#Bones made of something that's. not quite bone

[fairytaleendingss]

Room for One More?

Chapter 6

Summary: You aren't sure what gift to get for your Secret Santa.

CW: Swearing.

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x fem!reader

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Here's a bit of a long one for you guys! Enjoy!

--

"Fuck!"

You were laying in bed, nestled under your softest duvet, looking in horror at your laptop screen.

It was just after 7am and you weren't sure how many of the boys would be up at this time, especially on a weekend. You knew Sirius had a gig the previous night and he liked a sleep in, but this was kind of an emergency.

Since living with the boys and becoming friends with Mary, you were slowly being integrated into their friend group. You didn't mind of course. In fact, you liked having people to hang out with since moving to the city. Everyone was so lovely and inclusive and you really liked being part of a group. However, that meant that not only were the four of you hosting their annual Christmas party, but you were roped into participating in their Secret Santa as well.

Upon waking up that morning, you'd received a message from Mary, letting you know that the Secret Santa assignments had been sent out the night prior. You'd checked your emails, only to realize you were severely fucked.

The name of your draw was none other than Dorcas.

Now, it wasn't her in particular you had a problem with. In fact, quite the contrary. You liked Dorcas. She was cool and funny and had amazing style.

Your problem resided in the fact that you'd only met her maybe four times over the month you'd been living with the boys and she wasn't a particularly open person. You had no clue what kind of gift she would like.

"No. You know what? This is fine," you told yourself, throwing your blanket off and marching out of your room.

You weren't surprised to see that the living room was empty. You did notice that James' running shoes were not in the stand by the door, which meant he was probably out for a morning jog (in the freezing cold like a crazy person).

With a huff you wandered down the hall. You bypassed Remus' room, during which you were sure you could hear the clicking of a keyboard. You came to a halt in front of Sirius' door, preparing yourself for an onslaught as you hesitantly reached out to knock.

"What?" a sleep-garbled voice muttered lowly from beyond the door.

Gently you pushed it open, a sheepish smile painting your lips as you peered into the room.

Sirius was laying on his stomach in bed, blanket splayed lazily over his hip bone and an arm squashed beneath his pillow. He was shirtless and you couldn't help but let your eyes trace the contours of his bare back. His face was pressed against the pillow, eyes closed, lashes fluttering against his cheeks and long, dark hair splayed across his face.

Even in the early hours of the morning, still riddled with the remnants of sleep, he looked like a work of art.

"Hey!" you muttered softly, feeling slightly guilty now for disturbing him.

He sighed thickly, rolling over to squint at your through half lidded eyes. "Is everything okay?"

His voice was deep and croaky like it always was after he woke up but it never failed to send a shiver down your spine.

"I need your help with something."

He frowned slightly, blinking as if still trying to regain awareness. "Sure. Come in."

He patted the bed beside him and your eyes widened. You approached cautiously and sat down tentatively on the edge. You looked around the room. It was encased in darkness with the blinds half drawn shut. You hadn't been in her all that often. Come to think of it, you'd never really made it past the doorway before.

The bedsheets were dark grey to match with the black furniture that was placed around. There was a guitar on a stand in the corner and the walls were adorned with band posters and what were clearly centerfolds torn from various bikini magazines.

You cleared your throat as you perched yourself awkwardly, not wanting to encroach on his space.

He chuckled softly. "Come on, doll. I don't bite."

"Somehow, I find that hard to believe," you teased softly as you moved to position yourself back against the pillow beside him.

He let out a throaty laugh and rolled over to face you, leaning up on an elbow.

"So, what was so important that you had to wake me up at the crack of dawn for?"

"Yeah, sorry about that," you chuckled nervously. Sirius always seemed to have that effect on you. "I, um, don't suppose you've had a chance to look at your Secret Santa draw yet?"

He raised a brow. "No I can't say that I have."

"Well, I looked at mine this morning and I need your help picking out a present. I got-"

"Hey! No!" he cut you off. "You're not supposed to tell me! That's the rules."

You gave him a pleading look. "I know but I really don't know this person that well and I thought you could help me pick a gift for them."

"No! Nope!" He shook his head firmly. "If I know who you got, and I know who I got, it won't be hard to figure out the rest and I definitely don't want to know who got me!"

"Come on Sirius! Please??" You pleaded with him.

"No. Sorry, I can't help you."

"Please! it was just-"

"Lalalalalalala."

You raised a brow as he put his fingers in his ears, interrupting you the way a child would.

"Wow, Sirius. Very mature," you deadpanned.

"Sorry! Can't hear you," he shrugged.

You rolled your eyes, getting up of the bed.

"Ugh, you're no help," you groaned. You exited his room and wandered back out towards the kitchen, plopping yourself down at a bar stool.

If by some magical miracle of timing, it was right then that the door swung open and James entered the apartment. He was sweaty and wearing a long-sleeved, skin tight, running shirt that clung to his skin, giving you a very direct view of his abs. You couldn't help but admire him for a moment as he took off his joggers.

"Hey love! You're up early for a Saturday."

"Well, at least I'm not a maniac that goes for a morning jog when it's snowing outside!" you rebutted.

He chuckled deeply. "Gotta keep myself in shape somehow."

You just smiled as he grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge.

"So what are you doing up so early?" He questioned, leaning back against the counter and taking a long sip.

"Well, I've found myself in a bit of a... situation."

He quirked a brow. "Do tell."

"I checked my Secret Santa assignment this morning and I kind of got someone I have no idea what to buy for."

"That does seem like a bit of an issue," he noted playfully.

"Do you think you'd be able to help me? Sirius said no," you asked bashfully.

He smirked. "Of course, love. Although I am a bit offended, you didn't come to me first!"

You rolled your eyes affectionately. " I would've if you were actually here and not out trying to give yourself hypothermia."

He chuckled once more. "Touché."

--

The mall was crowded with it only being a few days out from Christmas. You had hoped that Mary would've left a little more than a day for you to purchase your gift before the party tomorrow, but in true Mary fashion, she'd gotten distracted with a final project at work and had forgotten to do the draw earlier.

You looked up at James who stood beside you. "So what kind of stuff do you think Dorcas would like?"

He furrowed his brows thinking for a moment. "She likes painting. And I know she works out a lot."

You sighed. "Okay, I can work with that. Come on."

You grabbed him by the arm and dragged him through the masses of people.

--

You were walking around an expensive homewares shop and hour later, still yet to find the perfect gift for Dorcas. You picked up a ceramic elephant and examined it. You swiftly placed it back down when you noticed the price.

"Hey? Do you think Mary would like this?" James called from across the store.

He was holding up a pretty crystal vase.

You turned away from what you were looking at. "Didn't you already buy her a coffee mug and an eyeshadow palette?"

"Yeah but this is so pretty! I think she'd really like it."

You shook your head. "James, you are aware that there's a £30 spending limit, right?"

He sighed dramatically. "I know but I there's just so much good stuff here!"

You chuckled. You knew he was already way over the limit anyway, money clearly not being an issue for James. You felt the need to intervene before he bought her the whole store.

"I love the enthusiasm but sometimes smaller is better, okay? You don't want to upstage everyone else."

He huffed and placed the vase back on the shelf. "Okay, fine."

"Good. Now, you're supposed to be helping me find my gift," you reminded him.

"Yeah, right. Okay."

He was pouting like a little kid and you reached a hand up to ruffle his hair affectionately. "I'm sure you'll be fine with what you have, James. Mary is going to love it. Now come on, lets try somewhere else."

You left that store and continued wandering through the mall. You looked up at the Christmas decorations that lined the rows of shops, and the people running too and frow, trying to finish their last minute Christmas shopping. You always loved the atmosphere at this time of year, when the festive spirit was running high, and you knew for a fact that James felt the same. Your gaze drifted over to the man walking beside you as his eyes scanned the rows of shops, He had number of bags in hand, all containing gifts for his loved ones. The thought made you feel giddy and a soft smile graced your face. You didn't think you'd ever met someone as generous and thoughtful as James was.

"What about over there?" He pulled you from your thoughts as he pointed to an art shop that was a few metres away.

"It's worth a try," you replied.

The shop was rather large, you realised upon entry, filled with various paintings, canvases and art supplies, ranging from reasonably priced to vastly expensive.

You felt a little overwhelmed, looking around at all the items.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" a voice emerged from behind you. You turned to see a young woman, probably a few years older than the two of you. She was smiling kindly, her long blonde hair pulled into a neat ponytail.

"Yes actually," you stated. "I'm looking for a Christmas present for a friend. I know she likes to paint but you have so many things in here, I'm not sure where to start."

"Not to worry," she said kindly. "Lets see if it can point you in the right direction."

You followed the lady through the shop, assessing various items and trying to find something that both jumped out at you, but was also within your assigned budget.

"What about this?" She asked eventually. "It's very popular with people who come in. In fact, I think this might be our last one."

It was a set of paintbrushes in a wooden case, each with a different coloured handle and varied in size.

"I'm sure your friend already has her own set of brushes but these ones come with portable case. Great for someone who likes to paint in different locations."

"it's perfect," you told her. You looked at the price. It was £30 exactly.

You snatched up the item and headed towards the counter to pay. It was then that you realised James was missing.

You paid for the item and once you had it secured in your possession, you looked around the shop in search of him.

"Sorry, have you seen my friend?" You asked the lady that was serving you.

"No, I haven't. Sorry," she shook her head.

"That's alright. He seems to have wandered off."

You took your bag and walked back through the aisles, searching. You wondered how such a tall, burly man was able to disappear so easily.

It was the Christmas section of the shop that you found him in. You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you when you saw him.

"James! What on earth?"

He smiled at you sheepishly. He was wrapped up in tinsel like a Christmas tree.

"I'm sorry. It's just so pretty. I didn't have enough hands! I slung it over my arm to carry it to the counter but then it got all tangled. I think I might be stuck."

"Can't take you anywhere!" you told him, playfully. "Here let me help."

Slowly you managed to uncoil the ribbon from around his biceps and place it back on the shelf it came from.

"I think we should probably stay away from tinsel for now."

"You're probably right," he chuckled. "So did you find something for Dorcas in the end?"

You looked up at him, staring into his big hazel eyes.

"Yeah, I did."

He smiled that ridiculously charming smile of his.

"Good. Now lets get out of here before I accidentally destroy the place."

You giggled as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, guiding you out of the shop.

--

You were on your way out of the mall when you stopped dead in your tracks.

"Oh my god," you sighed whistfully.

In a shop window, on display as part of a Christmas themed clothing line, was probably the most beautiful dress you'd ever seen. It was thigh-length with a square neckline and adorned with gold glitter that twinkled in the light. It was breathtaking.

"That's beautiful," James stated, coming to stand beside you.

"It really is," you responded.

"You should try it on!"

"Oh no. I don't think they'd have it in my size."

"I'm sure they do!" James encouraged. "Come on, lets go in."

Before you had time to respond, James had taken you by the hand and was pulling you through the doorway into the shop.

"Excuse me," he called to the assistant that stood behind the counter. "My friend would like to try on the gold dress in the window. Do you think you'd have it in her size?"

"Certainly," the lady replied with a smile. "Right this way."

--

You stood in the change-room, staring at yourself in the mirror. You had to admit, the dress looked amazing on you. It hugged all your curves perfectly.

"Can I see it?" you heard James call from outside the closed curtain.

"Okay," you responded.

You took a deep breath. Why were you suddenly so nervous?

With a shaky hand you drew back the curtain and James' jaw all but dropped to the floor.

"Oh my god," he muttered, eyes wide behind his glasses.

"Do you like it?" you asked shyly.

"You look incredible, y/n! Give me a spin."

You couldn't help but chuckle as you spun around awkwardly. You weren't used to this kind of attention. Especially not from a man as utterly gorgeous as James.

"You should get it!"

You smiled but shook your head. "It's beautiful but it's unfortunately wayyy out of my budget."

"Okay, no problem. I'll get it for you!"

Your head snapped up to look at him. "What? No. I can't ask you to do that, James."

He just smiled. "You're not asking. I'm offering. And it would be a tragedy not to buy it! Not when you look like that."

"Are you sure?" you muttered. You could feel your cheeks growing hot.

"Absolutely."

He stood up abruptly, walking over and placing a kiss on your cheek. You felt your breath leave your body at the gesture.

"Now go get changed while I pay," he instructed.

You looked up at him, feeling electricity buzz against your skin where his hand sat on your waist. You nodded, sure that if you tried to speak in that moment, nothing would come out. He had literally left you speechless.

Then he pulled away, venturing across the shop to pay for your new dress. You let out a heavy sigh as you watched him. It's official, you realised.

You were doomed.

--

Taglist:

@hisparentsgallerryy @navs-bhat @shushbruv @magicwithaknife @eeviee4 @notapoetjustscar @gugggu6gvai @robertsmithclone @ilovesugurugeto69 @taytayy178 @its-notkiee @bugworldsworld @switchingfandomslikecrazy @evangelquill

[softness-and-shattering]

Id say its less like chips for dinner and more like fairy floss. Mostly air, disappears into your mouth immediately, doesnt sustain you at all. Its barely worth the sugar hit.

I think its also ok to want a story with low tension, because even low stakes high tension can be stressful. But in that case we have to absolutely love the character down their bones, which means, without big challenges to garner sympathy, they gotta be incredibly competent and charming and larger-than-life, in which case theyre not relatable - which I think would be fine could work really well - but writers and editors tend to want relatable characters I imagine especially for coziness. You want reader insert.

Cause story elements are quite flexible, but if you leave out too many you dont have a dish anymore, just some ingredients. You left out the seasoning so its all bland, or you forgot to put liquid in the soup so it burned.

Something like Legends and Lattes I think could also work if the setting was really deeply a character, but in my memory its just fantasy coffee shop au. There was a big magic cat of some kind is my main memory, but it wasnt super distinct.

Maybe this is a better metaphor, as I was becoming more disabled and less able to cook, I made a minestrone soup entirely out of cans and pre-made broth. It was all the same ingredients as when I made it from more-scratch but it came out terrible. If you have a generic coffee setting + generic fantasy setting (the + makes it more interesting but not much bc ....its just a coffee shop au its been done a gazillion times) + reader insert character + no stakes or tension to the plot....theres nothing left to be The Interesting Part.

Though for me the weirdest part of the book was not fully trusting the low stakes especially in the final third. I never felt like i could relax because she has a sword shes been an adventurer, shes having dealing with a local magic gang, maybe the tension is about if she'll pick up her sword again. So it was a weird tense experience for me in a way that didnt break or resolve because I didnt feel like I could be sure that these low stakes were going to stay low stakes, even with a blurb on the cover about how chill it is.

For a reccomendation though, theres a picture nook called The Tea Dragon Society with a very interesting world (and such pretty art), and interesting take on dragons, really cool characters, the protagonist is a kid who acts like a kid. Its a small story about four people intergenerationally bonding over care for dragons that grow tea. Nothing like, showstopping revolutionary, its not a michelin chefs newest dish, its more like that friend or relative whos food you love because its a really good version of the familiar. I think thats ny food metaphor for it.

-im also thinking about cozy games but I dont have specific analysis to add atm.

Cozy Fantasy and Why It Doesn't Work

I think I am among many who feel like they should love cozy fantasy and have found it an incredibly lacking genre.

This newly branded "cozy fantasy" genre that has taken readers by storm since 2020 and while it is new that books are now marketed as cozy, the genre itself isn't new. Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones is a great example of the genre before it was labeled and also how to make it work.

Cozy fantasy is defined by many as fantasy with low stakes. Fantasy aesthetic but less sword fights. On paper, it sounds great. But the execution has been less than stellar for readers like me. The lack of physical stakes has also impacted the emotional stakes of these books, creating forgettable characters with boring problems. As a romance reader, I find this frustrating. Romance is known for being a predictable and formulaic genre, the now defunct Romance Writers of America defined romances as needing happy endings, a term romances have continued to follow. Yet these romance texts manage to have low physical stakes (how to date your neighbor, how to confront your toxic friends, etc) while still maintaining high personal stakes that keep readers invested and begging for more. So I was initially confused why cozy fantasy authors struggle to write texts that connect to readers like me.

I think I have found the answer which is the genre is just here for vibes. It is all about aesthetic, not even worldbuilding that fantasy is known for as most cozy fantasy I read have so many problems as soon as you ask one question. It is hard to acknowledge that a genre that is pitched to work for readers like me doesn't work for many of us. Especially because occasionally there is one that works beautifully to my taste.

I often say my favorite cozy fantasies that are more contemporary are short and visual, which I plays into the idea of the genre being an aesthetic. The Bakery Dragon by Devin Elle Kurtz is a good example because it is a simple story that is given the perfect amount of pages and gorgeous visuals without dragging on when the message is very clear and easy to understand. Books like The Phoenix Keeper and Legends and Lattes have absolutely nothing for me, their very clear message hitting the reader over and over so the readers don't miss it and focusing on the aesthetic of worldbuilding rather than the reality of the fantastic elements within the world.

I guess my point is. . . I realize this genre isn't for me since I have realized it is more of an aesthetic than anything. .. .but I want it to be. Should I let it go and put my efforts elsewhere? Or should I keep exploring this new trend and find the hidden gems?

[childrenofcain-if]

When I saw the snippet where Mc was being just plain mean, I came running to ask you how would it go if an argument breaks out between Mc and C because Mc is a little too condescending about C's broken knee which leads to them getting called out for being an arrogant jackass? My Mc means well but god they're such an asshole 😭

the only clearly audible sound in C’s suite was the low hum of the heater working overtime against the december chill.

but you could still hear C’s uneven steps, their limp heavier than usual as they crossed the room. you supposed that ever since they had told you about it, they’d gotten more comfortable about not hiding it from you anymore.

yeah, the limp wasn’t new, but it was worse tonight. C’s gait was uneven, jagged, every step catching slightly as if the bones in their knee were grinding against each other. you’d been watching it for weeks now, how they soldiered through it, jaw tight and posture straight, as though sheer willpower could replace cartilage.

tonight, though, after watching them wince when they thought you weren’t looking, you decided it was enough.

“C,” you began, and they stopped in their tracks. the way they turned, furrowed brows and jaw clenched, should have been enough warning to stop you from saying the next words. but you were you—brazen, brilliant, thoughtless. “i noticed you’re limping worse than usual. maybe it’s time to consider getting a cane.”

you saw their expression hardened immediately, but you kept going, your voice infuriatingly calm, like a teacher correcting a student.

“it would make things easier for you, don’t you think? i mean, i know it’s not ideal, but considering the structural integrity of your knee—”

“the structural integrity of my knee?” C repeated your words incredulously. “you’re really pulling out your SAT vocabulary for this, aren’t you?”

“what are you talking about?” you asked, your own voice rising now, confused about their reaction. “i’m just trying to help, C. god, i don’t know why you have to make everything so difficult.”

“are you this fucking dense?” C’s voice cracked on the word, and they took a step closer to you, their hands clenched at their sides. “you think i want to be like this? you think i don’t know how i look, how i walk? i don’t need your—” they broke off, shaking their head, their face a mask of barely-contained fury.

“i never said any of that,” you said, but it didn’t seem to matter.

“no,” C said, their voice cold. “you didn’t have to.”

you could feel the argument spiraling out of control, but you didn’t know how to stop it. instead, you reached for something—anything—to regain the upper hand.

“you’re being obstinate,” you said, and the word felt strange in your mouth, too big, too formal, but you didn’t care. “you’re acting like an overly sensitive child.”

C’s eyes narrowed, and they let out a harsh, humorless laugh.

“obstinate,” they repeated, rolling the word around like it was a sour taste in their mouth. “jesus christ, could you sound any more condescending? do you ever stop trying to sound like you swallowed a thesaurus? what, you think using words like that makes you better than me? smarter than me?”

“that’s just how i talk,” you snapped, your voice sharp and venomous, the words spilling out before you could think them through. “i’m sorry if it’s not simple enough for you to understand. i’m sorry you always jump to conclusions without hearing me out. i’m sorry that your father never bothered to teach you words like that—he was too busy bashing your head against the wall of your old house while you apologized for even existing.”

the room went silent.

C stared at you, their mouth slightly open, their chest rising and falling like they couldn’t quite catch their breath. their face was now pale, and their chalcedony green eyes blazed with something that wasn’t just anger—it was hurt. deep, raw, soul-deep hurt that made your heart squeeze uncomfortably.

“fuck you,” they said finally, their voice low and trembling with barely-contained fury and tears. “fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.”

“C—” you started, but they flinched when you stepped closer, their body jerking like you were the one who struck them.

“don’t,” they said, their voice sharp and broken all at once. “don’t fucking touch me.”

and then they were gone, the door slamming behind them so hard it rattled the walls.

you stood there, the words still hot on your tongue, searing and damning. you could still see the look on their face, the way their eyes had gone wide and vulnerable, the way they’d looked at you like you’d taken something sacred and smashed it to pieces.

you sank onto the couch, your head in your hands, the weight of your regret pressing down on you like a boulder. you hadn’t meant it. you hadn’t meant any of it. but meaning didn’t matter now. the damage was done.

you’d known—instantly, the moment the words left your mouth—that you’d crossed a line. not just crossed it, obliterated it. and now, the consequences were as painful as the regret slicing through you.

and you were alone, left to drown in the bitter aftertaste of your own words.

[morningsharksworld]

Listen, I'm going to chew on Hazel, he isn't safe from me!

That being said, I imagine this lorge man is just *so* warm and cuddly. Could I ask for a warm cuddle sesh with him and his freeze baby S/O?

Thank you so much for the Hazard food, btw.

-Jaki 💖

Giant Heater

Hazard x Reader [REQUEST]

A/S: Alright you lil PHREAKS it’s time for a cuddle sesh, we all need a lil aftercare after all :].

Summary: Lately it’s gotten colder than usual and what better way to warm up than to cuddle your giant human heater.

The chill in the air was relentless, a biting cold that seeped into your bones no matter how tightly you wrapped yourself in the blankets. Two layers deep, and it still felt like the cold was winning. Your breath puffed out in small, visible clouds, a stark reminder that winter had fully arrived.

The heater in your room groaned and sputtered, but it did little to fight off the icy grip of the night. Shivering, you pulled the blankets tighter around you and stared at the ceiling, debating your next move.

There was only one solution that made sense.

You tiptoed through the hall, careful not to make a sound, and found yourself standing outside Hazard’s door. Your fingers hesitated on the handle for a moment before you quietly opened it. The room was dark, save for the faint purple glow of a lava lamp on the bedside table. Hazard lay sprawled beneath a thick comforter, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

He looked peaceful, his sharp features softened in sleep, his usually intense presence muted by the quiet of the room. You hesitated again, feeling a pang of guilt for disturbing him, but another shiver wracked your body, urging you forward. You padded over to his bed and slid beneath the covers. The warmth was immediate, but not enough—so you scooted closer until your body was pressed against his.

He stirred almost instantly, a low, rumbling groan escaping his lips. His arm fell away from his face, and his sleepy, half-lidded eyes turned toward you.

“What’re ye doin’?” His voice was thick with sleep, the rich Scottish lilt making it sound softer than usual.

“Freezing” you mumbled, already nestling into him. Your arms wrapped around his waist as you pressed your face against his chest.

Hazard blinked, then huffed a low chuckle. “Ach, yer colder than a bloody snowstorm. Could’ve warned me, aye?” Despite the grumble in his tone, his arms moved to envelop you, pulling you even closer.

You murmured something incoherent, too focused on soaking up his warmth to respond properly. His chest rumbled against you as he let out another laugh, this one softer, almost affectionate.

“Ye’re like a wee cat, burrowin’ under the covers” he teased, his hand moving to rest on your back. “Next time, just get in. Don’t fash yersel’ about askin’.”

“Didn’t wanna bother you” you muttered, voice muffled against him.

“Bother? Ye’re daft if ye think cuddlin’ is a bother. Now quit wrigglin’ and let me get back tae sleep, sweet cheeks.” His arms tightened around you, trapping you snugly against him.

The heat of his body chased away the cold almost instantly, and you felt yourself relaxing, the tension in your muscles melting away. His fingers idly traced circles on your back as he mumbled, “Ye’re lucky I’m such a generous heater, aye?”

“Mm, very lucky” you agreed sleepily, already drifting off. You couldn’t see the way his gaze softened as he looked down at you, but it was there—clear adoration shining in his sleepy eyes. A small smile tugged at his lips as he watched you, your breathing evening out as the cold finally let you relax. Hazard’s chuckle was the last thing you heard before sleep claimed you, the sound warm and reassuring.

“Daft wee little thing” he muttered under his breath, his tone dripping with affection. “Can’t believe ye’d suffer alone when I’m right here.”

His arms tightened around you briefly before his own exhaustion began to claim him again. With one last glance at you—so small and peaceful in his embrace—he closed his eyes, his heart feeling impossibly full.

The world outside remained bitterly cold, but within Hazard’s arms, you found a warmth that nothing could touch. And as the two of you drifted off to sleep, it was clear he wouldn’t have traded this moment for anything.

[duskandcobalt]

somebody else

Merry Christmas @whysterian ✨🎄

For your Christmas present, I’ve written something that’s both sweet and a little angsty which I feel fits the general vibe of Elriel as a pair anyway ☺️

I hope you enjoy this! Happy @acotargiftexchange

Xoxo your secret santa🎅🏽

1.6 words, no warnings ☺️

Elain giggled into the chest of the Shadowsinger the second his bedroom door had shut behind them.

She’d been making her way back to bed after dinner, tiptoeing down the hallway… purposefully slowing down as she passed the door of the room he was inhabiting for the night, in the hopes that he’d do exactly what he’d done. There was no fear, only absolute happiness that built inside her in the split second it had taken for the door to open and a strong arm to wrap around her middle and pull her inside. There’d been no indication that he’d be waiting for her, but she knew. In her heart, in her bones - Elain knew he’d be waiting and listening for the sound of her footsteps to pass by his door.

“Happy Solstice, pretty girl.” Azriel whispered, one scarred hand sliding up her neck until he could tilt her jaw upwards so her lips met his. He’d wasted no time, the wish just barely leaving his mouth before he kissed her. It was sweet, tender, thorough - his other hand placed safely on her waist, his fingertips easily stretching to press gently against the small of her back.

She’d waited all night for this. To have a moment alone - just the two of them - unbeknownst to anyone else. It had been a torturous evening of avoiding eye contact, of pretending like the two of them hadn’t spent the last few months sneaking off to dark corners of the house or hidden sections of the garden whenever they got the chance. After the debacle last solstice, Elain had thought everything was done between them before they’d even had a chance to start but she soon found out that she’d been wrong. With the full story in the open between them, she’d only come to realise that Azriel hated being told what to do… something that had worked very, very well in her favour because it meant that when he’d come back to Velaris a couple weeks after that ill-fated night, he’d made it quite clear that he was determined to have her.

“Happy Solstice, Azriel.” Elain smiled against his mouth, pressing a hand against his chest to put some semblance of space between them before things got out of control as it tended to whenever they were left alone too long. There’d be time for that later but there were other things that needed to be done first. “I’ve got something for you…”

“Oh yeah?” He tried pulling her closer but she peeled back again, shaking her head and laughing at the mischievous look in his eyes. She loved this side of him - the playful easiness he seemed to reserve just for her.

“Mhm,” Elain bit her lip, doing her best to concentrate on the task at hand and not on the look he was giving her lest she abandon everything and let him have his way with her. She reached into the hidden pocket of her dress, slipping out a small box she’d carefully wrapped late last night and holding it out to him.

“Didn’t have to get me anything…” Azriel smiled, carefully taking the box from her and weighing it in his palm. “Earbuds, headache tonic… what will this year bring, I wonder?”

Elain sighed, impatient as Azriel took his time carefully unwrapping the present. Her nerves were getting the best of her.

“It’s really for us, more than anything. I mean it’s mine but for us to share…” her voice drifted off, quiet as Azriel picked up a small silver key and held it in between his fingers. There was a crease on his forehead as he looked at her, waiting for an explanation. She wanted to soothe away the line with her fingers.

“The bakery I like in town… there’s an apartment a couple floors above it. I… I bought it.”

“You bought an apartment?” Azriel asked, turning the key over in his hand. “For us?”

“It’s silly…” Elain shook her head, suddenly feeling like she’d made a massive mistake. She didn’t know what she’d been thinking when signed the papers and handed over the money. They’d spoken about one day having a place to themselves, where they wouldn’t have to worry about others seeing or hearing them and so she’d thought it would be a good idea. “I’m sorry, I just… it’s getting crowded here and I thought it’d be nice to have a place of my own. Somewhere we could go every now and then.”

“Hey,” Azriel stepped towards her, reaching forward to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s not silly. It’s just… it’s really going to put my present to shame.”

Azriel chuckled as he pulled a small pouch from his back pocket and handed it to her.

Elain took it, opening it to find an ornate hair pin fashioned into the shape of wild flowers. It was beautiful, the tiny stones glimmering in the dim light of the room.

“That feels silly now,” he laughed, slipping the hair pin from her hand and then reaching behind her to wind her hair up before securing it in place. He looked her over, his eyes slowly scanning over her face and her newly exposed throat. “Perfect.”

“It’s lovely, thank you.” Elain wound her arms around his neck, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“Shall we go see this apartment now?” Azriel asked just as she felt him drag the key he still held up the length of her spine.

“Can you winnow us there?” She asked, heat and excitement building in her belly with each passing second.

…

Azriel could barely stand to be in the room this year, once again relegated to standing in the shadowed doorway as the festivities unfolded before him.

There was no excitement this year. No anticipation of sweeping a certain sister into his room after everyone else had gone to bed - happily drunk and bellies full, their newly acquired gifts scattered in front of the fireplace where they’d be collected the next morning. That anticipation was in the past. Now, he watched as his closest friends enjoyed the night. Watched as the love of his life sat still as a stone next to the male that had won in the end.

Azriel had fooled himself for the better part of three years. Had somehow tricked himself into thinking that for once, he could have what his heart desired despite all the extenuating factors against him. He’d thought that this would be it, that he’d finally been chosen. That he’d finally gotten the life that he’d always secretly dreamed of having. Of a female to come home to. A female to cherish. Someone that understood him.

The rug had been pulled out from under him one evening when Elain had stood in front of him uncharacteristically stone faced as she told him they couldn’t keep doing what they’d been doing and that it was time for her to accept what the Cauldron had planned for her.

A life away from him. A life with a son of Autumn.

He hadn’t been able to say anything. Hadn’t even really tried to argue that she was making a mistake. How could he when far in the back of his mind, a small part of him always knew that this had always been too good to be true.

For months now, he’d avoided her. Had been able to drown himself in work - throwing every bit of time and energy he had into his reports and assignments in order to keep his mind off of everything he’d lost because if he thought about it too much, he’d go crazy. Much like he was now.

He’d tried. He really had. He’d tried to not watch her from the second she walked into the River House with her arm looped through Lucien’s. But it was a lost cause because just like the very first time he’d met her, she’d drawn his attention with little to no effort. She was beautiful. Ethereal. There could be a thousand females in a room and Azriel would find her within seconds. He’d been quietly observing her all night, making sure she seemed okay. Making sure she seemed happy.

Elain on the other hand had refused to even look in his direction after an initial polite greeting and he’d given up after a while, had taken to sulking in the shadows as he nursed a tumbler of whisky and avoided making eye contact with Nesta. That sister in particular had an uncanny ability to read him when no one else could and he hated it.

It wasn’t until he’d overheard the tail end of a conversation that he dared to look at Elain again.

“I have to head back to the Spring Court tonight, unfortunately.” Lucien had said.

“Oh, what a shame,” Feyre pouted. “I was looking forward to spending time with my sister before you two wed.”

“Well,” Elain’s voice pierced Azriel’s heart. It’d been so long since he’d heard that gentle voice so clearly. Paired with Feyre’s reminder of the upcoming mating ceremony, it was like a dagger to the heart. “Lucien’s going back but I… I thought I’d stay behind but I… I, um… I’ve arranged for a place to stay in town for a couple nights so that I’ll be out of your way but I’ll come visit during the day.”

Azriel’s breath halted as Elain’s gaze lifted suddenly, her eyes meeting his for one searing moment before she returned her attention to Feyre who’d squealed at the news and had immediately set to planning what they could do with their time together.

He could’ve been imagining it - the invitation he thought he might’ve seen in that short glimpse they’d shared. They’d always had a knack for communicating their thoughts and needs with few words actually spoken aloud. But it wasn’t until Elain stood abruptly, heading for the kitchen, that he caught a glimpse of the pin nestled into her dark curls. A delicate bunch of wildflowers that was as familiar as the key he swore he could feel warming his skin from where it still resided in his back pocket.

[balrogballs]

The Clean Break

a little take on Aragorn and Elrond’s final meeting, a removed scene from Cast in Stone (no context required; it’s canon compliant) that I liked too much to toss.

Aragorn was Estel when he broke his wrist, somewhere between five and six years old. It was a perfectly ordinary break, which happened for a perfectly ordinary reason: he had been running about on a wet floor, slipped, and crashed over a threshold. Elladan and Elrohir had come running at his wails, picked him up and took him to Elrond.

He remembers how Elrond explained to him that it was a clean break, and a very small one — it would stop hurting in a few days if he kept it still. The twins, those ardent connoisseurs of broken bones, had kept up a steady stream of joking patter to distract him whilst their father slowly applied a pain-relieving poultice and began to wrap up the wound.

Estel had been sobbing and sobbing, regardless of how mild the injury truly was. He was only five years old, and was more frightened than hurt, because he had never broken a bone in his life and he did not understand what everyone was doing, did not understand why his arm was being covered in white cloth, and it did hurt quite a lot, so he wailed.

And at some point in the process, he remembers looking up and realising that his father was crying too. Elrond hadn't made a sound, but his cheeks were awash in silent, indecipherable tears. Aragorn remembers how his expression didn't change at all, blank and beautiful in the white afternoon light: wrought from stone like a weeping statue, a quiet miracle, a promise of faith.

He remembers Elladan's tense, barked-out "Ada! What is it? What is wrong? You said it’s a clean break!"

And Aragorn remembers how Elrond had sat back on his heels and smiled, the motion pulling his features back into familiar lines. He remembers sitting silently, watching the last tears fall down the marble face, as Elrond said: "hush, my boy, you will scare Estel. Nothing is wrong, it is only a clean break. He will be fine tomorrow."

"Then why are you in tears?" Elrohir had asked, equally worried.

"Oh dear, am I? Aha, I am. Truly, it is only because he is," Elrond admitted sheepishly, sniffing. He had stroked a lock of hair back from Estel's face, laughing self-consciously, and his voice shook only a little. "I hate seeing him in pain. It breaks my heart seeing him cry so ceaselessly, even for such a small cause. It is only that, Elrohir, do not worry."

At the time, the twins had laughed, teased their father for his softness as they often did, made so many jokes about it that even little Estel, who didn't really understand the fuss and at the time had just probably assumed Elrond had a broken wrist too, was laughing alongside the three of them for absolutely no reason at all. It was casual, domestic, completely ordinary and commonplace as far as his childhood went: there were funnier incidents, sadder scenes, happier conversations.

But for some reason, this one is Aragorn's first real memory. The day he broke his wrist is the scaffolding he built his life atop, the day he looked at his father and found something sacred within him.

________

"I thought for a very long time," Aragorn says, on the tallest tower in Minas Tirith, their final meeting. "About what I could give you as a parting gift."

"If it is anything extravagant," Elrond warns him, raising a finger. "You know as well as I that I will take it to mean you are offering me a bride price, and I will take deep offence."

Aragorn grins, winks: "it's actually less than worthless, financially speaking" and cackles at how Elrond actually looks somehow more offended at that option.

"And what is this less than worthless thing you are donating to the one who raised you all your life?" he raises his eyebrows, a smile playing on his lips. "What castoff hand-me-down do you deign to bestow me with?”

"I know you must be weary of rings," Aragorn gestures at Vilya, winking away on Elrond's finger. "But perhaps this one may restore your faith in them."

"I am of a race that thinks nothing: jewels, lives, wars, is eternal," he continues, hair drifting over his face. "Of an old jewelry box my mother had, many trinkets were lost to time, some earrings were without a pair. And such loss of heirlooms never grieved us. After all, they were not ours to grieve."

"The oddest thing in the box was an old, battered golden ring. When I was first given the collection, I was only twenty yet already that ring was far too small for me. I thought that it belonged to a petite woman, perhaps a sister or a mother. Yet more recently, I was thinking of it and it confused me — why would a noblewoman own a cheap, plain ring? The other stones in the box were all precious, valuable, true heirlooms. When my mother died, she told me to pass them on to my children, and I will: but with this ring, I intend to disobey her."

"It was only some weeks ago, as Arwen showed me her own rings, that I realised something," said Aragorn, fishing around in his collar. "That this trinket I carry was no woman's ring, it was made to be worn by a child. You had given me one of these too, if you recall, as per tradition — on my sixth begetting day, a flat gold ring like this with my name carved into the inside. That was when I looked closer at this one, at the inscription on the inside of its hollow."

He unfastens the clasp on the chain, slips a small ring into Elrond's palm. He watches as all the blood leaves the elf's face only to be replaced by a harsh, terrible expression.

"Nothing is eternal, Ada," repeats Aragorn. "But some things should be."

"You are — you are giving me this?" Elrond's voice is strangled, eyes wide. "It —"

"I am. It is not mine to grieve."

Elrond does not say a word, does not even look at Aragorn, instead turning away and walking towards the far side of the balcony where he stood silently, ring clutched tightly in a shaking fist. Aragorn allows him to hold on to dignity.

Dignity, and a small, burnished gold ring.

It was rather battered, some of the plating rubbed off, a groove carved into it from all the times its owner tied it to a string and used it to tease cats with. It had a small dent in the frame, warping it slightly, and if you looked closely you could make out a little tooth mark, as though someone had a habit of gnawing at it. It was less valuable heirloom, more solid proof that the ancient king Elros Tar-Minyatur of Numenor, had once been a messy, careless little boy.

A few minutes pass, in which neither of them speak.

"I had nothing of him," Elrond tells him quietly after a while. "All my life, I had nothing of him at all. It had felt wrong, you see, sailing off to Numenor and demanding his possessions from his grieving children. So for five thousand years, I had nothing of him."

"But I never told you of him," Elrond's voice is searching, harsh and confused, trying to find a justification for the gift. "I had never told you of him, and yes, you had known of him from your lessons but I had tried so hard never to speak of him to you lest you, for one second, thought that I only loved you because you were the heir of Elros. You had no reason to know how I loved him, how fiercely I missed him, how I had nothing of him at all."

Elrond sounds almost angry, wrenching the words through gritted teeth like a scolding, his back still turned to Aragorn: "who made you so kind, Estel? Who made you so selfless — that you — that you give me this without ever being told — that you thought of it — who made you, boy?"

Elrond is breathing in deep, clarifying breaths and Aragorn stands there silently. He does not answer any of the fevered questions. It was Elrond, after all, who once told him over a chalkboard: stupid questions did not deserve answers.

"I never wanted to hurt you, Ada," says Aragorn at last, when only a sliver of sun is left behind in the sky. "Not for a moment. That is why I had… I had… that is why I had hoped we could have a clean break. I just didn't want to hurt you."

"I know you didn't," Elrond says, half-smiling as he turns back, composed again yet not entirely unruffled. "But I would rather it hurt in such a way, than it not hurt at all."

"Would you?"

"Of course," Elrond tells him, unconsciously running a finger across the flat, golden surface of the ring he had slid onto his smallest finger. "After all, the most treasured things in the world are only so valued because of how debilitatingly painful it would be to lose them."

Aragorn cannot speak. He has dawdled and delayed, pushed this parting to a cliff-edge, given gifts and made jokes, all the while waiting for a clean break that would never come for those who love like the two of them. He walks forward in a daze, and Elrond takes him into his arms and Aragorn is five again — building a life atop the scaffolding of the heart Elrond offered to him.

"I do not know what divinity made you this way," his father's voice is rough as he repeats his earlier question, but it does not break. "I do not know which of the Valar wielded the knife that carved you out of kindness. But I am glad, Estel, so glad that I know you."

Aragorn stays pressed in that embrace, shaking. He fights a sudden, absurd urge to laugh and roll his eyes, to say don't ask stupid questions, to say who made me kind? oh, I don't know, perhaps the one who loved me so wholly that he beheld a five year old's silly, childish tears, and wept that I shed them at all.

Still, he does not move: he does not want to see Elrond's face, does not want to see his own, not at this moment. Time passes, strains like molasses through linen, slowly and with great reluctance. At last, the king draws away and takes in this final image, the one who raised him standing before his son with an inscrutable expression on his face.

When he was younger, Aragorn used to think it might make it easier for his father to bend with the marred world if he learned how to be as cruel as it was, instead of taking each slap in the face as a surprise. But he understands now that whilst he wasn't looking, the marred world had bent itself to Elrond's gentleness; that it is a strength, an honest one, to be kind when the world not only abides by cruelty but insists upon it.

Aragorn cannot bring himself to turn and leave, wanting to brand Elrond’s face into the back of his eyelids with knife-hot tears. It is anything but a clean break.

“I cannot bring myself to turn,” he admits, the moonlight limning the silver in his hair. “Because when I turn, you'll be gone, and it will be the end of everything. Is this the end of everything now, Ada? Are we done now, you and I?"

Elrond smiles, looking at Aragorn in the same way he had always looked at him, every day since the moment he was put in his arms: eyes bright with unconditional adoration, unashamed pride, and a constant, total faith in him. He shakes his head.

"You and I will never be done,” he says softly; resolute. It is the only oath he ever makes.

[kiestrokes]

Day 19: Say My Name Pt. 2 | SWF-ish

▸ Idol: Jeong Yunho of ATEEZ ▸ Rating: SFW-ish. Mature (18+) Minors DNI. ▸ Genre: active WIP, smut, discussion of threesomes, polyamory, fratyboy AU. ▸ Vibe: Yunho shows up seeking some help with his…Mingi situation.

Read Part One Here!

▸ Warnings: language, feelings, tbd if they’re reciprocated.

Sexually Explicit Content: discussing of taking anal virginities, illusions to future threesomes.

🗝️ Note: Has not beta-ed by me or anyone else. THIS IS A WIP! (it is being posted for my wipmas.) It is not complete; this is very much a rough outline/first run through. Probably the most “outline” of outlines you’ll see during wipmas.

Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction; I do not own any of the idols depicted below.

「 25 Hours: Hard, Soft and WIP-mas Masterlist 」

With all the rush festivities, first round of exams and other things you and your friends' schedules didn’t quite line up as easily as previous semesters. Which made spending time together, attending more parties and hooking up obsolete after your initial rendezvous with Mingi. 

The most action you were getting is heated texts from Mingi and the occasional tease of him and Yunho in your secret group chat. 

So you’re caught off guard when Yunho shows up at your dorm one Monday night. You’re in full gremlin mode. Wearing your favorite sweats and hoodie to beat out the November chill. Hair in two fraying braids. 

“Hi,” His grin blooms along with the fluttering of your heart and he steps inside to scoop you into a hug.

Yunho presses his nose against your hair and inhales deeply, squeezing you tighter to his willowy frame.

“Fuck I’ve missed you.”

“You saw me at lunch on Friday!”

“It’s not the same,” he leans back, thumbs digging into your hips.

“Could I stay the night?”

“Of course.”

The two of you settle into your bed together: Yunho tells you about Mingi, the make outs, the dick sucking, the prostate fingering. But he feels like there’s a wall up and doesn’t want to pressure Mingi to take his back door virginity. Start discussing things it could be. You get an “I miss you” text from Mingi and tell Yunho that you guys should hang out at yours when your home for Thanksgiving. Since yours and Yunho’s mom will be in Paris together.

You ask Mingi first.

He agrees, eagerly. 

You and Yunho settle in for the night but you know him and can tell there’s something else he wants to say.

You turn over to fave him on your shared pillow.

“What is it?”

Yunho doesn’t respond right away, instead he brushes wayward strands of hair back from your face. Before his fingertips linger, molding down the bone of your jaw to cup your cheek and stroke your bottom lip with his thumb.

“What if Mingi just isn’t interested in me?”

“Yunho,” you roll your eyes at him, pushing him off to catch your breath.

Yunho tugs you back against his chest, tucking you comfortably, familiarly against his broad frame.

“Things feel so different this year, less playful.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, we are growing up and moving on with our lives.”

You lift your chin to meet his gaze.

“I don’t want to move on from you or Mingi.”

Your throat tightens, as the pause unfurls in the darkened room like night phlox.

“You’re my best friend.”

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Grim Reaper

[kabukiaku]

GHULEH / ZOMBIE QUEEN. 🧟‍♀️

tribute to one of my favorite tracks from Infestissunam. (let's be honest, every single track on that album goes so hard.) I love this album so much.

bonus silly doodle:

[sesamestreep]

“requiem for methuselah” crazy ass episode for many reasons. Kirk is being fully insane, like I don’t actually think, even controlling for how quickly and easily and readily he seems to fall in love with anybody at the slightest encouragement, that he’d go that bonkers for that android woman he just met while everyone on the ship was this close to dying, but that’s neither here nor there, because in the background you’ve got an equally but much more subtly insane episode for Spock, who extremely uncharacteristically admits to experiencing an emotion (or nearly experiencing, whatever) and that emotion is ENVY of all things. And then spends the rest of the episode warning Kirk away from this new love interest (something that doesn’t usually happen, even when Kirk has very inadvisable love interests) and is, in the end, the person who accurately identifies that Rayna’s competing love for Kirk and Flint is ultimately what overwhelms and destroys her with the most killer line in maybe history???

And then to wrap it up we get an equally uncharacteristic sort of denouement scene (TOS loooves to cut an episode off right after the actual climax, leaving little time for falling action or character reflection, or to stick a sitcom-y button on the end where the gang all smiles and laughs at their misadventures and everything resets to zero, which is not a criticism, it’s just the style of that era of tv, honestly) where Kirk is literally miserable over Rayna’s death (again, kind of unusual for a lot of his love interests, he tends to be able to move on pretty quickly) and Spock goes to see him and he falls asleep right in front of Spock (also odd) and then when Bones comes in to give the final word on Flint, Spock waves him off from waking the Captain (tender) and Bones gives him that awful speech about how it’s sadder that Spock can’t even imagine the love Kirk felt for this random android woman than it is that Kirk lost her in the first place (debatable but also rude) and how his great tragedy is that he can’t love at all like they can and how all he wishes is that Kirk could forget about all of this and move on. AND THEN, to have Bones leave and Spock go over to Kirk and very gently, tenderly, reluctantly touch him and put his hand to his forehead and tell him to forget and HAVE THAT BE THE END OF THE EPISODE??? What am I supposed to do with that??

[pettyprocrastination]

cringe brainrot cod thought but Alien!au Simon Riley where he's a retired veteran who takes on a job of being freelance security which means accompanying a collection of scientists led but some capitalist billionaire onto an non-domesticated planet where they all inevitably get picked off one by one until he's the only one left to find their murderer is an alien gal who wants to be left the FUCK alone on her planet. Builds a little hut deep in the forest and learns if he leaves her alone she'll leave his alone on separate sides of the world- eventually they fuck idk what to tell you.

[bonefall]

Bro ur brain is so BIG and u are one of my biggest inspirations tbh. On another note. Talk to me about kitty cat recipes because the way u described Roasted Grandpaw mande me hungry tbh

My secret is that I am always hungry. My entire life is just a very elaborate Rube Goldberg machine set up to land delicious food into my mouth. I am good at describing food prose because I just think about delicious things and how they smell and sizzle and mnhhhg

[sysig]

Looking his very best, as much as he can anyhow (Patreon)

[ninacarstairss]

i have to watch this all again and process but i have one thing to say for now. thank you to the writers of season 2. there are so many flaws, so many things crammed into eight episodes when they would have needed 28, but they did one thing right that leigh could never do. they did alina justice. they left her powers to her, they let her rebuild ravka as she wished to, and they let her explore her dark side too. she used merzost, she brought mal back unlike in the books, and she tasted that power. she liked the power of that cut. she loves her power, her light, and leigh stripped her of that in the books. and why? to make her live a normal mortal life with mal. but they did this perfectly here, mal is his own person and he wants to find out who he is without his destiny to be alina’s amplifier, and alina wants to rebuild the country she fought so hard for, keep the friends and family she found along the way. this ending was perfect. i know we’ll see them again and they probably will end up together at some point, but this wasn’t it, this wasn’t the right time anyway. and i’m beyond happy they didn’t strip alina of her powers. she is a summoner, she loves being grisha, and i always hated how she was just taken away from all of that after tearing down the fold. it was as if she’s only been made for that purpose, to tear down the fold and then disappear again. now, she finally gets a chance to be her own person have a different purpose, rebuild a country, find her path, discover more about her power. she can choose where to go from here. i really couldn’t be happier about this ending

[gyrovagi]

i just need to be able to summon up a single feeling about harding. like the thing is i can sacrifice her because i kind of dgaf but that also makes it impossible for me to sacrifice her because i need it to play into my Narrative and i can't construct a Narrative with literally zero feelings about her. i'm sorry women. it's my fault i'm not doing enough

[wickershells]

missed it yesterday so happy belated two-year anniversary to my unearthly, beautiful lover: bones and all 2022