#scales-like-smoking-mirrors

[smuttyaf]

I Hate You

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰; 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐛𝐨𝐲!𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲. 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞

wc: 5.4k

“If you don’t stop I’m going to jam that pen through your ear.”

That makes the curly brunette man take his thumb off the button, eyes shifting to give a sidelong glance at you, his mouth slightly agape as he takes in the words.

You had enough of the fingers drumming against the wooden table, the shifting around in his seat constantly, and you definitely had it when he begin clicking his pen away as if you weren’t beside him through this whole class.

“I wanna see you try.” He whispers back, his head turning to smirk at you as his pen now taps against the table gently. Oh, did you want to ring your hands around his neck.

Harry Styles, the man on campus that everyone is friends with and the one that has all the ladies gossiping about. Despite him being known for his social life he also was part of a fraternity. They were popular for throwing the most outrageous parties but also pulling the stupidest pranks throughout the year— you absolutely despised them. Sloppy drinking, chain-smoking, and making themselves look like complete idiots streaking during the schools football games.

So when you walked into your English Lit class and your teacher decided to sit you next to each other for the whole semester, you wanted to claw your eyes out. Every class he would come in and purposely let his bag hit your head, his feet kicking the leg of your chair as his knees would dig into your lower back before taking his seat. At first, you paid no mind to it because it was a tight space to fit in, however when it became an everyday occurrence and his sarcastic smile and fake tone of apologies would start you would just roll your eyes.

But, him sitting next you in class wasn’t the worse thing… It was the fact that your dorm roommate was dating one of his fraternity brothers. So nearly every weekend or event that they hosted, you always managed to get dragged along to have him pick on you.

You didn’t like Harry at all. You didn’t like his stupid curls, his laugh, or tattoos that make him look like a unfinished scrapbook, and you definitely did not like the fact that he stares back at you as if you were a joke.

You squint your eyes at him and press your lips together, your fingers that were pressed into the keys of your laptop curling in on themselves as you resist the urge to strike him.

“Easy there,” He chuckles, his eyes flickering to your balled up fists before turning his head towards the teacher, the grey haired man stands in front of the podium making drastic gestures with his hands. “You wouldn’t hurt me, now would you?” Harry questions, his pen going behind his ear as he closes his laptop and notebook, stuffing it into his bag.

Before you know it, Mr. Dawson is announcing the homework for over the weekend while telling everyone he’ll see them Monday. The seat next to you pushes away from the table, and you feel his feet kick your chair and knees dig into your back. Only making your fists grow even tighter, you plant your feet flat on the carpet and push your chair against his bent legs, that makes a groan escape Harry’s lips as you stand with your closed laptop and bag, eyes staring into each other as you look at him amused.

“You wouldn’t hurt me, now would you?” You mock him before tugging off to the library.

Why couldn’t you have one encounter with him were he wasn’t a complete dickhead.

White mini skirt and matching tube top cling to your skin, the pink cropped leather jacket shifted tightly on your shoulders as your feet tip toe towards the mirror to see yourself. You thought you looked stupid, but Faye thought otherwise.

“You need to dress like this more,” She insisted, her brown eyes wide as they scaled your body. You shook your head and groan.

“Like a joke?” You sigh, your head leaning to the side as you looked at your figure. You were never one to dress in revealing clothes, you loved crewnecks and cargo pants, especially your Converses and Vans.

“Hey!” Faye says while giving you a puzzled look.

“You know what I mean, this stuff looks good on you… not me…” You say, body now turning in the mirror to see your side profile.

You had no choice but to dress as if you were a plastic doll. The Barbie movie just recently came out which made Faye’s boyfriend, Niall, think it would be a good idea to throw a party insisting everyone dress up as if they were in “Barbie’s Dream House”. That’s why you’re standing in the mirror, white opened toed heels and curled hair staring back at you as Faye tried to make you look like Biker Barbie.

“You look hot Y/N, don’t overthink it,” She says while taking your shoulders in her hands and shaking you gently, making you let out a nervous laugh.

She’s right, don’t overthink it, you’ll most likely be surrounded by dim lights and drunken bodies that no one will even notice your change of appearance.

However, despite those words that played over and over again in the back of your head, your thoughts begin to fill as you stepped into the house. Each person you passed by, gazing their eyes over your skin, lazy smiles sent your way while winks would drop other times, and you just simply wanted to disappear.

“Let’s go get a drink,” Faye yells in your ear over the pumping music. You nod your head in agreement and made your way into the familiar kitchen.

“Fancy seeing you here!” The usual Irish voice of Niall calls to Faye as he brings her into embrace. You let a small smile slip on your lips before you see Harry next to him with an amused face.

As Faye and Niall chatted with each other while taking red cups apart to pour liquor in, Harry stepped closer to you; his curls are tossed away behind his ears as he had a sleeveless light blue jean jacket with matching pants on, his tattoos exposed and glistening against the lights.

“You look good for once!” He quips, his red cup knocking against his chest. The smile falls from your lips as you send daggers at him.

“Do you ever shut up,” You say, your eyes tearing away from him and to the red cup that Faye hands you.

“Hey! I was being nice for once!” Harry chimed, lips dropping into a pout as you watch his free hand raise to his chest in hurt. Instead, you ignore him and pay attention to whatever Faye was talking about but that doesn’t last long when you feel a finger poke your hip and you’re glaring back at the tattooed man.

“Am I not Kenough?” He questions, and that only makes you snort as a laugh trails out after, understanding his reference. “There it is,” Harry grins as he takes a drink from his cup. You only roll your eyes and focus back on the previous conversation.

“Whatever,” You mutter while taking a sip of your overly strong drink.

Soon that cup turned to four more, the overthinking thoughts about how embarrassing you thought you looked tonight slipped your mind as you were dancing with the cute boy in your Social Science course, your hands wrapped around the nape of his neck as he runts his hips against your backside.

For once, you were actually happy that you came to the party and drunk more than your normal limit. You were fed up with school and with midterms around the corner, you needed this type of fun. As you felt the room beginning to twist in your version, you turn around in Caleb’s hold and let your hands rest along his chest.

“Tired?” He questions, brown eyes peering down at you as his lips tucked into his teeth. You nodded your head in response, your finger tips feeling over his flannel as you lean into him.

“Let’s go upstairs Kels,” Caleb leans down and whispers but that only makes a frown tug on your lips.

“Kels? I’m Y/N.” You state, tone filled with annoyance that the man you had your eyes on in class had his elsewhere. You feel his head move away from your ear, his eyes raking over your face as a goofy grin begins to spread.

“Oh! Y/N! You look so different… you’re not dressed like a boy, I like it!” Caleb says, only making your stomach twist in disgust.

“Yeah…” You say, small smile replacing the frown as you feel yourself step back from his touch. “I’m just gonna go to the washroom,” You rush, tearing away from his hold and not waiting for his response.

You felt your throat begin to swell as you tried to push your way through the mess of people on the makeshift dance floor. You’re not dressed like a boy. Was he serious? That’s what he thought when he saw you? Even the fact that he called you someone else’s name! You wanted to crawl into your bed and die.

Shouts begin to ring out as the floor vibrates, everyone jumping to the party anthem playing which only makes your exit out of the living room worse. You felt your cheeks heat up and tears at the brim of your eyes, just wanting to go to the bathroom as soon as possible to let them escape.

But just your luck, as the chorus rings through the air the floor boards pound under your heels, you feel cool liquid running from your chest to your stomach. Brown booze dripping on the burrowed two piece outfit and at that point you feel your ears burn, and if you could grow horns out of your head you’re sure they would be there.

Your gaze turns away from your sticky stomach and towards the culprit who spilled it on you, your eyes meeting the familiar green ones who sits next to you in English. As your lips press together and your finger nails leave indents in your skin, you watch Harry’s eyes bulge and his mouth drop in complete shock.

“I— I’m so sorry.. I d—didn’t mean too—“

“I hate you.” You spew, cutting him off and giving him an icy glare. Your body immediately brushing past him and traveling upstairs to get away from the party that you now wished you didn’t attend at all.

Of course, Harry had to be the one to top off this moment and ruin your outfit that you know you’d have to pay Faye back for— because this was definitely not coming out. You could handle his kicking and snarky comments, but draw the line at him completely damaging something that didn’t belong to you.

You were pissed, drunk, and wanted to be buried six feet under; but instead you stomped your way up the stairs and into an empty bedroom.

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you see the stain taking up the white material, only making your eyes press shut as you feel tears begin to trail down your cheeks. This was so embarrassing; first you’re wearing something you wouldn’t ever step out in, you finally have a moment with the guy you’ve been staring at since the beginning of the semester— just for him to say you dress like a boy! And to top it off, now you have a full cup of god knows what all over you. This night sucked.

“Y/N…” You hear Harry’s voice behind the door with a knock. You open your eyes and roll them, throat letting a sigh slip out as you run your fingers against your cheeks, wiping away the tears.

“What.” You say back, turning around to rest your back against the sink.

“I—I’m being so honest with you, I didn’t mean to spill my drink on you, I promise, it was a mistake.” Harry said behind the door, his voice muffled but you can tell for once he actually sounds sincere, but who knows he also could be faking it to make you feel better.

“Sure Harry,” You called back, hand leaning down as you rake your fingers through your hair, the tear streaks drying on your skin and making your cheeks feel tight when you speak.

With surprise you heard the rumble of the door knob and soon is faced with Harry who actually has a sad look written on his features.

“Ever heard of privacy,” You mutter, your eyes tearing away from his and looking at the white tiled floor.

“It’s my bathroom,” Harry responds, only making you suck in your breath and fingers drum against the porcelain sink, not realizing it was his room you escaped too.

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave.” You rush, eyes still down as you break away from your stance and move towards the door. That only makes Harry stand in front of you and block your movements.

“No it’s okay don’t worry, it’s my fault. Believe me Y/N, I really didn’t mean to fuck up your outfit.” He says, genuinely which makes your gaze tear and lock with his. Your breath catches in your throat because for once he doesn’t have a menacing look.

“Okay.” You say, lips being sucked into your mouth as your stare never wavers.

“L—Let me get you a change of clothes,” Harry urges, his feet stepping back as he makes his way out of the bathroom and walk over to his dresser. This makes you trail behind him as your hands tug at the bottom of the dirty skirt riding up.

“Oh spare clothes of the girls you sleep with, yay,” You sarcastically remarked, heels clicking against the floor boards as you followed him.

“Ha ha.” Harry says, his voice serious as he dug into his top drawer and pulled out a plain black tee. That only makes you chew down on your lip, your fingers taking the garment in your hand, eyes running over how big it is compared to your frame.

“Trust me, everyone will be too drunk to remember what people were wearing tonight,” He spoke, both of his hands going to either side of him as he leans against the dresser, and maybe it’s the alcohol in your system but the way he is against the furniture with his jacket opened displaying his tattoos, has your mind forgetting about his treatment towards you over the past few months.

“I figured,” You mumble as you tear the t-shirt away from your chest and your eyes flicker between it and the brunette before you. “Uh.. can you turn around?” You question while beginning to shrug off the pink leather jacket.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” Harry scoffs while tearing his tattooed arm off the dresser and letting his hand cover his eyes. You scoff while kicking off your heels and tugging the damp clothing off your skin. “What?” Harry counters, you see his eyebrows push together in his palm as he questions your response.

“I just dress like a boy… that’s all. I bet I’m not exactly the girl you look at…” You mumble, the feeling of the clean fabric running down your skin makes your fingers gaze over it.

“I think you dress cute,” Harry confesses. The compliment making your cheeks heat up and your palms grow with sweat. You really shouldn’t even be glowing from his words. This was the guy who tormented you since September; hitting you with his book bag, giving snarky comments and mean jabs. Why are his words making butterflies erupt in your stomach.

“You’re just saying that, let’s not forget what you said in the kitchen…” You respond, leaning down and picking up the drenched clothing and balling them together. “You can look now.” You state, as you see him put his hand down and give you a bright smile. The way he’s acting so different from what you’re use to, maybe it’s the alcohol in both of your systems.

“You know I was just teasing… but why does it even matter?” Harry ask, that only makes your eyes tear away and look at your polished toes running over each other against the dark hard wood.

“It’s nothing… it’s whatever really,” You sigh, fingers now playing with the ends of his shirt.

“Is that what the guy you were dancing with told you?” Harry asks, only making your head snap up and send him questioning gaze.

“You were watching me?” You inquire. His turn to now dip his head down and avoid your eyes.

“I wouldn’t say that… I just noticed, that’s all.” He says, his head swinging a bit as he lifts himself off the dresser and makes a step towards you, his hand taking the wet clothes.

“Promise I’ll get the stain out,” He remarks, a goofy look on his face and that only makes you smirk.

“Make that promise to Faye, not me.”

“Fuck… She’s gonna have me dead.”

The two of you erupting in drunken laughter at the image of Faye seeing her ruined garments, just knowing the screaming match she’ll have with Harry.

“Why can’t you be like this all the time?” You asked, your hand reaching to your chest as you try to regain your breath.

“You’re the one who hates me,” Harry says giving you a pointed look. “You’re the one who’s mean to me.” You remark your chin tilting as you stare up at him.

“You can’t even blame me,” He smiles while rolling his eyes, his arms crossing over each other and the heat of him radiates onto your body. “You’re cute when you’re mad.” His head leaning down and placing a small peck on your lips.

You were stunned in place, your eyes still open as he continues to place small kisses on your lips. As you leaned in closer to him, his hands tore away from his chest to drop the clothes and hold your hips. What the fuck was actually going on right now? You were really kissing Harry and it felt good— you didn’t want to admit.

The peppering kisses turned into lips syncing onto each other, your eyes now fluttering shut while your hands lie on his inked chest. It felt so wrong but the way his lips tasted of cherry coke and rum, you wanted to get drunk off it.

Deep breathes and needy hands were soon shared between the both, your fingers were now running through the hair on the nape of his neck while his roams your backside. The way his huge hands were pushing your cheeks and shoving you closer to him made you wet.

You pulled away from his lips, a string of saliva linking you too together which makes Harry smirk, his eyes glossy and lips bruised red. You wanted to fuck him so bad.

“You’re a shit kisser.” You remark. His smirk falling as his hands tighten around your ass.

“Shut up,” He mutters before pressing his lips roughly against yours, his fingers slipping deeper to cup your bum, some digits gliding over your heat only making you whimper at the touch.

His tongue tangled with yours as his chest closed the space left between you two. Harry’s weight molding onto you as he forces you to take steps back until your knees hit the bed frame and you’re falling back onto the mattress. You let your elbows push you up on the bed, your eyes locking with his as he lowers himself on you, his lips pressing back against you as your thighs bring him in.

His clothed member pushes against your heat which only makes a whimper escape, you still can’t get over that he has his tongue in your mouth but now you’re making him hard. Was this really the same guy you were cussing at just a few hours ago.

Harry’s hands move away from your shoulders and spread to where your thighs hold him, the way his hands feel running down your skin has you pushing yourself deeper into his touch.

“Easy there…” He mutters against your lips when he pulls away, his lips traveling to your neck to then run over your clothed breasts, his eyes looking to yours as his lips gaze your nipples. You wanted to moan at the sight, the way his curls surrounded his face, his green orbs staring back at you while he descended down your body.

“Harry,” You whisper when you feel his breath rush over your stomach, his hands slipping under his shirt and feeling over your hips before playing with the band of your panties.

His response to the call of his name, was peeling the material down your legs and his mouth pressing open kisses onto your hip bone. Your heart beat was making your chest hurt from how nervous yet excited you are; was this really about to happen?

Your question was soon answered when you felt his breath against your heat, his hands pushing the shirt over your hips as you watch his curls brush against your inner thighs when you feel him lick a stripe up your folds. This made you dig your teeth into your bottom lip because, yeah this was happening.

Green eyes looking back at you as his tongue runs back up your slit to let it circle around your clit, lips suckling on the nerves before dangling it with his tongue again. This made your head knock back and your eyes flutter shut, he was teasing you, like he always does.

His mouth repeats those motions as moans tremble from your lips, head resting on your shoulder as you look at him sucking your folds. You let your free hand run through his hair, tugging at it lightly.

“I know you can do better than that.” You remark, eyes batting at him slowly as you push back down on him. In that moment you swear you watched his eyes glaze over a different shade, his hands gripping against your hips roughly as he lets his tongue delve into you.

Thick and slicked with spit his muscle flexed it’s way between your folds, his nose rubbing against your clit as he licked into you, humming against your heat as his nails left indents in your skin. Words can’t even express how it felt, the way his tongue just roamed inside you so wickedly that it had whimpers and moans leave you.

The view of him was even better, his eyes fluttering as he looked like he was pleased with the way you tasted, his hair falling over his forehead. The look of Harry between your legs only makes you moan again and squeeze your thighs against his face, his fingers bruising your skin from how hard he’s holding you.

You let your back completely fall to the mattress, both hands now carding though his hair as you let your hips roll against his mouth, his tongue now lying flat against your heat as he lets you ride him. Hips running up and down the expanse of his muscle, clit smoothing against taste buds as you work yourself on him, Harry’s mouth moaning against your pussy as he peeled his eyes open to stare at you, the sight making you moan immediately.

You were too tipsy to even comprehend that this was actual reality; you were suppose to hate Harry, despise him! Yet, he was between your legs and sending shockwaves throughout your nerves.

Fingers tighten in the curly locks as your hips stutter and jerk on his tongue, the sinking feeling in your abdomen tightens as your orgasm creeps upon you. The feeling of his fingers pushing down on your hips making you seep deeper into the mattress, and moan at the roughness of his touch.

The ball in your stomach begins to build, your chest breathing in shallow breaths as your thighs twitch, his tongue licking you into bliss. Just as you feel the nerves in your stomach nearly burst, the heat of his muscle tears away and makes a cry leave your lips while Harry placed wet kisses up your body.

“You didn’t think I was gonna let you get off this easy,” Harry hums against you, his hands leaving your hips and letting it rake his shirt over your head. They then go to take off his jacket and tug his jeans down, your hands immediately going to peel his boxers down his thighs.

“For someone who hates me so much, you really want my dick right now,” He mutters, his hand going to his exposed member and rubbing himself, the sight making you clench your legs.

Now, you can really see what the girls on your campus were talking about; the way his hair dropped in loose curls surrounding his face, tattoos that flex so nicely in the dim lighting of the room, and the way he’s staring at you like he’s craving you. You finally see it.

Harry lets himself run against your heat, his head lying on your clit and rubbing over it only making you suck in a breath. He was pressed so nice and warm against you while toying with your nerves. Seconds later, he leans down and lets drool slip from between his lips to trace down his dick to drip between your exposed folds. You wanted to look at this sight forever, but you hate the fact that you like this so much but can’t help but too, Harry was hot you had to admit.

The thoughts leave your mind when you feel his head slip into you, edging himself back out slowly before continuing to seep back in. Once again, he was teasing you but you had enough with this game since you just wanted the feeling of him inside you finally.

You let your hands dig into the sheets while moving your hips down on him, his dick slipping deeper into you which only elects moans from both of you. The thickness of him buried around your tight walls sends a blissful sensation of yourself stretching around him, your mouth hangs slightly open while your eyes flutter.

Harry doesn’t take the chance to tease you anymore, instead he slips all of himself inside of you before drawing back slowly and sinking into your dripping pussy. His head leaning down to lay in the crook of your neck and press kisses against the skin there, while he continue to peel his hips back and dive back into you.

“Pussy feels so good,” Harry grunts into your ear as he begins to pick up the pace and smack his hips against yours.

Your eyes peel open and let your hands rest along his ribs, your head knocked back into the pillows and gaze caught between the loose ringlets of his curls and the popcorn ceiling, as the sound of the wetness between your legs is accompanied by the slamming of his hips fills the room. You couldn’t remember the last time you had mind blowing sex like this, it must be months now. But, the wait was definitely worth it, because the feeling of Harry’s dick diving into you while his grunts and moans filled your ear was something that you wanted to last forever.

Yet, you still couldn’t believe it was him doing this to you. You don’t think you’ll ever get over this. The man you’re suppose to hate is filling your walls and captivating every cell in your body to fall under his spell.

“You fill me up so—“ You’re words being cut off when you feel Harry pull himself out until his head is breached and thrust back into you, the motions repeating themselves which only makes your mouth hang open and your nails sink into his skin.

Completely cut off guard by the change of his rhythm, you were starstruck. Your eyes fluttering close and letting him do absolutely whatever he wanted to you, just accepting the fact that he was digging into you so deliciously that you had no words to express what you were feeling.

The smell of rum and cherry fills your nose as you feel his lips link with you, his mouth moaning when your tongues lock together, hips never stopping their tantalizing movements. The feeling of him filling up your pussy with his thickness, the way you managed to become more wet by the different flow of his hips, the way his body heat covered you like a blanket.

The familiar feeling of your climax welcomes you again as Harry keeps on thrusting himself inside of you. The ball in your stomach, unraveling with each stroke only making your thighs clench tighter and pull him into you more.

“Mhm… you like me fucking you?” Harry breathes against your lips only making you cry out in frustration as you feel yourself beginning to come apart underneath him, and the fact that he’s talking to you like this is only bringing it on even more.

You nodded your head silently, eyes fluttering open to peer into his olive ones while his bushy eyebrows were knit together.

“Answer me,” He continues his hand that was by your head wrapping around your throat and you knew just by the feeling of his fingers against the skin there, you were done.

“Yes,” You cried out, eyes never tearing away as you felt the bundle of nerves in your stomach burn inside you. Your legs shaking, thighs wrapping tighter around him and nails now dragging down his sides tiredly as the feeling of pure euphoria washes over you.

Harry thrusts however never slowed down, he kept the rhythm while staring down at you, his teeth biting down on his bottom lip as he watched your face go through phases of pleasure. Your fingers leave his back and trail to his neck, legs hanging loosely around him while you stare back up at him, the beating in your heart slowing down compared to the way it was erratically beating before.

“You’re so hot when you come all over me,” He mutters, his head dipping down and now sucking bruises onto your skin. Butterflies spread in your stomach and to stop a smile from forming you bite the inside of your cheek.

His hips begin to slow, breath blowing over you shallowly and the feeling of him sliding between your walls steadily, only making you crane your neck to the side to get him to look at you. Harry tears his head away from your neck, his lips stuck between his teeth and brows still furrowed.

“Fuck,” He grunts, the feeling of him buried in your heat immediately withdrawn as his warm seed spills on your stomach. You watch his chest heave up and down as he regains his breath. Soon, the warmth of him leaves your body as you watch him sit back on his knees, his arm reaching over to his discarded shirt you once wore and wiping away the fluid.

“Seems like you just make a mess everywhere you go,” You remark, that only makes Harry let out a small laugh before tossing his shirt on the floor. He tugs his boxers over his hips and kicks the rest of his jeans off, you let yourself slip into the sheets while he lies next you.

The room grows quiet, the only sound being heard is the party downstairs. Now your thoughts run wild, you’ve sobered up a bit but still in a daze, wondering if Harry is regretting what just happened.

“Are you going to go back to hating me after this?” Harry asked, his voice deep as he turned to look you.

Fingers twisting together, you let your gaze turn away from him and look at the sheets before you. If you were being honest, you were more confused then anything about what this meant and how you felt towards him now; you couldn’t explain how you felt, still stuck between the way he treated just hours before to how he made you feel just minutes ago, how can you explain what you feel?

“You’ll just have to wait and see…”

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[sun-snatcher]

hello! i love ur work and i was wondering if u could do some live action zuko angst (that makes ur heart sink) and then it progresses to fluff (that makes ur heart swell) please? HAHA idk if it makes sense but i rlly love ur work!! hope ure doing well n no pressure!!!

🐉・ HEARTBURN

summ.  Fresh from his banishment, Zuko faces the aftermath of his punishment in both his dreams and his waking hours. pairing. Zuko x f!reader (established relationship) w.count.  1k.  a/n.  A bit abstract on this one, but just typical dream logic. A glimpse at Zuko’s descent into madness, almost? Sorry anon if this is mostly angst than fluff! 🧎🏻‍♀️

Zuko’s dreams manifest at the scent of burnt flesh and the sound of his own screaming.

He feels the molten sting of a melting crown upon his skin and the fantastical beast that is his father; something monstrous— something scaled, fanged, clawed, and too large an appetite, with a touch and breath of fire that lights the skies in a blaze.

( He wakes up with his voice hoarse from screaming. The 41st Division will eventually learn early on not to mention it. They just leave a hot pot of tea ready for him come the mornings, by General Iroh's orders. )

Sometimes, it transgresses. Sometimes, it’s his mother who burns while he watches from the sidelines of the Agni Kai; Or Azula. Their shrieks mix with his when he wakes. 

Sometimes, it’s Iroh who scalds him. Great Dragon of the West, jasmine-white with razor teeth and a flame that burns as hot as the sun; serpent eyes a shining gold and a sharper tongue that spoke of his disappointment for his nephew. 

Sometimes, it begins with you.

Please, you beg, at the foot of a winged beast. It speaks in the voice of his father; damning, all-encompassing. It warns the Prince the price of compassion, of mercies, and of weaknesses. Eliminate her, or I will. 

Rarely does Zuko ever move. He’d plead in your name, to spare your life. It never happens; he just wakes to the smell of smoke and the sound of your screaming.

( There are dreams he doesn’t speak at all to defend you. The shame devours him whole. )

“I’ve killed you over a hundred times, in my sleep.”

In the aftermath of another nightmare, you turn to face Zuko. You’re not quite sure what to say. 

“Other nights, it’s the 41st, or Uncle,” he says, quietly. “Even mom, or Azula.”

You turn back to the small medical chest on the desk. The infirmary is quieter at times like these; the soldiers of the 41st know not to visit the usual haunts of their Prince. Tonight, Zuko will have to replace the bandages of his scar, and there are only two people on this ship he’d ever trust in his life to lay a hand on it.

You’re shifting towards where he’s sitting on one of the cots. “May I?”

( You ask. You always ask. Even when you’ve done this nearly fifty times, you ask. Zuko is glad; there’s a comfort in agency, especially when he’s gotten so used to losing it every time he sleeps.  )

He nods, and you make quick work to unravel the bandages. When the layers come away, you observe the way his left eye shuts and opens as he blinks, remaining half-closed into a permanent expression of pain. He looks away, downcast. 

The skin around is stretched taut, some areas rawer than others, marred with growing scar tissue that knots in twisting valleys. ( Zuko has only seen the scar once. He’s covered the mirrors in his room ever since; avoids glancing at his own passing reflections. )

The wound is still fresh; the memories fresher.

You don’t flinch at the sight or recoil like the other soldiers or dignitaries. 

He finds… solace in that.

( Something roils in his mind. It uncurls and hisses and growls. )

“Tilt your head for me,” you say, ready to replace the cotton on his eye with a new one. 

He stops your wrist just as you do. 

Your heart jumps at the contact. His hands are warm.

“Why?” he blurts.

You blink in confusion.

“Why’d you come with me?”

The reply is instant, and unintentionally drowned in affection. “Where else would I have belonged?”

Zuko almost answers instinctively: With me. By my side. He shakes his head.

“You should have never come,” he says, instead. He’d grown fond of you over the years. Too fond; over some Firenation colonel’s daughter, a force to be reckoned with and yet a childhood friend who he’d played and studied and fought with countless times. Fond enough that he’d been foolish to let you step foot into the ship of the 41st Division the day he’d been banished; fond enough to be foolish enough to allow you to put yourself in harm’s way. “You could’ve had a better future back home.”

“But a miserable one,” you counter. 

His nostrils flare as he sighs. You watch the way his brows weave to a frown, the way they always did whenever he’s tamping down his frustration. "Nothing is more miserable than being banished from home. Yet here you are walking away from it.”

“You and I both know the palace was never a home for me,” you say. “I’ve been by your side my entire life. I’m not about to break that streak over some punishment. You matter to me.”

Zuko’s heart stifles. 

( Compassion, he hears the wings of the blood-red dragon in his dreams unfurl. Compassion is a sign of weakness. )

“It was a stupid move,” he blurts, letting go of you. He had wanted it to be emotionless, but it comes out as distinctively bitter: “Sooner or later you’ll come to regret your decision. Then, you’ll see I was right all along.”

“Maybe,” you say, just to appease him. “But I doubt it.”

( Lies, jeers the serpent. You have only yourself to rely on in this world, Zuko. )

For the sake of conversation, you don’t provoke him further. You continue, instead, with replacing the dressings around his eye. He’s angry enough as is with the world— with you. For being stubborn. And strong. And steadfast. And loyal. And—

Zuko glances at your face in focus, your hands so careful in binding the gauze it’s nearly featherlight. “Tell me if it hurts,” you say, with gentle authority. 

The ire leaves his body. Zuko’s gaze softens at a realisation:

“Not once have you ever hurt me. Not even in my dreams.”

It’s a statement so frighteningly vulnerable that it has you stilling. Your breath staggers. Something swells in your chest. You let your hand rest on his cheek, thumb below his scar. The touch is reassuring. Zuko wants to lean into it.

“I don’t think I ever could,” you answer, honestly. 

( She can, sings the beast. She will. And once she does, know that it will burn tenfold than what I've done. )

Zuko's hand settles on top of yours. 

“You can hurt me,” he concedes, solemn, voice barely above a whisper. “You can if you must. I command it.”

( The dragon in his head hisses. For now, it retreats. )

#‘you can if you must. i command it.’ #<- GODDD STFUUUUU IM SOFT #the symbolism is symbolism-ing!!! #this was so fun to write #Zuko's ptsd will NOT be overlooked in this blog #the fluff is there if you squint through the angst and whump i promise 😭 #Zuko’s dad manifesting into some beastly thing because trauma is. painful #but god would i be lying if i didnt say i dont enjoy writing the complexities of this angsty teen #zuko #atla zuko #atla #avatar the last airbender #natla #avatar: the last airbender #atla imagine #zuko imagine #zuko x reader #zuko x you #zuko x y/n #zuko x oc #zuko live action #live action zuko #atla live action #🪷 ; wishing well #🪷 ; atla

[ratskinsuit]

Romantic Velvette x gn Reader story where Velvette and Reader were partners before they died and after a long time they were able to meet again in hell. I imagine it happened because Reader wanted to enter the fashion world and tried becoming a model for Velvette, and they didn't recognize themself at first but after a while they did and decided to get back together.

• 𝙵𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙻𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚃𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝙵𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙾𝚗 •

Velvette x gn!Reader

<3————————————————————-Ɛ>

Tags: Gender-neutral reader, No smut, Fluff (Kinda), angst(kinda), mentions of drinking, smoking, and drugs, cursing, Velvette being kind of a bitch, slightly mean Velvette, her poor models, Velvette being a bad employer, but we love her, Velvette being kind of invasive and touchy with reader, I'm so so sorry

A/N: PLEASE I SAW THIS AND WAS SO EXCITED TO WRITE IT. I tried to keep her as in character as I can. I’m trying a different writing style but I hope it’s okay! I also couldent tell if you wanted them to not reconize themself or velvette and I’m so sorry if I messed up. I also know nothing about modeling so expect this to not be accurate, but I Hope you enjoy!

———————————————————————

Hell. A place known to hold the sinners of the world above. Home to all the nasty fucked-ups, the murderers, and the evil of the human world in the afterlife.

You don’t know how you ended up here. You thought yourself of a good person in life. Of course you had the occasional slip-up and weren’t the best person at times, you weren’t perfect. But what human is?

Nevertheless, after a traffic mishap, you ended up in the world with red sky and trashed streets.

You woke up in an alleyway, on the ground. You slowly blink your eyes open, trying to adjust. You sit up with a groan, looking around, confused.

You spot a lizard looking man, leaning against the south wall of you, smoking a cigarette. He has eyes red, greenish grey scales going up from his neck to his scalp. He breathes out a puff of smoke. Eyes darting around the alleyway before landing on you, and he smirks at your staring.

“Something wrong?” He chuckles, taking in another hit.

You hesitate, glancing at him up and down. “Uhm… ex..excuse me, where am I…?” You as, nervously, earning you a laugh from the man.

“Oh, I’m guessing you just got here hm?” He breathes out the smoke, batting it away and flicking his purple tongue out. “Yeah, you smell fresh. Definitely new.”

You look at him confused, not understanding what he means, an obvious clueless look on you face.

The man leans off the wall, walking over to you and crouching over you. “Your in hell kid, You died” he says.

“Your… kidding..” You say, causing him to let out a cackle. “Nope. Welcome to the underworld.” He says, before chuckling, and walking off.

You sit there for a second, dumbfounded. After a moment you stand up, wobbly, but immediately feel dizzy, so you brace yourself against the wall.

Once your vision clears, you notice your hands, no longer there. Now replaced with dark claws.

You gasp, backing up, looking at them, turning them over and looking over them. You thought you would change wherever you went, but you were scared of what you look like now. You look around the alley, spotting a mirror.

You hesitantly walk over to it, standing in shock as you look at yourself in the mirror.

Running a now clawed hand softly over your changed face and body. Did you seriously die? You ask yourself, looking over at your new form.

Tears fill your eyes and you sniffle, trying to hold them back, blinking and wiping them away.

You let out a shaky exhale, taking one last glance at your appearance, before you begin to walk out of the alley.

Once exited, you blink your eyes, trying to adjust to the odd lighting, and begin to look around, walking and exploring for about an hour.

Demons and sinners litter the streets, walking, talking with each other, one person even getting beat up. Vending machines line the streets, and you walk over to one. Curious to see what it has, only to be presented with things that you have never heard of before.

You turn away from the odd vendor, walking the streets for about an hour. Billboard signs are everywhere, advertising p*rn, drugs, and…. a badly spelled assassin company sign?

You sigh, beginning to walk again, when a hot pink van screeches to a stop beside you. It’s doors littered with graffiti, ranging from emojis to slurs.

The door slams open, revealing a van full of demons, led lights shinning down on them. Music blasting from speakers inside, beer cans and cigarettes littering the floor.

One of the demons from inside, a guy with pale grey skin, blaring red hair, and dark sunglasses grins at you “Heyyyyy, you seem a bit lost. Guessing your new here.” He says, taking a swig from a canister, two girls snuggled against him. Can people really tell that you just got here that easily?

“Why don’t you hop in hot stuff. We are heading to the Vees tower. Come on we will give you a ride!” He says, grinning, the girls next to him giggling.

You hesitate, wary of getting into a van full of strangers, in hell especially. “Awe don’t be shy cutie, we don’t bite, come on!” The girl to the left of the guy coos, pushing a stray strand of her purple hair out of her face. Her black eyes gleaming wickedly.

You decide to say fuck it, and hop in the car. I mean it’s not like you can die twice, right? Once you're in, the door slams shut again and you sit across from the three. You look them up and down, them doing the same to you.

“So, how recent are you?” The girl to the right ask, her blue eyes studying you up and down, murky green hair in a braid. You look at her quizzically, earning you a sigh. “How long ago did you die?”

You look at her, blushing a tad for not understanding what she meant. “Oh, uhm… well I just woke up about an hour ago.” You say, the guy letting out a laugh.

“Holy shit your really new. How’d ya die?” He asks, offering you his canister, to which you politely decline.

“Well the last thing I remember is some asshole swerving in front of me on the highway too fast for me to stop myself.” You say, the guy letting out a chuckle. “Shit man that’s rough, going out in a car crash must be fucking mental.” He says. "I mean me personally, i'd prefer to go out in a more badass way." He grins.

You hesitate before speaking up, not wanting to be awkward “So, uhm… where are we going again…?” You ask.

“The Vees tower, they are some of the Overlords, like the more powerful demons of hell.” The purple haired one says, pausing to continue “There is a porn empire runner, kind of a bitch if you ask me, the guy who makes pretty much every electronic device here, and the modeling agency.”

You look at them, still trying to absorb the information being presented to you. “Oh… so why are we going there..?” You ask cautiously.

“Well we are going there because a guy is meeting us to pay off some debt he owes.” The girl with the green hair says, glaring at you, the purple headed one elbowing her with a warning look.

“You know, since you just got here, and your probably gonna need a job, you should try out to be a model! I mean you got the looks.” The guy say, smirking, taking you aback.

“Are… you sure? I don’t know, I don’t... know….” You say nervously, glancing at the three. “Nonsense, your fucking hot as hell, you can definitely get the job!” The purple haired girl chirps, giving you a wide smile.

“I mean…. I, could try..” you murmer, still unsure. But on the bright side growing more comfortable with the three demons.

As you glance out the window, the van comes to a stop infront of a large building. The car door opens and you follow our after the other three.

You turn to them, rubbing the back of your neck. “Hey, uh thanks for the ride…” you say, with a smile, the purple haired girl and the guy smiling back, the other glaring. The two girls link arms. “Yeah of course, anytime. See ya around!” The guy says with a wink, before the three start heading over to an alleyway with a shady looking guy in it.

You roll your shoulders, before turning to the looming building infront of you. Sleek glass covering it all, it’s new look contrasting to the ruins of the surrounding buildings and streets surrounding you.

You go over to one of the glass panels, taking another look at yourself, a frown on your face, still not used to it. You brush yourself off, running fingers through your hair, and straightening out your clothes.

You take one last glance at yourself before you take a deep breath and enter the building. Entering, you look around finding yourself surrounded by fancy plush furniture. A scent lingering that you cant quite name.

You walk over to the front desk, the imp behind it on her phone. You wait a second, hoping she will notice you. When she seems to not notice your presence, you clear your throat. She glances up at you, a bored look on her face. "Ya need something?" She asks, looking you up and down judgmentaly.

Suddenly feeling a bit self conscious, you shuffle from foot to foot. "Oh uhm, hi.. I would like to apply to be a model..." You say. "Doesn't everyone?" She says, snickering. You just stand there awkwardly for a moment, before the imp groans and scavenges for something in a drawer behind the desk.

A moment later she comes back up with a packet, shoving it in your hands. "Just give me your name and go sit down and fill out the packet and I'll call you when she is ready." She says. You thank her, giving her your name, giving you an eye roll she goes back to her phone.

You turn around, going to look for a place to sit, ending up at a comfy white plush chair by the window. Sitting, you begin to fill out the packet, full of average questions, Name, Age, Gender, Cause of Death, Medical History, etc-

After about 20 minutes of waiting the lady at the front desk calls your name. You go up to her, trying to hand her your packet but she pushes it away. "No no no, I don't go over that. She does. Go up to the 7th floor, shes waiting for you already." You pull your arm back. "Wait who is-"

"THE BOSS. GO." She yells, causing you to stumble back a bit, gripping your pamphlet tightly. You sigh, running a hand through your hair. You head over to the elevator, luckily empty. You press the 6th floor button and tap your feet nervously.

After what feels like an eternity, the elevator button dings, alerting you that you're on the 6th floor, and the doors open. Immediately you are hit by a stronger version of what you smelt downstairs, and yelling. Lots of yelling.

Your presented a pink room, clothes and hangers littering the floors. Podiums with models of all different shapes colors and sizes. In the middle is lady, who you assume is the boss, screaming at one of the models.

"THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?! ?!" She screams at them, anger written all over her face, at seeing her, you feel a sense of knowing hit you for a moment, but immediately dissipates as you brush it off.

"I-i... i'm sorry, my legs are just wobbly, i-its hard to walk in heels..p-please d- ont be mad...." The model pleads, tears streaming down her face, ruining her makeup.

"MAD?! DO I SEEM MAD?! YOU FELL AND EMBARRED ME DURING A SHOW, AND NOW YOUR RUINING YOUR MAKEUP!?" She continues yelling, the model sobbing hysterically now, on the floor in a heap.

"FIRED. YOUR FIRED GET THE FUCK OUT." She says. Two security guards dragging the poor, sobbing girl out.

Your frozen on the spot, shocked at what you just witnessed, regretting your decision to come here.

The lady groans, rubbing her temples and squeezing her eyes shut. Before you could double back, she sighs and turns in your direction, the two of you locking eyes.

"Who the FUCK are....you.." She says, pausing halfway through an unrecognizable look appearing on her face, as her features soften a bit.

"Im... here for an interview, to be a model..." You say, the expression she had a second ago gone as you blinked, as she looks you up and down. "Ah okay your my two o-clock." You nod, going and handing her your packet.

As soon as she grasped it she threw it over her shoulder and pointed to one of the empty podiums next to her. "Go, stand up there." She demands.

"W-wait aren't you going to read my pa-" You begin but she interrupts you. "Ill read it if you get the job, this is the most important part, now shut up and stand up." She says. Not wanting to piss her off you climb onto the podium and she follows up after you.

As you stand there you, somehow, get changed into a black tight tank top and some some tight shorts. "Wait wait wait how-" You try to speak but she raises a hand with a glare. "It's part of the process, not be quiet or you wont even get a chance."

You stand there quietly, feeling rather exposed as "The Boss" circles around you like a predator, observing you, poking and prodding like you're some sort of doll. Studying you.

After about 10 minutes of her observing you, she seems satisfied and steps off the podium.

"Nice figure, no disturbing features. Now lets see how well you can actually do if you were a model." She says with a sadistic grin. Before you can even say anything, your changed into a seemingly random outfit.

A bright pink blazer with black feathers and a white boa, white ripped jeans with black combat boots. She lets out a disappointed click of her tongue. "Next." She says, changing you into another outfit.

This goes on for about another hour, change clothes, she looks, either hates it or its good but not good enough, repeat. You take the time to study her as she does this, finding something about her vaguely familiar but not being able to quite put your finger on it.

As you look at her more she suddenly stands up and points at you. "That. That's the outfit, that's the perfect one." She says, as you look down at the outfit your wearing, the thing most catching your eyes being a pair of shoes you definitely cannot walk in.

"Go on walk around in a circle let me see it, strut for me." She says, going closer to the podium, a grin on her face.

Not wanting to lose this opportunity and anger her further, seeing how she took it out on the last model, you take the risk and begin walking clumsily around the podium.

She looks you up and down as you stumble around like a drunk, trying not to fall on your face. She doesn't seem very happy with how your walking but seems satisfied enough.

After a couple minutes, when you feel like your knees are about to buckle she stops you. "Okay I think we are done with this portion, step off and we will get to the next step."

You breath a sigh of relief, as you go over to the edge where she is. You attempt to step off, but then your legs finally decide to give out and you tumble forward into her.

The two of you fall backwards, you landing on her as her back is on the floor. You instantly knew you fucked up.

Shes looking at you, extremely mad, but then she takes a minute and it falls. You two stare at each other for a moment, when you begin to start realizing who she is, but cant place it yet.

"Whats your name..." She asks, and you stare at her, confused. When you don't respond she pushes you off quickly and harshly and speed walks over to your packet that she had thrown earlier.

You scramble up as she harshly grabs it, flipping through it furiouly.

In that moment it comes to you, where you remember her from, and at the exact same moment, she lands on the first page, with your name on it. She looks up at you slowly and you two make eye contact.

"....Velvette...?" You ask, shakily.

She just stares at you for a moment before running over and grabbing you by the collar of your shirt and pulling you towards her. pulling a yelp from you.

She just stares into your eyes for a second, while you pant. After a moment, her expression softens, and she quietly says; "Is... it really you...?" she asks. You voice caught in your throat, tears filling your eyes, you nod.

She grabs you and pulls you into a kiss, and without hesitation you return it. The two of you stumble onto a couch. Your back lands on it, her above you.

You two just stare at each others eyes, before she looks up for a moment, wiping the tears pooling in her eyes. She leans back down, resting her forehead against yours, and she closes her eyes, you two embracing tightly, not letting each other go.

"Fuck I've missed you."

<3————————————————————-Ɛ>

A/N: Okay, so I tried a different style of writing and I hope I did well, I tried my best on this, and I'm so so sorry if its not the best or what was asked. Also, I'm thinking about making the two girls and the guy in the van reoccurring side characters in stories like this (just for a bit more plot and blah blah) and I need names for them, so if anybody could leave suggestions in the comments that would be a great help! Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed! :)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin #hazbin headcanons #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel velvette #hazbin vees #hazbin velvette #velvette x reader #hazbin velvette x reader #hazbin hotel velvette x reader #x reader #original character #the vees #hazbin hotel the vees #hazbin hotel fluff #hazbin hotel angst #hazbin hotel story #hazbin hotel reader

[thegnomelord]

PLEASEEEEE UR IDEA WITH MAGE M!READER AND MONSTER!COD MEN I'D LOVE THAT SO FICKING MUCH AND YES I AGREE THERE IS A LACK OF ALL THE VIOLENCE

Pov of how the world sees the reader Vs how TF141 reader :D. I'm in the middle of writing the first chapter of a fic with this idea, but guess who contracted TB like some coal miner 😞, me! So here's a sneak peak for the sort of vibe I'm going for while I'm trying to recover:

P.S: Ya'll are free to suggest/requests with this idea cause!

P.S.S: Check out bluegiragi who came up with this AU and give her some love!

Mages and Monsters

Mages are strange creatures.

In a world so full of monstrous hybrids and mythical creatures, mages sit on the proverbial line separating man from monster, stuck in both worlds without any hope of fitting in either one.

Because outwardly, they're average. No different from the billions of other humans. They're not born with the marks of monsterdom; they don't possess horns or leathery scales to shrug off small caliber bullets like dragons do, nor the claws and bone crushing jaws of werewolves, not feathered wings and razor sharp talons of harpies, nor the wraiths ghostly ability to become immaterial.

Outwardly, they're average. Ordinary. Mundane. Human...

Almost.

Because Price and Ghost are experienced enough to see the thing laying beneath the paper thin veneer of normality, are seasoned enough to quickly notice the one thing that puts an 'in' before a mage's 'human' description — Magic. Not the smoke and mirror kind magicians or charlatans use to swindle tourists out of money, but real magic.

The ancient kind, the capricious kind, slumbering like a beast inside the hollowed out cavern of a heart until it awakens with a terrible bloodlust. Each of them can attest to this; Price sports gnarled patched of scar tissue on the scaleless parts of his arm from ice burns, his draconic breath having saved him from frostbite that had devoured more than a few good men. Though Ghost doesn't show much skin, one can sometimes catch sight of branching fern patterns on his neck where lightning magic had shot through him. Gaz's back is peppered with hundreds of little cuts where a glass mage's summoned elegant ornaments had shattered into millions of shards, aiming to take out his wings.

And now Soap sports a mark of his own, his side tender red and blistered with a second degree burn. It could have been much worse, your flames were hot enough to melt steel, the only thing having kept him from an early cremation being the two solid concrete walls your magic had had to travel through to hit him and the enhanced regeneration of his thick hide.

But such power demands a cost — one paid in blood. For magic is as fickle and capricious as a rabid dog, just as eager to lunge for your throat as it will at the enemies, leaving lasting wounds for all to see; rough and calloused palms, skin blackened from blazing heat and freezing cold or marked with fern patterns of electricity, fingers stiff and marred with cuts from thorns and crystals and rock and glass, bone deep cuts where the liquid mana had burst out from the skin, leaving faintly glowing scars that never heal right.

All mages are born with this grievous gift, though one never knows whether it will present itself with a pitiful flicker of embers in a man's dying breath, or with a maelstrom of an infant's first hiccup. That's why most mages are sealed, by choice or force, a process which puts chains on the magic, making it and the mage docile.

But you are unsealed. And you flaunt that fact readily by melting the tail of their APC helicopter with one spell, not even waiting for them to crash before flooding the terrain with suffocating ash, the lenses of their gas masks already fogging up from the heat as they get out of the cloud of heavy sediment before it bursts to flames.

Sometimes the magic becomes unsatisfied with the weakness of the body, demanding more than just its pound of flesh and molding the body like clay to better suit it— Mage Marks, they're called — the subtle glow of magic in your eyes, the mana visibly pulsing inside your chest, the skin of your arms slipping away like wet paper before growing anew, this time mimicking the surface of magma, or the rocky barnacle encrusted reef, the gnarled bark of a tree, the crystalline inside of a geode, the ice spiked ground of tundra, or any other form that suits the magic in your veins.

The process is excruciating, the mana burrowing and gnawing on every nerve like a parasite that replaces what it eats with itself. But to you, that's an acceptable loss, because marked mages far surpass their unmarked fellows, your magic stronger and wilder, feral and viscous like the primordial force of nature.

So it becomes concerning when you're laying on the floor, captured, battered and bruised and calm.

Ghost had been waterboarding you for a while now, your body tied to a chair that had been tipped back so you were parallel with the ground. With water pooling around your head, your top half would have been soaked to the bone had your magic not been simmering in your veins, the magic suppression momentarily reducing the raging inferno in your chest to a meager flicker of flames.

They can't kill you, but limiting your magic for even a second is death in and of itself.

Your breathing is harsh as Ghost pulls away the cloth over your mouth, asking you a question as steam rises from your skin. Most would give in long before this point, but you just grin, eyes glowing with a burning glow, and make a comment about how good his arse looks from your viewpoint.

You manage only one small note of laughter, pitiful embers sparking at the corners of your lip, before Ghost drops the rag back over your face and begins anew.

Price watches all of this, sharp draconic eyes noting how the mana glows in your chest, pulsing like a second heart (assuming you had one to begin with), noticing how the water turns to steam a little faster when it splashes over your skin.

And Price knows.

You... You are going to be trouble.

#trinkets from the hoard #male reader #cod mw2 #modern warfare #john price #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #gaz mw2 #monster au #mage reader #violence #reader is not a good guy #reader is a feral gremlin #monster 141 au #captain john price #reader x cod mw #x reader #centerpieces of the hoard

[aaknopf]

In the prologue to Spectral Evidence, Pulitzer winner Gregory Pardlo’s new collection, he writes, “This book is about the legal means by which fear is used to rationalize the persecution of people imagined to be in league with the possessed of supernatural forces. This book argues that the logic used to rationalize the prosecution of witches is the same logic that rationalizes vigilantism and police street justice.” He goes on to consider that both Black men and white women are “similarly pressed into service as both muse and monster in the Western cultural imagination,” while, at their ghostly intersection, the patriarchy is haunted by “the omnipresent but rarely named” Black woman. 

One iconic example, brought forth in these shimmering poems of the self as shaped by (and shaping) American history, is Tituba, the only woman of color to be accused in the Salem witch trials.

Occult

Zero your scales to the burden of a lash, Dear Justice, but let Tituba clumsy the Magistrates’ minds with a wag of her wizened index. A flight risk near forests of the Wampanoag where Christians savaged Queen Weetamoo’s corpse, what else might Tituba, nonwhite and woman, haunt but a margin of error? She’s a catbird’s song trapped in the chimney. She’s egg whites in water, she is the tumescence of smoke. Dear Mami Wata, let Tituba prove to be the stone that splits the stream of their vision. Let her renounce sight and be unseen. Let her cough ground coral in the shedding of a pewter moon, that she, of all the innocents, should live. Dear Three-headed Hecate, replace her, the unthought thought, with wax, twigs, horse hair and straw. Let her not appear as a witness. Nor as evidence. As with the talking dog, let her be the hoodoo that speaks through their mirrors. Let a hang-thread skein of yarn ghost the floorboards tempting a red cat—his familiars, the devil and his counsel, the canary. Let her conjure the man in black they fear who charms pilgrims on the road to paradise, disguised as a harmless birdwatcher. Dear Nemesis, let her feed the court a few names from his register—a taste of her truth, her mise en abyme, her one hell that calls forth another. With no standing on her own behalf, let her sit in judgment. Let this power invested of gavel and oath help her give birth through her mouth like a god.

More on this book and author:

Learn more about Spectral Evidence by Gregory Pardlo.

Browse other books by Gregory Pardlo and follow him on Twitter @pardlo.

Click here for a special NYPL recording of Imani Perry and Gregory Pardlo in conversation about Spectral Evidence. 

Visit our Tumblr to peruse poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.

To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link.

#poetry #knopf #poem-a-day #knopf poetry #national poetry month #poetry month #knopfpoetry #poem #Pardloaudio #Gregory Pardlo #spectral evidence #occult

[flame-cat]

Part 1 / Part 2 (you are here) / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7

Phil is actually doing alright, this time.

No, really.

That breakdown earlier? To be expected. He's been through a lot recently. Of course he's going to have a bit of a cry, maybe a nightmare or two. That's normal. Earned, even. But that was because he was sitting still. He forgot the most important part of maintaining mental health- movement. Activity.

This time, Phil is pacing.

He's careful not to get too mindless about it. If he slips into lethargy, lets time pass and pass and pass while he lays catatonic, he's going to break. That can't happen. He counts his steps, counts the birds, pays attention to his surroundings. He checks every corner for secret elevators or unprotected blocks. He clears away the foliage. He organizes his inventory. Once. Twice. Fiddles with his things.

(Avoids the chest and the hat and the duckie.)

Phil is doing better now. He got it all out of his system, and now he's focused. He's planning. He's plotting.

That fucking bear. That fucking bear. He's going to kill it. He's going to raze this island into nothingness. He's going to rain hellfire down on anyone that stands between him and his kids. He's going to get out of here and kill and rage and they will suffer him.

He's going to find his kids. He is. He is.

(He's failed them too much already.)

He doesn't have his photo album with him. If he did, he would be looking through it, flipping through page after page of precious memories. As it stands, he can only rely on his mind's eye for it.

(How long until he can't anymore, until the faces of his loved ones become smudged beyond recognition from time and isolation?)

He was going about it all wrong earlier. Waiting. Listening. Laying helpless and cathartic, pliant, malleable. Sitting pretty like the caged bird they want him to be, waiting for someone to come rescue him.

Phil is no damsel.

All aside, he knew when he came here it might be a trap, that something might happen to him. He was prepared for this. It's no surprise, no great loss that he's trapped now. The only downside is that he can't look for his kids right now.

But he'll get out. Hopefully on his own.

The game, he realized some time ago, isn't just to break him. That could be achieved in other ways, of course, and the federation is much too clever not to go for two birds in one stone. No, they're also trying to distract.

Just like with Forever, if everyone is preoccupied with looking for him, trying to save him, they won't be looking for the eggs. It's all smoke and mirrors.

Phil won't allow that.

If they do come for him, what will they do? The blocks are protected, the door locked with no key. It'll take ages to get him out. Time better spent looking for their children. Phil can get out on his own, and he will tell them as much- that they must leave him to his own devices and find their kids first.

(Phil is no help. Has been no help. He's already failed them. He can't be another burden, another weight on the scales balancing their fate so percariously.)

In here, Phil is safe, though bored and distraught. The kids are in danger, who knows where, terrified out of their minds and alone. The more time passes, the more likely that...

(Why is their stuff here, why is it here, why did they put it here, why why why-)

So no, should they come for him, Phil will not accept their help.

Phil is pacing.

It's impossible to tell how long he's been here. He already lost time with his breakdown earlier. Fucking scuffed. Washed, even. It could've been hours or days, he has no idea.

He has no idea how to get out.

He's tried hitting things, obviously, that's basically all he did for the first couple hours or so. Punching, kicking, ramming his body into things, tearing at the hanging plants. There are neat piles of plant matter in his inventory now. He has taken a few leaves out and torn them apart, methodically, bit by bit, and scattered them at the birds.

The birds. Will they survive in here? Will he need to kill them and eat them to live? It probably won't come to that, not for a long while, but it's worth considering that they seem to have no source of food in here.

Maybe he should feed them.

What, his gapples? Birds can't eat gapples. Phil is an exception. The only thing he will achieve is killing them faster.

The plant matter he has may help, a little. There have to be some seeds in there. He hopes that's enough.

Having a problem to solve, one with a solution at hand, is critical to maintaining his composure. The birds will keep him occupied. He rummages through his inventory, sifting carefully through the leaves and vines he has accumulated, picking apart tiny flowers in search of anything a bird might be able to eat.

They've mostly left him alone so far. At first they scattered to the corners of the room, perching in rafters and eyeing him warily with warning chirps at the others. He feels a little bad that his tantrum earlier had caused them such distress. It seems now enough time has passed that they regard him as another part of their home. Just lazily flitting by, perching on his hat or pecking at his feet. Curious and carefree.

(Still trapped. Poor things.)

Phil has not found any seeds.

He throws the little pile of greenery onto the ground and keeps pacing.

#qsmp #qsmp fanfiction #philza #q!philza #qsmp philza #philza fanfic #in the life #pheo drabbles #more stream of consciousness this time #yes im continuing this lmao #might even do a chapter 3

[wingedblooms]

Wraithlike

This is a Maasverse post, and as such, there are spoilers for all Maas series. Proceed with caution.

In the Throne of Glass series, Sarah makes quite a few references to wraiths. Forms that are wraithlike are nearly transparent; they are bodies that aren’t bodies. These forms move like the wind and appear suddenly. The most striking references include the void, like when Aelin and Manon enter a witch mirror and watch a memory in the space between. Or the references to hell, especially the grieving queen who walks like she is traveling through a dreamscape, or an empty, barren hell. Take a look for yourself:  

He dragged a hand across the floor before the darkness, and greenish lights sprung up from where his fingers passed before being sucked into the void like wraiths on the wind. One of his hands was bleeding. (tog) Dorian Havilliard stood at the ballroom window, watching Celaena and Chaol dance in the garden beyond, their dark cloaks flowing around them like they were no more than two wraiths spinning through the wind. After hours of dancing, he’d finally managed to get free of the ladies demanding his attention, and had come to the window to get some much-needed fresh air. (com) Slowly, like lovely wraiths from a hell-realm, the witches appeared. (qos) Aelin had a body that was not a body. She knew only because in this void, this foggy twilight, Manon had a body. A nearly transparent, wraithlike body, but … a form nonetheless. (eos) Clad in white silk, her long curtain of dark hair unbound, the Grand Empress strolled, silent and grave as a wraith, down a walkway wending through the rock formations of the garden. Only moonlight filled the space—moonlight and shadow, as the empress strode alone and unnoticed, her simple gown flowing behind her as if on a phantom wind. White for grief—for death. […] Nesryn lingered in the shadows of the pillar, watching the woman drift farther away, as if she were wandering the paths of some dreamscape. Or perhaps some empty, barren hell. (tod) Silent as wraiths, they appeared across the glen. As if they’d simply sparked into existence in the shade of the foliage. Little bodies, some pale, some black as night, some scaled. Mostly concealed, save for spindly fingers and wide, unblinking eyes. Elide gasped. “The Little Folk.” (koa) It was over before it really started. The mercenary got in two hits, both met with those wicked-looking daggers. And then she knocked him out cold with a swift blow to the head. So fast—unspeakably fast and graceful. A wraith moving through the mist. (ab) The moon illuminated the mist swirling along the leaf-strewn ground, and made the trees cast long shadows like lurking wraiths. And there—standing in a copse of thorns—was a white stag. Celaena’s breath hitched. (ab)

Naturally, I was curious how these links held up when we actually meet wraiths in A Court of Thorns and Roses (acotar) and Crescent City (cc). In acotar, we meet half-wraith twins who appear and disappear suddenly, even into a puff of smoke. Amren says they are nothing but shadow and mist, and can travel through walls. 

They appeared through the cracks from slivers of darkness, just as Rhysand had. But while he’d solidified into a tangible form, these faeries remained mostly made of shadow, their features barely discernable, save for their loose, flowing cobweb gowns. They remained silent when they reached for me. I didn’t fight them—there was nothing to fight them with, and nowhere to run. The hands they clasped around my forearms were cool but solid—as if the shadows were a coating, a second skin. (acotar) The shadow maids, as usual, walked through the walls and vanished. (acotar) Nails clicked on stone, and my escorts swapped glances before they swung me into an alcove, a tapestry that hadn’t been there a moment before falling over us, the shadows deepening, solidifying. I had a feeling that if someone pulled back that tapestry, they would see only darkness and stone. One of them covered my mouth with a hand, holding me tightly to her, shadows slithering down her arm and onto mine. She smelled of jasmine—I’d never noticed that before. After all these nights, I didn’t even know their names. (acotar) Amren, at least, knocked this time before entering. Nuala and Cerridwen, who had finished setting combs of mother-of-pearl into my hair, took one look at the delicate female and vanished into puffs of smoke. “Skittish things,” Amren said, her red lips cutting a cruel line. “Wraiths always are.” “Wraiths?” I twisted in the seat before the vanity. “I thought they were High Fae.” “Half,” Amren said, surveying my turquoise, cobalt, and white clothes. “Wraiths are nothing but shadow and mist, able to walk through walls, stone—you name it. I don’t even want to know how those two were conceived. High Fae will stick their cocks anywhere.” I choked on what could have been a laugh or a cough. “They make good spies.” (acomaf)

In Crescent City, Vanir wraiths change bodies often to maintain a youthful appearance (thanks for this reminder, @offtorivendell!). We learn this when Bryce meets Vik, a wraith who is trapped in the beautiful body she possesses, and then ripped from that same body and contained in a box at the bottom of the Melinoë Trench as punishment. (This is a terrible punishment, but the name is fitting—Melinoë was associated with ghosts, and wraiths are ghostly in appearance.) Micah is truly the worst. 

The wraith folded her alabaster hands in her lap, the unnatural elegance the only sign of the ancient power that rippled beneath the calm surface. Vik had no body of her own. Though she’d fought in the 18th, Isaiah had learned her history only when he’d arrived here ten years ago. How Viktoria had acquired this particular body, who it had once belonged to, he didn’t ask. She hadn’t told him. Wraiths wore bodies the way some people owned cars. Vanir wraiths switched them often, usually at the first sign of aging, but Viktoria had held on to this one for longer than usual, liking its build and movement, she’d said. Now she held on to it because she had no choice. It had been Micah’s punishment for her rebellion: to trap her within this body. Forever. No more changing, no more trading up for something newer and sleeker. For two hundred years, Vik had been contained, forced to weather the slow erosion of the body, now plainly visible: the thin lines starting to carve themselves around her eyes, the crease now etched in her forehead above the tattoo’s twining band of thorns. (hoeab) At least Bryce could now appreciate the beauty before her: the dark hair and pale skin and stunning green eyes were all Pangeran heritage, speaking of vineyards and carved marble palaces. But the grace with which Viktoria moved … Viktoria must have been old as Hel to have that sort of fluid beauty. To be able to steer her body so smoothly. (hoeab) “Through the glare of the firstlight beams atop the remote submersible, more fleshy white bits floated by. This was what the wraith Viktoria had been damned by Micah to endure. The former Archangel had shoved her essence into a magically sealed box while the wraith remained fully conscious despite having no corporeal form, and dropped her to the floor of the Melinoë Trench. […] The wraith’s shoebox-sized Helhole had been bespelled against the pressure. And Viktoria, not needing food or water, would live forever. Trapped. Alone. No light, nothing but silence, not even the comfort of her own voice. (hosab)

What does this mean for Elain’s story, and why am I even mentioning her in a wraith meta? In the acotar series, Nuala and Cerridwen, half-wraith twins, draw Elain out of her grief and help her learn how to bake. Sarah mentions that Elain considers them her friends twice in acosf alone: 

Tending to the gardens of Feyre’s veritable palace on the river, helping other residents of Velaris restore their own destroyed gardens–she had purpose, and joy, and friends: those two half-wraiths who worked in Rhysand’s household. (acosf) “You came,” Elain said behind her, and Nesta started, not having heard her sister approach. She scanned Elain from head to toe, wondering if she’d been taking lessons in stealth either from Azriel or the two half-wraiths she called friends. (acosf) 

She also plants the idea that Elain might be engaging in stealth training with them (and/or Azriel, who trained them). That would make sense since she has learned from them before and she started to move like them after developing a friendship. She tends to move silently and appears suddenly, even stepping out of shadow. Before she was Made, Elain moved with the grace of a doe, so that newfound skill may have come fairly naturally.

In acosf, Nesta also recalls how Elain was after being Made and refers to her as a ghost. She comments that she (Nesta) was the ghost now, worse than a ghost: she was a wrathful wraith. This description of a wraith doesn’t quite match what we know about the few wraiths in the maasverse we’ve met; it seems more like a frightening bedtime story of a legendary monster, which is perhaps meant to reflect Nesta’s own inner turmoil. But the description of Elain when she is first Made is eerily similar to the wraithlike queen in tod:

Where Nesta had been in contented silence before we found her, Elain’s silence was…hollow. Empty. Her hair was down—not even braided. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen it unbound. She wore a moon-white silk dressing robe. She did not look, or speak, or even flinch as we entered. Her too-thin arms rested on her chair. That iron engagement ring still encircled her finger. Her skin was so pale it looked like fresh snow in the harsh light. I realized then that the color of death, of sorrow, was white. The lack of color. Of vibrancy. […] Nesta’s rage was better than this…shell. This void. My breath caught as I edged around her chair. Beheld the city view she stared so blankly at. Then beheld the hollowed-out cheeks, the bloodless lips, the brown eyes that had once been rich and warm, and now seemed utterly dull. Like grave dirt. (acowar)

The interesting part about this connection is that Elain likely was wandering through some dreamscape like a wraith with her Sight. This pale, hollow image of Elain also aligns with the definition of a wraith. 

Elain appears wraithlike again (probably on purpose) when she wears a black gown in the Hewn City, a place of rotting darkness. Cassian notes: 

“Yes, she was beautiful, but the color of her long-sleeved modest gown leeched the brightness from her face.” […] He’d never once in the two years he’d known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court…It sucked the life from her.” (acosf)

Elain’s black dress makes her look plain and invisible compared to her sister. She lacks color and vibrancy just as she did in the House of Wind, though in black instead of white. It’s possible she did this on purpose since she’s altered her appearance before and the half-wraith twins helped her dress for that occasion, too. Could they have dressed her strategically to escape notice on solstice, and could this be another hint of wraithlike powers?

In Song of the wind, I wondered if Elain could be a pale wraith, a force of light and color and wind, who moves like Hope through the Void. She’s described in terms that do not have a definite form (pale, golden mass in his arms; sunlight on gold; purple and gold flashed), and even asked Amren about changing bodies in acofas. We know that Vanir wraiths can wear different bodies, like shapeshifters walk in different skins (ie., skinwalkers). Wraiths, however, have no definite form beneath the body they wear. Is that the true reason why Elain boldly asked Amren if she could take a different form, change bodies?

“Could you have done it? Decided to take a male form? […] Then why did you pick this body? […] And once you were in this body, you couldn’t change?” (acofas)

Elain as a wraith (or wraith adjacent, lol) would be a fun way to come full circle with the parallel @kimsnnn discusses here. After pointed inquiry about Amren’s otherworldly eyes, Nesta’s otherworldly power glowed silver in her eyes. It’s possible the dinner conversation about changing form might then be a hint that Elain and Amren will share otherworldly forms. Amren’s otherworldly form was a bird of prey, a messenger. She watched over humans, and when ordered, acted as a soldier-assassin. 

Amren smiled slightly—at me, at Varian. “I watched them for so many eons. Humans—in my world, there were humans, too. And I watched them love, and hate—wage senseless war and find precious peace. Watched them build lives, build worlds. I was … I was never allowed such things. I had not been designed that way, had not been ordered to do so. So I watched. And that day I came here … it was the first selfish thing I had done. For a long, long while I thought it was punishment for disobeying my Father’s orders, for wanting. I thought this world was some hell he’d locked me into for disobedience.” (acowar)

You know who else watches others through physical eyes and Cauldron-blessed Sight? Elain. I’ve wondered before if she is an otherworldly messenger and/or guardian like Silba’s owl or the Suriel (who is your stereotypical wraith). Alert and aware. Silent travelers, full of wisdom. There are some who even believe the word wraith is connected to the Norse word for watcher, but several sources indicate the origin is unclear. Regardless, Elain acts like a wraithlike guardian, appearing suddenly out of shadow to protect her family. It's possible she used this skill to wear the body of Balthazar and help Nesta and Emerie find safety during the Blood Rite.

Even if Elain isn’t an actual wraith, I think we can reasonably predict that she will learn more from Nuala and Cerridwen, and their gifts may complement her own as she practices using her Cauldron-blessed powers. When she cannot see something, Elain says it is all mist and shadow, and Nuala and Cerridwen are nothing but shadow and mist, able to walk through walls, stone. Could they teach Elain how to break through the walls of her Sight? 

With all the connections wraiths seem to have with void and hell, Nuala and Cerridwen may help her use the Void to peer into and/or travel to Hel (as both @offtorivendell and I have theorized). It would make sense for them to use the space between together, especially if Elain has mystic abilities and can move fluidly across space like a wraith’s essence. They’ve been helping her all along and will probably continue to do so. In her own words, Elain already told us that “Nuala and Cerridwen will help her [me]” (acowar). And there are so many things Elain seems eager to learn from them. 

Elain stood between Nuala and Cerridwen at the long worktable. All three of them covered in flour. Some sort of doughy mess on the surface before them. The two handmaiden-spies instantly bowed to Rhys, and Elain— There was a slight sparkle in her brown eyes. As if she’d been enjoying herself with them. Nuala swallowed hard. “The lady said she was hungry, so we went to make her something. But—she said she wanted to learn how, so…” Hands wreathed in shadows lifted in a helpless gesture, flour drifting off them like veils of snow. “We’re making bread.” (acowar)

P.S., Is it any coincidence that they likely look like three lovely ghosts, covered in flour, when they work together?

#elain archeron #nuala and cerridwen #wraithlike elain #lovely wraiths #wraiths on the wind #watchers #guardians #ever shifting form #like the goddess of fate #major Urd vibes #flame and shadow #maasverse theories

[lordeemailarchive]

Pure Heroine turns 10

(27/09/2023) (PH 10 YEAR ANNIVERSARY DISPATCH)

Living in Ruins of a Palace within My Dreams

Photo by Simeon Patience

Hi,

Firstly, I wanna say thank you for your extremely supportive and kind messages after my last newsletter. I genuinely feel deeply cared for, less alone, and more sure that things will be okay after sending it! Albeit with a slight overshare hangover. I think a part of me knew that I had hit a wall, and that I needed to invite in the compassion and understand I’d been struggling to generate on my own, and then I’d have something to draw from and mirror. It feels like it’s working. I feel incredibly grateful that we have this relationship, that we can each give when the other needs it. Beautiful stuff x

Now, might U have noticed it’s 2013 mode round here????????? Yes that’s right, it’s a very special anniversary… Pure Heroine is... ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡TEN ˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚ YEARS ˚༘♡ ⋆｡˚ OLD ੈ✩‧₊˚ TODAY ! ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

You may (like me most of the time) hold the opinion that this album has been MYTHOLOGISED QUITE ENOUGH, but a milestone is a milestone, so I thought coming here and typing some shit to u about this time would be a fun thing for those who care.

2 xxxxtra special ltd time only commemorative designs by Hassan, who did the original of this bootleg tee 10 years ago❤️

It’s close to midnight, and I’ve just finished scrolling through my entire computer and phone archive from 2011-2013. Going on this memory lane ride has reminded me, for one thing, what a different time it was technologically. We were just starting to be able to see ourselves in real time, but we weren’t constantly connected. I had an iPod touch until halfway through 2013, which didn’t have a front camera or internet access, and my sister and I shared a MacBook, which is where we did our schoolwork and I wrote my lyrics. I took my first few years of selfies on Photo Booth…. Just let that… sink in!!!

Note the Royals Nat Geo pic in background— it’s happening...

When I was fourteen, my greatest work of art was my bedroom. A very cool, very classic teenage bedroom, Andie’s and Duckie’s from Pretty in Pink meets the Virgin Suicides— fairy lights, fabric on the ceiling, candles, stolen road signs (badman), paper lanterns, beer crate shelves, magazine pictures and club night posters and permanent marker on the walls. Bliss! I’d sit up there and vibe out, taking a lot of selfies. Creating a small-scale work of art using the self, and then examining the product from every angle, was the best method I had to express myself and exercise creativity at that time, and I now see it as an important PH incubation phase, whether I knew it or not. Something really amazing about a young person starting to see their own face and body for the first time, coming to a very secret understanding that they are beautiful. 

I started to smoke weed, which gave me a deeper understanding of sensory pleasure, and allowed me to start to see my world as a possible work of art. I’d go on long walks around the neighbourhood, and began to mythologise the stuff around me (big empty floodlit rugby fields/bus rides/dark streets/boredom/isolation) into the motifs that would become Pure Heroine. I wore a lot of like, navy lipsticks from the 2 dollar shop. God, this aesthetic, It’s just TOO MUCH.

At some point in here, I met Joel, and another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. When you’re a teenager, you’re particularly sensitive to adults being condescending to you, not respecting the specific and finely tuned skills you have because of the ones you don’t. I was always on the look out for it, and from the first day meeting Joel, I knew that he would never give me that feeling. Which I’m sure wasn’t easy — my wallet at the time was the foot of a pair of tights that I cut off and knotted at the top — but somehow from the very beginning he made me feel like my ideas had value, like we were peers, in the most sensitive and age-appropriate way. 

My view for thousands of hours making this album

We got on a call earlier this week and broke down the complete history of making the album. We both agreed that making Pure Heroine was deeply exciting and intimate and free, and still one of our most treasured experiences. I’ve linked it here.The second half of 2013 is when I really met the world, went to America and Australia and Europe for the first time. I found an incredible (for some reason Christmas themed) disposable camera image of my stage outfits all over the floor of my hotel room, which really sums up how ad hoc everything was at the beginning — a jetlagged sixteen year old, late for lobby call and frantically stuffing thousands of dollars of borrowed clothes into a suitcase. 

In this stage, it felt like I pulled everything off by the skin of my teeth. Every week was the most exciting week of my whole life, I was so tired and still didn’t have a winter coat and took everyone clamouring for a piece of me completely for granted. I had zero cultural context, had no idea if an interview or TV show was huge or small, and so breezed through it all truly not giving a fuck. I am not a naturally nonchalant person, it was literally just too much to care about, I could hardly get up in the morning, so I just said absolutely whatever I felt like, all kinds of wild shit, if someone did something corny I’d say so, I was ruthless in that way that only teens are. Then through that year we went on our first tours, met you guys for the first time, hours and hours of hugs after the show, my favourite part so far and where it started to feel real for me. James took a lot of beautiful film photos through that time, and I’m really grateful he did.

Ten years goes really fast. One minute you’re wearing a leather collar with a giant crystal hanging off it to a Chanel party, and the next you’re blonde. A lot of stuff isn’t good after ten years. But I am still totally touched by this sweet record. I have deep respect for the vision of the little one making it. 

Going back through all of this has reminded me of something that feels important to point out, whether you make art or not: everything starts out as a bunch of bullshit in a laptop. Pure Heroine was a handful of Photo Booth selfies and emotional Word documents and Tumblr posts (and a gorgeous over-decorated bedroom) before it was even one song. I had no reason, on paper, to believe that I was capable of anything. But if you can trust that the first impulse you had to create came from a place of deep wisdom, develop a few principles for your decision-making, and absorb a lot of stuff you find inspiring, you’ll have something special on your hands. Pure Heroine exists because I had the tiniest inkling of what I’ve now come to see as one of my guiding principles: that each of us have a handful of songs inside us that are ours, and only ours, to sing. Your specific interests and upbringing and physiology and experiences exist only in you; you are sitting on a gold mine that no one can rob. Whatever that means to you, whatever that statement you were born to make is, I invite you to take a big breath and make it.

All my love for another ten years of all this, and more, and more—

Ella XXXXXXXXXX

(source: received this email)

[paloma-ascends-into-hellfire]

eating disorder harm reduction

no one ever compiled this so that it what we are doing today. for people with eds and people whose loved ones do. please note: i’m not a doctor. this is a compilation of things from books and ed resource sites.

for people whose loved ones have an eating disorder:

try to make sure they know these things.

try not to force them to eat, they might feel uncomfortable eating in front of people. also, risk of refeeding syndrome.

if their life is in danger and you are seeking help for them, consult the person beforehand to make sure they will be safe and give them a heads-up so that they aren’t startled (especially if they’re neurodivergent! giving them notice will aid control!)

offer them ways of controlling things aside from food - practice consent, include them in conversations, don’t talk about them behind their back, compliment their makeup or hair.

be patient. the person may be irritable from lack of sleep, feelings of depression, worthlessness, etc., or malnutrition.

keep in mind that you can’t tell if someone has an eating disorder by looking at them. people of all weights do - only 17% of anorexics are underweight - and also, men and non binary people can also have eds.

general:

drink lots of water, especially if you’re drinking lots of caffeine.

drink some electrolytes at least once a week - gatorade, electrolyte tablets, coconut water, doesn’t matter, just get it into your system.

if you are getting dizzy or flushed and can feel your heart beating, quick carbs will raise your blood sugar - sweets, bread, fruit, juice, non diet soda, whatever. keep snacks around pls.

your brain uses 400-500 calories daily. eat more than this.

take your supplements!

you still need protein, have an egg or something.

don’t take adderal or insulin unless you are actually diabetic or neurodivergent, because you are raising the price by buying them and denying access to those who need it.

throw a towel over the mirror. it’s not worth it if it’ll cause you anxiety.

try to limit disordered behaviours like body checking, purging, and weigh ins.

practice good dental hygiene.

put your scale somewhere where you have to actively look for it to weigh yourself.

avoid social media and for your sake don’t go on pro ed tiktok or tumblr or twitter or insta.

get a buddy who also struggles with the same thing if possible to support each other.

get regular medical check ups (if you can afford it)

practice things within your control - makeup, hair, clothing, etc.

push your rules - eat 5 minutes before your time, or 50 calories over your limit.

for people with restrictive disorders (e.g. anorexia):

do weight and resistance training at least twice a week to prevent musculoskeletal conditions such as osteoporosis.

don’t drink on an empty stomach.

try to put gaps between fasting periods.

don’t fast for more than 72 hours.

wear lots of layers to keep warm.

eat an extra 100-200 calories on your period if you menstruate.

have a metabolism day.

take care of your hair.

as horrifying as this is to many people, please go to the hospital if you’re experiencing heart problems or if you’re passing out for more than 30 seconds.

for people with purging disorders (e.g. bulimia):

if you would like to purge, wait 15 minutes first.

after purging: drink lots of water - the emptiness you feel is dehydration. don’t brush your teeth but rinse your mouth out, preferably with an alkaline mouthwash or baking soda mixed into water. do something you want to do, like reading a book or watching a show. don’t smoke. don’t have anything acidic. eat a banana or some chocolate or a rice cake to keep your blood sugar levels in check.

if you vomit blood or your vomit looks like coffee grounds, this is a sign of internal bleeding. you could be drowning in your own blood from a hole in your esophagus, essentially. go to the hospital or call 911/999/the emergency number in your area.

stay safe everyone. i hope this helps. also, i do not use these tags - i have them blocked - but i am using them so that people on these tags will find this because they need it most.

#ed harm reduction #harm reduction #ed recovery #pro recovery #notpro4n4 #tw eating disorders #tw ed not ed sheeren #pro a4a #ana trigger #ana rant #tw anorexia #tw bulimia #anamia #⭐️ving #edhr

[mint-yooxgi]

could you do a yandere!dragon mingi?

You're so beautiful. More beautiful than all of the gems of the earth. My most valued treasure.

Look at you, so fragile and innocent, sleeping against the big, bad beast. I cannot fully hide my green scales from you, even in this form, but whenever you trace your fingers over them, I cannot help but shiver.

Do you know what a simple touch from you does to me? Are you aware of how deeply your own claws have sunk into my heart? Not that you actually have claws, but I digress.

Oh, I shouldn't huff too much. I might wake you. Besides, my smoke isn't something you should be breathing in. I don't want you to get sick.

Still, I'll pull you in closer; hold you tighter. You enjoy being wrapped up in my warmth, and I love it when you subconsciously curl in closer to me. It mirrors the way my own lips curl upwards from simply looking at you. Just like now.

I wouldn't trade this for anything.

I will never let another take you away from me again. If that makes me the fabled dragon who keeps his princess locked away in a tower for all eternity, then so be it. I will not lose you again.

For now, sleep, My Princess. Your guardian, your lover will watch over you forevermore. I've got you, and this time, I'm not letting you go.

Never again.

#ask #yandere mingi #mingi scenario #mingi drabble #yandere ateez #ateez drabble #drabbles #dragon au #short n sweet

[herosplatling-replica]

Rhythm Doctor Fic Recommendations (Part Two!)

hi there! it's been quite a while since part one of what is essentially becoming a series of uplifting writers in the rhythm doctor community, and we're now as i'm writing this at a whole 78 fics!!!!

it's been amazing seeing this fanbase grow, and especially fun reading through what everyone writes. so here i am once again, giving you the scoop on some of the best fics i've read! ヾ(≧▽≦*)o

please go give the writers some love and leave some comments on their work, especially the incomplete ones!!! read below the cut for your reccs!!

for real though comment on these. they're all so good

Moments of Reprieve by @emphasis-on-the-oopsie/SnowyShipsLogicality: (Rated G, Paian-centric, 4+1 fic and domestic fluff, 2,758 Words; Completed)

4 times Ada kissed Ian (+2 times he kissed her)

morning laps for lovebirds by Tigroou: (Rated G, Miner Scales-centric, fluff & slice of life, 1,623 Words; Completed)

Lucky liked to run laps with the hospital team. Except today.

Smoke Signals by @sirwow: (Rated T, Cocole-centric, RD Connections Converged, 3,089 Words; Completed)

A Prelude story- Cole and Nicole's first meeting, the totally normal way Cole got here.

like real people do by @midnight--ink/magic-at-midnight: (Rated G, Paian-centric, fluff & first kiss, 2,367 Words; Completed)

Eight years was a long time to get to know someone, and he had spent those years memorizing all of Ada's traits and quirks and idiosyncrasies. He knew how much milk and sugar she liked in her coffee, the way she snorted when she laughed, which movies always made her cry. He knew all of her worst insecurities and how she covered them up with a smile. He knew how, whenever possible, she would take a few extra minutes to chat with the patients or reassure their nervous loved ones before an operation. So he watched her quietly, and he swallowed down the words that had been tangled in the back of his throat since their college days: I'm in love with you.

The Masque of the Mauve Death by @lolatulips/FieldofRoses2992: (Rated T, Intern OC, RD Possession AU, 8,912 Words; Completed)

A plague of Possession has hit Middlesea Hospital, afflicting its patients and doctors with a never before seen set of perils to traverse though and undo. Uuuunfortunately, one of the Hospital's main hopes for some return to normalcy is the newest Intern, Marie Sanglante, who would much prefer to just kick up her feet and watch the madness unfold as comfortably as she can while Ian and Ada manage with the worst of the work. (Or, well, mostly Ian) After all, what's a little plague to someone with control over space and time like her? It's not like she can be affected by it anyways, right?

mandarin peels on abandoned paperwork by @angelictactics/@herosplatling-replica: (Rated T, Paian-centric, RD Possession AU, Confession of Love, 2,590 Words; Completed)

things you said when you thought i was asleep (RD Possession AU by @possessable on tumblr!)

Helping Hand (Tumblr Mirror) by @hear-that-music-in-the-air: (Rated G, Ada & Ian focused, 1,566 Words; Completed)

After seeing Ada struggle with the rhythm treatments and get reprimanded by Edega, Ian comes up with a way to help her out.

prestissimo by @angelictactics/@herosplatling-replica: (Rated G, Intern OC, depiction of an anxiety attack, 3,357 Words; Incomplete as of 4/5/24)

(musical notation and terminology) extremely quickly; as fast as possible The Internbot™ is taken on a test run.

Conversations Behind Closed Doors by @hear-that-music-in-the-air: (Rated G, Ian POV, Ada & Ian and Edega & Ian focused, 1,661 Words; Complete)

Displeased with Ian's lack of progress on the rhythm defibrillator project, Edega calls him into his office, and presents him with an ultimatum.

Aerophobia by @i-want-to-do-things/Amiiiiiiiii: (Rated G, Paian-centric, Fear of Flying, Fluff & Slice of Life, 848 Words; Complete)

Ian is the kind of guy to be terrified of flying on a plane

eisoptrophobia by Tigroou: (Rated G, Miner Scales-centric, Slice of Life, Introspection of Body Image, 1,948 Words; Complete)

“I just noticed,” Miner finally said, “that you don’t look at yourself in the mirror.”

A Gift From the Heart by @angelictactics/@herosplatling-replica: (Rated T, Polyrhythmcule-centric and Cocole Loghailucia & Miner Scales featured, Valentine's Day Fluff, Slice of Life, 8,226 Words; Complete)

Valentine's Day (noun) Definition: Holiday observed on February 14 (Wednesday) to celebrate love and friendship

Last Cup of Coffee by ReneeDokobora2042/@rendekobora: (Rated G, Cocole-centric, Fluff, 2,689 Words; Complete)

Nicole gets informed that she can be discharged, and she doesn’t wanna break the news to anyone… especially Cole.

helping hands by Tigroou: (Rated G, Lucky-centric, Slice of Life, 3,406 Words; Complete)

[“I’m just asking,” Ada said carefully, “but have you thought about speaking to a therapist?” The silence that answered her was more deafening than any roar he could have uttered in her ear. “You want me to talk to a shrink?” Lucky said incredulously, making her wince.] or, one night leads to an important conversation.

Middlesea Slices by Pokemod123/@pokeart123: (Rated G, Intern OC, Slice of Life, Episodic, 4,762 Words; Incomplete as of 4/5/24)

Every day at Middlesea Hospital is uniquely chaotic. Join Mal Prachett, the Rhythm Doctor Program Intern, as they try their best to navigate work, friendship, and the malleable nature of space-time itself. This will mostly be episodic slice of life content. Anything that veers from that will be clarified in the pre-chapter notes. Because each chapter is a oneshot, content warnings will be placed in the notes as well.

Reality Bending Beat by @i-want-to-do-things/Amiiiiiiiii: (Rated G, Intern OC, Slice of Life & Mystery, 1,131 Words; Incomplete as of 4/5/24)

There seems to be a new intern in the hospital! They seem to be a bit odd, dont they?

In Dreams by @hear-that-music-in-the-air: (Rated G, Ada & Ian focused, depiction of nightmares, 2,143 Words; Complete)

About a week after Ian's "talk" with Edega, and a number of sleepless hours attempting to continue his work on the rhythm defibrillator, the nightmares begin. Ada starts to worry. Sequel to "Conversations Behind Closed Doors"!

A Hollow Voice by @lolatulips/FieldofRoses2992: (Rated T, Intern OC, Robot AU, robot gore and death, 3,669 Words; Complete)

A robot Marie stumbles upon a broken and dying android in the middle of a drizzle and decides to do whatever she can to help, despite everything telling her it would be worthless to do so.

Wet Socks by @hear-that-music-in-the-air: (Rated G, Ada & Ian focused, for Week of Spring on RDL!, 1,914 Words; Complete)

Ian is not a fan of hiking, or anything generally outdoorsy. Unfortunately for him, Ada is very persuasive.

Blossoming romance outside of fitness room by @granat-sof/GranatSof: (Rated G, Miner Scales-centric, Fluff, Romance, & Slice of Life, 7,679 Words; Incomplete as of 4/5/24)

An assortment of various fluffy stories about Lucky and Miner having a life together after leaving the hospital. A continuation of a comic made about them. A LOT of headcannons and toothrottingly sweet romantical crap included.

Cough Syrup by @angelictactics/@herosplatling-replica: (Rated G, Polyrhythmcule-centric, Slice of Life, Sickfic, Domestic Fluff, 5,787 Words; Complete)

Ada wakes up with what sure as hell feels like the flu.

Connections Converged by @sirwow: (Rated T, featuring Miner Scales, Cocole & Loghail, RD Connections Converged, 7,773 Words; Incomplete as of 4/5/24)

A post act 5 story continuation, exploring new shenanigans, the lonesome characters, and ever growing tension across the hospital as everyone gets closer or further.

okay thats all my recent fic recs good night everybirdy im disintegrating as we speak xoxo 🥰

#rhythm doctor #writers spotlight #ao3 #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic

[chitsuu]

OC Kiss Week 2024: Lost

Doing this little challenge this week, with my FFXIV character and his husband (@kitshunette's son)!

I actually forgot that the paper of this watercolors sketchbook is not really forgiving when it comes to multiple layers, so that should help me not overthink the sketches

Also, I'm not much of a writer, but I decided to write a little something for each drawing, little windows in their story (which is also why I'm using the @ockissweek prompt list but not in order)

Jisul was walking fast, almost slightly running, as he did not want to be late to his meeting with the Viscount Jannequinard de Durendaire. Getting accepted in the Athenaeum Astrologicum had not been the easiest task, considering he was not from Ishgard in the first place, and Ishardians were still a bit wary of foreigners. But Jisul was highly motivated, and he really wanted to make sure they would not regret their choice. So getting to the school late was simply not an option.

In insight, what happened was totally predictable. Just as he was about to reach the entrance, there was a loud thump, a collision, and astrology cards went flying everywhere amidst the falling snow as both the Au Ra and an Elezen lost their balance.

“Are you alright?”

Hearing the voice, Jisul’s heart went strangely still and the world tilted.

***

The city was burning. Smoke rose everywhere, the sky was red, intermittently illuminated by flashes of light, and ashes were slowly falling like snowflakes. Jisul somehow remembered how the city looked before - large paved streets, city lights, the muted noises of long robes fluttering around. Now the only sounds left were the fires raging all around, and soft cries.

He felt an infinite amount of grief piercing his heart. Grief for what had been, what was happening and what was going to happen next.

Yet, in the midst of all the chaos, the only thing that felt right was the man standing in his arms. Jisul reached up to cup his lover’s face in his hands, and the grief he felt suddenly seemed tiny and laughable when faced with the clear eyes looking straight at him. The sense of loss brought by looking into those eyes was being deeply engraved into his very soul, as if willed into existence by creation magic itself, while the world crumbled around them.

“Let’s make a promise. No matter what, we will find each other again. In every live.”

His lover spoke in a low voice, unfaltering in his conviction, and yet the pain was lurking just below the surface, a pain mirroring Jisul’s.

“We will. I promise you. We will find each other again, no matter how long it takes. I will stand by your side again.”

“So will I.”

They both smiled, but the sadness contained within was overflowing. That vow was made on burning, empty grounds.

His smile is so beautiful, even now.

Jisul was unable to stop the thought from forming.

Without thinking, without a word, their lips found each other, as if to seal the promise. The kiss tasted like ashes. The feeling of losing a part of himself was overwhelming. The world was lit ablaze.

***

“Are you alright?”, the man repeated, a touch of worry in his voice.

As Jisul drew his gaze to the clear eyes looking straight at him, the world tilted back in place, and his heart started beating again, albeit a little faster than usual. The eyes belonged to an Elezen with tan skin and darker hair. The very image of the already disappearing memory he just experienced, except for the pointed ears. Then again, in that particular vision, Jisul had neither scales nor horns.

“Ah, uh, yes, I’m very sorry about this, I hope I didn’t hurt you…”

Jisul offered his hand to help the man stand, suddenly feeling shy.

What was that memory?

As they got back on their feet, the Elezen smiled, saying there was no harm done, but maybe they ought to pick up the cards before they could get damaged by the snow? Flustered, Jisul agreed and started collecting the stray cards, pondering on the already fading vision, just like a dream leaving in the morning.

Jisul would have doubted his brain entirely, if it was not for that quiet sense of a promise fulfilled swelling in his heart, filling the hole of having lost something he did not even realize he had before, along with a part of his soul contentedly humming, deep down.

Found you.

#ockiss24 #oc kiss week #oc kiss week 2024 #Elidivien Greystone #Jisul Neuntsa #Elijisul #FFXIV #my art #sketch #my oc #fanart #WOL #watercolors #EliJisul

[trynabeskinny]

🦋✨Thin Imagine✨🦋

❌TW: ED, Alcohol, Nicotine❌

🪩🚬🕷️🖤Skinny Teenage Dirtbag🖤🕷️🚬🪩

Your phone buzzed, alerting you to a new message from your friends.

“Soooo excited! Tonight’s gonna be so much fun!!” It read.

You and your girls were planning on attending a party, your first in a very long time. For so long, you had hidden yourself away from everyone. You sheltered your soft body in oversized hoodies and baggy tees. You spent so much time staying home, while all of your pretty friends go to go out and have fun. Not anymore! You had spent the last year starving and hiding in your cocoon. Now, it’s your time to emerge as a beautiful thin butterfly.

Your friends soon arrive at your place to get ready. They curl and crimp their hair and cake on their make up. You leave your beautiful hair in its natural state. It’s not like you can’t rock any hairstyle with your new body. You apply a light layer of makeup, mostly mascara and blush. There’s no need to hide anything, only accentuate your natural beauty.

Soon it’s time to pick out an outfit. That’s a thought that would’ve made you panic before. What to wear? Will I look fat? Maybe I shouldn’t go. You have no fears now. You step on the scale to confirm. The number shown only fuels your confidence, your UGW. You pick out an outfit you never would’ve dared to wear before, something small and skimpy to show off your new form. You glance in the mirror, you’re gorgeous. You feel an envious stare from one of your friends, a look you know so very well. You used to look at others like that, desperately wishing to be them.

You soon arrive at the party. You can nearly feel the base pumping from outside the house. You enter and find yourself surrounded by people, all in various states of drunkenness. One of your friends pulls you through the mass of people. You spend the night drinking and smoking and dancing. Every guy, and maybe some girls, takes his time looking you up and down with want. When you do leave late into the night, you have more numbers in your phone than you arrived with. You never would’ve been looked at in the past, but now it’s hard for them to take their eyes off of you.

#thin$po #thinspo imagine #thin imagine #ed imagine #tw ana shit #ana imagine

[dazzygurl]

The Last Cigarette- Suguru Geto

TW: Smoking and mentions of murder.

FYI: Fem!Reader (Can be read as GN but there is a mention of reproducing) Suguru smokes a lot here. It's a bit melancholy but not angsty. It's a short story. He might be ooc. Please enjoy!

(Was listening to that song while making this)

  You huffed your cigarette on the tile floor of your small bathroom. The smoke filled the white room like the fog in your head. "You're inhaling pretty deeply." You said, gazing at the melancholy man beside you who sucked in the polluted cloud of smoke in the most refreshing way possible, the smoke being his water. He did not answer you. You notice the bags under his sharp eyes, identical to your own. You wanted him to tell you why he was this way, why he mirrored you so much.

  A sigh escaped his lips, a tired sigh. "I'm going to kill the weak." He stated casually as if he was set on this miserable goal. "What happened to protecting the weak?" You questioned, lighting another cigarette. You had wondered what happened to make his morals shift, a man who believed in protecting the weak. You gently tucked his long bang behind his ear, sliding your fingertips down to his large earring. What a beauty he was and he never understood his true value. He simply shrugged and grasped your hand, blowing smoke near your face. "I've changed."

   "Clearly." You marked sarcastically. "It's for the better. I'll make a better world." His brows furrowed a bit. He didn't bother to show his beautiful smile, not anymore. You realized how sensitive he had become. Perhaps you just noticed how numb he was to it. "I'll create a new world for sorcerers." He paused and inhaled deeply before exhaling the smoke with a disappointed sigh. This was his way of clearing the fog in his head. "Are you with me?" He turned to face you slightly and you caught a glimpse of those tired eyes. They were pleading with you, almost begging you to join him. You've been through a lot of Suguru and you've never left his side, always a real one to him. Now he was asking you to do the same on a bigger scale, on a scale that could potentially kill your family and friends. "Suguru, I'm the only sorcerer in my family..." You inquired, hoping he'd get the hint. "I'm not going to make exceptions." He said almost too quickly. Were you really going to let your family die for your friend? Of course you had questions!

   "Okay let's say I did decide to go with you. What about Satoru? What about Shoko?" You grabbed his chin and forced him to look at you. "I don't want Satoru to know and Shoko doesn't want to be part of this." He looked at you with empty eyes, clearly upset about it.

"We get rid of all those people, there would only be a handful of sorcerers. What then?"

"Then we create a world for ourselves."

"How do you think we'll live? We'll just die out?"

"We'll reproduce."

"What if I don't like anyone that's left enough to have their kids?"

"You like me enough. And everyone likes Satoru."

"What if I don't like you enough?"

   He laughed as if what you said was funny. He presses his face in your hands and looks at you with puppy eyes. "You don't like me?" He whines as you pinched his cheeks. "That's a fair point, you already know my type." You sighed. "What about my siblings? Can I at least keep them with me?" He frowned and shook his head no. "They'll just make more normal people."

  You let go of his face and the two of you stare at the florescent lights of your bathroom. You both remained silent as you contemplated this. You didn't want to lose your family but Suguru was promising you a new one with him. You couldn't just kill the people who raised you and the people you grew up with right?

  An hour or two had passed, maybe, you lost count, you didn't keep track. You reached to grab another cigarette. "Ah...last one." You looked up at the pale man before you who had already finished his long before you. You tuck to cigarette between his lips and light it, watching the tip burn and crumble into ash. You gazed at his soft lips and wondered if they would crack from all the smoking he was doing. If the smoke was only hurting him. "I'll join you." You whispered, watching him burn out the cigarette.

The tiled floor was littered in used cigarettes and empty pepsi cans. He pressed his head on your shoulder, nuzzling against you for warmth. "I killed a village, I killed my parents, I killed a group..." He muttered against your skin. You wanted to feel bad, you wanted to yell at him. "Look at me..." He hugged you tight, embracing you for your attention. He squeezed your heart and made it bleed. "I'll be with you no matter what." You take the cigarette from him and smoke the rest.

(I hope you enjoyed this short story of geto telling yall his plan!)

#fanfic #geto suguru #jjk suguru #jjk x reader #jjk #getou suguru x reader #geto x reader #short story #Spotify

[thepro-lifemovement]

Pro-abortion activists fight for abortion throughout pregnancy for any reason—no exceptions. Their fundamental argument centers on women’s health.

But stunning research shows this concern is all smoke and mirrors.

Pro-abortion activists have long tried to claim that abortion is safer than childbirth. For years they’ve touted manipulated numbers, trying in vain to bolster this myth. We’ve always known those statistics were bogus, and a study by Dr. Priscilla Coleman and Dr. David Reardon reveals abortion is much more dangerous to women than giving birth. And the results are sadly even more devastating to women’s health than even I had anticipated.

First, let me vouch for the authors of this research. I know them both to be solid individuals with a reputation for thoroughness. I met Dr. Coleman in Santiago, Chile where we lectured at their largest university. We again shared an academic podium in Quito, Ecuador the following year.

Second, allow me to explain why this study is so important. It’s compelling because of its unmatched scope:

The study includes a large number of women—nearly one-half-million—experiencing first-time pregnancies.

The medical records are profoundly reliable because the data was compiled from Danish government sources including fertility records of births and stillbirths, the national abortion registry and cause of death registry.

The study covers an extensive ten-year time period, providing comprehensive long-term data.

It analyzes both early and late-term abortion compared to childbirth.

In other words, this isn’t a biased study with a relatively small sample size produced to cater to pro-abortion activists—or any side for that matter. This research was conducted at the national level, over the course of a decade, providing substantial credibility, a comprehensive level of detail, as well as earning publication in respected medical journals. The reliability has been substantiated, which is why the results are even more troubling.

When it comes to which is safer—abortion or childbirth—the results speak loudly and clearly:

During the first six months after an early abortion (12 weeks or less), a woman has double the risk of death compared to giving birth.

During the first year following a late abortion (after 12 weeks) a woman has over three times the risk of death compared to giving birth.

Here’s a link to the entire study if you’d like to read it.

Pro-abortion activists prey on the fear of Americans by perpetuating the myth that if Roe v. Wade is reversed, women will suffer horrific back-alley abortions and tragic deaths. The reality is that under legalized abortion, women are being killed on a much larger scale.

Remember when we heard the news that Planned Parenthood is responsible for 24-year-old Tonya Reaves’ death following a botched abortion. Reports showed that a devastating five-and-a-half hours passed between the time of her abortion and her transport to a local hospital.

There’s no record that a 911 call was placed by Planned Parenthood. The autopsy report indicated that her injuries were survivable if she had received proper emergency care in a timely manner. The only difference between her death and a back-alley abortion death is that Ms. Reaves’ abortion was sanctioned by the US Supreme Court, giving her a false sense of security that the procedure was safe.

Now Tonya’s one-year-old son will grow up without a mother. Sadly, there have been additional victims after Tonya’s death. And don’t forget the Gosnell “house of horrors.”

Planned Parenthood and other abortion facilities continue to lure young women under the false premise that they perform “women’s healthcare services.” Abortion isn’t healthcare. It’s killing. In fact, they’re an industry of death—killing unborn babies and exposing their mothers to a staggering increased risk of death. Let’s not let this grave injustice continue. Share this with those you know and take a stand.

You now have compelling proof that abortion is not safer than childbirth

#maternal mortality rate #abortion hurts women #abortion harms women #prolife #pro life #pro-life #anti abortion #abortion #pro women #anti planned parenthood #Pp #planned parenthood #sources #studies #life news #prolife news

[yet-another-heathen]

Prying at Loose Fangs - IV

3,081 words. Original Work: The Jackal of An-Nadr.

For new readers, The Jackal is an ongoing whump series set in 1,200 BCE, where pre-Islamic fantasy meets the love of bloody sword fights, found family, and handsome men who long for nothing more than home. 

<< | previous | next | >>

Chapter Warning | desert whump, epic worldbuilding, demonic pirates and the sandships they sail, defiant whumpee, captured and manhandled, non-con drugging (aphrodisiac, repurposed as a sedative), fear of noncon, language and cultural barriers, food & acute starvation, graphic depiction of a wounded foot that is beginning to fester, brief mention of predation

Taglist | @killtheprotagonist @secretwhumplair @ink-and-salt @kixngiggles @brutal-nemesis @thebewilderer @whumpvp @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whimperwoods @shydragonrider @pizzasthengym @thecyrulik @ceph-the-writing-spook @mylifeisonthebookshelf @ohwhumpydays @redwingedwhump  @whump-queen

Nadeem’s arms were going numb, back pressed hard into the scales of a date tree. 

Twice. Twice in barely a week he’d had his hands bound and useless, and his frustration was the only distraction he had from pure, unbridled panic. 

The morning light cast cold shadows against the side of the ship, the terrible monolith of the mast looming against the sky and casting shade across the remains of their camp. 

It wasn’t like he couldn’t see the ship from where he had hidden before, but experiencing it up close was still so, so much worse. His eyes slid nervously over the hull, painted in grey that ended where the sand met the behemoth's brass-coated underbelly. Brass glittered at the feet of the rails, in the rigging where ropes swayed in the breeze. Mirrors hung from the railing in a dazzling display that cast reflections of light back across the camp, sometimes catching on the thin wisps of smoke that rose from the shoulders of the crew.

Under the prow of the ship the bronze figure of an oryx bowed its head, spiral horns tilted forward. Nadeem stared for a long while into the unnerving emptiness of its eyes, then lowered his gaze back to the sand.

The ship was at least three times bigger than the largest he had ever before set eyes on. Bigger even than the great caravan leaders whose hulls cut so deep into the sand that they could not come to port in his village's shallow harbor. And this ship hadn't just been built, it had been made terribly, painstakingly beautiful. 

That, even more so than its size, unsettled him deeply—if these pirates had enough wealth and time to spend decorating their ship like this, how much time did they have to spend on him?

The ifrit had spent the morning loading the rest of their belongings back onto the boat. Half a dozen men and women worked to fill massive copper urns with water, hoisting them onto the deck as if they weighed nothing. Each time they passed him their attention lingered, a few even daring to reach out and prod at him with their clawless lower sets of arms. The casual violation made him so furious he could barely breathe.

The big one that had caught him did more touching than the rest, and there was nothing Nadeem could do to stop it. Hands tugged at his shirt seams. Nudged his back. Lingered on his shoulders. 

It was studying him. He knew something was on the edge of going terribly wrong, and helpless anger raged in his chest with every unwanted touch. He narrowed his eyes when the ifrit now approached, skin crawling when it knelt in front of him. It said something, then its chest came within inches of his face as reached around to undo his ropes. 

He was so shocked by the sudden invasion of his space that he simply froze, heart racing as it began to haul him to his feet.

As soon as it had him standing it coaxed him toward the ship, corralling him back toward the ladder. Nadeem limped backward, seething. His voice was low and dark, “I am not getting on that boat.”

Two minutes later he was dumped unceremoniously onto the deck, the air whooshing out of his lungs as his shoulders hit the wood. The ifrit stepped over the railing and muttered something at him, then tossed him over its shoulder like he weighed no more than a sack of saltwheat.

His empty stomach churned as gravity shifted. The sudden increase in elevation made all his muscles tighten quickly enough to make him squeak. 

He fought to catch himself in the fabric of its sash, a terrified little groan escaping him when it started walking. He could feel every weightless drop and jostle of its long strides. It felt like he was about to be dropped.

The floorboards swayed beneath him, the shadow cast by the loosened sail gliding across the deck like a snake. He squeezed his eyes shut, holding on as tightly as he could.

They descended into a hold below the main deck of the ship, ladder creaking beneath their weight as they descended into the darkness. A sudden bolt of panic raced through him when he realized there was no one else in this little room. Nadeem couldn't think of a single good thing that could come from being taken somewhere alone. 

He was dumped onto something soft, and immediately pinned down by a massive, clawed hand. His heart was already pounding in his chest.

"S̴̟͘t̵͉̓à̸̢y̴͎͒ ̶͎͝w̵̯̎h̴̳̄e̷̎��r̵̥̆e̶̬̾ ̸̣͑y̷͙̎o̶͉͐ư̷̠ ̸̖̽ä̵̬́r̶̞̈e̶̟̿.̷͇̅" 

He didn't have to know Qururaq to know it was an order to stay put. 

The hand lifted off him very, very slowly, nails prickling at his clothes, before the ifrit released him.

"Ỉ̶̦ ̷̩̌w̴͛͜i̵͔͘l̷̟̔ĺ̵̯ ̶̺̑l̸͙̊ê̶͓t̷̺͊ ̵͔̈́t̴̙͝h̴͔͒e̸̩͗ ̵̳̂ṙ̴̯é̶͎s̶̚ͅt̷̯̿ ̶̹̌o̶͜͝f̷̤̄ ̶̠̒t̷̟̑h̸̻̿e̴͇͗ ̷̙͑c̷̦̑r̴̤̈ę̶̌w̷̙͌ ̷̰̏h̵̻̊â̸̹v̸͇̐e̴̦̒ ̸̦̐t̶̞̿h̴̪́e̴͈͘i̸̲̾r̷̛͙ ̶͙̉f̴̡́u̴͔͘n̵̜̽ ̴͎͝ẘ̷͖î̸̬t̷̯̕ḣ̵̰ ̴̫̈́y̸̘̿o̴͕̚u̴̯͗ ̴̲͐ȋ̴̯f̵̘͆ ̷̺͛ŷ̷͜o̴̹̅u̶͖͋ ̵̝̍t̷͈͒r̵̼͝y̵̞̏ ̸̞̆t̶̺͐o̶̥͛ ̴̯̊r̷̆͜u̷͍̓ń̶̺.̸̦͝" 

It was infuriating. This ifrit knew full fucking well he couldn't understand what it was saying.

It began digging around through the items lining the low shelf that encircled the room, stripping off its sword belt. Nadeem eyed the wicked curve of its blades, sinking further away as it set them aside. 

Unlit lanterns hung overhead, clanging against the wide curve of its shoulders as it moved in the dim space. The room smelled of incense, as though years of use had caused the scent to seep into the wood itself. The bunk he’d been dumped on smelled strongest of all. It swayed under his weight, then dipped when the ifrit sat at its end.

That was bad. That was very, very bad. Nadeem coiled to fight, starvation and injured foot be damned, but in the next moment the ifrit turned away to grab something off a nearby table.

Food. 

All the gods below, that was food. A half-loaf of bread, the dark crust split like clay after the rain. His stomach suddenly felt like it was trying to eat itself alive. 

His expression must have given away too much, because when he glanced back up the ifrit was watching him with an expression he couldn't quite read. It broke off the heel, and held it out to him.

Despite his fear, despite the black talons it was balanced between, he didn't hesitate. He craned forward and took it, then retreated immediately back out of reach. He even managed to wait long enough to make sure that the ifrit wasn't planning to follow him.

Then he tore into it like a scavenger into a ribcage. Nothing in the world mattered but his hunger. 

It had been more than four days since the last scrap of food the merchants had given him. And while that was far from the longest he had ever gone without a meal, never before in his life had he traveled as far as he had over the last few days. His body was starving. 

He knew this was something he should take slowly. But as soon as his teeth sank in, he didn't have the willpower to stop. And though the ifrit didn't make any move to come closer, he had already learned his lesson about giving a captor enough chance to take his food away from him.

Soon he'd eaten all he'd been given, almost breathless from it. The ifrit still hung back at the edge of the bed, watching him with those dark eyes. And then he held out another piece of bread. Smaller this time, but just as freely given.

Nadeem glanced between its hand and its face, then inched forward again. He took it, and quickly pulled back before it could take the opportunity to grab him.

And so it went, the ifrit breaking off small pieces and handing them to him one at a time. Although the bread wasn't warm, the crust was still flaky and the inside not yet hardened from the dry desert air. These weren't just discarded scraps—it couldn't have been made more than a day or two before. In all likelihood, he was being given the ifrit's own breakfast.

After the first few pieces hit his stomach, Nadeem managed to slow himself down. He felt almost boneless with relief. But it didn't need to know that. He kept himself just out of arm's reach, casting sideways glances its direction.

It was one big fucking ifrit. Not just in the 'so much taller than me I feel like a child' way, but built like an ox, too. It was more nude than not, its chest bare save for the black sash it wore from shoulder to hip. Its limbs were adorned with jewelry, brass circling its wrists and hanging in delicate chains from its neck. Even the symmetrical braids that patterned across its scalp were woven with polished metal. It wore no turban, its shoulder-length hair as brazenly exposed as its skin.

…thank the gods it least it was wearing pants.

He had been wrong about its skin being grey. Or....almost wrong. Rather than the red or coppery undertones he had seen in other humans his whole life, the same dark brown skin had a muted undertone of violet. The effect was still so close to grey he could think of no other word for it. It was just more...alive. The tips of its fingers were soot black, the color bleeding up into its hands in a gradient that spread all the way to the elbow. And it's talons—although he could think of no other word for them—weren't…actually talons. They had the same shape, but he could see no seam to indicate a nail. It was as though the tips of its fingers simply hardened into those claw-like tips.

The ifrit seemed to be being careful with them. It was surprising how delicate it managed to be, always holding up the offered bites between the tips where Nadeem could take them without being touched.

It was making no move to pull him out of his corner. He knew that didn't mean much—if it wanted to grab him it certainly had the reach to do it. And he still was all too aware that the ifrit sat between him and his only way out. But it seemed they weren't planning to eat him, at least. If they had they wouldn't have bothered feeding him first. 

After his fourth bite of bread, the ifrit passed him a wooden cup. He drank eagerly, downing over half of it before stopping for a breath. 

They weren't planning to eat him, but that still left at least a dozen reasons why they might be keeping him alive. And Nadeem was not optimistic that just because he'd avoided one awful fate that he wasn't destined for another.

He raised the cup to his lips again, and stopped.

That….wasn't water.

The liquid inside was cool and clear, and had been completely tasteless on his lips. But whatever it was, the surface of it wasn't right. Looking at it was like watching the sunlight glittering at the edge of a spring, shifting facets of light more radiant than even the Purratu back home. A million silvery, fragmented colors.

"What is this?"

The ifrit's expression told him what words didn't, and his blood went cold. It knew it had been caught. It reached out and took the cup back from him just as it almost fell from his fingers. And then Nadeem was pushing himself backward across the bed.

"What did you give me?"

The ifrit stood, returned to the ladder, and reached up to swing the trap door shut. Then dark eyes turned back to him.

Oh, gods, please. There was nowhere for him to go. Nadeem felt his breaths beginning to come short. And then it took a step closer.

He flattened himself against the wall, "Don't. You stay away from me, or I swear I'll rip you to pieces!"

The ifrit just settled into a chair near the foot of the cot. Nadeem's eyes were burning with tears that he refused to let fall. It was settling back in to wait. 

Domos help him. What had been in that cup?

"What did you give me?"

The ifrit's eyes gave away nothing. They just studied him the same way he had studied it, though with no attempt to hide the way it was taking him in. He was going to be sick.

"If you lay so much as a finger on me—"

"S̶̤h̢͕hh͏̭," it made a sound halfway between a hush and a purr—from a cat just happened to be half the size of a house. It made every hair stand on end. "S̨҉͚̣a̦̠̕͜v̙̻́͞e̢͎̠͡ ̸̶͎̯y̙͙͠͡o̷͏̥̲ù̮̲͡ŗ̸̯̻ ҉̶͉͕è̛̱͇n͏̴͙̩e̡̨͍̥r̛̭̯͜g̢͍͈̕y҉̡̩̳,҉̠̳́ ̸͕͉͡j͓̜͡͠ą̜̜͟c̢҉͙̠ķ̡͚͓a̴̢̱̪l̢̨͈̺.̧͉̩͞ ̟̳͜͞Y̧̩̟͡o̶̢͉͎ư̷͖ͅ'̛҉̳̗r̸̴͇̤e̤͓͘͟ ̜̬͘͜g̶̩̞̕o̸͎̺͡i̢͏̰͇n̸̫̺͠g̜̱͢͝ ̴̛͉͉t̡̧̪̟o̶͇͇̕ ̷̨͈̯ṇ̲́̕e̻̝͢͞e͞͏͕̳d̻͖͜͞ i͕̣͢͠t̡҉̭̗."

He wanted to weep. What was he going to do? There was no way he'd be able to move quickly enough to get past it. And even if he did, with his foot so hurt there would be no getting back up that ladder before it grabbed him again. All he had were pillows and blankets, nothing even remotely viable as a weapon. 

He had his nails. But compared to the ifrit's claws, his blunt little fingertips would barely even leave a scratch. His teeth were nearly as useless.

What was he going to do?

The minutes passed by quickly, but the ifrit didn't move. From outside he could hear the sound of cargo being shifted, voices calling back and forth to one another. Footsteps creaked directly overhead, but Nadeem didn't look away from the monster for even a moment.

It began slowly. A warmth that started in his belly and spread gradually up his spine. His fingertips tingled, then his lips. And then his head began to swim.

Please, no. Please.

He swayed and caught the wall. 

His insides felt like they were turning to liquid honey. His breaths started coming slower, deeper, despite his rising panic. Everything that touched his skin seemed to hum.

The ifrit was watching him closely. When it spoke its words were slow, measured. "Ỳ̰͖͞o̵̤̪͜ụ̯͟͜'̸̮̫͞r̴̥̱͝e̛̮͖͞ ̵҉͔͖g̷͔̪͢o̵̢͇̦i̵̸̦̫n̷̞̭̕g̸͔̝͝ ̸̳̥͢ṱ̡̳͝o̢͏̺̹ ̸̗̗͢ḅ̼́͝e̳͍͜͜ ̛̣͉́a̧҉̥͖l̴̬̘͠r̷̝͇͠i̶̷̙̥g҉͙̼͢h̴̨̹͈ț̴̳͠."

"What's going to happen to me?" His tears began to fall.

The ifrit let out another of those rockslide-purrs, and reached out to grab the end of the cot. It began to slowly rock the bed back and forth. 

Nadeem shuddered. His grip on the sheets went knuckle-white as the cot swayed, trying to keep himself upright. But soon the waves of dizziness were overpowering. He lost his balance and suddenly found the blankets at his back. The world was spinning, and it only worsened when he tried to get back up.

The motion turned the buzzing of his head into an almost-euphoric dizziness. Nadeem could barely open his eyes, even to try to find the ifrit again when it spoke.

"A̴̗̮͘ļ̮̰͘l̶̼̺͠ ̢̢̼͚ỳ̧̜͔o͖̯͠͞u͏̣̺͠ ̡̲̪͞h̭̲͞͡a̛̙͕͢v҉͇̩͡e̢̧̞͈ ̴͏̦̝t̴̟̲͡o̸̢͖̣ ͏͎̦͠d̴̢̘̘o̸̹͈͞ ̛̺̼͢i̛̖̠͡s̀҉̮͕ ̵͈͈͟r͓̣͘͞e̡̦̘͝l̷̶͈̜a̴҉̹̺x̣̞͢͞."

A hand closed around his throat. It applied no pressure, just pressed him down into the sickly softness of the blankets. More hands captured his wrists, tangling them together as it held them above his head.

"No!" Nadeem sobbed, trying in vain to kick up into its stomach. His uninjured foot caught on its hip, but all the strength in Nadeem's body was not enough to pry it off of him. "Get off of me!"

"S̶̤h̢͕hh͏̭." This close, the purr made his head swim. The ifrit's skin was fever-warm, steady and unyielding even as he arched off the bed trying to escape. "T͏̦͚͝h̨̖̬͢a̴̧͇̼t̸̖͓̕'͖͈̕͟s͏̷͇ͅ ̨͙̥́i̸͏̲̹t̶̳̜͘.̵҉̙̹ ̵̡̖̟Ṭ̴̡̹i͝҉̦͇r̷̜̪͠ȩ̗͈͞ ͎̩͜͞y̮̲̕̕o̷̩͙͡u̡͕̬͠r̸̳̮͠ş͈̰̕e҉̸̠̘ḽ͔́͘f̸̡̪ͅ ̷̧͇̹o͇̪͢͟ų̻͙͠t͎̫͜͝."

"Please," he sobbed. Gods, please, he couldn't survive this again.

Another hand shifted down to press his leg against the sheets, closing around the ankle of his bad foot. It held him there, even as the rest of him twisted and thrashed.

"Ị̢͚͘ ̼͑́n̴̺ͥe̵̪̓e̷̗̍d̡̅ͅ ̒҉̖t̛͇͗o̷͙͋ ͚̌͜ṱͫ̀a̖ͥ́k̴͇͋e͌͏͚ ̲̌͜aͩ͏͇ ̴̉ͅl̨̙ͤơ͚ͨo̹ͭ̕k͇̉́ ̸̪̋å̷͈t̶̹͌ ̧̫ͭṯ͊͘h̥̽͡a̶̹̿t̤͆͞ ̢̻̑f̣̍̕ỏ̧̰ȍ̻͝ť̰͡,̛̺̉ ̨̜͊An̺̄͘d͇̑͞ ̶̳͑b̴̩̌o͇ͮ͠t̝̏͘h͔̍͠ ̴͇̚o̪̍͞f̡̗̀ ̡̖ͭù͚͟ṣ̅́ ͖̓͢k̶̍ͅň̶̫ö̱́̀ẉ̷͂ ̣̈͘y̺ͦ͜o̝̒͡u͍̿́ ̧͍̋á̺͠ŕ̨̖ȩ̪ͥń̶̮'̼̓̕ṯ͋͝ ̸̣̀g̜̅͝o̲̅͞i̸̯͒n̶͍̋g̓҉̻ ̱̅̕t̛̥ͣo͖ͧ͝ ͔ͦ͡l̮̈͡e̴͚̿t̫͋͟ ͚̉͝ḿ̠͢ḙ̵̓ ̢̹̽d̺̎̕ọ̈͘ ̪͛͢i̩̾͡t͙ͥ́ ̪ͪ͟w̸̤ͩi̶̼͑ḻ̶͗l͍̓͢i̫̅͞n̷̮̚g̝ͭ̕ĺ͕̚y̶͔͒." 

Nadeem's strength was failing him. His nails dug into the hand at his wrist. But if it noticed the little pinpricks, it didn't even react.

Through his tears he could still make out its face. Just watching him. The utter surety that it had him where it wanted him and there was nothing he could do.

"T̴̖̜̍̈́͢h͈̮͊̌͟͞e̛̗͙͂͗͡r̺̠̂̂͜͡e̷̤̹͌ͮ͜ ͒̉͏̛̫̠y̡̲̘ͨ͒̀o̗͇̾̚͢͠u̸̲̘͋̀͝ ̡̪͇̈̓͢ğ̢̼̗̚͡ő̧̹̫̄͝.̴͔̞̌ͧ͝ ̳̹̃ͦ́͡Ǵ̨̠̟́͟i̢͉̳͊̓̀v̨̗̳ͪ̉͝ḛ̻̓̑́͝ ͒͌͘͏̗̰ṷ̞͐ͣ͘͞p̢̘͕̈́͛͟."

He started to sag in its hands, crying helplessly. All he could do was press himself down into the sheets, keeping his leg against its stomach to try to keep it away.

"T̴͈̩͞h̡͏̹̩á̱̻͘t̪͕̕͢'̡͈̼͠s̨̢͚ͅ ̶̟̯́b̶̛̼̩e̡͙͓͡t̜̞̀͟ṱ̵͔͟e̶̪̠͡r̜̤͟͠.̪̳̕͘ ̨̭̟̕B̲̬̀̀ŗ̞͖͢e͖̱̕͟a̵̛̯͍t̵̗̯̀h̸̘͖͘e̴̷̮̼."

His mind was a mess. His thoughts were coming in fragments, golden warmth thrumming across his skin. The coil of sensation in his stomach had only settled deeper, despite every other part of his mind trying to shove the feeling away. He couldn't think. 

The hand on his ankle shifted. The ifrit leaned back, keeping him still while it murmured something and turned his foot to look at the wound underneath.

The flesh around the wound was puffy and red, like angry gums around a missing tooth. The edge had a thin line of white and sallow green where swelling turned to wound, a mess of dried red and black that smeared up between his toes. Sand was caked into dried blood, the very center of the wound still weeping red where he had damaged it in his struggles.

His ankle was swollen, too. He had twisted it when he had fallen, and he hissed as the ifrit turned it carefully in its hand. It almost looked like it winced in sympathy.

"Y̴̛̤̰o̵̵̥̝u̵̫̹͢'̨̢̩͙ŕ̵̘͕è͏͉̦ ̧̙̼͡l̴͏͖̻ừ͍͎c̴̜͖͝k̨͔̀ͅỳ҉̭̬ ̛҉̦͚ỵ̨̫͢o҉̧̦̯ų̨̲̱ ̷̡͍̰d͇͢͠ͅi̢̡̺̰d̮̹͢͞n̛̖̠͝'͏̮͇̕t̨͏̳̰ ̷͔̞͢b̥͚̀͠r̖̠͜͞e̸̡̬̥á̻͓͘ḱ͉̱͝ ̭̪́̀í̞͉͡t̛̝͉̕,̵̬̜͡ ͘҉͇̣ļ̩̞͠i҉̷̪͎ṭ̸̮́t̢҉̺̼ḽ̸͜ͅę̧̭͚ ̨̺̖͢o̷̳̰͞n̻̤͢͟e̸̝̤͞.̹̟͠͠ ̧̝̞͝Y͏̦̞͘o̯̬͟͞u̧͏̗͍'̴̣͔͠v̨̡̲̯e͉̱̕͟ ̷̵͚̘b̶̺͚͞e̴̗̣͞e̳̣͟͞ņ̵̤̠ ̶̫̩́h͏̛̬̝i̧̢͎̼d̨̫͓͞i̴̶̙̜n̵̢̪̼g̴̺̠͞ ̘̤͜͡t̶̕ͅͅh̵҉̥̜i̵̝̭͝s̨̩̼͢ ̨̨̖̳b̷̡͈͈e̴̪͔͞t̷̶̠̞t̵̖̹͞e͔̭͢͞r̛̫̯͟ ͏͙̯͟t̷͉̠̕h̟͈̕͠à̳̣̕n҉̷̣͙ ̴̤̖͞I̢͎͚͞ ̛̟̗̀t̶̸̘͎h̛̩͈́o̷̯̹͝u̧҉̦̻g̢̲̲͠h̷̥̝͟ț̻́͟ ̢̲̹͞ỳ̯̦͘o̸̸̪̖u̥̩͟͡ ͍̜͘̕ç̹̰͞o̵̴̹̝ư̖͖͟l̶̲̮͘d͏̶̰̺." It sighed, "I̜̙͝͡f̷̠̝͡y̵̸̲̥a̡̨̤̬ạ̷͡ͅ ̢̳̲͠i̸҉̟͖s̴̵̥̝n̸̢͍ͅ'̷̵̗̮t͏̬̬͞ ̷̦̜͘g̴̛̬ͅo̸̘͟ͅi̧̺͎͟n̶̴̲͉g͙͜͟ͅ ̧͙͈͟t̕҉̦̣o̶̗̟͠ ̡̥̫̀b͎͈́͟e̶̪̙͟ ̴͏͚̦h͎̼͟͠à̙̞͝p҉̳̪͟p̛͏̤͓y̫̜͢͝ ̦̱́͝w̡҉̙̺h̠͎́͟ę͎͙͜n̨̮͕͟ ̶̢͉͕h̸̨͉̘e̸̞͙͝ ̴̘̼͡s͠҉̯̖é͇̫͠e͖͖͝͠s̷̱͞ͅ ̶̮̳͡t̛̛̝͍h̢̲͓͢e̸̶̘̞ ̨̛͉̳ș̸̛̺t̲̣͠͞a̵̝̫͞t̡̛̩̟e͞͏̗ͅ ̡̯͙̀ó̢̟̘f̻̟̕͞ ̀҉̖͍i͔̘͞͠t̢̢̩ͅ."

Nadeem was trembling.

"̡̭̹͢N҉̵͙̞ò͖̘͘,̳̯͟͝ ̳̠͢͢y̨͏͔ͅó̴̲͚u̢̹̤͠ ̷̖͘ͅa̵͎͓͡r̸̛̙̻e͏̰̳͠n̡̖̺͟'̷̡̘̯t̨̝̩̀ ̢͚͞ͅg҉͙͡ͅǫ̴̺̗í̡̞̟n̛̞͙͠g̷̯̣͞ ͏͏͖̫t̴̠͇̕ó̳̲͟ ̧͚̩͠l͙͎͢͠i҉̛̻̣k͓̲͞͠e̸҉̱̣ ̶͇̟͟t͏̡̯̻h͏̢̦̜i̶̢̤̺s̛̭̝̀ ̢̡͕̲p̡̨̲̗a͇͍͜͟r̸̼̹͠t̵̶͇̦,̸̧͉̹ ̴͎̺͡e҉̱̳̀į̶͕̻t̩̪́͢h̵̸̲̩e̛̱͚͟r̢͈͕̕.̧̟̙́ ̧̛̟̮B͏̷̮̪u҉̗̼̕t̼͙́͞ ̸̝̗͡ị̵̴͚ṯ͕̕͘ ͏̛̘̥ẁ͔͍͞ì̩͠ͅḽ̜͡͠l̝͓͘͘ ͎̼̕͟b̶͈̮͢e͢҉͚͇ ̥͍́͝o̻̲͢͠v̢̬̪͠e̡͖̜͜r̨҉͎͖ ̵͚̠͠ș̶̢̘o͡҉͉̻o̵̲̦̕ņ̺̟͠." The ifrit lowered his leg back to the cot, looking to his face. Nadeem flinched when it reached down, screwing his eyes shut with a whine as it brushed knuckles down the stubble of his cheek. "W̵͈̣͡e̶̡̪̥'̢͕̼̀ļ̛̠̟l͏̡̙̟ ̷̡̺͍s̶͙͉͝p̵͖͚͘ę҉̳ͅń̴͔̦d̘̱͘͢ ̢̯͙͘ą̼̮͜ ̙͇͡͞f̺̬́͢e̷̷͉͚w̨҉͈̺ ҉͔͠ͅḑ̵̰̬a̷̸̦͔y҉̤̩̕ş̜̜͟ ̢͚̱͡h҉̴̮̖ą̹̖́v҉̩̯͜i̴̵̥̰n̶̛͙̣g̡̪͈͡ ̨͉̣͝ó̷̙͙ù͈̮͠r̦͎̀̀ ̦̮̀͡f̴̛͈̮u̧͓̜͟n̝͇͜͡ ̸͔̠͢w̩̝͘͞i̲̮͟͠t̙̀͘ͅh̨̠̼̀ ̢̤͕͘y̸̴̠ͅo̸̳̜͢ù̵̥͕,̶̺͙͟ ̮͈̀͡ų̸̪͇n̨͕͎͡t̷̳̣́i̠̯͞͞l̶̛̞̠ ̦̰́͢w͓̹͢͟ȩ͏̹̤ ̡͉̜̕f̴̡̼̜i̟̬̕͞n̝͎͢͝d̨̝̮́ ͔̱́͡a̴̻͟ͅ ͇̞̀͞h̨̛̺͓u̶͕̻͘m̨̫̰͞a͞͏̻̻n̢̨͙͖ ̷͏̣̗c̨̳̯͟ì̞͠ͅţ̩̩͢y̴̛̯̥ ͙̳͡͠t̶͏̹̰o̢̜͇͟ ͔̜̀͢l̷͔̝͝e͏̵̲̩a̕͏͚̩v̧̳͕͞e̶͇̼͝ ̴̱͉͘y̯͘͠ͅo͖̖͘͜u͕̣͜͢ ̸̴͓̩i̸̡͕̥n̡̳̱͢.͍̟͘͡ ͉̟͢͝F͏̴̙̗ŗ̺̤͘ó̶̲̼m̶̳̖͘ ̣̫̀͡t̺̘͢͞h̶̪̼͠e̛̼͕͝r̨̪̯͞ę̮̱͠,̨̡̱͈ ̴̧̘̻y҉̣̺͟o͜͏͉͍u̴͉̞̕ ͢҉̥̺c̛̜̹͡a̡̙͙͘n̛͙̪͢ ̶̸̠̜f̢͍̯́i̺̱͟͢n̡͏̫͇d̢͎͞ͅ ̵҉͇̘y͓̝͡͞o̷̜͝ͅu̳̻̕͠r̛͏̱̣ ̨̞̤͠w̶̠̙͢ą̵̗̱y̴̨̳̺ ̵̝̠͟b҉̩̝͜a̱͟͡ͅc̶̸̗̝k̛͍̩͡ ͏̢̤͙t҉̹̺̕o̷҉̦̰ ̨͓͖̀w̸̱̗͢h̢̨̲͙ȩ̢̙̜r̢̗̥̀e̴̛̞͈v̵͔̰̀e͓͉͜͠r̢̡̫̗ ̯͔̕͠y̶͉͈̕o̸̘̣͝ú͉̜͢ ̘̩͠͠c҉̗̙͞a̶̯͈̕l̺̥͜͠l̮̲̀̕ ̸̧͇͕h͞҉̟͍o̵̙͔͡m҉̧̱̙e̴̼̖͠."

He took a shuddering breath. The touch sent ripples of sensation blooming across his skin, leaving him breathless. 

"I̴̬͎͟'̵͔̺͟m̷̨̤̝ ̷̲̮̕s̨̪̘͘o̷̲̞̕r͠͏̝͉ŗ̛̯̜y̛̛̱͓ ̵̪̳̕f̹͕́͡o̷̴͍̼r͓͈͝͞ ̵͕̳͠h̢̖̻́o̶͍̭͞w̶̧̙̦ ̴̨̺̜ḿ͏̞͚u̧̙̪͝ç̳̜͟h̵̶͉̯ ̗͇̀͡t̙̖́͠h̝̝́̀i̴͉̠͡s҉̡̬̭ ̸̵͇̭ị̵̴̩s͍̬͞͠ ̶̢̟͈g̷͏͉͈o̴̷̻ͅi̵̬͙͜ņ̵̪̣g҉̰͚͝ ͖̣̕͢ţ̳̗͞o͘҉͓͕ ͏̨̬̻h̸̫͔͘u͢͏̯̼r̢̟̗͘t̵̯̣͠."

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