody in town, but he's definitely odd looking in a world that conformist.

And as long as we're drawing specious connections, Daniel Dunglass (the real guy, not the character) was a Scottish medium famous for levitation and speaking with the dead. You know who else does a lot of that?

But... even if Ollie is Foggy Jack, I don't think he killed the constables at the apple tree. Which means there's copycat killer pretending to be the guy who's pretending to be Uncle Jack pretending be urban legend Foggy Jack.

[flowerbloom-arts]

can i see your rating of all the moomintrolls, 60's to mv19?

I'm guessing you're implying I should rate just the animated Moomintrolls instead of the ones from the source material, so here goes;

Moomin 1969:

Sadly there's not much of the show available to watch for me but from what I've seen he's more or less just a naive kid who occasionally gets into scuffles and goes through PSAs about alcohol and child gun control, on the source material scale I'd say he's a bookish Moomintroll who is stuck in more wild comic situations. He's not a bad Moomintroll by any means, and I find the show's reputation a bit unfair so I'm willing to be lenient.

7/10

New Moomin 1972:

The Moomintroll in this show I could say is similar to the previous one, although his original personality from the source material gets lost in translation as do the other characters in this series (except Muskrat, strangely). His design definitely has a little more wide-eyed childishness in his eyes. He can be pretty nice in his child-like way, but sometimes his brattiness is a little difficult to watch especially in that magic glasses episode.

But.. hmm.. he's an okay character but he's not as recognizably "Moomintroll" to me as some of the other adaptations even if alot of his traits can be concretely matched between the show and source material. But I guess that can be chalked up to the show not adapting the source material at all, which is understandable, but it really sacrifices the feel of what makes him Moomintroll to me, you know?

5/10 for Moomintroll-ness, but still 7/10 as an overall character.

Moomin 1990:

Moomintroll here is undoubtedly Moomintroll in alot of ways but just like with many other characters and elements of the show they smoothed out much of the edges that made up his character in the source material the show adapts. I understand this when it comes to the comics but there's alot that is lost when it comes to the books, especially with the episodes adapting Moominland Midwinter or Moominpappa at Sea where they left so much of the character stuff that made him interesting.

8/10, could've added back some flavor.

Moominvalley 2019:

Moomintroll in this show is fine... When you don't get into his character interactions too much. He's literally just based on comic and early book Moomintroll, although it can feel off at times because he's supposed to be like 16 and it really feels like an awkward in-between of book and comic Moomintroll, leaning closer to the comics. As a comics fan I don't find him too bad but with the way the writers frame him and try to write him interacting with the other characters his immaturity gets so much more grating and unfair than it ever did in the comics. I absolutely despise his treatment of Sniff especially, even if it's just a small bit similar to the way he treated him in Comet or Finn Family there's that extra layer of him being 16-18 and Sniff being 12-14 and they aren't even adopted family in the show so it feels super unfair.

He can be really annoying with other characters but he's still very much Moomintroll.

7/10 for Moomintroll-ness, 4/10 as an overall character.

-

I should probably say that I'm not super into Moomintroll as a character so I don't care about him too much and I can't be too detailed about his characterization, but I should say that I very much am a fan of the Moomin comics so my tolerance for his... Less pleasant behavior might be alot higher than most. And most of the Moomintroll in my head is based on comic Moomintroll. So like....(vaguely gestures)

[tua-masked-author]

The Masked Author is back! ~with a twist~

🎭🎭 Hello everyone! we're excited to announce a round 4 of the Masked Author!! 🎭🎭

The Masked Author is an event where writers submit fanfics for the Umbrella Academy, and readers try to guess who wrote what! Our theme this round will be Mermay, so mull that over and get your creative juices going and ready for May!

(or not, if mermaids don't strike your fancy; as always, the theme is optional!)

As the name implies, we will be holding round 4 during May, although exact dates are TBA. Precise dates for posting, guessing, and the reveal will be announced along with full details in an another post soon.

And finally, the news you may have been waiting on if you've been following our activity lately:

🎭🎭 We are excited to announce that this round will also be the Masked Artist!! 🎭🎭

We are adding fanart in addition to fanfic to the roster of works which can be submitted this round!! Get ready to try and recognize not only your favorite authors' works, but your favorite artists' as well. And artists, get your drawing utensils ready! Will you try to hide? Or do you want to find out how recognizable your style is? Or do you want to take this opportunity to post art for the first time? Either way, we hope you join in on the fun!

Precise details, such as exact rules, and how and where to submit art, will be subject to a dedicated post in the near future. Keep your eyes out for that! And as always, we will have a post for new authors on how to post to AO3.

Finally, prompt submissions are now open! No author or artist is required to use a prompt, but if you find yourself in need of inspiration, the prompt sheet is here for you! [Submit a prompt here], and [view the prompts already submitted here]. Prompt submitters, remember: you're now posting prompts for both authors and artists! And as always, please remember that all prompts must be gen.

🎭We'll see you all at the masquerade!!🎭

[andypantsx3]

hiii weird question so sorry if you dont feel like answering this (bc thats totally okay) but i have a question about world building in royal aus… im literally about to knaw my entire fist off clean out of frustration (💀)

thank you in advance for reading and i hope youre doing well !! ! !! !

Hello my angel!! Is your question just generally, like, what goes into worldbuilding for a royal/historical type of AU?

If yes then I'd love to tell you what I know--although it's like, very little lmao. The only royal AU I've written is in cinders (and war paint kind of, since that's a tie in), and I was woefully inexperienced when I wrote both.

But for in cinders, the story focused largely on class differences, so a lot of the world building I did was to supplement that point. Basically I had two main tasks:

Establish a recognizable hierarchy

Supply some detail to emphasize that hierarchy

And I think in general, the way we observe historical periods is through things like clothes, living/working conditions, and linguistic cues--so those were the places that I chose to supply the detail.

Establishing a hierarchy

Okay so to establish our ranking system, I basically just janked existing noble titles and ranks. I found this Wikipedia article, and narrowed everything down to the European titles as those are the ones I am most familiar with--and as in cinders is a Cinderella retelling and that is a European fairy tale.

Obviously our love interest Shouto was gonna be a prince, but I made sure to weave in other ranks as well to make it clear there was a peerage system at play. Bakugou became a Marquis, Asui become a Countess, Camie became a Lady (as a daughter of a minor noble like a Baron/Viscount might be referred to) etc.

I also wanted our poor Y/N to be at the bottom of the totem pole because I am a monster, so I also looked into the hierarchies among servants. I can't find the exact resources I used but I basically googled around to find out a) what typical castle servant roles were, like in this article, and b) what that reporting structure would have looked like, as in this article.

Scullery/kitchen girls are like, the lowest ranked (RIP) so Y/N got assigned that lmao.

Supplying the deets

Now that we have our vague hierarchy established, it's time to emphasize it! Like I said, historical periods (and class distinctions therein) are usually analyzed in terms of clothes, living/working conditions, and linguistic cues, so that's where I chose to add detail.

For clothes, I mainly drew attention to Y/N's low rank by how much she admired clothes that weren't her own. When she stole Lady Camie's dress, she narrates the "luxurious thickness of Lady Utsushimi’s skirts," implying her own skirts are thinner and more barren. Y/N's own clothing is described more in terms of its state and function: "You shook your head, grasping your soot-stained skirts and glancing meaningfully at her clean chair."

Shouto's clothes draw less of that distinction but still help set the fantasy/historical context. I basically gave him a bunch of historical buzzwords like breeches and doublet to show the period: "He wore a doublet in a blue color only one shade lighter than your own gown, and the high points of his starched collar curved up towards his sharp jawline," and "You noticed he was dressed plainly, a soft linen shirt, unadorned, tucked somewhat untidily into simple breeches."

In terms of living/working conditions, I emphasized Y/N's lack of means again by recounting a lot of her job duties: peeling vegetables, scrubbing pans, sweeping out the kitchen fire places, not exactly high-class stuff. I also put her and Ochako in a supply closet that doubled as a sleeping chamber to drive it home that wow, they poor af. For her sleeping arrangements, I gave her a straw pallet so poorly constructed that straw kept poking through and stabbing her in the back.

In contrast, Shouto's living situation is described with a mind to emphasizing how large and fancy all his shit is. He has rooms plural, and a ton of things to put in them: "The prince’s chambers spread out before you, so large they could fit the kitchens three times over. You looked to be in a sitting room, peppered with low tables and couches overstuffed with bright pillows. A large, ornate writing desk sat against one corner, covered in papers. On the far wall, a series of double doors lay open, leading deeper into his apartments. You caught a glance of a four postered bed deep within, covers dripping off the sides to lay crumpled on the floor like they had been kicked off in haste."

And lastly, linguistic cues! I don't know enough about upper class vs lower class speech in historical periods and also wasn't willing to invest huge amounts of time in this, but I did want to give some nod to a historical/fantasy setting with word choices that aren't quite modern.

If you've ever heard a Shakespearean insult, it's so clear that one of the major places modern English differs from something like Elizabethan English is insults. So when Y/N insults Kamiko, instead of having her call her a cuntwaffle or whatever choice phrase we might use today, she calls her a toad. Shouto asks if Y/N's mother has been called a dog, and Y/N replies with something like, no, a swine--as apparently back in the day people liked to toss animals around as insults.

I also just jammed a bunch of old-timey sounding phrases into everyone's speech, like perhaps and a bajillion forgive mes and until tomorrows. And I think even if a lot of the other speech sounds modern, those kinds of phrases still help highlight that the setting we are in is not 21st century.

Conclusion

Anyway all of this to say, when writing a historical/fantasy/royal AU like this one, you should focus on the elements that are key to your story--what ways of life are you detailing; commoners, adventurers, soldiers, nobility etc? Then, with that in mind, research key points of period expression unique to those ways of life: clothes, speech, living conditions, and sprinkle those details throughout!

I am also still a novice writer though, and I am a notorious skimper on details, so if anyone else has better tips please feel free to jump in!! Otherwise, I hope this helped!!

[noisycowboyglitter]

Dragonfly: A Symbol of Hope and Resilience for the Autism Community

The dragonfly, with its vibrant wings and mesmerizing agility, has become a powerful symbol within the autistic community. This connection goes beyond a mere aesthetic appreciation. Let's delve into the reasons why the dragonfly resonates with many autistic individuals.

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Shared Traits:

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Focus and Attention: Dragonflies can hover in mid-air, fixated on their prey. This unwavering focus is a characteristic some autistic people share, demonstrating deep concentration on topics of interest.

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Unique Movement: Dragonflies zip and zag with incredible speed and maneuverability, defying typical flight patterns. This reflects the diverse ways autistic individuals navigate the world, often demonstrating unique approaches to learning and interacting.

Beyond Similarities:

Metamorphosis: The dragonfly's transformation from a water-dwelling nymph to a winged adult mirrors the growth and development of autistic individuals. It highlights the potential for change and personal evolution.

Beauty and Strength: Dragonflies are often seen as dazzling creatures, showcasing their resilience and adaptability in their environment. This symbolism empowers autistic individuals to embrace their unique strengths and find beauty in their neurodiversity.

The dragonfly isn't a universal symbol for autism, but it offers a powerful representation for some within the autistic community. It highlights shared experiences, celebrates unique strengths, and emphasizes the potential for growth and beauty in neurodiversity.

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The puzzle piece, once a widely used symbol for autism, has become a source of debate. While originally meant to represent the complexity of autism, it's received criticism:

"Missing Piece" Misconception: Some view it as implying autistic people are incomplete or lack something.

Focus on Challenges: The puzzle can overshadow the strengths and talents of autistic individuals.

Despite these concerns, the puzzle piece remains recognizable. Some see its different colors and shapes as reflecting the autism spectrum's diversity. However, alternative symbols like the infinity symbol (neurodiversity) or the butterfly (transformation) are gaining popularity.

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An Autism Awareness Tee isn't just a shirt; it's a conversation starter. Often featuring the iconic light blue color or a vibrant rainbow spectrum, these tees raise awareness and promote acceptance for autism. Designs can range from informative, showcasing puzzle pieces or autism acceptance slogans, to artistic, celebrating the beauty of neurodiversity. Wearing an Autism Awareness Tee allows you to be a visible advocate, sparking conversations and fostering a more inclusive world for autistic individuals.

[artbyblastweave]

Obscure Worm Character Headcanon time:

We know a handful of things about Masamune, the Japanese mass-production tinker who worked for Dragon and the Guild;

He’s abnormally old by cape standards, or at least looks abnormally old; he’s described as stooped, with a wispy beard.

He was found in the ruins of Kyushu after Leviathan destroyed it, living like a crazed hermit;

He’s strongly implied to have been the guy doing equipment design work for the Sentai elite, standardizing the aesthetic of their toku tinker gadgets

He named himself after a master swordsmith.

He’s implied to know Black Kaze personally. (not necessarily relevant but a neat detail, as they were both active in the ruins of Kyushu.)

So my mental model for this guy is that he’s a traditional craftsman, an artisan.  He’s someone who gradually got squeezed out of whatever his market was by industrialization and modernized production. And as he’s drowning, struggling further under the ravages of aging, trying to practice a dying art, he’s inundated with images of all these master craftsmen from around the world, all these tinkers, who’re lauded for their master craftsmanship and their irreproducible masterpieces, while he himself languishes.  Nobody can make things the way he does either! So why are people lining up to throw money and resources at everyone but him?

And then he triggers with one of the most useful tinker powers imaginable; mass-production tinkering that plugs the utility hole in normal tinkertech. Now he’s suddenly the most valuable Tinker imaginable, force-multiplier of force-multipliers. Now everyone wants his work. Everyone wants the service only he can provide. But they want it for a reason he finds repugnant; they want it because it’s easy to replace, easy to build to scale, easy to give to huge numbers of people besides Masamune. He’ll never have a masterwork; he’s just endlessly making knockoffs of other people’s masterworks. He’s become everything that he hated pre-trigger. The closest he can get to designing the personalized masterworks he dreamed of? Designing for the Sentai Elite, because as Toku-themed capes they’re already a blend of individualization and mass-production, endless iterations on the same recognizable pattern. 

Post GM, what’s he doing? Infrastructure work. Building huge, general-use, clunky utilitarian systems, helping get the internet back up and running, helping rapidly rebuild the illusion of the comfortable consumerist society that made him trigger the first time. 

Hell world. Hell world! Hell world.

[prettyboykatsuki]

»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

later | m. izuku 

➳ tags ;; fluff, confessions, deku is smooth, kissing, fluff, fem!reader implied i think 

➳ wc ;; 2.4k (wtf) 

➳ a/n ;; brainrot...... 

➳ plot ;; izuku midoriya listens to you when you tell him to confess to you again later. he’s waited his whole life for you but he doesn’t know how much longer he can

»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

He thinks to himself often that it has to be you he’s been chasing all this time. 

This isn’t so much a revelation to him. It’s nothing like eureka moment, an aha that he uncovers after years of reflection. After all, he’s not the type to know what he really wants. 

Which is funny for many reasons but mostly because he’s a hero. He did want that, still does - but it wasn’t really an active choice. It wasn’t the desire to become a hero in terms of glamour and fame but a deep-seated knowing about the fact he had to become one. That the desire to save people above all else was rooted and deeply ingrained in him that there would never be anything that would fulfill him quite the same way. 

He finds it more often than not he’s acting out of pure instinct. Something carnal and perhaps other-worldly that pins him to the world in an almost divine way. All or nothing, there’s one way to approach existence and it’s with this unwavering desire to be kind. 

He’s always been that kind of person.

But, if he sat down and thought about it, the desire to be with you is perhaps one of his own. It’s one of the only things he’d chase to the ends of the earth. 

Izuku Midoriya has loved you since he was 14

The first time he ever confessed to you was when he was 15, about half way into his first year at U.A. It was outside of your apartment - your childhood home. He’d walk you there after his classes, when he caught you returning from your own. It was an awkward and clumsy teenage confession even then but he can remember the details clearly. 

It comes to him a series of images. Orange-yellow light that fell over your face, hairs sticking a little your head, trembling hands, ricocheting heartbeats, the sound of cars passing. He wasn’t very confident then, it makes him laugh thinking back at. But he told you anyways, bursting at the seams with his feelings. 

“I like you!” 

Your first reaction was shock immediately followed with a somber smile. Though he told you he had liked you, it was in the brief moment afterwards that he though there was more to it than that. He wouldn’t call it a rejection, but a wake-up call. You leaned in to kiss his cheek before whispering something back. 

“If you mean it,” ― you whisper, hand on his shoulder and eyes heavy ― “Tell me again later,” 

With that, you turned on your heel and went home. He wasn’t sure how to feel for a while, because it’s not like you said no. And you kissed him so that had to mean something.

Rather predictably after that, he became so caught up in hero work, it was only natural that you two grew distant. Once frequent conversations became words in passing, spoken quietly to each other. He went off to become a great hero, and you went off to study what you love. 

It was a natural occurrence - he knows this now. He wonders what kind of thinking you had to have been doing to know that at 15. The older he got, the more he thought about what you said. How the once vague mention of “later” became a narrow time-frame. Not a moment too soon and not a second too later. 

Izuku Midoriya has loved you all of 8 years. For most of them, it’s been a passive yearning. The emptiness of his bedframe and his disinterest. 8 years and he’s tried and failed to love other people. Maybe he was testing if later would ever come. 

He’s 22 and he thinks to himself that he’s been chasing the feeling of loving you this whole time. That adrenaline from when you kissed his cheek all those years ago, he wonders to himself if it’s still there

He’ll have to go find out

_ 

After a night-out, you are unfortunately sober on the walk home. Work dinners should have a general policy for how much someone can drink, you think. Maybe then you wouldn’t have had to shovel your boss into a taxi and remain regrettably conscious through a series of uncomfortable or agitating questions. 

It wasn’t like he was invasive but he was.. annoying? And the fact you couldn’t sit through it by downing half a bottle of wine was a real shame . You’re so stone cold sober that your body shivers in the night air. Heels clacking against the pavement, eyes heavy and exhausted. You could endure it, you were finally going home after all. 

You’d take a warm bath and hit the hay. Your body yearned for your bed and you don’t blame it. You sigh to yourself, hands in coat pockets. 

“Just a little bit more,” ― you sigh, yawning and wiping your eyes ― “A little more and I’ll be...home?” 

You were home, the front door to your building. There was an ominous looking figure sitting on the front steps. Your first reaction was to reach into your pockets and grab your keys between your knuckles. Your heart stuttered as you broached slowly. It was too dark to see clearly but maybe he was nice. 

“Uhm.. excuse me, sir” 

When he turns his head - your first reaction is to flinch. You step back as he turns his head only to grow stiff. A pair of warm green eyes and head of forest green locks await seems to be staring back at you. He gives you a warm smile - standing on his feet. 

In a way, he’s unrecognizable to you. Though you see him all the time, Pro-Hero Deku making news, the image of him in your head is permanently small and frail. In front of you now, he’s grown up to be so big. A whole head taller than you and broad. He’s lean but clearly muscular. Intimidating in a sense. 

“Ah, you’re home,” ― he says, non-chalant. You’re trying to recall the last time you spoke to him, the last time you’d even seen him. Maybe a year ago now? ― “I wanted to talk to you,”

Your first though is to ask questions. You had so many of them though, you’re not sure where to start. You want to ask how he’s been, and how did he find you, and how’s work going. You want to ask why he’s here after all this time and if following his dreams has made him happy how he hoped. You want to ask if he remember what he said to you at 15 - wondering if he still gets caught up on it like you do. 

None of your words seem to string together right so you just shake your head a little, managing your disbelief. 

“About what?” you ask. He pauses for a second, rubbing his chin before smiling at you. 

“It’s later,”

Your eyes widen as he steps out of the way, using his hands to gesture towards your apartment. You blink at him but his smile is as cheeky as ever. Teasing and unusually handsome. You flush down to your neck before nodding. 

“Oh, uhm.. right. Okay,”―  you say, walking towards your complex doors ― “C-come on in,” 

_

“You can uh.. take your shoes off at the door,” ― you say, after taking your own heels off and rushing to the kitchen ― “The green slippers should fit you,” 

He nods as he watches you disappear to the kitchen. He takes in your apartment with a soft smile. Photos of you with your friends and family litter the entrance way. It’s filled with a soft yellow light, cozy like he’d expect. From below him, he hears a soft purr 

A beige cat walks around his legs, observing him quietly before nuzzling against his thigh. His smile grows wide as he squats down and holds his hand for the kitty, waiting for it to approve of him before reaching and petting him. The cat is quick to the jump into his forearms. 

“Who’s this?” 

He ducks as he enters into the main area of your apartment. Your eyes widen as your usually stand-offish cat nuzzles comfortably in your childhood friends chest. 

“His name is Creampuff,” ― you say, mildly stunned ― “He’s two,” 

“What a good boy,” 

Your heart races as you see him. After all this time, his presence still gives you those nervous butterflies. Maybe it’s because he’s become so attractive. Broader and taller but more rugged to look at.You feel like the floor might swallow you up. 

“I’ll.. put on some tea,” 

You take off your coat but you’re still in your work clothes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he’s staring at you. You’re too afraid to look behind you and see, confirm but his gaze is so heavy you’re almost certain. He traces the outline of your body and back with his eyes. 

He can’t help but think you’ve filled out some. Even from behind - you look awfully pretty. You look disheveled and sleepy like you did back in highschool, after cramming for exams. A little older now with that same cute expression on your face. It’s hard to hold back or tear himself from you - so he doesn’t try. He just watches as you pour the tea into mugs and let it steep. Minutes pass and it’s quiet but not as uncomfortable as you’d expect. 

You return to your kitchen table with two mugs, setting his down on a coaster. 

“Careful.. it’s hot,” 

He nods, taking the mug in his hands and blowing on it before taking a sip. He hums. 

“Ah.. it’s good. Thank you,” 

A silence settle between you briefly. Your heart is in your throat, hands trembling a little on the table. When he notices, he reaches for them. This is another of his habits, you think. Comforting people must be second nature to him, but it only makes you more nervous.

“So.. how’ve you been?” 

It’s the only thing you can think to ask. He studies your expression for a while. It used to the opposite of this. He used to be the nervous one, stuttery and unsure. You were always confident and steady - he’s sure you still are. This side of you is endearing though. He chuckles. 

“I’ve been good. Work is hectic but that’s always,” ― and you’re going to ask him another question. Dodge what he’s really here for, but he cuts you off ― “I’ve missed you though, so I came to visit,” 

You can feel it. This tension that presses against your back and makes you sit straight. He has that determined look in his eyes, easily recognizable when you watch him. In interviews and during fights and everything in between - like he knows what he’s going up against. To have it directed at you is so nerve-wracking, you find yourself doling under the pressure of his gaze. 

You fidget, voice shaking like a leaf in the wind. He was always too much for to you handle. 

“O-oh?,” 

He nods, taking your hand in his. He holds it to his lips, kisses your knuckles like it’s the easiest thing in the world. You wonder where he learned to act like this. He’s different but the same. It’s too much for you so you shut your eyes. 

He stands until he’s on your side of the table. Rests on the corners edge with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks at you with fondness, an unmistakable affection. After all these years, it’s only grown. Double and tripled in size. No matter how much he would try and punch it down, it never deflates. 

He thinks loving you is an act of heroism. The only way he could ever really save himself. 8 years and it feels like you’re old friends. Nothing unnatural or wholly uncomfortable. It’s strange. 

“I thought about what you said. About telling you later. This time though,” ― he drops to the floor, crouched between your legs so slightly. He does it to look straight at you ― “This time though, I have to tell you properly so you can’t make me wait again,” 

“I wasn’t making you wait,” you insist. He takes your hand in his and you unravel, body slumped. He kisses the palms of your hands, the inside of your wrist and it feels like gravity has no mercy on you. 

“It felt like hell,” ― he tells you ― “I can’t sit still anymore so I’m telling you now. Even if you want to run away, I can’t let you,” 

You frown, heart rapid. 

“That’s not very heroic,” 

He smiles. 

“Good. I don’t wanna be your hero. I just want to love you selfishly as Izuku and not Deku,” ― he says, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles ― “So tell me you love me back and grant my wish. I waited all this time,” 

You’re stunned into silence at his request. Eyes feeling especially water as he leans into you. It doesn’t make sense but it feels right. Your heart is beating - like you can feel all the blood pumping in you and your head feels light. 

“You say it so easily,” 

He laughs. It’s bright just like how you remember. 

“How could you know after all this time? How could you be sure?” 

He shrugs. You hit his shoulder at the nonchalance but he only chuckles. He  leans in closer to you, inches away from your face. 

“I waited for you all this time. Shouldn’t you give me a chance to show you?” 

You sniffle as his hands cup your cheeks. His smile is so inviting, how could you refuse him?

“I’d like to kiss you,”  ― he pauses, shaking his head  ― “I want to show you. Let me,” 

You nod as he leans into you. His lips are pillow and soft - touch addicting. You give into him so easily, tongue tied. He keeps you close, hand at the base of your neck. It feels so good, so perfect. You believe him when he kisses you like this With secrets under his tongue, between his teeth. 

“Tell me your answer,”  ― he demands, soft but stern  ― “You didn’t before. I need to hear it,” 

You give him an exasperated laugh. 

“I love you.. obviously” 

Right. Obviously indeed. 

»» — { ♡ } —— { ♡ } —— { ♡ } — ««

[tokiro07]

...Is talking about Chainsaw Man part 2 inherently spoilery?

Dunno, but I’ll do it under the cut anyway

Looking at Mitaka’s possession by the War Devil, it strikes me as inherently different from either standard Fiend possession or Hybridization

War specifically tells Mitaka that giving her body to them will allow her to live, which sounds like Hybridization, but War seems to be in complete control of Mitaka’s body, implying she’s become a Fiend

However, there aren’t any major changes to Mitaka’s head the way that one would expect from a Fiend. The only things that have changed are her scars (which she got from the class president’s attack, not from combining with the War Devil) and her eyes which have gained the same ringed pattern that Makima and the War Devil itself have

So if Mitaka has become a Fiend, then the eyes are the sign, but it’s so subtle compared to all other Fiends that I have to imagine that it’s not meant to be Fiend possession

But because War is in control of the body and doesn’t seem to need to activate a transformation to use their powers, it doesn’t quite seem like Hybridization either, at least not from what we’ve come to know about it

There is one really interesting detail, though: when Mitaka was attacked by the class president, her eyes popped out of her head but were still connected to her brain, allowing her to see War before she died

What was the first thing she saw about War?

War’s eyes, glowing in the darkness

And now War’s eyes are the only thing immediately recognizable on Mitaka’s reanimated body

I wonder then, if Denji Hybridized with Pochita by making him his heart, did Mitaka Hybridize by making War her eyes?

Is this just another method of Hybridization, or something new? Is it just a matter of the parameters of their contract?

Or are the eyes just a simplified form of the Fiend possession transformation?

I suppose we’ll find out soon, but my hope is that Mitaka is still a character that we’ll get to interact with and that she hasn’t just been entirely replaced with War 

[xmaruu11]

CHB Bad ending / a c! Tubbo centric fic

Warning: c! Tubbo hurt and death implied

Tubbo never thought he would feel so small, so insignificant. Yet he was there, sitting on the dirt in an endless field of flowers. He remembered the place, or at least thinks he had already been there. He stands up, almost losing balance as he does.

Lost. No. That’s not the word. Disoriented. Yes. That 's the one.

Tubbo isn’t lost, he knows exactly where he is and where to go, but something doesn't feel right to him at that moment. Every step he takes he feels like his world, no, not his world… his head, his head is lost and can’t stay still. His eyes feel heavy, there’s not a single spot he can look to ground himself back.

Suddenly he stops.

He hears a laugh, oh such recognizable and unique laugh, but he can't quite remember where he heard it from. Slowly but surely he follows it. It’s like a siren calling him back to safety. The flowers clear up around him as he advances, clear up to lead him into a bonfire. The laugh is gone. Completely gone. But there's no silence. A low hum comes from the person in front of him. It’s quite calming yet unsettling. For some reason he finds himself sitting down next to him.

“Where are we?” He asks, not taking his eyes away from the bonfire.

The person besides him stops humming to think, “I think you know where we are”

Tubbo looks around, every single detail and every single space, he analyses and tries to remember where he is. Nothing comes to mind.

“Maybe you don’t recall it now, but you know this place” Ranboo smiles, trying to look at him but he is quickly shut down by Tubbo looking the opposite direction “It’s a happy place for you”

There’s no response, what could he even say in that situation? He was already confused enough, rationalizing what was going on seemed so complicated. Or maybe, he knew what was happening. He had already accepted it since the beginning. But I guess what people say about the myth of Pandora was right. Something in him still believed in Ranboo, still hoping the Fates gave him a chance.

“What now?” It’s the only think he could bring himself to say, everything else seemed hard

Ranboo extended his hand, the way he moved you can notice he was a prince, there was always something so gracious about him. In other circumstances Tubbo would have told a joke or called him out on that. But right now, he just stared at his hand. And then he looked up, their eyes finally meeting. That was the moment he knew that person wasn’t Ranboo, his eyes were cold like the underworld itself. Not warm and welcoming as spring.

Tubbo hesitated on grabbing the prince's hand. If he did, he would be signing his life away, he would never be able to go back.

“You know,” the prince spoke catching his attention, he took his hand back and crosses his arms “What you did back in the house was smart”

“what?”

“The pomegranate thing you did” He finally remembers, Tubbo had asked Ranboo to do the same his mother did, except he gave him all, not Half of it. Bonding them for eternity. “I mean, I told you that no matter what I would still find a way to keep you around and safe, but now…”

“But now you have no choice”

“I can’t revive you” For the first time, he heard warmth and care in the prince’s voice, usually when he was in that position he never let his guard down. “But I can still keep you around, let your soul live in the underworld and the House of Hades” this time he didn’t extend one of his hands, he uncrossed his arms and open them slightly, both of his hands free and welcoming Tubbo to accept them “You won’t be lost, I won’t let that happen”

Silence.

The silence ruled the field. No laughs, no music, no humming, not even the sound of breathing could be heard.

There were so many thoughts in his head. Part of him wanted to accept his fate, the other was still holding to that bit of hope. His eyes were burning. Tears build up in there, wanting to come out. “So this is it?”

“I think so”

“There’s no other way?”

“If there was I would have done it already”

He stood still. Looking at the person next to him. Then looking down at his hands. Hesitating, he takes them, and Ranboo stands up, never letting go of his hands. They started walking and with a gesture of a hand, a crack opened in the ground and all the flowers died around it.

The entrance was cold and dark. He stood closer to Ranboo as he started to follow him down to the underworld. A place he would never be able to leave

[thegirlintheswivelchair]

NWH SPOILERS:

Ok I’ve been thinking about the memory wipe with Everyone forgetting Peter Parker.

Well I figured out some things, and I wanna talk about it.

So, we know everyone that knew Peter Parker forgot him. However, when we see the bugle media in time square and the trial posters of Peter shift to no longer include him, I assumed (and I think a number of other people did too) that the spell was erasing everything about him just short of existence like in the movie “It’s a wonderful life”. I know people have questioned why he has the ability to get an apartment if he shouldn’t have a social security card. Not to mention, MJ and Ned are accepted into MIT, which is technically a shift in the timeline if this universe.

HOWEVER, if every piece of information changed to extinguish Peter Parker in an “it’s a wonderful life” style as some of us assumed, then more than just the media, human memory, government paper work would change. It would reshape all of its reality and the very timeline of Peter’s universe like it happened in “it’s a wonderful life”. For example: May would not be dead. She died because of the multiverse rift caused by the identity of Peter being known. If his existence was wiped, then she’d probably still be alive. There’s even a chance Uncle Ben wouldn’t be dead (if we stick with the origin of Peter not saving him even tho he had powers thing).

[You get into a lot of ‘what if’s’ going down this road, but I’d even wager that half the population would still be gone, because regardless of how people feel about Tony and Peter’s mentor/mentee relationship, Peter was still a factor in getting Tony to work on time travel. But I digress.]

The reality shift would also imply that individuals who only knew each other THRU Peter wouldn’t remember or have a relationship with those people anymore either. Therefore, the mere fact that Happy still knew and even loved May enough to visits her grave after her death means that the memory wipe didn’t destroy the connections made and created by Peter’s existence. This is why MJ and Ned are still close friends at the end too.

These details tell me that the memory wipe is truly just that, a memory wipe of every living human that knew Peter Parker. It does nothing to change the memory of what was created around and through Peter, and it wouldn’t erase Peter on paper because that’s not a living person’s memory. Thus, Peter probably has a social security card, a birth certificate, and other physical things with his name on it.

He still exists in reality, just not in living memory.

The only place this theory gets murky is when you think about photos. Why does the bugle no longer have his face plastered everywhere if the spell only effects human memory? Why couldn’t photos like that exist and instead of knowing who it is, the bugle is still plastering the photo everywhere saying: “this is the face of spiderman! Reward for whoever can find him!” Or on a more mundane note, do Peter’s school yearbooks still have him in it? I would actually argue no. The reason why I think this is because of the way the memory wipe plays with the concept of knowing someone.

Take tumblr for example. Everyone is technically still anonymous to one another if we don’t know what another person looks like regardless of how much of a mutual’s life story we know. We wouldn’t be able to pick them out of a crowd. We will never know “who” a person is when we do not have a face to connect to a name/moniker. It doesn’t mean we don’t know who a person is personality wise, but it is fundamentally different when it comes to recognizable identity. This is why I think, all photos of peter might be erased because it would imply someone can or did know “who” peter was because they’d seen him. Hence why time square and other posters changed to not include Peter anymore after the spell was cast. This doesn’t change the idea that text, contracts, etc would still be viable and Peter isn’t wiped from existence just short of not-breathing. Because as much as someone might know of a Peter Parker who lived in queens and went to Midtown high because it says it on a governmental file, they have no idea who he is.

The only thing I can’t figure out with this theory is why Peter can’t go back to midtown high and finish his high school degree or why he couldn’t use his transcripts/sat and act results that would probably still be in the computers to apply for MIT again. I think that will come down to a headcanon rather than this theory, because it’s the only thing that rips my theory up if he’s been deleted from the schools database.

So, using my theory to create a headcanon, I think he could have finished school, and reapplied for MIT the next year if he wanted to. However, it would 1) be so hard and painful for him, 2) horrible to try and convince his teachers he belonged there, and 3) he’s deliberately choosing to separate himself from all the people he cares about by not even going back to school. Thus, he chose to just study and take the GED test for who knows what future.

[lucycola]

The Lone Survivor: Part 2

Spock x Fem!Reader

Premise: Fem!Reader accidentally bonds with Spock when rescued from her own starship crash. The Golden Trio realize the footage from the wreck could wrongfully incriminate the reader. They attempt to find a way out of this. PART ONE HERE

SLOW BURN. Eventual smut in later parts. More Bones dialogue than probably necessary but WHATEVER. Fatherly Bones. There will be more one on one Reader and Spock in part three. Right now it plays like a normal episode with build up because I’m stubborn. 

WARNINGS:  Movie amnesia, sexual themes if you squint, mentions of death, and implied one-sided matrimony.

Part 2: The Night We Met I Knew I Needed You So

There was no mistaking the final moments illustrated in the found footage from the Calvary. It was you assaulting the crew on the bridge-you setting a course straight to destruction on Toravalve 9.

However, Mister Spock had disagreed. He had reached into your mind and saw you in your own eyes. It couldn’t have been you.

After carrying you back to the medbay you were put safely back in your bed with a Doctor McCoy who hovered over you like a disgruntled mother bear. With the tricorder at your forehead you pleaded with him to relax. 

Captain Kirk had been summoned to hear what you both, or rather, Mister Spock had to say. For some stranger reason Spock omitted the existence of the orange tape. He deliberated his own findings via meld instead. 

“A copy of sorts, Captain.”

“And you’re sure you saw the Lieutenant looking...at her own self?”

“As unlikely as it may seem, it is was I saw. Although it was also demonstrated that the Lieutenant received a severe head injury before witnessing her own self attack the crew members.”

“And you’re sure it wasn’t some kind of...” Kirk deliberated for a moment, “... out of body experience.”

“Also unlikely. Although it is perceivable Lieutenant L/N maybe have suffered delusions after cranial trauma I possess a suspicion that an illusion was made unto the Lieutenant and the crew.”

Kirk glanced at you for a moment and back to Spock, quizzically at first, but then with a dashing smirk. “A hunch, Spock? How very...human.”

Spock quirked a brow, hands still stonily behind his back, “All endeavors begin with a hypothesis.”

“You believe me,” you murmured, from your bed still although no longer in your white, medbay gown you were graciously presented with black Starfleet fatigues. Nurse Chapel had gently maneuvered your unruly waves into two pleats that were coming undone slowly.

A stark contrast to the pristine, polished head science officer.

The fingers on Spock’s right hand flexed at the sound of your voice.

He only turned his head to look at you, “Empirical data is what needs to be obtained-whether I believe what memories are buried in your subconscious is incidental.”

“They still don’t feel real,” you admitted. Not even your name felt real.

“Such an admission will not help your case and I advise you keep that opinion to yourself, Lieutenant.”

You felt like he was chiding you. Your ground your jaw slightly and you knew he could feel it: the aggravation, the impatience. Fear.

His right fingers flexed again, but his expression, unchanging as ever, gave nothing away.

The electric pool of warmth in the back of your mind hushed you, told you to remain calm. Diplomatic.

How could looking at your own self feel real? ‘She’ seemed so real. You had walked around the corner and met yourself, squaring you up instantly. She lunged for you and you wrestled with her, shocked at the fact that you had your own hands around your throat. They weren’t your hands. It was an imposter. 

How? That was the real question. 

“How do we find proof then, Mister Spock?” Kirk asked, reinserting himself.

“We locate the imposter and confirm my hypothesis.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Kirk replied.

“Indeed it will not be so. Commander Craft is aware of the meld that took place and will order me to testify my findings against the lieutenant. Until the Lieutenant’s sanity can be declared-”

“I’m sure I can help with that,” the doctor said, almost appearing out of nowhere.

“What is left is concrete evidence,” Spock added.

“The imposter,” Kirk finished, nodding. 

“Who’s Commander Craft?” you asked.

He turned to look at you. You were made to feel the oblivious child with everyone in the room talking about you. However, you listened and you absorbed. You were careful with your input. Listen first, talk later, you thought to yourself. The presence in the back of your mind hummed in monotonic approval as if to say, good girl.

You wondered what those words tasted like on Spock’s lips. You shuddered in embarrassment and turned your head away.

Spock coughed uncharacteristically, “Commander Craft is the elected official heading the investigation crew from the Federation. We were contacted yesterday and were to present a full report of our findings and happenings.”

Which included the bond. That detail in itself was still above you, not fully explained nor understood. You could feel it for what it was and knew he was there. Not why or how, however. 

 “We must garner more time,” Spock continued to his captain, “And possibly keep myself from testifying.”

“We could declare you insane,” the doctor quipped earning another brow arch from his opposing.

“You’re asking for a loophole,” Kirk stated.

“Essentially, Captain.”

Kirk seemed to know there was more to it, the way he pursed his lips and put his fists on his hips. You knew yourself that if Spock testified against you with what he saw in the meld then there was no evidence against you truly-just what you yourself witnessed. However, Spock would be asked to tell the whole truth and that included the tape. If you were deemed crazy then your own experiences would be null and void.

Did Kirk already know about the tape?

Kirk sighed,” Spock, I...we’d be misleading not only Starfleet, but the Federation. This isn’t the first time you’ve-”  he glanced at you, “-taken the unorthodox route to obtain justice.”

“Then I am asking for your trust, Captain.”

Kirk’s eyes narrowed then softened. He relented and with a sturdy tone which meant business as he relayed, “I suppose you already a loophole in mind then?”

“Indeed, Captain.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

Spock paused, fighting to look at you.

“Well, aren’t you gonna tell us?” the doctor asked.

“Proposals are not so elementary to make on Vulcan, even when it is logical...but also yet not as it could fare unfavorable circumstances. Especially if one party is unwilling.”

It took Kirk a moment, and even the doctor even longer.

“You mean...?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“You’re willing to marry her so you don’t have to testify?” he asked incredulously.

You were stupefied, impressed, but stupefied. The stoic Vulcan could play dirty. An actual proposal.

“You’re going to marry her?” Bones asked, mortified, “She’s a person...not a pawn! This is her life we’re meddling with. Marriage is a serious thing-”

“You’ll find, Doctor, that I am quite serious.”

“You could wreck her life.”

“I intend on saving it.”

Spock, your heart breathed.

“It seems like a reach for you, Spock,” Kirk said, “They would never believe the both of you, even if Y/N did agree.”

“It will be most believable as the Lieutenant and I have already made a bond.”

Silence befell everyone.

“You can’t be serious,” the doctor said finally, a fierce protectiveness in his voice. “At a time like this-”

“It was not intended as I am careful to shield my mind when partaking tactility with other forms-but, she called to me.”

And he had found you in the dark.

“She accepted it-although it is possible that may be due to the extreme duress she was suffering.”

“And you were there to save her,” Bones finished, a grave distaste in his voice.

“Such a bond can be mediated by a healer with moderate difficult just as a Terran divorce can be secured.”

It was a slap to the face. He was as willing to ‘save’ you as he was to dump you and leave you for dead. Red hot turmoil threatened in your core and you clenched your blankets. What was the point then?

Your crew was dead, your reputation tarnished, and everyone thought you were a murderer.

Let me die, you thought, just let me die.

“Certainly not,” Spock said quietly. Both the Captain and the Doctor eyed him wearily as this random statement.

“So you...negating your-”

“No, sir. I am simply waiting for Lieutenant L/N’s input on the matter.”

“There’s no way in hell she’d agree to this. The bond is clearly one-sided, Spock. How could you be so irresponsible?” Bones chided. 

“A explanation escapes me.” He was still looking at you with smoldering eyes, with bright stars dancing behind them. Cold, but fierce.

What other shot did you have? How else could you bide time while searching for this monster? You wanted to give up. It would be easy.

Kirk leaned in to his second in command and suggested softly, “Perhaps you should ask more properly, Mister Spock. She is a lady. Bones is right. It’s her life.”

“Lieutenant-”

Kirk elbowed him.

“Y/N,” he corrected himself, “Will-”

“Yes,” you blurted in a hushed voice, “I will marry you, Mister Spock.”

x

You were left in your bed again under strict supervision this time. You reveled in the shock of what you’d just agreed to, and even the shock of the situation in its entirety. Rediscovering the monster that claimed your crew and your identity was still fresh and seeing it through your own eyes again with the meld drained the life out of you. You were exhausted, but your mind still raced. ‘It’ was on the ship-it had to be. They didn’t find a copy of you or anyone else in the wreckage. You wondered how recognizable some of your crewmates were and you had to still your frantic thoughts. 

“What ever is going on up there it needs to stop. You heart rate is very high.” Doctor McCoy was already readying a hypo. 

“That...thing. It might be here-”

“We’re on high alert, looking for any copies of ourselves. It’s not the first time this kind of thing has happened,” he tried to assure you.

“There are no red lights.”

“They get annoying after awhile. Whatever it is, it’s damn good at hiding. But we’ll flush it out. The Captain has a plan.”

“Did Mister Spock tell you the imposter can read your memories? That’s how it tricked me. Did he tell the captain?” you asked, wring your hands with the blanket. 

“Your guess is better than mine.”

You thought back to Spock’s omission to the orange tape. Always flipping back and forth between elusive affection and monotonous professionalism. Marry me. Divorce after. 

“He’s hard to place sometimes.”

“And you agreed to marry him.”

“I did,” you blurted stubbornly. “We’re bonded.”

Bones suddenly became eye level with you, bracing both hands on the rail. “But do you know what that even means?”

You arched a brown similar to Vulcan fashion, “Do you, good doctor?”

Bones shook his head and instead asked, “Sleep now or later? Does it help with the nightmares?”

“Yes, I think so. Now, I think. Doctor?”

“Yes, kitty?”

“Thankyou.”

x

Sleep was apart of the healing process and being roused from it interrupted that. That was at least what Bones tried to argue when the captain requested your presence in the conference room. Flanked by your fiancé and the kindly captain himself you were expected to hold an interview of sorts with Commander Craft via telecom before his arrival at the crash site. Several ships had already come to help clean up. 

“What am I supposed to say?” you half pleaded with them, “I’m not good at lying.”

“You do not have to be deceitful. However, if you find yourself under duress the commander may suspect a guilt as I had sensed upon our initial meeting,” Spock replied, one arm linked on your good side. 

Your other arm supported a crutch when had a nervous hand floating behind it via the captain. 

Kirk shot a reassuring look your way. “I recommend the truth. Tell him what you told me, and you’ll be fine. He’s a bit of a stickler for rules and he’s tough on the stand-”

“Jesus,” you muttered. 

“Or...a bit of theatrics couldn’t hurt if you get too overwhelmed. You did just lose your crew.” 

“How could I forget?” Your lip quivered. 

You three paused at the door. 

“I trust my first officer, Y/N,” Kirk turned to face you, “As unorthodox as this has become, I put trust into his melds and by what he has told me you didn’t do anything wrong. That thing-that monster did.”

You couldn’t stop the tears dribbling. “Captain, I let my crew die.”

“Any death having occurred was unintentional on your part, Lieutenant, ”Spock said in his chilly tone, “As was demonstrated in your memory you tired to apprehend and fend off the creature, but to no avail. You did everything in your power. The human emotional phenomena your are experiencing is common upon singular entities having being spared from genocide.”

“That is?” Kirk asked. 

“Survivor’s guilt,” you sighed, finishing the statement for you fiancé. 

x

Commander Craft was not unkind, nor did he smile. He was neither young or old and his questions were fairly basic as the captain’s were three days earlier. You recounted all you could remember, and it was stressed by you and the captain that you had lost most of your general memory due to head trauma. Whether he seemed convinced was unknown to you. You tried to hold back in your distress. The warmth in the back of your mind wrapped around the little knot that pain and anxiety was birthed. It was squeezed it slowly, like the grasp of a hand. You delivered your answers calmly. 

“The double of yourself, you saw. Did you see it transform from your father to yourself?” the commander asked.

“No sir.”

“Have you seen a copy of yourself since you boarded the Enterprise?”

“No sir.”

“And no foreign entity has been detected on the ship?”

“No sir,” the captain replied. 

“Mmm,” the commander paused for the first time in what seemed like hours. “L/N, had you ever experiences delusions or hallucinations before?”

“I don’t remember.”

“And did you experience the trauma to your head before or after you saw yourself sabotaging the ship?”

“I...” you glanced, “I’m not sure. After?”

“Do you remember hitting your head at all?”

“I remember the copy throwing me hard against the wall and everything going black.” You tried to strengthen your voice, but it kept cracking. You heart continued to race. “And-”

It flashed. 

“When I let my father on the ship. I went black there too. But I’m not sure if I hit my head that time.”

“And Mister Spock you were able to witness what Lieutenant L/N saw?”

“Affirmative.”

“But...through her point of view.”

Fuck. You had a feeling he would try to pull the crazy card. 

“Were there any observation tapes recovered from the crash?”

“My  crew obtained few, but to my knowledge they are still processing them,” the captain answered smoothly. 

“Has any other information been made available to any of you?”

You could feel the edges of your vision blacken. You couldn’t make eye contact with him. Cold sweat had broken from your brow.  A cold, steady hand placed itself to your brow. The natural warmth on your mind shimmered. 

“She has a fever, Captain.”

“I won’t tolerate any nonsense, Lieutenant-”

“Commander, she has just lost four-hundred members of her family to a people-eating imposter!” Kirk bellowed lowly, “She’s kept it together well so far. I commend her efforts. You have the wrong idea about her.”

“Until I can find proof of this ‘imposter’ and until her psyche can be cleared by one of our doctors then we’ll see. This isn’t the first time the Federation has had to deal with the Enterprise’s shenanigans.”

“People eating?” you whispered in disbelief.  Oh my god. 

Spock caught on to Kirk’s unnecessary honesty. “It was discovered the imposter’s prime directive was to use the Calvary’s crew as sustenance.”

You toppled forwards and were caught and cradled by your fiancé. 

“Take her to the medbay, Mister Spock,” Kirk ordered. 

“Call for the doctor. I am not taking my eyes off her until we arrive!” the commander snapped. 

“By the time Doctor McCoy arrives she will succumb to shock. I must attend to my t’hy’la in the most logical and efficient manner possible.”  

Kirk fought the need to smile, not realizing that your theatrics weren’t really theatrics. 

x

PART THREE

[sourwolphs]

Like an Animal - Bucky x Reader (1/8)

Read on Ao3 (For better interface + formatting) 

Summary: Reader is an enhanced Omega kidnapped by Hydra and trapped in a cell with Alpha Bucky Barnes. Tags: A/B/O, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending Warnings: Rated M, Kidnapping, Degrading Language (not from Bucky)  A/N: This story takes place post-Endgame, but everyone is happy and living in the compound and nobody died :-) Because I said so. Also switches POV between Reader and Bucky, with Reader in first person and Bucky in third! Follows typical A/B/O dynamics, with some random headcanons thrown in and explained.

The first thing I felt was the searing pain in my wrists.

My eyes flickered open, slowly taking in my surroundings, my heartbeat picking up as each terrifying detail came into my line of sight. My back ached terribly, cold cement beneath my skin. I was slumped in the corner of some kind of cell. It was dimly lit—just light enough to reveal the shadows of the large space, and the light of a hallway stretching to my right through the bars of the cell. I looked down at my body to find it clad in the clothes I’d been wearing the night before. My shoes were missing, plain socks dirty on my feet.Worst of all— my wrists were bound in a thick metal band, glowing with a soft blue light that ached where it touched my skin.

My memories were blurry. The last thing I remembered was approaching the front door of my 3rd floor walkup late at night, seeing a shadow slip from the dark alley to my left, before everything went black.

The red-haired agent had warned me it was only a matter of time before those with bad intentions discovered me and the things I could do. If I could, I would have kicked myself for not listening to her when I’d been warned.

I lifted my hands to test my powers, summoning the energy I felt like an icy throb in my chest. But when I tried to channel it down through my hands, urging even a snowflake to appear, all I felt was a stinging pain. Whatever the device on my wrists was, it completely neutralized my abilities. If my heart had been beating fast before, now I was approaching unprecedented levels of panic. Deep breaths, deep breaths, I told myself. Panicking won’t get you out of here. But as I took my next inhale, my other senses kicked in.

The second thing I realized? I was not alone in this cell.

I could smell my own scent, layered with sickly sweet anxiety and the sharp, metallic scent of panic. But a foreign scent, distinctly Alpha drifted towards me from the shadows of the cell. I instinctually curled closer to the wall, my Omega hindbrain working overtime to protect me. Bare your throat. Make yourself small. You are defenseless. Not like I needed the reminder with the sharp pain still throbbing at my wrists.

I curled into a small ball, taking a quiet gulp of breath to assess the situation as I peered futilely through the shadows. I didn’t smell anger, or danger—just a heady, strong Alpha scent. Cedar, a hint of campfire and the crisp, clean scent of… snow. Not typical. But… good.

But the Alpha scent also had a hint of something else. Something strong. Something like rut. I tilted my head, confused— I heard a shifting, and the glint of metal moving in the far right corner of the cell. Two pinpricks of light—his eyes— lifted up and connected with mine.

The hairs on the back of my neck rose in fear. An Alpha nearing rut. Locked in a cell. With me. I took another few deep lungfuls of air, willing my heart rate to slow down and making myself smaller. Whoever locked me in here couldn’t have had good intentions. Should I… introduce myself?

I didn’t get the chance to decide. A door at the end of the hallway opened, and a pack of men filed in to stand outside the cell doors, peering in at me. I squared my jaw, biting down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep myself centered and tamp down on the inner voice telling me to submit.

“Not so powerful now, are you?” barked a weaselly looking Beta at the front of the group. He wore a tactical vest, buckled in an X shape in the front. His muscles, overcompensating an embarrassing amount for his designation, bulged on his compact frame.

I glared at him. “What do you want with me?”  I spit.

He laughed. “Careful with that nasty attitude, Omega.”

I suppressed the disgusted shiver that trembled down my spine at his use of my designation.

“Big Guy in there won’t like a defiant bitch,” he continued. The men at the back of his pack laughed darkly. “Better get ready to submit.”

The Alpha in the corner was still motionless— still staring. I felt dread settle in a pit in my stomach at what they implied. Show no weakness. I put on my most defiant face.

“Oh, him?” I tossed my head in the Alpha’s direction, feigning indifference. Don’t show fear. “You can’t scare me. Take these cuffs off me and let’s see who submits first.”

The Beta growled, the laughter momentarily draining from his face, hackles raised. “Shut up, whore.” Then, he seemed to remember I was in the cell and he was outside of it. He smirked, before turning around to head back down the hallway with his pack. “You’ll see.”

The door slammed shut behind him.

I let out the breath I’d been holding as quietly as I could, willing my anxiety to settle so I could think. But it was then that the Alpha decided to stand and stalk slowly towards me.

Rationally, I knew Alphas were big and scary. They always were— overly tall, overly aggressive, insufferably controlling and dominant, and so strong-scented it made me feel lightheaded and stuffy. But this Alpha, well, all of the above was an understatement. He was tall and broad-shouldered with a wide chest and legs thick with muscle. He was wearing tight-fit, black clothing that showed off the muscles of his body to an exorbitant degree, and it looked, well, tactical—buckles and straps and belts with holsters that had been disarmed by whoever threw him in here with me. His face was still mostly in shadow in the dim cell, but I could make out curtains of brown hair and a strong jawline speckled with stubble. And the closer he got to me, the stronger his unique scent grew, washing over me like a wave— along with the growing scent of his rut.

You’re staring. Be small, my Omega hindbrain reminded me. I cowered, feeling fear wash over me again. What if he was in on this with them….I didn’t let myself think that far. I turned my head to the side slightly, baring my throat in an appeasing way to the dominant force in the room.

Then the Alpha’s full form came into my line of sight, and I realized exactly who I had been trapped in a cage with. Oh, fuck.

—————

Bucky didn’t know what possessed him to step forward. Chivalry, perhaps? Though according to Steve, that whole concept had died in the 21st century. Omegas didn’t look to Alphas for protection the way they had in the 40s. Something urged him towards the defiant Omega in the corner, and he would be lying if it didn’t partially have to do with her intoxicating scent and the weird and uncharacteristic prickliness he was experiencing that he couldn’t shake off. Her scent was sweet like peppermint, laced with the crispness of a cold gust of winter wind, but her anxiety at waking up across from him had soured it slightly. He didn’t blame her—but he couldn’t resist another lungful.

Bucky stepped forward slowly, his movements measured so as not to scare her. She had pushed herself as far into the corner as possible, her throat bared and chest rising and falling quickly. But as his face—and his recognizable arm— came into view, he saw the change in her expression as realization dawned. She gasped, her scent turning dark and desperate with fear. He stopped short, swallowing. Fuck.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured. Then, improvising, he lowered to his knees in a position he hoped looked as non-threatening as possible, turning his face to the side to show her his throat in return. “I’m not going to hurt you. It’s… I’m—“ He stopped, shutting his eyes in resignation. This was not going well. She was still panicked, curling in on herself.

“I’m in control,” he said, hoping that would be enough to quell her fears. These days, the public knew all about the Winter Soldier and the horrible things his hands had done. But Shuri had erased the loophole from his brain over six years ago now, if you count the blip. Which is why it made no sense that Hydra had gone to such lengths to trap him here on a mission gone awry in Northern Europe.

Now wasn’t the time to dwell, though. He estimated he’d been trapped here for no more than about 15 hours, and he didn’t doubt that Steve, Sam and the rest of the team would track this base down within 24. He’d already examined his body for injuries, tested the bars for give and scoped out any other potential entry and exit points before Hydra agents had cracked the cell door with three assault rifles trained on him and dumped the Omega inside three hours ago. The only thing that felt off was this strange, growing feeling that he needed to get out of his skin. He’d already removed his outer layer of Kevlar, feeling hotter than normal.

The woman looked normal enough, besides the panic taking over her faculties and the unknown, bulky device clasped around her wrists. She was small, but deceptively strong—he could see the lean lines of muscle on her limbs. Her long hair was loose around her pretty face, and they’d removed her shoes— if she’d even been wearing any in the first place. But god, her smell. Bucky couldn’t help taking another deep lungful, trying to be as discreet as possible. It was like his body was on autopilot, drifting closer and closer to where she was pressed against the wall.

She looked confused by his placating bared throat. Nowadays, Alphas were insufferable hotheads. She’d probably never seen one so willing to submit to an Omega. Bucky noticed that the rise and fall of her chest was slowing. “A-are you really….?” she practically whispered.

He nodded, clenching his jaw. “The Winter Soldier?”

She nodded back—so small, it was almost imperceptible.

“You can call me Bucky. I’m not— The Winter Soldier doesn’t exist anymore.” He laughed a little. “They actually call me the White Wolf now…”

Something was wrong with his body. He was feeling itchy—painfully so now. He shifted forward even closer, on his knees, and she flinched imperceptibly— turning to face the wall next to her. He took another deep lungful of her scent, and the sweetness lit every cell in his body on fire. Was he… getting hard?

Realizing her distress and how close he’d gotten to her body, Bucky stood up and put distance between them. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s going on…” He gasped. Her scent was addicting. His Alpha was screaming at him to close the distance, grab her, shove his face into her scent gland and inhale. To run his hands all over her body, to rut into her, to sink his teeth into her gland and bite, to claim her as his own and mark her body all over…. Holy shit. He was going into rut. After 75 fucking years, he was going into rut while trapped in a Hydra cell with an unmated Omega.

Against his better instincts and training, Bucky started to panic.

————

I could tell exactly the moment that the Winter Soldier—Bucky, I corrected myself— realized what was happening. He’d been drifting closer and closer to me, his ice blue eyes trained on my gland, taking deep lungfuls of my scent as if I couldn’t tell exactly what he was doing.

When he recognized my distress, he forced distance between us, wiping sweat from his forehead and inspecting his hands—one flesh, one metal— as if they’d have an answer.

“Rut,” I said quietly. Our eyes connected. His were wide, panicked. His scent was sharp with fear and anxiety, so strong with lust it was making me dizzy. I pushed my forehead against the cold cement wall to center myself. Why would they kidnap me as Omega bait for a fucking Avenger? Why me?

“I’m on suppressants—I don’t know how…” He trailed off, then abruptly ripped the leather sleeve off his shirt in one swipe to inspect his upper arm. Holy shit, he was strong. I mean, I knew he was a super soldier, but Jesus Christ. “They stuck me with something.” His jaw was set in a tight line when he turned back to look at me, pupils blown wide with lust.

I swallowed hard, squeezing my eyes shut. This couldn’t be happening.

He growled sharply in frustration, slamming his metal fist into the concrete wall of the cell so hard that cracks appeared on impact. I yelped in fear, my heart racing. Before I could open my mouth to apologize submissively, he dropped down to his knees again.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I—“ He cut off, growling in frustration, fists clenched at his sides. He shook out his head, his hair falling in front of his eyes, before he looked up to meet mine again. “Please, don’t be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you,” he said through gritted teeth.

I nodded weakly, feeling the tears start to spill from my eyes. He was trembling now. Whatever they gave him was working quickly, and the strain of keeping himself contained was obvious in the restrained quiver of his limbs. Maybe I was fucking crazy, but I actually felt sorry for him. An ex-assassin Avenger twice my size, pumped full of super soldier serum and rut hormones. That couldn’t feel good— especially not with his history.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeated again. This time, it seemed more like he was trying to convince himself. His hands were clenched so hard I could hear his Vibranium fist squeak with the strain. “I won’t. I won’t—“ he gasped for a centering breath.

Against all rational instinct, I started to believe him. He wouldn’t hurt me. At least— he really didn’t want to.

I knew about the Winter Soldier. Everyone did. How Hydra had kidnapped him, tortured him, and turned him into a brainwashed weapon for their murderous intent. I couldn’t imagine how horrible this would be for him— with his very public history— to have control wrested from him again. Especially like this.

Comfort Alpha, my inner Omega cooed unhelpfully. Alpha is hurting. Help him.

Fighting back my fear, I came to my hands and knees on the cell floor, shuffling a few paces forward until we were only a few feet apart. He was still shaking slightly, murmuring to himself in what sounded like Russian, breathing shallowly. I risked another lungful of his scent, and it made my Omega go wild. I felt my own body start reacting to his arousal, my scent billowing out in soothing notes, slick between my legs. It was impossible for Omegas to launch into a sympathetic heat when they were distressed or in danger, but I couldn’t ignore how intoxicating his scent was to me— or the growing need I felt to soothe and calm him as his chest heaved with the strain of restraining himself.

“Get— Get away from me. I can’t—“ he spit through gritted teeth. I paused, hesitating, my bound hands reaching towards his knee. “I don’t want to hurt you—“

“It’s okay,” I murmured soothingly, hardly recognizing the calm sound of my voice when my heart was racing a million miles an hour inside my chest. I was too cowardly to be a hero before, when the red-haired agent had found me and urged me to join her. I had always run from responsibility and hidden my abilities from the world. Maybe today, I could be courageous.

I placed my hands on his forearm, feeling the sweat-slick heat of him. His head slowly raised to look at me. Up close, I could see his plush lips, the stubble along his jaw, his pupils blown wide with lust. His scent, God.

“I know you won’t hurt me,” I said. Bucky was panting now. “I— I trust you.” He narrowed his eyes at me disbelievingly, but my words and tempting closeness seemed to tamp down his initial panic. He leaned in closer, close enough that I could see the stubble of his jaw, his adorably delicate ears tucked behind the loose strands of hair framing his face, the plush cupid’s bow of his lips.

The pictures in the news don’t do Alpha justice, my Omega murmured.

“Isn’t someone coming for you? Aren’t you, like… a superhero?” I asked.

He grimaced, breaking eye contact. “I’m not a hero. But the team should be here within a few hours. We’ve never… lost someone for longer.”

I took a shaky breath. Okay. So we’re getting out of here.

“Do you know what they want?” I murmured. I could guess. Scum like Hydra only see Omegas as good for one thing: breeding. But I didn’t want to voice the horrible thoughts out loud.

He scoffed. “Whatever it is… I won’t do it.” The resolve set in his jaw, muscles ticking as we made eye contact again, the scent of his rage and restrained instincts washing over me— bitter as gunpowder and steel. He was still trembling, fists clenched. “I won’t.”

I felt something soften inside of me at his words. I should be terrified, rolling over on my stomach to submit— throat bared —but I felt… protected.

“Do you mind— Would it be okay if I—“ He cut himself off, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and looking pained.

“If…?”

“It helps if I can… scent you,” he sighed. “I won’t—“

Before he could finish that thought, I nodded my head in assent. There’s no greater pain to an Alpha in rut than being unable to touch. I shifted off my knees, intending to curl against his side, but he shocked me by standing and scooping me up into his arms, returning to the shadowy corner of the cell he’d been in when I’d first woken up. I bristled a little at his intentions, but he quickly set me down on a soft pile of leather and thick canvas that smelled strongly of his heady cedar scent— clothes he must have shed from the heat of rut.

“Sorry,“ He murmured. “I won’t touch you if you—“

“It’s okay,” I interrupted, taking a deep breath to steady myself and leaning back to get more comfortable. He hovered over me, propping his metal arm by my head. His ice blue eyes searched mine, our breaths loud in the quiet of the cell as we settled into the comfort of each others’ scents. I tilted my head to the side a bit, feeling my mating gland peek out from behind my hair.

Bucky growled softly, leaning down to press his face into my neck and taking deep lungfuls of my scent. I squeezed my eyes shut, bringing my bound hands awkwardly to touch his side to anchor myself. Under my palms, I could feel the tension leaving his muscles as he breathed me in.

“Omega,” he groaned, his voice raspy and deep. I shivered. Arousal stirred in me again, his chest pressed tight to mine as he nose trailed up and down my neck, into my hair and onto my cheek. “You smell so good. Fuck,” he whispered.

He was starting to lose himself. His flesh hand came to my waist, strong grip catching me off guard as he settled closer to me. My heart rate picked up again, and I fought the urge to bolt. Alpha won’t hurt you, my Omega supplied. Please your Alpha. Bucky must have picked up on my fear, because he pushed himself back.

“Sorry. I’ll—“ He shifted so he was laying next to me but with his lower half intentionally tilted away, arm across my waist and face near enough to my gland that he could continue to breathe me in. “Okay?” He grunted. I nodded, shocked that he was able to control himself enough to hold himself stiffly away from me. The scent of rut was so strong that from what I knew about Alphas, he should be animalistic with lust— unable to stop himself from shredding my clothes and taking me on the cell floor. Small mercies.

“Sleep,” he said gruffly. When I didn’t move or shut my eyes, he tightened his much gentler grip on my waist. “Please. I won’t… I won’t do anything. We’ll be out of here, before…” he trailed off, again. Boy, was he a man of few words. But he didn’t need to say it out loud for me to understand his meaning: Much longer, and he wouldn’t be able to stop himself.

I took another soothing breath, trying to settle myself. Alpha wants you to sleep, my Omega purred. Alpha will protect you. For once in my life, I listened. I took in a lungful of his strong smell, taking comfort in the protective weight of his arm thrown over me, and let myself drift off.