#this was a struggle to make everyone was hard to draw and the layers are many

[koszmarnybudyn]

The only people doing relatively well right now, I bet that hug was gooooddd, dad hugs are the best after all.

[jakesaverse]

ECHOES OF YESTERDAY | JAKE SIM CH.1

Synopsis: On her 21st birthday, Y/n wakes up overwhelmed by guilt and sorrow. It’s not just her birthday; it’s also the third anniversary of her high school boyfriend Jake’s tragic death. Surviving the accident that took Jake’s life, Y/n is haunted by memories of their love and the future they lost. In a moment of desperate longing, she makes a wish to see Jake again and is miraculously transported back in time to when Jake was alive. However, she finds that Jake now hates her, adding a new layer of pain and confusion. Determined to change his fate and earn his tolerance, she resolves to do everything in her power to ensure he escapes death this time.

Reader: Jake x Reader

Author’s note: Hi! Hope everyone is having a good day/night 🫶. The first chapter is finally out! I hope you guys like it and I know it’s all over the place and yes, it’s intentional 😭.

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You woke up with your heart pounding in your chest. The room was still dark, the early morning light just beginning to seep through the curtains. You lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the familiar heaviness settle over you. Tomorrow was your birthday, but it was also the anniversary of the worst day of your life.

Three years had passed since the accident, but the pain was as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. You could still hear the screech of tires, the sickening thud, and the deafening silence that followed. Jake had been your world, your first love, and he had been taken from you in an instant.

As you sat up in bed, you felt the tears begin to flow, unchecked and relentless. Guilt gnawed at your insides, a constant reminder that you had survived while he had not. "Why him and not me?" You whispered into the void, your voice trembling with anguish. Every year, this day brought a renewed sense of loss and a crushing weight of survivor's guilt.

You reached for the locket around your neck, a gift from Jake on your 18th birthday. Inside was a picture of you and him, smiling and carefree, a stark contrast to the broken person you had become. You clutched it tightly, as if hoping to draw strength from the memory of his love.

The hours dragged on, each second a painful reminder of the life you had lost. You tried to distract yourself, to push the memories away, but they were relentless. Every corner of your room held a piece of your past, a reminder of the plans you had made and the future you would never share.

You made your way to the kitchen, your movements slow and deliberate. You poured yourself a cup of coffee, the mundane task offering little comfort. As you sat at the table, you stared at the empty chair across from you, imagining Jake sitting there, his infectious smile lighting up the room.

The guilt was suffocating. You had tried to move on, to live a life that honored his memory, but it was never enough. Every laugh felt like a betrayal, every moment of happiness tainted by the shadow of his absence. You had survived, but you weren’t really living.

The day stretched on, a blur of tears and memories. You decided to visit his grave, despite it being a harsh reminder of the finality of his loss. You stood in front of the mirror, trying to make yourself presentable despite the tears streaming down your face. You thought about how badly you needed comfort, and how there was no one who could provide that except Jake.

You fumbled with your hair, attempting to smooth it down, but your hands were shaking too much. You tried to dab at your eyes with a tissue, but the tears kept coming, making it impossible to hide the redness and puffiness. Frustration bubbled up inside you as you realized you couldn't make yourself look composed, no matter how hard you tried.

The cemetery was cloaked in the deep blues and purples of twilight. Each step feels like a struggle, your legs weighed down by the overwhelming grief that has settled in your chest. The wind whispers through the trees, carrying with it the faint scent of earth and flowers, a bittersweet reminder of life and death intertwined.

You stood alone, your shoulders shaking with silent sobs as you clutch a small bouquet of Jake's favorite flowers, your fingers trembling as you approach the familiar headstone. The sight of his name etched into the cold, unyielding marble is a cruel confirmation of the reality you wish you could escape. You fall to your knees, the flowers slipping from your grasp and scattering across the grave.

"Jake," you whisper, your voice barely audible, choked with emotion. "Jake, I miss you so much." The words spill out, raw and unfiltered, as if speaking them aloud could somehow bridge the chasm between you.

Tears stream down your face, unchecked and relentless. You reach out, tracing the letters of his name with a trembling finger, your touch gentle and reverent. "Why did you have to leave me? Why did this happen to us?" Your voice cracks, breaking under the weight of your sorrow.

Memories flood your mind, each one a dagger to your already shattered heart. You remember his laughter, the way his eyes sparkled with mischief and love, the warmth of his embrace. The pain of his absence is unbearable, a gaping wound that refuses to heal.

“I can't do this without you," you cry, your voice rising in desperation. "I need you, Jake. I need you here with me." You cover your face with your hands, sobbing uncontrollably, your body shaking with the force of your grief. The world around you seems to blur, your vision clouded by tears and anguish.

As you sit there, broken and weeping, the reality of Jake's absence sinks deeper.

From a distance, Sunghoon watched you, his heart aching with every step he took. In his hands, he clutched a bouquet of sunflowers, their bright yellow petals a sharp contrast to the somber surroundings. They reminded him of Jake's infectious energy, his ability to light up even the darkest days.

Sunghoon approached quietly, not wanting to startle you. As he got closer, he saw you wipe away tears with the back of your hand, your breath coming in ragged gasps. He hesitated for a moment, then softly cleared his throat.

You turned around, your eyes red and puffy from crying. "Sunghoon," you whispered, your voice cracking.

“Hey," he said gently, holding out the sunflowers. "I thought these might brighten things up a bit. They reminded me of Jake."

You took the bouquet with trembling hands, a small, grateful smile breaking through your tears. "Thank you," you murmured. "He would have loved these."

Sunghoon nodded and took a seat next to you, the two of you sitting in a heavy silence for a few moments. Finally, he spoke, his voice filled with a mix of sorrow and fondness. "You know, Jake was always the one who could make us laugh, even when things were tough."

You nodded, your eyes fixed on the flowers. "Yeah, he had that gift."

"Remember the time he tried to start a YouTube channel with Jay?" Sunghoon continued, a small smile tugging at his lips. "He was so convinced they were going to be famous. 'The Jaykesters,' they called themselves."

You let out a choked laugh. "I remember. Jay couldn't even start the camera. He just stood there looking completely lost."

Sunghoon chuckled, the sound breaking through the tension that hung between them. "And Jake was so mad when we told him they sounded like a bunch of cats fighting. But he couldn't stay mad for long. He ended up laughing with us."

Your smile grew as you wiped away more tears. "He always had a genuine heart”

You stood in silence for a moment, the weight of your shared memories hanging in the air, but somehow, it felt a little lighter.

Sunghoon took a deep breath, looking up at the sky. "You know, Y/N, even though he's not here with us physically, Jake's spirit is still around. Every time we laugh at one of his old jokes or remember his crazy ideas, it's like he's here with us."

You nodded, clutching the sunflower tighter. "It's comforting to think of it that way. He wouldn't want us to be sad forever."

"Exactly," Sunghoon agreed. "He'd want us to keep living, to keep making new memories, and to keep each other strong."

You smiled through your tears. "You're right. And as long as we have each other, we'll keep his memory alive.”

Sunghoon put an arm around your shoulders, giving you a reassuring squeeze. "We'll get through this together, Y/N. One day at a time."

There was another silence, but not because it was awkward—though maybe it was for Sunghoon. He knew tomorrow was also your birthday, as the day of the accident the whole friend group was together before it happened. He wasn’t sure if he should say anything, but every time he felt scared or wanted to back out, he remembered Jake’s words: “Always look after Y/N.” Jake said this when they first started dating and continued to say it throughout their relationship. He knew he couldn’t always be there to protect you, so he wanted his friends, who in a way were also yours, to help him with that.

"Hey, Y/N," he said softly, trying to muster a smile. "I know tomorrow isn't easy, but I wanted to give you something."

You looked at him curiously as he reached into his big jacket. From the inside pocket, he carefully pulled out a small cupcake, its frosting slightly smudged from the journey.

"I know it's not much," Sunghoon said, holding it out to you. "But I thought we could still celebrate your birthday a little early, even if it's just a little bit."

Your eyes filled with tears again, but this time they were mixed with gratitude. You took the cupcake from him, your hands trembling slightly. "Thank you, Sunghoon. This means a lot to me."

He smiled, relieved that you appreciated the gesture. "I know it's not what you might have wanted, but I thought it might bring a bit of light to today."

You nodded, your voice choked with emotion. "It's perfect. Thank you for thinking of me."

They stood together once again in silence for a moment, the cupcake between them a small but significant symbol of their bond. Despite the sadness of the day, Sunghoon's gesture brought a touch of warmth and comfort to your heart.

You stumble through the front door of your home, your emotions a whirlwind of confusion and pain. Sunghoon's thoughtful gesture at the cemetery had touched you deeply, but it also made everything so much more complicated. It was clear that people cared for you, but the thought of celebrating your birthday without Jake, who would forever remain the same age, was unbearable.

You can't do it. You can't think of growing older while Jake is gone. The weight of it all presses down on you, suffocating you with its intensity. With trembling hands, you frame the cupcake wrapper as a reminder of Sunghoon's kindness, a small beacon of light in your dark world.

As you stare at the framed wrapper, memories of Jake flood your mind. The way he used to smile, the sound of his laughter, the warmth of his embrace. It's all too much. You sink to the floor, clutching the frame to your chest, your sobs echoing through the empty house.

"Why did you have to leave me, Jake?" you cry out, your voice breaking. "I don't know how to do this without you. I don't know how to live without you."

The silence of the house seems to mock you, amplifying your loneliness. You look at the framed wrapper again, your vision blurred by tears. "Sunghoon tried so hard to make today bearable," you whisper. "But it's just not enough. I can't do this, Jake. I can't."

With a sense of finality, you rise to your feet and make your way to the bathroom. Your hands shake as you open the medicine cabinet and take out the bottle of pills. You stare at it for a moment, the weight of your decision settling over you.

"I'm sorry, Sunghoon," you murmur. "But I just can't keep going."

You pour a handful of pills into your palm and swallow them all in one go, the bitter taste lingering in your mouth.

You sat on your bed, clutching a worn-out photo of Jake, your fingers tracing the edges of his smiling face. Tears streamed down your cheeks, each drop a painful reminder of the love you had lost. "I miss you so much, Jake," you whispered, your voice breaking. "Why did it have to be you?"

The weight of the past three years pressed heavily on your chest, suffocating you with the memory of the accident. The screeching tires, the shattering glass, and Jake's lifeless body haunted you every waking moment. You had survived, but at what cost? The guilt gnawed at your soul, leaving you hollow and broken.

As the clock struck midnight, marking your 21st birthday, you closed your eyes tightly, your heart aching with a desperate longing. "I just want to see you again, Jake. Please, just one more time," you pleaded, your voice barely a whisper.

As the darkness begins to close in, you feel a strange sense of peace. You close your eyes, your last thoughts filled with memories of Jake, hoping that soon, you will be with him again.

You find yourself surrounded by a blinding white light, so intense that you have to shield your eyes. As the light starts to fade, you notice familiar shapes and colors coming into focus. You realize you're standing in a place filled with memories—your old high school.

Suddenly, you see Jake, standing at the edge of the field, smiling at you just like he used to. The sight of him brings a rush of emotions, and memories flood your mind.

You remember the first time you met Jake in freshman year, the way he awkwardly introduced himself and offered you a seat next to him in class. You recall the countless hours spent studying together, sharing secrets, and laughing at inside jokes. You remember the way his eyes would light up whenever he talked about his dreams and ambitions.

"Hey, Y/N," Jake's voice echoes in your mind. "Do you remember our first day here? You were so nervous, but you still managed to ace every test."

You smile at the memory, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Yeah, I remember. You were the one who helped me calm down."

The scene shifts, and you're now reliving the time Jake asked you to the prom. He was so nervous, fumbling with his words and blushing furiously. "Y/N, would you... would you go to prom with me?" he had asked, his voice trembling.

You had said yes, of course, and the dance was magical. You remember the way Jake held you close, the soft music playing in the background, and the feeling that everything was perfect.

Just as you're lost in these memories, the white light returns, brighter than before. You blink, and suddenly, you find yourself sitting in your high school classroom, wearing your old uniform. The room is filled with students, and as you look around, you notice Jake sitting across the room, his eyes fixed on you.

He gives you a small, knowing smile, and you feel a sense of deja vu. "Y/N, are you okay?" he asks, his voice filled with concern.

You nod, trying to make sense of everything. "I... I think so. This feels so real."

Jake leans closer, his expression serious. "Y/N, sometimes the past can help us understand the present. Remember the good times and let them guide you."

You suddenly feel a jolt, as if being pulled back to reality. The white light around you dissolves, and you hear a loud, incessant beeping.

When you opened your eyes, you were no longer in your room. You found yourself back in your high school hallway, surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of a time long past. Your heart pounded in your chest as you spotted him—Jake, alive and well. The sight of him brought a flood of emotions, a mix of joy and unbearable sorrow.

“Jake?" You called out, your voice trembling with hope and fear.

He turned to face you, but the look in his eyes was not one of love or recognition. It was a cold, distant stare that pierced your heart. "What do you want, Y/n?" he snapped, his voice dripping with bitterness.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt as if the ground had been ripped out from under you. This wasn't the Jake you remembered. This Jake despised you, and you had no idea why. The pain of his rejection was almost too much to bear, but you couldn't give up.

Determined to change his fate and win back his trust, you vowed to do whatever it took to make things right and ensure he escaped death this time.

taglist: @belovedsthings @en-chantedtomeetyou @syazzzlisa @k1ttylvr @jaeyunpinkyring @dreamiestay @soobs-things @capri-cuntz @beomgyusimp @heelariously @thinkinboutbin @jyunsgf @lwavander @chaewonshoney @maliakealoha @addictedtohobi @welovechaes @shaniandme @chocminteu @lilyuwon @kgneptun @dojaejunging @binniesbabe @asteria-wood

[callsigns-haze]

Memories Fade VII

Eris x Rhysand's Sister!Reader Summary: Not so long back Rhysand lost his sister. Years after Helion and Elain can raise her memories from the past to see what truly happened to Y/n. Warning: Mentions of death and drinking, mentions of violence, murder, blood, poison, CHARACTER DEATH

Part 1 here

Previous

Back under the mountain, Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she made her way through the shadowed halls, slipping past guards and courtiers with practiced stealth. She had done this before, sneaking into Amarantha’s office to gather crucial information. But tonight, there was an added layer of urgency, a desperate need to find anything related to the Autumn Court.

Reaching the door to Amarantha’s office, she glanced around to ensure no one was watching before slipping inside. The room was dimly lit, the faint glow of faelight casting eerie shadows on the walls. Y/N moved quickly, her hands trembling as she opened drawers and sifted through boxes of documents.

Papers rustled and boxes shifted as she searched, her anxiety growing with each passing second. Where could it be? She thought, her frustration mounting. She could hear the faint sounds of the revelry above, the distant laughter and music a stark contrast to the tension gripping her.

Just as she found a stack of documents that looked promising, the door to the office creaked open. Y/N froze, her heart stopping as Amarantha stepped inside, her eyes narrowing at the sight before her.

"What do we have here?" Amarantha's voice was a low, dangerous purr. "A little spy in my office?"

Before Y/N could react, Amarantha's guards surged forward, grabbing her roughly by the arms. She struggled, but their grip was ironclad, their expressions devoid of mercy.

"Bring her to the dungeon room. Immediately," Amarantha commanded, her eyes gleaming with cruel delight.

The guards didn’t hesitate. They dragged Y/N out of the office, her feet barely touching the ground as they hauled her through the labyrinthine corridors. Panic clawed at her, but she forced herself to remain calm. She couldn’t show fear. She had to be strong.

The dungeon room was dark and cold, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and old blood. The guards threw her to the floor, and she landed hard, the impact jarring her bones.

Amarantha followed them in, a predatory smile playing on her lips as she looked down at Y/N. "You’ve been a very naughty girl, sneaking into places you don’t belong. What were you looking for, I wonder?"

Y/N glared up at her, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response. She knew better than to reveal anything, especially now.

Amarantha’s smile widened, her amusement evident. "No matter. I have ways of making you talk. Guards, prepare her for interrogation."

The guards moved to obey, and Y/N steeled herself for what was to come. She would endure this. She had to. For Eris, for her brother, for everyone counting on her. She would find a way to survive.

As the guards bound her hands and prepared the instruments of torture, Y/N took a deep breath, drawing on the strength and love she carried in her heart. She would not break. She would not give Amarantha the satisfaction.

She closed her eyes, whispering a silent promise to herself and to Eris. She would endure this, and she would find a way to protect those she loved, no matter the cost.

----

The grand dining hall under the mountain was a place of stark contrasts. Opulence and decadence were juxtaposed against an underlying current of menace, the echoes of power and cruelty resonating in the air. At the head of the table, Amarantha sat, her regal posture and calculating eyes taking in everything and everyone.

Rhysand sat across from her, his expression carefully schooled into one of polite interest. The dinner spread before them was lavish, a feast fit for a queen, yet he barely touched his plate. His mind was consumed with worry for his sister, Y/N.

Amarantha watched him with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, a predator savoring the tension. "You’re awfully quiet tonight, Rhysand. Something on your mind?"

Rhysand met her gaze, his violet eyes steady despite the turmoil within. "I was just wondering where my sister is," he said, his tone casual. "I haven’t seen her all day."

Amarantha’s smile widened, a flicker of amusement in her gaze. "Oh, Y/N? I needed her to do a job for me. She left for a week."

Rhysand’s heart skipped a beat, but he kept his expression neutral. "A week? That’s quite a long time. What kind of job requires her to be away for so long?"

Amarantha took a delicate sip of her wine, savoring the taste before answering. "It’s a delicate matter, one that requires her particular set of skills. I trust her to handle it efficiently."

Rhysand nodded, forcing a smile. "Of course. Y/N is very capable."

The lie settled heavily in his mind. He knew Amarantha well enough to recognize when she was being deceitful. His sister would never leave without telling him, without making some sort of arrangement. A cold dread crept into his heart.

"Is there anything I should be concerned about?" he asked, keeping his tone light. "I can go to assist her if necessary."

Amarantha laughed softly, a sound that sent chills down his spine. "No need, Rhysand. She’s quite resourceful on her own. You should trust her more."

Rhysand nodded, though his thoughts were far from the pleasant façade he maintained. "I do trust her. It’s just that I worry. This place can be...dangerous."

Amarantha’s smile didn’t waver. "Indeed, it can be. But she’s under my protection, and you have my word she will return safely."

---

The chamber was a place of nightmares, a dark, cold cell deep beneath the mountain where screams and cries seemed to linger in the air, echoing the suffering of countless souls who had endured its horrors. Y/N had been there for five days, and the relentless torture had taken its toll on her body, but not her spirit.

She was chained to the wall, her wrists raw and bloody from the restraints. Bruises and cuts marred her skin, and each breath she took was a struggle, her ribs aching from the repeated blows. Despite the pain, she refused to give Amarantha the satisfaction of seeing her break.

Amarantha stood before her, a cruel smile playing on her lips. "You’re a stubborn one, I’ll give you that," she said, her voice dripping with false admiration. "But everyone breaks eventually. Why prolong your suffering? Just tell me what I want to know."

Y/N lifted her head, meeting Amarantha’s gaze with defiance. "Go to hell," she spat, her voice hoarse from screaming.

Amarantha’s smile faltered, a flicker of irritation crossing her face. She stepped closer, her nails digging into Y/N’s chin as she forced her to look up. "Such spirit," she murmured. "It will be a pleasure to break you."

With a swift motion, Amarantha struck Y/N across the face, the impact sending her head snapping to the side. Pain exploded in her cheek, but she refused to cry out. She wouldn’t give Amarantha the satisfaction.

"Do you really think you can endure this forever?" Amarantha taunted, her voice low and dangerous. "I can keep this up for as long as it takes."

Y/N’s vision blurred, but she focused on the thought of her brother, her friends, and Eris. She drew strength from their love, their unwavering belief in her. "You can torture me all you want," she said through gritted teeth. "I’ll never tell you anything."

Amarantha’s eyes darkened with anger, and she turned to the guards. "Increase the pain. Make her wish she’d never defied me."

The guards moved forward, their expressions grim as they prepared the next round of torture. Y/N braced herself, every muscle in her body tensing in anticipation of the agony to come.

Hours passed, each moment stretching into eternity as they inflicted wave after wave of pain. But through it all, Y/N held on, her mind retreating to memories of better times, of the love that awaited her beyond the darkness.

Finally, when she thought she could endure no more, the guards stepped back, and Amarantha approached once again. "Still defiant, I see," she said, a hint of grudging respect in her voice. "But this is only the beginning. I will break you, one way or another."

Y/N glared up at her, her resolve unshaken. "Do your worst," she challenged, her voice a mere whisper but filled with steel.

Amarantha laughed, a cold, chilling sound that echoed through the chamber. "Oh, I intend to," she promised, before turning on her heel and leaving the room, the door slamming shut behind her.

As the echoes of her laughter faded, Y/N sagged against her restraints, her body trembling with exhaustion. But even in the depths of her suffering, she clung to hope. She would endure this. She had to. For her brother, for Eris, for everyone who depended on her. She would survive.

And she would make Amarantha pay.

---

Eris paced the confines of his small, dimly lit room, the oppressive atmosphere under the mountain pressing in on him from all sides. It had been days since he last felt Y/N's presence through their bond, a connection that had always been a source of solace and strength. Now, it was as if she had blocked out her part of the bond entirely, leaving him in a state of constant worry and dread.

He had scoured every corner of the mountain he had access to, searching for any sign of her, but she was nowhere to be found. It was as if she had vanished into thin air, and the thought of her being in Amarantha's clutches made his blood run cold.

Eris clenched his fists, frustration and fear gnawing at him. He couldn’t stand the thought of Y/N suffering, but he was powerless to do anything about it. His father’s orders were clear—he was to remain under Amarantha’s command and not draw any unnecessary attention to himself or his court. But that didn’t stop the burning desire to find Y/N, to protect her from whatever horrors she was enduring.

He paused by the window, looking out at the bleak landscape beyond. The weight of the bond's absence was like a physical ache in his chest. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him.

The door creaked open, and his youngest brother, Lucien, stepped inside, his expression grim. "Still no word?" he asked quietly.

Eris shook his head, unable to hide the worry in his eyes. "It's like she's completely shut me out. I don’t know where she is or what’s happening to her."

Lucien’s jaw tightened. "Amarantha is a monster. If she’s done anything to Y/N..."

Eris cut him off, his voice harsh. "Don’t. I can’t think about that. I need to find her, Lucien. I need to know she’s safe."

Lucien nodded, his own worry evident. "We’ll find a way. We have to."

Eris resumed his pacing, his mind racing with possibilities. "There has to be something we can do, some way to reach her. I can’t just sit here and do nothing."

Lucien placed a hand on Eris’s shoulder, his grip firm. "We’ll figure it out, brother. Y/N is strong. She’ll hold on until we can get to her."

Eris nodded, though the uncertainty gnawed at him. He had to believe that Y/N would endure, that she would find a way to survive. But with each passing day, the fear grew stronger, threatening to consume him.

As night fell, Eris lay on the narrow bed, staring up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes, reaching out through the bond one last time, hoping against hope that he might feel her presence, even for a moment.

But there was nothing. Only silence.

And in that silence, Eris made a silent vow. No matter what it took, no matter the cost, he would find Y/N. He would bring her back. And he would make Amarantha pay for every moment of suffering she had inflicted.

With that resolve burning in his heart, Eris let sleep claim him, his dreams filled with images of Y/N, her strength and her unbreakable spirit guiding him through the darkness.

---

The twelfth day of torture had blurred into an unending nightmare for Y/N. The constant pain, the endless questions, and the malicious gleam in Amarantha’s eyes had become her world. She had held out, refusing to break, but today, the cruel High Queen seemed to reach the end of her patience.

Amarantha stood before her, a poisonous glint in her eye. "You’ve been quite the challenge," she sneered, holding a knife that glimmered with a sickly green sheen. "But I’m afraid your time has run out."

Y/N’s heart pounded as she watched Amarantha approach, the knife gleaming in the dim light. She strained against her chains, but there was no escape. With a swift, brutal motion, Amarantha plunged the knife into Y/N’s stomach. Agonizing pain shot through her, and she gasped, choking on her own breath.

"This knife is coated with a very special poison," Amarantha hissed, twisting the blade. "Even if you don’t bleed out, the poison will kill you slowly and painfully. Let this be a lesson to anyone who dares defy me."

Y/N’s vision blurred with tears, but she refused to give Amarantha the satisfaction of seeing her cry out. She clenched her teeth, glaring up at her tormentor with all the defiance she could muster.

Amarantha pulled the knife out and wiped the blood on Y/N’s tattered clothes. "Guard!" she called, her voice echoing through the chamber. "Fetch Eris to clean up this mess."

As the guard hurried to obey, Amarantha leaned in close, her breath hot against Y/N’s ear. "You’ve been a fun distraction, but I’m done with you now," she whispered. "Enjoy your last moments."

With that, she turned and left the room, her laughter lingering in the air like a dark shadow. Y/N’s strength waned, her body trembling as the poison began to spread. She could feel her life slipping away, but she held on, clinging to the hope that somehow, she would survive this.

Eris’s heart raced as he followed the guard through the winding, dark corridors of the mountain. The dread that had been gnawing at him for days now threatened to consume him entirely. Y/N’s presence through their bond had been faint, almost non-existent, and he feared the worst.

Lucien caught up to him, his expression a mirror of Eris’s own anxiety. "What happened? Where is she?" he demanded, his voice taut with urgency.

The guard said nothing, leading them deeper into the dungeons. When they finally reached the cell, the sight that met Eris’s eyes made his blood run cold. Y/N lay crumpled on the floor, her body bloodied and broken. Amarantha’s cruel laughter still seemed to echo in the chamber, a haunting reminder of the torture Y/N had endured.

"Y/N!" Eris cried out, rushing to her side. He fell to his knees, his hands shaking as he cradled her face. "Stay with me. Please, stay with me."

Lucien stood just behind him, his face pale with shock and sorrow. "Eris..." he began, but Eris ignored him, focused entirely on Y/N.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze locking onto Eris’s. "It’s too late," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I’m so sorry."

"No," Eris choked out, his grip tightening on her hand. "You can’t leave me. You can’t. Not you."

A weak, pained smile touched Y/N’s lips. "The Autumn Court is safe," she murmured, her eyes glazing over. "I made sure..."

Eris’s breath caught in his throat. He understood now. Amarantha had caught her trying to gather information to protect his court. Her death was a direct result of her bravery, her sacrifice.

"Don’t speak," Eris begged, tears streaming down his face. "We’ll get you help. We’ll fix this."

Y/N’s hand reached up to touch his face, her fingers cold and trembling. "I love you," she said, her voice fading with each word. "Always remember that."

And with that, her hand fell limp, her eyes closing for the final time. The life drained from her body, leaving Eris clutching her lifeless form, a guttural cry of anguish tearing from his throat.

Lucien knelt beside him, his own eyes wet with tears. "Eris, we need to go. We can’t stay here."

But Eris couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. The bond that had connected him to Y/N was shattered, leaving a hollow, aching void in its place. He had lost her, and the pain of it was unbearable.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Eris allowed Lucien to help him to his feet. He gathered Y/N’s body in his arms, holding her close as they made their way out of the chamber. He didn’t know what the future held, but he knew one thing: he would make Amarantha pay for what she had done. For Y/N, for the love they had shared, and for the sacrifice she had made to protect his court.

A/n: Not me crying my heart out rn.....One more chapt- Or.........

Chapter 8 soon

Tagging some:

@callsign-magnolia

@kmc1989

@hardballoonlove

@senawashere

@hookslove1592

@marvel-molly

@lucky7rosie

@daughterofthemoons-stuff

@lilah-asteria

@crossfandomslut

@pit-and-the-pen

@inky-sun

@the-sweet-psycho

@why4anne

@bunnyredgirl

@rcarbo1

@pandabiiissh

@adalia-jaycee

[haleswallows]

I will not ask where you came from (Deleted Scene)

A deleted scene for "I will not ask where you came from", my fic for Dead on May-n week. Inspired by @roanawayspoons in the HH server, where they linked this and said it's perfect for puppy!Jason.

CW: NSFW, anal sex, fingering, light pet play

Jason is excited to reveal his new helmet. He's spent a lot of time designing it, ready for a refreshing new look. It's just... a coincidence. The dog-like features. Siren lives rent free in his mind, ok? It wasn't on purpose. Jason is not responsible for his subconscious.

Siren raises an eyebrow, bright red lips pressed to disguise their smirk when Jason first shows them. Lounged on his couch, their dressing gown falls open slightly to reveal toned legs. "Oh, puppy," they demure. "You spoil me. You're so pretty with your new helmet." He can't help but preen under their praise. When they command him to his knees, he goes without single hesitation and kneels at their side. The finger under his chin has his eyes fluttering closed, and Jason obligingly tilts his head back.

“Is this way your way of making sure everyone knows?” The finger traces a line along the seam where flesh meets metal, the slightest scratch of a long nail. “You like being my puppy this much?”

Jason knows the rules. He's a good boy. “Yes.” The new voice modulator grinds the word into a rough growl. Siren does smirk then, grazing a finger over the molded fangs.

“This is very nice, perfect for my puppy.” They playfully tap the subtle snout. “Well, come on then, strip. Show me the helmet without all these distractions.”

Siren likes to tease but not be teased. He does make a show of stripping, muscles flexing and stretching. But it always goes quickly. They reel him in by the buckle while he shucks off the vest, then gloves. “Let me help. You have so many layers.”

While his arms are tangled in this shirt, Siren undoes the belt, then button, then zipper. Without pushing the pants down, Siren slides their hand between compression shorts and the outer armored layer.

“No cup? Oh puppy, did you prepare for me?” They press a finger against the rapidly hardening underside of his cock, balls drawing up with his gasp. “Am I going to find another treat?”

Jason struggles to find words. Even after months and months of this game, Siren's rules, Jason's still so responsive, left gasping. 

“Puppy?” Siren gently prompts, beginning to withdraw.

It takes a few gulps of air to get there. Jason chokes out “One more surprise.”

His efforts earn a reward. Siren wraps a hand around his dick through the soft fabric. They squeeze slightly on an upstroke, teasing the head. “Good boy. You're so good for me, and just me. Wanna show me?”

The praise makes Jason flush, reddening from chest and up his neck. His face feels warm in the helmet. “Yes,” he repeats.

Sadly it means Siren releases his cock, allowing him to toe out of the steel toed boots, unbuckle hostlers, and shove the pants down. Jason’s embarrassed for a second before the compression shorts join the mess of clothes on the floor. All it takes is a half lidded look from Siren, their eyes hungrily tracing from chest to toe, flicking back up to the helmet.

They swirl a finger lazily. Jason obeys, pausing just a moment when his back is turned. “Oh,” Siren breathes out. “Come here.”

He kneels again. Siren cups the cheek of the helmet in their hand and encourages him to prop his arms onto the couch cushion. Instinctually, Jason leans into it, missing the feel of their palm a little bit.

Siren finally sits up from their relaxed lounge, legs bracketing him. Jason's practically in their lap and fully hard now. Their other hand skates up his arm, drawing patterns into his bicep with a nail. He flexes his arms without thinking, Siren giggling. 

“That looks new. Were you excited to buy it? Couldn't wait to show me?” Siren pulls him to sit up straighter, pinches a nipple. With a gasp, Jason arches his back, sits as pretty as he can.

“Yes.” Jason was excited. Is excited, the press of the plug a little bigger than his usual preferred toy. It had taken a little effort to get it in, Jason had nearly come while fingering himself open, thoughts of Siren forefront.

“So cute,” they coo, pressing a kiss to the temple of the helmet. “It matches your helmet. You look so good in red, puppy. Now the question is do you want the toy, or me?” 

Jason shorts out for a moment. He trembles as Siren distracts him with wandering hands. As he opens his mouth, Siren pressed a kiss to his neck, scrapes teeth over the skin. Jason gasps, words flying from his head. Groans when Siren bites harder.

“Words, pretty boy.” A grin pressed into his neck, a hand reaching down his back, a barely there brush of a finger at the base of his tailbone.

He pants. Half crazy from the plug and the constant stimulation. Jason needs to be touched. “You.” His voice is strangled.

“Well, get up here. I'm not getting on the floor.”

Jason slowly crawls up, Siren directing him to lean over the armrest. He feels exposed, hemlet pressed into the fabric, arms curled under his chest. It puts him ass up, cock heavy and hanging between his thighs.

“Just look at you. Beautiful.” Siren admires, pressing a kiss to the small of his back. Jason squirms, pleased with himself and relishing the praise. Then nearly jumps out his skin when Siren suddenly grabs his balls. 

He can barely concentrate on what Siren says, focused entirely on the hand slowly kneading the sack. “I'm going to fuck you, your hands stay right there. No touching yourself, I want you to come on just my dick, Jason. Do you understand? Will you be good?”

“Yes.” He can be good. He can be so good. Something breaks in his brain a little bit, overwhelmed with the promise of being fucked, the promise of more than teasing touches. “Yes, I understand. Please, I'll be good, I'll be good. Please, Siren.”

Siren drapes over his back. A kiss to the nape of his neck gentle and soothing. “Please, what?” A finger presses on the plug, pushing the flare against the stretched rim. He pants.

“Fuck me, fuck me, please. Siren, I want your cock. Want to come for you, want to be a good boy.” The begging erupts from him, Jason wrapped up in the press of Siren's silken dressing gown all along his back, the way their legs frame his.

“Relax for me,” Siren commands, biting the juncture between neck and shoulder. Jason melts into the sharpness of the feeling, breaking through his general fog of need and arousal.

The plug slides out. For a moment, Jason is stretched too wide, too much. Then suddenly he's empty, bereft, clenching on nothing. “Oh, honey.”

A single finger slips easily in, hole still wet with the smear of lube from fingering himself. Jason's hands twitch. He clenches them, and shoves them under his chin. 

A second finger joins the first. Siren hums, slowly scissoring them. They're always so gentle with Jason, so careful as they open him up. “We need a little more lube, sweetheart.”

“Ah,” Jason twitches. It's a few heartbeats before his brain produces a coherent thought. “Pants pocket.” 

They laugh. “Of course. My clever puppy, always thinking ahead.” But it means they remove their fingers to lean for the pants, rooting around in the pockets. When Jason shivers at the loss, Siren runs a hand up his flank, presses a thumb to his hole. “Patience. Don't wanna hurt you, baby boy. You're being so good, I'm going to take care of you. You know what you get when you're good?”

Jason nods into the armrest, eyes squeezed shut. Siren removes their hand. They lightly swat his ass. “Words, puppy.”

“I get rewards.” He twists his head, getting Siren into his peripheral. Their smile is sweet, eyes crinkling with it. 

The reward is Siren pushing two lube slicked fingers into his ass. Jason groans long and shamelessly. After a few moments, Siren easily adds a third finger.

They mouth lines of kisses across the broad span of his shoulders. Fingers pump slowly in and out of his hole, a maddening pace only barely enough to keep him hard. The pads of Siren's fingers just graze his prostate every few strokes. 

Jason is melting. He's burning and panting and fighting every instinct to grip his cock. If he doesn't get more, he's going to scream. Or cry. A chant starts pouring out of him. “Siren, please. I'm ready, I want you, more, please. I… it feels so good, please, please can I…?”

Siren surges forward, pressing their weight all along his back. Their dick slots behind his balls. “Yeah? You want me to fuck you? You asked so nicely, it’d be mean of me to make you wait more.”

They gently remove their fingers. There's the sound of the lube opening again and Jason takes the opportunity to catch his breath. He uncurls his arms, bracing hands on the armrest. 

Then groans again at the stretch of Siren's dick pushing into him. It's slow but delicious. in all the right ways. Jason sets his hips against the push, allowing Siren to rest against him. Siren breathes out a long satisfied sigh against the top of his spine when they finally fully seat inside him. A heartbeat of stillness, Siren caresses his sides in an upward sweep. They pause to grope his pecs before slotting their hands together.

“You have no clue how good you feel, puppy.” Siren presses a kiss to the nape of his neck. With a long slow withdrawal, Jason squeezes their hands. He knows what’s next. He’s been a good boy. They pull out until the ridge of their cock head pulls at the rim. The thrust is hard, driving Jason’s breath out.

Siren’s pace is cruel. Each thrust hard, but just shy of fast enough. Jason writhes under it. He hangs his head, lifts it again, clenches his hands and thighs in turn, arching his back. All the while, his cock and balls ache. Jason needs more, certain a single touch would put him over the edge but Siren keeps a hold of his hands. The sound of their fucking is obscene, and if Jason had even an of sanity to spare, he’d be a ashamed of the continual whine and gasps and mewls he’s making.

It’s obvious when Siren starts to get close. They release Jason’s hands to pull his hips closer, encouraging him to sit up. Impossibly it drives their cock deeper. Siren noses against his neck. “Beautiful and you don’t even realize, god you feel so good. You don’t know what you do to me, puppy. It’s like you were made for me. Can you come without me touching you today?” Every word brings heat to Jason’s chest, he shudders.

And they wrap a hand around the base of his neck, the barest hint of pressure against his throat. Jason comes, losing his voice as pleasure rips through him. Siren keeps up the brutal pace, fucking him through his orgasm.

“Good boy. You’re so good for me, you’re perfect. Stay just like that, puppy.” Strong arms keep him upright, the thrust not stuttering. Jason gets lost in it – the haze of endorphins and praise. Beyond all reason, Jason gets hard again. “Look at you. Filthy, you like it that much? Oh puppy, are you going to come again for me? Can you?”

Siren presses him into the couch, bending him forward until the helmet meets cushion. Jason’s hips tilt and then he’s seeing stars with each thrust. He scrabbles against the fabric, trying to gain purchase to push back. “Right there, huh. You’ve been marvelous. I’m so close, puppy.”

They pant against his shoulder. “Come. Come, Jason.” The command is paired with a hand on his cock, stroking in time with the thrusts. “You can do it, puppy. Beautiful boy.” 

It isn’t Jason’s first dry orgasm. It definitely won’t be his last. Still it shocks Jason, amazed by the way it rocks through him and makes his toes curl. He clenches and finally Siren’s hips stutter. Warmth of a different sort fills him, and Jason swears his dick twitches as if inspired to try for a third.

Time gets a little fizzy for Jason as he focuses on catching his breath, only gasping once Siren pulls out. Sensation slowly returns to his numb limbs. “Careful, honey bee. There you go,” Siren coos gently, guiding Jason to lay on his side. “There’s a wet spot there. We made a mess, huh. You stay put.”

Vaguely, he hears the padding of feet. He concentrates on wiggling his fingers and then toes. “You want this off? Oh babe, you must be boiling in there.” Jason obligingly rolls his head so Siren can access the release on the back. The rush of cool air is a relief, he barely noticed how warm he was. 

Jason hums, cracking an eye open when Siren begins combing fingers through his sweaty hair. “You poor thing, you’re drenched. Wanna get showered?” Absolutely not. The thought of getting up just then is abhorrent, so Jason shakes his head. “No words right now? That’s ok, puppy. Let me get you a little cleaned up and a towel down. Will you have some water for me?”

The washcloth is warm on his skin. When Siren finishes, they press a kiss to his hip bone. He sits up just long enough to drain most of a glass of water. Flopping onto his back, Jason sprawls across the couch.

“Scooch, how am I supposed to cuddle you if there’s no room?” Jason squints at them, but doesn't move. “It's like you think this will stop me.”

They clamber onto him, slotting themselves between his legs to fold arms over his chest. “It's like you think this wasn't my plan,” Jason comments. As Siren settles, he loops his arms around their back.

There's blissful silence for about three seconds. Siren wiggles. “Hey, you ever thought about soaking? Cock warming?”

Jason groans, and not in pleasure. No, he hasn't. But now he is… and, huh. That's new. He considers it, finds he might like that.

“You'd be so cute stuffed with my cock for hours. We could get a mirror for the bedroom, make it so you can see. Your asshole is amazing. You'd be a great cock warmer.” 

When Jason doesn't answer, Siren pauses. “We don't have to. You know my rules, no means –.”

“No, I know. I'm not saying no. Just… give me a few days?” Siren smothers a smile.

“Of course. We can make a whole thing of it. Let me spoil you. Buy us dinner, get some sweet treats, something nice for a bath after. Yeah? Sound good?” They beam at him, and Jason is hopeless.

“You've ruined me.” It makes them laugh, bright and happy. “How are you always like this? You have too much energy.”

They hum, kiss his pec. “Can't help it. Hey, you patrolling tonight?”

Maybe if he could feel his legs. “Nah, I'll do gear and weapons maintenance.”

“Good, you deserve the rest. Want me to grab something to eat when I'm done?” They idly trace a scar on his bicep. “I can even get you some of those disgusting chili dogs.”

“Disgusting, they say. As if you didn't text me last week to beg for four of them.”

They flap hands vaguely in his face, shooing away the teasing remark. “Wait! If I do a seance for Nana Franny again, do you think she’ll make me more birria?”

Jason catches their hands, smoothes a thumb over the bare nails. “Nah, she called yesterday. Her oven is acting up. I’ll go fix it and then we’ll be birria rich.” Siren gasps.

“It’s fate! Hey, wanna pick a couple colors for my nails? You have a good eye. Don’t just pick reds though, puppy.” A phone, lodged somewhere in the couch, starts ringing. Siren surges up for a kiss, digging it from between the armrest and cushion at the same time. “And now I have to start getting ready.”

When Jason bench presses by their hips, Siren makes an appreciative ‘ooh’. Mostly Jason does it to avoid their flailing limbs, and inevitable elbow to the solar plexus he always gets when Siren scrambles off his chest.

“You stay put, puppy. Rest. Drink lots of water.” They pat his chest, then trot down the hall. “Wait, have you ever thought about shibari?”

“Stop it!”

[doumadono]

GRATULACJE Z OKAZJI 3K, ZASŁUŻYŁAŚ

I'd love to request: comforting you when you’re anxious with Bakugo and f reader, blurb nor headcanons, whatever you find more accurate

An explosive shoulder to lean on - Bakugo x Reader

Synopsis: in times of anxiety, Bakugo extends his unique form of comfort to soothe your worries A/N: thank you so much, my dear friend! Your support is truly priceless. I hope you'll delight in this brief blurb I've crafted ♥

MASTERLIST

One gloomy afternoon, as rain tapped against the windows, you found yourself hunched over your desk in a class, anxiety gnawing at your insides. The weight of upcoming exams and the pressure to excel in a world of heroes was suffocating. Your fingers tapped nervously on your textbook as you tried to focus on the material before you, silent tears streaming down your cheeks.

Suddenly, the door to the classroom swung open with a bang, and Bakugo stormed in, his expression a mix of irritation and frustration. Katsuki had to make a swift return to the school when he realized he had left his phone behind in the classroom. He had a fierce scowl on his face, the telltale sign that something was amiss. His crimson eyes narrowed as they scanned the room, and it was then that he spotted you, sitting at your desk with tear-streaked cheeks.

Bakugo's initial instinct was to scoff, to retreat from the unexpected vulnerability he had stumbled upon. But something held him back, a small flicker of empathy buried beneath his layers of brashness. He cleared his throat, drawing your attention, and his voice, surprisingly gentle, cut through the silence. "What the hell are you doing here, crying like an idiot?"

Panic surged through you, but his gaze held a peculiar softness that contradicted his words. He looked uncomfortable, as if grappling with an unfamiliar emotion. It was a side of him you had rarely seen.

Swallowing hard, you struggled to find your voice. "I-I'm just… having a tough time, I guess."

He snorted, his arms crossed over his chest. "Tch. That's no excuse to blubber like a damn baby."

For a moment, his harshness threatened to push you further into your shell. But then, to your surprise, he pulled out a chair and sat down next to you, his movements awkward and uncharacteristically unsure.

"Look," he began, his voice gruff but with an underlying gentleness. "I ain't good at this kind of crap, but if you're gonna sit here being all mopey, you might as well tell me what's eating at you."

You hesitated, the words caught in your throat. But the way he had defied his own nature to sit beside you, to offer even the slightest semblance of comfort, gave you the courage to open up. "I'm just… overwhelmed, Katsuki… It feels like I can never catch up, like no matter how hard I try, I'm always falling short. I'm scared of failing, of disappointing everyone – including myself."

"Listen, idiot," he grumbled, his words surprisingly gentle. "I get it. We're all dealing with our own crap, and sometimes it feels like the weight of the world is gonna crush us. But the only way to deal with it is to keep pushing forward, to keep fighting. So, stop crying and start kicking that anxiety's ass."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his blunt, yet oddly inspiring, pep talk. Bakugo was offering comfort in his own unique way, a blend of tough love and unwavering support. It wasn't a traditional display of kindness, but it was genuine and heartfelt in its own right.

The tears that had threatened to consume you began to recede, replaced by a newfound determination. With Bakugo by your side, even if he was more likely to explode than offer a hug, you felt a renewed sense of strength. You wiped your eyes, managing a small smile.

"Thanks, Kacchan. I needed that."

He grunted, his cheeks tinted with a faint blush that he tried to hide. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't make it a habit, got it?"

With that, he stood up abruptly, as if eager to escape the vulnerable moment he had created. But as he walked away, you couldn't help but feel a warm glow of gratitude. Katsuki Bakugo, the explosive hero-in-training, had shown you a side of himself that few ever witnessed – a side that, despite his rough edges, was capable of providing comfort in its own uniquely fiery way.

[jellyvibes710]

@skylabrea Leo took it upon himself to learn Morse code while Donnie learned asl in case they ever needed it in battle, Donnie also knows Morse code and with this knowledge Leo learned Morse code VERY well from being an absolute menace to Donnie, donnie doesn't know it as well as leo because he just prefers ASL and everyone in the family knows it

Leo knew he was dying, he could feel it in his body and him being the main medic of the team he knew he was getting worse, he knew more than anyone that he was dying so he decided to spend as much time as he had left just spending time with his family, he didn’t realize how fast he was dying though and by the Time he realized it was his last moments he only had enough strength to see one person so he went to his twin

Not only was Donnie the second closest to the medbay but Donnies lab just became his safe place when he struggled to sleep

Dee always had a backup chair for leo to sit next to him and listen to him rant about a project or a game he was interested in, eventually putting him to sleep. In turn Donnie would fall asleep shortly after listening to Leo's eepy chirps and churs, tuning his brain out enough to relax and get his own amount of sleep.

So it was a bit of both to wanting to see his brother and knowing that he was passing

In part 3, Leo doesn't understand how mikey knew morse code though.. only Donnie and him know it.

My friend responds that worded it way better than I ever could :]

"This hits really hard when paired with the Mikey drawing, because you can tell Leo is sorta just thinking things over and trying to come to terms with his reality and how he's going to like. Minimize the damage of his death. Knowing full well he can't, really. He can only pray that everyone will just kind of see him as this strong, funny guy that they grew to love, thinking that he'd be showing weakness if he didn't at least pretend he was fine"

"It's almost scary how much hes convincing himself that his death won't actually be that bad, as long as he fakes it til he makes it, hoping that everyone will be in there so he can give them a lil speech and then just pass in his sleep so he doesn't have to see it. Cause Leo knows. He knows every layer to it"

:]

Till next time

[halowritesthings]

“Tout est nul, putain,” Remy said while stomping his way inside. He shook the snow off his body like a wet dog, specifically because he knew it would annoy Scott when he eventually came inside and saw the partially melted snow on the hardwood. “I hate de cold.”

He shucked off the winter cap and gloves he borrowed, but before he could bend over to unlace his boots, a southern drawl emitted from the doorway, “So Ah’ve heard.”

Looking up, he saw Rogue leaning on the frame of the entrance to the common area of the mansion, a blanket bundled in her arms. His mood suddenly perked up significantly, “Well, good ol’ North must‘ve finally caught me. Why else would such a stunnin’ ange be here t’greet moi?”

Rogue rolled her eyes as she got off the frame to stand up straight, “Quit bein’ a drama queen, Swamp Rat. Everyone has had to shovel the walkways at some point.”

Remy pouted, leaning down so he could get back to stripping off the boots, “You say dat, yet why is tonight de first time I seen Specs do his fair share, neh? Gettin’ down an’ dirty too much a hassle for Fearless?”

“Ya know that’s just because ya always hightail it out of the room before the drawing of straws can begin,” Rogue said. “Ah think he’s already maxed out his shoveling duties for the season, but he joined ya tonight anyway, specifically to make sure you would do yer job for once.”

When Remy got both boots off, he looked up at Rogue with zero guilt in his eyes. His pout might have gotten bigger, actually, “So mean to Remy.”

He was quick to slip on his moccasin slippers that he was forced to abandon just an hour prior. If he wasn’t feeling so stiff, he would honestly be willing to bend over even further to place a kiss on the tips of each of them. Plus, he already got called dramatic once in this conversation; even though it was true, he would like to keep the factual observations to a minimum tonight.

As he stood back to his full height, he was suddenly assaulted, darkness enshrouding his vision and his movement becoming restricted. He struggled for a second before remembering what he was just looking at and held himself still. He was swiftly rewarded when a pair of gentle hands messed with the covering at his face and adjusted it so he was snuggly wrapped everywhere that didn’t impede his line of sight. 

Once he was able to see again, he was met with Rogue looking at him with that same fond exasperation he loved to bring out in her. “Don’t chu’ worry,” Rogue began, finalizing the details of her current attempts to encase Remy where he stood. “Jubilee went and made us a bunch’a different kinds of hot coco, and knowing yer daily sugar intake, you’ll be reawakened in no time.”

With a lopsided smile, he grabbed one of her hands, using his blanket-covered fingers to wrap excess blanket around her knuckles before placing a kiss to the top of the hand while looking her in the eyes. She was of course wearing one of her nighttime pair of gloves that she wore when they hung out after hours, but recently he had been making sure to add extra layers between them whenever he could to ease whatever leftover anxiety plagued her mind, “Mon sauveur, what would dis scoundrel do wit’out chu?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rogue said with another roll of her eyes. “Love ya too, ya greaseball.”

woe 🫴 halo x-men fic be upon ye shout out to the 4 people who unanimously voted "yes" to the poll on my main asking about whether or not i should post this WIP snippet to tumblr lol. i have zero idea as to when i can get this completed due to a.) the dreaded blockage of writers as per usual and B.) the dreaded schoolwork which is in a constant revolving state of "maybe i won't have too much work this weekend" and "holy shit i'm falling behind so hard i'm gonna die-" this snippet is rather contained tho so it can work as a standalone pretty well. maybe i just need to embrace shorter ficlets as my main form of writing. certainly would be a nice break from the "can't make a oneshot less than 6k words" train i've been riding since day one LMAO anyway feel free to ignore my yapping; i hope you like my first foray into this fandom!

[chochowafer]

If you wanna draw FuGio, I have a FuGio headcanon I came up with yesterday!

So I feel like Giorno absolutely hates the winter weather. Like he despises it. He loves being warm and bundled up in blanket burritos. Fugo on the other hand loves winter and loves playing in the snow. He was never allowed to play in it as a child so whenever it's winter, he'll do many winter activities. He has to persuade Giorno into playing in the snow. Giorno gets excessively bundled up in multiple layers to the point where he lowkey waddles when he moves. But he grows to like doing Fugo's favorite activities in the snow. They'll make snow angels together, build a snowman family, make a snow fort and grab NaraMis to do a snowball fight, they'll go sledding together. Fugo loves grabbing snow, throwing it into the air, and watching the snow particles float back down. Giorno gets cheesy and is like "You look beautiful with snowflakes in your hair." Fugo will blush but it's a little hard to tell since he's red from the cold. If it's actually snowing out, Fugo will run out and try to collect snowflakes on his tongue. Giorno will giggle as he watches Fugo's happiness. To warm up after playing in the snow, they'll make hot chocolate, wrap up in blanket burritos together, and cuddle in front of the fire place

HIIII, everyone must see this headcanon its soooooo lovely!!!!! im sorry that this is all i can draw for now, im still struggling trying to make a proper drawing,,, thank you for the ideas anon! everyone, happy holidays!

[realspacejunk]

3. What ideas come from when you were little

For the art ask game

8. What's an old project idea that you've lost interest in

20. Something everyone else finds hard to draw but you enjoy

23. Do you use different layer modes

3. What ideas come from when you were little?

When I was in school, I had this elaborate fantasy setting of abducted humans and aliens forming a criminal gang in space to finance their search for Earth and fight bad guys. It had planets, artificial planets that were layered and under construction, space stations, spaceports that were giant trenches in the earth or a ring in the sky, characters, resistance fighters, opportunists, terrorists, an occupied Earth, cradle planets that were secured and secret, quarantine sectors, apartment layouts, zombies, species living in nuclear vaults deep underground, dying empires with noble kings, honourable monk warriors, corrupt and benevolent megacorporations, 60.000 years old and 4 billion years old extinct ancient civilizations, big wars over the entire universe, universe-wide extinction events, old and extinguished space magic, ancient and upcoming robot societies, and all that stuff, all connected in a timeline. It inspired me to make lots of art of space and planets at the time. But almost no characters since I sucked at making humans. One Idea I had was about a spaceport that was literally a hollowed-out planetoid.

Much of the tech was inspired by Prothean and Forerunner architecture from Mass Effect 3 and Halo 4 since I really like those. I made many little drawings of this stuff during and after classes, but I put them all on paper years ago and I don't know where they are. (Lies, I found them)

I don't think about that setting that much anymore since I was unable to think of a believable reason as to why an alien corporate entity would abduct half the human race, turn them into bio-organic synths and sell them as workers to the unknowing galaxy.

8. What's an old project idea that you've lost interest in?

There was this one painting I started after I finished the Lively Town piece. it was supposed to be a town in a jungle, but I lost interest because The perspective and composition sucked, it was mainly green and I hate painting plants since they confuse me, and I did not know what kind of characters I wanted to make the subject of the scene. It did not help that I had no lore for the thing so I just put random characters in there without knowing what they were supposed to be doing there.

20. Something everyone else finds hard to draw but you enjoy?

This might sound lame but I can't answer this because I have no idea what other artists struggle with. I struggle with most things myself and can't say what I find easier than most others. The opposite is much easier to ask. Other artists I know are usually awesome at things like anatomy and gestures, which I find to be nightmarish.

23. Do you use different layer modes?

I use layers but to separate subjects like Characters, scene elements, etc. Rarely do I use them in modes other than normal, and when I do that I quickly merge them down again. Most modes I like to apply directly using brushes. The blending modes I use the most are Color Dodge, Add, Multiply and Overlay. Sometimes at the very end of a project, I put one flat color layer on top and use it in Color mode and play with the opacity to harmonize the colors and control the colour temperature without falsifying the values.

[not-xpr-art]

the painstaking process of pointillism lol

been a lil while since I shared some progress shots of an artwork so have this of a recent pointillism piece I did of reece shearsmith!

read below for some thoughts and advice for anyone who's interested in doing pointillism! (from someone who has done less than 10 pointillist pieces in their life pfft...)

pointillism is a style I always appreciate looking at, but often put off doing much of myself just because of how long it takes lol... and I'm afraid their is no way of fixing that, it's just quite a time consuming technique lol! BUT my first piece of advice would be don't let that stop you from trying it since I think a lot of the results from pointillism can be really rewarding!

one thing I really enjoy about pointillism is that I have a tendency to do quite harsh shading sometimes, so it allows me to create more a more softer feel than usual!

I gotta say that I do still struggle a lottt with doing hair in pointillism lol it's so hard to create the appearance of individual strands with just little dots which is kinda why I chose to only do half his hair in this piece pfft I've yet to try and draw curls in this style so am intrigued whether that would be easier than straight hair... will have to get back to you on this lol!

a big piece of advice I'd give is that more than any other style, think of pointillism in terms of layers! start with the shadowy parts, which I used a slightly bigger 'pen' size for in this piece (pen is in quotation marks because I drew this on my phone lol..), and then went in with a smaller dot to blend into the light parts with little to no dots!

one thing about pointillism is that is kinda forces you to draw everything on one level, rather than zooming in to and hyper-focusing on details! in some pointillism works I've done I've actually chosen to use just one size of dot throughout the entire thing, which creates a really interesting sense of uniformity!

final thoughts about this is knowing when to stop, which is true of any art technique lol I think I could definitely have gone even further with this piece adding more and more dots until everything sorta just blends together, but a part of the appeal of pointillism is that you can see those individual dots and how they make up the larger piece, so my advice is to maybe go with less than what you think to keep all the fun texture still in place!

so there's some advice and some thoughts about this technique lol! I'm gonna be trying to experiment with this more casual style of art advice post since I've been really struggling thinking of interesting and specific topics to go into, so hopefully some of you found this informative lol!

so feel free to let me know if there's any particular style of technique I've done that you'd like me to talk about or potentially offer advice and I'll see what I can do!

as always thanks to everyone who actually reads my rambling posts <3

[kuruna]

💧🙉🌌🌈 for Xanthos! I have to say, I really love his complex character layers and dynamics with AZ. I find him to be pretty relatable especially his struggle with feeling needed and his fear of failures; I'm also the youngest out of my siblings so I feel that sense of wanting to be "useful" . I apologize if this comes off a bit too gushy, but seeing your works helped clarify my thoughts with the media itself and myself.

Aw don't worry about sounding too gushy, I love hearing people's thoughts and I'm glad he resonated with you in that way! I'm a middle child myself, so I do often think about my own sibling dynamics when writing for them 😭 🙉 HEAR-NO-EVIL - what is the worse thing your oc could hear from someone?

Xan is already his own worst critic, and has a bad habit of blaming himself for things that quite genuinely are not his fault (he also blames himself for things that ARE his fault, but that's more understandable 😭). However, it does hurt him a Lot when he's told something that confirms what he already thinks about himself. Being placed in a scenario where he feels helpless, or where he feels weak, are the worst things ever for him.

🌌 MILKY WAY - what was the inspiration behind your oc? what was the first thing you decided about them?

This is gonna be long because I love these types of questions... anyways! Whenever a media has "implied characters" (characters that are mentioned but not seen or named), I really enjoy taking them and giving them a design and voice ^.^ The first thing I decided about Xan was a design feature! I thought it would be fun if he essentially had an "upside-down" version of Lysandre's hair. The idea is still there but less obvious, because this proved to be way too hard to draw in a way I liked 😭 AZ was known as a great king who transformed Kalos into a land of prosperity, but it's also established that in the past, pkmn were seen as tools and not much more, and here was a king who treated a Floette like part of his family. Despite his greatness, he was surely seen as odd for it! The fact that his best friend is a sweet little Floette also tells me that he doesn't mesh well with other humans. What does that mean for his brother? I imagined someone who lacked AZ's skill for invention, but was charismatic and well-liked. And from there I imagined someone who (unfortunately!) would be the type to chastise AZ for not being a "proper" king, who maybe didn't make an effort to understand his brother as well as he should have. At the same I really dislike the idea of "everything bad can be blamed on this one guy," so I wanted to make a character that was complex from the get-go, rather than it being a situation where AZ's brother was just an evil jerk or something. If AZ is secure enough to not care what others think of him and to act as he wishes, his brother must be the opposite. This was my initial thesis for Xanthos, and still my go-to when I work on developing him! He is his brother's opposite. As for why I eventually decided Xan became immortal too... I forgot how the idea came about 💔 but I really like the inherently complicated dynamic he'd have with AZ in such a scenario, and the questions it creates. Is it possible for them to forgive one another after everything that's happened...? I would like to think they can... after all, they have all the time in the world to make amends.

🌈 RAINBOW - what advice would they give to their younger self?

Ohhhh he definitely has a whole laundry list of things he would want to say... other than the obvious ("can you pleaaaassee actually talk to your brother instead of attempting a coup in your desperation to be heard"). I think the #1 thing would be "stop acting so ashamed of the people you care for most! You cannot appease everyone, and this is fine!" The #2 thing would be "stop trying to do everything on your own! ask for help when you need it!!!" (funnily enough... I think a lot of the things he would say to his younger self are things he Does end up saying to Lysandre at some point 😭)

💧 DROPLET - random angst headcanon

Ended up doing this one last because I couldn't decide which little lore tidbit I wanted to use for it 😭 During the reconstruction of Kalos... while it took a bit to discover the Straight Up Immortality, people were quick to notice that Xan aged much slower than those around him. When his sons were both adults, for example, Xan only looked a few years older than them. Eventually this confusion grew into fear, and that fear led to Xan being rejected by his very homeland, despite all he'd done for it. (On this note 💔 Xan's sons were named Xerxes and Yeltaz. The name "Xerxes" is one of Xan's middle names, and the name "Yeltaz" is one of AZ's middle names. As you can imagine, AZ and Floette never got the chance to meet either of them 😔)

[edisacornball]

What made you fall in love with writing Ed/Noah?

I know you sent in this question forever ago and I've just been going through too many things to deal with my inbox lately, but I was babbling about this ship the other day to my husband because he was talking about how he had never really given it any thought until I apparently "made it adorable in Other Side," so I figured I might as well write those thoughts down, since this ship is on my mind after working on that drawing of the two of them dancing.

So I'll start by saying: I didn't really go into Other Side as a Noah/Ed shipper. I mostly just knew that going to the BH world would make 03 Ed have to deal with letting a lot more people in, which is something he struggles with more than BH Ed, so I figured I could play with that push and pull by adding in Noah as another layer to show that he struggles with letting people in. And then, as I wrote it, it just... struck me how these two fit together so well.

03 Ed has so freaking much trauma. I would honestly go as far as to say that he's more traumatized than BH Ed. The guy's died a couple times, after all. The 03 series as a whole is a lot darker and really dives into some traumatic shit for poor 03 Ed. But it's the sort of trauma where it gets nearly impossible to talk about. How do you even talk to someone about how you saw your brother become the living embodiment of a philosopher's stone? Or how about how you had to kill a being that maybe just wore the face of your mother, or maybe actually was your mother, who really knows because you didn't let her live long enough to find out? How can anyone even relate to the idea of "I died a couple times in a row and ended up stuck in another world where everyone looks like people I once loved, but they don't even speak the same language as me?" There just comes this particular point with trauma where it starts getting so hard for other people to even relate.

But Noah can be one of the few people ever who actually gets the trauma Ed's been through. Because she's able to experience it right alongside him via his memories. Even Al can't get that close, even though he's one of the very few people who will actually get a lot of what Ed's experienced. She can even understand the things that are too hard for him to explain, and he can know that she actually believes him, because why wouldn't she?

And meanwhile, on Noah's end, she's had to face this terrible double whammy of being Roma and also cursed with this supernatural power that a lot of Roma people would have seen as some sort of marking from the devil. And even if people can accept the power conceptually, most people aren't comfortable with the idea of not having any secrets with someone. People hate mind-readers. Poor Noah has had to go through a whole lifetime of everyone around her hating her for things she can't control, whether that's her powers or the color of her skin.

And then along comes Ed, the guy who's seen so freaking much shit that he can't even think of rejecting someone for such a petty reason as that they can read his mind. I think he probably wouldn't even expect anyone to stick around after seeing into his memories, so he doesn't see any point to keeping secrets when it's inevitable that someone would eventually end up getting scared and leave him. So he doesn't flinch away from Noah, because he doesn't even see it as possible that she could ever be scarier than him. And then she surprises him by not leaving. She sees all the darkness and suffering in his past and she also doesn't flinch. Because she's seen into the hearts of people who are so much worse, who have caused so much pain without any regard. She doesn't see Ed as the monster he sees himself as, because she's actually seen what the minds of monsters actually look like, and she knows he's not one of them.

They just... AGH, THEM. ❤️😍🥹 I have a lot of feelings. But there's something about each of their traumas that comes together so freaking perfectly so that they can each support one another so beautifully, and I freaking love it. It constantly reminds me of this one set of lines from Roger and Mimi in Rent:

"I've been trying, I'm not lying. No one's perfect, I've got baggage!"

"Life's too short babe, time is flying, I'm looking for baggage that goes with mine."

(Do I use Roger and Mimi regularly as inspiration for Ed and Noah? ...Maybe.)

[wanderlustqueen-writes]

Hey Alice 🌹❤️

How are you?

If you still take prompts from the Drabble Challenge, I'd like to request 82 "I just ironed these pants".

Thanks & kiss 😘

Send me a number and I'll write you a drabble Number 82: I just ironed these pants! Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Hange Zoë Warnings: NSFW. Mention of alcohol intake (small amounts). Foreplay. Wandering Hands. Clothed handjob. Additional tags: She/Her pronouns for Hange Zoë on this one Wordcount: 621 Minors, do not interact!

Hange wasn’t sure what started it.

It may have been the prospect of the next expedition, which tended to give the soldiers a renewed sense of urgency, along with that bit of liquid courage pumping through their veins as they prepared for the soon-to-come struggle. Maybe it was that glance they exchanged from across the bar, that lasted a second longer than it should have. Or that seemingly trivial touch of hands, just an accident really, but one that sent a jolt of electricity over every inch of her skin. 

She could still feel it now, as he pinned her against the door, legs parted by his thigh, thoughts blurred by the fresh smell of his hair. A delicious tingle ignited from where his tongue latched onto her neck, the sparks spreading throughout her whole body, making something inside of her melt.

They had barely made it to his bedroom, poorly sneaking around while bumping against the headquarters corridors, swallowing each other’s tongues like a couple of horny teenagers. It was reckless behaviour! Someone might have seen them. Maybe even…

“Levi,” Hange panted against his ear, smiling as she felt his hands gripping tighter to her hip and waist, sure to leave them sore the next day “do you think Miche will be able to smell it in us tomorrow?”

“Shut up, Kuso Megane!” He moved his lips from her now raw neck to say the words, his voice raspy and needy, only to capture her mouth a second later, in a desperate messy kiss.

He really wanted this.

The stubs of his undercut prickled her fingertips as she ran her nails across his scalp, all the way to the longer part of his hair. His breath hitched when she grabbed two handfuls of black locks, roughly pulling his head back before diving right back to his parted lips. 

Her fingers wandered down from his hair, nails scraping the skin of his sweaty neck, eager hands groping his chest, trying to memorize the feeling of him, the way his stiff nipples dug at her palms through his shirt. Oh, and the noises that got out of him, low and sharp groans that were enough to make arousal set damp and heavy in her core.

Levi’s whole body stiffened when her hands traced the bulge in his pants, and a soft moan left his lips as she gripped it tighter. Hange’s fingers quickly worked his fly, getting one layer of clothing out of the way. She clutched both sides of the fabric, gathering it roughly to pull it down, except Levi held her wrists.

“Easy! I just ironed these pants!”

The all-too-typical response made her giggle. Her smile brushed against the shell of his ear as she whispered, “iron it again tomorrow. I’ll pick up the coal for you”. She didn’t give him time to respond before moving her partially restrained hand up and down his hard-on, the steady pressure drawing out a throaty grunt from him. 

“No, I mean…aahh” Levi’s voice faltered when her thumb circled the tip, and Hange protested once he moved her wrists away from his crotch. “I mean,” he paused, catching his breath, “if we show up tomorrow in wrinkled clothes, forget Miche, everyone is gonna know.”

He had a point.

“Plus,” Levi added, more composed now, “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.” Hange watched in awe while he slowly brought one of her hands towards his face, thumb fondling her palm. His steel blue eyes pierced into hers as he started to plant chaste kisses on each of her fingers, intention and desire made clear at every touch of his lips “so, if you don’t mind, tonight I’m taking my time with you.”

_________________________________________ @youre-ackermine Hii Val! I'm feeling great, and I hope you're well too! Thanks so much for sending this prompt, I had a lot of fun writing it 💕

[halfusek]

so lemme just put it out there: using AI for generating art, nevermind if for a joke or seriously, in this point of time, plain sucks

i’m refering here to that bendy highschool crush anime thing whatever i refuse to interact with stuff about this so i’m not exactly familiar but what matters is that it was AI generated AND even more so it was not mentioned anywhere that it was until people started pointing it out

there’s a few problems with that

first one is obvious - just the use of AI - as yall probably know its been a highly controversial topic these past few months, because of course it’s built on thief - first stealing artists’ work and then stealing their jobs; a joke or not it STILL uses that based in thief technology... though there do exist some AIs that asks artists for constent, for example the one that deviantArt created recently (and people misunderstood and spread a lot of false information about but oh well that’s a whole other thing) BUT generally these services for AI generation of images steal from artists - and not only! - they just take anything they can find fitting on the internet, even stock images and there was a case about a stock image site suing one of these AI services because *yeah* it’s just thief

another layer to all that adds the context of the game they made itself... like... BATIM/BATDR’s story is at its core about exploitation of artists and - apparently wether they like it or not - evils of capitalism (i still cant comprehend how Mike Mood can be anti union after making a game like this but like lol). it’s about art, about struggle with it and it’s just soooo out of touch to do something like this for a company making such game like hello?? if you wanna take from how artists are abused in big corporations then maybe have some decency and don’t use tools that abuse artists??? like that’s just so in bad taste man i have no words

then comes the fact that they waited with mentioning that AI is used is in the video. it STILL isn’t in the description of the video (the time im making this post is 13th april 2023 so the vids been up for 12 days), which i think AIs these days even require to be given credit?? but either way a lot of people didn’t even realize AI was used and i don’t blame them, not everyone pays attention to details or has an eye for them, this is why such information should be included... if it supposedly was meant to be “part of the joke” all along

which i find hard to believe? sure it came out on april first but.. how exactly is it a part of the joke? the AI generation was simply used for making the art for this fictional joke game. it could have as well been drawn by a real artist and no part of the joke would have been lost because it’s not part of the joke at all? like it’s not mentioned anywhere and it’s not obvious (Meatly even said they heavily photoshoped the images because they looked bad) so i’m asking how exactly AI being used is part of the joke here because it just seems like it was used as a mean of creation here and there was an attempt to hide that it was done at all

and if they really didn’t wanna spend time and effort on drawing it themselves (i get it, they might be busy with other things) then just A. don’t?? make anything?? or B. use an AI that doesn’t steal from artists and credit it so people know? and if it’s reeeeaaally a part of the joke then actually make it part of the joke? even a singular line of commentary laughing off at AI would make this actually work but there’s just nothing

i’m glad that Meatly said they aren’t planning on using it for anything serious but using it for a joke is still using it like sorry but that’s just how it is

and the whole ordeal of not saying what AI it is just rubs me the wrong way because high chance is they aren’t doing that because this AI is one of those that steal from artists so... eh... like i realize this is an assumption but i think it’s fair to be a bit skeptical about them after everything they’ve done :’)

[zaharadessert]

Sacrificial Lamb

for CSSNS 2023

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: cultism, demons, kidnapping

Length: ~6k

Summary: Princess Emma of Misthaven's coming out ball does not go as expected

Notes: Thank you so much to @kmomof4 for both betaing and making me art! It's awesome! Also thank you to the @cssns mods for running this event again.

Tagging: @kmomof4 @teamhook @winterbaby89 @jonesfandonfanatic @undercaffinatednightmare @anmylica @elfiola @booksteaandtoomuchtv @tiganasummertree @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @myfearless-love @lfh1226-linda @pawshapedheart

Also on AO3

- - - - -

Emma’s head felt foggy, and she was shivering with cold.

As she opened her eyes, they struggled to comprehend the space through the darkness around her.

She felt weak, as though she wasn’t in control of her own body, but she tried to sit up. The harsh wooden bench beneath her dug into her hips and snagged at the delicate white lace of her gown.

She blinked in confusion as her hair shifted around her shoulders. It had been coiffed to perfection, hadn’t it?

The last thing she remembered was dancing with the Captain of the Guard at her coming out ball…

But then the memories started to filter in.

The windows shattering and covering the entire ballroom with coloured glass.

Dozens of figures in black cloaks almost floating across the floor as they overtook the room. One, wearing a robe edged in gold, pushing through the main doors and making their way directly towards her. A hand flashing out to freeze everyone else where they stood. Her parents eyes darting frantically between them as they met in the middle of the room, Graham’s sword frozen in place, half drawn in her defence.

Her own magic sparking to life in her palms. And then…

Powder blown in her face, making her stumble and sway before her eyes fell closed and she hit the floor.

That was why the hard bench hurt so much.

She swung her feet to the floor, drawing them back from the cold stone with a hiss at the feeling of ice-cold stone beneath her feet. Her shoes had been removed, as had several layers of petticoats, causing the layers of skirt to tangle around her legs and making the material far too long. It was now nothing more than a cumbersome mess rather than an elegant sweep of fabric.

It was then, too, that she noticed the jangle of chains, connecting her feet to one end of the bench and her wrists to the other.

The echo of footsteps started to float through the air towards her, but she couldn’t tell from where.

She sat up on the bench as best she could, and concentrated on finding her magic so that she could free herself and get out of here before the men in cloaks- because she couldn’t imagine who else would be walking down here right now- came back.

But nothing happened.

She couldn’t feel anything more than an itch under her skin.

The footsteps got louder, closer, and Emma started to yank frantically at the chains.

With the nearing footsteps came a glow of light, illuminating a long rocky corridor with moisture glistening on the walls. It crept closer, highlighting the uneven walls and the hoods of the cloaks that bobbed as the people contained within walked.

She could feel panic start to rise in her chest, pushing away the remaining fog from the enchanted sleep the powder had put her into.

The light flickered and danced, torches held above the heads of the procession.

“What is the meaning of this?” Emma snapped as the figures started to surround her.

The figure in the gold-trimmed cloak walked right up to her, his face shadowed from view, but his hand reached out, fingers pale and cold as they clasped her chin, turning her face this way and that.

“Yes, the Demon we seek should be very pleased with you, Princess,” he said, his voice as cold as his fingers. “It will be a delight to watch him devour your virgin soul in return for the resurrection of the Dark One.”

Emma’s eyes widened in horror. She’d heard tales of the Dark One her whole life. Everything she knew about magic cast him as the cautionary tale in how high a price it required. She’d heard, too, about the cult that had sprung up in his absence, the men obsessed with returning Darkness to the realm.

“No!” she cried, pulling her face out of his grip and struggling against the chains once more, doing her best to summon her magic but only feeling a fire start to burn under her skin which made her cry out in pain.

“Your magic will do you no good down here. There is too much darkness, no true light can survive. Not for long, anyway.”

He flicked his hand at the chains, which released themselves from the bench. The ones attached to her ankles formed a shorter chain between them that would allow her to walk. The ones around her wrists snaked up over her shoulders and met around her neck.

The man pulled her to her feet by yanking on her arm which tightened the chain around her neck noticeably as she struggled to stand.

“You will walk.”

Emma scoffed. “To willingly assist you in returning Darkness to this realm? Never.”

Another twist of his hand and the chain between her wrists started to shrink, drawing her hands up towards her throat. The chain tightened around her neck, making her choke as she struggled to breathe. She could feel her eyes starting to bulge. Emma sank to her knees, clawing at her neck, and shivering even more as her head swam with dizziness.

Suddenly, the chains lengthened and she could breathe again.

“Do as you are told, and I’ll make this relatively painless. And the Dark One might even spare your kingdom for your assistance in his return. Get up.”

Emma realised that there was no way to fight this, not now. She would have to wait.

She struggled to stand. The long skirt of her dress, now wet with the damp filth from the floor, was heavy in her hands as she lifted it to allow her to walk.

Hands closed around her upper arms, guiding her through the torchlit gloom, preventing her from slipping on the slick ground.

They entered a chamber, rocky walls painted black with gold symbols, the same as adorned the hem of the golden edged cloak.

In the centre was a large stone altar, and Emma found herself lifted onto it, the chains at her wrists and ankles moving as commanded to secure her to it.

She struggled and cried out in protest but there was nothing to be done. The chill of the stone crept into her body. She could feel it sapping her strength and making it harder to concentrate on fighting what was being done, stealing away the hope in her heart.

All her parents had done to train her to protect herself, and… it was all she could do to lay there. Like the pathetic damsel in the stories princes and knights loved to tell.

Despair joined the fear encasing her heart as the cultists moved around her, painting more symbols on the floor.

Emma’s eyes flicked frantically around her, looking for anything to help her escape.

The cult leader arranged her dress- making the sleeves lie perfectly around the chains- splayed her hair around her head in a fan of gold, and smoothed down the wrinkles in the dirtied lace. Every time she tried to move the chains tightened a little more. He rounded the altar and stood by her head, drawing from the depths of his cloak a distinctive dagger, the edge curving wickedly like waves and held it over her body. He started to chant and she struggled against the chains until she couldn’t hold back the tears of pain any longer.

She let them fall, the heat of them almost burning her cold skin as she let out one desperate whisper as she closed her eyes.

“Please, help me.”

Emma didn’t know who she was asking or what the chanting around her meant. All she knew was that as much as she thrived on being able to save herself most of the time, she couldn’t help herself this time and her parents wouldn’t have any idea where she was. They’d been trying to rid the realm of the cult of the Dark One for years and they’d never found them. It was most unlikely they’d be able to do so now, even with the added motivation of finding her. They could still be frozen in the ballroom for all she knew.

She felt the soft, hot tracks of her tears across her face before they splashed on the stone.

Blinding pain radiated up her arms as knives sliced into her skin, burning as blood started to pour into the grooves on the table, staining her dress immediately as the tears, too, turned into a flood.

Emma screamed in agony and defiance.

But through the pain she felt a soft weight on her head and at her waist, a warmth gently passing over her hair.

“Fear not, My Queen. All will be well,” a voice like liquid velvet intoned softly next to her ear.

Her head started to swim as the blood drained out of her body, but with each weakening heartbeat, the hand on her head and at her waist felt more real.

“Can’t save…” she whispered back, shaking her head. “Dark One…” she tried again, needing him to understand.

“Isn’t that why you called on me?” the voice replied, and now she could feel breath across her shoulder and cheek as he spoke.

Emma forced her eyes to open and she looked up into brilliant blue fire. They were his eyes, of course, but in her drowsy state she could have sworn they danced with real fire. His gaze filled her with warmth, and she blinked lazily as she smiled up at him. She’d never looked into a face like his before and she found herself immediately entranced by his dark beauty.

The chanting stopped, and cries of joy rang against the walls instead.

“Who are you?” she breathed, as he wiped the tears from her cheeks with fingers that almost burned her skin with their heat.

“Foul Demon, I have summoned you…”

The demon, Emma now had the wherewithal to notice the horns poking out of the top of his head, looked up at the cultist still holding the knife over Emma’s head.

“Who summoned?” he asked coldly, and Emma felt his thumb ghosting over the wound on one of her arms, could feel warmth creeping back into her limbs as her heart started to beat a little surer once more.

“We cast the spell, we sacrificed…”

“I think you’ll find it’s her blood on the table, but interestingly, it wasn’t that which summoned me.”

“I command you to resurrect the Dark One in exchange for this sacrificed soul!”

The demon sighed and looked down at Emma. “I’m sorry, My Queen. Explaining this gross incompetence might take a moment,” he told her apologetically.

“Can’t go anywhere…” She breathed sleepily.

The demon grinned roguishly, and with four deft flicks of his clawed fingers he shattered the chains holding her down, but Emma still didn't have the strength to move. The demon sat down on the altar beside her, his fingers now trailing over the wound on her other arm and healing that one, too.

“Now, I’ve seen some truly ridiculous cults in my time, but you lot? You really do take the biscuit,” he drawled. “Firstly, this altar accepts any liquid, and you let her cry, which hit the table before her blood. So. As you were intending to use the blood, she used her own tears to summon me. Secondly, if you’d wanted her blood to work you had to partake of it somehow, because even if her blood had worked to summon the demon you intended to summon, she’d still have had control over it. Lastly, and most importantly, you’ve ended up saddled with the demon responsible for condemning the Dark One to the deepest, darkest depths of hell where his mortal soul will face its darkest fears for eternity. So… do you really think I’m going to be the one to let him out? All in all, you’ve gone and fucked this up royally…” He glanced down at Emma and grinned. “With a very pretty royal, too,” he added, and she shivered as his eyes looked her over and part of her wished she had the strength to do something to hide herself. But then his gaze flicked back to the cult leader and darkened with anger once more, his casual, instructive tone fading into menacing darkness. “So, while I appreciate the effort to find me such a delectable offering, I’m afraid… You’ve hurt My Queen…”

Emma watched as demonic darkness overtook his features. His skin turned red and his eyes turned to flame and the reality of the world around them seemed to crack as he rose to his feet, growing in height, muscles bulging, forked tail whipping back and forth in anger as a language of darkness rolled off now black lips and tongue. The long coat he wore furled out into enormous black wings which sliced the two closest cultists in half, exposing his muscled chest and drawing her gaze despite her predicament. Flame speared out of previously nonexistent slices in the very air, wrapping around the cultists and setting them aflame as he sat up and grabbed the cult leader around the throat.

“So I’m afraid it’s your souls I’ll be consuming in her name.”

The man seemed to burn alive from the inside, screaming in agony until he exploded in a shower of embers that made Emma flinch.

The demon turned back to her, his features fading back to the handsome, tempting human she’d first seen when she’d opened her eyes.

She felt a sob of relief, of gratitude rising in her chest despite the fact that she was now slightly terrified of her saviour.

He settled himself back on the side of the altar and pulled her to him, cradling the back of her head and running his hand up and down her spine, his warmth seeping into her and bringing her back to shivering rather than weakly numb with the cold.

“Fear not, My Queen. You are safe now,” he said, soothingly.

For some reason, Emma believed him, and allowed herself to sob into his shoulder as she let the fear that had plagued her since the moment the windows in the ballroom shatter subside.

“What’s your name?” she asked quietly.

The demon seemed to stiffen in surprise.

“Demon or not,” Emma reasoned as she pulled back, “I should like to know the name of my rescuer so that he may be properly acknowledged.”

The demon looked suddenly unsure of himself.

“You may not think so kindly of me in a few moments,” he replied, sounding almost sad about it.

“You were part of the vanquishing of the Dark One, and you just saved me from helping bring him back,” she pressed.

“Aye,” he replied, his voice strained.

“There are conditions to your summoning that I am unaware of,” she replied. It was a statement, not a question and he nodded in confirmation.

“The altar may not be fussy, but I’m afraid Demonic Law is,” he replied carefully.

“You still need blood.” He nodded again but she sensed there was more. “My blood.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied again. And despite his being a demon, she believed him.

“So I still have to die?” she asked, shrinking back from him a little.

“Ay…” The response had been on the tip of his tongue, but he suddenly pulled back, rising to his feet and pacing.

Emma watched him curiously as he muttered to himself, reciting something in the dark tongue she’d heard him use before. The way his lips curled around the words made her squirm a little on the cold stone and she shivered once again, the absence of his heat allowing the chill of the stone to creep back into her bones.

“Apologies, My Queen,” he said briskly, returning to her side and encouraging her to lean against him.

“Emma,” she said with a sigh as she rested her head on his shoulder. “Princess Emma of Misthaven.”

“Ah, then… I daresay no one is going to like the alternative much better,” he said as his fingers trailed up and down her arm, making her hum in contentment. He smelled amazing, far more appealing than anyone- let alone a demon- had a right to. She let herself breathe it in, getting a little lost in it.

“What is it?” she asked. Her voice sounded dreamy and sultry, even to her own ears.

“Your Highness, don’t do that.”

“Do what?” she asked, lifting her head to look into his eyes.

“Make it harder for me to not claim what I am owed without explaining myself first,” he managed to grind out through gritted teeth. There was no anger in his words, only a possessive spark in his eyes as he looked her over.

Emma straightened her spine, her eyes wide and startled as her breath stuttered in her throat. “I… I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he replied with a warm smile. “The other option to spilling your blood and claiming your soul for hell now, since I have fulfilled the task you summoned me for, is to take an… alternative virgin blood.”

Emma felt her cheeks heat immediately with embarrassment and she looked away.

He hooked his finger under her chin, and looked into her eyes.

“I understand what this would mean in human terms, but you would need to understand this in demonic terms. We would be bound to each other. I would relinquish my immortal calling and live by your side as your protector and… lover… until your soul and your mortal body part ways. At which point, we will return to hell, and you are bound to me for eternity.”

He was being honest, that much she could tell.

“But that isn’t always the case, is it? I mean… don’t demons regularly defile virgins?” she asked hesitantly, not wanting to offend him.

He chuckled, low and deep and it rumbled in his chest making her breath catch.

“It’s complicated. But most cults realise that virgin blood simply means from a vessel that has never been used for a sacrifice before,” he explained.

Emma frowned, looking down at the hands clasped in her lap. “But then… my blood wouldn’t work that way, anyway.”

“Technically, their ritual was not completed so your blood remains viable. I could still just kill you. But Princess, you’re far too lovely to waste on such a thing when I can have you for eternity…” His tone was laced with hunger that made a shiver run down her spine. He leaned in, his breath ghosting over her neck again and making goosebumps rise across her skin. “Let me seduce you, My Queen. I promise you won’t be disappointed in the result. We’ll rule your kingdom together, you light magic balancing out my darkness and when we get back to hell you can torture every soul who ever hurt those you care for into madness.”

Even his offer was seductive, and Emma’s eyes slid closed, her head tilting away from his, almost offering him her neck. His forked tongue flicked out to caress the shell of her ear and she gasped, her eyes snapping open as she pulled back just a little. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest.

“I smell good, don’t I? Your body knows what we could have. It’s a rare opportunity. Not everyone can even hope to make this attempt. You are unique, Emma. I can feel your soul calling out to mine and it’s taking everything in me not to claim it.”

She could feel it too, the want, the need to let him have what should have been promised to the prince of another kingdom. Something she should be guarding with more fervour than her own life. But who was there to stop her? There was no other heir to the kingdom, if she died today…

“My kingdom will need an heir,” she found herself muttering.

“Then we’ll give them more than enough to pick from,” he promised without hesitation.

“They’ll be… human?”

“As much as it matters. Like I said, my darkness and your light will create a balance within them. They will likely have magic as you do, and they may be stronger than other humans, live longer, I mean. But… is that such a curse?”

Emma absorbed this. Why she was asking him this, turning this into some kind of negotiation she wasn’t entirely sure, but here they were. She needed to think of her kingdom and not let the need singing in her blood overpower her just yet.

“Tell me your name,” she replied, looking up at him, determinedly.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“I’m not going to agree to eternity with someone who won’t even tell me their name,” she declared, almost haughtily.

“If I tell you my name…?”

Emma held his gaze, and smiled. It was small, almost seductive.

“Then I shall be yours. For eternity.”

“My name is Killian Jones,” he told her, in a way that suggested he hadn’t spoken it aloud in a very long time.

“Be gentle with me, Killian,” she requested, suddenly nervous.

With a groan, Killian hooked a finger under her chin once more and tilted her head up, bringing his lips to meet hers.

Emma felt a rush in the pit of her stomach as the warmth of his lips brushed hers and her eyes slid closed.

His hands moved to cradle her face, holding her exactly where he wanted her as his lips caressed hers, pulling back and changing angles, guiding her as his fingers threaded back into her hair. His lips peppered kisses across her cheek and down onto her neck.

Her eyes snapped open as she gasped at the sensation sparking through her entire body. Her hands curled around the lapels of his now returned coat, soft leather and velvet warm under her palms.

One hand moved around to her back, hand splaying across her spine and pulling her into his lap where she shuddered at the way his warmth seemed to wrap round her. Her own hand moved, threading into his hair, silky and soft and she pulled back a little to look at him again, breathing ragged, chest heaving, before she pulled his lips back to hers, moaning softly as he responded with a groan that made her core clench with need.

She kissed him harder now, taking back a little control and letting instinct take over.

The sticky dampness of her skirt forgotten, pain wiped from her mind, Emma kissed him like her life depended on it. He responded by holding her tighter against him and she could have sworn her skin was burning where the lace of her dress was thinner.

And then she felt calloused fingers on her back, not having noticed that he’d been undoing the delicate buttons down the back of her dress. She gasped as she pulled back to look at him, eyes wide and unsure.

“Don’t back out now, Darling. I don’t think I could restrain myself,” he said, his tone soft but his eyes full of dark promise.

Her core clenched again at his words. “I’m not, I…” she swallowed, trying to gather words that could explain. “Touch me more,” she requested, shyly.

“Gladly.” He grinned back at her.

A sweep of his arm and a twist of his claws tore the encumbrance of the sodden lace from her legs. Winding his other arm around her waist, he lifted her just enough that it slipped from her form and onto the floor, leaving her more exposed in front of a man that she had ever been in her life and she found herself revelling in the thrill of it.

He set her down so that she was straddling his thighs, exposing her and making her flush with excitement and self-consciousness in equal measure. His fingers barely grazed her thigh, but it felt like a spark of magic across her skin.

“More, My Queen?” he asked, and she could hear the smirk in his voice before she even looked up at his face.

The moment she met his gaze, his fingers started a teasing dance across her skin and she couldn’t help but moan, her eyes falling shut and her head falling back into his hand, just waiting to cradle her head.

“Such perfect, delicate skin…” he murmured, watching as his claws raised red lines on her pale flesh, and she whimpered at the hint of pain through the burning pleasure she was already feeling. His hand splayed over her thigh, gripping and squeezing as his other hand slipped down from her neck to continue to unbutton the back of her dress.

“That’s it Darling, let me hear you,” he murmured just before his lips found her neck once more. Kissing down towards her collarbone, his pointed teeth grazed her skin, always followed quickly by the soothing heat of his tongue.

And Emma gladly sang the pleasure of it towards the ceiling of the dim cavern, moans and cries and gasps spilling from her lips until the dance of his fingers ran through the slickness between her legs. Her hand twisted in his hair, making him hiss in pain and growl, delivering a slightly sharper nip to the skin of her shoulder.

“I won’t be able to be gentle with you if you can’t reciprocate, Darling,” he told her, firmly, speaking right into her ear and nipping at her earlobe.

Emma responded with a moan and a roll of her hips that had his fingers brushing that spot again. “Killian, please,” she whimpered.

“Do you really think I’m going to stop?” he questioned with a chuckle. “Oh, Princess, you have no idea just how much I have in store for you.”

“Show me,” she replied breathily.

“As you wish…” That was all he said before his head dipped, his teeth catching the neckline of her dress and twisting his head to tear the lace and the silk chemise from her chest, exposing her corset.

Emma shivered as the cool air of the cavern hit her skin, but the cold didn’t last for long as Killian’s lips found the tops of her breasts, kissing, licking, sucking and nipping as her chest heaved with panted breaths and the fingers below started to caress in earnest.

Her hips rolled into his fingers, her back arched to bring her chest to meet his mouth and the angle caused her corset to slip just enough that the next sweep of Killian’s tongue wrapped around her nipple.

Emma bucked in his arms, and as he growled with want, his assault of pleasure on her body was renewed. He seemed intent to torment her with it, to ensure that she thought of nothing else ever again other than the next time he could put his hands on her body.

With every sweep of his tongue or caress of his fingers, Emma was sure this was it, that it could not get any better. But with every frantic beat of her heart, he proved her wrong. She was babbling incoherently while he murmured encouragements into her skin. Emma didn’t think she would ever tire of hearing his velvety dark voice telling her how beautiful and perfect she was, that she was made for this, for him. He was relentless and determined, and she didn’t care how wanton she might look, all she wanted was for him to keep going, to drive her higher, to…

“Come for your demonic prince, My Queen,” he commanded, his lips just below her ear, pressing a kiss to her pulse point before dropping back to wrap around her nipple, sucking hard as his tongue flicked over it just right.

And then her whole body seemed to freeze in place, stars dancing behind her eyes as her muscles started to tremble and he pulled her more securely into his arms, his lips now caressing her hairline, his murmurs calming, soothing, reassuring.

She let herself breathe into his neck, shallow breaths coming out on satisfied hums as each muscle in her body seemed to relish in the slow drift back from the peak of her pleasure.

“That was…”

“Remarkable to behold, but we’re far from done,” he promised.

“I’m not that naive,” she protested, pulling back to frown up at him. Okay, so she’d never been told details, but animals did the deed, too, and…

“Is that so?” he asked with a raised eyebrow that made her eyes narrow even more. “Then would you like to tell me what I plan on doing with my tongue, next?”

Emma flushed scarlet and dropped his gaze. With a soft chuckle he hooked a finger under her chin once more and made her look into his eyes.

“I’m going to lick your pussy clean, and then I’m going to make a mess of you all over again,” he promised, his hand dropping from her chin to press the fabric of her dress into the wetness still dripping from her.

Emma whimpered, her eyes sliding closed and blushing even harder.

“Fuck, you’re so responsive,” he praised, pressing a kiss to her lips. “It’s intoxicating.”

“Am I?” she murmured back, her lips blindly chasing his for another kiss.

“Let me taste you, Emma,” he replied, nudging her nose with his own before capturing her lips again. His tongue pressed them apart to caress hers and she welcomed him into her mouth with a moan.

“I take it that’s not how you meant?” she queried when he ended the kiss with a soft peck to the tip of her nose.

He shook his head with a salacious grin. “Lie back for me.”

Emma looked over her shoulder at the stained and bloody table before looking back at him.

But it seemed she didn’t even have to voice her discomfort at that idea, and with a roll of his shoulders, the leather vanished from under her fingers and was once again transformed into wings which curled around her and easily took her weight as she sank back into their warmth with a hum of contentment.

The intensity with which he looked down at her was like nothing she’d ever experienced before and it made her blush.

He grinned. It was toothy, and hungry and it was only a moment before he leaned in, pulling the soiled white dress from her body as he kissed his way over each revealed inch of skin. He pushed apart her bare thighs and she squirmed under the heat of his gaze as he licked his lips salaciously before lowering his head, his eyes meeting hers as he brought his tongue to her core.

It was Emma that broke eye contact with him as her back arched with pleasure and her eyes closed with the potency of it. The heat of his tongue was like nothing she’d ever imagined. The graze of his fingers on her thighs was intoxicating. She could feel the vibrations of words she couldn’t hear through the rush of blood in her ears, could feel the hoarseness of her voice increasing with cries that she couldn’t comprehend.

He built her up quicker this time, the feelings so overwhelming she could feel her consciousness wavering. She could feel herself teetering on the brink of an abyss that part of her longed to welcome, but he kept licking, caressing, sucking on her until she came back to herself with another wave of pleasure as he shifted above her. His mouth found hers, kissing her hard and then she became aware of a slight burn and pressure down where his tongue had been.

Her eyes snapped open as she squeaked with the discomfort, building towards pain. “Relax, My Queen, the pain will be over soon,” he purred into her ear. “Let it happen,” he encouraged, his fingers finding her clit once more and making her back arch.

She felt him slip further in, and then something inside her seemed to break and she cried out at the sensation. She didn’t know if it was pain or pleasure in that moment but she had never felt so full.

Above her, he let out a strangled groan, his muscles tense as his eyes fell shut for a moment before they snapped open, burning with blue fire once more.

“Mine,” he growled.

“Yes,” she choked out. “Killian…”

He kissed her again, and started to move. It burned slightly, but with each thrust of his hips the discomfort turned to pleasure and she found herself moving with him, meeting his hips with her own as her legs curled around his waist.

He littered her neck with kisses and nips as she cried out his name into the darkness around them. She embraced the peak of her pleasure once more, fingers tight in his hair, lips sealed against his as she tried to keep herself moving for him, so that he could finally join her.

“This will be a little hot…” he warned as his thrusts sped up, hips stuttering a little before Emma felt a rush of heat inside her. It was strange, but she fell in love with the feeling, knowing she would want more of it before long.

“I feel so…” she started, searching for the right word to convey everything. There would never be anything like this, wrapped in his arms, filled with his seed, feeling his breath across her neck. “Complete,” she settled on.

Killian raised his head and smiled down at her, brushing his nose against hers.

“Incredible,” he murmured, shifting to pull out of her. Emma felt the flood of his spent leave her body and he glanced down, shifting his wings to let the mix of his cum and her blood fall onto the altar. “And now all immortal planes are satisfied, as well as us,” he said, looking back up at her.

With the sweat cooling on her skin, Emma felt suddenly self-conscious and looked away.

“Regretting me already, Princess?”

Emma’s eyes snapped back up to his face, to find disgust starting to settle in his features. She reached up and brushed the tips of her fingers across his brow.

“No, I… I’m sore… and almost naked with a demon, and… I don’t know what to…”

“Your demon,” he corrected, a hint of a smile starting to curve at his lips. “We can be completely naked, if you would prefer? Or maybe you’ll make me wait for a human wedding night to have that final prize?” he teased, making her blush all over again.

“I can’t go back home without a corset. I’m already severely lacking in the rest of my attire,” she reasoned, embracing the chance at levity.

“Well, for the moment, that is a sacrifice I am happy to watch you endure,” he commented, taking a good look, his fingers tracing the edge of her corset.

“You’re incorrigible,” she commented with a sigh. “But I really would like to get out of here if that’s all the same to you.”

“We’ll find you some clothes on the way out.” He offered his hand to help her sit up, gathering her into his arms.

“Just get me out of here, and I can summon something from home,” she said with a smile as she laid her head against his chest.

“As you wish, My Queen,” he replied as he stood from the altar, wings melting back into his leather coat. Shadows curled up around them as the cavern melted away, but even once they were out in the open again, there was no chill strong enough to reach her. Not with her demon by her side.

[just-some-castaways]

Something changed tonight.

I’m not quite sure how, or why, but… it’s different now.

(Putting spoiler for allusions to sui struggles and because it’s a longer post <33)

We have a lot of issues, many of which the majority of people in our lives don’t understand, or can’t relate to. And that’s fine, we’re not upset at the fact, but it is lonely sometimes.

It was a mutual agreement when this blog started that the purpose would be to provide us a safe place to create, write, pour out, and reflect as… well, as us. But the other point we agreed on was to do our best to avoid needlessly drawing attention to any disorder that wasn’t the topic of the post. Our info doesn’t say “a blog by a system” because that’s not who we are. We don’t say “a blog by some depressed souls” for the same reason. The disorder isn’t the definition of a person core, it’s a film that is just layered on top.

The point I’m getting at is that this isn’t a blog to promote identity in our disorders or struggles, but to show who we are despite the disorders and struggles.

And for the most part, it’s been just that. A place to be human, to be honest and raw, to give everyone a chance at writing or journaling or trying something they haven’t before in a place that judgement wouldn’t matter, because tumblr is designed to be curbed by the user. We’ve carved out a little corner of the Internet as a suto creative studio, and we’re very proud of it, and what’s come from it.

But reality never stays a stranger.

Nighttime’s were hard for years, they were low points, even dangerous at times. They were the moments we most felt alone, most felt the cracks and flaws. When we began to create out of a need to survive, night time became…. A bitter sweet retreat. It was one of the only times that we could bare the raw parts and know that if rejection or hurt arose, it only took a click of a button to seal away our special little studio. That’s not a luxury we can afford in the day to day. People don’t like oddities like us. Either we’re faking for attention or making it up. It’s not safe, I doubt it ever will be. So for a while, this was a mournful retreat, a reminder of what could be but isn’t.

Then, something changed.

It’s subtle, I’m not sure I could put my finger on it if you asked me to try. But it’s there.

Tonight, for the first time, the moment the door closed, the lights went out, and the lamp turned on, it wasn’t a sealing of a cage blocking out reality for an hour of freedom. It was…..

Well, it was an opportunity.

This time, this ability to write for no one and everyone at the same time, it… well it became intoxicating. The feeling of joy coursing through one’s veins as raw creative energy pours out through words on a screen just…. I don’t know, it became so much more than an escape.

It’s something we’ve begun to look forward to.

I don’t know what the future holds, perhaps tumblr is a short term visit, perhaps it’s a life long journey. Perhaps the freedom to live openly without the masks will one day arrive, or perhaps safety will only be found in anonymity. But what we’ve discovered here is a beautiful little truth, one that’s evaded us for a long long time.

The act of creating, whatever the purpose, makes us feel alive. And Lord knows how close we came to never knowing that feeling.

So I guess…. I guess I’m saying thank you. To whomever sees this, whether it’s a hundred or noone, it doesn’t make a difference.

Thank you for being a place that we’ve found other people with love for crafting beautiful things. Thank you for being a place that feels safe to be honest and raw about the hard parts in life.

Thank you…. For just being you. Don’t stop creating, don’t stop pursing life. Death is a choice, Life is an opportunity.

-Madeline, on behalf of the Castaways system