#I think I was meant to come to Endeavour now it feels like it was meant to happen

[gayness-and-mayhem]

I started watching Endeavour for the first time for the other day and I was most excited about Max bc I loved him in Morse and I've just found out that James Bradshaw is in The Way Old Friends Do which I booked tickets to months ago and now I'm sitting here crying bc I'm so excited and idk what to do with myself.

[uglypastels]

Your Logan fics have been great. I enjoy your style and how you write him. It’s so so good.

I had an idea while reading the brainwashed reader one:

Logan is on a mission to a bunker or lab or something for the X-men. Charles requested told him he had to go and help Scott. They go to this bunker and it ends up being a rescue for some mutants that were being experimented on and one of them once back at the mansion is having issues with controlling their power, and Charles asks Logan to help them. I picture the power being very volatile so Logan is there to help because he can take a hit and heal from it. Cause the reader is too scared to use the power on anyone and Charles told them he had the perfect teacher.

thank you so much!!

shoutout to @deceptive-daydreams for helping me come up with the details of this thing. had a lot of fun, as always, writing this request, so please keep em coming yall.

warnings: implied PTSD. platonic teacher/student dynamic. fire. explosions. swearing. anxiety. lots of banter and fluff.

Masterlist ~ X-Men Requests are Open

It had been two weeks since you had moved into the Mansion. Moved in. That’s all that you could bring yourself to call it, doing your best to not think about anything up to the moment that you had been ushered inside the large building and given a room to stay in for as long as you pleased. It had taken at least three days for you to actually get out of there, to let yourself roam the halls freely, reminding yourself that it was safe. 

For you, at least. No one would harm you here.

But not the same could be said about the rest.  

You had never been fully capable of controlling your powers, feeling more like they controlled you instead. When you were held captive, it was them who held power over both. But now that you were free, it was time for things to change. That much had been clear from the second you set foot in the mansion.

Professor Xavier had given you permission to make use of the Danger Room to train as long as you were under the supervision of one of the faculty members—something that should have given you comfort but instead only formed more anxieties.

‘I don’t want to hurt anyone,’ you confessed.

‘You can’t do this on your own,’ the Professor smiled softly. ‘As with any skill, a fine mentor is the first step to succeeding.’

You weren’t sure about that, but also knew that alone, you wouldn’t be able to get anywhere anyway. 

‘Don’t worry,’ the Professor read your mind. ‘I have just the teacher for you.’

⮿

You had recognised Logan as the man who had helped you escape. Who held your hand and hadn’t let go until you stopped shaking. Who gave you soft reassuring smiles whenever you saw eachother across the corridors, reminding you that were alright here.

You knew he was a skilled fighter, but, truthfully, you had not expected him to be the one Professor Xavier assigned as your supervisor in this training endeavour.

‘Show me what you got, kid.’ He said as he took off his leather jacket, and you immediately wish he hadn’t.

‘It’s probably better to keep it on.’ You stated, wincing at his exposed skin. He looked up at you, taking a moment to comprehend what you meant until the nickel fell with recognition.

‘Right.’ He put the jacket back on and leaned against the wall as you watched him expectantly for further instructions. ‘So, what do you do?’

‘You know what I do.’ You couldn’t help but laugh at the question.

‘Explain it to me again.’ He shrugged.

‘Well… I set things on fire.’ The words came out apprehensively.

‘No. I said, explain it to me. Dumb it down like I was a five year old.’ This felt ironically hard to do as you felt like he knew more about your power at this moment than you ever had.

‘I don’t understand—’

‘To be able to control your abilities, you got to understand it.’ Logan clarified. ‘Know what it is that you’re actually doing and you’ll know what to do to keep it contained.’

Yeah, if put like that, it made sense. It also sounded far easier than it was. Understand it, and you’ll be able to control it. Sure. You thought for a moment, back to school and the damn chemistry classes you hated, but now suddenly started to feel rather useful. ‘I uhh… manipulate atoms, rearranging them with the air and heat around them to cause objects to catch a flame.’

‘That’s more like it.’ He praised, and even though it barely meant anything, you felt yourself smile at the kind words. ‘How much have you got it under control?’ But then the question and his inquisitive glare down at you made you feel very aware of your body and your mind.

‘With uhm— with enough concentration I mostly I target the right object, but once the fire is up, I can’t contain it.’ Which was the most important part. If uncontained, the fire would just spread, destroying everything in its way. That much you already knew. You still woke up screaming from the memories of the radiant flames and screaming all around you.

‘And, nothing personal, but I gotta ask, controlling the fire also falls under your division?’ He had crossed his arms.

‘Uhm…’ you didn’t know how to respond to that. 

‘Only asking because we had this kid Jonny who could control fire, but he needed a spark to start it. Maybe you two are two sides of the same coin?’

‘No, I have managed it before. But never long. It would go up and down and up again, the way I wanted it to, but it was exhausting and then I couldn’t handle it and it would all go  to shit.’ You started rambling, and just like the fires, you couldn’t get yourself to stop.

‘Alright, alright.’ Logan spoke calmly. ‘First thing we gotta do is work on you.’

You blinked slowly.

‘It’s all the same with you elemental kind. It’s all in your head. If you can’t get your emotions under control, then the fire will never go out.’

‘That… makes sense.’ You took a deep breath and thought of all things sweet and soft and calm.

‘Alright, I haven’t got all day.’ He clapped his hands, and you tried to not let the loud sound get to you. 

Let the games begin. 

⮿

A few weeks went by, and you wish you could have said you were making progress. 

No, you had to be kinder to yourself. There was progress. It just wasn’t at the pace you had hoped to reach at this point. Logan had helped you with your targeting, and you could proudly say that you had reached an estimated 98% accuracy score. The larger objects you had no problem with, but the smaller and the further away things were, the more you seemed to struggle. Which was perfectly fine, Logan reminded you.

‘You expect to be able to hit a bullseye in the dark from a hundred yards away?’ 

‘I’m sure some people could,’ you mumbled, frustrated as you watched the wrong matchbox in the near line of 4 burn to a pile of ashes.

‘Beating yourself up about it is not gonna help you, kid.’ Logan said, already replacing the box with a new one. ‘Again.’

Knowing that complaining about his training methods would not help either, you simply squinted and focused on the third matchbox, doing your best to ignore the other ones lying around. They simply did not exist. All there was, was this one stupid matchbox— whoosh, and suddenly, the box was no more, just a pilar of blue flames. In your excitement at having finally hit your target, you had completely forgotten to keep the fire down. 

‘Shit, shit, sorry.’ You did your best to suppress it, but it seemed like the fire was in a funny mood today and decided to do the exact opposite of your demands as it grew by the second until Logan had no choice but to drench it with a bucket of water. 

⮿

‘Have you gone mad?’ You stared blankly up at Logan, who–much too confidently, in your opinion– positioned himself a few paces ahead of you. A cigar in hand. 

‘It’s clear that you need some incentive.’

‘I don’t think your death wish can be called that.’ You protested. ‘I’m not doing it.’ ‘Yeah you are.’ He simply said. ‘I’m the teacher. I’m telling you to light the damn thing, so get on with it,’ he growled as he put the cigar between his teeth.

‘Actually insane.’ You said to yourself. ‘There is no way this is going to end well.’

‘Focus sweetheart.’ He did his best to look calm and composed, but you saw how his shoulders tensed as you prepared to do the task. There was so much more you wanted to say to him, but you just had to block it out. All of him had to cease to exist. All you saw was the tip of the cigar. The tiniest layer of tobacco, the–

You shrieked as Logan’s face disappeared behind a cloud of black smoke as the cylinder in his mouth exploded. 

‘Oh my god, Logan!’ You ran to him, relieved as you heard him cough. With the smoke gone, you were happy to realise that it had only been the cigar that had exploded, leaving behind the tiniest but right where Logan had held it in his mouth. The rest of it combusted all around him. ‘Are you alright?’ 

His entire face was black with soot. You watched him wipe it off his eyes, blinking sporadically, clearly dazed from the explosion. You edged to repeat your question of concern, but before you had the chance to, Logan held a thumb up, spit the bud of the cigar out, and coughed out another thick cloud of smoke. 

‘All’s good, bub.’ And you would have believed him if not for the fact he sounded like a cat that had just been suffocated, his burnt throat squeaking out the vibrations of his voice. ‘Let’s try—’ he was about to suggest another exorcise before he erupted in another coughing fit. 

Easy to say you had called it a day after that.

⮿

‘Alright, easy now.’ Logan directed you. 

‘I know what I’m doing, Lo.’ You retorted. All day long, he had been just non-stop talking, making it very hard for you to focus on the job at hand.

‘Do you?’ He quipped, making you glare back at him just long enough for the fire to double in size. You cursed as you held it back down—at least, that’s something you were able to do now. 

‘You got to focus.’ He came over to you as you put the fire out completely.

‘Well, stop distracting me.’ 

‘That’s easy enough here, but what do you think out there’s gonna be like?’ He cocked his head at the walls, indicating the outside world, where indeed, there were distractions aplenty. ‘No one’s gonna give you time to do your breathing exercises in the real world, kid.’

‘Then why give them to me in the first place?’

‘I’m not the one you want to fight,’ was all he said in response. It had been months, and by now, he knew all there was to know about you in the learning environment. He knew how to push your buttons, fire you up and hose you back down. He could tell what you were thinking and it was infuriating that you could not figure out the same about him.

But, suppose that’s what made him the teacher and you the student.

‘Sorry,’ you sighed, letting yourself fall onto the ground, pulling your knees up to your chin. ‘It’s just so frustrating. We’ve been here for months and—’

‘And we’ll stay here for months more if that’s what you need to improve yourself.’ He squatted beside you. ‘You got this. No need to give up now. Or else my time here’s really been a waste, and I don’t take to that too kindly.’ He gave you that smile that once had only been reserved for quick passes in the hallway but now had become the favourite part of your nearly daily training sessions.

‘Sorry,’ you laughed. 

‘Don’t be.’ He got up, extending his hand as leverage as you got back onto your feet as well. ‘Think you got one more in you for today?’

the end.

thank you for reading 💗

if you enjoyed the fic, please consider reblogging and leaving a comment. or send a message via my inbox. requests are also more than welcome. 💗

[strwberri-milk]

Stroke of Luck

God!Rafayel x GN!Reader || Fluff, First Kiss || 1 489 Words

additional tags: references to God of Tides Rafayel/Rafayel's myths

The God of Tides stands so still you think he is asleep. You stand with him, fingers gently holding a paintbrush that is meant to be swirling patterns on his unblemished skin. You can’t bear the thought of making a mistake, knowing that you’ve been practising for a while now. He’s the one who made you – wanting you to feel comfortable enough to perform such an important and intimate act for him.

“Well? Why are you hesitating so?” he asks, opening just a single eye to look at you.

“I don’t want to make a mistake.”

“If you make a mistake, we will simply rub it off. There is no need to overthink the stroke of the brush. It is just paint after all.”

To prove his point, he takes the brush from you, gently drawing a line on the back of your hand with a flick of his wrist. Before the paint settles he swipes a line through the middle of it, disturbing the pigment.

“Just like that. Surely the bride of a God can handle such a simple endeavour.”

He puts his thumb on your chin before drawing it up to your cheek. His nail gently traces the shape of your cheekbone, eyes closing slightly as he admires your face. You have to look up at him, the pedestal he stands on to make it easier to paint on him adding to his height. Your eyes trail over his features the way his does yours, resting your hand against his elbow.

“Lemurians are truly beautiful but I can’t help but think you are head and shoulders above all of them. Is it because you are a lucky Lemurian? Or because you are a God, blessed by the Sea?”

He chuckles a little at your words, leaning in closer. His forehead rests against yours, gently nuzzling against your touch. Your breath catches in your chest, staring at his closed eyes.

He’s been doing this more often as of late. Teasing you with touches of his hand, coming so close to you that you think he’ll kiss you. You’re unsure if he ever really will. Lemurian customs continue to evade you and Rafayel himself does little to unwind their intrigue. Perhaps it is not customary to consummate a marriage, no need to produce an heir. After all, he himself was found in the deep sea and that’s hardly a traditional way to come about a child.

“Maybe a little bit of both,” he says after consideration, finally opening his eyes to meet yours.

“You stare at me so intently. Do you wish to find an imperfection? A blemish or two perhaps?” he smiles, putting his arm around your waist. His free hand slides up your forearm, holding your wrist in his hand.

“I do not need to look hard to find them,” you tease back, his grip not strong enough to prevent you from bringing the back of your knuckle against one of the beauty marks on his face.

“Though I wouldn’t personally refer to them as blemishes. I think you wear them well, Your Quintessence,” you say with a smile, mimicking the title you hear others use for him.

“Of course,” he agrees, lightly nuzzling against your finger.

He stands back after a second, allowing you the time to gently clean off the paintbrush. You notice the confusion on his face, gently flicking the bristles in his face.

“Let me practise on you again, yes? You do not mind?”

You lead him to sit back down on the bed and start to mimic the act of pressing your bristles in a pot of ink. He continues to watch you with intrigue, leaning back when you drag the paintbrush against his skin in the way that he’s helped you practise. You trace the lines of his body carefully, imagining the streaks of paint so clearly they may as well be there.

“You’re doing well,” he says softly, following your hand with his eyes.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t notice the affectionate way he looks at you. He wants to reach out to touch you, promise to you a part of his being that he will not allow anybody else. He looks up at you, your lip slightly jutted out as you focus and is filled with the sudden urge to kiss you.

Before he realises what he’s doing his hand is cupping your cheek. You’re knelt between his legs, just about to begin drawing on his stomach when your eyes are brought back up to meet his gaze. You unconsciously nuzzle against his palm, tilting your head in confusion.

“Is something the matter?”

“Stand up for a moment,” he says breathlessly, trying his best not to seem too eager.

“Tell me. What does it mean to you to be my bride?” he asks when you’re stood in front of him, resting his hand on your waist.

“Where is that coming from?!” you ask in shock, trying not to seem too surprised.

“I just want to know. What sorts of thoughts does your mind conjure up when you think about being my bride?”

He chuckles at how embarrassed you look, bringing his hand up to feel how warm your cheeks have gotten. He won’t deny that he’s had…thoughts about you. Ones that perhaps would be considered indecent for one of his status but how can he help himself when you’re just one step away from him?

“Nothing I could tell you,” you finally admit, averting his gaze.

You look adorable like this and for a moment he considers what other expressions he can pull from you. Instead, he brings his hands to the backs of your thighs, gently pulling you towards him. He puts your knees on either side of his body, slowly dragging his palms up.

“You should be aware that you are not going to be my bride just in title,” he says lowly, taking the paintbrush out of your hands and setting it aside.

“I will want more of you. Perhaps even demand it.”

Your heart thuds loudly in your chest as you allow your mind to wander, stiffening in his hold when he starts to brush his lips against your wrist then down your arm. Your body shudders as he gazes up at you reverentially, eyes dark with something you can’t name.

“And because you are my bride, you will allow me to take it, won’t you?”

“Of course,” you say breathlessly, immediately.

“You could have anything you want. Just ask.”

You know that right now your mind is clouded, desire for the being underneath you decimating any sort of coherent thought you could have. All you can think about is how badly you want those fleeting touches to start trailing up your collar and to your neck. You want to feel his breath against your skin, not caring if it might not even be possible because the two of you are underwater. You just know that you need him, keening into his touch desperately.

“Beg me for it then. Tell me what you want me to do,” he whispers huskily, lips suddenly feeling dry as he watches your pupils dilate above him.

“Please,” you gasp, whimpering in surprise when he pulls you into his chest.

You feel the firmness of his muscles under you, suddenly realising that your hands are resting against the plush of his chest. Your nails dig into his muscle, earning a low groan from his lips as he finally bridges that gap between you two and kisses you. Your eyes go wide before finally shutting them to focus solely on how he feels, seating yourself fully on his lap as you let him kiss you.

The weight of your body on him only serves to make him more excited, groaning even more when you start to return his ministrations in kind. Your arms wrap around his neck, digging your nails into his hair as the two of you gasp and pant against each other. Your chests bump against each other in your need, Rafayel being kind enough to let you breathe before pulling you in for another greedy kiss.

His hands start to wander your body, fingertips just barely grazing at the skin under your clothes. You push against his shoulders, gasping for breath as you try to figure out if he really wants to keep going. You barely register the fact that he puts the paintbrush back into your hand, a boyish smile making its way onto his face as he lightly pushes you back.

“You never finished, did you?”

“You – what – I –“ you sputter, hands tightening over the bone anyway as you try to make sense of what just happened.

“Don’t worry,” he says, leaning in to whisper into your ear.

“I am not in the habit of leaving good jobs unrewarded. Finish what you started and perhaps you’ll find myself indebted to you.”

[valoisfulcanellideux]

An interesting bit from Pix's stream from Minecraft SOS SMP today (approx 1hr 52m into the stream) about fanbase creativity, with mention of Empires SMP.

Transcript below:

Question from Twitch chat: "If we're rejecting lore can I substitute my own?" Pix: "Honestly, the fanbase has always been better at coming up with stories than we have. There, I said it. I feel like whatever you do, even if it's not intended to be a story, people are just gonna write a story about it now. Which is, of course, an immense privilege to be part of a community where there are talented enough people and imaginitive enough people to take the silly block game and turn it into the source of their own, like, creative endeavours, whether it be writing, art, whatever it is. It's always a really cool part of being part of projects like this. "And I think part of the issue on… I'm not gonna say the issue of Empires SMP, because we still had a lot of fun with it - it wasn't like it caused a huge problem - but I feel like a lot of us were trying to live up to the pictures that other people were drawing in their own heads, instead of just… y'know, hanging out and playing Minecraft the way it was originally envisioned. "Empires was meant to have a little bit of, like… y'know, that kingdom rivalry, struggle for resources, struggle for power kind of stuff, but it was not meant to be this sort of epic fantasy story it turned into. And then we tried to do Season 2 like that from the beginning, and for some people it worked, but for others it didn't, y'know?"

[ryuryuryuyurboat]

the most beautiful time of the year

synopsis: the happiest season of all.

genre: fluff

characters: albedo x gn! reader, klee cameo (platonic)

warnings: reader referred to in 2nd pov, klee pov for first half, then switches to albedo pov, cheek kiss

a/n: hehe hi @xcyphoz0a!! so sorry for the wait, but surprise! i'm your secret santa for @astronetwrk’s secret santa event >:) i hope you like this gift<3 merry christmas! likes, reblogs and comments highly appreciated!!

©2023 ryuryuryuyurboat. do not repost, translate, plagiarise, or modify in any way, shape or form.

masterlist

there were three reasons why klee loved having you as her babysitter.

one: you didn’t punish her with ‘solitary confinement’ when she accidentally splattered paint on the walls, much unlike big brother albedo’s coworker— miss jean.

two: you were pretty and great fun to play with. 

three: having you over meant big brother albedo was happy! that pink hue on his cheeks must mean he loves you, right? if big brother was happy, then klee was even happier! now, if only you could come over more often so that she could avoid miss jean big brother could come out of his room more often instead of staying in there with his experiments…

klee knew there were also three reasons why albedo loved having you help babysit her.

one: you knew exactly how to calm her down and keep her occupied with activities that were… less destructive than what she normally endeavoured to do.

two: klee loved having you over.

three: it gave him opportunities to sit at one side and fill up his sketchbook with more drawings (featuring you). though he’d vehemently deny it ever happened if you asked. weird.

albedo watches from afar as you run after a really excited klee– well, who wouldn’t? it was a beautiful day, with yet another year nearing its end, the sun was out, and the snow on the cold ground had thickened just enough, and– 

“no, klee, don’t eat the snow!” his eyes zeros in on a frantic you holding klee’s wrist, fretting like a worried parent, your cries of “it’s dirty, you don’t know what’s been on it, don’t pick it up off the ground!” going unheard under bubbly peals of laughter. 

a fond smile grows on his face. what a sight to behold. a page of his sketchbook is filled.

he observes as you chase after klee armed with a snowball, while she runs to take cover behind the little snowman you both made not too long ago, wild shouts of merriment filling the air. his pencil moves smoothly on the new page of his sketchbook. it would’ve been a shame if he were unable to capture this lovely scene before him.

he looks over at your cold, flushed faces and noses red from the biting cold, glee all over your face as you bend, hands on knees, panting out a “i think i need a break,” before collapsing onto the snow spreadeagled. klee, concerned for your health, comes running over, only to be dragged down onto the ground with a surprise tickle attack from you– it soon becomes a lesson on how to make the perfect snow angel. an angelic scene, if he said so himself. he flips to a new page on his sketchbook.

when you both had fully exhausted yourselves, trudging back up to the comfort of the house, klee stops and points at something over his head. confused, he looks up– what should have been a glaucous blue bauble had somehow been replaced by an all-too-familiar looking plant. 

you stop right in front of him just as he feels his heart stop, your lips parting– would words he’s been yearning so long for come out of your mouth? he feels a tingle on the back of his neck— a familiar sensation, no doubt— was it nerves? was it your hand?

nope, none of that.

he shivers as you mash a snowball (previously hidden in the palm of your hand) into the back of his neck, your lips upturned in a cheeky grin— but before he can react, you lean in and press a chaste kiss to his cheek. 

he doesn’t hear the badly-stifled giggles from klee, who peeked out from behind a wall with a devious grin, nor does he feel his sketchbook slipping from his hand.

albedo thinks he might be in love.

taglist: @yinyinggie @lynyluvr @kazemiya @meidnightrain (send ask to be added to taglist!)

if you liked this, do consider dropping me a follow for more :>

[fieldofdaisiies]

azriel x eris | 2,9k words | warnings: sometimes a little vulgar wording | masterlist

“Why did you ask for me to come here? Cassian is now the one tasked with these sort of things…” Azriel folds his hands in front of his body.

“Maybe I wanted to see you,” Eris answers in his polished voice. 

A flicker of surprise passes over Azriel’s face before he catches himself. “Why did you really ask me to come here? Did something happen? Something that concerns me?”

Eris chuckles. “So talkative, Shadowsinger,” he purrs, “normally I am always the one asking the questions.” 

The heir to the Autumn Court kicks away a branch and moves closer to the spymaster of the Night Court, pebbles and dry leaves crunching beneath his polished shoes. “I have news that your High Lord is surely interested in.”

Azriel raises a brow. “Go on then.” He seems impatient, on his face nothing but nonchalance though.His shoulders are squared, large wings tucked in behind his back, his booted feet planted in stance on the leaves-covered ground. 

But it’s his eyes that betray him. They don’t stay on Eris‘ face — they wander, silently assessing the Autumn Court prince, and in them there are many emotions, none of them anywhere close to nonchalance.

“Beron truly thinks he has a claim to the High King title.” Eris takes a step closer to Azriel, shoulders slightly drooping. “And he is in contact with Koschei, looking for ways to free him.”

“We already know that.”

“I know you know that, Shadowsinger.” He meets Azriel’s gaze and pins him with a look. Azriel offers him no answer, his face expressionless as usual. 

“But what you do not know is that is actively planning the elimination of Night and Day and an actual meeting with the Death God. He is already thinking of ways to break the Night Court and that with the help of the father of my former betrothed." Eris swallows. “His next goal is to become High King. Eliminating Night and Day first will make assuming kingship a lot easier. He counts on Tamlin as a supporter and–”

“Will Tamlin support him?” Azriel’s question is sharp, his jaw flexing. It almost seems like every muscle in his body tenses and he doesn’t even realise he interrupted Eris. 

“I don’t know,” Eris says, voice shallow, eyes turned toward the distance, like he can almost see right to Tamlin’s castle. He has no idea if Tamlin will ally with his father. Eris doubts it, but he has no confirmation, so the last letter he sent the other day went out to the High Lord of Spring. Once they used to be something like friends, now he will find out how much that truly meant to Tamlin. 

“I’m going to talk to him.” 

Azriel seems surprised, “You will?” The shadowsinger narrows his eyes. “Alone?”

“Of course, alone, or do you suggest bringing my father along? The three of us could have a wonderful talk and maybe we decide that we are all going to support Beron’s endeavours." Eris frowns at Azriel. 

The shadowsinger’s nostrils flare and he gives Eris a withering look. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean then?” Eris raises a brow, his eyes darkening a little at the feeling that Azriel radiates. Jealousy – hot and pure, although Eris doesn’t quite understand why he would be jealous now. Is he envious of Tamlin? Of Eris meeting up with Tamlin?

“Isn’t it dangerous?”

“Are you worried?”

“No.” The answer comes too fast and seems fishy. 

Eris raises a mocking brow and then chuckles. “You are—”

“You know what Tamlin is capable of.” Azriel’s brows bunch, darkness filling his gaze, his shadows slowly sliding down his arms, almost like they are an extension of his emotions and seek to reach for Eris.

“So, you are worried,” Eris mumbles and doesn’t really understand the shadowsinger’s concern. Someone who pretends to hate him so much shouldn’t be worried about him. But then Azriel kissed him in the past, so the hate can’t be that grand and rather a false pretence…

“I have known Tamlin for a long time. He messed up greatly a few times, but he is a good High Lord. I need to talk to him, consult with him. I need his loyalty and his help.”

Azriel huffs and with the shake of his head, says, “You have the Night Court‘s aid, isn’t that enough for you?”

“No, no isn’t. Not when it comes to Beron and what he is capable of.” Eris slides his hands into the pockets of his pants. “Not when he is planning a trip to the continent. A trip to meet up…with him and that within the next weeks. When he returns he already arranged a meeting with Keir. I need support and loyalty from more than one court and I need–forget it. ” He shakes his head. 

Shock passes over Azriel’s face and a heavy silence, almost like a thick veil of eerie darkness, falls upon them. It feels like every living being in the forest holds its breath, and time comes to a standstill. 

Eventually, after a moment, Azriel says, “You need to put an end to this, Eris. You can’t wait any longer. You have been waiting for so long, if he is planning the trip now, you need to act.” There is no accusation in his tone, it sounds more like genuine helpfulness. Like an advice.

The prince begins to nod, slowly dipping his chin. “I know this. I just…I just need a bit more time. I need to arrange everything…”

He needs a place for his mother. For his brothers. Somewhere where they can go if things go wrong. He needs to arrange that first and then he will take care of Beron. 

“Why wait for so long?” Azriel‘s arms twitch almost like he wanted to throw his hands up in despair, but stopped himself from doing so.

“It‘s not that easy, Azriel,” Eris snarls. “I‘m planning my father’s execution after all.” He keeps his voice level although he wants to shout.

He remembers the talk he had with Cass and Rhys in the birchin. Then the right corner of his mouth tips up. “You can always give me the go and I‘ll do the job for you.” Azriel’s scarred hand slides over Truth-Teller and Eris' eyes follow. 

“What?” the prince finds himself asking, not fully focused now that he once again starts to wonder how Azriel got the scars. Who had done that to him. Who had hurt Azriel like that. Those scars can’t be battle scars…

But it is the spymaster’s answer that rips him out of his thoughts. “Kill Beron.”

“What?” Eris gapes. “You want to kill Beron?” For me, he leaves unsaid.

“Isn’t that what you want?”

“No, it isn’t what I want!” Eris’ growl sends a lick of heat through Azriel. Of course it isn’t. Eris won’t let anyone else do the job and that for two reasons. He has to do it, he knows it and he can’t risk anyone else’s life. 

“What is it that you want?” Azriel then asks.

Eris moves closer, so close the tips of his polished shoes touch Azriel’s leather boots. “What is it that you want, Shadowsinger? Have you finally figured it out?”

His velvety voice lets Azriel’s skin grow taut, secret, sudden desire seeping into his veins. Eris shouldn’t have this effect on him but he does and absolutely nothing and no one can change anything about that. 

“This,” Azriel says, his scarred hands grasping Eris face, feeling the soft skin and the light stubble on his jaw beneath his calloused palms. “I want to feel your lips on mine.”

“Is that really what you want?” Eris’ hot breath tingles Azriel’s lips.

Azriel hums in answer, but Eris clicks his tongue. “Use your words. Tell me exactly what you want.” 

“I want to kiss you.”

“I thought you hated me, it seems quite a paradox that you still always want to kiss me.” Eris’ lips curl.

“I can hate you and want you all the same.” Azriel places his lips on Eris’, knowing his words don’t quite make that much sense, so he continues. “We danced Eris, and we almost ended up fucking that night, and I have been crazy with desire for you every since – that’s enough of an answer?”

“We almost ended up fucking?” Eris is so smooth, seems so unaffected about Azriel’s declaration it angers the shadowsinger. He would love to punch him, or kiss him so damn hard he forgets his own damn name. Azriel decides for the latter. 

“I could scent your arousal, I could feel how hard you were for me. You want me just as much as I want you.” Azriel’s lips part to capture Eris’s top lip. “Say it. Say that you want to kiss me.” 

“Kiss me.” 

Azriel pulls Eris closer and their lips clash, a gasp escaping through the mouths of both males. 

The shadowsinger kisses him deeply and their souls come alive, finally united after being apart for so long. The yearning has become nearly unbearable, but somehow it seems like it is coming to an end. Their souls have finally found their equal, the other half. “I want this. And I wanted this the first time I kissed you. Feel you. Taste you. Learn all the beautiful sounds I can elicit from you.”

Azriel’s shadows stretch out and curl around Eris, wanting to keep him here. To keep him close, to savour his warmth. “I kissed you because it was what my heart told me, what my soul begged me to do.”

Neither of two males is sated after the quick connection of their lips, so Azriel slams his mouth against Eris‘ once again, kissing him harder, with new-found vigour, one scarred hand leaving the heir‘s face, sliding down his toned chest.

“Fuck.” The curse that leaves Eris as a breathy whisper tingles Azriel’s face. He relishes the feel of Azriel kissing him, how the shadowsinger‘s hand slowly glides down his chest and around his waist while Azriel drags his tongue over the seam of Eris’ lips. 

“I know you might not feel quite the same, but I want you,” Azriel admits, being honest about the situation the very first time. “I fucking want you, alright? That is why I kissed you back then. Because I want you, I want to feel you. I want to know what it is like to be with a male and I feel drawn to you, Eris Vanseera. Now you have your damn answer. And I know you might–”

“You don’t know what I want, Azriel,” Eris drawls, sliding his hand around Azriel’s waist and down to the spymaster’s rear. Their teeth clash with the next kiss they share, lips melding, noses pressing into the other’s face. “But you should have an idea, since not one time did I not kiss you back.” He feels how a blush seeps into his pale cheeks, heating up even his ears. 

“Azriel,” the Autumn Court heir growls when they part. “Let me show you how much I want you.” Eris tugs at Azriel’s hand until the shadowsinger’s palm is flush with Eris’ groin, feeling the hard ridges of his engorged cock even through the fabric of his breeches. “This is what you do to me.”

Azriel nearly moans at the feeling, at the feeling of Eris‘ arousal pressing against his palm. It nearly has him come undone. Fantasies spark inside the shadowsinger’s mind that make his lids feel heavy. He wants to palm Eris through his pants, pull them down and stroke him, truly feel Eris in his hand. Wrap his mouth around him, feel him inside him.

Hell, Azriel just wants him. On him, in him, all over him. No one stopping, no more just kissing, just acting like they actually hate each other. There is something between them, and though neither will ever accept it, it is undeniable that there is more between them than just the mutual hate.

“I want you, Azriel. Morning, noon and night, I think about you. And I want you.”

There it is, his declaration. And it catches Azriel in a stupor. The shadowsinger doesn’t know how to react, or breathe, or speak. He only stands there, looking at Eris. 

A gust of wind blows across the mostly barren landscape, tousling the spymaster’s hair, tingling his skin and bringing him back into the moment. 

Azriel fingers curl, and he moves his hand which elicits a groan from the Autumn Court prince. 

“Why won’t you have me then.” He once again closes the distance between them, kissing Eris so hard, their teeth clash. Azriel drags his tongue over the seam of the male’s lips, asking for entrance and when Eris grants him just that, the shadowsinger pulls back. Eris groans, a purely male sound that makes Azriel grow even harder within his pants. But he is also angry, frustrated, and in this moment it outweighs his desire.

“Why don’t you kiss me? Why is it always me who has to take the first step? Why won't you touch me properly? Fuck me? If you want me — no, need me so badly— why won’t you fuck me then?”

Eris‘ broad hands slides around Azriel‘s neck, fingers twining into the hair at the nape of his neck, and he shoves him backwards, so that the shadowsinger‘s back collides with a tree, his hand still on Eris, but the Autumn Court heir now wedges his knee between Azriel’s legs, dragging it up the inside of his thigh until he touches him. 

Their mouths meet in a ravishing kiss, a collision of lips, tongues, teeth, bruising their skin. There is nothing gentle about this kiss, nothing soft or loving. No, it is ravishing, like Eris can’t get enough. Like Azriel just needs a little more. Driven by sheer desire, their lips and tongues explore, just like their hands do.

This kiss leaves them breathless when they part.

Eris shoves against the shadowsinger, trapping Azriel’s hand between their bodies. He uses one hand to grab Azriel’s free hand and brings it up, pinning it against the trunk atop his head. The shadowsinger allows it, and groans in approval. He enjoys the feel of Eris' hand, soft and a little slimmer than his own, perfectly fitting into his. It must be a beautiful picture, Azriel thinks — the prince‘s hands, pale, manicured, soft-skinned, in his broad, dark-skinned, warrior hand. He doesn’t allow himself to think of his scars, because Eris never seems to mind them either when he touches him.

“You like this, huh,” Eris drawls and nips at Azriel’s lower lip. This is so damn reckless and stupid, Eris thinks, but he can’t get enough. He can’t move away, even with the threat of someone maybe catching them. But who would catch them here? Somewhere in a forest in the Spring Court? Where no one and nothing is around?

“Bastard,” Azriel growls, his head tipping back. 

When Eris tightens the hold on his hand, Azriel’s length almost painfully strains against his pants. Hell, yes, he likes it. He fucking loves it — Eris‘ dominance. If the prince now told him to drop to his knees and take him in his mouth he would follow the order without a second of hesitation — a thought that both confuses and intrigues him.

Eris kisses the corner of his mouth. “Say that again and I‘ll take you against this tree so hard you’ll forget your own name.”

“Bastard,” the shadowsinger growls, and can’t help the smirk that appears on his lips.

Eris’ canines are the first things that sink into Azriel’s lower lip, a slight coppery taste filling his senses, but he groans when leans into the kiss, into Eris, relishing in it. He starts to palm the Autumn Court heir through his pants until the snap of a branch makes them part abruptly.

“Someone’s here?” Eris breathes but Azriel gives his head a shake. “My shadows detect no one.”

Still Eris steps away, letting go of Azriel’s hand and face. “I should leave.”

A cold that nearly makes Azriel shiver passes over the heir‘s face and the shadowsinger wants to reach for him, but Eris steps away. 

Frustration takes root in Azriel’s chest, a deep crease appearing on his forehead, and he grits his teeth. “A moment ago you told me you wanted me. You told me about fucking me against that tree and now you are leaving? What has changed now?”

“Nothing has changed,” Eris growls. “That’s the problem.”

He kicks away a branch. “I still want you. I still want to touch and kiss and fuck you, but I can’t.“

“But you can,” Azriel snaps, frustration thick on his tongue.

“No I can’t!” Eris is almost shouting. “I’m the future High Lord of the Autumn Court and you are an Illyrian bastard and a fucking male. I have more important things to focus on right now. I shouldn’t allow myself to get distracted by you over and over again. I’m the future of this court and not just any male who can casually fuck a brute from another court.”

Eris gives Azriel no chance to answer. Mist appears, smelling of herbs and earth after rain, and then Eris is gone. He winnowed away, leaving Azriel behind. Alone.

tag list for ACOCD @hnyclover @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @queercontrarian @fandomsmultiverse @acourtofbatboydreams @chunkypossum @baileybird71 @beckkthewreck @hells-sluttiest-new-arrival @owllover123 @acotarobsessed @goldenmagnolias @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @v3lv3tf0x@talibunny30 @allyhill @popjunkie42 @skyesayshibitchez @going-through-shit @mybestfriendmademe @12334555666 @nickishadow139

general Azris tag list: @azrielsbabyg @lady-riel @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @ladyelain @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @ofduskanddreams

[pjisskullourful]

𝘕𝘌𝘞 𝘈𝘕𝘎𝘓𝘌

📐 Damiano × reader

NSFW 🔥 sexy smutty explicit adult bonding time

° Damiano David/female reader insert

° you & your boyfriend are adjusting to life since you sustained a spinal cord injury, finding how to stay connected [based early 2021]

wordcount:: 8,469

° commissioned by the bloody wonder that is jace 💋 (@punk-gremlin) thankyou for your trust, your honesty [commissions get to be my prioritea, secure the next one here!]

° [ITA:] amore: love - principessa: princess

You couldn’t get comfortable, you couldn’t relax. You were finally in bed, the location you had been thinking about literally all day. During your intensive physical therapy session, imagining this bed and being in it with your boyfriend had been the only thing to keep you sane. It was the light at the end of the tunnel.

But it wasn’t a simple reward, as it had been in your mind. In the aftermath of your freak car accident, nothing really was simple anymore.

In the weeks since being discharged from the rehabilitation centre, you had been faced with a life full of adjustments. The spinal cord injury dictated that you come at almost everything from a new angle. It was your reality, but your perspective had changed.

You were affected from your belly button down. There was slight movement in your legs and so this was the area that your physical therapy sessions focused on. The goal was to get you walking again.

And your legs felt this effort long after the session’s conclusion. The muscles were so sore, painkillers had only taken the edge off of the hurting. It always felt like it took so much to recover from the exertion of a session, keeping you from fully relaxing and thinking about anything else.

Your boyfriend was trying to help with this. Damiano was adjusting, almost as much as you were. His typical schedule had been disrupted and moved around so radically as he endeavoured to be by your side as often as possible (which was easier now that you were out of hospital, no longer kept apart by the rigid restrictions that the pandemic had made necessary).

He wanted to hear, and find a solution for, your every complaint. Right now that meant massaging your legs, using the methods he had been taught to relieve the spasming you were plagued by. It wasn’t the same as when he used to give you massages, he wasn’t as sure of himself. He was still learning the spots where you felt far too much, as opposed to the areas where you felt nothing at all.

He kept pausing, he would ease his hands off and look up at you, checking the look on your face. And you would smile and nod your head each time, because it was helping. It was gradual but you could feel the tension fading out.

“That’s great.” You encouraged when the uncertainty interrupted him again, little lines of worry appearing. “Could you keep going?”

“Of course, I just didn’t want to…”

You had heard the end of this sentence enough times in the past six months to know what he was thinking. You reached your hand out to rest on top of his. “I know. But you won’t break me, I promise that’s not gonna happen. It helps when you touch me, it really, really helps.”

This earned you a smile from him, some of the concern leaving his expression. He turned his wrist so that he could hold your hand. Then he began leaning closer to you and you saw him becoming more sure of himself. The way he was looking at you set you into reminiscing, reminding you of the days before you were injured.

He kissed you, soft at first and instantly followed by a pause where he lingered, mouths close but not touching as he attempted to assess your mood from your current demeanour. Instead of telling him what you wanted, you showed him by pushing your lips against his, with far less restraint than him.

He responded as you craved, his lips beginning to work with yours. He placed his other hand to your cheek, enticing you in closer. As both of his lips caressed your bottom lip, you found yourself noticing the discomfort in your legs far less.

You tilted your head, following him into this deeper kiss. It was so indulgent and you enjoyed having this as your primary focus. You didn’t have to think through your next moves, it all came so naturally. You wrapped an arm around the back of his neck, needing him to stay this close.

When he dragged his tongue along the line where your lips met, you allowed your mouth to open. As his tongue ventured into your mouth, his fingers stroked so tenderly across your cheek. This prompted a heat to come into your body, so decadent. Your thoughts travelled away from your legs, going to different locations of your body.

He drew his tongue along the roof of your mouth before gently parting from the kiss. You were pleased when he didn’t put any substantial distance between the two of you. You kept your eyes shut, finding the peaceful simplicity in listening to him catch his breath.

“I know what you meant when you said that thing about me touching you being helpful. But, you know me, my brain took that to a dirty place.” He said with a little chuckle.

You were smiling as you opened your eyes. “Oh yeah, do you wanna give me more details about this dirty place?”

“It wasn’t anything especially clever, you could probably already guess it for yourself…” He said, and you watched as his uncertainties came creeping back in. He lowered his eyes from your face, so different from the man who used to proudly share with you every innuendo as soon as it came into his head.

Your accident had caused a drastic remodelling of your sex life. Most days you tried to avoid thinking about it because it had gotten much more complicated, and you sensed that he was following your lead.

You hadn’t successfully gone through with the act yet. There had been a handful of attempts since you had gotten home because you still desired him, a lot. But you hadn’t been able to translate cravings into truly enjoying.

The most common outcome was you becoming frustrated. The memories that got you so turned on, also haunted you. The reminder of how different everything was upset you. You would compare your current performance to the past, unable to make the thoughts stop until you were totally out of the moment, feeling so separate from him and wanting to cry.

On your first morning back at home, you had awoken to the feeling of his hard dick against you. He had told you to ignore it, writing it off as a case of morning wood. But you had kissed him and wiggled your way closer to him, replying that finally feeling his body in bed with you again had prompted some thoughts.

Using your hands, you had gotten him off. You had hardly kissed him during this because you had been so entranced by watching him, feeling the intimacy that way. It had felt like a very sexy triumph when you had seen that thick cum shooting out of his tip. Both of you had laughed when he joked about making this your home-cum-ing.

The atmosphere had been fast to change when he offered to return the favour. He had begun in the way he often did in the past - at your clitoris. It used to be the ideal spot to stimulate you from, but you hadn’t felt anything. His skilled fingers had failed to create any sensations in you.

He had kept trying, but as more time passed you had only moved further away from feeling aroused. It was an alienating experience, because you knew how it should feel. But there had been nothing.

He hadn’t gotten discouraged. He had been more than ready to explore and try different things, different paths to your orgasm. But the moment had been well and truly over for you, you were dejected, overwhelmed by how different everything had become.

He had backed off instantly, holding your hand and telling you how much he loved you. It had been a sour note to start your first full day back at home.

You felt like he had been holding back since then. You supposed his goal was to avoid pressuring you. It had been up to you to bring it up - you hated how uncomfortable everything around the topic of sex had become. But you thought things wouldn’t improve if you kept avoiding it.

You gave his hand a squeeze. “I wanna hear it, regardless.”

“I was gonna offer to see where else my touch could really help. Because you know how much I love to be helpful.” He said, a shy kind of smile pulling at one of his cheeks.

You didn’t hesitate to kiss him, seeing how his smile developed as a result. “I love that idea.” You tightened your arm around him, trying to get him to come closer. “Get over here.”

He didn’t immediately move. “But, your legs. I’m happy to keep massaging, if you need…”

“No, no, they’re definitely starting to calm down and the painkillers will take care of the rest.” You said. “I wanna feel that helpful touch somewhere else now.”

“Okay, princess.” He said, letting you fully distract him from this earlier task.

Now he put both of his hands to your cheeks, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned in again. You were pleased when this kiss was followed by another-and-another, the two of you falling into a heated rhythm. You held both of your arms around him, dedicating all of your energy to this embrace.

He tentatively started to lean his body weight into you and his tongue tasted at your lips some more. You moved your hand up to the back of his head, his floppy hair gliding between your fingers. You held him here, a silent request for more as your tongue extended to meet his.

You relocated one of your arms, wrapping it around his torso, just beneath his armpits. This was another attempt to bring him closer. His body was warming your skin, and inside you were heating up all the more, an exciting fire brought into you.

To keep from upsetting yourself with reminders of what was different - you centred all of the pleasure around him. You knew how to get him off in a way that would attract absolutely no attention to your new limitations.

And that was the path you planned to take. Your hope was to gain a contact high off of his orgasm. He never held back from expressing when he was enjoying himself, so you would be able to easily track the build up of his pleasure. You could get so wrapped up in his every reaction that you would be satisfied by seeing him reach the climax, not needing to try for your own. You couldn’t fail at something if you didn’t make an attempt.

You thought it was a good idea that you were eager to get properly started on. As you massaged your tongue against the roof of his mouth, he trailed his hand down your face, going to the side of your neck instead. Using just his fingertips, he rubbed up-and-down, prompting trembles through you as he successfully triggered some sensitivities.

You tightened your arm around him, rewarded with the feeling of his firm chest pressed on yours. Your bodies were starting to get so connected and the closeness brought a kind of clarity to your thoughts, keeping you present.

But you couldn’t help noticing the area where he was still separate from you. There was a greater proximity you could have been enjoying, but you sensed that he was holding back. All that you wanted to do was get lost in his lust and the fun that could be drawn from his body, like old times.

But it seemed more work was required to get him on the same page as you.

“You’re not close enough.” You said.

He paused and looked down, surveying the distance between the two of you, probably trying to plan his next move. “I’m not? I’m just trying not-...”

“Come sit in my lap, amore.” You invited. “Get properly close.” He didn’t make any immediate moves. “You can sit here, it’s not going to hurt me. Please, I can take the weight of your body, you know I can.”

He readjusted, but he kissed you before taking up a new position. This helped you to feel a little better, helped to keep you hoping that this encounter would reach the desired result.

You adopted a more serious expression before he could begin to straddle you. “Actually…” This succeeded in getting him to stop instantly. “I don’t know if you can…” He waited, his brow furrowing in concern. “Not while you’re still wearing so many clothes.”

He chuckled, quickly putting his hands down to the bottom of his shirt. “You had me fooled.”

You nodded, grinning. “Yep, I got you good.”

“Well what about you and all the clothes you’re still wearing?” He asked.

“Oh.” You looked down at the pyjamas you were dressed in, they were decorated with various Pokémon. It was hardly a seductive look, but you weren’t sure you knew how to do that anymore.

You could take the top off without issue, almost as fast as him. But the pants slowed you down, there was a lot more involved in the process. He helped you straight away.

Before he could start to take your underwear down, you redirected his attention by tugging on his sweatpants. He pushed them lower, and once they were around his thighs you grabbed for his underwear. You aimed to keep your pussy covered, it would help keep things moving smoothly.

He got completely naked before you and your hands quickly got to exploring across his tattooed body, so many good ideas filling your brain. You put one of your hands up to his cheek, using this to draw him in so that you could resume kissing him. He moved into your embrace, his mouth opening instantly.

He gave you the improved position straight away, keeping his lips on yours as he began to straddle you. Your back was pushed to the padded headboard and you savoured all of the things this new closeness provided to you. Concentrating on the way his skin felt on yours kept you from following unhelpful trains of thought.

You pushed your tongue over his lower lip, gliding into his mouth. At the same time he brought his hand down, covering one of your breasts with it. His other arm went around your middle and you held him tight in your arms.

He sat on the tops of your thighs, his hips pressed to yours. Your heartbeat was picking up speed and you were taking note of all of his little reactions. You loved to be in this intense moment, just going with your instincts of what would feel good. With him you could be content, facing nothing that challenged your capabilities.

As you dragged your tongue back-and-forth along his row of teeth, his fingers savoured your bare breast. He traced the natural curve with a touch so light, the teasing was enough to bring a shiver from you. He drew a line across the surface, until he could get to the nipple, which was firm as it awaited his touch. He kept this light as his fingertips followed the ring of your areola. It was barely more than a whisper against your skin but you fixated so entirely on the motion. Your body was aching for more in a way that would truly threaten your patience - but it was the best kind of ache you had felt all day.

“Princess…” He purred, only adding to that need in you. “I love you.”

You licked your lips as you started to move your hands down his back. “I love you too.”

He gave your nipple a gentle squeeze between his thumb and index finger, his eyes sparkling as he watched for your reaction. He was steadily introducing tingles into your system. The good kind - the kind that were fun, like the larger scale of a fizzy drink’s bubbles filling your mouth. It helped you to feel different in your body.

He increased the pressure and more desire pooled in you. Your response was to get your hands down onto his ass, grabbing both cheeks. You used your hold to guide him forward, even closer to you. As you felt more of his body on yours, you identified what you had been hoping for: his erection.

He smiled before covering your mouth with more kisses. You didn’t let go of his ass, instead using this to encourage him to begin grinding on you. You couldn’t start the motion with your own hips, but luckily it didn’t take him much to figure out how you wanted things to progress.

He moved slowly, rocking himself forward then back and you loved to feel his body dragging against yours. You craved that feeling of being so close that you lost track of where he ended and you began.

He pulled on your nipple, then released it altogether. He transferred his fingers to your other nipple and you whined when he instantly gave this a firm pinch.

He kept rolling his hips into you, his rhythm felt so good and you could feel that he was properly dedicated to it. His faster and shallower breaths told you that he was feeling the promise.

And you wanted to get him further. Your hand went from his butt to the front of his body, roaming downward. He kept kissing you, only parting from your lips when you wrapped your fingers around his dick.

You assumed this was just to catch his breath as he continued to rock his hips. You started to stroke your hand up-and-down his length, it was already so hard in your hand. His eyelids fluttered but remained shut as you found a maintainable motion, treating his shaft with consistency.

Before you could find the right rhythm, he was interrupting you by grabbing at your wrist with both hands. His eyes had opened and now he was staring you down.

“Slow down a bit, alright?” He said gently, the movements of his hips now so slight that you hardly noticed them.

“Oh, okay.” You said, moving your hand away. “Sorry, I didn’t-”

“No, you don’t have to apologise.” He quickly told you. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just don’t want you to get distracted by doing all of that.”

“I can use my mouth.” You offered.

“No, that’s not what I meant. I was thinking that we would concentrate on you.” He said.

You put your hands to his cheeks, pulling him closer because you wanted to distract him as quickly as possible. “But I have all of these ideas…” You kissed him firmly. “There’s so much I wanna do for you.” You dragged your fingernails down his back, trying to find the right way to recentre his lust. “Amore, you take such good care of me…” He kissed you back each time, but there was something about the look on his face. “It’s truly amazing, and I wanna give you a proper and filthy thank you.” You took the opportunity to kiss him more, maybe there was a secret quota you could reach. “Don’t you want that?”

He leaned back, looking at you with that serious expression on his face. “It’s not necessary, you have thanked me properly, plenty of times.”

“Well then I will say it more simply: I wanna get you off.” You told him.

This didn’t make him move back in. “And I feel the same way, but for you…”

You were trying to not worry, that would make it more difficult for you to find solutions. And maybe there was a chance that you could keep this going in the right direction. “Okay. You’re already hard, we should make use of that.”

“Or we could make use of that package that came when you were still in the hospital.” He said and you knew exactly what he was referring to.

You dropped your eyes, you could remember the sleepless night spent on the internet that had led to the purchase. Your mind had been far too active, an overwhelming mess. And taking action to buy something physical had helped you feel less ineffectual.

This was a very personal part of your recovery. You had been terrified of the embarrassment that would surely come from discussing it with any of your doctors. You hadn’t known how to bring it up to Damiano. The visiting hours at the hospital had been so limited, finding the right time to talk about it had felt impossible.

You had devoured articles posted online. You read about the experiences of similarly injured women. So many of them had enthusiastically recommended the same device, convincing you to buy it.

But you hadn’t taken the jack rabbit out of its box yet. After the unsuccessful attempts at having sex, you had been feeling like your pleasure was a fruitless chase. In your more defeated moments, you had felt ashamed of spending so much money on such a non-essential item.

“Do you remember what you said when you were letting me know it would arrive?” He asked, his voice so tender. “You said you would talk to me about it when you were ready, then you sent me a shit-ton of links of stuff for me to read, and you said we would talk about that later, too.”

“So have you just been waiting for me to bring it up, or something?” You asked, trying to keep any bitterness out of your voice.

“No. I have been waiting for the chance to tell you that I read all of them and I get it- well, as much as I can. I understand that sex is going to be really different for you, for us now.” He said, he subtly held one of his hands out to you, leaving the physical contact up to you. “And that doesn’t bother me. I am willing to try out as many new things as you want. I want to learn how to make you feel good, princess.”

You continued to avoid his eyes. “What if all our exploring leads to absolutely nothing?”

“Won’t you feel better for trying?” He asked.

“I don’t know.” The apprehension and doubts had you speaking at a lower volume than before.

You put your hand in his. “It seems like you’ve thought about this a lot.”

“Because I have. But I didn’t want to pressure you into a conversation you weren’t ready for. But sex kind of just came up tonight and those thoughts were waiting for me. I want to try, principessa.” He said, giving your hand a squeeze. “And I don’t want you to feel pressured to orgasm, like that’s the only thing I’m waiting for and I will be disappointed if it doesn’t happen.

“It’s not like that in my head, my goal is to make you feel good and feel close to you.” He said and you were gradually lifting your eyes back up to his face. “Even if we don’t find that magical thing that makes you come, and instead we just discover something that makes you feel really fuckin’ good- so happy, so warm inside, so floaty in your head. That would be as satisfying for me as you getting me off. And I only say that because I mean it.”

“I know.” You said. You leaned forward, sighing as you rested your head on his bare shoulder. “I’m just scared that this is going to be another thing that I can’t do all of a sudden, and then what does that mean for us, Damiano?”

He placed an arm around you, running his hand up-and-down your back. “It means that we adapt and try different things. There’s nothing wrong with different, it’s like people always say: variety is the spice of life. And you know how much I love cooking with spices.”

You gave a quick chuckle. “Yes, me and my tastebuds are very aware of that.”

He kissed you on the forehead. “Look, we don’t have to keep talking about this and if the mood has just gone, that’s alright. We…”

You sat up so you could look into his eyes, resting your palm on his chest. “The mood hasn’t gone. I want- of course I want you like that. Are you kidding, you’re so sexy and these days you have your hands on me like all of the time. But I’m just scared.”

“Nothing is gonna be too difficult for me to want to try.” He said. “We can go as slowly as you need to and we’ve got the safe word if you just need everything to stop.”

You had begun to nod your head, before making the conscious decision. “Can you please turn the light off? I think it will help me get out of my head and just concentrate on feeling.”

“Of course.” He said, but his next action was to put his hands up on your face. “Before I do that, I just want to have a good look at my gorgeous girlfriend.”

You relaxed a little, returning his smile as he moved in to kiss you. Feeling his lips on yours kept you from thinking up new concerns to dwell on. You weren’t totally confident but there was a definite lowering of your focus.

“I love you, principessa.” He told you, making you smile again.

“I love you too.” You said.

“I’ve got you. We’re in this together.” He said, a deep look into your eyes drove home how serious he was.

Then he moved, shifting his focus and mood at the same time. “Alright, before I turn the light off: do you want me to get the new toy, or should we save that for a different night?”

“It’s gotta be used sooner or later, right? How about you grab it?” You asked, hints of enthusiasm coming into your tone. “And the lube- can you get that, as well?”

“I was already planning on it.” He said with a wink.

He stood up and set about collecting these items. You began to slowly readjust, getting yourself to a more suitable position. You leaned your body weight back and gathered up handfuls of the sheet. You worked your way down, pushing with your ass and moving your legs the small amount they were willing to go.

You got yourself to the point where you could lay flat on your back, your head rested on your pillow. The effort made you a little short on breath, but you didn’t settle yet - you still had to get your panties off. You were tugging them off of your hips when he cast the room into shadows by switching the bedside lamp off.

His gentle voice accompanied the action of him sitting down on the mattress again. “Can I help?” He knew how stubborn you could get about wanting to complete a task without assistance (it was a trait you had before the accident).

But that wasn’t a behaviour you were about to indulge. “Yes, please.”

You hadn’t been able to get the garment any lower than your thighs because the material kept getting trapped between your body and the bed. Then you wouldn’t be able to properly move the part of your body causing this issue.

He could quickly manoeuvre your limbs as he needed, pulling the panties down then getting your feet free one by one.

Then he laid down, getting close enough that you could feel his body heat on you again. Your attention went to his fingers, rather than the toy. He brushed his fingers against your cheek, a prelude to his next kiss.

You wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer as a flurry of kisses began. You kept up with him, wanting to show him just how much your lustful mood continued. He laid partially on top of you and you adored the compression, being so grounded beneath him. Feeling so much of his body on yours was shifting your perspective, encouraging you to shed even more of those doubts.

“How do you wanna start?” He asked. “Do you want my fingers, or the toy?”

You swallowed, pushing down any trepidation so that you could prioritise your trust of him. “Can we try the toy?”

“Of course, anything you want, principessa.” He said. His lips collided with yours before he shifted, only some of his body moving off of yours. “I was thinking that we would work up to the vibrations. Does that sound good?”

“Mm-hmm.” You nodded your head even though there was no guarantee of him seeing this, you were just a big shadow in the room.

You caught the sweet scent of artificial strawberry before you started to hear the sounds of lubricant being applied to the phallic toy. You kept both of your arms around him as you steadily caught your breath.

One of his hands had moved down, going in between where your legs were lying apart. You were much more aware of his other hand when it started to caress up-and-down your side. This coincided with how he leaned in closer again. You initiated the first kiss, which he quickly responded to, letting you feel more of his body and you secured your arms tighter around him.

“I love feeling this body under me, my gorgeous princess.” He said. “And having you home, back in this bed, in my arms- it’s the best thing.”

You smiled before returning your mouth to his, reciprocating his feelings this way. Your tongue teased at his lips as you pushed one of your hands into his hair, securing some strands between your fingers. His hand glided in another upward motion, this time going to your breast, cupping it.

You felt a keen heat spreading under your skin and you eased your tongue into his mouth. He rewarded this by setting his fingers onto your nipple again. Your whimper was muffled by his lips and you lost track of any restrictions in the dark, only feeling potential.

Your heart instantly picked up speed when you felt the tapered tip of the toy starting to press into you. You gripped his hair tighter as your chest expanded. He rolled your nipple under his thumb, giving you so much arousal to concentrate on.

“Is that alright?” He asked in a whisper.

“Mmn, feels good.” You said, taking notice of how much desire was pooling in your pussy - it was unignorable now.

You captured his lips with yours, letting your need to have consistent and full breaths slip way down on your list of priorities. He rushed to follow one kiss with another.

He gently began to pump the toy, holding its base steady as he worked it a little deeper each time. Your inner-walls easily parted to allow this action. As he kept going, beginning into an unhurried tempo, you noticed how the effects were reaching further through your body. You could feel a tightening at your core, the anticipation of more stimulation to come held you in a firm grip.

You pushed your chest flush to his, savouring every part of his body that you could feel. The way that the blood was pumping so fast in your system was giving you a giddy rush. And he only encouraged this further, his fingers closing around your nipple for another pinch.

Wet sounds were accompanying every move he made with the toy, a perverted soundtrack to go with your soaring excitement. Your body was dominated by a radiating heat as he got the entire length of the sex toy pushed inside of you.

The rabbit-style vibrator had an external option, two silicone ‘ears’ that were intended to work on your clit. But he wasn’t about to repeat history. He was adapting to the fact that you had lost an incredible amount of sensation in the clitoris, instead keeping his focus to what could be achieved through penetration only.

You didn’t feel as if there was anything that you were missing out on - his consistent and deep strokes had you riding higher.

He adjusted his angle and you started to believe that perfect peak could be possible for you. He had driven the dildo’s rounded head directly into your g-spot, immediately adding so much fuel to the fire inside of you. So many sensitivities roared to life, almost overwhelming as they rushed you.

Your mouth left his as your head rolled back, gasping in a quick breath. Your heart was pounding as he kept the toy in motion, pulling it back then connecting with your g-spot repeatedly. He relocated his mouth down to your neck and you kept holding him so tight.

“Fuck.” The word struggled to get free from your throat.

“Is that still feeling good?” He asked, and the teasing in his voice made you smile. It told you that he wasn’t presently worrying about somehow breaking you. He was purely invested in your pleasure, and not held back by any uncertainties.

“Yes. But I would actually call it amazing.” You said. “So much better than just really good. God, so much better.”

“Amazing?” He repeated.

“Yes, amazing.” You said, vehemently nodding your head. “Please don’t stop.”

“Oh, I won’t, princess.” He said before you felt his lips crushing against yours - disappearing before you had any chance to respond. “I’m so happy that it’s feeling amazing already, that’s so fuckin’ great. It’s exactly what I wanted.” You relaxed your hand in his hair, switching to pushing your fingertips across his scalp. “But- and feel free to shut this train of thought down, I wonder if amazing could be improved upon, because I haven’t even turned this thing on yet. What would happen if I turned it on? Or maybe I shouldn’t do that at all…”

Your first reaction was to laugh and you simply let it out. Your elevated endorphins saw the noise coming out louder than what would be typical. You couldn’t help it, you genuinely didn’t know how you would cope with more. You were already being dazzled by more than you had hoped for. Could you be affected even deeper?

Your laughter died down as you realised that you wanted to find out. You were intrigued by the idea of trying the absolute most. You weren’t overwhelmed yet and you wanted to know what it took to get there.

“Do it. Turn it on.” You said, surprised by the steadiness you heard in your voice.

He paused, stilling the toy inside of you. “Are you… you really want to do that, princess? ‘Cause I won’t judge you if you decide not to, I was just playing around.”

You reached down, securing your fingers around his wrist so that you could keep him from backing off any further. You definitely weren’t ready to stop feeling the dildo inside of you. “I wanna. Let’s see if this is the magical thing that makes me come.”

“You can stop or change your mind and we’ll turn off the vibrations straight away. At any time.” He said with a new softness in his tone, no longer teasing.

You thought this switch may have come from you surprising him. Potentially you were going further than he had been expecting. You liked the idea that you had surprised him, it felt good to believe that was the case. It gave you a nice sense of power.

“I got it.” You affirmed.

He adjusted his hold on the toy and you were pleased that this didn’t lead to it slipping from its deep spot. His finger found the button and the vibrations commenced. You wanted to confirm with him that amazing could be improved on, but you were too overcome to form words.

The sensitivities that you had already been feeling were immediately magnified. The steady pulsations had your inner-walls clenching. You briefly lamented that you didn’t feel able to start pumping your hips - it would have been nice to put the excited energy filling you to use. You just felt how it ruled you, running wild through so much of your body.

You let out another laugh, shorter this time. But it was just as euphoric with you accepting that you had to surrender. There was no settling amongst all of this intensity. You didn’t know how you would be able to regain your control, but you were fine without it.

“Is that giving you some magic, principessa?” He asked, sounding like he already had the answer and he was happy with it.

“Fuck yes.” You said, holding onto him with one arm while you gripped the bedsheets with your other hand.

He began to move the toy, tapping into the motion that had earlier gotten such great results. Your cunt kept clenching, ensuring there wasn’t a single inch that didn’t feel the pulsing massage.

The next noise that you made was a very loud moan. There were no thoughts in your head as you accepted the way your system was being completely overloaded. It was pure ecstasy, seeming like it wouldn’t end.

“Ah, ah- amore.” The sob ripped its way free from deep in your chest as the edge daunted you. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop.” Everything seemed to be falling into place, poised and ready for your ruin. “I think I’m gun- ah!”

“Yes, yes, yes, let it go.” He coached, relentlessly working the toy into you. “Let it all go.”

The orgasm was so powerful that it felt like it launched you out of your body. You so quickly and so thoroughly transcended - your consciousness only knew pure pleasure.

You gasped for air as you steadily returned to your body. You found a profound relief radiating out from the very core of your being.

He had turned the vibrations off, no longer pumping it inside your cunt. Now his hands were still as he cradled you in his arms. He whispered your name, somehow making it sound like a great compliment.

Your mind was absolutely blown, leaving you still unable to fully believe how great you felt. It was too good to be true, more than you had dared to hope for.

“Oh my God.” You said, feeling more grateful than you had the words to express. You started to babble, words rushing out with no pause for consideration. “I didn’t think that- I didn’t- oh my God. That was crazy, so crazy and I had no idea it was gonna hap- yeah, I had read all that stuff online, but it’s just words ‘til it actually happens for you. And it did happen and it was so… I think that’s the best orgasm of my whole entire life. I would have been happy with even the smallest, but that was just so…

“Why didn’t we do that sooner?” You asked.

“It doesn’t matter, we did it, that’s the important thing.” He said, giving you an affectionate squeeze. “I’m so happy we tried.”

“You’re happy?” You repeated. “I’m happy, but like an insane level of happy.” He chuckled, just enjoying your giddy outburst. “I don’t think I’ve felt this happy since… I feel like myself. So much of that fear is just-... I feel like me- like I’m still me.”

He kissed you on the forehead. “‘Cause you are still yourself. You have been this whole time.” You readjusted yourself, tilting your head back so you could try to pick out the features of his face. “I never stopped seeing you. You have been getting through this like only you can.”

If not for the endorphins still keeping you so elevated, you may have found a way to make a self-deprecating joke out of his statement. But you felt no urge to disagree with him, not even in a joking fashion.

You moved your hands up to his cheeks. “Thank you. I didn’t know that I could still feel so good. Thank you. I love you, I-” You silenced yourself by kissing him. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He responded, giving you another kiss.

“I’m so happy we did this.” You said, starting to twirl some of his hair around your finger. “Not just ‘cause I got off, I also just feel so close to you. I guess I had put a wall up around all of that.”

“Thank you for taking it down. I like being close to you.” He said.

“Do you wanna get closer?” You asked.

“I thought I already was… what do you mean?” He asked.

The first part of your response was to kiss him, sliding your tongue against his lips this time. “Get a condom and get on top of me, amore.”

He moved, an instant kind of perking up in his body without actually sitting up and going for the item. “Are you sure- really- do you- are you feeling up to that?”

“Uh-huh. My sexy, amazing boyfriend, I love feeling so connected to you and I wanna keep it going.” You said. “I don’t know if coming twice is actually a possibility for me- once was a fuckin’ miracle. But I wanna feel you, I just want you so much. And maybe I’ll regret it tomorrow when I’m exhausted at therapy, but that’s tomorrow’s problem.”

“I want you too.” He said, rushing to give you another kiss.

Then he was sitting up, seemingly having decided there wasn’t any more time to waste. You heard one of the bedside drawers sliding open and you reached between your legs, securing your fingers around the base of the inactive toy. You had stopped feeling any reactions to it and you extracted it without fanfare. You placed the wet object aside, as far as you could reach your arm out, knowing he would get it back to its rightful spot.

It wasn’t long before he was back to lying down with you, he slid an arm beneath your body, immediately pulling you into an embrace. He kissed you deeply and you felt him starting to ease his body on top of you.

“I love you.” You whispered, voicing the dominant thought in your head, it was uninhibited by any insecurities.

“I love you too.” He said. “And we can stop whenever. You won’t disappoint me if you change your mind, so don’t even worry about that, okay?”

“Okay.” You said.

You didn’t hesitate to kiss him more as he settled into his position on top of you. There was so much of his body pressed to yours and you savoured all of it, simultaneously craving more. You regretted time not spent like this.

Your tongue glided into his mouth as you ran your hands up-and-down his back. He started to writhe against you, gentle movements that told you he was doing some savouring of his own.

One of his hands moved between your bodies, making some adjustments below your waistline, which you couldn’t fully keep track of.

But you felt when he got to his goal, the head of his cock easing your pussy open. He gave you time to adjust to this beginning of penetration, rather than aiming for depth at once.

His hand remained around his shaft as he resumed his writhing on you. You enjoyed having him use your body to make himself feel good and you started to drag your fingernails along his back, wanting to give him even more sensations to drive him wild.

He settled into something of a rhythm and you could notice the purposeful pumping of his hips. You recognised this as the start of his energy, not yet giving you everything that he had. The gradual increase of movement led to him slipping further into your cunt, your sensitive walls noticing how his tip kept stroking deeper.

“Is that o-...?”

You immediately interrupted him. “It’s so good, don’t you dare stop.”

He chuckled a little. “I won’t. I’ve missed being inside of you, you just feel so incredible.”

You kissed him as the reactions within you got bigger again. Your cunt walls were already fluttering as more of your body was feeling the effects of this desire. Your heart raced and you locked into the anticipation of things only getting better from here.

A smoothness had come into his movements now, he knew what to do. You encouraged this by taking your hands down to his ass again, a cheek in each hand as you guided him into you again-and-again. The conclusions of his thrusts gained more strength, giving you the feeling of little quakes at your core.

You wanted to take the energy further. You tensed your back and took a stab at lifting your ass. It took a lot of effort but you got your hips pushed into his, granting you the reward of feeling his dick deeper. He whined when you broke the kiss, needing a deep breath as you attempted another pump of your hips.

Instead of you matching his established rhythm, he slowed himself down for you. As you thrusted with each other, you felt hints of friction coming from the meeting of your hips. You hoped that this was creating something more substantial for him because it was very limited for you, a sensation you seemingly couldn’t fully recapture. The main thing that you were feeling was a burning in your muscles, an insistence that this effort not go too far.

“I’m sorry, I can’t go any faster.” You said.

“Sorry, what are you talkin’ about? You don’t have to- I was having a great time before you started thrusting me back.” He said over the noise of your heavy panting. “If it’s too much, you don’t have to do it.”

You didn’t stop, not yet. “But then it’s just you doing all of the work.”

“Work?” He repeated.

“Yeah, it’s like guilt or something that I’m not doing enough.” You said.

“Oh, principessa…” He sighed and he pulled back from you a little, pausing any current motion. “I’m gonna need you to shut up, because you are talking complete nonsense right now.” You slumped back to the mattress, silent. “There’s no work, let me take care of you. You just being here with me is all I need.”

He kept his hips elevated but he leaned down to kiss you. “No guilt, I only want you feeling good things, okay?” You nodded your head. “Feel good with me.”

“Okay.” You said in the second before his lips captured yours. “Yes, yes.”

Steadily he started to drive his hips down again, filling more of his length into you. You kept kissing him as you resettled yourself on the mattress, getting as comfortable as you could manage.

He moved as he needed, between your parted thighs he struck down, plunging deeper into you. The burning in your muscles quickly became less noticeable and important to you. Your blood rushed to different areas, taking your focus with it. He reclaimed his ideal rhythm, his thrusts coming in consistently, the speed making it so that you couldn’t get caught in any trains of thought.

You draped your arms around his neck, kissing him through the rising reactions. Your inner-walls were so responsive to the massaging of his cock, constantly fluttering with excitement and sporadically squeezing his shaft.

You were certain that he was no longer holding back and your body was rocked by the power. The end of each thrust landed perfectly, encouraging more shaking at your core. And before there was a chance for you to recover from its effects, another one was coming in to amaze you.

His speedy movements were getting you up to that sublime edge again. You could feel the build-up and you recognised what it was all leading to.

You couldn’t keep yourself from moaning, your mouth falling slack as you parted from him. “More magic.”

He was noisily gasping for air as his body remained so active on yours. “What?”

“I think- fuck, I could come again.” You admitted, those shakes at your core had become full-blown earthquakes.

“Really?”

You set your fingernails against his shoulders. “Yes, it’s- it feels like it, Damiano.”

“Me too.” He told you with a whimper. “I’ve been getting close, but holding it- trying to hold it back so I didn’t stop you from finishing.”

This brought a new wave of euphoria. “Let’s come together. Come with me, amore.”

“Yes.” His strained voice was almost drowned out by the terrific, continuous slapping sounds of his hips landing on yours. “Yes, yes.”

The tension gripped your entire body, holding you tight as you were reduced to nothing more than a collection of sensitivities. You squirmed as he jolted you higher towards the peak.

Then the relief rushed you, taking you beyond anything else. Your triumph was matched by the noises of his moans, making it clear that he was in a similar state. Everything became still as you were both consumed by your orgasms.

You gradually began to come back to reality to the feeling of him kissing all over your left cheek. This was the side that was closest to him now that he was lying next to you. One of his arms remained around you, resting beneath your body.

In the darkness, you smiled. This pleasure had been a revelation and its effects wore off little-by-little. It felt like your body was glowing, radiating relief in almost every pore.

“Holy fuck.” You gasped. “I can’t believe how amazing that was.”

“It was perfect for me, too.” He said, sounding just as content as you felt. “It was better than I had imagined, And if it wasn’t so clear: I did a lot of imagining.”

You grabbed his hand with yours. “I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”

“Hey, no more sorries. It happened when you were ready for it, and that’s the only way I would want it to happen.” He said.

“I love you so much.” You said, feeling like three words weren’t enough to fully convey the big things inside you.

But he accepted it happily, replying with enthusiastic speed. “I love you too. Hey, please don’t tell your PT that I’m the reason you’re so exhausted in your session, because those guys could seriously beat me up if they thought I was impeding your recovery- a misuse of your energy or something.”

You chuckled. “Okay, I won't get you in trouble.” But you weren't certain that the therapist wouldn't notice the change in your mood because you were going to sleep feeling differently to how you had felt on any night before. There wasn't a hint of defeat in you, surely this would carry through to tomorrow, maybe further through your recovery.

»»————-　♡　————-««  

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[qvrcll]

college melodrama — V.

summary: ellie survives with a bruised lip and a throbbing pain that keeps her awake in her own bed. abby is elsewhere and of little care to you — you are beside ellie and nursing her wounds. tender touches lead to tenderer tellings and something worth recalling, perhaps.

warnings: injuries mentioned, food / medicine mentioned, just fluff, some angst but let’s be honest, it will be drowned out by the fluff 🫶🏽

a/n: part five and can i just say… THE POLL RESULTS ARE MAKING ME CREASEEEE. we love to see it! i love ya abby but you went too far… also my old divider stopped working for some odd reason :( + sorry for the slow updates, life has been brutally interruptive. anyhow, hope you enjoy this :-]

You’re tapping your feet anxiously beside the cotton of Ellie’s comforter the next time Dina checks in. Some part of you jumps from the familiar sound of the notification, but you put your good faith in Dina. You’re still shaken from the party’s brutal givings — besides Ellie’s bruised lip and cruddy looking jaw, the fight had taken flame amongst the entire college. From videos to whispers, you can feel the tension tenfold when you enter a room. People are nice enough to ask how Ellie is, but not nice enough to keep their eyes from telling.

You’d left her room when the messages rolled in, so it was safe to say that Ellie couldn’t hear the squelch of your heart playing in your throat right now. She couldn’t hear the deafening plea in your lungs drying the substance there, robbing it of the air that was. But she’s quick to realise, quick to ease you of your worries. You feel stupid, feel bad for even being upset but seeing her this battered and bruised hurt the world beneath your eyelids.

She knows all the right things to say and you’re really too hopeless to stay this way. You realise you’re unknowingly blaming Ellie for what’s transpired and make quick work of assuring her that no, it’s not her. It’s you and your dumb, full, thudding heart that is tipping over depravity. For her. But Ellie’s message makes you stop, makes you think. Makes your fingers shake as she loses her mind over her own recklessness with her feelings.

This is tipping close into uncharted territory. Into something of a ruse or something… warm and blanketed. Into something you’ve both hidden. But you’re not sure and Ellie is second guessing every bit of your letters, words, sentences. She’d rather have a shockwave plummet her to death than to lose you to her feelings. But if you were to be the same, she’d only dare to fall, no?

It’s an easy route to her dorm room. With her injury, prone to Abby, it had been a frequent endeavour and now, you were quite literally soaring through different altitudes. Savouring sweeter tastes. Hoping for something you’re sure you haven’t lost your mind to gain.

“Ellie?” your hand is on the door knob and the creaky, old thing flits back to allow you some space inside.

I’ve done this before, so many times. Why is it so much harder now?

“Y/N?” her voice comes softer, like the feel of peeled tangerines, in the commodity of her humble dorm. As you glance up, she’s standing in her flannel jacket, comfortable and so much like the reason as to why your heart is unrelenting in this very moment. But you can’t do this without surety — can’t do this without reason and lose half your mind with it too.

You step forward. It’s the right thing to do. You convince yourself that much, and whatever truth there is in that, is only helping you steer clear of what’s… meant to be yours, “You feel any better?”

“Y… Yeah. Totally. See,” she points ardently to the flesh that has begin to heal against her lip, “Already good. On the way… to be good, I hope.”

This is endearing, you think.

“And good, you will be, Ellie,” you reply, feet lambent against her floors, as you take her hands in yours in a complete show of camaraderie. But underneath the flesh and bone of it all, there’s something raw and pulsing there. Something alive and aware of consequences. Aware of a few of things. Curious of a lot more.

Curious of her hands.

Curious of her lips.

Curious of the row of hairs above her neck.

And of so, so much more.

“Is there… something else… you wanna say?” she suddenly asks. Rips the breath out of your lungs as her hands work to shield yours in some tight grip. Certainly not camaraderie. It’s something sacred in a nuanced sense; a telling? Or maybe one of her hidden shows of affections? But you need to try. Have to.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“When have I, Ellie, ever been wrong?”

“Dickhead. I won’t tell you now.”

“No, wait, hey! I’m sorry!”

You purse your lips, bite and swallow and throw away the smile that burdens them. But a ghost of it remains anyhow and she’s teeming with hope too, you see now. Something illusive made seen with her curiosity. She’s twice as nervous and holding you tighter and… leaning in.

Fuck.

Your lips meet slower than expected. Your nose budges against her cheek. Her teeth taste like oranges and medicine and raw, hot, scary love. Her hands are in your hair and you push the speed of them to match her—

“Ow. Ouch,” she bites her groans of pain, still holding you close. You shudder, afraid suddenly of the truth that she’s still not fully healed, “My lip… it’s just…”

“I’m so sorry—“

“Don’t be. Please?” she whines and her eyes are pouring into yours and you see her past the line you’ve always drawn between the two of you. It disappears till you can no longer smell it in the air anymore. Nothing to stop you anymore. Nothing to be afraid of anymore.

“Okay. Okay,” you laugh against the flannel of her shirt and she coughs out a laugh, the light in her smile, “but you’re going back to bed! Heal, first. Kiss me later?”

“Mmm. Promise you won’t leave?”

“When have I ever?”

“Right” her spit of auburn hair seeps against her ears and despite your words, her lips cut the skin of your cheek anyways. Light, airy, yet leaving with the air of your lungs. You curse comically as she laughs, exits to her room, and you’re doing your best to follow when suddenly…

You hadn’t blocked her. Everything is redrawn and spilt in red. Anger, confusion and curiosity is alive in you when suddenly you become aware. Aware of your buzzing phone. Aware of the back of Ellie’s figure as she retreats to bed. Aware that whatever has started has yet to be resolved.

THE DECISION IS UP TO YOU: YOUR ACTIONS HAVE CONSEQUENCES.

© 2023 qvrcll ! do not repost any of my works on any platform.

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[joys-of-everyday]

Luo Binghe: Envy, hopelessness, and breaking out of spirals

I have recently gotten into incels. No, not in that way. Perhaps with PIDW being “toxic male power fantasy”, this was an inevitable pipeline.

You know, through many hours of video essays and interviews, I have come to the conclusion that taking a good long hard look at incels is a valuable life lesson. While incels are most known for their extreme misogynistic ideology (which tbf, is hard to look past), they really are a good demonstration of the abject misery of loneliness. Scrub away all the obsession with omegaverse and cuckoldry, and the fundamental behaviour of incels is actually… very human. And the fact that it manifests in ways that are cringe and insane really only adds to the tragedy. Forget darkness and monsters – there is an incel in all of us. And like all good things in life, I want to link this back to SVSSS and discuss the most chad of them all… Luo Binghe (Bingmei ofc. Bingge is a beta cuck).

Note: Much of this is based on ContraPoints’ Envy (which is almost nothing to do with incels sorry) and HealthyGamerGG’s interview with an incel (which is also not really about incels, disappointingly).

Envy and Jealousy

Did you know that envy and jealousy are two different things? Envy is wanting what other people have, while jealousy is protectiveness of something you have, or feel entitled to. You might be envious of someone for having effortless skin a la Liu Qingge, or feel jealous of a fellow disciple who is unfairly stealing your milf shizun’s affections. In common usage, envy and jealousy are basically interchangeable, but now you can feel smug knowing the proper definitions.

We all know that Luo Binghe is a jealous man-child… but for intellectual curiosity, we should ask: is Luo Binghe envious, or jealous?

As in, I’ve kind of spoiled my take by putting it in the header, but I should justify (unlike in exams where I simply assert what I want to be true and hope the examiner doesn’t notice). Yes, Luo Binghe is fighting for the affection of his one-true-milf, but note that during the periods where his envy/jealousy is strongest, he doesn’t think he has Shen Qingqiu’s affection, nor does he think he deserves it. In fact, he thinks he is unlovable monster who couldn’t possibly dream of having his daddy’s attention. *sad sigh*

To him, Shen Qingqiu is the embodiment of tender and loving affection, of grace, of wisdom, of morality and all things good etc etc. For the purposes of Luo Binghe’s negative feelings, the man himself might as well be an abstract idea. He sees what other people have – Liu Qingge receiving companionship and trust, the other Qing Jing disciples getting attention, the random stair sweeper getting sweet smiles… and feels anger at the fact that they have what he does not. I think it’s envy people.  

Now caveat, I do think Luo Binghe is definitely also feeling jealousy, particularly after Shen Qingqiu defends him in the Mausoleum. But he grapples with an internal conflict, where despite the fact Shen Qingqiu continuously demonstrates his care for him, he’s also sending what Luo Binghe deems as “mixed messages”, so really, how is Bingbing meant to decide if daddy loves him or hates him? Feelings do be complicated.

Now envy leads to shadenfreude – the pleasure of seeing another’s downfall. The sentiment of “if I can’t have it, then nobody can”, which is a destructive, malevolent force that wants no good for anyone. At Maigu Ridge, Luo Binghe is the embodiment of this. What he wants is Shen Qingqiu’s affection, and um… probably killing all of his friends isn’t going to help him on this endeavour. But he is so far down the envy line that it blinds him. “If I can’t have Shizun’s love, then nobody can.”

2. Protective hopelessness and the destructive cycle

When you decide, for whatever reason, to believe something, several cognitive biases come into play. For example, confirmation bias – where you are more likely to find and interpret evidence which supports your opinion. Belief perseverance – where you continue to believe something, despite evidence contradicting it. Another unhelpful actor is the fact you change the way you behave, which creates situations that affirm your beliefs. Those with a neurodivergence like BPD, or a mental health disorder such as depression may struggle with these much more intensely.

Take the classic incel problem. You struggle to get a girlfriend, you believe yourself ugly and unlovable, which makes you sad, which means you struggle in social situations, which makes it less likely for you to start a relationship, and so the cycle continues. I’ve talked about these destructive spirals with Shen Jiu.

Luo Binghe, Luo Binghe! Wherefore art thou Luo Binghe?

Luo Binghe runs straight into this problem like the strong independent man he is. He believes that (Shen Qingqiu thinks that) he is an evil demon. So he goes full blood feeding vampire mode, and naturally Shen Qingqiu freaks out. So Luo Binghe’s suspicions that Shen Qingqiu thinks he’s an evil demon are affirmed. Everything that happens is warped to fit this worldview: Shen Qingqiu’s silence in the Water Prison (which could mean anything really, such as thinking emotion is cringe) is interpreted as hostility. Shen Qingqiu telling Luo Binghe to leave for his safety, is interpreted as abandonment. Nothing can contradict this view – not even Shen Qingqiu getting all plant-bodied to keep Luo Binghe safe.

All of this is to say, that once you are in a bad place, it is really hard to get out, because at every stage your mind is sabotaging you. But there’s more to it than this. The honey glazed trap of abject hopelessness is… that it feels kind of good.

You know, Luo Binghe at Maigu Ridge comes across as someone who’s given up in a cathartic “throw it all down the drain way”. And yeah, putting yourself out there to feel rejection time and time again… kind of sucks. I really feel this. It really sucks. Sometimes, it is just so much easier to write yourself off as an unlovable freak and move on with your life. The hopelessness shields you from future rejection – what Dr K from HealthyGamerGG describes as protective hopelessness. But the relief here is temporary. Soon the loneliness and isolation kicks in, and you end up screaming at the walls so your neighbours now think you’re insane. Well done.

So you defend your hopelessness to protect yourself, but your hopelessness reinforces your situation. And to top it off, this cesspool of self-loathing and self-flagellation is a perfect breeding place for envy. In fact, envy plays a huge role in directing the spiral downwards. Afterall, bitter and toxic behaviour isn’t conductive to getting you liked.  

Ultimately,  I don’t think Luo Binghe actually hates Liu Qingge, or even Ming Fan, or any one person. I think Luo Binghe resents his situation and projects that onto everyone. “I didn’t get to keep happiness for a single moment of my life, so why should anyone be allowed happiness?” And yeah, he kind of ends up almost ending the world, which is not stella behaviour. But you know, under all that aggression is a child pleading for help.  

3. Breaking Out

You know, it occurs to me that I seem to be equating Luo Binghe to an incel, which I think is an unfair comparison. I feel like incels fundamentally misunderstand how privilege works, while Luo Binghe… eh… he did get chucked off a cliff. Ngl that would scar anyone.

Anyway, whilst clearly SVSSS is the ultimate reflection of reality, I suspect that the love of your life telling you they would totally die for you if you were their unborn child doesn’t happen often irl. How. Disappointing.

But I think something we can take away from Luo Binghe is that breaking the spiral is essential. When Luo Binghe loses control at Maigu Ridge, what he ends up doing is monstrous. It’s ultimate evidence of all of Luo Binghe’s fears and could easily have pushed him further down the spiral to self-destruction. But Shen Qingqiu pulls him out notably not by promising to stay with him or leave his friends (i.e. not by playing to Luo Binghe’s delusional desires), but by affirming that Luo Binghe already has what he wants. His mother loved him. His adopted mother loved him. Shen Qingqiu loves him. It’s removing the substance from Luo Binghe’s envy, and that’s enough to pull him back from insanity.

In reality, breaking the spiral isn’t one action or one conversation. It’s continuously relearning how to think, a process that can take years. And we see this with Luo Binghe. He doesn’t stop being a jealous freak, but he learns ways to deal with it that are much less destructive. In the conversation at Cang Qiong post Maigu Ridge, we see that he doesn’t immediately stop thinking that Shen Qingqiu wants him gone, but in a better headspace, he is able to accept evidence which contrasts this.

And yeah, most people don’t have a milf/dilf/obsessive freak to help us when we have our world-ending breakdowns, but that’s okay. I don’t have a good solution to this. Maybe get life-sized posters of Shen Qingqiu telling you that he would totally die for your if you were his unborn child or smth.

[aashi-heartfilia]

My convoluted feelings about Toga... what now?

So after reading a bunch of metas all over the internet, my feelings about Toga's survival are more convoluted than ever. The fandom is basically divided into two parts:

Yes, Toga died for good. She lived, loved and died on her own terms yada yada (whatever I have been saying in my previous posts)

V/S

The hopeful part of fandom, that thinks after this type of dramatic closure Toga will somehow be revived because it goes against the themes of our story etc etc

...

Honestly, I can see why a bunch of people are saying this and then I found another Dabi Toga parallel which convinced me even more that maybe,...maybe there is an actual chance of Toga's survival!

Now hear me out!

There are literally a bunch of people who think All Might should have died in the Kamino arc, because his story arc concluded there but he survived. He survived and learned to live a life without his power, as a normal person and learn that even as a person be can make great changes.

MHA is not about people dying. Nothing good comes out of it. Twice's death proved that. Hawks murdered Twice but that came flying back at him when Toga unleashed the SMP again.

Plus, we had the Todoroki family arc concluding just before the TogaChako arc and Dabi also had the same realisation...that why not sooner?

But he survived.

Despite all the injuries he survived. Because Endeavour and Touya dying together could also have been a great conclusion to their character arcs but was it fair? Think about the Todoroki family who would have been left behind. Think about the backlash that Shouto, Rei, Fuyumi and Natsuo would have faced.

Touya dying meant they failed.

And then there is TOGA.

She literally had the most chances of survival in this battle! She is also the youngest of the group. Her dying would be a true tragedy because if a little girl like her couldn't be saved then who would?

It's similar to how they saved Eri from Overhaul. Remember how even her quirk was considered a curse?

Only for the story to remind us that her quirk is not in fact a curse but a blessing, by which Deku was able to defeat Overhaul.

Children are literally earthen pots, and they grow into whatever shape you provide them with. Toga's family was horrible just like Touya. Even though Touya burned her house, that contained all those horrible memories, that place still remained in her heart.

Toga finally found someone who was willing to accept her wholeheartedly. Ochako finally managed to save Toga only for her to die such a tragic death. Ochako tried so hard to save Toga, only for Toga to sacrifice her entire life for Ochako.

Think about the backlash it would have on Ochako. At first I thought it would inspire her to become a better hero and save more lives but she was already feeling horrible about making Toga cry. Now she would feel like she took Toga's life. She took Toga's happy future, even if it was Toga who willingly volunteered.

She would live with the survivors' guilt her entire life!

This doesn't feel right because this arc is also about making a little girl smile, and then do everything to make sure that she keeps that smile.

...

So what do you guys think?

[undiscovered-horizon]

"Hope for the future" - Druig x Eternal!Reader

SUMMARY: When you decide to visit Druig in his little village after nearly 500 years, he asks you to stay with him. But there's something else on his mind, too...

A/N: inspired by 'Hope for the future' - Bastille. That shit always gets a tear out of me.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.3k

Five hundred years was, actually, quite a lot of time. Even for someone who was immortal. So much could happen! Entire generations die never knowing peace, while others are completely oblivious to the idea of war. It was enough time to change someone into a person you no longer recognize and that was possibly the scariest thought you had: after 500 years, is Druig the same man he was the last time you saw him?

To be honest, you were never planning on visiting him in his village. When he marched out of Tenochtitlan, it seemed pretty obvious that he wished to be left alone but everyone has to indulge in egoism once in a while, right? You had been bravely bearing the yearning you had for Druig but there came a moment when you started to feel physically sick because of it. So, truthfully, your visit was entirely a self-indulging endeavour: see him, quench your hopeless yearning and hopefully put up with your heartache for another five centuries. It was a little pathetic but still better than never getting to see him again.

In a way, Druig looked like a king in a castle. Although, "shepherd among his sheep" would be more accurate. He had created this undiscovered haven in an uncharted land and now he was just strolling through, beaming with pride and might. It was a beautiful paradox - the more he gave of himself to others, the more he became himself.

"My beautiful lady," he called out. There was that cocky smile he so often wore - something you found both endearing and annoying. "What brings you here?"

"Oh, you know, was in the neighbourhood and thought I'd pop in, say hi."

"And here I was beginning to think you have forgotten about me."

"I don't think I can."

Without waiting any longer, you engulfed him in a longing hug. His embrace was pleasantly tight as if he, too, missed having you around. Taking a deep breath, you noticed he now smelt of rain and ground cover. His skin was warmer than you remembered but it wasn't something bad; it reminded you of safety and comfort.

"It's good to see you, Druig," you quietly said.

"Of course it is," he answered. Then, to your utmost displeasure, Druig pulled away from the longing embrace. Jungle heat felt sadly cold for a moment. "Come, I'll show you around."

Druig lost sight of you when a group of teenage girls swarmed around you in curiosity. While fighting over who gets you to give you a quetchquemitl as a welcoming gift, the giggling mob pulled you away. No matter how much he wished to follow you, he knew better - there were still things he had to see through.

Noon was already approaching when Druig found you again, this time without the nosy kids. You were sitting on the porch stairs, next to a little girl, attempting weaving. It was hard to believe you hadn't been here even for a full day.

He just stood there, admiring how you blended right in like here was where you were always meant to be. Although Druig's judgement could hardly be trusted - he was terribly biased. Little Catalina was teaching you basket weaving and from what he could tell, you were doing quite well. The crafty tutoring was accompanied by Catalina's grandparents: Santiago and Blandine, who were sharing the most notable events from the village's life. Anytime Druig saw the elderly couple, a pang of jealousy struck his heart. How beautiful would it be to grow old with someone, even figuratively? To have someone who cared and understood despite everything? And how wonderful would it be to love someone so much?

Then Santiago must have said something funny because you suddenly erupted in laughter. Druig was certain he could never grow tired of that sight. The world seemed a little brighter, a little warmer, throughout the minute when you were laughing. But then sorrow and heartache took him over once again: soon enough, you were going to leave to go back to your own life. He had grown familiar with the lovesick loneliness that seemed to always follow him around. Only for that one morning, when he was watching you weave a basket, did that sorrow leave him for a moment. But then, when it came back to weigh on his shoulders, did Druig realize its heaviness. How did he even manage to breathe for the past 500 years?

He knew that if he was not going to do something about his heavy heart now, he might never have a second chance. Spend another five centuries without you? It was a thought too cruel to even entertain.

"Mind if I steal the lady?" he asked little Catalina.

With a bright smile that lacked a few front teeth, she shook her head and continued weaving. Blandine's old hand pulled the stray strands of the girl's hair behind her ears. Her little fingers weaved with impressive speed and precision.

"Don't finish without me!" you jokingly warned the girl before turning to Druig. He seemed... worried. "What's going on, Druig?"

"I need to talk with you."

Gently pulling your arm, Druig began walking towards the privacy of a jungle backcountry. Passing by various locals, they would only glance at the two of you and go back to whatever they were doing. It seemed as if you were the only one concerned with Druig's nervousness or worry.

He let go of your arm only when the thick rainforest swallowed any signs of human life. But why would he bring you in the middle of nowhere? However you thought about it, none of the answers was good: thick shrubbery was audience only to passionate violence and confessions of unhappy love.

"Something's happened?"

You couldn't help but worry about him. He was someone who could keep a secret but was never secretive per se.

"I've been meaning to ask you something," he confessed with a serious tone. Despite the weight of his statement, Druig's face remained unreadable.

"I'm all ears, whatever you need."

Looking for any microexpression, you closely watched his face but it stayed as expressionless as ever.

To your surprise, Druig placed his hands on the sides of your face and rested his forehead against yours. The two of you stood in pleasant, intimate silence for a moment. He let out a heavy, although shaky, breath before he whispered:

"You're the only thing I could think about for the past five centuries. I wrote your name down on the hillside in my mind." He made a pause to take another, shaky breath. "Stay here with me, please."

At first, you were questioning your sanity. Maybe five hundred years of pining after a man had left its mark on you. But it couldn't be that... If there was anything you could be sure of, it was his warm presence: his hands warming your cheeks and his hot breath brushing against your face. Has he really waited all of five hundred years to make that confession? Could all of your heartbreak have been prevented had he said those words a few centuries earlier?

"Why are asking me now?" you asked quietly. You could feel your throat clenching but it wasn't tears of sadness that threatened to run down your cheeks. "Why haven't you before?"

Druig's thoughts wandered back to Santiago and Blandine. Every day they sat on the porch, holding hands and looking after children whose parents were working. On the days when he couldn't get your name off his lips, Druig wondered if he could ever have something like that: you and him, holding hands and watching children grow up - your children.

"Hope for the future got me on my knees."

Then you felt his lips move against yours. There was a certain desperation in his affection as if he expected the world to end in the next few minutes. Without needless reasoning, you kissed him back. Your hands clenched the material of his sleeveless shirt making sure he won't pull away any time soon.

There was no course of history in which you could reject his offer.

_____

TAGLIST: @igotanidea

[turnupswritessometimes]

Geppetto's Boy - Lies of P- Ch 3

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54517777/chapters/138571591

Summary: A collection of oneshots set throughout the game, mostly exploring P and Gepetto’s relationship. (But exploring P’s relationships with most of Hotel Krat too.)

First | Previous | Next

Chapter Three

“How are you feeling about killing humans now?”

P's father asked him, as he cleaned the intricacies of his legion arm. He had just returned from the cathedral; from fighting that priest. He'd spoken with Sophia; had put his recovered Ergo to good use; and then had followed the routine of seeing his fahter, sitting in that chair, and submitting himself to be cleaned up. P forced himself to watch. It felt only fair to watch. Because it wasn’t oil, or simply blood, that he was covered in now. Now there were little bits of gristle, too. The kind that Lady Antonia would spit discreetly into a napkin, P was sure. These were little bits of meat that had come from his fights. Some of it got stuck in his machinery. There was plenty stuck in his shoes, but he doubted his father would care so much about that.

He needed to watch his legion arm be cleaned, to honour the memory of the things he’d killed. Not for what they were when he killed them, but for what they used to be. Those beings they had encountered on the way to the church had been humans, once. The same humans who lived at the hotel.

His father still called them humans.

“They were monsters,” he replied.

Geppetto did not look up from his work.“Some would call you a monster, you know.”

P knew that. He knew, because he’d been attacked just as determinedly as he’d attacked those monsters. That was what seemed to join everything: they attacked the unfamiliar. The ones they thought were scary. He hadn't been scared - he didn't think - he didn't he could feel scared. He had fought back, because he knew how. Because fighting was what he understood, even if he didn't understand what was happening. Gemini didn't either, and that was more concerning.

Something was very wrong in Krat. Even more than he'd been first thought.

“What happened?” It was what Gemini had asked P, over and over, and hedidn’t have any answers – all he knew was their orders – so, he hoped this man could provide them. His father. His father knew everything.

“I am endeavouring to discover that myself.” Another piece of gristle was dislodged. It fell into the silver bowl on the floor with a quiet thud. “We will get to the bottom of this mystery.”

They still hadn't solved the mystery of the frenzy, or the petrification disease, and here was another one. P thought that was one of the things it was better not to say. At least, not to Geppetto.

“They were monsters,” he repeated. “They acted like animals. Rabid.”

“Whatever disease afflicted them might be similar to rabies.”

It wasn't what he meant. He meant that they had lost their humanity, and therefore, it wasn't like when he'd killed that crazy donkey, or the scared mouse. P had realised it whilst fighting, and it had only been more obvious everytime his sword had clashed against those monsters. Those - carcasses. He'd known it when he faced what the archbishop had become and seen the empty shell of the man he'd been. But he needed to say it out loud: “The kindest thing to do was kill them.”

That did make his father look him, then. His eyes wrinkled at the corners, and he half-smiled. Was it pride or amusement?

“Is that so?” he asked. “Do you always do the kindest thing, when faced with death?”

So, he was amused. P didn’t answer that; there seemed little point in explaining any more. He’d thought kind was good. When Sophia called him kind, it had felt good. He'd liked that feeling - liked being good - even if he didn't understand how he could feel at all. It didn't seem as though his father was aware that he could.

“Will there be more of them, in the city?” he asked, instead.

“I’m sure there will be.” His father wiped a cloth over his mechanical forearm a final time. It was clean; and shone silver in the gas lamps. “But not to worry. You are strong, and you're growing stronger. You will be able to save Krat.”

First, he had needed to save his father, then it had been to save Venigni – when had it become saving all of Krat? Or had it always been? Had that been what Sophia had awoken him for? He hadn’t had a choice in her waking him - not even a choice in sleeping - and he didn’t have a choice what to do now he had.

Because, he had to save Krat. That was the right thing to do. The good thing to do. He couldn’t say that he wouldn't do it. Especially if it was what his father asked him to do; what his father had built him to do. So, he would. He owed it to him.

But would he be able to?

He had taken too long to reply. His father placed his legion arm back onto the armrest. Examined him, and caught hold of his chin. Carefully, as though he would shatter him.

“You need to know that I worry about you. Every time you leave this hotel, I worry about what will happen.” He looked over P with a searching expression, but he didn't know what he wanted to see; didn't know what he wanted him to say. He stared back. “But I know you can handle yoursel.f I know you’ll always come home to me. Won’t you?”

P nodded. But where else, he thought, would he go? There was nowhere else he could call home.

“That’s good.” Geppetto smoothed his hair. It fell, so that it was half-covering his eye again. "Good boy."

It felt right, to hear his father say that; to praise him. It made him feel like he really was doing something right, even if his thoughts were still muddled. Even if he couldn't forget the spider-like monster of the priest; the mysterious nun; the record that he'd found in the office.

They were finished. He was cleaned, and his father had work to do. Had work to do, and wanted to get some rest. P was free to prepare himself for the next task. He found himself wandering the halls. There were so many rooms, and so many of them were empty. What would this place have been like, before the frenzy? Would it – could it – truly all be full of people, once upon a time? How many people would that be? How many people had lived in Krat, before?

How many of them were dead now?

"It's kind of spooky at night, huh, pal?" Gemini asked, at his side.

P found himself smiling. It was funny, he thought, that a cricket, safe in his lantern, would be scared of ghosts. The emptiness of the hotel wasn't spooky; it was melancholy.

“Are you laughing at me?” Gemini asked.

P shook his head, but it only made his smile widen. The more he tried, the harder it seemed to smother. But he liked it. Liked the feeling of holding back a laugh, even as Gemini kept chirping. It dulled the feelings of horror that he’d felt when he saw the monsters.

When he saw Lady Antonia’s wheelchair from the doorway of the room, the smile disappeared.

Sophia said that the petrification disease would not turn people into those monsters. But, how could she be entirely sure? What if the same thing happened to Lady Antonia? What if she became a carcass of herself, and he had to hurt her?

He didn’t want to. It was worse knowing that he could, if it came to it. His fists clenched, as though he would be able to fight against the possibility alone.

“It’s impolite to lurk in doorways, young man.” Came Lady Antonia’s sharp, plummy voice.

Gemini dulled at his side. P stepped forward, ducking his head to show that he was apologetic.

Her fingers tapped on the handle of her wheelchair. She didn’t look at him – he knew she didn’t see very well, now. Perhaps it just wasn’t worth the effort. “So, I hear you have been fighting monsters.”

“Something bad is happening outside of the city,” he said.

It surprised him that she laughed, at that. Such a laugh that she tipped her head back. “Something bad is happening all over the place, dear, I assure you.”

P didn’t know whether to nod to that, or not. He waited for her to speak again. She always found something to say, especially when he was silent.

“Did Geppetto teach you how to play the piano?”

He glanced to the piano in the room. A great, hulking thing that seemed like its own animal. The keys looked like teeth to P, and he wasn’t sure how to even approach it.

“I do not think so.”

Lady Antonia sniffed, as though that personally offended her. He stared at the wheels of her chair, instead, wondering if he was being scolded too.

“We’ll have to remedy that. Take a seat on the stool.” She was already turning her chair, preparing to wheel it over to the beast.

P obeyed. It felt different to when his father told him to take a seat, even though she was still ordering him. It still felt like a question; like he had a choice. He stared down at the white and black keys. He pressed one. It made a discordant sound, and he pulled his hand away.

Lady Antonia taught him. Taught him keys and chords in her snappy tone of voice, and yet - she repeated herself patiently. She let him go at his own pace. By the end of an hour, he could string together a simple melody. It was easy, when he understood how. He supposed it was easier, because he was a puppet; he could remember and retain information more easily; his fingers were adept at doing what he needed them to.

“Good,” came Lady Antonia’s verdict. “It will do you good to have a hobby that isn’t killing things.”

Was that not what he was created for? He looked at his hands, cleaned of gore. They destroyed things. They destroyed everything in their path. Now, he was using them to create something. To create soft, sweet sounds.

Creating, he thought, seemed a much better thing than destroying.

*

P recognised the figures, as he was making his way back through the Malum District. The two figures lurked, just beyond the doorway of the Red Lobster Inn. The cat, and the fox. He hadn't seen them since going ahead and leaving them to rest. They'd tricked him, again, he supposed. But they had fought alongside him, for some of the way. They had helped. And perhaps the Cat really had been struggling. He'd seemed to have been really struggling. P wasn't sure how he could tell if he was genuine or not.

He stepped out of the inn, and let the door swing shut behind him.

"Wow," said the Cat. He leaned against the wall, twisting his knife between his fingers. "You're like a bad penny, huh?"

"That's hardly complimentary," the Fox told her companion; she stood on the steps, her arms folded. The starlight glinted off her mask, as she looked at him. He wondered what expression she wore; what expressions both of them wore. "He means that nothing stop you, huh?"

P paused. He didn't like the masks. The masks made it hard to tell what expression someone was making; if their words and tone matched what they meant. Whenever the Cat or Fox spoke to him, he had the feeling they were not being genuine; that they were tricking him again. He couldn't say for certain, he only had his suspisions. But they didn't want to kill him, and they weren't attacking him now. That was a rare thing. So, he would take them at their word.

"It's like you said." He took another step forward. It seemed very loud, in the sudden silence of the Malum District. "I am tougher than I look."

It made the Fox laugh; a merry, careless sound that seemed at odds with the gloomy city around them.

"You sure are, bello."

The nickname made him feel flustered; made him think of Venigni. He supposed he felt short-circuited because he was still recovering from the fight. From seeing that painting; the one of the boy who looked like him. Just like him, but a few years younger. It wasn't possible, surely, and he didn't understand it. He carried it, under his arm.

He focused on the Cat, instead. "Are you feeling better?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah." The Cat flicked his knife in the air. It glinted silver, like a coin, before he caught it again. "A lot better, now we had a chance to rest."

"Sorry that we couldn't go all the way with you," the Fox added. P didn't think she sounded very sorry. She sounded like she was smiling, but perhaps that was a trick of the mask. "My brother's illness has been getting worse and worse, you see."

P nodded. He did understand. He'd seen Lady Antonia growing gradually more sick, and it made his chest hurt. She was clearly suffering. If the cat was ill too, it must be hard to continue his work. It would explain why he hadn't been able to go far.

The Cat started coughing, putting a hand to his mask's mouth. The Fox turned to him, her snout lifting upwards. She didn't seem overly concerned. There was something more here, but he didn't understand everything. He supposed he didn't need to. It would be unlikely they'd meet again.

P nodded, again, and started forward again. The rain pattered against his skin and hair, streaking the blood covering him. He wanted to go home. He wanted to see Sophia, and her smile. He wanted to feel safe, again.

He also wanted to know what his father would say about the portrait. That was a selfish reason to go home. He didn't like having it.

"Heard you killed the eldest of the black rabbits," the Cat said. He was behind him, now, watching P head down the steps to the street.

He looked over his shoulder. "I didn't plan to."

The Cat gave a low whistle. "Well then, you've made yourself a whole load of trouble."

"That's true." The fox looked down too. "You'd better watch your back. They won't take that lightly."

P knew that, but that would be a fight for another day. He would worry about the rest of the black rabbits another time. He nodded, to show he understood, then continued. That was their way of saying farewell, he supposed.

He carried the portrait back to the hotel, and when Sophia asked what he had, he only shrugged. He didn't know why, but he didn't want Venigni or Eugenie to see it, either. It made him feel awkward. He didn't want anyone to know about it, until Geppetto had seen it first.

Sophia didn't press the matter. She sat on the edge of the stargazer next to him, and helped channel the Ergo he'd found back into him. He felt himself grow stronger, and yet, felt his springs whirring with that same change he'd felt before.

"It looks like it was a difficult battle," she said.

P nodded. He tried flexing the fingers of his legion arm, but they didn't all move. "I was a fool."

"I'm sure you weren't, clever one."

But he wasn't clever. He stared down at the fingers that wouldn't move when he wanted them to. "My father told me to stop the Black Rabbit Brotherhood. I should have understood what he meant."

Sophia stayed quiet for a moment. Then she put her hand over his. He looked up, into her soft, blue eyes. "What he intended is not necessarily what you had to do. Their choice to fight you was just as much theirs as yours."

He thought that might be a kind lie. When it came to it, he had killed the eldest of the Black Rabbit Brotherhood. He didn't see how it could have gone differently. But then, he thought he'd always have gone there. He had been asked to. It was the right thing to do - wasn't it?

Still, he didn't think he could explain it all accurately. He nodded, and tried to smile, though that didn't seem to be working, either. Sophia patted his hand, and let him go.

He took the portrait to his father, who was delighted by it. He hung it immediately, and said he was so glad it had been P who'd been the one to find it. P stared at the painted boy, and wondered why he looked so unhappy. He didn't ask who it was, in the portrait. He had a terrible feeling he wouldn't like the answer.

He had a terrible feeling he might know the answer already.

"Do you need repairs?" His father asked. He turned to him, as though he'd forgotten P was stood there. There was a different glint in his eye than usual, but the monocle obscured it. Then he saw the blood splattered up P's legion arm. "And we should clean your gears."

So P nodded. He sat, and let his father wipe his skin with a cloth, taking care around his eyes. Watched his father open the plates of his legion arm, and clean between the grooves once more. It wasn't oil, or the stained blue blood of the monsters. This blood was crimson. This blood was human. Again. It was becoming normal.

"You asked me to kill a person," P asked. He hadn't planned to, but it was harder and harder to stop himself doing that. It was better, he thought, to think about that, than the portrait.

His father looked at him, for a moment, before he concentrated on his work again. "They are a group of criminals. You killed a very bad person. Do you understand that, son?"

"He was a bad person," P repeated. "So it was alright to kill him?"

"It's—" Geppetto took a breath. "Yes. It was."

P clenched the fingers of his legion arm. His father put a hand on his wrist, to steady him.

"If I killed him, am I bad too?"

"No, son." Geppetto almost chuckled. "No. What you're doing is good."

Good, according to his father, his creator, who was telling him what to do. P did do it, would keep doing it, because he trusted him. Because he thought Geppetto was a good man. He had to be a good man, if he wanted to save the city of Krat. Good men did good things, like that.

P nodded. He kept his head down, letting his hair hang in front of his face. The Black Rabbit Brotherhood had bullied the neighbourhood. They had hurt people and they had only cared about their own income.

Still, was there really no other way than to kill them?

"You don't need to think any more on it," Geppetto said, soothingly, as though P was a child. "You trust me, don't you?"

P looked through his hair to Geppetto's grey eyes. They were soft, but his lips were pressed together in a firm line. He knew the right answer. But he could only half-nod.

Geppetto caught his chin, brushing his hair back into place. His touch lingered. "That's my boy."

He wanted to be Geppetto's boy. He wanted to say the right thing. Wanted to still be called son. But he wasn't entirely certain of what that really meant, anymore. This wasn't destroying puppets. It wasn't even fighting monsters. It was fighting humans. His father may say it was alright, and P thought it would be easy to believe him.

Easy, but perhaps not right.

*

He played the piano again. Stiltingly, and awkwardly, without Lady Antonia there. Everyone else was asleep; it was the night. But he managed. It kept his hands occupied; let his hands do something other than kill; and his mind wander back and forth over whether his father was good, or not.

The cat came by. She stared at him, with her jade green eyes. He stared back, his fingers still fumbling over the keys to play Clair de Lune. The cat's tail flicked, as if she was annoyed, but she didn't hiss at him this time.

He hit the wrong key. It was noticeable. The melody was sruined, and he let his hands slow to a stop. It seemed like a miracle to be able to play it right; creating took miracles.

He sat, staring at the piano, when he felt the brush against his leg. It was the cat. She gave him the barest of touches, before weaving through the legs of the stool, and heading off again. They were hardly friends, but he supposed that was better than hissing.Perhaps it would take just as much of a miracle to stroke the cat, one day.

"You're good," a soft voice said. It was Eugenie. She wore a nightgown, and was half hidden by the doorframe. When she saw him turn, she smiled, sligthly.

"That's a lie," he replied, and felt proud of himself for being able to tell. Really, it was obvious that he was not good at all.

"But it was a kind lie," she replied. She came forward properly,  though she still leant against the frame. "Spring likes it too."

P nodded. The cat spotted Eugenie, and ran to her with a chirrup. She laughed, and knelt down to stroke the cat; it arched into her fingers, seeming to smile. P wanted that. He wanted to know what it felt like for an animal to want to touch him.

He watched them. The hotel was quiet. Polendina was cleaning a faraway room, and Pulcinella tidying Venigni's workspace. There was only the great ticking of the grandfather clock to break the silence. He couldn't see Sophia. In fact, he wasn't even sure where Sophia's room was. She was simply there, when he needed her.

"Do you think it's alright to kill a bad person?" P asked.

Eugenie looked up at him. Her hair slid from her shoulder. "Usually, I would say that killing is killing. But a lot of things have changed since then. Now the city is like this, I don't know how else we'd stop someone from doing something bad. Not if they didn't want to change."

It was certainly a longer answer than the one his father had given him. P thought about it, pressing the pedal of the piano over and over. He thought about the Black Rabbit Brotherhood. He had seen their ledger. He knew they enjoyed weilding their power over the district; had heard them trying to turn desperate people against each other for the hope of their safety. Had seen them fighting ruthlessly. They were not good.

And yet, he had also seen their written sibling squabbles. They were, under the masks, still human.

Had they wanted to change? Maybe not.

But then, he thought, he'd never know for certain.

Not now.

[day6source]

Day6: “The last three years was the time of self-reflection”

The South Korean band tell NME about their new mini-album ‘Fourever’ and how time away from the stage has reignited their love for music

by Crystal Bell

In late-October, just hours after his discharge from the South Korean Navy, Kim Wonpil quietly resumed his idol duties. Sitting in the back of a van, still wearing his green military uniform, the sentimental Day6 member turned his head toward the camera beside him, softly touched his hand to his heart, and exhaled. “I’m really really really really happy,” he expressed. “Thinking about the four of us standing on stage… I think it would feel like something new.” It did feel new, in a way, but also the same. Upon reuniting in the studio in November, Sungjin, Young K, Wonpil and Dowoon – fresh from their respective military conscriptions and solo endeavours – fell back into a familiar rhythm, working on what would become their first album in three years, and their first album as a foursome, aptly titled ‘Fourever’. The music came naturally, as it almost always does for Day6, but their perspectives had shifted.

All that time away from the stage, away from one another, had reignited their passion for the band and redefined what it meant to each of them. The mini-album’s seven tracks reflect the aftermath of their soul-searching. “What we wanted to show was who we are at this moment,” Young K tells NME. And at this moment, amid an evening round of press interviews in Seoul, “It feels like we’re superstars,” drummer Dowoon jokes in English, always one to lighten the mood. Leader Sungjin, steady under pressure, veers the conversation in a more sensible direction, adding: “What we are at the moment is the band that does their best and will always do their best.” (Spoken like a man who says his idea of happiness is “a regular day full of mundane contentment”.) For Wonpil, this moment couldn’t come soon enough. As the last member of Day6 to enlist, the honey-voiced instrumentalist felt the weight of his members’ absences greatly. “I’ve been waiting for this day since I was in the military, before my release from the service,” Wonpil says. “I’ve been ready, and I’m really happy that this is happening right now.”

From the very first lyric of the album opener ‘Welcome to the Show’, it’s clear that this project is a reintroduction of sorts. “I’m so moved by the stage / That I won’t be alone any longer,” Young K sings, his voice wrapping around the melody with a newfound warmth. The song was the final addition to the album, having come together in an hour or two before being rewritten and reworked by Young K. But the essence remained the same. “There will be challenges in everybody’s lives,” Wonpil says of the song’s message. “But I hope this song, or maybe Day6, can help you overcome them.” Unlike some of the band’s more melancholic singles – the unbearable heartbreak of ‘You Were Beautiful’ and the timely existentialism of ‘Zombie’ come to mind – ‘Welcome to the Show’ is sonically brighter and lyrically sweeter and more affirming. Its anthemic sound was inspired by Young K’s experience on the summer festival circuit last year. “When I was going around, doing all the shows and performing songs like ‘Best Part’ or ‘Time of Our Life’, songs that make people jump and sing along, I felt like we needed that kind of track,” he says. ‘Welcome to the Show’ delivers on that front, aided by Dowoon’s thumping precision and a resonant pre-chorus chant that unites all four voices. “Usually, that kind of chant comes after the chorus, like a post-hook,” Young K describes. “It was our challenge to put it at the beginning of the chorus.” The band welcomed these challenges while making the record, together with their longtime collaborator Hong Ji-sang. “We were half excited and half fearful,” Dowoon smiles, describing the in-studio atmosphere by evoking their 2017 song ‘I Smile’. After years suspended in liminality, they wanted this mini-album to represent the here and now. “When we were writing this album, all of the songs were what we just wanted to try at the moment,” Young K says. They didn’t go in with any creative directive; their only goal was to “write good songs” and see what throughline emerged. After all, they’re not the ones who choose the single – they leave it to JYP Entertainment‘s top brass to decide. (If it were up to them, the members all have a particular fondness for ‘Happy’, a song that’s perhaps more in line with Day6’s signature bittersweet ethos.) “We just write the message or lyrics that suit the song the most,” the bassist explains.

The passage of time is a constant throughout. ‘Get The Hell Out’ wonders what life would be like if they could outrun the past (“time, hurry up and run fast / until you become a speckle far away”), while standout track ‘Sad Ending’ depicts the crumbling ruins of a relationship (“love’s expiration date has already passed”). And then there’s the closer “Didn’t Know,” a strumming ballad written that revisits the past with a new perspective (“I keep looking back at what can’t be reversed”). It makes sense that time would be at the forefront of their minds – the time they missed being together, the time they reclaimed for themselves while apart and the finite amount of time that hangs over every idol’s head in the K-pop industry. “The last three years was the time of self-reflection,” Sungjin says. Onstage, his voice bursts forth with grit and power; in person, he’s much softer. Before he enlisted in 2021, the guitarist took an extended hiatus from group activities in 2020 due to anxiety. It’s been four years since he’s performed with Day6, but the time away from the stage has allowed him to fall in love with performing again – and do so on his terms. “I think since I made my debut, I kind of lived to serve others. I put others before me. But for the last three years, I solely focused on myself. I thought a lot about myself, and I learned a lot about myself, and I grew as a result. I focused on discovering what my desires are and what I want at the moment, and I pursued it – I just did it.” Within that time, Young K, Wonpil and Dowoon debuted their sub-unit Day6 (Even of Day), releasing two projects in 2020 and 2021. Young K also went solo with the mini-album ‘Eternal’ later that summer before enlisting. Upon his return, he jumped back into songwriting, dropping his first full-length album ‘Letters with Notes’ in late 2023, while also penning tracks for K-pop acts like NMIXX, Jo Yu-ri and H1-KEY. He even performed at festivals with the sole focus of promoting Day6. “I learned a lot and thought a lot and experienced a lot,” he says. “It made me realise how much I want to do this.” “There has been growth, musically,” Young K adds. “While I was doing solo stuff, I would think about how to improve and how to put a Young K stage together. I tried to bring all of that into Day6. I really thought about how I could contribute what I learned from my individual work to the band. My main focus was promoting who we are, promoting Day6 by putting the name Day6 out there. To do that, I’m doing as much as I can, hoping that if people know who Young K is, then they’ll discover Day6. You don’t have to [choose] me as a bias…” he laughs. “Just please listen to Day6!”

Despite his obvious longing for the stage, Wonpil, who released his studio album ‘Pilmography’ in early 2022, found purpose in his service work. “There were a lot of long, strenuous activities involved but also meaningful work,” he says. “For example, I volunteered with the USS Nimitz-class aircraft carrier members.” Of course, working on ‘Fourever’ made him realise how much he “really, really, really loves Day6”. (And Overwatch, Young K teases.) Meanwhile, Dowoon, in addition to raising his plants (“They’re like my children,” he says in earnest), started asking himself more philosophical questions, thinking more deeply about himself, and getting introspective. “I spent a lot of time thinking about my place in the world and where I would be needed the most,” he says. “That thought led to an unhealthy state of mind, but I had a lot of time to ruminate on it, and in the end, I learned to love myself.” It’s why ‘Fourever’ is such a significant title for this chapter of their story. It’s more than the culmination of a four-year journey or a nod to their fans, My Day, who are celebrating their fourth anniversary. “It feels whole,” Young K says. In the music video for ‘Welcome To The Show’, there’s a scene in which Sungjin, Young K, Wonpil and Dowoon perform while looking at one another, their bodies turned inward with smiles on their faces. Like the endless knot featured on the album’s cover, it symbolises a sense of harmony and interconnectedness, an unbreakable bond tied in unity. At this moment, the four members of Day6 say, “It feels complete.”

[searchingforserendipity25]

Whatever ship you had at age 13 + “It wasn’t my language, but I understood enough.”

"And do not gamble," Stannis ordered.

"I do not," Davos said. And then, conscientiously, "Not in company, since I joined your service, my lord; though at home we are rather freer with games of sticks and small coins. I would rather my sons knew the way of dicing from me, so they should not learn it at the edge of a charlatan's dirk."

Stannis frowned, passing judgement. Davos would have to tell this to Marya: she found it very amusing how Stannis liked to dispense high notions of conduct, for all she had still not quite forgiven him for Davos' lovely strong fingers.

"I suppose that is better, if they are like to be near such vices," he conceded, a little grudgingly. "Well I wish I could say they shall be pages and squires, perhaps, and have no need for a clear head; but pages are as terrible as any mason's son for gaming, and often more reckless, for having more money to spend. See that they are sensible lads, Davos, and they shall do you credit, if only be comparison."

Faint praise that was, but Davos knew what he meant by it. Three years with three long seasons in the Red Keep, managing his lord's household; he was starting to understand.

It had been foolishness to think poverty was enough to guess at the indifference of the highborn.

None of them cared for justice - not as Stannis did. They cared less, even, for their smallfolk; and paid no mind to the small ruffians in the port, the small hungry ship-boys very like the one Davos had been.

"Trust no one to be capable or interested in being capable to do their work, be sure they shall be greedy, and keep away from any excess."

His tone made it clear he did not grasp why this simple matter should prove so impossible a standard to his peers, and thought very little of them for it.

Davos hid a smile in the corner of his beard. His new lord was quick to sense any slight, and imagine many others; he did not trust mirth, when mirth came to stand by his side to keep him company during long balls.

Or at least to leave the festivities with him, when the feasting went on too long. The endless courses of sweetcakes and merenges decorated with the sweetest fruits from the Seven Kingdoms and Essos had soured Davos' own appetite.

He had eaten at similar tables, in the cabins of pirates, the worst thieves of the sea. This was no different. He had no tooth sweet enough for it now; his head ached behind his eyes when he ate too much indulgence, his body little used to it.

They left the stifling heat of the great hall to walk the battlements when the last round cheese wheels and small, rich wines and liquors were still being served.

Which was just as well: Davos had an urge, very unworthy, of squirreling away a slice or three, or a small jar of jam. He had to remind himself his sons ate well, now; that Marya grew rounder and redder and full of laughter, and not only ruled well their pantry, but shared their plenty with neighbors and dependents.

Quietly, in the privacy of his heart, Davos was quite determined that he should expect trust, and no derision, from one person at least.

A lofty goal, but as he was come to an unexpected windrush of good fortune, he thought he might have some luck in this endeavour, too.

Davos and his lord spoke long of honor and justice, these being the things dearest to Stannis' heart; moreover, Davos found it a matter of much interest.

His rise to knighthood, never expected, could not have been a stranger course for a smuggler. In those first years at Dragonstone, he went through his new duties and new life feeling keenly as a cabin-boy boy on his first voyage again - finding his feet when the swells of court life rose, keeping his head down and doing his best with the tasks given to him.

Always with a wary ear out, always certain of his disposability, his smallness to the engines of politics.

It rankled, more than he thought it would; for in his way he had been a man of some importance, ruler of his own crew, and well-respected, ship won with effort and cunning, while knights donned armour costing a spring's worth of ten families' work in the fields.

At least he had a new, good and stalwart captain to lead him through troubled waters. Davos grew ever more grateful for it, the more he came to know of the foibles of the kingdom's nobles.

"Honorable conduct is very simple, smuggler," Stannis told him. He turned his half-empty glass of lemon water between his palms - his wrists, narrow still, caught the silver light, too stark under his skin to be comfortable to look at long.

Davos did like to look at him, though. A fine sort of discomfort; he knew how to keep his feet and his head. So perhaps he was a gambling man still, in his way; though as honest a one as he could make himself become.

"And as you already do keep it, learning the ways of court shall be easier," Stannis added, in that stilted, stiff way, that was not a compliment in him but might have been in another man.

"I shall do my best, lord," Davos agreed. "If only by comparison."

Davos thought of him in the light of that moon, often, in years to follow, though he did not always know this was what he was thinking of in particular. The long cheeks framed by long lines, the dark curls starting to thin already - the young man with his unhappy mouth twitching, for a moment.

-

Thank you so much @displayheartcode! Now this was fun a trip down memory lane <3

[just-horrible-things]

Loiral and Marcus - Routine - 8.ii

[First | Prev | Contents]

"Work" as it turns out is not the ordeal Loiral is expecting. He sits at the table with Marcus, and answers questions about politics. They refer frequently to the map as Loiral dredges his memory for troop numbers and movements, past skirmishes, trade deals and supposed alliances, and Marcus takes copious notes in an unfamiliar script.

He thinks about lying, but it seems unwise. It's difficult to sabotage an endeavour with misinformation when you don't have the first idea what that endeavour might be. And he's acutely conscious of the consequences of being caught out. He can't start to guess what the surfacer might already know, and that's before the possibility of magic for catching lies.

Marcus' attention seems to centre on Houses Det'tar and Noquvalin and their territories and affairs. What Loiral can infer from that he's not yet sure, but if he keeps his ears open maybe he will start to understand what is going on. Not having any personal history with Det'tar or Noquvalin, he struggles to answer many of the questions in much detail. To his profound relief, Marcus doesn't press him for information he doesn't have.

"I'm not a library," he grumbles sourly, unable to come up with anything about hypothetical dealings between Houses Det'tar and Barrahel. "Don't worry," Marcus smiles, "A library visit is in our itinerary. How about House Al'Sekath?" "We've probably bought something from them, or sold to them." "Come now, you can be more specific than that." "I'm thinking," Loiral protests plaintively. "I don't think I've seen anything with their stamp on it recently..." "And can you draw that stamp for me?" "I can try..." Reluctantly he sketches, on a new page, the stylised execution scene of the Det'tar sigil. It comes out lopsided and not looking much like the original. "Just look at their front gates," he jabs a finger at the map, "it's blazoned twelve feet tall."

"Hm. So, nothing recent, you say... what about less recently?" "I think we bought some maille from Det'tar when I was younger... just a few coats, nothing to wage war over." He remembers getting to touch it -- dark links that ran over his hands like water -- but it was meant for someone more important than Loiral. His aunt made the deal, he thinks. "If not Det'tar, from whom would you normally purchase arms and armour?" "House Orlivayas," he lies easily. "And does Det'tar export a lot of metalwork?" "I don't think so. They have an excellent smith and she does piecework for the occasional client, but as far as I know they don't have extensive forges..."

And so it goes on.

Nothing about this exercise ought to be particularly strenuous, but Loiral finds he is flagging by the time he's finally dismissed. His thoughts are sluggish and a headache is building behind his eyes. "Weapons practice in an hour," Marcus tells the drow. "You may do as you will until then." "Yes, master." Best behaviour. "Thank you, master." This is tolerable. If things stay this way, he can survive this. He will mind his manners and not provoke the human and maybe he can survive this.

Do as you will. He doesn’t know what to do. There is nothing in this bright, foreign house that he wants to do. The closest thing to want is he does not want to still be in the same room as his master. So he slinks back toward the pitiful bed that is his to rest in. He’ll rest for an hour, and then they’ll let him spar, and maybe he will feel a little more like himself for it.

Except he doesn’t get all the way to his bed. He meets one of the juveniles in the hall, the one – he thinks – who hit him in the face by mistake. The same whip is coiled on her hip, the same arrogant strut marks her gait. She grins when she sees Loiral, showing off a crooked mouthful of broad, oversized teeth.

He doesn't know the word she uses as a command, but the gesture is clear enough. One hand extended in front of her, a single finger pointed at the floor and then jabbed sharply downward. It can only be "Down."

Loiral's soul aches with humiliation. His hands itch to lash out. 

When he doesn’t move fast enough, the girl sticks her hand out again and confidently grasps the front of Loiral's collar. She doesn’t have Marcus' terrible strength, but Loiral lets her force him to his knees anyway.

Even absent, the priest stands behind Loiral, controlling his every move.

He lets his head drop as the human lets go of his collar. Her hands run through his hair, invasive. Shame burns across his skin. One hand cups the back of his skull and pushes him down further. He folds like a doll.

She’s talking, jabbering in her own tongue, cooing like a woman with a favourite lover. The sheer perversity of it turns Loiral’s stomach. He could kill her, if her clumsiness with the whip is any indication of her general competence. She’s barely even bigger than him. He could kill her, and mutilate her corpse, and feed it to the lizards.

But instead he grovels at her feet, and her hands roam over his back, and he does nothing to stop her.

Even when the knife comes out, he does nothing. The edge kisses his skin. Cold – and then warm as blood wells. It’s sharp enough that it barely stings. Or she’s picked a line of scar tissue where he’s lost more sensation than he thought. Or his ordeal under the scourge has destroyed his perspective and his ability to tell what is damaging him.

She lifts his head, fingers tangled in his hair, and the tug on his scalp doesn’t really hurt either.

She speaks, the words loud and slow and drawn-out as if that could somehow breach the language barrier. Loiral watches mutely. Lack of reaction is most likely the best way to convey that he doesn’t understand.

Using his hair as a handle still, she sits him back on his heels. When her grip releases, he stays where he is put. More pointless, incomprehensible words, guttural even in her youth’s voice. She holds one hand out towards Loiral, palm up, as if pantomiming a request for something to be handed over.

Loiral has nothing, just the clothes on his back. He stares blankly at her hand. She sighs, and that at least seems to be universal. Not that it helps him to know that she is growing frustrated.

She grabs his wrist, moves his arm through the same motion, and he understands enough to present his hand, palm up. Another word. When she lets go, he holds still. Same pantomime, other arm. He offers her his other hand also. The same word again. Praise, perhaps. Or maybe she’s trying to teach him the word for hand, or for this gesture. He has no way to know.

It should, he thinks, be an effort to keep his palms out and vulnerable like this. He knows that nothing good is about to happen. But a strange calm has settled into the crevices of his soul, and he feels nothing but dull disgust for the girl.

Whatever damage she does, Marcus will fix it. He’s fixed everything he’s done so far, so it’s clear he wants his property fit and whole.

The knife is no surprise. The tip traces the lines of his palm, grazing the skin just enough that a barely-felt sting trails a few seconds in its wake. He watches, disinterested, as she presses a little firmer. It’s sharp. The tip sinks into the heel of his hand without resistance, without even exerting the pressure that might make him flinch downwards away from it.

It hurts a little. But it doesn’t matter. Less pain than biting his tongue, less than a deep bruise, less pain than the morning after a hard training session.

The knife comes away with just the barest hint of his blood still clinging to it. She’s scared to cut any deeper, Loiral surmises, more scared of the consequences than he is, somehow.

Instead she scores another shallow cut. The skin parts like paper, blood welling slowly to fill the indentation. What a nuisance. How is he to touch anything without leaving prints of blood now? Two, three, four lines, none of them deep enough to nick the sinews. One palm and then the other, and he doesn’t even lower his hands. 

Blood trickles across his skin, runs round the sides of his hands, gathers underneath and drips from his knuckles onto his knees. Is it less red than usual? Diminished, perhaps, by how much he lost, and not quite fully restored by the magic he received?

Maybe he’s imagining it. Maybe it’s just his soul that is dimmer and drained of its vitality.

The human girl is exclaiming something. Impressed or annoyed by his lack of reaction, perhaps?

There – that feeling in his chest is fear, putting in an appearance at last. Not sharp terror, nor the suffocating anxiety of the priest’s presence, but a low, dull pang as he wonders how far she’ll go to get the results she wants. Should he be faking a response? Cowering, crying, begging her for mercy?

He can do it, he thinks, if he has to. He will do it, if it starts to be too much. The throb of his sliced palms is bearable, but he doesn’t want to know if he can bear losing a finger.

But all she does is lay the blade flat against one of Loiral’s palms, and close his fingers around it. He holds on, tentatively. The sharp edges are more painful buried in the flesh and shifting with every twitch of his muscles than they were just gliding across the skin and departing. But it’s bearable.

She lets go of the hilt. The absurdity of handing Loiral a weapon very nearly makes him laugh, but he schools his features to stillness. No need to warn her, if – if he – 

His heart is pounding, thundering in his ears. He could kill her, right here, right now. He could open her throat and it would feel so good to take back that power. To take her life from her and watch the shock fade from her idiot, animal eyes.

It isn’t worth the price.

She’s pantomiming flipping his hand over, fist still closed. Loiral obeys, demonstrating that he’s really holding onto the blade. The metal bites a little deeper. It’s nothing more than a bravado trick. He’s seen more than one young soldier do it to themselves just for the social kudos.

The same idiots who really do lose fingers trying to catch blades barehanded once they’ve convinced themselves that it’s not so bad. 

Loiral’s never felt the need to hurt himself participating in that kind of one-upmanship, but he supposes he could now without flinching. If he survives this, will it be the dead calm that persists, or the suffocating fear, the twitching at stray footfalls? Is there anything he can do to choose one over the other?

He’s almost sliding towards reverie as he watches the blood drip from between his fingers, but he jolts back to the present the instant the girl moves. She snatches her knife back, but she’s not quick, and Loiral is able to loosen his grip enough that he doesn’t think anything important is severed as it slides from his grasp.

She wipes it on his clothes, and even the deliberate slight doesn’t really sting either, because they aren’t his clothes and because he’s been filthy enough that he doesn’t care.

She wants to see the damage, of course, before she’s willing to move on. It does burn, loosening his fingers to let her see, and reluctance starts to well up from that ache in Loiral’s chest.

Those last cuts are deep. At rest the edges don’t sit closed, and white is visible in the wound as well as red. A little grimace from the human tells him she didn’t quite mean to do so much damage.

He wonders if she’ll be in trouble with Marcus. He hopes so. He remembers her fear.

She closes his fingers again like she doesn’t want to see, and Loiral keeps the hand fisted as away to apply pressure and slow the bleeding. Not that it matters. He won’t lose enough to die before Marcus finds him again and fixes it.

Her knee knocks his shoulder as she brushes past. The drow waits until she’s gone, then picks himself up.

Back to his mat he slinks, because he doesn’t know what else to do with himself. Especially now that he’d paint anything he touched with his blood. He lies down, curls up, and closes his eyes to feign sleep. They usually leave him alone when his eyes are shut.

His hands throb. The pain is ramping up now as his body realises the damage. He keeps them balled tight, as if he could crush the pain into submission along with the blood flow. 

And then he’s crying.

One second he’s just annoyed at the indignity, the next the pain and helplessness and indignity hit him like a wall. He can’t believe he just sat there and let her do that. He can’t believe he didn’t even try to protest or pull away. And now he’s crying again, how pathetic, how spineless is he.

He rolls over to face the wall, as if it could hide his tears. He curls up tight around his hands. And, teeth gritted, telling himself over and over to just pull himself together, he sobs into his knees.

[heartofstanding]

the body broken (excerpt) who wants siblings feels? I have sibling feels. this is from a wip that is on hiatus because I'm not sure whether I'm going to change the setting (it's currently set in Christmas 1403 but might be shifted to a month or two earlier or later) that focuses on Hal's first post-Shrewsbury reunions with his family.

At the top of the stairs, Hal stopped and leant against the wall to catch his breath. He felt very weak and tired – and sick in his heart. Why have I come here, he wondered and then told himself, his brothers and his sister. What if they, like their father, did not want to see him? He should not have come. He should have listened to Bradmore and stayed in Kenilworth. Courtenay squeezed his elbow gently.

‘It’s not far, your grace,’ Stanley said. ‘Just at the end of the corridor.’

Hal nodded. ‘In a moment.’

Bradmore was speaking but not to Hal, telling one of his assistants to go ahead and make the bed ready for him. Hal turned his head towards Courtenay.

‘I shouldn’t have come,’ he said.

Courtenay’s hand squeezed again. ‘I will be with you,’ he said, ‘whatever happens.’

Hal smiled at him. He thought of the days spent at Kenilworth, dozing in the gardens or by the banks of the mere. It would have been better had they stayed there. He couldn’t leave now – it was enough to make him want to weep, the idea of waking up tomorrow and travelling again, and the insult of it would be clear to his father.

‘I know,’ Hal said. ‘I am very glad of it.’

One of the doors on the side of the corridor opened, and then suddenly, John was there. He seemed no different from the last time Hal had seen him, his body stocky, his hair dark and cut short around his temples, his nose aquiline. Even his clothes were the same. The yellow velvet gown embroidered with blue cornflowers and curling leaves. He was frowning at something and then he stopped, looked up and saw Hal. Hal stepped back, treading on Courtenay’s foot.

‘Harry?’ John said.

Next, he was running, checking himself at the last before his arms were around Hal, hugging him. Hal felt Courtenay’s hand on his back, pushing him forward, and he grabbed John tightly, pressing his face against his dark hair.

‘Harry,’ John said. He pulled back, not quite letting go of Hal. ‘Are you – alright?’

His sharp eyes lingered on the scar and then turned up to Hal’s again, full of worry. Hal smiled – he felt thin, he felt as if he wanted to hug John and not let go. He had resigned himself, when the wound was fresh, that he would never see any of his brothers again. But John was there before him, not letting go.

‘Better than I was,’ Hal said. ‘But tired.’

‘His grace needs rest,’ Bradmore said. ‘It has been a long journey.’

‘Right, of course,’ John said. But he seemed reluctant.

‘You need not go,’ Courtenay said. Hal gave him a grateful look.

‘If you are quiet,’ Bradmore said, ‘my lord.’

‘John is very good at being quiet,’ Hal said, and felt John’s fingers dig in. ‘Of course he can stay.’

---

The bells were ringing for Matins when Hal woke. John was squirming out from under his arm – obviously trying very hard not to wake him but having failed to notice his endeavour was doomed. Hal sat up, pushing his hair back from his face, he needed to have it cut. It was still very dark, no light making its way past the shuttered windows.

‘Sorry,’ John said. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s fine,’ Hal said. ‘I need a piss.’

‘I was going to Matins,’ John said.

Hal frowned. He didn’t think John was that pious – his morning prayers had always waited until daylight, at least. Still, he meant what he said and used the close stool before washing his hands. His mouth felt very dry and he went looking for last night’s wine, sipping at it. John was still sitting cross-legged in the centre of the bed.

‘I’ve been going every morning,’ John said. ‘To pray for you.’

At once, Hal went to the bed and held John tightly. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

John buried his face in Hal’s shoulder, shaking. ‘We kept asking Father about visiting you. He said no.’

‘I know it wasn’t your choice,’ Hal said. ‘And I’m fine. Just tired.’

‘Do you think I need to keep going?’ John said. He leant back and scrubbed at his eyes. ‘See, I made God a promise that I would until you were well again. Are you well again?’

‘I don’t know,’ Hal said.

‘Then I should go,’ John said. ‘Humphrey made a promise to go on pilgrimage – I told him Father wouldn’t let him go alone so he manage to get Thomas to agree to go with him…’

‘Where are they going?’

‘Canterbury,’ John said.

‘Oh,’ Hal said.

‘Humphrey wanted to go to Italy,’ John said. ‘But Father said they had to stay in England and that God would understand.’

Hal rolled his eyes and ruffled John’s hair. ‘Of course he did. You better go if you’re not to be late. You can come back when it’s done.’

‘Only – Humphrey will be there,’ John said. ‘He’ll want to know where I’m going and if I tell him, he’ll insist on coming with me.’

‘He can come,’ Hal said. ‘But I’ll probably be asleep so tell him he has to be quiet.’

‘Right,’ John said. ‘Only – I wanted to…’

‘John,’ Hal said. ‘I’m not going anywhere. Not for a long time yet. We’ll have time enough to talk.’ 

---

Hal slept again and then woke hazily, feeling the bed either side of him. Someone lifted his arm and tucked himself under it – Hal glanced down, saw Humphrey’s dark, messy hair.

‘Harry,’ Humphrey whispered, sounding content.

‘Shh,’ John hissed. ‘Sleeping.’

When Hal woke again, it was later in the day. There was sunlight around the shuttered windows and John and Humphrey were playing chess on the floor by the fire. The pallets and other bedding had been packed away and Bradmore’s assistants were mixing unguents at a table. Hal looked around for Courtenay but could not see him.

‘Harry?’ Humphrey said.

‘I’m awake,’ Hal said and pushed himself out of bed to prove it.

Humphrey and John both jumped to their feet and Humphrey rushed at him, flinging his arms around Hal and pressing his face into Hal’s chest. Hal stumbled back a step but held Humphrey tight, closing his eyes tightly against the burning of tears in them.

‘Humphrey,’ John said, disgusted. ‘I told you.’

‘It’s alright,’ Hal said. ‘He’s fine.’

‘But—’

‘It’s fine,’ Hal said firmly. He pushed Humphrey back a little. He’d changed more than John, he’d grown taller and wider, his clothes new. He was wearing a blue gown embroidered with golden stars, his hair was curling over his forehead and he was crying. Hal bent his head and kissed him.

‘It’s alright,’ Hal said. ‘You haven’t done anything wrong.’

Humphrey nodded, hiccuped. ‘Does – does it hurt?’ he asked quietly. ‘Your face.’

‘Humphrey,’ John hissed.

‘No,’ Hal said. ‘Not anymore – well, not all the time.’

‘Is it hurting now?’

‘No,’ Hal said. He ruffled Humphrey’s hair, smiled. ‘Come on, who was winning?’

‘John, of course,’ Humphrey said. He took Hal’s arm, began to lead him over to the chessboard. ‘Can you help me?’

John made a disgusted noise and leant back on the reeds. Hal sat, cross-legged, next to the board and looked at it. Well, he could get Humphrey out of the situation he was in but it wasn’t worth upsetting John. And it was, he thought, best to pretend to be normal. As if nothing had changed.  

‘I think he’s beaten you already,’ Hal said. ‘Why don’t we play dice instead?’

‘Alright,’ John said. ‘I’ll get some.’

‘Do you know where Courtenay is?’ Hal asked.

‘Mass,’ Humphrey said. ‘But that was – some time ago.’

‘Father wants to see him,’ John said. ‘Him and Bradmore.’

‘What for?’

‘To see how you are?’ John said.

Humphrey began clearing away the chess pieces and John came back with the dice. He shook them in his hand and then let them roll.

---

The bathwater was unbearably hot and distinctly green from the herbs that had been strewn in it. The smell was indescribable, the brown fennel was distinct but everything else was a muddle of sweet or bitter or floral. With the bath covered over and enclosed on every side with thick clothes, Hal sweated, his fingers curling around the edge of the bath. It was meant to cure whatever disease, grievance or pain troubled him and make him whole but mostly Hal thought he would emerge exhausted, sweaty and pink, ready for another bath before being rolled into his bath.

Courtenay was reading to him – Boethius, it sounded like – on the other side of the curtain but Hal was barely paying attention, mopping at his running nose. He groaned and tried to lift himself above the water but his body was too heavy and his hands slipped on the edge of the bath. Courtenay stopped reading.

‘Are you alright?’

Hal laughed; how was he supposed to answer that?

The curtains cracked open and Courtenay stuck his head through, face immediately flushing and hair beginning to dampen with the steam. Hal leant over to get a breath of the fresher air, feeling it briefly cool the sweat on his forehead.

‘The water’s hot,’ he said.

Courtenay wrinkled his nose and patted Hal’s sweaty hair. ‘I can tell.’

‘It’s fine, though,’ Hal said.

‘Despite the smell?’

Hal sniffed. ‘Given long enough, you stop noticing it.’

‘I see,’ Courtenay said.

His eyes sparked with amusement and he opened his mouth, only to jerk away as the door opened with a crash and Thomas’s voice began to fill the room. Hal leant back with a sigh, letting his chest sink further under the scalding water. He wasn’t sure he had the strength to withstand Thomas. He had half been bracing for Humphrey’s return – John, at least, understood the concept of quiet rest – but Thomas was the bigger trial.

‘Where is he?’ Thomas demanded. ‘Where is my brother?’

Hal heard Stanley’s quiet, reasonable voice murmuring something that hopefully would calm Thomas and get him to return in a day’s time.

‘I don’t care if he’s in the bath,’ Thomas said. ‘I haven’t seen him since – since February.’

Hal rolled his eyes and then stiffened, hearing feet stride towards the bath. He began to sit up properly, pushing his hair away from his face. His fingers touched the scar by accident, feeling the hard lines of it. He took a breath.

‘I also don’t care that you’re the archdeacon of Northampton,’ Thomas said. ‘Or even if you were the Archbishop of Canterbury or the Pope. If you try to stop me, I’ll thrash you.’

‘Calm down,’ Hal said. ‘You’re several months too late to be rushing to my deathbed.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t have been if I’d been allowed to,’ Thomas said. ‘You know that.’

Hal did. He let his head fall back against the sponge cushioning the edge of the bath.

‘How’s your son?’ he said. ‘Has John forgiven you for naming it after him?’

‘Of course not,’ Thomas said. ‘He’s still plotting his revenge. Can I see you?’

‘I’m in the bath.’

‘I’ve known what your cock looks like since we were toddlers.’

Hal groaned and covered his face. He felt acutely aware of Courtenay’s presence, no doubt hearting Thomas talk in such squalid, familiar terms whether he wanted to or not. It didn’t matter that Courtenay had also seen Hal’s cock – it felt too familiar, as if he was being reduced to his body and all its baseness and frailty.

‘Richard?’

‘I think he does mean to thrash me if I try to stop him,’ Courtenay said. ‘I’m too vain to risk my beauty for you.’

Hal smiled despite himself. ‘Thomas – it’s not pretty. My face I mean, not Richard.’

‘John said,’ Thomas said. ‘Just – Harry, please.’

‘Fine,’ Hal said and closed his eyes, bracing himself.

The curtains were pulled open, he could feel the cool air and his skin prickled with it. Thomas took a sharp breath in and then Hal felt Thomas’s blunt, calloused fingers on his face, just shy of the scar.

‘It’s not as bad as I’d thought it’d be,’ Thomas said. ‘I clearly am the better-looking one now but I’m almost disappointed your brain isn’t hanging out of your eye and your eye out of your nose.’

‘Thomas.’

‘Well, I am,’ Thomas said. ‘You just look like you with an ugly blot on your face.’

‘Am I supposed to be grateful for that?’

‘I don’t know,’ Thomas said. ‘I am.’

Hal snorted and opened his eyes. Thomas was bent over him, standing very close, and his face was lax with what looked like relief. The damp curtains were still gaping open but Courtenay had withdrawn. Hal shifted in the tub, his body too heavy, lax and overwarm.

‘Still, even if I am the most handsome, I’d wager a fair many women would think you very rakish and daring,’ Thomas said. ‘You might get a little John of your own soon enough.’

Hal felt himself go still and cold, even with the heat of the water. He didn’t want to think about sex or women pitying him or thinking him things he weren’t. He made himself laugh, at hair too late, and reach out and shove Thomas back.

‘You keep your mouth shut,’ he said. ‘If you wish to divert John’s revenge, I won’t be involved. But how is the baby?’

‘He’s alright,’ Thomas said. ‘Well, he still wets himself but that’s normal. He’s here, if you want to see him.’

‘That’s not a good idea.’

Thomas frowned at him. ‘He’s a baby, he’s not going to care about your face. Well, he might but that’s because he’s a baby and is distressed by beards and hennins. Your face isn’t that bad.’

‘Father would disagree.’

‘Father’s got dung for brains.’ Thomas’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you going to get out of there? I don’t mean this in a bad way but it doesn’t exactly smell pleasant in here.’

---

Thomas retreated while Hal was helped out of the bath, washed with clean water scented only with torn-up chamomile and mint, dressed in a woollen shirt and returned to his bed. Thomas took Courtenay’s chair and sat down, looking almost too big for it. Courtenay was by the window, reading some thick book Hal didn’t recognise, his face coloured blue with the light coming through the stained glass.

‘Shall I go?’ Courtenay said.

Hal said no at the same moment that Thomas said yes. Courtenay looked between for a moment, a small line etched between his brows, before his gaze settled on Hal. Thomas seemed to bristle, Hal shot him a glare and then smiled at Courtenay.

‘Go,’ Hal said. ‘You don’t need to be cooped up in an invalid’s room.’

Courtenay took his leave and went. Hal stared at the door shut behind him, hands picking at the blankets covering him. He felt unaccountably nervous and knew he had no reason to be. This was Thomas and Thomas had already made it plain he didn’t care about the injury.

‘How are you, really?’ Thomas said. ‘John didn’t say much. Does it still hurt?’

Hal shrugged. ‘Not often.’

‘And the rest of you?’

‘Tired,’ Hal said. ‘We left too late and came with too much haste and not enough rest.’

Thomas didn’t look convinced so Hal smiled.

‘I was much better at Kenilworth.’

‘You should’ve stayed there then,’ Thomas said. ‘I’m glad you’re here but if the journey was that hard on your health, you should’ve stayed away.’

‘I know,’ Hal said. ‘But I wanted to see everyone.’

‘Even her?’

Hal shrugged. Jehanne was an unknowable, unimportant entity. She had seemed somehow both overeager and distant when he had met her for the first time and he hadn’t seen her since. He doubted she liked him much, especially if she had heard nothing of him except what his father would say or Humphrey’s overzealous praise. He sighed and leant back on the pillows, letting his eyes drift shut. He would have to face Jehanne soon enough but for now she seemed unimportant.

‘We used to do everything together,’ Thomas said. ‘When did that stop?

‘When Mama died,’ Hal said.

‘No,’ Thomas said. ‘That’s not true. I went with you to Leicester, we were in Grandfather’s household together…’

‘I went there first, on my own.’

Thomas frowned. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘I was so angry – but I remember being.’

‘I still have the bruises.’

Thomas scoffed and leant back in the chair, making it creak. ‘But it doesn’t make sense. It was always us – we were always together. And then things changed – yes, it started with Mama dying and Father being spectacularly stupid about sending you to Lancaster but it didn’t stop there.’

‘When Father was exiled,’ Hal said. ‘I stayed with – with the old king and you went to France.’

‘Yes,’ Thomas said. ‘And when Father came back, you were suddenly the Prince of Wales and I was still me – he wouldn’t even let me to go fight with him. He took Humphrey but not me.’

Hal opened his eyes, saw Thomas’s eyes were half-lidded, a tear snaking down his cheek.

‘He didn’t want to risk you,’ Hal said. ‘He’s always loved you better.’

Thomas was shaking his head. ‘I hate him. He was useless – worse than useless. He wouldn’t tell us anything, wouldn’t let us see you. He didn’t even want me to know you were here. Said you needed your rest, as if he didn’t trust me with you – John told me, though.’

Hal hoped John wouldn’t get into trouble for it.

‘It’s alright, Thomas,’ Hal said. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘You better not,’ Thomas said stiffly. ‘I hated thinking of you alone – I should’ve been there and if not me, John. Or Humphrey, except he’d panic too much to be any comfort.’

‘It wasn’t so bad,’ Hal said. ‘I don’t remember much about it – and Grandmother came to see me. And Courtenay was there.’

Thomas stared at him and then shook his head. ‘You shouldn’t have been alone.’

‘I know,’ Hal said. ‘But I’m too tired to care about should and shouldn’t. A lot of things happened that shouldn’t have happened and we can’t change them because it’s too late, it’s over – all you can do is go forward.’

‘But I’m still angry.’

‘That’ll pass too,’ Hal said.

Thomas said nothing for a moment and Hal closed his eyes again, thinking he was falling asleep and telling himself that Thomas would not mind. The pillows were very comfortable and his body felt warm and lax.

‘I’m sorry about Hotspur,’ Thomas said at last. ‘I know you liked him. I did too.’

‘Yes,’ Hal said. ‘I did.’

‘Go to sleep,’ Thomas said. ‘I’ll fetch Philippa to see you in a little while, she’s been fretting.’

---

They all had supper together, sitting on the floor of John’s room since Hal was sick of his, and squabbling over the dishes. Hal found himself both exhausted and enlivened by it – it was enough to lean back on his hands and watch and listen to them but he was not able to participate as fully as he had once done and how he would’ve liked to do. Philippa kept offering him bites of food which he took to be polite and because it was too much effort to select portions for himself – he missed the simplicity of eating with Courtenay on the lawn of Kenilworth, sun turning Courtenay’s hair golden.

He missed Blanche too, moreover. She had left the following year to marry the German prince their father had chosen for her and without her, there seemed to be something pivotal missing. It was why, he suspected, that Philippa was pressed shyly between him and Humphrey and insisting on laving him with attention and morsels of food. He wrapped his arm around her and listened to John call Thomas stupid.

‘Do you want to go to bed, Harry?’ she whispered.

‘No, I’m right,’ he said. ‘Do you?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m glad you’re alright.’

‘Me too.’

He supposed Blanche would not know about his wounding, or if she did, it would only be from a letter from their father that said, the Prince of Wales has recovered from his injury. Hal could not fault Henry for that – it would’ve only distressed Blanche unnecessarily.

Philippa offered him the bowl of candied cherries, he took one and passed the bowl onto John. As he chewed on the cherry, he wondered if their father had been right all along to keep his brothers from seeing him. He had spoken glibly to Thomas of not remembering the days immediately after his wounding but he remembered enough to know he was glad not to remember more. He knew that Courtenay had been scarred by the experience of watching Hal in those days so it was good that his brothers had been spared that, at least. Perhaps it would have been better that they had not been told at all until Hal had healed enough that his survival was no longer a question.

‘I can’t eat any more,’ Humphrey said and lay down on his back. ‘I don’t think I can get up either.’

‘Well, you’re not staying here,’ John said. ‘This is my room.’

‘We could swap rooms?’

‘I don’t want to,’ John said.

‘Please?’

‘You don’t really want to either,’ John said. ‘You just want to be near Harry.’

‘So do you!’

‘So? I was given this room. You can’t have it.’

Hal bent his head. It was the sort of argument that he had always sorted out with ease before but now he didn’t know how to find a compromise. His mind kept working in circles – he couldn’t make either of them happy, he was tired, his stomach felt heavy with the food he’d eaten, John would want his space and deserved it but Humphrey was so pathetically sad when he didn’t get his way and they both wanted and deserved more time with him. His head was beginning to ache, he pushed his hand over his brow and winced at the stickiness the cherries had left on his fingers.

‘We could share?’

‘It’s my room, I don’t want you in it—’

‘Will you both be quiet?’ Hal snapped.

They were quiet but it wasn’t settled – he could feel them staring at him, alarmed, and knew that John and Humphrey would soon start blaming each other for his outburst. He didn’t want to deal with it.

‘And please – sort this out without me,’ he said. ‘Both of you are being horrid little shits.’

‘I’ll sort it, Harry,’ Thomas said, face white. ‘I think – it’s time for bed, right? Humphrey, you’re sleeping with me.’

‘But—’ Humphrey started and then stopped when both Hal and Thomas looked at him.

‘No,’ Thomas said. ‘And John? Stay in your own room.’

‘I wasn’t going to—’

‘I’m going to bed,’ Hal said.

He left and went back to his room, standing with his back against the door and feeling the cool wood through the layers of wool and fur he was wearing. He waited for a while, half expecting Philippa or one of his brothers to insist on seeing him. But they did not.