#but you don’t have to criticise everything

[lylethewaterguy]

Idk man… maybe you guys are just overly negative. Have you tried enjoying something for once?

[reasoncourt]

i just don’t think people who say taylor swift isn’t talented are serious people. like you can argue that she got to where she is because of her parent’s money and her white privilege etc. that’s totally true. and you can argue that there are many super talented artists who remain in obscurity for their whole career despite being absolutely way ahead of the game and more deserving of worldwide renown. all that can be true. and it’s worth having discourse about. but you lose me when you point to someone who is so clearly talented and say “she’s mediocre”. because she is obviously not mediocre. like idk. it just bugs me. because i think there are so many valid criticisms to make about people like taylor swift but it gets goofy when you call her talent into question

[squishy-min-mochi]

It’s important to recognise that Barbie (2023) criticises both the patriarchy AND the matriarchy. Yes, the Ken’s are just accessories to the Barbies. Yes, they don’t have any say in the government they live under. That’s the point, you’re supposed to feel awful, you’re supposed to want the Kens to have their own agency, you’re supposed to want equality. The Barbie movie explicitly states that the way Barbie treats Ken is wrong, so much so that once he finds a safe space for his masculinity and individual identity he’s so excited to share it with the other Kens.

But they go overboard and replace a matriarchy with a patriarchy and now the same issue exists but in reverse. That’s the POINT!! THATS THE POINT!!! Barbie is not anti-men it’s pro equality PLEASE understand this

13th Aug 2023 UPDATE:

Heeeeey howdy!!

Due to the IMMENSE comments and discussion on this post (thanks ya’ll!!) I’ve decided to update my post with my recent opinions and hopefully clearer explanations!!

First, my original post only considers a very small and very vague analysis of the film!!

Since making this I've read all your comments and learned quite a bit about the matriarchy as it appears in human civilisation. Originally, I was pitting the patriarchy and the matriarchy against each other as though the results of their implementation were equal in the film.

They were not!! Below is the definition of matriarchy I’ll be working off of.

Matriarchy Simple Definition;

Matriarchy is a social system in which women hold the primary power positions in roles of authority. In a broader sense it can also extend to moral authority, social privilege and control of property.

There's a lot to talk about in the Barbie film that would fit better in an essay, so I'll try and condense it into this;

To me, Barbie (2023) is a film about the female experience and the shared connection between women that persists through childhood and adulthood, support and harassment, suffering and joy, mother and daughter.

It uses Barbie as its figurehead because of the immense societal and political impact the doll has had on women, both good and bad (as explained in the film).

The male experience as seen in Barbie (2023) is not the sole focus of the film- rather, it's an accessory (as the Kens are) to Barbie's story, and a necessary aspect of exploration to truly highlight the importance of individualism and healthy personal exploration.

I want to make clear that I in no way think the treatment of the Kens was just as bad as the treatment of the Barbies. I also still agree that the matriarchy fostered by the Barbies wasn’t good for the Kens.

Additionally, I’m aware that this take on Barbie (2023) works strictly within the assumed heteronormative boundaries of gender. There is a lot of nuance in the Barbie film and I don’t think everything can be covered or explained in on Tumblr post— but I hope this clarification helps!!

I hope you're all coming to your own conclusions and analysis of the film in a way that makes sense to you. And for those of you engaging in online conversations and discourse about it, I hope you're keeping yourself and others happy and safe!!!

Much love to you all!! < 3

[ikol-loki]

not me posting Loki show fan content and immediately following it up with saying I don’t like it and then fan content and then criticism and then…..

[exopelagic]

ALSO TRANSGENIC TRIALS ARE JUST LIKE THAT SOMETIMES MAN PLEASE SHUT UP

[bellenotthebeast]

Hello.

I want you to listen. Don’t scroll away because of the buzz word ‘Lando’.

Listen.

This has gone beyond hate for Lando. This about all the drivers.

This is about treating drivers respectfully. This is about your parasocial relationships with the drivers. This is about you reading into everything they say.

This is about the F1 media taking clips out of context because they don’t want a race they want a drama.

This is about you taking those clips and not bothering to find the original source, and taking it to fuel a hatred for someone you don’t know.

This is about you hating on a new driver because you miss the old one.

This is about you sending hate to fans of a driver you don’t like.

When I dislike something I scroll- I ignore, because it’s not worth my time. Why should I let the social media algorithm think I like the video because I watch it? I block a person I dislike. I don’t go onto their account and spend time out of my life to comment.

But unfortunately the amount of hate I’m seeing it’s getting hard to ignore it.

Haters and fans. Opposite end of the spectrum, still on the same spectrum.

You’re still thinking about the guy you supposedly hate. You talk about him under other driver related posts, you make it your entire personality.

You make it toxic.

The difference in drivers is what makes the sport fun. I’m friends with people who have other favourite drivers. What we do is we talk about the race. We talk about how their driver did really well and what mine could’ve done better. We have fun.

Because it’s the sport that bonds us.

I don’t send death threats to them. People have become so obsessed with other peoples lives and it shows.

A driver can’t say he feels lonely without getting jumped on for it. A driver gets asked his opinion after a high adrenaline race, one he feels he didn’t do well and he sounds a little bitter. Of course he’s going to. Yet you read into it.

He celebrates and you read into it.

And then dislike them when they decide not to do anything anymore.

You criticise them for the mistakes they’ve already owned up to and refuse to even acknowledge the good they’ve achieved.

New fans get scared to join because they worry everyone will hate them. Which kills the sport in turn.

Lando. Max. Every single driver on the grid do not know you. And you do not know them. You know of them. You do not know them.

You do not know what they do or who they are the moment they’re away from the cameras.

You do not need to like a driver. Nor do you need to dislike them. I don’t dislike drivers, I just have drivers I favour a bit more than others. Because why would I hate them?

I dislike some of the things they do- during the race. Of course. I’m bitter after a race doesn’t go well. I’m a fan of the sport.

But that’s as far as it goes.

I do not care for their personal life as it’s theirs, nor do I care for what minuscule thing they’ve done.

If you don’t feel called out, then good- I’m not talking about you. You’re the good ones. If you are feeling ‘attacked’ then perhaps it’s time to rethink what you want to spend limited time, that is your life, on.

We only have so many minutes in our lives to actually live. So live it. Don’t spend it on hating on others.

Good day/night. 😊

[vigilskeep]

when you first start the cousland origin, you can have some conversations with arl howe, teyrn cousland, and duncan that shed some interesting light on the political situation in ferelden. it’s definitely the origin where you get the most context on the rebellion and on cailan and his father. while howe isn’t exactly the most trustworthy of sources, he is also one of the most openly critical of cailan that we have access to, which i think is worthy of interest

howe remembers maric with what the toolset describes as “genuine fondness”: “your father hasn’t spoken of our time with him? that man took care of his friends. as they say, he was large as life and twice as tall!” i think we should pay particular attention to that man took care of his friends.

what howe’s talking about is a really important aspect of kingship, where you win the consent and enthusiasm of the nobility for your rule by offering rewards like wealth, land, and prestige to the loyal. kingship is always less stable than it’s portrayed, and this is one of the ways that kings must essentially sell to the nobility that answering to them is worth their time, which would be especially important in ferelden given everything we know about its culture. fereldans believe someone only has power when it is given by the loyalty of those below them, who have the right to freely rescind that loyalty. the dao codex says that “the sight of [fereldan kings] asking for—and working to win—the support of ‘lesser’ men is a source of constant wonder to foreign ambassadors.”

i suspect howe is remembering a maric fresh from the victories of the rebellion, who was able to reward those who had followed him with the spoils of those victories. at the end of the stolen throne, we see that in the final days of the rebellion, maric was killing those who had betrayed his mother to the orlesians even when they arrived under truce to meet him on holy ground. in dao, we see no lingering orlesian nobility except for those who married in and continue to be met with marked hostility. i think we can safely surmise that maric elected to make no conciliatory measures and give everything to those who had followed him; with the orlesians on the run and his people out for blood, he was in a strong enough position to do so, and it certainly served to win the fond memories of men like howe.

by contrast, howe goes on to say, “it’s too bad cailan isn’t half that.” the toolset notes establish very clearly that it’s the same issue, elaborating on howe’s thoughts: “bitter turn, i don’t get as much from the current king”, and “disdainful, i have no use for him, he does me no favours”. this isn’t a minor character detail, if howe’s last words when killed by the player are anything to go by. “maker spit on you... i deserved... more...” whatever it is that howe feels he should have been given, by the crown or anyone else, it characterises his actions and his defining treachery.

it’s in these same conversations that we see another side of this demonstrated. there are two points where howe can openly criticise the king, and bryce immediately admonishes him for both. one even has the toolset note: “speaks sharply, as a lord to a lesser man, not a friend to an equal”. it definitely comes across that way; the way he tells howe “that’s enough” is not far off the voice he uses when the player, his child, displeases him. bryce can’t tolerate any criticism of cailan, as the couslands in dao are ardent supporters of the king. to venture some hc, i suspect that this is not merely royalist fervour, and that howe’s resentment for having been given less is matched by bryce’s awareness of the precariousness of having more.

over the centuries, the theirins have consolidated their power and eradicated almost all the teyrns (the noble rank that is second only to the king). with the only other lingering teyrn being loghain, who is essentially part and parcel of the royal family, the couslands stand alone as the only real rivals to theirin power within ferelden. there are rumours that bryce was once considered for king instead of the theirins; he too could have decided to believe he “deserved more”. but unlike howe, and perhaps understandably given his strong position and happy growing family, he is satisfied with what he has. he will not take the risk of even the slightest challenge being made within his hall

(i expect that bryce’s satisfaction with the current situation further spurred howe’s dissatisfaction to its heights, given the complicated cousland-howe history and the fact that he was expected to accept a friend he had fought beside as a superior for the rest of his life.)

i don’t think howe’s judgement on cailan is likely to be without basis. we don’t hear about any victories the young king has to his name, from which he could have passed around spoils. (to be fair, cailan had harder luck than maric in this regard. a king who raises a successful rebellion gets to bring glory and prestige to everyone who follows him, whereas a king trying to rebuild after that rebellion mostly gets to bring, uh, taxes probably. especially on wealthy centres of trade like howe’s amaranthine, one might assume.) cailan also takes a far more diplomatic approach to the question of orlais, which perhaps predictably did not win over many nobles of howe’s generation. it makes sense that cailan’s strongest supporters would instead be men like bryce who hope for things to simply continue, peacefully, as they are. perhaps in another world where cailan had won the battle of ostagar, he might have earned wider respect. (you could actually argue on this basis that there’s more sense and purpose to cailan’s glory-seeking than he usually gets credit for.) but howe already acts before ostagar, which can only demonstrate his certainty in cailan’s failings at this point: his belief that even if cailan could win, he would not be stable enough to pursue justice for the couslands

[unpunishablelamb]

hiiii!!!!! ও Im not sure if you still post creepypasta headcannons but I really liked the headcannons you gave the creepypastas, it's really nice to realistic headcannons, if you want I was wondering if you could do headcannons for the friendship of the reader and ticci Toby 0_o

(If I made any typos or used bad grammar I'm really sorry (◞‸◟ㆀ) )

Realistic Ticci Toby headcanons (SFW+NSFW)

A/N: Okeyy so for the friendship headcanons just ignore the NSFW part! I just decided to combine your ask with multiple anon asks who requested relationship/NSFW headcanons🫶🏻

SFW

-First of all he isn’t the one to settle down. He has a bad past with people and it’s incredibly hard for him to trust so he prefers not spending a lot of time at your place, if he ever goes there at all

-He’s basically homeless and probably squatting in abandoned places outside of smaller towns so if you ever want to spend a little more time with him it’s there or in the woods

-In contrary to popular belief i don’t think he is shy. He is very wary and kind of feral so physical touch is a hard one with him

-He is touch starved to some degree but then again he’s become so callous due to everything that has happened, that he won’t initiate or reciprocate for a long time. He won’t push you away either though

-I think if you ever share a bed/mattress with him, you might be woken up with a hatchet to your throat or a hand wrapped around it. At least in the first few months of your relationship, simply because he’s not used to having anyone around so he panics when he gets startled and his fight instincts kick in.

-Despite everything, i do think he’s very thoughtful once he warms up to you. I can imagine him leaving you things like rocks or trinkets he finds which remind him of you

-He’s really possessive no doubt. Hardly anyone has treated him with the smallest amount of kindness, and now that you’re in his life he won’t settle for less ever again.

-I can definitely see him being the type that wouldn’t let you get out of the relationship/ friendship alive in case you ever want to leave him. Either you stay with him or he kills you. Of course it would be hard for him to do since he “loves” you but the thought of you being with someone else, leaving him to rot, is much harder

NSFW

-I don’t think he’s had experiences before you which doesn’t make him shy but even more greedy

-I think it would take him a long time to trust you enough with something like that. He isn’t reckless or sleeps around but he wants to know that you won’t backstab him (literally)

-He knows how sex works, he’s not stupid and he’s watched campers in the woods do it, thinking they were being sneaky. Of course he couldn’t help imagining it was him and you

-Now that you conditioned him to get used to a certain degree of affection and physical touch he expects more, of course he does and you love him after all right?

-Let’s hope you’re ready to sleep with him when he wants you because i do think he’d pressure you into it

-I don’t think it’d be him getting physically violent but he’d try to make you feel bad for him, try to blackmail you, manipulate you etc.

-If that doesn’t work maybe he would wait until you’re asleep, start sliding his hand under your shirt and do his thing

-I think he’s decent in bed, clumsy at first and he’s so pent up that his pleasure is all he can think about at first.

-If you do criticise him make sure to be gentle about it, he’s insecure and he will get mad easily thinking you don’t want him but he does like you please you after all and he enjoys having you show him what you like

-Hickeys. Everywhere. Good luck trying to hide them because it will look ridiculous but he can’t help it. He has to make sure others know you’re not available

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 17

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: does anyone mind the slightly longer chapters? I feel like I keep accidentally adding scenes in and I’m not sure if it’s too much? Anyway, regardless of length, I hope you enjoy! 🧡💛

word count: 8,024

-Part 16- -Part 18-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

“Was that necessary, Mor?” 

Neatly groomed brows narrow over hard amber eyes, stood at the edge of the room, still cast in shadow before walking to be stood closer to the bed that’s been pushed so it’s beside the open window. 

“Stay out of it, Az,” Mor murmurs, arms folded over her chest, eyes cast downwards. “You should be focusing on getting better.” 

Azriel is quiet for a bit, his gaze weighing on her but she makes no move to look at him, a hint of anguish in her normally bright expression. He sighs, shifting against the pillows as he glances out the window, inclining his head a little as a light breeze washes over him, sending silky strands of hair fluttering up from his brow. 

“You know she didn’t do it to hurt you,” he says, watching as the clouds shift in composition in the sky, small dots flying in the distance as they arc and dip with the winds. Hazel eyes flick back across the room, but Mor’s head is still lowered, her expression resentful. “You know you were being cruel.” 

“And you’re in a position to criticise me?” Mor replies quietly, hard amber piercing into him. “You’re the reason this became such a mess. You should have said something. There’s no way you couldn’t have noticed.” 

“I made a mistake,” he concedes reluctantly, holding her gaze. 

“You made more than a mistake, Az. Now we’re all hurting because you—”

“Mor,” Azriel interrupts. She stiffens but doesn’t yield, that look of reproach returning to her expression. “You can’t lash out at us whenever you hurt,” he says thickly, still watching her. Silence stretches between them, centuries worth of history pulled taut in the quiet. 

“What does Rhys think?” Mor diverts, successfully switching subjects. Azriel sighs, leaning back into the pillow, “about which part?” Mor’s brows narrow a little, “all of it, I suppose.” Azriel’s jaw works, glancing briefly out the window again to peer up into the sky, the winds calling to him and his wings move subtly at his back, repositioning themselves against the large stack of cushions placed to prop him up. 

“He’s furious that it got this far,” he replies, features carefully neutral as he answers the question. Amber eyes observe, offered insight through those years of friendship that others might struggle to pick out—the guilt he feels for failing. Not just her, or Mor, but Rhys and Feyre. For inadvertently allowing a situation to unfold where his brother would be forced to remember those months…years of grief after his family was slaughtered. After his sister was murdered. The whole situation is dredging up unwelcome memories, for all of them. They can’t let another one be lost. 

“He wants to know how Eris even got to her in the first place,” Azriel admits, glancing warily at Mor to gauge her reaction. “You don’t know?” She asks, pushing past the tightness in her throat at the mere mention. But the Shadowsinger shakes his head. “There wasn’t really time to ask,” he supplies quietly. She wasn’t really even in the right mindset to be asked. 

“What about Cassian?” Mor queries, but Azriel shakes his head. 

“You know I won’t tell you.” Because to know Cassian’s thoughts on the matter would likely be to know Nesta’s, and that isn’t the kind of emotional intimacy any of them would be comfortable with. It’s strange how emotions intermingle like that, how swiftly things can complicate themselves when new figures are added to the equation. 

A beat passes, then Mor’s shifting on her feet. “You know, there was a time when we shared everything between us. Wasn’t that easier?” She asks neutrally. 

“Mor,” Azriel warns lowly, causing Mor’s upper lit to curl slightly. 

“Don’t take that tone with me, Az,” she mutters, resting her full attention on the injured male. “Don’t act like you’re completely blameless.” 

“Assigning blame won’t fix anything,” he replies shortly, hazel eyes losing a little of their softness. “I’m sure that narrative suits you well,” Mor counters sharply. “I think you’re glad that I said those things to her so that you have a chance to redeem yourself by condemning me. You’re the one who started this whole mess, so—”

“Mor.”

“Shut up, Az,” Mor hisses, warmth vanishing from her face, eyes hardening as shields rise. “Don’t you dare try and twist what happened. You made mistake after mistake because you were too busy chasing Elain, and too busy ignoring what you didn’t want to acknowledge by hiding behind your work instead. At least I had a damn reason. What was yours?” 

Azriel gives nothing away, his expression cold and blank. 

“I tried to help her, I reached out my hand and offered her a chance. And she repaid that by going to Eris,” Mor hisses, unable to help the stark pain that bleeds into her fury. “She could have come to any of us. It’s more than we ever had, and yet she ignored it. Then tries to pretend it away? I’m not immune to that. If she can’t even be bothered to care about my pain why should I give a damn about hers?” Mor breathes, eyes feeling hot as the words gush out. “It is nothing compared to what we endured.” 

————

You manage a small smile as Madja enters your room, Elain closing the door behind her as she takes a seat at your bedside. 

“How are you feeling this morning?” Madja asks as she settles in the chair provided for these visits, a kind look on her face that you know you should be grateful for, but it’s difficult to summon anything when you know she can’t do anything. All this is, is documentation. An observation to see what happens to you. Because it’s undeniable something is happening. 

You swallow thickly, but nod your head. “Good, for the most part,” you answer, truthfully. “I’m still feeling generally fatigued, but I wouldn’t say it’s particularly interfering with my day? I’ve had some pains in my stomach and back though, but I think they’re just…you know…” Madja raises her brows in question, silently asking you to continue. Heat rises beneath your skin and you avert your gaze, hands wringing together beneath the duvet. 

“Would it be more helpful if it were just the two of you?” Elain suggests carefully, and teeth push into your lower lip. Then you give a small dip of your head, too embarrassed to look her in the eye. But she doesn’t seem to mind, telling you’ll she be a few rooms over, and will return once the examination is done. Madja looks patiently at you, a kind expression on her features that soothes you slightly. She’s a healer, surely she’ll have seen and heard worse… 

You clear your throat, peering into your lap to avoid looking at her. “I think they might just be…” you trail off, glancing at her then gesturing vaguely to your stomach, hand hovering over your abdomen. There’s nothing impatient in her smile as she speaks, “your cycle?” You snap your eyes away, a flush of mortification rising to your skin, shoulders tightening as you stare into your lap but force yourself to nod. 

“It’s perfectly fine to speak about that with me,” Madja says gently, “it’s a normal occurrence with females, there’s no need to be embarrassed about your own body. There’s nothing wrong with it.” You nod again, just to try and appease her, but in truth you’re desperate to escape the subject. “I’m sorry, I just— I find it hard to believe you aren’t…uncomfortable, discussing such topics.” 

“Well, I’ve been a healer for most of my centuries in this realm,” she says calmly, and you can imagine that kind expression on her features, peaceful and infinitely patient. “I’ve worked during both wars, not to mention helping with your sister’s pregnancy. There’s very little that could ever cause me discomfort in regards to how the body works, so you don’t have to concern yourself.” 

You shift again in the bed, but manage to nod your head. Madja seems to be satisfied with the response, smile broadening, and a slight bit of tension is relieved from your shoulders, breath easing into your lungs. “So you’ve been experiencing some abdominal and back pain?” She questions, and you nod again, feeling a little useless. “Can you describe it to me?” She asks, and you swallow thickly. “I…it’s like a dull ache in my back, near the base of my spine but a bit to the right. Then it’s quite sharp in my…abdomen. It doesn’t happen often, but I thought I should mention it…” 

“I don’t think you should be experiencing any pain at all,” Madja replies. “And may I ask when you’re next due for your cycle?” You look away briefly before again meeting her gaze—nothing to be embarrassed about, she’d assured. “In about three months,” you answer quietly. 

Madja nods in approval, and you begin to relax back into the pillows. “And have you noticed any bleeding at all?” She asks gently, and you freeze in the bed. 

“No,” you answer hurriedly, without thinking, “no. Not from— No.” 

“Alright,” she smiles calmingly, “anywhere else? You have some scabs on your hands, isn’t that right?” Your throat rolls but you nod, releasing your tight grip on your nightgown, bringing yourself to raise them from beneath the duvet so she can examine them. “And these bumps,” she inquires, “can you tell me how long those have been there for?” You blink, trying to remember—they’ve been there for months it feels like, but it can’t have been that long, can it? How long has it been since you first told Azriel?

“I think…” you hesitate, unsure of yourself, “maybe a month? Two? They don’t hurt, but they do sometimes…bleed.” 

“Okay, would you mind if I had a look at them?” She requests, and you silently offer her your hands for her to take. That tingling warmth feathers beneath your skin, as if the flesh has fallen asleep, and you watch curiously as she probes along your knuckles, examining your palms, grazing your wrists. “And may I look at the area you experienced the pain in?” She asks, and you stiffen but nod. It’ll be the same thing as last time, you hope, and that wasn’t too bad since she had managed to work through the fabric of your night gown. The duvet is rolled back and you sit straighter in the cushions so she’ll have better access. 

“Can you point out where exactly you were feeling the pain?” She requests, and you gesture to a horizontal strip of skin below your middle. “It was the sharpest here,” you answer, “but I sometimes get a small ache further to the left or right.” Madja doesn’t reply, her expression showing concentration as she moves her hands across your stomach, gently pushing at the parts you’d mentioned as that warmth settles pleasantly into you. You can’t help as your attention drifts to your own hands, how flaky and lumpy they are in comparison to her tender set. It’s so dry, small scabs where blood had leaked from…you wish at least the bleeding didn’t happen. So many pairs of gloves you have to wash repeatedly to make sure there aren’t any stains. 

It’s become such a normal part of your life it had slipped your mind that pain shouldn’t be a normal part of it, nor the bleeding. 

The bleeding… 

A cold feeling washes over you, like you’ve had ice tipped down your spine as you remember the scare you’d experienced in the Autumn Court. 

If Madja notices how you’ve frozen, she doesn’t mention it, but a slow feeling of slippery dread unspools in your stomach as you recall the blood you’d noticed when visiting the washroom one morning. You’d thought it was your cycle—the slight pains had added up and the night sweats had made sense—but then nothing had happened and you’d forgotten about that blood. 

Nausea churns in your stomach, a district feeling over lightheadedness overcoming you and you force the calm breaths into your lungs…deep, and steady. You choke on saliva and your palm flies over your mouth as you twist your head to the side, coughing. 

Madja glances up at you, brows slightly pulled together from concentration. “Have some water—are you remembering to keep yourself hydrated throughout the day?” She asks, handing you the glass that rests by your bedside table. “For the most part,” you answer after taking a few sips. Madja pauses briefly, a look of consideration passing behind her eyes before speaking, “would you mind if I checked your lungs? It’s likely nothing, but might as well be sure since I’m here, don’t you agree?” 

You blink at her, looking slightly perplexed but you suppose there’s no harm in it, so you nod your confirmation, handing her back the glass before settling into the cushion. That familiar warmth tingles in your skin as she tentatively lays her fingers just below your collar bones before pressing down a little firmer and making her way from one side to the other. Her features remain set in an expression of concentration and she returns to the tops of your sternum before going a little lower. You tense, but understand she’s performing a medical examination. 

“Can you sit upright a little more? I’d like to search a little lower, just by your ribs,” she adds, seeing your startled expression. You nod, understanding, sitting more upright independent of the cushions. “Now if you can raise your arm?” She requests gently and again you follow, raising your left arm so she has access to the side of your ribs. The tingling sensation returns and you think you can feel as it searches through your body, though it doesn’t feel invasive like you had expected. 

Madja’s fingers pause, before she’s pressing noticeably firmer and you have to steady yourself so she does upset your balance. The sensation becomes more acute, able to feel as the tingling feeling concentrates near the middle left of your lower ribcage. When she retracts her hands she looks a little confused. 

“Is everything okay?” You ask nervously, uneasy by her expression. 

“There’s what feels like a small lump connected to the tissue of your left lung,” Madja explains calmly, and you nod your head. “If you’ll let me, I’d like to try and purge it. I haven’t seen it in any other patients, and there’s no reason for it to be there—it isn’t a natural part of your body. Would that be okay?” 

You nod your head—if she’s found something wrong with you, that sounds promising…? And if she thinks she can…purge it, that seems even better. 

“Alright, if you lean back into the bed to keep your upper body relaxed that would be perfect,” she guides and you settle down. “Okay, I’m going to apply my magic to the growth. You might feel a sudden heat or a ticklish sensation but if you can avoid coughing that would be helpful,” she explains, and tension rises in your chest as she again puts her hands against the side of your ribcage.  

Sure enough, a sharp heat fills a spot on your lung, and you press your lips together to prevent from coughing or inhaling suddenly despite the abrupt tickle that’s manifested in your throat, an intense itchiness in your lungs…an itchiness growing in the tips of your fingers…growing hotter…and hotter…beginning to burn, and… 

Madja pulls away, a gentle smile on her face, “all done. You did well not to start coughing in the middle there, it helped make the process much easier for me.” 

“So, it’s gone?” You ask perplexedly, hand gingerly rising to press into your ribs, testing as you inhale. Sure enough, the tickling feeling has gone, and so has the tightness in your throat, suddenly feeling much clearer. Like when you’d had a cold as a human, feeling the distinct relief once you were able to breathe freely again, having to become reliant on inhaling via your mouth rather than nose. One never appreciates how seamlessly their body works until it’s compromised.

Madja smiles, “it’s gone.” 

A hesitant smile makes its way across your mouth, peering down to where you hand is settled. 

Maybe it isn’t as bad as you’d been telling yourself. 

————

Golden eyes gleam from within the home, the scent of rosemary so familiar emotion swells in your chest. 

“Hey, Bas.” 

He pauses briefly, and you hesitate, waiting to see what he’ll do. Then he’s shifting in the doorway, opening it wider cautiously as he take you in, taking up most of the entryway. “You’re back…” he greets, but the note of caution in his voice has you hesitating again. But you push a small smile to your mouth, remembering yourself. “I’m back,” you agree, nodding your head slightly, “how… How have you been? Everything okay?” 

Bas is silent, simply watching you with an indistinguishable look and you resist the urge to move beneath his attention, instead waiting it out, wondering what he’s thinking. 

“Where were you?” He asks, catching you a little off-guard with the question. You hadn’t really considered he might question where you went. “I was… I visited another Court. Temporarily. Just to see more of the world, I guess…” You peer up at him—he isn’t moving from the doorway, remaining blocking it instead of inviting you in like you’d anticipated. Things feel strange, to how you remember them. “Is everything…okay?” You hedge. 

“Is everything okay?” He repeats softly, as if to himself. His golden eyes regain awareness, pupils tightening as they look at you. “Why don’t you tell me?” 

It’s enough to have you faltering, temporary confidence stumbling as you peer up at him questioningly. “I…what do you mean?” You ask, unsure what he’s asking after. 

“I mean, why did you disappear like that, huh? You just— went. Without telling me where, without telling anyone where, apparently. Do you know how dangerous Prythian can be? Especially for someone like you, and you just decided to leave? What were you thinking?” Bas asks, his patience steadily slipping as he speaks, thoughts pouring from his lips. “Someone like me?” You repeat faintly, pinning him with a look, “what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You’re smart. Not strong,” he answers succinctly, but bluntly, “you should know what sort of creatures are out there.” 

“That didn’t seem to bother you the night I left,” you counter, a note of disbelief in your voice. 

“Because you’re smart,” he repeats as if it’s obvious. “You’re smart, so I assumed you’d make a smart choice. Not just go out into Prythian on a whim. You don’t even know how to fight. Do you understand what could have happened to you?” 

“Bas, I’m fine,” you reassure, trying to understand his temper is coming from a place of concern. “I…I went to meet someone. I didn’t just go out into the wilderness, you don’t need to worry,” you explain, knowing it’s best to keep the details vague. 

“You know your family came to visit, right?” He asks, again catching you off guard as you stare at him. “No,” you answer, quietly, “I didn’t. Who—… What happened…?” Bas shifts in the doorway, settling to lean against the threshold of the entrance, and a small grain of relief passes through you at the distinctly familiar gesture. “Azriel visited first, and I told him he wouldn’t get anything out of me because I had decided to trust that you knew what you were doing. And you know what he told me?” Bas asks harshly, shaking his head and not waiting for reply. “He told me I was interfering with Court affairs, that withholding information might result in the High Lord personally questioning me. And I still didn’t tell him anything.” 

“I…I’m sorry, Bas,” you manage, guilt at last beginning to rise in your chest, head lowering slightly. “I’m…thank you. For trusting me.” 

“I’m not done,” Bas says quietly, but firmly, causing you to glance up at him questioningly. “He came back, that time with Mor.” There’s no way for you to conceal the pain and conflict that passes through your expression. Even if you could, even if you knew how to hide your emotions like that, you have the distinct impression he knows you well enough he’d be able to see through it, and the thought is surprisingly uncomfortable for you. Knowing someone so well they could see through your lies…that kind of vulnerability… 

“She was the one who convinced me to admit I had no idea where you’d gone. She was clearly worried, and I had to look at her and tell her how you hadn’t trusted me enough to say where you’d be going, but that I had decided to trust you enough that I’d been fine not knowing.” His voice has lowered, becoming rougher, and your shoulder slope with shame. “Can you understand that? To realise you’ve been deceived by someone you cared for like that? To admit that to people who had been smart enough to know better?” 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, raising your eyes to meet his, gloved hands wringing together. “I didn’t mean for it to seem like I didn’t trust you. I do.” 

“Then where were you?” 

You raise your head to look at him, then. Heart sinking because—you can’t tell him. You’re in enough trouble as it is, with Rhys, with Mor, with Azriel. Probably with your sisters too, they just haven’t shown it yet. You can’t cause more problems. More problems for them is more consequences for you, and you have a long list of things to make up for. Dauntingly long. Almost unbearably… “Bas…I…” 

“Can’t tell me?” He finishes, his tone telling you it’s exactly what he anticipated. 

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” you say softly, holding his gaze imploringly. “You know I trust you. That I’ve told you things I could never—… That I could never tell anyone else…” 

“Then why can’t you tell me, huh?” He asks, a touch more gentle, sounding as helpless as you feel. 

“Just…I need you to…”

“Trust you?” He scoffs, shoulders jerking in an unnaturally sharp movement. 

“You’d made it sound like they didn’t care about you,” he says quietly, and you look at him wearily. “I thought you were on your own, you know.” Like me, is what he leaves out, but you can hear it clear enough. “I have my ma, and you have your sister, but beyond that I thought you had no one but me.” And I had no one but you—again, you can hear those words he’s not saying. “That we were going to be there for each other because we understood what it was like. But they care for you.” A strange sense of shame settles heavily on your shoulders, and your head lowers, but you don’t look away. 

“It was obvious,” he murmurs, his brows curving almost imperceptibly, a kernel of pain passing behind sharp golden eyes. He sighs, shaking his head, pushing up from the doorframe and you watch silently as he begins to draw the conversation to a close. “I won’t begrudge you of that. I’m glad you have people. Family. But I…” You lied. 

“I don’t—” You say abruptly, rushing into speech, hurting without thought, just needing to explain yourself, even if it opens up something you aren’t ready for. “They don’t,” you breathe. “I—… It might look like they do, you might know they do. Maybe they really, actually do.” You stare up at him, feeling that emptiness lethargically blink itself awake, mouth yawning open in preparation to begin swallowing you down again. Pulling you into that inescapable state of overwhelming darkness. “But I can’t believe it,” you whisper, feeling as your eyes fill with wetness, and something hot spills down your cheek, another following when you blink to clear it away. “I can’t…” you breathe, trailing off. “It doesn’t matter what happens, Bas. I just—…I can’t believe it.” 

“And I should believe you?” He asks quietly. 

You stare at him helplessly. There’s nothing else you can say. You’ve tried to convince him, you’ve been as honest as you can physically tolerate, and it…it just isn’t enough. You aren’t enough. 

Your heart doesn’t plummet like you’ve learned to anticipate. Instead a vague feeling of disappointment calmly soothes your skin, glum pessimism setting in as the high emotions fade into watery greys. Desaturated, and bearable. 

“I don’t know what else to say,” you tell him quietly. 

“Just tell me the truth,” Bas asks, golden eyes showing his hurt. Another case of betrayal you’ve brought upon yourself. 

Would it be unfair to ask his forgiveness? 

“I’m sorry,” you give as your answer. There’s nothing else you can say. 

Bas’ eyes dull slightly, and you understand how you’ve let him down. 

His jaw works, looking away briefly before returning his attention to you. “I’ll see you later.” 

————

The wind breezes through you as you walk along the cobbles, the sun long since dipped down beneath the horizon, leaving a chill in the air that manages to sink through the silky orange material of your scarf. 

You can’t bring yourself to try and tackle the emotional conflict with Bas yet. You’re drained, and tired from the past months—maybe longer—and you don’t want to put yourself through more self-inflicted sadness. If you really need to release some bottled up emotion, you know you’ll have no choice in escaping it. If you have the option to keep yourself from hurt, you’ll take it. At least for the moment. 

Bas had said he’d see you later—you have to trust him. As a friend, as someone who’s been there for you, and you for him—you have to believe you’ll be able to fix this. There’s good in the world, Feyre had told you, you just have to trust that you’ll find it. Even if it’s seemingly alluded you until now, in the moments you’ve needed it most. 

A silhouette seems familiar in your peripherals, a distinctly fae sense recognising the shape, or…something, of the figure, and you glance over. 

Cassian raises his hand in greeting, his expression clear and untroubled as he walks over to where you’ve paused, wings kept neatly tucked at his back to keep them from bumping into things. “You know, I’ve been told you’re supposed to be staying in bed,” he greets in his deep voice, tone similar to one someone would use when catching another doing something they aren’t supposed to, but considering joining in anyway. It’s very him, in a way. 

“I…” you begin, about to mention Bas, but then decide otherwise. “I’m feeling okay today. I thought a walk might be nice. Fresh air’s supposed to be good for you, right?” You ask lightly, volume low. Cassian’s quiet for a beat, unnervingly sharp hazel eyes weighing into you calmly. Then he sighs, shrugging his shoulders a little before shifting on his feet, making to turn around, to lead you somewhere. “I suppose I can’t fault you for keeping things to yourself.”

You watch as he turns, obviously expecting you to go with him, but the moment caught you off guard. “…keeping things to myself…?” You hedge, managing to get your feet moving to walk a little behind him, not particularly wanting to go with him but knowing it would be unreasonable to turn away. Especially after all the trouble you’ve caused—like having such poor control of your—

You halt abruptly, staring up to the cliff-face that contains the House of Wind. Sure enough, even from so far below, you can spot the large break in the rock-face, able to pick out what had been your bedroom, and the sides of the rooms either side of it. You feel as the blood drains from your face, shock icing your body as you’re unable to look away—you caused that. “Something wrong?” Cassian asks, calling back to you a few steps away. 

Words have left you, unable to figure out what to say, mind struggling to wrap around all of it. Another thing to make up for, and that one’s pretty big, too…your shoulders slope as you stare at the hole blown out of the rock. The damage you’ve probably caused the interior too… How much will it take to repair that? Isn’t the building itself old? Even to fae standards? 

How can you ever make up for something like that? 

Cassian walks back over to you when you don’t reply, pausing at your side, hands on his hips as he follows the direction of your gaze. “Pretty impressive,” he says conversationally, “you’ve got a way to go before you can manage an entire building, though.” Then he pats you lightly on the shoulder, wing curving round your body to get your legs moving as you’re pulled away, view with the House broken. 

“I—…” you choke out, “did…did I do that?” You manage hoarsely, looking up at him as your feet start moving one in front of the other, subconsciously wary of bumping into his wing. “Sure did. Blew right through that noise cancelling ward Feyre put up,” Cassian answers, keeping his attention ahead as he leads you through the city streets, people automatically making way for the familiar face. “I told her she’d been slacking off in practising her magic,” he murmurs under his breath, but you aren’t paying much attention, too overwhelmed with debt to really engage. 

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, feet hesitating as they move over the cobbles before stopping firmly, shoulders bunched as you glance up at him. “I’m so— I didn’t mean to make such a mess— I just— I just didn’t— I didn’t know what to do. And I thought he was going to—”

“It’s okay,” Cassian says firmly, standing in front of you so there are less places to look away to. “It’s Rhys’ anyway. You don’t need to apologise to me.” 

“But…it was given to you,” you hedge, staring up at him—and if it’s still Rhys’, that’s so much worse. So, so much damage. 

“Would you feel better if someone was angry with you?” He asks seriously after a moment of pause. You freeze, startled by the question. “…what?” 

“Would it make it easier?” He repeats, watching you solemnly, “if we acted how you’re waiting for us to?” 

You stare at him, struggling to pull together a reply, startled from the strange clarity of his questions. Seconds pass and all you can do is look at him, too afraid to answer—not of him, but…something. 

Cassian breaks the connection, glancing away, half turning his body to face the direction you’d been walking. “Maybe that question was too much,” he says, almost to himself. He sighs, eyes closing briefly, before he’s glancing at you, wing opening as if to guide you along again. “Come on,” he says, voice having lost that solemnity, back to the familiar timbre, “we’ll be late.” 

“Late?” You manage as you somehow get your body to fall into step beside him. “What…where are we going?” 

He looks at you strangely, as if the answer’s obvious. “Dinner, of course,” he replies, returning his attention to the streets ahead, sure enough taking the path that will lead directly back to the River House. “They’ll start without us if we aren’t there on time.” 

“Dinner?” You ask, feeling lightheaded. Too many new components being dropped on you for you to entirely keep yourself together. You swallow thickly, fumbling for excuses because you can’t do a dinner as you are—not after yesterday. “I’m not feeling too great, actually,” you say hoarsely, “besides, if I eat this late I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep it…” you trail off, realising he probably doesn’t want to hear about you throwing up meals every now and again. 

“Madja’s told us you need to keep your strength up,” Cassian replies, and you’re unsure if he’s intentionally chosen a counter-argument you’d have trouble escaping or whether it was  inadvertent. “Eat what you can—it’s important during recovery, even if it might feel insignificant, or pointless.” You glance at him again, that strange feeling creeping into your chest at his wording—is it some kind of intuition that’s leading him to say these things? 

“…Will everyone be there?” You ask quietly, trying to calm yourself as the River House comes into view, not far away now. “Az will probably want to eat in his room,” Cassian answers neutrally after a temporary pause, “but everyone else will. You’ll be sitting besides Elain.” There was no reason to add that on. 

You can’t manage it, but you can’t figure a way to escape. There’s no out you can find—saying you aren’t hungry, or you’re tired won’t get you out of it, he’s already said to just eat what you can meaning you have to have at least a bite or two. But the idea of sitting with all of them, when everything is still so unclear…You can’t. 

The River House looms before you, and you can swear you feel a cold sweat appear on your back, hands turning unnaturally clammy, so accustomed to the skin being dry and flaky that to feel the dampness on your palms has slippery discomfort roiling in your stomach. 

Cassian walks up the steps, hand settling on the door, and you watch in motion slower than usual as he begins to turn the handle.  

A slight breeze blows, pulling strands of your hair forward, as if trying to push you into the House, and Cassian pauses, door opened only a few inches. Beats pass, but you keep utterly still, both wanting the moment to end but also desiring nothing more than to run from the oncoming meal. 

Strangely observant hazel eyes flick over a broad shoulder, meeting your own set and you tense, hairs rising at the nape of your neck, getting that same feeling you’d had when speaking with Rhys, that he can somehow see through you too clearly, like you’re too easy to read. Fearing what he’ll be able to find before you’ve had the chance to discover it. Watching you fumble in the dark for something that was so easy to locate. Struggling with a problem embarrassingly simple to decipher. 

“You don’t need to be scared,” he says, holding your gaze. Are you really that easy to see through? But then he continues, and the surrounding world warps a little. 

“You have a right to be at that table as much as any of us,” he says, those keen hazel eyes remaining steady. “Keep that in mind, when you go in.” 

Then the door’s opening wider, and the smell of a hot meal wafts out into the night. You trail behind him, latch clicking at your back, following as he makes his way to the dining room. He had believed the words he’d told you, that you were deserving of a seat at their table. You can’t really bring yourself to believe it, but his sincerity has shaken your ground a little. 

His expression shifts when he rounds a corner, brows rising as his lips part in a broad smile, voices rising in greeting and you can see why Feyre treasures his company. He’s surprisingly gentle, oddly perceptive. 

They probably all already knew that, though. It’s your fault for casting roles on them before really even getting to know them, assigning characters after only a handful of proper conversations. If only you’d made the effort to step out of your own little circle, maybe the circumference wouldn’t be as strangling as it’s become. 

If you’d stepped out sooner, could you have been first choice? 

But, glancing again at Cassian, his profile captured in a look between irritation and affection, turning the corner into the dining room and seeing the scrunch of Feyre’s brow as she replies to whatever he’d said…no. It wouldn’t have mattered. 

But it’s not the end of the world that you weren’t made that way. 

————

It’s good to see her smiling again, he thinks. 

With the past months having been so draining, the symptoms of her restlessness only exacerbated in the last few days given the turmoil they’ve all been thrown into, it’s good to see the light in her eyes gleaming again. More than just good, but there isn’t quite a word right enough to express the soul-deep relief he feels at seeing her smile. A strange conviction that everything will be okay now that she’s on the way better. 

Her ears twitch once before she’s shooting him a half-glare, having felt his gaze roaming over her. “Family dinner, Rhys,” she snaps under her breath, but he can see the heat in her eyes, the silent agreement that’s exchanged in the brief moments their gaze locks, and Rhys’ mouth curves suggestively, his brows rising in feigned ignorance. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he murmurs, looking down at his mate with an intensity he knows she adores. And yet she lightly smacks his thigh anyway. 

“I’m serious,” Feyre warns, that heat dissipating as Cassian picks a seat at the table, dragging the feet across the floorboards with a grating noise that’s thankfully drowned out by chatter while a smaller figure quietly follows after him, taking one of the two remaining open seats. Unlike Cassian, she lifts her chosen seat from the floor, trying to keep as silent as possible and blend into the background as she sits beside Elain. “Don’t scare her off,” Feyre murmurs under her breath. Rhys hums compliantly, eyes twinkling as he spends a few extra moments looking at his mate. Moments he thinks he might at long last be beginning to lean into.

“Where’s Mor?” Cassian interrupts, and Rhys reluctantly shifts his attention to his brother, who has taken the seat opposite Feyre. He sometimes wonders if Cassian choses moves like this intentionally, whether they’re conscious decisions or whether these actions result from a wish to have his family united. Cassian isn’t like himself or Az, wasn’t taught to conceal his emotions as they were—well, in his own case it was taught. For Az it was a matter of survival. 

“Taking supper up to Az,” Nesta’s voice cuts through the previously enjoyable atmosphere, the noise similar to recognising the hiss of steel being drawn within a temple. A few centuries ago, his ears might have twitched at the distinctly unpleasant intrusion, but Cassian’s eyes have already left his own to seek out the icy silver of his mate’s, softened at their edges. 

“More than just supper,” Amren comments, one space over to Rhys’ right, sat at a corner seat. “She took an entire bottle of wine with her.” Laughter rises, and Rhys allows his attention to briefly sweep over across the table where the two sisters are involved in conversation, as if there’s no one else to speak with. He supposes one of them might very well believe that, and with a fraction of a thought swiftly removes the precautionary enchantment of the silverware so they won’t vanish if she reaches for them. 

At least she’s there, though he’s fairly confident Cassian has something to do with it. Rhys can picture how the light in Feyre’s eyes might flicker learning she had found a way to shut herself away in a house where avoiding others was almost impossible without intent. No amount of luck or coincidence would keep her entirely hidden. Especially over meals. 

Violet eyes return to his left, feeling the familiar ease that settles through him at the reminder of Feyre’s presence. A deeply-treasured reprieve from the strain and stress that’s been thriving amongst them as of late. 

————

“How was the check-up with Madja, by the way?” Elain asks, using one of the large wooden spoons to shift a few roast potatoes onto her plate. 

You nod slightly, lips pressing together in a small smile that you hope is reassuring. “Good, for the most part,” you reply. “I think she still wants to observe what happens for now, but she did…do something, which might have helped?” It reminds you of the lightness in your lungs, the strange openness of your throat and you instinctively take in a deeper breath, basking in that odd clearness. Elain hums in question, silently offering you the spoon for potatoes, but you shake your head politely. “I’m not sure…I don’t think dinner is the best place to discuss those check-ups,” you say quietly, a half-smile on your mouth. Elain’s lips curve, eyes gleaming as she nods in agreement, “you’re probably right.” Then she glances across the table before returning her gaze to yours, a new, preempted question already rising to her mouth. “What are you going to eat?” 

The smile on your lips becomes strained, gloved hands shifting in your lap as you keep the orange, silk scarf pulled over your arms to conceal the wretched skin. You wish you’d at least had the chance to change before coming here—your mind will mostly be preoccupied with making sure none of them are forced to see the state beneath the silk. “If I’m honest, I’m not really that hungry…” you hedge, but Elain gives you a look that tells you she won’t stand for it. Although it comes from a place of care and love, you can’t help feeling a little suffocated. 

“Just have a couple of bites, okay?” Elain reasons gently, “Madja’s told us it’s good for you to eat, it’ll help you recover.” 

“Apparently Madja’s been saying that a lot,” you mutter under your breath. 

“Madja’s a highly respected healer,” Amren cuts in from across the table, her eyes sharp as they pierce into you. “If she’s said you should eat, you should eat.” 

You aren’t sure if you imagine the way the noise level seems to drop at that, but the familiarly dull pain of humiliation flickers across your chest, ashamed to have sounded so ungrateful. Your head lowers a little, unable to think of a reply as your hands wring together beneath the table, tucked away in your lap. 

“Unless you really feel sick,” Elain interjects a little defensively, her hand subconsciously placing itself on your upper arm in what you’re certain she intends to be a comforting gesture—in truth it causes your flesh to ache, but you keep your mouth shut. “I’m sure I can manage a bite or two,” you get out with a small smile and you hate that you know it won’t reach your eyes, so keep your head slightly ducked as you put a few potatoes on your plate. You can come down later, once everyone’s gone to bed if you’re still hungry. 

A beat passes, and Elain shifts at your side, a fresh smile on her face, trying to brighten your mood—you dip a little lower at that, that she feels responsible, but if you don’t pull yourself together she’ll keep doing it. “How did you and Cassian bump into one another?” She asks, reaching for something else on the table that you don’t look at. Cassian doesn’t make to answer, so you have to, feeling the distinct weight of the table’s attention. “Just coincidence, I suppose,” you reply, managing a faint smile, keeping your eyes on your plate as you slice one of the roast potatoes in two, steam wafting up from the hot centre. 

“Went out for a walk?” Elain asks. There’s an almost unnoticeable tone of relief in the question—you probably wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t as close to her as you are. Is that how easily she can pick out your own thoughts? “Fresh air’s probably good for you, right?” She says smiling, causing your own lips to curve at their edges fondly. “I think so,” you murmur in reply. 

“Have you had a chance to read any more books recently? I haven’t seen any in your room…I could get some if you want?” Feyre speaks from across the table, and you bite down on the way you want to shrink into yourself as the conversation is drawn over to you. “I haven’t, and it’s fine, thank you. Have you been painting recently?” You ask, swiftly shutting it down and shifting the conversation back to her, hoping you’ll be left out of it now. 

Rhys’s attention flits over her a split second before something passes behind Feyre’s eyes, but she swallows and nods. “There hasn’t been as much time as I’d like, but I’m finding moments,” she answers, but goes no further. You’re glad she’s still getting time to herself in spite of being High Lady and more importantly, a mother. You can’t imagine how difficult it must be if it’s taking up that much of her time…and you probably hadn’t helped…she’s been visiting each day… You should have succeeded. 

The passiveness of the thought catches you a little off guard. Since when had thoughts like that become so habitual? So flippant? You spear a piece of potato with your fork, bringing it to your mouth. It was just a fleeting thought, it’s fine. Weird things happen in the mind anyway, as long as you don’t mean it, you’re okay. 

“Would you…” Feyre’s asking, “be interested in joining me? We could have an easel set up in your room?” 

A part of the potato goes down the wrong way as you hear the question, hand grabbing the napkin as you cover your mouth, coughing. You clear your throat when you’re done, making sure to wipe your lips subtly as you pull the napkin away, sipping on the glass of water to help clear your throat. Once you’ve recovered, you remember her question. 

It would be nice. Really nice, actually, but… “it’s fine, please don’t worry. Painting’s your thing, and I think…personal, to you. Besides, I have my books,” you excuse, heart sinking a little, but it’s for the better. She’s already short on time anyway, she needs to keep that for herself, even if you can’t help but want it. 

The same look passes behind her eyes, and you now wonder if you can’t figure it out because…because you might no longer know her well enough. 

“It’s probably for the better,” Rhys announces, bringing the moment to a swift end, “Feyre’s nude models would probably upset your delicate sensibilities, anyway.” 

Your eyes widen and you nearly choke on air as wild, ferocious heat swarms your features, staring ahead, bewildered. 

Rhys grins as a fuming Feyre smacks him on the shoulder, indignant rage lighting her eyes. “Lies! All lies,” she snaps, before sparing you a somewhat apologetic glance. “He’s joking, obviously,” she reassures, shooting a glare Rhys’ way at that last part. “His humour’s apparently a few centuries out of date.”

“Speaking of things on the old side,” a golden voice calls from the hallway, parading into the dining room in heels tall and thin enough to potentially run someone through. “Rhys, is there another case of this stuff? Az wants some more.” 

The High Lord rolls his eyes, amusement clear, Feyre settling at his side, feigned anger dissipating as if it were never there, her eyes twinkling again. 

“We all know you finished off the bottle before you even reached Az’s room,” Amren snipes, thickly-jewelled fingers sparkling as she nurses her own glass, laughter rising from the table. 

“Oh, like you’re any better Amren. You could polish off bottles of blood in the time it took me to eat an appetiser,” Mor replies, heels clicking across the floor as she sweeps through the room in a flurry of vibrant red and stunning gold, taking her seat opposite Elain—between Amren and Rhys. 

One seat and across from your own position. 

The meal fully commencing now all able players are assembled at the table. 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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Sparks

Pairing - Jeremiah Fisher x Fem!Reader Summary - Jeremiah goes to you for everything, and when you give him a vital piece of love advice, it dawns on him that he is, in fact, in love with you. Warnings - None? Slight mention of underage drinking. Words - 2K

Masterlist

As was common, Jeremiah was at a loss for his several hookups. And, as was even more common, he went to you to debrief and to ask for advice. While he had hookups and situation-ships way more than you did (or anyone in Cousins for that matter), he struggled with how to manage them. At least he did until he started asking you for advice.

He threw himself onto your bed, forcing you to shut the book you had been deep inside. There, staring up at the ceiling, he let out a huff. "What, or should I say who, is it this time?" You raised your brow at him, watching as Jere's wide pupils stared up to the ceiling as if he were replaying some memory over and over.

"Luke." He let the name out in a sigh. "And, And!" He suddenly added as if he had almost forgotten in his daydreaming gaze, "Abi."

He finally sat up, staring at you with them puppy eyes you could never resist. "Two?" You questioned.

"Yes." He said, barely embarrassed by such fact; at this point, it was to be expected. "Reframe from any criticism please."

"I'm not gonna criticise you, Jere." You told him, a sweet smile gracing your lips. "If anything, I don't see what the problem is here."

He took a second before shrugging, "I just- I feel wrong, you know? Guilty." He explained. "Like I'm going behind their backs."

"Okay then, well you either need to tell them both the truth or pick one."

Jeremiah thought about the options for a moment and ran both scenarios through his head until making his decision. "I have to pick one." He said before looking at you, uncertain, "Right?"

"If that's what you want." You comforted him.

At that, he let himself fall once more. This time, right into your lap as he made a dramatic sigh as if this decision was a life-changing one. "What if I don't know what I want?" He questioned, gazing up at you, his sea-blue eyes catching you into his trap.

You let a sniffle of a laugh as you looked down at him, "Oh, trust me Jere, you've no idea what you want. But, that's okay too, sometimes you have to experiment with different people until you know what you want." You went on.

That seemed to spark another question for him, one of which wouldn't leave his head for the next few weeks: "How do I know? Like, how do I know that this is someone who I want a relationship with? A proper relationship, not just a hookup."

For that, you needed to think. As much as you gave Jereimah advice after advice, that was a question he had never asked. "I suppose it has to be someone you feel that spark with. But not just a sexual spark." As you were certain Jere sometimes mistook it for. "A spark that reaches to a deeper, emotional level. Where you feel safe but excited at the same time. A balance, I guess." That was what you assumed anyway. You hadn't had many successful relationships yourself.

But your words had seemed to prompt something for Jere. His eyes washed away, his mind sucking him into his thoughts. Until, after a long moment, he sat back up and with furrowed brows, asked, "How do you know all this? It's not as if you're happily married."

"No need to remind me." You giggled, slapping the side of his forearm.

Of which he chuckled at and defended himself, "I'm serious! You talk all this wise shit and can't even get yourself a date."

You could have scoffed, "I can get myself a date, thank you."

"Really? When was the last time you went on one?"

Then you did scoff, grasping the pillow from behind you and chucking it at Jeremiah's head, only erupting more laughter from the both of you. "You are so rude!"

Only once your mini pillow fight died down and Jeremiah returned home, did that question take over his whole mind. He strolled into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of milk as he thought over it: how did he know? The only time he felt a spark that wasn't sexual- well, he couldn't quite remember. Everything you had described, the safety but excitement, the emotional connection (and the sexual), well the only person he could ever even suggest he had felt that for was you.

"What's up with you?" His brother's voice broke him from the glare he had been giving the countertop.

His eyes widened, "Huh?"

Conrad and Belly, who had been trailing behind him, both giggled. "You're just a bit...out of it, you know?"

"Thinking."

"That's a first." Conrad laughed.

Jeremiah snapped, "Hey!"

"Go on then," Belly pushed, "What is it you're thinking about?"

The boy sighed, replaying your words once more. "A spark."

"Why's a hookup causing you an existential crisis?" Questioned Conrad, watching his brother in such a focused state that it was becoming a concern.

"It's not a hookup." Jere admitted. "It's Y/n."

Suddenly, that name peaked Belly's interest. She leaned closing, placing her elbows on the kitchen island as she watched the boy carefully, "What about her?" She prompted.

"I went to her for advice, as I always do, and now I can't get it out of my head. She was explaining how for love, you need a spark, an emotional connection, safety..." He stopped there, ever so stunned by his recent realisation.

"And?" Belly pushed on, one brow raised.

Jeremiah sucked in a breath, not making eye contact with either of them as he said, "She basically just described everything I feel for her."

He looked at his brother and his best friend. It was silent. At least for a moment as he took in their unreadable expressions; were they stunned? Embarrassed? Futile? Then, breaking the silence came Conrad's laugh. "You have a crush on Y/n, great." He shook his head. "It took you long enough."

Jere's brows instantly furrowed as he straightened his back, "What? How did you-" He couldn't get his words out.

Conrad looked to Belly, "Come on, back me up. It was obvious."

Jeremiah looked to his friend and Belly could only shrug. "It sort of was." She agreed. "But, now you know, you can ask her out!" Excitement was painted on her words. Belly had been waiting for this for almost longer than yourself.

"I can't do that. She's- She's Y/n. She's my best friend. It'd be weird." The idea was so foreign that it was unbelievable.

"She's your best friend who you're in love with!" Belly argued. "Think about it, please."

With that, she and Conrad left Jeremiah to his thoughts. Once more, you never left his mind. He had been trapped.

For weeks, it was all he could think about. He'd gaze across the other side of the pool at you. Shades covering your eyes as you bathed in the sunlight. There he was daydreaming of everything you would do as a couple. Granted, it was pretty much the same as how things were now, only littered with kisses and hugs and greater smiles than either of you had ever made before.

It came to the point where he was just bursting to tell you. But he waited. He had to wait until the right moment. He couldn't do it by the pool, with Steven and Belly watching. He would wait for the perfect moment. And when the group of you arrived at a local party, he knew maybe tonight would be the night.

A few drinks down, he caught you by yourself. You had wandered to the backyard, sitting on the stairs that led to the porch. He lingered by the patio door, watching you as you sat alone for a moment. Your curious expression was emphasised by the fairy lights which tangled over the wooden fencing, flashing pinks and purples across your cheeks.

You didn't even know Jeremiah was there until he came and sat next to you, your shoulders nudged up against the others. "Enjoying the party?" A smooth smile hung from his lips as he grasped the red solo cup in his hand.

You nodded and glanced over at him, "Yeah, yeah, just needed a break." You excused.

Jere smiled, looking back through the patio doors and the booming party he could still overhear. "That's understandable." He gazed back at you and fell, once more, into your eyes.

"What about you?" You nudged his shoulder playfully. "You're never one to miss a moment from a party. Shouldn't you be looking for Luke? Or, or Abi!" You spat out their names as they flooded back into your memory. You had lost count of all the people Jere had hooked up with.

His smile faulted at the mention of their names, "Erm, no, no. I actually ended things with both of them." He admitted.

"Oh, why?" You raised a brow. "Ended up telling them the truth?"

"No, no." He answered before he looked to the ground, licked his lips and questioned if this was the moment. Something in his mind said fuck it, and he did. "But it was actually because of something you said." Jeremiah couldn't tear his eyes away from you as that curiosity built on your expression once again. "When you were explaining it to me, everything that love made you feel, all the sparks and the connections. That you should feel safe with them but it should be exciting all the same. Well," He took a breath and ran with it. "You're the only person that makes me feel that way."

The air soon became thick with Jeremiah's words as they floated around your mind. This was Jere, your friend, your best friend. The one who had talked non-stop about her and him all while you were nothing but a bystander. Yet, here you were, sitting away from the party the boy was usually the centre of as he professed his love. And you could never deny your feelings in that it wasn't reciprocated.

This time, it was your turn to look to the ground, lick your lips and say: Fuck it. "Jere, I can't deny that you aren't utterly brilliant. I mean, you're incredibly beautiful, and you know it. You're charming and comedic, you bring a room to life. And I love being at your side for all of that, I want to be there in the future too." You took a breath, wondering if your next words were about to ruin that smile that was glued to his lips. "But, it's because I want that, that I want to be your friend. Just your friend." Like that, the smile dissipated. "I can't be some other hookup that you start complaining about because they get too attached, or too clingy. I won't let that be me."

He jumped to take your hands in his. What used to be a simple gesture between the two of you, had suddenly become complicated and you questioned if you should let go. "That's not what you are to me. I would have already tried that on you if that was what I wanted, trust me." He admitted. "This isn't me asking you to kiss me, or to have sex with me or whatever I do nowadays. I'm sat here asking you to be my girlfriend."

The word had been said. It was in the air and it was up to you what you did with it.

And so, you tightened your grip on his fingers and said, "I want you Jere and I trust that you want me to." From there, you leaned in before he could respond, securing a yes with a kiss.

[verinarin]

First time requesting 😭 but anw sleepy cuddles with veritas? not yet officially an item but reader is always very very very clingy to him whenever they’re sleepy and he just finds it ridiculously endearing and realizes he has a thing for them a lot against all odds

this!!, since we all know Veritas has an interesting way to show how he cares about others (lovingly criticise them), he definitely is the type to show that he cares rather than just blatantly say it

fluff | Veritas’ sleepy TA that keeps sleeping on the job; he doesn’t mind the occasional rest though-

You have always been the type of person who likes to do practically everything on the floor or lying down, even though Veritas has given you your desk in his vast office you can’t help but end up scattering the countless mathematical questions and formulas on the floor

You’re his current and only TA, he entrusted you to help him grade his students and sometimes cover for him if he’s needed elsewhere so it is no secret to anyone that your daily activities mostly consist of working in his office, today was no different

Even though Veritas is currently needed to delegate for the IPC, his job as a scholar can’t be postponed, so here are you late at night preparing the materials for tomorrow in case he asks you to cover for him again, his students don’t mind his absence anyways, they even rejoice every time you’re covering for him

Feeling restless on the floor you decide to close your eyes, perhaps taking a simple power nap before resuming your work would energise you, so you simply lay on the floor with papers scattered around you, using your arms as a makeshift pillow, forgetting the fact that you hadn’t set your 30 minutes alarm-

Hours pass by as you sleep blissfully unaware that you have just arrived back at his office, his face paints a picture of a distraught expression. His faithful assistant sleeping soundlessly on the floor, he took mental notes to put carpet on the floor tomorrow so you could comfortably work in the position you like the most

He simply sighed as he sat down beside you, carefully lifting your head and placing it on his thigh, his eyes scanned the papers around you, seemingly impressed by your preparation. He took multiple papers and carefully reviewed them, while doing so he can’t help but play with your hair, it seems that you have overworked yourself since you aren’t aware of your current position

After approximately 45 minutes you slowly regain your consciousness, the first thing you feel his fingers running through your hair, you flutter your eyes open to reveal Veritas idly reading the materials you prepared, “Oh someone decides to wake up,” he scoffs

You quickly straighten your body feeling rather embarrassed at the position you are in, “How long did I fall asleep on your lap ?” you ask, your hand holding the back of your neck as you meekly smile

“Approximately 45 minutes, I’m the one who situated your head on my lap. Hope you’re not uncomfortable by my gesture,” he replies, putting your papers back on the floor as his eyes turn towards you

“Of course not it’s just embarrassing,” you laugh, suddenly you feel his hand grasping your wrist, pulling you in. Your head lands straight to his chest, while his other hand swiftly lift you to his lap via your waist, “You can continue to rest, while I review your work,” he candidly replies

Your face turns into an indescribable hue of red, he finds this to be endearing. You may not realise it but you have this tendency to accidentally fall asleep against him while waiting for his assessment of your work, you like to mumble things like how warm he is or how comfortable he is.

He deems this as you being half asleep and lacking the comprehension to know what’s real and what’s not, so he never bothered to tell you this. He likes to act dumb when you wake up in a daze, not knowing you were cuddling his arm earlier, “Is something the matter ? speak if there is something on your mind,”

You can’t help but stumble upon your words not knowing what to say, “You overstimulated that brain of yours, best for you to rest and to stop wasting my time by uttering inaudible words,” he scoffs as he pats your head, his eyes still trained on your work

[bessiejoan]

Astrology: How trauma affects communication via Mercury

Warning - Content may be triggering. Reach out to those who love you and medical professionals when you need.

Aries Mercury - They grew up in a loud atmosphere, with lots of yelling. Possibly had one “leader” or “dictator” in their childhood home that they felt they had to obey. They grow up believing that they need to communicate quickly and loudly or else they risk never being heard. For people who felt they were not allowed to play loudly as children, play is healing later in life.

Taurus Mercury - Someone else always came before them. They had to learn to be patient and wait for their turn to speak. Their survival was determined by your ability to cooperate and choose the right alliances. They saw that trusting the wrong person could be detrimental to their wellbeing. Keeping their language neutral and friendly was most palatable for their parents. Music, singing, and healing the throat chakra is healing for these people.

Gemini Mercury - If they were smart enough, they would be praised. When things got too much, they learnt that they could throw themselves in books and mysterious. Their parents or the adults around them had different communication styles, so they had to learn to pick up different styles of communication in order to get their needs met. They also learnt that looking good and pleasing to the eye would help them relate better to others. At its worst, Gemini mercury learnt to use information in exchange for power or leverage, such as gossiping and rumour spreading. Humour is healing for these people.

Cancer Mercury - It’s hard for them to process and move on from what happened, so speaking about it can feel very real and present in their body. It’s often on the mind, and as a result, they limit their communication. When they do speak, they can overwhelm others with the amount that comes out. Learning to be ok with their own voice and narrative above what others say is healing. Also , drink water.

Leo Mercury - As a child, the communication around them was excessive and over the top. They learnt that to avoid punishments or drama, it is best to take control of the situation and shut it down quickly. Others couldn’t always be there to care for them, so they had to become hyper self-sufficient. You had to learn things by themselves, and as a result, they don’t do well in group settings such as class rooms, unless they’re in charge. They’re better at grasping attention from men than women or gender diverse people. They may have strived for their fathers attention from a very young age. Letting their fire out via creativity is healing.

Virgo Mercury - Every move they made was criticised and resulted in punishments. To survive, they needed to absorb this style of thinking for themselves and those they love. They think that if they’re hyper aware, they can prevent anything bad from ever happening again. There are a lot of thoughts and concerns directed at their body. Healing their mind and their body simultaneously is paramount. This is why the physical work required with animals can be so healing for them. Also - eat well.

Libra Pisces - Criticised for making mistakes or not appearing as others thought they should, they learnt to cover up their mistakes and insecurities by pretending everything is fine. They’ll do better than fine, they’ll speak a whole PR performance about how fine everything is... Allow them space to be imperfect. Finding the beauty in their mistakes is healing.

Scorpio Mercury - Defiant and secretive, the trauma is in the eyes. They can not take back all that they have seen, but they’ve also been taught to hide it. They may avoid eye contact in an attempt to avoid an argument. Their eye contact is intense when they want others to hear their pain. They didn’t have strong parental figures, so they learnt to be independent and in control of themselves. Growing up, people around them weren’t always truthful or honest. This has left them with a feeling of always seeking the truth. They were led to believe that their emotions were too much for others. However, these intense emotions never leave them, they just learn to hide or redirect intense thoughts in secretive ways. Self compassion is the key to healing.

Sagittarius Mercury - Naturally intelligent, they received more attention and praise at school than at home. They aim big and far away as a way to avoid addressing the present situation. As a result they don’t address the repressed hurt that pushed them to run away or towards that thing so far away. The more they heal from the past, the bigger the future truly becomes.

Capricorn Mercury - Their parents were practical and analytical. They were put to work at a young age, either around the house or in a family business. Their parents weren’t emotionally open or affectionate, as a result their tone of voice is blunt and controlled. Ruled by Saturn, the planet of fear, there was a sense of fear at a primary age when they were first learning to speak. Working in what they love is healing and where they find joy. Also - move them bones.

Aquarius Mercury - Their language can somethings sounds strange or unusual, such as a lisp, a stutter, mumbling, or jumbles words. They detached from their voice when they detached from their body as a way to survive. Now they swing between detachment via humour and avoidance, and to re-experiencing the emotions in a flash. The more they analyse everything outside of them the better, it avoids turning the analysing inwards on themselves. Escaping into nature is healing and helps to quieten the mind, in order for the bigger issues to be healed.

Pisces Mercury - The dissociation struggle is real. Difficulty listening and following along with others that are speaking. Due to fearing that they may say the wrong thing, they learnt that it’s better to give vague, indirect responses. They learnt that it was better to be able to back peddle than say something blunt that can’t be taken back. The freedom to experience self expression is healing. The more that comes out of them, the more internal space to absorb new information and communication clearly.

*Consider Pluto/Saturn in Air Houses or Pluto/Saturn aspecting Mercury and/or Air houses.

[cumikering]

F1 John Price x reader 4

2.8k | fluff, mentions of cheating John Price and the 50 billion other Johns of the UK (part 1) (part 5)

The bed shifted. A rustle, a thud. Distant whispers.

“… Yeah, sorry, John’s here now… Yeah? Okay, see you, love.”

John looked up with a soft groan when the door cracked open. “Sweetheart?” he croaked.

He squinted in the late morning sun, but he didn’t miss how wonderful you looked in his shirt, all soft skin and a radiant face as you climbed back into the comfort of his arms.

 “Sorry for waking you.” You kissed his cheek. “Harley wants to meet for lunch instead. That fine? We’ve got nothing planned, have we?”

“Of course, but I thought it was supposed to be dinner. Is she alright?”

“Yeah, her tattoo appointment got pushed back so she figured we should meet before.”

He remembered the photos you showed him, of your good friend from school with the pink hair and an array of colourful tattoos. You said she made the best cupcakes.

“And she just told me- I guess it’s a little silly.” You pulled a face. “But we were huge fans of this singer back in the day, and he just got exposed for cheating on his wife. I know it’s none of our business, but it’s just really sad to see. People are saying if a supermodel gets cheated on, us regular women stand no chance.”

He hummed. “You believe that?”

“No, it just depends if you’re faithful or not, but all cheaters are liars. And it doesn’t help that powerful people always have options lined up, but that’s just something you avoid, right?”

His body tensed. “W- what do you mean?”

“Just don’t be with someone who’s famous or away a lot. I mean… This is probably my insecurities talking, but it’s not for me.”

“There are plenty who are just as happy despite the distance.”

“That’s true.” You paused. “I didn’t tell you, but there was this bloke a while ago, had always been upfront about how difficult it could get with his job. I thought I could handle it. He didn’t hurt me or anything, but I don’t think I want to put myself in that situation again,” you said wistfully. “Dating celebrities must be even worse. On top of that, losing your privacy, being compared and criticised endlessly…”

“No, but do you really think it won’t work out?” He sat up, gripping your shoulders. “They’re just normal people behind all the drama, probably don’t even want any of it. Don’t you think they deserve a fair chance?”

“Why are you so riled up, John? Are you famous?” you teased. “You surely are handsome enough to be a model.”

He lay back down, avoiding your gaze as heat crept up his neck.

What the bloody fuck just happened? He was supposed to tell you everything, arrange a meet with his mates and maybe have you stay the night at his, but the very first conversation you had for the day turned out to be an atomic bomb.

“Well, you’re up now. I know it’s closer to lunch, but I’m still making you pancakes. I need you to try the blueberry jam I got you.” You kissed his forehead before making your way out the door.

A lump formed in his throat. Fuck, he was being a hypocrite. He hated that life and there he was trying to drag you into it too.

What had started as him trying to be cautious, innocently laying low had escalated into something else. This was going to look horrible, like he tricked you, especially after last night - it had meant the world to him. But it was never his intention to fool you.

The tide had turned in the blink of an eye. This had been his life for many years, but why the fuck didn’t it occur to him that being with him wasn’t ideal for most people? That no one dreamt of being with someone who was barely home, that this could very well be deal-breaker? If he had been waiting to trust you and let you in, now he was in danger of being left entirely.

“John, you okay?” you asked at the table.

He looked up from his plate and forced a smile. He wanted to throw up. Your pancakes were wonderful as always, but he could barely stomach them with these thoughts running through his head.

“I’m sorry, did you want to do something today?” You placed your fork down. “I should have asked you before saying yes to Harley.”

“No, no. It’s not that. I’m just… Thinking, is all.” He reached across the table for your hand. “I can drop you off if you want?”

But all was not lost. Telling you now would only make the situation appear more disheartening than it was. He just had to prove to you that a relationship with him - no, he would be different. When he eased back into the season in a few weeks time, you wouldn’t even feel anything had changed – he’d make sure to show you the distance was nothing to worry about. He’d tell you then, and you’d be far less apprehensive.

Yeah, he could do that. If three weeks apart for Christmas was not a problem, being apart 4-5 days, twice a month would be a child’s play.

You agreed to him driving you to Harley’s, but even then he white-knuckled the steering wheel and barely spoke a word.

“John, did I do something?” You turned to him when he pulled up.

“No- sorry I’ve been distracted.” He chuckled sheepishly.

“Are you sure? You know you can tell me, yeah?”

“Yes, I promise.” He pressed your hand to his lips.

You have him a small smile before you exited his car, hesitation in your eyes.

The little voice in his head knew he was stretching his façade. It was selfish, perhaps devious - he didn’t want to admit, that he still kept you in the dark even after you expressed your aversion. He had no excuse, but he wasn’t about to let this end, not before he tried his absolute best.

You wouldn’t be mad, would you? His heart was in the right place - he just wanted to save you the heartache. How he was going to make this work was his burden to carry. He just needed you to sit back and be patient with him while he figured things out.

Let me know if you want me to pick you up. Enjoy lunch x

The cold of winter mellowed as February inched closer to March. John had been counting down the days to the start of the season. He’d missed the ecstasy of speed and the itch to get behind the wheel only seemed to worsen.

He started ordering cookies for his team again weekly. He would take any excuse to see you one extra time, especially when you’d send him off with an off-menu drink and a kiss in front of his car.

What he severely underestimated though, was how cramped his schedule was going to be in preparation for the season with never-ending meetings, tests and interviews. He still made time to see you of course, but more often than not he’d be late to pick you up with impromptu events getting in his way.

That night was one of those times again.

“John, you know you can tell me if you can’t make it, yeah?” you said as you locked up your shop. “I really don’t mind going home on my own.”

“No, I want to, really.” He gave your hand a squeeze. “It’s just work has been ultra busy.”

You smiled. “Should I just come to yours this Friday? Let me return the favour.”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, love. Like I said, I don’t mind the drive.”

You’d been asking more often, and John was only a few more questions away from breaking entirely. He couldn’t keep doing this to you. The lump in this throat was palpable each time your smile flickered when he gave you yet another excuse to not visit.

Despite the delay, John took you out for dinner at the place you’d wanted to try. You enjoyed yourself regardless, even that it was too late to catch a film after like he’d promised. Instead, you shared an ice cream and strolled along the streets among the thinning crowd.

At the end of the night, as he held the door open as you slipped into his GTI, someone yelled out his name. He turned to the source of the voice, and it was then the consecutive camera flashes stunned him. He quickly shut your door, jumped to his seat and drove away.

“Did someone call out for you?”

“To be fair, half of the men in the UK are called John.” He shrugged, making you chuckle.

With the thick beard, cap and face mask, the chances of paparazzi recognising him were slim to none, but there he was. The man had been a few metres behind the car - he must have only caught John’s side and your back. Regardless, he prayed the photos were shit enough to not make it online, let alone to anyone who might recognise you, and therefore him.

He swallowed and peered at you. “Love, I’m, uh… Heading to Bahrain for work next Wednesday.”

“Oh, how long?”

“I’ll be back Monday.”

“Okay.” You patted his thigh with a smile. “If you need anything for the trip, let me know if I can help.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. At least that went fine.

John held off shaving until the very last night before he left London for pre-season testing on the last weekend of February. It was always bittersweet to erase the months of effort, but this time it symbolised more than the beginning of the season.

Things weren’t going to be as easy with his schedule back in full swing, but he was confident. Everything would be alright and he’d be able to come clean in no time at all.

John called you at the end of each night, to make up for barely responding during the day. You’d tell him about your day, send him pictures of your meals and the new cookie flavours you tried baking at the shop.

On Sunday, you had JP with you at breakfast. ‘He asked for pancakes,’ you said. You served him a stack of tiny pancakes topped with a singular blueberry on an upside down teacup with a shot of milk on the side. He’d grinned at the photo, but most of all, he wanted to cry at how precious you were.

See, distance was not a problem for you and him – everything was fine. So on Monday night at your dining table, what you said caught him off guard.

“John- I just,” you began, moving your food mindlessly with your fork. “I don’t want to be clingy or demanding, but it’s been over three months. I don’t know where you live, I’ve never met any of your friends.” Your eyes met his. “Tell me I’m not unreasonable for wanting to know.”

“You’re not unreasonable at all.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, love. It’s not that I don’t want to, but for now I’m uncomfortable showing you where I live.”

“You know I don’t care whatever it looks like, yeah?”

“Could you give me some more time? I promise to take you when I’m ready. Please give me a few more weeks.”

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes, and rightfully so. He had turned down each and every attempt to ‘know’ more of him.

Guilt continued to singe him. It was true that the coward dies a thousand deaths but the valiant one. He’d only hurt once for telling the truth, but now that the truth could drive you away from him, he couldn’t risk it.

“Also,” he winced. “I’m flying to Bahrain again on Wednesday.”

You frowned. “You literally were just there today.”

He couldn’t have picked a better time to tell you, could he? Did he have to keep breaking the news to you every week and watch the smile fall off the face of his favourite woman?

“Well, the team stayed there, but I thought I wanted to see you for a bit. I mean- two nights, that’s better than nothing.”

You laid your fork down and gave him a sympathetic look. You sighed before getting out of your seat. For a second he thought you were going to leave, but you went over and wrapped your arms around him as he was still seated.

“You don’t have to do that, John.” You held him against your chest. “I know it’s your job, and I’m not trying to make a fuss about it.”

“I want to,” he mumbled, closing his eyes.

It was silly to admit it, but he’d grown terribly used to seeing you almost every day, sharing meals with you, waking up with his arms around you. He didn’t have the strength to be apart for so long.

Slumber inched closer and the rise and fall of his bare chest slowed under your cheek. He kissed the top of your head, pulling the comforter closer over your exposed shoulders.

“I enjoy seeing more of your handsome face, but I miss your beard already,” you muttered sleepily.

He let out a soft chuckle. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“First race of the season, eh!” Gaz slapped John on the back before plopping down onto the couch next to him. “Will we finally meet her?”

In the hospitality suite, it was the first time they had some quiet since he arrived in Bahrain.

He sighed. “Not yet.”

“Aw, thought it’s official now with your public appearance.”

“What?” He whipped to his teammate. “What are you talking about?”

“The photos. Have you not seen?” He pulled up an article.

Incognito John Price spotted with an unknown woman

The McLaren driver was recently seen strolling hand-in-hand with a mystery woman, sparking speculation among fans on social media. Though nothing is confirmed yet, John has been spotted multiple times with the same woman around the city, adding to the intrigue surrounding their relationship. For the outing, the Scouse opted for a casual ensemble as he’s often seen in, donning a black baseball cap and a matching face mask…

“Who the bloody fuck cares what I’m wearing?” he muttered under his breath.

He scrolled further down, finding photos of the both of you taken in bursts. A set were of you holding hands while walking down the street, the bloom of your laugh at something he said perfectly captured in the photographs. Some where he pulled his mask down to kiss you with an arm wrapped around your waist as you clung onto his bicep. And the last few were of him looking absolutely aghast in the flash as he held the car door for you before driving away.

“You look like shit in the last one though.” Kyle winced. “Like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Yeah,” he answered dryly, tossing the phone back to Gaz. “You’d probably look the same way if someone howled out your name and took your photos in the same second.”

John didn’t bother going through the sea of comments, not wanting to know what unsavoury remarks he was only going to find. He didn’t even realise the man the other day took so many photos. His heart melted at how lovely you looked in the candid pictures with your radiant smile - his favourite state of you, but his stomach churned at the same time.

How long hid he follow you? Spotted multiple times - did that mean there were other photos of the both of you floating around online? At least half of your face was obscured in the shots, but someone who knew you could very much recognise you regardless.

John Sloane was running out of time. There was only one way this was going. The truth had to come out, and it was his choice if he wanted it to explode and destroy what he had with you, or come from him, wrapped as best he could.

But he had time. He only needed a few more weeks to step up his game and get you used to the schedule, to make the transition as seamless as he could for you.

As always, he texted and called when he could, but he had to admit, he felt it. It wasn’t the same if he didn’t get to hold your hand or wrap his arms around you, because two days were not enough at all to let the craving for you melt away.

His confidence flickered, but it didn’t matter. It was his forte after all – his whole life had revolved around relentlessly pushing forward despite how painful it was.

And so he wasn’t giving up. Not on you, not this soon.

Masterlist

@tiredmetalenthusiast @le16erc @kyletogaz @asbestos-n-asbesties @two-autumns

@juicyjujuuu @the-darling-fishy @dahlia-reads @nocturnalreader106 @princessdaniiiii

@freshlemontea @sadcowboyhours @hungrycrazy @hope69world @shinymriver

@buckyboeducky @eve-lie @cumhero0 @ducks118 @readreblogfics

[remi-harbinger]

I feel like people don’t acknowledge that when lbh fell into the endless abyss at 17, and got out at like. 19. Yes he got really bulked up and miraculously had good fashion sense (black and red cannot go wrong) but what if he became like really cringely emo. 17-19 are still impressionable years imo and if he were stuck with nothing but death, carnage and a crusty old demon he would’ve become like those emo scene kids but way cringier. SQQ meets him again and he’s in so many robes of black that they billow like the inflatable in front of car expos, his hair has been straightened (sqq mourns the curls) and is dramatically swept to one side so that it covers his demon mark and one red eye. All his lines seem to have come out of discord chats - he says Shizun like a discord mod would say kitten. SQQ’s hindbrain knows that he should logically be scared but the largest part of his brain (the hating part) is just laughing so hard and ripping LBH’s outfit and entire personality change to shreds.

LBH notices that SQQ seems to have blue screened, leans closer and says “missed me, shizun?” And SQQ can’t take it anymore all he hears is those cringey discord mod voice lines. To all the HHP disciples it seems like SQQ has snapped. He’s criticising everything from LBH’s hair to the way he walks (now its more like a prowl, seriously you have to stop its embarrassing) When SQQ is finally done and stops to take a breath the entire area is silent. LBH is sobbing like a woman scorned and the HHP disciples are just gaping.

SQQ pats LBH on the head and chirps “It’s nice to see you again though!” And just vanishes. Everyone is convinced that they’re in a fever dream, even SQQ (his logic gets a little wonky sometimes). The next time anyone sees LBH it’s been a week and he now looks like how he looks in canon.

[girlsloveupdates]

It took you so long. I thought you wouldn’t answer. Actually, you could’ve just called. It doesn’t need to be a video call. I wanted you to see me. Wait — don’t you want to see me? I can turn the camera off. No. You can leave it on.

Did you finish my omelette? I suppose not. Why didn’t you? I did my best to cook it for you. Did you really do your best for me? Why are you asking? You saw how determined I was. Eat it now. I might not see, but I can hear. I will listen to you eating. Right now, Miss. Are you happy now? I will be happier if you finish it all. Will you keep listening until I finish? Seriously? Not just when you eat. I want to listen to whatever you do.

From the sound of that, you’re definitely doing laundry. I’m not. Then my hearing radar might be broken.

Are you really going to the bathroom with me? Why are you embarrassed? I can’t see you anyway. You know, today is the day I wish I could see more than ever. Come on, May. You’re making me blush.

You’re the only one I have when there’s no one else left. I want you to feel the same. It’s hard to believe that someone as stiff as you has this kind of thought. When have I ever been stiff with you? I’m always cute! I didn’t mean it that way. I meant… everything around you makes you seem stiff. How? Like your home decoration. It seems luxurious, and everything is perfectly in order. But it feels emotionless and lifeless. Like living in… a freezing ice cave. It sounds like you’re criticising me, and I should be mad. But your voice makes my heart feel warm. Makes you what? Makes my heart warm. It’s like I’m listening to a bedtime story. My heart is warm too when I’m with you.

[slutforpringles]

“I think for Daniel, I struggle with the results he’s had lately, because he’s an exceptional talent. He really is. To jump in the Red Bull when he did [2014] and go up against Sebastian Vettel, to go up against Max and be as competitive as he was, it was unbelievable. It really was. And then we saw glimpses of it at Renault as well, you know, before it was Alpine. Took some time to find his feet, but then he was extremely quick against the Hulk [Nico Hulkenberg], who we all rate very highly. It just didn’t materialise at McLaren and Alpha Tauri, which is such a shame. And why is that? I don’t know. It’s not his age. He’s not old. Look at Fernando Alonso, what he can do. So the only person that knows is probably Daniel, and I feel for him, because to be on such a high for a lot of your career, and then it fall away for the last few years, it’s tough. But I think, from what I’ve heard, he’s made peace with it, and he’s got his whole life in front of him."

I really, really dislike some of the framing I've seen of Jenson Button's interview on the Sky Sports podcast that he's paying Daniel some lovely compliment about his career. While I think his intentions were probably in the right place, his comments scream of someone who hasn't actually paid attention to the last year/eighteen months of Daniel's career and only reinforce Red Bull's narrative that Daniel was dropped because of his own under-performance this season.

First of all I think comparing Daniel's performance at McLaren and Alpha Tauri/VCarb is just a complete false equivalence - the situations genuinely could not have been more night and day different. The fundamental mismatch between driver and car at McLaren and the futile mission McLaren went on to try to mitigate it - by trying to fundamentally change Daniel's driving - was a unique set of circumstances that was unsustainable for both driver and team.

This just didn't exist at AT/VCarb, which was pretty evident from the fact that Daniel hopped straight into a completely unfamiliar car and outqualified Yuki on his first attempt. Sure there were some races that were more tricky than others due to certain car characteristics introduced by various upgrades, particularly given the propensity for this generation of F1 car to have such a weak front end. But to try and compare the McL and AT/VCarb stints just demonstrates a fundamental lack of knowledge and understanding by Jenson Button.

Takes like this also reinforce rhetoric from Marko that Daniel just didn't achieve high enough level results, which given the actual machinery he was driving is laughable. Sure it's fair to criticise Daniel's slow start to the season this year, or his inconsistency in qualifying, but Daniel also turned his season around and after a difficult start put his head down and put in the work - Scott Mitchell-Malm summed it up well on the The Race podcast.

"A few races before the summer break my understanding was that Ricciardo and Perez had basically been told up your game before the summer break because that's when we're going to revisit things. It wasn't a promise or a threat either way, but it was a give us your best so that when we sit down we've got absolutely everything we have. One of the drivers pretty much rose to the occasion; has Ricciardo been stunningly good in the midfield? No. Has he been good, effective and doing pretty much what you can with that car? Yeah I think he has, actually. [Ed Straw: Yeah he's been pretty decent.] So I don't really see that he has floundered in that situation whereas Perez has, he hasn't risen to it."

Ultimately Daniel was punished by VCarb's complete inability to upgrade their car this season. Had the VCarb continued to improve over the season in line with Daniel then we wouldn't be in this situation, and people wouldn't be making ridiculous, inaccurate and unfair comments on Daniel's performance like Button has here.