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mofongomuncher · 3 days ago

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𝘼𝙣𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨 [!𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏¡]

(Ekko X Reader)

❥ cast : ! Ekko and Reader ¡

The brothel was dimly lit today, the pungent scent of incense and lust hung heavily in the air. The soft whispers of conversations and secrets echoed through the corridors.

As a dancer known for your attraction and intentions, you've seen your share of shady characters seeking refuge from the harsh realities.

Tonight however, was so much more different.

Ekko.

The leader of the firelights, decided to stroll into the brothel with his dark green jacket—its distinct graffits swayed with each step, and his owl like mask made him stick out against the rest of the people around the building.

He was here looking for answers about Silco's people, specifically a woman who once worked here. The only person that actually knew who this woman was, is you.

As he approaches, you feel the heat of his gaze and the weight of his reputation. His sharp, owl-like eyes lock onto yours with unsettling intensity.

You knew he was the type to take what he wanted without hesitation. Babette had warned you about him and the Firelights not long ago.

But tonight... tonight, things would be different.

With a gesture, you lead him to a private room.

"Tell me about her..." Ekko says, his voice rough as he carefully removed his mask, and sat down in front of you. His white locs and hourglass face paint were now visible. The flickering candlelights casted his features, making the intensity of his gaze almost tangible.

You, in your revealing lingerie, feel a thrill of excitement as you danced slowly in front of him. Your movements are fluid, your hips swaying to an unheard melody as you speak, your eyes never leaving his.

You dance closer to him, your fingertips tracing the line of your collarbone as you speak of her, your voice dropping to a whisper. "Her name was Lila....Silco took her in, trained her, used her for his... needs." Your eyes flicker to the side, a hint of sadness in them."she was so clever, always looking answers." Ekko's eyes narrow, his interest piqued. He leans forward slightly.

"What makes you think she'd be of any use to me?" he asks, his voice sharper then ever. You dip down, your chest brushing against his knee, making him suck in a sharp breath. "Because she knew his secrets..." you murmur, your breath warm against his skin. "And she knew when to keep them...and when to share them." Your hand slides up his thigh. "Anddd...you asked me about her, she must be some good use, hm?" You teased him.

You can feel the tension spiraling within him.

He's a man of the streets, he was used to the cut and thrust of battles, but this... this is different.

Way different...

You move to straddle his lap. He looks up at you, his big hazelnut brown eyes searching yours for a moment as if trying to determine if this is just a trick.

You grab his gloved hands and place them on your hips—forcing him to pull you closer to him.

You lean down, your lips brushing against his ear. "Tell me what you want Ekko.." you whisper, your voice seductive and demanding.

"I want... I need to know." he gasps. "What did she tell you?" His desperation is tangible, his eyes never leaving yours as he speaks. You lean back, a knowing smile playing on your lips. "Everything..." you promise, your voice sweet like honey. "But firsttt, let's make a deal...just you and me." You trace a finger along the line of his sharp jaw, watching as he nods nervously, his breath coming in ragged bursts. He knew exactly what kind of deal you were trying to offer him.

Ekko had never been in a situation like this before. He'd always been too focused on the Firelights, on the constant grind of surviving in Zaun, on fixing what was broken around him. Intimacy had never been something he made time for. His life was chaos.

Now, here he was, sitting at the brothel, with you on his lap, your body close to his in a way that made his heart race. The soft material of your lingerie pressed against him, and he could feel every inch of you. It was all too much, too fast, and yet, it was impossible to ignore the heat flooding his chest.

He hadn't asked for this, hadn't come here for this kind of attention, but now that it was happening, he was finding it hard to pull away. His hands rested lightly on your hips, the pressure of his touch not quite sure of itself, but needing to stay there all the same. His mind was a jumble of thoughts, conflicting desires and responsibilities, but his body was reacting against all of it.

This wasn't a relationship. It wasn't anything deep, he knew that. Yet, there was something in the way your body pressed against his, something in the way the heat built between you, that made him feel a way he couldn't describe. A part of him felt like he shouldn't be here, that he should be focused on something else, find answers elsewhere—but another part of him just... didn't want to stop.

It was messy, it was chaotic, and it wasn't lovely but it was real.

The air in the room seems to thicken as you get off his lap—moving in front of him. Carefully you remove his overalls down to his boots, before dropping to your knees.

As you free his cock from his boxers, you can't help but admire it—thick and long, slightly pulsating, it was like a testament to his masculinity.

Looking up at him through your hooded eyes, you lean in and take him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the tip before you take him deeper. Ekko's eyes widen in surprise, he throws his head back, his hand reaching for his mouth to cover his groans.

"H-Holy—Fuck" he hisses.

You couldn't help but feel a swell of pride at his reaction.

You suck harder, feeling him pulse against your tongue, his thighs tense beneath your palms. He tastes so sweet and a tad bit bitter, a mix that only fuels your own desire.

Ekko's eyes are squeezed shut now, his teeth gritted as he fights to keep his composure. But you can feel the storm building within him, the tension in his body coiling tighter with each passing moment. His breaths become more erratic, and his hips start to buck. You moan around his length, the vibration sending a shiver down his spine. His hand reaches for the armrest of the chair to steady himself.

"Tell—tell me" he grunts, his voice now strained. "What...What did Lila tell you?"

You pull back, your lips shiny with his precum, and give him a soft smile. "well....only that she had something valuable." you say, your voice a breathy purr. "Information that could help bring him down." Ekko's eyes flash with determination, and he nods, urging you to continue.

"But she didn't tell me what it was." you add, tracing your fingers along his thigh. "Not until I made her feel good..." You stand up, your legs shaky from the excitement.

"And—And did you?" he asks, his voice quivering. "Make...her feel good?" You nod, your chest heaving with anticipation. "Of course I did," you reply, reaching back to untie your lingerie, letting it fall to the floor. Your bare skin glows in the candlelight. "And now.." you say, turning to face him, "it's your turn. Hm?"

Ekko's eyes froze to you, observing your naked body, lingering on the wetness between your thighs. You make his way to him, removing the rest of his clothing, revealing his muscular form. You couldn't help but caresses his beautifully toned chest.

"Tell me..." he says, his voice low and slightly nervous, "everything she said."

You bite your bottom lip, feeling a thrill of power as you hold the key to Ekko's quest. "She spoke of a hidden book..." you murmur, stepping even closer to him, your breasts now brushing his chest. "A list of names, areas...transactions with some of the pilties..." Ekko's eyes widen at the implication, and you can feel his cock twitch against your stomach. "But she never told me where it was.." you add, running your fingertips down his abs, tracing the lines of them.

"Only that it would bring him to his knees."

He sighed in frustration, but the desire in his eyes hadn't weakened. "Then what good are you to me?" he demands, but there's a hint of desperation in his voice.

You lean in, your breath hot against his ear. "Perhaps I can reveal more.." you offer, your hands still tracing his abs.

"If you're willing to make another deal."

Ekko's hand snaps up, gripping your wrist. "You drive a hard bargain, hm?" he says, releasing your wrist away from him. "What do you want?"

You look up at him "Protection..." you whisper. "For her and for me. We're both basically targets if he finds I told you..." Ekko's gaze softens slightly as he nods. "If I find it, you'll have the deal" he promises.

"Really?" You look up at him surprised. He nodded as hand drops to your small back.

For a second you both stared at eachother, that was until the space between you evaporated as you crush your mouth into his, your tongue delving deep into his mouth, You moan into the kiss, enjoying every second. His hands roam your body, exploring every curve, leaving a trail of fire. He lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you to the nearby bed.

Ekko lowers you onto the velvet sheets, his eyes never leaving yours as he positions himself between your thighs. He kisses down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, making you gasp.

"Tell me how she felt when she talked about this book." he murmurs softly, his breath hot against your ear. You bite your lip, remembering the desperation in Lila's eyes. "Scared..." you admit.

He nods, understanding flickering in his gaze. your hand slid down to grip his cock, guiding it to your entrance. His expression tightens, a mix of lust and fear. You position the head of his cock at your opening.

Ekko couldn't help himself anymore, He tried so hard to keep calm, telling himself that he shouldn't do this, he shouldn't feel so aroused by you—that it wasn't right.

But he couldn't, he couldn't control his lust for you.

With one powerful thrust, he enters you. Your back arching off the bed as he fills you completely. His grip on your hips is firm, his movements deep and rhythmic. Each stroke sends waves of pleasure crashing through you, making it hard to focus on anything but the feeling of him inside you.

"Oh F-Fuck." you breathe, your nails digging into his back as he thrusts into you. "Lila... she—she was terrified, but she had this... this fire in her eyes when she talked about the book. She knew all of his secrets.." Ekko's eyes darken, his strokes becoming more urgent as he hears the desperation in your voice. He leans down, capturing your mouth in a kiss.

You break the kiss, panting heavily. "She never told me where it was hidden. Only that it was somewhere in his office." Ekko's grip on your hips tightens, his thrusts becoming more deliberate, as if he's trying to claim his victory over Silco through your body.

"I—I need to know more Y/N." he grunts, his eyes burning into yours.

"All I know is that—that it's well-guarded" you murmur, your voice a soft whine of pleasure as he hits just the right spot. "But she said there's a time when he's...distracted."

Ekko's strokes slow, his eyes narrowing. "Distracted?" he repeats, his voice a low growl. You nod, your body trembling beneath his. "Whe-When ever the Last Drop has those party nights.... His guards are always...shimmered up and distracted." You can feel his cock pulse within you at the mention of the last drop, a place he knew too good and well. "That's when we can get it.." he says, his voice filled with the promise of victory.

He leans back, the sound of skin slapping against skin was starting to turn him on. You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him deeper.

"The Last Drop.." Ekko repeats, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "We'll get that book and bring him down." He leans down to look at me. You gasp, your body tightening around him, your walls pulsing. "Then.." he murmurs.

"we'll see about that deal."

You tighten your legs around him, urging him closer, the pressure building within you. "Pleasee..." you whisper, your voice thick with desire. "I'm gonna—" Ekko grins, understanding exactly what you meant. He doubles his efforts, hitting that perfect spot with each stroke.

Your breaths come in short pants, your eyes squeezed shut as you feel yourself teetering on the edge. You could feel the room spinning, the candlelights playing tricks on the walls as you feel yourself climbing higher and higher. "F-Fuck Ekko!" you cry out, your body arching as the orgasm hits, wave after wave of ecstasy rolling through you.

With a roar, he releases his own climax, filling you completely as your bodies spasm together in a symphony of pleasure.

For a moment, you lay there, panting, your heart racing as you come down from the high. Ekko's head is buried in the crook of your neck, his breaths hot and erratic against your skin. You run your fingers through his slightly dampened undercut.

"Thank you..." he murmurs, his voice rough with satisfaction. "For what?" you ask, your own voice a little shaky.

He lifts his head to look at you, his brown eyes filled with something that looks suspiciously like affection. "For your help..." he says, his thumb stroking your cheek. "And for... that." You can't help but blush, the heat of his gaze making you feel vulnerable. "It was nothing..." you murmur, trying to play it cool. But the way his eyes travel down your body, lingering on your heaving chest, tells you that he doesn't believe you.

Ekko rolls off you, leaving you to lay there, feeling empty and a little lost. You watch as he stands up and starts to gather his clothes. He pulls his clothes and jacket on, the graffiti on the hem fluttering as he moves. You sit up and watch him, pulling the sheets around your naked body.

Ekko's gaze turns to you—his eyes softens for a moment. He made his way to your sad little figure lying on the bed—his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. "when I get this book, we can talk about that freedom you're after." His thumb traces your bottom lip, and you bite back a whimper.

He pressed his lips against yours before making his way out, leaving you behind,your heart fluttering for the very first time as you hear his footsteps faint away.

Check out my Ekko one shots on Wattpad for more stories!! :3

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faynthearted · 3 days ago

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this update is devastating for obvious reasons but there's something else I've been thinking about all day

yes, the box is a confirmation that guan shan considered he tian an important person in his life and that he never really moved on after he tian left. that realization is hard-hitting, but my god, there's another underlying component that makes this discovery especially emotional to me

after spending a lifetime in isolation (a deliberate choice for self-preservation btw), he tian now has physical, undeniable evidence that someone cares/cared for him. and not just the idea of him, not the physicality of him (guan shan literally covered his face with tape), but just him and the time they spent together

I imagine this realization must feel like if someone approached you in a quiet and windowless room and said, "there's a bad rainstorm happening outside." you would trust/understand what they're conveying and you'd have an idea of what a 'bad storm' entails. you'd say, "oof, that sucks, hopefully it lets up soon."

but if you actually got up and walked outside and felt the rain pelting your face like bullets and saw trees getting uprooted in the wind and streets flooding with swells of water and roofs getting torn off houses and streetlights shattered and collapsed in the intersections, you'd backpedal and think, "oh shit. I didn't know it was this bad."

that's what I think he tian might be experiencing in those last few panels.

during their school days, guan shan eventually started showing how much he cared about he tian. he tian trusted and understood what guan shan was trying to convey, and he got a taste of what it was like to care for someone and be cared for by someone. he sampled what it’s like to be important to someone, and to be seen by someone in both the dark and the light

but now, years later, opening that (bittersweet) memory box is like the equivalent of walking into the rainstorm. during the entire time he was gone, he tian was hoping that guan shan still remembered/missed him. he knew his absence probably hurt him, but since he wasn’t there to witness the aftermath, he only had an idea of what that hurt looked like. but his hope about guan shan’s feelings wasn't certain and it definitely wasn't verifiable. he tian had an idea of what ‘guan shan cared for me’ and ‘we shared something special’ meant. but, really, he only had memories and his own interpretation of those memories. nothing physical, nothing tangibly conclusive or outright

but now the rain feels like bullets and there’s devastation in knowing that the damage is significant — but somehow there’s also the touching revelation that he tian is lovable and capable of being wanted and missed. it is possible for someone to see the worst sides of him and endure the awful heartbreak he puts them through and still think he’s worth missing/grieving. he risked his self-preservation and the payoff was the best and worst thing that ever happened to him

the box and the layers of torn tape show that guan shan hates what he tian did to him but he doesn’t hate he tian. he kept and memorialized every significant memento in their relationship, even if he did it with some anger or reluctance. this is truly the best-case scenario, yet it’s also a wounding reminder about the time lost and the pain inflicted

at the end of the day, it just hurts

#19 days #tianshan #fay talks #it was hard to put this into words — I hope this makes sense #I’m incapable of not using metaphors when it comes to character analysis

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tiredeg · 3 days ago

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People everywhere sense imminent danger all around. They sense that whatever just happened is the beginning of the savagery, not the end. People abandon their vehicles and begin to flee on foot. They exit buildings, run down stairs and out doors. People in subway trains and on busses, in halted elevator cars, work to pry open emergency exits and doors. They crawl, walk, and run for their lives. The most basic human instinct is to survive.—Annie Jacobsen, Nuclear War: A Scenario

They’re going to die, probably.

“It was stupid of us to take the elevator,” Oscar says.

Carlos manages an eye roll back at him. Oscar’s surprised the motion of his eyeballs doesn’t unbalance him, perched as he is on the railing around the edge of the elevator car, calves straining, reaching his phone up towards the emergency lighting strips. As high as possible, as if he can will the texts out of his phone, force the words out of the frozen elevator, up the shaft and out into the sky, send them floating through the air towards the recipients, soaring past the bombs coming the opposite way.

Oscar’s no expert but he knows enough Spanish to be able to decipher the glimpses he’s managed of the screen. I will be ok. I love you all. Incongruous against the previous message in the thread, a picture of a scrappy white dog asleep on a couch. Oscar had watched Carlos add a heart react to it not two hours ago when they got back to the hotel after FP2.

God, two hours ago. One hour and fifty minutes before someone told them to check their phones, before the awful silence as they watched the video. A farmer somewhere in California had put it on Facebook, a mushroom cloud blooming over a power plant. It was shared everywhere, Oscar had watched it with Kim, hunched over Twitter, or X, or whatever. The farmer is probably dead now. Facebook certainly is, anyway.

The bomb hit hundreds of miles away from their hotels in Vegas. Not far enough.

Finally, Carlos hops down, collapsing beside Oscar on the floor of the cab. The wall opposite them is a mirror, floor to ceiling, so Oscar doesn’t have to turn his head. It’s easier this way.

“I think they have gone through,” Carlos blurts out, like he’d wanted to keep quiet but the words forced their way up his throat. “It has the two grey ticks. I think that means it's gone from my phone but I will not get blue ticks without signal.”

It takes Oscar a second to catch his drift. There’s no way the messages went through. The signal’s been gone for a few minutes, Oscar reckons, about the same time the elevator stopped. Carlos isn’t an idiot, he must know. Oscar knows.

“I think that’s right,” Oscar says. “They’ll have signal in Spain still, so they’ll have got it.”

He feels Carlos sag a little at his words. They’re touching from shoulder to knee, something they wouldn’t have risked this morning. Doesn’t matter now. Probably shouldn’t have mattered at the time.

“How would you go, if you could choose?” Carlos asks.

Oscar shrugs. “Dunno, never really thought about it.”

“Don’t be boring, think about it now.” Carlos shoves into him, puts his body weight behind it, but Oscar’s expecting it, can see him decide in the mirror. He braces himself, doesn’t move. Now they’re tangled. Now he can think.

“I guess I read this book in school. It was nuclear stuff but not bombs, just radiation, so it was really slow. This one girl took her boyfriend’s good car out for one last drive, then floored it off a cliff in the end. I think I’d like that.”

Carlos doesn’t say anything, just leans his head onto Oscar’s shoulder proper. If they stay like this too long Oscar won’t be able to feel his arm. Maybe that’s how he’d like to go, let Carlos lean on him limb by limb until he can’t feel anything anymore.

“He was with her? The boyfriend?” Carlos mumbles.

“Huh?”

“In the nice car. Was she with her boyfriend?”

“Oh, well not exactly, he was in a submarine I think, I don’t remember it all. They might not have been boyfriend and girlfriend actually, or maybe they were, I don’t know. They definitely loved each other.”

“Oh,” Carlos says, “that’s nice.”

“Yeah. What about you, what way would you go?”

Oscar watches in the mirror as Carlos looks up at him.

“I had a different answer but I like yours better, I think.”

“Copycat. I suppose you can come along.” Oscar shifts, rearranging Carlos’s arms around him.

“Who would drive?” Carlos asks.

Oscar wants to be the one who wants to drive. He could take that role, let Carlos hold on as their imaginary car gets closer to the point of no return, make the decision to keep the car pointing forward, his foot to the floor. He could take the wheel, if he had to.

In the mirror he can see Carlos is still looking at him. He meets his own eyes in the reflection, then lets his head turn, lets himself look for real.

“I don’t want to drive,” Oscar whispers.

“Okay,” Carlos shrugs, easy. “I’ll do it.”

The emergency strips go dark. Oscar doesn’t know what that means, why they worked when the power went out or why they’ve stopped now. He’s annoyed at how he expects his eyes to adjust, blinking hard when they don’t as if he can force the nonexistent light into his pupils.

He can still feel. He’s shaking, he thinks. Carlos’s arms tighten around him, unsteady too. Oscar revises his previous answer, overwhelmingly glad of the elevator; they can’t get lost in here, it’s too small. He doesn’t really know the timeline on these things, maybe it’ll take a day, maybe a few seconds. They’re here for now.

#guess who's listening to a book about nuclear war lol #carcar #f1 rpf #my fic #if you can't tell i also can't remember exactly the end of On The Beach but she sure did drive that car off a cliff!#i could google it but it's called method writing #truly was in the office from 8am-8pm today then listened to my book on the bus home and typed this furiously before bed

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fr0stf4ll · 3 days ago

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A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 10

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 10k

Trigger warning; mention of clipping

notes; Yo everyone! Hope you’re all doing well! <3 Here’s a new chapter (it’s pretty long, btw) packed with fluff, hehe. Writing slow burn is so fun because it lets me dive deep into the characters’ stories—but let’s get this shit started right (nothing too intense, but still lol). I’m still trying to settle into a proper posting schedule, so for now, it’s once a week (even though I’d love to post the next chapters already because I’m obsessed with them hahaha). Also, I’m thinking of writing a one-shot soon, so if anyone has requests, feel free to share! Enjoy the chapter and see you soon! <333

Links; part 9

The city was breathtaking in the fading light of the setting sun, each building bathed in warm hues of gold and amber that seemed to shimmer like something out of a dream. The streets were alive with the soft hum of evening life—merchants closing their stalls, children laughing as they chased one another down cobbled paths, and couples strolling hand in hand beneath the glow of lanterns that flickered to life as dusk settled in.

You walked a step ahead of Azriel, trying to steady yourself and brush off the strange unease that had lingered since your encounter with the healers earlier. The tension in your chest felt misplaced here, in this beautiful city where you had spent some of your most formative years. It was supposed to feel like coming home, yet the ache in your heart made you question every step. You tried to mask it, keeping your voice even and your steps steady as you spoke.

“Welcome to Solterra,” you said, your tone light but practiced. “The city’s divided into three main areas. We’ll start with the Artisans’ Quarter—that’s where most of the skilled crafters live and work. The Dawn Court is famous for its glasswork, pottery, and textiles, so you’ll see some of the best of that here.”

Azriel, walking quietly beside you, gave a small nod, his gaze scanning the streets as if he were cataloging every detail. His shadows curled at his feet but didn’t stray far, as if even they were captivated by the tranquil beauty of the city. He looked entirely at ease, which was a sharp contrast to the storm of emotions you were trying to push down.

“And after that?” he asked, his voice calm, his golden eyes flicking to meet yours.

You gestured toward the northern part of the city. “We’ll head to the Markets. They’re more chaotic but worth the visit. You can find almost anything there—spices, jewelry, rare herbs, even weapons.” You paused, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Though I doubt you’ll need those.”

Azriel raised a brow, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I think I’ll survive without adding to my collection.”

The ease in his voice and the faint humor in his expression eased some of the tension in your chest. He was behaving like nothing had happened earlier—no awkwardness, no lingering tension, just calm and steady as ever. It surprised you how much that helped, grounding you when you felt like your emotions were spiraling out of control.

“And after the Markets,” you continued, trying to match his calm tone, “we’ll end in the Gardens. They’re best seen at night when the lights from the palace reflect off the fountains.”

Azriel’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than you expected before he nodded again. “Sounds perfect.”

The Artisans’ Quarter unfolded before you like a scene from a painting. Intricate mosaics adorned the walls of buildings, their vibrant colors glowing in the dim light. Glassblowers worked behind large windows, their movements graceful as they shaped molten glass into delicate forms. The scent of fresh bread and spiced tea wafted from a nearby bakery, mixing with the earthy smell of clay and paint.

“Most of these families have been here for generations,” you explained, gesturing to the shops and studios. “The skills they pass down are considered sacred. I spent so many hours wandering here when I lived in Solterra. I’d sit for hours watching the glassblowers work—it’s mesmerizing.”

Azriel listened intently, his sharp gaze taking in everything around him. “It’s... peaceful here,” he said after a moment.

You smiled softly, nodding. “It is. That’s one of the things I missed most when I left. No matter what’s happening in the world, this city always feels like it’s standing still, like nothing can touch it.”

As the two of you continued through the quarter, the tension that had been sitting heavy in your chest began to ease. Azriel’s quiet presence was surprisingly reassuring, and you found yourself relaxing, falling into the rhythm of the city and the steady cadence of his steps beside you.

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the cobbled streets, and you turned toward the northern part of the city, leading Azriel toward the bustling Markets. The sight of the vibrant stalls and the hum of voices filled you with a sense of nostalgia, and for the first time in what felt like days, you allowed yourself to breathe deeply and let go of the thoughts that had been weighing on you.

Azriel didn’t say much, but the way his shadows softened around him and the faint smile that played on his lips told you he was enjoying himself. It made you smile in return, a genuine expression that reached your eyes as you began pointing out the different areas of the city with renewed energy. Whatever awkwardness you’d felt earlier had been replaced by something lighter, something that felt almost... normal.

The climb up the narrow, winding stairs was not for the faint of heart, but you had done it countless times before. Your steps were steady and sure, though you were keenly aware of Azriel’s presence just behind you. The sun had fully set by the time you reached the top, the last few golden rays fading into deep purples and blues that painted the horizon.

When you stepped onto the open terrace, you paused, waiting for Azriel to join you. His footsteps slowed, and when he emerged from the staircase, he stopped short. His sharp intake of breath was barely audible, but you caught it nonetheless. He stood still, his golden eyes scanning the view before him.

From this height, the entirety of Solterra stretched out like a glowing tapestry. The city lights flickered like stars in the dark, and the streets wove intricate patterns that mirrored the constellations above. The palace, with its gleaming white spires, stood at the center, its reflection shimmering faintly in the waters of the fountains and canals that crisscrossed the city. The glow of lanterns, their light soft and golden, spilled over the edges of the rooftops, casting everything in an otherworldly glow.

Azriel took a slow step forward, his shadows curling back as if to let him fully take in the scene. “It’s... stunning,” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

You turned slightly, watching his reaction with a small, knowing smile. “It’s my favorite spot in the city,” you admitted, your gaze sweeping over the view. “Whenever things felt overwhelming, I’d come here. It has a way of making everything else seem... smaller. Easier to manage.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on the scene before him. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled only by the distant murmur of the city below and the faint rustle of the wind. Azriel’s wings shifted slightly, catching the faint light and adding to the ethereal atmosphere of the moment.

The terrace itself was simple—stone tiles worn smooth by time, bordered by a low railing carved with intricate designs of stars and moons. Small, glowing orbs floated at the edges, casting a soft, magical light over the space. Ivy climbed up the sides of the railing, its dark green leaves adding a touch of life to the otherwise serene setting.

“It’s hard to believe places like this exist,” Azriel said finally, his tone softer than usual. “It feels... untouched.”

You glanced at him, noticing the way his usually guarded expression had softened, his features lit by the faint glow of the orbs. “That’s the beauty of Solterra,” you said gently. “Even when everything else feels chaotic, it stays the same. Like it’s frozen in time.”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on the city below. There was a stillness in him, a quiet reverence that you hadn’t expected. It was rare to see him like this—unguarded, almost at peace.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” he said after a while, his golden eyes meeting yours.

You gave a small shrug, your smile warm but playful. “You needed to see it. Besides, I couldn’t let you leave the Dawn Court without experiencing this view.”

He huffed a soft laugh, his shadows curling around his feet again. “You were right. It’s worth the climb.”

You let the silence settle between you again, a comfortable quiet as the two of you stood side by side, taking in the beauty of Solterra under the night sky. For the first time in a long while, the weight of your responsibilities felt a little lighter.

You rested your hands lightly on the cool stone railing, your eyes fixed on the glittering city below, the soft hum of life drifting up from Solterra. The weight of the earlier conversation with the healers lingered, no matter how much you tried to push it aside. Finally, you took a breath and broke the silence.

"I'm sorry," you said softly, your voice barely carrying over the quiet night. "For what you overheard earlier."

Azriel, who had been standing a few steps behind you, moved closer, his shadows weaving gently around him. “You don’t need to apologize,” he said, his tone steady. “If anything, I should apologize for hearing it. It wasn’t my place to intrude on something so personal.”

You turned your head slightly, offering him a small, bittersweet smile. “It’s not your fault. And besides...” Your voice trailed off as the bond hummed faintly in your chest—a painful, persistent ache that you couldn’t ignore. Shaking your head lightly, you added, “It’s nothing I haven’t faced before.”

Azriel studied you, his golden eyes unwavering. “Are you better now?” he asked, his question simple but weighted with genuine concern.

You reached up, running a hand through your hair as you exhaled slowly. Turning back to the city, you said, “Much better now. That was... centuries ago. But I suppose it’s not surprising that some healers would talk about me like that. When I arrived here, I was a mess.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Azriel interjected, his voice firmer now. His shadows curled closer to him, as if reflecting his inner tension. “It’s not normal or acceptable for anyone to speak about you that way.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Thank you, but it’s fine. Really. I’ve grown used to it, and... in some ways, they’re not wrong. Back then...” You hesitated, your gaze fixed on a distant point in the city. “When I lost my wings, I only wanted one thing. To die.”

Azriel’s entire body stilled, his shadows frozen in place as he processed your words. “You don’t have to tell me what happened,” he said quietly, his tone surprisingly gentle. “Not if it’s too painful.”

You glanced at him, your lips curving into a faint, almost sad smile. “It’s fine,” you replied softly. “And besides, you’ve already heard most of it.”

He didn’t argue, but the flicker of emotion in his eyes told you that he was still grappling with the weight of what you had shared. You turned back to the view, the city lights reflecting in your eyes as you gathered your thoughts.

“For a long time, I thought losing my wings was the end of everything I was,” you admitted. “It felt like I was no longer whole, like the only thing that made me... me had been ripped away."

“I left the Night Court after it happened,” you admitted, your voice quieter. “It was too hard to stay. Everything reminded me of what I’d lost. It took me months just to be able to walk properly again.”

Azriel’s brows knit together, his gaze intent on you. “Months?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “How did you manage to keep going?”

You let out a faint, humorless laugh. “I think if I’d been clipped younger, it would have been different. But by then, I’d already spent seventy years flying above Velaris and the Night Court. Losing that freedom…” You trailed off, shaking your head. “It broke me in ways I didn’t even realize at first.”

His shadows shifted around him, curling gently as though reflecting his own unease. “But you came here,” Azriel prompted softly. “To the Dawn Court.”

You nodded. “Thesan and Talyen helped me through it. During my training, they gave me purpose again—something to hold onto when I couldn’t see the point of anything. And you know how it ended with Thesan.” A wistful smile touched your lips. “It took me a long time to be able to come back to the Night Court. I wasn’t sure I ever would.”

Azriel frowned slightly, his wings twitching as if in reaction to your words. “Why didn’t you stay here? If they helped you so much, why leave?”

You tilted your head, considering his question. “Because this wasn’t home,” you said simply. “The Night Court was still my home, even if it hurt to admit it at the time. And deep down, I knew I needed to face what happened. Running away might’ve been easier, but it wasn’t what I needed. I don’t have a family, the Night Court, Velaris, Madja, Illyria, they were the only thing grounding me and actually giving me a feelling that I had an attached somewhere.”

Azriel studied you for a moment, his golden eyes shadowed with something you couldn’t quite place. “Do you ever think about what could’ve been?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” you replied honestly. “But what happened shaped who I am now. And even though it’s not the life I imagined for myself, I’ve found meaning in it. I’ve found a way to be okay.”

The bond between you hummed faintly, the ache of its presence both comforting and painful. Azriel seemed to sense it too, his expression flickering with something unreadable.

For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, the cool night air wrapping around you like a second skin. Then, as if to shift the weight of the conversation, you leaned back against the railing and offered him a small, wry smile.

“Now, enough about me,” you said, your tone lighter. “Have you talked with Rhys?”

Azriel’s jaw tensed slightly, and his shadows coiled closer. “Not yet,” he admitted. “I’m not ready to deal with that right now.”

You nodded, your gaze softening. “That’s fair. But don’t let it fester for too long, Azriel. Things left unsaid have a way of turning into walls between people.”

His lips quirked into the faintest of smiles, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll handle it when the time is right.”

“Good,” you said simply, letting the moment settle between you.

Azriel’s jaw tightened as the question lingered in the air. He glanced away, his shadows curling around him protectively as if to shield him from the conversation. “I haven’t spoken to Rhys yet,” he admitted, his voice low and tense. “It’s... the first time I’ve been this mad at him for so long.”

You tilted your head, your gaze searching his face. “Because of what he said?”

He nodded sharply, his wings shifting in agitation. “It wasn’t just what he said. It’s how he said it. As if... as if I’m incapable of making my own decisions. As if my feelings aren’t valid.”

Your chest ached at the pain in his voice, the rawness of emotions that he so rarely shared. “Have you thought about what you’ll say to him when you’re ready?” you asked softly.

Azriel shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “No. I haven’t even been able to think about it without... without wanting to hit something. And that’s not who I am. Rhys and I—we’ve always been brothers in every way that matters. But this time...” He trailed off, his shadows curling tighter. “This time, it feels different.”

You nodded slowly, understanding the weight of what he was saying. “It’s hard when someone you care about deeply lets you down.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his golden eyes fixed on the horizon as the light from the city below reflected in their depths. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, almost vulnerable. “And then there’s Elain.”

The name hung between you like a heavy cloud. You didn’t press him, sensing he needed to find his own words.

“I don’t even know what I feel anymore,” Azriel admitted, his tone laced with frustration. “When she first came here, after being dumped in the Cauldron, I was the one who helped her. I saw her at her worst—terrified, broken, unsure of everything. I wanted to protect her, to help her find her footing in this new, impossible life. I guess... I grew attached.”

You nodded, your expression neutral but your chest tightening as you listened. “Attachment can be powerful,” you offered carefully. “Especially when it’s built on moments like that.”

Azriel exhaled deeply, his shadows flickering faintly around him. “But it’s not just attachment, is it? There’s something more. Or at least, I thought there was. And yet, every time I look at her, I’m reminded that she has a mate. That no matter how I feel, she’s bound to someone else in a way I can never be.”

You leaned slightly against the railing, watching him closely. “Do you love her?”

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, Azriel didn’t answer. His jaw worked as if trying to find the right words, and his shadows stilled, almost hesitant.

“Maybe not love, at least not anymore...” he said finally, his voice raw with honesty. “But I care about her. More than I ever thought I could. Enough that it hurts to think about letting go. And yet...” He trailed off, his wings drooping slightly. “Maybe I should. Maybe I need to. Because this... this thing between us, it’s just a reminder of what I’ll never have. What I’m not meant for.”

Your heart clenched at the pain laced in his words, the quiet resignation that seemed to settle over him like a heavy cloak. “Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting,” you said softly. “And it doesn’t mean what you felt wasn’t real or valid. But sometimes, letting go is the only way to move forward.”

Azriel’s gaze shifted to you, his expression unreadable. “And what if I can’t? What if the bond... or the absence of it, keeps pulling me back?”

You offered him a small, sad smile. “Then maybe it’s not about forgetting or moving on entirely. Maybe it’s about finding a way to hold onto the parts of her that made you better, while still leaving space for yourself to grow. To heal.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his shadows curling around him as if to guard his thoughts. Then, he gave a small nod, though his expression remained conflicted. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” you admitted. “It’s one of the hardest things to do. But you’ve faced worse, Azriel. You’ll find your way through this too.”

For a moment, the silence stretched between you, not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken emotions. Then, Azriel exhaled slowly, his gaze once again drifting to the city below. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice so quiet it was almost lost to the breeze.

You didn’t respond, but the faint hum of the bond between you seemed to carry your unspoken understanding.

Your hands trembled slightly, barely noticeable, as Azriel’s words lingered in your mind. It was hard—hard to hear him talk about someone else with such care and longing, even as you tried to remind yourself that the bond between you wasn’t something he knew about, let alone wanted. Lost in your thoughts, you startled slightly when you felt a soft tug at your hair.

Glancing to the side, you saw one of Azriel’s shadows twirling a loose strand between its wispy tendrils, as though it was curious. It tickled, and despite the heaviness in your chest, a small smile broke through. “It seems your shadows have taken a liking to me,” you teased lightly, brushing the strand back.

Azriel’s brows furrowed in surprise, his gaze following the shadow as if it had acted without his permission. “They don’t usually...” he began, trailing off as another shadow curled lazily around your shoulder. He looked genuinely perplexed.

You laughed softly, the sound light against the quiet night. “Well, I don’t mind,” you said, though the sensation made you squirm a little as it tickled the back of your neck. “It’s... endearing, in a way.”

Azriel shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “They have a mind of their own sometimes,” he admitted. “But this is... new.”

You smiled, brushing the shadow away gently, and turned toward him. “Let’s get something to eat,” you offered, eager to change the tone of the evening. “I know a place nearby. It’s simple, but it’s one of my favorite spots in Solterra.”

Azriel tilted his head, his curiosity evident. “Lead the way.”

This time, you didn’t walk ahead; the two of you moved side by side, your steps falling into an easy rhythm. The city had transformed under the night’s embrace, its streets illuminated by warm golden lights. Lanterns strung above the narrow alleys swayed gently in the cool breeze, casting soft, flickering shadows against the sandstone buildings. People bustled around, vendors calling out their wares while laughter and chatter filled the air. Musicians played lively tunes on street corners, their melodies weaving through the lively hum of the crowd.

The stand you brought him to was modest—a small, well-loved cart tucked away near the edge of the marketplace. The scent of spiced meat wafted through the air, mingling with the aroma of fresh bread and roasted vegetables. Azriel’s sharp gaze took in every detail, but his focus lingered on the way the vendor’s face lit up when he saw you.

“Y/N!” the man greeted warmly, his voice carrying over the din of the street. “It’s been too long. What brings you here tonight?”

You smiled, stepping closer to the stand. “You know me, I can’t stay away for too long,” you replied, the warmth in your tone genuine. “Azriel, this is Nadir. He makes the best sandwiches in Solterra.”

Nadir grinned, nodding at Azriel. “You’ve got good taste if you’re with Y/N. She’s a regular—used to come by late at night after long shifts. I always knew when she’d had a tough day.”

Azriel inclined his head politely. “It smells incredible,” he said, his shadows coiling faintly as if curious about the food.

“What do you like?” you asked Azriel, glancing over the menu scrawled on a wooden board.

“Anything,” he said, a hint of amusement in his tone. “I trust your judgment.”

You ordered for both of you, chatting with Nadir while he worked. The sound of sizzling meat and the rhythmic chopping of vegetables filled the space as the sandwiches came together. A few moments later, Nadir handed over the wrapped bundles with a cheerful “Enjoy!”

The two of you found a quiet spot near the gardens, a place where flowering trees lined the edge of a small fountain. The night’s quiet was punctuated by the occasional ripple of water and the faint laughter of passersby.

Azriel unwrapped his sandwich, taking a tentative bite. His eyes widened slightly, and he nodded in approval. “This is... really good,” he admitted, the faintest hint of surprise in his tone.

“I told you,” you teased, taking a bite of your own. The warmth of the spiced meat and the fresh crunch of vegetables was exactly what you needed.

At some point, Azriel glanced at you, his expression softening as his sharp eyes caught something on your cheek. Without thinking, he reached out, brushing his thumb gently across your skin to wipe away a small streak of sauce.

The touch startled you, and you froze, blinking at him. A rush of heat bloomed across your face, and you stammered, “Oh, um—thanks.”

Azriel pulled his hand back quickly, clearing his throat. “Sorry,” he murmured, his own cheeks faintly pink. “It was—there was sauce.”

You laughed, the sound a little too loud in your effort to ease the tension. “Yeah, I’m a mess when I eat these,” you joked, trying to wave it off.

The two of you settled back into a comfortable silence, the soft glow of the city lights around you making everything feel oddly peaceful. For a moment, it was as if the weight of everything—the bond, his struggles, your past—had lifted, leaving only the quiet companionship of a shared meal under the stars.

Your evenings had fallen into a quiet rhythm over the past few days. After the meetings, Azriel would find his way to your room in the palace, and the two of you would settle into an easy companionship that felt strangely natural. It had started with a simple offer of tea and had grown into these shared moments—both of you working, sometimes talking, and occasionally just enjoying the calm silence.

Your room, one of the largest in the palace, was warm and inviting. Soft golden light filtered through tall windows, casting a gentle glow over the plush rugs and intricately carved wooden furniture. The bed, draped in deep teal and gold linens, sat against one wall, while a wide desk occupied the other, covered in neatly organized stacks of notes, scrolls, and ledgers. A small sitting area near the hearth had become your favorite spot, with two armchairs and a low table perfect for tea and conversation.

Azriel’s presence in the room had become so routine that it no longer surprised you when he knocked lightly before entering. Tonight was no different.

“You’re getting predictable,” you teased as he stepped inside, carrying his reports under one arm.

Azriel raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching in a faint smile. “I could say the same about you. Tea’s already ready, isn’t it?”

You laughed softly, gesturing to the steaming teapot and cups on the low table. “Touché. I figured you’d show up.”

He sat across from you, setting his reports aside for a moment as he poured himself a cup of tea. “Busy day?” he asked, his voice low and calm.

“Always,” you replied with a sigh, leaning back in your chair. “The logistics for the next round of resource exchanges are a mess. Half the courts aren’t sure what they can spare, and the other half want more than they’re willing to give.”

Azriel nodded thoughtfully, taking a sip of tea. “Sounds familiar. Negotiations between the High Lords aren’t much different. Everyone wants something, but no one wants to compromise.”

You chuckled dryly. “At least with the healers, we have the same goal. It’s easier to remind them what we’re working toward. The High Lords, though...” You shook your head. “I don’t envy you.”

He gave a small shrug, his shadows curling faintly around his shoulders. “It’s what I’m used to. But I imagine dealing with this,” he gestured to the neatly organized papers on your desk, “isn’t much easier.”

You followed his gaze and sighed. “Not really. It’s a lot of juggling—balancing what each court needs with what they can offer. And on top of that, making sure it all gets where it’s supposed to go.”

Azriel leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. “If anyone can handle it, it’s you. I’ve seen how you manage these meetings. It’s impressive.”

The unexpected compliment caught you off guard, and you felt a flush creep up your neck. “Thank you,” you said softly, glancing down at your cup. “But it’s not just me. The other healers make it work. They’ve taught me as much as I’ve taught them.”

The room was quiet save for the faint crackle of the fire and the occasional rustle of parchment. You had been glancing at Azriel for a while, noticing the slight tension in his movements as he wrote. His fingers occasionally twitched, the pen faltering for just a second before resuming its sharp, precise strokes.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, setting your own quill down.

Azriel paused mid-sentence, looking up at you. “What do you mean?”

You gestured subtly toward his hands. “You’re struggling a bit. Does that happen often?”

He glanced at his gloved hands, flexing his fingers briefly. “The scars don’t hurt much,” he admitted. “But sometimes they make it harder to grip things properly. I usually use a cream to help, but since we’ve been here, it feels a little worse.”

“That’s not surprising,” you said with a faint smile. “The climate in the Dawn Court is much drier than Velaris.”

Azriel nodded, his expression neutral, though there was a flicker of discomfort in his golden eyes. Before he could brush the matter aside, you stood and rummaged through your things.

“What are you doing?” he asked, watching you with a mix of curiosity and exasperation.

“Hold on,” you replied, pulling out a small jar of salve you’d mixed during one of your quiet evenings. You turned back to him, holding it up triumphantly. “This will help.”

“Y/N, you don’t have to—”

You shot him a pointed look, cutting him off. “Azriel, it’s nothing. Stop being difficult,” you said, your tone teasing.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward, and to your surprise, he chuckled. The sound was warm and low, and it sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You couldn’t help but smile back, your cheeks heating slightly.

Pulling a chair in front of him, you sat down, your knees brushing his. “May I?” you asked softly, gesturing to his hands.

He hesitated for a moment before nodding. Slowly, you reached forward, peeling off his gloves with gentle care. Your breath hitched slightly at the sight of his scarred hands—marred by burns but still strong and capable.

“How did it happen?” you asked hesitantly, looking up to meet his gaze. “If you don’t mind telling me.”

Azriel’s expression didn’t change, though his eyes darkened slightly. “When I was younger, my half-brothers wanted to see what oil and fire would do,” he said, his voice calm but laced with an undercurrent of pain. “They decided my hands would be the perfect place to test it.”

Your horror must have shown on your face because he added quickly, “Don’t worry about it. I’ve learned to live with them.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you opened the jar of salve. Scooping a small amount onto your fingers, you reached for his hand, your touch feather-light. “You shouldn’t have had to learn to live with this,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel didn’t respond at first, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. As your fingers gently massaged the salve into his scarred hands, it was as if the world outside the room ceased to exist. Each movement was deliberate, your touch light but firm as you worked the cream into the roughened skin, tracing over every ridge and scar with quiet reverence.

Your magic stirred softly, a faint glow emanating from your fingertips as you worked. The light was subtle, a pale shimmer that seemed to dance across his hands, sinking into the damaged tissue and soothing the strain beneath. You weren’t entirely sure if it was for him or for yourself, this act of care. But as the magic melded with the salve, you could feel the tension in his hands ease, the tightness in his skin softening under your touch.

The air between you seemed to thicken, becoming charged with something unspoken yet deeply felt. Azriel’s golden eyes followed your every movement, his shadows curling faintly around his shoulders as if reacting to the moment. They reached out tentatively, brushing against your arm like curious tendrils, almost mirroring the gentle care you were giving him.

Your fingers paused for a moment, resting on a particularly deep scar near the base of his thumb. You traced it lightly with your thumb, your expression unreadable. “Does this one still hurt?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel shook his head slightly, his voice low and steady. “Not physically. Not anymore.”

The weight of his words hung between you, and you didn’t press further. Instead, you resumed your work, your fingers gliding over his knuckles with a featherlight touch. The warmth of your magic pulsed faintly, and you let out a small, satisfied sigh when you saw the way his hands relaxed under your care.

The room felt smaller, quieter, as if it were holding its breath for the two of you. Azriel’s gaze never wavered, his focus locked on you with an intensity that made you acutely aware of every movement, every shared breath. The way you worked—your brow furrowed in concentration, your lips slightly parted as you focused on him—it rooted him in place, a grounding point he didn’t realize he’d been seeking.

Your touch was meticulous, almost reverent, as if you were trying to undo some of the harm etched into his skin—not just with the salve and your magic, but with the quiet care you poured into the act itself. It wasn’t just about soothing his scars; it was about showing him, in a way words never could, that he was worth this kind of gentleness.

Finally, you set the jar aside and rested your hands lightly on his, letting the warmth linger for a moment longer. When you glanced up to meet his gaze, the depth of emotion in his eyes made your chest tighten.

“Better?” you asked, your voice soft, almost hesitant.

Azriel nodded slowly, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles. “Much better,” he murmured, his tone thick with something unspoken.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy or awkward—it was full of unspoken understanding, a quiet acknowledgment of the connection that had deepened between you in those stolen moments. And as you both lingered there, the faint shimmer of your magic faded into the stillness, leaving only the warmth of your touch and the steady rhythm of your breaths.

At one point, he broke the silence, his voice quiet but steady. “What about you?”

You glanced up, puzzled. “What about me?”

Azriel tilted his head, his expression softening as he studied you. “You spend so much time taking care of everyone else. Do you ever take time for yourself?”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “This,” you said, gesturing around the room, “is my time for myself. These moments... they’re enough.”

Azriel nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering. “Good,” he said softly. “You deserve that much.”

The sincerity in his voice stirred something deep inside you, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to simply bask in the quiet companionship. In a life full of chaos and responsibility, this small corner of peace felt like a gift—one you hadn’t realized you needed until now.

Azriel arrived outside your door, punctual as ever, only to hear a frantic shuffle on the other side. He knocked lightly, waiting.

“Coming!” your voice called, muffled but rushed.

The door flew open, and there you stood, dripping wet, wrapped only in a towel. Your hair clung to your skin, and water dripped onto the floor. You blinked up at him, wide-eyed, clearly caught off guard.

“My bad—go wait inside, please,” you stammered, stepping back to let him in. “I’m so sorry—give me two seconds.”

You turned, slipping slightly on the wet floor, your arms flailing as you barely caught yourself on the doorframe. Azriel blinked, clearly fighting back a laugh, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low but amused.

"Fine!" you chirped, disappearing back into your room. "Totally fine! Just... give me a minute!”

The space felt as alive as you were—vibrant and lived-in. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with books, jars of herbs, and an array of trinkets collected from various courts. Your desk was a study in organized chaos, papers and notes sprawled across its surface, mingling with teacups and a few candles. A large, open window let the morning sunlight pour in, illuminating everything in a warm glow.

Azriel took a seat on the edge of a cushioned chair, his sharp eyes scanning the room. He couldn’t help but notice the quiet hum of comfort that seemed to radiate from the space, much like its owner.

A few minutes later, you emerged, struggling with the intricate ties of your top, the fabric stubbornly refusing to cooperate. "Azriel," you called, your voice slightly frantic. "Help me out here!”

Azriel stood, stepping closer. “Sure,” he said simply, taking the ties of the top in his hands. As he moved behind you to secure it, his gaze fell on your back.

There, faint but unmistakable, were scars. They cut across your skin in jagged, silvery lines, a stark contrast against the smooth canvas of your back. He froze for the briefest moment, his breath catching. His shadows stirred restlessly, betraying his thoughts.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t let his hands falter as he tied the delicate laces with precision. But something tightened in his chest, a mix of sorrow and admiration for what you must have endured.

You, oblivious, continued fussing. “Usually, it’s Ydle who helps me with this,” you muttered.

Azriel blinked, his brow furrowing. “The bird?”

“Yes, the bird, Azriel,” you said, glancing over your shoulder with an incredulous look. “He’s actually quite good at a lot of things, you know.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Right. A lot of things.”

You turned fully, giving him a pointed look. “Stop with your nasty thoughts, Shadowsinger. Not all winged beings think with their dick, you know.”

That earned you a full, genuine laugh from Azriel, his shadows swirling around him in amusement.

"You’re late," he reminded, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

"Yeah, yeah," you muttered, grabbing your notes and practically running around the room to gather the last of your things. "I ended up drinking with the girls last night—like, a lot—and I went to sleep about... oh, two hours ago."

Azriel raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. "And now you expect to lead a meeting?"

"I’ll survive," you said, waving him off. "Let’s go, or we’ll both be late."

As the two of you left your room, Azriel couldn’t help but shake his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him. You might have been chaos incarnate that morning, but there was no denying you’d pull it together the moment you stepped into that meeting room—and he admired that more than he’d ever admit.

When you and Azriel entered the meeting room, it was clear that the tone of the day was already set. The head healers, though composed, bore an unspoken tension that hung heavy in the air. Your sharp eyes quickly took in the details—slightly rumpled clothes, dark circles under a few pairs of eyes. A quick glance at Farah and Amara confirmed your suspicion: you weren’t the only one running on minimal sleep.

“Rough night?” you murmured to Farah as you passed, taking your seat at the head of the table.

The Day Court healer offered you a tired smile, golden strands of her hair slipping from her loose braid. “You could say that. Seems the city’s festivities are hard to resist.”

Amara groaned softly, resting her elbows on the table. “Why do they schedule these meetings the morning after celebrations? We look like we’ve been dragged through the ocean.”

A few chuckles broke the tension, and even Azriel’s lips twitched faintly at the comment as he took his place near the doorway, his shadows drifting unobtrusively.

“All right,” you said, your voice firm but warm as you tapped the table lightly. “Let’s focus. We have a lot to cover, and not much time.”

The healers straightened in their seats, the atmosphere shifting into something far more serious.

As the meeting pressed on, the air in the room thickened with the weight of the topic now at hand—Koshiev’s growing influence. The earlier camaraderie and trust among the healers gave way to grim determination, each word spoken heavy with the stakes of what was to come.

Rordan from the Autumn Court began, his amber eyes burning with frustration. “Koshiev’s forces aren’t just expanding—they’re leaving devastation in their wake. Entire villages along the borders have been wiped out because of sickness that, mother above, look like they come straight from hell, and the survivors are trickling into the courts as refugees. Camps are overcrowded, and infection spreads like wildfire.”

Veras from the Winter Court leaned forward, his braided hair falling over his shoulder. “The frostbite cases we’re seeing aren’t just from the cold anymore. It’s as if something in the air itself is making the wounds worse, harder to heal. We suspect Koshiev’s forces are using some kind of dark magic, but we have no way to confirm it.”

You nodded, taking in the information with a furrowed brow. “If they’re using magic to weaponize the environment, we’ll need to prioritize protection. I can look into shielding spells that can be used alongside standard care. Farah,” you turned to the Day Court healer, “your court specializes in purification. Do you think you could develop something to counteract this?”

Farah’s golden eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “It’s possible, but we’d need samples to understand what we’re dealing with. Without knowing the exact nature of this magic, we’re working blind.”

Azriel, silent until now, spoke up from where he stood at the edge of the room. His deep voice cut through the air like a blade. “I can get you the samples. If there’s something in the air or water, I’ll have my spies retrieve it.”

The room turned to Azriel, some with surprise, others with relief. You caught his eye briefly and nodded, grateful for his quick offer.

Amara from the Summer Court exhaled heavily. “Even with countermeasures, this is a problem we’ve never faced before. Koshiev’s forces are using tactics that defy every natural law we know. We need more than just defensive strategies—we need to be proactive.”

“You’re right,” you said, standing straighter. “It’s not enough to react to what Koshiev does. We need to anticipate his next moves. That means gathering intelligence—not just on his methods but on his motives. Why is he targeting specific regions? What does he gain from leaving the lands uninhabitable?”

Teylan, the healer from the Dawn Court, added, “And we need to coordinate evacuation protocols. If entire regions are to be affected, we must ensure that civilians can be moved quickly and efficiently. It’s not just about healing the injured—it’s about preventing the injuries in the first place.”

The group murmured in agreement, and you saw Azriel’s sharp gaze shift to Teylan. There was respect in his expression, though his shadows swirled slightly tighter around him, as if unsettled by the weight of the conversation.

“Let’s assign specific roles,” you suggested, your voice cutting through the growing tension. “Veras, work with Farah to develop purification methods. Amara, focus on distributing resources—we’ll need herbs, salves, and antidotes ready for immediate deployment. Rordan, can you focus on organizing supply routes and establishing safe zones within the Autumn Court?”

Each healer nodded, their expressions set with determination. You turned to Azriel. “And Azriel, if you can retrieve those samples, it will give us the edge we desperately need.”

Azriel inclined his head, his shadows flickering like flames in response. “Consider it done.”

The meeting continued with precise planning. Containment strategies, resource allocation, and magical countermeasures were all discussed and debated. Each healer brought their expertise to the table, but the weight of Koshiev’s looming threat was undeniable.

By the time the meeting concluded, the atmosphere in the room was heavy but resolute. These weren’t just plans—they were the foundation for survival, the first step in a war that would test every ounce of strength Prythian had.

As the healers began to file out for a much-needed break, Azriel lingered near you, his gaze steady and unreadable. “You’re carrying a lot on your shoulders,” he said quietly.

You met his gaze, your tired smile barely masking the exhaustion. “We all are, Azriel. But this is the work that needs to be done.”

His shadows flickered faintly, and for a moment, he looked as if he wanted to say more. But instead, he simply nodded, his silence speaking volumes.

The battle against Koshiev had already begun, and you both knew it would demand everything from everyone involved.

The meeting had finally drawn to a close, the weight of the discussions settling heavily on your shoulders. You bid farewell to the other healers, offering last-minute reassurances and final notes for the upcoming plans. As the last of them departed, you made your way back to your room, your steps slower than usual. The exhaustion from the day's intensity pulled at you, but your mind refused to quiet.

Your room greeted you with its familiar warmth and quiet elegance. You sighed, stepping inside and shedding your outer coat. Moving to the small kitchenette, you set about preparing tea. The rhythmic motions of boiling water and selecting herbs gave you a rare moment of peace.

The sound of a knock at the door broke your focus. You turned, half expecting Azriel, but instead found Thesan leaning casually against the frame, his smile warm and familiar.

“You didn’t think I’d let you retreat so easily, did you?” he teased, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

You chuckled softly, rolling your eyes. “I thought you’d be busy catching up with your court, not chasing after me.”

“Multitasking is one of my many talents,” he quipped, settling into a chair with an ease that spoke of years of friendship. His gaze swept the room, a fond glint in his eye. “Still feels like you’ve left your mark on this place. It’s alive, somehow—like you.”

You scoffed lightly, pouring two cups of tea. “You’re being dramatic again.”

He accepted the cup you handed him, his smile never faltering. “Maybe. But I’m also right.”

The lighthearted banter faded as his expression turned more serious. “You handled yourself well today. The meeting was impressive, even for you. But that’s not why I’m here.”

You hesitated, sitting down across from him. “Then why are you here, Thesan?”

“To check on you,” he replied simply. “You’ve been through a lot, Y/N. And I know you—sometimes you carry things alone when you shouldn’t.”

The words hit closer to home than you cared to admit. You stared into your tea for a moment before taking a steadying breath. “There is... something,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “Something I haven’t told anyone.”

Thesan waited patiently, his gaze unwavering. Finally, you looked up and met his eyes.

“It’s not just the war or the plans,” you admitted finally, setting your cup down. “It’s... Azriel.”

Thesan raised a brow, his curiosity piqued. “The Night Court’s spymaster? What about him?”

You inhaled deeply, the words tasting foreign as they left your lips. “He’s my mate.”

The admission hung in the air between you, heavy and undeniable. Thesan’s expression shifted to one of quiet understanding, his head tilting slightly as he studied you.

“And does he know?” he asked gently.

You shook your head, the weight of the secret pressing down on you. “No. And I don’t plan on telling him. He’s... attached to someone else. Elain. One of the High lady’s sister. And there’s the war, the chaos. It’s not the right time.”

“Is there ever a right time for something like this?” Thesan asked gently. “Do you... love him?”

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated, your fingers tightening around the cup. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “But being around him feels... different. Like a part of me is at peace when he’s near.”

Thesan leaned back slightly, his brow furrowed in thought. “Mates are rare, yes. But they’re not infallible. If you feel this strongly, maybe you shouldn’t dismiss it. Just... be careful.”

His advice hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Before either of you could say more, a soft knock at the door interrupted the moment. Thesan rose smoothly to answer, his calm demeanor never wavering.

Azriel stood in the doorway, his shadows curling faintly around him. His sharp eyes flicked to Thesan, a hint of surprise crossing his face. “High Lord,” he greeted, his tone polite but clipped.

Thesan smiled, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Spymaster. What brings you here?”

Azriel’s gaze briefly shifted beyond him, but he couldn’t see you from where he stood. “I was going to ask Y/N if she wanted to take a walk through the city before we leave. But clearly, she’s... occupied.”

Thesan’s smile deepened, and there was a hint of something playful in his tone. “We were just catching up, but...”

Azriel nodded curtly and cut him mid sentence, stepping back. “Another time then, I don’t want to disturb you both.” he echoed, his voice neutral.

He left without another word, his shadows lingering briefly before disappearing into the hallway. Thesan watched him go, a knowing look in his eye as he closed the door and turned back to you.

“Well,” he said, his tone dry, “he’s certainly... something.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t even know what to do anymore.”

Thesan placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his expression softening. “Take it one step at a time, Y/N. You’ll figure it out.”

Azriel sat on the balcony of his assigned room in the Dawn Court palace, the cool evening air brushing against his skin. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of soft orange and deep indigo. His shadows whispered faintly, their tones uncertain, as if they too were trying to process what he was feeling.

He hadn’t intended to overhear you with Thesan, but the sound of your laughter, followed by the soft murmur of your voices, had drawn him to the door. He had stopped himself from intruding, reminding himself that it was none of his business. Yet, the sight of Thesan’s easy smile as he stood in your doorway, the familiarity in his posture, and the casual way his hand rested on the frame had stirred something in Azriel—something sharp and unwelcome.

He knew you had a history with Thesan. He knew that Thesan had a mate. And yet, he couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling of jealousy. The knowledge that you and Thesan had shared something once, something real and intimate, unsettled him in a way he couldn’t fully understand.

You weren’t like Mor, whose vibrant energy had captivated him for centuries. You weren’t like Elain, whose gentleness and quiet beauty had drawn him in, offering a fleeting hope for something he could never truly have.

You were you—Y/N.

There was an effortless strength in you, the way you commanded a room without raising your voice, the way you navigated delicate situations with a calmness that belied the fire in your heart. You carried yourself with grace but never hid your scars. You worked tirelessly, yet somehow always found time to smile, to offer comfort, even when you were the one most in need of it.

And that smile—Mother above, that smile. It wasn’t a demure thing meant to appease or charm; it was genuine, lighting up your face in a way that made everything around you seem brighter. Your laugh was low and warm, the kind that lingered in the air long after it faded. The way your eyes crinkled slightly at the corners when you were truly amused stayed with him.

He thought of the way you spoke to him—honest, unafraid to challenge him but never cruel. How you had listened to him in the clinic that night, your words carrying a weight of understanding he hadn’t found in anyone else.

Azriel exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t know when it had started—this attachment to you. But he knew it had grown steadily since the moment the two of you arrived in the Dawn Court. You had drawn him in with your unwavering dedication and the quiet vulnerability you allowed to slip through your defenses.

It wasn’t like him to let someone in so easily, to let himself care so quickly. But with you, it was different.

And now, the thought of Thesan knowing you so intimately—knowing parts of you that he could only hope to uncover—gnawed at him. It wasn’t rational, he knew that. But the thought still burned.

His shadows curled tighter around him, as if trying to shield him from the onslaught of emotions. But they couldn’t muffle the truth. He had grown attached to you. Too attached. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t know what to do about it.

Later that evening, you found yourself standing outside Azriel’s door, a faint sense of unease settling over you. You had to talk to him about organizing your departure, but something felt off. You took a deep breath and knocked softly, waiting until you heard his voice.

“Come in.”

Pushing the door open, you stepped inside to find Azriel sitting in a chair by the window, his shadows swirling lazily around him. His face was unreadable, the sharp planes of his features cast in soft shadows from the lamp beside him. He looked up briefly as you entered, but his gaze quickly flicked back to the papers in his hands.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” you began, your voice light but careful.

He shook his head. “No. Don’t worry. What do you need?”

You hesitated for a moment, noting the slight edge to his tone. “I wanted to go over the plan for tomorrow’s departure,” you said, stepping closer. “We need to coordinate with the palace staff for supplies, and I wanted to confirm our route.”

Azriel nodded curtly, gesturing for you to sit, but he didn’t offer much more. His responses were short, his demeanor cooler than usual. You frowned, watching him as he scanned the papers in his hands.

“Is something going on?” you asked softly, leaning forward slightly in your seat.

Azriel’s shadows curled tighter around him, a sure sign of his tension. “No, everything is ok don’t worry.” he said flatly, not looking up.

You tilted your head, unconvinced. “Azriel, I’m not leaving this alone. We’re going to be stuck together for at least four hours during the flight, and I promise you—I will not stop bothering you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might brush you off entirely. But then he set the papers down and leaned back in his chair, his amber eyes locking onto yours.

“Fine,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Do you still have something going on with Thesan?”

You blinked, caught completely off guard by the question. “What?”

He pressed on, his shadows flickering erratically. “It’s just... sometimes, even if people are mated, they still—” He hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line before continuing, “They still keep things with their previous partners.”

You stared at him, the words settling over you like a wave of confusion and exasperation. “Are you serious right now?”

Azriel met your gaze, his expression unreadable, but his eyes carried a flicker of vulnerability he was clearly trying to mask.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms. “Azriel, do you honestly think either Nesta or Feyre would be okay with Cassian or Rhysand running off to sleep with an ex-partner? Because, no. They wouldn’t. And it’s the same here.”

His brows furrowed, and you continued, your tone softening slightly. “Thesan is a friend now, Azriel. Nothing more. I don’t want anything else, and neither does he. And his mate would probably kill me if I even consider him more than that.”

The tension in his shoulders seemed to ease slightly, though his shadows still hovered around him. He nodded once, his voice quieter now. “I... I just wanted to be sure. Not that it was an actual problem, but...”

You couldn’t help but huff a small laugh, shaking your head. “You could have just asked, you know.”

Azriel’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile, his shadows finally retreating a bit. “Maybe next time, I will.”

“Good,” you replied, standing and smoothing the front of your shirt. “Now, can we get back to the actual reason I came here, or should I start worrying about more questions?”

Azriel chuckled softly, a rare sound, and gestured for you to continue. The tension between you had eased, and as you began discussing the logistics of your departure, you noticed that his gaze lingered on you just a little longer than usual.

After clearing the air, you sat up straighter, your tone turning more professional. “Now, about tomorrow’s flight. The weather reports show strong winds in the region where we flew last time, so we’ll need to make a detour.”

Azriel’s brow lifted slightly, his focus sharpening. “A detour?”

You nodded, gesturing to the small map you had brought with you. You spread it out on the desk between you, pointing to a marked path. “Instead of cutting directly through the mountains, we’ll follow the coastline for a bit. It’ll take us an extra hour, but it’s safer than risking the turbulence.”

Azriel leaned forward, his shadows quiet as he studied the map. “The sea route?”

“Yes,” you confirmed. “The winds over the water should be calmer, and there’s a better chance of clear skies. I checked with the palace staff earlier—they’ve used that path before in similar conditions.”

His expression was thoughtful as he traced the route with his finger. “It’s a smart call. And the scenery will be... different.”

You chuckled softly. “Different is one way to put it. I hope you like ocean views.”

Azriel glanced at you, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “I’ll take ocean views over unpredictable mountain winds any day.”

“Good,” you said with a small smile. “I’ll let the staff know to adjust the flight plan accordingly.”

He nodded, his demeanor more relaxed now. “Anything else I should know?”

You hesitated for a moment, then added, “The winds might still be a bit tricky when we’re closer to the coast, so we’ll need to stay alert. But I think we’ll manage just fine.”

Azriel’s smirk deepened. “You sound like you’ve done this a hundred times.”

You shrugged lightly, a playful glint in your eyes. “Maybe not a hundred, but I’ve healed enough Peregrins to know what I’m talking about. Trust me on this one, Shadowsinger.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, his shadows flickering faintly around him before he nodded again. “I trust you.”

don't hesitate to comment if you want to be added to the tag list ;)))

tag list : @angel-graces-world-of-chaos @bravo-delta-eccho @messageforthesmallestman @celestialgilb @tiredsleepyhead @annamariereads16 @arcanefeelingz @fuckingsimp4azriel @adventure-awaits13 @diaouranask @rcarbo1 @6v6babycheese @goodvibesonlyxd @sa54va87to90re12 @firefly-forest @babypeapoddd @hailqueenconquer @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @judig92 @pinklemonade34 @sourapplex @wickedshadowsinger @shinyghosteclipse @rose-girls-world @leptitlu @acourtofsmutandstarlight @feyrescanvas @dreamloud4610 @plants-w0rld @tele86 @dragonsandrinks @making-it-big @itsbonniebabe @motheroffae @azrielswhore @casiiopea2 @whyucloudingmymind @onebadassunicorn @prettylittlewrites

#azriel fic #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #acotar fanart #acotar #rhysand #azriel acotar #cassian #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x y/n #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #elain #feyre

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allthingswhumpyandangsty · 1 day ago

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Hello! I'm so sorry because this is a bit random and you definitely don't have to answer. But I'm a writer too and is it just me or has Tumblr been seeing much less interactions with fanworks these days? People aren't reblogging the way they used to and it's bugging me. Someone reblogged one of my fics this morning with "I don't usually repost fics but this one stole my heart" and I'm pleased with the compliment obviously but it did rub me the wrong way... Tumblr has no algorithm that'll push fanworks to you, and if you like something you're a lil bit responsible for it being shared. And while I do thankfully receive compliments and encouragement on that blog, on another it's just... It feels a bit like they don't care for the author, they just want the fics.

I know this was a bit random, apologies again! I just didn't know who else to take this too. Hope you're having a wonderful week!

I mean, I do agree with you on the “people unfortunately no longer engage with or reblog stuff like they used to in the past” though, as a fellow writer, I don’t believe anybody is “responsible” for reblogging things they enjoy, be it fanfiction or anything. like… yes, reblog means a whole lot to us artists. Like as a function — for Tumblr — doesn’t actually help that much (Like still helps, we still appreciate Like, but it’s not as effective as Reblog), because unlike other social media platforms, Tumblr Like isn’t going to get the content spread to wider audiences. but still, I don’t want to guilt trip anybody into thinking that “reblogging stuff you enjoy is a Must on Tumblr” because then it kind of becomes a “responsibility”, and I don’t think “responsibility on anybody’s end (be it artists’ or audiences’)” is why we create art to begin with, be it fanfiction or fan art or any other form of art.

instead I’d like to encourage people to please reblog the stuff they like. we do appreciate you if you like our posts, but we will appreciate you even more if you reblog and help our content reach wider audience.

please please please please don’t be shy to reblog what you like. reblogging is also a great motivation for your favorite artists to create more art you can enjoy.

reblog is like giving your friend a cup of hot chocolate as a way of thanking them for giving you a gift (fanfic or fanart), in the sense that it’s not your ‘responsibility’ to give your friend a cup of hot chocolate because when your friend gifts you the gift (fanfic or fanart), they do it out of love, not because they demand something in return from you, but your friend will still greatly appreciate the cup of hot chocolate nonetheless, and there will more likely be more gifts (fanfic or fanart) from them this way.

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aventurineswife · 2 days ago

Text

The Herta's Voicelines about her S/O

Requested by: @queeremogurl

A/N: I hope you like this!!

The Enigma of Them

Ah, them. Quite an intriguing specimen, aren't they? I never expected someone with so much... unquantifiable charm. It makes me question my own understanding of connection. But it’s precisely because of their unpredictability that I find them fascinating.

First Meeting: Unexpected Encounter

The first time I met them, I was... intrigued. They certainly didn’t seem like the type to fit neatly into my carefully constructed theories. There was something—dare I say it—entirely human about them. But I must admit, I wasn’t expecting their brilliance. It took me a moment to accept that, perhaps, I was not the only genius in the room.

First Date: Surprising Delight

Our first date, if you can even call it that, was a rather... unexpected delight. I thought it would be a mere formality—an exchange of information, a brief distraction. But they surprised me, as they always do. Their ability to blend warmth and wit with intellectual discourse? It’s an art form. I didn’t realize how pleasant that could be.

Thinking About Them: Uncontrollable Fascination

I often find myself lost in thought about them. They’re a strange paradox—a perfect blend of intellect and emotion, something I never thought I’d find so... distracting. They possess a curiosity I can’t help but admire, even if it does sometimes challenge my own. It’s almost as though they’ve made a science of capturing my attention.

Favorite Times Spent With Them: Cherished Moments

There are few moments I treasure as much as when we’re alone together, lost in a shared puzzle or debate. The way they think—so differently from anyone I’ve encountered—has a peculiar allure. But it’s not just that. It’s the way they make the ordinary feel extraordinary. I suppose, in a way, I treasure every second spent with them. Even if I never quite admit that to their face.

Plans for the Future: Endless Possibilities

Future plans? Hm. It’s difficult to say. I’m certain that they’ll accompany me in whatever mind-bending venture I embark on, though. After all, I’m certain they’ll find the same joy I do in unraveling the very fabric of existence. Whether it’s exploring the deepest corners of the cosmos or simply enjoying a quiet moment, I imagine they’ll be there... possibly making it more interesting than it has any right to be.

Unshakable Trust

I trust them more than I trust most. That in itself is a strange admission, considering my penchant for total intellectual independence. But there's something about them—a sincerity, an understanding. When they look at me, it’s not through the lens of expectation or judgment. It’s... refreshing. Almost as though they see me, not just the image I’ve constructed for the universe.

Irreplaceable

Perhaps I’ve made an error in judgment, allowing them so close. But when the brilliance of their mind and the warmth of their spirit intersect... well, I’m not inclined to let go. I’ll be watching closely—of course. But I trust them more than anyone else.

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hollowed-theory-hall · 1 day ago

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I was re-reading POA and was surprised about how open Harry is with Lupin. There are a couple instances of him not wanting to say something because he thinks it’s shameful/embarrassing but then he can’t help himself from opening up to lupin anyway. It reminds me a lot of how he acts with Sirius in GOF and OOTP. But I also think he stopped sharing his feelings with lupin after POA because of the distance that lupin was trying to put between them. It always seems like lupin wants to connect with Harry but won’t let himself because of all the stuff he has going on with himself (him reaching out to put his hand on his shoulder but thinking better of it is a pretty good example). It’s kinda a shame though, it would have been nice if Lupin allowed himself to be closer to Harry because their relationship could have been another place where Harry could be open and confide in another person with.

Yeah, I talked a bit about their dynamic here, but in PoA, Harry found an adult who he likes, and the adult likes him and respects him and he's trying so hard to latch onto that one positive connection and get closer to Lupin. Lupin is like, the first teacher Harry actually looked up to.

I mean, Dumbledore is more of a distant figure at first and Harry's feelings about him are complicated later on. Harry treats Hagrid more like his peer than like his elder. He respects McGonagall immensely, but she always had a more distant and professional air to her.

Remus, on the other hand, already saved Harry from dementors on the train (so he's competent), he clearly likes Harry and he calls all the students by their first names. Lupin is the cool and hip teacher who wants all the kids to like him so he comes up with cool lesson plans and falls behind on the curriculum (according to Snape).

Remus' behavior encourages Harry to look up to and open up to him. Harry never had an adult he could really count on and felt close to. He loves Arthur and Molly, but he doesn't feel like they're his family. Also, he doesn't really register them as competent wizards. But Remus — Remus is everything Harry wants from an adult mentor figure.

It's why Harry keeps going out of his way to talk to him. To convince him to teach him the Patronus Charm. And Remus, well, Remus, as always, is conflicted.

Remus can't have good things in his life. He thinks he doesn't deserve good things in his life. He thinks he is awful and ruins the lives of everyone he is close to just by being there.

I think he really likes Harry. I think he sees Harry as his own person, who isn't James or Lily, and who is talented and capable and brave. But Remus thinks he isn't worthy of being associated with Harry. He thinks Harry must be happier however he is living now, and anyway, he's a werewolf, he couldn't offer Harry anything better (that's what he thinks). It's why he doesn't even offer to take Harry with him, why he never writes to Harry. He twists himself in guilt and shame so he thinks everyone is better off without him which is his go-to excuse on why he shouldn't be responsible for things/people.

And Harry isn't stupid, he can tell when someone doesn't want to talk to him (which Remus is very much acting like), so he stops. It also helps that at the end of PoA, Sirius appears, and Sirius is everything Remus is (capable, likes Harry, cool, very un-Dursley) but more — because he wants Harry to come live with him. He wants Harry to write to him and talk to him. He wants to tell Harry about James and Lily. Sirius comes in after a year in which Harry got the first positive adult role-model (Remus) and then, just, improved the formula by wanting to be there for Harry and not struggling to keep up the distance like Lupin was doing.

As such, post-PoA, we see Harry have the same openness (and even more so) with Sirius. Harry stops talking to Remus because Remus didn't talk to him. I think he felt a little betrayed that Remus didn't tell him he was friends with James throughout the whole year, too. Like, I think it's reasonable that Harry somewhat gave up on Lupin post-PoA. Remus is the one who gave up on a connection with Harry first.

Could their relationship have been better and a source of comfort to Harry? Definitely. But Remus is doing what he always does. What he tried to do with Tonks (even after he got her pregnant) — he forces himself not to get attached and runs away.

#harry potter #hp #hp meta #asks #anonymous #hollowedtheory #harry potter meta #harry james potter #siriuis black #remus lupin

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multi-fandom-imagine · 2 days ago

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What is your ideal meet cute for Fred and George? Or mistaking them as the other meet cute? (I love the twins)

A/n: I too love the twins 🤭

•Fred Weasley•

It’s the first weekend trip to Hogsmeade of the year, and the chilly autumn air is bustling with students excited to visit the shops. The Three Broomsticks is packed to the brim, with nearly every table occupied and the bar swarming with people ordering butterbeers. You, however, have just managed to snag the last empty booth in the corner, cozy but big enough to share if someone asks. You’re lost in your own world, flipping through a book you brought along, sipping your butterbeer, and completely oblivious to the chaos around you.

Enter Fred Weasley, juggling three butterbeers and a handful of snacks, heading back to where George is waiting at a table,except someone else has taken their spot while he was away. Mildly annoyed but mostly amused by George’s lack of table-saving skills, Fred scans the room and spots your table.

“Excuse me,” he says, leaning down so you can hear him over the noise. You glance up, locking eyes with his freckled face and mischievous grin. “You wouldn’t mind sharing this table, would you? My dear brother seems to have failed me as a table guard.”

You blink, startled but too polite to refuse. “Sure, I guess. As long as you don’t spill anything on my book.”

Fred slides into the booth across from you, setting the butterbeers and snacks down. “Wouldn’t dream of it. What are you reading?”

You hold up the cover, and his eyes narrow as he dramatically scratches his head. “Ah, yes. ‘Advanced Potion-Making.’ Riveting stuff. Do you read this for fun or…?”

“It’s for Slughorn’s essay,” you reply, smiling faintly. “But thanks for the sarcasm. Very refreshing.”

"Ah must be a Ravenclaw..could be the answer to me never seeing you." Fred grins, leaning forward giving you a wink. "You’re welcome. Oh...how rude of me. I'm Fred, by the way. I’d shake your hand, but they’re covered in crumbs from these suspiciously addictive pastries and you are?”

"I am in fact a Ravenclaw and I do know how you are Weasley. I think everyone at Hogwarts knows you and your brother." Your lips twitched into a smile. "But I'm Y/n."You stated and before you know it, the butterbeers he was meant to take back to George have been long forgotten as the two of you start chatting. Fred’s quick wit has you laughing, and your dry comebacks seem to entertain him just as much.

Eventually, George finds him. “So this is where you disappeared to,” George says, arms crossed but smirking. “If you’re done flirting, Fred, our table’s open again.”

Fred barely glances at his twin. “Flirting? Please, George, I’m merely making a new friend. And besides,” he looks back at you, his eyes sparkling, “our table is much better company.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the warmth creep up your neck fiddling with the pages of the book. “You can go, you know. I won’t hold it against you.”

Fred shakes his head with a teasing grin. “I don’t think so. Someone has to make sure you don’t overwork yourself with all that potion-making nonsense. I’m staying right here.”

George rolled his eyes but the smile on his face showed he wasn't bothered by it as he gave his brother's shoulder a pat. "Alright mate...see ya back at Hogwarts."

And just like that, a chance encounter turns into the beginning of something far more exciting than a potions essay.

•George Weasley•

It’s the day before the school’s Halloween feast, and the Great Hall is buzzing with decorations being set up and students sneaking in early to help (or cause mischief). You’re perched on a ladder near one of the floating jack-o’-lanterns, carefully enchanting it to spit out harmless sparks in alternating colors. The first year's would love it and it's not like it's going to harm anyone.

Unbeknownst to you, George Weasley has decided this particular pumpkin is the perfect place to hide one of his new prank prototypes a harmless (mostly) enchanted bat that flutters out at random moments to scare passersby.

As you mutter the final part of your spell, the jack-o’-lantern suddenly jerks forward, shaking violently. Before you can react, a loud POP echoes, and a small bat leaps out, flapping wildly. Startled, you lose your balance and tumble off the ladder, your arms flailing as a small yelp escaped your lips.

Before you can hit the ground, a pair of strong arms catch you mid-fall. “Blimey, didn’t think you’d be part of the decorations too,” a voice teases as you’re set gently back on your feet. You turn to see George Weasley grinning at you, his freckled face brimming with amusement.

“That wasn’t funny!” you exclaim, though the heat creeping up your neck as you stepped a few feet away from him brushing off your skirt.

“Funny? No. Brilliant? Absolutely,” George replies with a mock bow. “I’ll take full credit for that bat well, unless it gets us both detention. In which case, it’s obviously my twin’s fault.” He gave you a wink.

You narrow your eyes at him but can’t help smiling as you fixed your yellow and black tie. “So you’re saying you sabotaged my perfectly good pumpkin just to test one of your pranks? Rude."

He gives a sheepish shrug, though the grin never leaves his face. “Sabotage is a strong word. I prefer ‘enhance.’...made it slightly better.Besides, it was a bit boring, don’t you think? Needed a little excitement.”

“You’re impossible,” you reply, shaking your head.

“But entertaining,” he counters, leaning against the ladder with a confident smirk. “Tell you what, I’ll help you fix it and maybe not rig any other pumpkins as long as you promise to join me at the feast tomorrow. Consider it my way of making it up to you.”

You blink at him, caught off guard by his forwardness. “You mean as an apology or because you think I’m gullible enough to trust you again?” You teased as you placed your hands on your hips.

“Bit of both,” he admits with a wink. “But I promise, no bats this time....pinky swear."

You can’t help but laugh. “Fine. But if you try anything else, you’ll be the one fixing all of the decorations.”

“Deal,” he says, offering his hand to shake, though the playful glint in his eyes suggests he’s far from done with his pranks.

And as you both set to work on repairing the pumpkin, you find yourself smiling more than you’d expected because maybe, just maybe, a little mischief isn’t so bad when it comes with a charming partner in crime, especially when he's as cute as George Weasley.

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padfootagain · 3 days ago

Text

Love in Verses (XLVII)

Chapter 47: ‘To whom I owe the leaping delight that quickens my senses in our wakingtime and the rhythm that governs the repose of our sleepingtime’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! A short but sweet chapter!

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so no minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 1696

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

A Dedication to my Wife

To whom I owe the leaping delight That quickens my senses in our wakingtime And the rhythm that governs the repose of our sleepingtime, The breathing in unison Of lovers whose bodies smell of each other Who think the same thoughts without need of speech And babble the same speech without need of meaning. No peevish winter wind shall chill No sullen tropic sun shall winter The roses in the rose-garden which is ours and ours only But this dedication is for others to read: These are private words addressed to you in public.

T.S Eliot, Collected Poems

Andrew was locked up in his office again.

It happened often these days, and you wondered why. You guessed that he must have a heavy workload, after all it would soon be the season for final exams, and you were pretty busy too.

Still, this week he had spent most of his evenings in that room after dinner, staying up late enough for you not to notice when he finally came to bed.

And he looked tired. He wasn’t sleeping enough, and the dark circles under his eyes were a visible sign. He didn’t seem sad though, and he was still as loving with you, still affectionate. Still, you hoped that he wasn’t fleeing you, for some reason.

It had been going on for two weeks, and you were resolute in asking him what he was doing during all those long hours.

He heaved a tired sigh as he entered the kitchen, Elwood in tow, and he bent to pet your dog before turning to you and wrapping his arms around your frame. It was quite late already, dinner was almost ready. Nothing complicated, it was a Thursday night after all, and nor you nor Andrew were in the mood to make some complex recipe. He had offered to order something, but a simple pasta recipe would do, you had the ingredients for it, and you had offered to prepare dinner for tonight.

Andrew buried his face into your neck, holding you tight, pressing your back against his chest. Outside, it was heavily raining, you had turned on the lights. The regular pattern of the falling rain was mixed with Elwood’s heavy breathing behind Andrew.

“It smells delicious, my love,” Andrew whispered into the skin at the base of your neck, where it connected with your shoulder, and it sent delightful shivers down your spine.

“Thanks. Nothing fancy, though.”

“Thanks for cooking. I didn’t have it in me tonight.”

“That’s alright.”

He had just taken a shower, wearing now his plaid pyjamas, and his wet hair dripping all over his shoulders and wetting your t-shirt. You didn’t mind though.

“What about we watch a movie after dinner?” you offered, but you felt him tensing behind you.

“Yeah…”

“You can say no, if you don’t feel like it,” you chuckled.

“I just… I have something I want to finish first.”

You nodded, but remained silent. He heaved a sigh, and it was his turn to notice that you were tensing.

“I’m sorry…”

He didn’t offer any explanation though, so you had to go fishing for it.

“What are you working so hard on, anyway?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re always working these days. Is it your research? Or is it your classes?”

He remained silent for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. But then he spoke again, quiet and soft, almost afraid.

“Am I really spending that much time working?”

It was a genuine question, asking for your opinion, his tone let you know that he wasn’t trying to fight you back. On the contrary, he opened his hand to splay his fingers across your stomach, the touch soothing, anchoring you in his hold.

“Kind of. For the last couple of weeks… yeah… you’re working a lot. I’m a little worried, to be honest.”

“No need to be worried, I’m fine,” he reassured you. “I’m just busy.”

He let out a long exhale, moving his head to rest his chin on the top of your head.

“I’m not neglecting you, am I?” he asked with genuine worry in his voice. “I know how I can be sometimes, I’m… I’m terrible at balancing work and love.”

You moved out of his embrace to put the pasta in the boiling water.

“No… but I… have I done something wrong? Are you angry with me?”

He frowned hard.

“No, of course not.”

“So… you’re not fleeing me.”

“Fleeing you? Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. You work a lot more than usual, I… I’m worried you could be avoiding me.”

“I’m not. I’m not avoiding you at all, I…”

He heaved another sigh, and he looked so tired all of a sudden. But he didn’t seem sad, he had a smile on his lips.

“I… I’m writing. A lot. That’s all.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Like I… I’m trying to make sense of all the work I’ve been doing these past four years,” he explained. “And I…”

He stopped, and turned around in a hurry. He almost ran to his office, while Elwood was staying in the kitchen with you. All you could do was stare at the empty kitchen, blinking your puzzlement away.

Elwood let out a whine, trying to get a treat, and you mindlessly gave him a tiny piece of food.

And then Andrew was back, his laptop in hand. He made room for it on the table.

“You can look,” he said, nervously rubbing the skin behind his ear. “It’s not completely finished, but… I’m close. You can read it if you want.”

You walked closer to the computer, read the title on the first page.

Unreal Unearth

Poetry by Andrew Hozier-Byrne

You looked up at him again, smiling now.

“So… you’re finishing up a new book? That’s why you’ve been so busy?”

“Yeah… babe, I’m… I’m sorry, I know I haven’t spent a lot of quality time with you these past couple of weeks, but I really want to get the first version done, so I can send it to my agent and my editor.”

“That’s amazing! Why didn’t you tell me about it sooner? That’s exciting!”

He stared at you for a moment, and then he reached for the laptop, changed the page.

For Y/N, who’s love guided me through the nine circles.

You stared at the letters, read them again and again. But they were still there, printed in pixels on the screen.

Slowly, you turned to Andrew, who had a shy smile on his lips.

“So… your poems are about me? The… the poems you want to be published… are about me?”

He chuckled.

“Only the nice ones,” he admitted. “It covers the last four years, so…”

“Hmm… break-up hell too.”

“Yeah… but not just that. Most of them are about you. And even those that aren’t about you… I’ve organised it thinking of you.”

“A favourite that I should read first?”

He rubbed his cheek for a moment, thinking hard.

“I don’t know if it’s a favourite but…”

He looked for a precise title, and let out a satisfied hum when he found it.

Francesca

“Naming it after another woman… doesn’t start so well,” you teased, trying to hide how fast your heart was beating at the thought that he had written about you.

He laughed at that.

“Do we know a Francesca?” you asked, but Andrew nodded.

“You like her a lot.”

You frowned, silently encouraging him to go on. He nervously rubbed at his neck.

“I… I’ve tried to structure it using Dante’s view of hell.”

You raised a surprised eyebrow.

“But you… It’s… I love this book…”

“I know.”

“So… Francesca, after…”

“Francesca da Rimini, yes.”

You didn’t say anything, merely stared at him for a moment, and then looked down at the laptop again. And as you read, you could feel tears rising, overflowing at the corners of your eyes.

If someone asked me at the end

I'll tell them put me back in it

Darling, I would do it again

If I could hold you for a minute

Darling, I'd go through it again

I would still be surprised I could find you

In any life

If I could hold you for a minute

Darling, I would do it again

“You… you wrote that about me?” you asked, your voice shaking.

“Yeah.”

“You mean that?”

“Of course, I do.”

“You’re insane.”

He laughed while you read the rest of the poem.

I would not change it each time

Heaven is not fit to house a love

Like you and I

You remained silent for a moment, trying to process his words. The scholar in you was dragging your attention towards the beauty of the text, the references, the balance of fiction and truth…

… but all your brain could really register for now was that he had written this for you. That he wanted to publish it in a book he was organising after one of your favourite pieces of literature, with your name written on it.

You looked up at him, dried your cheeks.

“You… you’re okay?” he asked.

You nodded, before rushing into his arms.

“I love you, you know? I love you so much,” you mumbled into his chest, making him smile.

“Of course, I know. And I love you too. I love you.”

“It’s so beautiful, Andy.”

“Thanks. So… you like it?”

You laughed.

“Like it?! You’ve basically professed your undying love to me in one of the most beautiful poems I’ve ever read, of course, I don’t like it. I adore it.”

He rolled his eyes, holding you close still.

“Right, still going strong on the encouragement, I see...”

“I’m being honest.”

“You hype me up too much.”

“No, I don’t. You just can’t take a bloody compliment.”

He laughed, but couldn’t find an argument.

“Are you gonna work on it after dinner?” you asked.

“Nah… for tonight, I’d rather spend some quality time with my muse.”

You were about to protest, but glanced over at the laptop again.

At your feet, Elwood was rubbing his body against your and Andrew’s legs.

“I’m your muse…”

“Of course, you are. Who else could it be, but the love of my life?”

You closed your eyes, grinning at his words, feeling the warmth of happiness spread through your heart, radiate through your entire chest, and you noticed that the feeling had never felt so vibrant before, so absolute, so overwhelming.

Meanwhile, Andrew was letting relief wash over him, holding you tight, pressing his lips to your hair and breathing in the sweet scent of your shampoo.

And he thought of the ring he had hidden in his office, and how much he wanted to see it on your finger for the rest of your lives.

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #the hoziest #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #hozier fanfiction #hozier fanfic #hozier series #hozier professor au #hozier au #professor au #series #writing #fanfiction #fanfic

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andromeda-pleiades · 2 days ago

Text

Just Trust Me

WORD COUNT: 3,582

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2

You wake up feeling like a storm is brewing in your chest, the events of the previous night replaying in your mind. The texts. Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick. The third name—Soap. And Simon’s calm, composed demeanor when he returned, as if he didn’t know you’d pieced together everything

But he must know. There’s no way he doesn’t.

You rise from the bed, every movement deliberate, every step calculated to seem natural. When you enter the kitchen, Simon is at the stove, wearing an old T-shirt and sweatpants, his movements relaxed as he scrambles eggs in a pan.

“Morning,” he says, glancing over his shoulder with a small smile. “Coffee’s fresh.”

You murmur a quiet thanks, heading for the coffee pot. Your hands shake as you pour yourself a cup, but you keep your back to him, hiding your face under the pretense of blowing on the steaming liquid.

The atmosphere feels suffocating, his casual act only adding to the tension knotted in your chest. You sit at the table, sipping your coffee as he brings over two plates of eggs and toast.

“You sleep okay?” Simon asks, his gaze flicking to you over the rim of his cup.

You nod. “Yeah, fine.”

He nods, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than necessary. You fight the urge to squirm under his scrutiny, keeping your expression as neutral as possible.

“Good,” he says, setting his mug down. “I was thinking we could head out today and get you a replacement phone.”

He’s still acting so normal, as if nothing’s changed, as if you didn’t piece together his web of control last night.

You want him to explode, to lash out, to do something.

“That sounds good,” you say, keeping your tone even.

He smiles, satisfied, and takes a sip of his coffee.

The silence stretches between you, and you can feel his eyes on you, studying you, reading every microexpression. But every second feels like a test.

You glance down at your plate, the eggs blurring in front of you. Last night’s discovery replays in your mind, each detail sharp and vivid. The texts. The names. She’s not like that.

The thought of Kyle—Gaz—makes your skin crawl. You’ve known him since you were kids, trusted him, shared secrets with him. And now, he’s part of this… whatever this is.

How much of your life has been calculated? How long have they been watching you?

You swallow hard, pushing the questions aside. Right now, all that matters is getting through this breakfast without giving anything away.

In the car, the silence feels suffocating. You stare out the window, your mind racing. The texts, the app, everything about Simon feels magnified now, each detail sharpening into focus.

When you reach the store, Simon ushers you inside, his hand on the small of your back. He’s so attentive, so... normal.

Too normal.

He navigates the purchase seamlessly, speaking to the clerk as though he’s buying something for himself. You realize with a sinking feeling that he’s done this before. Not this exact situation, maybe, but the control, the ownership—it’s ingrained in him.

When the clerk asks for your ID to set up the account, Simon steps in smoothly. “I’ll take care of it,” he says, handing over his own ID.

You blink, startled. “But—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, his tone soothing but firm.

You bite your tongue, watching as the clerk processes everything under Simon’s name. It hits you like a punch to the chest: the house, the car, even your groceries. He pays for everything. Nothing is in your name.

Every small piece of you is ingrained with “Simon’s”

On the drive home, Simon surprises you by pulling a small box from the center console and handing it to you.

“What’s this?” you ask, your fingers trembling as you take it.

“Your wallet,” he says simply.

You hesitate before opening it. Inside is a sleek leather wallet, completely new—and filled. There’s cash tucked neatly in one pocket, and a set of shiny new credit cards bearing your name.

Your heart skips a beat.

“I figured you’d need replacements,” Simon says, his tone as casual as if he’d bought you flowers. “I took care of it yesterday.”

You stare at the cards, the weight of his control pressing down on you. He didn’t even ask. He just did it.

“Thank you,” you say, the words barely audible.

Simon glances at you briefly, a small smile playing at his lips. “Anything for you.”

You grip the wallet tightly, your knuckles white. The fear and gratitude swirl together in your chest, making you feel dizzy.

That night, Simon is quiet. Too quiet. He watches you closely, his dark eyes tracking your every move as you sit on the couch, pretending to scroll through your new phone.

You feel like a bug under a magnifying glass.

“Something on your mind?” he asks suddenly, breaking the silence.

You shake your head quickly. “No. Why?”

Simon leans back, studying you with a faint smile. “You seem distracted.”

“I’m just tired,” you reply, forcing a yawn.

He nods, his gaze never leaving you. “Go to bed early, then. I’ll finish up here.”

You hesitate but eventually rise, retreating to the bedroom.

Once inside, you shut the door softly and cross to the closet. Your heart pounds as you crouch down and pull out the shoebox where you hid the phone.

But when you open it, the phone is gone.

Your breath catches, and you freeze, staring at the empty box.

“Looking for something?”

The voice behind you makes you jump. You spin around to see Simon standing in the doorway, his expression calm but his eyes sharp.

He steps into the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

“I told you,” he says, his voice low, almost soothing. “You don’t have to hide anything from me.”

You back up instinctively, hitting the edge of the bed.

Simon stops a few feet away, his gaze steady. “I know you know about the app. About the phone. About everything.”

You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out.

Simon tilts his head, his expression softening. “I don’t blame you for being curious. But you should’ve come to me. You know I would’ve explained everything.”

You force yourself to stay calm, to nod as if you believe him.

“Good,” he says, smiling faintly. “Because we don’t have to let this change anything. I’m still here for you. Always.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

The morning light filters through the windows, painting soft patterns on the floor. Simon is in the kitchen, humming quietly as he cooks breakfast. The smell of bacon and eggs fills the air, but it turns your stomach.

You stand in the doorway, watching him. Every movement is smooth, practiced, as though nothing has changed. As if he hasn’t orchestrated your life down to the smallest detail.

He looks up and smiles when he notices you. “Morning, love. Hungry?”

You grit your teeth, a sharp flash of anger coursing through you. How can he act so calm, so normal? How can he pretend nothing’s happened?

“No,” you say shortly, stepping into the kitchen.

Simon’s brow furrows slightly, but he doesn’t press. “Coffee, then?”

You shake your head, crossing your arms. “How can you just act like everything’s fine?”

He blinks, tilting his head slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb, Simon.” The words come out sharper than you intended, but you don’t care. “The app. The texts. The fact that everything—everything—is in your name. How long were you going to keep pretending you didn’t know I’d figure it out?”

Simon sets the spatula down, his calm demeanor unshaken. He wipes his hands on a towel, turning to face you fully.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says evenly.

“Oh, don’t you?” You laugh bitterly, the sound harsh in the quiet kitchen. “The house, the car, the phone, even the goddamn groceries. Nothing is mine. You’ve made sure of that, haven’t you? And then there’s the app—the one you used to track me. What, Simon? You didn’t trust me enough to let me live my own life?”

Simon doesn’t flinch. His gaze remains steady, his expression unreadable.

“I needed to make sure you were safe,” he says, his tone calm, measured.

“Safe?” You throw your hands up, your voice rising. “You call this safe? You’re controlling every part of my life, Simon! That’s not safety—that’s ownership!”

Simon takes a step toward you, his movements slow and deliberate. “You’re upset,” he says softly.

“Damn right I’m upset!” Your voice cracks, but you keep going. “You don’t get to make these decisions for me. You don’t get to control me like this!”

For a moment, silence hangs heavy between you. Simon’s calm is unnerving, like the eye of a storm. Then his expression shifts, just slightly—enough to send a chill down your spine.

“Are you finished?” he asks, his voice low but laced with authority.

You falter, your breath hitching. “I—”

Simon steps closer, closing the gap between you. He reaches out, his hands gentle but firm as they cradle your face. His touch is warm, but it feels like a cage.

“You don’t understand,” he says, his voice soft but unyielding. “You will, eventually. But right now, you’re just upset. You’re not thinking clearly.”

Your heart pounds as his gaze locks onto yours, intense and unrelenting. He leans in, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss is tender, almost comforting, but it leaves you feeling hollow.

When he pulls back, his hands remain on your face, holding you in place. “I do this because I love you,” he says, his voice almost a whisper. “Because I can’t lose you.”

You shake your head, trying to pull away, but his grip tightens just enough to keep you still.

“You’ll see,” he continues, his tone soothing, as though he’s explaining something to a child. “One day, you’ll understand why this is necessary. Why it’s the only way.”

Tears prick at your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. “Simon—”

“Shh.” He presses another kiss to your forehead before finally releasing you. “Go sit down. I’ll finish breakfast.”

The day drags on, heavy and tense. You don’t speak much, barely meeting Simon’s gaze as you move around the house. Your silence feels like a rebellion, but every glance from him threatens to unravel it.

By the time evening rolls around, you’re exhausted—emotionally, mentally, physically. You sit curled up on the couch, scrolling mindlessly through your phone, barely registering what’s on the screen.

Simon joins you, his presence a heavy weight beside you. He sits close, his arm draping casually over the back of the couch, his body turned toward you.

“You’ve been distant all day,” he says softly, his voice warm with concern.

You don’t answer, keeping your eyes fixed on the phone.

Simon shifts closer, his hand brushing against your shoulder. “Hey,” he murmurs, his tone gentle, almost pleading. “What’s wrong?”

Your throat tightens. “You know what’s wrong.”

He exhales deeply, his hand sliding to your knee. “I hate seeing you like this,” he says, his voice laced with an ache that sounds too real to be false. “It hurts, you know? Seeing you upset. Knowing I’m the reason.”

You glance at him, and his expression is a perfect picture of remorse.

“I’ve never loved anyone like I love you,” he continues, his thumb brushing gentle circles against your knee. “I need you to know that. Everything I’ve done—it’s because I want to keep you safe. Because I care.”

Your chest tightens as guilt creeps in, unbidden.

He leans in, his forehead brushing against yours. “I’m not perfect,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. “But I’m trying. For you. Because I need you in my life. You’re my everything.”

The words wash over you, softening the edges of your anger. And that’s when it hits you—this isn’t the first time. Every time you’ve been mad, every time you’ve tried to push back, Simon’s done this. Made you feel like you’re the one who’s wrong. Made you feel bad for being upset. And every time, it ends the same way.

His lips find yours, and you don’t resist. His hands are on you, gentle yet insistent, guiding you, pulling you into him.

Somewhere deep down, you know this isn’t right. But his touch is so familiar, his words so soothing, that you let yourself sink into it.

Because isn’t this love?

The kisses quickly turned passionate he helped guide you to sit on his lap, his other hand trailing down to your sleep shorts. When his hand reached in and found your sex you let out a small gasp into his mouth.

You moan when not one, but two fingers dipped inside, then drove deep to the knuckle.

The thumb brushing your clit, his fingers curling in a loose fist while two of them curled inside you. You lift off of his lap to rid yourself of your sleep shorts while he slid his pants down, releasing his quickly hardening member.

When you reached to guide him inside you, he was silent eyes boring into yours

You were slippery as hell, but he was patient, mostly watching how you went through trial and error to get him in.

When the thick of him finally pushed in, slow and steady like a reverie. He let out a small groan.

You had barely even started when you saw how his throat worked, then felt him tighten the grip on your waist.

As you gave a slow roll of your hips you felt the stark difference between your bodies—a man shaped by violence, forged into a weapon. His frame was all corded muscle and skin marked by a history too brutal to recount. Scars old and new mapped his body, uneven patches of tone tracing burn marks, jagged scratches, and wounds that had never healed quite right. It wasn’t just his skin; it was his approach. He treated his body the same way he treated everything in his life: as a tool.

Even as pleasure built slowly, a deep sadness pooled in your chest. Beneath the man you loved, you were painfully aware of the chasm between you. He would never fully trust you, never see you as an equal. Your feelings—your needs—were incidental, an afterthought.

Your throat tightened, and a stinging heat rose behind your eyes. You couldn't do this anymore. You wouldn’t.

“Why can’t you just trust me, Simon? What have I done to deserve this... to make you distrust me so… so much?” Your voice cracked under the weight of your words, each syllable trembling with raw emotion. “I’m fighting a losing battle.”

Tears spilled freely now, streaming down your face as your chest hitched with broken, uneven breaths. Your nose was stuffed, forcing you to gasp for air through your mouth, your words dissolving into shuddering sighs.

All the while, his hands remained steady on your hips, grounding you as if to hold you together while everything inside you felt like it was unraveling.

“Why can’t you just trust me?” you whispered again, the plea barely audible but carrying the full force of your heartbreak.

"Gotta say it gets me fuckin' hard when you shed tears for me,” he said, amused, while you were crumbling under the weight of your relationship.

"You're so stupid Simon," you murmured, your voice thick with tears, struggling to breathe through your mouth because your nose was too clogged.

"Isn't that what you like about me?" he replied, his tone calm, almost detached.

When you didn’t respond, your quiet sobs the only sound filling the space, he gently turned you on your side. His hand moved to your back, beginning a slow, deliberate rhythm. He caressed you from the nape of your neck to the curve of your waist, his touch unhurried and deliberate, as if memorizing you. It was the gentlest touch you had felt in years.

"C'mon... Tell me you love me."

His hand cupped your ass, sliding down your thigh, beckoned it to lift to gain access to you.

"Alright, have it your way. But you never leave… That's how I know you love me."

To him, it was quite natural that you would get wet for him no matter how angry you were, mostly an endearment, as he climbed on top of you like a Commander taking what he owned after a hard day on the battlefield.

The bulged tip found your entrance with familiarity. He was such a tease when he wanted to be, coating himself with your slick before going straight in.

"Fucking and Fighting, If that ain't love, don't know what is."

Words escaped you again as he stretched you wide, and you could feel his hunger. He set a pace that was deep and slow, so filling that it made you grab the sheet in a tight fist.

"You’re so crazy Simon," you sighed while your back arched to meet him in perfect sync, the rhythm you had established long ago was the most divine for both of you. His hand found yours, the one grabbing the sheet, and you opened for him, interlacing your fingers with his, and squeezed. The sadness turned into a boulder of exhaustion covered with a blanket of sexual pleasure

"That's it sweetheart… what else? Tell me how much you love me.”

The steam from the shower still clings to your skin as you step into the bedroom, towel wrapped tightly around you. You’re startled to hear unfamiliar voices drifting up from downstairs. Simon’s deep, steady cadence is joined by another man’s voice, lighter and slightly accented.

You freeze, your heart sinking. Simon didn’t mention anyone coming over. Pulling on a pair of sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, you cautiously head down the stairs, each step careful and deliberate. As you near the bottom, you spot Simon standing in the living room, laughing at something the other man said. The man turns, and your stomach drops.

It’s him. The man from the sandwich shop.

“Hey, there you are!” Simon greets you warmly, motioning for you to come over. “This is John MacTavish, but everyone calls him Soap.”

Soap. The third name from the messages.

You force a smile, nodding as you shake his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Soap says, his grin easy and disarming. His eyes linger on you a moment too long, as if he knows more about you than he’s letting on. He leans back slightly, his posture relaxed but his words deliberate. “Heard a lot about you.”

Your stomach knots. From Simon or Kyle? Or both? You force a smile, though your mind races, connecting the dots. Soap. Another of Simon’s military friends. Another piece of this twisted puzzle.

“I’m just gonna grab some water,” you mumble, excusing yourself to the kitchen. Your hands tremble as you fill a glass, the cool liquid doing little to calm the storm inside you.

From the corner of your eye, you see Simon watching you, his gaze sharp despite the casual smile he’s wearing. You murmur something about needing to check on something upstairs and retreat to the bedroom, closing the door behind you.

Once alone, the panic hits. Your breaths come shallow and fast as you press your back against the door, sliding down to the floor. You hug your knees to your chest, biting down on your lip to keep from making a sound. They’re both downstairs. They can’t know you’re falling apart. Every sound from downstairs feels magnified, each laugh or clink of a glass driving home how trapped you are.

Soap was at the sandwich shop. Was it coincidence, or was he watching you then too? How many of Simon’s friends are involved in this? How long have they been tracking your every move?

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, jolting you out of your spiraling thoughts. You reach for it, unlocking the screen to find a notification from the calendar app.

Reminder: Deployment - 10 Days

Your stomach churns. You don’t remember setting this. How would you? The calendar is filled with entries you didn’t create—dates and reminders meticulously planned. Your blood runs cold. He linked your calendars. Of course, he did.

The date is set. Ten days. A deadline. You stare at the screen, the number seared into your mind.

You set the phone down, your hands trembling. The wheels in your mind begin to turn. Ten days. You have ten days to figure out how to leave. Ten days to escape this house, this man, this life. The thought feels impossible, suffocating, but it’s the only hope you have.

Your mind flickers back to the texts you read, to Simon’s possessive words, to the way he controls every aspect of your life. And yet, despite the fear clawing at your chest, a spark of determination ignites. You’ve lived under his control for too long.

Ten days. It’s not much, but it’s enough. It has to be.

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to stand. The panic subsides, replaced by a grim resolve. You’ll play along, act the part, keep up the facade. But inside, you’ll be planning, calculating, preparing for the moment when you can finally break free.

Simon’s voice calls up to you from downstairs, light and casual, as if nothing is amiss. You take another breath, steadying yourself, and head back down.

#call of duty #call of duty mw2 #cod mw2 #cod #simon ghost riley #ghost #kyle gaz garrick #simon riley x reader #captain john price #john soap mactavish #andromeda pleiades

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thatshadowcomic · 2 days ago

Text

Lore/HC: Underlined text links to original post👇

[For Character answered QnA and general "asks" click here]

You're welcome to expand on my ideas in your own way, but please credit me so they don't mix up with my own HCs/design choices.

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Sonic & Shadow:

-Mobians hedgehogs "Anoit" their partners

-Sonadow children ideas

-related to the above, "WOULD sonic and shadow have kids?"

-Fave HCs/ what's it like living with rouge/ where's sonic live?

-Does shadow like/play any instruments?

-who likes to cuddle more?

-Sonic is an accidental flirt.

-Shadow's stripes will become more like the Black Arms emblem over time. His paws are already very similar... do you think his head stripes will change as he ages?

-Sonic grew up alongside Amy and other orphans/broken families. He cares for her a lot but can only see her as a sister-- the same way he sees Tails as his brother--so the idea of a relationship with her disgusts him. Maybe he sees Sonia when he looks at her?

-Before Sonic, Shadow and Rouge fell into a relationship. Shadow assumed they shared a deeper past, given how much Rouge knows and how comfortable she is around him. But really, Shadow didnt know what he wanted, assuming it just was this way. Rouge wasn't sure either, just trying to help Shadow in some way. That said, they learned a lot about themselves and eachother as they opened up-- but in the end deciding to return to just friends...Although it would take some time to feel normal again.

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Shadow & Maria:

-Shadow's has dissociative fugue

-baby shadow (shadow and maria)

-Why Shadow knows how to swim

-Maria would have been a menace

-Maria told Shadow to comb his white fur up, so he looks more presentable, teasing, "You have a little built in tuxedo! See? Such a gentle-hog." :)

-I think Shadow liked sleeping in maria's bed. It was probably of great comfort to Maria during her sicker days... He was always being watched, so when they gave him his own bed/room, it must have felt isolating and alone. Do you think he had to wear pajamas so he wouldn't leave any fur in her bed?

-Some scientists/maria used to pet shadow and fluff up his cheeks, to Robotnik's displeasure. Shadow only recently learned that's something you do to your pet... he kind of misses it though.

-This is canon: Abraham Towers (commander) and Shadow grew up alongside each other, though their time was short. Ab was terrified of Shadow, because he saw Doom helping Gerald. He would warn the other's that shadow was some kind of demon, but Maria only became more protective of Shadow. He wasn't just an experiment to her, he was a person. As she became sicker, Ab blamed Shadow. But 50 years later, he finally understands and is trying to build some kind of bridge with Shadow, even allowing Shadow to visit his baby granddaughter. Just like Shadow, he let his anger and pain drive his choices.

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AU ideas: Feel free to expand on these in your own way, just credit me for the initial idea, so it doesn't get mixed up as canon in my own HC lore lol.

-AU where Shadow is created on mobius

-Scene from the above AU where shadow is created on mobius

-Return to mobius/search for sonic's mom AU (idea)

-Return of Doom (AU where Shadow is copied and Doom controls shadow's old body)

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Other characters:

-Metal sonic in my HC

-more metal sonic HC

-Manic is Scourge, who'd been sent into a zone for safety during the first bombing, only be have been lost to the "other" Mobius. He got a little crazy after that... No one knows what happened to Sonic's sister. It's assumed she died in the first Eggman attack. (or you could go with trans sonic hc? Would be an interesting/wholsome moment between Sonic & Shadow when he reveals it.)

-Omega is basically metal shadow...

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#hc #sonic hc #sonic au #the toll #shadow the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog #sonadow #sonic x shadow #shadow #shadonic #ark siblings

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barblaz-arts · 22 hours ago

Note

Hello again! Thank you for answering my question and well here is my "essay* (I tried to explain myself as best as possible so that I can be understood) I also regret any mistakes in the text, English is not my native language and I am using a translator:

I don't know if I'm right, I also modified it to how I sent it on the Hazbin Hotel confessions Twitter account, but I hope you like it.

I also thought I could make one talking about Husk and Vaggie and why I feel like the two are "similar" in some way.

Wait I actually do know what you mean!

I still dont think i have any right to objectively say whether you're right or wrong or if I can have anything intelligent to add, seeing as yunno i haven't watched the full show, but I do know enough about these characters to lean towards agreeing with you.

And i know exactly what you mean about Husk. I've talked about it briefly before when i was asked about what I thought of the other characters

And I've shared my thoughts on twitter too

Once again, i must make it clear, bcuz people always misunderstand, THIS IS NOT HUSK HATE. These are just my personal thoughts based on what I got from the show.

I'm sure i have some followers who adore Husk. I dont want to hurt their feelings and I dont say this to mean that they're wrong for liking him. If they find something about him to like, that's honestly totally fine. My criticism will always ALWAYS be on the fandom's double standards and vitriolic hate on Vaggie for the reasons they claim and yet ignore is also applicable for characters who aren't directed with the same hate. And no, this is not me asking for Husk or Ozzie to also get hate. I just want the people in this fandom to either chill out or admit the real reason why they hate Vaggie.

#asks #hazbin hotel #i could have had more to say but the person replying thinks im hating on husk despite me saying i didn't hate him #so i figured talking to someone who doesn't even have reading comprehension isn't worth my time

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call-sign-shark · 7 hours ago

Text

Heyaaah Reb. Shark's back again. My apologies for the messy comment but my mind is screaming because of this chapter and typing on an old keyboard with my long nails is a pain in the ass.

What a rollercoaster of emotions it was. It was such a satisfying read as they finally stop fighting against that irresistible pull they experience. First of all I thought it was adorable that Nina loved baking and thst it was her first way to keep her mind busy. As soon as Tommy joined her, I looked forward their heartfelt conversation but gosh I wasn't ready. I didn't expect her to open up entirely to him but it felt so freaking good. My poor love, she must have felt suffocating her own damn life. The line “This pain that you have,” he whispered, “share it with me" had me melting. I'm sucker for this kind of hurt/comfort trope. I don't know how he does that but he always find the right word to say to reassure her. This is directly linked with this line "She didn’t know how else to explain it except to say that they seemed to understand each other." its exactly what I was trying to say, they understand each other on a diffrent level and I can't imagine how relieving it shoud be for Nina, who has been misunderstood all her life. To the extent she thought she was the problem, the abnormal one.

And I found out Stefano and his brother had a habit of dragging girls into their car. I didn’t know what it was that they did to them, back then. But it was scary. I stole my brother’s pocket knife, just in case, and always took it with me.” -> GOSH SOMEONE KILLS STEFANO PLEASE. He's a monster.

“He asked me if I had, perhaps, done something to… encourage that behaviour. To make him believe that I wanted that kind of attention.” -> I know it was a common thought and still is but brooooooooo it got me angry (and sad for Nina who's got blamed)

Then, I must say that I particularly adore how you describe the longing Tom has for Nina. I'm reallz fond of of those scene in a fic where we get to see the other character's pov and how he's getting intoxicated by the MC. You did an excellent job at conveying how he's now walking on thin ice.

And last but not least.... THIS IS THE MOST ROMANTIC AND HEARTWARMING SMUT I?VE NEVER READ. Tommy taking her virginity so carefully and always asking for her permission had me screaming. He's so considerate I could feel how much he cares for her as the words aligned. Nina's reaction also astounded me: this is so raw, so realistic for a first time. Whether it is the fact the first finger he inserts in her feels midly uncomfortable or the pain of being penetrated for the first time. Her little thoughts like "it couldn't possibly fit' made me giggle but they were also so realistic. I really loved it. This was really an intense and passionate sex scene -- and also so important for Nina. A threshold has been crossed and these two are going to be inseparable <3

"that was what Nina had been warned about all her life. That was the sin she had been taught she should avoid at all costs, the sin that would bring shame and ignominy upon her and all her family." -> I think this was one of my favorite liens of this chapter. The word are so simple but heavy with meaning and importance. It echoes to Nina's deepest core, here fears and education. It also felt so true to the thought of a girl discovering the joy of se in a first love/safe context. Gosh I just wanted to pat her shoulder and smile at her proudly.

Also can we talk about Tommy cleaning her afterwards? What a gentleman.

I loved it Reb, so happy to get back to one of my favorite work ever written.

Heart, Body and Soul || Tommy Shelby x OC

CHAPTER 9

Summary: Tommy learns something more about Nina as she opens up to him about her past. Unable to ignore the feelings they have for each other any longer, they reach a point of no return.

Warnings: mentions of arranged marriage, slow-burn, small age-gap (Tommy’s 30, Nina is in her early 20s), time-typical misogyny, references to past attempted assault, harassment, violence, no proofreading, English is not my first language. This is set between season 1 and 2. This chapter is 18+, smut (it’s a spoiler but I need to say it). This is my first attempt ever at smut cause it isn’t my cup of tea, so it might not be that good. Also I didn’t want it to be just porn but I wanted it to be ✨functional✨ to the story and tell something, so I hope I did that.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

SERIES MASTERLIST

Gif credits

Dividers credits

Nina muttered a few curses under her breath as her elbow accidentally hit the bottle of milk standing on the table, spilling its content everywhere. She hastily grabbed some rugs, trying her best to contain the damage. Maybe deciding to bake so late at night hadn’t been her best idea. But she needed to keep herself busy or she would’ve lost her mind, because apparently sleeping was no longer an option for her.

She couldn’t sleep without having nightmares anymore, and all of them involved the same person. Stefano. Sometimes he had her pressed into the wall again, and no matter how hard she screamed, no one would come save her. Sometimes he was standing in her father’s study, arranging their marriage as if she weren’t there. Sometimes he was waiting for her at the end of the aisle, with a grin on his face and a glimpse of victory in his eyes. And every time she woke up feeling his weight on her again, and his breath on her face, and his hands up her legs. She told herself she was being dramatic, that she should’ve been glad nothing had actually happened and forget about it, but the feeling of disgust that had been pervading her since that fateful morning just wouldn’t go away.

What her father had said during the lunch had been the last straw. All that talk about leaving her free to make her own choice was nothing more than empty words, a way of keeping her sweet until he managed to persuade her. And she was scared, because she knew that if he made that decision for her, she wouldn’t have a say in the matter. Because the alternative would’ve been a break with the Spinietta family, and that was something they couldn’t afford.

She missed her nightly talks with Tommy. For almost a month, he had managed to take her mind off all the ugly things that were happening in her life. Talking came easy with him. She didn’t know how else to explain it except to say that they seemed to understand each other. It was surprising, to say the least. Sure, there were parts of him that stayed a mystery to her, and parts of her that she still couldn’t let show, but they felt more like something to discover rather than an obstacle. Still, that meant nothing. Those parts were not hers to discover, and he wasn’t supposed to get any closer to her than he had already done. So they had pushed each other away, and reduced their interactions to the bare minimum. But that didn’t make it any easier. She missed him, despite her attempts to keep him out of her head, and now that they didn’t talk anymore it was as if she was on her own again, trapped into a world that spoke a whole different language.

However, Nina wasn’t the only one who felt the weight of that distance. She was the one person who had made Tommy’s stay in Italy somewhat bearable, and her detachment had left him feeling… hollow.

It had also brought him back to the reality of his situation, though. There was a war going on on more than one side, and he needed to do what was necessary for him and his family. He was walking on a thin line that became more precarious the more he waited. He had two days left to propose, or else the deal would be off, and God knew what would happen then. The most absurd part of it all was that what rationally should’ve been his major concern was overshadowed by something else entirely. He was scared of what would happen to Nina once he’d be back in Birmingham with Agnese on his arm. He didn’t know what was exactly going on with Spinietta, but if there was one thing he had learned, it was that when a man there decided he wanted something, he’d take it, one way or another.

If he could’ve been sure it wouldn’t have started yet another war, Tommy would’ve taken his eyes days ago. And when It didn’t matter how much he told himself that it was the injustice that made him furious, deep down he was aware it wasn’t true. The truth was he cared about Nina. He cared about her in a way he wasn’t supposed to. He had no idea how it had happened, but she had managed to make her way into his heart with steps so light he didn’t even realise it until it was too late. And now thoughts of her filled his mind night and day.

He didn’t think he’d ever feel like that about someone again, after Grace. Grace had been the first person he had opened up to in a long time, he had allowed her to see those parts of himself he never let show, and he had realised there was still a small light inside of him, a sparkle that had survived the storm brought by the war. And he had thought that maybe there was still hope for him. When she betrayed him, the darkness engulfed him again, and any shred of hope he had left faded into dust. But just like a match, Nina had made that sparkle burst into a flame, showing him that it had never been extinguished in the first place. It overwhelmed him how much he wanted her. He could feel her in his bones, in his veins.

It would’ve been a lie to say that the thought of talking to her father hadn’t crossed his mind. But Nina was not something he could take for himself. He couldn’t rob her of her freedom. Even he wasn’t that bad. He could only be content with the little time he had with her, and carry it with him when everything would be over. Maybe that was the reason why he walked out of his room that night, in the hope that she’d be in the kitchen, making herself her terrible tea.

And there she was, except that - much to Tommy’s confusion- she wasn’t making tea. She was surrounded by bowls and pans, and there was flour spilled all over the table. Apparently unaware that she was no longer alone, she kept on stirring the batter with a whisk, with an aggressiveness that gave away her inner turmoil.

“What are you doing?” He caught her attention, earning himself a brief glance before she shifted her eyes back on her work.

“Baking,” she replied, her imperturbable expression clashing with her snappish motions.

Tommy frowned, walking further into the room. “It’s three in the morning, Nina.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Nina’s statement made him cock an eyebrow in disbelief. It didn’t take a genius to guess that she wasn’t baking in the middle of the night because she craved some sweet treat, and her short answers and dismissive behaviour were all Tommy needed to understand that there was, in fact, something going on in that mind of hers.

Slowly, as one would do with a wounded animal, he approached her, and he could’ve sworn her breath had hitched in her throat. “Are you alright?” He asked, coming to a stop next to her.

Her movements ceased, and her hand clenched around the whisk before she let it go. She swallowed, keeping her gaze on the table, and Tommy wondered whether that reaction was due to the question or their proximity.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She recollected herself, sending him a sideward look.

Tommy knew better than to push her. Insisting would only cause her to shut down even more, and that was the last thing he wanted. So he pretended to believe her, and took a seat at the table without another word.

Silence fell in the room as Nina resumed mixing the ingredients, and a new feeling began to rise up inside her. It had been a while since they had spent some time alone, and she had started to surrender to the fact that it would never happen again. Yet, there they were. She would’ve liked to say that it was as if they had never been apart, but in truth it was different, now that she wasn’t lying to herself anymore. With the acknowledgment of her feelings, came the awareness that whatever was going on between them wasn’t destined to last, that the end was near, and that every moment they spent together could’ve been the last. And it didn’t feel right.

She had never felt that way about anyone. She didn’t even know she could be capable of it until she met him. He had made her question everything, even herself, and she despised him for it. She despised him for making all her certainties crumble, for taking everything she had ever known and turning it into an undefined mass of doubts, for making her feel things she was sure she could never feel for anyone else.

Nina could feel Tommy’s eyes on her has she put the chocolate cake in the oven, and that alone made her hands shake. Against all logic, his gaze on her was something she both craved and escaped, it made her feel uncovered and… seen. She wasn’t used to being seen.

Closing the oven, she pushed those thoughts away. There was no point in torturing herself over what could not be changed. She checked the time on clock on the wall. Forty minutes.

“I have to clean this mess,” she murmured, more to herself than to Tommy. One look at the disaster around her, and she already regretted her decision. She inhaled deeply as the thunderstorm of emotions she was trying so hard to contain threatened to slip out of her control, but soon tears welled up in her eyes. She turned her head away so that Tommy wouldn’t see them, but it was too late.

“Oi,” he furrowed his eyebrows, getting up from the chair. “What’s wrong, eh?”

Many things were wrong. Her family, Stefano, that. Whatever that was. “I have to clean this mess,” she repeated, her voice cracking.

“It’s alright, I’ll help you,” he said reassuringly, taking a few steps towards her, worry painted all over his face.

Nina shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. “No, no I can do it. It’s…” she trailed off, the knot in her throat making it difficult to even speak.

Tommy’s heart painfully squeezed in his chest. It was overwhelming, to see the suffering she hid behind her mask of fierceness and wit. It was never about the tiredness, or the lack of sleep, or the fucking dishes. She had things eating at her from the inside. Just like him.

“C’mere,” he gently brought his hands to her face, forcing her to look at him. A few tears fell from her eyes, then others followed, like incessant stream that could no longer be held back. “It’s alright,” he said softly, wiping them away. “It’s alright.”

Nina closed her eyes, letting herself be soothed by Tommy’s deep voice and the tender touch of his rough hands on her skin. His fingers traveled through her soft hair, brushing it away from her tear-stained cheeks, before resting on the sides of her face again. “This pain that you have,” he whispered, “share it with me.”

She brought her hands above his, looking up at him through her lashes. Her thumbs faintly stroked his skin, and he could read a hint of hesitation in her features. But when she guided his hands off her face and took a step back, he was certain that she had closed off again, leaving him outside of her mind.

As though nothing had happened, she started to clean up, and Tommy with her, despite her protests. For a while, the clinking of pots and the rush of water were the only noises that broke the stillness of the kitchen. Then, unexpectedly, Nina started to speak.

“It has been going on since I was fourteen,” she said, scrubbing a bowl. Tommy stayed silent, afraid that she’d change her mind if he even made a sound.

“I was in the..” she broke off, looking for the right word. “…ginnasio. I don’t know what it’s called in English. It’s after elementary school,” she explained. “Girls stop at elementary school, they don’t get a higher education. It’s not like it’s forbidden, but it’s just how things are. So as you can imagine, it caused quite the scandal.”

Tommy grabbed a towel, drying the utensils that Nina washed as he listened.

“It caught Stefano’s attention. He studied at the liceo, which is after the ginnasio. He always came to talk to me, asked me questions. My brothers had already finished school at the time, so he was free to approach me without anyone saying anything.” She paused, taking her time to properly clean the whisk. “It didn’t bother me, at first,” she admitted, and Tommy caught a trace of shame in her tone. “He was good looking, a bit older, and he was fairly nice to me. Most girls in the village were in love with him and his brother. I had no idea about what they did.” She handed him a spoon, keeping her gaze on the sink. “Then one day I saw them beating a man half to death in his own shop cause he hadn’t paid for protection. I didn’t even know what protection was,” a laugh escaped her lips, but there was no humour in it. “I have my way of finding out stuff, and people talk, words spread. And once I learned who he was, I decided that I didn’t want anything to do with him. I thought I just had to be patient, cause he was on his last year of school. He asked me to be his girlfriend, on the last day before summer break, and I said no. I thought he’d leave me alone after that,” her voice lowered. “He didn’t. Even when he finished school, he’d always find the way to come to me, to talk to me. He became insistent, he thought I was being difficult, that I was saying no because I didn’t want to say yes right away.”

Fucking bastard, Tommy thought.

“The more time passed, the more I saw, and learned,” Nina continued, her eyes darkening at some distant memory. “And I found out Stefano and his brother had a habit of dragging girls into their car. I didn’t know what it was that they did to them, back then. But it was scary. I stole my brother’s pocket knife, just in case, and always took it with me.”

Tommy almost felt sick. It was even worse than he had imagined. It had been going on for years, ever since she was a little more than a child. Years, and she had never said anything. A question burned on the tip of his tongue, a question whose answer he feared, but that he needed to ask nonetheless. For the first time since she had started telling the whole story, he spoke. “Did you… did you ever need to use it?”

She fell silent, and for a moment he thought he had screwed up. But then she nodded. “Yes.”

His stomach dropped at her revelation, and he stopped what he was doing to take a look at her. He could read the effort she was making to talk about that on her face.

“I was buying groceries with Agnese, and she had stopped in a shop. He came to me while I was waiting for her, tried to convince me to go with him in his car. I pointed that knife at his throat the moment he tried to grab me.” Her voice had hardened, her eyes burning with the determination he had witnessed so many times. “That scar he has, it’s because of me.”

Tommy exhaled the breath he hadn’t even noticed he was holding. Although enraged, he was relieved that Nina didn’t share the destiny of those girls before her, that she had been able to hold her own. Something really close to pride swelled in his chest.

“Unfortunately, it didn’t make him stop. If anything, it made him worse. The fact that our families do business together didn’t help. Soon he was everywhere. At church, outside my school, he even helped my mum with the groceries. I only had some rest when the war came. His father sent him and his brother to their relatives in New York, so that they wouldn’t fight. I hoped he’d stay there, but he came back. And he started again.”

Having finished to wash the utensils, Nina began to put them back in their place. “Recently, he went to speak with my father. He wants to marry me. That was why he was invited here for lunch.”

Tommy felt the blood freeze in his veins. He had imagined the nature of Stefano’s visits to the Ferrante house, but knowing it for sure was an entirely different thing. The thought of Nina being married to that fucker made him sick to his stomach. “What you just said to me,” he said, “tell your family. They’ll understand.”

Nina shook her head, the shadow of a sad smile growing on her face. “I tried.”

She kept herself busy with the last things that needed tidying up, the topic clearly being a raw nerve. “The first time Stefano followed me home from school I went to my father,” she elaborated, wiping the table. “He asked me if I had, perhaps, done something to… encourage that behaviour. To make him believe that I wanted that kind of attention.”

She finally put down the rag, then she went to wash her hands, dismissing the subject as if it was nothing. But that wasn’t nothing. That was a lot, and she didn’t deserve it. It was no wonder she always acted as if it was just her against the whole world. She had to protect herself for years.

“I’m sorry,” Tommy said truthfully. It was the only sentence he could muster up. What could he possibly say, after what she had told him?

Yet, those words had an effect on Nina. All that time, she had felt like it was somehow her fault, or something she had to get over. But that short sentence, said with so much sincerity, carried a meaning of its own. I’m sorry that happened to you. It was the recognition that something had indeed happened, and that it wasn’t something she had done, but something had been done to her. Maybe she was overthinking that, maybe he had only said the first thing that came to his mind, but she needed to hear it.

After that, she let the conversation drop. She would’ve probably regretted sharing that much in the morning, but for the moment she felt lighter. The burden that had weighed down on her shoulders for so long wasn’t as heavy, now that she wasn’t carrying it alone. And even if it lasted just for one night, even if that weight came crashing down on her again the next day, it was enough.

Ten minutes later or so, she took the cake out of the oven, then covered it with a clean tea towel. It would’ve been fun to explain to her mother where it came from. “It’s late,” she murmured, glancing at Tommy. He was leaning against the table, an indecipherable look on his face. Her gaze was captured by the way the muscles of his shoulders showed through his undershirt, then lingered on his forearms, exposed by his rolled-up sleeves. A warm flush crept up her cheeks, and she found herself taken aback by her own thoughts. She really needed to sleep. And Tommy, who she had kept up with her. A sense of guilt pervaded her. Things weren’t easy for him either, and he needed to rest as well. She cleared her throat, hesitantly getting closer to him. “Thank you,” she whispered, resting her hand on his arm. “For staying.”

Tommy turned to look at her, his body stiffening. That contact was enough to send a chill down his spine. Only the thin material of his undershirt was separating his skin from her fingers, yet her touch burned, awakening all the sensations he had been trying to keep at bay. She was beautiful, and mere inches away from him, and her scent was making his head spin. His eyes drifted to her lips. He still remembered how they tasted, and that only added to his yearning. As though it didn’t belong to him anymore, his hand moved to delicately stroke her cheek, the roughness of his knuckles contrasting with the softness of her skin. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she almost involuntarily leaned closer. With a burning desire clouding his judgment, Tommy tentatively pressed his mouth on hers, testing the waters. When her lips started to move against his, his hand went to cup the back of her head, deepening the kiss. It was different than the first time, when his eagerness was so intense that he couldn’t bring himself to be gentle. He kissed her slowly, delicately, as if she might break in his hands.

Nina did feel like she could break at any moment. Vulnerable, exposed. And the craziest part was that she didn’t mind, not even a bit. Because she felt safe, in his arms. However, once again, reality set over her like a dark mist. She slightly moved away, shaking her head. “We can’t do this, Tommy,” she whispered.

He nodded, closing his eyes shut. They were still close enough for their noses to brush, and the tried to imprint that feeling in his mind, in his soul. “I know,” he rasped.

Neither of them moved for a while. Neither of them wanted to. They had been restraining themselves for so long. But it was too late. Inhaling sharply, Tommy took a step back, and a feeling of coldness engulfed both of them.

Nina paced back and forth in her room, fragments of what had happened less than ten minutes ago in the kitchen playing in her head again and again. It felt as if she had reached a point of no return. She couldn’t lie to herself anymore. She couldn’t go against herself anymore. She wanted him. It didn’t matter how much she tried to convince herself that she didn’t, that she should step aside before it became serious, that she’d forget about him anyway. None of it was true. She had tried so hard to put an end to that, to push him away, but she hadn’t been able to. She felt selfish, and cruel, and a traitor for that. And the worst thing was she didn’t care. In that moment, she didn’t care at all. She wanted to be selfish. She wanted to be cruel. She wanted to be a traitor. For once, she didn’t want to think about anyone but herself.

Fuck it, she thought. She walked out of her room, her pulse racing. It wasn’t fear, she wasn’t scared of being caught. With her parents’ chamber being in the other corridor and her brothers being away on business, no one would see her entering Tommy’s room. It was the anticipation for something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She stopped in front of the door, pondering whether to knock, just open it, or simply leave, feeling her courage already slip away from her. What if he didn’t want to see her? What if he was already asleep?

Determined not to let the whirlwind of thoughts and panic scare her out of it, she brought her fist to the wooden surface. The seconds stretched into an eternity as she waited, nervously fidgeting with her fingers, and when the sound of his footsteps came to her ears, she thought her heart could jump right out of her chest. Tommy opened the door, confusion painted across his features, but before he could say anything, Nina pulled him in and crashed her lips against his. It didn’t take much for him to recover from the surprise and wrap a strong arm around her waist, pulling her inside as he closed the door with his free hand. She found herself trapped against the hard surface, enveloped by the warmth radiating from him as their bodies pressed together. Her hands slid behind his neck, bringing him impossibly closer, eager to feel more. The feeling of his strong frame all over her made her knees buckle, and she was pretty sure she would’ve ended up on the floor hadn’t he been holding her. His smell, which had become now so familiar to her - a mixture of soap and cigarette smoke, with a hint of whiskey-, invaded her nostrils, making her head spin.

His hands roamed down her body, covered by the cotton nightgown. He gripped at the soft material, feeling the last shred of his self control drift away from him. It was too much. She was too much. God knew how much he wanted her, but he didn’t want her to do something she was going to regret. Once they had crossed that line, they couldn’t go back. “Nina,” he groaned, breaking away from her. “We have to stop now. I have to stop now.”

“Don’t.”

In the dim light of the room, Tommy examined her expression, only to see there was not a trace of doubt in her eyes. He gulped, gently stroking her cheek. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He leaned with his forehead against hers, rubbing his thumb on the skin of her jaw. “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop,” he husked. “At any moment.”

She nodded, but when he leaned in to kiss her again, she put her hands on his chest. “Wait,” she blurted out, causing him to take a step back. “I’ve never…” Nina didn’t finish her sentence, but she didn’t need to.

Shit. Tommy had imagined it, of course, he was no fool, but having it confirmed… He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. But there was a part of him that didn’t care at all. The bad he couldn’t help.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Nina pondered her answer, the reality of the situation washing over her. Theoretically, she knew what to expect. Practically, it was a whole different thing. And she knew that if she said yes, she’d be ruined. Still, she didn’t care. And she was hit by the overwhelming awareness that she’d let him do whatever he wanted to her. “No,” she breathed out.

She felt like she could melt right there when he raised her chin to capture her lips again. What started as a tender kiss became more heated, and soon he was basically devouring her, unable to restrain himself any longer.

Tommy had thought about that moment more than he’d ever admit, and now that she was actually there in his arms, it almost felt unreal. Yet she was there, and she was trusting him. And as he grabbed her waist to press her against him, he noticed his own hands were shaking.

Nina tilted her head as he started to leave a trail of kisses down her neck. A gasp escaped her lips when he reached a particularly sensitive spot, and an unfamiliar ache spread between her tighs, causing her to unconsciously rub them together. Her reaction didn’t go unnoticed, cause she felt his lips twisting in a grin against her skin. He moved down to her collarbones, then perilously close to her breasts. His fingers travelled up to the straps of her nightgown as he pulled back slightly, a silent question in his eyes. When she nodded, he slowly slid them down her shoulders, uncovering her inch after inch, until she was standing in front of him with nothing on but her knickers.

Her heart raced as she saw desire burning in Tommy’s eyes. Except it wasn’t just desire, or lust. There was something more, something she couldn’t read. No one had ever looked at her that way. With trembling hands, she shyly took ahold of the hem of his undershirt. Her fingers brushed against his skin as she raised it, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps and making his muscles twitch. Once the clothing was lying on the on the floor, she allowed herself to look at him, and explore him. She delicately traced the bullet scar on his shoulder, as if she might hurt him by pressing too hard, then the tattoo on his chest, then the lines of his abdomen, everything that told the story of his life. It was like watching a masterpiece. A torn, tainted masterpiece, but a masterpiece nonetheless.

Her hands reached his trousers, but she raised her gaze on him before unbuttoning them. A glimpse of something that looked a lot like surprise crossed his face, almost as though he wasn’t expecting her to ask. Then he gave her a single nod. After helping her remove them, he gently guided her towards the bed.

A mixture of edginess and anticipation took over Nina as Tommy positioned himself on top of her, one hand beside her head to support himself, the other ghosting over her breasts. She arched her back as he ran his thumb over one of her hardened nipples, the new, strange sensation becoming more and more pleasant as he fondled her flesh. He leaned down to pepper her chest with kisses, his lips warm and soft, then he trailed down to her stomach, her ribs, her belly. That new attention had her squirming under him, eliciting a deep chuckle from Tommy that caused her face to flush. His lips travelled up again to meet hers in a slow, sensual kiss that fogged her brain so much that she almost didn’t notice his hand making its way down to her most private parts. Breath hitched in her throat as he ran his fingers over her clothed sex.

“Do you trust me?” he asked her, his voice reverberating in her own chest. He raised his head to look at her, studying her expression.

Nina’s hand found its place on the back of his head, the short locks tickling her palm. She didn’t even need to think about her answer. One look at his face and she knew. She did trust him, with all her heart. She pulled him down to press a tender kiss on his mouth. “Yes,” she whispered.

Still close enough for their lips to brush, Tommy delicately rubbed his fingers over her heat, stimulating the area while allowing her to get used to the sensation of being touched. When his fingertip found her clit, she let out an involuntary gasp, her fingers tightening around the nape of his neck. He then pushed her knickers to the side, caressing the wet folds before stopping at her opening. Slowly, he inserted one of his digits, and she winced at the foreign, mildly uncomfortable feeling. Tommy stilled his movements, giving her the time to get adjusted.

“Is this alright?”

“Yes,” she breathed out.

He began to pump his finger in and out, careful not to go too deep just yet. Nina let out a ragged breath, pleasure building up inside her as she gradually got used to the feeling. His thumb rolled over her clit, the unexpected move eliciting a whimper out of her. Her breathing became more laboured as he added another finger, stretching her further.

Tommy took in the sight of her under him, eyes closed, swollen lips parted, her eyebrows slightly furrowed in a frown. God, she was beautiful. And she was his, even if just for one night. He moved faster and deeper, working her open until he felt it was enough. A whine of protest left her lips when he removed his fingers, and he smirked at the reaction. “Be patient,” he playfully scolded her, earning himself a glare.

He got rid her now inconvenient last piece of clothing, then took off his briefs. Nina couldn’t help but let her gaze wander to the newly exposed part, and a wave of concern overcame her. It couldn’t possibly fit.

Tommy gently parted her legs more to settle between them and hovered above her again, but he must’ve read the apprehension on her face. “Do you want to stop?” he murmured, running his knuckles over her cheek.

His attentiveness warmed Nina’s heart, dissolving any fear she had. She was safe with him. He wouldn’t hurt her. “No,” she shook her head.

He cradled her head in one of his hands and leaned in to place a sweet kiss on her forehead, then lined himself up with her entrance. Nina braced herself for what was to come, her fingers ghosting over his shoulders in a soothing motion. Tommy inserted his tip, and she couldn’t hold back a stifled gasp at the intrusion. He stood still for a moment, reassuringly rubbing her waist with a hand, then pushed a bit further inside her tight slit. Nina squeezed her eyes shut, the burning sensation almost unbearable.

“You alright?” he asked, the effort he was making to restrain himself showing through the rasp of his voice. Her velvety walls were squeezing him in the most delightful way, and it took all his self-control to stop there.

She nodded, silently giving him the permission to go on. Pain and pleasure mixed as he carefully worked his way past her resistance, until he was buried deep inside of her. He stilled again, giving her the time to adjust to his size. That feeling of fullness took her breath away, it was intoxicating. He was intoxicating. She pulled him impossibly close, eager to feel every inch of his skin on her skin, to melt into him until she could no longer tell where she started and he ended. A low groan reverberated into her ear as she pushed her hips up against his, encouraging him to move. Tommy started rolling his hips, setting a slow, sensual pace that allowed both of them to feel everything with the outmost depth. His lips claimed hers in a searing kiss, stifling the moans that threatened to escape them. Nina’s hands went to cup his face, the softness of his lips enough to distract her from the last shreds of pain and help her relax, thus allowing him to go even deeper. His teeth grazed her bottom lip, further igniting the fire inside of her.

So that was what Nina had been warned about all her life. That was the sin she had been taught she should avoid at all costs, the sin that would bring shame and ignominy upon her and all her family. And she was surprised to find out that it didn’t feel like a sin. It didn’t feel wrong. How could there be shame in that, when it felt so right? How could there be shame in being in the arms of someone she cared so deeply about, who made her feel so safe? Where was the shame?

Tommy’s hands rested on the back her thighs, fingers squeezing the flesh as he felt her tightening around him. He wanted to take it slow, to savour that moment, but it was getting harder and harder as her warmth, her scent, her shaky breaths clouded his senses. It felt like being in a bubble. Nothing else mattered, nothing else was real. Time had stopped for them to exist in that moment.

Nina hid her face in the crook of his neck as he quickened his pace, feeling her muscles tightening in her lower stomach. Tommy guided her to wrap her legs around him, the new angle making her see stars. His thrusts became more erratic, more frantic, causing that strange feeling in her abdomen to become even stronger. “Tommy,” she whimpered, overwhelmed by that vortex of sensations.

“Let it happen, love,” he whispered in her ear, his length twitching at the way his name sounded on her lips.

With a few more thrusts, he pushed her over the edge, and she had to press her mouth over his shoulder to silence the sounds she couldn’t hold back anymore. It didn’t take long for Tommy to follow her, his hips jerking as he spilled himself inside of her.

The world stood still as they stayed in each other’s embrace, Tommy’s cheek brushing against hers. He buried his nose in her dark hair, inhaling her lavender scent. For once, his head was silent. No nagging thoughts, no shovels against the wall. Just peace.

Nina gently stroked the back of his head, breathing deeply as her heart slowed down to a normal rate. Fuck, she had never felt anything like that. It had been… intense. And it had tied her to him more than she could’ve ever imagined. It was scary, to be so connected to someone. To feel someone that much. That was the right expression. She felt him. As if he were part of herself. As if there had been an empty spot inside her soul, and she had lived with it all her life, only to find that it was him the missing piece.

A sudden blast of cold hit her when Tommy got up, depriving her of his warmth and weight. She watched in confusion as he disappeared in his private bathroom, wondering whether something had happened. She sat up on the bed, bringing her knees to her chest. Had she done something wrong?

However, she didn’t need to worry for long, cause soon Tommy walked back into the room, with his private parts now covered by a pair of briefs and a fresh towel in his hand. Without saying a word, he climbed back on the bed, smiling softly at the puzzled look on her face. Slightly embarrassed now that the disinhibition brought by the feverish state they had previously been in had faded, she felt her cheeks grow hot when he gently spread her legs apart. He delicately ran the towel over her sensitive skin, cleaning her up from the sticky mess between her legs, his eyebrows knitted in a concentrated frown. Once again, his attentiveness made her heart skip a bit, and she was amazed by how easy it was to let him take care of her. She never let anybody take care of her.

As Tommy discarded the towel somewhere on the floor, Nina’s attention was caught by the blood stain on the white top sheet. Shit. She got up to remove it from the bed, doing her best to ignore what she’d prefer would stay tomorrow’s problem. “I’ll have to take care of it in the morning,” she murmured.

Tommy laid on the bed again, then reached for the cigarettes on his nightstand to light one. He watched her as she looked for her nightgown among the mess of clothes on the floor, naked, with only her long, ruffled hair to cover her a little. She was quite the sight.

Much to his dismay, she soon found what she was looking for, and covered herself. He exhaled a cloud of smoke, motioning for her to get back in bed, having had enough of having her away from him. “C’mere.”

Nina gladly took her place back next to him, resting with her head on his chest as he draped an arm over her shoulders. She could’ve stayed there forever. But she knew that it wouldn’t be long before the sun made its appearance on the horizon.

They stayed in silence as Tommy smoked his cigarette, his fingertips mindlessly grazing her arm. He didn’t want to think about tomorrow, or about what would happen next. He wanted to stay in that moment while he still could, because he knew he wouldn’t get it back. That thought stung. But he was aware they needed to have that conversation. This time they couldn’t just pretend nothing had happened, and the sooner they talked, the sooner they would clear things out.

“Nina,” he whispered, but no reaction came from her. She had fallen asleep.

Tommy stubbed his cigarette in the ashtray, then turned the small lamp off. He didn’t have the heart to wake her up.

They would think about it tomorrow.

NEXT CHAPTER

Heart, Body and Soul tag list:

@zablife @queenofshinigamis @raincoffeeandfandoms / @justrainandcoffee @call-sign-shark

@kmc1989 @babayaga67 @kmhappybunny240 @diorrfairy @mariaelizabeth21-blog1

@gaslysainz @brummiereader @loverhymeswith @fairypitou @prettywhenicry4

@mysticalbouquetwolf-posts @woofgocows @girlwith-thepearlearring @goblinjnr @outlanderuniverse

@citylights31 @neonpurplestars89-blog @outlanderuniverse @red-riding-wood @evita-shelby

@look-at-the-soul @gathania93

General tag list:

@iamngoclinh08 @lilywinchesterlove @fandom-puff @capitanostella @caelys

@lucillethings @peakyxtommy @queenofkings1212 @lyarr24 @kmc1989

@call-sign-shark @ce1iat @red-riding-wood @optimisticsandwichgladiator

#Nina Ferrante #Heart Body and Soul

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 2 days ago

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Regarding the “Is Marinette a Stalker?” post, I want to say thank you! Because I did something like Marinette and self-doubted my younger-self’s actions. A bit of context, I’m (37 y/o, female) one of the many adults that loved MLBCN when it started airing. When I came disappointed at the show by S4, I turned to the fandom to look out for fanfics, and was surprised by the salty side.

Don’t get me wrong, I kinda get the why’s and the reasons, and even though I enjoyed a Mari-salt fic titled “The Schedule” (iirc), I… sorta felt ashamed at myself? When I was 19, I fell in love with this guy, and it seemed that he liked me too. Our university had a system only for students where we could do lots of administrative stuff, like choosing our classes. At my time, there used to be a search tool on it to look out for our classmates’ schedules; in my curiosity, I searched for his just to see if we shared free periods. (Btw, today I do feel that it was wrong that my university had that function).

At my defense, after finding my crush’s schedule, I also searched for my friends’, just so I could organize with them to set up a table for our LAN parties. At the end my feelings weren’t reciprocated, my heartbreak ocurred close the next semester’s start, so I searched his schedule one more time, but just to avoid having classes with him.

When I read that Mari having Adrien’s schedule was “stalker behavior” I was like “OMG, was I a stalker? And worse, I was legally an adult!”, but I can’t remember my friends being creeped out by me. I don’t know if it is a subject whose meaning has evolved as time went on, or maybe it can change according to our different cultural/countries’ POV. But we do crazy stuff when we are young-adults, and worse when we are adolescents, add first love/crush feelings, and well… (just look at Hey, Arnold!’s Helga, she had it bad for Arnold and went to do stuff that by today’s standards is a serious case of bullying).

If the issue is the “breach of privacy” and the “3 years”, well, the first one isn’t touched on the show, maybe Mari got the pattern by observation, or Alya helped by asking Nino, or maybe even Chloe said something loudly, or my personal fan-favorite: as Class Rep, Marinette has access to that information to make easy her duties! And as for the second issue, they are 13-14 years old, my bet is that if their school makes fixated schedules for its students, so it wouldn’t be difficult to guess Adrien’s schedule for the next 3-years, and since his father was Marinette’s favorite designer, she might have followed his seasons releases, and might been easy for her to add it to Adrien’s schedule.

I want to clarify that I’m not looking to invalidate people’s feelings about this, or saying that they are wrong. In the end, we all must remember that Marinette is just a fictional adolescent character in a cartoon show, and cartoons will exaggerate actions just for the sake of the plot. We don’t like something about the characters’ actions and/or personalities? We teach and explain to the children why is wrong; and as adults, we tell ourselves to be wary if anything about it is in our daily actions, so we don’t fall into the “hating something that is a reflection of us” projection.

I like to think that I was a good adolescent and young adult that didn’t do anything morally or ethically bad, so it really freaked me out that part of the Marinette salt fandom. So, a thousand thanks! And sorry that your friend, cousin and you had to deal with that stuff.

(Post this ask is in reference to)

Before we get started, I wanted to say that your university having that feature seems incredibly dangerous. Most people are going to use it the harmless way that you did, but boy does that have the potential for misuse. Way better to let students decide if they want to share schedules on their own.

Anyway, while I will absolutely agree that the show occasionally takes Marinette too far, leading me to understand why her behavior bothers people, I think that biggest issue in her writing is actually something you sort of brought up:

I fell in love with this guy, and it seemed that he liked me too.

It sounds like you had some sort of relationship with your crush and that makes a world of difference to how your actions are going to be perceived by others. Checking the schedule of a guy you don't know? Kinda creepy. Checking the schedule of your friends including the friend you have a crush on? Normal.

Let's look at a personal example to show you what I mean. When I was in high school, I learned parts of my crush's schedule. On my way to lunch, I would purposely walk by the area where he hung out so that I could say "hi" to him as I walked past.

This statement probably raises some questions in your mind like how did I learn that he'd be there? The answer is incredibly innocent. I learned that part of his schedule by accident because his hangout spot because was also my hangout spot during my free periods. I just happened to go by one day to see a different friend and ran into him, thereby learning a bit of his schedule. After that, I took path A to lunch instead of path B because they took the same amount of time and I liked seeing him for two seconds every day.

It's also worth noting that we had the same hangout spot because we had a mutual friend group! We were in the same small club and spent a lot of time together. We even hung out together outside of school and club activities. We eventually dates for several years because he asked me out! So when I said, "hi" to him every day, it didn't shock anyone or creep him out because I wasn't some random girl. I was a friend taking a moment to acknowledge his existence before going about the rest of my day.

An additional mitigating detail is the fact that I could have told you details about several platonic friends' schedules because that's just what happens when you know people and pay attention to their lives. We all know random crap about the people we care about. Crushes simply enhance your attention, making you way more aware of everything you do, say, or think about this person. That heightened attention might make you feel creepy at times, but that feeling doesn't automatically make you creepy. It's more complicated than that. The details of the situation matter because there's a ton of nuance around this topic. Nuance that actually makes it hard to give examples because this stuff can be incredibly personal. What person A find cute and charming is a hard no for person B.

That nuances goes beyond crushes on people you're close with. For example, you don't need to stop going to your favorite coffee shop because the new barista is cute! You are not stalking them by maintaining your usual habits! You're not a bad person for experiencing attraction toward a person who is working! It only gets weird if you start crossing social boundaries like if you start asking them on a date every time you see them even though they are very clearly uninterested and you've never actually talked to them beyond simple pleasantries.

This is where we circle back to Miraculous.

While the early seasons of Miraculous gave Adrien and Marinette a few moments of friendship like playing games together in Gamer, those moments quickly stopped. By season three, they barely interacted. This happened for an obvious reasons. Miraculous is an episodic formula show in almost the purest sense of those terms. The writers have made it clear that the episodes are designed so that they can be watched in any order leading to all sorts of weird moments like Felix telling Marinette that Gabriel is Monarch only for her to act like this is new information in the next episode. This was explicitly done so that people who missed the first reveal didn't feel left out:

Talking about previous episodes, [the writers] then say that... the 5 last episodes of season 5 (Collusion - Revolution - Representation - Conformation - Recreation) go together and there is a direct continuation between them. (However, one of their rules as Miraculous writers is that these episodes can also be watched and understood independently.)

This ridiculous rule* means that the on-screen relationships can't develop and grow as that makes the show feel too serialized. This limitation meant that Adrien and Marinette could NOT become functional friends with a developing relationship as that would require a certain viewing order. The same was true for Ladybug and Chat Noir's relationship. They could not become stronger over time. They had to stay stagnant.

Without those friendships, Adrienette was reduced to being all about Marinette being unable to function around Adrien and Ladynoir was reduced to being all about Chat Noir flirting relentlessly while Ladybug constantly shot him down. The only side of the square that was allowed to be a true friendship was Marichat because they could interact without it leading to a romance since they weren't in love, which is a major problem since Adrienette is what became canon in spite of it having the substance of unset jello. How are we supposed to ship a couple that never knowingly interacted???

This inability to have developing relationships is why the writers wrote Marinette more like a fangirl than a friend with a crush. But fangirl behavior only plays well when there's a level of separation between the fan and the object of their affections. The fan can't actually know their crush because that makes the fan feel creepy and weird. This is Marinette's main problem. The thing that understandably turns a lot of viewers off. The way her crush is written simply doesn't fit the story canon is going with.

If Marinette and Adrien had been written as true friends and were allowed to have more of those early show moments where they did non-romantic things together, then Marinette would come across light-years more relatable than she does in canon even if her actions didn't change.

It's not that Marinette never has questionable moments, she absolutely does! It's just that a lot of those moments are only questionable because of the nature of her relationship with Adrien. They would all feel wildly different if Adrien was her close friend or boyfriend.

To see what I mean, think about how much less creepy it would have been if Marinette claimed to have Adrien's schedule after she and Adrien started dating. Your instant assumption becomes that he gave it to her! You also have the addition of Gabriel's controlling nature to mitigate the way Marinette's rickshaw date plan comes across. It goes from awkwardly over-the-top to sweet because she's just trying to find a way to spend a few minutes with her boyfriend whose life is too controlled to allow for proper dates. Same exact episode setup, wildly different read because context matters.

It really is sad how much the writing failed Marinette because it's normal to be a little weird around your crush. Wanting to get to know them better and spend time with them is completely understandable and common behavior! But the writers didn't just decide to keep Marinette and Adrien from being good friends. They also decided to give Marinette an active running gag of trying and failing to confess. This gag requires her crush to be extremely active while the show's formulaic nature meant that the crush could never have true progress. This lead to the show constantly putting Marinette in awkward positions and questionable situations. It's a terrible call if your goal is to actually tell a romance. They would have been way better off to make Marinette shy and afraid to confess as a contrast to Chat Noir's bold flirting. The most I'd do in that setup is to let her have the occasional secrete admirer thing where she leaves Adrien a gift or sends him a note like we saw in The Bubbler. That way a much stronger way to play Marinette's crush.

*Quick note: status quo rules are fine in shows that don't have overarching plots, but Miraculous is a romance with an overarching plot. Both of those elements require you to have some level of serialization to your story. I recently used ABC's Castle as an example of this. Almost every episode it a unique murder mystery, but the characters' relationships progress over time. There are also several plot lines that run through the show, leading to a handful of episodes that do need to be watched in order. Notably, all of the major status quo changes happen in that handful of serialized episodes. This is the type of show that Miraculous needed to be for its main story lines to work.

#anon ask #marinette deserves better #marinette defense squad #ml writing critical #ml writing salt #formula show problems #this doesn't just effect Marinette by the way #It's also why Chat Noir comes across terribly from time to time #The writing issues are rarely unique to any one character even if they may look slightly different from character to character #Felix Kagami Adrien Luka and Marinette all have very similar issues when you look at the problems with their romantic writing

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