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tsaomengde · 10 months ago

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The Ones Who Found The City

Ursula K. LeGuin's "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas" is a classic short story, and obviously I knew of it, but I'd never actually read it until recently. Well, I finally got around to it, and as many timeless classics do, it got stuck in my brain. This story is my - response? homage? sequel? pale imitation? - to it. I suggest you go and read "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas" if you haven't. Not because it's actually required reading for this story - I think it stands on its own more or less okay - but because it is a classic for a reason.

---

Initially, no one is quite certain of what they’ve found when the Animus breaches the next manifold layer. This is in and of itself expected, of course. Exploring psychspace is by its very nature an unpredictable venture. Each of the various infinite layers is unique and bizarre in its own way, reflecting the archetypal underpinnings of an entire species present, past, or future across an infinitude of possible realities. The crew of the Animus, therefore, has seen things so utterly alien and inexplicable that only the rigors of their training and the care put into their psychic warding saved them from insanity.

It is somewhat disappointing, then, to find that this sub-domain is just a city. Definitely not Terranic, certainly not, but still following the Terranic modality, with no more than a seven-degree quantum drift.

“Towers,” Thromby says into the recorder as they sit at their post at the nose of the Animus’s command center. “Following the standard skyscrape pattern. Unclear if they’re domiciles or business centers or both. Coastal city, bay appears to be oceanic rather than lake. Pleasing blend of urbanization with natural setting.” They glance at Vigil. “Anything on the lifescope?”

Vigil shakes his head. “Nothing. It’s empty. Totally empty.”

“That’s odd,” Katrina speaks up from the helm. “The city doesn’t show signs of decay or reclamation by nature.”

“Entropy may not work in the usual way in this sub-domain,” Teasha reminds her. “The city itself could be the natural growth, reclaiming the artificial countryside. We’ve seen things like that before.”

Thromby feels Katrina’s unconscious bristling at the subtle reminder that she is the newest member of the crew and thus less experienced in the vagaries of psychspace than everyone else. Next to Vigil, who is only nineteen, she is also the youngest. “I would expect,” Katrina says, her voice cool, “that in a sub-domain so obviously based on human archetypes, entropy and nature-versus-civilization tropes would function more or less as usual.”

“I’m certain you would,” Teasha replies, her voice equally cool. “When you’ve been at this as long as me and Thromby, you’ll learn better.”

“Enough of that,” Thromby says before Katrina can reply. They love Teasha, but she tends to be too harsh on new crewmembers. A defense mechanism, they know, to insulate her from the all-too-common pain of losing them. But Katrina has too much to prove. The clash is natural and to be expected, and even useful at times, but now is not one of them. “Vigil, get me readings on atmosphere, microbiome, and psychic radiation, if any. Katrina, pick a spot on the coast and bring us down there. I want to see if the ocean is actually an ocean or a liminality representation. Teasha, get the Animus tuning to this sub-domain’s resonance frequency. I don’t want any dissociation issues.”

The orders are mostly unnecessary, since everyone already knows what they’re about, but they serve their intended purpose, which is to re-focus everyone on the task at hand and redirect their nervous energies, particularly Katrina’s. Thromby still isn’t sure she’s going to make the cut after this expedition is over, but there’s potential there. They would be foolish to ignore someone with Katrina’s strength of identity grounding.

There are plenty of sub-domains out there where it’s useful to be entirely certain of who you are, and not everyone can be.

---

The first day’s worth of exploration yields more questions than answers, which is normal and expected. Thromby is indeed certain that Katrina’s initial assumption that this is a human-archetypal sub-domain is correct. Human atmosphere, human shadow- and ontological concepts, Terranic fish in the very-real ocean. But the iconography is sparse and mostly nonsensical. It’s clear that the city was able to actually function as a city, but it feels purposeful, designed, in a way that actual cities outside psychspace rarely do.

“It’s a metaphor,” Vigil says as they sit around a campfire on the beach after the first day.

“Well, obviously,” Katrina agrees, and Vigil lights up – both visibly and psychically – at her concordance. Thromby knows Vigil has been nursing burgeoning feelings for Katrina since she joined them, and has so far seen no need to make anything of it. “But a metaphor for what?”

“We don’t have enough data,” Vigil replies. “But I’m certain of it. We just need to keep exploring.”

Thromby takes a bite of the fish they’ve been roasting over the fire. It’s a pleasant change of pace to be able to eat something real, instead of the platonic nourishment suggestions dispensed by the Animus. “Agreed. I’m curious to see what the point of this place was. We have five more days before we have to resurface and the expedition has been quite successful already. I think we can spare the time. Teasha?”

Taking a bite of her own fish, Teasha purses her lips as she chews. “I concur, but I’m uneasy.”

Teasha is their psychometry specialist, so this makes all of them sit up a little straighter. “Are we in danger?” Katrina asks.

“Of course we’re in danger, we’re in psychspace. But in this particular sub-domain? Metaphorical danger, as Vigil says. Ideological or memetic patterning rather than physical.”

Thromby nods. “I suspected that might be the axis of it, here. We will need to split up to cover the necessary ground in the time we have left, so everyone stays in contact while exploring. Mechanical and psychic. No exceptions.”

None of them are particularly happy with this pronouncement, but they see the wisdom of it. It’s distracting and somewhat draining to keep a four-way psychic connection going, especially over distance, but their implanted transceivers sometimes don’t function properly, depending on the sub-domain. Electromagnetism and causality both seem to be standard here, but such things have been known to change in an instant depending on whether the sub-domain is actively malicious or not.

Thromby doesn’t feel any such malice here, though. That doesn’t mean it isn’t present; such things are often quite good at hiding themselves. But they’ve been exploring psychspace for seventy-eight years subjective. They’ve learned to trust their instincts.

---

Two more days of exploration are frustratingly unrevealing. The city is the size of a proper metropolis, and they know it will be impossible to actually explore any significant percentage of it in only a few days, but Thromby is still irritated by their lack of progress. They find evidence of cultural signifiers, rituals, and traditions, but again, the iconography is vague and appears opaque to standard Jungian-Jingweian analysis.

Teasha spends the two days on a different investigative track than the rest of them. “Psychometrically speaking the city is remarkably healthy,” she said on the morning of their second day. “Most locations, metaphorical or otherwise, bear the echoes of trauma or strife, but this place seems to have been almost entirely peaceful. Totally voluntary anarcho-communism or ordnung-socialism, perhaps, without the usual markers of systemic violence inherent to capitalistic or fascistic systems. But there’s a thread somewhere that I keep detecting the edges of.”

“A thread of what?” Thromby asked.

“Pain, of course.”

It is on the evening of their third day in the city that Teasha calls them to her. She uses their transceiver link rather than a psychic summons. “To avoid contamination,” she explains. “I’ve found the source of the thread. Double your usual wardings and enter seclusive patterning before you come inside.”

Thromby does so, of course, though they dislike cutting themselves off from their extrasensory perception. It feels like trying to see with only one eye. When they arrive at Teasha’s location, however, they immediately understand why she insisted on it. The possibility of psychic contamination here is very high.

“What is this?” Katrina asks, holding her nose in disgust.

“The point of the metaphor, of course,” Teasha replies. She indicates the filthy cellar in which they’ve found themselves, the only part of the city so far that has seemed actively decrepit. “I guarantee you that even if we spent the rest of our lives exploring this city we would find only this one place showing any signs of entropy.”

The cellar stinks of excrement, a combination of ammonia and fetid shit, despite the physical processes creating such smells having terminated long ago. The floor is dirt. There are no windows. In one corner there are two mops, their heads stiff with drying waste, and a bucket, the metal bands around its circumference orange with rust.

“They concentrated all of the city’s entropy into a single space?” Vigil asks.

“Not entropy,” Teasha tells him. “Cruelty.”

Katrina gapes, her hand falling away from her nose for a moment. “Come again?”

“Something lived here,” Teasha explains to her. “Or, more precisely, was forced to live here. It functioned as a psychic magnet, of sorts. The functioning of the city relied entirely upon its imprisonment and use as a scapegoat.”

“What was it?” Vigil asks.

“One of the innocence-sacrifice archetypes. An animal or a child. I suspect a child; an animal can feel pain and misery, certainly, but it doesn’t conceive of injustice in the same way a child does.”

Thromby feels their stomach turn a little. “Ah. I see.”

“See what?” Katrina demands.

“The point of the metaphor indeed,” Thromby replies. “This entire city and all its inhabitants, predicated on the suffering on a child. It’s a morality construct, and a good one, too.”

“A good one?” Vigil asks. “It’s grotesque.”

“Your deontological leanings are showing,” Katrina tells him. “From a utilitarian perspective it’s perfect. Nothing exists without imposing an energy burden on the system in which it exists. Even the nourishment suggestions the Animus feeds us in liminal space between manifolds is distilled from universal krill. But this? The concentration of all of a society’s utility burden onto a single individual. The ultimate maximization principle.”

“And your teleological leanings are showing,” Teasha sniffs. “You’re missing the point of the metaphor entirely, Katrina. It isn’t about utility. It’s about cruelty. The cruelty is the point.”

Katrina’s nostrils flare and Thromby cuts in before she can start really arguing. “Enough,” they say. “A conflict here in this space could be dangerous. We’re at the focus of the sub-domain and things have a way of rippling. We’ve discovered the point of the metaphor, so we can go back to the Animus and leave in the morning.”

Both Katrina and Teasha look ready to argue the point with them, but then they master themselves and both nod.

“Do we have to wait until morning?” Vigil asks, looking around the cellar in transparent disgust. “I would prefer to leave sooner rather than later.”

“You know the rules,” Thromby replies. “We don’t transit without everyone being rested. A tired mind is a vulnerable mind.”

Reluctantly, Vigil nods, too. The four of them walk away from the cellar, their thoughts opaque to one another.

---

Thromby is jolted out of sleep by Teasha screaming.

They sit bolt upright and look down at Teasha in the bed next to them. She is clutching at her head, shaking, writhing beneath the sheets. “Teasha!” Thromby snaps. “Focus! Center yourself!” They grab her by the wrists and pry her hands from her face; her nails are leaving bloody marks in her skin.

“Too much, it’s too much!” she shrieks. “I’m lost!”

Thromby forces their way into her mind. She previously gave them her consent for this, knowing that it might be necessary in a moment like this one. What they see there –

“Aquinas,” they say aloud. The implants in Teasha’s cochlear nerves pick up on the trigger word and activate, sending the kill-signal to other implants deeper within her brain. She stops screaming and slumps, unconscious, temporarily brain-dead. When Thromby says the word again she will be switched back on, but for the moment she is safe from the psychic contamination that was attacking her along her psychometric vector.

Which, of course, means that Thromby has to deal with this issue alone.

They dress quickly and exit the Animus into a beautiful summer day. Pennants and banners wave atop the rigging of ships in the harbor, bells sound from the city, and people, so many people, cavort and revel on the beach, in the waves, in the streets. There is laughter, merriment, the intoxicating psychic swell of happiness and excitement. Thromby threads their way through the crowds in the streets – mothers carrying their infants, children running through the streets in elaborate games of some variation of Terran tag, huge parades of horse-drawn carts with animalistic balloon totems floating in the air above them. Vendors call out to Thromby, offering delicious food, intricately made jewelry, amazing clockwork-mechanical toys, sensory-enhancing drugs, and a thousand other variegated temptations. Street musicians play upon cunningly crafted instruments – strings, pipes, percussion, keys – and revelers cavort to the tunes.

Thromby can feel the bright sparks of all of these people in their mind. These are real, thinking, feeling beings. They belong to the metaphor, certainly, but Thromby could speak to them, touch them, verify their self-consciousness and interiority, even invite them to come and join them onboard the Animus and explore psychspace. They could bring them up into the real, return home with them, have a life with them. That is how it has to be, of course. Thromby knows they themself may belong to a different metaphor of a different order, after all. The real is only real because enough people agree it is.

But they do none of these things. They just walk, stolidly, back to where they know they have to go.

Katrina is waiting for them outside the cellar, barring the way in. Thromby has their wards up at triple strength and has been in seclusive patterning since before leaving the Animus, but they don’t need to be psychic to read her mind. Everything she is feeling and thinking is there in plain sight – the proud and defiant way her chin is thrust out, the blaze in her eyes, the way she has her arms crossed and feet at shoulder width. She is ready to fight.

“Let me through,” Thromby says without preamble.

“No.”

Well, that’s their respective positions, Thromby thinks, articulated clearly and easily enough. “Why not?” they ask.

“Vigil consented.”

“Vigil is in love with you and you know as well as I do that consent is a matter of framing,” Thromby snaps. “Move.”

“No. I explained everything to him and he consented. It has nothing to do with whatever feelings he might have for me.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it, but fine. For the sake of argument, tell me how you explained it.”

Katrina hesitates, and Thromby can tell she wasn’t expecting them to actually offer her a chance to proselytize. “The point of the metaphor is that no matter how great and beautiful the society, if it’s predicated on cruelty, it’s unjust,” she says. “Deontological thinking, obviously, but cruelty is by definition nonconsensual. I explained to Vigil that if he allowed it, we could collaboratively put blocks in his mind, purposefully regress him to a childlike mental state, and put him in the cellar to suffer for a specific length of time. Then we can pull him back out, remove the blocks, and even erase the memories of the trauma. The child-Vigil won’t, can’t, consent, but it also won’t exist for more than a day, and pragmatically speaking never will have.”

Thromby massages their temples. “Congratulations. Once again, you have missed the point of the metaphor.”

“Damnit, Thromby, I’m not a child! I have the same training and grounding in theory that you and Teasha do. Everything I’m doing is teleologically sound, and Vigil agreed that with the steps we’re taking –”

“You’re trying to outsmart it,” Thromby cuts her off. “That’s how I know you’ve missed the point. You can’t outsmart this, Katrina. There is no perfect set of circumstances you can construct to get around the simple fact that this city functions, exists, because of deliberate and terrible cruelty. That’s the entire point of it, just like Teasha said. Teasha, who, by the way, is currently in a coma. I had to put her into it to keep Vigil’s misery from damaging her.”

“It’s a thought experiment,” she argues, obviously not addressing the point about Teasha because she knows she won’t win that argument. “There’s always a correct answer for them. The trolley, the Gettier, the –”

“It’s about fucking sin,” Thromby sighs.

“Are you joking right now? You’re going back to the religious well?”

“Yes, because that’s what’s happening right now. The city is a sin, Katrina. The excesses of its beauty, its wonder, its perfection, are obscene precisely because of how and why they function. It’s rooted in the ideology of disgust and taint. Utility, teleology, all of these justifications and rationalizations exist and have their use, but at the end of the day, answer me one question: will you trade places with Vigil?”

Katrina hesitates.

It’s only a bare moment, less than a second, even, but it’s there. And Thromby sees it, and Katrina sees it.

“Yes,” she says, finally.

“I knew that would be your answer. But you know that the answer doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Katrina lowers her head. “No.”

“You know why you hesitated.”

“Yes.” She looks back up at them. “But – there’s no such thing as absolute morality, any more than there’s a single objective reality.”

“Of course there isn’t. And yet, you hesitated.”

They just lock eyes for a few seconds. Then she lowers her gaze again. “And yet, I did.”

Thromby steps past her and opens the cellar.

#writing #my writing #story #short story #short stories #creative writing #omelas #the ones who walk away from omelas #ursula k leguin #leguin #science fiction #sci fi #sci-fi

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lime-ether · 24 days ago

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Day of the Dead

Halloween. For many, it’s a night of costumes, treats, and celebration. But for me, it's a night of silence. A time when the candles I light aren't for decoration, but for remembrance. Each flicker is a memory of someone I’ve lost—a face I struggle to recall, a name that still echoes in the quiet corners of my mind.

In recent years, I’ve said too many goodbyes. Grandparent, uncles, family members... friends.... they’ve all become part of this glowing vigil. It’s hard to count the losses when war tears through your life so unexpectedly, and for us, in Ukraine, it has been a constant reminder of fragility.

I’m from Ukraine, a country scarred by history, where the pain of the past feels like it bleeds into the present. The world might be silent about much of it, but we remember. We carry it with us every day.

There’s the Holodomor—when millions of Ukrainians starved to death while the world looked away. The House of the Word, where our poets, writers, and thinkers were silenced under Stalin’s terror, their words erased, their voices buried. Then there’s Bucha and Mariupol, names that now carry the weight of fresh horrors. In Bucha, civilians were murdered And not only adults were raped, but also children, even those who were 4-5 years old in the streets Because of the Russian people , and in Mariupol, a city was reduced to ruins—each tragedy a reminder that every day could be our last. This is only part of what is happening now and what happened before.

For Ukrainians, it’s hard not to live with this constant sense of fragility. Every day feels like it could be the final chapter.

I feel it too—the uncertainty, the fear. I've seen too many people leave this world far too soon. I was only 13 when the when They came , and neither my family nor I were prepared for the devastation it would bring. Our lives changed overnight. We witnessed horrors no one should ever see—people fleeing their homes, bleeding, dying, the streets once familiar now unrecognizable. I helped people who left their homes not only morally but also physically, although I myself was not stable.

And still, here I am, lighting candles not just for my loved ones, but for all of us. For every Ukrainian who has faced the unthinkable and still continues to rise. For every soul lost in the quiet chapters of history, when the world didn’t listen. I don’t celebrate Halloween like others do. For me, it’s a time to sit in the stillness, to let the memories come. I think about the life I once had, the birthdays spent with cake and family, the child I used to be before war and grief took so much.

And though I’m no longer that child, I wish I could go back, just for a moment. I’d tell her to hold onto that innocence for a little longer, to cherish those moments before everything changed. But I know I can’t. All I can do now is sit here, watching the flames, remembering the faces that are no longer with us, and hoping—for a future where we no longer have to light candles for the fallen.

Maybe someday, even if this doesn't become true, I can just make sure my family is okay, and my friends can continue my silly stories and things, so that my characters could be in a better future than me without me.

I wish you guys a happy Halloween.

Cherish the time with your family and friends, even if they are not nearby, they are probably standing at your shoulder that night and hugging you tightly.

Thanks to my family, thanks to my friends, thanks to you, Dead people group, You helped me get out of the pit of sadness a little, Thanks for Shi, Shirk, And others, who listened to my stories

–In memory of the forgotten

#lime ether #halloween #day of the dead #dead world #i wish hug you.#I'm so sorry I can't say much but I love you #even if you are not there #and I didn’t have time to say goodbye #support ukraine #war in ukraine #stand with ukraine #ukraine #ukrainian culture

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celandeline · 10 months ago

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Summer of Like // Farleigh Start x OC (21)

It’s exactly the same as any other day - we are lounging by the lake, Venetia and I on the little wooden dock, soaking up the suns rays, Felix and Oliver on the shore, dipping their toes in the water now and then. It’s exactly the same as any other day, except it’s not. There’s a strange cloud in the air, hanging over us, even though the sky is cloudless. The hole of Farleigh’s absence is tangible.

Venetia is fuming, not quite understandably. “I mean, it's outrageous!”

On the shore, Oliver picks at the grass by his feet. “What actually happened?”

Felix sighs, the same exasperation from earlier. “He sent an email to Sotheby's to say he'd ‘come by’ some Palissy plates. I mean, the idiot. He had to have known Dad went to school with the chairman.”

An email. I roll my eyes behind my sunglasses, and lean back on my elbows. It’s wild to me how no one thinks it’s out of character at all for Farleigh to be so careless.

Venetia chimes in. “I mean, talk about biting the hand. Mum and Dad would give him anything he asked for!”

I could never hate Venetia. Never. But the way she’s so easily berating her cousin over something that I know she doesn’t really care about, gets me close to it. I know for a fact that she couldn’t care less about the Palissy plates, I know she’s only mad for the theatrics of it, because pretending to be angry is better than being bored. But it makes me mad.

Felix is more sympathetic. “Yeah, well, obviously he got sick of asking.”

“That's ridiculous. He's more spoiled than we are!” Venetia says.

How is it that Farleigh has lived with these people, is related to these people, and they don’t seem to know him at all? In the time that I’ve known him - significantly less than Venetia or Felix - I feel like I learned more about him than either of his cousins seem to have in their whole lives.

Felix tilts his head. “Come on, V. You have to admit. It's a little bit dark, you know, him having to go to mum and dad with the begging bowl.”

Venetia is unwavering. “Oh boo-fucking-hoo.”

I turn over, to sun my back and to tilt my face away from the conversation, lest Venetia see the anger on my face.

Felix finally gives in. “Alright, yes, fine, it was incredibly fucking stupid -”

“Guys, guys guys.” Venetia hisses, her eyes on the shore as James and Elspeth as they breeze towards us. Felix dips his head down towards Oliver, quietly saying something to him. A wave of silence descends on the group of us - I’m a little grateful, the conversation was beginning to grate.

James is as sunny as ever - if I hadn’t seen the ruckus this morning myself, I would have never guessed anything at all had happened. “What a glorious day! I've never known a summer as hot as this one.”

Elspeth drapes herself into a chair on the shore. “Sweltering!”

James titters on. “I think it's hotter than last year. I didn't think that was possible but here we are again! It's hotter than Barbados, apparently. Barbados!”

“I can believe it, darling.” Elspeth says. “I honestly don't think I've ever been hotter in my life.”

It’s like they’ve forgotten about him already. God it makes me mad - and its alienating at the same time. It might be an American thing, it might be an Italian thing, but I could never imagine disavowing one of my cousins from the house. Blood relation means nothing to these people.

James tucks his hands in his pockets. “I need to check with Robert to make sure that he’s being extra vigilant with the hydrangeas.”

“Very wise, my love.” Elspeth says. James wanders off, and she sighs, relaxing. “Bliss! Bliss, bliss…”

I shouldn’t be angry. It’s not my place - I’m a guest of Venetia’s, this is not my family, what they do and say to each other is really none of my business.

Tuning into the little portable radio, Elspeth gasps. “Oh, this song. God, I haven't heard this song in forever! I used to hang out with them all, actually, when I was modeling. Britpop, Blur, Oasis. God the parties!” She sighs. “But then of course "Common People" came out and everybody thought it was written about me. Which was completely mortifying and ridiculous! I mean I barely knew Jarvis.”

Venetia sits up on her elbows. “What?”

“‘She came from Greece. She had a thirst for knowledge.’” Elspeth quotes. “It couldn’t have been me. I’ve never wanted to know anything.”

It’s like these people live on another fucking planet. And at first, it was a novelty, just another part of this vacation, but now it’s almost horrific.

“God, I wish we didn’t have to go to London.” Elspeth sighs.

“I didn’t know you were going to London.” Felix turns to look at his mother over his shoulder.

“Pamela’s funeral.” She says, matter of factly, not a hint of sorrow in her tone.

Oliver turns to Felix. “Pamela died?”

At least Felix has the decency to sound upset. “Yeah.”

“She’d do anything for attention.” Elspeth says.

God I can’t wait for the summer to be over. To go back to reality, where people care about each other and work through their problems instead of tossing each other out like trash. I love Venetia - truly and wholly - but I know that she doesn’t feel the same. How could she, when her parents treat people like they’re disposable?

Like she knew I was thinking about her, she turns to me. “‘S a bit sad, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” I say.

< previous part | next part >

#farleigh start x oc #farleigh start x reader #saltburn #farleigh start #farleigh x reader #saltburn x reader

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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 4 years ago

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49%

Title: 49%

Summary: If there’s one thing that Spencer hates more than rejection, it’s spontaneity. But sometimes the things (and people) we love outweigh the things that we hate. AKA a series of events leading up to a weekend wedding between the BAU’s finest Dr. Spencer Reid and his partner in crime, Y/N.

Word Count: 1365

Warnings: none

Author’s Note: I hope that you enjoy reading this! I really appreciate all of the support and kind words :)

49%

Spencer Reid is terrified. Nothing could compare for the pure fear that courses through his veins in this moment. Not even the times he’d run into hostage situations without wearing a Kevlar vest or even in the most lonely parts of his life. He figures that he’s terrified because he has so much to lose. Never in his life did he have someone that loves him as much as Y/N does. And that terrifies him. Somehow, when Spencer is with Y/N he’s simultaneously a man numb with love and a little boy shaking with fear. He knows that he should have gotten over this fear of rejection years ago. He knows that Y/N would never intentionally hurt him. He knows that she loves him more than anything.

So why? Why is he so terrified to ask her to marry him? Logically, there’s no reason for her to say no. They’ve been together for 3 years, which is long enough at their age to enter into an engagement. It’s not like she doesn’t want to get married; he’s seen her Pinterest wedding moodboard. She talks about their children, almost like they're already here. She wants to get married and she wants to have kids, but the question that bounces around in Spencer’s mind is does she want that with him?

“Next!” the barista calls Spencer forward to the counter to order.

“Hi, I’ll have an extra large black coffee with 6 Splendas, and uh, a large iced green tea with honey,” Spencer orders, pulling out his credit card to pay for the drinks. Coffee is probably not the wisest choice, but what can Spencer say the heart wants what the heart wants.

Spencer awkwardly waits for his drinks, trying to ignore the small box that burns a whole in his pocket. He’d bought the ring a couple of months ago, right after a case that both of them almost didn’t come home, or worse almost came home in a casket.

“Two drinks for Spencer!” a barista from behind the counter calls, telling him that his drinks are ready. Spencer takes a sip of his coffee, the sweet liquid burning his tongue. Taking a look at the time on his watch, Spencer decides that it’s time to head to the park.

It’s a short walk to the park, but it seems like it’s the longest walk of his life. Maybe if he wasn’t so nervous or terrified, he'd be able to enjoy how beautiful was. Spencer might be a complete ball of nerves, but he’s a romantic at heart. He wants this to be a perfect start to their perfect life. He finds the park bench that he told Y/N to meet him at. He sits there, waiting for her to show up and waiting for their life to start.

Spencer’s leg bounces up and down. He should have worn a different pair of shoes. These Converse are so old and ratty, he thinks. He thinks he looks ridiculous in his cardigan and corduroy pants, what was he thinking? He can’t actually expect that she’s going to yes to him.

While his thoughts are occupied by the constant inner commentary of rejection and ridicule, he fails to her the leaves crunch behind him. His vision goes black when his eyes are covered by a pair of familiar feeling hands. Y/N’s laugh gives it away instantly, but Spencer’s constant vigilance does cause him to yelp in a high pitched squeal.

“Spencer! It’s me honey,” Y/N says, wrapping her arms around his neck and peppering his cheek with quick kisses. It’s the kind of kisses that say “I’m happy to see you” and “You’re the only one I want to see”. It’s at times like these that he doubts his doubts; maybe he can have faith and hope and lean into the romantic side of himself. The side of himself that sees them walking in the park with a baby stroller, playing on the playset with their children, teaching their kids how to drive in the parking lot and sitting on this bench when their backs hurt all the time and their faces have a few more wrinkles.

“I’d know that laugh anywhere, Y/N” Spencer says, watching her move to sit next to him on the bench.

“Ohh, thanks for the iced tea!” She says, taking a sip of the cold drink. Even though it’s barely winter, Spencer still can’t believe that she can drink iced beverages in any kind of weather below 50 degrees. He nods and kisses her on her cheek, which causes a small giggle to emerge. Spencer is still kind of surprised that his affections can elicit such happy responses from her.

“So,” Y/N starts. “Why did you leave our house at 7:00 AM and text me to meet you here?”

“Umm,” Spencer says, the nerves bubbling to the surface. You can do this, Spencer, he thinks. You can do this, she’s not going to say no. She can’t say no. At this moment, Spencer is really wishing he had his passport with him and a getaway car to jump in, just in case Y/N says no.

“Did you know that only 3% of weddings happen in a courthouse?” Y/N asks at a completely stunned Spencer.

“Yeah,” Spencer says timidly, not entirely sure where this is panning out, but grateful to listen to his girlfriend. It beats the alternative, him saying something stupid and her laughing at him; him fleeing the state and ending up a magician in a Las Vegas casino.

“Yes, courthouse weddings are a great alternative, they’re affordable and efficient for couples who just want to get married without all that fuss,” Y/N adds, looking at Spencer.

She’s profiling you, Spencer thinks. Don’t make eye contact. He knows (and she knows) that the moment he looks into her eyes, he’s done for. Las Vegas here he comes….

“And 51% of marriages end in divorce,” Spencer tells her, before he can even think about what he’s saying. Great he thinks, the day that he’s supposed to propose to her, he’s talking about divorce statistics.

“You know that I failed statistics in college, Spence?” Y/N asks him.

“I think I remember you mentioning that,” Spencer says, now thoroughly confused as to where this is going.

“I have an evil plan to seek revenge against statistics, so I think that it’s my life mission to prove them wrong,” Y/N finishes, pulling something out from her bag.

Spencer can feel his heart beating in his chest. He’s even more terrified than he was before. Suddenly all those songs that Y/N made him dance to late in the middle of the night make complete sense.

“But, I also think that it’s my life mission to spend the rest of my life with you, Spence. So, I know that it’s not alway the case for the girl to propose marriage, but I think that you deserve someone to propose to you,” Y/N says, very quickly.

Spencer sits there on the bench with Y/N sitting right next to him, utterly speechless. Did she just….

“You want to marry me?” Spencer says, dumbly.

“Of course I do, Spencer! Give me your hand, I got you an engagement ring and-”

Spencer, suddenly fearless, cups her face in his hands, effectively making her quiet. He works on the surge of confidence, leaning in and kisses Y/N on the lips. It’s like he’s kissing her for the first time in his life. It’s like his first kiss ever, but it’s the first kiss of all the kisses of the rest of their life.

“So I’ll take that as a yes,” Y/N says, breaking apart from Spencer.

Spencer lets out a laugh, completely forgetting why on Earth he was so scared to propose.

“So you’re not the only one who had this idea, Y/N” Spencer tells her, reaching into his cardigan pocket. He hands her the velvet box and reveals the vintage ring that he picked out from the second hand jewelry store.

“Spencer? Is this why you told me to come here? Oh God, I ruined your proposal!” Y/N says, embarrassed that she messed with Spencer’s plans, knowing how nervous he can get.

“On the contrary Y/N, I’m sure that this is the best possible proposal,” Spencer tells her, as she lays her head against his shoulder.

“Spencer,” Y/N says, suddenly serious.

“Yes, fiance?” Spencer teases.

“How would you like to be in the 3% of marriages? Like as soon as possible. Like tomorrow? I don’t think I can wait another second not being married to you,” she confesses.

“As long as we’re in the 49%, I’ll do anything you want.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid deserved a happy ending #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds #spencer reid x y/n fluff #spencer reid gets a happy ending #mgg

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cinnamonest · 3 years ago

Note

please spare more crumbs for the sex slave au with diluc and kaeya's meimei,,

Thank you for giving me permission to be more depraved this is from forever ago but I'm slowly getting the "forever ago" stuff done lol

I love the concept tho, especially Crepus buying a lil qt and having to teach them how to be good masters bc they’re both dumb clueless boys, bless.

TWs: slavery, implied incest or pseudo-incest, could give vibes as under//age (nothing is specified but I guess it could strike some people that way so I wanna be cautious), noncon/dubcon, mentions of anal, misogynistic, awful depraved and nasty -------------------------------------

God. The arguing. The rivalry. The chaos. Like, with some poly yanderes/owner/master relationships, the two work *together* and focus attention on controlling *you,* but these two are... not like that. They have a lot of rivalry going on half the time.

Now, this could be Crepus buying a slave and basically indoctrinating her as a meimei, but of course, if you actually are one of the boys' bio sis, the one is gonna claim some authenticity - you know, the whole "well she's my real sister, not yours, so I get to fuck her more" kind of thing. The other appeals to "well she's your real sister which makes you worse," and it devolves into arguing back and forth about whether or not the blood relation makes them more or less justified in sticking their dick in you and claiming more rights to meimei's time and attention. Not just to each other either, it's also directed at you -- the whole "hey, I'm your real big brother, so you should spend more time with me than him" kind of thing. It actually can get pretty annoying over time, you have to constantly be soothing not one but TWO egos in desperate need of affirmation. But here I’m going more with the idea of Crepus just buying them a sweet meimei. Diluc's more... patient. He teaches you "touch commands" -- little learned gestures, like a dog. Just the lightest touch on your spine and you know it's a clear message to arch your back, a hand under your chin and thumb pressed against it has you instinctively opening your mouth, a tap to the back of your neck and you kneel. Little gestures that can bend your body and mind with minimal effort. Despite that though, Kaeya is actually the master of The Look™ - the kind that can make you go quiet and apologize in a mere instant when given. But because you know it, expect him to be even harsher if you defy it. Sometimes in your little tantrums you get so mad that you'll have the audacity to ignore that look and keep whining or being a brat which does not end well.

Meimei is what you call free use - any time, anywhere. One of the most important lessons Crepus told you when he first got you/when you were old enough is that you are never to deny the boys any of your holes if they want it. This is just as important for the boys to learn as it is you, he's a big believer in the whole, "if you act like a good proper master, the slave will naturally fall into their role too" sort of thing, so he teaches them to be forceful and dominating, not hesitant to do what they want -- if they're clear on what they want and make known their expectation of your obedience (and the subtle implication of threat of punishments if not complied with), you'll fall into the submissive role you're meant for and naturally want to submit to them like a good little wife-sister-slave.

So, whenever one of them beckons you over, you smile and ask them how you can help. Your brothers work so hard, and it's the least you can do to take care of their needs. Sometimes they just want you to sit on their lap, wrap your arms around them, sit there a while in silence when they're sad, sometimes they want to vent to you about things when they're frustrated, sometimes they want to use you. Of course, the former two usually leads to the last anyway. You're... emotional support pussy. There's important rules and practices to be followed, it's actually rules for all three of you, several apply to them, actually, as Crepus taught you before he died, and it's become second nature for the boys (it works in their benefit, after all). #1. You can never be left alone. There's a lot of reasons for this, but primarily it's in your instinct to get fucked, all you know how to do is take cock, so if you were left alone you may very well go running off and jump onto the first thing with a dick, and they can't have that. So basically you either have to be with one of them, within their sight, or accounted for in some way - there's a couple of installed tethering hooks and the like on the walls in several areas of the house you can be attached to. But, really, they're not usually necessary, with two very horny males running around you're busy most of the time, even if it's a more passive task. You spend a lot of time sitting on someone's lap, sometimes taking naps throughout the day with whoever decides they're tired at the moment. So, you spend more or less every waking moment with one or both -- well, every sleeping moment too, of course you don't have you own room. You alternate nights between the two just like you were told to. There's not really any task you do alone. Bathing? It's always gotta be with one or the other. Sleeping? Always with one or the other. Even when you're cooking -- because obviously you do that, they wouldn't even know how to, since you've always done it -- one is always standing beside you, talking to you, or sitting a ways over in a chair as they vent about their day. Oh, speaking of that, as aforementioned, you're there for emotional burdens too. When one has had a long day, what would they do if meimei wasn't there for them to vent and whine and complain to? You've always been taught to be a good listener. Don't interrupt. Listen to everything and don't zone out. Don't oppose their actions when they're telling you about their problems, always tell them they were in the right and comfort them. Smile while you listen. That's how you were trained to respond when one of them has some burden to unload on you. Always offer your body to make them happy. That's the last part, and they've never not taken you up on the offer. That being said, sometimes you have to... motivate them. Push a little bit. You see, you're just so sweet that sometimes your brothers might want to just spend the entire day in bed with you. So you have to motivate them to do their actual work. Tell them that if they don't go to work, if they stay in bed all day inside you, how are you supposed to clean the house and make dinner for them? So they sigh and accept you're right and go off to work after all. And, again, the rule is important for them too. You can never run off on your own, but they're also vigilant not to ever leave you alone. When you're first bought, Crepus had to constantly pull them back inside the house when they'd go to another room for something because see, you're leaving her all alone and she's going to go running off and it'll be your fault. So they had to be conditioned to communicate and make sure you were always accounted for, taught how to restrain you properly. If you were left in a room, Crepus would come by to make sure they remembered to lock you inside, would test the tightness of your leash if you were tethered to something, and sigh and chastise if one of them neglected to do it right. #2. No getting off on your own, this is a rule they have to help enforce. It's a waste - you have TWO big brothers, surely one of them is always going to be available and eager, so really, getting yours without either of them involved is pretty selfish, and worthy of punishment if found doing so. If for whatever reason they're all too busy, you have the option of asking permission to ride and grind on their thigh, but no cumming until they're done with their task and are available to properly handle it. Crepus is particularly adamant about this rule, as well as enforcing the same mentality in them, doesn't think it's appropriate for a girl to be so selfishly absorbed with pleasure when she should be giving it to the men that own her. For one, a girl should be spending all of her time dedicated to serving her masters in some way, and two, they're both needy boys that would be eager to fuck you at any time. So really, masturbating is an act of defiance and will be dealt with as such. #3. No favoritism! There will be times where you may feel mad at one or the other, and sure you have different levels of how much you can tolerate certain behaviors... But, you have to train yourself against that. Meimei should have no limits of what she can tolerate - that's part of your whole purpose. So even when you're mad at one, you can't try to avoid that one and go to the other, you still need to divide your time, energy, and body equally. Don't talk bad about one to the other, don't try to spend more time with one or the other at any time. This also includes pitting them against each other through jealousy, it's a huge no-no. Don't try to make one jealous of the other. If they catch you doing that, sooner or later they'll realize what you're doing, and deal with it, usually harshly, since it's seen as a high-ranking offense. In fact, you really shouldn't be mad, ever. Your big brothers know what's best for you, so if you're mad over a disagreement, you just need to accept that they're right and you're wrong and that you need to submit to their will. Outwardly showing you're upset is bratty behavior, things like pouting or giving them the cold shoulder are punishable offenses. #4. You're also a peacekeeper. Diffuse fights. Both of your big brothers can be... stubborn, prideful individuals. This leads to pretty regular conflict over this and that. It's meimei's job to help with that, calm them down with a smile on your face. Or, if it works better, with some tears and a quivering lip. Please don't fight, you say with watery eyes, sniffling, and well, they can't help but feel bad, they both turn their attention to you rather than to each other and apologize for making you upset. And if they're having one if their regular it's my turn kind of arguments, your job is to propose the easy solution of sharing. You have more than one hole to fuck, and can easily cuddle one on each side. It should be an obvious solution. Oh, and they fight sometimes over who gets to do what, who spends time with you, but doing different things rather than both wanting to do the same thing. One is sitting at his desk to work and he can't be expected to focus on work without meimei sitting on his lap and cockwarming him of course, but the other says he wants to take a nap and how is he supposed to sleep if he can't rest his head on meimei's tits? There is only so much of her to go around! But they will legit adjust their schedules to make sure they get alone time. And are very nitpicky about it -- wait why do *you* get an extra hour on Tuesday?? If you get that I deserve an extra hour on Thursday -- that sort of thing. You're supposed to be able to propose such ideas. It's your job to come up with solutions that make everyone happy. You can cockwarm one brother while he works and tell the other that hey, if he postpones the nap, you can just ride him until he cums and can sleep right? Things like that. #5 Actually isn't for you, it's for them, regarding punishment. When Crepus got you, the poor boys didn't really know how to go about doing it, so they had to be taught. It's important to be a good master and know how to do so adequately, you know? To not let anger get the better of them and go too far, since sometimes they might get too mad about something. In fact, a good trick, he teaches them, is to just tie you up, and go blow off some steam before coming back to punish you. That way they won't go too far, and you'll have to wait around in fear for a while, which just helps the punishment sink in better. But at the same time, don't go too light. No matter how much you whimper, he says, don't feel pity for her and go lax. It's intentional, it's just your nature to try and fake-cry to try and get out of it. You did something bad, so they shouldn't feel bad about it, even if you cry and squeal. It's the right thing to do. You're supposed to cry, you're supposed to say it hurts and whimper, that just means they're doing it right. But of course, there's some sensitivities to be taught. If they have you bent over a knee, they have to make sure to only hit your ass and the back of your thighs, make sure not to go up too high and hit your back, since that could cause injury. If they're gonna fuck your ass as punishment, make sure to use a certain amount of lube. Things like that, it's important to be good masters, just as much as it is your job to be a good little slave.

And to remember, of course, that meimei is... an inferior little creature. Don't get mad at her just because she's stupid and doesn't understand this or that, that's not her fault. She can't be expected to be smart or responsible, that's their job. But also, don't feel pressured to give her what she wants just because she wants it or anything. And, most importantly, don't start having self-doubt and ever think she might be right about something while they're wrong, because obviously that can't be the case. You might get defiant and try to insist you know better than them, act like you're just as capable of something as they are, or think your opinions matter or something, but in that case, they have a responsibility to remind you of your place.

#tw: incest #tw: misogyny #lena's asks #atml #.meimei

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whumpiary · 3 years ago

Text

content warning: noncon/dubcon vibes, intimate whumper, sensory deprivation

Cassius’ knees have long since gone numb, kneeling in the center of the bedroom like this. His shoulders are shaking from holding his hands so tensely behind himself, his spine aches from keeping himself upright. His thighs had been cramping, earlier. Whether they’ve stopped now or he’s just stopped feeling it, he can’t really be sure.

He could rest. If he wanted. Sit back on his calves instead of kneeling up. But… that wasn't the agreement.

“Would you like to kneel or be strung up?”

He hasn’t seen it, but he’d bet another hour on the floor here that the ribbon he holds between his fingers matches the one around his eyes. Red silk. Or satin maybe. To be honest, he doesn’t know the difference. Shiny and slippery and soft. He rubs it between his thumb and forefinger, little circles over and over, as he holds it taught, the change of grain in the fabric oddly soothing and the one solid thing he has left to hold on to.

“Would you like me to tie your wrists together or would you like to hold the ribbon in place?”

It’s freezing in here. He keeps shaking. Bone-deep cold. He’d assumed, maybe stupidly, that the fire would be left going while Christopher was gone. That the heating in the room would stay on. That the fucking window was going to stay closed. Maybe it would’ve if he’d chosen differently.

“Naked for an hour, or clothed for two?”

There’s a part of him that’s glad for the noise cancelling headphones. For one thing, at least, his ears are still warm. Which is more than he can say for any other part of him. For another, the white noise isn’t as bad as he’d expected. He loathes the blindfold usually. Hates that he can’t see anything, can’t track anything, every noise a could-be-threat that he can’t help but stay hyper vigilant to. The static is a relief in comparison, a neutral wash that fades everything out to grey. Well, almost everything.

“Shame we can’t take away that last little sense of yours, isn’t it?”

There’s only a small part of him that’s startled by Christopher’s return. The rest has been waiting for him patiently the whole time, tiny shreds of sensory information filtering through the grey wash of the cold and the dark and the static. The vibrating creak through a floorboard shifting. The deepening of shadow behind the blindfold. And louder, brighter, more vibrant than all of it, the thrum, thrum, thrum of all the things Christopher wants. Fucking ravenous. Cass has never understood how one person could be so hungry all the time and not starve.

I’ll be what you want, I’ll be what you need.

Let me feed you, let me feed you, let me feed you.

He feels himself readjust, spine straightening automatically much to the protest of the muscles in his back. His breath picks up, sitting high in his chest. His nostrils glare, blindfold A shiver runs over his skin, sets it on fire, reminds each cell to wake up. Spike of adrenaline preparing him to run from the tiger that he can’t see. As though he could run now, on the long-numb legs.

Christopher doesn't touch him at first. Cassius feels himself bristling with the need for it.

The first thing that happens is a light bump of the headphones that makes him flinch in fright. Then a pause. Then they’re lifted away and the deafening cacophony of roomtone and the rest of the world floods his ears and makes him gasp, nearly in pain with it. He can’t tell if everything’s louder without the static or just horribly, horribly silent but his whole body sways with the dizzy nausea it sets through him.

He whimpers. Christopher shushes him gently. He tries to tilt his cheek into a nonexistent hand, desperate for the reality of touch.

“Did you move, darling boy?”

It takes him a minute to remember to respond, to shake his head. But when he does, he does so with fervour.

No, he didn’t move. He was good today. Wasn’t he good today? Please.

“Did he move?”

A question over his head, to the back of the room, to someone Cassius hadn’t been given the privilege of knowing was there. He nearly turns his head to look. He catches himself a few millimetres to the right and stills, clenching his jaw.

He was good today. Wasn’t he good today?

There must be an answer in the affirmative Cassius doesn’t hear because Christopher’s fingers press into the soft patch of skin just under his jaw and tilt his head up. He’s kissed tenderly, deeply, softly, violently. He doesn’t drop the ribbon.

He can imagine Christopher’s smile against his lips, his glittering eyes.

“I’m so proud of you”

He wishes the praise didn’t make his heart sing. Wishes, too, that it wasn’t just his heart the words set alight.

Christopher’s hand pushes back lazily through his hair and he tries not to lean into it but he does all the same. The man’s fingers trail down along his neck, across his shoulders. The touch is like a prayer. Like he’s being prayed to. Like he’s something holy.

Venerated. Sacrosanct. Divine.

“You know one of my friends has his boy do this for hours and hours on end. Usually with a gag of some description…” The man’s fingers brush against Cassius’ lips and he parts them just a little, jaw soft and slack. Christopher presses his fingers past his boy’s teeth, pressing down on his tongue. Pushing in further. “It’s quite the sight.”

Cassius opens his mouth wider. Relaxes his tongue. Sucks. He can hear the soft gasp of Christopher’s breath, the tug of his lust. What he wants. What he restrains from. The man’s fingers press further in.

“His boy doesn’t need incentive, though,” Christopher continues, voice thick with desire. “He’ll wait and wait like a good boy with nothing but the promise that it’ll be over soon. Isn’t that lovely?”

Are you going to be good for me today? Are you going to earn it?

Cass wonders if his lips have gone purple in the cold or if they’re still the plump pink Christopher adores so much. When he was a kid his lips were always going purple. Cass used to secretly like the look of it.

"You’ve been so good for me today, haven’t you? Indulging me like this,” Christopher says. He runs his fingers through Cassius’ hair, back and back until they’re tangled loosely at the back of his skull, ready to tug and pull and push as he pleases. He’s been good. He’s been good. Please, he’s been so good.

It’s the retreating of Christopher’s fingers, rather than the pressing in, that threaten to make Cass gag. He nearly does. Nearly. He doesn’t.

“M’sorry,” he says, pressing forward into the hand at his cheek. The word comes from nowhere, falling from his lips unbidden. His head feels full of the static that left. “Sorry, I’m so sorry”

Christopher hums in his throat, thumb running across Cassius’ cheek to catch a tear that’s slid down past the blindfold. “What are you sorry for, my love?”

He shakes his head and turns his face until he can press it into the man’s palm. He holds back a useless whine. His body shakes with a voiceless sob instead.

What the fuck? What the fuck, what the fuck? Why was he being like this? He wasn’t even hurt today.

Please, for the love of God. Wasn’t he good?

“Oh, darling, you’ve gotten yourself all worked up for nothing, haven’t you?”

He whines, cries, sobs. “Please.”

“Please what?”

Tell me I’m good.

“Please ju-” he gags on nothing and his breath hitches. Even behind the blindfold, he screws his eyes shut. He wants the static back. “Help me.”

Christopher hums and cards fingers through Cassus’ hair again, settles a warm palm on his cheek. “Of course,” he says. “Always.”

Bullshit. Still, Cass accepts the kiss that’s laid to his lips like it’s his last chance for air before drowning. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

Christopher tilts Cassius’ head up with two fingers under his jaw, both still slick with spit. “Now, would you like to see Henri now or-"

“Tomorrow,” Cass says, all but cries out. He can’t say why he feels so desperate. “Please. Tomorrow.”

“Are you sure, darling?” the man asks, lips like hot coals against the curve of his shoulder. “That wasn’t what you wanted earlier.”

“Please, don’t. I don’t want to see him. Please, I don’t want him to see me like thi-”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” his voice is so careful and soft. Like a whisper. His fingers skirt the blindfold and don’t lift it. “Tomorrow, then.”

Don’t touch me, don’t look at me, don’t come near me.

“What do you need, my love?”

Stay with me, hold me, don’t leave.

“You,” he says, unbidden, unprompted, unburdened right now of the shame that comes with admitting it. “Please. For fuck’s sake. I need you.”

Christopher hums again, the self satisfaction so thick in his voice it’s practically dripping.

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

“Come on, darling boy, let’s get you to bed.”

I love you, I love you, please love me too.

“For what it’s worth, I think you look divine.”

#cassius #christopher #implied or referenced noncon #sensory deprivation #intimate whumper #thank you everyone for your input in which piece i should finish!#tucker fun and josiah angst will hopefully see the light on day soon also #ily #wip to wob

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nikethestatue · 3 years ago

Text

La Dolce Vita

Part II

On the Wings of Desire

Warnings: Language

(I had to split this chapter into two because it was getting too long. Hence, no sexy times, but angst galore) Comments and reblogs and likes are always appreciated! Let me know what you think.

Chapter One is here

Two Years Ago

Azriel

Azriel pulled up to the flower shop.

There was a surprise that he wanted to share with Elain, and like a young boy on his first date, he was both excited and nervous. But he hoped that she’d like it. Funny how he still got a little nervous with her, exuberant even.

It’s been three months since they’ve met and he loved every minute that they’d spent together. The nature of their relationship was a little undefined, but he didn’t care. So what if they weren’t ‘dating’? So there weren’t official dinners and outings, to show only the best part of each other to one another? They moved beyond that right away. They simply loved being together. It was inexplicable, how quickly it happened, how easy it was between the two of them, but Azriel could never get enough of Elain.

He came to her shop whenever he wanted, helped her out, hung out with her, and she went to the garage to meet him. If he was busy and couldn’t meet with her, she closed her shop for lunch, and brought him a sandwich, so they could eat together. He loved it, even if he actually had a restaurant and a bar on premises and she technically didn’t need to buy him food. But there was something special about her coming up the stairs to his office, dressed in one of her cute, flowery dresses and heels. Every time it was a different sandwich, a different drink and a different snack—sometimes a cookie, or good chocolate, or weird chips, or a full-on pastry with cream and ganache and whatnot. He developed a strange fascination with his lunch options, never knowing what it would be and eagerly anticipating it.

Sometimes, he took her on long rides—one of their favourite past times. If he knew that she was up to her eyeballs with orders, since this was summer and it seemed like everyone was getting married, he would bring her takeout to the shop, and they’d sit and arrange flowers until the wee hours. When things calmed down, and there was a quiet evening ahead, she usually invited him to come and eat at her place. They cooked together, drank wine, and then went for a walk.

They haven’t had a kiss yet.

Did it bother him? He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t dream of Elain all the time, of her supple, soft body, of how she’d look naked, of how she’d feel when he filled her, what sounds she’d make, what her face would look like when she climaxed around him? Was she a screamer? A beggar? Was she loud or quiet and shy?

She never spoke of her past boyfriends, so he had no idea of how many men she’s been with. Secretly, he hoped that it wasn’t too many. Maybe it was some male thing, but the idea of her with another man, the thought of someone else touching her, making her moan, making her love—it didn’t please him at all. He thought that he was more modern, more advanced in his thinking—and usually he was—but in this case, he was struggling with accepting Elain wrapped around some other male.

Surprisingly, even though it wasn’t even 6 pm yet, the flowers that usually spilled outside the shop were not gracing the pavement and the shop looked closed for the day. But Azriel went and knocked on the glass door anyway, seeing as there was some light coming from Elain’s office in the back. There was no response, but he knocked even harder, almost banging, until he heard Elain’s muffled voice yelling, “we are closed!”

“Laney, open up! It’s me!”

A few moments later, Elain appeared in the darkness and then the door opened.

And his jaw almost dropped.

She stood in front of him, wearing a slinky, satin, cobalt dress that looked almost like lingerie. Of modest length, it nevertheless emphasized her breasts very enticingly: soft and full, and pushed together just enough to create a hint of delicious cleavage. A simple set of glittering silver chains nestled seductively in that yummy valley between her breasts. One bare foot was clad in a strappy silver sandal, while she held the other, and jumped awkwardly on one foot, balancing herself on the doorframe. Her hair was curled and arranged over one naked shoulder.

He struggled to keep his breath from whooshing loudly.

“Whoa…”

“Hi Az,” she sounded…uncomfortable.

“Hey you. Hot date?” he chuckled, eyes gliding from her pretty toes up to her eyes.

Her throat bobbed and she didn’t answer.

Shit.

He fought the urge to cross his arms on his chest. But then he’d look threatening, towering over her, much like his father did when he was in one of his moods. Azriel swore to himself long ago to never, ever cross his arms with women.

“I didn’t think you’d be coming over,” she began, voice wobbling.

“So, you figured that you could sneak out?” he spat unkindly.

“I am not sneaking out!” she snapped, flushed and defiant. “I am going out,”

“With whom?” he demanded.

He and Elain had never fought. Never even disagreed.

They laughed together. They joked and discussed. They argued over books and movies. They talked about design, food and travel, places they wanted to visit, and things they wanted to see. Elain randomly texted him names of 3 and 2 Michelin star restaurants from all over the world, telling him where she wanted to dine, why, and eagerly opining on the menus.

Elain was his.

His little foodie, who was a fearless eater, and sampled just about everything and anything.

Elain was his.

His little art lover, who had a surprisingly wide breadth of knowledge of painting, art history and strong opinions on artists and styles. When he found out that she adored Balthus and that Egon Schiele was her favourite artist of all time, his respect for her only increased.

Elain was his.

His little intellectual, who read Anna Akhmatova’s poetry, listened to Alain Elkann’s podcast, and who could easily talk about the history of Lamborghini or Aston Martin, and Formula 1, just to satisfy him.

What the fuck was this?

Why was his Elain going on some date with another man?

Anger rose in him so quickly; he had a difficult time stopping his hands from shaking. So, he clasped them behind his back.

“It’s none of your business,” she said coldly. “I don’t have to report to you who I am going out with,”

“You don’t?” he demanded absurdly.

“No, I don’t!”

“Please tell me who he is?” he decided on a different approach. His brain was working furiously, trying to dissuade her, yet not anger her, yet find out as much information as possible.

“No!” she shook her head stubbornly. “Why do you even care?”

Why did he care? WHY did he care?

He couldn’t have been misreading all the signs. He couldn’t have been misreading her interest, her acceptance, her want.

There was no doubt in his mind that she wanted him—emotionally, as a friend, as a partner, as a lover. Reading people was his job, his calling, and he’d never been wrong. He certainly wasn’t wrong with Elain—she was an open book to him. He didn’t need to evaluate her reactions to his company to know that she was absolutely enthralled with him.

So why this?

Was it something he did? There were no hints of anything amiss the last time they’d seen each other. They were at her place, they cooked Italian together—spaghetti and clams—and he opened a bottle of Petilia Greco di Tufo, a pure, harmonious white from Campania. Then they went to the rooftop—their favourite place—and watched the city, enjoying gelato and playing cards.

Squeezing his hands behind his back, he demanded, “Has he been vetted?”

“Vetted? Vetted?” she exclaimed incredulously. “Who is going to be doing this vetting?”

She stared at him and bit out,

“I don’t like this side of you. This is crazy behaviour,”

“Why? Because you are going on a date? Suddenly. Unexpectedly.”

At that, she blushed furiously, squirming under his heavy, icy gaze.

He continued, “And with some guy you refuse to tell me anything about. Have you told Cass?”

“What? What exactly is Cass? My father?”

“Cass runs security for,”

“I know what Cass does!” she cried, looking furious, but also uncomfortable. Insecure. Anxious. “But I am not telling him. Leave me alone. I am not telling anyone,”

“Not even Nesta? Elide?” he demanded. “And what if something happens?”

“What’s going to happen?!” she asked nervously.

Nothing.

Probably nothing.

He was being an overbearing creep, but he couldn’t stop.

He needed to know. And yes, he wanted her to be safe.

“Who knows?” he shrugged menacingly. “He is unvetted. No one knows anything about him. Have you even Googled him?”

She blushed.

That’s a no.

“Unless you tell me his name, I am not leaving,” he warned. “I need to know who you are going to be with.”

“I am not telling you.”

“Fine,” he propped himself against the door. “We’ll just stand here.”

“Fine.”

The standoff continued for another few minutes, until, exasperated, she blurted,

“His name is Dorian!”

“Dorian. As in Dorian Gray?”

She rolled her eyes. “How funny.”

He took out his phone and asked, “Does Dorian have a last name?”

“Are you seriously going to Google him?”

“Absolutely I will. Since you didn’t.”

“I am not telling you.”

“Fine,” he shrugged. “I’ll await Dorian’s arrival and have a man-to-man talk with him,”

She paled.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Watch me.”

She glared at him, and then sneered, “Why don’t you invite Lorcan too! And Rowan. So the three of you can stand here, in your freaky silent vigil and glare at him, to scare him off.”

“Good idea.”

She shrugged, “And when Dorian comes here, you three can tower over him.”

“Why? Is he tiny?” Azriel snorted.

She rolled her eyes and then thrust her foot into her other heel, finally. As she tied it around her ankle, she muttered angrily, “so disappointed in you,”

“Get in line,” he snapped.

“Adarlan,”

“What?”

“His last name is Adarlan.”

Azriel immediately typed the name into the phone.

A pretty white boy. Columbia. Pre-law.

Figures.

Of course, someone like that would want someone like Elain. And she’d want him in return. Pretty, proper. Pathetic.

“Satisfied?” she rose to her full height. Her cheeks were flushed, brown eyes gleaming with anger and challenge.

She was so beautiful and so annoyed with him, Azriel was blinded by her, by her light, her spirit.

“Not for a while,” he said blandly and shrugged.

That made her redden. Not the blush of anger. Her sexy blush.

So, he went for it.

“Call it off,” he begged.

“What?”

“Call it off. Please.”

“Why?”

Because you are mine.

He wanted to tell her. To explain.

But did he deserve her? All that light and goodness? Perhaps, pretty boy Dorian was indeed more appropriate.

“Because,” he began and then heard a car pull up behind him.

Steps.

He didn’t turn around.

“Elain.”

“Dorian.”

Her face lit up with a smile.

“Ready?”

She nodded. “Just let me grab my bag.”

When she disappeared, Azriel turned around at last.

Dorian was good looking, tall, thin. Young. Looked like a kid, though Azriel figured that he wasn’t much younger than him. But Azriel’s lived about 540 years by now…at least that’s how it felt, and Dorian—Dorian probably had many girlfriends, many friends, and daddy’s money.

He was about as interesting as a bag of beans.

They stared at each other.

Azriel didn’t give a shit.

He didn’t care about anything, other than this is what Elain chose. This Dorian may end up holding Elain’s hand. Perhaps going in for a kiss. That sensuous weak mouth may touch Elain’s perfect lips—the lips that Azriel only dreamt of kissing. And what if it went further?

What if,

No.

Elain was not a ‘first date sex’ kind of girl. Never. Not his Elain.

“Treat her well,” he growled a warning.

Dorian blinked.

“What?”

“Treat. Elain. Well.”

“Who are you?”

“Consider me her brother-in-law.”

“Oh. Okay. Alright. Sure, man. Yeah.”

Fucking intellectual powerhouse.

“I am one of many,”

“Many what?” Dorian asked in confusion.

“Many brothers-in-law. And they all look like me. Some are even bigger.”

“Ready?!” Elain chirped.

“Um, yeah,” Dorian’s eyes darted back and forth.

Azriel finally gave up and crossed his arms on his chest.

“Have fun you two,” he said sweetly.

“Thank you. I’ll see you at Rhys’s pool party on Saturday,” Elain acted like everything was normal.

“Sure. Bring Dorian along,” Azriel jerked his chin. “We’ll be delighted to have him.”

Elain

“He is a charmer,” Dorian finally exhaled once they were inside the car.

She grunted in response.

“Does he have enough tattoos?” he started to reverse. “Oh, look, a Ferrari,”

“It’s his,” she bit the inside of her cheek, glancing quickly at the unmoving figure under the awning.

“His? What is he? A drug dealer?”

“Dorian!” she snapped. She was so on edge, she sat on her shaking hands the moment she buckled up.

“Sorry. Sorry. But really, do you want me to,”

She interrupted,

“What? Are you offering to beat him up?”

“I mean,”

“Dorian. He is a Navy Seal,” she said bluntly. “His bicep is the circumference of my head. His buddies are all pushing 6”7 in height and are all former Navy Seals. I am just saying. You aren’t taking him on.”

Dorian didn’t feel the need to disagree.

Azriel

Elain was his home. She was his happy place. His joy.

Her smile made everything better.

When she touched him--his fingers, his cheek—that touch carried more sensual promise than anything he’d ever experienced. And he’d experienced plenty.

Azriel’s only brush with love was when he was 18 and it was right before Morgana fucked Cassian, lost her virginity to him and got pregnant by him. He wondered if that’s what fucked him up, turned him off love for this past decade. Ploughing through endless bodies felt good, though he was usually left with the feeling of residual emptiness and longing. But he accepted it.

Elain though. He didn’t plough into Elain. Never even so much as seen her breast. And yet, his head was filled with her. Images, both erotic and mundane floated through his brain constantly. Elain’s eyes lighting up when he called her ‘baby’. Elain tasting a pastry, in her own special way, sometimes dipping her finger into the cream, and driving him wild. Elain reclining her golden head on the seat of his car, eyes closed. Elain being a little drill master when it came to arranging flowers, absolutely unperturbed by the idea of ordering Rowan and Cassian and Fen around.

That Elain was offering her smile, her time, her attention to that pretty prick Dorian was just intolerable.

If he could, he would actually climb the walls. But Azriel couldn’t climb walls, even if parkour-loving Fenrys would probably teach him how. Therefore, he went back to the shop, where Nuala was just packing up for the day.

“I need your car,” he demanded.

“We are in a garage,” she reminded him reasonably, but nevertheless tossed her keys to him. He caught them with one hand and said, “I owe you one.”

“You owe me like fifty…but who is counting?”

Nuala didn’t know why he needed her car, but she did know that he was beyond pining, at this point. He was in full love mode. As in LOVE. Capital letters, heart palpitations, sleepless nights, acting-like-a-drug-addict LOVE. Who would have thought? Not only that Azriel would fall in love at all, but that it would be with Elain.

Azriel got into Nuala’s ordinary Acura, drove to Elain’s apartment, and kept vigil the very same way she told him he would.

At this point, he didn’t care at all. He sat and waited in his shadows. Waiting like this—he learned this level of patience back in the Navy, during his recon missions—suited him, and his personality. Lorcan and he could sit like this for hours. Days. They weren’t bothered at all. Cassian and Fenrys would whine, complain and bounce like little children.

Shadows were his friends, as they’d always been, since he was a boy and hid from his abusive father. They protected him then, and concealed him now.

Finally, at an acceptable, and slightly boring, 11:23 pm, Dorian’s generic Audi pulled up.

There was no way that either of them would spot him, or assume that he was around.

Dorian opened the door for Elain, and she stepped out. They talked. She smiled. Then laughed.

It all grated on Azriel’s nerves. Go inside! He wanted to shout to her.

Then, Dorian made a move. Azriel tensed, when the pretty boy reached his hand out and ran his knuckles over Elain’s bare shoulder. The hand stopped entirely too close to her breast, as he squeezed her upper arm, holding her close. If Azriel sensed even the tiniest expression of discomfort from her, he’d be flying out of the car in a snap.

They talked some more, that gross hand still resting on Elain’s arm. But then, she opened her arms and Azriel grimaced. No way. No way was she going for a kiss.

And thank all the gods above, but she only hugged him, and not a close hug either—but that awkward, butts-out, shoulders pressed together weird hug. Something males typically gave each other, so careful to avoid any penile interaction. Then she walked to her building and gave Dorian a little wave. He hopped in his car and drove away.

What a prick. Didn’t even wait for her to get inside.

But she stood still, door unopened, keys in her fingers. And then, she peered into the darkness. A long, penetrating gaze. Aimed right at him. Like she saw through the shadows. She looked and looked, and he melted in the shadows, into the darkness of the car.

And then she flipped him off, and walked inside.

Elain

Piled into Lorcan’s Range Rover, it was Elain ad Elide, Lorcan and Connall in the car.

It was a nice day for a pool party, for a long drive to the Hamptons, for enjoying the sunshine.

Elain was having none of it.

She hated this idea to begin with—pool parties—which were full of too-rich and affected young people, prancing around in skimpy underwear. The women too perfect. The men, full of unreasonable expectations.

Feyre and Morrigan liked this crap, Cassian too, Aelin—certainly.

All the people with their perfect bodies and big hair and bigger personalities.

This Range Rover was like the car for outcasts.

Lorcan looked like he wanted to be at a pool party as much as he wanted to have a rectal exam. Connall, she was sure, would just sit by the bar and nurse drinks all day long. Elide would always find an escape with Lor, and the two of them would huddle together and make snide comments about the attendees to each other.

Elain sighed.

She was such a stupid, inexcusably dumb, fucking idiot.

“Do you know why Az isn’t coming today?” Lorcan looked at her in the mirror.

“Oh?”

She bit inside of her cheek, stifling a pathetic cry.

It shouldn’t have surprised her that Azriel decided not to attend, but she still harbored hope, somewhere inside of her that he would. That they’d be able to talk. That he’d…

Forgive her?

“No, I don’t know,” she mumbled.

“Did you have a fight or something?” Lorcan’s strange black eyes looked at her like they were scraping the edges of her soul. It wasn’t the most comfortable of feelings.

“No.”

She spent the rest of the trip in sullen silence. Even Elide didn’t try to shake her out of her stupor.

As expected, the party was ridiculously over the top.

There were throngs of people milling about, all in various stages of undress. Firm, golden flesh gleamed in the sunlight.

There were three bars—one for beer, one for cocktails and one for everything else. An ice cream station. A s’mores station. Wagyu beef sliders. Lobster hot dogs. Jamon Iberico. Wheels of Parmigiano Reggiano.

Deep down, Elain was grateful that she’d never be this wealthy.

She was happy with her flowers, her shop, and she was considering opening a pastry shop down the road. And then Azriel had his wonderful garage, but successful as it was, it wasn’t on the Darling level of wealth…And that was alright. It was perfectly enough, too much even,

She stopped.

She should’ve just told him. Everything. A long time ago. But the intensity of her own feelings towards him frightened her, and then…she fucked it all up.

She meandered absently around the premises, listening to Feyre’s and Nesta’s screeching from the pool, where both were perched on the shoulders of their respective lovers, whacking each other and others with long plastic poles. Mor and her new girlfriend were making out passionately in a hammock. Fenrys was swarmed by a bevy of busty beauties. And so on…

She was feeling foolish and exposed in her pink bikini, wishing she had a wrap or something. Her body was no worse than all of these other girls’, but she couldn’t help but compare herself to them. They were confident. Exciting. Entertaining. They flirted and laughed loudly. They had sparkly teeth and giant lips.

She didn’t know how to flirt, and wasn’t glamorous or polished like them.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing here all alone? Without a drink?”

A man sidled over, his bold eyes roaming about her body, assessing.

“I am fine, thank you,” she made to get away and walk towards the pool, but he thrust an insistent hand in front of her, holding a drink.

“Come on, sugar. Join me.”

Sugar?

And then, there were four of them. Five.

None were threatening, but being surrounded by so many men, while basically naked was outside of Elain’s comfort zone. They were joking, laughing, chugging their beers. She didn’t know any of them.

“So, who are you?” asked one of them.

“A guest.”

She angled her body towards the pool, trying to sneak past them.

“A guest? We are guests too! Nice party,”

“It is. Pardon me, I have to go,”

“But why?”

One of them caught her hand in his and pulled lightly, grounding her in place.

“Excuse me!” she attempted to withdraw her hand, but he didn’t budge. They herded her a little closer to the house. A sixth man approached, carrying a little tray with tequila shots.

“Where do you got to go, baby?”

Another hand slipped down her back and brushed over her butt, making her jerk.

“What the hell?” she hissed, but her indignation was met with amused smiles.

“Such a pretty girl, all alone. Come, join us,”

“I am not alone!” she snapped angrily.

“Oh no?”

“And who are you with?”

“My fucking boyfriend!” she lied, a little scared now.

“Oh, a boyfriend?” teased one. “And who might that be?”

“Do we know this boyfriend? Where is he?”

She looked around desperately, and then lied again, “He is inside. And coming back, soon.”

Laughter.

“Ohh, I don’t think so. I’ve been watching you for an hour, and there is no boyfriend.”

“I think I need to go,”

“But why!?!”

They goaded, “Tell us about the boyfriend?”

“His name is Azriel Bagarat,” she blurted out.

More laughter. Challenging, condescending laughter.

“Really?”

“Mr. Fancy Garage is your boyfriend?”

“Good one! I almost fell for it.”

“Azriel Bagarat-I-date-a-new-girl-weekly makes for a bad boyfriend, honey,”

“You aren’t exactly his type.”

Tears threatened to pour out of her eyes, and she was horrified by her body’s reaction to the taunting.

She threw, “and what type is that?”

“He doesn’t go for squeaky clean girls like you.”

“Maybe it’s an experiment!” laughed one of them. “He is into all sorts of fucking kink. Maybe he is wetting his cock in some virgin flesh,”

“Are you even legal?”

“You look awfully young.”

At this point, Elain was not above screaming for Lorcan, or Rowan, or anyone else. Her looking weak and pathetic was the least of her concerns.

For a moment, the teasing and the laughter died down. One of them exclaimed, “Oh hey. There you are!”

Fuck. Another one.

The scent hit her first. The sharp, intoxicating smell of his expensive Armani cologne. She’d recognize it anywhere. That hint of cedar and a chilled night air. That was him. Her home.

And then, the familiar dark arm slipped across her stomach, tugging her firmly to his front. Another hand slid to her throat, laying on it, but not squeezing. He held her tenderly, close to him, possessively.

“I missed my girl,” he whispered, his gravelly, husky voice so familiar to her ear it sent a shiver down her spine.

Why couldn’t it be like this forever? Her in his arms? Forever?

“My gorgeous girlfriend always brings all the boys to the yard,” he chuckled. And then, to Elain’s utter delight and pleasure, he placed a warm, open mouthed kiss on the side of her neck.

She shuddered.

He’d never kissed her. Never intimately. Never kissed her like this.

His. She was his. And he just marked his territory.

It was glorious. To be kissed by him was something that she’d dreamt of and here it was—unexpected, sensuous, surprisingly erotic.

His thumb stroked the side of her throat, and then he leaned in and kissed her again. Same spot. Her bare vulnerable throat, her pale neck, his for the taking. She had no control of the situation, and she loved it.

“Thank you for keeping my girlfriend company, gentlemen, but I’ll take it from here.”

Not so brave anymore, in the face of this towering mass of muscle and tattoos, the men sheepishly offered him a shot, which he knocked back and then even attempted to high-five him, though he drew the line at that.

As they scampered away, Azriel did not release Elain from his embrace. She just stood there, with his arm around her, her body pressed into his almost-naked body and all she wanted was to turn around and peek. Or have him kissed her again. She really, really wanted him to kiss her again.

He did not though.

Finally, his arm fell away and he stepped back, causing a sorrowful sigh to erupt in her chest.

She turned around. His face was unreadable, as always, and though she picked out his little tells and signs of emotions now, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Thank you,” was all she could mutter. He didn’t answer. “I didn’t think you were coming,”

“No need to talk,” he cut her off. Then turned around and added, “feel free to leave with Lorcan or Cass.”

He was walking away when she called out, “Wait. Az. I want to talk. Please,”

“No,” he said simply.

She ran after him, trying to keep up with his long stride.

“Az, please, I need to,”

“It’s Azriel to you,” he corrected bluntly. “You don’t get to ‘Az’ me,”

She swallowed, tears stinging her eyes.

“Okay…okay,” she begged. “Azriel, I want to explain, please,”

“You don’t always get what you want,” he threw back.

She paused, but then added,

“But sometimes, you get what you need.”

A tiny smile twitched on his lips. But he schooled his face into neutrality and without turning to her, said,

“If you must tag along for the rest of the day, pretending like you are my girlfriend, it’s up to you,” he shrugged indifferently.

She didn’t care. At least he didn’t send her away. At least, she could be near him, and with time, she’d thaw his anger.

She followed him silently, like dog. Trying to be inconspicuous, but she stayed at his side, even if they didn’t talk and he continuously ignored her. It allowed her time to ogle his incredible body, which she did with relish and without shame. If he was going to be nasty to her, she at least would feast her eyes on all that muscular gorgeousness. Those Cadre men—they were all stunning, at least when it came to their physiques. Azriel, though, was a little more stunning than the others. Only Fenrys, perhaps, was at the same level of attractiveness.

They went to the bar and she followed him faithfully, not letting him out of her sight. He glanced at her, sighed, shaking his head with annoyance, but Azriel being Azriel, he ordered her a mojito, while he drank Sipsmith London Gin and tonic, and after a while, thrust the drink in her hand and muttered, “I am going swimming.”

She took it and sat on a chair, stiff-backed and patient, watching him.

When he emerged from the water, she was waiting for him with a fresh drink.

“Your tattoos look like wings.”

He rubbed a towel over the black and blue tattoos on his shoulders and arms and looked at her.

“Your tattoos,” she said again, watching his wet body and the markings on it come alive on his skin. When he was in the pool, and his arms rose and fell in the water, they looked like wings. “They look like wings. Bat wings.”

“Is that a compliment?” his voice was still cold, bored.

“Yes.”

She handed him his drink and then took his scarred hand in hers. He made to pull away, but she squeezed.

“You are my boyfriend,” she reminded him. “Would be strange if you didn’t want to hold my hand.”

He had no choice but to grip her hand back,

and fuck if it didn’t feel nice.

Two days, and he was going nuts without that little hand. Two days, and he’d missed her touch like it was his life’s necessity.

And then, she gently rubbed her thumb over his own.

“Stop that,” he ordered.

“No,” she said flatly.

“Elain,”

“Azriel,”

“It’s not going to work,” he warned.

She shrugged, “we’ll see.”

They took a few more steps, her thumb still stroking his fingers, and then he stopped abruptly.

“What do you want?”

She looked up at him and said, voice surprisingly firm, “I want to get into your car and drive home with you. I want to cook you dinner. I want to hold your hand. That’s what I want.”

“And what do I want?”

“You want the same thing,” she assured him, unusual confidence in her voice and on her face.

He watched her, unblinking, but she did not balk from his assessing gaze, did not step back. She just clutched his hand like life depended on it. His jowls twitched and he bit his lip, before says, “go and put some clothes on. We are going home.”

“No. Come with me,” she tugged him with her. “I don’t trust you.”

He smiled, at last, and her heart fluttered with joy at the sight of that magical smile.

They found their clothes, threw them atop the bathing suits and as soon as they were dressed, Azriel took her by the hand and led her out to the parking lawn. It was a Maserati Ghibli today, beautifully embellished with subtle pinstripes. No one would dare do this to their 90K car, but Azriel did. And it looked stunning.

The drive wasn’t comfortable.

He still wasn’t speaking to her and she just sat there, for an hour or more, in silence, hands on her lap.

Finally, once they began approaching the city, Elain asked, “where are you taking me?”

“Home,” was all he said, his first word since they got in the car.

She thought and said, “I don’t want to go home.”

His voice mocking and obsequious, he asked, “Please tell me, Elain, where should your personal Uber take you? Would you like a coffee? A snack? A walk in the park? A trip to the library? Should I deliver you into Dorian’s loving embrace?”

“Stop it,” she snapped at him, all red and angry. “Stop with all that!”

Azriel plowed forth, ignoring her command, “where was he today, by the way? Why was I stuck rescuing the damsel in distress? Where is brave Dorian?”

“Nobody asked you to rescue me!” she lied, suddenly realizing that maybe, that kiss meant nothing to him. That it was all for show.

“Yeah, you looked like you were handling that situation very well,” he decided dryly.

“You know,” she folded her arms on her chest, “do take me home.”

“Good.”

Once they entered the city proper, Azriel fought the traffic aggressively, swearing under his breath more frequently than usual, obviously intend on getting rid of her as soon as possible.

She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t break through. Couldn’t get to him, not around the walls that he’d constructed around himself. She thought that she could, but she was wrong.

Finally, they were coming towards her block.

The silence was stifling. Unbearable.

“Why did you do it?” he blurted suddenly.

She looked at him, but before she could offer any explanations or excuses, he continued, not looking at her, “Was I not enough? Was he better?”

“He is nothing,” she managed, desperation tinging her voice, her whole being. She reached out to touch him, but he jerked his arm away.

“Don’t,” he warned. “Nothing? Why would you do this, Elain? Was I not enough? Too weird? Too brown? Too low-born? Too fucked up?”

Elain stared at him in horror. She was numb. Words failed her.

He was shaking his head.

There was true sadness, dejection written on his face. Devastation.

“I was falling in love with you, Elain,” he said so softly, she barely heard the words. “For three months, I’ve been falling in love with you. I’ve loved everything about you. I knew that the hammer would drop…One day, it would drop because it’s not like this could ever be,” he made a wide gesture with his hand.

He stopped the car next to her house.

“But I thought that it would be me. That I’d fuck up somehow and you’d dump me. Which would be…expected…”

He sighed, his breath so ragged it sounded like a sob.

“But I didn’t expect this. Truly. Though looking back, I don’t know why I didn’t?” he shrugged. “That’s what Mor did—the only other one I thought that I loved. But we were young and stupid, so…” he was looking out the window, seemingly talking to himself, not to her anymore. “But now I am almost thirty and for once, I thought that maybe, just maybe, this one time, I’d get what I want.”

Elain was weeping silently, fat tears pouring onto her hands, dripping off her face.

“I wanted you more than anything, Elain.”

Elain. Elain. Elain.

She hated that he called her Elain.

She hated that he didn’t use his usual endearments with her, that she was no longer his ‘baby’ nor his ‘love’. She wasn’t his ‘gorgeous’ or his ‘beautiful’. She was just Elain.

There was no warmth in his voice. Only some kind of hollowed emptiness, instead of the usual teasing smirk, the undercurrent of humour and love, of tender softness that he always used with her. Only with her.

“You can have me,” she managed finally through her sobs. “You can ha--…”

He finally turned his head and looked at her, that gaze dark and pitiless.

“I am not sure I want you anymore. We’ll coordinate the wedding situation and we’ll be civil to each other, for Feyre and Rhys’s sakes. Goodbye Elain.”

She sat there. He waited. Then, with a groan, he got out and went to open the door for her.

As she stepped out of the car, she begged one more time, “Azriel. Please. Please just allow me the opportunity to talk to you,” she wiped her face, with her fist.

It destroyed him completely.

He didn’t know what to do with himself, as he tracked her movement, that childish, simple, raw flick of her fist over her eyes. It wasn’t the modelled, reserved, dab-the-eye practiced move that you saw on reality shows, the fake tears, the faux sadness.

This was Elain; sorrowful, devastated, begging.

“Please,” she pleaded again.

“I asked you to call it off,” he reminded her. “I begged you. You didn’t.”

She choked on a sob.

“You threw it in my face, Elain. This random man, whom you also led on, by the way. Led him believe that you were interested. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I am too old for this…Allow me the opportunity to just deal with this break up—or whatever it is—however I can. We both need to move on.”

He’d never left a crying woman on a sidewalk.

But he’d also never been in love before. And his heart had never been broken like this.

********************

Azriel

Nuala Gennaro has been trying to reach her boss for three days, to no avail.

He didn’t respond to texts, or to calls. He didn’t show up to work. He wasn’t at the garage, at the tattoo shop, or his design studio. He didn’t seem to be home either, because she drove by his loft a few times and the windows remained dark.

She had keys to his house, but that was a violation of privacy that she didn’t feel like engaging in just yet. Was this an emergency? He gave her the key for ‘emergencies’. Was this one? A healthy, 29-year-old handsome man disappearing for three days didn’t seem like an emergency, but still, Nuala was concerned.

She was going to give him one more day, and if he was still AWOL then she’d begin to worry.

Azriel was responsible. Whatever was happening in his life typically did not reflect on his work ethic. Besides, he was usually so guarded and seemingly unemotional, it was hard to say if he was affected by anything. Nuala had met him in high school—a beautiful, quiet, mysterious boy who looked like a fallen angel and who seemed unusually confident and astute for his age.

They reconnected after he and his brothers returned from the Navy. He was darker and quieter than she remembered, and hardened in his manner and bearing, and had a haunted look in his eyes which worried Nuala for quite some time. She’d been apprenticing as a tattoo artist and they’d met to discuss her joining his venture. She wasn’t sure if this whole garage/restaurant/tattoo parlour for rich people thing was going to be feasible or even realistic, but Azriel believed in the concept and somehow, got her enflamed by his passion as well. They’d slept together over the years, but even if she would have wanted more, he wasn’t willing to give it to her. Azriel went through women with the determination to conquer, mild interest and lack of follow up. But he never gave any of himself to them. Pleasure—yes. Self—no. So, Nuala had decided—staying with him and in his life, in his business, as his protégé and associate was more important than having him as a lover, even if he was by far the best lover she’d ever had.

The only thing that did seem to affect him—deeply, powerfully—was Elain Archeron.

Nuala didn’t think that it would happen. Didn’t think that Azriel was a man to fall in love so passionately, so completely, and even if he was denying it to himself, Nuala knew him well enough to know the truth. And whatever happened between him and Elain, approximately a week ago or so, truly devastated him.

Prior to his disappearance, he operated as if he was in some sort of fog. He answered questions, he gave instructions and directions, he did whatever was expected of him—met with clients, held meetings with his car suppliers, negotiated deals—but his heart was not in it. His beloved business was no longer his priority, and that confounded Nuala, for she had never seen him like this before.

She arrived early, earlier than usual, because she needed to get crackin’. Without Azriel, things seemed…tighter…more difficult. She’d never noticed it, but somehow, he carried this business, made it seem easy, and she falsely believed that it was a walk in the park. Gods, it wasn’t! It was busy, and difficult, and required constant attention and decision making, and reports only piled on her desk—financials, inventory, guest lists, requests, specs. It was endless.

Azriel’s office, a glass cube perched at the top of the building and overlooking everything below, the entire operation, was very dimply lit this early morning. Cassian installed one-way floor to ceiling windows in the office, so no one could look inside, but Azriel was able to see everything, if he so desired.

Nuala climbed the industrial-style stairs and opened the door without knocking.

At first, she thought that there was a fire. The office was entirely engulfed in smoke, but before she could hit the alarm button, nauseatingly pungent stench of tobacco assaulted her nostrils.

“What the hell?!” she exclaimed, rubbing her eyes, and rushing to open the outside windows. She left the door open as well, to encourage some sort of ventilation.

“What the hell,” she muttered again, finally making out Azriel in the dimness, who was sprawled on the leather sofa, in jeans and boots and a black t-shirt, his arm hanging listlessly to the floor, a cigarette between his fingers. On the floor, an almost empty bottle of Jameson’s and an overflowing ashtray, stuffed to the brim with butts. Tom Waits’s insanely gravelly, bourbon-and-tobacco-soaked voice filled the space as well.

“Wow,” she crossed her arms on her chest. “Wow.”

“Why are you here so early?” he asked by way of greeting.

“Funny thing—my boss disappeared for three days. Four days, actually. No word. No text. No call. No email. No warning. No idea whether he is dead or alive. So yes, it’s made for some early mornings for some of us.”

No answer.

He took a deep drag of his cigarette and said nothing.

“What the fuck, Az?”

“Like you said,” he shrugged indifferently, “I am the boss. I don’t have to report to anyone.”

Nuala bit her lip, but did not retort in the way she wanted to retort.

“Where were you?” she inquired calmly.

“Vegas.”

“Vegas?”

“Rhys’s Bachelor Party.”

“Oh.”

“I won money. It’s somewhere,” he glanced around absently. “Give it to some charity…”

“Which one?”

“I don’t care.”

“Fine.”

She didn’t push him. But added, “you can’t smoke here.”

“It’s my shop,”

“Even though. State and city regulations.”

He put out his cigarette compliantly.

“It’s 5 am. When did you start drinking?” she asked, pointing to the bottle.

He gave a lazy glance and shrugged,

“Technically, I didn’t stop drinking…It’s been a few hours…”

She was shaking her head.

He stared into the ceiling blindly, wordlessly.

Nuala didn’t know, but she also knew. So she took pity on him.

“Az,”

“I’d like to be alone now.”

“I will leave you alone,” she promised. “But…” she let out a whoosh of air, preparing herself. “Elain,”

He didn’t react.

“Elain is downstairs.”

To that he did react. He sat up so quickly, she didn’t track the movement with her eyes.

“I found her on the steps, outside,” said Nuala. “She looks like hell. I barely recognized her.”

“Why is she here?” he asked stupidly.

“I think you should probably ask her that. She wouldn’t come inside,” Nuala explained. “She said that she’s been sitting outside since 4 am, hoping to catch you.”

But Azriel was already out the door, sprinting down the stairs, making Nuala gasp, as he took three at a time, and she feared that he’d fall down on the concrete floor and break every bone in his body.

It was only five in the morning, and the streets, even NYC streets, were empty.

It was drizzling, a summer thunderstorm about to erupt.

Elain was sitting on the doorstep, arms wrapped around her knees, huddling into herself in the morning chill.

“Elain,”

She jumped up and turned to him.

He never saw her like this—wrecked. Utterly devastated. Wilted.

His lovely flower girl, his little rose, his darling beauty—wilted. Instead of her usual colouring of pink and golden, caramel and honey and cream, she looked black and white. Like everything was leeched out of her, every spark, all joy, each remarkable hue.

They did not greet each other. She just looked at him, and,

“I’ve hurt you,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady, the tone firm. “I know that. And you can leave and discard me, and you have every right,”

Azriel just stood there, looking at her, unable to get enough. Thinking that there was a possibility that this was going to be one of their last conversations. And that possibility was unacceptable to him. It was intolerable.

The rain began to fall.

Azriel moved under the awning, angling his body so she would come and stand under it as well, but she didn’t move.

Steady droplets pounded the pavement, giving off that fresh smell of wet asphalt. The air was heavy and humid and felt unsettled, like it was preparing for a torrent.

“But know this one thing,” she continued, staring at him, unblinking, eyes brimming with tears. “I fell in love with you on Saturday, May 9th, at 7:14 in the morning. I had loved you every moment of my life since then. I will love you every moment of my life until I die. Nothing will ever change that. I don’t speak to you as some besotted, inexperienced girl, who is smitten by a handsome man…I speak to you from my soul. You have my heart, Azriel. Every broken and sad piece of me, you’ve managed to put together with your beautiful, scarred hands. I will never ask for anything of you—not even a word back, but I needed you to know this. I want you know that I’ve never loved anyone, no man, no being, not my sisters or my parents, as much as I love you. All my joy, my peace, my dreams are connected to you. You are the first thing I think of when I wake up, and the last when I fall asleep—and then I dream of you. I don’t care if you know this, but I’ve built up my whole life around you in my head, all my fantasies are about you. All I want is to love you. That is all. Not very ambitious, I know,” she wiped the tears that were flooding her face, mixing with the rain, “but I can’t think of anything that would ever bring me more happiness, more satisfaction than to love you. And…” she choked a quiet sob, “if you don’t want me—that is alright…I want you to be happy. And if I don’t make you happy, then, so be it, but,”

Azriel couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t contain his bursting breath, his aching heart. Every bit of him felt electrified, wild, untamed.

He grabbed her, his arm pressing her soaking wet body to him, the rain pouring over them, and she trembled and sobbed next to him. Such indescribable hope in her eyes. That maybe, just maybe, it would all turn out like her fantasies.

He cupped her wet, pale face in his palm and murmured,

“You want me?”

Her trembling fingers traced his cheekbone and she nodded mutely.

“Say it,” he groaned.

“I want you,” she whispered.

“Say more,” he begged. “Say everything.”

“I love you. I choose you. I want you.”

He soaked it all up. Every breath. Every word. Every emotion on her face.

“Well,” he muttered, “if we are keeping score…then I fell in love with you on Tuesday, May 5th, at 4:47 in the afternoon.”

She laughed through her tears, clutching at him with desperate hands, as if fearing that he would disappear. Turn around and leave her.

But he wasn’t going anywhere. Ever.

He was exactly where he wanted to be. Yearned to be all his life.

“First glance, baby,” he lovingly caressed her face, “first glance. Love at first sight.”

She kissed the tips of his fingers.

“You are my home, Elain,” he wrapped his arms around her and held her close to him, her cheek pressed to his chest, his hand cradling her head, “my favourite person in my life. With you, all things are possible. Sometimes, I feel like I can fly. Like I’ve grown wings and I hear the song of the wind. But I think that it’s just your voice in my head. You won’t leave, right?”

She chuckled and shook her head, “No. Never.”

“Because this week,” he shuddered, “it’s like I lost a limb…There was this phantom reminder of you, always within me, and yet, you weren’t there. I couldn’t reach and find you next to me. I’ve never felt such emptiness,” he brought her hand to his chest and lay it on her booming heart, “there was nothing here,” he pressed her hand closer, and she felt the steady beat, “empty…You weren’t with me, and there was nothing left.

“I think I’ve been in love with you—forever. I don’t even believe in past lives or other worlds, but sometimes I feel like I’ve known you for eternity.”

She raised her face to him, surprise and awareness in her red-rimmed eyes,

“I feel the same. Az, I’ve always felt the same thing!”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” she nodded vigorously, “when we held hands the first time, when we just met, I recognized your touch. I knew your scars. It was all familiar to me, like stepping back into my own home, after a long absence. Reacquainting myself with something that I already loved.”

He cupped her face in his hands and asked,

“May I kiss you?”

“You have to kiss me,” she smiled a happy, luminous smile at him. “I’ve waited for a long time for you to kiss me.”

Azriel smiled, and looked up, rain drenching his face and their bodies.

“Are we really going to do this? In the pouring rain?”

She was grinning, smiling happily, nodding, “All the cliches in the world!”

He clasped her jaw in his hand, wrapping his other arm tighter about her.

“I loved when you kissed me at the party,” she admitted, a little breathless.

“Yes?” he murmured and then dipped his head, and gently pressed his lips to her throat.

Elain shuddered against him, her breasts, nicely full, round and soft pressed tightly against his chest, and she sighed her pleasure.

“Like that?” he whispered against her cold, wet skin, and she half-moaned, nodding. So he kissed her neck again, on the other side, raking his teeth gently along the warm, pulsating vein. He kissed along her collarbones, tender and sweet, but with acute intention. Her breasts moved against his chest, their shirts nor her bra providing much of a barrier between his skin and her firm, swollen nipples.

Up her throat he went with his lips, kissing softly, until he pulled away for a moment, their breaths mingling, warm next to each other. He tilted her face just so, to have better access to her full mouth, and then kissed the plump lower lip. She clutched at his shirt and pulled him closer, the rain forgotten, the world encapsulated in his mouth, in the loving pressure of his lips against hers.

Elain looked irresistible. In his arms, where, let’s face it, she belonged, with her cheeks finally, finally taking on the familiar rosy blush.

Azriel, all 6”4 or “5 of the dark, bestial sexiness of him was wrapped around her. The low, sensual purr that he emitted turned into something more primal, hungrier when his mouth moulded into hers. The base, animalistic attractiveness of him, the bronze arms, the thick markings of his tattoos all over his skin, slithering like shadows, was almost too much for Elain to handle all at once, and she moaned, loud, and desperate against his lips. He brushed his nose against her cheek, and then nose to nose, and she was so stupidly needy for him that she struggled to stay upright. He brushed his fingertips over her lips, squeezing them between his and her own, and she licked on the pad of his thumb, laving some of the scars with the tip of her tongue.

Gods, this man could kiss.

Brutal, savage and noble--all amalgamated into one indescribable, unforgettable experience. Hungry and knowing, agonizingly slow, he devoured her mouth like it was some succulent, exotic fruit that he’s been craving. His lips explored her thoroughly, unhurriedly, tasting and savouring, caressing and worshipping. It was she who slipped her tongue inside his mouth, tentatively at first, but then gaining in boldness and confidence, especially once he sucked her in and stroked it with his own. He tasted of something masculine: alcohol, maybe, deep and rich and smokey, and tobacco, certainly, which, surprisingly, she enjoyed, but also something sexual. If Elain ever thought that she could taste passion, this lazy, indulgent sucking of his tongue on hers was exactly that. He groaned into her mouth, low and hot, and then licked on her tongue, with sensual playfulness which she loved.

She was hot in his arms, against his towering, heated body, and even the pouring rain couldn’t cool her off. The slabs of his abdominal muscles pressed into her belly and she was growing positively addicted to having him so close to her, his massive strength enveloping her so nicely, cushioning her against him. Nothing in her life has ever felt so wonderful, so sublime as Azriel felt in her arms.

Their kiss went on and on, heady and glorious, with him exploring every bit of her mouth with his tongue and lips, his hands caressing her body unobtrusively.

“Gods, I want to kiss you for eternity,” he moaned, tearing himself away from her lips at last.

She was panting, glassy-eyed, in love. He squeezed her face between his palms, looking down at her, her happiness, the unabashed joy in her eyes.

He’d finally made someone happy.

“Okay,” she agreed easily.

He smiled and kissed her again, then again, his lips creating a certain magic between his mouth and her skin and their bodies.

Elain had fought for him.

She didn’t give up. Didn’t shrug it all off. Didn’t leave in anger or panic. His absence meant something to her—perhaps, meant more than he could understand. He knew the misery of not having her in his life. It was only a week, but it was a week of pure hell. Now, he assumed that it wasn’t only he who felt that gaping chasm in his heart. She, for some inexplicable reason, loved him. Of that, he was certain.

“Now, I think we’ve satisfied any girl’s quota of romantic cheesiness,” he decided and she laughed, slapping his bicep lightly. He kissed her softly, “and I am taking you inside,” he said.

Elain only now realized that her feet haven’t been touching the asphalt for the duration of the kiss. She was literally floating aboveground, in his arms, in the throes of their first kiss.

The cheesiness quotient has been achieved indeed.

“Will you kiss me more?” she asked, as he swung her in his arms and carried her inside the shop.

“I am confident that I will never stop kissing you,” he assured and made his way up the stairs, to the office, clutching the dripping mess that she was in his arms.

She’s been here before, but he brought her straight into the attached bathroom, which was appointed outlandishly, and with a nice shower too.

“Get in there,” he ordered, “now. Before you catch a cold because of your love for kissing in the rain,”

She giggled, kiss-drunk and toed off her soaking wet converse that smacked limply on the tiled floor.

“But what am I going to wear?”

“My clothes, obviously,” he shrugged. “Unless you don’t want to, which is fine, because naked is just fine by me. Actually, preferred,”

She snickered, but looked at him, a little uncertain, and he rolled his eyes and muttered, “yes, yes, I will leave! Don’t worry. Though you know, I will eventually see everything anyway. So your modesty is misplaced on me.”

Azriel was correct. A hot shower was perfect. Despite it being late August, standing under pouring rain wasn’t as much fun as they made it seem in the movies.

The door opened and he came in, “here is some stuff for you.”

She looked at him over her shoulder, probably a little sultrier than she intended, and he winked, “Nice ass!”

“Ugh, stop looking!” she croaked, but he only laughed.

“You are the one with the bare butt!”

Then, he scratched his chin and bit his lip, making no move to leave.

“Az!” she exclaimed, blushing, but also kind of … intrigued.

“This is a very, very, very nice ass,” he muttered to himself, but loud enough for her to hear. Her blush only intensified, when he said, “the things I am going to do with it. Mmmm,” he rubbed his lower lip with his thumb, as if contemplating what he will be doing with her butt and then finally walked out, shaking his head.

When Elain emerged from the bathroom, with her hair wrapped in the towel and wearing Azriel’s t-shirt and shorts, she found him in a leather chair, sipping coffee. He’d also changed and his hair was mussed and damp, his bare feet crossed at the ankles, resting on a leather stool.

“There is coffee for you,” he jerked his chin towards a marble coffee table that had a basket of pastries and two large cups of coffee.

He marked everything.

How she looked in his clothes, which were much too big on her, yet cozy, though the shorts that she wore were hilarious, reaching below her knee.

How she brought him his coffee first, before taking her cup.

How she sat on the stool, by his feet and crossed her legs, before giving him a croissant and biting into her own.

“Have you warmed up?” he asked, sipping his coffee. Chugging gallons of coffee American style wasn’t his thing—he preferred quick, small espressos, but this giant cup did take the chill away.

She nodded.

“Do you want to talk?” he asked.

She tensed right away, and he said, “All is forgiven, I swear. “

She eyed him suspiciously, nevertheless.

He smiled at her, and added, “But...I think that I need to understand what happened? Did I do something to,”

“No!” she exclaimed immediately. “No. It was nothing you did. Never think that it was you,”

“Alright,” he said calmly. “Then what was it?”

She didn’t look up from her cup, running a finger over the rim.

“Talk to me, love,” he encouraged softly.

“You’ve consumed me, Azriel,” she confessed, her voice barely audible. “From the moment I saw you, you’ve consumed me. And I guess…” she sighed, “I was stupid…a stupid, stupid person because I didn’t know,”

“What?”

“Whether I was infatuated, or in love with you. So I thought that maybe, if I expose myself to another man, even in some minor way, I might be able to tell what I feel,”

“And? Did you?”

“Dorian…” she swallowed nervously, “he is a nice guy. He is in Law School with Nesta—that’s how I know him. When he asked to go to dinner, and I said yes,”

She looked up at him, tears threatening to spill out from her eyes,

“And I felt nothing,” she admitted, her voice broken somehow. “I could only think of you. The entire time, I could only think of you and I knew that it wasn’t fair to him…”

Azriel agreed, “probably not”.

“And I knew that I’d made a colossal mistake… But,” she set her cup on the floor and squeezed her fingers. “I…”

She halted. Said nothing else.

Azriel waited.

“What?” he probed, sensing that there was something she wasn’t telling him. He reached for her, but she only shrunk into herself.

“Elain, what is it?” he pressed.

She blushed and murmured, “promise me you won’t leave me, if I tell you.”

His brow furrowed, “Please,” he begged, “tell me what’s going? You are legit scaring me right now.”

“You won’t lea--,”

“Don’t be ridiculous! I am not leaving you, no matter what. But are you alright?”

She pulled her hair from the towel and it spilled over her shoulders, half-obscuring her face. He reached and tucked the wet strands behind her ears, so he could see her face.

“Talk to me, baby,” he urged gently.

She exhaled and then said, looking straight at him,

“I’ve never been with a man, Az.”

He looked at her and then blurted, absurdly, “Like a virgin? But you are so hot!”

She couldn’t help and burst out laughing.

“I guess not hot enough,” she shrugged, a bit more relaxed about the situation now that he seemed relieved and smirking too.

He exhaled, deeply, bubbling his lips, “Phew…I thought it was something,” he shook his head, not able to express his relief. “Important…Something, I don’t know, serious?”

“What would be serious?”

“I don’t even know,” he admitted, “but certainly more serious than a hymen!”

He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips.

“And I appreciate you telling me,” he said seriously, kissing the inside of her hand, but then, that glint in his eyes returned and he asked, “so did you want the hunky Dorian to deflower you?”

She pushed at him with her foot and he fell back dramatically in his chair,

“Auuu, you are so unbelievably violent!” he complained, rubbing his side.

“I can be even more violent!” she threatened.

He was laughing, but then he caught her feet in his hands and squeezed them gently, holding them on his lap.

“So you didn’t have boyfriends in high school? In college?” he asked at last, genuinely perplexed.

She sighed and explained,

“In high school I was dating Luce,”

“You were dating a girl?” his brow furrowed. “I didn’t know,”

She started to laugh,

“No! Luce is a man. Lucien,”

“Oh…Oh. Every time you mentioned Luce, I just assumed he was a she.”

“No, he is my best friend. The closest friend I’ve ever had, besides maybe Nesta. We’ve always been close and then in high school, we began dating,” she tugged on her wet hair, “or rather, go on dates.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I didn’t know either—not in the beginning. But then, when we were juniors in 11th grade, he came out, to me only.”

“Ahhh,”

“Lucien’s step-father is really horrible. Like, awful. Physically abusive to all his sons, and always fancied himself this alpha male. So for Lucien to come out to him would have been suicide.

“We agreed that we’d continue our ‘dating’, until we graduate, and Luce was looking at schools only in California. As far as possible from here, from Beron.”

“And you were…okay with it?” he inquired, gently massaging her feet.

She shrugged, “I suppose I was. Luce and I had a good relationship,”

“But it was without any,”

“Intimacy,” she nodded. “I don’t know, I suppose it was enough…My mother had died recently and we lost most of our money, so I guess dating and boyfriends weren’t a priority, if I am being honest.”

He nodded with understanding.

“And college?”

“I had a boyfriend,” her voice wobbled a little, “but he…”

The heavy gaze that Azriel levelled at her told her that he already guessed.

“Sometimes,” she said, “when you are in the situation, you don’t see the warning signs,”

“Did he hit you?” his voice, so cold and menacing, sent a chill down her body.

She shook her head, “No. It didn’t get that far…Cass interfered,”

“Cass?”

“We’ve known Cass for at least a year,” she reminded him, “before he started dating Nesta. He spent a lot of time with us, at the house, because I think he didn’t want to part with Nesta,”

Azriel smiled, “No he didn’t. He wouldn’t stop talking about her for a year…I’d never seen him like that. First Rhys, then Cassian…Guess there is something special about these Archeron sisters,” he decided and stroked her face lovingly, smiling at her. She tucked his palm between her cheek and shoulder and kissed it.

“They do have a tendency to fall in love with the three brothers,” she agreed.

“Yes, they do.”

“Cass, he called us ‘his girls’—Feyre and I. Always asking after ‘his girls’, bringing us presents, doing fun things with us. And I came to love him so much,” she sighed. “And I know that he truly loves us too…But you know Cass—he is a no-nonsense kind of a guy. So once, he observed Graysen with me,”

“Graysen?” Azriel rolled his eyes. “That’s a horrible fucking name,”

She laughed,

“It matched his personality. But you know, on paper, he looked great. Handsome, good family, money,”

“So basically Dorian?”

Elain rolled her eyes,

“You are never going to have me live this down, will you?”

“Not for a while.”

“At least you are honest. Gray, he just…didn’t care, I guess? It was all about him. When I’d talk about opening my shop, it would just be a plain ‘no’. He’s put me down…” she sighed, “sometimes comment on my weight—I was either too fat or too thin.” Azriel flinched at that. She continued, “He’d tell me what to eat. What to wear. Where to go,”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered.

Then, he sat up straight in the chair and opened his arms to her.

“Come here.”

Elain, a bit unsure, and a bit rattled by the memories, moved towards him. He cupped her face in his broad scarred hands and said, “All in the past. Now, it’s just you and me.”

She nodded, gently squeezing his wrists. He leaned in closer and she nodded. His sort of power, the more aggressive and primal, and seemingly more dominant than what Graysen could ever conjure up, did not scare Elain at all. He beckoned and seduced her with that pursuit and challenge, but he did not frighten or oppress. It was similar to what Cassian possessed and how he managed to seduce Nesta with it, turned her compliant to his demand and instruction, or Lorcan with Elide. Azriel’s power, his seduction, were more cerebral, his affection passionate, but controlled. Elain could abandon herself to him, and yet she knew that she’d never be abused or taken advantage of, no matter how much control she relinquished.

This kiss was sultry and voluptuous, and it felt dirtier, heavier than their first one. He sucked her lips, is tongue softly grinding against her in a smouldering, almost smug rhythm. He fucked into her mouth steadily, and purposefully, rendering her completely breathless in his arms almost instantly, forcing all thoughts of previous loves and heartaches out of her head. She made a tiny, strangled noise deep inside her throat and squeezed his wrists harder.

“Tell me things, baby,” he muttered heatedly against her lips, thumbs brushing over her cheeks.

She smiled, “what things would you like to hear?” He kissed her softly, lips pecking on hers playfully, and said, “all the things…all the good things that you told me before,”

“That I love you?” she asked simply, looking at him with earnest, undimming desire.

“Yes,” he groaned, pulling her closer to him, until she was straddling his thighs, her legs naturally falling on either side of him. A desperate moan escaped his lips, as Elain licked on them with the tip of her tongue, before he demanded, between kisses and caresses of his tongue in her parted mouth, “more,”

“I love you. I love you,” she breathed, then panted, “you are mine…I am yours. Forever, if you’d like,”

“I’d like forever,” he agreed.

She pulled away, her soft, lovely face serious,

“Az,”

“Elain,”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?” she asked, and he grinned, nodding. She sounded absurdly solemn about this, like she was signing a business contract. “I love you. I want you to be my boyfriend,”

“Alright, babygirl, I will be your boyfriend,” he nodded easily.

“No jokes.”

He then said in turn, “But you’ll be mine.”

She nodded.

“In every way,” he added, in a tone that did not allow space for much argument. “Body,” and he lightly ran his knuckles against the side of her breast, and she nodded. He added, “but I want more,”

“What do you want, Az?”

“Love,” he said simply.

She kissed him. “I love you,” she said.

He waited.

“I chose you, Azriel, the moment I saw you. When my heart dropped at the sight of you, and when everything fell into place. I don’t mind choosing you for the rest of my life, if you have me,” she murmured shyly.

“I will have you,” he agreed, her admission making him swallow hard, a thick glob of air lodged in his throat. He might have cried, if he weren’t so happy. His flower girl. His.

He looked and looked, and considered something. She waited, silent. Silence was always a friend between the two of them. Silence was easy and unoppressive and welcome. It allowed them space, and yet they remained together in that mute, mutual understanding. While he was thinking, she took his hand and softly kissed each scarred fingertip.

“I am calling on my bargain,” he declared suddenly, and stroked her head.

Confused, she scrunched her face and muttered, “what?”

He grabbed her behind in his strong hands and somehow, managed to rise up, with her clutching at him. His nose burrowed into her ear and she squirmed, giggling, when he grunted, “what a nice little ass!”

“You seem to like it,” she laughed, wrapping her arms around him.

“I love it!”

“Now what about this bargain?” she reminded him, a bit concerned. “What are we doing?”

“Whatever I want!”

“Az!”

“Lainey.”

He headed for the door, with her in his arms, and she screeched, “I don’t even have shoes on!”

“You don’t need shoes where we are going,”

“Azriel!”

“Why are you so fussy?” he mused, smirking, as he made it down the stairs.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“I don’t have to tell you. All I promised was that it’s not going to be ‘bad’ whatever that means.”

She sighed, shaking her head, muttering under her breath. He, in turn, very much enjoyed her clutching at him, her body in his arms, her wet hair swiping over his arm. She looked very cute, if very ridiculous in his clothes, and frankly, he was too elated, too disbelieving that this was even real, to let her go. He held her and nuzzled at her neck, at her face, sometimes returning to her beautiful mouth.

He carried her through the still-empty premises, though waiters at the bar and delivery people in the kitchen were starting their day. When they saw their boss carrying a woman, who frequently visited him here in the past few months, they pretended not to notice, as if this was a normal affair. In fact, no other woman ever came here, to visit him. He’s never been seen with a woman, never said that he had a girlfriend, even if women seemed to lose their minds in his presence. But until this one—absolutely not the type of a woman he typically attracted—he never allowed anyone to get close to him.

Azriel made his way into the cavernous insides of the building, at last entering the tattoo shop that he had on premises. It was elegantly outfitted and bore his usual aesthetic—restrained, modern, striking with its use of black, white, and splashes of cobalt.

Elain looked around, when he set her down and pointed out, “I’ve been here before.”

He nodded.

As she wandered about, looking at various lithographs and prints with unique tattoo designed, she finally stopped abruptly and whirled to him,

“No!”

He was laughing under his breath.

“No!” she exclaimed again.

“No what?” he winked, sitting down on a stool, and patting on a leather recliner beside it.

“You…” she fumed. “No!”

He tsked, “A bargain is a bargain.”

“Azriel!” she stomped her foot.

He crossed his arms on his chest and looked at her, “Elain.”

“I am not getting a tattoo!”

“You most certainly are. Stop being a wuss and come here.”

“I am not going to,” she insisted.

“You know,” he notified her conversationally, as he started to prep his equipment, “a shitty little Bagarat tattoo is like $800 bucks,”

“Congratulations. Give it to someone else,” she offered, scowling. “Maybe someone would like a sleeve for twenty grand!”

“I won’t give you a sleeve. Jeez, you’ll probably faint at the first prick,”

She huffed, “I will not!”

He shrugged.

She pressed, “I will not. I am not afraid of needles and I have a high pain tolerance.”

“Lots of talk, babe, no action,”

Stomping angrily, she crossed the open space and challenged, “do you even know how to tattoo?”

“Cass and Rhys…” he winked. “And whenever Rowan decides to add to his collection…Or Gavriel,”

Those were some of the finest, most intricate designs that Elain’s ever seen.

“You did those?” she asked, brow furrowed.

He nodded.

“They are beautiful,” she whispered.

“Will you trust me?” his voice softened and he extended his hand to her.

Elain sighed and then slid on the lounge chair. It was comfortable. She was nervous.

“What will it be?” she asked. “May I see it?”

Wordlessly, he pulled a piece of paper from a folder, but then did not give it to her. She waited. He suddenly seemed uncertain, almost shy.

“Az,” she said gently, “may I see it? I am sure it’s beautiful.”

He swallowed and then explained, “I traced it the first day…evening…When we met, and you were here, at the garage. I,” he exhaled and then looked at her, “anyway…I was overwhelmed, I guess. I fell in love with you and all I could think of was you.”

The words warmed her up, and everything in her softened at his nervousness, at his admission.

“I want it,” she took the paper from him.

“It’s just for you,” he clarified. “It’s unique to you. I needed to quiet my brain and capture the essence of you, and this was it,”

Elain looked at the drawing. It was smaller than she expected, and rendered masterfully—an absolutely exquisite flower cradled in an embrace of two wings.

He swallowed tightly, and then said, “It’s called On the Wings of Desire.”

Without saying anything, Elain pulled up the shirt that she was wearing, just up to her chest. He looked down at her, expectantly.

She put her hand under her left breast, where her heart was and said, “there. I need it there.”

He nodded, remaining silent.

She saw that this was important to him, some ritual that he desired for her to go through, some sort of marking. That’s what it was. It dawned on her, at last. This was his mark, on her. He was going to do it himself, put a part of him, of his creation, of his work, not just on her skin, but within her blood, into her.

She clasped his hand and his eyes flew to her, a shadow of apprehension and anxiety in them, probably as much emotion as he’d be willing to show. He feared that she’d changed her mind.

“Az,” she licked her lip, suddenly nervous to request this of him. “Can you,”

“What?”

“Can you do it on you as well?” she proposed quietly.

He, it seemed, was unable to verbalize what he needed to, so she helped him, “Same spot, alright? Across your heart. So you know that I am always with you, as you are with me.”

He nodded vigorously, clearly relieved and absolutely in love with her proposition.

“Who will do it?” she wondered. “Please don’t ask me!” she laughed.

He smirked. “Nuala. She will do it. Only Nuala or Rowan tattoo me.”

She nodded and then relaxed back into the leather.

“No crying,” he said.

“Alright,” she shrugged. “Kind of weird that you are this sensitive to pain, but okay. I’ll hold your hand.”

He was laughing.

“I thought only Nesta had a big mouth like that,” he said, as he prepped the skin and pulled on his gloves.

“Mistake number one,” teased Elain.

“I am seeing that now,”

He then said, “Okay, I may accidentally brush against the boobie,”

“How accidentally?” she chuckled, while he pressed the outline into her skin. Then, the needle began its wheezing and Elain winced, as the first prick of the needle stung her skin.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” it was more painful than she expected, and she figured that the spot that she selected was probably not the best and would hurt more than an arm or a leg, but she was set on it.

“Absolutely, totally accidentally,” he lied. “You are the one who chose the spot,” he pointed out.

Elain was a trooper. She did not make any hissing noises or any sounds at all throughout the tattooing. The shading was the longest and most painful part, and even then, she remained composed and only winced a few times.

“I am sorry,” he murmured repeatedly, especially when a bit of blood seeped onto her skin.

“Prick your finger,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Prick your finger,”

“And?”

The soft doe-eyes blinked at him a few times, and she said, “I think you know what to do.”

So he did. He pricked his finger and mixed his blood with hers.

Nuala offered to tattoo ‘No Regerts’ on Azriel’s chest, if Elain so desired. She considered it, while Nuala explained that Azriel was now at their mercy and they could do whatever they wanted to him. At the end, he walked away with only a small tattoo over his heart.

It was about 8 am when Azriel and Elain left the garage. The sun was shining and there were no remnants of the previous storms. It was like it never happened. But it did happen. Everything happened.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, slinging his heavy, muscled arm around her shoulders. She’s been clutching at her side the whole time.

She shook her head no and looked at him. He smiled and then kissed her.

“I love you,” he murmured suddenly. Elain’s face broke into a loving smile and she reciprocated by kissing him back. “Let’s go home.”

#la dolce vita #elriel fanfic #elriel #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #elriel fanfiction #elain fanfic #my writing #new chapter #acotar fanfiction #sjm books #azriel #azriel and elain #elain archeron #elain

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shadowedmoonlight · 3 years ago

Text

3 Times Virgil Came Out to Others + 1 Time Someone Came Out to Him

I am aware that I am a few hours late, but this is the longest oneshot I've ever written

Day 3: Coming out

Warnings: Food mention, talk of sexual attraction (In regards to asexuality), anxiety, disassociation (brief)

Summary: In which the story gains a plot ft. fluff and hurt/comfort

Word count: 4025

Read on Ao3

Masterlist

Virgil hadn’t been this terrified in a long time. He knew that being gay shouldn’t be that big of a deal, in regards to his two gay fathers, but he couldn’t stop the terrifying thoughts from running through their head.

What if they thought he was too young to have figured himself out? They were only fifteen after all. Is he even sure they're gay? And what would they think about the pronouns thing? Vigil had no idea where their dads stood on transgender rights.

They had planned to do it after dinner. That way he could have one last dinner of peace in the unlikely event of something going wrong. It's more likely than you think they’re gonna kick you out, you’re gonna have to live on the streets

Emile had made spinach lasagna that night. Virgil’s favorite. But he could hardly enjoy it due to the nerves stirring in his stomach. Instead, he moved the food around on his plate and attempted to pay attention to the conversation occurring before him.

He believed his dad was telling some dramatic story about some lady that came into the coffee shop. They normally would be completely invested in that sort of thing, but they just couldn’t focus with all the thoughts running around his head.

What is he gonna do if he gets kicked out? They can’t live on the streets. He can barely work a stove. How would he live on his own? Maybe Remus or Janus would take him in? No, they have their own problems. They shouldn’t burden them with his own problems. But how would he-

“Virgil? What do you think?” A voice cut through his spiral.

“Hm- wha-?” Virgil couldn’t recall for the life of them what he was supposed to be responding to. He looked up to see his parents both looking at him concernedly.

“You feeling okay, hon? It's not like you to space out like that,” Emile asked.

Virgil winced. He had to learn to be less obvious to when they were stressed. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

They still looked doubtful. “Are you sure?” Remy raised an eyebrow.

Virgil nodded and tried for a small smile. He didn’t think it was successful, however, when his parents exchanged a worried glance. His leg bounced slightly under the table. Why couldn’t they relax?

Emile started to collect the dishes but paused when their eyes landed on Virgil’s still-full plate. He glanced again at their husband, and then their son.

“Maybe you should head to bed early tonight. You hardly touched your food. You might be coming down with something.” Virgil saw Remy stand up as his Papa spoke. He offered them a hand.

“Babes, I think that might be a good idea. You’re looking a bit pale- well, paler than usual with all that foundation you cake on. Don’t think I don’t notice.” Virgil blushed, slightly. His experimentation with makeup had been one of his ways to tone down their glaring masculinity.

In response to the first statement, maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to put this off another day. They weren’t sure they had enough energy or confidence to go through with this. With a little hesitation, they grabbed Remy's hand and hauled himself to their feet.

Emile smiled sadly at their son’s submissiveness. He had to have been really tired with the way his eyes kept wandering. They abandoned the dishes they were holding, grabbed his other hand, and started leading Remy and Virgil upstairs.

Virgil blinked and suddenly he was in their room. They sat between his parents on his bed. Emile had them leaning against their side as Remy rubbed soft circles into his back. His eyes darted around in confusion.

Remy glanced down and let out a sigh of relief. “Welcome back to this plane of existence.”

Emile smacked their husband lightly. “Sorry baby, we didn’t want to leave you alone while you were disassociating.” Virgil’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. They didn’t remember going into an episode.

Remy kissed his forehead and stood up. “We’ll leave you to your peace now. Let us know if you need anything.” Emile began to follow.

Virgil bit their lip. Was he really going to go through all this stress just to chicken out? He took a breath. He was strong. They could do this.

“Wait,” they called out, lightly. “I need to talk to you about something.” His parents halted in their place in the doorway and came back to sit next to them.

“What is it, babe? Did something happen?” Remy grabbed one of his hands.

“No, not exactly,” Virgil said. His breath was starting to stutter.

“Take your time,” Emile said, softly.

Virgil attempted to calm their breathing. It's highly unlikely that this will have a bad outcome, half of his brain rationalized. They are gay themselves, after all.

Yeah, but what about the pronoun thing? The other half argued. You have no idea what they’ll think of it.

Virgil took another deep breath and opened his mouth to speak. They may as well start with the easy one. “I’m… I’m gay.”

Remy placed a hand on his chest and sighed dramatically. “Oh thank god,” he exclaimed. “I’m not sure I could have handled it if I had to raise a straight son.”

Emile smacked him again. Virgil winced slightly at the word ‘son.’ Remy seemed to notice his discomfort and scooted closer. “Of course we love and accept you and everything, but that's all kind of obvious considering, well,” he lifted his hand as wiggled his ring finger, “Is there something else on your mind?”

Virgil nodded, “I, um, want to start using different pronouns. He/they.”

Emile lit up. “Ooh, we can match!”

Virgil’s head shot up. “What?”

Both Emile and Remy looked confused for a second before a horrifying realization dawned on them.

“Did I- never tell you I’m non-binary?” Emile asked, tentativly. They were sure they told Virgil at some point.

Virgil couldn’t help themself. He started to laugh hysterically. After a moment their parents joined in.

“I’m sorry- I just- I’m fifteen years old and you never thought to tell me that vital piece of information?” Virgil wiped tears from his eyes as he continued to giggle.

Emile was bright red. “Trust me, I’m mortified.”

Remy groaned. “That makes two of us.”

Virgil snorted. “I was so worried about how’d you react and this whole time you’re the same thing.”

“Oh honey,” Emile exclaimed. “You should never be worried about telling us something. We support you no matter what.”

“Of course,” Remy added. “What kind of hypocrites would we be if we said otherwise?”

Virgil pulled them both into a hug. “You’re the best parents anyone could ask for.”

Sanders High School had an interesting dynamic. There were two main groups that everyone at school was invested majorly in. Most, if not all, of the gossip in school was directed at them. They were envied. They were hated. They were idolized. They were the closest thing Sanders High ever had to celebrities. The Dark Sides and The Light Sides.

Everyone that saw them would assume they were the rivals. Bickering and prank wars were constant. Classroom debates between members could last hours if not moderated. Each group consisted of three members.

First up is Roman Prince, the flamboyant jock and theater nerd. He was the first kid at school to break through harmful gender stereotypes. Before he came to school, any boy that joined theater was seen as weak and nerdy. Roman was the first openly gay kid on the football team- as quarterback no less- and the first jock to join the drama program. He was unapologetically himself in everything he did. He often came to school in skirts and dresses and there was rarely a day he could be seen without his signature red lipstick. Despite his smashing of stereotypes, Roman is the only cis kid in both the light and dark sides (not that everyone is out to the school like he is, or even to each other). He has the most social media followers out of anyone in the school, and was the one to first publicize the two groups. Roman is a proud member of The Light Sides.

Next is Patton Hart, the bubbly, adorable student council president. Everybody loved Patton and they loved everybody. Patton is one of the kindest kids in the school. He’s always willing to drop everything to help somebody or cheer someone up. They met Roman when they were young and they’ve been inseparable ever since. Some might say they’re dating, but a select few know otherwise.

Last in The Light Sides is Logan Berry. Logan is objectively the smartest kid in school. He is rumored to be taking all AP classes. How that’s possible, no one knows. Everyone knows that Logan will be Valedictorian at the end of the year. There’s no other logical choice. Somehow, even with all that, they also manage to be co-captain of the debate club. Patton and Roman somehow managed to rope them into their small group sometime during elementary school. Again, how that’s possible, no one knows. Logan is extremely stone-faced to people they're not close with. Some think he might be a robot with how emotionless he is most of the time. Those people, however, have never seen him with a jar of Crofters. (But if they knew their secret, everyone would think so).

Over in the dark sides, we have Janus Lies. Genderfluid icon. Their coming out started a revolution of sorts at Sanders High. So many kids came out as non-binary or genderfluid or something in between, the school ended up getting rid of gendered bathrooms entirely. A new genderfluid locker room was built in the PE building and the academic teachers revised their gendered way of teaching. But, back to Janus. They were the most sarcastic person you’d ever meet. So much so, it became difficult for people to tell if they were telling the truth. Their trademark hat and gloves stayed on no matter what the occasion. They also co-captained the debate club with Logan. They grouped together with Remus and Virgil before anyone could remember, including the three dark sides.

Remus Prince, twin of Roman Prince, is the extremely crude drama student and class clown. They are known for their dark sense of humor and sexual disruptions of class. The teachers have learned to just ignore them, as countless trips to detention were fruitless in correcting their behavior. Although they privately came out before Janus, they were more private socially when it came to their gender. Until that is, Janus came out and was accepted. After that, Remus showed no limits in expressing themself.

Lastly, there is Virgil Picani, the emo nightmare themself. He is in almost every club at school, including but not limited to drama, debate, GSA, writing, and volunteering. His sarcastic personality is no stranger to anybody, although it is much more subdued than Janus’s. Virgil came out to Janus and Remus before he had even fully figured himself out yet. He had not, however, come out to any of the light sides as gay or genderqueer.

And that brings us to today. As mentioned earlier, anyone that saw the two groups would assume they had a strong rivalry. But that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

The reality is, although they did start out as rivals, the six of them have a strong friendship. They keep up the facade of competitors for sake of reputation (and a little fun never hurt anybody). Once Roman and Remus had gotten over their sibling rivalry, the six of them had discovered that they shared many of the same interests. They started hanging out after school and now it is rare to see one of the group without another.

Virgil knows that he has nothing to worry about. Roman is gay, and both Patton and Logan already use he/they pronouns. They accepted Janus and Remus without question. It won’t be any different for him. All they actually had to do was tell them.

But here lies the issue. Virgil thought they had already. It wasn’t until the first day of pride month that he realized their mistake.

They decided to make pronoun pins for all the kids in GSA. So, naturally, he made one for himself as well. They weren't publicly out yet, but it was perfectly okay for them to wear them inside the safety that was the gay-straight alliance.

Virgil was struggling to attach his pin to their shirt when Janus came over to help. Virgil noted the blue bracelet. Janus looked surprised as he read the contents of the pin.

“You told them?” He asked, incredulously. “I thought you would tell me when you finally did it.”

Virgil was confused. “What do you mean? I came out to them… shoot.”

Janus snorted. “You totally don’t need to tell them. This isn’t getting out of hand at all.”

Virgil blushed red. “I honestly thought I did! I’ll do it now, okay?”

They didn’t wait for a response before marching over to Roman, Logan, and Patton and dragging them outside of the classroom. He ignored the curious looks of their classmates, most likely wondering what they were fighting about this time.

They closed the door behind them and looked around quickly, making sure there was no one else around. He turned back to the group that was looking at him, slightly concerned.

Virgil rolled their eyes at their expressions. “Oh calm down, I just forgot to tell you something, is all.”

Logan cleared their throat and straightened up. “And that is?”

“I genderqueer, he/they, and gay.”

“Yay!” Patton exclaimed and pulled him into a hug. “I’m proud of you for being yourself.”

Patton pulled back and Virgil caught the expressions of the other two. Logan was looking at him with a delighted expression on their face. “I had my suspicions.”

Roman furrowed his brows. “So did I, but I must ask, why wait so long to tell us? Surely you knew that we would accept you wholeheartedly.”

Virgil snorted. “I actually did the same thing my Papa did with me. I thought I told you all ages ago.” They all laughed at that.

“We should probably get back,” Logan remarked, “Thank you for trusting us enough to tell us this.”

Virgil felt nervous, but not extremely so.

He knew nothing would go wrong. So many kids had come out in the past year at Sanders High, the school had made pronoun pins mandatory to avoid misgendering. All they had to do was wear the new pin he had grabbed from the office the day before. He also planned to wear a rainbow shirt to identify themself as the flaming homosexual he is.

The only real thing they were worried about would be the gossip surrounding them for the next week or so. Someone coming out is hardly a rare occurrence, but they were one of the most popular kids in school. He was certain that there were at least a few bets going around school on whether they were queer or not. To be fair, he was the only member of the Light and Dark sides to never confirm any rumors about gender or sexuality. And it's not as if he’s really hid anything. He’s just never confirmed.

But they’re ready to change that. They pull on their rainbow shirt, do their makeup slightly more dramatic than usual, and debate for a moment over the plaid purple skirt his dads had gotten him a few years ago. It matched his usual hoodie perfectly, but he had yet to wear it outside the house. There was no reason not to wear it. Why not spend his first day publicly out AGAP (as gay as possible)?

They arrive at school with an air of confidence around them that he hadn’t felt in a while. As he walked through the hallways, he saw a few looks of disappointment, but most were of excitement and joy. They caught a few thumbs up and cheers in the crowd as well.

He found the other two members of the Dark Sides standing at Virgil’s locker, both wearing identical looks of pride as they stared at him. They walked directly up to the pair, smirking slightly. Once he was within earshot, Remus grasped their head with one hand and Janus’s shoulder, striking a dramatic pose.

“Do you see that Jan Jan? Our little slime monster is all grown up!” Virgil rolled their eyes at their best friend’s antics. Janus lifted their wrist to show off her pink band. Despite the new rule about pronoun pins, Janus still kept her bracelet system in place. She claimed it to be simpler and more efficient.

She slung her arm around Virgil’s shoulders. She leaned in and said in a low voice, “I really am proud of you.”

Remus jumped on his back. “That makes two of us!”

Virgil had always enjoyed Logan’s company. They were the only person out of the group of six that allowed him some peace.

He could also be a captivating conversation partner. Listening to Logan ramble on about whatever he was currently studying was one of Virgil's favorite pastimes. The way his eyes lit up when you asked him about something they were interested in was adorable. And his voice would take on this gorgeous tone to it that Virgil knows not many people get to hear.

Their weekly study session was the thing that Virgil looked forward to the most. Every Thursday, they get to spend hours in a room with the most beautiful person he knows. They love the way Logan will straighten his tie or fix his hair even when they’re both immaculate. He loves the way they slowly and patiently explain the answer to something Virgil gets wrong, never criticizing them or getting frustrated.

Virgil may have developed an itty bitty crush on them over the years.

Not that they will ever tell him. They don’t even know where he stands on sexuality. He has only been open about their gender. And he doesn’t want to complicate their relationship for the sake of some silly crush.

The two of them sat in Virgil’s room doing homework. Logan sat on their bed, while Virgil had opted for the floor. They had hardly spoken a word to each other in the past few hours (a normal occurrence for their weekly get-togethers), but Virgil could tell something was bothering Logan. They’d been fidgeting for the past hour or so, and had seemed tense and nervous all day.

Virgil placed their bookmark into his book and groaned loudly. “If I have to read one more word of this, I think my eyes might literally start bleeding.”

Logan also marked their page before looking up. “That is highly unlikely. The amount of force that would cause one's eyeballs to ‘literally’ start bleeding is far more than would be caused by eye strain. Additionally, subconjunctival hemorrhage has not been linked to overuse and is instead usually caused by some sort of trauma to the eye. So unless you are planning to hit yourself in the face with the book, it will not cause your eyes to hemorrhage.”

Virgil huffed a laugh, internally cooing at how adorable they are when explaining something. “I guess you’re right. I can’t read anymore though.”

Logan cleaning their glasses on the edge of his shirt. “I agree with that statement.”

Virgil looked at him closely. Cleaning their glasses is a sort of nervous tick for him. And they had done it multiple times in the last hour. “Okay, what's going on? You’ve been nervous and weird all afternoon.”

Logan cleared his throat. “Nothing of importance.”

“So there is something!” Virgil exclaimed.

They blanched. “No, of course not. What would be wrong at the moment?”

Virgil gave them a look. “I never said that there was something wrong.”

Logan stood up quickly and started gathering his materials. “Well, it’s getting late. I must head home now in order to be at dinner at an adequate time.”

Virgil grabbed their arm. “Wait, Logan, there’s still hours until you need to leave. If you really don’t want to talk about whatever’s bothering you, we don’t have to. But if you do, I’m here and ready to listen.”

Logan shot them a grateful look. “I truly appreciate that Virgil. I will keep your offer in mind.”

They resumed their study positions and all was silent for a few minutes. Virgil couldn’t keep their mind off of Logan. He hoped that whatever was troubling him could be resolved easily. He didn’t want him to be distressed.

Eventually, Logan stiffly placed his books beside him and turned to their study partner. At the shift in movement, Virgil also put away their materials and prepared to listen, moving to sit next to them on their bed.

“I would like you to not speak until I am done speaking if that is acceptable for you.” Virgil immediately agreed. They would never interrupt him when they were having such a serious conversation.

“My sincerest gratitude. I-” Logan paused. They took a stuttering breath. Virgil reached out and took his hand, attempting to provide some form of comfort.

“I am not a robot. I know that there are some that may think otherwise. Aside from the vast technological inaccuracies in that statement, contrary to popular belief, I do have emotions. I do experience love. Just not in the same way as others do. From a young age, I have known that I have felt no sexual attraction. The idea of sex repulsed me far more than I can explain, even past the age of maturity. I have no desire to love anybody in that way. And I never will.

“I was under the impression that the same went for romantic attraction. I had never felt any sort of romantic feelings for a female. But recent… variables have shown me otherwise. I do not feel any romantic attraction for people of the female gender or sex. I do, however, experience attraction to people of the same gender. These people fall under the male and non-binary spectrum. In conclusion, I am asexual and homoromantic. I am finished, you may speak now.”

Virgil was delighted by the news. They had just confirmed that his crush could possibly be attracted to him. They didn’t care about the asexual part. It changed none of his feelings towards the academic prodigy.

They made the mistake of staying silent for a moment too long. That became evident when he looked at Logan’s face. Any positive feelings he had melted into concern.

“Oh, Lo,” they said softly, “You’re crying.” He brought his hand to Logan’s cheek and wiped away the silent tears that had trickled down with their thumb.

Logan's voice wobbled as they spoke. “My apologies.”

“No,” Virgil cooed, “you have nothing to apologize for. You’ve done nothing wrong. You’re accepting yourself and I am so proud of you for that.”

That seemed to be all it would take for their dam to break. Soft sobs escaped his mouth and he brought up a hand to try to muffle them.

Virgil made a sympathetic noise and wrapped them up in their arms. He cupped the back of Logan’s neck with one hand and used the other to rub soothing circles into his back. Logan gripped their hoodie tightly as they cried into their shoulder.

Virgil whispered quiet words of encouragement to him. Eventually, Logan seemed to finally be calming down. His tears dwindled into quiet sniffles and they sagged into his chest. The emotional exhaustion of the day in addition to the exergy expelled by crying made him unbelievably tired.

Virgil shifted the two so they were lying down on his bed, Logan cuddled against their chest. They could feel his breaths evening out rapidly.

Virgil pressed a small kiss into his forehead, wishing more than anything that they could do it when Logan could remember.

Let me know if you want to be added to the non-existent tag list!

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bigskydreaming · 4 years ago

Note

Since you mentioned the constant plot lines of Dick subjected to mind fuckery, does Dick ever think about "Am I really in control right now" while doing something normal like making breakfast. Is he questioning constantly if he actually made that choice for himself? *calls up trusted telepaths and mystics to safeguard Dick's mind forever and ever*

Absolutely. I headcanon that Dick’s built up something of an obsessive habit about constantly looking for new meditative techniques, brain tricks and methods of trying to train his mind to be more resistant to external intrusion/manipulation, like in his downtime his brain is always busy working on that never-ending puzzle of trying to constantly figure out new ways of how to tell that he’s not himself or he’s being influenced by someone or something else. So he’s never reliant on stagnated or outdated ideas or techniques or becoming complacement that he’s alone in his head.

Its a very specific, very weird kind of hyper-vigilance, and it is absolutely not healthy but it is what it is and he doesn’t see any alternative to it. He just doesn’t know how to feel safe and confident in the idea that his mind is impregnable, his will is his own and no one is out to manipulate his thoughts....because its too often been proven that when it comes to him, none of these things are true. It sucks, but no matter how often Dick is perceived as an optimist by others, he’s a realist as much as he can be, and he feels better, more in control, more empowered by being vigilant and proactive about safeguarding and double-checking his thoughts. Because he knows from experience how much greater a toll it takes on him in the aftermath of being taken over or manipulated, when he ends up secondguessing everything he did under someone else’s control and whether or not he could have seen it coming or prevented it.

He and Lilith have a standing coffee date every other week to meet up for drinks and gossip about the other Titans and the cape community, but the unspoken understanding is that while they’re there Lilith runs a scan of his thoughts searching for any sign that there’s someone else’s fingerprints somewhere in there. Like everything else about this, its a messy kind of compromise that they both have considerably mixed feelings about. Dick is someone who likes his secrets, he’s taken the idea that knowledge is power to heart over the course of his life and feels that too much knowledge of him gives people too much power over him.....but he also feels too much guilt over things he’s done while controlled by others and too much fear for what others might use him to do in the future and he’s past the point where he’s willing to let his pride or feelings of vulnerability get in the way of making sure he’s not being used to hurt people he loves again. Its not like people hijacking his brain don’t get access to all his secrets that way anyway, so he’d rather have them in the hands of someone he trusts, like one of his oldest friends, than in the hands of his enemies.

But at the same time, the consequence of this intimate knowledge, of Lilith knowing him so well, so much better than he’s ever truly comfortable with is there’s a ceiling to how close they’re ever able to be as friends. Like its this weird thing where they’re close enough that Dick trusts her with the deepest darkest corners of his head, but that very knowledge of his mind is the reason that at the same time, he can’t quite relax around her ever, with them both being hyper aware of this but there’s not really a fix for it, at least that they’ve found. Dick just doesn’t know how to be so exposed without feeling judged or about to be judged, and he’s not about to ask Lil to be his therapist when he’s already asking so much of her being his secret-keeper and safeguard making sure he’s himself and not a risk to others.

Lilith, for her part, doesn’t like anything about this but doesn’t have any other ideas to offer. She knows Dick’s approach to all this is far from healthy but she also knows why it exists and why it is what it is, and she can’t exactly say that his fears are unfounded or that the possibility of him being hijacked and used against his teammates and family isn’t a very real threat, as its been in the past. And she knows exactly how much it pains Dick to let himself be so exposed in front of her for the sake of keeping others safe, and is glad to be someone he can trust for that, as well as being at least glad that she can offer him some peace of mind and reassurance, even if it feels too much like a stopgap and band-aid rather than any real kind of solution.

But at the same time, this sorta thing requires they both be bluntly honest with each other and there are no real illusions between them, so she doesn’t bother trying to hide that a part of her resents her friend putting this on her, hates the fact that the only reason she is trusted to know him so much better than anyone else is because of necessity. And she really hates knowing the things that he doesn’t share with anyone else and really needs to be sharing or asking for help with or working on in therapy, because she’s hyper-aware of how vulnerable he is to feeling judged and doesn’t want to break this tenuous arrangement by doing exactly that. The downside of being a telepath with someone’s mind wide open before you is no matter how much their thoughts and actions frustrate you, you can’t help but be 100% aware of why they’re like that and just what exactly goes into making them so resistant to change or help.

And that’s what makes up her part of what keeps their friendship brittle and sharp-edged, even despite it being very real and the source of why she does this for him and why he trusts her to do it at all, even with necessity factored in......there’s distance from her side of the equation just like he has his own, because there’s too much obligation and duty and responsibility and caution bound up in the intimate knowledge between them for them to ever fully feel like the friends they SHOULD be and even WANT to be......and so its weird because she knows things about Dick that nobody else ever will, he shares things with her that he won’t with anyone else, and yet despite that and even because of that they’ll never actually be as close to each other as they are with Donna, Roy, Wally, Garth and others.

And they’re both keenly aware of that and are uncomfortable with it because its not what friendship is supposed to be like, its not what they want it to be like, they just don’t know how to make it any other way, all things considered.

But again, even still, there is the fact that there is friendship between them and its real, and its why Lilith keeps showing up even despite her resentments and why Dick keeps letting her in his mind despite how intensely he hates baring everything for someone else.

Lil does it because she knows at the end of the day, Dick only asks because he’s scared, because he doesn’t feel safe and secure in his own mind without her help, and that’s something everyone deserves, especially a friend she values and respects as much as she does Dick.

And Dick only asks because he recognizes and accepts that as much as he hates it, the truth is he flat out doesn’t trust himself to be sure he’s in control at all times, which leaves his only option being to trust someone else, with that requiring that he actually TRUST them, fully and completely. And at the end of the day, he does trust Lilith to not just be able to help keep his mind secure but to WANT to, to be invested in it because she’s his friend and she cares about him.

Its fucked up and messy and complicated and sharp-edged and painful, but at least it works, so they make the most of it, focus on the positives as much as they can, and share another scone as they gossip about Gar’s latest crush.

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ofstarsandfireflies · 4 years ago

Text

Tonight is Beauty and the Beast and by Beauty and the Beast I mean the 22nd of November 1991 classic.

How do I know the release date?

That’s the very date of my birth 😁

Stephen shouldn’t have messed with the Ancient One.

He shouldn’t have tried to use the time stone to go back so he could use his hands properly again.

So he could have his old life again.

She had seen him do this and decided to punish him for it.

He would remain in this Sanctum, with his scarred hands, trapped in time where the scars wouldn’t fade, where the shaking wouldn’t cease.

A nightmare of his own making.

Until, by some miracle, someone came to love him and his scars, and he them.

If not, if he still hadn’t found love by the time the power within the stone fades, then his life would fade with it.

He knew her conditions would never be met.

That he was trapped like this, slowly watching his life dwindle away day after day while everyone on the outside went about as normal.

It had already been five years and it hadn’t happened yet.

Who in their right would love him, when his hands looked like this?

It’s business as usual when Tony and Peter are patrolling New York at night, the wedding proposal Rogers tried to spring on him earlier that day still fresh in his mind as Tony rolls his eyes at the cringe worthy memory and focuses on what Peter is chattering about in his ear.

There doesn’t seem to be much activity in the area they’ve designated themselves. It looks like it’s going to be an easy and calm night.

That is until Peter misjudges a swing and goes crashing through some old building’s even older, fancily designed window.

Tony tries asking him if he’s alright over the comms, but Peter isn’t replying.

Thinking the kid could be more hurt than he initially thought, Tony enters the building as well and sees the dark silhouette of an unknown man with an unconscious Peter.

Shooting at the man does nothing, his shots somehow miss him entirely, his suit malfunctioning quickly after.

Having no way to protect Peter, Tony tries to ask him to let Peter go, that he’ll pay for the window, he doesn’t need to hurt the kid because of it.

The man turns to him, instantly realising who he is.

Stephen doesn’t care that the window got broken, he cares that this kid decided to enter the Sanctum; the one place Stephen Strange can hide from the world. Can hide from the ridicule he would receive about his hands.

He’s going to teach the kid a lesson for disturbing him, for daring to come here and think he can leave with no consequences, no matter how many times Tony tries to tell him that it was an accident.

When his words fall on deaf ears, Tony tells him he’ll do anything, and quickly offers himself in Peter’s place.

The man looks at him.

Really looks at him.

This is new.

He’s been stuck here for so long, trapped in time for so long that he’s forgotten what other people would do for one another when they truly care about someone.

But more than that, he is being offered the chance he’s been waiting for to break this damn curse he’s under, so Stephen agrees immediately, sending Peter away through a portal before Tony can even say goodbye.

Tony is heart broken as the wizard leads him through the dark building and goes over the rules he wants Tony to abide to.

The first is the use of his name, as he wants to be addressed as Doctor Stephen Strange, Tony refusing the mouthful and getting on Stephen’s nerves when he just uses his surname.

It’s only when he tells him to stay out of the West Wing of the Sanctum, that he ends up snapping at him and the questions Stark seems to be filled to the brim with.

When they reach the bedroom Tony will be staying in, Stephen wants him to join him for dinner, the request coming off more as a demand.

He needs to get things going as soon as possible as the time stone has already begun to dim.

But Tony is not having it.

He is here against his will and he is not hungry, telling the Sorcerer this only to been thrown into an argument he very much wins, despite Stephen’s insistence he can make him do whatever he wants.

Stephen is very close to using his magic on him to show him what he means, but is stopped by Wong, who reminds him that if he wants to win the heart of Tony Stark to break this curse, then he needs to control his temper.

Stephen gives in, tries asking nicely, but Tony’s stubbornness only makes him angrier and he tells Wong that if Tony won’t eat with him, then he doesn’t eat at all, and leaves Tony alone to hide away further in the Sanctum.

Tony emerges soon after, Wong and a sentient cloak offering him some food despite what Stephen told them.

He’s a guest here, and should be treated as such. They even allow him to wander around the Sanctum.

That doesn’t stop Wong from making sure he doesn’t touch anything he shouldn’t, but Tony still manages to slip away to get a sneak peak at what could be in this West Wing Strange has told him to stay away from.

The West Wing, it turns out, is an almost completely destroyed part of the Sanctum.

Broken furniture and shattered glass litter the floor, and the only thing to have survived is a stand with a glowing amulet hovering a few inches off the surface, covered by a glass dome.

Intrigued, Tony lifts the dome and reaches for this magical item, not seeing Stephen appear behind him, until he’s flying forward to cover the mysterious relic once more and demanding to know what Tony is doing here.

Tony tries to apologise but Stephen is furious, shadows getting longer around him and magic sparking dangerously at his shaking hands.

Tony ducks as a bolt hits a wardrobe behind him and blows it into a thousand pieces, quickly running from the room before he’s caught in any of the other blasts the Sorcerer was gearing up to unleash.

By the time Tony is gone, Stephen realises what he’s done, covering his face in shame.

Tony can’t stand to be here another second, running to the door and throwing it open as Wong tries to beg him to stay.

Tony runs out of the Sanctum, uncaring for the promise he’d made to stay, trying to reboot his armour now he’s no longer around any magical interferences, but it’s as he’s doing this he’s set upon by some magical freaks with purple crystallised skin around their eyes.

They’re magic users too, only it’s not the kind he’s seen from Strange.

This magic creates weapons which get pointed at his throat, like long jaggered pieces of glass.

This magic is made to do harm.

And the users of this magic have mistaken Tony for a wizard of the Sanctum.

With Tony’s suit for the count and no weapons on him to defend himself, he is shocked when Strange comes to his rescue, beating the lot of them back and nearly losing his an arm when one of the shards cuts deep enough to draw an endless stream of blood which soaks his robes and splatters onto the pavement.

It’s not until they retreat and Stephen manages to take one last look at Tony to make sure he’s unhurt before he collapses from exhaustion that Tony finds himself pausing in his second attempt at running away.

Stephen had helped him.

Had risked his life for him.

He can’t just leave him to bleed out in the middle of the street.

With the cloak’s aid, and that of the portal Stephen had appeared from, Tony carries him back into the Sanctum and begins to tend to his wounds.

Which is a little difficult as Stephen doesn’t want Tony touching him, or to be more precise, his hands.

Tony tries to grab him but Stephen stubbornly keeps his injury out of Stark’s reach, resulting in Tony using a little too much force to press the clean cloth to the wound, starting another argument about whose fault it is this happened, winning again when he brings up Stephen’s temper.

Stunned into silence when he realises Tony is right, he finally allows Tony to touch him.

And as Tony sets to work, he stuns him further.

Not only by his thanks for saving his life, but also by how Tony doesn’t say anything about his scars, or how there’s no look of disgust on his face as he touches them in order to move his arm to the light to begin his stitches.

And Stephen acknowledges his thanks and remains quiet, pondering over this feeling in his chest.

As the ice had finally begun to melt between the two, Peter woke up in the hospital wing of the Avengers compound, having been out of it for over a week since Tony Stark’s disappearance.

He was surrounded by Avengers keeping vigil over him and he shot up immediately, trying to get all of his words out all at once about the old place he’d ended up in, the only thing he could remember before the very air had been squeezed out of him by something wrapping tight around his chest.

The Avengers looked around at each other, clearly unbelieving the deluded words of the teen as he flopped back down in bed, exhausted.

He’d make them see. He’d find that place and make them see.

Stephen was on the top floor, looking down at Tony out in the garden, the cloak wrapped around him to keep the winter chill at bay.

And his heart gave a little leap at the sight.

In all his years, stuck here or before hand, he’d never felt this way about anyone, and was compelled to do something for Tony to show his gratitude for helping to stitch him up last night and also to show him that he wasn’t a complete monster.

Wong was no help with ideas but after a short moment, Stephen realised what it was he could give to Tony.

So, he called Tony inside.

He didn’t want Tony to be bored, and he truly wanted him to be able to do what he loved, so he took him to a single room, opening the door slightly before closing it again and turning to the man, asking him to close his eyes.

Tony rose a playful eyebrow at him, and did as he was asked.

Stephen shook a hand in front of his face to make sure Tony wasn’t faking before taking his hands gently and leading him into the room, allowing Tony to open his eyes once more.

Before him, stood a portal.

And much to Tony’s delight, it was a portal which lead to his workspace back home.

Absolutely delighted with being able to work on his suit, he dragged Stephen into the room to show him around, Wong smiling to himself before leaving them alone.

Stephen watches Tony work, he even helps him from time to time, and even though his hands shake when doing so, Tony doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

He passes tools to him and Tony takes them, a rosy blush dusting his cheeks when their hands brush.

No look of disgust.

No flinching away as his scars scrape against perfectly smooth skin.

Tony doesn’t react at all.

As if the scars don’t bother him or aren’t there to begin with.

And Stephen’s heart skips a beat or two.

Tony’s been gone for far too long that Avengers can’t keep quiet about his disappearance any longer.

Either they go out and find him or go to the press and tell them why Tony Stark has been absent for so long.

And it’s only when they go back to Peter, ready to listen to where he thought this building could be, they find his bed empty.

The kid was in no condition to be roaming the streets in search of his mentor, especially with how hard it’s raining outside.

Stephen trims his beard and combs his hair back as Wong watches from the doorway, trying to convince Stephen to confess his feelings already.

Yes.

Tonight he’ll...

He accidentally drops the comb in the sink.

No.

No he can’t.

Tony’s just being nice to him, that’s all. A good man like him, a celebrity like him, wouldn’t want someone like Stephen Strange.

Maybe before his hands had become disfigured, but not now.

Short of knocking some sense into his friend, their conversation is interrupted by the cloak, fastening itself around Stephen and dragging him out of his room.

Tony is standing there, waiting for him in a simple suit that makes Stephen weak at the knees, tailored to each curve and line of his body that shows off all his assets.

They eat together, Stephen’s use of cutlery far more improved since he’s been practicing for this night, yet they barely get through the first course before Tony is dragging him away to dance to the music softly playing around them.

Stephen is a little shy, unknowing where to put his hands and if Tony wants him touching him anywhere, but Tony just places one at his waist while he holds the other, Stephen’s feet quickly learning the steps as he holds Tony more confidently.

They spin. They twirl.

Stephen forgets what his hands have become and Tony smiles broadly at him.

And as the music dies, as they slow and gaze at one another, each leaning in a little, the door bursts open and Peter falls to the ground, sopping wet and red with fever as he coughs and tries to heave in air.

Tony is frantic and Stephen is yelling orders, which turns into Tony yelling at him that Peter needs to go to a hospital.

No.

No, if Tony leaves, he might not come back.

But...if he stays, Peter might not survive with the little he can do for him.

Tony looks away from him back to the sick kid in his arms and Stephen wonders if he should let Tony go.

He cares about the kid he hasn’t seen in so long, and Stephen shouldn’t keep him from those who love him just because he loves him too.

Spell be damned, if Tony wanted to leave him and forget their meeting, Stephen would let him.

Because he loves him.

Truly loves him, as he thought he never would love another.

Heart heavy with what he knows what he has to do, what he has to give up, Stephen opens the portal that would take Tony away from him, but save the kid’s life.

And, with a grateful thank you instead of a goodbye, Tony picks up the teen and walks through the portal with him.

Stephen can only watch as it closes before walking through one himself, eyes locking onto the amulet before him and trying not to notice how dull it has become.

And Wong can’t believe what he’s just seen.

After all these years of waiting, Strange chose Tony’s happiness over his own.

He’s learned to love selflessly.

Peter opens his eyes, blinking a few times when he thinks he sees Tony sitting beside him.

A few more and the room comes into focus, Tony with a relieved smile on his face as he talks about how worried he was.

Peter doesn’t care that almost leaping out of bed to hug the man is probably the worst thing he could do, but Tony holds him close nonetheless before easing him back down to rest, running a hand through his hair to comfort him while he drifts in and out of consciousness.

Stephen is a sorry mess indeed without Tony around anymore, just staring out the window in hopes of seeing the Iron Man flying back to him.

Instead, a large shield comes crashing through the window, knocking Stephen onto the floor.

He doesn’t ask why Captain Rogers is here, he doesn’t very much care. He’s not in the mood to fight, for he has nothing to fight for.

Rogers grabs him and throws him through the gaping hole where the window had been, yelling at him to get up and fight.

But Stephen won’t.

If he’s here to punish him for holding Tony hostage here, then so be it.

If he’s here to put him out of his misery, he won’t try to stop it.

But then he hears Tony’s name.

Rogers is talking about Tony.

About how Tony is his fiancé.

About how Tony belongs to him.

About how Tony could never love someone with hands like that.

And Stephen knows that’s not true.

As Rogers goes to attack him again, Stephen finally stands up and defends himself.

He may be alone again, he may have nothing to lose but he still has something to fight for.

There’s still time to tell Tony how he feels.

Even if Tony didn’t feel the same way, he still had the right to know how Stephen felt about him.

And Rogers was not going to get in his way.

He’ll deal with him how he was going to deal with Peter before Tony came into his life.

He’ll toss him through a portal to the dark dimension and leave him there.

Tony is about to walk out and leave Pete to sleep in peace when he sees the doorway is blocked by his friends, everyone clambering into the small hospital room to get to him and make sure he’s alright.

Honestly, you’d think he were the one laying in the bed.

Tony is talking to the group of Avengers about where he’s been all this time when he realises Steve Rogers isn’t there.

And his heart drops.

Rushing out of the hospital to the suit of armour he’d called to him already open and waiting, he blasts into the air before it even has time to finish closing around him, flying straight to the Sanctum where he hopes Rogers isn’t.

And he gets there just as Stephen gains the upper hand in their battle, shoving Rogers towards the portal he had opened.

But when Steve starts begging for his life, tells Stephen he’ll do anything, Stephen can’t help but be reminded of Tony.

And he stops.

Slowly, he pulls Rogers away from the portal he was going to throw him through and is just about to finish closing it when he hears Tony call out him.

Stephen immediately turns, reaching for him as Tony closes the distance between them, holding Stephen’s shaking hand to his cheek as he gently caresses it.

He came back.

He chose to come back to him.

What he ever did to deserve Tony he’ll never know, but he’s not going to let him go now he’s come back to him.

Their moment is ruined by Steve, who plunges a dagger right into Stephen’s back.

Stephen pushes Tony out of the way to protect him as Steve goes to do it again , but Tony blasts him back toward the portal just as it closes completely on him.

Stephen slumps backwards and Tony catches him, pulling him into his arms and lays him down to make him more comfortable while he tries to get a look at the wound, but Stephen tells him there’s nothing he can do.

Tony’s not listening.

He’ll take Stephen to the hospital and get him patched up good as new.

He’ll take care of him from now on, they were together now.

But Stephen knows the truth of the outcome for him.

He knows he’s not going to make it.

Stephen holds his hand to Tony’s cheek just like before, happy to see him one last time, before he closes his eyes and his scarred hand slips away.

Tony tries everything he can to bring him back to him, but nothing works.

Wong and the cloak bow silently as Tony holds Stephen close to him, crying into his robes, and finally whispers that he loves him as the emerald light within the time stone fades completely.

At that very moment, the time stone reignites, green magic surrounding the two of them as time rewinds to heal Stephen and bring him back to Tony.

He’s finally free of the spell.

After so long he’s finally free.

And it’s all thanks to Tony managing to love a man a who couldn’t love himself.

Quotes -

“There’s nothing you can do. He’s my prisoner.”

“There must be someway I can...wait! Take me instead.”

“You? You would...take his place?”

Tony offers himself in place of Peter

“That hurts!”

“If you’d hold still, it wouldn’t hurt as much!”

“Well, if you hadn’t have run away, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“If you hadn’t frightened me, I wouldn’t have run away!”

“...Well, you shouldn’t have been in the West Wing.”

“Well, you should learn to control your temper! Now, hold still. This might sting a little. By the way, thank you for saving my life.”

“You’re welcome.”

Stephen and Tony starting to warm up to one another.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone. I want to do something for her! But what?”

“Well, there’s the usual things. Flowers, chocolates, promises you don’t intend to keep.”

Stephen seeks Wongs advice on what he can do for Tony.

“She glanced this way, I thought I saw. And when we touched she didn’t shudder at my paw. No it can’t be. I’ll just ignore. But then she’s never looked at me that way before.”

Stephen sees something that wasn’t there before.

“And when the moment is right, you confess your love.”

“Yes, I...I...I...no, I can’t.”

“You care for the girl, don’t you?”

“More than anything.”

Stephen needing encouragement.

“Maybe... it’s better...it’s better this way.”

“Don’t talk like that. You’ll be alright. We’re together now. Everything’s going to be fine, you’ll see.”

“At least I got to see you...one last time.”

“No. No. Please. Please. Please don’t leave me. I love you.”

Tony finally confessing his love

As Old As Time

Stephen has been trapped in time for so long he has lost his humanity.

And a chance encounter with Tony Stark could be what he needs to break his spell.

January, February

Missed a Day? Catch up here!

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3

#ironstrange #strangeiron #osaf’s movie night

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trahottie · 3 years ago

Text

Trahearne x F!Commander

(Ao3) Ch 2 / ? - It is the eve of the Pact’s final assault against Zhaitan. A morning unlike any other awaited them all and unspoken truths must be shared before it is too late. Marshal Trahearne and Commander Rhea struggle to reconcile with the meaning of their friendship as they realize they might never see each other ever again.

---

Commander Rhea couldn’t tell how long she had been staring at the starlit sky. Once again, her thoughts drifted towards the person she considered her closest friend.

Upon leaving the briefing room, General Soulkeeper had mentioned she had further meetings to attend to with the Marshal and the rest of the Pact’s administrative leadership, despite the already late hour.

He must be so tired, she thought.

Growing weary of her own fatigue, Rhea shook herself out of her reverie and refocused on the task at hand. She leaned forward and scribbled away:

Dear Marshal,

Rhea paused, her quill tip lingering over the parchment.

So formal. This won’t do, She thought. Not for something like this. She crumpled the sheet and threw it aside, before pulling another from the corner of her work desk.

The room was nearly pitch black, if not for the lit candle that stood by her writing materials, and the moonlight peering through her window. She leaned back in her chair and let her gaze drift over the ocean’s horizon for the umpteenth time as if it would offer a final boon of inspiration.

As what may be expected in an old, dilapidated fort quickly made over into a fully functional military stronghold in a matter of mere months, the furnishings of her room were simple and modest. Nonetheless, as a reflection of her rank, she was afforded a room with a generous amount of space and windows that overlooked the rest of Fort Trinity and the shorelines of Terzetto Bay.

Now and then, she can hear a pack of soldiers shuffling past her doors with equipment, and the echoes of hammering steel ring outside her windows. The hour was late, but there was always more to do. Especially when a morning unlike any other awaited them all.

An hour prior, she and the rest of Destiny’s Edge had broken from their exhaustive day-long intelligence briefings and strategic overviews. Everyone involved in the frontal assault was ordered to return to their quarters and get as much shut-eye as possible. There wasn’t much time left and so much was at stake.

However, Rhea could not sleep just yet. As was the case for many soldiers this solemn night, there was unfinished business to tend to. There were farewells to be made. Lifetimes of meanings needed to be truncated to brief letters for loved ones that many may not ever see again.

Rhea leaned back further and rubbed her temples. She was used to risking her life every day, but there was no question that tomorrow will be unlike anything she has ever faced before. How do you kill an Elder Dragon? No less one who has managed to upheave an entire lost civilization?

This time, she and her comrades may truly die a horrible, permanent death. The idea of never seeing her friends and family again never quite struck her the way it did now. Everything she worked towards and bled for would come to a bitter end. All of her hopes for the future would be snuffed out like a candle. She felt as though she dangled over an endless precipe, held by nothing but a thin thread, and the anxiety made her heart ache and stomach churn nonstop. It was debilitating.

Rhea shook it off and returned her attention to the blank parchment. All that remained to do now was say goodbye to him. Thinking about what to say was numbing. After all, how do you say farewell to someone who might not be able to understand what he means to you?

Not only was he her superior officer and the leader of a massive armada that the survival of the entire world depended on, but he is not even human! Even better, he was the first of his other-worldly kind. Everything about his identity was the substance of pure legend. How do you confess something so horribly vulnerable to someone of such incredible, almost supernatural importance? Why risk such painful embarrassment?

Because he’s my best friend, Rhea thought.

And I might never see him again.

This was the one fact that brought Rhea peace of mind in the storm of her emotions. It took her a painfully long time to accept the truth.

In these past few weeks, it nearly drove her mad to not come to terms with what she was feeling. She thought of him day and night. What was he up to? Is he holding up well? Or is he overburdened, from being buried neck-deep in paperwork, logistics, and the emotional trauma of being responsible for the deaths of countless brave souls, young and old? Even worse, was there someone or something making another attempt on his life, whilst she is unable to shield him from danger?

Her juvenile instincts often fantasized of an alternate universe where there were no Elder Dragons to kill, no Pact to lead, no other-worldly dangers to run from or into. It would be just the two of them, perhaps strolling along the roaming green hills of Kessex as they muse about history, literature, or the humble and charming livelihoods of the farmers they pass by.

Or perhaps they would walk beneath the lush canopies of Caledon, where she could learn more about the wondrous idiosyncrasies of his people and admire the boundless potential of the Sylvaris’ future.

Rhea realized that she ached for such fantasies because no matter the danger that surrounded them, every moment spent in his company made her feel... warm. Safe. Happy. When was the last time she had such a reliable source of pure contentment? If ever? She thought life would forever be an uphill battle for acceptance, belonging, and survival. But it all became so small when she was at his side. With him, she was enough. If not more.

Of course, however, they would never have crossed paths had there been no Zhaitan, or armies of Risen or the impending doom of the world. Thus, here they are, a sunrise away from facing their ultimatum, and she, Commander Rhea Hanaku, must confess she is hopelessly in love with Marshal Trahearne.

She continued.

Trahearne, my dear friend,

It should be without surprise that I consider you my closest companion. My firmest ally. After everything we have endured together over the past year, you would probably agree when I say there are no words that can complement the significance of our friendship.

As usual, your confidence in me is overwhelming, and you assure me that we will certainly see each other again on the other side of this upcoming battle. And as usual, my pessimism has compelled me to overcompensate in light of the worst.

Rhea's lips curled to a small smile. The sentiment took her back to what felt like an ancient memory.

“You seemed to have known each other well,” Rhea said quietly, her eyes glumly fixed on the dark waters and misty horizon that surrounded their ship.

“We did,” Trahearne replied with a gentle smile. “I’ve counseled the Vigil on many of their campaigns against the Risen. As you might expect, Forgal was often the point-person for those initiatives. We had spent countless missions with our backs against each other. And, well,” he cleared his throat, “countless celebratory drinks at many-a-tavern. As many times Forgal has saved my life, there were just as many times he threatened it with one too many pints.”

Rhea’s eyes lit up towards Trahearne, and she surprised herself with the light laughter that escaped her lips. “You and me both,” she said with a small smile. Her eyes studied the sylvari before her. Despite the poise in Trahearne’s composure and the graciousness of his smile, she could sense a deep sadness in the golden glow of his eyes.

Forgal had always complained that ever since his “old age”, he only bothered fraternizing with those he held in high regard. After all she had witnessed from Firstborn Trahearne in the few hours they’ve known each other, it wasn't hard to tell why this sylvari fell in that category. The thought of her mentor made her eyes water once more. Rhea turned away quickly.

“I’m so sorry, Rhea,” Trahearne said softly. “I can tell you two were close, as well.”

Rhea stared back at him. The sadness he shared with her and the concern he expressed made Rhea feel closer to the sylvari. For the first time since they embarked on this forlorn voyage, she felt warmth creep back into her chest.

“You know what hurts the most?” Rhea whispered, as she couldn’t help but give in to the sincerity in his eyes. “He always said that I was the kid he should have had.” It took everything she had to gulp back her emotions. Countless memories of laughter and heart-to-hearts with her mentor rushed through her. Countless memories that gave her hope for a future that she could be proud of. They were the kind of memories she never had with her own parents despite the many years she spent under their cold gilded rooftops. “I thought he was just joking. But I wish I could've told him... I wanted to tell him, he was the family I wish I had, too.”

She was undone. The truth of what she had lost today dropped on her like a torrential downpour. Her tears followed suit. For some reason, she wasn’t surprised when she felt the sylvari gently wrap her arms around her in a comforting embrace.

“Forgal never needed formalities to know the truth,” Trahearne said quietly. “In all the years I've known Forgal, I've never seen him look upon someone with as much pride as I did today. He understood what he meant to you, Rhea. That is why he made the choice he made today." The low timbre of his voice sent a soothing pulse to her senses.

Rhea’s breathing slowed, finding comfort in his words. Trahearne slowly withdrew so he could look her in the eye, “He knew what you were capable of. And I saw that with my own eyes today. His sacrifice will never be in vain because of you. I believe that wholeheartedly.”

At that moment, she was dumbstruck. Rhea could not understand the intimidation the Lionguard soldiers at Claw Island felt in Trahearne's presence. All she could see before her was a sylvari with a world of kindness and mature understanding in his eyes. It was the kind of deep, soothing warmth one found in a finely aged wine - a sweetness tempered by the mellowed nature only earned by years and years grounded in earth. His sharp, strangely handsome features suddenly appeared all the more gentle and noble. He was stunning.

Rhea continued to write. The memory reminded her of how much Trahearne inspired her to confide in him. At the end of the day, he was her friend first and foremost. What was the worst that could happen...?

Please allow me once more to overcompensate for my pessimism. Please allow me to prepare for the possibility that this is my last chance to speak to you truthfully.

There is a confession in this letter that I’m afraid you won’t be prepared for, Trahearne. My heart is hurting from simply writing this. My heart hurts every time I think of you.

Forgive me, my friend, but I'm afraid I love you.

---

#trahearne #trammander #gw2 #guild wars 2 #gw2 oc #back on muh bullshit #if anyone has seen ch1 i invite you to check it out again bc i updated it quite a bit for more juice ☺️#my writing

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howtosingit · 4 years ago

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We seen Carlos and TK at the roller Derby and then at the farmers market in the last episode. But my question is: what sort of dates do you see them having gone on or going on? Mainly sofa and movie dates? Adventurous ones? What do you think?

I really enjoy reading all of your tags and commentary 👍

I see them going on all kinds of dates, Anon! I think TK’s excess anxious energy means that he’s always kind of chasing an adrenaline rush when he’s not at work. So yeah, I could see them being a little adventurous on their days off - hiking, biking, renting a boat on Lady Bird Lake, swimming at Barton Springs, all of that fun stuff. Carlos’s family has a ranch, and I’ve already written a fic where they go horseback riding, so I could definitely see that as well. I have a feeling they both just love to be outside, and they take advantage of that whenever they can. (@bellakitse also wrote a pre-relationship late-night batting cage “date” fic and I loved it, so I’m adding that, too. They love to do anything that gets their blood pumping, if you know what I mean...)

Austin has such a dynamic and renowned art and music scene as well, so I could see them going to concerts and open mic nights at bars, just checking out the up-and-coming neighborhoods and areas. I could see that reminding TK of New York and how he spent a lot of nights in the city when he was in his early-20s, and it makes him happy that he now gets to have those kinds of moments with Carlos. They like their nightclubs, so I could see them going out and dancing for hours together (and they certainly don’t leave those bedroom eyes at home). On weekends they love to just pick a neighborhood with locally-owned shops and stroll from place to place, grabbing food and checking out all the artisan fare (Carlos gets a lot of his home decor from places like that and when TK spots something that he likes, he convinces him to buy it, or he buys it himself... because one day TK will move in with him and he wants their home to feel like theirs, not just his.)

I think for a lot of the first months of their relationship, Carlos shows TK around Austin and all of his favorite spots, takes him on tours of his favorite childhood haunts and places where he spent so much time growing up. The places that his parents would take him to, where they had family outings. TK loves it because every visit gives him some insight into the man that he’s falling in love with, and it just makes him fall harder. Also, TK really wants to get to know the city that he now calls home, and he loves getting to do that with the man that he’s now starting to call home as well.

On the other hand, they both have really demanding jobs that leave them drained, both physically and emotionally, so sometimes they need to just have a full day or evening at home. They spend entire days together in bed, wearing only their underwear while they order food and watch TV shows and movies (and of course, other less-than-family-friendly things). Carlos loves to read, so he’ll get lost in a book while TK leans against him, scrolling through things on his phone. He interrupts Carlos to show him things that interest him, and Carlos never minds - they’re often funny videos, and he loves the excitement in TK’s eyes when he shows him things that he enjoys.

They have a lot of cooking “dates” - or at least that’s what Carlos calls them, since they’re planned in advance. They pick the meal, go to the farmer’s market to buy what they need, and then spend hours in the kitchen, dancing around each other as they make dinner, Carlos always hyper-vigilant to ensure that their kitchen remains intact.

They might not consider all of these things official dates, but they’re ways that they spend time together - which is their favorite thing to do. It’s special to both of them, what they have, so they cherish it with everything that they’ve got.

#I have to say though - I don't think they go to high-class fancy restaurants like the one TK went to in 1x01 #that's like the one thing that I just can't see them doing #it's just not who they are #tarlos #tarlos headcanons #half of these things probably aren't dates #but whatever - I just want them to spend time together in every possible way imaginable #anonymous #asks

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tar-oh · 4 years ago

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Pick-A-Pile: What Your 2021 Will Be Like

This definitely took longer than I intended on it taking, and it also took some interesting turns. They don’t appear to cover the whole year, but this is what I got, so I’m assuming they’re things someone needs to hear. 3 of the piles ended up having some love message in them, so if that’s what you were looking for, yay! I do need to tell you that you need to take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. These messages are not going to be for everyone so if you find that you don’t relate, than it’s probably not for you. I can only pick up on so many stories/situations. Also, I have to point out again that these do not cover the whole year. In fact, it really seems like only a few things showed up, like a few situations. So they’re kind of a few snapshots within the year. If you do find that you’re called to more than one pile, I can say that that’s okay because a few did seem to relate/have similar cards, so there’s a chance you’re someone who has more than one message within these. I also have to add that if you liked this reading, please feel free to tip. I know I do like the bare-minimum by posting a PAP like every other month, but these do take a lot of energy and time. So, if you feel the need to tip my cashapp is $sarams. I also can do private readings if you’re interested, just DM me. For the piles, I’m going to have you pick between outfits Beth Harmon wore in The Queen’s Gambit, since it’s one of my latest obsession's:

Pile 1:

cards: ace of swords, 8 of cups, 6 of swords, true love, banshee, cat, endurance. Okay, I'm having a hard time with this pile. There are a lot of messages here, so I think a lot of you chose this one. This is going to seem a bit scattered, I think, so bear with me. First thoughts are that in terms of love, there may be a situation where you're waiting for some sort of clarity, perhaps maybe reciprocation? 6 of Pentacles isn't here, but I get that feeling from this. Especially because the first song that played was Take Me by Aly & Aj and it's basically about someone waiting for someone to ask them out. I wouldn't pull this conclusion necessarily, but I pulled True Love for you. The thing about that card is that it's more recognizing love for yourself rather than trying to force it on others, so, I see that this is you getting fed up with waiting, and so with 8 of cups and 6 of swords, you're putting it down and walking away from the situation to pay attention to yourself. I think Endurance plays into that too, like you endured waiting for so long but then you’re just DONE. You’re seeing that you deserve reciprocation and you deserve to have someone feel for you the way you feel for them. This is one situation. I was getting a lot of messages here, so I'm trying to sum it up into general terms. Also, for some, this might not even be you moving away from something? Maybe it's someone you know moving on from a situation and you get confirmation about this - like you're intuition is saying this, but you have no hardcore facts to base it on, and you finally get it. Maybe it's a situation that leaves you. Take what resonates - but also remember, this is a 2021 prediction, and that's 12 whole months for things to happen. I feel like this is more early year energy. But, I've also found tarot readings playing out MONTHS after they've been done, so!! Who knows. It will play out differently for everyone. "You write to yourself, because your mind has become a new dead language." - Nox, Jetty Bones. Ah, so maybe it's also a matter of you just being a bit confused, and instead of getting clarity, you're searching for it. Oddly, though, this deck doesn't depict movement in these two cards. Most decks depict people moving away from something. In some versions I've seen of 6 of Swords, the person is looking back. In this version, he's stationary, standing on one leg. Well, rather, he's balancing - which that too holds a message, like you just trying to balance different things at once (think a 2 of Pentacles vibe). But his leg and arm point in the direction he's not looking. So, it's like, maybe your mind is telling you "This way, this way," but your heart is still tied to a situation. For some, this might not even be about love - maybe a job or family or dream - anything really. But, that whole bit about your mind becoming a dead language, maybe you're confused with what you're feeling and your intuition. You got the cat card from the Literary Witches Oracle, and though it has other meanings, I still connect cats to intuition. I mean, cat's intuitions are fairly spot on, right? The literary witches oracle suggests these words: the untamed, self-ownership, watching. MY OWN CAT JUST BIT THE CAT CARD. There's a message in there somewhere, and I think its just that she is RUDE. But, also, I think she's confirming my thoughts about this card for you guys: I think its telling you not to follow rules too closely. Another thing is self-ownership. I think, looking back at the 8 of cups card where he's just sitting there, I think there's a need to sit with your emotions rather than ignoring them - owning them. This is a message I get a lot for my different pick a piles on this blog. Look, it really fucking sucks to acknowledge some feelings, especially when they don't feel so good. But I find it helps to stop and ask yourself why you're feeling a certain way. So, say you're feeling jealous of someone. Stop and ask why? What does this person have that you wish you had and why? How can you obtain this in a morally just way? And if this isn't possible, is there something else you could obtain that could help these feelings fade? In a way that serves you while not hurting others? Sitting with yourself for a few minutes and looking at the emotions really helps a lot in the long run. "When did your heart break and take you the wrong way?" - Nox by Jetty Bones. I don't see it as you going the wrong way, but perhaps perceiving that you went the wrong way. You also got the banshee card. I want to preface this by saying that I had started this pick a pile almost a month ago but things got in the way and never got a chance to finish, but pile 1 for that one had the banshee card, so I think that was always a message for you. Maybe it's a call to stay vigilant. If you're feeling that you went the wrong way, but you know its anxiety, I think it's a call to take a step back. Maybe even breathe, and listen to your intuition. That can't always be easy, I know, but I think deep down (especially with this ace of swords and the 8 of cups - Also I want to note that the High Priestess was bottom deck energy), you know the way. One thing I have to say is that the Banshee is here to warn you not to let your fears or anxiety trap you into taking a path you know is not yours. With the literary witches oracle deck, I felt called to pull you another, and one of my favorite ones from the deck came out: Anna Ahkmatova, Endurance. I haven't read a lot of Anna Ahkmatova, but have always respected her deeply. She went through a lot in her lifetime, so endurance is a the best word for her card. The deck suggests these keywords: staying with pain, avoiding pain, patience. I read this as all three of those: the first is that you're carrying a pain through the year, or at least into this new year. But, I think you're going to be patient with yourself. The 8 of Cups is similar to that of the 6 of swords in this deck, too. He’s also stationary. So, maybe going with the endurance card, you're staying with this pain, and there's that whole idea of sitting with the emotions. (Lyrics in the song that came on, Always On by DBMK, "And I'm always always on." - Overthinking things perhaps? I do suggest looking up this song, because it does feel relevant. ) I don't think this lasts long though, like it doesn’t feel like a long-term thing, but it may be a bit reoccurring, maybe a few times within this year? So, overall, I see that this next year you're bringing something painful into the new year. But, I see you enduring it. I see you deciding to chose yourself because of this painful thing. I think you're going to see the value within choosing yourself. I'm kind of getting this idea that you know that whatever wants you and whatever is for you will find you, so you're not going to be too worried. I think you're more worried about finding the why of things? It may not be an INSTANT thing, like you don’t need to know now, but you want to know eventually. I think maybe you'll be looking for answers other places. Going back to the endurance card (this feels like the BIG one for your spread, like that paired with the tarot seems to really ring loud to me), there's a firebird, which is also a phoenix basically. She's also holding a potato on the card, so maybe nourishing your soul will be a huge ass vibe for you in 2021. I think the True Love Card indicates that, same with the spiritual aspect of 8 of cups. SO, I think OVERALL 2021 is going to be BIG for your soul. Like, I think you're going to come realizations about yourself and your life and the people around you. I think there's a lot of pain that is needed to be worked through, but to be honest, I feel that most of us are going into 2021 like that, so you're not alone. I just think this past year has been especially painful. I feel heavy with your pile. Really heavy. I didn't at first, like, I saw those cards about moving away from something, and perhaps you will and you'll feel lighter. But, I feel this feeling of stagnancy...? I don't get it in literal card meanings, but that man sitting in front of the cups and the man balancing WITHIN the swords? Also, the images Anna Ahkmatova's card invokes? So, again, I must repeat that warning I got with the Banshee: Don't let your fears trap you. I think Endurance and Cat really tell you that you can get through whatever it is. The song Let It Happen by Jimmy Eat World came on and there's a line where he sings "I can laugh it off" (which I think you can), but more than that, just the title makes me think that you're going to have to surrender whatever this is, let it happen. I mean, I think there's an act of walking away on your part, but I don't see it as forever? Like, maybe this will come back around. I said earlier that whatever wants you or is for you will find you, so I think if you walk away it will come back? Like, okay to clarify this, maybe it is a love situation. I'm not saying THIS person will come back/seek you out. That is possible, but I think its more about love finding its way to you. I know its total bullshit to say you gotta love yourself first in order to find love, like FUCK THAT SHIT. BUT, I think this pile is in need of self-love. Like, I think you need to stop and look at all that you've achieved so far, no matter how small. Also, if you're into crystals, might I suggest a classic: Rose Quartz? Very beautiful and said to help with self love! Also, Rhodochrosite. Both of them are beautiful pinks! Songs that seem relevant: Take Me - Aly & Aj (Okay, but can we talk about how this music video is awesome because it has the vibe of a 70′s b-movie with vampires and witches and stuff???) Nox - Jetty Bones Always On - DBMK Let It Happen - Jimmy Eat World Last Hope - Paramore Chase This Light - Jimmy Eat World Pile 2:

cards: 4 of swords, two of pentacles, 4 of wands, relationship, true offering, Sandra Cisneros (the body), boar, all hallows eve First off, Halloween may be significant, whether it's 2020's or 2021. Maybe it’s your favorite holiday? A birthday? Something happened? I’m not sure, but because I pulled All Hallow’s Eve for you, I just feel that there is something within that. Secondly, I think you're mostly being asked to honor your body, as in, take care of yourself. That's one HUGE message coming out. I see that in 2021 you're going to be needing to find a balance between things. This isn't to say you won't be able to, especially because I always ready the two of pentacles as being able to balance the things out, but I see that it will be a challenge. I see rest being highlighted within the body and four of swords as well. I always get that card when I need to like take a nap or go to bed, so I definitely read this in this context. Are you wearing yourself thin? Is there way to do things without tiring yourself out?? Okay, I'm also seeing something for some of you involving sex? I'm also gonna put a trigger warning for this next paragraph about sex. If you don't wish to read that, please just skip down to the next one. I’m only putting this in because when I was reading the cards I felt triggered, and this isn’t something I normally would feel towards this, so I was feeling that this was not me at all, and that I was channeling someone else? It was really weird and something like this has only happened a few times before so it’s always a little strange when it happens. Anyway, I’ll mark the paragraph and you’re welcome to skip it. TW: Sex The body speaks about the pains and pleasures of the body and boar can talk about aggression. I think for some, this is a warning about someone who may be aggressive about sex with you? Like, maybe wanting too much or asking you to do things you don't want to do/don't feel comfortable doing. You're being asked to honor what you feel is right for your body. Bottom deck energy for the Seasons of the Witch oracle is the Owl card, so I get that you will know what's right for you in the moment. Also, please just honor yourself and try not to put up with that bullshit. I know sometimes things happen that are hard to stop - so if it’s possible to stop it or avoid it, do so. If something does happen and you end up feeling regretful, please do not put yourself down either. We all make mistakes, and also really awful shit happens to people who don’t deserve those things, too. I believe this is really only for a small portion of you. I also think there may be someone out there who is fearful that this will happen if they're vulnerable this way with someone. I think this is a message that again, follow your intuition. Don't do anything you're not comfortable with and make sure you have strong boundaries. Though, another thought I just had is that this could also be about body image? Perhaps this connection will help you with that if you have issues with that. Maybe they’re going to teach you to love how you look? Like, a boost of self-confidence? So, maybe there is this element of fear of being intimate with someone, solely because you’re afraid you can’t provide what this other person needs because you’re not happy with how you look and feel about your own body, or even experience-wise. If that’s the case, I do think this is a connection that’s been brought in to help you with this. I also think that I probably should say that your fears are valid, like, I’m not saying you’re RIGHT (about your body that is), but you have a right to be afraid. I think you’re meant to work through this, but you can do this at your own pace. I don’t get bad vibes from this connection at all, and I’ll get more on this connection in a sec, but I think you need to know that I feel like you’re safe with this person. And I think you’ll feel safe, and that’s what you really need. It seems like an even pace, whatever this is. I want to add that I forgot to turn my music on, but a song is playing in my head called Analog Boy by DBMK, so maybe check it out. I think there's something in the lyrics for someone. Now onto the big message for everyone: First off I think there's going to be a relationship, either a new one or a new level within one. This can be platonic or romantic, but I’m sensing mostly romantic for most of you. I think there's going to be a lot of chemistry, but I think you two will balance each other out. Also, I see that in general, with this new relationship (or level within it), you'll have to start a balance act, like work and play kind of thing, but I think you'll be fine. I see a lot of balance within this. I think maybe for some this is going to change your life drastically enough that you’re going to find that you’re going to have to move things around to fit time in for everything, like again, that balancing work and play. Like, maybe both of your work schedules are really hectic? So, it’s like, trying to find time together and time with others and time to work and time to rest alone. But, there’s nothing within this that’s making me think you won’t be able to do so. Maybe this is something that you had trouble with last year, and so maybe this year you’re finally going to be able to work things out? The song Guilty Party by the National is playing, and there’s a line about it not being anyone’s fault. So, maybe even though this will bring balance eventually, maybe it’s going to take a bit to work things out? There’s probably another message within that song, I think. There's also a need to let go of control. I think maybe you envision an outcome for this situation (and I think you KNOW its coming, you probably feel it - maybe you’re anxious and you’re not sure why??), but I think it's more of an In The Moment Thing. A, do what you feel is right at the time. But also, not to overthink it. Allow what happens to happen. Note that this is for those who the TW is not for. The TW is a whole other matter outside of this, I think. Also thinking that is past energy, so I think (I got the song Press Restart by WALK THE MOON stuck in my head just then, so I think for sure this is past energy). In terms of the relationship that seems very healthy to me, I think you feel it on its way. So, I think there's a need to allow the universe to plot out the course for you. To guide you along. I don’t think you’re being guided into something you’re going to regret or something that will hurt. It’s going to be good. Like I think i feel a sigh of relief. I also think there’s a small amount of you who might feel like you’re not deserving of this? Like, maybe you’re like “Oh, that couldn’t be for me” even if you feel it in your soul heading towards you? Well, here I am to tell you KNOCK THAT OFF! It is for you and you do deserve it. Please be kinder to yourself this year. So, basically, long story short: You know something is coming in 2021. I think a lot of you are scared about it because I think maybe you think you're not ready, but I think you are. Oh my gosh, the song Sowing Season (yeah) by Brand New came on and YEAH you are going to sow this stuff!! All Hallow’s Eve could play into this too! Like, that whole, harvest part that comes between Halloween and winter, gathering of things - but these things are the accomplishments you’ve had as well as the good things heading towards you. I see that you, yourself, are already really grounded. And maybe you will have to figure out how to fit it into your life, but I think you'll do just fine. Also, because you got Sandra Cisneros, I do suggest reading The House On Mango Street. I read it a long time ago, but I swear its a life-changer. My ear is ringing, so I think you're being guided to anyway, so SARA SAYS SO. The bottom deck energy for the tarot deck was the Sun, so I think, all trigger warnings aside, this is going to be really good. For those that the TW applies to, I think this is a separate thing entirely from that, so I think for you guys specifically this will be really good, but for everyone, it will be good. Songs that seem relevant: analog boy - DBMK Press Restart - WALK THE MOON Mean Dreams - DBMK Guilty Party - The National Second Death in the Rabbit Hole - Jetty Bones Sowing Season (Yeah) - Brand New Pile 3:

Cards: 3 of cups, Prince of Cups, Nine of Swords, Enjoyment, Witch, Yumiko Kurahashi (transformation), Toni Morrison (power) Visitor. That's a word that came to my mind. I'm not sure what this means to you, like if you're going to be a visitor, if you'll get one, who knows! But that's a word for you guys! Maybe visiting old situations. Maybe visiting new places! Maybe visiting new habits and hobbies? I don't know, but that was something I had to tell you. So, starting with the tarot: Three of cups kind of aids this idea of a visitor, because it can mean hanging out with friends, maybe celebrating. Just partying it up, but even in a simple way, like chilling or online. I don't know, I don't think COVID is going to be gone in a few months for my area, so I guess it depends on where you are and what time of the year this applies to. Both Three of Cups and Prince of Cups tell me that there are emotions involved, and I think maybe for some this is you getting to know someone you have feelings for (also this could be revisiting someone from your past, like later I say that you know you can’t go back into the past, but I don’t think that means you can’t bring something with you into the future if that makes sense?). I think this person is in your community, which could be anything within your life, like school or work. Enjoyment applies to this, telling you to enjoy these moments. This card does talk about hard work, so I definitely think this isn't a one-way thing, like you can't just not put effort into this. It's going to need to effort on your part, so if you find that you have a hard time opening up to people, don't feel bad. IT's hard, I GET IT. But, I think this is telling you to work on it, or at least be aware of this. This year will be a year of transformation for you. You got the Transformation card, or Yumiko Kurahashi. Oh, interesting, the song Turn Back by Mat Kerekes came on, and my favorite line from this song is the bridge where he sings “I know I can’t turn back, somewhere I lost my heart. I know I can’t turn back ‘cause I don’t know where I’d start”, so, like going with this idea of transformation: maybe you know you’re moving on from who you were/what life was like before, and this is you knowing that there’s not really anything in the past for you anymore? One of the keywords for this card is becoming, so, possibly it's you learning how to become yourself. But, then the 9 of swords jumps in here, and I think this paired with Transformation I think maybe there are some problems with depression. This version of 9 of Swords is more frantic than other versions. He's preparing to be struck by swords - moreover, he HAS been stabbed by two swords, which, OW? But, also, I get just that sense of frantic freaking out with this (which definitely can accompany knowing you can’t go back to who you were before, or what was before). There's also that snake around the one sword, lunging forward. I think that's your fear overtaking you. Also, fear of false intentions. Maybe even fear that you're not strong enough? Insecurities. For some, I think this whole thing of getting to know someone you have feelings for is a new thing, like maybe past experiences weren't great (another thing that goes along with that line from Turn Back) or maybe this is the first time you've actually been in a situation like this, so maybe you're calculating all the outcomes and focusing on all the bad ones. But, I think you're being guided to take this in a place of power, as in, power over your thoughts. The Toni Morrison Power card's keywords are: owning power, seizing power, the powers at play. So, not only do I think whatever this is, it's meant to happen, but I think you're also being guided to work through your fears. You have bottom deck energies of The Star and Vision (Virginia Woolf), which I definitely think tells you that you should have hope that things will work out in your favor. Outside of the 9 of swords (which, being a swords card is purely mental), you have nothing to fear. I have a feeling this is going to be a guiding light in terms of situations for you. Like, I think from this you're going to learn a lot, I think. The card Witch tells you that you're wiser than you're thinking you are, and I see the 9 of swords playing with this in a way that shows that you're worried that not only are these persons intentions not good, but also that you're going to sabotage it all. But, I think you're being asked to enjoy the process (with enjoyment and 3 of cups), and revel in these feelings (this Prince of Cups - the KNIGHT of cups, really- is SUPER intense. His eyes are very hypnotizing - maybe this person has a stare like this, or maybe you associate purple with them or something - a scorpio maybe??? I mean, there's the scorpion on his arm.) For others that this isn't a love situation, I see this as being something that can bring you great joy, but like the others, you're questioning the outcomes and giving yourself anxiety. Again, enjoy the process and know that you know how to go about this. Songs that seemed relevant: Visitor - Of Monsters and Men New Years Eve - Brook Fraser Planet - DBMK Turn Back - Mat Kerekes Love - DBMK Pile 4:

cards: 8 of cups, 4 of wands, justice, work, spider, Octavia E. Butler (The Future), Janet Frame (Belonging) This year, I think pile 4 is going to be finding themselves. The main thing I see this from is the card Belonging, Janet Frame. This card talks about figuring who you are out, and the keywords are: being at home, being a stranger, and knowing yourself. I get a lot of balance from these cards, too, so I think its like you trying to balance yourself out. Maybe mastering your emotions. The Justice card in this deck is interesting because it has the normal scales on it, but behind it is the yin and yang symbol and over both of her shoulders are the moon and the sun, so its like balancing who you are out, like who you are inside and out. But I always kind of see the tower within this card (you also got the tower as bottom deck energy). She has lights coming out of her eyes, and has windows that are lit up over her head in the shape of a crown. So, it's like her head is being opened up, and by me seeing the tower, I think it's her finding clarity within. So, maybe this tower is that clarity? This is why I think you're balancing yourself out, like I think you're figuring out things about yourself. Like, what direction you want to go (with how she's pointing on this version of 4 of wands, I see that definitely). I see so much thinking in these cards and there was a lyric that stuck out to me in a song that came on by DBMK called Thin, "Oh my god, am I so stuck in my ways?" So I see some of you seeing your bad habits and realizing that they're not there to stay, that you can kind of kick them out, show them the door. In four of wands, she's in the middle of a spiral and whenever I see spirals I always think of correlations. I don't remember why this specific image sticks out to me, but I do remember being in school and learning about correlations within nature and the picture in the textbook was of a shell in a spiral shape like that. And, so I kind of think maybe its like I said before, seeing correlations in situations and realizing what your bad habits are (and even the good ones too) and finding a way to get past them or even a way to transmute them into something better. I see him thinking these things through in the 8 of cups, too. Like, the 8 of cups can talk about walking away from something, like leaving it behind and going on sort of an inward journey. But in this one he’s sitting down, not moving away. I always see it as a card of solitude, like the Hermit. I don't see you being in solitude. Possibly for a little bit to think things through, but I see it more as this is your journey and its about You and figuring out who You are. There is also a boat in the background of the 8 of cups, but its more the skeleton of a boat. A shipwreck. So, I get this impression that even if he wanted to walk away, he's stuck there, so he's forced to see that things are the way they are and it's up to him to work on them. Almost like...You're forced into a period of stagnation? This is interesting, and I think I need to tell you that if you felt called to another one of the piles, piles 1 and 2 both had at least 1 of these cards in them, and there felt like a lot of balance in those too. And if this isn’t a period of stagnation, its at least a period of rest. But, like with this stagnation, I also see a lot of work being done. Not necessarily movement, but work. You literally got the card Work from the Wild Offering oracle, which talks about not just grinding away, but giving. Kind of like the 6 of pentacles, I think, but not quite. Like, working to be beneficial to not just yourself, but others. But it's not just something selfless, its also a certain amount of selfishness - a healthy amount and this is for your own future, which, you also got the card The Future (Octavia E. Butler). That card talks about both planning and worrying about the future. So, I think you're working your way towards what you want for yourself in the future, but there's also a lot of thought about that and what you don't want and what could go wrong. Spider kind of touches that too. It talks about manifesting, but not controlling the outcome. I see worrying about the future as kind of controlling it too. I think with the justice card, its letting you know that it will balance out, so there's no need to worry. It will work out for you. I do wonder if for some of you this has a lot to do with you breaking free from expectations of others. Like, you lived a life that you thought was yours but then one day someone said something and you were looking at them and thought "Do you even know me?" Like, you thought they did, but you realized this picture they have of you is not true, its just their own perception. And so, after this, you're wanting to live life authentically. Like, live it the way YOU are and how you want. Oh, the song Santiago Peak by Movements came on, and the first verse goes like this: "I passed the house where I spent most of my life. And all the places that seem like they're from a different time, out of touch with the world that I once felt stuck inside. Never mind. Remember living through the passenger side..." So, it's like you feel like you're forever riding in the passenger seat of your own life, but you're seeing that this isn't who you are and it's not who you want to be. So there are small steps you're taking to create a new future where you're in the driver seat. The song does talk about going back to their old home, but I don't think that really applies. Like I think you hold this old you and this old life in the passenger seat close to your heart because it made you who you are today. It pushed you to where you wanted to grow, but you don't want to go back. There is another line that goes "And when I feel a little too far, I'll come back and restart," And I do think that maybe you'll think back from time to time about where you were, but it will only fuel the need to move forward? So it won’t really be a restart, but it will be enough to get you moving again if you’ve lost faith for a little bit. But, I don’t see that in these cards. I mostly see you working forward. These cards don’t have a lot of movement in them, so its not quick, rapid change, but its like slow and steady. Balanced and even. So for 2021, I see you working on the inside, but also making movement forward slowly. It doesn’t seem like an especially important year, at least not that the cards say so (it could be, this just seems like a small snapshot into it), but it does seem like it’s an important stepping stone. Songs that seem relevant: Thin - DBMK Switchblade - DBMK Not a Second to Waste - A Rocket to the Moon (this song is so old lol and probably dates back to when I saw that picture in that textbook I mentioned so!! CIRCLING BACK!!) Santiago Peak - Movements

#tarot #pick a pile #pick a card

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