#since you know . . . she had literally offered this to Tangle before

[sage-nebula]

I want to make something clear regarding my previous post wherein I said that Tangle is impulsive and didn't think before suggesting the name Diamond Cutters through before she said it.

Saying that Tangle's impulsivity led her to blurt that name without thinking is giving her grace.

Because the alternative, that she did think about suggesting the name of Whisper's dead comrades as their team name—that she had been thinking for a long time that she wanted to be a Diamond Cutter because it would be so cool—would make her at best insensitive, and at worst callous, and selfish on either front. That she could sit there, knowing how much they meant to Whisper, knowing how traumatized Whisper was by losing them (to the point where Whisper's entire personality changed as a direct result of the trauma, something Tangle knows both a.) from the video footage, and b.) from Mimic calling her "bubbly little Whisper" after he was caught), and knowing that Whisper herself said the Diamond Cutters were done at the end of the miniseries, and still suggest the name? That would make it an intentional betrayal of Whisper's confidence and feelings, and that's not something I think their relationship—friendship or otherwise—could bounce back from.

After all, Whisper told Tangle that the Diamond Cutters are gone.

"The Diamond Cutters are done" doesn't mean "hey it's totally cool to use their name for a new team!" It means the Diamond Cutters are done. They are gone. They are dead. To carefully think about all of that and still suggest the name would be horrifically insensitive on Tangle's part, especially since Whisper was just re-traumatized by losing the Wisps to Surge*, and Tangle knows that something happened at the very least, even if she doesn't know the exact details.

Tangle has been thinking about teaming up with Whisper again for a long time, yes. Absolutely, 100%. She left the Restoration (or at least cut her hours back to part-time) so that she could go find Whisper. We all know this. Thinking about teaming up with Whisper is not what Tangle was impulsive about. Suggesting they go by the name Diamond Cutters is what Tangle was impulsive about. After all, the team being a huge group was not Tangle's idea, but Lanolin's:

And Sonic is the one who brought up the idea of a team name, to which Tangle responded immediately:

As I said in my previous post, to give Tangle the most benefit of the doubt, the most gracious read we can, we have to think she just didn't think that much before suggesting the name. At most, she always thought the Diamond Cutters' name / outfits were cool, and she might've thought Whisper would appreciate the homage, because again, she's not a trauma therapist. She doesn't realize the long-term effects that Whisper's trauma had on her, even knowing that Whisper's personality did a 180 as a result. She didn't think on it long enough to realize that Whisper told her about all that in confidence, that she was the only person Whisper had opened up to about it, that Whisper was trusting her with that information, only to have that blow up in her face in a room with Jewel, Sonic, and Lanolin.

And while Whisper does consider Sonic and Jewel friends (we don't know about Lanolin), they were clearly not as close to her as Tangle. She doesn't trust them that much, not with her past. And Whisper is, by and large, a non-confrontational person outside of life-or-death combat; she doesn't speak up against the name, because that's just not who she is. Instead she's gritting her teeth and getting through the mission as fast as she can, and tries to ditch the others at the first available opportunity. Is this the healthiest or most mature way to behave? No. But Whisper is a traumatized sixteen-year-old, so she deserves grace, too.

All in all, I didn't say what I said to insult Tangle, or not give her credit. I love Tangle. And I absolutely think that her heart was in the right place. But she did not think this through. She didn't realize that what she saw as carrying on the Diamond Cutters' name in their honor would be a breach of the trust that Whisper gave to her. If she had taken time to think of a team name before popping off with the first one that came to mind after Sonic asked, then I think she would have chosen not to suggest it, at least not before talking to Whisper privately about it. Because Tangle has a huge heart. Tangle loves her friends. And she would never do anything to intentionally hurt Whisper, which suggesting that name absolutely did (and which she would have realized would had, again, she had taken time to think about it).

So, teaming up with Whisper? Yes, Tangle has been thinking about that forever. She's been wanting it forever. She specifically set out to do that between "Trial By Fire" and "Overpowered."

But calling Lanolin's squad the Diamond Cutters? No. That was an impulse decision. Because suggesting otherwise makes Tangle seem insensitive at best and callous at worst and that's just not who she is.

(*Losing the Wisps is re-traumatizing because the Wisps were every bit as much a part of the Diamond Cutters as the mobian members were. This is why they also signed the message that Whisper left for Mimic to lure him back to the Diamond Cutters' base:

When Surge kidnapped the Wisps, she stole what remained of Whisper's found family. This is why Whisper grew more distressed with each one she lost, culminating with having to be restrained by Tails after Cyan was taken. Of course, unlike the mobian members of the team, the Wisps weren't killed and she was reunited with them, but that doesn't make the experience any less traumatizing / any less like reopening a wound that still hasn't really healed.)

[tbaluver]

hello~! i’d like to request a scenario/hc for the l&ds men wherein they attend their toddler!daughter’s first ballet dance recital? i had this idea in my head and i thought it would be cute to see how supporitve and proud they’ll be~ thank you and have a great day ahead!!

Attending Your Daughter's Recital- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader

a/n: hi anonnie! this was a cute idea they would be such cute dads im literally sobbing at the idea ;-; i hope you enjoy and have a great day too! <3

any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

Your husband is always sleepy but the big day for your daughter's performance he was up and early. He would try to help with your daughter's hair but eventually it got tangled and messy so you had to excuse him and let you do all the work. Before you went to recital area, he would take you both to your daughter's favorite restaurant before she performs so she's full.

Your daughter would be really nervous performing but Xavier was always there to reassure her. His gentle words and encouragements helped calm any nerves and made the moment and their bond extra special. He would also bring her favorite plushie since birth to help calm her down before they went to the stage. He would also remind her that if they truly didn't want to perform then she didn't have too.

When your daughter does perform, he would have the biggest smile ever as he watches her gracefully dance across the stage. He would have his camera ready and only zoomed in on her.

After the performance, when your child runs to you both, he’ll lift them up into a warm, celebratory hug, showering them with compliments and expressing how incredibly proud he is of them for performing so bravely, despite their nerves.

Zayne:

He would cancel and move any appointments with his patients on the following day of his child's performance. Any checkups or surgeries would have to wait so he could be watch his little baby perform.

He would settle into the seat right next to you and chat while waiting for the curtains to open. When your child steps onto the stage, she'll scan the audience. When she sees you and Zayne, she'll be beaming with a smile. You and your child know how often Zayne would be busy due to his schedule but he always tries to find the time for you and your child. If he couldn't, he would always try to make up for it.

As he watches your child performs, he would be flooded with so much nostalgic memories. From the early days of ultrasound pictures to their first steps, first words, and now performing on a stage, each milestone has been a cherished memory for you both. His pride in your child is so profound that his usually stoic expression melts into a wide smile.

When the performance is over, your child would run up to you both giving you each a big hug. He would shower compliments to your daughter telling them they did so well and the outfit that you made for them is amazing. Would also have a bouquet of flowers ready for your child after the performance. When you guys get home, you both would prepare a dinner that your child's favorite to celebrate their beautiful performance.

Rafayel:

He could not be more excited to watch your little baby perform on the stage. He was the type of dad that would go to their practice and watch them perform. If he didn't get a chance to attend their practice then he would ask what new moves or what they learned at home. He would also learn the new moves with them just in case they forgot or so they don't feel embarrassed.

You and Rafayel would design their outfits and your daughter would literally have the most prettiest outfits compared to all the other girls.

You both would be front row and center so your child can see you both. He would have the biggest smile as you both watched your child dance across the stage. He would enthusiastically dance along in his seat, ready to offer a reassuring nod or subtle guidance if his child happened to forget any moves during their recital.

When the performance ended and your child ran to you both, he would scoop them up, spin them around, and shower them with kisses, all while expressing how incredibly proud he was of them. He would also take a million photos and videos before, during, and after the show.

Sylus:

The feared Onychinus leader appearing at his children's recital. He wouldn't dare to miss it! Yes he may be a leader but that can all be put aside for now because he will try to be there for his child whenever he can.

You and Sylus would be wearing matching outfits that your daughter has chosen for the both of you as a 'good luck' charm. Obviously how can he say no to you or your little baby? Whether that outfit is ridiculous or not, he'll still proudly show it off.

He would bring his daughter's uncles, Luke and Kieran to the recital. Luke, Kieran, and your daughter begged you both if they could come. They're the second biggest fans of your child, you and Sylus being the first. They both would cheer and clap the loudest to let them know that your child was the best one there.

When your child was finished performing, your child would run up to you both giving you a big hug and then her uncles a big hug. He would twirl your child around telling them how wonderful they look and how wonderful they performed before giving them a bouquet of flowers.

You all would go to your child's favorite restaurant, letting them order whatever they wanted. When you all go home you all watch the recorded videos that Sylus recorded so they can see how well they did and maybe they'll even perform an encore.

[yourlocalsaiko]

Headcannons time, more Rio Vidal love 🥰

Casual!Rio who refuses to get out of bed before 9am. Who’s morning routine includes:

Throwing herself out of bed quite literally. Shes had those alarm clocks that you have to chase before but they all end up destroyed with malice. Im talking soccer kicked, smashed them with a bat, thrown against the wall, etc.

Hopping in the shower immediately so she doesn’t fall back asleep face being blasted by water. Oh and she also brushes her teeth in the shower.

If she eats breakfast it’ll either be a full breakfast; im talking omelette or pancakes with sides, or a handful of Cheerios and a Redbull

Casual!Rio who loves to spend time with her cat Silky. She stumbled upon her coming home for work. Poor thing was tangled up in the bushes. Scratched the hell outta her when she tried to get her out. Since then the cats been hanging around and in her house, god knows how it gets in but she just lets her come and go. She feeds the little bugger and exchange she gets dead rat offerings….yay. (They are immediately trashed-)

[roosterforme]

The Secret Ingredient (Rooster x Reader)

Part of The What If Collection of blurbs for Roo and Baby Girl. Written for an ask. My masterlist. Banner by @mak-32

Warnings: just fluff

"You seem a little nervous," Bradley whispered as you snuggled up against his arm on the flight. "You know they love you, right?"

You buried your face against his shirt and inhaled the fresh smell of the laundry detergent you always bought. Bradley smelled and felt like home, and as you slipped your hands around his bicep, you snuggled a little closer. "I know," you replied softly. 

You'd spent hours on facetime calls with Carole Bradshaw over the past month and a half since you met them for the first time. Sometimes Goose would make a cameo, but usually it was just Carole. She always called Bradley's phone, but after a minute or two, she inevitably asked to talk to you every single time. 

"I know," you repeated. "I'm not nervous exactly. I just want to make a good impression on them in their home. I'm literally going to visit the house you grew up in. And it's Thanksgiving. It's a big deal."

Bradley just kissed the top of your head and said, "You're a big deal."

You glared up at him, but you were smiling. And then you snuggled in for the rest of the flight and eventually fell asleep. You felt yourself being jostled awake by Bradley just as the sun was setting in Virginia. 

"Let's go find my dad," Bradley said as both of you walked through the airport.

"Your mom's not picking us up, too?" you asked.

"Doubt it. She's probably already cooking more food than we could ever hope to eat."

"Should I offer to help her?" you asked, walking a little faster now that Bradley had spotted his dad standing in front of a row of benches. 

"If you want to," he replied. "She'd probably like that. She might even tell you about her secret recipes."

"Secret recipes?" you asked, but Goose was already pulling you in for a tight hug before he even reached for his son.

"How was the flight?" he asked, rubbing a firm circle into your shoulder with his hand before releasing you with a smile.

"Very smooth," you replied, watching him and Bradley hug each other. 

He kissed Bradley's cheek and told you, "Don't say that to him. He thinks he could do it better."

You laughed. "He probably could."

Bradley kissed you and whispered, "That's my girl." Then you let your fingers tangle with his as you both followed Goose outside as he pulled your suitcase for you. 

The short drive from the airport had you more excited than nervous as you listened to the two of them chat about everything and nothing. And when you pulled up to their house, Carole came running out and opened the back door to collect you in her arms as you climbed out. 

"You're here!" she announced, kissing your cheek and hugging you. "Goose got Bradley's old bedroom ready for you. You'll think it's so cute. It still has his baseball theme."

"You're adorable," you told Bradley as he rolled his eyes.

When you smiled and pulled Carole in for another hug when she started to back away, she whispered in your ear, "I can't tell you how happy I am that you're here."

And then she led you inside and gave you a tour of the house that included her pointing out where Bradley once wet his pants when he was five years old and where he threw up before his date for junior prom got dropped off.

By the time she tried to get the three of you into the dining room to eat dinner, you were doubled over in laughter, and Bradley was shaking his head. "I only threw up a little," he said as he helped his mom carry food to the table. 

And there was just so much food, you couldn't comprehend what tomorrow would be like when she made Thanksgiving dinner. But you didn't have to wonder for long. You and Bradley slept in his baseball bedroom, your body draped on top of his with his fingers tangled with yours. And at seven o'clock, you could hear Carole in the kitchen.

"What's she doing, Roo?" you asked as Bradley started to stir. 

"Cooking," he rasped. "She's always like this. Has to make everyone's favorite side dish. Brenda is allergic to yams and needs something else. Terry hates cranberry sauce so she makes homemade chutney. My dad's favorite vegetable is lima beans, so she makes him a special casserole that everyone else hates."

You stretched as your body reminded you that it was actually four in the morning California time, but you got out of bed anyway. "Your mom is lovely, but I'm glad she doesn't know my favorite side dish, because she would have probably tried to make it."

Bradley just smirked as he watched you pull off your tee shirt and get dressed. "You're right about that, Baby Girl."

"I'm going to go help her," you said, bending to kiss him. "Suck up to your mom a little bit more."

Bradley snorted and rolled over. "She already wants me married off to you, so good luck with that. You'll never get rid of me now." He pulled the blanket over his head, and you smiled as you went to the kitchen to investigate. 

Carole was somehow peeling potatoes, reading a recipe and making stuffing at the same time. "Can I help you with anything?" you asked, and she turned to face you with a bright smile. 

"Sure! Peel these," she said, handing you the peeler and the potato she was working on. Your eyes caught on the ring she had on with her wedding band.

"That's pretty. Is it a ruby?" you asked, and her eyes flashed as they met yours. 

"Yes, it's my birthstone. Goose got it for me."

You pressed your lips together and then decided to ask, "What happened to your engagement ring?" You were sure she'd had a diamond when they visited you and Bradley last month. 

She was quiet for a beat as she diced up an onion and added it to the stuffing. "I just thought it was time for a change," she said softly before she smiled at you. "Now get to peeling," she added with a wink. "We have to make everyone's favorite side dishes!"

You worked for a while side by side as she asked you about your job and made sure Bradley was a top notch boyfriend. "Well he can't cook to save his life," you said, and started to chuckle. "But he cleans and does all the yard work."

"And he's sweet to you?" she asked sincerely.

You looked down at the peeler and nodded. "Yes. He's sweet to me." Then you set the peeler down and said, "Bradley told me something about your secret recipes?"

She laughed a little more. "That's just something I always told Bradley and my Goose to keep them out of the kitchen and out of my hair. I told them that I had to cook my secret recipes, and that maybe one day I would share them."

You smiled and said, "I hope you're not about to tell me that the secret ingredient you use is love. Because that would be the most mom thing ever."

"No," she said with another wink as she opened the refrigerator. "It's wine." She took out a bottle of chardonnay and opened it.

"Okay, that's pretty funny," you said, accepting a glass after she poured two. "Wine is the secret ingredient."

She looked at you for a moment with a thoughtful smile. "I guess there is another secret ingredient. And you'll have to excuse me for giving a total mom answer here. But I think the real secret ingredient is patience."

"Patience?"

"Mmhmm," she hummed. "You'll need it with Bradley. I need it with Goose." She took a sip of wine and then said, "But you'll need to be the one to add it to your recipes. Your relationship. Lord knows my Bradley can be a sweetheart when he wants to be, but he can sometimes be indecisive and other times rush things. Let him rush for the good things, like being with you. But make sure you help him through the indecisive bits before you both get too overwhelmed. Now help me with this coleslaw. It's Erica's favorite."

You thought about her words and considered how it felt to be with Bradley. Sometimes you thought you and he rushed to be together and move into his house. And as you mixed up the ingredients as Carole added them, Bradley popped his head into the room. 

"Need help?" he asked. 

"Why don't you set the table?" Carole asked him. "And don't forget the little bottle. I put it in the pantry."

Bradley kissed his mom on the cheek and then pulled you in for a kiss that was on the verge of being too much, and then he disappeared into the dining room. Carole just smirked. 

A while later, when the turkey and no fewer than twelve side dishes were ready, you and all of Bradley's cousins headed into the dining room. "Where should I sit?" you asked him when he wrapped his arms around you from behind. 

"My mom had me put your favorite side dish at your spot," Bradley said, rubbing his mustache along your ear. "See it yet?"

Then your eyes caught on the bottle of your favorite green hot sauce, and your heart swelled with happiness. "Oh!" you gasped, turning in Bradley's arms. "You told her about my addiction to hot sauce?"

"She wanted you to have your favorite side dish. I told her you weren't picky, and then she got that information out of me."

"I love it here," you murmured before rushing over to give Carole a hug.

She squeezed you as you whispered, "Thanks for the hot sauce. Happy Thanksgiving."

"Happy Thanksgiving," she whispered back.

[adnauseum11]

Restricted Operating Zone (John Price x Reader)

Kate has a job offer for John.

850 words

CW: swearing, reference to oral sex

Kate considers it lucky that John is about as relaxed as she’s ever seen him, because he’s not going to be pleased when she delivers the lines she’s been asked to say. John’s a pro, surely, he knows how it goes. Kate’s orders aren’t her own half the time, and often not a first choice. 

“You’re looking better every time I see you, John, still having fun in retirement?”

John nods slowly, a flicker of something crossing his face before he replies. 

In a split second he’s called forth an image in his mind’s eye of his love, her leg thrown over his shoulder and fingers tangled in his hair while he knelt before her in the shower. Her head thrown back as she cried out into the steamy room. She had given him shit over making her cum that hard before work, which had made him laugh. She would be back by now, rattling around alone in that drafty, shitty place she was calling home for the moment.  

“Yeah, you could say that.” He plays a card and leans back, observing her. “Any particular reason you mention it?” He may be out of work but his senses are still keen to corporate grade bullshit. 

“We’ve been having issues with an objective-“

“Oh hell –“

“Just hear me out John” Kate’s trying to get a word in edgewise but John’s not entertaining it.

“No, I don’t need to hear what you’re gonna say. The answer is no.”

Kate sighs, knowing it would go this way and yet, she still has a job to do. She presses on, pushing her luck as much as she dares. She waits a few extra beats to play her card – both literally and figuratively - not because she is unsure, but because she needs John to settle. It works and the anger bleeds out of his eyes, replaced with the cold calculating look she’s more intimately familiar with. 

“They’re offering a wildly lucrative contract. It’s a highly sensitive mission, small task force, Gaz is available and will sign on if you do. An intercept and collect. Exfil already lined up. Just need a signature on the dotted line.”

“Laswell, I’m going to get you a hearing aid for your next birthday. No.”

“John, I wasn’t authorized to accept ‘No.’ This needs to happen, or shit gets hairy on a global scale. Hence the price tag. One last job and you can set up shop with your little missus. I’m guessing you two are still seeing each other?”

The mention of John’s love in the same breath as work makes him clench his cards. His focus narrows onto Laswell, and she has the presence of mind to be uncomfortable with his sudden laser focused attention.

“What did you just say?” There’s a very real threat of menace in his tone.

“Hey – ho. This is a friendly card game, folks. Kate, don’t talk shop at the card table.” Kate’s wife attempts to intercede, placing her own cards down and looking from guest to guest with concern. 

Every invited guest around the table has worked with Kate, and understand the implications of the work. None have worked as long or as closely with Kate as John, and even retired he’s a leader. All eyes swing to Kate to see how she will react. 

“I never see him anymore unless it’s here at cards.” Kate says by way of defence, petulant even in the face of a pissed off John Price. “All I’m saying is it would be nice to start a new life with a nest egg, is all. What if she gets sick?” Her tone is innocent but John sees red.

Kate’s wife is shaking her head in warning, but Kate is too bullheaded to take the advice on. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t want to see you unless we’re playing cards, Kate.” John responds coolly, folding the cards in his hands flat against the table. “I served my time. I’m moving on with my life. Don’t mention her again, that’s a warning.” His big frame is sitting fully upright now, the loose-limb posture he’d been in since he’d arrived evaporating. 

“You’ve got 96 hours to decide John, or the offer disappears.”

“I don’t need any hours to decide, Laswell, ‘cause I won’t be attending your latest clusterfuck. In fact, I’m not going to attend this poker game.” John throws what could have been a winning hand on the table and stands abruptly.   

“John, there’s no need – “ 

Kate’s backpedaling, realizing she’s overstepped far too late. 

“I’ll see you in a few weeks. In the meantime, don’t contact me.” 

John tucks the chair back into place with way more force than necessary, spilling Kate’s drink as it collides with the frame of the table.

“Jesus Christ Kate – “ 

Her wife is wide-eyed, staring at her with disappointment as John yanks his coat from a peg, slamming the door on his way out.

“Shit.” Kate curses, holding her dripping cards up.

“Did that go how you hoped? Maybe listen to your wife next time.”

Taglist:

@deadbranch @beebeechaos

Next Chapter

[hidden-for-reg]

June 29: complex | @jegulus-microfic | word count: 766

*surgeon x patient au*

previous part, part one

James sprinted down the halls, terrified out of his mind. Literally what in the world could have happened??? Regulus was perfectly fine except for a fractured knee so, why did James get a 911 page from his room? James’ brain repeatedly came up with one awful scenario after the other as he tore down the halls and rounded corners. He told off his idiot brain for being ridiculous but he was still scared and didn’t slow down.

He turned a corner and smacked directly into Lily, sending them both tumbling to the ground in a tangle of arms and feet. Oh shitttt, he did not have time for this.

“Woah, hey, Potter,” Lily exclaimed, “slow down there!” She let out an airy laugh and she picked herself and dusted off her scrubs. “Oh, I was meaning to ask, wanna meet me in the on-call rooms later?” Lily smirked suggestively, helping James up.

James’ heart and stomach dropped to his feet again. He was wasting time. “Er— yeah, uh, I’ll have to turn that offer down, Lily,” he gritted out, “I’ve really got to get going— 911 page.” James avoided her eyes and set off again.

“You must really care about this patient if you’re blowing me off this quickly,” he heard Lily chuckle as he sped away.

As soon as he got to Regulus’ door, he threw it open to find absolutely nothinghappening inside. He saw Dorcas, the nurse for this case, sitting in a chair, shoulders shaking with laughter. James head snapped to look at Regulus as he made his way over to inspect him.

Regulus was sitting on his bed, hugging his knees to his chest, his face a notably paler shade than James remembered it to be. His face was stricken and his gaze seemed to be latched to James since he had entered the room. 

“Regulus, love, what’s wrong? I got a 911 page,” James said, eyes switching to give Dorcas a questioning glare at the end. She burst into another fit of giggles at James look.

“It’s—um— it’s my heart,” Regulus mumbled, immediately shifting his pretty eyes away from James. James didn’t even have a chance to take out his stethoscope before he got interrupted.

Dorcas stood up and wiped tears away from her eyes. “James,” she started, “a word. In private.” She took him out to the hallway, closed the door, and leaned in close to him. “Alright, so a minute ago our star patient in there paged me complaining of weird feelings in his chest,” Dorcas began, “He seemed pretty spooked by it, so I checked him out and his heart was beating a little quickly, but it was probably because he was freaking out so much.” Dorcas breathed out an airy laugh before continuing, “And, uh, well, I saw his face when you were with him before…”

James didn’t understand. “So…?”

“Oh, love, he fancies you!” Dorcas burst out. “Babes, he was thinking of you and his heart was doing little flutters,” Dorcas said, a little more quietly. James cheeks flushed bright red and his ears felt hot.

“Wait—uh—I—sorry, what?” James choked out incredulously. James’ heart soared but his head spun in disbelief. Regulus Black fancied him??

“Love, you’re an absolute catch,” Dorcas giggled, patting James on the shoulder as he reeled back to lean on the wall, “You made me question if I actually liked girls or not, that’s how powerful you are.” Dorcas laughed and, instinctively, James also laughed but it was tinged with unease.

“Wait, so is Regulus like… aware that he… you know…?” James asked.

“Well, I told him flat out, I was like ‘Babe, seriously, you fancy him’ and then he just pulled his knees up and sat there in the fetal position while I paged you,” Dorcas explained with a smile on her lips. 

“Yes, okay, I get that this is a big deal, like, I’m soaring here, Dorcas, but a 911 page?? Was it necessary? I thought he was dying and I literally ran over Lily to get here,” James argued light-heartedly.

Dorcas flipped her braids over her shoulder. “What can I say, Potter? You’re here now, so go snog him senseless.” She grinned and walked away, leaving James dumbfounded.

James blinked hard a couple times and then it all set in with a jolt.

Regulus Black fancied him.

Regulus fancied him.

Regulus fancied him.

Regulus fancied him.

But, he was his patient. The hospital had extremely strict rules about intermingling with patients. Oh fuckkkk. 

This was going to be such a complex mess.

Oh, but it’d be so fun.

next part

[am-i-interrupting]

Hey, heard you doing commissions for Hazbin so I thought I would ask for it. So, could you do a Lute x male reader? It would be like the reader being an old angel that really thinks he shouldn't be there since he was a soldier before he died and killed a lot of people and Lute is really into him but mad that he is depressed so she would cheer him up. It would be smut and, well it can have anything it I just want more reader x lute in here.

What Heaven Can Offer

Warnings: 18+, blow job, cum in mouth

Lute was a soldier, first and foremost. She was the right hand woman to the Adam, the first man to ever be created. She knew the weight of responsibility.

She hated seeing you like this. She hated seeing you suffer with guilt over something she herself had no remorse for.

You’d once lived unlike her. She was born to all of this. She knew nothing different. You, however, did and you did not seem to think yourself worthy of being here in Heaven.

“You’re more tense than normal,” she said.

You looked up from the now cold tea in your hands. When did she get here? How long had you been staring?

You shook yourself. “Just thinking.”

“Yeah?” she crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, one of her wings flattening against it while the other flared out. “About what?”

“I really don’t deserve to be here.”

Lute rolled her eyes. “Well, you’re here. After this long you’d think you’d be used to the idea.”

“Yeah, well—“

“Blah, blah, fucking blah,” she interrupted. “No matter how many times you say it, it’s not going to change the fact that you’re up here, dipshit, so you might as well accept it.”

You stayed quiet. The only sound in the room was your cup being placed on the table. It was quickly replaced with Lute’s shoes hitting the floor.

She sat beside you. For several minutes, neither of you spoke. She flat out refused to look at you despite being the one who came to you.

“Have you ever thought about the fact that if you weren’t here, we never would have met?” Lute asked.

“I— No, no, I hadn’t,” you admitted.

She scoffed. “Of course, you hadn’t. It’s like you don’t think. You just spiral. That’s all you ever do. It’s so—“ she groaned—“Its so annoying because I know you’re an amazing person but you’re too busy wallowing in your self imposed Hell when you’re literally in Heaven.”

“I’m sorry. I never thought of it that way.”

“Yeah, well, that’s how I think of it.” Her wings twitched, a sign of agitation. “You should listen to me more often.”

“Yeah, I probably should.”

Finally she looked at you. Her eyes darted across you face, landing on your lips. “You’re just so. . . Fuck it.”

In movements faster than even light itself, she pulled you in for a kiss. Your hands went to her hips while hers were half tangled in your hair and half cupping you face.

She crawled onto your lap and pulled away. Her lips were shining with saliva. Her eyes were locked onto you.

“Let me show you what Heaven can be,” she said. You were helpless to do anything but nod. “Good boy.” Her words seemed to travel through your bloodstream, causing you to shiver.

You caught a brief glimpse of her smile before her lips were back on your skin. She kissed and sucked on your neck. Her hands traveled down your torso. Her hips rocked against you.

You could feel the drag of her against your most sensitive parts, places you’d neglected due to unwanted thoughts, self loathing, and trauma. She was pressing the start button to them.

“You make such pretty noises,” she said, her face inches from yours.

You could feel her breath against your skin but when you tried to kiss her she pulled back and tutted. She pushed herself off of you entirely.

For a moment you began to curse yourself for your miscalculation but she quickly dropped to her knees. She rested her arms on your legs as she reached for the button of your pants.

With it undone, she leaned close to you. She kept eye contact as she took your zipper between her teeth and dragged it down. She let it fall from her lips.

Her tongue then pressed against the crotch of your pants and she dragged it up. She curled her fingers around your pants and underwear. In one quick, precise motion she pulled both down just enough to free your cock.

“So pretty,” she said.

She licked her hand before she touched you. She rolled the head of your dick between her fingers. The pads of them trailed down your length. When at the base she wrapped her hand around you.

Lute squeezed. She added and retracted the amount of pressure she used, keeping you guessing, as she began to stroke you. She never stayed consistent, constantly keeping you on edge. She sang your praises for everything from your own voice to how you shivered beneath her.

“Lute,” you managed to groan.

“Come for me, baby,” she said as she leaned close to you.

She pressed her tongue and open mouth to your tip moments before your cum started spouting from you. You watched as your white cum covered her pink tongue.

When you were done, she closed her mouth and stood. She grabbed your chin and pulled you in for a kiss. Your seed still in her mouth. It mixed with the saliva of your kiss.

The next day Lute was out with Adam when he noticed you walk by, bruises on your neck. Wait. . .

“Are those hickies?” he asked, laughter bubbling into his words. “Wonder who managed to bed him?” Adam nudged Lute, looking at her for some snarky comment. When he only saw a smug smirk on her lips his eyes widened. “No fucking way! Congrats, danger tits.”

[yourlocaltreesimp]

To Live, To Love

For @trippygalaxy and their Linksona Shifter. Ive fluffified the boy. >:)

Take care of yourself goddamnit. KNOW YOU ARE LOVED!!!

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

You’ve known since his journey had ‘concluded’ that Link was troubled. Not that the word even fully fits the capacity of what he must be feeling. The very goddess who made him into a hero, too young to bear his burdens, never let him know rest. Wherever there was trouble upon her lands, it was Link she sent to resolve it. By any means necessary. Now, no longer a child, your Link was as one could expect from someone of his circumstance. There was no longer a bright eyed wonder to see the world, for he’d already seen everything it had to offer him— the scraps of what others didn’t care to take. He carried each responsibility behind a literal and figurative mask of neutrality. He was strong, though it didn’t need saying and where there was any weakness, there was bite. Where he could not defend by blade was defended by sharp words and sharper stares. But behind that mask of control over himself and the world, there was a man. Not the Hero of Time, or whatever may have you. Behind the whittled wood he’s come to be known by, there was Link. Your Link. Link, who’d stumble into your home without an ounce of strength or power left in him. Link, whose wounds you'd tend to as he stubbornly insists he’s ok. Link, who would only begrudgingly accept the food and clothes you gave him, stabbed in the back one too many times to ever let himself be cared for. Link, who, after enough time to air out from the stress he was put under, would settle next to you in bed only to leave the next morning- Hylia calling him away. While you had him, He’d curl up, occasionally letting his head rest upon your chest. It was relieving to know that in a world where he was expected to be no short of perfect, he could crumple into your arms. You married him not for that man he showed to the world, but for these moments of fragility. You spent a while getting the tangles and knots out of his hair, neglect of travel making the task take longer, but it’s not as if you mind. You hardly noticed the shiver in Link’s body, the tremor of his breath, the flinch of his eyes. It wasn’t until he bolted upright, gasping beneath the mask that you realised what was wrong. Panic attacks were all except expected given everything he’d been through, and yet as he strained to breathe, a panicked eye met yours. You’d seen that state before, like an animal caught in the maw of a trap. Much the same way with him, both were caught by iron. Where the animals were caught by metal teeth, your love was caught by the buckle of the mask he wore. But it didn’t stop you from shuffling closer slowly, gauging his reaction. You took both of his hands in yours, kissing the knuckles.

“My love” He didn’t settle, his eyes darting around the dark of the room, his eyes caught on the full moon’s illumination through the shutter.

“Link” Your words were hardly even more than a whisper, catching him immediately.

“Focus on me alright? Nothing else matters right now” His Adam's apple bobs and he nods. The movement is stiff, hardly even there.

“Good. Take some deep breaths, feel my hands on yours.” He follows as you say until each inhale is less intense than the last.

“Well done.” You feel your own appreciation rise as one hand cups the side of his wooden mask.

“May I?” One eye looks back into yours, an emotion you can’t read because of the mask. I’m cutting himself off from the world, he may have cut you out too. But it wasn’t unfixable, especially because your relationship wasn’t ever as far as broken. One hand wrapped all the way around your wrist, firm and steady.

“I don’t think you want to” His voice just sounds worn and tired, any warning he meant to add to his words was lost.

“Why is that, my Dear?” You let your hand sink back, not wishing to pressure him. You hope the action will show him more curiosity rather than he owes you an answer.

“I-“ His eyes dart away and back to you, “I fear I am not the man you fell in love with anymore. That you will see me for what I am and not bear to see me anymore” There’s a tangible shake in his voice, a waver in his strength.

“Nonsense” You say, and he feels the blood rush to his very fingertips as you look at him like he’s worth something. A shaky scarred hand reaches up to lift the wood mask off his face. There’s a split in his skin -a scar, rather- that runs from his eyebrow down to his chin. It took everything in its wake, his right eye and exposed some of his teeth. There’s a few other marks, burns and the like. But despite the fact there’s less of Link than when you saw him last, you can’t help but feel like this is the most you’ve seen of him. He looks at you with the hope to be loved, that you’ll still accept him for what he is and not what he must pretend to be. You press a long kiss to his forehead before resting yours against his. His hands are hesitant to find their way around your hips.

“I love you” You sounded lovesick, your heart decided on him and no other. His mouth opened as if he tried to speak some form of protest, but he couldn’t argue through a kiss. The split in his lip was new, but nothing than couldn’t be adapted to, no part of him you couldn’t love. After a long while, you parted, gasping for air— albeit for a different reason this time around.

“How I’ve missed you, my beloved” He took you back in his arms, curling around you entirely. He was there the next morning when he woke up, and for many more after.

[happypopcornprincess]

Tangled Fates (Part Two)

Part One

What happened after Sapuna left for Garud Lok, and how Wansarut faces a challenge to decide her future.

GIF by @25shadesoffebruary || Original Post by creator is here

a/n - Thank you to literally everyone who showed so much support on my previous fic! I really had the time of my life writing for The Sign series as it just keeps on getting interesting with the release of new episodes! can't wait for those saturdays dude! till then... do give this a read and let me know how it was! Thanks a lot <3

Also major shoutout to @ayansbff for suggesting the song for this fic! [Galliyan by Ankit Tiwari]

The Sign series spoilers ahead!

---/---/---

Having craned her neck for so long, Wansarut tilted her head to get some relief. In response, Wanwisa pulled her hair into an angle. Again.

“Phi Saoo! ” she cried, looking at Wanwisa through the mirror. “Stay still just a bit longer!” Wanwisa let out a laugh while braiding her hair.

Prince Chalothorn was expected to visit their family that evening, and all responsibilities for making Wansarut presentable had fallen on her elder sister. This included preparing Wansarut for the occasion. Although she knew the prince favored her family as members of the Naga court, Wansarut had no romantic interest in him. To her, he was more like an older brother.

“Where is your mind wandering off to?” Wanwisa inquired.

Days had passed since Wansarut last encountered the Garuda. Her thoughts occasionally drifted back to their last conversation, especially how she had revealed her name without thinking. She had been in such a hurry to escape from him that she hadn't even bothered to ask for his name in return.

“Nowhere. Just… thinking,” Wansarut replied.

“About…” Wanwisa sang, “The Prince?”

Wansarut shot her a glare with a frown. “No.”

Wanwisa sighed, combing her hair. “I can't fathom why you're so determined not to like him. He's the prince of our kingdom, fighting for our clan. He's always been good to our family. Imagine how incredible it would be for you to marry him – you'd be a princess, our future queen!”

“I've always seen him as a brother, Phi Saoo. If you're so fond of him, why don't you marry him?” Wansarut blurted out before she could restrain herself.

Wanwisa's hands paused, and she gently caressed Wansarut's hair with a sad smile. “He doesn't like me, Nong Saoo. He likes you.” She placed the now complete braid on Wansarut's shoulder and hugged her from behind. “You'll make a fine princess, Nong Saoo.”

Without offering further explanation, she left the chamber. Wansarut watched her vanish behind the entrance curtains, a thought appearing inside her mind: does Wanwisa has feelings for Prince Chalothorn. If she did, wouldn't she have confided in her?

---/---/--- Sapuna settled on the windowsill of his house, gazing at the floating mountains of Garuda Lok, absent-mindedly toying with his golden flute – a gift from his sister.

His mind replayed every word spoken to Lord Aruna. After urgently requesting a meeting upon his return, the fact that he emerged unharmed from the human world granted him the audience.

He had practically begged the sun god to suggest a truce with the Naga prince. Despite encountering resistance from those present, Lord Aruna dismissed him, promising to consider the suggestion. Excused from the battlefront for the time being, Sapuna was sent back home.

Thoughts of Wansarut only added to his turmoil, her image recurring in his mind. He felt a tugging sensation in his chest at the memory of his savior – her almond eyes, pointed nose, and the crease of her eyebrows beneath her hair haunted his dreams each night. Despite his grandmother's attempts to appease him with sweets, he longed for the sweet wild mangoes of the human world.

Sapuna noticed an object hurtling towards him at tremendous speed. He catched it effortlessly, and discovered it was a message from Lord Aruna. He read its contents, and standing standing abruptly; transformed into his Garuda form, soaring off to the human world. Despite Wansarut's reluctance to have him there, he now had a valid reason to visit her.

Because the letter in his hand read:

Neither side wants the blood of their clan to spill for nothing, and our aim is to attain peace given the animosity between our clans. I have proposed a truce to the Naga kingdom. And if they answer, you will be accompanying me to meet Prince Chalothorn along with my court.

I trust you, Sapuna. Don’t make me regret this.

---/---/---

Beneath the sheltering branches of an ancient banyan tree, Wansarut perched on a swing, trying to make sense of the events from the previous evening at her home.

Prince Chalothorn had engaged in conversation with her family while she and her sister eavesdropped from behind the curtains of the halls, accompanied by the servants. Just as she prepared to meet him with Wanwisa, a royal guard rushed in, whispering something urgent to the prince.

The prince's face swiftly transformed from a benevolent smile to a furious scowl. He rose abruptly, apologized to the elders citing an emergency on the front lines, and departed without meeting her. The rapid shift in his demeanor left her unsettled, prompting her to slip away while her family debated the reason behind his sudden departure. Uninterested from the start, she wanted no involvement in the drama.

Swinging back and forth, Wansarut felt a forceful gust propel her forward. She glanced around to witness the forest settling into an unusual calm, as if a presence had touched down amidst the canopy. Descending from the swing, she observed a figure emerging from the woods, recognizing the silver breastplate of the Garuda as he approached.

"Swadee kha, Wansarut," he greeted, joining his hands.

She whispered inquisitively, "What are you doing here?" scanning their surroundings for any witnesses.

The Garuda responded with wide-eyed innocence, "Why are you whispering?"

"Your entrance was not exactly subtle, Khun," she signed.

Amused, the Garuda burst into laughter. The resonant sound stirred something within her, it felt like a warm embrace. She couldn't help but be captivated by the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

---/---/---

Sapuna felt an ice-cold grip on his arm, and Wansarut tugged him towards the expansive Banyan Tree grove. He followed, too shy to meet her gaze, opting instead to focus on the ground. With every step, her emerald-gold anklets gleamed against her fair skin, and the hem of her garments brushed the ground in front of him.

Wansarut halted and turned to face him. Reluctantly, he lifted his head to meet her gaze. As she parted her lips to speak, he stopped her, saying, "I have news regarding your request."

Sapuna proceeded to share everything, from his visit to Lord Aruna to his journey to this place. Wansarut's face brightened with each word, as if she had realized something crucial and couldn't wait to express it.

"Prince Chalothorn visited my family last evening and left abruptly without explanation, citing an emergency. He didn't seem very pleased about it, maybe this was the news." she said, tilting her head.

Sapuna attentively absorbed her words and, driven by curiosity, inquired, "Why was Prince Chalothorn at your house?"

Wansarut glanced at him, her shoulders slumping. "My family has been members of the royal court for centuries, and he has asked for my hand in marriage."

"Oh," was all Sapuna could manage to say.

While he had suspected her high social status based on her jewelry and attire, he shouldn't have been so surprised that she was engaged, especially to Prince Chalothorn.

"I haven't given him an answer yet. I was supposed to yesterday, but..." She trailed off.

"You would have said yes?" he asked.

Wansarut gazed at him with a pained expression. He could decipher from her look alone that she harbored no interest in the proposed union.

It felt inherently wrong. She, with her purity and kindness, seemed incompatible with someone like Chalothorn. The Naga prince held nothing but bitterness in his heart, responsible for the ongoing conflict between their clans.

"I have to go," Sapuna said, distancing himself from her. "I hope you make the right choice."

"Khàapkhun Kha... Khun," she replied, bowing her head.

Sapuna chuckled at her formality. "Please, Wansarut, I should be the one thanking you. And you can call me by my name; no need to be so formal." Wansarut remained silent, directing her gaze to her feet and fidgeting with her hands. He realized the reason. "You don't know my name," he sighed.

"Sapuna. My name is Sapuna-Naparuj," he said, smiling at how Wansarut snapped her head to look him in the eyes, clearly surprised.

"Sapuna." she repeated.

He swore no one had ever uttered his name quite like that. His heart raced, warmth spreading across his face, and he took a step backward, still looking her in the eyes until the pounding in his chest became too much.

Turning away, Sapuna unfurled his wings and soared toward Garuda Lok, a smile playing on his lips as he stole glances at the fascinated Wansarut with his infinite vision.

---/---/---

Bonus Scene

"Come on, man," Phaya pleaded with the lunch guy to give him an extra slice of mango.

"I told you I can't give you extra. Two slices for everyone," the server stared him down, not a hint of emotion in his eyes.

Phaya looked at the tray overflowing with fresh mango slices, his mouth watering at the mere scent of the ripe yellow fruit.

"Phaya, move," Khem urged him from behind. Giving Khem a look, Phaya moved to the end of the line. Finding an empty table at the hall's far end, he sat down eyeing the tray of food before him, with food portions standardized for trainees following a specific diet plan.

Phaya ate his lunch, attempting to chew the sticky rice while reminiscing about how every year, a friend of his grandma who owns a farm would send crates of fresh mangoes. Him and his sister would always quarrel for the juiciest ones. If he managed to snag one, he would tease her by eating it in the messiest way possible.

Maybe this is karma for teasing Nee when we were young.

Deciding to save the mango for last, he focused on the chicken curry instead, grateful it tasted better than the vegetarian stew served the day before.

Tharn, Khem, Yai, and Thongthai approached his table, sitting down with their lunch trays. Phaya smiled at them and continued eating, while Yai and Tharn shared stories of a festival in their hometown.

As Phaya scooped up the last bite of rice, he saw Khem reach out to his tray and offer him his share of mango slices. Phaya stared at him in awe, then noticed Thongthai, Yai, and Tharn doing the same.

At a loss for words, he looked around at his friends, all of whom had smiles on their faces.

"Aww, Phaya, stop looking at us like that!" Yai jabbed him in the ribs. "It looks like you're about to cry."

"I love you guys," Phaya said wholeheartedly and dove into the pile of mango slices on his tray.

Busy enjoying his favorite treat, he missed what Yai was about to say. "Ay Phaya, it was Tharn who... Ouch!" Yai winced.

Phaya looked at Yai in confusion. "What?" he asked.

Tharn spoke up while gathering his now empty tray. "Nothing. He was rambling about something. We're gonna go, we... have to practice... questions! For the pre exam." He tilted his head at his friends, and they all got up and left, one after another.

Phaya tried to recall what Yai was saying but stopped when he felt all eyes on his tray. He quickly finished the fruits and made a hasty exit before someone could tip off the trainers.

---/---/---

Back in their dorm hall, Yai yelled at Tharn, "Hey, Tharn! Did you have to kick my feet that hard?" rubbing his toes that were now red, while Tharn furrowed his brows, searching for balm to soothe his friend.

"Khao thot, Yai, I just don't want him to find out it was me," Tharn apologized earnestly, extending his hands to Yai.

A hoot echoed from Thongthai and Khem's bunk, and Tharn rolled his eyes as they approached Yai giggling like children, bearing an ice pack.

Khem playfully poked Tharn in the ribs. "Tharn, you look so cute trying to impress your crush..."

"...making such a big sacrifice of your share of mango slices and threatening your friends to do the same!" Thongthai teased him, dramatically fanning himself, extracting laughter from Yai.

"Okay, okay, just don't tell Phaya. Please," Tharn laughed along, taking a seat opposite Yai's bed.

Khem inquired taking a seat beside Yai, "By the way, how did you know he likes mangoes?"

Tharn tilted his head, genuinely puzzled about how he knew Phaya liked mangoes. "I don't know. I just assumed, I guess."

Khem and Thongthai nodded, and Yai interjected, "Are we all going to talk about Phaya? Can't you see I'm injured?" He tried his best to give them puppy eyes.

"Oh, Yai! You're such a drama queen!" Khem laughed as he pressed the ice pack onto his feet.

---/---/---/---/---/---/---/---

More fics? reblog this with what tropes you want for Sapuna and Wansarut!

---/---/---

Guide

Sapuna - Phaya's name in past life as a Garuda

Wansarut - Tharn's name in past life as a Nagini

Naga - A creature from Hindu and Thai mythology who has magical powers and can shapeshift into a Serpant

Nagini - Females of Naga clan.

Garuda Lok - The realm of Lord Garuda

Naga Lok - Realm of the Nagas

Phi Saoo - older sister in thai

nong saoo - younger sister in thai

Khapyn kha - Thank you in thai

Khao Thot - Sorry in thai

---/---/---

Taglist (i tagged everyone who replied and reblogged part one pls dm if you want to be added/removed to this taglist)

@tuturuue | @asiandramas-takeover | @iggiogyfy9yf9 | @alienbi | @chaos0pikachu | @findthebluesky | @starryalpacasstuff | @elmindredaniq | @maxescheibechlinichacheli | @belladonna-and-the-sweetpeas | @kurosawascrowsfeet | @blneobin | @25shadesoffebruary | @blue-grama

[dwritesit]

easier

Summary: Dewdrop feels like he is too hard to love. They love him anyways.

Tags: raindrop of course, polyghouls, hurt/comfort, self-esteem issues, implied sexual content

Inspired by The Death of Peace of Mind by kroas_adtam because the "I would have been easier to love as a water-ghoul" line literally haunts me. also i wrote this a while ago but i forgot to post it here

Read here on AO3, or under the cut!

Dewdrop has a thought - one that crosses his mind with frustrating recurrence. He tries not to entertain it, tries not to let it sink in too deep, or let the words build too heavy, but he feels it. It kicks at the back of his mind like Mountain’s foot on the drum pedal when he bites out harsh words at Cumulus who just wanted to make sure he was okay. It twists its way into his chest, thick and suffocating, when Rain’s arm is draped over his waist in the silence of his room, hot puffs of even air fanning across his cheeks. The thought pounds at his stomach like Aether’s fists on his door, begging Dew to let him in, please let me in. The thought whispers it too, lacking the plead in Aether’s voice, it demands Let Me In. 

And Dewdrop fights it. He shoves it back with a snap of quick wit when Swiss suggests he might need something soft to hold when he fucks him hard and deep, offering Dewdrop’s hand a gentle squeeze where they’re intertwined against the sheets. It punches the desire out of his gut and makes his lip curl up in disgust just before telling Swiss there’s something else you can squeeze instead. That quiets the voice, the thought, for a moment when Swiss’ large, warm hand rests against his throat. Though it pipes up again when he can feel his own pulse on the multi-ghoul’s finger tips, reminding him that his life rests in the mercy of Swiss’ careful compress. Let me in.

He ignores it again. He passes it back and forth on his knees and ankles like a hacky-sack when it threatens him. He forces his eyes open wider, willing his mind to zero back in on Aurora’s ramblings while she paints his nails. She paints them black without asking, because she knows him a bit too well, settling a bit too comfortably into Dew’s life considering how long she’d been on earth. His hand twitches in her soft grasp, itching to rip away and cut like a knife. So, he does. But it’s less of a knife and more of a worn out wooden spoon, frayed around the edges, as an excuse leaves his lips. He tries to smile through the ache in his chest when she gives him a concerned frown, and he despises the way his eyes sting as he forces out, I’m okay, just tired , before patting her head as he scoots off the stool to leave. He feels her eyes on the back of his head as he walks away. LET ME IN , the voice screams when he twists his face and refuses to cry.

And then when he’s there in his own room - not Rain’s where he fell asleep tangled up most nights, not Mountain’s soft, plush nest that never failed to make him drowsy, or Phantom’s exciting chamber filled with trinkets to occupy his mind - his room, it could sneak up on him. His room was clean, partially from his need for space to concentrate, not allowing clutter to fill his mind or his surroundings, and another in part because he really did not spend much time in it since the change. Scorch marks stained the furniture and the walls, black and smokey, that never seemed to go away no matter how he scrubbed at them (Copia offered to buy him paints to cover them, and to help him too, but Dewdrop had slammed the door shut on his Papa and curled up in the corner to stare at the marks instead). They were reminders now. Reminders of who he is, and who he will never be. He avoided his room until he couldn't anymore. Until the feelings welled up and he had nowhere else to hide. And that is where the voice would start to win.

You would have been easier to love if…

If you were soft.

If you were kind.

If you were quieter.

Calmer.

Brighter.

More thoughtful.

More giving.

If you were more and if you were less.

You would have been easier to love as a water ghoul.

The words spill over and down Dewdrop’s cheeks, wracking his body with sobs when he curls up with his back against the wall and his knees pulled to his chest. 

You do not deserve them . His pack. He does not deserve them after what he did. 

Once he was all sparkling blue skin and dark sleek hair, perky and cute and all of the things that the others cherished and desired. He still had his spark, his quick tongue, but he had smiled more - let his lovers hold him and mold him until he fit right into their mouths and bodies. He laughed loud and often, wearing his emotions like bold flowering tattoos on his skin, never letting them doubt for one moment that he loved them all. He kissed Mountain’s cheek in the morning before they sank into their routine of making breakfast together, humming as they knocked into each other with quiet giggles, and letting his stomach swoop when the earth ghoul hugged him close to his body against the counter. Now, their mornings were quieter. It was still always the two of them up before the others, dipping into a silent rhythm of making coffee and pancakes. Mountain tried humming, tried nudging at Dew with his feet, tossing him soft, sympathetic smiles that made bile rise in Dew’s throat. He watched that smile fall, fall, and fall again until Mountain did not try anymore. A sick part of Dew reveled in it, that he had shaken off the softness, like he had proved that he was not as good as Mountain claimed he was. Another smaller, muffled part of him was begging him to give in, to let Mountain wash his gentle hands over his small waist and rock back and forth in the kitchen until the pancakes were burnt on the bottom and the coffee went cold. 

You do not deserve to give in , the voice reminded him. He was not their water-ghoul anymore. He was not their sweet, loving Dewdrop. He didn’t even deserve the name, Dewdrop. 

Another sob coursed through his frame, his whole body shaking with it until it burst from his mouth all strangled and wet. He felt stupid, he felt pathetic, by letting the voice speak to him and etch its way onto his skin. 

You are not soft enough.

You are not pretty enough.

You are not smart enough, or strong enough.

You are not good enough for them. 

It choked him, clamping down on his chest and throat like he was being crushed by the depth of the sea. He lifted his hands and dug into his hair, pulling at it to feel the sting where the fibers latched onto his scalp. The cries kept coming until he was gasping and he wished so badly that he was good enough for one of his mates, all of his mates, that he could reach out and ask them to hold him, soothe him , like a young kit until he could catch his breath and snuggle into their warmth. 

He imagined how they might kiss his forehead and wipe away his tears with the pads of their thumbs, and it ached . He let his mind reach out for the ache, let it burn through his chest and bubble up his throat to turn into more cries and whimpers that tumbled out and echoed off his stupid, burnt walls. He thought about how they might say his name. Like they used to. Soft and kind, Dewdrop. Water lily. Droplet. 

Dewdrop.

Dewdrop.

"Dewdrop."

"Dewdrop!"

Dew’s head shot up, heart pounding in his chest. He felt the color drain from his body, heat replaced by chill like he was a prey who had been caught. 

"Dew, please open the door." It was Rain. 

Dew couldn’t stop the next cry that left his lips, crying for his mate. His chest kept aching, his breaths getting faster. He wished he could stand and open the door but his body was frozen on the hardwood, clutching at his head and the space above his heart. 

"Baby, please." 

Too sweet, too soft, you do not deserve this.

When he did not respond again, he heard mumbling and the rustling of keys. His heart thumped heavily. A key slid into the lock with a sleek slide, Rain rushing out a quick warning that he was coming in before turning it all the way because he was ever the gentleman even like this. Even to Dewdrop. 

Dew turned his head when the door opened, trying to fold in on himself, wishing he could flip inside out so no one could see the blotchiness of his cheeks or the way his hands shook when he moved his hair to cover his face. 

"Let me go in first," Rain said to someone behind him before Dewdrop heard the door click shut once more and soft, bare footsteps followed by the drag of a tail padded over to where he sat. 

And then there were arms around him. 

And Dewdrop cried again, harder and louder if it were even possible. Rain’s arms were sturdy where they slowly turned Dew into his body, scooping him up until he was folded around the fire ghoul's shaking form. 

"It’s okay, baby." Rain said, using the petname he reserved only for Dewdrop and only in times like these. The voice laughed, poking at Dew with a hot iron, he wouldn't hold you like this if he had known you before. If he knew how much colder you are as a fire-ghoul, if he knew how much dimmer, and saltier, and weaker you are now. 

A soft hand pulled at his mind as it laid on his cheek. He hiccupped, hating the way he leaned into Rain's touch. He took in a shaky breath, eyes beginning to stare out into the expanse as the storming sea of emotions pulled him under, trying to drown him. It was peaceful, like acceptance. That he was in fact,

Weak.

Ugly.

Wrong.

"Where are you?" Rain said, his voice the softest, most pleading whisper. To Dewdrop, it felt like a hand grasping his where he reached up towards the surface, where the light shone through the water. It threatened to pull him out into the open air and subject him to the ache and the waves again. He wanted to thrash against it, tear his hand from Rain’s strong grip and keep sinking, but Rain was strong and Dew wanted to dive into his embrace.

Rain leaned his forehead against Dewdrop’s, their horns clacking together as he pressed firmly. His tail intertwined with Dew’s. Dew could feel his mate's distress and worry tugging at his heart, the beautiful and unfortunate part of being so tightly tied to one another. It wasn't pity Rain was feeling, It was empathy. And Dew didn't know what to do with it when it washed over him, but he knew he did not want Rain to be sad. Especially not for him, so he leaned into Rain, letting him hold him and mold him to his chest. He breathed in deep, familiar petrichor filling his senses, slowing his heart rate. He let that hand pull him up, up, up until he breached the surface.

He took another deep breath that shuddered through his small body. Rain ran his other hand that was not on his face over his spine in slow sweeping motions. A few remaining tears trickled over his hot cheeks, and this time Rain’s thumb was there to catch them. Dew leaned into him further. The sea was calm, the voice was quieter. 

“What happened?” Rain asked, leaning back enough to see Dew’s face, but never letting him go. 

Dewdrop struggled to raise his head, keeping his eyes fixated on Rain’s chest where one of his hands had clutched and dug in. The shirt was torn from his claws, and he had to resist another deprecating thought.

He hiccupped around his next breath of air, trying to get the words out, but they were lodged in his throat. The voice, while quieter, still called him an attention seeker, a waste of space, undeserving of Rain’s warm gaze. 

“I-” His voice was crackly and raw. Rain asked if he needed water and Dewdrop shook his head. He feared that if he didn’t let it out now, he might never have the strength again. “It’s hard,” he started. 

What’s hard? How do I explain this? How do I explain to you that sometimes when you look at me, when the others look at me like you love me, it feels like I’m dying.

“It’s hard to let you love me.” He said, quiet. Weak. “I don’t- I don’t deserve it.”

He waited for the sting. Something that would prove the voice and the thoughts right. Flashes of the anger haunted his memories, the stupid words he spat at Rain when he was first summoned, how he stormed out of every room the water ghoul entered, resisting his kindness at every turn and corner, and how Rain kept coming back no matter what - Dew could not handle that sort of love. He needed Rain to be mad at him too, to fight back, to finally say what he has been probably thinking all these years later; that Dew was and is too hard to love, and most certainly did not deserve it.

There was no sting though.

There was only Rain pulling Dew back into his chest, stronger and firmer than before. He tucked his head into the crook between Dew’s neck and shoulder, his breath whispering on his skin and making him shiver.

" You are everything to me." Rain said. He said it with power, with force, with a sort of roundness to it that had Dew pulling back and gently tilting Rain’s head back, finally looking at his face and finding his blue eyes glistening with tears. Shining with adoration. It brought wetness back to Dew’s on eyes, and he felt his lip quiver. 

"I love you, Dewdrop." Rain said, and again "You are everything. I know it's hard, I know. Let me do this- let us do this with you." 

Dew sniffled, "I don't know how."

"We will figure it out together. Oh," He brushed a strand of gold hair behind Dewdrop's ear, his lips upturned in a small smile, "You are pretty even when you cry, sweetheart." 

Dewdrop scoffed, but couldn't help his own smile. 

Rain’s hand rested on his cheek again, and this time Dew was unashamed in the way he soaked up his warmth, closing his eyes and kissing his palm.

"Will you let us in? Let us see you like this." Rain asked. Dew nodded into his hand, biting his lip. Rain pressed a lingering kiss to his head, his horns, his cheeks, to his nose and chin, and then to his lips. "Let us love you." 

"Okay."

[annie-bby]

hii would you be able to write cute relationship headcanons w/ puck from glee? :)

hii! of course i can <3 thank you for your request x and i’m sorry it took so long!

noah puckerman x gn!reader

make sure to reblog and like if you enjoyed this, thank you!

𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐍𝐎𝐀𝐇 "𝐏𝐔𝐂𝐊" 𝐏𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

allow me to just start this off with: he is WHIPPED for you. entirely.

he’s crazy inlove with you

as in, he would do anything for you

you two began dating just before he found out quinn was having his baby (in his hoe era)

puck first off used you as a fling to get over quinn, except he started to get proper feelings, making life complicated for everyone

when quinn told him, his first thought was to not tell you about anything to do with the pregnancy

it was going great until you heard about it through jbi, when he posted it on the school’s blog

this caused a huge argument to erupt with you and puck, further causing a dent in the relationship

when he told you that quinn was keeping the baby and he wanted to be involved, you were angry and couldn’t help but understand.

quinn had a conversation with you (this confused you since you and quinn never spoke even though you were on the cheerleading team together), and spoke to you about puck. you couldn’t help but feel like he had some involvement in that.

after this, you then went and spoke to puck, hearing his thoughts and coming to an agreement that you’re okay with him being involved with the baby growing up as long as he doesn’t leave you.

you helped out when you could and offered for her to stay with you when she got kicked out. she declined yet you were still closer than you were before

when quinn had her baby, you found out that she had called her beth and was going to give her to shelby, rachel’s mother

after this, you and quinn sort of drifted however still spoke

ok now that’s out of the way wow

he’s honestly so caring

cold? football jersey yay

wardrobe malfunction? football jersey yay

he loves to see you in his clothes

speaking of clothes, if you were to stay at his house or him at yours, he’d love to pick your outfit

not even in a controlling way, just cute

“okay how about these two together?”

“i absolutely cannot wear a orange top with black jeans, santana will tear me apart.“

“fuck santana and what she thinks!”

“you’ve already done that!”

teasing him for everything. movie and song choices, exes, fashion sense (if you can even call it that)

he is honestly strangely domestic

going back to the idea of you staying at his or him at yours, if your parents both had work and it was just you, he’d let you sleep in and you’d wake up to him attempting to make you breakfast

and you can say that he is not like that all you want, you saw what he was like with beth

a family is all he wants, and now you’re in the picture he knows he’s got everything he wants and more. a family.

dates. they are so spontaneous. one day you could be watching movies and eating dinner and the next you could be sitting at the top of a ferris wheel laughing about an insult santana said about finn

that reminds me. being literal besties with finn however not being able to stand rachel. she’s too obnoxious

i cant help but feel like you and santana have some sort of friendship but not that much ?? like one of them where it’s like you say hi and talk to each other sometimes and if one of them is in drama you’re immediately on their side and backing them up but you wouldn’t hang around with them willingly??

does that make sense?

anyways

if you have long hair, he loves to try and do your hair but always gets it tangled :( he tries i swear

if you were to get drunk (rachel’s house party train wreck extravaganza) it would be so funny. all of puck’s exes except santana seem to be under the “angry drunks” category so i’m putting you under there

you know what that means. teaming up with drunk lauren and drunk quinn to shout at him as he tries to get you all to stop (i’m sorry but i have to mention the way he drunkenly says “chILL OUTTT” to lauren after she makes fun of pucks hair)

honestly this isn’t even just at rachel’s house party train wreck extravaganza it’s everywhere where there is alcohol present

being the school’s it couple

the entire glee club ships you both i swear to GODDD

flirting everywhere it’s actually sickly

“get a room please!” - rachel

PDA PDA PDA PDA

i think this one was obvious

he LOVES pda.

he wants everyone to know that he loves you and that you are his partner

dancing to music and singing along to the songs, sometimes he turns down the music as you’re singing. he’s inlove with your voice .

i actually didn’t say this omg but you’re in the glee club too yayay you joined just after puck did

you are his greatest achievement (second to beth, IM SORRY)

but this doesn’t mean you aren’t the one he loves and sees a future with

he just wants to marry you one day

omg how was this??? i hope this is good! if this isn’t up to your expectations just send in another ask and i’ll try again :) i’m very sorry it took so long!

back to my masterlist: here

[slothquisitor]

Dying Star

In which Astarion decides to one-up Mary Shelley. This is graveyard smut. It's been literal years since I wrote smut. Please be nice to me lol. Astarion x Liv, 4k. Not angsty for once!

Also on AO3.

___________________________________________________________

There is little time in the days following Cazador’s defeat for Liv to even catch her breath. Astarion remains quieter than usual, pensive at times. Their companions ask him how he is to try to check-in, but he shrugs off their concern with a joke or a haughty jut of his chin. Their group is well-versed in his fake smiles, in his cutting remarks, in what they hide. Still, no one presses him. They instead leave that to her. 

She knows that this is a complicated thing. Astarion did the right thing, and she’s sure he knows it, but he gave up a lot in the process. Which is what makes it all the more noble, not that he’d appreciate hearing that. Ever since their night on the roof, he has spent every night in her bed, they fall asleep tangled together, but she always wakes alone. He spends every sunrise on the roof. She hasn’t asked, but she’s suspecting he’s counting how many he has left. 

Perhaps they will still find a way for him to be able to walk in the sun even without the tadpole. 

But that is a problem for later. For days when they’re not saving Gondians from the Iron Throne or blowing up the Steel Watch Foundry. Their group eats a celebratory dinner, loud and happy, and while there is still much to do, today has felt like a victory. Astarion even stays, drinking and joining in with their friends. 

As the night winds down, he leans over and in a voice low enough that only she can hear, says, “There’s…something I’d like to show you, if that’s all right? Something out in the city.”

 She takes his hand in hers. “Of course.” And they slip out of the Elfsong into the dark streets of the lower city. 

As they walk hand in hand, it’s easy to pretend that they’re just another couple out in the city. That there is no Chosen of the Dead Three to deal with, that they can just be themselves. She’s struck with a vision of a future, of an after . She’s not really allowed herself to consider what it might look like or that they might have some chance at survival, but with him, she thinks that maybe there might be more than just a chance. That there might be something really worth fighting for. 

“I should probably start getting used to the shadows again, to dark streets and moonlit nights,” Astarion sighs, face upturned to the cool light of the moon. The moonlight suits him, casting his hair in liquid silver, his eyes a deep purple. He is a dying star, bright even in the darkness. But this is not the light he loves. 

“Perhaps,” she squeezes his hand in reassurance. “But who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky? Find a way.”

His answering smile is a soft thing. “If anyone could, it’s you. Assuming we survive of course because a horrible death is always just around the corner with you.”

She huffs a laugh at that. “Unfortunately, it's true.” 

“I’d still follow you anywhere,” he whispers into her hair before kissing the top of her head. The words feel like a promise. 

“How are you feeling, now you’ve had a little time?” 

He sighs. “It feels ridiculous to still be thinking of Cazador. He’s gone, I’m here, I won. But I still keep reliving what happened. Playing it over and over again in my mind. And yet, I feel invigorated and terrified. And I’m still trying to understand it really.”

“I’m sure it will always be a complicated thing. I’m sorry.”

“I came so close to losing everything back there. To losing myself. Back at the ritual, all I could see was the power on offer and the safety it promised. I was so blinded by it, just as Cazador was. But you saw something else in me - someone else I could be. Someone who could break the cycle of power and terror that started centuries ago. You saved me. I may not have appreciated it at the time, but I do now. Thank you.”

They had been close to losing him, but he had chosen differently. “You saved yourself. I just gave you a push.” She knows that the temptation of that power had been so difficult for him to turn away from, but she had always believed he could do it on his own. As selfish as he often pretends to be, he cares too much and too deeply. 

He stops, turning to her fully, shaking his head. “You did more than that. You believed in me, believed I was enough just the way I am. When I look at my future, anything and everything feels possible now. And I get to share it with you, as a partner, an equal. You saved me from myself, and let me walk a new path where I can be free, truly and honestly free. This is a gift, you know. Thank you - I won’t forget it.” She has never seen him this unburdened, this open, so very different from the man she’d met just a few short months ago. 

She grins. “Partners, huh?”

He tucks her hand in the crook of his arm as they continue walking. “If you’d like.”

She leans into him, squeezing his arm. “I’d like that very much.”

He covers her hand with his. “Good.”

They’ve walked far enough that she realizes now where Astarion has led them, it’s the cemetery. It’s quiet, peaceful even. Astarion lets go of her hand, stepping forward to a vine-covered grave. For all his casual ease from before, he seems a little stiff now, nervous even, before he approaches the grave and clears the dirt and ivy away. She realizes even before the name is fully legible, that this gravestone is his. 

“Two hundred years and I never came back. Not since the night I woke up down there. I had to punch a hole in the coffin and claw my way through six feet of dirt. And when I finally broke the surface, retching up dirt and congealed blood, Cazador was waiting. From that day on I was his. Until now.”

He spoke once about the pain of that transformation, about how his body became something that was no longer his. There was no reason for Cazador to allow Astarion to be buried, for him to suffer that way, except for the cruelty, the horror. Cazador deserved far worse. Two hundred years of suffering, but even afraid, he fought back and won. “You were never his. Whatever he had, he took by force.” 

“Maybe, but he did take it. There’s almost nothing left of the person I was. Just a name on a rock. For nearly two centuries I stalked the streets like a ghost while the person I was lay here dead and buried. Now I need to figure out who I am. What I want.” He glances at her with a soft smile, with something that feels all the more precious for what they’ve been through. 

“And what do you want?” she asks. It is a question she has been asking him even before she knew how important it was to him, and it is a question she will keep asking, keep pushing through her own fears because it is better to know than to wonder. 

His response is quick, with no hesitation. “You. I want you.” He turns toward her more fully. “You were by my side through all of this. Through bloodlust and pain and misery. You were patient. You cared. You trusted me when that was an objectively stupid thing to do. I feel safe with you. Seen. And whatever the future holds for me, I don’t want to lose that.”

The words fill up something within Liv, some yawning chasm that has been empty for years and years. He wants her . And not because of anything she can do or be or her magic. “I feel seen with you too. Whatever comes next, I’ve got you.”

“Thank you.” 

The moment hangs there, and she wonders if this is the moment she should tell him how she feels. But he’s clearly still working up to something, so she waits. He turns back to the gravestone. “Well, I should probably fix this.”

He approaches the gravestone, and for a time, the only sound is the scraping of his dagger on stone as he carves in a new epitaph. A life now his. He stands back after a minute, surveying his work before kneeling down on the grass. She joins him but doesn’t say a word, just holding this moment and all that it represents. 

“I’ve been dead in the ground long enough. It’s time to try living again,” he says before turning to her and taking both of her hands in his own. “With everything life has to offer.”

The way he’s looking at her holds so much promise, hope. Her heart speeds up. “Meaning?”

“If a night of passion is on offer. I could be persuaded,” he says with a sly grin. She recognizes it for the gift of trust that it is. That he wants to try again, try with her. 

She smiles. “I’d like that.”

He looks relieved. “You know, I didn’t care for you when we first met.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, I know. You made it very clear with every complaint and criticism of my-”

“I love you.”

She stops mid-sentence, looking into his eyes. He loves her? She grew up in a house where there were words missing. Words like love always sound funny in her mouth, as if she isn’t forming the words quite right. She has been cradling these words within her, holding them carefully as if they are fragile, unsure if she’s allowed to give them to him when she’s not positive she knows exactly what they mean. 

“You do?” Her voice sounds small, full of disbelief. 

Astarion’s eyes soften, his voice gentle. “I love you. I love this. And I want it all.” He reaches out, cupping her cheek, as he leans in. 

“I love you too,” she says, just before his lips meet hers. And the words feel exactly right. 

***

Liv is not the first person to tell him that she loves him, but it is the first time he has believed it to be true. It certainly isn’t the first time he’s said the words, he’d even said them to her once, in a streak of meanness following their first night together that he now regrets. He regrets saying the words to her the way he had, flippantly, and in a way to wound and hurt. This time when he says them, he’s cutting her off, surprising her. Her green eyes go wide with realization, and her whispered question tells him he needs to say it again. 

He holds her hands gently, her warmth seeping into him. “I love you. I love this. And I want it all.” He cups her cheek, reaching for her has become instinctive, easy. 

Her eyes are soft as he leans in, and he feels her words more than hears them. “I love you too.” The words light up something within him, casting some long-hanging darkness away. She loves him. Him. Not what he looks like or what he can do, certainly not his power. Him. 

He closes the distance, capturing her lips. This kiss is deliberately not careful in the way so many of their kisses have been since Moonrise. Tonight, he doesn’t want to be careful. He wants to be brave, to throw caution to the wind. He wants everything she is willing to give him, and he is willing to give everything over to her. 

He pushes her back into the grass, settling over her as he drags her bottom lip between his teeth. Her answering gasp is a lovely thing, and he drinks it down like starlight, hand skating down her side to her hip as his fingers pull her close. Her hands are tunneled in his hair, twisting in his curls, but they do not pull or direct, instead, they just anchor him here in this moment, with her. Like with so many other things in their relationship, she seems to be waiting for him to make the next step, to take the lead. 

Well, he can certainly do that. 

He rolls his hips into hers as he inches her shirt up, cupping one of her breasts. She hums into his mouth at the contact, and he breaks away to kiss down the column of her throat. She shivers as his teeth worry the skin at her neck, not enough to puncture, just enough of a promise that perhaps they’ll get there this evening. Her hands span the length of his chest, before deftly undoing the fastenings of his doublet, but then her fingers pause and she pulls back. 

He leans back to meet her gaze, ready to provide her with whatever reassurances she needs that he does in fact want this. “Everything alright, love?”

“You, we….” She is so very rarely fumbling, and it’s rather adorable. “Here?”

Is she serious? “Well, this late our other option is with our nearest and dearest friends in the same room. And as much as I enjoy voyeurism as much as the next person, I think I’d rather not have them participating tonight,” he says, fighting a laugh. 

“We could get caught!” she whispers. Her eyes are wide and guileless. She’s really not kidding.

He collapses into the crook of her neck, laughter overtaking him. “That, my dear, is part of the appeal. Could, but won’t. This place is quite dead this time of night.” He hates himself a little as he says it, but it’s worth it to get her laughing too. 

It earns him a swat of her hand against his shoulder. “I just mean if we get caught, we could get in trouble!”

“I’m sorry, are you concerned about getting in trouble for public indecency on the same day that you blew up a government facility?” 

“Apparently?” But even as she says it, she sounds far less sure than she did earlier.  

He brushes her hair back behind the tip of her pointed ear, looking for some hint that this hesitancy is part of something bigger. “If you’re not comfortable, we can go, but I have every confidence that the very powerful wizard who destroyed the entirety of the Steel Watch can protect us both from anyone who might catch us here.”

Her eyes are bright, and she shakes her head. “You’re a terrible influence,” she says, kissing him fiercely. 

“Gods, I hope so,” he murmurs as she eases his doublet from his shoulders and greedily seeks his skin with her hands. He melts into her touch, lets the world narrow to this moment and this moment alone, enjoying the feel her hands against his skin. He is surprised at how hungry he is for more, more of her, more of her skin against his. He wants to feel her. The genuineness of the desire catches him off guard, makes him feel unsteady. 

There is nothing choreographed about the way they undress one another, sneaking kisses between discarding items of clothing. The fumbling gives way to a silliness and laughter he didn’t realize could be present in moments like this. He presses her back against the blanket of clothing they’ve made on the ground, unable to keep the smile from his lips as he kisses her deeply, tongues twining together. His cock is hard against the warmth of her stomach, and he presses his hips into her just to feel her intake of breath. 

“I want to touch you,” he says against her lips. 

She tightens her hold on him, as if she can’t get close enough. “Please.”

He reaches between them and gently parts the lips of her vulva before gently circling her entrance.  She is wet and waiting, so he slips a finger inside her, his thumb circling her clit. She moans against his lips, back arching. He adds another finger and pumps his fingers, adjusting the pace while she falls apart in his arms. He kisses down her chest and over the swell of her breast, circling her nipple with his tongue while he continues to work his fingers inside of her. 

For as difficult as Liv is to read otherwise, he has never had any issues reading her like this. Her sighs and moans, the way her body responds to him. He hooks his fingers as he circles her clit, is rewarded with a moan that sounds suspiciously like calling on the gods. 

She tightens around his fingers as she comes, her cheeks flushed, eyelashes a dark smudge against her cheeks, his name a string of broken syllables as he strokes her through her orgasm. It’s a beautiful sight to see her undone like this, unburdened by responsibility or worry, simply here with him. Her eyes are dark, slightly unfocused, and she kisses him hard, teeth and lips meeting with an urgency that is still somehow careful. 

Her hand is on his hip, fingers brushing closer to his cock, but not quite touching. He’s aching for her to touch him, to wrap her delicate fingers around him. “Yes,” he manages to ground out, his hips stuttering into hers. 

Her gentle touch is his undoing. He buries his head into her neck as her fingers wrap around him, her thumb brushing over the tip of his cock before slowly, torturously sliding along his length. He shudders at the contact, melts into the sensation. 

Against his ear he feels her lips. “I want to taste you.” 

Gods, yes. He flips them so that she can crawl down his body, kissing down his chest and his stomach as she goes. She pauses just before she reaches his cock, eyes locking on his, waiting for confirmation. His chest is heaving with breaths he doesn’t need, but feels like he’ll drown if he doesn’t. He nods, and she smiles, pressing a kiss to the tip of his cock before taking him into her mouth. 

“Fuck.” The sensation is almost too much coupled with the way she watches him, honed in on his every reaction. He has been on the receiving end of partners before, enthusiastic lovers who hoped his enjoyment might mean deeper feelings on his part. This is different, an offering, a focus on him, his pleasure. It’s something he’s allowed, so he leans his head back, letting the sensation, the pleasure wash over him without worrying about what might come next, what’s expected after. 

And it is good, so very good, until it is almost too good and he stops her with a gentle hand in her hair. “Careful, love, I’d still like to be inside you.”

Her answering smile is a smug thing, as if she is proud of the effect she’s had on him. He kisses her then, groaning as he tastes himself on her tongue. He rolls them so that she is back beneath him, and thrusts forward, his cock dragging through her wetness. They both groan, and he reaches beneath them positioning himself at her entrance, forehead pressed to hers. She cups his cheek, eyes meeting his, a silent question within them. 

She is staying so very still, and he knows it is because she wants this to be entirely his choice, entirely up to him. He could stop things here if he wanted, they could go back to the Elfsong, and there would be no consequences. She would still love him either way. He slowly, carefully presses into her. 

“Oh,” she breathes, eyes fluttering shut as he begins to move. The rhythm is slow at first, her fingers pulling him closer, as if she could eliminate all space between them. Her hips meet his every thrust as they move together at a languid pace, as if they have all the time in the world. 

He can feel the way her heart races, the rush of blood in her veins. She is so vibrant, so very alive. He kisses down her throat, and isn’t at all surprised when she twists in offering. Some part of him wonders if this should have a place her, but she’s never shied away from his true nature, all of him. So perhaps, he shouldn’t either. He tries to be as gentle as possible, as he sinks his fangs into her neck as he thrusts into her, hoping the sensations might balance. Her small gasp tells him he’s been successful. He savors the taste of her blood, the way her warmth spreads through him, her fingers in his hair. 

His hips stutter as her walls tighten around him. He knows she’s close, and he picks up his pace, sliding as deep as he can. He takes another sip of her blood before pulling back, tongue catching the excess. His face hovers over hers, breaths mingling. 

Her eyes are soft as she brushes his curls from his face. “I love you,” she says before capturing his lips in a deep kiss. She orgasms with a shudder, and he follows her over pleasure’s edge, hips stuttering to a stop as he comes. 

She’s breathing hard, sweat forming on her brow, but they stay there bodies entwined. Her nose brushes softly against his. “Feeling alright?”

But the problem has rarely been the actual act, but how he feels after. There is nothing about tonight he would change, but he finds himself still bracing subconsciously, awaiting the regret and the shame. Perhaps it will not come. He kisses the tip of her nose. “Yes.”

But she has always seen him, even when he wished she didn’t. “What do you need?” she asks, gently running her fingers through his curls. 

“I…” he pauses, wondering what it is he needs, now in this moment. This is, for him, new territory. There were not often afters in sex that didn’t include putting clothes back on immediately or other far worse endings for his lovers. “I don’t know.”

“Perhaps we just stay here for a while?” she says, the backs of her fingers brushing his cheek. 

“And here I thought you were worried about getting caught,” he says, trying to mask how out of his depth he is here. It would be very nice to stay like this, to just be held. 

She smiles. “I think you put it best when you said -”

He presses a finger against her lips. “Don’t repeat it. And if you tell anyone I said that, I will deny it. Vehemently.”

“Come here,” she says, pulling him in closer. He lays his head against her chest, where he can hear her heartbeat. She runs her fingers through his hair, nails lightly dragging against his scalp, for a long, quiet time. He focuses on her heartbeat, on her steady breathing. He waits for the wave of shame or disgust, for his mind to twist this around into something else, but it doesn’t come, instead, there is…nothing, and it is a relief. He is sure that it will not always be this way and that there will still be days and moments where he cannot bear even her touch, but tonight, tonight he has reclaimed back a piece of himself. 

“We should get you to a real bed,” he says after he notices Liv’s breathing begin to deepen, sleep making her eyes heavy. 

“I think I’d prefer not to be discovered sleeping here by some poor mourning person come to pay their respects,” she says around a yawn. 

He grins at the image as he begins gathering discarded clothing. “But it would be funny.”

“You’re terrible.”

He kneels back over her, brings his hand to her neck, and runs his thumb along her jaw. “And you love me.”

“And I love you,” she smiles against his lips. 

And this, this is real.

[fluttershyflores2]

English translation of a chapter I made (poor translation notice, it's a long thing...)

Flor=Flower

Part 1

"The Destiny one day brought us together but also tore us apart..."

They both turned around trying to observe each other well, Flor is surprised by his appearance, his fur was so strange, his eyes, everything.

Flor: Oh my god... - she approaches his face -.

Liu E. M: What's wrong? - confused -.

Flor: You're...you're so adorable!! - she gently holds his face - and your fur is so cute.

She begins to run her hands through his fur feeling how soft it was, but also a bit tangled from not being combed for a while.

Flor: It's also very soft, is it natural?

Liu E. M: Um... I think it's natural, hey don't you think you're... - he stops talking when she pets behind his ears - oooh... that feels good~ - he tilts his head -.

Flor laughs and continues to stroke his head, they lasted a few minutes like this when suddenly Liu Er starts purring, surprising her. They look at each other, Liu Er moves away blushing and pretends to cough, disguising that nothing happened.

Liu E. M: Ahem... - he clears his throat -.

Flor: - looks away -.

Liu E. M: So, are you from around here - trying to lighten the mood -.

Flor: No, it's my first time being in this place.

Liu E. M: Really?

Flor: - nods -.

Liu E. M: Oh...

They fell silent because they didn't know what to talk about.

Liu E. M: Well...I have to go.

Flor: Where to?

Liu E. M: To explore - he starts walking - it's what I do when I have nothing else to do.

Flor: Oh... well, have fun - she smiles a little -.

Liu E. M.: Hmm...hey - he stops walking - do you want to come with me?

Flor: Really? - unsure - I don't want to bother you.

Liu E. M: I'm literally offering you to come with me - he turns to look at her - let's go!!

He takes her hand and they both start running through the forest.

🍃~🍃~🍃

Flor: Do you think this is safe?

Liu Er suggested picking some fruits for his people, so as they strolled around, they found a tree full of mangoes.

Liu E. M: You're talking to someone who knows how to climb since birth - he says proudly -.

Flor: I believe you, but it still looks difficult to me, you missed one - she points out -.

Liu E. M: Thanks, I didn't see it - he picks the mango - How many do we have?

Flor: 40, but Liu Er, I think we have a problem....

Liu E. M: Like what? - he looks down at her -.

Flor: We don't have anything to carry them in - embarrassed -.

Liu E. M: Darn it, you're right - he scratches his head -.

Liu E. M: I'LL BRING A BASKET, WAIT FOR ME HERE!! - he shouts and goes jumping between the trees -.

Flor: Of course, I'll be here - watching him as he goes away -.

🌳🥭🌳

Back at the tree, the white-furred monkey had returned with a basket on his back.

Liu E. M: Flor, I have the basket!! - he puts the basket down on the ground - Flor?

Not finding the girl where she was before, he tries to search for her with his eyes.

Liu E. M: Flor, where are you?! - he looks around frantically -.

A rustle of leaves sounded from above the tree.

Flor: up here.

Liu Er moves his gaze upwards on a branch, there Flor was sitting with some mangoes in her arms and inside her hood.

Liu E. M: How did you get up there?

Flor: Um, don't be mad but... - she looks down - I don't know how - she smiles embarrassed -.

Liu Er blinks several times incredulously. Is she serious? Searching with his eyes, he sees that some twigs were broken and some footprints marked on the ground.

Liu E. M: How many times did you fall? - he raises an eyebrow smiling -.

Flor: I didn't fall - she looks away -.

However, Liu Er still observed her not believing what she had said.

Flor: 10 times... - she pouts -.

Liu E. M: Haha, see, it wasn't so hard to say - he leans against the tree -.

Flor: Hmph! You only came here to help me store my fruit! - she exclaims -.

Liu Er shrugs, takes the basket, and climbs up the tree, reaching the same branch next to Flor.

Flor: you can put the mangoes that are in my hood inside, please.

Liu E. M: Sure.

Carefully, Liu Er takes the fruit out of her hood and puts them into the basket.

They spent their time collecting every fruit they found. Flor, while searching for more mangoes at the top, leaned on a small branch, stretching a bit more, the branch she was holding onto was slowly breaking, Liu Er was putting the mangoes in the basket, when he sees out of the corner of his eye the branch breaking.

Liu E. M: Flor, be careful with--

Unable to finish, the branch had broken, Flor wobbles, Liu Er reacts by quickly climbing to reach her.

Liu Er jumps towards the branch, hastily grabs her by the waist with his tail, avoiding her fall, he pulled her towards him with his hand.

Liu E. M: Flor are you okay??!!, by the gods be careful, if you had gotten hurt I...

Flor just stared at him.

Liu E. M: Flor? - she doesn't respond -.

Flor: You have a leaf in your fur - she sticks her tongue out smiling -.

Liu Er looks at her incredulously.

Liu E. M: Seriously, Flor - he rolls his eyes -.

Flor: Bleh, haha - she touches Liu Er's cheek and pushes him -.

But the force of the push causes her to lose her balance, making him let go of her and fall to the ground, thankfully she fell into some bushes.

Flor: Oh my god, Liu Er are you okay?! - she looks down - I'm sorry!!

He only focuses his gaze on her admiring her from below.

.

.

.

.

Forming a smile.

🪷🦋🪷

Walking through the forest, holding hands, they ran towards a river that Liu Er wanted to show Flor.

Arriving at the place, Liu Er guides Flor to the riverbank.

Flor: How special is this river?

Liu E. M: It's a very beautiful and tranquil place, you're going to love it.

Flor: It's like the ocean.

Liu E. M: Something like that, but it's small.

Already at the riverbank, Liu Er leaves the basket on the ground and lies down on the grass with a mango in his hand, which he grabbed from the basket.

Liu E. M: - sighs - nothing like a good rest after a good harvest - takes a bite of the mango - do you want one? um, Flor?

The young girl was only looking at the river with interest, she kneels on the grass, clasping her hands, scoops up some water and brings it to her mouth.

Flor: - amazed -.

Liu E. M: Hey, Flor! - he snaps his fingers in her face - come back to Earth, hey you're worrying me...

Flor: it tastes... good... so different compared to the ocean.

Liu E. M: The river, unlike the sea, is sweet or somewhat tasteless, which is good for us - he takes a final bite of his mango - so we don't die of thirst.

Liu Er grabs another mango from the basket.

Liu E. M: why don't you try the fruit instead of the river water - he raises an eyebrow -.

Flor: oh, uh sure - she takes one - and how do I eat it?

Liu E. M: - exhales- just bite into it.

The young girl takes a bite, tries to taste it but minutes later she spits it out.

Flor: bleh, it tastes awful - she quickly goes to the river to wash her mouth.

Liu E. M: - avoids laughing - it's because you grabbed one that's not ripe.

Flor: and how was I supposed to know?, you gave it to me.

Liu E. M: well, that's true - he leans on his elbows - see this mango here - he grabs another mango - see this part, it's green and the other red, if it's like this, it's because it's not ready to eat yet.

Flor: why does it taste bad?... - sadly -.

Liu E. M: I already explained why, its taste is somewhat sour if it's not ripe.

She just looked at him thoughtfully.

Flor: I didn't like it - pouts -.

Liu E. M: puff, hahaha.

🌱🌸🌱

Still sitting, the two of them converse.

Liu E. M: if you had to live somewhere, what would it be like? - looking at her -.

Flor: it would be like this place with lots of trees and mountains, oh! and a beautiful river - excitedly -.

Liu E. M: don't forget the animals - he raises an eyebrow smiling - so the place won't be so lonely.

Flor: of course, and maybe I'll live in a house on top of the highest mountain so that when I go out every morning, I can see the sunrise. - she smiles -.

Dreaming of being outside was something she wanted when she grew up, she couldn't live inside her room forever, but she also didn't want to leave her mother, who had done so much for her and whom she loved dearly, besides she was used to having her mother by her side.

Flor: you know, it feels good to have some company... - she plays with the grass -.

Liu E. M: really? - he looks at her -.

Flor: yes, I've been living in my room for I don't know, all these years, just spending time with my mother.

Liu E. M: well, don't worry about that - he lies back and puts his arms behind his head - I'm here by your side, that's what friends do.

Flor: are you my friend?

Liu E. M: um yes... we are...right? - he lifts his head to look at her -.

Flor: friends... you're my friend OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, THIS IS GREAT!! - she stands up excitedly - and what do friends do?, WAIT LET ME THINK! - she takes a deep breath trying to calm down -.

Liu E. M: hahaha, why so excited?

Flor: YOU'RE MY FIRST FRIEND!!!, my first...and only...friend.....

A silence fell between the two, creating a slightly uncomfortable tension.

Flor: I had never had a friend.... I just spent time with my mother all the time, I love her as a friend of course, but as an adult friend - she curls up - I want someone my age who understands me, with whom I can talk about our likes and... I don't know... maybe have a companion by my side like my mother and Mr. Fuxi.

Liu E. M: .........‐ he remains silent not knowing how to respond to that -.

With her head down, she feels something on her shoulder and turns to see that it was Liu Er's hand, tracing a warm smile.

Liu E. M: well, you have me - he leans closer to her to hug her with his arm - and I promise I'll do the impossible to always be by your side.

Flor: do you promise....

Liu E. M: I promise.

The young girl smiles tenderly and rests her head on his shoulder, the two of them stay admiring the river.

☀️〰️☀️

Between laughter, the two of them were playing tag, Liu Er was trying to catch her but she was too slippery making it difficult for him to catch her, on the contrary, Flor held onto her dress to run more easily.

Liu Er was about to catch her, but with a careless move from the girl, she trips on a rock, trying to grab onto something, however, she grabs onto the white-furred monkey, pulling Liu Er down with her to the ground, falling down a small hill, they both roll to the bottom of the hill, stopping rolling, they both rub their heads in pain, unaware that the young monkey fell on top of the girl.

Liu E. M: ouch, are you okay? - still with a headache, he looks at her -.

Flor: I'm fine, don't worry - she smiles -.

They share a look, thinking about what happened, in a few moments, they both start laughing loudly.

Liu E. M: you should watch where you're running - he teases -.

Flor: hey!, but you started chasing me - she exclaims -.

Still teasing each other, noises of bushes shaking aggressively were heard.

???: get away from my daughter, demon!! - something appears between the bushes and with speed separates the two with a sword -.

As they separate, Liu Er jumps onto a nearby tree hiding among the branches.

Flor: Mr. Fuxi, is that you? - she stands up confused -.

Fuxi: Are you alright! Let me see you - alarmed he tries to check for any wounds - look at you, all dirty, how am I going to explain this to your mother.

Flor: Mr. Fuxi, did you call me your daughter?

In a sudden silence, that's all that comes out of Fuxi, thinking about all those moments taking care of her.

Fuxi: I know I'm not a father to you, but for me and Nüwa, you're my daughter.

The young girl still looking at him, changes her gaze to all sides to look for Liu Er, where is he? Did he leave already? Why didn't he say goodbye?

Fuxi: the sun is setting, let's go home before your mother arrives so she doesn't see you like this - he grabs her hand and they start walking quickly -.

Flor: but....- she looks back - little monkey...

As they move away from that place, a six-eared monkey emerges from the branches making a sad moan at seeing his only human friend leaving.

Liu E. M: Flower....

Part 3

[beevean]

brutally honest opinions on sonadow sonamy and whispangle 🙂

bro :P

Sonadow: I should like it. I know I should. It's a very typical rival ship, and a relatively civil one too. But I just find it so boring, sorry 😭 I can't get invested in their relationship at all, let alone see the spark of attraction. I think the issue is that I see Shadow as his own character first, and Sonic's rival as... fifth? I don't like him as Sonic's mirror at all, I prefer other rivals. <- result of playing ShTH before SA2, probably

Another nitpick I have is that usually this kind of shonen rival ship hinges on some kind of obsession, or seeing the other one as special in some way - something like "only I can defeat you". Sonadow... really doesn't have this. Shadow is just one of Sonic's allies. Shadow was mildly intrigued by Sonic in SA2 and Heroes but then he got used to him. I'm really not sure what they're supposed to see in each other.

Fandom behavior, of course, doesn't help - Sonadow is immensely popular, inescapable, and extremely prone to fanonization. Ever since I was a kid I hated how Sonadow almost always meant "seme Shadow/uke Sonic", and from what I've seen, the terminology has changed but the "interpretation" hardly did.

Back in the day I liked He Is My Master a lot, though. Hugely recommend it to modern audiences. It helps that it was a deliberate parody and breaking of the stereotypes of the time :P

Sonamy: I have a bit of a Wildly Inconsistent™ relationship with this one lol. I went from loving it as a kid, to distancing myself by the time Generations rolled in, to accepting it in a different form. I think it has the potential to either be a very interesting take on such a basic premise, or recipe for utter mangling of characterization to fit the characters into prepackaged molds. Solution: I don't engage with the fandom :P

The only version of Sonamy I like is one where the two are very close friends, engage in well meaning banter, and travel and fight together. The relationship should all be about fun, and trust, and appreciating how far they've come together. Despite how basic it looks, I reject the "settling down and having kids" scenario.

Perhaps I'm cheating :P but I think Sonamy can be cute without sacrificing their personalities that have IMO interesting similarities and parallels.

Whispangle: at its core, it's a very cliché "shy girl/bubbly girl" ship, not my thing but it could have worked out nicely. The scene where Whisper opened up about her past with Tangle and she offered her support, showing emotional intelligence despite her antics, is honestly nice.

It could have worked out nicely. Then IDW proceeded to shit on Whisper at every moment, turning Tangle into an utter insensitive dumbass who blurted out the name of her bestie's dead comrades for literal cool points and she got away with a "oopsie daisy" while Whisper had to profusely apologize for daring to still have PTSD over it. And I didn't forget how then the Duo fiasco ended with Whisper being artificially humiliated just so that Tangle could hug her, give me a break. Terrible. Whisper deserves a better friend.

[crazy56u]

Warning: I'm on my Fanfiction Shit again. You are about to see more of my bullshit thought processes:

Well, given how at least a couple of people liked the previous post I did about that picture I commissioned (shout out to @thenovika), I figured you’d like to know I have theory-crafted an AU off of it (I already had some of the details in mind when coming up with the image to begin with, but I finally came up with the incident that kicks it off).

And while I admit some of this might be a stretch, and might need fleshing out, this is the basic conceit I have for what I guess I am going to be calling the “Burnout” AU, if only because given how I have things play out, I can’t help but be cute with the name.

And spoilers, this is technically a “Bad End” scenario born out of a lucky break.

If the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, then a tragedy is formed out of a silver lining.

The main linchpin to start off?

Mimic dies during “Bad Guys”.

When Starline is busting everyone out of prison, offering to let them in on, instead of a team, but a “business partnership”, rather than out and out agree, Mimic pretends to agree, but at the first opportunity after getting let out of his cell, Mimic jumps Starline, causing a struggle. Since Starline would’ve expected something like this happening, he cuts his losses.

He kills Mimic then and there, and leaves his body behind as a warning: “I mean business, do not underestimate me.”

The rest of the mini-series plays out more or less as before, minus one player. Starline's Plan A failed, so he decides to kidnap two people and play Frankenstein with them.

(This analogy might come back later, as an aside; besides, literally, Starline was basically Frankenstein, and Surge and Kit are both the Creature. I am not wrong.)

Word of this funnels back to those at the Restoration, and in particular, Whisper.

If you recall, she left after she found out Mimic escaped, as she felt her still being there was now a liability; as such, while she would have trouble fully processing the fact he was dead (even knowing there was a physical body left behind), she would eventually, eventually feel comfortable enough to start moving on, and stay. Her staying means Tangle stays.

Fast forward to the aftermath of “Battle for the Empire”: Starline is fucking dead, Sonic, Tails and Belle have left with Kit, and Surge is in the wild with the Dynamo Cage, and has made it to Central City.

Since Whisper and Tangle haven’t left, they are off doing a different mission for the Restoration, so Whisper is nowhere near Central City to take Surge on, and Jewel hasn’t gotten in contact yet with Sonic and Tails.

However, Blaze is close by (due to wanting to explore more of Sonic’s world while on her vacation), so she goes up to bat.

And… well, I already explained the next bit. Surge realizes she can use the Dynamo Cage to steal her opponent’s powers, albeit more so because this time, Blaze decided to strike her head on early into the fight with a fireball, and the cage sucked it up, something both opponents were shocked to see was possible.

It’s touch and go for a while, but then Surge manages to get her hands onto Blaze directly, and more or less rips the fire straight out of Blaze’s soul.

(This gives me the excuse to share the picture again, shout out to @thenovika once more.)

Now, because Surge is full of fire instead of Wisp energy, things wind up taking a more drastic turn when Sonic and Tails show up; think that boss fight from Sonic Rush on hardcore mode, borderline Dark Phoenix saga shit. Surge isn’t just overcharged with energy, she has been exposed to some borderline next level otherworldly shit.

Tails’ plan in the original issue to knock her out isn’t able to work this time. Not even Kit showing up can change anything, Surge is too far gone, and is seemingly determined to burn down Central City, all while Blaze is clinging on to consciousness in the corner somewhere.

Eventually, Kit manages to get through to Surge, and the two escape to Starline’s base; Sonic and Tails go after. They need to get that cage off in order to save Blaze, even if it means teaming with Eggman.

But, something goes wrong.

During the final struggle to stop Surge, the same thing plays out: she overloads the cage in an attempt at landing the killing blow… and it explodes.

She’s engulfed in flames… and then isn’t. She’s dead.

Kit grabs her, opts to let the others drown, and leaves; Sonic, Tails, Eggman and Metal make it out alive.

Back at Sonic’s house, Blaze snaps back awake… but is still grey. She feels something break inside her.

What none of them realize yet is that, because of the catastrophic failure of the Dynamo Cage, that power had not left Surge. When she died, it died with her.

Frankenstein's monster has died in a fire.

The keeper of the flame has just smoke left to her name.

And all of this is because the biggest asshole around got what was coming to him from the jump.

[jaws-and-canines]

Functional

A Verschlimmbessern story. Contains institutionalised torture/gaslighting, ableist language and suicidal themes.

---

The sound of screaming is not an uncommon sound in a hospital ward, particularly not a field hospital, full of people so far out of it they don't know where they are. The sound of someone screaming in pain, however, is a far different noise than someone screaming for any other reason, and instinctively, it brings a chill to everyone’s bones, no matter how often it happens.

In the evenings, when everyone is a little more settled, that instinctive chill is often accompanied by not so instinctive irritation at someone breaking the quiet with such a noise. Tonight, the irritation hangs in the air so thickly it's almost tangible- moreso because the screaming seems to be coming from one person in particular an awful lot these days.

Behind the curtains that do nothing to stifle the sound, the source of the screaming lies on the bed, hands over his face, lit by the stark light over the bed, a distinctly unflattering light. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he sobs through his hands, his voice breaking. Fennec has never really looked worse- dressed in green pyjamas, unshaven, greasy hair, the sheets beneath him tangled and crumpled, pulled and grabbed at as he has writhed in agony. He looks at the metal pins sticking out of his leg- the external fixators, holding it together in the most literal sense- with tears in his eyes.

The nurse stands at the foot of the bed, staring at him, gloved hands holding a blood-smudged sterile pad. She tosses it into the orange bag stuck to the bed, and pulls out a new one, going for the next pin along. “Wait!” cries Fennec. “I’m sorry.” He takes a shuddering breath. “I can’t do this. I can’t.” He speaks in German, but the pleading tone is evident in almost every language, to almost anyone who cares enough to hear it.

In his black uniform, the surgeon standing to the left of the bed, watching the hardware be cleaned, turns to the man whose bones it is embedded into for the first time since he’s walked in. He's not really interested in the man, just the fixators and his bones, but with this amount of disruption, there's no way he can carry on ignoring the patient attached to his masterpiece. He speaks the patient's own language with a slightly odd language, but it's more efficient than the other way around- Fennec's English is little more than broken. The surgeon refuses to suffer through it. “You can’t do it?” There’s a hint of condescension to his voice- an unspoken why can’t you do it.

Fennec shakes his head. He’s visibly drenched in his own sweat, the paleness of his face accentuated by the dark circles under his eyes. He hasn’t slept well since it happened, and he feels his world starting to come apart, piece by little piece. He shakes his head and wipes his top lip on the back of his hand. “It’s too much. Every time it’s too much. I can’t. I just… can’t. I can’t do it.” 

There’s little sympathy from the surgeon. The rest of the staff around the bed stay quiet. The female orderly translates under her breath so they can follow the conversation. “It has to be done, or you’ll get an infection, and trust me when I say that hurts more.”

Fennec looks up at them all, passing his gaze from person to person, tears rolling down his face. “Can’t… can’t you knock me out? Please, please, I can’t do it. I can’t do it.”

Sighing, the surgeon puts his hands in his pockets. He's had this conversation before and he can't be bothered to have it again. “Knock you out how, Anton?” Again, that nasty tone seeps into his voice. It's met with irritation from Fennec, his Bavarian accent almost smothering what he's trying to say. “Put me to sleep, tranquilise me, sedate me, anything, I don’t know!” he says, raising his voice a little, throwing a hand out towards the black-shirted surgeon. “You’re the doctor, you tell me!” he snaps.

“I can offer you a mild sedative,” says the doctor.

Fennec tuts, waving a hand as if he is brushing the idea away. “You have given me those before and they have done nothing. I want to be under. I want to be right under. Asleep.” He points to the floor.

“You want us to put you to sleep, twice a day, every day, just for this.” “Yes,” says Fennec, wiping his nose on the back of his hand with a stifled gasp. “Please.”

“That’s not feasible.” The surgeon just looks at him, and gestures towards the head of the bed. “Just not feasible." He addresses the team in English. "Put him in restraints,” he says. 

That's a word that Fennec knows. He's heard it more than he would like.

They’re a leather five-point set of restraints, tucked under the mattress. One for each limb- ankles and wrists, and the final strap for across him to stop him from rolling and pulling himself free that way. Fennec eyes them like an old enemy, a frenzied look in his eyes. They’re not standard- and in fact, needed a court order to get after he ripped the fabric ones in two. It took five people to hold him down the moment he broke loose, just to stop him from tearing the pins out of his own leg, screaming in pain. He’d continually lashed out in his frenzy, hitting at anything in reach that was holding him down, desperate to get to his leg to claw the metal out of it, anything to make the pain stop. They’d sedated him after that- a needleful of something strong into the back of his thigh. The next day he was moved to a bed with leather restraints- white and brown leather, thick, heavy, and enough to hold him in place. He was so deeply sedated from the day before still- reduced to a drooling idiot- that it didn’t really register him to react to the pain as they slid him from the original bed to the new one. But still, it hurt.

In a way, seeing them take the leather restraints out from under the mattress, he considers that they are his old enemy. It takes a person on each limb to put them on, and then two to get the final thick strap across the bed, pinning him down. They’re quick enough that he doesn’t really resist beyond tensing up as they pull his right arm above his head to secure it there. “No,” he moans. “No!” The small resistance gets him nowhere. 

A noise- a mournful wail with a mouth full of thick and nauseated spit- tears from him as he feels them tighten the leather around his wrists and ankles, fingers at his bony points to make sure they don't cut off his circulation. “Please don’t… please don’t do this to me,” he begs. “It can wait. It can wait. It can.”

The surgeon just shakes his head. “This has to be done.”

"I don't think you ought to be a damn doctor," snaps Fennec, pulling his head up from the bed to look at the surgeon, an expression of disbelief and anger on his face. He can't even sit up- reduced to just lifting his head or letting it drop. "I think you're a nasty little man."

The surgeon waves back the extra staff, leaving the orderlies on either side of the bed, and steps back to the edge of the cubicle himself, giving the nurse cleaning the pins a little more space to work.

The screaming starts again. Worse than before, even- without anywhere to go to get away from the pain, he howls like an animal, rearing his head up from the bed between gasps for breath, straining against the restraints with all his remaining strength. “Make it stop!” comes the wail. “Oh, please, make it stop!” The plea sounds from the bottom of his heart, almost exhausted.

“This is what I don’t get.” The surgeon turns quietly to the nurse next to him, talking in English with his clipped public-school accent again. “It’s numb,” he says quietly, dropping his voice so that nobody else can hear him. “I gave him a local anaesthetic right as we started. You saw me.” 

The nurse opens her mouth to say something in reply. As if on cue, the air is split by something that barely sounds human. “Please!” he screams. “Just kill me, please! Please!” She says nothing, letting Fennec's screams speak for her.

“He shouldn’t be screaming like this.” The surgeon throws up a hand towards the man in the bed, still talking under his breath. “Every time we give him a local anaesthetic, every time he knows we’ve given it to him, every time he reacts like this. Like we’ve given him nothing.” he rocks back on his heels, arms folded, and shakes his head with a little sigh.

The nurse picks up on his frustration and tries to soothe it before his mood sours. “I think it’s very functional,” she says pointedly. “Most of it is up here.” She points to her head.

The surgeon shakes his head. “He’s crazy,” he mutters. “Utterly mad. I’ve never seen anything quite so pitiful.”

Fennec looks at them both, head reared up from the bed just to see what’s going on- hearing, understanding very little- but with horror in his eyes, he knows the word crazy and he understands how they use it- before the gauze meets the next pin sticking out of his skin, picking at horribly tender skin and flesh, pulling off dead tissue, iodine burning him deep under the skin, and he dissolves into animal screams again. 

The tendons in his neck stand out like cables as he throws his head back, the trembling starts in his wrists as he clenches his fists, every muscle in his body tense. “Anything, anything, just make it fucking stop!” he howls. “Make it stop!” He would swear on his own life they didn’t give him anything but saline. There’s no way to prove it.

I am not crazy, he thinks, the tears rolling down his face and catching in his beard, the taste of the salt from them on his tongue. I am not crazy. This isn’t all in his head, surely, surely, he thinks. If it were in his head he’d ask them to put an ice-pick through his eye socket and lobotomise him just to make it stop- but, as he tells himself again- he’s not crazy. And still, there’s no way to prove it. As the nurse finishes off wiping down the pin closest to his shattered knee, she jogs the frame. Fennec feels the jolt, right to his bone- and screams out a plea for someone to kill him. “Kill me, please!” he screams. That’s the only way this will stop, he thinks. “Just kill me, please, please!” he weeps.

The surgeon remains unmoved. “Why would you do something like this? He knows he’s not going to get any more painkillers. He knows they’re still going to put him on trial. This achieves nothing at all, save to make a show of himself.” The surgeon tuts. “I just don’t get it.”

Screwing his face up, twisting and turning from side to side, the agony burns Fennec up in a way quite unlike anything he’s ever felt- in the hours between, he forgets just how bad it really is. He becomes nothing but pain. There is no him anymore. Just it. “I-” He chokes on his own words. “I wish I were dead,” he cries, turning his head into his shoulder. His hands are nowhere near his face to wipe his tears, no matter how hard he pulls against the leather restraints, they never will be. “I want to be dead! Oh, God, I wish I were dead!” he weeps. His voice is starting to go, turning into tatters and shreds from torn vocal cords.

The hand of the orderly on his shoulder squeezes slightly, talking in his mother tongue, because, in the depths of distress, there's not a hope in hell of him understanding English. “You’re okay, Anton, you’re okay,” she says quietly. “It’ll be over soon.” The gesture is sweet but it does nothing. There’s nothing of Anton left to comfort, thinks Fennec bitterly, no- there’s only this thing that he becomes- barely alive, that screams and cries, and the ever heavier weight of the pain, crushing the pathetic thing that remains into something even lesser- a sort of base creature of stimuli-and-response, devoid of all sense of time and space, but always, always aware of the agony. He opens his mouth to scream. No sound comes out.