#This is by far the WORST ONE I’VE ENCOUNTERED YET

[pokemonfrommemory]

I COULDN’T REMEMBER WHAT ANIMAL THIS WAS BASED ON 😭😭😭

[deskofninak]

Unexpected Saviour // Mattheo Riddle x GN!Reader

Summary: Reader makes the reckless decision to rescue Mattheo from the Malfoy Manor during the War.

Notes: Slight angst and fluff, sort of hurt/comfort, Mattheo is a damsel in distress and reader in the knight in invisibility cloak.

Word count: 878 words

Masterlist

Happy reading! :)

You shivered in the dark, your breath coming fast and shallow. This was a terrible idea by all accounts and yet, you had to find him. You might not be best friends with Mattheo Riddle but after all these months of a tentative friendship, you knew he wanted out. So you would get him out. Although apparating into Malfoy Manor to do it was by far one of the worst ideas you’d ever had.

You weren’t entirely sure where you were in the Manor, somewhere in the grounds, but this was what you had stolen Harry’s invisibility cloak for. Harry would be very angry, and angrier when he realised where you’d gone, they all would be, but you’d apologise and they’d eventually forgive you. But you were not going to sit by and watch Riddle get involved in a war he did not want.

Gripping the cloak tighter around yourself, you headed indoors. This was mad, beyond mad, and you felt yourself trembling at the thought of encountering one of the Malfoys or Fenrir or, Merlin, even You Know Who himself. You steeled yourself with the thought of Mattheo’s tear-stained face, the one time he’d let you through his walls, and you let it fuel you enough to go up the stairs and to the bedrooms.

The Manor was quiet. It was night and they were probably asleep or maybe they were scheming somewhere. Nevertheless, the quiet made it easier to creep around and listen for anyone heading your way. Cringing as you checked each bedroom, you stopped short when you came to the door at the end. You hoped this one was his because you had not entirely prepared for the eventuality that you might not find him.

You didn’t need to worry though, for as you eased the door open and poked your head in, there he was: curled up in bed with his mop of curls sticking out of the blanket, one hand outstretched towards the astrology book you’d given him that now perched on the nightstand. You slipped inside, closing the door behind you, and surveyed the room first before pulling the cloak off yourself.

Walking over to the bed, you knelt and tugged the blanket just the slightest to reveal his face to you. His scar stood out prominently in the moonlight, stark against the soft of his face, delicate eyelashes brushing his cheeks. He looked paler though, and leaner, too, and your worry for him quadrupled. You reached forward, pushing back the curl that had dropped over his forehead and whispered his name.

It took a minute for his eyes to flutter open, latching onto your figure. He muttered your name, brow furrowing in confusion, sleep heavy in his eyes. That lasted only a moment though before he registered where you were and that you weren’t a dream. He bolted upright, panic evident in his eyes. ���What are you doing here?” he whispered harshly.

The anger came quickly as he leapt out of bed, grabbing you before you could respond and pulling you away from the door further into the darkness of the room. “What-” His fury, warring with worry, kept the right words out of his grasp.

“I came to get you,” you whispered.

“Get me? Are you insane? Do you realise where you are?”

“Mattheo, let go of my arm. You’re hurting me.”

He seemed to snap back into himself and let go. “He will kill you,” he said, desperation lacing his voice.

“He will kill you,” you responded. “Come with me. I’ve got an invisibility cloak, we’ll disapparate, the Order will find you a safehouse.”

“This is insanity.”

“No, it isn’t! I am not leaving you here with them. With him.” Your hand reached up, ghosting over the scar on his cheek and he shuddered.

He whispered your name like a prayer. “He will be angry. He will hurt someone.”

“He’s going to hurt people irrespective of where you are.”

“Why are you doing this?” He looked at you, eyes brimming with tears that silently pleaded with you to leave.

There was no point holding your cards to your chest anymore. “Because I love you.” Damn the consequences, you surged forward and tugged his face to yours, lips meeting in the middle. It was a quick kiss but it seemed to freeze time. Mattheo had gone completely still and a tear escaped, running down his cheek.

“I love you,” you repeated, “and I don’t care what you say, I am not leaving here without you.”

He huffed and before you could continue with your pleas, he drew you to him, mashing your lips together. His were soft against yours and it eased something in you to know that he was safe in your arms. Your hands cradled his face as his wound around your torso, leaving not an inch of space between the two of you.

When you drew apart, there were tears on his face and you gently wiped them away. “I don’t think I’m that bad at kissing.”

Mattheo laughed under his breath, drawing you back to him again and burying his face in your shoulder. “I love you, too.”

You blinked back tears and ran your fingers through his curls. “I’m getting you out of here.”

xxx

Hope you enjoyed this! If you see a typo, let me know. Comments and reblogs are much appreciated. :) - Nina

[squash1]

something i’ve been thinking about a lot lately is the way that language in the dreamer trilogy & the raven cycle is a barrier to forming connection/community.

in the raven cycle we see a distinct lack of specific terms used between ronan and kavinsky. the word “dreamer” is not even used directly — instead the two of them talk conceptually about the dreaming process, about their respective “special places” (ronan’s being cabeswater), and how the dreaming “juice” runs out (but again, the terms “ley line” or “energy” are not used). there is a clear recognition of “sameness” or shared experiences between the boys, with kavinsky specifically saying he “knows what ronan is” (tho whether he’s referring to dreaming or ronan’s sexuality is up for debate i suppose).

this is really the first time ronan is connecting with a dreamer outside of his family. and his family, of course, has their own terms and language for dreaming. there is a barrier in the discussions ronan and kavinsky are having because of a lack of shared language. so much of what they experience as dreamers is isolated in the individual, so they are forced to talk around concepts because they don’t have universal terminology to fall back on.

i’ve talked extensively about how dreaming is a representation of chronic illness in the dreamer trilogy so i won’t go too far down that rabbit hole. But. something that is talked about within the disability/chronic illness community (and beyond) is the way that individuals can struggle to connect with people that have the same condition/similar experiences as them because of a lack of shared terminology to discuss abstract or hyper-specific concepts/feelings.

we see this in the raven cycle with kavinsky and ronan, and then we start to see it even more in the dreamer trilogy as ronan continues to find belonging and community with other dreamers. ronan and hennessy’s friendship requires them to bridge the language gap. though they both live as dreamers, because of their different experiences throughout their lives, they use different terminology to make meaning of their situation.

in knowing to one another, ronan and hennessy are exposing each other to new, shareable language. ronan shares his term for “nightwash,” and hennessy shares her term for “the lace.” both of them adapt to using this new language for a shared conceptual experience and in doing so are able to connect more fully with one another. in the raven king, i believe it is quite possible that ronan and adam had encountered the lace — a dark entity that whispered their worst fears to them — but did not have the term yet to describe it. obviously, terminology does not outweigh experience, but it is an important element of forming community through shared experience.

there’s also the way that the moderators use the term “zed” instead of “dreamer” — at first it is unclear what zeds even are because as the reader we have only ever had the language provided by ronan. in this experience of coming to realize that “zeds” are equivalent to “dreamers,” we as the reader experience the same sort of dissonance that dreamers themselves experience when trying to connect with one another without universal/shared language.

for ronan specifically, in both trc and tdt, there’s always an element of translation. in the dreaming world, his dreams speak in either latin or a dream language that doesn’t exist in the waking world. in his dreams ronan understands the dream language, but outside of them he can’t. ronan working so hard to learn latin is intentional — by understanding it in and outside of his dreams, he can bridge a language gap for himself; can understand his waking world AND his dreaming world at once. he studies it like his life depends on it because. it. does. the puzzle box is also helpful to ronan because it makes something that is unreal in the waking world, real — it is confirmation of the validity of that language. whether you’re thinking of dreaming as a metaphor for chronic illness, mental illness, or some other identity, the point is about the feeling of otherness, of inability. ronan only feels strange & lost & like he doesn’t know what the hell he is outside of his dreams where no one else understands his language. where he is confronted by being unable to speak to what he lives in his head.

in conclusion:

ronan lynch i love you.

[plainclothesdisaster]

Red Knight - Chapter 5

DP x DC | Dead on Main

Jason Todd encounters one Danny Fenton in the streets of Gotham and suddenly he's thrown into a world of ghosts and monsters. Will he embrace this life? Or will it just end up with him dead again?

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1

---

“Gargoyles,” Danny proclaimed one night after theyʼd successfully captured a curse ghost.

Jason replied with an eloquent, “Huh?”

“Thatʼs what they kinda remind me of,” Danny spun the thermos in his hands. “The curse ghosts. They're like really messed up gargoyles.”

Jason thought about it and he was right. The curse ghosts were like if the gargoyles on Gothamʼs buildings had 20% more limbs and teeth and were made of goo instead of stone. Fitting really, for the embodiment of a curse on Gotham.

They perched on the roof of a building not far from an old tire shop where the curse ghost had reared its ugly head. A few gargoyles perched with them, thankfully all stone and completely motionless and definitely not cursed. Shadows crawled across them as occasional car headlights passed in the street below.

“The real question is if they're less nasty or more nasty than other curses you've fought?” Jason didnʼt know if Danny even had fought curse ghosts specifically before, but it seemed likely all things considered.

Danny paused, contemplating. “Every city has ghosts that haunt it. But none as bad as this, at least that I’ve seen. None that have such a distinct form. And none that have had such a strong effect on the living.”

“Arenʼt we special,” Jason grumbled.

Danny chuckled. “Very.”

“Good thing you came here to stop them.”

Danny frowned. “Well. Not exactly. If Stanford had accepted me Iʼd be bumping heads with the ghoulies under Alcatraz, but GU was my next choice.”

Jason’s train of thought came to a skittering halt. Danny wasn’t here to fight these ghosts specifically? He made it seem like taming the curse was the only way to keep Gotham from eating itself inside out. And it was clear that he was the only one actually trying to do something about it. Maybe the only one that could.

“Wait. Fixing the worst curse ever is just what you do in your free time between lectures?” Jason folded his arms.

Danny sighed. “Iʼm not a hero, remember? And I’m trying not to do ghost stuff full time. To do that I need to do human things. Like get a degree.”

“Who says you need a degree?” Jason’s voice pitched up, betraying his incredulity.

“NASA, definitely.” Danny wasn’t looking at him anymore. Instead he tilted his head up to the sky, toward the few stars that dared to poke through the fog.

Jason bit back a laugh. He couldn’t be serious. Crime fighting- ghost hunting- whatever, it wasn’t something that you just did on the side. If there’s one thing Bruce taught him it was that civilian life was an afterthought, a persona that they had to play. Their real life, the life that mattered, was what happened once they donned their masks. And after Jason died he’d been freed from the responsibility of being a civilian at all.

Yet looking at the melancholy on Danny’s face he knew he was being sincere. It struck Jason that Danny had dreams, like real dreams, ones that didn’t involve stopping crime and saving cities and meting out justice.

It twisted something in his stomach. Dreams were a luxury Jason hadnʼt ever been able to afford. Not when he was young and fighting and stealing his way through the streets of Crime Alley. Not when he was fighting beside Bruce, desperately eager to fill the mantle of Robin. Not now, especially not now, when there was only the work of purging the rot from this city. The work that sent him back to the gutters and the alleys night after night, always looking down.

And there Danny was beside him, just as capable of fixing Gotham (or even more capable, he did begrudgingly admit), and it hadnʼt completely consumed him. He was still selfish enough to dream.

He was still looking up at the sky.

A pang of something like hatred smacked at the back of Jason’s teeth, ugly and hot. He couldn’t believe Danny’s selfishness. His naivety. Both incredibly stupid things to have in this line of work. And still Jason felt something else– a rumbling and an ache from the place under his heart. A pulling that tried to stretch across the space between them. He bit his tongue and shoved that feeling down.

//

Later that night when Jason couldn’t sleep he scoured the net for any more hits on Danny. He knew it would be easier if he just asked Tim for help. He bet that little creep could have the full dossier delivered within an hour, everything he wanted to know about Danny Fenton, but that would open Jason up to way more questions than he wanted to deal with. He still needed to keep this as far away from Bruce as possible for as long as possible.

His less than ideal search methods still yielded him a yearbook photo he hadn’t seen yet. The sister Danny mentioned– Jasmine Fenton. Turns out she was attending Stanford, psychology major. Stanford, where Danny could have been instead of Gotham. Fighting some other city’s ghosts. And Jason would have continued to be unaware of and unable to do anything about Gotham’s curse. Or his own.

He turned his attention to digging up anything he could on the Fenton parents. No real estate records, no taxes, not even driver’s licenses. But no death certificates either. Jason didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. What he did know is that they were equally as erased as their son.

He found himself drifting away from Fenton research and on to the question that nagged at him in a different way– how to predict where the curse ghosts would show up. The data from Danny’s thumb drive was already on his computer and he dutifully logged the coordinates and relevant details from that night’s encounter, another dot among hundreds on the map of Gotham.

Jason had already whittled through all the possible easy connections. Haunted places, typical goon hide outs, historic sites, even fucking ley lines– none of them had enough correlation to be a valuable predictor. Or even a decent lead.

As much as he had practiced taming his frustration, another fruitless night with no answers had him sulking. He felt certain that figuring out the curse ghosts would also help him figure out Danny. And figure out himself. He couldn’t deny that he hadn’t felt even a hint of the Pit’s clawing rage since his nightly escapades with Danny became more frequent. He considered Danny’s offer– to make the fix permanent. And Jason believed him now, that he actually did want to help.

But he couldn’t accept that offer. He wouldn’t. Not until he was sure what it really meant. Maybe if and when they solved the curse problem for good, maybe then he would accept Danny’s help.

But not yet.

//

“Try something for me.”

Danny stopped mid patrol loop of known curse hotspots. Jason followed his gaze and saw a curse ghost rummaging through a demolition site where a condemned apartment once stood.

“Blast it-” Jason pulled a gun, finger ready at the trigger- “Wait!” Danny held up his hands to stop him. “First, see if you can hold the energy back before you release it.”

Danny held his palms out over one another and a ball of familiar green energy formed between them in demonstration. “Let it build up and grow.”

He focused for a moment and the ball grew larger, spun faster. He widened his palms as the ball grew, crackling with potential energy. He let it linger just a moment before— a twist of his wrist and it dissipated.

“I don’t think it works like that for me.”

“Just try it,” Danny cajoled. “I’d be a bad ghost mentor if I didn’t try to teach you how these powers work.”

Jason rolled his eyes. This felt like some kind of test, and the way Danny looked at him with rapt attention all but confirmed that. Did he truly want to help? Or Did he want to gauge how much Jason could push the limits of this power? Still, Jason’s own curiosity won out in the end.

He began by focusing on the feeling he got when he shot his usual energy bullets, allowing it to prickle through his chest and underneath his skin. Rather than let it out immediately, as he’d always done, he did as Danny instructed and held it back. He focused on his pistol. As he did, a small green sphere formed at the end of the gun.

Slowly he fed more energy to it. It grew, just as Danny’s had, spinning faster. His heart accelerated at the same pace, straining against the pull of the power. He gritted his teeth. His head felt hot, like it did when he let his rage get the better of him. Danny’s eyes glinted, reflecting the green glow with impish delight.

The sphere grew to baseball size, then basketball. Then it grew larger than that, so large he couldn’t even see the beast he was aiming at anymore. Danny said simply, “Now.”

Jason pulled the trigger. A massive green fireball exploded out of the end of his pistol, burning across the pile of wreckage. The ghost finally looked up just in time to take the blast directly to its side. It wailed in terrible unearthly tones as the green fire swallowed it.

Danny whooped in triumph. Meanwhile, Jason’s knees wobbled and he fell to all fours in the dirt. He felt suddenly cold, in that terrible clammy way right after a fever breaks.

Danny looked over as if to share the celebration but his face fell as he saw Jason.

“Shit,” he said, kneeling next to him. “You okay?”

“Yeah I— yeah.” Jason panted, swallowing a few dry breaths.

Every time he’d used this power before, he’d let it out instantly, through his guns or his gadgets. He’d never actually let it sit or take the time to feel it properly. Now he wished he hadn’t.

Using that power felt like his worst memories of the Pit, unnatural and cloying like he could still feel the waters dripping off of him. It tasted like grave dirt in his mouth.

But as he raised his head he saw the damage he’d done. There was a fucking crater the size of his living room blasted through the remains of a concrete foundation. No sign of the curse ghost. He did that.

He laughed, all shaky breath. Maybe he could get used to it. He’d have to. He didn’t have a choice but to use it against the curse ghosts. He’d be useless in fights against them otherwise.

“Let’s head back,” Danny offered.

“Yeah.” Jason ignored the small tremor in his hand as he holstered his pistol and started to get his feet back underneath himself.

Jason was halfway to standing when out of nowhere he took a hit. A force crashed into his gut from behind like a cannonball and he barely registered a curse ghost underneath him- it looked like a rhino with way way too many horns- before it flung him ten feet across the demo site and sent him careening into the rubble. He tumbled over broken concrete and snarled rebar, hard-trained muscle memory kicking in to relax his muscles enough to not take the worst of it anywhere he didn’t want to.

He blinked the dizziness from his eyes as he settled. Fuck that hurt. He felt a trickle of blood running down his face. The helmet was padded just enough to protect him from concussions. Didn’t help much with the biological nightmare that was the human nose though. He took the helmet off to keep the blood from pooling in his mouth, leaving him in just his domino mask.

“Jason?” He heard Danny shout.

“Mmfine,” was what he managed to reply as he pushed himself up. It took him a few tries to find his legs. They were still wobbly from the expenditure of power before.

Across the demo field Danny fought the new curse ghost with his usual evasive style. His mouth a hard set line as he ducked beneath swipes from many-angled horns and he responded with blasts of his own, cornering the ghost handily.

Then his gaze landed on Jason and he paused, eyes wide.

His stance went rigid. He snapped around unnaturally fast to face the curse ghost, a total shift from his flighty movements from a moment before. His gaze was sharp, cast in stark shadows from the streetlights, and impossibly, dangerously green. He raised a palm toward the ghost, slowly. And then a nuclear blast went off.

Or at least thatʼs what it felt like. Jason lifted an elbow to shield his eyes from the blinding green light. Surprisingly it wasn’t hot. Instead it felt like the air pressure had been turned up, as if the whole atmosphere was somehow heavier around them, pressing in from all sides, making it harder to breathe.

It lasted only a moment. When Jason lowered his shielding arm there was no sign of the curse ghost. No other damage from the blast either. Just scraps of shadow floating on the wind, dissipating as they rose up.

Danny lowered his hand. A bit of a glow still lingered around him like a halo, a silver outline that shimmered on top of his skin. Jason’s heart raced drunkenly as he stayed rooted to his spot. He wasn’t sure he trusted his legs to move. Danny still looked at the empty space where the ghost had been, his gaze still burning with an overwhelming power. One that Jason was very thankful to not have directed at him. Still, something stirred in his chest like a tug on a wire. The sweet sharp tang of adrenaline saturated his fear. He wasn’t sure if he could stomach that oppressive attention, but a reckless part of him craved it.

Then Danny shifted his stance again. He seemed to shrink back into himself, the glow dimming to a level that passed as human. He turned to Jason with something like guilt on his face, no hint of the commanding presence he held a moment earlier.

“Are you okay?” Danny spoke gently, but his fists were still clenched.

“Yeah. Yeah Iʼm fine,” Jason replied before he even really took stock of his injuries, but as he did he saw he hadn’t lied. The bleeding from his nose had mostly stopped. It hadnʼt been that bad in the first place.

“I think thatʼs enough for tonight.” Danny breathed, finally, releasing the last of his tension. He wouldnʼt meet Jasonʼs eyes.

It had been a while since anyone had saved him. He didn’t have anyone who watched his back, hadn’t for a long time. Strictly speaking, tonight he would have been fine even without the save. Probably.

While he was thankful that Danny covered his ass, it also annoyed him that he thought he had to.

“Thanks,” he grumbled, and then finally Danny looked at him with soft attention.

“You’re sure you’re okay? If it’s a concussion-“

“I’m fine,” Jason said, using his thumb to brush away the drying blood under his nose.

Danny just looked at him with naked concern, his fingers twitching like he didn’t know what to do with them, mouth pressed in a firm line. He took a breath as if to voice another worry but Jason cut him off with a resigned sigh.

“Look, if you're so worried why donʼt you come back to mine.” If it got Danny to stop nagging he didn’t mind burning a safehouse.

Danny nodded, mutely accepting the invite.

Jason led him back to his latest safehouse, a corner loft of an abandoned building, only accessible by rooftop. The walk there had proved that Jason wasn’t hurt bad, though Danny’s eyes kept going back to the blood on his face.

Once inside, Danny sat down on the couch. It was the only real piece of furniture in the house besides his half-broken bed. Jason felt less like a shitty host because truly it was equally as dingy as the one in Danny’s own apartment.

“Want a beer?” Jason asked from the kitchen, as he finished up rummaging his way through some makeshift first aid. The slapdash brace on his nose wasn’t his finest work, but eh. It would heal fine. It always did.

“You drink?” Danny seemed suspiciously surprised. “For me the accelerated healing makes any normal alcohol consumption pretty pointless.”

Jason froze with his hand on the fridge. “Oh. Huh.” That would explain why he had to down a whole handle and a half to feel anything. “No shit.”

Zombie-like he pulled a six pack out of the fridge. He set it down on the coffee table in front of Danny as he fell onto the couch next to him.

A part of him had still not fully believed the whole half ghost thing. Fighting ghosts was one thing. Being one was another. The tech helped maintain the illusion quite well- he had ghost power cuffs that made him invisible and ghost power socks that let him float. That explanation was easy to swallow.

But no gadget could explain why wounds that should take weeks to recover from only took him days. Couldn’t explain why he didn’t get drunk.

But there was a good explanation. A simple one too.

He wasnʼt fully human.

Shit.

Jason grabbed a beer from the coffee table, popped it with his thumb, and downed it in one long pull.

“Batman doesnʼt like metas in Gotham.” He didn’t look at Danny. He wasn’t really even talking to him. He tossed the beer bottle to the floor.

“Weʼre not metas,” Danny said, a gentle echo of what he’d said the first night they met.

“It doesn’t matter. Meta, supernatural, itʼs all the same. All are a dangerous liability in this city. You- we- count.” Jason opened another beer. Downed it. Waited to feel any hint of the alcohol hitting him. Nothing.

He could, however, feel Danny looking at him. “Iʼm not afraid of Batman.”

Jason didnʼt look back. He fiddled with the empty beer bottle, tossed it on the floor with the other one. Of course Danny wasnʼt afraid of Batman. Jason had no doubts which way that fight would go if it ever came to it.

That was an awful image to consider– Batman getting his ass handed to him by some nobody punk in jeans– and all the more reason that Bruce should never know about any of this. The curse ghosts, Danny, Jason’s own burgeoning ghost powers- more secrets he had to keep. More reasons to keep all the Bats at arm's length.

And if they ever did find out? No way their shaky truce could weather that. It’d be another war.

“Heʼs- well, they all are I guess- kind of my family. All Iʼve got left of one, anyway.” The words spilled out. He didn’t want a war with them. He never had.

Danny let out a long breath. “Oh. Family.” He laughed a sad laugh. “My parents tried to kill me. Multiple times actually. I donʼt blame them– theyʼre ghost hunters and well, they looked at me and saw a ghost.”

Danny reached for a beer. He pulled out two and handed one to Jason. He took it. “So at least it canʼt be as bad as that with yours?”

Jason grumbled. “Judging by how it went the first time I came back from the dead? It will be an absolute shitshow.”

Danny clinked his beer against Jasonʼs and took a long swig. “I dunno. I think Bruce might come around if you give him a chance.”

Jason straightened his spine, suddenly alert, alarm bells ringing in his head. “Bruce?”

Danny deflated, suddenly sheepish. “Ah. Whoops.”

That all but confirmed it. Jason groaned. Just when he thought it couldn’t get worse, Danny somehow knew one of Gotham’s most dangerous secrets. “How did you find out?”

“You can probably guess.” Danny rubbed the back of his neck. “It wasnʼt hard with a little ghostly snooping. It was one of the first things I did when I got to Gotham. I wanted to know just to double avoid him, honest.”

It wasnʼt hard to imagine any number of ways Danny could have uncovered Batman’s identity. Heʼd recognized Jason with and without his mask, but he figured that was because Danny had a sense for ghosts and, well, whatever he was. He hadnʼt considered how easy unmasking the Batman would be for him even without that trick.

“If he finds out you know, you’re dead.”

“I already am. Besides, I thought Batman had a strict no-kill policy?”

Ultimately this changed very little. Just another nail in the coffin of the strict Batman avoidance protocol. Still, he wished Danny would be a little less blase about the whole thing.

Fuck it. In for a penny, he couldn’t un-learn all the ghost shit that had turned his life upside down. He downed the beer. Danny was right the first time. It didnʼt matter what Bruce thought. He couldnʼt stop them from fighting curse ghosts. And it was truly none of his business. Danny sipped his beer with a grimace. Jasonʼs heart twisted.

“How do you stand the taste of this stuff?” Danny asked, a hint of a smile.

“It’s not about the taste. It's about the feeling.” Or lack of one. Jason thought maybe he felt the slightest tingle of tipsiness, but it could just be placebo.

Danny looked at him with that same casual intensity. He could tell his eyes lingered on his half-broken nose. Still worrying over him. Why? Why did he care if Jason got hurt? Jason stared back, trying to get a read on any of the real thoughts behind Danny’s eyes.

The silence stretched out, wide open.

Danny broke it first. “Sorry, uh. I guess I should get going.”

Jason took a beat and remembered how to breathe. “You good? Donʼt drink and fly.”

“I donʼt feel a thing,” Danny smirked. “Still, Iʼll walk.”

“You sure? You could always just crash here tonight.” The words spilled out of him before he could think better of it. He and Danny both froze, like the air has been sucked from the room. He stared at the empty six pack on the coffee table, swatting away any thoughts that dared surface, fighting the rising heat in his cheeks and desperately trying to keep his face blank.

“Itʼs okay,” Danny said finally, quietly releasing Jason from his turmoil. “Iʼll see you tomorrow?” Jason dared a look at Danny then. Warmth in his half smile like a sweater, a glint in his eye that made him feel lightheaded.

Danny stood and left, closing the door gently behind himself. Jason breathed out into the empty apartment. It felt suddenly cavernous and dead without Danny in it.

It shouldn’t mean anything but it did. Friends crashed on each other’s couches regularly, didn’t they? Jason didn’t have much experience with friends, if that’s what he and Danny were. This invitation certainly crossed that threshold. But he’d been careless. All the unknowns were still dangerous. He couldn’t let this be more than a working relationship. A partnership of convenience.

He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. Pain, tender and sharp, sprung up beneath them. He sighed at the comforting familiarity of it. Then he flopped face first onto his bed, alone.

[crazedear]

No one asked for this…but I can sense my desperate brothers and sisters through the screen and have decided to quench their thirst through…

.

.

STATICRADIO FIC RECOMMENDATIONS

Ever since I’ve finished watching Hazbin Hotel, I’ve been absolutely obsessed with these two and their dynamic, as a result, I have been researching and stocking up on good (dare I say exquisite) fanfictions about these two psychopaths…so why not share my library with people who want it (ik there are some out there 🫵)

Also some things I need to mention:

Most of the fics recommended are gonna be very Vox and Alastor centered (Ofcourse with background and/or side pairs)

This list is not in any particular order and is also based on what I find good and satisfies my personal preferences when it comes to these two, so some of these may not be to your liking, but I still hope you can find at least one that you can enjoy!

all fanfics mentioned are sourced from Ao3

Most are either incomplete, ongoing, or just haven’t updated in a long time, BUT THEYR ARE STILL SO GOOD AND WORTH READING 🙏

OKAY THATS IT REC TIME!

Static Shock

birdsaretoddlers

Rated M

Chapters 10/?

Alastor, Altruist, Died for his Friends. That was the headline. Vox made sure it was plastered all over Hell the moment he'd seen that demon flee for his life. After he remained missing, Vox accepted that he really was dead. Dead and gone. No rival. He and the Vees were now free to rule Hell as the Overlords they'd always dreamed of being, and the plans were finally in motion.

Then Vox went out for donuts, and everything came crashing down. Because Alastor wasn't dead.

He was barely alive.

That one Tuesday

AllIWantIsPasta

Rated E

Chapters 35/38

A chance encounter leads to new developments between Alastor and Vox, and things escalate far beyond anyone could have predicted.

Remote Access

x-UsoTsuki-x (its_not_reael)

Rated E

Chapters 12/?

In the aftermath of Alastor and Vox's electrifying on-air showdown, Vox finds himself unusually rattled. His usual suave demeanor is slipping, much to his cohorts' amusement – and concern. Velvet can do little more than roll her eyes at his antics. Valentino, on the other hand, is convinced that all Vox needs to do is get fucked and relax.

or, alternatively...

The tech-savvy overlord manages to snag a virus from a porn site and finds himself in the arms of his worst enemy.

5 Times Vox Flirted With Alastor and 1 Time He Did Back

WriterQuil

Rated M

Chapters 5/6

A tiny series of continued one shots dedicated towards Vox's "unrequited" tomfoolery and how he was so horrid at expressing it, only to progressively get better at it over time.

You’re better than "paradise"

BloodSoakedPapers

Rating none

Chapters 7/7

Based on the one shot 'better than paradise!' With permission!

Vox gets redeemed and sent to heaven but he doesn’t want to be there at all. And he will do whatever he can no matter how long it takes to get back to hell.

-

Vox gets redeemed after sacrificing his life to save Alastor in the middle of extermination day.

Pushing Your Buttons

HollowedHearts

Rating T

Chapters 6/19

After his crushing defeat at the hands of Alastor, Vox decides he needs to take a more hands-on approach in order to destroy the Radio Demon.

Of course, his best course of action is to exploit the other’s weaknesses… if he has any.

The only problem is that means Vox might have to get a bit closer to Alastor than he previously thought (in more than just one way).

———

Or; Vox finds out the Radio Demon’s true weakness — affection.

etched into your bones

Irrwisch

Rating M

Chapters 13/14

Vox has never danced much, and certainly never with another male. He’s a little nervous, but Alastor’s here. He looks at the man’s face, and they’re about the same height. He’s still smiling. He smells like rot and decay and blood, but everyone does, at least a little. Vox can hear the static cackle in the air.

He wants to kiss him.

He doesn’t, not yet. But he wants to.

|

Throughout the years, things change with Vox and Alastor, and they stay the same, too.

Meant To Be Yours

Mr_Ghosty

Rating M

Chapters 3/3

He loves him, he loves him, he loves him. Vox has loved Alastor through all the decades they've known each other. And, in a moment of pure, drunken stupidity, he tells Alastor how he feels.

Five Times Vox and Alastor Danced and One Time They Didn't

Drowsy_Salamander

Rating T

Chapters: 2/6

“I say, good fellow, what are you doing on the ground like that?”

The voice was perky, cheerful, and bright. It had a crisp mid-Atlantic accent, the kind Vox remembered being all the rage for stage and film performers back when he first entered the broadcast industry. The diction was crystal clear with every sound enunciated separately to maximise clarity, the consonants clicked and the vowels were broad. It was a performer’s voice.

A voice for radio.

...

Five times Vox and Alastor danced and one time Vox and Alastor didn't.

From their first meeting through their friendship, to their enmity and fighting. From infatuation to yearning to animosity. Dancing is a partnership, is it not?

Oh shit.

Vintage

InvisibleLee

Rating T

Chapters 1/1

Vox decided to make a little gift and drop it off anonymously. But there's always an option to figure it out.

Video missed the Radio Star

Thalliumtea

Rating G

Chapters 1/1

Vox is haunted by his choices years after the fact. Nights when the static in his head got too loud, when he couldn't breathe, however artificial it was, where he grabbed that radio by his bedside and fiddled with the dials, looking for any present shows, any sign of his voice.

Nothing.

This absence was killing him, again.

Untitled

Remain_Nameless_Raven

Rating M

Chapters 1/1

Vox has been absent for two weeks. Alastor comes to the recently abandon Vs Tower to investigate.

To Please You, Deer (5 +1)

Otaku24

Rating M

Chapters 2/7

5 times Vox tries to court Alastor and one time Alastor courts Vox back~

Soul Safe

KP100

Rating T

Chapters: 17/?

Once Alastor’s back made contact with the brick wall and he had nowhere else to go, his smile more of a gruesome snarl with the corners of his mouth still tipped up in a mock smile and eyes radio dials, Vox was able to get close enough to notice a slight shade difference in his red shirt, just below his shoulder. His lower lip looked more swollen than normal too- no, Vox would not be admitting to knowing what shape it usually was to anyone besides himself- causing him to frown.

"Who did this to you?"

One-Sided Date Night

InvisibleLee

Rating T

Chapters 2/2

“You’re a great friend,” Vox said sincerely, placing a hand over the one on his frame, leaning into the touch. “Thank you, Alastor.”

“You’re welcome, Vox.”

This would be fine.

It was supposed to be fine.

Why did it feel like heartbreak?

Vox's Reality TV Special!

Bee-nut (wellthizizdeprezzing)

Rating T

Chapters: 9/?

After Sir Pentious fails to spy on the hotel Hazbin staff, Vox decides that in order to get back at Alastor he's going to offer to film the hotel for his new “reality TV show''. Charlie, wanting more sinners to flock to the hotel, accepts his offer. Vox is in for his reality check as the show reveals things about his feelings towards Alastor he didn’t expect.

Chaos abounds.

Eclipse

Purrsly

Rating T

Chapters 1/1

Alastor was a virus. A malware he couldn't erase, and it occupied his every thought.

And yet-

equilibrium

curtailed

Rating M

Chapters 4/?

“Help…”

The image of Alastor trying to crawl on his wounded stomach, those delicate fingers curling helplessly in air, reaching towards Vox — a smile stitched-up and eyes that screamed — the essence of a soul that twisted on the palm. Help, the fragment of Alastor’s soul had pleaded. Please. Help. Help. Help. Pleading with his enemy. Alastor couldn't even recognize him. Vox hadn’t even paused to think as he grabbed Alastor's hand, and the smallest bit of his own soul twined around, deep deep deep, merging fully with that fragment of Alastor, anything to steer him away from the awful finality of nonexistence. Vox's mind rejected the notion. His conscience exorcised the option from reality.

OR

Post-Finale. The Hotel finds Alastor right on the front lawn, unconscious and bleeding, still injured from Adam's blade. While he recovers, all of Hell scrambles to find out who his mysterious rescuer is.

Meanwhile, Vox tries not to freak out that he might have accidentally made a soul bond to save that deer asshole's life. All he had wanted to do was to scope out the ruins of Alastor's radio tower. Fuck him for being curious, he supposed.

You're on the Air

rillo (rillyrillo)

Rating M

Chapters 15/?

A series of short, daily conversations between a radio host and his avid listener, as the two learn more about each other’s lives over the air.

Set in the late 90s/early 2000s.

[HUMAN AU] [There's art included for the human designs]

Alastor, Altruist

Coppercrow

Rating E

Chapters 5/?

When his microphone breaks, Alastor realises far too late that he may have underestimated the danger he was in.

.

.

.

.

.

Alastor's fight with Adam goes horribly wrong, and Charlie and her friends have to deal with the aftermath of a defeating loss. But is everything truly as it seems?

I Just Wanted to See Your Face

KisaTM

Rating none

Chapters 3/?

When you fall, you fall hard. Be that Hell or Love at first sight.

This is a story of how Vox met Alastor, their relationship and their falling out, before Alastor disappears for 7 years without explanation.

Ackamarackus

ZootZeet

Rating none

Chapters 1/1

The idea of romantic affections and love never piqued Alastor's fancy.

In fact, the radio demon was sure he wasn't even capable of such emotions.

So when an unfamiliar ache starts blooming in his chest it catches the man quite off guard.

Especially considering it's directed towards his outspoken business partner.

Knife Through the Heart

Veynn

Rating T

Chapters 13/?

After being grievously injured by an angelic weapon, Alastor unwittingly finds himself teaming up with Vox. Unfortunately, emotions are a bitch, and Vox still has some unfinished business with Alastor nearly fifty years in the making.

Rival Frequencies

ArchangelL0ki

Rating none

Chapters 2/?

Vox really didn't know what he was playing at. Watching the optimistic little idiots rebuild their pathetic hotel was not his idea of a good time, and he definitely wasn't watching for a flash of red and camera distortion, no, not at all.

misery meat

loveronmayday (nariaein)

Rating T

Chapters 1/1

Alastor offers a slice to Vox, who readily tries it. Savory and rich, with an underlayer of cognac.

"Thoughts?"

If Vox didn't like it, he wouldn't lie, but he would never be rude. No, instead, he would propose his own liver to perfect the flavor. Anything Alastor wanted.

or: Alastor and Vox share a meal.

Radio Healed the Video Star

Aspiring_Forest_Witch

Rating M

Chapters 49/?

Alastor comes across an unconscious and battered Vox while out on one of his strolls. He feels compelled to bring him back to the hotel.

Bluest Monday

Bapple

Rating E

Chapters 14/16

The year is 1989; Vox and his closest friend Alastor have maintained a strong allegiance for decades. Thus far, Vox has been the Radio Demon’s biggest admirer and protégé, always more than a few steps behind; always wanting more than friendship.The 80s bring with them a new era for televisual media; TV is finally becoming king, threatening to cause a rift between the two friends. Vox, desperate to keep Alastor in his life, doubles his romantic efforts. Alastor, desperate to maintain control and power, decides to indulge them.

A story in which Vox finally gets the man of his dreams; a flighty wicked demon who loves to push his buttons. A story about true friendship, true love, even; but also about how it eventually has to end in tears. A story about how there may be potential to salvage it, after all. Only time can tell.

Im definitely gonna keep updating whenever I find more, or if I recall any! Please give the authors and writers of these fics much love and support! They did amazing jobs and deserve so much! (Also please feel free to recommend fics to me or ones that you think should be added to the list!)

Love yallll!! 💕💕✨

[esta-elavaris]

I have half a mind to make this a cute little miniseries but I don't know whether I will or not.

Modern AU meet cute -- originally for flufftober, before I decided I would not be doing flufftober. I hope you guys enjoy, just a bit of cute fluffiness for this far too warm Wednesday evening.

I'll post it on AO3 eventually, but for now it's just here.

Main, tenth walker, modern girl in Middle-earth fic of these two can be found here 💜

Dividers by cafekitsune

Boromir/Sybil [Boromir/OC] ~ 2,880 words

Sybil was having what was quite possibly the worst day of her entire year.

Striding through Gondor’s vast parkland, she turned her head this way and that, tears stinging her eyes and a lump lodging itself in her throat.

“Sarah? Sarah! Oh come on, damn you – Sarah?!”

Nothing. No response, no glimpse of ruddy red between the trees, nothing. What was she going to do? What could she do? Going home alone wasn’t an option, but how much longer should she search? When did it become a matter of informing authorities? Did one even inform authorities, in circumstances such as this?

…Was she hurt? Had she been taken?

“Sarah? Sarah!”

She was so concerned with her search that she didn’t bother looking where she was going, and she realised the stupidity in that only when she tripped.

Tumbling into the grass, she managed to roll as she did, taking the brunt of the impact to her hip rather than her tailbone. She was apologising before she’d even registered the pain.

“I am so sorry!” she exclaimed to the owner of the slack-clad legs she’d tripped over.

A businessman, judging by his dress, reclined on the grass, the remnants of his lunch gathered in a paper bag at his side. He was already sitting up, caught between grabbing at her to make sure she was already and the knowledge that laying hands on unknown women was not a welcome thing.

She tried to right what she’d knocked over – a paper coffee cup, which she realised had thankfully already been empty – and then accepted his help to rise, which he offered as he did so, too. Her heart thudded in her chest as she already wondered how quickly she could leave without being rude, more concerned with her search than with this stranger who was making enquiries as to her wellbeing that she only half listened to.

Then, though, she registered who she was looking at. Boromir. Lord Boromir. The Steward’s son.

Her panic – it had to be the only reason she hadn’t recognised him from the start. How many times had his face been flashed across the television screen in her home growing up, usually accompanied by her parents shaking their heads? When she was very young, the news pieces usually despaired at his teenage antics, often debating (just a touch too gleefully) whether any typical youthful foolishness was actually an indicator of a deeper, more troubling character flaw. But as he aged into young adulthood, and Sybil grew old enough to heed the goings-on of Gondor at all, those stories shifted, instead hailing him as the people’s prince – despite the fact that he technically wasn’t one – and singing of his wartime achievements.

These days, the press took on a decidedly different turn, focusing instead on when he would finally marry. And, more importantly, whom.

Naturally, Sybil found the whole bloody thing ridiculous. Not only that, but also intrusive to any unlucky enough to be involved, and – most of all – entirely irrelevant to her life. So she paid it little mind. But now he was smiling at her, he was handsome, and she was blushing.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I? I wasn’t looking, it was stupid of me – I’m so-”

“I’m uninjured,” he cut in with a warm laugh. “Truth be told, I’ve been debating on whether to offer you my assistance. You’ve lost your friend?”

If it was a friend she’d lost track of, she wouldn’t be wandering the park on the brink of tears. She wasn’t quite that pathetic just yet.

“Sort of,” she offered an embarrassed smile. “A four-legged one.”

Mostly, she just wanted to end this encounter with as much dignity and speed as humanly possible so she could get back to her search without worrying about creating a diplomatic incident.

“A dog?” he understood her meaning easily. “You…you named your dog Sarah?”

Sybil met his eye, then quickly looked away, and finally looked at him again, knowing what she had to do but doubting she had the strength.

“It’s…it’s a stupid joke.”

“Now you must tell me,” amusement coloured his tone.  

“Look, I really need to-”

“The sooner you tell me, the sooner you will secure my aid. I’ve quite a lot of confidence that I can help you.”

Quietly, Sybil muttered the dog’s full name. He didn’t catch it.

“Pardon?”

“Sarah Jessica Barker,” she repeated.

There was no way he wouldn’t understand the reference. Sex and the White City had been filmed here in Gondor, after all, continuing to shut down the fancier levels of Minas Tirith whenever an additional movie or season was dredged back up.

Lord Boromir’s lips stretched into a wide grin, his chest stuttering a little as he swallowed down a laugh, before he cast his eyes out into the distance, visibly trying to school himself back into seriousness. Great. Being laughed at by one of the loftiest men in the land in this moment, of all moments, was packing salt into a wound that still bled – and whatever momentary bedazzlement had struck her upon coming face to face to him quickly faded into annoyance, her lips thinning and nostrils flaring.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said flatly.

She spun on her heel but his voice stopped her.

“Wait – wait. Miss! I’m sorry,” he held out a hand as if to snatch at her wrist, before he seemed to remember that grabbing strange women in parks wasn’t particularly well-received in civilised society. “Please. Allow me to help you. Truly, I didn’t mean to laugh.”

He was so contrite, and so damn earnest, that she couldn’t continue to be annoyed. Not outwardly, at least. And whatever ire still had her chest feeling tight was more panic masquerading as anger than anything else – the latter feeling somehow more palatable to feel.

“Fine, but unless you’ve seen her, I’m really not sure how you can help.”

“What does she look like?”

So sincere was his contrition that any who saw them without knowing who they were might think him her assistance, standing and regarding her solemnly, his hands behind his back as he waited, prepared for any request she might have. And then there were his eyes. So warm, and shining with true concern. It was enough to do away with the last of her annoyance.

“Tall, blonde, with a fondness for high heels,” her attempt at a joke was weak, but it earned her a grin, and he at least stopped looking so damn guilty. “She’s…she’s a spaniel. A red spaniel. She doesn’t bother much with strangers, so she wouldn’t have come up to you. I’m sure you would have missed her, if you weren’t specifically looking for her.”

“Perhaps, but hope is not lost. Come – please.”

And follow she did. Not because she ascribed to the belief that his station gave him mystical powers of capability, but just for sheer lack of anything else to do. What was the alternative? Refuse, and continue to wander, her calls for Sarah going ignored? And he seemed pretty sure of himself, at least. That gave him more going for him than she had for herself.

Boromir led the way to the pond that the park boasted – a manmade feature in a rough oval shape that curled in on itself, spanning almost the full width of the park, with a bridge stretching over it that was a very popular scenic spot for proposals.

“Ah,” he stared at the water. “It’s just as I thought.”

Still addled by panic, it took her a second to realise what he was talking about, beyond a look that confirmed that her dog was not, in fact, lurking beneath the surface. The emerald green algae that coated the surface of the water by the stony shore was disturbed, broken up here where it was otherwise a thick undisturbed carpet all the way to the left and right.

It was with a heavy sigh that he spoke next.

“The ducks like to gather on a hidden ledge beneath the bridge there,” he explained. “And the dogs like to bother the ducks.”

As he talked, he stood on one foot, lifted the other with not even the slightest wobble, and began to untie his shiny black leather shoe. He was moving onto the second one by the time she broke through her shock.

“What are you doing?”

He grinned at her, the impact annoyingly devastating.

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“Something ridiculous – you can’t go in there.”

“I must reunite you with your, forgive me, ridiculously named hound. The ends justify the means.”

“If she really did swim under there, she can swim back,” she protested.

Apparently willing to entertain her theory, but visibly unconvinced by it, he gestured at her as if to say by all means. Then he stood, rubbing at the back of his neck as she called out to her hound. The ledge that he’d spoken of was only barely visible from where they stood, but at her call, a black nose poked around the corner of the underside of the bridge, followed by fur that usually glowed a beautiful golden red on sunny days like this, but was now a sodden algae-ridden ruddy mess.

"Sarah!" she called, hunkering down and holding out her arms. “Sarah, come here!”

The dog panted, and she might’ve wagged her tail, but otherwise she regarded the water, and then Sybil, as if she was asking far too much. As if she hadn’t just been in that very water.

“Oh, for the love of…”

With a groan, she toed off one trainer, and then the other. She wasn’t wearing white today, at least that was something – nor anything particularly nice. Just workout leggings and a long, baggy tank top reserved for dog walking and generally not being seen by anybody of consequence. So much for that.

“What are you doing?” Boromir echoed her earlier words, placing himself between her and the pond.

“I’m getting my dog.”

“I’ll do it,” he laughed as if her idea was ridiculous.

“She’s my dog.”

“It’s my father’s pond,” he countered easily. “Technically speaking. And I was the one who presided over its opening ceremony, so I suppose it’s also part mine.”

“You can’t-”

“I insist! I can’t have you stealing my thunder when I have an opportunity for heroics.”

Those brilliant, handsome grins of his could easily have her giving him the damn dog if he kept it up. As he made his insistences, he took the cufflinks from his cuffs, handing them to her for safekeeping before he began to roll up his shirtsleeves. Too stunned for words, she may have ended up staring at his forearms…and he may have caught her. The grin on his face became just a touch more boyish for it.

“Are you sure?” she asked, shielding her eyes from the sun as she squinted up at him.

“I insist,” he repeated. “On one condition.”

“Oh?”

“Tell me your name.”

It beggared belief. How swiftly, without being able to even pinpoint when it had happened, the atmosphere between them felt charged, somehow, now that she wasn’t driven by panic. When he saw how his condition surprised her, he looked just a little too smug, so Sybil gave herself a shake, cleared her throat, and breathed a laugh.

“Well?” he prompted, removing his socks next.

“You haven’t held up your end of the deal yet.”

She almost regretted her words when he stepped into the pond. Gritting his teeth, he hissed sharply at the cold, then looked at her as if to make sure she was still watching. When he found that she was – little could persuade her to look away – he schooled his features back into an amused sort of determination, his brow set with a smirk tugging at his lips.

Sarah watched the spectacle with curiosity.

As he waded deeper into the pond, Sybil couldn’t help but be relieved that he’d volunteered himself for the task. The water, when it just reached his hips, would’ve already been well up to her waist.

“She doesn’t bite, does she?” he called back towards the shore.

“No. I’m more worried about her making a break for it.”

If she decided she’d rather not be captured by the strange man, she could easily jump back in and swim further up the shore. All right, if she did that, Sybil could run and try to beat her to whatever patch of land she emerged at, but it would complicate matters. Especially if the dog decided this was a very fun game to play.

“I’ll catch her, if she does,” he replied, unfazed. “I’m a fair swimmer.”

Yes. She’d heard that particular tale. Although she’d never be so insensitive as to bring it up. Although the knowledge of what he’d seen, fought, and lived through, did make the sight of him wading through a pond to retrieve her dog all the more surreal.

“Faster than a dog?” she asked doubtfully.

“My lady, if you keep doubting me, I shall have no choice but to take it personally,” he levelled her with a boyish grin over his shoulder before he turned back to the pup.

She was glad for his divided attention, for it would hopefully mean he’d miss how she blushed.

Boromir continued wading towards the dog, her brown eyes fixed on him with a sort of interest Sybil knew well enough to recognise as mischief, but even still hoped she might be mistaken. It was all for naught, though. Once Boromir was just out of arm’s reach, she yapped, and then threw herself into the water, paddling happily past him and towards the shore. Once out of the water, she shook herself off with ease, and then trotted to Sybil, sopping tail throwing algae with each wag.

Yes, there would be absolutely no living this down.

Lifting the dog into her arms just for something to occupy her hands with, she slotted the lead back onto her collar, and then watched in mortification as Boromir waded his way back out of the water. They’d drawn rather a crowd.

“I am so, so sorry,” she said when he drew near, trailing water in his wake.

His white shirt was now a very strange brown-ish green, clinging to his abdomen in a way that was determined to draw the eye.

“Don’t be,” he insisted, “I mean it. A more novel lunch I’ve never had.”

Wriggling in her grasp, Sarah panted, writhing and trying to struggle in the direction of her would-be rescuer. Unhesitating, Boromir extended his arms, looking to her for permission. When Sybil granted it, he accepted the dog with warm laughter, keeping her easily in his grasp despite how she jolted, holding her just far enough away that her attempts to lick his nose would prove fruitless.

"Hello, Sarah," he greeted, eyed Sybil warmly for a few moments, and then returned is attention to the pup. “Your mother is very pretty when she’s embarrassed, did you know that?”

“Technically, I’m her aunt. She was my sister’s before she was mine.”

“I think I shall make it my mission to have her grow more comfortable with compliments, too,” he commented idly, holding the dog in one strong arm so he could scratch behind her ears with the other hand. “What do you think?”

He spoke to the dog but he looked to her, his face more tentative than his words, as if worried he was making her uncomfortable. Sybil acted on impulse. Later, she’d blame it on the sun beating down on them, the collective of people who were pretending (poorly) not to watch, and the sheer amount of genuine kindness in his smile.

“I…live nearby. And I have a tumble dryer, clothes that may just fit you, and a collection of coffee options that beggars belief. If any of that would do as thanks.”

“Ah, but you have not yet offered the thanks I am truly interested in,” he said – and then balked, appearing to realise how suggestive his words sounded, and quickly added. “Your name.”

She wasn’t the only one, she thought, who was pretty when she blushed. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she stifled a smile at how he appeared to be in no rush at all to return her dog – nor was Sarah in any rush to be unhanded.

“Sybil,” she answered finally. “My name is Sybil.”

Extended a hand, her cheeks blazed when he accepted it and then lifted her knuckles to his lips. He had to bend a little at the waist to avoid yanking her arm up at an uncomfortable angle, such was the height difference between them – and his beard tickled her skin when he kissed her hand.

“Sybil,” he repeated with a smile when he’d released her hand, “it suits you. Now, tell me more about this coffee collection.”

 She took up his shoes, seeing as he was in no hurry to release the dog, and he nodded his thanks before nodding that she should lead the way out of the park. In the back of her mind, she wondered if she didn’t owe Sarah a treat or two after all.

[absgay]

“And I can still see it all in my mind, all of you, all of me intertwined. I once believed love would be black and white, but it’s golden.” (part 2)

words count: 3,6k.

warnings: 18+ angst, violence, mentions of death, bloody mess, smut, fluff, owen, she/her pronouns, idk tbh. (writing for fun!)

summary: friends don’t look at each other this way, do they? You couldn’t stop thinking about her, things will never be the same.

part one, part three,

• The next week, Isaac had unexpectedly decided to send you on patrol with Abby. Technically, it would’ve been exciting if things weren’t awkward between you two. “Please— I’m serious, don’t walk so far away from me.” Abby said, exasperated. “We have to stick together.” She waited, eyes scanning the street as you walked by. “We’ve been out for hours and we haven’t seen anyone.” Abby sighed. “Yet.” she said. “Look— There’s Scars in the area, we need to stay focused.” Abby’s stomach twisted as the worst scenarios emerged through her mind. She didn’t want anything to happen to you, ever again. “I’ve been going on patrols with Manny and Owen for weeks—” Abby scoffed. “Yes, you’ve been doing good with the infected but you haven’t even encountered any Scars ever since—” she paused, glancing at you. “Who knows how you’re gonna react.” It started to rain, you crossed the street together, an uncomfortable silence installing itself as the minutes went by. “I think we should wait somewhere until the rain stops.” Abby said. “There’s an abandoned bookstore nearby. But we haven’t cleaned the zone yet. We’ll have to be careful, they might be infected or something.” You nodded and followed her. Once you were there, Abby looked around as you searched for a way in, the blond’s eyes widening as you accidentally stepped on glass. “Relax, it’s dead silent in here.” she sighed. “Shit— Something’s blocking the door.” you looked at the broken window right at the second floor. “No.” Abby said immediately as she glanced at it too. “You’re not going in there by yourself.” you rolled your eyes at her stubbornness. “It’s the only way, it’s raining— I’m cold, Abby.” She sighed and kneeled near the wall. “Make it quick.” she ordered as you jumped and reached the window, groaning. “Be careful!” Abby shouted throughout the pouring rain. She waited impatiently at the door, armed and overly stressed until you reached the front door. “Come in.” you said as you opened it slightly enough for the woman to enter the store. Abby closed it behind her. “You’re okay?” she asked, wiping her face. “Don’t worry about me.” you walked to the nearest counter and leaned against it as you dropped your backpack to the ground, feeling exhausted. You could see Abby’s blond braid from a distance as she walked through the alleys and collected stuff before coming back to you. “My boots are soaked…” you mumbled sadly. “You shouldn’t be here.” Abby said, staring at your shoes, her words hitting you right in the chest. “Oh— You’re such an asshole.” you said, arms crossed. “Don’t take it personally, it has nothing to do with you—” you stepped closer. “It has everything to do with me!” you shouted. “You’ve been mean to me all day, ever since Isaac announced it to us. You don’t want me here, I got it.” Abby sighed. “I’ve been stressed out all day, thinking about you. I don’t want you to get hurt, Y/N.” you frowned. “I’m not a fuckin’ kitten, Abby.” you groaned. “Right— I doubt it.” you chuckled nervously as she approached you. “Trust me, I know how to defend myself. I can fight.” Your back hit the counter as she pushed you against it, standing dangerously close to you. “Fine— Try me.” Abby suggested. “Do it.” You blinked in confusion as you wondered if this challenge meant something different, something even more complicated. “And this time, I won’t be able to blame the alcohol.” you thought, the tension growing in your chest. So many thoughts and wishes came back in your mind as she stared at you intensely, waiting. “Dammit— Not this again.” Abby thought while having a hard time keeping her hands to herself. “You’re a distraction, Y/N.” she said. “Maybe but, you’re tough…” you smirked. “Not enough.” But then, Abby stepped back, the tension disappearing as you both heard it: Whistles. “Shit.” You grabbed your backpack. “Quiet.” she mumbled. “Maybe they’re just passing through.” You both glanced at the ceiling as you heard noises from upstairs, followed by footsteps coming down the stairs. “How did they manage to—” Abby’s right hand moved to your mouth as she dragged you away.

• “We’re gonna have to find another way out, we can’t use the front door.” she whispered to your ear. Two men arrived in the room, eyes searching for anything to kill as they stepped quietly through the alleys. “What do you mean— We’re gonna fight, we have to.” you responded, armed and ready. “Absolutely not.” Abby sighed in panic, the footsteps coming your way. You breathed in and out, trying to focus as you held the gun tight, ready to shoot. “Fuck this.” Abby mumbled, moving fast and shooting a man down. “There’s wolves in here!” Someone shouted. Abby walked away as the stranger’s body fell to the ground. “Come on, Y/N! I’m gonna distract them—” you turned as one of them shot in your direction. “You’ll run to the door as soon as—” you shook your head. “I’m not leaving without you, Abby!” she pushed you away, shooting back at them. “There’s only two left, I’ll meet you outside!” You walked to the door discreetly as Abby ran into them. “Asshole!” Abby shouted as she brutally wracked a man’s skull. You opened the door and gasped as you saw an insanely tall woman stand right behind it, waiting for you. “Shit—” you choked, the woman stabbing you in the stomach two times as she held your throat tightly with an evil smirk. She threw you against the nearest wall, Abby shouting your name hysterically as she watched the scene. “Don’t touch her!” she yelled out, running straight into the tall Seraphite. She slammed Abby’s body against the shelves, the metallic furniture shaking under the woman’s strength. Abby couldn’t focus on the fight, glancing at your unconscious body laying on the ground as she struggled to breath. “No—” Abby murmured as the tall woman punched her across the face. “You’ll pay for your crimes, Wolf.” She strangled Abby with determination. “Abby…” you murmured, paralyzed by the pain. “Abby.” you repeated, heart pounding in your own throat as your vision became blurry. “Die!” you screamed as you ran towards them, jumping on the woman’s back and violently sliding her throat. “Die!” you yelled again, stabbing the dead woman in the neck as she fell down on her knees, staring at you. “Holy shit—” Abby said breathless and covered in blood. Your knife fell to the ground as you whined in pain, the adrenaline disappearing with the shock. “You’re hurt— Let me see!” Abby panicked as you started to kneel, losing your balance. “No, no, no—” she mumbled, looking at the enormous blood stain on your shirt. “Abby.” She kneeled next to you, holding your body against her chest. “Oh my god…” she murmured, looking at the wound. “Open your eyes, Y/N!” she screamed desperately. “Don’t you dare— Stay with me, please, please, please—”

• “You’ve been sitting here for hours, Abby.” Mel said. “Trust me, she’s gonna be fine. But, after what you’ve been through today, you both need to rest.” she continued. “You’ll talk to her tomorrow morning.” Abby sighed as she entered the empty apartment, thinking about her last conversation with the brunette. She went to the bathroom, turned on the lights and felt sick as she looked at the blood stains on her clothes and skin. She couldn’t handle her own reflection at the moment. She went to bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark as she kept reviving it: “you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.” she repeated, breathless as she carried you to the stadium.

• “Shit— My head.” you murmured. Your brain felt way too heavy for your own skull as you opened your eyes, sitting up against the pillow. Abby turned around immediately, relieved to hear your sweet voice. “Hey.” she breathed, standing by the window. “Hey.” Abby walked to the bed, hands reaching for yours as she sat down next to you. “You look—” she paused, looking at your face, its paleness. “You look exhausted.” you said, your fingers playing with hers. “I couldn’t sleep last night.” Abby admitted. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it… I thought you were—” She sighed, unable to say it out loud. “I don’t think we should work together, ever again.” you frowned. “It could’ve happened with anyone, Abby. This isn’t about us—” she laughed painfully, pulling away. “It has everything to do with us, we were too busy flir—” you waited impatiently, the blond standing by the bed with both hands on the hips as she sighed, too scared to admit it. “Whatever— It won’t happen ever again.” she said. “An entire hour— It took me an entire hour, I had your blood stuck under my fingernails, it wouldn’t go away.” she sounded devastated, the blond’s voice trembling through the last sentence. “Come here…” you demanded softly. “Abby…” you begged, eyes watering. “Get some rest.” she said, then left.

• You knocked on the door once, twice. “It’s me.” you said. “I talked with Manny, I know you’re in here, Abigail.” you continued. “You have five minutes— Open the fuckin’ door!” you yelled as you knocked aggressively. You stepped inside the apartment as soon as the blond opened the door, pushing her to the side. “Dammit— What’s wrong with you?” she asked, closing the door. “What’s your problem? It’s seven in the morning.” Things had been complicated since the accident, you guys barely talked to each other anymore. “Isaac told me something—” you chuckled. “You had the audacity to tell him I shouldn’t be allowed to go on patrol anymore, because I was too fragile and irresponsible.” Abby shrugged. “I can't believe it.” you approached her dangerously. “What the fuck—” you paused. Abby looked down at you, frowning. “You don’t get to decide for me!” you screamed, hitting the blond’s chest as you failed to push her away from you. You felt ridiculous, Abby chuckling at your pathetic attempt. “I just did.” she said calmly, enjoying the frustrated expression on your face. “I was supposed to leave with Owen.” you said. “If anything happens to him, it would be your fault.” Abby snorted. “Trust me, from what I've seen, he’s better off without you.” you chuckled, flustered as you unexpectedly caught the blond staring at your lips, which had truly destabilised you. There’s nothing you hated more than how your hatred towards her could turn into lust so fast, so easily, it was unbearable. “It’s dangerous out there, fuck you.” you turned around, ready to leave. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to comfort him once he gets back.” you stopped. “What is that supposed to mean, Abby?” she rolled her eyes. “Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t look cute on you.” you shrugged, waiting. “One night, you were supposed to meet me at the library around midnight but you didn’t come. I decided to check on you, just in case something had happened or whatever.” she stepped closer. “You walked out of the room with him.” Abby didn’t mention the kiss, as she genuinely felt sick by just thinking about it. “I went back to my apartment.” she finished. “I knew something was wrong.” you said. “As soon as I saw that you weren’t at the library, I knew it. I tried to talk to you the next day at the gym and you pushed me away, you’ve been pushing me away and acting weird ever since.” Abby sighed. “It’s been months— Why didn’t you say anything about it? I didn’t know you still had feelings for him.” she grimaced. “It’s not serious, it’s casual.” you explained as you faced each other. “You’re fuckin’ him— Okay—” Abby nodded. “Should I say congrats?” she asked sarcastically. “You should’ve told me. I would’ve done something, I would’ve stopped seeing him immediately.” she laughed. “Don’t bother, I don’t care.” she crossed her arms. “Okay…” you sighed, exhausted. “If you’d rather be cold, distant and mean than to be honest with me, that’s fine.” Abby remained silent as you walked to the door. “For what it’s worth, your friendship means so much more to me than he ever could.” Truth is, neither of you had the courage to be honest with each other.

• “Is everything alright?” Nora asked. “Sure.” Abby answered as they both walked in the dining hall. “I’m just tired.” Nora nodded, unconvinced. “You’ve been on so many different missions this month, I haven’t seen you in days.” Abby sighed as they waited in line. “Yeah— I had to.” she said. “Are they dating or something?” Nora asked as she saw you and Owen eating together. Abby couldn’t even look in your direction, tortured by jealousy. “I don’t know…” she responded, looking away. “I don’t care…” she added, which sounded a bit suspicious to Nora. “Right...” Nora glanced at Abby, smirking as she caught you staring back. “Is there anything you’d like to talk about, Abs?” Nora asked, grabbing two burritos and handing one to her. “Actually— Yes.” Nora followed Abby through the crowd as the blond searched for a table. “If you could find me some sleeping pills, that’d be great.” Abby sat down. “Insomnia?” she nodded. “What’s the problem? What’s keeping you up at night?” Nora asked. “Too many thoughts…” Abby glanced at you from across the room, sighing as you started laughing at something Owen said. “I see.” Nora chuckled. “The missions, the distance, the insomnia…” she continued. “You’re running away from someone.” Abby’s cheeks reddened. “But it isn’t him, it’s her, right?” Nora asked, genuinely concerned. “I’m not gay...” Abby mumbled, defensive. “Love doesn’t need labels.” Nora continued. “Does she even know or—” Abby laughed nervously. “I— I don’t even know what you’re talking about, I don’t even understand what’s happening to me, Nora.” The brunette looked at you. “Well, she’s really pretty, that’s for sure…” she admitted. “She’s so much more than that.” Abby confessed. “Talk to her!” Nora insisted. “Life’s too short to live with regrets, Abby.” she sighed and threw the burrito on the table. “She almost died in my arms and— Fuck, what if she doesn’t feel the same way?” Abby took a deep breath, then exhaled. “It doesn’t even matter, if anything happens to her, I’d— I can’t lose someone else, Nora. I wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

• “Oh… it’s you.” you breathed, relieved as the tall blond approached the bench with uncertainty. “Yeah…” Abby relaxed immediately as she noticed the calmness in your tone. “She shouldn’t seem so happy to see me, not after our last conversation.” she thought. Truth is, Abby had you wrapped around her finger, but she didn’t even know it. “I couldn’t sleep and I was hoping you’d be here.” she admitted, glancing at the book you held. “Is that the next Harry Potter book?” you nodded. “Did you start—” you scoffed. “Of course not, it’s our thing. I’d never read it without you.” Silence crept over you both as you stared at each other, eyes filled with so many different emotions, both waiting for someone to say something, anything. “I’m sorry… For everything.” Abby said as she stepped closer, standing in front of you. “Look,” you grabbed Abby’s hand unexpectedly, the blond blushing as your fingers gently held hers. “I don’t wanna fight with you anymore, especially over a man.” Abby sighed. “Dammit, you’re cold.” she said, switching subjects. “Yeah— Well, I’ve been sitting here for two hours.” you admitted. “I was hoping you’d come around too…” you frowned as she removed her hand from yours, already missing it. She took off her hoodie, handing it to you with a smirk as she caught you glancing at her abs, since the movement had slightly lifted her t-shirt. “Here.” Abby said. “Unless— You’re not feeling cold anymore.” she smiled. “Shut up…” Abby felt a bit too proud as she watched you pull on the sweater, wishing you’d wear her clothes more often. “Actually, I should probably get to bed. I’m working at the Cafeteria tomorrow, thanks to you.” Abby hummed as she scratched the back of her neck. “Let me walk you to your room.” You tried to hide your excitement as you nodded and looked away, heart filled with joy. You didn’t say anything on the way to the dorm, both overthinking and you glancing at each other from time to time. “Do you wanna come inside?” you asked innocently as you stepped in and turned around. “We could— Talk.” you shrugged. “Sure…” Abby answered. “I’m gonna take these pants off.” Abby nodded and closed the door behind her as you walked to the dresser. She looked at your desk, your pictures and stuff, trying to find something to do, a distraction. But she couldn’t resist it, glancing at you as she heard your clothes hit the bedroom’s floor. “What’s wrong with me?” she thought, enjoying the show as you bent over and grabbed the pants, throwing it away. “Do you want me?” you asked, turning around. “Wait— What?” Abby asked, trying to look at you in the eyes while you casually walked around in your panties and her fuckin’ hoodie. “I said, do you want it back?” Abby sighed. “No, No— Please keep it on.” You frowned. “Are you okay? You seem a bit nervous.” Abby chuckled. “What am I doing here, Y/N?” You didn’t want her to leave, but couldn’t think of a right answer to this question as many scenarios crossed your mind. “I don’t know— I don’t wanna be alone. I thought maybe—” you sighed. “Please, stay with me…” Abby looked down. “Unless you don’t want to.” you added quietly. “Owen wasn’t available?” you rolled your eyes. “You know what— Yes!” you stepped closer. “In fact, he wasn’t.” Abby scoffed and grabbed the handle. “Abby— Wait!” She turned around as you pulled her by the wrist. And usually, you wouldn’t pay much attention to your height difference but as she looked down at your mouth with hunger, you felt vulnerable and weak in the knees. “I don’t care about him, just— Please…” you murmured, dying from embarrassment. You had both been trying to ignore it after the aquarium, after these awkward moments at the library or at the bookstore. But it was undeniable, you could easily silence yourself but not your heart.

• “Fuck it.” Abby murmured as she pulled you by the neck, kissing you for the first time. God, she couldn’t believe how good it was, her warm hands moving to your waist, fingers slipping under the sweater as she held your firmly and deepened the kiss. “Abby…” you moaned, breathless. “Shit— Say it again.” she groaned against your neck. “Abby.” you murmured, hands gripping the blond’s shoulders and head tilted to the side as she sucked on your skin. “Fuck yeah.” You threw the sweater and your shirt away before Abby sat down on the bed and pulled you closer, hands gripping on your thighs as she kissed your stomach, your scars. “You’re beautiful.” she murmured. You looked down at Abby, her naughty eyes meeting yours as she went further down and kissed your cunt gently, right through your soaked panties. “Holy shit...” you moaned, before shoving the woman against the mattress as you got on top. “I’m gonna make you feel so good…” you murmured in the blond’s ear as your hand went to her belt. “Can I?” Abby nodded, groaning in your mouth as you unzipped her pants outrageously slowly.

• The room was submerged by a soft glow, a sweet atmosphere, the sunlight lightly coming through the curtains as Abby’s eyes opened around seven. “Dammit, it happened.” she thought happily, looking at the clothes covering the bedroom’s floor. “It finally happened.” And nothing had come back to torment her last night, no nightmares, no tears, no worries… nothing but peace. The blond watched you, snoring softly as she drew random figures on your back. “Hey.” she murmured. “It’s time to wake up…” You whined and moved closer to the blond’s chest, pulling the sheets over your naked body. “Shit— I’m so late.” Abby chuckled. “I’m gonna head back to the apartment before Manny wakes up.” Abby’s eyes followed your naked silhouette as you went to the bathroom. “Shouldn’t we talk about—” you paused, discovering a real mess on your neck. “Jesus Christ, Abigail!” you shouted, the blond walking to the bathroom in hurry. “I’m an artist.” she said proudly, standing behind you. You looked at the mirror attentively or more specifically, at the woman’s reflection as she stood there, arms crossed over her chest. “Shouldn’t we talk about what happened yesterday?” Abby sighed. “Do you regret it?” You didn’t answer immediately, putting on some clothes as she waited patiently. “It was my first time with a woman.” Abby admitted, insecure. “I don’t have any experience— And it obviously wasn’t your first time.” you smiled, turning around. “That good, huh?” Abby chuckled nervously, feeling warm once again, picturing your dirty mouth down there, moving nice and slow as she gripped on the sheets and moaned. God, she couldn’t control herself around you. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” you teased, a finger running down the blond’s arm. “Don’t do that— Don’t start now.” Abby warned. “You have no idea— I’m already having a hard time focusing on our conversation.” you smirked craving more, the tension coming back as you stared at each other, obscene scenarios in mind. “Shit— You’re so bad— I’m gonna have to leave this room.” Abby said, fits clenched. “I’d love to do it again.” you continued, enjoying this game. “I’ll see you later…” you pouted, Abby walking away. “You’re not gonna kiss me goodbye, Abigail?” Abby huffed. “We both know it won’t end well.”

[7sevenrings7]

Young and Menace - Chapter 1 Snippet

Hyperfixating on Hazbin Hotel? It's more likely than you think!

This is a snippet from "Young and Menace" - a reader insert fanfic pairing the reader (AFAB, she/her pronouns) with Alastor, Lucifer, and, eventually, Lilith.

Some at the same time? We'll see...full first chapter to be posted to ao3 next week.

You arrive in Hell with no memory of who you are, where you've come from, or how you got there. Oh well. Might as well settle into your afterlife. There's just one problem...

You're still alive.

Note: This x reader does NOT use Y/N - you are referred to as "Liv," but this is recognized as a nickname as you do not recall your actual name.

“Alright, my ace in the hole.” Rosie’s voice carried before becoming clear as she cast open the door. You shifted nervously as you sat on your bed. “Meet my other ace in the hole!”

Alastor was the worst demon you had seen yet. If your fear had been any less, you would have been able to scream.

As it was, you could only stare at him as if he were the personification of a train wreck you could not tear yourself away from.

It was his smile. A creepy, cheek-ridden smile. Yellowed teeth as large and as pointed as knives sat between lips spread what seemed painfully tight. His skin was darker than Rosie’s with eyes that were as red as blood and just as cold. He might have been Hell itself with how red dominated his person from his fluffy hair to his evening attire. What could have been ears framed two small antlers sprouting straight from his head. 

Later, much later in the quiet of the night still shaking from this very encounter, you would realize that his smile never wavered.

It did tremble, however - at least when he first saw you. The possibly-but-not-definitely-not-ears on his head went flat and you saw what seemed to be the shadow of radio dials turning instead of those red eyes. 

But then you blinked and Alastor’s smile was relaxed and warm…

...and growing larger as he approached you swinging a short-staffed microphone in his hand.

It, like the rest of him, was red.

“So…you’re alive.”

Rosie had implied Alastor had a unique voice. “Like butter!” she had claimed. Only it was far less sweet and far more static and sickening charm laid on thicker than thick. 

“I…seem to be,” you admitted, quietly. Almost reverently. 

Tilting his head at an angle too sharp to be normal, Alastor chuckled. “Maybe you were a comedian, my dear girl. No theories? No rogue memories flitting around in that pretty head of yours?”

By the time he finished speaking, he was immediately in front of you with a crimson-clawed hand patting your head patronizing and popping. 

You didn’t like it. Any of it. He reminded you of a cheap car salesman. 

“I don’t know who I am or how I got here if that’s what you’re asking,” you said, trying to ward the fear from your voice. “I remember life on Earth but…nothing stable. Nothing…nothing that tells me anything about myself.”

“Curious,” said Alastor, rounding you with eyes that were sharp as they were searching. “Very curious.”

“So, you remember that princess that I was telling you about, Liv?” asked Rosie. “The one with the hotel? ‘Member?”

Squinting as if trying to physically see the memory, you grimaced. “Um…it was…Lucifer’s daughter?”

“Bingo!” Rosie shouted. “Well Alastor helps run the place and it just got HUGE upgrades thanks to Mr. Big Man in Damned Demand. I was thinking…since they’re all about redemption…maybe they could help you more than I could.”

With a pause, Rosie turned to Alastor. “I’ve tried it all, Alastor. I don’t know how Liv ended up here but it was something bad done by something even badder. I thought she’d remember something by now but…zilch. And it’s not safe for her to stay here. I’ve done what I could to keep rumors from making it to the mill but she’s a very amnesiac steak in a town of ravenous wolves. Least there’s you at the hotel. She won’t worry for safety.”

At first you thought Alastor meant to remain silent. He merely stood staring at you with those terrible eyes, fingers shifting his microphone staff back and forth. 

But then he glanced to Rosie. 

“If there’s anyone who could get this poor soul her memory back, it’s Charlie.”

Weird, you thought. He kind of sounded sincere there.

Rosie hugged Alastor by his side before releasing him to clap her hands.

“Thank you, Alastor! Oh, you don’t know how happy I am that you’re back! Things are gonna be changing around here.”

Your heart might have stopped when a curl of Alastor’s lip revealed grayed gums. 

“Oh,” he said, static simmering around him. “Yes, they are.”

[nikethestatue]

A Match Baked In Heaven

Part 3 Here

Part IV

Thickfreakness

“Who is the bloke with the tats?”

Pots and pans were banging together in the background. Feyre was ‘cooking’. Every Sunday they had lunch at one of their homes–dad’s Soho mansion, Nesta’s Notting Hill flat, Elain’s Russell Square Georgian manor, or Feyre’s bohemian Camden loft. 

“Okay, I want to make salmon en croute,” Feyre announced boldly and Elain’s heart fell at the words.

Her younger sister wasn’t what one would call a ‘cook’. And she knew that about herself. Yet it never stopped her from experimenting–wildly–in the kitchen. 

“Fey, that might be somewhat ambitious,” Elain cautioned her.

“Why? How hard can it be?”

“Perhaps it’s not difficult, but it is somewhat time consuming and requires a decent amount of prep. Why don’t you go with something easier, like Shepherd's Pie? Or a nice fish pie?”

“Nooo, it’s so boring,” Feyre moaned loudly. Elain chose not to remind her that salmon en croute and fish pie were basically the same thing in essence. 

“Okay, well, if you want to venture the en croute route, then good luck!”

“But what if I don’t do it right and it all falls apart?” Feyre whined.

“That’s why you should do something simpler. And no, Fey, I am not going to cook Sunday lunch in case you fail,” Elain warned.

“Ugh, Ela-aaaii–nnn,”

“No. Make fish pie. That’s it.”

“Don’t try to weasel out of the question! Who is the guy with the tats holding Piggy?”

“It’s Piglet. Not Piggy.”

“And?”

“He is a client,” Elain said calmly. 

“What kind of client?!” Feyre pressed excitedly. “You usually don’t have clients with tattoos! And that arm!” she gushed. “What does he do? Tell me! Come on! Is he hot? He is hot, isn’t he? An arm like that is attached to a hot man. And Piggy sleeping like that on him. Aww. Aww. Aww. Piggy never likes anyone–I don’t even think he likes me! I pet him and he looks like he is suffering. But the sexy arm bloke–Piggy is sleeping on that arm like a baby. Do you know the story about the scars? I bet it’s something incredible! Like he was saving a baby from a burning house. Or maybe he flipped a car over to pull a granny out of a burning vehicle,”

“You seriously need to calm down,” Elain interrupted her. “I am growing concerned for you. And for my sanity.”

“I demand you tell me!”

“He is an athlete,” Elain relented just a bit. 

“I knew it! A footballer? A rugby player? What is he?”

“A sumo wrestler,” Elain teased, only to throw her sister into a complete tizzy.

“I hate you! Can you set me up with him?”

“No,” Elain said immediately. 

“Why not? What’s wrong with me?” Feyre demanded.

“You aren’t his type,” Elain cut her off. This conversation irritated her. She didn’t want to think of her sister and Azriel Night. Just no. Azriel was a headache, but he was her headache.

“What is he looking for? What is he like?”

Elain exhaled, thinking about the question.

“He…well, he is the most annoying and impossible man I’ve ever encountered. He is by far my worst client, and I’ve dealt with some doozies,” she complained loudly and passionately. “He is so rude and, and…he is just no good.”

“No good?” Feyre repeated. “That’s what you managed to come up with? No good?”

“He is no good. He is not articulate. I asked him what woman appeals to him and he says ‘pretty’. He isn’t taking this seriously at all. He is probably wasting my time, but I have no choice but to work with him. He signed the contract–which I had hoped he wouldn't. And now I am stuck with him. 

“Anyway. I am going to find him the best possible match–someone he wouldn’t be able to say ‘no’ to and then he’ll be out of my hair! Forever. And he also made comments about my body!”

“What kind of comments?”

“Said I had nice breasts.”

“Oh, that’s the worst! When a man tells you that you are beautiful and have a nice rack,” Feyre fake-sympathised with Elain. “That is tough.”

“Gah. Quiet. I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

There was more clatter in the background and finally, after a string of curses, Feyre said,

“You are certain you want to find him the best match possible?”

“Of course!” Elain cried. “I take pride in my work.”

“Oh I know. Only I’ve never heard you talk about any client at length and neither did you ever get so passionate about how much you hate them.”

“It’s because I do hate him!” Elain insisted, before relenting and correcting herself. “Well, I don’t hate him. Why would I hate him? I am just exasperated with him. His whole persona is…just ugh,” 

“Is he a yob?”

“No. Nothing like that,” Elain disagreed. “He isn’t walking around in a tracksuit with a shaved head. He dresses nicely. He is definitely not…”

“What?”

“Well, he thinks that I am posh,”

“You are posh!” Feyre laughed. “We are pretty darn posh, Elain. Daddy is a Knight, remember?” Elain sighed and murmured, “how can we forget?”

“And then the Duke of Velaris,”

“We are not discussing that.”

“Well, then you are posh to him, especially if he is a boy from the East End.  And I reckon he isn’t posh to you?”

“He is from the East End. There are traces of Cockney in his speech. And it doesn’t matter…I don’t care about any of that. Professionally speaking, I don’t make distinctions based on someone’s origins or class.”

“Nevertheless, he doesn’t sound like your normal client,” Feyre said.

“He isn’t. He is difficult and everything with him is a challenge.”

“Well have you considered that maybe in the end, the reward will be great?”

Elain chuckled and said, “I am not sure what constitutes ‘great reward’ in this situation. Pawning him off to some poor unsuspecting woman who doesn’t know what she is getting herself into?”

“The women you work with usually can handle a complicated man,” Feyre reminded her. “They are man eaters.”

Elain sighed. 

“Give my love to Piggy,” Feyre chirped. “I’ll see you on Sunday!”

“Good luck with en croute. And it’s Piglet. You know, you are like Az-,” she stopped abruptly, catching herself right before she blurted out a client’s name. 

“Pardon?”

“Nothing. You are just like my new impossible client. He refuses to call Piglet by his name!”

Feyre laughed at that. “What does he call him?”

“Pinky. It’s not Piggy or Pinky. It’s Piglet!”

“I actually like Pinky! I think it’s a good alternative.”

“Ugh, maybe I will set you two up. You fit right up.”

“Ooohh yeah! I am ready when you are.”

Elain snorted at her ludicrous sister and threw “bye, you nincompoop!”

“There is an old lady dying somewhere inside of you!” Feyre yelled back.

Elain leaned back in her armchair. It’s been a long night. A long week. 

Feyre was right. Elain was an old lady. It was Thursday night and she wasn’t at the pub or a bar. She wasn’t hanging out with her girlfriends. She was alone, in her office.

She ran her finger over the phone’s screen, bringing it to life. Clicked on the Photos. And clicked on the one that she kept staring at for the past two days. Azriel Night, his expression softer than usual, looking down at Piglet in his arms. 

She had cropped the top of it obviously, before posting it on IG. It was only Piglet in the circle of muscular, tattooed arms. She titled it simply ‘Making New Friends’ #puglyfe #Pigletthepug and the photo received 368K likes, and over 55K comments, mostly about whose arms these were and who was Piglet’s ‘new friend’. 

She should’ve deleted the photo from her phone.

She should have. There was absolutely no reason to keep it. It served its purpose, it was all the rage on Piglet’s page and there was no further use for it. Her finger had hovered over the delete button for two days now, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of it. Why? Because Piglet looked so good and comfy? That had to be the reason.

She was definitely going to delete it tomorrow.

-

It was Friday night, and Elain was ready for some pampering. At least this was her excuse for not going out on a Friday night yet again. But she had a busy week and she was owed a little time to herself. 

It was half past eight, and she just sunk into her favourite armchair in her bedroom with her e-reader. Piglet was on the bed, with her phone propped for him, dog videos playing with the sound low. Whenever he liked what he saw, he emitted a satisfied growl, which resembled a cackle. Therefore, even though she was immersed in her book, his angry growl got her attention, because it was followed by the distinctive ping of FaceTime.

Who the hell was FaceTiming her at this time? Also, she rarely video chatted with anyone anyway. 

She stretched, almost falling out of the chair, but managed to grab the phone, almost getting her finger bit by her disgruntled dog. 

“Hell-...o,” her voice died as she was faced with none other than Azriel Night. 

He looked like he was in bed, his face sharp and as handsome as ever, but not as tense as what she was used to. The man’s appearance was both his blessing and his curse. He was outrageously good looking, his face both elegant and perfect, but also typically inscrutable and emotionless. He was not a good person to read facial cues off, and that made it difficult for Elain to understand whether he was serious or not, pleased or displeased, happy or angry or sad. 

“Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match

Find me a find

Match me a match!”

Azriel sang to her. 

Her mouth was hanging open.

His voice was…nice. Husky. Sexy. And he sang well, which literally made no sense whatsoever. But he did?

“A girl’s night in, I see?” he asked, smirking. “And here I thought you’d be hitting the clubs. Bumping and grinding,”

“No one says ‘bumping and grinding’ anymore,” Elain told him. 

“Yeah, I know. But I just brought it back and made it cool again,” he announced nonchalantly.

“What are you doing?” she demanded. “Why are you ringing me on a Friday evening? How did you even get this number?”

“Ms. Archeron, you gave me the number,” he reminded her. 

“No I didn’t!”

“No, you most certainly did.”

Thinking back to the last time he was at her office, Elain recalled what had transpired and cringed inwardly. She couldn't believe that she gave him her personal number!! She never did this. She always, always gave her clients her business number and never picked up on the weekends.

“Fine,” she admitted her oversight. “I gave you the number. Why are you ringing me?”

Azriel made himself comfortable against the pillow, and it stuck Elain just how intimate this was–both of them on camera, in their respective bedrooms, late at night. This was highly, highly irregular.

“Couple of reasons really,” he said casually. “Firstly, I know my schedule for next week and therefore, I wanted to book your time,”

“You make it sound like I am a hooker,” she winced, wrinkling her nose.

“Naw. You’d make the worst hooker in history,” he chuckled and Elain gasped at the audacity of her words. “Maybe as a matchmaker you are managing, but as a hooker,” he tsked. “No chance.”

“And why is that?”

“You challenging me on that, Ms, Archeron?”

“Simply curious.”

“Easy. You like things done your way–obsessively. You are a control freak,”

“Oh, back to insults I see,”

“I ain’t insulting you, matchmaker. Just stating facts. And a hooker’s job is to do the things that the client tells her to do. So there is that.”

“Oh, phew. I am not terribly broken up because according to Mr. Night I won’t make a successful prostitute.

“Besides this odd conversation, anything else?”

He thought for a moment and then grinned, exposing his perfect teeth. He looked so handsome when he smiled it was unfair. Unfair to all men.

“Guess what I am doing?” he teased.

“Lounging about, by the looks of it,” Elain shrugged. She feigned indifference, but Azriel could see through it–she was curious.

“Take a guess,” he encouraged her. “Come on. Humour me!”

Elain bubbled her lips and finally said,

“Probably eating or drinking something.”

“Yes!” he nodded and then reached and showed her two biscuits.

“Are those the same ones?” she gasped.

“Sure are!” he winked at her and then stuffed both in his mouth. Chewing with comical energy, he chomped and said, “nom, nom, nom’.

At that, Elain burst into laughter, like she couldn’t help herself.

“You are mad!” she cried. “I can’t believe you are still eating these!”

“Why? they are really good,” he insisted. “Delectable. And I think you might have to bake some more for our next meeting.”

“Or is that so?”

“It is so.”

“I suppose I should,” she conceded. “I can’t believe that you just pulled a ‘nom, nom’...So you wouldn’t have to drag them with you all over the country.”

Azriel paused, looking at him, slightly perplexed.

“Do you know where I am?” he asked at last.

Elain thought for a second, then simply told him, “Manchester”.

His face dropped and he glared at her in shock.

After a long pause, where she enjoyed his surprise and confusion, he finally asked, “How do you know?”

“Arsenal is playing Manchester United tomorrow–in Manchester. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.”

“Wait. Are you telling me that you like football?”

“Is it really so far-fetched that I might?” she inquired, relishing in her victory. 

“Wait a minute,” he even sat up in his bed, staring at the phone. “Wait. What is your team?” he demanded roughly. “And if you say Chelsea…Well, I don’t know what I’d do, but it would be something bad!”

She laughed. 

“You are mental.”

He didn’t react to the insult, other than asking roughly,

“What. Club. Ms. Archeron?”

“Tottenham, if you must know. With Arsenal not far behind. You ought to know that the Duke of Velaris,”

“Oh yeah, Granny Elain’s hot piece on the side,” Azriel chuckled, “what’d he do?”

“Being a military man,” Elain said, ignoring his quip, “he helped in the formation of Arsenal with the armoury workers. Better that they played ball than got drunk on gin.”

“So I am indirectly connected to your Duke? Captaining his team?”

“It’s not his team, and he isn’t my Duke, but he did love my gran.”

Azriel considered it and then murmured, “the plot thickens, doesn’t it? So, my stats that you rattled out the first day? You knew who I was? All that info?”

“Of course,” she shrugged. “I mean, the height and the weight I got from the roster. But I knew your background and who you were.”

“Well, well,” he complained, “that doesn’t seem fair at all.”

“What doesn’t?”

“That you know all these things about me, and I know very little about you.”

“That’s not unfair,” Elain argued. “That’s normal. I need to know things about you, but you don’t need to know anything about me.”

“I beg to differ. Like, I don’t even know what your success rate is? In your matchmaking? Maybe you're piss poor awful? I doubt it, but what if,”

“I am not piss poor awful, Mr. Night. I am very successful.” With some pride in her voice, she added,  “I’ve worked with 88 couples. You are my 89th client. Out of the 88, I’ve had, so far, 81 marriages.”

“Shiiit,” Azriel whistled.

“3 couples did not work out, unfortunately. The rest are still dating. I am quite good at what I do, Mr. Night. I’ll find you a fine wife.”

“Ughehhh,” he breathed.

“What?”

“Wednesday afternoon, are you free?” he asked instead.

“Why? Is that when you are available?”

“Yes. But I’d like to take you out,”

“Mr. Night,” she started immediately, but he interrupted her,

“Not a date, Ms. Archeron. Calm the fuck down. You ain’t my type,”

“About 5 days ago, you literally said that you wanted your wife to look and act like me. Make up your mind, Mr. Night.”

Azriel laughed.

“You got me there. But really, I am not asking you on a date or anything preposterous like that. Just wanna get out of the office. I have just the place.”

“Just the place…”

“Yeah, I am betting my bollocks that you’ll love it!”

“Keep your bollocks. Let me see,” she looked up her calendar on her phone and said, “I can do 3 pm, if that works for you.”

“Perfect! I’ll pick you up.”

“What shall I wear?” she inquired, now very interested in where he was planning to take her.

“Clothes. Pearls. Your usual posh shit.”

“Posh shit. Got it.”

He continued, “Now, the other reason I rang,”

“Which is?”

“Would like to say ‘hello’ to my mate Pinky.”

“No one by that name here,” Elain said firmly.

“Aww, don’t be like that. Lemmie talk to the wee lad! I bet he missed me.”

“I doubt it.”

“What was he doing when I rang?”

“Watching videos,” Elain told him reluctantly.

“His doggie videos?”

“That’s what he likes.”

“He also likes me. So let us have a chat.”

With a dramatic sigh, she brought the phone closer to Piglet’s face and heard Azriel exclaim,

“Hey big lad! How are you doing?”

Hearing Azriel’s voice made Piglet actually raise his head and his tail wiggled.

“I missed you. Do you have a pretty bow on?” Azriel continued, her voice all sing-songy and cooey. Elain dipped the phone a bit and Azriel saw Piglet’s bow, which was a chequered tartan today. 

“Ohhh, you are handsome!”

Bark. Piglet barked in agreement.

“I had a client from Scotland today,” Elain explained. “He loved the bow.”

“Scotsman also needs a wife?” Azriel asked.

“That’s why people come to me. They either need a husband or a wife.”

“Did Pinky like him?”

Elain looked back at the phone and told him, “He doesn’t really like anyone,”

“He likes me!” Azriel protested.

“Only.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Piglet doesn’t really trust humans. I think he knows that the previous family didn’t want him because of his leg and that when he was hurt, they abandoned him. And after that…well, I don’t know if he understands the concept of death, but I feel like he knew that they didn’t want him alive anymore. That they left him behind and would never come back for him. 

“So he doesn’t really care about humans. He tolerates them, but he only loves me. And the only other person he ever responded to willingly, is…”

“Who?”

“You.”

Azriel didn’t say anything to that.

Elain stroked the dog’s back gently, looking down at him, seemingly having forgotten that Azriel was still on the phone.

“Put him on, will you,” he requested again.

She jerked out of her thoughts and then put the phone in front of the pug.

“You be good,” Azriel ordered him gently. “Take care of Ellie, alright? Remember, lad, you are the man of the house. I trust you to protect our girl when I am not there.”

Bark-bark.

“That’s right. You get me. Miss you, mate. Put Ellie back on the phone.”

Elain just gawked back, unable to form any words. What the HELL was that?

Ellie?

Protect?

OUR GIRL?

What in the world?

“We are kindred spirits, Pink and I,” Azriel decided. “He sees me. And I get him.”

“What?” she breathed, still trying to wrap her mind around everything that she just heard.

“I know about abandonment too…and Pinky recognises that,” Azriel said easily. “You know, when I was 8 years old, my father lost a game of cards. He didn’t have the money to pay, so he offered me, as a consolation prize. The men who played with him–well, they decided that it would be fun to light my hands on fire and see how long it would take for them to burn. And burn they did. When someone finally heard my screams, they rang the emergency services.

“My father and my step-mother never came to see me in the hospital, before I was moved to a foster home. So like I said, I know about abandonment.”

Elain was so shocked, she gasped in horror, staring back at him.

“He knows what it’s like not to be needed,” Azriel added softly and then winked at her. “Enjoy your beauty treatments, matchmaker. I’ll see you on Wednesday. Also, you better root for us tomorrow. G’night.”

With that, he clicked off, leaving Elain bewildered and emotionally destroyed.

-

He would never, ever, ever admit this to anyone, including himself, but Azriel Night was slightly intimidated by Elain Archeron.

She didn't exactly threaten him physically, but psychologically, there was something about her that made him…nervous. Unsure of himself. And he wasn’t a very confident man to begin with. Elain had noticed his self-esteem issues almost instantly–one of the very few people who did–and that made hiding himself from her even more complicated. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly about her, but she made him want to be better. Present the best version of himself. He still yearned to be himself in front of her, because as strange as that was, she seemed to accept him. But he wanted to be someone she enjoyed dealing with. She was judgy, but she didn’t judge him. He annoyed her because he didn’t take her and her work seriously–which he didn’t–but despite their head-butting, Azriel wanted her to like him…Oh Jesus. He sounded like an emotional teenage girl at a sleepover even to himself. 

Why?

She was a pearl-wearing weirdo who had more complexes than she had cardigans. Why did he care what she thought about him? Why?

But he did.

So before he picked up the phone and FaceTimed her, he actually did some push ups. He knew that she had one soft spot–her dog–and he was fully prepared to use Pinky to his advantage. He had the biscuits all prepared, ready to spring them up on her at any moment. But he sure didn’t expect to be talking football and finding out about that side of her. And then getting excited about that…like an emotional teenage girl at a sleepover. Nevertheless, he had all these topics prepared in advance, so he could have a smooth conversation with her…and what he didn’t expect to do was to fuck it all up and tell her about how he got his hands burnt. Absolutely unnecessary. Totally inappropriate. He should’ve stopped when things were funny and light, and when she looked surprised and frazzled and adorable (his favourite look on her). But he went ahead and destroyed it all like a damn sledge hammer. What was wrong with him? Everything. That was the simplest answer. Everything.

He sat in his boxers on the bed, his head buried in his hands. 

It rained outside and he wasn’t looking forward to the game tomorrow, because the weather promised to be abysmally bad and he’d have to run for 90 minutes in the pouring rain. Oh joy. 

Therefore, when his phone rang, Azriel jumped, startled.

It was FaceTime.

He had her under ‘Cute Matchmaker’ in his phone, and she was calling him now. Not even ten minutes after they hung up.

He exhaled and pressed the button.

Before he could say anything, make a joke, or tease, he was faced with Elain’s tear-covered face, her huge, cartoonishly enormous round eyes wet and brimming over with tears. She’d removed all her little beauty patches that she had clearly forgotten about when they were speaking before. Now, it was just her pale, beautiful and grief-stricken face.

“Why did you tell me?” she sobbed. 

He was taken aback and was at a loss for words. He watched her wipe her eyes with her first, but tears just flowed out of her eyes in little rivulets.

“How…how,” she hiccuped, “could they…why? How could they…you were eight…”

She choked back a sob and all Azriel wanted to do was beg her to stop crying, explain that it was over twenty years ago and that it was the past, but he also knew that it would cheapen the emotion of her reaction.

“It’s not human, to do something like that,” she wept. “To take a little boy and maim him like that…Why?”

“People do cruel things all the time,” Azriel’s voice was hollow. 

“But…but…” she gulped in the air, snot and tears mixing together on her face.

“I am sorry,” Azriel said sincerely. “This wasn’t my intention. I didn’t mean to upset you,”

“I can’t believe that something so awful happens in our world,” Elain admitted naively, “it’s incomprehensible.”

Worse things happened in this world, and Azriel had seen many of them, but he didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure whether Elain Archeron, matchmaker to the rich and powerful, the little delicate pearl-wearing oddity was very adept at living in the real world. She existed on a different plane: enigmatic and sincere in her nature, maybe a little too innocent, but that’s kind of what attracted Azriel to her. Why, despite finding her difficult and mystifying at times, puzzling and irritating he relished in her uniqueness.

“Bad things happen,” he only concluded with general vagueness about his statement. 

“I can’t accept that,”

Azriel wanted to argue, tell her that she was being glib, that it wasn’t a matter of her acceptance and that she needed to accept that some people were born in shit, lived in shit and died in shit. That children were abused and that often, parents were the ones who abused them. He wanted to tell her to get her head out of her arse and face the world in all its ugliness.

But he didn’t say any of that.

He made Elain cry, and it made him feel like a massive arsehole for some reason. Instead of laying harsh truths on her, he wanted to protect and shield her from those very truths. This was a girl who rescued three legged pugs from certain death and then put bows on them. 

“Will you stop crying?” he asked gently.

“No, I can’t. I can’t stop thinking about it. About you. About how horrible it was.”

She sniffled and trembled, and he watched her and Pinky as he rubbed his head against her arm, trying to comfort her. The dog whimpered sadly, not understanding why she was so upset. 

Azriel thought frantically, trying to find a way out of this mess, until something popped into his head. Something that he and Cassian used to do when they were in the group home, to make themselves feel better about their lives.

“Can I make it all better?” he requested quietly.

She looked at him, blinking over her tears.

“How?” she wiped her face again.

“You’ll have to trust me.”

“Ha!”

“Don’t argue with me, woman,” he ordered sternly. “Get your arse in bed, and under the blanket.”

She glared at him suspiciously, not understanding what he wanted. 

Prodding her over the phone wasn’t exactly easy, but he nodded and said, “Come on, lass. Don’t be stubborn. Under the sheets you go.”

The phone wobbled and jolted, but he knew that she followed his directive and in the next moment, she was holding the phone to her face.

“Turn on your side,” he instructed.

She dared to roll her eyes at him, but did as he told her.

“Now what? How is this making me feel better?”

“Ms. Archeron, be quiet for one sec and quit making a fuss. Trust the fucking process.”

“Remember how we discussed language?” she cocked a brow at him.

“Remember how we discussed not being annoying and bossy all the time?”

“We never discussed that.”

“We are discussing it now.”

“Is this sexting? Is this what we are doing?” she suddenly popped her head up from the pillow and stared at him in horror.

Azriel attempted to smother a laugh, though it came out as a loud snort. 

“Do you have any idea what sexting is?”

“Yes, talking sex stuff on the phone. And if this is your idea of making it all better, this is a hard pass. I am not sexting with you.”

“No sexting. You are not my type,” he reminded her.

She only scoffed in indignation at his words.

He quickly added,

“Unless you really want to do some sexting with me. I am quite good at it,”

“No doubt,”

“Good at dirty talk. I’ll understand. No judgement. If the ginger bloke isn’t hitting all the spots–which I am guessing he isn’t since you are home alone with your dog on a Friday night–then I can help out…relieve some tension. No strings attached.”

“You are obsessed with the ‘ginger bloke’ as you call him,” Elain pointed out. 

“More like fascinated with what man would date you?”

She winced at his words and he immediately realised that he didn’t say the right thing. Not at all.

“So in your mind, I am so undateable that only the most odd and deranged man would grace me with his merciful presence?” she whispered and a sad tear rolled down her cheek.

“I am sorry! That’s not what I meant,” he pleaded at once. “I didn’t say it right…”

“No you didn’t,” she concluded. “I am sorry, Mr. Night, but I am tired and upset and your idea of making me feel better isn’t working. Good night.”

“No, no,” he exclaimed quickly, attempting to salvage the situation. “Please. Just stay on the line for a second. I didn’t mean it like that. I just want to know who you chose to be your boyfriend? What does he have that no one else’s got to make you fall for him? Is all. That’s all I meant.”

“You are brutish and aggressive and rude,” she told him, sniffling.

“I know,” he confirmed.

“You are supposed to argue!”

“Why argue if it’s the truth? Now. Close your eyes.”

“Close my eyes?”

“Yes.”

Elain closed her eyes. 

“Think about it, but not too long. And then describe your ideal day,” he urged quietly.

“I don’t know what my ideal day is,” she argued softly. 

“Well, create it for me. Create it in your mind. What do you want to do? Where do you want to go? Who do you want to be with?”

She thought, her brow furrowing and a cute little line appearing between her brows.

At last, she told him, “In London. I want to be in London,”  her eyes were still closed. “I want to wake up and it’s quiet, but I know that I am in the city. I don’t linger for too long, but I do take the longest shower, with like…10 shower heads!”

Azriel smiled at that, but didn’t comment, not wanting to break the spell of the moment.

“And then I dress in something very comfortable–joggers maybe, or a nice tracksuit. Soft and loose. And then, I would go downstairs and there would be breakfast. A full English–fry bread and beans and black pudding. The whole deal. And I would eat it all. All the sausages and all the eggs. And I’d drink all the tea too. And once I am done eating, the door would open and in would come Piglet, and behind him, my husband. And he would…”

She stopped talking.

Azriel waited.

There was more to her dream than just devouring a full English. There was something that she was apprehensive about sharing, but wanted him to know. 

Azriel knew people–he could read them fairly easily, and Elain wasn’t exactly complicated. But he was the captain of his team, and he had to operate and adjust all the time throughout the game, reading his teammates’ moods and needs. 

So as he waited for Elain to say more, he already suspected what it would be. 

“He’d be pushing a pram,” she whispered, voice barely audible. “With our children in it.”

“He is good, this husband of yours,” Azriel commented simply. “Makes you breakfast. Takes the dog out. Minds the children.”

“He loves me. And I love him,” she murmured.

“What’s he look like?”

“He is tall.”

“Anything else?”

“No. He is tall.”

“How many children?” 

“Four. I mean, two when I think about it. But eventually, four. Why do you want to know?”

“Four is a good number,” he approved. “What else? Tell me more.”

“I think I’d like to go to Portobello Road Market and get lost in the crowds and find fun things there to buy.”

Not what he expected, but alright. He leaned towards a fancier store. Not fucking Portobello Road Market. 

“Piglet loves it there,” she added. “He loves crowds. And then we can stop by my sister Nesta’s house and have lunch. Or no…no, no,” she shook her head vigorously. “I want something else!”

“Okay, what do you want?”

“I want to go to Greenwich, to the park. I love that park and the observatory. And the views,”

“You’d be looking at where I live,” he smiled.

“What? Where do you live?”

“Canary Wharf.”

“Ohhh,” she whistled softly. “Fancy! You are a footballer, I guess it makes sense. It’s either that, or Primrose Hill or a big pile in Surrey or something,”

“You are right.” Azriel was amused. But she wasn’t wrong.

“So, we’ve gone all the way from Bloomsbury, to Notting Hill, to Greenwich…Where to now? After the park? What did you do at the park by the way?”

“Played with Piglet. With my husband.”

“Uh-uh. And?”

“And then we need to go to a pub because I’d be tired.”

“Legit.”

“Get a couple of drinks…”

“So your ideal day is travelling around London and eating?”

“Basically yes. I love eating so much,” she admitted dreamily. “Afterwards, I want to have tea somewhere too. At a nice place. Maybe at the Goring.”

“Are you still wearing your tracksuit? And hauling around your dog and kids?” Azriel teased, and she stuck her tongue at him, in a very unlady-like gesture, and un-Elain-like reaction. 

“You are messing up my dream day!”

“Sorry. Just trying to picture you in your very comfy joggers at the Goring. What else then? Where are we finishing this day? A swanky restaurant? A bar?”

Decisively, she said, “no! We’d go to my favourite place.”

“I am waiting here with bated breath, Ms. Archeron. What is your favourite place?”

“G Kelly, Mr. Night. I get a meat pie with small liquor and mash and apple crumble with custard.”

“What the fuck do you know about G Kelly?” he gaped at her through the screen. 

“You are so rude. I like what I like, Mr. Night. Leave me alone. And my husband will love it too!”

“I mean, I love the place, but come on,”

“What does it have to do with you?”

“Aren’t you marrying me? I am tall. I can make babies. I’ll take Pinky out.”

“You are unhinged,” he said flatly. 

“Tell me that you are at least considering it?”

“Marrying you? Hardly.”

“Don’t you want your own bit o’rough?”

“You are not a bit o’rough, Mr. Night. You are a multi-millionaire who lives in Canary Wharf. As I said before, you need to get out of your own head. You are adored by millions and you play for one of the best teams in the world. Yes, you grew up rough, but that’s all behind you,”

“Is it?”

“It is. I grew up as a normal child and I was exposed to many different people and places. I am not as posh as you think.”

“I’ll take your word for it. You feeling better, Ms. Archeron?”

She considered it and then nodded, “I am. Thank you. This was surprising, but it did the trick.”

“I know. Well, sleep well then. I expect you to watch the game tomorrow and root for us. And for me.”

“Oh, is that an order?”

“Yeah, it kind of is. We’ll be discussing it on Wednesday. Don’t get in trouble meanwhile.”

“Oh, I’ll do my best,” she promised, hiding her smile.

“‘Night, big lad,” Azriel called out loudly. “You be good too.”

Piglet was already asleep. 

-

The more you know…

[phoeebsbuffay]

Imagine you are about to become a Master Jedi under the guidance of Master Kenobi… 😏

Warnings: smut, drama, sort of light reading.

Warnings 2: fluffy endings, alternative universe where the Siths have been defeated and Anakin hasn’t turned to the dark side.

Warnings 3: (loosely) based on “505” by Arctic Monkeys.

Recommendations: “505”, “Do I Wanna Know”, “Four Out Of Five”, “R U Mine” by Arctic Monkeys.

No minors.

***

Once Anakin Skywalker has been assigned a Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, though never truly stopping monitoring his activities, decides to carry on with other tasks to him delegated. Until Y/N appears. You are about to get your trials, but the Master who was once responsible for you was killed in battle. You are no more than twenty and five years of age—an average age to be elevated to the title of Master Jedi—but is there really a necessity to train you, prepare you for your trials?

Because he is doing this as a favor to Master Windu, who used to be very close to Master H/N, Obi-Wan sees no other choice but taking you under his wing.

Yet, he is somewhat disconcerted when his eyes spot you for the very first time—a sort of sentiment that strikes him that hasn’t effected him since when he first laid his eyes on Duchess Satine so many years ago—-; you are blessed with some sort of ethereal beauty: his blue eyes cannot divert from y/c skin, so soft and inviting to a gentle touch; your y/c hair which drops in long waves of curls that drop by your waist—impressive, Obi-Wan thought—, your curves that are so… He swallows hard, trying not to stare at how the bandage around your breasts seems to reinforce them or at your well shaped body.

Good grief, you are a well made woman. Obi-Wan tries to push away these unwelcoming thoughts, and it’s not very helpful that when you turn your face at him, sensing his presence, you greet him warmly. The spark in those y/c eyes and the smile that is pushed wide open by those rosy lips are enough to knock this man down.

Perhaps I’ve been far too lonely for my taste. Perhaps I am projecting my aching heart, having missed Satine for a while, towards Y/N. She does not deserve that. Besides, may I remind myself that Jedis must not form any sort of attachment?

He clears his throat when approaching you. You watch him with interest. Unbeknownst to Obi-Wan, the same impressions that crossed his mind make home in your mind. You judge him to be the handsomest man your eyes laid on: in fact, you always believed to have gone insufferable towards your youth and young adult phase where most of your colleagues developed sentiments for someone or went to some houses of pleasure to put out the needs of the flesh.

Ironically, it is a Jedi Master who weakens your knees and messes with your reason. You thought nothing would tempt you to break this rule often professed as difficult by many of your colleagues. Although most would pass through the challenges of the heart rather easily, they still suffered the process of having feelings and broken hearts.

You thought invincible to it, indeed. You even laughed away when a friend of yours told you the following:

“One day, you will be tempted, Y/N. Laugh as you wish now, but the worst temptation is not of the kind that slaves the flesh, but the soul. And when this day comes, you’ll pay with your laughters.”

Perhaps your friend H/N is right. But your pride refuses to admit it. Yet, your eyes linger at his red hair, his beard, his lips… His well build muscles underneath the leather brown-ish robes somehow give you an unknown friction never before felt in your legs. However, what does knock you down is how his blue eyes find the path to reach your soul.

Fuck.

“Miss Y/N”, he greets you warmly. “I am Obi-Wan Kenobi. I trust Master Windu told you about our encounter? My condolences for the loss of Master H/N. Must be difficult for you, specially concerning your current situation.”

You compose yourself, praying the Maker not to make yourself a fool—it’s too early to pay for the sin you’ve committed to your friends, to suffer the consequences of your pride, for which you are not ready.

“Master Kenobi”. You bow your head out of respect. “Your condolences are warm-felt and most appreciated, thank you. Indeed, Master Windu thought prudent that I should get my preparation for such an expected moment under a wise Master such as yourself. It is an honor to me, sir.”

The older man, experienced in countless battles and known for his tact in diplomacy, smiles at you. You already know that a path of suffering is on your way, since how a man such as Obi-Wan Kenobi would ever look at an inexperience woman as yourself? The mere thought would make you blush had you not been mindful that this man is capable of reading minds.

“Oh please”, he chuckles. “I am unworthy of such adjectives, Miss Y/N. I too was once like you, a Jedi in preparation to become a Master. Soon, a seat at the council will be yours to take.”

Somehow this perception had never been taken in consideration until now. Yet, you are careful in keeping your emotions in check.

“I only pray to get more experiences in field, sir, before being worthy of such a seat.”

Obi-Wan seems to admire this humility trait you display naturally. If only Anakin had this same thought… Again, the Jedi smiles at you.

“Well, not everything about Jedis concerns the battlefield, miss Y/N. Whilst today we are remembering some of the martial arts that are most important to defend ourselves from the enemy out there, it must not be forgotten that diplomacy is as important to use as any light saber.”

You nod attentively. There is a moment where his eyes capture something in yours, though—what is it, he is afraid to say. Obi-Wan clears his throat, diverting from the temptation of the flesh his heart seems to incline.

“Get your saber. Show me what you have, miss Y/N.”

You nod your head. Concentrated, you refuse to give ears to that of yourself who wishes to show off your abilities. You want to prove your worth. Master H/N never managed to wipe out this insecurity of yours, but here you are… Nearly close to be overshadowed by it.

Nonetheless, Obi-Wan looks at you rather surprised. He did indeed underestimate you initially, an error he now does tries to placate. You put your best at show, and it is only once he manages to defeat you.

“Well done, Miss Y/N”, Obi-Wan claps at you before helping you to stand. “You were well taught by Master H/N. He would be proud.”

Your emotions betray your balance as you blush and look momentarily down at your feet before flashing a smile to Obi-Wan.

“Thank you, Master Kenobi. You will find in me a student who tries her best in doing her assignments.”

Obi-Wan smiles back at you.

“A trait I wish my former Padawan had cared to develop, I’m afraid. Well, I don’t think we are having many difficulties from now on, Y/N. Though I should warn you I am not making things easy for you.”

You chuckle in response before flashing him a smirk:

“I am not expecting otherwise, Master.”

Something about this response pleases him more than a Master normally would…

***

As each day that passes one less gets to your trials, Obi-Wan keeps his promises and you find yourself involved in complicated missions and harder trainings to the point you end your days exhausted.

“You are doing surprisingly well”, he tells you once you finish your presentation concerning the genealogy of diplomacy in different aspects of Jedi history, dominating every point he asks you. This is far worse than trying to block his blows when in field. “I think it is fair to say we are closer to end the practice before your trials.”

“Closer to end?”, you scoff at him. “Master, I thought you’d give me a break after this presentation!”

He smiles at your protests.

“You are excelling yourself, Y/N, but this does not mean you ought to relax. Not yet. What we will do next is diminish considerable your exercises. Besides, you will have this weekend off.”

You sigh heavily. You could easily drop in bed right now. Obi-Wan approaches, placing a hand over your shoulder, aware of your exhaustion.

“I mean every word I said, Y/N.”

“I thought you are no man to give some compliments”, you tease him in return.

“You are just too tense to see that I am not that serious a man I am”, he chuckles.

By saying so, he asks you if you’d like some massage and as you say you do, you realize that was something you shouldn’t have done. At the mere touch of his masculine hands full of callous against your soft skin, you start to feel a heat rising in between your legs that you are sure it is not the result of trains.

To worse matters, this simple gesture seems to bond one’s thoughts to another. Obi-Wan is surprised to find you reciprocate his attraction to you. Maybe something more is developing, seeing an attachment is ready to give fruits.

He should have removed his hands, but his mind starts to wonder what would be like to remove every tension from your body. Would you give in to his touch? How would you react if he massaged your nipples, twirling each one under his fingers?

The mere idea starts to give him a boner. Obi-Wan comes to realize that to be close to you is a dangerous thing to do. Hence why he abruptly interrupts it and gives you a lame excuse before leaving you out there, confused and upset for his sudden depart.

***

You decide that whatever impressions you have of your Master are the result of any admiration a Padawan would have for their superiors. Though you are no longer a Padawan, you feel as if you are once the days of your trials get closer.

Despite seeing how tense you are, Obi-Wan not only attempts to sooth your fears but also gets harder on you to the point you will leave little doubt about going excellent in the exams.

Though unbeknownst to you, one day Anakin Skywalker is watching your physical practices and he says:

“You never did get this hard on me, Master”, he remarks in a tone Obi-Wan cannot identify. “Why are you different with her? I don’t think Master H/N would follow these tactics and…”

“It’s for her best, Anakin. She has some struggles that she must overcome.”

Ahsoka smirks, understanding before her Master what has been implied. Hence why she remarks:

“Struggles with what exactly? The feelings she might harbor for you?”

She earns looks from both men, Anakin looking rather amused and Obi-Wan not so.

“Ahsoka Tano, that is not what I’ve meant by any chance.”

She tries not to burst into giggles and Obi-Wan sighs heavily, deciding to excuse her youth for such an improper observation.

“Or maybe is it you who hopes to find flaws in Y/N in order to defeat the admiration you’ve nurtured?” Anakin softens then: “It’s been a while since Satine, Master. The war is over, it’s more than time that you…”

Obi-Wan sighs exasperatedly.

“I was not expecting you to speak nonsenses, Anakin. You, above all, should be with familiar the fact that…”

“Jedis must not form attachments”, meddles Ahsoka, completing his sentence. “And yet, look at whom you are talking to, Master. Don’t you know Padmé is pregnant for the third time?”

Obi-Wan blushes as his own reasoning is played against him. But it gives the perfect opportunity to change topics, much to Anakin’s dismay.

In the meantime, once you defeat the droids, you take a break at the white room, trying to catch your breath. It has been an exhausting week, which sucked out your energy to the core, but you've managed relatively well.

You remember your friends praising you for achieving what only Anakin Skywalker had managed to: accomplish the hard work Obi-Wan Kenobi tends to give when he has Padawans under his guidance---which only occurred with the now Master Skywalker.

"He has quite a reputation", you were told by your fellow Jedi H/N. "And I see you are doing well."

Despite the univiting affection that has been growing for the man you aim to please--a feeling you are on the way to repress, or trying to--your attempts in staying humble sometimes do not succeed.

“Why, It’s what we do”, so was your answer. “I don’t see me doing otherwise.”

Often you jest about it, getting others to laugh at your confidences, however in reality, far from the eyes of the public, you find hard to suppress the attachment you develop for him.

So all you do is avoid his presence whenever you can. At least when trainings end. But this behavior has been noticed by Obi-Wan. He is well aware of your attempts to wipe out the unwelcoming attachment you feel for him—something he has been trying to do himself—but he does not wish this unspoken tension to change the dynamics of your relationship.

So perhaps if you both come to terms to it, all will end well. Or so he thinks.

“Y/N Y/LN.”, he meets you in the corridors. It’s a Saturday, a day he usually leaves it to your rest. “My dear, may I have a word with you later today at about 6 o’clock at the masters’s quarters?”

He knows you would find an excuse, but knowing you usually take Saturday to rest, you have thus no commitment that could impede you two to meet. By confronting you in public, Obi-Wan knows you would hardly refuse. And he is right in his assumptions, though no one but him notices the pink that colors your cheeks.

“I… Of course, Master Obi-Wan. I’ll be right there.” You sound rather shyly, which by your friends who are nearby interpret it as a sign of respect.

He side smirks at you, telling you he is looking forward to talk to you. But as you two depart, his blue eyes follow your moves. That day, your hair is tied in a pony tail and you dress your usually Jedi robes. To his surprise, you are the quietest of your small group of friends. He then realizes that he wishes to know you more, a thought he is quickly to dismiss.

***

When you show up at the time you and Obi-Wan agreed to—or rather, he decided—, you find yourself nervous. Dressing more informally, you let your y/c hair loose as you fake a confidence that is normally attributed to you. If only people knew that is how you mask your insecurities.

But as you lift your hand to knock on the door, it is as if Obi-Wan is already expecting you. He opens it and greets you with delight in his eyes and a smile that melts you.

“Miss Y/N. Please come in.”

You barely notice how that room is private and rarely used. All you care about is the smile on that man’s face that rises to his blue eyes.

“Master”, you smile back. “What is the occasion of our meeting? I believed you promised to let me rest this weekend.”

Obi-Wan chuckles as he offers you a seat. Once you do, he starts preparing tea. It is only then he answers you:

“This is not about any training, my dear. In all honesty, I’ve been preoccupied with you. I never thought to get to know you properly.” He makes a pause before adding: “I didn’t ask how you dealt with Master H/N’s demise nor how was your training. I disrespected your grief. I wanted to amend this mistake of mine.”

You are surprised by his small speech, clearly not expecting these words, yet at the same time admiring his maturity. You offer him a smile as he serves you tea with cookies. Once he takes a seat opposite to yours, you say:

“I don’t think there is anything to apologize for, Master. Though I do appreciate your concern for me, I didn’t expect it was your obligation to get to know me at all. I was never your Padawan, for a start.”

“Nonetheless, as your new Master I believe to be most appropriate to hear what you have to say.” He hesitates for a moment. “This is a mistake I do not wish to commit again.”

And this is how it begins. In between smiles, you tell him about your journey as a Padawan to Master H/N, how he found you at planet Y/C and how he was much a father to you. You also told him about your favourite books, the tricks you used at some missions you’ve been assigned to.

Obi-Wan, on his turn, tells you his links to Master Qui-Gon Jinn, his scare memories concerning his family. Before you both know, the tea reunion is far lighter than you thought you’d be.

It is late night when three cups of tea had been drank and you think prudent to go back to your quarters. As you stand, so does Obi-Wan. But something seems changed when both of you lock gazes.

“I believe by now we can address one another by each other’s names, Y/N.”

You smile widely at him, a view he is mostly pleased to see. Whatever reservations you might have had with each other seem to dissipate. As you stand by the door, he takes your hand almost unconsciously.

To feel his mere touch incurs in diving into a magnetic field, resulting in waves of heat that could set both of you into an explosion. But both of you pretend nothing has happened…

“I believe we do, Obi-Wan. Thank you for the day, it’s been most pleasant.”

“Indeed it has, Y/N”. He makes a pause, rubbing your wrist with his thumb. “Are you feeling more comfortable now?”

“Well I’ve never been uncomfortable around you, Obi-Wan. Far from it.” You side smirk at him. “Though I appreciate your kindness. You are a good man. My master would be very thankful to know I have been entrusted to your guidance.”

One long glance. You might give more than you want to and Obi-Wan knows it. It is as if you are both mesmerized with each other, but one noise coming from the corridors breaks the spell and you are disappointed when he lets go of your hand.

***

You finally become a Jedi Master. After years working hard to accomplish a goal that has been set up to achieve from the days Master H/N spotted the Force in you, after a turbulent period you were forced to go through, especially at the demise of the one you looked at as a father, after a hard-work training under the guidance of Master Obi-Wan Kenobi… You succeed in it.

“Congratulations, Master Y/N Y/LN. To achieve the higher ground you did. Though much to learn you had, never ending a path knowledge is”, says Master Yoda.

You bend the knee and bow your head in a sign of humility. The ceremony of your rise as Jedi Master carries on with a small speech by Master Windu, a man who you manage to surprise.

“One must admit”, the Jedi smiles, “that I’ve never had any doubt you would succeed, Master Y/LN. You are dedicated and hard-working, qualities very praised by your former Master H/N and your current Master Kenobi.”

Your heart carefully races when your eyes spot the figure of Obi-Wan as he stays beside Master Windu, echoing his speech when adding a few words of his own.

Barely perceptible to those present, however, is the growing affection one feels for the other. One look is enough to defeat the pride that has been shielding each other’s heart…

***

Obi-Wan is patient, though. As the feast ends that late evening, he excuses himself earlier than it’s closing in order to go after you, seeing that you retired earlier.

You look fabulous with your long hair loose like a y/c waterfall of locks. In addition to this unique wild beauty that is so characteristically yours, you dress a purple gown that shows some cleavage as well as your shoulders. It is enough to tempt this man.

That evening you both exchanged very few words since each group, so different in many aspects, reclaimed your attentions. But you are not too social, so you invented something to be dismissed earlier. And so did he.

You are barely making to your quarters when you hear steps. To your surprise, it’s him. And he can hear no only the beatings of your heart but the chaos of your thoughts.

“Master…!”

“Please, it’s Obi-Wan”, he cuts you gently. “There is something I need to tell you that is giving me agony. In fact, if you may, let me clear these things that have been torturing our thoughts. May I?”

You blink, hesitate at first. Fearful that he might have discovered your sentiments, you realize there is little you can do but to acknowledge at long last what you perceive as a lost battle. Yet you are surprised when he takes your face with his hands and presses a soft, but urgent kiss against your lips.

“Oh”, you sigh. When he parts it, he is searching for your eyes, some part of him fearful you might’ve changed your mind. “Obi… I thought…”

“I know. I’ve always known.” Obi-Wan rests his head against yours, eyes closing. You can feel his struggle, so you decide to release the pressure that’s been on his shoulders.

And just like that you pursuit his lips. Shushing every protest that might come from either part, your tongues pair in a sweet melody, though the urgency in the kiss eventually releases the suppression that has only suffocated this far what one feels for the other.

“I am tired of taking it easy”, he admits under his breath as he pins you against the wall. “I’ve been doing so for a little while. Oh, what kind of beast have you turned me into?”

You giggle at his words.

“Hold on just for a while”, you ask in a whisper before leading him to your quarters. “Yet, I must know…”

Obi-Wan is as red as you. When both stare into each other’s eyes, tension remains. But he is patient.

“Yes, dear heart? What is it you fear?” He shortens the distance and takes hold of your face again, delicately so as if you are a fragile thing. “I can read your insecurities. But please tell me what can I do to ease them.”

“I love you”, you don’t think twice. “Damned I am for laughing away my friends for ever falling in love. But I remain loving you, my Master, my mentor. Despite the many rules I would gladly break to be with you, despite how easy I confess with my tongue and body that I am too busy being yours to fall with someone else or to crawl away from you, offering thus my devotion. I need to know if this flows both ways, if you… if you are mine as much as I am yours.”

You explode it, you know. You never before felt so open and fragile, so easily read. All your shields are down and you feel so…unprotected. Yet, Obi-Wan smiles at you, calm and tranquil where you are a puddle of mess.

“I love you. You brought me back to life, Y/N, where I thought it to be impossible. It’s been too long and I fear I would not be the right one for you, being rather old to you.” He pauses as if by putting this out of a fact you would contest and change your mind.

Seeing that you stand where you are, his hands now slide to your waist as you wrap yours around his neck.

“I am yours”, he brushes his lips against yours and his fingers dig into your sides in a possessive manner that makes you smile. “Do you understand? I am yours in many inexplicable and unprofessed ways. Let me show you better with actions…”

He kisses you again. This time it’s slow, better coordinated and with no rush. His body makes it easy for you to trust blindly. This kiss wipes away your fears.

It is only then you feel comfortable in pushing your limits. Because Obi-Wan feels the heat warming your body, he does not shy away in giving to your silent pleas.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”, he asks you softly, looking into your eyes for consent.

“Yes”, you whisper hotly. “I’ve never been so sure before as I am now.”

And that is how it starts…

***

Epilogue.

“In my imagination, when I go back…”

Obi-Wan barely breathes out as your hands promptly tie his hands. Your eyes are transfixed in his closed eyes and his barely open mouth. You smirk slyly as your fingers gently pump his erect member in that same rhythm he taught you that night.

“Yes, love?”, you encourage him to speak his thoughts, though you are aware of how indecent these might be.

Your husband has only recently returned after a long journey and it is only fair that as his wife you greet him properly. So here you are, poorly dressed, spoiling him as you prepare to get to your knees.

“You are a temptation, dear heart”, he arches his back, groaning in evident pleasure. “Don’t make me say these words.”

“Tell me darling…” you ask him softly as you finally take him with your tongue. “I beg you.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes go wide at you.

“M-Maker, I…” He gasps, throughly enjoying your other…abilities, all of which he takes a secretive pride for teaching you. “You are so good in this, my love.”

But before he is about to reach his climax, he lifts you and leads you to bed. His eyes are burning with desire, especially when undressing you at long last.

“I miss you”, he whispers against your lips.

“I miss you, husband.”

And just like that he lies you down in bed and as you tangle him in your legs, the night compensates all the waiting one feels for the other…

[courtingchaos]

random idea that i would like to share with the class (or just you, you lovely human being 💕):

river monster!eddie but reader hasn’t come to see him in a while. she wants to, but she’s hardly had any time to go exploring thanks to her new job (or some other thing that would pull her away for a while… maybe family drama??) frankly, she’s hardly had time to even breathe with all the shit that’s been going on. but eddie doesn’t know that… no, for all he knows she’s been hurt… or killed… or, worst of all, mated by another. what would our favorite river monster do to get his girl back? does he leave the river in search of her, even though that’s horribly dangerous for him to do (maybe he can’t breathe for long out of water?? or maybe just having people see him is dangerous… ya know, cause he’s a monster. fuck it, maybe it’s both)? if so, how does he plan on finding her? does he have a plan or is he just being horribly rash and winging it bc nobody takes my mate away from me or fuck, she could be hurt, she needs me?? does he find her?? or does he stay put? sulking in his lonesome river, all alone without his one source of happiness: his precious sunshine, his sweet landling. does he worry about her? or does he think that she’s abandoned him? if so, is he sad or is he angry? what if she comes back? does he rush to her? embrace her? mate her so that she can never leave him again? or does refuse to see her, to hear her out? does he scare her off as a way to protect his own cold-blooded heart?

I’ve been thinking about this ask since last week when I got it. I started a little drabble response but then it turned into a lot of key story telling aaaaaaaaaaaand…

Yeah. I’m keeping some things close to my chest for this. But let me paint you a couple little pictures instead?

So starting at the top. What would he do to get her back?

Well, he’s used to her being gone for varying periods. I mean she just showed up one day out of the woods and she keeps doing it randomly so he tends to wait her out. At least in the beginning. He swims and he sleeps and he hunts and if he’s lucky he finds an unwitting human he can lure and eat and uh…other things.

This Eddie can speak English, he understands it he’s been around too long to not. Plus he has Wayne. No I won’t be explaining this yet, it’s a plot point. So Wayne assures him multiple times that she’s a human. She has a job. She has a community. She can’t just break away from it and sometimes she can’t be there at the exact same time every day.

Once they’ve been together though it’s almost like he can sense where and how far she is. She’s staying close to the river but he knows when she leaves his perimeter. He knows when she’s on solid, dry land. The first couple of times he fights with himself to not leave because he knows he wouldn’t survive. Wayne’s explained how the world works and Eddie has been on the receiving end of pain from humans before he kills them. He’s aware he’s othered so as much as he would like to run ashore and find her, he’d be dead and unable to protect her.

He’s definitely sulking in his den. He’s collected a lot of things over the years. There’s pieces of trash he’s found in the river that interest him. A radio that she’d gotten working, something someone had with them and lost while they were tubing one summer. He’s found gold teeth in mouths before that he hangs on to because they’re shiny. Rocks and bones and the occasional fossil or geode. He’s got a lock of her hair she’d given him, tied up in a thin piece of grass. There’s little things she’s left that he keeps safe with the radio and he’ll sulk with that.

Sometimes she comes back smelling like so many things. Strange scents he’s never encountered and numerous people and it sets his teeth on edge. He wants to remind her that she should only ever smell like her and him. He knows she’ll be back, she’s already promised it and let him mark her so she knows, she has to, that when she comes back smelling like all the others he’s going to fix that. Maybe he plays a little hiding game when she shows back up. Lays low in the tall grass along the edge to watch her search around. He’ll run a claw over her toes when she gets to close to make her jump. He does like scaring her sometimes, likes the way her heart rate spikes because he can almost taste the sharp scent she gives off.

Getting down to your last few questions I will say at the beginning when they’re becoming acquainted and Wayne is explaining things Eddie is very wary. She smells like a mate but she’s human so what the fuck? She’s never once terrified of him, just wary. She holds her hands out to him like he couldn’t pull her right in and kill her. So he’s standoffish. Doesn’t come fully out of the water for a while. He doesn’t understand who she is and why she smells the way she does and why she makes him care, but that changes very quickly when she willingly gets in his water with him.

I know this went a different way a bit, but again, you asked some real deep questions for me and I don’t want to give a lot away yet. But yeah. Eddie loves her and once he’s claimed her he won’t turn her away for anything.

💚

[mime-the]

So, got bored the other day and go to writing some AU nonsense!! Some of you silly goobers have seen this writing, but I’ve decided to share it with the rest of you. This isn’t the Mirrored Destinies AU, but another I’ve been working on in the back.

Shadow Milk Cookie had planned another little performance for those little teeny tiny cookies which dreaded the new truth. There was something wrong though… He’d be off schedule. He scowled, knocking papers full of plans off his messy desk as his arm slid. He used his other arm to support himself on the table, coughing again. He wasn’t meant to be sick! This phenomenon was supposed to only plague those below him, he was baked to be above it. So why now?

He hacked up another few nasty coughs, the eyes along his hair twitching in discomfort. This little illness had only showed up recently, a mere day or two ago, but it only got worse by the hour. No amount of healing magic relieved the sickness nor its symptoms. He hissed again, pulling at trembling hand to his head as a headache took hold. What was the meaning of this?! There was a twinge of fear within his soul, that his own curtains would close. Shadow Milk Cookie waited a few more moments before getting up, he was done sitting here helplessly, the show must go on.

The Beast could feel his legs complain, the weakness having taken over his whole body. He kept on pushing though, taking a few steps towards the door. He stopped against a wall, holding his hands up to his mouth as another violent coughing session began. Shadow Milk Cookie pulled his hands away once he felt it over. Was that his own jam? He felt the fear within him slightly grow, before shaking his head. This… this was just a huge prank, a joke! It’d be over soon.

He had to do what he had to do, he wouldn’t just sit in this cursed tower without one final debut as this unknown ailment held him harder and harder. He then took a few steps, false determination driving him forth. The Beast would stumble, his legs giving out right from under him. He barely caught himself with his arms, saving his face from a nasty encounter with the floor. He’d try to use his strings to help himself back up, but a sense of fatigue quickly took hold as well, disrupting his focus.

He growled, using his hands to pull himself back towards the wall slowly, using it as support. This was, by far, the worst instance of this stupid plague. He couldn’t even think about how stupid it was amongst the bout of fatigue and yet another coughing fit, seeing some of his own jam splatter on the floor. He felt his anger ebb as he kept trying to get back up, replaced by that same fright which he had dismissed mere moments ago.

Maybe… maybe if he sat here, it’d go away. The Beast stared down at the floor, just wanting this to stop. The removal of him straining his muscles certainly helped, but it wasn’t enough. A tremor crawled up his body right before he began hacking up jam again. The fatigue was the absolute worst, only feeding his internal panic more and more.

Shadow Milk Cookie sat there for… witches knows how many… minutes? Hours? He had no strength to keep fighting, simply staring down at the floor which had only accumulated more jam. His chest ached oh so badly, and the cookie felt himself slouch over. His tired eyes glistened one last time before their deceitful shine slowly ebbed away.

He was dying.

❧

A cookie felt the world envelop around him, feeling the cold, hard, ground under him as he “woke up”. His eyes remained shut, trying to understand the other senses which overwhelmed him. He smelled the scent of old paper and books, the burnt smell of strangely fresh ink. He heard the distant call of a songbird, muffled behind the walls that surrounded him, but still audible if one strained. His mouth felt awfully dry, but the taste of *jam* lingered in it. His whole body felt sore, in fact.

The Cookie finally shifted a bit, opening his eyes. The two on his face were obstructed by the ground before him, but the… others? The others along his *hair* could had no such obstacles. He made no effort to raise his head, simply waiting for eyes long unused to adjust to seeing again. The Cookie observed his surroundings curiously.

The floor was of dark hardwood, and the place retained an unsettling attribute to it. It was mostly adorned of blacks and blues, shelves full of books of all sizes lining the walls. A desk sat alone against another—papers had been thrown on the floor. He could see other eyes in the room, floating in place as they observed him curiously. It was spacious, the walls curling into arcs as their stretched higher, but the whole place had a certain air to it that made him uncomfortable.

He noted a set of stairs off some way’s away, circling up and up where his eyes could not see. The Cookie finally tried to heave himself up, his arms protesting as they ached at his attempts. He didn’t give up though, eventually lifting himself up into a sitting position which he’d fallen from. He took a hand and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. The cookie blinked with the now uncovered eyes… it felt like a little much, he didn’t need all of them open. He closed the ones on his face, returning to his prior state in terms of vision.

The Cookie looked down, a small pool of dried jam laid before him. He couldn’t help but wonder what’d happened, worried. He observed himself, he was in attire which matched the theme of the place. Black, blue, with some whites here and there. A brooch sat on a ruffled collar, home to a glimmering blue gem. It gave him an odd feeling, but he could not intuitively understand it. He’d look back up, seeing a painting who held a figure that looked perfectly identical to himself. On the frame it was captioned “Shadow Milk Cookie”, is that who he was? No, a little voice within him said. No, it is not who he is. He stood up, walking over to the desk and picking up the spilt papers. His legs did not initially cooperate, but eventually the slight tremors and pain stopped.

Well… who was he, then? The Unnamed Cookie looked around the spire, should he start reading then? His memory felt heavy with deeply burrowed knowledge which he was not aware of. He had to start somewhere though, so after neatly stacking the papers—He had told himself he would get to them later—The Cookie would walk up to a shelf, grabbing at a book which he had been eyeing since his awakening.

“The Five Virtues,” it had been titled. He took it in his hands, walked over to the desk, sat down, and began to read.

——

Thanks for sticking around, I enjoyed writing this and hopefully you enjoyed reading it. I may or may not keep making stuff for this AU if interest is shown.

[sunlitlamplove]

so who is he? (nanami kento/YN) (NSFT)

short unedited fic - a writing exercise gone wrong, let me know if you enjoy and/or want more of nanami

it wasn’t that you didn’t do relationships, or that you weren’t interested. you just couldn’t find the time away from your constantly life threatening career, nor were you any longer trusting (i.e. naive) enough to embark on an intimate relationship with a stranger. you didn’t have much in the way of friends, hell the few friends you did have were coworkers you had known for years and even then you still had a tendency to hold most of them at arms’ length, excluding gojo, who managed to cheerily worm his way into seemingly everyone’s personal lives. as he was doing now, with you.

the two of you sat in the dimly lit nook of a quietly bustling lounge after work that evening. it was a rare occasion that gojo was able to cajole you into stepping out and embracing the nightlife with him, both of you busy enough with your own schedules but especially since he had known for years your averseness to crowds. but hey, gojo was buying and free drinks were calling your name. after some catching up and a couple vodka cokes, you were pleasantly buzzed, biting back a smile at the intrigued looks both women and men sent the pair of you, nestled away in your corner. smirking like a fox, gojo slid his too lanky body closer to you in the booth, curling his arm over your shoulder.

ordinarily, you would have pushed him away, not keen on physical contact from just anyone, but you were tipsy and he was gojo. gojo satoru knew you better than most; had seen you at your worst, half dead, bloody, near mad. he had pulled you from cliff’s edge, had saved you time and time again, and conversely, he was also the reason you drank. you were certain his idiocy had likely shortened your life just as much as he had saved it. gojo was a dear friend, but he knew how to press your buttons and press them he did.

“so who is he?”

you looked at him through furrowed, half drunken brow. “who’s who?”

“who’s the guy you’re fucking these days?” he asks with no preamble, sipping his vodka cranberry lemonade and glancing down at you from his blacked out frames, his chapped lips curved delightfully around a cheshire smile.

you don’t give anything away, and you laugh, almost too loud above the soft, jazzy r&b playing over the lounge speakers. you pray he doesn’t notice.

(he notices.)

“what? you hear yourself ask. “why do you always assume i’m fucking someone?”

gojo smiles incomprehensibly wider at your laugh, his arm tightening around your shoulder. “i’ve known you for almost a decade at this point, you really don’t think i can tell when you’re getting laid on a regular basis?”

“i mean, god, i would hope not.”

“you’re a lot nicer when you’re getting some,” he says.

“is that so,” you say dryly.

“hate to break it to you, kid.” you can see him wink at you over his glasses and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “really, you just exude the air of the well fucked, let’s just say that.”

“you’re disgusting, gojo.” you sip your drink and laugh, shaking your head.

“i’m right, and you can’t even deny it. but, on the off chance i am wrong…why don’t you come back to my place tonight?” his voice was silken, quiet, husky in your ear.

you chuckle and shake him off your shoulder, half missing his friendly warmth but determined to prove a point. you knew he wasn’t serious, that this was yet another ploy of his to get you to spill the truth. gojo had casually flirted with you and pretty much everyone you knew since you the day you had met him. there…may have been one or two…close..encounters with gojo when you both were far gone and desperate for comfort, but you had never gone further than a heavy make out session with his hand up your shirt.

you attempt to point your finger in his face, swaying slightly. ever the decent friend, gojo reaches out and helps guide your hand to point at him. he shimmers slightly kaleidoscopic, his white shock of hair softly glowing under the romantic light of the bar.

“thanks -get off me- thanks. listen, asshole.” biting back a smile, still pointing in his face after you shake off his grip and gojo mockingly raises his hands in self defense, and tries not to giggle under the weight of your faux serious stare. “i’m not fucking anyone, and i’m definitely not fucking you.”

“am i interrupting something?” when you register the tall, dominating figure casting a shadow over your table as nanami kento, you feel your heart skip a beat, and you desperately resist the blush cascading over your sun kissed skin. “is this idiot bothering you, y/n?” nanami’s voice is dry, half amused.

“k-nanami! i…i didn’t— you’re back,” and you’re fucking breathless and his eyes are soft and warm and oh

oh god.

here’s the thing.

you didn’t do relationships. but nanami kento was not a man you could bear to ever deny.

the last time you had seen nanami had been a week prior. for hours, nanami had sucked on your clit and worked you open with his thick fingers so intensely that you couldn’t help but gush against his mouth, trembling and gasping as you soaked him in your come. his kiss after he had lifted his face from between your thick, slippery thighs was sloppy and overwhelming, and you felt yourself ready for another round as he moaned softly against your tongue. that same night, nanami had inadvertently made you cry, grunting as he ruthlessly thrust into you, fucking you so deep and good with your legs hiked high on his shoulders that he had unlocked some sort of inner vault of emotion you rarely accessed; the orgasm he had coaxed from you was one of the best in your life and he had chuckled when you told him so later, cuddling in the afterglow, nanami peppering your whole face with kisses as you lightly stroked his still slightly heaving, sweaty chest while he massaged slow circles into your back. and then he had left to embark on a mission you were unsure he would return from; and now he was here, and you were drunk and your lover was in front of you and you could almost cry from how badly you wanted to feel him come inside you.

you could feel yourself starting to heat up under your collar, and you tried to think less indecent thoughts. but the images of the intimate moments you spent together began a loop in your brain and you could feel a slow smile crawl across your face as he gazed down at you. nanami’s lips quirked and a lightning hot thrill shot through you.

“nanami!” gojo exclaims, ignoring the rude remark, as you stare up silently at nanami, his gaze flitting between a slight concern towards you and distaste towards gojo. “sit with us!”

does that feel good, baby?

you nod, remembering your manners. “please, nanami. sit with us and save me from him.”

nanami slides into the booth on your opposite side, nodding at the bartender. as gojo chatters away, your gaze slides to nanami, taking in his dark button up loosened at the throat, his tie gone, his sleeves rolled up his wiry forearms. nanami’s hands, his fingers running up and down the sides of his sweating glass of dark liquor. you listen quietly, sipping your refill as nanami unwinds and debriefs with you and gojo the outcome of his mission. it hadn’t been too dangerous, a dead end with elusive trap doors, but you missed out on the finer details as you hungrily took in the man before you.

“i can’t believe i get to taste you, fuck. your pussy makes me fucking desperate, y/n.”

your eyes are pulled back to nanami’s hands, his hands, god. you thought about those big hands spreading your thighs wide, how he pulled your hands away from your soaking pussy when you got shy and tried to hide from him. you tried to stay present as gojo relayed to nanami the details of his own last trip, but instead the instant replay of nanami worshipping your body and bringing you to climax took precedent in your drunk brain.

“anyway, we were talking about y/n’s dating life,” gojo says, nudging you and you shove him back harder than necessary.

“really,” nanami says and smiles, running a hand through his hair. did he have to do something that turned you on in front of gojo? god, you sounded like a such a man. it wasn’t nanami’s fault everything he did aroused you.

he was a couple liquors deep, and you could see the alcohol beginning to take effect, his usual demure smiles lilting into playfulness, his eyes twinkling. “please, y/n, don’t let me interrupt. how is your dating life?” nanami asks, his elbow grazing against yours. you could move your arm, but so could he. both of you decidedly do not. the contact alone is setting your body aflame.

he was still looking at you, and you turned your head, finding his downcast eyes on your rosy mouth, still wet from your glass. his gaze tracked the unconscious movement of your tongue swiping across your full lips, his own tongue peeking out to wet his. unbeknownst to you, the blue eyes behind sunglasses manage to catch the motion of nanami’s observance and a cheshire cat smile begins to grow.

“i wasn’t talking about my dating life, this jackass was talking about it,” you reply hastily, hiking a thumb at the aforementioned white haired idiot by your side. “there’s nothing to even talk about, really.”

you and nanami weren’t dating. he was just being a really good guy and fucking you on the regular, keeping a spare toothbrush and clothes at yours, sleeping over and breaking a thousand rules you knew not to when it came to a man who wasn’t actually your man. when you were tipsy, you could call him your lover in your head, a title you would never speak aloud to anyone else, but it was true, wasn’t it? nanami was your lover. you would never admit it to gojo, lest you wanted the world to know what you and nanami still kept between only you; you still weren’t entirely sure how it had started, too many late nights spent together on missions and nanami being nanami, and you were single and lonely and traumatized, and he was too, both of you just needing some human comfort but instead you had found a raging fire between you, only quelled when nanami’s head was nestled between your thighs or when you rode him, gasping as he groaned and begged you to fuck yourself harder on his dick in the quiet of the dawn rising in his moonlit bedroom.

“that’s too bad,” nanami says, taking a swig from his glass. his eyes never left yours. “a man would be lucky to be graced just with your presence.”

it hadn’t been much of a doubt before. but you were definitely fucking him tonight.

embarrassingly, your mouth falls open before you can stop it, and you are unable to control the laugh that spills from your throat that a) nanami would say that and b) nanami would say that in front of gojo.

who, when you glance to your right, was no longer there. you suppose he had gone to top up his drink, and you turn quickly back to nanami, who seems somehow even closer, and you can feel his big hot hand slide underneath your skirt and onto your mid thigh, squeezing your burning flesh before running his thumb in slow circles. you breathe in shakily, feeling dizzy. you were aching for more from him.

not just sex. don’t get it wrong, you desperately wanted him, carnally, bordering on indecently. you wanted him to fuck you into his mattress, with your face pressed against his pillow, breathing in the scent of him. you wanted him to drink from you, to take from you, you wanted to lose yourself in his arms. you wouldn’t admit it. but you would gladly take everything nanami would give you and then some. you could feel the raging blush across your cheeks, your whole body throbbing with need.

when you look up at nanami from under your lashes, you notice his flushed skin, the smile curving his soft lips, the way he looks at you like you are something not of this world, dazzling, breathtaking. as though he is in awe. his hand reaches up and pushes your hair away from your face, lingering against your cheek.

“i missed you,” he says, and you feel yourself almost come undone. the tears are threatening to swell, and you catch his hand.

“i missed you too,” you whisper. “i want you to take me home, kento.”

hearing the soft need in your voice, nanami immediately stands, interlocking his fingers with yours and leading you out into the night. hours later, boneless and fucked out in his arms, he shows you the three missed calls from gojo, with a single text reading:

have fun u crazy kids :-) ♡

and then a second:

you’re buying me lunch tmrw btw sorry i don’t make the rules

[lionews]

sorry for the yapfest i'm about to unveil but to answer the person who asked for tame servers, i don't think there really is any that have more than like 50 members. and i genuinely believe it's because of how much this community sucks-- i'm a member of booby and watching how awful people there have been for so long & seeing it called out here just reminded me of this.

i've never been in any drama and yet the toxicity and general animosity of this community shocks me. i love lioden, don't get me wrong, and i love the few people who are actually great people, but overall this community is the absolute worst i've ever been a part of and i used to be in the BNHA community, so that's saying a lot.

and before anyone says it, don't worry, i'm not using lionews as a source for this lol. the actual onsite community is so full of the most immature, petty, spiteful people i've ever seen and especially ADULTS which kinda surprised me? like, i've never encountered a community with such a mass amount of ADULTS who act like absolute children and are often worse than the actual teens on the platform.

and like yes i get it, adults playing a petsim game, but damn guys, i’ve never seen a community that’s just so bent out of shape and set on just hating each other and being so aggressive and spiteful. maybe i’m the only one who sees it this way? i definitely see GOOD sides of the community they’re just… rare. and when they do exist, there’s usually someone trying to rain on their parade.

and to be clear i’m not targeting this blog either. truthfully i think the couple people here who take things a bit far are only a tiny fraction of the issue. this blog is chill, generally speaking, at least in my experience when compared to actual onsite/discord communities. but that’s just my two-cents. hopefully i don’t sound like a crazy person

.

[alicesadventuresinffxiv]

Thoughts on Dawntrail MSQ

May as well write up my thoughts on the Dawntrail MSQ while it’s still relevant! (full spoilers for that obviously)

What I Liked

-The new characters (especially Wuk Lamat, Erenville, and Koana) were great! Wuk Lamat in particular started out rough but endearing, and conveying her development into a empathetic and decisive leader was, in my opinion, the main place the story succeeded. In the past I’ve often felt that FFXIV short-changed the arcs of its female characters (Moenbryda, Ysayle, Lyse… even Zero left pretty abruptly), but with Lamaty’i I ended the expansion feeling satisfied with her arc rather than frustrated because I wanted more.

-Thancred, Urianger, and Estinien had just enough screentime - and impactful stuff to do during that screentime - to feel well-used but not overshadow other characters. Estinien showing up as a mysterious stranger in the Wild West was just hilariously perfect.

-The final zone felt a bit like it was trying to have its cake and eat it too with the ambiguity over whether the Endless were people, but I didn’t care because it still repeatedly got me to tear up. Plus the whole conceit of the finale to the Americas expansion being Evil Parasitic Disneyland that you slowly but surely shut down was inspired. And I loved how even before you shut it down, if you went exploring past the warning cordons, you could see the front is just a shallow facade over the machinery that makes the magic happen, just like real theme parks!

-That interdimensional key is definitely related to Azem and I am VERY curious where the story will go with it next!

What I Disliked

-Is it just me, but has the writing felt a lot more… hand-holdy? since 6.0? It’s hard to put my finger on, but it seems like there are a lot more instances where characters basically turn to the camera and explain the subtext of whatever just happened in the preceding scene. Like, there will be a great moment showing how Zero/Vrtra/Wuk Lamat/Koana/etc. has changed as a character… and then the next scene will have the Scions directly talk about “wow [person] sure has grown!” It’s a minor annoyance at worst, but a lot of what I liked about the writing of characters like Fordola and Emet-Selch is that the game trusts you to understand their complexities without handing them to you on a plate…

-Villains are often what make or break a story for me, and in my opinion DT’s trio were the weakest since Heavensward. Bakool Ja Ja was fun as a cartoonish bully, and even more fun as a boisterous “huh, doing good feels good?” new ally, but the transition from one to the other felt really abrupt. (Why bring up consequences for him if they never happen?) Zoraal Ja was a lot like Thordan in that he was critical to the story’s themes but not very interesting or entertaining to watch as a character. And Sphene… I really wanted to like her, the phase transition in the final boss makes me kind of want to ship her with Lamaty’i… but she seems like she’s intentionally written to feel flat and hollow because she’s ultimately more program than person.

-When the twins and the WoL actually got to do some mentoring, it was nice, and I enjoyed the WoL taking more of a backseat role! But most of the time, it felt like the three of us were interchangeable and underwritten, just here to fill out Duty Support roles for Wuk Lamat. Which leads me to…

-As a Krile fan, Krile was by far the biggest disappointment. She tags along the whole journey, she has a personal reason to be invested in the plot… and yet she barely has a character arc. Even after going on this journey and meeting her parents, it didn’t change anything about who she was as a person or what she wanted to do with her life. And despite participating in combat encounters now, she came across even more passive in the narrative than in prior expansions, where at least she did things like tease the other Scions and go behind our backs to recruit Zenos. Here… here she mostly exists to carry around a Plot Trinket earring and wait politely for answers to her questions.

Where’s my lil’ shit who ruthlessly hunted Estinien down with a smile on her face? Hopefully in the patch story…

Overall

I certainly had fun with Dawntrail, but it's not especially high on my ranking of expansions. Of course it couldn't capture the highs of ShB and EW bringing a close to a huge narrative arc, but I wasn't expecting it to. Ultimately, I think I'd place it between StB and HW - losing out to StB only because I am very much a Stormblood Enjoyer and love all the characters from that expansion. Dawntrail's characters haven't grown on me as much, though who knows? Again, maybe the patch quests will change my mind!

[peony-pearl]

“There now,” Yagoda murmured. “I think I’ve been able to heal the worst of it.”

It had been a long few weeks. The Order of the White Lotus had been making their way through the Earth Kingdom after coming together by the command of Iroh.

Pakku had initially told Yagoda to stay in the North Pole, but she outright refused. They could need her there to heal them as they prepared for the war’s end. Katara had proven to her she could do anything, and at her age, there was still much to do.

Jeong Jeong looked at his arm, which had been broken during a jailbreak. The Order had dismantled a Fire Nation prison, and Jeong Jeong was on the receiving end of a rough physical encounter with a burly guard. The capable Firebending master was tough enough, but one lucky move, and the guard struck Jeong Jeong’s arm with an iron club.

Jeong Jeong, despite the injury, was still able to repel the guard, and after herding the prisoners free, the Order made camp not too far away so the injured could be taken care of.

And now, as the last to be healed (at his insistence), Yagoda smiled at him. “How does that feel?”

Jeong Jeong twisted his arm, noting how normal it felt. “You are quite talented,” he said. Yagoda smiled.

“Thank you; I take great pride in my craft,” she said with a gentle smile. She looked upon his expression and noted his morose nature; she was already used to it, and yet she was still unsure about the man. “You are quite talented with your bending as w-”

“There is nothing talented about what I can do,” Jeong Jeong bit back. Yagoda sat, perplexed. She’d seen the man use his firebending multiple times; but the way he spoke surprised her. “There is nothing talented about spreading fire.”

Yagoda blinked. “Fire is essential to-”

“Fire is death,” Jeong Jeong insisted. “It spreads and turns everything to ashes.”

Yagoda put her hands on her hips. “In essence, that’s one way to put it.”

“That is the only way to put it.”

“I don’t believe that.” Yagoda said. Jeong Jeong shook his head, sighing as he began to stand up.

But Yagoda wasn’t finished. She reached back out to take the older man’s hand again, pulling him back down to keep sitting next to her.

“Have you ever been to either of the Water Tribes?” She asked. Jeong Jeong’s eyes peered away quickly.

“I...”

“Have you ever experienced frostbite?”

“... Not personally.”

“It’s terrible. It’s slow and painful; burning at your skin until it turns black and dies. Ice can cause a miserable death; so to not freeze, we rely on fire. Fire not only keeps us warm, but it cooks our food, and gives us a place of communion. A crackling fire means safety, security. Yes, it can be dangerous, but so can the water that extinguishes it. Water can suffocate, water can freeze and burn; it can thrash you around; but it can also nourish. All the same as fire.”

Jeong Jeong listened as Yagoda ran her smooth, delicate hands over his rough, scarred palms.

“Do you wish to nourish?”

“Of course I do,” Jeong Jeong murmured. “I... do not wish to be a death sentence with this curse.”

“You are not a death sentence. Nor a curse. No more than I with my water that I could very easily, if I were taught, use in my own violent ways. You as well as any other bender have fire inside of you, because it is a very building block of our world. You who are so talented are so hard on yourself because of what you were forced to do; and you have put that burden on you,” Yagoda said, reaching out to touch Jeong Jeong’s chest. “You, Jeong Jeong, are not a curse.”

Tears bit at Jeong Jeong’s eyes as the gentle healer smiled at him.

“Thank you,” he whispered. Yagoda nodded to him, standing and pulling him up with her. “You are quite talented in a various array of healing.”

Yagoda laughed in a way she hadn’t since she was young. “Thank you. Now, go catch up with the others; and get some rest.”

Jeong Jeong nodded, making his way towards Iroh’s tent. He glanced back as Yagoda was approached by one of the rescued prisoners about an old cut, to which she immediately ushered them into her tent to mend.