#not make those same allowances for someone else they otherwise care about.

[feyd-rautha-aesthetic]

Love Bites - Chapter III / Sneak Peek!

! This sneak peek is almost continuously about sex, isn't it? But don't worry, the whole chapter also contains other topics. (Known topics - blood & gore, bit! soft Feyd- as usual only to you etc.) Even though I think this will be the chapter with the most smut content. It's going to be disgusting... I think... And mean. Him to you. :p

But also extreme soft, you'll see.

I hate his uncle, everyone hates Vladimir! ಠ_ಠ

❝Then I'll give up the nights with her. But only, when I can talk to her during the day. And by that I also mean outside of training.❞ Feyd spoke more and more firmly with every word. 'Talk' , Vladimir thought mockingly. His nephew shouldn't have mentioned that he had just disturbed their intimacy. He nodded to Feyd, but already had new plans in mind. ❝Make sure you don't make any more mistakes, nephew.❞

Mistakes?

Feyds eyes met the Barons with full force. Anyone else would have pissed themselves in fear. But no matter what Feyd did, Vladimir didn't care. Especially not when you were the topic. Feyd had nothing to say, it was as simple as that. At least as long as his uncle was present. ❝I should have let her kill you yesterday!❞, he said angrily. His voice almost cracked, though he wasn't loud. Yet everyone here could hear his words. The Na-Baron didn't dare to move in those seconds. If he took one step forward now, he was sure that even the guards wouldn't be able to hold him. He saw one of the ladies next to his uncle dare to raise her head and glance briefly at the young Harkonnen. Feyd recognized her immediately. It was the waitress from last night who had offered you and him something to drink. ❝Yes, the offspring will be beautiful. That's for sure!❞ He answered her now. And he knew he had said the words out loud. The lady smiled gently, but lowered her head again. Vladimir turned to the ladies, but did not recognize who had raised their heads. ❝One of them complimented the Na-Baroness yesterday... no, us.❞ Feyd grinned nastily at his uncle. ❝If you continue to make mistakes, she will not bear your offspring!❞ Vladimir continued to clarify.

Shaking with rage again, Feyd left the hall without a word. He felt like you did yesterday, when you left suddenly. He swallowed, his eyes wandering back and forth, wondering how he could avoid his uncle's order. There wasn't much time for intense intimacy during the day. Today the training hall had been an exception because you had been in the same place at the same time and you had teased his ego. Maybe it wouldn't have occurred to him to touch you otherwise. Since he preferred to do it in a bed with you anyway. Or even in the thermal, as he had discovered last night. And in that moment, he realized what the strange feeling inside him was. Grief. Even if it wasn't every night, he loved lying in bed with you. No matter whether it was in his chambers or yours. Holding you in his arms. Knowing that you were his property and there was nothing you could do about it. And he had to admit to himself that he liked it when someone felt comfortable in his presence. Except for his whores.

He knew that if Vladimir told them about his words, it wouldn't matter at all that he had only given them to Farris yesterday. And they would certainly be happy to be allowed to pleasure him again. No, to should. Feyd remembered your words, how you had told him in the thermal that it would be fine with you if he became intimate with them again. As long as it would put his uncle in a 'better mood'. And it really did seem that way. That it would make him feel better. The Na-Baron wondered if he could just refuse them. Or would they tell Vladimir? Feyd couldn't think straight at the moment.

-

❝Apologize, my Baroness.❞ , he said as he re-entered the training hall. You hadn't moved a bit, or so it seemed, during his absence. You realized immediately that something was wrong. ❝What happened?❞ , you asked, startled, when you saw the blood on the dagger. ❝My uncle was... talking.❞ Feyd explained as he knelt down to you and cut the tape from your wrists. You shook your aching joints once before he took a look at the irritated skin himself. ❝What did he say?❞, you asked, wanting to know for sure. Feyds looked changed. The previous grin was completely gone, as if it had never been there. The young man sighed, thinking about how he could explain it. ❝We're not allowed to see each other. Not at night anymore. He doesn't want us to be intimate with each other. The fact that you are my fiancée, the Na-Baroness, doesn't interest him in the slightest. From tonight, there will be guards outside our chambers at night.❞ , he began, kissing your skin below your belly button before pulling your pants back up. ❝Guards?❞ , you asked with wide eyes.

❝Mh-hm.❞ Feyd only said. ❝During the day, I think we can see us... still. But I don't know if he'll stick to those words.❞, he continued. It was hard enough for you to see each other during the day either way. You both couldn't spend the whole day in the training halls either. And even here, you didn't always meet. You looked again at the bloody sword. ❝It's not his blood. Unfortunately.❞ Feyd said. ❝It's from someone insignificant.❞ He took your face in his hands, stroking the dark circles under your eyes again. ❝I'm taking you to bed. You don't look healthy, you're pale. Training won't do you any good, or very little, if you're not in good shape.❞ He spoke as if he were talking about the weather. Confusion spread through you. Mixed with a little fear. His strong arms picked you up with ease and you leaned your head against his warm shoulder and, to be honest, were glad that you didn't meet anyone on the way. It must have looked pretty strange the way the Na-Baron was carrying you on his hands.

When you arrived, he carefully lowered your body onto your bed. ❝Drink.❞ , he spoke and gave you the bottle of water that was next to your bed. ❝Do you need anything else? Shall I have something brought to you?❞ Feyd asked you, resting his head on your thigh. ❝I don't think so, thanks.❞ , you replied after a few sips of the cool liquid. Feyd took the bottle from you and took off your boots. Your pants and top followed, he didn't want you to sleep in those clothes. His eyes were glued to your naked chest, seeing his love bites and hickeys. And it aroused him far too much. ❝Fuck.❞ , he growled as his hands stroked your skin. ❝How dare he snatch you from me?❞ , the Harkonnen murmured, slowly settling down and burying his nose in your neck until he finally started to spread kisses over your blotchy skin. ❝I'm going to kill this scum! Slash him open and let him bleed out long and agonizingly! A quick death would be a gift for him, but I won't give him that!❞ Feyd pushed your jaw back up to kiss the thin skin under your chin, down your neck. Marked you with more hickeys.

Only his.

He growled deeply, kissing the soft skin of your breasts. You sighed comfortingly and your slender fingers caressed his muscular shoulders. ❝You have to go.❞, you said quietly. The words hurt yourself as you uttered them. ❝I don't want to!❞ Feyd growled menacingly and his hands gripped tightly around your waist. He wanted to feel that you were with him here and now. He took the dagger with the dried blood from his belt and placed it next to you on the mattress. He didn't want to hurt you now.

You looked at the blade as Feyds lips made their way down your body. The bloody dagger had you so mesmerized for a moment that you hadn't even felt Feyds touch until he pulled your underwear off your legs. He knelt to the floor, pulled your body closer to the edge of the bed and kissed your lower lips as he spread your legs a little more. ❝What about my punishment?❞ , you asked breahthless. ❝That's off topic now!❞ , he snarled and gripped your thighs tightly with both hands.

(☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

[musical-chick-13]

.

[celaenaeiln]

thinking about some quotes i’ve read and i wanna hear your thoughts on them because i have a lot and i don’t know what to do with them.

“the day Dick Grayson turns evil is the day the universe ends, not because that day will never come but because the boy will make it come”

“Dick Grayson isn’t the universal constant of good. Dick Grayson is the universal constant of competence”

“So, having said all that, it is a few but definitely significant words that fill the contingency plan on Nightwing in case the hero of Bludhaven ever turns to the dark side. Let's hope that never happens.”

YESSSSS

“the day Dick Grayson turns evil is the day the universe ends, not because that day will never come but because the boy will make it come”

This is the truest fact I've ever heard because this is really canon.

Word for word this happened.

In one of the canon timelines Clark laser blasted Bruce under mind control.

And oh how Dick took over. You know what Luthor says?

"After all, as I've heard your father [Dick] so often quoted, 'we make the hardest decisions for those we care about the most.' Well, in his case...that has meant remaking the world."

This man has the power to single-handedly control the fate of the world.

Whatever he wants, he will make it happen.

The entirety of the justice league, all the metas, heroes, and villains too stood no chance against him.

DC vs Vampires

“Dick Grayson isn’t the universal constant of good. Dick Grayson is the universal constant of competence”

I think it's true.

Nightwing is one of the most formidable figures in DC, without fail consistently coming out on top, so if Superman is iterating that Dick's personality and essence of being is the same, then there's really no room for disagreement.

But more truly, I think he is a Nexus.

By Marvel's definition, "Nexus Beings are rare individual entities with the ability to affect probability and thus the future, thereby altering the flow of the Universal Time Stream. These beings, each referred to as a nexus, act as the keystones of the Multiverse and are crucial to its ultimate coherence and stability."

That means that the universe hinges on the actions of Dick Grayson.

Not only does he control the fate of the world but his mere existence determines what will become of it by other people:

I'd like to reiterate that Neux Beings are "the keystones of the Multiverse and are crucial to its ultimate coherence and stability."

You can still be a nexus if you turn dark. For example Lore was a dark version of Wanda Maximoff but she is still considered a nexus. So you're right in saying that Dick Grayson is a multiuniversal constant of competence.

“So, having said all that, it is a few but definitely significant words that fill the contingency plan on Nightwing in case the hero of Bludhaven ever turns to the dark side. Let's hope that never happens.”

In the easiest terms as someone put it, "hope he fucks up" is Bruce's only contingency plan against Nightwing. The man doesn't have a clear plan how to neutralize Nightwing.

His exact words are: "As a result of overanalyzing any situation, this allows Dick Grayson to overconfident and misdirected. This will make himself open to a second attack."

So the plan is basically 'Dick is too smart for his own good so we'll have to go with a lucky surprise attack.' He's literally saying 'yupppp. Let's just hope he messed up because there's nothing we can do on ouR end.' Note that Bruce doesn't even have a back up like 'the second attack didn't work? we're fucked.'

For everyone else he actually has a coherent plan in mind- do this and they will fall. But for Dick? 'I hope he messes up enough for a second attack to actually stick. Otherwise we're shit out of luck. And lives. Fingers crossed he doesn't jump to the bad side.'

Tim also confirmed he would never make a contingency plan for Dick. The only person in the world he wouldn't do one for.

He's just that formidable of a man. Even now he can easily take down the Justice League if he wanted to.

And we know that Dick has one of the strongest wills on the planet.

"I have my enhancements. I have powers. Dick Grayson...what do you have?"

A world where Dick loses his emotions is a world that would not survive.

[justmywriting1313]

Soft (Osamu x reader)

Adult, business-owning boyfriend!Osamu is without a doubt the type of partner who would slowly yet firmly bring out the soft, tender-hearted childish part of you... and it would be without either of you even realising it... only when someone else pointed it out would it strike you both and even then it would hit you a lot more than it would Samu. Not because he doesn't care but because to him that is the natural order of the world. When and where else were you allowed to be soft, tender and just taken care of if not with your big beefy boyfriend...

It's a cold winter night, but you all are sitting by the riverside, a blanket spread out and a collapsible table in the back holding food and drinks. The little group consists of you, Osamu, Suna, Iwaizumi, Kageyama, and a bunch of the other MSBY boys. Everyone is either nursing a drink or munching on snacks prepared by you and your boyfriend.

Osamu is sitting in the center of the blanket between a tipsy Suna and an amused Iwaizumi. Feet flat on the ground, knees spread apart, with his body hunched over yours, which is tucked against him. You are sitting between his legs, head thrown back against his shoulder, all warm and cozy. You let Samu hold up most of your weight as you melt into his chest, your hands playing with one of his own. Outside of setting up your little picnic and grabbing the occasional drink, it's how you spend most of your night. Somewhere behind you, you can hear Sakusa's indifferent voice talking to Kageyama. In front of you, Atsumu, Kotarou, and Shoyou are bickering over the last tuna mayo onigiri.

Every few minutes, Samu pecks your temple, quietly whispering snarky comments about others or chuckling deeply in your ear. He occasionally peppers kisses along your shoulder, and each time, you smile and mumble your agreement. You watch Atsumu fail to get the last onigiri from Bokuto as the much larger man chomps onto the rice in one bite. You giggle at the blonde's dismayed expression, which immediately grabs his attention.

"Y/N, don't laugh at me… it's not fair, ya know… that onigiri was rightfully mine."

"Awww, don't pout, Tsumu. Stop by the store tomorrow, okay? I'll keep an order prepared for you."

"One, I'm not pouting; I'm brooding. And two… You're the best, sweetheart. Have I told ya that?"

You just giggle, watching Atsumu jump about in happiness before he comes to a standstill. He takes a seat opposite you and Samu, legs crossed together. His eyes are trained on you, and you can only look back at him and smile. He smiles back wide before he speaks in a voice much quieter than before,

"Ya know, Y/N, I have never seen ya look so… so soft… unguarded even… it's probably the cutest thing ever."

His words are not at all what you were expecting, and they leave you gobsmacked and shy. You feel your cheeks heat up at the attention, especially when the boys around you start to peer in. Iwaizumi bends over trying to peek at your face against Osamu's hunched-over body. When your surprised doe eyes meet his, he chuckles in agreement,

"You aren't wrong, Astumu… definitely cute."

Suna does the same on the other side, one hand coming and lightly pinching your cheek.

"Mhmm, it is adorable… you should keep her hidden, Samu, otherwise someone's going to steal her away."

"Oh yeah? Ya one of those people, Sunarin?"

Finally, your boyfriend chimes in, you can feel his chest move as you bend back to look at him. You find his eyes already trained on you despite talking to Suna. His lidded eyes and soft smirk are an expression you would remember forever. You have never felt more loved and wanted in all your life, and you are quick to shy away from all the attention,

"You guys… go away. Smack around a ball or something."

You can feel Samu's chest rumble as he chuckles at your timidness while Atsumu jumps up to grab the ball and Shoyou. Suna pinches your cheek again, making you whine while Iwaizumi musses up your hair. Chatter seems to surround you again, but your mind is stuck on those words. They stay floating through your consciousness while the boys horse around, sometimes jolting when Osamu's body moves. The thoughts stay there while everyone packs, all of you too tired now and wanting to get home. It's all you can think about, even as Osamu grabs the heavy and lighter bags from your hand in one of his own, his other hand holding onto yours tightly. When you look up at him, he is already smiling down at you.

"Are ya okay, sweetheart? You've been quiet as a mouse, ya know."

You just hum, instead of leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. Osamu makes it easier by leaning down, quirking a brow at the soft gesture, but he doesn't say anything more. Instead, you walk down to the car, Sakusa helping to carry a drunk Atsumu along.

Soft. Soft. Soft… You sit in the passenger seat, looking out the window, with Atsumu and Sakusa in the back bickering with one another as usual.

You had never been soft…

You had never been soft in the sense that you were just never for others to see… Your softness, you had decided early on, was yours, and you would not give others a chance to abuse it because there were too many times where it had been… So when did it all change? When did it go from something secret to something celebrated?

Looking back, though, it was never really a question… Being soft with Osamu just happened as if you didn't know how to exist in any other way with him. You just couldn't… Not when he always bends down and ties your laces for you, nor when he always opens the car door and buckles your seat belt in because 'precious cargo' always needs to be strapped in. You didn't have a choice in keeping your softness hidden when you woke up to flowers on the table at least once a week, and when you asked Samu why, he just shrugged his shoulders and said pretty things should always be surrounded by pretty things. You didn't have a choice in hiding your tender heart when Samu has always had a hold on it, pulling it out of you and then keeping it on a pedestal for everyone to see but for no one else to touch.

Turning to look at him right now, one of his hands on the wheel, quietly humming something with his other hand on your thigh, gripping both your leg and your hand, you were hit with the intensity of Samu's love. And although his eyes never leave the road, you know he knows you're looking at him. You see him smile as the car comes to a stop in front of Atsumu's house. He turns to look at you, and when his eyes meet yours, he chuckles before leaning in to peck your lips. You have to stop yourself from deepening it because he has to help Sakusa get Atsumu to bed.

And when he comes back outside alone, your eyes immediately find him even in the dark outside. You roll the window down, his arms coming to rest on the door, head leaning in until you were so close you could feel his breath on your own lips.

"Ya sure you're alright mhmmm? Sure ya got nothing to tell me"

His nose comes to lightly nudge yours,

"Nothing to tell your Samu, promise, just been thinking that's all"

"How about you tell me what about? might make me feel better"

"Just thinking about how happy I am being yours thats all"

Your words knock the breath right out of Samu and he lets out a sounds thats something between a chuckle and a groan before he's leaning away to open your door. Before you can question him his hands find you face lips landing on yours. Samu kisses you like its all he can do not to stop himself every second of every day, a desperate growl of approval leaving him as he does before he pulls away and says,

"I will never get over how soft ya make me love, never!"

[your3fundamentaltruths]

"Penelope Isn't Owed Colin's Feelings"

Some parts of this fandom have a tendency to elide and otherwise get twisted the following regarding 2x08: (1) why many of those who are unhappy with Colin are unhappy with Colin and (2) why many of those who sympathize with Penelope sympathize with Penelope. And that's only more apparent in the reactions to the season 3 scene released on Valentine's Day.

It's not about thinking Penelope is owed Colin's feelings.

People are unhappy with Colin because of how he expressed that he wasn’t interested in Penelope – both because friends shouldn’t talk about their friends that way in general and because she’s in a more socially precarious position than he is and his seeming to think her less-than only makes her prospects worse. Even if Penelope didn't have feelings for him, it still would have been viewed unfavorably.

Some like to say the latter point about damaging Penelope's prospects isn’t a big deal because Penelope didn’t have prospects before 2x08 so she’s not losing anything when it’s actually a bigger deal for that very reason. Speaking like that about a Daphne/an Edwina/another popular, sought-after girl would be seen as sour grapes or otherwise not reflect badly on the girl, but saying something like that about a wallflower who has no dowry is just pushing her further down and increasing the likelihood that she’ll never have any prospects, particularly when Colin’s just been seen leading her out of a ballroom after being regularly spotted in her company. What’s wrong with her that, despite all that, the notion of courting her is not just unappealing but laughable? the rest of the ton will wonder. And Colin will recognize why this wasn’t great because he’s a fundamentally decent and sensitive person and will likely also recognize that Pen’s confidence is ground to dust at the beginning of the season. Neither of these things will sit right with him. Hence, the “confidence lessons.”  

Yes, Colin’s not perfect and he's allowed to make mistakes. He's only human. But this mistake hits Pen (and the audience) harder because he's otherwise been good and kind. And because we know, even if she doesn't in that moment, that he will feel very badly about it because he's a good guy and will hate to have hurt her.

Penelope falls in love with Colin (even if not in the fully-fledged, "see all of you" way that they both will this season) because of the kind of friend he is to her, i.e., his kindness. The fact that she develops these feelings in the course of their friendship and that these feelings sometimes influence the ways she acts doesn't make her some kind of awful predator lying in wait who feels entitled to having her feelings returned as I've seen implied by some. This makes her someone in love with her friend, which is a necessary part of a friends-to-lovers story. Hope ≠ entitlement.

And people sympathize with Pen not because they think she can do no wrong or because they believe she is owed Colin’s feelings but because, even knowing that no one is owed anyone else’s feelings, they see her grappling with unrequited feelings in particularly painful ways. In season 1, they watched her have a front-row seat to the person she loves romancing someone else, mostly in her own home, up to an engagement and near-elopement. At the beginning of season 2, they watched her and Colin talk past each other in the "you do not count" scene in a way that hurt her, even if they know that was not Colin's intent, after the pair of them spent the off-season writing heartfelt letters. They watched her hopes build up all throughout the rest of season 2 until the very moment she overheard him (more on that shortly), even if, again, it would never have been Colin's intent to confuse her or lead her on. Colin and Pen are simply not on the same page.

So people have all this context coming into 2x08. But most of all, they understand how badly it would hurt to hear anyone you care about, let alone someone for whom you have feelings (and doubly so a dear friend for whom you have feelings) say something like that in that tone and laugh, let alone in your own home on the same night you've just lost your best friend. 

Relatedly, let’s talk more about why the Featherington ball was a night of such high highs and low lows for Penelope. Up until that point in the season, Colin had shown her such care, including just a little while before and, while for him it is exclusively in the spirt of friendship, it's very much unintended mixed signals, i.e., more talking past one another. The ways Colin expresses his friendly affection for Pen are at odds with what was widely considered appropriate behavior in their time between a man and a woman who are neither related nor romantically involved. In fact, by the standards of Regency England, Colin is taking very significant liberties that are inappropriate between opposite-sex friends of marriageable age who have no intention of becoming more than friends (and even between those who are romantically interested in one another but still unmarried). For example, Portia would have been considered justified in demanding that they marry just after finding them alone together behind a closed door in 2x08 doing nothing else otherwise untoward – and likely would have, had she not been so shaken up by Colin figuring out the gemstone scheme. And, yes, Pen is not pushing back, is meeting him where he is, because she likes it and because she also values their friendship and wants it to mean more – but, in the context of their time, it’s even more understandable that she’d read more into it than someone now. And even someone now might read into some of the things Colin says and does and get confused and then hurt upon learning they're wrong and that their friend only has friendly feelings toward them, particularly in the way Penelope is forced to learn that she's wrong. 

Does that mean Penelope's reaction in the new clip is the kindest or fairest? No. But she’s human and she’s hurting. She's a lonely nineteen-year-old girl really struggling to find her place in the world who heard her dear friend express his lack of interest in her in a really disdainful-sounding way inconsistent with both his immediate and long-term private treatment of her. That’s really jarring and she not unreasonably concluded that this happened because he finds her embarrassing. If you were her, might there not be a little voice in the back of your mind wondering whether this is even the first time he’s spoken about her that way when he thought she couldn’t hear him? Still, I expect she’ll also feel badly that she spoke to him the way she did, especially in the face of an earnest apology from Colin about what he said, or she wouldn’t accept the offer of the confidence lessons and it would take longer for them to get to where they are in the “remarkable shade of blue” scene in the second episode. Let's give her space to come to that place. Let's show her a smidge of grace instead of assuming the worst of her and anyone who sympathizes with her.

Lastly, some of the same people who are mad about what Pen said and how she said it in the Valentine's Day clip (1) complain about the way the fandom is too hard on Colin for not saying things exactly right and (2) spent months preemptively raking Pen over the coals for "ghosting" Colin, for holding "never dream of courting Penelope Featherington" over his head for ages, for publishing it in Whistledown to punish him rather than talk to him directly, etc. So let’s give her a little credit for ultimately saying it outright to him, even though it must have been mortifying to do so when she believes she embarrasses him. Did it feel nice to Colin not to receive any replies to his letters? Of course not. It wouldn't feel good for any of us. (Side note: I hate that his family seems to have mostly left him on read, too! Don't get me started on that.) But would you want to reply to someone whom you believe you embarrass and who you believe has been two-faced toward you (i.e., being kind and friendly in private and laughing at you in public)? But to her credit, when confronted, Penelope does say why she's upset.

And no, Penelope does not owe it to Colin to further mortify herself by explaining that her feelings for him made his words last season that much more hurtful. (I’ve seen people criticize her for that, too.) Not sharing every single thought and feeling that crosses her mind does not make her Bad – neither a bad friend nor a bad person. Again, have some empathy and be honest: is there any scenario in which you would you be eager to tell someone you had feelings for them after hearing them laugh at the thought of you being a serious prospect for them? If Penelope does at some point admit her own feelings (and the longevity of said feelings) before she hears a declaration of love from Colin as she does in the books, then she is brave as hell and hats off to her, but not doing so at this stage would not be some dereliction of any friendly duty to Colin, especially not if she forgives him for his words as we know she does.

Actually lastly: not forgetting something entirely doesn’t mean you haven’t forgiven someone for it or are trying to punish them for it. It would not only not be Bad but also entirely understandable if Penelope had doubts when first confronted with a proposal from Colin later in the season, especially if it immediately follows the carriage scene. It would not be unreasonable for her to think this arises from a sense of gentlemanly obligation or lust or both, especially when she's familiar with his tendency to want to play the hero and when she has every reason to believe that his engagement to Marina came on the heels of a seduction. Grappling with understandable insecurities, including a fear that she might be inadvertently entrapping him, too, would ≠ Penelope trying to punish Colin for 2x08 or for not having feelings for her from the start if the show goes down that route.

[wheneclipsefalls]

Courting Spider

Pairing: Spider x Na'vi Male OC

Masterlist AO3

Summary: It's time that someone takes care of Spider for once. Zhali is up for the task.

Warnings: aged up Spider/Sully kids, explicit, MDNI, male x male, size difference, Na'vi x human pairing, oral, insecurities, angst, trauma, injury, blood, perfectionism, Spider just needs to be loved, etc.

A/N: Wow, this took a while but it is finally here. Not too confident with some of the writing style for ths one but hopefully it still makes sense.

“What about the back panel?” 

“Useless.” Zhali quickly interjects, weaving the soft fabric together with practiced precision. Lo’ak huffs slightly, titling his head as he watches the male work on the small piece of clothing. 

“He’s not going to wear it with his ass out, brother.” 

Zhali rolls his eyes and takes a deep breath. He will never understand the Sky Demon’s obsession with modesty. Clothing should allow one to move freely and if it shifts from one way to the other, so what? Who would truly notice, anyways?

Well, he supposes, were it Spider he himself would notice. 

And suddenly all that Zhali can think about is getting a glimpse of the little Tawtute’s bum, just another peek at that beautifully soft and squishing form of his. As tempting as the idea is, however, it does have him editing his original claim. If he has interest in seeing that sculpted ass, surely other Na’vi or even Sky Demons could have the same intentions.

He decides to weave together a back panel after all. Besides, once the small Sky Demon has been courted and agrees to mate with him, it may be more rewarding to have that area of his mate revealed to his eyes only. That thought has the slightest curve of a smile lacing his lips. 

Lo’ak, as always, is one to notice the shift in demeanor, but he pays the other male no mind. After all, there would have been no chance of executing this courting properly without Lo’ak’s insights. Zhali thanks the Great Mother that he has close enough ties with someone Spider considers his best friend. Otherwise, how else would he know how to make a loincloth for the boy in the first place? Or not to leave dead kills at the outpost’s front entrance as a courting gift?

Lo’ak’s information is irreplaceable. It’s hard enough to wrap his mind around the different customs and concerns of a small tawtute, let alone court one without any insight in the first place. 

Although it may seem unconventional to some Na’vi, opinions that he has heard personally from some friends and family, Zhali knows that there is no one else for him besides Spider. 

He can still recall the spark of interest that had been there during their adolescence, watching the small boy with golden hair saunter across the forest confidently. He had moved with a grace and agility that Zhali had never witnessed from a Tawtute. Back then, his small crush was poorly nourished as his parents tried their hardest to keep him from spending too much time around Sky Demons. Searching to become a warrior and clan member that would make his parents proud, Zhali had refrained from stepping out of bounds. 

There were small moments he had caught with the so-called monkey boy, but it was always in the presence of others. 

The night of Spider’s capture had been a core memory for Zhali. He recalls it as the night he truly began his path to adulthood. Regret and dread had laced his gut as he realized his own cowardice had broken any real chance at connecting with the other male. It shifted his perspective, pushing him forward until he had made himself a promise that night. 

Never again would he let criticism and judgment keep him from following his heart’s desires. 

It was only the direct command and even surveillance from the new Olo’eyktan that had kept him from storming Hell’s gate as a one man army. 

Those years apart had been painful, but they had shaped him into the man he is today, the man he needed to become. There had been slight relief that came from hearing of Spider reuniting with the Sully family across the sea. However, he could never erase the sting of missed opportunity.

Following the footsteps of his father and other warriors, Zhali had channeled this pressing emotion into his training. The sun would barely be upon the horizon before Zhali began his daily grind. He had excelled in every aspect that a young warrior could, spending extra hours training alone with only the glowing light of eclipse for aiding sight. When he had pushed himself in every aspect of hunting, fighting, and gathering possible he had moved on to homemaking skills. 

Now, sitting here with only a few months of weaving underneath his fingertips, he’s proud to find the garment an attractive item thus far. A surprising fact considering how his discipline and attention has slipped upon the Sully family’s return. Or rather, Spider’s return. 

Seeing the small tawtute advance from behind the Sully family, hair somehow turned a lighter shade of gold and arm adorned with shelled jewelry, Zhali had felt like a child once more. The Great Mother had been kind to him, advancing his form into that of a true muscled warrior and adorning him with skills that were far beyond anything the could’ve dreamed about at fifteen, but none of that seemed to matter when faced with Spider once more. His stomach had tightened into a million different knots, tail swinging and ears flickering desperately as he took in the beautiful male before him. 

Although taken aback and slightly nervous, something he would never admit, Zhali had expressed these emotions in the best way he knew how; hard work. The family had only been home for little more than a moon cycle but the male’s courting plans were already underway. His consultation with Lo’ak had informed him that the beautiful tawtute was in fact still unmated. He figured that the Metkayina Na’vi knew nothing of real value placed in their laps if they had somehow managed to miss courting such an exquisite creature. 

Nevertheless, he is grateful for their insolence. 

The yearnings of his heart have never ceased and Zhali would have his soul taken up to Eywa before he’d let this chance slip away again. 

“You’re sure about this color?” He murmurs, concentrating on the intricate trim to lace the sides. Next to him Lo’ak lounges along the marui floor with one leg propped as he bites into the delicious fruit he missed oh so much. Golden eyes flicker over to the intricate pattern of green material, different shades popping out in precise patterns. 

“Well he did complain about there not being enough green on Awalatuu.” 

“I asked you what his favorite color was.” Zhali huffs out, finally letting the unfinished garment rest on his lap. Lo’ak hardly flinches under the glare he receives, simply shrugging his shoulders before continuing to eat. 

“I know. Figure it must be green if he complained about its absence so much.”

It’s not fair to bite back at the hand that feeds him. Zhali knows this. He repeats it in his head over and over again. If there is one thing that he has learned about Spider it’s that no one treats the poor boy the way he deserves. Lo’ak and Kiri are the closest things that the small human has to friends, but even they have other parts of their lives that pull their attention away from him. There are always other obligations and personal problems that come first before Spider and to Zhali’s dismay, the boy accepts it. 

Being left in the shadows is something that has become natural to Spider in his life. The Sully family takes him in, but never with the attitude of treating him like their very own. The scientists at the lab have watched over him since he was a child but not one of them was truly a parent. They too, have their own worries and concerns. Most are too focused on their own research and work to really prioritize raising a child. 

That familiar lingering of guilt resurfaces when Zhali remembers that he too let Spider remain hostage with those Demons for months on end, not one rescue party sent after him. 

It’s a fact that haunts him to this day, but he vows to leave all those mistakes behind. Spider will be safe and taken care of in his arms, by his side and treated with the love and respect that he deserves. For the first time in the boy’s life, he will know what it means to be someone’s first priority. 

Spider can still feel Neteyam’s curious glances thrown his way as they walk silently back to the human outpost. With the small bundle of fine fabric carefully clasped in his hands, it feels like a small eternity before the human boy can comprehend the turn of events. Upon his return to the Omatikaya clan Spider had assumed that most outside of a few humans from the lab outpost would remember him, let alone receive a courting gift from one of the clan’s finest Na’vi males. 

Is that what this is? A courting gift?

Although, Zhali had used all the proper words one would upon extending a courting gift and beaming at Spider’s acceptance, it’s still difficult to be one hundred percent certain that is what had occurred. The ogling he had done over the garment in front Zhali had been taken in with a smile bursting of pride that seared into Spider’s countenance. The blush that erupted over his tan skin wasn’t even comprehensible until the heat was enough to have him sweating underneath the glass of his mask. 

Looking back, Spiders knows that his gratitude had been little more a stumbling of thank you’s and rambled thoughts that hardly finished into full sentences. It didn’t seem to matter, however, as Zhali had left the pair with a stride that made him look as if he was walking on clouds. Truthfully, Spider often makes that comparison when watching the male prance along the forest with ease. He wouldn’t necessarily call it ogling….just keen observations that he can’t help but make. 

Neteyam had been almost entirely silent during the exchange and when Zhali had broken away, his only comment had been something about the smooth fabric being made of rare materials only present in the Hallelujah mountains. Spider had done nothing more than nod in response. Now, meeting up with Lo’ak once more, Neteyam jumps in to relay the scene to his younger brother. Lo’ak simply smirks and shoots Spider a wink. 

It punches through his blood and once again Spider finds sweat gathering at the edges of his mask. He knows his friend better than he would like to at times, so he knows that looks like that always come with a reason from Lo’ak. He seems neither surprised nor reluctant to let that signature smirk show. 

Perhaps it isn’t in his head after all. 

A courting gift for him. 

Made specifically for him. 

It’s disheartening when Spider realizes that he never expected to receive one of these. 

He makes an excuse about needing rest in order to get away from the Sully brothers as soon as possible. Once back inside the common area of the outpost, he flings the sweat mask off of his face and to the side carelessly. 

“Spider.” Norm sighs from his work station. No words are needed to show that he does not approve of the boy’s disregard of the equipment. 

“Busy.” Spider rushes out before practically sprinting to his room. That is if it can be called a room. It’s a corner of the outpost that Spider had managed to claim for himself with old drapes hung up messily for privacy and a hammock strung up that he had made himself. His greatest and most rare possession however was a floor length mirror. Spider had gone through Hell and back in order to get it here. And by Hell, he meant literal Hell’s Gate where the RDA had left their fancy gear behind the first time. 

He rushes to throw the bag of fruit to the side and shuffles himself over onto the bed. The soft cloth is unfolded as if he is about to handle the rarest of Pandora’s diamonds and to Spider it might as well be.  Perhaps even more valuable considering the rarity. 

The fabric slipped along his fingers like the sway of a rushing river, a smooth effortless motion. His own grimy hands caked with dirt and a hint of blood from rough housing with Neteyam look horrifying next to the carefully crafted garment. In fact, it’s enough to have Spider setting the piece to the side and rushing to the bathroom so he can wash his hands. It would be a shame to ruin the loincloth so quickly simply because of his bad hygiene. 

Stomping past Norm and the other lounging scientists he tries to ignore him. 

“Kid, what have I told you about leaving your mask on the ground?” Norm huffs but Spider is already closing the door to the cramped bathroom.

He may have been a teenager when he was captured by the RDA but now has come into full adulthood. Something Norm seems to have a hard time understanding. Spider doesn’t care how much water he hogs in order to get every speck of dirt and grime from his hands. He only leaves the cramped bathroom when his skin is scrubbed raw and red. 

Leaning back against the woven hammock he allows himself the proper time to just admire the details of his new gift. It’s a beautiful emerald green with precise stitching that works to outline patterns of leaves and greenery. Under the harsh light of the outpost bulbs, the boy admires the way the thread glimmers with the shift of light. He thanks Eywa that it has a back panel. It may be something he is used to seeing with Na’vi but Spider can not imagine having his own ass hanging out of his loincloth, especially without a tail for it to wrap around. 

Once he finally wrangles up the courage to try on the loincloth he is amazed to see how perfectly it fits. The fabric is like silk against his rough skin. Or at least what he remembers silk to feel like from that one time another scientist let him touch her silk pillowcase. The band is woven of various colored threads and twine that come together to create criss cross patterns. His fingers brush them softly in a silent reverence. 

Spider looks at the mirror and allows himself to drink in the sight. Most days, the boy uses the mirror to simply swat at his dreadlock hair or repaint the blue stripes on his skin, but never can he remember a time that he uses it to admire himself. To look at his appearance head on and feel something more than indifference or longing to be a version of himself that is blue and a few feet taller. 

Being a human is something that Spider has learned to make peace with, but that doesn’t mean he particularly likes the look of himself. The blue stripes help slightly to cover the extra squish of his body that is normally nonexistent across Na’vi stomachs. With the beautiful garment now fitted perfectly to his hips, Spider notices for the first time how good a color besides blue looks on him. 

The heap of leather that is his usual loincloth seems like nothing more than a discarded washcloth now. Jake had been the one to show him how to weather the material and fashion it into clothing but from there the job had been his own to update the garment in stride with his growth spurts. 

The loincloth is so  clean and pristine in comparison to the rest of Spider’s appearance that for a moment he considers putting it away for safekeeping. What would happen if he tore a hole in it or got dirt rubbed into the careful stitching? It’s too beautiful to take the risk. 

However, when his fingers start to undo the carefully tied knots at the sides, he catches another glance of himself in the mirror and he hesitates. It looks so much better than before. He looks so much better than before. Maybe it has nothing to do with the loincloth’s quality at all. Perhaps it’s the careful thought and effort put into such an extraordinary gift. A thought for him. Just him and only him. 

One simple reminder that someone thinks he is worthy of nice things. 

Spider allows himself the privilege of wearing this reminder throughout the day. 

Zhali does not have many opportunities to spend time with Spider, especially without the company of others. Most nights he only gets to share a few sentence exchanges with the boy before either him or Spider is pulled away by their responsibilities or nagging friends. It doesn’t kill his spirits, however, not when he notices how beautiful the tawtute looks wearing his courting gift. Pride swells to the size of a balloon in his chest upon seeing how perfect the fit is. This feeling only inflates to new bounds when he sees Spider wear the garment every day without fail. 

Having been entrusted with leading one of the hunting parties on a daily basis, Zhali finds himself daydreaming about the male between patrols and petting down the direhorse. The other Na’vi in the crew do not fail to notice his shift in demeanor. Although some of them spread rumors that it has to do with Zhali’s unbridled affection for a certain golden haired tawtute, no one goes out of their way too complain. Controversial or not, Zhali is more forgiving of their mistakes when he is in high spirits. It matters not that it comes from a small Sky Demon. 

Lo’ak continues to assist Zhali in preparing another gift for Spider. This time they settle on weaving together a simple but stunning armband. Surprisingly this requires more experience and skill than the loincloth but he has never been one to back away from the struggle that comes from picking up a new trade. Zhali’s fingers work tirelessly as Lo’ak chatters on about the Metkayina clan and what adventures he missed. 

Later that night Zhali listens to the encroaching thunder that rumbles in the distance. Even his direhorse hesitates in his stride but he urges him forward. There is less than an hour left of his patrol and then he will return to his carefully crafted hut to get some much needed rest. However, now the sound of thunder and lightning is becoming more pressing and the male becomes less and less sure of how soon that sleep will come. 

It comes as no surprise when the first drops of rain quickly picks up into a full downpour. Lo’ak grumbles next to him, but Zhali ignores the other male’s mumbled curses and directs them to split up so more ground can be covered. They might as well check up on the family huts and make sure everyone has the sufficient coverings and supplies needed for the storm.  

It’s when he’s wading through the heavy greenery and wiping water from his eyes that Zhali catches sight of something peculiar. He follows the movement of bushes slowly, urging the direhorse to tread carefully. With the blanket of falling rain it’s difficult to identify the small creature wading through the greenery. Judging by the amount of rustle it creates, Zhali concludes that the creature must be either injured or panicking in the storm. He urges the horse to prowl closer as the rain pelts against his back mercilessly. 

It becomes near impossible to see anything in the thick greenery but there is a series of snapping branches and he watches as the beast comes tumbling down the hill. It rolls and crashes along the greenery before finally hitting the bottom of a tree trunk with a grunt. Through the thick sheet of rain, Zhali finally catches a glimpse of golden hair flying in the wind.

Spider!

He’s off the direhorse within a heartbeat and racking through the thick leaves moments later. Spider is sprawled out on the muddy ground, limbs stretched in every direction. The boy blinks, seemingly trying to comprehend the turn of events. 

“Spider.” Unintentionally Zhali words come out as a hiss. The Na’vi searches over the boy’s body frantically to see if there are any fatal wounds. With limited light it’s difficult to fully see where the sources of blood are so he shifts to use his fingertips to feel for wounds. Spider simply groans and stares up at him through slitted eyes as Zhali weaves through his hair in search of a head injury. He prays to the Great Mother that he won’t find one. 

The Sky Demon’s small body is covered in mud and littered with a plethora of bruises and bleeding scrapes. Luckily, none of these injuries appear to be more serious than the deeper cut over his shoulder. It will require bandaging and a series of healing ointments to prevent infection. Zhali is already running through the list of healing procedures he plans to execute on the boy when Spider’s voice finally breaks him out of the trance. 

“Hey.” Spider speaks in a gravelly hushed tone. “I-I’m ok.” He goes to sit up but a large blue hand covering half of his chest, gently pushes him back down. “Sorry I just lost my grip….got a little disoriented but…yeah sorry.” 

“You’re bleeding.” Zhali says bluntly. 

Spider looks down to see a smear of red painting his shoulder. Zhali watches his reaction with perked ears and pointed tail on alert but Spider simply knits his brows together and shrugs. However, the small being is unable to hide the grimace that flashes across his features. It has become a real effort on Zhali’s part to learn the ways of reading human expression, especially ones covered by those ridiculous masks. It can be incredibly frustrating trying to read one’s reaction without a flickering tail or ears to give away the boy’s state. 

“Oh shit, yeah, I guess I am. It’s ok…the outpost has a first aid kit so…” 

It’s then Zhali’s turn to scrunch his features in confusion. 

A first aid kit? Is that another one of those Sky Demon inventions those scientists are so fond of? Once Zhali had snuck down with Lo’ak and Neteyam when they were teens to the outpost and he had caught sight of things beyond his wildest imagination…or rather wildest horrors. He had watched as giant trunk shaped contraption fold around a human before sucking him into the wall. Lo’ak and Neteyam had later explained that these were the devices used by the Avatars to dream walk. Zhali could never erase how similar it had looked to the coffins that Jake had once described, the constricting box made to bury dead bodies. 

Would they put Spider in there too? Or something else? Perhaps this first aid kit would be even worse. 

No. He would not be returning to the outpost for those horrors. Zhali is more than capable of patching up the injuries and giving Spider the care he truly deserves. 

“No need, come. I will take you home.” Zhali says while carefully helping the boy to finally sit up. Spider’s lips purse for a moment as if he is about to say something but he must have read that wrong because it disappears just as quickly as it came and the small tawtute remains silent. 

It is, however, when Zhali easily lifts the male into his arms that Spider strings together a nervous onslaught of objections. 

“Oh woah, hey it’s ok. I can walk. I-I’m not really that hurt-”

Lightning strikes across the night sky. Thunder is quick to follow and by the sounds of deep rumbling, Zhali is confident that the storm is only about to get worse. Spider squeaks when he is easily lifted onto the direhorse without response. The other male makes quick work of sliding in behind him and reconnecting tsaheylu before the direhorse becomes too freaked out by the tawtute’s presence. It’s almost second nature to slip his forearms securely around Spider’s waist, keeping him safely atop the creature. 

He can feel the boy shiver in his embrace, but it’s difficult to tell whether it is from his touch or the relentless onslaught of rain.

“Thanks.” Spider’s mumble barely rings audible over the storm’s fury. The small sound still manages to bring a smile to Zhali’s face as he nods back in recognition and they begin their journey back towards the village. 

Despite the fact that Spider is conscious and not nearly as injured as he could’ve been, he is anxious to get the human to the healer’s tent as soon as possible. This urgency only increases when he can physically feel the boy’s body shaking like a leaf in the wind. His arm tightens around the small male, hoping to let some of his own natural body heat transfer over to him. It’s disconcerting to see how easily a little tawtute can be affected by the elements. It  serves as another reminder of how fragile the pretty boy truly is. It’s easy to forget at times when Spider is swinging from branches like a monkey, but now all he can see in his mind’s eyes is the replay of his small body tumbling down the steep decline helplessly. 

It’s then that Zhalie remembers the cloak he has packed away by the saddle. He manages to wrap the thick fabric around both of them. It covers Spider completely and to the male’s delight he finds that the human curls up against his warm chest. He’s satisfied to find that this solution keeps the pelting rain from attacking Spider any further. 

Zhali is made for these types of elements but he can only imagine how Spider’s small fragile body could be reacting to such harsh conditions. He makes a mental note to learn more about human anatomy in the coming days. Perhaps Lo’ak could arrange some sort of meeting with one of the remaining medical Sky Demons at the outpost. He hates the smell of chemicals and sterilized metal there but it would be preferable to the real feeling of inadequacy he has now. 

To his horror Zhali finds that the pathway to Tshaik’s tents has already eroded into a rushing stream and the tent itself is completely abandoned. He checks in with the Olo’eyktan over the throat comm and comes to find that Mo’at has fled to higher ground with the injured and sick to wait out the storm. With Spider barely conscious in his curled up position against him, Zhali decides that the only logical course of action is to bring the boy back to his kelku for the night. 

No matter, there are sure to be enough supplies at his home to patch Spider up and take care of him before the condition gets worse. 

Or at least, that is what he mentally assures himself over and over again until they reach the trunk of his kelku. 

Zhali is forced to let Spider crawl up the trunk himself as the tawtute is less than willing to let himself be carried again. He considers overriding this decision but he figures it’s already lucky enough that the blonde hasn’t insisted on being dropped off at the outpost instead. He takes the tender mercy in stride and makes sure to be below the boy in case he manage to slip, constantly ready to catch him if needs be. 

Zhali is in full action mode as he goes about efficiently securing the waterproof drapes. Spider hangs back, awkwardly standing in the middle of the room. Once the task is finished he turns around to find the boy’s arms wrapped around himself, seemingly curling up in on himself as trembles still wrack his body. It is such stark contrast to the usual confident and sassy demeanor that Spider upholds. Whether it is from the cold or the slightly traumatic situation, Zhali vows to coax the boy into being at ease as soon as possible. 

“I-it’s nice.” Spider manages to mumble out before audibly clearing his throat. Those hazel eyes roam over the darkened room as Zhali makes quick work of building a small fire and setting a pot of water over to warm. His own eyes stray from the fire to recall what state his kelku has been left in. Luckily, he has always had a knack for organization and creating a cozy environment in his home. Still, there is no saying what a Sky Person considers to be cozy when it comes to decor. He prays to Eywa that Spider’s preferences are not aligned with that of the suffocating and hard steel in the human outpost. 

“Thank you.” 

Spider tries to hide the wince that graces his features when he rolls his shoulder, but even in the dim glow of a fire, Zhali can clearly see the distress.

“Come. You are bleeding.” He motions Spider forward and luckily the boy does not protest.

Spider does, however, hesitate as those hazel eyes scan over the empty span thoughtfully. Zhali starts to think something is wrong but then it dawns on him. The boy’s body is speckled with mud and blood. Spider seems all too aware of this as he carefully squats over the clean woven floor. 

Of course this must be just Spider’s way of trying to be a polite guest while in his home, but it frustrates Zhali more than he expects. The beautiful human squats over the woven material as if he is unworthy to touch it. This behavior extends to all aspects of their encounter in the space as Spider is more than cautious to let himself enjoy any of the comforting ambience that Zhali has created in the space. He creeps into the area like an intruder, waiting to be shooed away. 

And it breaks Zhali’s heart. It shatters him to pieces to think that Spider would ever act in such a way when his presence alone is something to be celebrated. It’s borderline disappointing to think that Zhali has spent all this time over the past few weeks slowly preparing his kelku to become a welcoming place that Spider would be enticed to call his own someday, just for the boy to shy away from associating with it. 

“Sit.” Zhali puts a little more intensity behind the words than intended. He mentally curses at himself when Spider flinches in response but the human is already setting himself down gently. 

“The bleeding isn’t that bad.” Spider claims, but how would he know when the injury stretches across his right shoulder blade? 

Zhali goes to see for himself, reaching his enormously large hands towards the small creature, but then he pauses. 

“May I check?”

He idly notices that Spider’s breathing is no longer fogging up the glass of his mask? Has he stopped breathing? Was there something wrong with it? Oh Eywa, how does one fix that little thing if there is?

“Yeah.” 

The response is more of a puff of air than real words. Zhali allows himself to breathe now. 

Settling behind Spider feels natural and oddly comforting. He enjoys the way his body is haunched over the small blonde, as if he could create a Na’vi shield over the boy if any danger were to arise. The idea strokes his male pride for a moment until he remembers that he failed to shield Spider earlier. When…when he…

“How did this happen?”

“Well it was….you see….” Spider struggles before finally sagging with a sigh. “I fell.” Defeat is apparent in his tone. 

Zhali can not decide if he finds this explanation better or worse than the images he had conjured up. The thought of thanator claws scraping at the small being was terrifying, but then again, is it not more concerning to see that a simple fall is all it takes to injure him? This beautiful tawtute truly is so fragile. A simple misstep is all it would take to put him in danger. 

Spider appears to be thinking the same thing, but if the red cheeks and deep frown are anything to go by, it’s embarrassment rather than fear that rises to the surface. 

“Tawtute, this cut is deep. From how high did you tumble?” He tries his best to clean the cut with the rag as gently as possible, monitoring every flinch and shudder that ripples through Spider. 

“My bow got stuck up in the canopy. Thought I could get it down.” 

“It is still there?”

Spider nods.

“We will get it in the morning.” Zhali concludes smoothly as he dips the soft cloth back into the now warmed water. He checks it against his own skin first. The male may not know much about human anatomy but it’s clear that their response to the elements is more dramatic than his own. He would hate to accidentally expose the boy to any more harsh temperatures for the night. Once it is sufficiently clear that the rag is at a soothingly warm degree, he begins to glide it over Spider’s back. 

“Thanks I uh…I was kind of clumsy I guess. You don’t have to come with me in the morning though, I’m sure I can manage a bit better this time.” Spider rambles.

“I will not if you wish not for my company.” 

“No no, it’s not that.” Zhali peeks around the boy’s shoulder easily, braids swinging down as he openly observes the male’s expression. Spider’s turn a brighter shade of pink. Zhali finds he quite likes that shade. “Of course I would love for you to come. I just uh don’t want to make you go out of your way for me.” 

“You are never out of the way, Spider.” He sighs, tail curling in irritation. He shouldn’t need to make that clear, especially after efforts he has started towards his courtship. “You are the way.” 

He surveys the boy’s expression, but without twitching ears and a moving tail to give him away, it feels impossible to sense the shift in emotion there. He slowly retreats, not wanting to scare him off any more with the staring, but he lingers just long enough to see Spider catch his bottom lip between those blunt teeth. It’s a cute habit that Zhali has noticed from him, but one that he is still trying to understand fully. 

It’s obvious what his own response to the action is as his tewng grows uncomfortable, but that does little to help him decode Spider. Not to mention it makes him feel like an untrained teenager all over again, drooling at just about anything. 

“Spider.” 

He feels the boy straighten underneath his hands.

“Yeah?”

“What is your favorite color?” 

“What?”

Zhali is pleased to find that the area around the wound is finally clean and ready for bandaging. 

“Color. What is your favorite color?” He repeats. Spider only flinches slightly as he begins to lay the leaves covered in ointment over the small wound. He has to rip them into small pieces a few times so they don’t cover the whole expanse of Spider’s back. Doing so, however, draws his attention to the rest of the boy’s muddied and artificially stripped skin. Long fingers itch to reach for the warm rag again. 

“I um…I don’t know. Never really thought about it before.” 

Zhali’s eyebrows knit together. He is soon regretting his decision to sit behind the tawtute where he can’t even depend on the minor fluctuations of his small facial expressions for context. His tail thumps against the woven floor incidentally, but at least Spider can’t see that. When the urge becomes too strong, Zhali hesitantly starts running the warm cloth over the rest of Spider’s back.

“What do you say when people ask?” He takes Spider’s lack of flinching as a token of permission, scrubbing the dirt away from his tan skin with the gentlest touch he can muster. It’s interesting to see the way his skin turns a light pink after only a few strokes of the warm rag. It appears that Sky People’s skin is extremely sensitive and expressive to every substance it comes in contact with. He is pleased however to see that Spider’s muscles have begun to relax underneath each stroke and the shaking of his body has puttered out to a small vibration. 

“Well I don’t think anyone has ever asked me before to be honest.” Spider tries to slip in a small laugh but it’s strained. Those tiny four fingered hands come to gather his dreads and push them to the side before fondling them absently. 

Of course he knows that Lo’ak didn’t know the boy’s favorite color but for no one to ask? Never? By Eywa, what do the strange scientists at the lab that supposedly raised this male talk to him about? The negligence is infuriating and yet Zhali knows he shouldn’t be surprised. From the interactions he has seen between them, Norm acts more like a close friend than anything resembling a parental figure.

Spider pauses, head tilted as he ponders the question.

“I suppose red is not a bad one. Like the red from sunsets.”

Zhali’s lips turn down.

“Not green.” Disappointment lays heavy in his stomach, He should’ve known better than to trust Lo’ak as his source of information. 

“Green? Oh you mean cause of the loincloth. It doesn’t really-” Spider cuts himself off, turning silent as he looks down. 

Zhali’s ear perk forehead, wondering if he has somehow missed the end of that sentence. 

“Shit.” Spider whispers to himself. 

Peering over the boy’s golden dreads, Zhali finally finds the source of Spider’s silence. A jagged rip through the side of the loincloth. 

“Fuck I- Damnit, I didn’t realize and now….” Spider hunches forward inspecting it frantically.  “I’ve ruined it. All for my stupid fucking bow.” He grits out. “You worked so hard on it and I-”Spider gulps, voice heavy with emotion. 

“I will make another one.” 

“No no, you shouldn’t have to…..I-I’m sorry.” 

Zhali catches sight of glimmering tears welding over the boy’s eyes, ones that he refuses to shed. His heartbeat picks up more erratically when Spider allows his dreads to form a curtain over his face. 

“Spider, it is fine. I will make a new one. This time red.” As it should have been from the beginning. This would be his chance to redeem himself and give Spider the courting gift he truly deserved. Hesitantly he reaches out to sweep that golden hair away but Spider reels back. 

“Another one? N-no I cant ask that. It’s my fault I ruined it…it was…”

“The wrong color. I understand, tawtute.”

“No no no it….it was fucking perfect.” Spider sniffles and more than anything Zhali wishes he could see the boy properly, get that damn mask out of the way so he could wipe away the tears. “The nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.” It’s whispered so soft and reverant that the Na’vi almost questions whether or not he heard it properly. 

It would be easier not to believe it.

Easier to believe that there were greater gestures the boy has received over the years than some simple pieces of clothing. 

Zhali shifts  forward, boldly sweeping the hair away so he can clearly see Spider’s sparkling eyes. 

“You deserve so much more than this.” He can see the boy’s lungs still with air. “So much more than a courting gift in the wrong color. More than a simple garment that pales in comparison to your beauty.” Spider’s blunt teeth naw at those soft pink lips. “More than jewels and bracelets. More than all the beauties of Pandora combined.” 

It’s as if the boy is frozen in time, air no longer passing through those lips. It’s borderline impossible to understand if this is a good or bad sign, but the truth is bursting from the seams, no longer willing to be kept prisoner. 

“You deserve a mate that will care for you. One that truly sees you.” Zhali catches a golden strand, tucking it behind Spider’s ear. Oh how he wishes to bury his face in that hair, to fully let the beautiful tawtute’s scent to sink in. 

His stomach twists into a bundle of knots but the words come regardless. 

“I see you, Spider.” 

Silence stretches between them but Spider’s eyes remain trained on him, pupils blown wide and breath stilled. A new form of anxiety settles itself as the seconds pass without a clear breath coming from him. 

“You do not have to say anything. I have only begun courting you after all. I simply thought you should kno-” 

Spiders cuts him off with a shake of his head, breath finally exhaled. Nothing, however, matches the horror Zhali feels as the boy reaches to lift his mask. 

“No Spider-” He catches his wrist.

“It’s ok.” Spider gently pries the hand from his wrist before taking a deep breath in. 

The mask is carefully slipped from his face but Spider gives him a reassuring smile when he spots the concern written over Zhali’s face. And then, the space between them decreases slowly, the boy’s face inching closer to his own until their noses brush. Those big doe eyes flicker between his own heated gaze and lips.

The first point of contact is hesitant and slow, but there is a certain tenderness to that gentle swipe of lips. Spider’s lips are so much smaller than his own, but ever so soft. So many moments have led to this one but his heart continues to race, ever so worried about hurting the small tawtute. 

It is Spider, however, that pushes it forward, small tongue swiping at his bottom lip. Zhali allows him. He gives the boy of his dreams access, gives him the world because there is nothing else he can manage to do, not when his wildest fantasies are coming true. Leisurely they each explore one another and melt into the kiss. 

He cups Spider face tenderly, hands easily covering each side of his head. He even allows his fingers to softly explore through the sunshine mane. Spider’s hands are more cautious, but every area they trace over has Zhali’s tail swinging back and forth exuberantly. 

In some ways this kiss is nothing in comparison to the other sexual rendezvous Zhali has experienced and yet it feels more intimate. Like finally having access to a beautiful masterpiece kept behind glass for so long. Finally getting to cherish Spider’s beautiful face instead of observing from a distance. 

At the first jerk of Spider’s chest, Zhali sternly repositions the mask over his face. His emotions swirl from pure elation to trepidation as he waits to hear that first breath. 

Spider lets out a small gasp for air, cheeks tinting as his chest expands and caves rapidly. Hands on the boy’s thighs, Zhali leans forward, eyes darting across the mysterious mask to make sure it is working properly. 

“Can you breathe?” He reaches forward to mess with the contraption, not that he has any idea how but he can’t help himself. 

“Yeah yeah…I can.” Spider lets out an airy laugh. “Well, mostly.” 

Zhali’s frown deepens urgency increasing but then he notices that dazed smile over the boy’s face. The giddy look in his eyes as that beautiful blush paints his cheeks once more. 

“It’s ok It’s ok.” Spider laughs, small hands prying Zhalil’s own off the mask. “I’m alright. Just a little overwhelmed.” 

“You promise, sevin?” Zhali sweetly pushes a few dreads away from Spider’s face, eyes studying him intently. 

Once again Zhali watches in awe as that tan skin quickly shifts to a darker shade of red, even traveling over Spider’s collarbones and chest. He follows that blossom of color downwards, eyes caught on the boy’s small nipples now perked in the cool air. He doesn’t try to hide the ogling, not now that the truth is out. 

“Y-yes.” Spider stutters.

“Good.” He breathes out, but his hands are already gliding over the soft skin of Spider’s sides. He takes in every reaction like a gift. The way the tawtute shivers when his ribcage is brushed, the way that blush only intensifies with Zhali’s darkening gaze, the way his nipples pebble under his long fingers as if they are aching to be touched. 

For so long Spider has been forbidden fruit. For even longer Zhali has dreamed of how this beautiful creature would feel in his hands, the sounds he could draw from him. Sitting here feels like a dream, one beyond his wildest imagination when a small groan escapes Spider. 

One hand dares to grip the boy’s left hip while the other swirls over one hardening nipple. Without a tail or ears it can be hard to read Spider but even Zhali can recognize the restraint his beautiful tawtute exhibits as his hips twitch and chest heaves. 

Spider’s eyes stray away from the intimate points of contact when Zhali leans forward to rest his temple against his. Breath fogs up the glass. 

“Spider”

“Yes?” He whispers. 

“Let me take care of you.” 

Spider’s thick lashes flutter rapidly as he visibly gulps. 

“But I….w-why?” He stutters, as if unable to process the concept. 

“Because you deserve it, sevin.” He squeezes his hip gently as Spider stares at him with big hazel eyes. A color that he could easily get lost in. Ones that goes greatly with Spider’s now swollen pink lips. 

He has never been so desperate to please such a beautiful being. 

“Let me make you feel good, yawne.” Spider’s eyes flutter closed when the Na’vi rakes his longer fingers through his hair. “Please, yawntutsyip.” 

Spider melts in the touch, letting the Na’vi cradle the back of his head. 

“Let me show you how I’d take care of you if you’d be mine.” His softly scratches along his scalp, delighting in the way Spider’s small form goes slack. 

A new spice intertwines with Spider’s scent, filling Zhali’s lungs until it has become his own personal drug. 

“Sevin?”

“Y-yes yes, ok yeah I-I…yes.” Spider exhales, words tumbling together. 

Zhali grins.

Spider is sure he’s hallucinating. So sure that somewhere in that fall he hit his head a little too hard and now suffers from delusions. It’s the only explanation he has to explain how this god of a Na’vi has decided to please him. The only way he can comprehend not only being allowed in his kelku but furthermore have those sharp teeth tracing over his abs. 

Looking down at the male who kisses and nips at his body like it’s art made just for him, Spider is content to let this hallucination continue. He will spend the rest of his life in this dream if it means staying cradled in his arms, if it means feeling that hot tongue explore his body intimately. 

True intimacy can be hard to come by for Spider.

Kiri tries and Jake will occasionally ruffle his hair but it does little to satiate what he really needs. Now, however, seems to be the worst time to realize how touch starved he is. It’s embarrassing how difficult it is to keep himself from squirming or God forbid even bucking up into every touch and kiss. 

It’s worse than being a teenager in his hammock trying to get himself off. At least then he was in the privacy of his own company but Zhali’s touch is like lightning in comparison to his own. His hands are so much larger that when the Na’vi goes to cup his head or slink down his chest, it covers the expanse easily. 

It’s when Zhali pushes him down with a hand to his chest that Spider realizes he might be into their size difference more than he anticipated. 

Neck craning to watch Zhali litter kisses along his lower abdomen, he burns in mortification when he spots his own boner through the green loincloth. He wants to believe that Zhali has not noticed this before but even he knows that Na’vi have greatly enhanced senses. 

Fuck, he most likely already can smell his arousal, let alone see it. 

His blunt teeth sink into his bottom lip harder as he holds back the jumble of moans that threaten to break loose. 

It’s pathetic. 

Already in adulthood and yet all it takes for him to rut like a hormonal teenager are a few well placed kisses and bites. 

Open mouthed kisses are meticulously placed along his v line until he has reached his right hip. Something sharp draws along his skin and Spider sees the  Na’vi’s teeth bared. Their eyes connect for a moment and it appears to be all the confirmation that Zhali requires before he takes the plush flesh into his mouth and sucks hard. 

A shocked cry falls from Spider’s lips as his back arches. 

Pain and pleasure dance together in symphony when those impressive teeth come into play. What has his legs shaking, however, is the knowledge that it will leave a mark. Even humans know what such a display means.

A marking to show he is being courted.

A marking to show that he is wanted and desired by a male prospect. 

“Am I hurting you, sevin?”

It takes a moment for the words to register.

“Wh- oh no no. You’re not.” 

“Hm, good.” Looking up through his lashes Zhali keeps their gazes pinned as he lays a tender kiss over the new mark. Those lips skate over his skin until reaching the intricate ties of his loincloth. 

Hands holding the male’s thighs apart, Zhali carefully secures a tie between his teeth and begins to pull. Watching that knot unravel feels like the longest seconds of Spider’s life. He isn’t sure if he needs it to speed up or slow down because his brain can hardly process what is to come. 

It isn’t his first time being bare before a Na’vi. Admittedly, other Na’vi, even among the Metkayina have had their curiosity sparked by Spider. Some shuffled him away with a rushed exploration and desperate touching that became all the sex life Spider had ever known. However, those had only left him unsatisfied and lonely again at the end of the night. 

This is different, however. 

Zhali, although curious, doesn’t explore him for his own pleasure but rather Spider’s.

He takes in every new discovery and change like a masterpiece meant to be worshiped. He watches for the slightest flinch to signal a change and the smallest twitches of pleasure to indicate what spikes the boy’s pleasure. 

And when the silky loincloth falls away, the same one that Zhali had spent weeks carefully crafting especially for him, he doesn’t rush to grip or stroke. His heated gaze is the first thing to caress him, and then his voice.

“So magnificent, my tawtute.”

Spider can already feel himself trembling. This new emotion bubbling forward does not make it easier to gather restraint, to stop himself from appearing like a desperate lonely fool in front of this gorgeous man. 

Zhali kisses right next to the base and Spider forces himself to look away. 

This gentle worship does things to him that he could never have imagined and therefore could never have prepared for. He can’t watch this any longer without losing the reins. 

He can feel himself twitch as soft kisses are placed one by one around the base until every inch has been covered. Toes curling, Spider attempts to slow down his heartbeat. 

“Spider”

“Huh?”

He peaks to find Zhali looking up at him, large golden orbs taking in every flinch in his expression. 

“I am not hurting you?” He checks again.

“No no, of course not.” Spider chokes out, ears growing hot at the tremor in his voice. 

“Hm, I see.” He hums before his fingertips start drawing soft patterns over his hips. “You are tense, sevin.” 

His stomach flips.

“Fuck, yeah I know, I-I’m sorry. I understand if-”

Zhali hushes him sweetly, crawling forward to cup his face once more. 

“Spider,” His name from Zhali’s lips sounds like a song. “Do you want this?”

He doesn’t enjoy how fast he is nodding his head.

“Yes. I do, shit yeah I do. I’ll keep it together, I'm sorry.”

Zhali is shaking his head before he can even finish the sentence. 

“Sevin, do not apologize.” Zhali’s slim tail wraps itself around his calf and Spider has to hide the tremor along his lips. “I only need one thing from you.”

Spider gulps, leaning forward and ready to take the criticism. 

“I need you to relax.”

Spider flushes, fighting back the urge to gulp down the knot in his throat. 

“Yeah o-okay.”

Zhali is less than convinced but a warm smile crosses his lips. His fingers intertwine with the boy’s hair once more before he is raking them through those golden locks. The reaction is immediate, pleasurable shivers dissipating through Spider’s body. 

Never before had he realized how sensitive he is to this gesture but now with those gentle movements massaging his scalp, Spider feels like he could melt into molten gold. Zhali runs his face along the curve of his neck, marking him with his scent. 

The hand in his hair is used to tilt Spider’s head back and give him better access. A breath wooshes from the boy’s lungs. 

“Just focus on what you feel, sevin.” 

Soft lips lay a kiss behind his ear. 

“What feels good,” Zhali continues. 

Another kiss, this time to his pulse point. 

“What feels different.” 

Zhali’s textured tongue drags along his skin languidly. Spider hardly registers his own groan as he lets his weight fall into the Na’vi embrace. 

“What you want more of.” 

When the male begins sucking a hickey into the side of his neck, Spider can no longer keep a cap on his noises. A string of whines and moans fall from his lips as he finds rest in the moment. Eyes closed and mouth agape, he forgets where he is.

He forgets who he is. 

He forgets who he is not.

And Spider lets each exhilarating sensation guide his decisions. 

“Good boy.” Zhali whispers warmly against his pulse, licking over the mark to soothe. 

His hands firmly run down Spider’s sides, squeezing it greedily until his presence can not be forgotten. Taking control of every curve and line, Zhali plays him like an instrument. Spider lays back against the matt, golden hair creating a crown around him. Hazel eyes dilate before fluttering closed when soft kisses are left along his inner thighs. 

Sounds erupt from him that Spider doesn’t recognize when Zhali’s tongue begins exploring his length. His body buzzes with a new energy, nerves a lit with every swoop and swirl of that talented tongue. 

And even though his hips twitch in silent request for more, Spiders swears that he could live in the moment forever. 

“Such beautiful sounds, oeyä tawtute.” 

The compliment floods his cheeks and tugs at his chest. There is no longer room for self doubt as praises fall freely between the beautiful exploration of Zhali’s mouth. Every concern is hushed before it can fully bloom. 

“You taste so good, sevin. Don’t know how I went without you for so long.”

And then warmth encases his member in a rush. Zhali sucks his cock with such enthusiasm and vigor that it becomes difficult to see which partner enjoys themselves more. 

But it’s him.

Spider is sure it is him. 

He knows that there is no other Na’vi or human out there that feels the things he is feeling, that reaches such heights of ecstasy and passion in one night. He can’t fathom anyone else knowing the warmth, pleasure, and relief that washes over him. 

Nose to the boy’s navel, Zhali swirls his tongue around the boy’s base, easily able to take all of Spider within the warm cavern of his mouth. Spider’s hands shoot down and grab the Na’vi’s tied hair without thought. His fingers grip and tug at the neat bun until strands start to fall loose. 

“Oh fuck!” He shouts, blunts nails digging into his scalp. 

Zhali pulls back until his lips are sealed around only the bulbous tip. The point of his tongue runs over the slit brashly and Spider yanks on his hair. The action is rewarded with a carnal moan, the vibrations rocketing through the boy. 

Zhali likes to watch. Spider can feel those eyes trained on him without reprieve, no matter which way he squirms and bucks. At some point he feels strong hands pin his hips to the ground, forcing him to take the pleasure in its entirety. 

Spider isn’t used to the attention.

He isn’t used to the way Zhali mentally tracks his reactions and the actions associated with them. 

He isn’t used to the honey eyes drinking in the sight of him. 

But most of all, he isn’t used to being the center of attention.

It breaks him into a thousand pieces. 

His climax crashes so hard into him that his small hands search for something to ground him. They circle around Zhali’s kuru tugging as he spills into the male’s mouth. 

The sound that erupts from Zhali is unlike anything Spider has ever heard from him. So far from the polite, organized and formal male that he has known. It rings forth with a raspy texture and a deep serenade that sets his world on fire. 

Not a drop is wasted and Zhali doesn’t release his twitching length until Spider is pushing back his head. 

He falls limp against the mat, bowl pupils staring up at the world in a daze. He can briefly sense the careful precision Zhali takes to kiss every mark before running a warm cloth over him but it’s background noise to the symphony playing in his head. 

“Thank you, sevin.” 

That deep voice now with a raspy tint weaves into his consciousness as Spider revels in the tingling aftershock running through his body. He can only manage a lazy smile when Zhali comes up to check on him. 

“Just give me….give one minute and then I….I can help.” He manages to get out between pants. Zhali’s brows furrow until he sees the boy eyeing his tented loincloth. 

“You have done more than help today, tawtute. Given me more than I could have asked for.” And he grins so sincerely that Spider can’t fathom how the male could feel this way. In every sexual interaction he has had, there was always a return of the favor, that is assuming Spider finished in the first place. But Zhali looks at him like he hung the moon, eyes glimmering in delight as he wipes him down with a warm cloth.

“You…you don’t want me to touch you?” 

Zhali traces idle lines over Spider abs happily. 

“Of course I do, but how would that serve the proper purpose? I am courting you.” Zhali stands and begins preparing the hammock for them. He arranges extra pillows and blankets that Spider has never seen other Na’vi have before. In fact, there is a great deal of influence from Sky People culture present in the male’s kelku. Things that only a human would find necessary. 

Before he can protest, Spider is carried carefully to the hammock and laid across the Na’vi chest. He tucks a blanket around the boy’s hips, making sure it isn’t too tight but still brings the wet tawtute some warmth. 

“Although, I admit. This is out of order. It was supposed to be step twelve but do not worry. I will make sure not to skip over any. Fourteen steps to go.” He nods firmly, lips perking upwards.  

Spider’s brain sputters, head still fuzzy from the best orgasm of his life. Tonight feels like a dream, an absolute horny amazing romantic dream that his subconscious has whipped up. He can barely process the night’s turn of events, let alone this handsome male wanting to go through an extensive courting process all for him. 

“Fourteen? You….but…that is so much.” 

Zhali’s hairless brows furrow. 

“It’s hardly enough, sevin. It’s important that you have enough proof of my ability to provide, protect, and love before you make your choice. So you can weigh your options.” 

As if he has other options.

Who would surpass this?

Who has ever even tried?

Zhali continues to run his fingers through the human’s hair as he sighs happily, watching as Spider shifts closer. 

“I do not expect an answer now, sevin. But hopefully tonight is a start to convincing you.”

Rain pelting down on the kelku and wrapped in this amazing man’s arms, Spider’s eyes fill with tears again. 

To call it convincing would be an understatement. 

Thanks for reading. As always, I truly appreciate hearing your thoughts. It motivates me to write and update more. Love you all<3

Taglist: @tallulah477 @eywaite @itchaboi-itchyboy @perfectprofessorloverapricot @xylianasblog @neteyamssyulang

[plum-writes]

Black Noir x Piano!Player!Reader

Summary: Black Noir is known for having a knack of taking over the piano when anyone from your agency is sent to play for Vought. You’ve been warned of this, and although you have played for Vought before, you’ve never come across the mysterious hero. Something you are very grateful for. But your luck can only last for so long.

A/n: this baby doesn’t get enough love so I had to write something xx

Your fingers were on autopilot as they played the music for the prestigious party. Your ears mindlessly listened to the gossip and conversations around you as you played. The music was rather somber, the conversations consisting of information you’d rather not ever know, and no one was really paying attention otherwise to the notes you played. No one ever did, really.

The music at these Vought parties served as a filler. It was there to ward off any awkward moments, and fill a light vibe in the air between the many governing officials that more or less put up fake appearances when interacting with each other. It was just background noise to the dull, materialistic atmosphere that surrounded the party. You had done this same routine every time you were scheduled to play for Vought, and almost every time things went the same.

You got hired to play at a party by Vought for 5 hours, sitting all night long at the piano, and had a 30 minute break in between your hours. The same routine you followed whenever you were booked by Vought. No one came to check up on you throughout the party, or really make sure you were playing the music, and you were in charge of making sure you didn’t skip your break.

So it wouldn’t hurt to kick things up a bit now, would it? Not like anyone would notice, or more likely care, would they?

Your fingers fluidly transferred the slow melody into an upbeat one, your hands now dancing over the keys instead of gliding over them, a jubilant tune washing over the party. You let a little smile break your professional exterior, and your rod straight posture used when playing, relaxed slightly. As expected, no one turned around at the change of the music, too invested in their conversations to notice or care. And a little selfishly, you preferred it this way.

You played on and on, taking this opportunity to practice some music you had been rehearsing on your downtime, those moments being the only times where you spared a glance towards Madelyn Stilwell and the other Vought officials, seeing if they noticed you weren’t playing the pieces of music they requested of you. Of course, they didn’t even so much as twitch their heads in your direction, and your posture relaxed some more, this comfort allowing you to play the unapproved music for longer than what was allowed. But no harm, no foul right? No one noticed you going off script, so why not take advantage. If only you knew about the hidden eyes that were watching you from the shadows.

After about an hour of passing the time indulging yourself, you fell into the light flow of music again and went back to the scheduled sheets of music. You huffed slightly, a little disappointed at having to quit the lively tunes, but keeping the self satisfied little smile plastered on your face as you played on. After all, you couldn’t deny how good it felt to play something else other than the same 12 melodies.

So yet again, you fell into the muscle memory of the notes, eyes glazing over in the disassociation that came with doing a repetitive action, mindlessly humming the notes lowly to yourself. So blissfully oblivious and unassuming of your surroundings at the time. So when looking back at this moment in the future, you would want to slap yourself for not noticing the approaching figure that had snuck up next to you. Because you really should’ve with how many times you had been warned.

You quickly choked on your hum when you felt the weight of someone else sit down next to you on the bench, and your ghost of a smile immediately vanished when you spotted the black combat boots placed closely to your own black professional shoes.

You knew exactly who it was.

How couldn’t you?

He was somewhat infamous to you piano players who were always scheduled for Vought. The many tales of Black Noir’s taking over the piano when someone was playing for the party was one too many. Thomas, a man who played for Vought more than you, warned you many times about Black Noir’s tendencies.

“Aye, he has a knack for sitting down next to you, and just waiting for you to leave.”

You swallowed to yourself now, hating how you were in the same position right this second, your body quickly feeling a buzz that urged you to run. The only thing stopping you was the memory of the next words Thomas had told you.

“Don’t fight him on the piano if it ever happens to you, lass.” His face was uncharacteristically serious, dulled down with a grim expression, his Scottish accent losing the playful hitch it always had. It scared you a bit, quite honestly, never having seen Thomas act this way.

You had tilted your head at Thomas then, looking down, and thinking about it at the time. Of course, you would never fight Noir on the piano if he had ever done what he had done to every other piano player that played for Vought. You were so scared of the advantage supes had on you that you equated fighting any average C-List supe to fighting Homelander. But the way Thomas talked about it, holding a more serious tone rather than a bitter one of having to give away their working time just cause a supe demanded gave you a more chilling feeling than anything about them.And when Thomas had continued, it just solidified your thoughts.

“It doesn’t matter if he butts in just two hours after you started playing, and you don’t get paid for the rest of the night- It’s better not to cause any problems at Vought, lassie.”

God, did you ever agree with Thomas right now more than you ever have before.

You were tense, so tense next to Back Noir, playing with a rigid frame, and resolutely keeping your eyes on the sheet of music in front of you even though you didn’t even need to read it. Your heart was beating fast and you wondered minutely if he could hear it before scratching that thought out of your brain, and finishing the rest of the notes of the melody. The keys faded out, the music slowly dying, and you rested your hands on the keys for a few more moments after the song ended before raising them up. There was another beat of silence as you sat impeccably still, and his eyes burned the side of your face.

You turned towards him with a stiff neck, heart jumping at seeing him already looking at you. It made your hands tremble, and you clenched yours fists tight as you forced the words out of your mouth as you gestured to the piano with a small flick of your eyes. “I- it’s all yours, sir.”

You got up, trying not to make it obvious that you were in a haste to leave and at the same time trying to get the fuck away from him as fast as possible, but a gloved hand gripping your wrist had you paralyzed again.

Your breath stopped. Why? You screamed to yourself. This never happened to anyone else, Black Noir always let them leave without any struggle, what is so different about now??

You gave a trembling gasp, and turned towards Black Noir calmly. You gave him what you hoped was an inquisitive look, but you knew yourself too well to know it was anything but. Especially because he was looking at you dead in the eyes, his black mask creating an unnerving stare that you tried your best to meet. Your head snapped down at his hand that gently placed a little piece of paper on the piano keys.

‘keep playing’

You felt your breath slowly release itself, and you looked towards him again. He was still staring at you in the same way as before, but this time you felt a little less threatened.

It’s okay, it’s okay, he didn’t threaten you, and there’s too many witnesses for him to do something, right?

After a few moments of calming yourself you slowly nodded at him, your once fleeting stance relaxing some. He released his hold on your wrist, and you turned towards the keys immediately with a seat, sitting down a few more inches away from him. Your body felt a bit more grounded, and face turning more composed. Your heart was still racing, but one glance towards the person next to you let you know that he could honestly care less about that. Just play, that’s all you have to do and then he’ll leave you alone. With another deep breath that you would later chastise yourself for being so obvious, your hands started pressing down on the keys, and you resumed playing the songs Vought gave you. Though, the melody hardly went past the first eight notes because you quickly stopped when a hand reached out to grab your wrist again, this time harder to stop your from playing. You abruptly stopped with a fearful gasp, and harsh press of the keys that had some people glancing over before they looked away again.

You internally screamed to yourself, knowing that if Noir suddenly decided that he didn’t want to be so calm, no one would come to your help. You don’t allow yourself to know much about supes, but you know that they get away with almost anything.

Your head snapped up at him, and you couldn’t even hide the fear written all over your face if you tried. He placed another note next to your hands.

‘Play what you were playing before’

What the fuck? You desperately thought to yourself, immediately racking your brain for what he could mean. Is he talking about the song I played before he told me to sit back down-?

‘Not the Vought songs Play from before’

You had a look of realization on your face before you looked up at him again. He was looking at you straight in the eyes, and you felt your cheeks flush for just a second.

He heard you playing your other songs??

You felt like crawling under a rock, because dammit you thought no one had noticed you indulging in your guilty pleasure of being unnoticed at these parties to stray off script- something that would surely get you in the hot seat since Vought was notorious to always making sure everyone was sticking to directions. Instead, you swallowed the newfound terror stick in your throat and, nodded once again and turned back to the keys.

You were still so tense, your heart was still beating against your chest like a sledgehammer and you felt the weight of Black Noir’s presence weighing so heavily on your head that it felt impossible to play right now. But even so, you forced yourself to.

Your hands started dancing over the keys again, and the only reprieve you felt in this suffocating situation was that you had to focus more intently on the notes since they came from memory, and it helped you ignore the person sitting next to you. As time passed, you got more and more comfortable, and you eventually fell into a steady rhythm, transitioning into the different melodies with more emotion now. Everything started to feel a bit more natural, and a little less forced.

Next to you, you noticed how Noir leaned his head back slightly, sitting up almost as rod straight as you were, hands resting on his thighs as he slightly swayed his head to the music. You could see him tapping his fingers along to the notes on his thighs, almost as if he were playing on the keys and not you. He was listening to the music. He was listening to you play the music.

It made you more nervous than you’d like to feel right now.

Especially when people started now glancing at you two.

You could imagine the picture you two made, with Noir clearly enjoying the music with a lax posture, and you with your rigid one, fingers flying over the keys with your pale face. You would’ve laughed with how comical and absurd this all was if you weren’t solely involved in this.

You’re grateful when Madelyn Stillwell comes over and puts on her PR smile, informing Black Noir that he is needed for a charity event, notably meeting your eyes when she says this.

Yes, yes, take him. I won’t keep him from you.

You keep playing as she tells him, just lightly pressing down on the keys so as to not play over their conversation, eyes resolutely staying away from them. You do feel Black Noir turn towards you, his eye grazing your side profile, and you try not to look up once again.

“C’mon, Noir. I’m sure you’ll see her very soon again, we don’t want to bother her any longer.” Madelyn’s voice carry’s over you like a cold chill, making you shudder and clench your jaw even tighter.

She talks about you like you’re not even there, and she talks to Noir like a child- no. More like a dog, you conclude. Her mother knows best tone grates on your nerves, and you can hear the demanding undertone it carry’s when she talks to him.

You don’t know why you feel for him at this moment, why you feel for all supes that have to always be on a tight schedule for publicity. It doesn’t last long when you remember they’re supes and will always have more privileges than you and everyone else you know.

So you’re not too torn up when Noir gets up, and turns to follow Ms. Stillwell. They both leave you alone at the piano, playing with tense fingers and not even bothering to care about the timing you come in nor about how you press the keys too harshly and lightly at some points. You’re finally able to breathe, able to relax without a killing machine sitting next to you.

You’d say you’re allowed some leverage on your poor playing.

You sneak a look at the clock on your wrist, and finally let out your shuddering sigh of relief.

Only two more hours, and you can go home.

Only two more hours.

*

Once the two hour mark hits, you’re closing up with a small, light melody. One that you admittedly rush through, and as soon as the last note hits, you don’t wait for it to reverberate all the way before you’re closing the lid of the piano and getting up. You push in the bench, and straighten your work suit as you rush to the exit doors.

You walk briskly to it, smiling quickly, and nodding your appreciation to the few people who half meaninglessly praise your playing. You open the doors of the room with a desperate push, greeting the muted hallway like it’s your savior.

You feel so much better already.

You go to the elevator, and as the doors are closing you don’t know why you expect Black Noir to come out at this moment, but you do. You’ve been feeling it ever since he sat down next to you, expecting him to influence a preemptive event after all this, and you wait with baited breath as the doors close. Your stomach is turning in anxiety and fear, and you’re just waiting for the moment he comes in and- shit, you don’t even know- kill you or something. It’s something you’d most expect to happen at these Vought parties.

You were paid to much attention to to not have something happen, right?

The doors close without any interruption, though, and you go down to the bottom floor alone without anything happening. You immediately walk outside when you reach your designated floor, not wanting to push your luck. You don’t heed the front desk clerk who is wishing you a good night, feeling a bit rude but needing to get home as soon as possible.

You get in your car and practically race home, driving a little over the speeding limit, and swerving your turns. When you reach your house, the porch light still on, and nothing looking too disturbed, you park in the driveway and sit in your car for a few moments in the dark.

This is when you feel like you can breathe.

*

When you wake up the next morning, you feel a bit better. When you had came home last night you reasoned to yourself that things weren’t really as bad as it had felt in the moment. I mean, Noir could’ve done a lot worse, couldn’t he? And he would’ve if he wanted to surely, maybe he just really liked your playing and that’s why he decided to stay by your side for who knows how long. You got lucky, luckier than most anyone you knew.

So when you sit at your table, little dog rubbing by your feet, and a steaming cup of coffee blowing against your face, you don’t feel lucky when you open your phone and see new text messages in your box from multiple people. There’s one from Thomas, one from your hard ass boss, and one from an unknown number. They all vary in tones that an anxiety fueled pit twists your stomach. You open them before you can think, hoping that reading this messages will calm your cramping stomach. It doesn’t.

Thomas: Lassie, what’d you do?? Everyone’s going bonkers right now

Giovanni Cruz(boss): You must’ve made quite the impression at Vought. Good job, this is the type of work I’m expecting.

Impression? Your stomach dropped, and you looked at the message from the unknown number, seeing part of it in the little notification box. Before you can allow yourself to stay scared, you open the text message.

Unknown: Congratulations! Vought was very impressed by your piano skills, and our Party Planning Committee has decided to book you for all of our events this fall. Here are the dates and times, along with the prices we are offering…

You didn’t even bother to finish reading the whole text message, your phone slipping from your hands, and thumping onto the table. You were motionless, your hand limply hanging in the air where you were holding your phone, and eyes wide and unblinking as you just processed what the fuck Vought had sent you.

After a while, you started laughing.

Because when you would go back to play for Vought three weeks later, and you played a new sheet of music filled with the songs you had played for Noir last time, you didn’t even have to feel his gaze to know he was the one who wanted you back.

And when he sat down next to you on the bench, content to listen as you played, you were surprised to find yourself less tense. Less scared. You didn’t think he’d hurt you.

You hoped you weren’t wrong.

***

Thank you so much for reading <3<3 Thinking about doing a part two but idkkk, maybe🤭

[thefandomlesbian]

37 + wilson for the ask game :)

OUCH we're going right for the throat, huh--

This is probably going to be utterly incomprehensible and I am not responsible for any ramifications that arise from answering this question. Allow the word-barf to commence!

#37: What they really think about themselves:

This is such a difficult question to answer because Wilson is a man shrouded in layers upon layers of hiding. This is someone who constantly begs the people around him to be vulnerable with him, to trust him, while simultaneously refusing to ever offer his own vulnerability. And he's good at it. He's good at passing himself off as being close to someone while they never know he has a brother.

House is all walls topped with barbed wire fences and he makes no claims otherwise. Wilson on the other hand is a shimmering oasis. He's fresh water in the desert with shade and fruit. He's nothing but a refreshing illusion. Wilson can be incredibly human while simultaneously more detached than anyone knows. This is aided by the fact that he's a social chameleon, matching whoever he's with, and a natural conscience mirror for the people around him. House calls him out on this multiple times in S5, specifically for being a chameleon who meets the environmental needs of everyone else socially; House asks him, "Who are you at your core?" and then goes on to assert that he thinks Wilson has no core, that his locus of identity has been completely erased in his desperation to meet the needs of others.

Even in S6 when House demands that Wilson choose something to place in their home that he likes... he picks something he knows House likes. "You asked me to tell you who I am, and I am someone who loves you. This is the only answer I know how to give." That's typically the fandom read, but it's important to recognize that this attitude is not unique to House coming from Wilson. He does the same thing with Amber, with Grace (the cancer patient he cares for), with Cuddy during the Rachel adoption arc, with Tucker, with Sam. His existence pivots on his service to other people.

His desperate need to be needed, as House calls it, has a flipside: Wilson can't need anything. From anyone, ever. He can't be vulnerable, which is why he hides himself so effectively. To unveil weaker parts of himself, it would require his loved ones to serve him, to help him, and Wilson cannot cope with the idea of inconveniencing the people in his life. I have written meta in the past on the whole cast's gross mistreatment of Wilson during the Tritter arc. He has no money, no car, living in a hotel that presumably expects weekly payments, no way to buy food or keep himself housed. Everyone attacks him when he finally folds, but none of those people were there to support him, even though his situation was exclusively caused by House lying to and manipulating him. But the thing is... Wilson wouldn't have let them help him. Think of his friendship with Cuddy, how she reveals that she treats him as a confidant (she told him and only him that she slept with her father's best friend) and trusts him not to repeat things to House--but when he arrives to work late from riding the bus, she didn't even know his car was impounded. That sort of friendship is the type you can call to come get you! You don't need to take the bus! Wilson would never dream of reciprocating the relationship she has with him. He's incapable of inconveniencing someone, even to ask for a ride to work or to spot him a five for a sandwich in the cafeteria, even from people he's very close to.

And this all comes to a head in the cancer arc. Wilson is incapable of being needy to the point that he's ready to undergo high dose chemotherapy alone in his own home in a nonsterile environment with no one to monitor him or check on him. In his words: "I am not going to die slowly in a hospital bed under fluorescent lighting with people stopping by to gawk and lie about how I look. Even a small chance of that happening is too big a chance for me." It's funny that later in this episode he says that he wanted a wife and children to care for him, when we know he wouldn't ever allow himself to be so weak in front of his loved ones. House acknowledges this in the same episode.

Wilson's need to serve and his fearful avoidance of being vulnerable all point to an incredibly abysmal sense of self-worth. He says that House doesn't like himself but admires himself, and I don't even think Wilson does that much--as he consistently tries to lie on the sword for everyone around him. RSL says Wilson is the saddest man in New Jersey, and I would agree with that. Wilson has deep-seated issues with his self-esteem. As a wise YA novel once said, we accept the love we think we deserve, and the only love Wilson ever accepts is House's. In S3 after House upends his entire life, it takes one genuine apology to buy him back, because House's love is the only one Wilson knows how to handle. It's the only one he can take without feeling unworthy. All coming to the S8 conclusion: House makes the ultimate sacrifice for Wilson, and Wilson (in spite of having just lambasted House publicly for ostensibly ditching him) argues against it. Wilson says he's not worth the sacrifice. He would rather die alone than have House give up his life for him.

(I could delve into a whole follow-up wrt Wilson's romantic relationships as a gay!Wilson truther, but I've already gone too far and made this unnecessarily long.)

so in short: I wouldn't say Wilson hates himself explicitly, he would consider that vain and self-centered, but he cannot exist outside of serving others. If his utility is gone, he is pointless. I already wrote a long meta on my take on Wilson's suicidality, but that line of thought follows here, too. Wilson thinks his value as a person stems from his ability to care for others and will die sooner than become someone who needs to be cared for.

[elvendorx]

The Remus and Sirius height discourse has become so loaded. Today I saw a post claiming that viewing Sirius as taller than Remus means that one supports jkr? (What?)

Canonically, Sirius is taller than Remus. That's just a fact. And I understand that some people don't care about canon, and that's cool!! But even if you don't give a flying fig about canon, that does not make the view that Remus is taller than Sirius any more valid than the reverse, and you can't go around telling other people that they are wrong, or worse, bad people for not agreeing with a version of the character that exists in your head?

Look I get that it would be annoying to have people inject an "ahem actually..." on posts that are clearly based on headcanons. I get that. But that is the natural consequence of taking the names/tags of characters from popular fandoms and using them for your own OCs, and the fact that these fans jump to "they must be horrible people!" as opposed to "they might be confused about my relationship with canon" is... something.

As someone who is neurodivergent, I find that the fandom that claims to love diversity has very little tolerance for people who don't understand the unwritten rules about when canon is and isn't allowed to be used as a reference point. (Somehow, we still hate Snape because canon, but all other canon is garbage?) Sorry for the rant, I'm just tired and confused.

don't be sorry at all, i think this kind of thing needs to be talked about because at its worst, this rhetoric is an attempt at emotional manipulation and censorship. nobody is ever going to 100% agree even with the exact same words on a page - this is the entire literary criticism field, most of the time variation in readings are a good thing but this isn't even a "reading", because it has no bearing on the characters, they just are or aren't a certain height, so it becomes a tool for personal agendas - "if you think sirius was tall, you're a fascist". even though those two facts are not connected, because sirius' height is never anything more than a physical description of him. and it's glaringly obvious that the people who fixate on this aren't interested in sirius as a character, just as a vehicle for their own fantasies/validation.

this is the problem that comes from people trying to put dynamics & personalities that they want to see onto characters who don't fit those moulds. the height thing doesn't actually matter, it doesn't change anything in the narrative, but it summarises the attitude towards canon which for me summarises critical reading & reading comprehension as a whole within hp fandom. i don't think canon is perfect and i don't think it's sacred but i don't understand why you would engage with something that you have to twist out of recognition in order to enjoy it.

part of the fun of fandom, for me, is finding the limits and boundaries while maintaining recognition. at the very least, even if you change everything else, character has to be consistent. you have to recognise who you're working with otherwise what are you doing here? other authors are writing and have written exactly what you want, so why do you need this character with a history and motivations and a distinctive personality to be the ideal version of you/the partner you want (because lbr, that's it!). i'm not saying that people can't use their imaginations and bend things, i do it, and people can do that by bending characters out of recognition if they want. i don't get any enjoyment out of that or see the point in it but i'm not going to try and stop people. it's the flagrant dismissal of logic and evidence that i think is a more dangerous stance when applied more widely.

it's ALWAYS the people who want remus to be taller and sirius to be tiny who have 10 million personal reasons why they need it to be that way around despite it being clear that sirius is specifically tall, and remus is of such average and nondescript height that it's never mentioned. it's nobody else's responsibility to validate anyone's projections onto a fictional character, and your personal reasons for wanting a character to behave in a way that they wouldn't isn't anybody's responsibility. i don't think these kind of people see the irony in how they're trying to force their view on everyone else even though there's direct contradiction to it, yet are claiming that people who go with that feature from the text are violent fanaticists or something.

when you question why it makes such a difference to the "big strong remus and baby boi sirius" people, it comes down to "it's cuter" or "it allows me to simplify m/m relationships into tough and cute and use physical attributes as symbols rather than thinking complexly about personality traits and dynamics." the height thing is basically one step away from top/bottom discourse and just because someone identifies as queer or relates to a character doesn't make it unproblematic. if you need to see a character who represents your specific circumstances, find one or make an original one, imo. it's not an entire fandom's job to validate individuals and it's manipulative to suggest that someone else seeing a character according to the way that character is explicitly described is an act of hatred or violence or something.

apologies if this turned into a rant of its own - i don't CARE that sirius is tall but the attitude towards minor, basic facts is wild to me. it makes no difference to me but idk why you would take being taller than snape away from sirius bc he clearly enjoys being able to tower over him. if i did want to argue that sirius' height makes a difference in the text, i'd say that sirius is tall because padfoot is also a large creature and there seems to be some kind of reflection of the human in animagus forms, whereas the whole werewolf thing is something inflicted externally rather than something that comes from within the person so remus' human height isn't reflected by his lycanthropy. but that's a whole other question i would have to research more.

[sonobeunitsarecool]

Why Sakurai Haruka makes So Much Sense, really.

Right, sorry it took so long, but I think this is it? Anyways. Here I'm just putting much of Haruka's behaviour in the context of "past of admissions to a psych ward", linking it all together in a way that may not be so immediately obvious to some. Interrogation answers: T1 Q.12 - Tell us your hobby - "Talking with the other prisoners" What else is there to do? Yuno answers with something about shopping, and drama club, something she can do outside of Milgram, but Haruka wants to talk, and he's getting better at it. It's something he's wanted to do for a while, talk to others, so he probably gets a good deal of enjoyment or satisfaction doing so. You could say it's a bit odd, to be a hobby, but it's an activity he knows he has consistent access to, unlike something like drawing which would require a request. Q.14 - What's an event that stuck in your memory? - "Fireworks" Fireworks, or some kind of crayon rendering of them, seem to feature prominently in Weakness. Something bright, colourful, loud, and pretty full sensory immersion, plus it seems to have been a fond memory of sorts. Besides, what else could stand out, as a childhood memory? Anything in recent years would just be... the dull droning on of the days. Q.20 - What's the most expensive thing you've ever bought? - "Candy floss" Okay. Candy floss isn't very expensive. What likely happened, is that he didn't handle money except for when he was once given some at a fair of sorts, and allowed to buy something for himself. As a teen, he's had no need to buy anything, and if there was something he wanted or needed to buy, then it'd be provided by whomever was looking after him at the time. (Not necessarily something about not trusting Haruka, but he wouldn't have had any way of getting a job, being in-and-out of mental health care) Now, something a little interesting would be that this, alongside some other small things, loosely implies that Haruka was a spoiled or otherwise coddled child from his birth, growing more distant from his family as he got older. Japanese children are given quite a lot of autonomy, just go watch "Hajimete no otsukai", or "Old enough", an entire television programme where kids go out and do errands. Most Japanese kids would have bought things like groceries, or train tickets, or whatever, even before leaving primary school. Sending them on the train alone at age 8 is common. It's unusual for the most expensive thing that Haruka ever bought to be candy floss, surely he'd have been asked to go out and buy something, at some point? If not, why not? Q.22 - What do you think of the prison outfits? - "They're kind of relaxing" Kind of already went over this. Haruka is accustomed to wearing the same kind of thing every day, and everyone else is also wearing something similar, so he's part of the group. Not distinct in clothes. It's probably a small comfort. Q.23 - Is there anything you want (item requests)? - "Not really" He's got everything, for the most part. In a psych ward, you're unlikely to get anything just by asking, and whatever you can bring onto the ward is restricted. Of course Haruka's got lots of crayon drawing in Weakness. Crayons are pretty much the safe art medium. Cheap, easily replaced, logistically an obvious choice to use. What else could he have used? Pencils? Those would require a pencil sharpener, and that's a weapon. Q.24 - What's your dream for the future? - "I want to live normally" ...It's not normal to spend so much time on a psych ward. It's a restrictive lifestyle, even if it's his comfort zone. This is pretty much the obvious thing to wish for, to live a "normal" life where he's not just a patient, someone who's "broken". Besides, Haruka can't afford high standards like Yuno's "It'd be nice if I can find a job I can really lose myself in", because he doesn't have many avaliable job prospects at the moment. He's set back in education by at least 3 years. Q.25 - When you get out of here, where do you want to go? - "I can't think of anywhere"

Based on what can be guessed about Haruka's story, home is an unlikely prospect. And he's not had much opportunity to think about or find a place to go, unlike Yuno's answer of "Karaoke, maybe", something she's done in the past and enjoys. There are either no places that stand out to him, or too many places he's not had the chance to go to. ...auto-save isn't working anymore. I'm just going to say that this is long enough and continue another day. Moving onto T2 int. questions, then onto his voice lines, his profile, his VDs, probably even more of the MVs as a part of all that... is this even a theory? The next time I say I'm going to post something "small", I'm probably lying to myself.

[roguishcat]

Yours, if you'll have me

Summary: He found the letter on the ground between his tent and Gale’s earlier this morning. Not thinking much of it, Astarion swiped it, hoping to get a piece of juicy gossip. Gale having a secret admirer, how fun! He didn’t realise that the contents were meant for him. And from their unanimously elected leader, no less!

A/N: If you want to be tagged for future oneshots and long fics, send me a message or leave a comment. :)

Rating: Teen, for some very mild suggestive themes. Otherwise, just fluff, pure fluff.

Pairing: Astarion x female Tav

Oneshot, 2.5k

Setting: Act II

I hope this letter finds you in a better state of mind than yesterday. I wanted to tell you this in person, but I guess it is easier this way. I don’t think that I could say this to your face, so I will allow myself to be a coward.

I have admired you from afar. And not for the more obvious reasons, such as how comfortable and cared for you make others feel. Because, truth be told, I admire you most for your courage. You’ve suffered so much, but you did not lose yourself to the pain, you carry on against all odds. You are a wonderful, amazing person. I just wanted you to know how special you are. You deserve to live; deserve to have everything the world has to offer. You deserve it more than anyone. So, this isn’t a love letter, but a letter of appreciation. Because these are the words that someone should have told you a long time ago. And I hope this letter will allow you to see yourself the way I see you.

Tav

Astarion gulped, his fingers shaking a fraction as he re-read the words. He found the letter on the ground between his tent and Gale’s earlier this morning. Not thinking much of it, Astarion swiped it, hoping to get a piece of juicy gossip. Gale having a secret admirer, how fun! He didn’t realise that the contents were meant for him. And from their unanimously elected leader, no less!

She must have dropped it accidentally, or perhaps was scared off when she was delivering the message in the middle of the night. Sounded just about right for a closet hopeless romantic that Tav was.

Astarion knew that she possibly harbored some feelings for him, it was inevitable that she would fall for him, seeing as he made quite an effort in nudging her oh-so-casually in that direction. The accidental touches, the flirty remarks, pulling her flush against him when an arrow whizzed past her. You know, the usual tactics.

What he didn’t expect was this. This was more than just a bit of fun. More than just two consenting adults spending a few nights together. And he was not sure how to feel about it. Perhaps he succeeded in making her fall for him a little too well. He was just that good, apparently.

He watched Tav as their group walked along the dusty road leading from the Githyanki Crèche and to the mountain pass which they would take to Shadowlands. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. She smiled at him, but did not seek him out on purpose, seemingly treating him the same way that she would treat any of their companions. With the same warmth, the same caring.

Astarion scowled. He didn’t realise how good an actress she was. He always assumed that she wore her heart on her sleeve, but apparently it was not so. Because this was definitely not the behaviour of a person in love, not from his experience of those who claimed to love him over the years that is. And he had plenty of experience when it came to lovers.

This is not a love letter.

Oh, please. Why be so subtle about it? Where were the exaggerated, pretty flowery words? The proclamations of undying love? And whatever else that she would come up with. He would accept it all quite graciously. As it was all part of his plan, of course.

Perhaps she thought that her feelings were not reciprocated and sought to shelter herself from pain. Yes, that had to be it. Well then. He would allow her to shield herself from heartache and not mention the letter at all. Because that was the gentleman-like behaviour that probably was expected in such situations. Not that he was a gentleman, but he imagined that teasing Tav about it would not be the smart thing to do if he wanted to stay in her good graces. Because there were plenty of others who would take her off his hands in a heartbeat. Of that much he was certain. Most members of their group propositioned Tav in one way or another.

Astarion smiled smugly because as far as he was concerned their feelings didn’t matter. Not now and not ever. As long as their pretty leader only had eyes for him, he had nothing to worry about.

The Shadowlands were quite aptly named, as they soon found out. They fought their way through the screeching, howling masses of foes and finally reached the glimmering semi-transparent dome that enveloped the Last Light Inn. Choosing to camp outside and not take up lodgings within the inn itself came with its downsides, but at least being away from all the Harpers afforded a semblance of privacy.

“Astarion, come join us,” Tav said with a smile, getting ready to have dinner with the rest of the group. She shivered involuntarily, not that she felt cold. All of them felt as if they were being watched by something, the condensed darkness rolling and moving menacingly just beyond the thin shell that was protecting the inn.

“I am not sure I care for idle chatter around the campfire but do carry on if you wish. I will see you later, my dear,” Astarion said with a distracted smile, wanting to have a little time for himself before Tav came to him.

It was a routine of sorts that they fell into, her coming by his tent in the evenings and the two just spending time in each other’s company. Sometimes she stayed the night, sometimes she went back to her own tent. It was quite casual. Or so it seemed to him until he found that blasted letter.

And sure enough, she came to his tent just as the others turned in for the night. Astarion was reading, or at least pretending to read at this point.

“Can I confess something?” she plopped down next to him.

Oh. He knew this conversation was coming, but he was still caught off-guard.

“Well, of course. I am all pointy ears, dearest.”

“Gale wanted to talk to me today. I knew what it was about and I- I told him that I was not interested. I didn’t even realise that he liked me that way up until today, it kind of seemed like he was still in love with Mystra. Or at least not ready for a new relationship.”

Astarion scoffed. Gale’s pining and artless flirting with Tav, or rather at Tav, did not go unnoticed in the camp. Of course she would be clueless. The sweet, inexperienced Tav. Well, not that inexperienced now. She did spend several mind-shattering, unforgettable nights with him, after all.

“Actually, there is another reason I am glad that he said nothing until today. A while ago, when we first started travelling together, I wrote him a letter which I never sent.”

He froze.

“Did you now? A love letter?” Astarion commended himself on sounding nonchalant because he felt anything but. He did not want her to keep speaking but could not think of anything to say to make her stop.

“No, nothing like that,” she laughed. “I just- he told me about the orb that day, about how he was prepared to die to make it all right. So I wanted him to know that somebody cared. But it was just a silly letter, I suppose. I am glad that no one saw it.”

“It was not just a silly letter,” he swallowed, his throat feeling tight. “At least not to me. I found it and I- I thought it was meant for me.”

Tav looked at him wide-eyed and unblinking, her hand coming to rest on top of his.

“It’s not a big deal,” he laughed, trying to brush it off as inconsequential, “you really should label these things better in the future, darling. I- do excuse me,” he suddenly had the urge to be elsewhere, anywhere but here.

It was stupid. It was completely idiotic. Yes, the letter was never meant for him, and sure, those words were meant for another. It was not a big deal, really. In a way, it made everything easier. Their trysts would come to an end, true. Tav did not seem experienced enough to take on more than one lover. And even if she offered, there was no way that he was sharing her with Gale.

The worst of it was that on some level he knew that those words were never meant for him. He was always admired for his looks, never for more than his looks. It was foolish of him to assume that Tav was any different. That she would want something more with him.

He came back a while later, finding Tav gone and a letter set neatly on his pillow. He picked it up and reluctantly opened it.

Dear Astarion,

I didn’t know much about you until very recently, when you finally started opening up about your past. But now that I do know, let me tell you how I see you.

You are the most aggravating person I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. Truly, I don’t understand you at all sometimes! You can be hurtful and condescending, and I never quite know what’s on your mind.

Well, this wasn’t exactly a good start. Astarion almost didn’t want to read on, but his damnable curiosity compelled him to continue. He wanted to know what else she had to say.

And do you know what’s the most annoying thing about you? How you leave without letting me finish what I had to say! Because if you did stay, I would actually finish confessing about how much I care about you.

I can’t say that this is love, although I’m not exactly a great judge of that, I’ve never been in love before. But I think about you all the time. About how much I love seeing you smile. Not the fake come-hither smiles, but proper real ones, the ones that reach your eyes.

I love seeing you in battle. I think I’d be too much of a coward to say it to your face, but seeing the intensity and ferociousness with which you wield your rapier is just so- (Okay, I’ve just reread that line and I know how you’re going to smirk and make fun of me for writing this, but there’s no way I’m crossing this out).

He snorted. Wield his rapier. He would have to remember to tease her about this later.

I love how meticulously you care for your things, taking such pride in your appearance. Not that you need to. You are the handsomest, most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on, but you probably already know I feel this way. When you are around, no matter how much I want to pay attention and focus on what others are telling me, my mind wanders as I think of you.

I love it when you let me stay in your tent and I get to hold you in my arms as I fall asleep, it feels like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Although there is the small issue of the tadpole, the Absolute, and all other murder-happy bastards that are hunting us down, somehow in these moments when it is just us two, I feel safe.

I know that you probably don’t feel the same. You said so yourself, that this was just a bit of fun. So, this isn’t a love letter. I don’t want to pressure you into anything. But these are the words that I should have told you a while ago, even though I know that my feelings will not be reciprocated.

You deserve more, so much more that I can offer you, but, if anything, I hope my words will allow you to see yourself the way I see you.

Yours, if you’ll have me,

Tav

Astarion licked his lips and folded the letter up with shaking fingers. He was not used to this. This raw honesty and emotion. But then again, what else did he expect from her? She was a foolish, silly creature, so careless with her heart. Because falling for him and trusting him was an objectively stupid thing to do. He was almost tempted to march straight to her tent and tell her exactly how much of an idiot she was to write him this- this- He wasn’t even sure what to call this.

He allowed himself a humorless laugh. Because he knew that he was being a coward. The ball was in his court now. She did her part, and it was up to him to tell her how he felt. But tell her what exactly?

She stated it quite clearly that she did not expect anything in return. The sweet, selfless fool that she was. She just wanted him to let her care for him. It wasn’t much to ask. In fact, it was the bare minimum. It was much less than she deserved. Yes, the right thing to do now was to smile, thank her and tell her that they had their fun and it was time to end this. They were best of as comrades in arms, as friends. Sure, Tav would be upset for a while, but not for too long. There would be many who would most enthusiastically offer to warm her bedroll and more.

And thus, armed with the noble intent of letting her go, Astarion stood and opened the flap of his tent. The camp was quiet, all lights were out, even the light in her tent. But Astarion could hear the staccato of Tav’s heart, no doubt turning restlessly in her bedroll, wondering what he thought of her confession.

He slipped quietly into her tent and lay down next to her, strong arms snaking around her middle and pulling her close. He buried his face in her hair and took a deep breath before moving it aside to lay a kiss on the back of her neck. He felt her release a shuddering breath and gradually relax. And apparently it was just that easy. They didn’t have to say anything. And whatever noble intentions of letting Tav go to a more deserving lover he had prior to coming to her tent were now squashed by a selfish desire to have her all to himself. He was never a benevolent, altruistic person in the past, so why start now?

Tomorrow.

He would tell her tomorrow. All of it. About his plan, about his great, foolproof plan that fell through so spectacularly. And then he would hope that she would have him even after knowing the full extent of his deceit. Because although this was not love, it couldn’t possibly be, he wanted to find out where it would lead them. He needed to find out what this was. And if this was his only chance of findings happiness, he would be damned if he let her go to another.

@ayselluna

[genderqueerdykes]

I’ve identified as a man for about 2 or so years and trans for about 5 or so years (previously non-binary for about 3 years while I figured things out). Recently YouTube has been pushing a lot of “I regret transitioning and so will you” and “you’ll regret top surgery” etc. videos to me. While I believed I was pretty stable in my identity, I’m starting to doubt if I’m really trans or if the “gender critical” people are right. I’m currently in the process of getting on T and the idea that I’ll regret it in the future is horrifying, any tips?

Hello there, that's why those types of videos and posts are worded so aggressively- starting their phrasing with "you will" makes you feel a sense of urgency and like you have to take what they say word for word as a fact, as they used "will" and not "may". They are using this verbiage to strike fear and confusion into the hearts of those that see it, not to genuinely try to inform people of a potential mistake they're making. if these videos were framed from a point of concern, they would be titled something like "I regret top surgery, and you might too, here's why" Or something gentle like that. This is 100% for shock value and clickbait. Please keep in mind that everything on YouTube is titled in a shocking and aggressive fashion to try to get you to click.

Those people are more than likely terfs. The fact of the matter is that person regretted top surgery, but they can't speak for every single person who has ever gotten it or has ever wanted to. having the nerve to try to speak for every single person because they experience regret doesn't make them right, it makes them an asshole. their experience does not line up with what the vast majority of people who undergo these surgeries, and while it is important to hear from people who regret these decisions, using aggressive verbiage to strike fear into people's hearts is not the way to go about it. That is an attempt to brainwash

I would say every time you encounter something like that, head to a community like tumblr and browse the top surgery tags and hear from other people who have undergone it. Just because one person feels regret and wants to make other people feel bad for not feeling the same way as them doesn't make them right, it makes them aggressive and hostile.

They are not the protagonist of the post-top surgery community. They do not have the right to dictate how you will feel after surgery. They don't know you. They can't tell you how you will feel through a YouTube video. They are just trying to scare you.

Disregard things like this, they are literally designed to scare you and make you doubt yourself. Whenever you come across things like this, look to other people who have undergone surgery and listen to their stories. See the happy tears in their eyes and listen to the stories of how gender affirming surgeries save lives.

Even if you end up regretting top surgery for whatever reason, it doesn't make you wrong, stupid or bad. You're allowed to make mistakes and be wrong. Every single person on this planet is allowed to make mistakes. It's how we learn. You're allowed to do what you believe is right for yourself in this moment even if you regret it down the line- not a single person on this earth can predict regret, it's a feeling that comes after, not before. Don't let the thought of potential regret hold you back if someone else is telling you you'll regret it. Only listen if that feeling is coming from your own gut first and you have good reason.

Hope that helps. Fuck people who word things like that. It's not worth your time and energy, take care of yourself. You are the one who gets to decide what you feel. Someone else telling you how you will feel will color your perspective and make you see things differently than you would have otherwise. Focus on how you genuinely feel, not what total strangers have to say about someone they don't know just because they want YouTube clicks and ad revenue. They have a massive ulterior motive, and it is not benefiting you or any other viewer. Their motive is profit (and spreading their own anecdotal experience as factual truth). - K

[animeyanderelover]

Hi! Can I order Yandere Alphabet Muzan? Thanks!

You didn't say which letters so I just chose the first four.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, control, manipulation, gaslighting, mind games, violence, death, abduction, isolation

Yandere Alphabet

Affection-How and how often do they show affection?

🩸 Long story in short, you'll have to earn it. Muzan is never, never, a man who just gives someone something out of the amiableness. He wants to be worshipped by his darling, wants to be respected and feared by them. Nothing you get is for free, there is always a price to pay. In the case of his affection it's your own obedience and love, only then will Muzan mellow out enough to show you his own affection, otherwise he'd be too proud to dote on a human. There is the affection he gives merely to display you as his little pet which happens in rare cases where he takes you with him when he meets his Upper or Lower Moons where an arm holds you tightly or, in case he's sitting, your head is in his lap or you're completely placed on his lap. Physical affection isn't Muzan's man way of showing his affection though and it's safest to only do it when he's initiating it first since he might be displeased if you touch him without his allowance. His main ways are gifting you whatever someone could buy with money or quality time, idle times where he isn't as menacing as normally.

Blindness-How obvious are they to their feelings? Are they delusional?

🩸 Muzan views himself as the almost perfect being, he only has to find the Spider Lilly and then he'll have reached perfection. He's selfish and willing to do anything to satisfy his own desires. Whilst he probably knows that everyone else despises and fears him for the bloody meassurements he takes to reach his goal, he only cares about himself. Everything he does, he does for himself. Muzan is deceptive so he notices an interest before it can even fully escalate. Especially since he has never spared humans much thoughts, they're low creatures and only function as a source of food for him and his minions. They're below him. His pride tries at first to convince him that those feelings are nothing real, that there is a plain and forgettable reason why you stay on his mind. This short illusion lasts only short though before the demon realizes that you're permanently on his mind.

🩸 He could never see the blame in himself, could never acknowledge that he has fallen in love with a human at first. There's anger at first, anger directed at you before the slow acceptance settles in. As a man who sees himself as godlike, Muzan sees everything below him out of lack of respect and his own conviction that he's superior. This makes him a delusional and apathetic man. If he wants something, he never considers the feelings of others which is exactly the same with his darling. He desires you, you're on his mind so he'll just take you for himself. Muzan never considers you as an equal either due to his twisted view and expects you to take your place below him. You might be the dear and precious to him but you can never rise up to be an equal. In his eyes you will always remain as someone who is below him and should accept their place, should be grateful to be able to be with him at all.

Confession-How do they make their feelings visible? Would they ever confess and court their darling?

🩸 As mentioned before, his immense pride and his low opinion about humans in particular cause him to never show anyone his true feelings. It's shameful, embarrassing and above all it's humiliating and you can guess how that affects his mood. Muzan stays clearly away from you, something you might not even notice since you have never met this man before in your life. You're unsuspecting of the man who could kill you with such ease. Muzan might never reveal himself until you've already been kidnapped, an exception may be if he uses his disguise to mix with humans and you just happen to be someone he meets daily during that time.

🩸 Even then there are my serious doubts if he would actually go out his way to court his darling since Muzan is surprisingly impatient when it comes to the aspect of having his darling. He just wants to own them, he can always teach them later how to treat him with respect and adoration. Muzan is simply not someone who goes the first step of courting and admitting his feelings to you since in his opinion it's a clear display of weakness. Something he doesn't want anyone to see him as, including you. The only thing you might notice before the abduction is that Muzan is possessive, a displeased and scary look in his eyes if he ever catches you with someone else.

Death-How messy are they? Do they feel guilty/sorry for the lives they take?

🩸 Muzan is heartless when it comes to taming you into obedience and will be especially strong in gaslighting and blackmailing you and everyone you hold even the slightest bit close to your heart. He has no consideration for your own feelings and you learn to know that he is willing to let everyone get slaughtered if it serves to push you into the ideal obedient and good version of you he desires. Muzan isn't someone to dirty his hands that often himself though, he has demons all over Japan listening to his every word and demand and often considers lives not even worthy to take himself. Often he just orders one of his demons to kill someone for him. With you he might change that a bit though, mainly to show you what happens when you don't behave yourself. He lets a demon deliver the person to him and makes a little show out of it in front of you, chides you for not doing as you were supposed to do.

🩸 He harbors no guilt for the lives he takes and he has never done so in his entire life. In best cases he just sees humans as a nuisance. In your case he either kills humans who might have dared to try to charm you before you were abducted or people close to you to brutally teach you why you should head his every word or he kills demons without consideration if they tried to eat you. Demons are pawns easily replaced so he wastes no time with them, with humans it depends on how close you're to them since he might end up toying with them a bit only to see you begging on all four for his mercy. It's all a fruitless labor in the end though since he always slaughters everyone who is even a small thorn in his eyes.

[rainingstarz55]

Sneak Peak Scene: Eden confronts Raziel.

Raziel: “You are avoiding me. Is there a reason for your actions? Perhaps something you are keeping a secret? You know you can always share it with me”. 

Eden: “Is that what you are attempting to imply? That I am hiding something from you on purpose?” 

Raziel: “It is the only logical reason I could think of as to why you seem to shift into avoiding me. Afterall, wasn’t I the one who ensured…”. 

Eden: “Don’t even go there Raz! You know I do not like revisiting the past.” 

Raziel: “Very well...then answer my question. Why are you avoiding me?” 

Eden: “Because you are becoming just like him”. 

Raziel: “…..”. 

Eden: “Samael”. 

Raziel: “Elaborate…”. 

Eden: “Haniel…”. 

Razel: “What about her?” 

Eden: “I know what you did to her, and it’s cruel.” 

Raziel: “You misunderstand, she wasn’t living up to her expectations. She was failing the role of which was given to her. I was ordered to fix the issue and that is exactly what I did”. 

Eden: “Fix? You call torturing someone fixing?” 

Raziel: “What else would you have suggested I do? Let her continue to ruin herself? Let her mope, whine and complain like a....” 

Eden: "A mortal?"

Raziel: ......"She should've understood that Angelic beings like us must not allow our emotions to disrupt our duties. I did what was needed to be done. Otherwise how else could I have possibly solve the issue?"

Eden: “How about actually listening too her and figuring out how…heaven could have helped make things easier for her?” 

Raziel: “I’m afraid that it is entirely impossible. If anything, you are suggesting that the entire cosmos should change because of one, insignificant angel?” 

Eden: “That is not what I mean. I just think there could’ve been another way around this that didn’t require hurting someone”. 

Raziel: “Sometimes we must inflict pain onto those who are deemed unfit or incompetent, as a means of preventing a repeat of what happened in the past”. 

Eden: “I understand ever since the war things have changed and that we must be careful. I know things have been tough for everyone. But I believe Haniel never meant to cause any issues. I do believe she generally wanted to make things work and tried hard.” 

Raziel: “Then she should’ve tried harder…it doesn’t matter now, what is done is done. The problem has been fixed”. 

Eden: “You’re unbelievable. And I thought your brother was the only cruel one. Seems I’ve been proved wrong”.

Raziel: "If you have nothing else of importance to discuss, then I suggest we end this conversation. You may still be half a mortal, but you are also a guardian. I suggest you do not make the same mistake".

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

omgosh, what a diiiiiiiiiiick Raz is! Lol.

I began writing some scenes for a story and wrote this scene of my OC, Eden. Really need to draw her, lol. But yeah, she's pissed at Raz for what he did to Haniel. Poor thing. Or course Raz isn't going to care much....not that he ever did, but still Eden isn't just going to let it go so easily.

Anyway, hope you like the scene, sorry if my writing is crap. Let me know what you think.

[dogtoling]

What is art fight? Do all you artists just. Punch in face

ok it's slightly better than that. As a quick introduction, Art Fight is a website with a yearly event that takes place every year in July. Very simply put, you make an account there, upload whatever OCs you have and want to display on there, and then just sit and wait around until July pops up. A week or so before the event starts, there is a theme reveal (this year the teams are Vampire and Werewolf), and people may choose a team to join, or be randomly assigned to a team after the event starts.

For the event itself, the objective is to "attack" artists that are on the opposing team by drawing their OCs. Attacking people on the other team nets your team points, which are tallied at the end of the event. But to be honest I feel like no one cares about which team actually wins. That might be "the objective", but really the objective is doing gift art and trades largely with strangers on the internet and making their day, and maybe getting surprise art in return!

When you attack someone, people might attack you back by drawing your OC, which begins something called a revenge chain! So that's when you're doing art trades (for people who have never heard the term art trade before because i've realized deviantart isn't hip or mainstream anymore, an art trade is an occasion where two artists draw a thing for each other). Not everyone does revenges though and ESPECIALLY not chains, so the main draw of the event is gift art. In general expecting stuff back tends to set people up for disappointment, especially if attacking the same team. Drawing OCs from your own team counts as "friendly fire", and while your team still gets points for it, you get DRAMATICALLY less points than you would for drawing for the opposing team. Either way it is a thing that you CAN still do.

The amount of points you get from an attack depends on the medium (which include stuff that isn't just drawing!), level of finish and polish, the general complexity of the art, the amount of characters in the piece et cetera. You determine these categories yourself while posting your attack, so it can be a bit daunting if you're not sure on things.

Art Fight recently introduced tag search, which lets you tag your OCs with specific tags (for example, "splatoon", "furry", "pokemon" or whatever) and search for characters with those same tags if you have preferences on what you want to draw. It also has some nifty other things, like the ability to customize your profile sometimes to insane degrees if you want, the ability to set permissions for characters (what people are and are not allowed to do with them), a storage for hiding characters if you want to retire them for a specific year but don't want to delete and re-add them later, the ability to link stuff to character profiles such as their toyhouse or full reference sheets, fields for crediting artists for the design or art if you got it from somebody else... et cetera. It also has some achievements, if you're into that kind of stuff.

The barrier of entry is really kind of low and the event is very versatile - you can go the whole fight making pixel sprite attacks, you can do 3D models, you can do halfbodies, you could even just do sketches and call it a day and that's all very valid and usually always fun. Personally I find Art Fight really fun because not only do you get to pick characters to draw that you might never have seen otherwise, but also have a completely good excuse to draw other people's characters and make their day. I usually spend a lot of Art Fight trying out different art styles and dabbling in stuff I normally do less, and don't have much motivation to do with my own characters - for example, last year I did digital art, painting, pixel sprites, pixel animation, 3D modeling and 3D animation and yeah I wouldn't have done any of those without the Art Fight excuse of "yeah why not draw this guy's OC". So it's also a really good way to step out of what you usually do with your art, and try different styles or mediums just to see what it's about.

And of course, the most important tidbit: the site is always, and I mean always, EVERY year, down at the start of the event. Every year the first week of Art Fight the site is completely unusable. The good news is, you can join Art Fight even in the middle of the event, and joining the site doesn't require you to partake in every upcoming Art Fight or even to pick a team. You can simply spectate and not partake one year, then come back the next and pick a team. TL;DR it's fun.

[ourflagmeansheartbreak]

For new years, just a quick reminder that:

1. Even if you don’t love yourself, you are still worthy of being loved, of being loved by someone else. Your sense of worth doesn’t dictate how other people should feel about you and just because you don’t love yourself, does NOT mean you are undeserving of love or incapable of loving someone just as much, platonically or otherwise.

2. Having boundaries does NOT make you an asshole, it makes you a human being.

3. Being seen can make a significant impact on your life, and there is absolutely no shame if that someone happens to be a doctor, a therapist, a psychiatrist, etc. There is no shame in feeling that something’s wrong and there is no shame in seeking out help. There is NO shame in asking to be seen.

4. Addictions and poor mental health does not make you a terrible person. You are loved healthy just the same as you are loved in the process of getting there.

5. Worst thing you could do to yourself is not let go. You can’t change the past, you can’t change that person. And it’s okay to let go, it’s okay to accept it. I know it’s hard because holding onto that feeling and desperation helps you feel in control of your own pain, but I promise you, you are allowed to let it go, your trauma will be just as valid even if it no longer holds your every move captive.

6. It’s okay to let yourself just be. You shouldn’t put high expectations on yourself, because you’re not good enough for them, but because you are simply incapable of those things at the moment. At the moment you only need to breathe and that’s okay. And you should allow yourself to just be and to just breathe in that moment, until you grow to do those big things once you grow strong enough.

7. You are the most important person in your life. No, you are not egotistical for loving yourself, you are not selfish for taking care of yourself. You live with yourself every single hour of every single day, you should be your number 1 priority and NO that does not make you selfish. That makes you self aware, and simply, human.

8. You are allowed to forgive yourself for things you’ve done. You are allowed to seek out people, you are allowed to apologise, and whatever their answer might be, you are allowed to move on.

9. You are allowed to not forgive people just the way they are allowed to not forgive you. And that’s okay. That, however, does not make you a terrible person. And that doesn’t mean you have to let that hatred consume you. You are allowed to not forgive people and then move on. That’s your privilege. You are allowed to let terrible things go even if you don’t forgive them.

10. You should eat without shame. “But I’m fat” doesn’t matter, you should eat. “But I already ate today” you should eat. “But I overate today” and if you’re still hungry, you should eat. “But I haven’t exercised” you should eat. “But I hate myself” you should eat. Food is not a punishment, love yourself enough to nourish your body and let yourself enjoy it. Because you deserve to eat. No ‘ifs’ or ‘buts’. You deserve it.

11. You should be kinder to yourself. Wether you think you’re a terrible person or not, you should be kinder to yourself. If you don’t have enough energy to love yourself just yet, try to be a little kinder to yourself and your body. First step to being a better person is realising that you are not an unlovable monster, you are human who made mistakes, and when you love yourself enough you can help yourself make amends that you want. First step is love for yourself, once you get up and no longer beat yourself, then you see all the opportunities you have to be a better person. Because you absolutely can be better, even if you fail (because you will and that’s okay) you can try again. No shame in starting over, no shame in faltering. That, again, does not make you a terrible person; that makes you human.

12. You deserve kind, beautiful things. You deserve to be handled with love, cared for. I know you don’t believe that, so let me say it one more time, because I mean it with my entire soul: you deserve love, kindness and beauty. You wouldn’t be able to see beauty in things that you do if you didn’t carry it in your heart. You see beauty in terrible things, and what does that say about you? That you carry it in your soul, because if you didn’t, you would be incapable of seeing it. Atoms recognise familiar atoms, your soul is more beautiful than you give yourself credit for.

I don’t know you, and I probably never will. And I don’t care. But let me tell you that a random stranger cares about you. That if you genuinely need someone to talk to, I WILL listen. My DM’s are always open and you can reach out if you need someone to just listen. Why? Because you’re worth it. You survived another whole ass year, you managed to get yourself out of darkness that would’ve consumed most. You are a damn good soldier, don’t let your battle scars drag you down, allow the sun shine on your path. And if you can’t see the sun yet, follow the moon. Be kind, fail, be loud, be humble, be cringe, LET YOURSELF BE.

With love,

Will x