#and instead of learning from this he then changed it in his book to be a “Cherokee legend” which it also isn't

[andhumanslovedstories]

There's so many horrible things happening in America right now that it has been interesting to see what individual horrors hurt me personally the most. I grew up going to the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts. Musicals, plays, concerts, that weird bust of JFK, playing around on terrace during intermissions, putting on a velvet dress that you're going to ruin dropping a milk dud in your lap and not noticing until it's fully melted, wearing the pinchy shiny shoes that are the training bras of women's formal footwear, operas I didn't like but did love, jazz I didn't understand but still fascinated me, red carpet, big stairs, the absolute nightmare amount of experiences I had as a new driver as I repeatedly got trapped in the Kennedy Center's fucking private DC island or whatever the hell is going on traffic-wise, free performances on small side stages, getting to see an enormous production on the Center's most enormous stage, all of which was accessed by walking through that a long, tall hallway lined with flags of the world that made you feel like a dignitary attending the most important even in the world.

And now Trump's taken it over. He fired its board. He appointed one of his loyalists to run it. I want to throw up.

Sometimes I miss DC so much. I love the Pacific Northwest and expect I'll live here for the rest of my life, but this isn't my hometown. I grew up the edge of the District. I've lost cumulative years of my life stuck in traffic on the inner loop and outer loop. Because of the Smithsonian, it used to be so baffling to me that anyone ever had to pay to get into a museum. I've used the Washington DC zoo as a shortcut to a different part of the city because it's free to enter. You couldn't count the amount of knockoff Spider-man popsicles that I've eaten sitting on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. My reading tastes were molded by Kramer Books in Dupont Circle. I spent afternoons walking around the National Mall, normally just a big empty field until there's an event--book fair, country music program, international cuisine, whatever--at which point for a day or a weekend or a week it becomes a sea of tents and stages. I went to protests outside the Capital and the White House about the war in Iraq. I froze my toes off watching Obama's 2008 presidential inauguration.

It seemed like everyone's family touched the federal government in some way. Everyone's family had moved here because they were military or state department or a political consultant or worked with an NGO or some other reason that meant you had to be here, in the nation's capital. Plenty of people had connections to the federal government that we more hush-hush. Like kids in class straight up going, "I have no idea what my parents do for a living. They're not allowed to tell me." High schoolers regularly, accidentally drove into the CIA parking lot and got escorted out because the premises were that accessible. My family moved here because my dad is a reporter who ended up covering international trade. (Imagine how much his job sucks right now.) He switched beats one summer to cover the White House instead. He got to fly on Air Force One. He got official Air Force One M&Ms. I was SO disappointment my dad didn't work there for Bush to call on him by nickname.

Every day my family got The Washington Post. I read the comics and the kid's page, then the rest of the Style section, then Metro, then news. I learned to read from it. We wrapped our delicate Christmas ornaments with its pages. We used yesterday's papers to clean our windows because they didn't leave streaks. I took journalism in high school. You can't IMAGINE how much and how frequently we talked about Watergate. When Post changed its motto to "Democracy Dies in Darkness" after Trump's election in 2016 that meant something to me. I knew Bezos owned the paper now, but that was still my paper, and the motto spoke to something I fervently believed: if people just knew what was happening, they wouldn't allow it to happen. If you expose a problem, people will naturally agree that it is a problem and that we should do something to fix it. Flash forward to Trump's third fucking campaign, and the newspaper wouldn't endorse a presidential candidate. Chickenshit cowardice. Then they change the motto. "Riveting Storytelling for All of America." Eat shit. You're nothing now.

Politics in America is just telling everyone how much you hate Washington, DC so that they'll elect you so you can move to DC. Well, guys, the city fucking hates you too. Republicans will never give the District actually meaningful political representation because no one in that city would vote for them. It's not just the policies; it's the contempt. No one in the new administration loves the city they schemed and lied and stooped to take over. It's just iconography to them, and all they care about is taking that iconography for themselves. Trump doesn't give a shit about the summer program for the Kennedy Center. He has never seen a show at the Kennedy Center. When he was president, he never attended the annual awards. He's trying to destroy one of the most significant places of my life and I'm genuinely unsure if he has ever stepped for inside of it.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Take Care of Her

Part 5 of the Uncaged series

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous (x2)

Synopsis: Sam learning to be a big brother—inside and out of the cage

Warnings: torture, mentions of torture, I tried to include some of the actual show plot in here

“You will never be safe.”

Sam pretended he couldn’t hear the voice—it was all he could do to keep it together. He knew Dean needed him, and more than that Dean needed something to go right. If that something needed to be Sam’s mind, then Sam would fake that he was ok and hope that it just happened.

You fell asleep about halfway through the movie, and Sam could feel Dean’s eyes on him after Bobby got up to go read through more lore books. Dean had been eyeing him ever since they tried to bind Death, and Death had revealed that Sam was having hallucinations.

“Hallucinations?” Dean only spoke when he was sure you were asleep. “Really? I gotta find out from Death?”

“I…” Sam sighed. “I didn’t want to put more on your plate. I’ve got a handle on it, really.”

“On what?” Dean snapped, freezing when you stirred.

“I know what’s real and what’s not,” Sam assured him in a softer tone.

“And what about her?” Dean nodded his chin at you. “She getting these visions?”

“I don’t think so.” Sam swallowed. “At least, she hasn’t said anything to me. She’s having nightmares, but I think that’s it. I think that’s part of why I know the hallucinations have to be fake—because if it was real, she would see it too.”

“Ok.” Dean sighed, getting to his feet. “I’m gonna go help Bobby. I need you to tell me if things get worse, ok?”

“I understand.”

Once Dean was gone, Sam watched as your face started to twitch, your body squirming around in a fitful sleep.

“She’s thinking about me.” Lucifer’s voice had Sam flinching, his head whipping around to see Lucifer perched on the edge of the couch. “Thinking about that first day in the cage. Do you still remember that day, Sammy? Remember our first day as roomies?”

Sam closed his eyes tightly, hoping to will away the sight of Lucifer, but instead he got bombarded with the memories of the day his life changed forever.

You were still holding onto Sam when the two of you landed in the cage.

Sam had physically felt his soul split as he fell—an excruciating experience that ended with Lucifer’s soul now separate from Sam’s body by the time they hit the floor. He still wasn’t sure how that worked, but somehow Lucifer’s soul—essence?—showed itself in the way that Sam’s human mind comprehended Lucifer; as Nick. There was no way Nick was in the cage, and Sam knew right away that it was only Lucifer.

He didn’t know why Michael didn’t split from Adam—maybe they were more in sync than Sam was with Lucifer, more in tune to the same purpose—but to Sam, it didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered except you right now. Sam had resigned himself to the fact that he would spend eternity in the cage with Lucifer, and though he hadn’t expected Adam to be forced to join him, that wasn’t nearly as awful as this. His baby sister, latching onto him at the last minute in a desperate attempt to save him, only to end up in damnation with him.

Sam found himself holding onto you tightly while Michael dropped to his knees in utter defeat, and Lucifer shrieked in anger and despair. The human-sounding shriek quickly turned into something unearthly, a high-pitched ringing that got louder and louder. Sam slammed his hands over his ears, watching you do the same. He held his hands tightly over his ears for a long moment, until he noticed that blood was starting to drip down the sides of your face the louder the ringing got.

Sam didn’t hesitate—Dean wasn’t here to look out for you anymore. Despite the pain, Sam moved his hands from his ears to you, grabbing hold of you and tucking you against him, wrapping you into an embrace and using his own hands to cover your ears.

Finally, the ringing stopped, though it was hard for Sam to tell at first since it echoed in his head for several minutes.

Sam made a decision, in those seemingly-endless moments of pure agony as he protected you from the brunt of the pain.

Sam never saw himself as much of a big brother before—sure, he knew he was older than you, but he’d deferred to Dean when it came to taking care of you. Dean had been the one to give you the monster talk, Dean was the one with the mission to protect his little siblings, Dean was the one who took over the father role when Dad died.

But you didn’t have Dean, and you needed someone. So Sam was going to step up.

He’d had moments like this before…

Like when he was 14, and John and Dean had been out on a hunt when someone knocked on the motel door.

Sam, whose instincts had already been carefully honed, snatched up his gun and checked the peephole. Seeing nothing, he eased the door open—but it wouldn’t open more than a foot.

Still wary, Sam’s eyes flickered down and widened when they landed on a basket with a moving bundle in it. His eyes snapped back up, and he glanced furiously around for someone to take the bundle back—because with only a glance, Sam knew exactly what it was.

But no one was there.

When the bundle started to cry, Sam finally made a decision. He eased himself out the door, lifting the basket into his arms and carrying it out of the cold and into the safety of the motel room.

“It’s gonna be ok,” he whispered. He eased the pink bundle out of the basket and started to rock her. “Dad and Dean are gonna be back, and their gonna take care of you. I’m—“ Sam caught sight of a note peaking out of the basket, and he scanned it quickly. “I’m your big brother, I guess. My name’s Sam.”

Or like when he was 18, and you found his stash of college fliers. You were only 4, and Sam probably could’ve gotten away with lying to you…

But he felt like he had to tell someone.

“I’m gonna be going away pretty soon,” he told you in a whisper—Dad and Dean were out on a hunt, but he still couldn’t bring himself to speak louder, just in case.

“You can’t go away,” you argued, tears already forming in your eyes. “Whose gonna play with me when Daddy and Dean go to work?”

“C’mere…” Sam scooped you into his arms, happy when you wrapped your arms around him; that meant you weren’t mad. “I’ll bet Dean will spend some more time with you. Dad too, maybe. They’ll make sure you’re ok, I promise.”

“But I want you!” The tears were flowing now, and your words were interspersed with sobs. “Don’t go away Sammy!”

“I have to,” Sam said. “I’m gonna go to college. It’s like—like school for grown ups. They’re gonna teach me how to be a lawyer.”

“But—“ you sniffled. “But I thought you worked with Daddy and Dean.”

“I do.” Sam swallowed. “But—“ he hadn’t admitted this since he was thirteen, and his teacher asked him. “But I don’t want to do what they do. It doesn’t make me happy.”

“I want you to be happy,” you insisted.

“Thanks, kid.” Sam smiled—just a little. “But…but for me to be happy, I’ve gotta get out of here.” You didn’t say anything, so Sam kept going. “But Dad and Dean can’t know yet, ok? I haven’t told them.”

“Why not?” You rubbed at your eyes, your breaths still shaky.

“They wouldn’t understand. Not like you do. So do you promise not to tell?”

You held out your tiny hand to Sam, pinky extended. “Pinky swear.”

Or like when you didn’t keep your promise.

John was screaming at Sam, waving a fistful of brochures and Sam’s Stanford acceptance letter. Sam wasn’t about to take the fight laying down—he never did. He was toe to toe with his father, screaming right back. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered that Dean was sitting on his bed, looking dazed, and you were nowhere to be found.

When Sam couldn’t take it anymore, he threw his few belongings into a bag—John stormed up to him and tossed the papers into the bag, yelling “Fine, go!”—and headed for the door.

“If you go out that door, don’t you ever come back!” John yelled.

Sam froze in his tracks, his hand halfway extended. He took a single glance back—his eyes met Dean’s, and all Sam saw was his big brother’s pleading expression. He looked away, wanting to say goodbye to you, but you weren’t there. So he grabbed onto the handle, stepping out into the night and slamming the door behind him.

“Sammy!”

Sam was halfway into the cab when you came running out of the motel room—you must’ve been hiding.

“Hey…” Sam pulled you in for a hug. “You gotta go back inside.”

“I’m sorry,” you cried. “I’m sorry I told Dean, I didn’t mean to tell him! I’m so sorry, please don’t go!” It was hard to make out your words between the sobs, but Sam understood enough.

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” he soothed, though he didn’t know if that was true. “That’s not why I’m leaving, but I have to go. Go back inside.”

“I don’t want you to go,” you sobbed.

“I—“ Sam faltered. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“I’m gonna miss you.”

Sam kissed your head. “I’m gonna miss you too. Now go on, go, it’s ok.” Sam waited until you were safely back in the motel room before he climbed into the cab.

He didn’t look back.

He’d had big brother moments…

…but none of those moments had ever had such finality and meaning.

It was a good decision—it kept him grounded for some of his time in hell, and gave him purpose. Even if it caused a lot of pain.

“You do remember that day!” Lucifer’s voice dragged Sam out of his memories. “You remember how you begged me to stop? And I told you all you had to do was step out of the way and watch while I had some fun with your baby sister. But you just wouldn’t do it Sammy.” Lucifer clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “You just had to be so darn protective. Not that it ever did her any good. I got plenty of torture in without your help, isn’t that right little N/N?” Lucifer’s hand ghosted over the side of your face, and Sam flinched.

“Don’t touch her,” he spat through gritted teeth. Your face twisted, as if you could feel the devil’s presence, but your eyes stayed closed. “Stop giving her nightmares.”

“Nightmares?” Lucifer grinned. “Oh, no Sammy, she’s with me. You’re the one in a dream right now—yeah, all this? Your perfect little life?” Lucifer gestured around them. “It’s a dream—it isn’t real. And what you’re seeing now is your baby sister sleeping, but what I’m seeing—“

The room around Sam snapped away for a split second before returning, then disappearing again. In its place, he saw the room of his waking nightmares.

He saw the cage.

And he saw you, in a position that was all-too familiar. Hooks sticking through your arms were holding you to the bars on the walls of the cage. Lucifer was standing near your hanging form, a curved blade in his hand as he cut into you again and again and again and again and—

“No!”

Bobby’s house returned in the blink of an eye, and you sat up with a gasp of terror, awoken by Sam’s outburst.

“I told you.” Lucifer grinned at Sam. “You never got out. Either of you. And you never will.”

…

He was here. You could see him. The dream was over, but Lucifer was still here.

Looking at him—sitting there on Bobby’s couch—was too much. You turned away, seeking solace in Sam’s arms—he’d stayed with you when you fell asleep on the couch.

“Bad dreams?” There was a quaver in Sam’s voice as he asked, and you wondered if he’d fallen asleep and had nightmares too.

“Yeah.” Your voice was muffled against Sam’s shirt, and you hoped he wouldn’t notice the nervous tone in your voice. You had promised never to lie to Sam, but you couldn’t tell him about seeing Lucifer—you just couldn’t. You didn’t want to scare him as much as you were already scared. You didn’t want him to start thinking what you were already afraid of; that you’d really never left the cage.

It wasn’t a lie, anyway—you really did have a nightmare. You were dreaming about that first day in the cage, and watching Sam get tortured for protecting you.

Until Lucifer got bored with that and tortured you anyway, when Sam was too bloodied up and weak to stop it.

“You’re not gonna talk about me?” Lucifer’s voice sent a shiver through you, and you burrowed further against your big brother. “You’re just gonna pretend I’m not here?”

“Sam?” You choked out. “Do…do you ever wonder if we’re still in the cage?” You held your breath, desperate for Sam to take away your fear. You knew you wouldn’t stop being scared no matter what he said, though.

“Ladies and gentlemen, give the girl a prize!” Lucifer taunted. “I think she’s got it! Of course you’re still in the cage!”

“We’re not—“ Sam’s voice caught, and he hesitated. “I…I don’t know. I really don’t.”

“Sometimes I don’t know if I’m dreaming or awake.” You whispered the words, as if afraid to shatter the tense air.

“It’s too good.” Both of you knew Sam was trying to convince himself as much as you. “He would never let us feel this happy. Right?”

“That’s what makes it fun!” Lucifer insisted. You turned your head into Sam’s chest, trying to pretend the devil wasn’t there.

You had no idea that Sam could see him too.

“I got your message.“ Cas’s voice startled you, and you pulled away from Sam to look for the source; he was standing in the doorway, and Lucifer was gone. Cas was covered in sores and blood, and he was staring right at Sam. “I need your help.”

…

It turned out that Sam had prayed to Cas, pleading with him to see reason and get rid of the souls that were consuming him from the inside out. Once Cas started to fall apart, he decided to listen to your brother.

Seeing Sam—not only ok, but solving the world’s problems—made you feel even more crazy, and ashamed that you couldn’t seem to keep it together.

“We’re ready.”

The five of you were back in the warehouse where it all began, waiting for an eclipse to open purgatory.

“We need the blood,” Dean said. “Sam, it’s on a shelf in the back hallway. Take Y/N.”

You trailed behind Sam—you were so happy they didn’t leave you behind, you didn’t care what they gave you to do.

“I think that’s it—“ you we’re just pointing to a long shelf that had a jar of blood sitting on the center of it, when a figure appeared in the hallway.

“Hey Sam.” Lucifer’s voice sent a shiver down your spine, but what surprised you wasn’t his presence; it was who he chose to speak to. Sam didn’t see him…right?

Your gaze switched to your brother, but he wasn’t looking at you. He was looking right at the devil.

“Sam?” You tried to get your brother’s attention, but he wouldn’t look away from Lucifer.

“I thought I told you to shut up.” Lucifer’s eyes were suddenly on you. That caught Sam’s attention, and now he was staring at you.

“You can see him?” Sam’s voice was barely above a whisper, as if he was afraid of his own words.

“I—I’ve—I’m—“ you were still trying to process that it wasn’t just you—that maybe you weren’t crazy. That maybe you were still in the cage after all. “I’ve been seeing him since this morning,” you admitted. “And hearing him longer. I didn’t want you to worry, I—I didn’t want it to be real.”

“Aww,” Lucifer cooed. “Both of you going mad, and neither one telling the other.”

“Shut up!” Sam snapped.

“Except—“ Lucifer continued as if Sam hadn’t spoken “—You’re both just finally realizing the truth. I never would’ve let you go, especially not both of you. You think I woulda lost both my toys like that? I mean, the fact that you believed it this long is just embarrassing.”

“Sam?” You stared up at your big brother, wanting more than anything for him to have the answer to the question you didn’t dare ask. Instead of an answer, you were rewarded with Lucifer’s hand around your neck as he shoved you around the corner of the hallway and up against the wall.

“I don’t like being ignored,” he growled.

“Stop!” Sam rushed at Lucifer, but a backhand from Lucifer’s free hand sent Sam flying back against the shelves.

“Now doesn’t this feel real?” Lucifer’s hand tightened against your throat, and your gasp for air was cut short.

“It’s…it’s not real.” Sam got to unsteady feet. “It’s just—it’s just our memories of hell leaking through. Y/N, it’s not real.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Lucifer scoffed, dropping you and turning to Sam. “But you’re about to see just how real I am.”

…

By the time the devil was done with you, you weren’t sure how much hope was left inside. But when Dean rounded the corner calling your name, you still ran to him. You still wrapped your arms around him. You still clung to him like a lifeline.

Because even if he wasn’t real, hugging him was still the best thing you’d felt for as long as you could remember.

“Hey.” Dean’s voice was gruff and on the edge of panic. “We gotta move, let’s go.”

You didn’t speak as Dean and Bobby led you and Sam outside. You lingered behind Dean, letting Sam catch up to you. As you took hold of his hand, you realized that the bloody marks and bruises Lucifer had left on the two of you were now gone.

You weren’t sure if that helped or not—Lucifer had healed your injuries countless times before, because he always thought it was more fun to give you a moment of pain relief before starting in again on the torture. As soon as your hand was in his, Sam met your eye and squeezed your hand. You squeezed his back twice, and the ghost of a smile lifted his lips.

The two of you had no idea if you were safe in the real world with Dean and Bobby, or if you were locked in eternal torture with the devil and his crazy brother.

But for now, you could hold onto each other, and it was almost enough.

…

“Sam.

“Sam.

“Sam.”

Sam jerked awake with a gasp to find Dean leaning over him. You stirred in the chair next to him, blinking your eyes open slowly—not in a tired way, though; it was more like you didn’t want to know what you would see once your eyes were open.

“Twelve hours, I’m calling that rested,” Dean went on, ignoring the terrified glance Sam shared with you. “Here.” He tossed a water bottle to you, then Sam, then followed it with a granola bar. “Hydrate, and—uh—proteinate.”

Dean then grabbed hold of Sam’s hand and peeled the bandage off—you weren’t sure when Sam’s hand got hurt, or why it was the only injury that he kept when the two of you walked away from Lucifer. But you didn’t question it—you had too many questions already.

“Aww.” You flinched when Lucifer appeared on the couch next to Sam. “He wants to hold your wittle hand.”

You watched as Sam forced his eyes on Dean, ignoring the devil completely.

“You’ll live,” Dean decided, moving aside to let Bobby rebandage Sam’s hand. “Now, I need you two to tell me what happened back there. You disappeared, and you looked pretty freaked when we found you.”

Sam couldn’t meet Dean’s eye as he spoke up for the two of you.

“It’s not just me,” Sam admitted. “She…she sees him too.”

Dean steeled his features quickly and took a deep breath.

“Him?” He asked.

Sam nodded, swallowing hard.

“It’s not just flashbacks anymore,” Sam said. “It’s—I’m having a hard time telling what’s real and what’s not. And I can see…him.”

“And you see him too?” Dean was looking at you. “You can see Lucifer?”

You nodded mutely, keeping your eyes trained on the carpet.

“So…so you guys are seeing the same thing? Every time?” Dean looked from Sam to you.

“I…” Sam tried to look at you, but you didn’t look up. “I think so.”

“Hey, any time you wanna chime in here kid,” Dean snapped.

You flinched, glancing at Dean before your gaze turned to Sam.

“Easy,” Sam told Dean. “She…it’s a lot.” Sam met your gaze head-on, and the two of you shared a near-psychic moment.

Lucifer was watching. Lucifer—whether he was real or not—could make you feel pain. Even if it didn’t leave a mark, you could still feel it.

“It’s not her fault,” Lucifer taunted. “She’s just being a good, silent little toy, just like I taught her. Right kid?”

Your gaze had returned to the floor, and Sam watched as your breathing became faster and you curled in on yourself.

“So he’s telling you that you’re still in the cage? That all this is fake?” Dean asked.

Sam nodded for the both of you.

Dean was quiet for a moment, and Sam knew he was trying to come up with some way to convince you and him that Lucifer was wrong.

“Ok,” Dean said. “Why would he give you this? Why would he make you think you’re happy when he can just kick you two all over the cage?”

“You can’t torture someone who has nothing left for you to take away.” Lucifer piped in, nodding at Sam. Sam swallowed hard, and repeated the words to Dean. “Very good Sam,” Lucifer crowed, and Sam looked away quickly.

“What about each other?” Dean pointed from you to Sam. “I mean, that seems like something he could take away.”

“It felt like we were there for a hundred years, Dean,” Sam admitted. “I…I guess we got pretty used to seeing each other tortured, and Lucifer got bored with it.”

He was right; it had been Lucifer’s favorite game to torture the two of you with each other.

Ever since the beginning, he always knew it was the most effective tactic…

“How about this?” Lucifer was wiping blood off his hands as he spoke. “My arms are starting to get a little tired. So how about—Sam, you torture your little baby sister, huh? Is that a genius idea or what?”

Sam was choking on his own blood, but he still managed a couple of words—

“Screw you.”

“Well that’s not very nice,” Lucifer scoffed. “You haven’t even heard my deal yet—you torture the kid, or I’ll rip her to shreds. Now, obviously, none of us can die down here, but I promise you; my methods of torture will be much worse than anything you could think of in your wildest nightmares.”

Sam turned to look at you—he didn’t want to make this decision.

As soon as you saw Sam looking at you, you shook your head immediately. Sam understood—he wouldn’t want to make you do that, either.

“I see you’re having trouble deciding,” Lucifer cut in. “I’ll let you two have a little chat about it, before the fun starts. But you’d better hurry up before my offer expires, and I tear you both apart piece by piece.”

Sam rushed to you, never one to waste an opportunity to talk to you.

“No, don’t,” you whimpered. “Sam, don’t. I’d rather let him rip my bones out then it be you, please. Please Sam.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Sam insisted.

“It-it’s not just that,” you told him. “I…I don’t want to look at you and think about—“

“Ok…ok.” Sam breathed a sigh of relief—the last thing he wanted to do was torture you, but if it would save you from more pain he would do it, if that was what you wanted. But you didn’t want that; you wanted—needed—Sam to be a safe person in your mind. Sam needed the same.

As long as the two of you could look at each other and see something safe, maybe you would be able to hold on to your sanity.

“But this is way more fun, right little toy?” Lucifer was tugging at your arm, trying to get you to look at him. Your breathing got even more panicked, and Sam couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene.

“Hey, are you seeing him now?” Dean demanded.

Sam nodded mutely.

“You know he isn’t real, right?” Dean said.

Sam finally turned to look at his brother. “He says the same thing about you,” he said.

Dean’s mouth closed suddenly, and he blinked in surprise. He didn’t have anything to say to that.

“Ok.” Bobby spoke up for the first time. “It’s back to the books.”

Sam watched Bobby and Dean walk out, and when he looked back at you, Lucifer was gone. He didn’t waste the opportunity—Sam rushed to you, pulling you into his arms and holding you until your breathing evened out again.

“We’re gonna be ok,” he whispered.

You looked around, making sure Lucifer wasn’t in the room before choking out a few whispered words.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Me, Sammy?” Your lip was quivering and your eyes were scanning his face, searching for an answer he wasn’t sure he had.

“I wasn’t trying to lie to you,” Sam promised. “I just…I didn’t think it was real. I didn’t want you to think we were back there, because I didn’t want to think we were back there.” Sam brushed your hair behind your ears. “What about you? You kept this from me, too.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you mumbled. “It was only dreams at first. Then I—I couldn’t tell if I was asleep or awake sometimes. Then you seemed to be handling things so well, so I—I just thought it would go away.” You sought out Sam’s hand with your own. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it. I thought we knew each other inside and out by now.”

“I guess we were both going through so much, it was hard to see straight,” Sam said.

“Don’t do that again,” you pleaded. “We should…we should tell each other stuff like this. We went through—“ you swallowed. “Through—through everything together already. We shouldn’t have to hide anything.”

Sam smiled, and instead of responding with words, he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. You smiled back, responding with two squeezes of your own.

“Well I think this is a swell idea!” You and Sam flinched at the same time when Lucifer reappeared. “Now, where were we? Oh yeah—eternal torment.”

Taglist:

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

Uncaged Taglist:

@redbird-tf @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @o-birdseed-o @hopefuldreamers-world

[wovenst4rs]

Diary

Xia Yi Zhou/Caleb × reader

Wordcount: 1k

Caleb had never hidden much from you. Whatever you wanted to know, he would happily share with you, no matter how secretive he was supposed to be about it. All it always took was you looking up at him with that pleading expression that always made his blood rush and the words would come out of his mouth before he even remembered to keep it shut. Most of the time, you didn’t even need to ask; Caleb simply chose to just tell you by himself. Finding that getting to think of his words and calming down his racing heart before telling you on his own terms was easier than making a mess of himself in front of you. 

Which is probably why the first time you walked in his room -well  his new room since you stole his- and noticed him slamming a small notebook in his jacket’s pocket, smiling as he stood up from his chair desk, you couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. It didn’t help that when you asked him what was in that book? He simply shrugged the question off. Opting to cage you next to the door with his arms instead.

-”It’s just some personal project,” Caleb had explained, gently guiding you out of his room with a hand on the small on your back.

You pursed your lips; his answer leaving an uncomfortable taste in your mouth, even as he walked you down to the kitchen. Technically, you had no reason to believe he was lying. After all, he was still your Caleb. He may have changed slightly, but he wouldn’t lie to you. Not your honest Caleb…

It took you less than thirty minutes to decide to sneak into his room that night. You reasoned that if he could fake his death and make you grieve him for a year, then he technically asked for you to snoop into his thing. If he didn’t want you to, then he should’ve locked his door at night like every reasonable person- or not fake his death- but that was just unreasonable thinking it seemed.

So as you pushed the door of his room open, the knob cold against your hand, you left behind any lingering hesitation; the curiosity pulling you closer into the empty room. You let out a shaky breath, thankful that Caleb fell asleep on the couch as soon as the movie you convinced him to watch started. 

Things may have changed, but even after years, you two still couldn’t do movie night without him passing out halfway through the movie. You would often tease him about it as teens. Especially the way he would cling to you in his sleep; his body looking for yours even when unconscious. 

You let out a satisfied hum as you turned on the lights; the jacket he wore earlier sitting on the back of his chair, inviting you in. Taking a few quiet steps, you reached for the pockets of the jacket and bit your cheeks as you felt the leathery outside of the notebook under your fingers. The corners of the pages, yellowed from time, were practically asking you to open them and read through every line tattooed on them by Caleb’s favorite pen.

You leaned back against his bed, the wood cracking softly under your weight as you opened the book. The first page was mostly empty, only a few lines written at the top.

September 3rd 2040

-”Y/N hasn’t stopped coughing since this morning. Am worried about her. Gran keeps repeating that it’s normal and that antibiotics should start helping soon but don’t know what to think anymore. I bought her her favorite snacks and she immediately threw them up. I’ll update later.”

You paused as your eyes lingered on the date, realization flooding in. This was Caleb’s diary. You froze, questioning if you should even be reading this. It was Caleb’s diary, you couldn’t just read his most inner thoughts without him knowing.

But… The temptation to read about the last year was strong. Unbelievably so. To learn about what happened while you were missing from his life. Anything to explain his sudden demeanor change.

So you turned the pages. Skipping a chunk of them until you neared the end. Your stomach deeping as your eyes ran over the words you longed to discover. Page after page, warmth coiled around your spine. Your name appearing once, twice, then thrice, blood rushing down your body. 

That big sentimental idiot hadn’t let a single page remain empty without your name staining the page. It was almost sweet.

Almost,

because the rest of his words were anything but sweet. The thoughts he had always tried to hide about you laid bare on the paper. Each sheet describing a new way he wanted you undone in front of him. How he had fought his feelings for years, fearing you only saw him as a brother figure. How he had tried convincing himself that it was enough. That as long as you were near him and safe, that he could smother the flames spreading through his heart at the thought of you with anyone else.

But he couldn’t. And God knows he tried. But you had never made it easy for him. You always seemed to know which button to push to get his body to overheat. Your smiles made him ache for more. Your tears left his mind blank, except for the thought of kissing them off your cheek. The world forgotten as he swallowed your pain.

He wanted you so much that sometimes he wished he could resent you for it. Resent you for the way his body reacted every time your shirt rid up ever so slightly as you reached for a book in his bookshelf. His body and mind fighting each other at every echo of her voice; wanting nothing more than to hear you cry and choke his name.

Guilt had become an afterthought for him, even as he faked his sleep simply to have an excuse to pull you closer to his body during movie nights; your smell sticking to his clothes in a way that made his head spin. 

Your eyes widened as you read the last page again. If he faked being asleep then-

You gasp as you hear a sound at the door, wiping your head back to see Caleb silently observing you. His eyes bore into yours; the small sigh escaping his lips made you shiver unconsciously.

-”Took you long enough”.

This was supposed to be a drabble but this ended up being longer than expected 🫠

Tbh idk if I should continue this. Writer block has really been hitting hard but Thank God after months I think am finally getting motivation 🙌

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.✦ . ★⋆. ࿐✦. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

*English is not my first language so this work may contain a few mistakes*

[pompom-prince]

finally drew the oc from this post, Niko Parras, Aka Kaarne! He was born blind, so i gave him glass eyes that change to match his sentinel stone when he transforms. in his civilian design theyre just white, he thinks it looks cool. I made him look a bit more monstrous than Nightingale (the only other canon bird wielder we have) to make up for the fact that his outfit doesnt scream magical warrior to me. :(

Wildward belongs to @callimara , pose reference by albanenechi on instagram but i changed it a little bit for my purposes

Genius. Curious. Reactive.

He is the one that knows all. Who sees the unseen, and can read his enemies like a book. He is the wielder of the Raven Aegis; Kaarne.

A trickster. A scholar. A ghost. He does not fight with brute force, nor does he dominate the battlefield with sheer might. Instead, he dances along the edges of perception, slipping between moments like ink bleeding into water. His presence is unsettling, a lingering watchfulness that prickles at the edges of the mind—unshakeable, inescapable. He is the flicker of movement in the periphery, the phantom breath against the nape of your neck. And when he strikes, it is with eerie precision, as though he has seen every move before it was made.

His sightless eyes see more than most. Deprived of vision, Kaarne reads the world through means far beyond the mundane—keen ears that catch the subtlest quiver in a voice, hands that trace the contours of truth and deception alike. The way the wind shifts, the way the air hums, the way silence breathes. He listens. He learns. He understands.

His transformed form is both ethereal and unnerving, something born of a world adjacent to this one. The Raven Aegis, an unassuming earring when dormant, embeds itself into his ear upon activation, dark veins of energy threading from it like ink-stained cracks along porcelain. His hair, impossibly long and inky black, shimmers like raven feathers beneath the moon, shifting in iridescent hues of blue and violet when he moves. His coat, a flowing mass of shadows, twists and unfurls like living ink, trailing behind him as though he is never entirely tethered to this plane.

To face Kaarne is to fight inevitability itself. He does not overpower his enemies; he dismantles them. He preys upon uncertainty, weaving misinformation and manipulation into his arsenal as deftly as any blade. His voice is a whisper in the dark, a soft murmur behind your shoulder, a question that plants doubt in your mind before you even realize it. And then—when you falter, when hesitation stills your hand for a fraction too long—he strikes.

A blade that bends like liquid, shifting in form, curling and warping with the fluidity of thought. A weapon that can never be anticipated because it is never quite the same. His attacks come from nowhere and everywhere, unpredictable yet meticulously calculated. His fighting style is not one of brute strength, but of control—playing his enemies like a finely tuned instrument, plucking at their fears and flaws until they unravel.

Some say he is not truly human. That he is something else wearing human skin, something that knows too much, hears too much, moves too strangely. The people of Bougainville whisper his name in hushed, uneasy tones—a specter, an omen, a force that does not belong here. The hunter that does not stalk its prey, but lingers just outside its awareness, waiting, waiting, waiting. And when the moment is right—

The raven strikes.

[dullyn]

Arthurian Retelling Book Review II

Spear by Nicola Griffith

Here's a spoiler free review with my rating for anyone who wants to read it without having everything revealed. There will be a full review with spoilers further down on this post.

It was an enjoyable book that followed a very traditional bildungsroman style of plot. The author took interesting creative liberties like the gods being the Irish ones and Peretur (Percival) being some sort of demigod-like being (I'm not counting that as a spoiler as you learn this on page 4). There was also a cool take on the Holy Grail quest with it being more of a thing of the traditional cosmologies and Tuath Dé instead of a Christian one.

There's also other stuff that got changed with a new twist like Llanza (Lancelot) being from Spain instead of Brittany and also disabled, and the love affair between him Gwenhwyfar (Guinevere) being common knowledge and almost encouraged. (No clue why Llanza is from Spain though, I looked into it and the author basically said they were trying to make everything Celtic but like,, Bretons are Celtic? Like Breton, the language of Brittany, is one of the closest relatives of Welsh?)

Back to Peretur though, she serves as a cool figure as she is a very masc-looking girl whose sense of adventure and curiosity leads her away from her sheltered life and to Caer Leon (Camelot) where she eventually becomes a sort of knight. There is a romantic relationship between her and Nimuë but it seemed sudden and random for most of the book until about 3/4 through when it was like "awww they love each other." However, romance is not the focus of this book so it makes sense that the relationship is not wholly fleshed out as it is not overly relevant to the actual plot, which is Peretur's ascension to becoming a knight.

Peretur and Arturus (Arthur) clash because Arturus in this is very paranoid due to magical influence. This added an interesting element to the whole thing as he is a king who will eventually lose everything and he just cannot see it.

My biggest peeve is I did not like the way Cei was portrayed. He eventually got better and seemed to be more of a loud dumb jock figure (the author even notes he is similar to a rugby player they know). His ugliness at the beginning was necessary for the story's plot as it served a motivation for Peretur to do various acts of valor and gain her knighthood.

4/5 ⭐

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FULL REVIEW WITH SPOILERS BELOW

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Okay I was so flabbergasted for like half the book on why the gods were Irish. Like the Tuath Dé just vibing in Wales was so confusing, then on page 111 it finally explains it. Honestly it turned out super cool with the fact that Manandán was there because he was power hungry and wanted to keep the bowl and its magic for himself.

With Manandán and his assault of Elen came Peretur's birth. Which, did not like that part as like, gross, even though I know it is a common literary thing especially in Arthuriana. However, I do love Peretur’s inherent magical otherworldliness. Her demigod status and whatnot and the way that she feels the earth around her and talks to the animals is so so so well done. I also like the way she struggles with her identity and has to confront the fact she’s not entirely

I want Peretur's gender presentation. End tweet.

This was definitely a better romance with Nimuë than the last book i read with Nimuë as the love interest. Though it still felt like Peretur and Nimuë just fell into bed together without having a real connection, hook up culture in 500AD I guess. The whole "unclean" thing was also very striking and it dealt Peretur such a psychological blow, but when she like thought it out it seemed to change her character for the better but I don't know. I didn't really like them together as a couple until right before they leave on the Grail Quest. Though they eventually do develop a relationship that made me go: Yeah, Go For It.

Love that Llanza is called Arturus’ “special friend” and that his word is held above almost all others in the king's eyes. I also like the way they say that Llanza is still an incredible knight with his twisted leg, even if he must mainly do it on horseback. I like that, I like it when knights can have disabilities and still be revered and not just be like shoved to the side. (also horseboy Lancelot, the rarest of sightings considering he typically is an accidental killer of horses).

"We both love her, as we love each other. We will not set her aside" (p 141). LLANZA MY GOD.

I don’t like the way the author characterized Cei. Why did he have to be weird towards women? Why did he have to grab Angharad and try to forcibly kiss her? I know it’s so that Peretur can show her knightly virtue and then be forced to go on quests to try and redeem herself and make herself a stronger fighter, but still. He gets better as the story goes on but I really did not like that part at all. On another note, he does call Peretur “Pretty Per” and “petal cheeks” which is so random and silly.

Gwenhwyfar. (That’s it that’s the paragraph). Aughhh she hurts me inside, she’s so beautiful and sad and the way she’s portrayed makes me want to eat drywall while listening to Lord Huron. Like that’s my Shayla. Llanza mourning the fact that she is so proud but still finds her praying on her knees in the new chapel that's been built to try and have God bestow a baby upon her??? Nicola Griffith I'm in your walls.

Then there is the whole thing with Myrddyn. That wizard being Peretur's uncle was a choice, though well executed because it leads Arturus to trust Peretur enough to go get the bowl at the end. I also like that he's portrayed as having been a manipulative man who was also pretty sinister. Like creepy mentor Merlin is the exact way I envision him in my head when I write him. That along with his manipulations of Arturus and like the hold he had over him. Arturus never had a chance of being mentally stable between Myrddyn and Caledfwylch's magical influence. The sword making him go crazy is just such an iconic plotline.

"Her mother made no reply, as she would never make reply again" (p 147). This part had me going insane, the death of Elen and Peretur's care for her corpse was so AUGH. The wistful nature of it all really hit hard.

Peretur snapping at Llanza for insulting her childhood home (the cave) and defending her mother is so aughhhh oh my god. Literally this entire scene with Elen's death and Peretur taking care of her mother once again is just so so, raw. Like the emotion through her actions and the way it kind of acts as penance for leaving her mother behind in the first place. The way she apologizes for not being able to bury her with the cup (her lifelong prized treasure)? Immaculate.

Galath (Galahad) is not a big fixture in this obviously but when Peretur and Llanza are reminiscing about their homes after burying Elen and Llanza thinks, "His own son would despise him for his imperfections" (p 152). Yeah. That's Galahad through and through, that's personally how I view him too where he's judgy in the wholly righteous mannequin way that only a strict Catholic upbringing and faith can do.

The end is so bittersweet with Peretur and Nimue talking about how Caer Leon and everyone in it will fade away into stories and legends because Arturus has no heir and so his legacy dies with him.

But like, would someone else not just take the throne? Not the point though, overall I liked the book. It definitely felt a bit flat with the traditional bildungsroman, I think that if I knew nothing about Arthuriana I would not have been nearly as enthused. However, until the death of Elen and everything after that had me going insane it was so well done. Peretur, Nimue, and Llanza going to find the bowl and burying Elen really made the book gain like a whole new level of depth to it that I really liked.

I'm giving this book a 4/5 ⭐

[bbuzz28]

If you think about it, from early in life he’s used to looking out for two, which would only entice him to cultivate this skill. Ford keeps his head in his books, and Stan wants him to continue doing whatever makes him happy, so he HAS to be the one to notice/remember everything.

He has to notice when one of their neighborhood bullies walks into school a little funny which if it's the same thing as six months ago probably means that kid’s old man tuned him up so OBVIOUSLY the kid is going to look to take it out on them even more so than normal. So, instead of going home the normal way, Stan talks Ford into taking the long way by the Pier to avoid him.

He knows the cadence of his entire family's footsteps; his father that walks like he has cinder blocks in his pockets, his mother who purposely avoids the creaks in the old wooden hallway floor-he's the first to know when Shermie starts sneaking out the bathroom window and down the fire escape. When he hears his father creak his brother's bedroom door open a crack, standing still for a full minute before eventually walking over to lock the bathroom window in the middle of the night, Stan sneaks back out to unlock it-he can't let his big brother get in trouble if he can help it.

He knows that when his mother starts spending more and more time on her psychic hotline it means that Pa’s business isn’t doing as well as normal. He convinces Ford to stay out at the library later after school or spend the whole weekend from sunup until almost sundown out of the house. Stan's logic estimates that if they aren't around, they can avoid their father’s mood swings (this has a 50/50 success rate, but he just takes the blame for why they’re late/gone if their father notices.) He knows they can start to come home at their normal time again when he can see his mother's hotline sign turned off from down the block.

This skill goes into overdrive once he is kicked out; not necessarily because he wants it to, but it's engrained in him at this point-and more importantly it comes in handy.

He sees every entrance and exit within a minute of being enclosed anywhere- and if he can't find more than one, then he's not staying.

If he sees the same car twice, he will go the opposite direction of wherever he was headed just to make sure they aren't following him. This is how he avoided undercover cops on three separate occasions.

He's caught every single pick pocket that's tried to case him, pulling an uno reverse and walking away with their own loot more often than not.

Arguably he used to be a little naive in the beginning; purposely ignoring his initial observations of changes in body language or the tones in people’s voices changing-but he learns the hard way to listen to what he is seeing. Seeing is believing becomes his unofficial motto.

When he finally reconnects with Ford in Gravity Falls is when he doubts the reliability of this ability of his -because what is wrong with his brother? Is he strung out? Why do his eyes bounce around like a caged animal? Could someone be hurting him?

No, Ford is way too smart to let anything like that happen; unlike himself. No one in the world could outsmart his brother.

I like to think Stanley has photographic memory (is that what it's called?)

Like he's able to look at one thing and remember it to detail- if you ask him to describe someone he will give you full details that you wouldn't even consider because it's things he noticed..

He's especially food with faces which wouldn't be nice for a little kid- he'd remember each of his father's micro expressions and hold onto those. He'd remember vividly the way teachers looked at him and the things people said about him TO DETAIL. The day he listens in to the conversation of how he will be scraping off barnacles? The night he was kicked out?? He remembers EXACTLY how everything lookes and sounded..

Someone finds this out and Stanley becomes useful in the streets. He is asked what he saw in a certain place and he will describe it, he will remember and even draw a blueprint if you ask him- Some goons can ask him which way is safer and he'll just be like "well, if you went right here you'd be in the clear but up ahead it's more dangerous. Here, however, the guard looked shifty- big pupils and all. Definitely high- you'd be safer through there-" and so on.

I don't know :3 I just think it'd be fun if the guy with the best memory is the same guy that loses it (which would explain why he remembered right after too)

[bigboobshaunt]

Y'all can we stop using the "inside you there are two wolves" meme?

[brionysea]

this man is pissing me off

[romicat]

I mean it's pretty straightforward and a solid evil plot I think. The problem with it is that literally everything else in this book. . . it is a poorly executed narrative.

The fact that we only find out what their plan was in literally the same issue they stop is like, lol what?

Up until that point it's just like, mysterious bad guys meeting mysteriously and talking about how awesome their mysterious plot is.

And like, Empath didn't have a plan B? Or contingencies?

The writers talked about how they wanted to build Kamala and Laura's dynamic as a "superman and batman" type (they are noticeably the only two of the main cast wearing hero/villain outfits along with Julian at the start of the series.) And while I don't completely agree with that narrative direction there is something there.

Like, you could've just had those two in an initial buddy cape story as a running subplot/main plot. With Prodigy and Anole mostly staying in the sidelines for their own reasons initially.

I feel like it makes sense for both Kamala and Laura to recognize Julian almost immediately but still want to try and confirm it before making any assumptions.

Especially when they realize he's not just committing property damage and having superhero fights in the streets to make a point, but is at least complacent in murder so you introduce that doubt and emotional conflict from Laura earlier instead of literally issue where they'll probably resolve it (#8).

It feels like you could also just fold the Mojo plot in with the QC, because of that whole "huddled masses yearning to breath free" part. Have them also exploit the homeless mutant population by promising them security and community, a number of disfranchised mutants who they can radicalize, the foundation of their glorious "mutant revolution". Homeless people are already dehumanized and painted as dangerous and undesirable, so it would take next to nothing to get 24/7 fear mongering about the "growing dangerous unhoused population of mutants."

So they think this is Julian's plan, start a "Neo Brotherhood", except it doesn't all add up. They realize he's covering up/burying news of the politicians deaths. Weirder still, they were all pretty hard-line defenders of Mutant rights. They investigate further and learn their replacements are part of the push for the mutant ghettos. So what's his end game? Is there someone else behind the scenes?

During it Sophie tries to throw them off, tries to steer them in the wrong direction. "Maybe Julian just doesn't think there are any good humans anymore." Maybe even actively sabotage them once.

For pacing sake and to raise the stakes you could have Sophie/Cuckoos make Laura indisposed/take her out temporarily when they get too close. Leading to the start of the issue where Kamala tries to ask Prodigy for help since not only has she and Laura uncovered the entire plot (or think they have), but now Laura's gone missing too.

The events of issue 4 play out mostly the same (except maybe its issue 5 or 6 now, the mid point to the QC arc instead of the lead up to the finale.)

The main characters can still ruin their initial plot early when Sophie makes the turn, but you can then just have Empath turn out to have had contingencies and secondary plots in case any of the people he's working with (who are all former heroes. . . ) turn on him.

I think the most frustrating thing about NYX is that there's a good story in here. You wouldn't even have to change a lot, just execute those ideas better. It has some good bits in it but they don't always feel earned.

Like that scene in the preview would be so much better if you had more build up leading up to it. The angst. The betrayal. The confusing emotions. The anger. The denial.

Having the QC represent the problem with the mutant metaphor that a lot of writers run into would've been amazing for this series. Making the fictional discrimination be the only type of discrimination that matters and ignore the intersectionality of mutants who don't look like them. Making them basically the mutant version of terfs or white feminists. Mutant nationalists of a nation that doesn't exist anymore. Who like you said, are just done with humans all together. All humans. Good or bad. Black or white. Immigrants or citizens. Gay or straight. Muslim or Christian. All humans are the same to them. Those are human concepts and human religions. The only identity that matters is Mutant.

TL;DR: Unfortunately this book is just mostly unrealized potential with the occasional hype scene that makes different sections of the fandom go wild. . . Also I need to learn to make shorter posts.

….

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

Elf lover who researches immortality to make sure you, his human wife would never die. Unfortunately, he spends most of your lifetime with his nose buried in a book, and misses out on so much.

When he realizes you’ve become old and gray in the blink of an eye… he’s heart broken. You’re in pain, he couldn’t burden you with an eternity of this. If only he had spent more time with you, given you his all instead of researching something that might not even be real.

When you die, he’s inconsolable. You were everything to him. His love, his life, the very air he breathes, and without you he feels like he’s suffocating.

One day he learns about reincarnation, and that’s when he begins searching for you. You had always said the bond you shared would last forever, and god he hoped it was true.

When he found you, all he could feel was… impatient and upset. You were a newborn, unable to do anything but cry, feed, and sleep.

He let you be, making sure to come back when you were an adult. All he wanted was to be in your presence, to feel your warmth and soft touch again.

Part of him knew there was a chance some man would ask for your hand in marriage before he could return… but he held on to the words you said.

“I’ll always love you… not even death can change that.”

Although you didn’t remember your past life, you still felt a strange sensation in your chest when you met him for the first time. He had been watching you the past few years, scaring away potential suitors and making sure you were safe, but this was your first meeting with him.

He was gentle, kind, and attentive. When his hand brushed against yours, there was a spark that made your body feel like it was on fire.

It didn’t take long for marriage to come up after he started courting you. He wanted you back as soon as possible. Despite being an elf that would live forever, the two decades he spent apart from you felt like centuries. Time slowed down with your absence, and he couldn’t bear being apart from you any longer.

After marrying you, he finally felt at peace. Getting to see you underneath him, mewling in pleasure as he held onto your hips and fucked into you was nothing short of ecstasy. He hadn’t taken another woman the entire time he had been waiting for you, and it felt nice to feel the warmth of your cunt after being lonely for so long.

He spent most of his days holding you, his hands tracing your soft sides and belly, moving down your thighs and then between them.

Finally, he got a second chance, and this time he would cherish you with everything he had.

———————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads

[dostoyevsky-official]

The Elite College Students Who Can’t Read Books

Nicholas Dames has taught Literature Humanities, Columbia University’s required great-books course, since 1998. He loves the job, but it has changed. Over the past decade, students have become overwhelmed by the reading. College kids have never read everything they’re assigned, of course, but this feels different. Dames’s students now seem bewildered by the thought of finishing multiple books a semester. His colleagues have noticed the same problem. Many students no longer arrive at college—even at highly selective, elite colleges—prepared to read books.

This development puzzled Dames until one day during the fall 2022 semester, when a first-year student came to his office hours to share how challenging she had found the early assignments. Lit Hum often requires students to read a book, sometimes a very long and dense one, in just a week or two. But the student told Dames that, at her public high school, she had never been required to read an entire book. She had been assigned excerpts, poetry, and news articles, but not a single book cover to cover.

[...] Twenty years ago, Dames’s classes had no problem engaging in sophisticated discussions of Pride and Prejudice one week and Crime and Punishment the next. Now his students tell him up front that the reading load feels impossible. It’s not just the frenetic pace; they struggle to attend to small details while keeping track of the overall plot.

No comprehensive data exist on this trend, but the majority of the 33 professors I spoke with relayed similar experiences. Many had discussed the change at faculty meetings and in conversations with fellow instructors. [...] Daniel Shore, the chair of Georgetown’s English department, told me that his students have trouble staying focused on even a sonnet.

Failing to complete a 14-line poem without succumbing to distraction suggests one familiar explanation for the decline in reading aptitude: smartphones. Teenagers are constantly tempted by their devices, which inhibits their preparation for the rigors of college coursework—then they get to college, and the distractions keep flowing. “It’s changed expectations about what’s worthy of attention,” Daniel Willingham, a psychologist at UVA, told me. “Being bored has become unnatural.” Reading books, even for pleasure, can’t compete with TikTok, Instagram, YouTube. In 1976, about 40 percent of high-school seniors said they had read at least six books for fun in the previous year, compared with 11.5 percent who hadn’t read any. By 2022, those percentages had flipped.

[...] Mike Szkolka, a teacher and an administrator who has spent almost two decades in Boston and New York schools, told me that excerpts have replaced books across grade levels. “There’s no testing skill that can be related to … Can you sit down and read Tolstoy? ” he said. And if a skill is not easily measured, instructors and district leaders have little incentive to teach it. [...] The pandemic, which scrambled syllabi and moved coursework online, accelerated the shift away from teaching complete works.

[...] But it’s not clear that instructors can foster a love of reading by thinning out the syllabus. Some experts I spoke with attributed the decline of book reading to a shift in values rather than in skill sets. Students can still read books, they argue—they’re just choosing not to. Students today are far more concerned about their job prospects than they were in the past. Every year, they tell Howley that, despite enjoying what they learned in Lit Hum, they plan to instead get a degree in something more useful for their career.

[...] For years, Dames has asked his first-years about their favorite book. In the past, they cited books such as Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre. Now, he says, almost half of them cite young-adult books. Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson series seems to be a particular favorite.

[scarletskiesinthepaths]

Thank you for your contribution, Cosmic! As always, you bring up many excellent points!

Yes, exactly, to everything you said about how Eren only had memories of the future via the memories he himself chose to sent to Grisha. He never directly sees the future. It’s such a crucial distinction—especially since so many people chalk it up to “Eren always knew,” when in reality, he just had fragments of the future he was feeding Grisha. And those fragments were intentionally incomplete.

Right up until he meets Founder Ymir, Eren doesn’t have full access to the entire timeline; he’s basically using the Attack Titan’s memory-sharing through Grisha like a mail service he’s in charge of. Because Eren deliberately kept the information about being stopped at 80% out of Grisha’s line of sight, that missing piece never got passed to “Past Eren.” So there was no way for his younger self—who’s only seeing the memories from Grisha—to realize that the Rumbling wouldn’t reach total global annihilation.

This is huge because it reinforces that Eren fully intended to slaughter everyone outside the walls. He wasn’t playing 4D chess for Paradis’s sake, like some claim; he legit wanted to see the dreamlike, empty world he’d obsessed over since reading Armin’s book. That desire—Eren’s personal concept of “freedom”—is what he intended to achieve no matter the cost. The notion that it was all an elaborate attempt to “fail at 80% so Eldians could be on equal footing” doesn’t match up with how Eren controlled the memory feed Grisha received. If Eren had known earlier on that he’d never get the complete victory he envisioned, it would’ve changed his approach (or at least made him question it). But he only learns about the 80% cutoff after he’s locked himself into the path with Ymir.

When fans say, “He was just trying to help his friends,” we can look at how much hostility—and how many real dangers—he ended up leaving them with. If he’d genuinely been fixated on protecting them, his final actions wouldn’t have stoked the world’s paranoia and set the stage for more violence. Instead, Eren knowingly sacrifices everything and everyone for his personal vision of a desolate horizon—a direct echo of those book illustrations he grew up idealizing.

Your point about Eren’s friends being in more danger, not less, when the Rumbling halted is spot-on. It highlights just how single-minded Eren was. By that time, a large chunk of the world had been obliterated, and any survivors would (understandably) be furious with Eldians. He didn’t solve anything beyond momentarily satisfying that urge to experience “freedom” amid the rubble.

Really, like you said, it’s impossible to read the story, understand all the factors at play, and still think Eren was acting purely for “the greater good” or “for his friends”. If anything, all this information cements that his motivations were personal, rooted in his own twisted sense of freedom—and the final chapters confirm he’s willing to sacrifice everyone, including his own allies, for that fleeting dream.

One Timeline, One Fate: How Eren’s Will Shaped the 80% Rumbling in Attack on Titan

Okay, so I’ve seen tons of confusion surrounding the nature of “time travel” in Attack on Titan: Why couldn’t Eren just change the future once he saw it? Are there multiple timelines at play? And if so, did Eren ever really have a choice, or was he locked into carrying out the Rumbling? I decided to make a comprehensive post to help clear things up.

“Time travel” in Attack on Titan is actually more about memory transmission than literal hopping between timelines. Basically, I’ll be explaining the Attack Titan’s ability to see future inheritors’ memories, the Founding Titan’s role in uniting all Subjects of Ymir through the Paths, and how these powers combine to form what looks like a loop of inevitability. By the end, you’ll see why Eren couldn’t—or rather, wouldn’t—alter the course he’d foreseen, and why there’s really only one timeline holding it all together. In essence, Eren chose the future he saw, even if he couldn't alter it.

How does “time travel” work in Attack on Titan?

Attack on Titan does not portray multiple realities or divergent timelines. Rather, the story unfolds along a single timeline, wherein past, present, and future events can influence one another through Titan memories. 

In Attack on Titan, “time travel” is really a byproduct of two intertwined abilities:

The Founding Titan’s power (Ymir Fritz’s power):

Connects all Subjects of Ymir through the Paths.

Can alter memories, bodies, and even pass mental images across time if the Founder is involved.

The Attack Titan’s power:

Possesses the ability to view the memories of its future inheritors (not just past ones).

This means the Attack Titan can see glimpses of events that haven’t happened yet—at least to the Titan’s current holder.

When Eren acquires both the Attack Titan and gains partial (and later full) access to the Founding Titan’s abilities (through contact with royal blood, notably via Zeke, and earlier interactions with Historia and Dina), these powers merge, enabling memories to move both forward and backward along a single, unbroken timeline.

How Memories “Move” Through Time

Because of these powers:

Eren can send memories from his future self to past inheritors of the Attack Titan.

These transmissions are selective; Eren chooses which memories to send and to whom.

The Founding Titan’s power effectively creates a network (the Paths) that spans all time. It’s not traditional time-travel ; it’s more akin to a single timeline threaded through everyone connected by Ymir’s bloodline.

It is important to note: The future that is transmitted back is the future that will occur; there are no alternate versions of reality. Once Eren perceives a future or sends a memory of it, the timeline has effectively “locked in” that eventuality.

Key Evidence from the Manga:

The Attack Titan’s Power (Chapter 89)

Eren Kruger demonstrates knowledge of Mikasa and Armin long before they are born, a clear example of glimpsing future inheritors’ memories.

Founding Titan & the Paths (Chapters 120–122)

These chapters illustrate how the Founding Titan’s influence spans all Subjects of Ymir within the Coordinate, enabling far-reaching manipulations of time, memory, and physical forms.

Influencing the Past (Chapter 121)

Eren effectively spurs Grisha Yeager to carry out the attack on the Reiss family. This provides a direct example of Eren influencing the past. Grisha also explicitly reacts to something Eren is showing him—memories from Eren's future, beamed back through the Paths.

Why Eren Couldn’t (or Wouldn’t) Change the Future

A central question arises: if Eren perceives destructive events on the horizon, why not prevent them? The best way to understand this is recognizing that Eren’s will, his personal desires, and the single, closed loop timeline all lock him into a self-fulfilling prophecy. The Attack Titan does not expose random potential scenarios; it reveals a future shaped by Eren’s own resolve and desires. Once Eren observes (and transmits) a specific future, that future becomes embedded in the timeline. Attempting to deviate would negate the very memories he sent back. Moreover, Eren doesn’t want to negate the memories he sent back. Eren transmits those memories precisely because he wants his past self to strive toward that future. The image of the Rumbling’s destruction (think of the “this is freedom” panel) is what Eren wants to see.

Crucially, he shows this willingness and longing by diverting the path of Dina’s titan away from Bertolt—a decision that ensures certain events unfold exactly as needed (including the death of his own mother) to see a future where he carries out the Rumbling.

When Did Eren Know He’d Be Stopped at 80% Destruction?

Eren’s early glimpses of the future, derived solely from the Attack Titan, were incomplete. As a result, he initially believed the Rumbling would annihilate the entire world. Not until physical contact with Ymir Fritz in the Paths (Chapters 120–122) did he acquire comprehensive knowledge of the ultimate outcome—namely, that the destruction would halt at roughly 80%, not 100%. Before this full disclosure, his partial insights led him to anticipate total obliteration.

What’s the evidence for this?:

Up until Chapter 120, Eren never had full control of the Founding Titan. It was only when he and Zeke converged in the Paths that Eren finally reached Ymir directly. Until that point, he had only seen glimpses of the future via the Attack Titan’s ability—the most notable example being when he made contact with Historia in Chapter 90.

The glimpses of the future Eren sent to himself in the past only showed him the future he wanted to see. As a result, Eren fixated on the outcome he’d been driving toward (total destruction) without realizing there was a point in which he’d be forced to stop. The glimpses he saw led him to think that total annihilation was the endgame; he never saw (or understood) the moment in which the Alliance would intervene and halt the Rumbling. Eren’s mindset pre-contact with Ymir is also important to understand. In the flashbacks with Floch shown in Chapters 130-131, Eren shows no intention of leaving survivors outside the island.

Throughout Chapters 130-131, Eren is also shown deliberating the atrocity he’s about to commit. He fully believes it will erase civilization beyond Paradis.

Why didn’t Eren pivot when he learned that 100% annihilation wasn’t in the cards?:

Bringing all of the points together—there’s only one chain of events. The moment Eren sees how it concludes, it’s set—because that’s the future he himself instigates. Even though Eren’s rational mind grasps that the Rumbling will “fail” to achieve total destruction, he’s already committed to forging that horrific reality. This drive, tied to his longing for absolute freedom and a human-free landscape, renders him incapable (or unwilling) to step back. In Chapter 122, Ymir’s choice to grant Eren the full Founding Titan power ensures the unstoppable path forward. The Rumbling commences, and the single timeline proceeds as “destined.” Chapter 139 finalizes the point: Eren outright confesses to Armin that he moved forward with the Rumbling partly because he couldn’t stop himself. His dream of freedom—the same dream that made him wage war on the entire world—also chained him to the future he saw.

Conclusion

Ultimately, Attack on Titan’s depiction of “time travel” is less about traversing alternate timelines and more about transmitting memories within a single, closed timeline. The Attack Titan sees future events (shaped by the wielder’s own will), and the Founding Titan’s Paths allow those events to anchor themselves in the past. This cycle forms an unbreakable loop, ensuring that the fate Eren glimpses is the fate he brings to life—no matter how horrifying.

So, while it might look like Eren is helpless in the face of destiny, the truth is more bittersweet: he’s trapped by his own desires and the single timeline’s rules. He chooses to walk the path he’s shown, effectively binding himself to the 80% Rumbling outcome. In this way, Eren Yeager’s tragedy lies not in having no choice—but in having a singular, unwavering conviction that makes him want the future he sees, ensuring it can’t unfold any other way.

If you're interested in more of my thoughts on the subject of Eren and whether he had a choice, here's another post I wrote on the topic:

[crookedfandomquill]

This is very situational, and sadly may not be realistic for everyone, but I need y’all to understand that a very important part of political activism is fucking talking to your conservative or moderate friends and family.

My dad voted for Trump in 2016. He’s a middle class white evangelical from Arkansas. He raised me with conservative Christian values, just like his parents raised him. When he voted Trump, he was holding his nose, but he didn’t feel too bad about it, and went on to vote red down the ticket in the 2018 midterms, as well.

But I started college in 2017. Higher education and independence changed everything for me, and I went home over holidays and summers with fire in my belly and a thousand arguments ready at the drop of a hat, to my father’s dismay.

I remember crying in my room after emotional, intense arguments with him. I told him over and over that I felt betrayed by his choice to vote for a man who admitted to sexually assaulting women, who built his platform on dehumanizing immigrants and the disabled, who spread overtly-racist rhetoric, who flouted the values of kindness and self-discipline that I’d been raised on. And my dad always had some justification about the “greater good”: fighting against abortion, bolstering the economy, getting other Christian politicians into office.

But over time, as we grew further apart and I lost my will to discuss anything with him at all, he softened. He started asking me why I thought the way I did about the things we disagreed about. He would listen to my answers without interruption, and mull them over afterward instead of expressing his own opinion. And all the while, he watched the Trump presidency become cruel and absurd and devastating.

The first time he openly expressed regret to me, I had come home for a weekend after Kavanaugh was confirmed to SCOTUS. My dad realized he had helped elect a man who preyed on women… and that man had opened the door to more predators. I can’t tell you what it felt like for him to admit that he’d made a mistake, not just in voting for Trump but in defending him for so long. We kept arguing, but it was more debating than fighting. I knew he was capable of seeing my side of things, even if it took a while, and he knew I wasn’t just a sensitive college student with shallow new ideas about the world.

And then 2020 hit. Specifically, George Floyd was murdered, and the events that followed played out on the national stage. My dad was incredibly shaken by it. He asked me if I had any books from college about racial issues. I loaned him The New Jim Crow, one of the required readings for my Race and the Law class. Then I gave him Just Mercy. Then he watched the documentary 13th. Then he joined a racial harmony group he learned about through one of the few Black families at our church and insisted our whole family come. He held up signs at a protest against Confederate monuments in our conservative southern town. In three years, he went from defending Trump’s comments about “Black-on-Black crime” to publicly advocating for racial justice and opposing the death penalty.

We went together to vote in the 2020 primaries. I couldn’t help asking who he’d voted for; I didn’t even know if he’d asked for the Republican or Democratic ticket. He admitted he’d voted for Bernie. fucking. Sanders, then made me promise not to tell my grandma he’d voted liberal. When the election rolled around in November, he voted Biden. I’m sure he held his nose to do it, just like he held his nose voting in 2016. But I know he doesn’t regret it.

I am, of course, unbelievably lucky to have a parent who loved me enough, and was empathetic enough, to choose his relationship with me over his strongly-held opinions. He kept searching for truth because, as much as he’ll deny it, he’s a very smart and curious person. No degree of intelligence or curiosity makes you immune to propaganda, especially if you were raised not to question the party line. It’s easy to dismiss our conservative, conspiracy-pilled loved ones as stupid, hypocritical, and cruel. Sometimes they are. But sometimes they aren’t. Sometimes they will bend to keep their relationships from breaking. Sometimes, if they can be made to understand that their beliefs and actions are harming someone they love, they will make concessions. And sometimes they just need one person in their life to put a foot down, to be vulnerable and assertive and argumentative, to bring the impact of their politics close to home.

As the most important election of our lifetimes approaches, do not put peace over progress. If you have someone like my dad, someone who is good-willed and smart and loves you more than their own opinions, tell them how you feel. Tell them what their choices will mean for you, for your friends, for your community. Tell them what they could lose: your trust, your affection, your respect. Don’t avoid conflict if it could be productive. Because my conflict with my dad didn’t just win him over–it won over my moderate mom and one of my conservative brothers. And it put us in community with other like-minded people and led my parents to a healthier and kinder faith.

All of this to say, there is hope in conflict. There is hope in our relationships with people who think differently from us. There is hope in exposing your fear and anger and pain to people you love. And hope is a form of activism.

[steveslevis]

can you see right through me?

azriel x mate!reader

summary: after finding out you're mated to the Spymaster of the Night Court, you can't help but feel self-conscious, thanks to the jealous remarks made by patrons at your bookstore.

warnings: mentions of self-hatred and self-sabotage, angst!!!, body image issues, depression, mentions of death, azriel is an idiot but he figures it out ok, mentions of sex & the mating frenzy

word count: 9.5k (oops...)

Ever since finding out that you’re mated to none other than the High Lord’s Shadowsinger two months ago, everything in your life has flipped upside down.

You’re not just some ordinary bookstore owner anymore, you’re now part of the Night Court’s Inner Circle by default. Your status as a citizen in Velaris has completely changed, but you refused to quit working just because of your mate, much to his disappointment. He’d rather you just stay with him in the House of Wind, filling your days reading your favorite books instead of selling them, but you insisted. You wanted to get to know the male better before immediately accepting the bond, moving in and forgetting about your old life, especially after hearing all the things people say about you and your new mating bond when they’re in or around your shop. 

You have to deal with sidelong glances and whispers from almost everyone who comes into your tiny shop next to the Sidra, have to hear the spiteful unmated females who might kill to be in your position. 

“How do you think she got him? Do you think she slipped one of those banned love tonics into a drink or something?” 

“He could be mated to anyone, and the Cauldron picked her of all people?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he already rejected the bond, I don’t ever see them together.”

“She’s definitely just using him for his money and power, she had to have manipulated him somehow.”

“I thought he was with the Morrigan, she’s much more fitting for a male like him, much prettier.”

Every snide remark hits you like a knife to the heart, but still, you keep your composure throughout every single day. It isn’t ever until you’re in the safety of your own apartment above the bookstore that you allow yourself to mull over the comments, to let yourself fall back into old self-loathing habits.

You quickly learn how to contain your sadness to your end of the bond, blocking Azriel from seeing the pain that you endure on a nightly basis. You’re convinced he would be so embarrassed to see you cry yourself to sleep, to see you poke and prod at your skin in front of the mirror, to see you skip over meals in order to appease that incessant hatred filling your mind, to see you become filled with so much disgust in yourself when you replay the remarks over and over and over again.

The comments never seem to die down as weeks pass, and you slowly convince yourself that they’re all right, that Azriel is going to reject the bond because you don’t deserve him. You don’t see him often anyways, as you’re both preoccupied with your jobs throughout the week, which doesn’t help the fact that you’re convinced that he doesn’t want to be around you. 

You’re stuck between trying to change yourself to fit what you think the Illyrian would like in a mate and rejecting the bond before he gets the chance to break your heart. You eventually decide it’s worth a shot to change yourself into the ideal, beautiful mate that you think he wants you to be before being stung with the inevitable heartbreak that comes with rejecting a bond. 

Sundays used to be your favorite day of the week because you get to close shop at mid-day and spend the rest of the day reading at the foot of the Sidra or walking around to the nearby shops. 

For the last few Sundays, you didn’t feel like doing anything aside from wallowing in self-pity in your bed. You never let yourself do just that, though. 

You’d taken it upon yourself to change your lifestyle after thinking long and hard about the women that he’s surrounded by in the Inner Circle. All of them are tall and toned and so strong, more in shape than you’ve ever been in your life. All of them have natural beauty and grace that you could only wish to have. 

Every Sunday for the last month, you’d spent the afternoon running or doing some kind of training in order to “fix yourself”, to look an inkling more similar to those beautiful high fae of the Inner Circle. This Sunday was no different. 

You closed the bookstore around noon and headed up to your apartment, changing into training clothes before deciding to go for a long run after a day of extremely ruthless comments. You slip out the back door of the bookstore to begin your run, but are halted almost immediately when you walk straight into a wall of leather and warm skin, shadows skittering around your shoulders as you take a step back. 

Azriel peers down at you as you frown at him, concern lacing his features when he takes you in. His heart races as you stand in front of him, excited to finally see you after not seeing you for over a week. He swears you look different every time he’s seen you recently, your frame beginning to thin out in ways that concern him, but he knows better than to bring that up. 

“S–Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” you say meekly, tugging at the sleeves of your jacket while avoiding direct eye contact with the male. 

“It’s quite alright,” he says gently, watching you closely as his eagerness extends down the bond to you. “Where are you going?”

“Was just gonna go on a run,” you reply with a shrug, feigning nonchalance as the self-doubting thoughts swirl around in your mind even more in his presence. “Did–did you need something?”

“Am I not allowed to visit my mate whenever I please?” he teases, which makes your eyes widen in fear that he’s actually upset.

“I’m sorry, I–I didn’t mean it like that!” you stammer, shaking your head at him apologetically as you take a step back, backing into the door behind you. 

“Hey, no it’s alright. I was only joking.” Azriel says quickly, one of his hands coming up to caress one of your arms. “I didn’t mean to take you by surprise, I’m sorry. I should’ve made sure it was okay that I stopped by.”

You shake your head again, blinking before looking up at him with a frown. He wants more than anything to ask you what’s bothering you, but can see that you’re obviously already distraught about whatever it is, and doesn’t want to pry. Since he’s known you, you’ve always been closed off, like him, about your emotions. So, he opts to change the subject instead. 

“I did have a real reason for coming over here though,” he suggests and you nod slowly, waiting for him to continue. “Rhysand requests your presence at dinner tonight.” 

“T–The High Lord?” you question, and Azriel nods. “W–Why is he requesting my presence at dinner?”

“Well, we have family dinner once a week, and he claims it’s not a complete family affair if my mate isn’t present.” he explains, the ghost of a smile on his lips, “I tried to tell him to fuck off, because I know you’re typically busy on Sunday nights, but he insists that you come this week, at least this once.”

There’s a pleading look in your mate’s eyes that makes you nearly melt at his feet, and you know you can’t say no to him at that moment. 

“I–I, yeah, I can come tonight.” you say finally, giving him a weak smile as he grins down at you triumphantly. 

“Perfect,” he retorts, his shadows dancing around you with equal excitement, “I’ll meet you here around five? It’s just over at the River House.” 

You nod quickly, forcing a smile onto your face as he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek before bidding you goodbye. The small gesture makes your heart flutter, but you can’t help but wonder how forced it is, can’t help but wonder if inviting you to dinner is a ploy to bring you in and publicly reject your bond.

There’s no way in hell you’re going for a run now. 

You spend the next five hours pacing around, thinking about what you’re going to wear if you want to even come close to looking as good as the other females that will be there. The clothes in your closet are few and far between, but you finally decide on your nicest dress, one that's made of a gauzy navy fabric, adorned with silver embroidered stars littered over the bodice. It’s more revealing than most clothes you wear, but it’s the closest thing you have to the clothes that the Inner Circle wear. It takes you almost an hour to feel presentable in terms of makeup and hair, and by the time you’re done, you hear a knock on the back door of the store. 

You throw your shoes on quickly before making your way down the stairs, mentally preparing yourself for the evening as you do. 

Azriel’s eyes go wide when you open the door, something like amazement and confusion mixed in his gaze as he stares you down.

“I–I’ve never seen you wear anything like this, it’s beautiful,” he starts, unable to tear his gaze from the flowy dress, “You’re beautiful.”

Your chest aches at his compliment as your mind tries to convince you that he’s lying, but you smile up at him weakly nonetheless. He extends his arm for you to take, ready to lead you to the River House across the Sidra.

The two of you are greeted by more people than you’d expect when you enter the High Lord and Lady’s home, but you recognize them all before they get a chance to introduce themselves. You’ve only met Cassian and Nesta prior to this dinner, so the first hour was spent essentially introducing yourself to each of them one-by-one. Azriel stays by your side through each introduction, hand on the small of your back as his shadows swirl around your hands comfortingly. He can tell that something in you has changed since he met you a few months back, that the light and excitement in your eyes when you first found out he was your mate has since dissipated. There’s an unmistakable lump in his throat as he thinks too much into it, wondering if you’re having second thoughts about him. 

Dinner comes and goes as smoothly as you hoped it would. The nauseous feeling roiling in your gut keeps you from eating much, only pushing the food around on the plate while taking miniscule bites to fight off any comments that any of them might have about your hesitancy. You’re only roped into conversations every once in a while, so you’re able to sit back and explore the dynamic between the group a little more without much involvement. Azriel mainly stays silent, only making a few remarks here and there. 

With a snap of the High Lord’s fingers, dessert appears in front of everyone along with more wine in each of your glasses. 

“I propose a toast,” Rhysand suggests after getting everyone’s attention, eyes landing on you finally, “to Y/N, for bringing our Shadowsinger so much happiness.”

A deep blush spreads across your cheeks as you force a smile, raising your glass as the others do too. ‘Cheers’ is mumbled by everyone before they all take a drink, and Azriel reaches over to squeeze your hand that’s sitting on the edge of the table. You turn to look at him, noting an unfamiliar look in his eyes that you nearly mistake for love, before your thoughts are interrupted by a loud laugh from Amren across the table.

“I, for one, am so grateful that Y/N finally came along after all this time.” she says with a sly grin, “because I think if she wouldn’t have, then the Spymaster would’ve continued to pine after Mor for the rest of eternity.”

There’s a collectively uncomfortable murmur from everyone at her words, and Nesta jabs her in the side with a warning glare as she notices the smile on your face falter for a split second. You could feel all color leave your face as your heart plummets to your stomach, the female’s words confirming all of your doubts about your current situation. Azriel shifts his eyes to you then, but you bring back the same composed mask to your face, the same one you’ve held for the last three months any time someone made snide remarks at you, while you try to avoid his burning gaze. You give the female a withering smile, ignoring the worried stare from the male at your side as you do. 

“Truly, I’m grateful the Cauldron deemed me worthy of being a welcome distraction to such a male like him,” you say in response with a laugh, hoping your voice comes out in a joking tone as you try to mask the disappointment in your wavering voice. 

The comment is enough to earn a few chuckles from around the table, pushing away any awkwardness that stemmed from Amren’s comment. You’re able to skate through the rest of the evening without any snide remarks from the Inner Circle, glad that you’re one step closer to getting the hell out of this house as the group finally starts to stand from the table. 

Azriel follows closely behind you as you bid everyone goodbye, exhaustion raking over your bones as you give one final wave to the High Lord and Lady before turning toward your mate.

There’s a look of worry shining in his eyes when you finally peer up at him, shadows skittering anxiously around your wrists in the meantime.

“Ready to go home?” he questions, forcing a smile onto his face as he guides you towards the front door when you nod. 

“You don’t have to walk me home, Azriel.” you start once you’re out of earshot of everyone else, stopping in your tracks to look at him again. The look on your face is almost unreadable, but his shadows whisper to him about your pain and embarrassment as the two of you stand on the outside of the front door to the River House. “I’m truly fine to go by myself, you don’t–don’t have to bother to go out of your way for me.” 

His brow furrows and a frown pulls his lips down at your words, finally seeing the slightest glimmer of sadness and disappointment shining in your eyes as you speak. He only shakes his head, taking a step towards you before he speaks. 

“I–You’re not a bother to me.” he says, unsure of what else to say to you, “If you’re upset about what Amren said, please know that she always says bullshit like that when she’s drunk, I have not thought about Mor in that way for centuries–”

“Truly, Azriel, it’s quite alright.” you interject with a pained smile. “You didn’t ask to be mated to me, I understand if you’re preoccupied with other love interests or if you just don’t want to be with me.” 

The Illyrian opens his mouth to speak, but is downright dumbfounded by your words to the point where he simply closes his mouth again. He very obviously had been reading the situation wrong this whole time, as he thought that giving you space was the right thing to do in order to let you process the very new bond from your end. He realizes then that you needed reassurance and not space, but it could very well be too late now. Before he can protest, you’re taking a step closer to him in order to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek before stepping away.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, “I get it, I really do. And–And if you need to reject the bond and never want to see me again after tonight, I’ll understand.”

Oh, fuck. You think he wants to reject the bond. 

Hazel eyes meet yours then, and you swear you see a twinkle of regret and hurt shining somewhere between the bronzy flecks, but it’s almost undetectable. Such a miniscule expression that you tell yourself that you imagined it, that his face never changed and that he truly does not care about what you’re saying to him now. 

He shakes his head as you take another step away from him, as you turn on your toes to walk away from the townhouse, away from him. His chest feels like it’s going to cave in then, as the bond to his heart hums with a sadness he’s never felt before. He can feel the bond quivering in pain between your souls, threatening to wither away if either of you even thinks about truly rejecting the bond. 

But you don’t feel it because you’ve expertly blocked the bond out for the last month, because you truly believe that there’s no way Azriel could ever truly want you, because you’re convinced that he wants this.

There’s no hesitation in your step when you turn your back to the male, walking in swift strides towards the bridge to cross the Sidra to reach your little apartment on top of the bookstore. You refuse to let him see how much it kills you to freely offer up a rejected bond, you can’t let him see how you’re crumbling with each step you take. So you stay steady in your gait, hiding your shaking hands in front of you as you blink back the tears that threaten to spill. 

If you would’ve looked back in that moment, you would’ve seen the tears that spilled down the shadowsinger’s cheeks. If you wouldn’t have blocked out the bond in that moment, you would’ve felt the way you almost tore his heart out of his chest as you walked into the darkness. 

Azriel didn’t follow after you though, he didn’t want to make things worse than they already were. He’d fucked up so badly by not showing you how much the bond truly meant to him, by simply assuming that you needed space. 

So, he simply sent a shadow to make sure you got home safely and sat down on the front step of the townhouse. 

He sat on that step for almost two hours, staring at the stars and cursing himself for all of the mistakes he’d made. 

You only get one mate in your eternal life, and he really fucked it up this badly already?

Memories of the first few times the two of you had met replayed in his mind as he sat there, remembering how your eyes glimmered with the most love he’d ever been shown in his life.

You were shy and quiet, something he wasn’t used to from being around the Inner Circle for so long. After living with the loud, boisterous crown for centuries, he was used to emotions being expressed outright. So, he’d mistaken your meek behavior for disinterest, mistaken your nervousness for distaste. He thought you’d needed space, needed time to get used to his brooding and intolerable presence, needed room to process the sudden bond. But, fuck, was he wrong. 

Everything becomes clearer to the male as as it nears midnight. The ache in his chest becomes more and more painful with each passing minute now, and he realizes that he has to get you back, he has to fight to make you understand how much you mean to him. 

_______________________________________

Nesta Archeron started her Sunday much earlier than usual this week, thanks to her mate’s early morning departure. Cassian woke her by rustling around their shared bedroom before dawn, seemingly flustered as he tried to gather his leathers and put them on in the dark. 

“You’re not very good at being quiet, General.” she remarks tiredly, sitting up in the bed to flick one of the bedside faelights on.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, shooting her a sympathetic smile as he nearly trips over the leathers he tries to step into. “Rhys said there’s an emergency in Windhaven, Az and I are leaving soon.” 

She only hums in response, watching him finish getting dressed in comfortable silence. Cassian stands over her at the edge of the bed after tugging on his boots, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek before heading out for the day. 

Nesta knows then that she won’t be able to fall back asleep, so she decides to reach for her latest read on her nightstand. Once she grabs the book, she realizes that she’d finished the night before and is completely out of books to read. She knows then that she’ll have to make her way into town, deciding to take a trip to your bookstore at the base of the Sidra for the first time. 

She took her time getting ready, slipping into a gray dress and her usual boots before heading downstairs to eat breakfast. It was a little after seven in the morning when she made her way towards your bookstore, basking in the chilly morning air as she walked along the river.

It took her all of thirty minutes to reach the store, where she was met with a locked door and a dark front window. It was well past opening time for the store and there were no other signs on the door to suggest otherwise, but your store was definitely closed. 

“I’m not surprised,” Nesta hears a female say from behind her, giggling to her friend as they pass the storefront, “I’m sure she’s been rotting away upstairs because the Shadowsinger broke their bond or something like that. The store’s been closed all week. A lesser fae store owner like her did not deserve a male as beautiful as him.” 

Nesta turns to see the culprits of the spiteful comments and laughs, and the two High Fae females’ eyes widen upon her whipping her head towards them. 

Their smirks fall immediately, the one who was speaking starts to open her mouth but Nesta only holds up a hand to shut her up.

“I don’t know either of you females–and I’m very glad I don’t–” the sharp-eyed female spat out, “but I do know the Shadowsinger and his mate. And all I have to say is that if I hear either of you coming around here to harass her or if I hear of you spewing more lies about her relationship, I will be sure to mention it to the High Lord and Shadowsinger. I’m sure neither of them would be very happy to hear the rumors flying around.”

The females nod feverishly as Nesta stares them down with that silver fire flickering lowly in her eyes, both mumbling apologies under their breaths as they scurry away.

Nesta lets out a huff, turning on her heels to make her way towards the other bookstore across town, where she only finds two new books for herself instead of the countless romance novels she knew she would’ve found at your carefully curated store. The remarks from the two females about you aren’t lost on her as she makes her way through the city, their spiteful words and evil giggles running through her mind as she replays the scenario. 

Instead of trekking all the way back to the House of Wind after gathering her books, she makes her way to the River House in order to spend the day with her favorite person��Nyx.

The day goes by quickly between reading and rolling around with the toddler and his mother, and it’s evening before she or Feyre even realize it. Three Illyrian warriors clad in leathers make their way into the drawing room where the two females lounge on the couch, looking exhausted from a day of crisis management at the camps. 

“Long day?” Nesta says as she raises her eyebrow at the three males, stroking Nyx’s hair as he sleeps silently on her chest. 

Her mate only grunts in agreement, coming over to press a kiss to the crown of her head in greeting. The High Lord is greeted by Feyre with a loving stroke of his cheek, smiling up at him sympathetically. Azriel only stands at the threshold, looking more brooding and closed off than usual.

“Well, good news is you can tell us all about it at dinner.” Feyre suggests, trying to lighten the sour mood of the three males as she reaches for Rhys’ hand to intertwine into her own. “Nuala and Cerridwen just finished making some delicious stew and I don’t know about you all, but I’m starving.”

Dinner seems to lighten the mood quite a bit for the group, quiet conversation carrying through the dining room after Cassian and Rhysand get their complaints out for the day. Azriel sits on the other side of Feyre, silent for the majority of the meal, only engaging when Cassian involves him. 

A burning question gnaws at Nesta as she takes in the sad, hazel-eyed male, she can almost feel the pain radiating off of him from across the table as he stares intently down at the barely touched food in front of him. It’s hard to read the male, so she’s not entirely sure what the sadness is about, but she has to know eventually.

“How was your day, Nes?” her thoughts are interrupted by Cassian’s words and his elbow nudging hers lightly.

“Great, for the most part. Got to spend it with my favorite nephew,” she jokes, grinning briefly over at the babbling toddler being fed by his mother. “But I did find something very interesting on my trip to get some new books this morning.”

She notes how Azriel’s eyes flicker towards her then, intrigued by the mention of going to a bookstore.

“Oh, did you go to Y/N’s store? I’ve been meaning to ask if you wanted to take a trip over there to get some new books.” Feyre asks while forking some food for her son. 

“Well, that was the original plan.” Nesta retorts, lips pulling into a half-frown before turning towards the shadowsinger, “Have you heard from your mate lately, Azriel?”

Azriel drops the spoon he was holding into the bowl of stew with a loud clatter, obviously taken aback by the question directed towards him. The room is silent as he finally looks up, seeing four expectant pairs of eyes staring back at him, Nesta’s gaze the harshest out of all of them. 

“No, I haven’t heard from her since Saturday.” he says, willing his voice to be strong as he feels as though he’s going to throw up.

“Hm, interesting.” Nesta hums, eyes sharpening even more, if that’s even possible, “I tried to stop by the store because I finished my last novel last night, but the door was locked and the lights were all off. Then I ran into the most interesting pair of females who I overheard say that the store had been closed all week.” 

“All week?” Feyre questions, a frown on her face now too.

“You haven’t heard from your mate for a week and you haven’t thought to try to contact her?” Rhys interjects, disappointment laced in his tone as he stares down Azriel from across the table, his honed gaze rivaling Nesta’s. 

“She–She hasn’t left her apartment since last Saturday.” Azriel grits out, stopping anyone else from their questioning. “She thinks I want to reject her, to reject the bond. And I’m starting to think I should.” 

Everyone goes silent then, even Nyx’s babbling is hushed as a thick air of tension fills the large dining room. Azriel’s hands are shaking as he stares at his untouched glass of wine, shadows slashing around his wings angrily now.

“Why do you think that?” Nesta’s the only one brave enough to question him, unafraid of facing the upset male. “What makes you think you should reject the bond?”

“I fucked up. I thought she needed space, thought she was overwhelmed by me, by all of this, by being part of the Inner Circle by default.” he says, a pained expression on his face as he finally looks up to Nesta. “I hurt her and I didn’t even realize it. She needed me and I wasn’t there for her. I can’t figure out how to make it better, I–I don’t know how to take away her pain. I’ve been her mate for less than six months and I’ve already lost her trust in me. I don’t deserve such a sweet creature like her.”

“Do you want to reject the bond?” Nesta persists, and he knows she means to ask if he loves you or not.

“I don’t. But–”

“There’s no but, Azriel.” Cassian interrupts firmly, “You either want to, or you don’t. And you don’t want to reject it, I know you don’t. You’ve never been happier than you were when you realized you had a mate and that it was her. You need to get your head out of your ass, stop pitying yourself and start showing her that you want to be with her. If not, you’re going to kill the poor female. You’re gonna fucking kill her from a broken heart.”

_______________________________________

In all honesty, you don’t know what day it is anymore. You’ve sat in the dark in your apartment above the bookstore all alone for Gods know how long, letting yourself wallow in the sorrow that fills your chest every time you breathe. 

You can’t remember the last time you ate, the last time you did anything aside from stare at the wall next to your bed, save for the times that you’ve gone to the bathroom. It truly feels like you’re dying, like you’re withering away into nothing, and you might as well be. You don’t know what day it is, but you do know that Azriel hasn’t tried to contact you since you left the River House on Saturday, you do know that he wants nothing to do with you.

You hadn’t realized how much you had grown to rely on the male’s visits and nervous glances, how much they’d excited you, until they were no more. 

The golden thread in your soul quivers every time you think about him, but you don’t let yourself think about missing him for too long. You always shut down before it gets too bad, and push yourself back into the thoughts of self-hatred, the thoughts of how you wish you’d just cease to exist already. There wasn’t anyone around anymore to check on you, anyone to make sure you made it through this bout of depression like there used to be. Your sister and mother have been gone for years, and now your mate, the one who gave you a sliver of hope for the shortest time, is gone too. 

When the first knock falls on the door to your apartment, you barely hear it over the incessant ringing in your ears. You choose to ignore it, thinking whoever it is will go away eventually if they stand out in the late evening cold for long enough. 

But they don’t. 

They knock, and knock, and knock, and knock for what feels like thirty minutes, each knock getting louder and more insistent than the last. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to fall back asleep to ignore the sound, but it doesn’t work. After what feels like hours, but is probably only a few minutes, the knocking finally stops. 

What you don’t hear–or see–in that moment is the shadows that slip under the door at the bottom of the stairs, quietly unlocking it for their master to slip inside, and the other shadows ahead of their master that report back to him about your state before he makes his way up the stairs. 

Moments later, you hear the creak of the stairs and your heart sinks, but you feel too weak to move, too weak to save yourself, and for a moment, you thank the Cauldron that some intruder has finally come to put you out of your misery in one way or another.

You don’t expect the weak, broken voice of a male at the top of the stairs as you’re laying with your back towards the threshold, the sadness in an all too familiar voice when you hear, “Gods, Y/N. I am so sorry.” 

It takes every ounce of strength out of Azriel to walk over to the bed after taking in the sight of your studio apartment in complete disarray. The place is unkempt and needs plenty of repairs just from what he can see with a quick scan, but that’s not what hurts his heart the most in the moment. You facing the blank wall, staring mindlessly ahead as you’re curled up in a ball at the edge of your bed is what breaks him. He finally makes his way over to the wall that you’re facing, but you don’t look up at him, unable to take the energy to complete the small gesture.

Azriel falls to his knees in front of you, reaching a hand out to stroke your hair. He takes you in fully then–your unkempt hair, chapped lips, red cheeks and heavy eyes–you truly were dying from a broken heart.

“Y/N,” he says gently, trying to keep his voice as strong as possible while choking back tears. You take a long moment to finally look up at him, a look of confusion and then delusion crossing over your face as you do–you had to be dreaming him, right?

“I’m–I’m so fucking sorry, love. Gods, how long have you been laying here?” he says, and you only blink up at him because you’re not even sure of the answer, numb to it all at this point. “Are–Do you want me to help you? Can I help you somehow, please? I–I wanna fix this, I wanna make you better.” 

A strange noise leaves your throat then as your brow furrows at his words, your delusions during depressive episodes have never said anything like this to you before, and that’s when it all feels too real. You slowly realize that this is very much the real Azriel kneeling in front of you with tears shimmering in his eyes, clasping your very clammy hand between his very warm ones. Tears brim in your own eyes now, the weight of the entire situation hitting you like a ton of bricks. You’d ruined yourself before he’d even broken the bond, so now you’ve hurt him by somehow signaling to him of your suffering. 

“‘M sorry, A–Azriel,” you croak out, the first words to have left your lips in days. 

“S–You’re sorry?” he says, voice more stern than before, shaking his head persistently, “No–No, there’s nothing for you to be sorry about, love.” He squeezes your icy hand then, giving you a weak, bitter smile, “I’m sorry for not coming sooner, okay? I’m so sorry and I’ll apologize until the day I die for not being here for you when you needed me. I–I wanna help you now, if you’ll let me. Will you let me help you? Can I take you home with me to get you some help?” 

Despite the confusion and sadness swirling around in your deprived brain, you nod at the male, who jumps up almost immediately after you nod. He slowly peels the covers off your frail form, heart breaking at the sight of you. He pushes the ache in his chest down to be strong for you then, gently scooping you up into his arms. The two of you are engulfed in shadows seconds later as Azriel shadow-walks to the House of Wind as quickly as he can. 

You don’t remember much from your first moments at the House of Wind, other than the fact that there were a lot of people around you in a very short amount of time. You recognized some of them, the High Lord and Lady, along with Cassian and Nesta, but other faces were less familiar. One woman came into the room you laid in, tugging a warm blanket over your body before using what you could only assume was healing power on you. She’d mumbled something to Azriel on her way out before patting him on the shoulder, and that was the last thing you’d remembered before finally falling into a peaceful sleep for the first time in a week.

Sunlight streaming in through the curtains woke you later on, you weren’t entirely sure how long you’d been out for but you’re sure it had been for more than a few hours at this point. You groaned lightly as you stretched your weak legs, eyes fluttering open to take in your surroundings fully for the first time. The room smelled of mahogany and amber, a familiar and inviting scent you knew too well to not understand whose room you were in. 

Though alone at the moment, you know he’s not far, as his shadows skitter excitedly around you as you attempt to sit up in the bed. 

The door opens not even two minutes later, the shadowsinger standing in the doorway with a tray of what looked to be steaming food, a glass of water, and some medications. He nearly drops the tray when he sees you sitting up in the middle of his bed, not expecting you to already be awake and so alert. Without a word, he strides over to the large bed, placing the tray on the bedside table before sitting in the chair he’d positioned on the side where you laid.

“Hi,” he says with a sharp inhale, giving you a weak smile as he searches your eyes for any emotion he can find. 

“H–How long was I out for?” you ask meekly, the full weight of your actions crashing down on you all at once. “How long have I overstayed?”

“What?” he questions, a frown pulling his lips down as his heart sinks. You truly think you’re burdening this male, when all he wants is for you to be safe and to feel loved. “You haven’t overstayed, I brought you here to heal, I wanted you to come here to get better.”

You shake your head then, blinking harshly at him as you refuse to believe what he’s telling you. “N–No, you only came to find me because I’m–I’m stupid and didn’t give you the opportunity to reject the bond before I mourned what we never had.” you insist, looking at him with wide eyes. “I’m sorry you had to deal with all of this, please–please, you can reject it now, you don’t have to pretend anymore.”

The level of self destruction going on in your mind was on another level that Azriel couldn’t deign to comprehend in the moment, but he knew it wasn’t just by your own doing. He can see the internal turmoil you’re going through, can feel your peril down the bond that he now realizes you’ve been shrouding in your own shadows for months, can feel the way you’re tearing yourself apart from the inside out. He reaches for you then, hands coming up to cup your cheeks gently as his shadows rub soothing circles along your back to calm you down, though you continue to babble apologetically about how he should hate you and how you’re the one who should be apologizing for everything.

“Y/N, hey, hey, hey. Look at me.” he coos gently, thumbs stroking your cheekbones softly to bring you back to the moment as you finally lock eyes with him, “I don’t want to reject the bond, I never wanted to reject the bond.” 

You try to shake your head feverishly, but he doesn’t let you as his hands stay on either side of your face. “Nesta told me about some females she heard outside your store on Sunday, who said some pretty foul things about you.” he begins, having to reign his anger in as he speaks about the females, “Is that something that happened a lot at the store? Did females that come into the bookstore say things to you about us often?” 

You can’t even look at him now, dread and self-loathing gnawing at your chest as you think back to all the hateful comments thrown at you throughout the last few months. You shake your head slowly now, brow furrowing as you try to push down the bile rising in your throat. 

“No, it only happened a–a few times.” you lie bluntly, staring down into your lap as you try to pull away from his touch again and this time he lets you, watching closely as you attempt to stand from the bed. “I want to take a bath.” you say, attempting to change the subject to something less painful.

Azriel is there to catch you when you all but fall when trying to stand on your own two feet, hands landing on your waist to situate you back on the edge of the bed, “You’re not supposed to be getting up on your own yet. You didn’t eat for almost a whole week, you’re too weak to stand right now.” he says softly, hands firmly planted on your waist still, “Do you want me to take you to the bathroom? This food will still be warm when we return if you’d rather bathe now.”

You nod wordlessly, brow pinched in frustration at your current situation. Azriel easily picks you up, carrying you bridal style into the en suite bathroom and sitting you on the edge of the large tub as he draws a warm bath. He turns the tap off once it’s nearly full, turning on his heels to leave you alone in the bathroom for some privacy. 

“A–Azriel,” you call out before he shuts the door, making the male stop in his tracks to face you, heart nearly shattering when you look at him with wide, shameful eyes. “Can you help me bathe?”

The male is at the edge of the tub in an instant, nodding at you gently. He looks away as you strip out of the clothes that you’d been in for a week, tossing the dirty pajamas into a pile at your feet before stepping into the tub slowly. He helps you ease down onto the bottom, letting go of your hand he didn’t realize he’d grabbed once you tug out of his grasp to wrap the arm around your knees you pull into your chest. 

You settle into the water, letting the warmth engulf your cold limbs as you lean your head back to dip your hair, up to the scalp, into the water. Azriel gives you a few minutes to relax in the water, watching as your muscles finally relax slightly under the caress of the liquid. He reaches for the bottle of shampoo eventually, eyeing you closely as he pours some into his hands to lather it. You lean your head up as he does, giving him a small nod of invitation before he reaches for your scalp.

There’s nothing but love and tenderness behind his caress, fingers combing through your damp hair to thoroughly clean it. He’s careful with every movement, making sure to not make the wrong move and send you spiraling for one reason or another. 

It’s such a tender moment as he gently tilts you back to rinse your hair with a cup of water that it nearly makes you sob, but hold back for him to continue. 

“Can you promise me that you won’t ever let yourself get like this again?” he says, voice barely above a whisper as he runs conditioner through your hair. “I–I don’t know if I can handle seeing you so sad ever again. I won’t let you destroy yourself over my stupidity, not when I’m the one to blame for this whole situation.”

You tense at his words, chest tightening as you hear his voice crack when he chokes back tears. It takes you a moment, but you finally turn to face him, your own tears blurring your vision as you look up at the hazel-eyed male.

“It’s–It’s not your fault, Azriel.” you say, shaking your head insistently at him, “It’s my fault for making you feel obligated to be nice to me, I–I know you didn’t ask to be mated to a lowly, lesser fae bookshop owner when there’s plenty of beautiful high fae females out there ready to accept your hand in marriage at the drop of a hat. I shouldn’t have tried to pursue you after the bond snapped, I–I should’ve let you reject it then so you could go be happy with whoever you want to be with.”

“It’s you I want to be with, Y/N.” he insists, hands shaking as they fall from your head. He falls to his knees then, pivoting so he’s face-to-face with you when he continues, “I don’t care that you’re lesser fae, I fucking hate that you’re considered that anyways, it’s a disgusting term. I’m not even a high fae myself, I don’t care about title or status or whatever else, I only care that I’ve finally found my mate.” Azriel is trying his damndest to keep himself from falling apart as he speaks, “My mate, the love of my life, the one that I get to spend the rest of my days with. I know you feel like I pushed you away and I know I made you feel unwanted, but I thought you wanted space. I know now that you don’t, and I promise you that I’ll spend every waking moment, from now until we die, showing you that I am so fucking happy that you of all people are my mate. I love you.”

Whether he realizes it or not, Azriel projects his passion and love down the bond in the moment. Your deceitful brain would’ve told you he was lying had it not been for that tug and flow of warmth between your souls, if it had not been for the true, unadulterated ache you felt in your chest when he said that he was happy that you were his mate. 

Tears well up in your eyes once more as you stare at him, really taking him in, in full form, for the first time. He’s so beautiful, and though there’s a little voice in the back of your mind that still tells you that he’s lying, deep down you know that he’s all yours. Something blooms in your chest then, something stronger than you’ve ever felt, something so compelling that you can’t just sit and stare at him anymore. 

You don’t say anything as you continue to stare up at him, reaching your shaky hands out of the water to cup his cheeks. He almost flinches when you do, taken aback by you initiating the touch, but he doesn’t. With the strength gifted to you by the love confession of your mate, you’re able to maneuver onto your knees and tug him a little closer, crashing your lips into his in a gentle, watery kiss. 

“I love you, Azriel.” you murmur against his lips when you finally pull away from the kiss for a short moment. 

He smiles against your lips, pulling you back in for another kiss as his hands grip your forearms to keep you from slipping in the tub. 

“We really need to get you cleaned up before we can finish this conversation, yeah?” he encourages in between kisses, smoothing down your wet hair as it drips on the side of the tub.

You breathe out a laugh, nodding at him before turning to let him continue washing your hair, and then moving on to your body. Each touch threatens to set you on fire, but there’s no sexual intention behind them, only loving caresses meant to wash you clean of the last week of pain. 

After getting you out of the shower, Azriel slowly dresses you in one of his large shirts, mumbling an apology about how he’ll be sure to bring some of your clothes over if you’d like him to. You only smile at him softly, knowing you’ll be bringing more than a few of your items over soon enough. 

He insists that you eat after your bath, bringing you back to the bed where the soup is still steaming hot, likely thanks to the House that Azriel explained was imbued with magic and would do anything you wished it to. You eat the stew after taking the handful of medications and strength tonic that the healer, Madja, had given him for you, relishing the feeling of the warm food settling in your stomach. 

The change in your energy level after the strength tonic is astonishing. You feel as though you can run for days, but know better than to try something like that in front of your terrified mate. But, there is one thing that you feel like you need to do at the moment, something that’s long overdue.

You’re laying in Azriel’s arms when you finally get your burst of energy, sitting up abruptly enough to make him sit up with you. There’s a look of wild concern on his face when he reaches for your hips, steadying you as you pull your legs to the side of the bed. 

“Are you alright?” he questions immediately, brow furrowing when you miraculously stand on your own two feet. “Do you need something? The House can get you whatever you need.”

You give him a small smile, leaning down to caress his cheek before kissing his forehead gently. 

“I wanna get this thing myself,” you state matter-of-factly as he raises a brow at you. “You stay right here, alright?” 

Before he can protest, you’re walking towards the door of the bedroom to swing it open. You shut the door behind you, leaving the male in the room without a word. 

The House is magic alright, you confirm that when you’re on your way down the stairs and it lights the way for you, only letting the fae lights on the direct path towards the kitchen light the way. It knew exactly what you were doing. 

You’re met with a cutting board, a block of cheese, a loaf of bread and a bowl of grapes next to an empty plate when you enter the kitchen, a lone fae light above the counter lighting the area so you can prepare the plate. You make quick work of cutting the cheese and bread, trying to ignore the way your hands are shaking incessantly as you saw into the sourdough. It only takes you a few minutes to lay everything out on the plate and the House takes care of the rest, then you’re on your way back upstairs, on your way to change your life forever. 

Azriel shifts quickly on the bed when you return, sitting up straight as he locks eyes with you. His heart nearly leaps out of his chest when his eyes flicker down to the plate of food in your hand, realizing what you were up to when you left the room. 

You give him a nervous smile, gripping the plate with two hands as you make your way over to the bed, careful not to tip its contents onto the floor as you quiver. You wonder if he can hear your heart beating in the moment, as you feel like it’s about to beat through your ribcage with one more loud thump. 

“Y/N…” he trails as you shakily extend the plate to him when you perch on the edge of the bed, looking up at you with a look you can only describe as certainty. “Are you sure about this? You want to accept the bond right now?” 

“If you don’t eat this food right now, you might as well send me back to my little old apartment so I can try to die of a broken heart again.” you say, voice barely above a whisper as you give him a watery smile and push the plate closer to him.

He takes the plate from you then, but doesn’t grab any food at first, looking back up at you before he does. He leans over, pressing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss before taking a shuddering breath.

“I promise you that after this bond is accepted, I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you that you are so much more than all of those evil things that those females said about you. I’ll spend every waking moment showing you how perfect you are and making up for the time that we didn’t get to spend together,” he begins, planting a kiss on your cheek, “I love you.”

“I love you, Azriel.” you whisper, “now eat that food, please. I’m tired of waiting.” 

He smiles at you then, leaning back on the bed as he grabs for a piece of bread and cheese, ready to spend the rest of his eternal life with you, with his mate. 

_______________________________________

It takes almost a whole month for the mating frenzy to die down enough for the two of you to be able to integrate back into society. Rhys insisted on letting the two of you stay in the Cabin for your time away, but you opted to spend your time in Summer in a secluded bungalow for the four weeks instead. 

When you do return to Velaris after your time away, Azriel insists on taking another week off from spymaster duties to get your bookstore back on track and to help move your belongings to the House of Wind while the two of you look for your very own home, somewhere closer to the Rainbow where you can continue to run your bookstore. You don’t dare to protest your mate’s wishes, letting him alternate between packing the little amount of things you have upstairs and taking inventory in the store while you run the register. 

It’s a sunny Saturday when you open your doors for the first time after over a month of being closed, and you’re much busier than you’d expected to be in all honesty, though it seems many of the females coming in are just being nosy to see how true it is that you’re actually back in the flesh. 

There are less snide remarks thrown your way now, but still enough that they make you flinch every once in a while. They don’t bother you anymore, though. During your time away, Azriel showed you how much you meant to him and how beautiful he thought you were in many ways, with his mouth, with his hands, with his tongue, with his…

“Do you think she’s single again? Like…do you think he actually rejected the bond?” you hear a high fae female say on the far end of your busy shop, her eyes darting in your direction as she speaks to a friend.

“I hope so, there’s no way he actually–Oh my Gods.” her friend says, eyes wide when they fall on none other than the shadowsinger himself emerging from the back room of your store, a dozen books in hand. 

A satisfied smile spreads across your face as Azriel walks behind the checkout counter to press a kiss to your forehead before placing the books next to you. The sound of the females whispering hastily falls on deaf ears as your mate turns to you, grabbing a small piece of paper off the top of the pile of books he’d been holding. 

“Found six more copies of both of those romance novels you said you were out of, so no need to order more until those are gone.” he says while pointing at the books. “You really need a better inventory system.”

“Hmm, maybe I’ll just hire you to do it for me instead, since you’re so good at it.” you tease, shooting him a smirk.

“As long as I’m compensated fairly, I wouldn’t mind.” he jokes with a wink, pulling you in for an embrace to speak to you lowly. “On another note, you are officially fully moved into the House of Wind. So once you’re closed up for the day, we’ll be able to go home and officially christen the bedroom.” 

“We’ve already christened that bedroom,” you giggle, rolling your eyes at him, “it’s been thoroughly christened, multiple times at this point. And if I remember correctly, it’s the first place that was christened by us.”

“And?” he says, lips quirked up into a smirk, “I plan on christening it multiple times tonight, and the next night, and the night after that…”

“Okay, I get it,” you laugh, slapping his chest lightly as you pull out of his grip, “You’re insatiable.”

“And you’re beautiful and the love of my life.” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple.

It was safe to say that you’re getting nowhere past the mating frenzy phase of your relationship anytime soon.

And you’re okay with that.

taglist (add yourself here!): @wrecklesssly @slutforwordsfr @georgiadixon @dreamloud4610 @angelbunny222 @bookishbishhh @fanficscuziranout @Buckingforbuckybarnes @thefandomplace

[lqveharrington]

Loathing | D.M.

summary: you and draco have loathed one another since first year, but you know something happened over the summer before your sixth year. he had changed.

pairing: rival!draco malfoy x potter!reader

includes: fluff, angst, bleeding, both of them being oblivious, both of them taking care of each other

a/n: unadulterated loathing (guess who watched wicked last week?)

The moment you met Draco Malfoy – well, the moment he insulted one of your friends and then wanted to be friends with your brother – you knew you would loathe him for the rest of your life. From every glare from across the room to house rivalries, you loathed him for all you had. Especially when he ruined your Yule Ball experience by knocking the eggnog on you and refusing to explain why, only glaring instead.

But something changed in your sixth year. He changed.

Usually, the second you got on the train to Hogwarts, he would find you and start with the insults, but this year was different. Hell, when you were trying to find Harry on the train when you got to Hogwarts, Draco walked past you without even sparing a glance. He wasn’t even in his Slytherin robes, he was just in a black suit.

Then when the quidditch season started, you learned that he had quit his position as seeker and chance as quidditch captain. You were surprised he lost almost all interest in the sport itself when he used to brag on and on about how good he was at the game. Everything he used to egg you on about was close to nothing, and it worried you just a little.

You knew something was different – he was different – and wanted to know what happened, but you knew your friends couldn’t care less about the Slytherin Prince.

“Hermoine, please tell me you noticed something wrong with Malfoy.” You murmur and enter the potions room, eyes instantly meeting the gray and blue eyes you were speaking of. He quickly averted his gaze and stared down at his potions book instead, making you frown. “He hasn’t been throwing enough insults at us this year.”

“Is that not a good thing?” She creases her brows and takes her seat beside you, pulling her potions book out of her bag. Hermione looks at you with slight unease, not really understanding why you were asking in the first place. “Besides, why should you care? Don’t you hate him?”

You don’t respond, only spinning your ring and bringing your attention back to the Slytherin Prince himself, your teeth kissing your lips in your own turmoil. He looked so tired and… Helpless. You wanted to understand what he was going through despite everything he had put you through. He was still a student at Hogwarts. It may seem out of the ordinary from your usual loathing, but if something serious was going on, you hoped to Godric that he would be okay.

For the rest of class, Slughorn assigned the most ridiculous sounding potion to create. It was supposedly the most powerful love potion in existence and when Slughorn said it could help anyone identify their true love, you doubted it. It was only when Harry properly made the potion did you test the theory out. It seemed like Lavender was having a day with the potion and kept batting her eyes at Ron, making you and Hermoine roll your eyes in annoyance.

When Slughorn called the rest of the class in pairs to come over to smell the potion and describe what they smelled, you still believed people made up with what they smelled. You thought they were just believing they smelled the person they liked. From Hermione smelling freshly-mown grass and new parchment to Harry smelling some kind of sweets, it seemed quite fake.

And you could have gotten away with not having to smell the potion when you unashamedly yawned the second Slughorn turned to look over.

“Miss Potter, since you and Mr. Malfoy seem to have found this task boring, why don’t you both come up and tell me what you smell.” Slughorn beckoned you up toward Harry’s cauldron.

Pursing your lips, you do your best not to roll your eyes as you made your way over to the cauldron, only to be overwhelmed with Draco’s cologne when smelling the potion. You glance at him from the corner of your eyes, noticing he was just as confused as you.

“Maybe tone down the cologne, Malfoy.” You mutter to him and try to find a scent that wasn’t just his stupid cologne.

He rolled his eyes at you and leaned his head down, practically hissing into your ear. “Me? Your fucking shampoo is blocking all my senses right now.”

“Like you can smell that right now.” You turn your own head and glare at him, the tension growing larger and larger.

As if you were in a staring contest of who could hate the other more, you forgot about the class and only the loathing you felt for the blonde in front of you. However, the class soon began to felt the tension, uncomfortable with how you two were behaving. Whispers began to fill the air, but you two continued to bicker.

“Maybe use less product, Potter.” Draco suggested and flicked a piece of your hair off your shoulder, ignoring the way his cheeks flamed at how close the two of you were at the moment.

You crossed your arms and squinted, hating how he had to bend just to be at eye level to you. “Says the one practically bathes in Dior Sauvage—”

“Mr. Malfoy and Miss Potter, please, go back to your seats. We have gathered all the information we need.” Slughorn spoke with an amused smile.

For the rest of the week, it seemed like the entire student body was pointing to you and whispering. Even if you were just switching classes or sitting in the Gryffindor common room with Hermione, eyes averted to you before they eventually turned away when they caught your eyes.

You didn't understand what was going on. It felt like everyone you knew began to have a knew found hatred toward you and it bugged you. Even Harry gave you questioning looks from time to time. You don't remember doing anything cruel and vile.

Eventually, you did give up guessing why everyone was giving you dirty looks. You ignored all their staring and only acknowledged the people you knew didn't mean any harm toward you. It soon became a habit for you to leave the trio alone for a good hour or two, spending time to practice spells in the room of requirements; Mainly casting your Patronus and watching it have the time of its life.

Well, until one day the room began to change on its own.

“Hello? Room of requirements?" You stood abruptly and looked around at the changing room, your Patronus dissipating in thin air.

The room began to shift in size, becoming quite large in size with piles and piles of junk. As you tripped over the old trinkets decorating the room — trying to find the exit to the ever expanding room — you cut yourself on the sudden arrival of a rusted sword.

Holding your cut hand close to you body, you glared at the room like it was your least favorite thing in the entire world. "This is not what I asked—“

“Fuck.”

You heard the voice whisper before you jumped back in surprise when the person banged on something wooden. So someone who needed the room more came. That's why. As you tried to make your way out a give the person privacy, you tripped back into another pile of junk, making you wince.

“Shit.” You mutter and do your best to remove yourself from the pile, pursing your lips when you heard footsteps approach you.

Before you could even try to hide, the said person appeared right in front of you with their wand pointed at your face. You followed the wand up until you met their eyes, making you inwardly groan at your luck.

“What are you doing?” You spoke at the same time, both of you rolling your eyes at the same time.

Hastily, you stood up from your spot on the dirtied floor and dusted your clothes off, mentally cursing yourself for being ever so clumsy.

“I asked you first, Potter.” Draco tucked his wand away, glancing down at your bleeding hand. He frowned and moved around you.

You stepped away from him, still nursing your hand. Unsure of what he was going to do, you simply answered the question truthfully.

“I was using the room to practice my spells, but it changed because apparently your needs were far more important than mine.” You watched him dig through dusted cabinets and drawers, looking for something. “Now answer mine.”

“I don’t have to.” He muttered and pulled out some type of cleanser and a kit, making you recoil at the sight. You hated the doctors and it seemed like Draco was ready to operate on your hand.

“You know? I think I should go before—" You start before he raised a brow at you, looking down at your injured hand and then back up to your eyes. "What?"

“You could get in trouble, you know?” He gestured to your hand before guiding you to sit on a bed that seemed too clean to be one of the old trinkets lying around before. "You need to clean your hand before it gets infected. Everything in here is old and dusted."

"Then I will clean my hand on my own, thank you very much." You yank the cleanser from his hands and pop the cap open. You stared at your wound before looking at the bottle, already regretting your choice.

"What?" He looked over your face, noticing the hesitation in your facial expression. "Do you need me to do it?"

"Yes, please." You whisper quickly, shutting your eyes tightly when you felt him lightly dab your cut with the cleanser. You bit your lip when it stung, nodding when he told you it would be over in a second.

“I'm done." Draco murmured and threw the cloth in the trash, watching you slowly open your eyes and look at your now bandaged hand. He nodded at you before standing, finding his way back over to a wooden cabinet.

You looked around the place, noticing the fresh bedsheets and glass of water that surely hasn't been sitting there for Godric knows how long. Tucking your injured hand in your free one, you wandered the small sleeping area before stopping at all the books piled next to it.

"Malfoy, what are you doing in here?" You take a book from the top of the pile and read its title. The Fundamentals of Vanishing Cabinets. You raised your brows in curiosity, looking over at him to find him already staring. "Well?"

“Like I said, I don't have to answer you.” He murmured and stepped toward you, taking the book from your hands.

You stared at him and frowned. His image was even worse up close. You could see the bags underneath his eyes and the gel from his hair completely gone from how many times he ran his fingers through his hair. When he glanced down at you, you were once again millimeters from each other before you both pulled away in confusion and guilt, like your skin was on fire.

“Are you getting enough sleep?" You ask as he walks toward the cabinet again, but this time, you followed him over. "I don't see you eat enough during dinner either."

“You watch me, Potter?” He spoke in amusement, lips turning down to hide the smirk that wanted to present itself to you.

“What? No!" You splutter out and look away, face flamed in warmth. "Only in hatred.”

"Whatever you say." He murmured and began tinkering with the cabinet, placing a green apple on the top shelf. "Stalker." He whispered, earning an annoyed glare from you.

“Just answer the question. Why did the room change to this mess?” You look at the bed you assumed his stayed in and then change your gaze toward the cabinet he seemed so intent on working on. “And why are you spending all your time on this old cabinet?“

He opened his mouth to speak when he winced and clutched his left forearm, making you panic ever so slightly. Draco moved to sit on the bed, pursing his lips and trying to think of anything but the pain being emitted on his arm.

You frown and take his arm in your hands, pulling his sleeve up only to silently gasp in surprise. Draco pulled his arm away and tugged the sleeve down, glaring at you.

“You’re a death eater.” You look at him with wide eyes, stepping back in shock. You looked between his arm, his frantic eyes, and then the cabinet. Your head was reeling at all the information you learned. "You got the dark mark—"

“You can’t tell anyone.” Draco whispered, almost pleading you to not tell a soul. If you told Harry, then everything would go to shit. But when he saw your face clear of all shock and shift to remorse, he knew you wouldn't go against his wishes despite him being a real threat to you and your brother.

“Why? Why did…” You move closer and clutch his arm, pulling his sleeve up again and wanting to trace the design. When he stopped you, you looked up and knew it would hurt. You nodded and thumbed the skin below it, eyes looking over the ink. “You didn’t have a choice, did you?”

Draco nodded and shut his eyes when you continued to thumb the empty space, opening them when you stopped. He knew that the gears were turning in your head when you stared at him like he was you next project — which he knew you would never call him that despite the loathing you had for him.

After seconds of silence, you open your mouth and speak softly, thumb moving over the space once more. “Can't you tell Dumbledore at all? Maybe he could do something to protect you—“

“That’s not how it works.” Draco stopped your movements and tugged his sleeve down. He caught you hesitating to look over the mark again, tilting his head to the side when you took a seat beside him. "Why are you still here?"

"What do you mean?" You murmur and trace the bandage over your hand before looking up at him, meeting his blue-gray eyes. "I can leave if you want me to. But I want to know if you'll be okay if I leave first."

You kept eye contact with him for a little longer before looking away, eyes finding interest in a silver crown in the corner. You weren't sure why you cared so much about him. It was like a switch flipped on in your mind. In all your years at Hogwarts, his taunting was a constant in your life. So when that went away, you knew something was wrong and you wanted to make sure he was okay, even if your brother hated him. It was an instinct you suddenly gained.

"Why?" He stared at the mirror across from him, catching your eyes through the reflection once more. "Is it because you want more material to tease me about?"

"Godric, no." You huff and run your fingers through your hair. "I'm not a monster, Malfoy." You let a small smile slip through when he raised his brow at you. "I'm not a monster!"

"Not saying you are, Potter." He finally smiled at you. But even through the smile, you could see how exhausted he was. With whatever he was doing for the Dark Lord, you just hoped he would be fine in the end. "If I tell you I'll be okay, will you leave me be so I can finish my task?"

You turn your head to look at him properly, looking in between his eyes. You sighed and broke eye contact, "Yes." You look back up and find him millimeters away again, making you squint. "If you don't come to potions tomorrow with any kind of retort, I will be in here waiting for you, understand?"

He rolled his eyes and nodded, "Whatever gets you out of here, Potter."

Nodding, you stand and dust off your clothes once more. Talking with Draco civically was quite a feat, but you knew it was for the better or worse. But just before you could leave the room, you heard his voice ring out to you once more, you first name falling from his lips instead of your last.

"Don't use that strong of a shampoo anymore, yeah?"

You send him a half smile, "Only if you don't apply your entire bottle of cologne."

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[sheep-from-rad]

breathes, I need to make a masterlist for DC. Writing Batfam is becoming too fun 

*I don't own DC also reader is gender neutral. this could be applied to yandere batfam as well, i think*

Bruce, Batfam and baby! Reader would be fun to watch. This man raised children but apparently having a baby in the house made him realize that he still has a lot to learn. Reader arrives at the estate as a baby after their mom (ex fling) decides that it will be better if they will be with Bruce instead.  

If this man’s sleep schedule was bad before, now it's abysmal. It was so bad that Batfam had to step in. Baby! Reader cries at 3 a.m. and before Bruce can even stand up he sees Jason at the dark corner of the room telling him to go back to sleep because Dick already has it handled. I love the idea of baby reader’s crib being in Bruce’s room because it will be easier to reach the crying baby reader at night that way. 

There’s no such thing as too much clothes. Batfam sees something cute or a baby clothing, they are buying it. Damian is partial towards stuffed animals and he will deny it but Bruce had seen him bonding with by reading animal related baby books. I also see Damian as a possessive brother in the sense that once they have their hands on  baby! reader, they will never let anyone else hold them. Not even Bruce. 

Batfamily had to now pack another shirt whenever they go outside with baby!reader or else they’ll be coming home wet with baby drool. Every Batsibling has their alarm clocks and they’ll always fight each other on who gets to feed the baby reader. Alfred wins most of the time because the siblings get too caught up in the fighting; they just forget about feeding the baby. 

Jason will nonstop troll Bruce for sure. Bruce will be entering the dining hall all tired with baby reader in his arms and Jason will be singing, ‘A single mom who works two jobs’ meme until Bruce glares at him or tells him to stop. Coffee supply on the estate doubles because Tim is not the only one addicted now, Bruce too. 

Superhero themed onesies are banned inside the house because it became a mini competition between the batfam but don’t let anyone know that Bruce kept a Batman bib. Every bedroom is baby proofed because each sibling just loves to monopolize baby readers. 

Galas are now fun. The batfam who previously avoids galas like it’s a plague now from time to time pops in to say that Bruce is gonna be late because either baby reader got into a teeny tiny accident and needed to be changed or baby reader got into Stephanie’s make up kit and needed to be wiped clean. 

The idea of a baby!reader learning how to crawl and walk is funny too. Bruce just constantly stressed out because his little baby just disappears and then comes back in the arms of a sibling who told him that they crawled to their room. Baby reader sees older siblings training and they’ll be trying to replicate it (with the siblings making sure it won’t be dangerous of course). Just imagine Dick’s social media with a picture of him stretching and baby reader (face covered for privacy) next to him replicating it. 

Batfam was overprotective before and it became more protective now. Tim will always be quick to cover baby!reader’s face when the siblings  are out in public say for ice cream or a little shopping trip. Securities are doubled too. If one sibling is taking baby reader out, another one will be following behind and the others are on the roof.  No baby photos because let’s face it, one quick photo can land on a random newspaper and some villains might get their hands on a copy. 

Damian will always be quick to pull away baby!reader on galas especially when Bruce is surrounded by women who try flirting with him using their ‘maternal’ skills. Passing baby!reader around the gala are not allowed unless Bruce himself lets the person hold the baby!reader. 

Imagine one day Batman goes to a Justice League meeting with the baby! Reader strapped on their chest because apparently the batfam is busy and Alfred is on vacation. If Bruce only knew that the batfam lied because the JL wants to meet the baby reader. Did Justice League got overboard with the Christmas gifts the next year? Shhh… we don’t talk about that, the impromptu storage room is still full.