#yeah there we go :D

[codecicle]

i am still going so insane over the Guys man AUGH

Hi soup!! :) Random question but:

Do you ever think about how deeply they cared about each other? Wilbur knew everyone else there exclusively while he was infected, and yet he put nothing but trust in them during a life or death scenario. During his final moments, Charlie showed him unwavering kindness by listening to his rant and sparing him the pain of transformation by snapping his neck. Had Wilbur ever experienced something that genuinely caring and sweet before? If the apocalypse forced pure violence to become the greatest show of love you could give to someone, how do you think Wilbur felt when these abnormal strangers his life had happened to cross paths with went out of their way to search for him when he was lost, to kill for him when he was in danger, and ultimately to sacrifice their own safety and stability to preserve his? Do you think he felt guilt despite it all? He was infected after all, nothing but a liability, constantly endangering the team because he couldn't admit to himself that it was over; that he was a danger instead of something (something. not someone. at that point he could at least admit to himself that he wasn't human, whether that be because he was infected or because no human in any definition of the word would be as selfish and cruel as he was from not telling them) that could help. Do you think he was smiling as he faked his death? Do you think he honestly thought the zombies would kill him and he would finally do something useful for them? Or do you think he knew deep down he would survive the zombie encounter and he was only hoping the zombies would fuck him up bad enough that when the time came he inevitably killed his friends, they didn't recognize the face taking all their hopes and dreams out from underneath them because of one "tiny little scratch" and their misplaced trust.

Do you ever think about Tommy? Do you think about how he had seemingly finally found a family, and how he looked away from his older brother figure for half a second to try and be useful by keeping morale up, only to walk back into the room with the man he trusted the most holding Wilburs dead body and grieving? Do you think he resented Charlie in that moment? Or did he just hate himself? None of this would have happened if he had just been there a couple seconds sooner after all, maybe he could have done something. Do you think about him having to walk up to what he thought was Wilburs corpse and not have the time to say his goodbyes? The zombies were coming, and all he could hear outside of Charlie's shaky disassociated voice was the deafening sound of zombies slowly getting louder. Do you think about him holding Wilbur as gently as he could, knowing carrying his body to be devoured would be the last moments he could get to grieve him before being forced to run again, abandoning the man he loved like a brother for what felt like the millionth time since knowing him. Do you think about the way his jokes got scarcer since Wilbur was gone? How he stopped being as funny for the rest of the time they were in that base? Do you think it was because he couldn't bring himself to find humor in such a dark scenario, or do you think it was because he knew deep down he didn't have a real reason to try and keep himself and the group alive anymore. His reason to keep going was devoured by the zombies and time stopped, why should he care anymore? Do you think he froze when Wilbur hopped out of the trunk? Do you think he mirrored the same smile his brother died with when he was devoured? Was it because the torment was finally over? Or was it because deep down all he wanted was to be with him again, even in death?

What about Phil? He looked at Wilbur the way the proudest and most fearful dad would look at his extraordinary son. But unlike the others, Phil grieved Wilbur long before he was ever even gone. As soon as he saw the bite and the way Wilburs life was slowly leaving his eyes he knew that it was over. Phil ran gauntlets, running inbetween zombies in camouflage to open door after door, opportunity after opportunity, just to keep his family alive. All he wanted the whole time was to keep everyone else alive, and set them up to thrive after he was gone. Do you think Phil knew he was going to die the whole time? He was the slowest of the group, he was the weakest, he didn't have any special gifts or abilities, and he couldn't fend for himself as well as he could fend for others. Do you think he was so serious the whole time because he wanted to spend the last moments with his son, and because he knew he wouldn't have another chance to be of use? He wasn't surviving for himself, he was surviving to keep everyone else alive. Do you think if they ever actually succeeded in escaping, that he would be the one to take night watch every time? That he would be the one to give up his food rations so others wouldn't go hungry? That he would sacrifice every part of himself before he stole the chance at life from someone that he thought deserved it better? Do you think when he finally got the chance to keep everyone else alive through fighting off the hoard by himself, he went down through tears? Or do you think he matched the other members of his family and fought them head on with nothing but a spiked golf club, his pride, and a smile to match his two sons?

What about Ranboo? Do you ever think about them? Do you think about the way they seemed to be the only person truly in reality the whole time? They were the only one refusing to do the bits, to tag along with the jokes, yet they were also the only person to kill the zombies, or hold any weapons. Do you ever think about how he had the most sincerely human reaction to all of this? Maybe the reason he refused to kill the zombies was because they so closely resembled himself, and they couldn't bring themself to kill something that looked so much like a real person. He knew they weren't alive, he knew he was constantly in danger, yet they looked into the zombies eyes and saw the blank void staring back at him and chose pity and kindness above all. Do you think when they said everyone around them was insane they really meant it? He seemed strangely grounded in reality at all times, while everyone else disassociated to get themselves through the killing, and the way blood splattered on everyone's clothes dragging the physical remains of their deepest regrets along with them to their deaths. Do you think they put the gun down, finally feeling safe in that Uber knowing no zombie would be able to catch them? Do you think he was glad he never had to actually use it? Were they happy they could keep their humanity as they escaped? Do you think he hoped for a better life after it all? Do you think he looked into Wilburs eyes as he was devoring Tommy, his brother that Wilbur cared for so so much, and they still couldn't bring themselves to pull the trigger? Do you think in their attempt to keep their humanity, he indirectly robbed everyone he cared about of theirs?

And Charlie. Ohhhh Charlie. Do you ever think about how hard he fought? He knew how to create makeshift weapons, he knew parkour, he knew how to fight and shoot and fend for himself, and yet he didn't survive despite all of it. Do you ever think about how he trusted and loved Wilbur so deeply, yet he was forced to lay down with his arms around him as he started spouting nonsense? Do you think Charlie could think straight as Wilbur slid down and indirectly begged him for mercy? Maybe Charlie wasn't as kind as he once thought, because as he held Wilbur in his arms he slowly realized the only real way out of this nightmare would be without him. Do you ever think about how much Charlie loved him? How he stared at him the whole time, looking with widened and obviously trusting eyes, how he grabbed Wilburs arm and looked at the bite as soon as he noticed something was wrong? Do you ever think about how deeply he must have loved both him and everyone else in the group, and how he had to swallow down his humanity for a moment to gift Wilbur the last of his? Do you think about how he hesitated? He had his head in his arms, Wilbur was very obviously letting it happen, and yet he couldn't bring himself to do it. Maybe from his selfishness, and how he couldn't bring himself to kill his closest friend. Or maybe from his selflessness, and him digesting the fact that after this he would be a villain to the rest of the group. None of them knew how far Wilbur was gone, only Charlie noticed, maybe they would walk in on his grief and see nothing but a murderer? Do you think about how despite everything Charlie spared Wilbur from his pain and killed him anyway, helping him the only way he knew how during Wilbur's greatest time of need. Do you think Charlie stayed behind that gate willingly, knowing he wouldn't be able to live with himself after they escaped? Do you think Charlie died thinking he was useful, or he wasn't useful enough. Do you think he truly believed the others would resent him, or do you think he just resented himself with every life he stole. Do you ever think about how Charlie died thinking he saved their lives, not knowing his grief personified would be waiting for the rest of them to undo everything Charlie tried to do during his life? Do you think Charlie died with a smile not because he was happy that his last moments were spent truly believing because of his sacrifice his friends would live, but because he knew he wouldn't have to live with any of the guilt anymore?

idk though :)

[soranker]

98 lovemail doodles >_<

[swampybogg]

[xochimillilili]

Really been thinking about breeding my puppy for hours on end recently like genuinely. Wanna feel his cunt throbbing around my cock as I pump him full, breed a litter into him while kissing and raking my nails along his hips, feel his hands in my hair and legs around my waist.

Imagining how pretty he'd look fucked out and face down in bed afterwards, all nestled in between a nest of our blankets while I softly praise and kiss his thighs and ass, fixing his hair outta his eyes n rubbing his lil puppy hips as I tell him what a good boy he was for me.

Fucking a plug into him, so his cunt and pretty tummy stay nice and full of my cum, though not before softly yet teasingly kissing and licking up the cum that's stuck to his throbbing clit.

That's my baby, such a good baby pup for me sweetie~ Such a good puppy for daddy, shhh shh, just rest for now little one. You've gotta rest for now, you know I need to fuck another litter into you soon, just relax and let me rub and pet your pretty tummy sweetie, feels so good to be full of your dad's pups doesn't it my love?

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 330

Y’know what? Fuck it. Omegaverse-esque Liminals and Realms. 

See the difference between being ecto-contaminated and being a liminal is the formation of a Core, however small or malformed that might be. Which is what the “secondary sex” as the living begin to refer to it as, originates from. Mostly from it being compared to a second puberty, however half jokingly. 

See, with the formation of a Core, the living start getting the equivalent of ghost hormones, start producing their own ectoplasm, yadda yadda yadda. 

But! Not all of them are the same type. There’s omegas that like to have a semi-permanent haunt that they get real territorial of, save for with younger and weaker ecto-beings. There’s alphas who are constantly wanting to move, flitting from one location to the next. There’s betas that go wherever their Fraid does, trying to keep them together and getting real aggressive towards others who try to separate them. And then there’s deltas, who are more often on the fringes of a Fraid, driven more by violence towards perceived threats and sometimes not exactly mentally stable with how strong their Obsession can get. 

The thing is that from an outsider’s perspective, especially as people begin moving out of Amity (despite the GIW’s efforts for a blackout on the city), is that they know none of this. Which means when a team of not-quite heroes pass through, they get a bit blindsided. 

Pspspsps @golden-buddle @f4nd0m-fun @gaddaboutgriffon have prompt

[allowmetohityouwithmyreblog]

All I’ve been able to think after seeing Deadpool and Wolverine is just

Wow

This movie was the love story Wade thought the first movie was.

Go on, tell me I’m wrong.

[meteortrails]

law and luffy are just like. what if I saw you at the peak of your miracle working competence, and then the literal next time I saw you it was at your most isolated and broken. and what if that moment of seeing you alone and grieving and terrified was the moment where I decided you were someone worth keeping, someone who I personally cared about and wanted around. how does that not make you wanna lose your fucking mind.

and then the other thing on top of that which always gets me is the way that you can just so clearly see that neither of them has any idea how to fit this relationship into any preexisting context - Luffy calls him part of his crew, but law is the captain of his own crew and would clearly die before giving that up; law calls them allies but it is glaringly obvious that they care about each other in a way that goes beyond that. of course Luffy is generally a lot less bothered about this than law, who routinely wants to put his own head through a wall about it, but it’s just such a fun layer to their dynamic I think.

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: not gonna even acknowledge the time break between chappies... all i'm gonna say happy cassian chappie ! <3! i hope u all enjoy it mwah thank u for reading

word count: 3.8k

synopsis: Adjusting to life in Velaris means learning to train with new, friendly faces. A tentative friendship forms. Azriel keeps his distance.

CHAPTER NINE :: FRIENDS (IN OTHER PLACES)

Whoosh.

Training staff gripped tightly in your calloused hands, you swing with a muscle memory built over decades, the stick whistling as it cuts through the air with deadly precision. Strike. Twist. Bend. Strike, twice as hard.

You're going through the motions. A simple warm-up, running a drill that you've done enough times you could probably do it in your sleep. The movements are familiar, easy. Routine.

If you close your eyes, you could almost imagine you're still in Exordor.

Except... there's no familiar wind current to perform its melody in the early morning, dancing through the mountainside trees. No frozen chill to the air around you. No crunch of snow beneath your feet to throw your balance. No bound chest to chafe your skin.

No looking over your shoulder in pure panic at every unexpected noise.

Well, not quite that last one. It's a habit you're dedicated to breaking for the sake of your shot nerves — but evidently failing, considering how you straighten up and whip around when the door leading out to the training ring shudders open.

You hold your breath on instinct and clutch the training staff tighter.

Stepping out into the early morning air, the dawn still unbroken, is another Illyrian warrior.

Mother, how many of them were there around here?

You hadn't got to meet anyone else after that encounter on the balcony, almost exactly one week ago. Hadn't exactly wanted to either.

You hadn't even wanted to see Azriel again so soon after the churning, sickening twist of emotions you had barely managed to stumble through after your severe reawakening.

He hadn't come to see you.

You hadn't asked.

Besides Madja, Rhysand was the only new face you had come to know. He had taken to coming by your room a couple times over the week, checking on the progress of your healing, particularly sympathetic on the state of your wings. Revealed his own with a polite flourish.

He was... different than you were expecting. Perhaps you were learning that rumours are not everything — certainly it's clear that there is more to Rhysand than what first appears.

As Highlord, he had to discuss your potential living situations once you were healed enough to leave the infirmary.

I meant what I said. He had said, violet eyes kind as he hovered at the end of your bed. You're no prisoner here. You'll be free to go wherever you wish, even back to Exordor if that's what you decide.

And if I don't? You had whispered, your gaze fixed on the fine sheets of the bed. If I decide that... I have no home there anymore?

Then you'll have a home here. For as long as you would like.

And though it overrode every single instinct you had learned to trust, everything that had kept you alive this long, you chose to take his word for it.

Rhys said no harm would befall you in Velaris and you would be welcome here for as long as wanted.

But... that didn't mean you were exactly looking to make new friends.

Staring the newcomer that enters the balcony with much less grace than that of usual Illyrians, you watch him closely, not quite daring to take a breath.

At a first glance, you had thought it might be Azriel—heart leaping up your throat—but that was quickly washed away. Something in you knew from the hair standing up on the nape of your neck, before you even saw him properly, that this male was utterly unfamiliar to you.

He's taller, you realise. His hair is a longer and he doesn't quite move with the grace of the Shadowsinger — though, perhaps you are just so unused to seeing a male so relaxed. So caught off guard, in fact, that when he turns he gives a little yelp in surprise.

"Fuck!" He says, one of his large hands jumping out and clenching into a fist —his whole body switching to a fighting stance, you realise— before he relaxes again. His fist uncurls into a less threatening open palm.

"I- sorry, just didn't realise anyone else was out here." His fighting stance melts away, open palm still extended. He gives what you think might be a friendly smile.

You don't respond, only gripping the training staff a little tighter. Every hackle is raised, the hair on the back of your neck prickling, and your entire body winding itself up to prepare to fight, if it comes down to it.

The male seems to realise this as his next move is to raise both hands, palms out, the universal signal for surrender. They're large, tanned, and void of the scars you've come to know on Azriel.

However, where there are usually shimmering cobalt blue siphons, this newcomer has dazzling ruby red ones instead. You count each of his. Seven.

Your throat tightens — like all of Illyria, you've heard of this warrior too. The Lord of Bloodshed.

He doesn't exactly look so fearsome at the moment, his expression easy-going, even friendly, from behind his raised hands.

He seems to be waiting for you to make a move or to speak but after a moment, he realises neither are going to happen.

"Rhys said there might be another Illyrian around." He says, taking a tentative step forward, in the direction of the training ring, letting his hands drop to his side. You notice how he tucks his wings in a little more, like he might be trying to be respectable. Polite.

He's watching you closely. "Didn't mention you were a female, though."

Instinct makes you want to sneer in response — the only time Illyrian males bother bring up the differences in sex is to make some nasty comment about the biological weakness of females.

Not born to be warriors. They spit. Fragility is bred into them from the moment they're conceived. Breakable. Less than. A female in the training ring has as much place does as a male does in the kitchen.

But this male... says female in a way you've never quite heard before. As though he's somewhere closer to awe.

"My name is Cassian," The male introduces himself, his tentative steps becoming more of a stroll as he wanders across to the weapons stand. He eyes them halfheartedly, his focus still on you.

He turns lightly, tucking in one of his wings to peer back at you. "And yours is...?"

You still haven't moved, only tracking his movements with a slight shift of your eyes. Part of you wonders if he already knows your name and he's simply being polite.

Cassian nods as though you've spoken, despite the fact you haven't made a sound.

"Okay, not a big talker, I get it." He dips his head in a little nod, giving you an easy smile, then a quick wink. "Promise I don't bite."

No reaction. You’re not entirely sure if that’s a joke or not.

Either way, Cassian turns and focuses on his selection, pulling one of the training staffs off the weapons rack into his strong, sure grip.

Despite Rhysand's promise, your heart begins to rabbit wildly.

You wonder if this is some sickening game of cat and mouse—if he's perhaps going to tire you out before he selects his true weapon. If he wants you to know he can best you, even without a blade at his disposal.

You're a decent fighter—hell, a great one even—but you know better than to expect to come out on top against the Lord of Bloodshed.

You finally force yourself to move; shifting your feet to face him, you sink into a fighting stance, staff poised to face him, prepared to bare your teeth.

Cassian blinks. It takes another moment for him to realise that none of his friendliness is working to thaw your iciness. He quickly sets the training staff back down with a clatter, raising his hands once more.

"Woah," He says, giving a small shake of his head. "Not looking to fight. Unless you and I are in that ring—" He gestures to the training ring behind him. "I will never try to fight you. And... I hope you can say the same for me."

You don't even realise you've released your breath until you deflate a little, relief coming in small, incremental waves.

He doesn't want to fight. There's no proving yourself, at least not today.

Maybe some day in the near future, he'll demand you get in the ring to earn your space here—because that was the first thing you ever learned as an Illyrian warrior. But not today.

Reluctant and relieved all at once, you lower your training staff.

Your hesitance or silence doesn't seem to hinder Cassian. In fact, he smiles at the motion.

He's quite handsome, you note. In that rugged way, not quite so classically handsome as Azriel. The unexpected thought makes you flush. You shake it away with a shiver.

"You have your reasons for your unease I bet," Cassian continues, his hands drifting back to his sides. His wings have begun to spread out a little more, as if relaxing.

"And if you want me to piss off, I certainly will. My goal is not to make you uncomfortable in the slightest. But... well, I do have just one question."

He pauses, as if waiting for something. Permission, you realise faintly, which surprises you enough that you give a rather jerky nod, permitting him to ask his question.

A brilliant smile spreads across Cassian's face. "Did you really stab Azriel with a fork?"

The question takes you by utter surprise, fresh bewilderment rippling across your features. You shift back almost awkwardly, stepping out of your fighting stance. The memory from months ago rises up inside, the first meeting in your lonely shelter.

How did he know that? He could he know that?

"I—" You trip over the words, not entirely sure how to answer the question. You can't quite tell why he's asking—is he assessing you as a threat? Your voice is tentative and guarded as you murmur out, "...yes?"

You don't think it would've mattered how you answered truly, as the moment you confirm it, Cassian roars in laughter, his head thrown back and his hand clutching his belly. He laughs loudly for a moment, shaking his head with a fond smile.

"Holy shit, I thought Rhys was kidding! Cauldron, what I would've given to see that." His hazel eyes glitter brightly, as though he's excited. "Was he surprised? I bet he was. Where did you stab him?"

His easy tone, like he's talking to an old friend, takes you back. You find yourself responding with an unexpected ease. Looking back on it now, it is a little funny.

"He was," You nod, nearly smiling at Cassian's enthusiasm. Your lips twitch and you gesture to your neck, somewhat awkwardly, miming the motion. "In the neck."

Cassian laughs again. "Oh, and I bet he'd deny the whole thing if it ever came up."

You don't know quite what to say to that—Azriel hadn't ever brought it up and you certainly weren't going to remind him of it. You tilt your head to the side a bit, an unknown feeling making itself known in the pit of your stomach. An anxiety of an entirely different kind.

The male before you is not an enemy. He's not an ally either... and you can't understand what he gains from talking to you.

You can't even fathom the idea that he might just want to be your friend.

So, you turn. Tighten your grip and resume the exercise that had been interrupted. Muscles groan as you work through their achiness, slowly becoming warmer as the hot blood pumps around your body.

Despite what Madja had said a week ago on that balcony, today was actually the first morning you were allowed to train.

For the last seven days, the exercise you were restricted to was mere stretches; only enough to ensure each of your wings could extend fully and that your limbs could move without serious cause for concern.

It had driven you stir crazy.

The only time you ever skipped so many days without training was during your cycle—something you had mercifully missed the end of this time around, hidden away in your unconsciousness.

So, at the first opportunity, when you rose from your bed this morning and Madja hadn't given you that pointed stare and instead gave you directions, you had found the training area. Began with old routines, if only for the fact you don't know who you are when you're not training.

Inhaling now, the wood of the training staff creaks beneath your iron grip. You're trying desperately to use it as a tether, to some semblance of normal for yourself. It's difficult when there's so many changes lurking.

The solid stone makes you sturdier than before. There's no snow beneath your feet to sink your boots into, to find your balance on. But your injuries aren't entirely healed either.

The pain is not fresh but it's still hindering enough to be a nuisance. Your left ear still twinges from time to time—sometimes it seems to hum so loudly you can't hear clearly, others it dulls altogether. Neither are particularly pleasant to experience.

Pain, however, you have plenty of experience in. Gritting your teeth and pushing through it is practically standard for the Illyrian way; especially when you know your body. You know how much it can take. You know it's been through worse.

But the pesky problem with your ear keeps you off balance, just enough that it shows in your motions.

You keep stumbling around like a goddamn fledgling with every new attempt, footing clumsy, which makes you burn in humiliation because that's what you learn first. It's impossible not to feel unendingly frustrated as decades of training all get shifted slightly to the left.

It doesn't help either that there's still those holes in the edges of your wings.

Fae healing is incredibly advanced but even so, there is only so much magic can do.

Lacerations can be healed, stabs and slices stitched up with ease — but a hole, torn forcibly in and through the delicate flesh of Illyrian wings? You know that you should be thanking the Mother that they even still work in their complete capacity.

The skin around where the stakes had been forced is puckered and stiff, whitened by the scar tissue and trauma. It had been sickening the first time you had curled them close around you and realised with a faint horror that you could technically see through them — a irregular circular gash preserved in either wing of how you'd been pinned down.

The air passes through them as you shift, causing an uneasy shiver. They don't catch on the wind quite the same as they did before.

You haven't taken to the skies yet. You're torn between your eagerness to fly again, to prove to yourself that they can still, and the sinking fear that that's something new you'll have to relearn as well.

So, instead, you run through the training drill for the nth time, trying to get back in sync with your own body. Trying to push past where it seems to falter and trying and failing to not care that your wavering movements now have an audience.

Watching him subtly out the corner of your eye, Cassian appears to be running drills of his own, a gentle warmup. He stretches his toned arms above his head, the motions limber and easy. Briefly, your mind wanders to Azriel's own morning training —never mind that you did have experience training with him over many mornings — and the most peculiar fluster flows through you.

You bite your cheek and rein in your drifting thoughts, gripping the staff tighter.

Strike. Twist. Bend. Strike, twice as hard. Your left eardrum squeals, jumping abruptly in volume at the motions, and though you manage to contain yourself to a wince, your twist goes off kilter.

Your wings stretch out to counterbalance but they don't catch the wind as well as you're used to. Your feet stumble to realign and all you can think is how fucking easy it would be decimate you in a fight in that second.

Something awful starts to grow in your throat and it takes a full moment to realise its the urge to cry, clawing up your throat.

You inhale shakily, eyes fixed on the stone beneath you, and will them away. You weren't a crier — but then again, never had you ever felt quite so utterly hopeless as you were right now.

You've always had this—always had the fight from within your bones, always had your body, always relied on your dexterity to push you forward.

Shadow covers the stone before you. Your head shoots ups, that same panic you can't shake jolting in your chest.

"Hi." Cassian says, giving a little two-fingered salute. He smiles kindly. "Cassian. We met maybe, uh, 5 minutes ago? Remember that?"

You blink at him, not even noticing how the distraction sends away the urge to cry. Swallowing thickly, you give a tentative nod.

"Fantastic. Great memory." His smile melts into a grin and though it sounds like he's teasing, you don't exactly feel like it you who's being made fun of. "I— I have no doubt you're an excellent fighter, especially considering you managed to land a hit on a warrior such as Azriel."

Cassian seems to hear his words only after he's said them and gives a minuscule frown. "Wait, don't tell him I said that. He'll never let me live it down."

When you don't react in amusement as he was aiming for, Cassian changes his tone again, more serious this time.

"Look, I might not be exactly sure what happened that meant you ended up here. I know it might not seem like a welcome change of pace but— well- and what I mean to say is— I can see your missteps."

The admittance of your failings makes humiliation swell up within you. You avert your eyes. Cassian, aware of his awful blunder, barrels on.

"But I can see you're getting your feet again." He adds, softer than before. "After whatever happened to you and your wings, I can tell you're already doing better than most Illyrians would. I also know that everything is easier with a little support."

Your gaze tugs back to Cassian's face as his sentence ends, the offer within it leaving you momentarily dazed. He wants... to help you?

You open your mouth to say just that—but instead, say, "They... didn't tell you?"

Something foreign yanks on your heartstrings. You can't say you had expected privacy, not when Rhysand was already generously providing you with both medical aid and a place to lay low and recover. You were in no position to ask for more.

Suddenly, you become hyper aware of your wings and their gaping, obvious scars to pair with the thin white lines of the lashes adorned across them. You rein them back self-consciously, keeping them tucked close against your back. There's relief in that simple motion alone.

"It is not their story to tell." Cassian nods, grave and serious. "And, just as important, sharing it is not a requirement to be allow yourself a little support."

You don't have to tell him, if you don't want to.

Before you, an Illyrian male, like so many that you've detested all your miserable life, and he doesn't know a thing about you. He doesn't get to know what happened unless you decide to tell him.

You taste his words, mulling them over in your mind as you try to figure out what he means. In the heart of it, you can't understand what he truly stands to gain from this offer of support.

"What... kind of support?" You question warily.

Unthinkingly, your grip tightens on the training staff once more—a knee-jerk reaction to the idea of baring your vulnerabilities. It had been well-trained out of you. Connections of any kind risked exposure... and well, the one time in your life you had given it a go, it had only been proven true.

"Whatever you wish." Cassian grins, as if pleased you had asked that exact question. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear and rattles off his list easily, with a slight shrug of his armoured shoulders. "Friendship? Training? Someone to listen when you need it or to drink your sorrows with? I've had plentiful practice with all."

He sends you another wink, teasing and easy like everything else about him. It's disarming actually, just how different he is from what you had been expecting from only the rumours around Exordor. Lord of Bloodshed. He's so...casual.

After another beat of silence, Cassian clears his throat when it becomes clear you aren't exactly jumping onto any of his initial offers. The caginess you exude is palpable and something ragged in Cassian's chest tears wider at whatever his mind conjures up about what might be lurking your past.

True to his word, Rhys hadn't delved into your story or how you came to end up here at the House of Wind.

All Cassian knew for sure is that Azriel had talked of training with a bastard some months ago and now, you were here. A female warrior from Exordor.

Cassian thinks that Azriel likely would've mentioned it if the bastard he was working with was female—but he hadn't. There's much more to your story, he can tell, and it seems to ripple from the edges of your wary, dangerous form at just a glance. Almost a full picture for him to realise, to see clearly.

But... these things were earned.

If Cassian wanted to be your friend, to know your story, he would do it the honourable and hard way.

He would become someone that you could trust in this new, unfamiliar place and he knew it was possible because what Cassian knew lay within him was reflected in you. The one clear part of the picture.

A warrior who knows themselves best when they're fighting.

"Train with me. Please." Cassian tries once more, ready to relent if it was too much, too soon. "There is a lot we can teach each other, I'm sure."

That seems to catch you by surprise, your brows jumping a fraction up your face. You school the expression away quickly but not before Cassian catches it. He nods.

"What do you say?" Cassian grins again, holding out his hand, palm up. Nonthreatening as can be. "Friends? Allies? Reluctant rooftop sharers? I'll take any happily."

You eye his hand, that still cautious air in your gaze, but Cassian can see as something settles within you. Tentatively, you reach forward and put your hand in his, giving it an awkward, stilted shake.

"I'll take allies for now," You say, somewhat demurely. It's taking a mountain load of trust for you to do so, Cassian knows. He does not take that trust lightly.

Cassian grins. "Allies it is."

[NEXT PART: SHADOWS]

tags below!

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@waytoomanyteenagefeels @idkitsem @illyrianbitch @jeweline16 @fightmedraco

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[missingn000]

hey, y’all! i’ve got an exciting announcement to make!!

i’ve posted a few times about my upcoming seraphim ace (designated s-flame) fic, titled heaven down an angel. it’ll be a multi-chap story starting with an egghead arc rewrite, followed by a journey throughout the grand line and beyond. however, what i haven’t shared yet is this: i’ve got a partner in crime for this monstrosity! meet my close friend and amazing artist nera (@njere), who will be illustrating this fic!!

info, premise, and more art below cut!! (thank you to nera for the beautiful pic formatting✨)

and last but not least: tpg readers, don’t be alarmed! i’ll get back to it someday. just gotta get this out of my system first. :)

[wistfulpoltergeist]

Nothing unusual. Decided to play Divinity 2 with my sis. Created my characters there, found a home for them, decorated it, imagined a story and then went back to Sims 4 to recreate my Sims-Divinity Characters back in Sims :D

CC credit: Me :D, @simstrouble, Nelfeah, @giuliettasims, @chocobunsims, @golyhawhaw, @joliebean, @uxji, @thisisthem, @goppolsme, @johnnysimmer, @introsims, @pralinesims

[checkadii]

mman . idk. im so fucking sleepeu and iys only 330

[uniiiquehecrt]

Voice actors are NOT the same as actors.

It takes a specific kind of skill-set and training to be able to warp and meld the voice. It takes a certain kind of talent and dedication to hone that talent into the ability to meld the voice and invoke emotion with one's voice alone. Actors are used to using their voice secondarily to their body language and their facial expressions. It's all mirrored back on camera. They do have nuance. But it's a different kind of nuance and a different kind of training to produce that nuance.

Voice actors might get their likeness transposed on their character's design, and maybe their mannerisms might seep into the character's animation. But when it's all said and done: their presence is in their voice. They are bringing a character to life, showing that emotion in their voice, trying to keep a specific accent, drawl, pitch, tone in that voice and keep it consistent for their recording sessions.

The voice actor is like a classically trained musician who can play first chair in a competitive, world-renown orchestra. The actor (who fills the voice actor's role) is like a moot who played violin in beginner and intermediate high school orchestra and thinks they can get into Juilliard with that 2-4 years of experience.

This doesn't mean that the HS orchestra moot can't play. They can even be really good at it. Maybe they won competitions and sat first chair. But they are not in the same league as the person who's been training their whole lives and lives and breathes to hone their craft using the instrument and all of the training they've ever acquired to perfect it. They are not meant for the same roles. They are not in the same caliber. You do not hire the HS equivalent when you want to play complex music in a competitive orchestra.

Actors are not the same as voice actors.

And furthermore, actors - especially big name actors - taking the roles of animated characters for big budget films or TV pilots makes no sense anyways when - at least in the case of TV pilots - there's not a point to hiring a big budget actors anyways. That money could be used elsewhere (like paying your animators), and the talent that is brought onto the screen for X character could then be hired on to voice said character no recasting required.

I wouldn't say voice acting as a profession is in danger exactly, but it's certainly being disrespected and overlooked for celebrity clout, and this has ALWAYS been an issue. Shoot, even Robin Williams knew that much - which is why he tried so hard not to be used as a marketing chess piece for Aladdin and got royally pissed off when it happened anyways. People shouldn't go to any movie (but especially not animated films) because "oh famous actor is in it". People should go because it's a good movie and the voice acting is good.

People who honest to god think that voice actors are replaceable because "oh well anyone can voice act" or "I like xyz celebrity so naturally it'll be good" ... Honestly I just wish you'd reassess your priorities because you're missing the point and are part of the problem.

Voice Actors ≠ Actors.

[minalots]

📸

(NOW AVAILABLE AS A PRINTTTTTT) (or really prints if you want separate ones)

[dnpbeats]

[whispers] what if this mukbang is tour info and a hard launch?

listen in the first mukbang we got dan placing his hand on phil's thigh, the only logical progression is that this mukbang will contain them kissing. third mukbang? posted to onlyfans <3

[faeryaesther]

Champion of US Open 2024, Jannik Sinner.

[eisenartworks]

Me, delusional: oh boy I sure hope if there's ever a tfone trilogy Megatron gets a redemption ar-

Me, louder: OH BOY I SURE HOPE IF THERE'S EVER A TFO-