#a night of convenience

[velarisbynight]

A Night Of Convenience

Azriel x Eris

For Day 3 of @acotar-omegaverse-week — All Tied Up: Oh, you're tied up so you don't do anything you'll regret during your heat? Would be a shame if someone... came along and messed up that plan for you :)

a/n: please keep on scrolling if Azris or omegaverse isn’t your thing!

warnings: dry humping/grinding; dubcon since Azriel’s in heat; enemies to lovers vibes?; personally I’d argue bdsm vibes since Azriel’s actually chained up but whatever floats your boat

word count: 3.4k~

~~~~~~~~

Azriel leans his head back against the cold, crooked rock of the cave, his breath misting in the frigid air. The wind howls around the mountain, whipping at the brutal stone, rain likely lashing down from the thunderous storm clouds he’d seen on the treacherous flight up here with his brothers. 

It had taken a lot of persuading to get them to comply, but he’d managed. After all, they’re both alphas—he can’t expect them to understand the humiliation of his heat, inherently submissive when compared to a rut. He can’t stand it, the degradation of his body being so out of his control. He doesn’t want to make a scene…do something he’d regret once it’s passed.

The gorsian shackles bite at his wrists and ankles, a wider, much thicker band of iron clamped around his waist. It’s uncomfortable, to say the least—there’s no way to sit without his wings snagging on a jagged edge of rock, or brushing against the icy bite of the chains—but it’s never going to be a comfortable experience. He just wishes it was a little warmer in here, that his toes and fingers weren’t already tingling with numbness—maybe he should have waited a little longer before bringing himself up here, waited for the symptoms to begin manifesting so he doesn’t have to suffer additional hours of intense discomfort. If only there was something warm…a fire, or even a blanket…something that would smell of woodsmoke, and ease the tension in his body…

Rich, spicy blood trickles down his chin, lip turned white around the edges from where his canine has pierced the skin. At least it’s hot, scalding his tongue when he swipes it away. 

Why did he have to be born this way? A bastard and an omega. 

Forget picking the short stick, he didn’t even get to draw. 

Water vapour gathers on the rock ceiling, coalescing into condensation, running down the tip of a stalactite before dripping down the nap of his neck. He shivers. 

Something clicks in the far off distance, the noise muffled and blurred from echoes as it hums to him through the deep tunnel system. The clicking continues, coming closer, until the tip-tap of those stiletto heeled shoes comes to a stop at the far end of the cave. Even through the slight haze that has crept into Azriel’s eyes he knows the figure. 

Amber eyes cut through the darkness like searing steel fresh from a forge. “You look comfortable.”

Azriel’s spine turns ramrod straight, muscle curling taut through his warrior’s body, resplendent golden thread stitching his lungs shut. Eris’ gaze flickers approvingly, and Azriel’s lip curls with fury. “What are you doing here?” He puts as much ice into his voice as he can manage. But it belies the emotion swirling within his chest, raging inside his mind—relief at finding company, and revulsion Eris would seek him out in a moment like this.

But Eris shakes his head, strong arms folding across his narrow chest, sleek and powerful. “You know, it’s not just your problem, Azriel. It’s mine, too.” His name sends a shiver up his spine, forcing his wings to tuck in tight so as not to reveal the biological reactions. He’s vulnerable enough as it is. 

“Get out.” 

Eris looks him over, a bored look on his sharp features. Then the clicking starts again, leisurely striding toward him. 

Azriel snarls, getting to his feet, his body made heavier by the weakening hormones beginning to seep into his bloodstream. “I won’t tell you again,” Azriel mutters, wings flaring in warning as the alpha steps closer, entering his circle. 

“And what will you do, omega?” Eris asks, coming to a smooth halt less than a step away. “You’re chained up. In gorsian shackles, no less. Where are those shadows of yours?” 

“You have no right to be here.” 

“No? You’re going to reject it? We both know that would be a worse choice for you. An omega can’t survive without its—”

“Shut up.” Azriel hisses. The centres of his palms surely have indents in them by now. “I don’t need you.” 

“Yes, you do.” Eris steps closer, close enough Azriel tries to shift his head to the side so he won’t have to take the male’s scent into his lungs, so it won’t catalyse the inevitable heat that’s beginning to stir to life in his body, his pulse beginning to spike. 

“You have me now.” Eris says, and Azriel’s body turns rigid when the heirling places an owning palm atop his heart, exuding proprietary entitlement. “It’ll be worse without me.” 

“I’d rather die.” 

“And then I’ll be left without a mate. That can’t happen.” 

Gods, Azriel can feel his skin warming. There’s a tightness in his throat that shouldn’t be there, a shallowness to his breath that signals the commencement of his heat. Azriel’s pulse spikes when Eris’ hand lifts higher, stepping closer still. Close enough that he’s trapped, wings already scratching against jagged rock. Eris’ palm stops at his jaw, the nail of his thumb grazing across Azriel’s cheek. 

“I won’t tell anybody,” Eris murmurs, amber eyes like molten magma, searing into his flesh, stoking the embers of what will quickly become wildfire. “I can feel it. It’s beginning to compound.”

“You have no right.” Azriel hisses through gritted teeth, blood rushing around his ears, a familiar tingle beginning to spread through his legs. “Unhand me.” 

Amber eyes burn. 

Azriel’s blood scalds his veins, heat accumulating swiftly, catalysed by this male’s invasion. 

A muscle flickers in Eris’ jaw. And he steps away. 

Azriel’s chains rattle as he instinctively takes a step forward, chasing the touch, but forces his body to freeze. Teeth grinding, wings pulled taut at his back. 

“You want me.” Eris mutters, a lick of flame in his amber eyes. 

“I hate you.” Azriel snarls. 

“They can coexist.” 

Azriel needles the male with an icy glare, cold enough to burn. Eris watches quietly, his sharp eyes narrowed. 

“Do your brothers know about me?” Eris asks, the honed edge of his drawl making sweat bead down Azriel’s spine. Skin prickling beneath the serrated tone. “There’s nothing to tell them.” Azriel spits lowly, wings beginning to shiver. “You could die this time. You’re happy with none of them knowing why?” 

“I think it would be a mercy to pass without any of them knowing who I’d been mated to.” 

Eris’ lip curls in a barely suppressed snarl, and Azriel has to steel himself against the urge for his legs to buckle, weakness flooding through his body. Amber eyes lick over his figure once, before hot, rough palms are pushing against his chest, a compact, distinctly male body pressing to Azriel’s, a thigh between his legs. A shocked breath of air is snatched to the shadowsinger’s lungs, eyes marginally widened at the close proximity, the rampant heat bursting in his lower body in response to such a relatively minor touch. 

“Fine.” Eris bites out against his mouth, almost close enough to taste the fiery male. “Have it your way. But I’m staying right here. You aren’t the only one this will affect now you’re tied to me.” 

“Like anything you’ll experience will even compare,” Azriel hisses before he can stop himself. Long, deft fingers curl themselves in the collar of Azriel’s shirt, scrunching the fabric in the male’s large fist as Eris forcefully drags him closer, mouths less than an inch apart, able to feel hot, harsh breath ghosting across his skin. “It wouldn’t have to be a trial for you if you’d let me help. Like it or not, we’re in this together. So either you can make it hard on yourself, or we can cooperate.” Eris’ eye burn like ruby flames. “Let me help you.” 

In the time between Eris first appearing and now, Azriel’s discipline has rapidly deteriorated. His discipline quickly slipping the leash with alarming skill as Eris shifts his hip, the toned muscle of his thigh rubbing against the seam of Azriel’s leathers. The Shadowsinger grits his teeth, jaw working almost painfully. He forces his gaze elsewhere, being drawn in by the hypnotising burn of colour in his-…in Eris’ eyes. Azriel drags breath into his lungs, inhaling through his nose, humiliation rushing his abdomen at the prominence of his own arousal—how it’s already thickly permeating the air, turning it denser; smokier. 

Azriel’s scent shouldn’t be smoky. 

Hazel eyes slide open, half-glazed. “You’re enjoying this,” Azriel bites out, every syllable an effort to drag from his throat. A beat passes, and Eris holds his gaze. Now Azriel has identified that scent, what it means, the hunger seems obvious. Fury barrels through the haze of his mind, adrenaline returning enough sense to his muscles to grab at Eris’ shoulders, shoving him firmly, keeping the flat-tips of his fingers biting into the heirling’s flesh. Azriel hopes it hurts. Hopes he can squeeze and pop bones out of place. 

“You came here knowing you were going into rut?” Azriel snarls, noting how the flame blazes in Eris’ gaze at the mention of his state. “You’re a fucking piece of work, Vanserra.” But Eris retaliates, strengthening his already brutal grip on Azriel’s shirt, overpowering the weakened Spymaster as hormones begin to spike. “I came here because your heat triggered it,” Eris growls, tugging so hard at the fabric Azriel hears it begin to rip. “Have you clocked that yet, omega? We’re tied to one another. If you don’t survive this heat without me, I’ll be having to deal with something far worse.” 

“So you want me to let you fuck me just so you don’t have to deal with that?” Azriel gives a harsh, derisive laugh. “Like I’d ever make it that easy for you. If this kills me I’ll go happily knowing you never got your hands on me.” 

“And you said I was the piece of fucking work.” Eris hisses over Azriel’s mouth, lips brushing, pupils dilating with hunger. “You’re really so proud you’ll let yourself die over something like this?” 

Azriel smirks. “I might make it.” 

Eris shoves the Shadowsinger back, a hiss of fury mixed with pain releasing from his mouth as rock abrades the sensitive membrane of his wings. Shared breath mixes between them, both brandishing hot tempers while fighting against raging instincts. Fighting on two fronts. Eris swallows once, attempting to sooth the white-hot flame burning in his blood. “By Autumn Court law I have every right to you,” he breathes, fingers lessening on Azriel’s shirt but not releasing. “And by Night Court law I am free to claim you, now that a bond has made itself clear.” 

“And I’ve told you I’d rather die.” 

Eris’ nostrils flare, his jaw wound impossibly tight. 

He releases Azriel. Steps back. Puts some distance between them. No more than a few steps. Eris can’t make himself move any further. 

“I wouldn’t have spent so much effort on trying to convince you if I wasn’t going to listen to your opposition.” Eris says at last, amber eyes hot and molten. “I said I would at least stay here. I won’t do anything you don’t want.” 

“Like I’ll believe a single word from your—”

“Shut up.” Eris snarls, voice ablaze with white-hot dominance. 

Azriel’s mouth seals shut, wings tucking meekly at his back, knees nearly buckling at the command. 

Eris runs a hand through his hair. “I came here to offer help—help that would be mutually beneficial. Even you can see that.” Azriel’s lip curls but he says nothing. “Like I said before: hate and want can coexist.” 

“Well I don’t want you.” 

Eris turns on his heel, clicking sternly across the uneven rock floor and Azriel braces himself for the rough shove to his shoulders, the winding punch to the gut, a kick to the stomach. Instead a hot, rough palm slides around the nape of his neck, fingers threading pleasurably through his silky hair, his hazel eyes fluttering with a surge of dizziness. Another palm settles at his jaw, tilting his chin, angling him right. “You don’t want me?” Eris whispers. “Then one kiss should be fine. Right?” 

Azriel’s pulse spikes in his chest. Staggering heat accumulating between his legs. Just Eris’ mouth on top of his, Eris’ tongue flicking against his own, Eris’ body pressed tight against another. Just his alpha touching him exactly as he’s supposed to. Amber eyes are staring into him but Azriel’s gaze has been caught by the heirling’s lips. Rosey, elegantly narrow, parted. Inviting and taunting. Azriel manages a half nod. 

“Ask me.” 

Azriel drags resentful eyes up to the heirling’s, but the reproach dissipates when he’s met with sincerity. Eris wants Azriel to clearly say it himself. 

Azriel swallows. He won’t be able to lie to himself and pretend it was out of his control. He’s still more than aware enough to know what’s going on. He won’t be able to spin this against the male pressed so close to his body. Whose thigh had briefly been between his legs. How good that had felt. 

“Kiss me,” Azriel breathes. 

Eris’ eyes flicker, then a warm, narrow mouth is pushing to his own. Lips that taste of warm spices with a hint of brown sugar caramelising on his tongue. Chains clink at Azriel’s sides, then silky hair is threaded between his fingers, his pulse beginning to sooth its sharp, snare-drum-staccato beat. A pleasant pressure presses between his legs, Eris’ hip ghosting across the front of Azriel’s leathers, delicately inclining his weight into the Illyrian so he can feel the firm, powerful pressure against him. Azriel’s hips shift along the muscle of Eris’ thigh. A hot tongue strokes across his own, and saliva mixes swiftly after. 

Azriel doesn’t know how long they’ve been kissing when Eris pulls away, returning once to run his tongue over the curve of Azriel’s lower lip, a wet, silvery thread stretching between them. 

Is Azriel delirious or is the creamy pale skin on his alpha’s cheeks slightly coloured? 

Eris’ thumb swipes smoothly across the saliva-wet top of Azriel’s lower lip, applying a light pressure at the centre to reveal pale teeth. A tongue, guarded, behind them. 

Azriel licks his lips, hazel eyes glazed as he leans forward, fingers that had somehow found their way into Eris’ hair clutching tighter. But Eris pulls away, “I thought you didn’t want me.”

“I hate you.” Azriel murmurs, softer than a breath. Eris arches a narrow brow, “you aren’t denying it this time.” 

Heat warms Azriel’s cheeks but it’s hard to distinguish from the thrumming pulse of his heart, how hot his blood is as it courses through his body, rushing from his head. 

“Once.” The word is less than a whisper, but Eris hears it clear as day. “Just this once.” 

“Unique circumstances require unique solutions.” 

“This doesn’t mean anything, Vanserra.” 

“Of course not, omega.” 

Azriel’s lip curls in a half snarl, but Eris is much faster, broad palms spanning over the jutting bone of the Shadowsinger’s hip, tugging him tight to the heirling’s front, mouth descending gluttonously to his mate’s exposed throat. A gasp that sounds far too close to pleasure escapes Azriel’s mouth, head tipping back as teeth nip along his shoulder, a hot tongue licking across his neck, incisors grazing a spot that has a shiver running up Azriel’s spine. He’s slipping. Can feel his discipline fraying at the edges. 

Scarred palms press themselves flat to the jagged rock at his back, fingers curling as the hard ridge of nails drags across the stone in attempts to keep himself from unraveling entirely. 

Eris shifts his body, and everything clicks into place. 

Biological satisfaction satiates Azriel’s hunger, but drives him to consume more. 

Roughened palms grip a pale-skinned jaw, dragging those lips back to his with an open mouth. Azriel’s skin burns, and he twines one of his legs around Eris’, tilting his hips so the seam of his leathers is rubbing against him, and— 

A humiliating sound leaves his throat when Eris’ hips buck into his own. Broad, pale hands rise to squeeze firmly at Azriel’s waist, thumbs digging into muscle to hold him still. Amber eyes pierce into him, watching intently as Eris presses the edge of his hip carefully between Azriel’s legs. The Spymaster can feel the hot flush colouring his cheeks, the pleasure tingling in his lower abdomen…he knows this kind of sensation, what will follow too quickly after it… 

Azriel’s head tips back, rock clanging pain through his skull but he doesn’t care as Eris’ hand slips between them, palming the Shadowsinger through his leathers. And it feels good. Azriel’s arms leave the safety of the rock wall, twining themselves immovably around Eris’ shoulders, the Spymaster’s spine arcing from the stone to feel the sturdy presence of his mate as the orgasm rushes through his blood, practically turning it to steam in his veins as pure pleasure takes his life-force’s place. 

Hazel eyes manage to flicker open, met with creamy, pale skin, threads of fiery, silky hair settled at the nape of Eris’ neck, soft new hair curling from his skin. Azriel inhales, that rich, sweet and smoky scent cutting off circulation of thought—it’s too good to not taste. 

Amber eyes slide shut, a heady groan rumbling in the heirling’s chest as Azriel opens his mouth over Eris’ throat, licking up the side and nipping with his teeth. Long, deft fingers outmanoeuvre the ties keeping leathers together, pushing them away. Eris can feel how hard his omega is, the dampness of the fabric concealing him still. The heirling drags the heel of his palm down the thick length of Azriel’s cock, already leaking again and desperate for stimulation. 

“Hurry up.” Azriel pants, scarred fingers curling tight in fiery locks of hair, his hips tilting to rub against Eris’ palm, already needing a second relief. “What are you waiting—” Azriel cuts himself off with a gasp when Eris’ hand wraps itself around his cock, able to feel every finger, every knuckle… Nails dig into the heirling’s back as Eris lazily swipes his thumb over the tip, smearing precum that had nestled there. 

The Shadowsinger snarls in frustration when Eris pulls his hand away, then bites down on the aggression as pale fingers rise to a rosey mouth, elegantly narrow. “Eris, what are you…” 

Wild heat spreads through Azriel’s abdomen, pleasure and satisfaction twining together as the alpha’s tongue licks at the gleaming, creamy liquid. His cock twitches, hips pressing themselves flush to his mate’s, feeling slick beginning to drip down his thighs. In the past he’s found the sensation uncomfortable, invasive and suddenly sensitive, but now he’s in heat with his…with Eris, it doesn’t feel as awful as he remembers. Maybe even promising something good, this time around. 

Azriel’s cheeks are stained with colour as Eris pushes an open-mouthed kiss to his lips, tongue flicking and stroking, sharing the flavour as movements lose their gentle curve, steadily roughening, sharpening at their edges to demands. “Don’t you taste good?” Eris murmurs between the hot, feverish kisses, cum mixing with saliva. Azriel struggles to register the thought, and instead his scarred hands are roughly tugging clothing free from his mate’s body, buttons flying as Azriel uses a bit too much strength, tearing the fabric in his haste. 

“Impatient.” Eris murmurs, but it’s distinctly fond, lacking its authoritarian drawl. Azriel doesn’t care if he’s impatient—he’s in heat. 

“Stop dragging it out,” Azriel pants, fingers trailing down the bare expanse of the alpha’s chest, marvelling at the sight. “You said you were here to help.” 

“Shall I help you?” 

Hazel eyes flick up to meet amber. If these chains weren’t here, they threaten. 

Eris’ lips curve, as if he understands the unspoken demand to hurry up. “I think you look quite nice in them.” 

Azriel’s cock twitches at the low drawl, heat fluttering through his lower abdomen, arousal shivering with pleasure. “Stop teasing. Do something.” 

“Do something,” Eris muses, reaching to his trousers. Azriel’s tongue wets his lips. “Do something like…unchain you?” 

Sure enough, that’s a set of keys twinkling before him. 

Azriel lurches blindly at the promise of pleasure, but Eris steps back, heels clicking just out of reach. A thunderous snarl rips through the inner chamber, water droplets dislodged from stalactites far above. 

Amber eyes glance over the keys idly, twirling the coil of metal holding them together around one long index finger. Rosey lips curve in a smirk that makes the Shadowsinger’s knees nearly buckle. 

“Shall I free you, Azriel?” 

[iguessthisisanewobsession]

The ring was small and silver with a single emerald embedded in the metal.

It wasn’t something flashy, it probably cost less than the smallest gem from his vault all together.

But it was perfect.

Which made it so heartbreaking to turn it down.

“Dick.. you know me so well.. I wish I could take this ring, i really do.”

Dick was still on one knee in the little apartment, but he put the small box down on the floor as he asked.

“Then what’s stopping you?”

Danny let out a bitter chuckle,

“The US government.”

[catilinas]

finished the water quilt!!! it is machine pieced (of course) but i quilted it and finished the binding by hand :-)

[rottengurlz]

she’s like if the virgin mary smoked a pack of pall malls every day 🚬

[eldritchpina]

🧠n't

[dat-soldier]

POV: your date with an androgynous emo boy is going well

[frownyalfred]

this except it’s Brucie Wayne doing this during some company team building event and absolutely traumatizing an entire cohort of interns at Wayne Enterprises

[rockytye79]

@mari-lair I just realized I always draw Teru awestruck while Aka is just being his pretty self shksksks

Anyway, another TeruAka from Your Clock Is Ticking!!

[ineedcoffee-sigyn]

TW: Blood

Drew this today and put the speedpaint process on my YouTube channel-

this little bit is basically the ending to it

sometimes after wholesomness or silliness some angst is needed.

If anyone wanna see the speedpaint: X

[wangxianficrecs]

Follower Recs

~*~

The Metaphorical Night Before the Metaphorical Dawn

by mlevy673

G, 1k, Wangxian

Summary: “This is Little Apple,” Wei Wuxian says. Neither Jin Ling nor Jiang Cheng say anything, continuing to stare at Wei Wuxian with incredulity. “Look,” Wei Wuxian says nervously, “Lan Zhan said that he loved me and wanted to date me. Two hours ago, I thought he despised me.” He then shrugs as if to emphasize his point. As if that ‘point’ explains anything. “So you bought a donkey,” Jiang Cheng says. “Yes, I bought Li’l Apple.” “Jin Ling, stop gawking and close your mouth.” - Wei Wuxian has a moment of panic. Jin Ling and Jiang Cheng have to deal with it.

~*~

the shapes a bright container can contain

by litbynosun (@coldwind-shiningstars)

M, 16k, Wangxian

Summary: "Lan Zhan, look at this," Wei Wuxian calls. "They don't have organs, but they're all… fuzzy." He gently strokes the corpse's arm -- it's covered in soft, pigmentless downy hair, like a rabbit. Lan Wangji crouches next to him and nods. "Lanugo," he says. Wei Wuxian raises one eyebrow. "They were malnourished for quite a while before death," Lan Wangji elaborates. Wei Wuxian scans the bodies again. Indeed, they both have sunken cheeks, and their abdomens are empty of both organs and fat padding. “That’s a question,” he says. “Did they starve to death, and have their bodies desecrated after they were already deceased? Or were they murdered, and simply starving at the same time?” "We should stay," Lan Wangji tells him. This is not an answer to his question. It is an offer to search for answers. Or: Wei Wuxian and his family solve a ghost haunting. Wei Wuxain's old enemy, societal injustice, rears its head again.

~*~

The (Several) Convenient Kidnappings of the Chief Cultivator by the Yiling Patriarch

by misscam (@misscamthenorwegian)

M, 3k, Wangxian

Summary: “Yes, Clan Leader Jiang. It is most regrettable, but the Yiling Patriarch has once again kidnapped His Excellency. However, we have every confidence in His Excellency’s safe eventual return.” “Of course you do,” Jiang Cheng says bitterly. “You get a more agreeable Chief Cultivator, and everyone is happy, right? You are all so happy the Yiling Patriarch kidnaps the Chief Cultivator on a regular basis. How can you not delight in the fact that Wei Wuxian has no shame and is revered for it? Aren’t you all thrilled, thrilled, that Lan Wangji is such good friends with Wei Wuxian that they spend so many friendly nights together and His Excellency returns like a lovesick fool afterwards and is so conveniently more agreeable?” “…” “I hate you all,” Jiang Cheng declares and stomps off.

~*~

your name, safe in their mouth

by astrolesbian

G, 10k, Wangxian

Summary: “You’ve got a fever,” Wei Wuxian says soothingly. “You just keep still as well as you can. We’ll have you fixed up soon.” Lan Sizhui recognizes his tone—this is the voice that Wei Wuxian uses on hurt people and young children, a very calm and no-nonsense voice that has none of the mischief and cheer of the way he sounds the rest of the time. Lan Sizhui looks up and meets his eyes, and they are dark, stormy gray, muddled and concerned. “I’m all right,” he croaks. “Hush,” Wei Wuxian says, in a low croon, like someone quieting a baby. Then he blinks, and looks away, awkward. “I mean—you shouldn’t speak. You’re tired. Rest if you need to.” — lan sizhui gets sick on a night hunt. wei wuxian comforts him. they both have a lot of feelings about it.

~*~

🔒 the cow says moo, the chicken says squawk, and the demon beast of yiling says

by Dragonskye (@chellewing)

T, 57k, Wangxian

Summary: If Lan Wangji had been asking for reasons of fame or money or power (not that he was suffering a shortage of any of those attributes) that would have been one thing. But siblings were a different story entirely. If Jiang Cheng and Yanli were sick, then Wei Wuxian probably would have done just about anything to get those flowers. "Huh," Wei Wuxian said. "Alright, you can have them." Lan Wangji's eyes went wide, and Wei Wuxian choked. "I mean-! You can have them if you become my prisoner forever!" --- In which Lan Wangji, famed Second Jade of Lan, is not actually taken captive by the fearsome Demon Beast of Yiling. But for some reason, he stays anyways.

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for these hard-working authors if you like – or think others might like – these stories.)

[artbyblastweave]

Was a power move for the second Night Vale novel to headline a Romeo and Juliet plot between an atheist scientist and a member of the sanded-down all-that's-a-metaphor liberal-compromise-on-religion-compatible version of the setting's world-eating apocalyptic death cult. Which fizzles and dies a couple months after the events of the book's climax die down because, at the end of the day, the guy's a sincere adherent of the sanded down all-that's-a-metaphor-liberal-compromise-on-religion-compatible version of the setting's world eating apocalyptic death cult. Which at the end of the day is a pretty fucking stupid thing to be. Love does not, in fact, conquer all. Nor should it

[goddessofroyalty]

Share with the class some of your favorite young revolutionists/parents Vander and Silco headcannons.

Despite all the stress and busy-ness of their lives during those early days it's actually some of the simplest times of their lives because the goals, especially their long-term ones, are so clear to them and it does feel like they are making progress towards them even if it's slow (victories definitively feel sweeter and less complicated). And while people are starting to join on to their cause they aren't being looked at to be the leaders and make all the decisions.

Vander tries to bring little gifts home to Silco when he comes home. Not everyday and nothing big. But especially if a smuggling shipment has something in it that he thinks Silco would like (and it's large enough that one thing missing won't get noticed) he'll bring it home for Silco. If it's food he won't try any himself until he's given it to Silco.

While the number of actual toys their kids have is minimal (as in dedicated "this is a toy purchased for a child" and not "this is some rubbish this child has taken home") there is a constant stream of books going through the house. Few stay in their possession indefinitely but it's are something they keep their eyes open for whenever trading with sailors travelling through or generally in the things that pass through their/Benzo's hands. If they want their children to stand on equal footing to those in Piltover they will do the best they can to educate them.

They're a weird mix of being very paranoid protective parents and also very blase ones. And there is logic to it (much more protective against outside threats to their kids vs blase to kids doing dangerous things) it is a bit funny to think about. But also they are very on the same wave-length in what to be protective vs blase about despite never really talking about it.

There's not many photos of them at that time but in just about every one of them they are doing something that is not advisable with a baby/young child also in frame (smoking, cleaning blood of gauntlets, sorting through stolen goods).

They are a very intense relationship especially in the early days. So the kids are just as likely to witness them having a full blown in each other's face yelling match as they are them being obnoxiously affectionate with each other. Sometimes the yelling matches end with the obnoxious affection. Both sides of this actually get more intense as the years go on. It kind of all becomes Background Noise for the kid.

They've made arrangements for if they end up dead or in Stillwater. And I think between them and Benzo there's a rule that if they are doing anything big one of the three stays home (which clearly continues to when they're older - Benzo isn't out the night of the bridge).

[nctsworld]

a neo a day keeps the feelings at bay [76/∞] 

[ryllen]

Going places today

[realbeefman]

oh they were so fucking

[ellmovy]

fruk the musical is tonight how close do we think they're gonna get to kissing