#(I like how she’s no longer this teal colour and has her own colour that’s not just a mixture of Thad and Pete’s now!)

[billie-the-sleepyhead]

I’m excited for the next comic update let me tell ya! (A specially after watching Isabella doing some of the progress for the weekend war portion of it! I’m putting my main thoughts about the stream under the cut because I know there’s people who didn’t have a chance to watch it.)

I absolutely LOVE the new colour for Delilah! Purple suits her very well and she looks adorable in that frame

(Screenshot my sister took on my phone at the end of stream)

Peter has similar proportions to The Spine in her style and that’s kinda cute too.

[unparalleledtomes]

Not With the Eyes, But With the Mind (18+)

Ao3 Link

Pairing: Gale x OC Female Character

Summary: Against his better judgement, Gale's hopeless pining gets the better of him and he finally caves, treating himself to images of Noa and nearly nuking himself in the process.

Warnings: masturbation, smut, nudity, minors dni.

Word Count: 1900

A/N: did it take me over three months to write 1900 words? you betcha. will it take even longer for the next one? you betcha.

Gale lay in his tent next to a toppled stack of books. If he unfocused his eyes, allowed his mind to carry him home, he could almost picture the view from his tower through the canvas. It was the moonlight, the way it barely poked through the blue-green skin of his tent—it reminded him of evenings alone on his balcony just before a storm rolled in, and how the moonlight barely poked through then.

He tried to hold onto that image and the tranquillity it often brought him, but tonight the colour only reminded him of Noa. 

How she poured wine from a bottle that glinted teal in the fire, a glass each for her and Karlach. Astarion nursed his own. But Gale didn’t indulge, too afraid of what might tumble from his mouth in the presence of his new friends, or those he hoped to call friends. The orb, too, clenched inside of him and there was a slight shake in his hands, a heaviness in his chest that felt like a threat. 

“Come on, soldier. You’ve asked everyone for their life stories and haven’t said one thing about yourself.”

“That’s not true. Astarion hasn’t said anything.”

“I beg your pardon. I’ve said plenty. What more do you want?” 

“Well, for starters, I’ve never known a magistrate so interested in bloodshed.”

“What’s life without a little danger, darling? Besides, you’ve rather impressed me these last weeks. Goblins and bugbears, those poor dwellers in the crypt. There’s plenty of blood on your hands.” He lowered his voice as he spoke, like the very idea of violence excited him. 

Noa scoffed into the fire. “Not a thought that comforts me. Mark my words on this, night-walker. I’ve been around a long time—life’s easier with a sheathed sword.”

Gale smiled but Astarion flicked his wrist. “Spoken like a true, boring adventurer. I, for one, can’t wait to see what other massacres lie ahead of us. Gods know there’ll be plenty before our next sunset.” 

Noa rolled her eyes. “Gale, how about you? How’re you faring under all these…oh, let’s call them adventures?”

“Well, it’s certainly a leap from the comfort of my tower. I’m far more used to a crackling hearth, a good book, and an equally soothing glass of Blackstaff wine.” The thought needed only to be spoken and he was back at home, all but felt the veins of mature pages in his hands before he let the moment pass. He raised a finger. “But, adventure never strays far from a talented wizard, as I’m sure someone of your demonstrable capabilities can attest.” 

He wasn’t sure why but Noa laughed then, and the sound lifted some pressure from his heart. 

Gale blinked at the tent. He breathed slowly and with some difficulty, torn between chasing away what he’d rather remember. But her image haunted him like a childhood mistake and it wasn’t long before the faintest thrum of lilac tangled in the moonlight, the orb stirred to life.

“Coming from the great Gale of Waterdeep, I appreciate that. It’s not every day a golden boy finds you impressive.”

“Ha, oh well, hardly a ‘golden boy,’ though my natural abilities did catch unequivocal attention from the most spectacular beings. That said, it does put a bit of pep in one’s step to know their name travelled across Faerûn, eh?” 

Astarion audibly scoffed but Gale relished in the idea. He ignored the ignorance, forgave it even. It was the very same he’d dealt with all his life from those who could only watch as he mastered the Weave, destined for greatness—that of which he had in Mystra’s reverent embrace. His eyes fell to the snapping firewood. As quickly as it’d come, the thought soured. 

“It has,” Noa said plainly. 

“All good things, I hope.”

She brought the goblet to her mouth and held it there without drinking. “I’ve heard your story.” Her eyes flicked to his and they watched each other for an eternal second. A queer look accompanied her words, silent recognition piercing as a blade. “I’m really glad we ran into you, Gale of Waterdeep.”

Nothing existed but her face across the flames. He could only stare; he didn’t know what to say. 

The need was in his hands before it was in his cock. He folded them behind his head and tried to focus on the dull ache of his knotted fingers. He blinked, inhaled through his mouth, but there she stood above the flames in a long stretch before bed. She reached to the stars and it was all he could do to avoid her silhouette as she bid him goodnight. 

But alone now he snuck a boyish glance at the memory of her breasts. The orb burned through his tunic and onto the canvas above him, an aurora borealis in that Waterdeep sky, and he watched the colours billow until an intrusive thought of her naked made his ears simmer. 

Energy crackled around his briefs, warmth pulsing between his legs with every unstoppable thought of her face, her eyes—one rich and dark as earth and the other obsidian as a mountainside. He thought of the freckles that spilled across her nose and wondered how many adorned places he couldn’t see.

Stop it, he thought. By the gods, stop it. But she didn’t leave and he wouldn’t let her. 

When Astarion and Karlach eventually retired, he was alone. Flames lapped at the darkness and he curled his hands into fists to stop the shaking. Through the spots in his vision, a lantern burned from Noa’s tent and he watched her gently unwind her braid in the sliver of gold that shone through. When she lifted her shirt he looked away so quickly the whole world spun. 

The orb radiated from chest to cheek with pain, a hellish prick of needles coursing through his hands. He breathed deeply, pleaded with his mind to free itself from these calamitous desires, but everything was black against the light of her face. 

He didn’t want to will her away any longer—he wanted to touch gold. 

His face burned, and with great shame he unlaced his trousers. The simple caress of fingertips made him shiver, his shaft already hard and leaking by the time he freed himself. He pinched his eyes shut and reconsidered the whole sordid indulgence but she immediately stood before him, smiled at him, and with the first timid stroke he nearly whispered her name. 

Together they soared past the skies above him, their naked bodies entwined within the Weave. She outshone the stars, overthrew those swirling constellations he often dreamed of, and he could only float in awe of her. She bit her lip the longer he stared, a simple gesture that made him grin as he imagined a dahlia flush in her cheeks. It was enough to coax a faster rhythm. 

Back in his tent the orb singed his chest but he ignored the fire to press his tongue into her mouth. It shamed him and even in his mind he hesitated, but she moaned and wound her arms around his neck until he relaxed. He tentatively twisted up and down and she inched closer to bite his lip. He trembled at the brazenness of it, but envisioned her leg around his hip, her fingers in his hair, and when she moaned again he started to pump faster. 

With that same shy look in her eyes she squeezed the length of his cock. His head tipped back and she pressed a kiss to his neck so warm he swore he felt it. He stroked faster, grabbing her breast with one hand, cradling her head with the other, but it wasn’t enough. With a moan he multiplied, arms born from arms to have enough hands for every inch of her. Countless fingers caressed her back and gripped her thighs, touched her tongue and brushed the hair from her face, and in that paradise of starved simulacra all her moans rang out like music. Whether his hands throbbed from the orb or his grip on the bedroll, he didn’t know—all he knew was somewhere in those stars Noa belonged to him.  

Wildflowers billowed in the camp’s lazy breeze and he felt it through the canvas, the way it quickly became her breath against his shoulder. His eyes watered from the choking pain in his chest but he’d let nothing take her, each stroke a blacksmith’s bellow that kept her image alive. 

She rocked into him, slow and natural as a boat on water. The orb sizzled like a branding but he held her gaze, stroking until his back lifted off the bedroll. He tried to speak, to beg her not to go, not now, not when the world was so close to making sense again, but no sound came. Still she smiled and brought her lips to his ear, close enough to feel her breath, close enough to feel the tip of her tongue when she at long last whispered, “Gale.” 

His eyes shot open. The Weave flowed from his pupils and drowned the world in lilac, droplets spilling down his fingers. He sat up and clutched his heart. Copper dribbled from his mouth and he coughed at the taste, a pounding in his head like a great aching heartbeat. He looked around, tried to catch his breath, but only coughed again. 

He was blind. There was nothing but the Weave, so bright in his eyes it burned white. A terrible shiver ran through him and for a moment he thought the last thing he’d ever see was Noa’s face. He tucked himself back into his trousers and blinked again and again until the monstrous glow dwindled back to lilac, and finally to nothing.  

With enough breathing the crickets’ song poked through the thunderclap in his ears and he steadied himself on one hand. Felt the soil beneath his fingers as the world retook shape. Focused on the toppled tomes at his feet as the vice loosened around his temple. He lifted his sticky palm without looking and lightly jerked his wrist, the Weave slipping over his skin like a glove before it disappeared again to take the mess with it. 

But when that hushed breeze no more than a whisper rolled into his tent, he turned toward it, opening and closing his fist though he didn’t know why. Perhaps as a reminder of how foolish he’d been, that he’d nearly broken the promise he made to himself by doing something this stupid, by putting this many innocent lives in danger. He studied his hand, its shape mostly lost to the dark, and slowly opened his fist again. Perhaps it was something else. 

An unwelcome wavelet of guilt trickled down his back and he cinched his tent closed, lying on his bedroll as if he hadn’t just tainted Noa’s trust or nearly blown away half the Sword Coast. All around was black and there was nothing he could do now but wait for the shadows to make sense, to watch the canvas overhead and see if he could return home. 

And in time, he did. 

He didn’t know how he’d look at her in the morning. How he’d look at himself. But in that quiet moment beneath the Waterdeep moon he remembered the way she looked at him, and sleep came easy.

[blueberry-bubbles130]

Miraculous canon has destroyed my hopes yet again, with how the ML Paris special is going to work. So have an Alt! Audrey Bourgeois who's actually a good mother. I based it off of my interpretation of canon Audrey and then just changed stuff to suit her having a softer personality. Like she's still got her stubborn nature, but she's not vindictive or abusive. She's mostly stubborn when it comes to her family being threatened or being hurt. She's also very defense of her family. And of course since this is an Alt! Audrey with the reverse personality of her canon version, she sees her Chloe as truly exceptional daughter who she adores. I'm changing her job so instead of a fashion critic, she's a seamstress. That way I can change her shades into glasses.

I actually really like how Audrey's hair is more of this bronze brassy colour rather than Chloe's bright blonde, so I kept it. Also since Chloe's model appears to have curls, I headcanon canon Audrey has curls she just can't be bothered to deal with them so she has her hair short. As a result I have Alt! Audrey longer curled hair. I do hate how Audrey's model looks in regards to her age. I don't know how old canon Audrey is supposed to be, but her model looks like she's in her late 20s/early 30s and I just hate it. So Alt! Audrey is in her mid to late 40s and I gave her some eyebags. Cos you know, she's had a child, works a job and isn't getting any younger so yeah. I imagine this is also just before Alt! Audrey starts getting grey hairs.

I'm going to do some outfits for her, because I want to put her in another pink apron like she wore in Malediktator, and like any other colour apart from gold, black and white. I'm so fucking sick of looking at that goddamn jumpsuit. I'm thinking of maybe using a dark teal and a light dusty pink for her colour palette, with her clothing.

After Alt! Audrey's clothing is done, I'll do some Alt! Chloe sketches, where she's 100 good. Because for the love of god, Thomas can't move past his Chloe hate to save his own life. It's literally so embarrassing, and it's quite concerning that he doesn't consider canon Audrey abusive.

[kihakugato-art]

The Harriet Pinup Art Project

Session 0- goals and preparation

Out of the sessions this one will probably be the wordiest- my apologies that I can't break it apart with more images! Hopefully the future sessions will have more show and less tell.

Goal for this project-

To make a good enough quality artpiece that it could be printed as a poster or print. I won’t end up making it an actual print since it entails some considerations I’d rather not mess with, but I’d like to at least push my art to that quality. This is my loftiest of my goals but a goal nonetheless.

To finish this piece within the month of September. It’d be nice to get it done sooner, and its equally possible that I may end up finishing it later than that, but I want to take my time with this piece for longer than I normally would for an art piece. I rarely work on my pieces for longer than a week on average.

What is the planned setting/composition for the pinup?

A candid of Harriet sitting on the edge of the deck of her ship (or off of a dock) all chill albeit possibly mischievous. She will likely be holding/eating a grilled fish on a skewer, giving lowkey implication that she snatched/stole it out from the ship’s kitchen/BBQ before mealtime.

The outfit will preferably have shorts/daisy dukes, a top of some sorts, draconian features out (so her lil penguin wings and her long flippered tail, maybe also feathered webbed hands/feet) in her human form for added interest, with a shirtless/tits-out as an additional outfit variant (I hope to come out of this project with at least 2 different versions- a sfw and more nsfw version). Her happy trail must be in view as well as her chest to add to the pinup-ness.

I may also give a canon-compliant colour pallete (so the teal/red/white) for her outfit as well as a non-compliant variant (the colour those clothes would be normally in the real world) depending on how well the colours compliment her.

Inspiration-

Of all things, the one that finally motivated me to think of taking a crack at it, it was the Brazillian Miku art trend. Created by ErinArtista (artpiece link X).

Tanned skin, teal hair, tomboyish energy, the parallels to Harriet are very similar which made it hard not to think about her when seeing the trend spread in full force.

The version that really got me thinking of Harriet in such an outfit was by irreligiositat (artpiece link X) which gave the interpretation of Miku having a big teal happy trail. Being Harriet has a blue-green happy trail herself, it caused the final mental click.

[image source]

Before this I had previously thought about drawing Harriet in “sexy” outfits- especially Mordred’s shorts/coat outfit (no surprise since I credit Mordred for being some of the inspiration for Harriet).

Although other OCs in a pinup artpiece have crossed my mind before, Harriet has always been the easiest to imagine; she canonically sometimes straight-up walks around shirtless or nude out on the deck of her own ship simply cause she’s the carefree type to do so! No other OC of mine is that bold (barring some WIP NSFW OCs that are still baking in the brain oven).

As I’ve been feeling more comfortable/bolder I have grown more motivated to explore this kind of art.

Preparations

Inspiration/reference board/folder

Collect images to assist in compiling/understanding the art being created. I don’t do this too often unless I’m very uncertain about certain details for the art piece. Also being I don’t draw often enough the references help give some guidelines for the brain to follow.

[yes I am well aware of how sus the third folder looks- don't make me bonk you for the obvious]

While the number of folders/images may grow as this project progresses, I am currently starting with 4 folders with 49 different images total; A folder for backgrounds, cooked/skewered fish, outfits (particularly daisy dukes- cause I had some confusion on certain art depictions of them that I had to get clarified on), and various sitting poses that come close to what I’m after. Also Harriet’s reference sheet so we can keep more inline with the iconography of her design (and also help when we get to including her draconic features since I’m not used to drawing a transitional form).

Canvas preparation and tutorials

I’m starting this on Clip Studio Paint with A4 paper dimensions (albiet with a stupidly large canvas size to avoid accidentally drawing too small) with 300 resolution.

For tutorials I am currently starting with only one- how to use 3D models in CSP, since I have never used this feature before, and I feel this could be extremely helpful on quickly getting an idea of what will look best for this composition.

Pretty cut and dry overview, even if it’s a lot of new information to take in. In the future I may use the fancier features of it such as making specific body types (meaning I have help with grasping Demauria and Riivar’s absurd height differences) but for this project we will start/stick to the default body even though it’s not quite accurate

With the new information I imported a female 3D model from the materials section, and selected one of the sitting presets to get started with.

I also imported the top poses from my inspo board onto the canvas so that I can quickly reference from them while working on messing with the 3D model.

Depending on how well I can mess with the poses I may even do more than one 3D’d pose so that I can compare/contrast which I’d prefer for this piece.

[jumpedthenfell-13]

I FINALLY found my favourite idea for the timeskip in my tdi rewrite au with the gwourtney situationship (it’s NOT in courtneys pov but there might be like one chapter where it is) so:

Courtney is 23. It’s been 7 years since she was on Total Drama, and things have been going well for her. She’s in law school, she’s got new friends, and she absolutely does NOT miss anyone from Total Drama. Obviously.

She absolutely doesn’t think about her friendship with Bridgette, or how she used to joke with Gwen about Heather, or whatever she had with Gwen.

…okay, maybe she misses them, but it’s only a little bit.

Whatever. She has new friends now, new friends who have not watched Total Drama Island, who have not seen her cry on television over the loss of a childhood friendship, who did not see the unofficial relationship between herself and Gwen. Friends who don’t know about how she rewatches the scenes they had together and wonders why she got together with Duncan instead.

It’s a surprise to her when one of these friends tells her he has extra concert tickets, and an even bigger surprise when he asks her to go with him. But she agrees, somewhat hesitantly, not knowing exactly what’s going to happen.

Once they arrive, the first place she looks is the stage. The singer (whose name her friend didn’t tell her) is not on stage yet, but she can see the people closest to it, the ones in the front row seats. There’s a little group of four in front, and someone behind bumps into a blonde girl in that group, who turns to see who bumped into her.

Courtney’s heart stops when she recognizes Bridgette.

It’s been seven years, and she can still recognize her. Just from knowing who one is, she can guess who everyone else is as dread pools in her stomach.

A girl with black hair beside Bridgette. Heather.

A shorter guy with brown hair. Cody.

A guy with black hair joking with Cody. Trent.

She’s terrified. Her life since Total Drama has been going fine, even if she has missed them a bit. But seeing them now, with her friend, who she’s assuming has never seen the show? She’s not ready.

The lights dim. There’s screams in the crowd. Trent climbs on stage (what?) from his spot, walking over and taking the microphone from its stand.

She remembers him wanting to create music. She wonders if it’s his concert, if he’s the one performing tonight.

He is not.

He simply says to give a warm welcome to the singer they’ve been waiting for. A vague introduction, but everyone seems to know who he’s talking about.

Everyone except Courtney.

Someone walks onto the stage from behind the dark curtains.

Courtney freezes in her seat.

It’s a girl, shorter than her. Her friend erupts into cheers beside her. She takes in the girl’s appearance.

Teal and black hair, a little longer and slightly fluffier than Courtney remembers.

Lipstick the same shade as her hair, her lips curling into an excited smile.

Dark, shining eyes that send an eager look in Trent’s direction, eyes that Courtney’s seen up close.

Teal nails that Courtney remembers helping pick the colour for.

A small gold ring with a sun on it.

She looks down at her own, very similar to the girl’s ring, a silver one with a moon.

She looks up again as the girl begins talking in that familiar voice.

She knows this singer, much more personally than her friend does.

The singer she came to see is the same person she stargazed with every night in secret, seven years ago.

Gwen.

[galeforged]

{ ooc } Here comes the boy! Hello boy!! Welcome!!! There he is!!!! He is here!!!!! 😭❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

I'm considering this an early birthday present from @ramyeonguksu / @guksugeulsi before the real thing on Monday, BECAUSE SHE JUST COMPLETELY OVERHAULED FORWIN'S POST-TIMESKIP DESIGN FOR THREE HOUSES AND I'M-!!! GOD I'VE BEEN LOOKING AT THIS ALL NIGHT AND HE'S STILL BEAUTIFUL THE NEXT DAY YOUR HONOUR I LOVE HIM SO MUCH I HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY ABOUT IT AAAAAAAAAA-!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

seriously she is so talented and her arting is just muah chef kiss like i can't believe she reverse-engineered a potential bard look as if pulled from 3H and made it work for him HE'S JUST SO HANDSOME

ALRIGHT NOTES, THINGS WE NOTICED AND DISCUSSED AND SHE PUT INTO ACTION! First! Longer hair! Inspired from his FFXIV look! Much more flowy and free! No longer the meek little songster from Abyss, for Forwin has become a man grown, learned, and (mostly) unburdened!

Second! A darker and more faded colour scheme, keeping in line with the other Ashen Wolves for their shared roots in Garreg Mach's underground! And then there's the sneaky little reference to his Crest like how Balthus and Constance's looks subtly refer to their own! See the feathers and the little clip holding them together? Hello Macuil! Such a galaxy-brained move on Ramyeon's part, I just can't-

Third! Take a look at this! That right there is the colour purple! Now let's talk about the colour purple! Can we talk about the colour purple, please, guys? I've been dying to talk to you about the colour purple with you all morning! IT'S A BEAUTIFUL ACCENT FOR HIS TEALS I'M IN LOVE BUT WAIT SEE THERE'S LAYERS TO THE PURPLE:

Ashen Wolf purple!

The Gerth family colours from his baby and Brave looks!

Purple being a colour associated with royalty and nobility, and look at it just poking out with his cute and new little cravat! Not just a common bard here! No longer hiding Wyndell von Gerth! But not being in your face about his nobility like the humble little soul he is!

Plus purple referring to his time spent in Nohr with that colour scheme I'm-! LAYERS!!!

I never gave much thought to purple as part of Forwin's colour palette but fuck it it's here to stay-!!!

As for his old timeskip look? I'm not throwing it out outright, it'll simply be repurposed for his Echoes verse, given it's better fit for long distance travel!

Now to scrape some money so I can shower Ramyeon with it ASAP for a portrait and expressions commission

[genshinboys]

Modern AU headcanons - Albedo as a doctor

Warning: NSFW

Pairing: Albedo x gn reader

If even just a few months ago, anyone were to ask Albedo about his dating life, the boy would simply state that it was non-existent. He would shrug the matter off, deeming it not worth his precious time to ponder upon. He would not comprehend the ruckus that it could bring into people’s existence. The complexity of emotions stemming from developing feelings for the other individual has never been the area of his expertise, neither a topic of his interest.

Albedo is a renowned doctor after all, and such trivial affairs are of no concern for him. Besides, with his extremely busy schedule, and a very narrow circle of acquaintances, it would be nothing short of a miracle to stumble upon the love of his life.

Yet, here we are.

Albedo, still thinking that it must be some sort of a big hoax, finds himself dragged into a conversation that he would rather be more than willing to avoid. The universe must be screwing with him. How did it all come to that? He looks at his younger sister Klee with a stern expression on his flawless face. A hint of rosy colour beautifully paints itself on his otherwise pale complexion. Klee’s eyes look expectant, naggingly so, even.

„Sooo? Are you going to confess?”

Albedo busies himself with the documents that rustle in his dainty hands as he hurriedly puts them into his briefcase.

„Confess what?”

He counters, choosing to remain oblivious.

„Ohh, you don’t play dirty with me like that! I know you like the back of my hand, big brother!”

Albedo would have to admit that Klee is undoubtedly right about that but his little sister is just too nosy for her own good and he cannot indulge in her antics too much. He recognizes the good intentions behind her actions and knows that she only desires what would be best for him, however, he doesn’t feel ready for this type of argument with her. Not now, when he already can recognize this fluttering sensation in his stomach that gets worse with each passing second.

„Klee, eat your soup and stop with that nonsense.”

Albedo’s hand runs through the beautiful blonde strands, leaving them slightly dishevelled.

Klee huffs and puffs like the adorable little kid she is, a spoon in her hand pointed at her flustered brother.

„If you don’t tell Y/N, I’m gonna do it myself!”

She warns, cutting the air around her with the menacing weapon in her little hand. Albedo would most likely be amused by her behaviour, if not for the seriousness of the matter.

The door swings open and a chilly hustle of wind reaches Albedo’s burning hot cheeks. It’s autumn already. The time really flies fast. The recollection of meeting you, your pretty face basking in the warmth of spring sunshine, is very vivid in the doctor’s memory. As if it happened yesterday.

„Tell me what?”

You query, overhearing the conversation between the doctor and his little sister. The duo, unbeknownst to them, has turned your life upside down and you can’t imagine going back to how lonely it felt without their presence.

You enter the kitchen and the corners of your mouth curve upwards.

„Nothing important. I might have to stay a little bit longer in the hospital. Would you be fine with that?”

Albedo’s teal eyes linger on yours as he awkwardly shifts to face you. The tingles in his stomach have become unbearable. How is it that he can’t put himself together when you are around?

„Oh, you know it’s not a problem at all. We’re gonna have a blast with Klee, as per usual, right?”

You walk up to the pouty girl and tousle her hair affectionately. She leans into the touch, but her eyes are still piercing through her brother, making silent threats.

„That’s very reassuring. I can’t thank you enough f---,”

„Please don’t, Doctor Albedo. No need to thank me. I love spending time with Klee.”

You cut in, not letting him finish.

Despite his best attempts not to, Albedo grimaces at the way you address him. Ever since you started your internship at the hospital you’ve been always so formal and polite towards him. And, as much as it wasn’t much of an issue in the beginning, right now it feels as if somebody punched his face. He has told you so many times to skip the courtesies, especially that you have become Klee’s babysitter. You are such a frequent visitor here that it just doesn’t sit right with him. Sure, it would be all fine if you insisted on calling him like that in the hospital, but here? Why are you so stubborn? Albedo can’t understand.

He sighs and defeatedly gathers his car keys and the briefcase from the table. Sulkily, Albedo trudges in the direction of the front door. Klee’s shoulders drop as her eyes follow her sad brother.

„Ahem, Doctor Albedo?!”

He turns around, freezing at the doorstep.

„Make sure not to overwork yourself, ok?”

He feels weak in his knees when you smile at him like that. He shakes his head timidly, somewhat too afraid to say anything.

Thus, if Albedo were to be asked about his love life again, the word non-existent would be inevitably replaced with complicated.

He smiles back and reluctantly leaves the house, wondering how to calm the thumping heart in his chest.

Late at night, he returns home to the most adorable view his eyes have ever witnessed. Albedo tip-toes to the living room, careful not to wake you up. As he approaches, he notices something that makes his heart skip a beat. Are his eyes deceiving him, by any chance?

Albedo walks up to you, curled up and motionless on the sofa. Your steady breathing tells him that you must be fast asleep. He hesitates for a fleeting moment, but then, his curiosity takes the better of him. Ever so lightly, he sits down next to you and reaches for the blanket that tightly hugs your body. He lifts it just a little and now he is certain. You are indeed wearing one of his sweaters.

He swallows hard, eyeing the piece of clothing that makes you look even more perfect in his eyes. But, in all honesty, the renowned doctor doubts his ability to judge things clearly when you are around.

Albedo tucks you in again, making sure to wrap you up nicely. The weather is awful outside, he wouldn’t like you to catch a cold.

Normally, after his night shifts, you would be just waiting for him to go back home, studying for classes or reading some books that were recommended by him. You would greet him with sleepy eyes and a yawn that Albedo always finds adorable. But, then again, isn’t he just biased?

Today is different, though, and Albedo would be a liar if he said that he didn’t enjoy looking at your relaxed features. He realizes that it must be extra creepy, but well, nobody will find out anyway, right?

His cold fingers skim over the skin of your face, tracing the intricacies of your beauty. Albedo notes that this type of touch is very addicting. So, the doctor continues studying your face, allowing himself to brush his fingers lower, down to your neck. Your skin feels velvety smooth, delicate too. Albedo can only imagine it would bruise extremely easily under his lips.

Speaking of which, no doctor should just jump to hasty conclusions without proper examination. That’s incredibly silly of him to infer from so little evidence. Hasn’t he repeatedly cautioned his students to inspect the patient in detail before coming up with a final diagnosis?

He lowers himself, aiming for the side of your neck. Albedo halts his movement, brushing his nose over the sensitive area behind your ears. He breathes in your scent, closing his eyes to indulge in the pleasure of savouring you. He inhales insatiably, sending his senses into overdrive. How can anyone smell so good?

With utmost precision, Albedo places his lips on the front side of your neck, right where he can feel your pulse. It beats rhythmically against his soft lips and he presses harder, sucking on the flesh. His tongue comes into contact with your skin and the doctor observes that you taste even better than he anticipated. He sucks harder and harder, not sparing a single thought to what could possibly happen if you woke up. Surely you would understand. Besides, it is your fault for falling asleep on his sofa, wearing his sweater, on top of that.

So the sucking turns into playful licks and kisses, Albedo fully devotes himself to discovering how much more it will take to discolour your pretty tissue, to make it turn red and irritated. Getting incredibly bold, Albedo grazes your neck with his teeth and you give out the lightest of moans. The teal pools fixate on your face. The doctor scrutinizes you, hoping to hear more of that sweet whimpers. Alas, it seems that you are still asleep. Although, it may be for the better.

A part of him wants to continue with the examination, however, these blotches of red colour awake some sort of sense of guilt within him. Has he been too greedy?

He tucks your hair behind the ear and marvels at the fact that you made his dick hard. Maybe unwittingly, and probably also against your will, but it’s too late anyway.

He has gone so far, it won’t change much if he were to kiss you too.

So, having made up his mind, Albedo once again leans in, getting closer to your resting self. In spite of being aware that he absolutely mustn’t wake you up, he all too hungrily covers your lips with his. He lets himself linger, feel you properly. He can’t deny, you being unconscious gives him all the wrong ideas and Albedo releases your lips, being too afraid of the growing issue in his underwear.

„Forgive me, Y/N. You should not have put so much trust in me. I’m a man, after all. A man with one very big weakness.”

He whispers in a raspy voice, taking delight in the view of your marked skin. He has done so well.

The next day, once you open your eyes, you can barely recognize your surroundings. It takes good five minutes before you recall being mighty tired after having spent the entire afternoon running around with Klee and building the blanket fortress for Dodo King.

Wait a minute, have you just slept the entire night on Doctor Albedo’s sofa?

You jump to your feet, exasperated.

„Fuck!”

You curse, looking at the clock. The morning lecture is going to begin soon. In a frenzy, you run to the bathroom to make yourself presentable. You don’t have much time, therefore, you hardly spare a glance at yourself in the mirror. You make a very weak attempt at subduing this bedhead of yours and hurriedly head for the front door. You are slipping on your shoes when you hear Albedo’s heavy with sleep voice.

„Leaving so early?”

He asks, descending the stairs. Contrary to you, this man looks as beautiful as ever. Is it even humanely possible to be so attractive? It’s 7 a.m., for fucks sake.

He walks up to you, stopping close enough for his alluring cologne to enter your nostrils. He must have just showered, some of the gold strands are still mildly wet.

„I, um, I have a morning lecture.”

You utter, chastising yourself internally for staring at him. You couldn’t be possibly more obvious, could you?

„I was hoping you would stay for breakfast.”

Albedo lures you in with this soft smile of his. It’s so gentle and yet has enough power to turn your brain into mush. Your belly feels funny, is it because you haven’t had anything to eat yet? With clammy hands, you reach for the coat but Albedo is faster.

He squeezes it tightly, relentlessly waiting for your response. This jittery sensation in your stomach gets worse.

„Morning big brother! Morning Y/N!”

Klee hollers, running up to Albedo. She wraps her tiny hand around his leg and peers at your face. Her infectious smile disappears in a flash when her keen eyes drop lower.

„Y/N! What happened to your neck?”

Klee panics, grabbing your hand into hers.

„Big brother is a doctor, he will help you! You don’t have to worry about a thing, am I right?”

She turns to Albedo, holding to you for dear life.

„My neck? I don’t understand. Klee, I’m all fine. Trust me.”

You try to calm her down while taking a peek at yourself in the mirror. You break out in cold sweat once you realise what she was referring to.

Albedo chuckles lightly observing your reaction.

„It’s nothing big, Klee. Probably just a mosquito bite. Go and brush your teeth, I’ll take care of Y/N.”

Klee relaxes visibly and hugs you before waving you goodbye. She hops away, following Albedo’s orders.

The room goes silent again.

„It was one nasty mosquito, I reckon.”

Albedo lifts his hand and gently caresses the reddened skin. Holding your breath, you simply nod and then giggle awkwardly. Is he actually touching you? Your body shivers and Albedo’s eyes narrow when you let him do as he pleases.

„It looks beautiful on you.”

He praises, withdrawing his hand to gently cloak you with your coat. Your heart beats so loudly that you can hear it thudding in your ears. Albedo, being as close as he is, must be hearing it too.

„W-what exactly, Doctor Albedo?”

You stutter, no longer grasping the subject of the conversation.

„My sweater, Dummy. What else?”

He smiles, albeit rather mischievously. His teal pupils glow with joy.

„I’m so sorry I, uh, I---,”

You rush to defend yourself, completely ignoring the fact that he has just called you a dummy. You are too angry for forgetting to put the sweater away before he caught you wearing it.

„Keep it, please. You’ll make me very happy.”

The doctor insists, placing his hand on your shoulder and squeezing it gently. Once again, he captures you with his remarkable eyes, penetrating you to the very bone. You exhale a shaky breath.

„Uh-huh.”

It’s all you come up with, bewitched by his overwhelming presence.

„I’m going to see you tomorrow.”

Albedo states rather than asks and you hate how your brain immediately envisions all the wrong things that you would like him to do to you.

„Sure, gotta go.”

You wiggle out of his grasp and bolt out of the house. One thing is for certain, though. You have never heard of mosquitoes in this type of chilly weather.

Time sure flies by, and you are also more than happy about that in the current circumstances. You have been waiting eagerly for your next visit to the doctor’s house and when the day finally comes, you can hardly contain yourself.

There are no bigger changes in the way everything transpires. Before leaving, Albedo eats dinner with you, sharing some stories from work. It is also worth noting that he prepared your favourite dish and you can’t help that goofy smile that creeps over your face when the teal eyed beauty informs you about that. Klee is as lively as always, quickly draining your energy, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

It must be around midnight when you pass out on the sofa, with the book in your hand. Having woken up the next day, you immediately notice an extra blanket that is safely cocooning your body. There are also some cookies on the coffee table and a glass of milk under which you spot a little piece of paper. You pick it up and despite being drowsy, you easily recognize the neat handwriting of the golden-haired doctor.

In case I won’t have the chance to see you before you leave, I would like to thank you for your help. Yesterday’s shift was longer than I had predicted. If that’s not too much, may I ask you to come again at the weekend? I would be very much obliged.

PS Make sure to eat something. As your doctor, I find it very upsetting when you leave my house without a proper meal.

Albedo

His message makes you feel all warm inside and your stomach twists in knots yet again. It is a bit strange how he called himself „your doctor”. You keep mulling over that while munching on cookies that he left for you. What did he mean by that, anyway?

A bit later, you’re all ready to head out. Everyone is still asleep. It is so silent in the house that it’s almost disturbing.

You don’t know exactly why, but something tells you to quickly check one thing before leaving. You halt in front of the mirror in the corridor. Your fingers pull at the material of your turtleneck and reveal the skin hidden underneath. Your mouth hangs open and a weird squeak escapes your lips before you can stifle it.

Another mosquito bite. Right on the opposite side of your neck. You cover the reddened flesh and grab your bag. Your cheeks burn so badly and you wholeheartedly appreciate the pleasantly crispy air outside.

Albedo had no idea that simple things like you wearing his sweater under the lab coat could awake such ecstatic emotions inside of him. He has never been swayed by this type of intense longing, unable to be satisfied need to just lay hold of you and keep you as his own. Fortunately, the beautiful marks he has left on your skin rightfully show who you belong to. Also, seeing you so unbothered by their presence, with no intention of covering them whatsoever, Albedo surmises that you wouldn’t mind at all if he, by any chance, chose to take more of you.

Well, it goes without saying that you being so vulnerable, defencelessly resting on his sofa, is the most welcoming of invitations he could ask for.

Therefore, the doctor prowls after you, getting through the poorly illuminated room. This time, with not as much as a shade of doubt, Albedo sits beside you and wolfishly aims for the bare skin. With hands placed on both sides of your head, he lunges forward, running his tongue along your earlobe. It glides over the delicate cartilages, heating the cold flesh. But then, your body stirs.

Albedo props up on his elbow to study your face. He waits, patiently scrutinizing your trapped beneath him figure. A lecherous smile graces his features It is this impish look of self-satisfaction that you have never seen on him. Your eyes squeeze even more tightly, waiting in suspense for his next move.

The doctor recognizes the subtle difference in the way your breath comes out more unevenly, the air raggedly flowing in and out of your lungs. He catches the sight of your fingers digging into the blanket when he presses his upper body to yours. Albedo hovers over you with his long hair dangling over your face and your belly churns in anticipation.

He reaches to your temples, stroking the flesh with his fingers and then you realize that you have been furrowing your brows all the time.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you draw on every ounce of strength not to let your eyes fly open despite how much you want to drown in these teal pools of infinite magic.

„I know you are not asleep, Dummy.”

Albedo whispers, his breath fanning over your cheeks and your body quivers again.

„Open these pretty eyes for me.”

The doctor pleads, brushing his nose over yours, which sends yet another involuntary shudder through your body.

„If you continue being so stubborn, I’ll just assume that I can do whatever I want to you. Not like it matters anyway since you are so fast asleep.”

He chuckles, making everything in your groin tighten. If you were to open your eyes now, you would be hit by this look in his eyes, now more intense than ever. It is just need. Pure, unadulterated need. The doctor thinks he must be possessed or something. The notion of fucking you here, pretending to be unaware of all of that, penetrates him to the very bone and it consumes his thoughts wholly.

„Fine by me.”

Albedo gives you an innocent peck, only to cup your cheek in his warm hand and fully envelope your lips with his. He doesn’t waste any time, sinking his tongue into your mouth and you allow him to taste you, parting your lips for him. He kisses you like a starved man, savagely bruising your tender lips in the process. There is nothing calm and reserved about the way he fumbles with the blanket to uncover your body. Nothing like his usual mellow attitude as Albedo lewdly moans into your mouth when he rests his whole weight on top of you, pushing his erected cock into your hipbone.

„Mhm-mm!”

You whimper, as Albedo’s hand creeps under the sweater that you borrowed from him and starts feeling up your body, higher and higher. Albedo responds to your strangled whine by pressing himself more into you, aiming to slide his dick over your clothed core. It does wonders to both of you. It makes you pulsate inside, and as everything tightens, your little act falls like dominoes.

Your hands sink into the gold strands, fisting them as you force him to kiss you harder. Albedo tilts his head and fulfils your demand, lewdly swirling his tongue against yours. He crushes you underneath him, humping with full force against your sex. There is no air to breathe, no possibility of squirming away from the feverish snap of his hips into you.

„Be--, ahh, Bedo,”

You pant, pathetically attempting to call out his name in between the punishing thrusts. He keeps rilling into you, making you clench over and over again. You definitely don’t want to cum like this, into your pants. The very thought of your hole contracting around nothing makes you panic even more. You push him with your hands, moving your head away to break the kiss but he doesn’t relent. His fingers dig into your jaw and he immobilizes you to keep you steady.

Like in a stupor, Albedo doesn’t stop grinding all over you. Sensing your orgasm, you cry out loudly, again and again pleading into his dominant lips. All in vain, as the sounds of protest, all but drown into the rough kisses.

Bracing yourself for the imminent release, you pathetically wrap your leg around his hip, hoping that it could earn you some more friction. It feels like he is going to wring this orgasm out of you, whether you want it or not.

As your toes curl and hips push forward into Albedo’s dick, you don’t think you have ever experienced something as intense as the brewing ecstasy in your groin. So unexpected, yet longed-for since the day you met him.

But then, the doctor stops.

His pelvis comes to a halt, as he leaves your swollen lips with a lewd smack.

He towers over you, cheeks red and eyes glistening with the unshed tears of frustration. Albedo has no idea how, but he managed to deny himself this orgasm for so fucking long that he cannot screw it all up now. He will fuck you exactly the way he has imagined, so often degraded to a whimpering mess in the safety of his bedroom. How many times has he stroked his cock with your name rolling off his tongue, biting into his arm so that he would not rouse his little sister with these obscene moans? How many times have you unknowingly made him so hard that he had to excuse himself to the bathroom, whip his cock out of the unpleasantly wet underwear and cum all over the sink while you were playing with Klee right behind the wall?

Yes, Albedo knows for sure that he must be a fucking creep but it is not his fault. Not fucking his fault.

„Oh, have you slept well, Pretty?”

For a moment you are sure that you are about to cum. Your walls clench, waiting to be stimulated but it never happens, as his hips have left you. You bite your lips hard, so frustrated. He cannot be serious. Albedo has this quizzical look behind his half-lidded eyes.

„What a shame. I was about to fuck you but...,”

He lowers himself and starts whispering against your ear.

„Unfortunately, you caught me this time.”

Needily, you want to pull him back in, fisting his shirt and he chuckles hollowly.

„Hey, Dummy,”

He sounds amused, somewhat out of it. You grab him tighter and force him to look at you.

„So, you want to be fucked, I take it?”

Irked by his nonchalance, you lift yourself to bite his lower lip and he gasps, unprepared for the sudden sting of pain. The metallic taste of blood dissolves on your taste buds when Albedo reciprocates the kiss, delving his tongue inside again. Meanwhile, your fingers quickly reach for his slacks and you undress him, dying to finally see his cock. He does the same for you, clumsily stripping you naked while trying to feel your lips on his all the time.

There is this shiver that shoots down your spine when he presses his wet and hard cock to your lower belly. His girth is impressive and it does look as pretty as the doctor himself. You question whether he hasn’t been sculpted by some artist because it is virtually beyond any reason to be this fucking flawless. How fucking unfair.

„You’re dripping down there.”

He comments, boldly eyeing your arousal. The comment would have probably made you self-conscious if not for the pure fascination in his teal orbs.

„How should I prep you? With my tongue or lube? Both, maybe? I’m sorry. I’m out of practice. No matter, though. I really need to fuck you.”

Albedo’s cock throbbing against you expresses his urgency better than the sinful words he has just uttered. He kneels and places his hands on your hips to scoop you closer to him. It makes you squeak and you hurriedly prop up on your elbow to grip his shoulder. He was about to lean in, fuck that little hole with his tongue.

„Bedo, ah I- I, erm, I’m ready. Please, just fuck me?”

You ask nicely, growing even redder than before.

„I don’t intend to hurt you, Dummy.”

The doctor whispers, scrutinizing your face. It is the same type of prying gaze that you so often witness when he examines his patients. Fuck, there is no way that he wouldn’t notice. You better come clean before he exposes you himself.

„Well, no, no. No need to worry about that. I, erm, I have already fingered myself, I guess? Somehow, yeah.”

Albedo’s teal eyes grow twice the size at your confession and when it finally sinks in, he just smirks.

„You have fingered yourself in my fucking living room, right here on this sofa, wearing my sweater, on top of that? Is that what you are trying to say?”

Albedo inquires, hooking your leg over his shoulder while pinning you down. His member perfectly aligns with your entrance and the tip of his cock protrudes against the taut ring of muscles. It makes you feel so exposed. The intensity of his heated stare reaches the deepest parts of your soul.

You simply nod, seeing that he won’t budge unless you satisfy him with the answer.

„And here I thought, I was being the nasty one.”

Tenderly, he locks his lips with you again, gently guiding himself in. The tip goes in smoothly. It makes you tremble in the mix of excitement and slight discomfort. Nevertheless, the next inches stretch you beyond your limit, and if you weren’t crying out his name just moments ago, right now Albedo can barely muffle those indecent sobs. He loves how warm it all feels inside, the way your silky walls accommodate his cock, adjusting to his presence.

„You are squeezing me too hard, relax.”

Albedo groans, struggling so hard when you don’t stop clenching around him. His fingers roam over your body, finding their safe spot on your chest. He grabs you, using his palm to circle the erected nipple.

„Ah-hah!”

You keen, arching your back to get him to move deeper to hit that spot, demanding his attention. Albedo reads the situation quickly and buries himself to the very balls, in one harsh thrust that leaves you teary-eyed.

„Y-you ok, Dummy?”

He asks, concerned. His dick pulsates as if it had its own will, definitely not eager to stop when everything feels so hot and tight.

You shake your head, devastated at how caring he is and how awfully nervous he sounds right now. Your rock your hips, signalling him to continue.

Albedo kisses you sweetly and then your vision goes black and feet curl in pure bliss when he starts moving. You let out a moan as another tide of pleasure hits you owing to his precision. He goes all in, reaching deep inside where you need him most. You adapt to his pace, pushing back whenever he sinks his cock into you. However, there is very little you can do with how hard he holds you in place.

Everything feels incredible, heat sizzles in you like during one of these summer days. Albedo takes your chin and tilts your head to the side so that you are looking directly into his eyes. It makes you want to melt, his dick so perfectly penetrating you, the loving gaze full of unspoken adoration.

„B-Bedo?”

You draw in a short breath, sneaking your hand behind his back to keep him close.

„Can you cum with me?”

His voice is somehow huskier than usual, awed by your beauty as he loses himself completely in the sight of you moaning under his body.

You think you might combust right there and then.

„Just tell me when.” „Ah-hhah--, now, p-please now!”

Albedo’s hips pick up the pace, breaking every last wall within you. The flames of desire begin dancing wildly in your groin, with no way of backing out. Your face flushes a furious crimson, hearing the doctor so lewdly moaning next to your ear. He pumps in so hard, an angry vein appears on the side of his abs. He looks fucking majestic and you just claw his back, taking everything that he wants to give you.

You are in a trance, barely registering that Albedo collapsed on top of you like a lifeless puppet. His sweaty forehead rests on your chest and the gold strands splay all over you, in a mess. He cannot seem to be able to catch his breath, too affected by his shattering orgasm.

You feel so calm and satisfied. Without a care in this world, you fall asleep, listening to Albedo’s heavy breathing.

The next day, when you wake up, you immediately recognise the scent that surrounds you. You’re in Albedo’s bed and everything smells like him. You are also wearing his pyjamas and it makes you blush like a teenager. It appears that he must have found enough strength to clean you both up and carry you to his bed. You sit there for longer than necessary, processing everything that has happened and you simply can’t help but wonder whether it all wasn’t just another lewd fantasy of yours.

But then again, the throbbing sensation between your leg feels much too real to be imaginary. Limping, you head downstairs.

Klee’s giggle coming from the kitchen tells you where to look for the adorable duo.

Albedo almost drops the cup in his hands once you appear in the doorway. He clears his throat, not knowing what to do with his other hand. Ultimately, he just pushes it into the pocket of his trousers, smiling awkwardly in your direction.

„Good morning Y/N!”

Klee jumps to her feet and runs up to you.

„Morning, Klee. Did you sleep well?”

You ask, softly combing through her bedhead with your fingers but it doesn’t help one bit.

„Perfectly fine!”

She grins, flashing her white teeth.

„My brother’s bed is very comfortable. I bet you also had a good night’s rest.”

She clasps her hands enthusiastically and peers knowingly at you, which makes you flustered.

Albedo clears his throat again, putting the coffee away.

„Klee, how about you go to your room and make your bed, huh?”

She giggles, winking at you before she leaves the two of you alone.

There is a moment of silence, but finally, Albedo musters up enough courage to break it. He trudges forward, stopping right in front of you.

His teal orbs seize you up, glowing beautifully. You get captured by their charm, yet again questioning his human origin.

„Hope that you did sleep well, after all?”

Albedo asks, all too shyly considering what he did to you yesterday.

„Yeah, just slightly sore, is all.”

You give him a timid smile, enjoying the blush that creeps over his face.

„But, I assume you know how to deal with this, right, Doctor Albedo?”

He snorts, brushing his fingertips over yours.

„Certainly I do, Dummy. I’m your doctor, am I not?”

Other boys:

Kaeya as your chauffeur 

Kazuha as your gardener

Childe as your swimming instructor

Zhongli as your history professor

Diluc as the wine industry tycoon

Xiao as a tattoo artist

Other series:

Going out on a date with Genshin boys

Thigh job with Genshin boys

[lazywonderlvnd]

Hi, if you are still taking prompts; A magically powerful Harry not noticing that his magic does things to make Draco happy. This can be pre-relationship or established relationship. Like it starts of with his tea being exactly as he likes and always the right temperature. Then evolves to rooms changing colour or weather changing or people being unable to invade Draco’s personal space due to an invisible barrier or something ridiculous. Btw Draco doesn’t notice as well.

anon.....you really killed me w this one. i’ve been so emo over this wyugeahrwiw might end up writing smth longer tbh bc this concept is literally the only thing that matters to me!!!!!!! i hope u enjoy i had so much fun with it ❤️❤️❤️

“Harry, you do it. Please.”

“No.”

“Please!”

“We’re fucking watching something, Draco!”

“So just pause it!”

Harry grabs the pillow on his lap and slams it onto the sofa next to him. Hermione can see dust rise in its wake. He pauses the telly. 

“Are you doing it?” Draco asks hopefully. Harry scowls at him. 

“Well you won’t shut up until I do, will you?”

“Definitely not.”

Harry disappears into the kitchen and Draco sits there looking smug.

“It’s kind of sick how you get off on bossing him around,” says Ron, his tone one of simple observation. His fingers are idly playing with Hermione’s hair, but she doesn’t think he notices he’s doing it. 

“If I’m not mean to him a few times a week I break out in a rash, Weasley,” Draco says blithely. “Besides, he makes it perfectly. I don’t know how he does it, it’s always exactly the right temperature and sweetness and all that. I s’pose his years as a house-elf for those Muggles gave him plenty of time to perfect the art.”

“You’re a twat,” says Ron. “And my mum makes tea better than him.”

“Well you’re just a pitiful little mummy’s boy, aren’t you, Weasley? We can hardly trust your opinion.”

“Hark who the hell’s talking,” Ron scoffs. “Least I’m not twenty-three and still calling my mum ‘mummy’ like the world’s biggest bloody ponce.”

Draco splutters but before he can retort Harry’s coming back into the room hovering four cups of tea that float placidly to each of them. Draco looks exactly like a satisfied cat as he takes his and Harry drops back down onto the sofa next to him. Not too close, but certainly not too far, either.

“Literally exquisite,” Draco declares after he’s taken a sip. Ron rolls his eyes.

“It’s just tea, Draco,” says Harry, and he grabs for the remote to turn the film back on. “You’re such a demanding little brat. Merlin’s fucking tits.”

But Draco looks happy and Harry looks suspiciously content as well. Ron turns to her and makes a silent gagging face. Hermione snorts and puts a finger to her lips. They’ve decided not to say anything yet.

*

“Wasn’t this place a lot … uglier last time?”

“What?” Harry says absently. He’s not listening — he’s got all his attention zeroed in on a stack of parchment he’s holding. They’d only barely dragged him along to lunch; earlier the captain of the English National Team had apparently owled him a great number of brand-new Quidditch plays and required Harry’s extensive thoughts and notes before their next practise, which was tomorrow morning. 

“Uglier,” Draco says emphatically, and Ron mutters something she doesn’t catch. “Remember? The walls were that tragic egg-yolk colour.” He shivers. Hermione thinks it might have been an honest-to-god shiver of revulsion. She also thinks she knows what’s happened, even though the extent of it surprises her.

“Maybe someone heard you whingeing and changed it,” Ron apparently can’t stop himself from saying with a snigger. Hermione elbows him hard and he shoots her a glare, mouthing, he doesn’t know!

Harry would usually be the one to take the lead and get them a table when all four of them go out to eat together but today he’s too wrapped up in his Quidditch plays, so Ron steps forward and does it, which makes Hermione’s chest flutter pleasantly. He’d blush down to his bones if she ever said it aloud but he’s quite capable of being a leader in Harry’s absences. 

“Whatever happened,” says Draco pointedly as they’re led to their table, “it’s a great bloody blessing, I was genuinely unsure I’d have the mental fortitude to survive another assault like that on my delicate senses. And, I mean, this —” he gestures to the walls, which are now an admittedly pleasing dark teal above a white trim “— is stunning. It’s my favourite colour.”

“Is it? So weird they picked your favourite colour completely by coincidence,” Ron says, and Hermione elbows him again. Draco notices nothing and neither does Harry, although he does finally set the plays aside once they’re seated at the table.

“Are you complaining about the wall colour again?” he asks drily. They would both be extremely displeased to know they sound like an old married couple. Draco snatches haughtily at the paper napkin on the table and unfolds it to place over his lap. The first time he’d ever done this at a regular, decidedly not upscale restaurant Ron had taken it upon himself to spend the entire meal adopting a posh accent to match Draco’s and saying things to the waiter like “Don’t you have crystal?” while holding up a glass cup full of Pepsi and then commenting “These aren’t real silver, you know” after making a show of inspecting the titanium utensils. 

“I can complain about hideous design choices if I want to,” Draco tells Harry with his nose in the air. “Thankfully they’ve rectified it this time.”

On the other side of the restaurant, Hermione sees two employees talking, one of them gesturing at the wall with utter bewilderment. She doesn’t point it out.

*

“Twelve o’clock,” says Ron, nodding past Draco’s shoulder. “Some bloke staring you down hard, Malfoy.”

Draco looks excitedly behind him, but what Hermione takes more notice of is the way Harry’s face falls a little. She can’t help but wonder if he even realises it’s happened. She’s almost certain he’s aware of his feelings for Draco even though he still hasn’t said anything to her (and she’s been waiting months now, the effort of holding her tongue growing only more difficult by the day, and she knows Ron’s always seconds away from shouting at him) but she doesn’t think he knows how obvious he is. Draco doesn’t seem to know either, but she thinks that’s because Draco feels exactly the same way. She’d have called them morons, but she remembers too well how long it had taken her and Ron.

“What the fuck, Weasley,” Draco hisses, turning back around with a scowl that makes Ron laugh and Harry perk up again a little bit. “He looks like he hasn’t washed his hair in weeks.”

“Now, now,” says Ron, “mustn’t judge books by their greasy covers.”

“Then you go shag him if you think he’s so fit.”

“Maybe I will,” Ron says airily, as if he really is considering it, and Hermione can’t help chuckling and kissing his cheek. Then his expression changes to one of wicked amusement, which makes all of them look round to see the bloke coming their way. Hermione glances at Harry to find that — oh yes, he looks flustered and vaguely upset.

“Hullo,” says the greasy bloke to Draco as he comes up beside him at their table. He’s really not terrible-looking, but if she’s learned anything about Draco in the last couple years it’s that his standards amount to models and Harry Potter, so this man has almost no chance.

“Hello,” Draco drawls, reminding her fiercely of his younger self at Hogwarts. “I’m not interested.”

“Right little narcissistic bugger, aren’t you?” the man says. And now, finally, he’s begun to look as revolting to Hermione as he’d done initially to Draco — a repellent personality can do that. “Maybe I just wanted to come and have a chat.”

“Then why aren’t you looking at any of the rest of us?” Ron asks, sounding halfway between amused still and a little put off.

“Can you leave, please?” Draco interjects, cringing away from the man encroaching slowly on his personal space. And suddenly, as he looks on the verge of antagonising Draco further, he shifts his feet and slips, landing right on his bum with a yell of surprise. All four of them get to their feet to see, but there doesn’t seem to be any liquid or even slimy food for him to have tripped on.

“The fuck ...?” the man says, getting back to his feet. But when he moved towards Draco, he only slips again, on absolutely nothing at all. Something clicks and Hermione looks at Harry: he seems as confused as anyone else (if obviously pleased).

She looks at Ron then, who catches her eye and lifts his brows like he’s thinking the same thing.

Draco’s suitor gets up once more and steadies himself, looking a bit dazed. Some deep animal instinct seems to tell him to stop trying, and with a wary glance at Draco he finally leaves.

“Well that was a bit of a fucking scene,” says Harry. Draco, coming out of his own startled daze, laughs.

“Yeah,” Ron says sarcastically, “wonder what could’ve possibly happened.”

*

“I really thought it was going to rain,” Draco mopes where he’s standing at the window. It’s grey outside but it definitely doesn’t look like rain and Draco appears so upset about it that Hermione actually feels badly, even though she’s quite glad for the clear weather. 

“Just shut the curtains,” Ron suggests from his place on the floor. He’s sorting through Harry’s collection of VHS tapes, trying to decide on a good Halloween movie. Not that he’s ever seen any of them, and Hermione suspects he’ll end up choosing whichever cover he likes best.

“It’s not the same!” Draco wails. “The thunder and lightning is all part of it, you uncultured pillock! The atmosphere is all wrong.”

“It’ll be just as good when we shut off all the lights and draw the curtains,” she assures him, but it doesn’t remove the look of disappointment from his face. It’s a pouty sort of thing that echoes the brattiness of his youth; she imagines a five-or-six-year-old Draco giving his parents similar looks when he wasn’t getting what he wanted.

 At that moment the front door opens and Harry walks in carrying two grocery bags, one of which contains alcohol, which Hermione can tell by the way the plastic is bulging around the cans.

“The fuck are you all doing here?” he says by way of greeting.

“You said eight o’clock, fuckhead,” Ron tells him without looking up. “But it’s fine, I’ve had time to pick a film and Malfoy’s had time to moan about the weather.”

“What’s wrong with the weather?”

“I wanted a storm!”

At that exact moment, a flash of lightning lights up the sky behind Harry where he hasn’t even closed the door yet. Seconds later a downpour begins, and then there’s a rolling crash of thunder.

Hermione’s eyes widen and once more she finds Ron’s gaze, who looks about as shocked as she feels. Draco, meanwhile, has his hands over his mouth and looks like a child on Christmas morning.

For the first time since his magic had begun picking up on Draco’s wishes and granting them of seemingly its own accord, Hermione sees Harry look suspicious. He peers behind him at the storm suddenly raging outside his house before slowly closing the door. When he turns back he looks directly at Hermione, who looks away quickly.

They set up the food Harry had gotten — all kinds of Halloween-themed sweets — and once everyone has their drinks (“Make mine,” Draco tells Harry, “you do it best”) and is comfortable on the two sofas in the room (Harry and Draco are, as usual, as close to each other as they can get without actually touching) they start the movie: The Thing, which Harry swears is one of the greatest horror films of all time.

Funny thing is, an hour and a half into it she looks over and, with a jolt, realises the two of them are kissing half-covered beneath a blanket. She elbows Ron, who positively beams when he notices.

“Fucking finally, dear sweet Merlin,” he whispers, the sound muffled by the continued rain and thunder. “I nearly hit him upside the head when he made it rain, are you fucking kidding me?”

“Shh!” Hermione hisses, though she’s smiling. “They’ll hear you. We’ll rag him about it tomorrow.”

A soft sound of laughter comes from the other sofa that Hermione identifies as Draco’s, and when she risks another peek after a moment she sees that Harry has a hand on Draco’s jaw, and that he’s smiling.

[howlinggoodreads]

Why I think Gwenriel is endgame

These are purely my own thoughts and opinions. Please don’t take offence if you disagree with them. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion and I respect everyone’s theories and ships. At the end of the day is up to Queen Maas to decide. In the meantime I enjoy reading eveones thoughts while we wait for the real thing! Hopefully not to long. 💜😊💜

There were a lot of clues and breadcrumbs in ACOSF in regard to Elain and Azriel in my opinion.

Lots have already been mentioned like her not fitting in with the night court (wearing black doesn’t suit her according to Cassian) and how much Elain would love the Spring court.

I have a theory that Lucien will become high lord of the Spring Court. I don’t know if SJM will kill off Tamlin or he’ll remain in his beast form in the wild, but I believe somehow he will no longer be a high lord and Lucien will take up the role. This fits in for Elain being high lady of the spring court, which she’d love. She could garden all day! Remember the rose garden in the spring court? She’d love it!

Azriel is ashamed of what he’s done with his hands, the scars on them and hides them from Elain but those same hands killed Gwyn’s abusers right in front of her. She understands the necessity of what Asriel has done and what he’ll continue doing. They’re both warriors and there’s no shame between them only a mutual understanding to fight for the greater good.

His shadows love Gwyn! They didn’t tell him she was training that night so he couldn’t avoid seeing her. They reach out for her and she smiles at them. They hide from Elain and Mor and I don’t think that’s a good thing. Like Azriel said to Gwyn “ I am a Shadow Singer, it’s not just a title.”

I believe it was his shadows who guided Az to give the necklace to Gwen. His conscious self gave it to Elain but his unconscious self gave it to Gwyn.

Azriel saved Gwyn from her abusers and the Males who murdered her twin. I think the trauma of that caused the mating bond between them to get affected. He refuses to see her as a potential mate because of the her assault and not wanting to add to it and Gwyn is still healing so she doesn’t realise. We know that trauma affects the mating bond, his shadows know she’s his mate even if he refuses to see it yet.

I learnt more about Az in his small bonus chapter meeting with Gwyn than I have in the whole time he’s been in ACOTAR, he sings!

Apart from the fact Rhys and Cassian are mates with the other two sisters I don’t see any other connection between Az and Elain. SJM covered that in Azriels bonus chapter, just because the other two are mates with the Archeron sisters doesn’t make him entitled to the third sister.

They’re both rebounding, Az with Mor and Elain with Greysen. They’ve both been rejected and are trying to regain some control over there lives.

We don’t know what Gwyn’s thinking when she looks at Azriel. Cassian said she kept looking at him during training but couldn’t read what she was thinking.

Gwyn isn’t apposed to romance in her life. She reads romances with Nesta and Emerie.

Azriel is very patient, he waited 500 years waiting for Mor and never pressured her. He is the perfect personality for Gwyn in my opinion he’ll wait forever for her once he realises how special she is.

Gwyn will grow past what’s happened to her. It doesn’t define her and her future. She will heal and find happiness as she deserves.

I’ve been a Elucien shipper ever since Elain came out the cauldron and Lucien declared she was his mate. He has been so patient with Elain and has never pressured her. My heart broke for him when he gave her her solstice present (pearl earrings) and she barely said a thank you.

He has had an abusive past not dissimilar to Gwyn. He has been mentally and physically abused and his wife was murdered by his family in front of him.

He also has a physical disability because Amarantha blinded him in one eye.

“In a rare moment of losing his temper, Lucien told Amarantha to, "go back to the shit-hole she'd crawled out of." As punishment for his words, Amaranatha attacked Lucien and carved out his left eye.”

A million points to Lucien for standing up to Amarantha btw!

He has also been treated badly by Tamlin and continues to stick by him and try to be his friend.

He was also assaulted by Ianthe.

After everything he’s been through I can’t see Maas rejecting the mating bond. It would be cruel to do that to someone who’s overcome so much pain and hardship. It would be the poster child for good guys finish last. If he’d pressured Elain or reacted badly because of her wariness of the bond I might see it, but he’s been the perfect gentleman.

Shipping Azriel with Elain hurts two people who have already had a lifetime of pain. I just don’t see it happening because of a few lustful looks across the dinner table. I think Elain and Azriel’s relationship is about control and the fact they both feel like they’ve lost to much in there lives.

I trust Azriel’s shadows more than I trust Azriel’s insight at the moment. His conversation which Rhys proves he’s not in a very good place and he’s not seeing thing clearly. They’re both pushing themselves towards what they think they want and ignoring what they need.

I really hope Gwyn makes a friendship bracelet for Az! Hers has teal blue for her eyes, white for the light inside her and blue the same colour as Azriel’s siphons perhaps? And what wish would she make for him?

Az and Elain = Lust 💋

Az and Gwyn = Love ❤️

[captain-josslett]

Broken Melody - Part Thirty Three

Masterlist

Summary: Grammy Award winning Emma Danvers is the first to say she has a pretty good life. But what happens when it implodes around her and it looks like things will never be the same again?

Words: 8.8k+ (DANG IT! I tried not writing as much... Ah well.)

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, PTSD moments, smut...ish more mentions of?

Pairings: Emma Danvers x Lena Luthor, Alex Danvers x Sam Arias

This Part: A week before the surgery and Emma sees Alistair for an appointment.

Ek! So close! Please, please, please, let me know you thoughts and opinions. I literally have no anons 😅 @aznblossom thank you for always leaving a comment!

Thank you for reading and let me know if you wanna be tagged or any general feedback will be greatly appreciated. Please! I like knowing your thoughts.

Taglist: @finleyfray, @life-is-hella-unfair, @natasha-danvers, @supergirl-writingz, @camslightstories, @thinking1bee, @aznblossom

A Week Before The Surgery

Emma’s feet pound the pavement as she runs along the waterfront by the city, with Robyn’s partly completely album blaring in her ears.

Emma can’t help but feel pride with how good everything sounds as she passes unsuspecting members of the public. Weaving around the couples and families going for a gentle stroll in the warm April, Saturday sun.

Her face starts to feel slightly uncomfortable from the sweat rolling down her face. The face modifier causing a strange sensation and a tightness due to her heated skin. After finding this happening whenever she exercises with the modifier on, Winn and Brainy decide to develop a new model, one that will  hopefully be more lightweight and comfortable for the wearer. Including more options and will be able to change the wearer's hair and colour.

But, Emma hopes the time will come soon where Lucy gives her the go ahead where she won’t have to wear it anymore. By Doctor Hamilton’s assessment it should be another month or two before that can happen.

Emma had ventured out without it on, but that was under Lucy’s strict orders and guidance. The lawyer had organised a little outing where Emma sat in a wheelchair with a nasal cannula, giving the impression she was getting oxygen and sat with her sisters at Noonan’s. Bruises and prosthetics were applied around her face and neck to create the illusion that Emma was still healing.

Emma did query whether it would be a good idea but she had been reassured it was. Emma even asked if she still needed the prosthetics but Doctor Hamilton explained that with the severity of the trauma done to her body, she suspects the swelling would have stayed around longer than normal.

As soon as Alex rolled Emma through the restaurant's doors it spread like wildfire that Emma was out in public. Social Media lapped it up and soon a crowd of paparazzi, well wishers and fans gathered outside the restaurant. Emma stiffly waved and played her part but was grateful when they left and she could get rid of the itchy makeup and prosthetics.

Lena was meant to have joined them at the outing, but per usual, Lena had been too busy to attend.

Emma lets out a heavy breath as her heart clenches at the thought of her girlfriend. The Sunday after Nia’s party had been utter bliss with Emma waking up in Lena’s arms. The raven haired beauty had already been awake and kissed Emma’s forehead as she greeted her. The couple then laid there for a while, planting soft kisses on each other's lips until Emma needed to pee. The blonde had come back expecting Lena would want to start the day. However the raven haired beauty had not moved.

“Didn’t you mention about spending the whole day in bed?” Lena asked in a husky voice, dripping in sex. She pulled the covers back and revealed she had removed her pajamas.

Emma didn’t hesitate in flinging off her own clothing and jumping right back into bed. That day had been magical while they moved as one, the feeling of-

Her watch bleeps, pulling Emma out of her thoughts and alerting her to another mile she’s completed and calculating what her pace is. She glances down at it to check but notices the time instead, her eyes widen and immediately she turns towards Alistair's office.

‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’ Emma screams in her head as she starts running faster and berates herself for being in her own little world. Not realising she had gone further then she originally planned.

Currently she was twenty minutes away from Alistair’s office and her appointment was in ten minutes. She’s going to be late and Emma hates being late. The blonde pumps her arms and wishes she could call out for people to move or apologies when she makes people jump as she sprints past.

Finally Alistair’s building comes into view but Emma doesn’t slow down until she slides in front of the building's door and presses the buzzer four times to alert the alien she has arrived.

“Come on up Emma!” Alistair’s warm voice calls through the speaker and the buzzing of the lock follows, allowing Emma to push the door open.

The blonde races up the stairs two at a time, putting her wireless headphones in their case and turns into the hallway towards Alistair’s office door. Finding that the red headed alien was already standing in the doorway and gently smiling at her.

‘I’m so, so sorry! I’m so late! Time got away from me and-’ Emma’s mind screams out as she quickly approaches the therapist, automatically reaching up and deactivating the modifier.

“Emma, it's okay! You’re actually right on time!”

The blonde halts and frowns, immediately lifting her arm up to look at her watch. She notices the running app is still on and quickly ends the session before looking at the time.

Alistair was correct… She was right on time.

‘Huh… I must have read it wrong.’ Emma muses as she tries to visualise what she saw as she was running.

“Possibly.” Alistair agrees and moves out of the way to let her in.

As soon as she enters the office the patter of paws makes her look up from her watch as Lily excitedly trots over to her.

‘Lily!’ Emma drops to her knees and affectionately strokes under Lily’s chin. The snowy white german shepherd greets her in kind with many licks to her face and arms, lapping up the light sheen of sweat covering them, causing Emma to release a few voiceless laughs.

“She’s always happy to see you.” Alistair says cheerfully and moves towards his chair, motioning for Emma to sit on the sofa.

Straightening up Emma makes her way over with Lily right beside her.

“The water is for you as well. Did you have a good run?” Alistair asks, as Emma sits down, takes her trainers off and sits crossed legged. Lily instantly hops onto the sofa next to her and rests her head on the blonde’s lap.

Emma glances at the coffee table in front of her, on it was a box of tissues, a few books and a glass of water with a lemon slice and a few cubes of ice.

‘Thank you and yes it was good.’ Emma thinks gratefully as she carefully leans forward to get the glass, not wanting to jostle Lily too much. Seeing this, Alistair helps by getting the glass first and holding it out for Emma to take.

“Great and thank you for being willing to move your appointment to today. I am sorry about having to rearrange our time together.” Alistair says sincerely.

‘It’s okay.’ Emma shrugs, she normally sees Alistair during the week. ‘Not like I had much planned for today anyway.’ A small twinge hits Emma’s heart.

“Okay, how’s the last few days been?” Alistair asks as he leans back against the leather armchair and studies her. Emma takes a few gulps of the cool water as she thinks.

‘Yea, it wasn't too bad.’ Memories of the week flashes through her mind, who she saw, the smells, her heart clenching whenever she’d wake up in an empty apartment-

“Ah, I take it Lena is still working a lot?” Alistair asks with a sympathetic smile.

‘Yea.’ Emma answers softly in her mind, her shoulders slump and Lily licks her hand, making the blonde slowly stroke her head. ‘I understand these new investors are important, I know how important her work is but-’ Emma stops her thoughts and looks out of the window at the sea in the distance.

“You miss her.” Alistair finishes for her and Emma lowers her head.

‘Yea.’ Emma thinks weakly and can’t help but visualise their early relationship. How excited Emma was to get back to her hotel room to spend some time with her girlfriend, no matter how exhausted she felt after a gig. ‘I love her so much, I’d give my life for her but I just miss what we had when she wasn’t so busy. I mean we made it work when I was on tour and I’d call her even with the different time zones and it would be early in the morning for me.’

“That is understandable.” Alistair comments as he rests a finger beside his cheek as he ponders what Emma revealed. “You have both been through some major changes. Has she given you a time frame for when things look to be getting back to normal?”

-- -- --

During the week - Lena and Emma’s apartment

Emma checks her phone for the umpteenth time as she gets ready for Lena. On Sunday they had planned to have a date during the week and go out for dinner. Something they haven’t been able to do recently.

Emma voicelessly sighs while putting the finishing touches on her makeup, thankful that her hard work transfers through the modified face.

Standing up from the dressing table the blonde heads towards the walk-in wardrobe and takes the dress, she had spent hours deciding on, off the hanger. The dress was teal coloured, elegantly pleated and Emma had fallen in love with it as soon as she saw it. Also finding she was loving the dress even more when she zipped herself up and admired the way it hugged her toned body. She then steps into her trusted black high heeled shoes and opens her jewelry box.

For a moment she looks for her layered necklace her sisters got her. Only to feel a devastating pang when she remembers Kara crushed it.

‘No… Not Kara.’ Emma shakes her head and closes the lid. She heads out into the living area and glances at her phone again.

No new messages from Lena.

Emma flops onto the sofa, ignoring the dull ache in her head that hasn’t disappeared since leaving the DEO. Naturally when anyone asks her about it the blonde shrugs it off, not wanting to worry her friends and family anymore then she already has.

Laying down on the sofa Emma opens her phone and scrolls through social media to pass the time. She yawns and starts to feel her eyes grow heavy and eventually they close as she falls into a deep sleep.

So deep that even when the apartment door opens and closes, Emma doesn’t stir. Or when heeled shoes click over to her.

What does wake her up is a hand gently shaking her shoulder. Emma jumps, her eyes fly open as she takes a sharp intake of breath.

“Sorry love.” Lena apologises softly and strokes Emma’s cheek with the back of her fingers.

Emma nuzzles her face into Lena’s hand and kisses it before sitting up. Which causes her to become face to face with the raven haired beauty as Lena sat next to the sleeping blonde.

Emma smiles and goes to kiss Lena, until she sees the time on the oven clock. Her eyes widen and she pulls back.

“Em?” Lena pouts at the halted kiss.

“The reservation! We’re late.” Emma moves to jump off the sofa but Lena places a hand on her shoulder, halting her movements.

“I cancelled it.” Lena says hesitantly and Emma blinks at her. “I’m sorry, it got so late and you weren’t answering your phone and-”

Emma places a finger on Lena’s lips, sensing the rising guilt and panic in her girlfriend. Reaching out she unlocks her phone, noticing the messages but instead goes into Hope’s app and turns the lights up from a soft glow.

Lena’s eyes squint at the sudden light and Emma studies her properly.

Despite the make up Lena was wearing, Emma can see the dark circles under her tired, reddened eyes. Emma opens her arms and Lena immediately falls into the hug and kisses her cheek. Slowly Emma leans back into the corner of the sofa, pulling Lena up with her.

“Emma!” Lena giggles and Emma feels Lena settle on top of her and snuggles in. The blonde slowly rubs circles into her girlfriend’s back and eventually feels Lena twitch, signalling she’s fallen asleep.

Carefully grabbing her phone, Emma opens UberEats and decides to get Lena’s favourite food. Seeing that it will be delivered in half an hour, Emma rests her head back against the cushions and enjoys the feeling of holding her girlfriend. Grateful that even though they haven’t gone out on a date, Lena has still come home and given Emma this time with her.

When the food arrives Emma carefully lifts the snoozing CEO off her and quietly runs to the door. But no matter how careful Emma is at keeping quiet, when she turns around Lena is sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

“Em?” Lena’s husky voice calls out.

Emma lets out a huff of frustration as she wants to tell her dinner is ready. She wants to speak the words of love she is longing to say.

Instead Emma strides over to the sofa and places the bag on the coffee table.

“Hmm, you know me so well.” Lena smirks at the sight of the logo on the bag.

The couple settle on the sofa and listen to a playlist of soft acoustic music as they eat.

“I-” Lena starts and hesitates. Turning her head Emma gazes into regretful green eyes and watches Lena swallow before she continues. “I just want to apologise for ruining our date tonight. Time just got away from me and… there's no excuse.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it's not.” Lena tries to implore Emma to listen. “Just- this won’t be forever. I promise you that. I’m taking time off for the surgery and afterwards to look after you. It’s one of the reasons I’ve been working nonstop, so my sole focus will be on you.” She reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind Emma’s ear.

Emma beams at her, taking Lena’s hand and kisses it.

“What have you been working on?” Emma asks and Lena explains the many projects she’s been developing with the investors and her team. Emma’s eyes widen at how complex it all sounds and nods along.

Soon they finish their meal and despite how tired they both are, they head to bed for a different reason than sleep.

-- -- --

Emma comes out of the memory before she shows anything risque to her therapist. But she cannot help but smile softly at the feeling of Lena’s arms wrapped around her.

“Interesting. So there wasn’t a set time frame, just that it won’t be forever?”

‘Yea.’ Emma looks down and runs her fingers smoothly through Lily’s fur.

“Have you tried asking Lena further?”

‘She apologises and says the same thing she’s been saying for a while. Now isn’t forever.’

Alistair nods and looks down at his notes as he jots down a few more. “How are you sleeping?”

Emma hesitates, causing Alistair to look back up at her. Feeling an unease emit from the blonde.

“Emma?” Alistair asks, his eyes imploring her to be truthful with him.

��I haven’t been sleeping well. I’m finding I-’ Emma pauses, not wanting to admit what's been happening. Taking a deep breath her mind shows him instead. Horrible nightmares that have Emma jumping awake in a panic, drenched in sweat, only to find she is alone in bed.

“You’re still experiencing nightmares?”

Emma nods.

“More than usual, less or about the same?”

‘I-’ Emma lifts her head as she tries to remember. ‘It feels about the same.’

“Okay, that is something that we will still work on and honestly I’m not surprised you are still having them.” Alistair says compassionately, trying to help Emma see she is doing nothing wrong.

“What about your sisters? How are things going with them?”

‘It’s going well. Things almost feel back to normal.’

Emma’s mind brings up the memories of Alex chasing her around the beach, laughing as she tries to catch her until she finally jumps on Emma’s back.

And memories of Kara come forward where she’d fly into the apartment bearing gifts of Emma’s favourite food, like Cadbury chocolates from the UK. The pair would snuggle up on the sofa and watch a film while they gorge on the treats.

‘I know she still feels guilty, but she doesn’t flinch when we hug or touch anymore.’

“That's a good improvement for sure. But it seems Kara is still not as open as Alex yet?” Alistair enquiries, causing Emma to pause as she reflects.

‘No?’ She answers unsure. ‘I mean, Alex still holds back in certain areas. I still catch her looking at me with such a sad expression. They both do.’ Emma plays with her hands as her sisters’ mournful faces fill her mind, that is until Lily nuzzles her nose into her fiddling hands, allowing Emma to stroke her instead. ‘Maybe it's due to Kara’s trauma?’

“Most likely.” Alistair nods in agreement. “The thing is, each of us are different, we have different likes, different dislikes and our brains are wired uniquely. Therefore we can react differently to the same events, depending on who we are.”

Emma nods and rests her head against the back of the sofa as she thinks. ‘That makes sense. So, for Alex, she has trained to be a soldier, her natural instinct is to fight and follow orders. To lead and protect. But for Kara she grew up on another planet, with a particular upbringing, she witnessed that planet being destroyed, all she had known, gone in an instant.’ Emma’s heart pangs in sympathy, remembering how shell shocked Kara had been when Clark brought her to the Danvers. A new family and a new way of life. ‘She had to be so careful, even when walking, to not put her foot through the floorboards or hurt any of us.’

“Like a god among mortals.” Alistair nods in agreement. “From what you’ve told me before, it sounds like fear was instilled in her as soon as she arrived, that she could easily hurt anyone she came in contact with.”

Emma nods.

“So, Kara broke that promise when she hurt you-” Emma immediately interrupts in her mind but Alistair holds his hand up, halting her. “To Kara, she did hurt you and I know you keep repeating that she didn’t, but from Kara’s point of view it was her hand that crushed your neck and broke your bones. She hurt someone she cares deeply about and using the powers she had sworn would protect people.”

Emma lowers her head and pinches the bridge of her nose. Feeling the pounding in her head intensify.

“Like Supergirl, you can’t protect and save everyone.” Alistair says softly, imploring for Emma to understand.

‘I know.’ Emma admits sadly, she feels Lily move and nuzzle her head against Emma’s cheek, as if sensing her pain.

The pair sit in silence for a while. The ticking of the clock being the only noise in the room.

“How are you feeling about the surgery next week?” Alistair looks up at the clock. “You’d have just gone into the theatre.”

‘Honestly, I can’t wait for it.’ Emma thinks softly and the familiar sense of butterflies start fluttering around her stomach.

“How are you feeling about that?”

‘Nervous. Excited. Terrified.’

“Terrified? About the procedure?”

Emma hesitates. Lily, seemingly sensing her tension, lovingly licks Emma’s cheek and nuzzles her head into Emma’s hand. Causing Emma to continue stroking her.

“Emma?”

‘I am terrified about the operation not working, that it's going to make things bad again.’

“How so?”

‘It seems to be a constant reminder when I have to sign or when I go to laugh or make any noise, but all that comes out is breath.’ Emma thinks mournfully and glances out the window, memories of her sisters’ guarded eyes fill her mind. ‘I know this will take time before things can go back to normal. I just don’t want the progress we’ve made to be destroyed because the op didn’t work.’

“And if that happens?”

Emma’s stomach drops at the thought. But her mind focuses on those around her. Her family, friends and Lena. How would they react?

“Emma.” Alistair softly sighs, placing his book on the coffee table and leans forward. “You need to focus on yourself. Which you have been doing and I am pleased with our progress with your PTSD. We both know this isn’t a quick or an easy road. But you need to focus on how you feel about your voice not returning right away or, possibly ever.”

Emma swallows deeply at Alistair’s words, her throat feeling like it’s going to close over. ‘I understand.’

“Good.” Alistair picks his notebook back up and settles back into the seat. “Is there anything else you wish to discuss?”

Emma pauses and focuses on Lily as she runs her fingers through the soft fur.

‘There is something else.’ Emma admits quietly. Almost as if she’s too scared to present it.

“Which is?” Alistair asks kindly, but Emma keeps her mind closed off. “Emma, you don’t have to share if you don’t want to-”

Images start filling his mind, of the world blurring and morphing around Emma. How one second she’s at one end of the apartment and the next she’s at the other end, normally crashing into something or stumbling. How she easily lifts items others seem to struggle with, lifting Lena and Alex like they were light as a feather. Her headaches and heightened senses, especially her sensitive hearing and being able to hear a whisper across a room. How overwhelming the noise can become when she’s in a crowded place.

Alistair also feels fear and confusion pour off the young woman.

“Emma, you have nothing to fear here.” Alistair implores the blonde. “And thank you for showing me. How long have you noticed these- moments?”

‘Only recently when… erm.’ Emma’s cheeks colour in an intense blush as she remembers the moment she heard a crack from the headboard during an intense orgasm on Sunday while she rode Lena’s strap. Looking down she noticed the wood was splintering and cracking under her hands.

Once Lena was asleep Emma had sat up and felt the cracks again. She stayed there for a while as pieces started to click into place. Something was wrong with her.

“Nothing is wrong with you.” Alistair says firmly, his eyes imploring Emma to listen. “Can we test this theory that something is happening to you?” Alistair asks as he straightens up.

Emma nods and watches as he gets up and goes to one of his many bookcases. The redhead picks something up and strides back over to her. In his hand is a small, shiny ball.

“Squeeze this as hard as you can.” Alistair says while handing her the ball and moves her empty glass to sit on the coffee table in front of her.

Lily sits up, intrigued by the object Emma is holding.

‘Okay.’ Emma starts squeezing and applies more and more pressure.

Nothing happens.

“Keep a hold of it but look at me.” Alistair instructs and Emma lifts her eyes and focuses on his kind crystal blue ones.

“Have they gotten any closer to finding those responsible?” Alistair carefully asks, his eyes searching Emma’s hazel green ones.

‘No.’ Emma’s face and eyes darken and she clenches her jaw.

“Are Kara and Alex putting up the right precautions to not get taken again? I imagine they are prime targets as they are close to you? Maybe someone like Winn or Lucy or maybe your Mom or even Lena could be taken next?”

The thought of her family, her friends, her loved ones being forced into what Alex and Kara have already gone through fills Emma with a powerful rage.

She grits her teeth and her hold on the silver ball tightens.

Alistair’s eyes flick down to her hand. “Emma, look.”

The blonde lowers her gaze and gapes at the hand imprint she has made on the now disproportionate ball.

“This is a ball of titanium.” Alistair says as he picks the metal up out of Emma’s hand. “Or was.” He mutters as he turns it around in his hands.

‘What’s happening to me?’ Emma thinks, terrified at what this could mean.

“I don’t know.” Alistair truthfully admits. “Maybe it’s to do with the serum they gave you?”

‘But it was a healing serum? Not a super soldier thing!’ Emma’s mind shouts, her panic starting to build.

“That may be the case, but you need to communicate with Lena, Brainy or Doctor Hamilton about this.”

‘Do I have to?’ Emma apprehensively asks.

“Yes. Because this-” Alistair holds up the distorted piece of titanium. “Is not normal.”

Emma nods but her face scrunches up in emotion.

‘You always like being the center of attention! I hate you!’ Alex’s teenage words scream within Emma’s mind, causing her to hide her head in her hands.

“Emma?” Alistair tilts his head and Lily nuzzles her nose into the side of the blonde’s face.

‘I’m just Emma, plain, simple Emma.’ Her thoughts come out weak and feeble.

“Emma, there is nothing plain or simple about you. You are one of the most talented people I know. Your voice reaches and touches millions of lives and gives them hope.” He says passionately and before Emma can respond a buzzer goes off. “And that’s the end of our session for this week.” He says apologetically. “But we’ve made some really good progress. Emma-” Alistair says to get Emma to look at him. Slowly she lowers her hands and lifts her head. Her eyes swimming in anguish. “I really recommend that you tell someone what is happening. Anyone you feel comfortable sharing with. Maybe Lucy or Sam?” Alistair gently offers. “Just don’t keep this to yourself.”

Emma nods and gets up, making Lily jump off the sofa and trots with her to the door.

“Did you want to meet up on Wednesday like usual? Or did you want to come here on Friday instead?” Alistair offers as he follows behind her with his diary.

‘Yea Wednesday sounds good.’

“Great! I’ll see you then! Have a good weekend and remember what I said.” Alistair opens the door and smiles at her.

Emma nods but feels slightly frustrated that the appointment ended just as they were getting somewhere. She quickly rushes through, feeling like she has more questions than answers.

What’s going on?

Did she have powers?

How could that be?

Over and over these questions cycle through her mind as she makes her way down the stairs.

She passes a mirror and suddenly remembers to put the face modifier on. She chooses the face with the Marilyn Monroe beauty mark that is quickly becoming one of her favourite to use.

As she exits the building Emma starts to get her headphones out and plans a route to run home. That is until a car quickly pulls up beside her and honks loudly. Causing Emma to jump high into the air.

“Get in loser we’re going shopping!” Alex yells across Kara who beams at Emma from the open passenger window.

But the blonde momentarily stays frozen, trying to process what just happened and her sisters’ beaming faces.

“Em?” Kara’s smile fades and a frown replaces it, making Emma quickly open the back door of Alex’s car and dive in.

“Seatbelt.” Alex orders as she turns to study her baby sister. ‘She must have had a hard session.’ Alex thinks and her eyes snap to Kara’s who looks to be thinking the same thing as she bites her lip in worry.

Once Emma is belted in Alex pulls back into traffic. “Hope you didn’t mind us picking you up?” She calls back to Emma and watches her shake her head in the rearview mirror.

Kara twists around so she can see Emma properly. “We thought we could have a sister’s day and have a movie marathon?”

“Sounds good.” Emma signs and tries to smile convincingly.

“Plus it's your turn to choose!” Alex says trying to sound more upbeat than normal and wants to remind Emma. Normally her blonde sister would clap loudly and take a while to choose. Going back and forth between many classics and their favourites. Even discussing pros and cons between the choices she has.

Instead, Emma simply nods in response before gazing out of the window. Making Kara and Alex exchange worried glances as they continue towards Alex’s apartment.

Soon they are parked in Alex's parking space and the sisters get out. Emma goes to walk towards the elevator when Alex stops her.

“Do you mind giving us a hand?” Alex asks while she pops the boot open. Bags upon bags of food are revealed, causing Emma to raise an eyebrow at her sisters.

“I know! I was hungry!” Kara whines and immediately grabs a donut from one of the bags and chomps on it.

“Kara!” Alex yells and swats at her.

“Sorry! Do you want one?” Kara says with her mouth full and offers Alex a donut.

Emma can’t help but smile at the pair and reaches down to take a few bags.

“Wait! Em they are-” Alex pauses as Emma effortlessly lifts them up. “Heavy… Guess not.”

Emma momentarily freezes and remembers what she had Alistair had discussed, instead she shrugs and smiles at the red head instead.

“I got these!” Kara announces and takes the rest.

“You left me with one.” Alex says unimpressed while closing the boot. “Emma, give me a few.”

The blonde looks down and hands her sister the bags full of light goodies.

“I can take a few more.” Alex raises an eyebrow at Emma and holds her hand out. But Emma responds in a shrug and strolls towards the elevator. Alex turns her head towards Kara who repeats Emma’s shrug and follows.

As soon as they enter the apartment Emma places the bags on the island and quickly disengages her face modifier. Silently sighing in relief as she massages her cheeks.

Kara places her bags on the island and pulls out a small USB drive from her jean pocket. “Winn kindly let us borrow his drive with all the films past and present. Wouldn’t let me borrow films of the future though… Especially those based on real events.”

“Wonder why?” Alex laughs and places the last of the bags on the island. She looks to see Emma’s response, but the blonde is too busy unpacking the bags. “Em?”

Hazel green eyes shoot up and an unusual blank look accompanies Emma’s face.

“You okay?” Alex asks with a frown and takes a step towards her baby sister. But Emma takes a step away from her and around the island.

“Can I have a shower? I still feel a bit gross from my run.” Emma signs while barely looking at her sisters.

“Sure! You know you don’t need to ask!” Alex utters and watches Emma nod before zipping into the bathroom.

“Shall I get you some clothes?” Kara calls out while giving Alex a concerned look, the redhead mirrors it with a frown.

Emma pops her head around the door and nods, giving them a grateful smile before quickly disappearing again.

Kara approaches Alex’s closet. “Kara, wait!” Alex yells but the blonde has already opened the door.

“Huh, Alex-” Kara tilts her head and slowly turns back to her sister. “Why are most of your clothes not in your closet?”

“Er, laundry day?” Alex says not too convincingly and can tell by Kara’s face, she doesn’t believe her.

“That’s a question.” Kara places a hand on her hip and studies the redhead.

“Okay I can explain, but I want to tell both of you. Together.”

“Okay.” Kara grins at her sister and turns back to the closet to find something for Emma to wear.

“There should be a bag of Em’s things by the right?” Alex says while getting glasses and bowls for the drinks and snacks for the marathon.

“Found it!” Kara hollers, takes the bag out and places it on the bed. She opens it and tries to find the comfiest clothes for Emma to wear.

“Do you need any help?” Kara asks after getting Emma’s things ready.

“Can you move these to the coffee table please?” Alex asks and then gives Kara a hard look when she grabs two huge bowls filled with treats. “Do not start eating until we are all sitting on the sofa.”

“Yes ma’am.” Kara deadpans and starts transferring the stuff over from the island to the coffee table, while Alex gets the microwavable popcorn ready. Finding they all prefer fresh, hot popcorn to normal bagged ones.

Kara hears the shower turn off and super speeds over to grab the clothes she has chosen for Emma and practically skips to the door, knocking on it in a quick rhythm.

“Hey Em, I got some comfy clothes for you to change into.” Kara calls through the door and hears Emma moving around the bathroom. The door opens and Emma’s hand appears to take it. “There you go!” When the door closes again Kara heads to Alex sitting on the sofa. Her sunny attitude fading as her face morphs into one of worry. “Do you think she had a hard session today?”

“Yea maybe. I mean she hasn’t seemed the happiest the past few days.”

“Mhmm, do you think it's mainly due to Lena? She’s working way too hard.”

“When doesn’t she?!” Alex takes a sip of her drink. “Shall we order or wait for Em to decide?”

“Let’s wait.” Kara nods and sits back into the sofa cushions.

“But how is Lena, like, have you gone to see her recently?”

“Yea, I saw her last night on patrol. Actually had to forcibly remove her from her office but we had a good chat. She just holds onto what her damn family says too much.”

“Yea.” Alex says softly in agreement. She’s grown to really care for Lena, despite the rocky start. “But she’s taking time off soon for the- you know.”

“Yes, that's the plan.” They both ignore the word surgery and both feel their nerves bubbling up about it. “Are you taking any ti-”

The bathroom door opens, making the sisters drop their conversation and look at their baby sister.

Emma feels more relaxed after the warm shower but the sudden stop in her sisters’ conversation when she leaves the bathroom fills Emma with an uneasy feeling.

“Were you talking about me?” Emma signs with a tilt of her head as she continues to dry her hair with a towel.

“Just about what food we fancy.” Kara smiles too brightly. “And as usual we want the complete opposite and I was asking Alex what she thought you would want.”

“Yea and I didn’t get to answer cause that’s when you came in.”

Emma stops drying her hair and looks between her two sisters, her eyes darting back and forth. She doesn’t believe them but decides to go along with their explanation. “So what are the options? I mean, we can get different things right? Not like it will go to waste?”

“Now that is an excellent idea.” Alex nods in approval and gives Kara a bright smile as she unlocks her phone to open UberEats. “So Kara you wanted-”

“Potstickers.” Emma signs at the same time Kara enthusiastically yells the word out.

“You know me so well little one!” Kara laughs, making Emma pause, realising Kara hasn’t called her that in a while.

But she carries on drying her hair before flinging the towel towards Alex’s hamper.

“Em-” Alex starts to complain, thinking the towel would flop part of the way there. But the screwed up towel lands perfectly in the laundry basket. “Ma- huh, good throw.”

Emma bows and approaches where she normally sits in the middle of the sofa.

“Peanut, what do you fancy?” Alex looks up from her phone after putting in her order too.

Emma shrugs and grabs a handful of popcorn.

“That’s for the film!” Alex hollers and slaps Emma’s hand, causing her to jump. “Which you also need to choose what you want to watch.”

“I’ll do it!” Kara super speeds to where she left the USB, plugs it into Alex’s tv and hands Emma the remote to scroll through.

“But first I need to know what you want to eat.”

Emma shoves the rest of the popcorn in her mouth to sign. “What have you already ordered?”

“Chinese and pizza.”

“I’m happy with that. Not feeling overly hungry.”

“What?” Kara blinks in shock especially when Emma can eat a decent amount of food.

“What have you eaten today? Did you have a big breakfast?” Alex enquiries, also knowing it was unusual for Emma not to demand her own food.

“Yes Doctor Danvers, I have already eaten something today.” It was only a banana but Emma wasn’t going to admit that. Her session with Alistair has unsettled her stomach.

“Yea but what was it?” Alex presses but Emma ignores her by focusing on the tv and trying to decide what to watch. Making Alex narrow her eyes. “Emma.”

But her eyes move from Emma to Kara when her other sister motions for her to stop by signing. “Can’t you see something is wrong?”

“I know but I want to find out what!” Alex tries to sign out of Emma’s peripheral vision.

“Leave her alone Alex.” Kara warns, making Alex huff which causes Emma to look over at her and Alex gives her a soft smile.

“So, any idea what we are gonna watch?” Alex asks casually and Kara rolls her eyes.

“Lord Of The Rings Extended Editions?” Emma signs hopefully, knowing the full run time is nearly twelve hours long.

“I’m up for that!” Alex beams at the TV as the menu screen for ‘The Fellowship Of The Ring’ comes up.

“Me too!” Kara claps and settles back into the sofa. Emma smiles at both of her sisters and grabs the blanket draped over the back and places it over their laps.

“Thanks Em.”

The sisters watch the opening scenes fold out, explaining the lore of Middle Earth, the darkness and the moment all things were almost lost.

When the whistle of the Shire plays, Emma’s eyes well with tears and she sniffs. Always finding this piece of music touches her. She feels a hand on each thigh as her sisters reach out to comfort her at the same time and Emma hesitantly takes each hand. Warily to not harm them and being frightened to do so.

‘Rao, is this how Kara feels all the time?’

But Emma tries to push her earlier discovery away and gets lost in the film again.

The loud ringing of the apartment buzzer makes Emma almost jump out of her seat.

“Food!” Kara yells as she flies to the door and down the stairs to grab it from the delivery person.

Emma pauses the film and turns to Alex to sign with a raised eyebrow. “Do you think Kara is secretly a Hobbit?” Emma signs, causing Alex to almost spit out the drink she was sipping. “I mean, she has what, four breakfasts?”

Alex cackles loudly and Emma smiles at the sound.

“What are you laughing at?” Kara asks as she super speeds into the room with the food perfectly balanced in her hands.

“Oh, we were just comparing you to a Hobbit.” Alex teases and grins at the blonde.

“Alex!” Kara looks outraged. “I do not have big, hairy feet!”

“It was Emma’s idea!” Alex motions at Emma.

“Emma!” Kara shifts her focus to her baby sister but Emma shrugs and grabs her pizza off the pile.

“I mean, she’s not wrong.” Alex says as she opens a tub of potstickers for Emma and her to share.

“Alex!” Kara yells outraged.

“Kara!” Alex yells mockingly back.

“Emma!” The blonde signs and the trio start laughing. Alex rests her forehead against the side of Emma’s face. Emma turns her head to nuzzle Alex’s and smiles when she feels Kara lean over and hug both of them. Emma twists to place a kiss on Kara's shoulder.

Alex clears her throat and pulls away. “Shall we press play?”

Emma nods and grabs the remote, continuing the film.

The sisters watch the first film and immediately go into the second one, which to Emma, is her favourite. Especially the scenes with Arwen in.

When they get to the scene with Arwen talking to her father, Emma swallows deeply.

“There is still hope.” Arwen whispers back.

Emma’s stomach clenches at the words. Hope.

“Little one?” Kara turns to look at Emma, hearing her heartbeat changing.

Alex immediately grabs the remote to pause the film when she sees tears fill her sister's eyes and how Emma is desperately trying to hide them.

“No, I’m fine. Please continue the film.”

“Actually I need to use the bathroom!” Kara zips up and Alex pauses the film anyway.

She watches Emma closely as she rubs her eyes, trying to force away the tears. “Em? You know you can always tell me what’s going on? Right?”

Emma nods but doesn’t look Alex in the eye, knowing she’d break. “It was a hard session today, sorry.”

“Oh Em, please don’t apologise.” Alex says and pulls her sister into her lap, hugging her close. She feels Emma stiffen but slowly relaxes in her arms.

Kara comes back and Alex gives her a sad look.

“Everything okay?” She asks while sitting down next to them.

“It was a hard session.” Alex answers softly.

“Oh little one.” Kara places a gentle hand on Emma’s back and Emma can’t hold the tears back anymore as she buries her head into the crook of Alex’s shoulder.

Alex and Kara sadly gaze at each other, unsure what they can say or do as they listen to Emma’s hard breaths and sniffs.

Kara swallows and shuffles closer, hugging Emma’s back. “We got you little one, you're safe.” Kara feels Emma shift and move her hand over her shoulder to grab a hold of hers.

They don’t know how long they stay in this position but Kara and Alex do not move until Emma feels ready. They whisper words of love and encouragement and hope she hears them.

Suddenly Kara’s head snaps to the apartment door as she hears two sets of footprints approach. The door opens before she can do anything as Sam and Lena walk through. They both halt at the sight of the sisters.

“What's wrong?” Sam whispers quietly as she places the takeaway food on the coffee table and goes to Alex’s side, perching on the edge of the sofa.

“Hard session.” Alex answers softly and kisses Sam’s lips.

“Has she mentioned anything else?” Lena asks quietly and watches as Emma immediately lifts her head up and twists her neck to find her. Lena swallows as she sees the tears streaming down Emma’s reddened cheeks, her eyes puffy and bloodshot. “Oh love.” Lena says brokenly and goes to comfort her girlfriend, but halts as she doesn’t know where she can go.

Kara immediately moves out of the way, allowing Lena to sit next to Alex and hug Emma’s back. But Emma has other ideas as she twists and moves her upper body onto Lena and holds her close, burying her head into Lena’s neck but her lower half stays on Alex’s lap.

“We got you love.” Lena soothes while stroking Emma’s damp hair and back. She feels Kara scoot close and Lena signals that Kara can join the hug. Immediately Kara wraps an arm around Lena and places a hand gently on Emma’s lower back.

The four women quietly console the broken woman in between them and each other. Wishing nothing more than to heal Emma’s pain.

In time Emma loses steam and slowly lifts her head from the crook of Lena’s neck and sniffs heavily.

“Hi love.” Lena says gently and Emma nuzzles their foreheads together and breathes deeply.

Emma feels truly exhausted, not having cried like that in weeks, well, since she found out about her paralysed vocal chords.

“Is this the time though?” Emma’s ear picks up Alex quietly whispering to Sam.

“Maybe it will make her happy?” Sam offers back, making Emma turn her head towards the couple.

“What will make me happy?” Emma sloppily signs and Kara shifts so she can see the couple too. A small smile gracing her lips.

“Well, erm…” Alex pauses. “I’ve found I’m not really living here anymore because I’m mainly around Sam's apartment.”

“So, we’ve decided that Alex will move in with Ruby and I.” Sam finishes with a huge grin.

Emma blinks and her eyes dart around Alex’s apartment. She had noticed little trinkets and items missing but thought nothing of it.

“Congratulations!” Kara yells happily and jumps to her feet to hug her sister and Sam.

“Thanks Kara.” Alex hugs Kara back and turns back to Emma, who still looks like she’s processing. “Em?”

She watches as Emma’s eyes refocus and a small smile tugs at the corner of her right lip. She lifts her hands and holds one hand with the other and firmly shakes them. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks Em.” Alex smiles back.

“And, you can totally come crash at ours anytime, use the spare room and have sister nights.” Sam smiles at Emma and Kara.

“Well, not ANY-time.” Alex burrows her nose into her girlfriend’s cheek and Sam blushes and bites her lip.

Emma raises an eyebrow and smirks at Lena. She takes a shuddering deep breath as her body calms down from her breakdown.

“Do we want to finish the film and watch the third one another time?” Kara asks while looking through the takeout bags.

Missing the way Emma whips around to gape at her.

“But then it's not a movie marathon!”

“Kara.” Lena says to get the alien’s attention out of the bag containing burgers and french fries.

“Hmm?” Kara’s eyes are wide as she looks to see what her best friend wants.

“Emma was signing to you.”

“Sorry little one.” Kara says apologetically.

“But then it's not a movie marathon.”

“I agree!” Kara nods and shoves some french fries in her mouth. “Shall we get comfy?!”

“I need to pee.” Emma signs and carefully moves off her sister and girlfriend. But as she takes a step away from them the world morphs around her.

‘Please! Not now!’ Emma’s mind yells and she tries to halt her step, ultimately causing her to trip over her own feet.

“Wow careful Em!” Alex laughs. “Rao you are getting more clumsy than Kara!”

“Hey!” Kara yells back offended, making Lena and Sam chuckle in response.

Emma smiles back at them but moves cautiously to the bathroom door.

“Did she mention anything else?” Emma hears Lena ask as soon as she closes the bathroom door.

“No, she’s been quieter than normal.” Alex sighs heavily, making Emma’s heart clench.

“Like she wasn’t here.” Kara agrees.

“Well therapy sessions can be tough sometimes and it’s good Emma is obviously opening up.” Sam tries to reassure the group while plating up everyone's food.

Emma tries not to listen but her ears can’t help but pick up her loved one’s voices. She finishes what she is doing and washes her hands. Briefly pausing and leaning against the sink.

‘Should I tell them?’ Emma wonders and her eyes lift her to her distressed expression. Immediately she wipes her face and adopts a more neutral expression. ‘They have enough to deal with anyway.’

Suddenly she feels a piercing pain in her head. So severe that if she had her voice, Emma would have screamed out as she scrunches up her eyes. Emma then feels a droplet fall from her nose and her eyes shoot open. Her nose is bleeding. She quickly grabs some toilet paper to stem the flow. But, finds nothing more comes out, the nosebleed seemingly stops before it had even begun.

Confused, Emma repeatedly wipes at her nose a few times to make sure it had indeed stopped.

‘Weird.’ Emma mutters in her mind as she stares down at the blood on the tissue. Her head tilts as she assesses the colour and her eyebrows knit together.

“Emma?” Sam’s muffled voice calls through the door, making Emma recoil away from it. “Are you okay in there?”

Throwing the bloodied piece of tissue into the toilet, Emma flushes it, quickly washes her hands and moves towards the door, opening it to a concerned looking Sam.

“You okay?” She asks as her warm brown eyes seemingly studies the blonde in front of her.

Emma nods and gives her a small smile before moving past her to get back to the sofa.

Sam follows, watching Emma closely and sits on Alex’s turquoise chair. Emma hesitates, not sure where she can sit due to the sofa looking full with her sisters and Lena already on it.

“There’s room for you on here too, it will be a tight squeeze but I think we can manage.” Lena pats the small gap between her and Alex. Emma carefully wedges herself between the two and gratefully takes the plate Kara hands to her. Already feeling a bit hungry.

“Ready?” Alex asks while grabbing the remote.

“Ready!” Sam and Kara yell back and the room is again filled with the sights and sounds of Middle Earth.

-- -- --

Later that night Kara, Emma and Lena glide through the air towards Lena’s apartment.

“I mean, why couldn’t Gandalf have just got the Eagles to fly Frodo and the ring to Mount Doom?” Kara argues with Lena while Emma listens and smiles, enjoying the debate between the two.

“Because they are their own beings plus Sauron had the Fellbeast and the Nazgûl would have seen the eagles coming!”

“Huh, I guess. But! Then why didn’t the fellowship prepare for that? Have a few more elves firing arrows? Problem solved!” Kara declares as they touch down on the balcony.

“If you say so, Kara.” Lena beams at her best friend as Kara gently places her feet on solid ground and Emma lets off her sister.

“Well, goodnight.” Kara opens her arms and hugs Lena tight before turning and giving Emma a hug too.

“Night.” Lena yawns out and opens the balcony door with Emma following behind her and waving goodbye to Kara.

They get ready for bed together and Lena can’t help but notice the far off look in Emma’s eyes. Like her girlfriend was somewhere else.

When they slide into bed, Lena gently takes Emma’s hand and lies on her side to fully look at her girlfriend.

“Hey.” Lena gently whispers.

Emma slowly turns her head and her eyes focus on concerned green ones.

“Are you okay?”

Swallowing deeply Emma turns to lie on her side to face Lena. Her mind races with what to communicate. Should she tell her everything?

“Love, please don’t lie to me.” Lena says, seeing the clogs working in Emma’s mind, and the worry within her eyes. But suddenly Lena is yawning again. “Sorry.” She blinks and widens her eyes more to keep them open.

Emma gives her a small smile and watches her closely. ‘She’s exhausted. Tell her a half truth.’

“I’m nervous about next week.”

“That’s understandable. But we are all with you.” Lena nuzzles her forehead against Emma’s and gently kisses her lips. Her hand slowly trails down Emma’s body.

But Emma pulls back and her smile widens slightly. “Time for sleep.”

“But I want to make you feel good.” Lena yawns out, even though her eyelids start drooping from exhaustion. Emma slowly reaches out and softly runs the back of her finger down the bridge of Lena’s nose.

“No sleep.” Lena whines but feels her eyes closing anyway and a tender kiss being placed against her lips. “Lve yu.”

Emma squeezes Lena’s hand three times and watches her girlfriend fall into a deep, peaceful sleep. She stays there for a while, admiring how serene and stunning the raven haired beauty looks.

Slowly Emma rolls over, picks up her notebook and pencil and faces Lena again. She sits up against the headboard so she can sketch Lena, wanting to capture the moment and take in every detail of her love.

Once her task was done Emma places her things on the bedside table.

“Hope, can you turn the lights off please?” Emma signs and carefully slides down the bed to lay back down. Emma closes her eyes and breathes deeply, willing herself to go to sleep.

But in the dark, sinister voices start playing through her mind. Digging up her fears and dread.

Emma blows a frustrated breath through her nose and turns back towards Lena, opening her eyes to focus on the raven haired beauty. Emma’s breathing becomes heavy as she tries to stay calm, but ultimately her stomach clenches and thoughts begin pouring in of what will be happening this time next week. What will the outcome be of the surgery? Will it succeed?

As if sensing Emma’s distress in her sleep, Lena shuffles closer to her girlfriend and latches on. Unknowingly calming Emma down and relieving the ache in her heart. Emma gently kisses Lena’s head, pushing aside her fears and worries before closing her eyes, to fall into a peaceful sleep.

(Part Thirty Four)

[what-the--curtains]

There are No Wolves in The Desert

(Oberyn Martell x f!reader)

Part 3 - An (in)Decent Proposal

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Summary: Oberyn makes you an offer you cant refuse.

Authors notes: Whoop here part 3 sorry this is taking SO long but I have no MOTIVATION (sang like jean ralphio)😭 Thank you for reading and sharing and commenting I love y all so much💕💕💕💕

TW: Mentions of incest (walder frey), mentions of alcohol, fighting

Word count: 4.9k

Tagged: @evyiione @xsadderdazeforeverx @agingerindenial @ayamenimthiriel

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The large wooden doors of your room slowly creak open rousing you from your restful slumber. You open one eye allowing yourself to adjust to the sun's bright rays that were coating your room's walls, brightening their pastel hues. You cautiously shift up, gaze locked on the door fingers clutched around your knife. Your fist relaxes as two figures enter the room, the first belonging to Shana who you recognized from last night and the other, to a younger girl. Shana walks towards the long table placing down the assorted fruits, breads and wine while the younger girl sits on your bed, slowly unscrewing a teal coloured jar’s lid. Your eyes follow her as she leans forward.

“Are you a Targareyn?” she asks, hand slowly hovering towards your face, intent on applying a cream to the area that had been forcibly rammed into a wall last night.

“No,” you respond, shifting back and out of her reach.

“You look like one,” she offers scooting closer to you determined to sooth your wound.

“Is that a compliment?” you ask, causing her to duck her head down in embarrassment, noticing her reaction, and feeling somewhat guilty you continue “My father was though, so I suppose in a way you are correct. You have a sharp eye, what is your name?” you query hoping to relieve any embarrassment.

“Kaina” she responds, eyes still on the bed spread.

“How old are you, Kaina?” you question, watching as an easiness washes over her as you allow her to apply the salve to your broken skin.

“Six and ten” she says, meticulously dabbing the mixture onto your face.

“Has the prince..ever.. propositioned you, ” you ask cautiously, curious as to the character of the man whose home you had been invited into.

“No, he has no eyes for children,” she says, redonning the jars lid.

“Which is more than you can say for the men of Westeros,” Shana quips as she appears at your side offering you a bowl of fruit which you take with a thank you. You pluck a raspberry from the bowl and pop it into your mouth, the freshness and sweetness delighting your tastebuds.

“That is very true, I knew of one man who married his own daughters,” you say, causing the two women to look at you horrified.

“When you age are you allowed to stay in the palace?” you query, ignoring their disdain for the practices carried out by the Frey family.

“Yes, we are allowed to stay or leave in order to continue our training if we wish,” Shana states

“Training?” you press.

“We are allowed to study here, I took up healing. Others like Shana learn to cook, others care for animals, or they train to fight, whatever they choose and they are allowed to come and go as they please,” Kaina states.

“You’re treated well here then? ”

“Yes, very much so” they both respond almost in unison.

“And are you paid well?”

“Yes, the princes both believe any service provided demands a payment. May I ask why you ask so many questions my lady?” Kaina ponders, her good nature causing you to smile.

“I am no lady, but I do take great value in the way a man treats his staff, especially those who hold less power than he. If I am to make a deal I wish to know whom I am making it with. I have no need to help abusers, ” you state as she recaps the salve that was now absorbing into your skin.

“A wise woman,” Shana states. “The prince is a good man, as is our king.”

“Neither of them would marry their own children,” the younger girl says standing again, horrified.

“Well that is good to hear,” you say with a soft chuckle,

“Do you need us to dress you my lady?” Shana offers, despite already knowing the answer.

“No I am quite alright thank you,” they curtsey and leave you to dress for the day. You pull on the lightweight leather armour before redonning your cloak, opting to leave the hood down, no point in hiding who you were now, at least while you were within the palace walls.

You stroll leisurely down the palace steps, admiring the limestone architecture and the gold detailing glimmering under the mid-morning sun. You watch the heat ripple as it rises off the metallic features. The day's warmth bears down on your face, even in the winter the dornish heat was nearly unbearable and infinitely warmer than Winterfell. Your head turns towards the sound of children laughing and you watch as two small blurs disappear round a corner, in chase of the butterflies flying throughout the palace. You continue through the garden hand ghosting along the Ivy leaves that snaked through the metallic fencing containing the gardens perimeter. You could easily see yourself getting lost amongst the vines, the winding paths leading off in multiple directions towards unknown destinations. You would return here another time, to truly admire the flora created by the old gods and the new. You stay true to your path for the time being, hoping to locate Oberyn so he could make light of his supposed proposition. You follow the faint metallic clammer echoing in the distance, the sound growing louder as you approach a large wooden arena. The training grounds were large, offering a place to train and exhibit the ornate and hypnotic fighting.

Their style was known across the seven kingdoms for being elegant and deadly, a combination you found paired well with at least one dornish individual you knew.

The arena's overhang offers you some shade, a luxury not afforded to those in the arena, you come to rest your forearms down on the palisade allowing your wrists to drape over the bannister as your shoulders relax. Oberyn's armour glimmers in the sun illuminating the sweat beaded over his tanned skin, a few loose strands of hair plastered to his forehead. You watch as he skillfully knocks his opponent to the ground before turning to you. You watch his charismatic features light up as he strides towards you allowing his opponent to regain his footing.

“Your beauty is greater than the messengers lead me to believe,” he states loudly, causing you to look down and shake your head, unsure what he hoped to achieve by shamelessly flirting with you.

“So you were spying on me,” you respond, ignoring his charms, much to his dismay. Your constant dismissal of his advances leaving him wondering if he had finally found someone immune to his charisma.

“We spy on anyone we think will be an ally or enemy to us, “ he says glancing back, not dropping his guard despite his opponents retreat to the arena's far side.

“Must be a long list,” you offer as he places his spear against the panelling, splashing his face with water before bending down to take a drink from one of the taps found throughout the city.

“Prior to his death, we wanted Robb Stark on our side, and you, or Lady Stark wherever she may be, we were told she was a ferocious warrior, ” he states, raising his eyebrows mischievously.

“Don't believe everything you hear. Though I suppose she owes you her life, perhaps a lesson in calligraphy would suffice, your handwriting is quite distinctive,” you smirk watching his head turn in faux shock before returning to his opponent.

“My time was better spent elsewhere,” he shouts back, blocking yet another shot brought forward by the palace guard. Turning he gracefully sweeps the legs out from beneath the man the entire ordeal lasting no longer than a few minutes.

“Pleasures of the flesh have far greater value to me than a pretty note,” he states clearly, turning to gauge your reaction. Despite you declining his advances the subject of sex appeared to have little to no effect on you. There was no giggle or blush that often came in the women of westeros who are told sex is a sacred act for man and wife.

“Too much time doing as you please and not nearly enough time spent doing what you should,” you state, a line your mother had frequently said when you trapsed throughout the forest instead of doing your housework. He looks at you, confusion and glee dancing on his face at your manner, or lack thereof, around him. Being a prince he wasn't used to such a direct tone. Others typically behaved themselves around him, either out of fear or admiration. Though neither were nearly as tantalizing as those who readily disregarded his status with such cutting wit.

“On your left,” you remark, allowing him to catch the oncoming hit just in time. He nods for the man to leave the arena leaving you alone with Oberyn.

“Shall we?” he calls out, and you cock your head to the side.

“You said you wished to practice, you care to try your luck,” he asks, swinging around grinning as he gestures to the large space.

“Luck won't have anything to do with me beating you,” you quip hopping over the panelling and into the arena.

“You need four weapons to defeat me?” he taunts from afar. You shoot him a look as you stab your knife into the ground before removing the quiver and bow placing them against the wall. You turn on the tap and splash your face with the water, flicking the remainder off your hands as you turn and walk into the sun towards your opponent.

“Just two which by my count is one less than you,” you offer.

“I only have one,” he explains

“The spear is long, has two ends, two weapons. Besides you have a shield. Shield counts as a weapon,” you state.

“And you don’t choose to fight without one,” he says, dropping the shield so you have no excuses for his impending victory.

“Don’t need a shield if the enemy is dead before they can reach you,” you explain.

“Cocky”, he says twirling the spear hitting the blunt end into the ground before pointing it forward and bending at the knees in preparation.

“You say as if you are not yourself,” you retort, arms reaching back and removing the swords twirling them before entering your own stance. He’ll make the first move, of that you're sure. He does as you expect, allowing you to stop the hit with your swords crossing them into an ‘x’ and using their combined force to push his spear up and to the side as you uncross them. His underestimation of your strength leaves him off balance as you spin around aiming for his knees. He manages to regain his footing and jumps easily over your sword showing off the flashy fighting style you’d expected of a dornish prince.

“Perhaps not as poor a fighter as you thought,” you state, ducking as he swings his spear around to hit you. Without breaking motion he spins the weapon above his head bringin it down almost hitting you had you not dropped to the ground. Rolling behind him you twirl your swords around and jab the hilts into the back on his knee. He falls to his knees and before he can formulate his next move you stand and kick his weapon out from his hand. He teeters forward and you grab him by the hair tugging it back exposing his throat. You bring your blade to his neck watching his Adam's apple bod as he swallows, eyes looking up to you with what one could only describe as admiration.

“I believe that's a match,” you say, removing the blade and pushing his head forward. He remains kneeling, half in shock, half aroused.

“One and done?” You chide watching as he remains on his knees. It was a sight you could get used to.

“Now there's something I've never been called before,” he chuckles, composing himself and standing back up “You're better than I thought,” he remarks bending to retrieve his spear.

“Is that what the men and women of Dorne say to you?” you taunt, watching as his eyes light up, a smile etched on his face as he searches for a response. “ I was a soldier before I was an assassin,” you explain, closing the silence for him.

“Women are allowed to fight in the north? Perhaps you all are more evolved than I had thought,” he states.

“I never said I was allowed to be there,” you admit, causing him to chuckle. “A murderer, a mercenary, and a liar. What other charming traits do you possess,” he queries winking at you.

“And here I thought the Red Viper was said to have a way with words,” you quip back much to his delight.

“One to one, drop your other sword,” he says, turning back towards you.

“That’s hardly fair,” you retort, more petulant than you’d have liked.

“I thought you would know by now, life isn’t fair,” He remarks and you grit your teeth but do as he requests jabbing your other sword into the ground.

“I should ask you to chop your spear in half,”

“Stop putting it off” he says, shining the spear’s point on his sleeve. It's different now he seems to have sussed out your style and in mere seconds. He lunges forward and you mirror him but he pulls back quickly, dancing out of reach from your sword which swings aimlessly in the air, throwing you off balance. You find your footing just as he sweeps your feet from beneath you knocking you on your back. He swings down but you block it with your forearm, managing to use your free hand to swipe at his ankle. Noticing your movements he jumps back, releasing the pressure of his weight from your arm allowing you to get back up.

“You’re bleeding,” he states, weapon falling to his side, upset at having marked your skin with his blade when he’d much rather have done so with his mouth.

“Stop trying to distract me,” you hiss, upset at being bested so easily. Rushing forward your weapons meet in the air. Metal on wood sounding out as you hack into the spear hoping to break it. As you split the spear in half he allows your force to carry you forward and he maneuvers behind you. A harsh tap on your wrist causes your hand to retract dropping your sword which clammers unhappily to the ground. The spear's blunt end wraps around your waist pulling you into him, his strength more apparent than ever. He brings the bladed end up bracing his arm against your chest and pointing it towards your heart, your body now pressed tightly into his.

“Match,” he whispers softly into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. He lets you go after a minute when he feels your body relax into his, letting you walk off in defeat. He turns back to pick up the broken end of his weapon, and as he does a dagger flies by his head sticking in the wall mere inches from him.

“Chest isn’t a definite kill. The throat is,” you say, your time spent healing leaving you attune to your enemies anatomy.

“I'll add cheating to your growing list of qualities, ” he tuts, throwing the dagger back sticking it in the wall near you. “I could have you hung for a stunt like that,” he states, sauntering over to you.

“Did you have a proposition for me? Or did you only wish for me to come back here so you could be smug?” you query and he laughs watching as you remove the wrist guard from your bloodied arm assessing the gash you’d procured during your fight. He comes over to you placing his hand under your upturned arm caressing it as he looks down at the cut with disdain.

“Come, you should go to the palace healers,” he says softly, offering you insight into why so many found themselves in his chambers.

“No need,” you say, removing the skin to skin contact you so desperately longed for. Grabbing a handful of leaves from a nearby bush you place them in your mouth, chewing them into a paste and rubbing it into the cut, “my mother was a healer. That tree, its leaves cauterize the wound, less pain than fire, less scarring as well,” you state upon seeing his confusion. “Your proposition, my prince?” you ask his eyes going from your arm to your eyes.

“More of a request I suppose. My niece Arianne has gone missing since our last meeting, she was running away somewhere, towards something but someone else got to her first. We have our suspicions as to who has stolen her, but we need evidence prior to the accusation. I had my birds fly around and ask whom to contact, it seemed that you were the one for the job,” he explains.

“Is that so. How do I know I can trust you?” you ask, he’d found you and he’d been good thus far, but anytime you were shown kindness you were hesitant. In your experience it nearly always came with a price.

“I'm sure you're aware, but they have murdered my sister, and my greatest love I will not allow them to take anyone else I care for,” he says, fire in his eyes. It was the most serious you’d seen him. His usual jovity lost in a stoic expression, reminding you of another man you once knew.

“I believe your intentions to be true, but that is not cause for trust,” you explain, watching as nods his head slowly in agreement.

“You cannot trust, because you are unable. I understand why, so I fear nothing I say will ease you, but I swear, no harm will come to you here.”

“Not until you have what you want, at least” you mumble.

“And after,” he reassures, his tone nearly leading you to believe him.

“And apart from payment what's in it for me? If I am to uncover a truth that could start a war. I've spent too long hiding away to risk being found,”

“You have no risk, they think you’re dead, proclaimed it themselves, even if you showed up, they'd never be able to say otherwise. Apart from that, a chance at family,”

“Family,” you scoff, the concept long forgotten. “My family is dead” you say, a lie you told yourself to keep you away from Winterfell, though it was a lie likely to be true, knowing the Lannisters obsession with tying up loose ends.

“The Starks are rising again, Sansa is back in Winterfell, Arya is assumed alive and Jon is leading at the wall,” Oberyn lists off the rumours that had passed by his ears, but they were only whispers, nothing solid enough for you to cling too.

“Even if what you say is true I am nothing to them,” you say, tone remaining level despite the knot forming in your stomach.

“You are there sister,”

“I am not, not anymore, not after I failed them,” you confess.

“How so?”

“You asked me why I was here, I was here to find and plead my case to Danearys Targaryn. At Robbs behest, to help destroy the Lannisters,” you finally admit, a heavy sigh exhaled as you do.

“And I take it you never did,” he watches as a sense of shame, or perhaps it was guilt, wash over you, a crack in your armour.

“You help me find Arianne, you help me bring her home and I will help you reach the mother of dragons,” he states earnestly.

“You know where she is?” you ask head quickly, turning to him.

“Not yet, but I found you, and you were dead, someone alive,” you watch as he pulls a face “should be no problem.”

“And why would you help me,” you query, still unsure of his true motivation for recruiting you.

“An eye for an eye, or perhaps it's purely selfish. An assassin can only go so far. A dragon, now that can take down a lineage,” he says looking down at you.

“I cannot promise her safety, I will not mince words, for all we know Arianne may be dead,” you explain.

“I understand this. Think it over, your welcome to stay here as long as you please, it has been a while since I have faced new opponents, and ones with different training, sloppy as it may be,” he quips, hoping to bring a smile to your face.

“I could say the same of you,” you retort quickly.

“I've never been described as sloppy,” Oberyn states, only partially offended at the insinuation.

“Perhaps you surround yourself with people aiming to please you for too long,” you say, accidentally bumping your shoulder into him, the sudden contact causing a heat to rise in your stomach.

‘Perhaps,” he laughs, noting your flustered reaction, when a man approaches handing him a note which he reads intently. You take the moment to admire his strong features as they concentrate on the note. His brow was furrowed, pouted lips mouthing along to the scripture of the letter before dropping it down to his sides. “As much as it devastated me to do so, I must take my leave from your company, my Lady,” he bows, excusing himself to consult his brother before you can correct him. You continue to stroll through the garden watching a mass of colours bloom around you. You sit on a stone bench wondering how you’d ended up here, wondering if your family was in fact dead, and if any of the Starks truly remained alive.

“You’re the white wolf aren’t you?” you hear a voice call out behind you causing you to laugh.

“What?” the voice demands

“It seems I have many as many names as there are kings these days,” you state.

“Any of them true?” the voice asks as you turn to see the eldest sand snake, Tyene. She was Oberyn and Ellaria's daughter, their first born. She reminded you of Arya, the hardness on her face caused by the brave facade forced onto her.

“I was sorry to hear of your mothers passing, ” you say, turning to face Tyene ignoring her previous question.

“Were you?” she states accusingly.

“I was, she produced and trained all of you after all. You were the only people in Dorne who actually scared me,” you admit.

“If it's any condolence the Shadow Tracker had reached our ears, and my mother was quite impressed with you as well,” she says, knife twirling between her fingers “How did you find him, my father?”

“Unfortunately your father found me. He needs my help, to find your cousin,” you explain hoping to ease her weariness about your place in the palace.

“Who better to take down a lion than someone who lost everything because of them,” she states, trying to see where your allegiances lie. Tyene was always wary when an unknown woman arrived. Concerned they are seeking to use her father to gain power. “Added bonus you look as you do I suppose,” she continues, knife dancing between her digits.

“I wonder why beauty is always what it comes back to? I would be here no matter my face,” you state.

“While I believe you would have been hired, my father has an eye for pretty things. You would have been paid but you wouldn't have been welcomed back to the palace,” she scoffs.

“Are you sure of that?” you question, unsure if she was being truthful or spiteful.

“Yes,” she replies matter of factly

“Well, I'll take that into consideration. Your cousin, Arianne, where was she going the day she disappeared?” you question.

“I don't know,” she mumbles, knife stalling for a moment.

“I don't believe that.”

“We searched her room, we found nothing, nothing but this,” she says, retrieving a small book and handing it to you.

“You give it to me freely?” she hesitates letting it go but her grip eases allowing you to take it.

“If what they say of you is true, perhaps you are the only one who can find her. She can't be left for long. She can't defend herself. All she knows is stitching and art and reading,” Tyene spits, eyes glistening slightly.

“All of which are valiant professions and skills, ones I wish I possessed. They foster patience, skill and planning. They forge a strategic mind, which comes in handy especially when taken by the enemy, ” you explain, your words easing Tyene, though the worry in her eyes remains.

“So she may still be alive,” she questions hesitantly.

“I do not think they killed her at least not yet,” you sigh, tapping the book against your hand “Thank you for trusting me with this,”

“Thank me by finding her,” Tyene says standing up and continuing on her way, leaving you to read Ariannes journal pages.

That night you can't sleep, you stroll through the garden admiring the flora, the colours are ones you'd never thought possible before.

“Running off,” a familiar voice asks and you turn to face the prince who was sitting on a stone bench a book placed precariously in his hands.

“Would you stop me if I was?” you query, returning on your path.

“No, though your dress indicates something else is the reason for your late night adventure,” he says standing up and walking slowly towards you.

“Insomnia, the plague of the guilty,” you state, taking a tiger lily in your hand admiring its markings “even in the summer the north fails to grow such things.”

“Even the plants know, the cold is no place to live,” Oberyn offers, book grasped tightly behind his back.

“Have you been?” you ask, removing your hand from the lily, eyes trailing up to the moon flowers that were glowing under the starlight.

“No,” he huffs, as if the question is preposterous.

“Then how would you know?” you respond smugly, eyes glancing up at him admiring his features as they relax into defeat before glancing down to you brow still furrowed, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “The trees are unlike anything you have ever seen, taller than buildings, older than the race of men. They’ll be here long after we crumble. Their red leaves against the white bark, the time of the old gods still etched into existence. Have you ever seen the snow my prince?” you query turning to face him.

“No, though i've heard the mountain peaks here can get it this time of year, but i've never been possessed to seek out the cold,” he admits, the colour of your eyes more prominent under the full moon, your poetic retelling almost enticing, or perhaps it was just the lips they fell from drawing him in.

“I miss it sometimes,” you confess, offering him a rare glimpse of softness he’d yet to see, “There's no feeling quite like that of being under furs with the one you love, the warmth of a fire as the cold breeze blows over you,” you continue, shaking your head at your ridiculous notions of tranquility.

“It is still warmth you crave then,” he says and you laugh.

“I suppose you're right,” you admit and he chuckles, enjoying your laugh, more melodic than he would have expected. Without your armour he could see the scars scattered across your body, not prominent but there. Evidence of a harder life than he’d expected from a person married to a would-be king.

“Are you not used to such ghastly sights my prince?” you query, his eyes widening at being caught admiring your form.

“I have seen scars before, and yours are hardly what one would qualify as ghastly ,especially considering the body they find themselves etched into existence on. I am merely curious as to their origin, each body tells a story after all,” he says following closely behind you.

“And what is my story” you ask, spinning around to face him.

“That your careless, ” he begins, watching as your eyes caution him “but only for those you are willing to risk your life for”

“Interesting,” you say, running your tongue along the cusps of your teeth, turning and walking on ahead, his eyes following you, feet doing the same.

“Am I right” he asked, more curious than ever. You shrug your shoulder annoying him slightly, not accustomed to your lack of openness.

“And your scars?” you question stopping to smell a lilac bush, he watches as the fabric dips low enough to reveal your chest.

“I have none, I am not careless,” he says, eyes on your newly exposed flesh, you snap your eyes to him “do not mistake my tone, you are a strong adversary, but you take unnecessary risks.” He states.

“Yet here I am,” you say standing up crossing your arms over your chest.

“Yet here you are,” he says, taking continuous steps to you until the space between you both is closed. He’s staring down at you, both hearts beating fast. You raise your gaze to meet his, momentarily lost in his eyes, forgetting your train of thought for a moment.

“I...I will help find your niece,” you sputter out, quickly turning your back to him.

“I am pleased to hear that,” he says letting out a quick sigh at having missed an opportunity to envelop you in his arms and bring you back to his chambers.

“Goodnight prince Oberyn,” you say, not looking back as you begin the path back to your room, your head filled with his image despite your persistent attempts to expel him from your mind.

“Goodnight Lady Stark, or whoever you wish me to believe you to be,” he calls back, watching as you disappear from view.

[swasfews]

Circles 2: Glyphs

I spent a while putting all the circles together before but somehow completely forgot about the glyphs. So I decided to hastily throw another post (that's this one) together to talk about them kinda. And then I had a crazy idea and started going on tangents and this got longer and less singular and more analysis and varied than the other post.

So, all four of the glyphs that Luz has have colours unique to them. Light is yellow, Plant is green, Ice is blue, Fire is orange. Luz learns the glyphs from either examining spells from other witches or by examining something from the Isles themselves. Yeah, everyone remembers all that.

Witches typically draw circles to do magic. Most of the witches on the Boiling Isles have circles that match the coven track they're in and/or what they're proficient with.

Sidenote here that I only just noticed: The Twins actually do have different coloured magic. (at least for this scene?) Edric’s is more teal while Emira’s is all blue.

So here’s a wild idea that I don’t actually think is accurate but still. First, I’m operating on the idea that the magic is coloured on what the witch’s inherent magic proficiency is and most witches will go into the coven that matches that proficiency.

In the last post, I mentioned Eda's circles were yellow, and she was in the Potions track. But, Luz learns the Light glyph when Eda draws a circle for a light spell. And it’s a pretty close match to her magic colour. Maybe instead of Potions, Eda's inherent magic is more closely aligned with Light. It's not a track, but why would the magic drawn from witches perfectly align itself with the covens Belos made long, long after witches have been doing magic? Eda's loud, showy, proud. Bright. It would fit.

That said, Eda decides on using potions as a weapon in Echoes of the Past. Maybe she just defaults back to it.

In contrast to Eda's yellow, Lilith has a light cyan-ish blue. (and occasionally white but the Emperor's Coven members have white and a bright enough blue could easily turn white) Lilith was in the potions track with Eda, but always had the blue magic.

Luz learns the Ice glyph in Adventures in the Elements from the snow on the Knee, and it has a light blue colour.

What if instead of Illusions or Healing, Lilith's natural magic was in Ice? When she begins to learn glyphs from Luz, she goes way in working with the ice glyph. She makes all the statues and works out how to fix Eda's superglyph blob almost instantly by turning it to snow. Her glyph combo there is half Ice.

Then there's also the Plant glyph. It's the only one of the four that seems to match with a coven track and colour. Which, I mean, sure. What else are plants going to be but green?

King hypothesizes that Luz hasn't found other glyphs because there's only the four. It seems coincidental that she'd find them that fast but eh, If they’re the basic building blocks of magic or something along those lines, I guess it’d make sense. The invisibility glyph is presumably based on Light glyphs and Luz speculates about other meanings of Light. We see her mixing some in the trailer, as well.

That part makes sense, especially if they are the only four, but then why the Plant Coven, Belos? The glyphs are basic and represent different things, so why does Plant get a pass in the big leagues? That said, the other covens seem to be pretty broad on their own. Abomination seems to involve sculpting and production in general, Illusion can do more than just project things, and Construction involves things like power boosts and such along with actual construction. They just use the power glyphs that they make and wait hold on

Bump says he’s never seen magic like the kind that Luz does, but the stickers from Covention are explicitly called “power glyphs” by Eda. And they seem kinda similar to me? They’re not circles at all, Amity doesn’t notice that Lilith places the glyph on her and they seem to last until removed. Luz’s are different in that they burn up after use and yet, it kind of seems like we’ve seen them used in a similar way: when Luz and Amity fight Grometheus. they beat it when Luz seems to kind of... apply? a Plant glyph to Amity's Abomination. Grom eats it and explodes when an enormous tree sprouts from inside of it. I’m probably reading into it a bit much, but the way it sprouts makes it seem like it could have used the abomination itself as the fuel instead of just the paper.

Simple guess would be that the Construction glyphs are just paper infused with magic, like staffs or relics but who am I to not make it a big deal.

Anyway, for the Plant glyph itself, I'd go for plant simply being life and growth. Again, wild, but like how the Library in Lost in Language begins glowing bright green when it’s brought to life.

But then would that end up overlapping with Healing and agh why

Most of the covens are specific, so Plant stands out as odd if it's broad enough to be a basic glyph. Bump's got that green magic, so maybe he'd have something to say.

[sukiglycerin]

it’s too cold outside for angels to fly || katsuki bakugou.

* pairing: pro-hero!katsuki bakugou x angel quirk!reader (gender neutral!)

* genre: fluff, angst, actually sfw (wow, luna's can do that?!)

* words: 8.1k (it’s a big baby!)

* warnings: mentions of trauma, reader is insecure but it's not their entire personality, therapy (not a lot of scenes with it), slight intoxication, mentions of throwing up (not much), like one suggestive joke, (light) cussing because bakugou

* original request: All I’m saying is reader with a angel quirk and the reader even has wings AND ANGST (but happy at the end 🥺) WITH BAKUGOU sounds so good 😔 but of course if you don’t want to do that it’s fine no pressure 💕

* a/n: hi 'nonnie! i hope you like you like this! honestly, it turned out longer than i expected (twice the length lol) but i'm proud of this baby. i'd like to note that enko, the nickname bakugou calls reader means 'halo' in japanese and can double down as a name, and an important reminder not to take any advice from the therapy in this fic. i am not a professional therapist, and please seek advice for situations specific to yours. the name of the fic is inspired by a lyric from ed sheeran's 'a-team,' but i promise it's not that dark. thanks so much to @toishi​ and the amazing feedback from @dylanxmin​ for beta-reading this! hope you enjoy!

* synopsis: you were your parents' perfect angel. you listened, and you followed. you didn't become a pro-hero, you stayed inside per your parents' request. it was okay if you couldn't fly; or, at least it was, before katsuki bakugou came along...

your grandmother loved pastries. that’s why you were here, trekking through the cold city in the tokyo winter. you shivered everytime your feathers came in contact with the frigid air, as if they, too, cowered under the looming shadows of tall buildings and bright lights.

so many people roamed the sidewalks, yet any bodily warmth was gone. you regretted not buying a cover for your wings - surely, it'd be an investment despite the price. wing covers were rarely manufactured for your size in japan, mainly aimed for small children just developing a quirk. the extra cloth needed for adult wing covers as well as shipping costs jacked up the price, making you hesitant to buy them. your wings were folded against the outside of your coat (putting them inside gave you cramps), nuzzling against your back subconsciously for heat. your wings were a pale cream colour, slightly more vibrantly mustard-coloured at the tips, and were the most visible part of your quirk.

according to the doctor, your quirk was "angel," but it felt nothing more than a pet name. there was a time in your life that you adorned a halo, but it no longer hovered above you when you looked up now. you weren't granted much power with your quirk; you were barely able to fly with your wings, but maybe you had a stronger moral compass than others? the wings, at this point in your life, were just accessories, as useless as the appendix. they could only cause you pain. you walked mindlessly toward the bakery, snow flurries dotting your hair. the bakery was a rundown, easy to miss place; you would've missed it if you hadn't gone there so many times. the faded yellow paint on the exterior was peeling, the poster on the window ripped and advertising for summer deals from years back. it had only a word-of-mouth reputation to rely on.

there was a worn sticker on the door, right at eye level, which said the name of the bakery in loopy letters: 'the flour road.'

you swung the door open with a jingle, greeted by the scent of baking bread and warmth. the bakery was your grandmother's favorite, specializing in rice cakes and dorayaki. she loved the pastries, for some reason - the baklava especially. she sent you on an errand to buy her some, giving you extra money to buy your personal favorite of dorayaki. to be exact, she pushed the money into your hands and forced you to buy a dorayaki for yourself. it was still warm when the cashier handed you your boxes, which you gingerly put in the bag.

you took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the cold, before you opened the door and found yourself back in the cold winter.

a hand roughly pulled you into an alley, and you found yourself face to face with a masked figure.

"give me your money." the figure pointed to your purse, tugging it.

"i don't- i don't-" you reach to take off your purse, not questioning it. there was simply nothing you could do; besides, the voice was young enough. what if they were simply going through a rough time in life? that was no cause to-

"OI, DUMBASS, WHADDAYA THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" a spiky haired man appeared suddenly, wearing what appeared to be melons on his arms. you suddenly recognized his getup of black, orange, and green; he was a pro-hero. what was his name? zero gravity? zero gr...ass?

"LADY, MOVE ASIDE." he looked you over. "FLY, OR SOMETHING."

"i can't-" but he was already after the thief. it took him less than 30 seconds to capture the thief; he was fast by himself, but was faster when propelled by his explosions.

"well, why are you here still?" he turned to you, the figure from before slung over his shoulder.

"i can't fly," you blurted.

he blinked. "then walk. besides, you literally have-" the figure moaned over his shoulder. "agh, nevermind, gotta take this douche to the police. go home."

the next you see of the explosive melon hero is at a supermarket. his arms are melonless this time, though, and you're not actually sure if he's the melon hero. you only recognize him by his hair and red eyes, but truthfully, it was probably not him. he was muttering something about "the spice not being spicy enough," and "stupid hair-for-brains nagging about the heat."

you felt a finger poke your wings. "hey miss, you have ugly wings." a stubby boy, no more than 5 or 6, looked up at you. smirking, he pushed his own smaller wings out, hands on his hips. "mine are teal-turquoise! yours are boring white."

"uh, okay-"

"mind your damn business, brat. where are your parents?" you could now confirm that the spiky haired man was indeed the melonhero by his voice and vulgarity. melonhero had turned to the kid, standing by your side.

the kid hmphed and walked away, to where his mother scolded him for straying from her.

"you again?" melonhero turned to you. "you really need to learn how to stand up for yourself."

"eh? i was handling it fine!"

"yeah, sure. what’s up with your wings, anyway?" he grunted. "can’t fly?"

"n-no. they're, uh, too weak." it was something hard to admit out loud for you. all winged people could fly, but you couldn't even hover, your wings just flapping up wind.

"too weak?! eh? is that even possible??" he poked one of your feathers. "they seem sturdy enough to me."

you turn your wings away from him, frowning. "it's not that easy. i-i never really had time to learn..."

"isn't that what all kids do in their free time, though? experiment with their quirk?"

"my parents thought it was useless..." you shuffled your feet awkwardly, eyes downcast.

"WORTHLESS?!" you flinched at his sudden volume. "it's your quirk, though, 'wings'?"

you rubbed the back of your neck. "well, not really... it's...." angel. the word echoed in your mind, under the spotlight on a stage. it stared at you in an empty auditorium. 'angel.' the word had negative connotations for you. to others, it was a sweet, innocent nickname, but to you, it meant more.

it represented the weight of your parents' expectations, the burden of your classes' assumptions. it became a ball and chain, reminding you of who you were, who you were supposed to be, and who you could never become. you were your parents' angel, your parents' little light. nothing else.

"'angel,' eh?"

"huh?" did melonhero suddenly manifest a mind-reading quirk? you look at him, but his gaze is above your head.

"halo."

"halo," you repeated, looking dumbly at the flickering ring above you.

"well then, enko, it's nice to meet you," he smirked.

"i'm not enko- i'm y/n-"

"enko’s better. i'm ground zero, the number one pro-"

"melonhero," you blurted.

"HUH?! what's that, moron?!"

"nothing, sorry, continue-" you apologized. what had gotten into you?

ground zero cleared his throat. "-number one pro-hero! ...it's katsuki bakugou to you."

"bakugou, i'm y/n l/n, nice to meet you! oh, and um- where are my manners? -thank you for the other day."

"don't go giving your purse to random men on the street, dumbass."

"it wasn't like that!" you protested. "i mean, what if he was going through a rough time? or, his parents kicked him out-"

"doesn't justify anything. you're so naive," he grunted. "didn't your parents teach you self-defense or anything?"

"w-well, no, not really..." you mumbled. you'd always just been their angel, delicate and thoughtful. you never wanted to disappoint them; always staying inside to clean or cater to their needs. their perfect angel. in their opinion, villains could never touch you if you never went out.

you recalled a time in your youth when deciding on a high school.

"i wanna go to ua!" you'd said. you knew a teacher willing to recommend you, so you didn't need to worry about much.

"honey, no, you can't be a hero..." your father started. "you're an angel, you're our angel, okay?" 

your mom nodded. "it'll be dangerous, angel, and we can't have you getting hurt day after day," she added.

you simply agreed, not wanting to upset your parents. they were always right. being a hero wasn't worth it, anyway, you told yourself. it was an unstable job. you'd entered a private high school near the coast of japan, instead of ua.

"eh?! well, how are you supposed to fend for yourself alone?!" bakugou exclaimed.

"i'm... supposed to stay at home..." you confessed quietly.

"then why are you here?!"

"...i moved away from my family."

"and you didn't learn to protect yourself? get yourself some pepper spray, idiot!" bakugou grabbed your wrist, abruptly leading you to an aisle with pepper spray in it. he briefly paused, then picked one.

"it's on me. i can't have more morons like you to save when you could save yourself." 

"thank you," you said. in all of his vulgarity, bakugou was semi-decent. you wondered why he was so on edge constantly; perhaps it was a trait from being a high-demand hero.

"HEY!" bakugou yelled, making you jump in place. "whatcha smilin' at?!"

you wiped the small grin that subconsciously crept on your face. "n-nothing."

"tch, so quiet, enko." he looked above you. "halo’s gone? fuckin' weird-ass quirk."

"could you... um... nevermind." you originally wanted to ask him to tone down the swearing, but thought better of it. the vulgarity reminded you of your uncle, and you a gagged at the thought of the disgusting man who'd occasionally crash at your family's home completely wasted.

"what? just spit it out," bakugou said. "i don't get offended, unlike deku or something."

"can you... cut down on the swearing?" you ask, then add more quickly when you see his face. "i mean, it's okay if you wanna keep doing it. i can't stop you. y'know, freedom of speech and everything."

"okay," he said with surprising composure. he didn't question the request, instead looking at you intently.

your gaze was set down, trying not to think of your uncle, and the horrors you'd gone through as a child because of him.

"i- um- sorry," bakugou forced out of himself. "i didn't mean t-"

"don't worry," you smiled cheerily. a fake smile, but you tried to convince yourself it was real.

"d'you-" he coughed, "d'you wanna talk about it?" he seemed to be going through something in his mind. "there's a park nearby - god, what did hitomi say? - we can, uh, talk it out? you can vent."

"oh no, it's fine, you're busy, a pro-hero." you said nervously.

"ah- yeah," bakugou seemed to be flustered too. "my therapist though- uh, she's really damn good- i mean, really good-" he pulls out a wallet from his pocket and sifts through cards. "here." he handed you a business card, advertising 'HITOMI YABUKI' in bold.

you blinked at him and accepted the card reluctantly. pro-heroes were really kind at heart, huh? "is she a pro-hero therapist?" you asked.

"her? no, she does other stuff. normal stuff, trauma, quirk stuff, erm- whatever you need. she's an all-rounder."

"oh." you put the card in your pocket. "okay, thank you."

he grunted, accepting the thanks. "need to buy anything else?"

you glanced at your cart. "no, that's all. thanks for everything, bakugou-"

"i'll pay," he blurted. "for it all." he looks surprised at himself, perhaps even angry. "oh, no thank you-"

"i'll do it. i mean it. you didn't even buy much," he muttered.

"o-okay," you said. he snatched your cart from your hand, walking to a self-checkout.

"weren't you gonna buy anything?" you asked.

"eh?!" he grunted while scanning items.

that was the end of the conversation. once he finished, he swiped his card and handed you a bag.

"make sure you use the damn pepper spray."

it was only once you got home that you realized he slipped his number into one of the bags.

you see bakugou again at hitomi yabuki's therapy lobby. he sat casually, earbuds on as he stared at his phone. you debated sitting next to him and decided against it, not wanting to bother him. you didn’t contact his number yet; your hands sweated at the thought. as much as you were tempted, you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of a pro-hero.

you found yourself staring at the man, who was unusually calm at the moment. you stared at his eyelashes, his eyes, down to his nose and lips, and his firm set jaw. your eyes fell to the phone he’s clutching, to the curve of his fingers and uniform nails.

"l/n y/n?" a tall woman called your name. bakugou looked up at you, and for a split second you could see what looked like a genuine smile before it was twisted into a smirk.

"yes!" you stood up and followed her, glancing back at bakugou before he disappeared from your sight. after a short elevator ride, you walked out onto the third floor.

she led you down a short, carpeted hallway to the last door. it was an opaque glass door that said "hitomi yabuki" on a plaque.

"so, what brings you here?" she finally said once the two of you were seated. "um- bakugou?" you said.

she smiled and jotted something down. "is that so?"

"yeah. we met a couple times by accident, and uh, he gave me your business card."

the rest of the session was just introductions - prices, meeting times, and therapy that can be provided. still, you weren’t really sure if you needed the therapy - maybe it’d be suited more for someone else struggling more than you. you didn’t need to use your quirk much; flying wasn’t much your style anyway. what would your parents think if they found out you were taking therapy? they’d surely be hurt, assuming that they didn’t provide a good childhood to you. you could practically hear your mom asking you why you’d waste money on therapy. you took a deep breath as you re-entered the lobby. bakugou was seating in the same place you last saw him, still on his phone. you bid goodbye to the receptionist, thinking out your decisions. your insurance could cover much of the costs for the therapy, but you still wondered if you should spend the money.  these thoughts trailed you as you waited on the sidewalk for a cab, watching your breath billow in front of you.

"hey, enko."

your elbow shot out by instinct, hitting the invader of your thoughts.

"woah, idiot, it’s just me." luckily, bakugou had caught your stray elbow, chuckling to himself. "so the angel does know self-defense, eh?"

you stiffened at the pet name, though you knew bakugou meant well. you could remember each distinctive voice in your childhood. your parents beckoning: angel. your nickname: angel. how everyone saw you: angel. you could never escape it, not with your halo or wings. it was so distinctive, your defining quality. whether he noticed the shift in your posture, he didn’t say. "how was it? hitomi’s great, right?"

you hummed in response, rubbing your wings together for heat.

"are wings supposed to get cold? aren’t they just... feathers?"

your wings ruffled at the comment. you sniffed. "they’re sensitive."

"weird," bakugou muttered under his breath. for a split second, you considered smacking him with your wing, but you stopped yourself before you could execute the instinct.

your cab pulled up by the sidewalk. "that’s my ride." you smiled and waved to him as you entered the car. somewhere during the 15 minute car ride, you mustered up the courage to finally text bakugou.

who knew he was so dirty-minded, anyway? you leaned back in your car seat, exhaling. thankfully, you didn’t text the wrong number or prematurely end the conversation. so, now you were friends with a pro-hero, or so you assumed (friends texted each other, right?). the you from 10 years ago would be jumping for joy at the prospect of befriending a pro-hero, and here you were. you finally booked a therapy session for saturday at 3pm. you checked into the lobby ten minutes early, just as your parents had taught you, and took a seat in the lobby.

when it was finally your turn, you found yourself back in hitomi's office, the familar scent of vanilla and fresh linen wafting in the air.

"i hope you don't mind the scent," she said.

you shook your head. "it's fine." the fragrance was almost reassuring in a way, but you couldn’t pin point it. this time, you allowed yourself to drink in your surroundings. hitomi’s office was spacious, a large window overlooking tokyo’s snow-covered cityscape adding onto the effect. the walls followed a vertical gradient pattern of mint green and light blue decorated with paintings, hanging plants, and wooden shelves yet not in a cluttered way. in the center, against a wall, was a white couch. it had an oddly calming aura to it, as if you'd stepped into a dream outside reality.

"would you like an apple? or some water?" hitomi offered.

you weren’t really in the mood for either, but accepted the water. she gestured for you to sit on the couch.

the meeting consisted of her asking and you answering, the topic changing from family life, to your quirk, to your feelings.

"so, can you explain your quirk to me?" hitomi asked.

"well..." you gathered your thoughts. "obviously, i have wings like an angel. they don’t really do anything, though, just get sensitive to the weather. i used to have a halo when i was young, but it’s faded by now. dunno why. let’s see...." you paused. "i guess i have an inclination to help others? it’s hard for me to say no to things, honestly."

"is it because of your quirk?"

"probably," you admitted. "i’ve always been like this, i think."

"can you fly with your wings?"

"no." you sipped your water. "i guess i never learned. i’d try, but i don’t think they can support my body weight."

"how do you feel about your quirk?"

you shrugged, but then regretted it. you didn’t want to seem insensitive to all the quirkless people who could only wish for a quirk. "it’s- it’s cool, i guess. it makes me unique..." you thought back to your parents’ words, how they’d praised you for such an amazing quirk. when you used to feel bad about your quirk, they’d always remind you that there were children who’d wish to even have a quirk at all, and that you were special. your mother’s quirk allowed her to shine small rays of light through her fingertips, while your dad’s quirk gave him a wing attached to his left arm. it was pretty much useless for anything other than generating wind, considering he didn’t have a right wing to balance him out. their quirks together worked out just right to create you, their perfect angel. hitomi jotted something on her notepad.

the more you thought of it, the more you felt broken. you'd been doing therapy with hitomi for months now, and it had gotten harder and harder to emotionally process. your parents, your family, your quirk; you now saw the things for what they were.

your parents had used you. you were their doll, their perfect obedient angel, and it disgusted you. your hands felt tainted, your wings heavy weights on your back. you were revolted by yourself; looking in the mirror, you couldn't help but gag, seeing not the you of now, but the you of the past looking back at you. you couldn't sleep; tossing and turning and ruffling your wings in frustration. you couldn't stop thinking about your parents, how they restricted you from everything.

you wondered how it'd be different if your parents were better. you wondered if you'd gotten into ua and strengthened your quirk. you wondered how your reputation as a pushover would change. maybe you'd be a hero right now, helping others instead of being so irreparably broken.  you could hear the catcalls from your classmates like bullets beating your wings. angel, the goody-two-shoes who couldn't say no.

not once did you cry. maybe you felt too disgusted by yourself. maybe bakugou was becoming the best friend you'd ever had.

he was there for you. making spicy curry or those awful, equally spicy instant korean noodles - he was there for you, in the same way milk is there for you when eating a particularly spicy dish. he listened to you, and you did the same for him. you laughed and joked together. somehow, in such a dark time, your friendship bloomed. it was strange, really. his reputation as a hero made him out to be aggressive and careless - and while he could brash in word choice at times, you knew he had a good heart. at one point, you’d even opened up to him about your past.

"then deku just completely f- messed up the mission! i could’ve blown up the damn guy, but he had to play mr. goody-two-shoes and just tie him up. and he got all the interview time. what’s even up with that?!"

he talked about his friends a lot. he'd deny his relationship with them being something other than strictly professional, but the way his crimson eyes would deepen gave it all away. he mainly spoke of deku and red riot (though their names would be referenced in cruder ways).

"what if- what if i was a hero?" you asked suddenly.

bakugou lifted an eyebrow. "you'd be a damn good hero if you could manage your quirk. like hawks."

"you think the public would like me?"

"duh. you're pretty, kind, AND fight villains? pretty badass. hell, if i approve of you, anyone would."

you smiled.

"why, though?" bakugou asked.

"curious. i, um, used to want to be a hero. growing up."

"your quirk has potential." bakugou leaned back on the couch. "why didn't ya become one?"

"parents." you flinched as the word passed your lips. thinking about your parents was painful, as if you had to rip off a month old bandaid before you could even get their faces into your mind. "they just... worried," you said. you didn't say anything else.

"betcha couldn't come up with a hero name as damn awesome as ground zero." "i could barely remember it," you teased.

"though, i must say, i do like enko as a hero name. it's like i'm joining an idol group."

"akb48 has nothing on you though,"  bakugou said.

you flushed. "i-i don't think you've looked at them properly, then."

"nah, i have, ochaco's obsessed with idol groups. don't doubt me, enko~" his voice was dangerously close, but he hadn't moved an inch from his original spot. "you're prettier than all the idols combined. tch, how low do you think my standards are?!"

"they're idol groups, bakugou, they practically rely on visuals!"

"eh? who cares? you've beaten them in looks and personality."

the thing about bakugou was that he was always completely honest with his thoughts. his integrity always amazed you, but then again, he was a pro-hero. you were quick to change the subject. "um- then-- what time is it? it must be getting late. i should get home-"

bakugou frowned. "it's late, idiot. eat before you go. i have some leftover tonkatsu and rice, and i can whip up the miso-"

"n-no, it's fine bakugou, you don't need to-"

"idiot, i can't have you starve to damn death on the ride home. eat."

even if you wanted to protest, you couldn't. bakugou's cooking was always to good to pass up, alarmingly spicy or not.

"the rice is still warm in the rice cooker," bakugou finally said, turning towards the kitchen. he knew you'd follow him, and you did.

bakugou busied himself making some instant miso soup and reheating the tonkatsu. you prepared yourself for the spicy of bakugou's tonkatsu; you'd had it once before, and it was quite painful. finally done, bakugou sat to the side of you eating tonkatsu as well, seasoning his with extra chili flakes. he was positively crazy; how did he handle such spice?

you cut yourself a strip and brought it to your lips. the tonkatsu was surprisingly tame for bakugou's cooking; it could've passed for normal restaurant tonkatsu.

"thish ish good," you said in between bites.

"i know," he gritted out, but he looked proud. "would be better with chili."

you shook your head, smiling. "never in a million years."

it was often you thought of this moment. it was so happy, so complete. it was just you and bakugou, simply being. right now, a genuine smile was something you couldn't curl your lips into, no matter how hard you tried. when you did, the taste of something salty crept into you mouth.

something salty...?

you touched your face. it was wet. your head spun, and then it dawned on you: you were crying. you were crying? your eyes focused, and pain throbbed in your head. lights shone too bright on you, heightening your headache, and a foul taste lingered in your mouth. you were suddenly aware of something solid in your hand: a drink.

something else you were aware of was how much you wanted to go home. you could barely remember what led you to a club as you fumbled in your purse for your phone, glancing at the time and unlocking the screen. all you needed to do was go home. you really wanted to go home, but where was home? home was gone. home...

a fresh wave of tears glossed your face, and you ignored the person next to you's advances. you didn't even know why you were crying. you struggled to read your contacts, dizzy, and called the first one you can make out with your hazed vision.

bakugou.

yes, all you wanted right now was bakugou. you wanted him and his warm arms, his endearing words. you wanted him so bad. you wanted him, and his warmth, and his happiness. you wanted his scent of comfort, the smile that made you feel fuzzy. you wanted his voice to shelter you precisely at that moment, you wanted to feel like it was him and you against the world.

"dumbass? hello? where are you? why is it so freaking loud? enko?"

you hadn't realized that a low quality projection of his voice was speaking on your phone.

"b-bakugou," you said, though it came out hoarsely. "bakugou."

"enko? where are you, and why are you calling at ass o'clock in the morning?"

"miss you," you almost said, but instead it came out as "dunno, you," a mix between "dunno" and "miss you."

"eh? where are you?"

you shrugged. "come here."

"send me your location, moron, and stay where you a-"

you hung up to send him your location.

you yawned and rubbed your forehead. everything was loud, everyone was together. and you were alone. it made you sad. you wanted to have somebody. a voice in the back of your head told you that you had bakugou. did you? right, he was coming. did you tell him to come?

you pressed the call button again.

"what is it?" bakugou asked roughly.

"lonelyyyy..." you moaned. "pick me up, baku...."

"idiot, i'm on my way. why the fuck are you so far from where you live?"

"hmm mmmhm," you strung together sounds. "'m sad."

"don't be." he sounded mad. he always sounded mad.

"why are you always mad at me?" you pouted.

"i'm not, dumbass! i'm pulling in."

"hmmm...!"

bakugou almost tore through the door with rage. "ENKO, GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE."

you hopped toward him, wobbling a bit. the floor seemed to turn under you. enko! that was you! right?

"bakuuugoooou~" you cooed, flopping into his arms. "let's sleep."

he smelled nice. his scent enveloped you, a mix of vanilla and caramel that you’d grown so accustomed to.

he stiffened. "dumbass, i can smell the alcohol on you, we’re going the fuck home."

"don’ wanna," you whined. "lonely. wanna be with youuuuu..." you nuzzled more into his chest, finding comfort in his body warmth. you didn’t want to let go, ever. "tch, fine."

the car ride to bakugou’s place was uncomfortable. cars spun by you, lights making you woozy. you almost bashed your head on the dashboard. your seat was uncomfortable, the seatbelt itched you. despite all that, you stopped to stare at bakugou in your daze, all serious and set on the road. he had nice biceps, and his side profile was a sight for sore eyes (see also: your eyes).

"what, enko?" he grunted, glancing at you.

you said the first thing that came to your mind. "you know you smell nice?"

"huh?" he glanced at you, turning in to his driveway.

well, there was no going back now. "you smell like caramel... and vanilla... it’s nice..." you sighed happily, imagining the fragrance.

bakugou didn’t reply, instead parking and unlocking the doors. "get out, dumbass, it’s past your bedtime."

"but i don’t haaaaaave a bedtime," you slurred, stumbling out of the car. bakugou mumbled a complaint before hoisting you over his shoulder. it was probably not the best move, considering the blood rushing to your head made you feel sick. after entering his house, bakugou set you down on a sofa, sitting you upright.

"stay here."

you leaned back on the sofa, feeling suddenly empty. the buzz in your head had not quite left, but the weight of the world came crashing down again. therapy, your parents, your quirk. it struck you that you were probably bothering bakugou and disturbing his sleep; he was a pro-hero after all, lives depended on his health. but here you were, ever so selfish and probably taking a toll on his health.

"drink." you hadn't realized bakugou had put a glass of water in your hands. you simply nodded and gulped it down, hoping to sober yourself up.

you stared at the man glossy eyed, glass in your hand half empty. "bakugou."

"eh?"

"sorry."

"for what?"

"y'know... waking you up... bothering you... i know you're busy, and-"

"shut up, it doesn't matter. i'd rather you here than in the hands of some douche at the club."

"but still, how would i make it up-"

"by sleeping well. off to bed you go."

he started pushing you towards the hallway. "where will you sleep?"

"sofa."

"but bakugou-"

"go to bed."

"i feel sick-"

"hah?"

a rising sensation of bile emerged in your throat. the only words you could get out of your mouth was "bathroom," before you rushed in. it was not a pretty sight - you preferred to skim over the details when recalling it. the details you did not skim over, however, were that of bakugou's care; for being awoken at ungodly hours in the morning, he was surprisingly gentle with your vomiting state, soothing your stomach with warm hands and rubbing your back. after, he gave you a glass of water and forced you to take ibuprofen, though you swore you felt fine.

bakugou's bed was surprisingly comfortable. then again, bakugou did claim to have gone to bed at 8:30 sharp daily during his high school years, so it made sense he still valued sleep.

you were then reminded how you disrupted his.

and how you were now forcing him to sleep on the sofa.

you padded out of his room, wearing one of bakugou's old shirts that he'd graciously lended you, to the living room. he was laying on his back, feet sticking out of the sofa, eyes closed.

"what?" he asked, eyes still shut.

you knew he wouldn't let you feel guilty about intruding his sleep, so you settled upon saying the next best thing. it was partially true, anyway.

"'m lonely without you." your voice came out smaller than intended.

"huh?" he sat up, groggily looking at you.

"it's- kinda cold, and y'know, with your quirk..."

he grunted and obliged, walking toward his bedroom. you stood behind him, staring at his back; that was surprisingly easy.

bakugou slept with his arms around you, so you were nestled comfortably into his chest. this position felt strangely domestic; something lovers might do nightly. but you and bakugou weren't lovers, you were friends. image of you and bakugou involved romantically faded into your mind; coffee shop dates, cooking together, waking up next to each other. there was a sudden loss of breath in your chest, as if your heart had become weightless and was lifted by a thousand of butterflies taking flight. bakugou... romantically? it hadn't crossed your mind. still, you could see it so vividly in your mind; you, becoming his dumbass, his and his only. you could imagine how he'd look at you, full of love in his eyes, and how he'd gently kiss your forehead in the morning. was it so bad to want that? the more your thoughts indulged you, the more his body warmth drowsed you, his calm breathing adding to the effect. he was practically nyquil in human form. you found yourself nodding off in his arms, not before mumbling a quiet "what if i liked bakugou?" and clutching his shirt closer to you.

you were far too engrossed in the realm of sleep to hear bakugou's faint but hopeful reply of "i'd hope so, dumbass."

at your next therapy meeting, you told hitomi about bakugou. it was unplanned, spilling out of your mouth as soon as she asked why you looked so anxious. you couldn't like bakugou. you blamed your slightly intoxicated past self for planting such a thought in your brain, but you knew it just admitted a lingering feeling from in your heart. you spared her the details of the throwing up and the guilt that gnawed at you regarding how bakugou cared for you.

"it's... childish, right? like an old schoolgirl crush," you flushed, finishing your confession.

hitomi shook her head. "it's good to feel this way, actually. it's quite healthy for a twenty-something like you to harbour such feelings; it allows you to explore your feelings and relationships healthily."

even so, crushing was so damn frustrating. it's one thing to like a person; it's a completely different experience after admitting to yourself, yes, they're my crush. when you were younger, you very rarely developed crushes (as influenced by your parents) and even less were able to act on them. but now, as an adult, you had the freedom to act (or not, considering how your nerves constantly started to act up around bakugou). you decided to push the feelings down; you were just friends, and bakugou had no time to pursue a romantic relationship.

if having a crush was like an addiction, rehab was torture for you. gone were the days of seeing bakugou as platonic; you couldn't stop your heart from swelling whenever he recounted his day to you. bakugou had now become attractive, from his tight, bulging muscles to his hard chest. it did not help that you had to see him in his hero costume flaunting those features every other day on the news.

you convinced yourself bakugou harboured nothing but platonic sentiment for you, but he never failed to send your heart aflutter with discreet compliments he hid under rough comments. you started leaving early whenever the two of your hung out under the guise of other plans (that in reality didn't exist), and tried to always cut conversations short when you bumped into each other in public. he was ground zero, pro-hero, and you were just a civilian who could barely maintain their quirk.

you were just starting your quirk therapy, but you couldn't expect major changes a week in. bakugou had said your wings looked brighter, but you assumed he just said that to make you feel better. you could hover off the ground for less than a second now, but your wing strength lacked too much to be able to do anything requiring more strength. your halo was still absent, and you couldn't figure out how to make it reappear. there hadn't been much research done on the essence of halos; hitomi said not to worry about it regardless.

flap flap flap.

"oi, dumbass, you're gonna create a tornado in here."

flap flap flap.

"i'm practicing flying."

"well, you're going nowhere. d'you want me to call hawks or something?" flap flap flap. 

you turned to bakugou, folding your wings neatly. he had the same expression as always, slightly disapproving and tired. your eyes meet his momentously; but they fall down immediately to his lips. lately, this kind of thing had been happening often. bakugou acted like he didn't notice you'd been different lately, but you could tell he wanted an explanation.

you acted on your impulse, your mouth opening and words tumbling from your mouth.

"bakugou- idon'twanttoruinourfriendshipbutijustwannasayitnow- ilikeyou."

"what?" why did you do that?

if this were a texting conversation, you'd leave him on read. if this was a tweet, you'd make your account private. if this was a video call, you'd end it.

alas, this was real life, so you resorted to the next closest thing: you ran. you ran faster than any shoujo girl and with more conviction than any shounen boy, and then you were lost. damn cities.

panting on the sidewalk, wings heaving up and down, you realized what you did. staring at the edge of the pavement, where the curb met the street, hands on your knees, it hit you.

you cussed and yelled at yourself mentally, and though a small part doubted bakugou even heard you, you didn’t allow yourself to have hope. it was game over. you let your feelings override rational thought, and you ruined what was arguably the best thing going on in your life.

you were interrupted by an itch in your feathers from being so cramped while folded. they ruffled against the cool air, distraught. you stretched them out, observing your surroundings and allowing yourself to cool down. the breeze was a satisfying sensation against your feathers, and you hovered just a moment when they flapped.

"mommy, wings!" a kid passes you on the sidewalk, pointing. his mother hushes him, but you smile at him.

the next few days were rough, particularly because you were avoiding bakugou. it was definitely not a good idea, but it was a temporary patch over the open part of your heart.

this was not one of your healthy coping mechanisms.

did he text you? did he call you? you didn’t know, because you turned off your notifications. you knew you were just making things more awkward, even more so if he hadn’t heard you at all. it gave you all the more excuse to ignore him longer.

now, with evenings to yourself, your mind wandered more. your thoughts drifted into a vast desert of tangled constellations in your mind, tightropes you’d tread that would lead you to a random destination. sometimes it led you to random memories - other times, it wasn’t as random, leading you to painful manifestations in your heart. these were the things you tried so hard to ignore, but rang so true.

you were reminded by the constellations in your mind that you were being terribly selfish to bakugou; not even considering his feelings. bakugou didn't deserve you. maybe stars twinkled in your mind, but the bluest ones burned you to the touch. you needed to get over bakugou.

that wasn’t to say it didn’t hurt, trying to get over bakugou. the stars in your mind dimmed, and perhaps, at one point, the constellations were reduced to thread; knotted, tangled, and hopeless.

maybe it was better when the string had been unkempt, because now it unraveled. you cried, and cried; in the shower, at your desk, doing chores. tears, hot and sharp like newly shapen diamonds, dripped down your face. your face was permanently marked by the wounds the diamonds left, and contrary to the stars, your eyes were red and hot. your thoughts unwound like string - there was a clear pathway now, but it was tainted by the shape of the knots there had once been.

everything hurt when you thought of bakugou. your swollen eyes became lifeless as memories of him overtook you. they controlled you. you missed therapy session after session, too scared to go to the place which bakugou had connected you to. sometimes, you’d sprawl across the ground, stare into your ceiling, and feel yourself vanish into something, a dark void of nothingness. he had cared so much for you - too much. why had he? why couldn’t he have left you, that one day you were almost robbed? why couldn’t you just have stayed the way you were? why did you have to find the truth in things? ignorance was a bliss you woke yourself from. ignorance, the dream which from you woke to find a nightmare, reality. why did he have to be him, the stupid pro-hero with a heart that bled kindness into yours? why couldn’t he have stayed a two-dimensional public figure, the careless and angry ground zero? why did he have to be in your goddamn life and ruin it, entangle everything into one big mess? you hated him. you hated him and his stupid endearing insults, him and his rugged smirk that pained your heart so, him and his eyes that held sparks and diamonds and you. deep inside, you knew it wasn’t true; hate was just a name for an indefinably strong feeling you had for him. you knew you didn’t hate him, you knew you couldn’t hate him. you told yourself you did to distance yourself from him. the distance between you and he only grew. your memories were tarnished with pain, his image blurry and wrinkled in your eyes. katsuki bakugou was just someone, no one.

this was the feeling of agony, this was the sight of pure hell, and this was the sound of you burning your heart. distance between you and the man named katsuki bakugou grew, as did your descent into pure madness.

until the distance between you and he was less than a metre.

you had not bothered to tame your hair; it was a bit overgrown and sprouted a couple split ends. you were dressed in a stained shirt, your face not even mentionable, and your heart was beating in your ears. you felt yourself dragged quite forcefully down to sanity, as if opening the door suddenly put gravity into effect.

because here he was, katsuki bakugou in all of his perfect glory, standing on your doorstep.

the little shit refrained from making a comment about your current state, but you could see the comment appearing in his eyes and vanishing as soon as it came. you watched his eyes go from the state of your face down to your unkempt attire. he, on the other hand, looked unaffected. he was sporting a t-shirt and jeans, hands shoved into his pockets. the only indicator, which was minuscule at best, that he had changed at all was the red at the corners of his eyes and slight eyebags. he looked shocked at the sight of you.

"y/n..." you almost fainted on the spot.

you weren’t not jumping for joy in ecstasy at the sight of him, and you didn’t feel like a shoujo protagonist at the moment. it was something different.

"again," but your voice was too hoarse to be heard. your mouth opened and closed, you coughed, and repeated yourself. "s-say it again."

"huh?!" it was nice to know someone hadn’t changed after all that time.

"my- my name..."

"eh? enko."

you sighed, your face indifferent. you weren’t exactly disappointed by his reply; it brought memories upon memories of happier times with him.

"well, what do you want?" you asked, rubbing the side of your face.

"what- what the fuck is going on?" he gestured to you. "i should be asking about you. what the f- what happened to you?!"

"i-"

"enko, i don’t get any of this shit. this relationship crap. what do you want me to do?! first, you act weird as shit- because of what?! i don’t fuckin’ know. you avoid me - don’t think i didn’t notice - and then suddenly you spew shit and leave?! i don’t see you for a goddamn week, you don’t answer your damn calls or texts, and suddenly i’m the damn villain and i’m supposed to give you time or shit to figure things out, and when i can finally fucking see you, you look like actual crap?! hell, i should be the one with deteriorating mental health with all of the bull you put me through! if you want something, if you don’t wanna be friends or shit, just goddamn say it to my face! i’m not good with people, enko, goddamnit! tell me what’s wrong!"

you stood in shock. relationship..? you shook his words away. you hadn’t realized how much this took a toll on bakugou, too. he looked away - something glinted in his eyes, but you couldn’t tell exactly what.

"god-fucking-damnit," he grumbled. "...are ya gonna let me in, or what?! it’s cold out here!"

you didn’t think about how bakugou’s quirk involved producing heat, and let him in unreluctantly, stepping aside. "sorry," you mumbled.

he took off his shoes, and you motioned for him to sit down on your couch.

"explain it to me," he demanded. "what in the goddamn world has happened tot you? did someone do this to you?!"

you refrained from saying technically, it was you, and settled on: "no." it was apparent he hadn’t heard you that day. "just- it’s nothing. i was being stupid, a-and i’m okay now." it was a lie.

"do you take me as an idiot?" he asked. gears shifted in his eyes. "sit down," he said, suddenly calm.

you did so, sitting as farthest as you could from him.

"closer," he gritted out. you scooted a centimetre. "closer." another centimeter. "clo-ser." he pulled you so you were sitting angled toward him, knee brushing his.

"baku...gou?" so many questions flashed in your mind.

"confirm something for me," he ordered. "what exactly did you say to me before running away?"

"i- nothing. it was nothing, i told you, bakugou."

"tell. me. i don’t care if you quoted freud, told me a failed joke, or what. tell me."

your mind was devoid of possible jokes you could use to lie.

you opened your mouth, forcing the words out with all your might. "i don’t remember the specifics," you rambled. "i don’t think i was in the right state of mind-"

"spit it out."

"i think it went something like ‘i like you’ or something?" your pitch rose with every syllable.

"tch," a smile was on his face. "thought so." his hand was suddenly on your cheek, and his lips were on yours. he tasted like caramel. your eyes widened, and you pulled away, sputtering.

"what? what d’you mean, ‘thought so’?!"

"idiot, i like you too. also, when did you last brush your teeth?"

"i- that doesn’t matter. bakugou... i don’t think that this relationship is good for us. as friends or whatnot."

"huh? why not?"

"look at me. look at you. i can barely handle my quirk, and you’re a pro-hero who uses his quirk to help people. i can’t really do anything."

he mumbled something under his breath. "enko, do you think i care about any of that? i don’t care if you have the strongest quirk in the world or none at all. you’re strong - and i don’t say this ‘cause i like you - you’re kind, you see the best in people." he paused. "people don’t give me the time of day ‘cause they think i’m too irrational. brash. careless. but you? you see past that, you don’t care. you work hard no matter what people say. people-" his voice caught in his throat, "people say shit to you, and you don’t care. you keep going."

he saw you... like that? your face heated up.

"don’t be gettin’ all shy on me," he grunted. "tch. come here." he pulled you in for a hug, his arms wrapping around you and narrowly avoiding your wings. you flushed, holding him tight and inhaling his caramel scent. you squeezed your eyes shut, wishing to hold him like this forever.

“hey, enko,” he whispered into your ear. you looked at him, who was currently looking up and pointing. “halo.”

[tllthesundies]

Anonymous said:

hi! i love the entertainment fic :) can you please write the part when they are celebrating louis’ birthday together, from harry’s pov?

–––––––

Harry hears the front door open, then close.

He remains indifferent as he stirs the small pot with pesto sauce in it to keep it from burning. He, also, keeps his eye on the boiling noodles in the bigger pot. But he’s listening to Louis’s footsteps and the jingling of keys in his pocket.

“Okay, rockstar,” he hears Louis’s voice, becoming louder the closer he approaches. “I know I take care of everything, and I recognise that you live in the middle of no man’s land, but I didn't actually think I'd have to include a lesson plan on keeping your doors locked. Things happen, even out here.” He pauses, and although Harry keeps his vision on the food, he sees Louis in his peripheral lean against the counter beside him. He’s wearing his jean jacket, some grey band t-shirt on underneath, and pairing it with boyfriend jeans. “I mean, it's California.” Harry can’t help sparing him a brief look, anyhow, quirking an eyebrow as he stirs the pesto. He doesn't respond to Louis. Louis watches for a moment before pushing himself away from the counter to instead lean his hip against it. He sighs. “What are you doing?”

“Making dinner,” quietly and casually replies Harry. He turns the heat for the spaghetti off. “I thought we could eat while we plan. Are you hungry?”

Louis nods.

“Haven't had anything since lunch.”

Harry glances back at a cabinet somewhere behind Louis and points to it. “Do you mind grabbing plates for us and setting the table? They're in that cabinet.”

“Yeah, sure.” When Louis disappears, Harry takes the pot to drain the noodles. “Do you want a specific colour?” he decides to ask Harry.

“Um,” hums Harry over the sound of pouring hot water and wet noodles being dumped into a strainer. “Honestly? I'm feeling teal.”

As Harry finishes draining the noodles, pours pesto sauce on them and mixes them, and finishes the vegetables, he glances repeatedly, briefly, at Louis. He sees him with teal and olive green plates and sets them up on Harry’s table. He, also, tries offering help, but Harry shuts him down immediately, each time, and sends him to just sit at the table. His hands shake just a little bit when he puts each food back into their respective pots–the ends of his nerves are on burning ice and he can’t make himself look at Louis for very long, if at all. He’s just on edge for the truth he hasn’t told him, but he takes a silent breath to clear his head.

“Most of everything,” Harry says, after he’s set everything on the table and gently plops into the seat beside Louis.

Louis blinks up at him.

“What?”

Spooning noodles onto his plate carefully, Harry repeats, “Most. You take care of most things.” He offers the spoon to Louis with a small smirk ghosting his lips.

Louis breathes out a soft chuckle, taking the utensil from Harry.

He shakes his head in reply.

He waits until everything is on their plates to take off his jean jacket. Harry watches him remove paper from inside a pocket, then hangs it on the back of his chair. Louis unfolds it, glancing up at him. “I don't know what you've got planned,” he begins, “or anything, but I made a list, anyway, to help jumpstart ideas. You know Calista, so, I kind of presume you know what she likes. But—just in case.”

Tentatively, Harry takes the list Louis gives him. He swallows as invisible as possible, and his eyes roam over all of the ideas Louis’s written down: Frozen themed - extremely popular concept still; Pink strawberry theme; Typical animal zoo theme; the birthday party concepts keep going on and on, and the longer Harry continues reading the list, the more those icy ends of his nerves burn more. It becomes overwhelming for his chest, and–he has to tell the truth. There’s too much devotion and dedication in this list to keep his façade going. Leaning back into his chair, he finally gathers the courage to look at Louis, and says, “This list isn’t going to be useful. Don't be mad at me.” Eyebrows narrowing, a puzzled look comes across Louis’s face. “I lied to you.”

The fork in Louis’ hand halts.

He blinks slowly at Harry.

“What are you talking about?” he asks. “Why am I here, then?”

For a split second, Harry’s confidence wavers. There’s a hesitancy he can’t help having, and one he’s not used to controlling – and as observant as Louis is, he probably sees the moment he wavers. And the controlling side of Harry hates that possibility. But he looks Louis directly in the eye, runs a hand through his hair, and speaks in a quiet voice. “It’s your birthday in just a few days. I—I wanted to . . . give you some kind of celebration to show my”–the words continue getting stuck in his throat; he has to spit them out, to warm them up–“. . . appreciation for everything you’ve done.” He pauses, to gauge Louis’s reaction. He looks–unsure; wondering; still confused, albeit a little more understanding. “Look, I’m not the best at, uh—expressing my feelings for people. Not that I have feelings. But”—he rubs an eye with his knuckle, becoming frustrated with himself—“you know what I mean.”

He took Rachel’s advice, but maybe he went too far this time. He lied to get Louis to agree to this. He lied because he didn’t know any other way to go about this. He doesn’t know how to just–outright ask someone such a simple thing like hey, I want to celebrate your birthday, would you like to come over? And it’s far more awkward because he purposely hasn’t been the most pleasant to the exact person he wants to celebrate.

He’s trying.

Probably in his own twisted way, but he’s trying.

And the silence from Louis stretches for far too long – to the point Harry gets uncomfortable. But he doesn’t show it.

“I don’t know what to say,” Louis says, after some time, words just above a whisper.

“Say nothing,” Harry chooses for him. “Consider this a . . . I recognise your hard work, Louis. You’re always on time, prepared, and organised. I’ve never had to tell you how to do your job, and that takes a lot of pressure off of me. So, thank you.” That last part stings his throat when it comes out. But not in the wrong way. “Again, consider this a congratulatory party for two. Nothing more.”

Louis stares at him.

“How did you know?”

“Résumé,” Harry simply answers.

A small beat of silence.

Louis narrows his eyes at him. “I never put my age or date of birth on any résumé.”

“Résumé,” Harry repeats, intentionally curt.

Harry’s not going to tell him from which source he acquired the information from. He wouldn’t blow Niall’s cover like that. Niall had questioned him plenty enough when he had called him. Why do you want to know? Niall asked, even though he had already given the information to Harry. I just want to be nice, is all Harry answered with.

He wasn’t lying.

“Fine,” Louis replies cooly. “Creep.”

Harry puts on an unimpressed look, staring directly into Louis’s eyes as he chews his food. After swallowing, he says, “That’s a big accusation coming from someone I could fire.”

Louis smiles, smug.

“See, that’s the beautiful thing . . . you can’t fire me,” he retorts.

Harry shakes his head, and he fights the muscles in his face that are around his mouth that desperately are trying to lift his lips at Louis’s reply. He can’t let that happen. His mind races with other topics to bring; with other distractions.

“Listen,” Harry says, “I have a cake for you.”

“Where?”

Harry shakes his head again.

“We have to make it,” he tells him.

Louis looks cautious. “What flavour?”

“Chocolate.”

A pleasantly surprised look crosses his features. “That’s my favourite,” he says. “Lucky guess?”

“You could say that.”

Dinner continues quietly. The ends of Harry’s nerves have started to warm up, evaporating the icy burn and replacing it with a normal temperature. His heart stops beating inconsistently and begins functioning like a normal human being. However, the same icy feeling starts to show itself in Harry’s mouth; words flow uncontrollably out of his mouth. Harry’s not a talker. He knows how to talk. He knows how to respond to people, and how to maintain conversation, but he doesn’t generally start the conversations unless he has no choice. Louis looks a little amused by him, but he does his best to ignore it. He, also, tries to get Louis to talk about himself, so, that he has some semblance of control over his mouth, but it doesn’t work.

Harry notices Dolly sauntering into the kitchen in his peripheral as he loads the dishwasher. She has her mustard yellow turtleneck on still that Harry had put on her this morning, her collar matching impeccably. She comes right over to Harry and peers into the dishwasher, but Harry scratches behind her ear as a warning before gently swatting her away.

She mews loudly at him, offended, she wanders over Louis.

Harry rolls his eyes at her.

“Look what you've done,” Louis speaks up.

Harry looks over his shoulder at Louis as he messes with the controls on the top of the dishwasher.

Snorting, Harry opens a drawer and slings a clean dish cloth over his shoulder before making his way over to Louis. “She's just mad I wanted to keep her from hurting herself,” he tells Louis. “She'll come around in ten minutes and act like it never happened.” He lifts a hand and gently caresses Dolly’s neck. But Dolly tries to hide from him by burying her face into Louis's armpit.

Louis laughs, surprised.

“Oh, no.”

Harry just puckers his lips and gives her an air kiss, and chuckles, smiling. “She always comes back.”

Louis bends his head and drops his gaze to Dolly. Harry watches the gentle way he rubs the top of her head and the rest of her body. He’s so much more familiar with her than when he had first met Dolly. He had been jumpy, a little scared. Now, they’re friends. Harry turns his head away and walks to the pantry.

“So, I've got,” Harry begins, and stops. He grabs the chocolate cake box he sees hiding on the top shelf, and stretches his arm up to get it. The matching frosting container is nearby, and he grabs it, too. He reads the back of it before continuing speaking. “Chocolate frosting. And”—he draws out the word until Louis rolls his eyes, telling him to get on with it; Harry's composure breaks, a grin breaking across his face as he stammers out his words because of his breathy laugh—“could you get the eggs out, please?”

Louis probably thinks he’s annoying.

It’s all on purpose.

Louis squats down to release Dolly from his arms. She jumps out of his grip, but remains by his feet. He washes his hands, first, then puts the eggs he retrieved from the fridge on the island.

Harry comes up beside Louis who’s reading the instructions on the back very carefully, and just dumps the oil, cake mix box, and frosting next to the eggs

Harry finds his measuring cup, and gives it to Louis to use for the oil and water. Louis asks him senseless questions; if he wants to do the eggs, et cetera. Louis has him sniff the inside of the cake mix bake to see if it smells good. It’s very chocolatey. And while he lets Louis do whatever he wants with the cake, he searches through his playlist to find music to fill the silence, so, he doesn’t have to talk too much. He finds Louis a bowl, a pan to fit the mixture into, and preheats the oven.

Harry sticks his finger in the bowl last minute, making a pop sound upon releasing his finger from between his lips.

“That’s really tasty,” he says.

Louis’s unimpressed.

“Tell me that when you get salmonella.”

“Can't wait.”

Louis shakes his head.

As they wait for the cake to fully bake, they work together cleaning all of the dirty utensils and bowls. They clean the island. Dolly stays silently crowding their feet. Harry can feel Dolly rubbing her head against his ankles, then attempts to climb onto his feet to lay down on them. Harry internally sighs.

“Look,” murmurs Louis.

Harry hears a smile reflecting in his voice.

He doesn't remove his gaze from the whisk he's washing.

“I know she's there. I'm ignoring her.”

Then it happens very fast:

Harry feels a small puddle gather on his feet and the bottom of his pants that cling to his skin. He hears Louis’s shocked laughter, but he doesn’t look at him as he breathes in a sharp breath to calm himself. Every fucking time.

“She—”

Harry's eyes close in pain. “I know. I wish I could say this hasn't happened before.”

While Louis’s still giggling and picks Dolly up from his feet, Harry excuses himself to go change his pants, then reemerges to find Louis feeding Dolly from the palm of his hand.

Louis looks over his shoulder at Harry, a single eyebrow raised.

“Better?” he asks.

“No,” Harry answers immediately. He pulls out the chair beside Louis, turns it around to sit backwards in it. He crosses his arms on the back of it, and gives Dolly an annoyed look that she ignores entirely in favour of the food she nibbles on in Louis's outstretched hand.

Still highly amused, Louis smiles, looking at Harry. “She's fine. Why'd she do that?”

“She does it when I'm absent too much” Harry explains. “In her cat mind, she thinks if she vomits on me, I'll be forced to clean up after her and take care of her. I don't know. Cats are—they have strange minds. I just think it’s only my cat because she has anxiety problems.”

Closing his parted lips, Louis shifts his gaze over to Dolly. She's trying to bite down on a hard piece she got. Harry watches them both. “Did you want to, like, watch something?” Louis asks, glancing briefly at Harry. “While the cake bakes?”

Harry nods.

“What do you have in mind?”

Shrugging, once, feebly, Louis says, “I don't know. Maybe a movie? Comedies are nice.”

Harry stands from his chair, and pushes it back in normally. “It’s your birthday; you get all the privileges of picking and holding the remote.” He walks past behind Louis and into the front room, and sits down in the left corner of his settee.

After letting Dolly tackle the last couple of pieces of her cat food into her mouth, Louis picks her up and takes her with. He tucks his left leg underneath his right one when he sits down on the settee. There's a space between their bodies that isn’t too enclosed to make Harry uncomfortable; and he averts his gaze to the television, so, that he won’t continuously stare at Louis in his peripheral vision. He can’t keep doing that. He can’t keep–looking at him more than he needs to.

It’s dangerous.

Harry places the remote in Louis's outstretched palm.

Louis shifts through channels for too long; and when he enters Netflix, he spends too much time reading each and every description.

“By this rate,” says Harry, breaking their long held silence, “the cake will be ready before you settle on something.”

Louis turns his head, tilting his head in a look. “Well, I'm not much of a TV person, to be honest,” Louis admits. “What do you recommend?”

“I told you,” says Harry, staring straight at the television still, “your birthday, your choice. . . . But . . . if you really want a recommendation . . . There's Something About Mary is a very good romantic comedy.”

Louis blinks. “What's it about?”

“This guy Ted — Ben Stiller plays him — wants to reconnect with his old prom date back from high school he had a massive crush on, so, he hires somebody to track her down and . . . it's, like, really messy, but what rom-com isn’t? It's a hundred times better than it sounds,” Harry promises him.

Louis seems to consider it.

Then he nods.

“Sure. Let's watch that.”

Harry looks over his shoulder at Louis as he stands from the settee. “You sure?” he asks.

Harry kneels in front of his small but wide bookcase full of DVDs. He quickly looks over every case until he finds the one he’s looking for. Turning the player on and popping in the disc, he returns to his spot on the sofa. Harry’s seen this romcom a thousand times, so, though he keeps his eye on the television, he doesn’t try to catch up with everything that plays out. Instead, he listens to Louis’s laughter, and distracts himself by dragging his forefinger across his lips for something to do. When the stove timer goes off, he jumps up to get it, and Dolly follows behind him.

“It's done,” Harry calls out. After he puts the cake on the counter on top of a dish cloth, he tests the idle with a toothpick. When he looks up to see where Louis is, he finds him by Harry’s walls of picture frames, cradling Dolly in his arms as his gaze roams. Harry decides to act indifferent and let a hard feeling pass through his stomach, and raids through his pantry to find the frosting. “Louis. Where's the frosting?” Harry feels Louis come up beside him a moment later. “I gave it to you. Where could it have disappeared to?”

Taking a step back, Louis stretches an arm out to open the freezer door. He reaches in, and then he closes it to hold the small container of frosting towards Harry, in the air. “Right here,” he says, wiggling it when Harry looks at him, gaze falling on the container. “I put it in the freezer.”

Harry pauses, lips parting. “Why did you put it in the freezer?”

Louis raises both brows at him in a way that the answer should be obvious. “Because room temperature frosting is disgusting? It's only good when it's cold.”

Gently, he tosses it on the island.

Harry's eyebrows pull together as he steps back and pulls the pantry door closed. “Uh—I hate to inform you, but frosting is good no matter what temperature it is,” he says in a vaguely defensive voice.

“Now you're just being gross,” comments Louis, looking briefly at Harry when he situates himself in front the cake, his lightheartedness subtle. Harry chooses to just busy himself with removing the cake from the pan, turning his back to Louis. “Oh, no.”

Harry turns around.

“What?” Harry asks.

He sets the plate full of cake beside Louis on the island and peeks at what Louis has in his hand.

Louis turns his body in an angle, towards Harry, and demonstrates the issue. Holding a knife in his hand to scope some of the chocolate frosting out, he goes at it — but he's stopped, and it's impossible to get any, because the knife is met with nothing but brick. “It's frozen,” Louis says.

Harry blinks a few times.

“Really?”

“Shut up,” he retorts. He glances around before walking over to a cabinet to retrieve a bowl. “Couldn't we use a microwave? Unless you're willing to wait an hour for it to thaw. I know I rather not.” Setting the bowl down, next to the frosting, Louis takes it in his hands and attempts to shake it out into the bowl first. Harry just watches him – and he pauses for a second, because he notices a small freckle on the upper part of the side of his neck. He’s lost count, now, how many freckles Louis has.

“I thought you hated warm frosting.”

“I do, but if we put it in for just a few seconds it won't matter,” Louis reasons.

Harry watches him shake it and realise that method doesn’t work. He proceeds to lay it upside down on the lid and hits it hard. Then he tries squeezing it before attempting to pry the container from the edges of the frosting.

The corners of his mouth tilt downwards in a frown.

“It's going to take more than a few seconds,” Harry comments, and takes the frosting from Louis. He bangs it against the edge of the island, the sound visibly startling Louis. The solid block of frosting falls right into the bowl Louis had gotten. Harry gives him a smile as he walks past Louis to the microwave that sits on the counter to the left of the refrigerator and slides it in. Harry doesn't take it out until it looks like it's thawed entirely, then pulls it out with a hot pad. Coming up beside Louis, he pokes his index finger in the frosting and sucks it into his mouth. “Not that warm.”

He pokes another finger in it.

Louis waves his fingers away from the frosting, and he uses the knife from before to taste it. The temperature appears to be okay with him, judging by the pleased look on his face.

“It's really good,” he confesses quietly to Harry. He puts his knife in the dishwasher full of other dirty utensils and grabs clean knives and forks to use and separate plates for Harry and him. “I don't want to put any frosting on it, by the way,” he adds.

Harry pauses.

“What? Why?” He pulls his eyebrows together in confusion, and looks at Louis instead of the cake. What kind of person doesn’t want frosting on their cake?

“I prefer to have it on the side and dip the cake in the frosting,” Louis explains. “It tastes better to me that way.”

For a few moments, Harry stares at him, and Louis stares back, a little challenge in his face. His assistant is weird. But he can work around it. So, he nods, saying, “We can do that, no problem.” Then he remembers: “Wait.” He walks over to a drawer a few feet from them and rummages through it until he pulls out two things: a large pack of single candle sticks, and candle numbers 2 and 7. “Can't forget these.” Harry sticks the numbers right in the centre, then surrounds it with twenty-seven of the fifty count of blue candles. It's a very crowded cake, and crumbly and has new cracks added into the old ones because of the force of all the candles. It’s ugly, in Harry’s opinion; the cake, the stereotypical candles, how bare and destroyed it all is – but when he lifts his head to look at Louis, into his blue eyes that have specks of green and grey, his chest eases. Stops. Momentarily. This . . . isn’t so ugly.

Quickly, he lights all of the candles. “Okay,” he says upon lighting the last one, and sets down the lighter. “Make a wish.”

Louis ends up staring at his face instead of blowing out the candles right away. He searches Harry’s face. And Harry doesn’t know what to do besides stare right back. Finally, Louis tears his eyes away and leans down, blowing out the candles. They leave a trail of smoke in the air and a very distinct candle stench that Harry hates. But Harry pretends, and chooses to clap him for and whistle. Louis laughs at him, something soft and something high that pulls at Harry’s chest. He starts picking the candles out of the cake, and Harry notices a soft tinge of pink colouring the apples of his cheeks.

Harry doesn’t know why, so, he ignores it.

Louis cuts the cake and gives the first slice to Harry, then gives one to himself. Harry suffocates his slice in frosting very carelessly. Dolly retreats back to them and tries to rub her face in the bowl of chocolate and what's on their plates, but Harry grabs her with both of his hands and tucks her underneath his arm. She struggles to free herself the entire time; Harry ignores it. Even when they sit back down on the sofa to continue watching their movie. Harry doesn’t see it coming when Dolly whips her paw around and slashes at his skin, causing a long and bright red scratch down his forearm. He lets her go immediately, pissed off.

He sees Dolly strut right into Louis's lap, and walks in circles before settling down to rest on his thighs. Her relaxed exterior pisses him off more.

“Are you okay?” Louis asks, concerned, eyes full of concern.

Harry’s jaw tenses. “It burns,” he answers truthfully, “but I’m fine. She's just in a mood today.” He rolls his eyes.

There’s a frown on Louis’s face when he glances down at Dolly, but he doesn’t say anything further. Harry chooses to suck it up and finish eating his cake while ignoring Dolly. The scratch thankfully never bleeds, as they finish the rest of their movie, eating the entire cake by themselves. Louis doesn’t finish the next slice he eats, but Harry has no problem eating the rest of it for the both of them.

Harry's licking the icing off his fork when he looks at Louis. The half piece of pure cake is still there on Louis’s plate. “What did you think?”

Louis's eyes flicker up at him, meeting his gaze. Breathing in a soft breath, he nods his head.

“It was good; I liked it. I love Cameron Diaz.”

“Me, too,” Harry admits. “She's very nice.”

“Have you met her?”

Humming, Harry nods once. “Met her on the red carpet at some award show. I think I have a picture.” Louis huffs out a chuckle. “Do you want to watch another movie?”

Louis stays silent for a moment, then shrugs and rests a hand on Dolly, whom lays sleeping in his lap. “Sure. But you pick this time.”

“It's still your choice,” Harry reminds him.

Breathing out a purposely heavy annoyed sigh, he says, “I choose you to pick the next thing we watch.”

“That's not how it works.”

“Sure, it is. It's my birthday.”

Harry stares at Louis, pressing his lips together. It becomes a staring contest between them. It goes on for several moments until Harry blinks and looks away. “I can't argue that,” he says, finally.

“Exactly,” quips Louis, as he gently drops the remote in Harry's outstretched hand, palm turned up.

They watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s, then when Harry turns on Meet the Parents, he notices Louis’s eyes start closing. He repetitively glances out of the corner of his eyes at Louis, watching him nod off until he’s sound asleep. Harry’s chest grows soft as he stares at Louis’s tired, pale face. His thin lips are slightly parted, like he should be snoring. Him and Dolly both sound asleep on each other is a rather humourous sight. He decides to leave Louis be and turns his attention to the television to watch the movie. There’s something . . . oddly comforting about the silence; Louis sleeping beside him, the hum of the telly, the filling sensation that encompasses the silence. It’s not so lonely–not so what Harry’s used to. By the end of the movie, he grabs his own plate and stands up, then does his best to grab Louis’s without disturbing him. But Louis’s eyes flutter open at the accidental brush of contact that Harry internally curses himself for. Louis straightens out his very tilted sleeping position, and looks up at him through squinted eyes.

Harry gives Louis a genuine apologetic look, and quietly says, “Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you.”

Louis delicately rubs his eye with the back of his right hand, and stretches his legs, breathing out a tired sigh. He blinks his eyes a few times to adjust. “It's fine,” he rasps. “Sorry I'm falling asleep.”

“Don't apologise,” Harry gently tells him.

He continues off to the kitchen. After scraping off pieces into the rubbish and rinsing off their plates, he lays them on the counter, then hesitates. The image of the gift bag still in the other room floats to the forefront of his mind. He looks over his shoulder at Louis, and finds him distracted by Dolly, and makes a quick decision. Harry speed walks to the other room on silent heels and grabs Louis’ gift bag, then makes his way back into the front room. Louis looks up the exact moment Harry approaches him, and the movements of his hand combing Dolly’s fur stop when his eyes fall down and spot a white bag in Harry's left hand.

“What ‘ave you got there?” His tone is careful.

Harry sets the shopping bag right in his spot, close enough for Louis to reach into. Harry sits on the edge of the settee on the other side of Louis, at an angle facing Louis, and he looks him directly in the eyes. “I thought I'd give this to you, before you completely black out on me,” he says. “It's not really a celebration without gifts, too.”

Louis pushes himself up to sit straighter. “Harry . . .” He looks at a loss for words – lips parted on nothing; uncertainty scaling his face and eyes; touching the bag’s thin, black handles like it’ll burn him. “You didn't have to get me anything. Dinner, movies, the cake, I'm perfectly content just with that.”

Harry presses his lips together lightly and nods. “I know,” he says, forcing his gaze to not leave Louis's. “But I want to do this for you. Don’t make me repeat myself; I’m not good with complimenting people. Just accept it.”

“Harry—”

“Fucking accept it,” he says.

Glancing between Harry's face and the bag, Louis touches it again.

He leans forward and peeks inside. It’s covered by black, decorative tissue paper, and Harry watches him use both hands to remove all the tissue paper.

He knows the second Louis sees it. He pauses, gaze unblinking and widening just enough for Harry to catch. He sees the backpack from Givenchy Harry had gotten him. That was . . . another thing he managed to get out of Niall. Louis’s allegedly been so back and forth about buying it for himself that Harry decided to choose for him. It was extremely easy to find, and even easier to buy. It was probably the easiest gift Harry’s ever had to shop for. But–he didn’t think it was enough; he had bought a bag of Reese’s, as well as wrote a check out for Louis and put that in the backpack for him. Maybe it would make up for everything, Harry’s hoping–maybe it’ll . . . Harry shouldn’t be hoping for anything, really. But after Rachel had a talk with him and made him feel like a shitty person, he’s hoping this’ll convey Harry’s guilt. Or apology. Louis might not recognise it as that, but that’s okay.

“Open it,” Harry instructs softly.

Louis quits just staring at the bag and unzips it. Suddenly, he looks up at Harry and smiles at him, face glowing in happiness. Harry can’t help the smile he gives him in return. Louis backs down and–a little laugh is pulled out of him. Harry’s eyebrow furrow, a little, in wonder.

“What's so funny?” Harry asks.

Louis pulls the bag of candy out to show Harry, without speaking.

Harry's gaze shifts from Louis to the treat, a confused but amused smile splitting across his lips. He . . . doesn’t understand. It’s candy. Harry shrugs like what about it? and Louis shakes his head in response and mumbles never mind. Setting the candy down beside Dolly, he grabs the check.

Louis scoffs, shaking his head as he begins to read it, and asks, “How much is this?”

But he abruptly stops, face falling.

“Five thousand dollars,” Harry casually answers, despite his heart picking up pace again. Louis lifts his head to look at him, but he doesn't say anything. Is it too much? Is it too forward? Did Harry cross a line? Maybe he was wrong for buying Louis his dream backpack and a check. But if he just stuck with the candy, then Harry would look like he put in the least amount of effort in. And this is the line he struggles with: either going too far, or not doing enough. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Louis answers immediately. Then he releases a breath, knowing he’s full of it.  “This is too much, Harry.”

Harry blinks, then stamps on his racing heart and pulls out his detached face. “Louis,” he begins, stern, “don’t even start. That?”—he points to the check—“That is pocket change to me. We’ve gone over this. I have more money than I’ll ever know what to do with. I don’t see better use for it than for charity and for using it to buy whatever you want. Don’t feel bad about me using my own money. Eat the rich, or whatever they say.”

“Do you even know what that means?” Louis asks.

Harry pauses.

“Yes and no. But that’s a different conversation for another day.”

Louis blinks, breaking his gaze from Harry. Harry watches him closely, and waits for something. Louis’s face is concentrated; furrowed eyebrows, a far away look in his crystal clear eyes. He’s thinking something, and as much as Harry would love to get inside that pretty little head of his, he merely settles for waiting. Dolly comes poking through, however, weaving herself effortlessly and expertly through Louis's arms. She throws her arms up to cling to the opened backpack, and stands on her hind legs to peer inside. She stuffs her entire head in it, and it breaks Louis out of whatever it was, making him chuckle.

Harry just shakes his head.

Louis wraps his fingers around her legs to pull her back out of his backpack, but she clings hard. Harry  finds himself laughing softly at the image before him, and he intervenes quickly. He softly scratches behind Dolly's head, then transitions into wrapping his hands around her bottom. He picks her up upside down, successfully having Dolly let go.

Harry pulls her to his chest.

Louis's small chuckle turns into a giggle, and he shakes his head. He reaches for his phone on the coffee table, and Harry watches his face change to realisation.

“I have to go,” he announces.

Dolly falls out of Harry’s grip and runs away.

He looks at Harry.

Harry puts on an unreadable face. “You have to go?” he repeats.

“Yeah,” Louis responds as he stands up. “I have a flight in the morning. Remember? I have to get up really early, and triple check all my belongings. It’s a long flight, so, I’ll need some proper rest.”

“All right,” Harry agrees. He walks first to the door, with Louis following suit, after placing his backpack back into the bag, along with the check. “When's your flight?”

“Hm,” Louis hums. “I think 7.45 in the morning.”

“Harsh,” Harry comments lightly. He lifts his hand to rub at his neck a moment. “I hope it's good. Tell your mum I said hello.”

Louis nods. “I will. And I hope it is, too.” There's a slightly awkward pause, on Louis's end. But it doesn’t last. “Listen . . . I want to thank you for—”

Harry interrupts him.

“No problem.”

“You didn't have to,” Louis points out. He's clearly not going to let Harry wave it off. “You didn't have to do anything at all, but you did. I just want you to know that it's one of the nicest things someone's ever done for me, and that I really, really appreciate it.”

Louis looks at with the most serene face, conviction in his tone. It causes Harry to be temporarily weak.

“You're welcome,” he says in response, hands clasped behind his back for something to hold on to.

Harry doesn’t see it coming – Louis steps forward with confidence, coming into Harry’s personal space, and raises himself onto his toes to wrap his arms around Harry’s shoulders. Those icy nerves return alight and burn him. He’s paralysed for several moments; all he registers is the faint scent of floral notes reaching into his nostrils and brushing against his nose hairs. It’s not overwhelming; it’s the perfect aroma of flowers and fruitiness. Based on his own colognes he’s sampled and bought before, this one could be YSL – or maybe it’s ones he’s seen, such as Lancome. They carry a lot of floral perfumes. Either way, it’s very pleasing. And before he can think, he sneaks his arms around Louis’s small waist–it’s much smaller and slimmer than it looks–and spreads his fingers across the bottom of his spine and the middle of his back.

It’s only a moment later Louis pulls back.

Even though Louis doesn’t look at him, he can’t stop staring at Louis, completely dumbfounded.

“I'll see you in a couple weeks,” says Louis, smiling, when he looks up at Harry. “I'm a text and phone call away if you need anything, okay?” Louis raises a pointed eyebrow at him, giving Harry a look. “Don't hesitate, okay? I won't mind.”

Harry nods.

He’s not going to, but he’ll pretend for Louis.

“Got it,” he says, pressing his lips together.

The pointed look remains on Louis's face.

“I mean it,” he presses, to ensure his message is across.

Harry rolls his eyes and straightens out his posture. “I know,” he sighs. “I’ve survived nearly a decade without you, so, I don't think anything I can't handle is going to happen in the time you'll be gone.”

Louis throws his hands up in surrender.

“Hey, I didn't say you couldn't handle any one thing. I implied quite the opposite, actually,” he corrects.

Harry plays along.

“No need to rub my already swollen ego.”

Louis smiles, huffing out a small laugh. It’s the softest expression he’s ever seen on a face. It’s so caring. Harry doesn’t–understand how he can be so gentle. “Never happy with anything, are you?” he teases.

Harry smiles. “Nope,” he says. “Comes with being a perfectionist. And just being me, in general.”

“I see.” There's silence that falls over them like a blanket. Harry’s hoping Louis will take the cue and leave, but he stays. “What do you plan to do for Christmas?”

Harry blinks.

“I don't know,” he answers. “I don't do much for Christmas, really. I don't celebrate it.”

Louis raises an inquiring brow. “Because of religious reasons, or . . . ?”

Harry shrugs. He doesn’t talk about it with anyone. He’s certainly not going to discuss it with Louis. “Nah. Just don't celebrate it, that's all,” he answers, giving Louis a small smile that he knows doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Not even with your parents?” Harry shakes his head, choosing not to say anything more. With that, Louis drops the subject. “Don't forget to—”

“I'm kicking you out,” Harry says, tone flat, and a finger pointed to the door behind Louis.

He walks around him and opens it.

“You're kicking me out?” Louis repeats,, smiling and now standing so close to the door frame, as he keeps his gaze on Harry, whom now leans against the side of the red door, arms crossed and one foot hooked around the other.

Harry nods vigorously, eyebrows risen.

“Get out. Right now.”

“Fine, I'll leave,” says Louis, raising his hands as he walks out onto the stone walkway, “but not because you're threatening me; but because I want to.” He keeps on walking down the small set of stone steps and across the path leading to the driveway.

“Louis,” Harry calls out without thinking, just going on the feeling of restricted air in his chest. Louis looks over his shoulder, as his hand pulls his car keys out of his pants pocket, and his strides slow. He stares at Harry with patience, and it’s the last thing Harry wants to see in his face, because he won’t be seeing him for a while. “Merry Christmas. Happy birthday. Have a safe flight.”

Louis’s mouth curves up in a gentle, genuine smile.

“Thank you. Happy New Year,” he calls back.

Harry closes the door two-thirds of the way, not willing to let go of the sight of Louis quite yet. He needs to see him get safely in his car and drive away – he can’t let that feeling go. The restriction in his chest worsens when he watches Louis open his car door, but it eases slowly when Louis looks back. In fear of coming off creepy, he closes the door. But he stays behind it to listen to the engine start – to see the red lights reflect against the windows and the distant sound of his car fade until Harry can’t hear anything anymore. Then he turns around, inhaling a deep breath when his vision lands on Dolly sitting on her bum patiently by the stairs, watching him.

“Dolly,” he says – she tilts her head – “Am I too much?”

Dolly mews and walks off.

He’s always changing himself, changing his style, his image. He’s either always too much or not enough; there’s no healthy balance. Maybe he’ll try working on it in Louis’s absence, so, he doesn’t have to fret over it every time he says or does something he’s not familiar with. He doesn’t want to scare Louis off.

[d00m-d4ys]

Disclaimer: i know this could be better (quality-of-story-wise) but it could also be a whole lot worse, so imo that absolves me of both editing and basic grammatical discipline. Please enjoy the latest instalment of my ‘the subplot of jiang fengmian possibly cheating on his wife was boring; yu ziyuan and cangse sanren should have been besties’ agenda.

Curfew is one of the many rules that chafe, and so she disregards it as often as she can. As undignified as it is to scales the walls of Cloud Recesses, she seethes, it could all be avoided if she was allowed spar with Zidian and teach the second heir of Lan not to look down his nose at her.

This moon is high by the time she returns, and she nearly topples to the ground as a voice calls, “Don’t fall.”

She steadies herself, telling her racing heart to calm itself. She looks to her left and sees the girl: a rogue cultivator, hair diligently unkempt and at odds with her pressed student’s robes.

“Don’t concern yourself with me,” she tells her sternly.

Cangse Sanren sits up, eyes wide. “I wasn’t concerned! Merely speaking aloud. Ignore me, honoured Violet Spider.”

“You mock me?” Zidian crackles in her hands.

“But of course. Jiangs fight best when they’re angry.” She comes to her feet like a puppet tugged along by its strings, lighter than air and undeniably coordinated.

Zidian hisses louder. “I am not Jiang, you insolent—“

Cangse Sanren moves almost too fast to track, and Ziyuan strikes on reflex, Zidian splitting a layer of roofing in half as Cangse dodges back, landing safely out of reach on top of the guard tower. She whistles, long and low. “So this is Zidian. Why do you hide her away?”

She curls her fingers around her ring protectively, unsure of what the girl means to do.

“Is that why? Afraid someone will steal it?” Cangse lights back down on the roof, confident in a way that Ziyuan hates, but not enough to risk using Zidian again. “I’m sorry for insulting you. What are you, if not a Jiang?”

The question catches her off-guard, and she answers before she can think better of it. “This one is Yu Ziyuan.”

“Yu Ziyuan, Yu Ziyuan— I can’t promise I’ll remember, but I’ll do my best.” She bows, again catching her by surprise. “This one is Cangse Sanren.”

She swallows. “I know.”

Cangse straightens up and grins at her, tucking her sword into the crook of her elbow. “I think we’ll be friends. Yes?”

She’s about to answer when the roofing beneath her feet turns slick as ice, sending her plummeting to the ground. Cangse lands mostly on top of her with her many bony appendages, and for a moment all Ziyuan can do is sit there and quietly groan.

It’s probably not a good sign that the clan leader himself had caught them sparring out of grounds and after curfew, but at least she isn’t alone.

-

After that, it was quite obvious that Cangse would continue to be a permanent pest.

“A-Yuan,” she begs, already reaching for Ziyuan’s bowl. “Cangse is so hungry, how can A-Yuan be so cruel?”

“Eat your own damn food,” she snaps, and learns not to regret it. Cangse sighs and returns to her own bowl, identical to hers excepting the absence of bamboo shoots.

Cangse seems to attract trouble: she can see across the room Jiang Fengmian making a beeline for her table, followed shortly after by a disciple whose name escapes her.

The usual niceties are as excruciating as always, and they find themselves seated across the table. Cangse drops her chopsticks and slams her hands down, earning them several dirty looks. “Young Master, I must know your name.”

There is a moment where Ziyuan can see disaster blooming. Both men look delighted at the attention, and both move to answer her question.

She dumps her bamboo shoots in Jiang Fengmian’s bowl, interrupting his train of thought and drawing his attention to her.

It’s a risky gamble: the bamboo shoots are inarguably the best thing in a Lan’s diet, and she doesn’t want to invite implication into her actions, but something so grand and distracting and (hopefully) confusing is enough to render him speechless.

Unfortunately, it also draws Cangse’s ire, though the servant — Wei Changze — is blissfully unaware of her blunders, still basking under Cangse’s attention.

Jiang Fengmian colours a bright pink that she privately thinks is very becoming, and she can only hope that his interest in Cangse is only infatuation. “Thank you, Lady Yu.”

-

The Jin arrive, finally, and so too does her friend from across the river. Hua Yufei is just as ladylike as she remembers, but her immediate taking-to of Cangse Sanren is concerning, to say the least.

“Is it difficult, being a rogue cultivator?”

“Perhaps it is, when comfort is a concern. I have often slept outdoors on nighthunts, when no inn would have me.”

Yufei shudders. “I could never,” she swears, hand daintily resting on her collarbone. “Ziyuan, did you hear the news, or shall I tell you?”

“What news?”

“Sect Leader Jin is in want of a match for his son. I have it on good authority that I am in the running, and that Jin Guangshan favours me.”

Her mother had sent word that her own marriage now had a wedding date, and it filled her with equal parts dread and relief.

Cangse bumps her shoulder, jolting her out of her daydreams. “Congratulate your sworn-sister, A-Yuan, for I have no earthly idea what any of you are talking about.”

Yufei gets far more excited than she should, and hurries to sit next to Cangse. “See that one there? The Jin with peonies on his sleeve? He is Jin Guangshan. If I am to marry him, I’ll be Madame of the second-richest sect in Xianxia.”

Cangse looks critically at him and evidently turns up little to compliment, to Ziyuan’s vindication. “He seems very . . . friendly.”

It’s a very kind way of noting his lecherous staring at the servant pouring his tea. “He will not give up his ways under marriage, Yufei.”

“What do I care if he galavants through every brothel in Lanling? I need only bear a son, and my wifely duties will be complete. I will have Koi Tower, and he shall have his fleeting pleasures. Let others take care of him.”

-

The lectures end, somewhat successfully: Lan Qiren’s facial hair had suffered Cangse’s vengeance, Hua Yufei had secured a tentative proposal from Jin Guangshan, and Jiang Fengmian no longer looked scared of her when she spoke to him.

Yufei hugs her tightly before dashing after the Jin delegation. Cangse stands by her as the Jiang sect prepares to leave, disiciples running about accomplishing what they should have several hours beforehand. “Is Yunmeng your home?”

“For now.” Her betrothal was entering into its vital stages, and it wouldn’t do to return to Meishan just yet. “And yours?”

She lifts one shoulder, staring out over the bustling Jiangs. “Wherever I’m needed.”

Ziyuan spots Wei Changze trying to look as though he’s not watching Cangse Sanren, fiddling with something in his hands. If they’re not careful, the Jiang sect will lose two fine cultivators. “Then you should come with us.”

-

Yu Ziyuan knows that something is wrong. She knows it as well as she knows that her daughter is six, that her son is three, that she has not seen her ill-gotten sworn-sister since before either of them were born.

She leaves without a word, away on her sword and letting her heart guide her.

The last of her steady letters had come from Yiling, paper smelling faintly of sulphur from the Burial Mounds. So west she steers herself, flying hard through the gathering storm and buffeting winds until she hears Cangse calling for her husband. She descends hard and almost falls, Zidian flaring out and cracking against the encroaching fierce corpses. Two fall back, weak enough to be banished, but four more advance in their place, and she seizes her sword for the task of disposing of them.

Cangse does not struggle with fierce corpses. She has a way with them, tames them like dogs under her immortal’s teachings. Ziyuan is almost afraid to turn around, sheathing her sword and searching the gloom and thicket for a trace of teal robes, a beaded jade hairpiece.

“A-Ze!”

Her voice is near. She can hear two sets of footprints, one surer, the other more cautious.

Something was wrong with this forest, if it had separated Cangse and Wei Changze. She feels as though she might crawl out of her skin, the resentful energy mounting with each second she remained. She rushes through thicket and brush, forcing her way through layers of the maze array with sheer force of will, far too angry to be waylaid by such child’s play.

The final layer stretches like rice cake before snapping, and it felt as though a layer of wet cotton had been ripped from her ears, the sounds of the world coming into sharp focus with painful suddenness.

Cangse is there to catch her, though she seems disoriented. “A-Yuan?”

Her voice shakes, and she hates it. “We have to leave.”

Cangse’s mouth sets. “Not without A-Ze.”

The maze array changes even as they speak, and Cangse is too dizzy to do anything but slow them down and ensure they remain trapped. She feels her mouth twist grimly as she wraps her hand around her wrist, dragging her to the edge of the array. “I will find him.”

-

She doesn’t regret finding Cangse first. How could she, for her own sworn-sister? She refuses to regret. She will not regret.

It’s difficult to muster that conviction when she lays Wei Changze’s body down on the ground, overtaken by the hole in his chest where his heart once was.

Cangse wails when she sees him, a keening, heartbroken sound Ziyuan has never heard a person make. The sound is pure pain, and for a moment all she can do is stand there and think about how devestated Jiang Fengmian will be, when he hears the news.

She kneels, wanting to at least close his eyes. Cangse’s wails abruptly peter off and she screams, “Get away from him!”

The suddenness of it startles her away, and Cangse throws herself over his body, protecting him. “Don’t touch him. I won’t let him be sullied by such hands.”

“Such hands?” Already, she is angry. “Say your meaning.”

“You always hated him,” she accuses. “You could have saved him. Why didn’t you save him?” She touched his cheeks, crying over his glossy, dead eyes. “Why didn’t you help him first?”

“And risk the same happening to you?” She doesn’t regret. She doesn’t.

“You should have! He’s the one who should live. It shouldn’t be me.”

She stands, too angry to say anything constructive at the moment. “Wei Ying will be in Yunmeng, while you grieve.”

She’ll never be sure if Cangse Sanren would have heard anything of the living world in that moment, her ear pressed to a dead man’s chest.

-

Jiang Fengmian is in his office, and she lets herself in. “Wei Changze is dead.”

The news is sudden, and horrible, and Fengmian spends a good few minutes unable to speak. “What happened?”

She meets his watery gaze. “A nighthunt. He was overpowered.”

“And Cangse?” He licks his lips. “Is she—“

“You are aware they have a child?” She feels so very angry, and it is easy to blame it on his apparently poor memory, instead of its true source. “You do know that? Or have you only read their letters to trace Cangse’s calligraphy? Are you so eager that you forget your duty?”

He has the decency to look ashamed, but not enough to muster a response.

She scoffed and left the room, making her way to her children’s’ quarters.

-

Cangse Sanren arrives just as Ziyuan’s lies to her son began to wear thin.

She lands softly in the training grounds, leaving stunned and gaping disciples in her wake. She strides to wear Ziyuan stands, supervising Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying as they spar.

“I want my son back.”

Ziyuan lifts her chin, crossing her arms. It hides her anxiety: Cangse is dressed in mourning white, and her eyes are sunken with lack of sleep. She is much paler than she used to be, and much angrier.

Cangse scowls at her, at her silence. “Wei Ying. Come here.”

Wei Ying looks up with a gleeful cry, and rushes to embrace his mother. For a moment, Cangse is her old self again, swinging him into her arms and kissing him on the cheek.

But it soon fades, and Cangse Sanren fixes her with a steely glare and utters perhaps the last words Yu Ziyuan will ever forget:

“Until we meet again, Madame Jiang.”

[fools-of-wna]

Children: Alyena Kallistēi/Sebek Zigvolt

If anyone has any ship name ideas (because I suck at naming things) please let me know as I am suffering :’3

>Oberon Zigvolt

The oldest child and twin brother to Ottilie. One of the only two to inherit Alyena’s eye colour. Oberon is quiet and judgemental, often snarky and sarcastic towards others. In public, he behaves properly, but he is short tempered and complains quite a lot about others in private with his family. He’s very much a tough love kind of brother, goading his siblings (except Arrietty whom he babies) to encourage them. Despite how powerless he seems in comparison to Ottilie, he’s won a few martial arts competitions and has done public demonstrations.

His NRC dorm would be Octavinelle.

>Ottilie Zigvolt

The oldest daughter and twin sister to Oberon. One of the only two to inherit Alyena’s eye colour. Ottilie is the opposite, being loud and brash, mirroring her father in behaviour. She’s very uptight and upright, so she often scolds her brother for speaking ill of others. She’s a bit of a goody-two-shoes, but she’s a good leader and often guides the other children. She used to have longer hair but she found it annoying to keep so she cut it short, and ended up looking rather similar to Oberon. She’s adept at fencing and has won many awards.

Her WNA dorm would be Monarchia, because she’s very into the vibes there.

>Eudoxia Zigvolt

The third child and oldest of the triplets. Eudoxia is an airhead who spaces out a lot. She likes to go at her own pace and is very relaxed, much to Sebek’s worry. She wears glasses for reading and studying, and can generally see fine without them. She’s very much a “let nature run its course” kind of girl, so she just tries her best and doesn’t feel too upset over failure.

Her WNA dorm would be Eliksia, surprisingly enough.

>Constantine Zigvolt

The fourth child and middle of the triplets. Constantine is a grumpy boy who often gets into fights with Oberon. He’s quite sociable despite his seemingly poor temper and attitude. He has a sweet tooth and a good memory, especially when it comes to grudges and even more so when sweets are involved. He’s a little annoying as he tends to be nitpicky down to the second. He’s also slightly emo and angsty, and he’s very protective of his family.

His NRC dorm would be Diasomnia.

>Aurelian Zigvolt

The fifth child and youngest of the triplets. His eye colour is a more teal variation of his father’s. Aurelian is a fashionista who idealises his mother’s job as a model. He loves looking at magazines and even old spreads of Alyena, and can often be seen adding little extra details to his clothes for a bit of dramatic flair. He grew his hair out to practise Pinterest hairstyles on himself (and Arrietty when she asks). He’s the mediator of the family and works hard to keep everyone healthy and happy.

His NRC dorm would be Pomefiore.

>Arrietty Zigvolt

The youngest of the children and the sole child to inherit Alyena’s hair colour. Arrietty is a sweet, kind and fun-loving girl who almost looks a bit out of place within the Zigvolt family due to her demeanour. Essentially everyone’s favourite, Arrietty is viewed as pure and adorable by the family, which irks her a bit as she grows up because she feels a little suffocated. Still, she tends to be a little naive due to the actions of the Zigvolts influencing her world view, but when she finally gets to start being independent, her mind is revealed to be sharp and fast, and she doesn’t hesitate to hit below the belt.

Her WNA dorm would be Eliksia like Eudoxia, though she secretly idolises Noctasis upon hearing stories from some former Noctasis aunties.