#this got a lot longer than i was anticipating

[inkedinshadows]

Bound by Secrets

Pairing: Azriel x Beron’s daughter!reader

Summary: When you get caught sneaking around the Hewn City, you end up in one of the dungeon cells to be interrogated by the infamous Spymaster. But things don't go exactly the way the General and the High Lord thought.

Warnings: mentions of sex, allusions to torture and scars

Word count: 6.4k

A/N: Okay sooo, I got a bit carried away with the first part and it came out longer than anticipated, with Az coming in at around word 1.7k. I know it’s a lot without him since it's his appreciation week, but the build-up is worth it (hopefully) and seeing how long the whole fic turned out to be, I hope you don't mind too much. There's still a lot of Azriel, I swear! (and I might have gone a little bit off-topic but shh it's fine). Anyway, happy @azrielappreciationweek everyone!

You knew being here was dangerous.

The Hewn City was not a place you could simply sneak into, and yet here you were, lurking in a corner of the throne room, waiting for the right moment to slip out and search for the treasury.

You had been sent there with a mission: find the Veritas Orb. How your father knew where it was, or what he needed it for, was not information you had been made privy to. But the High Lord of the Autumn Court had been clear: you were to steal the Orb as soon as possible. Knowing the kind of punishment he dealt when disappointed, you always did your best to comply. That left you with little time to prepare and, apparently, a huge number of problems.

Because just as you were about to make an unseen exit through the hallway you had previously selected, every single person in the crowd stiffened, and the chattering stopped abruptly, plunging the room into a silence so deep you could hear a pin drop.

As you turned to see what had happened, you realized everyone was staring at the entrance doors, just as they swung open. One look at the two tall figures slowly stalking in, and you knew you needed to get out before it was too late.

You blended into the shadows against the wall as the Spymaster and the General of the Army made their way to the dais on the other side of the hall. A smudge of red and gold was all you caught out of the corner of your eye when the Morrigan entered, just as you bolted down the hallway.

The High Lord and High Lady would be next. And if they caught you not only in their Court, but in their underground city as well, you'd be in serious trouble. You couldn't risk it. You needed to get out.

Yet you couldn't leave. Not without the Orb. Fear seized you for a split second at the mere thought of the pain you would suffer at your father's hands if you were to fail, and then you broke into a sprint—or as close to a sprint as you could manage with the high heels you had worn to blend in with the Hewn City inhabitants.

A thrum of power reached you despite the distance you had already put between yourself and the throne room, a clear sign of the High Lord and Lady’s arrival. You needed to hurry.

“Damn heels,” you muttered under your breath. You stopped long enough to take them off, gather them in your hands, and resume your run. At least your night-black dress was loose enough around the legs to allow you to move freely.

You had no idea where the treasury was. Your father didn't know, merely telling you the Orb was likely kept there—as if that helped. But you wouldn't consider where else it could be, instead choosing to focus on one thing at a time.

You wandered through the hallways, peering into every room you could find. Most of them were studies, sitting rooms, or smaller chambers for holding court. None of them what you were looking for.

Pushing a heavy wooden door open, you discovered a staircase that spiraled down. The basement. Or dungeons, you guessed, summoning a flame in your hand to light the steps as you began the descent. It made sense for the treasury to be on a lower level—harder to reach and easier to hide. That was where your father kept his most treasured possessions as well.

The stairs ended in a long hallway with many other tunnels branching off. You chose one out of instinct and kept going like that for a while, trying to remember every turn you took. The place was like a maze and there was nothing to, with nothing to distinguish the different paths. But eventually, your seemingly random choices paid off, and/because you found yourself in front of large, unguarded double doors. Upon closer inspection, you realized they were warded, hence the lack of actual guards.

With a smirk, you placed your palm on the knob and summoned more of your power. Your hand became a bright shade of orange, and a thin circle of fire spread from it, growing over the surface of the doors until it burned the spell protecting them. A little trick your oldest brother had taught you years ago.

Pulling your hand away, it returned to its normal color as you shoved the door open and walked inside.

Piles of gold lined the walls, jewels and weapons displayed in glass cabinets, and everywhere you turned, something shiny caught your eye. You delved deeper into the room, discovering beautiful pieces of artwork scattered around, but you couldn’t let them distract you from your task. You began searching the place instead, opening boxes and trunks, anything you could find, but there were no signs of the Veritas. The more you looked, the clearer it became.

The Orb wasn't there.

A frustrated sigh escaped you, and you stifled a groan as you made your way back to the tunnels, picking up the heels you had left by the door.

There had to be another room where more treasure was kept. You just had to find it. You were so sure it would be somewhere nearby that you made a stupid mistake: you didn’t count your turns, didn’t memorize when and where you had gone left or right or straight.

Maybe you should have asked for help before coming here. You had considered it, but you didn't want to endanger more people than necessary—or, even worse, have the truth discovered—and you honestly had thought you could do this alone.

You were wrong, and now you were lost. Like a damn fool.

Too caught up in your worries and rising anxiety, you did not hear the approaching steps. As you turned around the corner, you bumped into a tall, muscular body. A strong hand gripped your arm to keep you from losing balance, and the flame still flickering around your hand went out.

Now only the low gloom of the torches several feet down the tunnel illuminated the darkness.

“There you are.”

You didn’t recognize that deep, almost rough voice, but your heart jumped in your throat at sight of the leathery wings and the black scaled armor adorned with seven crimson Siphons.

You already knew who you were facing when you looked up and met the wary gaze of the General of the Night Court armies, his face half-hidden in the dark.

“There I am?” you repeated, putting on a sweet smile that didn’t reflect your internal turmoil. “Were you looking for me, General?”

His eyes narrowed as he took in your bare feet and the heels you still held in your hand. “What are you doing down here?”

You couldn’t tell if he meant down here in the Hewn City or in the tunnels below the palace. What if he knew the truth? What if he knew who you were? It could have given you a way out, it could have—

But Cassian’s grip on your arm tightened at your silence. “Answer me,” he growled. “We know someone broke into the treasury. And I know it was you.”

You shivered at his tone, at the fear that began to settle inside you, knowing you had been caught. As you tried to find a way out, you heard the words coming out of your mouth as if they were someone else’s: feigned shock at the news, deep confusion at the accusation, refined politeness when you addressed him. Hopefully, it was enough to let you off the hook.

“Why, if I may ask, would you think that was me, General?”

He didn’t seem impressed by your display of innocence. “There are very few redheads in the Hewn City, and none with fire powers. You’re from Autumn.”

Well, shit. You were so used to seeing red-haired Fae in the Autumn Court that you hadn't considered how recognizable your hair—or your powers, for that matter—could be outside of your home.

“I…”

You didn’t know what to say. You had red hair. You were suspiciously wandering in the tunnels. You had broken into the treasury using your fire. How could you find an excuse for all of that?

Your hesitation was confirmation enough for the General. His grip on your arm became almost painful. “Who are you? What were you looking for in the treasury?”

Maybe telling him the truth would help. If you revealed that you were in the Hewn City because you had no other choice, that you were not only Beron’s secret daughter but also his spy, his undercover agent, would he believe you? And if he did, would that make things better or worse for you?

Again, you thought about it for too long.

Cassian’s eyes narrowed even more. “You’re coming with me,” he ordered, nudging you along. “And you will talk, one way or another.”

You didn’t like where this was going. You didn’t like it one bit.

You could burn him, you supposed. Use your fire on him to create a distraction and run away. But you knew what kind of pain it caused, and you couldn’t bring yourself to hurt someone that way, not even him. And even if you did, where could you run? You didn’t know the place, didn't know where the hallways led or where the hiding spots were. But Cassian did. You wouldn’t get far before he found you.

You let the General lead you even deeper into the dungeons, following him without a struggle, even as the cold air bit at your skin and your gut churned in fear.

After a few minutes, you were escorted inside a small cell. There was nothing but a wooden chair in the middle of the space, right next to a grate on the floor from which hisses and growls rose up. You decided you didn’t want to know what was on the other side.

Cassian took your shoes, placing them next to the door as he gestured for you to sit. You obeyed silently and took a seat, waiting for the handcuffs, for the restraint, for the questions to start.

None of it came.

You just sat there, the General watching you intently from his spot against the wall, his stance relaxed yet alert in case you tried something. He said not a word.

You weren’t sure how much time passed before the door opened again and another male walked in. He was Illyrian too, a sword similar to Cassian’s was strapped to his back, and he wore the same armor. But his Siphons were a shade of cobalt blue, his black hair cut short, and he was surrounded by swirling shadows.

Your breath caught at the sight of the Spymaster.

Azriel’s eyes widened ever so slightly as they settled on you, his shadows frozen around his shoulders. He stood there, wings tucked tightly in, staring at you as if he could see right through your façade.

“Where is Rhys?”

The Spymaster didn’t tear his gaze away from you even as he answered. “He couldn’t leave.” His voice, cold as ice, sent a shiver down your spine. “This is the intruder?”

You held your head up high, reigning in your emotions. You wouldn’t let him intimidate you. You refused to. No matter the stories you had heard about the feared Shadowsinger of the Night Court, you wouldn’t cower. Not before him. You had suffered enough at the hands of your father to know how to deal with fear and pain.

“I found her wandering in the tunnels,” Cassian answered. “Not far from the treasury, hand wreathed in flames. She refused to say anything.”

The Spymaster assessed you, hazel eyes scanning you from head to toe. “Well, that’s about to change.” His hand lingered dangerously close to the black-hilted knife strapped to his muscular thigh.

Your brother's words echoed in your mind. “Tell him what he wants to hear.” “If you fight him, you'll only make it worse.” “Think of something nice, hold on to it, and it'll be over soon enough.” “Behave like the pliant little female he expects you to be.”

If Eris's precious advice had always worked with your father and his particular inclination for painful punishments, then maybe it would work now as well.

Azriel's gaze didn't falter as he stalked toward you, the dagger now clutched in his scarred fingers. You could have sworn his hand trembled for just a split second as he unsheathed it, but you were already looking down at your bare feet, letting your shoulders slump forward and your stiff back relax into a more submissive position.

A pair of black boots stopped right in front of you. Your heart pounded in your chest, your hands holding the armrests so tightly that your knuckles went white. The scent of night-chilled mist and cedar filled your nose as cold metal pressed just under your chin, urging you to lift your head.

You didn't fight it, meeting a pair of honeyed eyes that stared at you coolly. So close, you could see the tiny speck of green in them, even with his dilated pupils.

Cauldron, this male was beautiful. Painfully so. Bigger issues begged for your attention, but you couldn't help but admire him—the sharp features of his face, the perfect lines of his jaw, the plush lips, the way a few black curls hung over his forehead.

You didn't dare shift your position, but the urge to clench your thighs was almost overwhelming. The most inappropriate time ever.

Azriel seemed to somehow sense it, because his nostrils flared and the tip of the knife pressed a bit more under your chin, though still not enough to draw blood.

“What are you doing here?”

That voice, like silk and shadows and ice. Now you could understand why everyone feared the Shadowsinger of the Night Court.

“Why were you in the treasury?” he pressed, more demanding than before.

When you didn't answer his questions, he removed the dagger and took a step back. You glanced at the General, still standing by the door, but your focus quickly returned to the Spymaster, who had begun to circle around your chair.

Like a beast about to strike, toying with its prey before the killing blow.

“You know, this would be easier if you talked willingly.”

Shadows wrapped around both your ankles and wrists to prevent any possible movement. He was behind you now, his dagger trailing down your arm, sending all your senses on high alert.

“Or I'll have to resort to more… unpleasant methods.”

Your bindings tightened as if to prove his point and a small gasp escaped your lips. You had to say something, come up with some kind of excuse before it was too late.

“Tell him what he wants to hear.”

What did he want to hear? You couldn't very well give up the truth, could you? But maybe if you did, maybe if you tried…

Your eyes shot to the General. He was studying you with his arms crossed, nothing but distaste etched on his features.

Azriel, now on your left, noticed the direction of your gaze. He watched the other Illyrian for a few heartbeats before speaking in that low, quiet voice of his. “You know I work better when I'm alone.”

You stilled at the words. You, alone in a dungeon cell with the Spymaster? This changed everything—reshuffling all the cards, altering the odds of how this interrogation might end.

Cassian blinked, turning to face him. The two males stared at each other for what felt like ages, a silent conversation passing between them. Eventually, the General sighed.

“Fine,” he grumbled, fingers raking through his dark hair. “But alert Rhys immediately if something happens.”

The Shadowsinger seemed to hold back a scoff. “I know what I'm doing, Cassian,” he replied coolly. “I always get the information I want.”

You swallowed harshly, but Cassian gave a sharp nod and sauntered out of the cell.

As soon as the door closed behind him and his footsteps faded down the hallways, Azriel crouched in front of you, the dagger sheathed at his thigh once more. The shadows restraining you vanished.

“What the hell are you doing here, my love?”

~~~~~~

You and Azriel had met four years prior.

When you were born—the youngest and only female in a clutch of seven brothers—your father decided to keep you in the shadows. He never publicly acknowledged having a daughter, believing that no one would suspect a girl, thus raising you to serve as his undercover agent. Only your family knew of your existence, and if you hadn't gone mad over the years of confinement, it was only thanks to your sweet mother and Eris.

Beron had spent almost a century training you, molding you into his perfect little spy, and then sent you out into the world for just as long to do exactly what he had taught you.

You were attending a ball in the Day Court the first time you saw Azriel. You had already gathered the intel your father wanted about the honored guests from the Dawn Court, but you had no intention of going home earlier than scheduled. You still had until morning. And when the most beautiful male you had ever seen walked into the room as part of the Night Court delegation, you knew exactly how you wanted to spend your remaining time.

You watched him, taking in his muscular body, the massive wings, and the swirling shadows, until his eyes finally found yours through the crowd. You offered him a gentle yet unwavering smile, and your core clenched at the way he studied you as you approached him. Like he was already imagining pinning you beneath him.

It didn't take long for him to do just that. Within minutes, you found yourself in the room he was staying in, your dress discarded on the floor and his head between your thighs.

You had never felt so good as you did in those few hours.

It was almost dawn by the time you were both spent and sweaty, but you fought against exhaustion. You waited for Azriel to fall asleep, and then you slipped out of the room.

He woke up to an empty bed.

The next time you met him was a few months later. The High Lords and High Lady were all meeting in the Winter Court to discuss Prythian’s situation after the war with Hybern, but your father was paranoid. He ordered you to ensure the other courts weren’t plotting a coup against him.

You had just sneaked out of the suite reserved for the High Lord of the Summer Court and his entourage when shadows pooled at your feet, and your back was slammed against the wall. The air was snatched from your lungs at the impact, leaving you little time to take another breath before a dark dagger pressed against your throat.

Despite having spent just one night together, you immediately recognized your assailant by his scent alone.

“Didn't know you were into this kind of thing,” you drawled, looking up to meet Azriel's gaze. “Kinky. I like it.”

His eyes widened slightly as recognition dawned on him, the blade moving an inch away from your neck but no more. “It's you.”

You knew you should be bothered by the dagger, that this was a powerful male not to be trifled with, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when you could still remember how his lips tasted and how good he felt inside you.

“Strange way to meet again, uh?”

Azriel didn't return your smirk, nor did he step away. Instead, his voice was cold as death now that his surprise had faded. “Why are you sneaking into the suites?”

You had mastered the art of weaving lies so long ago that the answer flowed effortlessly from your lips. 

“Cresseida was wearing a beautiful necklace at lunch,” you replied with a shrug. “I wanted to see if she left it in her room.”

His eyes narrowed. “So, you're a petty thief?”

Better than the truth, you thought, though a small part of you longed to confide in him, to tell him everything. A deep, innate feeling of trust had somehow bloomed in your chest. You ignored it.

“I'm a simple girl.” You offered him your most charming smile. “I see a shining jewel, and I want it for myself.”

Azriel hummed, knife still at your throat. His eyes scanned your face and you felt like he could see everything you were trying to conceal, all the secrets you'd kept locked away for years.

“You went through the suites of every Court except Autumn,” he mused, the tip of the blade tracing your jaw. You went utterly still. “Why?”

You didn't know how to answer. You didn't even know how he knew that. You'd been caught red-handed, and you had a feeling that any new lie you concocted would be pointless. So you decided to trust your gut.

“Alright.” You took a deep breath—or as deep as you dared with a sharp dagger pressed against your neck. “I work for Beron. He thinks someone might stage a coup, so he sent me to gather information.”

His eyes, which had been roaming over your features and perhaps lingered a second too long on your lips—though that could just be your imagination—snapped up to meet yours. The blade pressed a fraction harder against your skin, a clear sign of his distrust.

“For Beron?” he repeated. Not a hint of surprise or disdain marked his tone, just that icy coldness, so different from the warm voice he'd used to talk you through it in the Summer Court. “And he fears a coup?”

You wanted to sigh but didn't dare. If only he would sheath that damn dagger…

“Yes, that's what I said. And honestly, if someone does, I'm not surprised. I hope it works out for them.”

Azriel's brow arched.

“I mean, the male's horrible. He deserves it.”

You were aware of the dangerous line you were crossing, speaking of your father—your High Lord—like that to an important member of a rival court. You'd never voiced those thoughts aloud to anyone but Eris, and yet here you were. Beron would punish you if he found out. You were first his subject, then his spy, and only then his daughter.

A scarred hand cupped your jaw, Azriel's face now only inches from yours. You could feel his warm breath on your cheeks. “Why do you work for him, then?” he snarled.

His grip on your chin made it impossible to look away, forcing you to meet his golden eyes. In that moment, you let him see your truth, the honesty and vulnerability you never revealed.

“Because I don't have a choice.”

A heartbeat passed, and then his expression softened. You stilled as his hand moved from your jaw to your cheek.

You had seen his scars months ago and immediately recognized what had caused them. Cauldron knew you always kept yours hidden with a glamor, allowing it to dissipate only in the privacy of your bedroom.

Thinking about all your father had put you through made the reality of the situation slam into you. What if Azriel told your father what you had just said? The Night Court and the Autumn Court were not on good terms, but who knew what political machinations were at play behind closed doors. Beron would consider your words a betrayal and punish you accordingly.

Your worry must have shown on your face because Azriel's thumb brushed over your cheekbone, gentle and reassuring. “Your secret's safe with me,” he said softly. He studied you for a moment, and whatever he saw in your expression seemed to convince him to finally put his dagger back into its scabbard at his thigh.

You took a deep, shaky breath, unsure whether it stemmed from believing him or simply from relief at no longer being threatened.

Now free, his fingers brushed over your throat where his blade had been. There probably was a thin pink line there. His featherlight touch sent shivers down your spine.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured.

Your voice was barely a whisper. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

You stared at each other, time seeming to slow down. His shadows peeked from behind his broad shoulders, a few tendrils swirling forward and weaving through your red locks, but your gaze locked on his, your heartbeat quickening. His other hand still cradled your cheek.

“I'm sorry,” you murmured.

“What for?”

‘For lying to you.’

‘For sneaking into your Court’s suite.’

‘Because I can't tell you the whole truth.’

So many easy replies, and all of them true. But one in particular pushed at the corner of your mind, one you hadn't been able to shake for months.

“For walking away right after you fell asleep.”

Something flashed in his eyes, there and gone in an instant, but you didn't recognize what it was. You didn't know him well enough to read every subtle change in his expression. Part of you wished you could.

You waited for him to say something—either to tell you he didn't care or that it wasn't a big deal—but as his silence stretched on, you debated whether you should change the subject or perhaps apologize for bringing it up.

Just as you opened your mouth, Azriel spoke again, but his words were not what you had expected.

“I looked for you the day after,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “But you were gone.”

You couldn't help but stare, so caught off guard that you were completely speechless. You had thought about him often since that night, but you never imagined he might have looked for you in the morning. You were torn between feeling even worse about leaving him and the rapid beat of your heart.

A grin curled your lips as you rested your hands on his chest. Even with his armor on, you could recall the lines of the tattoos swirling across his golden skin, a sliver of black ink peeking from his collar. “I was that good?” you teased.

Azriel chuckled under his breath, the sound like a song to your ears. “You were that good.” He leaned in, his mouth brushing against your ear, teeth grazing your earlobe. “You felt that good wrapped around me.”

Your breath hitched at his words, and you could feel his hard length pressing against your thigh, igniting a desire that made you want to moan.

“Do you want to do it again?”

He barely gave you time to finish that sentence before his lips claimed yours, eliciting a surprised whimper. Your fingers tangled in his curls, his hands cupped your face, and there was nothing sweet or gentle about the kiss as his body pressed yours against the wall and you began to grind on him.

You parted only to catch your breath, but Azriel was already nipping at your neck, and you tilted your head to grant him more access.

When distant footsteps echoed from a nearby hallway, he didn’t even pull away as shadows wrapped around you both. In an instant, they winnowed you into a bedroom you didn't bother to register, too busy pushing Azriel on the large bed and climbing on top of him.

After that time, you began to plan your meetings. It was often a real challenge to find a moment when both of you could slip away from your duties without raising suspicions, but you couldn't risk your families discovering that you were regularly sleeping with a spy from a rival court.

Then, somewhere along the way, it happened. Sex slowly transformed into making love as you both developed feelings for one another, and around one year later, the mating bond snapped into place. You wanted to accept it, but you couldn't shake the dark cloud looming over your head. It was then that you decided to tell Azriel the truth about who you were, who your father was. He was gone for twenty days after your revelation, and you were left wondering whether it was because you had kept it hidden from him for so long or if he truly had a tight schedule and couldn't make time for a secret rendezvous. But when he finally returned, he assured you that whoever your father was wouldn't change or diminish his love for you. That very night, you offered him food, relief washing over you like a balm.

~~~~~~

And here you were, three years and countless secret meetings later.

“What are you doing here?” Azriel repeated, his voice carrying the usual softness he used when speaking to you, but with an edge of nervousness and impatience.

“My father sent me to retrieve the Veritas Orb,” you explained with a sigh. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't want you to have to lie to your family even more. And… I thought I could do this alone.”

Azriel fell silent, his back stiff, his posture rigid. The shadows had retreated behind his wings. Finally, he asked, “What does he need it for?”

You gave him an apologetic look. “He didn't bother to share that information.”

He nodded, as if he had expected that answer. Rising to his feet, he offered you a hand to help you up from your seat. You took it, his skin cold against your palm, and stood with a frown.

“What do we do now?” you whispered, anxious despite Cassian’s absence. “I didn't mean to bring you into this mess, love.”

Azriel let go of your hand to cup your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Don't apologize. I know he didn't give you a choice.” He pressed his soft lips to your forehead. “But I can't let you walk out, angel. We need some excuse.”

Right, because letting you leave unscathed and without any information would only get him in trouble with his High Lord. But leaving without the Orb would get you in trouble. And yet, you would rather endure whatever punishment your father would concoct than let your mate deal with the consequences of your reckless actions.

You stepped back, out of the warmth provided by his body. You had a plan, one you knew he wouldn’t like, but it seemed like the only solution to get you both out of this mess with minimal repercussions. Well, for him at least. You doubted Beron would take pity and turn a blind eye to your failure, but it was worth a shot.

“I need you to hurt me.”

His eyes widened, but you went on before he could object. “You can tell Rhysand I was acting alone, that you made sure I won't be a problem anymore, and I’ll go back to Autumn and tell my father I was caught and tortured. But I need you to hurt me and I need you to make it look believable.”

Azriel was gaping. You had never seen him like this before. You knew how your idea sounded, but you needed him to understand the criticality of the situation and agree to it.

“Az, I—”

“No.”

You blinked. “No?”

Something ticked in his jaw, a subtle clench of his muscle. “No,” he repeated, voice firm and unyielding. “I'm not hurting you, love. You can't just ask me to do that. I won't. I can't.”

You studied him for a moment, but you knew he wasn't going to change his mind.

“Fine,” you sighed, extending a hand toward him, palm up. “Then give me Truth-Teller.”

He frowned, and the shadows swirled around him nervously, as if sensing the direction this conversation was taking. “And why would I do that?”

“You won't hurt me, so I'll do it myself,” you replied, as if the answer was obvious.

His eyes widened. “Y/N—”

“Just a few cuts here and there,” you assured him. “Nothing too bad. But my father has to believe it's real.”

Once again, Azriel stared at you, pale as if he had just seen a ghost. “You can't be serious.”

“You have a better idea?” you retorted. Without waiting for his answer, you reached for the dagger at his thigh. The sooner you could get this over with, the better.

Azriel easily sidestepped you, grabbing both your wrists to prevent you from trying to take his knife again. “I'm not letting you hurt yourself either,” he stated. His grip on you was gentle, but his tone was cold. It was the kind of tone that told you he wouldn't take no for an answer.

But neither would you.

“We don't have a choice, Az,” you countered, your voice steady despite the rising tension. Yet you didn't try to free your hands.

Something shifted in his eyes, in his expression. His thumbs brushed over your wrists in soothing motions, and a pleading note entered his voice when he spoke again. “I can't stand to see you hurt, my love. I don't care about the reason.”

For a few seconds, you just stared into each other's eyes. You were still tense and rigid, and fear coiled in your gut at the thought of going back and facing your father. But Azriel's gaze was soft, scarred fingers never ceasing their gentle caresses. In that moment, you realized that he would rather tell his family the truth than let you go back home battered.

And then it hit you. Though you loved the Autumn Court, it wasn't your home. No, your home was Azriel. He had been for years now. Your safe place, the person you could always count on, the one who knew you better than anyone else. Your mate.

“He won't let me leave,” you whispered, and you hated how weak and vulnerable you sounded.

“You're already here.” Azriel lifted your hands to his mouth and pressed a warm kiss on each palm. “You don't need to leave. You just need to stay.”

You shook your head, tears rising to your eyes. “He sent me here. He knows where I am, and he'll come looking or send someone to find me, or—”

“We'll deal with him,” he interrupted you. “But you'll be safe here. I promise.”

You couldn't hold back the tears, then. He sounded so sure, as if it could ever be that simple. As if you could just make the choice to stay and never go back. You wished you could. With all your heart, you wished it could be as simple as that.

“Az, I… I can't,” you murmured, voice trembling.

He let go of your wrists to cup your cheeks, wiping away your tears. “I will protect you,” he reassured softly. “My whole family will, once they know the truth. You will be safe in the Night Court. And if not, then… then we'll go somewhere else, somewhere far away where Beron won't find us.”

We. Us.

For how long had you wished to hear those words? Even after you two had met, you had never truly been a couple. You had stolen moments whenever you could, but it was always you and him—your duties and his. Never a ‘we’, never an ‘us’.

“Stay.”

You closed your eyes, unable to hold his pleading gaze any longer.

“Stay in the Night Court.”

You swallowed, the weight of the decision heavy on your shoulders as if it were a physical burden. “Az…”

“Stay with me.” His voice broke, vulnerability spilling into every word. “Please.”

What if it were that easy? What if you could make the decision and simply not go back to the Autumn Court? What if you could spend every day and every night with the person you loved with all your heart, with your mate, and not having to hide, to carefully plan every meeting, to weave lie after lie to everyone around you?

When you opened your eyes, Azriel was staring at you. He was still brushing away your tears, but even through their veil, you could see how beautiful he was. How desperate. How broken.

And you nodded.

“Okay,” you whispered.

His eyes immediately lit up. “Okay?”

“Yes,” you confirmed despite the quiver in your voice. “Yes, I'm… I’m staying. With you.”

You barely had time to finish the sentence before he pulled you into his arms, your face pressed against his chest as he held you tight. You let yourself go, surrendering to the tears and the sobs shaking your body, clutching his leathers to keep your hands from trembling.

“Thank you,” he murmured against your hair, over and over. “Thank you, my love. Thank you.”

You didn't know how long you just stood there. Minutes, hours, days—it didn't matter. You were together now, and you would always be from this moment on. You were home, and never again would you suffer at the hands of your father.

His shadows swarmed around you, caressing your back and arms, twisting in your hair as if they, too, were excited about what would happen next. You didn't know. For the first time in your life, the future was bright, and happiness was within your grasp.

You pulled back only when your tears ran dry. Azriel pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead, and you both smiled, brightly and lovingly, knowing you would not leave each other again.

“Let's get you out of here,” he said eventually, taking your hand and intertwining your fingers. “There's so much to do.”

Like meeting his family. Revealing your identity, who you were and what you did, and hoping they would understand and not hold it against you.

As Azriel stepped back to turn toward the door, you hesitated.

“Can you promise me something?” you asked, your voice quiet and still a bit hoarse from crying.

He stopped, worried eyes immediately searching your face for any sign of discomfort or concern. “Of course, love. Anything you want.”

“It's nothing too big, just…” You offered a small smile and squeezed his fingers. “No more secrets, Az.”

His hazel eyes softened, and his lips curled into a beautiful smile. He nodded, tugging gently on your hand to lead you out of the cell and into your new life. “No more secrets.”

2nd a/n: if the lines "Stay / Stay in the Night Court / Stay with me" reminded you of another very similar quote, you are correct. I had originally written "Stay in the Night Court. Just... stay with me" and it made me think of that quote, which is one of my favorite quotes from one of my favorite books and said by one of my favorite characters ever, so I decided to include it (a little easter egg, if you will). Kaz and Azriel 🤝 simping for the girl they like

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

Azriel Week: @fourthwing4ever

[lkfarrout]

Mean (Stan x fem!Reader) 18+

Summary: At your request, Stan brings one of his special skills - putting on an act - into the bedroom

Warnings: Smut/NSFW, a little rough, some degrading dialogue, but lots of consent

18+! Minors, do not interact.

"You dirty girl, are you really gonna cum right here on my fingers?" All you could do was nod and whimper. Stan had been slowly teasing you with his hands for nearly five minutes. This wasn't exactly what you had meant when you asked him earlier if he could try to be a little mean this time, although he had the degrading tone mastered, that was undeniable.

The last several months of slow, loving, sensual sex and pet names had been amazing - but you'd seen how cocky and quick on his feet this con-man could be, and you were ready for more. Stan had been happy to oblige your request, but you were starting to consider that maybe he didn't quite understand the assignment. The meanest thing he'd done so far was not let you remove his pants after his shirt came off.

Just as his pace increased and he was about to send you over the edge, it all stopped. In one swift movement, his touch abandoned you, and he was standing, hands up in the air, with the smuggest look imaginable.

"Oh, sorry 'bout that, I'd love to keep going, but," he smirked and looked down at the very obvious bulge showing through his slacks, "somethin' came up."

You pulled yourself up into a seated position on the bed. Oh finally, here we go, you thought, barely able to contain your excitement.

Stan ran one hand through this thick gray hair and used the other to tug on the front of his, now very tight, pants. "You see what ya did to me? Got anything to say for yourself?" The terrible ache between your legs only grew as you watched him, eager to learn what sort of scenario he had concocted for you. You bit your lip to hide your smile.

With his arms now crossed, he came forward until he towered over you. You found your gaze still low, and resisted reaching for his zipper. He asked, serious as ever, "Well?"

Trying your best to look remorseful, you let out a soft, "Sorry, Stan."

You suddenly found youself looking him in the eye, as his large hand lifted your chin and he leaned in close. "That's sir to you." His stern voice juxtaposed the loving look in his eyes.

"Sorry, Sir."

He released your chin and stepped back while smiling with the corner of his mouth.

"You're sorry, huh?" He began to unbutton his pants as he spoke, and soon they were on the floor. "Why don't ya come fix what you did, if you're so sorry?"

You obediently lowed yourself onto your knees in front of his cock - it glistened with precum just inches from your face. You took it in your mouth, but not too deep. Even so, just the feeling of your tongue teasing his tip made Stan struggle to choke back a groan and stay in character. His heavy hand found it's way to your head.

"C'mon, you can suck cock better than that, can't ya?" He slowly pushed his hips into you until his entire shaft was enveloped in your lips. You closed your eyes as you bobbed forward and back, but Stan commanded, "Look at me."

Your eyes met his for only a moment before closing again -- you knew he needed an excuse to change things up, he wouldn't last much longer otherwise. His grip on your hair tightened a bit and he reiterated, "I said look at me."

You repeated your little ruse and, as expected, he pulled you up off of him.

"Don't wanna do what you're told, huh? Suit yourself." Before you knew it, he had you bent over the bed with a firm hand on your ass. Your pussy practically throbbed in anticipation of what was coming. But before you got what you wanted, Stan leaned in very close to your ear, and in a most gentle whisper asked, "You doin' okay, sweetie?" You reassured him with an eager nod. "Atta girl," he planted a soft peck on your cheek before returning to position.

"Now, I'm gonna show ya what happens when you don't listen to me." The return of his voice to the gruff, stern tone made you tremble. As he spoke, his hand made a small circle on your ass cheek. He pulled back and you gripped the sheets to brace yourself as his large palm found it's way back with a loud smack.

"You gonna do what I say now?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl, now get on your back for me," he helped you flip over to lay on your back, fully exposed to him as he stood at the side of the bed.

With both hands on your hips, he slid you down toward him until you could feel the length of his shaft pressed against you. A soft moan escaped you lips at the contact, and Stan immediately placed a finger over your mouth.

"Did I say you could make noise?"

You shook your head, and he gently ran his thumb along your bottom lip.

"Now suck," he commanded.

Your lips enveloped his thumb while he lined himself up and slowly thrusted his way inside of you. His now wet thumb found its way to your clit and began making small circles, while his other hand held firmly on your hip.

His girth stretched you out wonderfully and you stifled your noises, his own heavy breathing and groans making it all the more difficult to stay quiet. He pumped in and out, and as his pace increased, so did the warmth and pressure building inside you.

You decided you'd played along for long enough, and began to moan in rhythm with his movements.

As punishment, he removed his hand from your clit and placed it over your mouth instead.

"If ya want me to-- mmm," he panted, "let you finish, you have to be quiet."

He was still thrusting, however, and that was more than enough for you. You came, and as wave after wave of pleasure came over you, your muffled though audible moans fought against his heavy hand.

"I thought I told you to stay-- oh," he sighed and his voice turned soft and breathless. He removed his hand from your mouth and used it to hold himself up.

"Oh, sweetie," he thusted in one final time and you felt the hot spurt of his release inside you, "I-- I love you."

He laid beside you to catch his breath and you cuddled up on him, wrapping an arm around his chest. "I love you too, Stan."

"Sorry 'bout breaking character at the end. Other than that, how'd I do?"

"Hmmm," you pretended to think, "How about one more take?"

"Ha!" Stan let out a hearty laugh, "Ask me again tomorrow."

This was my first time writing smut, I hope it's not too cringe! I realize there's not much of a lead-up, but hey, porn without plot right?

[that-one-ostrich-friend]

Late Night Chat

sirius black x reader - late night chat

word count: 1k

summary: just a little blurb about a late night chat after exam week with non other than the sirius black

warnings: none :)

a/n: why is ben barnes so fineeeeee

     The night was still, save for the soft rustling of leaves from the trees surrounding the edge of the Black Lake. Hogwarts, nestled under a blanket of starlit skies, seemed peaceful for once—no looming threats, no hidden dangers, just the quiet hum of life that came after a long day of classes and before the chaos of whatever trouble the Marauders would surely cause next.

     Tonight, there was a different energy in the air. One that made y/n’s heart race in a way that didn’t quite feel like anxiety—more like anticipation.

     She sat by the edge of the lake, feet dangling just above the water, trying to lose herself in the moonlit ripples. She’d been coming here more often lately, especially after a particularly grueling week of exams, hoping the silence would calm her mind. 

     Sirius Black had been hovering around more often than usual, appearing when she least expected him. At first, it was always with the Marauders—James, Remus, and Peter—but slowly, over the past few weeks, he'd started showing up when the others weren’t around. And lately, he’d been staying longer.

     Y/n weren’t sure how to feel about it. Sirius Black had always been the charming, reckless prankster. He was the kind of person who could turn heads with a smile, or cause an uproar with a laugh. He was magnetic in a way that made it impossible to ignore him. And yet, when it was just the two of them, he seemed different—more focused, more... genuine.

     Tonight, she sat there, eyes on the dark waters of the lake, hoping her heartbeat wasn’t as loud as it felt. She’d promised yourself she wouldn’t let your mind wander. She wouldn’t think about how his voice sounded just a little more tender when he asked if she was okay. Or how his grin made her forget everything else when he leaned a little too close.

     But then, she heard it.

     The snap of a twig behind her.

     Before she could turn, a voice, as familiar as the sound of her own breath, called her name softly.

     "Y/n," Sirius's voice was warm and inviting, and she could feel the smile in his words, even without turning around. "You know, you’ve been here a lot lately."

     She smiled to herself. It was a little ridiculous how easily he made her feel seen, even when she didn't want to be. "You know, you’ve been lurking around me a lot lately,” she mocked, “ It’s almost like you’re stalking me."

     He laughed, the sound echoing across the empty grounds, and she turned to see him leaning casually against a nearby tree, hands in the pockets of his robes. His dark eyes twinkled in the moonlight, his hair messy and windswept.

     "You make it sound like a bad thing," Sirius said, pushing off from the tree and walking over to where she sat. "I’m just... looking out for you. Someone’s got to keep you from brooding out here all alone."

     She scoffed lightly but didn’t move to argue. "I don’t brood," she said, though she was well aware of the frown that had crossed her face when she’d first arrived at the lake.

     Sirius sat down next to her, his thigh brushing her as he gazed out at the water. There was a brief, comfortable silence, but it wasn’t awkward—not with Sirius. Not anymore.

     "You’ve been a bit quiet lately," he said, his voice quieter now, softer. "Everything okay?"

     She blinked, surprised by how perceptive he was. Sirius was known for being reckless, impulsive, sometimes a little too much of a show-off—but he wasn’t wrong. She had been quieter than usual. There were things on her mind, things she hadn’t quite figured out how to say, or maybe things she was afraid to.

     "I’m fine," she replied, her tone casual. "Just... thinking."

     "About what?" Sirius pressed, nudging her shoulder with his.

     She glanced at him, meeting his gaze for a moment. There was no judgment in his eyes—just that unwavering sense of understanding, like he knew more than he let on, but wasn’t about to push her to tell him.

     "I don’t know," she admitted, her voice almost a whisper. "Everything feels so... complicated sometimes. People, life... it just feels like things are changing too quickly, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for it."

     Sirius turned his body slightly toward her, his expression softening. "Change sucks," he agreed, his voice low and serious. "It feels like you’re just barely hanging on, but you don’t have any control over it."

     She nodded, grateful that he seemed to understand. She had always appreciated his candor—he was blunt when he needed to be, but it was never in a way that made you feel small or dismissed.

     "You know," he said after a long pause, "you don’t have to go through all of it alone."

     She turned to face him more fully, slightly startled by the sincerity in his voice. Sirius wasn’t known for his deep conversations, much less his vulnerability. She had seen glimpses of it—small cracks in the façade he built for everyone—but this... this felt different. This felt real.

     Before she could say anything, Sirius continued. "If you need someone to talk to—or even if you just need someone to sit here with you—I’m always here." His voice was steady, unwavering, and she couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes stayed locked on hers.

     There was an unspoken understanding between them now, something that neither of them needed to name. She didn’t need to tell him her fears, her insecurities—he was offering a quiet reassurance without pressure. And it was enough.

     She smiled, a little more genuinely than before, as she leaned her shoulder against his. "I think I’d like that."

     For a long moment, neither of them spoke. They just sat there, watching the ripples in the lake, letting the night air fill their lungs. It was peaceful, but it wasn’t empty. Not anymore.

[quinngefail]

Is Lawrence a “no Adam, we are not keeping the stray cat you found” but then immediately falls in love with the cat type guy. Is he. I need to know

SHAKING

💥 Rambling Beast Incoming 💥 Because I will not lie. I've thought about this a lot LMAO

I am also putting a cut. Because this got to be way longer than anticipated, and also slowly pivots into just being a short fic HRKGMGKGK......

But uh I've imagined that the conversation came up during a late night. They'd been staying together, and just being together for a few months now. They have a lot of conversations that revolve around just asking each other about all sorts of things, getting to know one another more and more. And just being able to freely ask things that certainly weren't important during their six hours in hell. 'Getting to know you's in significantly less stressful environments, basically.

At some point that night, Lawrence asks Adam what some things on his bucket list are. Adam gets a little flustered, and sorta mumbles, "I promise it's nothing that exciting."

But of course, Lawrence wants to hear anyway. Doesn't matter if it's 'I want to have a concert on the moon', or 'I want to find a lucky penny on the subway'. He just wants to hear anything and everything from this man, no matter what Adam's harsh inner voice may repeatedly insist.

So Adam begins to explain one of the biggest things on that list, which is that he's just always wanted a pet. A cat, specifically, as they're his favorite. Because even in a world where his parents could have afforded to take care of one, they wouldn't have anyway. They both just did not care for animals, and weren't exactly hesitant to very bluntly express their disdain for them, in far less kind words. And even if Adam had been existing on his own for about 6-7 years now, he certainly wasn't ever in a comfortable enough financial state to take care of a pet. And he could truly never forgive himself if he was the reason for any amount of harm coming to something that was so innocently dependant on him... The man who had struggled to feed even himself.

So, he had just shoved that idea to the back of his mind. But the longing never stopped, of course.

Once he's finished, Lawrence gives a saddened nod, and offers his sympathetic words. But, there's a few moments of silence before he perks up a bit. Why don't they just get one, then.

Adam blinks a few times in surprise, but he can't keep a little smile from creeping up his face.

"Well, you know I'm not going to say no to that," he responds. "But only if you're really okay with having a little bastard running around your place,"

Lawrence first starts with a dry chuckle. "Oh, I don't think I'm a stranger to that anymore, darling. In fact, I'm rather acquainted with the little hellion I've already welcomed into my home. And you know, I am quite fond of him."

Adam's smile only grows larger, and more crooked, as he rolls his eyes. "Yeah okay, whatever, asshole." But it's only a second or two before their shared laughter fills the bedroom.

"Well, it'll certainly be loved." Lawrence remarks in the lull of their banter. "And completely spoiled."

"Oh, abso-fuckin'-lutely." Adam nods, cracking a cocky smirk. "It'll have no idea that I've been waiting 20 some years for this shit. Poor bastard's in for of some of the most obnoxious, sappy, lovey dovey shit ever. It'll hate us so much."

"Oh yes, nothing but malice towards us. It'll want us both dead." Lawrence smiles back. "Well, we can start looking around for our unlucky candidate tomorrow, if you'd like."

"Fuck yeah," Adam grins, curling both hands into eager fists. Really though, on the inside, he was running rapid, ecstatic laps around his brain.

His ass was not going to be able to sleep tonight.

"...And thank you," he quietly adds, highly masking just how much he wanted to repeat his gratitude again, and again, and again, and again- though, he was sure this masking was to limited success, for the shaking of his hands were at least one thing that currently betrayed him-

"Of course, Adam."

Their hands then find one another, and squeeze... One shaking hand unable to keep itself from squeezing down hard.

~~~

AND THEN...... THERE WERE CATS !! >:3

And they are indeed spoiled rotten and deeply loved by the both of them LMAO

[infinite--92]

It's Gym Day

The next day, Emily decided it was time to challenge herself and head to the gym. It had been a while since she’d felt confident enough to go, given the dramatic change in her body. But after the empowering gathering with the Infinite 92 women, she felt a newfound sense of courage. She chose her outfit carefully—a pair of stretchy black leggings and a blue sports bra that hugged her figure, with her massive, round belly proudly exposed. She glanced at herself in the mirror before leaving, feeling a blend of nerves and excitement.

Stepping into the Gym

As Emily entered the gym, she noticed a few heads turning in her direction. There were looks of surprise, but not in the way she had feared. Instead, she saw curiosity and admiration. Some people gave her warm smiles, while others glanced at her belly with fascination. It wasn’t long before she realised that she wasn’t being judged. In fact, it seemed like her confidence and unique appearance were drawing people in rather than pushing them away.

Emily took a deep breath and headed towards the treadmill, deciding to start with some light cardio. She was still getting used to the extra weight and balance of her new body, but as she got into her rhythm, she felt a rush of satisfaction. She wasn’t hiding anymore. She was here, unapologetically herself.

Admiration and Connection

As she continued her workout, Emily noticed a few men watching her, not with disdain but with genuine interest. She could feel their admiration, their curiosity. It was an unexpected but empowering sensation. For so long, she had worried about what people might think of her changing body, but here she was, receiving positive attention she hadn’t anticipated.

One man in particular caught her eye. He was tall, fit, and seemed to be around her age. He was lifting weights across the room but kept glancing over at her with a smile. After a while, he finished his set and made his way over to her, wiping sweat from his forehead with a towel.

“Hey, I just wanted to say you’re doing great,” he said with a friendly grin. “I’ve never seen anyone with your confidence and strength. It’s really inspiring.”

Emily felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. “Thank you,” she replied, a bit shy but pleased. “It took me a while to get here, but I’m finally starting to feel comfortable in my own skin.”

The man nodded. “I can tell. I’m Jim, by the way.”

“Emily,” she said, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

A Friendly Connection

They continued talking as Emily switched to some light weightlifting. Jim was genuinely interested in her, asking her about her fitness journey and what brought her to the gym today. He listened intently as she shared a little about her story—leaving out the more unusual details for now—and instead focusing on how she was learning to embrace her body and feel strong again.

“You know,” Jim said thoughtfully, “I see a lot of people here every day. But it’s rare to see someone who carries themselves with such self-assurance, especially when they’re dealing with changes. You’ve got a great energy about you.”

Emily couldn’t help but smile. It had been a long time since someone had made her feel this seen and appreciated. The conversation flowed naturally, and she found herself laughing and joking with Jim as they moved through different exercises together. It was the first time in a long time that she felt like her body was a source of attraction and positivity rather than something to hide or be ashamed of.

A Growing Confidence

As the workout went on, Emily noticed that her earlier doubts had disappeared. She felt strong, confident, and attractive. The looks from other gym-goers were no longer intimidating; instead, they felt like a form of validation. She had come here to face her fears, and instead, she found admiration and connection.

Jim seemed genuinely interested in getting to know her better, and as they finished up their workout, he hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Would you like to grab a smoothie or something sometime? I’d love to continue our conversation.”

Emily’s heart skipped a beat. It was the first time someone had asked her out since her condition had changed her appearance, and she felt a surge of excitement mixed with a touch of nervousness. But looking at Jim’s warm, open expression, she realized she wanted to take the chance.

“Sure, I’d like that,” she said with a smile. “How about this weekend?”

“It’s a date,” Jim replied with a grin.

As they exchanged numbers, Emily felt a wave of happiness wash over her. This wasn’t just about finding someone who appreciated her appearance; it was about finding someone who appreciated her confidence, her journey, and her spirit. She realized that the admiration she was receiving was not just for her physical changes but for the strength and resilience she had developed along the way.

Leaving the Gym

As Emily left the gym that day, she felt lighter than she had in a long time, despite the weight she carried in her belly. The experience had been transformative. She had come in with doubts, worried about how she would be perceived, but left feeling validated and admired. She knew there were still challenges ahead, and she was still navigating her unique condition, but she was starting to see herself in a new light.

The admiration from others, especially from someone like Jim, was just the beginning. She was learning to love herself, to embrace her body fully, and to realise that beauty came in many forms. As she walked home, she felt hopeful about the future. The unexpected admiration had boosted her confidence, and the connection she felt with Jim hinted at possibilities she hadn’t dared to imagine before.

Emily was ready to embrace whatever came next, knowing that she had the support of her friends in Infinite 92 and a growing confidence in herself. For the first time in a long while, she felt like she was exactly where she was meant to be.

[skydigiblogs]

Digimon and Disability

Realizing I can't think of any Digidestined characters from any anime that are implied or stated to be physically disabled. Might just be me not remembering right, but idk? I know the series explores a lot of psychological topics, but I just can't really think of a character who deals with a chronic physical condition while the screen is on them.

The reason I'm thinking about this is because I want to design a cane you could imagine seeing in the Digital World (as a person who uses mobility aids, I kind of want to draw my sona with a cane sometimes), and, like... the closest I can think of in terms of a main character with disabilities is Hikari/Kari.

I haven't gotten to the Dark Master arc yet, but I know her getting severely ill was a huge plot point, and it's also heavily implied that she missed out on the first trip to the Digital World because of a cold (which is reasonable, even if you aren't disabled and deal with difficult periods of illness). At the same time, though I know that she gets used as a mouthpiece for the light when she's ill in Machinedramon's city, so??? I'm not sure what to think of that.

I also can't really say if that's backed up in 02 or other sequels because I just don't remember them that well at the moment.

The only other anime character coming to mind with a confirmed disabling condition is Thoma/Thomas's sister in Savers, but what I do remember doesn't instill me with confidence in the treatment of her character as a person with a disability. I'm sure I'll have more to think about in terms of her when I get to that part of Savers.

And the only example of Digimon I can think of are, like, Jijimon and Babamon, and that's only because they have walking sticks they use to whack shit with. Which like... ehhhhh. We'd really be putting the bar on the floor if we counted those two as disability rep, I think.

I also guess that Erika in Digimon Story Cyber Sleuth: Hacker's Memory counts but... I also don't know how to feel about that one as disability rep. Between her, Thoma's sister, and even Kari, their respective illnesses (regardless of how chronic they are) always seem to end up with emotionally constipated older brothers who feel obligated to "protect" their "weaker" sibling.

I at least like Erika as a character, and I do think CS:HM does a little bit more to interrogate what that means for her, but I still have no way of naming what Erika was even sick with in the first place. Wikimon doesn't even have a summary of her symptoms, and from what I recall the jist of her disability was "if I get too stressed, I pass out." Which. I know people who experience that due to things like seizures, but I still can't help feeling a little bit miffed that Ericka really is the closest to disability rep I can think of in the series.

I'd like to see more of us in the series, if only because it would make me feel a bit more welcome in my favorite series.

[little-red-fool]

Can you draw some doodles of true form haarlep? Maybe first meeting Raphael or smth if u want. XD

The real reason Raphael asks Haarlep to take his form.

[inaconstantstateofchange]

binggeyuan modern!AU based on this prompt where shen yuan and luo binghe live in the same apartment building, but have never met each other. SY is more-or-less his regular shut-in self, and keeps very odd hours, which means that he happens to be wide awake the first time LBH gets back to the apartment building at 3 a.m. after some manner of illicit activity and realizes he doesn't have his fucking entrance key. LBH hits one apartment number after another into the intercom, fully prepared to dazzle his way into getting one of them to open the door for him, but the intercom is old, and people come and go from this building often enough that most people don't bother getting it set up, and he's having no luck.

finally, just as he's about to give up and bully his way onto mobei-jun or sha hualing's couch for the night, someone picks up. he doesn't even remember which specific apartment number it was, he was just entering them mechanically. immediately, LBH pulls on his smoothest affect (sure the intercom has no video, only shitty, garbled audio, but that's no reason to let the universe catch you slipping) and prepares to give the sob story performance of his life. before he can even get a single word out, however, there's a crackly, almost indiscernible "Open!" and he hears the click of the entrance door unlocking before the intercom call is ended. he stares at the intercom for a minute, somewhat wrong-footed, but then shakes himself out of it in time to catch the door before it locks again.

SY, for his part, was broken out of a binge-reading spiral by the intercom call, and fully did not realize how late it had gotten. he assumed he had ordered something that was arriving earlier than expected, and kept an ear out for a knock on his front door from the delivery person for a few minutes, but then got sucked back into the target of his current literary criticism.

the next time LBH gets locked out, he starts in the general number range he remembers striking on the last time, and pays closer attention to the numbers this time. he's curious if his little philanthropist will be so accommodating again. SY orders a lot of packages, okay! the one time he didn't pick up the intercom he had to wait an extra three days for his ultra-rare, limited edition merch, which he will not be going through again. this time, though, when the intercom picks up, LBH is prepared. he starts talking immediately, playing up his stress at being locked out, how sorry he is to be a bother, and how much he really, really appreciates it. SY fully blue screens at this unanticipated display of emotions, blurts something out about how it's not problem and of course he's happy to help out a neighbor in need, then hangs up (after unlocking the entrance, of course). it is perhaps fortunate that the intercom has no video, and thus he can not see the look on LBH's face.

LBH gets more and more consistent pushy with his calls, curious how far this little philanthropist will go for him. he knows his apartment number, of course, he could just knock and introduce himself, but he'd rather let him come to him. LBH starts interjecting little questions here and there, trying to glean any information about his mysterious benefactor. SY, meanwhile, is lighting a daily candle for this poor little bun somewhere in his building, who has truly the worst luck in the entire world! who ever heard of a gang of pickpockets stealing someone's keys not once, but twice in the same week!

LBH gets comfortable with the state of things — as ever, too comfortable. nothing good can last forever. one night, after a long and utterly shitty day, for the first time in ages, he loses his key for real. he's tried to avoid reaching out to SY at any time when he's not 100% in control of himself, but there's nothing for it. he punches in the numbers for the unit he knows by heart at this point, and when it picks up, he sighs tiredly, and waits for SY to speak first. after a moment of silence, the call drops, and the door remains locked. LBH is almost shaken entirely out of his malaise. not even a word? he puts SY's apartment number in again, but this time it doesn't even pick up. he stares at the intercom in unpleasant shock for a few minutes, then punches the wall next to it and leaves. he spends the night on mobei-jun's uncomfortably small couch, staring unseeing at the ceiling above him. at least the other man doesn't ask him any questions.

their easy rapport broken, SY starts to worry when he hasn't heard from his unfortunate little neighbor — maybe he's moved out? hopefully to a place with a more accommodating security system... after a full week, his worry ramps up even higher. he wants to believe his neighbor just found a system to keep track of his keys that works for him, but statistically, it seems unlikely. feeling like the most awkward, overstepping idiot on the planet, he scribbles off a few short notes, and sticks one by the the intercom, one by the mailboxes, and one in the laundry room. his neighbor will have to go at least one of those places, certainly?

to my keyless neighbor - hope you're well! i was worried- if you ever need me, you know where to reach me. you weren't a bother- - XX4

the next time LBH stops by the apartment (he's been avoiding it by couch-hopping as much as possible, to the great aggravation of his friends) he carefully avoids looking at the intercom. as such, it's actually sha hualing who spots the note first. (she bullied her way into an invite to make LBH actually go home.) she crows out a harsh laugh, snatching the note off the wall and holding it up dramatically, cackling about "rom-com shit". LBH isn't really paying attention, until he catches a glimpse of the apartment number at the bottom. eyes flashing, he snatches the note out of her hand, and reads it over once, and then again. after a moment, he turns to sha hualing, and tells her to go home, that he's got plans, actually. she gapes at him for a moment, then scoffs and turns on her heel, flipping him off as she goes. whatever! she didn't want to babysit his mopey ass any longer anyway!

LBH spends a few frozen moments running over his options, torn between calling right now just to see if his philanthropist will pick up this time, and giving himself a chance to freshen up, and maybe make a good enough showing for himself that whatever it was that caused him to be ignored before will never happen again. ultimately, he decides on the latter, but rushes through all his preparations as much as he can while maintaining sufficient attention to detail. he wishes he had the materials to make something truly spectacular, but his apartment is showing his absence over the past week. he settles on a meal that just barely feels sufficient, and finds himself more anxious than he can remember being in years at this point, staring at his philanthropist's apartment door, two levels below his.

he raises his fist to knock, tentatively at first, too quiet to hear, and then once more, louder. a muffled voice comes through the door, and a few moments later, it cracks open to reveal a man just a bit shorter than him, with a rumpled shirt that looks like it has just been haphazardly thrown on and hair that might not have been brushed in days. he's... really cute.

LBH and SY just kind of stare at each other, frozen, for a bit, until LBH proffers the food he's brought, and SY's archaic etiquette subroutines kick in, and he invites LBH in before he can even think about. his immediate wince makes it clear he had not meant to do that, but LBH is not above making a situation work to his advantage, and graciously accepts, stepping into the somewhat cluttered apartment before SY can recover from his slip-up. they still have not exchanged names.

ultimately, they get themselves figured out. LBH introduces himself, and SY follows suit. there's a beat of silence as they both realize that this does not actually clear up anything about how they know each other. LBH finds the words to explain his own part in this are slow to come, so he finally just hands the note, neatly folded, to SY. SY's face colors, but he overcomes it to fussily poke at LBH about how worried he was, when the other just disappeared! LBH stops for a second, hearing that, then slowly responds that it was SY who cut him off first. SY gapes at him, then demands to know when he did a thing like that! he set his intercom call sound to caramelldansen and max volume so he'd be sure not to miss it!

LBH gives him the date, and SY flushes again, then looks away, muttering something unflattering about a "qingge". LBH feels a wash of jealousy, that he's misread the situation and SY is already spoken for, but SY goes on to explain that he had been stuck overnight at the hospital - for nothing major! pretty routine actually! - and the friend that was staying with him must have picked up, then hung up when he couldn't figure out who was calling.

LBH sits back, somewhat at a loss. so it... wasn't because SY was tired of him? SY sputters, waving his hands about. absolutely not! he might be slightly forgetful, but binghe is clearly a wonderful young man and it's not like SY has much else going on in his life!

LBH determines to himself then and there that the only way to ensure such a thing does not happen again is to make sure that he is the one staying with SY the next time he's in the hospital.

[deoidesign]

I've been... Busy 👀

Trying to get all 4 arcs from season 1 into books!

(not available for sale, these are print proofs. I'm planning a Kickstarter early next year!)

[doctorwhoarchive]

as someone who absolutely adored Sam/Melissa in Scream 5 while most everyone else was hating on her and her acting, I’ve been thinking about this for a while and can honestly write a whole dissertation on this SO

Melissa was never a bad actress in 5. I’d argue it all comes down to how Sam was written and that she was intentionally a little more stoic. And then, as soon as Melissa had more input on the character and fought to give Sam more complexity in 6, suddenly everyone loved her and was praising her for “getting acing lessons”. Someone doesn’t just improve their acting that much in the few months timespan between when 5 came out and 6 was filmed, she was always that good!

The real reason I’m writing this though is because there’s a certain subtle aspect of Melissa’s acting that I’ve never seen anyone talk about before, but it might just be my favorite thing about her portrayal of Sam. MELISSA’S BODY LANGUAGE ACTING IS INCREDIBLE AND IT’S TIME WE SPEAK ABOUT IT!!

Maybe it’s just the mental illness in me that sees the same things I do in her, but a lot of little things she does/the way she carries herself stick out to me and I love it so much. The way she crosses her arms like she’s closed off whenever something particularly bad or uncomfortable is happening (she does this in shrine scene when Tara catches her talking to Billy, at the police station after Gale is attacked, and in 5 when she begins to tell Tara about finding the diary), the way her leg bounces when she’s nervous/anxious (like when she’s talking to Danny after the ladder scene), the way she fiddles with her hands (like in the scene right after she’s attacked in the hospital in 5), it all really catches my attention and it’s so subtle but perfect.

Melissa’s crushing it as Sam, and was way before everyone finally started appreciating her performance in 6. When I see her do those things I’m like!! I do those exact things too! It may not be a big deal to anybody else and they may not even notice it, but I notice it and absolutely love it and feel seen by it. It just feels like Melissa really put the time, effort, and thought into Sam and her mannerisms to make her a more well-rounded character, and I just think we all need to talk about it more.

[brittlebutch]

'Changeling,' she thinks about texting, wishing against all reason that it was here for her now. 'I went on a walk and got hit by a car. I came all this way, and did not even get to look through the stupid card packs. How is that fair?'

words: 12,865

[pikkish]

idk if this is a good prompt but put doomguy in myhouse.wad I think he would find it enriching

Right, so I've been mulling on this one for a little bit now, n I'm not opposed to writing something for you, I'm just not... entirely sure what to write? Because the thing is, myhouse.wad doesn't actually really have anything to do with Doom as a story. Sure, Doom is important in that it's the vessel through which the story is told and one of the connections between the narrator and his dead companion. But as far as Doom itself goes, and the story about a man who was too angry/stupid to die, fighting demons and saving earth, none of that is at all relevant to myhouse.wad and its story. For all intents and purposes, Doomguy isn't actually a character in myhouse.wad. So I'm not really sure how exactly to fit him in there.

[dylan-westwick]

character: James Reed @jamesxreed

location: Weekend Art Market

Having told Theo she was talking with James again, she did feel like he respected the decision for her to tell her ex-boyfriend what had happened at the hospital. Especially since Ida had basically told him already without giving all the details. It made it sound much scarier that way, obviously Dylan wanted to play it down as much as possible even if there had been a moment of fear of the unknown for a brief time. It wasn't like she wanted to fixate it nor did she want James to fixate on it.

Theo was with the twins now though and she felt like this was good practice of her being away knowing she'd be starting back at work sooner now than she'd like to think about. Having invited James to the cute art market, she hadn't realize it would bring up some glimpses of memories of things that they used to do together. She hoped that she hadn't made things ten times more awkward. But Dylan finally found a spot between one row of vendors and a little area where there were some food trucks. She cleared her throat a bit as she looked over towards him. "So, how's work been? Good? Anything exciting happenin'? Hopefully that could top meetin' my mom?" It felt weird to ask him if he had a good Valentine's Day or if he'd even been seeing anyone, so she felt like this was safe territory as far as questions go.

[orkowhereheshouldntbe]

[ID in ALT!]

Orko on a Junior Park Ranger badge. His prize for going to all the national parks!

[xxxemilyg1996]

"Ah man, my dad's dead" me, just now remembering that my father is in fact, actually dead and has been for almost 3 years

[zukkaoru]

i dont want to pry but i rly liked your trans yuki headcanons and im rly interested on what other stuff u have to say abt her character/backstory/anything really. im rly a big fan of your fics n i like your hcs n ideas in general and this is one thats sort of stuck with me because of the possibilities it has. anyways have a nice day x) (pls ramble as much as u want im all ears 😭😭)

ahhh thank you so much!! and yes i will galdly talk about my headcanons!!

okay so to me, yuki holds personal choice and her own free will in very high regard. this goes along with the fact that she was supposed to merge with tengen as a spv but ultimately didn't go through with it. as far as i know, it's unclear in canon why she didn't go through with the merger, but i think her own choice to walk away played a major role in it and the higher ups let her do it bc of her technique (and because they're cowards who fear special grade sorcerers but that's another conversation)

in terms of appearance and presentation, i think yuki likes to play around with that sort of stuff. this is why yuki w dark roots/bleached hair is so special to me. i think she gets piercings, and then lets them close up once she's tired of them. i think she gets tattoos, and then maybe gets a few covered up. i think she should get to dye her hair purple and blue and pink and whatever other colors she wants. i think she enjoys buying new clothes and putting outfits together and making herself look how she feels, and her being trans just fits in with that so well. and i think she knew she was trans from a young age, and that solid aspect of her identity was something she could hold onto even as a star plasma vessel who isn't supposed to have a sense of identity, and that was how she knew she wanted to continue living as herself instead of merging with tengen. and along with the clear choices yuki has made concerning her appearance, i also think she doesn't cover up any of the things that are proof she's lived. she doesn't cover up her scars or freckles or moles with makeup. she doesn't shave her arms or legs. because she wasn't supposed to live as long as she has - she was supposed to merge with tengen and lose herself in the process - so everything that is evidence of the life she's lived is a reminder of how far she's come. they're a reminder that she chose to live, and it's a choice she wakes up and makes every day.

i don't think yuki was ever very close to her parents, and she never really had friends at school either. she learned to rely on herself when she was young, so by the time she ended up at jujutsu high, she was already independent. i do, however, think she got along fine with her classmates. but she clashed with the higher ups and most of her teachers quite a bit, and was always labelled as a troublemaker. i also think she had to fight hard to get full acknowledgement as a special grade - a lot harder than gojo and geto, who were basically just given their rankings. i think she had to prove herself several times over before the higher ups finally promoted her to special grade. i also think she was probably the sort of student who would not hesitate to call out the teachers if they were wrong about something, or ask questions that no one else wants to think about the answers to (hence, her going off and doing research on her own after she graduated)

i also think, at some point, she told the higher ups' her intention to study cursed energy and curses and figure out a way to cut off the problem at its source, and they all laughed in her face. i think the higher ups have basically ridiculed/taunted/looked down upon her from the moment she rejected her merger, and there are a lot of rumors spread about her that paint her in a negative light because of it. sometimes, she plays into them just because it gets people to leave her alone. in reality, she can be kind when she wants, but she's also tough and mean and and blunt and doesn't care if she hurts your feelings. she prefers to work alone, but she has a soft spot for people she can see her younger self in - people who are trying to figure out who they are and what their purpose in the world is. i think this is probably why she took in todo and trained him; she saw something in him that reminded her of herself, back when she was desperate for even one other person who understood, and she took on that role of being todo's one person who could understand

anyway this is long already so i'll stop here but. to me, the best yuki is one who shamelessly alive. someone who nearly had her soul taken away from her and now knows how precious it is to be in your own body and make your own choices. she doesn't have time for regret or guilt. she's determined and stubborn. she's powerful, and she isn't afraid to prove it. she's smart, she's strong, she's flawed, and she is herself