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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 months ago

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Since you mentioned this in an earlier ask, what is your take on feminist Leona? I see people saying things like "consent king" "he drinks his respect women juice" and "leona kingscholar says men ain't shit" but I think those are mainly jokes but I've also seen a lot of for example Leona x reader fanfics where he's a lot nicer to femme Yuus than masc ones. I don't play the game so I don't know how much of a feminist he really is, could you clarify and give your own insights? Ty Miss Raven!!!!!!!

[Referencing this post!]

Admittedly, I am guilty of having made “consent king” jokes but that’s mainly because I think consent + respecting others’ autonomy is very sexy important and it’s slightly funny to have a 185 cm muscular anime cat boy championing the concept. However, I try to avoid making jokes which would imply Leona puts down his own gender or thinks lesser of them because 1) canon doesn't indicate this and 2) it can be hurtful to non-femme Twst fans. Yes, most of the fandom is women--but that doesn't mean we shouldn't make this fandom space welcoming for masculine or nonbinary Twst fans.

Let's delve into a brief history of where feminist!Leona comes from! After that, I'll discuss my own thoughts and feelings about it.

The idea first came into prominence because of an exchange that occurs in Cater's School Uniform vignette. In it, Cater is trying to convince Leona to join him for a party that he's throwing for Rosaria, one of the talking paintings at NRC. At first, Leona refuses--but he quickly changes his tune once Cater mentions Rosaria is a "she/her". Leona states, "Portrait or not, I respect ladies and Rosaria is a lady." Cater then whispers to Kalim (who is shocked that Leona suddenly agreed to come along), "Leona's kingdom is all about being respectful to ladies."

It should be noted that Leona says something slightly different in JP: “Even if it’s a portrait, a woman is a woman.” JP does not have the “I respect ladies” portion; “I respect ladies” was added to EN, which may have further amplified the interpretation that he is a feminist.

Now, as we learn from that vignette, the Sunset Savanna has a culture of "respecting women". In Leona's Ceremonial Robes vignette, he elaborates that, “[Beastwomen are] already way stronger than [beastmen]." Furthermore, Ruggie states in one of his Chats that “Girls have both the grit and the camaraderie to triumph when the goin’ gets tough.” Then, in events like Tamashina Mina and late in book 7, we are told that many of the royal guards are women who volunteer for the positions and it's common for them to have learned martial arts from a young age. From this dialogue, we can glean that the women of Leona's home country are physically strong, strong-willed, and honorable.

With that being said, I think certain interpretations of Leona's "feminism" (a term not actually used by official materials; this is a fandom take) definitely take it a step too far by either assuming Leona treats woman as a special class and/or he dislikes men. Both of those interpretations (if serious and not said as a joke) are owed to a fundamental misunderstanding of what "feminism" is. Feminism is "the belief in full social, economic, and political equality for women." Feminism is NOT misandry (a hatred of men), and nor is it female chauvinism (the belief that women are superior to men)... unless, of course, you're talking about very radicalized forms of thinking. The basic concept of feminism doesn't involve man hate or putting women on a pedestal.

Twst itself appears to go with the basic definition of feminism. As Leona himself states, he doesn't treat anyone special. "I ain't extra nothin' to nobody. As if [women] even need men fawning all over'em."

Leona, whom we know to be arrogant and unwilling to obey others' orders, appears to be more willing to listen to and carry out tasks if there's a woman involved. I already mentioned the case with Rosaria the painting (which proves that his "respecting women" thing extends beyond just beastwomen from his home country). In his Ceremonial Robes, he also grumpily puts on the aforementioned robes and takes a picture of himself in it upon the request of his sister-in-law. But--and this should be stressed--he's not exactly jumping for joy or eager to do so. Instead, Leona cites that "Goin’ against [beastwomen] only brings more trouble.” This indicates annoyance at having to carry out this chore, and gives the impression that Leona's only complying because not doing so would only overcomplicate things for him. He's not an idiot--he knows when to make a strategic retreat if it's going to save him time and effort in the long run. (For example, he immediately surrenders to the Ferrymen in book 6 rather than continue to put up a fight.)

I should note that, like in the earlier definition of feminism I shared, Leona does not simply bend the knee to every single woman. In the first Halloween event, he was still capable of scaring off the Magicam Monsters (some of which have distinctly female voices) without any qualms. He was still fully able to express anger and upset when Eliza, the Ghost Bride, smacked him. "You've got a lot of nerve turnin' me down over some nonsense!" He's also not above tricking the Fairy Queen and her entourage to steal back the special magestone from NRC.

This shows us that Leona doesn't just... "respect women" indiscriminately. If someone is going to be rude and selfish to him, he's going to respond as is appropriate. He's not going to turn a blind eye because of the offending party's gender.

In terms of Yuu interactions (assuming Yuu can be any gender), Leona acts pretty aggressive towards them in their first meeting. Even though it's clearly an accident and Yuu didn't realize they stepped on his tail, Leona is annoyed by the act and them walking away without apologizing or stopping to acknowledge him. He also makes it known that Yuu is magicless, and thus has no way of defending themselves from him. And you know what this man does? He says, "Well, can't say it'd be much fun to hurt someone so helpless. Still gonna do it, though." AND HE THREATENS TO TAKE A TOOTH. His wording, "No one gets to stomp on my tail and just walk away without payin' the price" + him still deciding to attack Yuu desite knowing they are weak/cannot fight back, implies to me that he may have still reacted this way regardless of Yuu's gender. (Key word: MAY. We don't know if this is the truth or not, I am leaving this up to your interpretation.)

Notably, there is a light change between EN and JP versions for Yuu's dialogue choices in response to Leona's threat. The EN dialogue options are far more humorous, but the JP options clearly convey fear (ie Leona is being serious about his threat of bodily harm). The top option is like noises of surprise, like "Eh, eh, eh!!"; the bottom option is along the lines of, "What, I'm going to be hit/beaten!"

There are, in fact, multiple instances where Leona acts callous towards Yuu. He refuses to let Yuu stay in Savanaclaw unless they earn their keep by beating up some mobs. He constantly degrades them by calling them and others he considers weak "herbivore". He has to be goaded into helping us or taking us along on trips instead of automatically caving. It could be argued that he would be more agreeable or polite if fem!Yuu was in these scenarios. And who knows, that might be the case--but again, I don't think he would be egregiously kind. I would like to point out a more direct example of a Leona-fem!Yuu interaction. Leona has interacted with a female Yuu before: Yuuka Hirasaka, our main character for the Episode of Savanaclaw manga. There's some debate over whether or not the NRC students know that Yuuka is a girl since the topic is never mentioned once, but I assume that they are aware because: 1) Yuuka makes no effort to hide her figure or chest; she even wears her blazer open, and 2) she has no motivation to hide her gender; she is capable of defending herself if needed and has a nonchalant personality. Proceeding with the assumption that Yuuka being a girl is a known fact, Leona does not treat her any differently than any other student.

Yuuka seems to experience the same tail-stepping scene as is depicted in game, although we don't see the aftermath of it/if Leona gives her the same threat.

The more telling scene for Yuuka, however, comes when she and her friends arrive in Savanaclaw to investigate. They are confronted by a bunch of mobs that start to pick a fight with them. Like in the game, Leona intervenes (ie he doesn't stop the fight just because Yuuka is a woman) and has them duke it out in a game of spelldrive/magift instead.

And you know what? Leona doesn't hold back just because he's playing against a woman. In fact, he kicks Yuuka's ass and then some. Then he stands over her and tells her to get back up, to keep playing. Leona isn't cutting Yuuka any slack whatsoever. He treats Yuuka the same as the boys she's playing with.

This brings me to my final prominent example of Leona interacting with a woman, which I think best exemplifies what my interpretation of Leona's "feminism" is. In the JP server's 2024 Halloween event Lost in the Book with Nightmare Before Christmas, Sally indicates that she plans on making a meal using the plants from around the cemetery. Leona is at first displeased by this, but then agrees to help her catch snakes, rats, lizards, etc. as meat for the meal. This leads into a conversation about how sad Sally's home life is, which earns her sympathy from the other NRC students. Jade, Riddle, and Epel are shocked at the cruelty that Sally faces. Jade volunteers to take the doctor out for Sally, and Epel even tries to convince Leona to help him rough up Dr. Finkelstein. But Leona just smirks and tells them Sally's not in any need of their "help"; isn't she the one who slipped the doctor a "drink"? Riddle scolds him for this "ungentlemanly" behavior and Epel refuses to believe that the "kind Sally" would do something like use poison. Leona was able to smell the deadly nightshade on her and deduce that Sally slipped some to her guardian and then slipped out on her own. She's not a damsel in distress--she's resourceful. Sally used her brains and not brute force to rescue herself from a bad situation. (We know that this would deeply resonate with Leona because he has been struggling his entire life to have his own merits recognized.) Leona praises Sally for her cunning and goes so far as to offer her his arm and tell her that he's looking forward to this evening's dinner.

In this situation, could it not be said that Jade, Riddle, and Epel were the ones assuming Sally is weak that Leona was the one who saw her true worth? I'm of course not accusing anyone here of being sexist. Society socializes us to see women as the "fairer sex" in need of protection and aid--but isn't Leona being more equitable by not underestimating Sally because of her gender?

That brings me to my conclusion. Leona respects women, no doubt about that. However, that's NOT a blanket statement. He clearly knows how to separate who is worthy of his respect and who isn't, and then he acts accordingly. Yes, he is polite, slightly softer, and more willing to listen to women he knows (his sister-in-law), women who haven't offended him/are just existing (Rosaria), and woman who have demonstrated their own strengths to him (Sally). He doesn’t become a completely different character just to bend to the whims of women. Those who have acted in ways to earn his ire, woman or not, will be treated as such (Magicam Monsters, Eliza, even Yuu when they/she enters his territory and/or steps on his tail). At the same time, I don't believe he thinks that women are delicate flowers that need special treatment (as we see with how he handles Sally + the Yuus and, more specifically, Yuuka). If anything, the women from his home country have demonstrated that they can be strong and self-sufficient. Why would he feel the need to go out of his way to be extremely lenient with the women he is around?

Lastly, nothing in official materials implies Leona treats men significantly worse than women. If he seems exceedingly rude to men, it’s most likely the result of the main cast (the characters Leona most often interacts with) being guys. If we were to compare how he treats his peers and how he treats women who have irritated him, I would say the behavior isn’t that different.

I know that was a long post but 😅 Hopefully I was able to articulate my thoughts well enough… May you find it helpful in forming your own opinion, Anon!

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waitineedaname · 7 months ago

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i was thinking my little thoughts while falling asleep last night, and a concept occurred to me: what if binghe learned about the system not from shen qingqiu, but from shang qinghua

look, he likes shang qinghua alright. he's pretty disinterested in p much anyone who isn't shen qingqiu, but on the list of People Luo Binghe Tolerates, shang qinghua is relatively high. he gave him advice on wooing sqq, after all, and sqq likes his company, so binghe tolerates his shang-shishu

but the thing is, shang qinghua is a spy. has been for decades. binghe knows this. really, everyone knows this at this point, which isn't a great look for a spy, but still. and since shang qinghua is a spy for mobei-jun, who is a subordinate for luo binghe, then technically shang qinghua is also working for him, but you don't get to the position of demon emperor without a healthy amount of suspicion for everyone in your court

so he decides to test shang qinghua a little bit. nothing major, just a little poking around in his dreams. he starts out with a subtle touch, just sifting through his memories. most of it is what he expected. he sees his time on an ding as a disciple and then later as peak lord, he sees him working for mobei-jun. he sees mobei-jun in some compromising situations, which he files away for later, and then sees him in an entirely different flavor of compromising situations, and binghe immediately decides to act like he never saw that

then he decides to take a more direct approach and starts nudging the dreams in other directions, to see how he might react to certain scenarios, test his loyalty. he expects shang qinghua to act cowardly, or bluff his way through a situaton, maybe even draw his sword if pushed far enough

what he doesn't expect is for shang qinghua to frown at the changes luo binghe made and go "I didn't write it like this"

what

binghe is so bewildered by that response that he loses his grip on the dream for a second, and before he knows it, shang qinghua has spun the dream scenario back into the way the scene originally played out. he steps back and looks satisfied. "there we go," he says. "that's how it went. you know, if I'd known I'd be dealing with this scene myself, I would've written it differently"

what the hell does that mean?

fascinated, luo binghe continues to test him. most of the time, when he toys with someone's dream, they're completely unaware of the changes. shang qinghua, despite not seeming aware that he's lucid dreaming, seems very aware of how each scene should go. except for, strangely, many of the scenes that binghe himself was in. binghe pulls up one from his disciple days, one of the times he remembered shang qinghua coming to qing jing on some errand. he hadn't even changed anything yet, had just let the dream version of his younger self launch himself at shizun in a tacklehug, but shang qinghua tsks and takes the reins from him before he can make any edits. "sorry bing-ge, but that was just way too out of character," shang qinghua says. the dream copy of luo binghe's younger self is sent further away, watching the peak lords with a sullen gaze. he's skinnier than binghe remembers being at this age, and one of his eyes is swollen with a purple bruise. that doesn't make any sense, luo binghe thinks. he hadn't been beaten on qing jing peak for years at this point.

the shen qingqiu beside shang qinghua in the dream stands with his back straight as a ruler, and when his gaze lands on luo binghe, he sneers behind his fan. shang qinghua sighs. "cucumber-bro really wasn't as good of an actor as he thought he was. he's way too soft to ever seem like the original goods."

alarmed, luo binghe dispels the dream and steps out of it entirely. sure, he knows shen qingqiu's personality changed almost overnight when he had that qi deviation. everyone knew that. he avoided questioning it much, unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth when it meant having a shizun that cared for him

but shang qinghua. shang qinghua seems to know something more about shen qingqiu's personality change. something he's not sharing. luo binghe didn't like the idea that one of his subordinates could be hiding something as vital as this from him

well, this had been a test of his spy's loyalties, hadn't it? perhaps he should make a visit to an ding. he had some questions.

#svsss #luo binghe #shang qinghua #didn't mean for this to get so long whoops under a read more it goes #my writing #<- more freeform than i usually do but i've seen other people do similar things with svsss posts #setting this free into the wild #i think lbh and sqh should interact more #demon lord and his favorite shishu. author and his whump protagonist.#now how does the confrontation go when binghe asks him about this?? who knows. that's for you to decide #i only got this far

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utterlyotterlyx · 8 months ago

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Eden

Azriel x F!Reader

Summary - You had heard the rumours of the illustrious Shadowsinger, and you knew better than to get involved with him despite his eyes finding you. Though, everything changes after one fateful night, and you find yourself unwilling to be another one of his conquests.

Warnings - angst, swearing, mentions of blood, fluff, fuck boy to angel Az, jealousy, some sadness, suggestive tones

Based on this ask

Word Count - 11.5k (oops)

"You know that sleeping around isn't going to make your mate miraculously appear, right?" Cassian pretty much shouted across the table to Azriel, wincing and the loud thumping of the music and squealing laughter drifting through the dancefloor of Rita's.

Shrugging, Azriel continued to sip on his potent drink, so potent that it took the edge off of his misery for a few hours to allow him to enjoy being buried inside another female before he went home to only be surrounded by every single member of his family acting sickly in love.

At first Azriel only did it to forget about Elain and Lucien, at how she chose the fox over him, but then it spiralled into something more. It had become to poisonous and filled him with so much venom that he despised being around his family at all. He had moved himself out of the House of Wind to a small but cosy apartment on the outskirts of the city, mainly so that no one truly knew how many women he was bedding each week, but so that he could also escape the turmoil of mating bonds and happiness.

"I don't have a mate," Azriel admitted, truly believing that the Mother had chosen to restrict him of that single purity he had always yearned for.

His eyes scoured the crowd, trying to find a female he hadn't taken to bed yet, not wanting to fuck the same woman twice and lead her to believe that he wanted anything more from her than what he did.

"Don't say that," Cassian scolded lightly, frowning at his brother and worrying about the dimness laced in his eyes as they lazily dragged across the crowds. "She's out there, Az. You just have to be patient."

Cassian's words gave Azriel no hope. The Shadowsinger knew that Nesta disapproved of Cassian joining him in the evenings, and he knew that Rhys and Feyre were worried about his wellbeing, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

To care was to open himself up to more pain, and he couldn't do it again.

"No, I don't," Azriel downed the rest of his drink and rose from his place in the booth, rolling his shoulders and feeling his shadows peak up from behind his wings, just as solemn as their master. "You should get back to Nesta. I'll see you for training tomorrow," he mumbled, fixating his gaze on the woman he knew for certain he'd be taking to bed that night to forget how lonely he truly was, stalking toward her and leaving Cassian more worried than he ever had been.

There was something about clubs and alcohol that you despised. Maybe it was the way males kept on knocking into you without apology, or how they would lean in and shout down your ear in an attempt to get you to dance with them.

No. It was definitely the heat that you hated the most. How the sweaty bodies would writhe and pulse to the beat of the music with little care of the world raging on beyond the doors. A world you had ventured across to set up a practice in the Night Court, believing that it was where fate needed you to be.

"Loosen up, y/n," your slightly inebriated friend, Alana, childishly begged as she grabbed your hands and swung them in time to the melody. "This is your first night out since you got here. Have some fun."

Part of you wanted to listen to her, to truly give in and push yourself outside of the bubble of comfort your solitude had gifted you. It wasn't that you hadn't tried to, it was just that you enjoyed your quiet nights in curled up with a good book, and your days of healing and walking about the city. It was routine, and you were happy living within it.

Allowing Alana to twirl you around in the tight black cut-out dress she had forced you to adorn for the evening, you couldn't help but catch a glimpse of the most beautiful male you had ever seen as the world span. Stopping in your tracks, you watched his grin widen as a stunning blonde female wearing little to no clothing swayed against the front of his body, grinding her hips and ass onto him whilst his fingers tightened around her waist.

"Who is that?" Alana came to your side sporting a knowing smirk, biting her lip softly as she too watched the male move in rhythm with the woman in front of him.

Just as his lips floated downward, whispering and nipping at the shell of her ear, did Alana admit, "That's Azriel. He's part of the Inner Circle," her eyes moved to you, dragging from your feet up to your face, "And he'd ruin you, sweetheart."

"I'm not interested," you lied.

Alana saw straight through it, "Liar," she nudged, "There isn't a single unmated female in this city that doesn't wish that he wouldn't beckon them to his bed, and he's had many of them."

There was no way that you could compare to the woman in front of him, she had golden blonde hair and rouge painted lips, and she had a wildness to her that you'd never be able to own. And, like he knew that fact, his eyes moved upward to yours and you felt like he was searching the depths of your soul. The stare was so intense that you felt the heat rise to your cheeks and had no choice but to break the contact, and you felt his smirk rake over your body as you turned away.

For the rest of the evening, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't stop yourself from finding Azriel from wherever he was in the room. Women flocked around him, but it was clear that he had made his choice, and you had to watch as the woman sauntered from the bar, dragging him behind her for an night of ruin.

And all you could do was wonder what exactly that would be like.

Nursing a hangover and little to no sleep thanks to the blonde feline Azriel had taken to bed that morning, the last thing he wanted to do was train with Cassian, but he knew he'd never hear the end of it if he bailed.

So there he was, clad in his leathers beneath the scorching sun, regretting all of his life choices.

At least he found something new out, something that his shadows didn't deem necessary to tell him. There was a new female in the city, one who reeked of Dawn, who was as beautiful as a setting sun in the depths of summer. Azriel couldn't help but picture her face whilst he fucked that woman, imagining her lips breathless and perfectly rounded, imagining the smoothness of her skin under his touch, and the subtle waves of her hair spiralling down her back.

It seemed that his wish to know more of her was answered the moment Feyre and Rhys stepped onto the training grounds atop the House of Wind, muttering about a new healer that Nyx had become obsessed with.

"Nyx just adores her," Feyre spoke with wonder, clad in her custom made training leathers that Rhys had made for her. "He let her give him his injections, he won't let Madja close enough to even try."

Rhys hummed in response, smiling at the memory and clearly pleased by the being he had welcomed into the city, "Well, Thesan did say that she is the best he's seen in a long time. I'm glad that she's here. It means that Madja can retire now if she wants to."

A new healer? From the Dawn Court?

No wonder she was so beautiful. She had been born in the most serene court of Prythian, she had probably grown up with the Peregryns, and had been trained by Thesan himself.

Turning his attention back to Cassian, Azriel couldn't help but let his mind wander to the healer he had seen the night before. It was strange how he found her eyes, pools of innocent bliss gazing at him from across the room that he couldn't help but be infatuated with. He still felt the pang of disappointment in his soul when she had looked away.

Training ensued without any issues, and by the end of the session Azriel was sure that he was going to throw up whilst Cassian seemed as chipper as ever. Nesta must have been nice to him when he returned home last night.

Just as Azriel went to flex his wings and return to his apartment as far away from the House of Wind, and thus Elain and Lucien, as possible, the clearing of a throat caused his feet to stick to the ground. "Az, a word?"

Rhys stood a mere few feet behind Azriel and watched as his tensed wings folded between his shoulders before he slowly turned to face him. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Rhys narrowed his eyes, still anxious about approaching Azriel considering the last time he had expressed his worry it had caused Azriel to move across the city. "I have a mission that I need you to go on. It's urgent. There's been increasing reports from the mountain camps that wing clipping has made a return. I need you to verify it."

It was one of the few things that truly got under Azriel's skin, the removal of wings from Illyrian females, usually little girls. Wordlessly, Azriel nodded, turning his back to Rhys and stepping toward the ledge that would plunge him downward, "I'll leave this afternoon."

And with that, Azriel extended his wings and propelled himself upward, ebbing and flowing over the scape of the city and trying to pinpoint where exactly the new healers practice was located. He had even sent his shadows out to continue the search when he had returned home, needing nothing more than the wash away the sweat and stench of alcohol alongside the lingering teeth marks peppered along his collarbone.

It made him feel disgusting. Azriel awoke each morning with a different female coiled around her torso feeling less like a man and more like a personal whore to the women of Velaris. It was tiring, but it was the only way he could tear his mind away from the pits of his immortal loneliness.

During his preparations, his shadows returned singing their findings.

The Sidra.

Beautiful.

Angel.

Sad.

Azriel wondered what in the world could cause something so incredible to be sad. And he vowed to delve deeper into the female upon his return, to find out what was the cause of her sadness and rid her of it.

If he couldn’t fix his own life then perhaps he could fix it for someone else. Someone who deserved it.

The sun had began to wane by the time Azriel was ready to leave for the mountain camps, he was dressed in his usual leathers with siphons glowering under the descending light. He didn’t bother looking back at the mess that was his apartment, he was used to looking back and saying goodbye to Cassian, and ruffling Nyx’s black mass of hair whilst promising the child that he wouldn’t be long.

But he was alone now, he had nothing to look back to.

It didn’t take The Shadowsinger long to reach the mountain camps. He landed far enough away to not be detected and approached the camps on foot, taking the time to try and evaluate when his life had become so unsatisfying and lifeless.

Looking into the eyes of that woman across the room at Rita’s was the first time he had felt alive, truly alive, in what felt like eons. And he was sure that he’d be chasing that feeling for the rest of his miserable days on the earth.

His wings were drooped at the tips, almost dragging along the floor, and his shadows continued on their melancholy journey slithering over his spine and shoulders before shivering and returning to where they had come from, searching for a speckle of warmth.

It was only when he heard the cries echoing from the centre of the camp did he truly focus on why he was there. The cries were whimpering, pleading, begging whoever it was to stop, and the voice was so gentle, so childlike and innocent that Azriel was beginning to lose the taut grip he usually had over his self-control.

Truthteller sang at his side, thirsty for a taste of blood, eager to take another life especially if it meant ridding the continent of another monster. Azriel was happy to indulge it.

Without wasting a moment, and without thinking, he entered the clearing in the centre of the camp and moved as fast as a phantom wind in cutting down the Illyrian males that deemed the barbarity acceptable, starting with the poor excuse of one that was towering over the cowering girl who had blood leaking from her ears and nose.

It was a bloodbath, and Azriel couldn’t bring himself to stop, not even when the arrows embedded themselves into his thigh and torso and caused his vision to blur. He could make out the pools of blood, and he could feel his shadows tightening around his limbs in attempt to get him to stop, and only when his breath became latched within his throat did he realise that there was no one left for him to maim, no one that would dare to face him anyway.

He hissed at the spreading pain being carried through his body, grabbing one of the three arrows and pulling it from his skin, smelling the arrowhead and cursing at the faint scent of nightshade laced to it.

Azriel knew that he didn’t have long, a few hours at most to make it home and get to Madja before the poison claimed him. Part of him wondered if there was any point, if living was something he truly wanted to do, but then he remembered her and the look in those beautiful eyes that had him craving life and adventure.

He decided to try. For her.

The last thing you were expecting that night was to be awoken in the early hours of the morning, when the moon was still alight in the star glittered sky, by a shouting High Lord and one of your assistants.

Your day had swam by like they all did, you healed, prescribed tonics, created balms and ointments from scratch, and visited the orphanage in the centre of the city, carrying out health checks so that everyone could rest assured that all of those beautiful children were healthy even if they weren't exactly happy.

Every patient that stopped by during the afternoon had much to tell you. After seeing you at Rita's the night before, they felt more comfortable in gossiping to you, realising that you were committing to their culture and activities. So you weren't exactly surprised when your fifth patient had something to say about Azriel.

You doubted that he even saw you through his drunken, lust-filled haze, but you saw him; you saw his hazel eyes lazily hooded and warm when they found you, you saw his lips tilt upward into a smile, and you saw the clear pain that lingered beneath the surface. Alana had told you, sternly, to not think of him, that he would be the ruin of you, but you couldn't help but think about him.

Now that you had the image of him, it was impossible to remove it from your mind.

Your mother would have scolded you for it if she were alive, she would have said that you had worked too hard and spent too long training to heal those who needed a kind touch to throw it away for some pretty male that hadn't even uttered a single word to you. She was right. As always.

Which made the entire situation a lot more strange, so strange that you had genuinely believed that you were dreaming when your assistant entered your bedroom above the practice and shook you awake.

"Y/N?" Priscilla asked, sheepishly shaking you before fumbling with her fingers at her front. "I'm sorry to wake you, but it's an emergency?"

Light spilled in from the slightly ajar door, and you could hear Rhys talking frantically from the floor below, his voice drifting up the stairs and into your ears.

It wasn't a dream at all.

You sat up quickly, causing all the blood to rush to your head, and you didn't bother to put any shoes on as you slid a plush cream cotton cardigan over your arms and barrelled down the stairs.

A gasp escaped your lips.

There lay Azriel on your examination table, blood smeared over his leathers and siphons, his skin pale and sickly, and his shadows limp in a circle above his head.

"Y/N." Rhys spoke, voice tense and wobbling, and your eyes snapped to him. He was also coated in blood, Azriel's blood, and the High Lord looked between you and his brother desperately. "Please."

Running your fingers through your unbound hair, your quickly threw it up into a loose set bun at the back of your head and quickly disinfected your hands before you moved to the Shadowsinger, to the same male who couldn't look more different than he had in Rita's.

"What happened to him?" Azriel groaned at the sound of your voice, not fully coherent but it was like he knew that it was you tending to him, and his shadow perked up for but a moment before slumping back onto the table.

Rhys was beside himself, raking his fingers through his hair and down the sides of his face. "I sent him to the mountain camps to verify a rumour," he told you, not wanting to give too much away, "He was shot with arrows, I think they were poisoned. He came back to us like this, barely breathing and mumbling some nonsense about wanting to look back."

"Did you bring the arrows?"

Within seconds, Rhys produced two of the arrows, and you noted that Azriel must have taken the third one out himself at left it in the mountains. You run your fingers along the wood, bringing the oaken arrows to your nose and scenting the oozing liquid coating the head.

"Nightshade," your voice faltered. It wasn't often that you saw anyone with nightshade poisoning, they usually didn't last so long, and the fact that Azriel had was a miracle.

You flew around the room, gathering various ointments, balms, and rags, ordering Priscilla to fetch a bucket of tepid water to keep his fever down.

"Azriel?" you called to him softly, and his head moved in the direction of his voice, "I'm y/n. I'm going to help you, alright? You just need to stay with me for a little while longer. Can you do that?"

A low whine passed through his lips, tugging at the strings of your heart, and you took that as his voice of agreement. Ordering Rhys to stand back and for Priscilla to press the dampened rag to his forehead, you began to work.

Slowly, you cut through his leathers to expose his chest to the Velarian air, noting every ripple and tense of his muscles and they writhed from the effects of the poison in his system. Without thinking, you rested your glowing palms against his abdomen, calling on every morsel of your power to dive into his veins and extract every drop of poison that lived within him.

Rhys and Priscilla watched in awe as the poison began to vacate his body through the entry wounds left by the arrows, they watched that black putrid filth run down the sides of his body and drip onto the stone floor. But you didn't stop, you wouldn't let a single tear of that poison live inside of him, and once the last drop had left him, Azriel opened his eyes and gasped.

The relief he was feeling must have been profound. His eyes trailed along your face, much enjoying this version of you than the one he saw at Rita's, noting the long lashes of your closed eyes as your power surged through him to ensure that his blood was clean. You didn't even realise that your eyes were closed until his clammy, trembling fingers curled around your wrist.

His eyes were weak and drowsy, he was rightfully exhausted, and you pulled your hands away slowly, the glow in your palms weakening more by the second. Then you moved your eyes to his face, his sickly pallid face and equally pale lips that were parted in shock.

And then you felt it, that golden thread withering in solitude connecting with its other half, entwining and thrumming in clear skies, burning gold in the pits of darkness.

"Mate." Azriel rasped, eyes wide and fingers fumbling to keep a hold on you, his thankful shadows trailing up your arms to steal the warmth locked beneath your skin.

You could feel Rhys' eyes on you, examining you, not knowing what to do or say in the moment.

"Right. Yes." Azriel's wounds were still open and angry, and that is why you couldn't fully adapt to what had just happened between you, not when you could feel his pain laced with hope flow down the freshly unlocked bond.

The rest of your work was done in silence. You applied thick balms to his wounds to urge them to close and disinfect before bandaging his entire torso and thigh, apologising when each wince would sound from his lips. And all he did was watch your face whilst you worked, he watched the furrow of your brow and the concentration within your eyes, and he realised why his mind was focused on you since the moment he had seen you.

You were his mate.

His mate.

His.

When you had finished, you turned to Rhys who was perched upon a nearby chair, observing in perfect silence, and beckoned him to follow you onto the porch of your practice, closing the door softly behind you whilst Priscilla continued to clean the blood and dirt from his skin. "He would have died if you had come five minutes later."

Rhys took a step toward you, "Will he be alright?"

Part of you had to admire Rhys for his care, for the way he cared about every member of his found family and how he would go to the ends of the earth to ensure that they lived, but another part of you hated him for sending Azriel to the mountain camps in the first place.

"He'll be fine. I suggest letting him rest, someone will need to watch him," your voice trailed off slightly, not knowing whether to offer or not considering the revelation that he was your mate, "I'll stop in and do regular checks over the next couple of days, but for now he just needs to be somewhere comfortable."

"I'll take him to the River House," Rhys promised, knowing that was the only place where Azriel could truly rest, and the only place where you could enter without having to go through the rest of their dysfunctional family. "How are you feeling?"

A thin smile tugged at the corners of your lips, "I'm fine."

"I meant," he took another step toward you, glancing down at the blood that now stained your cardigan and skirt of your night dress, "How are you feeling about Azriel being your mate?"

Peering over your shoulder and through the window, you saw Azriel looking up at the ceiling with a gentle smile on his lips. "I know who he is, his reputation. I'm someone who has given their entire life to be amazing at what they do, which means that I'm inexperience in other aspects. I don't think I'm the kind of woman that he wants."

Shaking his head, Rhys brushed against your side, "Trust me. You are everything that he has ever wanted."

All you could do was hum in reply, and you folded your arms over your chest to protect against the chilled winds as you stepped back inside, internally grinning at Azriel's effort to sit upright the moment you were back in his presence. You stopped at his side, "I've told Rhys to take you somewhere comfortable so that you can recover, and I'll stop by over the next few days to make sure that you're healing properly and that there aren't any side effects from the poison."

Azriel furrowed his brow, "But what about us?"

"Let's just get you healed first," you told him, doing your best to stay calming, "Then we can revisit everything else."

He wanted to say more, he wanted to take your hand and bring it to his mouth, he wanted to know what your skin tasted like on his tongue. He wanted to know everything he could about you, and he was desperate for it, so desperate that no words fell from his fumbling lips as he tried to force a reply.

Azriel felt like a schoolboy approaching his crush for the first time, and you noticed that the illustrious Shadowsinger was truly lost for words.

"You can take him now, Rhys. I'll come by in the morning."

"Thank you, y/n."

Azriel watched as you bowed your head to Rhys in acknowledgment, "Of course," you told him, your eyes finding Azriel one last time before all he could hear was the patter of your feet against the wooden stairs and smell the lingering scent of fresh berries and sweetened citrus.

Waiting for the morning was driving him insane already, but he would wait for you. He would always wait for you.

The morning had come too quickly, but sleep hadn't found Azriel that night, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the stabbing pains in his chest or the excitement bubbling in his gut at the thought of seeing you again.

After being fixed up, Rhys had winnowed them both back to the River House, Rhys refusing to let Azriel be anywhere else considering you have given him strict instructions to ensure an eye was kept on him, at least until he could walk on his own two feet.

He had forgotten how peaceful the River House was in his miserable meandering through life, he had forgotten its comfort, he had forgotten what it had been like to be around family. His room had been left untouched, his bed made and books still open on the last pages he had read splayed across the desk.

By the sunlight pooling onto his bedroom floor, Azriel could tell that it was nearing midday, which meant that you were going to be arriving any moment. Any movement made him wince, but he found enough strength to be able to sit up in the bed, he knew that you'd want to check the wounds beneath his bandages and wanted to make it easier for you.

His wings were tucked neatly behind his back, and his shadows were sleeping soundly atop his shoulders. Azriel was too busy watching them to notice the opening of his door, only realising that someone else was there when their scent worked its way into his bones.

"You're sat up," your voice was light and soft as you entered, medical bag in hand and dressed in a plain but beautiful taupe gown with low looped sleeves and a corset of brown leather. "That's a good sign."

Azriel's heart stopped at the sight of you, at your hair unbound but the front pieces held back by a cream coloured fabric headband, at the dress and the glowing of your skin in the warming sunlight.

With a small smile, you perched on the edge of the bed, unclipping the clasp of your bag and retrieving some small vials and tubs, setting them down on the bedside table and turning to him. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. Much better," was all he could manage to say, completely mesmerised by the hue of your eyes in the light and shape of your lips, "Thanks to you."

"It's no problem," you told him softly, reaching for the bandages around his torso and taking your time in unwinding them.

In a couple of days he would be as good as new thanks to his other-worldly healing beginning to kick in, and you told him as such as you reapplied the balm and placed two patches to the effected areas on his torso, carefully massaging the balm into the wounds to make sure that it did its job.

"I need to talk to you," he took your wrist in his hand before you could move your attention to the wound on his thigh, his eyes were pleading to talk about something other than his pain, you could feel it flow down the bond that you were trying to adapt to. "I need to know where your head is, with us."

"The moment you looked at me that night was the first time I felt that someone had actually seen me, even if you were drunk," you spoke with a huff of amusement, "You looked at me, and then you took a woman home who is infinitely more beautiful and wild than I am, and then I had to hear everything that everyone says of you. Forgive me if I'm feeling apprehensive and would like to just focus on making sure that you live."

Azriel understood, truly he did, but that didn't make the words sting any less. "I'd like to show you the real me, if you'll let me." His heart thundered in his chest at your silence, and the nerves settled in his gut and swarmed within his heart that was beating for you.

Unable to deny those rounded eyes brimming with hope for a brighter tomorrow, you sighed, "Fine," you told him, "Once you're back on your feet, I'll give you a chance. Now let me work."

The tone of your voice made Azriel release your wrist and settle back into the cushions of his bed, and he didn't make a single sound whilst you worked on the wound buried into his thigh, applying the same balm and wrapping it up before giving him instructions for the ointments and tonic to help the pain. "Thank you for saving my life."

Your eyes found his again and you could have melted at the pure desperation within them, "Well, I couldn't exactly let my mate die now, could I?"

"Will you be back?"

Azriel observed you as you packed up your things, disposing of the bloody rags and bandages in a wisp of smoke. "I have some errands to run but I'll stop by on my way home. Is there anything that you need?"

"Just you."

Even in his state Azriel was a shameless flirt, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop the innocent smile from taking over your face, but you couldn't stop the blush from prickling at your skin, and a part of you didn't want to.

"I'll be back later. Eat something and rest, you need to build your strength back up. The tonics can help with the rest and the pain."

Azriel tilted his head in your direction whilst you gathered the last of your instruments, clasping your bag shut and rising from the bed. He knew there was a reason why he had been drawn to you, why you hadn't left his mind, and it was because you were his mate. The one fated to be his. The one thing he thought he'd never be able to have.

And gods, you were the most perfect thing he'd ever seen.

With a gentle and reassuring smile, you squeezed his forearm softly before removing yourself from the room and taking your time in making your way downstairs, dawdling in the halls to examine the artworks and ornaments lining them. Though, you weren't expecting to come face to face with Cassian the moment you moved from the last step.

He wore a shit-eating grin and stood before you with his arms crossed tightly over his chest whilst his eyes slowly drifted to the stairs and what, or rather who, lay resting on the floor above. "Always in the right place, aren't you y/n?"

Luckily for him, you had often been in the right places when he required some healing or tonics, whether it be for him or Nesta during her most recent cycle. "It's quite literally my job, Cass."

Cassian grinned and chuckled deeply, his orbs morphed into sincere and he cleared his throat, "Thank you for what you did last night. Azriel may be difficult but he's family. We'd be lost without him." He laid his large hand on your shoulder in thanks, it was light a weighted blanket, comforting in a way you'd never found in anyone else. "And," he began, sighing, "Rhys told me about the bond. How are you feeling?"

Dropping your shoulders, you shook your head slightly and looked toward the ceiling, worried that Azriel was going to hear what you had to say before finding Cassian's gaze. "I'll tell you what I told Rhys, and Azriel. I don't think I'm the kind of woman he wants. I've heard the rumours, I've seen the kind of women he takes home every night and I couldn't be more different to them. I'll give him a chance once he's better, but that's all I can do right now."

"I understand," Cassian smiled sadly, removing his hand from your shoulder and glancing down at the bag loosely held in your fingers. "Isn't today supposed to be your day off?"

Rolling your eyes, you lightly swatted his chest as you passed by, "Stop analysing my schedule, Cass. I never have days off anyway."

"How else am I meant to know when to come to see you?" Cassian called after you, unmoving from his place at the bottom of the stairs.

"You don't need an appointment to come and see me," you waved him away without turning around, pacing into the lounge and instantly feeling your confused mood lift when you saw Nyx wobblily walking about the room.

The small child, under the watchful eye of Feyre, instantly moved to you, babbling and reaching upward, and you swept him into your arms and felt your soul blossom when he rested his head on your chest. "He loves you," you craned your head to the side at the sound of Feyre's voice, a pencil was lazily held between her fingers and the sketchbook resting in her lap was kissed with the first swirls of grey, "Nyx that is, though I'm sure that Azriel does too," she spoke, setting her things down on the centre table.

"Well I only care about Nyx right now."

You were sure that Azriel could feel your joy and love for the child flowing down the bond, you seemed to be able to feel everything the other felt. His hope, pain, and blissful desires, and your exhaustion and innocent joys.

"I just want you to know that Azriel is probably the best of us," she began, rising to her feet and smoothing down the wrinkles in her skirt, she approached you, eyes flitting between you and Nyx with a serene smile, "He is patient and kind, courageous and gentle, and he has so much love to give. I think the recent period in his life was caused by the belief that he wasn't worthy of it." Feyre ran her fingers through Nyx's short onyx hair, "You deserve to see the real Az, in the way that we see him."

"Thank you, Feyre."

The High Lady hummed softly, "Always," you gently passed Nyx over to her, allowing him to grab your finger in his tiny palm in an attempt to get your arms wrapped around him again. "Are you going into the city?"

"Yes. I have some supplies and orders to pick up, and I'm going to try to enjoy the little time I get to spend by myself."

"Well, have fun. We'll be seeing you later? Why don't you stay for dinner?"

"Oh, I wouldn't want to intrude-"

"You're not," the deep voice of Rhys reverberated from behind you, his chest brushed against your back as he passed, heading straight toward his mate and child and kissing them both lightly on the forehead before turning his attention to you fully. "You save us all on a daily basis. You're always welcome here."

"I appreciate that," you swayed back and forth on the balls of your feet, wanting the ground to swallow you whole, "I should get going. I'll see you both later."

It didn't take you long to gather the supplies and orders that you needed for the practice, and once you had dropped them back of Priscilla, who admitted that the day had gone slowly, you decided to take a walk around the city. You browsed the endless bookshops and headed to the markets to see what garments they were selling, settling on a flowing ivory skirt and shimmering pale blue dress.

The sun was setting by the time you were done, bags in hands full of new treats for yourself as well as a new toy for Nyx that you had seen and couldn't not buy.

Scents of honey cured meats and roasted vegetables drifted down the stone path that led to the River House, and you could faintly make out the silhouettes of Rhys and Cassian through the window. And, like she knew that you were stood there watching, Feyre opened the front door and smiled at you, beckoning you closer.

Feyre took all the bags from your hands bar one, the one that you needed to take to Nyx who was already on his feet and swaying over to you the moment you stepped through the door. You knelt on the ground to greet him, the paper bag settled on the floor beside you, "I got you something today," you teased, diving your hand into the bag and retrieving the small stuff bat you had spied at one of the many market stalls that afternoon.

Nyx beamed, taking it from you and babbling his thanks as he moved into your arms, looking up at you expectantly to pick him up, and you did so without question.

"You spoil him too much," Rhys moved to sit beside you on the couch, watching Nyx with a faint smile as he played with his new toy. "Azriel is walking around. Seems that whatever you did is working."

"I would say that it's because of his own determination but we both know that was all me," Rhys laughed at your words, especially at how you had modified your tone to be Nyx-friendly.

"That it was," a sultry voice drifted through the air, sending involuntary shivers down your spine. You glanced over you shoulder, spying Azriel in the doorway with his hands buried into his pockets, looking as perfect as he had that night at Rita's.

His hair was messy, like he had raked his fingers through it with frustration, his skin was golden, and it looked like he had gotten some kind of rest given the disappearing bags that lingered beneath his eyes. The shirt he wore was unbuttoned toward the top, allowing you to see his still intact bandages and the tattoos that swirled the area. His wings were poised and neatly tucked at his shoulders, like he wanted to appear as unthreatening as possible to you.

Azriel appeared shy and sheepish, eyes floating through the room, finding Cassian and Rhys before landing on you and Nyx. So that was what the joy down the bond was, it was Nyx, it was a child that made you feel so light and happy.

Recognising the tension between you both, Cassian took the opportunity to plop himself down on a nearby armchair, setting his feet upon the table where Feyre's art supplies still lay, and spoke, "So, you two are mates?"

Closing his eyes, Azriel wanted nothing more than to punch his brother through the ground and into the realms of hell. Instead, he inhaled deeply, "Yes, Cassian," he gritted through his tensed teeth, noticing that you had chosen to take your awkwardness and pour your attention into Nyx.

"Well? What are you going to do about it?"

Slowly realising what Cassian was doing by the cock of his brow and slight smirk, Azriel decided to play along, "I'd like to take y/n out. I'd like to get to know her and see if she would like to accept the bond."

Cassian turned to you, innocent mischief laced in his orbs, "Y/N. Would you like to go out with Azriel, get to know him and figure out if you'd like to accept the bond?"

Rolling your eyes at his antics and slicing a glare to Rhys who had slightly sunk into the cushions of the seat, you replied, "Yes. I would."

"Great," Cassian shot to his feet with a clap of his hands which made you jump slightly, "Tomorrow. Az will pick you up from the practice."

"Fantastic."

"Amazing."

You and Azriel both spoke in unison whilst Rhys' foot tapped against the floor, raking his fingers across your mind and slipping into your lowered walls. I'm sorry about him. He's always been a meddler unfortunately.

You don't say.

The first date was going well up until it wasn't.

Azriel had arrived at the practice at sundown, flowers in hand, looking more incredible than you could have ever thought he could. It was clear that had spent the entire evening planning your first night alone together, he had taken you to the restaurant along the Sidra and had spent most of the time asking you questions about your work, appearing genuinely interested in the journey you had taken to get you to where you were.

He was intelligent, and soft, and funny in his own dry way, and you were beginning to understand what Cassian and Feyre meant.

It was going perfectly until a woman approached the table, batting her eyelashes toward Azriel and looking to you like you were the biggest pile of nothing on the continent. She was beautiful, long brunette curls and feline honey eyes, and it didn't help like she had the body of a goddess, carved from the finest of marble. You didn't want to admit it, but she made you feel so inferior, so disposable.

Azriel was polite, his fingers drifting against yours the entire time she was at the table, trying to reassure you whilst she essentially asked when she could see him again. In the nicest way he could, Azriel told her that he wasn't interested and asked her to leave, and all that had earned you was a venomous glare and a scoff.

He apologised profusely, and you accepted it, you were willing to let it go. After all, you could understand why women would approach him. Azriel was gorgeous, perhaps the most gorgeous male in all of Prythian, and you couldn't blame anyone for approaching him. If you had that level of confidence then maybe you would have too.

The second time it had happened, it dampened your hopes that a life with Azriel could work.

The Shadowsinger had asked you to go on a walk with him to the markets, he had picked out jewels and other beautiful items that he was sure would look beautiful on you. You had insisted that you didn't need them, that you could but them yourself, but he wasn't having any of it.

It was all going well until another woman showed up, curling her painted fingers around his bicep and pressing her body up against his side. Azriel looked visibly uncomfortable, you'd give him that, and like the same women he sent away at dinner, he told her that he wasn't interested and to leave him alone. The woman all but snarled at you, and you knew that you were going to be the talk of the city, that you were going to be known as Azriel's newest flame.

Unfortunately, it just kept on getting worse.

The people of Velaris had begun coming into the practice faking injuries just so that they'd be able to speak to you and pull the situation between you and Azriel from your lips. It was tiring. Everyone had their pasts, you knew that and you were fine with Azriel's, but it didn't mean that you wanted it waved around in front of your face.

Every single fake patient that waltzed through the doors to your practice served as a constant reminder that you'd never be good enough for Azriel. But you had seen the good in him, you had seen how much he respected you, how his eyes lit up when you spoke about whatever it was that you were passionate about, and you felt his adoration flow down the bond whenever you would see Nyx. You knew that Azriel was smitten, but you also knew that he had no idea just how much everything was effecting you.

It had all come to a head the night he had suggested to make you dinner at his apartment, to minimise the risk of anyone approaching you, and you deduced that it must have been Feyre's idea. Not even the Inner Circle were free of the city gossip mill.

He had done his best to be as comfortable and romantic as possible, and you knew that he wasn't expecting anything to happen, he just wanted you to see how serious he was about you. Candles lined the ledges, and he had placed pillows at the coffee table before the large arched windows which allowed you to see the entire golden valley of Velaris.

It was beautiful. It was perfect.

Then, halfway through the dinner he had impressively made by himself, the door to his apartment opened, and before your eyes stood the same blonde bombshell he had taken home the night you had seen him for the first time. Your breath became lodged in your throat, and all you felt was disappointment and sadness at yet another date being ruined.

"Oh, I'm sorry to interrupt," she walked further into the room, eyes drifting about the candle-filled ledges with a smirk. "I was hoping that you'd be alone tonight," she was brazen enough to remove her coat, revealing little clothing beneath in an outfit that extenuated her curves and breasts.

Azriel's eyes were trained on you, but you couldn't look at him. You folded your hands into your lap and kept your eyes on the floor, trying your best to not cry in that moment, to not appear as weak. But he could feel it, he could feel the sadness and anger bubbling inside of you.

"Come on, Azriel," she purred, golden hair flowing over her shoulders, "Say goodbye to your latest conquest and come back to me. We both know that she clearly isn't what you want."

That was it.

Wordlessly you rose to your feet, hastily gathering your jacket and satchel in your arms before rounding her toward the door. "Don't take it personally, sweetie," she called after you condescendingly, "You just aren't what he needs."

You had never run anywhere, not because you didn't want to but because you enjoyed your slow meandering, you enjoyed watching the world go by slowly, but you sprinted home that night, ignoring his pleas down the bond and instead deciding to shut it off completely as you slammed the door shut to your bedroom.

A couple weeks passed by, weeks of silence which you channelled into your work, opting to take a research trip to the Autumn Court to sample their botanicals for a new balm you wanted to craft. The best part about leaving the city for awhile was that you could work undisturbed by Azriel and the Inner Circle.

Luckily for you, Eris, the new High Lord, was happy for you to experiment your skills and craft on his soldiers and injured townsfolk, knowing of your reputation and passion for healing. He had offered you a place in his court, doting on you often in a bid to get you to stay, but nothing would get you to leave the wonder that was Velaris, no matter how much you wanted to burrow yourself away and hide for eternity.

That morning, you were nestled at the edge of a brook that was passing through the forest just east of Fir Manor, drawing flowers and examining their properties when you heard the leaves crunch from behind you. From the scent, you knew that it was Eris coming to check on you again. He looked good, he adorned a pair of sage green briefs and a cream blouse, and you couldn't forget the brown leather riding boots you loved so much to the point he had gone out and bought you your own pair.

"This is the third time you've stopped by this morning alone," you spoke, not lifting your gaze from your notebook that was littered with colourful sketches and text.

Eris fell to your side, finding a comfortable place on the blanket you often carried around with you so that your body didn't break against the rocks. "I've been invited to the Night Court to see Lucien. I think that they're hoping that you'll join me."

The pencil in your hand froze against the parchment, and you straightened your posture to look at him, at the amber eyes and fire-red hair that he had recently had cut. Eris had been kind to you, understanding the need to escape for awhile, he had immersed you in his culture, had given you many dresses to fit the season, and not once did you see a droplet of hatred within him.

You were aware that the time was approaching to go back, that you couldn't leave Priscilla on her own for much longer even if Madja was back from her holidays and taking the brunt of the patients in the city. Though, you wished you could have a little longer to enjoy the serenity and joy of your work without everything else weighing down on you.

Looking to him, you smiled thinly, tapping the end of your pencil against the parchment of the notebook, "I suppose it's time that I went back anyway. I'm surprised that the practice hasn't burned to the ground yet."

Eris chuckled, his shoulder brushing against your own, "If things are still tense when we're there, you're always welcome to come back with me."

"Thank you, Eris. I really appreciate everything you've done for me."

"Of course," he smirked, "Anything for Prythian's best healer."

The High Lord jumped to his feet, wiping away any small rocks and pebbles of dirt from his briefs before offering a hand to you and helping you up off of the ground. "Always an ulterior motive with you," you lightly scolded him, looping the strap of your satchel over your shoulder whilst he folded the blanket over his arm.

"Can you blame me for wanting you all to myself?" Eris nudged into you, falling in step with you back toward Fir Manor. Once inside the safety of the walls, Eris asked you to pack your things, including the items he had gifted to you, and winnowed you both to the boarder of the Night Court where Rhys was already waiting.

Eris had never seen anyone so desperate to leave his side in years, he watched intently as you babbled some nonsense about needing to get back to the practice, muttering a soft goodbye before disappearing.

"Are you trying to piss Azriel off?" Rhys asked, eyes following your figure through the woodland until he couldn't see you anymore. You reeked of Eris, of Autumn, and wore a dress of burnt orange and riding boots that matched Eris' own. "You know that they're mates."

"For now," Eris quipped with a smirk, causing Rhys to look toward his new ally with confusion, "Can you blame her for questioning it? Considering every time they've been together it's been ruined by one of his one-night whores?"

Rhys was all too aware of what had happened thanks to Nesta who had heard from Cassian, she was too worried about Azriel to not divulge what she knew even though she couldn't stand to be around Rhys. Plus, Nesta liked you, from what little she had seen, she believed that you were a gift from the mother to them all.

"I can't say that I do," he admitted, frowning at the place where you had been stood, eager to get away from him.

It must have been hard, to find out that you had a mate, to give him a chance for it all to be ruined by his past conquests sticking their noses in where they weren't wanted. Then there was the matter of the gossip, of people truly believing you had slipped him some kind of love tonic to get him to want you. It had infuriated Rhys when he had found out, so much so that he had visited those spreading such vile accusations and ordered them to stop or otherwise be banished from the City of Starlight.

Rhys wanted to protect you, he wanted you to be happy even if it wasn't with Azriel.

But not with Eris. Never with Eris.

Unwillingly, Rhys escorted Eris to the House of Wind to be with his brother and new sister-in-law, and returned home to Feyre as fast as he possibly could.

It didn't take you long to catch up with an extremely thankful and tired Priscilla, her blue eyes were brimming with exhaustion and stress, her lips were cracked and her skin was dry. You apologised to her profusely, and thanked her for keeping the practice going whilst you took some much needed time away from the city.

Perhaps Alana was right, maybe Azriel would be the ruin of you.

Priscilla told you that she understood, but that she was happy that you were back. So, you gave her the rest of the week off, feeling alive and ready to dive back into the occupation you adored so much. It turned out to be a quiet day, shipping off some balms and ointments for some follow up patients, some minor cuts from training scuffled that were quickly treated and males sent on their way, and before you knew it the sun had began to set.

The chiming of the bell at the entryway signalled that someone had entered the practice past opening hours. Wiping your hands on your tatty apron, you headed into the waiting foyer, not paying much mind to anything until the scent of cedar and mountains kissed your lungs.

Azriel stood before you, eyes wild and appearing somewhat dishevelled, black bags beneath his eyes from lack of sleep and a certain worried paleness clinging to his skin. His shadows sensed you immediately, shooting from his shoulders and dancing around your waist.

In your haste to work you had forgotten to take a shower or change out of the clothes Eris had gifted you, and you saw that Azriel had noticed the style and scent that surrounded you. But, he swallowed harshly and rasped, "You look beautiful."

His tired words threatened to cleave your heart into a million pieces, "Thank you."

Silence hung between you, heavy and tense, and you weren't sure what to say. Should you apologise for the clothing and the scent of Eris that lingered around you? Should you apologise for disappearing without a trace with no way for him to contact you?

Azriel looked lost, like he hadn't slept since the night you left his apartment in such a hurry, but the words of that woman still lingered in your mind. Conquest. Not what he needs. It dawned on you that he may not have known just how deeply it had effected you, how inexperienced you had realised you were, how insecure these women had caused you to feel.

"I'm sorry, for that night at my apartment. I didn't invite her, I don't know why she even showed up," he took a step toward you and you didn't move, not knowing what it was that you wanted in that moment, "I should have gone after you. I should have stopped you from leaving but you silenced the bond and I thought I was the last person you wanted to see. I was wrong."

"Azriel, I-"

"Please," he took another step toward you, and kept on moving until his fingers caressed beneath your chin and pulled your gaze up to meet his eyes. "I didn't think that I deserved to be loved, not after what I've done. I thought that the mother had taken one look at me decided that I wasn't worth it. So, yes, I slept around, I wanted to do all I could to forget the fact that I was destined to be alone forever even though having a mate, having you, was all that I've ever wanted."

"You are magnificent, y/n. Truly. No woman even holds a candle to you. You are intelligent and passionate, you are beautiful and peaceful in ways that I never thought I'd be able to witness or feel. I stopped wanting to look back, I stopped wanting to say goodbye to the people I love, and then I met you and I knew I'd found the one I wanted to look back to every night and look forward to every morning."

"You are not a conquest to me. I was ready to accept the bond the moment you entered the room that night when I was lying there dying. You are my everything, you are my reason to live and breathe, you are my salvation. I don't want to live my life without you, not after I've gotten to see you in a way I know that no one else has. Please, y/n. Please come back to me."

You could feel the tears pooling atop your bottom lids, his touch was feverish but unrelenting, his hands cupped your face and his eyes searched your soul for a hint of acceptance.

"Azriel, I don't think that I can," your bottom lip wobbled, and the pain of your insecurity bloomed devilishly inside of your chest. "Your past doesn't bother me, and I never want you to think that it does. Every moment I've spent with you has left me wanting you more and more every day. But I'm not like them, I'm inexperienced in intimacy and dedicated to my work, and I can't allow myself to tarnish everything I have accomplished. I can't allow myself to feel small and insignificant anymore."

"You're not small or insignificant, y/n," his brow furrowed and he felt you slipping away, he didn't need the open bond to understand how much pain you were in, not when he could see it all etched upon your face. "You're everything that I've ever dreamed of. Please."

The moment you stepped away from his embrace, Azriel visibly winced, like he had been shot with a nightshade arrow through the heart. "I need time to think, Az. I need space to figure out if I can do this. Be yours but also be mine."

He didn't want to pester you, he didn't want to beg and make you feel like you owed him anything, but gods, did he want to crawl onto his knees and kiss the ground that you walked on. To Azriel, you were the sun, you were the moon, you were the seasons. You were everything.

Azriel swallowed his words, his pleads, and gently nodded his head, stepping forward and placing a chaste kiss on your cheek before retreating from the practice, carefully clicking the door behind his exit.

It took you a few minutes to be able to gather yourself, to be able to move from that spot, but you did, if not for yourself then for Alana and Eris that were making it their mission to take you to Rita's for a few drinks, to allow you to let off a little bit of steam.

In the next hour, you were bathed and donned in a tight metallic bronze dress with a high slit that reached your hip, a plunging neckline and hair waved down your spine. Eris was always barking at you to live in the moment, and for once you were inclined to agree. So when he and Alana saw the light spill from your opened door, did they turn around and gasp at the woman who stood before them.

"I didn't know that you could clean up this well," Eris mused, earning a light slap on the shoulder as you moved from the practice to join him and Alana on the walk up to Rita's.

"I told you that I could look good when I wanted to."

Alana hummed knowingly, "And this has nothing to do with the fact that you told Azriel you needed space?"

"Maybe a little bit."

Eris laughed, bold and proud, "Showing the Shadowsinger what he's missing. I didn't know that you had it in you."

Rolling your eyes, you noticed Rita's in the distance, and the queues of fae waiting to be allowed in, "This is actually for me. I'm tired of feeling inadequate and looked over. Tonight everyone gets to see that I'm not something to be ignored."

After a short walk up the paved hill, the two fae guards on the doors quickly ushered you inside, and the scent of alcohol and the thick wall of sweat instantly crashed into you. Alana excused herself to go and get drinks for you all whilst Eris led you over to the booth where Lucien and Elain sat, across the room from the others but in their direct eyeline.

Whispers sprouted around you, causing your shoulders to tense up. The healer that had been meddling with the Shadowsinger was now latched to the hip of the High Lord of Autumn.

What a cunning little thing.

So much ambition.

You did your best to ignore them as you walked behind Eris toward his brother and Elain, smiling sweetly at the pair as they rose to greet you, hugging you tightly and telling you how nice it was to be able to finally meet you. Elain was charming and kind, and Lucien was warm and welcoming, and they took you under their wings effortlessly, blocking out the demeaning whispers from the fae surrounding and watching you.

After a few more drinks and shots, thanks to Alana, you found yourself leaning into Eris' side, hazed by the heat and slightly tipsy. You laughed with Elain and shared your love of flowers with her, and you spent time with Lucien telling him how beautiful you found his home court, speaking of the markets and the food in detail. "Sorry brother, but I'd like to steal y/n for a dance."

Eris was stood at your side, looking down at you expectantly with his hand offered out to you. Part of you should have known better, you should have known that Azriel was watching you from across the room, watching as the love of his life was swept away by another Vanserra.

Nudging you to your feet, you sent Lucien a wry smile as you took Eris' hand and allowed him to lead you to the centre of the dancefloor. He pulled you close to his chest and swayed with you to the beat of the music that flowed through the room.

"Does Azriel even know what he's missing?" Eris spoke lowly into your ear, lowering his mouth to the shell of it so that you could hear his voice in your soul. "If I were him, I'd crawl across the fires of hell to have you."

Eris was being brazen. He raised his fingers to your face, the tips of them flitting across your cheek to a strand of hair that had fallen down the side of your face, pushing it back eloquently behind your pointed ear. His fingers lingered, sparks of fire nipping at the skin of your neck as his fingers travelled downward.

You weren't sure what to expect, but you couldn't exactly blame the fist that had flown into Eris' jaw, sending the High Lord crashing to the floor. Azriel stood over him, the crowd had parted to watch the spectacle vying for your attention. Your eyes had blown wide, and it took you a moment to come back into the room. Azriel turned from Eris and stalked over to you, wrapping his arm around your waist and resting his chin on the crown of your head as he made the world dissipate in swirls of colour until you were stood in the centre of his apartment.

Azriel towered over you, eyes wild and possessive. You hadn't seen him look to territorial before, but the look in his eyes had you in a chokehold. "My past with females isn't what bothers you. It's having it in your face constantly, it's the whispers and cruelty that bothers you. I understand that now, and I'm sorry that I didn't see that before." Azriel's voice was calm, too calm, like a predator prepping their prey, luring them into wings of security.

His marred fingers traced where Eris' had once been and his eyes flickered with fury, "But Eris does not get to touch you like that. You are mine, y/n. I refuse to let you go."

"You are not what they say you are," he took a step toward you, the force of his knees against your thighs ushering you backward, "They are jealous of you, of us, because they'll never get to know what this is like. They'll never get to know the taste of your skin or the way your name sounds on my lips. They'll never get to know the love I have for you," his hand gripped your waist, and Azriel continued to walk you backward until the backs of your legs hit the ledge of his couch.

"Because I do love you, y/n. With everything I have, I love you. I knew it from the moment I saw you, I knew that I was going to fall in love with you. Nothing could ever take me from you," his lips brushed over your collarbone, igniting a fire within you that you had never felt before, "I am yours forever. And I promise you, I vow that no one will ever make you feel insignificant ever again. Not unless they want to die by my hand. I would rip the world apart to ensure your happiness."

Azriel's words struck a chord inside of you, and you couldn't help but allow the bond to open, to allow his flood of emotions to crash into you like waves against the Summer Court rocks.

"Azriel," you spoke his name breathlessly, too focused on the sensation of his lips peppering soft kisses along your collarbone and neck. "Please."

He pulled away from you, placing his hands on either side of your neck and stroking his thumbs against your ears, "Tell me."

You had known for a long time, since the moment he had turned up at the steps of your practice holding flowers with a love-sick smile plastered on his lips. "I love you too," and you felt the bond sing at your admission, so brilliant and bright that your heart felt like it was going to lurch from its cage. "Please, Az. I need you."

Azriel lowered his lips to yours, hovering a feathers touch from your own, his breath scented with the faint aroma of whisky fanning over your face. With your slight nod, Azriel closed that gap and felt the bond fall into place, thrumming and secure, on the cusp of being fulfilled.

Your mouths moved in sync against one another, and Azriel effortless scooped you into his arms and carried you over to his bed, setting you down as gently as he could before climbing on top of you. His hands roamed your body, the curves of your hips and the mounds of your breasts, his fingers traced circled into the skin of your exposed thigh, teasing the sensitive area and smirking against your lips as you writhed beneath him under his touch.

His lips moved to your neck, sucking and nipping the skin there between his teeth, allowing you to begin unbuttoning his shirt to expose his toned chest. Azriel pulled away slightly when your fingers began drifted over the areas where his wounds once were, the wounds you had saved him from. "They're gone," you told him quietly, lips swollen but smiling under the dim light.

Azriel brushed your hair behind your ears and brushed his nose against yours, dragging the tip down the slope of it, "I told you that you were my salvation. I wasn't lying."

"I'm starting to believe that."

His eyes sparked with mischief and he sent a wave of love down the bond as he kissed your lips once more, "Let me show you."

And so he did.

Author's Note

SORRY THAT THIS TOOK SO LONG 😭

Really hoping that this has done the amazing ask some justice 🥺

Also I was so close to writing smut for this fic - looks like I'll need to do a part two or something...

Taglist

@mokansa @killseinx @lady-targaryens-world @brieftriumphnightmare @thesunloveschips @whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog

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laswells-ashtray · 2 months ago

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Soo uhm... autistic ghost if you do that? I mean that man is autism creature. And I love him. And need him being a silly little autistic guy. Like headcannons, and how it'd be in his relationships with people. Like romantic sexual or platonic? Please and thank you.

Ghost doesn't think he shows many symptoms of having autism because he's commonly told "I'd never have guessed", however, that's typically because the people telling him that haven't spent enough time with him to pick up on anything.

Eventually, the people he's closest to notice things but they never bring it up. Notable but not worth making him self-conscious about. That's what John calls it.

Simon doesn't like the texture of some of his clothes, he'll brush up against John and then automatically reach away to wipe his hand on his own t-shirt or his cargos. John stops wearing certain shirts around him, and sticks to the softer, worn fabrics that Simon doesn't mind touching when it's reasonable for him to do so.

He notices that his lieutenant stocks up on certain foods that he likes, always the same ones before they spontaneously switch up after almost a year and he doesn't tend to go back to them. He tries to keep whatever snack or drink it is in his office so that on the days that Simon wants to crawl out of his skin, he can offer the other man something and maybe somewhere quiet to sit in away from everyone else.

Gaz thinks for a while that maybe Ghost just doesn't like him, but that's alright, they're coworkers and they don't have to be friends. He doesn't seem to like Soap either. That's until he picks up on something, Soap and he can get loud after missions. The adrenaline is still pulsing through their system and they joke around, getting rowdy like two lads in the back of a classroom. Ghost tends to stay quiet, only speaking if spoken to and even then it's a faint mutter. He gets twitchy the louder Gaz and Soap get, his breathing becomes consciously slow and his eyes narrow until he's glaring daggers into whatever is opposite him.

Then it clicks, the man is overstimulated. Overstimulated and unwilling to say so despite his own blatant discomfort. And all it takes is keeping quiet after missions, the conversations between him and Soap become soft whispers and the stabbing tension in Ghost's shoulders lessens noticeably. It's after that, that Ghost starts talking to him more, friendlier and willing to joke around. Gaz knows they aren't exactly the closest of friends, Simon Riley is a puzzle he doesn't have the decades of solving like Price does but it's something and that's good enough.

John and Nikolai have to adapt certain aspects of their relationship when it opens up to include Simon, something that both of them are more than willing to do to ensure the comfort of everyone involved.

Simon is open to touch in varying ways. If he's the one to initiate contact then he could end up sandwiched between the captain and the pilot without complaint. He'll grumble and bat at them half-heartedly, all for show but all it takes is Nikolai kissing his cheek and John nuzzling his jaw to shut him up.

Some days a simple hand on his shoulder is too much, Simon will tense up and he won't say a word about it but they can hear how his breath hitches. Those days they won't touch him, if they sit down together on the couch tne he'll sit down on the tattered, ancient swivel chair by the window. Sometimes he'll brave sticking his legs out and poking John's thighs with his toes, other times he won't. It's up to him and they see no reason to push.

It can be a mix other days, a kiss on the cheek might be fine but when Nikolai plasters himself over Simon's back it's just too much at once. He'll retreat tactically and brush a thumb over his cheek instead.

Sex is different than they're used to but it's a welcome change. There's no more lying around and falling asleep disgusting, leaving it a mess to be dealt with the next day. They become adept at clean-up, and Simon prefers to shower after they're done. Sometimes he'll drag one of them in alongside him, other days he needs the moment alone. Make no mistake, Simon is usually the filthiest out of the three of them. he does things with this tongue that have left John's ears ringing and he can haul Nikolai around without thinking twice. But he needs time to decompress and he'll take it as a moment in the shower or a post-shower cigarette.

#sorry you never specified what kinda ship and i fell face first on nikpriceghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #captain john price #john price #cod nikolai #nikprice #nikpriceghost #ghostnikprice #ghostprice #priceghost #ghostnik #nikghost #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish

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dduane · 4 months ago

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Hi, Diane, I have a technical writing question for you: How do you decide how long a chapter is?

I've noticed a trend among mass market books of authors adopting the James Patterson style of chapters lasting a page & a half to three pages, but sometimes not even half a page. It's infuriating, especially when action on a single scene is split amongst them. I grew up learning that a chapter is an association of scenes, & that breaks were left for major scene and/or expository changes. If a book had 30 chapters, it'd be 400 pages long. Now I have 215-pages novels with 45 chapters!

You've always delivered a really good, fairly even, page & word per chapter count. So what's your thoughts on how it should be defined, & perhaps any on this metastasizing trend?

I haven't been entirely clear about what to do about this since I first started seeing this divergence of chapter lengths happening. (And bear in mind, this is a wide spectrum to be dealing with. There are books of Terry Pratchett's that have no clearly defined chapter breaks at all.)

My own take on it in the short term has varied depending on what book I was writing, and what rhythm the interactions among the characters were expressing. Sometimes written character business can happen very quickly, over a few pages: sometimes it has to happen more slowly, as it does among real people—a series of interactions, a pause, then further ripening developments and interactions.

Patterson is well known (I think) for having a house style... because I'm sure it'll have been a good while since he wrote anything but the high points of any given book himself. It wouldn't surprise me at all if the house style reinforces his own preferences, which would seem to be for very short interactions... that "short attention span" we've seen being discussed for so long, and getting shorter and shorter all the time.

I think it's safe to say I refuse to go that road. I want to allow readers time to sit in the characters' business (as it were) and think about what might happen next. I'm not afraid to allow the readership time to speculate about what might be about to occur before the next sequence of events sets in.

Is Patterson afraid to allow this? (sigh) I may have been a psych nurse, but I decline to attempt to read another writer's mind: that's a sure path to a headache. Is it possible that writers are as susceptible as their readers to that short-attention-span problem... and unwilling to attempt to slow it down for fear of being seen as somehow "behind the times?"

Damned if I know. Again, I decline to judge. But I sure as hell know how I'll behave on my own ground.

...Let me suggest a possibility to you, looking forward. Patterson's rhythms have all become the same because his (for certain values of "his") books have all become the same. ...And who's to blame for that? Readers are well known, in the industry, for wanting to read the same thing again and again, just a little bit different. That's not the readers' fault any more. They've been trained to it. And the market reflects their training.

You, meanwhile, get to set your own rhythms, and (ideally) allow the reader to settle into them, if they find other aspects of your voice congenial. Just because the Patterson modality seems to be all over the place at the moment, doesn't mean that it will continue to be. The market, gods help us, is all about the New. Someday (gasp) Patterson will be Old. And then what? Will slow slowly start to become cool? Tough to tell.

For myself, I write in a lot of different modes (gods help me, right now over on Bluesky we're discussing the possibility of a paranormal travel agency German [or maybe Swiss] Christmas market cozy murder mystery); and every single one of them requires a different rhythm according to the subject matter, the thought processes of the characters, the rhythm of the story itself and of the characters making their way through it, the way the action expresses itself throughout this story, etc etc. I can't imagine what doing it the same way all the time, regardless of the story's and the characters' imperatives, would feel like. Deadening, at the very least. And isn't writing about being, and becoming, more alive, not less??

If I've got a message, it's this: Let Patterson go his own way (for whatever values of "his"). None of us are going to be him, any time soon.*

I think you should write in the rhythm, and with the chapter breaks, that best suit the story you're telling. If some of your readers don't like those... fine. Others will. Whether they like to hear it or not—and some of them won't—like books, readers too are ephemera: they come and go. Your job is to be faithful to the story as you conceive it, and the rhythms and chapter breaks you feel it needs. The story has no one else to depend on.

So: get busy being God in your own creative universe, and ignore what other gods are doing in theirs.

HTH!

ETA: Historically I've had a tendency to use the "shopping list" method described over here for my outlining, and that's routinely determined chapter lengths to some extent. (i.e., if there were ten items on the list, and [thereafter] ten chapters in a 100K-word book, then that means 10K chapters.)

...Except when I feel a chapter needs to be subdivided, or combined with another one and then the whole thing chopped into three. Or when more entries get added to the master list. I look to see how a chapter "feels" when weighed in the hand of the mind: too long? too heavy? too short? too rushed?—and then adjust its length accordingly.

So briefly: my own basic rules are guidelines, to be broken when necessary. Yours should be, too. Only experience will teach you when this is necessary. But that's just another part of the Craft. "We learn by doing..." :)

*Though do we want to be?

#writing advice #chapters

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rockwgooglyeyes · 3 months ago

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In and of itself, Nowhere is the prophecy that Ivan has written for himself, one of self destruction. Fitting for one of the most tragic characters in this show, the one whose love was requited but who never let it be anything due to his own stubbornness and blindness. Not only that but the way that he thinks of himself, as a monster who only serves to hurt those who he loves, is something that proves not to be true, necessarily, but it proves to be true through Ivan's twisted worldview as he hurt Sua by making fun of her sacrifice and he hurt Till by kissing him at the worst possible time. This song, Ivan's first solo since Black Sorrow, echoes that in being another self-fulfilling prophecy of Ivan's, another lie that he told himself so many times that he made it come true.

The repetition of musical elements such as the lifting scale of chimes, the swing of the instrumentals, the snare and percussion being pretty much the same every time only adding to the sensation of mounting foreboding up and up, a rising action that continues to rise but never truly reaches a climax, no culmination, no conclusion until death. My friend Zen (@verdantlights) called it eerie, and I agree. The way that the song all comes together, it feels like a tragedy unfolding in front of you, over and over, one that you know will happen and yet you can do nothing to prevent. It's almost like the "tainted history" that Ivan talks of, the repetition of events again and again over time, the way that history seems to be cyclical and we, as humans, never seem to truly learn.

In certain ways, the song is about the way that the perceived reality of the world and the world's actual reality are very, very different things. Considering the line about "a stiff dream dyed in rose-colored hues" that slowly changed to a dream dyed purple, to a dream dyed black, it is the way that when we are children we are able to hope for a better future than the one we think will actually come and how as we age, we are traumatized by the world to the point where we can no longer hope for anything better. Becoming someone who dismisses hope because you've tried hoping before and you only ended up with a kick in the gut and a punch in the face, well, that's a trauma response. We are all slowly traumatized over time into believing that the world can't get better, our rose-colored dreams becoming purple until they finally fade to black, blotted out by the corruption of memory, those times when we dared to dream and we were shot down from out of the sky, our wax wings not even given the chance to melt. We are beaten down by life, over and over again, until we are simply forced to go through the routine that society demands of us and say that we are content (wake up, wake up to the usual routine & wake up, wake up to this beautiful life, is it for real?).

The worst part is that Ivan knows better (a dustlike existence can't open its eyes to look. I close my eyes). The whole reason why Ivan admires Till so much in the first place is his willingness to fight, his hope for a future without slavery for humans, his unadulterated and true love. Ivan knows what hope feels like and he knows that he just can muster it anymore, too exhausted to be anything other than apathetic (the wounds that kept reopening just became numb), but he can still love Till's vivacity and drive for change. Ivan views himself as something dirty, something broken that only serves to break others. He thinks that he's a monster who can only do the people he loves harm, and to a degree, that's true, his belief a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Ultimately though, Ivan is an immensely unreliable narrator, someone so biased against himself and towards literally anyone else but someone who is so stubborn that he is unwilling to believe anyone else's opinions on him because they have never met his "true self" only the mask that he wears that he ends up digging a deeper and deeper hole. He thinks of his story as one that's already written, the repetition of the line "this always happens to me" echoing that, especially with the way that eventually that song ends with it repeated again, "yeah, it's always like that, this always happens to me." Ivan isn't trying to fight it because his dream has long since been stained black, despite the fact that he knows that he could break out of this cycle of despair. He knows this prophecy that he is submitting to is one that he wrote himself and yet, where he stands right now? He has no will to change it.

note: My friend Ish (@chevalperd) screenshotted @/ivantill7089 (on twitter)'s english translation of this song for me, which is what I am referencing for the lyrics! I love you Ish thank you again so much :3

#yeah i think. i think that's good for right now. (inhales deeply) okay you can do this rock. as vant said. you're cooking. you're cooking #alnst ivan #alien stage #alnst #ivantill #till is mentioned but he's not like. the subject of this? i'll tag him anyways i guess #alnst till #alnst sua #rocktalks #rockwrites

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marvelfanfn2187a113 · 3 months ago

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Too Much (Dean’s POV)

Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

The OG story is here; it’s the same story, just from Dean’s perspective with a scene of his added in

Things were different now. Dean knew it, but he wasn’t willing to face it.

Ever since Sam had died in his arms, Dean couldn’t look at the world the same way. It was bigger, it was darker, it was scarier—and he was no longer certain he could protect his siblings.

He couldn’t let his nerves affect his relationship with Sam; Sam would call him out on it in a second. But he couldn’t help his sudden overprotectiveness of you.

He didn’t think you’d notice the little things, like bringing you with him any time he left, or going with you any time you left, or generally doing whatever he could to stay as close to you as possible.

“What’s with the shadowing? You’re like a magnet,” was the first thing you said about Dean’s behavior, but he brushed it off with a halfhearted quip about keeping you out of trouble.

He knew he was pushing it when he ignored the usual sleeping arrangements and shared a bed with you, despite it being Sam’s turn, but he couldn’t help it. He found he couldn’t sleep without the sound of your breathing right there, without knowing he could protect you if anything came after you.

But he really took it too far at the store.

He hadn’t meant to freak out on you and run around the store like an idiot the minute he couldn’t see you, but losing sight of you had scared him more than he’d ever admit. He’d turned his back for just a second to grab some pie, and you’d disappeared. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he ran down the aisles searching for you, and even when he found you it didn’t calm down—not until after he knew you were safe.

“Where were you?” He snapped, checking you over carefully; you were, of course, fine.

“I…went to find the bread.” Your face was scrunched up in that concerned look that Dean hated so much.

“You can’t just wander off!” Dean took your shoulders in his hands and shook you, as if to knock some sense into you. “I didn’t know where you were! You can’t do that, understand?”

“Dean—“ you didn’t understand, but Dean needed you to agree.

“Understand?”

“I understand!”

Dean forced himself to let go of you, telling himself that this was nuts, that he was nuts, that you were safe and he needed to stop acting crazy.

“Ok,” Dean breathed, willing himself to calm down. He grabbed the bread from your hands and tossed it in his basket.

“Dean—“

Dean refused to let you start lecturing, or worrying about him.

“Come on, we should go.”

He was glad you didn’t argue as you let him lead you out of the store.

…

It was the first hunt after Sam died. Sam seemed ready for it, but Dean wasn’t. Not just because he didn’t want to take his little brother into danger again, but also because he hated leaving you behind. Anything could happen to you while you were alone in the motel room, and Dean wouldn’t be able to do anything.

You caught Dean staring, and he quickly looked away—he couldn’t meet your eye, you’d read him too easily.

Sam packed his bag of weapons all too quickly, beating Dean out the door. Dean stayed in the doorway, still unwilling to leave you here alone.

“Don’t open the door for anyone,” he said to you. “And just…” what was he supposed to say? He’d done this a hundred times before, so why was it so hard now? “Be safe.”

…

All the breath in Dean’s body left him the moment he laid eyes on the shifter.

It can’t be…

“Y/N?” Dean’s grip on his knife faltered, and for a moment he was frozen.

“Dean, it’s the shifter!” Sam’s voice from behind him spurred Dean into action, but too late. You—no, the shifter—were running at Sam, and Dean had a split-second decision to make.

“No!” Dean jumped in front of his little brother, driving his knife into the shifter’s chest.

It’s a shifter, just a shifter…

That may have been true, but that didn’t change the fact that it was your body that shuttered in pain, your voice that cried out, and your eyes that fogged over and began to shut.

“No no no no…” Dean groaned, dropping to his knees as your body gave out. Dean held your form in his arms, and all he could do was watch as your blood pooled in his hands and your breathing slowed to a crawl.

“De…” Sam’s hand gripped his brother’s shoulder. “It’s not her.”

It’s not her. You know it’s not her.

But knowing it didn’t change anything. Dean still couldn’t find it in himself to abandon the dying creature in his arms that looked up at him with your eyes. He couldn’t help the fear that gripped his heart as he watched those eyes close, and stay closed. He watched your body give one last, shuddering breath, and then stay eerily still.

“Dean.” Sam shook Dean’s shoulder. “Dean c’mon. It’s not her.”

That reminder shook something loose in Dean’s head.

“It saw her.” Dean gulped. “If-if it looked like her, it had to have seen her. What if it—“

“We just saw her, she’s fine,” Sam assured him, but Dean wasn’t listening anymore. He laid your body down gently on the ground before jumping to his feet.

“We need to get to her.” Dean left no room for argument as he rushed for the Impala, trying to ignore the blood soaking his hands and the memory of your life draining out in his arms.

…

Dean broke every speed limit getting back to the motel, and when he reached the room he slammed the door open so hard he was sure it would dent the wall. But he didn’t care.

You had jumped up when the door opened, and now you were standing in the middle of the room—safe. Dean went straight for you, ignoring whatever question you were asking him as he pulled you into his arms and held onto you like a lifeline. The hug wasn’t enough—he felt like he needed to hide you from the world. Dean lifted you into his arms, sitting down on his bed and cradling you against him like he used to do when you were little. He started to rock back and forth, focusing on nothing but your heart beating against him.

Sam was trying to talk to him, but Dean didn’t hear anything until Sam started talking about the shifter.

“Somehow, it must’ve seen you, because it…it looked like…Dean had to—“

The image of your dead body flashed in Dean’s mind, and he tightened his hold on you, resting his chin on your head and lifting his hand to the back of your neck.

He barely heard you assuring Sam that you were ok, that nothing had happened, and soon enough Sam left to shower.

“Dean?” Your voice sounded strained; worried.

“Just don’t go away,” Dean whispered. You couldn’t leave him—he couldn’t take it.

“Dean, I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here, I’m ok.”

Your words didn’t seem to get through Dean’s fogged mind; not when he still had your blood on his hands.

“I stabbed you through the heart. You—you died in my arms.” Dean tried to ignore the tears pricking at his eyes. You weren’t dead, you weren’t—it was just a shifter, and you were reminding Dean of that just now, though he was barely listening.

“You can’t go away. You can’t do that to me, understand?” Dean pulled you even closer—it was like he couldn’t get you close enough, or safe enough. “I-I can’t lose you the way I lost Sammy. I can’t watch you die, I won’t.”

“That’s what all this was about?” Dean knew you were finally piecing together all his clingy behavior, but when he felt you trying to escape his hold he tensed.

“Don’t go,” he begged. He couldn’t lose you tonight, not again.

“Ok, ok I’m right here, I’m staying. But…but is that why you won’t let me go anywhere alone? You think I’ll…I’ll die like Sammy?”

Dean’s heart caught in his throat. Why did you have to see right through him?

“No, you won’t,” he promised. “Because I won’t let you.”

“Dean, you can’t…you can’t be around me all the time. It’s too much, it’s not healthy.”

Dean’s mind was working overtime. What would he do if you tried to get more space from him? If you didn’t let him protect you? He’d go crazy if he couldn’t protect you.

“You can’t leave. You can’t.” You can’t die like Sammy.

“Dean.” You were moving around now, trying to escape Dean’s grip.

Dean’s heart skipped a beat. Why were you so determined to not let him help? He felt like if he let you go now, he’d lose you forever.

“Please, don’t go, please.”

You can’t leave me, you can’t leave me…

“Dean, we can’t live like this. You’re gonna make yourself sick with worry, and I’m gonna go nuts if you don’t give me some space.”

Dean swallowed, trying to let your words sink in. You were right, he knew it, he’d known it ever since he started to feel this way, but he didn’t know what to do about it.

“Dean?” You prodded. “Are you hearing me?”

He knew what he had to do. But he couldn’t do it; not tonight.

“Yeah. Ok, I hear you, and I’ll try to do better, but…but can I have tonight?”

“What?”

“Just…” Dean took a deep breath, trying to force his thoughts into words. “Just let me do this tonight, ok? I saw you die, and I-I can’t…”

“Ok.”

Dean breathed a sigh of relief when he felt you finally relax into him. He twisted around, laying down so the two of you could get some sleep, but never releasing his hold.

He knew he would have to back off—it was what was right for the both of you.

But for tonight, he couldn’t bear to do anything but listen to your steady heartbeat and feel you breathing in his arms. He needed to know you were safe, and there wasn’t a safer place he could think of than right here in his arms.

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz @johannelis2302nely @studiogrimm810 @tell-elle

#the winchesters #dean and sam #dean winchester #supernatural dean #sam winchester #winchesters x sister #dean winchester x reader #winchesters x reader #dean winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x little sister #dean winchester x sister!reader #dean winchester x sister

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viscus-exe · 7 months ago

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◟　Safety a step ahead

❝　sfw (for now /j), gender-neutral reader, an entry soft prompt idfk w a sprinkle of angst, developing relationship.

i like my sebastian solace repressed and saddled w emotions

It's entirely too shameful to acknowledge, but Sebastian's grown used to your visits, amongst all the useless Urbanshade prisoners. They all tussle between each other, spouting lies or curses, being impossibly loud and disposable. They annoy him to ends that all other entities couldn't compare to. Getting rid of one or two of those pesky humans is nothing to how often they're cleared out with the Angler or the Painter.

You're not exactly like them though. It could be his possibly fractured mind's fault— never mind that, he's certain it's because of his abnormalities. Something must have twisted or wretched itself open to a wrong code, gotten all mixed up somewhere, he shouldn't be feel like this about your being. Contrary to his previous visitors, he wants you safe, when all he's done is bring the hundreds of deaths upon you and others such.

"This is entirely your fault."

This relief he feels upon hearing your voice is frustratingly familiar. He watches you crawl out the vent with a vacant smirk, silently pleased to not see or smell blood on you; you stink of rotten corals and salt water. You make it hard for him to be disgusted with you, especially with that addled spring warm voice. He shouldn't be like this, but he is; for once, he doesn't cry at the abrupt change to his self. At least it's something not monstrous.

"What happened to you this time?"

"Your stupid underwater areas." You bemoan at your oddly-tasting experience, spitting out water to the side before tugging at your strands of hair to point them out to Sebastian. Your wet suit is the least of your problems. "I'm all soaked through." You want to sleep.

As strange as that notion may be, you're entirely sure of it. Those hallways have tired you out and you're unwilling to make another fucking step ahead until you've gotten your energy back. And since there isn't a comfortable place to tuck yourself in, you'll aim for the second best. Which is, infuriatingly to the shopkeeper, Sebastian's tail.

"What do you think you're doing?"

He watches you unsurely, surprised with how boldly you throw yourself at his appendage; if it were any others human, he'd have slammed them into the ground already and shot their brains out, but it's you that does him in, staying pliantly.

"Resting, shrimpy. I'll leave when I've had my nap."

Sebastian visibly bristles at your nickname for him, squeezing you just once in warning, until he gives in to you as easily as water. You curl up against the bunched up elements of his tail without complain on the straps wrapped around them. You're exhausted, quietened down and cruelly sweet in the way you cling to him.

"Very well, but you're buying me out of stock on your next run."

Sebastian murmurs, a voice resigned to your hopeful whims. You're slippery to hold, not too pleasant of a weight, but you're almost his like this. You're almost like him, just needing a pair of fins, different lungs— although he would never in all hells subjects you to the torture he went through for those assets.

You're almost his, yet he'll always be grateful you're not. When you find out the truth about his intentions, he will certainly lose you.

#pressure #sebastian solace #reader x sebastian solace #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #reader x character #blue

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kiszjuli · 28 days ago

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・── love or leave .ᐟ (L.TY) ; PART 2

(태용) ; fem!reader x lee taeyong

──in which love has always felt like a risk you're not willing to take. but taeyong was someone who makes it feel safe, maybe even possible. falling for him was never part of the plan, and you don't know how to let him stay.

genre. angst. romance. self sabotage. ; tags. bittersweet romance. slightly suggestive. patient! taeyong x guarded reader. emotional conflict. ; w.c. 2.6k

find part one here .ᐟ

the rain picks up, drenching the street in a sheen of wet reflection, and you can hear the quiet rush of water running along the sidewalk. you keep your eyes focused on the ground, unwilling to meet his gaze. taeyong’s silence presses against you, heavy with unspoken things, until he finally steps forward.

“do you think i’m going to keep waiting around for you?” his voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it now, a quiet frustration that you haven’t heard before. “because i can’t. i won’t. i can’t keep giving you pieces of myself only to watch you pull away when it gets real.”

you blink rapidly, trying to ignore the sharp sting in your chest. the words feel too raw, too honest. you try to brush it off, but it’s there—his confession hanging between you, and you can’t erase it.

“i never asked you to wait,” you murmur, voice cracking despite yourself. “this was never supposed to be anything more. i told you that.”

his laugh is dry and humorless, the sound a harsh contrast to the soft patter of the rain. he runs a hand through his wet hair, clearly frustrated, but there’s a vulnerability in his gaze that cuts through the anger.

“you’re right. you told me it wasn’t supposed to be anything. but that doesn’t mean i’m okay with it. i’ve been patient, i’ve been there when you needed me, and i tried to respect your space. but you can’t keep pushing me away without expecting me to eventually walk away too.”

he pauses, letting the words sink in, and when he speaks again, his tone softens, though the firmness remains. “you don’t get to pull me in and then act like it was nothing. like it doesn’t matter to you. it does matter to me. and if that’s something you can’t handle, then i can’t keep doing this. i can’t keep waiting around for you to change your mind. i’m not going to keep holding onto something that isn’t real to you.”

there’s a long silence between you two, the rain drenching everything around you in a haze. you feel like you’re standing in a storm—both literal and emotional. his words are final, not harsh, but certain. like he’s finally come to a decision he’s been avoiding.

“you have to choose, y/n. whether this is worth it or not. whether i’m worth it. because i can’t keep chasing after you while you run in the other direction. and i’m not going to wait around for you to decide if you want me.”

he takes a deep breath, eyes locking with yours, holding your gaze steady as though searching for something. “maybe i’m not the one you need. maybe i’m not the one who can make you stop running. but if you need space, if you need time, you need to say it. because i need to know if it’s worth sticking around to find out. or if i should just let go.”

his words hang in the air, heavy and sharp, cutting through the space between you both. you know he’s serious, and for the first time, you realize how much he’s been holding in. how much he’s been willing to give to something that you’ve been unwilling to truly take.

you swallow hard, unsure of how to respond. the reality of the situation is pressing down on you, and you can’t pretend anymore. he’s not asking you to give him all of yourself. he’s asking you to be honest. and maybe that’s what scares you the most. the honesty of it all, the vulnerability, and the fear of what it would mean if you let yourself need him.

the rain falls harder now, but you don’t move. you can feel the weight of the decision pushing down on you, the weight of his quiet but unwavering stance, and the silent question in his eyes. do you let him stay, or walk away?

—

the rain continued to fall heavily, soaking through your clothes, a chill creeping into your bones. the world around you is blurred, a mix of gray and shadows, but in this moment, everything seems to center on taeyong. his gaze is unwavering, though you can see the storm inside him—a turmoil that mirrors the storm above.

his lips are pressed in a tight line, his chest rising and falling with each breath. you want to look away, to avoid the weight of his stare, but something about the way he holds himself forces you to stay grounded in the moment. you try to swallow the lump in your throat, but it feels impossible. every word he’s said cuts deeper than you expected, and you can’t help but feel it all. his frustration, his quiet pain, the battle he’s been fighting with himself.

“i can’t keep doing this.” the words are quiet but firm, and they cut through the thick air between you. “i’m not asking for everything. i’m just… asking you to let me know if this—whatever this is—is worth holding onto. or if it’s just me fooling myself. because i’m done pretending i’m okay with how things are.”

your fingers tremble slightly at your sides, but you don’t move. you can’t bring yourself to speak yet, not with the sudden weight of everything crashing down on you. the pressure is unbearable, suffocating even.

“you don’t get it,” you whisper finally, though your voice is small. “i don’t know how to do this… how to be what you need.”

he takes a step closer, his eyes softening just a fraction. “i don’t need anything from you that you’re not ready to give. i just need you to be honest with me. are you going to keep running, or are you going to let me in?” his voice is steady, but there’s a quiet desperation now, an unspoken plea beneath the surface.

a shudder runs through you, not from the cold, but from the fear of it all. the fear of admitting that you’ve let someone this close, that you’re not sure you’re capable of giving back what he’s offering. you’ve been afraid of what it would mean if you did. but standing here, with him so close, with his words echoing in the silence, you can’t ignore it any longer.

“i don’t know how to let go of everything i’ve been guarding,” you murmur, barely audible above the sound of the rain. “i’ve never let anyone in like this. i don’t know how.”

for the briefest moment, his expression softens, and you think you see something—understanding, maybe even a touch of sympathy. but it fades quickly, replaced by the guarded resolve that’s taken its place.

“i get it,” he says, his voice gentle now, almost like he’s trying to soothe you. “but you can’t keep holding onto that forever, y/n. not when there’s something between us. you don’t get to ask for me to keep waiting while you stay in this place where nothing can happen. you can’t shut me out completely and expect me to just be fine with it. i won’t be. not anymore.”

the words hit like a punch to the gut. you feel like you’ve been standing in this downpour forever, but the tension between you two feels like it’s grown years older in mere seconds. he’s laid it all out, his heart in the open, and it’s terrifying in a way you can’t quite explain. the rain is getting harder, and it’s starting to feel like it’s pressing down on you both, filling every silence, every space, with its relentless rhythm.

“i’m not asking for you to have all the answers right now,” he continues, his voice quiet but resolute. “but i need to know if you’re still willing to try. because i’m not going to waste my time waiting for something that you’re not ready to give.” he inhales sharply, the words spilling out before he can stop them. “i’m not asking you to love me, y/n. not yet. but i need to know if you’re willing to take a step towards me. i need to know if you’re still here, or if this is where we end.”

the silence that follows is deafening. you try to hold onto something, anything—an excuse, a reason not to answer, but the words feel stuck in your throat. your chest tightens, and you want to say something, but nothing seems enough. nothing seems right.

taeyong shifts his weight, a quiet sigh escaping him as he rubs his hand across his face, pushing back the frustration threatening to overtake him. his shoulders slump, just slightly, and you know he’s fighting a battle of his own. his eyes flicker back to yours, and this time, there’s no anger, no harshness. just that quiet, searching look—the look of someone who’s giving everything but doesn’t know if it will be enough.

you want to say something, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. the storm inside you feels even more intense now, swirling in your chest, and you don’t know what to do with it. your heart is racing, and yet, there’s a part of you that feels like you’re still frozen, unsure of what comes next.

the rain continues to pour down, the world around you turning into nothing more than a blur of water and sound. you’re not sure how long you stand there, trapped between your own hesitation and taeyong’s quiet resolve, but the tension is thick—unavoidable, suffocating.

and still, you say nothing.

—

the rain is relentless now, your clothes now clinging to your skin like a second weight you can’t shake off. it makes it harder to speak, harder to breathe, but the way taeyong is looking at you—the way he’s standing there, waiting for something.

but your silence stretches too long. his jaw tenses, and his hands curl into fists at his sides before he exhales sharply.

“i get it,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “that’s my answer, isn’t it?”

“no—” you step forward, but he’s already turning away, the rain blurring the edges of his figure.

he’s leaving.

panic flares in your chest, drowning out every hesitation that’s kept you from speaking until now.

“taeyong.”

your voice wavers, barely cutting through the storm, but it’s enough to make him stop. his shoulders stiffen, and for a moment, he doesn’t turn back. you can’t see his face, can’t tell if he’s giving you a last chance or if he’s already decided that this is it.

the rain pounds against the pavement between you, filling the space where words should be. your pulse is hammering. you don’t know if you can say it, don’t know if he’ll even believe you if you do.

but you have to try.

“i love you,” you say, the words spilling out, rough and unsteady.

taeyong turns then, slowly, his expression unreadable beneath the streaks of rain sliding down his face. his dark eyes search yours, but he doesn’t move toward you. “then why do you keep pushing me away?” his voice is quiet, but it cuts through everything. “why do you act like i’m someone you have to be scared of?”

your throat tightens. “because i am scared.”

something flickers across his face, but he doesn’t interrupt.

you swallow hard, forcing yourself to keep going. “i’m scared because i love you, and the last time i loved someone, they broke me.” your voice shakes, your heart beating so fast it physically hurts. “and i don’t know how to trust that you won’t do the same.”

the confession leaves you breathless, like you’ve just opened a wound you spent years trying to patch up. you don’t know what to expect, but taeyong doesn’t look away. he’s fully focused on you, rain dripping from his lashes, his lips slightly parted like he’s trying to find the right words.

and then he exhales, his features softening just enough for you to see it—the understanding, the hurt, the way he’s piecing everything together.

“i’m not them, y/n,” he says, voice steady despite the storm around you. “i would never be them.”

you nod, but the fear is still there, tangled with the love in your chest. “i know,” you whisper. “but that doesn’t make it any easier.”

for a moment, neither of you move. the rain keeps falling, soaking you both to the bone, but it’s like neither of you feel it anymore. it’s just him. just you. and the truth between you.

then, finally, taeyong sighs. he lifts a hand to his hair, pushing back the wet strands clinging to his forehead, and when he looks at you again, there’s something steadier in his gaze.

“you don’t have to have all the answers right now,” he murmurs. “but i need to know—do you want me to stay?”

your chest tightens. “yes.”

his lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to say it so easily. but it’s the truth. it always has been.

slowly, cautiously, taeyong takes a step toward you. his hand lifts, hesitates, then settles gently against your cheek, his palm warm despite the cold. his thumb brushes over your skin, grounding you in a way nothing else has tonight.

“then let me,” he whispers. “let me love you the way you deserve.”

you close your eyes for a second, leaning into his touch, rain slipping between his fingers. and when you open them again, he’s still there. still waiting.

you don’t know if you’re ready. but you know you don’t want to lose him.

so you nod. just enough for him to see it. just enough for him to stay.

and this time, when taeyong pulls you into his arms, you let him.

—

taeyong holds you close, his arms tightening just slightly, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again. you press your forehead against his chest, listening to the unsteady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath the layers of soaked fabric. it’s fast, but steady. just like him.

the rain continues to pour, drenching you both, but neither of you make a move to step away. not yet.

you feel his breath against your hair when he finally speaks. “i’m not gonna say that love isn’t scary.” his voice is low, quiet, but there’s something certain in it. “but i can promise that i won’t leave you to figure it out alone.”

something in your chest cracks open at his words. he’s not asking you to be fearless. he’s just asking you to let him be here—with you, beside you, through it all.

you pull back just enough to meet his gaze. his eyes search yours, patient, waiting. you don’t know what to say, so you just nod.

taeyong exhales, a small, almost disbelieving smile flickering across his lips before he brushes his thumb along your cheek again, wiping away water—rain, maybe tears, you don’t know.

“okay,” he murmurs.

and then, finally, he leans in.

the kiss is slow and careful, like he’s letting you set the pace. his lips are warm despite the cold, the press of his mouth against yours a silent promise that he’s here, that he’s not going anywhere.

and for the first time in a long time, you believe it.

when you finally break apart, the world feels quieter, softer, despite the storm still raging around you. taeyong rests his forehead against yours, his hands still holding you steady.

“let’s go home,” he murmurs, and this time, when he reaches for your hand, you don’t hesitate.

you lace your fingers through his, and together, you step forward—through the rain, into the unknown, into whatever comes next.

but this time, you’re not alone.

—

▸ sorry for the wait !! i got like a jumble of ideas for other fics at the time i started writing this

▸ i hope this is a good enough ending, i kinda lost ideas for it lmao

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homiesexuallaj · 6 months ago

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"Finally"

Pairing: Eric Draven x reader

Genre/Warnings: a slow burn (im so sorry), friend to lovers, fluff, you're Sarah's babysitter, you finding out Eric lore, stray cat! Eric, robbery, a man tried to rob you, knife to the throat, cuts, blood, nurse! Eric, slight angst, murder, subtle flirting, confessing, slightly proofread

A/N: Requested by @lovergrrllllll !! And my request for Eric are still open so if you have an idea then feel free to drop it into my askbox!!

———

You’d been friends with Eric for a few years now. You both had tiptoed into the friendship, unsure of each other due to you being new to the city and not knowing anyone and Eric having trust issues. You two had initially met because you were Sarah’s new babysitter.

Due to Eric being previously dead, Sarah’s mom had lost her babysitter and needed a new one. With a few unwilling or unsuccessful people, you eventually found your way into their lives and took care of Sarah whenever her mom was working, which was whatever time her boss thought she needed to work.

Sarah always dragged you around town, bringing you to arcades or skateparks, music stores or libraries. It was the way you learned your way around the city and met new people, like Eric Draven.

Eric Draven was standoffish at first, so much so you couldn’t really figure out if he liked you. He liked to watch you and Sarah from afar, not really preferring to interact with Sarah’s new friend. But once he figured out that you meant no harm and actually cared for the girl, Eric started warming up.

It was almost like befriending a street cat. Don’t make any sudden movements and let the cat approach you on its own time, even if that means having a slightly awkward six foot sitting distance between you two. But oh well, as long as you two were getting along.

Most of time, you three hung out at at Sarah’s apartment, playing a bit of house with each other. Eric was with you and Sarah more often than not, which you never minded. You usually cooked for the three of you (and made enough for leftovers for a few days), but one day when Eric had beat you to Sarah’s house you found out Eric was quite a good cook and that’s when you two agreed to take turns.

A lot of your guys’ chores/babysitting duties started out that way, when either you or Eric found your certain niche, one of y’all either took over that task or took turns.

It was a domestic friendship between you and Eric, often acting as makeshift parents for Sarah.

Before long, you opened up your apartment as another hang out spot, especially when Sarah’s mom had some company over.

It was easy for Sarah to make herself at home and you often found her lounging on your couch and watching tv. Eric often squeezed himself into the corner and against the arm of your couch, he never looked comfortable. It definitely didn’t help when Sarah took up at least one and a half cushions on her own, which left you smushed between the child and poor, tense Eric.

Soon enough, you apartment became a second home for Sarah. She often came over after school and slept over when her mom was working a late shift. And you were happy to have the child in your apartment, it made it more lively and less quiet. Often, when you cleaned your apartment, you found things of Sarah’s scattered around. You could only shake your head.

It got to the point where you even cleared out a drawer on in your dresser for Sarah so she had a change of clothes or some pajamas. You even had a few personal blankets and pillows for Sarah on your couch and bed. Sarah often slept in your bed with you during sleepovers, which you never minded and was just happy with the company.

Slowly, Eric got comfortable in your apartment. Finally, he chose leave his shoes by the front door and hang up his jacket either over the arm of a couch or on the back of one of your dining room chairs. You were glad that the man finally made himself comfortable at your apartment, even enough to sit on your couch like a normal person and turn whatever he wanted to watch on your tv.

Eric often came over with or after Sarah showed up, taking care of a few Sarah duties if you were busy doing something else. Sometimes he even cooked you three dinner or brought by some takeout. But Eric never stayed too late and you thought he didn’t want to overstay his welcome. Which you appreciated but, in your opinion, you didn't think Eric was capable of overstaying. But you wanted Eric to be comfortable, letting him do as he pleased.

Throughout the years, Eric and you became closer. You two hung out more, either with Sarah or one-on-one. You learned about each others’s past (mostly), your hobbies, where you worked, and each other’s quirks. You also learned that Eric lived with this precinct’s police sergeant, and even met him a few times in passing. And as you two got closer, you noticed that a crow was often perched outside your windows or on the gutter of the building you worked at. You had no idea what that was about but enjoyed the company as you walked home and even bought the bird a bird feeder so it was fed.

Eventually, you learned the truth about Eric’s past. As everything had come to light, it had made dots click to together in your brain and made you realize how much Eric and Sarah beat around the bush when talking about the man’s past.

There was a night where you had to close for work and it was plenty past sunset. The orange street lights had lit the sidewalks up enough for you to find your way home, but not enough for the shadows to disappear. You weren’t too nervous about the circumstance, having done this a few times now.

But you found yourself backed against a corner when a man had leapt from one of the darker shadows. He tried to reach around to grab your wallet and keys, but you struggled and fought even as you were pushed the ground. You had only stilled when the strange man was above you, holding a sharp pocket knife to your jugular.

“This could’ve been easy,” The man hissed. “Just a few bucks and you would’ve gotten away with no harm done.”

He’d pressed the knife against your throat more and you felt the sting of your skin being pierced. You grabbed at his wrist, urging the man to stop his motions. You whimpered, not believing this is how you were going to go out.

Suddenly, the man was hoisted from you, but not without the tip of the pocket knife nicking just beside your jugular. You scrambled away, holding your hand up to your leaking wounds, thankfully it was just a trickle.

A second man had appeared, and if it weren’t for the streetlight he was standing under, you would’ve thought that the first man was being held up by a shadow by the back of his shirt.

The second man wore all black, but most of his figure was covered by a long, black trenchcoat. Most of his face was covered by black, wavy hair but a ghostly white face peaked its way through the strands. He held the first man up off the ground by the back of his shirt, practically choking the man out.

The first man, your assailant, managed to choke out an “oh shit” as he tried to kick and claw at the second man. On a whim, your assailant tried to stab at your savior, the second man, but he was merely slapped away.

The knife clanked to the ground, bouncing away in your direction.

“It’s not nice to go after women in the dark,” Your savior growled.

Your assailant could only sputter in response.

Your savior scoffed and dropped the struggling man to the ground. The first man tried to crawl away from the second, but the second man kicked him in the side. Your assailant cried out and curled into a messy ball, clutching his ribs.

“Oh no you don’t,” Your savior growled. “I can’t have you roaming the streets.”

You savior then fished another pocket knife that was clipped to your assailants pants. He flipped it open almost mockingly and held it up against the other man’s neck for a few seconds before speaking again.

“But I can repay the favor,” Your savior said almost too calmly.

He then pressed the blade long-ways into your assailants skin, ignoring the pleas and cries for mercy. As the blade broke skin, your assailant struggled and tried to push away the figure in black. Before he could put up too much of a fight, he drew the blade to the side in a quick motion.

You turned your head before the motion was finished and was left hearing struggling gurgles of breath. You heard something drop and a shuffling accompanying the sounds of gurgles. Then some footsteps coming in your direction. You looked up and backed away as your savior stepped towards you. You were scared of him now. He just killed a man in front of you, for you. How could you not be scared now? You were afraid that you might be next, or something worse.

“Hey, you’re okay,” The man in black tried to comfort you in a familiar voice. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Above all the shock and fear you were feeling, a flash of familiarity towards your savior lit up in your brain. You observed the stranger.

He had black wavy hair, dripping wet from the downpour of rain that had stopped only moments before you left from work. His cheekbones were prominent and you recognized the kindness swirling in his dark orbs. When you looked down, you could almost swear you recognized the large hands offering you safety up and away from the concrete sidewalk.

And then it clicked.

You did know this man. It was unmistakably your dear friend that helped you babysit Sarah. Eric Draven.

“Eric?” You questioned, still not taking your savior’s outstretched hand.

He seemed surprised that you recognized him in his vigilante makeup and clothes. With widened eyes, he nodded and was unable to speak.

You’d heard about Detroit’s vigilante, mostly through the morning news and your daily newspaper. With all the blurry photos, you could've never guessed it was your friend. It made sense now, why he never stayed late at your apartment with you and Sarah and why you really only saw him after noon.

After the shock subsided, you took Eric’s hand and let him hoist you up from the ground. His tall stature kept you shielded from his dirty work. You didn’t say anything for a few minutes, only staring up at him as you tried to assess your friend and decipher the emotions swirling in his eyes.

"You alright?" The shock seem to have had evaporated from his body in just a few moments, replaced with concern and something else you couldn't quite decipher.

"Umm.. Just a bit shaken up," You tell Eric.

Eric hummed, tilting his head a bit as he let go of one of your hands. You kept your head tilted up to look at Eric but watched his hand as it went for your throat. He gently removed your own hand from your throat, which was covered in blood you found out after taking a peak. You felt Eric use his fingers to prod around the small cuts, and you could feel as he wiped away the leaking blood.

"This one here," Eric muttered, poking at your jugular. "Is bleeding quite a bit, which is expected cause this is a sensitive area."

You whimpered and gripped Eric's wrist when he accidentally swiped his thumb across the deeper of the cuts. You looked up at his face again and caught a glance before the man looked back down at your neck.

"Sorry," Eric apologized softly, pulling his hand away. His fingers were covered in fresh blood, making them sticky. "Let's get you home so we can get you patched up."

Eric kept a hand on you the entire walk back to your apartment. You led the way and your friend kept a lookout, glancing around corners and keeping his eye on particularly dark shadows.

It wasn't long before you unlocked your apartment door and led the way in. You left Eric behind in your living room as he milled about, rummaging around a bit. You headed straight to your bathroom and fished the first aid kit from under your skin. You opened the plastic box and rummaged through the box to find your needed supplies. But it was hard to finger through the individual items with one hand, as your other was clasped against your neck to prevent yourself from making a mess.

"I can do that," A hand grabbed the box and slid it away from you.

Eric stood beside you, lacking his long trenchcoat. You could see the holes and and tears that were littered throughout the long-sleeved shirt, of which he had the sleeves pushed up just before his elbows. The shirt hugged his form, showing off his lean but muscular form. Eric didn’t wear too many skin tight clothes, so it was a sight seeing how broad his shoulders were and how narrow his waist was. You couldn’t help but stare as Eric got out his needed supplies, but you broke it when the man looked up at you.

He tore open a small package of singular use alcohol wet cloths and moved your hand away from your throat to wipe away at smeared blood and germs.

“So you’re The Crow,” you started, watching Eric’s face for a reaction.”

The wiping of blood stopped momentarily before resuming as normal.

Eric nodded, “Yes, but I figured you would’ve found out sooner.”

“Why?” You asked.

“Well I am the same Eric Draven from those years ago, and the same from Hangman’s Joke,” Eric explained. “Dead fiancé and all.”

“I’m sorry,” You apologized, not meaning to bring up a bad past.

“Don’t be,” Eric finished wiping. “I’ve grown and healed from it. Everyone moves on eventually.”

You nodded and watched as the man opened one of the packets for a large bandaid. He tore away the white paper that protected the adhesive edges of the bandaid and moved in to stick it to your neck. Eric was close as he smoothed down the edges. His fingers grazed against your neck as he looked down at you, observing your features.

You could feel your neck and face flush under his gaze. Your eyes flickered between Eric's frantically. He only gazed down at you calmly. He didn't seem to be looking for anything in particular, but you were panicky and trying to figure out what exactly Eric was looking for from you. But it was nothing. Eric was simply observing.

After a few moments of frantic heartbeats, Eric pulled away and straightened up to his full height. He turned and latched your little first aid box closed. He almost acted like he didn't send you into a panic over his unprompted staring.

You were both quiet as you cleaned up the bathroom and ventured out into your living room. You both hovered awkwardly, not sure what the next move either of you were going to make.

"Thank you," You said quietly, looking up at Eric.

Moreso here than in the bathroom, you realized just how tall your friend was. He was a good head or so taller than you. It made you nervous for some reason, and you couldn't explain the butterflies that fluttered around in your stomach. Nor the clamminess of your palms.

"You're welcome," Eric responded, just an octave louder than your own voice. "Stay safe at night, alright? Carry some pepper spray or something from now on."

"Alright. I can do that," You turned to grab and hand Eric his coat only to find it was already gone. "Eric-?"

When you turned, Eric was already gone. It was like he wasn't even there. There was no evidence of him really ever being there. You looked around, confused. How can someone just disappear into thin air like that?

A few days past before you saw Sarah again and you told her everything that happened. Like, everything.

Sarah firstly apologized for keeping a pretty big secret from you. She was just worried how you would react, and neither her nor Eric wanted to scare you away. You were just so nice and caring and Eric likes you a lot so they didn't want to scare you away. But then she listened very intently and begged from every detail on hearing that Eric stayed after to help clean you up a bit.

Of course, you answered every and any question the girl had. You could tell she was eating it all up.

At the moment, you were re-stocking some bookshelves at the quiet library you worked at. Sarah followed you around, quietly blabbing your ear off.

"I'm surprised Eric didn't like stay the night afterwards or something," Sarah wondered to herself outloud.

"Why do you say that?" You asked, glancing to the side at the child before resuming your task.

"Cause he really likes you, duh," Sarah said matter-of-factly, like her statement was the most obvious thing in the world.

"You keep saying that," You pointed out. "What do you mean he likes me?"

"Like it's not obvious!" Sarah responded. "C'mon! He walks you home and insists that he bandages you up and like stares at you for a really long time. Eric definitely likes you."

"Oh," Is the only way you can seem to respond.

"Oh," Sarah copied, mocking you.

It's like a whole new door opened before you and suddenly a lot of things made sense.

Moreso recently, Eric had really been spending one-on-one time with you. He'd been visiting your apartment more often, even when Sarah wasn't there. You two occasionally went on walks around your neighborhood and often stopped to get a treat before heading back home. If it was a bit chilly or a windy, Eric was offering you whatever jacket he was wearing that day. If you tried to deny, he would insist and would tell you not to worry about him. To Eric, it wasn't really that cold outside anyway. When Sarah was with you both at your apartment, Eric had almost always decided to sit beside you either at your small dining table or on the couch, and often rested an arm behind you on the couch. And over time, Eric had slowly tested the waters on prolonged physical contact, like a hand on your lower back while squeezing past you or when leading you away from something. There were also the instances of absentmindedly fixing your hair, a hand on your knee, or using the often rainy days as an excuse to squeeze you both under his coat before finding suitable shelter when Eric forgot an umbrella (which was often).

It was all that and more bouts of small things that really added up after Sarah's words.

You couldn't help the heat swelling into your cheeks and the sudden tightness of your chest. Your hands shook a little from a sudden surge of adrenaline as you pushed books back into their spots on the shelves. Sarah's continuous blabbing was drowned out by thoughts and realizations about Eric, about Eric and you.

That night, Sarah and Eric made themselves comfortable in your apartment.

Sarah's mom was working particularly late that night, so Sarah was able to spend the night. She sat on the couch and was watching some cartoon that she found on tv.

It was cold tonight, so you were in the kitchen cooking up a sort of chili. You were content and warm, slightly drowning out the background noise of your apartment. You almost didn't hear the thudding of boots that were walking in your direction. The only thing to completely pull you out of your head was the small touch to the middle of your back. You jumped slightly as the person spoke.

"Smells good," A low voice spoke.

From the corner of your eye, you could see Eric leaning over your shoulder, watching the bubbling liquid of chili. He was so close that a few stray pieces of hair tickled the side of your face.

"Well, it's almost done if you're hungry," You inform him, tapping the spoon you're stirring with against the rim of the pot before setting it aside.

You turn to face the man, who only backs up about half a step and drops his hand from your back. You can tell Eric's slouching just a bit, but he still easily towers over you. You watch as the man observes you and as he brings a hand to tuck a stray piece of your hair behind your ear. Heat rushes to your face at the action.

After a few moments of staring, you heard a thick bubble of chili pop behind you, which brought you out of your staring trance.

"Alright, mister," You swatted at Eric playfully. "Out of my kitchen while I finish up."

You urged the tall man back towards your living room and turned when Eric made his way to the couch and joined Sarah. You could hear Eric and Sarah conversing quietly behind you as you finished dinner.

Not before long, you officially finished dinner and everyone dished up. The three of you sat at your small dining room table in view of the tv. Between watching whatever was on, you three talked about what's happened since you last saw each other or stuff you've heard about around town.

After eating, you three migrated to the couch and eventually settled down, fully and happy. Sarah sat in her usual spot against one of the couch's arms and stretched out her legs onto your lap. Her head leaned propped up against a pillow that the kid had placed as a barrier between her head and the arm of the couch. Eric sat on the opposite side of the couch, lacking shoes and his usual jacket. He sat forward but slouched into the couch with one arm bent at the elbow to rest on the arm of the couch and the other thrown across the back cushions. You sat between the two, sitting at a respectable distance from Eric, or as much as Sarah was willing to give you. You sat down into the couch with your head thrown back to rest on the back cushions and Eric's arm, as it was in the way of the cushions but it seemed like neither of you minded your head on his arm.

From your peripherals, you could see Eric looking in your direction. His head was kinked forward a bit, possibly looking past you.

You turned your head, curious at what caught his attention.

Sarah was passed out in her corner. Her arms crossed against her chest and head nestled in between her pillow and the back cushions of the couch. She looked peaceful. Her face lacked the frequent ornery expression that she wore.

You huffed a smile and got back into your original position, getting comfy again.

"I like you, y'know?" Eric stated quietly, voice just above a whisper.

"I know," You think nothing about his statement, forgetting what Sarah told you just hours earlier.

"No, Y/N," Eric saying your name really caught your attention. You turned your head towards him as he continued. "I really like you."

"Oh," You stared at Eric, heat already rushing towards your face and heart speeding up due to nervousness and anticipation. "Really?"

"Yeah," Your friend looked sheepish as he confessed.

"That's...," You paused, choosing your words out carefully amongst your racing thoughts. "I like you too, Eric."

"Really?" He seemed surprised. "Enough to be my girlfriend?"

"Of course, Eric," You tell him. "We hang out like all the time. So, I'd love to be your girlfriend."

Eric's slightly nervous expression shifted into something that was akin to uncontained happiness. He smiled so wide his cheeks almost caused his eyes to squint closed. Using the arm under your head, Eric pulled you close, like super close and into his chest.

You hugged him back the best you could in this position, squeezing him with almost the same amount of strength he squeezed you with.

"This is like.. so cool," Eric whispered loud enough for you to hear.

You shook your head at him, "You're a dork."

You two settled into each other, adjusting so you two could hold each other comfortably. A bit of movement caught your attention and you looked over to see Sarah look at you two with squinted eyes before settling back down.

"Finally," She sighed, pulling a blanket that you had on the back of the couch over herself.

You and Eric laughed quietly at her reaction, trying to stay quiet so the child was able to go back to sleep.

———

Request:

#the crow 1994 #the crow #eric draven #brandon lee #the crow x reader #the crow imagines #eric draven x reader #eric draven imagines #brandon lee x reader #brandon lee imagines

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