#and since both have relatives that would like disapprove

[rga531]

[sarahs-library]

hi! i hope your having a good day 😊 you said you were taking requests so i have one if you dont mind! could you do something were az and reader are interrupted after they accept the bond by someone, maybe elain and she's upset and it causes issues? thanks!

Hey,

This is my first request so please be gentle with me if it isn't exactly what you were looking for. Also I'm sorry this sat in my inbox for so long, I wasn't sure exactly how to go about writing this one; I eventually decided on making it as dramatic as possible. 😅 So in true form, this is written mostly from our drama king Rhys' POV but there is some Reader POV fluff at the end. I wasn't sure where you stood with smut, so I've kept it relatively open to interpretation at the end.

Get Out!

Maybe being so secretive about your relationship with Azriel wasn't the best idea after all.

Word count: 5,090

Rhys POV

Rhys adjusted his grip on the blade in his hand as it clashed with Cassian's, the keen of metal against metal filled the training room. Sweat burned his eyes as he heaved air into his lungs. Cassian's grin bordered on feral as they separated, circling each other. Rhys hadn't realised how long it had been since he'd trained properly, but he could feel it in the ache of his muscles.

"Fatherhood making you soft, Rhys?"

Rhys rolled his eyes, hoping that Cassian didn't notice he couldn't muster more of a response between gasped breaths and fending off his attacks. They'd been at it for hours. Cassian was right, in between High Lord duties and trying to spend every possible moment with his son, resolute on not missing a single milestone, Rhys had certainly neglected his training regime. And now his brother was making him pay for it.

A blade whistled dangerously close to his face. Rhys managed to bring his own up in time to stop the blow as the force of it reverberated down his arm. He ducked out of Cassian's reach, staying firmly on the defensive while his brother eyed him with mirth. Cassian made a show of surveying Rhys slowly as he began to advance again, eyes trailing down his body and settling for a moment on the tight muscles of his abdomen. He clucked his tongue in disapproval.

"Just because Feyre loves you, doesn't mean you can let yourself go so much." Rhys dodged as Cassian swung towards his side, levelling him with a strike of his own which was blocked with ease. Cassian smirked at him as their blades locked, Rhys bared his teeth in a snarl as he forced Cassian's blade back.

A gentle caress against the fortress of his mental shields stole his attention away from his brother for a moment. Cassian smacked the flat face of his sword against Rhys' thigh, a strike that would likely leave a nasty bruise. Rhys opened the antechamber in his mind, built like a house of worship over the foundations of his mating bond with Feyre. He managed to send a small, gentle caress in return before he was drawn back to avoiding Cassian's blade.

Rhys, where are you? There was an undercurrent of worry flowing down the bond to him. It took his attention immediately. He signalled to Cassian, lowering his blade and taking a deep breath.

Training with Cass at the House. What's wrong? He was already moving as he answered, racking the blunted practice sword and retrieving his shirt from where it had been tossed earlier in the session. Cassian mimicked his movements before heading to the pitcher of water to pour two glasses.

It's Elain, something's happened.

What?

She's inconsolable. She says...that Y/N attacked her.  Surprise sparked in Rhys.

Are you sure? It didn't make any sense. You were so gentle. A junior healer under Madja's tutelage, brought in to assist with Feyre's pregnancy. You'd been visiting the River House regularly to do milestone checks on Nyx. During that time, both he and Feyre had struck up a friendship with you. He'd never seen you so much as raise your voice.

It's all she's said to us, Nesta is furious. Rhys' eyes drifted to where Cassian stood, gulping down his glass of water.

"We're needed at the River House."

Cassian raised a brow at the seriousness of the tone as he moved across the training room towards his brother.

"What happened?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure. But we should get back before Nesta goes on the warpath." Cassian considered for a moment before taking to the skies, seemingly spurred by whatever he felt down his mating bond. Rhys launched himself after his brother before sending a reassuring message to his own mate.

We're on our way.

Elain sat nestled next to Feyre on the sofa. She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief as her sister rubbed soothing circles on her back. Nesta was pacing in front of the fireplace, the swish of her dress and hard clack of her heels against the hardwood felt too loud in the otherwise silent room. Rhys stood for a moment in the doorway, assessing the scene in front of him as Cassian passed him to join Nesta. She ignored him, continuing to pace.

Rhys approached his mate and Elain, settling himself on the arm of the sofa at Feyre's side. He casts an assessing gaze over the middle Archeron sister. Her other arm, the one not wiping at her face, was laid in her lap as Feyre held a compress of ice over the wrist.

Rhys let out a low sigh, running his hands through his hair as he worked through possible avenues of action. He reopened his mental connection with Feyre.

Has she said anything else? Feyre turned away from her sister where she sat staring into space.

No, Madja's on her way though. It's strange, she said she hasn't seen Y/N in days, she was supposed to be visiting her family in the Day Court. None of this makes any sense, why would Y/N do this?

Unease sat heavily in Rhys' stomach. Could something have happened to you on your travels? He thought of Braillyn and the manipulation the crown had afforded her over the minds of others. The Dread Trove was safe, was this a different horror Koschei was responsible for? Was he trying to target his family through you? It would make sense, you visited the River House regularly and both he and Feyre had left Nyx unattended in your care on more than one occasion.

He felt Madja's approach as she let herself in, inclining her head towards himself and Feyre where they sat. She settled herself on Elain's other side, reaching for her arm. Feyre moved her hand and the compress away, revealing a slight bruising and swelling on the skin underneath.

"We need to find her, she can't just attack Elain like this." Nesta's voice cut sharp as a blade across the room, Elain's tears starting fresh at her words. Madja lifted her gaze from where she was assessing Elain's wrist, tilting her hand in gentle exercises to assess the range of movement.

"Perhaps you can continue this discussion outside?" Rhys caught the pointed look the healer gave him. He nodded, standing and placing his hand on the small of Feyre's back as she did the same. Nesta watched them for a moment before stomping towards the door; disappearing into the foyer.

Feyre shot him a look, grey-blue eyes filled with worry as they moved to follow her out. Nesta continued to pace outside the room as they shut the door, the low sound of Madja's soothing voice travelling through the wood.

"We have to do something."

"Nesta, we shouldn't do anything rash." Feyre's voice was firm as she addressed her, switching smoothly from comforting sister to High Lady of the Night Court. "Not until we have more information."

"Well she," Nesta gestured towards the closed door and her distressed sister, "isn't saying anything. So I say we find Y/N and get her to tell us what happened."

Rhys was inclined to agree, but held some reservations as to what exactly Nesta deemed an appropriate method of finding out information when it pertained to the middle Archeron sister.

"Feyre's right, we shouldn't be hasty about this." He met Nesta's eyes, filled with burning silver fire. "You're too close to this," he continued. "Why don't you go back to the House, blow off some steam and we'll discuss this later when we know the full story." Cassian moved closer to Nesta's side, a comforting hand on her arm as she stared Rhys down. He watched as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then another. Rhys recognised the mind-stilling technique she favoured to keep her grounded.

Her eyes were still bright with anger when she opened them again, but she seemed calmer than she had been before. She gave a small nod. Cassian tucked her under an arm as they made their way to the front door.

"We'll send for you when we know something." Cassian nodded to Rhys over his shoulder but Nesta didn't turn back to look at either of them. The door closed with a thud behind them.

Feyre looked at where her sister and brother-in-law stood a moment before. She turned, making her way down the hall Rhys study.

"What do you think we should do?"

"I'll search the city for her, we could send a note? Ask her to meet us both?" Feyre nodded in agreement.

"We should make contact with Az." Rhys considered, reluctant to disturb his brother when he'd asked for a rare week off to visit his mother in Illyria. The request had been sudden and abrupt. Az had sent word close to midnight a few days prior. He hadn't written much, other than he needed some time away from his duties and that he'd reach out to Rhys later on in the week. He had been concerned at the out of character behaviour, apprehensive that something serious must have happened. Azriel had evaded requests for more information; saying that he'd brief Rhys on his return.

"When we know more," he paused with Feyre on the threshold of the study. "I don't want to call him back when it may turn out to be nothing serious."

Feyre hummed in agreement.

"I just...I don't understand, why would she do something like this? We gave her access to our son, Rhys. She didn't seem..." Feyre trailed off. Before she could continue the sound of a throat clearing came from the kitchen door. They turned in tandem, both sets of eyes fixed on the twins that appeared out of the shadows there.

"We...We think this may be our fault." Nuala's voice was quiet as she spoke for both of them, hands clasped together tightly as they stood before their High Lord and Lady.

"How could this possibly be your fault?" Feyre didn't hide the surprise in her tone. Their dark eyes were unreadable but Rhys didn't miss the glance they both gave towards the closed door where Elain still sat with Madja.

He opened the door to the office, gesturing in invitation to the twins to follow Feyre and him in.

Rhys sat in the high-backed chair behind the desk, Feyre perched on his lap as they listened to Nuala and Cerridwen's tale.

"Azriel instructed us not to tell anyone where he was when he sent word. She saw us putting together a basket, asked us who it was for. We didn't see any harm in telling her we were making it for him," Cerridwen's face was grave as she spoke. "Elain wanted to help, so we baked the bread together. She went to the garden after that, and Nuala left to deliver it."

"I know she didn't follow," Nuala cut in, her voice shaking. "I would have noticed if she had."

"Perhaps she saw where you went in one of her visions?" Feyre supplied. She bestowed her a small comforting smile, Rhys could feel her sympathy for the twins through the bond. They cared about Elain; even without his daemati powers you could read the guilt they shared.

"But it was here? In Velaris?" Rhys asked. Nuala looked at her twin, a silent conversation happening between them, before she nodded her head. Rhys' stomach turned to lead. Azriel had lied to him about where he was. Rhys knew that Azriel had his secrets, maybe more than anyone else in the Inner Circle. But he'd never known him to be overtly dishonest, not with his family.

"What happened after that?" Feyre's voice was gentle as she pushed for more information.

None of this makes any sense.

I know. Feyre squeezed his hand, the one that she had clasped between both of her own beneath the desk, as she sent reassuring waves down the bond.

"We were both preparing lunch after that. We didn't see her again, until you did." Feyre had shown him the memory as he'd flown towards the house. Elain bursting through the front door, arm clutched to her chest and tears streaming down her face. She hadn't said anything as Nesta had taken her into her arms, demanding to know what had happened.

"Would it be possible that Elain met Y/N on the way to...where Azriel is?" Feyre addressed the question to the room but it was Cerridwen that answered her.

"I don't think so, my lady. It's...out of the way, you wouldn't stumble upon it by accident." Rhys didn't miss the look Nuala sent her, dark eyes on fire. Cerridwen sunk back into her chair, realising that perhaps she'd said too much. Rhys pressed though, he couldn't leave it.

"So that would mean that either Y/N followed Elain from the house on purpose or she was there? With Azriel?"He suspected it was the latter, and the twins certainly knew more about it than they were willing to share. They both looked down, pointedly avoiding Rhys' gaze.

"We promised, my lord."

"We could do it together if you want?" Feyre's hand toyed at his neck, tracing the Illyrian tattoos etched into the skin. They'd dismissed Nuala and Cerridwen back to their duties while they discussed the next step to take. They had both agreed that reaching out to Azriel was the best course of action, to follow the lead of his potential involvement before they took any further steps concerning you.

Rhys was torn. He wanted Feyre to be involved, but it felt too personal. Azriel hadn't lied to her. But he had to him, his brother, his High Lord. Azriel, whom he had always trusted. Feyre would moderate his temper, if the need arose, but a dark volatile part of him didn't want that.

A quiet knock sounded on the door. Feyre called out for Madja to enter, already sensing her standing on the other side. Her smile was reassuring as she moved to stand in front of them at the desk.

"A nasty sprain, but no broken bones." Some of the tension seemed to leave Feyre's shoulders as she let out a relieved sigh. "I've recommended she rest it, keep it elevated," Madja continued, "it should be back to normal within a few days."

"Thank you Madja, we appreciate you coming out of you way." Feyre's tone was warm as she spoke to the elderly fae.

"It's my pleasure, my lady."

"Did Elain say anything to you? About what happened?"

Madja frowned, before shaking her head. "Nothing that made much sense. She mentioned a door and being pushed, she didn't say any more than that." Madja took a step closer to the desk, worrying the fabric of the apron she wore between her fingers.

"If I may..." She paused, waiting for further invitation to speak. Rhys gestured with a hand for her to continue.

"I've known Y/N since she was a girl," Madja's voice wavered as she spoke, in all the years Rhys had known her he'd never seen her close to tears before. "She wouldn't do something like this it's not in her nature," Madja paused before quickly adding, "not to discredit your sister, High Lady." Rhys watched Feyre as she caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she listened to the healer.

"This situation is highly unusual, Madja. We need to speak to the parties involved, gather more information." Rhys speech was clinical, playing High Lord rather than concerned brother-in-law.

"I'll take my leave then."

I should see to Elain. Feyre slipped off his lap with a parting brush of her lips against his cheek before following Madja out of the room. Rhys rested his elbows on the desk in front of him and lowered his head into his hands.

After taking a few minutes to collect himself Rhys began using his power to comb through the city, brushing past the minds of his citizens as they went about their daily lives. It took longer than he thought, identifying the distinct signature of his brother, as recognisable to him as his own after 500 years. Cloistered on the outskirts of the city, the surrounding land reserved for farming crops with very few residences. He felt another presence there, one less familiar to him, yours.

Rhys brushed a talon against Azriel's mental shields, a teeming cluster of darkness not unlike the shadows he wielded, and waited. The tick of the clock as the seconds passed by had Rhys on edge, he was considering pushing again, this time more firmly, when the shadows created a small opening just big enough for him to slip through.

Rhys didn't bother with a greeting. His mental voice was harsh, more than he meant it to be, as it reverberated around the dark antechamber.

You have ten seconds to explain why you are not in Illyria, and why my mate is consoling her injured sister before I come and find you, and we have this conversation in person. Conversation was a very polite term to use for what would inevitably become a battle of wills, and potentially blades, between the High Lord and his Spymaster.

Don't you fucking dare, Rhys. Azriel's voice was ice. The hostile rage that bubbled underneath shook Rhys out of his own for a moment. It was like its own living thing, driven by base instincts to defend against a threat at all costs. The force of it almost pushed him out. Rhys bridled his own surprise and rage down.

Okay, Rhys' voice was soothing, carried on a night-kissed wind. I won't do that Az, but you need to talk to me.

The storm of Azriel's emotions seemed to calm a little, Rhys could feel the effort he was putting in, wrestling for control that was usually so militant. He waited for his brother to speak for a few moments before continuing.

Why don't you start with where you are, and why Nuala and Cerridwen are involved?

He thought that Azriel was going to hold fast in his reticence. Instead his voice, missing some of the frigid quality it had before, answered after a few beats.

I own a property on the outskirts of the city, I've been here since I sent word asking for leave. Azriel paused before continuing, Nuala and Cerridwen were just doing what I asked, they don't need to be a part of this. Rhys should have expected this. Azriel always knew how to toe the line between answering what was asked without giving any substantial information.

And what is it that you asked them to do for you? Because they wouldn't tell us, because of some promise they made to you.

They delivered some supplies to me.

Supplies?

Food and other basic necessities.

And is there a reason you couldn't retrieve these for yourself? Why you're sequestered away in some property we're unaware of with one of our healers? Rhys tried to press against the walls of Azriel's mind to see what else he could feel or sense but it yielded nothing. Are you injured Az? Worry bloomed. As out of character as it was for Azriel to lie to his family, if it was because he was injured and didn't want any of them to know, to worry, Rhys could rationalise that.

No. Rhys could feel Azriel's attention, drawn away to whatever was going in outside his mind, still only half maintaining their communication. Is Elain okay?

Are you talking to Y/N? I know she's there with you.

Azriel hesitated before answering. Yes.

Elain is saying that Y/N attacked her, is that true? Did you see what happened?

I did, but it was an accident Rhys. She didn't mean to.

She says she was pushed. I'm not sure how that can be considered an accident, Azriel. Rhys tried to keep a handle on his agitation, but this conversation was going nowhere quickly. Why don't you show me what happened, then we can put this whole thing to bed.

A tidal wave rose, angry and biting as it chased Rhys towards the gap in the barrier he entered from. Rhys retreated back from it, shocked by it's sudden appearance.

No. Azriel's snarled response rebounded around his head.

Fine, I'll take it up with Y/N if this is how you're going to act.

Wait, don't. The emotion receded as quickly as it came, leaving Rhys toeing the edge of the empty chamber. Leave her out of this Rhys, it's my fault.

Oh? She's assaulted a member of our Court, Azriel.

She's my mate, Rhys. Rhys thought for a moment that he hadn't heard him correctly. But it made sense, the instinctual frenzy of emotion that seemed eager to slip his brother's control. We didn't tell you in the beginning, we wanted to get to know each other without any added...pressure.

Az, this is wonderful news...unexpected but wonderful. But we wouldn't have pressured you, either of you, into anything.

I know, I just...I was being selfish, Rhys. And we were so caught up in each other. I said I'd talk to you when I got back, I was going to tell you then. Rhys didn't hide the happiness he felt, letting his brother feel it freely, It was a bit spur of the moment, deciding to accept the bond. That's why I asked Nuala and Cerridwen for help, they knew where we were.

I'm happy for you, Az. Rhys allowed himself to bask for a moment in the joy that he could feel from his brother as he spoke about you. A part of him wanted to leave then, to retreat from his brother's mind and leave him to enjoy this special, if volatile time, as a newly mated male. But there was still a piece of this puzzle missing. What happened with Elain?

It is my fault Rhys, I should have sensed her coming. But we were preoccupied. Azriel's discomfort put Rhys own teeth on edge as he continued. We were in the living room and Elain opened the door, Y/N panicked and slammed it with gust of wind.

Panicked?

We were...indisposed.

You're joking, Rhys barely managed to choke the words out as he tried to contain his laughter.

Its not funny, Rhysand. He could almost see his brother grinding his teeth in agitation. By the time we made ourselves decent, Elain had already left. I was going to come to the house to see if she was okay, but Y/N is really upset that she may have hurt her. Rhys understood what he didn't say, that he couldn't leave his mate like that.

Tell her it's just a sprain, nothing serious.

That's a relief. If we're done here- Rhy's didn't allow Azriel to finish, already taking his leave.

Rhys watched the sun set set over the Sidra as he ruminated on the strange events the day had taken, and how he was going to defuse the tension from this morning before Azriel returned, likely with Y/N in tow.

Your POV

Steam curled into the air from the water of the bath. The heat soothed the ache in your muscles, ones that you didn't even know you had were making their displeasure known, as you adjusted your position to lean back against Azriel. His arm slipped around your middle, pulling you flush against his chest as scarred fingers traced circles over your midriff. You sighed in contentment as Azriel continued his ministrations, feeling his smile against the skin of you neck. He brushed the sensitive skin with a delicate kiss. Neither of you spoke as you sat there, enjoying the comfortable silence and basking in the feeling of the new golden thread that tied you together.

Azriel reached to the edge of the tub where the basket of toiletries lay, filled with your favourite scents curtesy of the shadow wraith twins, and grabbed a soft cloth and a bar of sweet smelling soap. You groaned as he began to gently massage the lather on the cloth into the skin of arms and shoulders, adjusting slightly to give him better access. You turned your head, resting it in the cradle of Azriel's shoulder, looking up at him through your lashes.

Over the few months that you'd known him, you'd come to admire his stoic beauty. Rich hazel eyes framed by thick lashes and dark brows. His sharp features and full lips that erupted butterflies in your stomach every time he gifted you with an alluring smile or tantalising smirk. As your relationship had progressed he'd become more open is displaying his emotions with you, less prone to cloaking himself in his shadows. But you'd never in that time seen such open contentment displayed on his features.

You watched as his eyes tracked the path his hand drew with the cloth against your body. You brought a hand out of the warm cocoon of the water to trace the map of markings across his shoulders, following the trail up his neck with tender kisses. Azriel's chest rumbled his approval. The flare of his wings sent ripples across the surface of the bath as you let a soft breath out against the delicate shell of his ear.

"It appears my little mate is rather insatiable." Azriel sighed, feigning exasperation as he moved the cloth lower, down off your shoulders to brush the top of your breasts.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." The hand on his shoulder reached to brush a single fingertip against the sensitive membrane of a wing as you smirked into his neck.

"Careful." Azriel growled, taking the circles he was tracing on your midriff dangerously lower. Even though the past few days had been filled with nothing but Azriel, the feel of his skin against yours, the taste of him on your tongue, there was a burning pit of desire that demanded more. You felt as though you could live a thousand more years and never tire of the feeling of him holding you in his arms. The thought of leaving the little bubble of bliss you'd created here was like a cold water shock. Thinking of the potential repercussions you'd face of what happened earlier left the sting of bile in the back of your mouth.

Azriel's hands stilled as he sensed the shift in your mood. You buried your face into his neck, closing your eyes and letting his scent calm your racing heart. Azriel abandoned the cloth to place his hand on the back of you head, carting his fingers through your hair. He made a low soothing noise.

"It's okay," he continued to massage his fingers against your scalp as he spoke. "It was an accident, no one is going to blame you."

"Elain will, she probably hates me." Your voice broke as you tried to hold back the guilt that had been plaguing you, such a start contrast to the joy and ravenous hunger.

"She'll understand. The others will too, Rhys actually found it very amusing."

"Oh cauldron boil me." You could imagine it now, the smirking good natured jibes from the high-lord and the likely even less subtle innuendos his general would deal out to you.

"Come on," the fingers dancing through your hair stopped. "Look at me." Part of you wanted to continue to hide as the anxiety and embarrassment coiled inside of you, but as Azriel moved to cup your cheek you lifted your face away to look at him. His eyes were soft as he took in your face, so close that you could see flecks of green and gold constellating around the iris. His thumb rubbed gently against you cheek.

"I just want to stay here for the rest of our lives." Azriel smiled gently and hummed his agreement, leaning forward to press his lips against the skin of your forehead.

"Unfortunately, I think we'll be missed." He considered for a moment before adding. "And I wouldn't put it past Cassian to break down the door and drag me back to civilised society." You loosed a small smile at his attempt to make light of the situation, but it still did nothing to quell the apprehension and doubts.

You'd so desperately wanted to make a good impression. It had all been planned out. After the week was done; once you and Azriel had returned to your normal lives, he would have announced the mating bond to his family. You'd planned to host a dinner, let them get to know you outside your capacity as a healer. Hoped to create the foundations for meaningful relationships. Instead, you'd ruined it before you'd even started, injuring the High Lady's sister and forcing Azriel to do damage control on your behalf.

"I'm just...I'm sorry Az, I know how important your family is to you. I can't believe I've screwed this up."

"They are important to me." He agreed, thumb stroking gently against your face. "But so are you. I've waited centuries to find you, and you're so much more than I dreamed you'd be." Tears welled in your eyes at his declaration. "I love you, and I know my family will love you too." You reached up to capture his lips in a delicate kiss, despite the gravity of the situation feeling his lips quirk into a smile against your own made your heart sing. You parted, and he began to trail kisses across your cheek.

"Rhys and Feyre already like you, they trust you with Nyx. Everyone else will fall victim to your charming smile and witty sense of humour, I'm sure." He murmured in your ear as he traced his nose against the soft skin of your neck.

"We'll face them together when the time comes." He whispered the promise into your skin as he paved a line of tender kisses to a particularly sensitive spot he'd discovered in the last few days, taking extra care to pay it the most attention.

You sighed and arched your back, allowing him greater access to your neck and chest. Azriel's affirmations had quelled the storm within you, leaving heat and hunger in the wake of his lips.

"But, we've got a few days before anyone is expecting us back. And I have plans for you." Azriel's voice turned husky at the end, the heady promise made your toes curl as you pressed yourself closer against him.

"Oh?" You breathed as his lips began to chart a course across your chest, skimming across the tops of your breasts. You felt more than heard as he hummed an affirmation against the delicate skin. "And what would those plans be?"

Azriel's wings flared as your hand found his hair, winding the strands between your fingers. He stopped lathing delicate kisses against your skin to look up at you through dark lashes, eyes light and mischievous. His grin was positively wicked, canines flashing in the light.

"Why don't I show you."

[needle-thread-thimble-spear]

“Should Silverfish be the right name” felicity remarked, “only since, there's one right IN the silver drawer, and it’s not silver at all! It’s all grey and spotted with black, AND, it’s not even a fish!”

The doll beside it, diligence, affected a sigh. “It is not the time to ask that sort of question. These ones are set to polishing silver.”

“This one might suppose, it was named after tarnished silver…”

~~

It was getting toward the time to serve supper, and the dolls had just finished changing into their evening uniforms, except solace who was cooking.

“Is it ready solace! Dinner, do you suppose it’s ready?”

Solace affected a light smile. “Yes felicity. Please let’s bring out the first course.”

So felicity and diligence carried out the soup. A simple consommé, which Mistress favored and since it was only Her and Her friend today, it was understood that the dolls would stick to the basics. No need for Mistress to set a menu!

Mistress and Her friend, Ms. Smallwood, were sitting in the dining room already. No need to call Them to dinner! The Two were engrossed in animated conversation, or at least, Ms. Smallwood was animated. Mistress, as ever, kept relative composure, but She stared at Ms. Smallwood intently and rubbed Her lip in Her right hand- with Her elbow rested on the table no less! What would diligence think!

If it did think anything, it didn’t make any remark about it as it politely stood next to Mistress, waiting for a lull in the conversation.

“Four hundred million years? Truly Emma? You think the Earth could be that old?”

“Older still, Caroline! Sure, the Lepismatid indicated such an age, but the Porifera sample you provided me demonstrates a figure closer to eight-”

A facet in felicity's crystal sparked. It knew that word!

“Did you know, Miss Smallwood, that this one saw a Silverfish this morning!”

“-maybe even a milliard! I mean just think ab- wait, what?”

“Yes! Actually this one would like to ask you about why its called that. It’s not silver, or a fish!”

Ms. Smallwood gave a queer look across the table. Mistress and diligence both stared at felicity. Mistress with confused interest, and diligence with something resembling stern disapproval. Felicity was oblivious, looking toward Ms. Smallwood expectantly.

“Felicity.” Mistress put its name forward with a caution it was not accustomed to, finally catching its attention. “I don’t recall working Latin into your facets.”

“This one was worked with lots of Latin Mistress! This one was worked with Your felicity! This one is Your felicity!”

Mistress took Her elbow off the table, to the relief of diligence, and replaced it with two hands slammed down, to its visible dismay. She leaned over, decorum and soup entirely forgotten.

“That was not my intention!” She looked to Ms. Smallwood, and spoke an unwhispered aside. “It was only meant to be the cheerful one! Do you think associated information could have carried through?”

“I shouldn’t know! Your crystalwork is one of a kind, but... that would be unprecedented!”

“Felicity, how much Latin do you know?”

“Oh, well, this one knows lots and lots Mistress!” The doll began counting on its fingers. “Acanthus, Acute, Ampule- oh isn’t it that Lepisma comes from Greek?”

The soup, no longer forgotten, had found its way onto Ms. Smallwood’s tea gown.

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 28. perfect timing

chapter tags/warnings: therapist! toji. manipulative! naoya. toji defends you. naoya 100% has anger issues. infidelity/adultery. extremely strong language. corruption. family drama.

word count: 3.8k

notes: hugs to everyone! been a while, and my busy days at work (plus straggling mental health) have not been doing me favors. writing, reading, and interacting with you all have been bringing me joy. i spent extra time on this chapter to make this piece what i hoped it would be. enjoy. likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Toji loved working on Sundays.

With his colleagues off, Sundays were the only day in the week when Toji could be the sole person in the therapy office. He appreciated the slowness that came with working on the weekends, allowing him to balance his time for scheduled appointments with unoccupied windows used to strategize and decompress.

He relished in the lull. The tranquility. The peace.

But alas, the serenity was cut short on this particular Sunday, as someone barged through the entrance like a wild boar, causing a rambunctious racket as the front door flung open with immense force.

The doorknob clanged against the wall, and Toji—sitting behind the reception counter—looked up from a patient file on his computer screen. 

With both curiosity and annoyance, he peered above his monitor. 

The black tips to blond hair. The sharp brown glare. The permanent frown. 

Who else could this have been but Naoya Zenin, presenting himself in the flesh?

The incomer’s expression consisted of nothing but antipathy as he bared his teeth at the doorway, his hands balled into fists by his sides. Based on how he glared upon seeing his older cousin, anyone could safely conclude that this man was beyond livid. 

Must he pester me on the weekend? Toji thought as he mentally shook his head, clucking his tongue faintly in disapproval. He had not seen Naoya ever since his official departure from the Zenin Corporation and household, which was months ago. From his recollection, the manchild before him had a fickle personality, bursting into immature fits that easily made someone younger (like his son Megumi) seem like the actual adult around. 

Given this, Toji legitimately did not understand how you had been putting up with Naoya as your husband. 

As for himself, Toji did his best to ignore the new presence, clicking his mouse as he resumed analyzing the file on his screen. He did not wish to spare a moment longer than necessary tending to the human tornado on his way. If Toji had wanted to deal with Naoya in person, he would have confronted him long ago. Rather, he had decided strategically to watch his cousin wreak havoc from afar to avoid interacting with his burdensome family. Everyone in the Zenin household, except for Mai and Maki, was not worth the aggravation that came with mere association. 

Now, especially with today’s booked schedule, Toji would not be able to make an exception to soothe Naoya’s upcoming tantrum.

On the other hand, Naoya had no better choice than to drag himself to his older cousin’s doorstep.

Had circumstances been any different, he also could not bother to see Toji again. He hadn't talked to Toji in months. Why would he? After many years of neglect and inferiority, Naoya finally achieved everything he wanted. 

Or so he thought. 

This was why, to face his estranged relative again—after recently learning that you had been seeing him for weeks—was a grand ego blow to Naoya, who could not accept the possibility that he was losing his reputation’s very foundation to the man he had envied all his life.

Recognizing the indignation that fumed from the current Zenin heir, Toji seized the opportunity to inveigle his cousin and greeted him with a cheer.

“Good morning!” he beamed, raising his hand in salutation. The scar by his lips flexed from his grin. “Do you have an appointment?”

Naoya scowled awfully.

"Great to finally see you again, Toji Zenin."

Immediately, the said man’s smile fell at his cousin's overly casual tone. "Woah, there,” he shot back. “Show some respect, will you? First, my last name is Fushiguro. Do not refer to me as Zenin. Second, calling me by my first name is bad manners. I'm older than you, kid."

Without question, the comment irked the blonde. Of all people in the universe, this was Naoya Zenin in question, a hubristic man who hated humiliation and the need to concede. His demeanor hardened with resentment while he struggled to maintain his composure.

"Fine, Mr. Fushiguro."

Toji quirked another smile.

Theoretically, he had no problem demanding more but decided to be nice by saying, “That’s better.” He locked his computer as he shifted his attention, crossing his arms as his back rested against his chair. “I haven't seen you in a while. Remember the days when you used to work here, too? Good times, hm?" All rhetorical chit-chat and pleasantries and, as expected, there was no response. "Well, I have only a few minutes to spare, after which I have business to attend. So...what brings you to visit?”

Another ironic question, as Toji already knew the answer. 

Over the phone, he had spoken with an irate Naoya who demanded to speak to his wife and have her back home. Despite his insufferable treatment toward you, the Zenin CEO could not stand how his apartment remained empty the past few nights, meaning he hadn’t gotten his dick soaked by his lawful spouse like he should be doing.

But then again, Toji thought, he already has a mistress to satisfy himself with.

Meanwhile, Naoya might as well be digging holes into his cousin’s skull from how his glower fizzed with malice. He opened his mouth, only to promptly purse his lips again to choose his reply carefully. 

“Did you make her see you?”

Quite a question.

Toji blinked rapidly through an empty stare. 

Where did that come from? 

“‘See me?’” he had to clarify.

In one smooth motion, Toji stood from his seat, his chair bouncing back slightly when he did. With his arms still folded over his chest, he meandered around the counter area that separated the client and employee zones in the reception area, stopping mere steps away from the younger man. 

Then, he repeated, “See me who?”

Naoya did not appear amused in the slightest.

His hazel eyes all but narrowed from vexation. The paroxysm of negative emotions on the blonde’s face made him appear ready to snap. Like a button ready to blast everything around him, he was close to letting his wrath take over. “Did you send my wife your therapist information just so that you could talk to her and figure out how to get revenge on me?”

What an oddly specific accusation.

“Why would I do such a thing?” It was more of a statement than a question, and Toji could see how his nonchalance profoundly irritated the other man. “She found me like how all my other therapy clients find me. But me reaching out to her personally merely to spite you? No. That's only some shit you would think to do. Unlike yourself, I'm not that petty."

Toji was blunt in his response, he knew.

In his defense, he would rather cut to the chase than beat around the bush. 

He no longer headed the Zenin conglomerate, but he still had a therapy practice to manage and a family to look after. With his packed schedule, every second mattered and he wasn’t the type to waste his time lingering around and dealing with non-important business matters, such as the grouchy kid with him.

His observations definitely blew a fuse within Naoya, though. 

"Excuse me?!" In two sharp steps, he closed the distance between Toji and himself, jabbing a finger into the other's chest. Bold. “You’re fucked, you know that? You’re so damn fucked," he hissed, and the edges of his mouth contorted into a derisive sneer. “You…You’re goddamn obsessed with Y/N, and you don’t even realize that! Give me a fucking break. You only give two hoots about the bitch because she’s my wife, but you don't actually give a shit about the woman herself.”

At that, Toji immediately swatted the hand from his pec.

“Incorrect, I do,” he retorted, his tone firm. “But do you care about her?” and he didn’t need to hear a response for that one, so he went on. “No, you do not. You know what? I found her situation sad because every time your wife talked about you, she told me about how you neglect and can’t satisfy her. This entire time, I was sorry for her precisely because I know the person you are. Fine, you call her your wife. What that means is she's not just a pussy for you to play with. You can’t just pick and choose different parts of her. But where were you when your wife was crying?” He paused briefly, letting his words sink into his silenced cousin’s head. “Where were you, hm? Where were you when she was upset? Anyone with eyes could’ve seen that she’s been having a hard time! But where?” and Toji gave Naoya one pointed glare. “Where…was her husband?”

In the sheets with an older woman.

Of course, that very husband would not admit that aloud, especially since he had yet to realize that his older cousin already knew about his affair with the other’s ex-wife. Instead, Toji saw Naoya twist his lips into a deeper frown.

“I have a company to lead,” was the excuse he spat out, and he ran both hands through his light strands in evident frustration. “I can’t believe our family thought that you were a capable leader. I, however, saw right through your facades, alright? Despite all your fucking degrees and licenses, you left the Zenin Corporation as a shithole for me to manage.” 

“No, I had set the company to run efficiently,” Toji retorted, keeping his levelheaded demeanor. “You turned the Zenin Corporation into—in your own words—a shithole. You decided to fire everyone I had hired. So currently, your managers are inept, your shareholders are unhappy, your daddy is getting angry, and the most convenient person to blame is me.” He shrugged dismissively. “Rookie mistakes. E for Effort, I guess. Luckily for you, Y/N is a good way to cover up the competence which you lack. Thus, she’s only useful when you deem her as such.”

Naoya scoffed, and his shoulders rose and fell with each enraged breath. “Because you don’t understand what a burden she can otherwise be. Besides, I can treat and use her in whatever way I please!”

He might not display this visibly, but Toji felt disgusted. 

“Don’t talk like you own her. That’s disrespectful. She's a person, not an object.”

"What—" Naoya paused, and his eyebrows creased in annoyance. "Who the fuck do you think you are? That woman is my wife.”

“Then treat her like one,” Toji shot back. While matching Naoya's hostility with his own, he could see the latter's eyes widen at the remark. Not that Toji paid him any mind, and he continued staring at his younger cousin with an unfazed demeanor that showed how willing he was to defend. "She might be your wife, but she is not your property.”

As if Naoya would care. 

Rather, he clenched his hands into tight fists by his sides. “You need to stay away from her. You’ve had your chances with marriages. Y/N is mine and not yours. I swear, if you talk about her with your gross lips again, I'll—" He stopped, as he wasn’t quite sure what would be a good threat. “I’ll—”

“You’ll do what, kid?” Toji interrupted, knowing just how pissed Naoya would get from every reminder of who the older person was and who the actual successor to the Zenin inheritance should be. “I’ll keep her since you can’t. You call her a burden, but I don’t find her to be one. I don’t know about you, but I like her. Have you ever had a civil conversation with her? She's sweet and quite interesting to talk to.”

The continuous comments unsurprisingly make Naoya bristle further.

“I said don’t talk about her like that!” he snarled. “Here you are, bossing me around and telling me to treat her better, but listen to how you talk about the woman! Holy shit, you're such a fucking creep.” 

“Me?” Toji repeated, appalled by his bravery to say those words. “Mind you, boy, she is the one who wanted to talk to me first. As her concerned therapist and the more mature adult, I believe I must listen to her complaints and make her feel better, especially when she keeps whining she’s not being fucked good.”

Naoya breathed heavily, his chest undulating while he boiled with rage. Yet, as the younger, more naive, and less physically adept challenger, he could not make himself fight back against the other man. “You...You don’t know shit, Fushiguro.”

Immediately, Toji arched a brow. 

“Really?" Was that supposed to be an insult? "I don't know shit?" This was hilarious! "Oh, boy. I know a lot of fucking shit alright. About ‘your wife’ or whatever you want to deem her, there is not a single chance in hell that she’d ever think about calling you her husband anymore.”

Naoya stared back, rather stupefied. 

In any other situation, he would simply take the remark as a cheap way to rouse him. Of course, talking about you would be the easiest route to do so. This time, though, Toji’s suspiciously happy visage as he retraced his steps to the counter and positioned himself comfortably against the surface had him uneasy. 

He did not like what the other man insinuated. 

"What...do you mean?" As much as he tried, Naoya could not hide how affected he appeared. “Our marriage is none of your damn business.”

Toji shrugged. "Marriage? What marriage? I don't see the rings on her finger, kid. Heard she tossed them. Apparently, you made her upset enough for her to take them off."

Without a better way to retaliate, Naoya clenched his teeth to signal his displease. “Ring or not, she’s still my wife,” he spat. “Plus, I do not want my wife around a womanizer like you.” 

Instead of taking umbrage from your husband’s words, Toji tossed his head to the side and let out a deep, harrowing chortle. “Wow! You’re one to talk," he rebuked. "The whole household used to joke about how you brought a different girlfriend to each of our family dinners. At the moment, you’re married, and what? You want your spouse to come home, but you then drive her away. You want her to be a good partner, but torment her when she does. Please, you are embarrassing yourself. Why don’t you make up your fucking mind?” With his emerald gaze returning to the younger man, Toji then added, “Now, if you excuse me. My next client is arriving and I have an appointment."

Still, Naoya was not ready to let the conversation end. “We’re not done. You think you’re all ‘high and mighty.’ But, you’re low, Toji. So, so low. Your last wife was a divorcee, and now you’re a motherfucker into married women, huh?” 

"So were you." 

"What?"

"Baby?"

And, in one go, all signs of life drained away from Naoya swiftly at the new voice. 

No fucking way, his expression seemed to read as he craned his neck around in rigid and robotic motions. Naoya had to blink twice to confirm the woman by the door before he placed his arms down and froze.

Mari, who returned the man’s aghast expression with perplexion, had her dark brows crinkled. “What…Why are you looking at me like that?” 

Even with Naoya’s face presently angled away, Toji could see his eyes widen at the ludicrous question. Yet, they both thought the same thing: did she forget where she was?

“What are you doing here? I did not expect you,” she continued. “But, I’m here for an…an appointment.”

Her voice trailed off.

When the woman finally seemed to remember that Toji was also there, her dark eyes rounded in alarm. Wait, her expression seemed to say as she very, very slowly dragged her sights to the man by the counter. Once her eyes met Toji’s, her jaw fell slack before she promptly slapped both hands over her gaping mouth. 

With the two visitors transformed into Medusa's stone statues, Toji took great gratification in the perfect timing. This coincidence far exceeded his expectations because he honestly did not anticipate ever being in the same vicinity as Naoya and Mari, yet here he was. Presented this chance, Toji pushed his bottom lip out in fake thought and furrowed his brows, pointing at Mari then Naoya then at Mari again. 

“Seems like you two know each other?” he asked in mock confusion, his finger swinging between the pair. “How come I didn’t get invited to the party? Has something been going on between my baby cousin and my ex-wife?”

No response.

So, he continued.

“What? Were you two spying on me or something?” (He knew the answer was yes.) “Or…wait,” and his voice dropped to a dangerous low, “Don’t tell me that you two…have been having an affair?”

Naoya—realizing the trap they had been set up in—swung his arm forward, prepared to defend them with whatever good lies he could spin (which Toji knew that he had a talent for), only for the woman to speak up first.

“We’re acquaintances.”

The manner in which Mari snapped caused Toji to pop a brow in surprise.

Oh? he noted. His suggestion on their illicit relationship appeared to strike a particular nerve. Even Naoya could sense the danger in his mistress’s overreaction as his eyes widened in horror. He tried to give her a warning expression, but she failed to see him. 

By the way, did Naoya, know that Mari—well—wasn’t very streetsmart? 

Maybe, but he likely prioritized keeping her in his bed to pay her absent wits any attention.

At this, Toji could not pass on the excellent opportunity to simultaneously provoke the two people who betrayed him. 

“Just acquaintances?” he pressed.

“Yes.” 

In another curt response, Mari pressed her lips into a firm line and shot Naoya a ‘shut the hell up and play along’ look, thinking she was slick when Toji only felt second-hand embarrassment from how utterly blatant the communication had been executed.

Pretending to nod along, Toji added, “Interesting. Because I never knew acquaintances called each other ‘baby.’”

Checkmate.

But the woman must not be thinking, as she sensed her inevitable defeat but hurriedly explained herself by saying, “It’s not what you think, Naoya and I haven’t had sex since—”

“Stop,” Toji interrupted before she could finish her sentence. That statement truly crossed the line. The lady must be inane. To talk about her dirty deeds with his relative as if that was appropriate! Clearly, she was oblivious to common sense and proper etiquette, given how she was desperate to try to save some face, resorting to the most crass justifications as if that would ameliorate the issue. Toji felt ashamed to think that he used to be married to this woman for years. While he noticed a fit of pique boiling within him, he ultimately let the ill feelings go. “I never asked about your sex lives. I don’t want to hear about what you two have been doing.”

Plus, the tabloids have shown him enough already.

Nonetheless, Mari’s face brewed with annoyance. She folded her arms firmly and tucked her chin outward. “Well, if that’s the case, then when and where I’m riding your cousin's dick should not matter!”

“Oh my fucking lord, stop talking already!” and this time, it was Naoya who spoke, shouting into his hands and cupping his face from sheer exasperation. He had been stunned speechless for a while but could no longer contain himself. When he picked up his head, he growled with rage as he raised a shaking finger at the woman. “You,” he seethed. “You’re saying all the wrong things! Holy fuck, bitch, how fucking blind are you? Unbelievable!” He leered to the side as if shaking off part of his rage, only to add on, “Just…Just shut the fuck up!”

The sudden, scathing comments soured Mari's mien in seconds. “Wait, but babe—”

“No.” Naoya cut her off right there. “Don’t ‘babe’ or ‘baby’ me with your bullshit anymore. Can’t you fucking see the atrocities you have fucking committed in the last ten minutes? You’re literally ruining my life! Even Y/N wouldn’t be stupid enough to say all the crap you just said! I should’ve never approached a dumb whore like you.”

While Toji had his eyes widened from silent bewilderment, tears began to roll down the woman's cheeks.

“That’s a lie!” For what must be her first time, she had to face the reality that, despite all the pleasure and company she offered Naoya Zenin after his tough days at work, he was an egotistical sociopath and a married man. "That's not what you've been telling me. You know I’m the only person who can make you happy, not the actual whore whom you have at home! These last few months, you would’ve been absolutely miserable without me!”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a reminder,” she hissed harshly. “You had said so yourself.”

At this point, Naoya found himself in the middle of a living nightmare.

To think about his wife who had been avoiding him for days, to see his loathsome cousin watch the scene like this was some sort of Netflix episode, and now to witness his mistress ridiculing him like a fucking fool.

“God dammit!” he roared. With animosity overwhelming his sanity, Naoya—who was already on the verge of destruction—only saw red as he lurched forward. He used his arms to sweep everything, all things, anything he could reach from a nearby tabletop onto the floor: a ceramic vase that shattered into shards, magazines that flew in all directions, a framed photograph that clinked upon descent. He didn’t stop there. Like a mid-tantrum toddler, he kicked angrily at the mess, sending paper and broken pottery flying in all directions without much regret for his actions. 

In fact, this was cathartic for him. Because the very thing he wanted was to make his cousin's world wretched, just like how the latter had done to him. 

“I'm going to find Y/N and bring her back to me, but if either of you…” the blonde warned several moments later, regarding the therapist and the woman with a deathly fire burning in his auburn eyes, “if either of you do more shit to ruin my life in the meantime, I...I will make you regret.”

With that, Naoya stormed off in a huff, releasing all the profanities that have manifested his anger throughout his life. Mari followed soon after, chasing after him in sobs.

Finally, as for Toji, well, he...was stunned.

He blinked thrice in the same second, processing what he had just seen.

He drew in a deep breath...

...and he chuckled.

He knew he looked crazy, laughing to himself in an empty and currently deranged parlor. However, Toji had not felt this triumphant and optimistic in years. He saw a hopeful gleam for himself, for his family, for his colleagues, and for you.

He picked up his phone with a languid grin, scrolling through his contacts and sending over a quick text when he found your name: Guess what?

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: Throughout this fic, Toji and Naoya obviously have a very complicated and terse cousin-ship. For weeks and months, I have been thinking about how to orchestrate this scene, where we see them together for the first time...and with Mari too. Likes and reblogs are appreciated, and let me know in the comments how you all are doing!

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[sinfullyrosey]

Bobbing for Apples

Epel Felmier X GN!Reader

Warnings: Blowjob, Bath Sex (orally only)

Congrats, you’re Vil’s cousin in this fic for the sole purpose of pissing Vil off even more! Also, I had originally wrote this up with a male, crossdressing Reader in mind, making the bath scene less awkward, but changed it to gender neutral since no pronouns or physical traits are given.

All Characters are 18+

Laughter rang out at one of the more secluded spots of the Pomefiore Dorm as two figures were playfully giving chase. It had just rained and cleared up, leaving behind a fresh, crisp scent in the air and rain puddles scattered throughout the cobblestone pathways and grassy patches. Some of these very puddles comprising of not just leftover rainwater, but dirt that mixed into a slurry of soupy mud.

Mud that was now covering both you and the little apple farmer as you threw balls of the brown muck at each other in an impromptu mud fight. It had started with the two of you just going on a walk together, out getting some fresh air as Epel showed you around, your cousin being too busy with dorm duties to do so himself.

Only for it to turn into an outright brawl after you jumped into one of the puddles, splashing some of it onto the boy’s poor uniform and sending him into a tizzy at what his dormleader would do if he saw it. You merely laughed it off, poking fun at his rather cute, frustrated expression. In retaliation, he scooped up a small amount of mud and threw it at you, knocking your sunhat clear off.

You gasped and puffed your cheeks as he held back laughs. Narrowing your eyes, you bend down to retrieve your hat, filling it with mud, and unassumingly walking over to him. Before he could ascertain what you were up to, you quickly flopped the hat onto his head, showering his lavender locks in liquidy brown.

And while he was still reeling over what you had just done and trying to process his emotions, you grabbed onto either side of the hat’s brim and pulled him into a deep kiss. His powdered cheeks darkened into a bright red, resembling little apples. You pulled away and smiled at him.

Only for him to smirk and take your hat off to shove it back onto you, mud seeping into your own now messy locks.

And it all went downhill from there.

What was just supposed to be a simple tour of the dorm, now became an outright war between you, the relative to the Schoenheits and him, the reluctant Pomefiore student. Both were an absolute mess, hair tangled and sticky with clumps of mud. Some of his and your makeup had since started to run off. You even forgot about your hat in the scuffle.

Taking in his disheveled appearance, you couldn’t help but cover a hand over your mouth to stifle the giggles.

“Haha, if only Vil could see you now.” You teased, now settling down and looking for your discarded hat.

Epel froze up and gawked at the flippant audacity of your jab.

“Don’t even joke ‘bout that! If Vil saw how mussed up we are right now, he’d have a cow!”

“More like a whole barn.” You deadpanned.

The little Felmier blinked at your weighted retort before bursting into a laughing fit. His head flung back as the slew of chuckles escaped past his wide grin. You grinned and joined in, letting out muffled giggles of your own. An absolutely blissful moment shared between the two of you.

“Epel! Y/N! What in the name of Pomefiore are you two spudlings doing?!”

The both of you jumped at the all-to-familiar voice of the blond queen himself. You both looked over to see Vil stomping his way over to the two of you, a stern, disapproving scowl on his usually pristine face.

“Oh no…” Epel mumbled out, mentally preparing for the earful he was about to receive.

Also concerned, but significantly less so, you gently picked up your discarded hat and brushed off the mud and grass, now clutching the brim in your hands as your older cousin stared you and Epel down.

“Vil, we were ju-“

“Hush now sweet potato. Epel, how dare you act in such an uncivilized manner and drag my own cousin into your uncouth nonsense! Just look at you, you’ve ruined, and quite possibly stained, your uniform! Your makeup is just too dreadful to look at! You’ve got mud and Sevens knows what else in your hair! And you-!”

Vil now turns his attention to you, eyes blazing with dissatisfaction and judgement.

“Look what you’ve done with your dress! Your brand new, elegant dress is ruined! Covered in mud and soaked all the way through! Do you know what material that dress is made from, Y/N?!”

You both looked down in shame and embarrassment.

“I’m so disappointed in you both.” He sighed. “Now you’ll need to be scrubbed down to get that gunk and grime off you. And then I have to reapply your makeup and redo your hair all over again…“ He trailed off, mentally having to check off all the tasks he’ll have to do to make you two presentable again.

Epel’s face flushed at the comment about being scrubbed down, knowing the implication behind it, being all-to familiar with the extent of Vil’s methods. He stole a glance at you to see your unaware, still ashamed frown. He looked back up at Vil, gulping.

“You… you do mean that we’ll be bathing separately, right..?”

Vil crosses his arms, eyebrow quirked up, and gave a Look.

Epel’s face darkens.

“This is just embarrassing…”

Epel grumbled as more warm water was dunked onto his head, cascading through his hair and down his face. The stream of water dripped into the tub, painting the water in a light brown from the dirt and other residue. His head was gently yet forcefully tilted up.

“Keep your head up Epel. You’re going to get mud in your eyes.”

Another dunk of water before the shampoo was applied, the scent of honey and apples not lost on the young Felmier. He could only sigh and pout as manicured fingers massaged their way through his tangled, curly locks, lathering it more and more.

“I’m a grown ass adult. I don’t need anyone bathing me.” He mumbled.

“Language.” Vil scolded, sitting next to the rather large tub, sleeves rolled up while he scrubbed all the dirt out of the younger male’s hair.

The whole ordeal was embarrassing enough, with Epel being stark naked in front of not only his dormleader, but now his friend-turned-crush-turned-‘possible romantic partner?’ After all, you did kiss him on the mouth earlier, so that’s got to count for something, right?

You sat in the same tub as him, though at a distance, back turned to him as you washed your own hair while Vil washed Epel’s. You were also bare, but with all the suds from Vil’s bubble soap acting as a barrier, it’s not like either of you could see each other. Epel snuck a glance your way in an attempt to gauge your reaction to all of this, only to have the same hand from before roughly grab his chin and turn it away from you.

“Eyes forward, Felmier. Don’t even try to sneak a peek at my little cousin.”

“I wasn’t-!”

“Hush. And that means you too, Rook.” Vil warned.

A brief shuffling was heard from the bathroom doorway before going silent once more.

Vil tilted Epel’s chin up once more and dumped another cup of water onto his head to rinse it. Once the dormleader had finished cleaning the last of the mud from his dormmate, he checked to see if his cousin had finished before preparing to take his leave.

“I’ll give you two some time before we move onto the rest of the routine. I’ll be getting things ready and set up, so don’t dottle too much!”

And with that, Epel and you were finally alone to relax.

Shyly, Epel tried peeking over at you again to see you just finishing up rinsing your hair. You were still facing away from him, but he caught a glimpse of bare shoulder and got too nervous, turning his head away. The bubbles may hide yourselves from each other, but the thought of being so close while exposed still sent the poor boy’s heart racing.

The memory of you kissing him earlier played on repeat in his head. How you had pulled him close with such confidence, without hesitation. The feeling of your soft lips against his and how it took his breath away. The sudden spark that ignited in his head, sending off a slew of fireworks for the briefest of seconds.

“You should probably pull the stopper out so the water can drain.”

He was broken away from his daydreaming, processing what you had just said. The stopper? Drain the water? Oh, the tub’s stopper, right, you and him need to get out and dry off before Vil scolds you two again.

He pulled the stopper out and put it aside, then looked around for where Vil left your towels, to see them on the countertop. The countertop that was out of arms reach. Meaning either you or he would have to get out of the tub to grab them, leaving either exposed to the other.

His face flushed again.

“Dagnabbit…” He muttered under his breath.

Maybe he could use the remaining soap bubbles to cover himself and quickly grab a towel for himself, then toss you the other one? Or maybe you could grab your own towel while he looked away? But what if you thought he was just trying to be a creep and sneak a peek while you grabbed your towel? What if you called for Vil and he got his ass handed to him for trying to perv on his cousin?!

“Hey, Epel.”

At the soft call of his name, he instinctively turned to you, only to come face-to-face with you, a mere inch from his face. Your noses were nearly touching and your eyes were looking at him with lidded adoration. When did you get so close?!

He didn’t have time to question as you leaned your body closer, grabbing onto the side of the tub to steady yourself. A familiar twinkle of mischief sparkled in your eyes as you grinned at him.

“Do you want to have some fun before we have to deal with Vil?”

Mind racing, his face felt even hotter at the suggestion, unable to believe what he was hearing. Surely you couldn’t mean what he thought you meant? Surely he was just projecting! There’s no way the cousin to the Vil Schoenheit wants to do that with him, and in such a place so close to said cousin!

“What kind of fun?”

Your grin widened as a hand carefully reached down and he nearly jumped as it came into contact with his semi-hard dick, still submerged in the remaining water. You palmed at his member, fondling his balls and pumping along the length, making him harden under your touch. He bucked his hips, splashing some of the water and making you giggle.

“The kind that would make Vil pop a blood vessel and ruin that pretty face of his if he ever found out.”

That got his attention.

You tilted your head, lazily stoking his dick while you waited for an answer from your partner in crime. Hazy blue eyes looked at you, then towards the closed door, seemingly contemplating, before finally looking back at you. This time, he matched that sparkle in your eyes and smirked in that same way that made you fall for him in the first place.

He suddenly grabbed you by the shoulders and pulled you in for a messy kiss, much like how you did before, catching you off guard and making you near topple onto him.

Guess that was an enthusiastic yes.

Epel watched, memorized, as you bobbed your head up and down on his cock. Your mouth swallowing down the full length so easily, lips wrapping around his girth and cheeks hollowed out to make room.

He couldn’t help but to stare at you, even when your eyes caught his gaze. They were half lidded and drunk from sucking on his hard length. They looked almost glassy, like a porcelain dolls, beautiful irises unfocused with a few tears gathered at the corners.

You smiled around his cock, tongue licking the underside and lips slurping noisily. Your hands were busy fondling his balls, gently massaging them and raking your manicured nails to elicit twitching from his member. You gave a suck before popping off his member to properly speak.

“You taste so sweet, Epel. Like apples!~” You slurred, looking up at him with pure adoration and lust. You licked off some of the precum from the tip and chuckled when it twitched once more. “I could just eat you up a~all day.~”

Pride swelled in his chest as the young farm boy couldn’t help but smirk giddily. Knowing that he was that attractive, that you’d be willing to get down on your knees and blow him all day, was a huge boost for his ego, especially considering your status. His dick was just too good to pass up, a true mark of manliness!

‘Ha! How’s them apples, you pompous asshole?!’ He mentally jeered while you continued to slurp all over his cock.

With his newfound confidence, Epel grabbed at your still soaking wet hair, and pushed you down onto his cock, properly deepthroating you. Your eyes blew wide from the sudden intrusion poking at the back of your throat, making you gag and sputter around him. The tightening of your throat egged him on as he began to roughly bob your head along his length. All the water was drained by this point, offering him more room to position himself and you so that he could use your mouth like a proper fleshlight (without drowning you by accident).

He harshly thrusts into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat repeatedly while you tried to keep up. The audible sounds of squelching and slurping echoed in the bathroom as a few tears fell and ran down your cheeks. You can’t recall ever being treated so roughly before, like you weren’t made of glass and could break at the slightest touch. It was all just so messy and rowdy and thrilling..!

His thrusts started to become more irregular and slow, focusing on being more precise and deep. His grip on your locks grew tighter and he held you close as he gave one last thrust, pushing his dick as far as it’d go. You felt him twitch and suddenly, tasted the burst of a wave of hot, creamy fluid rush into the back of your throat, forcing you to swallow.

You sputtered, unprepared as some stray semen squeezed past your lips and drip onto the tub, mixing in the soapy suds that had yet to dissipate. He held you in place until he was sure that he had completely emptied in you. Only then did he finally let go and lean back, allowing you to slip his dick out with a noisy pop.

Panting, trying to catch his breath, Epel looked down at you to see your flushed face and open mouth dripping with his sticky release. Your eyes looked glazed over, lidded as they stared up at him tiredly. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of you.

You looked completely fucked out and if it was the hottest thing Epel has ever seen-!

Too lost in his daydream, he hadn’t noticed you lavishing his cock in attention once more, warm mouth sucking and lapping up the stray cum. After cleaning him up, you finished him off with a kiss on his reddened tip and smiled up at him. He gave a crooked smile in return.

“Better hurry and get dried off. Vil’s probably impatiently waiting for us.”

Oh, right, he had completely forgotten about that. Ugh, back to the same old grind…

The two of you made quick of drying off, brushing through your hair, and cleaning up any evidence left behind from your activities. Once you were both dressed and presentable, you made your way out of the bathroom and towards where Vil had everything set up and ready to go. Vil looked displeased and impatient but gestured for the two of you to sit down.

Epel nodded and did as he was told, but as you two made your way over to the seating, you leaned close to his ear and quietly whispered, so only he could hear.

“Next time, I’ll let you put it in me.~”

You giggled at his flushed face and gave a quick kiss to his cheek, making him grow even redder. Vil scolded you for such action, but you simply ignored him and sat down prim and proper. Epel shuffled his way over to sit next to you, gaze facing the ground in embarrassment and secret pride.

[bigfan-fanfic]

Reclaim (Male!Reader x Dean Winchester)

Could I request Dean's bf taking him out to just spend a day or two doing whatever childhood things he never got to do, no matter how much he huffs about it not being a big deal.  Just fluff and carthartic stuff, that kind of thing

A grumpy bearded man glares at you from a swingset that is far too small for him, his bowed legs bent pretty far.

"Are you happy now?"

You chuckle. "You didn't even swing."

"It's too small."

"Then go use the big boy set. Not my fault you wanted to go for the kiddie swings."

He huffs and stands indignantly.

you laugh harder. "This was kinda supposed to be fun, Dean."

"But, like... this is all kid's stuff."

"You're never too old for some of this stuff!" you cry, and pull him along to the swings. "Don't you have any fun stuff you used to do as a kid?"

"Uh... target practice with Dad?"

"Wow. Yeesh."

"What?"

"So, like... you never really got to have a childhood."

"Dude. You can't just say crap like that to someone's face. Besides, it's not a big deal. I can-"

"I know what we're doing today!"

"Oh boy."

You challenge Dean to see who can get higher on the swings before you chicken out - mainly to stop your competitive boyfriend from trying to go all the way over.

And then when you hear the tinny calliope noises of an ice cream truck you go running, calling out for Dean to come with you, and you both chase down the truck.

It's silly and stupid, but then the ice cream salesman tells you about the fair in town, and you give Dean an excited stare.

"......"

"...."

"...fine."

Dean usually doesn't get to stay in any town long enough for any local events, so a county fair is still relatively new to him.

The overwhelming amount of sight and sound is enough to burst his bubble of attempted adult disapproval, and you catch a glimpse of the goofy kid he probably would have been.

He grins, and eventually takes the lead in pulling you to the different attractions.

You gorge yourself on fried county fair food - Dean is in fried heaven, defying all the angels to come up with a food better than the fried oreo, but even his insatiable appetite can't conquer a huge funnel cake with a dollop of ice cream that won't even melt all the way on the hot day because it's so big - not without your assistance.

You make him do the petting zoo, and he tries to impress you at the dunk tank, pitching a fastball that sends some cute local guy splashing.

He wins you prizes, accepts those you win for him, and admits that it's probably just about as fun as that time his dad took him into a bar for the first time and showed him how to hustle pool.

For now, you'll take it.

He even lets you drive home, since he's tuckered himself out so much. You let him lean against you, and you grin to yourself when you hear him quietly ask-

"Can we go again tomorrow?"

[lostwarllock]

Incoherent screeching off in the distance—

below the cut is my rambling list of comparisons between sokeefe and merthur in an attempt to explain my otherworldly love for both ships to myself

Tag list:

@thatrandomlemononyourcounter1

@aspenaspenaspenaspenaspen

@cosmxc-ars3hol3

Sokeefe and merthur

Foster and Merlin:

—very powerful, have stronger abilities than those like them

—born into a destiny/role (that places an unbelievably heavy burden on their shoulders and impacts every choice they make) that correlates with their abilities

—do not/did not know their biological father

—have at least two father figures

—almost die on a daily basis

—sometimes choose to be selfish, when it comes to the one they care about, even though it may oppose their beliefs of their role

—struggle with authority figures

—tendency to suddenly run out of the room without explaining anything to anyone

—confide in their soulmate in an attempt to convince their soulmate to confide in them

—have a mentor that doesn’t really help, just presents impossible decisions that put their lives at risk but fulfill their role

—a best friend that kissed them

—in love with a blonde (lots of banter all around, but has many serious moments and conversations)

—would literally do ANYTHING for their blonde

—black cat energy

—no matter how much planning and precautions they take, or using their abilities, someone close to them manages to get hurt or die

—adopted by someone very protective, but who eventually understands that some dangers are necessary for their destiny

—at some point temporarily lost their powers

—basically immortal since they live indefinitely

—go into dangerous situations because “they have to” and it’s up to them to solve everything

—know how to keep a secret for over a decade

—the sibling of someone they are close to is evil

—fell in horse poop

—ridden a magical flying creature

—eyes that are recognizable

—in serious need of a good night’s sleep

—came from relatively poor places and moved to basically a castle

—had to leave their previous home due to their abilities

—has caused a few explosions

—known by a special name that corresponds to their powers and destiny

—left a mother back home

—generally a tired/serious/lighthearted personality but also have the incredible ability to be the sassiest being on earth and not care what an authority figure would think

—have a group of friends who try so hard to die with them/for them

—so so loving and loyal that it hurts them

—gold in their eyes

—dress pretty plain

—were treated as different/an outcast in their original home

—has committed all the felonies

—their best friend is treated poorly because of their status

—very good at escaping/sneaking around, but NOT at lying

—are the reason that a very rare magical creature could be born

—constantly worked to the bone

—have like a brown haired person but it ended up not working out

—traumatic things have happened by bodies of water

—get endlessly bullied/teased by their blonde soulmate

—never ending worry for the safety of their soulmate

—have the uncanny ability to reassure their blonde that they aren’t a horrible person through the power of their pep talks

—take any chance to disapprove of the blonde’s parent

—forehead touch their blonde soulmate after a earth-shattering moment that has been built up to for the whole series

—drink poison/something that could kill them with their blonde in the general vicinity

—started out pretty happy and young, to a point years later where they make more depressing, dangerous choices due to their rapidly decreasing amount of hope in the world

—is incredibly devastated that their blonde has to go through an inevitable, painful experience as part of their destiny, and does everything to stop it, but fails

—they wait for them to wake up

Keefe and Arthur:

—blonde (and beautiful blue eyes)

—has worn a crown on their head and sat in a throne because of their parent

—parent raises them to play a certain role, though continually states they are not ready for it, and they must learn to make the hard decisions in order to be truly prepared

—incredibly self-sacrificing and has to play the hero because somehow they think everything is their fault and it’s their responsibility to fix it, even if it was the fault of their parent

—under the false impression that they are needed to protect their soulmate who is actually doing all the protecting

—their parent went through some sort of treatment in order to have them

—their parent has murdered a few times at least

—grew up with very little love and affection from their tyrannical/oppressive parent, but it was to “make them strong” and prepare them for their role

—their father, specifically, has a cold, stony exterior but claims he loves them in a convoluted way no one could understand

—confide in their soulmate and show their true worries and fears that they would never tell anyone else

—their natural beauty makes everyone fall in love with them

—trained in order to defeat their enemies

—their father married someone akin to a troll

—had a sibling figure who turned out evil

—very emotionally aware/deep but only reveal it at certain times, so they cover it up with a confident, teasing appearance

—also almost die on a daily basis, usually in the company of their soulmate

—believes their soulmate is incredibly brave, maybe even the bravest person they’ve ever met

—will go against their parent because they know what it right

—think their soulmate is mysterious and hiding something

—show their affection for their soulmate through touch and meaningful looks

—their soulmate is very protective of them but they don’t think it’s necessary

—thought their parent was dead, but woohoo, they came back to haunt you (one literally, the other figuratively)

—they find so much joy in making the life of their soulmate miserable

—grew up with luxurious circumstances, very rich

—pretty unaware of the details of their destiny, but couldn’t care less

—tendency to make rash, reckless decisions but sometimes their soulmate talks them out of it

—loves the idea of running away

—is sunshine incarnate with an undertone of depression

—still cares about parent even though they are a horrible person (shows their undying loyalty and innocence)

—their uncanny empathy lets them know when their soulmate hasn’t smiled in the past three days, but they couldn’t notice that someone close to them was working for the enemy for a LONG time

—been drugged by/because of parent

—always knows when something is wrong with the soulmate and tries to comfort them, even when they don’t know the whole story

—always the first to defend their soulmate from accusations or talk them out of a situation

—have a blonde mother who they never truly knew

—can sometimes be so stupid, but other times they’re the smartest person in the room

—tease their soulmate about liking other people, even when that person is definitely not anyone to worry about

—no issue challenging their father

—whenever they try to sneak away or do something on their own, their soulmate is already there

—would actually die for their soulmate infinite times over, even if it’s not explicitly stated, and always attempt to take the blow for them

—their soulmate stayed with them all the while they were going through their inevitable, painful destiny that forever changed them

—got stabbed/slashed in the gut

—been betrayed by someone they thought they could trust (over and over)

—very open-minded (relative to those around them) and most would disagree with their beliefs that you should be with the one you love and not someone based on stupid rules set by tradition and authority

—has been carried by their soulmate because they were hurt

—comment on how their soulmate is worried all the time

—the last thing they see as they succumb to their destiny is their soulmate holding them in a sense as they say “stay with me”

[pearl-the-artist]

(You called for me) Gabriel / Reader Oneshot

Ok please be patient with me on this. I spent over 24 hours in a car on a trip to Russia a few days ago and it made me do something I've never dared to before: write a fanfic. On my humble Samsung notes.

If this isn't a total flop I might make more? I dunno? Maybe hop on ao3?

Criticism and feedback is appreciated ok thank youuu have fun

Another restless night, another hour spent lying in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling above you. The room was shrouded in the comforting night air, more illuminated than usual by the soft glow of the full moon outside.

You look at the clock on your nightstand; precisely midnight. Two hours after your drunken father came home again, letting his pent-up frustrations and anger out on you in a one sided yelling match. Of course, as usual, neither was your mother of any support; only giving you that same disapproving, disdainful glare. You were never really welcome, not even in your own home- your parents biggest mistake lingering around only to weigh them down, and remind them of what they could've had. Or so they've told you, many, many times before. Tonight was no exception.

When the broadcasts first announced the new threat infesting the county, "alternates" they called them, you were, admittedly, both terrified and somewhat relieved. You were never really one to believe in the supernatural, but who knows, your parents were just superstitious enough to maybe fall for their schemes.

The first announcement had been around, what, a year ago now? Not much had really changed admittedly, although the population had begun falling drastically since then.

Your parents had of course used this opportunity to also confiscate your phone, the CRT TV in your room and old little MP3 player gifted to you by a relative, god forbid you let an alternate in to potentially threaten them, your own safety not even really a point for consideration to them.

Living with your parents was already hell, but getting by without your favourite albums and shows? Torture.

So tonight when you lied in bed unable to fall asleep, your mind wandering as usual, it may have wandered a little too far.

You recalled something you overheard your parents talk about. A friend of your dad's, a man of unwavering faith, who had been found dead in his own home a few weeks ago, seemingly in the middle of his usual prayers. Even though his family mentioned having seen an odd, ghostly figure outside their home that night, the doctors seemed to blame the cause of death on a brain hemorrhage.

It made sense, come to think of it. When you first saw the emergency PSA, it explained all kinds of methods to protect yourself from alternate attacks, one of which being avoidance of religion, faith, and philosophy.

So then, the alleged "ghost" that visted that poor man just might've been... Well.

This gave you a bad idea, but you weighed the options available to you.

Either you would die in a similar way as the old man, or... you might just get lucky and bargain with it. Alternatively, nothing happens, and you remain stuck with an unhappy married couple that hates each other as much as they hate you.

It was definitely stupid, but at this point it seemed like you had nothing to lose anyway. You weren't really much of a believer yourself, so you didn't exactly know how to pray, but you gave it your best shot. Sitting up in your bed, hands clasped together with a bowed head and closed eyes, you tried your best to focus.

If there was a god out there, may it hear your pleas. Wordless whispers called for help, begging to be heard, while you did all you could to try to concentrate on any spiritual connections. All the while you knew you may as well be praying to a literal demon.

A few minutes passed as you racked your brain for what to say before you stopped, your hands falling back into your lap.

What the hell were you doing? Yes you hated it here, and you couldn't even run away if you wanted to, but inviting an alternate to your house just like this? It was a death sentence, and not a pretty one, that much was certain.

You shook your head. It probably wouldn't have worked anyway. Right, this was all just some silly superstition, not that different from those "send this to 5 other people or you'll die tonight" chain e-mails. You laughed internally at how silly it was that you even thought this would work to begin with, and, admittedly, felt a brief sense of relief. You decided that you were ready to just go back to sleep, and just as you pulled your blanket up to crawl back underneath it- you almost jumped.

It was a voice, faintly audible outside your window. You didn't even process it until a few seconds after, a barely legible, strained whisper.

"I heard you praying."

You froze. A cold wave shot right to your stomach. Slowly, agonisingly so, you turned around to face your bedroom window.

A tall figure stood outside, its hands clasped together similarly to how you just had a few minutes ago. With long, flowing white robes and silver, wavy locks that reached down to his shoulders, he looked... Ethereal. Not to mention the massive, pure white wings folded neatly behind his back. His head blocked out the full moon, the light creating something almost like a halo around him, making him appear even more angelic.

"Woah."

You couldn't help the little gasp of awe. He seemed to find it amusing, his grin spreading a little too wide for comfort. Admittedly, you almost doubted if he even was an alternate at all. Maybe you'd come out a person of faith yourself, after this.

"Are you... An alternate?"

You whispered hesitantly, quiet enough to try to conceal the trembling in your voice and also not alert your parents sleeping upstairs, though you weren't sure if he actually heard you at all.

He didn't respond for a moment, tempting you to ask again, before that inhuman whisper was heard again.

"You called for me, and now I am here."

Avoiding your question, huh. Suppose he was an elusive sort. You quickly glanced around your room, eyeing the door in particular just in case; you really hoped your parents were asleep.

"May I... Come closer?"

You couldn't even recall the last time you were this polite to someone, though it was your best bet not to piss him off while he was still friendly, if you could even call it that. You had no point of reference, though he wasn't actively trying to harm you, so it was a start.

The angel, his smile unwavering, simply nodded, waving his arm in an invitation to approach.

It took a moment for you to will your body to move from the initial shock, but with slow, careful steps you moved to open the window to properly speak to him, a pleasant cool breeze inviting itself into your room.

"So... What's your name?"

Did alternates have names? Suppose they just took on the name of whoever they were trying to mimic. You leaned onto the window frame, trying to catch a good look at his face; and for the first time in god knows how long you were met with eyes that, albeit a bit creepy and lifeless, looked back into your own with an unfamiliar lack of hostility.

"You may call me Gabriel, child."

Gabriel? That name sounded familiar- Oh! The Saint Gabriel's church at the edge of town. Suppose that made sense, given his angelic appearance, if it wasn't just one morbid coincidence. Your thoughts and scrutinizing stare dragged on for a bit longer than you were aware of, though, as his voice pulled your attention back to him.

"Are you lost, my lamb? I can save you. Let me in. Let me into your mind."

The last bit seemed a bit more... Pushy than the rest, making your stomach feel just a little heavier. You gathered your thoughts anyway, trying to push that feeling aside for now. You did do this for a reason, after all, though now that he was actually here you were starting to second guess things.

Gabriel seemed to take note of your hesitation after a while of you not responding.

"Open your eyes, my lost little one. Look at me. I can grant you anything you wish for. You just need to let me in."

An odd mix of dread and comfort you'd never felt before settled in, and the feeling was almost... Refreshing, in a way. You quickly glanced back up at him, and he was still staring at you, ever so patiently, eerily.

"Uhm... I was just- well, it's probably kind of silly."

No backing out now, not when he was already here. Even if you wanted to, you don't think he'd let you go so easily. As you verbally stumbled over your own thoughts, he simply waited, his unblinking eyes staring into you, gouging out your soul. Or so it felt.

"I just thought... Is it possible for, well... Is there a chance for humans to be able to ally with alternates? Can I join you?"

Surprisingly, that got his smile to falter, if only a little bit. A flicker of emotion you couldn't quite explain showed in his eyes- surprise, perhaps, or consideration.

"What for, my child?"

That uncanny whisper of his never gave away any emotion, monotone and unfeeling, yet not unfriendly. Admittedly, his question made you pause; you hadn't exactly thought of how to explain this to him. You hadn't even expected him to show up at all.

Fidgeting nervously, unsure of whether to tell him the truth or not, you tried to think of what to say. Despite your rationality screaming at you for being an utter moron, you knew you were in too deep at this point.

"I don't think I'm any good to these people at all anymore, I just... don't know what to do anymore. With myself. I have nowhere else to go. And, maybe..."

You weren't sure if you should say it or not, you already let more vulnerability slip than you wanted to. But your spite driven words were quicker than your brain, and man did it feel good to open up for once.

"...maybe for revenge, also."

Gabriel listened to you surprisingly attentively, very interested in your words. At your last statement, he perked up with an almost malicious twist to his grin. Before he could respond, though, you suddenly heard the sound of your parents creaky old bedroom door and footsteps from upstairs. And you could tell by the sound of them that it was your mother. And she was pissed.

For a very panic filled moment you weren't sure what to do, your thoughts racing- instincts called for you to jump into bed and pretend you were asleep like you usually would... but with Gabriel here, you couldn't- and that's when you realized you really only had two real options.

Stay here, and continue living this miserable life, and also deal with the imminent outburst of your mother.

Or go with him, and then... Well, nothing and no one could possibly guarantee what would happen to you then.

"Choose wisely, my dear lamb."

Your dilemma seemed to be rather palpable to the "saviour" as he pulled you out of that mental spiral, and you were rather grateful for it. As much as it made you nauseous with uncertainty and anxiety, you finally snapped out of that paralysis and turned towards the window.

"Please, help me. This is the only favor I'll ever ask of you. I will do anything you want in return, I promise."

You began to plead in an urgent, hissed whisper, practically leaning out of the window, causing him to take a step back.

Desperation and panic shook your words as you glanced back at your bedroom door.

"Get me out of here."

He chuckled, an amused sound mixed with something you couldn't quite explain that made you feel more fuzzy than you'd care to admit.

"Come. Come to me, my child. Step outside."

For the first time tonight hesitation became a foreign concept as you practically leapt out that window. Your bare feet felt the cold gravel beneath, just in time as the door to your room swung open.

The angered yelling of your mother were drowned out by the feeling of suddenly being lifted off the ground, Gabriel taking you up into his arms like your weight was akin to a feather.

He was cold, lifelessly so. And yet the soft silken robes, the way he held you in his arms, and his deceitfully promising whispers were lulling you into a sense of security you hadn't felt in a long, long time.

"A lost little lamb, asking their shepherd for guidance..."

His eerie, yet strangely comforting laugh filled your ears once more over the noise of your mother not yet realizing you weren't in your bed. You're surprised she wasn't hearing him at all. Maybe it was another mind game of his.

"You made the right decision. I knew you would. Such a smart, yet scared little thing you are, are you not?"

You leaned your head against his chest, sighing deeply, beginning to forget what you were ever doubtful about during the start of this whole fiasco. Your weight began to sink into his arms as you relaxed. He held you a little tighter in turn.

"Of course I shall guide you, my child. Come with me; you will be mine. You will be safe."

Just as the furious woman realized to check the opened window, Gabriel vanished as swiftly as he appeared, leaving behind the sight of nothing but an empty garden, peacefully quiet, as if you were never there.

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

The safety of your embrace (part 1)

Arondir x reader. This is part one of two.

Set before the beginning of series one. Descriptions of nightmares and sleep troubles.

This fic is dedicated to @eowyn7023.

*****

Your heart is pounding as your strides carry you across the stone-walled corridor that cuts the barracks in half, both your bow and quiver slung around your shoulders like you’ve gotten used to carrying them wherever you go since you’ve arrived in the Southlands, two years ago. You don’t mind the weight, just like you’ve easily gotten used to being far from home, and to do without the simple luxuries of living in a large village -food prepared according to your taste, a comfortable mattress, scrolls to read on rainy days in front of the fireplace- and the company of your friends; those things you could give up relatively easily. 

Conversely, there’s something else you desperately need, a privilege many would find unjustified in your situation…  but that you desperately need to maintain, or everything you have done since you left home will have been for nothing.

The Elf you were anxiously looking for finally appears, a few steps from you, as he speaks to another soldier who, judging from his rain-soaked clothes, has just returned from patrol duty. You remain at a distance, not wanting to seem as if you were eavesdropping, nervously waiting until the soldier is dismissed, and you can finally approach.

It takes you a moment. “(name), sir; I transferred here from the troop of Caerleon yesterday.”

“Excuse me, watchwarden Revion?”

He turns, and looks at you strangely for a moment. “Yes…?”

“Yes, of course, (name). You went out last night with Médhor, yes? Anything to report?”

Médhor, one of your new comrades, guided you and two other soldiers who had just transferred from other settlements to explore the area you’d be tasked to patrol, so that you could move on your own and find your bearings without getting lost. 

“Nothing out of the ordinary, sir; it is another matter I wanted to ask you about.” you explain quickly; you don’t know Revion well yet, since you only met briefly yesterday, but you can still read the impatience on his face, which suggests that the watchwarden is too busy to waste more time than it is strictly necessary listening to the complaints of a newcomer “I believe my previous commander sent you a note about me? About a… request I had made?”

Surprisingly -since he had completely forgotten both your name and your face, you had no reason to believe he’d remember any other information that concerned you- Revion knows what you are talking about. “Ah, yes; you requested a private room for yourself, did you not?”

“I did, sir.” you confirm, already wincing internally; even after your brief acquaintance there’s no mistaking the clear look of disapproval on the watchwarden’s face, but you force yourself not to blush as you plead your case “And I had been assured I would receive one; but now I have been told differently.”

“Yes; I am sorry, some adjustments had to be made. With the arrival of more soldiers, we have barely enough space for everyone to sleep as it is; you’ll have to share your room with one or more of your comrades, like we all do.”

Revion looks sincerely apologetic as he delivers the news, which you appreciate, even though it does not help - not at all. “But…”

“I am sorry; I have to go now…”

“Sir, wait. Please, there has to be a way…”

“There is not. (name)...” the watchwarden sighs as he rubs his eyes, but this time you can see he is more impatient than regretful, as if he felt the matter was closed, and so there was no reason to discuss it any longer - which is probably true, but… “Did you sleep alone while you were stationed at Caerleon?”

“I did; first in one of the soldiers’ dormitories, and then, when more Elves joined our troop and more space was needed, in a smaller room that had previously been used to store lumber.”

“That doesn’t sound comfortable. Nor hygienic, to be honest.”

“It was perfectly serviceable, I assure you. Sir…” you hesitate for a moment, already aware that you are more likely to sprout wings and take to the air, leaving the Southlands behind as you soar towards the sky, than to have your request satisfied, but you can’t help insisting. “I do not want you to think ill of me; I know we are not guests in an inn, and that it is normal for soldiers to share quarters. I am not asking out of presumptuousness, or because I do not want to associate with others; I like to think I am all but an arrogant person, and I enjoy having a good relationship with my comrades.”

An Elf appears from the end of the corridor you had come from a minute ago; he makes to walk to the watchwarden to talk to him, but Revion stops him with a gesture, his gaze still focused on you. “And why, then? Why would you ask for such a prerogative, if it is not because you prefer your own company to that of your fellow soldiers?”

He won’t do it; he is asking out of personal curiosity, probably, not because your answer has any possibility of swaying him. You sigh inwardly, hoping against hope you still have a chance, just one out of as many as there are stars in the sky. “That I cannot tell you. But I need to sleep by myself; please, sir. I do not ask for much, I do not care if the room is small, or insalubrious; let me sleep in a storeroom, or on the kitchen’s floor; I can even carry my bedroll to the stables, I’ll be more than fine. I know I am asking much, since it is against the rules and I have been serving under you only for one day, but it would mean the world to me. I will never ask for anything else; put me down for night patrol duty for the next six months if you want, or reduce my pay…”

His voice not unkind but firm, the watchwarden tells you he has no intention to do that - any of that. “You have been recommended to me as a capable soldier, (name); your previous commander spoke highly of you in her letter.” he tells you, resting a hand on your shoulder “And nothing would make me happier than seeing that you are worthy of those compliments. Whatever problem you have with your current sleeping arrangements, I trust you can solve them. Being a soldier does not just mean risking your life in a fight or spending hours practising swordplay every day; it’s also forgoing your personal needs for the greater good.”

The watchwarden’s reasoning is flawless, which is why you can simply nod in acceptance while Revion, pleased the matter has been satisfyingly dealt with, leaves you to talk to someone else, while you remain still, for the first time feeling foolish and helpless in the armour you have been proud to wear for two years, wondering how long an Elf can remain awake without losing their mind. 

Later, after a lunch you have shared with a few of your new comrades, you are once again crossing the corridor, at a much more sedated, unhurried pace, the straw-filled mattress and the blanket you have just been assigned awkwardly carried under your arm. It is only early afternoon, the sun having barely begun its descend towards the horizon, and in an hour you’ll have your first archery practice session, led by Revion himself, which means it is your chance to to make a good impression on him after your previous blunder, but you can’t help thinking about tonight, dreading the approaching night-time like a young bride who has been forced into a marriage to a groom she does not love. 

You wonder if telling the watchwarden the truth regarding the reason for your request of a private room would have changed things; probably not, you try to comfort yourself, not unless Revion had gone through the same experience and agreed that it wouldn’t have been fair for your roommates to pay the price for your troubles. But most likely, he would have ordered you to find a way, not caring how you do it as long as you bother no one else and follow the garrison’s rules; he is that sort of leader.

The room you’re to sleep in, you have been told, is the fourth along the corridor; lingering for a moment out of the door, you sigh and enter, ready to meet your new roommates… 

“Oh. Hello.”

The only Elf present in the room smiles at you, looking friendly but curious until his gaze falls on the mattress and the blanket under your arm. “You must be one of the new soldiers, yet? Are you sharing this room?”

“I am. Err… nice to meet you.”

The room is mostly similar to the ones the soldiers of your old troop occupied, a fairly large space occupied by four wooden beds, each with a small chest in front of the footboard to hold the occupant’s possessions; a little table with a water basin is standing in a corner near the window, a couple of stools and pegs on the walls to be used when necessary. 

Simple, clean, functional; you could find nothing to complain about your sleeping arrangements even if you tried, but at the same time you are already dreading the moment you’ll have to go to bed.

The Elf your arrival interrupted as he changed his shirt is still looking at you with intent; he is tall, his skin dark, his hair shaved shorter than that of most Elves you know; you’re about to introduce yourself, already sure whatever good impression you could make on him and the others who share the room will no doubt be swept away after a single night spent under the same roof, when your gaze meets… and suddenly you have a name to associate to that handsome, open face.

“Wait, I believe we know each other! You are Arondir, are you not?” 

“I am… Forgive me, but I cannot remember your name. I remember you had your own shop as a soaper, and your mother played the flute during the village festivals…”

Hearing him mention your mother is less pleasant than a lance penetrating through your ribs, but you force yourself to smile as you remind him of your name; you had never been exactly friends, even in a relatively large village like the one you were both born and lived in, but you did know each other. You remember vaguely hearing that Arondir had enlisted to go patrol the man-inhabited lands under the Rhovanion, but you never thought you would meet again when, a long time later, you decided to do the same thing.

Maybe you should have…

“So you enlisted? Is this your first post?” 

“It’s my second; I’ve been stationed in Caerleon for two years before coming here, yesterday. And, err… I think I will be sharing your room…”

It’s only then that, turning to observe the rest of the room, you realise that among the four beds, the only one with a mattress and a blanket is the one Arondir is standing close to, while the other three are unused.

“Oh… you had a room for yourself until now.” you realise; you’re not quite sure how it makes you feel, to know another was granted -no doubt by happenstance, given that the Elves who gave you the mattress and blanket mentioned a few soldiers had left a few weeks ago- the favour you would give half of your blood to receive “I am sorry, Arondir, I do not want to be a hindrance…”

“Not at all; to be honest, I am glad to have some company.” he answers kindly; if he actually is annoyed at having to share the space he had until now enjoyed alone, he’s very good at hiding it “Please choose the bed you prefer.”

The four beds are arranged in a row; Arondir’s is the one at the far right, the three free ones next to his. Your first instinct is to choose the one farthest from his, even though only a few yards of distance will afford you no privacy in an otherwise empty room, but the last thing you want is for Arondir to think you’re avoiding him, or that you find his company distasteful. In the end, well aware of how pointless the choice actually is, you place your mattress and blanket on the free bed in the middle. 

“I will be seeing you later.” Arondir says, kindness in his voice, as he steps away from his bed; you nod, forcing yourself to smile, and see him leave, his stride unhurried but purposeful. 

Now alone, you quickly prepare the bed for when you’ll go to sleep tonight; then you quickly leave to retrieve your bag from the guards at the main gate, who you had entrusted it to since you had been called on patrol soon after your arrival, and empty it arranging your clothes and other personal belongings in the chest. Finally, you retrieve one of your daggers from your belt -part of a pair, twin of the one you always carry inside your boot- to hide it under the pillow; in this way, even in the event Orcs assaulted the barracks at night and one attacked before you had time to rise, you wouldn’t be completely helpless. 

There, all in order, you think to yourself, but your satisfied smile quickly withers in a grimace when, thinking of Arondir, you realise that sharing your room with someone you already knew, no matter how superficially, is probably the worst thing that could have happened to you. After all soldiers are allowed to write home, even though letters take weeks or even months to reach their destinations; what if your new roommate decides to tell his family and friends back in Beleriand about your night troubles? If the whole village, or even just the rest of the troop you are now part of, were to become aware of what happened to you, you would die of shame. From the little you remember of him, Arondir doesn’t seem the sort of Elf who takes pleasure in sharing rumours about others, but in a confined environment like the one of the barracks there is very little one can keep from their comrades. And if Revion were to learn about it…

Damn it. And damn me, for not having the strength to overcome this. What shall I do? I need to check the stables and the kitchens, maybe I will find a nook hidden enough no one will know if I go to sleep there…

You’re still lost in your musings when the long, deep note of a horn fills the air; the call, for all soldiers, to report for duty at the training grounds. It’s your first session under Revion’s command, and the last thing you want is to be late; you close the chest, grab your bow and arrow from where you had placed them on the bed, and run out of the room. 

The first days after your relocation to Ostirith go better than you had dared to hope. You do your best during the daily training sessions, and soon realise, to your great relief, that you have nothing to envy your new comrades, since thanks to your previous commander, who made someone who barely knew the hilt of a sword from the blade into a competent fighter, you are at least at their level regarding both swordfighting and the use of bow and arrow. When watchwarden Revion, who understandably pays particular attention to the training of the newcomers, meets your gaze at the end of your second session and nods in approval, with even the hint of a smile on his lips, you feel the urge to pat yourself on the back. 

Most of your new comrades have served together for decades, but fortunately you find your place among them relatively easily; you go on patrol in the woods and mountains surrounding your base, get to know the mortals of the communities you are tasked with watching over, and take part in a skirmish against a rogue band of Orcs, both you and your comrades fortunately surviving with only minor wounds.

Either because of your previous acquaintance, or as a natural consequence of your state of roommates, a friendship begins developing between you and Arondir. You often sit together in the kitchens when breaking your fast or having supper -rarely just the two of you together, but you soon realise the meals you have shared with him are more numerous than the ones you have not- and spend many peaceful moments talking, you telling him about the people and places he knew at your village, and him in exchange giving you guidance as you get used to your new commission. 

Roommates. At least this is how compatriot and comrade would describe the two of you, unaware of how little time you have effectively spent by his side at night.

You dread to think what Revion would say if he found out, but you did find another place to sleep, on your first evening after discovering your request had been denied. The tiny storage room is near the kitchens, its door almost hidden behind a heavy cupboard you can easily slip behind if you walk sideways. Even better, you found some heavy crates inside, containing foodstuffs and kitchen utensils, and you moved them to form a barrier between the point you settle to sleep in and the door so that, even if someone were to suddenly enter while you’re inside, the crates would hide you, as long as you remain still.

Of course, it’s tiny. So tiny you have no space to actually lie down, no matter how much you toss and turn and try to move the crates to secure just a few inches more, without giving up on your protective barrier. 

If only you were a Dwarf, you think more than once, or even better, a fox or a tiny critter for whom a hole in a wall or the hidden space in a woodpile would be enough. Instead, you belong to one of the tallest peoples among Eru’s children, which makes it naturally harder for you to find an appropriate sleeping space. As far as your new shelter is concerned, for example, you can either lie down with your legs bent, or sleep sitting up, neither of which is exactly comfortable, especially if one is at the end of a long, tiring day spent patrolling, working and -more often than not- fighting… and only a few hours away from another day like that, come dawn. 

Still, that cramped space affords you the necessary privacy - even more important, it is quite far from the dormitories, which means that any noise you make while in there won’t be heard by your sleeping comrades, including your watchwarden. It is the perfect hideaway… or at least, one where the positive aspects outweigh the negative, and so you feel you have nothing to complain about. 

And so it begins. Every night you make a show about preparing for bed like all your comrades do, including Arondir, who is obviously the one you need to beware of the most. You put on your nightclothes, bid your roommate good night, curl up in your bed while he blows up the candle… and then you remain vigil, eyes wide open and mind alert in that darkness that invites rest and peaceful sleeping, waiting for the right moment to leave. Fortunately, Arondir seems to be the sort of person who falls asleep almost immediately after settling down -how you envy him!- which means that it takes you only a few minutes to hear his breathing get slower and deeper - an evident sign your roommate has reached Irmo’s realm.

You are safe. 

Walking as lightly and silently as you have been taught to do while on patrol -and if you were asked what are you more afraid of, to be ambushed by a band of dozens of Orcs in the woods or to be caught while you abandon your room at night and then questioned about the motive, you are not quite sure what you would answer- you rise from your bed, take your pillow, blanket and knife and tiptoe out of the room to reach the kitchens.

Once there, you take advantage of the solitude nighttime affords you and prepare a sleeping draught, made with herbs of which you have brought plenty from your previous post, and that healers use to make patients sleep before an invasive procedure, or to soothe pain. One of them once told you an unfortunate Elf who had drunk that same concoction remained fast asleep while his leg was amputated.

Lucky him, you have morosely thought more than once, since you haven’t been afforded the same relief.

Having drunk your draught, and made sure to leave no trace of your passage in the kitchens, you reach the little room on the back, close the door and arrange yourself as comfortably as you can as you wait for sleep.

And then, of course, the nightmares come.

Father, wait!Go! Take your sisters, get them to safety!

No! I’ll stay and fight with you!

(name), there’s no time! You three go, your father and I will stall them as long as we can!

You scream -loud enough to wake yourself up, loud enough to feel your throat sore afterwards- and you toss and turn, almost fighting in your dreams that battle in reality you were forced to abandon, so much that sometimes in the morning you find bruises and scrapes on your skin, the memories of that fateful, terrible day still vivid inside you. Nightmares cannot hurt you, you’ve told yourself plenty of times, and the rational part of you knows and accepts that truth, like it knows and accepts that it was your parents’ choice to sacrifice their lives to protect yours and your sisters’, and that even the most formidable warrior, which at least at the time you were far from being, couldn’t have fought alone the dozen Orcs that had pursued and reached you. 

It was not your fault; everyone who knew what had happened told you, even those who would have had no reason to lie to spare your feelings, but it is not enough - it never could be, even if every creature in Middle-Earth spoke to absolve you from the blame you have made yours. To be honest, you have reflected more than once during one of the frequent, long vigils not even your sleeping draught can guard you from, the fault is not even the worst of it: it’s the loneliness. Why did you have to survive, alone out of a family of five? Not your parents, capable warriors who had defended the village against countless attacks and would continue to do so for the centuries to come if given the chance to, not your middle sister, who was meant to be wed in less than a fortnight, not your youngest, who had started an apprenticeship as a healer and would undoubtedly do much good in your community once she had completed it. 

No, they all died, and you, the soaper, survived, fainting after she had taken a blow to the head and consequently been overlooked by the Orcs who thought her dead. Eru had His reasons for wanting you to survive, you have been told, but what those reasons are you still do not know, and loneliness and guilt become more unbearable in your heart by the day - and by the night.

During your two years as part of the Caerleon garrison you were able to keep your night troubles secret from your comrades, having convinced the watchwarden that being the only female in the troop it would have been appropriate to give you a room for yourself, especially after you had offered to double your night shifts, the ones no one else was happy to cover. Closed door, a sleeping draught -that sometimes is able to protect you from the nightmares, or at least prevents you from waking up with a scream on your lips- and as much distance from others as you can, so that your screams do not arouse anyone; you have made do for two years, and you can - and you are determined to continue to do so.

That is another reason why you make sure to volunteer for as many night shifts on patrol as you can; you have no reason to fear nightmares if you are to spend a vigil night, huddled in a blanket on top of the watchtower, looking for approaching Orcs and other signs of danger, and after that you’re allowed to rest safely -only for a few hours- during the day, when other soldiers have no reason to visit the dormitories. It would be your fifth night shift this week, (name); I understand you feel the need to prove yourself as a newcomer, but it would not be fair to give all of them to you, the Elf in charge of the schedules tells you, and you force yourself not to insist, even though you’d happily tell her that showing off is the last of your intentions, and you’d happily only cover night shifts for the next century; it would solve most of your troubles. 

Your main problem -your main threat- is obviously Arondir, since as your roommate he is more likely to discover what you are up to than anyone else. You’re always as silent as you can be when you leave your bed at night, so as not to wake him, and since the window of the little room where you sleep faces east, you’re able to wake up at dawn and quickly return to your bed before he opens his eyes, arranging blanket and pillow, and then yourself, to look well-rested in your bed after a comfortable night of repose.

Of course, that doesn’t mean you’re completely safe; Arondir might wake up at night, either because nature calls or for whatever other reason, and realise you’re not where you should be, and even that your absence lasts for most of the night. What if he suspects you’re up to something? What if he follows you out of the room without you realising, or leaves to look for you? What if -oh, Eru, no- what if he tells Revion? You are technically not breaking any rules, but you doubt the watchwarden would appreciate you going against his explicit order to sleep in the dormitory like all the other soldiers; could you be dismissed because of this? That would add insult to injury, being prevented from doing your duty because you suffer from nightmares, you really can’t imagine a fate worse than that…

Well, no; the worst possible thing would be being pitied for it; that I really couldn’t bear.

You spend the first month of your stay at Ostirith plagued by fear of being discovered, but Eru seems to be watching over you. No one apart from the nightmares comes disturb your sleep at night, and you and Arondir soon find yourselves becoming good friends, from simple acquaintances that you were before, his kind smiles and readiness to help you whenever you need it making you reasonably sure he has no idea of what you are doing, or at least finds nothing suspicious about it. 

Time passes. Life at the outpost is hard, you miss your home and friends, but you go on, form solid friendships with your comrades, and even earn -he would never tell, but his occasional nods and pats on the shoulders are reward enough- the watchwarden’s respect. You go on patrol, and learn to know the woods and mountains surrounding the garrison like the back of your hand; you get acquainted with the Men of the nearby village of Tirharad, and to bear the evident mistrust and barely-concealed rancour most of them treat you and the other Elves with. You train tirelessly, even asking Arondir, who is clearly the best archer among all of you, for help to improve, and fight Orcs, time and time again, get wounded, heal, and go out again. For each one you kill ten more seem to take its place, but you order yourself not to be discouraged; maybe the decisive battle against the children of Sauron won’t be fought and won in your presence, or even in your lifetime, but Morgoth take you if you won’t do your part, to take out as many of his servants as you can.

You owe it to your family. Because when one day you’ll see them again, safe and sound in Valinor, you want to be able to tell them that while you couldn’t protect them when they needed you the most, you made sure the Orcs paid dearly for what they have done. And then, perhaps, you’ll stop feeling guilty.  

All things considered you don’t have much to complain about, even though you haven’t seen a soap bar worthy of the mane in two years and the winter in Ostirith is the coldest and most unforgiving you’ve ever experienced. You sleep perhaps three hours per night, which is bound to take its toll even on someone like you who is used to long periods of vigil sooner or later, and given the narrow space and uncomfortable position you spend your nights in sometimes you wake up feeling more exhausted than the evening before, and yes, you have noticed the sleeping draught has started losing its effectiveness, since nightmares have gotten to plague most of your nights rather than just half of them, but it’s nothing you cannot bear and deal with. You are a soldier, after all, and a more than decent one at that; you have killed countless Orcs, you remind yourself firmly, you can’t let what are after all simple images in your mind discourage you, no matter how painful.

Yes, everything is going well; at least until you find yourself locked out of your hiding place.

The roof collapsed. 

“It was bound to happen sooner or later; this old building has not been renovated in decades, the roofs in particular are in a terrible state.” Médhor, who had been a master builder in his previous life before enlisting, comments as he observes the scene, his eyes upturned: the little space available between the crates has been filled with wood-planks, rubble and brick fragments, and the abundant snow that fell last night, the ultimate cause of the collapse. You look on from the door, forcing yourself to keep the panic rising in your chest under control. Had you been here last night, and not away on patrol for the fourth time this week, the crash could have killed you, but the last thing you feel at the moment is fortunate.

“And… now we’re gonna repair it?”

“Excuse me?”

“The roof; shall we… fix it somehow? I mean, we cannot very well leave the room like this…”

Your comrade’s answer is a shrug of his shoulders; according to the watchwarden there is not much use for this room in any case, since the crates can be moved somewhere else without leaving them in the way, and you all have more pressing matters to attend than cleaning a room that would remain empty in any case. The roof will be repaired, to forbid snow and rain from doing any more damage, but the debris will be left where they are. 

You tell Médhor that you’ll follow him in a minute, but once your comrade has left you remain where you are, observing the tiny room in disarray in front of you, doing your best not to yield to terror. You will never manage to move all the timber and stone by yourself, especially not since you’re already occupied from dawn to after sunset, you’d have to work alone, and you have no place to hide all the debris you’d be disposing of; and fortunately you never left anything that could be traced back to you in the room during the day, or Médhor -or worse, Revion- would have suspected you had spent your nights there. Nevertheless, you are in trouble: you need to find a new place to sleep, and you have to find it now, since your next night shift is no less than three days away, but where?

“I see.”

“Good thing no one was here; but I guess no one would have had a reason to. Are you coming to lunch, (name)?”

You skip lunch in order to search through the garrison, but with no results; you try the stables, which are so packed with their equine occupants there is no space for a mouse to sleep, let alone a grown Elf - not to mention the stench is abominable. You could drag your blanket outside, sleep on the porch or huddle against a wall, but it has been snowing intermittently for almost two days, the white softness covering the ground and the mountain peaks all around Ostirith; it is so cold in the morning you sometimes find the water in your washing basins turned to ice. You’d surely catch a cold if you slept outside, not to mention the Elves on guard duty would easily spot you, which would lead to more embarrassing questions than you’re interested in answering.

You have no choice but to return to your bed; still, you reason with yourself, no one says you actually need to sleep in it. 

There are certain plants in the woods of the Southlands, whose leaves can be used as stimulants, either when one has to remain vigilant when on duty or for recreational purposes; their effect is less intense on Elves than it is on Men, but a few of your former comrades took them to remain awake while on patrol. Your old watchwarden disapproved of their use and you would wage your pay of a year Revion would be as well, but you ask discreetly around, a few hard-earned coins change hands, and soon after you find a small pouch hidden under your pillow. 

That night you abstain from drinking your sleeping draught for the first time in months, but even with that, the effect of the leaves goes well beyond what you expected. You have been munching them for barely a few minutes -the taste is pungent, vaguely acrid but not unpleasant- and suddenly you’re unable to stay still, your mind rushing and your body begging to do the same. 

In the end, unable to control yourself, you reach for your cape and boots and sneak out of the room, after making sure your roommate is fast asleep. Arondir lies composedly on his back, the gentle moonlight filtering through the window and falling on his fair face; you’re not sure what dreams Irmo has filled his mind with, but given the peaceful expression on his handsome -very handsome; even for an Elf your roommate is exceptionally fair, and the ladies of Tirharad seem to have made an exception in their resentment against your kind to giggle as he walks by and sigh in delight looking out of their window when they see him work hard to repair a toppled wall, naked skin glistening with perspiration despite the cold day- face you can guess it’s something nice and safe, the opposite of the nightmares that plague you. How I envy you, mellon nín.

You feel better once you’re outside, free to walk and release the energy the leaves have excited inside you. You spend a tedious but peaceful night walking around the garrison, careful not to be seen by the soldiers on guard duty, and at dawn you slip back to your room, in time to wish Arondir a good morning, looking like a respectable roommate who has spent a resting night sleeping by his side.

You do it again on the next night, munching the leaves as if your life depended on it; this time you have borrowed a scroll and, locking yourself in the latrines -that have fortunately been cleaned yesterday- and lighting a candle you spend the next six hours reading an interesting essay on the war strategies of the First Age and their application.

The next day, to your enormous relief and joy, you are ordered to depart for a night patrol shift that will last two nights rather than one -an almost unheard of situation, except in time of war- since a few of your comrades have been called away on a special mission. 

“I’m sorry, (name); I wish there was another way.” Revion tells you, openly apologetic, and you remain impassible as you tell him that it is not a problem, and you are ready to do whatever you need to help your troop - and you are, truly; the watchwarden does not need to know that in your heart you are literally crying with joy at the thought you will be excused from having to sleep in your bed for the next two nights. 

You doubt there have been many soldiers who have prepared for a double night shift feeling in as good a mood as you; you are even whistling softly, which earns you a few irritated glares from your comrades.

You’ll be safe for the next two nights, forced to stay awake at night and allowed to rest for a bit during the day, when even if you awoke crying and screaming, no one will be any the wiser. That is very good… even though there is an important factor you have not considered, a tiny but determinant flaw that threatens to make all your efforts go to waste: the fact that at the moment you present yourself for the first of your two nights of patrol, you haven’t slept, even a short doze, for almost three days, and no one, not even an Elf, can go so long without rest and not suffer the consequences. 

Tiredness falls on you like a wet blanket only an hour after the start of your shift; with a jolt, you realise you had started nodding off, leaning against the parapet of the footbridge, only a few seconds away from falling face forward from a height of eighty feet. Thank Eru, no one noticed, you realise after anxiously looking all around you, but they could have, and the soldiers you are on shift with are two you know less well than others, and who could decide to refer the matter to the watchwarden. Also, most importantly, you have been tasked with making sure the garrison is kept safe from Orcs invasions and other dangers; the last thing you want is to miss an impending attack because you were napping.

You order yourself to remain awake, even taking a quick break to splash icy cold water on your face, but to no avail; you are tired, more tired than you ever remember being, your mind feels sluggish and even your body is feeling the effect of staying so long without rest. 

And worst of all, your shift has barely started, which means dawn is still a long way away; you’ll never resist until then. Oh, Eru; you’re going to fall asleep while on patrol, the highest shame for a soldier. Revion might decide to dismiss you, and your comrades will be all too happy to tell the whole garrison what you have done, and that you have woken up screaming…

Fortunately, you still have the leaves - or at least some of them, about a third of the original amount. You are pretty sure that quantity should have lasted you for a week at least, and that you’re not supposed to take them for two nights in a row, let alone three, but it’s your only chance. Furthermore, in the afternoon a band of Orcs was sighted less than half a mile from Ostirith; you are not the only guard on duty, but if your fellow soldiers were put in danger because of your inattentiveness you will never forgive yourself.

And so you take the leaves. Made sure you’re alone -fortunately the footbridge runs all around the watchtower’s circumference, which means the three guards on duty have to be positioned too distant to be able to see each other- you retrieve the pouch from the inside pocket of your shirt, and put the whole content in your mouth.

For the first time they taste bitter, almost unbearably so; and while they do their job, and keep you awake until the sun appears behind the mountains at east, you doubt you would have noticed if a whole herd of Mûmakil had come stampeding from the woods, and you can barely concentrate enough to place your bow and quiver in their place in the armoury and then tell the cook that yes, you’d be happy to eat some bread and cheese for breakfast, thank you very much.

And then, finally, you’re dismissed, free to go to your room to rest; you have met Arondir briefly in the kitchens and he told you that he was leaving for Tirharad -he also mentioned what he was going to do, but you were not lucid enough to catch it- and would only return in the afternoon, so at least you know you will not be disturbed as you sleep, or heard when you wake up screaming.Closed the door behind you and taken off your boots, you don’t even remove the blankets before laying down; you have fallen into a deep, dreamless -and thank Eru nightmareless- slumber even before your cheek hits the pillow.

[coff-in]

heyhey!! may i req ashley with a fem reader? i may ramble here so please bear with me (reader and ashley are the same age)

reader and ashley were basically childhood friends, reader being the only person to actually give ashley a chance to actually be her friend rather than befriend her to try to get to andrew (which ashley was very wary of reader right from the get-go)

reader is basically known for being perfect and even "pure" by her peers back in highschool (and being a part of student council is no help) mostly due to her mother forcing her to excel and reader never really having much of an identity because of it

so it would be pretty scandalous for rumors of reader and ashley dating to go out, right? well, ashley fuels those rumors meanwhile reader tries to shut them down because reader isn't even out when it comes to liking girls

reader's mother is pretty disapproving of reader's and ashley's friend/relationship but the two usually sneak around to hang out anyways, mostly ashley

in the current game setting, reader is quarantined with the graves siblings since at that point, her mother stopped caring and viewed her daughter as a lost cause and is practically an accomplice in everything that happened

of course, with the quarantine, ashley and reader have gotten closer than ever before to the point that reader is questioning herself and her attraction to ashley

the relationship will be relatively toxic especially with reader likely being more of a doormat than andrew (somehow) and ashley's nature in isolating reader from friends and even her peers in general

notes from coff-in: this is actually such a cool idea, 'nonnie! i don't know to like, add on to this because it's just... it's so fucking good. you really cooked here :D still i tried my best, please enjoy!

[fem] reader-insert, homophobia(?)

holy shit, i think leyley would actually be so happy if [reader] actually came over to celebrate her birthday. even if [reader] wasn't able to bring her a gift, just her showing up to say "happy birthday, leyley!" would cause leyley to break out into a huge adorable smile!! the fact that [reader] actually takes the time and makes the effort to be there for leyley would make her like [reader]. [reader] is there for her, she likes to be friends with her. even having her sneak out of the house to hang out with ashley is so heart touching to her and enforces the idea that [reader] likes her. it also builds up that attachment to [reader] in ashley character.

i'm not too entirely sure how people in the neighborhood the graves' lived at react to gay people but... i'm sure it would be some sort of struggle being "outed" as gay when you yourself aren't even sure if you're gay or not. [reader] would definitely panic when ashley teases her about the rumors. "didn't you hear about them? everyone's talking about us~ about our relationship~"

"what?! what no! ashley, they can't-- they're lying!! we're not dating-- i don't even--"

"you don't what, [reader]? you don't like me? aren't we friends?? you're MY friend!!" omg the back and fourth the two go through of ashley pushing the boundaries of their relationship and [reader] calming her down after she (purposely) misconstrues her words turning ashley down. and it's so hard trying to dispel the rumors because yeah, they always hang out with each other (because ashley gets mad when [reader] tries to hang out with other people) and yeah, [reader] doesn't have many other friends outside of ashley (because ashley doesn't like to share :3c) AND NO, SHE'S NOT JUST FRIENDS WITH ASHLEY TO GET TO ANDREW!!

and GOD ONCE [READER]'S MOTHER FINDS OUT???? ashley knows all about shitty mothers, this is just another factor that she could use to keep [reader] close. it's an aspect that they can bond over!! they're both disappointing daughters to their mothers... kinda romantic, isn't it? it's like the only other that can relate is right next to them huh? (ashley's giving her smug bedroom eyes to [reader] while [reader] is like "haha... ha yeah, so true ashley canwetalkabout somethingelse?") THIS CONFLATES OR LIKE COMBINES WHEN THE QUARANTINE HAPPENS LIKE "WOWIE YOUR MOM DOESN'T WANT SHIT TO DO WITH YOU EITHER!!! we should kiss rn"

biggest question i have is whether or not andrew would like it or not? he's used to being ashley's rock, her anchor, the only one who loves her. and now [reader] comes along and... well, not steals her but makes her less reliant on andrew. ashley's always going to andy so it's not like andrew's leaving her (not like he wants to do so either) but there must be some tension or competition between him and [reader]. especially since [reader]'s taking his spot as "doormat extraordinaire" like bro!!! what the fuck!!! honestly such a fun idea to explore.

[reader] has nothing left but ashley. ashley drove away her friends in middle/high school, her mother abandoned her due to rumors of her dating ashley, and now she's stuck with ashley (and andrew) for three months. no one is calling the phone to talk to her, no one is trying to break her out, and no one is missing her. it's only [reader] and ashley (and andrew)

fucking love this idea, come here. let me kiss that wonderful brain of yours 'nonnie. MWAH MWAH MWAH!!!

----

coff-in

[thevelaryons]

F&B doesn’t provide too much information about Laena’s betrothed, the Sealord’s son, and Laenor’s lover, Qarl Correy. But what information is given does connect them to each other, in an interesting way.

The Sealord’s son:

Laena had been betrothed from the age of twelve to a son of the Sealord of Braavos…but the father had died before they could be wed, and the son soon proved a wastrel and a fool, squandering his family’s wealth and power before turning up on Driftmark.

Qarl Correy:

A household knight of relatively low birth, Correy was known to have a lord’s tastes and a peasant’s purse, and was given to extravagant wagering besides.

One of them is the son of a Sealord and most likely had ties to a noble family of Braavos. The other one is lowborn. But both of them are wastrels and gamblers.

The Sealord died and his son is lacking, so there’s no longer any political advantage in pursuing this match. It’s said that once Corlys saw the type of person Laena’s betrothed was, he didn’t want to proceed with the marriage for this very reason. However, it’s not easy to break marriage betrothals once they’ve been made. So Corlys has to keep putting it off. Then, a better match appears and Corlys takes the opportunity presented to him. In doing so, Corlys ends up ridding himself of the Sealord’s son:

Lacking a graceful means to rid himself of the embarrassment, but unwilling to proceed with the marriage, Lord Corlys had repeatedly postponed the wedding.

.

Weary of the Stepstones, and free at last of his “bronze bitch,” Daemon Targaryen asked Lord Corlys for his daughter’s hand in marriage.

The exiled Braavosi betrothed remained an impediment, but not for long.

Since Corlys disapproved of the Sealord’s son, I think it’s a fair assumption to make that he didn’t like Qarl that much either. Compared to what happened with the Sealord’s son, the situation with Qarl would actually be a lot easier for Corlys to deal with. Unlike the Sealord’s son, Qarl is just a household knight in service to house Velaryon. Meaning, Corlys has full jurisdiction to deal with him however he wants. He could fire Qarl or have him killed and no one would question the decision, because a lord in Westeros has the right to deal with their household servants however they see fit. Except Corlys doesn’t do anything to him. The fact that Laenor is willingly in a relationship with Qarl probably has a lot to do with it:

Ser Laenor preferred the comforts of High Tide, where he soon found a new favorite in a household knight named Ser Qarl Correy.

I think Corlys must’ve regretted allowing Qarl’s presence at Driftmark, and letting him carry on a relationship with Laenor. Even though Qarl managed to get away, it’s no surprise that Corlys wanted him dealt with, through whatever means necessary:

The Sea Snake offered a reward of ten thousand golden dragons for any man who could lead him to Ser Qarl Correy, or deliver the killer to a father’s vengeance.

[try-set-me-on-fire]

hiiii, "pet names" for the soft prompt if you're still doing it<3

Full disclaimer i also dont know how face timing works. Soft prompts, finished ones!

It had started as a joke. Or as teasing, really. Eddie had been in El Paso, telling his sisters about his boyfriend, and had tried to facetime him when they demanded living, talking proof of such a thing. Tried being the operative word there, because what Eddie had done was call him the regular way and then ask "How do I turn the camera on?"

"Well, my technologically challenged beloved, that's not how that works. Wait a second, hang up, I'll start the call."

And then, a few days later after Eddie was back home safe and exhausted from extended exposure to immediate relatives, it was a laughing “Beloved, hand it over,” as he grabbed a suitcase from his partner’s hands as Eddie looked like he was about to fall asleep standing up. Then “Beloved, pass me that-“ “Beloved, when is-“ “Beloved, how about-“ until it was just something he said, a name for Eddie alongside Eds and Babe and Hello You and all the times he says goodnight or good morning and means it as a form of address.

They’re at the station and Eddie says “Hey, Buck-” the start of a question lost to a moment of distraction, Ravi dropping something in the kitchen and all eyes turning towards the noise in a gentle assessment of danger.

It’s a coffee cup that now no longer has a handle, there’s a sheepish smile, and Buck turns back to his partner and says “Yes, beloved?” And it’s not a joke at all and out of the corner of his eye he can see Hen make the face she makes when they're being buckandeddie, all fond and a little grossed out.

And every time he says it here’s what happens: the very corners of Eddie’s mouth lift up first, and then he ducks his head just a tiny bit, and then he meets Buck’s eyes with a sort of surprised affection melted into the brown. Buck thinks they both keep looking at each other like this, months since they crashed into each other and refused to let go, still hardly daring to believe this is theirs to have and keep.

Eddie calls him honey and it tastes like it, the word sweet as it’s passed across the kitchen or pressed into his skin. He says sweetheart and Buck feels like one, feels kinder and lovelier under his attention. Eddie says “Buck” and he thinks his name doesn’t sound like that in anyone else’s mouth, he thinks he never feels more real or adored than when Eddie’s tongue curls around those consonants.

Growing up as Evan Buckley, he never knew how many names a person could have. Then he became Buck, and Buckaroo, and Kid, and each one was him entirely, his true name, and all of them would have been enough for him - already they felt like things he stole, things someone would disapprove of him having, little treasures to keep safe - but then there was Eddie and Buck thinks for the rest of his life he’ll greedily seek new names to have and to give away. He thinks maybe Husband, maybe soon.

For now, in the fire station after the broken cup, Eddie says “Oh, just wondering if you wanted to get breakfast after this?”

And Buck thinks maybe a name can just be knowing someone, in the way he knows what breakfast place they’ll go to and what Eddie will order and the half of his second pancake that Buck will end up eating. He smiles. “Yeah, Eddie, I’d love to.”

[crackedpumpkin]

ʙʟᴀɴᴋ ᴄᴀɴᴠᴀꜱ || ᴘᴀʀᴛ ꜱɪx ||

[ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 ] | [ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ] | [ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ]

“God, you’re as fun as untoasted bread.”

“I agree.”

“As you should,” Michael nods solemnly, patting your shoulder while you both look at Nicole with disapproval.

“What?” She frowns, holding up her hands defensively, her long sleeves draping over her hands. Nicole had approached you both asking you to sign up for a volunteer event for her chess club, citing that the activity would take place this Thursday, just two days from now.

It wasn’t that you hated giving back to the community, you didn’t really mind it at all. Well, you wouldn’t mind it at all if Nicole could come up with at least one good idea that everyone else wasn’t doing already. 

“What’s wrong with a food drive?” She’s cross now, folding her arms across her chest and trying her best to look intimidating. It’s not working, especially when she looks like the equivalent of a snowman in summer with her sweater and beanie. It’s a wonder how she hasn’t gotten heatstroke by now. You make a mental note to stick around her — maybe it’d somehow rub off on you.

“Okay, you come up with a better idea then,” Michael looks at you expectantly. And as always, Google is there to save the day. You turn the phone screen around to face them, displaying the search results you’d pulled up moments ago.

“Caricatures.”

“Sure,” Nicole shrugs. She could care less about what the activity was, as long as it meant she’d get the credits to her name. 

“I’m not doing it for free though,” Michael points out with a grin, loving the way her eyes narrow into a glare directed at him. 

“...What do you want?” Nicole forces each word out through gritted teeth, leaning against her table. 

“Twenty per hour, with drinks provided.” 

“Ten per hour, and you buy your own drinks because you have two perfectly functional limbs.”

“Fifteen an hour, with dollar drinks from 7 Eleven.”

Nicole pauses, taking his deal into consideration. “Alright.” 

Michael nods, satisfied with this small victory. “What do you need for supplies?” He asks. You ponder for a moment, starting to list off the materials.

“Drawing pads, 2B pencils, eraser, drinks, snacks…” 

“I can get those.”

“I’ll leave it up to you then,” You say, reassured by Nicole's casual nod. “How much should we charge?”

“Ten bucks?” Nicole suggests.

“Ten bucks.” 

— — — — — 

“Caricatures! Get your drawings done for ten bucks only!”

Luckily, today was a relatively cloudy day. The three of you had set up your small booth consisting of two tables and chairs, covering the tables with a long cloth that hid your bags underneath. The school had excused all three of you for this activity after Nicole had cited it as a valid reason to be absent. 

The girl in question is now slacking off beside you, sipping away on a juice box and scrolling through Instagram while Michael promotes your booth to the various pedestrians.

You had chosen the location, setting up at a junction where many people would pass by the booth. So far, a decent amount of people had asked for a caricature to be drawn, mainly for couples and friends that posed cutely while you drew them.

So far the booth has raised about a hundred dollars, and it’s only increasing by the hour. You’re pleasantly surprised by the demand, especially since it’s for charity. Usually people avoided anything to do with that word like the plague. 

You didn’t blame them, having been targeted by many scams. You usually pretended you didn’t speak English, merely smiling cluelessly until they gave up trying to talk to you. Then again, another reason for your booth’s popularity definitely had something to do with the very boy who’s flirting nonstop with the various girls that had just ended their classes.

“So, how about you and I get some gazpacho sometime?” You overhear him hum to the girl next to him, sweeping a hand through his golden brown hair with a flirtatious smirk. She giggles, tucking a blonde lock behind her ear with ring-clad fingers.

Michael is rather attractive, you have to admit. But as they say, all that’s gold doesn’t glitter.

And he sure as hell isn’t the gentleman he makes himself out to be.

Even then, it’s seriously impressive how many girls he’d already managed to pull to your booth, and pay in full price for your drawings. You gotta step up your game.

And step up your game you shall.

“For a gorgeous girl like yourself, you can have it on the house,” You wink at the flustered girl in front of you, handing her the caricature you’d just drawn. Her cheeks flush, and she accepts it with a quiet thanks. Your fingers brush against each other and she starts at the contact, lips parting and stuttering out an apology. 

“What’s your name?” You ask, smiling gently at her.

“Marissa…” She replies in a soft whisper, and you have to strain to hear it.

“Well Marrisa, don’t apologise,” You reassure her, taking her hand and checking to see if there had been any injury from a potential paper cut. You release it once you’re satisfied that she’s unharmed, giving her a lighthearted two-fingered salute as she leaves.

You lean back in your seat, twirling your pencil in your hands and trying to ignore the way Nicole was staring daggers at you. “Did you just give away the drawing?”

“Yeah. Thought it’d give us a lil’ more publicity,” You say cheerfully, making eye contact with Marissa whose eyes widen when she sees you looking at her. She ducks her head, showing her friends the caricature you’d drawn of her to her friends with a shy smile. 

You turn your attention back to the drawing pad in front of you, uncrossing your legs and bending down to grab a fresh one. You flip it open, beginning to sketch the food truck owner opposite the street you’re on. 

“Don’t do it too much, though. If not we might as well not make any money,” Nicole grouches, crossing her legs under her knees on the chair, and folding her arms with a surly frown on her lips.

“What’s got you so strung up?” You ask casually, catching in your peripheral the way her eyes flit to Michael flirting with the group of girls nearby. The corner of your lips tug up slightly, trying to mask your amused laugh as a cough.

“Nothing,” Nicole mutters. “Stupid gazpacho,” You hear her growl under her breath.

You hum softly under your breath, thankful for the small fan on your table that provided you with some form of relief from the increasing summer heat in Brooklyn. Summers were hot and humid, which proved to be your worst enemy. Many times you’ve gone out with your hair all fluffy from a fresh blowout done at home only for it to go limp and flat not even an hour later. 

Thankfully, summer is ending soon, only a month or so away. For now though, it seems that summer is here to stay. 

“Do you think it’ll rain today?” You ask, lazily propping your head on your hand. Nicole shrugs, looking up at the clear blue sky. 

“Not sure. Besides, the rain here is always unpredictable. Did you bring an umbrella at least?”

You recall leaving your room with your umbrella on your desk, having forgotten to pack it in your bag for today. Nicole shakes her head once she spots the sheepish smile on your face, rolling her eyes as she leans down and digs through her bag.

“You better be grateful I brought an extra. Had a feeling you might’ve forgotten after you left in a rush yesterday.”

You accept the small umbrella she hands you with a grateful smile, nudging her side playfully. The ghost of a smile appears on her face. You grin, grateful that you’d managed to cheer her up and distract her at least somewhat. 

Your efforts are however ruined, when Michael jogs up to the desk with yet another girl whose hand is in his. She sits down with a giggle, handing you ten bucks with a dismissive wave. 

“Welcome!” You chirp, readying your pencil and eraser. You eye Michael who remains blissfully oblivious to a silently enraged Nicole by your side. He lets go of her hand with a suave grin, sending her a wink. 

“I’ll have to take a raincheck on that gazpacho, but maybe we could go out sometime?” He chuckles, the girl nodding eagerly. 

“I’m gonna go get a drink.” 

You watch Nicole push past Michael with a scowl, and he follows her with a silly grin. “I’m gonna grab a drink too!” You hear him call out to you, and you shake your head with a helpless chuckle. 

They’re idiots, the pair of them.

“So, is this gonna be done soon? Or…” You glance up to the girl who’s now eyeing you with dissatisfaction, her eyes scanning your entire being like she just came across a pile of steaming hot garbage. 

“It’ll be done in about five minutes,” You promise with a slightly forced smile, your hands continuing to move while your mind comes up with both creative and obtuse insults for this unpleasant specimen of human being.

“Right… I just have places to be, so like, hurry up.”

“Bet,” You mutter under your breath, watching her pull out her phone and scroll through it with a bored expression. True to your word, you finish the caricature quickly and hand it to her.

She snatches it without another glance, standing up and leaving once she realized that Michael isn’t coming back anytime soon. You grin, chirping a cheerful goodbye. 

It takes all of four steps away from the booth for her to let out a cry of enraged shock, whipping her head around to glare at you frostily. You stare back with wide eyes and a questioning gaze, the very picture of innocence.

The remarkable shade of red that tints her ears almost makes you break character, but you maintain your neutral facade. The corner of your lips twitch ever-so-slightly, watching her scoff and leave with your drawing in her clenched fists. 

When she’s out of sight, you dissolve into a fit of snickers, various people who walk by giving you odd looks. It did look strange, you suppose, for a random girl in the streets curled up in her seat laughing.

You couldn't help it though, the look on her face was absolutely priceless once she saw how detailed your drawing was. From her fake lashes to her horribly attached extensions, even the small pimples she’d tried so hard to cover up with concealer was all on display in her caricature. 

Was it mean? Yes.

Did you regret it? Not in the slightest.

You finally calm down, leaning back with a satisfied smile. The water bottle on your desk was empty, having drank the last few sips earlier. You pull out your phone and dial Nicole’s number.

“Hello?”

“Yo, Nic. Could you grab me like an iced latte or something? I’m parched.”

“Y-yeah, sure.”

“You good?” You ask, noticing how breathless she sounded. “You sound like you just ran a marathon or something.”

“W-what?”

“Oh my god, did you actually run a marathon?” You gasp, looking around and trying to spot any marathon runners. 

“No! There’s no marathon happening, you moron.” 

You purse your lips, disappointed at the fact that potential entertainment for the afternoon was gone. 

“That’s not ideal. But can I still get my ice latte?” 

“Yeah, sure. Don’t you need to visit the restroom though?” 

“Nah, I got a strong bladder. I can handle anything.” You reply proudly.

“No you don’t.” Nicole’s blunt response stabs your inflated ego, and you practically shrink in your seat.

“Just get me my ice latte please.” You mutter, hanging up before she can wound you further. You sigh, kicking your feet up on the now available chair that Nicole had used earlier. The bustling crowd had now died down. You check your watch. 

2.30PM.

It’s almost time for school to end. You wonder if Bug Boy had anything going on this afternoon (besides his usual web-slinging duties, of course). 

Anti-Hero [ 02:32 PM ]: yo

Bug-Boy [ 02:33 PM ]: wasnt aware we had a session today

Anti-Hero [ 02:33 PM ]: we dont

Bug-Boy [ 02:33 PM ]: then?

Anti-Hero [ 02:34 PM ]: idk i was bored\

Bug-Boy [ 02:33 PM ]: i would liek to take this opportunity to let you know that i am in fact, not a fidget spinner

Anti-Hero [ 02:34 PM ]: aw man :/

Anti-Hero [ 02:34 PM ]: was hoping you were

Anti-Hero [ 02:34 PM ]: anyw wyd :)

Bug-Boy [ 02:34 PM ]: why you wanna know?

Anti-Hero [ 02:34 PM ]: smh smh im just making conversation

Anti-Hero [ 02:34 PM ]: im not that bad a person !

Bug-Boy [ 02:34 PM ]: my friends dragging me to this caricature booth on fifth avenue. She caught me buying some food.

Fifth Avenue?

Oh no.

You immediately look up and scan the crowd, spotting Nicole and Michael next to the person you dreaded seeing the most in this very moment.

Bug Boy. Well, Miles Morales, to be accurate.

You have to get out of here. 

For the love of God-

You can’t let him see you. Not here. Not when he only knows you as Ray Paynt. Sure, you’d probably tell him your real identity one day, just not today of all days. You scramble out of your seat, but your foot gets caught on an uneven tile on the sidewalk, falling flat on your face with a cry. 

You quickly get to your feet with a pained grunt, ignoring the sting on your arms and the ache in your knees from the sudden fall. You spot someone entering an alleyway only a few feet ahead. You run toward it, all but flinging yourself against the brick wall as your heartbeat pounds in your ears, the blood rushing through them as you pray desperately that they didn’t notice.

“Hello dear customer! Come right this way for a caricature drawn by our very own in-house artist!” Nicole drags an amused Miles to the booth, only to stop in her tracks when she sees no one there. Her lips purse, brows furrowing into a glare as she processes the clear lack of the main artist for the booth.

“Did you see her?” She asks Michael, who can only shrug hopelessly. You watch her groan, sliding a hand down her face. “I knew she had a weak bladder,” She mutters. She drags Miles behind the booth, plopping him down in your seat and handing him the drawing pad you’d been using earlier. 

“Wha- I can’t!”

“Why not?”

“I got stuff…”

“What was that?” Nicole glares at Miles who shifts in his seat. 

“Nothing,” He replies with a defeated sigh. “I can only stay till four,” He reminds, picking up a pencil and beginning to draw another customer who sits down in front of him. 

“She should be back by then.” 

You lean against the wall, tilting your head up and letting yourself breathe deeply. That was close. You couldn’t risk it happening again. For a while, you’d forgotten that he knew Nicole and the rest too. Five minutes pass by quickly, though it feels like an eternity. 

Should you risk a look….?

Risking a glance around the corner, you spot Miles chatting gaily to both Michael and Nicole who’s nodding every now and then before chasing away Michael so he could continue promoting the booth.

You can vaguely hear what they’re saying, the lack of people around making it easier for you to eavesdrop.

“So, how’ve you been?” Nicole leans back against her chair, sipping away on the latte she’d bought for you. She did buy it with her money, after all. Plus, you weren’t even here to drink it so she might as well.

“I’ve been good. New school, new friends, lots of classes…” Miles chuckles, sliding his headphones off his neck and storing them safely in his bag for the time being. He twirls his pencil in his fingers absentmindedly.

“New friends? Bet they’ve been taking up so much of your time that you forgot about your old ones.” Nicole doesn’t bother to hide the bitter venom in her words, watching him flinch with a guilty smile. 

She sighs. “Look, we miss you Miles.”

“I miss you guys too. I’ve just been really busy lately.” 

“With what?”

“Just…homework.”

It’s quiet for a moment, Nicole allowing the incredibly awkward silence to envelop her friend’s entire being with each passing second. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.”

“Please do.”

It’s not like he can just tell everyone what’s been going on, you realize, your lower lip pursing slightly at his defeated tone. Do his parents even know about him being Spiderman? You highly doubt it, especially since you’re around the same age. Your parents would definitely freak out if you reveal a hidden vigilante identity out of nowhere. 

Being a superhero must be tough. You’d heard about the countless robbers, pickpockets, and criminals that he’d faced off against. There was one group who robbed an ATM machine a while back with batman masks. It even made it to the front page of the Daily Bugle. They had guns and duffel bags, the very signature items of an experienced group of criminals. 

He’d faced them alone.

It’s no wonder he didn’t tell his parents. There must be people out there dying to get his identity. They’re part of the problem.

You’re part of the problem.

This realization stuns you. You can hardly blame him for being so cautious, much less distrust you. Sure, the trip to the cafe was fun, but there's still been endless tension and distance between you both. 

You shake your head stubbornly. Get your head in the game, you’re only in this situation because of your own ineptitude and inability to produce even a decent piece of art without needing a muse to help. 

A tinge of guilt infringes on your conscience. Your cheeks feel hot with shame, and you press your hands to your face in a lousy attempt to cool them down. God, this is pathetic. This is so, so pathetic.

All the more reason to get it done and over with as soon as possible.

“Well, I gotta dip. I gotta meet my parents for dinner.” You peer around the edge of the wall once more, watching him grab his bag and walk off in the opposite direction. He tenses, turning around and staring straight in your direction. You dart your head back behind the safety of the red-brick wall, panic striking your heart in one swift blow.

Was he gone? 

You angle your phone to see him in the reflection, thanking the gods above for the existence of the Percy Jackson movies. If it’s one survival skill you’ve learnt, it’s how to use your phone screen’s reflection to subtly check if people behind are still present.

It’s also the only survival skill that actually mattered in those movies. God, those teenagers were dumb.

You spot Miles shrug and turn back, resuming his trek back home. After you’ve confirmed that he’s truly gone, you step out from behind the alleyway and lightly jog back over to Nicole who’s still sipping away with her feet kicked up on your chair. She watches you approach with raised brows, eyeing your dishevelled state.

“Did the toilet eat you alive? ‘Cause you look like sh-”

“I fell down.” You interrupt her with a pointed stare at her shoes. She shrugs, taking them off and sitting back upright in her own chair before handing you the now half-finished latte. You take a large sip, sighing blissfully from the sweet, sweet relief the cold beverage provides you with. 

“Some stomach ache that must’ve been. You just missed Morales.” Nicole remarks. Your shoulders tense, choking on another small sip of your coffee. The back of your throat burns from the sudden reflux, and you force yourself to swallow. 

The coughs gradually subside, and you’re made aware of the fact that she had been silently watching you practically gasp for air with disinterest in her eyes. “Coffee.” She orders, and you hand the cup over to her before wiping the involuntary tears that had formed in your eyes.

“We’re gonna be hanging out this Sunday with the rest.” She cooly informs you, nibbling on the tip of the straw. 

“This Sunday?” You almost choke again, this time from the air you’d suddenly inhaled out of shock. 

“Yea, what’s up? I thought you said you could make it.” Nicole gives you an odd look, stirring the remaining coffee with the straw. The ice inside rattles noisily, serving as a way to snap you back to your senses from the ice-cold panic that settles in your stomach.

“Y-yeah, I can make it.” You nod slowly, pulling out your phone and opening the chat between you and Morales. “I can make it.” You repeat, fingers hesitating to type.

— — — — — 

Nickole [ 09:22 PM ]: why is my name still this stupid nickname you set

ForeverUnstupid [ 09:25 PM ]: because its fun! :]

Nickole [ 09:30 PM ]: no. 

ForeverUnstupid [ 09:30 PM ]: :[

Nickole [ 09:31 PM ]: anyw, remember this sunday’s hangout. Miles will be there so be on your best behaviour and stuff

- [ ForeverUnstupid ] has changed [ Nickole ] to [ mOM ] -

- [ mOM ] has changed [ ForeverUnstupid ] to [ ForeverLacking ] -

ForeverLacking [ 09:30 PM ]: :[[[[[ 

ForeverLacking [ 09:30 PM ]: unbelievable.

— — — — — 

Anti-Hero [ 09:30 PM ]: you did a good job today!

Bug-Boy [ 09:30 PM ]: what r u talking about

Anti-Hero [ 09:35 PM ]: that was self affirmation. you should practice it sometime

Anti-Hero [ 09:35 PM ]: - has sent an image -

Bug-Boy [ 09:37 PM ]: why did you send me a picture of your latte

Anti-Hero [ 09:37 PM ]: oh whoops wrong pic hol up

Anti-Hero [ 09:37 PM ]: - has sent an image -

Bug-Boy [ 09:37 PM ]: looks good actually. 

Anti-Hero [ 09:40 PM ]: ik :]

Anti-Hero [ 09:40 PM ]: thanks for bein my muse. heres a bouquet of flowers for ya

Anti-Hero [ 09:42 PM ]: - has sent an image -

Bug-Boy [ 09:43 PM ]: i signed the contract. kinda have to be :/

Bug-Boy [ 09:43 PM ]: thanks for the flowers tho

Anti-Hero [ 09:45 PM ]: ok ok i get it i already apologized >:[

Bug-Boy [ 09:45 PM ]: not enough

Anti-Hero [ 09:45 PM ]: clearly.

— — — — — — — — — — 

@oh-kurva @queerponcho @sleepingnova @1theestallionyas @horologiumwise @ken-zah @sockgoblin @itstooearly-its3am @anuncalledbridge @ditto737 @sophipet @mirophobic @dilucpegg3r @urmotherswhor3 @arraxthatsonjah @ameliabs-world @superiorbyfar @swaqlover @janyiahsucks-blog @choco-malk-blog @akemiixx01 @a-cult-leader @berryunderscore @scarletrosesposts @stargirlhayven @bellstwd @edgyficuselastica @psyche404 @sukisprettyface @brunnetteiwik

[blogger360ncislarules]

Ghosts’ Season 4 Christmas special checked off several items on our holiday wish list, including the much-anticipated twist that let Jay see the spirits.

The hijinks began while Sam and Jay were trying to fix their broken water heater ahead of his parents’ visit. Unfortunately for the couple (but fortunately for us viewers), they forgot to turn off the power and were zapped, resulting in Sam and Jay being possessed by Nancy and Pete, respectively.

Sam was able to eventually “evict” Nancy, but only after the ghost went to town on some guacamole and unexpectedly bonded with Jay’s disapproving mother. Getting Pete out of Jay’s body, however, proved to be more complicated since he has the power to leave the property without being expelled. So Sam staged an exorcism — but Pete’s soul is so pure that it was Jay who got kicked out of his own body! At least the concerning turn of events allowed Jay to finally interact with the ghosts.

Meanwhile, Pete kidnapped Jay’s body to go visit his daughter, who is moving to Australia. As “Jay” told her how proud her father would be of her and hugged her, Pete’s spirit separated from Jay, leaving Sam’s husband in a zombie-like state. Using the faulty lamp and Sonic fries as bait, Sam lured zombie Jay into being zapped so her hubby could come back to life.

Below, stars Rose McIver and Utkarsh Ambudkar talk about how they tackled the double possession, how getting to see the ghosts will bring Sam and Jay closer together, and which possessions are on their wish lists for each other.

TVLINE | What a gift of an episode for the both of you. You get so much to do, from the double possession to meeting Jay’s parents to Jay getting to see the ghosts. What was your favorite part? ROSE MCIVER | It was incredible to get to play, especially Nancy and Pete, they’re just such iconic characters, and to get to throw a dart at who they are and what they bring… Especially for Sam, I found it so liberating, being able to kind of shake off her properness or her sort of sense of making people happy and appealing to other people, and just to be able to be completely free and liberated. Nancy was such a joy. UTKARSH AMBUDKAR | Well, I’m happy that we get to see Rose be sort of the comedic engine of the first half of this Christmas special. I think she has to do so much technical heavy lifting every episode as Sam to just let everybody else shine. She facilitates a lot of other people’s success. So for her to have a chance to really go for it was super funny. Watching her eat that guacamole was disgusting, and she went to town on it. MCIVER | You mean gorgeous? AMBUDKAR | It was harrowing to look at, but it was really funny. It was hilarious. She made me laugh so much. MCIVER | Do you remember that lunch, I had bought my lunch in advance, and it was a guacamole quesadilla? That is what I had ordered for lunch, and then I finished that scene and I, honestly, looked at the lunch box and wanted to be sick. AMBUDKAR | Yeah, no, thank you. And I was so glad that Jay’s parents get to join us finally, and now we’ve met all of the sort of immediate relatives of our two humans. MCIVER | And honestly, that stuff where you’re talking to your dad about Mahesh, naming [the restaurant] after him and this storyline, it was so resonate. We have a lot of people who’ve immigrated to different countries or families that have immigrated to different countries in our immediate cast and crew, and people were really affected by your performance and what you were saying, what you were talking about. It was a great storyline. It was [a] surprisingly moving moment for being on set of a comedy where we’re normally laughing all day, every day.

TVLINE | When you see that you have a double possessions storyline coming up in the script, how do you prepare for that? Did you go back and watch old episodes? Do you start paying more attention to your co-stars? MCIVER | I definitely went back and watched old episodes, and then also, Betsy [Sodaro] was so generous and recorded herself performing all of the lines that I would be performing as Nancy, and she sent them to me. She filmed them at home. [It] would have taken a substantial amount of time. It was very kind of her. And she said she felt like she was auditioning to play herself, which is pretty surreal and very unfair experience to have at this point. She should not be auditioning for anything ever, in my mind. Then on set, she was also able to come and sit behind the monitors quite often and run in and offer little ideas or thoughts or just kind of course-correct me. So she was very, very generous, and I’m such a fan of her as a person and as an actor, and it was really nice to be able to kind of collaborate like this.

TVLINE | Whose voice was harder to get: hers or Thor’s? MCIVER | Well, I only learned this episode about finding a gateway word to help you find the voice. So for me, it was “Stuart.” So anytime I got lost, I would just think about how she says “Stuart” when she’s talking to him in the basement. [Ambudkar laughs] I said, “Oh, my God, the blooper reel is going to be horrific.” Me just 50,000 times in the middle of scenes going, “Stuart, Stuart, Stuart, Stuart.” AMBUDKAR | On the flipside, I tried to do the same approach with Richie [Moriarty] and I was like, “Hey, Rose is having Betsy record her lines. Can you do it for me, too?” and Richie was like, “Yeah, yeah, of course, of course.” But he shares a [trailer] wall with Brandon Scott Jones, and he was feeling very self-conscious about doing his lines and having Brandon hear him. So he whispered all of his lines into a tape recorder and then sent that to me, and I was like, “Richie, what the hell am I going to do with this?” So, basically, if you see my impression of Pete as being understated and almost at below room-tone volume, it’s because I copied Richie whispering into his phone.

TVLINE | Utkarsh, you have to play a lot of Pete’s emotional beats in this episode. How was that for you? Was there a sense of responsibility that you felt, taking on another character’s big emotional arc? AMBUDKAR | I don’t think of it like that, really. I just was thinking about what it would be like to just be a dad, talk to your daughter, just tell her how proud I was of her. I don’t really know how to explain it. I just was sort of playing the love. MCIVER | You, also, were able to physically embody a connection with his daughter, which is pretty special. I mean, he was able to hug and hold his daughter in his arms like that, and as a father, I’m sure, I can’t think of something you’d long for more if you were unable to hold your daughter in your arms. AMBUDKAR | The episode, also, was so technically involved. That shot when I hug our daughter and then it pulls out, and it’s Richie playing Pete, and you get to actually see Pete holding his daughter for the first time, shots like that took an hour, hour and a half, two hours just to get right. So you’re sort of, technically, trying to stay in the right place. I hope Richie’s happy with it when he sees it. I don’t really mind because the dude got, like, 10 days off of work because I had to play his role. So however he feels about it is like, “You’re good, dawg. You’re good. I did my work and your work. Just be happy.” [Laughs]

TVLINE | Do you wish it had lasted longer? AMBUDKAR | I mean, selfishly, as an actor, yeah, of course, I want more time. I wish that Jay and Pete got to meet each other, but, obviously, because of the storyline, we didn’t get to. But yeah, I, for sure, would have taken another one or two episodes of being a ghost or being in that world, but I think for our story and for the overall message and energy of our show, this was the perfect amount.

TVLINE | Does this change Jay’s relationship with the ghosts moving forward? Does he have a new way of thinking about them now that he’s actually met them? AMBUDKAR | You know, I think for a guy who loves his wife unconditionally but up until this point has, basically, been operating on blind faith, I think he finally gets to see what Sam has to go through on a daily basis, and I think it’s less about his interaction with the ghosts and way more about his connection to his wife, which I think is sort of Jay’s heartbeat. That’s what makes him who he is, is how he can support Sam in the objective insanity that is her life. But I think, hopefully, it makes them stronger and brings their bond closer. MCIVER | Yeah, she has to live it, but he has to live without it. She has all of this company, and she has these people around her all day. We regularly talk about how fun it would be to see a full episode which is actually from Jay’s perspective, and how isolating that is… [Anything that] helps them understand each other’s perspectives more seems like it would be very beneficial for their relationship.

TVLINE | Rose, did you feel like you were in iZombie for a minute there when Jay turned into a zombie? MCIVER | Yeah. I have the line in [the episode]: “I hate zombies.” Did they keep that?

TVLINE | Yeah, they did. MCIVER | Oh, good. Yeah, it was a nice little nod. It was very fun. It did feel like getting transported back to Vancouver in 2018.

TVLINE | Is there anybody from iZombie that you would love to see guest-star on the show? MCIVER | I mean, Rahul [Kohli] and Malcolm [Goodwin] and Aly [Michalka] would be like a dream. But we always talk about trying to get Rahul in. Utkarsh knows him as well and is a fan as well. So that would be really, really wonderful. Any of those three. I think that, tonally, obviously there’s some good overlap in terms of iZombie and Ghosts, so I feel like they would translate very well into this universe.

TVLINE | If you could pick one character for the other to be possessed by, which one would it be? MCIVER | I would love for Jay to be possessed by Flower because I know how much he adores Sheila [Carrasco], and we all admire her work so much and the character she’s built, and how contradictory her character is is so fun. She can be such different versions of herself, and it tracks. So I think that would be really cool to see Jay being possessed by Flower. AMBUDKAR | I think Trevor. Sam is so disgusted by most of Trevor’s outlook on life that I think for her to be possessed by him would be very funny. I think watching Rose pull the “T-Money” would be very funny.

[latentillusion]

introducing my psycho-pass oc! brought to life by @catyypss 💜 i haven't fully fleshed out the details, but here's what we (i) know about her so far!

⤷ kogami's twin sister ⤷ honestly, i haven't given her a name yet. 😂 ⤷ originally an actress/singer (i actually wanted to explore what celebrities were like in a sybil world, but then season 3 came out and we did get to see that! how cool!) ⤷ BUT she became an inspector once her brother was demoted ⤷ (she really wanted to protect her brother! 😭 and she thought this was the best way to help him since he wouldn't have access to everything anymore.) ⤷ respects her brother a lot and looks up to him (they have a good relationship!) ⤷ also went to high school with kogami & ginoza ⤷ as kids, kogami tried to make her a bookworm but homegirl just... would not. (definitely teased her about it.) ⤷ people assume she's not that booksmart but she ranked above average at school & she has a sharp memory (it helped her a lot as a performer, but if she showed off a little while investigating -- can't blame a girl) ⤷ kogami & ginoza were both concerned when she said she'd become an inspector. kogami was much more quick to accept it (he trusts his sister a lot), whereas ginoza was much more upset ⤷ relatively good at maintaining her hue (learned a lot of stress management as a celebrity) ⤷ among the enforcers, she and yayoi chat a lot about music (though their tastes are very different), and maybe she and masaoka came up with ideas to tease gino ⤷ she's honestly not sure what to make of the sybil system, especially post-season 1; it's a system that judged both her brother and her friend (ginoza) so harshly. she knows they're both good people, so how fair can it all be? ⤷ personality-wise, i think she's level-headed and headstrong (would also be the type to stop bullying, with her words not her fists), she's charming and knows it, and growing up around kogami's teasing, she also loves to have fun and use her wit in her own way ⤷ post season 1 idea? she becomes a reporter or journalist (i just love the yayoi & oc team agenda!) to focus on elevating unheard voices, particularly of people sybil would try to otherwise ignore or disapprove of (very big immigrants rights activist in dejima once japan opened borders) i also think she would be so cool as a spy...

oc and ginoza ⤷ ginoza was interested in her when they were in school (come on, she's super pretty!), but i hc that he didn't feel confident asking her out (and has likely super tsundere about his feelings this whole time) ⤷ he DID support her during school plays/shows ⤷ i think oc was also intrigued by this serious guy from the get-go and soon developed her own crush, but because of her career, maybe she didn't have time for romance either ⤷ they were still good friends all throughout school and into adulthood (ginoza would attend oc's shows/premieres and bring flowers!) ⤷ UNTIL kogami's demotion ⤷ as much as he respects his best friend and as much as he cares about oc, he just doesn't think it's a good idea for her to enter the mwpsb for a reason like this (she doesn't realize what she's getting herself into) ⤷ let's say they're just disgruntled partners for a while (but gino's a softie; he's not going to stay mad forever!) ⤷ BECAUSE I WILL GO DOWN WITH THIS SHIP!!1!!! ⤷ given ginoza's personality pre/during s1, i think she would have to be the one to pursue him a little ⤷ but once he's demoted, nothing else matters, the floodgates open, and he tells her his feelings ⤷ i think because the two of them already cared a lot about each other before the timing was right, it would be emotional when they first get together (oc wants ginoza to be happy and want more for himself, ginoza wants to cherish and be good to the person he's held at arms length for so long) -- not sure if they tried dating before and it failed, and then tried again after ginoza becomes an enforcer, or if they try for the first time only after he's an enforcer. either way, the road is very long and filled with pining.

i know i've typed a lot, but i feel like i've left a lot of holes in her story. i mean, she doesn't even have a name yet... how can i name her ship?!?!?

i really want to develop her former life as an actress/idol more! (particularly, a darker story, like a crime happening at her agency or something?) give her some work-related trauma.

i also want to explore her naïveté, with how she decided to become an inspector. obviously, she passed the requirements, but does she have the heart? can she pull the trigger? what's gonna be her "oh shit" moment? (she needs PLENTY!!)

other minor things: ⤷ it was meeting akane that made her realize the way she supported her brother wasn't what was healthiest for him and his mind. she respects her a lot! ⤷ she really loves cute people! so she really wants to be a big sis to characters like mika, kei, arata, etc. (naturally, she thought baby gino was ADORABLE)

some future ideas i want to focus on: ⤷ how does she separate herself from her brother? ⤷ would she and gino even work as a couple? (too late, they gotta since i already commissioned art of them. LOL)

that's all she wrote (for now). if you see this, please help me come up with a name. i want it to be pretty! ;-;

[rindecision]

Hello wonderful writer! Thanks so much for tagging me :) Ok so don't know if this counts as a trope but it is certainly one of my favourite things to read. Any of your fics would be amazing! Trope: Eddie wearing something he looks incredibly delectable in I know he's gorgeous in anything but still *sighs*

This one comes in two parts from You Know Where to Find Me - Labor Day '85 It's a little explicit so I'll put it after the break

“Steve?!” Robin's voice carried from down the hall.

“Shit!” Eddie hissed at Steve squeezing his dick a little too hard in shock.

“Shit, sorry,” Steve abruptly dropped it and stood.

They both glanced at the door with guilty eyes when Robin's voice came again. “Are you up here?”

Eddie scrambled to at least pull up his boxers. Steve stared in horror as the knob on the door turned. He'd forgotten to lock it.

“Steeeve?!”

Steve launched for the handle with a speed that displayed his athleticism, catching it before Robin could pull back. The half-inch she managed to open, slammed back into place with a loud clunk.

“What the hell, Steve?” Robin complained.

“You can't come in,” Steve said quickly, keeping a firm grip on the handle.

“And why the hell not?” She rattled the handle. “What are you doing in there?”

“Eddie's naked,” Steve answered.

“Why is he still naked?” There was a small rattle from the handle when she let go. “You two have been gone for a while.”

“I- uh…” Steve looked back at Eddie who had just pulled his wet pants back up, the front of them still entirely undone. Damn he looks good. “Haven't decided which one to lend him yet.”

Second part

Eddie made a disapproving sound that Steve hadn’t heard since the elementary playground. It only made Steve laugh a little harder before popping off the lid and opening the tub. Annoyance aside, Eddie walked up behind Steve and rested his head on his shoulder, looking at the selection of swimwear. There had to be at least a dozen pairs of swim trunks and to his amusement a few speedos. Steve paid no mind to Eddie on his shoulder as he picked up a green speedo. Eddie had seen that one before. It was what Steve wore to swimming competitions.

“What about this?” Steve offered playfully holding it on display. He knew Eddie wasn’t going to accept it, but a small part of him would still have loved to see him in it.

“Fat chance,” he scoffed. “But maybe you should change into them for old time’s sake.” Eddie leaned his weight onto Steve, urging him to do it.

“I’ll pass,” Steve laughed and fought back against the looming weight. He smoothly folded the tiny strip of cloth and put it back in the box. “Anything catch your eye, Munson?”

In fact, something did. He reached under Steve’s arm and dug into the box reaching for a spot of black and red. Steve groaned in annoyance when he flipped the three pairs that were on top of it out of the box in the process. While Steve tried to fix the mess, Eddie stepped back and held up the shorts. They were a long baggy pair of swim trunks with a drawstring. He was pleased to see his guess was right and the red his saw were red, orange, and yellow flame decals up the side. They barely looked used.

“I forgot about those,” Steve chuckled. “I got them as a birthday gift from some relative I’ve never met. Maybe a cousin or an aunt?” he drifted off in thought as he refolded the last pair that fell out of the tub. Before he could ask if Eddie wanted to wear them, he already had one leg in it. He chuckled and took a second to watch Eddie putting them on. He may be on a time limit, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t stop to enjoy the view.

Eddie felt a small wave of embarrassment at Steve watching him so intently. He wanted to say something snarky, but it caught in his throat, so he just put on the trunks as naturally as he could and tied the drawstring.

Steve clicked his tongue in disappointment. “I like you better naked.”

Eddie chuckled awkwardly. “Right back at ya.” He scanned Steve’s body, bummed that it was broken by his short blue swim trunks.