#Hazel now has a little brother :3

[lionacuty]

oh god there's another one

[eviesaurusrex]

Escaping | Azriel x High Fae

summary: Azriel carries his mate off to a much-needed picnic, away from her duties at the Court of Dreams.

word counter: 3.2k

warnings: none, pure fluff, Az being a simp for his woman, mentions of reader being an empath/reader having empathic abilities, Az’s pet names being always accompanied by “my” (bc he needs to remind himself constantly that she’s indeed his), reader is part of the Night Court ever since

author’s note: This is also my first time writing anything for ACOTAR, so please be gentle with me, but I just had to, okay? Az deserves every ounce of happiness I can offer him. Also: This is my first time writing and uploding anything in a minute, so this is definitely not perfect

Dividers are made by @enchanthings and @sweetmelodygraphics <3

He had planned this little escape for weeks now, always trying to find the perfect moment to whisk his mate away between duties and obligations, only to grant her and himself a much-needed break from quite literally everything. His shadows had been restless ever since, just as their wielder, the growing stress and frustration traveling along their strong mating bond only a figment of an indication of how she grew to feel every morning she awoke to tend to the court and their cause to protect and free Prythian in the War looming on the horizon.

And today had been finally the perfect day—due to Rhys’ helping hand after he had seen the growing and building anxiety of his brother.

“Is it not strange how adamant Rhys has acted earlier? I think it’s weird. Do you think I should go and check up on him later? Maybe trying to ease his mind? I think I should.” Her sweet, melodic voice filled the warm air, and a rare chuckle escaped the spymaster at her fast-working mind. Gently, he took the blanket out of her arms, placing it over the arm that already carried the basket filled with all her favorites, and tenderly, his free arm found its home around her waist, pulling her closer to his side.

A perfect fit. It was as if the Mother and the Cauldron had molded them to fit just as perfectly as two puzzle pieces. Made for one another… He still couldn’t grasp how his lifelong wish had been answered and granted after so many centuries.

Azriel’s head dipped to press a lingering kiss to her temple, his nose slightly buried in her soft strands, the soothing scent overpowering the scents wafting around them. “Will you scold me if I tell you how I asked him to give us at least today to ourselves?” His voice was soft, tender, a loving and humored edge to it. Hazel eyes began to twinkle as she looked up at him, meeting his gaze, not surprised in the slightest at his revelation, and the teasing twinkle in her eyes in return made his lips twitch into a smile. “Did you now?” She teased and nudged his side, tickling Az because she knew of every existing weak spot—the only person aside from Cassian and Rhys. Her growing smile made him feel light, free, and still, it was the most exhilarating thing he had ever achieved in his long life; felt as if his heart might explode any second when she turned and stretched slightly to press a kiss to his jawline. Reaching further wasn’t possible with the towering male walking beside her. “Thank you, my love.” Only a whisper, but loud enough to travel to his ears, accompanied by the warm and fuzzy feeling sent down the bond by her.

Another pull with the arm around her waist put her even closer—if that was even possible—and Azriel couldn’t hold back the urge within him to kiss her soft lips he had already kissed so often ever since they had accepted their mating bond. Still, it wasn’t often enough, in his opinion. Giving in, the shadowsinger stopped their path in the hidden passageway towards the lush green rolling hills along the coast of Velaris and slowly bent his body, letting their noses run alongside one another. “Nothing to thank me for, my darling,” he hummed, lips almost already touching in the softest of kisses, and he felt her fingers run through the short hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to her and letting their lips melt into one. Neither he nor she could tell where the kiss started and where it ended, where his lips began and hers ended.

The low rumble of her stomach put a pause to their antics, and Az hummed once again before entwining their fingers and continued on their path. “Let’s find a place where we can ease that growl, my darling.”

Wildflowers of all kinds surrounded the place they had finally settled on—the glittering ocean right next to them, the rolling green hills as far as sight could reach, and Velaris in the close distance, beautiful as it had always been. Az had made himself comfortable on the blanket, the picnic basket opened right next to him, his body propped up on his forearms, and his eyes followed his mate as she strolled through the flowers. He could see her fingertips gracing the soft petals that stretched their colorful heads towards the sun, his shadows slowly, almost lazily winding around her wrist and fingers, always keeping her company, making sure she was alright. Not that Azriel minded their own ways, but sometimes he suspected they might abandon him entirely for her if they had the chance—and the shadowsinger couldn’t blame them either. He would do the same if it meant being at her side at all times.

“Eat at least a bite,” he now called over to her as she picked the first flower. She only spared a quick glance at him, but her radiant smile couldn’t fool him, nor could it hide the roll of her eyes. “Yes, yes. Only a minute, love.” Azriel himself rolled his eyes now, but the tuck at his lips was too strong to withstand it. Not when they were alone, not when she was the cause of that rare smile sneaking its way onto his face.

So, he watched her while already eating some of the fresh berries, patiently waiting, eyes moving when she moved toward the next flower in full bloom, bending down to pick her, placing the delicate thing in the soft embrace of her arm he knew wouldn’t dare crush her new possession. She wasn’t violent or cruel to beings who couldn’t defend themselves, who didn’t possess a single malicious thought in their entire body. And even for those who might commit evil deeds, she still held compassion if necessary. By the Cauldron, she even had accepted him from the very beginning of their friendship all those centuries ago when Rhys had brought her into the Court of Dreams, right after the War had been won.

A sigh left him when she finally strolled toward him in her pretty flowy dress, hair flowing in the warm breeze, her smile growing the closer she got to him. “What am I supposed to do with you, hm?” Az had pushed himself from his arms into a sitting position, legs slightly crossed, an arm resting on his muscular thigh, while the other reached for her, enveloping her fingers as she sank onto the blanket and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. The sound of his wings stretching and rustling behind him accompanied her adorable chuckle, and he almost melted at the sight of her shining eyes when she pressed his scarred palm against her cheek, her lips leaving a warm mark on it, letting him forget about the pain of the past in an instant.

She had that power over him.

“Az, you had more than four centuries to get used to my antics.” Grinning, her lips pressed another set of kisses to his palm before letting his hand sink onto her knee, where it immediately started to wander and found its place on her thigh, squeezing it tenderly. “I should know by now, you mean?” A nod followed his question, grin still prominent on her lips, but he felt her concentration slip toward the many flowers she had sprayed over the blanket in front of her, and her soft and delicate fingers had already started to weave some of them together. “Perhaps even a lifetime isn’t long enough,” he dared to hum and tease, moving closer toward her side and holding a strawberry in front of her lips. The tip of Azriel’s nose nudged her temple, and she took a bite, sighing in satisfaction. “Perhaps.” The sweet berry muffled her words, and without thinking or even considering he was prepared for it, the woman scooted closer and leaned backward, pressing her back against her mate’s strong chest—because he had been ready. He was always ready and always there if she needed or craved anything.

Even though the bond had taken its sweet time before it had finally snapped into place, they had been close from the beginning, a mutual feeling of closeness and understanding the root and foundation of their slowly blooming friendship. And over the decades and centuries, they had started to learn to know one another. Now, with the bond in its rightful place, it all was merely heightened; no longer a want to fulfill anything they wished for, but an urging need. So Az just knew without thinking when she needed his arms wrapped tightly around her body, his chest pressing against her back like a steadfast wall in a sea of uncertainty and fear.

His chin rested on her right shoulder, the strong and powerful wings softly tucked behind his back, granting the sunlight to kiss and warm her skin while she weaved flower after flower in a steadily growing circle.

“When all of this is over…” The soft voice of his mate traveled alongside the warm breeze. “When all is over, I’d like to leave for a while. Just… the two of us. Somewhere enjoying life itself, forgetting about War, bloodshed, and intrigues. Healing and growing,” she continued even softer, reminding him once again of her calm and peaceful nature, and Azriel felt how she longed for all those things after everything that had happened in the past fifty years. He didn’t dare to think about all that had happened Under the Mountain when she had been forced to live there, didn’t try to recollect everything she had shared with him in those days after Rhys and she had finally returned to Velaris.

All that was important was the exploding sensation of relief since she had followed Rhys over the threshold in the House of Wind, stepping out of the shadow of his broad back and came running right to him. That immaculate sensation had been his companion since that day.

Burrowing his face into the warm crook of her neck, the spymaster released a deep breath. “Whatever you wish, my darling,” he whispered against her skin, making her giggle and squirm in his grasp. “Az! Stop it, or my flower crown will be ruined!” He hid the growing smirk against her skin and nipped at one of her weak spots, making it tickle once more. “They always turn out beautiful.” Azriel could practically feel the playful roll of her eyes at his words, and dutifully, he picked the next flower for her to weave into the growing circle before a small lemon tart found its way to her lips, reminding his mate that they indeed had something else in mind when they had left the House of Wind earlier.

The deep, soft sighing after the first bite of the masterfully baked tart warmed his heart, and Azriel didn’t object in the slightest when the small cake was eaten within a heartbeat, her sweet tooth demanding even more after weeks of relinquishment because they had all been so busy with the preparations for the meeting with Prythian’s High Lords.

“Another one?” He whispered quietly as the shadows now surrounded their legs, resting like they did. “Do we have one of these tiny strawberry cakes we had for Starfall?” Immediately, the memory of the last festivities occupied his mind as he looked for the mentioned dessert and presented it to her like an offering to the gods in his open, scarred palm. “My Lady.” She chuckled at that and abandoned the almost finished flower crown with a gentle “Thank you, my Lord,” only to take the delicate cake and took a savoring bite out of it.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you looked at Starfall? More radiant as the stars…” Az’s voice trailed off into the distance, pictures of that night clouding his mind once again. As she turned her head to look at him with that one smile entirely reserved for his eyes, he pulled back and let her kiss his lips in a heart-wrenchingly soft kiss. “You told me that countless times, my love. Especially when you see the dress hanging in the armoire.” She grinned at that, making him almost blush. “But do I need to remind you how handsome and dashing you looked that night? All those ladies turning and twisting their heads as soon as you walked through the room…” Even though she knew that no one could take her mate, the bitter feeling of jealousy boiled in her blood for just a second before it vanished at the glowing and warm, but also shadowy feeling of their bond, reminding her once again that they were bound for the rest of their existence.

“No need to be jealous, my darling. There was never anyone but you, and there will never be anyone but you.”

His index finger under her chin moved her face upward to face him, skin touching skin and lips brushing over even softer lips. “I know,” she whispered against Azriel, and for a moment, she leaned her forehead against the strong line of his jaw, feeling him pressing a tender kiss on her hairline.

A rumble in the far-off distance let them look up at last, and both watched the building and rolling clouds over the sea, knowing that rain was a mere thought away. But still, they took their time.

Az continued to feed them both, watching her tirelessly weaving flower after flower into the crown, humming a tune they had danced to countless times by now and savoring the warmth radiating off his body. “Another one for Elain?” Azriel dared to ask as she seemed to be done. All the flowers she had gathered were woven into a beautiful, intricate pattern, and none were wasted. His mate had started to bring Elain flowers and plants in all their forms, especially ones only growing in their lands and not behind the wall, explaining their nature, natural habitats, uses, and sometimes hidden beauty. She was so soft and gentle with the young female that Azriel had to ask himself—more often than not, if he was honest—if she would be like this to their children if they ever were allowed that sort of happiness.

He let her sit up and turn onto her knees, holding the crown in her delicate fingers. She shook her head, an unsure smile now surfacing on her lips, as she softly placed it on top of his dark hair. “I never made one for you, my love.” He was stunned, not daring to move nor touch the petals now resting on his head. “You don’t have to keep it, of course. If you don’t like it, I can just bring it to Elain, and we’ll forget about it. It’s silly anywa-” He stopped her right then and there by pulling her close and kissing her fiercely, only holding himself back from roaring down their bond and scaring the living daylights out of her. He took great pride in the fact how breathless his mate was when Az finally ended the kiss, how gleaming her eyes were when she looked at him, how the blush that had crept to her cheeks made them glow, how her fingers gripped the fabric over his chest to steady herself. “Don’t you dare take it,” he growled and kissed her once more, shorter this time, less desperate, and still tickled those delicious sounds out of her body he still kept reveling in, even after all this time.

The first drop falling from the heavens made them part, and while she started to collect their things to pack them safely into the basket and fold the picnic blanket, Azriel spread his wings to protect his mate from the mighty raindrops. When they were ready to winnow to the barriers of the House of Wind, the summer downpour had already picked up its intensity and soaked the two from head to toe. However, their laughter still lingered over their sacred space of Velaris even after they winnowed away.

Feyre’s brows creased in worry as she looked out the many windows in the palace atop the mountain, overlooking Velaris during the downpour that had been foreseen. The heavy drops splattered against the glass, making it difficult to discern any shape moving in the distance. She knew the rain wouldn’t harm them, but the thunderstorm rolling over the hills induced an anxiety within her that she could barely contain.

“Feyre, darling?”

Rhys’ voice let her spin away from the windows, facing her mate who had stood from his desk he had worked on for the past couple of hours, and walked closer toward her, worry furrowing his forehead. “What is wrong?” He wrapped his strong arms around her body, and the High Lady sighed deeply as she sank into the embrace. “Nothing, I…” The first roaring thunder let her pause for a moment. “Az and YN haven’t returned yet.” Violet eyes gazed out of the window, brows slightly furrowed in concentration as he tried to make out the shapes in the gloomy light of the early evening.

Then, a smile spread across his handsome face, and Feyre turned to see what had happened. “They are now. Come, my love,” the High Lord coaxed his mate toward the door to meet the pair down the hall to greet them. She followed him without hesitation, needing to see for herself that both her friends returned without harm, and had to know if they enjoyed their afternoon, needing all the raunchy details YN would spill over a glass of faery wine and a warm fire.

They only made it atop the stairwell leading down into the hall that housed the balcony primarily used to enter the House of Wind, and the pair watched a dripping YN pulling a not-less-dripping Azriel inside, a laugh dancing on her lips.

The Illyrian shook the rain off his shoulders and wings, eyes entirely focused on the brightly smiling High Fae before him. Without a thought, he let the basket drop to the floor, not sparing a single second for its whereabouts after because his entire being narrowed down to the bond beating in his chest, demanding intimacy, closeness, with the female he desired and loved more than life itself. A shriek escaped YN between laughter as Az playfully pounced on her, wrapping her in his strong arms and lifting her off the ground in one smooth motion, moaning deep in his throat at the first taste of her lips drenched in rain droplets.

As he carried her down the hall toward their shared bedchambers in long, purposeful strides, flower crown still proudly atop his head, YN laughed: “Az, the basket!” The pair above the stairs could only hear him say, “It can wait until I’m drunk and delirious on you,” before a door closed, and Feyre finally allowed the giggle to escape her she had held onto for so long.

Rhys shook his head with a humored grin, pulling the female next to him closer to his chest. “My spymaster wearing a flower crown? I won’t ever let him forget it,” he chuckled deeply, amusement and happiness dancing across his face, especially as Feyre hit his chest in warning. “Don’t you dare tease him about it!” The male grinned at that, pulling her face toward him, and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips. “I can’t make such promises, Feyre darling unless you are interested in a little deal with your beloved mate.”

Now, it was her turn to let a laugh freely echo through the halls.

Thank you everyone for reading! As usual: I'd love to read your thoughts and comments, perhaps you have an idea for a future Azriel - or any ACOTAR character - fanfiction you'd want me to write. Also, likes and reblogs are very much appreciated! <3

[sepdet]

Merry Shitscram, Tumblr!

(transcript below cut)

Guess what I borrowed from Mom's stacks while visiting?

I won't cap the whole thing, but at least I can provide you with some selected excerpts for the next week. Yes, this IS that edition.

Transcript below.

Chapter One

FOR THE THIRD consecutive night, Captain James T. Kirk awoke with a gasp of surprise and something akin to fear clinging to the side of his throat. He blinked once, then struggled to sit up, leaning against the head of the bed his eyes scanned the dark room. Reality returned and his gaze settled on the chronometer. It was shortly after 3 A.M., Ship Standard Time, but he was wide awake and knew he would have little hope of getting back to sleep before the alarm demanded his attention at six.

Releasing the breath he'd been holding, he replayed the recurring dream in his mind, wondering why it should have disturbed him so deeply . . . and so often.

After discovering no logical explanation for its cause or its unprecedented effect on him, he tried passing it off to the fact that the Enterprise had been on routine patrol of the Romulan Neutral Zone for nearly two months—an inexcusably boring mission. But with Romulan Fleet activity increased for no apparent reason, he accepted the fact that he was bound to be a little edgy.

After another deep breath and a shake of his tousled hair, he slowly lowered himself back into the warm nest of covers,l and closed his eyes; but as expected, he was only pretending to sleep when the First Shift duty alarm sounded less than three hours later.

Stifling a yawn, Kirk entried the Deck 5 turbolift to discover the ship's first officer studying him with a lifted eyebrow.

"Morning, Spock," Kink said with a sheepish grin, wishing he'd taken the time for a cup of coffee before presenting himself publicly.

The Vulcan's head inclined in greeting, "Captain," he said formally. The doors closed and the lift began its familiar horizontal motion, but the Vulcan continued to study his friend. "Is everything all right, Captain?" he inquired presently.

"Just fine, Mister Spock," Kirk replied. "Why do you ask?" He wondered if his eyes were a trifle more red than they'd appeared in the mirror.

The eyebrow climbed higher beneath the long black bangs. "You seem. . . unusually distracted," Spock observed after a questioning moment of silence.

So much for dismissing the matter, Kirk thought. Spock's scrutiny was never escaped easily. "Would you believe me if I told you that the invincible Captain Kirk has insomnia?" he asked with a smile.

"Indeed," Spock murmured. Kirk was normally a very private individual; but now the hazel eyes seemed alight with a combination of embarrassment and mischief. The Vulcan decided not to mention that he himself had been having disturbing dreams for at least a week. "I trust you have not sought relief from Doctor McCoy?"

Kirk shook his head. "For a few hours of lost sleep?" But the twinkle left his eyes as a frown found its way to his face. "I don't know why it should bother me at all," he said, feeling some need to explain himself. "But . . . never mind, Spock," he added as the nocturnal images returned to haunt him. "It was . . . just a dream." Trying to change the subject, the smile returned to his face. "Another human shortcoming, eh, Spock?"

Something in Kirk's too-casual tone caused the Vulcan to look at him more closely. "Would you care to discuss the matter in more detail, Captain?" he asked, momentarily wondering why he didn't dismiss the subject as Kirk was attempting to do. Yet he realized that the captain's normal reservations concerning his personal life did not extend to him, just as he understood that the reverse was also true.

Kirk glanced up from where he'd been studying his boots, and felt the familiar telepathic door swing open between himself and the Vulcan. It was something which had formed between them over the years, something which had saved their lives countless times and made them brothers. He did want to discuss it, but only with Spock.

McCoy would, as the Vulcan was fond of pointing out, dispense a handful of pills and an hour of friendly advice; and though Kirk valued the doctor's friendship, he wasn't in the mood for a full battery of psychological tests to determine the cause of a simple recurring dream. He chanced a quick look at the Vulcan as a plan of action took shape in his mind.

"I haven't had breakfast yet," he began, finding an excuse he needed. "But . . . I'm sure you have, Mister Spock. After all," he continued with a broadening grin, "Vulcans never ever miss breakfast, right? You have to keep those thought-wheels well oiled and in perfect working order." He studied his first officer's lean frame. "And you never gain an ounce either!" he added with a look of mock-disgust, remembering Mc-Coy's warnings to cut back on the meat and potatoes and settle for a salad once in awhile.

The Vulcan brow lowered as Spock observed his captain's nonchalant approach. "I have not eaten this morning," he stated in straightforward contrast to Kirk's roundabout endeavors, "and I would be pleased to join you." His eyes seemed to lighten as he studied the casual way Kirk was holding in his stomach. "And we need not inform Doctor McCoy as to the menu."

—•—

(Next Time: Our lads discuss nightmares over breakfast and discover they are on the same wavelength, as usual.)

[See tag Killing Time Excerpts for more!]

[razrbladekiss]

MAPLE HAZEL | Joel Miller — Part Three

SUMMARY: joel’s misery is palpable. you’re oblivious to it. until you’re not.

PAIRING: no outbreak!joel miller x afab!reader

WORD COUNT: 5.9k, you are welcum.

WARNINGS: angst. reader is an eagles fan (do NOT come for me, they are my boys. go birds 🦅). F L U F F. mentions of reader’s dad. tommy and joel are jerks, but joel redeems himself. tommy can suck a fat one. i kidddd <3 this is probably the angst-iest this story’ll get because im addicted to the fluff so. enjoy. 🤞🏼 not proof read or edited, i cannot be fucked for that.

TAGS: if you would like to be added for future installments, then let me know besties!! if i’ve forgotten anyone that’s asked to get added, then please slap me. @millersleee @goodvibesonly421 @j0elmlllers @scorpio-echo

SERIES MASTERLIST

Joel’s hands seize the steering wheel of his truck—the same one that’s presently stationed on your driveway—knuckles turning sheet white for the hold that he has is completely unforgiving. And sore.

He’s irascible. Livid. His anger is sheathed by shame and hatred for himself as the way that he conducted himself this morning was unseemly. Even for Joel, it was appalling. And though you didn’t appear to have any reservations, he knew that he bothered you. Your face didn’t allude to irritation, nor did your tone or mannerisms, but Joel was more than conscious of your internal hurt.

He just knows you that well.

But now he’s sitting—legs numb and cheeks charring red—striving to conjure up an apology that’ll help to shirk any ill-feeling that you may have toward him. Because he was a fucking jerk this morning.

And it was all because of an Eagles sweater, believe it or not.

9.42 AM

Birch Grove is bustling. It's considerably brighter, this morning. The doom and gloom that enveloped your small town yesterday has now dissipated, leaving nothing but small puddles of rainwater and grit in its wake, and it’s beautiful. A sight to behold when you’re leaving your house today.

You avoid the wetness on the road—hoping not to muddy your shoes—and bounce onto the sidewalk, admiring the oil slick that blankets damp gravel on your way over to Joel’s. You swear that there’s a divot in the concrete that holds semblance to a heart, but you’re not sure if that’s just a delusion from lack of sleep or some sort of sign from the universe telling you that perhaps it’s time to find a significant other.

Nonetheless, you take in the scene. How yesterday—in the midst of a storm—not a single body littered the crosswalk, therefore leaving Joel’s little coffee shop completely empty. But today—now that the air has cleared and rain almost dried up—it’s like nothing had even happened, and the entire town is out in force. Like they always should be.

Joel watches in awe as you make tracks across the street toward the cafe—wondering how he ever deserved such a buoyant presence like you in his life despite the fact that he’s a perpetually miserable middle-aged man—and busies himself so you don’t think he’s been ogling you this entire time.

But then the bell rings, Joel’s eyes flick up—against his own will—and you bound over the threshold with the biggest smile. He swallows extremely thickly.

“Good morning.” You say, as happy as ever—clearly on a high from your not-date—and pad through the room toward him. “Can I please have a—“

“You’re late.” 

One of your perfectly tweezed brows raises. 

“For work.” He elaborates. Joel clears his throat. “You’re late for work.”

“I got the day off.” You remind him. He vaguely remembers you saying something about this elusive break on Monday, but was honestly too distracted by his brother attempting to use the coffee machine. 

Joel nods, taking your favorite mug off of the shelf. You smile at the sentiment. 

“Ah, you’re going shopping. Right?”

You nod. Your stomach gurgles when your eyes satisfy the gaze of a perfectly plump cinnamon roll. Not too thick, not too over-done, and the right bun to icing ratio. It’s sitting—alone—in one of the little cake cases.

“I am.” You reply, taking the glass dome off of the top. Like last time, you swipe the sweet treat right from underneath Joel’s nose. Only, today, you slide two dollars across so he can’t complain. 

But he wouldn’t anyway. Not today. Because he admires the fact that you’re ungovernable, while simultaneously respecting him. To an extent, anyway. 

“I can get you some fall decor.”

“No—“

“He needs to spruce this place up.”

His eyes roll when he’s pouring the frothed milk atop your latte, hardly going unnoticed by his larger-than-life, sometimes a bit too overbearing brother. 

Tommy acknowledges you by saying your name, and you grin back at him. It’s nice to see one of the Miller’s with anything but a stoic expression slapped against those rough, rugged features. Though there’s something about Joel’s that seems rather superficial. 

Despite being perennial at times, you feel as though you’ve cracked through his tough exterior and. You’re certainly able to decipher between his real and mock revulsion. Last night was the first time that Joel’s guard had truly been down, and it was wonderful. 

“Get him some pumpkins. A wreath—“

“I don’t need no pumpkins. And what the hell is a wreath?”

The youngest brother pulls a stool out next to you, and bumps your shoulder as he sits. He looks at you as if to say get a load of this guy, and you laugh. Joel passes you your latte, and you think that you see a hint of a smile tugging at those plush lips. But you won’t swear to it. 

“A wreath is what Mrs. McKlaren has on her front door for each season.”

“Yeah.” Tommy chimes in. He pulls one of the Birch Grove Gazettes from the pile beside the cake case, and opens it up. “But you knew that. You’re just playin’ dumb in front of—“

You elbow him. “Quit teasin’.” Further defending your friend, you say; “it’s not his fault if he’s not too polished up on the names of things. He’s not pussy-whipped like you are, Tom.”

Joel chuckles at that comment, thanking you with a nod. A man of few words, though you get him. Down to a fine art. 

“True.” He flicks through a few pages, before he’s turning to you with a grimace when you take off your jacket to reveal one of your dad’s old Eagles sweaters. “Oh, God no.”

You frown, putting it to sit on the seat next to you. 

It’s common knowledge around these parts that there are two teams, and two teams only that it’s acceptable to support. Unless you’re flaunting the badge of the Texans or Dallas Cowboys, then you’re basically committing a federal crime.  And the men of Birch Grove take this very, very seriously. 

“Joel. I know you’re friends with this broad—“

“Watch your mouth.” He grumbles, appearing from the kitchen. He has his head down, hands full of cutlery. 

“Sorry.” Tommy says oh so quietly. “But—but look. She’s wearing the mark of the devil.”

Your eyes are rolling so hard you fear that they’ll roll straight from their sockets and into your coffee. You just know that beneath the green flannel, Joel is donning an Aikman jersey.

“That’s so dramatic.” Arms are being folded over as you speak, and he still hasn’t looked in your direction. “It’s just a football team—“

“Woah.” The two Millers harmonize. Joel eyes you directly and turns his nose up as soon as he heeds the shade of green that should be classed as blasphemy, not midnight.  

He didn’t know that you liked them. Tess liked them, too. But you know that. You’re not fucking stupid. 

And perhaps she might’ve aided the disgust that percolates through Joel whenever he hears someone utter the name Brian Dawkins, but he can’t help associating them with her. That same way he thinks of her whenever Fall rolls around, or whenever you step into his little cafe. 

He has such strong feelings for you, but needs to put them aside. He needs to bury them deep for fear of the past repeating itself because he isn’t sure if he can go through that again. His guard goes up, and eyes go down. He busies himself with cleaning. 

“Sacrilege.” Tommy spits. “It’s not just a football team, woman. It’s Irreverent. To come in here and wear that is absolutely ridiculous.”

Your jaw rolls and you look down at the faded logo. 

“I respect that you root for the birds, I do. It must be hard to support such a shit team—“

“Language.” Joel scolds, a little heated. “But, I agree. Can’t go wearin’ that ‘round these parts. It’s almost as bad as you comin’ in here wearing a Steelers jersey.”

Tommy grimaces. It’s not quite as bad, but it certainly sucks. 

But, to you, what sucks is the fact that these men—grown fucking men—are chewing you out over a sweater. It’s child’s play. 

“They’re not a shitty team. They’re great.” You defend your guys, watching Joel try to control the bitterness threatening to bust right out of his lips. “I’ve always loved them. My dad is from Philly—“

“Explains why you have such crappy taste.”

You blink at Tommy. 

“Anyway.” You clear your throat. “I’ll always root for the birds, because they’re my favorites. I also, believe it or not, enjoy the Cowboys when they play at home, or against the Giants. It’s patriotic. But they are a pretty shitty team—“

“No, they ain’t.”

“They are.” You uphold, making direct eye contact with the youngest sibling. “Remind me, when was the last time they went to the Superbowl?”

Tommy’s jaw rolls, and Joel can feel himself slipping. 

“Ninety-five.” Begrudgingly, he says. “But that don’t mean shit—“

“Kinda does.” 

“No it don’t.” He growls. “When was the last time those damn birds won the big game, huh?”

Without missing a beat, you say; “twenty-eighteen. They beat the Patriots by eight points, Brady sucked and Foles was the MVP. I tailgated at the stadium with my dad and uncle—“

“In Minnesota?”

“Yessir.” You tell Tommy before taking the last sip of your—now lukewarm—coffee. “I’ll also be heading to Philly to see the Eagles v Steelers game.”

Joel scoffs. 

“Got somethin’ to say, old timer?”

He grinds his lips together before saying; “just baffles me s’all. Don’t get how someone—Dallas born ‘n raised—can root for a team from Philadelphia.”

“Just the way it goes. But I did say that I enjoy them from time to time.”

“Shouldn’t be that way.” Tommy interjects. “Texans are meant to support Texan-made teams all the time. Not fuckin’—“

“Tommy.” Joel gestures to the customers, scolding him again for his crudeness. 

You pull cash from your purse while the two of them bicker, putting atop the counter before Joel can even refuse. You shrug on your jacket, too, promptly doing up the buttons so the tension can dissipate a little. But it doesn’t. 

“I’m not arguing with you two morons over football any longer.” A little meaner than intended, you tell the two of them. You turn to Joel, brows furrowing. “And I know why you despise the Eagles; I’m not an idiot. I saw her walking ‘round the place with her scarves in the winter, ‘n the occasional jersey on football Sundays.”

Tommy looks between the two of you, sensing some friction. 

“Don’t project Tess’s shit onto me, Joel.” Blunt, you say. “I’m sorry that I was the reason for her leaving, but it ain’t my fault we have the same interests. You can’t pussyfoot around forever, and I don’t appreciate gettin’ admonished for a fucking football sweatshirt.”

“Don’t.” He warns, wrenching a dish rag between calloused fingertips. He knew that last night’s conversation was deep-rooted in something more than just you being curious. “I’m not pussyfootin’ ‘round. I just don’t wanna talk about her.”

“I know.” You say—realizing that you were a little too hot off the mark—but you don’t feel sorry. “But there’ll always be people who like the same things that she did, or say the same things, or remind you of her.”

He looks at you. He knows what you mean. He knows that you know that—in some kind of way—you make Joel think of her. You’re so strong, like Tess. So outspoken, exactly like her. But you’re caring and kind, and don’t get jealous over the slightest little things, and you let him speak. 

You let him tell you about his troubles, not that he shares too much. And you’re not pushy. But now, it feels like you’re being exactly that. 

“I’m sorry that my mere presence as a Goddamn Eagles fan pisses you off, Joel, but I’m not going to be able to change that. You’ll just have to try and detach those memories—“

The dishrag is being hurled onto the bar along with his fists. “I’m not gonna detach those memories! I ain’t gonna forget her just ‘cus you think you know me and my relationship with that woman so well! You don’t know shit. All you do is come in here ‘n drink coffee, rant about crap that nobody cares about, make me listen to your stupid fuckin’ problems—and I’m sick of it!”

You blink back tears as you stare at him, for the volume is intimidating and completely unwavering. You’ve never been yelled at before—in front of customers, by Joel—and you want to be sick. Everyone is staring. Some people are even leaving. 

Has he always felt this way? You wonder. Has Joel always thought that your ramblings are pointless, and that your issues are facetious? You’re sure that he’s just spewing nonsense at this point, but it still stings. 

“Joel—“

“Get out.” He looks down, hands gripping tightly the wooden countertop. He refuses eye contact. 

Tommy gives you a weak smile, immediately regretting setting foot into Joel’s this morning. Quite like you, really. 

“I’m really sorry for bringing her up, Joel, I know how—“

“Go.” His eyes lift to satisfy your gaze, hurt written over his features. “Please…Just leave.”

“Okay.” You nod, lifting your purse from the stool. It’s a quick bye to Tommy that has those damn tears spilling as you walk to your car, not even looking back to wave or smile at your friend like you usually do. 

You fear that this’ll change the trajectory of your relationship with Joel. And his brother knows that. 

He knows that if he doesn’t say something—at this point, anything—then Joel will just let this sit and fester, and become something that it has absolutely no business being. 

His brother knows that you’re the only constant in his life—aside from family—and if he lets you go, then he’ll be considerably more bleak. He’ll have his patrons to keep him company, but he won’t have you. The girl that has—unbeknownst to her—given Joel something to look forward to every day. 

The girl that Joel can’t help thinking of, or talking about, whenever he gets the chance. And despite not always showing his admiration, he’s besotted with you. Infatuated, perhaps. His fondness so clear that everyone can see it. Everyone, aside from you. 

Especially after that.  

“You’re a fucking jerk.” Tommy chastises. “She shouldn’t have mentioned Tess, but that was horrible—“

“I don’t care.” Through gritted teeth, he tells him. “She took it too far—“

“No, we did.” He admits. “She probably wouldn’t have brought the bitch up if we didn’t tease her for wearing her dad’s fuckin’ sweater.”

Joel swallows the lump in his throat, refusing to admit that Tommy could be right about this. 

“You need’a get a hold of your emotions, brother. Can’t be sendin’ her away like that when we both know you’ve got feelings for her—“

Joel grumbles as he rounds the counter, polishing a few tables in hopes that his sibling will go and leave him to it. But he doesn’t. 

“Can’t let Tess be the reason you two ain’t talkin’. ‘Specially ‘cus she ain’t even in the state anymore.”

Fuck. Off. 

Tommy watches him feign emotion, knowing deep down that his brother wants to beat himself to a pulp because you didn’t deserve any of that. 

“She’s right, y’know?”

“What?” 

Tommy says your name. “She’s right. If you don’t cut ties with the things that remind you of Tess, then you’ll never be happy. Always be comparin’ shit to her, and makin’ yourself miserable. Or miserable-r.”

“That ain’t even a word, dipshit.”

“True, though.” He says. “Joel, you’re so in love with this girl, you can’t let her go over a Goddamn football team—“

“Not in love.”

“Bullshit.” The youngest spits. “You get literal heart eyes whenever you look at her, and don’t even try ‘n deny it ‘cus Maria notices too.”

Joel blinks at him, wondering how he’d been so openly vulnerable. He‘a confused at how he’d unintentionally let his guard down enough to display his feelings. The ones that he wasn’t even certain about. 

“It mightn’t be love, Joel, but you’re mad about this girl.” He says a bit softer. Quieter. “And you can try to put these feelings aside, but what’re you gonna do if she walks in here with another man? Or she goes on more dates and finds the one? You just gonna live with it? Just gonna be jealous and miserable for the rest of your life?”

Joel walks to the café window and just stares for a few moments, secretly hoping to see you stomp across the street to give him a piece of your mind. But you don’t. 

“Think you’ve done enough wallowin’ in the past, don’t you?”

He supposes that he’s right. Joel knows that there’s some truth to what is being said to him, and so he turns the Open sign to Closed, and gestures for Tommy to get the remaining customers to leave. 

“What’re you gonna do?” 

“Make things right.” Joel grabs his jacket from the coat stand beside the door, and throws the shop keys to his brother. “Close up for me, will ‘ya?”

Tommy shakes his head. He gets off of his stool and goes behind the counter, grabbing one of the aprons from the hook beside the kitchen door. 

“Turn the sign back ‘round. You might’ve just lost your most loyal customer, you can’t afford to fuckin’ lose no more.”

Joel just nods. He has no fight left inside of him. He does as told, and storms across the sidewalk to his truck. 

He’s been stationary for the last fuck knows how long, just mentally preparing himself for whatever bullshit will spill from his lips the second he sees you. If you even want to open your door to him. He wouldn’t blame you, if you didn’t. He gave you shit, and kicked you out when you spoke your mind. And the truth. Because, that’s what it was, wasn’t it? As harsh as it might’ve been, it was the truth and it was what he needed to hear. 

It’s been two hours since getting a verbal beat-down and, strangely, he really misses the sound of your voice. The oddly dulcet tone. The sweet, honeyed rhythm that slips from between two of the plushest, softest looking lips he’s ever bared witness to in his entire life. And even though some of the words that fell from them were harsh, he no longer cares. 

If he doesn’t apologize, then he might not get to hear you speak again. And he’ll take several scoldings if it means that he can listen to your beautiful tone. 

Fuck. 

“C’mon, dickhead.” He tells his reflection in the mirror. He eyes himself, wondering whether the hat should stay on or off. Because if he takes it off, then his hair might look bad, but if he keeps it on then you mightn’t be able to take him seriously. 

He’s overthinking it. 

It stays on when he’s lugging his body—warm and palpitating—from the cabin, and onto the gravel of your driveway. He minds the flower beds when his boots hit ground, knowing that he’ll have hell to pay if he crushes your blooms or kicks up any mud.

His breath is hot and heavy. It’s like he’s just ran the Boston fucking marathon, not sit in his truck for the better part of twenty minutes being too much of a pussy to knock at your front door. 

But now he’s strolling to your porch, and can’t put it off any longer. He doesn’t even know if you’re home, but he guesses that you are. The wreath that you got today—golden leaves adorned with acorns and berries—is hanging proudly against the wood that you’ve painted sage. 

He laughs to himself when his hand comes up to knock, number eight. It’s almost comical how the number of your house coalesces with the number of his favorite ex-Cowboys player. But he’s not going to bring that up. Maybe another time. 

Joel takes a few deep breaths, heart only stuttering when he hears your footsteps approaching over the suspended wood flooring. The one that he actually had to help you sand down just eight months ago because you always felt that they looked too dark. Depressing. 

He smiles weakly. It doesn’t last long. When you swing the door open and your face falls, then so does Joel’s. 

“Hi.” He whispers, internally kicking himself for being such a wimp. He clears his throat. “Nice wreath.”

You fight a grin. Your disappointment outweighs any semblance of softness at this very juncture. 

After a few hours of mulling it over—and rage shopping—you’ve come to the conclusion that you were at fault. But Joel certainly didn’t make it any better when he kicked you off the premises after his hurtful monologue. 

“Thanks.” Your cardigan is pulled tightly around your body. Cream always looks so good on you. “Is—uh—is there something that I can help you with?”

Joel looks down for a split second. It feels like forever before he’s looking directly at you again. The thumping inside of his chest hasn’t once subsided since appearing at your street, he’s never felt like this before. At least, he can’t ever remember feeling like this. 

And it’s because of this—feeling—that he’s struggling to extrapolate his inward thoughts. You heed it. You know him like the back of your hand, apparently. His face is sullen—almost remorseful—and eyes hazy. 

Has he been crying? No. He’s probably just really annoyed. He looks like that sometimes when Tommy’s pissed him off, and he needs to vent. 

You shift aside, gesturing for Joel to come in. He hesitates for a moment, before he’s stepping over the threshold and into your beautiful home. The home that presently smells like a mixture of Sandalwood and Lavender, but Neroli and Bergamot in the summer months. 

What the fuck is Bergamot? Why do I know what that smells like?

He takes it in. The subtle scent, the fall decorations that make your cozy home look even more appeasing. It’s cute. It’s put together, clean, and inviting. It’s so you. 

You shut the door behind him when he takes a few paces into the entryway, just watching him. His broad shoulders swathed in soft, green flannel are tipped slightly forward. He’s not holding himself the way that he usually does. 

“Is everything okay, Joel?” You break the silence, shuffling past him through the hallway and to the kitchen. You hear him follow behind. Those heavyset footsteps make your heart ache, for some reason. 

Even by the way he walks—slow, long strides—he seems down. Remorseful, perhaps. And though he doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, it’s always easy to tell how he feels. 

“Tea?” You offer without turning around, taking the kettle that’s just come to a boil on the stove. “I have chamomile, green, or English.”

“No coffee?” Your head shakes, pulling two mugs from the small shelf above the counter. Joel sits at your kitchen island. “How come?”

Two English teabags are being lifted from the carton—he didn’t specify, you just guess—and plopped into ceramic. 

“I don’t make my own coffee. Don’t taste the same when I do.”

His heart aches. After skipping a beat, of course. He takes a seat at your kitchen island, watching you potter around, clearly not prepared for a guest. 

“Tea is a little more warming, anyway.” You gesture for the sugar and he shakes his head. “Don’t enjoy coffee when I’m on my own. Only when I’m with someone.”

“That why you always come to see me in the mornin’?”

Faintly, you smile. Your head bobs a little bit, hanging low. 

He says your name. You look at him. “Y’know, if you ever want a coffee outta hours, I’m usually at home. You can come ‘round, if you wanna.”

That strange gnawing sensation returns beside a debilitating thumping. He feels the same, but you don’t know that. 

“Same here.” A weak smile tugs at the corners of your lips and you bring Joel his tea. The white ceramic is festooned with acorns and leaves, and he swears that you’ve just given him one of your best mugs. 

You sip quietly your warm beverage, standing opposite to where he sits in an uncomfortable silence. A lull that neither of you realize lasts an entire minute before you’re clearing your throat, and Joel is still trying to find his words. 

“Listen.” He sets down the tea—the best he’s ever had—and shifts a little bit. Joel tries to avoid eye contact with you, but understands that this is one of the times that he needs to show you just how important this is. It’s not just a casual conversation at the coffee house, anymore. 

You’re facing him fully, now. Eyes wide, lips parted a little bit. 

“I’m really sorry about earlier.” His tone is honest, wreathed with a hint of genuine sadness. “I had no business being such a jerkoff to you, kid. I said some hurtful shit, and I let my mouth get away from me.”

“You were a total dick, Joel.” 

He nods. “I know.”

“And I know that I never shoulda brought her up, but I didn’t think you’d yell at me. In front of everyone.”

He starts to cringe as he remembers what he said. How he said those horrible things. You’re such a sweet girl, he can’t believe he flipped out on you that way. 

“Do you really think that what comes outta my mouth is crap?”

“No, of course not—“

“Is everything I say fucking pointless?”

“Hon—no—no, of course not.” Joel fumbles his words a bit, just glad that he didn’t refer to you as any other embarrassing fucking pet name. He's not even sure that you caught it, what with being blinded by such a haze of anger. 

You do, though. You just don’t acknowledge it. 

Your thumb loops through the glossy handle, and you look into your mug. 

“I choose to start each morning the same way; at your café. I don’t do it because I want to come in and ruin your day by ranting, or spillin’ my guts about shitty dates and bad friends.” You refuse eye contact, still watching the tea slosh around as you move the cup ever so slightly. “I do it because I like you, Joel. You’re a great guy, and make my days a little bit easier. I’d even go so far as to consider you one of my friends. But, if you don’t feel that way—“

“Hey.” He reaches out for your hand. He’s surprised that you don’t pull away when his tan flesh meets yours so suddenly. Joel asks you to look at him, and you oblige. 

It’s so sad. Your eyes—so full of hurt—now locked on his. Soft, warm fingers wound between his thick digits. He frowns. 

“Listen to me.” Stern, though soft, he tells you. “Of course I feel that way. I tell you shit that I ain’t even told my own brother, ‘course I see you as a friend. Probably the only person I’d even wanna spend time with, if I’m honest.”

“You’re just sayin’ that, ‘cus you hurt my feelings—“

“No, I ain’t.” Joel shakes his head, trying to ignore the fact that he hurt your feelings. “I’m serious.”

“As a heart attack?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, kiddo, as a heart attack.”

Eyes roll at the sentiment, wondering whether there’ll ever be a time where Joel doesn’t refer to you as kid or kiddo. He tells you that it’s because he’s a lot older than you, but you both know there’s not even a ten year gap between the pair of you. He’s just dramatic and wishing his life away. 

“I’m—uh—I’m no good at this shit.” He looks down, a little curl poking through the back strap of his cap catches your eye. “Feelings, ‘n all.”

Instinctively, your thumb traces over the skin of his hand. You nod. You know. 

He's not the most sentimental person—nor does he cogitate  with his heart—but Joel is one of the most thoughtful men you’ve ever met, and these last few days have you feeling a different way about him. You can’t say that it’s a crush—crushes are for kids, is what your mother often tells you—but it’s certainly something. 

You’re just worried about the fact that he can’t let go of Tess. 

“Don’t gotta explain feelings, sweetie.” You tell him with a smile, reaching for your mug. The tea is cool, now. A little bit easier to drink than when it was piping hot and burning the roof of your mouth. “Just gotta feel ‘em, that’s all. Explain once you understand.”

You take a sip of the drink you made a short while ago, hands detaching. Joel almost feels weak without your touch, now. But he supposes that had it lasted any longer, he’d crumble. 

“Always know what to say, dontcha?”

“I do.” Conceited—though completely satirical—you say. He smiles, and so do you. “But in all seriousness, Joel, I know that you appreciate me. And I know that today was a complete one-off, but I just gotta know one thing.”

“Go for it.”

You suck in a breath, hating where you’re about to lead the conversation. “Did last night make you think differently of me? Y’know, when I asked those questions and pried a little?”

Joel’s heart thumps. Again. He doesn’t know how to say yeah, last night changed everything. But not ‘cus of what you asked me. 

He supposes that he can’t lie to you. He’s as transparent as a pane of fucking glass, at this point. 

“No. Definitely not.”

“Really?”

He nods. “Really. You had the right to know. Nothin’ has changed.”

Liar. 

He’s looking at you with those big fucking heart eyes that his brother teased him about earlier, and he knows it. He knows that he’s smitten. Truly, Joel is more than conscious of the fact that he’s falling—or more appropriately, fallen—for you, but he’s not at liberty to say. 

“You can tell me, y’know?”

He nods. “I know. There’s nothin’ to tell.”

“Okay.” Your tone is skeptical. He’s lying. 

He’s also been sitting here for far too long and is in desperate need of a long, cold shower to wash away the day and shirk any feelings before they come to bite him on his perfectly round ass. So he gets up—pushing the seat back beneath the island—and smiles at you. 

“Left Tommy behind the counter?”

Joel nods. “Yeah. He’s probably cussin’ me out right ‘bout now.”

Your laugh is genuine. Hearty. “Best get back then, hon.”

Joel’s mouth goes dry when his lips part to speak. Nothing materializes. Not even when he’s walking to the front door—you’re hot on his heels—can he figure out what to say. 

He’s opening it before he’s even certain of what he’s doing. 

“Miller.” You say and he turns around. He can’t help looking directly at your lips. “I’ll see ‘ya tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” He coughs. “Have a good night.”

“You too.”

He’s about to walk away—and you’re about to shut the door—before he’s leaning over the threshold and letting all rationality dissipate. Joel’s left hand meets the doorframe—mere inches from your own—and his breathing grows sporadic. 

Well, now or never, I ‘spose. 

Your fingers tingle, legs weaken. It’s only a split second, but it feels like an eternity that Joel is just standing there; staring at you. He’s waiting to make a move, you’re almost certain of it. 

“You gonna do somethin’?” You taunt, tilting your head a little. It almost snaps him out of his anxiety-induced haze. It eggs him on, if anything. 

“Fuck—shit—yeah.” Joel steps forward so that he’s no longer leaning, and the tips of his boots meet your toes. He’s careful not to stand on them. It’s sweet. 

He’s sweet. 

“C’mere.” He’s telling you when one of his calloused hands meets the nape of your neck, and both of yours are instinctively pawing at his chest. The soft, white  jersey beneath that customary flannel is like satin against your fingertips. He draws you in closer. “I lied.”

“‘Bout what?” You whisper, letting Joel’s hand shift to your cheek. It’s hard not to melt into his touch. 

His thumb brushes over your skin. You wilt beneath it. 

“Last night.” Your eyes are locked. “Everythin’ has changed.”

You nod. You feel the same way.

“And I dunno how to go ‘bout this, ‘cus I can’t do this whole lovey-dovey crap, but I do know that I wanna kiss you.”

He pulls you forward so that your faces are almost touching, and your hands have no choice but to rest atop the peaks of his glorious shoulders. This is something you only could’ve dreamed of. You and Joel in this position—on your doorstep—like something out of a fucking romcom, or Gilmore Girls. 

C’mon, man. Kiss her. 

The man’s heart juts in his throat. Two noses graze one another—when Joel angles his face so that he’s not pushing too firmly against yours—and you can’t help smiling wide at the prospect of Joel Miller, grumpiest man in Birch Grove, taking a liking to you. 

It’s almost as if your entire time with Joel flashes before your eyes—all of the early mornings and late nights spent at his coffee house, the stories shared and secrets told—and everything comes to a head in this particular moment. 

Your smile doesn’t falter. Not even when his lips meet yours, and he pushes the most dulcet kiss against your mouth. It’s so gentle. Nothing more than a delicate peck, but so passionate in the sense that; the two of you need this. The tenderness of the other’s touch—the sweet, cloying taste of sugar on your tongue meshed with malt from the tea—is welcomed almost immediately, accommodated by an unexpected desire and thirst for intimacy. 

And though it is but a peck, the two of you know that this is the start of something. Something completely unexplainable and somewhat unexpected, but something nonetheless. 

You’re the first to pull away. He’s too enamored with you. 

“Joel.” You breathe against his lips. Cheeks are flushed red, eyes hooded and completely blown with lust. “Thanks for comin’ here, and apologizing.”

“Thanks for acceptin’ my apology.” He tells you. Joel takes a step back—not before running his thumb over your skin one last time—for fear of initiating something else. “Wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t wanna.”

“Don’t go sayin’ that. ‘Course I’ll always accept your apologies.”

Joel’s heart rate must be through the roof at this point. 

“Even if I run outta maple hazel syrup?”

A gasp falls from your lips and you feign anguish. You soon smile. He looks at his wristwatch, and sighs. 

“I better get goin’. Left Tommy alone a while, now. Not sure if I’ll have a cafe to get back to, if I keep him any longer.”

You laugh. “Go on. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“If it hasn’t been burned to the ground, you mean?”

“Yeah, if it hasn’t been burned to the ground.”

Joel nods. He’s fishing about the pocket of his flannel for the key. 

“Enjoy the rest of your day, hon.”

His cheeks heat up. “Yeah, you too, kid.”

You can’t help letting out a little ha ha when he’s getting into his truck, and you’re watching from your post against the doorframe. When he gives you a little wave, he pulls away and you’re ambling back into your hallway. Satisfied. Though somewhat confused. 

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the trajectory of this day, and you suppose that nothing will ever come close. You just need to figure out what happens next. 

[suki-na-kumo]

A little headcanon on the fairy family) (❁´◡`❁) Wanda: 1) Wanda is top in their pairing with Cosmo, but sometimes she needs to let go of control and her husband helps her out without question. Cosmo: 2) Cosmo is left with a small tummy and stretch marks from his pregnancy. He is proud of it and remembers his youngest son fondly every time. 3) Yes, he has two sons. Timmy: 4) Timmy stayed with a family where he is loved! 5) I think the whole wizarding world suffered when they tried to take Cosmo and Wanda's eldest son away. 6) I think Cosmo blew everyone up like 9 times and Wanda, well….try to take her baby away from an angry mother(You'll wish you were never born))) 7) TIMMY WAS MADE A FAIRY YAY! 8) Wanda has pointy wings. Cosmo has round wings. Peri's upper wings are pointy and her lower wings are round. Timmy's upper wings are round and his lower wings are pointy. 9) Timmy's hair is gradually changing color. 10) He hides it under his cap, as well as his crown. 11) His wings are growing and his back is itchy from it! 12) Lives in the human world for now, gradually moving to the fairy world. His flat is in the next neighborhood from Mum and Dad's, but inside it's just one of the rooms in Wanda and Cosmo's house. So they live together, and it's convenient for Timmy to go to classes. 13) Goes to classes for fairies in the evening to learn magic. 14) He works at a comic book/video game shop. 15) His wand is a game joystick. 16) He's skinny and tall, but has fat on his tummy and thighs. He ate junk food until he was reprimanded by Wanda. 17) Goes to the beauty parlour once a month with Peri.

Peri: 18) Peri has a lot of fancy clothes. 19) Peri has a great waist and hips, thanks to Wanda's genes. 20) Often complains to her older brother about her problems. 21) Often makes Timmy carry him on his back or shoulders. (He'll never admit it out loud, but he just misses his childhood when his brother used to carry him in his arms all the time.) 22) His wings in human form turn into a silk scarf. 23) The stars are their family symbol. 24) Everyone wears a pendant with a family photo on it (Cosmo hides it under his shirt). 25) I think Timmy would randomly meet Dev and Hazel at his comic book/video game shop and later notice the very familiar pink and green key chains and purple headphones). That's all I'm thinking for now, maybe some of it I'll draw or sketch. If you've read this far, I hope you at least found it interesting or emphasised some ideas for yourself). With you was Suki-na-kumo and her wild thoughts.✌️

[bonefall]

For context with Floatshimmer she is an 11 moon old, with kits.

goddddddd I just looked at the allegiances, trying DESPERATELY not to get sidetracked so I finish Star before the winds of my mental disorder pick me up and plop me down on a totally different task than the one I'm trying to do,

BUT

Lord it's bad. It's BEE-AY-D BAD. They didn't just make Moonpaw's parentage terrible, almost every choice (besides the expected Night/Sun and Blaze/Light litters) is weird in some way

We've got some new Orphan Warriors in the form of Fluffpaw and Silkypaw in WindClan, and Sprucepaw and Redpaw in ShadowClan.

Floatshimmer was just born 2 books ago, and is a mother as soon as Changing Skies opens up.

Breezepelt's daughter, Appleshine, now has Rustlekit and Stretchkit, making him a grandfather (not the weirdest thing I guess, considering how many descendants Lionblaze has... but still feels odd.)

Rootspring's sister, Needleclaw, now unceremoniously has Starlingkit and Robinkit in spite of having zero insight to who her potential mate is. EDIT: It's Kitescratch. Her first cousin once removed, a character I can't remember her hanging out with. Wasn't Kite one of Root's bullies

BOTH Myrtlebloom and Bayshine, siblings, are having kittens at the exact same time, and the Erins are really bad at remembering first cousins. I'm having That's So Raven visions into the future of shiptease between Moonpaw and Oak/Sun/Hazel and I'm practically setting up the plot hijinks of the sitcom episode hurling myself into action to try and prevent it

SOME CURSORY THOUGHTS TO HOW I'M GONNA FIX IT;

Orphan Warriors are easy for me to fix, I'll just link them up to some existing families. I guess now's a good time to casually drop that BB!ASC is going to end with the canonical "exodus" of several RiverClan cats, so I'm probably going to have both Silky/Fluff and Spruce/Red be fathered by RiverClan migrants.

Floatshimmer is waaaay too young to be having kits, even by canon's standards, but in BB cats start to have kits around 3-ish. I'm not sure if teenage pregnancy is a thing I feel personally comfortable tackling at this point in time, so I might shuffle her, OR take her kits and "hold on" to them so they get born later. Unsure.

I think Peepaw Breezepelt might just feel odd to me because of BB stuff, since he has his first litter with Harestar and Heathertail after BB!OotS. I'll probably end up shuffling Rustle/Stretch to Heathertail's half-brother, Galerunner, but include a little line or something about Breezy-P and The Polycule starting to feel old.

Needlekits......... hm. I could be tempted for the vibe that Needle had kids on accident and Rootspring is stepping in as an uncle parental figure... but ALSO I like the idea a LOT of Rootspring adopting kids one day. I might make them become Root's adopted kids. EDIT: Kitescratch being FCOR is putting the canon pairing in range of Onestar's Exception, so Needleclaw's litter is now even MORE likely to change.

Light's litter with Blaze is expected, that can stay unchanged, though I am starting to consider how to fix the way her character arc was more of a character stumble.

What I'm planning with Sunbeam's litter I can't tell you yet. Not because I don't know what I'm doing with it, but because I love it a lot and I'm grinning just thinking about revealing it. But you can't have it yet. I gotta finish Star. You don't get to know until I finish Star :))))

[adarkrainbow]

Why was Hansel the meal of the witch?

This is a question I was aked recently, and I thought it would make a good subject for a post. "Why did the witch only try to fatten up and eat Hansel? Why didn't she imprison and fattened up Gretel too? Why did she choose to make Gretel her slave instead of Hansel?"

Which is actually a fascinating question. Now, I do not promise that there is some grand truth or secret meaning behind this. It is just a little detail and some technical workings of fairytales. But it is a point that many authors and rewriters have taken an interest upon, and that if a true well of reinterpretations.

So let's go... Why was Hansel the meal, and Gretel the slave?

If we go by the "canon" of the text (of course "canonical" fairytales do not exist, this is just an expression) - if we go by the Brothers Grimm's text, we... well we do not know. It is not specified anywhere why the witch decides to lock up and fatten up Hansel out of the siblings, and to not do the same thing for Gretel. There is no reason explicitely spelled out or given. Maybe she simply prefers the meat of boys over the one of girls? This absence of justification, and the apparent "randomness" of the choice opens a door for authors who would like to change things: for example in "A Tale Dark and Grimm" (the book, not the Netflix series), it is both Hansel and Gretel that are fattened up by the witch, and she only picks Hansel as the first one to be roasted. The Looney Tunes Hansel and Gretel also were both in the cooking pot of the witch Hazel...

The text only leaves implications for the reader. For example, the need for the witch to have a slave/assistant to help her with the chores is implied by the facts that she is 1) elderly 2) has a very bad sight and 3) walks with crutches (a very important point). So it is understandable she would require a slave to help her - but then why pick Gretel, and not Hansel? Again, the text does not answer. Many people like to portray Hansel as the oldest child of the duo, and Gretel as a younger sister - this is because Hansel seems to be the strongest, bravest and most intelligent one, as well as with how his name always comes first in the text, Gretel being after him. Maybe the witch chose to eat him first because he was precisely older, and thus there was a more developed body to eat? Even if the siblings are of the same age, we can always imagine the very old and present male/female dichotomy that claims that men's body are naturaly stronger, larger and meatier than women's, who have graceful, slender, lighter bodies. Maybe such a concept is at work, putting forward a mindset where a cannibal witch will always go for boys first as a main course, and girls next as an appetizer...

One possible reading of the story is that the witch only had enough place to lock up ONE child and thus had to make a choice. Maybe there wasn't enough room for two kids in her prison for future meals? This interpretation is supported by the ORIGINAL text of the Grimm's fairytale. In the first edition of the brothers Grimm's fairytales (provided by Jack Zipes), there is an explicit mention of the place Hansel is locked in: it isn't some sort of stable or cage as it would later be described, oh no! It is a chicken coop so small Hansel can BARELY MOVE. It is a really tiny prison, in which he barely fits. Of course, on a practical side, it can help with the whole fattening process since having a child eat rich meals without ever moving is certain to make him plump in no time (just look at these horrible industrial farms and how they lock up animals in tiny cages) ; but this detail actually explained why the witch only placed her efforts on one child, and not two: she obviously had only enough to place to lock up one kid, and had to deal with the other in a different way.

But even if we admit all those implications - that the elderly, handicaped witch needed a help, that she had only enough room to lock up one child, that maybe Hansel as an older boy makes a better meal than Gretel - there are still some strange and bizarre logical holes. For example, the witch beats up and starves and exhausts Gretel. This is the complete opposite of what she does to Hansel, who is pampered and fattened up - does this imply the witch maybe does NOT want to eat Gretel? Or does she really have only enough resources to fatten up one child, and can only afford making Gretel more edible once she is done with Hansel?

Again, mysteries upon mysteries. Fairytales are not created to work on practical details or actual psychological processes - they are stories relying on powerful visuals and ancient motifs and a dream-logic-structure. When we are told that the witch locks up Hansel to fatten him up and eat him, and that Gretel is becoming an abused slave, we just accept it, because it works on a set of powerful visuals, such as the malnurished slave sister cooking and feeding her imprisoned and soon-to-be-killed brother. The idea of the sister being reduced to a tool in the process of killing her own brother is a very powerful one, never explicitly stated, but still present and sometimes used by adaptations. There was this German Hansel and Gretel movie released in 2005 that explicitly played on this: the children were never told by the witch her intentions when she locked up Hansel, and for the first week or so of Gretel being a slave and Hansel fattened up, they were left in the dark concerning the real intentions of their mysterious jailers. This was a stark contrast with many Americanized adaptations that have the witch gloating and explaining her cannibalistic desires to her victims, and which opened the door for some interesting plot points - in this movie's case, Gretel being quite jealous and envious of Hansel's new life of feasting and being kindly treated by the witch when she got all the insults and chores. Of course, when they discover the truth, their mutual feelings reverse as Hansel realizes his seemingly "easier" fate is actually the worst of the two.

Still, the text is left ambiguous and open-ended enough for us to imagine TONS of things. There could be a rewrite of the tale where the witch exclusively eats little boys, and hates little girls. One nterpretation of dark poetry of the tale can be found in Znescope's Gretel mini-series. Despite this mini-series having BIG flaws (the choice of the witch's true identity was... quite bad to be honest), it does have a very interestng and morbid answer to the "Why was Hansel the only one fattened up?" question. It chooses to depict this difference of treatment as a sick and cruel game the witch plays with her preys: Hansel and Gretel are both her prisoners, but she fattens up Hansel while she starves Gretel, to make a contrast between the two, simply out of a perverse amusement. There is one particularly striking image of the two children locked in two cages arranged like a weighing scale, with Hansel's cage going lower as he grows fatter and Gretel's going up as she becomes skeletal... It is a nice visual contrast that has been reused by various artists.

Now, I spoke mainly here of the content of the story and of the text itself. However, as I stated before, we must look beyond the story itself to understand why Hansel was to be the meal, and not Gretel. Or rather we need to look at the fairy tale's structure, on a meta-level.

As I said before, the fairy tale works here on a system of duality. Hansel and Gretel are meant to be a yin and a yang, complementary reflections. The boy and the girl, the brave and the coward, the cunning older brother and the crying little sister. The idea that their fates are "split" into the house of the witch not only furthers the anguish of the characters, who at this point were always together but now find themselves separated, unable to face together the same trials, but also keeps on playing on these visuals and motifs. As I said, there is something that many artists read in the tale, in the opposition between a malnourished Gretel and a feasting Hansel. This is part of the same duality of food and famine present all throughout the tale, such as the woodcutter's famished and poor household, opposed to the witch's house made of sweets and with chests full of pearls. The siblings represent two forms of abuse and evilness enacted by the witch, but in complementary forms: with Gretel the witch becomes a domestic abuser and an enslaver, with Hansel she becomes a jailer and an ogress.

One can also read in this an extension of the typical sexist duality between men and women in these old centuries: the fates the witch forces upon the two children can be caricatures of what each gender is supposed to "do" in such a society. Gretel, like women, is expected to do household chores and to cook for her "man" - here it is caricatured into her becoming a slave, and only helping fattening up her brother like some cattle. In return, Hansel, like a man, is supposed to be well-treated and well-fed, but here the caring wife/mother figure is a monstrous hag who only makes him feast so she could eat him later. In fact, it is quite interesting to see how both siblings are dehumanized and reduced to the status of animals - from Hansel being fattened up in the stables like some pig or chicken, to Gretel being fed leftovers like a dog.

All of that being said, there is another much needed argument that must be made: the answer fo thte question can be easily found in the story's structure. This is the most obvious solving of the problem when you consider it all: the story of Hansel and Gretel relies on the idea that the two children must save each other in turn. There is a balance in the tale, which bears the name of the two protagonists as heroes, but one before the other. During the first part of the tale, it is Hansel who takes the lead and the decisions. He is the cunning hero who tricks his parents, saves his sister from the woods, returns home thanks to his plan. Gretel is only seen being scared, and crying, and not doing anything except follow her brother around. In the second part of the tale, within the witch's house, it is Gretel who becomes the hero. Her brother is "out of the race", locked up away and unable to do anything, and it is Gretel who this time has to trick the deadly parental figure, come up with a clever ruse, and ultimately save her brother from death. This creates a perfect balance between the two characters: Hansel starts out as the hero protecting his useless sister, and then it is Gretel who vanquishes her uselessness to become the hero saving her own, impotent brother. The siblings need each other to survive, and thus save each other in turn. This is how the story works. And this is why Hansel must be the locked-up, fattened-up victim, so that his sister can save him. Else it would have been the story of "Hansel", and not "Hansel and Gretel".

All of that being said, a last point must be made about a final theory. A theory and reading of the tale that has been very prevalent and prominent in recent adaptations of the story.

The recent "Gretel and Hansel" horror movie did it. Before the (X horror movie) also did it. Neil Gaiman's Hansel and Gretel also used this idea. The comics Fables toyed with it in a side-way. And this idea is simple: the witch did not want to eat Gretel, but rather wanted to make her a witch like herself. Gretel wasn't the witch's slave, but unwilling apprentice.

This idea is born of course from a reconsideration of what a "witch" is, and the gender questions attached with the figure of the witch. In the original story, the witch is not a witch in the modern sense of the term, in fact she is a monster that is very clearly an ogress by another name. There is no question of learning how to be a witch, or making deal with dark powers, or anything like that. But when you read the tale with the modern sense of "witch", as a symbol of dark and hostile feminity, as a woman of power, who works against the domination of men, or the tyranny of patriarchy - when you consider all the gender questions surrounding real-life witches and the witch hunts, you see the witch's actions under a different eye. Her not wanting to eat Gretel at first, and making her do her chores, and forcing her to live with her, might hint at the fact she still considers her more "human" or more valuable than her brother, who is nothing but food, a mere cattle. Several of the modern reinventions of the tale, such as those stated above, decide to add the twist that the witch actually wants to shape or make the little girl into her image: from a slave doing the witch's chores, she becomes the witch apprentice, who is by her side in everything she does. Some of those readngs remove the elements of abuse towards Gretel, while others do not forget them. Neil Gaiman's take on the story is especially fascinating as the witch is explicitely described as oscillating between periods of sweetness and kidndness, promising Gretel all of her secrets and great powers, and periods of pure hatred and violence where she just insults and beats up the girl - all of it highlighting either the witch's madness, or a form of senility due to her old age.

But this theme of "Gretel as a future witch" or "Gretel as the witch's apprentice" ties in with another subtext well-hidden in the original text, but that many like to weave upon: Gretel as the "daughter" of the witch. In many of those rewrites and reinterpretations, the witch doesn't just treat Gretel as an apprentice, but as an heir or a replacement daughter. This is no surprise since it is very clear that in the original tale, the witch is the dark side of the mother figure, and an evil doppelganger of the wicked stepmother/mother of the siblings. As such, it makes sense for her to impose an abusive and unconsented motherhood upon Gretel - doesn't her forcing the girl to do all the chores not reminiscent of how famous fairytales stepmothers treat heroines like Cinderella? Such a perverse motherhood was already explicit and obvious in her treatment of Hansel: like a mother she nourishes and feeds Hansel (in fact she succeeds where the wicked stepmother failed), but this is all to devour him, in a ritual of "un-birth", she becomes a death-givers who doesn't expel a child out of her womb, but has it return to her stomach. [This is a very common and usual motif among ogres of fairytales, who are all caricatures of parenthood].

More generally, to have the witch act in such a way actually makes the fairytale more "feminist" somehow, but in a quite perverse way. Because in such a reading, we have a women-dominated world. The true active and powerful characters of the story are beings such as the wicked stepmother and the witch, who command, control and influence the other characters - especially the male ones. The father is a weak puppet who can't stand up to his wife, Hansel is reduced to a fat pig in a cage. Hansel did try to escape the tyranny of the wicked woman, but all he could do was push back his doom, and his plans ultimately failed. Gretel, as a woman herself, is given a special treatment - and in the "apprentice/daughter" interpretation, is "absorbed" by this world of wicked, dominating women. But she actually breaks from it, and kills the one that would have "turned" her - and it is telling and interesting that the only one who can have a true an full success, a definitive victory in this tale is Gretel. Hansel's plans work and save them, but only for a brief time, and his last plan fails dramaticaly, before he gets locked up and "out of the story". Gretel meanwhile, when she gets the courage and intelligence to act, proves herself much more efficient and definitive than her brother, as she puts a true end to the threat other them by killing the witch (and by extension killing the wicked stepmother/mother). This is something Hansel couldn't do - all he could was trck the wicked woman, and nullify her plans, but he could not remove the threat of the death and the hunger.

Anyway, as you can see, despite being a quite superficial and silly question, this fact (or rather absence of facts) opens up a whole jar of various interpretations, readings and themes, and proves the hidden complexity of these apparently "simple" stories.

[pumpkinbxtch]

ok so like I just requested so please take your time on this next one, I’m over here asking again alr because you’re response was so nice to my last one it made me feel ok asking again 😭❤️❤️❤️ I’ll be a little more specific with this one <3

Apollo x Fem!Reader, where the reader is a mortal who keeps reincarnating every hundred or so years and Apollo falls in love every single time 🤭 and once again it’s been a 100 or so years, and suddenly he meets her again!!! this can be god!apollo or Lester!apollo bcs honestly there’s so many possibilities with both so I’ll leave that up to you :3

Again take your time with this one and feel free not to even accept it right away!!! Thank you for the last one again and pls have a great day!! YOURE THE BEST ❤️❤️

• ° . ☆ “Free coupons, take one and cry all afternoon”

— apollo x mortal!reader

part ii

Summary: Apollo has literally loved you for years and years and lifetimes. Now that you return to him, that time his crossroads will not be long, but at least he was able to see you and fall in love with you once again. warnings: bad words, yea umm. Haha a/n: I'm so happy you liked what I wrote. It's really very important to me. AND SORRY if I'm late, it's just inspiration. The gods refused to give it to me, but it is here. Kisses.- From the other side of the milky way, María.

The first time, Apollo saw you and without hesitation passed his heart towards you. Oh gods, he had the best weeks of his life, but then he had to let you go. You were a mortal, he couldn't be with you for long without exposing you to danger.

And since he loved you so much, he decided to give up, he forced himself to see more for you than for his need to be with you.

He had already calculated it, it was about 100 years or so to see you again, but throughout those, he changed completely, he had to face a great battle against his father's ego and that of himself. He almost forgot how old and ageless he was, when you spend more than six months fighting for your life, that's how it is. Until that day when he accompanied his now friends to an amusement park, the same ones as always; Will, Nico, Rachel, Meg, and the seven. Ten young adults, one teenager and ONE “apparent” young adult. They were having a great time, actually.

The roller coasters, the ice cream, the sun (him), the kiddie rides that Meg insisted on riding. But Apollo had gotten tired, can a god get tired? Well, he's trying to keep up with so many demigods with ADHD at a fun fair.

He took a seat on one of those wooden benches with faded rainbow paint. The others looked for him and gathered around.

— Apollo! I want to go to the water attraction —  Percy said, holding Annabeth's hand, who was apparently analyzing the map of the place.

— Yes, and then we go to the flying chairs — said Jason, his practically brother. A smile that he had never seen adorned his face, next to him, Leo hung from the blonde's neck.

—Yes, come on, sunny.

—Don't be lazy, I want to go to the carousel.— Meg said, squeezing the dolphin plushie that he had won for her in the shooting game.

Frank handed him his ice cream, and Hazel looked at him for any injuries.

Will and Nico seemed to have moved on, they were very lovey-dovey lately.

—Thank you, Frank. I'm fine —

— If you don't like sharing, I can go get one for you.

Apollo smiled and brushed his brown hair out of his face.

—I'm fine, man. Don't worry.

But he knew that wasn't the case, he felt something in his stomach that wouldn't leave him alone.

Piper and Rachel looked at each other, both seeming to read each other's minds as they discussed something.

—How about we walk Meg to the carousel and come back for you? It sounds fun, a bunch of us riding metal animals going up and down —  Piper said, taking Meg's hand. Rachel nodded and smiled at Apollo.

— Yes, I think it will be enough for you to rest.

No one had any objections, but Apollo had sensed a certain charm in the words of Aphrodite's daughter. Was he missing something?

Everyone advanced and Rachel was the last to set off, she looked at the god knowingly.

— Good luck.

Apollo did not know what those words meant, and he waved goodbye. A remorse for not accompanying them invaded him, but he stayed sitting on the bench. He ruffled his curls anxiously and leaned on his thighs, taking in the great view of the concrete with a cooler of ants carrying breadcrumbs. Then, he felt a hit on the head and an apology.

— Sorry! Are you ok?

He looked up and oh, fuck. It was you? He could feel his heart crushing and feeling on fire. Apollo stood up from the bench.

— I-I'm fine, don't worry.

The last time he had seen you, your eyes were the color of olive, now they were brown, but the look was the same. You gave him a warm smile and placed your hands on your chest.

— Really? —

He nodded and smiled, too.  For you, Apollo's blue eyes became familiar within seconds of seeing them.

— We know each other?

“We've met thousands of times,” he wanted to say, but he couldn't. In other lives, he had told you that he was a god, and you believed him. But the situation in how you had met that day, the hurried manner of your meeting, told him that the meeting with you would not last at all. Even so, seconds or glances were enough for him, he was already in love with you, again.

His heart was immersed in melancholy, and he wanted to hug you.

— Maybe…

You opened your eyes a little and approached him curiously, you smelled like lavender and sunshine, that last one made his stomach flip. You were almost invading his personal space, which made him push his chin back to avoid bumping into your nose.

— I thought that, too. Do you come here often? It's just that I work at one of those food islands. — You told him and stepped back smiling to show him your uniform. You had a cap with the company logo embroidered on it.

— Ahm yes, with… — He thought of Meg and the others. He made a silent apology to Artemis — My sister and my friends.

You widened your smile and dug something into your pants pockets.

Apollo wanted to kiss you.

You hummed and finally took out some papers. Would you give him your number?

You held them out to him.

— Coupons!

Apollo took them gently, your fingers collided with his, and you felt a kind of electricity in your stomach. You let out a nervous laugh.

— Well, see you…— The boy came out of his trance. A name, he wouldn't say Apollo, would he?, but…

—Lester! — You smiled again and waved your hand goodbye.

— See you, Lester.

And you walked away from him, leaving him empty and wanting to take you with him to spend the rest of the afternoon at the fair, to be happy, to be together.

He spread the coupons in the palm of his hand and looked at them. He was able to gain something from his misfortune, at least. Of course, why not? Burgers for everyone.

— Apollo! — Meg's voice made him turn, and he smiled when he saw everyone. It seemed that Will and Nico had found their way back to the others.

Rachel met his gaze, she seemed slightly worried. So at that moment it all became obvious, she knew he would meet you.

Apollo sighed and held up the coupons in his hand.

— are you hungry?

[sagesskies]

ᴛᴏ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ ᴀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ II

✒ ᴛᴏ ᴀꜱᴋ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ

✒ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴀʀᴅᴇɴᴇʀ'ꜱ ꜱᴏɴ, ᴡʜᴏ ᴋɴᴇᴡ ʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴏʟᴅ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ.

ᴛᴏ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ ᴀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ I

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ: ᴄʟᴀꜱꜱɪꜱᴍ, ᴘʀᴏᴍɪꜱᴄᴜᴏᴜꜱ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴏɴʟʏ), ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪꜱ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴀᴘᴀᴛʜᴇᴛɪᴄ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴅɪꜱᴄɪᴘʟɪɴɪɴɢ ɢʟᴇɴɴ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ʙᴀᴅ ᴅᴏɢ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅʀᴜɢ ᴀᴅᴅɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴀᴅᴜʟᴛᴇʀʏ, ꜱᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ, ᴄʀᴇᴇᴘ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ɢʟᴇɴɴ, ʙʟᴀᴄᴋᴍᴀɪʟɪɴɢ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ

You were in the gardens, napping on the bench in a manner unbefitting of a nobleman, when you were alerted by his new attendant, Curtis’ nephew Samuel, that a man by the name of Glenn Alston was waiting for you in the parlor. 

You sighed, and rubbed at your weary eyes, “So, you just let some random man inside the estate without my permission?” 

Samuel flinched, “I… I apologize, my Lord…” He gulped, “He knew the guards, a-and they just let him in…” 

You glared at him. If Curtis were here, he would have made sure Glenn would be waiting not in your parlor, but rather outside by the gates, as was custom for those whose entrance wasn’t authorized. Unfortunately Curtis was on his honeymoon in the south with his new husband. 

You didn’t mind the fact that he was marrying a man, you just wished he sent somebody more capable as his replacement.

You sit up, “Alright.” You stand and stretch, “Tell him I’ll be there in a few minutes.” You may as well do it, now that he’s here. Sure, there’s the whole wanting to marry you shtick, but you can fix that somehow. You don’t really have an idea how but you never needed to plan ahead, ideas just came to you naturally and things always worked out. 

You walked at a leisurely pace to the parlor, deciding to take the scenic route this time. The scenic route being the route where you pass by all the old dusty paintings of your ancestors looking snobby. You still remember doodling on one of them with Glenn, who was absolutely mortified. 

You pass by the doodled-on portrait, a smirk forming on your face when you see the little stick man on the edge of the painting. You give it a small pat, and whisper a sorry to your great great uncle Bartholomew. 

You arrive at the parlor, only ten minutes later. Unsurprisingly, your brother James is also here, alongside your sister Ophelia. It’s silent in the room, as they all stare at you. You’re only looking at Glenn who has grown from an awkward 16 year old to a handsome man in his prime. His messy dark hair is coiffed and styled to perfection, and he wears clothes that aren’t as expensive as yours, but he wouldn’t have been able to afford the last time you had seen him. What hasn’t changed are his hazel eyes, which were as piercing as ever. 

You notice that at his feet, lies a polished leather suitcase. You wonder what could be inside.

“Good day, all.” You drawled, and go to settle in between James and Ophelia, who shuffle aside to make room for you. 

“It’s 3 in the afternoon,” James grumbled, then his voice dropped to a whisper, “I thought you said you wouldn’t let him in.” 

You roll your eyes, and don’t bother to whisper back, “It wasn’t me who let him in, it was the guards.” 

Ophelia groaned, “Ugh, we should really upgrade our security…” She buried her face in her gloved hands, “Why on earth would they let him in anyways.” 

You glance at Glenn, who gives you what you recognize as a lovesick smile. You resist the urge to gag. “Well? How did you manage to get in here Glenn?” 

“I grew up with some of the guards,” Glenn reminded you, “I was just lucky that the ones I knew were on duty.”  

His voice takes on a teasing tone, “You really should get better guards, I only had to ask and they let me in.” 

Samuel entered the room, and set down a tray that held a teapot, four cups, and a jar full of sugar cubes. He avoided the gazes of you and your siblings, as he poured you all tea. He bows deeply, you swear if he bows even deeper his head would touch the floor, and then quickly leaves the room. 

Glenn takes a cup, and sips, “Who is that young man anyway?” He glances at you, when he asks this, “Usually it’s Curtis serving tea.” 

You don’t deign to answer him, taking a sip of your own tea. 

“Curtis is on a honeymoon,” Ophelia opens the jar of sugar and puts a teaspoon of it in her own cup, and steadily mixes it, “We’re left with his nephew, Samuel.” You notice the way her eyes shine the same way it does when she talks about her horse Galadrielle. A small smirk forms on your face. It appears your little sister has a crush on the lousy servant. 

James grunts, “Curtis could’ve at least taught the boy how to make proper tea,” His frown intensifies, “Tastes like dishwater.” 

“How would you know what dishwater tastes like?” You raise a brow, sipping your tea that, while not the best, doesn’t taste like dishwater. 

Glenn clears his throat, “Anyways, I would like to apologize for my intrusion, and whatever shock I may have inflicted with my arrival,” He glances at you from the corner of his eye, no doubt wondering about your reaction. 

You simply raise your brow as he continues to speak.

“I am aware that you do not want me here, but I have come to propose an offer to you,” Glenn pulled out the suitcase, and set it on the table beside the platter. With a click, it opens and he pulls out a thin stack of papers, “I assure you, it is worth your time.” 

James takes the paper, and reads through it. Since he was young, James was always the most expressive of your siblings. So when you saw the whirlwind of emotions that went through his face, you braced yourself for what was to come. 

He passed the papers to you, his uncharacteristic silence worried you. Guess you’ll find out what all the trouble is about.

The first page was innocuous, it had his name, age, gender, date of birth, all the usual stuff. It was the second page that started to get interesting, it included his involvement in multiple famous cases, most of which you heard of in passing but you knew how famous they were even with your shallow pool of knowledge. What caught your eye however, was one near the end of the list of long accomplishments: 

12. Involved in the campaign for the legalization of same-sex marriage in the country of Ethain as well as the first to propose the notion to the high court, and is known to have written the Eros Papers, which aided in persuading the high court to approve of the legalization of same-sex marriage. 

Your eyes widened, but you didn’t allow yourself to react more than that. You continued to flip through, till your eyes landed on a text that stated that if you were to refuse to sign the papers, information would be released of the family's involvement in… less than moral acts. 

Your hands moved quickly as you read faster, how did he know all of this? Your cousin Maddox’s drug addiction, your mother’s affair, your own affair with the Grand duke, your grandparent’s stealing of the rights to Johnathan Shaffer’s patent. The family’s darkest secrets, all in a few papers. 

You glared at Glenn, “How did you know all of this?” You wanted to wipe off that expression on his face, preferably with your fist. 

“Know what?” Ophelia had a confused expression on her face. James’ reaction was concerning enough, but you actually showing at least a modicum of genuine anger was even more so. 

You handed her the papers, and got up from your spot on the sofa. You racked through your mind as you tried to figure out how Glenn discovered these secrets. Even when Glenn lived here, he was still only the gardener’s son, privy to the same amount of secrets as all the other servants. Which was none. Zero, zip, zilch, nada. 

Ophelia gasped, and dropped the papers. Her eyes, the same hue of [e/c] as yours, were widened in shock, “H-how?” She looked at Glenn, who lounged casually on the sofa he sat on, “What do you want from us?” 

Glenn smiled, it was beautiful, just like the rest of him. God, you hated how you were still so weak for him. Even after all this time, even after he left you without anything more than a shoddy note. 

“What I want from you, is the position as the family’s lawyer,” He paused, and then his smile grew as his hazel eyes locked with your [e/c] ones, “And [Name]’s hand in marriage.” 

You stifled the urge to groan. Glenn was always such a weirdo, and that still hasn’t changed, even if it’s been over a decade. You made your way back over to the sofa, and plopped back down, crossing your arms over your chest and glaring at Glenn who simply kept on smiling. 

This felt wrong, you weren’t used to not being the one in control. Despite how lazy you are, you’re always the one in charge in any situation, that’s just how things are when you’re from the [L/N] family. 

But Glenn, for all of his weirdness, was by all accounts a genius. He was always meant for something more than tending to the gardens, you knew that from the moment you met him. And it always made you feel so inferior. The current situation didn’t help negate that feeling.

Your hand in marriage was one thing, but the position of the family lawyer belonged to Glenn’s own uncle. Erik Alston. You didn’t remember him much, but he was always kind to you and to Glenn. 

“Do you really want to take Erik’s job?” You raised a brow at him, “He’s your uncle, if you recall.” 

Glenn shrugs, and then takes another sip from his tea, “That’ll be between me and my uncle,” He then asks you a question, “Do you want all your secrets to be exposed to the court?” 

You purse your lips. The [L/N] family was of a high esteem, despite simply being a ducal family. If the public knew about the crimes of your family, anybody bearing the [L/N] name would be shunned from the court, and you could be subjected to a public execution for your family’s crimes. 

“Why are you bringing this to us?” James asks, he stares at Glenn, “Why not our parents?” 

Glenn chuckles, “Your parents are… how do I put this?” He hums, “Well, they wouldn’t really care. Your mother is too busy banging Baron Hensley, and your father is too focused on tending to his hunting dogs to care about his own children.” 

He takes another sip of his tea, “Besides, they’re getting old,” Glenn sets his cup down, now that it’s empty, “And I don’t want anything from them. All I want, I can get from you, [Name].” 

You bury your face in your hands. A younger, more naive, you would’ve been thrilled to hear this. The boy you were in love with telling you all he wanted, you could give him. You would’ve thought it was so romantic. 

But now all you can think is that you’re so screwed. And not in the way you’d like to be. 

“James, Ophelia,” You lift your face from your hands, “Leave us.” 

Ophelia furrows her brow, “Are you sure, [Name]?” 

James gets up from his spot on the couch, and walks over to Ophelia, and pulls her up, “Let’s just listen to him,” He glares at you, perhaps he blames you for what’s happening right now. You can’t help but agree with that notion. “Maybe he’ll get us out of this.” 

James leads Ophelia out of the room, she sends you back a worried glance, and then the door shuts behind them. 

Now it’s just you and Glenn in this room. It feels like you’ve been caged in with a rabid dog, ready to lunge at you and rip into your jugular. In another world, if you were just a bit more classist, you’d be treating him like one. Perhaps this wouldn’t happen if you just beat him into his place, scolded and disciplined him like the bad boy he was being. 

Glenn gets up from the sofa, and makes his way over to you. He sits down where James was only earlier, and runs a hand down your cheek. Before, his hands were always warm and rough from a day of work. They were still rough, but they were colder now. Suddenly, Glenn’s hand grabs your chin, and you wince at the harsh feeling of his nails digging into your skin. 

“I missed you…” He breathed in your scent, “God, I fucking missed you.” Glenn released your face, and then pulled you in, arms wrapping tightly around you. He gripped you like a child would grip its favorite toy, it felt suffocating, and you hated how he smelled like leather. 

“You know, when I found out about your affair with the grand duke,” Glenn rests his head on the crook of your shoulder, “I was devastated. I was in the capital when I found out, and I wanted to march over to the duke’s palace and beat his smarmy little face in.” His grip tightened on you as he said these words. 

If he wanted you to be guilty about sleeping with the grand duke, he had another thing coming. Sure, Christopher Avery was a dickhead, but he was an attractive dickhead, and he was surprisingly good in bed despite his family being highly religious and always preaching about ‘marriage before sex’ and being vehemently against the legalization of same sex marriage. 

And unlike Glenn, you weren’t willing to wait a decade for him to come back. 

“But… I get it,” Glenn’s voice grew soft, “You were lonely, and you needed somebody to keep you company. I.. I can’t say I haven’t slept with others.” Now that’s surprising, you fully expected him to still be untouched. You always expected him to have saved himself for you, not because that’s what you wanted but because it just seemed like something he’d do. 

“Who did you do it with?” You asked. Was it with a prostitute? A fellow student? Perhaps some man he met at a bar? 

“I don’t know. All I know is that he looked like you,” Glenn’s arms wrapped tighter, his hair tickling your neck, “But don’t worry about it, he’s gone now.” He said that like he expected you to be relieved or something, but instead you were starting to feel unnerved. 

“Let’s get married,” Glenn unwrapped an arm, and brought it to your hair, which he played with, “Like we said we would, when we were younger.” 

You sighed, “Glenn, we were kids, you don’t actually think…” But he pressed a finger to your lips. 

“Shhh…” From his expression, you could tell he wanted you to keep your mouth shut, “The marriage will be good, for both you and your family. You won’t have to worry about managing the estate, and your family gets to keep all its secrets.” 

“And you?”

He smiled, looking so much like the boy you fell in love with, “I’ll get to be with you, and that’s all I want.”

You could care less about not having to manage the estate, that was already assured for you through James, who grew up wanting nothing more than to be the next duke. But keeping the family’s secrets secret, that… you’d kill for that. 

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad for you to be with Glenn. He was smart, good-looking, and no matter how long it’s been, he’s still the boy who stole your heart the day he left all those years ago. 

You shift your body, so that you’re now resting on his lap, legs wrapping around his waist, and you drape your arms around his shoulders. You’re so close to his face now, his eyes are wide, and his cheeks are starting to become red. You run a hand through his dark hair, and give him a peck on the forehead. Delighting in the way the red on his cheeks starts to spread to his ears. 

“Alright then,” You smirk. Although Glenn is the one holding all the cards, you’re still his greatest weakness, and that means you’re the one in control, “I’ll marry you, Glenn Alston.”

You press your lips against his, and smile, “Till death do us part.”

[cannibalistickitty]

BBF!HAZEL X READER

word count: 0.6k

warnings: a wee angst

notes: not my best work but oh well, I missed writing for haze soo:3 not proofread !

bbf!hazel who met you the first time she came over to your house to study with your brother and wanted to ask you out right then and there, but before she could ask you your brother draged her to his room so they wouldn't completely fail their test

bbf!hazel who started coming over more and more often till she was over every day. you started noticing she would knock on your door and invite herself in your room almost everytime she was over

bbf!hazel who quickly asked for your Instagram one day and immediately followed you when she left and wrote you a simple 'hey'

bbf!hazel who started texting you every day and fell head over heels for you, she even started saving all the photos you'd send her, she has a little collection with your name and a heart by it

bbf!hazel who one day while picking you up from school saw what she thought was you flirting with another girl and was silent the rest of the car ride and didn't stay over after she dropped you off

bbf!hazel who kept seeing stories with you beside that girl and couldn't get them out of her mind

bbf!hazel who slowly stopped texting you, leaving you on delivered or on read for what you thought was no reason at all

bbf!hazel who stopped coming into your room when she came over and started almost completely ignoring you

bbf!hazel who one day gets an angry message from you asking what the fuck was wrong with her and why she was ignoring you

bbf!hazel who then typed up and even angrier message asking why you would flirt and hang out so much with another girl after she thought you had something special

bbf!hazel who was very surprised when you told her you were hanging out with her to take your mind off hazel because you thought she didn't like you back

bbf!hazel who told you to meet her outside your house in half an hour

bbf!hazel who sped over to your house in anxiety, spending the whole car ride planning her apology

bbf!hazel who when she got there parked in an illegal spot without knowing or caring because she just wanted to get to you as soon as possible

bbf!hazel who walks up to you fiddling with her fingers while looking at the ground

bbf!hazel who looks you in the eyes and starts rehearsing her apology she came up with in the nerve raking drive over

bbf!hazel whose eyes light up as she sees that familiar smile spread across your face when she's done apologizing

bbf!hazel who moves closer to you and leans in, too scared to actually do anything

bbf!hazel who's taken a back by your hands cupping her face and pulling her into a kiss, her face getting red as the kiss gets more intimate

bbf!hazel who's disappointed when you pull away but then hears a loud noise coming from the end of the street

'fuck haze!' you pull away and point to her car being taken

at first she doesn't get what you were pointing at but two seconds later when she does she freaks the fuck out

'oh fuck!' she yelled and covered her mouth with her hand, she turned her head and noticed you trying to keep a laugh in

'it's not funny' she said as she tried to now hold her own laughs in

bbf!hazel who doesn't care about her car being taken away because at least she got to kiss you

bbf!hazel who ends up staying the night and finally being able to talk about her love for you and showing it too

[illyrian-dreamer]

Overwritten – Part 1

Azriel x Reader

Summary: After months as his prisoner, Hybern has hijacked your mind, turning you into an enemy of your home, your family, and your mate, Azriel. 

AN: It’s the final one! Day 5/5 stories for 500 followers. Thank you to lillithathecat for requesting trope 2. Amnesia, and thank you to anyone who followed this journey or who joined along the way 💕

Warnings: Violence, torture, injuries

Words: 2,232

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Part 1 ∇

Poison coursed through your veins, burning as it raced through your body. Screaming, you jerked against your restraints. Your mind was reeling, and you couldn't tell if this was a dream or a waking nightmare. Flashes of white, the memory of someone yelling your name, and the same male reaching for you over and over again.

That male – there was something about him. His hazel, almost golden eyes, the peaks of wings that reached above his handsome face, the pure panic in his voice as he reached for you…

Oh gods, it wasn’t just any male, it was Azriel. He was your mate!

Your heart leapt as your brain screamed at you to remember him, to fight for him. “Azriel!” you screeched, gasping as you were bought back into the dark and damp setting around you, thrashing against the leather bounds at your wrists and ankles.

“Give her another shot,” a cold voice spoke.

“No! No, please!!” you begged, trying to blink through your hallucinations and tears.

“Now remember, Y/N.” The voice drawled closer now. “This is what you will feel when you think of him. This is how much he can hurt you. The only way to stop it, is to kill him.”

“He’ll find you,” you seethed. “He’ll find you and kill you all!” Your were feral, thrashing again as you spat in the direction of the voice. Howling at the sharp sting at your neck, your eyes rolled back as another round of poison rushed through your bloodstream, the pain all consuming. Your veins were on fire, and you drooled through clenched teeth as your body spasmed this way and that. Heart pounding with adrenaline and fear, you succumbed to another round of torture.

It had been weeks, or maybe even months since Hybern’s army had stolen you in the night. Instead of killing you, they had taken to torturing you, hijacking your mind and using poison to turn you against the Night Court, your family, and your mate.

Everyday they tied you to that chair, and everyday they injected a poison while manipulating your visions, coaching you to become the enemy of your own home. You were terrified of what they would do to you, but even more terrified at the monster you were becoming.

The bond between you and Azriel frayed a little further each time, and you felt yourself slipping away. You're only hope was that he would find you before you completely disappeared.

————

3 months later

Azriel grazed his fingers over truth teller, his leathers strapped more firmly than they had ever been. He tried to calm his breathing, at least for the sake of his shadows, that now lashed and whipped uncontrollably. But it was no use.

“It’ll be alright brother,” Rhys said, placing a sure hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “We’ve found her, and we’re getting her out.”

“Let me join you.”

“No,” Rhys said tightly. “I know the urge to protect your mate, to kill for her. It’ll make a mess of things when we need them to go smoothly. You’re to stay here. That’s an order.”

Azriel’s brow furrowed as he felt Rhys’s power course through his words. He’d be here – waiting. He had no other choice.

“We’ll get her back,” Cassian chimed in, checking his leathers and stretching his arm across his chest. “I promise you brother.”

Azriel nodded tightly, unable to convey any gratitude over the gnawing anxiety and primal desire to burst into the prison and ripped the heads of every guard in sight. There, in that building, was his mate. His mate, who had been stolen from right under his nose, and he hadn't been wise enough to stop it. His mate, who’d been missing for months, and no matter how many sleepless nights he spent slaving over maps and records, he still couldn't find you. And every time you were hurt, he could feel you slipping away, the bond weakening every so slightly. He didn't know what state you’d be in, he only knew what he felt – the very last fragments of a withered bond, calling him from inside that building.

Rhys and Cassian gave Azriel one final nod before winnowing to the prison, leaving him in the silence of the night. A cold wind howled as he watched from the darkness, his shadows begging to follow his brothers inside. It could be minutes, it could be hours – every second was torture for the Shadowsinger.

————

Asleep in your cot, your ankle was chained to the metal frame as you slept completely still from exhaustion.

Each day ended like this, and they all blurred into each other. The guards would throw you into your cell, sliding a tray of greyish food and stale bread on the floor before chaining you to the bed. You were often too tired to eat, and while your first weeks had been spent clawing at the door, screaming and throwing your food in protest, you had weakened so quickly, and it now took everything you had to haul yourself up onto the thin mattress.

Tonight was as cold as the rest of them, the thin stained covers barely doing a thing to warm you. You shivered your way through a nightmare, the poison still active in your blood. A winged creature approached you, it’s hazel eyes glowing as claws grew at it’s fingers, it’s snarl ripping into a roar as it lunged for your throat.

Jolting awake, you heard sounds of commotion outside your cell. Your heart thumped as you pulled the covers over you tightly. They’d be here soon, to claim you from your bed. Then the pain would start.

After a few yells you heard a large thud, and then footsteps. They were getting closer and closer, and you curled up into a ball, clenching your eyes shut, begging to be anywhere else.

“Y/N?” you heard a male ask. Your body jerked at the sound of his voice, refusing to raise your head or even open your eyes. An uncontrollable shake quickly overtook your whole body.

“Y/N, is that you? Hang on doll, we’re going to get you outta here.”

You heard the male grunt as he pried and forced the cell door open. “Rhys!” he called, and you could now note two sets of footsteps. The sound of the metal door grinding open filled your ears, and you had no choice but to face the threat that awaited.

Sitting up in your cot, you clambered to the end of your bed, as far away from the males as you could get.

“Oh Y/N, thank the Cauldron you’re alive!” A male with dark hair wore a broken smile, his body sagging in relief as his purple eyes glowed in the darkness of your cell.

You used your legs to push yourself further back, unable to stop the quiver in your voice. “L-leave me alone.” It was not a voice you recognised – instead it was raspy, broken, and a little sick sounding. You wondered when the last time you actually spoke was.

You saw the purple-eyed male exchange a look with the other, his red siphons glowing as he stepped closer, reaching out a hand. “Y/N, it’s us, Cassian and Rhys.”

A white light filled your eyes then, clouding your vision as your ears rang. Furious visions filled your mind at the mention of their names, and a headache so painful pierced through your brain that you had to clutch at your head to stop it. You let out a howl, blinded by dangerous and violent visions. They must be the people Hybern had warned you about – they’re here to kill you.

You leapt from your bed, scrambling as far back as the chain would let you. You knew how you must look – hair a mess, eyes wild, your tunic stained and dirty as you shook like a meek animal. “Fuck off,” you spat, trying to sound as aggressive as you could.

The purple-eyed male stepped forward then, slowly making his way over with his palms raised. You pushed yourself against the chain, your ankle throbbing in protest. You couldn't help the whimper that escaped you as the male knelt down, and you pulled your knees up and hugged them, your last attempt to protect yourself.

“It’s ok, we’re not going to hurt you,” the male said gently. He was close enough that you could smell him, his scent familiar, yet disarming. Your clenched your eyes shut, the headache piercing through again. “We’re here to take you home.”

Snapping your lids open, your eyes darted between the violet ones before you. Home. You didn’t remember having a home, you didn’t remember much before this.

“You’re lying,” you hissed, cowering into your filthy tunic. The male’s brow clenched in what you thought might be sympathy, and he cast another glance back to his counterpart.

“I assure you, you can trust us. How about we get you out of this chain?” You stared wide-eyed as the taller-male walked over, kneeling at your ankle and pulling a large knife from his side. You cowered at the sight, swords, knives and sharp things were all too familiar.

“It’s ok,” the long-haired male soothed. “I’m just going to cut the chain here.” You stared as he raised a strong arm, before swinging it down against the metal links. The chain broke immediately, metal clinking to the ground, and the male returned his weapon to it’s sheath.

“There we are,” the purple-eyed male said, and you remembered he had called himself Rhys. “Now we can get you out of here. Do you think you can stand, Y/N? Or perhaps you might let us carry you?”

Another flash of white filled your vision then, and as instinct took over, you found yourself clawing for the males face, trying to hurt him in any way possible. Rhys stepped back smoothly, his brow pulling in concern as Cassian quickly caught your wrists, pulling folding them over your own chest as he held flush against him, likely stopping you from hurting yourself more than anyone else. You continued to scream and thrash, trying to break from his hold.

“Put her out of her misery, Rhys.”

Rhysand shot you a soft look before gently placing the back of his hand on your forehead, his hand cool to your clammy skin. “I’m sorry Y/N. But it’s for your own good.”

It was the last thing you heard before a ring struck your ears, and the world melted to black.

————

He scented you before he saw you. Winnowing in front of his brothers the moment they arrived, Azriel’s body froze as he took in your lifeless form.

“Oh gods, oh gods, is she–?“

“She’s asleep,” Rhys answered, his wings disappearing as he caught Azriel by the shoulders, pushing him up as his brother sagged in relief.

Cassian handed Azriel his unconscious mate, your body slack with painless sleep.

Azriel’s couldn’t help his tears. “Oh gods, oh Y/N. I’m so sorry,” he cried, weeping into your neck as he rocked you. “There’s nothing left of her,” he claimed, noting your weak and disheveled figure. How light you felt compared to the last time he held you.

“We’ll get her the help she needs,” Cassian reassured him, clasping a tight hand on his shoulder. “She’s with you now, she’s safe.”

Azriel couldn't help the sob of relief that racked through him. He breathed in your scent, and while it was changed, underneath there was a hint of you. It was the scent he had longed to breath in for months now, the scent that had faded from your home, your clothes, your bed. Azriel’s wings flared as he soaked it in, pressing you tighter to him.

“She should see the healer. Let me winnow her back to our base.” Rhys reached for your body, unthinking of what he might be asking in a moment like this.

Azriel’s cries were immediately replaced with a predatory snarl as he stepped back from Rhys, snatching your sleeping body and pulling you closer to his chest.

“I just got her back,” he growled, his voice low and animalistic. You were the only thing stopping him from exploding, from launching at his brother.

Rhys and Cassian exchanged a look before Rhys gathered himself, raising his palms. “I know, Az, I know. I’m not taking her away, I can just see your emotional, and thought you might want to deal with those who remain in the prison.”

Azriel’s eyes glowed at the suggestion, the instinct to rip each and every guards head off was almost as primal as the one to keep you pressed against his chest and to never let go. His voice was thick as he stared past Rhys, straight at the prison. “I will be the one to see to my mate’s wellbeing. Round up the survivors. I want them alive and in my chamber.”

Cassian nodded at that, turning to do the work for his brother.

“Feyre’s called the healer to your tent, they await your arrival,” Rhys said.

Azriel steadied himself as he ran his eyes over your bruised and ashy face, bringing a gentle scarred finger to run down your gaunt cheek. “Let’s get you home,” he said softly, before evaporating into a winnow, Rhys close behind him.

--------

Part 2 >>>>

AN: Suuurrrprise! It’s time for another Azriel series. While I fully intended for this to be a one shot, I’m so excited to explore the idea of a brainwashed reader. Think Hunger Games Peeta being tortured by the Capitol (in fact, that was my direct inspiration). 

I so so hope you liked Part 1, please let me know if you’d like to join the tag list for this series in the comments. And as always, I love you, thank you for reading/liking/comment/reblogging or following – all of it means so much.

Tag list: Tag list:@kennedy-brooke @cosmic-whispers @jazmin2211 @psychobookaholic @fieldofdaisiies @marina468  @itscaitymoore @timecharm @icey--stars

[drinkabletoxicdishsoap]

drop ur antony headcanons pls

Thank you for asking me anon!!! I love to share my headcanons about him he’s so silly!!

1. I feel like more than half of his closet is just graphic tees/t-shirts. That’s like the only kind of shirt he wears.

2. For his crush on Dejah, he acts like a stuttering and complete mess of front of her. Super awkward and everything. But she doesn’t mind! I think she finds it and him very sweet. I don’t know if you’ve ever watched my little pony friendship is magic, but they give me Shining Armor x Cadence vibes.

3. I’d like to think he played an instrument as a kid. He was probably a band kid.

4. Whenever he went to zoos as a kid or even now, he rushes to the reptile section. It’s most likely for him to look at iguanas since he’s in the iguana society. Though I feel like he loves every single kind of reptile.

5. He’s the Godzilla’s movies #1 fan. Bro RUNS to the theaters whenever a new movie drops. He always cheers on Godzilla for the Godzilla vs. literal any creature or just any Godzilla movie in general.

6. Amusement park enthusiast. He absolutely LOVES any and all kinds of amusement parks. He will ride absolutely anything!! Maybe not the VERY VERY high rollercoasters but he will ride anything and everything else. He’s still a kid at heart.

7. His favorite holiday is basically any where he can spend time with his family. Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Halloween are his top ones. He loves going trick or treating with Hazel and I feel like they always had matching Halloween costumes.

8. He played some sports as a kid. I have no idea which ones but I feel like he’d be a soccer kid (maybe I’m bias because I play soccer LMAO).

9. Secretly LOVES reality tv shows. He acts like he doesn’t, but whenever Angela has it on he sits next to her and watches it. They totally gossip about it together.

10. He will do ANYTHING and EVERYTHING for Hazel. He cares so much about her.

11. Whenever the Wells Family is on a trip, he’s the one to suggest excursions and everything like that.

12. Energy drinks are his LIFE. He doesn’t drink coffee but bro will absolutely DOWN any energy drink.

13. I feel like he helps build whatever ghost hunting or paranormal investigation invention Marcus wants. He probably even helped him build the the ghost one that we see in the show! He doesn’t really get his dad’s obsession with the paranormal but he will forever cheer his dad on!

14. Since he now knows about Cosmo, Peri, and Wanda, he will guard their secret with his life for Hazel. He helps when they have a few little slips. I feel like he would get along great with Cosmo and Wanda! He definitely appreciates what they’ve done for his little sister. He tries to get along with Peri but I feel like they don’t really get along at first. You know, younger brother vs older brother. Maybe they do get along but at first, absolutely not.

15. He’s a great cook! He helps cook meals for Hazel whenever his parents are out and about.

16. He has silly little karaoke nights with Hazel :3

That’s all the headcanons I have for him <33 if I do think of more I’ll either edit the post or make a new post about it! Thank you for the ask anon!! And thank you for reading! I hope you have a great day or night :3

[mt-jupiter]

fifth up is avery grambs !! the heiress !!

i've been trying to finish this for like 3 days, and i think she looks very cute but i still feel the need to go in and do colour pallet changes but if i do then i will Never finish this drawing

avery has been so hard to visualise since she's supposed to be the relatable main character, so even though i Know her appearance description she still feels formless in my head

and it doesn't help that i have a complicated relationship with mcs, so part of me Does relate to her and wants to project onto her a little, but the other is so caught up on her Not Being Me that i want to make her as distant from myself as possible

i don't know if that makes sense to anyone else

anyways, you should know the drill by now if you've seen by hawthorne brothers drawings--- left is based on canon description, right is like a little redesign / headcanons version

the smallest but most important detail to me is giving her eyes a ring of green because for some reason i always thought her eyes were green ?? they're hazel ??

[xxoxobree]

These are mainly 42 centered because that’s just what my brain comes up with 😭 hope that’s okay

I feel like this is wildly excepted, but I can’t NOT mention it…Could Miles 42 do his own hair? Yes. But he makes his mama do it so he can spend time with her.

We know that Miles’s dad and Aaron fell out in universe 1610 (at least I think so) SO because Miles’s dad isn’t there to stray the family away from his brother, Miles 42’s music is much more influenced by his uncle than 1610’s is. There’s a lot of oldies in there that he first heard because of him!

Adding on to that, I think there’s records in Miles 42’s room? Like I think it’s like in the back. Idk maybe I just saw someone say something about it

Anyways, on those bad nights where shit’s getting to him, Miles puts on a record or two. He loves his headphones, but the record player gives off a different vibe

I like to think about both Miles’ art styles. 1610’s is very freedom, graffiti centered (as we know). There’s a lot of color, he’s free with it. But I believe that 42’s is more, controlled? Idk the word, really. But there’s sharp lines and maybe even a little restraint? To show the difference between how they both grew up and what they’ve experienced through their loves.

I think Miles 42 is better at drawing what’s in front of him, versus 1610’s tendency to just sort of go with it.

both Miles’ favorite place is the roof, where the memorial for Aaron/Mr. Morales is. It makes them feel closer to the ones they’ve lost.

I’ve seen a Tiktok about Miles 42 having heterochromia? People argued that it was just the lighting in the movie, but I think it’d be cool? His eyes aren’t that different, but one is more hazel while the other is more brown.

Pokemon is Miles 42’s guilty pleasure. He likes the games a little (a lot) more than he’d like to admit

Sometimes I think i’d be funny if Miles 42 was a little on the short side? Like Miles 1610 grew because of the spider bite, but 42 stayed where he was? Like he’s not short, but he’s closer to average than a lot of the guys he hangs around and it’s funny because his attitude is 10 feet tall

Miles 42 doesn’t see his mom as much as 1610 does because she’s always working, so he does little things around the house to make it feel more like home when she gets off work. He lights her favorite candles, makes sure her favorite flowers are always in a vase on the dining room table. He likes taking the pressure off his mom’s shoulders because he knows she works hard. He goes above and beyond for her.

He sometimes (a lot of times) slips money into her savings jar so he can see her face light up when she counts it all

42 has his dad’s class ring from high school. He wears it a lot, but when he doesn’t it stays in a little box with his chains.

I can imagine both Miles’ just knowing random things? Like they have all these facts for no reason except the can

Both of them are the type to say they can’t dance even though they can do it better than basically everyone around them

If I think of any more I can send them! There’s also some stuff on my blog too!

Oouu I never thought of miles as someone who can do his own hair. Now that I’m thinking about it. He can definitely do 2 strand twist, but the two braids maybe a little too complicated for him and that’s why he lets Rio do it and to spend time with her 🥰🥰.

Definitely is influenced by uncle Aaron when it comes to music.

The art thing is soooo interesting I’d love to hear more about your theories on that.

I agree with the rooftop, I’ve written a few fics based on that rooftop 😂😂

He definitely has different colored eyes I actually made a post about that and I love it! Ones green and the others brown.

Short King Miles G 😂 I like to think 1610 miles has like 2/3 inches on him.

Yesss omg I agree with the dancing thing, in my head they’re amazing dancers.

These were soooo good, yess send me the others 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽 thanks for sharing

[kekaki-cupcakes]

Heyyy can you please write something for Nico x male reader where Nico has seen reader around camp and reader is friendly and always laughing and talking with everyone. And Nico develops a crush on reader and eventually he decides to confess to reader when he sees them in the woods. Fluffy mainly but like a little spicey at the end if u do that stuff? :)

hey there bestie, let's pretend it hasn't been two months. this fic is also for @golden-boy-muda 's request for nico x transmasc reader <3

I couldn't find an idea in my empty ol head for this request but then I was looking for old oil painting wallpapers for my phone and now you have this incredibly sappy 3.2k of art references [I advise you keep another tab open for cross-referencing if you want the fUlL eXpErIeNcE]

Oil on Canvas--- Nico di Angelo x transmasc reader [3.2k] »»————-　★　————-««

Nico definitely isn’t a stalker, he understands boundaries [once Jason explains them to him, of course], but he might have a bit of a staring problem. 

Sometimes he’s just eating gluten free waffles with Hazel in the dining pavilion and ends up watching you shove your siblings around and plait your little sister's hair so it doesn’t get in her face when she goes Pegasus riding.

He spooned some blueberries onto his plate. 

It’s not his fault.

It’s yours, if anything. What is he supposed to do apart from feel like there’s moths beneath his ribcage when you pose, your nose scrunched, up for photos with Drew’s polaroid camera that’s covered with inappropriate stickers? 

Hazel elbowed him meaningfully in the side when he couldn’t help but grin because Holy Hades, a single person shouldn’t be able to look that much like the painting Ophelia [by friedrich heyser, to be specific], just because they wore a green camp shirt and a pearl necklace. 

Maybe it was his fault that he was comparing you to beautiful paintings. 

He scooped the blueberries onto his half eaten waffle and reached for the maple syrup Hazel had finished drowning her breakfast in. 

The Stoll brother’s mortal mum had sent a stack of paintings from art galleries all over the world last Christmas, and they’d let him pick out a few of the older more poetic ones that didn’t have enough blood and guts for their taste. 

Now the oil paintings of lakes and birds and crying angels and… mainly cats, actually, hung around the dark walled Cabin he slept in. 

Your laugh when you threw strawberries at Kayla and Austin while they worked in the infirmary reminded him of Angel [carl von marr, of course] and he felt like Chat a difficult catch [charles van den eycken] when you walked right past him without even glancing back.

So he’d made peace with watching from afar how you would forget daily to put sunscreen on but somehow always remembered to wear this pair of white crocheted gloves that looked like cat paws. 

On a completely irrelevant note, Nico was learning to crochet. 

Hazel made eye contact with him again when he looked from you to her, and he plugged his ears and glared before she started kicking him in the shins and begging him to pluck up the courage to walk over and even just make eye contact. 

Not that he didn’t want to. 

He may have lined up in his catalog of daydreams, this scenario where you both went down to the beach. Any beach, really. You’d collect shells and eat popcorn and grapes and lemonade and squish sand between your toes and pick up crabs with him. 

PROMENADE ON THE BEACH [Charles Atamian, obviously].

There was another scenario where he’d take you to the farmers market. It had the biggest bouquets of flowers, and rows upon rows of fruits and vegetables and incense and beaded jewelry. 

When he was laying in bed underneath the fluffy zebra patterned duvets that Piper forced him to use, mainly because they matched the dark reds of the cushions and browns of the bookshelves and antique lamps in the cabin so well, you were walking down the rows of little stores with him.

You were holding his hand with those soft cat paw gloves and you liked the feel of his rings [he’d read that people liked rings in a book, somewhere] and you’d filled the Studio Ghibli tote bag you had with berries. 

He’d watched most of the movies after he saw your bag. He liked Arriety the best. 

Clarisse stomped past the Hades table, leaving bloody footprints no one asked about, and smacked him in the back of his head. Nico went back to eating his waffles and daydreaming about your smile. 

In the farmers market you would sniff candles and never buy them because Hazel had far too many for all of her spells and the such that he would never run out. And what was Hazel’s was his and what was his was hers, meaning that what was Hazel’s was yours. 

Because Nico would give everything he owned, even his favorite jacket, for you to look his way. 

And he would buy you flowers, whichever were your favorite. 

Maybe the ones from the painting Hazel forced him to take because ‘you can’t just not hang a painting that literally is you, Neeks’. 

Italian Girl with Flowers. Joaquin Sorolla. 1886. 

He didn’t see the resemblance.

But it didn’t really matter, because he’d get to watch you looking at all the cool things for sale and then he’d take you to the best gelato he’d found so far [he was making a list] or just use the shadows, and take you to a proper gelato shop. Whatever you wanted to do, really.

Nico blinked. He huffed, mainly at himself, and stabbed his waffle. It fell apart on the fork.

“Why’re you angry?”

He looked up from his plate, to Hazel. She was sitting opposite him with a mustache made of orange juice. “...I’m not.”

“You’re not supposed to be pushing down your emotions, remember?” she said sternly, and started picking the green bits off a strawberry. She was eating as many berries as she could, since she wasn’t allowed lollies anymore. The perks of braces. 

Nico looked away. “I’m fine.”

“You’re thinking about the cat glove girl, aren’t you?” she asked with a smirk.

“Cat glove boy, remember?” he muttered, and took a bite of his waffle, wiping squished blueberries off his chin.

Hazel’s golden eyes widened, “Oh yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” he said, and was grateful for the excuse to peek your way. You were eating toast. Very pretty-ily. He felt his face heat up.

Hazel perked up, a mischievous grin he didn’t appreciate on her face. “Okay! I’ll go apologize to your boyfriend then-”

Nico stared at her. Why was she like this? She actually went to stand up, and then he yanked her sleeve, pulling her back down to the table. “No! Don’t just… you can’t… stop!”

“You didn’t deny that he’s your boyfriend,” Jason chuckled, sitting down next to Hazel. 

“I hate you all,” Nico said. 

It was torture. 

He felt like Sleepy time potion [Vanessa Stockhard], stuck in the middle of your loveliness, unable to do anything except stare and hope that his face wasn’t too as red as the mushroom he was sitting on. 

In the painting. 

Not in real life. 

Obviously. 

»»————-　★　————-««

Nico stared down at the hat in his lap.

He’d done it. He’d actually finished one of the hundreds of projects he’d started in Piper’s efforts to find him a hobby that wasn’t sitting on the fences of cemeteries or standing in line at Mcdonalds. 

He had lots of other hobbies, he just… couldn’t come up with them when she was arguing with him. 

So they’d gone through writing, painting, records, sleeping, which he excelled in, and then crocheting. None had lasted very long, but he may have had an idea half way through trying to stab Piper with the crocheting stick.

And now he had a white bucket hat with cat ears.

He threw it to the end of his bed, and hid underneath his duvet. Fuck. 

Repose. Malcolm Liepke. 1953. 

What on Olympus was he supposed to do about the way he wanted to hold you so badly he felt like throwing up and tearing his hair out?

He lay underneath in the pocket of stuffy darkness for a moment, before sitting up, untangling his blankets and teddies from him, and then standing. He may have just had the greatest idea anyone had ever thought of before.

Hazel was still in the shower, singing, most likely, so he grabbed his jacket from the coat rack that was actually just a skeleton, and then stomped out of his cabin, the stupid hat in his fist.

His heart was beating wildly. Stupid heart. 

The Wedding Dress. Fred Ellwell. 1911.

He rubbed his face and groaned at the sky. The stars were just peeking out, but it was still pink and yellow, and the sun hadn’t dipped yet. It was hidden by the trees he was trudging through, though. 

Fuck.

His chest was hurting. 

Nico scrunched up the stupid perfect crocheted hat that just had to stupidly perfectly match your stupid perfect cat gloves because Nico was stupidly perfectly obsessed with you. 

You, who was stupidly perfect.

Fuck. 

Psyche Weeping. Kinuko Y Craft. 1995.

He trod on twigs that broke underneath his boots and weaved through the tree’s that slowly became more and more laden with hanging pendants and wind chimes and ruins carved into the bark.

He stepped over a thin stream. A frog croaked at him like it was dying. As if it could ever feel like it was dying. As if it could ever fall in love.

Nico groaned at the sky again. 

“Just let it all out.”

He turned, and glared. “Do you mind?”

“Yes, actually,” Lou Ellen said, raising a purple eyebrow. It matched the undersides of her curly hair. She pointed to the cabin concealed in shadows and moss and stones behind her. “This is my house. And you are yelling very loudly.”

“I’m not yelling,” Nico argued. “I’m groaning.”

She stared at him for a second. She rolled her eyes. “Just come in, what do you need?”

“I need a spell. Or a charm. Or hex,” Nico said, following her through the wooden double doors. A wind chime tinkled even though the air was still. There were a few bunks lined up against the wall to one side. “Or a magic thing. I don’t care which one.” 

The rest of the cabin was filled with small coffin shaped pet beds and empty pink soda cans and voodoo dolls hanging from the roof and rugs with cats wearing strawberry hats on the fluffy material and misty crystal balls. 

Lou Ellen lent back on a desk stacked high with papers and paperweights that were actually jars filled with things. “Okay. I have three rules. I don’t kill people, and I don’t make people fall in love.”

“...And?”

“I’ll break both if it’ll be fun?”

Nico frowned. “No. Aren’t you supposed to say you won’t bring people back from the dead? That’s always the third rule.”

She squinted at him. “Uh…no. I send those people to you.” 

Nico squinted back at her, sticking his tongue out. He fiddled with the stupid perfect hat and looked around. There was just more creepy things and stuffed animals. “Whatever. I need your help.”

“With what?”

“I need you to… like,” Nico started. He sighed. He looked away. 

This was awful. 

He was not about to admit that he might be in love, even if it was to reverse the feelings in the first place with whatever heart ripping out brain altering magic was necessary. 

The Apollo cabin would find out through the witch in less than thirty seconds. He would never live it down. 

Nico groaned again. “Oh for fucks sake, do you need me to fic your voicebox or something?” Lou Ellen hissed. 

Nico glared at her. He groaned again, and then whirled around and stomped out of the weird mossy mushroom cabin. “Nevermind!”

“Fine! Have it your way!...weird little emo.”

Nico glared at the frog croaking at him, and kept walking through the forest. 

He followed the little stream through the woods until he could hear wind chimes or Taylor Swift’s latest album anymore. 

The little stream widened into a proper stream, filled with a lot more frogs. Why were there so many frogs? He nearly stood on a green one leaping across the path. Stupid frog.

Nico stuffed his hands into his pockets, along with the hat. He was tempted to just toss it into the river. Then he wouldn’t have to deal with all of the silly feelings that felt like the biggest things in the world to him and his silly head full of thoughts about your lips.

Maybe the frogs could use the hat as a home.

“Here froggie… Come here… I said, come here... No I am not taking a tone with you!” 

Nico froze. 

Fuck. He took a deep breath, probably too loudly. He glanced to the side. 

Of course you were catching frogs, knee deep in a river.

You looked over, making eye contact, and Nico realized the moths underneath his ribcage were turning into bats. You squinted at him, hands on your hips, while water swirled around and leaves drifted from the trees above. A bucket was wedged between two rocks next to you.

A frog jumped out of it and landed near your leg, on a lillypad. 

“Look Albert,” you said, turning to the frog. “It’s a little Victorian ghost.”

“...I’m Italian,” Nico said quietly. He stared at you. He couldn’t help it. Wow. Fuck. Leo was right. He really was pathetic. “And I’m not a ghost.”

“Okay, Victorian ghost.” 

Nico stared at you. Fuck.

After that exchange, he should be able to hate you. Right? Right. He now resented you, and the moths turned bats would stop clawing at his chest and he would go back to having a normal life. 

Right?

Wrong.

You squinted at Nico, and then slowly turned to Albert. “I think the cute Victorian ghost is having a stroke.”

Nico blinked once, gulped, and then marched forward through the cold water and frogs, his shoes squelching loudly. Gods. This was so embarrassing. But you thought he was cute, even if you also thought he was a dead english boy, so he would be content with dying from embarrassment. 

He shoved the stupid perfect hat into your stupid perfect hands.

And then left in about 0.3 seconds. 

»»————-　★　————-««

You stared down at your pancakes. Why were they so gray looking? Had someone poisoned them? You figured that it would be a pretty good way to die, and tipped extra maple syrup onto them before you dug in. 

To counterbalance the poison, of course.

You scratched at the mosquito bite underneath the strap of your binder. It had flowers embroidered into it. Your binder. Not the mosquito bite.

One of your siblings across from you kicked at your shin, probably on purpose, but you continued to eat your odd tasting pancakes and picked blueberry grit off your white cat paw gloves. They were your favorite gloves. 

They also matched your new hat. The new hat that the cute Victorian but actually Italian ghost boy had given you before he teleported away with whatever dark magic he had stored in all that goth-ness.

You tossed a blueberry at Clarisse when she walked past and tried to bash you over the head. 

She wasn’t allowed to ruin your new hat.

You turned to see her flicking the blueberry over at someone else, and your eyes flicked past that too. Now way. You stood up, but you’d lost sight of the mess of dark hair when the Hermes cabin barrelled past.

You clambered onto your seat and stood up there. “Oi! Victorian ghost hat boy!”

The dining pavilion went quiet pretty quickly, and everyone turned to the cute guy with a skeleton hoodie and wide eyes. He pointed at himself when you pointed at him, and then went pink. 

Clarisse stuck her arm out so you didn’t faceplant when you jumped down from your seat, and you held onto your new hat as you traipsed across the cracked floor. 

You’d never figured out how that crack had got there. But there were bigger mysteries. 

Like this cute goth. 

His face just pinker when you grabbed his sleeve and tried to tug him out of the entire camp’s curious eyes. A dark skinned girl with a lot of butterfly clips and a Steven Universe t-shirt sent a thumbs up in your direction. 

It was only when you were standing by the low burning fire pit in a patch of daisies did you realize you hadn’t really planned far enough ahead. 

You took off the cat-ear hat and looked down at it. “...Uhm…”

“Sorry,” the goth said quickly, and when you made eye contact he looked away even quicker. “It’s creepy. Boundaries and stuff, I just… saw your gloves.” 

“It’s not creepy,” you argued, putting the hat back on with a grin. He was really cute when he blushed. “I mean, I don’t even know your name, and I have no idea who you are but your eyeliner is really really great and… Holy Hades if you smile like that again can I… please kiss you?”

The goth with no name stared at you, and then nodded about ten times too many. “Yes please. But, uh.. If you’re gonna kiss me, please, maybe don’t get my dad involved.”

“...Wut?”

»»————-　★　————-««

Nico could feel his cheeks growing hotter.

Not because of the sun, specifically, but it was hot and bright in the woods. He’d worn sunscreen though. And forced you to put it on too, once he’d found watermelon scented sunscreen, because you refused to smell gross no matter how sunburnt you would get anyways. 

His face was hot and red because of you. 

You, who was stupidly perfect and also possibly kind of Nico’s stupidly perfect boyfriend. 

“Psst, Victorian ghost boy,” you said with a sing-song voice, quietly, and waved your hand in front of his eyes with your pink, blue, and white painted nails. He blinked. You smiled. “You zoned out again.”

“Sorry,” Nico said, and pulled a daisy out of the ground. He handed it over. “I was thinking about you.”

He hadn’t realized the effect that saying that would have on you, but it was worth it when you opened and closed your mouth like one of the frogs you kept as pets. 

“I.. well, what were you thinking about?”

Nico had played his cards right. He smirked, and you shuffled forwards on the checked picnic blanket Piper had stolen from Drew, who’d probably nicked it from poor unsuspecting Demeter or Iris kid. You knocked over the basket of strawberries too, and then took your bucket hat off and stuffed it in your lap with a grin.

He tilted his head down. You were both following a very well rehearsed script. “...Kissing you?”

You launched yourself forwards then with a laugh, your cat-paw gloved hands landing on either side of his waist and probably squishing some of those strawberries at the same time. 

The sun reflected in your eyes and Nico held the sides of your face as he pressed his lips to yours. 

You kissed back, and once you both stopped smiling widely, you could kiss back. 

Properly. 

He scratched his fingernails, the ones you’d painted rainbow that afternoon after catching more frogs and complaining about sunscreen, along your jaw when you bit down on his bottom lip.

Not as a complaint, certainly not, and you knew that too because you just sat back on your knees between Nico’s lap and tilted your head to fit deeper against Nico’s bruised lips. 

The ones that hadn’t had a single day off since you jumped up in the middle of breakfast with your gluten free waffles you hadn’t realized were gluten free until he had explained it to you later. 

It was intensely crazily unbearably romantic but it also meant whatever cold one of you managed to catch, the other would come down with only minutes later. 

And Nico felt like that smug little cat from Julie Manet’s Auguste Renoir.  

»»————-　★　————-««

[lyrakanefanatic]

PART THREE OF MY GRANDEST GAME CHARACTER PREDICTIONS!!

——————————————————————————

3: knox landry (tw, sexual assault)

• closest to in the game: brady daniels

• love interest: im not too sure but im just gonna hc that he gets a boyfriend/girlfriend outside of the game

• person they dislike the most in the game: lyra kane

• personality traits: hardworking, reliable, selfless, trustworthy, creative, strong, intelligent, and independent

• negative personality traits: cruel, destructive at times, irritable, petty, hesitant to trusting people, good at keeping others away, and is mean as a coping mechanism (💔)

HIS CHARACTER OVERALL HEADCANONS:

• he’s bisexual

• does boxing as a hobby, as well as art

• his father died when he was just a few months old and he has a step dad and mom

• was sexually assaulted when he was 12 by his uncle 3 separate times. even now, he can still feel the ghosts of his uncles hands on him. 💔

• has trouble sleeping most nights because he wakes up from the memory of being touched

• he pushes others away because of it too. he’s never really had a lot of friends since the incident or could never keep a lot because he kept pushing them away and being mean as a coping mechanism

• he’s 5’10 and 23 years old with hair that looks black but is actually really dark brown, and hazel eyes

• is very harsh on himself with his art but can draw literally anyone or anything at any given time. he’s defo one of those people who can, in fact, draw zendaya (iykyk)

• tells everyone that his favourite artist is arctic monkeys, when in reality it’s laufey 💀

• he has a twin sister who is older by like 2 minutes but he’s always acted like the older brother

• very attractive and has a crazy good jawline (and an eyebrow slitttt)

• he has an irish accent that’s not too strong, but when he’s anxious or pissed out of his mind you can’t understand a word that’s coming out of his mouth

• the reason why his accent is more watered down is because he moved from ireland to texas with his mom, sister, and stepdad after the incident to avoid his family who gaslit him into believing that his uncle didn’t sa him

• although it’s been hard, his family has always been supportive, and immediately fought for him once they found out about his uncle touching him

HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH THE OTHER CONTESTANTS:

• lyra kane: lyra and knox are both people who can be cold and stubborn, so because of that they didn’t mix well when they first met. knox immediately saw her as an enemy and lyra was returning the favour. it wasn’t until hawthorne chutes and ladders where they really started seeing each other as people instead of just contestants that they were supposed to beat in the game. once they do get over their rivalry though, they end up being best friends and knox sees lyra as a little sister. he teaches her more efficient ways to fight and punch, and she helps the old grandpa with tech and computers. 💀 they’re very close and when grayson and her started dating, knox immediately went out of his way to piss him off just to be petty. 😪

• odette morales: knox honestly sees odette and lyra as a package deal, so whenever he hangs out with odette he has to bring along lyra too. at first odette was kind of unsure of knox because of how lyra felt towards him, but once they started warming up to each other knox and her became better friends. he loves how kind and soft spoken she is, and wishes that he was like that instead of being so “cold hearted” and “destructive” 💔 he defo taught her how to box too, (as she had no idea how to) and now she’s pretty good at it.

• brady daniels: brady and him became close immediately, and although knox would never and will never tell him, he had the teensiest crush on him when he came to the island. but once that crush dissolved into friendship and he got over it, they have the best banter and are constantly getting into dumb arguments over dumb things. although bradys way taller, knox can fight way better and has kicked his ass before.

• rohan: rohans british, so naturally, knox doesn’t like him. JKJK, but fr they get into so many arguments about the whole “british vs irish” thing, and their banter is a lot like michelle and james’ banter from derry girls. (if you’ve watched it, you know) knox sees him as a dumb cocky little brother, and finds his crush on savannah so cute. also, they definitely box together ALL. THE. TIME. like you CAN’T convince me otherwise.

• savannnah grayson: he was definitely cold to her once he found out about the whole “game master being her brother” thing, and held it against her. but he never tried to outright accuse her because he knew she was young and he was not about to start beefing with an 18 year old girl when he’s 5 years older 💀💀 they do warm up to each other eventually though, and although they don’t hang out a lot, when they do they have a lot of meaningful talks. also, like everybody else, he taught her how to box because “she should know how to defend herself in a situation where she’d need to”. (now savannah threatens grayson with the fact that she can fight whenever he pisses her off)

• gigi grayson: even though knox didn’t really trust her at first because of the same reason he didn’t like savannah (*cough cough* because she’s a nepo baby *cough cough* who said that?) he never tried to show it because he loves how bubbly and cheerful she is and doesn’t want to do anything to turn her sour. (because he knows what that’s like and wants to protect her) he definitely doesn’t like mattias and thinks he’s not good enough for her though 💀 gigi loves to paint with him even though her paintings are… not that great, and his are van gogh level good because they have a really good time. <3

——————————————————————————

THATS ALL!! 💗💗

i just KNOW knox is gonna be one of my favs <3

ALSO, I WAS EDITING THIS LAST NIGHT AND I FELL ASLEEP RIGHT AFTER I PUT MY PHONE DOWN, AND BECAUSE THE GRANDEST GAME WAS THE LAST THING I THOUGHT ABOUT, I DREAMT ABOUT IT 💀💀

BASICALLY I GOT A COPY REALLY EARLY (THE FAIRYLOOT VERSION) AND I DIDNT READ THE BOOK FOR SOME REASON, INSTEAD I WENT TO GO WATCH THE MOVIE??? EVERYBODY WAS JUST ON THE BEACH AND THEN I WAS LIKE, “man, i can’t wait to see lyra” AND THEN I WOKE UP 💀💀💀

i didnt get to see any of the contestants tho because they hadn’t arrived yet 😓 (i think??? i actually don’t know why they weren’t there)