#Is he unable to be called in the core because of the distance or the light it produces?

[maxladcomics]

[charliemwrites]

Part 6 of SpecGru (former 141) reader; Simon’s perspective again.

Content: brief implication/mention of reader having idle suicidal ideation. In the way of “I don’t care if something happens to me” kind of way. Happens during a phone call between Price and reader’s new captain.

Please be careful and safe. If someone needs this part summarized, let me know. I love you all very much <3

Here’s the truth of it: Simon never meant for you to leave.

You were too close, that was true. He did everything short of actually hurting you to drive you away. Treated you like a plaything, took your kindness and patience and feelings for him for granted. Left you cold and alone in a hospital bed — unable to see you pale and half-dead all because you were so goddamn headstrong…

That had put it all in vicious perspective. That he couldn’t keep you safe; knowing him, following him, would surely end with you on a metal table rather than a clean hospital bed.

In hindsight, he knows it was as much for his own sake as yours, trying to force that emotional distance between you two. But he just… he can’t do it. Not again. Not you. You’d break him.

But he never meant for you to leave. Not really.

Maybe take an extended solo mission. Or just break off the romance of it all. Maybe you’d stay away for a while, give him time to sort out his feelings and shove the useless ones back into the pit they belong in.

He didn’t expect you to be gone as soon as you could stand.

“You said yourself, Simon, she’s too young and reckless. The 141 can’t afford to babysit her,” Price explained.

“She nearly got you killed, LT,” Soap pointed out. That was before he found out that you were gone for good, not just on disciplinary leave.

And when he did…

“No. No, she dinnae…” he wiped a hand down his face, eyes going a bit glassy. “Why? Why would she… didn’t we mean anythin’ to her? I know we were all a bit on the rocks but ‘s just cos she gave us a scare…”

Gaz took it the hardest, showing up most morning with red-rimmed, puffy eyes. He tried texting you a hundred times; they never went through.

He and Soap begged Price to reconsider, saying that he had no right to kick you out without consulting the rest of the squad.

“I just told her that she should consider transfer,” Price corrected, steely.

“Same fuckin’ thing, ain’t it?” Soap raged. “What else ‘s she gonna do when it’s her captain sayin’ it?”

And Price had finally crumbled, his stubbornness giving way to a clearer head and regret in the aftermath. Simon knew how he felt; had been haunted with the same gut-wrenching feeling for two weeks by that point.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have…” he wiped a hand down his face. “I’ll call Laswell, see if she can put us through.”

As it turned out, your new team had deployed you almost immediately. You were gone, relying on teammates you barely knew, and there was no guarantee when (or even if) you’d be reachable again.

When Laswell put Price through to your new captain instead, he scoffed down the line.

“That how the great John Price sends off his own?” He gruffed.

“I take care of my own,” Price replied, narrow-eyed.

“That’s explains it then, doesn’t it?” A shifting on the other end. “Well, she’s one of mine now, at least; better off that way I think.”

He was on speaker phone with the SpecGru captain. Shouldn’t have been, but it wasn’t a confidential call. So the rest of the 141 was there, vibrating with the effort to stay quiet.

Simon balled his hands into fists, arms crossed. He didn’t trust anyone with one of theirs. No, you belonged right there with the rest of the 141. They could keep you safe, keep you alive.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Price growled.

“Let me just ask you this, Price. And only because I need to know how to take care of her.” A pause, shuffling of papers. Something heavy and almost… hesitant in the silence before- “Did she always have this DNR order?”

Price’s office turned to ice. Simon’s entire shuddered, cored out. The arm of the chair Soap was occupying cracked. Gaz’s hand was covering his mouth, blood draining from his face.

“No,” Price answered, voice little more than rust.

A grunt on the other end.

“Thanks for the insight,” your new captain replied, sounding nonplussed. “At least you were good for something.”

The line droned, dead.

—

You’re standing with the rest of SpecGru, beaming like each and every one of them hung a star just for you. They orbit like you’re the sun, even Nikto, holding you in his arms, letting you lean back against him.

(You used to look at Simon like that. Used to let him hug you like that on the occasion he was weak and gave into the temptation to hold you.)

Every time he looks at you, it’s like a stranger with your face all over again.

You hold your shoulders differently. Tilt your head different. Have a certain control over your facial features better than any mask Simon’s donned.

Today you’re dressed down from your tac uniform. Specifically, your long-sleeve thermal has been replaced by a sleeveless gym shirt. It reveals that tattoo he caught only a glimpse of before — a big, intricate thing from your shoulder down your wrist.

(He and Johnny were going to go with you for your first tattoo. You asked them for all sort of recommendations. Enjoyed tracing Simon’s sleeve when he let you.)

There are more scars too. Burns, bullet grazes, jagged knife marks and patches from bad scrapes.

Nova is finishing up the wrapping on your hand, the other already done. You’re listening to something Russ is spouting off about, whatever it is making you laugh loud enough to be heard where Simon is lurking.

“C’mon,” Johnny says, bumping shoulders with Simon. “Know we fucked up yesterday, but we can try again. Maybe letting her beat the shite out of us will help clear the air, aye?”

Simon forces himself to look away. He already knows you won’t be glancing over.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Maybe.”

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Masterlist

[jazeswhbhaven]

The Encounter of Two Flames | React | Spoilers

SO LOVELIES I REALLY ENJOYED THESE TWO PARTS LEMME TELL YA

Like...especially when part 6 came about???? Ahhhhh anyways let's goooo

We start with Satan rollin' and tusslin' with Sitri (who isn't being called Sitri just yet, just a devil with no name) and I'm just like damn so it's like that huh?

But I mean...why wouldn't it be? Hell is pretty much a place where anything goes so this isn't really above that with random devils being feral and attackin' folks lol

But...why did they have to say "he pinned his arms on the ground" because my brain did not see that innocently.

ANYWAYS

I know he's pretty much all instinct and no brain cells, but feral Sitri is giving me what I need. A devil at his core without direction. The thrill, the danger, all of datttt.

BUT again, I digress....(over here simpin' for feral sitri like i'm s t a r v i n g)

So it seems Satan has found this rumored devil beast and tries to talk with him, but to his surprise he is unable to speak to him in words just growls.

I like how Satan just casually comments that devils are just fucking made without proper thought. I'm sure early on he meant God and not necessarily Lilith (or honestly he could have meant both of them who knows)

So he tries to test Sitri, and was even like "should I kill you?" and Sitri ofc responds very aggressively, indicating that he can't speak but he can understand Satan. I really want to know his thought process and how he processes Satan's words though.

I know that the devil's have their own language, because it's been brought up a couple times in the side stories with Ppyong and Minhyeok with Ppyong complaining that he can't read Minhyeok's language but he can still understand him. So if Sitri can't read or talk...I wonder how it is he can understand his native tongue? Perhaps body language, that sort of thing.

Satan indirectly telling Sitri he has big D energy lolololololololol

Seriously though, he asks for Sitri to be his subordinate but he just straight up BITES him lmao

flashback to me writing about my fankid Cain biting Satan's arm too...it seems that Satan is used to this kind of reaction after all. This also was by chance I had no idea they were going to have this happen for them lol

So he's just out here chewin' and munching on his arms and then....

Apparently by drinking Satan's blood you can also see his memories. And that's an interesting fact that I shall use in my future writing later....

So it turns out that he saw a lot through Satan's blood, making it to where he even backs away from him and tries to keep his distance, Satan is just over here like "haha told you so, you can't beat me." and well he would be right. At this point he could very much get rid of Sitri in a second.

Buttt not so fast.

So Satan thanks him for killing off angels in Gehenna, and Sitri tries AGAIN to attack him and gets a swift kick in the gut. It seems our feral boi just won't let up just yet. Satan even brings up the fact that Sitri may be pissed that he saw that there are other devils he simply can't defeat.

He even calls him out by saying Sitri does like him he just doesn't know how to process everything at the moment. He offers to show him more.

Oh my.

So Satan does the craziest thing (his poor red lump friends are freaking out this entire time btw) and pulls out his fucking heart! So ya'll who guessed that it was Satan's heart were in fact correct. It appears that devil's hearts are just smaller versions of themselves, which is a cool concept instead of looking like a human heart. Which I mean yes that would make sense a devil's heart would be different.

The reason Satan even did this though, is because Sitri has to see and accept his blood properly, straight from the source of his heart/core. And I'm just like this is so badass when you really think about it because I imagine if the other Kings had found Sitri first it would go very different and Satan is just like "yah drink my blood it's all good, we're bonding"

also this cg is very pretty like sunset/sunrise in the backgroun, satan's pretty pink hair, that little fang...ahhhhhhhhh

He's makin' us fall in love with him all over again ain't he?

Feral Sitri is thinking very deeply about taking the offer of biting into Satan's heart...it's really just wild to me though that this was his life prior to what we're seeing now. Just living off the land, killing, with raw power??? I mean...just from this lore alone we know that Sitri is really fucking strong, and I wonder if he's the strongest noble out of all the countries. That's something to think about. (i mean he did fucking set all of gehenna on fire from being depressed so...)

So Feral Sitri takes a bite, and well...it's a night and day difference when he does!!

The information processes so much I think I would personally go mad from having to do that but Sitri is doing well. He learns about the Kings, Hell, how it all ties together, Satan being the one to run front and center of it all.

He calls him "Master" and even starts crying and stuff.

Ya'll this entire time I could only think about this....

Also the scene where he and Lestat first exchange blood.

Phew....like Sitri being all submissive and level headed just gives me vibes from this movie (and show)

I'm sorry ya'll I'll stop LMAO (the music in the background in the event didn't help)

But yes, Sitri is totally tamed now after seeing Satan's full self, memories, and that he is going to forever be his devil. His right hand, ride or die, basically everything. And thus why we see that he has so much devotion for Satan and values his opinion.

OH SO SATAN NAMED HIM SITRI

And Sitri says it back to which the red lump devils blush when hearing him say it. (I love these little guys they are adorable)

Satan goes to say that he liked him upon first meeting him and that he wants him to stay by his side, learn to read and fight, and he mentions for Levi to raise him???

And me and the devils and Sitri are like???? Satan what? who?

LOL NOT LEVI COMIN' IN WITH THE INSULT

and Satan is like "You can't call me that unless you're Mammon"

w h

a t

Turns out Mammon is there too.

there goes my theory that he was trapped.....

So I was way off, it seems that this happened after Mammon's origin story which would have me believe that it's possible that Mammon is older than Satan, and possibly older than Levi, but not older than Beel and Lucifer. And technically since Belphie is still asleep, who knows how old he is. Me trying to figure out this timeline has me running in circles lol

So Levi and Mammon are there because they were trying to get Sitri first...perhaps Leviathan just wanted Sitri for his own reasons, and Mammon wanted him just because and I assume Bimet wasn't an adult just yet to be his right hand devil at this time.

Satan is feeling dizzy and requested a healing devil, Mammon is just like "ah hell you're cute I'll help you."

screaming because this is pretty much why i love their dynamic and why Astra is in a polyship with them...

Levi was just gonna let his ass pass out. lmao Instead he's bitching about how Satan is requesting him to "raise this filthy beast" and not hand him over (Levi calls Sitri an "it" but that's to be expected with his rude ass lol)

And Satan is like "I'll invade Hades if you don't" and I'm laughing my ass off because that's such a Satan thing to say.

And Levi just kinda scruffs Sitri like a cat and is like "Ugh he stinks" and Mammon is happy that Levi is listening to Satan and wants to pat his head and Levi ofc is pissed and saying for Mammon to back the fuck up.

Even back then Leviathan is just taking names and dishing out the heat. He's only listening because he finds it annoying if he lets Satan just raid out Hades like that.

The red lumps assume that it's because Satan is strong and would win, but-

Levi. Bro. Sir. P L E A S E lmaoooooo

I'm crying.

But Satan tells a struggling Sitri that since he found him first to make sure he comes back and stays strong while under Levi.

Levi is just out here having the time of his life though just scruffin' Sitri, and treating him like some object or weapon which okay I guess Levi go off.

"I may invade Gehenna to get my hands on this thing once I unlock its abilities"

*EYE ROLL*

Don't say that about Sitri. I'll box you.

The babies. Mammon probably was just holding him like :)))) look at this cute devil that I own. So small, so delicate...

I love them your honor.

Then some time later....Foras is doing his whole thing and saying that a devil wants to request an audience with Levi.

Ya'll do you see how annoyed he is already like goddamn what were you doing that was so important?

But he knows it's Sitri that wants to see him....and well it seems that we will learn on part 7 what he wants!!!

So the reason that part 6 was my favorite is obvious, because ya'll saw me going ham on those gifs and enjoying the interaction with the Kings once again meeting up in one area. It really just has me knowing that their "friendships" are that far back...and their dynamics will always stay the same. Levi always giving empty threats, Satan being headstrong, Mammon in the back just being casual and observing while patronizing his peers without knowing that's a bad thing to do lol

But I'm one step closer to figuring out this timeline ya'll...it's still far but I'm getting there slowly...this is one of the times I actually care about lore timelines even though my fic doesn't really follow it anyways. (it's important though for my fankid au)

But yeesss I'll see ya'll on the next react! I'm stacking 'em up again so it will be day 7 and 8 the next go around.

[flowervolcano]

I’ll never get over the fact that Deadpool once couldn’t even remember Taskmaster’s name, he called him Barney Toastmaster around the second time he met Tasky.

Yet, after all that time he cannot get Tony’s name out of his mouth.

In almost every issue of Deadpool (2024) he’s almost exclusively called Taskmaster Tony, before this series he really only called him Tasky if given a nickname at all (think there were a few Tony’s here and there, my memory is a tad spotty).

Then he even called him Anthony… which is HIS FULL NAME. And basically nobody calls Taskmaster Anthony, and why should they?

Most everyone refers to him as Taskmaster, Tasky or Tony. Never Anthony, and he doesn’t seem to have an issue with this at all, in fact I was always under this assumption he only wanted to be referred to as The Taskmaster

But there’s Wade calling him ANTHONY and Tony doesn’t complain about it. I find that so interesting…

It just shows how much their relationship has evolved from first not even saying the right name to being unable to just call him Taskmaster. They are wayyy beyond the “professionalism” that the two used to share in their respective careers, from what seemed to begin as a rivalry has become more of a partnership and it is much more personal now.

You can see it a lot in this new Deadpool run, the way they are around each other, it’s way more casual, it’s friendlier; yes we can say “well it’s just the writers” but I really do think their relationship HAS evolved over the years.

There were times neither of them would even refer to each other as friends, but I think it’s always been more than that. I’d argue a lot of the reason neither would admit this is because having friends in the mercenary business can get you and others in trouble, especially with their reputations; friends with Deadpool? Gonna get Taskmaster in a LOT of trouble with guys who hate him. And the same for Deadpool being friends with Taskmaster, they keep the distance, the appearances. It’s always been professional.

But you could always tell that was some fondness between them no matter what happened, even when they double cross each other, trying to kill one another because they were paid to do so. In a way through all of this you can see how much they do work well together and get along while still having their differences, and still having that capability to be angry at the other person.

They have a wonderful dynamic that can be complicated, but at its core it’s just because of who they are.

It’s an unorthodox relationship because of their professions, their personalities, all of it. But they still love each other even if they may not openly admit this fact for countless reasons.

(Yes. I think it does embarrass Taskmaster to have ANY attachments, it would be even more embarrassing to admit that person is Deadpool.)

So let’s not forget that Tony called Wade, Wadey! I repeat, WADEY!!!

Usually Taskmaster has addressed him by names like ‘Pool, Wilson, and of course Wade on certain occasions… but Wadey? A whole nickname he’s never once used before…

THEY ARE IN LOVE AT THIS POINT AND NO ONE WILL PROVE ME OTHERWISE!!!

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Just keeps playing in my head “Wadey” “Anthony” since when did they get on those terms?

I really love it. Like this is probably something that isn’t even that big of a deal, but to me it’s everything.

[mxrcusflint]

some old flintwood wip

i know where home is flintwood my beloved

Marcus had spent the better part of the past six years making up for the brunt of his father’s sins, and then the added weight of his own. It was a thankless job. It didn’t matter that he’d never cast an Unforgivable, or that he’d kept his head down — people still cut a wide berth around him, and he preferred it that way. If he barely said ten sentences a day, if he retreated back to his flat after every day, ate a dinner hastily cobbled together, and spent the night with his knuckles wrapped, then it was for the best.

He’d cut everything off with Wood a year before the brunt of the war, before the worst of his moral failings. It was hard, at the end of it all, not to look at Wood and detest his goodness, his rising star, the naive innocence of an unburdened bloodline. At twenty-one, Wood had been summoned to first string and the pitch had fallen in love. Scotland had made it a known bet that they’d be knocking on Wood’s window for the regional team once the World Cup came back around. It was on the eve of that dinner meeting that Marcus had called everything off. He’d justified it — they’d been contentious bed mates at most, sparring rivals at best, meeting with no particular cadence to fall into bed together. 

Marcus was smart enough to know that whatever similarities they had, the core shade of their beings was different. 

And so. The war. 

He had nightmares often — of blue-black woods, of snaps and running so hard his chest hurt. There was a small subset of people Marcus had ever held in high esteem, and they’d splintered, one by one. Bole, Higgs, Warrington, Derrick, Urqhart: Snatcher, casualty, marked, killed in action, marked. It had become a horribly easy list to recite. Slytherins of their age didn’t make it out often.

The Flint name had long fallen from grace, that much was clear. His father, his older brother — two marked wizards who’d died in the war. Marcus couldn’t hold space for that. He had a business to run, and that was all he could think about without losing it. 

If it weren’t for Montague, he’d have never come to a Puddlemere game. They were the last two strongholds of their old team, and he’d conceded because he’d seen the empty space over Montague’s shoulder where Cassius should’ve been, and after that he’d been unable to say no.

He hadn’t thought all of it through, to be frank. He couldn’t pay attention to anything else; not the roar of the crowd, nor the referee’s contentious calls — Wood was glowing, brilliant in front of the hoops. Marcus couldn’t tell what was worse: the deep, deep jealousy for the first stringers, or the ache of watching Oliver at his best. 

The quaffle finally flew from a Ballycastle player’s hand to get past Wood’s outstretched fingers. 

“Good contenders for the cup, yeah?”

Marcus merely nodded at Montague’s statement, too occupied with how the familiar stubborn, frustrating tilt to Wood’s mouth made him claustrophobic.

Wood had gotten better since the last time Marcus had seen him play — a scrimmage between Puddlemere and Falmouth that still surfaced in his memory no matter how much he steeled himself against it.

“They’re probably going to get beaten out by Tutshill,” Montague continued, voice filled with longing, “But their chaser line is looking strong.”

Montague could no longer play, not after war injuries and a trip down a Vanishing cabinet, but he was an avid enough watcher that they traded observations and statistics over a meal on occasion. Marcus kept an arms-distance between himself and most people who’d known him, but it was hard to say no to Graham, not when he still struggled with recalling memories, things that Marcus knew he should’ve remembered cold.

(Winning the Quidditch cup, being made Prefect, the odd crushing disappointment that plagued them all when Warrington hadn’t been selected for the Triwizard’s cup.)

Puddlemere won in a landslide, which they needed. They were trailing Tutshill and Ballycastle by 100 points and the season was drawing to a close. Marcus allowed himself a moment to appreciate the sight of Wood in the middle of a dogpile of happy Puddlemere players, before excusing himself from Montague. There was no point in lingering in the stands, and both men knew that they would see each other at some point anyways — pureblood circles ran small nowadays. No point in causing public concern over gatherings when it was easier to lay low.

The impulse to dive into the inner labyrinth of the pitch grounds was one that Marcus didn’t try hard to fight. He rarely got energy like this where he lived. The sheer amount of adrenaline was enough to make anyone dizzy. Post-matches were a gaggle of players, of staff and press junkets, and he was one of many, many bodies weaving in and out. He allowed himself to drink in the bustle, the hum of excitement from Puddlemere supporters, and it was a nice contrast to the quiet of the shop.  

It was, in hindsight, an idiotic idea, because —

“Flint?”

It was a voice that plagued him in his sleep, one he’d held onto during the deepest, darkest winter months during the war. Marcus would know it anywhere. He had never wanted to hear it again. 

Wood had the trained reflexes of a professional Keeper, and so his hand was already on Marcus’ shoulder by the time he’d made up his mind to walk away. There was nothing else to do but turn around and face the man. 

“Good game,” Marcus said, and he shut his mouth before anything else could escape. There was likely nothing coherent he had to say, because this was the closest he’d been to Wood in three years, and he’d never been able to rid himself of this weak spot. 

“Thanks,” Wood said in a carefully neutral tone, “I never expected to see you at a Puddlemere game.” 

It wasn’t a direct attack, but Wood’s eyes were cool, appraising. Even when they weren’t strangers, Marcus made it a point not to attend, albeit for different reasons. 

“Montague wanted to,” Marcus replied. He didn’t elaborate; Wood didn’t need to know that for some odd reason, Warrington had had a soft spot for the middling team. 

“I see,” Wood said, though his tone of voice indicated that he didn’t, not really. “Well. What did you think?”

Marcus shrugged and made a non-commital noise. 

Wood stared at him for a beat, before scoffing. “Man of few words still, huh?”

“I’ll be heading out then,” Marcus said, though it came out more harshly than he’d wanted it to, on account of his words getting stuck in his throat. 

“Sure,” Wood said, and he released his hold on Marcus’ shoulder. Marcus took the opportunity to hightail out of the stadium, and though he managed to apparate back to his flat without splinching himself, he didn’t manage to shake off the phantom touch of Oliver’s hand for the rest of the night.

[winchestermylove]

Can I please ask for a huge list of fics with Sam calling Dean mummy. Just weird maternal shit is absolutely ideal. I just need it in my life ����🏻

of course!! all the ones i've found are from ao3, so i'll link them!

these first three are explicitly mommy kink, and they are also very popular so sorry if you've already read them!

the ones with an asterisk (*) are my favorites (even though these are all technically my favorites)

---

*i do believe his mouth is heaven by orphan_account

6,996 words

in which dean realizes that his whole damn life has revolved around his love for his baby brother, and nothing could ever change that. not even an accidental mommy kink.

road snack by cherrysnobs

1,819 words

Sam gets hungry while they’re driving to a new case. Dean’s got his favorite snack on tap.

mother is pretending by hathfrozen

19,936 words

Sam and Dean get reckless about how they're handling the pain of season 2, and whoops! slowly develop a Mommy kink along the way.

---

these next ones are kind of honorable mentions, because they don't include a specific mommy kink but do have parent/caretaker!dean or kind of a mommy-esque vibe.

---

me and you together together together by according2thelore

5,443 words

Teenage Dean loses Sam in a mall. He does not take it well.

*Feeling Small by ladygizarme

1,385 words

Sam longs to close the distance between them and burrow into Dean, but he hesitates. He’s almost seventeen and logically he knows it’s weird to still be seeking his brother’s reassurance just because he had a nightmare.

also its counterpart (same story but dean's pov) Baby Brother by ladygizarme 2,130 words Sometimes it kinda pisses him off that Sam is going to be taller than him any day now. It also makes him proud, though. Somehow, despite all the odds against him, he managed to raise this kid up big and healthy. But right now, it just makes him kind of heartsick for the days when his little brother was, well, actually little.

*Good by lovetheirloves

7,167 words

This, Dean knows – Sam is, at his core, more than anything else, good.

Baby Blue by Edwardina

12,817 words

Sam touches a cursed pacifier and is compelled to suck on it non-stop. At first, Dean thinks it's hilarious and Sam is humiliated, but the way Dean treats Sam is actually a turn-on for them both.

Couldn't take care of you by StellaRasu

6,857 words

Dean never gets over wanting to breastfeed Sam and being unable to do it. It escalates when Sam finds out.

The Nature of Reality by Ferrera

19,510 words

After Mary and Dean manage to get Sam out of the basement where Toni trapped and tortured him, Dean takes care of Sam.

*Cradle Our Desire by shir_hashirim

9,155 words

Dean bites his lip, hesitating for a moment before continuing. Sam was open with him, so now it’s his turn. “Besides, I like taking care of you. Wish you’d let me do it more often, if I’m being honest.”

He walks over to where Sam is sitting on the bed, still gripping the little stuffed animal tightly. Dean reaches over and smoothes down the front of Sam’s hair gently. For a minute, he worries if he’s gone too far, said too much.

[singstaircase]

If there's something after hell, I'll meet you there – Dominik Szoboszlai

Summary: Dominik completes his wish of having his wife disappear

Warning: Violence, blood, death, cheating, swear words

First time writing something like this. English isn't my first language sooo apologies and I hope you enjoy!

(Name) can't breathe. She feels suffocated being in the same place as him.

As their cabin comes within viewing distance, she cannot bear another moment with him. She opens the door and steps out, the anger and pain evident in her every step.

Dominik's desperate voice calls out, “Wait!”. Yet (Name) doesn't stop. He scrambles to park the car but by the time he's done, (Name) has already vanished into the cabin. He sprints to catch up as the cabin is lit up from the inside.

Inside the cabin, Dominik's eyes lock onto (Name) ascending the stairs. “(Name), please,” he pleads, desperately attempting to bridge the growing distance between them.

(Name) enters their room in a hurry and Dominik follows suit. Gasping for breath, he watches his wife put clothes into a bag.

“Please let me just explain–” he says while walking towards her. (Name) looks up, trying to blink the tears away. “Alright, go ahead. Explain then.”

“Go on, explain” she insists, disappointment evident in both her eyes and voice. But Dominik remains quiet. His inability to answer leaves a void where explanations should be.

“Got nothing? I figured,” she says, brushing past him and towards the door.

He rushes after her, desperation pushing him to catch up. His hand finally closes around both of hers, halting her steps. And for a brief moment, she hesitates, listening to his pleas.

“Just listen to me ple–” Dominik pleads, his voice cracking with emotion just for one chance. But before he can continue, (Name) frees her hands away from his grasp. She strikes him with a sharp slap.

Dominik's eyes drop, unable to meet hers. He feels the weight of her anger, the impact of her hatred for him. He wants to explain, to make amends, but the words fail to escape from his lips.

(Name) runs a hand through her hair, trying to collect her thoughts amidst the emotions raging within her. When Dominik dares to look up, he sees the raw pain in her eyes– one that he caused. He hurt her, not once but twice and that realization hits him.

(Name) suddenly lunges towards Dominik, catching him off guard. She grips his collar tightly and shakes him by the fabric.

“No, you listen to me,” she says, seething with fury, “is she prettier than me? Does she satisfy you more than me?”

Her words shake him to the core. Guilt floods his vein, his heart heavy with remorse for causing her distress. But Dominik remains silent, not daring to answer. Because he doesn't have one.

“Answer me. I said answer me!” Her voice trembling with anger and hurt echoes in the room.

“I won't!” He yells back, holding her hands that are angrily clutching his collar. (Name) looks at him with unexplainable emotion and Dominik's certain he sees moisture in her eyes.

She releases her hold, shoving him in frustration. Dominik stumbles, crashing against the nightstand before falling to the ground.

As (Name) takes the opportunity to grab her phone and bag to leave, Dominik struggles to rise, wincing in pain. He chases after her, trying to reach the end of the staircase as fast as he can. He pleads for her to stop, finally managing to make it to the end despite his discomfort.

(Name) stares at him, a flood of emotions crossing her face. “Stay back!” (Name)’s voice echoes as she comes near the table. When he persists in following, her eyes fall on a glass bottle nearby. Without a thought, she smashes the bottle and points the broken sharp end first at Dominik and then points at herself. “I said stay back or I'll stab myself!” (Name) warns, a mixture of fear and anguish in her eyes.

Dominik's eyes widen and he raises his hands up. “Okay, okay,” he says, slowly backing away, “just drop the bottle”

“Who was she?” (Name) demands, voice trembling with hurt and anger. “Is she the same one as before?”

He looks down, unable to meet her eyes and mumbles, “No…this one's name is Evana.”

(Name) shakes her head in disbelief. “It took you 3 weeks to remember my name but look at you remembering the name of someone you just met! Unbelievable.”

Dominik winces at her words, the truth stinging more than he expected. He tries to defend himself but no words come out.

“Fuck you, man. Fuck you. You don't deserve me, you sad excuse of a footballer.”

“Shut up you fucking bitch,” Dominik suddenly yells out, shocking (Name) and causing her to gasp. Everything she said is true and he deserves it but can't she be a bit nicer about it? Can't she see he's trying?

“Oh I am the bitch?” Her grip on the bottle tightens. She throws a glare at the Hungarian and scoffs. “You're the one who's shit at their job, you're the one can't who can't play football, you're the one going around cheating on your wife.”

Dominik's expression shifts again, from frustration to anger this time. “Oh yeah? Maybe if you weren't such a bitch, I wouldn't have to cheat on you”

(Name) slaps him again. Her words, a blur to Dominik as his eyes watch his wife gathering her belongings.

She puts her coat on and walks towards the door. As she unlocks the door, a final glance is thrown at Dominik and she utters, “Don't come after me.”

“Wasn't going to,” he mutters, a little louder than intended. (Name) freezes in her tracks and looks at him with a venomous gaze. “Fuck you,” she says, he can feel the hatred of her words. And it hurts him but he's not going to show that, not in front of her.

“Yeah, well fuck you too. I wish that you'd just disappear!” He shouts as the door slams shut in front him. The echoes of her footsteps start to fade away until there's nothing. (Name)’s gone. Forever.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━※━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Dominik doesn't even know why he did that. He was happy, she was happy, “the perfect couple” like all the tabloids described them. No one makes him feel like she does, then why did he commit such a big betrayal of trust?

He shakes his head while changing the channel. No, all this can't be his fault, he thinks inwardly. So, he redirects the blame onto (Name) in his mind. Afterall, if he doesn't put the blame on someone else, it would mean he's to blame and he can't let the guilt of that consume him.

Dominik attempts to divert his attention to the TV, trying to erase (Name) from his mind.  He convinces himself that a simple apology in the morning will mend everything.  

As the movie ends, Dominik's gaze falls on the clock. Past 2 in the morning and (Name) hasn't returned. Concern begins to seep in but the pride that defines Dominik Szoboszlai stops him from taking any action. If it didn't hurt his ego, he would've left everything and gone out for her by now. But he's Dominik Szoboszlai, he isn't going to lose an argument to his wife.

Instead, he heads towards his bedroom and commits the biggest mistake of his life.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━※━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Dominik wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache. He turns to the other side to greet (Name) only to find it empty.

Panic sets in as he searches the entire cabin and surrounding areas but no trace of (Name). In a desperate attempt to locate her, he calls her number only to discover that her number is non-existent.

In a state of disbelief, Dominik rubs his eyes and checks again.

Nothing. No sign of (Name), no reachable number.

The sense of helplessness washes over him as he dials (Name)’s number from memory. Yet, no one answers.

Dominik frantically searches for (Name), inside the cabin, outside, everywhere. He finds himself standing inside the empty, desolate house again. The silence is deafening.

Near the backdoor, he catches a glimpse of (Name). He races towards her and it feels like the ground seems to stretch endlessly.

“(Name)!” he cries out, desperation lacing his voice.

As she turns around, Dominik is met with a horrifying sight .

There stands (Name), covered in blood and a deep cut on her throat.

In a state of panic, Dominik tries to put his shaking hands on top of the wound but (Name) forcefully stops him. She grabs his hand with a force unlike anything human and pushes it away. She then grabs his collar, triggering the haunting memories and filling him with regret for not going after her.

“Why didn't you save me?” It's (Name)’s voice– anguished, pleading and distant.

“Why did you kill me”

“Why did you kill me”

“Why did you kill me”

“Dominik Dominik Dominik…”

“...Do…Dominik!”

With a jolt, Dominik wakes up. Gasping for breath, he clutches his chest. A glass of water appears before him and he drinks it without a second thought. He takes a moment to steady himself as the remnants of the nightmare linger. Guilt washes over him as he opens his eyes and confusion follows when he finds Alexis Mac-Allister besides him.

Alexis looks at him with concern, still holding onto the glass in front of Dominik. What is he doing here? And where's (Name)?

“Why are you here?”

Taken aback, Alexis responds, “You told me to stay here last night. Don't you remember?” Dominik attempts to recall but nothing comes. There's just hollowness and pain in his mind that he can't explain.

“Where's (Name)?” Alexis gives him that look, that look that everyone has been giving him and he hates it. He remains quiet and Dominik decides he has enough of this pity. Hastily, he leaves the room, a concerned Alexis following him.

Dominik frantically searches the entire house, calling out for (Name). He checks inside the house, outside, everywhere but doesn't find her. When he returns to the dining room, the absence of something important registers. The picture from him and (Name)’s wedding, the big one hanging on the wall is gone. A chill runs down his spine and fear begins to consume him as he realizes that something is very very wrong.

“Dominik!” Alexis calls out, finally grabbing his attention. With a shaky voice, Alexis says, “(Name)’s gone.”

The words hit Dominik like a punch to the gut. Panic sets in and he immediately tries to get rid of the horrible thoughts forming inside his brain.

“Where? Her brother's house? I have to go there.” He has to apologize. Alexis intervenes, physically stopping Dominik from rushing out.

Dominik doesn't even realize there's tears building in his eyes as he turns to his friend again.

“Dominik!” Alexis shakes him by the shoulder, trying to bring him back to reality.

“(Name)...(Name) died when you,” he hesitates, carefully choosing his next words, “She died last month. We attended her funeral, remember?”

The room suddenly feels cold as the words reach Dominik's ears. Alexis looks with a look that shows nothing but remorse. He hugs him in an attempt to offer some form of comfort.

“No…no you are lying,” Dominik says, trying to free himself from the embrace, “she's just at, she's–” he parts his lips, struggling to complete the sentence.

Dominik collapses onto the floor in despair. Reality crashes down on him as the fragmented memories from that fateful day hit him– the anguished look on (Name)’s face, her tear stained face, the agony of betrayal in her eyes, words that he never meant, the regret, the sound of the door closing, the sound of pacing in and out of the cabin in fear, the red light and yellow tapes, the missing posters, the haunting message and finally, the phone call.

“Mr. Szoboszlai, we have found a body that matches the description….”

‘Baby, I am glad you're not here. I love you’

Dominik stands before (Name)’s grave, the air thick with sorrow and remorse. He carefully kneels down and places fresh flowers by her headstone.

Daffodils. Her favourite ones.

As he gazes at the engraved letters of her name, his voice trembles as he begins to speak softly.

“I am so sorry for every moment I wasn't there, for every promise I couldn't keep. I am sorry for not going after you that night. I am sorry for not finding you sooner.” His words echo in the silent cemetery as tears stream down his face. “I wish I could turn back time, make things right but I can't.”

“Please forgive me (Name),” his voice falters as he feels the weight of his mistakes crushing him, tearing his soul apart.

“What are you doing here?”

Dominik's heart sinks as he recognizes the voice. He keeps his eyes closed for a brief moment, trying to find composure before slowly getting up and facing the new company in front of him.

“I came to pay my visit,” he responds quietly. His presence alone is enough to make Dominik feel like an intruder in this sacred place.  “I miss her, Trent.”

He understands Trent's resentment; he has hurt (Name) deeply and Dominik knows Trent sees him as the main reason for his sister's pain.

Trent's scornful words cut deeper than any physical wound.

“Oh how considerate of you. To miss her after she's gone.” There's a mocking tone lying underneath Trent's words and Dominik feels his jaw clutch. He swallows hard, trying not to let his emotions turn into rage. Not here, not now. Not in front of (Name). He can't bear Trent's hatred, yet he knows he deserves it.

“You can go away now. Only people who care about her are allowed here,” Trent ushers Dominik away, with disgust visible in his eyes. As if Dominik doesn't have the right to be here, as Dominik's no one to (Name).

“I care about her,” Dominik's voice cracks, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a desperate attempt to convince himself as much as Trent. “I love (Name) too.”

Those words shift something inside Trent. He lunges at him, fists pounding into Dominik's chest, knocking him into the ground. Each blow feels like a physical manifestation of the pain he has inflicted. Dominik's soul, broken, absorbs all the rage and pain his brother-in-law throws at him. For he deserves every bit of this and more.

“I believed you more than my sister! My own sister!” Trent's words echo throughout Dominik's mind like a relentless drumbeat.

“And you killed her, you bloody murderer!” His gaze cuts through Dominik's soul, his words piercing deeper than any punches.

Dominik wants to defend himself. Say that he isn't that. But as he thinks of it, Trent's right, isn't he? He has really turned into that.

A killer.

Trent lets go and looks down at Dominik with disgusted glare. He tries to look strong but Dominik can make out the moisture in his eyes. Shamelessly, Dominik rises up, almost feeling the pressure of remorse.  

“Is…there a way I can earn your forgiveness?” He lets the word slip, his voice so desperate for any form of forgiveness.

“Bring her back to life.”

Dominik's heart sinks at the impossible demand. He staggers backwards with disbelief. “What…?”

“I said bring my sister back to me.”

Dominik wants that too. He wants nothing more than to hear (Name)’s voice. Even if she shoves him aside, even if her words are venomous, he's willing to endure it all. He is okay with having her hate him for the rest of eternity, if it means she gets to breathe, she lives.

But he can't, he's too weak, too pathetic.

Dominik bows his head in sorrow, unable to find the courage to look into Trent's eyes. “Trent..you know that's impossible.”

Silence.

“Then don't fucking show me your face,” Trent spats out and shoves him away, as if the mere thought of having Dominik anywhere near his sister disgusts him.

He deserves every bit of resentment Trent has and more. He brought this to himself. He brought this to himself the day he decided to be a cheater, a liar, a betrayer.

His gaze shifts towards Trent kneeling down in front of (Name)’s resting place. Dominik decides to honour his promise and turns to walk away. He knows he can't bring (Name) back but perhaps by leaving, he can give her brother some peace.

“...Mum cried so much yesterday. It took dad 20 minutes to convince her that you are never coming back.”

Dominik halts in his steps. Slowly looking back, he sees Trent talking to the tombstone.

That day when (Name) disappeared, Dominik didn't lose his wife. He lost her long ago. But the day (Name) died, Dianne and Michael lost their daughter; Trent, Tyler and Marcel lost their sister; the world lost a bright star. All because of him, his selfishness, his ego.

He was–is– the reason so many people lost the light of their lives. The realization utterly destroys Dominik.

He remembers Dianne's wailing, her pleas to him to bring her daughter back. He remembers Michael's refusal to meet him in the eye at the funeral.

He remembers the stinging of Tyler's slap after being told what really happened the night (Name) disappeared. He remembers Marcel's broken voice asking Dominik why he took his sister away from him.

And the image that stays strongest in his mind is of Trent's. He'll never forget the look in Trent's eyes when the police finally found (Name).

Dominik wants to go back, apologize to Trent. Yet, his feets remain anchored to the ground. He doesn't have the courage to face the consequences anymore. You are a coward, the voice inside his head repeats one of (Name)’s last words. Indeed, he has always been a coward.

So, instead he chooses the path of escape. He runs, like he should've that fateful night.

He broke two families– his own and hers. And he'll never have them back, no matter how much he wants to. Because what he's done, can never be undone.

“I told you I'd shout ‘I love you’ to you in front of the stadium, (Name)!”

“You are going to be the death of me one day, Dominik.”

[brighttears]

Let Go

Joel Miller x reader

No physical description, gender neutral, no use of y/n

Summary: When Joel starts to doubt your journey to find his brother, all of his fear and grief crashes down on him, and he finally accepts you as a safe harbor.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Angst!, pet names (baby), language 

A/n: Here's something dramatic as fuck lol. I’m getting repetitive with Joel because like he has these few core fears and motives so i need to work on that … anyways here's some that-one-scene-from-a -marriage-story type shit (but not the angry part i just mean the like last 30 seconds…. and like waaay more wholesome. I am unable to end angst on an angsty note. If they won’t give Joel any happy endings I will just have to do it for them)

—

When you begin to enter consciousness, the arm you reach out for the body next to you only falls onto the mattress. It wakes you up instantly and you react faster than your body has time to wake up itself, almost falling forward as you hobble to your feet, you yell out for Joel, throat coated in sleep. You swallow, cough, and call for him again. 

“I’m here.”

The sound of his voice soothes your heart rate and you breathe deeply, walking from the bedroom into the dining room. Joel leans against the crooked, dust-caked table, back to you, staring out the near translucent front windows. 

“...What's up?” it isn’t unusual for Joel to wake up first, but normally he’d stay in bed and wait for you. His demeanor is worryingly off. He doesn't turn to face you but you see his head bow. Walking slowly into the dining room and sliding next to him at the table, you read him with ease—observing the rigidness of his body, the lack of response, and then the disheartenment over his face. You sigh. “Look, we’ve been out here for a long time, it starts to wear on you, but it’s just that. You’re tired, of course you are, Joel. But we’re getting close! We’ll find Tommy and then we’ll… well I don’t know but you’re gonna feel so much better once we find Tommy.”

“If we find Tommy.”

His words shock you completely. If he’s ever had any doubt, he’s never expressed it. Honestly, you saw him as drunk on hope sometimes. The more time you spent with him though, the more you learned about the inner workings of his brain, it isn't naivety, it's that Tommy is his brother, and at the very least, the search is a necessity. He needs an answer, and even if it’s not the one he wants, he needs to at least know that he tried, that he did everything he could. 

You’re scared that if Tommy’s dead it’ll break him. You’ve imagined it before, what Joel would be like empty. Even if he decided to stay alive, having lost another family member, the repercussions of that despair would be the death of him. You’d imagined how the acceptance that he never, ever surrendered to would look in his eyes as he gave in to being bitten or shot or stabbed. You simply wouldn’t be enough, and you’re not offended by it. You can’t outweigh the burden of Sarah and Tommy’s death, along with the countless others, many of whom you never met, who live only as ghosts in Joel’s head. Yes, you know loss well and have plenty of heavy ghosts yourself, but that’s only more to why you understand that you just wouldn’t be enough. Tommy would be the straw that broke the camel’s back. But that was all imagination; the contradiction of his behavior and his words were your solace, but now, for the first time, he’s straying from that. And he does it with his back to you, which he never does. 

Keeping your voice soft but firmer, “When we find Tommy.” you reassure him. 

Joel does not respond, only sighs, keeping his eyes forward. You detect a slight downturn in his lips, distance in his eyes and rare relaxation of his brow. He’s scared. He’s very scared. 

“Joel…”

Before you can add anything or your lifted hand can touch his arm, he says, still to the window, “I shouldn'ta brought you with me. I should'a left you in Boston.”

Taken aback, you physically recede. “What?” Is all that comes out of you.

He looks down and blinks a few times before speaking again, and the words march out from his throat—this was planned. While you were asleep, he was running this conversation over and over in his head. “If I was gonna do this I should'a done it alone. You shouldn’t be here.” His tone is perfectly even. Your heart sinks. 

“Joel what are you talking about? Why are you saying this?” your voice comes out at almost a whisper, throat and chest constricted by anxious dejection. 

“It was selfish.” There's a bite now and you see it’s twinge at the corner of his lip. His eyes become stoney, closed off, and he grinds his teeth together. “That’s all it was. N’ I’m sorry. You don’t belong out here.”

The last sentence pricks you with irritation. “I hate it when you patronize me like this, Joel—” you start, but he interrupts by talking over you.

“It was selfish because I’m putin’ you in more danger than you need to be, then you would’a been in in Boston.”

“I agreed to—” you try to interject but he bars you again.

“Jus’ let me finish this.” His tone is serious. “That’s all true. No matter how shit it is, it’s safer there. You know I care about you, I—I love you,” he still struggles with those words, only recently relearning how to pronounce them, “and I want you safe, I need you safe, and that would’a been the smart option. But I’m stupid and I’m fuckin’ selfish.” your brows knit in a micro expression, head tilted, watching him as he speaks, “N' I need you. Look,” he leans forward and closes his eyes before he continues, “I haven’t seen Tommy in a long, long time. All I have is… a loose idea of where he might have been, shit, whenever the fuck it was when we left. The closer we get, the more… lost I feel.” Joel’s voice is beginning to shake and you can't help but slump a little towards him. “I don’t know if Tommy’s out there. I don’t. I don’t. I want him to be but…” his mouth opens, closes, then opens again, but all that gets out is “I—” and then he opens his eyes and turns away from the table, pacing to the other side of the room, sounding frustrated, “Look, I don’t know if Tommy’s out there. I don’t know if he’s” you can hear his bottom lip wobbling and he cracks at the word, “dead. That’s the honest truth. And the farther we fuckin’ go, the more and more shit we run into, fuckin’ Infected, raiders, people—eveyrthin’. The more and more times I think I might be about t’… that you might die, the more I… I think maybe we never should'a left Boston.”

“Joel—”

“At least there I could protect you.” he begins to raise his voice, “I could get cards, I could trade, I had an in with the guards, we had food, somewhere to fuckin’ sleep everynight. I could come home to you, I wasn’t fuckin’ terrified every time you were outta my sight. Yeah, it was shit, and I didn’t think so then—I couldn’t see it then, but it was safe. We weren’t riskin’ our lives every fuckin’ day like we are out here. An’ winter’s comin’ and I barely know where the fuck we are, I don’t know how I’ll—we’ll—I—” he lets out a sharp breath and leans a hand onto the wall he faces.

“Joel, you’re just tired. You’re underfed and underslept. We’re gonna be fine.”

“Stop fuckin’ sayin’ we’re gonna be fine.” he snaps, whiping back to you, “You don’t know that! Every fuckin’ day we…” whatever look he sees on your face interrupts his train of thought and he strides towards you and puts his hands on your shoulders, “I’m not tryna be mean, baby, I just—” he searches your eyes and turns back. This time he turns, passing the head of the table and walking towards the open kitchen. “This was stupid and reckless. I went out n’ risked the only thing I have left. It was stupid.” he hits his head with the heel of his hand and you rush over, grabbing his arm to turn him around.

“Joel, stop it. I understand, you’re scared—”

“I’m not scared—” he glances away from you.

“Yes you are.” you tell him sternly. “And it’s fair. You don’t know where your brother is. And it’s fucking scary out here. I get scared! But I keep going, we keep going. And we’re in Wyoming now! We’re so close! We are going to find him.”

“Well we might fuckin’ not, and then we’ll be stranded here in the middle a fuckin’ nowhere Wyoming, in fuckin’ winter, no protection, not from raiders, Infected, we could starve—shit” his pitch heightens, “I am scared. I’ve started havin’ dreams about…” he digs your eyes again and rips away from you, making a sound and running a hand through his hair. Then his voice is loud and shuddering, “If you get bit, I’m—I’m gonna have to shoot you. I see it every goddamn night. Clear as day.” At that, he cracks, his shoulders jolt once and he stops a sob right before it leaves his mouth. 

The sound startles you. “Joel, baby,” You move towards him once again to rub your hand up his back. He lets you for a moment but then pulls away.

“I can’t—no, I, I c…” he trails off again. “Should’a never taken you with me. Should’a never fuckin’ left, because, becau…” he struggles with himself. When he turns and finally looks to you, Joel’s eyes are wet. “I can’t fuckin’ do this without you.” Joel rakes both his hands through his hair, “And I don’t want to fuck up n’ it gets you killed, and I will fuck up, and I just–” he spins back, then rips his hands away to swing to his sides, “I can’t lose you, I can’t.” when he turns back to you the tears are barely hanging onto his waterline and he raises his voice, “I don’t know what to do, because I–Jesus fuck.” turning again, he takes a few steps forward and then reverses them. His breathing is heavy and he’s sniffling. “I fuckin’ hate this.” His voice is low now, “I hate–I hate carin’ about people, cause I'll just lose ‘em. I just lose ‘em. I just lose ‘em.” he trails off, near whispering. “I can’t fuckin’ lose you. Not you.” he speaks up, shaking his head, “Not you.” He finally turns to look at you but then swings his head down to try to hide the tears that have begun streaming down his face, “Fuck. I’m sorry. I should’t be sayin’ all this. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Joel,” in an instant, you've wrapped your arms around him, holding him to you by his neck. He falls into the embrace, wrapping his arms around you and pressing his brow to your neck. You hold him tightly as he starts to shake, you know that he’s trying to hold back the tears. “It’s ok.” You reassure him quietly, sweeping a hand up and down his back. After a moment Joel complies and his body begins to tremble as he weeps in your arms. You hold him tighter, more securely to you. Losing control, Joel starts wailing, grabbing at you. He slides down to the floor, pressing his face into your belly with his arms still wrapped tightly around you, you lower yourself slowly with him, and on the ground, he crumbles in your arms.

It’s frightening. You’ve never seen him like this. You’ve seen him shed tears, get emotional, you’ve had him vulnerable, you’ve seen him even completely relaxed one or twice, but you’ve never seen him torn open like this. You’ve never heard these sounds. His body is shaking uncontrollably, not like you know it to be. His hands grip the fabric of your clothes tightly. The dam has finally broken. It’s heart wrenching. He must have been holding this in for years. 

You hold him for a long time. He keeps trying to stop the crying but the current floods everything in him, and the only way to stop himself from drowning is to let it break and release it out into your body, wearing you like a lifejacket. Once he quiets some it still takes awhile for his body to quit shaking through sob-like breaths. When his breathing slows, you can’t tell if he’s fallen asleep, completely lax in your arms, face weighing into your shoulder. But then he moves, pulling himself up to sit, his head hanging. His voice is quiet and hoarse and he sniffles, “I’m sorry.”

“You have no reason to be sorry.” you move to hug him now with your arms around his neck, “I love you.”

Joel wraps his arms around your back, pulling you closer to him, basically onto his lap, and murmurs, “I love you so much.” After a few deep, slow breaths, he pulls away, removing you from his lap, he rubs his hands over his face, mindlessly searching the floor. “I shouldn’t be putin’ all this on you. I’m sorry. I don’t want y’ to… think of me like this, shakin’ on the ground.” he sniffles hard and then looks up, only to your clothes, “Shit, did I fuck up your clothes? Fuck.” he goes to flatten out where his hands as gripped them, brushing over the wet spots from his face, nose, and mouth. “Fuck.” he mumbles. 

His face is blank and he won’t look in your eyes—he’s trying to cover himself back up. You don’t think he remembers how to not anymore; you’ve seen it so many times, when he really opens up, spreading open his skin so you can really look inside, it never lasts long enough for you to be able to reach into him. But you can tell he’s so desperate for it, to be seen, to let go. You can tell by the way he’ll hold onto you sometimes, when he doesn’t want to let your hand go, squeezes you in this certain way, and this look in his eyes sometimes, there's such a deep longing, and desolation, but then he blinks, looks away, and it's gone. It’s not something for you to bring up. You just try your best when you see it to somehow communicate to him that it's okay, he’s safe with you. You think he knows that, he’s never done anything to show disagreement, he’s let you in much further than he has anyone else, but there's parts of himself you can see him still hiding away. And now, he has just completely broken down before you. And this is not his role—Joel is a protector, he thinks he needs to be armored all the time, that he’s the one to comfort, not to be comforted. He’s the one to hold onto, to crawl into, to be safe in his arms with. It’s not hard to see through him and past it, though. You wonder often if, before all this, did he already have all this concrete stuck on him, or is there’s a version of him you never got to see? Right now, Joel is completely raw, and you want to hold him here, because you need to tell him—

“Joel, it’s ok. You can relax. You’re safe with me. You can let go with me. You can be soft with me. I’m not going to hurt you. I love you, I want you, I need you to know that you're safe, you can let go with me.” You tilt your head to try to get under his eyes and gently pull a hand over his cheek and towards you to lift his face to look at you. He follows your touch but struggles to meet your gaze; and you are patient with him. Always. God, his eyes are devastating when you finally see them, you swear they're going to be the death of you. Unable to help yourself, you start kissing his lips softly. He only lets you—kisses you back, but there's none of the usual zeal. He really did just drain himself. He makes little noises when your lips meet his, but they’re more like chirps than anything else, another sound you’ve never heard from him. These are some of the sweetest, most innocent kisses you’ve ever shared. They need not be rushed, hungry, desperate. They’re basic, simple, candid. 

And then you just breathe with each other, lips still almost touching, and then he pulls you into another tight hug, arms around your neck with you back in his lap, burying himself into your collar. He’s held you like this countless times, but this has a new, full tenderness. He finally surrenders and lets it flush him. His breaths are deep, slow, and even; they feel like his lungs can expand fuller than before. You feel it warm on your skin, under his nose in the dip of your collarbone and his brow against your neck. He’s heavy, resting his weight on you, not holding it back. Never has he been this unwound, the only comparison being sometimes in his sleep, but his sleep is not a safe place for him. This is. 

He takes a deep breath and he doesn’t have to speak for you to hear the I love you. You rub a hand up and down his back, turn your head to kiss his head and then bring him closer to say it back. 

[synnamonroll666]

On Your Knees

Prompt 14: Authority Kink & Oral Pairing: Syzoth X Fem!Reader Description: You always found it hard to be attracted to men of the same rank as you or higher. But when you and your emissary share a moment of passion on one lonely night, you quickly realize why those men weren't up to your standards... Warnings: Authority kink, Oral (Female Receiving), Dom!Reader, Sub!Syzoth, Hair Pulling, Praise... Word Count: 1k Main MasterList: 🖤 Kinktober MasterList: 🖤 Synny's Angels: @lorebite, @mornandil, @queenkhepri, @bihansthot, and @mmeerraa.

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Being queen of Outworld comes with plenty of responsibility. I don't have control over just one country like the royals of Earthrealm may have—I have control of an entire realm. Their safety means the world to me, so I work hard to ensure my realm and my people stay out of harm's way.

Unfortunately, this had given me no time to look for a decent suiter to stay by my side. My mother had graciously offered arranged marriages throughout the past, but it never felt right. None of the men had ever attracted me in any way. And it took a long time to realize that it was because once married, they would become king.

I suppose I have a need to rule—a need to be in a higher position than someone else at all times. And I didn't realize that until one lonely night, when I crossed paths with my emissary after dark.

"Hello, Syzoth!" I greeted the man kindly as I approached him outside of my castle. I had been going for a walk at the time, unable to settle down for the night and relax for a peaceful slumber.

The man was startled by my sudden appearance at first, but then responded to my words with a pleasant smile and a softened gaze.

"Hello, empress. Having trouble getting to sleep?" He asked as his smile then fell into a concerned frown.

"I am afraid so," I sighed heavily. It wasn't usual for royals to interact with their help on a more personal level, but I felt so lonely, and he was willing to listen. "Nights like these, I feel so alone—so lost in this big world; I'd do anything to change that."

"I suppose I understand." His words faded into a more somber chuckle, and I gave him a sympathetic look. I was more than aware of Syzoth's past, and the fact that he had struggled so much in life saddened me greatly.

"I know you do, Syzoth." I expressed while I gently placed my hand upon his shoulder, rubbing the bare skin in soothing circles with my thumb. "Perhaps we are more alike than we think."

"Well, we are both lonely in a world of people who do not understand us." Syzoth acknowledged. "But I understand you."

"Really?" I asked, and the man nodded. Clearing my throat, I continued, "Then... Maybe we should stick by each other? Or... Get to know each other better?"

"I think I would like that, empress."

Suddenly, a chill went down my spine as those words were spoken. I had been called "empress" many times by many people, but there was just something about the way that he said it that caused my eyes to instinctively flutter shut as I enjoyed the forbidden arousal circulating within my core. 

"Are you ok, empress?" He questioned, and my eyes shot open to see him staring at me with concern. I simply smiled before stepping closer towards him to close the distance between us.

"Oh, I am now." I murmured in a sultry and hushed tone as I brought my hand up to gently run it through his surprisingly soft hair. I was even more astonished when he didn't move away—barely even flinched when my hand made contact with him in a more intimate way.

It was all downhill from there.

The next thing I knew, I had him in my room, ordering him onto his knees. It didn't take long for me to have my pants undone and around my ankles. And soon after, his lips were clashing against my mound.

I bit my lip hard to fight back a moan, terrified to make a sound that the guards outside my door could hear. It was difficult enough to sneak him through my window, but we managed to succeed without bringing any attention to us once. So fighting back every noise that dared escape me was crucial if we wanted to keep this little play date undercover. 

But even then, I couldn't fight the inevitable forever. Because I knew that once my climax had arrived, there would be no keeping my mouth shut. Besides, keeping silent while he ate me out like I was his first meal in months was possibly one of the most difficult tasks I had ever tried to fulfill.

He turned his head slightly to get more access, and I couldn't refrain from letting a strained whimper from my lips. My fingers submerged within his dark hair and I held him firmly against me, muffling his moans against my mound as he savored my taste.

The vibrations of his voice worked wonders for me, and my eyes quickly lolled into the back of my head as I finally gave into the everlasting temptation of letting my voice free. I parted my lips to sing my songs of pleasure as the arousal within surged through my veins and straight to my core. It felt so good, and it made the desire stirring within grow even stronger.

"Good boy! Good little boy!" I keened as I buckled my hips into his face, to which he responded with a cute little growl.

I groaned at the way his tongue swirled around my clit, festering up butterflies to flutter around within my stomach. And soon after, I finally released into his mouth, crying out as my fingers clenched into fists and twisting his hair in my grasp. I rode out my orgasm on his tongue while he gazed up at me with awe from between my thighs; it was a magical moment.

Once I fell from my high, I glanced down at my lover with pride glimmering in my eyes. I released my firm grip on his hair and began running my hands through it slowly to soothe the sting my grasp must had caused him.

"You did so well for me, my perfect little sweetheart." I cooed sweetly, and he smiled once he pulled away from my mound. My chest puffed out as I was filled with even more pride once I saw the mess I had made of him—how my slick glistened on his lips and chin, while more dripped down his throat.

It was from then on that I only craved what was below me, and a small part of me still craves that same emissary—that helped me discover a large part of myself—to this day.

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[storkmuffin]

I wanted to share a little of my perspective on John Silver. I am by no means a Silver stan and honestly, I didn’t really care for him either way (hate him or love him) in my first watch. Through my second (I’m now on both a third and fourth watch simultaneously, it’s complicated) watch, my feelings towards him changed somewhat. He’s still not one of my favourite characters, and by no means does he even compare to Flint in my mind, but I really think painting him as entirely bad is an oversimplification of his character.

Black Sails is, at its core, a show about incredibly complicated characters, all of whom have been through hell, and who are coping with their trauma in different ways. We never get Silver’s backstory which, to be fair, I was also mad about, but we do get hints at it. We know that he started off as a member of a merchant crew, and not a high ranking one which, at the very least, implies that he was not from a privileged background and likely never had any stable employment or family support (those who did were rarely enlisted into these merchant crews). The interpretation of the few bits of insight we do get into his childhood that I favour the most are the ones that suggest that him stating that all his backstory taught him was that the world was a place of unspeakable horrors (or something similar, I can’t remember or find the exact quote) is true—that so much of what we see him do is an effort to distance himself as much as possible from some trauma that he cannot bring himself to think about or disclose to anyone, first by doing everything he can to remain as independent as possible, then by making himself as necessary as possible. He cannot reveal what has happened for fear that speaking of it will make it more real, and possibly even bring its effects back into his life. It sure as hell isn’t a healthy coping mechanism and it definitely hurts those around him, but the same is true for so many of the other characters. Flint, in season one, kills Gates to continue his war against civilisation, one that hasn’t even started, because Gates calls him out on his recklessness (and was right, the battle that Flint killed Gates in the hopes of continuing ended with the Walrus wrecked and the crew decimated and stranded), but, in that moment, the audience feels for Flint, even though we don’t yet know why he’s so dedicated to doing what he’s doing, because, even as he’s killing possibly one of the most “good” characters, we feel sorry for him.

Silver’s backstory is one rooted in loneliness and pain. He starts with being unable to trust anyone then, as he starts to bond with the crew, they start to die off alarmingly quickly. Even in season two, he becomes important to the crew and vice versa, and this process is accelerated by the loss of his leg. I think this acceleration is also worth noting, as it puts him in a place of dependence before he would have been comfortable to do so, before he has learned that he can be vulnerable with someone and they won’t necessarily immediately hurt him. His refusal to allow his leg to heal properly and to let people help him stems from this wariness of vulnerability. Sure, it’s not a healthy attitude, and it does hurt other people, but, especially given the general attitudes towards disability at the time, I can at least understand it. In the eyes of his society, and, therefore, in the eyes of John Silver, disability = vulnerability = weakness = letting others hurt you, so he becomes consumed by the goal of making sure he seems as strong as possible. There’s also a heavy dose of toxic masculinity mixed in here, but, again, as I see it, it’s an understandable (if not excusable) result of what he’s experienced so far. The only physically disabled character we see before Silver is Randall, who is nearly kicked off the crew and then killed (without being able to raise any kind of alarm or defend himself), which certainly isn’t a comfortable frame of reference for someone who has also now lost their leg.

Moving on to Silver’s position in the revolution, I think a lot of my interpretation of his role comes from knowing that Madi & Flint’s mission cannot succeed. Black Sails is, in many ways, quite intricately and accurately tied into the historical context of the time and, the fact is, that the golden age of piracy ended, slavery continued, the empire won out (at least for the next few centuries), and the prejudices that they were trying to fight continued.  By the historical context that is set in stone, Flint and Madi’s revolution could not have succeeded and, honestly, Black Sails shows this. Their ideas were good, as were their tactics, but they had no widespread support. Any support for Nassau had to come at the cost of the end of the revolution, and they had none of the numbers, weapons, money, ships, land, public support, or really anything that would have let them succeed. It’s a good fight, and that’s what hurts the most, because we as the audience want them to succeed but know that, historically, and even within the context of the show, they cannot. Silver sees this, and it definitely isn’t a good look being the only major character in that trio resisting this revolution, but he knows, as we must also know, that it is doomed to fail. He is not stopping it because he doesn’t care for the cause, he is stopping it because he knows that the sooner he stops it, the less likely it is that he will lose someone he cares about, has he has already done with countless members of the crew. He knows in stopping it that he will probably lose Madi, but he does it anyway, because he sees that, whether she lives, dies for nothing, or dies and becomes a martyr, the revolution will fail, and all that will be different is that she and countless others will have died. Again, this level of pragmatism does not look good on him, but between the dreams of Flint and Madi and the sacrifices they will make to try to attain the unattainable, it is incredibly necessary.

Honestly, I can’t fully argue this case without your knowledge of the last part of 4.10. It isn’t a tragedy; it isn’t just filled with a sense that it was all for nothing. At the bare minimum, there are some very cool Max moments. Please, even if you have to skip through all the Silver scenes, watch to the end.

Sorry for the essay :)

posting bc I'm very honored that you chose to write this in response to my unhinged ranting!

I don't have the spoons for a proper response and this deserves one so I will hopefully be able to write something coherent in response sometime soon. I didn't want to just leave this hanging!

[twig-tea]

Lady Boy Friend Is Getting Interesting (at ep 7/16)

Nobody should take this as an endorsement to watch the show, because I think it is really hard to watch for most people and for good reason (it's also hard for me to watch at points). But Lady Boy Friend the Series is doing some really interesting things, and I have to talk about it. It took several episodes before I could get the sense of the overarching plot but now that I do understand what it's doing I'm really curious about where it's going. Spoilers for plot points through to ep7 follow from here.

The core plot of this show is about a class of high school students. The main character is Jeedny, who shows up on the first day of what I think would be equivalent to North American high school (~Grade 10) out of the closet as kathoey, but all of the other kids who are kathoey don't trust her because they've all been out for years and already have their own cliques. So they treat her cattily (they also treat each other cattily, to be fair), and she responds badly by pranking them. She starts desperately grabbing for attention; first by trying to fit in, and when she's rejected, she tries for attention by standing out, and it's not taken well by her peers. Finally in this episode it got to a point where the other kathoeys in her grade have banded together across clique lines to ostracize Jeedny, and it all comes to a head when she finally admits that she's been shitty to them but that it was in response to being rejected in the first place. Everyone apologizes to her but says they'll just stay out of her business, and she's left alone again which is the opposite of what she wanted.

Meanwhile the boys in the class have their own drama. There is a playboy (Jet) who starts flirting with another boy (New) who is cautious but enjoying the attention. It takes a few episodes of concerted flirting to get through that Jet is seriously interested and not just teasing him, and New starts to believe that maybe this could be real. They have sex, and then Jet ghosts New. When New tries to confront him, Jet acts totally disinterested and says he's just not into him like that. New is heartbroken and Jet is clearly discomforted by that; when New starts emotionally distancing himself from Jet and showing disinterest, that discomforts Jet even more. Jet keeps trying to get New's attention back but New's not having it, and he calls Jet out on his bullshit. Jet's own friends also call him out on how his actions differ from his words and how he seems to be leading people on, both New and the girls he dates, and how uncool that is. Jet seems to be unable to leave New alone.

I appreciate that this series is wrestling with in-fighting, cliques, how difficult it can be to get past queer gatekeeping, and how we band together against what we see as a threat. I also love how it's getting in how isolating that can feel if you're on the other side of it, and how difficult it is to come at your queerness at a different age than your peers (even though Jeedny is still so young!). I love that this show has a plotline around "straight" fuckboys and the very real games they play. I appreciate that in the conflict between the kathoey characters, nobody is in the right.

We're only just about halfway through the series, and I still don't have a a sense of what the back half of the show is going to be about (it could all still fall apart), but for now, now that the first half has crystallized into a plot I'm enjoying it. Even when these characters are being awful to one another it feels very familiar and...comforting, in a way. Sometimes I miss being in queer spaces and need to hear people insult one another for five minutes and then offer to throw hands at any outsiders who so much as look at the person they were just insulting with their whole chest.

So why am I not shouting for people to go give this show a try? There is a lot of Thai humour (more specifically the brand of Thai humour that reminds me of older series like Make it Right and Diary of Tootsies) in this show that doesn't necessarily land well, because it's based in puns which just don't translate, fatphobia, colourism, toilet humour, sexual aggression against men as comedy, etc. There are parts that I find hard to watch, and parts that I find boring. There are some scenes that I just don't know what to do with, e.g. when one of the boys is asked to provide a sperm sample for their science class to look at under a microscope. The acting is very uneven, quality of the cinematography, colour grading, sound, and other production elements are low budget. The translation is also lacking, which makes watching all that much harder.

A lot of the comments on MDL are about how this show feels transphobic and I can see why they'd say that, especially in the early episodes. The kathoey characters can come across like caricatures rather than people, especially at first (some of this I chalk up to these characters being young and trying to establish their identities; this does also improve as the show goes on), and the joke seems to consistently be that none of them are attractive or likeable to the male characters (possibly also improving as the show goes on, we'll see). There are many ways in which it's not a good show. It is about the ways we can be terrible to each other even as it's also about how we can hold each other up, which is understandably not something people necessarily want to watch. I really struggled at first, and even as it's become more clear what the show is doing, there hasn't yet been enough of a turn to get fully away from the parts that are difficult, and I'm not expecting the show to ever fully stop being difficult for me at times (it would be unrealistic to expect this show to become something completely different from what it is).

But even with all of that, I'm tentatively excited by the themes it's exploring and wanted to share.

[separatist-apologist]

Throw Me To The Flames

You could drag me through hell if it meant I could hold your hand

Summary: Elain only ever meant to deliver a message to Vassa on behalf of her sister's court. She never intended to see Lucien.

And she CERTAINLY didn't mean to get in the way of a knife that was only ever meant for his chest.

Kidnapped, and dragged helpless to the continent, the two will have to work together if they want to survive.

Note: HAPPY HOLIDAYS to my BEST @acotargiftexchange, @fieldofdaisiies

I hope you enjoy this as much as I have enjoyed hanging out with you!!!

Chapter 1 | Read More AO3

After four days walking through the woods, Elain had developed a bit of a routine. She woke each morning beneath a blanket. Sometimes she’d beat Lucien and the sun, which meant she could steal the soap first and bathe. She ignored that no matter where they started in the night or how much distance between them, she always came back to life with her head on his shoulder, with his own face half buried in her hair. And that, despite the hard ground and her aching body, she slept without nightmares for the first time since she’d been turned fae.

Lucien seemed better rested, too. Not that she commented on that. 

Elain commented on very little, though she wanted to scream at him. Lucien spent his time either brooding in silence or needling her into a fight he couldn’t finish. She made all the concessions. She admitted to not hating him, to keeping his things, to finding him handsome. And when cornered, Lucien acted no better than a wild animal. Snapping and snarling that she had no right to his personal life, to any information about him. He offered nothing vulnerable, nothing she didn’t already know from years of watching him. 

At the end, Elain knew Lucien would accuse her of not trying hard enough—because Elain meant to break the bond. What was the point of keeping it, knowing that at his core, Lucien was not willing to even try to let her get to know him? He was everything she’d ever suspected he was. Cold, disinterested, and brooding. Cut off to the point of unfeeling. In love with a ghost and unable to move on. 

So Elain began laying the groundwork for the break with her sister and the Night Court, knowing that Lucien would likely cease working for them. She wanted to say she’d done everything right. That she’d tried. 

And on that fourth day of telling Lucien little stories about her life that he merely grunted at, and picking flowers and fruits and nuts, Elain decided to lay a secret on him that she’d never shared with anyone. She wanted Rhys to see this moment in her head, wanted Feyre to look and realize her friend did not want her. And no amount of being kind, or vulnerable, or even available was ever going to fix that. 

What Elain did know, from a conversation she’d once intentionally eavesdropped on, was that Lucien loved his mother enough that Rhys and Azriel had once wondered if they ought to try and find a way to get her into the Night Court, too. If they aided Eris and killed Beron, would she come to be with Lucien? 

“My mother died when I was thirteen,” Elain said out of nowhere, picking little snowdrops to add the flower crown she was weaving as they walked. Lucien’s head snapped to the side, his one eye not hidden behind the absurd eyepatch widening. She knew he must have known, given he’d lived with Feyre once. Still, Elain said it.

“I’m sorry.”

She doubted it. “Right before she died, she made me swear something to her,” Elain continued, recalling that moment with vivid clarity. Nesta had been the one caring for their mother on her sick bed. Elain remembered Feyre had been called in first for some last goodbye, and when she left, her eyes had been steely, her face grim.

Elain went second.

Marry only for love. Swear it. 

And Elain had. Her mother's dying wish was Elain not to end up trapped in a marriage as miserably loveless as her own. Elain had taken it to heart—she had been deeply in love with Graysen. 

“Before she died, she made me swear to her something,” Elain continued, her heart pounding in her chest. Lucien would take it the wrong way. He needed to know. She couldn’t accept the bond because she didn’t love him. 

Lucien remained silent. Waiting. 

“That I would marry only for love,” Elain continued, her palms sweating. “Her own marriage to my father was…” Gods, but how to explain the screaming and fighting at three in the morning?

The sound of shattering glass, of the eventual distance that settled between them. Parallel lives–her mother filled it with parties and her friends, and her father with work. Always work. 

She could see that same life between her and Lucien. He would work in his office, ignoring her in favor of the mistresses Elain was certain he’d take. She’d raise their children and manage his house and throw parties to fill the loneliness. No better than her mother, but without even death to save her. 

“I met your father,” Lucien told her, surprising Elain. She always forgot that Lucien had been the one to deliver him to the war. He’d found her father first, before Drakkon and his army. “He had a lot of regrets.”

Elain’s chest ached.  She dropped her half-formed crown to the floor, abandoning it entirely.  “He told you that?”

Lucien’s next step brought him closer to her. His fingers brushed the back of her hand, as if he wanted to take it before thinking better of such an action. “He told me he felt he had failed the three of you—Feyre, and Nesta too—long before you ever fell to poverty..”

Elain looked down at her feet. “I never thought that.”

But she knew Feyre and Nesta did. 

Lucien cleared his throat, as if he were embarrassed. “Well. I…He said he was proud of the three of you. And I’m sure your mother is, too. And…right after his deal for Vassa, he told me he’d managed something to secure your future. He was so happy to have good news for you.”

Elain blinked, her vision suddenly blurry. Lucien was supposed to ignore her. Not…not console her. “I did try, you know,” she told him, wanting to take his hand. Elain wanted to grip it so badly it all but overwhelmed her. She forced herself not to, to keep walking over the leaf-strewn forest floor, basking in the occasional beams of light that flooded through leafy swaying treetops. 

“With Lord Nolan?” he asked. 

It was a wound that had never properly healed. Elain was tempted to tell him never to speak Graysen’s name. Not to protect his memory, which she suspected was the reason for not being allowed to say Jesminda’s, but because it hurt her too much, even then. Her last memory was of his revulsion, his contempt, and disdain. 

“I would have remained with him until he took his last breath,” Elain confessed, balling her hand into a fist at her side. Her nails cut into her palm, dulling some of the pain cutting through her chest. 

Lucien exhaled a soft breath. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Carefully, to avoid provoking a reaction, she asked, “How did she die?”

Elain had seen that. In his dreams, coated in her blood, Lucien held her body and begged the gods to bring her back. 

“My father,” Lucien replied. 

Honesty. 

She could see the effort it took him to say even that much, and even though Lucien offered her a soft smile, Elain recognized the open wound just beneath. It was what prompted her to take his hand. Lacing her fingers through his own, Elain squeezed ever so slightly as Lucien’s russet eye widened again. 

Wisely, he kept his mouth shut about it. He didn’t pull back, perhaps coming to the same realization Elain was—it was the first time they had touched since he’d pulled her off the floor when she’d come out of the Cauldron. 

None of it had gone like she’d imagined. Lucien had given her something she’d wanted instead of keeping himself closed off. He kept his hand in hers even after they lapsed into silence and Elain didn’t pull back, either. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though perhaps a little uneasy. Some new door had been opened and even if she’d wanted to close it, there would have been some wedge keeping it cracked. She’d always know that Lucien’s lover had been murdered by his father. And he’d always know she hadn’t accepted the bond because of a promise she’d made her long dead mother. 

More than that, Elain would always know how it felt to hold his hand. What the calluses on his palm felt like as they scraped against the smooth skin of her own, how his touch was just a shade warmer than usual—proof of the magic slumbering in his veins. His touch made her heart race, a fact she was certain he was aware of, given his heightened senses that hadn’t abandoned him. 

Just as she could hear his own loudly thudding heart. 

It was sharp enough to drown out the sounds of civilization. Elain might have wondered if Lucien was doing the same thing she was—marveling at the sound, of the feel, of the way the bond between them seemed to sing at such slight contact. It would explain how neither of them noticed a widening dirt path just to the left of them, or the thinning trees. 

“A village,” Lucien whispered, though in truth it was more town than anything. They both halted, dropping hands to peek around a rather large tree. The path widened for carts to pass beneath a large, wooden archway into a rather lovely town. Elain could see pointed rooftops and the thatched glasswork of neat rows of houses. She could hear the soft sounds of a bustling square just out of view and most importantly, could smell meat cooking. She’d lived on nothing but fish for almost a week and Elain was desperate for something different. 

“There’s probably an inn,” Elain whispered. The thought of sleeping in a bed thrilled her more than anything had in her entire immortal life. She smacked him in the stomach with the back of her hand. “And a bathroom, Lucien.”

“Yes, okay,” he grumbled, rubbing at his chest theatrically. “Running hot water, I’m on board. We need to wait for nightfall.”

“Why?” she asked, already envisioning herself luxuriating in a tub.

“It’ll conceal your beauty better. People might mistake you for a rather lovely human,” he said absently, still staring at the outskirts of the town. Elain ignored the way his words warmed her and didn’t bother arguing. He could have said no entirely. Could have said the risk was too great and marched them around. 

“Let's plan on getting cloaks while we’re here,” Lucien murmured. “It’ll help us in the city…and the mountains.”

“Whatever you say,” Elain agreed. She didn’t care, was practically bouncy with excitement. It was hours until the sun set, and Elain wasted her time by braiding flower crowns she dropped in Lucien’s ungrateful lap and picking more mushrooms than they could ever eat. She was nervous of the prospect of going into the mountains and she suspected he was, too. They wouldn’t starve, at least. Perhaps, depending on if Lucien had any coins on him, she might ask him to get some dried meat, too. A little variety in their diet might make them less prone to arguments. 

“Now?” she whispered when candles erupted in the windows. She forgot humans lacked the same technology as the fae. She’d ask him why later. Lucien was stiff—nervous, if his expression in the silvery moonlight was anything to go by. 

Say yes, say yes, say yes, she silently begged. He crouched, fishing his fingers into his once immaculate boots. Elain was surprised to see him procure a rather jagged knife with a smooth, dark wooden hilt. 

“Keep this close,” he told her, offering her the weapon. “Use it without impunity.”

There was nowhere for Elain to put it save for the bodice of her dress. Lucien turned her head, though his heart thudded loudly again. What did he like about that, she wondered? 

“Stay near,” Lucien whispered, and for good measure—and partly because she missed touching him—Elain grabbed his hand again. It was Lucien’s turn to offer her a comforting squeeze. They stepped on the path, muddy and dirty and with an air of desperation that felt wholly human. Elain wanted to tell him he ought to let her speak, given Lucien sounded like a lord, and had likely never once talked to a human before. 

Beside Feyre, who had probably been so taken with him on sight it hadn’t occurred to her how snotty and stuck-up Lucien could be. She knew the humans would be more suspicious of any man who let his wife speak for him. They’d have better luck with their pointed ears than with Elain as the clear head of their relationship. It prompted Elain to position herself just behind him, so it looked as if Lucien was leading her.

He glanced behind him, brow furrowed, but didn’t comment on her change in demeanor. 

Trust me.

The village was half hidden in the dark, illuminated by gas-lit lamps and the silvery moonlight overhead. Very few people walked about the uneven, cobblestone streets, which offered them more protection. Elain kept her head down, her eyes on Lucien’s feet. Strangers would be fascinating enough, especially one as tall and lovely as Lucien. 

The sound of the inn, and the accompanying tavern, invaded Elain’s senses. She was so excited to be in civilization that she didn’t care about the danger, or the blade pressed between her breasts. It was people, even if those people didn’t particularly care for her kind. Elain lifted her gaze enough to take note of the stumbling patrons coming out of the tavern door, whistling at working women until a nearby man flung open a window and demanded they shut the fuck up. 

Lucien chuckled, pulling open the wood door to the tavern just next door. She wondered if he might have joined, had they been in friendlier company. 

The inn was quieter. It smelled of cedar and fire smoke, and save for a few men loitering about an unfussy set of stairs leading upwards, was wholly empty. Lucien went to the front desk, ringing the bell for service. Elain waited, pushing closer to Lucien’s side as the innkeeper stepped forward.

Her eyes widened when she saw him and Elain knew she recognized what he was immediately. The men on the steps and outside might not have, too caught up in other things but another woman would understand what stood before her. The kind of beauty so many human men could only ever hope for. 

“Can I help you, sir?” she asked, which was far better than screaming for help.

“My wife and I require a room. Just for the night. We’ll pay,” Lucien added, clearly uneasy when her eyes drifted towards his hidden ears. 

“A room?” she asked breathlessly, not looking at Elain at all. Lucien nodded.

“We mean you no trouble. We merely wish to go home in one piece,” Lucien told her, his voice soft—kind. He reached into his pockets and pulled out four gold coins. Likely a month's worth of rent on a room, and more money all at once than she’d probably ever seen. Elain was surprised he had it, too. 

She didn’t hesitate, sliding those coins toward her chest. “I only have the one. Since it’s for you and your wife, it shouldn’t be any trouble.” “Nothing you could do would trouble us,” Lucien assured her, smiling without teeth. She might panic if she saw his sharpened canines. 

“This…” the woman looked at the coins in her hand before her eyes slid back to Lucien. “My daughter is very sick.”

He fished out another coin from his pocket. “I’m not a healer.”

She took the fifth coin. “This will be enough.”

And that, it seemed, was the price for both a large golden key with the number 6 stamped against a leather tag, as well as her discretion. “I would leave before dawn, if I were you. The room comes with a meal, I can have it brought up, if you like.”

“I would appreciate that very much. My wife would like a bath, as well. Do the taps work?”

“I’ll have water sent as well.”

“I appreciate your trouble,” Lucien told her, ever charming. Elain was filled with relief, so much so that she didn’t protest in the least at how liberally Lucien referred to her as his wife. What else would have put the innkeeper, already nervous, more at ease? An unmarried man and woman under her roof might have been too much.

Lucien led Elain past the disinterested patrons, all of whom reeked of whisky. Up three flights of steps to room six, his hand never leaving her own. Even as he slid that key into the door, Lucien held tight, as if he expected someone to try and take her from him.

Elain still remembered what Lucien had done in the back of that cart. How he’d ripped a man’s throat out with his teeth before breaking another's spine with seemingly little effort. She didn’t worry any harm might come to her.

At least, she didn’t until they stepped into that room.

Elain ripped her hand out of his as Lucien burst out laughing. 

“Welcome home, my love.”

LUCIEN: 

Lucien had expected one bed when the nervous innkeeper had panicked over the room. It hadn’t bothered him, given he never meant to pay for more than one room. Room six was practically a closet. The bed was big enough for two Elain sized people to sleep uncomfortably. For the two of them to fit, she’d have to be pressed right up against him. The bath Elain hoped for would happen, though the tub was in the very center of that little room, practically touching the end of the bed frame. Lucien could lounge against the headboard and watch her if he wanted—and some part of him did. There was no table, no chairs, and a creaking, half-broken door that led to the toilet, a chamber so small Lucien wasn’t sure he’d fit at all. 

He came in, Elain at his heels. She was wide-eyed with horror, as if she, too, was realizing just how close they were going to be that night. Lucien didn’t care. His back ached from sleeping on the ground and he, too, was tired of taking cold river baths. He wasn’t shy about Elain seeing him naked. She might find there was something to like about him, even if it was hidden in his pants most of the time.

“I should have guessed,” Elain whispered, staring at the bath with a mix of fear and yearning. 

“I won’t watch,” Lucien promised, kicking off his boots and flopping on the bed. 

“I never thought you would,” she replied, joining him to sit on the edge primly. “I just hoped for more space.”

Lucien felt like a bastard all over again. Reveling in her misery when she was trying so hard to find even one thing that might make their journey bearable. Lucien couldn’t stop himself, wanting her to feel as badly as he had for things that were so far from her control Elain hadn’t even been alive for most of them. 

“What if I sleep on the floor tonight?” he offered. She glanced at him.

“Don’t be ridiculous, husband.” It was a joke, if the little smile on her lips was any indication, but Lucien went hot and cold at the sound. At the mere thought. Of what he might have done had she actually been his wife and the four walls of their shared room been so close. 

There was no chance to offer a witty response. A polite knock on the door, answered by Elain, brought buckets of hot water and two trays of lamb stew, steamed vegetables, and bread and cheese. Lucien could have wept at the sight, though he merely handed over another precious gold coin for the innkeeper's trouble, praying it would all be enough for them to slip out unnoticed in the morning. He swept his gaze over the hall, noting the lack of wards and other spells that might have kept him and Elain out. It was so strange not to see the shimmering barriers or iridescent chains—how did humans live like that?

No wonder they were so afraid. 

Lucien turned his back to Elain and busied himself with the piping hot food before him while she peeled herself out of the layers she’d been wearing. If he had enough money in the morning, Lucien swore he’d get her another dress. Maybe in purple, if he could find it. That lavender dress she’d shown up in had been pretty…even with the blood. 

Especially with the blood. 

The sound of her body sliding into the water heated his own. They were too close, too tense to be naked around each other. Lucien was tempted to turn his head, unable to stop himself from looking over.

She met his stare with reproach but gods she was beautiful. Knees drawn to her chest, her hair unbound and pooling around her in the water, Elain was a goddess made flesh. Lucien could barely breathe at the sight of her and had to turn his head in order to get his bearings again.

“I knew you’d try and look,” she chided, reaching for one of the bottles of soap the innkeeper had brought.

“Sorry,” was all he could choke out. 

“How much further from the mountains do you think we are?”

Lucien didn’t remember the town they were in on a map. Still, if humans were existing nearby without any obvious farmland, they couldn’t be too far. “Two days on foot, maybe,” Lucien guessed.

“Do you think we’ll have some of our magic back by then?”

Lucien tried to call even a sliver of it up. He felt nothing at all—not even the bond in his chest. It made him uneasy, thinking that he might always feel this way. No hole, nothing missing, and yet a distinct lack of her. 

“You know how you see my dreams?” Lucien asked, picking apart a hunk of bread nervously.

Elain hummed in response.

“I feel your anger,” he told her, curious as to what was going on in Night. “The explosion of it, anyway. When you can’t control it anymore, you send it all straight to me.”

Why, was the unspoken question left hanging between them.

Lucien listened to her moving through the water. “Oh,” she finally murmured, but offered no other explanation.

Lucien, exasperated, twisted again only for Elain to shriek and cover her once exposed breasts while he knocked half his stew directly into his lap. Fuck, fuck, fuck, but the burn against this thighs tempered his flash of arousal. Had he thought her perfect before? That was before he saw her pert breasts, tipped with pretty, rosy nipples. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he gasped, not sorry at all. “I only meant—”

“I’ll tell you if you answer a question of mine,” Elain snapped, sloshing water to the floor. 

“Anything,” he admitted, rubbing at the mess in his lap with a cloth napkin. He barely knew what he agreed to until she asked, “Why did your father kill Je–her?”

All Lucien’s remaining lust winked out. “She was lesser fae and he thought his sons could aspire to better.” Lucien hadn’t meant to all but spit the words at her. The memory of that day, of being held by his now-dead brothers, while Beron decapitated her, flooded through Lucien. He dropped his tray onto the edge of the bed and went to the bathroom. He just needed a place to breathe for a moment. Lucien slammed that door closed, bracing his hand on the far, cedar wall. 

In and out. In and out. What would Jesminda make of this? Of him, swearing she was everything to him. That he would never love again. His unshakable faith that it was her who was his mate—so much so that she’d died for it? Only to find out his mate hadn’t even been born, had been a human across the wall.

A knock on the door startled Lucien out of his thoughts. 

“Lucien?” Elain whispered, her voice rich with uncertainty. Bathed in the darkness of that chamber, Lucien wondered if the light that flooded in when Elain cracked the door wasn’t an apt metaphor for what she was. 

She was dressed in that plain shift, her wet hair braided over one shoulder. She looked up at him with those wide, brown doe eyes and his legs shook. Elain offered up her hand and Lucien took it like a lifeline, stepping from the room only to haul her against him in a hug. 

“I’m sorry for telling you not to talk about her,” Lucien told her. “She would have liked you.”

Elain poked him in the ribs—not enough to hurt, but enough to pull him out of his self-loathing. “Everyone likes me, Lucien. Even you.”

Especially him, though he didn’t dare say that. He pulled from the hug, aware of just how close they were. Of the clean scent of her skin invading his senses, her upturned face, her parted lips. It would be a mistake, he told himself. If he kissed her, she’d assume all the wrong things. If she kissed him, he’d assume all the wrong things. 

Lucien stepped back and Elain, flushing, quickly made her way to the bed. “Do you want to call for clean water?” Yes, though Lucien didn’t dare. He didn’t want to risk losing any of the goodwill he had with the humans. The less they thought of him and Elain, the better.

“Don’t watch me undress, Elain,” he teased, catching the darkening blush over her cheeks. Pretty thing, he decided, pulling off his shirt quickly. He had no problem if she wanted to look at him. Lucien would have stood perfectly still and let her examine him to her heart's content. 

She dug into her dinner, still warm if the curling steam coming from the dark earthen bowl was any indication. Lucien removed his pants and sank into the water, bubbly from Elain’s soap. He groaned loudly when the hot water hit his aching muscles, sinking to his neck while his eyes fluttered shut. 

He could feel her eyes on him. Good. 

“Tell me what makes you so angry, Elain,” he whispered, reaching sightlessly for a bottle of soap. It felt as if it had been ages since he’d last washed, and his scalp was itchy. 

“Everything,” she admitted after a beat of silence. “Everyone looks at me and they see…they see a doll. Something pretty to display but useless. I’m vetoed when I try to help, I’m shut out of important conversations and sometimes I think if I left no one would even notice. In truth, anyone could have delivered that message to Vassa.”

Lucien had forgotten about that. Peeking open an eye, he looked at her looking at him. “What was your message?��

“That Helion was unable to help…and Feyre could not, either. It could have been sent in a letter.”

Lucien felt a flash of pity for his friend. All Vassa’s hopes hinged on the High Lord of Day somehow finding a way out of the spell Koschei had placed on her. Elain, clearly ashamed, looked down at the stew in her hands.

“I could have told you that day but…”

“But I would have sent you back,” Lucien finished for her. “And we wouldn’t be on our little adventure now.”

She ought to have wished for that. To have been spared all the walking, the violence, the scar that likely lingered against her side and the stitches Lucien knew he was days from needing to remove. 

“They’ll all think I’m weighing you down,” she said bitterly. Lucien almost laughed.

“They’ll think I kidnapped you,” he assured her, the thought amusing. “That I’m menacing you in some cottage in spring.”

Elain snorted. “No one thinks that.”

“Let's hope not. I keep thinking one of Rhysand’s brothers might find us,” Lucien replied, though in truth, he’d given up hope for a rescue long ago. He and Elain were on their own.

“Regardless, you’ve hardly been useless. You’ve kept us fed, haven’t you? And we have enough medicine in my satchel to open our own pharmacy.”

“We’re not the worst team,” she agreed with a smile. Lucien slid up the back of the cracked porcelain tub so he could wash his body and Elain averted her eyes. Sweet thing. 

“Maybe the mother knew what she was doing when she paired us together,” he commented, more to himself than to her. Still, Lucien watched Elain from the corner of his eye while he lathered up her hair. Waiting for her to ask.

“Why do you think it happened for us like it did?” she whispered. Lucien bit her bottom lip.

“I wish I knew.”

He’d been asking himself that since the bond had snapped. 

“It took Feyre and Nesta longer to feel it.”

Lucien was helpless at that moment. Maybe it was the strength of their bond—he’d considered that more than he cared to admit. Perhaps there was something strikingly different about them, something certain in a way others lacked. Part of him wanted that to be true because it offered a sort of inevitability to them. She wouldn’t break their bond—they were destined, and everything that happened had to in order for them to meet. Nothing he could have done would have saved Jesminda—she was always destined to die and he was destined to end up in Spring. 

“Does that bother you?” he asked, more curious than anything. It had occurred to Lucien many times that Elain might see other males when he wasn’t around. The thought haunted him enough to keep him away more often than not. He’d had his fun—and she could have hers, so long as he never had to witness it. 

“It’s complicated things,” she admitted, her voice nervous and careful. Lucien shifted, rinsing the soap from his hair. 

“Oh?”

“All my friends had marriages arranged by their fathers,” she explained, easing his fears instantly. “But my father let me choose.”

“Ah,” he mumbled, feeling, as he so often did, like a bastard. “You promised to marry for love and I am in your way.”

She went back to staring at her hands while Lucien kept his own thoughts to himself. 

“Not in my way,” she all but whispered. “But is it a choice if we end up together?”

“Maybe not,” he conceded, his heart thudding so loud in his chest he wanted to vomit. “But falling in love always is.”

“That's not how the poets talk of it,” Elain chided, her eyes back on him. Lucien might have said the same once. Love was an unstoppable force, something that merely happened to a person irrespective of their own decisions. He liked to think he knew better.

“I think love is an intentional choice two people make over and over in spite of everything. To think otherwise would dilute it, make it less meaningful…less special.”

He was thinking of Jesminda when he said it, and he suspected Elain knew. “Maybe you’re right,” she agreed, without adding any additional commentary. If she wanted to try with him, or at all, Lucien didn’t know. Didn’t ask.

He instructed her to avert her eyes with a tone that very much implied he would not mind if she turned and looked. And Elain, who had been all but studying his bare chest, turned with flaming cheeks while he pulled on his pants and then his shirt. Had he been more of an ass, he would have informed her he never slept in clothes. Their peace was fragile and Lucien, if he was honest, had to admit he was desperate to build upon it like a foundation. 

“Here, sit down,” Elain ordered when he returned. She’d stacked their food trays just beside the door, neat and organized so whoever came for them would not have to make a clumsy trip down two flights of steps.

Lucien sat cross-legged on the bed, nervous as she kneeled behind him. Elain gathered up strands of his long, wet hair, and began to comb through them. Lucien was all but panting at the gesture. It was kind in her usual soft way. “I miss the braids you had,” she told him cheerfully, tugging through the knots without ripping at his scalp. 

“I don’t think they’re very human,” he replied breathlessly.

“I know. Maybe when we get to the mountains you’ll redo them?” she asked, using her fingers to rake through his hair once she managed the knots. Lucien was in heaven, was practically a cat purring in her lap when her nails dragged over his scalp. Again, he wanted to beg. It had been so long since someone touched him that he’d forgotten how good it felt. She didn’t linger, moving to the next section methodically while Lucien remained stock still. 

“I’ll need your help without a mirror,” Lucien said, swallowing a whimper. 

“Deal,” she agreed. Elain pulled her comb through the last section of his hair and began braiding it in an identical plait to her own. He offered her the leather strap tied about his wrist, secretly delighted she felt so comfortable touching him at all. This was almost friendship, he decided. Not quite, when they both pulled back the dark green blanket and found they were shoulder to shoulder. Lucien put his hands behind his head, which only tucked her closer to his body. 

Why did he care, when they so often woke up touching? His head atop her own, her head on his shoulder? Lucien extinguished the lamp beside their bed and settled back against the mattress, tempted to just haul her up against his body and be done with it.

One hug was enough. 

There was no need to push her any further.

ELAIN: 

Elain woke warmer than she had in days, and for a moment she almost believed she was back in her own bed. She peeked open an eye and was greeted to the softly slumbering face of Lucien. He had an arm thrown over her waist, the other behind his head and Elain, true to form, had her head tucked against his shoulder. 

She didn’t move, trying to figure out what had roused her. Another soft knock that the door interrupted the hazy pre-dawn darkness around them. Lucien didn’t move, clearly passed out, even when she slipped from his grasp. She padded to the door and was greeted by the innkeeper from the night before. 

“Lady,” she murmured, eyes on the ground. Elain’s ears were peeking through her hair, proof whatever that woman had guessed was right. “It’s near dawn. I would recommend you and your husband make your exit soon.”

“Thank you,” Elain whispered with a nod. “We’ll be gone before first light.”

Relief flooded that woman's features. Elain felt immense pity for her as she was reminded that no human wanted to be branded as a faerie sympathizer. The fact that she’d not only kept their secret, but had allowed them to stay the night felt like it ought to be repaid some way, beyond just the coins Lucien left. Elain vowed when she returned to Velaris she’d have a doctor sent to this woman as a thank you. 

She dressed and tied back her hair so it covered her ears entirely before she went to Lucien. He was beautiful, she decided. Had she ever thought differently? Illuminated in the violet glow of near morning, his features at peace, Elain was certain he was the loveliest man she’d ever seen. Elain sat on the edge of the bed and so, so carefully, traced those etched scars gouged into his cheek.

Lucien’s hand shot from beneath the blanket, gripping her wrist. The golden eye opened first, looking for intruders. He relaxed when he realized it was only her.

“Something wrong?” he asked, loosening his hold.

“It’s time to go,” she whispered, pleased when he let her finish her slow trace down his cheek and over his jaw. “Who did this to you?”

Lucien stared up at her. “Amarantha.”

Elain knew of Amarantha only from Feyre’s stories. If anything had happened to Lucien, Feyre had never said. Perhaps she hadn’t known. “Why?”

A dreamy smile slid over his features. “I told her to go back to the shithole she crawled out of,” he admitted. 

Elain choked on a breath. “Why would you do that?”

He shrugged, sitting upwards. “Someone had to. Why not me? It was worth it, to say what no one else dared.”

“So you’re brave and stupid?” she questioned as Lucien undid the braid she’d put in his hair the night before. He grinned.

“Exactly.”

He was quick to pack them up, pulling his socks and boots on and leading them down the now abandoned stairs before the first ray of sunlight ever touched the cobblestone ground. He did stop twice—once at a tailor for a bundle of things he slipped in quickly to retrieve, and again at the butcher. If either human realized who they did business with, like the innkeeper, they said nothing when he offered up those gold coins. 

They were back in the forest on the other end of the village just in time for dawn to break. It was only then, covered by swaying, rustling green tree tops, that Lucien began rearranging his satchel. His cheeks were suspiciously warm, practically glowing red when he offered her more than a fur-lined cape.

A soft, purple dress lay just beneath. Aproned, like the one she currently wore, with white long sleeves and a scalloped hem, and still a near match for the lavender she’d lost days earlier by a stream. 

“This is nice,” Elain said, strangely touched he’d used their dwindling stash of coins to give her a gift. One she could thank him for since he’d wanted to know why she’d never done that before. “Thank you, Lucien. I’ll put it on when we get to the city.”

“Or, whenever,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. His hair was retied at the back of his head in the folded bun which hid both his ears and the length of his hair. Elain missed it, not that she’d ever tell him. Lucien took the dress from her, rolled it carefully, and stuffed it into their bag before slinging it over his chest. 

“You still have that knife?” he asked, fidgeting with his eyepatch. She patted at her breasts, trying hard not to think of the night before when Lucien had definitely seen them. He didn’t comment on them, though he did mumble she ought to get a garter to hide it better in, lest she stabbed herself. Which reminded Elain.

“When we stop tonight, will you remove my stitches?” 

They’d begun to itch unbearably. Lucien nodded, a glint in his eye. It wasn’t remotely sexual, but the sort that promised retribution—as if he hadn’t already been granted it. Those humans were dead, and as far as Elain could tell, no one was looking for them. They had two days, by Lucien’s estimation, to the next city and then they’d be in the mountains. She assumed it would take them a few days to cross and almost hoped they didn’t get their magic back before then.

She was starting to like him, too. 

Not that Lucien had any idea, of course. He immediately lapsed back into his usual silence as they began walking, moving further and further from the road until they were in open wilderness. He let her collect plants and berries, his face betraying more interest than it usually did, but he otherwise remained mostly silent. She would have taken his needling arguments, and filled the quiet with endless chatter. She wondered about what was happening back home and if people missed them. She talked about bugs and went into great detail on how honey was made. 

By the time dusk rolled around, she was back to being annoyed with him. “How come you don’t talk?” she demanded, rounding on him when he found a rather nice place to camp for the night, centered in a dense ring of trees for cover.

“I like the sound of your voice,” he replied quickly, brow furrowing. “And I was trying not to start a fight.”

“Well, stop it,” she ordered, plopping onto the grass to rest her aching feet for a moment. He’d need her help with firewood.

“You want to argue?” he questioned, sounding more curious than anything.

“We didn’t argue the entire time in the inn—”

“Because you were too busy staring at my abs,” he interrupted smugly. “You lacked the capacity for argument, struck as you were.”

“Is that what you think?” she demanded, hating that he was half right. She had never seen anyone who looked like him. Sculpted of nothing but pure, golden muscle. Broad, toned, masculine…she’d had a hard time not looking while he’d bathed. Even his legs—his toned shins, his thick thighs…the only thing Elain hadn’t dared to look at was his waist. She told herself it was mere curiosity. She’d only ever seen one naked man, and Graysen had made sure there was nothing but the faintest candlelight, which obscured the majority of his body. Lucien was her mate and she wanted to look at him. 

“It’s what I know, Elain.” The smug bastard interrupted her thoughts, still grinning roguishly. “If you want to see me undressed, you only have to ask.”

“I preferred silence,” she grumbled, rising to her feet again.

“Too late now,” he called, jogging after her to help collect firewood. “What did you like best? My chest? My back—”

“The scars,” Elain interrupted, thinking of the day in the woods when she’d caught him bathing in the river. “Who left those? Amarantha, too?”

His easy smile slipped. “That was Tamlin. For helping your sister in her first trial.”

“Has anyone ever been kind to you?” she demanded, picking up a rough barked log with indignation. Had Feyre ever thanked him? When Elain and Nesta had been given the story of Feyre’s time under the mountain, the only person credited with helping had been Rhys. Elain had to guess there were at least twenty scars criss-crossing his back. Where had Rhys been for that? 

“Just you,” Lucien replied lightly, but his eyes were tight. It was a lie. She’d been ignoring him for years. Still, it made Elain feel a little guilty–enough so that she changed topics.

“I heard once that you love your mother. What’s she like?”

Lucien brightened. “Lovely. The pure embodiment of Autumn. Or, at least all its best qualities. You would like her,” he added. 

“You think so?” she asked, trying to imagine the sort of woman that had borne both Eris and Lucien. Who was married to a male that could behead her youngest son's lover? She’d once thought

Night Court was messy.

Lucien’s home seemed worse.

“I do,” he agreed, an armful of wood when she only had her one log. He didn’t make fun as they walked back to their clearing, nor did he ask her for any help, though Elain watched him start the fire without any help from his magic. 

“Would you ever go back to Autumn?” she asked, once warmth crackled around them. Lucien busied himself with some of his meat from the village–more lamb, to Elain’s delight, though she’d seen a careful package of salted venison, too. 

“Maybe if my father died,” he replied thoughtfully, “and Eris stopped being a bastard.”

“Maybe when your father dies, you’ll become High Lord.”

Lucien burst out laughing. A tear slipped down his face as he shook, but Elain was serious. “Well, why not?”

“You’re so funny,” Lucien managed, stretching his long legs in front of him. “If you saw the magic Eris commanded, you would never think that of me. What I have is merely a drop in the bucket by comparison. The magic has chosen a successor and it is not me.”

“You ripped those humans apart with your teeth and your hands, Lucien,” she reminded him. She didn’t think someone without their magic would have had such an easy time. “And I know Rhys is worried about you.”

Lucien’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Worried?”

“He and Azriel once considered bringing your mother to Vel—”

Lucien’s furious snarl interrupted her. “He has no right.”

“Well, he didn’t. Obviously—”

“Is it not enough that he has my mate? He needs my mother, too?” 

She’d messed things up. Elain could feel the fragile peace between them crumbling, setting them back days. She scooted closer, reaching for his hand. Lucien immediately turned his palm up, lacing his fingers through her own. 

“He doesn’t have me,” she told him firmly. “I live there because it's my—” Elain cut herself off, blinking into the forested dark. She’d begun to say it was her home, but in truth, Velaris wasn’t. It was where she’d been taken after the cauldron and where her family lived, but Velaris was merely a place she lived, tolerated. She didn’t miss it—even after days of tramping through the wilderness, not once had Elain missed Velaris. Her bed, perhaps, but it occurred to her that despite the danger they were in, she’d been happy, out in nature like she was. 

“It’s your…?” Lucien prompted. 

“It’s where I live,” Elain finished, an idea solidifying in her mind. “But maybe there are other places. Other courts, even.”

He was watching her, head cocked, his attention wholly on her. “You want to travel.” It wasn’t a question.

“I want to travel,” she agreed, leaning against the rough bark of a tree. Lucien rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand soothingly, still watching.

“Well. If you want company, I do know most courtiers in nearly every court. I would be happy–”

“Yes,” she interrupted, the decision surprisingly easy. He’d come as her friend if nothing else. It would give them both a reason to spend more time together, to get to know each other. Maybe, in a century, she would love him, even. Lucien was the first person who hadn’t made her feel useless. She could make more friends, could see the world she lived in with someone she trusted to rip out throats if she was threatened. 

“Yes?” he questioned, his voice hoarse.

Elain smiled. “You’ll come with me.”

Lucien blew out a nervous breath, all of his casual confidence slipping to insecurity. She’d done something he hadn’t expected, which altered the scripts he had for her in his head. Lucien gestured, instead, for Elain to lift her dress. 

“Stitches,” he murmured, averting his eyes when she began to tug at her laces. Elain stripped back to her shift and the shorts beneath, rising on her knees as she tugged the hem down. The skin, even in the dark, was shiny and red, but not puffy from infection. Lucien blew out a soft breath, his frustration and anger flashing over his face.

“This is going to scar,” he murmured, holding out his hand for the knife she’d set on the ground. 

“There are worse things,” Elain offered patiently. Her skin erupted in goosebumps when his fingers skimmed against the side of her body, gently prodding around the wound to make sure everything was as it should be. 

She could feel his breath warm her where the cool night air touched, and realized this had become accidentally intimate. 

“Not for you,” Lucien mumbled, but Elain thought if Lucien could wear his scars like a mark of his bravery, she wanted to, too.

“It’s proof I survived something,” Elain told him gently, gasping when he hooked the tip of his knife into the knotted end of his stitches. Lucien jerked his head, looking to see if he’d injured her. The blade was merely cold, and the sight of it so close to her skin made her heart pound.

“I’ll be quick,” he assured her, carefully cutting and pulling the string from her body with more care than whoever had stitched her up. Elain had to fight to keep herself from reacting to his touch, gritting her teeth.

It was only instinct. It was nothing. 

Lucien pulled away when he finished, nostrils flaring. “Good as new,” he said, his voice half-strangled. Elain rubbed at her skin before pulling her clothes back down. Lucien was staring straight ahead, his eyes strangely glazed while she redressed herself. 

“Thank you,” Elain told him, settling beside him. Lucien handed her the knife again, his eyes anywhere but on her.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he told her quietly. 

And Elain believed him when he said so. 

LUCIEN: 

The fire was mere embers and Elain asleep, her head in his lap, before Lucien could truly settle. He was exhausted and perhaps a little spoiled from a night on a soft mattress. Lucien was also keyed up from his conversation with Elain and the absolute high and lows that accompanied it. One moment he was furious and internally cursing her name and the next he was envisioning her in a white dress as he vowed to love her before the gods and the very ends of the earth. She wanted him to travel with her? 

Lucien wanted that, too. He wanted anything that let them spend more time together—to get to know one another. And maybe he wouldn’t fall asleep with her head in his lap, but he would be with her. 

Friend.

Confidant.

And who knew. Lover, perhaps. One day, if she ever changed her mind on the arranged nature of their relationship. Unaware, Elain couldn’t stop him from unwinding her hair, until his thighs were covered in soft, golden brown curls. And she didn’t care if he raked his fingers through them, luxuriating in the soft curls and the wafting scent of honey. He raised the strands to his nose, drinking in her scent for the first time in years. He wanted to commit every inch of her to memory, so when they were separated he might not fall to resentment so quickly. 

He didn’t think she’d appreciate that if she knew. 

Lucien settled himself against the rough bark of the tree he was propped against, resigning himself to a numb lower half by the time he woke. Maybe it was the long days of walking or the absence of his magic, but Lucien hadn’t had a bad dream since they’d been dragged out, and he was beginning to think that was because of Elain. 

How was he going to sleep without her again?

Lucien was dreading the end of their trip. They’d either cross into Rask and find help from the nobility or they’d get their magic back and he’d have no reason now to winnow them straight home. Either way, Lucien estimated he had maybe another week before it was all over. Elain would go home with a new sense of confidence and he’d go home knowing what her hair smelled like and how fun she was even in the worst of times.

After all, Feyre and Lucien had barely managed to string together a sentence while they’d been making a similar journey. He seemed to recall it was days before his own magic returned fully, even after the rescue on the ice lake. That was just a day of laced food. He was certain they’d been inhaling it for far longer. 

Lucien slid into sleep easily, exhausted from his day. His dreams were a blur of colors and images that didn’t make sense but were otherwise the mere imagination of an exhausted brain filtering through everything he’d seen. 

It took Lucien a minute to understand why he was asleep. The pleasant weight in his lap was gone, take the blanket with it. Something sharp slid beneath his jaw, tilting his head until, bleary-eyed in the dark, Lucien faced a wholly new threat. 

Fae.

Three of them, to be exact. They weren’t anything like Lucien was used to, marking them lesser by virtue of the bluish tinge of the leathery skin. Elain stood between two of the males, their grip on her arm and their glinting yellow eyes in the moonlight promising a different sort of violence should Lucien fall dead between them.

Lesser Fae would have been no match for him under normal circumstances. They were dressed as humans—and he was powerless, left with nothing but his training and the strength granted to all fae, lesser alike. 

“What are you two doing out here all alone?” That pict asked, sharpened teeth widening into a grin. “Two pretty little humans?”

He still had his eye patch on and supposed, to creatures so used to seeing his face on humans, they wouldn’t immediately recognize or suspect High Fae to rough it in the woods. “Don’t touch her,” Lucien warned. Things were so good between them. The last thing Lucien wanted was more blood-stained clothes and fear shadowing Elain’s bright eyes.

“I think she’ll be our new pet,” the pict replied, taking a menacing step toward Lucien. Only hubris kept those creatures from realizing what they were facing. The top of his hairless head reached just beneath Lucien’s chin, his body so easily breakable. Lucien knew they had a wiry sort of strength and were fast. He bet when they came up on humans bigger than them, they cowered.

Lucien held his ground, which didn’t seem to strike the picts as strange. 

“Empty your pockets.”

The knife beneath his throat sliced against the thin skin, sending small rivulets of blood dripping down Lucien’s neck. Elain gasped loudly, leaves rustling under her feet as she tried to reach him. He held her gaze. 

Fine, I’m fine, he tried to tell her, but the bond between them was dark, which made it impossible to send her any reassurance. Lucien was waiting for the creature to drop his guard so he could snap his neck. The other two would rush forward, forgetting Elain who could, if she needed, run far, far away. 

Elain screamed. Not in fear, but a guttural, vicious sound he’d never heard her make. It stilled him, filling Lucien with the first true fear he’d felt since the picts had arrived. She’d broken from her hold, pulled the knife from her breasts, and stabbed clean through the pict holding him against the tree. The creature's eyes widened with shock, the jagged tip of Lucien’s knife peeking on the other side of his throat. Blood sprayed over Elain’s pretty face, filling the once balmy air with the scent of copper. 

“What the fuck,” one of the picts behind her whispered.

Lucien bared his teeth, revealing his own sharpened canines. Between he and Elain the leader fell lifeless to the ground between them, thudding almost comically. 

“You shouldn’t assume every creature you come upon is human,” he whispered, wondering if he should kill them, too. Their fear polluted the air, hands raised as they backed away from not just Elain, holding a dripping knife, but Lucien, a male very obviously protecting his female. 

“We didn’t mean…” one of the picts stuttered, clearly expecting Lucien to chase them down. He was so tempted, watching them turn heel in their leather pants, and flee into the night. No honor among thieves, he supposed. What were picts doing so far into the human territory? Hunting? For coin? 

It was a question for another day. Lucien pried the knife from Elain’s shaking hands, recalling she’d once looked at him with those same wide eyes before. Right after she’d stabbed the King of Hybern. He’d never asked her if she still thought about it. Lucien never thought of his kills, after all. Why would she?

“Hey,” he whispered, pulling her away from the body at her feet while cupping her face. “Are you—”

“He was going to slit your throat,” she whispered, her eyes sliding in and out of focus. “I know he was.”

“He didn’t,” Lucien replied, swiping his thumb over the blood droplets gracing her cheeks. “You saved me.”

Whether that was true was immaterial. Elain had risked herself for him in a tangible way, had plunged that knife into their attacker's throat because she was frightened for him. 

“Thank you,” he added, unable to take his eyes off her mouth. He wanted to kiss her so badly, to taste the inside of her mouth mingled with blood and salt. Elain tilted her chin, an offering if Lucien had ever seen one.

He took a step back, and then another. She wasn’t in her right mind. She was in shock. Kissing her would be a mistake once the sun rose and he knew it. She’d come to her senses and Lucien wanted a kiss that wasn’t tainted with fear.

Though he’d always take one tinged with blood. 

“Should we bury him?” Elain asked, looking around his body at the pict. It was callous to shake his head.

“No. We don’t need any more attention on us,” he replied without remorse. If Elain, by virtue of her magic, somehow knew what was coming, then Lucien didn’t feel bad raiding the creature's pockets for coins he’d clearly already stolen. Nor did he feel bad leaving him lying face down in the dirt. 

She’ll be our new pet.

A growl slipped from between Lucien’s teeth. Elain, with blood drying on her face, needed to be cleaned up and put back to bed. He’d have to do better, finding them places to sleep. Two nights in the city, regardless of what happened, he decided. And if he had to, he’d haul her back up over his shoulder to get her quickly through the mountains.

But for the next few nights, Lucien could do little more than the open sky and a blanket of stars. Elain didn’t complain when he took her hand, gathered their things, and led her to the riverbank. He made no innuendo, turning so she could undress and walk into the cold water that came directly from the very snow-capped peaks they were trekking towards.

“I was thinking,” he called over his shoulder, words half drowned by the singing of crickets. “We could spend two days in the city if you like.”

He had the money after robbing that pict.

“Won’t people realize?” she asked, sloshing water around loudly.

“It’ll be packed,” Lucien replied, thinking of the majority of big cities he’d ever been to. They might be one of a few fae, but the humans there would be conditioned into minding their own business and not looking too closely at any one person. Lucien very much doubted they were the first to pass through on their way back to Rask. He didn’t expect tolerance or acceptance, but he did expect, so long as they kept their hoods up and weren’t obvious, no one would ask questions about two young lovers looking to spend a little time in bed. 

Of course, he imagined that he and Elain would spend the majority of their time sleeping. And maybe he’d have enough magic to winnow them over the mountains, sparing her another night on the unforgiving, rocky ground. 

“Maybe,” she conceded, the sound of her steps coming closer and closer to the muddy river shore. He could hear her fumbling through his satchel for the purple and white dress he’d purchased. Lucien couldn’t wait to see it on her. “Aren’t you in a hurry?”

“Not anymore,” he admitted, wondering if that was the wrong thing to tell her. 

“What about the people trying to fill you?” Reasonable, lovely Elain pressed. 

Lucien laughed. “When I have you around? I’m not worried.”

“Don’t,” she chided, a warble entering her voice. Lucien turned just in time to find her done lacing the front of her dress. The tips of her hair were wet, and though the blood that had once freckled her face was gone, he would always remember the sight. Of what she’d done for him. 

“If you need to talk about—”

“I’m not sorry,” she whispered, as if she were confessing something heinous to more than just him. “Sometimes I lay awake at night and I think there is something wrong with me…” her voice trailed off, cracking on the words. Lucien crossed the space between them, gathering up her face in his hands for the second time that night.

“There is nothing wrong with you,” he insisted. He was her mate—he would know. 

She shook her head, the braided waves of her once pulled back hair cascading down her back. “You don’t understand. When I went into the Cauldron it…” She pressed her face into his shirt, inhaling deeply. Did she understand why she needed to do that? Why his scent steadied her? Or was it mere unquestioned instinct that prompted her to act. Lucien wasn’t stupid enough to explain it, to pull her from this moment when she was sharing another of her deeply guarded secrets. He knew more about her than he’d ever dreamed of. 

He was in heaven.

“I died,” she finally told him, looking up through lashes covered in sparkling droplets of water. “It felt like an eternity, like an entire life drowning in the lightless dark. I’ve been trying so hard to hold on to my humanity, but I’m afraid when the Cauldron made me fae, it took all of it. Shouldn’t I be upset? Shouldn’t it haunt me?”

“I can’t tell you how you’re supposed to feel, Elain. But I can tell you that whatever you had before you went into the Cauldron, I’m certain you still do. I know you do. Your compassion, your kindness, your empathy…none of that was taken from you. We value those traits, you know. Just like humans lie and steal and kill just as easily—you saw that. The crying servant who so clearly didn’t want to hurt you and still did…are we truly that different?”

“Sometimes I don’t think so,” she admitted, turning into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut. “That makes it worse. I want to feel guilt. I keep waiting for it all to wash over me.”

“Have you considered you don’t feel bad because you did nothing wrong? If you’d spared the King of Hybern, he would have killed us all. And if you’d spared the pict…” He nearly told her she’d have been free of him.

Elain pressed a chaste kiss into his palm. “Maybe you’re right,” was all she said. “I don’t think I can sleep tonight. Can we keep walking?”

“Only if you don’t mind more stories of Spring,” he replied. Elain smiled, pulling her face from his grasp. 

“I don’t mind at all.”

[danothan]

hi i’d like to deconstruct one of the jason todd songs ever (ft. the bipolar jason agenda)

“It's fucking sad that we need a tragedy to occur to gain a fresh perspective in our lives. Nothing happens for a reason, there's no point even pretending, you know the sad truth as well as I.”

jason’s death had no purpose. he wasn’t a hero, he wasn’t a martyr, it was a pointless death in a long line of many. the tragedy of it was that it didn’t have to happen, and that’s why he blames batman for not killing the joker. it wasn’t his dying that he was upset abt, it’s that batman let the joker continue that long line of death

“Oh god, the morning light sun rays bring my paranoia. I can't function unless I'm the only one awake.”

jason works alone, puts himself at a distance. this line frames it less as a choice tho, as if it’s other ppl that are unpredictable factors, as if he’s unable to put his trust in ppl again

“Rancor of our last conversation, that forbidden word you deform to handicap me, then abuse your advantage.”

the forbidden word here is probably “love.” bruce’s problem is that he isn’t much of a talker, he doesn’t express his love in a way that jason needs. the incongruence between his actions and his words “handicaps” jason, puts him at a disadvantage as he reaches out for bruce’s approval. it speaks volumes that the narrator doesn’t say “the forbidden word” either

“Because your eyes are an agent of darkness. There's nothing to fight. It's just a bit of fait accompli.”

going off from that last line, talking to bruce is like talking to a wall. jason sees nothing left in bruce’s eyes; to him, there is no more grief or hope. the “fait accompli” is that bruce has moved on, but even beyond that, it’s jason’s death as a whole. there’s no option left but to accept that everything has changed

“I spend my waking hours haunting my life. I made the one I love start crying tonight, and it felt good. Still there must be a more elegant solution. Lately I'm rotted in the filth of self-offered agonies that really should fill me with shame, but all I have is this manic energy.”

tbh i don’t rly have anything to add here, i just love the death imagery of ghosts and rot, as well as the mania and self-sabotage of it all. very jasoncore

“I lost my page in being the black stamped disciple in your heart collage. Just want to celebrate me. Need to suffer more.”

robin status revoked! he knows he had his flaws, but he was devoted not only to batman but also to bruce. it’s a mix of feeling like he wasn’t enough as well as doing all that he could. at the emotional core of jason’s motives, he wants to be understood and appreciated. his suffering is a fruitless search for closure, smth he puts himself thru bc he thinks he deserves it. he suffers to make up for himself

“Face our puerility. Converts officiate. Divides new stratagems to disembowel our quotidien characters.”

good lord listening to any of montreal song forces you to pull out the dictionary. i Think what this line is saying is that they have to face their pasts to learn and destroy who they know themselves to be, and only then can they move on. jason saying this to bruce doubles as a taunt: “i’m not the kid you remember anymore.”

“I know I'm upside down about you. Your kindness feels like blasphemy or some sick education on the limits of humanity, so I profane the laws of some Victorian garbage.”

jason and batman have the same goals: they want what’s best for gotham. he feels “upside down” abt bruce bc they were in it together as batman and robin, he taught him everything he knew. but the closer the goals, the bigger the differences feel. that’s why it feels especially blasphemous that batman’s no-kill rule is for the sake of humanity. jason views bruce’s sense of justice as smth sick, ineffective, old-school. it’s “victorian garbage.” his so-called mercy is what got jason killed

to be clear, this is all in jason’s pov. i don’t think he’s as spiteful or cruel as this song makes him out to be, but i think it carries the kind of self-deprecation that he Does view himself thru. and the bitterness definitely reflects his emotions, as well as the back-and-forth between his smug call-outs vs desperate attempts at closure/vindication. i would even say they’re one and the same

tldr; jason todd is bipolar, of montreal diagnosed him

[feedingtheflockministry]

10 Sins Jesus Condemns Most Harshly in Scripture

Throughout Jesus’ life and ministry, He called listeners’ attention to various sins as he taught about His Father’s will, and guided believers in what it truly means to love God, and to walk with Him. But during His ministry, did Jesus call out some sins more than others?

As God’s children, we are to pay attention, not just to Jesus’ words, but what they reveal about His heart for us. Wherever He calls out sin, he points the way to something far greater than what the sin promises us. This is why it is so crucial to listen closely and respond to what Jesus emphasized in His teachings.

Here are 10 sins Jesus spoke about most fervently in the Gospels:

Selfishness

Jesus ministered with an attitude of humility. He is quoted as saying, “the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many”(Matthew 20:28, Mark 10:45). Jesus warned his disciples against using their status to dominate others. Rather, they were to be servants to all (Matthew 20:25-28).

The story of the rich man and Lazarus displays the severity of punishment for selfishness (Luke 16:19-31). When we allow our own needs to blind us from meeting the needs of others, we harden our hearts to one of the core missions of Christ.

Pride

Jesus often warned those struggling with pride of its impending consequences. In Luke 20:45-47, Jesus warned his listeners to beware of the teachers of the law who prided themselves in their religiosity, yet failed to show hospitality to those in need.

The parable of the Pharisee and tax collector illustrates how God sees spiritual pride (Luke 18:9-14). When the Pharisee prayed, in his pride he thanked God that he was not like other people, who he thought were less spiritual. At the same time, the tax collector bowed in humility from a distance and mourned his condition as a sinner. Jesus declared that it was the tax collector who would be justified before God because of his humility.

". . .For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” (Luke 18:9-14)

Unbelief

Jesus often marveled at and convicts his disciples, as well as bystanders, for their lack of faith. In His hometown, He was unable to perform miracles because of the peoples’ unbelief. The Pharisees and Sadducees tested Jesus by asking His for a sign from heaven that He was the Christ (Matthew 16:1-4). In response to their unbelief, Jesus called them a wicked and adulterous generation and told them that no sign would be given except for the sign of Jonah.

When we think about how the Son of God was unable to perform miracles due to people’s lack of faith in His hometown, we must ask ourselves how much we miss out on the Holy Spirit working through our own lives simply because we doubt His ability.

Hypocrisy

Many unbelievers or ex-evangelicals today say the reason why they oppose organized religion is because there is too much hypocrisy. The good news is that Jesus opposed hypocrisy too. The gospels are filled with Jesus challenging the Pharisees in their hypocrisy.

Toward the end of Jesus’ ministry, he pronounced the “7 Woes” on the teachers of the law and the Pharisees. In each of his pronouncements, he called them hypocrites. In the Greek, the term means an actor or pretender. Jesus condemned these religious officials because they claimed to be leaders, yet their hearts and actions did not reflect their outward appearance.

The result of their efforts was fruitlessness, spiritual destruction, and shedding of blood. Other words Jesus uses to describe hypocrites are blind guides, blind fools, and abrood of vipers (Matthew 22:13-39).

Greed

Jesus taught on money and possessions more than any other topic, which reveals to us His kingdom mentality. Jesus stated that no one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other or you will love the one and hate the other. Therefore, it is impossible to serve both God and money (Matthew 6:24).

If we are bound by our affections of the things of this world, our hearts will never belong to the things of God. That is why Jesus commands his followers to seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness (Matthew 6:33). He strongly stated that it's impossible for a rich man to inherit the kingdom of God, not because Jesus condemned wealth, but because He knows how difficult it is for someone to lay aside greed.

When we lay aside our greed, we are able to give what we have with joy. Jesus honors this virtue through the poor widow who gave all she had as an offering (Mark 12:41-44). She gave out of her poverty rather than her wealth.

Unforgiveness

Jesus stressed the consequences of the lasting effects of unforgiveness. In Matthew 6:14-15, Jesus told his disciples that whoever forgives his brother will be forgiven, but whoever does not forgive will not be forgiven.

Jesus also told a parable of the Unforgiving Servant to his disciples in order to emphasize the importance of showing forgiveness to others as a reflection of the forgiveness shown to us by God (Matthew 18:21-35). Jesus is the ultimate example of the One who forgives. Though not deserving death, he forgave his enemies even while on the cross (Luke 23:34).

Hatred

One of the greatest commandments Jesus gave his disciples was to love one another. It is by our love that the world will know that we are truly disciples of Christ (John 13:34-35).

Likewise, Jesus condemned our hatred of and anger with one another. He equated it to the physical murder of the individual (Matthew 5:21-26). Jesus’ ministry was one of reconciliation. When we hate someone, we create a barrier to the very purpose of His ministry.

Disobedience

While disobedience may seem like a catch-all for all sin, Jesus stressed the importance of obeying His teaching (Luke 11:28; John 14:15). The parable of two sons illustrates the importance Jesus placed on obeying His word (Matthew 21:28-32).

In this parable, a father had two sons. One son told his father he would work the vineyard and did not follow through. The second son declared that he would not work yet changed his mind and went. Jesus’ point of the parable was that the one who receives the kingdom of God is the one repents and believes. When we disobey the Word of the Lord, we need to check our hearts for disloyalty and a lack of love.

Judging Others

Throughout the gospels, Jesus ministered to many “sinners,” and received criticism from his disciples as well as from the Jewish leaders. For instance, Jesus calls Levi, a tax collector, to be a disciple. The new follower held a great banquet where notorious law breakers gathered. When the Pharisees and teachers of the law asked Jesus’ disciples about his behavior, Jesus told them that it is not the healthy who needed a doctor, but rather the sick (Luke 5:27-31).

Jesus is clear in his prohibition against judging others (Matthew 7:1-6; Luke 37-38). Oftentimes people are tempted to determine for themselves another’s guilt and announce a fate upon them. However, that role is for God alone (James 4:12). Believers are called to show mercy towards one another rather than judgement.

Impurity

In first century Judaism, ritual and ceremonial purity was extremely important. However, Jesus taught on the importance of moral purity. When confronted about the disciples’ lack of ceremonial washing, Jesus declared that it is not what someone puts inside of their mouth that defiles them, but rather what comes out of their mouths (Matt. 15:1-20; Mark 7:1-23).

He the warned against the sins of the heart, which include: sexual immorality, theft, murder, adultery, greed, malice, deceit, lewdness, envy, slander, arrogance, and folly. Therefore, as followers of Jesus, it is important for us to allow God to examine our hearts daily to ensure that we remain pure (Psalm 139:23-24).

While Jesus taught on many “sins," this list gives an overview of the heart of His ministry and teaching of the kingdom of God. He calls us as believers to a life of faith, obedience, love, and service to God and others. When we trust in Him rather than ourselves, regularly meditate on His Word, and fellowship with Him in prayer we can follow His teachings and live a life of true discipleship.

[blbrryp]

Dabihawks fire force AU

i've never written a fight scene before but i thought i would try using dabihawks

dabi is a second gen, hawks is a third gen

Words: 714, Warnings: None

“What the fuck are you doing?” Touya called up at Keigo, perched on a rooftop. His fiery wings border on blinding, such a show off. 

“Watching, something’s brewing, I can feel it,” He shifted, tilting his head as if he could seriously hear anything. 

“Uh huh, you’re just saying that because Rumi said earlier there was a high case of infernals a few districts over,” The stupid bird was always acting like he was smarter than them all, lest they ignore the fact that Keigo frequently managed to fly into buildings. 

“I have a sense for this stuff!” He was only met with a roll of Touya’s eyes before their radios crackled to life…

“Soldiers, an infernal has just combusted up at the main square. We’ll meet you there!” Rumi’s voice was just as booming over the radio, clearly rattling Keigo who looked as if he almost fell from his perch. Touya didn’t bother to make fun of him, not wanting to face the all-knowing smile he’d surely be met with. 

“Told you so!” 

“Just get us there you insufferable ass,” Perpetually unphased by Touya’s critics, Keigo easily scooped him up, his hands going under his arms. The bird was at least good for transport. 

The scene they were met with at the main square was horrific. An infernal rampant across the park, the glow of flames spluttering across the grass. They were ripping their way out of the person’s body, reaching out and destroying everything they could leech onto. It was always an awful sight. A whirlwind of flames consuming the being, spiralling up. 

The firetruck was already there Rumi, Fuyumi and Shimura were already on the scene. Shimura was clearing the area, Rumi was doing her best to keep the flames at bay as much as possible so Fuyumi could continue reciting prayers, her hands clasped together. 

Touya didn’t have much time to think, Keigo had already dropped him. Stupid bird. 

Fuck it, now or never then as he launched straight into the centre of the spinning flames. He manipulated them, dividing them in half, his foot meeting the infernal’s face in a matter of seconds. Fire fanned out around him, flickering out as the monster stumbled back. The initial combustion died out, leaving what was left of a human a few feet away from him, twitching. This stage wouldn’t last for long. 

It ignited, a new fury within it. The way it moved was animalistic, clawing its way towards Touya. Sights locked on him as he was the closest target. Keigo was quick to intercept, landing on the beast’s shoulder encasing both himself and it in a mirage of fiery wings. 

“Touya!” Rumi called out, an augmented axe in hand, throwing it towards him. He grabbed it before it hit the floor, taking his chance when the wings parted to bury it into the chest of the infernal. A third wave of fire roared from the centre, Keigo was thrown from his position unable to restrain it anymore. Leaving Touya at the heart of the heat, he fought against. Feet firmly planted into the ground, pulling up mud from the pressure. It was so hot, flames licking against his cheeks. 

It wouldn’t last for long, Keigo launched in, snatching the monster from the ground into the air. He always liked to show off, taking it up high before coming back, hand firmly planted against the infernals chest. He buried it into the ground, ripping a hole through its core and unleashing the final wave of conflagration which swept across the ground. It came in one cyclone, tearing up the grass and burning up trees in its path. 

Before it was all over. 

Just like that, it all went out. Leaving Keigo kneeling over the body, whispering a final prayer of rest, “Latom.” 

The team was on him almost instantly, other than Shimura who always kept his distance. 

“Stupid bird, your fucking hair is singed,” Touya was the first to break the stream of praise coming from Fuyumi. 

“You know you shouldn’t always make a show of it, you’re lucky Shimura was able to get all civilians out of the area,” Rumi only piled onto Touya’s criticism. 

“Come on! I’m getting it from both angles now!” His tone was high and whiny.

[frenxio]

Venti x reader -  𝗢𝗯𝘃𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀𝘆

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳 𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.1𝗞

A/N: I'm not exactly proud of this one </3

Ever since Venti, or Barbatos you should call, has become the Anemo Archon, you two have been close friends. You follow around the bard, and you figured this out yourself but, he enjoys quiet places. Such like the Whispering Woods or Starsnatch Cliff. He would play his lyre and sing his heart out with poetic lyrics. There was not one piece that belonged to him you despise. Expect one he does that you makes your blood boil to the core.

"Venti!" You slammed the door to Angel share, causing the crowd to zip up their mouths. However Venti stayed loud. Luckily, he was easy to spot amongst humans who dressed unlike him. "You-! Come here! You drank too much already!"

You saw him flirting with women. He delicately touched her naked shoulder and down to her arm to suggest his mature motive. It made you clench your fist even tighter, then pulled him off the girl. "Did you not hear me? I said you're drinking too much!"

"Then let me drink some more!~" he giggled, hiccuping while he held tightly on his beer, struggling to stand up off the floor. "Want to join me?"

You rolled your eyes and groaned, shaking your head and instead of letting him lie dead there until morning, you dragged him out as he whined and cried. Before you left however, you had to apologise to Diluc standing behind the counter. As a response, he just nodded and continued wiping the moist glasses.

Mondstadt was quiet during night time, the only thing breaking the silence was your loud, heavy and angry steps, returning to your abode with the drunk man dragged along the rocky ground. Was he really a God?

"Y/n!~ please, I want to go back!" He wiggled his arms around the air, being unable to walk, and attempted to lightly hit you but, you kept a safe distance incase he had turned violent. "Please? Let me go, please? I beg you!"

You let out an irritated sigh, "then answer this, why do you always drink?"

"Because alcohol tastes good!"

"No, come with me to my house."

"Oh my, my body is not ready yet!" He hugged himself in an attempt to hide his body. As if there was anything to hide. His feelings were clearly out in the open for everybody to see. His body was well covered with clothes but, except for his Archon uniform. He hit different wearing those clothes.

An irk mark appeared on your head, and you only walked faster to go back to your house. Finally, you threw him on the living room couch and prepared a glass of water, hoping to the Archons that he would sober up a little and have an understanding of his inappropriate acts while drunk. "Here, drink up."

He pouts, but ends up drinking the whole thing anyway. Sometimes you'd convince him that he was chugging down vodka, but no, of course not. You knew it was just water. He's too drunk to realise that. He's unaware of your romantic feelings for him as well. Every little flirtatious interaction with other females gets you to feel jealous. You hated that, perhaps he knew that you liked him and he's found an opportunity to end your feelings for him just by being more with other girls.

"It tastes weird... Is it water!? Did you give me water?" He said.

You carried him bridal style and walked to the guest bedroom. Signaling that he was going to sleep there by himself and stuck your tongue out as a response. "It always has been."

He sulked again, crossing his arms as you gently laid him on the bed. For fucks sake, he was heavy as hell despite his size. Do all gods feel heavy? Maybe you could travel around the world just to check their weight. There's no such device as a weight check device, unless Fontaine created one.... Wait! No, back to the topic at hand.

"Ugh, no now I'm tired. Why do you always steal me away from the Tavern?" He asked with pure curiosity. His face was red, he reeks of alcohol.

You slammed a huge bottle of water by his side of the bed, then sat down on a chair that rested next to him. "It's bad for your body if you drink alcohol daily."

You took the blanket and laid it over his body, and gently patting it. Your face was cold the entire time you helped him this night, and he couldn't help but stare at you. He never noticed how much you cared about him until now since he thought you were preventing him from having fun, but now that you answered his question, it sort of tickled his heart.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and hummed with eyes closed. "You care so much about me! Do you like me or something?"

You flinched, diverting your gaze away from the man himself. Your first love. Brushing his arms off you, you left him wondering if you really do have feelings for him while humming in response. Was it? It was neither a yes or no. It wasn't a confession at all.

Your actions snapped him awake. The only thing he could see were your reddened ears. He could only assume...

"Wait, do you actually?"

"Just go to bed."

You closed the door shut behind you before going to your room, when you heard the door slam behind you. You whipped your head around to see Venti, well Barbatos, blushing ear to ear. His eyes were sparkling and his smile was wide. "I like you too! No, I love you!"

He ran to you and hugged you again. Your face was heating up again. Gosh, what should you do? Should you deny it? "Come on, Venti... Let go. You're drunk, just rest."

"No. Do you like me too?"

Unavoidable gaze. He has it, and you couldn't ignore it. You were hesitant, but you returned his hug and nuzzled your face in his neck. "For a long while now." But can he be yours? Although he says that he likes you now, there were still girls who he flirted with.

"Me too. I love you too." He patted your head. "Were you jealous of them?"

You nodded.

He smiled. "We're all friends. They think I'm a girl."

You chuckled, "I can see why they'd think that."

"Maybe I should have a change of appearance?" Venti sighed, sulking. Oh how it feels to be in his shoes. To look like a girl yet can't be identified if truly male.

"No." You pushed yourself away from him and cupped his warm, red cheeks. Staring at him in the eye with a loving look. "You're mine now. I'm the only one you need to impress."