#;even if it takes all night or a hundred years; together we will learn to heal (apocryphis; moze & jiaoqiu)

[daybreakrising]

@apocryphis: "What if they kissed?" (moze and jiaoqiu DUH)

He's frowning again.

He doesn't know anyone else in the world who can make an otherwise silent expression somehow audible – although, he muses, perhaps it is only he who can hear the deep furrow of the shadow guard's brow and the tensing of facial muscles. He has heard people talk of having a sixth sense for things, something they find themselves singularly attuned to. Perhaps he has developed such a sense for Moze? Certainly he feels in tune with him, keyed into the subtle tells of his mood that no other, save perhaps for their general, would ever notice. It has been that way since long before the Luofu, but it is only now that he truly acknowledges how closely connected they are.

For instance, he knows – without sight, without sound, without a word uttered between them – that Moze is not frowning at him, or because of him (a marvel indeed, as his beloved shadow guard finds endless things to frown over when it concerns him), but rather because something is wrong with one of his blades. Okay, maybe he had something of a hint because he already knew Moze was tending to them, keeping them clean and sharp in that little ritual of his, and because he could hear the sound of the whetstone at work, but he still knows somehow that those violet eyes will be cast downward, narrowed in that oh-so-serious frown that sits so naturally upon his face.

Moze wears a frown in much the same way that Jiaoqiu wears a smile; it is habit, instinct almost – born of a bitter and cruel experience of life. But in their similarities, there is also a stark contrast between them. The frown does not conceal the way that the smile does, is not used to distract, to dismiss, to deceive. Its intent is only to convey truth, whether that truth be concern, uncertainty, or – in this case – frustration. Jiaoqiu does not need eyes to tell one frown from another.

The wooden spoon in his hand is quietly set aside, propped upon its stand where it always awaits him, a lid carefully placed upon the pot of bubbling broth that simmers over a gentle flame. Much of the work has already been completed, so it can sit awhile whilst he turns his attention to other, more important tasks. His steps carry him, first, to the sink – clean hands, always, when he touches Moze, not least because he has been handling chillis and he would only ever be so cruel if the punishment was deserved – and then towards the chair where Moze perches.

He moves so smoothly that an outsider would never once consider the fact that he is blind. Each step is taken with unwavering confidence – but a closer look with keen eyes would reveal the practiced nature of the path he takes from kitchen to lounge. He strides, turns, swiftly cocks a hip as he rounds the edge of the counter (he still recalls the countless bruises before he mastered this particular lesson), easily glides down the shallow step that separates tile from carpet. It is a route he knew instinctively before – 'I could do this with my eyes closed', he had joked when they first brought him home (Feixiao had laughed; Moze had not, he recalls) – but a route he had to relearn, just as he had had to relearn the layout of his cupboards, the organisation of his spice rack, the arrangement of his knives.

This next part is somewhat trickier, although he has the positions of his furniture memorised (with yet more bruises to show for it), but still his confident steps do not waver. Call him a cheesy romantic, but he sometimes feels as though he could navigate anywhere at all if Moze was his destination, as if some invisible tether stretched between them for him to follow. He crosses the distance between them with an ease he shouldn't have, slides smoothly down onto the arm of the chair. The coffee table will be covered with carefully laid out tools and weapons, each in its specific place – not unlike the utensils in his kitchen. It is this that Moze will be frowning at, though he cannot know precisely why. Perhaps one of his blades has been damaged during his last mission, or perhaps he is missing a crucial piece of equipment for their care. The reason, however, is not immediately important.

One hand is already reaching for him, gentle fingers turning his face away from what displeases him, and tipping it up to receive the sweetest, softest of kisses upon that furrowed brow. He lets the kiss linger until he feels the muscles beneath his lips begin to relax, until his brow softens, smooths. He smiles against him as the warmth of a familiar hand settles upon his thigh, fingers that can so easily maim and kill holding him so tenderly. He will never not marvel over how someone with such strength can cradle him so gently within arms capable of cracking bones. Yet there is no safer place for Jiaoqiu than tucked securely against that firm, broad chest, encircled by those powerful arms.

Empty hands, of course, means an empty lap – and he is never one to squander an opportunity when it is given to him. He slides with graceful ease until he sits comfortably astride equally powerful thighs, his hand shifting to rest instead over his shadow guard's heart. Ears soften flat to the sides of his head as he feels that warm touch slide to the base of his spine, a hair's breadth from the root of his tail (which lazily sweeps from side to side, no doubt coating Moze's legs with soft pink fur in the process).

In the beginning, there were awkward fumbles as inexperience and blindness were obstacles to overcome – misjudged distances, kisses landing short of their mark, a headbutt or two that they laughed about after – but now it is like another kind of instinct. It is a practiced dance, the way they lean together, the way their lips find each other without falter. There is no more fumbling here – only a soft, languid kiss that he cannot help but sink into the way his fingers sink into the silvered strands at Moze's nape.

It is with a soft hum of content that they part, the smile upon Jiaoqiu's face this time not concealing anything, but instead exuding the delight he feels every moment he gets to spend with the man who owns his heart and soul – moments he once believed were out of his grasp, the chance stolen from him before he could claim it. Lids part over golden hues as he gazes, so to speak, upon Moze's face – but he doesn't need eyes to know that Moze is no longer frowning, but smiling in return.

He can sense it.

[milswrites]

Rosehall

~Azriel X Reader

Summary: Azriel gives you the best mating gift in the world by introducing you to the other important woman in his life.

Warnings: none just fluff :)

Azriel had always kept secrets. You had always written it off as it being a part of his work - being the spymaster of the Night Court no doubt wracked up hundreds of them.

His entire job revolved around gathering information from the unsuspecting mouths of threatening individuals. You were sure Azriel probably knew enough secrets to tear down entire courts if he chose to spill them.

But he wouldn't.

Because something you had come to learn was that Azriel was incredibly good at keeping them. So good, in fact, that he had managed to keep one from you for the five years you had been together.

There was no doubt in your mind that Azriel was keeping something from you. In fact you didn't need to be a spymaster to notice the mysterious way he would disappear from your home some evenings with a kiss to your head and a promise that he would return.

Sometimes he would provide you with a reason, a lame excuse that you saw right through, but you would still nod and smile all the same. Peck his cheek before sending him out the door, telling him not to be too long.

If you weren't as secure in your relationship as you were, you're positive that this would have been a bigger problem for you. That you would anxiously pace the floor of your home until he returned, smelling the male as he entered just to try and see if you got a whiff of an unfamiliar perfume.

But Azriel was your mate, and that golden thread tired between you, one of the bond that had just recently been accepted, meant you had to trust the male with your entire soul. And you did.

You'd busy yourself in his absence each time he left, knowing that when the time came and he was ready, your mate would tell you where he had spent all these secretive hours.

As it turned out, you didn't have much longer to wait.

~~~~~

Azriel had told you to get ready nice and early this morning. A nervous smile across his lips as he told you he was ready to show you exactly where it was he wandered off to every other day.

A mating gift, he called it. The desire to share with you the secret he held so near and dear to his hear.

You weren't sure what to expect or how to prepare for it. But your mate kissed you on the head and told you all would be fine, that you needn't stress and he would take care of everything.

So there he was, a fragrant bouquet in his hand that wasn't for you, waiting at the bottom of the steps in your shared home. Impatiently tapping his foot as you took the time to finish getting ready.

You approached him slowly, scared that if you were to startle him by showing too much enthusiasm at the prospect of learning his hidden secret he would panic. Retreating back into the shadows as he remained secretive and untelling.

"Shall we?" He asked nervously, gulping back some of his anxiety as he did so.

The male held out his free arm for you to take, allowing you to gently grasp onto him before he willed you both to be absorbed by his shadows.

~~~~~

The dark veil of shadows lifted to reveal a picturesque view. It was a combination of thriving farmland and lush forests, a number of rolling hills kissing against the horizon in the distance. It was beautiful.

And in the center of it all, the focal point of this idyllic rural painting, there stood a quaint little cottage. The thatched roof glistening under the light of the rising sun, roses of all colours blooming in the perfect little garden which was housed by a protective wooden fence.

Azriel noticed your silent appreciation, resting his hand on the small of your back as he began to lead you in the direction of the cottage, beginning to speak as he walked, "Welcome to Rosehall. And before you get too, excited the cottage isn't the gift."

"It's beautiful!" you said in amazement, it wasn't often that you had the chance to leave Velaris and the city - as wonderful as it was - didn't bare the tranquil, natural beauty that the landscape before you did.

You didn't need the bond to tell you that your mate was anxious, the tense grip of his hand against your back told you enough. Attempting to lighten the mood you joked, "I hope this isn't where you tell me you have a wife and kids."

He released a worried laugh, cracking a wonky smile which didn't quite meet his faraway eyes, "Not a wife but... well. You'll see."

The closer and closer you got towards the cottage, the more you were able to take in. The warm light which cast a homely glow through the sparkling windows and the curling plume of grey smoke which rose from the chimney told you that the house was well-lived in.

And there was a figure tending to the garden.

A soft, feminine form who was busying themselves with planting some newly sprouting roots into the array of pots before her. Her tangled hair, which was thrown haphazardly into a bun atop of her head, was the same dark colour of your mates.

"Azriel" you whispered in shock, shaky hand flying to your mouth at the realization of who it was you were approaching. Of who it was Azriel snuck off to see so often.

~~~~~

Azriel removed his steadying hand from the small of your back, moving towards the gate before lifting the latch and entering the garden, holding it open so you could follow him inside.

The soft click of the latch being enough to alert the woman, distracting her from her task as she raised her amber eyes to you and your mate. A loving smile crossing her face as she saw who her visitor was.

She launched to her feet, bounding over to the two of you before throwing her arms around Azriel - around her son - crushing the bouquet of flowers between their bodies which were tightly pressed together in their embrace.

"Darling! I didn't expect to see you here again so soon!"

Azriel cleared his throat at her words, pulling away from the hug as he began to shuffle his feet as he looked between you and his mother, finding the words to shyly speak, "Well, I thought it was about time I introduced you to my mate. Mum this is-"

His mother didn't allow him the time to finish his sentence. Instead opting to rush towards you, pulling you into an equally tight embrace as if she had done this a million times.

"It's so lovely to finally meet you, Azriel as told me everything about you of course" she chirped. Her hands, slightly rough from her years of labor in the garden, came to rest against your blushing cheeks, "But he never told me how beautiful you are! Cauldron darling you look as though you were blessed by the mother herself."

"Mum" Azriel groaned from where he was stood, embarrassed at the way his mum was doting on you. Yet he couldn't help the small smile which trickled onto his face at the sight before him, nor the way his eyes lovingly twinkled as he watched the two people he loved most finally meeting.

"That's funny" you said, shooting a burning glare towards your mate, "he told me absolutely nothing about you."

His mum tutted, her tongue coming to click against her teeth in disappointment, chiding her son for the lack of information shared between you.

"That boy i tell you," she started, pulling you excitedly by your hand towards the door of the cottage, Azriel following in tow, "So protective. He thinks I don't get lonely living by myself in the country? No, of course I do! I could have done with your company the last few hundred years darling."

You loved his mum.

It was an easy decision to make. The way she teased her son. The way she managed to get under his skin until the tops of his ears burned red in embarrassment. The overwhelming cornucopia of love which poured from her gaze every time she looked at her son.

It was easy to see why Azriel was so cautious in telling people about his mother. You had only known this woman for a minute and you were already sure you would be absolutely devastated if any harm were to ever befall her.

Her soothing, gracious persona was infectious. Her joy sparking a ray of light inside your chest which grew more and more every second you basked in her welcoming presence.

It was understandable now, why Azriel always seemed to come back from his mysterious trips away feeling lighter and more cheerful.

It was impossible not to be whilst you were here at Rosehall, here with his mother, and not feel the contagious merriment which hung in the air as if it was the very oxygen you breathed.

She eagerly dragged you inside Rosehall, pulling you into the homely kitchen, before pouring you a drink and hurriedly sitting down at the table with you, your hands clasped tightly in her comforting ones.

Silvery tears lined her golden eyes as she took you in. Her gaze didn't hold any judgement, instead it was filled with that same overwhelming surge of love which she looked at her son with, as if she was looking at her own daughter. Hands locked together with her own flesh and blood.

"I never thought I'd see the day where my little boy brought a woman home" she squealed, lip wobbling slightly as she tried to contain her overflowing sense of delight at the fact she was finally meeting you.

Azriel grumbled defensively from where he was stood at the counter of the kitchen, arranging his mother's flowers into a vase he had acquired.

"Oh and here I was thinking he used to be a ladies man. Have a lot of trouble with women as a boy Azriel?"

His mother beamed at your banter, staring between you and her son as if the pair of you were her entire universe.

"I was just waiting for the right person to come along. Luckily for me it was my mate" he uttered as he shrugged, coming to stand behind you. Resting his large hands on your shoulders, unable to sit down as the small kitchen only housed two chairs. A sign of the lack of visitors Azriel allowed his mother to have.

"Oh what a sweet boy" his mother snapped, a playful humour lacing her tone, "waiting until he accepted the bond before he came and brought his mate to meet his own mother. Did I miss the wedding too?"

You giggled at her words as Azriel began to sputter excuses to the woman who raised him, the headstrong lady clearly wasn't going to drop the topic of his prolonged wait to introduce you anytime soon.

"Please darling," she turned back to you, her furrowed brows relaxing as she spoke, "tell me I raised my son right and he at least got you a proper mating gift. Something romantic."

You looked up to your mate, his expectant eyes meeting your own elated ones. It was your turn for your lip to quiver due to the abundance of love which radiated in this home, squeezing his mother's gentle hands as you spoke, "He's given me the best mating gift I could have asked for."

And he had. This gift had been more than just Azriel introducing you to his mother, you could see that.

No, it had been Azriel giving you a part of his soul. Sharing with you his deepest secret, one that you would cherish forever as long as it was yours to hold.

There, in the cramped cluttered kitchen of Rosehall, Azriel's world just became a whole lot bigger. And as he looked to his girls, his two beautiful girls, Azriel allowed himself to relax. A tender smile settling on his face at the realization that he had found his home. His entire heart and soul belonging to the two women before him.

He was going to have to buy another chair.

[liahaslosthermind]

~ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝑳𝒐𝒔𝒔 ~

(Past) Rhysand x OC, (Eventual) Azriel x OC Part 2 of Betrayal

Summary: He was out of his mind with grief. Azriel had been through his fair share of trauma. He had seen and done horrific things, but that was always with Adelaide by his side. Now, he didn't know what to do, and he was losing it. Warnings: Suicidal thoughts and ideology, Death of a loved one, grief, Hurt/No Comfort

His limbs ached as he stood up from his chair. He had been sitting there so long that walking felt much harder than it usually did.

He rubbed the haze from his eyes while walking to the door, the incessant knocking making his headache worse.

"Fuck, Az. You look- how do you- do you want me to..." Cassian stood in front of his brother, someone he'd known for 500 years, and didn't recognize the male he saw.

It had been the first time in almost 2 months that Cassian's knocks were answered. He had come to her room, everyday, multiple times a day, to plead with his brother to talk to him, to eat something, to just let Cassian look at him so he could see he was alive.

Azriel said nothing as he turned around and went back to the chair he had been occupying. Cassian closed the door behind him as he took in the room.

It was the same as it had been the day she left. Even though this had been the place Azriel spent most of his days, the Shadowsinger had kept it all the same, only touching her bed that he would sleep in the nights he could stomach it, or the chair he was currently in now.

A mess of papers on the desk brought tears to Cassian's eyes. Adelaide, sweet and caring Adelaide, had been making a list of Solstice gifts for her family when she was called to join some of the Inner Circle on a meeting all those months ago. A meeting that had been a trap for them. A meeting that ended up taking her life.

Azriel cleared his throat when Cassian went to pick up a piece of paper. He had tried to hard to keep her room clean while also not disturbing things from the spot she had put them in.

"Nesta told me that her and Elaine have been leaving you food but it remains untouched."

"Is there a question, brother?" Azriel asked. His voice had always been rough, and he had always been more on the quiet side, but Cassian could tell that because of lack of use, it hurt him to speak.

"Why aren't you eating? How can we get you to? I would do anything, Az." he pleaded.

The spymaster didn't answer.

"Whats the end goal? Believe me, if you want 1,000 years to mourn her, I will be with you every step of the way. I've tried to give you space, but you are killing yourself! You sit in here all day, only coming out when everyone is asleep or gone. What do you need to care about your life again?"

He was met with a distracted look from Azriel.

His brother was never distracted. He was never careless. He hadn't missed a day of training for no reason in hundreds of years. Cassian knew he still trained every once in a while, but Azriel always found times to do it when no one else was around.

Azriel didn't have an answer for Cassian, at least not one he would like.

How could I care for my life when her's is over? he thought. By the desperate look on Cassian's face, he could tell his brother knew the answer.

"I lost her too. I know it was different with the two of you, you were each others'... person, but she was as much my sister as you are my brother. I didn't... I didn't even get to say goodbye." Cassian finally broke at the confession. He hadn't let himself think about it, he had to keep himself together for Azriel. "The last time I talked to her, we where fighting over food. She stole the slice of cake I had saved for myself, I called her an inconvenience and a burden, she called me a spoiled bat who needs to learn to share." He let out a bittersweet laugh at the memory. They were usually at each others' throats, and when they weren't, they were teamed up to annoy someone else in their family. But they loved each other, always were there for one another, except in the end, when it mattered most.

"24 hours later, I was picking out the sarcophagus my sister was going to be laid in. I would have let her have all of my leftovers, all of my dessert, if it meant I just got one last conversation with her." Choking up, Cassian sank to the floor, a wave of familiar grief washing over him.

Azriel joined him, crying as he hugged his brother.

The two illyrians, sat like that for a while. Long after their tears had dried, long after the sun had gone down, Cassian finally spoke up.

"Why don't you go see her? Visiting helps me, talking to her even though I know she can't hear is something I do often."

In truth, Azriel hadn't gone to his best friend's mausoleum since the funeral. He couldn't see her like that, couldn't come to terms with it.

These past 6 months had been dark. Everyone was mourning her, many of the people of Velaris included, but none more than Azriel. Part of him had died, laid in the cold marble box that held her body. For the first few months, he had completely disconnected from reality. He went on with his daily routine, he trained, ate, went on missions, did paperwork, slept. But it was as it he was on autopilot, as if the real Azriel had been asleep that whole time.

Two months ago, he woke up. It was sudden, he had gone to his room for the first time in a while to grab some books that had been long overdo at the library, and the priestesses had kindly told him if they didn't get them back he would be banned for life.

Thats when he saw the blanket on the chair by his desk. She had given it to him over a century ago. It was a birthday present, a wool blanket that was enchanted to smell like her always. She had played it off as a self centered gift, so he doesn't forget about his favorite person while away on missions, in front of their friends, but Azriel knew that wasn't her true intention. Adelaide had always been a master gift giver, and she also knew Azriel had trouble sleeping most nights, but he never had any problems falling asleep on the couch next to her after a long night of conversations, wrapped comfortably in her own wool blanket.

He hadn't slept without it till the night she died.

Then, he picked it up, trying to see if the enchantment still worked. And that was all it took for him to wake up. It was awful, every bad feeling he had been too far disassociated to feel hit him at once. He curled up on the floor with the blanket wrapped around his hands and stayed there for days, silent tears never ceasing to fall.

After getting yelled at by Madja, who Nesta had called to knock some sense into him, he got up and went to her room, where he remained most of his days since.

He sat in the chair in the corner of the room, only eating to quiet his stomach, and tried as hard as he could to detach himself from the never ending agony that was his life now.

He told Cas he would see her, the general's face lighting up at the news.

He felt guilty, making Cassian so happy for something he knew would later destroy him.

Hours after Cassian had left the room, as the sun came up, Azriel went to his room to grab the blanket he hadn't touched in 2 months. Then he grabbed Truth Teller, wrote his final request, and went to see Adelaide.

The building was large, and beautifully constructed. He would have been happy that she had a resting place as elysian and inviting as she, but he knew Rhysand only spent that much money and made it this beautiful to try and lighten the guilt he felt.

The Shadowsinger stopped by the entrance, the sarcophagus without a lid placed up on the platform.

Before the funeral, Helion had come to place a enchantment on her body that would keep it perfectly preserved.

It had been more of a final gift to Addie than a show of good will between the courts. Adelaide had been a foundling on the border of Day and Night. Helion took her in as his ward and she grew up with access to the best education and scholarly texts Prythian could offer. Rhysand later made her head of the Night Court's scholarly texts, education, and research. She spent more of her life in Night than Day, but she never went so long without seeing the man who gave her all she had.

She used to tell Azriel she would take him on vacation to Day to meet Helion. He of course had met the man before but they had been the Spymaster of Night and High Lord of Day, Addie wanted them to meet as 'two of the people she loved more than anyone'.

They never did get that vacation.

And as Azriel finally looked down at her, Helion's gift to her felt like a cruel punishment to him.

6 months later, she was still as ethereal as she was the last time he saw her, but she was still just as dead.

This was where he would remain, his final request was to be laid to rest in the same building. He would be adding unnecessary pain onto his loved ones who had suffered so much already, but for the first time in his life, Azriel had decided to put himself in front of his family.

Looking her over one last time, he realized he was now completely numb.

Azriel held the gifted blanket and went to take off the one she currently had. Based off the fact it seemed to have been picked out with meticulous care to match Adelaide's coloring, and her outfit, there was no doubt it had been placed there by Mor.

On her lap, previously being covered by the blanket, laid a large and very old book.

Had one of the scholars she worked with placed it? One of the educators?

Strange marks littered the cover, but no title. Not till he opened the first page did he see what it was.

The Walking Dead

A cruel pick. Who would ever leave such a book with a corpse?

The second page was blank, so was the third, so was the fourth. Thumbing through the book, Azriel just about gave up looking at the blank pages when he finally found one with writing.

It seemed to be a poem, but it was formatted too strangely.

The title at the top read Eternally Intertwined.

A spell.

He almost dropped the book at the realization.

No one had left this book, it had been fate that had given it to him, kept it here waiting for him to stumble upon it.

He knew what he needed to do.

[arcadiabaytornado]

The symbolism in this scene is so.....

When Rachel starts talking about wanting to run away together, Chloe hesitates. Not necessarily because she doesn't want to go, but because she knows how possible it is that the conversation they're having is just pretend.

So she asks Rachel for validation. She asks her to stop talking about this wonderful life unless it's the one they're going to have together. And Rachel says that she's serious....before grabbing Chloe's hands and playfully twirling them around in the street.

Rachel's words directly contradict her actions, and we've all heard the phrase "actions speak louder than words," a hundred times. I don't think Rachel was being nearly as serious as Chloe in this scene....but like....I mean that in a specific way.

I don't think Rachel was lying about wanting to leave with Chloe that night. We learn in LIS 1 that leaving had been the girl's plan for awhile, and we also learn that Rachel was seeking her own avenue's of escape like asking the truck driver if he'd take her to LA. So when I say "Rachel wasn't being serious" I don't mean that Rachel was lying. What I mean is that I think Rachel was being as serious as a 5 year old who threatens to run away from home.

Like...yeah she MEANT it. She was being serious, but there was no way that they could have pulled it off that night. As Chloe points out, they didn't have a working car, money, or a well thought out plan. Even if the Sera stuff didn't happen, I doubt they would have actually been able to leave.

I really think that the running away conversation between Rachel and Chloe was something that was real for Chloe and something that was a moment of passion for Rachel. Not out of malice on Rachel's end. Just out of excitement and being caught up in the rush of the future.

However, It does make you wonder about how serious their follow up "we should leave conversations" were. Did Chloe and Rachel ever have any real conversations about leaving Arcadia Bay? Or were they all stories built passion and hope? We'll probably never really know the answer to that question, but it is something really interesting to think about.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

any thoughts on lilias parenting style?

I’ve long held the belief that Lilia is not the “best” or “perfect” parent in TWST, but I love that he’s so imperfect yet is willing to learn and grow from his failures and shortcomings. It’s really commendable how far he has come, especially considering that he used to be much gruffer and made claims like he never wants a child or he’s not suited to be a father and is repulsed by the very idea of it.

It’s sad to think about how, for the longest time, Lilia believed he was incapable of loving others—both receiving love and giving it in a parental capacity. He says as much to Meleanor before what could be her last stand. Bro has so much love to give 😭 and it’s so fascinating to see book 7 focus on that love between parent and child, blood be damned.

Of course Silver is the quintessential child we all think of whenever Lilia’s parenting is brought up. Silver says it must have been tough for Lilia to raise him as a single parent and with limited knowledge of human children—but Lilia still did it, and out of the kindness of his heart, for an infant who was essentially a complete stranger. However, as far back as the human-fae conflict of Briar Country, Lilia was literally throwing his life and reputation on the line for his “children”. He protected Malleus’s egg with his own body. He provided the magic that would shave off several hundred years from his lifespan to ensure that his prince hatched. He allowed himself to be chased out of the capital city but still made the time to be there for Malleus, as well as shielded Silver from the ugly truth. In modern day, we also see Lilia him imparting sage wisdom onto his boys and making efforts to help them with their own downfalls: advising Malleus on the differences between fae and humans, asking the other first years to watch over Sebek, inviting Malleus to events, reminding Sebek to be kind to his human peers, etc. Above all else, Lilia promotes understanding, and wishes for a world where all the races can live together. He leaves Silver with the same sentiments, and in him, Lilia’s legacy of love can live on.

As I said briefly mentioned before, Lilia isn’t perfect. He’s putting his own life in danger and taking the emotional brunt of the events of the past for them. He hides the circumstances surrounding Malleus’s birth, the truth behind Silver’s origins, and many other details pertaining to the warring period. In modern day, Lilia is quick to make an exit when the dark carriage comes for him, trying to save his boys the agony of a prolonged good-bye. There are also just general parenting failures under his belt: feeding babies milk through a cup (you’re supposed to use a fitted nipple, otherwise the baby could choke), not being concerned when Silver is missing + expecting him to come back on his own, general emotional insensitivity and unawareness (him laughing when Silver realized their ear shapes are different and they’re not actually blood-related), leaving Silver unsupervised in their forest cottage while he goes off to travel, taking his pranks and mischief too far (thus causing trouble for Silver, such as Endless Halloween Night), his… cooking… etc. He does manage to mend some of those issues (like having the Zigvolts help watch Silver or letting slightly older Silver housesit with the animals), but other issues like the milk in a cup persist. Additionally, Lilia can be inconsistent with his emotional awareness, as he does not realize his Halloween mischief would worry Silver as much as it did. At the same time, Lilia is overall more in tune with his son’s feelings (he’s one of the few who can read the notoriously stoic Silver’s emotions flawlessly). However, Lilia still prioritizes keeping his childrens’ eyes away from the truth and instead is shouldering the pain for them. We find ourselves circling back around to all the sacrifices Lilia has made for Malleus, Silver, and yes, even Sebek—and I’ll bet that Lilia is willing to go the distance and do more.

I actually wonder if Lilia’s “I’ll shoulder everything for you” parenting originates in part from him overcompensating for the love he never received as a child. He was an orphan taken in as a ward for his country, shunned by the Briar Valley senators for being some filthy bat with no proper lineage to speak of. He didn’t get the girl he crushed on and instead lost her and his best friend (still MIA) to the war. He was banished from the capital and loathed for his mere existence. He had things thrown at him and was chased out of cities. Lilia has experienced so much hatred and vitriol that I would not fault him if he turned bitter and sent that same hate and vitriol back. That would be the easy thing to do. But… he has also experienced great kindness and acceptance along his travels. Strangers inviting him into their homes. People telling him about their lives. Offerings of food and a warm bed. It is through these experiences that Lilia is shown an alternative: a world of love, not war. Then, upon seeing these children in need of guidance, he sees a younger version of himself in them—lonely (Malleus, isolated in his castle), lost (Silver, without his parents), confused (Sebek, about his half fae/half human identity). He knows what could become of them if he lets hate envelop their hearts. And Lilia doesn’t want what he suffered through to befall them, nor a future where the same vitriol is perpetuated. So… he throws himself into ensuring these boys have a guiding star, someone who champions empathy and cooperation between all races, at the cost of himself.

It’s fascinating to consider that Silver (the one who was most closely raised by Lilia) reflects his father’s teachings but also Lilia’s self-sacrificial behavior, even though Silver isn’t fully aware of what Lilia gave to raise him. Silver consciously believes that he hadn’t done enough to “pay back” his dad (similar to how Lilia may have taken Malleus under his wing to “pay back” his debt of Maleficia taking him as an orphan in and not being there for Meleanor in her final battle). To compensate, Silver keeps pushing himself to do things like suppress his own sadness at Lilia’s farewell party, taking physical blows for Lilia, and even believing that he isn’t worthy of Lilia’s love. I guess the sayings “like father, like son” and “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree” are applicable here.

Anyway! Lilia as a father (whether literally or figuratively) will never not be interesting to me.

[irondadfics]

hii i hope youre doing well <3

i'm looking for fics where peter and tony discover they are biologically related while they're together in the lab/tower/etc. (whether they do the paternity test on purpose or find out accidentally) . i read a few fics like this a long time ago but i don't remember enough to ask about them individually

here are some where Tony and Peter accidentally learn they are father and son.

That's the thing with anger... by Good_As_I_Am94

Tony heard something drop and shatter while he was still finishing up his work on Rhodey’s suit, “Kid?” It wasn’t like Peter to drop things. He had sticky super powers after all. Peter was just staring at the screen.

I'm Your Dad by DragonSoulWorld

Peter Parker is Tony Stark's son! After Tony run a routine DNA test on Peter, he discovers he is his son! Having missed the first 15 years of Peter's life, Tony is determined not to miss anymore. But Peter feels insecure, and fears Tony doesn't really want to be his dad. Tony & Peter navigating their new father-son relationship. ProtectiveTony! SensoryOverload!

Hold On, To Me As We Go by GLWilliams97

“Hey, Tony Stank” Rhodey starts speaking as soon as he opens the door, “what’s this I’ve been hearing abou-“. Rhodey freezes mid-step and mid-sentence when he see’s Tony… or more accurately when he sees a kid sitting next to his friend. …a kid that, when he and Tony look up at him entering the lab, looks freakishly like Tony did when he first met him back at MIT. It may have been 30 years, give or take, since he met his best friend, but he’d never forget the first time that he met the skinny little kid that had a busted lip because he had mouthed off to one of the much older students. He’d never forget that little face. The face that he was suddenly seeing all over again…sat next to his best friend.  --- Yes, this is one of those stories where Tony find's out Peter is actually his son. I'm a sucker for these kind of stories and I've wanted to write one for a while...so, here it is :)

Not Rocket-Science for Dummies — A Masterclass by Rhodey and MJ by AnonVale

“Peter—look behind you!” The boy clasps Peter’s head, forcefully turning it around. Peter’s looking. And— Well, Rhodey’s not looking at Peter. He’s looking at a living memory—lightning wit and calculating brown eyes. Rhodey’s lightheaded with it—with late nights hidden in lab cupboards as tired security guards search for the source of echoing laughter—with breaking into Tiberius Stone’s dorm room and stealing his pipsqueak best friend’s final paper back—with punching Howard Stark in the face, shaking his knuckles out without an ounce of regret—with bunny-eared yearbook photos and shared school hoodies—with ‘I got it! I got it—Rhodey—stop—It’s not even—even heavy’ and ‘It’s a two-hundred pound robot, of course it’s heavy, dummy’—and later—so much later—too late, alway too late—with searching, searching, searching and never finding—

Happy Hogan Never Forgets A Face by Jen27ny

Happy Hogan never forgets a face. And suddenly he remembered where he knew that face from. The blood in his veins turned cold and for a second his lungs forgot they need oxygen to function. He counted back the years, hoping it would calm his racing heart. Hoping it wouldn’t match. But it did.

[chosobeee]

Even though he’s lived a long time, Choso never really took the time to look up at the night sky. He never saw an importance in it; he had family to protect, and nothing else really mattered. He never really stopped to take in the beauty of being alive. He thought maybe that was just the curse part of him not caring about the mundane, boring things that other humans seemed to live for. 

But yet here he is, lying down on a fluffy throw blanket you had grabbed from your closet, staring up at the night sky with you by his side. He has to admit that his chest feels lighter at the sight of the stars twinkling at him, a few shooting stars passing by, and the crescent shaped moon hanging big, bright, and beautiful. It truly is breath taking—but it's still no where near as captivating as you. 

He stares at you as you gaze up at the sky, smiling wide and going on about something you had learned back in school, years ago. “The craziest thing about these stars is that they are hundreds of thousands—even millions of years old!” you marvel. “And because of the speed in which light travels, we aren’t looking a them as they are now; we’re looking at them as they once were. We’re literally looking into the past right now. Isn’t that so cool?” 

Choso’s cheeks burn from smiling so hard. He loves seeing you so excited; the way your whole face lights up as you ramble on about facts he’s genuinely interested to learn. You taught him so much and did it so enthusiastically, and he was so grateful to you for it. He doesn’t know where he would be without you.

You’re just so… good to him. You help him connect more with the human side of himself, teach him things he would have never thought to learn. You stuck by his side even when he thought of himself as a monster. Everything about you and your energy is just so blindingly radiant and beautiful to him, he just wants to hold you in his arms and never let you go. He could simply stare at you for the rest of his life and be content. He’s certain that he feels the same way about you that you feel about the stars. 

“Space is just so vast and big that the human mind can’t even begin to comprehend it,” you continue, unaware of his eyes burning into you, like he was afraid that if he looked away even for a second you’d disappear. “It’s such a scary and chaotic, yet beautiful and peaceful place. I’m hurt that I won’t ever be able to observe it all with my own eyes.”

Choso reaches out and grabs your hand in his, gently rubbing his thumb over yours in an effort to provide comfort. “Maybe some day we can explore the stars together,” he says, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. His eyes are gentle, soft with love and adoration as they focus on your face. Meanwhile your heart is swelling in your chest, a love you’ve never felt for anyone else overwhelming you as you beam back at him. 

Even though you know it isn’t possible, you find yourself asking, “You promise?”  

He gives your hand a squeeze, a loving smile decorating his face in the process. “I promise.”

You both return your gazes to the stars, the night air thick like a warm blanket on your skin. You scoot your way over to Choso as he lets go of your hand to reach his arm out to envelope you. You wrap yourselves in each other as you release a sigh of contentment. 

He plants a kiss to the top of your head. “I love you.” 

You hum and snuggle your head into his chest. “I love you.”

Choso has learned to find joy in the mundane. You are the beauty and the humanity he’s been seeking for so long without realizing. You are the brightest star in his universe, and he refuses to ever live in the dark again. 

wc: ~700 not sure how i feel about this one, but i needed some fluff so bad

[meryldian]

hii PLEASE WRITE SOMETHING ABOUT A FIFTH MEMBER OF TOKIO HOTEL AND TOM

ps. YOURE AMAZING😭

✧˖°. Loving Tom Kaulitz as Tokio Hotel’s 5th member ˖°. ✧

AN: Love this request!! You didn’t specify if you wanted something in particular so I decided to develop on how you guys got together after years of conflicted feelings, it starts with headcanons and ends in a little drabble :) I hope you enjoy!!

⟡ As for general dating headcanons, I’ve been considering writing a post for each member following my little TH 5th member series, so you can imagine how it’d be to date your favourite guy (or all of them) ⟡

Warnings: none really, reader implied as bi but it’s very subtle.

~ Happy Reading

Alright Alright. First of all we need to set the record straight. No matter for how long you guys had known each other and had mutual crushes it would take a WHILE before you got together.

As the fifth member of Tokio Hotel, you guys probably met when you were young kids but you didn’t click instantly, your personalities clashed but there were two things that united you two; music and raising hell in your little village.

You would take your bikes and ride out into the mountains of Loitsche to drink and smoke a pack, maybe light a small fire because you were young and didn’t care about consequences.

Hanging with your friends at your hideout and subconsciously ending up coddled up on the couch for warmth when the night got cold.

Tom pretended to hate it when you wore his hats and it did genuinely annoy him from time to time, but what can he say, they looked good on you.

You took it upon yourself to burst his bubble whenever he got any crazy and unreasonable idea.

You would always bicker and tease one another.

You were that pair of kids that people said would end up together but you guys gagged and denied.

Me with him?? Not in a hundred years, I’d rather walk on lava.

Tom would always say you were ugly and not his type, while deep down he knew you were the most beautiful in town. He simply refused to admit it, and would continue calling you his ugly piglet.

On your side, you probably insisted that his don juan act was cringe and that he would never get a girlfriend.

As time went on and your band flew into stardom, Tom and you had to learn how to properly work together.

You learned how to be gentler to one another during those endless nights of rehearsing your new songs.

You never really cared about physical closeness with him, but one time when he came behind you and helped you with your guitar tabs you suddenly felt nervous around him for the first time. The way his arms wrapped around you and his hands guided your fingers.

You were left wondering after that.

As members of the hottest band in Germany, you inevitably were surrounded by people ready to tear their clothes off and worship you.

We know real well that Tom fell into temptation, but did you?

If you did, it wasn’t rare for you two to discuss your recent hook-ups whenever you got a moment to yourselves in the tour bus or during rehearsals.

You’d chat about how good the head you got last night was or how you somehow ended up in a threesome.

Something switched in Tom’s brain during that time, no matter how many girls he “fell in love with for a night” no one could compare to how happy you made him.

Around you he could be himself. The Tom that’s scared of the future, the sweet boy that enjoys video games and laying around doing nothing, the Tom that craved physical touch but never knew how to ask, the boy that always had your back, who always kept a protective eye on you, even when you couldn’t see it.

As for you, your feelings were conflicting.

You knew Tom was not one for relationships and it was a bad idea to fall for him, but how could you not when he was the one that would always listen to your doubts and wishes, the one that never changed his attitude around you when you became famous, the boy that swore he was though but he needed your reassurance before going on stage.

Unlike he did for the girls that he took in his hotel rooms around the world, Tom never judged you only based off your looks. In fact, he never really cared before. He did find you beautiful (even though he called you his ugly piglet) but your person had always jumped right at him.

When he realized how much happier he was around you is that he started to note how beautifully your hair flew in the wind when you played on stage. How your hips moved to the rhythm of your songs. How your eyes lit up when you were served your favourite food or how you’d bite your lip when you concentrated.

It was all so new to him, he even despised the feeling of being so hooked on one person.

You guys probably took refuge in your occasional hook ups with groupies (that you would then flaunt to each other and the band) but it never felt as right. The physical pleasure didn’t fulfill that desire to know one another even better and break down your barriers.

Everyone around you could see it except you two.

Your staff probably put their bets on the table.

This constant pining went on for ages. Literally.

You were now far onto your third tour, 1000 Hotels around the world and Tom and you still seemed as oblivious to your fat crushes.

You began to show more physical affection. Such as Tom’s arm around your shoulders when you sat on the bus tour couch, occasionally tapping your thigh when he laughed, resting your arm on his shoulder when sitting next to each other or resting your head on him to drift off during long drives.

Nights when Tom would drop by your room with a bottle of vodka and chips to have your own little party because he couldn’t leave the hotel.

A certain morning you woke up tangled in Tom’s limbs and instantly freaked out checking if you still had clothes on.

Tom got way more possessive over you. His excuse was that the band grew and more people were all over you, but he just wanted you to himself.

This routine of pining but denying dragged on til one cold night you gathered the courage to try something new.

“Do I have your consent to try something I’ve been wanting to for a while now?” You asked looking down and fidgeting, picking at your cuticles to distract yourself from Tom’s gaze. “Should I be scared? Give me a reason to trust you” he said jokingly. You were sitting close for your thighs to rub yet far enough for you to have to shift in your place to reduce the gap between your faces. “Close your eyes” You didn’t know where you got the courage to say that but it did earn you a playful eyebrow raise from the boy you’d been hiding your feelings from for the past couple years. He knew where this was going, he was smart enough to read through your obvious lines yet he was still feeling that thrill. Your gentle hand grasped his cheek in a feather light touch, barely even there while you rested the other on his thigh. You had to take in another deep breath and cancel every thought that ran through your head at that very moment like it was a life or death situation. In a swift movement you locked your lips on his, not as smoothly as you would’ve wanted but good enough to satisfy your impulse. Panic set in when Tom remained still for the fraction of a second. Shit, what if you fucked it up. Few seconds more of stillness and you had to pull back reluctantly. You wanted to tell him he could open his eyes now, that it was okay and, that’d you’d leave but nerves got the best of you and you could only sit around looking at the carpeted floor nervously. Well fuck, you really messed it up this time. Idiot. An “I’m sorry” escaped your lips in a whisper, too focused on the matted carpet to see how Tom’s eyelids flustered open and his lips, that yours were previously on, formed into a small smile. “If you always kiss like that no wonder girls scurry away from you once they got what they want.” You didn’t know if a gasp or a scoff left your throat at that moment, was he being serious? “What, don’t act all shy after you just kissed me like that” You didn’t know what to say, it’s like your bones were suddenly paralyzed and you could only stare at his face. “I’m messing with you dumbass, cut the long face” On a move you weren’t awaiting Tom pulled you by your arm, getting you closer to his chest, and nearly losing balance, to lock your lips once more. This time differently. With hunger and eagerness. Sneaky hands rubbed up and down your back, coming to a rest on your hips as your lips moved firmly on each other. You did want more, but the surprise of his tongue grazing your lips had you pull back an instance. “Since when is the y/n so innocent, or are you playing good for me?” He tickled the soft skin of your hips, going up to your waist, who knew when his hands managed to sneak under your shirt. Your gaze lifted up and met his “This, us. What is it”. You didn’t know what was so funny to earn a chuckle from him. “Don’t know, but I don’t mind”

- AAaaAHHH this is not proof read yet I hope it’s not too terrible !!

Enjoy your night/day pookies!!!

- Meryl <3

[fanttasttica]

Your love healed me

Rhysand x reader

You were friends with Rhysand and his Inner circle for nearly a hundred years. He trusted you with paperwork, he discussed ideas with you that he wasn't sure if they were good or bad.. You took your work very seriously and put it before everything else, even before your own safety. When Amartantha invites Rhysand and other High lords to her court, you manage to convince Rhysand to take you with him. That night, you end up being imprisoned for nearly fifty years and after you were freed.. The consequences of all this fell on you.  

warnings: mentions of sexual abuse, depression

words: 2599

“We don't know what exactly, but Amarantha is planning something big. She invited all the High lords to her court for some celebration and Rhys is going in hope that he will find out something..” You still shook your head, this wasn't surprising at all. “This is ridiculous. It's very dangerous. What if something happened and he would end up all alone? What is he thinking?” You couldn't believe what you were hearing. She sighed and nodded, also not believing what her cousin was thinking.. “Yeah.. he will leave tomorrow morning and return later at night. Hopefully he will find something then..” She came closer and hugged you. “I will go now, had to speak with one of the Priestess about something. Take care..” You tried giving her a small smile, your thoughts already elsewhere, before she disappeared. If only you knew that this was the last time you would see her for almost fifty years.. You would probably never stop hugging her. 

You didn't know how, but you were free. Free.. It was a strange word for you. You have been under the mountain for almost fifty years. After your last conversation with Morrigan, you went straight to Rhysands office and demanded that he take you with him. And after some persuading, he did. That celebration.. didn't go the way you and everyone else thought it would. Amarantha somehow took powers of all High lords and imprisoned them Under the mountain, together with their courts. And that's how your life in hell began. You and Rhys tried to come up with a plan on how to get out of this mess, but you came up with nothing. You learned that he locked your friends in Velaris, so at least they were safe. And because of that he let Amarantha use him as she pleased. She was sick and you couldn't be happier that she was dead now. These years were hard for Rhys, they were hard for you, for everyone. Many lost their loved ones, their friends.. And some lost themselves, that was also your case. You were broken. After a year or so, Amarantha found a job for you. You were forced to be entertainment for her most faithful guards. This was the reason why you began to close yourself before others, you tried to get away from all of it and pretending that this isn't your body and it's not happening to you, was the easiest way. Of course, there was Rhys, who was trying to help you as much as he could, but he was also scared that if someone noticed he was paying you this much attention, your situation would only get worse. He was blaming himself for bringing you with him, although you said to him many times, it wasn't his fault. In the end, you persuaded him. You felt terrible, when you knew he saw you like this.. broken. Most of the time, you were trying to avoid him as everyone else. You started talking less and less, not trying to communicate with anyone. You become allergic to the touches, which was understandable considering what you had to do. The day when you were freed by this human girl - Feyre, you were looking like a ghost and feeling empty. After Feyre woke up, after she survived her death, chaos broke out in the hall. Some fairies were cheering happily, some broke down crying in relief and you.. You were standing here, not moving the muscle until Rhysand found you. “Thanks to the Cauldron.. there you are, darling.” He seemed relieved that he was seeing you, his eyes were watching you with care and happiness. “We should come home. I will winnow us, okay?” He took your silence as yes, grabbed your hand gently and before you could protest, you were standing in the familiar room with four figures looking at you and Rhys in surprise.

The house hadn't changed, not a little bit. Your friends looked exactly like fifty years ago. It looked like you and Rhys were gone for maybe a few days, not half a century. The first person who came to senses was Morrigan, who ran to Rhys and hugged him tightly, as they both broke into tears. You used this as an opportunity to shake off Rhysand's hand which was still holding yours. But you didn't have much time to celebrate, because there was already another person touching and hugging, Cassian. You didn't return the hug, instead you tried to get out of the hug as fast as possible. He of course let you go, looking at you with worry and shock at the same time. Your heart was beating rapidly. “I.. I can't..” Saying the first words in this week, you shook your head. This was too much for you. This attention and touches were making you more uncomfortable than you already were. “Y/N?” Morrigan reached out to you and you stepped back. She gave Rhysand a look, asking for an explanation. Instead of answering her, he started walking towards you. “You don't have to worry anymore, Y/N. You are safe here.. Trust me again, please.” He was pleading with you. Pleading you to let him help you, but how could you let it happen? He had his own trauma he had to deal with, he shouldn't be concentrating on you. “I am okay.. I just have to.. get used to everything again.” And with that, you left the room in a hurry, going directly to your room.

The first day after you returned, you were crying your eyes out. The second day, you were sleeping almost all day and the next few days? You spent staring right in front of you, not having the power to cry, eat or talk. Your friends tried to visit you, they tried to talk with you and get you to eat, but you needed time to heal. Well, you were hoping time will heal you, maybe thanks to some miracle? The truth is, this wasn't helping you at all. You were behaving like you would still be Under the mountain and not in Velaris, with your family, who were very worried about you. This wasn't like every other before. You were dressed in black leggings and white sweater, your unwashed hair was in a messy bun and you were laying in your bed, looking like a zombie, when you heard a knock on your door. “Y/N? It's me..” Rhysand's voice was quiet and filled with sadness. “I am going inside.” He wasn't asking you, he simply told you and maybe it was better, because you would probably send him away. He opened the door and closed them behind him. He was looking better than before. His eyes were still tired, he was also not fully healed, but unlike you, he was stronger. Strong enough to talk about his trauma and to face it. He pulled the chair from your table to your bed and sat on it. “We need to talk.. This.. can't continue. I do not expect you to be happy and to act like nothing happened, but at least need to get me and others in. Slowly and one after the other.” You sighed softly and turned your head at him. How come you are so brave? So strong?” You shook your head. “I really admire you. For what you have done and for how you manage to.. continue after all this.” His expression was soft and he averted his eyes. “I would say we both went through the same thing.. So I know how hard it is. To believe it is really over. To wake up during the night sweaty and scared because you had a nightmare. To.. let each other touch you and start talking, trusting someone else again. But you have to push yourself. You can really try slowly, with me at first and then with Mor for example. She wants to help you, we all want to help you.” You felt the tears building in your eyes, trying to blink them away, but didn't succeed. You sat up with tears now rolling on your face. “I.. I.. am just scared. I am coward.” You whispered and he nodded in understatement. “You are not a coward. What happened to you was awful and many people would be in the same state as you. Just.. Let me help you and try not to push me away.” You looked him in the eye, thinking about it for a second, before nodding in agreement. 

After you decided to give it a try, Rhysand came to your room everyday. Sometimes he brought himself work and some books he thought you would like for you and you would spend time in comfortable silence. When you were in a better mood you two were talking about ordinary things and after some time, when you were more comfortable around him, you started to talk about your trauma. Well, he started first, he wanted to show you that you shouldn't be scared or ashamed to talk about it. Sometimes you cried together and hugged each other. He was the first person you allowed to touch you since your returning home and he was well aware of that, so he always hugged you softly and gave you a chance to pull away anytime you would want. Sometimes, you wouldn't let him go for a few minutes and he was patient with you, gently stroking your back, like now “You really don't mind?” This was a question he heard for a third time today, so he laughed a little. “No, I really don't mind. You are very.. comforting for me too, you know.” You smiled a little and buried your face into his chest. He was so warm, he smelled good and you were welcoming that and also a feeling of safety he was bringing to you. You pulled away after a while and sat on your bed, next to him. “I think.. I think I will ask Mor to visit me tomorrow.” His expression changed, he was pleasantly surprised. “Are you sure? I don't want you to get overwhelmed.” You smile slightly at him. “I am sure. Morrigan can be very chatty, but I really miss her and I am feeling better, so I think I will manage.” Rhysand was scanning your face for any doubts, but could not find any. He took your hand in his. “I will be honest. I am really glad you are feeling better, but I will miss having you only for myself.” You chuckled at this. “And I thought you'd had enough of me at this point.” You pretended to disbelieve and put his hand on his chest, right where he has a heart. “Enough of you? I don't believe it's actually possible.” You raised your eyebrow and grinned at him. “I am going to take it as a challenge.” 

“I am so glad you are feeling better! Maybe it's weird, but I was missing you maybe even more since you came home.” You two were sitting in your room, on your bed and drinking wine together after a dinner she brought you. “Yeah.. I think I understand you. And I am sorry I didn't let you in sooner.” She shook her head. “Don't you dare apologize for it. Never, you got it? What happened wasn't your fault and you managed to recover from it soon.” At this moment, you were happier than you were in the past fifty years. “It's thanks to Rhys.. He helped me a lot. I think more than he knows and when at the same time he has to get used to everything himself.. I don't know how I will ever repay him.” In the end, it wasn't a time that healed you. “You are repaying me just by smiling again.” Of course you knew whose voice it was and it unknowingly made you smile even brighter. Morrigan saw this and stood up. “I will leave you two be alone now. Y/N if you don't mind, I will come tomorrow to visit  you again.” You nodded at her “And bring Cassian and Azriel too. I will never admit it in front of them, because Cassian would never stop teasing me, but I miss them both dearly.” Mor grinned at you as she walked past Rhysand and closed the door behind her. You patted on the bed, on the place, which was occupied by your blonde friend only a few seconds ago. Rhys understood what you were telling him and sat next to you. “I mean it, Y/N. I don't want anything from you as some sort of repayment. Actually.. You also helped me very much.” You narrowed your eyes in confusion. “Really? How so?” You weren't aware about anything special you did for him.”Since the day we started spending more time with each other again, I have been feeling better. It was nice, like in old times. I was also trying to get used to some touches and well with you.. It was more natural than with anyone else. It always felt so good to hold your hand, hug you..” He exhaled and looked you in the eyes. “Although I have to admit to you that I was feeling this way.. for a longer time. Actually I think there wasn't a time I wasn't feeling like this with you. At first I blamed it for a simple crush. And when I finally admitted to myself how I feel, the whole thing with Amarantha had happened. I didn't want to rush you and I am sorry for telling you this right now, because we are both still healing, but I love you. That's why I was so.. distant under the mountain. maybe more than it was necessary. But I couldn't risk Amarantha finding out about it.” Telling you were surprised wouldn't be enough. You were absolutely stunned, watching him with wide eyes and mouth open a little. “Rhys.. I don't know what to say.” You offered you a little smile “You don't have to say anything. I just.. couldn't hold it in me anymore.” You shook your head and took his hand into your. “No. I want to. It just surprised me a lot.” You always liked him, but under the Mountain you realized you love him too. Perhaps that's why you also started to avoid him, not wanting him to find out somehow, because it would only complicate some things and possibly destroy your friendship. Or you thought.. “I love you Rhys. And I am not saying this out of some obligation. I love you for your kindness, patience, for your sense of humor.. For everything.” A big grin appeared on his face and you laughed a little. He took your face into his hand, looking at your lips and then to your eyes, asking for permission you gladly gave him. His kiss was very soft, he was clearly scared a little, not wanting to hurt you in any way. After you pulled away from each other, you both were smiling like fools. “Thank you.” You whispered to him, while he was caressing your cheek. “What for, my darling?” You put your hand on his and kissed his palm. “For your love. Because.. Your love healed me.”

[cranberryjuice-posts]

The night we met

Pairings - Abby Anderson X Fem! Reader

Tw- heavy gut wrenching angst

An: I actually cried while writing this bro 😭

You had known Abby since you both were 16. After going on a patrol as a way to show your loyalty to Issac even though you weren’t much of a solider.

You had managed to find a group of three kids your age, you soon came to find out was Abby Owen and Mel. On the way back to the base you learned Abby and Owen were together, you had realized early on you really only liked women. And you could of sworn Abby was staring at you how she should of with owen.

After some months Abby cleared the floor in the solider training. You were shocked but didn’t complain as you got to drop out of the route and focused more on a different area like Mel. You were the first person to find out about Abby’s break up and you were the first to reassure her in her decision.

A couple years passed since then, you had managed one night some months after you and Abby turned 19, confessing your longtime crush on the girl in which she admitted she liked you since the first time you met. After a passionate night you two became official.

—

Everyone swore you two were soulmates. Rare arguments and the constant love and affection you two showed was perfect. Always in Abby’s arms- that was home to you.

You had managed to convince Abby to move into an apartment with you, the topic of marriage had even circled in the air.

In love.. that’s what you two were and nothing could change that. Abby had all of you and you had all of her and it would be like that forever.

—

Laying in bed together you were curled up to Abby, both of you nude from having an intimate night.

“Babe” you whispered and kissed her collarbone. “Hmm?” Was the response you got.

Shifting around you got on-top of Abby and looked down at her beautiful face. “Let’s get married.. me and you” Abby’s eyes widened and she grabbed your hips rubbing them softly.

“Are You Sure..” she whispered.

“More than anything” You bent down and kissed her. Abby smiled wide- she pulled you off of her and moved to be over you. She started to sensually kissing you again. “You’d be stupid to think I would say no… now then y/n Anderson you want to go for another round” she grinned and you laughed resting your foreheads against each-other.

—

Abby had been assigned a difficult assignment and stupidly you begged to go not wanting to be away from your new wife.

Sitting in the bed of the truck you two happily held eachother ignoring the teasing comments coming from the others.

After reaching a stopping point for the night and setting up in an abandoned school Abby dragged you to the roof to see the stars.

“That one is the Big Dipper” you whispered and pointed at the beautiful sky. Abby’s hands were all over you trying to show you how much she loved you.

“Oh yeah” Abby asked and kissed you neck. “And what about that one” she pointed.

“Hmm.. i believe that’s Jupiter” a satisfied sigh left your mouth and you laughed as Abby kissed your cheek.

“Shit.. my wife is so smart” she grinned and groaned dramatically. “I’ll never get tried or saying my wife”

You looked back at her. “Good I’d hate for you to get bored” you teased and kissed her. “I love you”

“I love you to mrs. Anderson”

That’s another thing Abby loved to call you. She would never get over you offically having her last name.

—

The following day the group arrived at the designated location.

Abby of-course partnered up with you- leading you into the nature infested city. You two held hands while moving around searching for whatever it was Issac wanted.

You just had to beg Abby to let you go into that bookstore however.

“Common Just five more minutes” You laughed as Abby complained about the moldy store.

“Baby Theres hundreds of books at the base everthing here is probably ruined, if we leave now I’ll let you take some books from my collection” she bargained but you just shook your head and bent down to open a box. After finding nothing you opened a metal door in the back.

It was almost split second before Abby realized a clicker had pinned you to the ground. She immediately shot it and helped throw the corpse off of you. Standing up you panted anxiously. “Baby Baby hey look at me” Abby grabbed your face and made you look at her, the echo and anxiety of the bullet shot to the former scene passed. “There are more coming I can hear them we need to go now”

She dragged your arm towards the back door of the shop to leave through the entrance but you stopped a few steps before the door.

“Y/n” she turned around and saw your horrified face.. “common we need t—“

“Abigail” you spoke in a tone Abby didn’t like. “I love you ok..”

Abby looked at you confused “babe what are y-“

You continued to innerupted her “your gonna leave and your gonna continue to live life Abby”

“Y/n talk to me what’s..” that’s when Abby saw it.. a bleeding bite mark in your neck. She knew it was only a matter of minutes before you turned. “No no no no” she panicked “your ok you hear me!” She grabbed your shoulders and tried to hide her tears.

“Abby—“

“No! You gonna be fine ok I bet the bite didn’t even-“

“Abby!” You screamed finally grabbing her attention, the noise of approaching infected grew louder. You started to cry and kissed her before desperately holding her face. “Go.. Please”

Abby refused however, “I’m not leaving you I’d rather kill myself than leave you” she held onto you but you pushed her back. “Don’t say that” you begged.

“Abby your gonna be fine” you cried. “Your gonna find love and you’ll move on trust me” you tried to comfort her but she just shook her head crying. The infected banging on the nearby door.

You kissed Abby one last time before shoving her out the door and locking it. Abby stumbled back and realized the pistol at her side was gone. She started to slam on the door.

“Y/n open the fucking door!” She screamed trying to break the door open. “Goddamnit don’t do it! Open the door right n—“

BANG

..

…

Abby finally got the door open and saw your body just laying there.. she looked down choking back her vomit and tears. Dropping to her knees she held your face angrily crying, she rested her forehead to yours and sobbed not wanting to leave you praying this was some sick nightmare or prank.

The infected almost had the door open. In a final attempt Abby grabbed wedding ring, necklace, the lucky hair tie you wore and her pistol. She took one last look at you before leaving the book shop.

——

She had eventually came back, refusing to leave your body.

Manny held back some tears as he say Abby carry out your now mutilated body from the infection and the infected eating you.. he barley recognize you and Abby fought back the urge to breakdown.

No one said anything.. no one dared to even speak or look to Abby. She just held your body while silently crying.

There was a funeral, your final resting place was near the shore of your favorite lake.. not many knew of this place but Abby and you.

Your tomb stone just read

Here lies Y/n Anderson

A loving wife

Friend

Daughter and lover

Passed away at the age of 20

May she Rest in Peace

——

Abby sat in the empty apartment. One that once had happy laughter and the sound of love echoing through it. She sat on the floor studying your wedding ring sighing as she remembered the dumb memory of how you had made her wait an extra hour inside the jewelry store in hopes of finding a matching ring to yours. Now she wished she hadn’t had all those stupid arguments. Now Abby wished she gave you everything you asked for.

She started to cry once again remembering how you had asked her about adopting a baby from the nursery that had unwanted children and starting a family. At first she was reluctant but now she had wished she said yes.

She tried to move on. Moving back in with manny, going on more and more assignments, focusing more time in the gym, wearing your ring necklace and hair tie but nothing helped

Nothing else matter. She had lost the one person who actually knew her.. she had all and then most of you Some and now none of you..

That was it.. and that was how it would be

BALLER‼️‼️

[daybreakrising]

@apocryphis: ❝ a dog doesn’t need courage to chase off rats. ❞ (from moze to jiaoqiu)

He doesn't turn from the stove, and the steady stirring of the broth within the pot continues without falter, but the hand that holds the spoon shifts its grip ever so slightly - a gentle tightening that matches the set of the foxian's jaw. It is the tone of Moze's voice that bothers him as much as the words, that harsher edge which so often accompanies darker moods. He cannot know, yet, what has prompted this from the shadow guard, but he intends to find out - whether it takes only a little gentle coaxing, or a more underhanded approach.

"And who is the dog in this scenario? Who are the rats?" He continues to stir with one hand whilst the other reaches for the neatly arranged spice jars on the wall above. Fingers glide across each one as he counts in his head, until they pluck the desired jar from its cradle. Whilst he doesn't doubt his memory, he still lifts the jar to his nose for a quick sniff to double-check - one prank too many has taught him to be cautious. Moze likes to test him, to keep him sharp, even if the cost is a dish seasoned with the wrong spice (which Jiaoqiu makes him eat as punishment, of course).

He measures out a pinch, tosses it into the pot, and stirs some more. "Are these giant, mutant rats, or regular ones? How many rats are there? Is the dog trained to chase them, or relying only upon instinct? Are the rats a threat that must be faced? Was the dog bitten by a rat as a pup, and so has reason to fear them?" He angles his head a fraction, smiles as he feels that familiar warmth at his back. "All things to be considered when questioning the matter of courage."

A hand now reaches for tablespoon, dips it swiftly into the bubbling broth - he turns, his other hand cupped beneath the now loaded spoon, and offers it up to the space he knows Moze occupies. "Taste this," he asks, a glimmer of gold shining beneath lids as his eyes open just a fraction.

"I'm trying something new." He smiles, warm, genuine, and eager to hear the initial verdict of the flavour. "Many patients object to the taste of most medicines, so I'm experimenting with ways to mask the unpleasant flavours with something more enjoyable. Don't worry - there's nothing in this particular broth but natural ingredients, for now. A few bitter herbs to stand in for medicine, nothing more."

A gleam shines within those golden eyes - the only evidence that there is more to this than a simple taste test. "On the surface, it may appear true that the dog does not need courage to chase off rats, but as with this broth, what shows on the surface does not always reflect what lies beneath. It may seem like an ordinary soup, fragrant with spice, but there are opposing flavours within that cannot be judged from a mere glance. Would you know, before tasting, that it contains those bitter herbs?" He pauses, smiles again. "If I wasn't trying to mask them, of course."

His free hand lifts now to lay gently upon Moze's cheek, his touch tender. "I have seen many people in my life who appear courageous, but I've found that those with the most courage are the ones who believe they have none." His gaze softens, brows knitting together in a concerned frown, ears drooping back against his head. "What troubles you?"

[itsghvstfvce]

TAKE YOU BY THE HAND

pairing : jenna ortega x gn!reader

summary : the night of the met gala is reminiscent of a special night you shared with jenna

word count : 1k

warnings : none!

a/n: a short little something about jenna at the met gala while i work on the next part for 'what's in a name' <3 thank you all so much for the love you've been giving it! i hope you enjoy this oneee

You sit on your hotel bed as you admire the suit hanging in front of you.

After gaining immense success from your new film, you earned an invite to the Met Gala for the first time. The annual event is known for showcasing some of the best outfits and looks for the year, with hundreds of people tuning in to find their favourite celebrities creatively sporting different luxury brands. Although the Met Gala is known for seeing crazy, big, and loud attire, you and your stylist worked together to be on the simpler side of things for your first appearance.

But if you were being honest, being able to attend the Gala was not the sole reason for your excitement; it’s the fact that you get to attend alongside your longtime girlfriend, Jenna.

The Scream actress was ecstatic to learn that you had also been invited to attend, rambling about how proud she was and how you two should coordinate your outfits. You were on board with the idea and have been discussing with your stylists to make it work. However, Jenna said she wanted to keep her outfit a surprise until you were both ready to make your way to the museum. Even after pleading for hints and sneak peeks, she was adamant on surprising you on the evening of. Respecting her wishes, you eventually stop bugging her about it and tell her you’ll be excited to see the final result.

Your Chanel suit fits you to a tee, and your stylists and manager are stunned at your appearance. You were always attractive, that much everyone knew, but tonight you exude a different aura. You showed confidence and a fierceness that hadn’t been seen from you often, as if a hidden beast was unleashed for the first time.

“I’m sending this to your mother! She’d be so proud to see you,” your manager excitedly snaps pictures of you like they were the paparazzi. You laugh at all of their reactions, feeling your cheeks heat up due to the attention they were giving you.

“Guys come on, it’s just me in a suit!”

“Yeah, but you look so damn good in a suit! Why haven’t we put you in more suits?!” your stylist lights up with glee. Now you were expecting your future premieres and interviews to be done in suits.

After final touches, you head down to the hotel lobby. You patiently wait at the bottom of the grand staircase, conversing with your team. You’re lost in conversation, not realizing that everyone’s attention had been diverted to something else - or someone else. You follow their line of sight to the top of the stairs where you find Jenna.

Your eyes do not leave the girl for one moment. Your gaze is fixed on her as she slowly makes her way down the stairs. Jenna was beautiful, that’s a given fact, but tonight she looked phenomenal. There’s a lack of words on my part to describe how amazing she looked, yet the look on your face was enough to explain how you felt.

“Close your mouth babe, you’ll catch flies,” she places her hand on your chin to gently shut your mouth. You didn’t even realize how close she’s gotten to you, too mesmerized by her appearance. Your girlfriend giggles at your lack of speech and decides to give you a better view by taking a step back and twirling around.

“Well? What do you think?” you’re finally snapped out of your trance.

“Eh, I think I look better,” you tease. Jenna laughs and closes the distance between you again until she’s standing right in front of you, and she brushes off specks of dust and lint from your suit.

“I can’t deny that you do look amazing tonight, mi amor.”

“Says you. You’re beautiful, cara mia,” you add emphasis on the compliment and Jenna smiles as a familiar pink tint crawls onto her face. You wrap your arms around her waist, hers around the back of your neck.

“You know what this reminds me of?” you hum in response, curious to hear what the shorter girl had to say. “Prom night. The way you looked at me as I was coming down the stairs was the exact same look you gave me when I came out of my bedroom and you saw me in my prom dress.”

Your heart swells at the memory. Due to the pandemic, there was no opportunity for you to take Jenna to your prom. However, you still wanted her to have that experience so with the help of both of your families, you planned a makeshift prom in Jenna’s backyard. When you went upstairs to bring her outside, you remember staring at her from top to bottom and all the way around, ensuring that her beauty would forever be imprinted in your mind.

“Yeah, I remember. I can’t believe that was almost 3 years ago now,” you smile lovingly.

“And do you remember what I said to you when we were dancing in the backyard?”

“When you said you felt like Belle from Beauty and the Beast, and that the entire night felt magical?”

“Your memory truly amazes me, but yes. I feel that way right now and it’s how I feel every moment I’m with you,” the last part of her sentence turns into a soft whisper, loud enough for only you to hear. You scan her face to admire all that is Jenna, taking in the features of her perfectly crafted face and you lean into place a kiss on-

“Y/N! Jenna! Over here!”

A sea of flashing lights and the calls from reporters and the paparazzi catches both of your attention, and the two of you burst into a fit of giggles. Your managers tell you it’s time to head to the museum, so you take a step back from Jenna and hold out your hand for her to take. Your fingers interlace with each other in a perfect fit, raising your hands to place a sweet kiss on hers.

“Shall we, princess?” Jenna snorts at the nickname, but finds it endearing nonetheless.

“Lead the way, love.”

a/n: i know nothing about clothing so i didn't want to try and describe our outfit too much TT forgive me lmao but thanks for reading!

[pastafossa]

Pet loss below the cut.

Cato was my cat. That's the long and short of it.

From the first night I had him when he curled up against my neck to fall asleep with me, to his final night when he curled up on my chest to try and comfort me, there is not a single day I've been home that I haven't had my kitten chow with me. He was my tiny shadow, always trotting along after me or singing at me from around the house with that long Siamese wail or bringing me scores of socks he hid god knows where (although once he brought me an entire umbrella instead, which he was understandably proud of). He was by my pillow every night cuddled up against my arm, and we fit together like two puzzle pieces, like that little crook in my arm was designed for him, for his exact shape and size. He was with me through my health issues, through high school and college, through moving states, through covid, through tears, through the loss of other pets. He was there as I really learned to write, and there is not a single chapter of TRT that was written without his presence for at least a section of it even if it meant I had to stop editing or writing for a bit and just stare at the words instead because he wanted to be held NOW. And he even managed to hold off the cancer just long enough to walk with me through mom's hospital stay and her return home. I was his person, and he was my soul cat, a piece of me.

I was so torn last night. He was clearly in pain, dehydrated, wobbly, confused and restless, and couldn't get to the litter box. It had been really clear this week the moment was coming, that the cancer was going to take him soon. I'd had this big plan, to have it all happen at home in peace. He hated the vet, hated the stress, but it happened so fast, and I just... knew he couldn't wait for the vet's office to open so she could come here. He'd chosen his time and it was now.

I held him at the emergency vet when they gave him the sedative. I managed to choke out that silly singing tone that always made him happy, as I called him every last nickname he knew: my Cato-wato kitten chow, my Cato kins, my little Mr. meow meow, my sweet happy baby kitty. I made sure all he could see with those big beautiful blue eyes of his was me, as I petted his soft little ears and scratched his neck just the way he liked. And he actually managed to purr for me. He purred as he slipped away and the lights went out, and it was the last sound I ever got to hear from him.

I already miss you so, so much, my sweet old kitty, my Cato kitten chow. I'm sorry it couldn't be at home. But thank you for purring for me. Thank you for spending your journey with me. Thank you for the love you gave me. Thank you for the big meows and the headbonks and perching on my shoulder to interrupt with a breaking news story of Meow Meow. Thank you for the stealing of hundreds of my socks over 16 years and the way you always wanted to sit on me regardless of convenience or your own comfort. Thank you for letting me scoop you up for head smoochies, guarding me from nightmares, and solemnly supervising over 150 chapters of TRT. My soul cat, my baby kitty, my lovebug. I will always love and miss you. And one day I'll see you again.

[maisonaime]

The Star Who Listened [Azriel x Reader]

My little contribution to @starfallweek 2024 ✨

Prompt: Character A is a fallen star, Character B finds them

Note: Angst with a happy ending. This prompt immediately reminded me of this quote from a very beautiful but heart wrenching spoken word poem about the power of friendship and of friends who dream together. Happy Starfall Week!

“You kept a rock on a satin pillow on your bookshelf and told me ‘It’s a star.’ You said you found in a junkyard. And it had been broken down for quite some time because too many people wished on it, and that’s a lot of pressure for one little star.” Shane Koyczan and the Short Story Long, For Instance

There was no telling how long he had lain there. Long enough that the ground had given way to valleys and mountains, snow and grass, fire and rain. Long enough that the wind and the moon cooled his skin, warped from the burnout. Long enough that the bones that cracked on impact hardened in the same position they had come to rest. Long enough that he learned all of the parallels of nature.

First he learned the way the ground vibrates during an earthquake is almost indiscernible from the thundering of hooves and feet as armored men trample over him. His tears flow into the rivulets of blood from fallen warriors, which flow into the river that rages through the carrion. He wants to wash away with it.

Then he learned how the earth would split and crack and flow bright and hot, creeping across the ground like candlewax. It looks like his beautiful, ruined hands. He remembers the skin dripping off of bone when he could no longer hold the burning dreams they piled into his arms. So bright, and so beautiful, but so heavy.

Then he learned how the air would hang heavy before the sky cracks open. It reminds him of the weight that hung around his shoulders in the moments before he tumbled from the sky. Feels the despair, the failure in being unable to remain afloat. He waits for Hera’s wrath for his forsaking of Astraea.

Azriel could’ve recounted all the lessons he learned in all the hundreds of years he’d lain there. Could’ve stopped someone to tell his story, to beg pity or forgiveness, or simply for a listening ear. But how could he have proven his tale?

Who would believe that a small, rough-edged, unassuming rock was actually a fallen star?

How could he even begin to explain the thousands of dreams he had forsaken when he fell? He had seen some of those dreams dashed personally. Had seen the men whose safety had been prayed for fall screaming on their swords. Had seen a woman who wanted nothing more than a child bury seven silent born at the riverbed. Had seen the children who dreamed of their prince or princess and were instead sold into marriage beds with monsters and carted away from their homes.

So he could not move, he could not speak. He could only relive his failure and all the lessons he’d learned from it. Lessons he would never get to use. Lessons that meant nothing to anyone, because lessons don’t mean as much as dreams do.

Rocks don’t mean as much as stars.

But to you they do.

You, who look to the stars to guide you. But who also looks to the ground to see how far you have come. You who use rocks to mark the trail the stars take you along. You who collect the ones you find most beautiful, the ones that remind you of the stars.

You too have a gift for seeing the parallels in nature.

And yes, dreams are beautiful. But so are the lessons we learn when they do and don’t come true.

And so, this is how he finds himself in your pocket, after so many years in the dust. After so many years on the cold ground. The wool of your skirt is warm and soft, and it cushions Azriel’s hardened heart.

The next thing he knows he is resting on a satin pillow, high on a shelf in your room where he can watch over this strange savior. He watches day and night. Watches as you work and write and wander by day. Watches as you dream by night.

He wishes you had left him on the ground. He is stricken and terrified to be so close to another’s dreams, even as his very essence cries out to caress them. It is worse agony than he ever faced. At least before didn’t have to be so close to the humans who once depended on him.

He feels perverted because you haven’t even entrusted him with your dreams and here he is fantasizing about them. Prostrate before you trying to hold himself back, because he cannot warp your dreams with his horrible hands. Cannot bear the responsibility of ruining even one more dream. No matter how large or small.

He doesn’t even know why he is there. Why you plucked him out of his quiet obscurity and forced him to endure this proximity to such a vociferous dreamer. He loves and hates it in equal measure. Loves and hates you in equal measure.

And then the strangest thing happens one day. You are showing a friend around your room. And your friend points to him and laughs “Why do you have that rock on that pillow?” and Azriel would blush if he wasn’t a rock. But you smile knowingly and say “That’s not a rock, it’s a star I found. It fell from the sky when too many people piled their wishes onto it. Too much pressure for anything, don’t you think?” and the friend nods understandingly.

And Azriel glows. And Azriel cracks. Because he is awash with the forgiveness of a dreamer. And he remembers the child with eyes like yours but different, the first who looked up to him and wished. The one who made him want to take as many wishes as he could carry, and then take more after that.

And when the friend is gone, you reach up onto the shelf and bring down the satin pillow. You set it on your desk, and observe the crack that that splits your star down the middle. You gingerly separate the two halves, and behold the bright blue gemstone in the center.

You smile. “Do you think the weight of one person’s dreams is bearable? I promise to leave plenty of room for your own.”

Azriel glows as brightly as he once did in the sky.

[missyourflight]

omg hear me out: maxiel big eden au (scotty as dean?)

ANON YOU ARE SINGING THE SONG OF MY HEART

Follow me if you will to MONTANA

Daniel’s like a photographer in the big city and he comes back to his tiny hometown for family health crisis reasons. And it’s scary but not world-ending, but his mum’s so stressed and he hasn’t seen his sister’s kids in so long that he agrees to stay for a few weeks and be all together.

And he’s back in his high school room, under soft old flannel sheets, feeling tight in his skin again in a way he hasn’t in years.

His old truck is still in the garage but it makes all kinds of horrible noises when he starts it up. His mum tells him to take it to the general store, Max will fix it up for him, so he drives really gingerly into town and rattles to a stop outside the general store. For Big Eden enjoyers the old guys who hang around outside the store all day are Max’s gamer friends probably. He remembers Max a bit from school; Daniel was a few years ahead of him but round here everyone knows everyone near enough. The Max in his memory was kind of scrawny but this Max is sturdy, Daniel can see the muscles cording his forearms when he pushes up his sleeves.

Max takes a look at the truck, and when it makes a bad noise again he says, I think he didn’t like you leaving him so long, which makes Daniel laugh it’s such a weird thing to say. He watches Max work on the truck and sort of wanders round the store getting reacquainted with everything, the canned food and the beer in the fridge and the blankets on the wall, the racks of postcards. He could take better pictures than these. 

Meanwhile due to the family health crisis everyone is rallying round so Max’s mum sends him over with a casserole or something. And Daniel’s mum makes him stay and eat with them and then Max goes back to his mum’s like, We have to keep making them food. And he keeps bringing food and staying for dinner, warm around the table with the family.

One night Daniel walks him out to his truck, laughing like, I haven’t eaten so much casserole in years. And Max is thinking, I bet he likes fancy New York food. So Max (secretly!) takes over making food for Daniel’s family and does some research and finds some things he thinks sound nice, and after he brings beef carpaccio three nights in a row Daniel is like, Maybe we should try and make something else? Together? Because he’s kind of going out of his mind with nothing to do, and also if Max keeps doing this unsupervised he’s going to turn into a werewolf or something with all the raw meat.

So that’s what they do, cooking together in Max’s little kitchen out the back of the general store, trying to decide on recipes they find online, making ratatouille and sticky ribs and gnocchi. Daniel suggests coq au vin like three hundred times in a horrible exaggerated accent until Max is laughing so hard he’s got a stitch. And they eat together every night and Daniel takes the rest back home to his family, humming to himself over the sound of the truck, so much smoother now since Max fixed it up.

Meanwhile Scotty is Daniel’s childhood best friend who is Also coincidentally back because he moderately injured himself snowboarding or something and his mum wants to fuss over him. Obviously they used to hook up in high school and now Scotty is engaged to a woman etc. And Daniel’s so happy to see him but there’s this ache underneath he can’t even look at.

On Sundays everyone goes to church. Sometimes Daniel twists around in his seat to see Max sitting in a row with his mum and his sister, one of her boys on his knee, their matching haircuts, and afterwards everyone stands outside while the kids run around, Max and Scotty eyeing each other warily. Every month or so there’s a dance in the town square, a band, and Daniel swings his niece around saying Bella, bellissima, tells Max he’s thinking about learning to play guitar.

And Daniel just stays, way longer than he’d planned. He cooks with Max, hangs around the general store making a nuisance of himself, drinks beers on the dock with Scotty. He does some photography workshops at the elementary school, has the kids lie on their backs to take pictures of the sky, blows up all their wonky beautiful shots of leaves and stones for them to pin on the walls. He works a bit, too, taking pictures of the landscape way better than the postcards at the general store, selling prints online, photographing at the rodeo. He could make a living here, he could make a life.

He thinks about it sometimes, how in some ways it’s easier to breathe in the city, how it’s getting easier and easier to breathe here, at home, under the wide sky. He takes so many pictures, of the leaves changing, of the lake at the back of his parents’ house, of the kids, of Scotty whooping in the stands at the rodeo; of Max, smiling shyly from under the brim of his hat; of Max, his hands working under the hood of a truck; of Max, his head tipped back laughing.

One night Max very bravely asks him, When do you think you’ll head back to the city, and Daniel grins at him like, I dunno, we didn’t make coq au vin yet. And Max lets himself start to hope, just a bit.

But then! There’s some sort of big city photography emergency so Daniel is sort of reluctantly like, I guess I have to go back. And his family arrange a send-off, just friends and food at the house the night before he flies.

The night before the party Daniel stands out back for a while looking at the lake until his mum says, Come and sit with me for a while. So he comes and sits on the swing with her and she says, It’s been so nice having you back, which, he already feels shitty for leaving again.

And then she says, Is Max coming by tomorrow? And Daniel’s like, I dunno, I mean I told him. Max had gone really quiet, when Daniel said he was leaving, looking down at his hands for a long moment until Daniel said, You better cook me something nice, and then he’d said, I will, of course.

His mum says, He’s such a sweet boy, and Daniel can only say, Yeah, because there’s this weird lump in his throat all of a sudden.

And then (because this is the Big Eden utopia where homophobia doesn’t exist etc) his mum is like, Did we teach you shame? Just rocking with him on the porch swing under a quilt while Daniel cries a bit.

The next day everyone’s at the house to say goodbye and Max hasn’t shown yet, Daniel keeps sticking his head out of the back door to check for him.

Scotty collars him in the kitchen when no one’s around, tugs him into the pantry. And he kisses Daniel, there in the tiny room with the musty old spice rack and the jars of preserves. And Daniel thinks, his mum didn’t teach him shame, but Scotty kind of did. In high school, under the bleachers, in the back of Daniel’s truck. Never where anyone might see.

Are you not getting married, he says, pulling back, and Scotty says, Yeah, but, his eyes raking over Daniel’s face. For old time’s sake. And Daniel’s leaving everything, and Max didn’t come, and he’d wanted Scotty for so long.

Someone opens the pantry door, quickly shuts it again at the sight of the two of them. Scotty freezes.

Daniel pushes out of the pantry and sees this big pot steaming on a trivet on the table, the door swinging behind Max as he bolts. He calls after him but it’s useless, Max is gone, and when he lifts the lid of the pot he’s hit with the rich rising smell of coq au vin. And it’s like there’s a rope around his heart he hadn’t known was there. Daniel has to go after him.

And there are about seven people blocking in his truck, his truck that Max fixed up, so he just starts running, pounding down the road as the sky darkens. And he’s a mess by the time he gets to the general store, he’s sweating everywhere, and all Max’s gamer friends are outside so mad at him but he pushes past them and finds Max, sitting at the table in the little kitchen with his head in his hands.

Max? His voice is all shot from running over here and Max looks up at him wide-eyed, that rope around Daniel’s heart pulling him until he’s on his knees on the kitchen floor, laying his head against Max’s leg. Max, he says again, the worn denim of Max’s jeans soft against his cheek as Max puts a wondering hand in his hair.

He says, I think I’m gonna stick around for a while, his heart well and truly lassoed, and Max says, Good, wiping Daniel’s eyes with the sleeve of his flannel.

At the next party in the square they dance together, and Daniel feels as big as the sky, the way Max is looking at him, kissing him in front of the stars and everyone they know.

And then they’re gay and in love forever in Montana under the open skies etc

[strawbrerian-writes]

Take Me As I Am

Summary:

Long after the fall of a death lord, Lucien and Elain have become friends. Teammates even. He's learned to be content in this, never believing he could have more. As his parents prepare to take their vows, he's readying himself to become Prince of Day, and Elain has a question for Lucien.

for @elucienweekofficial

“Lucien?” 

Lucien slowly looked up from his book at the quiet intrusion, the scent of jasmine and honey filling the space. Elain was standing in the open door to his rooms, dressed in a long linen robe covering much of her sun-kissed skin.

“Yes, Lady?” Lucien stood, cognizant of the fact he was only in a pair of low-slung linen pants and a loose white tunic. He laid his book on the small table beside him. She seemed nervous her hands fisted in the tie of her robe.

“What is your least favorite food?” she asked the question in a rush. Lucien barely caught it.

“Why do you want to know?” Lucien asked in return, cocking his head just slightly. His long, unruly hair brushed over his shoulders. He shifted his weight, settling against the back of the sage green armchair he’d been lounging in.

“Don’t answer my question with a question, fox,” she quipped, standing a straighter as she found her courage. Jutting her chin forward, Elain marched into the room.

It made Lucien smile. To have her here. In his room, in his court. In his home.

Getting to that point was no easy task. She was cautious, skeptical, and surprisingly, the most stubborn of all three sisters. It had taken months, years even, from the moment he met her to the day she decided they were friends. Of course, a little danger and the heavy potential for death tended to bring to light long buried things.

After Koschei, after nearly dying in her arms, Lucien found that Elain did have feelings for him. Though even now, they spent time most of their time dancing around each other. She was just more likely to join him on his trips and whims now then to let him leave without her. 

She’d arrived in Day just that morning, coming ahead of the rest of the Night Court for the wedding. Tomorrow, his mother would marry Helion. His place would be solidified and legitimized in the Day Court. Elain would be beside him through it, had insisted she be there. The knowledge thrilled him.

He questioned why she’d arrived so early, and she’d brushed him off. Claiming a desire to assist his mother before the wedding, as well as keep the hot-blooded Vanserra’s calm.

“We make a good team,” she’d claimed. “And I know this is going to be awkward and overwhelming for you. To go from exiled seventh son of one high lord to the heir and prince of another, and teammates stick together.”

Lucien had only given her a hug, because it might have been the nicest thing she’d ever done for him outside of saving his sorry ass, and then whisked her off to wherever Sylva was fretting. He’d spied her flitting from room to room, but hadn’t been able to talk to her until now.    

Lucien thought for a moment, tapping his long fingers against his chin. “I supposed it’d be … century eggs.” 

It was Elain’s turn to quirk her head. Golden-brown hair tumbled over her shoulder, her robe shifting with it. Lucien struggled to keep his eyes on her face and off the sun-kissed skin revealed.

She’d be the death of him one day. Though he knew he’d die a happy man.

“100-year-old eggs?” Elain asked skeptically. The peach-colored robe dipped a little further, exposing a delicate collarbone.

Lucien wanted to dip his head and run his tongue across the exposed skin. His instincts riding him to taste, taste, taste. He adjusted his stance, crossing his legs as he reclined on the back of the chair. One hand gripped the wooden frame to give him some grounding, while the other pushed his hair off his face.  

“No, not a hundred years old,” Lucien answered, his voice just a touch strained. He watched her pink lips purse as he spoke. “Though, they are left to ferment for one hundred days.”

Those full lips twisted into a snarl, adorable nose scrunching up in disgust. “Why is it called a century egg then?” she retorted, crossing her arms in front of her. The movement pushed her small breasts upward.

Lucien stole a glance before shaking his head trying to dislodge the lewd thoughts trying to surface.

“I don’t have an answer for that,” he admitted. Elain sighed and walked around his sitting room.

“What is it, exactly?” she asked while perusing one of his bookshelves, running her fingers lightly across the spines.

“An egg,” Lucien laughed. Elain threw him a look over her shoulder. He winked his good eye and shot her a smile back. “One that’s fermented for 100 days until it turns black.”

“Ugh, why?” she groaned. She pulled a book from the shelf whose spine had little green vines decorating it and flipped it open.

It was a book of the horticulture of Scythia. It depicted the native plants and flowers of the small southern kingdom. Vassa thought Elain would enjoy it, and thus gave it to Lucien.

“Probably started from someone just trying to survive and evolved into a delicacy,” Lucien shrugged. “It tastes about as gross as it sounds, I promise.” 

‘Where did you try one?” she asked, fingers running over the pages. She had that cute little crease in her nose when she concentrated hard. Lucien watched her do it often when they were in Spring, trying to convince a sullen Tamlin that yes, he had to deadhead the roses.  

“Dawn,” he replied easily. “They hail from the continent, originally. From Xian, though several street vendors sell them in the market district, if you’d like to try one for yourself next time we go.”

“No thank you!” Elain squeaked, slamming the book closed. “I have no desire to eat a black fermented egg.”  

Lucien laughed “Then why did you ask?”

The faintest hint of a blush creeped over Elain’s skin, over that collarbone, up her neck. Lucien tracked it like a predator tracking prey.

It was intoxicating. He wanted to lick the trail up the side, bite at her pulse point until she was as breathless as he felt. He wanted --

“There’s still a lot to learn about each other,” she whispered softly, interrupting his thoughts. He watched her nose flare slightly, breathing in.

Shit. He could smell his own arousal beginning to saturate the air around them. She had to be scenting him.

Lucien nodded tightly. “True, very true,” he murmured. His chest thrummed, the mating bond tugging on him. Taste, claim, mate. His cock twitched to life in his trousers. He wanted to give in. Let go and think with his lesser brain. Things were so…good between them.

He couldn’t risk it. Precisely because things were so good between them. He couldn’t push her. She didn’t want the bond. Not yet. In all their time together, they hadn’t broached that subject. Still a sore point he supposed.

That sobered him a bit.

Elain brushed a thick strand of golden curls behind her ear. She put the book back on the shelf and turned, a small smile on her face.

“Mine’s nowhere near as exciting. It’s celery,” she said, fixing the robe over her shoulder. Lucien fought back his frown. “It just tastes like stringy watery weeds. I hate it.”   

“Duly noted,” he nodded. “My favorite is —”

“An apple tart sprinkled with cinnamon and a strong cider for the drink,” she finished with a grin. “Remember Eris’ birthday?”

Lucien’s face lit up at the memory. Elain had thrown the newly crowned high lord a birthday party during their trip to Autumn, and Eris kindly repaid her by getting Lucien so shitfaced he stood on the tables singing bawdy tavern songs and eating apple tarts and performing like a court jester.  

“I remember nothing,” he lied with a grin.

Elain threw her head back with a warm laugh that wrapped itself around his heart. It was enough to bring Lucien to his knees if he’d let it.  

“If I recall,” he continued, basking in the glow of her smile “you both conspired against me that night.”

“I seem to recall a certain emissary who couldn’t hold his liquor eating about twelve of those tarts before they came back up,” she teased, close enough now she poked his chest with one delicate finger. On instinct Lucien grabbed her wrist with one of his larger hands, holding it there.

“I can hold my liquor just fine. It’s not quite as easy when I’m drinking for you as well. Or did you think I wouldn’t notice you slipping me your whiskey every time one of my brothers refilled it?” Lucien smirked.

Elain opened her hand until her palm rested against his chest. The linen of his shirt was thin, her hand burning a hole through to his heart. She looked up at him with doe eyes, lips still pulled into a smile.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, my lord,” she said, voice breathy and light.

Lucien held her there, so close that one step and they’d be flush against each other. They’d been here before. That night in Autumn. Lucien, blitzed off fire whiskey and faerie wine, had decided to give in, to go for it. He’d followed her back to her rooms, stood just like this before her. Ready to give her everything. He’d believed she wanted it then too, with her face turned up eyes wide and wet lips parted, or at least the alcohol let him think it. But before he could taste those sweet lips –

“Are you going to puke on my shoes this time too?” Elain asked, a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she fisted her tiny hand in his shirt. He opened his mouth to argue when it hit him in the chest.

A sweet, musky scent right under the jasmine and honey. She was aroused. As soon as he released the groan that had been building, Elain ripped on the bond between them until he nearly fell into her. He had to wrap his arms around her to steady himself. Elain wound both hands into the collar of his tunic.

“Tell me to leave,” she whispered against his chest. Lucien leaned down, running his nose through her hair, drunk off the clean scent of her. He barely ghosted his lips over the gentle arch of her ear.

“Do you want me to?” he whispered into that soft ear. She shuddered and shook her head against his chest. “Then stay, Elain. Please.”

Lucien gently cupped the side of her face with one large hand, the other sliding up her back to pull her closer until there was no room between their bodies. Her soft flesh gave against his hard muscle.

Elain let him tilt her head up, lips parting as she drew in a ragged breath.  Her arousal was so potent he wanted to drown in it. Wanted to breath it in until all he could smell was his mate wanting him.

“Lucien…”

The sound of his name on her lips did him in. He leaned down, intending their first kiss to be gentle, just a brush of lips before he devoured her whole. Elain had other plans. She rose up and crashed her lips against his. He rocked back with the force of it, taking it all and moving against her.

Her fingers ran a trail up from his chest to his hair and buried themselves, holding him against her as she licked the seam of his lips. He parted them quickly, taking the opportunity to meet her tongue as it delved into his mouth. All thought escaped him at that first taste of her. His mind that had been running with a thousand questions just…stopped.

He devoured her. Pressing hard, scraping his teeth along her tongue, licking the inside of her mouth like he was trying to memorize it. She met him blow for blow. Nip for nip. Hands flying across his body, nails gently scraping against his shirt and skin.

Finally, Elain withdrew just enough to wrap her lips around the tongue in her mouth and suck, flicking the tip of it with her own tongue. Like a promise, for what could come. He moaned obscenely into that mouth. There wasn’t a drop of blood left in the rest of his body. His cock held on to that promise and began to throb, screaming at him.  

Lucien wrapped her curls around one hand and pulled until she had to release him, a pathetic little moan slipping from her lips. Her eyes were wild with want. She liked her hair pulled. He put that away for later.

“Not that I’m complaining,” he began, “but where did that come from?”

Fear flooded her eyes, replacing the desire that had just burned him. Idiot, you fucking idiot, his cock threatened mutiny. Elain began to pull away as her hands fell to her side.  

“I-I’m so--”

“No,” he interrupted. He adjusted his grip, holding her tighter, giving her no room to escape. His erection dug into her hip. “Never apologize to me, Elain. I’m just…confused. Very fucking happily confused.”

“You’re an idiot,” she whispered. “That’s what you are.”

“Certifiably, sweetheart,” he chuckled. He dip his head to her neck and placed a gentle kiss there before looking back into her eyes. She watched him, half wary. “Still waiting on that answer though.”

Elain ducked her head into his chest, mumbling something incoherent. Though he could make out the word mistake.

Lucien’s heart dropped. Of course, she’d think it was a mistake. He made to drop his hands and step away. “I don’t want to be your mistake, Elain,” he hissed, a little harsher than he meant.

Her hands gripped his biceps and dug in. He met her eyes, surprised to see fear mingled with the silver tears. He lifted a hand to brush them away before they fell, the pad of his thumb resting on her cheek.

“You could never be a mistake, Lucien. You’re my choice,” Elain nearly choked out the admission. “I’ve wanted this for months. I was just…was trying to say — “

“I don’t give a fuck,” Lucien growled. He grabbed at her with more force than he meant, both hands enveloping her entire head, and crushed his lips to hers.

If he’d thought he was devouring her before, it was nothing on that moment.

The thread in his ribs sang out, going taut and…thickening? He’d try to decipher it but Elain gasped so deliciously and that was his opening. His tongue delved into her mouth once more, fucking her mouth like he would her cunt just as soon as she let him. It took Elain all of a breath to regain herself and match him.

The kiss was wild, all tongue and teeth. He was a madman. He lived and died in the space between their mouth. She bit his lip hard enough to bring blood and the taste of himself mixed with her broke him. He slid his hands under the curve of her perfect little ass and dug in, lifting her. His mouth slid from hers long enough for him to bury his face in her neck, sucking and biting the pulsing flesh there.

Lucien’s stumbled across the room as Elain’s fingers threaded through hair, pulling at the scalp. With little urging, she wrapped her legs around his waist, her robe riding up around her thighs. Lucien immediately took advantage of the exposed skin, shifting his grip until he could run calloused hands over the smooth skin revealed. She ground her hips against his erection and growled.

Elain growled at him.

Lucien was a goner. He bit her then, hard and claiming, the taste of blood filling his mouth. Elain made some noise between a whimper and a moan that stilled him. Then her hand was there on his head, urging him to continue. So he did. Licking, biting, sucking his way back up to her face. No one in his entire existence had tasted like this, had felt like this. He could come from her lips on his alone. From the feel of her heat so close to his cock. They’d barely done more than made out and he was undone. He felt like a boy groping his first pair of tits.

Speaking of, he’d yet to actually feel his mate’s breasts.

He sat on the bed, Elain straddling his lap. His hands immediately fell on her breasts over her robe. They fit so perfect in the palm of his hands, so pliant and warm. His thumbs teased and pulled at the still covered nipple. He wanted to throw her down, rip the robe from her and put his mouth on them. He broke the kiss finally, pulling her hair back, exposing the long length of her neck, already bruising from his ministrations.

Good he wanted his mark on her.

His lips immediately went to the dip of her collarbone, that damned thing that had been teasing him from behind that robe. He kissed once, twice before licking his way up her neck.

Elain kept her head thrown back in both ecstasy and submission to his hand on her breast. She ground down, straight onto his weeping, throbbing cock and moaned at the friction. Lucien whimpered, his control nearly a forgotten memory.

He let go of her breasts, hands finding the end of her robe and nightgown as he began to bunch it together, intending to rip it off her, when small hands stopped him. Disoriented, he pulled away from her. Her pupils were blown, the black covering the brown. Her cheeks were ruddy, breath coming in hot pants on his face.

Elain shook her head once. Lucien stopped immediately, bringing his hands to her back just to hold her.

“No?” His voice was low, rugged. He’d stop. He’d set her down, tuck her in his bed, go straight to the bath and stay there all night if she wished.

Elain, the tease, rocked against him again, hard. They both moaned, gasping for air as Lucien rested his forehead on hers.

“No,” she breathed out finally, stopping her hips. Lucien made to move her but Elain once again threaded her hands in his hair. This time she gripped it by the root and pulled his throat to her mouth, where she began biting all along the base.

Lucien’s eyes rolled up in his head. “Elain… you’re giving me very mixed signals here,” he growled out, head lolling to the side while she mouthed at his neck. He was going crazy, bathing in the scent of her arousal while she bit and pushed him away.

Elain slowed her kissing, resting her head in the crook of his neck. “You taste so …good,” she groaned into his skin. “It’s so hard to stop. Is it the bond? Is that what makes you so …delicious?”

Lucien chuckled, soothingly rubbing his hands up and down her spine. She was trembling, the poor thing. “No,” he whispered. “I just taste that fucking good.”

Elain laughed into his neck, her breath tickling him. The vibration of her laugh shook her core, and his cock, embarrassingly hard and wedged between them. If she did that one more time, he’d come in his pants. He was already weeping so much his linen pants were ruined.

“I’m not ready to… lie with you,” she admitted sheepishly.

“Then don’t,” he said into her hair, stilling running his hand along her spine. “There’s no rush.”

“You aren’t upset?” she looked up at him, eyes big and hopeful. How could he be upset with her? She could do nothing but kiss him like that for the rest of their lives and he’d take it.

“Of course not. I will be elated with whatever you choose to share. I am just happy to be here with you,” he acknowledged softly. “It is a far cry from you running from the room when I enter.”

She batted at his chest with an indignant yelp. “I can still run you know.”

Lucien tightened his hold slightly, just enough to draw her attention. “Run this time, little fawn and I’ll chase you,” he teased, nipping at her nose. She squeaked.

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he stated, stroking her cheek with one long finger. “So…months, huh?”

Elain blushed. “Yes,” she admitted. “Since before Autumn at least, though I think it was then that I realized what exactly I wanted.”

“Which is what, Elain?” Lucien asked, half afraid of the answer.

Elain smiled, holding his face between her hands. “For now, I want to sleep in your bed. If that’s ok?”

Lucien quirked a brow, then stood, still holding her tight to him. “You have to go to your side, I’m very partial to this side,” he said as explanation while walking around the bed.

“My side?”

He nodded. “Been reserved for you for a while.”

He gently lowered her to the bed, brushing the hair from her forehead with one hand while the other pulled the coverlet up.

“Oh?” she smiled as she settled into the pillow.

“Yeah,” he grinned. He reached for her hand as he knelt by the bed. “I’m sorry…I got carried away,” he apologized, squeezing her much smaller hand in both of his.  

Elain raised one eyebrow incredulously. “Luicen, I attacked your face with my mouth.” His grin widened. “I wanted it. I still want it. There’s just…I want to do this my way. Can you give that to me?”

Lucien nodded. “There’s no limit to what I can give you.”

He’d meant it to be a romantic gesture, but perhaps that had been the wrong thing to say. Elain rose off the pillow so quickly she nearly crashed into his chin. “Will you give me my own Pegasus?”

He roared a laughed. “What the hell would you do with a Pegasus?”

“I’d love him, of course,” she sniffed. “Besides it would make Nesta so incredibly jealous she’d probably scream.”

“Why Elain Archeron, you do have a little wicked in you, don’t you?” Lucien teased, brushing a kiss to her temple. He’d have to talk with Helion, find some way to wheedle or beg but Elain would get her Pegasus.

“A lady never tells,” she giggled. “Are you coming to bed?”

“Ah…not right now,” Lucien stammered. He could feel his dark skin turning a little red. He was still painfully, glaringly hard. If he didn’t take care of it now, he’d likely wind-up covering them both in his own spend in his sleep. After which, he’d have to walk off the highest cliff he could find and pray the cauldron let him have a quick death.

“I need a quick bath. To cool off,” he offered as explanation, resting his forehead to hers. “I’ll be right back. If you want me to.”

“You’ll stay with me?” She asked softly. He nodded.

“Of course, love.”

Lucien stood and turned to walk to the en suite, trying to hide the wet tent in his pants.

“Think of me in here!” Elain called out before the door closed.

***

Her side of the bed was empty, cold, her scent lingering on the sheets, his skin. He had taken a deep breath that morning, drinking the remnants of her in. Had he chased her off? If the way she was clinging to him through the night were indication, he’d say no.

Still, Lucien had woken up alone. 

She had missed the entire ceremony.

He’d thought perhaps she went to join her family. The guests had started arriving that morning. Though she seemed ready to be with him, perhaps she still wanted to hide their budding…whatever from her family. 

Still, she promised to be there for him. They were a team.

But Feyre had glided in on Rhysand’s arm, as lovely as ever in a gown of rich purples. Nesta and Cassian had arrived shortly after, each holding onto one of Morrigan’s toned arms. Elain was nowhere in sight.

Neither was the shadowsinger. Which had been a source of petty joy for Lucien until he began to wonder if perhaps that was the reason for his mate’s absence. Had Azriel held her up? Found her in some corner waiting for her family only to scent Lucien on her and whisk Elain away for safety.

Lucien had never forgotten how the winged male had actively pursued his mate. He’d tried not to hold it against the entire court, who had dangled Elain in front of him whilst one of their own slipped in behind him. Elain was free to make her own choices after all.

She still was.

Lucien growled, unable to control the slant of his thoughts.

The wedding was long over. Helion and his mother had quite literally ridden off into the sunset on the back of a pegasus while the partygoers were instructed to dance, drink, and revel for as long as they pleased.

And Elain wasn’t there.

It drove Lucien so deep in his cups he couldn’t remember his own count, nor the name of the female with the big green eyes currently trying her best to flirt with him. His mind was wrapped up too deeply with thoughts of his missing mate. Turi maybe? Yuri?

Where the hell was she? Had she already changed her mind? Was he cursed to a miserable life without her after having just learned how she tasted, the beginnings of the sounds she makes. And if that bat had her tied up…

Politics be damned, he’d gut him. Hang his wings and head from the top of the palace.

Down killer, Feyre chuckled into his mind. He tried to resist the urge to flinch and wound-up swaying on his feet. Her name’s Illya by the way. How’d you fuck that up so bad?

Lucien groaned. “I don’t know, Feyre.”

Green eyes narrowed; her painted brows furrowed together. “You’re not even listening,” she hissed with a thick accent, punctuating it with what he was sure were curses in a different language before turning heel and running off.

“That went well,” Feyre mocked. She sidled up beside him, glass of wine in hand.

Lucien tried to glare at her. At least, he was pretty sure he picked the right High Lady – there were three of them standing beside him after all. They all looked him up and down in unison. As the newly crowned Prince of Day, he had a loose robe draped across his chest, pinned over one shoulder with a golden brooch shaped like a burning sun – clothes fitting his father’s court. He wore green linen pants under the robe, however. He wasn’t sure his cock would behave around Elain, and he wanted the extra fabric between them.

A lot of use they turned out to be.

“Pretty sure you’re going to have whiskey dick at this point, my friend,” Feyre nodded to his cup before taking a sip of her own. Lucien snarled. Or, tried to, but it came out half strangled by the burp that overtook it. “Classy.”

“Oh shut the fuck up,” he slurred. It had been a long day and was becoming a longer night. He needed to sit down. Jerk himself to the memory of Elain’s tits bouncing in his face until he was raw and go to sleep.

“Ugh, I do not want that image in my head,” Feyre groaned, shaking her head as if it would dislodge the thought.

“Don’t go where you’re not welcome.”

“True,” she nodded. “But I was worried about you.”

Lucien slid his eyes over to his friend as he tried to grin to the one in the middle. He was pretty sure that one was actually Feyre. They were standing outside the main party, the ballroom still full despite the late hour. Cassian and Nesta were spinning in circles so tight and neat in the center of the dance floor that Lucien felt motion sick from the sight alone.

He looked away. Everyone was smiling. Happy. Enjoying themselves.

Why couldn’t he?

“Because you’re in love,” Feyre answered his thought with a whisper.

Lucien cut back to her. “I thought I just said stay out of there.”

She shrugged, completely unconcerned with the boundary she was crossing. “Still worried, Lucien. Besides I have permission.”

His mechanical eye whirred at that, tightening in on her aura. She didn’t have any unusual wards on her, nothing outside the ordinary for foreign dignitaries. At least, he was pretty sure of that. He was only 75% certain he was even staring at the right Feyre, the three fae heads still dancing in front of him. “From who,” he slurred again. “I didn’t give you any permission.”

“From me,” a soft voice came from behind him. “I asked her to.”  

Lucien whipped around, swaying so hard Feyre and Elain both had to reach out and catch him to keep him upright.  

“Are you alright?” Elain said softly. He couldn’t answer, couldn’t move or breathe. His heart was thundering in his chest.

She was here.

Elain was here.

 Finally.

He drank in the sight of her. She was glowing. Her long golden hair swept over one shoulder, one side of it with three little braids behind her ear — the exact way he wore his hair. Golden earrings dangled from her arched ears, little suns dancing by her long neck. She was wearing a beautiful, muted orange. A long gown, tight through the bodice and embroidered with tiny crimson leaves. The skirt slit all the way to her hip, showing miles of creamy white skin — scandalous. She was wearing the laced up sandals common in Alexandrina. She was dressed in Day Court style…in Autumn colors.

Lucien was speechless.

“I was going to see if you wanted to go for a walk, but…” Elain trailed off, making an exaggerated effort to look him over. She still held him by one arm, Feyre clutching the other between her tattooed arms. “What happened to you?”

“You missed the wedding,” Feyre answered for him. She was straining to hold in a smile.

Shock seemed to register on Elain’s face before she contained it, her mouth twitched. One delicate brow rose above those beautiful doe eyes. “You’re drunk? Because of me?”

Lucien could feel his face heating. He nodded his head in an attempt to shake out the cobwebs.

“Absolutely hammered,” he admitted sheepishly, leaning a bit more into her touch. He needed it. Needed the confirmation she was real and not a fever dream brought on by three full bottles of fire whiskey — and two bottles of wine. “I…didn’t think you were coming back.”

“He thought you were fucking Azriel,” a deep voice interrupted with glee. Lucien cursed.

“Rhysand!” Feyre admonished. She let go of Lucien to slap her mate’s chest with one tattooed hand. Lucien swayed before wrapping his arm around Elain. He pulled her close and tried to hold his own weight but his legs kept struggling. Elain bore the weight with a small smile.

Rhys’s feline grinned widened as his eyes glazed over from whatever Feyre must’ve told him mind to mind. He focused those violet eyes on Lucien. “I was stopping by to …”

“Be a nosy fucker,” Feyre hissed. Takes one to know one, Lucien thought loudly. He wasn’t quite sure how it worked but with the look the high lady shot him, he was certain his message got through.

“Extend an offer to return to Velaris for the evening,” Rhys continued, his grin never faltering. “The townhouse is empty. Mor tells me that Helion is planning…something for his sunrise return. And this party is one more tango from devolving into an open-air orgy. I thought I’d offer you an opportunity to escape.”

Lucien opened his mouth to…disagree he thought. At least to tell Rhysand where to shove it when Elain began nodding, vigorously.

“I didn’t…consider that,” she whispered. Then she stuck up her chin. “Yes, I think we’d like that.”

We? She caught Lucien’s gaze. “Right, Lucien?”

He’d follow her to hell if she asked. He meant to tell her. To say something profound and romantic. How he was hers to command, her loyal servant. Wherever she would go he would follow.

“I’m yours.” Well, that worked.

Elain’s answering smile was…everything.

Once, when he was a boy, his mother took him to a little cabin by the ocean. They slipped out in the earliest hours so he could dip his feet in the cool water and watched the sun rise over the waves. She held him tightly as they watched the stars blink out, one by one, the sky fade from darkest purple to orange to the brightest blue he’d ever seen.

In all his years, that was the moment he felt most loved. Even with Jesminda. Even with his friends and family.

Until Elain smiled at him.  

“Fantastic. Feyre darling?”

“I’ll take Elain. You can winnow the drunk home,” she declared, reaching for her sister’s arm. Elain gave him one last lingering look, and then they were gone.

Lucien’s thundering chest guttered at that.   

Winnowing when drunk had always been a nightmare. Something about folding the world while the senses were out of commission made him feel like he’d been dragged behind a horse running circles. Even just going across the room made him ill.

Across the courts? His clothes were not making it out of this clean.

Vomit on me Little Lucien, and I assure you, I will return the favor, Rhys’ smooth voice purred in his head.

Sympathetic puker?

A dark chuckle. Ask Cassian.

Rhys stepped up and offered his hand to Lucien at arm's length.

“Sure you don’t want to hold me a little tighter?” Lucien crooned, taking the offered hand. “What if you drop me?”

“Shit floats,” Rhys smirked. The High Lord of Night gave no warning before Lucien’s world tilted sharply.

As everything around him folded, trees and lakes and mountains blinked by faster than his eyes could truly process, Lucien held tight to the promise in Elain’s smile. Even as they were deposited in the foyer of the townhouse, and Lucien, golden brown skin turned sickly pale, immediately emptied his stomach onto the hardwood.

“Mind the shoes, please,” Rhys hummed beside him. Lucien, not entirely on purpose, puked again. The resulting splatter hitting Rhys’ black boots.

Feyre laughed somewhere in the townhouse. Lucien righted himself as the door began to open. He shot a panicked glance at Rhysand, who waved his hand nonchalantly, whisking the vomit and its horrendous smell away.

Thank you. He tried to convey.

Rhys inclined his head, a small smile playing on his lips the only indicator that he’d heard Lucien’s thoughts.

“Come on Rhys, let’s get him to the sofa, hmm?” Feyre reached for the unsteady Lucien, who graciously took her offered help. Rhys grabbed his bicep leading them through to the living room where Elain was waiting, a glass of tea in her hand.

“Try not to ruin the upholstery, please,” Rhys pleaded, depositing him on the sofa. Feyre tucked her chin into her mate’s shoulder, but not before Lucien caught the grin she was fighting. 

“No promises,” Lucien groaned and settled into the soft cushions. Cauldron, it felt so nice to sit down, even if his head was still spinning so fast he could barely keep up.

“I’ll take care of him,” Elain piped up. Lucien felt her warm presence beside him before he ever opened his eyes. Even without the bond thrumming in his chest he’d know her. Her spirit sang to him.

And here he was, so in love he couldn’t bare it, and too piss-drunk to do anything about it.

Again.

“We’ll leave you to it,” Feyre said softly as she tugged on her mate’s arm. Lucien nodded, the motion setting off another wave of nausea, as they winnowed out.

Leaving him and Elain. Alone. 

“Drink this,” his mate urged. She lifted a cup of tea to his lips and gently poured the liquid in as he opened for her. “It’s ginger. It’ll settle your stomach, at least.”

He hummed his gratitude. He kept his eyes firmly screwed shut against the low fae-light in the sitting room. He didn’t imagine this was how tonight would go. He’d hoped that it would end in a bed. Preferably with those long legs wrapped tight around his head, shaking.

Elain nudged at his head derailing his thoughts before they fell any further down the gutter. “Raise up a little…there, now come back,” she instructed as she parked herself on the couch, with his head in her lap.

Her fingers immediately went to his hair and began to brush it out, long strands gliding over her knuckles. It pulled lightly at his scalp, and he purred.

 He purred.

Elain chuckled softly, head cocked as their eyes met and held. He’d known people who considered brown eyes ordinary, unremarkable things. No, to Lucien Elain’s deep brown eyes held all the warmth of the earth after a summer rain. They were where life began and ended. Should he be so lucky to spend all his days staring into them.

While he waxed poetic in his drunkenness over the beauty of his mate’s eyes, she began to withdraw. Her hand stilled in his hair. Her eyes began to shine ever so slightly with rising tears. His heart guttered.

No, his Elain wasn’t supposed to be sad. She’d shed enough tears for this life. No more. He had to say something. Do something to stop them.

“Lucien, I’m sorry I …”

“I love you,” Lucien blurted out at the same time.

Okay, not where he meant to go, but there it is.

Elain’s eyes widened, mouth hanging open.

Lucien had always been smooth with his words. It was one of the reasons he was asked to be emissary. He could sway almost anything to his advantage, navigate inter-court relations and politics with ease, and talk his way out of damn near everything.

So, he decided to just keep going.

“I know this has never been easy between us. I know that I’m not what…what you wanted.” He winced. “I know you saw me as a villain at worst, and at best a nuisance. A sword hanging over your head. Something you never wanted but felt chained to from the moment you were poured out of that cauldron. The enemy who stood by while your life, love and everything you knew was taken from you. And I…I could live a thousand lifetimes, Elain, and I’d never be worthy of your forgiveness. Never worthy of you. I’ve always known this, but…all I ever wanted was to get to know you.”

“Lucien…” Elain’s voice was soft, emotion heavy in her throat. Lucien shook his head where it lay on her thighs.

“No, please…just let me get this off my chest.”

She searched his face for a moment before she whispered. “Alright.”

“I was so confused. So on edge, myself. I thought I’d lost my mate years before even your own father was born. I thought I’d never have a chance at that kind of love again. And there you were… all …” he choked, unable to say the words he felt upon seeing Elain poured from that cauldron. Upon the knowledge that he’d had even the slightest hand in it. “I wanted to know you, Elain. All I have ever wanted since the moment you fell out of that cauldron was time. Time to correct my mistakes. Time to beg for forgiveness.” Lucien swallowed, his mouth inexplicably dry. He ripped his chest open, baring all he was to his mate. He only had once chance at this.

And he was shitfaced.

“Mostly, though,” he began again, his voice a tad hoarser, “I wanted time to get to know you, to learn what makes you tick. What drives you to wake up in the morning. Whether you prefer the sunrise to the sunset, and if you take sugar in your tea. And I know… I know when you saw me, you only saw a monster. An unwanted burden.”

Elain began to shake her head, unshed tears threatened to spill over her eyes. Lucien was unable to raise his head up. He was barely holding in his own tears, his heart deafening in his ears. He gently cupped her cheek with one calloused hand.  

“Don’t…we both know I was never your first choice Elain. Not even your second. You’ve never…anyway, I know the bond was never what you wanted. And now that I know you, I can’t go back Elain. I can’t go back to the me who never knew your name. But…I would carve out my own heart if you wanted. I’d pack my bags tonight, leave for the continent. Waste away in some village no one has ever heard of. Fuck everything else in this life, Elain. I love you. I live or die by your word, sweetheart. Tell me to go and I’m gone. Tell me to stay…tell me you love me and I will spend every day of –”

“I love you,” she interrupted. Tears flowed freely down her face and dropped on his cheek.

Lucien snapped up though the motion brought a new wave of nausea. He gripped the back of the chair as he searched her face. She was…smiling.

She loved him? 

“For cauldron’s sake Lucien the only reason I missed the wedding was because I can’t winnow and you had to pick something so fucking difficult to get ahold of.” The curse rolled off her tongue with an ease that made him giddy. She didn’t speak that freely around the others.

Her words finally registered in his liquor addled brain.

“Huh?” Lucien, who’d given a heartful impromptu speech, was nearly speechless. Maybe he’d passed out when Rhys was winnowing him and this was all some alcohol induced fever dream.

“Oh for crying…this Lucien!” Elain exclaimed, grabbing a small box off the table beside the teacup. How long had that been sitting there?

 “I had to ask for Eris’ help to get there and he thought it’d be hilarious to drop me off on the other side of the city. Then I had to hunt down someone willing to show me the right place. I got lost three times. Then getting back was a disaster,” Elain rambled. She paused and took a deep breath.

“I asked you what your least favorite food was for a reason, Lucien,” she said softly as she began to untie the ribbon on the little black box. “This has never been easy for us. You were right, I did see you as a villain. We were raised to fear the fae, that you would steal us away in the night if we weren’t vigilant. We went against what we’d been taught, opened our home to fae and what happened? We were quite literally stolen away in the night. On two different occasions.”

Lucien winced. He so often forgot how it all must’ve been for them. When Feyre was taken by Tamlin, and then Hybern. Shame threatened to overwhelm him, and he must have flooded the bond with it because Elain paused in her unwrapping to lay a hand on his thigh.

“I know now that’s not the case, Lucien,” she said softly. “You never meant us harm. I know that…had you known, you would’ve fought against it with everything you were.”

He could only shrug, his head lolled to the side as the female he loved continued.

“And you are right, I wanted love. I wanted choice. I still do,” she admitted, courage growing as her chin came up. Elain released the ribbon from the box and grabbed his hand. She placed the box in his palm and curled his fingers over the painted wood. “I have made my choice, Lucien. But I need to know you are choosing me, not a mating bond. That you are choosing me for who I am. Not what Hybern made me, not what the cauldron gave me, not what the mother wove between us. I need to know it is Elain Archeron you love.”

She took a deep breath, let go of his hands and stood.  She walked to the other side of the room. Her hand came up over her nose.

“What…are you doing?” Lucien asked. The gears in his brain were stalled. They seemed to have slowed from the moment she admitted to loving him. They seized at that knowledge, and that his mate, his love, his life was on the other side of the damned room from him.

He began to lift the lid on the box. Oh fuck.

The smell slammed into his chest like a well-placed punch. What little was left on his stomach well on its way back up. Lucien fought to keep the gag down. His eyes watered from the effort.

“So, I present you that.” Elain’s voice was nasally as she waved her unoccupied hand to the box in his lap. He’d have remarked on how funny it was if he hadn’t been trying so hard to conserve air. “Accept this cauldron-damned abomination, and I will be satisfied for eternity knowing I am so much more to you than a bond. Because only someone in love would weather this disgusting pile of shit, mating bond or not.”

Lucien stared down at the black egg nestled in the bottom of the box. The pungent odor was just as he remembered. He wanted to die then too.

He toggled between staring at the egg and staring at Elain huddled in the corner, both hands now shaking over her face.

She wanted him. She loved him. She accepted the mating bond! No matter it was in the most…unorthodox way possible.

Gods but he loved her.  

“You really are a wicked little thing,” was all he managed before he yanked the egg from the box and shoved it in his mouth. He swallowed it whole.   

The idea was if he swallowed it whole he wouldn’t taste it. That idea was bullshit.

Lucien felt himself turn green. It was the oddest sensation. It tingled up his spine, up his stomach, alongside that thin bond that was strengthened by the second. He wanted to throw up. The only other time he’d ever eaten a century egg, he’d immediately threw it back up.

He’d be cauldron-damned if he threw it up this time. Lest it unravel that shining golden bond thrumming in his chest. Lucien didn’t know how these things worked. He wasn’t risking it.

“Are you okay?” Elain asked, words muffled behind her hands.

Lucien’s nod was strained. “I think I’m sober now, at least.”

Elain chuckled and braved the still biting odor to come close enough to shut the box up. Immediately the smell lessened, though it lingered in the room like a hateful ghost.

“How?” Lucien managed.

“Bespelled box,” Elain offered. “Eris made it for me this morning when I explained what I was doing.”

Lucien nodded. Every muscle in his body was still tensed. He gripped the couch so hard he could hear the wood groan.

“Lucien are you…” she trailed off and eased onto the cushions. She lay one hand over his on the back of the sofa, the other on his thigh, rubbing soothing circles.

“I’m fine, you beautiful terrorist,” he joked and let go of his grip on the sofa. He grinned at her. “If the trade-off were that all I had to eat for the rest of my life was that fucking thing, I’d do it with a smile on my face as long as it meant I have you.”

All tension released out of her with a sigh. “Thank the mother you don’t, then. You’d grow to hate me.”

Lucien’s smile threatened to split his face. The bond glowed in his chest. “I could never hate you, my love. I would just be very, very skinny.” He leaned in, the need to taste her becoming a living thing in his gut.

Elain shoved him back with impressive force.

“I’m not kissing you until you’ve washed your mouth out!” she exclaimed. “Between the alcohol, the vomit and that thing you could literally peel the paint off the walls, Lucien!”

“Fair enough,” he shrugged as he came to stand. His intention was to go to the washroom, brush his teeth a few dozen times and immediately pounce on his mate. Upon standing, Lucien realized he was not in fact sober, as the ceiling very quickly turned into a roiling sea.

Lucien half-turned to Elain. “Sweetheart, please don’t take this next thing the wrong way.”

“Lucien?”

Lucien dropped to his knees and vomited all over Rhysand’s precious handmade rug from Sangravah. All the whiskey he’d imbibed mixed in the most atrocious way with the century egg, the smell reminiscent of some sulfurous hellscape. It made him hurl again. His stomach contracted painfully as it betrayed him.

He was vaguely aware of the small hands that pulled his hair back at the nape.

“Do you still love me?” She giggled in his ear.

“Ugh,” he moaned. “Were I not about to die, I’d take you to a priestess and wed you tonight.”

Elain laughed. “Maybe in the morning.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”