#there was one rock i called a 'mars rock' because it was red. it was also very porous and light

[smile-files]

we have to paint with novel materials for art class... so i may or may not be doing a bit of alchemy with my meds...

[inkedinshadows]

The Path To Healing

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

Summary: A glimpse into different moments of Azriel's life: from his childhood trauma to the physical healing, from his struggles and his acceptance to the beginning of his mental healing journey.

Warnings: angst, self-hate, self-consciousness, violence and blood, mentions of torture, language, fingering (brief)

Word count: 8.9k

A/N: I might or might not have cried while writing some parts of this. I focused only on Azriel's hands, and I'm sure I only scratched the surface of what his trauma is. I'm nowhere close to an expert on any of this, but I tried my best and hopefully did it justice. @azrielappreciationweek

Pain was all he knew.

His eyes hurt from crying, and he desperately wanted to rub them, but he couldn't. He couldn't, because his hands… His hands…

More tears poured down his already puffed cheeks, and his cries turned into a choked sound—sobs that tore through his chest and shook his little body, his wings a dead weight on his back.

“Shh,” his mother murmured, her voice soothing, her touch gentle as she cupped his face. “It's going to be okay. You're going to be okay, baby.”

Azriel didn't know how to believe her. It seemed to him like nothing could ever be okay again. He couldn't feel his hands anymore—they had been replaced by a blinding pain that reached up to his elbows. All he could see when he looked down was a red splotch, too red to be normal.

When his father had heard his screams, he’d called the healers. By then, it was too late, and the damage was already done. But his father had merely given his half-brothers a disappointed look and dumped Azriel in his mother's care, as if he had become even more of a burden than before. He didn't know what he had done to deserve it.

His mom began to hum a lullaby, but Azriel could barely hear it over his sobs and whimpers. She took one of his shaking hands in hers as gently as she could, touching his marred skin when strictly necessary, but even that drew a shriek from him.

“I know, baby,” his mother whispered as she began wrapping his hand in new strips of clean fabric. “I know it hurts. But I need to bandage it so it can get better, okay?”

Azriel tried to hold back his cries of pain as she worked. He tried to focus on her face and the lullaby instead, but he kept praying through it all—to the Cauldron, to the Mother, to whoever was listening—that it would be over soon. Just like he had begged and prayed while his half-brothers had burned him, but no one had come then.

Now, though, his silent prayers were answered.

“There you go, my love,” his mom said softly, placing a kiss on his forehead. “All done. See? Does it hurt a bit less now?”

He looked down to find his hands covered in white linen. The tight bandages applied just enough pressure to reduce the pain, even if only by just a fraction. He met his mother's concerned gaze and nodded weakly, watching as the corner of her lips twitched upward. It didn't help much, though, and tears still streamed down his face.

“Come here,” she whispered, gathering his shaking body in her arms and holding him close to her chest. “My precious boy. You'll get through this, Az. I promise.”

Azriel buried his face in her neck and cried until he was too exhausted to do even that. But his mom never stopped singing him an old Illyrian lullaby, rocking him back and forth as if he were a newborn baby.

She kept going long after he fell asleep.

~~~~~~

Azriel was staring at his hands, at the ridges of his new scars. He knew he should be practicing, but he could only stare.

“What is it, sweetie?”

His mother came up beside him. His father had allowed her to see him a bit more over the last few months, not wanting to spend money on healers more than once every other week when they came to check on him and his progress.

Azriel turned his hands over, now looking at the backs of them. He still wasn’t used to seeing them like this. How much time had he spent looking at them? During those long hours in his cell with no light, he had thought about them endlessly.

Sometimes, he could swear the darkness whispered in his ear, soothing his mind until he finally fell asleep.

“They're ugly,” he said. His voice was flat, as if he was simply stating a fact. Because that's what they were to him—ugly, ruined, useless. Always shaking and itching.

His mother's soft hands enveloped his smaller ones in a gentle hold. “Look at me.”

He obeyed, meeting her tender, reassuring gaze. Even at his young age, he knew she loved him. His stepmother never looked at him like that, on the rare occasions she even bothered to acknowledge his existence.

“Your hands are not ugly, my child,” his mom assured him. Her tone was calm, but there was a new resolution etched onto her features. “They've just been through a lot.”

Azriel shook his head. “They're ugly,” he insisted. “No one else has hands that look like this. They're full of scars and cuts and…”

His voice trailed off as his mom extended her wings behind her. A twinge of pain crossed her face, and she could only unfold them a few inches, but it was enough for Azriel to see the twin long scars running down their length. He didn't know how she got them, but she once told him she couldn't fly because of them. He’d felt an odd sense of relief at that, knowing his mom couldn't fly either—that her blood, like his, urged her to take off and roam the skies, yet neither of them could.

“Do you think my wings are ugly, Az?” she asked. She still spoke with that soft tone, but it was now tinged with firmness.

Azriel immediately shook his head. “No,” he answered. “No, they're not ugly.”

“But they have scars. They're ruined and useless.” How had she known those were the words he used for his own hands? Had he said them out loud? “What are wings for, if not for flying? Yet I can't fly anymore.”

He shook his head again, more firmly this time. “Mom, no,” he said, decisive and unyielding. “Your wings are beautiful. You're beautiful.”

Her face softened, a smile blooming on her lips as she gently squeezed his hands. “Then your hands are beautiful too.” She lifted them to her lips, kissing each one. “Think of them not as reminders of pain, but of strength. You've suffered a lot, but you're stronger. You're healing. And one day, it won't even hurt anymore.”

Azriel was silent for a long moment. “Is it really like that?”

“Of course, baby,” she reassured him, leaning down to press a kiss to his hair.

He knew she was lying. He saw the pain on her face when she moved her wings. They still hurt sometimes. But he believed her anyway, because he needed to.

His mother let go of his hands and picked up the pen he had discarded just a few minutes ago. “Do you think you can practice a little longer?”

Azriel didn't want to. His fingers had gone stiff earlier, the constant itching even stronger now. But he didn't want his hands to be useless, so he took the pen from her.

Almost two sheets of paper were covered with just one word, repeated over and over. His own name. Easy enough to write, yet the letters were crooked and shaky, the ink smeared where his hand had accidentally trailed over it.

With a sigh, Azriel set the pen on the paper and tried his best to keep his hand steady as he resumed the exercise.

~~~~~~

Azriel really wanted to get laid.

There was no other way to say it. Every time he heard Cassian and Rhysand talk about a new girl they had slept with, he felt a pang of jealousy. He wanted to experience it too—to know what it felt like to have that kind of connection with someone and not have to resort to his own hand whenever he couldn't ignore his need.

But he had always been too shy to approach the pretty girls his brothers chatted up so easily. His hands did nothing to help his confidence.

Tonight, though, was bonfire night. Organized twice a year, it was held on the Spring and Autumn Equinox to celebrate the new season. And this year, Azriel had every intention of going home with a girl.

His brothers were laughing and pushing each other as they walked through the muddy streets of Windhaven. He wasn’t paying much attention to what they were saying—something about their earlier fight during training. No, Azriel’s mind was already focused on his plan.

He would keep a safe distance from the fire, where no incidents could happen. But he would scan the crowd of Illyrians for a female who caught his interest, and when he found her, he would approach her, talk a little, and then ask if she wanted to go somewhere more private.

Simple enough.

He was a warrior in training, after all. He had seven Siphons. He was a Shadowsinger.

He had nothing to fear from interacting with girls.

Yet, he couldn't recall the last time he’d started a conversation with a female. In the ten years he'd been at Windhaven, it had probably happened only with Rhys's mother. But she didn't count.

Someone bumped into Azriel, and, lost in his thoughts as he was, he almost fell to the ground. He managed to flare his wings to steady himself, glaring at Cassian as he regained his balance.

“Sorry about that,” Cassian said, though his snicker didn't make him sound particularly sincere. “I've been talking to you for two minutes, but you didn't hear a single word. What's going on?”

“Nothing,” Azriel mumbled, folding his wings behind him again. “Maybe you're just not worth listening to.”

Cassian gasped audibly, clutching his chest in mock heartache as a group of children sprinted by, headed for the square where the first booms of laughter and echoes of chattering rang out.

“Don't worry, Az,” Rhys chimed in before their brother could come up with a retort. “You'll get your first taste of sex tonight.”

Azriel shrugged off the hand Rhysand had placed on his shoulder. “Don't look in my mind,” he nearly growled, checking his mental shields just to be sure.

Both his brothers halted their steps and stared at him, twin shit-eating grins on their faces.

“I didn't,” Rhys said. “But thank you for confirming my suspicions.”

Cassian nudged him with an elbow, already teasing him about girls and first times and wingspans. With a snort, Azriel shoved him away and continued toward the bonfire, leaving the other two behind to push each other around, their chuckles chasing him down the street.

How they had guessed what he was up to, he didn't know. He’d been careful not to tell them, knowing their reaction would consist of snickers and jabs that he was in no mood for.

As he turned the corner, the square came into view. Just like every year, the bonfire stood in its center, rising several feet high and adorned with little homemade trinkets meant to bring good luck and a prosperous season when burned.

They would light it soon.

The square was already packed with people when Azriel reached it. Children ran around chasing each other, their laughs and screams echoing into the night. Warriors gathered in small groups, swords on their back and knives at their thighs or hips, not letting their guard down even during a festivity.

And then there were the females. Most sat together in a corner, chatting idly and glancing at the children from time to time. But some of them—the younger ones, the ones around Azriel's age—strolled in groups of two or three.

How was he supposed to approach them if they were always together? It was difficult enough when they were alone.

Azriel spotted Cassian and Rhys from the corner of his eye and moved deeper into the crowd, choosing to stand on the opposite side of the square from them. The last thing he needed was for his brothers to make fun of him.

Someone shouted a warning, and a moment later, the pyre was lit. Azriel flinched as flames erupted, pressing himself closer to the wall behind him. Even from this distance, he could feel the heat of the fire, warming his skin and casting a flickering glow all around.

He shut it out. He shut out the memory of what fire could do to flesh, the smell of burned skin, the screams and cries of a terrified eight-year-old boy. The shadows suddenly swirled around him, brushing against his arms and neck.

Past. Gone. Gone. Just memories.

Azriel closed his eyes and took a steadying breath, letting the truth they whispered calm his racing heart.

He sensed the girl before even the darkness could murmur of her approach.

He let his shoulders slump a little and slid his hands into his pockets, assuming a more casual stance. When he opened his eyes, she was watching him from a few feet away. Her head snapped around to stare at the bonfire as soon as she realized she'd been caught staring.

Azriel couldn't suppress his smirk. He had grown accustomed to females looking his way from the moment he’d hit puberty, but it still made him feel smug every time. Never mind that they didn't approach him—or that he never approached them.

But now, though. Now he would.

Taking one last deep breath, he took a nervous step toward her. And then another. She glanced in his direction, cheeks flushed and eyes wide, but one more step and Azriel was standing in front of her.

A few inches shorter than him, she didn't back away, her big brown eyes meeting his hazel ones. Her delicate face was framed by strands of wavy black hair that flowed past her shoulders, and he stopped himself before his eyes could travel downward to the curves shaping her slim body. She was pretty. Beautiful, even.

“Hi,” he said, attempting a smile. He wasn't sure it looked right.

The girl offered a small smile back. “I'm, uh… I didn't mean to stare. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “It's alright.”

For a brief, awkward moment, they just stood there, looking at each other. Then Azriel realized she was waiting for him to say something more. Right.

“What's your name?” he finally asked, silently thanking the little shadow that had curled around his ear to whisper the suggestion.

“I'm Teagan.” The girl's smile widened. “And you're Azriel.”

Caught off guard, he blinked. “You know me?”

Teagan chuckled, a clear and crystalline sound that eased some of the tension in Azriel's body.

Some of it.

“I've seen you around,” she answered with a shrug. Firelight danced on her features. “There aren't many Shadowsingers here, you know. None, in fact. You're one of a kind.”

Her initial shyness seemed completely gone now. Good. That made one of them, at least. Because if her words were meant as flattery, they didn't work. Instead, they only made Azriel more nervous.

What if she had expectations? What if she started asking questions about his powers? What if she would be disappointed now that she was talking to him? What if she—

Azriel cleared his throat, trying to clear his mind at the same time. “Thank you,” he said.

Too stiff. Too short. Not an acceptable answer. But he didn't know what else to say. How was he supposed to talk to a girl when he’d barely had any social interaction for the first eleven years of his life?

But Teagan must have found his awkwardness endearing, because she smiled, amusement shining in her eyes. “Aren't you going to offer me some food?”

A blush crept up his cheeks as he glanced over to the few tables laid with food in one corner of the square. People were already gathering around them and filling their dishes. Cassian was there too, shamelessly flirting with a girl whose hands were already wandering over his chest.

Azriel turned back to Teagan and nodded, a shy smile forming on his face. “I am, actually.” He cleared his throat—as if it could help him sound more confident—then gestured to the tables with his head. His hands remained buried in the pockets of his coat. “Would you like to get some food?”

It came out too formal, and his posture was too rigid. And simply nodding toward the tables? Rude. How could Rhys do this so smoothly? How could Cassian be so bold and smug?

Teagan chuckled again, though. She looped her arm through Azriel's and steered him toward the food. “You've never done this before, have you?”

He almost choked. It was worse than he'd feared, then.

“No, not really… I…” His voice trailed off, and he had no idea how to recover.

She leaned in closer as they walked, and Azriel became acutely aware of just how close she was. Her body pressed against his side, and he could feel her breath on his neck now. He wanted to take her hand, or maybe even slide his arm around her waist. If only he had worn gloves, maybe he would have dared. Though he'd need to find the courage first.

“Am I the first girl you try to flirt with?” she asked, her tone teasing.

Try. Not just flirt, but try to flirt. He was failing so miserably. Maybe he should just give up and leave.

Azriel could only nod, his face a deeper shade of red than Cassian’s siphons.

“I think it's cute,” Teagan said, her big smile lighting up her pretty face. “I'm glad you chose me to be your first.”

If only she knew what kind of first Azriel hoped she would be… but judging by how things were going, he suspected they wouldn’t get that far.

“I… don't really know what I'm doing,” he admitted, unsure why he was even saying that. It probably wasn't a smart move to reveal it, but it was too late to take it back.

As they weaved through the crowd, Teagan stepped even closer to him, and in doing so, her wing brushed against Azriel’s. They both gasped, and though she smiled sheepishly, he didn’t miss the mischievous gleam in her eyes.

“Sorry,” she said, a hint of amusement in her voice. “I just wanted to be closer to you. I really think you're cute. And I appreciate your honesty.”

Azriel smiled warmly, his heart thumping in his chest. He could still salvage this, maybe, so that his first interaction with a girl wouldn’t be a total failure.

As they stopped in front of the tables, he stepped back slightly to face her. “I think you’re cute too,” he said, meeting her gaze. He did his best not to sound shy or awkward. “You're very pretty.”

Her face lit up. “Thank you, Azriel.”

He was about to offer her some food when a group of kids suddenly weaved through the crowd and ran by. Azriel heard them coming and tucked his wings tightly, but Teagan either noticed them too late or couldn't fold her clipped wings any further.

The children bumped into her as they sprinted past, and she sucked in a sharp breath when one of them brushed her wing. Azriel was quick to grab her elbow to steady her, and something fluttered in his chest when she smiled in thanks. But then her gaze moved to his hand, still on her arm, and her eyes widened—in horror or shock, he couldn't tell.

He pulled his hand back as fast as he could, tucking it back into his pocket.

Too late.

Teagan swallowed, and the silence that stretched between them hit Azriel as painfully as a punch to the jaw.

“So,” he said eventually, feeling beyond awkward as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “What kind of food would—”

“I'm sorry,” she interrupted, already taking a small step back. Her eyes darted to the pocket where he’d hidden his hand before looking at him again. No warmth shone in them now. “But I forgot I had to… do something very important with my friend. Maybe another time.”

Azriel stood there, watching her turn and walk away without another glance. The rejection left him reeling. His mother could say whatever she wanted about his scars not being ugly or horrifying, but he now knew better than to believe her.

His hands balled into fists, and he took a deep breath, flexing his fingers. Without bothering to inform his brothers—who were probably on their way to sleep with yet another girl, since their hands were perfectly normal and unscarred—Azriel left the square. He put a few buildings between himself and the ongoing festivities before taking off to the skies.

He didn't return until long after the sun had set over the horizon.

~~~~~~

Azriel wished he could say he felt at least a bit bad for his half-brothers as Rhys and Cass threw punch after punch at their jaw and stomach. But all he felt while watching the scene unfold was a deep sense of satisfaction, which only grew with every new groan.

When Rhys had told him he needed to talk to his father for court matters, Azriel had refused to go. He had no interest in seeing his father or the rest of his family again, and Rhys had understood, asking Cassian to accompany him instead.

But Azriel had followed them. There was no reason for Cass to be there too, not when he was no good at playing courtier. He doubted Rhysand's father had told him to bring Cassian along.

Hidden in the shadows in the corner of the room, Azriel watched in silence as his brothers—his real ones, the only ones who mattered, as far as he was concerned—landed blow after blow. He knew now this was the real reason they'd come here.

Cassian had been itching for a fight from the moment they arrived and he didn't do a good job at hiding it. Azriel wasn't sure Cassian even tried to hide it. Rhys looked more composed, the perfect picture of the future High Lord dealing with minor problems of his Court. But as soon as Azriel's father had left, both of them had turned to his half-brothers with pure rage in their eyes.

One of them had been either bold or stupid enough to smirk. “How's our bastard brother doing?”

Rhysand and Cassian had both snapped. Despite being a few years older, his half-brothers didn't stand a chance. A warm feeling of affection was the only thing filling his chest as Azriel watched the two Illyrians who had taken him in, taught him how to fly, and showed him what a real family looked like, beat the shit out of whom was supposed to be his actual family.

He didn't make a sound, using his shadows to conceal even his scent. They were all too busy to pick up on it, even more so now that the metallic scent of blood filled the air, but he preferred to be careful.

Azriel didn't know exactly how much time had passed when Rhys and Cass finally relented, their chests heaving and their knuckles smeared with red. They straightened their backs, Cassian’s wings still spread in a fighting stance. Rhys, on the other hand, looked more relaxed, but his cold expression betrayed him.

“Don't you dare speak of him like that again,” Cassian snarled. His voice was just slightly breathless despite the beating he'd just given. “Especially after what you did to him.”

Azriel fought the urge to look down at his scarred hands. Being back in his father's keep was enough to stir memories he had long tried to forget. Instead, he focused on his brothers, on how much they must love him to risk hurting and threatening the sons of an Illyrian lord because of what they'd done to him.

Rhys exchanged a knowing glance with Cassian, and they turned to leave, abandoning his half-brothers on the floor. But they stood with a groan, battered and bloodied, still as arrogant as before. If not more so, now that they needed to make up for their bruised ego after being beaten so easily by a half-Illyrian and a low-born bastard.

One of them, the oldest, flared his wings as if trying to appear more intimidating. “He deserved it,” he spat.

Azriel had to stop himself from lunging forward and burying his own fist in his half-brother's stomach. He wanted to make him understand, to wave his hands in front of his face and yell at him. See this? This is what you did to me. I was eight! How could I have deserved it?

But he remained still, standing in the corner with his hands balled into fists so tight that his nails dug into his palms.

Rhysand held back Cassian as he tried to pounce on Azriel’s half-brothers. Cassian looked outraged, as if he couldn't understand why he suddenly wasn't allowed to fight. But Azriel could see the expression on Rhys's face and knew his brother had something different in mind.

“You think Azriel deserved it?” he asked, his voice unnervingly calm. He looked a lot like his father now—aware that he didn't need to raise his voice or his fists for people to obey.

“Well, fortunately for you, I can't show you exactly what I think you two deserve,” Rhys continued, slowly slipping his hands into his pockets. “But I can at least give you a taste of it.”

Before anyone could move, a crack pierced the air, immediately followed by a sharp cry of pain as his half-brothers both collapsed to the ground once more. Their legs lay beneath them at strange angles, the bone of one protruding where it had pierced the skin. The scent of blood grew stronger as the white tiles turned red.

His mother would have disapproved, Azriel knew that. She believed vengeance should not be sought out, and that living well in spite of what had happened was more than enough. Perhaps she was right, and Azriel was as bad and cruel as his half-brothers, after all. But as he stood there, watching them bleed and whine and scream for a healer who didn't come, all he felt was a deep sense of satisfaction, knowing that they now felt a fraction of the helplessness he had felt when they burned him.

Cassian crossed his arms, a feral grin spreading across his face. “Stop crying, boys,” he taunted. “It's not like you won't heal.”

The corner of Rhys's lips curled into a smirk. “I put a shield around the room. No one can hear you or smell the blood. I think I'll leave it in place and let you crawl out to ask for help.”

With a glance to Cassian, Rhys gestured toward the door in a silent command, and they walked out without sparing the two Illyrians another glance.

But Azriel stayed a few more moments. Just long enough to see his half-brothers try to rise, fail miserably, and fall back on the floor. When they began to crawl, using their hands to drag themselves across the floor, smearing their blood over the tiles and their clothes, Azriel smiled.

He didn't care if they were spouting insults at him and his brothers. He didn't care what kind of person that made him. The sight of his half-brothers crawling and bleeding delighted him.

With one last look at them, Azriel winnowed away, his heart full of love for the two brothers the Cauldron had blessed him with.

~~~~~~

It felt like centuries had passed since Azriel had last been this nervous around a girl. It had likely been over a hundred years, if not more, since he couldn't recall the last time he went on a date. Even longer since he’d had a genuine crush. Normally, he just approached girls, or they approached him, and things quickly escalated into a night of sex. But it was nothing more than that—just fucking.

With you, it was different.

He met you a couple of weeks ago when he walked into your little bookstore to buy a present for Nesta's birthday. You were so nice and radiant that he couldn't stop thinking about you, and he lost count of how many times he came, buying books he didn't need and asking for recommendations only to listen to you talk. And then he had finally asked you out, and your smile had lit up the whole shop as you said yes.

He was standing on the other side of the street, watching as you closed up the store for the day. Your dress flew around your legs in the evening breeze, and your hair was styled in a simple bun on your head.

Azriel smiled as you crossed the street. As usual, he had to hold back his shadows as they swirled excitedly around him. “You look lovely,” he said when you stopped in front of him.

“Thank you,” you replied quietly, lowering your gaze for a second before looking at him with a smile. “You're not too bad either.”

He chuckled softly. “Thank you.” Offering his arm, he gestured to the street. “Shall we?”

You looped your arm through his, and together you strolled along the Sidra, your steps unhurried.

Conversation flowed easily, and Azriel relaxed more as you talked about everything from your job to his preference for flying over winnowing. His shadows, which had lingered around his wings, vanished completely. But then you got to the little restaurant where he had reserved a table, and he grew nervous once more.

Even with your arms linked, your focus never drifted to his hands during the walk. Your eyes were either on him or your surroundings, making it easy to forget his marred skin.

Until you sat across from him and the food arrived. There was no way now you wouldn't notice his scars, which normally wasn't a problem—he'd stopped caring about strangers' opinions years ago. But you weren't a stranger, and you weren't just another girl he wanted to fuck.

You were sweet and beautiful, and he was drawn to you in a way he hadn't experienced in decades. He didn't want you to run away from him.

Maybe he shouldn't have taken you out to dinner on the first date, because now it was probably going to be the last one too.

Yet you didn't stare at his hands. You acted as if everything was normal, never commenting or asking what had happened to him. You carried on the conversation just like before, and when Azriel, hiding his distress behind a carefully crafted mask, asked you about a theater play you'd just mentioned, you launched into a passionate description of its plot and themes. His uneasiness slowly faded as he watched your eyes light up. You leaned closer over the table, so engaged in your story that Azriel found himself smiling and nodding along, only half listening, his worries about his hands momentarily forgotten.

Your voice suddenly trailed off mid-sentence, and you leaned back in your chair, tilting your head to the side. “What?” you asked with a soft smile. Before he could answer, you tensed and added, “I've done it again, haven't I? Rambling on about something you don't care about.”

Azriel shook his head, his hand itching to reach across the table and brush yours, though he held back. “Y/N,” he said, his voice quiet and reassuring. “I do care. I asked you that question. You just had that look on your face.”

Your brow furrowed. “What look?”

“The one you have when you talk about something you like,” he answered, watching your expression grow confused for a second. “You have it when you talk about books too.”

You were quiet for a moment, and then your eyes narrowed slightly. “Azriel,” you said slowly, but your lips twitched up in a smirk. “Did you ask for all those recommendations just to hear me talk?”

“Maybe,” he conceded, a faint blush creeping up his neck. His heart fluttered as your eyes met, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

He’d forgotten having a crush could feel like this—like being a boy again. Only now he knew what to do.

He’d never been much of a talker, preferring to listen and chime in occasionally, but with you, it was easy. You had your own way of involving him, asking questions or simply waiting for him to share his thoughts. Even though you barely paused, Azriel never felt like you were hogging the attention. On the contrary, you made him more at ease.

After you left the restaurant, you went strolling through the streets of Velaris. Azriel was just about to answer your question about how fast, exactly, an Illyrian could fly when you let out a delighted squeal, grabbed his hand, and pulled him toward a small bakery.

“Oh, I was waiting for this place to open!” You stopped in front of the window with a dreamy sigh before turning to look up at him. “I forgot it was today. Can we go in? Please, tell me you like pastries!”

Your enthusiasm was endearing, but Azriel couldn’t help glancing down at your hand still holding his larger, scarred one. You didn't seem to notice—or if you did, you didn’t care.

Your grip loosened slightly as you noticed the shift in his attention, but you didn't let go. “Sorry,” you said quietly, your eyes searching his face. “I got a bit carried away. Is this alright?”

He wasn't sure what to say. The lump in his throat made it hard to speak. That you had grabbed his hand without thinking was enough to leave him speechless, but what you were asking now… it wasn’t just that you weren't bothered by his scars. It was that you wanted to keep holding his hand. Azriel couldn't wrap his mind around it.

You probably misunderstood his silence because you started to pull back. He immediately held your hand tighter, gently squeezing it, as if to silently reassure you. “No, it��s okay,” he said quickly, his voice softer than usual. “I’m just…” Not used to it. “You caught me off-guard, that’s all.”

“I caught the spymaster off guard?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “Should I be worried? Do we need to inform the High Lord?” 

Azriel shook his head with a soft chuckle, his gaze lingering on you before he gestured toward the bakery. “Would you still like those pastries?”

Your eyes lit up, and Azriel made a mental note of how much you liked sweets. “Oh, yes, please!”

“Then let’s get you some, shall we?”

You walked past him as he held the door open for you, a grateful smile lighting up your face. Your hand remained entwined with his, and for once, Azriel didn’t feel the need to hide it.

You did not let go until he walked you home and you closed the front door behind you, and Azriel had never felt such lightness as he flew back to the House of Wind.

~~~~~~

Azriel sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands with a grimace on his face.

Someone had tried to infiltrate Velaris, likely sent from the Hewn City, and Azriel had been called to find out why. He could still recall the blood and the pleading whimpers. But in the end, he got the information he wanted. He always did.

At a cost.

He had long since learned to keep a cold expression, even in the face of the suffering he caused. He was used to it after centuries, and as long as it kept his city and family safe, he didn't care how cruel he had to become. Maybe it made him a horrible person, but his soul wasn't the cost.

The cost was his hands.

Even after all this time, being in the cells beneath the Hewn City was like being back in the cell in his father's mansion. He had to shut down every part of him that felt, bury those memories deep down in his mind, and remind himself that he wasn't a helpless child anymore.

He was a five-hundred-year-old warrior, and he had a job to do.

But once the job was done, and Rhys decided how to deal with the prisoner and the consequences, Azriel would go back to his room knowing he didn't have much time.

He would wash his bloodied hands, though he knew no matter how much he washed, he could never cleanse them completely. He had five centuries worth of blood on them. After they were clean, if he was lucky, like today, he had time to peel off his leathers before the inevitable happened.

The pain.

No matter how many times he’d been in those dungeons, no matter how many years had passed since he’d last been locked in his father’s cell, he still didn’t know how to stop the pain from returning.

It wasn’t as bad as it had been the first few times, and it was nothing compared to what he had felt while his hands were being burned and in the days after. But Azriel still gritted his teeth, a low hiss escaping from him.

He tried clenching them into fists, but the relief lasted only a few seconds before he had to relax them again. His fingers were stiff as he reached for the drawer, a fresh surge of stinging pain hitting him when he pulled it open. Shadows dove in before he could and quickly whisked up a small jar of white cream. They undid the lid, and Azriel felt grateful for the dark companions that had never once left his side now more than ever.

Willing his hands to cooperate, he scooped up some of the soothing balm a healer had made for him. It always took a little while for its effect to show, but pain was an old friend he had learned to live with.

The herbal scent filled the room as Azriel did his best to spread the balm over every inch of his hands, trying to ignore the stinging itch. Scratching would only make it worse, reddening his already scarred skin until it threatened to bleed again.

He shifted to lie on the bed, wings spread beneath him. He just had to endure the ache for a few more minutes before the balm took effect, and then he could try to sleep. He needed some rest after such a long day, if only to have a clear mind when he met you the next afternoon.

As his shadows hummed in his ear the Illyrian lullaby his mother used to sing him as a child, Azriel let his eyes drift close, flexing his aching fingers every few seconds, hoping for a faster relief.

~~~~~~

Things moved slowly with you.

Neither of you wanted to rush into anything and potentially ruin what you both knew could be the beginning of something great.

You went on several dates, and some ended with him spending the night at your apartment, snuggled up in your bed, which was too small for an Illyrian. Azriel didn’t care as long as he got to fall asleep with you in his arms.

But things had never gone this far.

When he came to your bookshop earlier, he had only planned to walk you home. You were tired from a long day dealing with customers, and he had to wake up early the next morning to leave for Illyria for a few days. Maybe it was the thought of not seeing you—even if only for a week—or the fact that you looked stunning in your simple dress, with strands of hair escaping from your messy bun. Whatever it was, Azriel wanted you. He needed you.

His lips parted from yours, both of you already breathing heavily. “I don't want to go home,” he murmured, his hands on your hips, twisting the thin fabric of your dress, wishing it weren't there.

“What do you want to do then?” you asked, amusement clear in your eyes. But there was desire there too, mirroring his own.

“I want to take off your dress,” he whispered, his fingers already moving to the straps on your shoulders. “Will you let me?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Take it off.”

With deft fingers, he slid the straps down your arms, and the fabric slipped off your body, pooling around your feet. You stepped out of it, and Azriel swallowed at the sight of you clad only in your cream underwear.

“If I had known we'd be doing this, I would have worn something more enticing,” you said quietly. There was no shyness or embarrassment in your voice, as if you were simply stating a fact. You did have a point—your lingerie was simple, something you wore every day. It didn't matter to Azriel.

He shook his head, stepping closer to you. “You don't need to,” he murmured. His hands cupped your face, tilting your head up to kiss you tenderly. “You're always stunning, sweetheart, no matter what you wear.”

You hummed, a smile playing on your lips. “Now I want to know what you think when I'm not wearing anything.”

Azriel chuckled, even as desire coiled in his groin. A part of him wanted to toss you on the bed and fuck you senseless. But most of all, he wanted to take his time exploring your body, finding every spot that made you squirm and sigh. Only after he'd thoroughly tasted you would he bury himself inside you.

“Let's find out,” he replied with a smirk, already knowing that, no matter what, you'd always be perfect in his eyes.

He reached behind you to unclasp your bra, and as he tossed it on the chair, he felt himself harden. Your breasts were full and supple, your pink nipples so inviting that he wanted to wrap his lips around them. Yet as he lifted a hand to touch you, he hesitated.

The stark contrast between your soft, smooth skin and his scarred fingers made him pause. He had touched you before, but never so intimately. How could he do that? His hands had so much blood on them. With how they looked, it felt only fitting he would use them for horrible things—to hurt people. Not to touch the wonderful girl he was falling for. How could he be so selfish as to sully you like that? You deserved so much better than him. Someone who didn’t torture and kill for a living, who didn’t have a dark past still haunting him.

Someone good.

He took a step back, lowering his hand.

“Azriel,” you called gently. There was no sign of judgment or disappointment in your voice. You just wanted him to look at you.

Slowly, his eyes met yours. To his astonishment, a soft smile bloomed on your lips.

“It’s alright,” you murmured, taking his hands in yours. He fought the urge to pull away. “You can touch me. I want you to touch me.”

He wanted to. More than anything. He wished he could.

“I shouldn’t,” he whispered.

“Why?”

How could he explain? He never told you what had happened to him. He didn’t want you to pity him or, even worse, to drive you away. Selfishly, he wanted to keep you in his life.

When he didn’t answer, your fingers slid around his wrists. Neither of you spoke as you lifted his hands to your mouth and kissed each scarred palm. Azriel’s throat worked, his heart pounding in his chest. Without a word, you placed his hands on your breasts. You let go of his wrists, giving him the freedom to pull away if he wanted to. But your eyes never left his, and that soft smile never faltered.

Azriel swallowed hard. For a moment, he just stood there, not pulling away but not moving either. Your face was open and serene, as if his scars didn’t bother you, even now that they were touching such an intimate part of your body.

Seeing you like this, so calm and accepting, so soft and warm under his palms… his thumbs moved, brushing over your nipples. You shivered, and he couldn’t stop himself from doing it again, feeling the small buds harden under his touch.

As if sensing his impending question, you nodded slightly. “You can touch me, Az.”

Though he knew it was wrong and still didn’t understand how you could want his bloodied, scarred hands on you, he gave you what you wanted—what you both wanted.

He slid one hand behind your neck, pulling you closer and kissing you again. The other remained on your breast, kneading the soft flesh, savoring every small sigh that escaped your lips. You leaned into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, deepening the kiss until Azriel’s control hung only by a thin thread.

When you pulled back, you didn’t give him time to lower his mouth to your neck. You grasped his hand, gently moving it away from your chest, and a wave of fear tightened in Azriel’s stomach. You had changed your mind. Of course you had. He should have seen it coming.

But instead of stepping away, you guided his hand down. Between your legs.

His breath caught as his fingers brushed against your panties, feeling the already damp fabric beneath his touch.

“Y/N…” he whispered, his voice almost too quiet to hear. “Are you sure?”

You were smiling again. “Yes. Please, Az.”

He didn’t know how to say no. He knew he should have, that he was unworthy of touching someone so pure and lovely. But you had already pushed the fabric aside, and he groaned as your slick arousal coated his fingertips. Before he even realized what he was doing, his fingers found your clit, drawing a soft moan from you.

The thin thread holding his control snapped at the sound, and Azriel let himself give in.

He pulled you closer, his eyes locked on yours as his fingers explored what they shouldn’t. At the first sign of hesitation or revulsion, he was ready to stop. But pleasure was the only emotion etched across your face, and he could see the desire for more burning in your eyes. Yet you were letting him set the pace, giving him time to accept your permission to touch you.

He slipped a finger between your folds, teasing your entrance before tentatively easing it inside, just a little.

Your hips bucked, and your voice came out as a needy whisper. “Please…”

Azriel hesitated for only a split second before pushing his finger all the way in. You were soft and warm, and you both groaned as your walls clenched around it. He couldn’t believe you were letting him do this, but he couldn’t stop now.

As he slowly pumped it in and out, your hips began to rock against his hand to match his movements. He watched in contemplation as your eyes fluttered close and your lips parted slightly, a breathy moan slipping out when he couldn’t resist the urge to add a second finger.

“Azriel…” you murmured. “Feels so good…”

The sound of his name on your lips sent a wave of heat through his body. His wings rustled quietly behind him, and his cock throbbed in his pants. He pulled his hand away, relishing your disappointed whimper.

You hadn’t run away from him. You didn’t let his scars intimidate you, or shape your opinion of him. You weren’t bothered by his marred fingers touching you; on the contrary, you craved them inside you. So why, despite the voice in his head whispering that he wasn’t worthy of it, should he deny you something you both wanted so badly? He wanted to taste you, to make you come on his fingers, and see how much pleasure they could bring you.

“I want to do this properly,” he murmured, gently guiding you to the bed. “Will you lie down for me, sweetheart?”

Your face lit up with a smile, and you slipped out of your panties. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you spread your legs, baring yourself to his hungry gaze.

As Azriel knelt between your parted thighs, he pushed every thought about his hands out of his mind, focusing only on the beautiful girl before him and the warmth settling in his heart.

~~~~~~

Azriel jolted awake, his chest heaving. He lifted his hands in front of him, the dim light of the moon casting shadows across them.

They were fine. Scarred as always, but fine.

He took a deep breath as he lay back down. It was just a nightmare—memories coming back to haunt him in his sleep every now and then. Even after centuries.

“Az?”

He cursed silently as you stirred beside him, turning to face him. He could see your struggle to open your eyes, your voice a sleepy mumble.

“Are you okay, love?”

“Yeah,” he whispered back, wrapping his arms around you to pull you closer. “Sorry I woke you.”

“It's alright.”

It always was with you. You never complained when his nightmares disrupted your sleep. He didn't have them as often since you'd moved in together, fortunately. Sleeping next to you helped, but it wasn't a cure.

“Did you have a nightmare?” you asked quietly. With your head resting on his chest, you could probably hear the rapid thumping of his heart. He willed it to slow.

“It's fine, sweetheart,” he sighed. He pressed a kiss to your hair, and his tone was softer when he spoke again. “Go back to sleep.”

You curled up against him, and he thought you might let it go. But instead, you continued to look up at him. “You know you can talk to me if you want.”

“I know,” he murmured. You’d always been there for him when he needed it. You had been since the moment you met a year ago, and he was grateful for it every single day. He couldn't wait for your mating ceremony in two weeks and prove once more how much you meant to him.

You shifted in his arms, and then your head was on the pillow next to his, your face only inches away from his. You reached for his hand and lifted it up to your lips, kissing his palm, his fingers, his knuckles.

Azriel watched in silence, a lump in his throat. His heart still raced, and he felt the sudden urge to cry. He didn't even need to tell you what he needed, what burdened him. You always knew. Even before the bond snapped, you'd understood him effortlessly.

“Your hands are fine,” you murmured against his marred skin. “And so are you. You're fine. They can't hurt you anymore.”

Azriel closed his eyes, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill. He buried his face in your neck, freeing his hand from your gentle grasp so that he could hold you tighter and press his body against yours. He draped his wings over you, unwilling to let go.

Your fingers stroke through his black curls. “I'm here, my love.” Your voice was soothing and soft, and Azriel felt like the helpless child he'd been five hundred years ago—needing reassurance, care, love. Maybe he would always need those things.

“You're here with me. You're safe now.”

He couldn't stop them, then. Tears slipped past his eyelids, rolling down his cheeks and dampening the skin of your neck. But your gentle caresses and soothing words never faltered.

“It's alright,” you whispered. Your warmth seeped into him, and he felt so cared for that even the last of his walls began to crumble. A broken sob tore through him.

“You're safe, my love.” You cradled his head against your neck, lips brushing his hair. “You can let it all out.”

Azriel did. You'd helped him through difficult moments before, but he had always held back because he didn't want to feel weak. He didn't want you to think he was weak. But if he’d learned anything from you, it was that crying didn't make him weak. That letting his feelings pour out through tears was better than burying them deep down for centuries.

So, he let them rise to the surface. The pain, the anger, the grief for the childhood he’d never had, the bitterness and frustration.

He had never cried about it before, but as he did, he could see it, for the first time in his life—a small light, a way out of the endless cycle of self-pity and hate he'd fallen into.

Maybe his mother had been right all those years ago. He was still healing, even after five centuries. He didn't know how much longer it would take, but maybe he’d reach a point when the nightmares stopped, his hands didn't hurt, and he could accept his scars. And maybe, one day, he wouldn't need his mother or his mate to remind him that his hands weren't ugly.

Azriel had no idea for how long you let him cry and sob in your arms. He had so many pent-up emotions, so much he still couldn't express, words he couldn't voice. But it was a start. And as exhaustion dragged him back to sleep, the weight on his chest, on his heart and soul, felt a little lighter.

Yet you still held him close, stroking his black curls long after he fell asleep.

General taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff

Azriel Week: @fourthwing4ever

[boytumms]

Hey guys! This is a little collab I did with @let-me-fill-you, they've sent me many wonderful prompts in the past and I liked one so much I asked them to expand one so I could draw something for it!

Although it is a fine summer's day, you are cold, beneath the earth. For several minutes, you have followed the abbot into the bowels of the monastery, far deeper than you believed, deeper even than the catacombs. Thankfully, it hasn't been a single spiralling staircase all the way down, or else your head might've twisted off from sheer dizziness. But there is a growing pit of unease in your stomach. Where is the abbot leading you? And why now, immediately after you took your vows? Every time you think to ask, the words catch in your throat or the abbot speaks first, "This way." You are grateful for his guidance, at least. It's a maze down here - and the architecture has taken a turn for the unfamiliar, making the darkness all the more unnerving. Could it be that the monastery was built atop an older structure? The order is old, dating back centuries. You haven't the slightest notion of what might've come before. But you have a growing suspicion you're about to find out.

Soon, you see light ahead, stronger than the lantern borne by the abbot. You see a barred door, flanked by two members of your order... but they're not dressed in the monastic habit. Instead, they are clad in fine armor, made of what appears to be... silver? It gleams in the fire-light, lustrous and covered in filigree. No, not filigree, you realize as you draw closer. Runes. Protective spells. Your eyes drift from one's cuirass to his belt, and what you see isn't a cudgel - as expected of simple monks - but a blade, slender and deadly. Your blood chills, on the verge of becoming ice. You look to the abbot in trepidation.

The abbot's expression is grave. "Now that you are one of us, bound by oath, it is time you learned the truth of our order - our shame, and our obligation." He beckons you closer to the door - a great, heavy door, barred not once but twice. You hesitate to move from your spot, but the abbot is patient (and insistent). As you step forth, you console yourself with the knowledge that a door like this is not easily opened, and you are not alone. You should be safe. Should be...

Once you're close enough, the abbot slides open a slot for you to peer through, into darkness - but you hear it before you see it, whatever it is. You hear... moaning? It's dull and low, but clearly in pain. It's enough to raise your hairs; you feel the urge to pull away before something lunges out of the darkness, but you also feel the abbot's gaze boring into your skull, locking you in place. So you continue to stare into the darkness, until your eyes adjust.

And what you see is... a boy? Pale and thin as bone, his face veiled by a head of unkempt hair. You cannot tell if he's conscious, but his lips are open, from which the moaning emanates. He is chained to a rock, jutting out of the ground like a crooked tooth, kept halfway between standing and laying. His wrists, locked tightly within manacles bolted into the stone itself, are starkly red and raw from chafing. You imagine his ankles are similarly bound, but you cannot see them because, well... his stomach is in the way. You cannot believe your eyes. This isn't a gut swollen in hunger, but a sack of flesh, bloated like a fat mosquito, hanging from his skeletal frame all the way down to the rough stone floor, obscuring the entire lower half of his body. His belly, though it feels inappropriate to call it that (it doesn't look like an extension of himself, more like he is attached to it) is huge and ugly - shaped like a droplet from some great weight inside it, and wider than his shoulders, stretched perilously thin and marred with unflattering stretch marks and spider veins. Chains crisscross the gravid expanse, again not made of iron but hallowed silver - and wherever these hold tight, there seem to be burn marks.

Your stomach curdles. What could possibly necessitate this barbaric treatment? Then, as if in direct response to your thought, you see it - something huge and powerful, squirming and shifting within the boy's belly, pushing this way and that, recoiling from the silver, protruding in between the gaps. This isn't a silent affair - you hear the boy's skin creaking as it is stretched to its utmost, you hear sloshing (of amniotic fluid?), you hear sizzling as the tortured skin makes contact with the silver, and worst of all you hear a muffled growling of something vicious and hateful, and you hear the boy's moaning increase...

But it's cut off by the rasp of metal, as the slot is shut in front of your face, startling you. Refocusing on the abbot, you blink a few times, readjusting to the lantern light on this side of the door.

The abbot's expression has not changed, but did he always look so tired? Perhaps it is you who has changed, from the person you were just a minute ago, before you saw that. You look deep into his eyes for answers, a justification of any kind.

He tells you, with solemn cadence, "You must bury whatever sympathy you have for that boy. He contains Armageddon - a monster so terrible that, had it been allowed to enter our world, would have doomed us all. It is trapped in there, but we must remain vigilant. So long as he carries that monster, it will not allow him to age. And he must not die, or else that thing will be free to find another host, another womb to bear it. It may seem cruel to keep him like this, but remember your vows. You have a duty to your brothers and sisters, and the world beyond these walls. You must close your heart to his suffering. In the days to come - not today, or tomorrow, but soon - you'll be expected to feed him, to give him water. It's a heavy burden we share between us, so the onus does not break any one of us. And when that time comes, he will speak to you. He will cry, he will beg, he will howl and scream for the slightest of accommodations, a loosening of his shackles, anything to alleviate his pain, and you will know in your heart that his pleas are genuine. You must not listen to him. The devil does not speak through him - it has nothing to say to us - but it will use our better angels against us." The abbot places a heavy hand on your shoulder. "No one is deserving of that boy's fate. But he must suffer it all the same."

After that, the abbot leads you back to the surface, back into the warm light of day. But you remain cold.

[zsocca55]

TFP Alexis AU

So some of you asked for my TFP Alexis AU’s concept notes and I typed it up for you guys. This one will be long, but my notes tend to be just as long as my chapters usually are. 😅

Concept for Starscream and Alexis history:

-Optimus arrives on Earth at first with a different team (Hot Shot, Red Alert, Jetfire, Bumblebee)

-the team hides from sight in the mountains somewhere in Nebraska and began stocking up energon supplies

-the kids, Alexis, Rad and Carlos discover their hideout while touring the mountains -> they have maybe a month of bonding time with the group until the US government spots the issue and a small conflict happens between the ‘aliens’ and the military and Optimus signs a pact (they are allowed to stay but hidden)

-the main focus is how Autobots slowly adapt to their new environment and humans in general

-meanwhile on a devastated Cybertron Starscream is tasked to scout this alien planet after the Prime team with a group of Decepticons before the main fleet would decide to move to Earth (Demolisher and Cyclonus go with him perhaps?)

-the Autobot team stays hidden and the military shoots Starscream out of the sky when he least expects it - the rest of the Decepticons abandon him to his fate and soon leave the planet because they can’t find any Autobots (and blame Starscream for leading them astray)

-Starscream is injured and hides away from humans (since he realizes these organics shouldn’t be underestimated)

-the Autobots search for him (but it will be the kids who find him first - accidentally of course)

-Alexis convinces the others and Starscream that he won’t be hurt if he surrenders and so Starscream figures it’s time to play the part

-the Autobots are not happy by Optimus’ decision to offer a helping hand to the Decepticon if he switches sides but Starscream is alone so he has no choice

-Starscream gets fixed but his comm-link is disabled to keep him from calling other Decepticons - he stays with the Autobots for a while, plotting  how to get away

-everybody is suspicious of him and are mean/wary except Alexis of course who makes a genuine attempt to befriend him

-Starscream slowly warms up to her but keeps his grumpy attitude

-he takes her for flights while on energon seeking missions

-he has a rivalry thing with Jetfire about who is the better flier and it escalates to the point where they make a race to Mars to see who gets there faster (the kids ask for a present and Starscream brings them a shiny rock like in Armada)

-Soundwave and a search team shows up on Earth -> he sends a transmission through Laserbeak when Starscream is out and the seekee realizes that the Decepticons have finally returned for him

-he feels slightly guilty but doesn’t think much about going back and Soundwave tests his loyalty by forcing him to tell where the Autobots hide

-Starscream tells him and thus the Decepticon team goes to raid the place

-Starscream sends a secret message to Alexis’ phone to warn her of the coming danger

-Optimus decides the Autobot team needs to split up and hide and they send the kids into the care of the military

-everybody is devastated by the betrayal 

-the Decepticons hunt for the Autobots while also confronting the US military units protecting them and come out winning (Starscream’s advice)

-the Decepticons manage to kill the team except Bumblebee and Optimus (the latter gets away only because Jetfire sacrifices himself for him)

-the Decepticons leave the planet after they fail to find the Prime and Starscream resigns to the fact that he did what he did and he would never meet the kids or Alexis ever again (and thinks she probably hates him for sure now)

Notes: the Autobots have no proper base or ground-bridge yet 

Concept for the events during the TFP timeline:

-Optimus sends out a message in hope some Autobots remained and some begin arriving: Ratchet, Bulkhead, Bumblebee, Cliffjumper and Arcee

-the US military gives Optimus a base in Nevada to stay in and Optimus tells the government to stay out of the war between the factions to avoid the pointless human deaths (Fowler is assigned as their handler)

-Ratchet makes a ground-bridge

-Decepticons return a little more than a decade later with Megatron who then shortly after getting to know the planet leaves for three years and leaves Starscream in charge

-things kind of happen the same way they did in TFP until Starscream gets betrayed by Airachnid and chooses to side with the Autobots (and wisely shuts his damn mouth for once, not prattling about how he killed Cliffjumper)

-the team is not happy with Starscream at all, least of all Arcee and Ratchet

-Optimus is more wary of Starscream this time (he is kept in the base and his wings are cuffed) but he believes the seeker can be changed so he summons Alexis (who is an adult now and works for the government/politician)

-Alexis agrees and has mixed feelings when seeing Starscream again (but she is happy nevertheless - she was the only one who actually forgave him since she thinks he was forced to betray them due to the warning he sent her)

-Starscream is shocked to reunite with her and feels guilty/awkward in her presence

-the kids (Jack, Miko, Raf) are surprised to learn that Starscream was already an Autobot once and that Alexis was his ‘assigned human companion’

-Alexis entertains the kids with a few old stories and becomes a regular visitor

-Starscream acts more defensive and snappy until she forces him to face their fallout and make up (he is shocked by her forgiveness)

-later on he grows very protective of her (determined not to fail her for a second time) and Alexis makes an attempt to teach him to care about the others too

-and the main focus is on how Starscream goes from a cowardly traitor to a more honorable person like he was in Armada

This is all that I have! I hope you enjoyed it! If anyone feels inclined to write this story, then by all means go ahead! I merely take credit for the idea itself. 🥰

[bullet-prooflove]

Lightshow: Dwight Hendrickson x Reader

Tagging@ @kmc1989 @Atrxdixs @princesschyanne @words-and-seeds @cookiedoughmeagain

Nightmares - Dwight has always had nightmares.

On The Rocks - Dwight finds you on the beach after a fight about Wade Crocker.

It’s the flickering lights that give Dwight the first clue that something bad is going on. He’s standing alongside Nathan’s desk, explaining something in one of the reports when the bulbs start dim and brighten. It’s the coffee maker next, spluttering and hissing followed by smoke coming out of the printer. Then all the electronics go crazy and he knows, he just fucking knows that something has happened to you.

When the bulbs explode above them, showering the entire squad room glass, his heart just stops in his chest because you don’t throw around this much power, not even when you’re enraged. He backtracks over the past five minutes, you’d been leaving for the night and he’d promised you he wouldn’t be too far behind. Your lips had brushed over his cheek before you’d murmured in his ear.

“When I get home, I’m going to run a bath, you should join me.”

You’d kissed him then, and that kiss it had been so tender, so full of promise.

“I just have one more thing to clarify with Nathan.” He had told you, his thumb ghosting over the apple of your cheek. “Then I’ll follow you home.”

You would have barely had time to make it to the parking lot before the lightshow started. He’s already bolting from the station, the glass still glittering in his hair before anyone can stop him. He’s three steps into the parking lot before he sees it, the body lying in the middle of the tarmac.

He falters then. His hands start to tremble and his vision tunnels, he can’t breathe, he can’t fucking breathe. He forces himself to take a step forward and then another and that’s when he realises corpse he’s looking at it’s not you at all.

It’s Wade Crocker.

He looks like he’s been struck by lightning. His t-shirt has disintegrated into his flesh around the centre of his chest, the skin is black and charred. His veins are seared pink, contrasting against his skin, creeping up his neck towards his jaw. There’s no question that the man is dead, his head lolls to one side and his body is limp like a ragdoll.

This can’t be you, he thinks. He knows what it’s like when you tag someone and it’s nothing like this…

Then he sees the knife, the blood marring the blade and he remembers what happened to the last person that tried to hurt you. You were twelve when you electrocuted your mother during a violent exorcism, she’d ended up living out her days in an assisted living facility. Your Trouble has evolved since then, grown with you.

“Alex.” He calls out across the parking lot and he’s met with nothing but silence.

His gaze comes to linger on the droplets of blood, there’s a trail leading away from Wade, each crimson stain growing. There’s a smear of burgundy on Stan’s silver Toyota, and he realises that you were trying to get to somewhere protected, somewhere safe in case Wade survived, that you still have the spare key to his SUV on your keyring.

He finds you unconscious, bleeding out on to the tarmac between Nathan’s truck and his SUV. Your shirt is soaked with red, it stains his fingers, his hands as he tries to stifle the bleeding with his palm. Every single one of your breaths catches, it’s a horrible shallow rasp, one that leads him to believe that the knife has punctured your lung.

Dwight’s had some medical training back in the military and he knows it’s bad, really fucking bad.

“I need you to hold on for me.” He whispers as he hears Nathan’s footsteps approaching. “You just need to hold on a little longer.”

Love Dwight? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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[cantcompetewhereudontcompare]

Louis - the Liam Gallagher cosplayer

I said my next project would be Louis as a homophobic bully - with proof. But the hard proof I have is in a hard drive I can't access right now, so I'll leave that for later (but it is coming as soon as I can).

I thought instead I'd tackle a huge thing that's been bothering me, especially in light of the Oasis reunion.

I'm personally a huge fan of Oasis, and everything about Louis regarding Oasis annoys me, but particularly these two things:

He's not an actual fan and never was. Just a casual listener who's marketing himself a certain way to appeal to a certain audience

He's attempting (rather embarrassingly) to be a copy-paste version of Liam Gallagher

I'll divide this into two parts, and this first post will be about point #1, because it'll be too long otherwise.

Anyone who was a fan of One Direction in their early days would know that Louis' Thing, the music he said he enjoyed, was Top 40 radio. He can act like he's an indie rock band enthusiast all he wants, but that's just simply not true. In fact, that was HARRY'S thing throughout his time in the band.

Fans called him a hipster (the whole Frat Harry thing came later, at the time, in 2013, fans said he was a hipster). And Louis LITERALLY mocked him for liking "obscure" bands.

Here, March 13 2013, One Direction's Take Me Home Tour in Dublin. They read Twitter questions and answered them on stage. The question was "What's the number one song played on your iPod?" and Louis introduces the question to Harry with "Harry, got any indie bands we haven't heard of?"

Here's the video. The question is at 2:06, first he talks to Zayn, then Niall, then at 2:36 to Harry.

This isn't a one-time incident, but it's one I distinctly remember (because I went to multiple shows of that tour and followed it closely!) and can physically point out. It happened multiple times. It was a Thing Louis mocked him about constantly. Keep in mind, Louis was 21 when this happened, a fully developed grown adult who had been in the industry for three years and was a professional musician.

Why do I say this? Does it bother me that he mocked Harry? No, that's just banter lmao. But what bothers me is that a few years later, he would rebrand as someone who enjoyed indie music, as an indie musician himself, who enjoyed and propped up unknown bands. And his fans would act like Harry was the popstar who made and enjoyed shallow music and Louis was a rock connoisseur all along.

At 21 Louis... distinctly wasn't that person - he also wasn't that person at 22, or 23, or 24, he started being that person in 2017, when he decided to craft his entire persona around being a Donny chav who gave you a two-finger salute and wore trackies to red carpet events.

Louis didn't even try to act like his musical style was indie rock back then. in the early 2010s there was a type of social media called Ping where you could log in songs that you liked. It was connected to your Twitter account and your iTunes account. Because in late 2012 (Louis was almost 21, might I add), it was about to shut down, a fan (a Larrie) documented the whole thing in screenshots. Here's the post. Of course they make everything about their conspiracy, but the account was legit (connected to his verified Twitter account) and the post made the rounds on normal Tumblr, so I remember seeing it at the time and saving it because it was interesting.

Some of the songs that he added to his Ping:

Thinking of You, Part of Me, Wide Awake, and the entire Teenage Dream album by Katy Perry

Talking to the Moon by Bruno Mars

Look After You by The Fray

Someone Like You by Adele

Far Away by Nickelback (he got this as a tattoo lol)

Who Knew by Pink

Bedshaped by Keane

I'm With You Avril Lavigne

Take Care by Drake

Yellow, Shiver, Talk, Fix You by Coldplay

Moves Like Jagger and Payphone by Maroon 5

It Girl by Jason Derulo

Without You by David Guetta & Usher

Love Story and We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together by Taylor Swift

Domino by Jessie J

Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol

Goodbye My Lover by James Blunt

Titanium by Sia and David Guetta

Somebody That I Used to Know by Gotye

Turn Up The Music by Chris Brown

Let's Go by Calvin Harris

Mr. Brightside and Somebody Told Me by The Killers

We Are Young by Fun.

Stop And Stare by OneRepublic

She Moves In Her Own Way by The Kooks

Basket Case and Wake Me Up When September Ends by Green Day

Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepsen

I Miss You by Blink 182

Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous by Good Charlotte

Bright Lights (the album) by Ellie Goulding

Believe (the album) by Justin Bieber

Naive by Lily Allen

Imagine by John Lennon

How We Do (Party) by Rita Ora

All of these songs are heavy rotation radio hits. I'm not sure how many people will see this post, if any, but if it happens upon any young Gen Z or Gen Alpha eyes, who happen to not know some of these, they're literally just... the most played songs on the radio at the time, and Imagine by John Lennon (which was the only song older than 2000 in his entire Ping).

The only bands he has on this entire log, are Two Door Cinema Club, who you might say "oh wait, that's indie isn't it?" except they reached #2 in the UK albums chart in 2012, when this log happened. Literally following trends once again. Same thing goes for Owl City, it's a somewhat indie project, but they had a big hit (certified Diamond and hit #1 in the UK and the US), Louis logged in the project immediately after this song made it big. A bunch of John Mayer songs, who in 2012 was hyper-mainstream. Or the #1 album Coexist by The XX. And songs from the #1 album in the UK Contrast, by Conor Maynard. That plus the incredibly mainstream hits by some more rockish bands (I'm surprised he didn't log in American Idiot by Green Day) and pop. That's it.

What about Oasis? It's there.

Stop The Clocks - a greatest hits record.

Stop Crying Your Heart out - literally the #3 most popular song of theirs on Spotify

Little By Little - a huge hit off one of their latest albums (33 million YouTube Views, 85 million Spotify plays)

I'm sure he enjoyed himself some Oasis. He was a British boy growing up in the late 90s and early 2000s. It'd be weird if he didn't. But he never talked about going to see them growing up (he was 16 when they played in England for the last time). He logged in just one album, and it was a greatest hits. He logged in two songs, and they were both huge hits. He logged in a ton of songs by Coldplay, or Katy Perry. Hell, he has more songs logged in for DRAKE than Oasis.

It's obviously not definite proof, but he had that Ping account for two years, and all his iTunes purchases or likes showed up. I also don't remember him mentioning them in any particular way throughout his time in the band. Nor him mentioning going to see them. Or wearing their merch. Or...

Despite both Liam and Noel having a Twitter account as far back as 2009/2010, Louis didn't follow either of them until 2017

So that in and of itself is bizarre for someone who in 2017 would give a million different interviews specifically mentioning Oasis and Liam Gallagher, right?

But the most egregious part of his pretend act, is that he's just flat out wrong about Oasis in and of itself.

First of all, in every single interview he mentions Oasis, he singles out Liam Gallagher. You can look it up, because frankly, there's so many interviews where he does this that I could probably be here forever. He talks about Liam Gallagher so much it's almost obnoxious (and we'll get on to that in part 2), but he almost never talks about Noel. Who he mentions is Liam. Even though he says Oasis was a huge part of his inspiration as an artist, who he mentions is Liam. And this is in the context of Oasis, as a band who inspired him growing up, not Liam Gallagher as a solo artist. OASIS. Liam.

To the uninitiated on Oasis, Liam is my favorite because he's great. He's funny, he's charming, he has a distinct voice that makes Oasis stand out. He's a mean tambourine player. But to name Liam as your inspiration when you admire Oasis, as a musician, is akin to doing that with Ringo and The Beatles.

Just so we're clear, this is the writing credits for their debut album:

Their second album

Third album

Shall I go on?

Liam doesn't play instruments, except the maracas or the aforementioned tambourine. Noel:

Just:

You have to actively ignore everything about the band to pretend that your inspiration, musically, as a musician, is LIAM GALLAGHER if you actively like Oasis. What the hell are we talking about?

To be clear, Louis didn't say in these interviews that he admired Liam's vocals (which he could never in a million years imitate, and I beg him not to try), or attitude, or charisma, or fucking tambourine expertise. He talked about lyrics, and music, and songwriting. And yet, he never mentioned Noel Gallagher. IN THE CONTEXT OF TALKING ABOUT OASIS.

Listen, I fucking hate Noel Gallagher. He's a c*nt. But I happen to like Oasis, and I know, despite how much I despise him, that Oasis wouldn't exist without him.

So why did Louis mention Liam??? Well, two main reasons.

His fans don't give a fuck. They don't care about his musical opinions because they're not fans of his music or him as a musician. It's why they don't listen to it. They're fans of his status as a purported underdog or the conspiracy theories surrounding him, or rate him as a part of the band they once liked. Some of them pity follow him. He could say his musical inspiration is Miley Cyrus because of how well she plays banjo and it'd make absolutely no difference for them. Also, most of them are musically illiterate and would find a way to justify anything he says, despite being completely nonsensical, if they even listen to him in the first place.

Because of #1, Louis has been on a quest to capture a specific type of audience. He tried to capture the 1D audience with Just Hold On and Back To You (which are songs that are actually up his alley in terms of the music he consumed). But despite being his best commercially performing songs, they failed to actually and significantly move the needle. And he saw the writing on the wall even in the middle of promo for Back To You. Which is why he gave up trying to be commercially successful with that crowd and has been relentlessly trying to shift his audience.

It's why he wears sweatpants and sneakers everywhere, why he called himself a chav in 2017/2018, why the horrible haircuts, why the constant smoking and drinking in promo pics, why the pivot to "actually, I'm a die hard indie enthusiast" even though four years prior he mocked his bandmate for that exact musical taste. It's why he markets his own music as indie, rock, etc, even though it's decidedly not. It's why he does the photoshoots he does, hires the people he hires, and has the bands he has in his narcissistic "festival."

It's put-up on. I suspect it's partially borne out of deep insecurity and wanting to appeal to the type of guy he went to school with. I think his mates, despite enjoying the wealth of 1D's success, took the piss out of him for being in a boyband. This is pure speculation, but we're talking about the guys who openly retweet Andrew Tate (Nizam Kabir), or mocked his singing voice in his ex girlfriend's posts...

Let's actually expand on that, Hannah Walker, Louis' ex girlfriend, uploaded a video to her instagram account singing with a sore throat. It was captioned "sore throat singing" and this is what one of his "best friends" from childhood, Calvin Rodgers, commented on it:

This wasn't some gentle banter either, this was around a point in time where Calvin and Louis weren't hanging out (2013/2014). I actually saw Hannah's post and the comments a few years ago, but her account has gone private since.

"Calvin (unprompted) In theory, the singing wasn't AS flat as Louis" another friend (Dan Woollet) replies "Fair point" to which Calvin replies "Not only fair, but true." Hannah replies "controversial."

Louis cheated on Hannah with Eleanor (I can do a deep dive on that later), and at first Hannah didn't know, so she and Louis were on good terms, but she has been openly very negative about Louis ever since late 2011.

Calvin is also a musician, by the way. His comment was fair and true. Louis' singing IS flat. I doubt he'd say that to his face when he's on good terms with him, especially because he greatly benefits from Louis' money and status (his friends have mooched everything from access to events, to paid vacations on yachts by being with him, to outright jobs). But from things Louis has said in interviews, such as "I don't have a skincare routine because my friends would make fun of me" or "if I showed up wearing designer clothes my friends would never let me hear the end of it," it does seem like he has this need to fit in and seek approval from these idiots. I'll never understand it, and I'm not going to try and psychoanalyze him (and he doesn't wanna do therapy because he's too good for therapy anyway), but I think he wouldn't be seeking this audience otherwise.

His attempts have clearly failed. His music is consumed less and less. He's at 2.4 million monthly listeners on Spotify. Just so we're clear, Spotify has a chart of the most monthly listeners per artist, where they chart the first 500 artists from 1 to 500. #1 currently is The Weeknd with 107M. #2 is Billie Eilish. Harry is #53 without having released music in 2 and a half years (which is amazing).

The #500 is Lynyrd Skynyrd with 16,147,684 monthly listeners. Louis would have to gain 14 MILLION monthly listeners to be at the bottom of the list. That is SEVEN TIMES the total amount he has right now. That's how bad it is.

His fans don't listen to his music. They're just incredibly annoying online because their idea of stanning him or being his fan is Twitter, and TikTok, and some of them on Tumblr and never shutting up despite having zero actual arguments to back anything up (which is why I'm venting on this blog, and potentially giving Harries tools to shut these idiots up because I know how annoying they are).

I think he's still trying to market himself this way because deep down he still wants the acceptance of his high school buddies and other men like them, and his idea of cool is (deluding himself into believing to) have a career that his buddies would actually respect (as opposed to 1D).

To close off this part of the post, I'll leave with the worst part. How do I know he's not and was never a fan of Oasis? How do I know that he's lying when he says they were his inspiration as an artist?

Well, this:

He said variations of this multiple times in multiple interviews. He bashed metaphors a ton, for instance:

“[So how you classify your genre?] Oh, that’s a big question. Wow, that’s hard. In terms of what I’m looking for from a production point of view, I want things to sound organic and live. Not too many programmed instruments. I want it to feel authentic. From a lyric perspective, almost like indie-pop, very conversational. All these sexy metaphors people put in their music? I ain’t got time for that. I like it straight to the point. It’s hard to classify it as a particular genre.”

Source.

Here's another he gave for MTV:

Though "Back to You" is certifiably pop, Tomlinson grew up loving guitar-based rock bands, he said, and that when it came time to sit down and create solo music of his own, he found inspiration in the acts from his youth: mainly Oasis and Arctic Monkeys, both from Northern England (like Tomlinson). "The way that they write I've always found very interesting because, you know, if you look at a pop song fundamentally, lyrically it's very different to the conversational style that Arctic Monkeys or Oasis might use, and that's exciting to me," Tomlinson said.

All I can say is.. What the actual fuck is he talking about?

Obviously I have a lot more that I can say. But. WHAT?

Let's ignore Arctic Monkeys, because yes, I would absolutely call "honest and to the point" early Arctic Monkeys. Honest meh, because early AM was so conversational and so casual and about such mundane things that honesty wasn't really a factor, but whatever. It was incredibly to the point. BUT OASIS? OASIS??? Honest and to the point? OASIS?? OASIS??

Just so we're clear, the most mainstream song Oasis has ever released is Wonderwall. Everyone knows that song, correct? What the fuck is a wonderwall? That is not A WORD.

The word "wonderwall" came from a George Harrison album. And the lyrics have absolutely nothing to do with it. The song itself is a "Hollywood-esque song" that talks about "some unfathomable crazy love story."

The entire premise of wonderwall is that one person who's always there for you, but told in an abstract metaphorical way. That is by definition the opposite of what Louis said he wanted and liked.

In fact, Oasis FAMOUSLY worship the ground The Beatles walk on. Hell, Liam named his kid fucking LENNON. One of the most known facts about The Beatles was the amount of fucking NONSENSE they wrote in their lyrics. I Am The Walrus?! Like, this is music 101. Louis you are supposed to be a musician (yet play no instruments).

The second most mainstream song by Oasis is Champagne Supernova.

This is a verse from that song:

Wake up the dawn and ask her why A dreamer dreams she never dies Wipe that tear away now from your eye Slowly walking down the hall Faster than a cannonball Where were you while we were gettin' high?

Exactly what part of this is honest and to the point? I thought he hated metaphors?

Remember the songs he Pinged? Let's see those lyrics.

Little By Little

'Cause little by little We gave you everything you ever dreamed of Little by little The wheels of your life have slowly fallen off Little by little You have to give it all in all your life And all the time I just asked myself why, you really here?

I'm gonna go insane. What the fuck did he mean by "honest and to the point" immediately after saying the word "Oasis"? Is he OKAY? Is he having a stroke and smelling colors? How else can he describe this as "honest and to the point"?

The other song was Stop Crying Your Heart Out

Hold up Hold on Don't be scared You'll never change what's been and gone May your smile (May your smile) Shine on (Shine on) Don't be scared (Don't be scared) Your destiny may keep you warm

I'm swimming in directness and honesty here, you guys. I can't believe how to the point these lyrics are! Metaphors? Never knew 'em! Soooo conversational!

But maybe I'm cherry picking songs, and the rest of Oasis' discography actually fits what Louis said, right? RIGHT?!

Let's look at Stop The Clocks, the Greatest Hits album Louis pinged back in 2012. Literally the first verse of the songs in order. Just so we're very clear.

Rock 'N Roll Star

I live my life for the stars that shine People say, "It's just a waste of time" Then they said, "I should feed my head" That to me was just a day in bed I'll take my car and drive real far They're not concerned about the way we are In my mind my dreams are real Now you concerned about the way I feel Tonight I'm a rock 'n' roll star

Some Might Say

Some might say that sunshine follows thunder Go and tell it to the man who cannot shine Some might say that we should never ponder On our thoughts today' cause they hold sway over time

Talk Tonight

Sittin' on my own, chewin' on a bone A thousand million miles from home When something hit me Somewhere right between the eyes Sleepin' on a plane, you know you can't complain You took your last chance once again I landed, stranded Hardly even knew your name

Lyla

Calling all the stars to fall And catch the silver sunlight in your hands Come for me and set me free Lift me up and take me where I stand She believes in everything And everyone and you and yours and mine I waited for a thousand years For you to come and blow me out my mind

The Importance of Being Idle

I sold my soul for the second time 'Cause the man don't pay me I begged my landlord for some more time He said, "Son, the bills are waiting" My best friend called me the other night He said, "Man, are you crazy?" My girlfriend told me to get a life She said, "Boy, you lazy"

Seriously I wanna sit down and ask this man what the hell he was talking about. How can he, with a straight face, say that LIAM GALLAGHER was his musical inspiration growing up because of the lyrics of OASIS, and how straight and to the point, devoid of metaphors, they were. It's the most nonsensical talking point I've ever heard. If he was even remotely relevant the way people would've laughed their head off at him saying this would´ve been diabolical.

He said Oasis and Arctic Monkeys because they fit the persona he wanted to build (even geographically).

There are SO many actual indie bands from up north who write the type of lyrics he claims he likes, but he's too lazy to actually do research into this put-upon image he chose for himself (I hardly think a competent group of people was behind any of it).

He changed his hair, his facial hair, his clothing style, the way he talks, walks, the words he says, how he stands in front of a microphone, his facial expressions, the aesthetic surrounding him, even the people and teams he hired for his career, to cosplay Liam Gallagher. This isn't a case of inspiration. Inspiration is normal. It happens in art every single day. Everything we do is an amalgamation of stuff others have done before. Everything is invented. I want to make it very clear that I don't find any of that problematic in any way.

But Louis is an inch away from wearing the skin of Liam Gallagher as a winter coat. I'll actually dive deep into that in a second part of this post, because it really does go SO deep.

And I sincerely doubt he likes him or his music all that much. He just likes the idea of people viewing him like they view Liam and the "respect" he would get from men.

[mythicamagic]

Two Black Sheep Entwined (Scar x Frover fic) Chapter One

Summary: “I'm here to offer you a deal. Everyone in Jinzhou is running around like frightened lambs, fretting for their lives because the big bad Fracsidus member is free from jail and on the prowl, right? Well the solution is simple. I'll sit nice and pretty, unable to commit crimes or mischief- but I'll only behave if you're under the same roof, Rover.”

“What?” She croaked, staring. Surely she'd misheard. Rover cleared her throat and tried again. “You want to…live with me?”

Aka: forced cohabitation with Scar x Female Rover

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Rating: E (eventually)

Read on Ao3

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The news came in the form of her beacon blaring at her, flashing an angry red. Rover paused in her hike in the Desorock Highlands, wiping salty sweat from her brow and unhooking her beacon from her belt with a frown. The alarm died down, but only a brief moment of silence punctuated the air before a sharp pinging noise echoed off the cliffs. Accepting the incoming call from Yangyang, Rover faced her projection as it was cast upon the rock face. 

“What’s wrong? Was that a distress signal?” she asked, catching her breath from the climb.

“I’m afraid so,” Yangyang’s flickering image clasped her hands worriedly. “I don’t know how else to say this but…not too long ago- Scar escaped from Jinzhou prison.”

Rover felt her stomach drop. A strange rush climbed up her spine in tandem with her heart thundering; sending pulsing waves through her body. Something inside her clenched. She suddenly felt exposed. Too out of breath, feverish. Too high on the mountainside like a lost lamb that had strayed too far from its shepherd. She could be seen from leagues away if someone had the right equipment. 

He could find her easily. 

Muffled words caught her distracted attention, and she fought to refocus on Yangyang’s worried gaze. 

“Sorry- what was that?” 

“I was just suggesting you hurry back to Jinzhou. The magistrate seems to be too busy with the commotion to summon you herself, but I feel she’d agree. You’re better protected here until we either catch that madman or frighten him off from the area.”

Rover took a breath, a frown marring her brow. “Logically speaking…even Scar wouldn’t be desperate or stupid enough to try anything with me right now. He just escaped. He’ll probably want to hide and flee, as a first priority.”

Concerned blue eyes wavered. “Still…” Yangyang squeezed her hands tighter in the projection, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. 

Knowing nothing would stop her from fretting, Rover gave a smile. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to be cautious though. I’ll head back. Besides, Chixia will get angry with me if I make you worry unnecessarily.”

Her friend visibly brightened. Her shoulders dropped in relief. “Y-yes!” she forced a light laugh. “And she won’t treat you to any free meals at Panhua’s either!”

Rover gave a soft noise that could pass for a chuckle, “the horror.”

 Waving at the projection with what she hoped was a reassuring smile, she waited until the transmission ended and the projection vanished completely. She then sighed, sinking back against the mountain face. She took a moment to just breathe, resting a hand over her chest and feeling the responding ‘thump, thump, thump’ of her thundering heart. Even her legs were shaking, from the strenuous climb or the news, she couldn’t say.

She wasn’t afraid of Scar. Many people thought she was, and inadvertently encouraged her to be. Maybe it would've been smarter to give in to their suggestions and let fear take over. Scar was dangerous. He had a reputation for a reason, and he'd been a force to be reckoned with as an opponent. 

No, what frightened her more than anything was the alternate reason her body was filled with adrenaline, high on the thrill. The prospect of just seeing him again. He wasn’t an ordinary person to navigate around, and their encounters often left her with more questions than answers. Even when she’d visited him in Jinzhou’s underground prison and he’d been powerless to harm her- that thrill, that anticipation had been there, strung tight in her lower stomach.

No force on earth would make her ever examine that reaction too closely though. She had expectations to fulfil, a duty to uphold; protect the people at all costs. She had no reason to entertain any thoughts about him, and wouldn’t join his ridiculous cause. 

Rover fixed her gaze on the distant spec of white in the distance; Jinzhou city laying quiet and peaceful.

She wouldn’t be swayed. Even by the likes of a confusing, conniving Black Sheep.

It only took a little while to reach a resonance beacon that teleported her back to the main city, but from the moment Yangyang and Chixia saw her they sprang into Protect Rover Mode. She’d been practically frogmarched back to Yangyang’s residence; a quaint little apartment opposite Shifang Pharmacy. Baizhi had soon joined them, sighing and rolling her eyes at their dramatics. Chixia sat next to the window the entire time they chatted, looking outside with the trained eye of a sniper rather than a goofy patroller. 

Nothing of note happened though. No news came through about Scar’s capture, but neither were there any sightings. It was like he’d just vanished into thin air. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for the night?” Yangyang asked again for the umpteenth time as they all lingered outside City Hall together. 

Chixia nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, or you can even crash in my bunk? Or better yet, take one of us with you back to your apartment! We don’t want you to feel scared or alone while that creep is roaming arou- ow!”

Baizhi straightened after elbowing her friend, resting a calm gaze on Rover. “Just tell us honestly and put the matter to rest; will you be alright by yourself tonight?”

She couldn’t help but grin at her friends. “In City Hall? The place with the highest security in all of Jinzhou? Yes,” she giggled softly. “Yes I’ll be just fine. Besides, if it comes down to it, I’ve fought Scar a few times in the past. I like my chances,” she lifted a shoulder, backing away with a short wave. “Please stop worrying, everyone. I’ll sleep like a rock, I promise.”

“Message us once you’re home! A-and again before you go to bed! Just in case!” Yangyang called, voice growing fainter as Rover jogged away, smiling a carefree smile. 

The moment she stood inside City Hall however, Rover let the painful upturn of her mouth drop. She sighed and rubbed her eyes tiredly. Her friends were wonderful, but honestly their worry had burned through her energy quickly. Tension could only be sustained so long before fatigue set in, and Rover felt herself crashing. 

Swiping the wall, she stepped into the offered elevator and took it up to a higher floor.

Bed. I just need my bed.

Guards were the first thing she noticed as she stepped off onto her floor. They flanked the elevator entrance, and gave her a short nod when she passed by. 

"We did a sweep of your apartment miss, under the Magistrates orders. Nothing of note was found," the shorter one spoke up. 

I suppose security will be even tighter the next few days. 

She thanked them and continued on, confidence bolstered. Fishing out her apartment key card, Rover stopped at her door, looking back at the distant figure of the guards down the pure, cream coloured hallway. She then leaned in and swiped her card, letting the door scan her eye for identification. 

“Identification failed. Please present an alternate method of sign-in” the door’s security screen uttered stiffly. 

Rover frowned. That had never happened before. Usually she’d be let in so easily. Maybe the security features had been updated because of Scar’s breakout. 

Remembering what Sanhua had said about alternate security measures, Rover presented her hair, swiping her longer strands over one shoulder and pressing the stands to the screen, allowing them to be scanned. The door clicked open. 

Stepping inside her familiar, and fairly bare-bones in décor apartment, she immediately sensed something amiss. The faint sound of water trickling.

If she were smarter, she would’ve instantly turned on her heel and alerted the guards in the hallway. She would’ve called someone, anyone to investigate. 

But she wasn’t afraid, and therein lay the problem. Rover shifted her weight carefully, moving to press her back against the wall of her little hallway. Gradually slinking furthering into her apartment, she bypassed the living room, giving it a courtesy glance and finding nothing amiss. As she moved with all the grace of a jungle cat, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of her sword, sliding it gently free from its scabbard. 

Her bathroom door was ajar. Steam curled out of it lazily. Rover’s eyes flashed. 

You’ve got some nerve. 

Undaunted, she pressed her fingers to the polished wood and pushed. Steam enveloped her immediately, a figure immediately appearing in her line of sight. He seemed to have purposefully neglected to use the shower curtain. 

Scar’s hair was a splash of white and red strands in the haze, his lithe yet muscular build sharpening into focus the closer she moved. His back was turned to her, because of course it was. Out of arrogance or confidence she wouldn't play dirty perhaps. Broad shoulders shifted as he raised his arms, sweeping sharp nails through wet hair as he dipped his face back into the shower's gentle spray. She couldn’t help but notice how water droplets ran down the pale column of his neck, dipping down between his shoulder blades to rest at the base of his spine. 

His ass was surprisingly cute, perky even. Rover scowled harder. She did not need to know that. 

Looking past the well-toned muscle of her enemy however, the more obvious details of his body painted a picture of his life; that of painful, seemingly endless scars criss-crossing over one another in places, licking broad burns across his flesh. Old and new- the faded ones covered by fresher, angrier bruising pepping his ribs and flank.

Rover rested the cool metal of her blade against his neck from behind, shower water hitting it softly.

Scar shifted, his usual spiked hair slick and hugging his face. Mismatched eyes found her instantly. He brightened, grinning at her as though seeing each other in her apartment was the most natural thing in the world.

“Ah, welcome home!~”

He then fully turned to face her, delighted grin melting into a smile of pure satisfaction as her eyes widened in horror, flicking downwards just once- before mentally kicking herself and refocusing firmly on his laughing eyes. 

“I must say, thoughts of you certainly kept me company during the past few weeks of confinement- but nothing compares to the real thing standing before you in the flesh, now does it?” he purred. Letting out a faint sigh that was almost lost in the fall of humid spray, Scar leaned affectionately into the side of her blade. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, my dear Rover.”

-----

[ahopefulbromantic]

I met the apostles after the Resurrection.

They are sad, lost, and i cannot figure out why. Wasn't it all tetelestai? Shouldn't they be the happiest they can be?... I see John gripping his new Mother's sleeve like a child, watching her back as if he's terrified to lose her even for a moment. I see James awkwardly hanging around them. I see Peter, his cheeks marred with tearmarks.

They all look to him, unsure. He's no less lost than the rest. "I'm going fishing" he finally says. He leaves "whoever wants to join me go ahead" unsaid, he knows they will anyway.

They return to their homes to change and get their tools. Not all of them. There are whispers behind me. "I don't have a home anymore," I hear. "I left everything to follow Him." There are soft, sad murmurs, there are sighs and pats on the back, finally there are several footsteps, fading away together.

I come to Peter. I call him Peter, the Rock, and that's how he knows. He's sitting on the floor in his room, crying, alone. "I betrayed Him..." It's so painful to see him like that. "He loves you." "I know, that's the problem! He loved me! He still loves me and I betrayed Him!" he wails. Then he slowly raises his head and looks to the distance.

"I should've been the one to hang myself."

My heart breaks in half.

"No... No, no Peter, no...!" I hug him tight. He weeps in my arms for a long while, after which he wipes his nose and gets up, shakily. "You're right. I gotta occupy myself with something."

He comes out to see a group of his brothers with nets, rods, and other fishing gear. His nose is red, his eyes swollen, his chin trembling. No one finds it surprising.

"Why are you all sad? Didn't He resurrect?" I ask one of them when we're finally on a boat. There's only gentle rocking and water splashing. No one else talks. No one smiles. No one enjoys it.

"He did," he says. "He came back from the dead and He's God and we are not worthy of Him. We haven't seen Him for a while."

"But didn't He say you were to meet in Galilee?"

"He did. But we've been here for a couple of days already and He hasn't come to us. What if..." He looks me in the eye. His voice is shaking. "What if He doesn't want to see us anymore? What if because of our betrayal and our sins He turned His back on us? That's what we deserve, isn't it."

I remember my neonatology classes. The nurse told us how 3-day-old children wouldn't stop crying after having been so quiet before. Their mothers wouldn't know what to do, scared something was wrong. But the moment the nurse takes the child in their arms, just like magic the baby calms down instantly. The reason for that was quite simple. Being born is the greatest shock a human ever has to endure. So naturally, for the first few days babies have to recover from it - that's why they are so calm, they're exhausted. After they gain some energy, they get anxious. See, this little human for their whole short life has been surrounded by their mom - they could hear her heartbeat, hear her muffled voice, share her nutrients, and be completely embraced by her body every moment. But after getting born they would suddenly have to spend time apart from her. They didn't know whether she would return so they would start crying, thinking she abandoned them when she was just a few feet away, loving them with all her heart.

It's in that moment that I realize: the apostles are the 3-days-old babies. And though my heart breaks for them, it can't help giggle a little inside simultaneously. For in my mind's eye i can see how in just an hour or so Peter, quiet, sad, mindlessly operating the net, this very Peter will be jumping with joy, crying laughing (no break from the tears for him), running around, screaming:

"He forgave me! People, you hear that?! HE FORGAVE ME!!!!"

[aro-pancake-writes]

What? Me? Two wips in a row?

Yup! The plot bunnies are breeding like... Well, bunnies! And the Creatikitty that hunts them is doing his job.

So, yay! \o/

Tag list? @eridanidreams @silent-moons-camp @silurisanguine @aislingdmdt @atonalginger

Back to Mars

Mars. Out of all the backwater dreadful places in the galaxy, this is the worst one. Hector spent almost ten years in the deep mines, and then some in Cydonia.

Not that the company wasn't great.

“Why are we here again?” Sam asks as they step out of the trade authority to go downstairs to the Sixth Circle.

“Hadrian needs someone who worked with her before. And he's here.” Hector says, taking the stairs instead of the elevator. “Hope this will be a straight forward job.” He comments, finally on the ground.

As they go around to enter the bar, a familiar voice is hard.

“As I live and breathe.” Hector looks to the source, finding Trevor heading his way, smiling at him. “Thought you said you'd never set foot on this rock again, pet.”

“Didn't really mean to.” He says, crossing his arms over his stomach.

When he left, Hector didn't say goodbye. He didn't want to be held back, to consider staying in Cydonia.

But nothing about Trevor's posture says he holds a grudge.

“So, what changed?” He asks Hector, stopping close to him, with a gentle smile and open arms.

“Some things… a lot, actually.” Hector starts, taking a shy step towards Trevor.

Only to be stopped by a loud cough behind him.

“Oh, right!” He takes a hasty step back, working on how to introduce them. “Sam, this is Trevor. We… worked together here on Mars.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Sam says, cold, before turning back to Hector. “I'll wait for you inside. Apparently you two got a lot to catch up on.”

With that, Sam is gone.

“What stick has he got up his arse?” Trevor asks, making Hector turn back to him. “Not yours, I hope.” There's a sly smile, a small glimmer of hope that things could work out again.

“Too far up my league.” Hector tries to laugh it off. Yet, he can't help but notice the curious glance from Trevor.

“Come on, pet.” He offers Hector his best smile, one he knew to always work. “If anyone's out of someone's league here it's you.”

“And here you go, dragging me back to your quarters…” Hector laughs, leaning closer to Trevor, who hugs him.

“Haven't lost my charms over you, have I, Pet?” Hector trembles as Trevor says the pet name, blood leaving his brain and going to other parts of his body.

His pants are tight, and they both know there's only one way of fixing this.

“Trevor, please…” Hector almost moans, peeling himself from Trevor's arms. “Not now. I'm here on business.”

“You look so pretty when you're all about business.” Trevor smiles, one last attempt at working his charms before turning back to return to work. “If you wanna, Pet, my quarters are still the same and you know what time I leave. Why don't you pay me a visit once you're done with your ‘business’?”

Giggling, Hector fixes his pants, ties his jacket around his waist and heads into the bar.

Lou wasn't of much help. Not with the Trade Authority on top of their mark. Only one small glimmer of hope, but it requires the deep mines.

Killing spacers is often a relief, but not if it means that people will be back to work in this hellhole.

Hector cusses all the way to the entrance, anger taking over as he mumbles to himself.

“So…” Sam's voice cuts off his latest string of curses. “Who was that?”

“I told you.” Hector says, turning his scanner on and off again to have something to do with his hands. “We worked together here on Mars. He was a friend, and then I left.”

“Just a friend?” Hector feels the ice shards on Sam's voice when he speaks, and confirms. “Because last I checked, friends don't call eachother ‘pet’.”

Hector turns back to Sam, seeing red. As much as the former miner found himself fond of the cowboy, that wasn't exactly a subtle question.

“Fine. We used to fuck, ok?” Hector says, a seductive smile playing on his lips. “We would go to his quarters after a long shift, where he'd toss me on his bed and fuck me until we were both too exhausted to move. That what you wanted to hear? Or would you like to do something similar with me?”

[otomepeachy]

Mammon Playlist

Link

These can be for the original game or NB. most of them fit for both. I've had the playlists for a while but recently refined them. I hope you like them!

Explanations (Excluding Character Songs):

They Call Me Tiago (Her Name is Margo) - Tiagz

Not exactly a song about him but something I think he'd listen to and I think it fits his vibe. I just really think it fits him.

Go Hard (La.La.La.) - Kreayshawn

A bit unhinged and chaotic which always reminds me of Mammon. Also love that the first line is "I don't have any money..." Big Mammon energy. This poor bitch is always in debt.

Oh Yes (Rockin' With The Best) - Laidback Luke, Keanu Silva

Not only does it give off his kinda vibes but he's also very full of himself. I mean we're talking about "The Great Mammon!" He only comes in second to Asmo.

Jerk It Out - Caesars

Another one based on vibes. The instruments and vocals just give me something I feel he'd like!

Mine - Bazzi

This is 100% how he thinks of MC. That boy is just absolutely smitten with them! He adores them! He might be a bit selfish, careless, and let's be honest stupid but he always does his best when it comes to MC. He's always genuine and open with them! I just love him!

24k Magic - Bruno Mars

We all know if Mammon knew how to budget he'd be living a lavish lifestyle! He loves having nice things! Plus, some of you forget this but I didn't, one of the powers Mammon has is that If he likes someone they're bound to come into money and usually prosper wealth wise.

Tonight Tonight - Hot Chelle Rae

Party boy. Loves a good time and letting loose.

7 rings - Ariana Grande

Wants nice things and who can blame him. It's not exactly his style music wise but the lyrics definitely remind me of him.

Sucker - Jonas Brothers

I mean it's literally canon that MC can say one word and Mammon just falls in line. Even Lucifer struggles with that sometimes. He'd do literally anything MC asks.

Check Yes, Juliet - We The Kings

Oh, this is so him! He's so the type to do the cliche throwing rocks at his partners window then asking them to sneak out for a late night impromptu date. Hes also just so stubborn and honestly, we love it. I just feel like this is very much what he'd be like in a relationship.

Hard Times - Paramore

This man is always in the red. He is struggling financially and his brothers constantly belittle him, this man is just living in a constant state of hard times. My fav may not be Mammon but the day I don't immediately jump to his defense in a cold day in the devildom.

Make You Mine - PUBLIC

Once again, this man is smitten! He just loves MC so much and it's so sweet I'm gonna cry-

First Date - blink-182

As much as he likes to show off and brag and act cool he is always a bit nervous around MC. He wants to impress them and look cool but he can't help but blush and stutter when they flirt back. It's adorable.

Treasure - Bruno Mars

I truly believe that in a relationship Mammon would put MC over everything. I know it's a stretch...but I think even Goldie would come second! WHY ARE YOU BOOING ME IM RIGHT!!

Mr. Brightside - The Killers

Jealousy. That's it. We all know Mammon is extremely protective and jealous when it comes to MC. It makes sense for the Avatar of Greed. But I also think the lyrics can apply to how Mammon might feel watching MC with his brothers. Because even if you don't necessarily want to romance Mammon he is still clearly pining after MC.

GOODMORNINGTOKYO! - TOKYO'S REVENGE

Chaotic and unhinged. What more do you need?

[alienelvisobsession]

The David Bowie Connection

David Jones’s very first performance was not as David Bowie, Ziggy Stardust, or the Thin White Duke, but as an Elvis impersonator in front of a crowd of Boy Scouts in Bromley. The year was 1958, David was 11 years old, and among the songs that he sang for his audience there was probably “Hound Dog”, which his cousin Kristina remembers as one of the records he owned, and to which they danced to “like possessed elves”. It’s important to remember that it was difficult to get American records back then in England, but through his work as a promoter, David’s father managed to bring home a collection of American 45s, which included Little Richard, Fats Domino and, obviously, Elvis. Rock ‘n roll was like a ray of sunshine in David’s grey postwar world, still plagued with food rations and the rubble of bomb sites.

In high school, David liked jamming with his guitar, like Elvis did, and he was also interested in fashion and science fiction like him. Rock ‘n roll was elusive in England, but there were cafés with a jukebox where you could hear it as if it were some secret information. David liked oddities and stagecraft, like Elvis’ gyrations and extravagant clothes. He also loved Little Richard, whom he thought would die on stage because of the energy he put during his concerts. He would later say: “Elvis had the choreography, he had a way of looking at the world that was totally original, totally naïve, and totally available as a blueprint. Who wouldn’t want to copy Elvis? Elvis had it all. It wasn’t just the music that was interesting, it was everything else. And he had a lot of everything else.”

After a few unsuccessful albums, David Jones – now using the name David Bowie, like the knife – started experimenting with what the press called “glam rock”, that a lot of people thought was decadent and deviant. In 1972, when questioned about young boys with glitter makeup attending concerts, he said: “What about Elvis Presley? If his image wasn’t bisexual then I don’t know what is. People talk about fag rock, but that’s an unwieldy term at the best of times.” You could say that Bowie, like Elvis, obliterated boundaries in music, as much as in fashion, changing forever what was permitted and accepted as a stage artist, playing with clothes, makeup and sexuality in new ways.

Bowie’s fascination with Elvis was so big that in June 1972 he attended his concert at Madison Square Garden. “I came over for a long weekend,” Bowie recalled many years later. “I remember coming straight from the airport and walking into Madison Square Garden very late. I was wearing all my clobber from the Ziggy period and I had great seats near the front. The whole place just turned to look at me and I felt like a right cunt. I had brilliant red hair, some huge padded space suit and those red boots with big black soles. I wished I’d gone for something quiet, because I must have registered with him. He was well into his set.”

That was the concert that triggered the famous New York Times headline “Like a Prince from Another Planet”. It’s serendipitous that Bowie’s influential album “The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars”, where he plays an androgynous alien rock star, came out that same month. The alter ego and stage persona of Ziggy Stardust, which he used in 1972-73, had started to form the year before, during an American tour. Like everything in his music and stagecraft, Bowie was inspired by many things, from Iggy Pop to experimental theater. Ziggy Stardust was loosely inspired by Vince Taylor, a 1950s rock ‘n roller who Bowie witnessed going off his rocker and obsessing over aliens, but it’s also reminiscent of Elvis (whose fall from grace had already started, according to many, and whose mythology includes being an alien). Unlike other early Elvis fans, though, Bowie loved Elvis’ 1970s jumpsuits and explicitly told his costume designer Freddie Burretti to draw inspiration from them for his stage costumes. As a result, Ziggy’s costumes are as outrageous as Elvis’, but in a different way.

To double down on his rock n’ roll opera, “Rock ‘n Roll Suicide”, the melodramatic song with which Ziggy closed his concerts, is essentially about a washed-up rockstar. Ziggy literally sang it in an Elvis-style jumpsuit, and a solemn voice announced at the end of the concert: “Mr. Bowie has left the building”. Ziggy is an archetypal messiah rockstar who arrives on earth from Mars, becomes a prophet of rock ‘n roll, and then literally destroys himself. You can argue that Ziggy Stardust was a departure from hippies: a postmodern interpretation of a rockstar, and a meditation on superstar status.

The following album, “Aladdin Sane”, where Bowie continues the story of Ziggy Stardust, features the rockstar with a lightning bolt drawn across his face, which many say is a reference to Elvis’ TCB logo.

Elvis and Bowie, who share the same birthday, are very different artists, but if Elvis was the sacrificial lamb of rock ‘n roll, Bowie had his example to become a master in brand renewal, and studied deaths and rebirths. After killing his Ziggy Stardust alter ego, Bowie had other inspirations and continued to create extravagant personas to use on stage and off stage, not without controversies.

Bowie’s connection with Elvis went further than just liking his early hits: he had an awareness of his own fallibility that made him empathize with Elvis on a more profound level. Of his disastrous 1978 movie “Just a Gigolo”, for example, he said that it was “thirty-two Elvis movies rolled into one.” He was still very much fascinated with him in 1975-76, to such a degree that he pitched his song “Golden Years”, which incorporates elements of 1950s doo-wop into a funk tune, to him. Although it’s unclear if Elvis ever heard the song, Bowie’s office did contact Colonel Parker for a possible collaboration, maybe as a producer for one of Elvis’ albums.

Even Bowie’s last song, “Black Star”, references Elvis. Written at a time when Bowie knew he was dying, the song has the same title as an an alternative version of the title track for his 1960 western movie “Flaming Star”. It’s a song about death, as in the movie Pacer knows his time has come and Elvis sings: “Every man has a black star / A black star over his shoulder / And when a man sees his black star / He knows his time, his time has come”. It seems to me that Bowie intended to close a circle with this reference: since they were born on the same day, it seemed only natural to reference Elvis’ fictional death in one of his movies. Only, in one of his most clever postmodern games, Bowie’s death wasn’t fictional after all.

Here is David Bowie imitating Elvis’ voice for a Christmas message on BBC radio 6 Music in 2013:

August 16, 2002 marked the 25th anniversary of Elvis’ death and Bowie opened the concert with “I Feel So Bad” and “One Night”, and told the story of what he was doing when Elvis died:

Here is a link with my other connection posts. I have written about many artists who were inspired by Elvis, from Jimi Hendrix to Quentin Tarantino. If you have any suggestions about artists who have an Elvis connection worth exploring let me know, and I’ll do some research for my next post.

[hauntingjasper]

Well... we have the headcanons about Gumball and Marshall, could you tell us your headcanons about Gumlee (it's my favorite ship, I love them so much!)

Ofc! 🫶

1- I'll start off with their height difference, the spin-off made me love Gumball/Gary being taller than Marshall. (My hc for Marshall Lee is like 6’0. I don't think I mentioned that on his headcanons list hghshshsjue)

2- As for their story together, I think that Marshall Lee would've caught feelings first, but because they were still just friends at the time + Gumball being arospec and only developing feelings later + denial, he didn't say anything about it. Still, they were pretty affectionate with each other, resulting in multiple questions if they were dating. I think that's worth like,, , half a millennium together.

3- That's pretty much canon at this point but I love the thought of Gumball always making extra red or pink food for Marshall Lee. The equivalent of this in the human world would be Marshall Lee being a bit of a picky eater and Gary having his preferences in mind when he's cooking for both of them. He might also ask if he wants to try one thing or another.

4- Gumball has the habit of checking Marshall Lee's temperature when they're cuddling or when they're somewhere warmer. I've said this before in another ask post but Marshall can't produce or maintain body heat properly, so he tends to stay closer to things that emanate heat. It won't make him feel as warm as a normal person would, but it helps a little. Gumball has to put his hand on Marshall's face or neck to check how warm he is at least once, not for study reasons, but because he just likes to do that.

5- Meanwhile, Marshall Lee likes to put his ice cold hands on him at random just to startle him.

6- Still on the temperature thing, Gumball doesn't mind being touchy with him, especially during the summer, despite Marshall Lee being practically an ice rock, but.. sometimes, it's preferable that Marshall is fully covered and has a blanket 😭

7- Kinda nsfw, but they're switches. Gumball tops more often though, I said what I said.

8- They sometimes use nicknames for each other, of course. Gumball calls him Mars or "Schnucki", I looked it up and apparently it means "Schmoopy" in German, and then I found out that there is such a thing as a "Schmoopy couple". They're not as obnoxious as the definition says when it comes to PDA, though. Marshall Lee calls him anything that has to do with candy, but he'll especially call him Bubba, Bubbaloo or Bubs. He might call him Gary too as a nickname, Gumball's name is different in this. His full name is Gareth Victor Gumball, and "Gareth" just makes Marshall giggle.

9- Obligatory clothes sharing headcanon. To this day they keep a few of each other's shirts.

10- Marshall Lee already bit Gumball once, at his request, to see if he would turn into a vampire. He didn't. Now he keeps biting him to show affection.

11- Okay so from what I've seen, it's incorrect to refer to a prince as "Your Majesty", since that's how you should refer to a King or Queen. You should say "Your Highness" when referring to a prince/princess. My headcanon is that there's some correlation between Marshall Lee purposely using the wrong title when they're exes, the fact that he technically outranks Gumball as The Vampire King and that he's petty. I don't know how to elaborate it but the thought is there 🫴

12- Between Gumball and Marshall Lee, Marshall is the most protective of them and he's more prone to jealousy. It's easy to tell when he's jealous, because he'll instantly hold onto Gumball and stare until the person leaves. I think Gumball would get sarcastic when he's jealous.

I think that's all. Thank you for the ask!

[wingsnwangs]

staff member's sexy time playlist songs idk i did this on my other blog and i have fun doing this so i'm just gonna jump right in - adding 1-2 songs ig. select muses because not all of them are developed enough / would have music playing. feel free to send individual asks for more insight or songs from the boys themselves!! they would love it!!

shikkie this man probably doesn't care too much about music during sex so I'm gonna chuck it out there and say something kinda generic along the lines of leave the door open by bruno mars, anderson .paak and silk sonic locked out of heaven by bruno mars

tae il another who wouldn't care too much, but would be really picky about it when it's discussed. feminine singers would be his main choice like two weeks by fka twigs moonlight by kali uchis

binnie oooo a tough boy to choose for. probably something loud-ish, to drown out the sounds when he's in his dorm room. would it be too clique to give this brash and abrupt boy rude boy by rihanna nails by call me karizma

hwa hwa is similar nam in the sense that the songs they dance to are definitely on their sexy times playlists. and he's such a coyote ugly 2000s pop girlie fanboy for sure, so can't fight the moonlight by leann rimes automatic by red velvet

noah FUCKBOY OF THE HIGHEST ORDER RIGHT HERE. you just know he's listening to some generic shit during sex, but also throws some women singers in there; yknow, to make the ladies feel like he's a feminist too pony by ginuwine 34+35 by ariana grande

yan an let's be real he doesn't have a playlist. it's just the sound of netflix or whatever show he put on to chill in the background. probably stole noah's playlist dangerous woman by ariana grande often by the weeknd

si woo si woo definitely operates on a vibe that's closer to rock than anything. pop music during sex just weirds him out. so that definitely includes the death of peace of mind by bad omens across the bed by volumes

dae sung manager hyung just doesn't do music, I'm sorry. he doesn't care for music during sex

yeol yeol??? music during sex???? it's just ambient noise. no care for it either. more likely to just chuck on the radio if they want noise. enjoy having sex to the 5pm news broadcast or whatever

mason fuckboy number 2. noah but with more curation, yknow? still a little generic with his choices though streets by doja cat water by tyla

nam nam fancies the 80s and 90s rock to dance to, and the same goes for his music choices for sex. not only is poison his favourite song to dance to, but his number one sex song pick too poison by alice cooper closer by nine inch nails

[emeraldtied]

➤ Take A Look | Accepting (slowly)

↳ @familylightfox asked: send DIFFERENT for a scene from my muse's past that they feel changed their outlook / personality / etc, for the better or worse

{➹} – IT WAS A LONG silence, far from comfortable. Marred by the glowering glare that was currently being aimed at him, by his little brother no less. The fox was furious, those baby blue eyes alight with anger the hedgehog had never seen before. And not for a single moment did Sonic blame them for it.

He still shifted underneath it, uncertain of what to do and moreso when it came to what to say. But he had to say something, he had to try to explain himself, to make things right. No matter how dim his hope was for that to happen. "Tails..."

"Miles." The fox's voice was savage, cut across so harshly that it took the hedgehog aback for a moment. And it hurt, Sonic would admit that. It was true then, the fox had abandoned the name the hero had given him. "I'm not a kid anymore, don't treat me like one."

"I didn't..." Sonic started but trailed off, his own voice sounded feeble for a moment. He stopped, took a breath, and tried again with more conviction. "Knux told me how hard you took everything...an' I know we didn't have the best...well, anything, right before everything happened..."

Everything. Rail Canyon. His capture, what Miles and Knuckles had took as the hedgehog's death. Chaos knew there were still days Sonic wished that had been the case. Even now, a few months later, fully healed, he was far from alright and it showed in the way he held himself. Whether Miles noticed or simply didn't care, no one could tell.

The fox only sneered, nearly spat in the hero's direction as his eyes narrowed. "That's how you'd put it? Funny, because I remember finding out the person I idolized the most in the world, the person who saved me, someone I considered a brother telling me he wanted nothing to do with me. Who turned around and insulted me in everyway he could when he thought I'd never know about it. Then said it all to my face."

The hedgehog flinched as if he had been hit, but it didn't take the fox long to realize that they weren't denying anything either. In truth, the hero had no idea what he was supposed to say. How the hell was he supposed to explain to the fox that he had only said those things to save them? To get them the hell out of Robotnik's base before the madman could take the fox and echidna hostage too?

...How could he rightfully say he didn't mean all of that when, at that moment, he just might of?

He regretted it, he truely did, but Sonic knew that wasn't enough. That maybe it never would be. "Listen, I know I was an ass but...I didn't mean—"

"Yes, you did!" Miles snapped, so viciously that the hero had to take a step back when the fox advanced forwards. Their hands were balled into tight fists. The fox wasn't crying, but rather seething. "Why else would you say it? Everything you said back in Robotnik's base was true, wasn't it? That you never wanted me...that you think I'm...I'm a freak."

That part wasn't true, not even remotely. "Tails..."

"Stop calling me that!" It was the straw that broke the fox's back, and he let out a guttural noise that almost scared the hero. Before Sonic could correct himself, before he could try to explain things, the fox had already seen red. They had bent down, scooped up the largest rock they could find and hurled it at the hero.

Maybe it was because it was so unexpected, or maybe he thought the fox hadn't really meant it despite the absolute ire in their voice, but the hedgehog didn't move. Even as the rock came right for his head. It hurt, but somehow paled in comparison to the fox's next words right before they walked away.

"Leave me alone. And go to hell, Sonic"

[author-morgan]

15 Questions, 15 People

Tagged by: @aralezinspace and @happilyhertale

answers below the cut

Nickname: don't really have one. @mrsragnarlodbrok calls me wifey and Thanos tho😘

Sign: Virgo

Height: almost 5'2" (157.5 cm)

Last Thing I Googled: how many cm is 5'2" lmao, but my last legit search was in Google Scholar for "crystal nucleation density in mafic magmas"

Song Stuck in My Head: Ridin' Dirty by Chamillionaire because my research group is going to make ribbons for our name badges at LPSC with a Mars rover that says they see me rovin' 

Number of Followers: almost 6k now

Amount of Sleep: a good weeknight is like maybe 5 hours?

Dream Job: tenured professor of geology at a teaching focused uni

Wearing: leggings, baggy long sleeve t-shirt, blanket

Movies/Books That Summarize You: idk? dante's peak bc it's a geology movie with a moderately accurate volcanic eruption? but my favorite movies are LotR EE, Master and Commander, and King Arthur: Legend of the Sword. and my favorite book is LotR, Silmarillion, ASOIAF, The Faithful and the Fallen.

Favorite Song: at the moment? Sleep by Goodnight, Texas

Favorite Instrument: hurdy-gurdy or talharpa

Aesthetic: dark academia, i guess? farmhouse chic? i don't know enough about aesthetics to say, my aesthetic is t-shirts and plaid shirts and field pants with lots of pockets filled with rocks and muddy hiking boots.

Favorite Authors: JRRT, GRRM, Patrick Rothfuss, John Gwynne. favorite scientific authors tho? Hap McSween and Justin Filiberto, catch me reading their papers a lot

Random Fun Fact: Mars has volcanoes that were active and producing the same type of magma (compositionally) for over 100 million years in a single location which is about 10x longer than any known volcanic complex here on Earth. So like, how? How did this funky lil red planet do that with no plate tectonics and being like a quarter of the size it should be.

tag list: @mrsragnarlodbrok @erzsebetrosztoczy @overratedsun @thatharpist @serasvictoria @bitchofdarkness @ewanmitchellcrumbs and whoever else wants to partake because i'm too lazy to tag 15 people.

[theladyalchemist]

A TALE OF THE DARK KNIGHT & THE PHEONIX 🕷️

A short fictional/non-fictional story I wrote about an argument I had with my ex boyfriend who has his Pluto and Mars conjunct my 12H Pluto..which is also conjunct my ASC and Chiron 12H. I mentioned these aspects instead of our 8H synastry because I kinda felt like those placements related more to this particular situation.

“Be your fucking self!” He says with rage in his voice. I sit listening to him call me out over the jail phone, body filling with anger as he speaks with demand. “This n*gga is crazy” I thought as I carry on to defend myself, unsure of why he keeps saying those exact words to me. “Am I being myself?” My subconscious thought wondered as the phone hung up. I then proceed to roll one under stress, turn on my rock music, and let the anger release with each puff. I personally considered myself one of the weirdest girls from Dallas based off my music taste alone, so I couldn't really grasp what he meant. I was like every other black girl from Dallas who grew up listening to UGK, Slim thug, Trill Ent., Gucci Mane, Future, Kevin Gates, Jodeci, Tyrese, etc…yet most times I find myself dancing all over my room to Willow Smith, Deftones, Lana del Rey, Justin Bieber, Girl in Red, Coldplay,Avril Lavigne and the list of Popstars, Rockstars, and country singers goes on. Music I couldn’t play around my “so called” friends because it was considered weird. I’m also the black girl who can be the life of the party at a club, but I would prefer going to museums, art galleries, arcades, hiking, amusement parks, going to the beach, going to music festivals, open mic nights, trying new foods, meeting new people, rooftop parties, traveling and the best of them all.. going to fashion shows. The kind of black girl who writes poetry/short stories nobody knows about, and keeps a diary. The black girl who’s too black for other races and not black enough for black people. The girl who goes missing on social media for months, comes back for a few days, and then goes ghost again. The girl all alone in a world of casual sex/relationships, because I believe in being with one person and continuing to be there even when things get tough. A girl obsessed with horror movies, and dark romance.“Till death do us part” is a term that makes me wet. A hopeless romantic. The girl who can only have sex with a man who will go through hell with me and walk out with the key. The girl who knew what and how sacred sex was at just 8 years old. But also the girl with insecurities surrounding sex from being brought up in a family who suppressed my sexuality. “Go change out of that skirt!” They would say, whenever men would come over. Calling me fast whenever I would dress up showing my skin. Telling me “he’s just going to have sex with you and leave you”, everytime I would have a boyfriend. Traumatizing me with the horror stories of my mother being raped by 3 men as a child, and projecting the outcome onto me if I showed any parts of my feminine side. The girl who is now a 24 year old virgin, afraid that men would take advantage of me and not knowing how to let go of the men that do. A girl who has been both stable and unstable trying her best to be a woman. To own her authenticity even if the world doesn’t accept her.

“Be your fucking self!”, the agonizing words he said replaying over and over in my head. I then imagine me screaming “I AM!” So loudly that the earth starts to shake. “He doesn’t understand” I thought to myself. It was better to tell myself that he didn’t understand than to admit he could be right. If he was right then that would mean the suppression I saw within him, I also had within myself. Was he my mirror? How did he unknowingly know that I had so many things inside me that I kept suppressed? It was the feeling of someone reading your diary without your permission, and then using your secrets against you. I hated him for the ways he went about things, yet craved him for ripping out every part of me that wasn’t real. Parts that I couldn’t see. He seen through her illusion and killed her before she could kill me. The girl I’ve let take over me for so long, lying on the ground with a knife in her heart bleeding out to her death. With the power of his words there she layed, finally dead. And there I rose, covered in her blood, reborn again.