#She's too shaped and molded by it to ever really escape it and she knows that

[chronurgy]

Idk man thinking about Caleb and Astrid and breakdowns. How the one time we see her have a breakdown it's so neat and quiet and private in contrast to Caleb's messy, public, even violent breakdowns. Do you think she looks down on him for not being able to control it? Do you think she resents him because Trent still wants him back even after all of it and she could never get away with something like that (does the specter of the hysterical woman keep her up at night)? Does she envy him because that's what freed him? And does that just cause the resentment to pile even higher because she could never allow herself to fall to pieces like that? Because someone has to stay in control. Someone has to keep it together.

[cressidagrey]

Stars all aligned - Chapter 1

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

Bashing of like...every IC member? I think Rhys gets the worst though, definitely disordered eating, kinda depression?, isolation

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

He found her deep inside the House of Wind. Far enough from the festivities of Starfall that it was startling to find her.

The second oldest Archeron Sister must have wandered off just like he had.

“Why aren’t you dancing?” Azriel asked her as he spied her sitting in a puddle of her skirts on one of the couches, staring at the empty fireplace.

“Why aren’t you?” Zahra gave back drily, not even looking up at him.

What exactly was he supposed to answer to that? Oh, I can't stomach watching your sister dance with her mate? And even if I could stomach that, Rhys's mental commentary to him about it had turned his stomach. Even when Azriel had kept away from Elain just like Rhysand had ordered him to do, ever since last year. So really...what was he supposed to answer?

“Dancing isn’t exactly my favourite activity,” Azriel finally replied. It wasn’t a lie. 

"Yeah, well, mine neither," she answered with a shrug. "Not that I ever learned."

"You never learned?" he asked surprised. Nesta had learned. Elain had learned.

"Bastard, remember?" Zahra said drily. "I am lucky that I got to learn how to read and write and do basic math. I was not going to be molded into a perfect lady, because no self-respecting man would marry me anyway."

The blunt way Zahra was talking stunned Azriel momentarily. There was something harsh, something almost...bitter and resentful in her voice as she spoke.

It seemed like it didn't matter if one was born a bastard in Illyria or the Human lands. It was horrible either way.

"Your sisters will miss you," he said instead quietly. "And you'll miss the spectacle."

"I don't really care for the festivities," she said with another shrug. "I don’t like the holidays. Humans don’t have any. We… they are too busy trying to survive," Zahra corrected herself quietly. "And besides, I am only here anyway so I don't end up being an indentured servant until some of you decide that I am back in your good graces,” she gave back caustically.

He grimaced. That Zahra had vehemently disagreed about their treatment of Nesta was well known.

It had surprised him too because it was just as just as well known that Nesta seemed to not care for her half-sister on a good day. They weren't particularly close, in any way, shape or form.

Something in his chest clenched painfully. Not from the insult she threw in his direction, but from the defeated way she said it. That she thought that they would just…toss her aside like that.

She was one of them.

"We won't," he said firmly. Her eyes slowly turned toward him and there were dark shadows in those eyes. Out of all the Archeron Sisters, she was the only one with green eyes. Azriel wondered if she had inherited them from her late mother.

Zahra was only the half-sister after all. The result of her father’s dalliance with a maid. Her age put her somewhere between Nesta and Elain. 

It was easy enough to pick out the differences between Nesta, Elain and Feyre and Zahra. Dark hair similar to Elain’s, but green eyes. Skin a few shades darker than any of theirs. Lips that looked like Feyre’s but a nose that looked like none of her sisters. 

Zahra seemed to belong but didn’t. 

And right now, these green eyes…something was wrong. Something was off with these eyes. 

"You don’t know that," she said with a humourless laugh. "Do you want to lie to me too, and  tell me that Rhysand has nothing to do with whatever happened between Elain and you?"

Azriel stiffened, a low sound escaping his throat. She knew. She knew.

"How did you-" he croaked hoarsely and Zahra cocked an eyebrow at him.

 "Do you really think that I hadn't noticed the two of you dancing around each other for months? Or the fact that you two can barely manage to be in the same room together?" she asked dryly and Azriel averted his gaze.  "There is no one as beautiful and kind as my sister," Zahra said drily. "I don't fault you for falling for her."

Azriel said nothing, the pain in his chest growing at her words. The pain...and the bitter realization that his feelings were not as well-hidden as he had thought they were. 

"It doesn't matter," he said quietly. "She has a mate. She deserves better than me anyway."

"Did Rhysand tell you that too?" Zahra said drily. "You never tried to hide the fact that your mate was dying from the same, so you have that on him."

Azriel gritted his teeth, the pain in his chest becoming almost unbearable. "It doesn’t matter," he repeated firmly, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. "Elain is happy. I would do nothing to put that in danger." 

"Yes, she is," Zahra agreed. "For what it's worth, I am sorry," she apologised to him, her voice honest.

Azriel swallowed, the pain in his chest lessening only to be replaced by something else. Something...much more complicated. Something like…pity.

He pitied her. This young female was so full of bitterness. He couldn’t even fault her for it either. She had been just a bastard. Even when they had first met the Archeron Sisters…Zahra had been working in the household as a maid. Half employee, half part of the family. Like their father couldn’t make up his mind what he should do with his bastard daughter. 

"You don't have anything to apologise for," Azriel finally told her quietly. "Do you really not want to watch?" he asked her. "You are supposed to wish for something when you see the stars fall."

She snorted, the sound bitter. "What I want, I am never going to get," Zahra said, her voice brittle.

He took her in in more detail at that moment.

The simple green gown she wore, high necked and long sleeved...that long gown that did little to hide how thing she was. The dark brown hair, pulled into a braid, obviously trying to hide the pointed tips of her ears and failing...the way her skin, darker than all of her sisters, was nearly ashen.

They had all thought that she was doing well. That Zahra at least was adjusting well.

But she wasn't. She wasn’t doing better.  She hadn't adjusted. Azriel would bet anything that all she wanted in her life was to be human again.

She hadn't adjusted. She just acted in a way that didn't bother anybody, that didn’t spell trouble for anybody.  Zahra had gotten herself a job, managing the accounting at an apothecary in the city.  She had gotten herself a little cottage to rent. She didn’t go out and get drunk. She didn’t use any money from Rhys or Feyre. She showed up for family dinners, staying quiet and polite. 

And if she was miserable…well, then nobody cared, because she didn’t bother anybody. Azriel could understand that. The same was the case for him.

Azriel clenched his jaw, watching her quietly sitting here. The way she was trying to hide away. The dress that was more like a potato sack than anything else. The way her skin was almost...grey. That bitter voice. 

The shadows were stirring and he was unable to look away from her. She looks upset, Master, they told him helpfully. 

"Do you want to go home?" Azriel offered quietly. Home to her cottage? Maybe some peace and quiet would make her feel better. 

Zahra shrugged, not looking at him. Not giving him an inch. That wall of bitterness and sarcasm was so firmly in place, that it was practically a solid wall between them. 

“Don’t want to end like an indentured servant, remember?“ she quipped drily.

“You won’t,“ Azriel said evenly. “You had a headache. I brought you home.“

She still didn’t look at him, her hands tightly knotted into her skirts as she sat there. She was so thin, almost fragile-looking. Her skin was sickly grey. “Come on,” he said finally, walking towards her.

Zahra finally looked up at him. Those green eyes. A bitter and lonely light in them. “What are you doing?“ she muttered. 

“I’m bringing you home,” he said simply, holding out his hand. “Come on, get up.“

Zahra looked at his hand, her gaze wary. “Why?“ she asked quietly. 

“Because you look like you are about to keel over,” he said, more bluntly than intended. 

“Gee, thanks,” she said dryly, her voice sarcastic and bitter. But she placed her hand into his own and let him pull her to her feet, even though he could feel the tension in her entire body. 

Azriel wrapped his arm around her shoulders, steadying her. “Come on. Let’s get you home and into bed,” he said firmly. 

He led her towards the balcony, the last few streaks of light painting the sky, and he grasped her tightly as they shout these few feet into the air until he could winnow to the cottage she rented. 

It’s ugly, the shadows complained. 

He had to agree with them. The cottage was an ugly little thing. Plain. Small. The type of thing that was more of a hovel in the outskirts, rather than anything else. 

“Home sweet home,“ Zahra said dryly, pulling away from him and a key out of her purse. 

That cottage was in serious need of some renovations when the red paint that was flaking off the door was anything to go by. 

As she unlocked the door it became obvious that while she kept it clean and neat.. even that couldn’t help much. This is a hovel, the shadows hissed.

Azriel was inclined to agree. He looked around with a frown, as the shadows scuttered around the tiny cottage. “You live here?“ he couldn’t help but ask. It was a terrible hovel indeed. 

Zahra shrugged as if she didn’t notice the disgust in his voice. “I couldn’t exactly afford anything else at first,” she said drily. 

At least not without taking any money from Rhys and Feyre, and clearly that was nothing that Zahra wanted to do. 

He was struck by how empty it all looked. There was a small kitchen space, a table with a few chairs a fireplace… And the door that led to her bedroom, he assumed. 

“How long have you lived here?“ he asked carefully, taking in the bare emptiness. There were no pictures on the walls. No trinkets and little belongings anywhere. It was…lifeless. She shrugged again and kicked off her shoes, making her way towards the bedroom. “A year?“

The room was equally simple and bare. A bed, a few clothes. A little bathing chamber. That was it. 

“You’ve lived here for over a year?“ Azriel repeated, his voice turning sharp as he looked at everything. There wasn’t even a mirror on the wall. 

When she just shrugged again, he was done. He grabbed her arm and towed her back into the main room. “Stay,” he ordered, pointing at the table and one of the two rickety chairs. 

“What are you doing?“ Zahra asked, raising both eyebrows at him. Her irritation had started to rise considerably. At least that had done something to the sickly colour of her skin. 

“Making sure you eat something before you pass out on me,” Azriel muttered, turning back into the kitchen area, looking around with a frown.

There was…nothing. His shadows reported as much. She literally had a few pieces of bread and some cheese in the whole house. He was more than fuming. That was not enough that she was living in…this hovel, she was apparently also starving herself.

He pointed at the chair again. “Sit,” he ordered a little sharper than he had intended. 

The glare she gave him did not surprise him. Zahra hated being ordered around. “No,” she said firmly, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I’m not hungry.“

Azriel clenched his jaw, the anger flaring. How stubborn could she be? 

“You clearly haven’t eaten in days,” he said, pointing out the obvious. “You have nothing in your house to eat.” 

“I have what I need,” she retorted, her own anger flaring. Azriel gritted his teeth, the urge to snap at her almost overwhelming.

“You are skin and bones,” he hissed. “There is barely enough fat on you to keep out the cold.“ 

“Why do you care?“ she snapped right back.

The question hit him squarely in the chest. Why did he care? Why, he asked himself for a moment. Why indeed.

He wasn’t going to lie to himself and say that it was just because she was Feyre’s sister. 

Thankfully, Azriel was saved from actually having to answer, when her stomach grumbled.

Loudly. Azriel almost chuckled at the sound of her own stomach betraying just how hungry she really was. “Clearly your body disagrees with you,” he said drily. 

“Shut up,” Zahra snapped, her skin flushing at the sound of her own stomach. 

“I will shut up after you’ve eaten something,” Azriel said firmly, folding his arms across his chest.

Zahra gave him a glare that could strip the paint from the walls, (but then, the paint was already flaking off anyway). Still, she grudgingly sank down on the chair, her eyes avoiding his. 

He turned back into the kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers and found absolutely nothing. There was nothing. Not even some fruits or vegetables. 

He slammed the last cupboard closed, almost causing the hinges to break, the anger flaring hotly in his chest. That stupid, stubborn, stubborn woman.

“I will personally come here every day and stuff you full until you burst,” he snapped before he could stop himself.

“Why?” she asked and he could hear the challenge in her voice. Her own anger rose to meet his own. “Why would you even bother?“ 

“Because you are starving yourself,” he said, spinning around to face her. “Because you are so thin, I could snap you in half with one hand. Because I’m pretty damn sure you haven’t eaten a proper meal in at least a year. That’s why.“

“Maybe I don’t deserve a proper meal,” she shot back and something inside of him snapped at the tone in her voice. 

Because he knew that feeling. He knew. For just a moment he froze. They were far more similar than they should be. 

It was a terrible realization. He knew what the self-hatred and bitterness was like. He understood it far better than he wanted to.

“Nobody is going to suddenly show up and care,” he told her quietly. He saw her eyes flare at the words and he knew she got the meaning behind them instantly.

She sat there, her jaw tensed. “And what do you know about it?” she snapped, her voice bitter. 

“I know what it feels like to starve oneself,” he said calmly. “I know what it feels like to have not a single person notice or care.“

The words rang truer than they should. Her eyes widened for a moment, shock flashing through her. 

“I know what it feels like to be the one be always at the edge of the family. I know what it feels like for everybody around me to meet their mate but not me.“

The words slipped out before he could stop them. The pain he had buried so deep, deep down flaring up. The pain and loneliness and bitter realization that would never have what everyone else had.

He realized only then how much they really had in common. How similar they were. 

“I know what it feels like to be the afterthought,” he continued, unable to stop now. “I know how it feels to be shoved aside. I know how it feels to watch everyone around me find someone while I’m the one left behind.“ 

He took a step closer to where she was sitting, towering over her. “And I know how it feels to hate myself enough to deny myself the basic needs I actually have.“ 

The last words made her flinch. He was so close he could almost see the pain and guilt and bitter realization flit across her face. Her eyes were on her lap, her fingers wrapped around the edge of the table. 

“I know what it feels like to feel as if I don’t deserve to eat,” he said quietly. “Because I’m not good enough. Not worthy enough. Not deserving enough.“

He knelt down in front of her, forcing her to look at him. To meet his eyes. 

She tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let her. He wanted her to see. To understand that she wasn’t as alone as she thought. “I know what it feels like to punish myself by not giving myself what I actually need,” he said quietly. 

Her breath hitched at the last words, her eyes widening ever so slightly. She was listening. Really listening to what he said.

“You’re not the only one who hates yourself, you know,” he said quietly. The look in her eyes shattered him. The look of realisation. Of bitter understanding. The realization that they were so much more similar than either of them had thought before.

Zahra bit her lip, the guilt flashing across her face. Her hands started trembling, ever so slightly.

“You don’t deserve to go hungry,” he said quietly, his voice firm and quiet. “You don’t deserve to starve yourself. You don’t deserve to live in this… hovel.

“The cauldron should just have killed me,” Zara said her voice brittle. “I don’t like this life.”

And didn’t that break his fucking heart? 

She laughed bitterly, but there was no humour in it. “I’m not even surviving,” she said, a bitter smile on her thin lips. “I’m existing. There is a difference.“ 

The words hit him hard. She was right. She didn’t survive, she just existed. There was a difference and a huge one at that. “Then stop just existing,” he said quietly.

His hand was still cupping her cheek, his thumb stroking gently over her skin. 

“Says the guy that just keeps moping around,” she quipped.

It was a low blow but also true. Azriel’s jaw tensed at the comment. “I don’t mope,” he bit. “I just..“

He didn’t really have a good argument in his defence at the moment. 

He sighed. “We should both stop rotting away,” he said drily.

“Yeah, well, that’s easy to you to say,” Zahra said and he could hear the bitterness in her voice. 

“Eat your cheese,” he responded.

She rolled her eyes and snatched away the slice of cheese off the table. “Happy now?“ she muttered. 

“Delighted,” he gave back drily, as he moved towards her fireplace.

“You don’t need to do that,” Zahra said quietly. “I can do that.”

“Considering you’ve been too starved to think straight, you are going to let me do this,” Azriel cut across her calmly. “You are more than likely to burn yourself.” 

“Don’t the flames bother you?” She asked him quietly. He froze.

Nobody else had ever asked him. They had just expected him to be over it by now. He had 500 years to be over it. His hands clenched.

“Yes,” he answered quietly. “They still do.” It was the honest truth. A truth he never told anyone before, least of all someone like her. The shadows curled around his shoulders and arms as if to calm him down. The flames still bothered him. They always would. “But I learnt to deal with it a long time ago,” he continued.

“That’s not fair to you,” Zahra said, her voice quiet. “You are always the one in discomfort. And nobody cares.”

Her words hit him square in the gut. It was true. It was painfully true. He was always the one being uncomfortable. Always the one on edge. It had always been expected of him to be over it by now, the pain and the hurt. The fear and the bitterness. 

He finished building the fire. Using a match to light it carefully, then closing the door quickly.

“I can deal with it,” he answered quietly. “You should go to sleep,” he advised her.

“So should you,” Zahra told him just as quietly. “You look terrible.“ He knew he looked like crap. But that didn’t matter. 

“I’m fine,” he muttered, brushing off her comment. Even though he knew it was a lie. Even though he knew they were both terrible at taking care of themselves. 

“You are a terrible liar,” she quipped. He looked at her and was surprised to see a tiny smile on her face. 

“And you’re a very stubborn, very stupid, very annoying woman,” he quipped back just as quietly. 

The smile on her face broadened the tiniest bit at the comment. “I could say the same about you,” she shot back. 

“Sleep,” he told her again.

And then he left that little cottage to get back to the House of Wind. He didn’t bother winnowing, instead, he shot up into the sky with one flap of his mighty wings. He wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.

His mind was whirling as he flew back to the House of Wind. So much had happened in the last few hours and it was all still a lot to process.

He had always been good at keeping a rein on his thoughts and his emotions. But this time, he simply couldn’t. 

Zahra and him, always on the outskirts of their family. Ignored and expected to get on with it.

They were so similar in so many ways. It was shocking to realize just how much they actually had in common.

The loneliness and solitude he had come to live with, she had experienced herself. The pain and the bitterness, he could recognize it on her, for he had felt it himself. 

Where are you, Az? Rhys demanded at that moment mentally. Azriel would like to scratch out his eyes, but he didn’t.

I’m flying back to the House, he sent back curtly. Zahra had a headache, so I brought her home.

A headache, Rhys shot back incredulously. Azriel could almost see the look on his High Lord’s face. You really think I will buy that?

I don’t care if you believe me or not, Azriel responded icily, his temper rising already at the tone. It is the truth and I really don’t wish to have a discussion over it.

There was a pause in Rhys’ mind. Then a slight huff. You can be so unbelievably stubborn sometimes, you know that?

Azriel didn’t bother reacting to that.

Elain and Lucien are figuring things out. So keep away from her, Rhys told him sharply.

I am keeping away from her, Azriel shot back, irritation flaring. You really think I will go and ruin this for her?

I don’t know what you are up to, Rhys retorted, and Azriel knew the High Lord was irritated. But I really don’t have the time to deal with your crap right now. That’s an order.

Understood, High Lord, Azriel snarled back and he felt Rhys chuckle in his mind at the tone. I will keep away from your precious Elain, I promise. 

Damn right you will, he heard Rhys mutter in his mind and the mental connection between the two of them snapped close. 

Azriel snarled in irritation as he landed on his balcony and stalked into his room. It wasn’t enough that he was wrestling with his own emotions, No, he also had Rhys all up his ass about it. 

And he was infuriated about the whole thing.

Nobody will suddenly show up and care, he has told Zahra. It was the truth. Nobody would care.

They only cared as long as they got what they wanted from him.

Chip away the pieces they didn’t like. Mould him into a person they could stomach. 

Either it was Rhys ordering to keep away from Elain…or ordering him to behave around Mor and Emerie… and to be quite honest…Azriel was done.

It was always him that needed to bend to make everybody else comfortable. Nobody bends for him.

So many years of following orders, of keeping his mouth shut, of bottling up the anger.

Even when everyone around him was getting what they wanted. They got their happily ever after. And he was left behind.  Not once did someone ever realize that he was struggling. Not once did someone notice that he needed something…anything. That he was hurting and in pain. Nobody even bothered to check on him, to ask how he was doing. 

They all got what they wanted. Mor, Emerie, even Feyre. They all got the mate that they wanted. Rhys, Cassian and even Amren had Varian. 

He was the one always helping everyone else. Always the one having to endure everything. Never anything for himself. No love for himself.

Orders, commands, demands…that’s all it ever was. He didn’t get a say in anything. They just expected him to be fine. And if he wasn’t…he had to push through it. 

He was the tool that did whatever needed to be done. The spy that got the order to do the dirty work. The shadowsinger that just had to endure everything. 

All for scraps of attention.

Azriel was done.

He was so done. With everything. With everyone. With the one-sided affection that he had given in a desperate attempt to feel…something, anything…. 

He needed to stop expecting to get anything from them.

Zahra did not. She seemed to have given that up a very long time ago

The cold realization that they had been doing the same to her hit him. She was also the tool they used when they needed it. She may not be a spy, but they used her just the same. Expected her to be fine. 

She was alone just as much as he was. 

Alone and isolated, an afterthought to their family just as much as he was. 

***

It was quiet in the little cottage. 

Peaceful. 

Comfortable.

Sie should be happy. Or at the very least…she should be content, should she not?.

Zahra had a roof over her head. And if she wanted to…she could afford food.

Her job didn’t pay that well, but it wouldn’t leave her starving. She just wasn’t hungry. She seemingly never was.

That was a lie and she knew it. Deep down she was hungry all the time. She just refused to give in to eating. She refused to listen to her body screaming for sustenance. It didn’t matter, anyway. Nobody cared.

She didn’t care.

Something inside her had broken during her bath in that cauldron. Her humanity had burned away and with that…with that everything Zahra had ever wanted.

She didn’t crave anything anymore. Not love. Not affection. Not attention. Not food. It was all gone. All she felt was numb. 

Cold, empty and numb. Like her shell had hardened and frozen over.

She had never thought it was possible to feel so damn tired without having done anything. 

Zahra forced herself to get up. Forced herself to heat some water on the stove… to make tea. The cheapest tea she had been able to find at the market.

It wasn’t the best. The taste was bitter and the color was more brown than black. But it was tea and she was thirsty enough to drink it.

It wasn’t very warm and left a bitter aftertaste on the tongue. Like her life itself. 

Maybe just dying would have been easier, she reflected bitterly. Was this how eternity would feel? Alone? Tucked away in this cottage? 

All her sisters had been given a mating bond. They had been given another person who loved them unconditionally…that was at their side. That wanted them around. That wanted to spent time with them. 

And then there was her. 

She had been closest to Feyre during the years in that cottage. Nesta gave her the fault for seemingly everything htat had ever gone wrong in her life, though Zahra privately thought that for Nesta, Zahra was just the evidence of another of her father’s failings…Elain…well, Elain was more embarrassed than anything about Zahra’s very existence. But Feyre…well, Feyre hadn’t cared. And so Zahra had tried to dote on her as much as she could. 

And then clearly she had been replaced in Feyre’s affections. 

She didn’t fault her for that. 

Feyre had made her own life. And she had every right to do that. She was busy with her mate and her son and Mor was her best friend and…there was seemingly no place for Zahra there. 

Which was fine. 

It was. 

But if Zahra was completely honest with herself…she was unspeakably jealous of the mating bond of every single one of her sisters. 

Of that promise of at least one person that would be on her side, come Hel or High Water. 

Clearly, something was wrong with her that she hadn’t been given a Mating Bond.

She wasn’t worth a mate. Clearly, something was broken inside her. Otherwise, the cauldron would have given her a mate, right? 

Maybe she was broken so thoroughly that nobody even wanted her. 

Why would they? She was a shell of a person, a ghost of the woman she was supposed to be.

She was cold, empty and numb. Everything that nobody could possibly want. 

Everyone else got a mate, love and happiness. Not her.

She had nothing.

Her hands clenched around her lukewarm cup of tea. 

Some random sparks of light sparked against the mug. A gift from the cauldron. They didn’t seem to do anything but warm whatever they touched. Maybe that was that random power the cauldron had given her. Neither future or death…but…warmth. She supposed it was something.

She wasn’t quite sure what to do with it, and she had never bothered telling anybody about it. 

Sometimes she allowed herself to play with them when she couldn’t sleep. They were strange and utterly useless. 

It wasn’t the power of foresight or the power of a death god…no. She had the stupid power to create sparks. Useless sparks of light. 

Oh well. 

Complaining about her sparks wasn’t going to help her either. 

So she pulled out her work and sat down to do her work as the sun came up and the day went on. 

Zahra balanced the account ledgers for one of the apothecaries in Velaris. Which meant she had a whole box of receipts to sort through and put into said ledger.

One receipt at a time, one name after the other. 

It kept her busy. It paid well enough. She seemed to have some kind of aptitude for it…maybe the fact that her father was a merchant had come through for once. 

She worked until the late evening. Until her eyes couldn’t concentrate on the numbers anymore.Until her back and shoulders ached with pain. She stretched her shoulders back. 

She wondered if she should eat something. Her cheese was gone, thanks to Azriel standing over her until she ate it…but she still had one or two slices of bread, didn’t she? 

She could go food shopping…buy another bread, another chunk of cheese tomorrow. 

Then Zahra heard a knock on the door. 

Confusion spread through her. Who would knock on her door at that very late hour? It was after 9 pm already. 

She got up, walked towards the door and opened it carefully.

It was the last person she would expected to be standing on the front porch. Azriel. 

“I am making you dinner.“

Her eyes widened at that announcement. “You are what?” she asked him dumbly. 

He just gave her a deadpan look and pushed past her. “I am cooking dinner because I am assuming that you haven’t eaten yet,” he told her plainly. 

It was true. Zahra hadn’t eaten a proper meal in god knows how long. But why did he care?? “Why?” she blurted out. “Why do you care if I’ve eaten?” 

He gave her a sharp look and pushed her towards the kitchen chair. “Sit down,” he simply ordered and she was too taken aback to protest against it. 

He had brought his own ingredients. His own knives, all tucked away in a little basket that he put on her countertop. “Can you peel potatoes?” He asked her as he rummaged through it. 

She could just stare at him. 

“Who do you think cooked the meat Feyre hunted?” Zahra replied drily.

Azriel froze in the process of digging something out of the basket on the counter. “You can cook?” he asked her and she heard the surprise in his voice. 

Zahra let out a snort. “Yes, I can cook,” she retorted. “What did you think I was doing this whole time in the cottage? Twiddling my thumbs?” 

He shrugged. “Honestly, I had no idea what you were up to,” he told her truthfully.  “I thought you were as useless as Elain and Nesta were at that point,” he admitted.

“Nesta did all the cleaning and hacked the wook,” Zara corrected him quietly. “Elain mended. I cooked. Feyre was the only one who hunted. And yes, we should have done more, but I did help run the household. The only one who never helped was our father.” The bitterness bled into her voice at that. 

There was a long pause after her admission. Then Azriel exhaled. “I guess I shouldn’t be as surprised as I am,” he muttered. “You don’t strike me as a pampered useless damsel.” 

“Thank you for that assessment, Shadowsinger,” she quipped back. “I will make sure to remember it when I need a pick-me-up.” 

He put a sack of potatoes in front of her. “I take it I’m peeling potatoes,” Zahra murmured, staring at the sack that was in front of her.

“Yes,” Azriel confirmed in that no-nonsense voice of his. “While I prep the meat. I do hope you like rabbit,” he added drily.

“Oh good,” she muttered, grabbing a knife and started to peel away at the potatoes. “Did you hunt it?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, his voice neutral. Zahra bit back a snarky remark and focused on the potatoes. 

They worked like that in silence. Him preparing the meat, her peeling the potatoes and the carrots.

It was odd. This whole thing was odd. Sitting and cooking with Azriel. She hadn’t even known he could cook. 

And yet…it was comfortable. Like the silence wasn’t awkward and neither of them felt the need to break it. It was a comfortable domestic kind of silence. Like they had done this a thousand times before. 

“How are you with spicy food?” Azriel asked her after he had taken the potatoes from her. 

Zahra blinked in surprise. “I have a pretty good tolerance, why?” she asked, curious. 

“All the food I can cook is Illyrian,” Azriel answered drily. “I learned from Rhys’ mother and later from my own. It’s spicy.”

“I can handle a bit of spice,” she assured him. “It should be fine.” He nodded in response. 

The sound of the fire crackling in the stove and him stirring up the meat were the only sounds filling the kitchen as they continued their work. 

Zahra honestly had no idea Azriel could cook. He didn’t seem like the type of male who spent time cooped up in the kitchen, making meals. It was a little surprising. 

And yet, the scents of spices and rabbit were filling her kitchen right now... It smelled almost heavenly. 

She hadn’t smelled something as heavenly in a long time. And her stomach growled in response to the delicious scents of food. Zahra tried to remember when she’d last eaten something actually decent, but she couldn’t think straight. The food was distracting her.

“You look half starved,” Azriel observed in a deadpanned tone and she snapped her head up only to find him looking at her. 

His eyes were focused on her, a frown playing on his forehead. “When was the last time you actually ate something properly?” he asked her, his voice firm. 

She averted her gaze. “I don’t know,” she muttered, looking away from him and to the pot bubbling on the stove. “Maybe a week ago?” 

He was silent for a moment. “That long?” he asked her, his voice carefully neutral. She just shrugged in response to keep herself from admitting that she actually couldn’t remember exactly. 

He poured hot, thick stew into a bowl for her and then put it in front of her, holding out cutlery for her to take. “Why are you doing this?” Zahra asked him weakly.

“Because I wish somehow had done it for me,” Azriel responded

That simple statement made her blink in surprise. It was not an answer she had been expecting. She bit her lip, not really sure what to say. 

And then he simply said. “Eat. You look like you’d blow away at the slightest breeze.”

She should have been angered by that blunt statement, but somehow she wasn’t. 

So Zahra ate.

The food tasted incredibly good. She had to admit that the Shadowsinger was talented with cooking. The food was spiced just perfectly, hot and filled with flavour. 

Every bite made her realize just how incredibly hungry she was. Her stomach filled slowly and the hunger abated with every spoonful. It was like her insides started to come back to life. The numbness was slowly disappearing, replaced by an odd sort of warmth flowing through her limbs. 

"Thank you," she finally said weakly.

Azriel just nodded at her, watching her eat. “Of course,” he murmured and continued with his own food. 

[magickman1234]

That Final Last Bit

(Please reblog if you enjoy!)

My goodness you’ve let go of that final last of resistance babe. I catch you eating when without prompt and prompting food be brought to you. You don’t really have it in you to resist anymore. I’ve gotten you so comfortable with accepting treats, extras and snacks. Each meal multilayered with multiple desserts or treats at night. We load you up and let you fill out the indent in the couch more. You truly now embody the meaning of “spoiled” with nearly every ounce of your being. You’ve always been fat but you used to be such an athletic fatty but now stairs and semi-longer walkways take your breath away. Your physique ruined by my tender care, an instance you take care and relax, and a willingness to discover what indulgence you can’t turn down. You’ve slowly went from that perky fast fat girl to the careful rotund butterball you are. I can see not only has my spoiling of you made you physically soft but I can feel your last bits of definition dissolve into lard.

The slightest movement of your body or the slightest tap and your flesh quivers and bounces. Ripples across the thick jiggly sheath of adipose tissue taking over your life. Somewhere buried under all that lard is that plump but in shape fat girl. Remember how socially acceptable your body was? My would even the average FA find you hot? Would the average feeder shake their head at me as I bring you food? Each added inch, stretch mark, roll another step towards complete obesity.

You’ve long past the point of curvy or ultra curvy as your body now has to get creative as all the obvious spots are filled to compactly. You’ve traded in your thick fat yet shapely ass for your more delicious wide gelatin mold of an ass shelf that just spreads and gets so flabby you never stop bouncing when you walk. Your belly hangs so low anyone can see sway in even when your clothes cover it. The slow explosion of your upper arms as the fat just keeps pushing into them and down into your lower arms as the final frontier of your wrists get conquered too.

Every moment of your day is now changed every aspect of your life to make room for more fat. You’re swamped by your own blubber when you sit fighting your tits to reach things. The hot comfort you now unconsciously have in resting your device on your stomach. The utter look of exhilaration and fear in the humiliation of how heavy you are surround by your curves and assets turned to weighty fat rolls and explosive swells of fat that pile up around you. They fight each other and you for space, your massive tummy takes center stage in a way I can tell you find extra humiliating. It’s tasty when the traces of your unconscious pride in being that acceptable curvy fatty surfaces and is crushed by your sheer rotundity. Your hourglass is only findable in traces. Bigger tits turn gelatinous like the rest of you but you’re still stacked and your wide fat ass slowly pools around you with your hips and thighs. I know that embarrassment of a fat middle is the worse part for you because you used to have a real waistline but now it’s two massive fat rolls hanging in a lard only double belly. Total jello/pudding consistency with a slight clinch of the lard below your tits to maybe resemble a waistline. You give me these great looks of true humiliation and resignation when you catch me looking at inches of escaped tummy roll or lovehandles. You can tell you forget how big you let me make your belly until those moments you realize.

I now know why you used to ask me would I ever find you too fat to handle. I think an honest question or need to be reassured with a clear fantasy but somewhere in the last hundred pounds it’s slowly almost a plea. Like Violet as she’s chewing away crying for help. You can’t stop yourself now and I realize now some part of you desperately hoped I’d sour to our game and stop you before we hit some edge.

I think we went passed that now because you stopped asking and started eating more and more. The humiliation and consequences too tiny before the years of training and the long loss of your fitness and muscle mass. Your helplessness to your own pleasure evident when you orgasm until you cry versus cry like your old thin(ner) self would have. You hoped I was lying about taking you beyond that edge. Some part of you hoped I’d stop you because you knew once I started you down that enabling, submission inducing and fattening path of pleasure you really didn’t think you could stop.

I think you chose me because another more true part of you didn’t want to stop. You knew my ability to dom you as evil taunting feeder, sweet lover feeder and subtle farmer feedee shaping your environment to fatten you would overwhelm your lingering resistance. You’ve never been greedier and more gluttonous until after some humiliating detail is revealed or experience occurs.

Be honest the only one here in control is your hunger. From the outside it might appear I’m the dom or your the dom if they see my doting. But the reality is your gluttony is who we’ve both put in charges by removing that last bit of resistance.

[girldragongizzard]

Chapter 16: Finding my voice

The clothes are obviously Chapman’s, and I’m made to fit them.

The central piece of the ensemble is a TARDIS dress. Probably because it’s blue.

There’s also a pair of sunset orange ballet flats with orange supportive insoles in them. A pair of gloves, a purse, and a pair of sunglasses, all of the same color.

The purse is bigger, and in better shape, and with a longer strap, than the purse I’ve been using. So I happily transfer everything over to that. And that’s really super easy with my new sofa-primate hands.

There’s a simple makeup kit in the purse, including a mirror, that I’m entirely too afraid to use.

I’ll catch a glimpse of myself in a window or a bathroom mirror eventually, but I don’t need that now, and I don’t know a thing about makeup. A lot of women locally don’t wear much of it, if any at all, anyway. I’ll blend in just fine without it.

Except that I’m wearing these clothes, and they are telegraphing who I am to anybody who might suspect I’m wearing a pendant that can do this in the first place.

There are panties that are the same blue as the dress.

No bra. The dress has a shelf bra, and what I’ve got on my chest probably doesn’t even need that. I’ve still got them, though. Definitely bigger than I’ve ever had before.

A lot of women around here don’t wear bras either. So, again, not a huge deal. And one less thing to delay my exit from the parking garage.

When I’m all dressed, the pendant hangs all the way down to the bottom of my sternum, under my dress, completely hidden by it and its high neckline.

In a pinch, though, I can still grab it with both hands and haul it right over my head and out of my dress. But if I do that, the dress won’t survive. Nor will the shoes or gloves. Or panties.

There are a lot of reasons I don’t like this, now that I’m doing it, and I want to take the pendant off now. However, that would shunt me over to escape plan B, and that might result in more of last night’s kind of bologna, actually.

But I look like I’m going to a science fiction convention.

—

As I stick my nose out through the crack in the door of the stairwell, I smell, hear, and see a police car roll by and head for the ramp up. They obviously didn’t see me even crack the door, but I let myself be convinced that my disguise is already working, and lick my lips before opening the door more fully.

Another police car swerves and pulls to a halt in front of me as I step out of the door, and I make startled eye contact with the driver.

He pulls his microphone from his dash and puts it to his mouth, to say, amplified and way too loud, echoing throughout the complex, “Ma’am. Please vacate the premises immediately for your safety. There is a dangerous reptile wandering the parking garage.

I still don’t see animal control anywhere.

I nod, and wave, and stumble out, around and past the car to the sidewalk.

I hope they don’t hurt that poor lizard.

Fortunately, I happen to know that she’s making a cunning getaway. But, they might yet track her down, I suppose.

What if they have a wizard on their staff?

—

The door of the coffee shop opens, setting off the chime to let everyone know that the first customer of the day has entered.

Well, no. Chapman and Rhoda are already there, in the back of the main room, waiting for me.

Jill and Cerce, who open on Saturdays, have been told what to expect, but Cerce gawks from behind the counter as Jill steps out to get a good look at me and then at Chapman and back again.

I understand we don’t look exactly alike, though I couldn’t tell from memory when I had taken a peek at myself in a shop window. But, it does look like our bodies were stamped out of the same base mold.

There are some differences.

My boobs are bigger.

My hair is dark brown and not cut in a side shave, and it falls to my shoulders. It has a slight wave to it.

Chapman had said sie had based my facial features on hir favorite autistic comedian from Australia, mixing them with hir own. And the result is that we could be siblings, cousins, or painfully gay partners, depending on if the beholder has prosopagnosia like me or not. And I’m honestly fine with any of those assumptions. I feel like I’d have fun playing each of them up. If I could focus on socializing as if I’m human.

Jill stops in front of me and asks, “Meghan. You look stunning. And stunned. Are you all right?”

I open my mouth and I squeak.

Jill blinks.

See, there’s a bit of a problem.

I hold up a finger. Straight up. It surprises me and I look at it in wonder for a second, then I glance at Jill, and then Cerce. And then I reach into my new purse with both hands and pull out my enchanted tablet.

I almost go to put it on the ground in front of me, but stop myself from bending over more than a couple degrees and make a coughing noise. Then I rub my nose and straighten up and deliberately hold the tablet in front of me.

At which point I reach with one of my hands and turn it on.

Holding it with one hand directly in front of my face at half an arm’s length out, I press on the screen with the knuckle of my other hand.

This feels so freaking awkward and weird.

But soon the AAC app is open and I can talk again. So I say, in my own now familiar voice, that of the tablet, “Can’t talk.”

“What? I don’t understand!” Jill exclaims. Then looks questioningly at Chapman.

Cerce utters, “Oh.”

And Chapman nods at her and then says, “She has a larynx now, Jill. Not only does she not know how to use it, but I imagine it feels really weird when she tries.”

I nod vigorously.

“But didn’t she have one before?” Jill asks.

“I don’t know,” Chapman says. “I never got to study a dragon before the metamorphosis. No one did. We didn’t know who they were. But if I had a guess, I’d say she did, but she lost all memory of how to use it when that old disguise was discarded.”

Jill half points at me and asks, “And how did you say she got this way again?”

“I very pointedly didn’t,” Chapman replies. “And I won’t.”

Jill squints at me and examines me further and says, “I do feel like I recognize her, even though she’s never looked like this. Just like the first time she changed. Will all the other dragons be able to do this?”

“Probably not. Or, if so, one at a time.”

“So weird. And so cool, and,” she looks at me in the face. “Are you really OK with this?”

I shake my head, making sure that she and Cerce and Rhoda and Chapman see me do so. Then I use my tablet to say, “Have to.”

“OK. OK.” She nervously smiles at Chapman, then back at me. “Well, you look good.”

—

There’s a full length mirror in the back room, where they’re going to eventually set up my computer, and I’m really annoyed that I’m using it to look at this body and not my own.

I could take off all my clothes again and then the pendant, and get to see, but that would be a lot of trouble. I’ll get to see eventually.

And, even though it’s a full length mirror, it’s not really wide enough to give me a full third person view of my wingspan. When I have one.

It’s just fine for a human, of course.

I’m.

I’m a woman.

Only I’m not.

This is how I know that I’m not.

Oh, I am definitely female. I am so supposed to be female. I am almost laser focused now on the idea of laying eggs in the spring.

I might be in the need to look for a suitable egg laying lair, actually. It’s a whole half a year away, but now I’m thinking of that pretty solidly.

But anyway, female dragons are not typically women, and this is definitely not me.

Kind of like before my first metamorphosis, I feel like I’m seeing a completely different person in the mirror. Like, as if it’s literally not a mirror but a window, with another person on the other side. My brain will absolutely not let me see it as a mirror. Even as that person mimics my movements and expressions.

But the person I see is cute!

And unlike before, she looks like someone I’d like to at least be very good friends with.

I sure wouldn’t mind looking like her if I absolutely had to. At least humans would treat me almost right if they saw her when looking at me.

Which, for the time being, they will. Which is a startling revelation to keep having. It never stops being jarring.

I do find it a little weird that I can walk just fine, but I can’t talk. It feels like a continuity oversight in a science fiction show. Or a plot hole. But I speculate it might have something to do with dissociation, and what specifically triggers my dysphoria and what doesn’t. Maybe.

It is magic. And very particular, literal magic at that, from Chapman’s explanation. Like programming the universe itself. So, it might just be that I’m missing the code for speech but not for walking. Though, why that would be the case, I’m just not sure. It makes less sense to me than my dissociation explanation.

I tilt my head to the side and watch as the other person does it too. They do remind me a lot of Chapman when sie isn’t around.

I again ask myself this question, because the topic just happens to be on my brain regarding eggs and just how human I might be at the moment. Would I have sex with this person if I could?

Maybe?

If I appear to be human, and she is human, maybe I could. Socially. Accept that.

Physically? Can I imagine enjoying the physical sensation of that?

Honestly, I just can’t even bring to mind memories of physical human contact, let alone daydreams of it.

Why do I ask myself this?

Because humans are constantly talking about it. Or, a lot of them are. Every relationship in every story seems to center around eventually having sex. And it’s the one way they ask whether they’re compatible with each other. And I guess it’s one of those habits I’ve learned from them.

Again, I don’t know what happens in the spring, which I’m guessing is mating season, based on thoughts I keep having.

I turn my head away from the mirror.

I’m supposed to be using this thing to practice acting and moving like a human woman. And I’m failing even at moving like a human, actually. I can tell that much.

I awkwardly move to open the door and walk through the short dark hallway out into the cafe. There are some other customers there now, and Chapman comes to me and indicates we should head back into the back room again.

I was going to ask hir to help me, but apparently I don’t have to.

Rhoda moves to come back, too, but Chapman stops here and says, “Just a moment, OK?”

And then, once we’re back there, Chapman closes the door and stands in front of it.

“Maybe we don’t need you to practice being human today. Just keep the disguise on until we’re done,” sie says. “It’ll be more convincing if you’re draconically weird for the interview. Blending in with people will be needed later, maybe, when you want to use it.”

Then we talk about a few other things before inviting Rhoda in to plan the next phase.

—

It’s the end of the summer and this weird man is wearing black jeans and a black leather biker’s jacket. His black hair is the kind of mess they strove for in old photos of geniuses, but his mutton chops belong at the Subdued Stringband Jamboree. He’s wearing cowboy boots and holding a small notepad and a pen, his right leg propped up on his left as he sits and listens to me explain things using his laptop with the AAC program installed on it.

I find the keyboard is reasonably easy to use, once I get used to using my fingertips to hunt and peck.

I used to be a touch typist, but I think this way now for some reason. But I’m still getting full sentences out in reasonable time.

He’s nodding as I talk.

Occasionally, he asks a question.

What I find absolutely hilarious is that his name, his literal given name, is Seagull. Seagull Phil. It sounds like a nickname, but it isn’t.

The coincidence of that made my stomach growl at the weirdest moment in our introductions.

He works for the weekly paper, and we’re having this interview in the back room of the shop.

He has a voice like a 1930s transatlantic radio announcer. Soft, gentle, and extremely articulate. It does not fit his physical image in the slightest. He’s six foot three, too.

The whole affect is disarming and makes me feel at ease despite my mounting and raging dysphoria. I almost forget that I don’t look like myself.

Rhoda met him at the Council meeting, and befriended him when it was adjourned abruptly to his great dismay. She’d told him that he could interview a dragon.

I’m keeping my human disguise for this so that I can type easier, really.

When we’re done, I’ve promised to shed it so that he can verify that I’m the Meg that everyone is talking about.

What I’ve learned is that apparently I’ve been targeted by the authorities because I’ve been leading the morning roll calls, and someone thinks that that will break up the grip the rest of the dragons have on the city. But also, the property management of my building had called the police for my forceful eviction from the premises (which they had momentarily achieved). They have no idea I’m trespassing.

I’m telling Seagull as much of my story as I can manage in the time we have.

Between this interview and the letters that Astraia and I sent to City and County Councils, there may be some hope for a better resolution, Seagull says.

I want to believe him.

—

Now I see myself in that full length mirror.

I still wish it was a mirror in a dance hall, or something like that. But between it and my ability to twist and crane my neck to look at my back and belly, or to look at the mirror from any angle, I get a really good look at myself.

I’m alone again in the back room to do this.

And I’m relaxed in ways that I didn’t think even mattered.

It’s like my very cells have unclenched.

It’s that energized looseness and lethargy you might feel after the best massage, if your soul had been massaged.

So, when I described my torso and limbs as being similar in scale to a human’s, that didn’t really do any justice to their form or function, or actual shape. Just a vague sense of scale that explains why and how I can enter buildings with little trouble.

I’ve only seen morphology like this in recent speculative illustrations of dinosaurs, with the major addition of a third set of limbs. My wings.

Unlike how dinosaurs are thought to have been, based on their skeletal structures, I believe I am about as flexible as a monitor lizard.

But my back is high and arched, and my chest does have a keel like a bird’s, because wing muscles demand that. This makes my torso tall, like a dogs, and gives me a barrel chest like a swan’s. Also, my neck starts at the base by going up and curving gracefully to my head, which can be described as before. But now I’m thinking of it as kind of a cross between a goat and caiman in shape, nearly straight horns swept back. And my tail tends to be held upright and straight out for balance. I can’t curl it terribly tightly with muscles alone, but it’s more flexible than it looks when I move.

My wings are more forward than my forelimbs. Which actually makes my wings my forelimbs. My arms, I guess, are set further back out of the way of my flight muscles. But they’re still partially linked, and I do flex them a little in sync with my wings when I’m flapping hard.

If I stretch out, from tip of nose to tip of tail, I might be ten or eleven feet long.

I know I don’t weigh nearly as much as I did when I presented as a 5’10” human man that was 280 lbs.

On the other hand, I think I may have notably grown in length and girth in the last week. I have no measurements to confirm it, but I just feel like it has happened.

My left shoulder still has that nasty gash in it, which isn’t there when I’m in human disguise.

But even with that gash, every inch of this body, as I look at it, every scale, every tiny curve, every bump and nobble, every movement of it, everything is mine. Mine in the same way that this building is mine, and this coffee shop. The way that my friends are mine. And the city itself. The way that my soul is mine.

Not the mine of ownership or domain. The mine of association and identity.

The mine by which I derive my sense of being and purpose and place. Contentment. Joy. Pride.

It can be injured and made weaker, but even then that’s mine, too.

It’s the kind of mine I can mine for strength.

Inspired by this feeling, I spend a little time learning a few more simple, one syllable words, so I can say them faster when I need to.

[jadewritesficshere]

Vanilla

Robin Buckley x female!reader

Had to write a small blurb for my best girl for Pride 💕

Contents: fear of homophobia (brief), no use of y/n. This is just pure fluff really

Robin smiled as you laughed at the joke she had said. She was worried you would think it was stupid or not funny or that you wouldn't get it and then she'd have to explain it snd then-

Her anxiety made her overthink often. Especially when it came to you. Robin didn't want to seem like a loser to you, like she has at school. Or just a band geek. You were so smart in her eyes, even if you claimed you weren't. She wanted to impress you. While she loved learning languages, it released a new fervor in her when you had told her it was "so cool" and smiled at her. You were learning sign language from her, something Steve and her had started learning after he had started to go deaf. Robin loved teaching you and having an excuse to touch your hands, molding them into the correct shape.

"Robs? Where'd ya go?" Your voice breaks her out of her thoughts. She turns her head on her pillow to look at you. Laying on your side, hair unkempt from your usual style. The smile on your lips. Robin turned onto her side, facing you. A piece of hair fell into her eyes, blocking her view of you. She went to move it and-

You push the hair behind her ear, hand trailing lightly down her jaw before retreating back towards the middle of the bed. The scent of vanilla from your wrist filled her nostrils. She hated that smell, only because of how it made her think of you. The thought of how sweet you smelled...how sweet you must taste. Her face flushing making you giggle slightly. "You're as red as a strawberry, Robs."

Robin opened her mouth but no sound came out. Your brows wrinkle as you take her in. Usually, Robin would be rambling by now. You loved listening to her talk, oblivious to the fact she was rambling to distract herself from thoughts of you.

But not this time. This time, Robin couldn't help but think of you. How much she wanted to hold you close. How much she wanted to kiss you. How she would gladly show you off if it wasn't small-town Indiana in the 80s. Robin wasn't even sure how you would react. She would rather suffer in silence being in love with you then have you walk away from being her friend.

"Robs?"

Robin smiled softly at you, trying to shake the forlorn feeling that had descended on her. She gently rests her hand on top of yours. "Do you ever think...of things you know you can't have?" She asks quietly. "What do you mean?" Robin looks up into your eyes. Your eyes conveying curiosity, but also warmth and safety. She clears her throat,"Like...someone you can't have?" You blink at her and hum," like a celebrity or someone famous?" "I mean yeah but like someone...closer? Someone you want to be around all the time. Who's beautiful."

You frown slightly," oh. You have a crush on someone?" Robin feels the warmth in her cheeks rising again, knowing she's gone red. "Who do you like?" You ask quietly. Robin bites her lip and you lightly kick her," Why can't you have him?" "Because it isnt a him...its...you." Your eyes widen in shock and you pull back.

Robin's stomach sinks and she clenches her eyes shut. Your hand moves out from under hers. She can feel her eyes start to water. She shouldn't have said anything, she should have stayed quiet.

Robin feels her hand get flipped over before a palm touches her. Fingers intertwine. "You like me too?"

Robin's eyes snap open and she gasps. The hopeful look on your face makes her heart pick up speed. "Yes! You like me too?" A laugh escapes her lungs as she squeezes your hand lightly. Your smile spreads across your face as you squeeze her hand back," Yes!" "Holy shit!"

You both laugh and smile at each other before she shuffles closer to you. Her eyes dart to your lips. Your hand tentatively returns to her jaw, thumb grazing her cheekbone. Robin thinks her heart is going to jump out of her chest. The butterflies that had been fluttering their wings in her stomach are now flying around wildly. Robin leans in, inhaling slightly.

The scent of vanilla floods her senses. The feeling of lips touching hers. A quick soft kiss, leaving her yearning for more. A gasp that escapes you as she kisses you firmer. Mouths moving together. Tongues darting out. Hands still intertwined between the two of you. The feeling of your hand on her jaw moving back into her hair, pulling her closer. Robin's free hand grasping your hip, pulling you closer. The unmistakable sound of lips smacking, gasps, and moans fills her ears. When you two part, you both are breathless.

She isnt sure how long you two had kissed, a few minutes or a few hours could have passed. But this moment in time is one she will never forget. You, smiling sweetly with swollen lips. Hands still intertwined. Giggling. Warmth spread within Robin's stomach. The scent of vanilla enveloping you.. She loved the scent of vanilla. The scent of home.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Draw your swords, pt. 8

Summary: Forced to face their feelings, neither the Darkling nor his wife dare to speak them out loud. Influenced by Genya’s words, Y/N starts to wonder about her husband’s past.

Warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of alcohol, sexual content

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five // Part six // Part seven  

=================================

As a young girl, Y/N often daydreamed about her first time. She believed it would be with a kind man who’d move mountains to find her if she called his name. Reality was quite different – this man wasn’t kind, but he’d burn the world for her.

Whether he realized it, she saw through him easily. The Darkling is a symbol, the fear surrounding his name is all for show because he’s not evil. In fact, she’d go as far as say he’s redeemable. Anyone capable of love is capable of being saved and while she didn’t know what he needed saving from, her heart told her he’ll need her. And she knew he cared, she felt it in the way he held her in that tent, and again in the way he’d touch her when he had all the power just the night before.

Moving her head toward the other side of the bed, Y/N looked at her sleeping husband. His lashes are long, thick and dark, a beard that tickled her neck adorning his face. Asleep, his cheekbones were not as sharp, his face much more welcoming and relaxed. He didn’t seem as the formidable foe she imagined him to be.

Aleksander laid on his side, facing her. Pursing her lips, Y/N allowed her eyes to roam over him. His broad chest had a small area of dark, curling hair. His muscles are made large, shapely mounds. His arms are capped by a round, firm muscle. Biting her lower lip, her eyes continued down to his hard, flat stomach with faint lines forming separate areas of muscles, making her swallow thickly. It was only after a moment that her eyes went lower. What she saw did not seem so powerful as it felt the previous night, but as she watched, his manhood began to grow.

She gasped and her eyes flew back to his. He was awake, watching her intently with a smirk, his eyes growing darker by the moment. No longer was he the gentle man she had awakened to, but a man of passion, the general who showed her he was just as capable of leading a woman in the bed as he was of leading an army on the field.

Y/N tried to move away but Aleksander still held her trapped by her hair that strayed on his side, under his back. What was worse, she didn’t even want to fight him. Y/N recalled her plans for him clearly; but this was more than a plan she carelessly implemented. Everything was different now when she had the memory of his body and the pleasure he infused her with when he made love to her. Could that term even be applied to them, she wondered. Did he see it as making love or simply satisfying his needs?

“Stubborn wife,” he whispered and the tone of his voice made chills run along her arms. It’s more than the tone he used or the look of his dark eyes that had her insides turning, but the words he had spoken…it almost felt like a term of endearment coming from him.

Grimacing, she rolled her eyes at him, “Dreadful husband.”

Pursing his lips, he seemed amused rather than insulted.

She was right, their relationship has changed.

Irrevocably.

Last night she had thought she learned all there was to know about love between a man and a woman, but now she thought, perhaps she knew very, very little. There was much more to learn from this man and of this man and how to use that knowledge for her own gain, but right now? She just wanted to let herself go. She wanted to enjoy his company. For once, he was good-natured, playful even. She felt genuinely happy in their little bubble.

For a moment, Y/N wished to stay there. She wished he could always look at her as he is now.

She looked at him, his hair still a mess in the bright morning sunlight. She watched him intently, perplexed how he could look more handsome and more human than she’d ever seen him.

His eyes are nearly black as he pulls her to him again. He runs his tongue along her lips, touching the inner corners especially. She parted her teeth for him, desperate for a taste of him. He’s better than the richest honey; hot and cold, soft and firm. She explored his mouth as he had explored hers, no longer shy or reserved with him. How could she be when his fingers have delved lower, pushing inside her?

Gasping, she smiles against his lips. “Genya will be here soon”, she warns him.

"I don't fucking care", he insisted as he crashed into her, his arms wrapping around her like a cage she never wished to escape from. He brought his mouth on hers, inhaling her, "Do you even know what it feels like to be around you?! I can't", he paused as his arms drew away from her and she shuddered as he took the warmth they provided. With bruised lips, she watched as he ran his hand through what used to be perfectly tousled hair. Disheveled, he turns to her, "I can't breathe around you."

She chuckles at him, "Well, I am breathtakingly beautiful."

Rolling his eyes, the Darkling shakes his head, "Well, you're not unattractive. I'll concede on that."

She ran her hands over his back as he lowered his head to her neck, running his tongue along the pulsating beat of her carotid, the only friend he had in her – her pulse couldn’t hide how enamored or exhilarated he made her feel. Instinctively she leaned her head back, her breathing turning deeper, quicker.

When his lips and tongue touched her breasts, she nearly cried out. She thought perhaps she might die under such torture. Trying to pull his head back to her mouth failed as he gave a deep, guttural laugh that made her shiver, her insides turning with the sweet melody and her heart? Her heart felt warm, big and incredibly full.

Maybe he did own her.

A knock on the door had interrupted their bliss as Y/N stiffened, looking at the door in slight panic. If someone saw them right now, no one would doubt their marriage was a successful love match. They seemed happy, truly in love. That’s not how it was meant to be.

“Someone doesn’t value their life”, he grumbled under his breath. “GO AWAY!”

Clasping a hand over his mouth, she chuckled. “Who is it?!”

“General?” Ivan’s voice faded her smile instantly.

Even with Aleksander’s hands cupping her bottom, his body covering her and the door being shut, Y/N felt ashamed as if she was bare in front of the entire world.

“Unless the world is burning, leave me alone!” Pecking Y/N’s lips, he smirked, “I never get a peaceful morning anymore.”

Come to think of it, Y/N never found him in the bed when she woke up. This was the very first night they spent together and he stayed by her side. Considerate was never a word she’d use describing him before, but he is considerate, kind and incredibly cautious when it comes to her. It made her heart sink.

Hearing no word from Ivan, Aleksander’s hand moved. Caressing the inside of her thighs, he made her shake in desire. Holding her breath, she bit her lower lip. Still sore from the night before, she felt her stomach twist as he lined himself up with her entrance once more. Pushing himself inside, he captures her lips as she cries out. The pleasure is undeniable, but she couldn’t deny there was pain too. She clutched at him, her legs pressing around his waist as she rose to meet each thrust. Sweet torment he had inflicted felt as if it would split her in two - one Y/N to plot his demise and the other who’d never let him leave her bed.

Finally, when she was sure her heart would explode, she felt the pulsing throbs that released her and soon after, Y/N felt him speed up and his own release followed. Collapsing on top of her, Aleksander held her so close that she could hardly breathe. In that moment she didn’t really care if she ever did breathe again.

Aleksander didn’t move, still buried deep inside her as if she is his saving grace. It’s insane to think he could fuck her into submission and feelings. It was impossible to ignore the fact that she developed feelings for him, but that realization created doubts. Eventually, something will have to break – and the thought of hurting him suddenly felt too much to bear.

“Are you alright?” He moved her hair out of her face, remaining on top of her as if she’s a conquered territory he refused to leave.

Swallowing thickly, she nods. “Why aren’t you moving?”

Eyes widening, the Darkling felt heat rush to his face. He was trying to be sweet, to show her it was more than a quick fuck. It was indescribable for him – a dawn after a long night he’s lived in. No woman ever lessened the loneliness inside his heart and then she waltzed into his life. He couldn’t imagine living without her again. She was the northern star in his dark sky and he never wanted to leave.

“I should see Ivan about earlier”, he murmured, nearly wincing as he pulled out. She wrapped herself up in the sheets again, her eyes wide as she stared ahead, thinking about how badly she’s already failing her mission.

Frowning as she shifted, Y/N felt Aleksander’s semen leave her. She cleared her throat, her eyes watering. She felt disgusted with herself, like she needed her skin rubbed off with scalding hot water and peeled off if that didn’t work. She could feel him, smell him on every inch of her skin and the worst of it all? She loathed just how cold she felt when his arms weren’t wrapped around her. She absolutely detested how giddy her heart felt when she saw the shit-eating grin on his face as he brought her to climax.

“When will we visit the armies by the fold?” She asked, switching into the woman she is instead of the woman she’s molded into by his lips.

Impassive, he looked back at her as he worked on the buttons of his shirt. “Why? Don’t believe I’ve kept my word?”

It unnerved her just how cold his voice felt, how impersonal. Standing, she wrapped the nightgown around her body. Taking his kefta in her hands, she held it open for him to slip into.

His eyes flicker from the kefta to her, as if he’s confused as well. It felt odd not knowing their place now. Their previous dynamic was easy to settle into, bickering felt like second nature. Conversing without spewing venom brought unfamiliar discomfort mostly because they’d much rather return to the bed behind them. Leaving that room carried an unspoken possibility of their time together being nothing but a fluke – a onetime deal. The outside world carries responsibilities, the kind that places them on opposite sides of the war.

“Thank you”, he turns around, allowing her to help dress him. Wives do that, he realized. Loving wives help their husbands dress just as often as they help them undress. Husbands do the same for their wives – though he much preferred the undressing part.

He kissed her brow unexpectedly, eyes flickering to her trembling lips as they passed a surprised gasp. “I know you want to see the results on a field, but rest assured I’ve kept my word.” Licking his lips, he reached for a glass from behind her. Pouring himself a glass, he watched her gnaw on her lower lip. For once, the ice queen showed there are emotions inside her capable of more than just disdain.

Breaking out of her daze, she cleared her throat. “I prefer to have confirmation”, she remarked.

Snorting, he looks up in frustration. He wanted to grab her by the throat as he would with any other human who’d dare challenge him, question him. In his mind, he pinned her to the bed, his hands wrapped around her delicate little wrists. ‘Don’t play games with me’, he’d say, ‘Don’t ever think you’re capable of that.’ He wanted so badly to treat her the same, as an enemy, but she had done something to him. No matter how hard he wished he could fight it, something inside him came to life – his heart beats unburdened by the shadows, for her. It was always going to be her.

“I guess I’m asking you to trust me”, he looked at her with a softness he visibly struggled with. His hand griped the glass far too tightly for it to fool her. He was hurt by her insinuation and she didn’t know how to respond.

“Aleksander.” Calling him by his first name for the first time felt so natural, but terrifying as his eyes lit up when it crossed her lips.

He shuddered. “Say it again”, he commanded, his eyes darkened as he pressed his lips together.

The look on her face would surely haunt him for an eternity. She was shocked, maybe even frightened. She didn’t mean to call him by his name, she had made a mistake and he could read it on her face.

She spun, fleeing into the bathroom. She ran from him like he had come to steal her soul. He thought about chasing after her, but it would be futile. She would return on her own. She lost the game, she was his. He swallowed his whisky and smiled. Perhaps the way his heart fluttered at the sound of his true name passing her lips should have been a sign he lost the game too, but he didn’t give it a second thought.

She is his.

Once he left, she did exactly as she wished – she scrubbed herself clean of any remainders of him. He’ll walk around with her scent clinging to him, but she will not be branded his. Though her hips bear his markings, she felt satisfied they were easily covered with a kefta.

“You don’t have to say it”, Genya raised an eyebrow at the shadows of Kirigan’s fingertips across her friend’s hips.

“Say what?” Y/N narrowed her eyes, her heart picking up pace.

Smirking, Genya lowered her voice, “You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N, exhaled audibly through her nose. “It wasn’t terrible.”

“Ha!” Genya clapped her hands, “We are winning today!”

Raising her eyebrows, Y/N turned her undivided attention to an overly excited Genya. “Care to explain?”

“Well”, she shrugged innocently, “I may have found us a new ally.”

Stunned, Y/N sat on the edge of the bathtub. “Who?”

“David”, Genya exclaimed.

“Isn’t he Kirigan’s little…pet?”

Knitting her eyebrows, Genya huffed, “No! He’s a brilliant man and he believes in equality and a brighter future.”

“But can we trust him with the secret?”

Swallowing thickly, Genya paused. Inhaling deeply, she nods. “I’d vouch for him.”

“I need concrete proof”, Y/N sighs, “This isn’t going to end well for us if he decides to spill everything to Kirigan!”

Rubbing her temples, Y/N felt as if the pressure inside her head would cause her brain to burst. It’s pressing in, choking every good idea she’s ever had.

“What would happen if he did know?” Genya crouched before her. With her hands on Y/N’s knees, Genya sighed. “Maybe he’d be receptive too.”

Snorting, Y/N couldn’t believe how naïve Genya is. “No. He’d be too angry to see the big picture.”

It didn’t matter that he’s begun colonizing Y/N’s heart or that every inch of her skin craved the touch of his hand. It felt as if she were invincible when he stood beside her, as if he had made her fireproof. No scar hurt when he kissed her, no grief was too difficult to bear when he looked at her.

“Damn it”, Y/N covered her face, “I want to believe in him, I do.” She couldn’t help but wonder if her feelings are the aftermath of the night he saved her life or the night of ecstasy he had given her. Is it really genuine emotion or did her heart move to her vagina?

“So believe”, Genya encouraged. A sympathetic smile adorned her full lips, her eyes kinder than before.

“How can I ever trust him when he’s got a superiority complex regarding humans? He’s never going to willingly protect one!”

“He did with you”, Genya pressed her lips into a thin line. “You’re paranoid because you are afraid allowing yourself to see the good in him might actually make you love him.”

And she is. She’s afraid to love him or let him love her. What would be the point? In the end, they’re too different.

“Talk to David again”, Y/N stood, sniffling. “I’ll head to the library.”

Genya raised an eyebrow. “Library?”

The first casualty of war is innocence and Y/N had none left. She was once called ‘angel’ by her father, by her comrades in the army too. She was the epitome of a pure heart who would sacrifice itself for others. She didn’t feel like an angel anymore, but she will play the part. No one expects an angel to set the world on fire.

“Yeah”, Y/N breathes out. “I want to look for something.” Truth be told, she wanted to research Aleksander and his lineage.

If the dark heretic is from his bloodline, she needed to know everything about him, about the hearts of those he came from. If she’s ever going to consider her husband as an ally, she has to know him – all of him. If she asked, she worried he’d cover up the darkest parts of him. He’d deem her too human to understand, too fragile to know all the horrors that tie into who he’s become.

It was time to find out if she could trust Aleksander.

=============================

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Part 9

[garbagevanfleet]

Brightest Blue (series)

PART ONE

Pairing: Josh & female!Reader Warnings:  None yet.  Summary: Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place. Notes: Here we are everyone. This fic has been a long time in the making, but I’m pretty dang happy with it so far! I made Josh extra lovable and squishy for you all. I hope you enjoy! This fic is edited by the amazing and gorgeous, @lantern-inthenight. And big thanks as always to @myownparadise96. I literally could not have found the motivation to do this fic without you. 

MASTERPOST 

taglist: @myownparadise96 @n1-party-anthem @valleyd0ll @bigblack-catattack @guitarfingers @thebohemianpenguin @oblvions @hansonobsessed​ @satingrass-maidensfair​

The scenery in Michigan was vastly different than back home. You were used to and comfortable with the nearly unforgiving heat of the American South West, but the farther away you got from home, the more foreign everything seemed. The scrubland slowly started being replaced by emerald green grass and dense forests of towering pines. Once you hit Illinois, little farmsteads were scattered along every road you took, boasting fields thick with corn and beans. 

It was a bit over a full day’s worth of driving. You had originally thought you could just drive right through - after all, you were young and you had plenty of caffeine at the ready. In reality, you wound up digesting the trip over two days. 

You were a fortunate enough person that you had a reliable car, which made up for the fact that it wasn’t very pretty to look at. It didn’t exactly sip gas, but that had never even been a concern before this - it wasn’t very often that you left home, let alone make a trip across the country. But you were able to breathe a sigh of relief when you started seeing the exit signs for Ann Arbor. 

Your parents had been a bit judgemental about you picking a school so far away - they were even worse homebodies than you, and they knew that you being across the country meant they wouldn’t be seeing you until the school year was over - but there was no way you could turn down an opportunity like this one. You had worked your ass off to qualify for a scholarship, knowing full well that there was no way you could afford higher education otherwise. MU hadn’t been your very first choice but with one of the better programs in the country for your desired field, you just couldn’t turn it down. 

You had to pull over into a McDonald’s parking lot to pull up the address you were looking for and program it into your phone’s GPS before continuing further into the city. Your mother had been particularly wary about your living situation. See, she was a woman that adamantly liked to have a plan and then stick to it - she didn’t see any value in just letting things happen. “Go with the flow” wasn’t in her vocabulary, but you’d always romanticised the idea. Which was why, when you pulled up to the apartment that you were going to be living in for the next year, it was the first time you’d ever seen it. 

You had found the listing on the Facebook marketplace for the area, looked at a couple of pictures, and signed the lease agreement online - all without knowing what you were really in for. You’d been informed that you’d have a roommate when you’d contacted the landlord, but she hadn’t mentioned a thing about the person other than that. All she really said was “no pets, no smoking, and one month’s rent for the security deposit. You had told yourself that it didn’t really matter what the situation was as long as the other person wasn’t outwardly malicious and the place wasn’t infested with pests or anything, even though you knew it mattered a little. 

An audible sigh of relief left your lips when you pulled into the apartment parking lot and found that your new home looked well kept. The building had old, slide-up windows, but the brick siding was clean, and the shrubs that lined the property were trimmed and neat. You and your back seat stuffed to max capacity with house plants had made it - and with only a bit of sleep deprivation and caffeine jitters for damages. 

After you got out of the car, you grabbed your very favorite potted cactus and found your way into the building, meandering down the dim hall until you came upon the door marked 6. You hadn’t been given a key yet, so you knocked with your free hand and waited until you heard someone shuffling around inside.

You would be lying if you said you weren’t nervous - obviously, you were - but more than anything you were excited. Anxious, maybe? That seemed like the right word. 

The door opened to reveal a boy, around your age, hair a mess of curls on the top and shorn tighter to the sides of his head. You were immediately taken aback by the depth in his eyes, chocolatey and warm. 

“What’s up?” he asked casually, leaning against the door frame, a pair of old-school headphones dangling from his hand. 

You frowned at him slightly, suddenly terrified you’d gotten the wrong apartment number. You weren’t sure how you’d live with that embarrassment, especially if you had to live next door to him - you’d just be that stupid girl that didn’t even know where she lived.  “Oh, I think I’m your new roommate? This is number six, right?” You peered around the other side of the open door, just to confirm.

A beaming grin spread over his soft face, showing you his blindingly white teeth and the deepest pair of dimples you’d ever seen. “Oh, cool, yeah. Come on in.”

He stepped aside, giving a dramatically flourished bow as a gesture for you to enter. You obliged, and even though this was your new house too, you paused and waited as he shut the door behind you. 

“Sorry, I was expecting you yesterday, so.” He trailed off with a sheepish smile and then extended his free hand to you. “Anyway, I’m Josh.” 

You shifted your cactus to one arm so you could shake his hand. “Y/N. Yeah, sorry, it took me longer than I expected to get here. Which is why my stuff apparently showed up before I did.”

You eyed around the apartment, spotting boxes of your things in piles. The original plan your parents had come up with was to have you rent a U-Haul, but since you’d never driven anything bigger than your Camry, you had quickly shot that idea down. After some expert negotiating, they had agreed to hire a moving company. You hadn’t had the balls to ask what a service like that had set them back - decided instead that it was better if you didn’t know. 

“Oh yeah,” he replied, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It all showed up yesterday at like noon. One of the boxes was open a little, and I saw records so I looked through them to make sure you weren’t some kind of freak.”

It was more of a statement than a warning, and the smile he gave you showed not even a shred of an apology so you just smiled back. “Find anything you like?”

He turned on his heel and headed into the kitchen - connected to the living room by a huge square archway. “Your music taste is,” He paused, opening a cupboard and pulling down two mismatched glasses. “Eclectic.”

You laughed at him, bending to gently set your plant down on a side table. “That’s true.” 

“But I found plenty I could listen to, so I guess you’re okay. You want some juice?” he asked as he held up a paper carton of store brand orange juice

. 

“That would be lovely,” you agreed, standing stick straight the way you did when in the presence of new company. “My dad used to take me to a lot of thrift stores and we’d go home with a minimum of two records per trip.”

“I love thrifting,” he said simply, giving you an alarmingly serious look. “There are three here, I think. Every once in a while you can find something really worth keeping. I have kind of a ‘catch and release’ policy where if I don’t instantly know what I’m going to do with an item, I leave it there, but I think - like - a third of my wardrobe is from thrift stores.”

You listened, feeling oddly entranced by the way he was handing you thoughts as they came to him. There was something truly honest about it - a quality people back home didn’t seem to have. It was charming. 

He brought your glass of juice to you and then motioned to the rest of the apartment. “You want the grand tour of Casa De Joshua-” He gave you a pointed look and a cheesy grin. “And Y/N?” 

You breathed a laugh at him, nodding as you sipped. “Please.”

“Okay, try not to get lost - this is obviously the living room. I do most of my living here as the name would suggest. I found this couch on the side of the road - actually almost all of my furniture is adopted.” As he explained, he was gesturing to items like Vanna White.

The couch looked. Well-loved. You could tell just at a glance that it was probably past it’s prime when Josh had stumbled upon it, but it did look comfortable, and it wasn’t like you had a couch to offer, so you were happy with it. 

“I have this TV but it’s really only for movies and stuff because I’m twenty-two and I’d rather die than pay for cable. But there are literally hundreds of DVDs in the TV stand that you are welcome to peruse at your leisure,” he informed, his hands gesturing almost arbitrarily as he talked. 

You followed as he moved on through the archway. “This is the kitchen. All of the food lives here. There’s lots of stuff, but I try to just make two bigger meals per day. I don’t have a real ice tray so I’ve been using a chocolate mold- Well anyway, our ice will be in the shape of wiener dogs.”

You were shocked at the laugh that escaped you, genuine and uncontrolled. He grinned over at you, clearly also surprised - but pleased with himself for getting the reaction he was aiming for. 

“I think I can live with that.” 

“Good,” he agreed simply, giving you a new kind of smile - something sweeter. After a beat, he motioned down the hall with his eyes, letting you lead. “The bathroom is this way. The water takes like three or four minutes to get hot. I realized that I have a lot of products for some reason, but I condensed them all into this one area in the corner just in case my new roommate was a girl, and you are so that’s great. I’ll probably get a shelf.”

There was a proud quality to his voice like he felt gentlemanly for letting you have all the space you needed. For some reason, that made you feel warm and fuzzy. 

“And what if your new roommate had been a boy?” you inquired with a smirk. 

He put a finger on his chin, taking on a contemplative look for you. “Hmm. Then I guess I slowly would have moved my stuff back to the cabinet - probably just one thing per day so he wouldn’t notice. Unless he had a lot of makeup or something, then I’d just let him have it.” 

He grinned as you teasingly shook your head. 

“This way is the sleeping quarters. My room is there on the right and yours to the left.”

You stepped into your new room and let a sigh of relief. Two huge windows took up a lot of the far wall, framed underneath by large sills. The space was bright and roomier than you’d pictured. Your bed was set up in the very middle of the room, but you already knew exactly where you wanted it to go. For some reason, you had been concerned that you wouldn’t like the space, but it was kind of perfect. 

“This is great,” you breathed, turning to him and giving him a sly grin. “Wanna give me a hand moving my furniture around?”

He pretended to consider for a moment until you spoke again. 

“My mom sent money for pizza while I get stuff unpacked,” you said coyly. “If you needed any convincing.”

He laughed, showing you his teeth. “You drive a hard bargain. Okay, I’ll help as long as I get to look through your stuff while we move it.”

You gave him a questioning look, earning a one-shouldered shrug in return. He looked benign enough standing there, propped against the door frame with a goofy upturn to his lips, so you relented.  

“Deal,” you agreed.

You were positive you would not have been able to move stuff without his help. For being a slender boy, he seemed to easily be able to get things where they needed to be. He dutifully helped you shove your furniture into place - your bed against the window wall, your desk and vanity on the wall with your closet door. Then, bless his little heart, he helped you move it all again when you decided you didn’t like the arrangement (but not without some light griping). 

One by one, you brought in your boxes from the living room and you allowed him to poke through them, perched on your bed. He flipped through your books, thumbing pages of ones that piqued his interest - you could only imagine that he was already planning on borrowing some of them. He reacted similarly to your framed photos, as he unwrapped them from their packing paper.

When you got your record player set up, he put on a vinyl and started to hang your art prints on the wall where you instructed him to. The look of concentration on his face was rather endearing as he held a few nails between his teeth and hammered them into the wall, one by one. There was a time or two you were convinced that he was going to mutilate his thumb, but he didn’t, and when the last picture was hung, you breathed a sigh of relief. 

You called in a pizza, adorned with his requested toppings as you hung your clothes into your closet, your phone tucked against your ear and shoulder for maximum efficiency. 

Plants collected on your bed until there was no more room for them - after that, he started setting them on the floor as he brought them in from your car. He didn’t seem to be judging the sheer amount of them, even though he had every right to. 

“It’s going to look like a jungle in here,” he stated finally as he took a bite out of a slice of pizza that he was holding like a taco, his eyes raking over all of the foliage scattered around your room. Rather than sounding like he was teasing, his tone seemed excited. 

You grinned at him, starting to arrange them on the window sill and your bookshelf that had only ever served you as a plant shelf since you’d bought it. “Plants are my passion. Botany major,” you explained as you fluffed up your Monstera’s huge leaves. 

“Ooh.” He raised his eyebrows at you, pulling one of his legs up underneath him on your bed - now fitted with sheets. “I think that’s going to be nice. Give it some life in here.”

You grabbed another slice from the pizza box on your nightstand and tried to think of the right tone of voice to use to ask the next question. “How long have you lived here by yourself?”

He hummed, eyes flicking around distantly as he thought. “Well, I’ve lived here just over a year, and my first roommate dropped out and moved back home about...six months ago?”

“Have you been lonely? You seem like a social guy.” You gave him an empathetic look but he just shrugged at you. You hadn’t known him long enough to know for sure, but you suspected he was more affected than he was letting on. 

“I mean, a little lonely. But I got used to it for the most part.” He paused for a good couple of seconds before a smile spread across his lips. “And Penny’s kept me company.”

“Oh, does your girlfriend stay here too?” you prompted, trying to remember if you’d seen any feminine looking items lying around that weren’t yours.

“What? No,” he said under a chuckle and stood, gesturing for you to follow him across the hall. 

The second you walked through the doorway, you were met with the smell of incense sticks and linen. His room was dimmer than yours and kind of cramped with all of his mismatching furniture, but he had a huge bed - you thought it could easily fit three people in it. There were some clothes strewn about around a laundry hamper by the door and you tried to not be jealous that his closet seemed to be about twice the size of yours. 

He crossed the room to crouch in front of a coffee table that he seemed to be using as a catch-all. The varnish was worn off the top of it in rings because sitting on the coffee table was a globe of water and a calico colored goldfish swimming around aimlessly inside of it. 

“Ah, so this is Penny,” you giggled as you bent over next to him. When the fish spotted him, it rose to the surface of the water, opening its mouth in demand for food.

He grinned down at it. “Light of my life. We’re not allowed to have pets but I figured that a fish didn’t count.”

You hummed, admittedly a bit charmed by the whole situation. “But don’t goldfish require a lot of space?”

The smile fell from his face, adopting a level of concern you hadn’t yet seen from him as he peered over at you. “Do they?”

Immediately, you felt guilty for putting that look on his features. Your brain kick-started - trying to think of a way to make it right again. “I think so? Maybe we can find her a small tank? Put a few little plants in there for her?”

Josh nodded at you, stroking his fingers over the glass with a frown. “I’m a bad dad.”

“No, no!” you assured, putting your hand on his head but then removing it instantly when you realized that you didn’t really know him, he’d just already made you feel like you did. Either way, you figured it would be inappropriate to touch him. “You’re great. She looks really happy.”

“She’s great at begging for food, so don’t get tricked,” Josh instructed after a moment, seemingly able to put his concerns aside to jest you.

You nodded in agreement. “I’ll be ever vigilant,” you promised, making him smile again. 

He stood back up, so you did as well. 

“Well, I’ll give you some time to get comfortable in your room,” Josh said, sitting back on his bed. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?” 

“I promise I will,” you assured, tapping your hand on the doorframe on your way out. 

By the time the sun was set, your room was shockingly well put together. The emotional rollercoaster that was the album Rumors helped you keep on task, losing yourself in the music so it didn’t feel like work at all. You hadn’t been expecting it to come along so quickly, but you guessed that was because you hadn’t anticipated such a friendly roommate. The nesting had always been your favorite part, so you took your time to enjoy placing out all your knick-knacks and photos. 

You took a break to shower when you decided you were done for the day, reveling in the feeling of the water after such a long time in your car - He was absolutely right about how long it took to warm up from ice cold. When you got out and changed into your pajamas, Josh was sitting in the living room with a laptop across his legs. 

“You wanna chill?” he asked when he heard you padding down the hall, shutting the lid of it and setting it on a side table. “Or if you’re too tired, that’s okay too.”

“No, no. I’d love to talk.” You sat next to him, leaving a comfortable amount of room between you as you pulled your knees up to your chin. “Tell me more about yourself,” you requested, tugging a blanket from a beat-up wicker basket on the floor and wrapping it around your body.

“Hmm, okay,” he started. You wondered how long it had been since he had to introduce himself to someone new. “I’m from a tiny little town here in Michigan. I’m the oldest of four - two brothers and a sister. My brother, Jake, also attends MU and lives just off campus.”

You frowned at him. “Wait, why wouldn’t he live with you?” you asked through a disbelieving laugh. 

“He lived with me long enough,” Josh explained in a humored tone. “There are only so many people where I’m from and well - we wanted to meet new people, you know?” 

“I guess I should be grateful for that.” 

“Yeah, probably,” he teased and then paused to think. “I’m in performing arts - I’m actually putting on a production around Christmas with some elementary school kids.”

You suppressed the aww that was threatening to pass your lips. “You like kids?”

He beamed you a smile, shaking his head. “Love them. I want to have like ten of them someday.”

The thought of him surrounded by kids made you soften. You were genuinely shocked about how easy he was to talk to - how easy he was to like. You had never thought in a million years you’d get along with your roommate so well, let alone the first day meeting them. 

“I hope you get to,” you said as genuinely as you could muster, prompting him to give you a grateful smile. 

A yawn escaped you before you could hide it, and you quickly breathed an apology, but he just waved you off. 

“You must be exhausted from that drive,” he said, his voice soft. “You should get some sleep.”

You nodded in agreement and gave him a thankful smile. “Is it okay if I sleep out here?”

The look on his face was quizzical, forcing a laugh from you. “Why would you do that?” 

“I have this tradition where whenever I’m in a new place, I always sleep in the living room on the first night. It’s good luck.”   

“Whatever you say.” His lips pulled back into an unconvinced smirk. “Well, yeah, you live here now too, so you can sleep wherever you’d like.”

He disappeared into his room for only a moment before popping his head back out, fingers wrapped around the door frame.

 “Do you mind if I join you?” 

You tried not to look too taken aback by the question, but you could feel your cheeks flushing warm. You raked your eyes along the couch, entirely positive that there wasn’t enough space for the two of you to lay out on it together fully - at least, not without being pressed flush against one another. However, his face looked innocent and soft - not a single tint of mischief colored across his features.

“Yeah, that-. I guess that’s okay,” you agreed sheepishly with a shrug. “But I’m not sure we’ll both fit if I’m being honest.”

He frowned questioningly at you, his brows lacing together until he realized what you thought he meant. His face instantly turned a light shade of pink to match yours. “No, no,” he quickly assured in between a breathy laugh. “I’m not going to sleep with you - I’ll take the recliner.” 

“Oh, right.” You gave a nervous laugh of your own, cursing yourself out in your head for being so dull. 

You were still well embarrassed as you made a nest of blankets on the couch and he brought out a pillow for you when you realized yours were still tucked deep in your bag of bedding. When each of you was situated on your respective pieces of furniture, he flicked the light off with a comfortable sigh. 

It was silent for a moment before he spoke again, his voice taking on a tone that was far too smug for your liking. “You were awfully quick to agree to sleep next to me. You don’t have a crush on me, do you?” 

You knew he was teasing, but your heart rate still managed to pick up under the pressure. You had never been particularly good with awkward social situations; you rolled your eyes in the dark, thankful he couldn’t see how red you were. “No, Josh. I do not have a crush on you.”

“Okay,” he said through a melodic laugh, and you got the feeling that he’d gotten the reaction he was aiming for from you. “Should we be best friends though?”

You snorted a laugh of your own, wanting to be annoyed at how likable he was, but falling short. “You are the most peculiar person I’ve ever met, I think.” You curled up, clutching your blanket tight to your body. “But yes. We can be friends.”

“Okay, cool - I’ll order matching t-shirts for us.” You could hear the pleased grin he was wearing, making you feel warm and cozy. You pulled the worn blanket up to your chin.

“See to it that you do.” 

Author’s Note: okay, I hope you guys like it! please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list or removed from it. I’m using the same taglist from my Jake!fic, so no hard feelings if you don’t want to be tagged!

[caissymax]

Yeehawgust Day 12: Stubborn as a Mule

For as long as they have existed, stubbornness and contrarianism has plagued the Franklin-Aodh bloodline. Even, perhaps, long before they had been Franklin-Aodhs at all, they’re a bit of a new breed after all.

Of course, the first instance of stubbornness related to our story is the day that Aster Franklin-Aodh passes away after a long and grueling fight with a mysterious illness and Cara Franklin-Aodh declares war on Death himself. Death, busy with a great many other things as all gods are, does not receive this declaration for another few years.

Cara proceeds to pack up her whole life - or, at least, whatever of it she can fit in a couple of traveling bags and strap to her horse - and sets off to change the world. She vows to herself that she will never see another person lose someone they love as long as she can prevent it. She will see Death obliterated and, perhaps someday, she will see her beloved Aster once again.

Needless to say, Cara has lofty goals as all Franklin-Aodhs generally do and has enough pigheaded stubbornness to either see them done or die tryin’.

While following this new trajectory to her life, Cara rediscovers - reinvents, really - a long forgotten for of magic, discovers countless lost civilizations, learns more about the desert than she really ever wanted to know, and becomes a healer renowned across the whole world. Oh, she also makes a bet with a trickster god and wins, that had been an interestin’ time.

So, Cara travels and she brews medicines - and many, many other types of elixirs, she finds more and more recipes for the things every day - and learns more and more and more about her craft and she saves so many lives and yet still she is no closer to Death than she ever was. Though gettin’ to spit in Death’s face by savin’ lives, by keeping people out of his grasp for even a year longer? That was almost a reward in itself.

Still, despite everything she had accomplished, Cara wanted what she had sought from the beginning. Either Death brought to his knees or her beloved Aster back.

She started getting… desperate.

So desperate, in fact, that Cara finally decides to go to the one place she hadn’t yet dared. A place even more desolate than the desert. Cold and miserable and a place, Cara knew, from which very few ever returned.

Cara braced herself and knew she had no other choice unless she wanted to stagnate and had traveled to the Arctic North.

…to be fair, it is the best decision she ever made. 

Sure, she almost froze to death. More than a few times but! But, she meets Stormsword for the first time, she learns to love again, perhaps not the same as she had loved Aster but just as meaningful, and Stormsword teaches her so many more things. Cara learns that Stormsword’s people had a long standing tradition of bargaining with Death, with gambling for a few more years, until Creation got jealous of them stealing his attention and Death got stingy, stopped responding to them. Stormsword only lived still because she had won a bet worth another two lifetimes. She had been halfway through her second, well, third lifetime when Cara stumbled upon her and her town frozen in time.

Stormsword knows the how, has the recipes, the old records of all the concoctions, but doesn’t know how to brew.

At least, not like Cara does.

They drink the brew together. A concoction that sends them into a sleep that mimics death.

“Is it too late to mention that there’s a chance you never wake up?” Stormsword murmured, a small smile sitting crooked on her mouth.

Cara can only laugh. Leave it to Stormsword.

She drinks the brew anyway. Worst that happens is she never wakes and she gets to be with her beloved Aster again.

Meeting Death is… exhilarating. Cara’s never been so aware of how alive she is but every second she spends in his domain makes it more and more obvious as her life tries to escape her grasp. Death is a man - more than a man, clearly, but a man in shape, in appearance - covered in fungus and mold, with bugs crawling across him, face sallow and gaunt, like someone had stretched skin across a skeleton. He has large dark glasses covering his eyes only serving to make him look even more like a skeleton.

Her and Storm make their bets together, just as they’ve done everything together since they met. The rest of their time in Death’s domain is… fuzzy. Cara’s been on this earth for so long that some things just slip away but there’s something different about their day spent with Death. It’s like a dream. If Cara thinks about it too hard all the details just drift away.

What she does remember?

She won.

They won.

Her and Stormsword beat Death. They won their bet.

She remembers cackling and cheering and throwing her arms around Stormsword. She remembers Stormsword squeezing her back.

She remembers Stormsword lifting her chin and saying, “I want Cara Franklin-Aodh to live forever.”

And Cara remembers tilting her head up just the same and declaring, “And I want Stormsword to never die.”

And it was so.

Her and Stormsword both manage to awaken from their deathly slumber and Cara promptly shreds the documentation they had used to create that brew. That is not a recipe that just anyone deserves to get their hands on and so it stays locked away in Cara’s head with so many other brews that could tear the world asunder.

It’s a good thing that Cara is such a kind and benevolent person, otherwise the world would be in so, so much trouble.

Her and Stormsword rebuild the frozen city with countless years ahead of them and nothing better to do and kind of, sort of become an all-consuming force in the world, the likes of which strikes fear into the countless other regimes at the time.

Challenger after challenger tries to take them on. Cara and Stormsword hold firm, they do not flinch, they do not falter, they prove exactly why they are not to be messed with, why they are the most dangerous duo this world has ever seen.

They… almost take over the world.

It’s mostly an accident. They really don’t mean to and trying to juggle the world was a lot of work that Cara never asked for.

If everyone had simply left Cara and Stormsword and their little - well, not so little anymore - city in peace then it all would have been fine! 

Everything- everything would have been fine.

They could have kept living and thriving and Cara wouldn’t have had to lose a home and a partner for the second time.

The siege upon their beloved frozen city comes with no warning. It’s a combined army of so many other cities, Cara doesn’t even remember them all anymore. Cara fights until she can hardly breathe, until she can hardly lift her sword anymore. Cara takes a crossbow bolt to the shoulder and starts losing blood at a rapid pace but doesn’t think anything of it, more worried about finding out where Stormsword has gone-

-until she starts swaying on her feet, until she realizes that she’s feeling the effect of blood loss.

She’s dying.

Cara’s forced to retreat after that. She can’t risk dying. Not until she figures out what that bitch Death did to turn their victory against them and not until Cara tracks down Stormsword.

Cara hides high up in the mountain their frozen city sat in the shadow of and waits. Cloak and feathers keep her warm and she chugs her medicinal brews as often as she can, struggling to stay alive long enough to see her Stormsword again.

Cara manages to survive.

She doesn’t ever see Stormsword alive again.

She finds Stormsword at the gates of the city weeks later once she finally braves returning from her hiding place and it fills her with a pain that brings her to her knees. The grief is overwhelming. Cara screams out her pain and rage and tears through what remains of the city like a child throwing a tantrum.

They weren’t supposed to die! Death wasn’t supposed to be able to touch Stormsword!

Cara starts making the deathly sleep brew the second that she can. She chugs it without a second thought. This will kill her or it won’t. What does she care? What is left for her on this plane of existence without Aster and without Stormsword? Cara certainly doesn’t know.

Her recollection of this visit with Death is hazy as well.

It’s there in bits and pieces but just as much of it is lost to her grief-addled mind as it is to the odd effect of Death’s domain.

Cara does remember a skeletal man smirking. She remembers throwing herself at him.

“Stormsword’s name will live on forever. In the eyes of history, Stormsword will never die. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Cara wakes up sobbing. She nearly dehydrates with all her tears. She spends a week hidden away and wishing that she had stayed and died alongside Stormsword. She would rather have her best friend back than all the infamy the world could offer.

But, after a week has gone, Cara picks herself up, shakes herself off, and remembers her declaration of war from so long ago. It had been put on the backburner as everything else demanded her attention but now? Now, Cara has all the time in the world to figure out how to tear Death apart.

Cara is the woman who will live forever. No natural means will ever end her life. She’s learned this: Death had taken their wishes and turned them into terrible things.

Cara Franklin-Aodh will live forever and she will figure out a way to eviscerate Death.

And, perhaps someday, she will see her beloveds, Aster and Stormsword, once again.

[arctickat2400]

Don't Leave Me <> Damon Salvatore

I remember this one got me while writing it; it still gets me while reading it, especially the second part. Part three is pretty sweet though. Let me know what you think.

* * *

“See ya tomorrow,” I waved to Bonnie as I walked away down the school hallway.

I was studying with Bonnie for our big test tomorrow and we were finally leaving.

I walked outside and it was already getting pretty dark. I needed to get home fast.

I put my earbuds in and played my playlist on my phone.

There has never been a day that I haven’t listened to music. I can’t live without it.

I walked through the woods towards the Salvatore Boarding House, repositioning my backpack on my shoulder.

I was always so paranoid, hearing things that may or may not have been there, seeing things that may or may not be there. Damon always told me I was paranoid, even though I’ve always told him that I wasn’t and there was really something out there. But, I really have no idea.

I take out one earbud after thinking that I heard something. I turned around, looking behind me, yet seeing nothing.

I look forward again, putting my earbud back into my ear.

I look down at my phone, changing the song, blasting up the volume.

I look up, sliding my phone into my back pocket. And I swear I could see something watching me from behind a tree. It was almost like a black shadow. I mean, it was pretty dark now, so I couldn’t be sure.

I just shook it off and kept walking.

As I got closer, though, I didn’t see it.

I walked for awhile and it was so quiet. Almost too quiet. Usually I would always hear owl’s hooting or squirrels rustling in the trees.

Next thing I know, a small scream escapes me as a huge black crow flies over me and flies onto a tree branch. Of course, I was already running.

Then, my life flashed before my eyes as I fell to the ground. I screamed out in pain as I looked down at my stomach and a huge wolf was biting down on it.

I fell back, screaming my heart out as I heard dozens of howls all around me. They were getting distant now as the pain was going away, enough for me to stop screaming.

I stood up, holding the wound on my stomach with my hand as I continued walking, or limping, each step as careful as I could make it.

The boarding house was in my sight as I limped up to the front door.

I opened it, struggling into the house that was always my safe place.

Closing the door, I waddled into the living room, dropping my backpack on the bench, and to where my boyfriend Damon was now pacing.

Before I knew it, he vampire sped over to me as I fell into his arms.

“Y/N, where the hell have you been?” He asked loudly, but with concern.

“I was at school. I told this morning that I was studying for my test tomorrow with Bonnie.” I told him as he lifted me up, holding me up.

“I know. But you should’ve been home hours ago. I almost went out to go find you.” Damon replied.

“Sorry. I got held up.” I said, releasing myself from him as I start to walk through the halls and up the stairs.

Just as I was about to take my sixth step up the stairs, pain shot through me, radiating all throughout my body. I would’ve fallen back down the stairs if Damon wasn’t behind me to catch me.

“Y/N, what happened to you?” He questioned, holding me up once again.

“ I got bit okay. It’s not the most pleasant feeling in the whole world, but it’s nothing to worry about, okay?” I said to him. I was trying to be calm. I knew I wouldn’t be okay, but I didn’t want him to worry, even though I knew he would.

“No, Y/N. It’s not okay. You’re hurt, and it’s worse than it’s ever been. You need blood, Klaus’ blood. Y/N, I can’t just leave you like this.” Damon complained.

“Damon,” I say, turning to him. “Please, I beg of you. Do not make a big deal of this. I just need to sleep it off and it’ll be healed by tomorrow. Please, I swear to God, if it’s not healed by tomorrow, then we’ll find Klaus and beg him to help. But, Damon, right now, I’m okay. Seriously. Let’s just go upstairs, please.” I begged him.

He nodded, taking my free hand and leading me upstairs.

I had gotten undressed, getting into the shower and gotten cleaned up.

Damon waited for me outside the shower with a towel, wrapping it around me as I stepped out.

“I’ll go get your clothes.” He said, kissing the side of my head as I smiled. He walked out of his big bathroom, speeding downstairs to get my clothes that he had washed for me.

Just as I had finished drying my hair, I felt a pair of arms wrap around my waist. I felt soft kisses being placed onto my shoulder. I looked up into the mirror as I closed my eyes once again, leaning back into my most favorite person in the world.

With his hands placed carefully on my waist, he spun  me around to face him as he set his hands on my cheeks.

“Y/N, you know I love you, right?” Damon confessed.

“Of course I do. And I love you.” I answered.

“I’m just saying that, whatever happens, I will always love you and I will never stop. You’ll be okay, Y/N.” Damon admitted, and I believed him.

I leaned up towards him and pressed my lips against his. He pulled me into him as I smiled into the kiss.

“I love you, too, Damon. Thank you so much.” I told him. He leaned in and kissed my forehead.

I got dressed into my underwear, bra and leggings. Then, Damon helped me clean and cover my wound with a bandage so nothing would happen to it.

Damon slowly helped me slide on my tank top and my sweatshirt, careful not to disrupt the wound.

He led me to his bed, the one we’ve shared for almost 2 years now.

He quickly changed and joined me under the covers.

He wrapped his arms around my torso as I lean back against him, molding my body in the shape of him.

He kissed the back of my head, pulling me into him as we fell asleep in each others embrace.

* * *

Damon’s POV

“I know, Y/N says she doesn’t need Klaus. But, I know she’s just in denial. That’s why we need to find him and get him to give us his blood to give to her.” I told Stefan.

It was almost noon and Y/N still wasn’t up yet. I was downstairs with Stefan, trying to build a plan to find Klaus and get his blood.

“Stefan, we have to find him. I can’t lose her.” I told my brother.

Before Stefan could answer, a high pitched scream came from upstairs.

I didn’t hesitate to speed upstairs and into my room. And I hated what I saw.

Y/N laid there, screaming, drenched in sweat.

“Y/N!” I yelled over her screaming. I picked her up in my arms and sat behind her, holding her back against my chest.

I held her tight so she would stop squirming after taking her sweatshirt off.

“Damon, it hurts too much! I feel like my whole body is burning! Please, help!” She begged, screaming once again.

Just then, Stefan sped into the room, Elena not too far behind him. I look up at them, wide eyed as I shouted, “Get Klaus!” It was up to them to find Klaus. I couldn’t leave my princess.

Y/N’s POV

It was as if someone had drenched me in gasoline, threw a lighter on me, and lit me on fire.

It was breathtaking, but not in the good way.

I felt like I wasn’t breathing. Every now and then I would let out an ear piercing scream. I would calm down and breath heavily, closing my eyes and laying back onto Damon.

“Damon, I’m so sorry.” I tell him hours later.

“Y/N, don’t be. It wasn’t your fault. You’ll be okay, I know it. Like I said, no matter what happens, I love you, and I’ll never stop. Just stay with me.” He admitted.

But, it was too hard. As much as it hurt, my eyes were getting too heavy.

“Damon, I’m sorry.” I told him, breathless.

“No, Y/N. Please, just stay with me just a little longer. You’ll be okay.” I tried keeping my eyes open, but I couldn’t keep them open.

Just as they closed, I saw three familiar figures run through the doorway of Damon’s bedroom. But, I was already out.

I’m just glad I would spend my last breath in the arms of my love.

Damon’s POV

Stefan and Elena returned, running into my room with Klaus Mikaelson.

“Klaus, you have to help her. Give her your blood, just, please save her!” It was Elena that spoke.

“I will, on one condition.” He said calmly, and it was as if he was in no rush to help Y/N.

“Anything! It doesn’t matter! Just please save her!” I shouted, never taking my eyes off of Y/N.

Klaus bit into his wrist, rushing up to Y/N and I. He set his wrist on Y/N’s mouth. He held it there for awhile, but then took it away.

But, nothing happened. I was just looking down at my lifeless princess, her lips stained in red blood.

Her eyes didn’t open. I looked her up and down and she wasn’t breathing.

I lifted her shirt and the wolf bite still wasn’t healing.

“No,” I said under my breath.

“No!” I shouted, taking her off my lap and setting her carefully down on the bed.

“NO! Y/N, please! You’re not gone! You can’t be dead! Please, baby, come back to me! Y/N! Please!” I yelled at the top of my lungs, begging her to come back. In the background, I swear I could hear soft, muffled cries. I looked back slowly, seeing Elena being held in Stefan’s arms, her head buried into his chest as he hugged her close.

Klaus was already gone, not that it mattered.

I looked back at Y/N, tears threatening to fall.

“Y/N, please,” I was quiet now. “Baby, please. You can’t leave me. Don’t leave me. I still need you.” I cried to her, hoping she could still hear me. But, I knew she couldn’t.

I know, she’s gone.

* * *

Taglist:

@elenavampire21

[aspoonofsugar]

Emerald + Mercury = Cinder

BEGINNING OF THE END = MIDNIGHT

The episodes Beginning of the End and Midnight can be seen as complementary.

Both share a similar structure with the first part telling Cinder’s story and the second part showing how past events are influencing the present. At the same time, they show the links among Cinder, Emerald and Mercury and explore their changing dynamic.

In Beginning of the End it is shown how they came together and we reach the climax of their cooperation. The Fall of Beacon is when the trio is at its strongest. It is only because of their coordination and teamwork that the plan succeeds. In Midnight instead we are shown the beginning of their separation.

For different reasons (fears and wishes) both Mercury and Emerald are about to leave Cinder. Mercury already has and it is probable Emerald will soon.

The two episodes also give us two opposite and complementary visions of Cinder.

In Beginning of the End, we have the way Cinder wants to appear:

Cinder: (stepping forward slowly, glass anklet shifting with her footsteps) I've already told you. And I don't like repeating myself.

Salem: I would like to think I have shown a great deal of patience over my many years walking Remnant. But I do hate repeating myself.

Mercury: Is this how you treat a patient? (Emerald reaches over and twists the screwdriver in his leg, causing him to wince) Ah, too tight!

Cinder: Enough. Our Mercury put on a wonderful show. He was quite brave.

Salem: Do you find such malignance necessary?

Watts: I apologize, ma'am. I'm not particularly fond of failure.

Salem: Then I see no reason for your cruelty towards young Cinder. She's become our Fall Maiden, destroyed Beacon Tower, and most importantly, killed dear Ozpin. So I'm curious, to what failures are you referring?

In Midnight we see who she really is. Moreover, it becomes more and more clear that her imitation of Salem is different from the original:

Salem: I will tell you when and where you are needed.

Cinder: Both of you, get out. I’ll let you know when you’re needed next.

Mercury: Yeah about that, Salem’s got other plans for me. I’m not gonna be taking orders from you anymore.

Why is this being shown through her interactions with Emerald and Mercury? Why are they important for Cinder’s character?

First of all, Mercury and Emerald are Cinder’s kids, at least narratively speaking:

Roman: Oh, look! She sent the kids again! This is turning out just like the divorce!

Roman calls them so when they first appear and later on several characters refer to them as kids in relation to Cinder.

Raven (about Emerald and Mercury): Two children you've tricked into following you.

Tyrian: (chuckles as he slowly walks toward Emerald) Careful, little girl. Cinder isn't here to protect you anymore.

Tyrian (mocking Mercury): Oh yes, the world is mean, and I'm a big, bad man now just like the others.

Salem (to Emerald): Speak, child.

In short, they are meant to be the last link in a chain of abuse that starts with Salem, goes on with Cinder and finally arrives to them.

At the same time, as the title says Mercury + Emerald = Cinder because they are nothing more than parts of Cinder herself, both in their backgrounds and in their personalities.

CINDER + “HUNGER” = EMERALD

Cinder: Follow me, and you'll never be hungry again.

Cinder: It's... an emptiness. It burns. Like hunger. I like it.

In Beginning of the End Emerald and Cinder are shown to share a hunger motif.

Emerald is presented as a street rat who survives through stealing. She is poor and starved, so she accepts Cinder’s offer to be taken care of and to be given food. That said, it is clear that other than food what Emerald is truly starving for is love:

Emerald: I just... (sighs) Cinder was the only family I ever had. She cared about me, taught me things...

I'm the one Who rose out of filth and was loved by no-one

Similarly, Cinder too is shown to be hungry. More specifically, she is hungry for power:

Cinder: I want to be powerful.

It is meaningful that in the episode where Cinder tells Emerald she won’t have to starve anymore, she herself is starving. This contradiction conveys the tragedy of Cinder’s character aka a traumatized girl taking in a kid similar to her and becoming like her past parental figures.

As a matter of fact Emerald and Cinder’s first meeting has parallels with Cinder meeting both Madame and Rhodes.

When Cinder meets Madame she asks for food, but is negated it:

And she is later shown to have survived through leftovers.

In contrast, food is the first thing Cinder offers Emerald, who she recognizes as a girl who has survived in poverty, like her.

In their first meeting, Cinder also treats Emerald pretty much like Rhodes treated her. Both discover a young girl, who has just committed a theft and confront her. However, instead of punishing the girl, they both offer to be the girl’s mentor and become her idol.

As a matter of fact both Cinder and Emerald are shown to idolize their saviors to the point that both girls try to look like them by changing their hair/clothes:

So, it would superficially seem that Cinder is acting like Rhodes and in the opposite way of Madame. However, the reality is far more complex. Deep down, Cinder is acting like her adoptive mother because she is targeting a girl and thinking about how she can weaponize her. At the same time, there is a key difference between her behaviour and Rhodes’s. Rhodes had Cinder give the sword back, while Cinder never stopped Emerald from stealing. If anything, she encouraged her criminal activities changing her from a thief to a terrorist. In other words, Cinder radicalized Emerald.

This is once again linked to the motif of hunger both girls share:

Cinder: You Atlas elites are all the same! You think hoarding power means you'll have it forever, but it just makes the rest of us hungrier.

Cinder’s trauma is rooted in the unfairness of the world. She was made to starve simply because she was born in the wrong situation and society completely failed her.

What is more, when Rhodes refuses Cinder as well, she too refuses his vision of the world. Rhodes, pretty much like the Prince of the original fairy-tale, offers Cinder a way to social-climb. In the fairy-tale, Cinderella marries the prince and so becomes a princess in the end. Here, Rhodes is telling Cinder she can reach her own castle. Cinder can escape her misery and reach Atlas. However, this is seen as a lie by Cinder the moment he attacks her.

So, Cinder giving food to an orphan like her and trying to destroy the current order are both coherent with the idea that the world is unjust and needs to be changed. However, Cinder is using the same problems she criticizes to her advantage. What is more, she is exasperating them in order to fulfill her personal agenda, which is only about herself and her self-image.

Let’s see now, what do our two young thieves steal? What are they “hungry” for?

a) Emerald steals a ring:

Salesman: A beautiful ring... for a beautiful woman.

Interestingly, the ring itself might be a reference to the original story of Aladdin, which is apparently Emerald’s allusion.

In the original story Aladdin meets two jinns. The first one is in a ring and Aladdin uses it to save himself and to escape with the magic lamp, where a stronger jinn is. So it makes sense for Emerald to steal a ring (something she wishes) just to meet a woman that promises her she can have more (her personal jinn aka someone that can realize Emerald’s dreams).

Why does Emerald steal the ring?

It is possible she just wants to sell it in order to buy some food, but I like the idea that she steals it also because she wants some beauty (”a beautiful ring for a beautiful woman”) in the harsh and horrible world she lives in (“filth”).

b) Cinder steals a sword:

Like in Emerald’s case, the object of Cinder’s theft can be seen as part of her fairy-tale’s allusion.

As a matter of fact, in Cinder’s adaptation of Cinderella the swords are nothing, but her glass slippers.

This is made clear later on when Rhodes (both the Prince and the Fairy Godmother) gives Cinder the first sword. It is meant to be a prize on his part. He is showing Cinder she does not need to steal it anymore because she has gained it. Moreover,  weapons are said to be extensions of a person by Ruby, so it makes sense that the slipper of the original Cinderella becomes a sword in this version. It fits the personality of our Cinder, a fiery young girl, who wants to become a huntress.

Finally, since Cinder’s story uses both inversion and deconstruction when adapting the fairy-tale, it is interesting that in the end the Prince refuses to give Cinder the other sword (slipper) and Cinder takes it by force:

In this way, Cinder goes back to stealing, which was what Rhodes had originally tried to avoid.

Why does Cinder steal the sword in the first place?

She steals something to defend herself with and to hurt her tormentors. Violence is rooted in Cinder’s first theft.

In short, Emerald wants something beautiful, while Cinder wants something powerful.

This difference is coherent with their respective semblances since Emerald creates illusions, while Cinder is able to overheat objects, so that she can create explosions and manipulate their shape. Both powers are representative of their user’s flaw and coping mechanism.

Emerald is a person who has reacted to her traumatic life by chasing illusory dreams of warmth and love. She tricks others and is tricked because she refuses to dispel her self-delusions.

Cinder is instead a person, who has been molded through violence just like the glass statues in the hotel. She is forced to endure until she can’t take it anymore and she explodes:

She herself is the Glass Unicorn, which shatters like Cinder’s innocence when too much pressure is added. Not only that, but Cinder too has started molding others to her will. She has been grooming both Emerald and Mercury for her own ego. This is why the name Scorching Caress fits her so well. It is because behind every act of care it is hidden an act of manipulation. And this happens because Cinder too has been treated utilitaristically and the only kind of love she experienced (Rhodes’s) was a “weak” love Cinder ended up perceiving as fake.

In short, Emerald and Cinder have different coping mechanisms and aim for different things. However, this does not mean that one is better or worse than the other. Their main difference is that right now Emerald is more in touch with her own needs and wishes. Ironically, the delusional girl has never lost sight of what she truly wants.

Emerald wants a family. She has been looking for it in the wrong places and she has been pursuing it in the wrong ways. However, Emerald has never forgotten what she is truly after and she is starting to realize she won’t have it, until she stays on Salem’s side:

Salem: It's important not to lose sight of what drives us: Love, justice, reverence... but the moment you put your desires before my own... they will be lost to you. This isn't a threat, this is simply the truth. The path to your desires is only found... through me.

Tyrian: Shh, shh, shh, shh, shh. I want to tell you both a little secret. Your question is all wrong. (laughs)

Emerald: What?

Tyrian: "What do you want from this?" Children, please, if you're not loving what you're doing, then you're in the wrong field.

Salem promises to fulfill Emerald’s wishes, but Tyrian has already told her that pursuing a wish while working for Salem is useless. Emerald is starting to realize it and this is why she will probably leave.

Cinder has instead forgotten what she originally wanted:

Cinder: Like you? You can do whatever you want, go wherever you want.

Cinder’s original wish was to be free and also to be loved, like Emerald:

You're no good I hope you know That your life is of no use And the truth is that No one's ever loved you

However, her being failed by the adults has twisted her wish into a desire for power.

This difference is well conveyed by Cinder and Emerald’s respective line in Beginning of the End:

Cinder: Follow me, and you'll never be hungry again.

Emerald: Thank you...

Cinder: The Huntsman severed the connection before it was complete. (pause) Yes. It's... an emptiness. It burns. Like hunger. I like it. (pause) Yes. I will claim what is ours. (pause) Thank you.

Emerald thanks Cinder because she won’t have to be hungry anymore, while Cinder thanks Salem because she is able to feel a hunger she likes.

This fits well with Cinder’s last words to the Madame:

Cinder: You’re right. Without you I am nothing. But because of you, I am everything.

Emerald does not want to be hungry, while Cinder has been tricked into thinking that being hungry is the only way she can become not even “everything”, but just “something”.

CINDER + “EVERYTHING” = MERCURY

Cinder: Because of you, I am everything.

Mercury: So I got strong, but I never got it back! I've had to work harder than anyone to get where I am.

Cinder’s way of thinking is very similar to Mercury’s. Not only have they both endured their parents’ violence, but they have tried to give this violence meaning. It is because of Madame that Cinder has become “everything” and it is because of Marcus that Mercury has become “strong”. They must believe that it was not all for nothing and that the pain they felt made them stronger instead of weaker.

This is why Cinder thinks that deep down her “hunger” is good. It is because it drives her, but she ignores that it blinds her too.

This is why Mercury keeps going back to his father:

Mercury: Bad hair, used a scythe, and smelled like my dad after a long day. It was him.

Mercury: My dad always said... "if you need to know a city, ask the rats."

He mentions Marcus here and there and uses his teachings to solve problems. That is because those teachings must have some value, right? If they don’t, then Mercury’s life means nothing.

The nature of Cinder and Mercury’s foiling is clear in their first meeting:

Like in Emerald’s case, Cinder finding Mercury calls back a moment of her past.

In particular, it parallels the murder of her adoptive family and Rhodes discovering it. Mercury, just like young Cinder, has just killed an abusive parent and is confronted by a person after the fact.

Once again, Cinder seems to act differently from the adults that let her down. Rhodes was horrified and attacked her, while Cinder praises Mercury and has him join her group.

However, she is deep down acting as Rhodes did. As a matter of fact what truly hurt Cinder about Rhodes’s reaction is that he convinced her that she is irredeemable.

The whole scene plays with the Cinderella’s allusion and inverts it:

The clock strikes midnight and just like in the fairy-tale, the magic is over. In Cinderella, the protagonist goes back to her true self and runs away not to be seen. However, in the end, the prince recognizes her through her slipper (a symbol of her innate beauty and kindness) and marries her despite her humble condition.

In Cinder’s story, midnight is when she reveals a part of herself to Rhodes. She shows all the anger and violence she has been repressing. Cinder is not a “good victim” like the Cinderella of the fairy-tale and Rhodes can’t accept it. Not only that, but he negates Cinder’s dream to be free:

Rhodes: You can run, but you’re going to be running for the rest of your life.

Cinder: I won’t have to run now.

Rhodes: That’s all you’ll ever do.

This shatters Cinder’s hopes and self-perception. She internalizes that she will have to live in opposition to society because she is somehow “a bad person”. She is not a huntress (a princess), but a nobody who’ll have to use violence to survive. And she starts doing it immediately. As the song that starts playing implies, she has been awaken from the “fragile lies in bones”. However, this “truth has broken her soul in two”. This wound is still there and it has influenced, among other things, her reaction to Mercury.

When Cinder meets Mercury, she associates him to his father three times:

Cinder:  And you're his son. We saw your fight from the treeline. He's taught you well.

Mercury: Guess so.

Cinder: What's your name?

Mercury: Mercury.

Cinder: Mercury... Tell me, are you anything like your father?

In this way, she strengthens the connection Mercury tried to cut by killing Marcus. She is indirectly convincing him that he can’t be different from his father:

Tyrian: All you ever learned was pain and violence, and now you're too afraid to leave it. Such a tragedy.

Tyrian spells it out clearly for both Mercury and the audience. The only reason Mercury joined Cinder and is now working for Salem is that he is scared. Not only is he scared for his own survival, but he is scared about failing to be anything else than what his father taught him.

Cinder is deep down scared too by Salem and her group:

However, she too, like Mercury, has given up on being anything different than a criminal. She puts up a strong demeanor, but is actually really frail. She is like glass that has been bended through heat (violence) and can easily shatter.

Both Mercury and Cinder are two violent victims. This duality is kind of conveyed also through their names and colors.

“Cinder” is something that has only partially burnt. They tried to reduce her to ashes, but failed and a part of Cinder is still burning. This is why her main colors are black and red. She is black because she was burnt. She is red because she can burn. She was both hurt and has hurted others.

Similarly, “mercury” is a silver/gray metal and this is Mercury’s main color. This choice gains a possible deeper meaning when one considers that his aura is white and that his surname is Black. His aura can be seen as Mercury’s nature, while the surname “Black” is a symbol of the “nurture” he received. Mixing these two factors made so that Mercury turned out like he is (a gray character).

So, Cinder and Mercury have been shaped by their abuse and this is clearly visible on their bodies as well:

Cinder keeps the scar on her neck hidden, while Mercury has chosen to weaponize his missing legs.

It is telling that Mercury made of his own mechanical legs his weapon and that he mostly uses kicks to fight. It is another detail that shows how he is reducing both himself and his trauma to weapons he can use.

Cinder too shows how frail her sense of self is through weapons. It is not by chance that her current weapons are made of glass. In her backstory her swords were a symbol of her true self and of who she could become. Right now, they are nothing, but glass imitations of that ideal.

In short, Cinder and Mercury are both victims and murderers and they needed to have both sides of themselves accepted by their mentors.

However, Rhodes and Cinder failed to do so. They both refused the victimhood of the child in front of them, but they did so in opposite ways.

On one hand Rhodes refused Cinder’s violence and its reasons. He ignored his feelings of affection for the girl and steeled himself, so that he could fight her.

On the other hand Cinder gladly accepted Mercury’s violence and groomed him (Scorching caress), so that he would completely embrace it too.

The difference between Rhodes and Cinder lies in them having different reactions to the violence perpetrated by a child. However, they both fail to address the child’s pain. Rhodes does so because his vision is too black and white. Cinder does so because she is not even able to address her own pain.

However, both Cinder and Mercury need to address their own victimhood. Still, they refuse to do so because it would mean to accept their vulnerability. It is easier to convince themselves that they are the strong and violent ones. They are the ones others are scared of:

Mercury: We're the guys you should be afraid of.

But it is precisely because of this refusal that they are currently caught in dynamics similar to the ones they escaped:

Salem and Tyrian are nothing, but more dangerous versions of Madame and Marcus.

Salem treats Cinder as a pawn, rather than a person. She strips her of her personhood and agency and punishes her violently.

Tyrian is a killer, who enjoys his job like Marcus. He keeps invading Mercury’s personal space and threathens him. Moreover, his own semblance is similar to Marcus’s. It might not steal people’s semblances, but it still messes with their auras (with their very souls).

Cinder and Mercury struggle to recognize their own situations because to do so they must accept they are still stuck in their horrible childhoods:

Mercury: You may not like it here without Cinder, but I think I'm right where I'm supposed to be!

Cinder: I don’t serve anyone. And you wouldn’t either, if you were built that way.

However, this refusal is confusing them about what their true needs and wishes are:

Cinder: I want to be strong. I want to be feared. I want to be powerful.

Mercury: So what's in it for me?

In Beginning of the End both characters receive a line where they express some kind of wish.

As stated above, Cinder’s wish is not her original one, but a twisted version because she thinks she can’t reach her true desire.

When it comes to Mercury, he is not even sure of what he really wants. This is made clear even later on:

Emerald: I mean, there has to be something you want from this, right?

Mercury: Salem's promised us everything. We win this thing for her, we'll be top dogs in her new world. What more do you want?

He says Salem will give him all he wants, but he still fails to answer Emerald’s question. What is it that he wants?

He wants “everything” Cinder can offer him and later on “everything” Salem offers him. However, this is just another way to say he’ll take anything he is given, be it even something as basic as survival:

Mercury: Look, even if what he said was true, we can’t stop Salem. You told me yourself, Hazel tried. He failed and he got in line. Big guy’s not going to pick fights he can’t win, and neither should we.

This is because Mercury is so scared and hurt he can’t even start to think about what he wants.

Similarly, he goes back to a fatalistic vision of the world:

Mercury: Just made sense.

Emerald: It made sense?

Mercury: All my life, my father trained me to be a killer, an assassin like him. And then moments after I killed him, you two showed up looking for someone with my exact skills. Just felt like it was meant to be.

Let’s highlight that Cinder does the same:

Pyrrha: Do you believe in destiny?

Cinder: Yes.

Cinder: You know, Neo, someone once asked me if I believed in destiny. And I'm happy to say I still do.

Both Mercury and Cinder have convinced themselves that there is a “destiny” written for them and that they must play that role (the role of an assassin, the role of the Maiden). However, in this way they are just chaining themselves and accepting to Do As They Are Told by adults and mentor figures, who do not really care about them.

EMERALD + MERCURY = SOUL + BODY

I'm the one That was born in a nightmare a murderer's son Got no gun But I gleam like a blade and I'm harder than iron I'm the one Who rose out of filth and was loved by no-one Delusion I'll steal til your blind and defeat you from inside your mind

I'm the one That was ripped from the earth and exposed to the sun Overrun By the hate and the beatings defiled by a father I'm the one I'll race with your eyes and you'll never outrun Illusions Will conquer your mind and will make you fulfill my design

Mercury and Emerald’s song says several things about them.

First of all, it conveys the idea of two kids that feel let down by the world and have decided to retaliate. They mock their opponents and praise their respective abilities. However, it is clear from the verses above that it is just a mask to hide their pain.

This fits with them appearing for the first time in Best Day Ever where Ozpin says this:

Ozpin: And they will be, but right now they're still children. So why not let them play the part? After all, it isn't a role they'll have forever.

Differently from out protagonists (at the time), Emerald and Mercury are not playing the part of kids, but they are acting as big bad thugs to prove themselves to the people around them.

Secondly, the song is useful to explore Emerald and Mercury’s foiling.

a)

I'm the one Who rose out of filth and was loved by no-one Delusion I'll steal til your blind and defeat you from inside your mind

I'm the one That was ripped from the earth and exposed to the sun Overrun By the hate and the beatings defiled by a father

Emerald was never given love, while Mercury was given hate:

Mercury: I'm sorry you didn't have a mommy that loved you, but I had a father who hated me!

This difference is at the root of their different personalities.

On one hand Emerald attaches herself to the care Cinder gives her and takes it as the most love she’ll ever receive.

On the other hand Mercury is just content with not receiving hate and violence from the people around him.

Emerald is more open about her connections with others, while Mercury is more disillusioned. She is strongly driven by them, while Mercury is too scared to fully embrace them.

Emerald has clear wishes, but she is deluding herself about them. Mercury has fears that do not let him realize what he wants.

This difference stems from the different nature of their traumas. Who was never given anything accepts whatever they are offered, while who received pain thinks even nothing is better than more pain.

Still, we are currently seeing an inversion of this dynamic. Emerald’s wishes and their not overlapping with reality are making her doubtful. Mercury’s fear and survival instinct are making him refuse the truth:

Mercury: And all of this is pointless, anyway. Salem’s not ending the world.

In the end, facing one’s own feelings, being them wishes:

Or fears:

Is still better than repressing them, even if it might be painful.

b)

I'm the one That was born in a nightmare a murderer's son Got no gun But I gleam like a blade and I'm harder than iron

I'm the one I'll race with your eyes and you'll never outrun Illusions Will conquer your mind and will make you fulfill my design

The song I’m the One has four key verses. In the first two ones both characters tell a little of their past and then discuss their abilities, while in the other two Mercury mostly talks about his past and emphasizes it, while Emerald highlights her semblance more.

This ends up foreshadowing the importance of Emerald’s semblance and Mercury’s lack of one (”got no gun”).

Emerald’s semblance is important on different levels. As stated above, it perfectly embodies Emerald’s flaw:

Mercury: You're in denial.

And it is linked to unconscious aspects, like wishes and fears. Finally, it is a semblance linked to trickery and lies and these are among the causes of The Fall of Beacon:

Cinder:  Our Kingdoms are on the brink of war, yet we, the citizens, are left in the dark.

It is not by chance that this semblance specifically has been so instrumental in Cinder’s plan, after all.

Similarly, Mercury’s lack of a semblance is one of his defining traits:

Mercury: He never went easy on me! Every day of training was a beating. And when I unlocked my Semblance, he stole it with his!

Ironically, this would make for an excellent narrative objective for Mercury’s character. However, he is so sure his semblance can’t be taken back that he has completely given up on it. This even if he is clearly bitter about having had a part of himself stolen.

The key aspect here may be that Mercury has failed to get his semblance back through his father’s teachings:

Mercury: He told me I could have it back when I was strong. So I got strong, but I never got it back!

And he is now considering it lost forever. It is possible that the path to find his ability again is instead another one altogether.

That said, while Cinder mostly used Emerald’s semblance in her plan, she also made great use of Mercury’s skill and of the peculiar nature of his body:

The first step in her plan, after all, uses both Emerald’s semblance and Mercury’s prostethic legs to spread negative emotions. This tendency continues in PvP where Emerald uses her semblance and Mercury, unhurt because of his legs, prevents Ruby from interrupting the fight.

In short, Emerald mostly relies on her semblance, while Mercury mostly relies on his legs and fighting prowess.

This detail adds to the idea that Emerald and Mercury have been acting as a unit and have been complementing each other. Emerald acts as the “soul” and Mercury as the “body”.

The soul is one’s personal essence (like the semblance). It is where (once again) wishes reside. The body is what protects the soul and is animated by instincts and self-survival.

They complement each other. This complementarity is shown in Emerald and Mercury’s fights.

In the Vytal festival, Mercury takes on both Coco and Yatsuhashi for a short while, so that Emerald can size her chance to fight Coco at her own terms (and she wins by using her semblance).

In the Battle of Heaven, Emerald uses her semblance to help Mercury fight and, in a sense, she compensates for his lack of one:

This perfect complementarity used to make them strong, but right now it is clear that it has become limitating:

Blake: When you’ve been at someone’s side for so long, after a while they become a part of you. But that’s just it, they’re only a part of you. Don’t forget about the rest.

 This is why they are currently being separated by the narrative.

On one hand Emerald must learn not to be so emotionally dependant from others and must make her own choices. This is also why her using the lamp might be meaningful:

Qrow: This last great creation would be given the power to both create and destroy. It would be given the gift of knowledge, so that it could learn about itself and the world around it. And most importantly, it would be given the power to choose, to have free will to take everything it had learned and decide which path to follow - the path of light or the path of darkness.

The whole point of the relics (and of the journey we are going through) is to learn about the world, about creation and destruction, so that in the end a choice can be made.

This is why the first relic we saw is the relic of knowledge. Now, Emerald is a character that has been dependant on others, so that she could realize her wishes. Aladdin itself is a story about a character depending on a Jinn to make his dreams come true. However, it is possible Emerald’s arc will be different and it will be about gaining the knowledge to act and realize one’s wishes.

On the other hand Mercury must face himself and learn what he really wants. He must start living instead of simply surviving. In a sense, he must take the soul his father stole back.

Mercury quoting Marcus: "This is a crutch!" "This makes you weak!"

Marcus was wrong. One’s individuality (semblance) does not make them weak. If anything, Marcus’s abuse of Mercury made him need a literal crutch (since he lost his legs) and the boy is still hiding behind this violence to avoid any real choice about himself. This is what prevents him from becoming strong:

Yang: You might be powerful, but that doesn't make you strong.

Raven: Who do you think you are, lecturing me?! Standing there, shaking like a scared little girl?!

Yang: Yeah, I'm scared. But I'm still standing here!

His connection with Emerald might still play a role in this. After all, Mercury is, among other things, the god of thieves and this allusion has been played with by making him protective of Emerald (whose surname means “thief”). It might be used in a deeper and more meaningful way later on.

Emerald and Mercury must grow because if they don’t, they’ll end up as their dark foils:

Both Hazel and Emerald ended up joining Salem out of a feeling of love that was twisted. Emerald joined Salem because of her loyalty to Cinder, who is using her. Hazel joined Salem because of the death of his sister that he blames on Ozpin. Their semblances are even symbolic of their respective flaws since Emerald is caught up in her own delusions, while Hazel is unable to properly grieve, so he can’t “feel pain” on more than just the physical level.

Both Mercury and Tyrian are assassins and Tyrian is who Mercury might become if he truly chooses to live only to kill and does not find a different goal.

It is also telling that both Emerald and Mercury are currently put in similar circumstances as their two foils. As a matter of fact Mercury is leaving with Tytian, while Emerald and Hazel have been given the password to use the lamp and must choose what to make of this information.

At the same time, Emerald and Mercury have also some traits of respectively Tyrian and Hazel as well.

Emerald is fiercely loyal to Cinder like Tyrian is to Salem:

Tyrian: So devoted to someone so incompetent.

Hazel wanted to protect Gretchen (and is still acting on these unfulfilled feelings of protectiveness) like Mercury is trying to protect Emerald. Moreover, Gretchen and (probably) Emerald’s choice was/will be to fight an enemy that can’t be beaten, going against Hazel and Mercury’s wishes.

All in all, Emerald and Mercury have had interesting interactions with both Hazel and Tyrian that can be (ironically) seen as two incomplete and flawed mentor figures.

On one hand Hazel has been acting as a protector of sorts. He carried Emerald when she lost consciousness after the Battle of Heaven and he tried to protect both Emerald and Mercury from Salem’s rage after their failure.

On the other hand Tyrian is seen tormenting the two kids whenever he gets the chance. That said, he ironically ends up spelling out for them truths the two must face:

Tyrian: Do what makes you happy children... please? I'm begging you...

Tyrian: Of course she is! You’re surprised? Salem is destruction incarnate! Our mistress wishes to see the end of it all! There is no ideal more beautiful.

In short, some kind of interesting foiling seems to have been set-up for the four of them and it will be interesting to see if/how it develops.

MIDNIGHT = BEGINNING OF THE END

In a sense, when the clock stroke midnight it was the beginning of Cinder’s end because she entered a spiral she has not been able to stop since then. Not only that, but she has dragged other people in that same spirals and those people are now struggling against it, just like her.

At the same time, midnight signals the end of illusions and that may be a fitting description for where we are in the story so far.

Ruby has just announced the existence of Salem to the world, Emerald is uncovering several truths about Salem, Cinder and herself and the Ace Ops are being forced to face their emotions. Of course, when some illusions end, new ones appear. However, it is clear we are in a pivotal moment, which will hopefully lead to some changes.

Similarly, Cinder, Mercury and Emerald will probably go their own ways soon and it will be interesting to see how their paths will foil and where they will meet again.

As for now, it seems that because of Emerald’s allusion to Aladdin, she might use the last question to Jinn. If so, she will probably aquire knowledge and wisdom (emeralds are the stones of wisdom apparently).

Mercury will probably spiral a little bit as for now, but I wonder if he will receive some pivotal focus in the Vacuo’s volumes. Other than him going there with Tyrian, there is also the fact that it would make what is currently just a juxtaposition with Penny (thank you, @hamliet​ for noticing) a more interesting foiling.

Penny is an artificial human, a creation who was given life because her father loved her so much that he sacrificed a part of his aura for her... twice. She is at the centre of the theme of creation and it represents the good sides of it. She is a creation with a soul, a child, the fruit of parental love. It is because of the love she received that she is willing to protect creation:

Penny: That is not… I choose to fight for people who care about me.

Penny’s arc is about self-actualization. She struggles to be her own person outside her role, her purpose and even her parent. However, even if she has been objectified and keeps being objectified, she has also been given affection and this is why she fights.

Mercury is her opposite. He was the target of his father’s violence. Marcus not only stole his legs (while Pietro built Penny a body), but even a part of his soul (while Pietro gave Penny a part of his). He taught Mercury hate and violence and this is why he is currently helping a witch to destroy the world. Because of this, it would be interesting for such a character to receive focus on the volumes about destruction.

Finally, Cinder, as the Fall Maiden, is linked to the theme of choice. This has already been explored a little bit in her being obessed by destiny, as said above. However, the theme of choice is one which must still be fully explored.

In particular, there are several references to choice and destiny when it comes to Cinder’s foil aka Pyrrha:

Cinder (about Pyrrha): Hmm... People assume that she's fated for victory, when she's really taking fate into her own hands.

Cinder: It's unfortunate you were promised a power that was never truly yours.

Pyrrha: When I think of destiny, I don't think of a predetermined fate you can't escape. But rather... some sort of final goal, something you work towards your entire life.

Red-Haired Woman: She understood that she had a responsibility... to try. I don't think she would regret her choice, because a Huntress would understand that there really wasn't a choice to make. And a Huntress is what she always wanted to be.

Pyrrha’s arc is about making a choice. She must choose if she wants to become a Maiden. She struggles, but in the end she accepts this responsibilty. She embraces her idea of destiny and tries to be a Maiden even without powers.

Cinder’s idea of destiny is not fully explored. In a sense, just like Pyrrha, she has taken destiny in her own hands. However, she also seems to use the idea of destiny to nurture her self-image as the Chosen One and as the Worthy One.

At the same time, Pyrrha’s choice led to her tragic death. Not only that, but in the end her death accomplished little. Even Ruby activating her silver eyes has more to do with her wish to protect life, rather than with death. Why is that so? It is probably because Pyrrha’s choice was made without knowledge. She had been explained only a fragment of the truth, while the whole point is that one should learn, meet creation and destruction and then make a choice. This is why we have yet to meet the relic of choice.

My guess is that the theme of choice will mostly be explored through Cinder’s character, who will be asked to choose her destiny in the end.

[heyiwrotesomethings]

A Wild Valentine Appears!

Ririka Momobami x She/Her Reader (Feat. some KiraSaya!)

A/N: I now realize why it takes me months to finish writing things. I wrote this oneshot in a day and although I have read it over several times already, I still feel like it’s incoherent. I’ll still happily post it though because if I only posted things I was completely satisfied with, I’d post nothing lol. Anyway, just wanted to give a little love to Ririka because she deserves it. Hope you’ll like it! Word Count: 2,425

Ririka stared over the sea of students pushing and shoving to get into any of the more contested council member lines. God, she really hated Kirari sometimes.

Today was Valentine’s Day, and all Ririka wanted to do was go home, order a giant, cheesy pizza, and watch anime from the comfort of her own bed and forget this stupid holiday even existed. But no, her dear sister just had to be an insufferable nuisance. Nothing could ever be easy, could it?

Kirari had decided to inform the council that morning in an unplanned meeting, that in order to spare the mail room from total annihilation (and Sayaka’s back), each council member would have to accept their Valentines in person. She had even set up the gymnasium for the occasion. Not herself of course, she made the house pets do it, but you get the idea.

“But president, I already have an idol greeting in place!” Yumemi smiled, though her eye twitched, “I’m too busy to deal with people outside of my fan club who need I remind you, actually pay me for my time.”

“It is a waste of time,” Kaede pushed his glasses up, “A pointless holiday.”

“Well I think it’s a great idea president!” Itsuki proclaimed, leveling a glare at Kaede.

“Free sweets so I’ll happily comply!” Runa grinned.

“Sayaka,” Yumemi called, exasperation seeping out of the cracks in her cheery idol facade, “Surely you don’t want to watch people confessing to the president all afternoon?”

Sayaka’s hands, hidden behind her back, clenched tightly in agreement, yet her polite smile stayed solid. “The president’s will is my will.” She replied, her eyes dark and focused.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure Sayaka will be busy enough dealing with her own little pack of girls! Crazy to believe I know, but she’s actually pretty popular!” Midari sensed the air around the president change and cackled. “I’m cool with it, prez. I’m sure Yuriko’s ego would love all the attention too!” She offered on behalf of the absent council member. Yuriko had some important business with the Traditional Culture Club to take care of before the impromptu meeting was called.

“Majority rules.” Kirari smiled, passing a glance over to Ririka who was silently stewing.

So that’s how Ririka ended up standing in the furthest corner of the gym, watching all her fellow council members’ lines fill up while hers remained painfully desolate. She had never been more thankful for her mask than she was today. However, it was probably because of the mask and her eerie silence that people were afraid to approach her in the first place.

Ririka found entertainment watching Kirari and Sayaka at least. Though those two usually drove her absolutely bonkers, it was kind of funny to watch them take turns discreetly eyeing their ‘competition’ for the other’s affections. It was enough to make Ririka want to scream over the school’s intercom system that they needed to just kiss already and stop wasting everyone’s time, but still funny to see her sister making a mental list of every person who dared get too comfortable with her secretary. Ririka rolled her eyes as she was sure Sayaka was doing the same to the patrons in Kirari’s line. Her sister’s line was much larger than Sayaka’s own, but Ririka knew better than to think Sayaka couldn’t keep up.

“Um, excuse me, vice president?”

Ririka startled, but years of schooling her emotions and physical reactions hid her scare well. She looked away from her sister to stare at the disturbance head on. Ririka was surprised to find a face she recognized. (L/n) (Y/n), she sat next to Ririka’s left in class since their first year of high school. What could she possibly want?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t disrupt your train of thought did I? Here, let me just give you this quick and I’ll be out of your hair,” (Y/n) laughed nervously, her hand rummaging through the school bag over her shoulder, “I knew I should have packed better, sorry, just a second... There!” (Y/n)’s hand finally re-emerged with a rectangular box, striped with red, pink, and white. She held the box out to Ririka with a barely detectable tremor, “I made these chocolates for you. I hope you like them!”

Ririka tilted her head, mouth agape. Was this actually happening right now? Someone was giving her Valentines chocolate? And they were cute and nice? What the hell?

“Oh no, you hate it! I’m so sorry!” (Y/n) looked every bit as horrified as Ririka felt for just standing there and staring like an idiot instead of accepting the chocolates.

Ririka immediately waved her arms and shook her head, swiping the chocolates from her classmate’s hands and pressing the box into her chest protectively. Looking between (Y/n) and the chocolates Ririka knew she had to do something to show her gratitude so, she awkwardly flashed (Y/n) a shaky thumbs up. If Ririka could blush through her mask she was sure it would be bright pink.

“Thank you, vice president! I hope you like them, I worked hard on these- but! But don’t feel obligated or anything!” (Y/n) quickly added.

Ririka looked down at the pretty box in her hands a popped the lid open, a little gasp escaped her lips and came through her voice modulator like a crackle of static. The chocolates were shaped like cats!

“I hope you don’t mind, I noticed you doodle a lot during class and I think you make the cutest little kittens so that’s why I shaped the chocolate like that. I made the mold too, it took a couple tries, but the end result was worth it I think.”

Ririka hadn’t realized (Y/n) had paid attention to her at all, much less that she would be interested in her enough to know what she did during class, or remember and care enough to then turn such observations into an incredibly sweet and thoughtful gift. There was no way she was going to be able to keep her eyes off of (Y/n) during class now... not that she had ever stared longingly at her before! Or chickened out of buying chocolates to put in her classmate’s shoe cubby that morning, not at all! But damnit Ririka really wished she hadn’t been such a coward now!

“I’m glad this worked out. I had been planning to just send them through the mail system like I have in previous years, but then I heard that the student council was only accepting gifts in person this year and I kind of lost my nerve,” (Y/n) rambled on, waving her hands around as she talked.

Ririka couldn’t believe it. (Y/n) had sent her chocolates before? She had never gotten them. They had probably been lost in her sister’s vast piles of confectionary wealth, damn her sister!

“You are always so distant with everyone. I was afraid I was just going to be bothering you, but seeing you standing here all alone... I knew I had to just go for it and put my feelings out there, you know? Ah, I’m talking too much. I should really—“

“The president did not consent to be touched!”

(Y/n) and Ririka whipped their heads around just in time to see Sayaka flip a student twice her size to the ground, tasing him for good measure. Kirari stood by with an amused smirk, her hands rubbing sanitizer into her skin as she watched her secretary obliterate the boy.

The girls who were still waiting in Sayaka’s line started cheering and swooning which quickly made the president’s mood sour and she turned to the girls, offering them an icy stare that shook them all to the bone.

“I’ve grown quite bored of this. Would any of you care for a high stakes gamble? I’m sure we all have something of value to offer.” Kirari spoke, reaching her hand out towards the group.

The girls dropped their gifts and ran away screaming, none dared to accept the president’s wager. Especially not while she looked so menacing albeit elegant, as if she drank human blood and tears from a wine glass while sitting regally upon a throne constructed from the bones of her enemies.

Once the boy on the ground was disturbingly still, Sayaka stood and brushed off her skirt, her dark, calculating eyes scanned over the rest of the line. She zapped her taser twice in warning causing the remaining students to scatter and flee the scene.

“Oh my, Sayaka. Did you need to be so harsh?” Kirari teased, as if she hadn’t just subtly threatened a handful of high schoolers herself. She’d be lying is she said she hadn’t enjoyed the momentary chaos she had created.

“School hours are nearly over president. I was simply killing two birds with one stone.” Sayaka informed, still looking a bit miffed.

“Ah, so they are. Well then, far be it from me to hamper anyone’s holiday plans.” Kirari looked around at the remaining students and made a shooing motion with her hands, clearly bored, “Leave.” The students knew better than to complain, not directly in front of the president at least. (Y/n) moved to follow the crowd but Ririka grasped her by the bicep, keeping (Y/n) glued to her spot. Ririka was not going to let her slip away, not without returning the favor. Once the students were pushing out of the gymnasium doors, Kirari turned back to Sayaka, her eyes glimmering. “Sayaka, accompany me to the student council room. I would love a hot cup of tea. You always prepare it so well.”

“Yes, president!” Sayaka nodded, falling in step behind Kirari as she took a different exit.

“That was, something.” (Y/n) laughed, rubbing the back of her neck with her free hand, “I better get lost now before I overstay my welcome. Um, thank you again, vice president.” (Y/n) moved to pull away but Ririka held on tighter, making her classmate’s skin grow warmer. “Vice president?”

Ririka looked around at who was left loitering in the gymnasium and rolled her eyes. She may not have gotten chocolates for (Y/n), but she was surely going to make up for it before the day was over. Ririka just needed to get away from all these people first. She tugged (Y/n) along to the gym storage room and blushed as Runa laughed and pointed at her. She pulled (Y/n) inside the storage room and closed the door behind them.

“(L/n),” Ririka’s distorted voice crackled to life behind her mask, causing (Y/n) to jump. (Y/n) had never heard her speak before. “Do you like anime?”

“I- yeah I like anime?” (Y/n) blinked, she clearly had no idea where this could possibly be going.

“Do you like pizza?” Ririka persisted, the modulator making her sound much more severe rather than excited.

“Sure, I like pizza vice president.” (Y/n) answered taking a cautious step back as Ririka stepped forward, effectively cornering herself.

“Would you...” Ririka’s hand quivered as she lifted it to her face, (Y/n) tracked the movement, a look of bewildered wariness upon her face as she waited with bated breath for whatever was to come next. Ririka pulled the mask off her face, blushing as (Y/n) grew more shocked, awed, and confused. “Would you like to come to my house to watch anime and eat dinner?!” Ririka squeaked, her face growing hotter after every word that left her mouth.

“But— how? You... we were.. and you were, and then you?” (Y/n) babbled looking between Ririka and the door, weakly pointing between the two. Ririka starred at (Y/n) oddly then smacked her hand over her eyes and laughed feebly at the misunderstanding.

“I’m not Kirari. We’re twins. I’m Momobami Ririka.”

“Twins? Oh,” (Y/n) suddenly looked very relieved, “I thought for sure Igarashi was going to pop out and strangle me with a jump rope or something. Twins, wow! How have I never guessed?”

“Do not tell anyone!” Ririka warned. “No one is supposed to know yet!”

“I won’t tell!” (Y/n) raised her hand and made a gesture of zipping her lips. “Your secret is safe with me, vice president!”

“Well, good.” Ririka replied awkwardly. “So do you want to...?”

“Oh, yeah!” (Y/n) cleared her throat, “Yes, that sounds like fun, thank you for inviting me.”

Ririka smiled, “Excellent.” She fitted her mask back over her face and led (Y/n) out of the storage room by the hand. “Come with me.” the distorted voice commanded.

Ririka dragged (Y/n) down the hall and the feeling was near euphoric. The grin taking over her face was fighting to be as wide as the one covering her mask when (Y/n)’s hand grasped hers just as tightly.

***

“That’s odd...” Sayaka murmured staring down into the courtyard from the student council window.

“What’s odd, Sayaka?” Kirari asked, tone light and playful as she hugged her secretary from behind, resting her chin on Sayaka’s shoulder.

“President!” Sayaka blushed, wiggling in Kirari’s hold. “I just, I didn’t realize the vice president had a girlfriend is all.” Sayaka explained, pointing to the two girls jogging up to an expensive, black car.

“Oh?” Kirari was just as bemused as she was confused, not that she would allow her face to show it. Watching her sister usher a girl she recognized as a classmate of theirs into the back of the car before Ririka followed in after her and closed the door. Soon after, the car pulled away from the curve. “How interesting.” She would have to confront Ririka about this at a later date, but for now she had a secretary to shower with affections. “Sayaka, this chocolate is delectable. Would you like a taste?”

“I think I would. Thank you, president.”

Kirari smirked, removing one of her arms from around Sayaka to pluck another chocolate from the box while Sayaka turned to face her. Sayaka naively held out her hand, then spluttered when Kirari placed the chocolate on her own tongue and pulled Sayaka closer.

***

“Oh! I remember this episode, it’s so good Ririka, you are going to love it!” (Y/n) was practically vibrating in her spot on the couch.

“Really? I’m looking forward to it.” Ririka smiled between bites of pizza.

Hopefully they could make a habit of this. Who knows, maybe she and (Y/n) would actually pass up Kirari and Sayaka in terms of pursuing a romantic relationship at a reasonable pace. Ririka cautiously leaned her shoulder against (Y/n)’s and she received a kind smile that enveloped her more warmly than the snug blanket over her lap.

Best Valentine’s Day ever.

[winter-fox-queen]

Kisses Like Wine Part 2

Summary:  We go back before the first heist to see things from the Theif’s point of view.

Warnings: None really. Blank canvass — this is from his point of view, but I am careful not to describe “you”

Special thanks to @hnt-escape for brainstorming and encouraging.

A few weeks before the first theft…

The theif looked up at the looming fake battlements of the castle, wondering, not for the first time, at the quirks of rich men. He knew from the blueprints that he’d managed to secure that it was a complete replica of a French Castle (Spanish castles were better, in his opinion, owning an actual one himself) combined with the latest technology.

So much money, and for what?

He went back to sweeping up grass clippings, bagging them up, studying routes in and out.  This was the part he enjoyed. The planning. No one looked at the help…the rich would spend thousands on security, but the help would always be an achilles heel.

He puffed out his cheeks, leaning on his rake as if taking a breather. It was not entirely an act. The in would be easy. The out…well. If it was easy, what would be the fun?

He crossed the yard to a patio, where the three children of the house were finishing up lunch.  The eldest brother, Terry, his sister Marie, and you.  The youngest sister. You didn’t match the others, and he knew it was because you had different mothers.

It was interesting, watching People he’d studied from a distance. How close the eldest two were. How they ignored the youngest, who took it calmly. Looking at the garden, enjoying the day, reading a book. They were about what he’d expected, from their social accounts, from everything he’d pulled together. You. You were different.

It entertained him, how easily you ignored being ignored. Like it was nothing.

The eldest two were studiously pretending he was not there, sweating away with a sharp tool that cut away weeds from the edges of the paving.  But you.  You smiled over your book at him.

For a second he wished he wasn’t dressed as he was, clad in a sweaty, filthy blue cotton tee shirt that had been washed too many times, sandy hair in a shaggy style that changed the shape of his face, theater makeup that changed the depth of the skin around his nose to make it less sharp, contacts that muddied up the color of his eyes.

When Terry and Marie left the table, you brought over a glass of water and a leftover cupcake on a small plate.  “No sense it going to waste,” she said when you protested.

“Thank you,” he accepted the water, drinking carefully.

“You’re new, aren’t you?  I think I’ve met all the people who usually do the yard work.”

Of course you would know them.

“Yeah.” He shrugged.  “I used to work with another company, but the guy retired. I feel lucky to have landed a spot.”

“Do you like it? I know it’s hard work, but I know that some people like it because it’s outside.”

“It pays the bills.” He needed to get out of this. This much contact was not safe, even in costume. But he found himself…liking this. Liking sitting on the ground while you sat on a bench next to him, looking at him like he was…real. People looked at him all the time but he was good at not being seen.  You were not looking, you were seeing him. It felt nice and terrifying at the same time.

“So…no then.”

He smirked and broke the cupcake top off, shook his head.

“I probably wouldn’t like it, either. But jobs are not easy to find.”

He arched his eyebrow, mouth too full to make a comment, and you blushed. “I know. What does a girl who lives in a castle know about employment rates?”

Your name was called, and your head came up sharply, as if analyzing the tone. The next call was not so sharp, and you shoulders relaxed. “Excuse me. It was nice talking to you…thanks for letting me bother you.”

“It wasn’t a bother,” he said meaning it. You smiled over her shoulder and rushed off.

The next time he saw — well, heard — you with your family, he was hidden in a wall, fiddling with some useful bit of neglected wiring when he heard your voice again. It made him smile as he worked, strain to hear, until he actually heard what was being said to you.

Then there was the time he was a footman.

Then there was the time he was there to repair some molding.

And each time he heard you talking to your family, he was treated to conversations of such insidious smugness that he wanted to punch someone.  He listened to you getting yelled at for flirting too much.  Not flirting enough.  Buying a — to them — cheap and ugly car. Spending too much money.

And a lot of it was delivered in loving tones, as advice to help you have a better life.  Because they were so, so worried about you.

And you took it calmly. Nothing seemed to bother you. As he looked up at you from his vantage point on the floor, this time dressed as a red-headed brawler with a black eye — he wondered if you were a saint.

It made him furious.

He almost left the job. He was getting too close. Sometimes literally. Like the time you almost backed into him in the dark.  He was making an…adjustment to security…when you came wandering down the hall. He stood stock still as your steps slowed, as you paused in a puddle of faint moonlight and looked around the shadow clad room.  You turned away, took a few steps backwards as if you knew somethingw as off but could not place it.. You were close enough that he could feel your warmth. He drew in a small slow breath, you smelled of vanilla, cinnamon…he was not sure.  Sweet. Comforting.

He wondered what you would do, if he drew you into his arms, if he showed you who he really was.  Took off all the masks.

You left. So did he. Safe in his bolt hole he poured himself a drink and thought, I need to run.

He’d spent a lot of time on this job. He was careful. He was good. He had never been caught. He never left so much as a hair for them to trace him with, just built upon his legend, his reputation, to wear like armor and keep him safe. Meticulous. Smart. Distanced. These were the things that kept him alive.

And one of his rules was never, ever to fall in love. The first time had ruined him. The second time had almost killed him. He had sworn there would not be a third time.

But he found himself thinking of you. All the research he had done became a guilty secret, he knew everything public about you, just like he knew the rest of your family. He spoke to the servants and he listened, he watched. He knew, probably, more than he needed to. What did knowing what books you’d read on Goodreads have to do with the job?

He closed his eyes, as if to ward off a blow.

A wise man would leave now, before this became something real. Before his stupidity got him caught. There were people much nastier than Interpol or the CIA who wanted him. One mistake and the whole house of cards would fall.

He didn’t leave. If he was a wise man, he would have stopped being a theif a very long time ago.

Besides, he thought, I’ll just steal the crown an the Star and be on my way.

And a kiss. Just one kiss. A kiss and then disappear and never be seen again.

So when he he held you against him in that tower room, hand around the soft pulse of your throat, body pressed so tight and yeilding against him, and the words “Come find me” tumbled out of his mouth, it should have been a surprise.

But it was not. It was like the kiss — a slice of perfection, a decision, a revelation. He wanted you more than the jewel in his pocket, the stolen crown.

And he never, ever denied himself anything that he wanted.

If you want to be added to my tag list, just let me know! If you want to be removed…again, please let me know.

@grogusmum @mishasminion360 @hnt-escape @littlemisspascal @pedro4ever @writteninthestars18 @fromthedeskoftheraven @sharkbait77

@quica-quica-quica @eri16 @the-blind-assassin

[anauthore]

Escape From Halloweentown {Jack Skellington x Reader} CHAPTER 2

Summary: When a game of hide-and-seek goes wrong, you find yourself lost in the woods without a way home. Whether it be fate, or just dumb luck, you suddenly find yourself in a far bigger predicament than you ever thought you would be- and it’s not just because you can’t seem to find your little brother.

Pairing: Reader / Jack Skellington. A very slow burn fic.

NOTE: This is a full-length fanfic! If you don’t want to read chapter by chapter on tumblr, please use the following links to read in a different format / on a different website!

Wattpad | Quotev | AO3

Fic Below the Cut | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A skeleton. 

Or, at least, something not at all human.

Your eyes didn’t move from the creature at all, paralyzed to his tall, thin form and rounded skull with empty black holes for eyes. You could just make out his vertebrae peeking out from his suit’s collar, fused at the ends in what seemed more like a neck of bone rather than a spine.

He spoke, his voice not at all what you were expecting, his ‘lips’ parting to reveal yellowed, rotting teeth with yet another black void to make up his mouth. 

“Why, hello! And who may you be, miss?”

His politeness stirred something up within you, although the primal fear you were experiencing was far stronger than any other emotion you’d ever felt in all 17 years of your life. You were stuck to the edge of the couch, feet spread so that if you had to, you could jump up and make an escape.

“Can you-” Jack turned to Prince, quieting his tone so that it wasn’t as menacing. “Can she hear me okay?” His brow bone was raised in what you read as concern which only confused you more.

Prince nodded, speaking in that scratchy voice of his that sent shivers down your back. “Yes, she can. She’s a human, you know- She shouldn’t be here.”

The other vampires agreed, nodding their heads. You realized that these vampire-obsessed ‘people’ probably weren’t people either, considering the monster that was Jack standing before you. Your heartbeat quickly and you felt more and more like a caged animal as every aching second passed.

“I know.”

They all turned to look at you, and you couldn’t control your breathing any longer. The fear you’d pushed down suddenly bubbled up and you could feel it turn into tears that threatened to spill from your lids.

“What are you gonna do?” You had to focus really hard to keep your lip from trembling. Your parents had taught you how to stand up to a predator, or a kidnapper, but never to a real-life monster. You imagined the worst and had forgotten everything you knew about self-defense. Right now, you were running on the ever building adrenaline and instinct in your body.

“We’ll just have to figure that out, won’t we?” His lips turned upward in a smile, and you couldn’t help but think that this must be what mice feel when they get put into a cage with a hungry snake. You couldn’t think of anything else to say, so you sniffed back your tears and kept quiet while you were in the spotlight of everyone’s scrutinous gaze.

You did the only thing you could do besides listening to their plans on what to do with you; you took in every detail you possibly could, from the bony hands and odd dress wear the men had to the interior decoration of the living room you were sitting in. You went as far as to describe the smell of the musk and mold in your head, just in case that would at all be important for a future investigation.

Your mind started to wander back to your brother. Had these monsters taken him, too? Oh, God, what did they do with him?

You bowed your head and let strands of your hair fall forward. You were ashamed to find yourself in this situation. You were ashamed to have even lost your brother in the first place. And now, you were ashamed to be stuck in a room with people you didn’t know, possibly a future murder case. You let a few stray tears run down your cheek, your chest aching and your nails digging into your thighs.

The floor creaked as someone moved, and your head jerked up to watch what they were doing. You stopped crying out of fear, though the blood had already begun to rush to your face and your eyes had started to swell.

Jack stepped forward, his spider-esque legs all you could see directly in front of you as he towered over your hunched form. He bent over so that he was face-to-face with you and extended a bony hand for you to take. You didn’t know whether you should take it or not, and so you didn’t.

His brow bone crooked upward and he put the hand on his hip, posing as if he were an angry teen girl. You would’ve found this humorous had you not been so scared.

“C’mon, now, don’t be so stubborn.” He reached out his hand once more, this time with more of an exaggerated flick of his wrist, and this time you took it, timidly placing your palm into his cold digits. He grasped your wrist, though it felt less like fingers and more like tiny, stone snakes curling around you. He pulled you up and put an arm around your shoulder, nudging you toward the door with his phalanges loosely wrapped around your flesh. “Out we go!”

The door opened again and he said goodbye to his partners in crime, walking you to a destination unknown. You had half of a mind to run- after all, the houses were as still as when you’d arrived, and there didn’t seem to be an extra step in the dirt anywhere. Still, you imagined that there were more menacing monsters out there besides Jack and the vampires, so you obeyed the skeleton man and went wherever he wanted you to go.

You passed the familiar fountain and he nudged you toward a road opposite of where you’d come in. You’d noticed it, sure, but you hadn’t given it a second glance. You regretted that now, because if you had, you might’ve had a better chance at planning your next escape- whenever that would be, if it would even have a chance to happen.

His pace quickened, his long legs using little to no effort at all as he walked next to you, who was struggling to keep up with him. He pushed you along gently- if you could call his bones prodding into your back gentle- and gave you very little time to look at the buildings that lined the street. You looked down at your feet most of the time, trying not to trip on a loose brick or stone.

When Jack stopped, you kept going, and he had to grab you by the hood of your jacket to keep you from running into a gate very similar to the one that you’d passed in the graveyard. You wheezed at having been nearly choked and stepped back, watching as he raised a brow and pursed his lip at you. You cleared your throat and apologized quietly, still very obviously afraid of him.

With one hand he gripped your sleeve and with the other he made a skeleton key seemingly appear from thin air. He unlocked the gate- black iron shaped to look like a jack-o-lantern- and pushed it open with his back as he pulled you along. You, of course, followed, glancing upward to realize that he was leading you toward the tower you had seen nearly from the forest.

It looked as if it were balanced precariously on the edge of the long line of steps that lead up to it. Your fear grew as now you weren’t only scared of Jack, but also about the possibility of this building collapsing under the weight and pressure it was put under. It must’ve been old- the windows looked like they belonged in a church and the wood was cracked and peeling. When you walked up the stairs, they creaked under your weight. You spotted numerous screws and nails loosened and sticking out from the sides- which were completely open and almost beckoning you to fall over the side to the ground. 

The climb had your knees weak and your legs shaking as you struggled not to think about the steep drop you’d encounter had you tried to leave at this point. Your captor didn’t seem at all bothered- he opened up his front door just fine and pushed you inside the doorframe, which was stretched to accommodate his unusual height. 

Immediately, the living room threw you for a loop. There was a single loveseat in the middle of the room, which connected to what you thought was a kitchen. Why a skeleton needed to eat, you didn’t know, but you hoped his diet didn’t consist of human. 

He shut the door behind you both and continued to push you to the corner of the living room. There were yet another set of thin, precarious stairs that you climbed, leading to a spiral staircase enclosed in tube-like walls. Only when you reached the top was there a railing, decorated as every other railing in this town seemed to be. There were windows spanning the entirety of the wall all around you, save for where the fireplace and bookshelves were. Around there was normal décor; a telescope, playing cards and stuffed animals sitting on a desk with a chair neatly pushed into it, a dog bed, and a small, round rug that occupied one corner of the room. The only thing that stood out to you entirely was the electric chair replica opposite of where you stood. You wouldn’t put it past Jack for it to be the real thing, and you didn’t really want to find out, but you doubted that you had a choice.

He must’ve noticed your wide eyes taking in everything because he grabbed your shoulders and waved an arm in front of you in a grand gesture. “Now, I know this may be a lot to take in, but I promise this place is very accommodating.” He then positioned himself in front of you so that you had to look at him and smiled.

He moved around behind you and nudged you further, toward the chair that you had just been hoping you didn’t have to interact with at all. You froze up, looking back and forth between what you could see of him and the chair.

He patted the seat gently, as if it were a horse or a leather couch, obviously wanting you to sit. You started to shake your head, but he interrupted you once again with words.

“C’mon now, it doesn’t bite. It isn’t even plugged in! I know how fragile humans are, believe it or not. It’s comfortable, you’ll see.”

You still didn’t want to sit, and if you could, you’d avoid it at all costs. “No. I won’t sit.”

He paused, and for a moment you were afraid that you’d pissed him off. “Excuse me?”

You cleared your throat again, trying your best to focus on his eye-holes. “I said no. I’m not sitting in an electric chair. Please.”

He stood up and tilted his head, as though you’d offended him by not sitting down. “Very well then. I don’t think the floor is very comfortable, but if you’d rather make yourself at home there, then I won’t stop you.”

And just like that, the subject was dropped. He didn’t seem angry, or like he wanted to punish you. In fact, he seemed about as confused at your behavior as you were at his. Your mind was running rampant with possible explanations, none of which fitting the puzzle piece you needed to figure this endeavor out.

After another aching moment of silence, decorated by the sound of the wind against the glass outside, you asked what’s been on your mind since he’d arrived at the vampires’ house.

“What are you going to do with me?”

Jack sighed, and sat in the electric chair himself with a hand placed under his chin and his legs spread out so that he was comfortable. 

“Well,” he stalled, making you think that he didn’t know what he was to do at all, “you’re staying with me.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, anger bubbling up within you. You had just been kidnapped, and all he could tell you was something completely obvious? You opened your mouth to retort, but you thought better of it. You still couldn’t put your finger on him.

He tilted his head to look at you, and you licked your lips out of nervous habit. The wind had made them dry, and you were starting to feel thirsty. Jack definitely had a keen eye, because his next sentence was right on par:

“Are you hungry? Or perhaps thirsty?”

You slowly nodded, walking on eggshells as to not trigger his back-and-forth nature. You were still afraid of him, and his kindness made you think about the very real possibility of becoming a sufferer of Stockholm Syndrome.

He stood from the chair and started to step forward to you. You took a step back and craned your neck to look up at him, hoping that you didn’t look as scared as you felt. He stopped and looked away from you.

“I-” he took in a breath and stared you down, his demeanor back to the way it was when you’d first met him. His voice boomed with authority now, his soft side (or whatever it was he’d shown you in the first minutes when you’d been introduced to his observatory) now completely gone. “I can’t leave you up here alone. You have to sit in the chair.”

You shook your head. Between everything, you’d gained some of your fighting spirit back, and so you spoke your mind. “No.”

He furrowed his brows and nodded. “Fine then.” He turned on his heel and reached into a box near the dog bed you were both standing next to. You didn’t give it a second thought until now- you didn’t see a dog, or even another animalistic creature, around him at all. Did he expect you to be his pet? Was this what this man got off on?

Your fears were confirmed when he held a collar already attached to a leash in his carpals. You stepped back once more, glancing behind you to make sure you weren’t cornered, and shook your head. “No. I am not going to be your pet.”

“I can’t trust you. This is necessary- stop making it harder than it needs to be. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Adrenaline pumped through you once more and you were ready to run. You didn’t care about the stairs or the fall anymore- you just wanted out. He unclasped the collar and stepped toward you, closing a good amount of the distance between the two of you with one step. You scrambled to action, turning and starting to run before you were yanked back by your hood, again. Your hands instinctively reached to your throat and you pulled to loosen the fabric, struggling to slide out of your coat and break away once again.

Jack was one step ahead of you. You pulled in your arms and he wrapped his own around your middle, pulling your hoodie over the top of your head and locking the collar around your neck with one swift motion. He let you go and yanked the end of the leash, fastening it to a hook on the chair that you had been avoiding this whole time. You stumbled backward and landed on your rear, sliding slightly on the tiles. In such a small amount of time, you’d been outsmarted and caged, unable to escape even if you tried. 

You heaved out, pulling at the collar but to no avail. You ran your fingertips around the entrance of a keyhole, not having noticed a key on Jack other than his front door key. You glanced around from where you sat on the floor, defeated, and finally met Jack’s sockets. He didn’t say anything to you. He didn’t stand there, triumphant, nor did he bend down to hand you your discarded jacket from the floor near him. He was just stoic, an unreadable expression plastered on his features.

He finally broke your gaze and walked down the staircase, and somewhere at the bottom, you heard a door shut.

You didn’t want to cry. You didn’t want to even believe you were stuck here, quite literally on a leash, but this had quickly become your uncanny reality. 

You reached for your hoodie and crumpled it up on your legs, burying your head in it and letting loose. You whimpered like a dog, sobbing into the fabric. It was your only connection to home now.

It was the only connection you had left, at this point, to your brother.

[rouiyan]

𝘚𝘛𝘙𝘈𝘐𝘎𝘏𝘛 𝘖𝘍𝘍 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘍𝘐𝘌𝘓𝘋 [ 𝘭.𝘥𝘩 ]

synopsis: we’re all sprinting towards one thing or another. the players to the ball, mark to his class, and haechan right to you.

✧ soccer player!haechan x (fem.) reader + best friend!mark ✧ high school au, best friends to loverz, inspired by heather (conan gray)

✧ genres : some fluff, some angst, some pining what’s new ✧ word count : 2.3k ✧ disclaimer : swearing

✧ author’s note — wrote this in ap stats, probably should have been paying attention instead bc i can't figure out how to do the hw for the life of me.

"did you see y/n today?" 

haechan thinks, by the sound of the voice, that it's mark who's speaking. he pulls the rest of the sweatshirt past his head, "no, did you?" haechan's grabbing for his socks, he swears he stuffed them in the front pocket of his backpack. "that's why i'm asking, idiot. she told me she would be here today." a tongue of frustration juts out from haechan's mouth, he hopes it just looks like he's agitated about his missing socks and not the fact that you always tell mark those things, always mark and never him. 

haechan is out of the locker room in seconds, sneakers slipped on without socks. he's adjusting the hood of the sweatshirt, tucking his locks under the material, when he sees you lingering by the bleachers. you smile sheepishly when you see the boy coming from the locker rooms, "somehow, i thought it started at four and i thought i got here early but your coach told me you guys just finished." haechan can't help but laugh, so that's why you weren't here, "and we won, too. did he tell you that?"

he's by your side now, seated, though his feet are planted on the ground while yours are swinging back and forth, "he did tell me that, congratulations haechan, wish i could've seen you score today." haechan tucks a lip under his teeth, now's not the time for him to be so obvious, not when it's just you and him. he thinks that yet, his stares linger on you for a little longer than normal, his fingers are fiddling with the ridges of the bleachers, and his cheeks host the brightest hue of cherry red. 

"hey, y/n, where were you today?" haechan's nose scrunches at an emerging mark, he really thought he could have the moment with you. mark approaches and sits on the other side of you. captain mark lee, haechan notes with shrewd annoyance, is wearing your sweater, his favorite of yours, the one with the worn polyester fabric that's pilling all over but still holds warmth snuggly. the one that haechan's been wanting to wear since day one. 

mark swings his legs as well and haechan watches as you point it out, giggling now that mark is trying to swing in sync to your own pace. "wanna come over? my mom's been asking you to come over for dinner," marks eyes are on you, haechan can see that much, but he also misses the way your own eyes shift to himself. and what haechan doesn't see, mark does, and his lip twitches into a knowing smile, "haechan, you should come too, my mom misses you."

the boy himself is already in over his head and passing up the offer is the only way he sees to escape the despair that comes with being a third wheel, "no thanks, i have a shit ton of homework to do today." your hum in response is mixed with an undertone of a sigh, one that haechan is too sidetracked to notice. he takes his leave, "well, i'll see you two tomorrow i guess."

you and mark sit in silence for the minutes after his leave, mark sneaking small glances at your ever-changing expression, an open book to all your thoughts. "next time, y/n, next time." 

well shit, maybe mark wasn't as clueless as you pegged him to be. 

in agitation, mark shoves the last of his books into his backpack, class is about to start soon and if he doesn't get going now, well then he might as well give up his perfect attendance, no tardy record. haechan leans against the locker next to his own, a seemingly bored expression on display to hide the inner rumblings of his thoughts.

"so how was dinner last night, did you guys miss me?" haechan's trying to come off as nonchalant, he hates it when he has to pry just to satiate his curiosities. mark shuts his locker, swinging his backpack across one shoulder, "uh, dinner didn't happen and no, i didn't miss you but i bet y/n did." haechan's left in confusion on all fronts, "what do you mean it didn't happen? why would she miss me- wait, why did you not miss me?"

"well y/n said she was busy all of a sudden, something like that. as for-" the bells rings, signaling the end of passing period, and effectively cutting off the answers to all of haechan's worries. marks eyes widen and before he can even catch the boy by his arms, to shake and spill the words out of him, he's already sprinting down the emptying halls. 

haechan sighs. he should be sprinting too but he's already late, might as well walk. the campus grounds are vast and he decides to take a stroll outside, the much longer way to his physics class. haechan is passing a few classes on his left, all of them filled with the chatter of students before a teacher begins their lectures, but there's one class that catches his eye. the window into the ceramics class reveals a clear view of you, eyebrows furrowed and trying to shape a little figure on the table before you. you've told him many times before that ceramics was your least enjoyed of all your courses, that you had taken it simply because you needed an art credit and while that might've been the reason you'd signed up, haechan can tell by the way you handle the little mold of clay, that you had stayed for much different reasons.

he thinks to tease you of it later but it's then during lunch where he stops himself because before he even so much as reaches the table your group frequents, there you are, showing the little figurine to mark, eyes glistening with pride and joy. "i think i did quite well this time, i even got praised." as haechan comes close, he sees the clay figure in full clarity for what it is, an ambiguous sitting shape with a heart cradled in its lap, lumpy in certain spots but emanating in the care and thoughtfulness with which it was made. 

haechan slides into the seat across from you. "look," you sound softly to him, holding out the little figure in both your hands, "do you like it?" haechan swallows thickly when he looks up from your hands to your eyes, he sees the way they light up, he hopes. wordlessly, he nods, a small smiles tugs at his lips. he likes it, he really does so he questions, "what inspired you to make it?" it's in the way that you immediately eye mark, and the way that mark immediately hides his oncoming giggle, that haechan relinquishes his hopes.

mark walks you to class after your lunch break that day, he's a grade higher but a thousand times dumber, you think. "are you insane? why would you laugh at that specific moment?" in between small giggles, mark does his best to provide a reply, "you should've just told him that he was the one that inspired you." smacking his elbow, you purse your lips, "but then he'd know!"

the older boy stops walking for a second and you're five steps ahead when you notice. you turn. "what now, mark?" he holds a mischievous glint in his eyes, "he'd know what?" now his eyebrows are making little squiggly lines by his hairline and you take a few steps back to drag him by the arm. flushing, you whisper, figuring he already knew as much, "he'd know i like him."

if mark is considered your best friend and potential crush, then what about him? possibly also a best friend, though he could only hope you would talk to him a bit more, spend a bit more time with him, make more conversation with him during breaks. potential crush was for sure out of the picture right? the way you look at mark, the way you share you everything with mark, objects and secrets and everything in between, haechan isn't sure he can say the same for himself. he texts mark anyways. tell y/n ur busy, something bout soccer.

haechan's out the door a minute and a half before the bell rings, his teacher yelling at him to come back. he doesn't give a shit. mark always walks you home, he always does and haechan is so fucking fed up with it because he himself lives closer to you so why should he get to walk you home. 

he arrives at the door to your last class just as the bell signals the end of the school day. there's only enough time for three deep breaths, panting breaths, before the door to your classroom is propped open and students begin filing out. 

"y/n, over here!" he calls. your eyes widen at the sound of his voice and you turn to it, a smile already lifting the corners of your mouth. you're walking side by side with him, and haechan starts leading in the direction of your locker, despite needing to go to his own. "i can walk you home today." you turn your head to him, "what do you mean? i usually walk with-"

"mark, i know," he says it with a disclosed derision, "he's busy, had to go talk to coach or something, i don't know. but i can walk you, plus my house is just two streets down, remember?" he watches in anticipation as you retrieve your phone from your bag. his eyes do their best to peer over and he sees your lockscreen light with a notification from mark. "oh, yeah he said he's busy with soccer stuff." haechan's lip quirk in victory, his plan unfolding itself into perfection. 

"can we go to my locker first though? i need to get some stuff, and we're on the way." he nods as if it wasn't in his intention to head in this direction and for that reason. he merely disregards the need to go to his locker. who cares if he has to bring a whole ass chemistry textbook home if he gets to go home with you. 

it isn't until he's at your front steps that he musters up the courage. you're in the middle of keying in the pin numbers to your door pad when he speaks up, "hey y/n?" you give a hum in response, messing up the last two digits after hearing him voice your name. you abandon your attempts, turning to look at the questioning boy. "would you like to come watch my match next week?"

you take a step down so that you're two above from where he's standing, now the same height as him. frowning, "of course. i'm going to see you and mar-"

it seems that haechan really doesn't want to hear that name come from your mouth today because he interrupts you yet again, "yeah, but i'm asking if you'd want to come to watch me." your lips part and shut in search of what to say. haechan nudges a little further, "i want you to come watch me play, would you want to?"

you release a breath, biting down a smile, you manage a nod within all your flusteredness. your voice, a bare peep, "i want to," gives haechan all the courage he needs to grab one of your hands to give it a little squeeze before muttering a, "see you," and taking his leave. haechan's turning the corner out of your driveway when he sneaks a glance before the fence blocks his view of you. his heart hurls at the sight of you, still on your front steps, face buried in your hands. even from all the way here, the bright red flush of your cheeks can be seen through your fingers. 

no one knows why that one boy on the field is scoring goals left and right. no one knows except you and him. from the moment haechan saw you on the bleachers, the other team was done for. it isn't even about impressing you anymore, it's not about making you proud. it's not a crush, it's these stupid feelings that never go away, never fade with time, or any amount of effort, at least, not in the knowledge that you are equally his as he is yours. it's not a crush, it's the sickening feeling in his gut when he sees you with someone other than himself, with mark, when he sees that sweater on mark instead of himself. it's not a crush, it's the way he feels the need to be with you all the damn time, the lingering feelings from whenever you leave his side that tell him that moments spent without you would be so much better if you were just there. haechan moves on the field with full conviction that it's not just a crush, it's love.

and so as the last whistle of the game blows, their team securing the win with haechan's last goal, he runs, no sprints, straight off the field to where you're seated in the stands. he brushes past all the people with hushed apologies and it's only when he's right in front of you does he realize how frenzied he likely seemed. he doesn't mind for more than a second though, because you've stood up and laced your arms around his shoulders, fingers on the back of his neck. he embraces you back and the kiss he gives to your cheek is something that just feels so natural and close to home. his forehead is on yours when he asks, his voice a bare minimum, "y/n, will you be my girlfriend?"

it isn't you that answers, rather it's a mark lee with a loud, "FUCK YEAH." 

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ end note — hey anon babe who requested this. apologies for making it fem. reader, i know you didn't specify. if you would like me to reupload with gender neutral reader, then send an ask and i'll be more than happy to. ♡

[hizashis-lil-bunbun]

Like a Moth to a Flame Pt. 3

Back at it again and this chapter was fun! Next one we’ll be getting into some more juicy bits but I needed a setup for the scene. So enjoy my friendly little deviants!

Mild TW: mentions of blood, violence, attempted assault, and (very) minor character death

As always, I thank/blame @miscellaneous-bnha for the inspo

Part 1 Part 2

•••••

You feel numb walking down the darkened sidewalk towards home, shock and frustration making it difficult to put one foot in front of the other. It had been several weeks since you last saw Mirio, and there hadn’t been any reports of strange, paranormal activity in any other part of town. At least, not according to the papers. Even after the landlord had coughed up the money to replace the ruined fire escape, you’d yet to catch another glimpse of the golden mothman. Night after night you’d put out bowls of sugar water, stayed up late, even pulled a few strings of old Christmas lights out of storage to decorate your portion of the new railing. But come morning, you always found the bait untouched and it left you feeling drained and disappointed. You knew your nightly routine was starting to feel unhealthy, obsessive really, and that your performance at work had been gradually slipping as a result. But it wasn’t until today, when your boss called you in after your shift ended and handed you that soul-crushing pink slip, that you realized just how far it had fallen. And on top of all that, you’d missed the last bus home, forcing you to take a literal walk of shame back to your apartment.

“What am I gonna do?” You breathe into the crisp night air, unconsciously reaching into the pocket of your coat to fish out your phone. Without even looking at the screen, you unlock the device and open your camera roll, tapping on a folder marked “Moth” before finally looking down. There was only one picture on file, but you’d seen it so many times it was practically burned into your retinas. The image was grainy and blurred (not to mention overexposed beyond the point of recognition due to the flash), but you couldn’t give a damn about any of that. The only clear part of the image, the only part you cared about, was the pair of bright blue eyes staring back at you. For some unknown reason, the camera hadn’t distorted them, perfectly capturing their glassy, sapphire hue and wide-eyed expression of curiosity.

And you had spent countless hours poring over it.

In the beginning, you’d convinced yourself it was nothing more than a piece of evidence, proof of your sanity and a confirmation of his existence. But as the days passed, you’d come to take comfort in it, more often than not allowing your mind to wander freely back to the memory of his voice in your ear and the warm weight of his head on your shoulder. You hadn’t even posted it to any of the online forums, jealously hoarding it the same way a dragon protects its treasure.

“Mirio.” You exhale softly, thumb absentmindedly brushing over the cracked surface of your phone screen. “I wish I could fly away from my problems like you. Must be nice having wings…”

“Hey there, baby!”

A gruff, slurring voice abruptly snaps you back to reality, head whipping up to see a trio of men leaning against a rundown building across the street. Their faces are indistinguishable, partially obscured by shadows thrown from a lone street lamp shining over their heads. But you can clearly make out the brown paper bags they have clutched in their fists, the material crumpled and molded into the tell-tale shape of liquor bottles as they continue to heckle you.

“Why dontcha come over here and hang out with us?” The biggest brute calls out, beckons you closer with a crook of his finger. “We’ll show ya a good time.”

“Yeah, a real good time.” The man to his left cackles. His lewd remark earns him a few snickers from his seedy friends while a wave of revulsion courses down your spine. Catcalling wasn’t exactly foreign to you; in this part of town, it was practically expected. But their drunken words and leering eyes make you acutely aware of just how empty the streets are right now, devoid of other people or passing cars to offer protection (or witnesses) should they decide to take things too far. Still, you straighten your spine and snap your eyes forward, long-since trained to know it’s best to ignore their booze-fueled jeers and keep walking.

“Awww, don’t be like that, baby!” You hear one of them call from your right, “We just wanna have some fun!”

You keep your gaze trained on the looming silhouette of your apartment complex, soles of your shoes clicking against the cold pavement as you grip the phone in your hand even more tightly. You’re close enough to see some of the lights are still on your neighbors windows, probably cleaning up from dinner or settling in for a smoke and a drink. With the promise of safety so close at hand, you cast a quick glance over your shoulder….

And feel your blood run cold as you see the men casually strolling across the empty street to fall in line behind you. They’re whispering amongst themselves as they take a few more swigs from their bottles, their shuffling gait and longer legs quickly closing the gap between you. You pick up your own pace in turn, walking much more briskly now and earning a reproachful growl from the men behind you.

“Hey! I’m talkin’ to you!” One of them snarls, “Didn’t your mama ever teach you it’s rude to ignore people?”

You don’t respond to his jab, too afraid to speak regardless, and set off at a jog, determined to put as much distance between yourself and these morons as possible. But that action proves itself to be a grave mistake, as you hear the footsteps behind you pick up in speed. Before you can fully register what’s happening, one of the men appears over your right shoulder, laughing maniacally as he gives you a rough shove and sends you careening off course and into an adjacent alleyway. The unexpected move knocks you off balance, sending you sprawling to the ground and knocking your head into the concrete with enough force to set your teeth rattling. Even worse, you lose your grip on your phone, hearing it skitter off into the darkness as the men crowd into the alley after you.

“I think she could use a lesson in manners! Ain’t that right, boys?” Their leader asks mockingly, seconds before he grabs you by the hair and roughly hauls you back onto your feet.

“Please!” You yelp, both from fear and the pain shooting throughout your scalp, “I-I have money. You can take whatever you want!”

“Whatever we want, huh?” He says with a sneer, his face close enough you can smell the sour aroma of cheap bourbon and old cigarettes on his breath.

“Then gimme a kiss, sweetheart.”

His mouth is on yours in an instant, his free arm wrapping itself around your waist to keep you in place as he tries to force his tongue past your sealed lips and down your throat. Your screams for help are muffled by the kiss, and it’s all you can do to push against his chest and thrash wildly in his hold. His companions stand faithfully behind him, egging him on with bouts of derisive laughter intermingled with hoots to “hurry up and get on with it” so they can have their turn. After a few moments he pulls away for air, arm leaving your waist and clapping the hand that was tangled in your hair over your mouth. Meanwhile, his buddies move to either side of you to grab you by the shoulders and force down on your knees.

“Since you didn’t feel like talkin’…” He growls dangerously, free hand toying with the buckle of his belt. “Let’s see if that pretty little mouth is good for somethin’ else.”

Your eyes widen as his belt comes undone with a soft clink, tears pricking at the corners as he leers down at you. Instinct takes over as he attempts to undo his fly, and before he can move his hand you jerk your head back to partially free your mouth. Then you bite down. Hard.

“Fuck!”

He hastily wrenches his hand from your mouth before you can do any more damage while you take in a desperate lungful of fresh air. A quick glance at his hand shows you’d successfully broken the skin, leaving a perfect, crescent-shaped indent that was quickly beading up with fresh blood.

“Help! Somebody help! Rape! RA-!”

You’re abruptly silenced by a quick blow to your right cheek, delivered by one of the men still holding you down. Throbbing pain radiates out from the point of impact, making your vision white out and earning a cruel laugh from your captors.

“You little bitch!” The injured man spits at you, “Think you’re so tough, huh?”

A small click forces your eyes to open, only to be met with a glint of metal in the light of the full moon: a switchblade.

“Let’s see how tough you are when I slice up that pretty face of yours. Starting with that fuckin’ mouth.”

With a twirl of the blade, he advances towards you, relishing in your helpless state as greedy eyes roam the plane of your terrified face. You’re too scared to scream anymore, eyes squeezing shut as you brace yourself for the first cut. But instead of searing pain, there’s an odd rustling noise, followed by a colossal thump that seems to shake the very earth beneath you. The men holding your shoulders abruptly release you, backing away amidst a slew of bewildered curses. Slowly, you crack one eye open to find a new, dark figure standing in front of you, blotting out the moon itself and effectively shielding you from your would-be rapist.

“M-Mirio?” You gasp, voice wavering from disbelief and shock. The golden cryptid looks over his shoulder at you, only giving a chittering cry at the sound of your voice.

“What the fuck!?” The man behind him screeches, “The fuck is that thing?!”

Mirio’s head snaps around to face the terrified thug, wings slowly raising in a show of strength and dominance as he lets out a low, menacing growl.

“Y/N…” He snarls, taking a short step forward and shifting into a crouch. “Mine.”

“S-stay back!” The man stammers, jabbing the switchblade into the empty air in front of him like a puny saber. “I’m warning you!”

Mirio gives a low hiss in response, wings fully extended as he lowers himself to place one hand on the ground. You’re frozen on the spot, hardly daring to breathe as you sense the slightest movement could set him off. For a moment, everything is still. And then, spurred on by loyalty, liquid courage or a combination of the two, the other thugs charge Mirio from behind. Moving faster than you could comprehend, Mirio whips around with a high-pitched shriek, landing a powerful swipe to the center of one man’s chest and sending him crashing to the pavement beside you. The other one was luckier, successfully jumping onto the monster’s back and causing Mirio to rear up on his back legs once more. The attacker then attempts to wrap his arms around Mirio’s neck, perhaps hoping to cut off his air supply or at least distract him long enough for the third man to join the fray.

But Mirio was obviously stronger and smarter than he was expecting.

Clawed hands scratch at the attacker’s face and shoulders before the winged behemoth suddenly flops onto his back, bringing his full weight down on the foolhardy attacker with a sickening crunch. Rolling back onto all fours, the man is left gasping for air on the ground, possibly with a punctured lung or (at the very least) a few broken ribs. Undeterred by his pitiful cries for mercy, Mirio looses an unearthly roar before grabbing the man by the front of his sweat-soaked shirt, rising to his full height, and tossing him towards the empty street like he weighed no more than a ragdoll.

“MINE!” He bellows, “MIIIIIIINE!”

“Fuck you!” The remaining man screams in return, rushing towards the towering beast with his switchblade held aloft. “Die, you fuckin’ freak!”

Mirio shifts back into a fighting stance, his back to you as he lets out another spine-chilling howl and rushes forward to greet the oncoming attack. At the same time, the moon moves behind a cloud, throwing the alleyway into inky darkness as you shriek and cover your head with your hands. With your eyes screwed shut, all you can hear is the man’s incensed grunts and yells, overshadowed by Mirio’s own enraged roars and the scratch of his nails on the dirty concrete. After a few seconds of struggle, Mirio gives a piercing cry, followed by the wet sound of tearing flesh and a strangled, gurgling noise. The fight ends as suddenly as it started, the only sounds now coming from your own terrified whimpers and the clatter of the switchblade falling to the ground.

Peeking out from between your fingers, you find the sky has started to lighten once more, the moon reappearing from behind the clouds and washing the bizarre scene in an unsettling, ethereal hue. The scrawniest attacker is still sprawled out next to you, unconscious but mercifully alive given the force of his impact. Mirio stands facing towards you, breathing heavily as the wings on his back shiver and shake. And at his feet, eyes wide and lifeless, is the leader’s body, his face covered in deep claw marks and a puddle of blood seeping out from underneath him like an oil slick.

“You… you killed him.” You breathe, “Mirio, h-he’s dead.”

Mirio doesn’t make any move to acknowledge your words, simply sinking to his knees with a rumbling groan. He seems almost sad, remorseful even, with the way he hangs his head and curls his bloodied hands into fists atop his knees. In this new light, you also notice something on the mothman’s left forearm: a clean, shallow gash. That must have been the cause for his shrieking earlier.

Slowly you stand once more, swallowing the lump in your throat to take a few tentative steps toward the creature.

“Are you… hurt?” You ask softly, noting the way he jolts and then shrinks away from you. You’re only a few feet away now, close enough to make out the faint stripes and eye-spot pattern on his wings. You nervously crouch down, balancing on the balls of your feet but keeping a safe distance should he turn aggressive. A chilly breeze blows through the alley, pushing against your back and making the creature raise his head up slightly, sniffing the air. His gaze locks on your face, glassy eyes wide as he slowly puts his palms on the ground and gets back on all fours. He moves one clawed hand closer to you and you start for a second, taking a quick step back before catching sight of the streaks of blood dripping from his forearm once more.

“Hurt?” You say again, pointing a shaky finger at the wound. His eyes follow to where you’re pointing and he lets out a chittering mewl, lifting up his injured arm. His long, slithering tongue snakes out from his mouth and he begins to lap at the blood, wincing at the taste. You’re unsure if this is real or an act. On the one hand, it’s hard to believe a creature so obviously powerful as him would be so concerned over little more than a scratch. Then again, you feel certain Mirio is too much of a gentle soul at heart to fake the whole “kicked-puppy” routine.

“No. Don’t do that.” You chide gently, tone forcing the monster to stop licking at himself and look up at you. Moving slowly so as to not startle him, you reach into the pocket of your coat and fish around until your fingers close around a crumpled, but thankfully unused, piece of tissue. When you pull it out of your pocket, Mirio’s eyes narrow into slits and he bares his teeth to let out a small, warning hiss.

“Easy, boy.” You say soothingly, “It can’t hurt you. See?”

You extend your free hand and pat the tissue against your own palm, demonstrating it’s benign nature. Mirio’s face gradually relaxes as he watches your display, eventually crawling over the corpse on the ground to get closer to you. You’re now practically nose-to-nose with the mothman, dropping your empty hand by your side and using the tissue to gesture at the cut on his arm.

“Let me help.”

Mirio gives a short blink before shifting into a squatting position similar to your own, carefully extending his injured arm towards you. Doing your best to not cause him any pain, you carefully start to dab at the areas around the cut, mopping up the spilled blood as the monster watches you work.

“Y/N.” He says softly, his voice causing you to look up from your task. Mirio raises his other hand to touch the right-hand side of your face, sending a bolt of prickly pain shooting through your skull and making you wince. You’d been so caught up in the chaos and adrenaline-fueled high that you’d forgotten about your own injuries. No doubt you’ve got a sizable bruise forming from where that thug had punched you earlier. Mirio’s stiffens up at the your response, brow furrowing in concern as he quickly pulls his hand away.

“H-hurt?”

“A little…” You mumble in response, “But I’ll be alright.”

He stills for a moment and you offer him a small, pained smile, hoping to reassure him. And the next thing you know he’s moving, clutching you to his chest in a protective embrace and nuzzling his face into your neck. You squeak a little at the unexpected move, body going rigid in fear of being attacked. But soon his sweet scent and warmth fully envelop your senses, causing you to relax in his hold.

“Hurt.” He whimpers in your ear, “Y/N hurt. My fault.”

You can feel your heart clench at his words. He sounds so guilty. Helpless even. Like a child crying to their mother for comfort. Before you can think better of it, you wrap your arms around him in return, worming your hands underneath his wings to rest on his well-defined shoulder blades.

“Oh, Mirio no! It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything to hurt me.”

His body begins to shake, his breathing turning into ragged gasps as he squeezes you even more tightly. One hand leaves your back to cradle your head, the sheer size of his fingers tangling in your hair making you feel like doll-like. The two of you stay locked together like this for a few minutes, holding onto each other in the moonlight as Mirio continues to tremble beneath your touch.

“Mirio. I-” You softly breathe, causing him to raise his golden head and look you in the eye. You have so many questions for him, so many things you like to say. But all that comes out is a quiet, “Thank you.”

He cocks his handsome head to one side before a smile begins to tug at the corners of his mouth, pearly teeth reappearing as he gives a short nod of understanding.

“Mirio… keep Y/N safe.”

“Yes. Yes, you did.” You say with a weak chuckle, reaching up one hand to brush an errant strand of blonde hair away from his face. “I’m safe now.”

Mirio coos as he presses his cheek into your palm, the same way he’d done outside your apartment complex all those weeks ago. His eyes close contentedly and you can’t help but smile at his blissful expression.

“Y/N. Mine.” He purrs.

You freeze at the bold statement, pulling your hand away and earning a disappointed mewl from Mirio.

“You said that before. Mirio, what do you mean–?”

“You there! Freeze!”

A familiar voice cuts off your question nanoseconds before a powerful flashlight is aimed directly at Mirio’s back. Even though you can’t see around his massive frame, you can tell it’s the same officer who caught you the last time Mirio visited you.

Only now, the cornered cryptid hadn’t had the chance to fly away.

“Hands where I can see them!” The officer demands, flashlight in one hand and a pistol in the other. Mirio makes no such move. Instead, he rises to his feet, hooking one arm under your thighs and taking you up with him.

“Wait! Mirio, don’t!” You shriek, desperately grabbing at his chest and mane as he turns to face the officer. It’s a terrifying sight for the poor man: three bodies strewn across a bloody alley, a blue-eyed beast, and a helpless civilian seemingly taken captive.

“D-drop the hostage!” He stammers out. “Do it, or I’ll shoot!”

You can tell from the way the light wavers that he’s shaking and you suspect the only reason he hasn’t fired his weapon yet is because he doesn’t want to risk hitting you. Your eyes flit wildly between his and Mirio’s face, finding his fangs are bared as he lets out a warning hiss.

“Y/N.” Mirio snarls, wings slowly unfurling behind him as he bends his knees and tightens his grip on you. “Mine!”

With that final declaration, Mirio gives his wings a powerful flap and kicks off from the ground. You scream as you take flight, tiny fingers digging into the solid muscle of Mirio’s chest and neck for safety. Between the sound of rushing wind and your own heartbeat jackhammering in your ears, you can barely make out the officer’s voice telling him to stop, followed by a rogue gunshot. And then there’s nothing. Nothing save for the wind in your hair and Mirio’s howl of victory as he carries you ever higher into the starry night sky.

“Stop!” You shriek, cold air stinging your battered face and forcing your eyes closed. “Put me down! Mirio, let go!”

Mirio doesn’t respond to your demands, either unable or unwilling to hear you as he sets off over the rooftops. After a few minutes of careful flying, he abruptly changes course, veering off westward and heading for the woods that ring the city limits.

“Keep Y/N safe.” Mirio says resolvedly, his voice rumbling through his chest and directly in your ear.

“Y/N… mine.”

•••••

Tags: @middevil465 @delightfully-anonymous

[flying-elliska]

one of the most impactful things I have read lately are two of French author Edouard Louis' books, Pour en finir avec Eddy Bellegueule and Qui a tué mon père (translated into English as The End of Eddy and Who Killed my Father). It's been two months and I'm still thinking about it.

The first book is an 'autobiographical novel' about the author's childhood growing up as an obviously gay boy in one of the poorest areas of France, until he leaves and reinvents himself as a writer. It's fraught with bigotry, abuse, bullying, violence, deprivation and social despair, and it's one of the most harrowing things I have ever read. It reads as many things as once : a recognition of trauma, an angry exorcism, a cry for society at large to pay attention, and to be honest, as a horror story.

It was criticized by some in France as portraying the working class in a manner that was too negative, which tells me they missed the point entirely...ironic for a book by someone who actually grew up poor - one of my least favorite things ever is progressives telling a marginalized person they can't talk about their own experiences because they don't fit the desired mold. (The French love to romanticize the working class and I'm pretty sure it's often an avoidance mechanism.)

The point of the book is so obviously not about 'look at how terrible and bigoted those poor people are'. Little Eddy spends a big part of the narrative trying to escape - himself at first, then his family/circumstances and the persistent homophobia everywhere. In the end of the book, he finally manages to get accepted into a fancy high school in the city on a scholarship and tries really hard to fit in. The last scene of the book is a bunch of his - educated, upper/middle class - classmates throwing homophobic taunts at him, starting the cycle anew. I can't think of a clearer way to say 'this is not a story about a sad gay boy escaping the evil bigoted countryside for the city and then everything was wonderful!!!! this is a story about a systemic, pervasive problem.'

One of the key arguments of the book, to me, is how homophobia, sexism and bigotry in general are both a product and a reproduction mechanism of social and economic exclusion. For instance, he describes how the norms around what it means to be a man in his village (being tough, disobeying authority, quitting school early to go work at the factory, drinking alcohol, neglecting your own health, fighting over women, repressing your feelings, etc) perpetuates the cycle of poverty ; but again this isn't 'oh these people are so stupid' and more 'these people are trapped'. Because he makes it evident how degrading and dehumanizing poverty can be, this masculinity reads as a desperate attempt to cling to a certain amount of dignity - it's an extremely dysfunctional coping mechanism. At the same time, anyone falling outside of the mold is violently ostracized (like Eddy, who tries and fails to fit in). So the system keeps reproducing itself.

In Who Killed my Father, the author makes his political argument clearer. This is more of an essay, centering on his father, arguably the most complex figure in the first novel. The man is an angry, bigoted alcoholic who makes his family miserable ; at the same time he is the son of an abusive father who makes a point of honor to never hit his kids or wife even though it's very normalized in this context. In this essay the author keeps talking about the moments of almost tenderness with his father that haunt him, the picture he has of him doing drag in his youth, the fact that the father tried to leave the village when he was young to find a better life for himself with a close friend but failed and had to come back - the moments of what-ifs, of trying to struggle free from the cycle, when the system appears almost fragile and not so unbreakable after all, that the son kept holding close like a sort of talisman.

The narrative is structured around the fact that his father injured his back working in a factory and that he had to keep doing physical labor afterwards for money, instead of resting to recover, until it completely destroyed his body. Now he finds himself bed-bound at 53. Louis inquires into who is responsible for this premature 'death'. After considering individual choices, he turns towards political decisions - the successive governments, left and right, who have been destroying the French welfare system for decades and accelerating inequality. The point is to step out of the neoliberal obsession with personal responsibility and who is guilty and who is a bad or good person, and look at systems.

An element that isn't focused on but hovers over the story constantly is that this village is one where the majority of the population consistently votes for the extreme right National Front party in most elections. The book is too angry and nuanced to be some stupid "it's not their fault that they're racist because they're poor!" argument. It doesn't make any excuses for how awful this is but instead illustrates how dehumanization replicates itself, how people being denied basic dignity leads to them wanting to deny it to others. If you want to really understand the rise of the far right you have to look at where the inequality comes from in the first place, and how easy it is for people in power to wash their hands of it by blaming the bigoted masses. (Just like you can blame societal ills on minorities ! Two for one strategy.)

Towards the end of the essay, the author talks about how proud his father is of his son's literary success - for a book who clearly depicts him as a horrible person ! And this is a man who has spent his life openly despising anything cultural, because it never showed him a life like his own. But maybe now he feels seen, now he knows people want to read about these things. Maybe there is a reclamation of dignity through looking at the horror head on. Maybe his son somehow slipping through the cracks of the cycle gives him more room. The man stops making racist comments, and instead asks his son about his boyfriend. Most importantly, he asks his son about the leftist politics he's engaged in. They talk about the need for a revolution.

I think what strikes me the most is this attitude of "wounded compassion" that permeates the book. What do you do when your parents are abusive but even after you grow up, you can't help but still love them, and you know they've been shaped by the system that surrounds them ? Recognizing, speaking the harm is essential. You need to find your own freedom, sense of worth, and safety. You need to dissect the mechanisms at hand so they lose at least some of their power over you. You need to find people who love and believe you. But then what? Do you dismiss your persistent feelings of affection and care for those who hurt you as a sign you're just fucked up in the head ? You could just decide to never speak to them again, and it would be justified, but is that really what is going to heal you the most? It's important to realize you have the choice. But there are no easy conclusions.

This makes me think of a passage I have just read in Aversive Democracy by Aletta Norval. The essential ethos of radical democracy, she says, is about taking responsibility for your society, even the bad parts, instead of seeing them as a foreign element you have to cleanse yourself of. It's too fucking easy for queer progressives, especially the middle class urban kind, to talk about dumb evil hicks, to turn pride into a simple morality tale, and forget that any politics that don't center the basic dignity and needs of people are just shit. The injury is to you and by you and you have a duty of care just as much as a duty of criticism. (And this is obviously not only applicable to class matters.) You can't just walk away and save your sense of moral purity. (This is not an argument that the oppressed are responsible for educating the oppressors ; it's about how privilege is not an easy simple ranking and it is too damn easy to only focus on the ways in which you are oppressed and forget the ways in which you may have more leeway.)

There is no absolute equivalence between political and family dynamics but the parallel feel very relevant somehow. Several truths can coexist at once : you needed help and it was not given. You were let down. It's important to recognize that people are responsible of how they treat each other. You need to call out what isn't ok and stand up for yourself. At the same time, there is a reason why things are like this. Making people into villains is often bad strategy (within reason!), and in the end, easy dichotomies are often an instrument of power. The horrors you have been through might have given you a very specific wisdom and grace you do not have to be afraid of ; you are not tainted by your compassion (it is very much the opposite of forced forgiveness ; it has walked through the fire of truth.)

To me these books fit into what French literature does best, sociological storytelling a la Zola or Victor Hugo - the arguments aren't new and they can come across as heavy handed, even melodramatic. But I'll argue that the viscerality is the point, how the raw experience of misery punches through any clever arguments about how exploitation persists for the greater good of society. Really worth reading if you can do so with nuance.