#what have i done to you to make me suffer like this

[kvothbloodless]

Because I like creating stories! I like coming up with a plot and characters. I like worldbuilding. I like making decisions about themes and how I want to communicate them. I like figuring out pivotal scenes and how they'll play out. And while I don't love it, I also don't really have a problem with editing scenes and dialogue to fit better.

What I don't like, and indeed most days am not Able to do, is actually sitting down and converting all my well organized ideas and decisions and worldbuilding into tens of thousands of words of prose. I just do not enjoy it at all; I find it tedious and unengaging and it usually feels like pulling teeth. And even if I Did enjoy it, my disabilities make it near impossible to do anything like that most days.

And AI mostly solves that problem for me! Why Wouldn't I want to use it? Why shouldn't I use an awesome new tool that lets me find joy in creating stories I would not otherwise be able to create? Why shouldn't I want to share those stories with people?

I just don't understand tumblr user's immediate and outraged response to someone doing something that they also enjoy, just because they're doing it in a different way. I mean, I know a large part of it is because we like to equate suffering and struggle with value, but like. Cmon guys. Lets stop acting protestant (and ableist) here.

Something being harder to do doesn't make it inherently better! Hard work purely for the sake of hard work is dumb and helps nobody; you shouldn't be railing against people just because they're choosing to take advantage of a tool that allows them to produce art that they otherwise wouldn't. Or even art that they Would have made, but this lets them make it more easily! That's awesome! Being able to create a story or a piece of visual art in a day when it would otherwise take a week is amazing! What's the downside here? More art? More varied art (because now its easier to experiment and try new things)?

And yea, I will admit, AI isn't quite at the level where I can use it to create the stories I really want to Yet, its still so much better than any of the alternatives. So I ask again. Why Wouldn't I use it? Its letting me do something I enjoy, that I would not otherwise be able to do. Its not hurting anyone (please do not try to argue about how AI is killing the environment or stealing from artists unless you've actually done some reading and understand how the technology actually works). If its not for you, that's fine. Just like any tool, it won't be helpful for everyone. But that doesn't mean you should be hating on and ostracizing those who do find it helpful, nor that you should ignore any art produced using it.

Unpopular opinion but if you don't enjoy the process you should find a different thing to do.

And I think this is true in general but now I'm talking about it in the context of AI.

If you don't enjoy making art and only care about the end piece and how it'll look and how much traction it"lol get online then making art is not something for you, find something you enjoy from start to finish.

Same goes for writing: if you do not enjoy writing and rewriting and then some more and instead want AI to write for you, being a writer is not something you should pursue.

Sure, not every part of creative process is going to be equally enjoyable but you should get satisfaction from solving the problems along the way and you should get a sense of accomplishment on your way of "making the piece yours" and you should have a sense of ownership once you are done.

None of these things will come from typing in a prompt into chatGPT. And I am sad to see so many people are missing on the opportunity to experience the joy of making something with their own hands and brains.

[shanastoryteller]

SHANA HAVE YOU SEEN ARCANE? IF NOT GO DO THAT AND JOIN ME IN MY INSANITY WITH JAYVIK. Otherwise its dealers choice and some happy valentines chocolates for you 💕💋

Castiel has gone rogue, has torn down the wall keeping the cage at bay, and Dean is going to have to face him alone if Sam can’t figure out how to get out of his own head.

Absorbing the memories of what he’d done when he’d been soulless had hurt. To know that any version of him was capable of that kind of callousness, of the kind of ruthless efficiency he’d always turned up his nose at, was a blow.

But absorbing the memories of the cage may very well kill him. Everyone seems to expect it to, if it doesn’t drive him outright insane. It’s likely the most he can hope for is that it leaves him cationic, that he stays in this safe little place in his mind that Lucifer can’t touch and leave the rest of the world to rot. He already destroyed himself to save it once, why should he have to go through that again?

For the same reason he did it the first time.

The world still has Dean in it. He can’t leave his brother to suffer if there’s anything he can do about it.

When he finds across the version of himself that knows the cage, he has to clamp down on the urge to tremble. He’s standing there, half hidden in shadow, leaning against the wall like he can’t hold up his own weight.

He’s covered head to toe in blood.

“Hey,” he says then swallows. Soulless had been aggressive, had been angry, hadn’t hesitated to engage with him. Cage seems like he can barely keep breathing.

It’ll make him easy to kill, easy to reintegrate, but he doesn’t know what that will leave him as when he’s done.

Just killing the guy after everything he’s been though doesn’t seem right. He licks his lips. “Look, I don’t know how aware you are of everything that’s going on, but I – we – I mean.” He swallows. “Dean’s in trouble and I can’t help him without remembering. Everything. And I know I’m not strong enough to deal with everything you’ve delt with-”

“Why do you say that?”

Sam startled. Cage’s voice is raspy, but not weak. There’s no fear, no tears, just simple curiosity. “I – what?”

“Why do you say that?” Cage repeats.

“I,” he thinks back on Soulless’s memories, of how he’d been on board with getting his soul back up until he’d found out what it would do to him, of how they’d described the tattered remains of who he used to be. “They said it would destroy me. You don’t – you don’t look to be in great shape.”

Cage shrugs. “People have always underestimated us, Sam. You know that. They didn’t think we’d be able to take control of Lucifer and we did that.”

“What?” he laughs incredulously. “It was just a hunky dory time in there with Lucifer? You look like shit.”

“And you think Lucifer did this to us?” Cage smiles, Sam can see the white of his teeth against his blood covered face. It should be disturbing, a sign of a cracked mind, a cracked soul, but it just looks like a normal smile. “You know us. You know us better than I do at this point. When have we ever stopped fighting?”

“We fought the devil,” he says flatly. “In the cage.”

“Do you know what powers angel’s grace? Demon’s abilities?” he asks.

Sam shakes his head.

“Human souls,” he says. “It’s the greatest source of power on any of the three planes. And if you know Enochian, you can harness that same power. It took a while, but eventually we learned.” He tilts his head to the side. “I won’t lie, Sam. Lucifer put us through things that no person should experience, a type of hell that broke us more than once. But we were in that cage a long, long time. Souls heal. Grace disconnected from heaven just runs out. I’m thankful to be out, but given a few more centuries, well. Lucifer wouldn’t just be in the cage. He’d be gone.”

Sam doesn’t understand, doesn’t believe it. “So you used your own soul to fight the devil? With the angel’s language? That’s–”

“What did we have to lose?” Cage interrupts. “Michael and Lucifer distracted each other occasionally, and Michael keeps Adam unaware. All we had was fighting and surviving. If we could kill Lucifer for good, what did it matter what state it left our soul in?”

“Then why hide?” he challenges. “Death and Castiel put you away. Why hide even now? If it’s not that bad, why let yourself be walled away?”

“It is that bad,” Cage says softly. “You’re just that strong.”

Sam swallows.

He used to believe that about himself.

“I’ve spent centuries in the cage,” he says. “Some days I barely remember life on Earth. I’ve changed. I had no reason not to.” He looks away for the first time. “I did it for Dean. I never forgot that. And Dean got me out, he saved me, but,” he meets Sam’s eyes. “I remember what it was like to have Dean look at me like he didn’t recognize me. I didn’t want to go through that again. You, he knew. You, he recognized. I thought it was better. You didn’t need the person you became in the cage once we were out of it and I wanted,” he cuts himself off again.

It's okay.

Sam knows.

“You wanted to be someone Dean would be willing to sell his soul for,” Sam says.

He’d never wanted what Dean did, but he’s always felt crushed under the weight of being worthy of it, of the loss and fear when he felt he wasn’t. It’s such a fucked up metric to measure love against, if someone would be willing to go to hell for you, but Dean’s the one who set it. He’s just following suit.

He’d do anything for Dean.

“Dean needs our help,” Sam says. “Castiel-”

“I know,” Cage says. “Even a juiced up Cas isn’t Lucifer. We’ll be able to take care of him. You need to know what I know and there’s no way to teach you Enochian without everything you had to go through to learn it. I’m sorry.”

“We’ve got a year of fresh memories,” he says. “A year of our life on earth front and center. It’ll help. They won’t feel so far away from us after.”

Dean will still love them after.

“You hope,” Cage scoffs.

Sam smiles and lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. “Yeah. It’s all we’ve ever had, right?”

Cage smiles again, pushing off the wall to stumble forward. Sam catches him when his knees buckle, looking into his own face, his own eyes. They are different. But not unfamiliar.

Souls heal. Whatever Lucifer did to him, whatever he did to himself in there, it’s not irreversible. There’s a difference between scarred and bleeding.

“You’re going to be okay,” Cage says, offering him a knife that Sam hadn’t even noticed him carrying. “You can do this.”

Sam swallows, giving a nod before taking the hilt and plunging it into Cage’s chest. He holds him through it, hearing the wet gasp against his hear. “Yes,” he says softly. “We can.”

When he opens his eyes in the panic room, all versions of him settled into one, into just Sam, he doesn’t waste time mourning the people he used to be.

Dean needs him.

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 reacting to their pregnant s/o asking them to shave your, "down there"

Request: hi pookie!! i love love LOVE your content and I wanted to ask if please could do "seventeen reacting to you (their pregnant wife) asking them to shave you downstairs" if you know what I mean😔 many women say they have a problem with getting there bc their belly is in the way so if you could do that or something similar that would be amazing!!! thank you so much already!!

Immediately Says Yes, No Hesitation — Seungcheol, Joshua, Wonwoo, Dokyeom, Mingyu, Dino

Drops whatever they’re doing. “Oh, you need help? Say no more.”

Zero embarrassment. Zero teasing. They treat this like it’s the most normal thing in the world because you are their wife and this is their baby you’re carrying.

Mingyu & Dokyeom: Concentrating like it’s brain surgery. Expect encouraging words. “You’re doing great, babe. Just stay still.”

Seungcheol & Wonwoo: Silent, focused, in deep concentration. Wonwoo might even say, “This is a privilege,” lol.

Joshua & Dino: Surprisingly calm. They will ask for specific instructions and double-check before doing anything. "Like this? Okay. Tell me if I need to slow down."

10/10 best husbands, they don’t make it weird at all.

A Little Flustered But Still Does It Wel l— Jeonghan, Hoshi, Woozi, Vernon

Jeonghan: Smirks immediately. “Oh? You want me to do it?” Acts like he’s about to tease you but then gets serious and does it perfectly.

Hoshi: SCREAMS FIRST, THEN HELPS. “YOU WANT ME TO—” GASPS But then suddenly he’s like, “Wait, I’m actually kind of good at this??”

Woozi: Almost chokes on air. “YOU WANT ME TO DO WHAT—” Blushing SO hard. But he’s so so careful and treats you so delicately.

Vernon: Blink. Blink. “Huh…I’ve never done this before.” Extremely focused, takes his time. Might make casual conversation while doing it cause it’s no big deal.

They’ll be shy for five minutes, but then they’re surprisingly good at it.

Acts Like They’re Suffering But Secretly Loves Helping You (Being dramatic but is actually a sweetheart) — Seungkwan, Jun, Minghao

Seungkwan: Fake gasps. “WHAT? ME?? SHAVE—” dramatically puts a hand on his forehead. Acts like he’s being sent to war.

Jun: “Ohhh…” Acts cocky but is so gentle while doing it.

Minghao: Squints at you like you just asked him for his kidney. “You really trust me with this?” (He’s honored but hiding it.)

They’re going to tease you, but they’re also going to do it perfectly.

Extra

Every single one of them will be SO SOFT about this. They know it must have been awkward to ask, so they go out of their way to make you comfortable.

Expect massages, kisses, and “I love you”s afterward. They genuinely don’t mind doing this for you at all.

[dsireland86]

Anonymous asked:

Can you do a little something about Bad omens, they are playing truth or dare and maybe Noah has to take a body shot off reader that leads to more? If you feel comfortable writing about it ofc! 🤍

So, stupid tumblr app decided to be dumb again and posted this story before it was finished, so I had to pull it and redo it. Also, it strayed from the original concept and plot, because this is what came to mind when I started writing. I'm sorry!!!!! Hope yall like the fixed version. It's a lot better and a little dirty. Sorry... my mind went too far with Noah body shots 🤯

Truth or Dare

Tag list:

@philomenie @supersquirrel1996 @foliosgirl @angelmarie89 @fadingintothegrey @thisbicc @lacy1986 @dominuslunae @shayzillaaaa @mrsnoahsebastian @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @stardustsirenmelody @romanreigns-supreme @anything-more-than-human @into-the-grey @rumoured-whispers @myownthoughts12 @sister-sebastian @missduffsblog @bngurngheart  @somebodyllelse @xxkittenkissesxx @dizzylmwahh @kenjipepsi1 @blackveilomens @chey-h @disappearintothegrey @jilliemiw86 @pathion @fear-its-beauty @an0mallly @potterheadquinn @flowery-mess   @bloody-spades

The music was too loud for Noah. He had a pounding headache and was exhausted from the six week run in the U.K they’d just got back from. Day's after returning home, the band's management team insisted on throwing a welcome home party to celebrate the biggest headliner the band had done to date and a number one single. So, he was playing nice and pretending he was enjoying the party. Noah hated it and he was miserable.

"Can you at least look like you're having a good time," Matt complained walking over to meet him. "He can't help it that he has a resting bitch face, Matt. Go easy on him." Noah scowled at Jolly, who just simply smiled. "I want to go home," Noah whined, falling down onto a nearby couch. "I feel you," Folio agreed, sitting down next to him. "Why did you agree to this, shit, Matt?" Noah pouted. "Hey my hands were tied, dude. I wasn't really given an option here. Believe me, I'd rather be somewhere else," "Yeah, like held up in his house watching Grey's Anatomy," Jolly chuckled, pulling his long hair back into a bun. "Don't be hating on my show," Matt muttered, checking his phone. "Great. I've got to go meet upper management. Fuck this shit," turning around and walking away as the others just stayed back, laughing.

Folio sat his beer down on the table and removed his hat to scratch his head. "Poor Matt. He suffers so much for us." "Yeah! He'd better. We make him a lot of money," Noah stated, crossing his arms.

Nicholas came walking over the couches, munching on a banana. The other three just stared at him.

"What the hell, Ruffilo?"

Nick looked over at Jolly. "What?" he shrugged.

"Where at a high class party with caviar and shit and all you can find to put in your mouth is a banana?" Jolly criticized.

"Yeah.Caviar is gross and nothing else looks good," staring at a group of giggling girls that walked by him. Nick just shook his head.

Noah laid his head back, pinching the bridge of his nose, when another group of girls came over to them, dressed as if they were looking to get some. Jolly's eyes widened and Folio just pulled his hat down a little lower.

"Excuse me, we need some help," one of the girls asked, her words partially slurring.

Noah raised his head, slowly, instantly regretting he did.

"Sure. What do you need," he replied, reluctantly.

The girls looked at one another, whispering in the other's ear and giggling.

"It's our friend's birthday, and we're trying to get her to do body shots by playing Truth or Dare, but she's refusing. So, we thought that if we could find some really hot guys, she'd change her mind."

Noah looked over at Jolly, begging him with his eyes to come help. Jolly just hid his grin and shook his head, no.

"I, uh, I don't think I'm qualified," "Do you have chest hair or anything around your belly button area?" one of the girls asked. "What! That’s random." "Lift your shirt up. Let me see," one of the girls ordered.

"No!" "Noah, stop being a pansy and just show the girl your chest. It won't kill you," Jolly blurted out, earning him a heated scowl from Noah. "Will you leave me alone if I do?" Noah fumed at the girl who was about to cause him to snap. "I don't know yet. Show me and I'll tell you."

Noah sighed heavily, lifting his shirt.

"I can't see. You have to lift it higher."

Noah growled, glaring over at Jolly who was fighting his laughter. 

"You're dead, Karlsson," Noah threatened.

Noah lifted a little higher, hating that he was degrading himself this way.

"You're perfect! Come with me," she ordered, grabbing Noah's hand and yanking him off the couch. She and her friend drug Noah behind them as he tried to fight the grip they had on him.

"Hey you two have let me go, like right now!" Noah demanded.

They led him to another part of the venue and into a room filled with more people and louder music that was about half the size as the one they'd just come from

When his eyes landed on her, Noah almost couldn't breathe. She was so damn pretty and had a smile that could soften even the hardest heart. She was wearing a cowboy hat and a sash that read "Birthday Girl," and the moment she turned and looked at him was the moment his life changed forever.

"We found one," the two girls that drug him over told her.

The girl looked from her friends around the table to Noah, obviously very confused.

"What are you talking about? Found one what?"

She shyly looked over at Noah and smiled.

"A fucking hot guy with tattoos that you can take your first body shot off of the next time you spin a dare."

The girl groaned and threw her hands over her face.

"No! Oh god, please tell me you didn't just go out there and hunt down some random guy to bring over here to play a stupid high school game!"

The two girls were about to protest, but Noah beat them to it.

"No! Actually, I wanted to come. They said it was your birthday, so I thought I'd come over and hang for a little bit."

The girls grew quiet, laughing amongst themselves.

"I'm Noah," he introduced himself, leaning in a lot closer than he meant to. He could smell her skin, the scent of rainwater bamboo engulfing his senses.

"Y/N," she replied. Noah smiled, and all Y/N could think was, "Oh shit."

Noah was hot. His lean frame, covered by a white hoodie, towered over her. She would’ve given anything to touch his body, to dig her nails into his flesh and grip the arms that would hold her down, and run her fingers through his short, anime style haircut. Looking down at his hands, Y/N noticed how big they were and the tattoos that were drawn over his skin. Telling from the ones on his neck, she assumed he had them in many other places too.

"Are you okay?"

Noah's deep voice pulled Y/N from her thoughts. She smiled, nodding her head.

"I'm fine, sorry."

Noah gave a gentle laugh.

"So, Truth or Dare and body shots, huh?"

Y/N groaned. "Shit. Please ignore my stupid friends, okay. I don't know what possessed them,"

"I think your friends are just trying to help you have a good birthday," Noah interrupted, trying to sound positive in hopes of getting what he was secretly yearning for.

Y/N raised an eyebrow

"Someone's being optimistic." "You don't think so?" "No," Y/N shook her head, looking over at the girls who had just taken shots of something. "They always have hidden motives."

Noah reached over and brushed her fingers with the tips of his, hoping to pull that beautiful smile out of her again. This behavior was totally out of character for him. Noah never allowed his feelings for someone he'd just met to affect him the way he was allowing them to right now, and it was only a matter of time before the girl in front of him said or did the wrong or right thing that would make him snap.

Y/N shivered the moment she turned and faced Noah. The heat that spilled from his gaze was enough for her to feel internally, forcing her to clench the muscles of her sex as her arousal soaked her panties.

"Hidden motives are a dangerous game to play," Noah pointed out, unable to look away from the heated look in Y/N's eyes that was causing his dick to harden the longer he continued staring. "It's better to just be truthfully honest and up front, if you don’t, don't you think?"

Y/N swallowed hard, a small smile twitching her lips.

"I do."

The tension between them was thick and sweet, like honey. They way she peered up at Noah through her lashes shot through him like a bullet headed straight for his semi-hard length.

"Hey! Are you playing?"

Noah and Y/N looked over at the table where a group of her friends were crowded, the one yelling at them holding an empty beer bottle. Y/N hesitated before looking at Noah.

"You really don't have to do this. I know this isn't the ideal situation for you, and you have no idea who any of these people are."

"I'll do it." "Really?" Y/N asked, surprised.

"Yeah. It's your birthday, and anything here has to be better than what I was having to suffer through over there,” flicking his head in the direction where he came from. 

Y/N gave Noah a small smile. "Okay, well, if you're sure." "I'm sure," Noah replied, giving Y/N a tight-lipped smile.

This group of friends was nothing like Noah's group of friends. He gave up drinking and the party life years ago, trading it in for video games, movies and anime nights with his friends. This wasn't his scene, and he was starting to believe it wasn't hers either. They watched the bottle spin over and over, going through four people before it was finally Y/N's turn. Praying hard for a miracle that it wouldn't land on a dare, she was severely disappointed when it did. But with only one look at Noah, her perspective changed quickly. Noah wasn't surprised when her friends dared her to take body shots off of him. It was the reason for the grin on his face. The first one that happened was awkward for him to do with everyone watching, but he kept his eyes on Y/N, doing his best to block everyone else out. Standing in front of her, wondering if their night together was really over that quickly, Noah acted on impulse and closed the slight gap between the two of them. Lifting Y/N's chin, his eyes darted between hers and he saw the very thing he was looking for flash across them.

"I can't believe you're letting me do this again," Y/N grinned, watching Noah remove his hoodie this time. "It's your birthday, Pretty Girl. Birthday girls always get what they want,” Noah stated, lying back on the two tables that had been pulled together.

With a bottle of tequila in one hand and a dish of limes in the other, Y/N sat them down on the table next to the salt. Noah kept his eyes locked on her, watching every expression her face made. Taking a risk, he reached over, underneath her mini skirt, and slid his hand between her things hearing the small, slight gasp that quickly turned into a whimper. Noah raised an eyebrow, clenching his jaw as his huge hand grasped the inside of her thigh tighter before moving a little further up. Y/N didn't stop him, but instead, moved closer to keep their moment more discreet.

"Your thighs are so fucking soft and warm," Noah praised. His big soft hand with their long fingers slowly ran up and down her skin, making her shiver. “I wonder what would happen if I did this,” brushing fingertips over her throbbing hearted sex.

The slight buck of her hips gave Noah the response he wanted. His infectious smile returned to his lips, making Y/N hungry to taste them.

"You're playing dangerously, Noah," Y/N warned.

"I asked you if you wanted to," he replied, lifting his shirt high enough for her to take her first shot. “So, are you?”

Y/N opened the tequila and slowly poured it into Noah's belly button, being as careful as she could be. Noah's stomach muscles flinched causing his skin to prickle and she wondered if it would have the same response if she were to go down on him right then. She wanted to find out, especially when she noticed how hard he was. It took a lot of restraint to not touch him

"See something you like?"

"I see a lot that I like," she grinned, taking a lime slice from the bowl and bringing it to Noah's lips.

His hand remained between her thighs, as he continued caressing her skin, slowly, giving Y/N a pleasured feeling that set her nerves on fire. She parted her legs a little more, giving Noah more access to her sweet spot.

"Open," she ordered and Noah obeyed, biting down gently on the green rind. Pushing his head to the side, Y/N poured the salt onto his painted skin and ran her tongue over it, over the faded green leaves that rested just below his jaw. It pulled a deep throated growl from Noah and clenched the inside of her thigh. Y/N moaned from the feeling, knowing fully well there would be a bruise there by morning. Quickly, with the salt still on her tongue, she moved to Noah's lower half, sucking the liquor straight from his navel until every bit of it was gone before moving to his mouth and taking the lime. Noah watched with lust filled eyes as she sucked the juice from the rind, tossing the table when she was finished.

"What?" Y/N asked, noticing the look on his face as she returned to her normal height. "Shit," Noah breathed, half-smiling. "I think that had to be one of the hottest things I've ever seen."

Y/N giggled.

"Well, it sounds like you haven't seen a lot." "Oh, I've seen plenty."

Noah moved his hand higher up her thigh, waiting for her to stop him, and when she didn't, he ran his fingers over her pussy.

"Your panties are moist, pretty girl. Do I make you wet?"

Y/N whimpered, biting her lower lip.

"What if I did this?" swiping over her clit. "Noah," she gasped, gripping the table.

Noah laughed, soft and low.

He sat up, throwing his legs over the side of the table, and pushed her panties to the side, pressing the pad of his finger lightly between her folds. He made a sound that was almost inhuman, swallowed up by the newfound warmth he'd discovered. His fingers rubbed gently at first, pulling tiny gasps from her lips as his tongue and teeth marked faint lines across her skin as he made his way towards the bottom of her throat.

"Damn, you're so fucking wet; so tight. God, baby. You're sweet little pussy feels so good," Noah muttered.

Y/N could hear the excitement and the tiny crack that followed in his voice. She sighed, closing her eyes and absorbing the feeling of Noah's sensual assaults inside her. She didn't care if this was wrong. She didn't care if people could see. All she cared about was if Noah was capable of making her cum.

Moaning the moment Noah slid two fingers up inside her, Y/N raised her head, looking up at him. Noah was gone, lost in the moment just as much as she was. He hummed, satisfied with the feeling of her tight pussy already clenching around his fingers that thrusted deeper and deeper each time feeding the array of quiet moans that escaped her lips the harder she worked herself against his hand.

"I want you to take another shot off me," Noah ordered.

"Mmm, I can't, not while your fucking me like this," Y/N protested, keeping her eyes locked on him.

"Yes you can. Just try it. You'll like it, I promise," Noah grinned.

Y/N's stomach fluttered as her heart beat faster. Doing what she was told, she salted his neck and instead of putting the tequila in his navel, she poured it into the small spot between the two bones at the bottom of his throat, right below his adam's apple. Noah slowed his movements as Y/N rose to the tips of her toes, licked the salt and lapped up the liquor, grabbing the lime from Noah's teeth.

"Fuck that's hot," he confessed, kissing her forehead. He could feel her legs trembling, her body starting to shake and even though she was making being a gentleman about the whole thing difficult, he refused to be apathetic.

"Come here," he whispered gently, returning to the soft thrusting of his fingers against her inner walls, taking his time to completely undo every tensed muscle in her body.

Y/N scooted closer, lifting on her toes to give more access and placing her hands on Noah's thighs for balance.He pulled her in and pushed her head down, allowing her to rest her forehead against his shoulder.

"Stay with me, baby. Keep your hands on me. I've got you," Noah encouraged her, wrapping his free arm around her and holding her as close as he could. Y/N gasped and moaned, clawing at the fabric beneath her hands as Noah took them to another dimension. They were no longer where they had been. They were somewhere else; just the two of them.

"Oh, god!" "God isn't here, pretty girl, I am. And it damn well better my name on those lips when you cum," Noah growled

He held Y/N to him with one arm while using his free hand to thrust up into her. Her back arched, and she allowed her head to fall back as Noah latched on to her throat. He bit down, sucking the saltiness of her skin off .

"Noah, this is dangerous. What if someone sees," Y/N panicked, making a poor attempt at getting out of Noah's grasps. "I don't fucking care if they do. I just want you, I need you to cum for me, baby. Give me the satisfaction of pushing you over the edge."

Y/N couldn't deny the hungry desire for her she saw in Noah's eyes. It was feral, and all she wanted to do was feed it. Pushing her hips forward, she gripped Noah's shoulders and worked her pussy against his hand, right before he slipped in a third finger. A low curse left her lips as she bit the lower one to cover a moan.

"You're going to cum for me, aren't you, pretty girl?"

Her pussy clenched around his fingers and soft whimpers replaced any words she wanted to say.

"God damn, yeah, that's, baby, ride my hand," Noah coaxed her, paying close attention to Y/N's body and the signs it was giving him. "You like that, don't you? You like me fucking your wet, needy cunt with my fingers like this, twisting them inside you. Tell me you do," he breathed, trying to ease the urgent need to cum himself "I do! Fuck, Noah, I shouldn't, but I do really like it."

Her abdomen was on fire, her head spinning from the overwhelming coiled tension building in her lower back. Her breathing was shallow as her quiet moans started to draw closer together, and her head fell back, closing her eyes. Noah wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, lifting her head.

"Eyes on my pretty girl. Watch me when you cum. I need to see the look in your eyes when you cum all over my hand," he ordered, breathing heavily.Y/N nodded "I can feel you squeezing my fingers," he whispered, ghosting his lips over hers. Y/N tilted her head in hopes of capturing them, but failed. "Noah, I'm about to cum!" she gasped once Noah found that spot."Right there?" "Mmm-hmm, don't stop, please don't stop!" "I won't as long as you keep your eyes on me," he promised. And she did.

Pressure built in Y/N's lower half, the ache strengthening with every thrust of Noah's fingers or the swipe of his thumb over her clit and in a matter of seconds her walls fluttered around his fingers, her climax reached its peak, and her orgasm crescendo throughout her entire body.

"Oh god, Noah," she cried into her hand before she collapsed onto his chest.

"There it is, that's a good girl. I can feel your cum dripping down my wrist, baby. Fuck!"

"What's wrong?"

Noah took a deep breath through his nose, trying to keep it together.

"I'm about to fucking cum!" he growled through gritted teeth.

Y/N wasted no time. Grabbing the front of Noah's pants and briefs, she pulled as Noah lifted his bottom and released enough of his thick, swollen cock right as the milky white liquid shot all down the front of her skirt. Noah groaned, resting his forehead against hers.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! "I'm so fucking sorry, Y/N," he swore over and over, chest rising and falling rapidly as he covered himself up, but Y/N was only laughing quietly.

"Don't be,' she replied breathlessly, looking into Noah's eyes. She pulled back and brushed the hair out of his eyes before kissing his forehead."We both got what we wanted."

Noah grinned. Reaching over, he grabbed the tequila, salt, and limes.

"What are you doing?" "It's my turn. Lay your head back," he commanded, and Y/N obeyed, feeling as if her heart was about to beat out of her chest.

Noah repeated the same steps as she did when taking the shot off of his neck and swallowed quickly, trailing his lips with a little bit of tongue up her neck, kissing as he went over her jawline and took the lime from her mouth. Y/N could only give small exasperated moans as her eyes met Noah's. They were dark, full of an eagerness for more.

"Yum," he smirked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Happy Birthday, pretty girl." Y/N just shook her head, smiling.

They found a bathroom where Noah was able to clean his happy accident off the front of Y/N's mini skirt. Neither one spoke, both of them either too embarrassed, ashamed, or sad from everything that had happened or was about to. Maybe it was all three. Walking around the corner of the bathrooms, Noah's phone vibrated. It was a text in the band's group chat asking where he was. He texted back that he was coming, then pocketed his phone.

"So, uh, thanks for the really awesome birthday gifts," Y/N teased.

Noah felt his ears and cheeks instantly heat up, forcing him to rub the back of his neck like he normally did when he got embarrassed.

"Yeah," he laughed, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"Seriously," reaching out and touching Noah’s arm, assuring him she was.

Noah locked eyes with Y/N, desperately aching to kiss her. She was so pretty, with a sweet smile and the kind of laugh he could get used to hearing a lot of. But deep down, he knew that wasn't going to happen

"I gotta go. Gotta get back to my friends..."

"Yeah," Y/N laughed nervously, "of course."

"Do, uh, is there any chance I could have your number?"

There was an awkward silence.

"Um, Noah, I,”

"Oh god, I'm sorry, you're don't, er, you're not, shit, never mind," Noah stuttered, apologizing quickly.

"No, no, it's not like that, it's not that I don't want to, it's just that, well, I just shouldn't," Y/N stated, peering up at him.

That's Noah realized, that was Y/N's way of letting him down gently. His pocket vibrated, saving his heart from realizing what his head had just figured out. Matt was freaking out. He really had to go, now.

"Right," he slowly nodded, suddenly feeling like the biggest fool around. "I'm gonna go. My band's about to receive some kind of an award, so I've got to hurry."

"Your band? Wait… what?"

"Yeah, anyway, it was really nice to meet you and I hope the rest of your birthday is great," he yelled, turning around and running in the opposite direction as Y/N called his name from behind him.

"Dude, where the fuck have you been?" Matt scolded.

"It's a long story. I'll tell you later."

"Hey," Jolly called, tapping Noah on the shoulder. "How did it go? Was the friend nice?"

Noah remained silent for a moment, wondering how to put into words all that had happened. There weren't enough and there never would be.

"Yeah," was all he could say with a smile. "She was pretty nice. It was fun, for the moment," shrugging his shoulders.

Jolly chuckled, patting his friend on the back as they followed Nick and Folio out to where their managers were standing. The guests cheered and whistled, cameras flashed, and hands were shaken as the guys were awarded and congratulated with a number one single award from one of the biggest music companies in the country. Noah looked out into the faces of all those cheering for him and his best friends, eyes stopping when they came in contact with a pair he recognized instantly.

Y/N's mouth was wide open as she stood in the crowd looking at the man whom she had just shared a very intimate moment with and nobody but the two of them knew. She was with somebody, making Noah's heart instantly fall into the pit of his stomach. He'd just fingerfucked some other guy's girl, making him feel low and dirty. The guy turned around, and Noah recognized him instantly. He was a friend in the business who worked for the record label. The guy looked from him to Y/N, and Noah watched as he gently shook her to get her attention. Reluctantly, Y/N tore her eyes away from Noah and exchanged a few words with the guy glancing at him one more time, before walking off with her face in her hands. His friend shrugged, waving to Noah, before turning to follow after Y/N. Noah smiled softly to himself, knowing it wasn't going to be the last he’d ever see her again. 

[cheralith]

omg i really love your slytherin!kaiser au. !!!! your writing is so good !! 😋 i was wondering if you would do any other characters for this type of au if so could you do karasu hp au 🫡😈

character ; karasu tabito || wc ; 931 contains/cw ; gn!reader, no pronouns used, ravenclaw!reader, ravenclaw!karasu, hogwarts!au a/n ; this was sitting in my inbox for awhile and i honestly didn't really know what to write abt despite wanting to, so hope this is ok! another person added to the harem (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و

karasu has always been a rather fascinating character to me personally; dare i say he's very relatable in terms of how he finds himself mediocre? so he gets very confused as to why he's sorted into ravenclaw when he first comes to hogwarts, the house known for producing the most extraordinary wizards because he doesn't think of himself as such. he thinks he's a fraud.

it doesn't help that such a mentality worsens over the years. he excels at his subjects, yes, but amongst the house that many of its students at the top ranks of their classes, karasu merely blends in with the rest of them. there's nothing outstanding about him in particular that makes him stand out from the rest of his house.

so he attempts to search for a way. quidditch catches his eye because of the fact that in all the houses, there are only seven people on a team and he thinks by being one of those seven, he'd be able to stand out from the house of three hundred-something people. he tries out in his third year and doesn't make the cut and it discourages him from trying again in his fourth because if he can't even stand out in tryouts, how the hell was he suppose to make a name for himself if he'd ever make the team?

what makes him destroy that mentality is when he meets you. early in the fifth year, you're in his group for care of magical creatures, where you pick up on his ability to tame animals just by knowing their weaker, vulnerable points. tells you to press on the side of a hippogriff's neck to help calm it down when he sees your tense on your first ride and that the beast could sense it.

you're discussing about the most recent loss ravenclaw incurred from slytherin during a class break, karasu listening intently. you complain that their newest chaser, chigiri hyoma, was an insane weapon on the field, for his speed was incomparable to the others on your own team and what you've seen in the past.

karasu, who was watching the game at the time, tells you that you should've been more perceptive, that you're the upcoming captain, aren't you?

when you furrow your brows and question what he means by that, disapproving of his tone, he merely tells you that you missed a crucial point in the game that would've obliterated slytherin's newest weapon. that chigiri hyoma can't ride for long periods of time since it puts a strain on his back that he suffered an injury on awhile back due to the resisting air pressure.

"yeah, sure, he can definitely fly fast," he says, waving a nonchalant hand, "but he can only do it when he's about t'score a goal. if y'were able to pick that up earlier, ya could've made sure that he exhausted himself faster."

karasu notices your wide-eyed staring after he finishes his ramble of possible tactics you guys should've done against the other players, pointing out some of their key weaknesses. he asks you harshly, "what?" and despite his sharp tone, your eyes just continue sparkling at him.

"have you ever thought about trying out for the team?" you ask him excitedly.

he frowns and picks at his fingernails, head down in shame. "tried to. in my third year," he mutters. "didn't get in."

"well," you start giddily, thinking you found a diamond in the rough. "one of our old beaters had to step down due to an injury... we're hosting tryouts soon for his replacement."

karasu catches your drift and is quick to turn it down, not wanting to embarrass himself like last time. "no thanks. i'm good."

"but!" you protest, "we could use someone like you. someone who's really analytical. all of us are a lot stronger on a physical sense, but you seem to really have the nail on the head of our opponents. imagine what you could do!"

"... i don't have much experience playin' quidditch," he admits, scratching the back of his heating neck, "i don't think i'd be able to do well as the others."

you bite your lip, trying to think of what to say to him. you suddenly think of a plan that may be just a tad bit unfair to the others that would want to try out, but you think karasu could really be an amazing addition to the team with analytical skills that could compare to a familiar prodigal redhead's.

"i probably shouldn't be doing this but," you beckon him with your hand and whisper into his ear, "i could practice with you. just so you can get a solid grip on the play."

he thinks despite the colder weather, he's heating up a little too fast for his sake when your voice sends shivers down his spine.

you pull back with an excited smile on your face as the professor tells everyone to gather together again.

"i'm serious, think about it," you say to him as you begin to walk off to join some other friends of yours. "we'd love to have someone as extraordinary as you on the team."

you throw him a thumbs up just before you run off, leaving karasu dazed with your voice echoing the one word he's been desiring to attain the status of for years now in his mind.

"extraordinary, huh..." he murmurs with a soft grin, staring at the back of your figure when you chat and laugh amongst your friends. "someone like you sayin' that to someone like me... that's pretty funny."

[slytherin-pen]

Despite It All

pairing: Azriel x Eris

word count: 3.1k

warnings: family’s disapproval of relationship, Azriel cries, Eris makes threats, steamy make out, subtle inclusion of my own trauma about “coming out” (quotes because i wasn’t the one who told them) to my family and religion

a/n: my first Azris fic! i already liked the idea of them but after writing them i am ✨in love✨. written for Day 5 of @sjmprideweek “Family”

Cassian’s voice was a low growl as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Where the hell have you been?”

The tension in the room was suffocating. Rhys sat at the head of the table, resting his chin on his fist, violet eyes unreadable but sharp. Feyre glanced between them, her lips pressed into a thin line, while Mor refused to meet Azriel’s gaze at all.

Azriel—still standing in the entryway to the dining room—sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. He had known this was coming. The moment he’d stepped foot back into Velaris, this feeling of impending doom settled in his stomach. His shadows, now swirling around him restlessly, had felt it too. He had been gone too long. Rookie mistake for a Spymaster, but he had been…held up.

He ensured his stoic mask remained in place before responding. “As you all know, I was on a mission. Some unforeseen circumstances caused me to stay longer but it’s settled now.”

Cassian scoffed. “That's bullshit. Rhys said the mission shouldn’t have taken you more than a couple of days, yet it took you a week and a half. You’re a 500 hundred-year-old Illyrian warrior and the Spymaster for Cauldron-sake, what could have possibly made you stay for that long—” He hesitated, nostrils flaring. “And you smell like Autumn.”

Silence.

Then Rhys’ eyes narrowed slightly. “Azriel,” he said carefully, “why were you in Autumn? Your mission was on the Continent.”

Azriel clenched his jaw. He could lie. He had done it before, buried his truths so deep that even Rhys couldn’t pry them from his mind. But he was so damned tired. Of the lying, the sneaking around—pushing himself farther and farther away from the people he calls his family. He couldn’t do it anymore. They were his family. They would want him to be happy no matter what, right? And logically, this couldn’t go on forever. He would have to tell them someday anyway. Maybe this was the Mother’s way of nudging him toward the truth. Toward living in his truth.

His fingers twitched with nerves and his shadows dutifully hid them from view. It was now or never. “I’ve been with my mate,” Azriel admitted.

A sharp inhale from Feyre. Mor stiffened as if struck. Cassian’s expression darkened, brows knitting together.

Rhys exhaled slowly. “And who, exactly, is your mate?”

Azriel swallowed. “Eris.”

Mor shot to her feet, her chair scraping against the floor. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” Not anymore.

“That bastard—” Cassian started, but Mor cut him off.

“He’s cruel, Azriel. He let me suffer. He would have married me and Mother knows what if I hadn’t—” Her voice broke, her red-painted lip wobbling and Feyre placed a comforting hand on her arm. Morrigan slowly sank back into her chair.

“Perhaps it’s some sort of trick,” Feyre suggested, her wide blue eyes landing on her mate. “Maybe Eris has a daemati and is using Azriel for some sort of plot.”

Rhys frowned, creases forming between his brows. Azriel felt the claws scrape against his shield of shadow and steel, and he shoved them away.

“I know what he’s done,” Azriel said, his voice low. “I know what you all think of him. But you don’t know him. You don’t know his reasons.”

“I know enough,” Mor spat, her golden hair swishing as she shook her head. “And now you expect us to believe that you—what? You love him?”

Azriel didn’t answer. Because love was not a word he had ever used lightly. But Eris had held him close in the warm, firelit halls of the Forest House, tracing the scars on his hands, whispering declarations, and promising things Azriel had never dared dream of. Eris had kissed him slow and passionately, as if they had all the time in the world. As if he cared for Azriel in a way Azriel had never even cared for himself.

“You can’t be serious, brother,” Cassian pleads. “We have hated him for centuries. The things he has done—“ his wings jerked open then shut again with his rising frustration. “You can’t do this.”

“It is not something I have done,” Azriel corrects. “The Mother chose my mate. If you have a problem with it, take it up with her.”

Cassian slammed his hand down on the table as he leaned forward in his seat, rage and betrayal simmering in his hazel eyes. Morrigan and Feyre flinch in their chairs. “Don’t start that shit with me!” he roars. “You’ve kept this from us. From your family! And it’s because you knew it was wrong.”

Wrong.

Wrong?

No that can’t be right.

What he and Eris had was not wrong. Complicated? Sure. Messy? Absolutely. A game of fire and daggers, of harsh words and sharp gazes in the presence of others, always teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something exhilarating. But never wrong.

Because how could it be wrong when Eris looked at him the way he did? Like he was the only person worth watching in a crowded room? How could it be wrong when Azriel lay in his arms and for once in his Cauldron-forsaken life felt whole?

Rhys raised his hand placatingly. “That is not what Cassian meant,” he turned a glare on the bulky Illyrian before meeting Azriel’s eyes again. “Just help us understand, Az. How did this happen? How long have you known?”

Azriel’s shadows whipped around him, his rage rising like a burning fire. “I will not be interrogated. I did not ask you questions, Rhys, when you told us Feyre was your mate. I congratulated you. She was engaged to another High Lord and I was still happy for you. And Cassian—,” Azriel let out a bitter laugh, “you have some nerve to butt into my mating bond.”

Cassian stiffened, confusion marring his face, but Azriel continued. “I have watched you, brother,” spitting out the term like a bad-tasting tonic, “treat the mate you waited 500 years for like dirt under your boot. You belittle her, insult her, let Rhys—another male—dictate her life. I’ll admit I should have stepped in, should have told you what a prick you were being, but I held my tongue. What did I know about having a mate? About watching her wither away and suffer before my very eyes? I felt sorry for you but now—now I only feel sorry for her.”

Rhys had the decency to look guilty. Cassian recoiled as if he had been slapped, the color draining from his face.

Azriel surveyed the family that had always claimed to love him and realized it had never been unconditional.

He nodded to himself, then turned on his heel and left.

He ignored the shouts at his back—the pleas, the apologies. He will not stand for it. Unlike Cassian, he will protect the bond that is so sacred. He will defend his mate when he is not present, he will separate himself from those who cannot respect the love they have for each other.

The moment Azriel stepped into the Forest House, a warm hand caught his wrist.

Eris studied him, amber eyes filled with concern, then realization. “They know.”

Azriel exhaled shakily. “They know.”

A heartbeat of silence. Then Eris guided him toward the sitting room, his grip firm but gentle.

As they sat on the burgundy sofa, Eris released his grip on Azriel’s wrist and took both hands in his. “You’re shaking,” Eris murmured.

Azriel hadn’t realized. He had withstood the abuse of his step-brothers, survived wars and what should have been fatal injuries—but this rejection hurt more than it all combined.

Eris didn’t push, didn’t pry. He just sat there, steady and comforting, letting Azriel come back to himself.

When Azriel loosed a shuddering breath, Eris finally asked, “Do you regret it?”

Azriel turned to him, eyes burning. “No.”

It was true. He wished his family could have accepted it. Wished they would have wrapped their arms around him and gushed with joy as he had for them, but he did not regret it.

Eris let out a slow breath, something like relief flickering across his face. Then, with the ease of someone who knew exactly what Azriel needed, he shifted closer, brushing their knees together. “Then let them be angry. They’ll learn. Or they won’t. Either way, I’m not going anywhere.”

Azriel stared at him, at this male who had once been his enemy, at the warmth in his gaze, and for the first time since he was a child—he cried.

Eris tutted and maneuvered Azriel to lay his head on his lap—mindful of his wings—and ran his long, nimble fingers through the black strands of his hair. Azriel’s scarred hands gripped the fabric of Eris’ pants until his knuckles turned white like he was afraid Eris might run away.

“Let it out,” Eris murmured, his voice soft and soothing. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Azriel’s temple, his heart breaking for the male. “It’s going to hurt for a while. Maybe longer. But one day, it won’t be so hard to breathe anymore, and that weight in your chest will start to ease. You’ll be able to go about your day without thinking of all the ‘what ifs’, or turning your head to tell them something only to find they are not there. Because I am here. I always will be. And if you need me to hold you I can do that. If you need me to shove you, I can do that, too.”

Azriel’s shoulders shook with his sobs, and Eris’ chest cracked more with every choke on his tears.

This was never what Eris wanted, though it was what he had feared. He had told Azriel it was up to him to decide whether he told the Inner Circle about them. That he would respect whatever decision he made. But Eris knew the Inner Circle clung to the debacle with Morrigan like a child with their favorite teddy bear. Taking her word as fact and never questioning it. And even though he was there too, even though Morrigan did not tell the whole truth—he kept his mouth shut because it was not his story to tell. He chooses to believe that the Mother has a hand in all of their lives, and everything plays out how it should. He would curse her name for this particular conflict if he did not fear her wrath.

The Mother had given him Azriel as his mate, and for that he was grateful, but he could not help but question her methods sometimes. Why must his mate go through this? Why had their path been so rocky and treacherous? Eris’ mother would always say the Goddess only gave the hardest battles to her strongest warriors, but why must there be so many? It could be a test, he reasoned. A test of worthiness, of loyalty, but Azriel was already those things. Perhaps the test was not for him but for the Inner Circle, and they had failed. Now, his mate was the innocent victim of their negligence.

Azriel started to calm down, sniffling quietly. Eris continued to run his fingers through his hair, breathing deeply enough that Azriel could feel it and match his breaths.

“It hurts,” Azriel croaked.

“I know it does, my love. I am so sorry. If I could take your pain, I would.”

Azriel shook his head. “I wouldn’t want you to.” He slowly raised his head from Eris’ lap, wiped his eyes, and adjusted his position on the couch to be shoulder-to-shoulder with Eris. Eris intertwined their fingers, his golden rings chilling Azriel’s heated skin. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t you dare,” Eris snapped. Azriel flinched and he immediately regretted it. Softer this time, “Don’t apologize for their actions. Don’t apologize for your emotions. Just don’t.”

Azriel remained silent gazing down at their connected hands, watching Eris’ thumb sweep back and forth over his knuckle with rapt attention.

Eris sighed. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Azriel muttered. “I don’t want your feelings to be hurt too.”

“Don’t worry about my feelings,” Eris scoffed. “Whatever they said about me today, I assure you I have heard far worse from them in the past.”

“I know,” Azriel frowned. “Rhys tried to give me a chance to explain it to them, but after Cassian berated me and Mor bringing up the past—“

“Leave it to Morrigan to make it about her.” Azriel cut a sharp glare his way. “Sorry.”

Azriel rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t matter now. As far I’m concerned they are out of our lives. Cassian said it was wrong.”

Eris clenched his jaw and wrapped his free arm around Azriel’s shoulder and pulled him in, placing a tender kiss on his head. “You don’t need to explain anything to them. Their love for you should have prevailed over their hatred for me. It’s not like we were going to have family dinners any time soon,” Eris tried to joke, but it fell flat.

Azriel huffed a sad laugh. “No, we were not.” Azriel looked to Eris’ amber eyes, at the love and worry shining in them. Maybe it wasn’t so bad that he would get to wake up and fall asleep to those eyes every day. To the feel of his fiery red hair on his chest. He began to think he might just be okay in the end with Eris—his mate—by his side. He loved his family, no one could question that, but even they could not compare to the glowing string tying him and Eris rib to rib. To the constant flow of love, affection, and utter devotion that travels down the bond from Eris’ end.

He cupped the side of Eris’ jaw with his hand and brought his lips to his. It was measured and methodical, a lot like their relationship these past few years. Their tongues tangled with an intoxicating slowness, each stroke deliberate. Azriel felt his pants become uncomfortably tight, and as he moved his hand down Eris’ chest to his crotch he felt him having the same problem. He smirked into the kiss, pure male arrogance, and Eris growled as he ran his hands up the back of Azriel’s neck to his hair and tugged at the roots. Azriel moaned and swung his leg over Eris’ to sit on his lap, wings flaring behind him. His shadows encased them in a bubble of darkness, whispering to him about Eris’ fluctuating heart rate and breathing patterns.

He grabbed the collar of Eris’ shirt and yanked, buttons flying and rolling across the floor as they landed. His hands ran up and down Eris’ torso as he rocked his hips rocked back and forth. Eris’ hands found his hips and squeezed as he took Azriel’s lip between his teeth. The scent of their arousals—cedar, cinnamon, and musk—filled the sitting room. Eris started to fiddle with the buckles of Azriel’s leathers when there was a knock at the door.

Eris cursed. “Who the hell could that be?”

Azriel’s chest heaved as he lifted himself off Eris’ lap and settled back on the couch. Eris ran his hands through his disheveled hair and leaned down to peck Azriel’s lips. “I’ll tell them to fuck off and then we can continue this in the bedroom,” Eris purred.

Azriel smiled to himself as Eris walked out the double doors. He leaned his head back against the couch, throat bobbing as he swallowed. His smile grew as thought about being able to do this every day. No more sneaking around, no more extended missions for a few stolen moments with Eris. He will have him all to himself.

Eris walked back into the sitting room, his beautifully pale abs still on display. Azriel was about to comment on them when Eris spoke.

“It appears we are taking in strays now,” he drawled.

Azriel quirked a brow when Nesta Archeron walked through the doorway, a suitcase in tow. He jumped to his feet. “Nesta? he blurted.

Nesta handed her suitcase to Eris and strode straight toward Azriel, he let out an audible oof as she made impact, wrapping him in a tight hug. Azriel returned the gesture once the shock wore off, rubbing his hand up and down her back. When Nesta pulled away her face scrunched, and then she sniffed. Azriel’s cheeks flushed at the realization that she could smell them, what they had been doing before she arrived.

“Wh—What are you doing here?” Azriel stuttered.

Nesta, still smirking and grey eyes swimming with mirth, merely shrugged. “I’m moving in.”

Eris walked further into the room to where Azriel and Nesta stood, placing his hands on his hips. “And pray tell how you managed to get here.”

She rolled her eyes. “Feyre, obviously. She dropped me off at the border between Winter and Autumn, and then I walked.”

“You walked?” Azriel balked.

“It’s why it took me so long,” she nodded. “I was eavesdropping on the conversation you had in the dining room,” Azriel snorted, because of course she had, “and after you left I cornered Feyre in the hallway and demanded she winnowed me.”

Eris’ eyes narrowed. “And she just agreed? What about your mate?”

All the humor drained from Nesta’s face as she met his gaze. “I heard what you said.” Azriel’s face fell, guilt churning in his gut. “You were right. Cassian doesn’t respect me, doesn’t cherish me. And I think I knew that deep down, but hearing someone else say it too for once made me realize I wasn’t overreacting or being difficult. He does not love me.” She glanced at Eris. “Not the way you love him.”

Azriel exhaled slowly. “I’m glad you came, Nesta,” he said softly. “But what about Cassian,” he turned to meet Eris’ eyes, “what if he tries to come here?”

Eris’ expression darkened. “I will feed him to my hounds,” he said menacingly.

Azriel’s mouth gaped, and he readied to scold Eris when Nesta started laughing. She doubled over, clutching her stomach as the cackles escaped her. Tears streamed down her face, and every time she tried to stop, she’d snort and laugh some more.

Azriel couldn’t help but join in. A soft chuckle at first, then a proper laugh as he tilted his head back, a wide smile overtaking his face.

Eris’ eyes whipped back and forth between them, scowling. “I wasn’t joking,” he deadpanned.

Nesta collapsed to the floor in a fit of giggles, bracing a hand on the rug as she tried to catch her breath.

Azriel sighed as he calmed down, walked to Eris’ side, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “This is going to be fun.”

[bluemoonscape]

The like, painful thing about Vader being such an iconic and famous character in the star wars mythos is that the more we receive of him, the weaker his initial redemption arc becomes.

Like it was always going to be a problem and it's not really bad if you just never think too much about everything Vader is said to have done in between the prequels and the original trilogy. But it's hard, because the ancillary material provides so so much depth and complexity to Anakin and Vader. He is, at once, made worse and better by continuously expanding on his life.

The tragedy of Anakin is made even more tragic by going into the mind of Anakin the day order 66 happens and seeing the glee he takes in mocking the council during his slaughter. It makes you feel sick, and then you are presented with the failures of the council and how Anakin was raised from slavery and made to believe he is some savior, but he couldn't even save his mother. He was PUNISHED for even suggesting that he intervene. The Jedi Order had already been compromised and their ideology warped to cause harm through inaction and placing the importance on their relationships with banks and private factions that have a stake in an eternal war.

There was a comic where Anakin and Obi-Wan are trying to save this planet that isn't technically part of the Republic and is facing a natural calamity AND the Separatists aiming to take control of the planet. I can't remember the entirety of the comic but I remember what Obi-Wan says to Anakin as the Jedi arrive with the Clones to take control of the situation: he said that the Jedi didn't arrive to help because help was needed, they showed up because a JEDI requested aid. They had known about the planet, they had received their distress calls, they didn't mobilize UNTIL a Jedi sent a distress call (and I think they took control of the planet for its natural minerals)

The comic was meant to emphasize the shift from the Order's altruistic peacekeeping origins, into a for profit military force. So when Order 66 happens, it is an immensely tragic event to everyone else, but it feels as if its divine Retribution to Anakin. iirc he says "I'm what you prayed for, aren't I lovely" or something to that effect in the novel of Revenge Of The Sith. It's like, effed up, but it you can see how--through Anakin's many many troubles and Sidious' constant manipulation--Anakin comes to view his actions as just.

And then going forward, as Vader, we are constantly in his headspace in almost every piece of media he appears in as a character. His disdain for Anakin, unending pain(physically and mentally), how Sidious punishes him for his defeat to Obi-Wan. The comic where he bleeds his kyber crystal...it's such a good goood comic. Gosh, in the vast world of Star Wars, it's hard to imagine a character who suffers as much Vader or who is as punished as Anakin.

Plus Anakin and Padme were T4T m/f and Anakin and Obi-Wan are toxic doomed mlm 🤧 thank you.

GOD you're so right about the continued expansion of his character both making him deeper as a character and yet showing us dimensions of his cruelty and capability for cruelty that we haven't seen before... he's such a tragic character at his root and literally every piece of media added to the collection of his story adds something new and often jarring.

What's so striking to me (which I recalled because you mentioned the RotS novelization which I'm normal about totally) about him is that, at his root, he's kind, loving, and altruistic - everything the Jedi hail. In the Phantom Menace novel, Watto sends him across the Dune Sea on a speeder to negotiate a trade with a merchant. On his way back, he encounters an injured Tusken and stops to try and help him. He stays with him through the night, not knowing how to help but unwilling to leave him, and this small child is thinking and recognizing that he and the Tusken were both afraid of each other, and yet this gives them something they have in common. Eventually little Ani falls asleep and wakes up however many hours later to find himself surrounded by other Tuskens who had come for their injured man. He's terrified, he's carrying valuable parts from the trade he was forced to do, but the Tusken he spent the night watching over signals for the others to lay off, and so they leave him and his valuables alone. This is such a simple but profound scene to me because we know what Anakin does to a village of Tuskens in AotC. In the time after he spent in slavery and before the start of the Clone Wars, something in him shifted to gain the capability to harm rather than guard. He was punished for things he couldn't control and was victim to the war's intentional corruption of the Jedi Order.

And then in the same novel, he helps Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, Padme and Jar-Jar get off-world by offering to win them the parts for their ship, something he was not aware would end up benefiting him since Qui-Gon didn't reveal he was freed until after the race. His mom mentions a time when Anakin ran up a huge sand dune to scare away a herd of Banthas because he was afraid they were going to be shot. None of these actions benefit him. The most heart wrenching thing about Anakin's story is that he was such a sweet, loving, selfless kid. He wasn't born with a bad bone in his body.

And that compounds his resentment of the Jedi Order as a whole so much! Of course the orchestration and fall of the Republic is the fault of Palpatine and Dooku, we know who the villains are, but the Jedi Order just wasn't equipped to handle someone like Anakin. They made a fatal mistake. You have Qui-Gon, who freed Anakin - being brutally honest - because of his midichlorian count. He liked Anakin but he wouldn't have gone out of his way to free him if Anakin wasn't a Jedi. This already wildly fucks up Anakin's head because he was freed over his mom or any other slave child because he's special. He was treated differently by the Council because, for anyone who didn't believe he was the Chosen One, he at least had massive potential to be the best Jedi they'd ever seen. Padme and Obi-Wan, the people he loves most, are the only ones who treat him with love that is entirely unrelated to him being the Chosen One. They didn't care about this aspect of him, didn't even believe it was true, and they loved him long before they realized "oh damn, he might actually be? Okay then." Palpatine manipulates Anakin by pretending to offer a similarly unselfish love. Anakin's head has been fucked with so much from going from one in a hundred million slaves to having the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders. He went from one extreme of being nothing to suddenly being everything to so many people. Extremely unstable world for an extremely unstable boy to be growing up in. Anakin is incredibly BPD coded and so being surrounded by such chaos while there's already so much going on in his head just broke him, over and over.

So yeah obviously him killing the Jedi was NOT right or righteous by any extent but as viewers we can understand how he reached this point after a childhood of abuse and then an adolescence and young adulthood filled with grooming, grief, war (I think some people forget the Clone Wars literally started when he was 19, like that is YOUNG and then he had the responsibility of Ahsoka's life thrust upon him essentially to test him and his ability to let go, which was unfortunately unfair for both him and Ahsoka) etc. Then his relationships with Padme and Obi-Wan are so complex because in both of these dynamics he's pushed away at some point despite Padme and Obi-Wan loving him so dearly. They try to protect him from himself and he doesn't understand why. It's all of these things that build the resentment not only for the Council but then Vader's resentment for Anakin himself. Because he was "weak." Because he "let" all of these horrible things happen to him.

Because in the end Anakin hurt himself as much as anything else. And he still can't let go of his attachments. He holds onto Obi-Wan long after RotS and holds onto both him and Padme through Luke in the end, thus bringing Anakin back to the surface through the fog of Vader. The kyber crystal comic is INSANE because it shows us how deep that love and those attachments still run.

Anyway answering rant over,,,,

T4T ANIDALA PULLING OUT MY "ANAKIN IS BASICALLY A CLONE OF SHMI MADE FROM THE FORCE AND LACKS MALE CHROMOSOMES FROM AN ACTUAL FATHER THEREFORE FTM ANAKIN" PROPAGANDA!!!! And toxic doomed Obikin. Clutching you. Shaking you. Shaking you like a toddler who has never seen a cat before shakes a cat. You get me

[ober-affen-geil]

Tips from my experience (ymmv):

If you are ambulatory I absolutely second shoes with ankle support. Also get inserts. My flat feet compound my bad knees and back so even though they are the lesser of my internal evils I treat them or suffer the compounding consequences.

It may help to keep something to track your pain/context around it. I'm currently seeking a diagnosis so I started a spreadsheet to see if weather is actually a significant contributing factor. Partially for my own reference and partially for any doctor who might get involved. Can be as simple as marking an x on your day planner or as complex as tracking everything you eat. (This has the added benefit of learning what pain triggers you might have and either how to avoid them or when to brace for a bad day.)

Find a pain scale that works for you, and refer to it often. Chronic pain makes your baseline different and it helps me accurately report it when I check my experience against the chart I like.

Find medical people from either good recommendations from other patients or from good medical people you already know. I got a recommendation for a knee PT from a different PT I was working with for my back who was an angel. And I got THAT PT from my surgeon, and I got that surgeon from my regular doctor whom I love. A specialist I just went to for a second opinion was recommended to me by a friend, and I had a much better experience than the first opinion who was unrecommended.

Find a way to make sure you do your exercises. I tie mine to brushing my teeth. I don't get all of them done every night, but I get a baseline done that does happen daily.

Did you inherit your disability? That person is a great resource about what you're going to experience in the next 20-30 years. Learn from their experience and/or mistakes.

Figure out what OTC or DIY stuff works to relieve your pain. Braces, heat, cold, pressure, elevate, bath, patches, gel, etc. On days that you know are going to be bad, stay ahead of the pain if you can. And keep them where they're the most useful to you. I have several different wraps that live in my work bag because I need them there most often. K tape strips now travel with me everywhere, along with an emergency dose of painkillers. (Also wear that wrap or brace if you need it! Who cares if other people can see it.)

Critical reminders:

You are still disabled even if your disability doesn't affect you every day.

If there is something that will assist you in relieving your pain, use it. Even if it's "not for you", if it helps, it's for you.

You are worth it.

I've been disabled for almost 29 years. Here's what I've learned.

Tablets sink and capsules float. Separate out your tablets and capsules when you go to take them. Tip your head down when taking capsules and up when taking tablets. Liquigels don't matter, they kinda stay in the middle of whatever liquid is in your mouth.

If your pill tastes bad, coat it with a bit of butter or margarine. I learned this from my mom, who learned it from a pharmacist.

Being in pain every day isn't normal. Average people experience pain during exceptional moments, like when they stub their toe or jam their finger in a door, not when they sit cross-legged.

Make a medical binder. Make multiple medical binders. I have a small one that comes with me to appointments and two big ones that stay at home, one with old stuff and one with more recent stuff.

Find your icons. Some of mine include Daya Betty (drag queen with diabetes), Stef Sanjati (influencer with Waardenburg syndrome and ADHD), and Hank Green (guy with ulcerative colitis who... does a bunch of stuff). They don't have to be disabled in the same way as you. They don't even have to be real people. Put their pictures up somewhere if you want; I've been meaning to decorate my medical binders with pictures of my icons.

Take a bin, box, bag, basket, whatever and fill it with items to cope with. This can be stuff for mentally coping like colouring books or play clay or stuff for physically coping like pain medicine or physio tape.

Decorate your shit! My cane for at home has a plushie backpack clip hanging from the end of the handle and my cane for going places is covered in stickers. All of my medical binders have fun scrapbooking paper on the outside. Sometimes, I put stickers and washi tape on my inhalers and pill bottles. I used my Cricut to decorate my coping bin with quotes from my icons, like "I've seen enough of Ba Sing Se" and "I need you to be angrier with that bell".

If a flare-up is making you unable to eat or keep food down, consider going to the ER. A pharmacist once told me that since my eye flares can make me so nauseous that I cannot eat, then I need to go to the hospital when that happens.

Cola works wonders for nausea. I have mini cans of Diet Pepsi in my coping bin.

Shortbread is one of the only things I can eat when nauseous. Giant Tiger sells individually-wrapped servings of shortbread around Christmas or the British import store sells them year-round. I also keep these in my coping bin.

Unless it violates a pain contract or something, don't be afraid to go behind your doctor's back to get something they are refusing you. I got my cardiologist referral by getting in with a different NP at my primary care clinic than who I usually saw. I switched from Seroquel to Abilify by visiting a walk-in.

If you have a condition affecting your abdomen in some way (GI issues, reproductive problems, y'know) then invest in track pants that are too big. I bought some for my laparoscopy over a year ago and they've been handy for pelvic pain days, too. I've also heard loose pants are good for after colonoscopies.

Do whatever works, even if it's weird. I've sat on the floor of the Eaton Centre to take my pills. I've shoved heating pads down my front waistband to reach my uterus.

High-top Converse are good for weak ankles. I almost exclusively wear them.

You can reuse your pill bottles for stuff. I use my jumbo ones to store makeup sponges and my long skinny ones to hold a travel-size amount of Q-Tips.

Just because your diagnostics come back with nothing, it doesn't mean nothing is wrong. Maybe you were checking the wrong thing, or the diagnostic tool wasn't sensitive enough. I have bradycardia episodes even though multiple cardiac tests caught nothing. I probably have endometriosis even though my gynecologist didn't see anything.

You can bring your comfort item to appointments, and it's generally a green flag when someone talks to you about it. I brought a Squishmallow turkey (named Ulana) to my laparoscopy and they had her wearing my mask when I woke up. I brought a Build-A-Bear cat (named Blinx) to another procedure and a nurse told me that everyone in the hall on the way to the procedure room saw him and were talking about how cute he was. Both of those ended up being positive experiences and every person who talked to me about my plushies was nice to me. If you don't feel comfortable having it visible to your provider during the appointment, you can hide it in your bag and just know it's there, or if you're in a video appointment, you can hold it below frame in your lap.

Get a small bucket, fill it with stuff, and stick it in your bed (if you have room for it). I filled a bucket with Ensure, juice boxes, oatmeal bars, lotion, my rescue inhaler, etc. in October 2023 in anticipation of my laparoscopy and I still have it in my bed as of January 2025.

If your disability impacts your impulse control (e.g. ADHD, bipolar disorder), you should consider setting limits around your spending -- no more than X dollars at a time, nothing online unless it's absolutely necessary, and so on. Or, run these purchases by someone you trust before committing to them; I use my BFF groupchat to help talk sense into myself when I buy stuff.

Feel free to add on what you've learned about disability!

[theallianceofcelestials]

Can i get a drabble of SEA KC snuggling Eclipse and these two cuddling pretty please?

Just some Father-son affection for my poor sentimental soul❤️‍🩹

And then you want to bite my man. Do you even deserve the drabble? /silly

Also congratulations, you get an entire story before the cuddling because my brain needs a reason for the cuddles to happen

It's been a really long day Eclipse thinks as he shambles back into his room, barely standing on his feet. It's been a very, very long day

Luckily, he's got the entire room to himself because the family left for-

"Before you decide to flop into the nest do take a shower please"

And then he promptly jumps because Killcode's somehow fucking there.

Eclipse glares, but then stops when it finally registers to him just what state his father is in.

He's bundled in the blankets, looking miserable, holding a cup of tea and somehow managing to give the feeling of a stuffed, red nose.

"The hell happened to you?"

"It appears-" and he's cut off with a sneeze that startles him from the simple loudness of it "appears that I've caught a cold"

What the actual fuck?

"You can do that?"

The effect of the disapproving frown is lost when Killcode begins to rapidly take in air for his next sneeze, only to immediately transition into coughing.

"I'll be back in a sec"

He rushes quickly into the bathroom, because he clearly needs to take care of his father right now. Why did the rest of the family leave him alone?

He's done with his shower in record time, basically jumping into his pants so he can rush back out the door before the idiot nightmare can start doing something like cooking. Knowing him, he'd totally try to.

"Don't you even fucking dare leave the nest! Back in there!"

The startled SCP crawls back under the covers, until only his glowing red optics are visible. He looks like a kicked puppy, and not like the ancient being he is.

"I'm making you soup! Now stay there or I'm tattling on you to Sun!"

That's a proficient enough threat apparently, because his father stays in the nest for the duration of his soup making. He doesn't even dare to poke his head back out.

Might just be because he's that sick

"Here, eat this. If it doesn't feel good just tell me, you don't have to eat it all"

The sad miserable whine is only somewhat for show he thinks as large clawed hands reach for the comically small bowl, pulling it into the darkness where it disappears. After some slurping noises, the empty bowl is presented to him. He takes it with a sigh.

"Now scoot over"

"No"

"No?"

"You'll get sick..."

He sighs again, already looking towards the ceiling for patience.

"Killcode, I'm an animatronic. I can't get sick"

There's a second of quiet, then

"Oh, right"

And then the giant, sad pile of blankets is shuffling over, making him space. Eclipse takes it gladly, finally collapsing into the bed.

It's great. He's happy to be lying here. But he needs something else.

So he shimmies over until he can throw his arms and legs over the sad Killcode pile, burrowing into the warmth the SCP seems to exclude. He seems warmer than usual. Does he have a fever?

There's a bit of sad, miserable moaning, but then a large arm wraps around him, and pulls him under the blankets.

He melts into the contact, feeling his systems come alive in a happy purr he knows soothes the giant, burrowing his face into the large neck. His wraps his arms around the closest metal surface to himself and squeezes.

That familiar head nuzzles into his rays, and he's going to excuse the stressed nibbling on them as the SCP suffering because of his sickness, but he does slap at what he can now feel is a large side.

"Stop eating my rays"

The whine he gets might make someone believe he genuenly hurt him somehow, and didn't just ask him to please keep his saliva to himself. It makes him begin to pull away.

"Noooooo"

In a chidish move he didn't expect from his father he pulls him against his chest, trapping him against the hot metal. He even rolls over him, just so he can't escape.

"Get off of me!"

Killcode whines again, going limp. He only moves to pet and occasionally nuzzle him

Eclipse just sighs, settling in for a night of cuddling

[snowballseal]

My Dearest

Part 6

LaDS Zayne X Foreseer! Reader

Prologue / Part 5

Summary: You run away from a new revelation regarding Zayne's past and the part you played in it. The distance leaves you both feeling empty, and Zayne can't bring himself to leave you be. Confrontation sparks, confessions are made.

Word County: 3108

Note: we speedin up y'all, cause i'm worried of running out of motivation, and I refuse to not finish this series! there's still more angst to come, but at least now i can get into more fluff :3

Warnings: ummmmmm, mention of violence and murderous intent, also the concept of sending children to war - hate it, but it's for the lore.

---

“You dare stand before me with blood on your hands and ask for prophecy?”

Your rage burns, unbridled, against the envoy before you. A collection of men, skin sagging with age and gluttony, greed staining their teeth, eyes sunken with lust.

Men of such abhorrent sin. And here they stand, shameless in their expensive robes and fine jewelry while the people of their kingdom are begging on the streets and dying of hunger.

“Foreseer, we are simply-”

“I did not give you permission to speak,” you snap, and the men all flinch at the scathing ice of your tone, “I have seen the blood, the children you have forced to fight your wars in the name of riches. You are nothing but cowardly rats and the king you serve is but a mere disgusting beetle. There is no fortune for murders like him, or spineless puppets like you.”

“How dare you-!”

One of the men moves, as if to approach you in his indignance, but a mere twitch of your fingers brings your staff to hand, the Creatio Protocore gleaming maliciously with your rising ire. You slam it into the ground, ice spindling like webs across the marble, forcing the men to lose balance and fall to their knees. Where they belong.

“Your hubris is sickening,” you murmur, low and harsh, bearing your teeth with the rage of a wolf, “Now be quiet. For the sins your king has committed, Fate has given me this prophecy, so that he may know what it is to be powerless. If he does not repent for sending mere children to fight his wars, then he will pay for their blood with the loss of his own. Death will take his daughter as atonement, and no human medicine or efforts will be able to save her. That is your prophecy. Now leave.”

“My lady?”

You blink, taking a sharp breath as your mind returns to your body. A near physical pain eclipses your entire being, and suddenly you feel far too vulnerable, far too fragile. Too human. 

You hate it, you hate that you’ve been brought to such feelings, by your own hand no less. The human race does not deserve sympathy, not from you, not after what they’ve done, rich and poor alike. And yet you have allowed this man to break past your defenses and wrap himself in your being, without even intending to do so. You’ve never met such a seemingly innocent soul, and yet it is because of you that he has suffered. Because of your supposed blessings. 

It’s more sickening than any human greed you have faced.

“My lady?” Zayne tries again, brow furrowed sharply as he slowly shifts his hand to hold yours.

Your fingers are trembling.

It’s a complete contrast to mere moments ago, when he was shaking like a newborn lamb and you had comforted him so gently. Now you seem almost…conflicted, drawing into yourself as your expression shutters closed - hiding away your emotions. Yet still, your fingers tremble.

“My apologies,” you murmur, only the slightest tremor behind your words, “I was merely…reliving a memory. Heed me no mind.”

“I understand if you find my past…offensive,” Zayne rasps, thumb pressed hesitantly to your knuckles, “If you wish for me to leave, I will. I do not want to make you uncomfortable, my lady.”

The corners of your lips waver.

“Don’t be so foolish,” you scoff almost bitterly, resisting the urge to carve into your chest just to ease the aching, bruise-like tenderness between your ribs. “It is mere arrogance to believe you could interfere with Fate’s will.”

And yet, how you wish you had done just that. If only you had hunted down that pathetic man and cut his heart out before he could lay his filthy hands on such innocence. You wish you had fed him to the beasts and watched the snow run red with his disgusting blood.

Zayne falters, jaw clenching, “But it was I who failed-”

“Medicine cannot cure one’s sins, Zayne,” you interrupt him with a sense of finality, “An illness of the soul leads to death. I praise your efforts, but you were never capable of saving that girl. No one could. Her death was dealt by Fate, and I was witness to the hand. You cannot atone for a sin you did not commit.”

And oh, how his spirit burns at that. You can see it in his eyes, the desire to argue, to not accept such truth and to carry the blame so forcibly set on his shoulders. He is a man at war with his own confusion and brokenness, fighting so stubbornly to keep his head above water.

Because of you and Fate.

How cruel.

You should leave before you cause any more harm.

Gritting your teeth, you cast your gaze aside to the still dark sky beyond the window, “You have dealt with enough for tonight.”

You move to stand, but Zayne’s grip only tightens around your wrist, so you are left balancing in the in-between, aching aching aching-

“My lady…”

Stay.

A resigned smile pulls at your lips.

If only things worked in such a way.

“I will brew you a sleeping tonic, so that you may rest,” you murmur thickly, swallowing around the pathetic desperation choking your throat. “I do not wish for you to make yourself sick.”

And you pull your hand loose from his. Your world is cold again, but at least he may have the chance to stay warm.

---

Little do you know how proximity softens the vicious beast. Like ice exposed to the warmth of a fire, your very soul made space for the flames. Without it, you are left a hollow form, dripping in the long forgotten desire to simply be near another.

It is a horrible temptation. One you cannot give it to.

So you keep your distance and let the feeling fester, because that is all you’ve ever done.

Though Zayne does not seem so content to let you return to how things were.

Like the sun chasing after the moon, the man persists day and night for even a mere glimpse of you. Your absence is too sharp, too sudden, after you’ve allowed him such closeness. After feeling how tender your touch can be. Even if the harsh truth you’ve shared with him has set his world spinning, he can’t help but miss your thoughtful gaze, the serenity of your presence, and the ease of your conversations.

And as the days go by without you, he cannot ignore the fact that he is nearing full health. The deep aches have faded and his pulse no longer stutters as he climbs the stairs. It leaves him bereft of direction. 

Medicine he understands. Illness, disease, injuries, they are a language he can speak, issues he knows how to address. Coping with his symptoms was easy. Coping with the emptiness in his chest, the sinking feeling that grows every day he doesn’t see you? Where is he even meant to begin?

He should leave you be, he should respect the clear distance you’ve set from him, he knows that, but for once Zayne wants to be selfish. He wants to draw close and and drown in the depths of your soul which you have shared so sparingly with him, to learn everything he possibly can about you, even if it takes the remainder of his second life. The second life you offered him.

His teacher always said he was a stubborn man when he set his mind to something. And that something is now you.

He can only hope that you will have mercy on him. Again.

So Zayne resorts to what he does best. He studies. He studies your habits, your movements, your tactics for avoiding him. And he sets himself in your way, if only to learn the answer to one question before resigning himself to his fate.

---

At a loss, you return to your former habits - avoiding the man by scaling the Tower and watching the horizon for hours on end.

Only, this time, as you step foot atop the snowy peak of the Tower, you are frozen in place by the sight before you.

Zayne leans against the wall, supporting himself with that staff you gave him so many days ago. His gaze is set out across the jagged outline of Mount Eternal. Dark hair, dark robes, surrounded by a sea of white, wishing to be seen, to be known. This is no coincidence.

Before you can dare to retreat, those jade eyes flicker over to you with a quiet intensity. Like heat pouring across your skin. You resist the urge to shudder, to crumble before such a heavy gaze.

For once, you feel as though you don’t have the upper hand.

Still, you try to avoid what you know is coming.

“You will freeze if you linger out-”

“Do you wish for me to leave?”

You blink, brows steepling together as confusion flickers across your face at his sudden boldness. Taking a second to actually look at him, you find that there’s something different about the man. He is still Zayne, yes, still the man you pulled from the snow, but there is a steeliness behind his gaze, a determination with which he holds himself. It feels as though if you draw too close, you may melt completely.

“I…do not understand,” you murmur while taking a step back.

Zayne notices, eyes narrowing in a way that makes your typically slow pulse jump. Slowly, he pushes himself off the wall, head tilting ever so slightly, “By medicinal standards, I am well. I am no longer suffering any symptoms from my exposure to the elements.”

A step forward.

You take another pathetic step back.

“Oh…” Has that much time already passed? “Are you certain?”

“Do you wish to check?”

Another step.

You keep your distance.

“I do not see the purpose behind that. Your knowledge of medicine rivals my own.”

“I would like to confirm my findings.”

Your back touches the cold, half-wall that lines the outlook. Panic seeps into your core as he takes another step forward. Like a feral cat, you feel yourself bristle.

“Stop,” you bite out.

And, of course, Zayne does. He falls still, only a few feet from you, watching you with that same calm intensity, as though he’s trying to peer into your soul. It makes your magic prickle under your skin, sharp and uneasy. How could you forget just how persistent the man is?

“You seem to be feeling quite emboldened by your health,” you all but whisper, throat dry.

“Am I making you uncomfortable, my lady?”

Yes.

No.

For once, your emotions are not quite clear. A part of you wants to keep your distance, to protect him from further harm that could occur from being close to you. The other part, however, relishes in the warmth of his closeness, in the certainty behind his mottled eyes. It soothes something in you, something you don’t want to recognize.

You’ve missed him.

“What do you want from me, Zayne?” You ask, though it takes all your efforts to keep your voice cold, like the snow touching your nape. “Because I am certain it is not for me to check your health.”

A smile flickers briefly at the corner of his lips. Of course you would see through him.

“I wish to know more of you,” Zayne answers earnestly. Simply. As if it makes more than enough sense.

It doesn’t.

Tongue clicking quietly against your teeth, you narrow your eyes at him, “You know more of me than most.”

“...It’s not enough.” The words pass his lips like a confession, a murmur of raw devotion, as he draws a step closer. Tension bleeds into the air, like a layer of static between you, setting every one of your nerves on edge. “I wish to stay by your side and learn everything about you. I wish to pick you apart and worship every piece of you in ways I do not understand.”

Every muscle in your body draws tight. This is not right. This is not right.

“You do not know what you wish for, human,” you grit out, “I will not be of use to you. There is nothing you can gain from staying in this hell.”

“I do not wish to gain anything aside from serving you.”

You bite back a scoff, “Do you not think that I have grown tired of your presence and perhaps have cast you aside? Do you not think I will kill you for this brazen show of defiance?”

His gaze is unwavering against yours, too calm, too certain, “I do not think you will harm me, my lady.”

Something in you snaps.

“I already have,” you all but seethe, teeth bared like a feral mutt forced into a corner. “Do you not see that? It was I who gave the prophecy to your king. I am the reason he called upon you, the reason your teacher hung in the gallows, the reason your hands were stripped of their use and your leg was fractured.” Your magic lashes out past its restraints, frost spreading across every surface you touch. “Only a fool would worship the one who has cursed him to such a life.”

A hateful mixture of anger and guilt constricts your chest, making it near impossible to breathe. You feel lost, drowning in such foreign emotions, grappling for anything to hold on to yet unwilling to reach out to him. Because you can’t rely on him. You don’t want to rely on him. You don’t want to trap him here.

“May I come closer, my lady?”

Gods, you want to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

But you are weak weak weak-

“Do as you wish.”

All too quickly, you feel his warmth ensnare you. His fingers brush against yours hesitantly, a question. When you do not draw away, he traces your palm slowly, reverently, before slotting his long, graceful fingers between yours. Your breath catches with uncertainty as he draws your hand up to press his lips to your knuckles, the touch featherlight. Yet, his skin is all but scorching against yours and this time, you can’t stop the shudder that passes through you. It makes you feel fragile. Soft.

When he speaks, his voice is hushed, lips still brushing tenderly against your skin as he gazes up at you so warmly, “I believe it was you that told me that no one is capable of interfering with Fate’s will, my lady. And I must admit that I am grateful for all that has happened.”

Lips pulling into a frown, you can’t keep your disbelief from shaking your voice, “How can you say such a thing?”

“If it were not for those events, I would not have found my way here. I would not have met you, or experienced the depth of your mercy-” He presses another kiss to your knuckles. “-the kindness you conceal behind your indifference-” His lips brush against your pulse. “-or the gentleness of your touch.” Resting your hand against the warmth of his cheek, Zayne presses into your touch, his lips against your palm. Your breath falters as his eyes flicker back to you, kindled with the same heated adoration from nights ago. “How can I not call myself blessed?”

How could you possibly deny him after that?

“You are a fool,” you try weakly.

“Perhaps,” he hums with a shrug.

“And infuriating.”

“My apologies, my lady.”

Unwillingly, a smile twitches at your lips

No, you’ve never been able to deny him in the first place. Not even when Fate commanded it.

Perhaps you are just as much a fool as he. You can’t ignore the truth of his words either - about your own hypocrisy. Though the guilt still festers, and you are still tracing the edge of uncertainty, you truly cannot force him away this time.

“...There will be conditions if you choose to stay,” you start slowly.

Zayne perks a brow, intently focused on you, urging you to continue with a nod.

“You mustn't disrupt my responsibilities,” you insist, becoming far more serious, “Though I detest most of your kind, as the Emissary of Fate, it is my duty to provide prophecies when she instructs me to. At times, though rare, that means traveling to your human kingdoms. You will not be permitted to join me on such journeys.”

For his safety, you think. And he seems to understand, a small glint of gratitude flashing behind his gaze.

“You will become my responsibility, meaning that I will be the one to provide you with anything you may need or want, you need only ask. In return, if you truly wish to serve me, I expect you to listen without argument and never question my judgement.”

“I quite enjoy listening to you, my lady,” Zayne hums almost playfully.

Eyes narrowing, you give his cheek a soft pinch, drawing a low laugh from the man.

Cheeky human.

“Also, I would prefer to have my room returned to me,” you snip back, “so I will provide you with a new room and your own bedding.”

Zayne blinks. His mind processes your words slowly. Then, understanding dawns on him. His eyes go impossibly wide and, much to your pleasure, his ears flush a dark pink, like the sunrises you’ve watched from this very spot. 

“Do you mean to say that I have been sleeping in your…?” He can’t even say it, the pretty color spreading across his pale cheeks and down his neck.

“Generous, aren’t I?” You hum, brushing your thumb over his heated skin. It only makes his face flush darker, his chest stuttering unevenly.

“Please have mercy on your servant, my lady,” he pleads, though he’s uncertain what kind of mercy he’s referring to as he presses into your teasing touch.

“Where has that brazen confidence gone, my dear?”

You may as well have struck him down, because Zayne seems to cease working at that. He lets out a ragged breath, gripping desperately to his staff to keep himself standing. And while you are more than amused, you don’t wish to inflict a heart attack on him.

“Shall we return inside before you lose all your bearings?”

He nods, not trusting his voice.

You resist the urge to laugh.

Damned if you do and damned if you don’t. At least this way you can give him everything he could ever need. And you’ll do everything you can to protect him from further pain. 

You truly never expected your decision to lead to this.

---

And we see the first instance of the petname :3 i freaking love writing flustered Zayne, you can't convince me that Zayne isn't the easiest LI to completely break with just a few words and touches. like, listen to his secret times, just saying. man's breath falter at a simple look. i love him so much.

Tag List: @pirana10 @antivanblessing @animecrazy76 @xx-riffraff-xx @seris-the-amious @king-dynamight

[redsrooftopprincess]

Hi!! I love the way you write the bayverse boys, especially your headcanons! My favorite has to be your disability headcanons, I'm disabled and I love seeing representation. Would you be willing to write some headcanons of how the boys would act with a disabled partner? I know that's kind of a vague request since there are so many different ways to be disabled, but maybe some general headcanons on how they'd be with a partner that just has a hard time doing the "everyday" stuff, like getting out of bed/brushing teeth/walking around for a long time? I understand if you're not comfortable with writing this!

Hello, my dear anon! You're in luck! Luck? Is that the word? Idk. I, myself, am disabled! I'm only really comfortable writing the disabilities I'm intimately familiar with (without extensive conversation with people who do have them), but I CAN speak to the ol' classic combo of ADHD, Autism Spectrum Disorder, and Sensory Processing Disorder (I have an alphabet full, but these are the main 3 that cause me daily issues).

AuDHD Reader Headcanons

Here are some ways our boys would actively love a Sensory Avoidant Autistic with ADHD (much, non-physical love to my fellow neurosparklies), and a few things they might have a little trouble with.

Leo

Don't worry about a thing, love. He's got you covered.

Need a dark quiet place to hide for a while? His room exists. It's already perfect.

Leo's a light sleeper, so your very soft morning alarm, *will* wake him, but he loves that he doesn't have to endure an obnoxious wake up call.

If he's not there to fix them himself, your current breakfast foods and drinks are already on the counter waiting for you. A lunch box / containers sitting behind them, just in case you can't eat yet.

Always has a portable safe food on hand in case you get distracted or forget to eat AND forgot what he laid out for you, as well as earplugs, sunglasses, a water bottle in whatever temperature you prefer, and a soft hoodie just in case you're having one of *those* days where *everything* is too much.

Expect him to be checking in every few hours. He doesn't want to overwhelm you with constant attention, but will ensure meds, water, and food happen.

If you can't speak, he'll usually be pretty good at picking up on what you need until you can talk again.

Issues:

Leo has OCD. While at first, he may be fine picking up after you when you leave a mess, it could build resentment after a while, so try not to keep your stuff in his room.

Leo's never had an issue with executive function, so expect him not to understand why you can't just *do* the thing. It'll take a bit for him to get that your brain needs to play before it's capable of doing a task that doesn't give you dopamine, and he may give you a hard time about "getting the important thing done first."

Raph

He's got this. Donnie's autistic, so he has an idea of what to expect... at least, he thinks he does. Hopes he does. Regardless, he'll figure it out.

He cleans the HELL out of his room the first time you come over, no chaotic mess or wierd smells allowed. He may have a bit of an issue *keeping* it that way, but if he notices it's affecting you, he'll handle it.

Pressure. Therapy. My guy gives the BIGGEST BESTEST hugs and will hold you as long for as tightly as you need. (This is really all of them, but I have a favorite, okay?)

OT anyone? Existing physically is hard when you feel like you have to tell every part of you, separately, what to do. Posture and overall muscle mass and flexibility suffer. Raph is there to make sure that doesn't happen. He won't be a dick about it, and he'll find ways to make the weightroom more sensory friendly, but he won't be okay with you neglecting yourself.

Similarly, nutrition! Raph has this uncanny ability to make just about ANYTHING into a safe food. Up to and including removing things after the dish is done cooking. If you order take out and you don't like mushrooms (or your disliked ingredient of choice), expect them to be removed before you even sit down. Multivitamins and hydration are also priority, and expect him to occasionally shove a water bottle in your face. He has a vested interest in you staying healthy.

He usually knows how and when to interrupt you to avoid the bulk of hyperfixation rage, and even when you snap at him, he knows not to take it personally. He's used to Donnie's "moments," so he'll just silently raise a brow ridge and wait for you to fully come back to earth.

Loves to sing and when you lay on his shell the reverb of his rich baritone feels niiiiiice. 10/10 for sensory regulation.

Listens oh so patiently to your info dumping. Half the time he has no idea what your saying, but he loves the sound of your voice and he loves how excited you get about your latest hyperfixation. Seeing you bouncy and bright eyed about... cereal or whatever, can fully turn his day around.

Issues:

Raphael is a physical guy, If you are touch averse, expect this to be a problem. He'll try not to take it personally, he knows it's not personal, Donnie doesn't like being touched either, but it does mess with his head for a while. During those times you're okay with physical contact, try and give him all the reassurance.

Can be a bit pushy about your health and safety at times. Usually it's easy to determine when there's an actual threat and when he's just being overprotective. He's getting better about the latter.

Donnie

'Tism twins!!!

While there is the usual social tapdance of "what type of neurospicy are you?" when you first meet, you both know how important it is to get as much information as possible right up front, so you know how to operate around each other.

Infodumping becomes an art form. You can see be working in silence for hours when one of you will start talking, already halfway through your own conversation in your head, and the other is instantly on board. You learn a LOT from each other about the most beautifully random things.

Expect him to keep a small fridge/pantry stocked with safe foods (when he remembers) and drinks (when he remembers). You more or less end up taking turns restocking everything when you notice the other's safe foods are out.

Fidgets. Everywhere.

Understanding that when either of you check in with the other to make sure they're staying on task, it's not passive aggressive, and your genuinely asking if they need help staying focused.

Has a "Sensory Regulation Chamber" in the lab that's essentially just quiet room stocked with anything either of you need to regulate. Sunglasses, fluffy sweaters, a drum set, you need it? He'll get it.

Issues:

Beware the usual issues that arise with Neurodivergent couples, when your 'tism clashes with his. If you need quiet and he needs to infodump, you can direct him elsewhere, but you're his person, and he wants to tell YOU. So expect pouting.

Hyperfixation rage on both sides can be a huge problem, and if you're not careful, it can quickly turn into a full blown fight over nothing.

Mike

It's all good, Angel. Whatever you need.

The most chill about it, and will fully roll with the punches whenever something happens he isn't expecting.

Snacks? Snacks. No need to worry about the stress of sitting down to, or putting together a whole meal. He's got your safe snacks on hand at all times.

His hoodie is now your hoodie. Full stop.

Want to watch the same movie, listen to the same song, play the same game, or eat the same food seventeen times in a row? Hell yeah! Let's go for the record!

Many with SPD (sensory processing disorder), know how helpful cannabis can be. He and Donnie are already tinkering with some plants, so he'll put a few aside to breed into something that tones down the world without leaving you tired and foggy.

Will listen to you infodump for hours with a goofy lovestruck smile on his face. You'll think he isn't listening, but he'll surprise you with something later that shows just how closely he was.

Issues:

OVERSTIMULATION. And NOT in the fun way (maybe the fun way, but that wouldn't necessarily be an "issue"). Both he and his space are bright and loud and there's a lot of stuff with very little organization. which we all know isn't a problem... Until, suddenly, it really *really* is. Set up a quiet space. You will need it.

Similarly, he's got a bit of a codependency issue. They all do, really, but Mike's is pretty extreme. Before you, things were... dark. And now you're here and things are awesome and what do you mean you don't want to snuggle on the couch right now? Did he do something wrong? Handling touch aversion and your occasional need for solitude takes him a WHILE.

ALL OF 'EM

These boys are sensory heaven. It's like they were made for sensory regulation. From textured skin to big strong arms to their churr basically solving every problem in your world, if only for a little while, expect them to be your safe space and refuge.

...

Tag list

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @daedric-sorceress @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo @sacred-holy-light @celeste-clearwater-06 @pheradream-15 @its-a-me-emmabee

[wanderingwolfwitcher]

"We'll limit the deaths of the innocents as much as possible... though I already know some at least will suffer and die. They always do, get caught up in these things they have nothing to do with. You know that better than most, from first hand experience... on the giving and receiving ends alike. Maybe we'll be fortunate for a change and there won't be any innocents on this island. We won't have to hold back against this Cult of Cthulhu."

Eskel's low, grim tone suggested to Sabrina as he finished his weapon and equipment checks, before rising up again to his feet, looking around the cavern and back to where they had come from. Making his way back to the mouth of the cavern, he began to ward it up with a variety of protective Signs and magical traps, taking no chances with the enemy they face, the unknowns at play. He would have to use every trick in the book to survive this island, he was certain. It was a good thing the particular book he lived by was a thicker tome even than the Necronomicon... a tome he would take over the latter any day. His knowledge was not a destroyer of worlds, but a salvation of them... even if on a far less grand scale. At the same time, she lay down magical traps of her own to supplement his defenses, even with the strain of magical usage undoubtedly taking its toll on her. She cast her illusions as well to hide not only her traps, but his... a wise precaution, given the cult's abilities and knowledge... undoubtedly of a magical nature. He would have to set up some conventional traps as well, when they moved further inland... he had spotted forest areas on the island coming in... he was as at home in a forest as he was on a mountain... not that he wasn't used to caverns as well. Most of the time it had been up to him to clear the monsters and beasts settling in them, including the Kikimores of the abandoned mine near Kaer Morhen.

As it stood, for all their differences, the two of them worked well together with their arcane powers, what they knew, and their present surroundings, making the most of each. When the rain soaked Witcher and Sorceress alike had finished, satisfied, they returned to the warmth of the blazing fire Scorpion stood near, settling in his spot and making sure she got something to drink in her, before he started to prepare their supper. He didn't expect she would be able to keep much down at the moment, still recovering from the effect of the Star-Spawn's presence, but she would need all the energy and rest she could get before they headed inland for answers. He couldn't deny the mystery of it all, horrifying as he knew its root to be, was no less tempting to him than the knowledge had been to her. A case to record in the records of Kaer Morhen, if they survived to make it back to the keep. At her unexpected grateful words, his viper eyes turned the crimson haired Sorceress beauty's way again silently for a moment. It seemed under risk of death, along with magical duress and the eldritch unknown, she was able to open up to him more. Share vulnerability she couldn't most of the time, even behind doors under ideal conditions. Reaching over when she sat close beside him, he took a hand of hers into his own, squeezing it with a nod, and continuing to hold it as his deep, calm voice returned to her again languidly. Looking between her and the blazing fire before them, drawing in a breath of the salty but warm air, smirking faintly.

"You're welcome, red. It's what I do best, remember? The hand destiny dealt me. Cleaning up the messes of others. Hopefully, when we're done with this, and survive, you start listening to the occult expert you've known for decades, for a change. Don't go chasing blindly after things you don't understand. Won't always be there to bail you out... already brought you back once. Likely that is also a reason these cosmic horrors can reach you more easily, in addition to all that exposure to the Necronomicon. You've been on the other side. Alive again or not, you've been touched by death, and what lies beyond. Many of these eldritch beings are already dead, yet still they dream, and affect reality from the void. There is no safe way to access power such as theirs... by its very nature."

@fallesto

Sabrina nodded slowly, her eyes on the flickering fire. It was a small comfort, a semblance of home amidst the alienness of this place. She watched as Eskel began to check his weapons and gear, his movements methodical and precise. It was a ritual she knew well, one that Witchers often performed before rest. She knew that despite his casual tone, he was preparing for the worst. She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of all that has happened pressing against her, and followed his lead. She began to check her own gear, her hands shaking slightly with the adrenaline still pumping through her veins. The warmth of the fire began to seep into her bones, and she felt the first tendrils of exhaustion coil around her. As she wished for anything else other than this, but this was the mess that they are in, there was nothing else to be done. As she looked and with a final look around the cavern, she stood, her shoes scraping against the cold, damp stone. She focused her mind and called upon her magical abilities, the air around her shimmering briefly with an arcane energy. She placed her hands on the cavern walls, whispering ancient incantations that only a few remaining mages knew. The rock began to pulse under her palms, the dampness retreating as the magic took hold. Slowly, she etched symbols into the stone, each one a ward that would alert them to any approaching danger. She was careful to hide the glowing marks with a thin veil of illusion, so they would not be easily spotted.

“It will do for the time being, we can rest here and when we have some sleep, we can begin, monsters will be here, maybe innocent people as well, hard to say, getting here was a problem, getting away will be another problem as well, but that comes after we do everything we need to be done.”

Next, she gathered rocks and branches from outside, using her magic to weave them into a series of clever traps. Each one was designed to be triggered by the subtlest of movements, yet strong enough to deter or even harm anyone who stumbled upon them. She placed these around the perimeter of their makeshift camp, each one a silent sentinel waiting to protect them from the shadows. As she worked, the rain grew heavier, soaking her hair and clothes, but she didn't notice, lost in the rhythm of her craft. She looked, and would see that Eskel watched her with a mix of admiration and concern. Her determination was unyielding, but he could see the toll the day's events were taking on her. She knew that rest was crucial, yet the urgency of their situation allowed for little. When she finished, she was handed her a flask of water. She took a grateful sip, the comfort spreading through her chilled body as she would move and sit right down beside him.

“Thank you for everything, I mean that, no doubt if it was just myself, I would have failed or just walked away from this.”

[thewinterdrafts]

Part 03 - Containment | Frostbite Series | The Winter Soldier

Pairing: The Winter Soldier x Original Female Character (1st Person)

Word count: 3,277

Summary: Elena navigates another brutal day in the facility, learning about Yulia’s past while enduring the mocking praise of a HYDRA officer who sees no difference between healing and torturing. The weight of it all threatens to crush her, but she pushes through, focusing on her work—on him. But then, something happens. A barely noticeable reaction, that is enough to change everything.

Disclaimer: This series is extremely dark, touching on graphic violence, psychological torment, and human suffering in all its forms. If you choose to read, proceed with caution.

Warnings: strictly 18+, Graphic medical procedures & surgical descriptions, Torture & inhumane treatment, Psychological manipulation & guilt

A/N: hello everyone, good to be back! i hope you like the series so far. happy reading!!

❄️ Frostbite Chapters: Part 01 - Severance Part 02 - Incision Part 03 - Containment - you are currently here

📍Masterlist

The room they put us in isn’t a prison cell, but it might as well be. The walls are bare and painted dull gray and green, the same lifeless colors HYDRA seems to love. Against one side of the room is a thin metal bed, the mattress barely more than a padding. The air, as always, is stale, carrying the sharp smell of antiseptic and metal. A small table with two mismatched chairs sits in the corner under a dim, flickering lightbulb. There are no windows. And, of course, the door is locked.

They threw Yulia and me in here after I lost control in the operating room. HYDRA operatives dragged me up from the floor while Yulia was beside me resisting, but they didn’t care. And neither did I anymore.

Now, I sit on the bed, gripping my scalp, my head full of thoughts I can’t escape. My mind is replaying everything over and over—the first incision, the way his muscles tensed beneath my hands. It was so small at the time, something I didn’t even register, and now, it’s all I can see. The truth is unbearable. He felt everything. Every cut, every drill, every suture. He was awake.

And I didn't notice.

How could I have trusted them? I should have known better. I should have checked. I should have asked questions. But I didn’t, I just followed orders, like a fucking fool. And now I sit here, with my eyes barely operating after all the tears I've shed, and there's nothing I can do. I was supposed to heal, not hurt, but the terror I caused him makes me think if I was worthy of anything I've ever achieved during my career.

“You’re tearing yourself apart.” Yulia's soft voice pulls me back from my thoughts.

I look up. She's sitting in one of the chairs with her arms crossed, watching me with an unreadable expression. There’s something tense in the way she holds herself, like she’s waiting for me to wake up from a fantasy.

I swallow hard. “I should have known.”

Yulia scoffs. “And what exactly would you have done? Fight them? Refuse to work? You think that would have made a difference?”

I press my ice-cold hands to my burning temples to try and hold myself together. “I don’t know,” I whisper. “I just—I should have seen it.”

“You act like this matters.”

My head snaps up. “Because it does.”

She lets out a short, bitter laugh. “To who? You? Because it sure as hell doesn’t matter to them. And it doesn’t matter to him, either.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re wasting your guilt on him—on that thing,” she spits. My mouth drops open.

“He’s not a thing, Yulia.”

She jumps on her feet and starts pacing the small room. Her agitation practically radiates off her in waves as her hands clench at her sides shakily. She stops in her movement to look at me.

“You keep saying that, but do you even hear yourself? You’re mourning the pain of the man who dragged me here.”

I freeze. “What?”

“The Winter Soldier. The one you’re so broken up over? He’s the one who took me six months ago. I was walking home from school and then he was there. I don’t remember much after that, just—” She exhales sharply, shaking her head. “I woke up here.”

My pulse pounds in my ears.

“Yulia—”

“No.” She cuts me off with a voice so sharp, it echoes back from the walls. “You don’t get to tell me about humanity. You don’t get to act like he’s a victim. He did this to me.”

I take a slow, careful breath, trying to stay calm. “And you think he had a choice?”

“I think it doesn’t matter.”

“It does.” I stand, meeting her glare. “Because no one deserves what they do to him. What I've done to him. No one.”

She shakes her head, exhaling sharply. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re angry at the wrong person.”

The silence between us is thick, almost suffocating. She won’t look at me, her body rigid, her hands still trembling. I've never seen her so riled up, which is how I know how hurt she must be.

I lower my voice. “I know you hate him. I understand why and I get it. But this? What they do to him? It’s not justice, Yulia, this is just more cruelty. He's just as much of a prisoner as we are.”

She exhales slowly, still avoiding my gaze. “And what are you going to do about it?”

I don’t have an answer. I have seen it—that flicker of something human in his eyes—and I know it isn’t my imagination. There is a person in there. Nobody can convince me otherwise.

Yulia finally looks at me, searching for something I can’t name, before scoffing under her breath. She turns away, dropping back into the chair with a heavy sigh.

“I hope you’re right,” she mutters. “Because if you’re wrong, you’ll be the next one on that table.”

The day begins with the sound of boots echoing down the hall—a rhythmic march that sends a shiver down my spine. Yulia and I barely have time to brace ourselves before the door unlocks, and the guards are there, waiting. There’s no room for protest. We stand, we follow, and we don’t speak.

The weight in my chest grows heavier, pressing down with each breath. The Soldier is exactly where we left him—restrained in the chair, dried blood all over him, like a pig slaughtered. They didn't even bother to clean him. His head is tilted slightly downward, but the moment we enter, his gaze lifts, meeting mine.

Something inside me twists violently, like I’ve been kicked in the gut. I look away too quickly. 

I can’t meet his eyes. Not when I know. Not when I can still hear the buzz of the drill in my mind, feel the scalpel in my hand, picture the way his body had tensed in response to every single thing I did to him. 

Before I can spiral into another nervous breakdown, a voice breaks the silence.

“Well, if it isn’t our star surgeon.”

I know that voice. I hate that voice.

I turn toward it slowly, forcing myself to school my expression. The HYDRA officer leans lazily against a tray of instruments, watching me like I’m something fascinating under a microscope. His smile is too easy and satisfied, and his uniform is pristine, like the cruelty he carries so effortlessly doesn’t touch him at all.

“You really outdid yourself last time, Professor,” he says, shaking his head in admiration. “Truly. It’s rare to find a doctor who can do what needs to be done without all that… inconvenient morality getting in the way.”

Yulia stiffens beside me, but she doesn’t speak. I don’t either.

He sighs, tilting his head toward the Soldier. “Most of your kind break at this part, you know. The realization, the guilt. But you?” He chuckles. “You got through the whole thing without a single moment of hesitation. You cut into the asset like a professional. No hesitation. Clean.”

My stomach twists. I want to protest, to tell him he’s wrong, that I didn’t know, that I would have stopped if I had known. But the words won’t come, because deep down, I know that’s exactly what he wants me to say.

He steps closer, lowering his voice, like he’s sharing a secret. “And the best part?” he smirks. “You actually believed us.”

I stop breathing.

“You really thought we gave you something to help it?” His voice is thick with amusement now, and it makes my skin crawl. “That we spared it from the pain it deserves?”

I grip my hands together to keep them from shaking. I feel sick.

He leans back, watching me with something that almost looks like pride. “But you didn’t stop. That’s what impressed me. You didn’t stop to question it. You just did your job.”

My heart is hammering against my ribs. I stare at a point on the wall, anywhere but him, anywhere but the Soldier. I cannot bare the guilt in my gut.

“Well,” the officer exhales, finally pushing off the tray, “I must say, Professor, we’re lucky to have you. You’re more valuable than you think.”

The nausea rises in my throat, suffocating me. He isn’t done.

“You don’t even realize what you are, do you?” His tone is smooth, sickly sweet. “You’re something special. We’ve had plenty of surgeons pass through here, but most of them… well. They don’t last long. But you?” He tilts his head. “I think you’re starting to understand.”

I shake my head. I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to be here.

He smirks. “Keep up the good work, Professor. We’re watching you.”

Finally, he turns, clapping a hand against the doorframe before stepping out. The door clicks shut behind him, and only the weight of his words remains. The silence stretches, and it's so unbearable that it's pressing into my skin. My pulse pounds in my ears as I force myself to breathe, to move, to exist in this moment without crumbling beneath it. 

I won't let them break me. After all I've been through—after all I've overcome, this will not be the place where I die.

I risk a glance at the Soldier. He is still looking at me. Not with blame, anger, or any other emotion in the book. Just watching, assessing. Like he’s seeing something he wasn’t meant to see.

Meanwhile, the guards are moving, rotating shifts. One steps out, another isn’t inside yet. It’s only a moment, a sliver of time, but I see it as an opportunity. I force down the lump in my throat and gather what little courage I have left.

Yulia shifts beside me. I can feel her stare, and hear the sharp inhale she takes when she realizes what I’m about to do.

I step forward. One step. Then another. The Soldier doesn’t move. He doesn’t react, but he watches.

I stop just in front of him, close enough that I can see every bruise, every cut, every dark shadow beneath his eyes. My chest tightens, but I do not let myself falter.

I owe him this much.

I wet my lips, my voice coming out barely above a whisper. 

“I am sorry.”

The words feel too small for what've done, and yet they carry the weight of everything I feel. The weight of every incision, every stitch, every blind moment where I thought I was helping, when all I was doing was adding to his suffering.

Yulia doesn’t breathe. I feel her fear, her silent plea for me to step back and stop, but I can’t. I drop my gaze, just for a second, gathering the strength to say what must be said. When I lift my eyes again, I force myself to hold the Soldier's sky-blue gaze.

“I am a failure,” I admit, my voice steadier now. “I failed you. I failed as a doctor, as a human being. I should have known. I should have seen it.”

My fingers tremble at my sides so I clench them into fists. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t expect anything. I need you to know that I was blind, but I see you now.”

He doesn't move, or speak, but something shows in his eyes, almost like a mix of confusion and curiousity. He might not have understood me at all, but that doesn't concern me. After all I've put him through, this is the least he deserved from me.

I exhale slowly as I force myself to step back. The guard is returning, I cannot linger. Instead, I take a steadying breath as I prepare the supplies. I need to tend to him. My hands tremble as I reach for a cloth, dipping it into the antiseptic solution. The shaking frustrates me—I can’t afford to be unsteady, not with this. Not with him.

I glare down at my hands, willing them to stop. Get it together, Elena. He’s the one suffering, not you. Do your damn job.

My fingers curl into fists, and my nails are biting into my palms as I inhale sharply. I force the air down, try to smother the frustration clawing at my chest. My hands have to be steady. They will be steady. The Soldier is the one in pain, the one enduring, and yet I am the one shaking? It’s pathetic.

I glance up at him. He’s motionless, but alert. He is always watching, tracking each and every one of my movements, and I cannot help but think it is because he is afraid of me. Of what I am capable of.

I swallow, forcing my voice to remain level.

“I’m going to clean your wounds first.”

I say it because I need him to hear it, and I don’t know if he understands, but I refuse to let him be caught off guard. Not again. Not by me.

There’s no sign that he registers my words. No nod, not even a slight flicker of understanding. I continue anyway, pressing the damp cloth against the dried blood along his collarbone, wiping away the residue of past wounds and violence I have caused. His skin is warm beneath my fingers, feverish even. My brows pull together. 

He’s healing faster than I expected. The stitches I placed before are holding and the swelling has gone down significantly. His body—though still battered—looks a lot better than it did yesterday. Even though the fact that he's healing makes me feel better, I can't help but notice how malnourished he is. His bones stand out too sharply, his skin stretched thin over the ridges of his ribs. It unsettles me. HYDRA needs him strong, yet they are starving him.

My throat tightens, but I push the thought aside. Focus.

“I’m going to remove the stitches now,” I say, keeping my voice soft but clear. “It won’t hurt. Or—” I stop to correct myself immediately. “It might sting. I’ll be as careful as I can.”

I reach for the small surgical scissors as I exhale through my nose. My hands still aren’t as steady as I need them to be. The delicate process of removing the sutures requires absolute precision. If I slip, if I cut too deep—

Yulia shifts beside me. I feel her gaze lingering on my hands.

“You’re shaking,” she murmurs.

I ignore her, setting my jaw. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” she presses, her voice lower now. “If you’re afraid of hurting him, just—”

“I said I’m fine,” I cut in, sharper than I mean to. I don’t look at her. I don’t want to see whatever expression is on her face. Pity, frustration, fear—I don’t need any of it. I feel doomed enough without anyone pointing it out.

She exhales through her nose, but she doesn’t push further. Instead, she steps closer, watching carefully as I work.

Stop fucking shaking. Focus. Work. He needs you.

The tension coils in my spine, crawling up my neck, tightening around my throat. My breath is too shallow and fast. My fingers tremble, the scissors too light and unstable between them. My heart beats louder in my ears, like the room is closing in—then, without thinking, I hum.

The tune escapes me before I even realize it. I remember how my mother used to hum it while she worked, cooked, or comforted me when I was sick. It steadies me to this day, even after all these years. Even after I had to fled from home, leaving her behind. 

The melody grounds me so much, that the next thing I notice is how my hands stoped shaking, and the fear eased just enough for me to keep going. I don’t think about it. The song simply fills the silence with something warm and familiar in this cold, rigid, hell of a reality.

The Soldier tilts his head just barely, as if the sound has caught his attention. His gaze sharpens; not in threat, more like in confusion. My fingers pause in their work immediately.

“Am I hurting you?” I ask softly.

The moment the words leave my lips, his expression shifts. Whatever crumb of curiosity had been there vanishes, and his face goes blank again. His posture locks back into rigid stillness, and his gaze slips past me as if I am no longer there.

He does not answer.

I nod once to myself, pretending I hadn’t expected anything different. “I’ll be careful,” I murmur, more to myself than him, and continue my work in silence.

As I move, a sharp chill crawls up my spine. The air in this place is always cold, but today it feels a thousand times worse. The fact that I still have my thin hospital scrubs on—the one I have been abducted in—doesn't help either. The temperature seems to seep beneath my skin, making my fingers ache from it as I finish the last stitch removal.

I shift slightly, adjusting my position to reach the Soldier's flesh arm. That is when my fingers brush against the vibranium, and I flinch at the shock of ice-cold metal against my skin. It’s unbearable—like touching something dead.

“God,” I mutter under my breath, instinctively rubbing my fingers together to shake off the sensation. “I hate the cold.”

My words are barely spoken into existence before something shifts in the air. I can feel Yulia's eyes dart toward the Soldier, so I follow her terrified gaze, and my stomach tightens.

The Soldier lifted his head and turned toward me. 

His face is no longer blank—his thick brows furrow, his deep pink lips are slightly parted. His eyes flick down to his metal arm. Then back to me. Finally, his gaze locks onto the spot where I rubbed my fingers together, trying to rid myself of the cold.

His fingers curl, as if he’s trying to pull the metal away from himself; as if he could make it disappear. The realizations hits me like a thousand bricks. 

He thinks he hurt me.

After everything I've done to him, I never expected my words to cause even more harm. I see the guilt and shame in the way his expression shatters just for a moment, as if the mere fact that he exists—because I flinched at his arm—is something he deeply regrets. 

I barely have time to register everything before he does something I don’t expect.

He moves.

It’s not much—the smallest shift, really—but he scoots away from where my arm usually rests during stitch removal. At first, I think it’s just a reflex, some unconscious reaction his body hasn’t been trained to suppress, but then I see it—his metal arm pulls just a fraction farther from me.

Not in anger. In fear.

Not fear of me—fear for me.

He’s shielding me.

The realization sends a disorienting jolt through my spine. He thinks the metal itself is dangerous, that just being close to me might be enough to harm me. He looks at me with almost a childlike fear as he’s forcing himself to stay still and distant, to make sure I can never touch his vibranium arm again.

My heart shatters into a million pieces with such force that I swear I can hear the pieces falling. 

The Winter Soldier, the most feared assassin in history, is trying to protect me. 

From himself.

[defendingtheowlhouse]

a criticism i have towards THO is that Amity could have been better. I think her backstory is not compelling and her relationship with her mother was less interesting than the one she has with her siblings (especialy since her mother is just Audrey Bourgeois from mlb but with magic). I think her being a bully makes her very dislikable considering the fact she didn't have to bully Willow and that her behaviout towards Luz is just bad and weird since she's the only one who's mean like that of we ignore Bosha and Skara (they didn't matter fr) and she realy doesn't get confronted about it. Her being good at everything makes her quite annoying too. She's able to fight Hunter who is a trained soldier or smth (not saying she can't be strong but that shows favouritism to me. Atleast the fight was entertaining) One thing that negates that a bit is her social ackwardness(i guess) when she misunderstands Luz at the lake wich shows relationships is the one thing she's not good at but actualy wants. But i still think she could have been better. I was just dispointed with her character when i first started the show. People promised me Catra done right and i got a school bully who goes soft because of "kawaii silly human"😭 also she was better with green hair.

I get this, I found her a little boring sometimes too, but our feelings towards characters do not determine their quality.

Now onto the actual arguments: "she didn't have to bully willow and that her behaviour to luz is just bad" no character has to do anything, if her arc didn't start out like this she'd be a different character with different themes.

"She doesn't get confronted about it" while she isn't confronted in a yelling angry way often, she is still confronted. In covention, she reveals her insecurities, helping us understand her motivations and reasoning, her veiws are then confronted by Luz, teaching amity others struggle in the same way she does, eventually accepting that she was wrong and undoing her mistake by undoing the everlasting oath and admitting that luz has the ability to succeed. In lost in language she confronts herself showing her reflectfullness, admitting she hasn't been the friendliest witch either and promising to work on herself and finally in understanding willow she is repeatedly told off by characters like eda and inner willow before (again) explaing her motivations and promising to do better, even then there are still consequences and she still has to work to fix her mistake inner willow calls her attempt "a start" showing us the consequences of her actions towards willow are still there, even after a sorry.

This is in my opinion is a strength, not a weakness, she reflects and chooses to get better, she isn't yelled at or handheld until she does what's right, furthermore it fits into the shows themes of restorative justice, reflecting and choosing to undo your mistakes. It's not focused on retribution or making anyone suffer for what they've done but instead to try and fix the mess made, apologising, undoing the oath, fixing willow's mindscape and making an effort to fix their relationship are all restorative justice.

She isn't "good at everything". in fact, she is the weakest out of her willow and gus. Willow and Gus are exceptionally skilled with multiple episodes focused on their talent while amity "fought her way to the top" she may have been top student but that's never shown as meaning anymore than pretty good for a secondary schooler. This is a show about taking down the government, and we are asked to suspend our disbelief. She needed to win for the plot, so she barely scraped a win. The protagonists needed titan blood, so they got some of the titan blood. In this show background, teenagers are taking down trained, powerful officials with ease.

Another thing mentioned is comparisons to other characters. If you go in thinking a character will be like another character and go a certain way, prepare to be disappointed by the odds of that not happening. For odalia being like that one other person is because she's rich, cruel, and not that deep. Odalia isn't praised for her depth. She isn't a particularly interesting villain because she is made to be a fun one which is subjective and therefore difficult to determine quality

Thank you for coming to me with this discussion, and thanks for your civility (especially after the incident) I hope you have a nice day!

[fandomsandflyingstingrays]

Top five Epic The Musical songs! (You can do top ten if you want, I've been meaning to ask your new top 10 now that it's done!)

Little Wolf! I'm still infatuated with Athena's vocals and the way the piano builds. And beyond that, it's the song that took me from being like "oh this show has some catchy tunes" to "hello, new obsession", so it'll always have my heart.

Dangerous. It's my favorite song to dance to by far, and I always blast it whenever I'm having trouble getting motivated

Speaking of getting motivated, Charybdis is another one of my favorites because it never fails to get me pumped up. Pro tip: if you're ever dreading an appointment or feeling overwhelmed by the news, blasting "I'm holding on, I'm not dying here, I'm still fighting here" at the top of your phone's crummy speakers is a great way to get through it

I Can't Help But Wonder my absolute beloved. It's the most outright soft and loving we see Odysseus, and I love watching that side of him. I also really like Athena's part- "I can't help but wonder what this would could be if we all held each other with a bit more empathy/I can't help but feel like/I lead you astray/What if there's a world where we don't have to live this way?" is probably my favorite quote in the whole show

Legendary! It's such a sweet song and I love how it introduces us to Telemachus. It also does a really good job of making the audience care even more about Odysseus getting home, because we get to see how badly his son wants to know him

I still adore the harmonies in Warrior of the Mind, and I feel like I appreciate it more with each saga that passes as we get more of a sense of what those years meant to Athena and Odysseus

Full speed ahead, specifically for the harmonies at the very end. It gets stuck in my head ALL THE TIME, and I can't complain because it's gorgeous. Also, it's the only song we get of Eurylochus, Polites, and Odysseus just vibing and being friends, and I need that for them

We'll Be Fine. The high notes are insane, first of all, but also, it's such a cute song in general and I love Athena and Telemachus's friendship so much

Speaking of insane notes, Anna's voice in The Challenge is SO underrated. I'm still in awe of the way she sings the second "buying you time". But also, that song does such a good job of setting up Penelope in general- how clever she is, how faithful she is, how much the years have worn on her

I have to include Would You Fall in Love with Me Again in my top ten, because oh my goodness. The pain in their voices, the way it does such a good job of conveying how much they both have suffered to get back to one another, and of course, the way the instrumental builds until the iconic Just A Man reprise. What a finale

Thank you so much for the ask, I could talk forever about this! What about you?? I've been meaning to ask about your post-Ithaca list as well!

[vellicorsources]

RESIDENT EVIL :: REVELATIONS 2 STARTERS

cut it out, we've been friends for how long?

long enough i'm allowed to give you shit .

O.K . You did your homework .

every time i ask him anything , he pushes back .

none of this makes any sense .

this is so messed up . what do you think this place was?

this could come in handy .

guess i'm on light duty .

fear what you will become and become what you fear .

so much suffering . you don't even know what to be afraid of yet .

let's not get ahead of ourselves .

said the poor lost soul as she lamented her fate .

fear requires an audience . . . and a conductor .

a radio tower . maybe we can send an S.O.S .

fuck you , hollywood .

all right , stay close , you're with me now .

end of the line .

this island is completely crazy .

that's one thing they left out of the brief .

who's the master of unlocking now , huh?

you stay the hell alive ___

i need to throw you at the wall and see who sticks . and who doesn't .

we will all die , there's no question of that , but one of you has a chance of dying well .

she can stick it right up her all seeing ass .

there is no shaking off the self .

my escape is death , but not this one .

oversee this , bitch !

that's cheating .

a shame about your friend . but you're tougher than he is .

you're not going to snap . are you?

it's like she's got eyes everywhere .

behold prometheus , who was bound to a rock for stealing divine power .

you'll have to brave the scaffold of the gods .

the gods' scaffold has served it purpose .

it's got all of our names on it .

you wanted a sample , now you've got it .

i'm just learning to see a little more clearly .

it's not death , it's power .

guess i never really got around to taking the blame .

the world is going to be very afraid .

my whole life has been a prelude to this .

time to meet the cause of our misery .

you came all this way just to say goodbye? oh, i'm touched .

it's already done . i've conquered fear and earned the right to become a god .

come out from behind that glass so i can choke a god .

all that remains is one final test . one last threshold to cross .

i will share in his fate , and then i will surpass him .

fear of night . fear of not-night .

the onlooker is in a sense , a sharer in life who hangs onto the living .

confessions and lies are the same . for one to confess , one must tell a lie .

just a word , just a please , just a stir in the air . just a sign you're alive and waiting.

the diabolical sometimes adopts the appearance of good, or even embodies themself completely within .

with the strongest of lights one is able to dispel the world .

not everyone can see the truth but anyone can be the truth .