#I had to suffer through this drawing (voluntarily) so now you have to suffer with me 🌚

[skawdia]

"Damned monster - back off!"

'tis but a scratch

[my-castles-crumbling]

Swiftie Anon

Hi guys! I got an ask from an anon that might be triggering so I'm copy-pasting it here so I can put a 'read more' button. I'm naming them Swiftie Anon because they said Taylor really helped them.

TW: SH, SI

Hi Cas, hope you’re ok, because I sure as hell am not. Trigger warning, like mentions of self harm and stuff like that I think.

I’m a seventh grader and recently I’ve been thinking about killing myself a lot more than I usually do. During the pandemic I was in 3rd grade and I kinda realized how much life sucked, but when I went back to school in 5th grade, I realized that this hadn’t occurred to anyone else. I kind of brushed it off bc I’ve always been sort of a pessimist but then I sixth grade I started having suicidal thoughts, I think. I just felt really done with everything, I didn’t want to draw or read or write, and my parents were pissed all the time, it felt like my friends were bored of me (I have abandonment issues from all my friends in elementary school leaving me) (I think)and I thought it would just be easier to not exist anymore, it wasn’t that good. I discovered Taylor, the angel that she is, she just felt…like a friend, like she was right there, you know, and I’ve been mostly okay-ish since. But school fucking sucks and in 7th grade I had to do a presentation in front of my class and I started crying and hyperventilating, I couldn’t even stand up. I think I have anxiety idk. I’ve always been shy, and I’ve hyperventilated before when my parents were yelling at me about stuff and my arms started bleeding because I was digging my nails into them. My parents found out at conferences and I got grounded. my brother knows bc he walked in on me crying and hyperventilating once but he’s leaving for college next year and idk how the fuck I’ll stay together without him. My younger sister and I are really close, but I don’t want to drag her in onto this stuff. And ik once I get to high school it’ll be even worse bc high school sounds horrible and I might be all alone again bc I might not go to the same high school as my friends

I haven’t said a word about this to anyone voluntarily and I know I can’t tell my parents. I always lie on those surveys you get at the doctor, and my parents are always saying I should have a more positive outlook on life and try to be happier and it makes me so pissed bc I am trying as hard as I can to be happening but nothing fucking works.

idk what do with myself anymore, a teacher mentioned college today and I almost broke down sobbing bc I don’t think I’ll let myself live that long. It’s just…really hard and everyday feels like years. Should I tell someone? I’m not as bad as I was in 6th grade, but I know I should be getting help somehow. But I suck at asking for things and I can’t trust any adults.

sorry for the rant, I just need some advice. And a virtual, pat on the head or something, idk.

---

Hi hon!

First, (with your permission), I'm like to give you a virtual hug, because it sounds like you're dealing with a lot <3

I'm gonna be really real with you right now: You need to ask for some help. You have a lot going on, and some really heavy feelings, and you don't deserve to be dealing with them at ALL, let alone by yourself.

You're young, and you have SO MUCH life left to enjoy, and suffering through it like this isn't fair. So I'm going to share something about myself with you, okay?

When I was younger, I was very depressed. I was in a bad relationship and I felt very trapped, and I got to a point similar to you.

One day, I got so overwhelmed that I sort of realized that I either needed to ask for help or I would end up making a really bad decision. So, I asked for help.

Again, I'm going to be real: It was SUPER scary. I had to see a lot of doctors and I cried a lot. But after a lot of work, I was able to get better, and now, years later, I am in a (different) healthy relationship, and I have a job and a pet, and I'm here talking to you.

I know this sounds stupid because it's like some feel-good story and right now I'm sure you feel less than great. But I say this because you NEED to ask for help, even if it is difficult. Because there are real things past this feeling. A future job, a future relationship (if you want), a future pet, future kids (if you want). They're all very real and achievable and this feeling is temporary, even thought it feels so permanent right now.

So I'm going to give you some options, since it seems like you don't want to talk to your parents:

Talk to a doctor. Doctors are trained to help you, and they have a lot of resources.

Talk to a trusted teacher. Teachers can sometimes be amazing resources as well, and a lot of them want to listen when you ask to talk.

Talk to a different adult (aunt, uncle, coach, someone!) that you feel close to that will help.

Call/text/message a hotline. Here is an example of a hotline you can talk to via messaging, text, or phone, depending on what you prefer.

But you need to ask for help, because you DESERVE to be happy and living your best life.

It would make me super happy if you message/inboxed me an update, whether you're doing better, worse, or the same! I'm so proud of you for reaching out and I'm cheering you on!

[imaginingmanyfandoms]

No i dont have a specific request. I just want Volturi King headcanons if you dont mind

i need feedback on these, i don't know how well i write for the kings

ARO:

he would be tempted to just read all your thoughts because he wants to learn all of you

but also he would be so fascinated by you that he would want to first get to know you by talking to you

you would spend countless hours talking to him

how you met: he'd been watching you in your village for many weeks. you were a medicinal herbalist, and the way plants responded to your care, he knew you would be magnificent as a vampire. but when he approached you he fell in love. he let you apprentice someone knew before he took you away. at last wish, if you will. you didn't want your village to suffer from your farewell, but you would go with him happily.

he would give you a few human weeks to adapt and understand how life in the castle worked, so you didn't have to learn the rules while also trying to overcome thirst & strength

in that time, he would host elaborate tea parties for you

filled with all the food & drink he used to love

he would watch you eat it with awe, enjoying the novelty of reliving his human days

heidi is your best friend; maybe it started with her undeniable charm, but she was so flattered when you started inviting her to do things over the phone, meaning you truly liked her for her and didn't feel compelled to hangout with her

when aro was too busy to do something with you, you would help heidi with her elaborate schemes

after your thirst & newbornism was under control he would build you an apothecary cabin somewhere hidden from the world

somewhere for you to spend your time fiddling with plants and herbs

you would have another apprentice, someone who to trained to take care of your garden while you were away

aro would dislike it whenever you tried to join the guard

"you are my beautiful spouse, not my guard."

"i can make the trees attack people. i control the trees my love."

he still wouldn't want it, he would want you to spend your time doing things you loved, not going on missions

he would want to hide you from the violence he ordered

he would make you a library, filled with books of herbs and plants and medicine for you to study

he would find you records and records of vinyl for you to listen to

he would try to give you jewels and treasures too often

you would often run up to him, smacking your hand somewhere on his body while talking about a pretty flower you saw

imagine just like open palm sticking your hand on his face and saying "look how interesting it is. look at the healing properties but also it's so cute!" with your hand covering half his face

CAIUS:

he would love you so much

and if you showed him any kind of affection back he would melt

how you met; you were one of aro's treasures. instead of letting your small coven face death, you went voluntarily. that kind of loyalty was something aro respected. you were someone with an amazing ability to calm anyone. to draw their fears out and replace it with euphoria, even while staring death in the face. aro loved you, loved the way you didn't feel bad about killing someone - just that they shouldn't have to feel afraid to die. also you didn't have to fight because your victim would stand calmly while you ripped them apart.

caius didn't want you on the guard, but you insisted.

"gives me somewhere to be while you're busy, my sweet."

felix has direct orders to protect you above all else (except the secret - of course) when you're on a mission

he would need you to love him and much as he loved you

but also he's a but of a grump

so he could be grumpy and still try to compliment you

"well don't you look just beautiful"

"remember how we talked about how things don't sound sincere when you say it like that."

anything you asked for would be his command to grant

and when you wanted to spend time with him, he would give you his full attention when he could

you would become good friends with demetri, and caius would hate it

not because he didn't trust you or demetri.

there were no secrets in Volterra...

but because after you'd spent too much time with demetri, some of his personality would rub off on you, and caius is a calm afternoon type of guy

one time during a pleasant walk through the garden you threw a water balloon at him

he stood frozen in wet robes as you laughed at him, jumping on his back and places kisses all over him

you brought out a little more fun in him, and while he looks like he hates it; he actually really appreciates it

MARCUS:

he was miserable before you

thousands of years of waiting to find his mate

but when you came, it was like a whole new marcus

he was still tired of being alive, but he now would rather live than leave your side

you will fill his senses with things he'd long since stopped appreciating

music sounded lovelier

flowers smelled prettier

poems had meaning again

how you met; you were brought in for questioning regarding an old travelling companion of yours. you offered the information to aro without a second thought, and he saw in your mind that you would never question, or stand against the volturi. marcus saw you in the throne room, and couldn't keep his eyes or thoughts anywhere else. you were exquisite. a gift to the eyes. he'd ask you to stay for a bite. and then he'd ask you to stay indefinitely. as a vampire it's pretty hard to find a home, so you accepted.

marcus would fill your days with things you enjoyed

walking through the garden, reading poems, watching movies

whatever you liked to do, he was eager to do with you

he was always worried about your safety

so he turned a professional mma fight into a vampire and gave him the order to protect you with his life

aro & caius thought it was excessive but... they didn't say anything

he wanted you to be happy with him

[neonnoir-ao3]

Some Words of Comfort.

Recently, I’ve seen a lot of people (especially those who have read spoilers/are actively searching for leaked content) lament about their future reactions to the deaths of our beloved characters in-game.

We all knew this was inevitable, and that them living was not an option for the plot of the game, but the time has finally come to face it head-on.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

I understand that someone outside this community might be like “it’s just a game”, but I know it’s way more than that to many: the concept of a female villain that, to many, can be seen as sympathizable and even endearing, is a bit of a new concept— especially on such a large scale as this instance.

In addition, Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters have become a bit of a comfort item for some (with an emphasis on sapphics/wlw, from what I’ve seen personally) in the form of a large, protective, and caring hypothetical partner, or even just a maternal character one can appreciate simply because of her love for her children. Regardless, most of us are here due to some desire for comfort.

Take my own story with this community, for example:

(tws for death, covid, suicide, and general medical emergencies)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frankly, 2020 and the beginning of 2021 have ruined me. I lost two men who were the only two positive father figures I’ve ever had. The last of the two tested positive for covid and deteriorated within days, to the point where less than a week after testing positive, my family was making the choice to pull the plug. This all occurred days before Christmas and my birthday. On the first day of the spring semester, having not had the time to properly mourn my grandfather, my mother is in the ER for multiple days with an internal infection that doctors said likely would have turned septic if she had waited to come in any longer. This led to three surgeries throughout the next few months. (Oh, and one of my relatives quite literally dropped dead on that first day of class, too). I am also estranged from one of my parents, and they have been trying to contact my family: they have multiple untreated mental illnesses (severe NPD, bipolar, and more) and they are extremely aggressive in that state of mind and they are agitated extremely easily. That only brings more stress, along with resurfacing trauma and related emotions. Every moment of every day has been a struggle. So much so that I failed half of my classes voluntarily simply because I couldn't do them anymore.

To be perfectly honest with you, I didn’t expect to be here right now. I expected that the pain of simply moving forward would have finally overridden my fears of death and that I would have already ended my suffering by now.

Then, in late January, I saw something trending on Twitter. About a new female villain in an upcoming horror game. And it went from there.

As cheesy as it sounds, this fandom and its content seriously saved my life. In the darkest of days, I’ve come to this tag for comfort. The oddest way I found said comfort was through those who were attracted to Alcina aesthetically. I have extremely long-term trauma related to being bullied and being the victim of a hybrid catfishing/'Oreo Game' on early social media by peers in middle school to the point where I do not think of myself as being able to be loved, let alone being worthy of it. Finding this community not only provided a great form of escapism (and opened a door into a fantasy world where I could imagine my own person vampire milf gf), but also gained a little bit of self-esteem (as many of you know, I share a lot of visual qualities with Alcina. -yes, I'm still kinda freaked out about it-) via seeing people where features/attributes like mine were actively praised and desired rather than insulted and pushed away like they have been until now.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

(okay sorry that kinda turned into a trauma dump but I needed to emphasize the fact that this community has seriously helped me during a really dark point in my life, and I know I can't be the only one with that sort of experience)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

What I’m trying to get across here is that, like many others, this community and its content have been comforting and therapeutic, and it really is more than just a game to us. It’s entertaining and even a form of escapism in these extremely trying times. We all have some degree of PTSD from surviving a literal mass plague— and this is something we're using as a method of coping. a distraction. a coping mechanism.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With that being said, here are some ways to hopefully assist in lessening the emotional stress:

(please note that I am not a mental health professional and these may not be healthy coping mechanisms for everyone.)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

Understand that it’s just a game.

I know, this sounds completely counterintuitive, but it’s more or less about keeping your level of immersion down. Personally, I can’t do scary shit in general: I have to listen to music on low volume while watching dark ARG vids at night or when I’m alone because I get too into it, and then my paranoia kicks in. Sometimes just pausing for a moment and grounding yourself/reminding yourself that this is a video game: a jumble of code and 3D rendering that doesn’t have to affect your views/headcanons if you don’t want it to. Did your favorite character just get slaughtered? Nope, that 3D rendering of them just got un-alived, that’s all.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

Ignorance is Bliss/We are the Captain Now

Simple: Capcom can’t even pronounce Dimitrescu right, or even acknowledge the way it’s correctly said in Romanian culture itself. How can you trust them to give you a perfect canon? That’s the thing: with that logic, you can’t. What they say is true means little (if anything, for that matter) to your headcanons and preexisting ideas of the Dimitrescus. In short: fuck ‘em.

I’m currently seeking a double major in pop culture, and one of the cool things I’ve learned so far is affirmational vs transformational fandom. Affirmational is where official canon is seen as the law of the land, and followed to a T. Transformational is seen as much more inviting for audiences, allowing them to bend canon as they wish to fit their own creations. This fandom is obviously transformational, so take that game canon, rip it up, and get back to whatever you were doing.

Capcom’s canon is not the end-all, be-all. Far from it, actually.

Want to still acknowledge canon? Godmod your way out of it.

Character A died? It’d be a shame if they emerged from the rubble they 'died in' a few hours later, very beaten but alive nonetheless... how awful would it be if they sulked away, nursed their wounds, and continued to live... (/s)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

Ignore it completely.

Remember: give it time. Once the game drops, there w be a wave of grief, but eventually, we as a community will recover, and get back to business as usual. Think about it like the in any way. Stay with the version in your head that makes you happy.

Get Creative!

If you're into creating fanart, writing fics, or even just posting a list of headcanons, take some advice from the late Carrie Fisher: "Take your broken heart, and make it into art". Make the fluff oneshot of your dreams! Draw the fanart you've been wanting to! dump lighthearted headcanons into the tags! Not only will it cheer you up, but sharing it with the community will spread the love!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

I know a lot of people are struggling with this emotionally (especially with the pandemic making entertainment like this even more important sources of escapism and coping mechanisms) and I hope that, at the very least, I was able to help comfort one person who reads this.

Remember: give it time. Once the game drops, there will be a wave of grief, but eventually, we as a community will recover, and get back to business as usual. Think about it like the flowers that bloom after major wildfires: after a period of loss, some beautiful can still come of it.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

💙

[shorkbrian]

Prelude - I need to stop catching sight of poetry on my explore page lol. This is entirely self-indulgent and very specific cause I’m rotting thru life rn and so if u dislike I understand lol. When I was in the hospital this last time it sucked rlly bad and like the awful horny degenerate I was I kept thinking abt Kirishima and soft sweet Sugawara idk lol

Pairing - Death god Kirishima x Reader

Warnings - Suicide, suicide attempt, no smut. Death. Drunk Drivers. Yandere but only a little bit and cause I can’t voluntarily accept love it has to be forced bc I cannot handle the thot of someone who is sane loving me bc there is no freaking way lol

Music - https://open.spotify.com/track/5Iy1wdO0tMaHwKnfFYtlel?si=-vqod-W6SHia8ui2Hdl_9g 

Adding this one bc it’s like one of my favorites and I wish god I wish and I hope that this year is better than the last amen lol also there’s nothing more sad to me than someone pleading and begging and crying for the year to treat you nicely like bitch u okay? no. the answer is no.

https://open.spotify.com/track/0xRO7EKgYKVB8zKIoiXMDD?si=HYBaiBzjRGmQwfCHgnTUxA

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“It hurts.” You had told him, as the entity sat at the end of your hospital bed.

He often sank heavily onto the nearest surface, as if his bones ached with the weight of his body. You saw him often during those first few days in the hospital, days spent puking up pills, every move you made monitored, doctors and nurses scolding you about the severity of your actions.

You didn’t think they could see the hulking figure that comforted you.

“I”ve heard that it’s supposed to.” The red god of death would think aloud.

“I don’t want it then.” Tears upon your cheeks, soft, misty. “Take it.”

“Your life?” A nod would affirm his question, but the red god would shake his head. “I am no thief. Not a hunter, simply a gatherer of souls. I won’t take what doesn’t belong to me.”

“Then it’s yours, have my life. A gift, from me to you. Don’t make me live it any longer…..”

His sadness would show in his eyes.

But the soul-crushing hugs that were provided were admittedly a tiny bit nice.

“You’re far too sweet for your own good. I’ll receive your life when the time is right, not before.”

“But I don’t want it!” You sobbed into his shoulder, the god seeming to be your only friend in the world.

Hands stroked along your back, soft shushing sounds as the god attempted to soothe you in the ways he knew how. Soft touches, kind truths. “Many don’t.  But it happens - life happens anyways. All you can do is find the things that make it less painful.”

“That’s not enough, it still hurts. I can’t stand it.” The sobs wracking your body didn’t stop the entity from holding you.

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

——

He’s patient and kind.

Surprising for a god who’s work involves collecting souls as if they were taxes. A job that should be bitter and tiresome, but the entity has infinite softness resting inside of him.

He walks with you, as you get “better“.

You watch him stop to marvel at flowers, to study the way dew drips from trees in little drops, eyes wide and wondering as crows startle from their perches and take off with noisy weeping.

This courtyard is drab and brown, a prison. Safe.

Yet the god of death treats the space gently, with respect. He thanks the old walls for standing, the worn stones beneath your feet. Their service is noted and appreciated. He’s so tender it almost makes you sick.

But you come to realize that he’s simply allowing himself to be vulnerable, to experience the earth and the beings in it.

For as soon as one recognizes vulnerability, which is so different from weakness or tragedy, one experiences a sense of tenderness. Without tenderness, pleasure means nothing. You need only look at the animals to see the truth of that. It is gentleness that distinguishes their playing from the actions they constantly take to ensure their survival.

You ask why he walks with you, why he is so focused on seeing you get “better“.

A soft smile, a meeting of eyes. “There is an end to your pain, sometime and somewhere. It’s most likely not here, not in this place at least-“ and he looks around, at the cold walls, the other sick patients, the staff. All human.

“-It will come. But for now, it’s enough to try and seek it out ourselves.”

You must look more sick than you really are, talking to thin air like that.

——-

Once you return home, the red god writes you letters.

He’s an old soul, an old god. You’re sure if you asked, he’d be able to recount the very first souls he reaped, a man and a woman, sinful and sweet but in love.

The letters help you get out of bed. What new stories or little quips the god has written pique your curiosity, even when you don’t want to move, don’t want to be awake or alive.

He tells you stories about certain souls, how each one is infinitely interesting, how they all interconnect.  How some of them struggle against him, however fruitlessly. But he’s not the one who brought about their death, he’s there to comfort and guide.

Other souls, (“souls like yours” he writes) welcome him, run to his arms like a long lost lover. Their death was terrifying by their own hand, and it hurt. He can’t take away that pain, those memories. The red god says he wishes those souls find peace wherever he must take them afterwards, or at least, some form of contentment.

“The meaning of life is to give life meaning, at least, that’s what seems to be the consensus.” You rip off that part of the letter, hang it on your wall by your bed.  The other letters you keep in your nightstand, content with the knowledge that there are souls out there like you

It’s hard work, creating meaning for yourself.

The red god takes to visiting you between each letter, says he misses you, the way your soul cries. He tells you that he wishes he could help you quiet it, quiet that raging, terrible storm that hurls you about.

You make him cookies - it’s the only way you know how to say thank you. It’s what your mother taught you, so it may not be right, but the god eats them nonetheless. He likes it when you eat with him, feeding you bites from his cookie, wiping chocolate off of your nose, making you laugh with stupid jokes and a mouth stuffed full of cookies.

Even if some of them are too crunchy, or others too soft, all of them imperfect.

Imperfection is the essence of humanity, he tells you, and it’s more fun eating each cookie with the thought that you’re devouring your imperfections, making yourself whole again, filling up the empty spaces in your soul.

——

Eventually, the crawl back to your feet, rise with the unsteadiness of a toddler. You fall frequently, cry often, but you’re able to get up and try again.

Some days you need to bury yourself in sadness, let yourself feel and feel and hurt. Other days are not so bad, but still tinged  with regret and fear and sadness.

The red god is by your side, gives you something to cling to when you waver.

He is always there.

He will be there when you meet your end.

The god is in no hurry.

You question why he wastes his time on you, hours spent reassuring you, talking to you, tucking you in your bed and leaving glasses of water on your nightstand before taking his leave.

Home is a feeling, not a place. Home is with you - that’s what he tells you. You take his breath away, even though he might not even need to breath because he’s the god of death. HIs thoughts muddle and he trips over his feet and can’t help himself from wanting to hold you.

You learn that even gods yearn for home.

He’s capable of feelings and emotions just like any other human. He may be wiser, and older, able to draw from experience and a deep well of wisdom. But he still feels, and feels deeply.

Just as he gives the earth around him such reverence, he extends that same  attitude when he deals with you.

“Everything I see reminds me of you. When I wake and the sun creeps over the mountains, hesitant, it reminds me of the way that you rise - haltingly, yet it happens nonetheless. The flowers in the field that so steadily grow, you’re like ground they take root in, soft and unstable yet still tenable with the potential for growth. I don’t know, I haven’t exactly held such closeness with a human-“

He trails off, but you think you understand.

Maybe you don’t. It’s hard to relate to a god.

——

A confession occurs, and you’re surprised to learn that the blood-red god of death is in love.

“What did my hands do before they held yours? What did my heart do without all of this love? I can’t hold enough of you, I carry such love for you in my heart.”

With a frail, hopeless human nonetheless.

You don’t know what to tell him, how to explain that you can barely take care of yourself right now, meet your own needs.

But the red god seems to know, seems to understand the way your breath hitches and your eyes widen. One more hug, squeezed tight to his chest while he promises nothing has to change.

Things do change, even if you wish them not to. The world doesn’t bow to your whims, nor the death-god’s.

Innocent touches, his hand on your shoulder, patting your head, offering to rub out the tension in your back after you’ve had a crushing day - they don’t feel so innocent anymore.

The constant survellience still seemed kind, and you knew it was with your best intentions in mind that the god hovered so close, invading every aspect of your life.

But a creeping tendril of unease took hold, and you worried.

Everywhere you turned, he would be there, ready to support you, walk you through anything you wished.

Again, you questioned his commitment. Why? Why you?

“I can’t explain how fond of you I’ve grown. How heat blossomed in my chest as we grew closer. There’s infinite things I wish to say to you, ways for me to express my-my love, but I’ll just let you live.”

He neither killed you nor let you live.

Was it frightening? Maybe. But you had nothing to really live for, lost, searching for your own meaning in a big big world, floundering in an endless sea of sadness and suffering. You weren’t afraid of anything the god could, or would, do to you.

Until you woke up, not knowing where you were, in pitch black.

Arms encircling your shoulders, a soft body beneath your own, holding you tightly, a hand caressing your cheek.

A sun rose, on a strange new land, on the blood-red god gazing at you.

“There seemed to be so much more time for you. But accidents happen, Drivers drink and hearts give out. I was expecting you to grow old, for us to live and love like that, see how you grew through life.”

He looked around this new world, and you vaguely remember what had come before.  A walk along the sidewalk, blaring horns, impact, blood.

“But this will be just as nice. You can stay here with me now. Life can’t cause you anymore pain.”

You don’t feel comforted by those words.  There’s no way for you to know whether this new world would be better than the one you left behind.

[wrctings]

Pre-serum Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes | Let your heart be light

fandom: Marvel Univers characters: Pre-serum Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes summary: Where Steve and his mom spend Christmas Eve’s at the Barnes’s, Bucky takes a nap and Steve draws him. word count: 1.7k 

writing a christmas one shot in february isn’t too late, right? i missed 30s steve and buck so of course i had to write some fluff <3

New York City, Christmas 1935

When the two boys slid their shivering frames through the doorway, shaking off the snowflakes caught in their hair and coats as they took the latter off, the first thing to welcome them was the delicious waft of food which had enveloped the entire apartment, the perky jingling of cutlery that emanated from the kitchen accounting for the fact that an active cooking activity was indeed taking place in there. Their cheeks rosy from the piercing cold and their breath short from having spent the afternoon out in the snow, they untied their shoes, leaving them in the corridor, and proceeded to the living room, where the warmth radiating off the crackling fireplace eased the prickling of their skin at once.

“Mom, we’re back!” Bucky announced, heading for the kitchen, Steve in his wake. “How are you? It smells so good in here!”

“We were wondering when you boys would come back and give us a hand,” Mrs Barnes gave them a smile, shaking her head. “It’s all fine. We should always make joined Christmas dinners, it’s a lot less exhausting than doing it yourself for the whole family,” she added gratefully, glancing at Sarah, who nodded in approval.

“Are you okay darling?” The blond woman caringly asked Steve, who reassured her with a light-hearted nod.

“If there’s anything we can do, we’ll be glad to help,” he then assured voluntarily, earning an affectionate look from the two women.

“Actually, I have a feeling you’ll cause more trouble than anything…” One of Bucky’s sisters retorted humorously.

“That may not be wrong…,” the brunet boy conceded sheepishly, eyeing all the culinary supplies suspiciously.

“Maybe you could dress the table, how about that?” Mrs Barnes proposed an alternative. “It’s a little too early now, but we’ll call you when it’s the right time. For the time being, why don’t you go put some records on?”

“Sure!”

“Steve, stay close to the fireplace!” The other boy’s mom called after her son as Bucky and Steve took off, shaking her head fondly as the blond promised that she didn’t have to worry (although he had barely recovered from a cold). “Kids…” Sarah muttered, sharing a knowing glance with Winnifred, who could only chuckle. “But at least they look after one another.”

“Thank God,” the brunette woman laughed, rolling her eyes. “Sometimes I wonder whether that causes less or more trouble.”

Meanwhile, Steve and Bucky set to complete the task that they had been asked to undertake. Rummaging through the music collection of the Barnes with great care, Steve selected a record which Bucky then placed upon the turntable, sparking up the soft whirring of the record player while he was cautiously manipulating the needle. A few seconds later, the merry tune of a Christmas song erupted from the device, taking over the far-off clattering and voices coming from the kitchen with smooth notes of jazz that swirled through the room.

“There we go,” a satisfied smile played upon Bucky’s lips, the young man letting himself tumble on the nearby couch with a deep sigh. “I feel like I could take a nap just now…,” he breathed out, lazily stretching out his arms while letting his head fall backwards against the backrest.

“Tired already?” Steve raised a daring eyebrow, teasing his friend with his usual playfulness.

“Shut up,” without even looking, Bucky grabbed a pillow and threw it toward the other boy’s voice, but missed the target. “How the hell do you still have energy?”

“I don’t, I just pretend,” the blond actually confessed, shrugging as he laughed. He never had to play pretend with Bucky, who always accepted him the way he was, no matter whether he caught Steve on a painful day of suffering from sickness, had to come to his rescue in a fight or simply met with him to hang out. Plus, his best friend had seen him in dire straits one too many times to unnecessarily play tough. “Alright, you take a nap, I’ll get my sketchbook.”

“Wake me up if I happen to actually drift off,” Bucky mumbled, momentarily straightening up just so he could cuddle up to the cushion set in the corner where the armrest and the backrest formed an angle. Through half-closed eyelids, he noticed Steve taking a seat on the floor and flick through the pages of his sketchbook, the flames happily waltzing in the chimney behind him sending glimmering beams across the young man’s shirt and skin, their reflection playing in the golden strands of hair that brushed his forehead as he craned his neck, concentrated on his sketch.

Lulled by the gay rhythm of the music and the regular, soft sound of his friend’s pen scraping a piece of paper, Bucky feared that he in truth might just doze off, the both peaceful and jolly atmosphere of the room exacerbating his body’s will to rest. However, there was no way he was going to leave Steve alone on Christmas evening, especially since they spent it together this year, so Bucky fought sleepiness back by trying to keep his mind awake. Just a few minutes, he told himself, I’ll rest for a little bit, then I’ll be ready to celebrate.

Since the early December evening had already dawned, the room would’ve been bathed in darkness if not for the chirping chimney and the bright lights that had been turned on, making it easier for Bucky not to let his thoughts succumb to the strain of his body. He wondered whether his family would like the gifts he got them, but especially if Steve would — since Bucky had more money, he always tried to get his friend a present that he would be particularly fond of for Christmas, and he knew that Steve would also do his best to offer him something nice in return, though with more limited means. But most importantly, Bucky was merely glad and excited to spend the 24th of December surrounded by everyone he loved most, especially since Steve and his mother were joining them around the table this year. In the end, gifts mattered little.

“Why the hell didn’t you wake me up?” Running a hand over his face, Bucky groaned while blinking several times, struggling to adjust his clouded sight to the lighting of the living room. It turned out that keeping oneself awake was quite a difficult task, even when one might tell themselves that their lively thoughts would keep their distracted from the lure of slumber. “What time is it?”

“Don’t worry Buck, it’s only been fifteen minutes,” Steve reassured him distractedly, still hunched over his drawing. “It’s nearly seven.”

Pushing himself away from the armrest of the couch, Bucky’s fingers tangled in his hair as he tried to make it sit properly, pushing loose brown strands off his forehead.  Only fifteen minutes, that was acceptable. He yawned into the back of his hand, stretching his back, then swung his legs onto the floor and bent forward, trying to get a glimpse of Steve’s doodles — his gaze landed on the outline of a sofa, on which he recognised his own silhouette.

“You know I’m gonna become famous too if you do, right? I’m your number one drawing reference, at this point.” He joked, but the soft glow of his eyes, from either remnants of sleepiness or fondness, made it seem like he was actually both touched and impressed.

“It’s not my fault if you fall asleep on my watch. What do you want me to do? For once, something stays still while I’m sketching, I gotta make most of it.”

It took Steve another few minutes to come to end of his sketch of a sleepy Bucky, fixing the shadows playing in the folds of his friend’s clothes as his pencil adroitly glided across the paper. Bucky, still towering over the blond, kept on watching him draw above Steve’s shoulder, having always been fasciated by the way his friend could so beautifully make images come to life out of nothingness — no matter how much the other boy would get frustrated over a doodle that he struggled with, Bucky knew that it would still be infinitely better than anything most people could come up with. Seeing the curves and edges of his own body forming such meticulous shapes under Steve’s fingertips, the brunet felt like he had caught his own self plunged in a slumber; as if time had turned back to just minutes ago, and he could witness his reflection laying on the couch.

“Alright.” After one last stroke of a pen, Steve held the sketchbook up, analysing the outcome. Bucky could tell that he wasn’t disappointed with the result as the young man put it back down, not getting another hold of his pencil either. “You’re not still sleepy, are you?” He then turned around to give Bucky a quick smile, emerging out of the state of concentration that had taken over him while he was drawing.

“No, I’m not. It’s time for celebration now!” His friend retorted energetically, alluding to the festive Christmas tree that had been set in a corner of the room, the few colourful decorations tangled up in its branches and the golden star at its top gleaming as light ricocheted off them.

With a brief glance at the window, Bucky noticed that the snowfall had grown even stronger, thick and fluffy snowflakes coating the entire street and delicate flowers of frost already starting to spring upon the panes, adorning them with whimsical motives.

“Boys!”

Before Steve and Bucky had time to do anything else, Mrs Barnes’s voice reached them from the kitchen, rising above the music that had continued playing.

“Boys, come and set the table!”

“On it!” Her son shouted back, not a single trouble weighing his heart down as the only think he could focus on was this special night, full of the joy and warmth of sharing it with all the people dearest to him. “Shall we?” He took a look at Steve, unable to suppress a wholesome smile that he just couldn’t contain. And he didn’t want to.

“We shall,” his friend agreed, smiling back. “First to get to the kitchen wins?” and, before Bucky could answer, the blond was off.

“Steve, you have asthma!” was all that Bucky could yell after him, laughing as he trailed behind, however catching up fast.

“But I’m winning!”

A very merry Christmas indeed.

[2manyfandoms2count]

Friends who cook together...

I saw today's prompt for @auyeahaugust (College AU) and thought it would be the perfect opportunity to share the beginning of this fic I've been working on!

It's actually based on @e-milieeee's post, I couldn't resist the cooking trope 😬

Hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3 (gasp)

---

Lesson 1: Ratatouille

Adrien Agreste was the perfect man. Good-looking, hard-working, charming, he was the prime example of the son-in-law every parent wanted, and the people his age who didn't want to be him wanted to date him.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng wouldn't deny she might be classified in the latter category, although less so than when she was younger. She was good friends with the model now. Voluntarily so. You didn’t fight and defeat Paris’ number one villains for years, growing from a teenager into a young adult together, without getting close. Their respective crushes on each other had faded over time, but it didn’t mean they would’ve said no if all the circumstances aligned, although they wouldn’t have admitted it out loud.

The one thing Adrien Agreste wasn’t, though, was a good cook. Not that he didn’t have everything he could possibly need in his kitchen. The apartment he now lived in, although a huge step down from the Mansion that had once been his home (but what wouldn’t be), was still a lot bigger, and a lot more comfortable than what a normal student should have been able to afford.

It was a lot better equipped, too.

Marinette had told him the contractors were abusing his trust by installing things that were way more expensive than they ought to be, knowing he wouldn’t double check, but he’d waved her concerns away. With his father’s demise, he’d just wanted to move out as quickly as possible to avoid the crowds of paparazzi, and if signing a very large cheque could provide him with the knowledge the workers wouldn’t blab, then so be it. He couldn’t bring himself to sell the Mansion despite the knowledge it had been Hawkmoth’s lair the whole time -there were too many memories associated with his mother there- but he’d had some offers to rent it out for movie settings which would definitely cover the costs of keeping it, as well as his rent. He’d looked into his finances and put all the money he’d earned as a model in a bank account, and donated the rest to a fund to help Akuma victims. There was no way he was keeping his father’s dirty money when so many people had suffered at his hands.

Since then, Adrien had fallen into a nice little routine as he moved from Lycée to University. He made the most of his freedom by exploring every nook and cranny of Paris without anyone being able to say anything about it. No curfews, no limitations, but for his own tiredness and others’ private property, of course.

It left little time for him to learn basic cooking skills. He was often too tired to make anything when he came back from his nocturnal meanderings, so he went for the easy solution: food delivery. There were so many restaurants nearby he could’ve eaten something different every night for a month and still not have gone through all of the options. It was more diverse than anything he’d ever eaten, and it suited him just fine.

Little did he know that this habit would be disrupted by his best friend moving in next door.

Marinette had been looking for a new flat. Not that she didn’t enjoy living with her parents, but she found herself wanting a little more privacy now that she was at University. The reveal that she was Ladybug had brought a lot of attention to the Tom and Sabine bakery, which was good, but a lot of it was journalists prowling around in the hopes of getting an exclusive interview with her. She was tired of being pretty much mauled anytime she left the house, and although she could easily leave via the rooftops as Ladybug, she refused to let them dictate how and when she could get in and out. Which is why, when she’d seen the words “à louer” on a window of Adrien’s building as she visited him for their weekly game night, she didn’t think twice about calling the number. Adrien had been a step ahead of her, so the owners were expecting her call. A week later, she had officially moved into the flat across from his.

She hadn’t paid much attention to his habits at first. She was too busy settling in, and with all the planned evenings with Nino and Alya, plus the ones with the Miracuclass students who remained in Paris, she didn’t see how late he came back at night, and ordering in didn’t seem out of place. What better than a pizza for poker night? Or sushi for movie night? It was easy .

As winter settled in, though, and nights out dwindled to once every fortnight, she noticed the ballet of scooters and bikes that came almost at a fixed time every night. Generally when she was about to fall asleep, doing a grand job at waking her up. Groggily stalking up to the window one evening, she’d noticed Adrien meet the delivery person as he came back from wherever he’d been, paying his due and coming up. She’d dismissed it due to midterm season approaching, but exams had come and gone and things hadn’t changed. She kept an eye out, and after two additional weeks of seeing Adrien collect a brown paper bag, knowing fully well that he ate a sandwich every midday thanks to her father’s well-meaning gossip, she’d decided to take action. She couldn’t let her partner have such a questionable diet.

“What's it going to be tonight?” She asked, leaning arms crossed against her door frame one night as he appeared on the landing.

Adrien froze at the top of the stairs and looked at her like a deer caught in headlights.

“Er…“ He raked his mind for something, anything that would sound even remotely healthy, but nothing came. He sighed defeatedly. “None pizza with left beef.” He mumbled, his head lowered guiltily. He’d seen the meme the night before, and had wanted to try it out.

“What?”

He repeated a little louder.

“Okay that’s it, you’re coming over to my place for dinner.”

He knew from her tone of voice there’d be no arguing with her, so he sheepishly followed her inside her flat, still clutching his pizza box. He wasn’t too unhappy about the outcome, if he was honest. Marinette was a good cook. He’d have a nice meal tonight.

“What about the pizza?” He asked weakly.

“We can use it as… bread, or something.” The girl suggested, crinkling her nose at the thought. For someone who came from a long line of bakers and was part Italian, calling the contents of the box pizza or even bread seemed inherently wrong.

Adrien trailed a little behind her as she walked towards her kitchen, marveling at what she’d done with the place.

Marinette’s apartment mirrored his in terms of structure, but whereas his decoration was very minimalistic, hers was a lot more eclectic, without looking cluttered. Her furniture wasn’t a set, yet fit together very well and gave the space a cozy feel. The painted walls, as well as the coloured posters, curtains, rugs and cushions made it feel very homey. He wanted nothing more than sit on her sofa and snuggle under the knitted blanket with her to watch a movie.

Platonically, of course.

Adrien walked into the kitchen and was greeted by the pastel yellow of the walls and warm lighting. Her utensils provided nice splashes of colour that brightened up the room. He particularly appreciated the Ladybug-themed colander that was drying next to the sink.

“If you look in that bottom draw,” she indicated with her foot before reaching for a jar of dried rice in a cupboard, “you should find some saucepans, if you could take two out please, Chaton.”

He obliged, resisting the temptation to lift her up to help her. He knew she wouldn't appreciate it.

“Can I put you in charge of cooking the rice?” She asked, handing him the packet. Adrien accepted it but looked at her quizzically.

“Sure!” He replied excitedly. “Do you have the instructions anywhere?”

Marinette stopped in the middle of washing vegetables she’d taken out of the fridge and squinted her eyes as she gauged whether or not he was joking. He seemed genuinely at loss for what to do.

“Have you never prepared rice before?”

“No?”

“It’s like pasta.” His clueless face made her sigh defeatedly. “You’ve never made pasta either, haven’t you.”

“Does instant ramen count? Or pasta boxes?” He flinched slightly.

“How you’re still alive and actually fit is beyond me.” She rolled her eyes. “Right, I guess we really are starting with the basics then. Consider this lesson number one: pour some water in that saucepan.”

She moved away from the sink to allow him to access it, but stayed close enough to be able to turn the tap off for him. He clearly had no idea of how much water was needed.

“Right, now put the saucepan on the hob, and turn it on.” She saw a smirk spread on his face. “And don’t even think about making a joke, I know what it sounded like!”

“You’re no fun, Buguinette.” He pouted, pressing the button she indicated.

“Add a little salt, and then we’ll just let it come to a boil.”

Next, she handed him a chopping board and tomatoes. She hesitated before giving him a knife. “Can I trust you not to cut yourself?”

“Har har.” He grabbed the knife. “Joke’s on you, because salad is actually the only thing I know how to make. How do you want these?”

She resisted making a comment on how knowing how to make salad wasn't something he really could brag about. “Sliced. We’re making ratatouille.”

“Ooh, nice!”

He listened as she talked him through the recipe, impressed by the fact she didn’t need a cookbook to remember how to prepare it. She taught him how to prepare an aubergine, which he could recognise thanks to the emoji, but could not imagine how to bring to an edible form.

“We just want to sear them in some oil with the courgettes, then we’ll let them cook gently with the rest of the vegetables and the herbs.”

He’d been quite dainty on the amount of herbes de Provence he’d added, which had prompted her taking his hand and shaking the spice pot to cover the tomatoes with it.

He looked at her concentrated expression as she stirred the pan and couldn’t help but smile, his hand still hovering above the hob.

Marinette looked at him inquisitively. “What?”

“Nothing.” She raised her eyebrows. “I just forgot how cute you are when you’re bossy.”

Marinette stammered in response, her cheeks pinking. It didn't matter how at ease she felt with Adrien now, she still couldn't take a compliment from him. He grinned and took advantage of her distraction to steal the wooden spoon from her and taste the dish.

“Authorisation to add a little salt?” He asked, refilling the spoon with ratatouille for her.

She took it, trying not to focus on the fact his lips had been just where hers were. She let the flavours flood her palet thoughtfully.

"Authorisation granted."

She smiled fondly as Adrien excitedly added missing spices to the mix.

"See? I am a competent cook!" He added with a satisfied smile.

"Please, you're barely a sous-chef." Marinette snorted. She backtracked her slightly harsh words seeing her partner's pout. "Don't worry though, you'll get the hang of it! It's just a question of practising." She rubbed his back encouragingly. "Would making the plates pretty make you feel better?"

"I think so." He mock sniffled.

Marinette made a point of taking out her Chat Noir plates, which she'd been planning on keeping for special occasions. The way Adrien's face lit up upon seeing them made the fact they were her only dishes that couldn't be dishwashed seem irrelevant. Adrien made a mental note to try and find matching Ladybug ones, although he wasn't sure if he would be gifting them to her or keeping them for himself.

Marinette busied herself with tidying up the kitchen and laying the cutlery as he worked on the presentation. Had her phone been nearby, she would've taken a picture of him as he blepped in concentration.

"Does this look good enough for Madame la Chef ?" He asked as he presented the plates to her. He'd positioned the vegetables around the rice so as to make it look like a flower.

"It's perfect, Chaton." She kissed the top of his head as she passed behind him with a packet of smoked ham. She rolled the slices into little roses and planted them in the rice.

"A table?" She asked as she finally sat down opposite him.

Adrien dug in before she could say bon appétit .

---

When Adrien came home from his morning run a couple of days later, a fresh croissant in hand, he found a conscientiously wrapped package on his doormat. The black polka dots on the field of red were a dead giveaway as to who it was from. He grinned as he picked it up and opened the door.

Breakfast and washed hands later, he sat on his couch, facing the present. He was torn between tearing the wrapping, or being civilised about it. Before he could choose, Plagg flew nearby and obeyed his cat instincts, swiftly disappearing back into his Camembert cabinet with a grin to avoid his holder's reprimands.

"Je sais cuisiner." He read the title and laughed, holding the book in front of him. It was an old edition, a yellow hardback with a picture of the author on the cover.

A post-it note stuck out from the top of the book. He opened it to get to the bookmarked recipe.

For Adrien - saw this and thought of you! Since you're so keen on instructions, this might do the trick! Feel free to use it often ;-)

Love, Marinette

P.S.: I suggest we try this recipe next!

Adrien read through the page, and felt his stomach grumble. He was very pleased at the thought that something had reminded her of him and that she'd bought it for him. The "love" and the fact she was obviously looking forward to repeating their cooking experience were added bonuses.

He himself could hardly wait.

[orthodoxydaily]

Saints&Reading: Sat., May, 15, 2021

Saint Athanasius the Great, Archbishop of Alexandria (373)

 May 2/May 15

     Saint Athanase the Great, Archbishop of Alexandria, was a great father of the Church and a pillar of Orthodoxy. He was born in about the year 297 in the city of Alexandria into a family of pious Christians. He received a fine secular education, but still more he acquired profound knowledge by diligent study of the Holy Scripture. From his childhood years the future great hierarch Athanase became known to the Alexandrian Patriarch, Saint Alexander (Comm. 29 May), through the following circumstances. One time a group of children, among whom was the lad Athanase, was playing at the shore of the sea. The Christian children decided to baptise their pagan playmates. The lad Athanase, whom the children chose as "bishop", performed the baptism, precisely repeating the words, heard by him in church during this sacrament. Patriarch Alexander observed all this from a window. He then commanded that there be brought him the children and their parents, and having conversed with them for a long while, and having attested that the baptism performed by the children at play was in everything in accord with the Church ustav (rule), he acknowledged the Baptism as real and supplemented it with the sacrament of Chrismation. From this moment the Patriarch looked after the spiritual upbringing of the youth Athanase and in time brought him into the clergy, at first as a reader, and then he ordained him to the dignity of deacon.

     It was in this dignity of deacon that Saint Athanase accompanied Patriarch Alexander in the year 325 to the First OEcumenical Council at Nicea. At the Council, Saint Athanase stepped forth with a refutation of the heresy of Arius. This speech met with the approval of the Orthodox fathers of the Council, but the Arians – those openly so and those concealed – came to hate Athanase and subjected him to persecutions for all the rest of his life.      After the death of holy Patriarch Alexander, Saint Athanase was unanimously chosen his successor to the Alexandria cathedra-seat. He long refused, accounting himself unworthy, but at the insistence of all the Orthodox populace that it was in agreement, at age 28 he was ordained to the dignity of bishop and put at the head of the Alexandrian Church. For 47 years Saint Athanase guided the Church, and during this time he suffered much persecution and grief from his antagonists. Several times he was expelled from Alexandria and hid himself from the Arians in desolate places, since they repeatedly tried to kill him. Saint Athanase spent more than 20 years in his exiles, and returned then to his flock, and then again was subjected to banishment. There was a moment in time when he remained as the only Orthodox bishop, a moment when all the other bishops had deviated into heresy. At the false-councils of Arian bishops he was declared deprived of the bishop's dignity. Despite the persecution of many years, the saint continued firmly to defend the purity of the Orthodox faith, and he wrote incessantly both missives and tracts against the Arian heresy. When Julian the Apostate (361-363) began a persecution against Christians, his wrath then first fell upon Saint Athanase, whom he considered the great pillar of Orthodoxy. Julian intended to kill the saint so as to strike Christianity a grievous blow, but he himself soon perished infamously. Mortally wounded by an arrow during the time of a battle, he cried out with despair: "Thou art victorious, Galilean". After the death of Julian, Saint Athanase guided the Alexandrian Church for seven years and died in 373, at age 76.      Numerous works of Saint Athanasias have been preserved: four "Orations", directed against the Arian heresy; likewise an Epistle to Epictetos, bishop of the Church of Corinth, about the Divine and Human natures in Jesus Christ; four Epistles to Serapion, bishop of Thmuis, about the Divine Holy Spirit and Its Equality with the Father and the Son – directed against the heresy of Macedonias. There have been preserved also other works of apologetical character in defense of Orthodoxy, among which is the Letter to the emperor Constantius. Commentaries of Saint Athanase on Holy Scripture are known of, and also books of a moral didactic character, as well as a detailed biography of the Monk Anthony the Great (Comm. 17 January), with whom Saint Athanase was very close. Saint John Chrysostom advised every Orthodox Christian to read this life. The memory of Saint Athanase is celebrated also on 18 January conjointly with the memory of Saint Cyril of Alexandria.

© 1996-2001 by translator Fr. S. Janos.

The Holy Nobleborn Equal-to-the-Apostles Tsar Boris, in Holy Baptism Michael (907)

     The Holy Nobleborn Equal-to-the-Apostles Tsar Boris, in Holy Baptism Michael: His Equal-to-the-Apostles exploits were foretold him by an uncle, Saint Boyan. The first years of the reign of tsar Boris unfolded with misfortune. The Bulgarians happened frequently to be at war with surrounding nations, famine and plague beset the land, and in the year 860 Bulgaria found itself in dire straits. Tsar Boris saw the salvation of his land, which dwelt in paganism, in its enlightenment by the faith in Christ. During the time of one of the battles of the Bulgarians with the Greeks he took captive the illustrious courtier Theodore Kuphares, who earlier had taken monastic vows. He was the first man planting the seed of the Gospel in the soul of the Bulgarian tsar. In one of the campaigns with the Greeks the young sister of tsar Boris was taken captive and raised at the court of the Byzantine emperor in the Orthodox faith. When the emperor Theophilos died, tsar Boris decided to take advantage of the favourable circumstance so as to take revenge upon the Greeks for his former defeats. But the widow of the emperor, Theodora, showed courage and sent a messenger to the Bulgarian tsar with the suggestion, that she herself was prepared to defend the empire and humiliate its opponents. Tsar Boris chose to have a peace alliance, and in sign of conciliation exchange was made of the captives Theodore Kuphares for the Bulgarian princess, who all the more swayed her brother towards the Christian faith. A while later there was sent into Bulgaria Saint Methodios, who together with his brother Saint Cyril was enlightening the Slavic peoples with the light of faith in Christ. Saint Methodios baptised tsar Boris, his family and many of the boyar-nobles. The pagan Bulgarians, having learned of this, wanted to kill tsar Boris, but their plot was frustrated by the tsar, and deprived of their rebellious leaders, the Bulgarian people voluntarily accepted Baptism. Between Byzantium and Bulgaria was concluded a peace, based on an oneness of faith, which was not broken until the end of the reign of the noble tsar. The Greek Patriarch Photios took great interest in the spiritual confirmation of the Bulgarian nation. In 867 preachers from the Roman pope were sent into Bulgaria, from which time over the course of three years discord prevailed in Bulgaria between the Greek and Roman Churches. A Council at Constantinople in 869 put an end to the quarrel, and on 3 March 870 Bulgaria was definitively conjoined to the Eastern Church, and Orthodoxy in it was affirmed even more. In Bulgaria were glorified the holy ascetics: Saints Gorazd (Comm. 27 July) and Clement of Okhrid (Comm. 27 July). Nobleborn tsar Boris adorned the land with churches and furthered the spread of piety, and afterwards in Bulgaria was established a Patriarchal cathedra-seat. In his declining years, holy tsar Boris withdrew to a monastery, leaving the throne to his sons Vladimir and Simeon. While in the monastery the saint learned that Vladimir, who succeeded to reign after him, had started on a path of renunciation from Christianity. Distressed by this, Saint Boris again donned his garb as tsar, punished his disobedient son and placed him in prison. Having entrusted the rule to his younger son Simeon, Saint Boris returned to the monastery. But he came out from it once more for the repelling of an invasion of the Vengrians/Hungarians. Holy tsar Boris, in holy Baptism named Michael, – reposed on 2 May 907.

© 1996-2001 by translator Fr. S. Janos.

John 6:14-27

14 Then those men, when they had seen the sign that Jesus did, said, "This is truly the Prophet who is to come into the world." 15 Therefore when Jesus perceived that they were about to come and take Him by force to make Him king, He departed again to the mountain by Himself alone. 16 Now when evening came, His disciples went down to the sea, 17 got into the boat, and went over the sea toward Capernaum. And it was already dark, and Jesus had not come to them. 18 Then the sea arose because a great wind was blowing. 19 So when they had rowed about three or four miles, they saw Jesus walking on the sea and drawing near the boat; and they were afraid. 20 But He said to them, "It is I; do not be afraid." 21 Then they willingly received Him into the boat, and immediately the boat was at the land where they were going. 22 On the following day, when the people who were standing on the other side of the sea saw that there was no other boat there, except that one which His disciples had entered, and that Jesus had not entered the boat with His disciples, but His disciples had gone away alone. 23 however, other boats came from Tiberias, near the place where they ate bread after the Lord had given thanks- 24 when the people therefore saw that Jesus was not there, nor His disciples, they also got into boats and came to Capernaum, seeking Jesus. 25 And when they found Him on the other side of the sea, they said to Him, "Rabbi, when did You come here?" 26 Jesus answered them and said, "Most assuredly, I say to you, you seek Me, not because you saw the signs, but because you ate of the loaves and were filled. 27 Do not labor for the food which perishes, but for the food which endures to everlasting life, which the Son of Man will give you, because God the Father has set His seal on Him.

Acts 5:21-33

21And when they heard that, they entered the temple early in the morning and taught. But the high priest and those with him came and called the council together, with all the elders of the children of Israel, and sent to the prison to have them brought.22 But when the officers came and did not find them in the prison, they returned and reported, 23 saying, "Indeed we found the prison shut securely, and the guards standing outside before the doors; but when we opened them, we found no one inside!" 24 Now when the high priest, the captain of the temple, and the chief priests heard these things, they wondered what the outcome would be. 25 So one came and told them, saying, "Look, the men whom you put in prison are standing in the temple and teaching the people!" 26 Then the captain went with the officers and brought them without violence, for they feared the people, lest they should be stoned. 27 And when they had brought them, they set them before the council. And the high priest asked them, 28 saying, "Did we not strictly command you not to teach in this name? And look, you have filled Jerusalem with your doctrine, and intend to bring this Man's blood on us!" 29 But Peter and the other apostles answered and said: "We ought to obey God rather than men. 30The God of our fathers raised up Jesus whom you murdered by hanging on a tree. 31 Him God has exalted to His right hand to be Prince and Savior, to give repentance to Israel and forgiveness of sins. 32 And we are His witnesses to these things, and so also is the Holy Spirit whom God has given to those who obey Him. 33 When they heard this, they were furious and plotted to kill them.

[frostbitten-written]

“Oh, royal library…? Wow… I can imagine that must be extensive… That must have taken you forever to get through… Huh? Wait, you’ve read books from a royal library, yet you would voluntarily read my work?”

"My lengthy lifespan allows me the privilege of working my way through several novels and tomes of various subjects," he nodded. The pretty blush painting her cheeks proved she thought little of herself in relation to such published works. He shook his head in disapproval of her judgment. "Their placement upon those many shelves speaks nothing of their value. That is for the reader to decide. Am I not a man capable of discerning for myself what is worthy of my attention and what is not? Because, little Indie," the edge of his finger hooked underneath her chin to draw her attention back to his warm expression, "I find you very worthy of my sole focus for the foreseeable future."

His hand fell away from underneath her chin to gesture for the bartender to assist them once again. "I assure you that no harm will come to you in my care should you overindulge."

A brief conversation with the young man who approached with a raised brow, and moments later two whiskeys sat before them. A small selection of large bills pressed into the hand of the bartender with an appreciative dip of his chin ended the swift transaction. "To cover both my tab and the lady's. Thank you."

The bewitching little mortal shifted in her seat, bringing her closer to match his assertive stance, although he still towered above her and would continue to do so should she rise to her full height. The size difference compelled him to protect her, this delicate Midgardian whose trust baffled him to no end. Perhaps it was her intoxicated state that made her so comfortable expressing herself. Whatever it was, he enjoyed it immensely.

“Wait, no, that’s not right. Why would I need rescuing from you? You’ve been fine company thus far.” She playfully poked his chest as she admonished him and made eye contact.

In an instant his hand wrapped around her wrist, stilling her hand, swift and secure but gentle so as not to harm her in any capacity. The halting gesture turned into something almost reverent, calloused fingertips gliding over her smooth skin until he cradled her small hand delicately. Slowly he bent over to brush a kiss against her knuckles, an incredibly forward action with his piercing gaze trained on every minute change of her facial expression. "Haven't you heard that I am not to be trusted? God of Mischief, Silvertongue, Liesmith, all signs point to my nefarious motivations for continuing our conversation." He released her from his hold with a fleeting caress of his thumb over the inside of her wrist, straightening to his full height lazily.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, mister. You’re lovely company.” She offered a warm smile, hoping he’d do the same. She’d love to see him with a full grin. With the small smile he’s hiding, she could only imagine how spectacular he’d look teeth and all.

"Of course I am," he winked, "but those who share your sentiment are few and far between. The same compliment can be truthfully applied to yourself, as my evening is all the better for your presence at my side." Almost involuntarily his smile grew in response to her earnestness. A dart of his tongue wet his lips before he covered his mouth with his glass, taking another sip of the liquid fire scorching a path to the twisting thrill of her company making a home for itself in his stomach.

“I’ll admit, I’m not here alone or of my own volition… My friends dragged me out because they wanted me to get drunk and have fun. I’m not normally a club girl, but tonight it paid off.” She cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow playfully as she looked at him. “And just to be clear, I’m talking about you. You made tonight worth it.” She watched his facial expression, hoping she wasn’t overstepping any boundaries in her friendly endeavours.

A shout of revelry echoed about the bar, clearly originating from his oaf of a brother surrounded by the other Avengers. At least the display did not precede the destruction of property.

"Your friends are nowhere to be seen," he mused thoughtfully, searching the crowd for anyone who might be unusually interested in their conversation. Finding no one to come whisk his companion away, his grin turned mischievous when directed back to Indie. "You are very clear, I assure you." At least he allowed his eyes to dip down to her chest, taking notice of the cleavage presented to him from her position without any attempt at hiding his interest. "And I hope I am as well."

Another barrage of questions spilled from her mouth and he chuckled, taking another drink of his whiskey to compose his thoughts. One finger straightened from the nearly empty glass to gesture at Thor, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, and Sam Wilson drinking and chatting away with a group of admirers. "Our situations are similar. Thor believed it in my best interest to spend time with the others, to improve team morale or my public persona, but my time was admittedly feeling wasted until fate should bring us together.

"And now that I have interrupted the course of your evening and plied you with liquor a bit beyond your level of tolerance, my plans have shifted from suffering their foolish behavior for the far more pleasant and important task of ensuring your safety. I intend to escort you home, if that is agreeable to you." Sincere concern softened the edges of his cool mask. "It would put me at ease to know that you are safe."

-Loki

(Sorry I took so long to reply! Life happened. So, I may have gotten just as carried away as you; I hope it is satisfactory because I also had a blast replying to you!)

Indie blushed like mad when the edge of Loki’s finger brushed against her skin. His gesture was intimate; it made her breath hitch and her heart still for a moment. He was smooth and she was starting to notice.

“...Because, little Indie," the edge of his finger hooked underneath her chin to draw her attention back to his warm expression, "I find you very worthy of my sole focus for the foreseeable future."

If that line wasn’t a panty-dropper, then she didn’t know what was. She bit back a smile and chose not to comment, accepting his compliment.

"I assure you that no harm will come to you in my care should you overindulge."

“Oh, whiskey,” she purred, tipsy and very pleased. “You’re a fast learner, aren’t you, Lokes?” She mindlessly gave him a nickname before sipping her drink. She had the tendency to give people nicknames, especially when she was drunk. This was only the beginning.

Initially, the way he grabbed her wrist frightened her, and in her inebriated state, her reaction time was slow and useless, but he yet again proved to have pure intentions. The last thing Indie expected from a near-stranger (what the heck, she knew his name) in a bar, was being kissed so tenderly to the knuckles, prince-charming style. How gallant, how romantic and how intimate he was. He was making her feels things she had no business feeling. He was an attractive guy and how she held his attention for so long was beyond her, but she’d enjoy every moment while it lasted.

"Haven't you heard that I am not to be trusted? God of Mischief, Silvertongue, Liesmith, all signs point to my nefarious motivations for continuing our conversation." He released her from his hold with a fleeting caress of his thumb over the inside of her wrist, straightening to his full height lazily.

She whined quietly to herself. Why did she always fall for the bad boys and why were they always so damn attractive and tempting? Besides that, why did he keep saying he was not to be trusted when he’s done nothing but be honest all night? She decided to humour him and play along with his self-deprecating shtick. “Well, I have nothing to lose, Mr Nefarious.” She spat the name sarcastically, hating the stereotypes he was branded with. If she had the permission she would have bapped him on the head plenty of times for speaking ill of himself. She wasn’t drunk enough to do it, but she was getting there.

When he mentioned the Avengers, she was a bit too far gone to filter her words. “Oh right! You’re friends with the Avengers! Hey Loki, next time you see Thor,” she paused, feeling the nerves bubble in her stomach, “can you please tell him to take it easy with the lightning and the thunder?” She shivered and pressed her lips into a frown. “I hate thunderstorms. They’re scary,” she muttered to herself, sounding childlike in her request and complaint.

"And now that I have interrupted the course of your evening and plied you with liquor a bit beyond your level of tolerance, my plans have shifted from suffering their foolish behaviour for the far more pleasant and important task of ensuring your safety. I intend to escort you home if that is agreeable to you." Sincere concern softened the edges of his cool mask. "It would put me at ease to know that you are safe."

She pouted and resisted his efforts to make her go home. “Nooooo,” she whined as she propped her elbow up on the bar counter, her head lazily supported by her hand. “Not yettt,” she complained. “You can be my gallant, tall, dark and handsome hero later, I promise. For now, let’s have fun!” She exclaimed, shooting her arms up in the air and throwing her head back. She giggled before taking her glass in hand and sipping her whiskey. Her eye widened mid-sip when a new song started playing in the club. She managed to down the remainder of her drink in one impressive gulp and jumped off her stool.

“Ah! I love this song! It’s my jam!” She exclaimed and grabbed Loki’s hand, tugging him off his stool too. “Come and dance with meeeeee! Just one song, please? I promise you can play bodyguard and take me home afterwards!” She pulled him onto the dance floor, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks, in her body, in her head and in her soul. She felt loose and free.

Come here, girl. (Go 'head be gone with it)

Come to the back. (Go 'head be gone with it)

VIP. (Go 'head be gone with it)

Drinks on me. (Go 'head be gone with it)

Indie danced like no one was watching. Her heart raced as she danced with her handsome stranger; she’s always wanted to do this: catch the attention of a hot guy, drink with him, get to know him, and dance with him. Loki was like her fucking jackpot and she was revelling in every second of it.

Let me see what you're twerkin' with; (Go 'head be gone with it)

Look at those hips. (Go 'head be gone with it)

You make me smile. (Go 'head be gone with it)

Go 'head child. (Go 'head be gone with it)

She looked up at Loki, mouthing the words, not at all internalising the meaning of the song. She grabbed his hands and placed them on her waist, swaying to the music without a care in the world. She lazily slung her arms around his shoulders, bringing her body close to him. Dancing with him was such a thrill.

And, get your sexy on. (Go 'head be gone with it)

Get your sexy on. (Go 'head, be gone with it)...

- Indie

[marvelousstevetony]

That’s What Friends Are For

Set in a world where all the Avengers live happily together in Avengers Tower. Everyone gets along, no friendship-threatening arguments (Civil War who?). Pre-slash stevtony, the Avengers are good friends. 

This will (hopefully) have multiple parts :)

Part 1: 

————————

Spring in New York city is slowly setting in. The weather is getting warmer, the trees are coming into leaf, the flowers are blooming, and the birds are tweeting and chirping like their lives depend on it, so loud that you can hear it in spite of the noisy traffic in the busy city. Couples are going on walks and picnics in Central Park, children are eating ice cream, and people are wearing shorts and t-shirts, even though it is still slightly too chilly whenever the light breeze catches on. 

Even the Avengers love the transition from the cold and frosty winter, to the sunny and joyful spring-time.

All things considered, spring is lovely, and most of if not the entire team would argue that it is the best time of the year to spend in New York.

Well, that excludes Steve. Steve was not having any of it. 

“ehhTIISH’oo! Ugh.”

Because, for Steve, spring-time meant allergy-season. And Steve absolutely hated allergy-season.

Growing up, Steve probably had even possible seasonal allergy, and he had hoped they’d faded away as he got the serum. But just like Dr. Erskine had said. The serum amplifies everything that’s inside. Good becomes great. Bad becomes worse. 

Steve hadn’t considered that would also apply to his allergies. At least his asthma isn’t as bad, which he doesn’t quite understand why, but definitely doesn’t complain about. The allergies, though? Well, they don’t appear as frequent as they used to, at least not for longer time periods, but when do hit him. Oh God, that’s a whole different story.

“uh-huhTSCHusshh! SNFF! h’UHh… uhhISCHIEW!” 

He sneezes off to the side, his hair falling into his eyes as his waist snaps in half. Rubbing at his itchy eyes, he lets out a stuffy sigh and leans back in his chair.

He’s waiting for the rest of the team to turn up for the mandatory post-operation debrief and, as usual, Steve’s the first to show. Somehow, even when voluntarily coordinating search and rescue, he always manages to escape medical and get ready to close up for the day. Maybe it’s because he hates procrastinating, or maybe he’s just too exhausted and beat up to keep his head clear for long. Today, it’s definitely the latter. 

He wants nothing more than to just go to bed, but he has an important work meeting afterwards. As if fighting off an army of robotic aliens wasn’t enough for one day.

“SnffSNF! huhh- hutschhuh! he-uhh…” He brings up an arm, aiming the sneeze at his elbow, keeping it up as he feels another one coming on, but it’s stuck. Great, he thinks to himself and lets out a congested grunt.

“You hangin’ in there, Stevie?” 

Looking up with bleary eyes, Steve sees Bucky emerging from the door. He’s leaning against the door frame, his hair still damp from sweat and kept in a bun, a teasing smirk playing on his lips.

“uhh… yeeh- yeah, I’m fine. snf! Just wanna get this over with.”

“That makes two of us,” Bucky moves to sit down next to Steve, wincing slightly when he rolls his shoulder.

“Your arm okay?” Steve frowns a little, concern clear on his face. He knows not to worry too much, but he can’t help it.

“It’ll be okay,” Bucky shrugs. “Stark’s going to take a look at it after debrief. If he and the rest of them could speed the fuck up and actually get here,” he quips with a grin.

Steve huffs a laugh and gives a nod. “Yeah. Should be here soon enough, I hope. I have to be somewhere after this.”

Bucky cocks an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, in bed after a long shower. That’s where you should be. You look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks, Buck. Always so supportive,” Steve jokes, lightly nudging Bucky good shoulder. “Wish I could be going to bed, though. Have a meeting, can’t miss it.”

“Y’know, this is the worst time for you. You literally spent hours outside today. Pollen count’s ridiculous. You’re going to be a mess — a bigger mess — by tonight.”

“I know,” Steve sighs heavily and harshly scrubs at his face. Just hearing someone say the word pollen makes his face prickle and his nose twitch uncontrollably. Steve sniffles quickly, and Bucky notices it immediately and quickly grabs a tissue from the side table and hands it to Steve, who thankfully accepts it. 

“Bless ya, punk,” Bucky says preemptively, smiling sympathetically. 

Steve gives him a displeased glare before burying his face in the soft material. “tiisshh! ish! heIIiishh! Guhh.” He sniffles thickly, and groans annoyedly. He’s gotten to the point where the sneezes do nothing apart from making him even more sniffly. Ridding the itch, it definitely does not.

“Those didn’t sound helpful at all,” Bucky murmurs and gives Steve’s shoulder a squeeze. 

Steve just shakes his head and worries at his nose with the tissue. “They weren’t.” 

Bucky glances over his shoulder, hoping that the rest of the team will enter soon enough, but it seems unlikely. He grunts as he stands and walks towards the door. “I’ll go tell them to get their shit together and hurry.”

Steve doesn’t get to object before Bucky has left the room, and, somehow, everyone is gathered in the room less than five minutes later. (How Bucky did that is a mystery to Steve. He’ll have to ask him how to do that later.)

***

About halfway through the debrief, Steve is ready to die. He’s kept fairly composed so far; frequent sniffles and teary eyes, but no sneezing yet. They are just about to discuss the damage and decide how to clean up to city after the numerous destructions when Steve’s nose starts tickling.

“Casualties?” he hears someone ask, but he’s too busy trying to fight off the itch, rubbing his nostrils with his knuckles, to perceive who asked. 

“Still unclear… 300 confirmed so far. Could be more,” Fury answers seriously. “We’ll hopefully have exact numbers once the city’s cleared.”

Steve tries to focus, he really does, but the tickle is growing stronger and his breath starts catching in small, desperate gasps. He turns to stifle a quick double into his shoulder, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention to him. 

“hehNGXTt! hii’YINgch!”

Bucky could recognize that withheld sound anywhere, but he knows Steve wouldn’t want everyone’s eyes staring at him so he refrains from blessing him. Natasha, who everyone knows is extremely observant, also seems to notice as she eyes Steve when his body jerks slightly. She catches Bucky’s eyes as they’re both watch their miserable friend, and the look they share doesn’t need any words. 

Steve doesn’t even get a chance to breathe before the tingling sensation comes back, more powerful than before, and Steve knows it’s a loosing battle.

“huh- HhhehISHhoo!”

As expected, the group turns to look at him and mumbles a chorus of blessings.

“Bless ya,” he hears Bucky mumble quietly, and Clint offers a gesundheit, which seems to be his standard reaction to anyone who sneezes. Natasha discretely reaches for a tissue, presses it into his hands under the table and nods demandingly at it. 

As he subtly wipes his nose with it, it seems to bring the tickle back and Steve cups his face and lets the sneezes slip out.

“h’tSCHHoo! Hih! Eh’hrushhoo!”

He sighs defeatedly and nods his thanks when a few people bless him. 

Tony, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet, narrows his eyes at Steve. He’s spent the better half of the debrief doing anything but pay attention to what Fury was saying, impatiently waiting for the meeting to finish. Noticing Steve’s bleary eyes and his pink nostrils, Tony figures Steve wants Fury to shut up even more than he does, which in itself in an accomplishment. 

As if Tony looking at him makes Steve’s nose twitch, Steve’s eyes flutter and his nose scrunches up. 

“tishh! ehhIIiishh’oo! heihhUushiew!” The fit is ticklish, makes his throat scratchy and Steve can feel the congestion pressing behind his eyes and sinuses. 

Tony is now on the verge of snapping, telling Fury to shut it and round up so Steve doesn’t have to suffer any more than he already is. The guy seriously needs something to help him breathe. Tony wonders if Claritin is strong enough or if he’s going to have to spend the entire night figuring out some kind of super-soldier-allergy-shot, because he just couldn’t take another look at Steve literally sneezing his brains out. So he figures he has to stop Fury before Steve’s going to die on them. Well, dying might be an exaggeration, but judging from Steve’s expression it’s not too far off. (If anyone asks, though, it’s because Steve’s constant sniffling is annoying as hell, but in reality, Tony can’t help but feel sympathetic for his friend. Nobody can know that. Tony doesn’t do sympathy.)

He considers making JARVIS send out some sort of emergency alarm to stop the meeting, but he figures getting on Fury’s wrong side is a bad call, so he bites tongue, and impressively so. He is Tony Stark, after all, and he’s not exactly known for keeping his mouth shut. Especially when he should. But this time, he does. He makes a mental note to tell that to Pepper. She would be so proud. 

***

When the debrief is finally over, Steve is half asleep, his head resting on his hand. The ten minutes of nearly  constant sniffling and sneezing in the middle of the meeting exhausted him deeply, even his nose seemed too tired to itch anymore.

He doesn’t even recall the debrief ending before Bucky nudges him and he jerks awake, sitting up straight. People are shuffling out of the room as he blinks the confusion away. 

Nat and Bucky are already standing up when he’s back to consciousness, both smiling solicitously at him. 

“You really should be going to bed, punk,” Bucky frowns a little and Steve responds with a shrug.

“I might actually agree with Barnes on this one. You look wiped out. I think you’ve earned some well deserved rest after today, soldier,” Natasha winks kindly. 

“Yeah, well, you tell Fury that,” Steve sighs. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, though. I’ll be going straight to sleep when I’m finished.” 

Natasha playfully ruffles his hair, Bucky gives him an affectionate pat on the arm, and with that, the two of them flees the room. 

Steve still hasn’t raised himself from the chair. His body feels heavy and drained, and for once, he might actually consider procrastinate going to the meeting. Pinching the bridge of his nose as he squeezes his eyes shut, he takes another moment to mentally prepare dealing with Fury, once again. 

“You getting attached to the chair there, Rudolph?” Tony teases with a perky smile as he walks towards Steve, who is surprised by the sudden voice. He hadn’t even noticed he wasn’t alone. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I guess so,” he chuckles lightly. “I have to be somewhere I definitely don’t want to be.”

“Meeting?”

Steve nods despairingly and Tony clicks his tongue.

“That sucks… You sound like someone who needs some time to relax. And to find some medicine. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this. I mean, God, you’re pathetic,” Tony jokes and the corners of Steve’s mouth quirk upwards. 

“You probably haven’t. I can’t even remember the laahhst time I-I snf! felt like thiiihs. Huhh- huEEIishh’oo!” Steve says through hitchy breaths and rushes to finish the sentence before catching a quick single in the tissue he still has in his hand.

“Bless you.”

“Tha- thaahuhISHH! Sorry, thanks,” he snuffled into the crumpled piece of fabric. “h’ESHhihh! Oh, Lord have mercy on me.”

Tony hands him a fresh tissue and Steve gratefully accepts it, giving a quick, ineffective blow. By this point, he’s basically unable to breathe through his nose, but he doesn’t want to gross Tony out any more than he already is. 

Tony, however, doesn’t seem to mind. “Damn, Rogers, you’re on a roll, huh? Look. I can probably pull a few strings, get you out of whatever torture they’re sending you into.”

“Are you- really?” 

“Sure,” Tony shrugs.

“That- that would actually be really nice,” Steve admits shyly. He’s normally not one to ask for help, but Lord knows he needs it right now. “I owe you one.”

“Nah, don’t worry ‘bout it,” Tony waves a hand. “You’ll just have to make me breakfast for the next three months, get me coffee whenever I want, babysit Clint-“

Steve laughs and elbows him.

“No, really. It’s nothing, Cap,” he says as he stands up and offers Steve a hand, which the soldier grabs and pulls himself to his feet. They exit the room together walking towards the elevator. 

“Do you normally sneeze this much, by the way? I mean, you’ve probably sneezed, like, 30 times in he last hour.”

“huUShh’oo! Uhh, I-I don’t think so. I gue-. Tony?” Steve interrupts himself as Tony stopped in his tracks.

“That was so weird. Did you just sneeze on command. Like, literally just as I said the word?”

“I think there’s just a pretty good chance of me sneezing at any second, Tony.” He chuckles and shakes his head fondly.

Tony follows up and the two of them walk in silence until they reach the elevator. 

“So. You go take a shower, and I’ll see to get you some meds after talking to Fury… If I’m not there in an hour or less, send out a search team, just in case Fury actually kills me,” Tony jokes.

Steve smiles tiredly at Tony as he presses the ‘up’  button on the elevator. “Thanks again, Tony. I really appreciate it.”

***

“Stark!”

Tony sighs at the sound of the recognizable voice and turns on his heels. He had to face it sooner or later.

“Nick! Always a pleasure,” Tony smiles overly wide at Fury, who rolls his eyes over someone using his first name, but ultimately decides to ignore it. It’s been a long day already, and Fury is not in the mood to deal with Tony and his sharp-witted tongue right now.

“Where’s Rogers?”

“Rogers? You mean Steve? Oh, um about that… He’s in his room,” Tony says innocently. 

“In his—? I hope he’s aware of the fact that we’re having a meeting in less than five minutes?” Fury cocked an eyebrow.

“Yeah, so… He’s not going to be there. Sorry. He’s having some… trouble. You know, you saw him at debrief, I don’t think he’d be able to—“ 

“God damnit, Rogers,” Fury mutters under his breath, then scowls. “I’ll let this one slide. But only this once. It’s been a long day, anyways.”

Huh. That went a lot smoother than Tony had anticipated. Fury actually wasn’t completely heartless.

“I’ll be sure to pass on the message. Good talk, Director,” Tony claps Fury on the shoulder and is immediately out. As he walks, he gives his body a shake. He seriously hated biting his tongue, acting nice and actively trying to avoid pissing anyone off, and even a five sentence conversation with Fury was a stretch, but he thinks he did okay, all things considered. He makes another mental note to tell that to Pepper as well. She’d be even prouder. 

***

“Knock knock.” Tony calls. “Cap?”

“In heeh-here! Hur’ESHH!”

Strolling towards the bedroom where the response came from, Tony tries to balance all the remedies he’d picked up on his way. The door in ajar, and Tony pushes it open with his shoulder, both hands and arms occupied. As soon as he enters the room, he suddenly drops about half of the things he’d been carrying on the floor.

In front of him stands Steve. His hair is damp from the shower and falling into his eyes. He’s wearing a pair of oversized joggers that would look ridiculous if they were worn by anyone but Steve. His cheeks are flushed pink from the heat from the shower and his nose a similar shade but probably for entirely different reason. That, and he’s not wearing a shirt. 

He’s not wearing a shirt, Tony repeats in his mind. Damn. Tony has seen Steve shirtless before, but this is usually after a battle when Steve’s covered in blood and sweat, and definitely not coming straight out of a warm shower with glowing and clean skin.

And then he realizes that he’d just dropped everything on the floor and bends down to start picking the things up. “Would it have hurt to put on a shirt?” Tony mumbles lowly.

“Sorry, I was just getting dressed,” Steve smiles sheepishly as he helps Tony fetch the things. “You really went to town with the remedies, huh?” 

Tony shrugs. “You know me. Why choose one when you can have them all?”

“Because it’s unnecessary?” Steve teases. “Seriously, though, the tissues had been just fine.”

“Ugh, are you always this unappreciative? God, how rude of you, Rogers.”

Steve laughs and shakes his head fondly. “That’s not what I meant. I really do appreciate it, but you shouldn’t have gone out of your way to all get this.”

“Aaand he’s back to being good, old, righteous Captain America… should have known. I didn’t, by the way. I ran into Nat and Barnes. They were on their way to provide you with all of these different supplies and medicines. If I’m being honest, which, obviously, I always am, I don’t even know what half of these things are.”

“Probably won’t work on me anyways. Medicine usually doesn’t with my metabolism,” Steve says as he reaches for the box of tissues Tony had dropped. 

“Hm… You seem better, though?” Tony asks and Steve nods in agreement.

“Yeah, I think the shower did me good. I was probably covered in whatever is bothering m-me, huh— huhhISH’iew! Maybe not entirely, though” Steve comments after a sudden, strong sneeze crept up on him.

With a wry smile, Tony stands up and puts the stuff on Steve’s bedside table. He turns on the night light as Steve grabs the shirt he had laid out on the bed and pulls it over his head. 

“So.” 

“So,” Steve echoes.

“I’ll get going, and you, big guy, are heading straight to sleep,” Tony commands, eyeing the perfectly made bed, because of course Steve’s bed would be flawlessly made. Everything just has to be in order when it comes to Steve. He really is a hundred years old, Tony thinks. 

Steve chuckles and obeys, his bare feet making soft and quiet noises as he pads across the hard wood floor.

“Yessir,” Steve says, shuffling to get under the duvet. “Oh, and thanks again, Tony.”

“That’s what friends are for. See you tomorrow, Winghead,” Tony smiles and shuts off the ceiling light. The bedside lamp illuminates Steve’s face with golden beams. His expression is tired and gentle and thankful.

“See you tomorrow, Shellhead,” Steve returns. 

And with that, Tony closes the door to Steve’s bedroom. He stays outside for a few seconds until the weak light that shines through the key hole goes out and smiles satisfied.

***

[yfere]

Shipping Calculus! Live Updates from C2E72

A little out of order, but irresistible, to write The Rise of Fjord. Masterpost here.

-15 to Nott/Spelling So sure, the local Felderwin spelling bees probably didn’t see the word “Eldritch Blast” crop up all that often, but still—G? That’s almost as bad as Fjord’s new pronunciation!

+4 to Caleb/Essik as Caleb stalls for times to talk to the Fancy Wizard, promising to keep in touch, and the Fancy Wizard again pulls his Extremely Helpful “Should you require anything” business, which is, Perilously Close to a Princess Bride-style “As you wish.” Point loss for hurrying off and ditching the Nein at the first opportunity, the rude bastard

+4 to Nott/Jester for Jester defending Nott from Caduceus when he advocates for knocking her out and dragging her underwater with them, the son of a bitch.

+19 to Caleb/Jester as these two prove they are absolutely that couple who wears matching outfits all the time, or in this case, matching polymorph birds. When talking proves difficult, seriously considering mating rituals as a vehicle of communication (communicating Inner Feelings, we should say) “Thanks, Caleb,” which is always a point earner, Caleb advocating for a ghost book club with Jester and Jester agreeing, not to mention these two bookworms going gaga over the one (1) book in the Dust library, for ever so slightly different reasons. Not to mention, they are also Absolutely that couple that feeds each other, as they almost tune out the rest of the party being sweet over the bead of nourishment.

+17 to Dust/Stone/Clay as we abide by that most ancient of Shipping laws, “Fucking Until Proven Innocent”

+27 to Caleb/Fjord/Jester One doctoral candidate in the lab pointed out that both Caleb and Jester are confirmed Recipients of Fjord Winks, not to mention the iconic line “You caught on, and you’ve known me the longest,” meaning these two! Set apart for Fjord! AND, Jester immediately trying to feed Fjord the bead of nourishment after nearly giving everyone cavities with Caleb sweetness, AND, Jester and Caleb both Supporting Fjord In All He Does re: breaking up the ice, making it easy for him to see underwater or keeping him warm while he does it…That’s Love. How Caleb knows without even asking that the one person besides himself most willing to give up their magical items for Fjord is Jester Lavorre. Melora be praised, they all just deserve to be happy together, don’t they???

+9 to the Mighty Nein/Patriotism for Nott, Caleb, and Jester turning themselves red white and blue for their mountain journey

+17 to Jester/Caduceus “I admit it, you were right,” Caduceus says, radiating Longsuffering Partner Vibes. Giving Jester Resistance #BuffingIsALanguageOfLove, Caduceus wishing Jester would say the Wildmother is the coolest more often and Jester begrudgingly admitting she’s all right if not as great as the Traveler when converting Fjord proves unsuccessful. Caduceus being Very Into Jester’s porn reading, as well as her theory of the Dust/Stone/Clay orgy. Caduceus instructing Jester in the Ways Of Politeness by saying people like sending better “when they can picture your beautiful face.” I mean???? That’s flirting?????

+40 to The Mighty Nein/Ghosts with far too many members of the Nein thinking about ghost dick, Avantika showing up to ogle at Fjord, and in general all of the ghosts being big smut book fans.

+39 to Caduceus/Fjord !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! These two!!!! Fjord sticking by Caduceus at all times and wanting to do what Caduceus wants! Saying Caduceus is “inspiring!” Thanking him for being himself!! Caduceus saying Fjord will do great things!! The healing! Dropping the accent! Caduceus thinking the whole trip was worthwhile, just for Fjord! Melora! Insisting Fjord learned a new power, that he is valuable as he is!! !!!!!!!!!!!!! PICKING FJORD UP AND TAKING HIM AWAY TO REST, COMPLIMENTING HIS VOICE FOR BEING CHARMING SkhfhkadjkfafbjsfbjkKAADBADB

+6 to Caduceus/Nature as the trees give him The Nod.

+35 to Fjord/Jester THERE IS EMOTIONAL VULNERABILITY IN THIS HOUSE 2NITE. I mean, besides making sure Fjord is Warm and Fed and Safely Carried Around (and the writing of Friendfiction), besides “you’re affable” and laughing at Jester’s porny mind and telling Jester to just do what she does being herself, besides Tusk and Accent Complimenting, Fjord…..voluntarily starts talking about Vandran, and has Jester call him? And Jester reassures him when the response isn’t exactly what he expected? They bond over how their worlds are getting bigger than they thought possible, the wish sometimes to just break away and find some peace, the knowledge that if they did decide to break away, that they would follow each other?? Fjord telling Jester how he lost his powers! Willing! To admit to weakness with her! Jester giving Fjord both her magical weapons, fuck it. Point loss because Fjord really is just never going to convert to the Traveler no matter how Jester tries.

+4 to Caleb/Cat Shaped Creatures for having Frumpkin keep him company while he did some Spring Cleaning on his coat situation.

+28 to Caleb/Fjord These two and their….hands. Mein Gott. Just….a lot of intense hand business (Hand Job?) happening over here again, not to mention the Symbolism of Caleb giving up some of his fire, that dangerous thing he didn’t want anyone to use, giving up that item that he and Fjord had both wanted way back in the beginning. The peculiar rightness of everyone handing their items over to Caleb to give to Fjord. Not to mention going on about Fjord’s Skills, the trying to look like Caleb, the “Some are better” accompanied by a Wink, the “What else have you got?” the “Maybe later.” Hahaha. Ha. Point loss for Fjord saying Caleb should stop reading so many books--even said jokingly the concept is Heresy and Unacceptable.

+40 to Nott the Best Detective Agency/Detective Work for making the connection between the green glass of Caduceus’ visions and the residuum they picked up on a previous Case. Now that….that is some detectiving, godsdamn.

+7 to Nott/Yeza as Nott wants to draw on her husband’s alchemical skills to figure out how to make purified glass out of residuum! See, you should just take him with you everywhere, like a potion-making Bodahn Feddic!

+20 to Nott/Fire Powers as, with two words, she set Fjord on fire and reduced him to a smoldering corpse.

+12 to Beau/Jester as Jester once more sees through Beau’s “I’m totally fine I’m not suffering AT ALL” act to give her the rod of handwarming, Beau talking about how much she loves the ocean (and being quick to call the ghosts Jester’s fans), Jester scooping up Beau in eagle form and saving her from plummeting to her death! Point loss because Jester dropping her may have been the reason Beau was plummeting in the first place, and being jostled around until you throw up is Not A Fun Date.

+13 to Caleb/Caduceus as Caduceus turns in adorable confusion to Caleb to define “alchemical” and gets the most sweetly straightforward response, the two of them as usual being on the Same Page when it comes to the necessity of polite behavior, and continuing their ongoing, understated Feud on who is going to have the right to feed the group. For once Caleb comes out on top (ha,) as Caduceus is caught unprepared with his spellwork and therefore cannot yet make Holy Breakfast on the Anvil. Caleb once more indicating he secretly believes he lives in a fairy tale, promising to follow Caduceus’ lead because this is “his story”

+6 to Fjord & Caduceus/D.A.R.E as Fjord refuses drugs from Beau saying he doesn’t need them (damn right!), and with Caduceus, who is generally very pro-drug, nonetheless refusing Nott’s suggestion to snort the residuum.

-100000000000000000000000000000 to Fjord/Uk’otoa, but more importantly +5000 to Fjord/Channeling His Inner Hobbit as he manages to overcome his own need for power to throw the One Ring into the fires of Mount Doom—I mean, Summer’s Dance into the lava of the Kiln. The man one-upped both Percy and Frodo, hot damn.

[kmp78]

Sex change operations in Einar's days were butchery it was a miracle she survived that. I can't picture putting yourself through something like that at any era, that's what's imo crazy, it's too much self hatred, you can change clothes hormones hair makeup everything but to go and chop your parts or ad an appendage that won't ever function like a real penis, plus losing your fertility and going menopausal at a very young age with all what that implies voluntarily is extremely serious 😬

Yeah that's why that movie was so jarring and gutwrenching... Knowing that always someone has to be the 1st, and more often than not that 1st one pays the hardest price so those who come later might not have to.

It's the same as when AIDS/HIV came and those who were the unfortunate ones who got it during those first few years had to suffer and die before modern medicine and society reached a point where it's no longer an automatic death sentence and a reason to ostracize a person. 😔

But the thing about Einar/Lili is that *SPOILER ALERT SO STOP READING IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW DETAILS*in real life, after those initials operations, she actually did live but the changes went too far...

I don't know if it was the doctor's idea or hers, but the actual cause of death ended up being that they attempted to create a uterus, and her body rejected and caused an infection which of course in the 1930s was fatal.

If they had just stopped after the initial operation, she most likely would have survived and lived to be 80.

I guess it's easy to judge now that the idea of trying to create a damn uterus as if she was ever going to be able to bear children anyway was absolutely insane, but since it was all so new 100 years ago, they just did not understand where to draw the line and poor Einar/Lili had to be the "guinea pig" who tested it out with the worst possible outcome. 😕

[writingsofmyimagination]

Going Away Present

RM x Reader Smut

Wrote this for a beautiful soul who gifted me with BTS goodies for my birthday :)

Summary:You’re bored and you decide to tease your boyfriend while he’s at work 

Words:2491

Warnings:Smut (Dom Namjoon, use of toys, blindfold, attempted orgasm denial :P, penetration), Swearing

It was midnight and you were wide awake. You were bored. You were alone and there’s only so much you could read of a Kathy Reichs novel. Namjoon was at the studio working on some solo stuff. With the guys on break none of them were at the dorm; well you think Yoongi was in but he pretty much lived in his room or the studio so you may as well be completely on your own even whether he was home or not. The dorm was huge and you just a spec in the large desolate empty space left you feeling even lonelier. You were in full lounge mode, snug fluffy pyjamas; sprawled out on the large L-shaped sofa fit for the kings the boys were. The huge flat screen rolling out the new series of Family Guy in the background, the white hue of the screen seeping into the darkness of the rest of the living room.

-How long you going to be baby-12:01

-Not sure beautiful, what are you still doing up?-12:04

-Couldn’t sleep, I’m bored, it’s so quiet here-12:10

-Anything in particular you’d like me to do about it?-12:12

You couldn’t quite decipher the tone of this message was meant, sarcastic? Cheeky? You went for cheeky

-Maybe a few, but you’re not here to exactly help me :P-12:16

- I’m sorry baby, I know I’ve been neglecting you in that department. I promise when this songs done you can have me for as long as you want-12:18

-When can we do this again?-12:16

You accompanied the message with a video Joon once took from his point of view as you rode his thigh; completely falling apart in front of the circular lens.

Your lips hiked up into a smirk, the teasing mood coming out of nowhere except depravity and boredom.

-          Shit babe! Unnecessary-12:23

-          If you’re not at my studio within 20 minutes I won’t let you cum for a month-12:24

He added in haste after the first one. You knew he’d probably already started the timer the second the two grey ticks went blue.

Shit!

You’d almost forgotten how much he hated being teased, but you were reinvigorated by the thought of what your punishment would now be. You scurried through the dorm chucking on some comfy jeans; skipping the underwear. Your hoody, thankfully was thick enough to camouflage your already perked nipples.

Hair in a scruffy bun, strands straggling to the side tucked behind your ears as you was in a fluster grabbing your keys. It took about 12 minutes to get the studio you did not have time to worry about your appearance.

You drove in autopilot, arriving at your destination with no real recollection of how you even drove their safely.

The security guard cleared you through the door, looking only slightly perplexed as to the purpose of your visit. Poor guy must be sleepy; BigHit now requires a guard anytime the members are in the building. On call security being just another one of the indicators of how successful and huge they’ve become.

Every other step was skipped as you bound yourself up the stairs. 3 minutes left. Your eye caught the glimpse of the dim light coming through the door of Yoongi’s studio

So he wasn’t at the dorm

“I was actually worried you wouldn’t make it” A voice creeped from behind the chair that did not turn to face you.

“You know how I feel about teasing. You’re now not to speak unless spoken to, you’ll do as I say when I say it! And you need to be as quiet as possible, Yoongi’s next door. I’ll gag you if I have to. Understand?”

“Yes”

“Scuse me?” he snapped back

“Yes Sir!”

“Good, now come here” He ordered pushing the chair away from the desk slightly finally angling the chair in your direction.

Shadows still on the wall, originating from the rows of models on the shelving units, two lamps directed at table of mixer and multiple screens flooded with music programs.

“Clothes off”

You shed your clothing with slow teasing movements. He never specified how quickly. He realised this as his impatience swelled through his tired body. Not that he was complaining watching the way your behind shuffled out of the denim.

“Did you want me that badly you left your underwear at home?” Your lips turning up gave the answer before any words left your mouth

“I may have” You teased your bottom lip in between your teeth flashing those innocent eyes you was all too good at. His eyes scoped out the landscape of your skin. With the main lights off the glow set a calm ambience.

“That sounds like past tense to me baby, you must be able to wait then” His words laced with cunning.

Your chest heaved preparing a pout and a protest. His eyes widened and you thought better of it, lungs deflating in defeat.

“Stand against the wall facing me” He indicated the small space in between his desk and the start of one of his shelving units. When you’d done as he’d asked he lent down pulling a bandana from one of his desk draws before his dimple saturated smile disappeared in front of you morphing into a devilish grin signalling the increased likelihood you was about to suffer.

Leaning against the wall, steadying your balance; eyes adjusting to the darkness given by the bandana. The back of your hair slightly pinching at the knot of the makeshift blindfold. Breath hitching when his hand traced round your neck, leaving delicate trails of goose bumps descending down your skin. Your hands stayed obediently by your side; a lesson well learnt. Your shoulders pushed back into the wall; air momentarily escaping your lungs with your hips angling to his palm which was suddenly cupping your core. You could feel the heat from his body lingering centimetres from you. Every fibre wanting to stretch and pull him to you. The last thing you wanted was to be punished for being impatient and greedy.

“Mmm I think you can be wetter for me” he purred, blessing you with a slow kiss at the curve of your neck.

Is he fucking joking? You thought. Only thought! You said nothing. Something cool and rubbery was pressed into your hand. You recognised it almost instantly.

“Don’t cum! That’s only for me today” he warned in a low tone. You felt the air swirl around you. Namjoon leaving you exposed, vulnerable. You heard the puff of the leather as his behind fell back into his chair. You slipped the small oval side of one of your favourite toys inside you. Easily.

Not wet enough my arse

The even smaller oval pad of the toy sat snug to your clit. Your favourite toy yes, also your favourite when Namjoon had the remote control for it.

“Hands behind your back, no touching. Be a good girl, don’t make me tie them”

The sudden intrusion of the music into the room jolted you slightly.

The Weeknd

Of course

You waited patiently; hands behind your back. The pulses started out small, pleasant even, gently buzzing on your clit. Your head rolled against the wall, bliss smile growing on your face. You neglected to care that Joon did not have a lock on his studio door and that Yoongi could walk in at any given second; he’s probably walked in on you in worst positions than this.

“Is that nice baby?”

“More please” you whined lip toyed in between your teeth.

“Seeing as you asked so nicely” he obliged. Your head flung forward, palms bloomed flat and steadied against the wall. The vibrations at your clit and inside ramped up to full torturously quickly. All your muscles from the waist down contracting tightly in just as much shock.

“Joon please” you wailed. He chuckled in a breath, you funnelled your breathing as calmly as you could; fighting every ounce of need to voluntarily contract your muscles.

Asshole

“You wanted more” he chuckled again, finally turning down the vibrations. Your palms laced with sweat. You’d rather them be tracing your own skin; nails lightly indenting across your chest. But you was going to be good and do as you were told. Mostly!

You knew he was low key punishing you for teasing him but you also knew how to get what you wanted much quicker from him. Your breathy whines and moans crept up in volume. You knew he was weak for hearing you and you knew he wouldn’t want Yoongi hearing so this was the best way to get what you wanted. You knew the sigh you heard would have been accompanied by an amused eye roll. A couple of taps of a keyboard, volume of the music grew slightly before the squeak of wheels reached your ears. You held in a wail as the vibrations had ramped up tortuously. Again. Your core tensing around the silicon egg.

“Tell me where your at baby” he whispered at the shell of your ear. His hand precise resting soft at the base of your neck

“Please, I just want to feel you, not this!” you pleaded

“Well you seem to be enjoying it! Or are you just being a brat and moaning louder so I give you what you want?”

“Well?” he added after no response from you, you were concentrating on not coming undone.

“Being a brat” you confessed in a whimper, hoping the confession would at least touch his compassionate side and stop the toy. You whined something that was completely incoherent, his body now pressed to you. He showed mercy and hit the power.

“Thought so” Your lips finally attained some attention, hot desperate attention. You kept your hands at your side until a tap on one of them indicating them free for use. They couldn’t lock and intertwine into the back of his hair any quicker if you tried. You pushed yourself further into the long awaited contact of him against you. The heat precious; absorbing every last second of it.

Joon’s hand soon left your heaving chest to dip between your thighs.

“Well I guess it’s a good thing for you I need you so fuckin bad otherwise your ass would have my handprints all over it”

“I need to have you wrapped around me, begging me to let you cum, would you like that?” He asked against your ear slipping out the toy from you

“Mmm please sir, I’ve missed you” you whined in between breaths, his lips caught against yours. His chest a welcome weight pressured against your own.

“I can tell” satisfied smirk growing as his fingers slid through your folds. Your legs tensing; fingers already stroking your velvet walls. You rewarded him a knee jerk reaction; your grip flew to his shoulders securing yourself. You held your head up as long as you could to keep it from dropping into his neck. Your legs lifting naturally locking up on his waist.

“Noise down” he breathed

“Don’t make me stuff that pretty mouth full of my cock princess”

“Let me cum baby, please I’ll be quiet” you pleaded.

“I don’t think you will be” Joon said knowingly leaving you whimpering as he pulled away you taking those tortuous fingers with him.

“Against my desk baby facing the screen” He’s already closing down windows and opening the camera. Before any protest could leave your lips your hand were gripped, back pushed towards the desk, spun round, legs kicked wider, hair tugged back. Namjoons ears’ a breath away from yours

“We’re going to make me a going away present, okay?” His ‘okay’ was of a rhetorical demand more than a genuine request. Obviously if you had any genuine objection you knew he’d stop.

“Can’t wait sir!” He slid the blindfold off you leaving it dropping it to the floor. You beamed at his reflection in the camera. The crystal clarity of every pixel emphasised the shine of his smile, wicked intent eyes fixed on your lip toyed between your teeth.

“Now I want you to be a good girl and keep eye contact with me, I want your eyes on me when I make you cum”

“Do I have to wait for your permission?” you clarified through a whine as his cock was slicking against your folds.

“I want you begging”

“Fuck Joon” you exhaled, the slow glide was damn near tortuous as he filled you up just how you needed.

“Tell me how good it feels to finally have me inside you” Your hips chased back as he slowly pulled out and going back in at the same god damn frustrating pace. It had you hissing breaths through your teeth. His eyes glistened, dancing and revelling at the struggle; you were fighting to keep your eyes open and on him. The timer of the recording going up in the corner of the screens the blinking red dot next to it.

“I missed how good your cock feels inside me…” your words with met with harder bucks into you, your balance would have been knocked off kilter if his fingers weren’t so indented at your hips. Your hair had fallen over the front of yours shoulder, distorting Joons view of your face. He would not have that. The pleasant sting on your scalp, hair rolled into his fist dragging you onto him harder and deeper. Neck strained, eyes losing the battle to overwhelming bliss, closing in defeat. Something currently Namjoon was letting go while relishing every twitch of your muscles and every staggered whine passing your lips. He couldn’t believe how much he’d missed you that his control was faltering.

“I can’t wait to have this video of you… looking so damn sexy while I fuck you next time I go away” Your mind, preoccupied with each surge of overwhelming bliss from every buck of hips.

“Please can I cum” you pleaded in a breathless whine. With his hand releasing your hair you head fell onto the back of you forearm, all muscle strength redirecting to your legs as well as your core slowly absorbing each turn of the spring.

“Do you think you’ve been good enough for me” The strength and conviction behind his words was waning. He was too lost in you and the moment and he knew it.

“Jesus Christ Joon”

“You’re right I’m sorry, it’s been too long for that” he leaned forward pressing into you just that bit deeper, the extra skin contact spreading the field of goose bumps across your skin. The moment his grip tightened at the base of the back of your neck your eyes screwed together. Your body shook with sweet convulsions. You calling out his name in between your satisfied cries.

“God” was all he managed when his hips started bucking sporadically into you.

He collapsed onto you, refusing to leave you cos he’d missed you so god damn much.

[mollyphoria]

(off my chest post.)

As soon as I turned the age of 27 last year it was like I've been awaken from a cruel false dream. I opened my eyes then boom I see 27 years of my life laid out in front of me wasted. Yes it took 27 effin years for me to wake up. I wasted all this years and now I'm suffering the consequences of not following my heart, now I'm suffering the repercussions for not realising my dreams sooner as well as pursuing them. I don't believe in myself enough to stand for what I really want so I let society dictate me. I dont love myself enough to believe that I have the capabilities to follow my dreams, luck wasn't on my side too,the odds were never in my favor. So yes I guess I blame both myself and the circumstances given to me on why I failed in life. I failed myself. Society failed me. The system failed me. Oh how I envy people who were able to realise their dreams when they were a kid. these people mostly turns out to be the successful ones in life while I'm left in shambles of not knowing what to do or having such a huge dream I knew I would never reach it. I wanted to become a supermodel but I'm not pretty and tall enough plus I'm from a country not supported by society on having supermodels. Then I wanted to be a rock star. Touring the world, playing the guitar, performing on stage. I can probably make this happen but once again I don't believe in myself and lack of support from family/society was what made this dream seem to get more impossible. I would like to pursue the arts anything from singing, dancing,writing ,painting,drawing etc but I let myself be influenced by what our society drills in my head everyday that there's no money with any of these endeavours so I never got serious to try to achieve greatness from these "useless, juvenile" dreams and plus you need God-given talent to qualify pursuing the arts and I don't have an ounce of it.

So as time goes by I continued to grow older like a dead leaf flailing around in the wind without a specific direction but downwards. But deep-rooted in my soul I knew what I wanted but I chose to stupidly ignore that little voice in my heart that tells me what to do. I to this day continue to beat myself up why I haven't even tried to listen to myself.

So what I did was to completely surrender myself to settle for a lesser,smaller dream that I could possibly reach according to the circumstances I'm handed with

I took up a course in college that I felt at the time would be something I would enjoy and easy,cheap enough to simply graduate and have that diploma just for the sake of it. When I got into the real world and became a full pledge adult for the first time ever I got hit by depression and that's when I first acknowledge that I'm not made for this at all but what I did instead of abandoning it was to try again and aim higher which is to have my own wings and to fly high in the sky and see the world. I held on to that dream. I went to school again. For a moment I had a purpose and for the first time I had direction. I thought I found myself as I try to get those wings. I thought that this will be my redemption. I made myself to believe that I'm meant to do this. I went above and beyond to achieve success. But alas I continued to be the chosen reject and once again odds weren't exactly on my favor and I have given up by the time I'm 27 years old. This is when it all crashed down on me I was chasing a dream gone dead all those years and basically wasted my youth as a result and gained nothing at the end. And I have to admit that i somewhat resent God for putting this dream to flourish in my heart but never gave me a breakthrough to even achieve it. I was left beaten and destroyed. I slaved myself away for nothing, experienced all those sufferings for nothing. I got nothing for all those sacrifices and hardwork I did. Literally all those blood,sweat and tears were for absolutely nothing at the end. I was utterly broken down,my heart was utterly crushed nothing left but broken pieces and a whirlpool of regret. If even this small, mediocre dream I settle myself for is still unattainable for me then my life is no longer worth living. I then proceed to wallow on self pity and resentment and went down to the worst depression I've ever experience in my life. Tears kept on falling like faucets in my eyes. Every streak of effort, energy, motivation ,hope left my body,mind and soul altogether. I turned ultimately dead inside. I don't have anything left in me to even pretend to continue fighting my way into this world. I can't even help myself to help myself. it's like I already died and what was left is just a hollow husk of my former self.

At 27 yrs old i went back to zero. I'm left with nothing to hope for, I didn't gain anything from all the things I went through. After Having the painful knowledge that the journey I made for myself all throughout my teenage to mid twenties is only to become of worthless dust and vomit at the end it made me inevitably bitter about life in general. I started acknowledging thoughts of dying for real. How I realized that it's better to be dead than to be alive, how I wish to have never been born at all. I missed all of these opportunities to win in life and I felt like giving up. Because Life is Suffering nothing more nothing less we will continue to suffer coz that whats life for this is the true meaning of life we are just put here to live so we can suffer and I'm not cut out for it I'm too weak to even restart again.

I realized alot of things. When I was a kid I was always looking forward to the future. I was foolishly, completely convinced that my life will get better as I get older and now that I'm older it turned out to be such a stupid thought coz life didn't get better it only gotten worse and it could only get worst from here on out.

Starting now I shouldn't hope for things to change for the better. It's dangerous to have a false hope and I swear to myself that I wouldn't let myself be fueled by false hope anymore.

And now that it's October I will turn a year older unless I cease to exist first.

I'm honestly scared of the future, now that I can see the true essence of it in its whole entirety.

At 28 I'm running out of time.

I missed the chance to get my life stable.

At 28 I'm entirely clueless on how to get my shit together and I don't even think I have the strength to improve myself. I felt like I just don't care anymore.

At 28 I should have already bought my mother a new house instead I'm stuck and rotting away in a room at her own old house.

At 28 I'm still miserable asf

Still bitter asf

Still dumb asf

Still doubtful asf

Still a loser asf

Let me discuss the thoughts I have about this song 28 of Agust D. This song single handedly describes the anxiety I feel for getting older. The fact that the age he pertained on the title of this song is 28 exactly the age I'm about to turn into soon just solidifies the strong grip it acquired to hold my heart and soul. I felt extremely lucky to turn 28 at the same year with someone as genius as him (tho his 27 international age) nevertheless I'm thankful about this.

Tho there are things that I'm honestly confuse about him having the same fears with someone like me who's a nobody without any single awards, recognitions, accolades or any kind of impact to the world, who's not loved and praised by millions nor have millions of money in my bank account, who doesn't have a big house,big cars nor big rings.

It baffles the living daylights out of me that a person like Min Yoongi who achieved so much in life would feel scared about not knowing his dreams is really about as he gets older. He basically achieved every single one of the dreams I have for myself. His overly set for life that his great great great great great grandchildren will be also set for life. His life wasn't the same like before. His life changed for the better . He earns millions of money by doing what he loves at such a young age. He simply won in life.

We are both 28 but the life I'm bestowed in is the utmost opposite of the life his bestowed in. I'm at the loser end of the spectrum while his in the winner side yet we share somewhat the same fears and anxiety about having to grow older.

This made me question if happiness is really just an illusion. well the genuine authentic euphoric kind of happiness.

Is existence all really just a one big mess with occasional ephemeral pleasure?

If a person who accomplished so much at only 28 still feels depression what's left for me then should I just go kill myself?

Alot of the reasons why I got into this level of depression is because I didn't fulfill anything Yoongi fulfilled.well I'm not really into fame so much but i hope i succeeded on not having to worry about whether I could buy a house or rent an apartment. Yoongi could buy a building for himself while I can't even afford a bedspace of my own

Yoongi could travel the whole world in a whim while I'm mostly stuck in the same place

The stark contrast of our lives is so immense I cant even get my head wrapped around it

My only dillema is that I'm afraid to die but I'm also afraid to live

It's been proven to me now that living in this world is not really living at all it's just purely surviving and I can't deal with this

I'd rather die than to be a slave to the system. And it seems like I don't even have a choice maybe to disappear is the only way out

I'm just not cut out with the cards I've been dealt with

If only I could voluntarily pull my existence out of here then I would do it in a heartbeat

I wish there is a stop button from all of these

[satonthelotuspier]

How Shall We Stop Dreams - Part 6

Chapter 5 of Dreams AU. Relationship focussed chapter. Follow the tag below for the other parts, or check it all out on AO3 if you prefer

They sat across the table from each other, staring in silence. Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure if it was some kind of battle for dominance or just Lan Wangji being his usual loquacious self.

Eventually he broke the silence, “I’m curious to know why, without seeming to approve of me very much, you’re convinced you like me in that way” he poured himself another cup of wine.

“Wei Ying-”

“Don’t you dare try to deny it, not after you said it yourself”

He was beginning to pick up on some of Lan Wangji’s micro-expressions and saw the other’s frustration; who it was directed at, himself, or Wei Wuxian, he didn’t know though.

“Wei Ying, it’s more complicated than that...”

“Really? More complicated that you being a jerk and then suddenly acting like you have the right to my attention? Because I don’t think it is, Lan Zhan” he drained his cup, set it down and reached for the wine jar to pour himself another drink.

Lan Wangji’s hand closed gently around his wrist; it forced Wei Wuxian to meet his gaze, “Wei Ying, I don’t love you yet, but I promise you I will. I will come to love you so much I would take on the entire world for you”

How was he supposed to react to this kind of insane talk? It was incomprehensible, who confessed by saying I don’t love you but I will? “Do you know how you sound? How can you possibly know something like that?”

“Because I’ve seen it. I grew up with the knowledge that Wei Wuxian would be in my future. I’ve known what that meant since I was old enough to understand what romantic love was” Wei Wuxian twisted the wrist in Lan Wangji’s hold, until he was able to grab the other’s in return.

“Lan Zhan, you can’t talk in riddles like that. I want a full explanation, now, or I walk out of this house and I will never speak to you again. You have one last chance to convince me you’re not a lunatic, although at this stage I’m not sure what you could say to do so. You understand why I’m having such difficulty with this craziness, don’t you?”

Again Lan Wangji looked frustrated.

“I will explain but, Wei Ying, please promise me you will not just dismiss what I say without considering it; and that you will repeat it to no one, like the Purpose these are intimate details of my clan”

“Which means it’s going to be more insanity” Wei Wuxian mocked softly, but without heat, “I promise I’ll listen, and I promise not to discuss things with anyone outside the four of us who already know here. Now tell me”

“I explained Xiongzhang and I are the two members of our clan tasked with our generations Purpose. That Purpose is shown to us through fragments of dreams. This is how we knew we had to be here in the Nightless City at this time”

“More dreams, are you sure they weren’t caused by the dream demon?”

“Absolutely not. Neither Xiongzhang nor I lied about suffering from the demon’s nightmares; they are entirely different and began very recently. These visions we’re subject to as vessels of the Purpose have been recorded throughout many generations, and I personally have experienced them for as long as I can remember”

Wei Wuxian let go of Lan Wangji’s wrist, a move the other mirrored, and he poured the drink he’d intended to earlier. He offered the jar to Lan Wangji who declined.

“For me, those dreams included the name of my Spiritmatch. I cannot speak for Xiongzhang, not everyone has visions of their match, but I did dream of you. I didn’t know everything about you, but I knew your name, I knew of your heart, your skill, your confidence and your intelligence”

“So it was the rest you didn’t like; the rest that was a surprise to you”

Lan Wangji had learned his lesson and kept his silence on the point, but Wei Wuxian laughed heartily.

“At least I’m pretty though, right?” he mocked, in trueness to his character rather than with intent to make Lan Wangji uncomfortable.

“Wei Ying-” there was hesitance in his voice; he didn’t know how to deal with anything but the gentlest teasing his elder brother sometimes subjected him to.

“Tell me what a Spiritmatch is” Wei Wuxian decided to extricate him from his verbal paralysis to question something Lan Wangji had said earlier.

“My soulmate, the person I’m destined to love. Someone who the Purpose, or karma, or whatever entity you wish to credit, sends as compensation for living the life we do”

“I’m your compensation?” again Wei Wuxian laughed, “You must have done a terrible job  then Lan Zhan, congratulations on your booby prize” he stretched and rose to his feet.

He was shocked as Lan Wangji dropped to his knees in front of him.

“Wei Ying, I hurt you with my thoughtlessness today. Forgive me. I have no talent for expressing my feelings verbally, nor am I naturally inclined to be so aggressive in pursuit of another. I don’t ask you to accept my feelings now, just give me a chance to prove them to you. All I ask is you do not close yourself off from the possibility of me. Of us”

Wei Wuxian was extremely uncomfortable at the sight of the Second Jade of Lan showing any sign of obeisance; he caught Lan Wangji’s arm and pulled him to his feet.

“Don’t kneel, never to me” he looked into the light amber eyes of the other and asked, “If it’s so against your personality to pursue me, why are you?”

“Because of the Wen’s nightmares. There’s another me, somewhere, who lost his you. The other you died protecting the innocent and the other me wasn’t able to protect you. We mourned in solitude for years unending for a man who never even knew we loved him. I won’t let that happen here”

Whilst that did answer We Wuxian’s question he was more shocked at Lan Wangji’s comment about the other him who died. He had dreamt that death so often since the nightmares had begun to plague him.

“I died during a qi deviation because I couldn’t control my cultivation any longer. It was agony”

Lan Wangji looked as though Wei Wuxian had struck him.

“How do you know that?”

“It’s because it’s the recurring dream I have. I wonder if you’re the person that me thinks of in his last moments” he recalled nothing but a bright white light, purer than a sunbeam through the mist. It would fit Hanguang-jun. He reached up to trace Lan Wangji’s cheek tentatively with his fingers, “I wonder. Do you think our dreams are drawn from the same...life? Vision?”

Lan Wangji seemed to struggle to draw his thoughts together after having been voluntarily touched by the other, “It would make sense. Have you ever spoken to your shidi about what he sees?”

Wei Wuxian shook his head, “No, he doesn’t like to talk about things, so I never pushed him. I will. We should try to find out if they’re linked to the same….what?...world? What about Zewu-jun?”

Lan Wangji shook his head, “I will do the same with Xiongzhang” he promised, and suddenly Wei Wuxian realised how very close they were standing.

Before he could think of anything else to say they heard the knock on the door; and Lan Wangji went to remove the silence talisman.

As expected it was Lan Xichen and Jiang Cheng returned from the library.

Every thought but anger and the need to protect left his head at the sight of his little brother’s swollen, bruised lips.

“Are you joking me? You went to the library to look for a book. Can you not keep your hands to yourself? In fact forget the hands, keep your lips to yourself” he caught Jiang Cheng by the wrist and pulled him away from the First Jade.

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng was scandalised; Lan Xichen looked genuinely shocked at his attack, and Lan Wangji tried to calm him down.

“Wei Ying-”

“I’m an adult, Wei Wuxian, just like you. Like everyone here” Jiang Cheng tried to pull himself free; but Wei Wuxian wasn’t listening to him; he turned on Lan Wangji.

“Can you do something to keep your flirt of a brother under control? I won’t have him stalking my brother like he’s some cosmic good-boy treat for doing his job” he refused to acknowledge he hadn’t been half so offended by the idea of Spiritmatches and the inherent reward they represented when applied to he and Lan Wangji than he was if the same situation was applied to Lan Xichen and Jiang Cheng.

“Wei Ying-” Lan Wangji tried again while Jiang Cheng tried to twist himself free again.

“What do you mean by good-boy treat?” Jiang Cheng asked, and Wei Wuxian turned on Lan Xichen again. There was a look of anger beginning to form on the First Jade’s face.

“Have you told him?” Wei Wuxian demanded, “That’s he’s your pat on the head for following your clans Purpose and that’s why you’re panting after him?”

“Is that true?” Jiang Cheng demanded of Lan Xichen, he tried to keep his voice from wobbling but there wasn’t a person there who didn’t hear how upset Jiang Cheng was at the thought.

“Wanyin-” Lan Xichen reached out to touch his arm but the other pulled out of reach.

“I see”

“You don’t, Wanyin. Please, let’s talk” Lan Xichen stepped forward and touched Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. He was shrugged off, and Jiang Cheng pushed him in the chest so hard the other had to step back a few paces.

“Don’t. Don’t touch me. Don’t speak to me” he whirled and stormed out of the house.

Lan Xichen turned on Wei Wuxian then, his dark amber eyes had turned pure gold and his handsome face was twisted in rage.

Lan Wangji stepped in front of Wei Wuxian protectively, “Xiongzhang” was all he said, calm and collected.

Lan Xichen pulled a deep breath in through his nose and the gold of his eyes faded.

“I suggest Wei-gongzi leaves now, Wangji” and he turned his back to place the books he held onto the table. Lan Wangji walked out of the house with Wei Wuxian.

“That was unfair, Wei Ying. It’s a sacred thing and you should have let Xiongzhang tell Jiang-gongzi on his own terms” he said softly.

And Wei Wuxian was beginning to think he had reacted hastily; he had hurt Jiang Cheng. But would a little pain now be better than a lot later? Was that even his call to make? Of course not.

He scratched his head and sighed, “I’m beginning to see that. I was mad. Look after your brother, I’ll look for Jiang Cheng”

Lan Wangji returned Lan Xichen to find the other staring blankly at the books he had placed on the table.

“Xiongzhang-”

“Don’t, Wangji, I don’t need any more interference at the moment” he pushed the books away. “The irony is he isn’t my Spiritmatch. I fell in love with Jiang Wanyin, and he’s not even the one meant for me”

“Xiongzhang” Wangji exclaimed, scandalised at the thought it was even possible. “Do you know who your match is?”

“Does it even matter if I don’t intend to be with them? It will always be Wanyin I choose”

“You believe you can fight destiny?” Lan Wangji wanted to explain in great detail how impossible a concept what Lan Xichen suggested was; but of course Lan Xichen knew it as well as Lan Wangji.

“Tooth and nail. I should find Wanyin” he made for the doorway but Lan Wangji caught his arm, possibly for the first time ever in his life daring to physically restrain his elder brother.

“Give him time to calm down first, you have said yourself what a volatile personality he has. Wei Ying will speak to him”

“And whisper more poison in his ear against me?” Lan Xichen demanded, but Lan Wangji didn’t let go.

“He won’t. He realises he was unfair” at least Lan Wangji hoped he wouldn’t.

He had known from the very beginning this situation would be dangerous for Lan Xichen, he just hadn’t expected the danger to come from any other direction than the Wens. And now his brother planned to fight against fate itself for love, a love that fate said wasn’t the one he was intended for.

Lan Wangji could feel a headache forming behind his eyes as Lan Xichen returned to the books he had retrieved.

[fadefromthelight]

No. 22 - Poisoned

Summary:  Lucien’s tolerated so much for Alden but he’s finally crossed the line. He doesn’t get to kill his brother and return unscathed.

Read on: Ao3

Lucien’s steps echo through the empty hall of the Oligarchy’s castle, his hands shoved into the pockets of his lab coat. His fingers brush against a needle and vial in them, the glass cold against his touch. The liquid inside pulses against his magic, latching onto anything it can find. He removes his fingers as if it burned him.

He can’t have it contaminated. Not now, not when he needs everything to align impeccably. If he slips up even once, everything will fall apart in his hands. He can’t afford to have that happen.

Julian doesn’t deserve to go through anymore.

After everything Alden’s done to him, done to his family, this is more than fully deserved. Lucien warned him. Alden’s the one that pushed past the limits Lucien set. Maybe Lucien should feel something more than the dull numbness at the prospect of sliding the needle under Alden’s skin, but he doesn’t. He wishes he could say that this will be the worst thing he’s done, but unfortunately he can’t.

He’s done much, much worse.

You could twist it and say it was for his survival, that he had no other choice but blur the lines between creation and destruction. But he decided to grab the very rules of reality and tear them apart, reconstructing them to suit his needs. Cassidy’s name was the one plastered beneath the wing cloning discovery, but the three of them all knew who figured out how to clone magic.

He decided to play god and he was still suffering the consequences. This was just one of them.

And if he’s being honest, he hasn’t stopped.

It was for a different patron, but he’s still manipulating magic in a way that no human should. Alden asked him to recreate magic from nothing and Braith asked him to hone magic to the point it’s a deadly blade. Now he has a solution of magic so refined that it’s more unstable than his magic. And in his lab is one manipulated to the point it no longer resembles any magic he’s seen in his life.

He hasn’t had the chance to use either of them before this moment. Part of him had hoped he wouldn’t find a reason to.

Another part of him relishes in the thought of scientific discovery.

The guard to the prison stops him, holding a hand against his chest. “Lucien.” The guard says his name awkwardly, as if he’s unsure how to address him. “You can’t go beyond this point.”

Lucien looks over to the guard, keeping his gaze purposely lazy and disinterested. His magic cracks against his skin and he shifts a foot back. “On whose orders?”

For a moment, Lucien expected the guard to say Morgan’s name, a reminder of his presence no matter where he goes.

For a moment, he forgot it was his own son who dethroned him.

“Lo—King Briath’s.” The guard forces out, a slight stutter at his slip of tongue. Not that it matters, Lucien wasn’t going to voluntarily speak to Braith. The guard swallows. “He specifically said not to let you in.”

So Braith had made the connections between him and Alden and accurately predicted that Lucien would kill him. Lucien barely listened to Braith on the best of days, the little conversation the two of them had wasn’t going to change anything now. He had no respect for a man who upturned the entire Oligarchy just to prove that he was stronger than Lucien.

None of that matters, it’ll all come out in the end when Lucien Challenges Braith. He’ll let Braith have his fun and then he’ll tear him down from his throne. He’s denied his position as head of the Levine family for long enough, it’s about time he’s done something.

He can’t keep letting Julian take the fall for him.

“That isn’t Lord Braith’s decision to make.” Lucien grins, letting a shard of dark, decayed magic pooling inside of him rest inside it. “There’s something I need to discuss with Alden. We have a bit of a history.”

There’s numerous ways that the guard could decipher his words and he doesn’t elaborate. Anything that the guard decides upon is fine. It’ll shake him up.

The guard pales and won’t meet Lucien's eyes. “He can’t help you with your research.”

Hm, he took the easy way out. It would’ve been more interesting to see the guard trying to explain away the relationship Lucien had with Alden. “He isn’t helping per se,” Lucien reaches into his pocket and removes the needle. He doubt’s that the guard has enough medical knowledge to refute his claims. “I need a sample from him. It’s vital.”

The guard pauses, hesitation painted clearly across his face. “I’ll let you in for a few minutes. Only to grab the sample.”

“Of course.” Lucien lies, the words easily falling from his lips. He wonders when it became so easy to lie.

He wonders if there was ever a time where it wasn’t.

The guard steps to the side and Lucien talks past him, returning the needle to his pocket. His finger brushes against the vial and the magic within flickers. He draws his hand back as if he is burned. He let’s none of this show on his face.

The prison is filled with long halls of bleak grey concrete and too-white lights. His magic crackles against his skin in response. The magic of criminals and the sorts echo against his sense, bitter from anger and resentment.

He could understand those feelings quite well.

He stops before Alden’s cell, tucked in the corner and away from the other prisoners. Alden wielded his words with the precision of a surgeon, they couldn’t risk what he’d say to the others. They couldn’t handle a mutiny that Alden led. They’ve already seen that once.

Alden sits on the thick wooden slab of a bench, his back pressed against the smooth wall. He watches Lucien walk over and stop in front of the door, eyes narrowed just enough to cover the flicker of relief that dances across his face.

Maybe something cracks within Lucien at that moment but no one has to know.

“Lucien.” Alden draws out Lucien's name, unable to hide the shards of ease from entering his voice. His posture relaxes and he leans against the wall. “What brings you down here?”

Lucien presses a hand against the lock and flares his magic. The fragile mechanism melts under his grasp and the door swings open with the sound of clattering metal. “I wouldn’t get too comfortable.” Lucien’s voice is low and flat, edging on bitter and desperate.

Alden swallows, gaze flickering between Lucien and the door behind him. “And where are we going?”

Lucien shoves a hand into his pockets, looking over to the camera trained on Alden cell. He steps over and reaches up with his free hand and brushes it against the lens. The whole thing crumbles under his magic, leaving behind a sparking shell. “Nowhere far.” Lucien turns back to Alden, removing the needle and vial from his pocket.

Alden pales, his hands tightening into a knotted fist in his lap. “Lucien.” Alden says Lucien's name again as if that would change anything. “You don’t have to do this.”

Lucien inserts the needle into the top of the vial, drawing out the pearly white liquid. He fills the needle, far more than enough to kill Alden. He returns the vial to his pocket. “You’ve crossed the line, Alden. I would’ve left you alone if you only listened to me.”

At one point, Lucien considered saving Alden, the twisted feelings inside of him screaming with the thought of killing him. It would've been so easy to unlock Alden’s shackles and stride out with him, no matter what Braith tries to do.

But it’s even easier to slip a needled beneath Alden’s skin.

Alden watches the needle, his eyes following the liquid shift in the shaft. Fear dances in his gaze, unrestraint. “It was necessary.” He shifts, the shackles on his wrist clatter against the wooden bench. It was almost like Alden was uncertain.

“Raymond’s death and Julian’s abuse was necessary?” Lucien’s voice is cold and clipped, the fractured shards of his composure slipping. “Necessary for what?”

“The world deserved to know what we almost discovered.” Despite everything, Alden grins, thin and manic. “And it does.”

“It didn’t.” Lucien walks forward. He places a hand on Alden’s wrist and Alden flinches beneath his touch. “Not like this.”

“Discovery isn’t something you can contain.” Alden’s voice shakes but it doesn’t dent the smile on his face. “It will take everything down with it.”

“My family isn’t some casualty for something as fruitless as discovery.” Lucien rolls up Alden’s sleeve, leaning over him so he couldn't struggle. Alden tries anyway. “They fell because of your decisions and I want to know what they are.”

Alden’s gaze is set on the needle that Lucien has poised over his skin. He’s trembling despite his every attempt to hide it. Alden’s silent, the ambiance of the prison settling over them. Lucien doesn’t move.

Alden sighs, his breath rattling in his chest. “Y’know.” Alden drags his gaze upwards, meeting Lucien’s. His eyes are tired, the normally vibrant green is dulled to something unrecognizable. Something that would be nostalgia on anyone else drifts in his eyes. “I can’t even remember.”

Alden’s lying. Lucien knows that Alden’s lying but there’s no guarantee that he’ll get the truth out of him. Lucien desperately wants to know why Alden killed Raymond, why he even kidnapped him in the first place. But, just like the time Lucien confronted Alden almost six years ago, Alden won’t tell him why.

Part of Lucien knows, the part that Lucien doesn’t want to acknowledge. The part that tears when he pushes the needle into the fragile skin at the crook of Alden’s elbow.

Lucien stares into Alden eyes one last time and presses down on the stopper.

The effect is almost instantaneous. Alden’s magic crackles and lashes out, the tainted decay present for the both of them to see. Lucien tears the needle out of Alden’s flesh and steps back. Alden looks up to him, blood slipping out of his mouth and staining his teeth. His eyes are alight with a twisted, burning magic. “Your brother died thinking you hated him.” Alden spits the words, thick with anger and blood. He has to get in one last barbed comment, one last attempt to rattle Lucien.

Lucien takes another step back, his hand brushing against the bars of the door. “And you’ll die knowing that I hated you.”

Lucien watches as Alden withers with magic beyond his capabilities, magic that threatens to tear into Lucien if he doesn't have a carefully constructed barrier around him. The effects are exactly how Lucien planned; he induced a severe case of lisatheo.

He watches with the jagged edges of a smile as Alden stills, the overwhelming magic dissipating harmlessly into the atmosphere. He turns on his heel and walks down the hall, his steps echoing in the silence left in his wake. He removes his lab coat and drapes it over his arm, the vial clinking against the needle as he walks.

One down, two more to go.