#this baby can fit so much emotional trauma in it

[blooms-in-april]

Due to the election results, I finally found the fuel to post Ch3 of Herodias. Have some Lambert angst in these trying times.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/5734246

[lith-myathar]

I am like a desert plant that can live on tiny amounts of moisture it draws from the air except with emotions and the quarterly 10 minute cry

[inlovewithifsvns]

Did I make this blog just so I can post a wallpaper I made for my MC for @infamous-if? Maybe

Phoenix Cadence: he/they

(The large quote is from the Given movie, just adjusted to be related to Phoenix!)

(More stuff in the tags)

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Nine

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.1k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Graphic descriptions of domestic violence. Medical chart from a SANE EXAM. Simon's family history, trauma. Brief sexual content. Hospital setting, nurse!reader, medical inaccuracies. Heavy emotions. Scars. Reader in pain. Hurt/comfort. Kate is a dog with a bone. Penny is cute. POV switches. Simon and Johnny make a discovery, and a promise.

You can’t breathe.

The air is too thin, too tight, and you stand, silent, in the foyer of the home that you’ve been invited to.

A clock ticks on the wall. You count each second, waiting. 

You should leave. You should run. 

Simon’s footsteps echo above your head, already up the stairs with your first bag and work backpack.

He said to make yourself at home, but you can’t move.

The foyer is the foyer of a family. There is a hall tree with little shoes scattered beneath it, a tiny, pink backpack hanging on the hook. Too many wellies to count, all in pastel colors, matching a small yellow and green rain jacket that’s folded on the stairs. There’s a black hoodie, a black jacket, and a green on the coat rack, hung haphazardly with a toss. Men’s sizes, and you notice two pairs of trainers next to one pair of black boots, and two crayons hide, peeking out from under the bench, one blue, one purple, so worn down they’re almost half gone.

A home. A family. 

“Hey, so up-“ You flinch. The jolt has you stumbling, one misstep over another, and he tenses, prepared to steady you, careful hand outstretched, but not encroaching.

“Sorry.” You shouldn’t be here. 

“No, I’m sorry. I know better.” You blink, and the silence is heavy, weighted down like bricks at the bottom of a river. 

He’s still wearing the mask. 

 “Can I… give you a tour?”

“S-sure.”

You lose your breath again in the kitchen.

Simon turns away to the sink, loading dishes into the dishwasher as you stare at the fridge and its collage with a tight chest. It’s covered; photos, invitations, magnets, notes, finger painted masterpieces. You step closer, studying, noticing the way they all fit together, mix matched perfectly, and even in the pictures, the three of them glow effortlessly, too sweet and smiling, happy. Together. A family. A perfect unit.

Your nose tingles, and you blink back the tears that fight forward, wiping away the two that escape and trickle down your cheek. You don’t know why it overwhelms you, why it fills you with grief.

What is it like, to be loved like that? To have a family, like this? 

Get it together. You’re a guest in their house.

It’s too much, and you chastise yourself for getting so emotional over nothing, over something stupid.

You need to be alone. 

Dry sandpaper scrubs the back of your throat when you swallow. “Simon?” He turns, concerned, glancing at the fridge and then back to you, drying his hands on a towel.  

“What is it?”

“Can I… I’m sorry. I’m… tired.” You try to explain your needs but it’s awkward on your mouth, uncomfortable. His expression creases with sympathy.

“Of course, c’mon. I’ll show you.”

“Alright, one more step.”

“’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, bun. You’re alright.” In the back of your mind, you’re registering Simon’s warmth, the wilted lean that has you tipped into him, slow steps on the stairs, one by one as you fight to stay upright. He’s warm, and pillowy… the kind of comfort you could sink into, disappear inside for a while. It sounds so… nice.

But your shoulder is throbbing. The pain combined with the emotions swirling about in your heart has you on the verge of tears, top teeth dug into your lip, and your molars grind against one other with each step.

“It’s just at the end of the hall.”

You shouldn’t be doing this. Even now, after agreeing, getting in the car, getting yourself here… the desire to bolt runs hot under your skin, buzzing inside your skull, an insistent need.

You’re in their house. Where they live. With their baby. 

What if he comes back? What if he hurts them? 

“Hey.” Simon says your name slowly, ducking down to get your attention. Fuck.

“Sorry, I’m just… exhausted.”

“I’m sure. It’s right here.” He opens the door to a room, flicking on a light switch. The walls are a sage green, a gentle hue that matches the bedspread, framed photos organized into a gallery wall, pictures of smiles and laughter, a tiny Penny in Simon’s naked arms, a candid shot of Johnny in full military regalia, the three of them together somewhere, hiking, with Pen snuggled in a papoose on Johnny’s chest. The bed is the centerpiece, a massive king size piled with pillows, and it looks so inviting, so soft that you want to collapse into it right here and now.

“Wow.” It’s the best you can do, considering the screeching agony vibrating in your shoulder. You try to breathe through it, but the pain only shortens your draw.

“Yeah, it’s our old bed. Very comfortable.” He puts your other duffel down by the dresser, and you try not to dwell on the idea of it once being theirs, where they slept, where they’ve loved one another, held each other, their child, their- “It’s got its own bathroom, just through here.” He’s on the other side of the room, turning on a light that is far too bright, and you squint, jerking away with a gasp. Are you getting a migraine too? “Shit, sorry.” The room spins. You stumble towards the bed, limbs heavy, head full of cement, wooziness blurring your immediate sight. You’re disjointed, a mess of pain and disorientation, and you cover your eyes with a palm.

“Sorry, I think… I think I’m getting a headache. My shoulder-“ it slips out before you can stop yourself, and even with your eyes closed, you know Simon is staring at you, picking you apart with his eyes.

“Your shoulder?” You’re on a runaway train now. It has no brakes. No destination. It just barrels down the tracks, unable to stop for rational thought or pleas of mercy. It has no plan, and it does not heed you. You’re helpless. Hopeless. Lost. Reaching out for a light in the dark, a rope, a life vest, and a sob breaks through to the surface.

“It really hurts.”

“It hurts?” His voice cuts, tone worried. “Which one?” You use your good side to point, shakily.

“I’m sorry. I’m s-sorry.” You try to tell him, try to explain that you don’t mean to cry, or be emotional. You don’t mean to be making a fuss. You’re not supposed to be a problem.

A warm hand lays atop your thigh, thumb rubbing into your scrub pants.

“Sweetheart, you’re in pain. You don’t have to apologize for crying.” Your vision blurs, thick with tears, and fingers gently probe along your shoulder cuff. When you flinch, he swears. “Shhh, alright. Easy.” He’s gentling a spooked horse, carefully feeling along where you ache as you cry through it, unable to stop. “I’m going to go get some ice. We can… wrap it up, if you think that will help?”

“Ye-yeah, okay.” His steps fade, and you try to get your top off, sliding the arm that doesn’t hurt underneath your turtleneck, which is confined by the rigidity of your scrub top.

When you try the other one, the pain is so sharp, a cry bursts from your lips, and Simon sprints up the stairs. How did it get so much worse between the beginning of your shift and now? 

“What happened?”

“I can’t… I can’t get my shirts off.” You uselessly tug at the hem, eyes half open, letting it fall from your fingers, stuck in a loop, frantic movements matching the increasing pace of your lungs.

“Can I help?” His face is lined in concentration, and you spot an icepack on the bed now, with a sling, and a wrap. They’re prepared. Must come home with a fair number of injuries. “Bun, are you with me?” You sniffle and nod. What choice do you have? What choice do you ever have? The pain is too much. It’s all too much, and it boils over until you need to get the shirts off, not caring that it will expose you, or show Simon the very details you’re always trying to hide. You’re too far lost now, too far gone.

If you’re here, in their home, shouldn't you let them see? Shouldn't you let them know? 

The truth is terrifying, the reality of the trust you have in them. You know Simon won’t hurt you, instinctively. You feel safe here, in their home, their old bed, and when he looks at you, you show him, just for a second, the fractured mirror that is your reflection. You show him the pain and the rage and the fear, you give him everything. You shove the girl in the mirror forward, you force her into the sun and you hold her face to the light, trying not to sob as she screams at you in protest.

Just for a second.

“Okay.” He nods, and then cups your cheek. “You’re okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” You nod with tears that sting, and then you slowly pull away, slipping back into yourself, hiding the girl in the mirror away, making more promises to her that you’re not sure you’re going to keep.

“We’re going to put this one,” He slowly, carefully lifts the arm with the bad shoulder until it’s resting on his own, “right here. That alright?” A whimper builds, but you give him another nod, breathing through the anguish. There are a million little needles in your shoulder, all stabbing you over and over, ripping and gnawing at the cartilage, or the bone, or the muscle… you can’t be sure. “I’m going to bring your scrub top up now. Is this okay?” his fingers peel it from the turtleneck, and when he gets to your head, you incline your neck, more tears rushing forth.

“Yeah.” You whisper, a tired, pained moan, falling from your lips without permission.

“I know it hurts; I know. Almost there, try to breathe.” He soothes you, and the top slides towards him along your arm. He pulls it free, throwing it on the floor somewhere, his hands returning to your thighs.

“Sorry.” It’s automatic, ingrained. A reaction to pain, to fear, to the idea of being a burden, something that haunts you, every day. He ignores it.

“Ready for the next?” The turtleneck comes less easy, but the two of you are in sync like dance partners. The pain shoots up your arm when you move your neck again, and Simon wipes a few tears from your cheek, carefully leaning you back into the pillows and pulling the comforter down.

There’s a sharp intake of breath, the raw edge of surprise, horror, you’re sure, and you close your eyes. You can't look at him, when you know what he sees. You know what you look like. A roadmap of foolishness. Of weakness. You know the scars are plainly on display, still raised, still ugly. Like you.

He says nothing, only sits at your side, bed dipping with his weight. “I’m going to take your shoes off too, okay?” He narrates and asks for permission with each touch, pulling your sneakers free, satisfying thunk of each one hitting the floor, and then moves on to sliding the ice pack underneath you, wrapping it firmly but not too tight, ensuring it stays in place. He’s tender and slow, thoughtful, your eyes fighting to stay closed, brain and body starting to drift off into uncomfortable sleep. “Not yet, sweetheart.” There’s a rattle, two pills being deposited into your hand.

“What are these?"

“Paracetamol.” He turns the bottle, label out, word coming into focus enough to be verified, and you swallow them down with the glass of water in his outstretched hand.

“Thank you.” The croak stays lodged in your throat, and his eyes crinkle, the sign of a smile.

“Get some rest.” It’s comfort he gives you, leaning forward, pressing mask covered lips to your forehead. Comfort that doesn’t elicit a flinch or a sense of wariness, and you bask in the shine of the sun on your skin, holding tight to it, slipping into a dreamless sleep.

“Banky.” Pen demands, hands outstretched.

“No binky, it’s lunch time. Lunch.” Simon makes the sign for lunch, L shaped pointer finger and thumb, circling the corner of his mouth. He does it a few times, accompanied with the word again and again until Penny huffs and leans back, eyes wide. “You try. You try, lunch.”

“No!” She shrieks, and he shushes her, scattering some banana puffs across her tray.

“Shhh Pen. Bun is sleeping, remember?”

“Bunny seep?” She gives him the sign for sleep, or her sign at least, a palm dragging down her face followed by very dramatic closing lids. “Seep?”

“Yes, sleeping.” Simon makes the sign to acknowledge she was correct. “Good job.” He gives her a thumbs up, and she smiles, sweetness melting away some of the tense worry that's taken up in his heart.

“Puff?” She holds one out to him, but he shakes his head, pointing at her mouth.

“For you. Eat them, eat your puffs.” He signs along with the words, and she mimics him, food in hand, eyes lighting up when she finally makes it in her mouth.

He glances towards the stairs. You’re in the guest room, far enough away that Penny’s noise shouldn’t wake you, but still he tries to keep her preoccupied, distracted from making a fuss.

He wants you to get as much sleep as possible, this morning’s discovery of your shoulder unsettled him more than he’s frankly comfortable with, and the image of your swollen, battered face and neck leers and taunts. 

She’s safe now. She’s here. 

“Dada.” Pen calls, and he smiles, leaning forward to brush his lips across his baby’s soft skin, wispy curls tickling his nose. 

“Love you, baby girl.” He signs it too, and she beams.

“Luh.” It’s supposed to be love, and though the word is a struggle, the sentiment is the same. He doesn’t care that she’s not quite got it yet, he’ll take every word, every syllable he can get. These moments, each moment with his child, Johnny’s child, theirs… is a gift, one he never thought he’d have until Johnny. A privilege.

His phone vibrates with a text message.  

>Simon

>Give me a ring when you get a chance. On the black cell.  

“Thought you were on vacation?” Kate sighs, click clack of keys echoing in the background.

“I am, but if I’m too idle I start to go crazy. The wife likes it when I have a project.” Simon pauses, cocking his head. Penny’s feet kick in the highchair, baby spoon banging against the plastic tray.

“Hang on, Kate.” He drags a kitchen chair over in front of her so he can sit, pinning the phone between his shoulder and chin to twist the lid off the applesauce pouch. “Shhh, here you go." Penny gurgles with a grin at the taste of the fruit, and he smiles back at her. "So, what’s the new project then?”

“The nurse.” Simon’s eyes dart to the floor above his head.

“It’s not a good time.”

“I can talk, you can listen.” She brushes him off, sipping something with ice and then continuing. “I found it hard to believe that a civilian would be able to scrub their footprint like this, so I did a little digging. The more digging I did, the worse my fixation became.” Like a dog with a bone.Simon holds his breath. “I just needed a key, and with those photos you provided, well, things just started unraveling.”

“Kate.” He growls because he can’t manage anything else. He’s trying to keep himself still, heart pounding in his chest. Penny coos, like she notices the shift in her dad’s demeanor, and he immediately attends her, thumbing at a smear of applesauce on her cheek.

“I found a SANE exam from a few years ago. Small hospital in southern Colorado, right over the border from Texas. Patient’s name is Jane Doe, but the photos are almost an exact match.” His stomach lurches, dark clouds shadowing his vision, world splitting into blood and rage. Violence.

He didn’t want to be right.

He wanted to it to be anything, anything but this.

Who? 

Is it the same person that choked you? Beat you? Tore your shoulder damn near out of its socket? 

His gaze drifts to Penny.

They'll need to loop Price in, immediately. 

“Can you send it to me?”

“It’s already in your email.” She speeds past, eagerly. “There’s more. I used the photo to run facial recognition on archives in neighboring states and got a host of hits from Texas. You’ll have to visually confirm, but if I’m right, I’ve got positive ID on your girl.”

“How?”

“School. She graduated high school a year before the rest of her class, ended up with a full scholarship to Rice University in Houston, Texas. Went on to get a bioscience degree and graduated from Rice early.” Pride flutters beneath his ribs, honeyed and heavy. Their smart girl. “She ends up at a different school for pre-med but drops out before the first year ends. Not sure what happened but she started an accelerated nursing program, and breezed through it. You should see her transcripts. I don’t think this girl has gotten less than an A+ on anything since kindergarten.”

“Send them over.”

“Already done. After that, she starts work at a local hospital, and then… nothing. Her paper trail stops. Her job disappears. She’s a ghost except for the sealed court records, and now the Jane Doe medical chart, but that didn’t happen until later. The aliases she’s used over the past few years, they’re in the wind. It’s really quite impressive. She’s either got a connection somewhere, or she’s CIA.” Kate is animated, talking quickly, and he interrupts her to get to the question that’s weighing on him, brushing off the latter immediately. You’re not a honeypot. He spots those a mile away.

“You know her name, then. Her birth name?”

“I do.” She’s silent for a moment, and then she gives it softly. First, middle and last.

He closes his eyes. He tries to imagine you as a girl, on the playground, playing tags with other kids, all of them shouting your name, or as a teenager, in a fight with a parent, one of them yelling your name. He pictures you as a uni student, with your friends, laughing and having a good time somewhere, one of them hollering your name over too loud music. You’ve had a whole life with that name, a whole story. You were a person with that name, and he tries to imagine the way it would sound on your tongue, on Johnny’s, even his.

You’re a ghost now, will you let them bring you into the light?

Will you let them help you reclaim it; the way Johnny helped him reclaim his own?

Kate subtly coughs on the other end of the line.

“Thanks, Kate.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll keep digging. Check your email when you get a chance.”

“Will do.”

“Oh! And the hotel, I sent that paperwork to your email as well.” He thanks her, again, tells her to try to enjoy her time off and hangs up just as Penny starts to fidget, unhappy with being in the highchair for so long without attention.

“Alright, lamb. Let’s get you cleaned up, hmm?” He pulls her free, showering kisses all over her cheeks and neck that make her giggle. “Can’t be wearin’ your applesauce and pajamas over to John and Lou’s, can you?”

Johnny is anxious. Simon can see it a mile away, even before he gets in the room, he notices how he is fidgets, unspent energy and too much time to dwell culminating in an unsettled state.

So, when he kisses him first thing, he makes it long and slow. He drags Johnny’s bottom lip between his teeth, carefully taking his time until he’s sure his partner is half hard beneath his hospital gown and blanket.

“Si.” Johnny groans, and he relents, pulling away to cradle his face between his hands, taking him in, every line, every fleck of gold in his blue eyes, soaking up the healing, healthy glow that glimmers in his skin.

His doctor says it won’t be long now, until he can come home, and Simon is counting the days.

To have everyone, under one roof, feels like a fever dream.

“Missed you.” Johnny noses into his neck, and Simon reciprocates with a kiss to his temple, his cheek.

“Missed ye too.” He pauses, squeezing his hand. “Pen?”

“Alright. Grumpy this morning. Think she wanted to see you.” She did, he knows it, but he tries not to pile it on. Johnny knows their daughter misses him, as much as he misses her. They’re two peas in a pod, best friends, halves to a whole. They’re both suffering. “Went with Lou and John fine. I’ll bring her in the morning.”

“Good.” He nods, tilting his chin for another kiss, and Simon gives it without hesitation, basking in the warmth and familiar feel  of his skin.

When he clears his throat, he pulls away with a sigh. “How is she?”

“In pain. Shoulder is nearly torn out of the socket, and her neck is in poor shape. I had to help get her into bed, she couldn’t get her shirt off. Emotionally she’s… still got the walls up, but she let them slip for a second last night, before she let me help her. And I caught her crying in front of the fridge. Think the photos of Pen got to her somehow.” His stomach twists, new, horrifying possibility dawning on him. Do you have a child somewhere? 

“Did she get any sleep?”

“She hadn’t come down when I left to take Penny, so I assume so.”

“Good. She needs it.” Simon agrees. After injury, after trauma, body and mind need so much more care. More rest, more nutrients, water, protein. More love.

“Kate called.” He bites the bullet, fingers flexing against his knee. “She found a loose end and tugged it.” Johnny straightens. He’s every bit the solider, even laid up in bed. Waxy, soft features turn razor sharp and focused, except instead of his practiced steadiness, he’s chomping at the bit.

“Tell me.”

Simon does. He tells him everything Kate said, almost verbatim. Johnny’s face changes from worried to enraged when he finally gets to the medical chart.

“No.” Johnny’s whisper is faint, thin, papyrus. Brittle and broken, almost washed away, and Simon doesn’t blame him. The chart is horrific for them, was horrific for him earlier, turned his stomach until he thought he’d be sick.

He’s killed. He’s tortured. But to be there when Johnny revealed the handprinted tender skin on your neck, to be there when you cried out in pain last night, when he saw the scars on your body, the cigarette burns that were so familiar, to look at these photos and know that you’ve been brutalized beyond belief, makes his vision run red and his heart ache.

There’s a ghost in these photos. A different girl, but the same, a glimpse of what he saw last night. Still their bunny, their girl. He can see her, through the broken blood vessels and compound forearm fracture. He can see her past the swollen cheekbone and broken nose, the fresh burns on your stomach and torso. The doctor’s notes indicate that you said you were mugged, and sexually assaulted, but refused to finish the SANE exam and took off.

He's not surprised. 

The first time he saw the burns on your naked skin, he swore he could his mother’s screams, and for the hundredth time today, Simon thinks of her. He wonders, if she ever went to a hospital, if she ever begged anyone to help her, or them. He wonders if someone saw what was happening, how she was slowly disappearing, sinking in on herself, and tried to help. He wonders if she felt as alone as you seem to. If she too, became a ghost.

He looks at these photos and cannot fight the pain, the memories.

“Oh, Si.” Johnny cups his cheek, thumb soothing softly across his skin, trying to wipe away the tears that fall. He can’t stop them, not now, and Johnny does not ask, only holds him through it, lets him cry into his hands, pain and suffering of a small, frightened boy coming out of his body in broken sobs.

He won’t fail you. Not like he did her.

After minutes turn long, he takes a deep breath, pressing his lips to Johnny’s palm, and utters a promise as cold as death. 

“We’ll kill them. Whoever it is.”

[darby-rowe]

maybe could we do a sub!coryo getting pegged by dom!reader and shes going super hard on him like spanking him,grabbing his hair and pulling him back against her cock? could we add some mommy kink in there too 🤭🤭

im so sorry i keep leaving my asks in the dust akskfks i write so slow im so sorry 😩

but anon this is such a hot idea. as a society we need to acknowledge the fact that coryo more than likely has a mommy kink

18+ | nsfw | mdni

cw mommy kink

coryo has a major attitude problem due to his unresolved trauma, and a common outlet he uses to vent his frustrations and express his emotions is letting you fuck the absolute shit out of him.

you can't recall how it happened the first time, but after coryo finally let you peg him, cooing in his face and calling him a good boy, he became obsessed with your silicone dick. and now you use this newfound kink as a way to 'tame' him when he's being exceptionally bratty.

you'd go out shopping in public, and you'd have to withstand coryo's complaining on how hot/cold it is outside, or how it's too crowded, or blah blah blah, etc. and by god did it get on your last nerve. was there anything in this world that coryo didn't complain about?

the last straw came and went whenever you wanted to try on a few dresses and coryo just let out the bitchiest sigh you ever heard. he didn't even say anything, and yet it made your blood absolutely boil.

so now fast forward and you have coryo on his knees in between your legs as you fuck his throat with your strap, watching his pretty blue eyes well up with tears as he gargles and gags on your silicone cock.

"that's it, baby," you purr, tangling your fingers in his soft blonde curls and guiding him back and forth on your dick. "such a nice little cocksucker, aren't ya? i guess those pretty lips are good for something else other than being a fucking brat,"

you softly wipe his tears away before plunging your cock down his throat, groaning at how hard he grips your thighs before letting him come up for air. and those wet baby blues of his never fail to get you going.

“say you love sucking my cock, brat,” you command, gripping tightly onto his hair. the whimper that emits from his throat has your knees feeling like water.

“i love…” he pants, gulping down saliva. “i love sucking your cock, mommy,”

absolutely delicious.

and one thing about coryo is that he is loud; especially when you have your cock balls-deep inside his ass, pulling him back by the hair and thrusting with everything you have. your pelvis smacks against the flesh of his ass, and he is nearly in tears from how rough you are. but it feels so, so good.

“mommy, please,” coryo babbles incoherently how good your cock feels inside him, or how you’re being too rough. his whimpers and mewls sound so fucking good coming from his swollen, spit-covered lips. “please, slow down. you’re so big. so deep. i can’t take it, mommy,”

“no, baby, you’re gonna take this cock like a good boy,” you pant, planting a hard smack! against the pale flesh of coryo’s ass. he lets out another whimper. “if you want me to slow down and be nicer, you’re gonna have to learn to not be such a fucking pompous brat. in the meantime, you’re gonna take my cock, and you’re gonna cum as many times as i see fit,”

and so you proceed to fuck him until he’s so dumb and blissed out that you can barely understand a word he’s saying — until he’s only repeating, “mommy, i can’t stop cumming”, and “my ass feels so good”, and “thank you, mommy”.

at the end of the night, you of course bring him the absolute best aftercare you can muster. you run him a bath, give him sweet kisses all over his pretty, tear-stained face, and make sure you tell him how much you really love him.

[fieldofdaisiies]

Just a Little Bit Of Your Heart pt. III

ship: Azriel x Reader type: angst word count: 3,1k  warnings: talk about childhood trauma, birth summary: the day has come..... fic masterlist

She is so small. So fragile. But so full of life and joy. And she is so strong.

Around him time stands still. There is just Azriel and the tiny little babe. She is so much smaller than he ever imagined a baby to be, so much smaller than a normal child at birth is. So much smaller than Nyx was.

She is wrapped in a soft, pink blanket that seems far too large for her fragile figure. Her skin is nearly translucent and her eyes are tightly shut. And Gods, there is her tiny little nose, and the little pouted mouth. She got that from you, Azriel is sure about that. 

He can't look away, eyes trailing over the little life in his arms. And Cauldron! His arms, his hands, his whole body seems too big to be holding such a tiny, little, fragile being. He is scared he might crush her if he makes one wrong move.

And then there are her wings, peeking out from behind the blanket, folded in brhind her small frame. 

She is beautiful, just like her mother. The biggest tiny wonder he has ever seen in his entire life.

The shadowsinger feels an overwhelming sense of responsibility and vulnerability. He is a father now. This tiny being is truly his child — your child. She depends on you, on him, will need him, and he will protect her with his whole life. Until his last day.

With absolute care, she is lying on Azriel's bare chest, skin to skin, the warmth of his body providing her with comfort and love. He can feel her heart beating against his.

A tiny little fighter, Azriel thinks, who wanted to see the world and would let nothing stop her. 

A fine dusting of raven hair covers her small head and and Azriel lets his finger, which seems huge compared to her tiny hands, dance over her head. It is so soft, and a tear slips out of his eye.

Her breaths are shallow, like delicate whispers and Azriel finds himself marvelling at the miracle in his arms. This is his daughter! His flesh and blood. He created this wonder. With you. 

Tears fill his eyes as he looks down at the baby cradled against him. His emotions just like the tears pour out of him, and he starts to cry. 

No tears of sadness, but of sheer happiness over the life in his hands.

He doesn't know about your state yet, does not know how you are doing. Madja had only told him that the birth went well, but you lost a lot of blood. He hasn’t been allowed inside yet, and so Azriel and the little baby are alone, waiting for you.

But still he allows himself to be happy in this moment. He holds onto the kernel of hope taking root in his chest. The kernel of hope that tells him you are fine. That you will meet your little baby. 

He can't wait to introduce her to you, see the look on your face when he tells you that your baby is a girl. And that she is fit and alive. 

His burning tears fall onto the baby's head. He has never felt like this before. Not once in his life. He feels an enormous amount of responsibility and so do his shadows, swirling around him, gently brushing over the little baby's head, and her tiny hands. 

"Keep her safe," Azriel whispers to them. "Protect her, like you protected me." They listen to his command, gently resting atop her, stroking her skin. 

Azriel never wants to look away from her again. She's so small, so incredibly small. He can't help but compare her to the size of his scarred hand which looks ginormous next to her (not to mention what it looks like next to her tiny hand).

He knows there will come a day where he has to explain the scars to her, and he will do so. He will tell her everything, and most importantly protect her from everything. Nothing will ever happen to her. She will have the best childhood any child could ever hope for. He will be the kind of father he has never had, the kind of father every child deserves.

His heart aches with the desire to protect her from all harm, to shield her from the brutality and harshness of life. And he knows that until his last breath he will do so, keeping her safe forever. 

And not only her. Also you. He will be the best…male for you. The kind of male you deserve. There is a future, a bright one, for the two of you, he knows this. It is no lie that he loves you, and that not only because you now have a child together. 

He loves you and has loved you since the first night you've been intimate. He's just never thought about the possibility of meeting you again. But he had always had hope. For no other reason had he followed the beckons to meet him. The letter had arrived and his heart had started to flutter, his chest warmed and something had tugged at his ribcage. 

You created life that night, but you also lay the foundation for a future. A future together. 

Azriel's gaze returns to the tiny bundle in his arms. He becomes acutely aware of every breath, every heartbeat, every tiny movement of her body. He feels the rise and fall of her chest against his.

Azriel can't wait to sing her to sleep — every night if needed, you cuddled to his chest as well. 

Sometimes the little bundle mewls a little, but Azriel is quick to sway her the slightest bit and everything is fine again. It is almost like she hums when he traces the tip of his finger over her chubby cheek, and her forehead. She still looks a little crumbled, but that will fade. 

Time slips away, and he's not sure how long they stay like this. Minutes, hours, days, it doesn't matter in this very moment he shares with his daughter. His first time holding her.

He had always been so afraid to hold a child. Never seen himself worthy of it. Always thought he was too big, a brute, to hold a little baby. But now that she is here in his arms, it feels so right. He is still netvous and a little scared, but somehow with every breath she takes, she eases his tension.

The shadowsinger is acutely aware of the baby's every movement, her every breath, and little noise. But then…it seems like her tiny mouth searches for food, parting and quivering and then she starts to cry. He doesn't know what to do, has not been provided with a bottle or anything. He tries to sway her but it does not work and—

"Azriel." His head snaps up towards Madja and every ounce of happiness whooshes out of him. She is pale, her eyes a little empty, her clothing stained with deep red blood.

Panic sends an icy shiver throughout his whole body, the worst possible ideas filling his brain. It is only the baby's crying that fetches him back to reality. 

He wants to ask Madja for a bottle, but also about you. There is so much to ask, so many thoughts. It becomes overwhelming and Azriel is suddenly very happy he is sitting down, his head starting to feel dizzy. 

"She is awake."

The tears start to come anew, filling his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. He almost breaks down when he gets up, the only thing grounding him his little baby. "She is hungry," Azriel expresses, the only thing he can say in this moment of utter happiness. 

"Then she needs her mother to feed her," Madja smiles, exhaustion etched upon her features. "Come on, let her meet her baby." Madja takes Azriel by the elbow, knowing he needs this support right now, and guides him into the room where you are waiting for them. 

He is gently holding the tiny bundle in his arms when his eyes land on you. The little girl has calmed down, almost like she can sense something tremendous is about to happen — she is going to meet her mother now for the first time, and this might have calmed her. She is silent again, bubbling a little, but no longer crying. 

The faelights next to the bed cast a warm and comforting glow upon you. You look exhausted, worn, but there is smile on your face. It is a tired smile, but one full of love and happiness.

Azriel's heart races as he approaches the bed. 

"Hey you," he says softly, his voice a mix of tenderness and excitement. "We became parents to a beautiful and fit baby girl."

The smile on your lips widens, your eyes glowing brightly. "Everly," you whisper. "I want to call her Everly." You try to sit up a little, wanting to catch a glimpse of your baby girl.

How is she? What does she look like? What does she smell like? How tiny is she? 

There are so many questions and soon you will have all the answers. 

Azriel, his eyes aglow like golden strings are woven into the deep brown of chocolate, nods and smiles, nothing but relief and joy flooding his entire being. "It is a beautiful name."

The spymaster carefully climbs onto the bed with you, and kisses the top of your head. "You did it, Y/N. You are so strong, the same fighter as our little girl." Tears cloud his vision. 

He leans closer and meets your teary gaze. You draw in a deep inhale and extend a trembling hand towards the baby, your fingers brushing against the tiny fingers of your daughter, over her nose and her cheeks. "She's perfect," your whisper, your voice hoarse and your tears tasting salty on your lips. "And her tiny wings. They look like yours."

Your fingers brush over the tips of them, and you find yourself marvelling at the tiny wonder in Azriel's arms. She is truly perfect! A gift. A miracle. 

"Do you want to hold her?"

"Yes," you answer, wanting nothing more than to hold the little bundle in your arms, feel her little heart beat and smell her. Warmth fills your chest, just like an enormous amount of bliss. 

You meet his gaze and reach your hands out. 

Azriel carefully places the baby your arms, as gently as possible, ensuring the little one is always secure. Your eyes once again fill with tears as you gaze down at…Everly.

It is the name you have chosen a long time ago. If it was a girl, you wanted to name her Everly. It is perfect. 

Your fingers tremble as you brush over the dusting dark hair on her small head. "She is so tiny," you whisper and meet Azriel's gaze. 

He nods. "Only 800 gramme." 

Oh Gods! "She is practically nothing." Your dry lips part and for a moment you turn to look at Azriel, his eyes trained on your baby girl. 

"So fragile, I am scared I will break her."

"You won't," you assure him. He lifts his scarred hand and lets it rest beside her head, softly caressing her chubby cheek with his index finger.

You stay like this for a moment- minutes, hours, days, it doesn’t matter. The three of you are together and nothing else matters.

Until, Everly once again starts mewling, her lips bubbling and then a grimace spreads all over her face. 

You ask Azriel to get Madja, she has not yet explained so much about how breast feeding works. She comes to help you, helps you put Everly to your breast, and the little baby quickly suckles happily, the sweetest baby noises leaving her. 

Azriel watches the two of you in awe, leans in and rests his cheek against your shoulder, his hand moving over Everly, resting on her body. Everly, having wiggled one arm free, wastes no second before curling her tiny little fingers around Azriel's index finger, her fingers barely reaching around. 

A tear slips out of the corner of Azriel's eye and he swallows thickly, fighting against the dryness in his throat. He turns his head and presses a soft kiss to your warm and clammy skin. 

"Are you scared, Y/N?" The question catches you off guard and startles you. 

Your forehead furrows and you shake your head. "About what exactly?"

"How we will—No—" He cuts himself off and finally lifts his gaze to you. "How I will do as a father."

"You will be a great father," you say and mean it. Your expression is sincere — you want him to see the honesty in your statement. Want him to see that he will be a great father.

Silence falls over you for a moment. But then Azriel draws in a deep, ragged breath. "I'm scared," he confesses, his expression clouded with the shadows of the past — of his own upbringing.

You focus on his eyes, concern etched on your features.

He sighs, his gaze dropping to the tiny fingers curled around his. "I'm so scared that I'll become a bad father. Like mine was. What if I turn into him?"

Your heart clenches, and you slide your hand over his, holding it tightly. "You won't be like him. You will be a great father."

He eventually meets your gaze, the weight of his past flashing in his eyes. "I will try my best to not be like him…my childhood…it was awful."

He meets your eyes, the weight of his past haunting the depths of his gaze. "I hope so. But my childhood… it was awful."

You stay quiet, encouraging him to open up about the feelings he has kept locked away behind iron bars in his mind for centuries.

"My stepbrothers," he begins, his voice shaky, "they treated me miserably. I was the outsider, the one who didn't belong. They made me feel like I was a burden, a mistake, the worst person in their life."

Your heart aches for the young boy he once was, trying to survive in a world that wasn't very kind to him. "That is awful," you whisper to him.

"You probably wondered how I got…these wounds." He swallows thickly. "They burned them. My father did nothing, only punished me again and again."

Your heart clenches, the pain so strong and poignant it makes you feel nauseas. You squeeze his hand tighter, feeling a tear slip down your cheek. 

"But I don't want to talk about it now. We can talk about it another time." Azriel looks at your daughter, his eyes shimmering with tears. "I want to be better for her. I want her to have a father who loves her unconditionally, who protects her from the world. I want to be the kind of father I've never had."

Tears well up in your eyes as you lean in to kiss his forehead. "And you will be. You will be the best father she could ever hope for. The best father I could have ever dreamed of for my little baby."

He manages a small smile, but his heart continues to feel heavy. "I want her to have all the love she deserves. I want her to feel nothing but happiness."

You nod. "She will get all the love she deserves. We'll surround her with love. She will be so happy, and we will be a great family for her."

He takes a deep breath, his fingers tracing patterns on the baby's blanket. "I want to believe that. I want to be the father she deserves."

"You already are," you insist, your voice unwavering. "Look at her. She's so lucky to have you as her father."

He glances at the sleeping babe, a mixture of awe and trepidation in his eyes. "I never knew I could love someone so much."

A tender smile graces your lips. "I'm very grateful to have you, Azriel. I'm very grateful how everything turned out. How the thing between us…turned out." You swallow and lean your head against his. "I'm…I am so happy we are a family now. That you didn't leave me alone to deal with everything."

"I'm grateful that you allowed me to be part of this journey and that it won't end here. That we will have a future together." He kisses the top of your head and Everly finally stops suckling. You lift her up and let her burp and just a second later she drifts into a peaceful slumber, head resting against your chest. Azriel helps you button up your shirt again and then lies down in bed with you. 

You hold your daughter more gently, adjusting your embrace and silence falls over the room. But only for a moment. 

Azriel leans in, pressing a soft kiss against your forehead. "Remember when you asked me for just a little bit of my heart?"

You nod, index finger tracing an idle circle about the tiny baby's head. 

"You have all of it." Azriel smiles, and a single tear rolls down his cheek. "You and Everly have my whole heart. I love you," he murmurs. He wiggles one arm free and curls it around your shoulders, holding you tightly. You relish in the warmth of his body, how solid his chest is and how protected you feel in his arms, in his hold. 

Your own cheeks are wet with tears and your chest trembles a little. "I love you. And you have my whole heart as well."

A small sob leaves Azriel, his heart swelling with love and pride. "She has your strength," he says. "I can see it. She is just as strong as you are and will turn into the same amazing female as her mother."

The shadowsinger sniffs. Joy glistens in your eyes. "I can't believe she's finally here. I love her so much, our sweet, little girl. Can you believe she is actually here? In our arms?"

"It is somehow unbelievable…" Azriel sniffs again. "That we created such a beautiful life. That this little wonder is truly our daughter."

Together, you admire your baby, hearts bursting with love and gratitude. You will never be able to thank the Mother enough for the small miracle (actually the large miracle) in your arms. 

And somehow…it has all been fate. You and Azriel have probably also been meant to become parents to this little girl. It was destiny. It had to happen exactly like this. 

In that quiet room, the world outside fades into insignificance. 

As you drift off to sleep, Azriel never stops stroking your arm, his scarred fingers moving up and down, up and down, his other hand placed on the little baby. His shadows accompany him, following the motions of his hand, stroking the baby's head gently and massaging your shoulders, easing the tension from the birth.

"You are my happiness. You are my home," Azriel whispers into the silence of the room. "And my heart is all yours."

tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii@nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22  @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict @callmeblaire

[brotherwtf]

Having thoughts about age gap au Gale hiding an injury/illness from John because his dad always made him feel like a burden and that hurt was deserved 💔 and John losing his mind but trying not to show it as he takes care of Gale, or maybe he doesn't get to because Gale has to go to the hospital and John gets the call while he's at work </3 these boys can fit so much whump and trauma and comfort

ughhhh yes putting Gale into the whump blender again :(( I want to traumatize this boy forever that is my lot in life

----

Gale knew to never show weakness. It's what he was taught from an incredibly young age, weakness meant you could be picked from the crowd, weakness meant that you weren't good enough.

There was a lot of things Gale's father viewed as a weakness. Being sick, scraping your knees, getting hurt and you better not think about crying because at that point you'd be better off dead anyway. Gale learned to hide it whenever he got sick, to lick his wounds in solitude, and to never, ever, ask for help or pity.

So Gale didn't even flinch when he woke up with a 102 degree fever. He's lived through worse, no need to be a baby about it. He got ready for his classes like normal, kissed John goodbye, and waved off his looks of concern when John pressed his cheek to Gales forehead, fretted about him running hot. Gale was fine, he didn't need John's help.

He was able to get through his first class without many problems, he felt waves of nausea periodically and some bouts of lightheadedness, but Gale wasn't going to let that take him down. His second class was a little worse, his hands quivered when he tried to write and the nausea stayed, no longer ebbing in and out in waves.

Gale passes out around lunchtime, Marge by his side and all he can really hear is her anxious fretting, calls of his name and yelling at someone to phone the hospital. He remembers weakly trying to push her off, says he's fine, but Marge tells him to shut the fuck up, he's going to the damn hospital. He doesn't remember much after that.

He wakes up to the soft beeping of a heart monitor, the bright fluorescent lights of a hospital room and he groans. Gale shouldn't be here. He's taking up the space that someone else needs more, he doesn't deserve the time or energy that people are wasting on him. He doesn't get to dwell too much before John is quickly at his side, taking his hand and pushing his hair back. His lips press into a thin line, palm pressing against the sure heat that Gale gives off.

"Baby? Are you okay? God Marge told me you collapsed and I left work immediately. Fuck Gale you should have told me you weren't feeling good," John frets and Gale just shakes his head weakly.

"I'm fine, John. I'm good, you didn't need to leave work just for me. When are they gonna let me out?" Gale asks and his voice is hoarse.

John's brow furrows and his expression grows stern.

"Gale, no, you're not fine. You have a 103 degree fever and you're shaking like a damn leaf. I'm not gonna stay at work when I know you're sick," John says and Gale can feel another wave of nausea that isn't caused by the sickness.

Gale turns his head against the pillow, avoiding John's gaze and he can feel his eyes well up. No, no, he can't cry. Crying is the worst thing he could do right now. But the tears come anyway, streaming down his face steadily and John rushes down to wipe them away, fretting all over again.

"Hey, hey, baby, Gale, come on don't cry. It's okay, I'm not mad I swear. You should have just told me you weren't feeling well, I could have helped, then maybe you wouldn't have fainted," John says, a firm thumb brushing away the tears that stream down his face and Gale shakes his head.

"Don't... don't wanna be a burden," Gale manages to choke and John shushes him and forces Gale's head to turn towards him.

John's face is both soft and firm, his eyes filled with emotion that's both frustration and affection. Gale hates how worried he looks, just because Gale's a little bit sick.

"Gale, you will never be a burden to me. I promised your mama I would protect you, and I promised you the same. I love you, Gale, and if it takes me dropping everything for you to understand how much you mean to me, I'll do it in a heartbeat," John says, cupping Gale's face with both of his hands.

Gale squeezes his eyes shut because he knows if he looks at John anymore he'll just ugly sob, grabs John's wrist and nuzzles his soaked face into it, gasps and chokes as he continues to sob, John shushing him and bringing him in closer until their foreheads are pressed together, breathing heavily against his face.

"I swear, Gale, you are not a burden. You are my everything, doll, my everything," John whispers, and Gale can only nod, finally allowing himself to melt into the sheets, letting himself feel fatigued and exhausted and sick because John is letting him, allowing him to let go.

[multiplicity-positivity]

Here’s some positivity for system littles who do not like being infantilized!

System littles (or syskids) make up a diverse group of system members, and no two syskids are exactly alike. Many are calm, focused, and capable and do not like to be viewed or treated as actual children! These desires are worth respecting - every headmate deserves to be treated in ways that uplift and affirm them, even if others have difficulties understanding their individual needs. So here’s to all the syskids who don’t like being infantilized!

🐻 Shoutout to syskids with important jobs, who help their system by going to work, managing finances, driving, or doing other tasks normally performed by adults!

🚂 Shoutout to syskids with emotional maturity, who are effective at regulating and processing big, scary emotions!

⭐️ Shoutout to syskids who are hosts and handle much of their system’s day-to-day lives!

🎻 Shoutout to syskids who, despite being calm and collected, still love to play, goof around, and have fun!

💐 Shoutout to syskids who have lost their sense of childhood due to trauma, or who feel like an adult because of the trauma they hold on to!

🦄 Shoutout to syskids who do not like to be referred to as young, little, small, or a baby, child, or toddler!

☀️ Shoutout to syskids in committed relationships who are capable of consenting and being loving sexual and romantic partners!

🎈 Shoutout to syskids who hold important, often complex or taxing inside roles like gatekeeper, manager, and caretaker!

🐯 Shoutout to syskids who have adult-oriented desires, hobbies, and interests!

🎀 Shoutout to syskids who are age sliders, and feel more childlike in some moments than others!

Syskids and system littles, you are such a cherished, valued, and important part of both your system and the whole plural community! It’s okay if you don’t always feel like a kid, don’t want to be treated like a kid, do lots of things that kids normally can’t do, or don’t fit the mold of what syskids often look like! You are special and you matter just the way you are. Whether you don’t understand your experiences sometimes, or you look back on them with great clarity, your identity as a system little and a headmate in your own system is still valid!

We hope you can soon find some time to have fun, enjoy a treat, or get some rest. Remember that it’s important to try and meet your needs, too! And if you need to ask for help, please know that doing so does not make you any less capable - everyone, no matter how old they are, needs to ask for help from time to time! We hope you can have a wonderful day today filled with moments that bring you joy!

[muchmossymess]

A Revali Fanfic Recommendation

I urge you all to put your life on hold for a moment and go read this brilliant fanfiction:

A hundred years after the fall of Hyrule to Calamity Ganon, and the hero Link has finally sealed the darkness and freed the Divine Beasts of their curse - and with it, their pilots are finally free. But not just as spirits. Awake once again, the four Champions of old have a second chance at life and must re-adjust to this future world with their decendants. Well - all except for one Champion, who doesn't have a decentant. Or even anyone left alive that knew him. Teba is happy to take in his revived ancient idol as one of his own, but sharing a living space with a hundred year old Champion with an ego the size of his divine beast and who might have some issues he's not willing to share can be a lot sometimes and they don't always see eye to eye. Revali thinks he should return to leading the new generation of Rito warriors. Teba thinks this actual child should never have been leading warriors or fighting a war in the first place. Tulin is just excited to have the infamous Rito Champion in his house.

Beautifully written and lovingly crafted, this baby can fit so much trauma and whump into the most gut-wrenching and heat-breakingly found family story you may ever read. 130,000 words, 36 chapters (and still regularly updating!), and a CRIMINALLY low number of kudos. If that doesn't sway you, here is some gushing under the cut <3

You think you've read a champions revival fic before? This will have you saying "how the FUCK have I not seen this before" and completely change the way you view everything (mild exaggeration. m i l d). We have all of your favourite revali tropes: being a dick and getting owned, being a dick and being right, getting own and never showing those feelings to the light of day, getting killed, getting unkilled and loved, showing emotions but being super weird and revali about it, bonding with tulin!!, bonding with teba and the rest of rito village, bonding with the champions, having panic attacks and trauma, vah medoh being the best ever, being a terrifying force of nature, being an idiot kid, and so much more!

Do you like grumpy dad teba? Do you like revali swallowing his pride? Do you like revali immediately spitting his pride back up and being a bitchy bird? Do you like mipha and revali as gossip buddies? Do you like the complete and utter fool revali makes of himself everytime he so much as hears the name link? Do you like people seeing right through his facade and calling him out on it?

AND NOT TO MENTION THE WORLD BUILDING??? this fic is so in depth of the political climates, racism, lore, changes in culture during times of war, colonisation, biology of the races and just fucking everything?? It adds so much life to the world of hyrule I am genuinely shocked at how much this person clearly loves these games (botw/totk/aoc) and they are able to incorporate all of this amazing information in a way that flows so naturally and just hhrnngngg I am fucking insane about it. THE SCIENCE, oh my god how did I forget all the wonderous thoughts surrounding the divine beasts and the sheikah tech, oh god and how they write the magic system? Guys I swear it's so good.

Characterisation is on point, everyone feels so full of life and that they are reacting exactly how you would expect them too, and they just seem so real, like they are right beside you as you're reading. The author does an IMMACULATE job of drawing you in and making you feel a part of the story, all the while being just beautifully written?

Don't get me started on the attention to rito culture. I have never seen someone pour so much love into something before, genuinely on of the greatest things I've seen. I've always had a fascination over how the races of hyrule view each other, similarities and differences, how their cultures and histories intertwine, and conflicts that may arise. But oh. my. god. My jaw was on the floor every time, it's so rich and beautiful but not without the horrors (and oh god, they are Horrors tm) and again it's just so real!!!

Be warned, however, that there is gore and viscera and terror and hurt and war crimes and death (duh), but for each terrible thing to happen it is repaid tenfold in love and kindness somewhere down the line. (Unless you are into hurt no comfort, then sorry buddy!) It is a beautiful narrative and the exploration of trauma and self is mind boggling and just go read it!!! 😭 😭 😭 I just love this fic so much, it has instantly sky-rocketed to one of my top 3 favourite fics I've ever read, and I'm so grateful to have found it and now be along for the ride that if I could bring that to one more person then by god I will fucking do it

[pettyprocrastination]

hiiiiii tj <3

i see you're back in your konig era and was wondering if you have any new hcs for our big teddy bear <3

HIIII ERIIIII :D

warnings: description of bullying, violence, social anxiety, insecurities, smut

SFW

So for me personally he’s very. Socially inept. Not in a ‘cute soft anxiety boy’ way but in the way that he will come off either deeply unsettling by staring at you in silence or like a total fucking asshole. Spent his entire childhood severely bullied and ostracized so any sort of slight against him, he will take personally and gets easily frustrated with himself for not handling situations/social intricacies smoothly

Probably has plenty of stretch marks from having such a big growth spurt growing up. 

Something about being severely bullied and then realizing his own size and strength means he could give his harassers some ferociousness back as a teen def…led to something. 

I HC that he has some pretty severe scarring on his face from being ganged up on as a kid, which only furthered him being an outsider to other kids/teens growing up so he wears his hood or some sort of facial covering on base as well. Severe trauma and all that. 

Most definitely has a criminal record from when he was a kid and fought back against a bully after said incident and ended up just getting tunnel vision and…destroying that poor kid. The case was either sealed because he was a minor or expunged completely because the argument was that it was in self defense and he had the scars to prove their previous assaults on him. Nonetheless. It left him fucked up. 

Shifting from being the defenseless kid being harassed and bullied to a bloodied teenager that now knows his strength and his capabilities in defending himself. Ough. 

Part of the reason he sheds his insecurities on the field. He’s able to not worry about being watched or ridiculed and just go full fucking ham and he loves it. Part of the reason why his voice lines are so shrieky and gloating. I love it lmao. 

If you’re on his side/somebody he considers to be an ally/friend? He may not talk much but will sort of…loom about. Small interjections here and there but overall just this shadow following you around- not that you mind. 

Will look over at you when he does something successfully for a bit of praise like ‘hey? Did you see that? Wasn’t that cool? Please tell me im cool’ without saying it outloud. 

I’m not sure if him being 6’10 is genuine canon (i can’t remember where I saw that if im being honest) but id imagine given how tall he looks finding clothes that fit him are a fucking pain. 

DIY king. At his height and size he will have to do the occasional alterations on his clothes. Grew up with a single mother who did her all to give her baby boy a good life which meant teaching him how to sew from a young age, a small hobby he would partake in while sitting at his mother’s side and beam bright when she told him he was doing a good job. 

Enjoys being in the wilderness quite a bit. 

I imagine him to be a ginger for some reason. His hair isn’t too long but enough that he can tie it up so it doesn’t get in his face. If you become close enough to him that you can see him without his hood on, please run your fingers through his hair he will reach nirvana. 

I’d also imagine that after spending so long covering his face, being without it feels. Weird. A touch overstimulating at first too. 

Sort of like how in that one ep of the mandalorian season two where din has to take off his helmet to get into that database, you see all his emotions and him react to the wind hitting his face because he isn’t used to it. 

NSFW

That being said. Once you kiss him he’s a bit of an addict for it. Won’t be out of the norm to find him pulling you back into his lap with a whisper of “one more, liebling? Please?” when you have to leave for a briefing in five minutes but then he nibbles at that spot on your neck and you just can’t say no to him. 

Not a virgin, but not overly experienced either. I’d imagine there’s been a few flings in the past of folks who have met this quiet giant and just had to suck him off cause I mean, who wouldn’t? But the genuine intimacy of face to face, holding one another while fucking? It’s a rarity he hasn’t truly been able to experience yet. 

Big dick and doesn’t realize it.

Loves a good makeout sesh. Doesn’t care if it’s juvenile or whatever if you sit on his lap and put on a movie in the background he will make out for fucking hours with his hand slipping up your shirt and pressing himself against your hips.

Tit man. Maybe it’s because I’m a fan of the honkers myself and i'm just projecting but the dude loooves to play with his partner’s chest. Big? small? Flat? He doesn’t give a fuck. Titties are titties please for the love of god let him touch you 

Kinda goes insane for the type of shirt where he can see the outline of your tits through it if you aren’t wearing a bra. Don’t be surprised if he corners you during the day and scolds you for being “So cruel” to him by wearing it before he starts mouthing at your chest through the fabric. 

Kissing, sucking, biting, licking, the man loves tits and will do it all god bless him. 

Nipple piercings will make his head explode

Loooves eating pussy. SO so much. Will go to the point where you have to pull on his hair to get him off of you and then he has the audacity to look at you with those sad eyes and ask for one more. 

Loves loves loves when you leave hickeys on him. He’ll never get in trouble for having them since he’s covered from head to toe at all times in the field but man does it get him riled up. Sees it as some sort of mark of your relationship to him, a little reminder for him to see in the mirror after your night together and he will plead for you to mark him up, he’s tough he can take it. 

“You can do it for me, can’t you? I know you can. Just one more, yes?” 

The type to kiss the pussy first, he’s a romantic. 

Will mumble/moan praise while between your legs. Talking about how pretty your pussy is and how you're so soft all over it has you completely braindead. 

Absolutely obscene with it, moaning and sloppy damn near drooling between your legs because he’s so drunk on you. 

Has no preference to where he gets to cum. Sex with you is joy itself but if you were to twist his arm: he’d say he likes to cum inside of you. 

He won’t say that he likes it so much because then he can lean back and watch his cum seep out of your hole, that’s his little secret. (Not a well kept one lmao) 

Probably has a porno-esque fantasy of a “sparring turned to sex” scenario that he keeps tucked away in the back of his mind at all times.

[brucewaynehater101]

Inspired by "Jason adopts Tim" fics on AO3, prompts by puppetmaster13u & others on here and that one AO3 fic where because Bruce told Jason pre-death he can take whatever is his and Robin is his it's fair game to nab Tim and the AO3 News Article fic where Red Hood decides the best revenge is tricking the world into thinking he's the Third Robin's dad, some of your posts—

—and my love for inhuman folks

Jason resurrects and he isn't human anymore. Dealer's pick on what he is precisely but he has become much more wary of just how fragile the lives of humans are

How fragile his own life may still be

+ he's got trauma piled on top of his fresh instincts and confusion on what happened after his death

Thus when carving his place as Red Hood, he is more vigilant in making Crime Alley a place where people don't just survive, but live and maybe even thrive.

Putting down threats like predators for good in death. But doing so too much will get Batman breathing down his neck

So he takes some inspiration from Batman after his death and before Tim to inflict some fates worse than death, and rubs it in the Bat's face whenever they face of against each other. "It's not killing B"

He tries—and due to trauma—fails to bring himself to kill Joker. Which crushes him with every crime the Joker (that he in a fucked up sense allowed) commits onwards

Onto the next best thing, acquiring wealth and asking for public donations all over Gotham to build up a sufficient bounty on Joker's head to draw in the most competent killers of them all

Whoever can kill and bring the Joker's remains as evidence gets the money, and the bounty price builds up over time

He'll even add more to the bounty time to time

Jason overworks himself on his Crime Alley to the point his own men compare him to a more benevolent Batman, one who doesn't need an emotional support child

"Could you elaborate on that? I had to spend time out of Gotham for a time and don't know what happened during that span of time"

Batman gave Robin to another

But he didn't revoke Jason's ownership, did he?

Humans are oh so fragile

He knows from experience

In classic not-human logic, that makes the new Baby Bird his now, no? Especially with Batman so incompetent as to depend on him

Titans Tower is not found with Tim bloody and broken

Titans Tower is found without Timothy Drake, and countless leads implicating several yet all seemingly frame job dead-ends

Penguins and Red Hood and Luthor. Joker and Two-Face and beyond

Red Hood is found in a meeting room by his men with a Third Robin—the Robin the city owes guilt and more to—in the Crimelords arms

"B always said that I could take what's mine whenever I want, and he never said it never extended to his . . . My kid. He's mine now . . . "

Words spreads in Gotham City. It spreads indeed

It's fitting, it's fitting. Inheritor of another's name, this Robin, this Red Hood is

Joker Junior and every other tragedy only solidifies Jason's resolve to keep and care for the kid

It's funny. Jason has barely felt human since he woke up from death, since he started overworking himself for his people

Now, with a baby brother in his life? With somebody to care for under his roof? Those domestic times he swore were killed alongside the Second Robin?

This is bliss

Jason feels a weight off his chest when his Merry Men sends a message that the Joker is dead, and the bounty has been sent to the killer

When Jason discovers the Fourth Robin, too dead and revived? when he finds her alive at all? Girl is getting snatched and doted on, especially if he finds her after she's had her baby

And I wouldn't be surprised if he tracked down her kid so she could have raise her baby herself and provided all the resources and support nessecery for it

[Daughter and grandchild acquired!]

When Damian comes and the Robin mantle is passed down onto him— yoinked by Jason again!

Damian is fuming because he wasn't told that this was part of being Robin!

=======

"If you're right that Batman is trapped in the timestream, that everyone is wrong about him being dead, before presenting this to the Justice League I think this should be a family discussion.

"Because I know otherwise I'd do everything in my power to let him die for real. Ensure nobody is the wiser that Bat could've been saved.

"And at least one of the Bats will disagree with me. And this is a scenario where everybody needs to have their input accounted for."

Oooh! All of this is fantastic, but I especially love the end.

The end combines a healthier approach to the BruceQuest with a trope I love: leaving Bruce in the timestream because fuck that guy. Regardless of what they decide, I'm glad Jason at least indicated it was an option.

I wonder where Dick and Cass are in all of this. I'm also curious about how Jason would react to the We Are Robins movement. Does he adopt every Robin or just those acknowledged by Batman?

[adaptacy]

Johnny Slaughter Pregnancy H/Cs Pt. 2

Cw: Mentions of trauma, angst, but also fluff and him being pretty cute for an (ex)cannibal, older Johnny, post-Sawyers, NSFW in the middle

(SFW)

You were also, of course, very emotional and mood-swingy all the time, and while he'd had a tiny bit of experience thanks to your periods, it was nothing compared to your hormones now. While he never, ever, ever admitted it to you, he liked seeing you cry. After all, he can get better, but he can't be completely cured of his questionable morals. But your normal crying was very different than what pregnancy crying was like. Normal crying, you were soft, vulnerable, and just wanted a bit of reassurance and a hug from him.

But this? The sobbing over meaningless things, the angry sobbing, the confused sobbing, the happy sobbing -which he did not know was a thing outside of sex-, all alongside the usual sad sobbing? He did not know how to handle. And it was very much not turn-on material because he just felt bad. He tried not to take the things you said during your fits to heart, and most of the time you were fine, but man you could be harsh when your uterus was fucking you over.

Still, he was remarkably patient with you. Your doctor had warned you about potential fits, especially since it was your first pregnancy, so he'd been mentally preparing himself ever since. It helped, for sure. Most of the time, a gentle "I love you, darlin'," would reassure you, but when it didn't, he didn't just give up. He wouldn't say anything more- partially 'cause he didn't wanna risk saying something that could be taken the wrong way, and he'd let you ramble on about whatever it was that bothered you. He'd nod along, and that was enough. Johnny listened, he'd hug you if you weren't feeling allergic to physical contact that day, and you'd calm down.

(NSFW)

For the first like month, there wasn't very much sex. When it did happen, it wasn't very different. Just the usual, and that was alright.

But man, oh man, the baby bump really did do something to him. It was almost like he'd forgotten that you were pregnant, though he definitely didn't, until the baby bump existed, and from that point on, it was the only thing he could think of. While pre-pregnancy his hands mostly rested on the outside of your thighs, or on your waist, he was now privy to resting at least one on your stomach. He was extra careful not to push on it, not wanting to cause you any discomfort.

The two of you had a small inside joke about how sometimes, whenever he was particularly deep, you could see a slight bump in your lower stomach from his cock. But now that you were pregnant, that bump was something else entirely. And Johnny thought about it one day and realized what being able to see the outline meant.

"Johnny, you do realize you're not goin' all the way in, right?" You'd ask, and he'd scoff. "Don't wanna hurt the baby." "You're not going to hurt it," you giggled. "How do you know that?" "Johnny, you can go all the way in. The baby will be fine." "You sure?" "I promise."

In typical Johnny fashion, the two of you could have some really rough sex sometimes. But that was practically thrown out the window when you got pregnant. You'd have to ask him and give him permission to be rougher, and even then, he showed a lot of restraint.

He also refused to use his knife, or do any kind of impact play, and the only thing he allowed himself to do to hurt you was leave bites. They were a little gentler than usual, and although you missed some of your rougher sessions with him, you understood where he was coming from.

Weirdly enough, it seemed like the further into pregnancy you got, the higher his libido got. You had to turn him down several times because you were often exhausted both from the sex and carrying an entire human being (although an infant, the point still stands) around all day.

Though, when you did reciprocate the feelings, he wouldn't let you do anything. No giving him head, no positions that required you to do anything other than sit or lay down, no riding him, none of it. He'd eat you out, he'd fuck into you nice and slow while you lay back on the bed, or gently move in and out while you sat on the kitchen counter, but he would not let you exert any kind of energy whatsoever. Which was strange, seeing as how he usually loved having you go down on him or seeing you in mildly uncomfortable positions.

Still, you weren't necessarily complaining. You came to accept, and appreciate, his services the further down the line you got. It felt nice to have him lend you all the pleasure you needed without you having to do anything too active.

There were few things you loved more than being able to lay down after a long day, when your back was sore and your body was sensitive, just to have him hold your hand as he rut into you. "Look so sexy with my baby, darlin'," he'd huff, burying his face into your neck and gently biting on your skin. "Can't wait to fuck you real good and rough after all this."

Funnily enough, his libido was actually a major help in a way you never could've even imagined. See, as your due date got closer and closer, you ended up booking a room at the hospital so the doctors could keep an eye on you, as per Johnny's request- err, demand, of course.

Two days in, and your due-date had been passed, and there was still no sign of the baby coming out anytime soon. Johnny remained by your side, and pretty quickly picked up on how you were growing more and more stressed every hour that the baby stayed inside of you. So, what'd he do?

Well, he got inside of you too, of course. Right in the hospital bed, he didn't care. He wanted to take your mind off things, and the best part was, it ended up sending you into labor. Both of you learned something very interesting that day; sexual intercourse is a great way to induce labor.

(SFW)

He was in the room with you when you gave birth, of course, and he held your hand the entire time. He constantly reassured you, even when you yelled and got angry at him because he was holding your hand the wrong way. He adjusted his hold, and continued.

The doctors and nurses all joked about how he was remarkably calm despite how stressful, loud, and sorta bloody the scene was. You told them it was because he was a butcher, so he wasn't uncomfortable with blood, but he knew the truth.

And when it was all over, the 9 months of discomfort and mood swings and excitement, the grueling 5 hours of labor pain, you and Johnny had a baby. A girl. Johnny just- he just smiled when he saw her. He couldn't stop smiling. It was a toothy grin, the kind that made him seem like a complete goof. He couldn't stop looking at her, and when doctors and nurses left the room and he got to hold her, he cried. Genuinely just cried. You had never seen him cry before.

You were overwhelmed with worry- was he upset? Did he not want a girl? was he regretting it?

But then he brushed his nose against your baby's, and held her as close as he could without hurting her, and you realized he wasn't crying out of any negative emotion. Eventually, he handed her back off to you, but he pulled his chair up really close to the hospital bed and let his baby hold one of his fingers. It was insane to see. His hands were big, and it only made her hands seem even tinier. They couldn't even reach around one of his fingers. She was so fragile.

And from that point on, Johnny swore he would do anything it took to protect both you and your baby. He might've been raised in all the wrong ways, but he was going to make up for everything bad he'd ever done. He was going to make his girls happy, and keep them safe, no matter what. He was going to give them every thing that he never got.

[nataliescatorccioapologist]

Who would each Yellowjackets character be in The L Word Universe?

Nat - Shane

We all saw this one coming. Nat would definitely be the ambiguously gendered noncommittal heartbreaker of The L Word sphere. Like Shane, she is kind and looks out for those she cares about but her troubled childhood has made her put her guard up. Shane and Nat both push people away because they don’t believe they are worthy of love and have never had a healthy example of a relationship so they hop from girl to girl before things can get serious. Not to mention the bounty of self-destructive tendencies these girlies both have. And with Nat’s cool mullet she would definitely kill it as a hair stylist.

Taissa - Bette

Bette and Taissa are both the powersuit-rocking politicians of our dreams (with matching crumbling marriages.) Tai is known for taking her ambitions a bit too far, and, like Bette, her work consumes her personal life until it falls apart. Neither of these girlies know when to stop, even if it alienates them from the ones they love.

Lottie - Marina

I think Lottie would definitely be the mysterious sexy bar owner that speaks mainly in poetry snd gives supposed straight girls sexuality crises (all while having a secret wife). Like Marina, Lottie has an aura of ethereal mystery around her and can be a little off-putting in how calm and collected she is even in situations that call for a little more freaking the fuck out. Lottie would definitely find some straight girl deeply in denial and send her into a sexuality crisis spiral while acting completely innocent about it.

Shauna - Jenny

Okay don’t be mad at me, it’s at least a little true. Shauna and Jenny are both a little too obsessive, impulsive, and emotional (and they’re both deeply struggling with compulsory heterosexuality). At any given moment you will find them in a corner furiously journaling their dark feelings instead of communicating them. Shauna would definitely be the one to go a little crazy after falling in love with a woman for the first time. And both Jenny and Shauna have their emotional support himbos that they use to deny their homosexuality: Tim and Jeff.

Jackie - Dana

Jackie would definitely be the closeted sports lesbian that is terrified of the public (and mostly her rich, uptight parents) finding out about her queerness. Like Dana, Jackie is under a lot of pressure to be "perfect" and comes from a wealthy, preppy background with rich parents who have high expectations. I also definitely think Jackie would be a tennis girlie. Jackie and Dana are the baby gays who are constantly checking out women but don't know how to express their queerness yet. And they both have a complicated homoerotic relationships with their best friend (Dana/Alice and Jackie/Shauna). Jackie and Dana are both very supportive and fun-loving, they just need to get out of the closet.

Van - Finley

Butch kings! Van and Finley are both little goofsters that fill my heart with joy. In The L Word universe, Van would definitely be the that friend that is there to make all of the gays smile but is hiding a lot of pain and trauma behind a comedic mask. Van and Finley have a serious problem with joking instead of confronting serious feelings but we still love them.

Misty - That girl that's obsessed with Shane in the Pilot episode

Okay so I don't think Misty really fits anyone in The L Word so I'm giving her Lacey, that girl that is concerningly obsessed with Shane (Nat) in the first episode. This girl hooks up with Shane once and then she's tracking her down at parties and finding all of her hangout spots to harass her and get her attention. And I think in an L Word AU, Misty would definitely hook up with Nat, Nat would ghost her, and Misty would go insane like that.

*Anyways should I write a Yellowjackets The L Word AU fic? Because honestly I've been thinking about it a little bit too much.*

[blueinkjpeg]

Okay but one thing I really like about Kit’s characterization is that she’s the antithesis to the Disney princess stereotype but also fills the stereotype perfectly?? But also in a way that subverts the troupe??

Like okay, we can guess from her line about how she wishes she were “anyone but a princess” and the general way she acts that Kit has a complex relationship with femininity. I’m mostly just speculating, but it’s probably just because she associates most feminine traits she has or is forced into with her royal title, and so hates it all.

Being a princess political and socially demands a few immovable things. Having the patience and emotional bandwidth to run a nation, present herself in a distinctly feminine and uptight way, and marrying specifically a man her mother chose so that she can give birth to precautionary heirs.

These are all things Kit is incapable, or relatively incapable, of doing. Kit, just base personality wise, isn’t a patient person. She doesn’t think ahead most of the time, and she doesn’t have the interest in learning it. Also, she’s literally a lesbian and if she goes through with the marriage her mom set up, is doomed to a life of misery and unfulfillment, not to mention that the s*x part of the marriage will be traumatic no matter how it happens. And I literally cannot imagine her as a mom, sorry. Forcing Kit into this role is like trying to shove a circle into the square hole of those baby toys.

I can only imagine Sorsha trying to continuously shove Kit into this role that she cannot fufill would leave Kit frustrated with herself for being unable to fit, and hating anything having to do with it. Like— the whole reason Kit was born was to fill this role. Imagine being physically and emotionally incapable of doing the one thing you were born to do? Kit’s never feeling good enough trauma is just apparent in the show as her abandonment issues. Despite knowing she can’t fill this role and clearly not trying to anymore, doesn’t mean she doesn’t hold a lot of frustration with herself for it.

As an obvious butch, I think Kit would end up in her style no matter how her life turned out, but I also think that the more her mom pushed Kit toward femininity where Kit wasn’t able to fit correctly, the more Sorsha ended up actually pushing Kit in the opposite direction. Frustrated she can’t go one way, she’s clearly ended up going the opposite way.

Just like when her mother didn’t want her to learn sword fighting, she sought a way to learn “on her own” with Jade. Kit isn’t really an authority person. She likely sees it as getting farther away from her mother, and closer to her dad, like how she lost her mom’s sword and picked up her dad’s in the show.

But it’s not just fashion, Kit’s shown distain for “feminine traits” (or traditional Disney princess traits wink wink) she has in her personality. The most obvious example is Kit’s feelings for Jade. They’re very deeply ingrained onto who she is as a person. They’re raw and venerable and Kit goes like five whole episodes after kissing Jade to even consider talking about them. Kit goes lengths to avoid talking or confronting her deeper emotions.

But it remains that Kit feels things very deeply. When Sorsha yells at Arik and Kit in episode 1, Kit’s the only one that starts crying. She loves Jade so much, and is so afraid of being rejected, that when she confesses, she also starts crying. When locked in a cage thinking Jade might be in trouble, she freaks out on Elora. On truth strum, she borderline begs Elora for advice. When she finds out her dad might be alive and that he thinks Elora is “what matters most in this world,” she breaks down and yells. She uses the power of love to save Arik’s life.

Girl cannot hold a grudge to save her life, btw. She’s so pissed at her mom episode 1, the next morning she’s crying at her bedside because she’s worried Sorsha might be upset with her. Jade says she’s abandoning her and Kit’s over it and kissing her on the lips in the span of a few hours. Kit apologizes to Graydon for being a bitch at the engagement dinner. She gets pissed at Boorman for potentially leaving her dad to die and then it’s literally never brought up again bc she’s over it. She tries soooo hard to be mad at Elora for mattering to both her parents more than Kit does, and fails miserably after like a week max.

She’s a teeny ball of rage but it’s not in her nature to hate people for whatever reason.

She’s a very sensitive person. So much so, that she has a quiet arc about how she can’t really stand death.

That possum she has to go fetch for Elora? She can’t even look at it. When the jar breaks and she has to go hold it in her hands? She’s pinching it a full arms length away from her body. As Elora’s cutting it up she’s physically gagging. She tries to talk about Ballentine with Jade, but she can’t even say the word “killed.” She tries SO hard to be macho and tough and be the one to kill Graydon, but Jade and Boorman both already knows she’s weak shit. Kit BAILS. It’s the moment of truth and Graydon’s dying and Kit ORDERS Jade not to kill him as she SOBS and BEGS Elora to figure out a way to save his life bc she can’t stand to watch him die. A throwing star hits her in the arm and she SCREAMS ANS PASSES OUT. Jade has to mentally prepare her to rip it out and she SCREAMS AGAIN. She’s the most reluctant person in the world to fight her brother. And when she wins the fight and tries to kill him, her body won’t even let her. When Elora tells her to stand down, Kit collapses into tears like she was praying someone would stop her.

And it’s clear at the beginning of the season, Kit hold a lot of resentment towards herself for having these traits. They’re not inherently feminine traits to have, but she associates them with being a princess and hates them on principle. She’s probably been told her whole life to be nicer, politer, more empathetic. She doesn’t want to be any of those things, she wants to be who she remembers her dad to be; a brave, admired, tough knight. Kit wants to be brave and strong and she thinks she can’t have that if she acts like Sorsha wants her to, since it’s clear Sorsha doesn’t want either of her kids to be like Madmartigan. She wants them to be a certain way, she wants them to be the opposite of the militaristic way she was raised. But the truth is, there’s nothing Kit can do about it. She is a sensitive, loving, empathetic person, that’s it. This is who she is, and her arc in this show is learning to be herself. All parts of herself.

Kit gets to love the venerable, sensitive parts of herself without giving up the masculine badass sword fighter that she’s always wanted to be, the way she assumed she’d have to. She gets to be both!!! She gets the cool ass armor and she can be emotionally available. She can express fear and love and still be brave and strong!!!

Kit emerges from this show at the heart of the questing gang. Y’all have no idea how much I love that.

[works-of-heart]

I don't get it.

Like seriously, I honestly don't understand it.

Sjm says that Elain was someone who she and Lucien didn't see coming. She had always envisioned him with Nesta, but realized they'd tear each other apart (not in a good way, as she loves that kind of banter, but theirs would be awful). She mentions 'without getting too spoilery' that and I quote:

"there was actually a great deal of tension, growth, and healing to be found for both of them (together)"

You mean to tell me, that she says there is a great deal of tension (which we've all been seeing between them), growth and healing for them TOGETHER ONLY to have Elain break her bond with him and leave him to suffer a broken bond?

You want to tell me that SJM planned to have Elain become Lucien's mate, so they could grow and heal together, only for her to dump him and choose Azriel, and leave Lucien alone with a broken bond?

This woman, who has written Lucien as kind, patient, understanding, and truly concerned for Elain, is planning on making his mate turn away from him? This man who is said to be fiercely loyal, who could have ANY woman in Prythian he wanted but has no interest in any females, who has suffered physical and emotional trauma to help his friends. You think Sarah is just going to be like "Yeah, I'm going to put Lucien with a girl who is all around perfect for him and just take her away so she can run into the arms of another man!"

Look, I torture my precious babies too, but that?! That's INSANE to me that anyone thinks Sarah planned to set him up with a mate and said all those things if she planned for it to be a failure.

Especially since she made a comment, unprompted mind you, about an Elucien date where they go visit the gardens in London, before heading out to the countryside, stating that they're BOTH happy in nature. So she's going to talk about Feysand, Nessien modern dating, and just throw in Elucien even though she doesn't even plan for them to be together?

it simply doesn't make any sense to me.

Like take a moment, to actually sit down and think, why would this author say those kinds of things if she as some had said "planned Elriel since MAF" when she literally states the opposite. She confirmed Nessien in that same moment as well, because the series was originally supposed to finish. Az and Elain didn't have anything together, they were never planned. She didn't change from that trajectory either (as stated in her interview that I guess people want to misquote, forget, or take her words completely out of context).

SJM did say there were SMALL changes, like some characters had been added (which I suspect are Gwyn and Em), Mor's sexual orientation, but the overall arch was still the same.

Honestly, here's what I think about that.

Azriel was always meant to have a mate. A lot of people pointed out that in MAF there was a lot of Moriel hints and they were meant to be endgame. When she got backlash for lack of LGBT representation, she just decided to have Mor's preference shift. I think it left Az without a mate, but by the time SF came around she began to leave breadcrumbs for who he'd end up with. That being Gwyn.

I personally think SJM wants Gwynriel so much so, that she retconned Az's backstory so he was the one at Sangravah. That he killed everyone in site, leaving none left alive (completely OOC for Az, yet fitting with mate behavior). Like if she had no intention for Az to be connected to her in such a way, why actively make HIM the one to save her? Why make it so that Az killed everyone and left not a single person alive?

Why did she have his shadows react to her in a very specific way, a way that's calm and happy? The way they sing and dance to her, reaching out to her in a playful way. Why would she change history and put attention on these things, if there was never any future for them? What, so we can see Az fall for Elain? You mean Sarah went out of her way to change parts of Az's story and how his shadows react specifically to Gwyn, just so he can turn from her and rush into the arms of Elain? Why bother?

And before anyone says "lightsinger" and Gwyn's 'evil powers' are causing Az's shadows to dance and sing... there's a whole bonus chapter where Az's shadows dance to Azriel's singing. Gwyn isn't even there, so that's debunked.

That's all, I just had to get that off my chest. I keep seeing so many people rant and say that SJM's old editor pushed for Elucien and her new one is pushing Elriel because it's more 'popular' and she's going in this new direction now. I have no idea where that came from when she said that nothing's changed from her drunken rant, so we'll see I guess.

[lynnlovesthestars]

Mess.

Pairing: Astarion x oc. genderfluid tav, he/him pronouns.

Genre and warnings: Smut, fluff, trauma talk, body worship.

words: 2k? more? idk

AN: my therapist told me to post everything i finished so here i am

Astarion tugged Lynn with him, despite hating the disaster that his tent was, he promised he'd open up to him, and that included his personal mess. "I apologize for.. what this is" Astarion blushed ever so slightly. "I understand if you don't-" Lynn stopped him, uncaring for the blood jars forgotten in the corner or the ragged baby blanket he kept on top of his bedroll.

"Astarion, I don't care" Lynn smiled tenderly. "My tent isn't any better" He admitted. He was good at hiding what he didn't want anyone to see, and that included his mess of mementos and the fewest belongings he had. "I don't care as long as I can hold you" Lynn gently squeezed Astarion's hand, tugging him towards the bedroll. It was not particularly big, it barely fit the two as they laid close, looking at each other.

They started slowly, with their foreheads pressed together and their hands intertwined. "May I?" Astarion shyly raised Lynn's hand to his lips, while he earn a nod from the changeling, a soft smile curled on his lips as Astarion kissed each knuckle delicately, as if Lynn was made of porcelain.

Lynn couldn't hold back the blush, as Astarion smiled back at him. "May I?" Lynn asked softly, just inches away from his lips. At Astarion's agreement, Lynn leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on Astarion’s temple. Astarion huffed delicately, taken aback. He didn’t expect Lynn to go for his forehead, he was ready to taste his lips, he missed those lips.

It was such a pure moment for the two, their hearts hammering in their chest as they delicately caressed the other, slowly daring to push each other's boundaries and come closer.

They had promised to heal together, to overcome their nightmares, and slowly, they were making it one caress at a time.

“Let me be your mirror again” Lynn gently wrapped his arms around Astarion’s frame, taking him in his embrace, as he noticed the impatience in Astarion’s movements. They ached so much for each other that taking it slow was godsdamned hard.

“Are you going to compliment my ears again?” He rolled his eyes playfully. As much as he wanted to admit the contrary, he had appreciated the way Lynn had complimented those small details, no one ever did, and it felt.. nice.

“I might” He laughed softly. “They look very bitable if you ask me” He leans closer, his breath caressing the tip of his ear, making Astarion shiver under the hot gust.

“Please..” Astarion almost moaned as he curled against Lynn’s chest, as if he tried to hide.

“Please what? Little love” Lynn cooed before kissing his temple.

“Don’t bite my ear, they are sensitive” Astarion quipped softly, glad his cheeks were out of sight, that strangled moan had been enough to reveal.

“I shall not bite them, I promise” The changeling couldn’t help but cradle the man closer, making sure they were both tucked snugly in the bedroll.

“But they are pretty, I don’t know how to explain it” He mumbled as one of his hands gently lifted his chin. “Your eyes though” He hesitated looking for the proper words. There was something about them that made it hard to describe, they were like pools of emotions and Lynn feared Astarion didn’t know how much they reflected.

“What, are they ugly?” Astarion raised an eyebrow both confused and scared Lynn might not like the crimson shade that tinted his iris. He had always been confident, mindless of other’s opinions, yet when it came to Lynn it was different.

“No, absolutely not” He murmured. “They are mesmerizing, and they reveal much more than what you think”

“You think so?”

“Mhmh” Lynn nodded as he caressed his cheek and kissed his forehead again, stealing a little hum of satisfaction from Astarion that was slowly melting in the grasp again. “Sometimes, I could tell when your confidence would falter” He admitted. “Your eyes would tell me if I was talking to you, or to you”

“So obvious uh?” He sighed, not entirely defeated. With Lynn he felt as if those moments where his persona would slip, were not an error, it was natural- between the fear and the growing feelings in his stomach, to the point that now his mask his almost always tucked away when he’s alone with the changeling. He trusted him enough to be his true self, he realized.

“I don’t know, it might be that I stared at them so hard too” He said sarcastically to ease down the mood again. “But to me, they are truly a mirror to your soul” Silence dropped over the two as Lynn gently caressed his cheek, to move to his lips, tracing his lower lip. “Your lips are irresistible” He had to fight the urge to lean in and steal another kiss.

“And your cheeks” He sighed as he admired the way they started taking the almost lovely shade of pink again. “i love when you blush, they take the smallest color and you look so alive”

“Are you implying I look dead the rest of the time?” He joked, this time not hiding the blush but rather flaunt the reddish shade of his cheek.

“No” Lynn couldn't suppress his laugh. “you know what I mean.. cause you feel it too” He closed his eyes, gently brushing the tip of their noses together, followed by Astarion that closed his eyes as well.

“Your neck..” He sighed as he gently cradled Astarion's head, tilting it to the side and exposing his supple neck as if he was the one about to bite. “I wish I could kiss it all day” He left an open mouthed kiss on the exposed skin, and another where his shoulder met his neck. “Your chest doesn’t rise, but it isn’t any less calming” He whispered under his breath, aching to lower himself and kiss his sternum, yet resisting for another moment.

“Your arms” He gently traced the bicep barely accentuated by their position. “You are not that strong, but you hold me so tight sometimes I melt.” He admitted as he brought one of his hands to his mouth. “And your hands” He groaned satisfied just at the look. “They fit so nicely in mine” He kissed the back.

“So cliche” Astarion blushed and giggled as one cute fang was exposed from his lips.

“I might be but they grasp so nicely at my hips, and they cup perfectly my cheek, I might just say they were made for me” He cooed as he kissed each fingertip softly.

“You are going to make me cringe at this rate” Astarion teased with the gentlest smile as he looked away for a moment.

“And yet you are blushing and smiling, If I didn’t know any better..” Lynn trailed off before being stopped by Astarion. “Don’t say it”

“Okay little love, I won’t” Lynn laughed. “But let me just say, right now you are sitting perfectly in my arms, and maybe I don’t want you to ever leave my grasp”

“Lucky for you I don’t want to move from here” Astarion leaned forward to kiss the tip of Lynn’s nose.

They laid like that for what felt eternity, as they grazed and kissed each other skin with fleeting and gentle lips, murmuring sweet nothings as they enjoyed the calm of the night. Lynn didn’t care whether in the morning he was going to regret not resting, but being so close to Astarion, being touched so softly was worth every sleepless second spent kissing. It was almost intoxicating, the grasps and gasps had him high on the feeling.

It was moments later that Lynn shivered. Astarion's finger grazed over his hip instantly having his hands tightened it's grip on Astarion's. "Everything okay, darling?" He asked tenderly as he moved his hand to Lynn's cheek, gently tracing the swell of his cheek.

Lynn nodded as a single tear rand down the peachy skin. "Hips are.. one of my trigger areas, I haven't been touched so softly there ever” He had told Astarion about this past, the four years of confinement and what they made of him, yet he couldn’t bring himself to share the details, where touch would feel like scorching pain and when love would turn to agony.

Astarion moved closer, his body flush against Lynn's, his body heat enveloping Astarion tenderly. The elf's hand reached for Lynn's cheek again, catching the rolling tear with his thumb. "I understand" Astarion pressed his forehead against Lynn's, eyes closed, just their breath mixing in the middle as they held each other. He did understand cause for him it was his scars, he had been terrified of having them touched, sometimes just the thought would make him spiral. He had understood how this worked. “Do you want me to stop” He asked. “We can stop at any moment”

“No, don’t” Lynn urged. “I want you closer, I need you closer” He admitted, this time he was the one blushing

Astarion gently grasped at Lynn's hips again, as he pulled him in a slow and tender kiss, gasping for air whenever they had the chance. Their hands could barely keep in one spot as Astarion's kiss would be dragged back in from Lynn's yearning ones. Astarion gently pushed Lynn down on his back, straddling and towering over the other as he navigated his hands under the changeling's shirt, while his erection was impossible to hide.

Astarion wanted to try, he had missed the way Lynn had wrapped around him, the way Lynn would arch his back, or the way his mouth repeated his name like a plea. He has missed how Lynn- big and buff as he was- would beg and melt under Astarion.

Lynn sighed softly as he allowed Astarion to guide him, wrapping his legs around his hips. "Lynn..' Astarion murmured as they were both breathless and aching.

Gently cupping his cheek and tracing his jaw with his lips.. "divine" He rasped before leaving an open mouthed kiss on his neck .

"I-" Lynn gasped, warmth spreading in his stomach and a yearning feeling pooling in his chest. He needed Astarion closer, his hands on his body, his flesh burning with his heat. Astarion knew from the way Lynn desperately clung to him, pleaded for his lips and how he gasped whenever Astarion would remove another layer of Lynn's clothes. "Please.." Lynn said hoarsely, trembling under him, their naked skin fiery as they kissed.

“Are you sure?” Astarion asked as he kissed his forehead tenderly. “We don't have to do anything if you don't want to” Astarion reassured him. It was ironic how he was the one asking, though appreciated.

“Do you want to do this?” Lynn asked back, tangling his hand with Astarion's.

“My love, can you feel this?” Astarion purred as his hips pressed against Lynn’s tight ring, his hard cock stealing a lewd moan from Lynn's lips. “It says it all” He leaned forward, tracing Lynn's neck with kisses, bites and licks, worshipping his flesh agonizingly slow as Lynn's arms wrapped around Astarion.

The elf reached for the grease bottle that was in his pack, and poured abundantly the liquid on his palm.

“I want you to tell me if I need to stop” Astarion whispered as he quickly stroked himself, coating his length in the substance while he looked for Lynn's eyes.

“I promise” Lynn offered him a small, shy smile as Astarion's clean hand linked with Lynn's, both for support and as a reminder that they could hold on to each other. They had practiced a lot, small things to keep each other in the loop, like holding hands, looking for each other's eyes, like pressing their foreheads together to stay closer.

Astarion lowered again, catching his lips tenderly as he lifted Lynn's legs to help him angle, while the changeling's cheeks flushed deeply.

"I love you" Lynn murmured against Astarion's lips as he closed his eyes while Astarion pressed his forehead against Lynn’s. He slowly pushed himself past his rim with a gasp as Lynn fisted the blanket both in pain and ecstasy. “I love you” Astarion whimpered as all his senses awoke.

Lynn was tigh, clenching around him like madness as his cock was already leaking desperately on his stomach.

"So good for me" Astarion cooed instantly having Lynn blushing and moaning under him. "And so breathtaking" He rasped before he leaned to catch his lips in a kiss again and again. Astarion could feel his body cursing with goosebumps, as he took a moment to focus, squeezing Lynn's hand softly. Lynn shied under Astarion's eyes, his cheeks flushing even more and more as Astarion started moving.

Astarion swore he saw the cosmos as he sunk in the warmth, as Lynn became one with him. The changeling's gasps reminded him he was free, that he was not with one of his victims, but rather with him that had done so much for him.

He had fallen for Lynn, and so much had changed. Firstly he had admitted his- awfully played- plan, and Lynn had forgiven him. Lynn had held his hand while walking down the halls of Cazador's palace and bathed him after they were back at the elfsong tavern and Astarion could barely function. Lynn that held him as he wept endlessly after a nightmare. Lynn had defended him from Araj, Lynn had kissed his scars.

He poured it all with his strokes, making sure they held in them the feelings that he held in his heart. And Lynn wasn't doing any less. Lynn, the man he loved so purely and deeply, was taking him and and loving him with every inch of him. They were not just fucking, they were devoting each other despite their struggles.

“Astarion, you f-feel so good” He cried out as Astarion held him in position, stretching him deliciously.

Lynn was not vocal, his whimpers though echoed in Astarion's brain endlessly as he swallowed him inch by inch.

"My Lynn" Astarion moaned as he reached forward and caressed his cheek. "My lovely lovely Lynn" He panted desperately as he made Lynn melt under his thrusts.

Lynn threw his head back as he arched under Astarion's graze, his body cursing with something new, something sweet he couldn't help but chase as Astarion lost himself in him.

"Look at me" Astarion whispered breathlessly as the slow burning passion was eating them alive. Curses, moans, the sweet sweet sound of their hips meeting and their love overtaking them.

Lynn was his and he was Lynn's, devoting their hands, lips, eyes to worshipping the other. They could read it on each other's face, on the way their eyes glistened, or their lips parted and met, or the way their muscles tensed and everything stopped for a moment. It was just them, framed in time: Astarion cradling Lynn to his chest as he stretched him and loved him, while Lynn was gasping, so full, so soft, whispering Astarion's name like a plea. They were one as they twitched, begged, cried for the other, gushed and slowly, tenderly kissed. They didn't realized tears were streaming down their faces until they came back to their senses, though still breathless, their orgasms spilled on Lynn's chest and leaking from his tight hole. Yet all they cared about was drying those tears with the palms of their hands.

“My love, you alright?” Astarion asked worried , while uncaring for his own tears as he reached for Lynn’s cheek.

“Never been better, you?” He replied weakly as he sat up just enough to tug Astarion in his lap and dry his tears softly.

“Darling I'm home” He whispered as he leaned against Lynn's naked chest.

They laid in each other's embrace, spent, still whispering the other's name as they eased down and tangled back together. The tears that were falling held in years of pain, of wounds and blood, they were the tears of two men that had lost hope, yet found respite and home in the other's care. They were the tears of relief, of love, of belonging as Astarion was resting on Lynn's chest trembling and panting.

"I love you"s under their breath were whispered as they kissed away the tears, as they cleaned each other carefully, as they held on to each other, with just a blanket draped on their bodies, as they kissed, as they caressed. "I love you"'s sworn under the protection of the moon, only for the other to hear.

Lynn pulled Astarion against his chest again once they were tucked in the bedroll, along with the thicker blanket which ended up shielding them from the cold. Lynn kissed Astarion's temple as his arms held him close and he gently ran his fingers down his skin. Astarion sighed peacefully as he curled into the embrace, making himself smaller as if hiding

“Are you okay, little love?” Lynn kissed his cheek.

“I wish we could stay like this forever” Astarion sighed, gently resting his palm on Lynn's heart. “Not a worry in sight”

“I promise you” Lynn placed one hand atop Astarion's hand on his chest. “I'll make sure that this will be our future” He murmured.