#uses more electricity than when they’re dim

[bqstqnbruin]

My roommate wracked up a nearly $400 electric bill this month and I KNOW I’m going to be getting a text about it because she has no idea how electricity works

[flickering-chandelier]

Falling Slowly 

Pairing: Azriel x fem Reader

Summary: Reader and Azriel slowly get close and realize they’re destined to be together.

Word Count: 5.5k  oopsie. this man makes me feral.

Your feelings for Azriel really snuck up on you. Of course, as soon as you had been taken in by the High Lord and his inner circle, you noticed how unbelievably gorgeous he was, but that was true of all of the Illyrian men that became your family. He was such a quiet, steady presence, it was easy for him to blend into the background, and you had a feeling that he didn’t mind that one bit.

Slowly though, he let you in more and more and you started to see through the shadowsinger’s thick shields that he always kept up. It started when you had been in Velaris for a few months, and you were finally feeling like you were settled in, that you had a home there. You were reading in the library of the House of Wind and he came in, settled down in a chair a few feet from the one you were occupying, and lifted an eyebrow when you glanced at him, no doubt silently asking if he could stay. You nodded, smiling faintly. He picked up a book that looked to be for research, his brow furrowed in concentration and his shadows wisping around him every time you dared look up at him. And thus, started your library time together.

It had gone on like that for a week or two, never a word spoken between you, but you enjoyed his comforting presence more than you liked to admit. Though it did become harder and harder to keep your eyes on your book when he was present. Finally, one day when the two of you had been reading silently for about ten minutes, he cleared his throat and said in a low voice, “you read a lot.”

The sudden sound of his slow, deep voice after weeks of silence sent a shock through your body, making your toes curl. You shrugged, hoping he couldn’t see the heat in your cheeks in the dim light. “So do you, it seems.”

He held eye contact as the side of his mouth quirked up into the slightest smile that sent electricity through your body again. You noticed his shadows were back, circling around him idly. They didn’t often show up in the library anymore. It took all you had to not squeeze your thighs together, knowing full well that he would notice. “Research,” he said. After a beat he added, “Plus, I like the quiet. It’s nice to hide out from Cassian for a while.” 

You couldn’t remember if he had ever said so many words to you directly. You found yourself hoping that he was just trying to keep the conversation going. “Completely understandable,” you laughed. “I come here for the books first and foremost, but the quiet is definitely welcome, too. I love that I’ve found a family here, but it can get… overwhelming at times.”

He nodded, like he knew exactly what you meant, continuing to gaze deeply into your eyes. “I’m glad. That you’re here, I mean. That you see us as your family,” he said quieter than before, almost like he was unsure if he should be saying it.

A smile broke out on your face, and he held your gaze for another beat, his smile widening just slightly before he bowed his head back to his book, seemingly done with the conversation. 

You hoped he didn’t notice that you did not read a single page for the rest of your time in the library that day.

A few days later, you were itching to get out of the house and wander the beautiful streets of Velaris. After breakfast, you worked up the nerve to call Azriel’s name as he was leaving, timing it out perfectly so the two of you would be left alone in the dining room. He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised. 

“What are you up to today?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

He cleared his throat, definitely caught off guard. “Well, Rhys has me off to get some intel this morning, but if everything goes to plan, I should be back around lunch…” he trailed off, obviously waiting for you to explain yourself.

“Perfect,” you said, not able to keep the smile off your face as you looked up at him. “Do you want to go to lunch in Velaris with me? I’ve been dying to get out of the house and try somewhere I haven’t been yet.”

Azriel studied you for a moment, his head tilting slightly, one of his shadows curling around his ear, like he was trying to use his skills to see through to your intentions. “Okay,” he said finally. “Sure. Lunch. I’ll find you when I get back?”

“Great,” you grinned up at him before swooping out of the dining room, trying your best not to bounce on your toes. There was no denying it anymore: you had a crush on Azriel, and you couldn’t wait until he got back that afternoon.

You were in the library, of course, when he returned. He was out of his fighting leathers, but still wearing all black, his clothing perfectly tailored to him. He looked…so good. The side of his mouth was quirked up the slightest bit, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed, his wings tucked tightly behind him. “How did I know I’d find you here?” he murmured, almost playfully. 

“Lucky guess,” you smirked, placing your book on the table next to your chair and sidling up to him. You noticed his eyes trailing after you, for once not focused on your eyes, but on your body, watching the way your dress hugged your hips as you moved toward him. You flushed. 

“Do you have a place in mind for lunch?” You asked when you were so close to him, your toes were almost touching. He towered over you, his eyes latched onto yours now, his shadows nearly tickling your arms.

“This was your idea,” he said, a hint of teasing in his voice. Azriel? Teasing? Heat went straight through you again. You tried to control your breathing.

“You’ve lived here longer,” you countered. “You know places that I don’t.”

He smiled. A real, full smile. It was life-altering, ground-shaking. You tried to take a picture in your mind of your first real Azriel smile. You couldn’t help but return it. “I’ve got somewhere in mind,” he said finally. 

“Lead the way,” you said. Even to your own ears, you sounded too giddy. You tried not to be embarrassed. 

It wasn’t until you were standing outside on the mountain that you realized the implications of what you had asked. He would have to fly you down to the streets of Velaris. It’s not like you hadn’t had one of your Illyrian friends fly you somewhere before, but now it felt… different. 

You glanced at him, and his hesitant expression told you that maybe he was thinking the same thing. Trying to make the transition the least awkward it could be, you walked right up to him and titled your head. “Ready?”

That tiny half smile appeared as he scooped you up into his arms bridal style, holding onto you tightly, yet being as gentle as possible as the two of you left the ground. You had gotten more used to flying with them, but it still made your stomach twist into nervous knots. You couldn’t help but close your eyes and lean your face into Azriel’s chest, not wanting to look at the ground approaching. 

As you leaned into him, you felt his muscles tense. “Sorry. We’ll be on the ground in a moment.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you said, leaning up to look at him, so he could hear you. “You’re better to fly with than Cassian or Rhys. They always try to scare me more.”

His body tensed, his grasp on you tightening. “I would never do that to you,” he said, his voice suddenly serious. 

“I know,” you said, just as he smoothly landed. He held your gaze as he gently set your feet on the ground. 

Your knees felt a bit shaky, whether from the flight or from your proximity to him, you couldn’t tell. You held onto his rock solid forearms for a minute, trying to steady yourself. 

“Are you alright?” he murmured, his eyes scanning your body, concern flashing on his features.

You cleared your throat, finally letting go of him. “Yes, sorry. I’m still getting used to that."

He nodded, still watching you as if to make sure for himself that you were okay. After a moment, you started walking, hoping to push down the heat that you’d been feeling at the touch of your skin against his.

The two of you walked side by side through the streets of Velaris, not saying much, though you could see from the corner of your eye how often he glanced at you. You watched as his shadows circled around his arms, as he stretched his wings out when the walkway was clear enough. You couldn’t remember seeing him do that before. They were usually tucked in close behind him when he walked around the house.

“Are they heavy?” you asked. 

He just looked at you, his brow slightly furrowed. 

“Your wings,” you clarified. 

They seemed to bristle a bit once you mentioned them, a tiny wave rippling through from one side to the other. “You get used to it. But, yes.” The hint of a smile appeared on his face again. “Why do you think Illyrians are all so fit?” 

You smiled, playfully nudging him with your shoulder. “I haven’t met any besides you three,” you looked up at him to find his eyes already latched on your face. “I thought it was just a you thing."

His face remained stoic except for his eyes, which widened very slightly. 

Suddenly, he cleared his throat, finally taking his eyes from yours, and gesturing at a small building, nestled between what seemed to be two other restaurants. Unlike many of them in Velaris that were open and had tables stretching out into the outside, this building was completely closed, keeping whatever was in there concealed. “We’re here,” he said, his voice a bit more gravelly than before.

You followed him inside, past a roaring fireplace to a small table in a corner of the restaurant. It wasn’t crowded at all, which was a relief since it was so small. It was cozy and inviting though, with low light, candles flickering everywhere and soft music playing from somewhere nearby. You noticed that the chair he was seated in was perfectly accommodating to his wings. You could tell why Azriel was the one out of the group who liked it here. It was calm, quiet, dark. Intimate.

Azriel’s eyes were on you as you settled in, seemingly trying to detect how you were feeling about his choice of establishment. You looked around before meeting his eyes. “I see why you like this place. It’s like the library.”

The side of his mouth quirked up in that half smile you were starting to memorize. “I thought you might appreciate it.”

After you ordered, you looked at him and his eyes were already on you. “You have intense eye contact, do you know that?”

He coughed, but you saw the smile he tried to hide. He slid his eyes back to yours and you tried hard not to react. “I study people. It’s my job.”

“You’re not on duty now, are you?” you said teasingly. 

Azriel shrugged one shoulder noncommittally. “It’s hard to turn off the instinct.”

“Alright, then,” you said, already regretting it before the words even came out of your mouth. “What intel are you picking up on me right now?”

He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the table in front of him, eyes boring into yours like they could see straight into your soul. Hell, maybe they could. You had never had the courage to ask what exactly his skillset entailed. “You seem… curious about me,” he said in a low, gravelly voice that brought heat to your cheeks. “For whatever reason,” he smiled faintly, lifting one eyebrow. 

“Azriel, is that some self-deprecation I hear?” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. 

Leaning back in his chair again, he took a moment to respond. “Maybe a bit.”

You shook your head. “No, I will have absolutely none of that from the Night Court’s shadowsinger and spymaster. You are far too cool to be talking about yourself like that.” You tried to sound playful, but even to your own ears, you sounded far too serious. You meant it though, of course. How could he not see it?

He just studied you for a moment, not moving except for a slight tick in his jaw. Finally, he said, “As you wish, Lady.”

Clearing your throat, you settled back into your chair, mirroring his posture. “So is that all you’ve picked up on me?”

A slight smile. “All I wish to share.”

Mercifully, before you could reply, your food had arrived. Azriel seemed to hesitate, waiting for you to take your first bite before he dug into his own food. It was delicious, and somehow made you feel right at home. 

You ate in silence for a few moments, your focus so wrapped up in the delicious food in front of you that you did not realize his eyes were once again fastened on you. Once you finally took a reprieve from digging into your meal, you looked up, found his eyes on you, his expression unreadable, and you flushed, slightly embarrassed. 

“I’m not eating like a lady right now, am I?” you asked, your voice slightly wavering, no doubt showing your concern at the lack of decorum.

He let out a quiet chuckle that was music to your ears. “You look like a lady to me,” he said, his gaze not leaving yours.

You flushed even deeper, and he smiled, lighting up his eyes. Two real Azriel smiles in one day. You felt faint.

“You should do that more,” you whispered.

The smile dropped as he raised an eyebrow. A silent question.

“Nevermind,” you said, turning back to your meal, fearing that if you admitted how much you savored the smiles, they would stop appearing.

Azriel seemed like he wanted to push further, but decided against it. You thought he could probably figure it out anyway. He wasn’t the spymaster for nothing.

You could feel his eyes on you as you finished your meal, too distracted by him now to properly taste any of it. 

At last, he said “Did you enjoy it?”

Despite how few real interactions you’ve actually had with the man, you felt comfortable with him, so much so that you dared to say, “The meal? Yes. The company?” You paused, looking up at him from under your lashes. “Absolutely.”

Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but you swore you saw his fingers clench for a moment, heard his breath catch, as the shadows appeared around him for the first time since the two of you sat down. After a moment, he said, his voice thick, “I’m glad.” 

Your last remark took all the bravery you had, and you didn’t dare ask him the question back. 

Later, the two of you walked in companionable silence back to the House of Wind. His arm lightly brushed yours as you neared the mountain, and you again felt electricity jolt through from the point of contact all the way down to your toes. You may not know Azriel extremely well, but you were pretty sure every movement his body made was deliberate. Was that one deliberate, too?

At the foot of the mountain, the two of you turned to face each other, and he smiled lightly. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” you said, stepping closer to him before he gently picked you up. You could tell that he was making an extra effort to fly smoothly for you. 

“You doing okay?” he asked, low in your ear.

Looking up at him, you nodded. “Going up is better than going down.”

“Good to know,” he met your eyes for a moment, his eyes twinkling. Your fingers flexed where they held onto him, and the side of his mouth tilted up the slightest bit.

He landed on the balcony outside of the dining room, setting you on the ground, but not letting go of your arms yet, his eyes searching your face, like he remembered that you needed a minute to get settled on the ground earlier. You reveled in the feeling of his rough hands on your bare skin, and after a moment, you reluctantly stepped back, unable to stop your hand from lightly grasping his bicep as you did so. “Thank you, Azriel. For all of it.”

Azriel nodded, smiling faintly, his eyes not leaving yours. 

You wanted him to say more, desperate to continue whatever this was, but unfortunately Cassian walked out onto the balcony. “What are you guys up to?” he asked, his voice dripping with amusement, his gaze flicking back and forth between the two of you, no doubt noticing how close you were standing.

You glanced at Azriel, not sure what to say. He seemed to understand and answered Cassian. “We just went to grab lunch.”

Cassian grinned. “Just the two of you? Alone? Interesting.”

Azriel rolled his eyes. “Goodbye, Cassian.” 

Cackling, Cassian mock saluted at the two of you, and left. 

You suddenly felt awkward as the two of you were alone again. “So…” you trailed off.

He laughed, and you could feel heat rise to your cheeks for what felt like the hundredth time that day. “See you at dinner?” he said. 

“Dinner. Yes. Absolutely.” By the cauldron, you were starting to sound like him.

Azriel seemed to be thinking the same thing as he studied you for another moment, his eyes sparkling with what could only be described as a hint of mischief before he spread his wings and soared into the sky without another word.

You wandered around aimlessly for the rest of the day, not able to focus on anything but the memory of his hands on your skin, so gentle despite the scars, his eyes gazing into yours, the smile that you hadn’t gotten to see before today. 

Dinner came and went mostly without incident, though you often felt Cassian’s eyes darting between you and Azriel. You glared at him, silently begging him not to make a big deal about what he saw, especially in front of everybody. Thankfully, he got the hint and said nothing.

The next day, you got up a bit earlier than usual, chose a dress that was a bit nicer than what you would normally wear around the house, braided and pinned your hair carefully, and set out to very casually lounge in the library, like you would any other day.

You tried not to sigh with relief as Azriel came in some time later, his shadows nowhere to be seen, and took his normal seat near yours.

He eyed you, and smiled faintly. “You look nice,” he said, quietly.

You blushed. His smile grew. “Thank you,” was all you could say.

Azriel lifted an eyebrow. “Are you going somewhere today?”

“Not that I know of…” you trailed off, debating on whether to attempt to explain your appearance to brush it off, or let him assume correctly that you did it because of him.

“Do you… want to? Go somewhere today?” He said, his voice more hesitant than you would think possible for the Night Court’s spymaster.

“With you?” You asked, sure your eyes were lighting up with excitement.

Azriel smiled, holding your gaze. Your knees would have buckled if you hadn’t been sitting. “That was the idea, yes.”

“Of course,” you beamed, trying to keep your voice even.

Just like that, you were in Azriel’s arms again, flying down to Velaris, where the two of you wandered happily, with no real destination. He was a bit more talkative today, asking you about books you were reading and your life before Rhysand found you and brought you into his family. He told you about the far-off places he’d been throughout his years as Rhysand’s spymaster, what it was like growing up with Rhysand and Cassian as his found family. You had never heard him speak so much, and you couldn’t get enough of it. You wanted to listen to everything he could possibly share, wanting to savor every detail of it. 

And that’s how it went, just like your routine with the library. Every few days, when Azriel had the time, he would fly you down to Velaris and you two would wander the streets, stopping for food, perusing the shops. Slowly, slowly, he opened up a bit more to you, talking about his past every once in a while. He never went into much detail, but it was more than you ever expected from him. You were honored that he trusted you even that much. You became addicted to the sound of his voice, to the rare moments when his arm would brush yours, or when he would place his hand on your back to steer you away from somebody in your path who wasn’t paying attention.

On, and on, and on, you kept up your routine and you could feel the walls that he kept up for everybody break off little by little. 

Still, you couldn’t tell if it was friendship that he was feeling for you or something else. It certainly wasn’t friendly feelings you had towards him. His gorgeous face, his piercing eyes, now had a permanent spot in your mind and in your dreams.  

One afternoon, when you assumed Azriel was out doing his spymaster duties because you hadn’t seen him all day, you were about to leave your room when you heard his voice low, speaking to someone. He sounded mildly upset. You knew you shouldn’t eavesdrop, but you certainly didn’t want to walk past them, so you waited it out.

“When are you going to tell her?” the other voice said, in a rushed whisper. Cassian.

“I don’t know. How are you supposed to just … tell somebody something like that?” Azriel sounded more frustrated than you’d ever heard him.

“How should I know? You’re the one who spends all your time with her. You should know what the best way to tell her is.”

Azriel sighed, and you could picture him running his hands through his hair. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, you better figure it out. She’s going to think that you’re not into her.”

“You think so?” Azriel sounded worried.

“Dude, you’ve been spending every moment possible with her for weeks, and you haven’t made a single move.” 

Before Azriel could respond, footsteps sounded in the hallway, and their conversation cut off completely. You seized your chance, hoping to gain some insight as to who they were talking about. 

You left your room, trying to look casual, and at the sound of your door opening, the two of them whipped their heads towards you.

You raised an eyebrow as you walked towards them. “What? Do I have something in my teeth?” you teased, trying not to dwell on what you had heard. Azriel was into someone?

Azriel just stared at you, his cheeks dusted red. Cassian smirked at you. “Nope, beautiful as ever, sweetheart.” 

Azriel’s eyes darted from yours to Cassian’s, his expression turning lethal and his shadows suddenly appearing, swirling around his head, his arms. You had only seen that kind of quiet rage in his eyes when there was an enemy present in the Night Court. 

You couldn’t fathom what would warrant this reaction. “Az, are you okay?” you asked, softly.

His eyes met yours again, the rage flickering away into something else entirely, though you couldn’t quite place it.  He opened his mouth, but couldn’t seem to speak for a moment. Finally, he choked out, “Yes, fine. I’m just -- I have to go.” Without another word, he bolted down the corridor, out of sight.

Cassian rolled his eyes, turning back to you. “You guys have been hanging out a lot lately, huh?”

You shrugged, trying not to let your feelings show. “Yeah, we’re friends now."

He cocked an eyebrow. “Friends? You sure?”

Sighing, you leaned your back against the wall. “Honestly? I don’t know. Sometimes I can’t tell.”

He pushed further, as you figured he would. “Well, how do you feel? Do you want to be just friends?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “If I tell you, do you promise not to make fun of me, or run off and tell everyone about it?”

Smiling, he raised his right hand, like he was taking an oath. “I solemnly swear that your secret is safe with me.”

“...Fine. No, I don’t want to just be friends. To be completely honest, I think I’m a little in love with him.”

Cassian’s eyes widened, but before he could respond, you said, “I swear to the Cauldron, if you say anything to anyone, I will get Amren to toss you into the pit of the library.” 

At that, he clamped his mouth shut and held up his hands. “I won’t say anything to anybody,” but his demeanor turned serious as he leveled you with a steady gaze. “But I really think you should tell him.” 

You swore you could feel your heart beat faster at just the thought. “What if it ruins everything?” you said quietly. 

Cassian held your gaze. “It won’t.”

Before you could press him on what he meant, he smirked and clapped you in the shoulder, following in Azriel's wake down the hallway.

Surely it wasn’t incredibly narcissistic to think perhaps the “she” they were talking about before you interrupted was you, right? Who else had Azriel been spending all his time with? But… What was it that Cassian wanted him to tell you? Was Azriel interested in you?

Your head spun for days, especially as Azriel was noticeably keeping his distance from you. He had not come to the library, and had hardly talked to you at all. You felt an ache in your chest at his absence. 

After he had been avoiding you for a week, you couldn’t take it anymore. You knocked on his door after dinner, realizing as it opened that you had never seen his room before. Over his shoulder you could see a humongous bed with black sheets and weapons scattered about on tables pushed against each wall. 

He was clearly surprised to see you, hovering in the doorway, like he was unsure if he should invite you in or not. 

Before he could say anything, you blurted, “Did I do something wrong?” 

His brow furrowed in confusion, his shadows suddenly swirling around him. “Why would you think that?"

You shrugged incredulously. “It’s the only reason I can think of for you ignoring me for the past week,” your voice broke and you cursed yourself for showing him how much you had been hurting. 

His eyes softened, his expression pained. “I-- come inside,” he said, stepping away from the doorway so you could venture inside. He closed the door behind you and you gulped, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. 

He slowly walked over to you, stopping a few paces away, his wings folded tightly behind him, his body tense. It took him a moment to finally meet your eyes. When he did, he said simply, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” You asked, your voice wavering. “Az, what’s going on?”

Running his hand through his hair, he sighed, and gestured behind you at an armchair nestled between two of his tables laden with weapons. You sat down gingerly and he sat on the edge of the bed, facing you. His enormous wings stretched out behind him now that he was settled.

“I need to tell you something. And I’ve been avoiding you because… I wasn’t sure how to bring it up. I’ve been trying to figure out the right way to say everything, and  I didn’t know how you would react,” he said, his eyes on you as his shadows swirled around his head. 

“O-kay,” you said. “What is it?”

Azriel took a deep breath and bowed his head, staring at his hands clasped in front of him, his elbows resting on his knees. Finally, he said quietly, “You’re my mate.”

You felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. 

“I --” and before you could question him, you knew it was true, feeling the bond snap into place. You looked up at him to find his eyes on yours, more anxious than you’d ever seen him. “I feel it now,” you whispered. 

His eyes widened and his body went even more rigid. It didn’t look like he was breathing. 

“How long have you known?” was all you could think to say.

It was a long moment before he answered. “I… had a feeling for a while. I felt connected to you from the beginning. Even if you weren’t my mate, I knew you were different. Special. When you first met me, you never paid attention to my scars.” His fingers flexed as he said it, his deep voice slightly shaky. “Most people can’t help but stare, but you… whenever you looked at me, your eyes were on my face. Always.” He drew a deep breath and his eyes bore into yours, like he wanted to make sure you were still there. 

He continued, “But I wasn’t sure, didn’t know how it was supposed to feel when the bond snapped into place, so I started going to the library to be close to you, hoping I could confirm it. That first day at lunch, when you asked me what I was sensing about you… that’s when it happened. That’s when I felt it… that unflinching rope tied around my heart, connecting to you. Then, I couldn’t stay away, that bond was always tugging me toward you.” 

You gaped at him, images of him over the past few weeks blurring together in your mind. 

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he said, his voice breaking on the last word. “I didn’t know how you felt about me and I didn’t want to ruin what we started.”

The hurt in his voice finally spurred you into action. You got up from the chair and crossed over to him. He sat up fully, his eyes locked on yours as you straddled him, settling into his lap and holding his face in your hands. His body finally relaxed, his shadows dissipating as his hands held your waist gently. 

“I’m in love with you, Azriel,” you said quietly. “I could not be happier that I get to be your mate.”

He made a choking sound, his eyes swimming with emotion. “You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” you said, your face inching closer to his.

“I kept it from you.”

“It’s okay, love,” you said gently, wrapping one arm around his neck and running your other hand through his soft hair. “I understand.”

“You love me?” he asked, finally smiling, his mouth an inch from yours.

“Of course I do.”

“I love you,” he murmured, cupping the back of your head with his hand and leaning in to kiss you gently. 

You felt tears stream down your cheeks as he kissed you, and he wiped them away with his thumb, his touch featherlight. 

“Happy tears?” he whispered against your mouth.

“Mhmm,” you mumbled, deepening the kiss.

He kissed you gently for a few more moments before he groaned, wrapped an arm tightly around your waist, stood up, and tossed you onto the bed.

Your eyes widened and he smirked, making your toes curl. 

“Ready to stay up all night, mate?” he teased, his eyes flashing with lust.

You could only nod. 

-----

You two missed breakfast the next morning, too wrapped up in each other to pay attention to what time it had become. 

Mercifully, you were left alone most of the day, and it took some coaxing, but you finally convinced Azriel that you would need nourishment to continue the fun you were having, so eventually you did make it to the dining room in time for dinner.

All eyes were on you both as you sat down side by side, trying to be as nonchalant as possible even though you knew that all your friends could smell the new mating bond on you.

Cassian broke the silence, grinning at Azriel. “Well, she looks absolutely ravished, Az.”

A growl released from deep in Azriel’s throat as he lunged across the table at Cassian, tackling him to the ground. 

Rhysand laughed, opening the door to the balcony, and the two tumbled out, arms and wings thrashing. He looked at you, mischief twinkling in his eyes as he shut the door behind them, locking them out on the balcony. “He’ll be better at controlling that, with time. Trust me.” 

You laughed, feeling your cheeks heat at the protectiveness that Azriel now felt for you. 

“I guess you’re officially part of the family now,” Rhysand smirked. “Congratulations.”

[quinnylouhughesx43]

Say Yes - qh43

Summary: Quinn’s girlfriend attends the Hughes Bowl at Rogers Arena. She’s overtly in love with him (kind of annoying tbh) Quinn surprises her after the game.

Warnings: fluff, obsessy gf, eyes don’t leave bf, use of y/n, oc?

Word Count: 2.35k

Notes: I chose a random name for readers best friend. Ahem split second appearance of other nhler with bff. May or may not have successfully? wrote something.

In the hustling and bustling heart of Vancouver, nestled between the towering skyscrapers and the gentle caress of the Pacific sea breeze, stood the mighty Rogers Arena. Its gleaming exterior reflected the city's vibrant energy, a beacon of excitement that drew in locals and tourists alike. The chilly winter evening had descended, casting a soft glow upon the cobblestone streets, as the anticipation for the night's event grew palpable.

The Hughes Bowl also known as the Vancouver Canucks versus the New Jersey Devils

Inside the arena, the air was electric. The mouthwatering scent of popcorn and nachos mingled with the faint aroma of fresh lemonade and the mixture of alcohol in some areas. The thunderous roar of the crowd grew louder with every passing second, echoing through the vast space like a crescendo of anticipation.

Y/N and Mia, perched in the first row by the glass barrier, were surrounded by a sea of blue and green jerseys. A few red and black jerseys sprinkled in the mix. Guests in attendance dressed out were the die-hard fans, their eyes glued to the rink, where the players currently skated about in a blur of motion, warming up for the night’s showdown between the Canucks and the Devils.

When the lights had dimmed and both national anthems for Canada and the United States had a chance to play, a collective chorus of cheers fell over the stadium.

The spotlights that once bathed the ice in a soft multicolored glow lifted replaced with the bright white, and the players took their positions.

Quinn, was the center of y/n’s attention, his eyes focused and intense. He looked over at Y/N and Mia, flashing a quick smile that sent her heart racing. The puck dropped, and the game was underway.

Throughout the first period, Y/N did all she could to try and memorize every move Quinn made. An attempt to hold on to his years in the league for when they’re long over. His stick-handling was mesmerizing, a dance of precision and power that left the opposition scrambling. Whenever he checked one of his brothers, she held onto a strange mix of pride and protectiveness that swelled within her. She knew that behind the smiles and jovial rivalry, they were all fighting for the same thing: victory.

Leaning over to Mia, she whispered excitedly, "Did you see that? He totally outplayed them both! Jack and Luke!" Each time she spoke, her voice grew a little louder, the excitement spilling over like a fizzy drink. Mia, ever the supportive best friend, nodded and cheered along, even though she wasn't as versed in the nuances of the game. Y/N's eyes never left the ice when her love was on for a shift, captivated by the grace and strength of the man she loved.

Midway through the second period, Quinn scored a breathtaking goal through the goalie’s 5-hole. He spun around, stick in the air, as the crowd erupted in a cacophony of cheers. Y/N's face lit up brighter than the goal lamp as she jumped to her feet, slapping the glass in exhilaration. Quinn skated to where she was sitting behind the glass. He blew her a kiss and yelled to her, “that was for you babygirl.” She turned to Mia, her eyes sparkling with pure joy, "I knew he was just as bad as you are!" Mia giggled, pulling her best friend in to a hug, the sound of their laughter lost in the deafening applause.

The game continued, each play more intense than the last. The tension grew as the score remained close, neither team willing to concede an inch of the ice. With every check, every pass, and every shot on net, Y/N felt her heart pound harder in her chest. Her eyes never left Quinn, not even when his brothers had the puck. It was as if she could feel his every move, his every breath. Her cheers grew louder, her hands slapping the glass more vigorously, leaving behind a smudge of her palm print like a silent applause.

In the third period, the game reached a fever pitch. The crowd was on the edge of their seats, a symphony of hope and nerves. The Devils had managed to tie the game, and the Canucks were desperate to pull ahead. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and the metallic tang of fear. With minutes to go, Quinn stole the puck from his youngest brother, breaking away on a two-on-one. The arena held its collective breath as he streaked down the ice, the sound of his skates slicing through the frozen surface like a knife through butter.

Y/N's eyes were glued to him, her heart racing in her chest. The play unfolded before her in slow motion, every second stretching into an eternity. Quinn passed the puck to his teammate, who whipped it back to him with the grace of a ballet dancer. The goalie saw it coming, but it was too late. Quinn's shot was a rocket, flying straight into the top corner of the net. The arena erupted into a frenzy of cheers and the sound of thousands of hands clapping together in unison. The goal lamp flashed red, the buzzer sounded, Quinn’s media tape looped on the scoreboard. His teammates rushed him for a celebration. Y/n was watching in awe of her man. Mia was watching her best friend in happy wonder.

Mia nudged her, "Looks like you got yourself a star player!" she said, her voice barely audible over the din. Y/N nodded, her smile so wide it hurt. She felt like she was floating, the adrenaline from the goal still pulsing through her veins. The final buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the game. The score was 3-2 in favor of the Canucks. The arena echoed with the chant of "Quinn! Quinn! Quinn!" She could see the pure elation on his face as he skated over to her, the grin stretching from ear to ear. He tapped the glass, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

Quinn had the last scoring game puck in his hand. He had already wrote on it and brought it straight to her, he pointed up towards the top of the barrier and then to her, a silent message he was tossing it to her. With a flick of his wrist, he flung it over, sending it soaring through the air. Time seemed to slow as it spun, a perfect arc of twisting team logos and black against the vibrant backdrop of the cheering crowd. Y/N's hand shot up, her palm open and ready to receive it. The puck smacked into her palm with a satisfying thud, the residual ice shavings from the game still clinging to it.

The crowd's roar grew even louder as they noticed the gesture, the cameras flashing from the stands and the Jumbotron spotlighted on her, capturing her disbelief and pure happiness. She clutched the puck to her chest, feeling its coldness against her skin, a stark contrast to the warmth flooding her cheeks. The moment was surreal, a memory she knew she'd cherish forever. She mouthed a silent "thank you" to Quinn, who was already being dragged away by his teammates for an impromptu interview.

As the players filed off the ice, the tension in the arena didn't dissipate. Instead, it transformed into a buzz of excitement and congratulations. Y/N watched Quinn closely, her eyes tracing his every move as he was interviewed, his voice steady and humble despite the victory. He talked about teamwork and the importance of family, never failing to mention his brothers and their shared love for the sport. Her heart bursting with pride as she heard him speak, his words resonating with the audience.

Finally, the moment came. The Zamboni glided onto the ice, smoothing out the battleground where Quinn had just claimed victory. He skated over to the bench, his gaze seeking hers through the throngs of people. She waved, the puck still clutched in her hand, a symbol of his triumph. He pointed at her, then at the locker room, signaling for her to wait for him. The crowd began to disperse, the blue and green jerseys forming rivers of humanity that flowed through the arena's exits.

Y/N and Mia remained in their seats before heading down to wait outside of the locker room, the excitement still coursing through them like an electric current. They chatted animatedly about the game, replaying Quinn's heroics in their minds, their voices a mix of disbelief and pride. As the last of the fans trickled out, the arena staff started prepare for the post-game cleanup.

The doors to the locker room finally swung open, and the players began to emerge, their faces flushed from exertion and their eyes gleaming with the adrenaline of victory. Quinn spotted Y/N immediately, his grin growing even wider when he saw the puck in her hand. His strides to her were urgent and quick, the sound of his skates, that were hanging off the side of his bag, clanking against one another echoing through the now-quiet corridor. He was dressed back in his game day suit, no tie, but perfectly put together.

Y/N looked up at him, her confusion palpable. "Why aren't you in your comfy clothes?" she questioned, gesturing to his suit.

Quinn chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "I had to make an impression, didn't I?" He leaned down, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Besides, I had a surprise for you."

Y/N turned the puck over in her hand, her eyes widening as she read the message scrawled in black sharpie. "Best game of my life," it read, "make it better by saying yes." Her cheeks flushed, and she looked up at him, her eyes filling with unshed tears as he’s down on one knee. "Quinn, this is..."

"It’s crazy, yes but I couldn't wait. You're it for me, you're everything. And after that game, playing against my brothers, I just know this is right." His voice was earnest, his gaze unwavering as he pulled out a small velvet box. “Yes I know in front of the locker room isn’t ideal, but I just had the best game I’ve had in months, I finally beat my brothers. You’re the girl of my dreams and I can’t hold onto this any longer because I’m afraid the yahoos behind you will let it out while they’re here. So baby, please will you marry me?” Quinn asks tears of love in his eyes.

Y/N felt as if the world had stopped spinning. She looked down at the box in his hand, her heart racing like a bullet train. She assumed this was coming later on in life, but she never expected it to happen here, in the lower interior of the arena she had watched him play in so many times before. An indescribable warmth spread through her, expansive spread across her from her toes to her fingertips. She looked into his eyes, her voice shaking with raw emotion, "Yes, Quinn. Yes, I'll marry you."

The words hung in the air, suspended for a moment before reality crashed back in. The locker room doors opened wider, and his remaining teammates spilled out, cheering and clapping. They had been waiting for this moment, and now it was here. Quinn slipped the ring onto her finger, the diamond sparkling under the harsh fluorescent lights. It fit perfectly, as if it had been made just for her. She couldn't help but admire it, the way it caught the light and danced across her skin. Y/n turned to Jack and Luke to greet the brothers she was unaware were there until Quinn said something, but instead was met by Jim and Ellen.

“You’ll officially be our daughter!” Ellen saps pulling y/n into a hug.

“Can’t wait to have another female Hughesy!” Jim laughed with her, ruffling up her hair.

Y/n’s eyes are misty with happy tears. She hadn’t seen this coming like this at all, she had thought maybe it would happen in a year or two but not now.

It doesn’t matter the timing, Quinn is forever hers and she’s forever his.

“Quinn, This, here. It’s perfect.” She says, her voice full of wonder and love. “I wouldn’t want it any other way. So it is ideal. Don’t worry about what it looks like.”

Quinn broke away from Elias and Brock’s playful teasing, his smile growing as he wrapped her in a warm embrace. The cheers of his teammates and the small gathering of family erupting once more, but all Y/N could hear was the steady beat of his heart against her chest. He leaned down, cupping her face in his hands, and kissed her.

It was a kiss filled with the passion of a thousand suns, the promise of a lifetime together, and the sweetness of a love that had only grown stronger with each passing day. His lips were gentle yet firm, a declaration of his love and commitment. Hers responded eagerly, her arms snaking around his neck, the coldness of the ice forgotten in the heat of the moment.

Mia had been standing off to the side watching her best friend happily. As the couple kissed she muttered to what she thought was just herself “I’m so painfully single.”

“You and me both. Hi, name is Nico. Captain of the New Jersey Devils.”

[veritas-scribblings]

electric - @jartylusmicrofics - words: 755 [explicit / NSFW]

[warnings: implied drug use | in-universe: video; takes place before video]

James doesn’t want to have to explain. What would he even say? This is the love of my life, Regulus. And this is the love of my life’s soul mate, Barty. 

It used to bother James, the way Regulus and Barty were together. The touching, the kissing, the cuddling, the deeply intimate way in which they know and love each other. The way the jealousy would eat away at him because he didn’t understand that the love between Barty and Regulus did not in anyway detract from the love between himself and Regulus.

Love is not a finite resource.

James understands now, and he empathises with Barty’s frustration at the conventionality of everyone’s thinking. Barty and Regulus have never felt the need to explain or defend themselves, and James envies them this. He just can’t look past the need for approval and concern for others’ judgement.

His concern, right now, rests with Sirius.

With a sigh, James goes to intervene before his best friend short circuits. They’re 2 hours into Dorcas’s birthday party and Barty and Regulus have started doing something absolutely filthy on the dance floor. If James is honest…it’s really working for him. He’d actually like it to continue, perhaps even to join, perhaps watch until completion. And he would. It’s just that he’ll soon have two problems. Or three, depending on how one chooses to look at it.

One, the way Regulus is enthusiastically and unashamedly riding Barty’s thigh.

Two, the way James is very quickly getting turned on and thinking about how he would very much like to become another slice of bread in the Regulus sandwich.

Three, the way Sirius Black looks like he’s about to explode because that’s his little brother who is also his best friend’s boyfriend.

The bar is dark. The low-hanging lights cast a dim, muted glow across the dance floor. James can feel the music thrumming beneath his skin, the bass throbbing like a pulse in his chest. In the throng of young bodies, Regulus has wrapped himself around Barty, who has slid a thigh between his legs. They’re moving, almost grinding, in time to the music. They’re in their own little world, and this is not at all unusual for them…it’s just that their own little world is not normally on display for their friends and the public to perceive.

James approaches from behind, carding a hand through Regulus’s loose and slightly damp curls, sliding another around Regulus’s waist. Regulus tips his head back to stare up at James all glassy-eyed, huge blown-out pupils. He’s breathing heavily and slightly flushed, a rosy red colour that creeps up his neck and fills his cheeks.

'Jamie,' he murmurs, 'come play with us.'

‘Reg, love.' James casts a look over at Barty, who is smirking. Inhailing sharply, Regulus swivels, rolls, his hips with a gasp and a moan. ‘Fuck, Barty, what did you give him?’

‘Barty special.’ Barty laughs. ‘Just a little something to get him going, loosen him up. He’s absolutely fine.’ He pulls Regulus close, noses into his hair, cupping his arse to encourage him to ride. ‘Don’t worry, Jamie, we're being safe...’

‘At Dorcas’s birthday party? Really?’

‘Dorcas’s party is for shit. This is more fun.’ Barty grins, reaching around Regulus to grab James’s crotch, palming his erection. ‘Looks like it’s getting you going. Oh, you’re hard. You’re hard-hard.’ His grip tightens and James has to bite off a groan.

Sirius is watching, James knows. Sure, Sirius is fully supportive of James having a healthy and adventurous sex life, but when that healthy and adventurous sex life involves Sirius’s little brother and Barty (who Sirius absolutely loathes). Well, that’s very much a ‘no fly’ zone. More information than Sirius wants. More information than James wants Sirius to have.

‘Barty,’ James groans, ‘come on…not here.’

There’s a sparkle in  Barty’s eyes, which James has learnt means not only does Barty have ideas, but he under no circumstances will be swayed from pursuing his ideas. Barty snickers, rubbing the head of James’s cock through his trousers. It has the exact effect that Barty is evidently intending it to have: James can’t think in a straight line. Whatever Barty is about to say, James agrees. He’s here for it.

‘Tell you what,’ Barty says, his voice low and sly, ‘We’ll take Reg home, and you can watch us fuck. And if you’re really good, I’ll let you fuck me while I’m inside him. How about that?’

[maskedemerald]

Weaving Webs CH4

Here is chapter four for Invisobang ! The wonderful @pricklenettle did some fantastic art that you'll see embedded through out the fic! We get some more creepy Danny art this chapter! And I love the little details on the fridge!

You can check out the fic here or on AO3!

If you like this consider dropping us both a follow!

Warnings: Body horror, manipulation, Spectra is her own content warning, Burns, Spider - for like 2 chapters then it goes away.

The Fenton parents were there when the accident happened, they saw Danny die in an act of sabotage. Now they’re just trying to go on with the strange ghost that is all that's left of Danny. While their old college friend is wondering where the subjects of his revenge are.

[First] [Previous] [Next]

Chapter Four

The lab was dim, an electric twilight. The lights blared overhead as they usually would but her eyes were too over compensated. Something bright, like looking at the sun burned in her vision. Her ears rang with screams. She couldn’t move. Shadowy, skeletal hands gripped her feet. Her face. His hand. Scraping her skin with rough burnt skin. Forcing her to watch. Unable to stop it. Those cold hands held her arms as she tried to fight free.

You don’t get to look away.

It’s your fault, you let him go in.

This is all because of you.

A sharp chill deeper than the cold hands drew a violent shiver. Like an ice bath. Colder.

Maddie jerked awake, that chilling feeling still in her spine despite being awake. She stared up at the ceiling trying not to think. The waking world wasn’t much better than that nightmare after all. She frowned, noticing that it was much lighter than she had thought. Later in the morning than she had thought. She sighed knowing that she wouldn’t get back to sleep now and started to push herself up.

There was a soft white glow at the foot of the bed. Its legs were gone, blended into a tail that twisted round itself to curl up. The tattered sleeve and skeletal arm exposed. The bony fingers stretched out towards her. She shifted just a bit too much of the blanket as she tried to escape the bed unnoticed. Danny’s ghost lifted a tilted head. She froze for a moment but it didn’t lunge.

It followed her throughout the house, keeping to shadows or perching on high locations. Like the top of the fridge where it had settled during breakfast. Jazz kept glancing in its direction and left quickly the moment she could. Her breakfast, only half finished.

It appeared to once again fall asleep there. She watched it. It didn’t make sense, ghosts didn’t need sleep. Or at least none of the research said they did. Maybe it was wrong. Maybe this was a feature of newer ghosts. Would it sleep less the longer it was… dead? Would anything else change over time? Was it only a matter of time before it became malevolent like the research said?

Research… research said that this shouldn’t have happened. The portal shouldn’t have turned on. They had worked hard to make sure there wouldn’t be another accident. Not after Vlad. She had to know why? Why did this happen? Why was Danny…? Was it their fault? Had they made this mistake?

She glanced to the lab door in the corner. She didn’t want to face it but she had to. Had to know why. Her hand hovered shakily over the handle. The ghost shuffled in its place on the fridge. A high pitched whine. A constant reminder of what happened. A reminder she couldn’t escape. A question that would quite literally haunt her forever if she didn’t find an answer. She took a deep breath and turned the handle.

The descent into the lab was a slow one. Each step felt massive and the bottom still shadowed in the darkness they had left it in on the day of the incident. The lights flickered on weakly, revealing the scattered chaos that had been them trying to save Danny.

She crossed to the console, that was where part of the problem was. The only part she could access. The only place she could get answers from. The portal frame itself was inaccessible behind the swirling green of their window into the ghost zone. The death trap that had killed Danny. The swirls played tricks on her tired mind, the silhouette of a mass of something beyond the portal. A shape close to the floor. Even if it was really there she didn’t want to see. The horror of a mangled, incinerated body that her mind supplied was bad enough. She couldn’t handle the real thing.

The console reported back that the portal was active. It understood that. It wasn’t a bool issue in the code. Something reporting false when it should have said true stopping her from turning off the machine it didn’t think was on. It knew it was on. That meant the emergency controls were the problem. She poured over the code trying to find the control error. A mistyped variable or something. Anything that would explain what happened.

What she found was worse. Or maybe better, if only because it meant it wasn’t them. They hadn’t caused this. There was an override coded into the emergency shutdown. An override that linked back to a start-up sequence they had never coded. It was set to initiate start-up while someone was inside. Specifically while the wiring was being worked on. Some of the wires had been bypassed to allow the machine to work even if they had been unplugged. Wires that had once been important to function were now just a trigger. Sabotage.

Jack was meant to be dealing with the wiring, it had only been passed to Danny since the paneling went on. Had someone been trying to kill Jack? No, that didn’t make sense. Why would… but then why would anyone target anyone else in the family. She couldn’t think of anyone who hated them like that. Even the Mansons didn’t disapprove of them that much. Even if she could think of someone this required a certain level of understanding of their work. Few had that privilege. Vlad from college but that would have been long outdated with how long it had been and their direct overseers from the GIW. Neither really had opportunity and reason. Had it not been about them at all? Was someone trying to halt their work and unintentionally caught Danny in the crossfire? Still she couldn’t think of who. The GIW were literally paying them, sabotage would just make it worthless. Vlad had nothing to gain, he wasn’t even in the field any more.

She frustratedly shook her head, there was no use speculating when she really had no clues. Maybe Jack would know something. If not at least he wouldn’t be blaming himself like she had been. She took a few moments to document the evidence and hide it away. Whoever it was had somehow gained access to their computers if not the lab itself, she couldn’t risk it being covered up. Maddie was not going to let this go unpunished. She was going to find who did this and she was going to make them pay.

Satisfied that the files were preserved she headed for the stairs. Jack was probably still sleeping. She’d wake him. He’d want to be told as soon as possible.

It was like a cold hand crawled up her spine. She froze, one foot on the next step, halfway up the stairs. Her heart beat faster and she couldn’t help but feel on edge. Each next step was tentative and cautious. Her eyes scanned the kitchen and fell on the sleeping ghost on the fridge top. She let out an uncomfortable awkward laugh. Of course it was the ghost. She should have realized that was what they were feeling. That natural human fear response to a ghost's aura. Of course they would be feeling that, made only worse by the very real grief.

She found Jack exactly where she expected him to be. He was sleeping but it hadn’t been peaceful. The covers around him were rumpled and his eyes bagged. He had probably been lying there awake for a good portion of the night. She knew she had been before the exhaustion took her into that nightmare.

“Jack?” she asked softly as she gently shook him. Thankfully he didn’t startle, his eyes opened awkwardly with a tired and confused groan.

“Mads? What is it?” he paused, wiping sleep out of his eyes, “did something happen?” concern drifted onto his face and was alleviated as she shook her head.

“I found something. The accident,” she stumbled over the memory of it, “it wasn’t. I was looking through the control panel files. They’d been changed.”

“Sabotage?”

She nodded, “someone bypassed the safety controls and the power. They rigged it to go off while you were working.”

“But I hadn’t… I passed it off to…” his face dropped, “if I hadn’t then… Mads this…”

“Jack, that doesn’t make it your fault. Danny wanted to help and we didn’t know. We couldn’t have,” if anyone was to know it would be her she’d noticed something had been changed, even if it wasn’t obviously malicious at the time.

“Who is then, who even had access?”

“I don’t know but now we know we can find out,” Maddie said firmly, a promise. Another promise unsaid but clear, that whoever was responsible was going to regret this.

[First] [Previous] [Next]

[rockingrobin69]

Trying

It takes time, just like Draco promised, and it’s not easy, as he’s warned. Harry takes a course in the local community centre, classes every Tuesday and Thursday, six o’clock. The teacher is at least a head taller than him, and language seems to flow from her hands like magic, like the easiest thing in the world. Harry can’t wait to have a conversation with Draco like that. He’s aware he may never get this good, but it’s nice to imagine.

Learning BSL is nothing like learning French or Latin. Harry kind of likes that. He likes the signs that seem obvious, the ones that paint a picture of what they mean. He likes stating the topic in the beginning, likes the order of things being different. And he likes the way Draco looks when Harry shows him what he’s learned, the way his eyes open all big when Harry uses it to ask him what he wants for tea. Likes that he’s doing something, that it feels like he’s trying. Turns out it’s good to try.  

Level one is nice, but level two is better. One of his classmates is a lady named Rhiannon (“Fleetwood Mac, honey, what can you do”), who’s got a deaf son. She’s also got this laughter that rolls, all the way from her Adam’s apple to her shoulders to her belly, and it’s the best when he makes her laugh. They go for coffee every Tuesday after class (decaf for her, it’s past eight, baby!), and Draco sometimes joins if he gets out of work on time. Rhiannon adores him. She keeps badgering Harry every time they partner up for practice. Tell him already, sweet idiot.

Sometimes a few of the others come too. Brian, who teaches p1, and Moe, who makes the best petticoat shortbread, and Nikki, who signs in a Cardiff dialect, and Heather and Lucas and Tanya. They’re a good group. Harry’s sort of forgot you can do that, make friends simply by being at the same place at the same time. It starts awkward, but in a nice sort of way, and then in level three it’s just nice. They all stay, which is a bit unusual, they’re told. Harry likes it.

They have a Christmas night out early December. It’s at this tiny pub Rhiannon’s managed to drag them to, where all the cocktails have the funniest names and the beers are all Czech. It’s fucking fantastic. He even manages to convince Draco to stop by after his shift. Lucas and Moe dance, Tanya keeps getting shots for everybody, Nikki and Brian demolish Harry’s crisps so he buys them five more packets. Their teacher comes too, halfway through the night, and she’s written cards for everyone and shyly distributes them one at a time. His says You’re doing so well, Harry, and it makes him tear up a little bit, unreasonably so. Makes him feel—small and also, warm. In the dim pub, Draco’s smile is the most brilliant thing he’s ever seen.

It’s a lovely night. Everyone gets smashed and Draco says they’re all slurring with their hands and it makes them laugh so hard, so so hard, like it’s the funniest thing in the world, like they’re all so alive it’s electric and everything and anything is possible.

Draco takes him home. Helps him change into his pyjamas. Maybe he even strokes Harry’s hair once or twice before putting him to bed, with that smile, and the way his eyes sometimes sparkle. Spark.

Good night? He signs, eyebrows raised. 

The best. Because you were there, he doesn’t seem to be able to say. Not with his words and not with his hands.

Sleep. You’re tired.

But he doesn’t want to close his eyes. Stay?

Draco gives him a questioning look, like Harry’s missigned, said the wrong thing.

Stay with me tonight?

He tilts his head to the side. His hair’s loose, falling into his eyes, has to be brushed back by insistent fingers. Harry wants to kiss them. He must really be quite drunk, because he thinks he’s leaning forward to try it.

Please.

Draco sucks in his lower lip, but then he’s nodding, and this writhing thing in the pit of Harry’s stomach settles. He climbs into bed with Harry, fully dressed. Not smiling anymore. Harry’s a bit too drunk and too excited to make much sense of anything. All he can concentrate on is Draco, here, warm and in his bed and warm and wonderful. He tosses and turns until he finds a comfortable way to lie, with his hand brushing Draco’s, and then he’s asleep before he knows it.

Sometimes he thinks he’s dreaming in sign.

He wakes up with a headache and completely parched, slightly stricken to see Draco lying next to him. Has to think really hard before he remembers, and the way his whole brain’s thumping inside his skull isn’t helpful. The sight makes his heart flutter, bird against its cage bars: Draco’s on his back, arms at his sides, and his face is… entirely, completely soft.

Harry’s stomach gives a frightening lurch. He slides out of the covers as quietly as possible, grabs the miraculous glass of water someone’s left on the bedside table. Takes careful, measured sips, until his vision isn’t swimming, until his heart climbs back down from his throat. He feels like shit.

He can’t stop smiling.

(Flufftober day 13. Find the soft AO3 collection here).

[artificialfanfiction]

SuperStar–ONE SHOTS inspired by songs

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Disclaimer: The content on this blog is entirely fictional and created for entertainment purposes. None of the scenarios depicted here are based on real-life occurrences. Enjoy the stories and let your imagination run wild!

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pairing Noah Sebastian x reader

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Noah stood in front of the mirror backstage, his heart pounding in sync with the bass thumping through the venue walls. The crowd was already screaming his name, chanting it as though it belonged to them. They always wanted more. Always wanted something he wasn’t sure he could give. The lights, the fame, it was everything he'd dreamed of, but it still felt like a game he hadn’t quite figured out.

You were there with him, leaning against the doorframe with a soft smile. You’d been with Noah since the beginning, before the sold out shows and the screaming fans. Back when his name was just Noah, not Noah Sebastian. He glanced at you, grateful for your calm presence in the chaos that had become his life.

"You okay?" you asked, tilting your head as you watched him adjust his jacket for the millionth time.

Noah sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I don’t know. It's like… being out there is amazing, but it's terrifying at the same time, you know? What if they don’t really like me? What if it's just… hype?"

You stepped closer, your gaze steady and reassuring. "You know that's not true. You've worked for this. You are the show. It's not about being perfect, it's about being you. That’s what they came for."

Noah looked down at the necklace you’d given him when his first single dropped, a small star pendant, a reminder of what he was aiming for. He thumbed it absentmindedly. "Sometimes I wonder if I’m still me, though. Or if I’m just who they want me to be."

Before you could answer, his manager burst into the dressing room, a bundle of energy. "Noah, you’re on in two. They’re ready for you, man!"

Noah nodded, his expression tightening for a split second before he plastered on a confident smile. "Right. Time to be a superstar."

You grabbed his arm just before he turned to leave. "Hey," you said softly, your voice cutting through the noise and adrenaline. "You don’t have to be anything other than who you are. Just go out there and do what you love. Let the rest fall where it may."

Noah stared into your eyes, the weight of your words sinking in. It was always you who reminded him of who he was beneath the glittering lights and the stage persona. The connection he felt with you was real, something no stage or spotlight could take away.

"Thank you," he whispered, the sincerity in his voice palpable. He pulled you into a quick hug, resting his chin on your head for just a moment before pulling away. "I needed that."

"You always got this," you said with a smirk. "Now go show them why you're a superstar."

With one last look, he nodded and made his way toward the stage entrance, the roar of the crowd growing louder with each step. The adrenaline surged through his veins as the lights dimmed, casting the arena in darkness. Noah could feel the energy of the audience, an electric buzz that filled the space between him and the people who had come to see him.

He paused, just before stepping into the spotlight, letting the moment sink in. The intro music started, and the stage lights exploded into life, illuminating him in a halo of blinding light. The crowd erupted, their cheers vibrating through his body.

For a split second, it all felt surreal. The fame, the attention, it had once been just a dream, a distant fantasy he and you used to talk about late at night. Now it was his reality, and it terrified him as much as it thrilled him.

But then, the music hit. The first beat dropped, and everything else fell away. The anxiety, the doubt, it melted in the heat of the moment. Noah stepped forward, owning the stage like he had been born for it. He gripped the mic, his voice cutting through the air, raw and real, pouring out everything he had.

The crowd moved as one, their arms swaying in the air, singing along with every word. For that moment, Noah Sebastian wasn’t just an artist on a stage. He was connected to every person in that crowd, all of them reflecting back the emotions he was spilling out into the world.

But even with all the noise, all the lights, Noah’s mind drifted back to you. You, standing backstage, believing in him even when he couldn’t believe in himself. You, reminding him that he wasn’t just a persona or a product. He was a person, a person who had fought for this, who had earned it.

And as the song hit its crescendo, Noah’s eyes flicked to the side of the stage, where you stood, watching him with that same steady smile. He winked at you, the two of you sharing a moment that was yours alone amidst the chaos.

As the final notes rang out and the applause swelled, Noah held the mic close to his lips, his voice low and hushed as he spoke to the crowd.

"I want to thank all of you for being here tonight," he said, his breath still heavy. "But more than that… I want to thank someone special who’s been with me from day one. You know who you are."

He shot you a look that made your heart race. The crowd cheered, oblivious to the connection between you and him, but it didn’t matter. That moment was for you.

Because no matter how high he climbed, how big the stage got, or how loud the crowd roared, Noah knew one thing for sure: he’d always have you to keep him grounded, to remind him that underneath it all, he was still Noah.

And in that, he was more than a superstar. He was whole.

[vaguelyoriginaldrivel]

GANYMEDE

The largest and most important of the Gallilean moons. Continents of ice floating above an unfathomably deep sea, a thin and cold atmosphere barely clinging to its surface. Sprawling tundra of squamous lichens and icy shores piled high with red kelp. So distant from the sun, the dim light of the sky and the soft glare of Jupiter can provide only enough light and heat to sustain a paltry assemblage of primitive flora across most of the world, which in turn supports a meager assortment of radial-beaked rabbits and hexaped moose. At the poles, however, the situation changes. Unlike every other moon in the entire solar system, Ganymede has a magnetosphere, and this electric dynamo produces, when combined with the intense radiation of the jovian belt, a 24/7 aurora borealis, green and blue light dancing across the sky. There, the ecosystem is more advanced, transitioning from tundra and muskeg to scrubland, rolling hills, and, in a hundred-mile basin resting near the north pole, Ganymede’s only forest, an unknown land shrouded beneath the canopies of its towering pines.

The aboriginal people of Ganymede are the Lah-cyg, who look something like two swans sewn together back-to-back, using their twin necks to sling spears, row oars, and perform all the rest of the manipulations humans use hands for. They stand about as tall as men, but, adapted to Ganymede’s low gravity and evolved treading over thin ice and boggy ground, are considerably lighter and weaker. They’re a culturally diverse species, having spread across Ganymede millennia ago and formed into many now distinct peoples, from the canoe whalers of the southern sea to the bobsled-hunters of the deep tundra to the leshy-emperors of the great forest. Though their anatomy is alien, psychologically and behaviorally they are very near-human, even if they communicate as much with their eight flag-wings as their voices and their natural lifespan is near five hundred years.

Ganymede was already under an extraterrestrial yoke when the tsan-chan first arrived. The Garzbhel amphibians, polypous frog things either convergent on or distantly related to the moon beasts of luna, had, from their europan homeward, descended on Ganymede along with the rest of the jovian system, flying across the void of space on the backs of their slave-steeds, the xeno-pegasi known as the Oxarith. From their forts and feitorias of gelatinous stone, they meddled with the affairs of the Lah-cyg, demanding slaves, their compradors and tributaries among the ganymedians given access to their trumpet-spiraled guns to aid in the slave-raids. Ganymede was ravaged by slave-wars, the losers stuffed in cages and hauled across the void to toil and die beneath Europa, the winners given more guns and ammo to capture ore slaves. It was in this context that the Tsan-Chan arrived. The Garzbhel would not bend the knee, and so the Tsan-Chan beat them back to Europa. It was a brief war, Garzbhel void-chariots against Tsan-Chan torchships like roman triremes against 21st-century aircraft carriers - the Garzbhel retreated to the wine-dark seas beneath Europa, collapsed the ice-shafts behind them, and have not emerged in force since. The only ones seen now are the few guerrilla holdouts left hiding out in the uncharted wilds, and the scant few who submitted to Tsan-Chan conquest. The mere passing of the Garzbhel would have been enough to throw their accomplices, the warrior-kindoms which grew wealthy off the slave trade, into turmoil - the Tsan-chan did not even give them that chance. Those old kingdoms are now subjects of the cruel empire, and the entire moon is claimed as a possession by the tsan-chan - though, the control is more tenuous in reality than on paper. Ganymede is the largest moon in the solar system, and much of its vastness remains untouched by human hands (though not by lah-cyg beaks).

The Tsan-Chan, unlike the Garzbhel, do not come to Ganymede seeking slaves. Nor do they come seeking furs, or moss, or ice. From Ganymede they want only one thing - fish. The Tsan-Chan have raised on Ganymede a series of sea-ports, little bays with raised walls and guns on towers, but really the seat of their occupation is their only Gaynmedian city - Nuevo Francisco. The entire city is built and devoted to processing as much fish as possible, gutting, canning, and launching into orbit to provide the rest of the empire with cheap protein from the Gallilean sea. It reeks, of course, of salt and blood and brine - noisy, too, the grinding of the factory-machines, the rumbling of the ship-engines, the constant motion of the task.

The ice-trawlers that feed Nuevo Francisco dredge far and wide and deep, smashing through the delicate ecosystems perched on the iceberg-shelf. These are not the chief target, though - the native species too clever and wild and balanced in appetite and growth for the Tsan-Chan use. What they seek is fish in the true sense, not just the Ganymedian analogues. Hatchery towers spill into Nuevo Francisco’s bay, their insides churning with millions and billions of fry, bred in tanks, genelines broken and spliced and chained to maximize speed of growth, monstrous things as artificial as the ships which catch them.

Of course this monstrous industry has had wide-ranging impacts at every step of the process. The Lah-cyg of Ganymede’s coasts are impacted, of course, whether pushed off the seas directly to make room for Tsan-Chan ships, or indirectly by the competition, mauled by the malformed jaws of the hyperagressive terran frankenfish or poisoned by their unnatural flesh. So to is the natural life - anything in the path of the dredge-nets, is annihilated utterly, but the impact extends beyond the reach of ice-trawlers and their piscine quarry. Many of the species who rest on Ganymede’s icy shares dive for their food, and so the ravaging of the coastline has threatened them, and with them all the parasites and predators who attack them on land - the loss of this quarry driving starving carnivores inland, with it’s own knock-on effects. Even the fauna of the void above have suffered, the vacuum-pelicans which once dove for fish coming up more and more with empty beaks, and without the nutrients of their dung the high mountains and dead comets on which they nest struggle to survive. Ganymede’s seas are deep beyond measure, and the neritic zone which man has touched barely a fraction of it’s true extent, yet the easy life of the starlit waters is vital to the life of much of what lives below, but unlike land and sky the depths of Ganymede’s seas are truly unknown… few can even dream of what stirs below.

things I couldn’t figure out how to fit in the post:

Nuevo Francisco, and the tsan-chanese on ganymede more broadly, are by-and-large deep one hybrids - actually part of the reason why they stock the seas with earth-fish, because their abilities to call fish into nets don’t work on alien species.. there’s no full-blooded deep ones though because the true deep ones are on tenuous terms with the tsan-chan anyways and are frankly just not well-suited to the long transit to Jupiter, being enormous and requiring lots of space and water.. confinement in a metal can barely their own size for several months would be nearly unsurvivable

As always, the impacts of colonization has driven many Lah-cyg into the city to try and find work because their traditional lifestyle has been made impossible.. mostly been relegated to domestic work, wiping windows, scrubbing floors, peeling potatoes, etc -

Lah-Cyg essentially stone age because there’s no metals to work, best they can really get is good rocks from the gravel of the rocks embedded in some parts of the ice but they mostly work with bone and leather.. tundra and muskeg and stuff makes for poor agricultural soil, a few peoples in especially fertile regions able to get by with chinampas but by and large everyone’s either a fisher, hunter, or herder.. canoes mostly inuit-style umiak.. “Leshy-Emperors”, the people of the great northern forest, wealthiest, most advanced and last really independent Lah-Cyg state due to monopoly over wood trade granting historical wealth and in modern times cover of the forest shielding from Garzbhel and Tsan-Chan invasion

Mi-Go presence on Ganymede is very, very limited - a few emmisaries have been sent to try and torment rebellion among the Lah-Cyg but the lack of both mineral resources not buried under a million miles of uncharted water and much in the way of men of learning to brain-can means they care little for the moon itself

something something black citadel city of the billion-year past spawn of yuggoth, architecture similar to the prison-temple of ghatnoathao, inside a brother-god of ghatnothoa and rhan-tegoth but a dead one.. medusa-motifs dictate that chryasaor-style thing stalks inside, sea foams with horrid-flapping things that emerge from the sea-foam and fly off into space.. this original birthplace of the Oxarith pegasi, who instinctually fear it knowing that it would destroy them to know their own origins

Ganymede in the dream is a solid shell of ice, no seas no nothing, with enormous chains wrapping across the entire planet.. dreamers wander its surface shivering and freezing. . strange groaning beneath the ice

this is because the entire planet is a prison for horrible elder-gods held at it’s core, confined beneath the deepest ocean in the solar-system under countless layers of ice.. as secure as can be, great cthulu only gets one ocean on top of him instead of like five.. secure in the dream, where they’re awake, less so in the waking world where the ice is cracked

[kayzero]

So like. Julius Caesar and Pope Gregory XIII don’t exist in the Pokémon universe. So there’s no reason for the Julian or Gregorian calendars to exist. Angels don’t exist in the Pokémon universe either, so the Enoch calendar, but the story behind that is Uriel came down and gave Enoch a calendar with exactly 13 weeks in all four seasons for 364 days.

Black and White confirmed that the Pokémon universe has four seasons, and it’s entirely possible for a human to have created a calendar splitting Arceus’ eighteen Plates throughout the year, each month containing 4 five-day weeks.

And if they did, the months could look something like this:

[ Image ID: A list containing all eighteen Pokémon types split between the four seasons. Spring has Normal, Fairy, Poison, and Electric types, with Electric underlined. Summer has Grass, Bug, Fire, Steel, and Fighting types, with Grass and Bug italicized and Fire underlined. Autumn has Psychic, Flying, Ground, and Dragon, with Flying Underlined. Finally, Winter has Rock, Ghost, Ice, Dark, and Water, with Ice and Water underlined. / End ID. ]

Explanations under the cut.

Summer and Winter have five months because of math Fire and Ice are the Summer and Winter Types. These are explained in-universe as the Supreme (Type) Months, the months in the dead middle of their respective seasons without any dimming or bleeding into the next season. And this is TRUE in the Pokémon universe because (most) people aren’t stupid enough to cause ecological disasters when causing an ecological disaster awakens an all-powerful legendary Pokémon that’s angry at you specifically for causing an ecological disaster! Global warming doesn’t exist! People are afraid of Cappy the Polar Ice Cap Legendary smacking them out of existence!

I’m open to discussion and suggestions about where to shift each type.

Italicized types were considered for a different season, and will be explained more thoroughly.

Underlined types probably won’t be changed without an Astounding Logical Argument that makes me feel stupid for even considering anything else.

Spring:

Animals give birth in the spring and Normal Type Pokémon are based on normal animals.

Fairies are associated with. Um. *flips notes* n. nature. i’m gonna be real with you in every planned-but-not-written explanation of a human sensing fairy type energy i describe it as “smelling wildflowers” and that’s all that went through my head.

Poisonous animals like frogs and snakes and the like. They hibernate. They come out of hibernation in the spring. Yay! This could easily be Winter for the same reason PLUS the fact that you store poisons in cold, sometimes freezing, temperatures.

Electric likely will not change. Thunderstorms happen most frequently in the spring months, because of the moisture and the heat present in the air. Electric could have easily been a Summer Type but I figured that because it rains more frequently in the spring because of snowmelt (“April Showers … May Flowers”), it would be easy to rationalize thunderstorms happening more often in the Spring in Pokéland.

Summer:

Grass and Bug were both considered for Spring because of the whole winter melts away and grass blooms and whatnot and then of course once the plants bloom it attracts the bugs. If I were going to change these two Grass would go to Spring and Bug would stay in Summer maybe.

But I ended up choosing Summer for these two because the summer sun makes the Grass grow and also all the other plants and then the heat and humidity brings all the Bugs to the yard. and they’re like. your sweat is tasty. why do bugs swarm humans we’re so much bigger than them.

Fire is unlikely to change. It’s the Sound of Summer. Summer hot. Sun go brr. Heat Wave Waves Heatingly. Etcetera.

You use fires to forge Steel. Or something along those lines. Honestly I just pulled that out of my butt, I was thinking about Heatran and like Heatran is a legendary and sub Steel. Volcanos or whatever.

THE FLAMES OF YOUTH IGNITE WITHIN FIGHTING TYPES and that’s why they’re in the summer. If you try to fight in the winter you like. Cramp up or something right? Is that bias? I hate winter it causes my body pain.

Autumn

Psy. chic? Fall Season is. appropriately. brain. y. (this is literally my favorite type i was NOT going to put it into the Evil Winter Season. die winter. i hope the global warms faster i’d rather drown than freeze.)

Flying was unlikely to change... however, migration plus tornadoes sneason was my initial thought. But Tornadus-Therian Searion is actually in the spring and migration is a two way street, the birds come back in the pringles. I might just. Switch Flying and Poison. If you Aggron Agree with switching Flying with Poison let me know in the comments.

You know how you run out of spaces and a type just HAS to go into a slot? Luckily I only had one of those. Unlucky it was Dragon. You smart folks probably have a better idea as to what Dragon should switch into but unless you have a good reason as to why the second Type should switch out, don’t @ me (or do @ me I like the attention).

Winter

Mountains are wintery and snowy because they’re so tall. And do you know what mountains are made of? …You do? Can you tell me, I’m lost, I thought they were made of chocolate but they don’t melt in the summer time so that idea’s washed…

Ghost was originally in the Fall, because Spooky Halloween, except not only could October totally be in the Winter now that I’m in charge of the calendar, and if it can’t, then Halloween doesn’t have to be a Fall holiday, it can be a winter holiday!

Ice? Ice. Baby.

Do you know how Dark it gets during the winter? How quickly it gets Dark? Even if we eliminate Daylight Savings (and we are eliminating Daylight Savings) the Equinox still happens in Winter. Days are still shorter. Darker. Sneasel type.

Water is unlikely to change. Like, it was initially in the spring because “oh look the ice is melting it’s time for spring” no bitch that shit cold. the ocean is cold. even during the summer the lakes are cold. it’s at the end of Winter towards the Spring side of things but That Shit Cold.

and that’s it that’s all i have does anyone have ideas for month names or day names aren’t the months named after like. emperors or something. should we name the months after legendaries. If someone comes up with a month name that’s a palindrome that starts with Ho and ends with oh I’ll give you $10. Call that a fiction commission.

[halfsizehellboy]

wilson being primarily sensory avoidant makes so much sense to me. He’s on the quieter side, I've mentioned light sensitivity before, and he is super tame compared to house, who is definitely sensory seeking in a lot of ways. We've seen both of them forgo crowded parties or social events, either together or separately. wilson can’t keep his mask that long, and house just doesn't get along with people. I also don't think wilson likes the complexity of noise that is dozens of conversations, eating noises, background music, and appliance electricity that makes up a social dinner event. He likes to attend the talks and lectures because then at least only one person is talking. He likes it to be quiet and dark when he’s tired, and it’s the one thing he’s been able to enforce in his and house’s apartment. I think wilson’s got that light-touch aversion, so if you bear hug him and slap him on the shoulder every once in a while he’s all good. He definitely owns a weighted blanket. 

Which makes poetic sense that house is sensory seeking— his nerves are fucked from surgery and vicodin, and he doesn’t always feel stuff like he used to, but he still looks for stimulation everywhere. He blasts his music, throws his ball around, and starts arguments because that’s a fun thing for him. Sex is sensory, and he seeks that out too. He drinks alcohol because it makes him feel more that he wants and a little less of his leg. Jumping off the balcony into the pool? Sensory seeking that adrenaline rush. He spends that entire episode trying to drown out his bad feelings with good feelings. 

Their apartment is insane, and it took a long time to balance it. Their bedroom is soundproofed for many reasons, and once they’ve organized it how they like it it rarely changes (sometimes wilson will feel insane and reorganize the kitchen or bathroom). Their bedroom has always stayed the same. Wilson has a home office in the other bedroom that is always supposed to be a quiet zone, and House doesn’t take home work. They have two wheely office chairs though, because sometimes house’s leg can’t be weight bearing and he still needs to get around the apartment. There’s a designated sensory sheet, which is for hiding under or dimming lights. 

They sleep in ways that accommodate house’s leg, but wilson usually smashes his face against house’s chest/neck/back. sometimes wilson scratches his scalp more as stimming/compulsion or a habit, but it can quickly get to be harmful because it’s so often a bad times thing. if they’re at home, house will replace wilson’s hands with his own and scratch more with his fingertips than his nails, or just pets his head for a while. At the hospital he just slaps at wilson’s hands because it’s funnier. 

wilson does not have many sensory toys/fidgets or external regulation things, if he needs one he’ll usually just borrow one of house’s (with permission bc house needs to know where things are all the time). But he does have two rubbery sensory brush things (I'm projecting they're called tactile tigers. I have cried over almost losing one and I will be buried with mine. I also have two because one stays in my room and one goes everywhere outside my room) that he adores. He doesn't need them all the time but he always has one. He rubs it on the back of his neck, in his hands, all over his arms, even on his face. He absolutely keeps stealing the shot blockers from the peds wing because they’re awesome for fidgeting, and sometimes he needs one for his patients too. 

Ok, hear me out on this: I usually get tired of cgi/ newer movies because they don't interest me a lot, and I can like. Tell whats computered and what’s real. there’s less joy in it for me to figure out how they did it. I think wilson is the same way. Older movies had less tech, so they had to get creative with how they make things: jurassic park’s giant animatronic t rex, chocolate syrup blood in black and white movies, and all those other practical effects that lower/mid budget movies used to use. It’s often so much more interesting to recognize the spray painted oven mitt slug or the tinsel-wrapped terrier, than it is to see a completely computer generated creature. I am not shitting on CGI or CGI artists!! It’s super cool tech and an awesome profession!! I just have eyes that fatigue very easily, and older movies aren’t as HD ergo not as hard on my eyes. And I like figuring out how they did practical effects and I think wilson would really like that too. 

I think next i’m gonna ramble about sexy things?? I feel insane

[borntoocry]

𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲.       e. williams

modern au musician Ellie x thick latina fem!oc 

word count: 4.3k 

summary: Ellie williams plays in a band with Dina and Jesse. this night, she performs at a venue in her city and finds a cute girl to look at--Gabriela De Leon. After the show, they chat... 

warnings: not verbal, but mentions of racism. that’s about it. 

a/n: as a latina, representation MATTERS. so i wrote something i rarely see on tumblr.

I also wanted to mention that while I am not Mexican (I'm Salvadoran), 99% of my friends were Mexican. I grew up with my Mexican buddies and I learned a lot about their culture, the language that is most def different than my salvi spanish, and the different towns, cities, pueblos. :)

Popping your head into the main stage before a performance should be illegal. It stirs excitement in some performers, but to me, it ties my organs into a knot and shoves them right up my throat. I have been doing this for the past three shows now–but I regret it more each time; and Dina hisses at me each time. But it’s a habit I can’t shake, like someone biting their nails or shaking their leg, or scratching their neck. I need to know how many people are in the room (even though I’m still small and my band only receives attention because they’re attractive), and who I should stare at when I’m singing.

I take back the last thing I said–we’re good. Our band doesn’t get this much of a crowd because we’re attractive. We gain bigger and bigger crowds because we’re actually good. At least that’s what I tell myself.

I play the guitar–both electric and acoustic– and I sing, Jesse is on drums, and Dina plays the piano and does back-up vocals. I would add a fourth, but I don’t know anyone else. I’m shy, and a nervous wreck when it comes to meeting new people, so I stick to the same two people I have stuck by since high school. Plus, they’re good enough for me.

“Stop peeking!” Dina reprimands, slapping my arm so it falls to my side. “You’re going to drive yourself crazy and you won’t be able to perform.”

I huff. “I’m not going to drive myself crazy and I’ll put on a hell of a performance.  I do it all the time, don’t I?”

“We’ve only played two shows,” Jesse says. “You keep peeking and you’re going to end up throwing up instead of singing.”

“Shut the hell up,” I say. I peek again and take another look at the faces crowded around one another. It’s a small venue, but it’s packed, nonetheless. People know about us because we’ve stamped posters all over the city and released music with shitty music videos and have opened for small indie bands. People also follow me on Instagram, where I try my best to make people like me; make it seem like I’m not some introverted loser who spends most of her time locked up in her room writing and recording music. I am a different person online, and because of that, people love me. “There’s more people than before.”

Dina stands next to me and looks around as well. She doesn’t care if people see her, she actually enjoys that some people treat her like a celebrity. She might as well be with her big smile and nice hair and cool style. She’s the beauty and the brains people love looking at.

“No shit,” she whispers. She gasps at the sight of something, and I bounce back from her eyes to the girl she’s looking at. “I know her! She’s in my American Literature class. She’s so smart.”

I take a look at the girl. Her brown skin is shining beneath the dim lighting that flashes pink, then yellow, then green–it’s as if she allowed the sun to nurse her, paint her a darker and sleeker shade of brown. Her eyes are green and yellow, meshed into the color of the sun, like it didn’t only bathe her skin. Her cheeks grow wider when she smiles, and she stares diligently at her friend when she speaks.

The girl has on a shirt that looks more like a bra, but maybe doesn’t function as one, either. Her breasts are slightly spilling out but nothing else is seen. I scan the bottom half of her body and try to shut my mouth as best as possible. She moves around a little, shimmying to the music that fails to drown out the sea of voices. She wears a skirt but with each slight turn, I catch a vast expanse of skin that trails under the jean fabric.

“Try not to drool, I think they just mopped the floors,” Dina says.

I blindly slap her arm because I am beyond concentrated to break away from the beautiful girl. She has a lot to grab onto, I think, but I shut my eyes and tell myself that’s perverted. I’ve yet to meet her, to know if she likes girls– to know if she likes me– and I’m already thinking about what her skin would feel like in my hands.

“If you wrote a song about loving thick girls, so many people would come running to you,” Dina says. “You write about girls but most of the women in your dm’s never fit your type.”

I laugh. “Oh yeah? And what’s my type?”

“Latina’s you so cannot handle,” she laughs. “Gabby is very independent, she has this intense feminine aura and you can’t forget she’s fucking hot. Not only was this girl blessed with one of the biggest asses I’ve seen, but look at her rack!”

“Gabby,” I whisper, ecstatic that I have a name to add to her face.

“Yeah. Gabriela De Leon. She’s from Guadalajara, Mexico. Moved to Cali when she was nine, moved to Vegas for college,” Dina whispers. I turn to her, eyebrows scrunched and my mind throwing questions at me to ask, like how in the hell does Dina know this. She purses her lips. “I was put in a group with her a couple weeks ago. She told me her life story after I told her my sad one.”

“And what’d she think?” I ask. “About your life.”

“It wasn’t sad enough.”

“What?” I spit.

“Joking. She’s an angel. She gave me a hug and said I could talk to her if I ever needed to.”

I nod. “Cool. Coolcoolcool. Cool.” I move away from the wall and grab my guitar that sits next to the wrinkly couch and pull it over my head. The strap remains nestled on my shoulder and I nurse the body of the guitar in my hands. I drag my fingers down the thickness of the guitar and tap the very end. “I shouldn’t have looked,” I groan. “Fuck me. Now I’m worried I’ll fuck up.”

Dina walks over to me and lays her head on my right shoulder. “You’ll be fine,” she says with one hand rubbing my bicep. “Just stare at Gabby’s boobs and you’ll be okay.”

I drop my head and try not to imagine her skin spilling out of her top. “That’ll just make me fuck up even more. Plus, I don’t even think she likes girls.”

Dina cackles. “Jess, she thinks she isn’t gay,” she says to Jesse. “Oh hun, she is a raging lesbian. Man-hating, woman-loving, boob-loving, guitar player-loving lesbian. When she sees you up there her panties are going to fall on the floor and crawl over to you.”

I wince. “That panty part is scary. But it’d be interesting to know what they look like.”

Dina hugs me tight and kisses my temple. “You’ll be great. We’ll be great,” she exclaims. “So let’s get up there and rock everyone’s panties off!”

I take a seat on a bright orange stool and pull my guitar onto my chest. I look around the crowded room to catch another look at all of the faces. A lot of girls. Pretty girls that  look like they spent hours on their makeup. And then I see Gabby, who stands closer now, close to the invisible barricade. She’s no longer speaking to her friend, but she is staring back at me. She smiles, and I smile back. I try to speak to her with my eyes, but I cannot even speak in general, so I tear my eyes away from her and look at my guitar instead. I trail my fingertips down the strings, down the grooves in the wood from all of the banging against my desk, and the plug that is already jammed into my guitar.

I pull the microphone down a notch and clear my throat. I look up at the crowd that smiles and I nod. “Do I sound alright to you guys?” I ask.

Everyone cheers.

“Great. So before we start, I want to introduce myself and my wonderful band.” I slightly turn around and carry the microphone with me. I’m no longer surprised that I don’t stutter when I’m on stage. Or sweat through my clothes from anxiety. I’m somehow used to this after all of the stages I’ve been on since my freshman year of college. “First of all, my name is Ellie. I just turned twenty-one a couple months ago, so if anyone wants to treat me to a drink, you sure can. I’m a junior in college and… to everyone’s surprise, I am not a music major. I’ll let you guys guess.”

I stand up from my stool and walk around the chords, trying not to trip. I walk over to Dina and wrap my hand around her waist, pulling her in. She laughs and shoves me off. “This is Dina. She’s the youngest–just turned twenty! She’s a smart one. She graduated high school early and excelled in maths, so if you need help with your math homework, visit her after the show.”

And finally, I stumble over to Jesse. “Anddd Jesse. This one is the oldest. Twenty-three and ready to mingle, ladies.”

I return to my stool and strum all chords, getting ready to absolutely kill my fingers. I pull the mic down again and look over the crowd, resting on Gabby as I say, “If you’re a pretty girl, sing along, and I hope you enjoy the show.”

“I need a drink,” I mutter as I set my guitar onto its stand and grab a new water bottle from the minifridge. I gargle half of it down even though I drank an entire bottle onstage.

“You should go out there. It’ll be on me, just tell the bartender,” Dina says.

I nod and quickly tear off my flannel. I walk around backstage and find the bar in a second. I sit down at a stool and the bartender quickly makes way towards me. He asks what I want, and I say, “Whiskey… on the rocks or whatever that is.” He nods and doesn’t care if I sound like a child ordering something alcoholic. I know little to nothing about alcohol except for the fact that if you have too much, it turns you into a drunken mess, and you wake up with a sick hangover the next day. You can also have the most amazing sex, but that might be a lie.

The bartender returns with a glass and I instantly down it, returning it to him and watching him make another. I shouldn’t be drinking tonight, but I did have one of the best shows ever. Gabby knew all of my songs, she danced and twirled and I got to see her ass failing to remain in her jean skirt.

A new cup of whiskey is placed in front of me and I hear someone giggle beside me. I turn to find Gabby hovering over me and the chair directly next to me. I pull it back and she quickly takes a seat. “That’s a grandpa drink for someone who just turned twenty-one.”

Gabby has an accent, which doesn’t surprise me. Dina mentioned she immigrated to California from Guadalajara, Mexico when she was nine. She looks to be twenty, maybe twenty-one.

I shrug. “I was raised by a grandpa, so maybe that means something.”

She chuckles. “I understand. I was drinking with my family by the time I was fifteen, so straight tequila in a glass doesn’t hurt anymore.”

I laugh but on the inside I’m slightly alarmed. “And how does that work? Were you not supervised?”

“Oh no, I was. It’s common in Mexican culture for people to start drinking at a young age. Many Mexican parents would rather you drink with them than with people you don’t completely trust, or haven’t known for a long time. At least that’s the case for me and some of my friends,” she says.

I nod. “I was worried for a second.”

She leans into me and gently shoves my shoulder. “I take you never drunk with your old man?”

“Not until I was nineteen,” I reply. “He knew I would drink but it wasn’t until I was nineteen that we finally shared our first drink together.”

Gabby hums. “Good to know.” I nod. She glances around the room–at the bartender, who heard her say she’s been drinking since she was fifteen, and at the new set of people shuffling in for the DJ that's performing later. She then looks back at me and smiles. “You know Dina.”

I nod. “We’re in a band together.”

Her cheeks turn cherry red and she shrinks. “Yeah, yeah, of course. I know but I didn’t know-know that you were best friends. Sort of thought you hired her. She never speaks about you during American Lit–not even the band.”

I shrug. I know Dina separates singing and playing for my small band from the rest of her life. She believes playing in a band is different than anything else she has done, and wants to keep the rest of her cheerful duties apart. I don’t blame her for it, it’s her choice.

“I don’t mind her being quiet about it,” I say. “And I didn’t hire her, she’s just been my friend since high school and I begged her to play in a band with me. But…” I dig my nails into my neck to keep the nervousness at bay, but it fails. I feel like a jerk for making her blush and shrink down into her seat. “I didn’t mean to come off as an asshole. I promise I’m not, I just don’t know how to make conversation off the stage. I’m actually a nervous wreck right now.”

Gabby raises an eyebrow at me and lowers it when she sees something on my face. She leans in and I swallow down the bile threatening to spill out of me. Her chest is close to my face and I try not to say or do anything. She wipes my forehead with a napkin that magically appeared in her hand, and sits back down into her chair.

“I can tell,” she says. “But it’s alright, I’m not judging you. Don’t be a nervous wreck.”

“Easier said than done,” I murmur.

“I wouldn’t take you as the nervous person when speaking to girls. Sort of thought you’d be bold, confident. Not scared of judgment. But it does feel good to know you get just as nervous as other people–like me.”

I scoff. “You’re nervous right now?”

It’s hard to believe her thoughts racing just like mine are right now. She leaned towards me, removed the sheen of sweat coating my forehead, therefore she must have smelled me just like I’d done; and during that, her nerves were wrapping around her throat and choking her. Maybe she’s the type to tuck away her anxiety and flirt with whoever’s on her mind.

She nods. She holds out her hands, trying to steady them. They shake about but she forms them into fists before I can sandwich them between my hands. She places her hands between her thighs and smiles up at me as if she isn’t dying in front of me. “I don’t usually talk to people, I’m the friend who stays in. But I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see you perform.”

“And talk to me,” I add.

“Yeah,” she says, shining her bright smile at me. She has nice teeth: strikingly white, teeth aligned as if she had braces, but crooked enough to know that she never had them. A few imperfections scatter across her cheeks, but nothing about it pushes me away. “My friend told me to come talk to you. She said I’ll never know what you’re like unless I talk to you. And I’ve wanted to know what you’re like since… well since you started making music.”

I tuck my lips into my mouth to hide my smile, but as I say, “A loyal fan, thank you,” it spills over and pulls my lips up to my hairline.

“I heard you went to my university, and when I checked you out I sort of fell in love with all of your songs. And you wrote them all, too,” she rants, telling me about how amazed she is that I wrote all of my music, especially since many musicians don’t do that anymore. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but sometimes you can tell, you know? Because imagine if… Snoop Dogg was writing music for Phoebe Bridgers. Would never happen but imagine how strange that would sound. She was made to write sad music for sad bitches.”

I cackle. I down the rest of my drink and push it aside. The bartender casts me a look, non-verbally asking if I want another round, but I shake my head. If Gabby won’t drink–or can’t, in this case, now that the bartender knows her secret–I won’t, either.

I swivel my body so she gains my full attention and say, “If Snoop Dogg wrote music for me I’d end up trying to rap it while playing the acoustic guitar and end up with a mess. I’m thankful he doesn’t even know who I am nor would want to write music for me.”

“I think you’re a great writer,” she says, in a tone of voice that has my entire body sweating through my clothes. Venues are typically hot, scorching at times, but right now it’s freezing. Therefore I can’t blame it on the room, only myself and my scorching nerves. She’s only complimenting me and I’m already melting. I sarcastically roll my eyes. She places a hand on my thigh. “I’m serious! You make me cry all the time.”

My hands resting on the bar counter itch to touch her, and if I don’t, I might thrash my head against the dressing room wall once she leaves. So, I slowly place my right hand over the one that rests on my clothed skin. “I don’t try to make people cry. Especially pretty girls. Unless we’re in a completely different setting.”

Her cheeks fill with crimson blood and she drops her head, forcing her long black hair into her face. I lower my head to her level and smirk at the way my words affected her. “What?” I whisper. “What’d I say?”

She lifts her head and runs her tongue along her teeth. “You’re…” She pauses. Then groans. “The word left my brain. I want to say that you’re a good flirt. I know what you meant when you said you only want to make girls cry in a different setting.”

“Dina tells me you take American Lit and are a complete genius in it. I knew you could piece little context clues together.”

Her hand rubs along my thigh and my knee, pulling my hand along with her. She rubs her thumb along my knee and I feel my boxers become damp. “AM Lit is more so about the history of literature, about authors and race and identity. But to understand whatever the hell they talk about in the 1800’s, you have to be good with context clues and figurative language, so I take your compliment.”

“You’re a smart girl,” I tell her.

“I have to be,” she answers.

My eyebrows slam into one another and my face falls into a look of confusion. “What do you mean?” I ask her.

“I’m a Mexican  immigrant,” she begins. “My parents and I crossed the border eleven years ago for a better life. I was put into English school immediately so I could catch up with everything I lacked in Mexico and by the time I was eleven, I knew enough English to help my parents with paperwork, with translating, with paying bills and all the things an eleven year old shouldn’t have been worrying about. If I didn’t know something, I was dumb, because how is it that I went to school in America but I didn’t know what eleven times twelve was. So I worked my ass off–I had to be a genius, because I fought hard to be here, to become an American citizen. Being stupid was no option.”

I remove my hand from hers and instead sandwich her hands between mine. “I don’t know what to say,” I tell her. “I didn’t have to worry about anything as much as you did, but I do find you fearless now that I know your story. I feel bad that you couldn’t have a long childhood but… I do think you ended up pretty fucking awesome.”

She chuckles. “I’m sorry for dropping all of that information about me. I don’t blame you for not knowing what to say. I probably should have answered a little differently.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s okay. I just suck at responding to life stories so I’m trying to express that I am sorry for you having to go through that and I’m sorry that I can’t relate to you–”

“No, no, no it’s okay. I am beyond happy that you can’t relate. It means you had time to be a child. I’m grateful for my hardworking parents and the chance to live here but I wouldn’t wish my rough childhood on anyone. I wish I didn’t have to translate and fill out paperwork and essentially be my parents-parents,” she says with a laugh at the end. “Trust me, you are happy you can’t relate.”

“Okay,” I whisper. A wave of silence washes over us and we both must feel someone staring at us, because we turn our heads and look at the bartender glaring at us. His eyebrows are caving into the tip of his nose by how furrowed they are, and he’s frozen in place. “What?” I shout.

“Ellie,” Gabby hisses, grasping my cheek and pulling me away from the man. She laughs when she looks at me, and I slowly double over, clasping my mouth to get the noise to go back into my stomach. “Oh my god,” she laughs, “He probably heard me trauma-dumping and– Oh that’s embarrassing.”

I slowly pull away and sit up with a steady face and no ounce of a laugh rumbling in my stomach. “I don’t care, old dudes bring their sugar babies here and say the crudest shit ever. But now that someone is talking about their pretty fuckin’ interesting story, they wanna give people an onset stare. Not even a bit of a side eye thing, just staring us straight down. What a jerk.”

She rubs my thigh and leans in. She props her arm beside her head and sets the side of her face on her hand. “People give me looks like that all the time.”

“Well now that I know you, let me know when someone is being a racist asshole and I’ll fuck them up for you.”

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t need your help, Ellie Williams. I have had my own back since I was a kid. But if I do run into any issues, I’ll text you.”

“Even if you don’t need me to fight anyone, you can text me.”

She grins, showing her perfect teeth. She nods and pulls her hand off her face, instead reaching over to me and pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. Her fingertips linger on my ear, and then run over my shoulders and chin. She places the pad of her thumb on my bottom lip and stares at my mouth like she might just bite my lips off. “We haven’t had a conversation for long but I do already want to kiss you.”

“Have you been wanting to since I started making music?” I ask, to be funny, but we don’t laugh, we just stare at one another’s mouths.

She shrugs. “When I started listening to your music I was talking to someone. But they ended up being a homophobic asshole who turned me 100% gay. And then you came out with your sad album in October and you looked very sexy in your heartbreak-pink suit and I kind of wanted to kiss the frown off your face.”

I begin leaning into her. I grab the bottom of her stool and pull her in. A sound between a yelp and a ‘no’ draws out of her mouth but I don’t fully pay attention. She now places her hands on my chest and I push her hair out of her face.

She slaps my shoulders and says, “Do not do that!”

“Do what?”

“Pull me in!”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispers.

I scoff. “How would you hurt me?”

She swallows the rock lodged in her throat and looks to the bartender, then back at me. “I’m too heavy. I’ll like… pull your arm out of your socket.”

I roll my eyes and plant my lips on hers. I kiss her softly. “My arm is fine,” I say between plush kisses. “And you’re not too heavy. If I thought I couldn’t, I wouldn’t have pulled you in.”

“Ellie…” she draws out. “Still…”

I hush her and pull away. I comb her curled hair away again and smile at her perfectly red cheeks and lips. “Have I told you that I don’t care if you complain about your weight affecting me?”

“Hm?”

“I’d die in your fucking thighs if I could. You could crush me and I’d say thank you. So enough about you hurting me with your body,” I say. “I want you to hurt me.”

“So I’m your type?” she asks seductively.

“Fuck yes,” I hoarsely breathe out, and slam my lips back onto hers.

[gothfoxgirlboy]

last of the first set of adoptables

“Seasons”

They/them

Seasons is a multi-elemental imp that stands at 3’8”. With 4 different elements Seasons has a variety of forms and powers. Their four elements are lightning, fire, ice, and earth however they cannot access all of them at once. As imps are intersex by nature Seasons posses both sets of genitals though they are not well endowed most of the time, as well as a typically demonic long tongue.

When using lightning powers, Seasons has a large bust, pale purple skin, and white hair. Her chest in this form is a J cup breast but they are quite light and extremely soft. In this form their tongue glows a dim grey color. Their saliva tingles like static and their tongue pulses with electricity.

When using fire powers their hair is a deep orange color, their skin is red and they are slim and muscular. Their tongue glows like flames and their saliva is hot and drips like molten wax. Their saliva cools down and changes to a variety of colors based on how quickly it cooled down. They are also significantly stronger than one would expect from their size.

When using ice powers their hair is a dark blue, their skin is a lighter cyan and their cock grows to 8 inches and their slit drips constantly. Their tongue glows a soft blue color and their saliva is ice cold but it does not freeze.

Finally, when using their earth powers their skin becomes a tan color, their rear grows to an incredible size and their hair is a beautiful brown. Their tongue glows a earthy yellow and their saliva rapidly dries into a solid that can restrain a person. 

Seasons’ personality is quite rough, they are lewd and rude. Their crass personality is not for everyone but they do care deeply for their friends. They enjoy fighting whether it is a combat or play fighting and they tend to be quite good at it. They enjoy eating, with massive amounts of food seemingly able to disappear into their small body. They have a very high libido and tend to be dominant. They love bullying their partners and feeling superior in bed, especially when they’re much larger. 

Seasons is an imp that was spawned where multiple primordial element pools mixed in hell. They are far more powerful than most imps but not pure enough to become a full on demon. That’s not any issue to them however, they’re more than content with themself. That being said they do no actually have great control over their powers. Not only can they only use one power at a time but they can’t even choose which power they have access to. As of now their body and power is primarily decided by the current season, having access to fire in summer, earth in the fall, ice in the winter and lightning in the spring, with the exception being moments of extreme emotions causing their powers to go haywire.

Kinks: Temperature play, bondage, electrostim, bullying, size difference

Like the others adoptable for 3$CAD or with a 1k word story for 6$

[special-bc-ur-part-of-it]

Klaine and 8 for the kiss prompt list :)

this one also ended up being longer than originally intended, hope it's not terrible <3

8: ...in secrecy

Blaine is used to the sneaking around. He’s used to short moments and corners where no one can see them and kisses that feel stolen even though they’re freely given. He’s used to having to keep whatever he and Kurt are a secret. What he’s still not used to is how much it hurts, how there’s always that ache in his chest around Kurt, how he wants so much more than whatever it is they are. 

Whatever thoughts are running through his brain get cut off when there’s a locker door opening next to where he’s leaning against his own locker and Puckerman pointing out to him (as if he’s not perfectly aware of himself), “You’re ogling Hummel’s ass again.”

“It’s a good ass,” Blaine says with a shrug. “Is there some rule against staring now?”

“Only that staring is the most you’re allowed to do. I’ve told you man, cheerleaders are trouble for guys like us.”

“Says the guy who’s slept with half of them…”

“Like I said, trouble. Guys like us are the kind of people they’ll sleep with but won’t date. Cheerios don’t look at guys like us and see something long-term.” Puckerman’s locker closes again and he walks away.

As much as Blaine hates to think that maybe Puck is right, maybe Puck is right. After all, he and Kurt have been sneaking around and keeping whatever they are a secret for the past couple months. Because the Head Cheerio shouldn’t be seen with the guy with the pierced eyebrow and the leather jacket who skips class to smoke and gets into fights in the hallways. So they’re not seen together. So they know just about every corner of the school where they can kiss and not get caught. 

They meet up in one of the backstage wings of the auditorium during Kurt’s study hall period, because it’s easy enough for Kurt to sneak out of the library unnoticed and because Blaine always skips the last half of his history class and because the auditorium is always empty then and because they’re hidden away from everything else there. Sometimes, he lets himself think it’s almost romantic, the two of them in a quiet, empty auditorium with just the dim lighting from the backstage lanterns.

Kurt pushes open the door and greets him with a smile and a whispered "Hey" before his lips are on his own and his arms circle around his shoulders, holding him close. 

"Missed you," Kurt murmurs when they stop kissing, their foreheads still pressed together.

"Missed you too," Blaine says back, a smile playing on his lips. It doesn't matter that he just saw Kurt this morning, he did miss him. And he knows that that's true for Kurt too. He doesn't need them to be boyfriends or whatever to know that.

He doesn't need them to be boyfriends or whatever to know what he feels for Kurt. To know that when Kurt kisses him, he feels electric. To know that if all Kurt does want him to be to him is the boy he kisses in secret, he'd do it again and again and again. 

That doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt a little when he remembers that after this, they have to go back to barely interacting around the school. It does hurt a little. It hurts a little when he can't walk out of the auditorium hand in hand with Kurt, but Kurt still holds his hand till the last second before he walks out completely. There's that ache in his chest. It sucks. Keeping whatever they are a secret sucks.

What doesn't suck is Kurt’s lips moving against his own and their bodies close together. What doesn't suck is the thrill of sneaking around, having their own secret. And if that's all Kurt wants to give him, then he'll take that. He'll take all he can get of secret kisses and whatever they are. Because he might just implode if he has to give that up right now.

kissy kissy list | more kissy kissy fics here

[capo-cino]

finished the thumbnail sketch last night i think it’s cool

also there’s a long fuckin description below so like, yeah its about the phobia pit

it started out as me jotting down ideas for this concept but then it became a whole ass short story that is probably never going to be professionally written because i don’t like to write but basically:

i like to think that the pit doesn’t have an actual bottom, and when you think you’ve reached it, when the pit gradually gets narrower and you’re completely surrounded by darkness at that point, there’s a hole that you could fall through and when you do, you fall out of the entire pit itself and you don’t stop falling, ever. you’re surrounded by absolutely nothing, not sure if it’s darkness or a white void when you fall through, all i can say is that you’re falling within nothingness.

as for the pit itself i figured that the beginning or the top of the pit would have objects relating to the most common phobias, including those that may be prominent in some cultures but rarely seen in others, and as you go further down, the phobias would get weirder or just more obscure, and even further below, the surroundings become more dim and darker and the objects either gradually begin to disappear or scattered

but hey vex has glowing eyes and shit he and sackboy will be fine i think

jokes aside i imagine that vex is more excited about what lies at the near bottom of the pit; where from the top view, it’s a tiny black circle

i did kinda headcanon his one fear; nothingness, or specifically being surrounded by literally nothing you can see, hear or feel.

but that he still wants to venture below where it looks dark because hes expecting something to be there and he’ll be fine because his face literally glows. but lmao xd

sackboy on the other hand is cautious, but also fascinated by the clustered surroundings at the start of the pit; some objects resembling more obvious/common phobias may startle him, but seeing every other object representing more weirder/obscure phobias are still captivating to him.

at the very least, his surroundings at that point keep his eyes entertained and also, he’s not by himself.

vex is taking note of how absorbed sackboy is in the chaotic environment (and would use some of the objects to startle him for shits and giggles)

sackboy is also noticeably more distanced from vex while they’re still at the top of the pit

as they make their way further below, the objects begin to become more abstracted and/or confusing to look at. the environment becomes less vibrant; any color within it would be muted or dull. imagine the color palette for a lot of liminal space images.

speaking of space, even though the pit becomes narrower, the objects become more eerily spread out instead of being all clustered together and it doesn’t quite look or feel like the pit’s even gotten thinner. it’s the literal opposite if anything.

sackboy goes from mesmerized to visibly unsettled of how empty (and also dim) the surroundings become and clings onto vex a little more.

vex is confused and bewildered by how empty everything’s become. hes also mildly annoyed by how fast (to him) sackboy lost his sense of curiosity and is nudging at his cape, desperately signaling that they should go back

but sackers’ pleas are not listened to because he’s venturing with vex

everything below that liminal space point becomes more difficult (and eventually impossible) to see. vex’s glowing face heavily dims, and as soon as sackboy notices, he quickly climbs up vex and makes his way into one of the pockets on his vest. hes batshit terrified and his only comfort is feeling the fabric of the pocket surrounding him. it’s better than the cold hard ground amidst the darkness.

vex is actually disturbed now.

at this point he can’t see or feel anything else but the ground getting steeper and sackboy shaking like a leaf in one of his pockets. any light he tries to conjure (electric sparks, portals, etc.) don’t illuminate at all.

oh yeah remember that part about the hole at the very bottom of the pit that leads to absolutely nowhere and you would fall forever if you just fell through it

well vex falls down. almost. his hands just barely catch the edge of the ground, and in the few seconds that his legs were dangling and was startled to near death, he remembers he can fly.

so his literal flight response activates and he heads straight back upwards through the darkness. from how fast he was flying, it takes him around 20 seconds tops to reach the,, top.

the sun’s just starting to rise.

vex is on the soft ground, shaking.

sackboy slowly crawls out of the pocket and falls to the ground. before he crawls any further, vex quickly snatches sackboy close to his face with both hands, still shaking.

why did this need to be involved with saba? idk lol

side edit: i think its funny that if you told vex at the top of the pit that there was legitimately nothing at the bottom, he would just tell you to shut the fuck up and then he discovers, nearly possibly dying at doing so, that there is legitimately nothing and his one fear is just down there now. although if this were more canonical, the game would probably hint that he does have a single fear, but will just never tell you what

imma go eat some leftover steak yummm

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

WIP Wednesday

No-pressure tags for @mayfriend, @freshairforrabbits, @kayjaydee17, @princessgemma12, @leonsi.

Warnings for injuries, torture, sleep deprivation, blood, implied character death, recom!jake

He wouldn't even be here if Trudy was alive. She'd have flown the Samson well enough to stay under radar or whatever the fuck the RDA had used to track them, because of course the RDA would find some way to track them, how could they be so stupid. And if they were caught, she'd figure out a way to evade those idiots with ease, leaving them far in her dust and cackling the whole back to base.

But Trudy is dead. Norm is in a cell. He's got cracked ribs, a bloodied nose, what he's pretty sure is a broken leg; although they'd shot him up with painkillers before throwing him in here. Not out of any faint respect for the Geneva Convention, of course, they just want to keep him conscious.

Same reason they've got the lights turned up high, why they're probably ready to start blasting music if he seems about to fall asleep. If Norm loses consciousness he automatically comes up out of link, leaving them nothing except for a useless blue body.

As it is, he's not sure if he's been under long enough to worry the folks back home. Either way, protocol dictates you're not supposed to use emergency stop until vital signs fail, or else risk screwing somebody over at the worst possible moment. And he hadn't been able to transmit a message back before they pulled him out, so they don't know he's been taken, or that the Samsons are no longer safe.

Norm tries to think of the positives. Max hadn't been with him this time, thank fuck; Norm had been heading to Awa'atlu on his own, hoping to check on Kiri and finish setting up the radio equipment that was (hopefully) going to make communication less risky (heh). His Samson had gone down in flames spectacular enough that the enemy (hopefully) won't be able to track it back to base.

He'd considered ignoring the Atmo mask until he passed out, but the bald dickhead had stuck his head in and threatened to strap Norm to his bed with the mask stapled to his face and let him fester in his own shit if he kept that up. Which isn't really Norm's idea of a good time, so instead he's just sitting here, taking the occasional hit of the mask, waiting to be dragged into whatever torture chambers they've got in this so-called city.

Norm tries not to think of all the shit they could do to him, all the fun toys they've no doubt brought over from Earth. They want him to be thinking about it, they want him to be scared, and that's when they strike. It's basic psychology, for fuck's sake.

Knowing that doesn't make the cold knot of terror in his stomach loosen any, though.

Time ticks by. Norm drums his fingers lightly on the mattress, trying to find a beat slower and more relaxed than his pounding heart. He whispers to himself, fragments of notes memorized before long-ago exams, chemical equations, snippets of the Spanish Trudy taught him, some of the Na'vi he and Tom Sully used to quiz each other in once upon a time.

He almost doesn't notice when the lights above start to dim, from eye-watering to merely bright. Being adjusted for comfort...but, Norm's pretty sure, not his.

With a grunt of effort, he forces himself up into a sitting position, shoulders propped against the wall and ears pricked, gaze locked on the cell door. It swishes open, soft electric song, and shadows ripple as a Na'vi-shaped figure slips inside, the door closing behind him.

The first thing Norm sees is the feet--bare, to his surprise, long blue toes strange against the cold floor. Tactical gear, crisp and neat, pistol on the hip, knives everywhere else, an Atmo mask around the neck. Long black hair, a far cry from the rest of Recom Squad's military cuts, braided precisely the way Tom used to wear it.

He's smiling the way he was when he dragged Norm out of the Samson's cockpit, a smile like a piece of the sky ripped out to reveal something strange and wrong underneath. A far cry from Tom's shy smile leaning through their dorm entrance, or Jake's polite, distracted smile in the Hell's Gate corridor.

Wow, you look just like him...

"You got old, Spellman," Jake Sully says.

[nirikeehan]

wip wednesday!!

Been awhile since I did WIP Wednesday... I was tagged by @fandomn00blr to participate! The only thing I have to share is from an upcoming smut chapter from Kingdom Come tho 🤷‍♀️

Before I get to that, here's some tagging it forward:

@cathyfowl | @highwayphantoms | @hunnybadgerv | @monocytogenes | @inquisimer | @for-the-ninth | @ocean-in-my-rebel-soul | @musetta3 | @bogunicorn

And now... Thalia and Thom talk about her prosthetic as foreplay. Enjoy. 👀

---

“Your prosthetic,” he says. “Can I see it?” 

Thalia feels herself flushing. “Why?”

“Just curious.” He sits back, furrows his brow. “If you’re not comfortable, though—”

“It’s not that,” Thalia says. Thom was there when she lost the arm, so she doesn’t think the amputation would faze him. It’s the thought of baring her arm before him, in this dim room with the candles flickering in the overhead chandelier. The housekeeper has already said farewell and gone home for the evening. They’re alone now, all night and tomorrow night and the night after that. 

She downs a final gulp of wine and angles her body toward him. “All right.”

With her good hand, she grips the sleeve of her left arm and pulls it up, revealing the metal joints beneath. She rolls the fabric to her bicep, where the prosthetic ends and the leather straps securing it to her shoulder begin. 

Thom watches with interest. She stretches out the prosthetic limb on the table between them. The iron exterior glints in the light from the fire. She bites her lip and waits, cheeks burning. 

“It has more moving parts than I would expect,” Thom says, pointing to the elbow joint and the digits on the hand. “Can you use them on your own?”

“A little,” Thalia says. “It’s good for gripping a horse’s reins, for example. But it’s— unwieldy. Dorian collaborated with a dwarven smith to design another with better mobility, but the work that would go into making the fingers work independently, and the wrist move… we realized it could be damaged easily, from very little wear and tear.” She shrugs. “It didn’t seem worth it, in the end.” 

Thom pulls his chair next to hers. “Mind if I take a closer look?” 

Thalia feels a jolt like electricity at his nearness. “Not at all,” she breathes.

She can’t feel his fingers on the back of the metal palm, nor his hand at the elbow joint, though she desperately wants to. He brushes the skin of her upper arm, and she jumps from the sudden rush of sensation. 

“Sorry,” Thom murmurs. 

“It’s okay.” Thalia peeks up at him. His eyes are close, light grey reflecting the orange of the firelight. She sucks in her lip. “Is your curiosity satisfied?” 

“Not exactly.” He indicates the leather straps. “Do these trouble you? They look uncomfortable.” 

“I’m used to it.” Thalia gives him a dismissive wave with her good hand, though in truth the prosthetic chafes from prolonged wear. 

“I’m just thinking — this design can be improved upon.” Thom rests his palm over her shoulder. She can feel the heat of him there, insistent. 

“Really?”

Thom nods. “I’m almost certain. I’ve got Dagna in my employ now. Maybe with her runework… may I?” He gestures toward the buckles. 

He wants to take it off? Thalia feels a pang of desire, and finds herself nodding, staying still as he leans in to work free the the leather tongues from the metal teeth. His touch is gentle, his breath hot in her ear. She grips the edge of the table with her working fingers. 

“Dagna works for you?” she asks, trying to focus on something — anything — else.

“She arrived with Sera, looking for a job. I’d’ve been a fool to refuse her; she’s the best archanist on the continent.”

There is relief when he removes the limb, and Thalia sighs, content. 

“Better?” Thom asks. 

Thalia nods. “It hurts after awhile.”

He frowns, placing the prosthetic in his lap. “You know, you don’t have to wear this thing for my sake. If it pains you.” 

“I know,” Thalia says softly. “It’s just easier sometimes. I blend in better when I wear it.”

“You don’t have to pretend like that when you’re here,” Thom says, voice low. He places his hand over her arm’s reddened skin and massages it gently.

Thalia closes her eyes, leaning into the soothing sensation. When she opens them again, his face is in front of hers. 

“Oh.” She pulls back, startled, slipping out of his grasp. Her heart pounds, and her head feels cloudy with wine. “Goodness, what time is it? It must be getting late…”

Thom leans back, expression unreadable. He was going to kiss you, she thinks, panicky. Thalia gets to her feet, laughing too hard. Her voice is strained. “Perhaps it’s time we call it a night?”