#elf rare pair emphasis

[z-h-i-e]

Screw Yule

It's closer than you think.

Unless you know it starts on January 1st.

Then it's exactly when you expect it.

[bloodsuckingfiends]

More Than Enough

Summary: Whilst at the Elfsong one evening, Tav runs into someone she would rather forget, and Astarion reminds her that she's more than enough.

Pairing: Astarion x fem!Tav

Warnings: a shitty ex who's said some not so nice things to Tav, Astarion attempting to navigate how to handle sensitive/emotional situations

Word Count: 900+

A/N: I know this is such an oddly specific idea, but that's because it's self-indulgent, and I've been thinking about how my ex told me this and it still makes me feel like shit, and I needed comfort lmao. SO, if you've ever been made to feel like an object, this one's for you

It had been a long and arduous day, from locating severed pieces of a clown, to wiping out the steel watch. The party had certainly earned a hot meal, a bath, and a drink. Emphasis on that last one.

Tav stood at the bar waiting for the barkeep to come back around, while Astarion was upstairs finishing bathing, and the rest of the party was tucked away into a corner booth. Tav could feel herself spacing out, the fatigue of the day wearing on her as she stood and leaned against the bar.

"Tav?"

She froze. She knew that voice. She wished she didn't, but she did, and quite frankly, it belonged to one of the last people she wanted to see at the moment.

"Alberich... fancy seeing you here." Tav lies, slowly turning on her heel to face the half-elf.

He hadn't changed... much. His hair is still long and black, albeit a bit frizzy, and his nose still a bit large for his face. She notices the cocky smirk on his face, and wishes she could slap it right off.

"I was just visiting, and was hoping I would see you here." His dark eyes casually sweep down briefly to look at Tav's chest before looking up again, his smirk immediately falling.

Tav felt a gentle hand at the small of her back, and the comforting presence of Astarion at her side. He could tell. He could always tell at this point, when her body language clearly read uncomfortability.

"Hello, my sweet. Who's this, I don't believe we've met before?" Astarion says smoothly after kissing the apple of Tav's cheek and locking eyes with the half-elf before him.

Tav blinked for a moment before introducing the two, "This is Alberich. We were partners for a short while, many moons ago. An Alberich, this is Astarion, my... partner." She leaned a little more into Astarion, taking comfort in how grounding his form felt against hers.

"How lovely it is to meet you." the pale elf drawls, offering a hand to a silent half-elf. Alberich merely nods in response. A rare occurrence in which he decides to be quiet for once.

"Well, I do believe Tav and I must get to bed now. Was a hard day for Tav, being a hero and all that. Not that you would know much about the subject." Astarion gesticulates casually as he speaks. "Have a wonderful evening, Alberich." The vampire gently leads Tav away by the waist towards the tavern's staircase, whilst she threw a half-hearted wave back at the stunned half-elf.

Once the two elves were in their shared room for the night, Astarion closed the door, and Tav began unlacing her corset with shaky fingers. Of course, Astarion's watchful eyes take notice.

"Little love, are you alright?" he asks in a soft manner. He had made his way over to her, resting his chin over her shoulder and wrapping his arms loosely around her waist.

Tav stiffens for a moment before relaxing into his touch, "Hmm? Oh, yes. Yes, I'm alright." Her voice sounds a bit distant, her hand letting go of her corset laces, and instead holding over Astarion's own hand to ground herself.

"Tav, I know I'm new to this whole, emotions, thing, but I'm here for you, if you should need to talk." He turns her around in his arms to face her, searching her shifting eyes. She breaks away from his hold to sit on the bed. Astarion follows to sit beside her.

"Everytime I think that I'm over it, he pops back up somehow and reminds me." her long fingers worry over the fabric of her skirt. She looks up to see a slightly bewildered look upon her love's face.

"Oh no! I don't mean like that! I've been over him in that way for a long long time. You've nothing to worry about." She give him a soft smile, taking his hand in her own. "Alberich was my first partner, in every sense. When we first got together, I was hesitant about sex, nervous. Not long into our being together, were intimate, and that was that. That is until a couple of years later." Her eyes meet Astarion's.

"He had casually told me years later, that had I not given it up soon, he would have broken it off with me. That he had thought about it." Tav swallows at the memory, and Astarion soothingly rubs her knuckles. "While I was falling in love with him, all he thought of was how he would leave me if he didn't get to fuck me soon." A muscle ticks in Tav's jaw, anger furrowing her brows. Tears prick at her eyes, and he cups her cheek in his palm.

"Now I'm sure you've been told this far too many times to even count, my dear, but he never deserved you." gently, he thumbs away the tears breaking from her waterline. "You are more than just something to be objectified. You should be cherished, and loved, and I feel honored to be the one that you chose to trust to do so. And I thank you for returning that kindness to me everyday, for showing me that it is possible." She leans forward to cling to him, her nose buried in his neck, arms holding him tight, and despite the feeling on her tears sticking his shirt to his skin, Astarion hugs her back. Holding her close to him like that evening she had hugged him after his confession back at Moonrise Towers.

[vigilskeep]

do you have any specific thoughts for Tabris x Morrigan?

oh i do!! i love tabris/morrigan it’s not my morrimance plan anymore but i still cherish it...

i think it gives them a particularly beautiful contrast. morrigan has very little to call her own, and has been taught love is a weakness not worth the price, and only survival matters. tabris too has very little to call their own, but they have been taught extremely different methods to deal with that. love, family and community are the solution, and what drives them to fight. flemeth made robes to sap morrigan’s willpower; adaia’s boots keep tabris safe from harm. but i don’t think morrigan is the only one who could stand to learn something in this pairing. the tabris origin emphasises that defiance has always been dangerous for them and that they’re locked in the life others intended for them, and there’s a lot to admire wide-eyed or be vindicated by in morrigan’s wilful arrogance and flouting of human society’s customs

but they have similarities, too. both of them are facing a path that has been laid out for them—flemeth’s plan for morrigan’s body whether it’s possession or the dark ritual, and the tabris origin arranged marriage followed by warden recruitment—with expectations from their family. they also both have very limited experience of the world, tabris having lived out their life in the alienage and morrigan only rarely having ventured out of the wilds

i also find morrigan’s exploration of ancient elven lore interesting for tabris!! her emphasis on them as an equal partner is charming for an elf/human romance!! and the eluvian choice more compelling for someone who has a loving family to be separated from if they choose her!! we could be here for some time if i keep going

[astrahannah]

I was surprised to read this about Elihal, when I first saw this post a few days ago, since I've read people say Dandelion is the one who said he's straight, not Elihal.

I was thinking "I wish you were right, but I don't think you are.".

But since I couldn't find the conversation seperately on Youtube and didn't feel like searching for it in a longer video, I just waited until I get to the part of the game myself.

And I got into this topic way more than is reasonable. But TL;DR - it is Elihal who says he's straight, and while I don't think implying Dandelion is queer was the intention of the flirting, and the poem doesn't have sexual innuendo, I'd still say you DO have a point when accounting everything.

To my surprise, it is true that only Elihal explicitly says he's not into men.

(I play with Czech subtitles, but roughly translated: "I don't know what you're hinting at, but I should clarify one thing to you. I'm not interested in men. I told him that as well.")

Followed by saying that luckily, Dandelion is an open-minded fellow, and they talked.

However - first, it was mentioned that Dandelion was very drunk while flirting with Elihal, prompting a person to think the joke is that Dandelion was just too drunk to recognize Elihal is a guy.

That is also supported by my second point - implicitly, from the dialogue with Elihal, it seems Dandelion did at some point say he's not into men.

(Me trying to recall the English translation: "If Dandelion and I didn't lay our cards on the table in the beginning, I'd suspect he had a history with the alchemist. He spoke like a lovesick beau.")

The fact that after "laying their cards out" Elihal no longer suspects he was into a guy implies Dandelion said at some point that he's not into men.

My first point is also supported by the fact that I looked at the poem about Elihal, and it has no sexual innuendo.

I'm not good enough in translation to translate poetry, so I looked up the English version on the Witcher wiki:

It has to be noted, the English version sounds more interested than the Czech one - Czech calls Elihal's figure merely "unusual" as opposed to "most rare".

Honestly, the "most rare" really plays into how I write Dandelion's sexuality in my fanfiction - bisexual with a strong preference for women. A man whose body interests him would indeed be "very rare". And my Dandelion is also mostly closeted.

But enough about me. The second part of that poem also implies lack of interest in men - it sounds like you should look at "her" carefully, so you realize she's actually a he, before you accidentally flirt with a guy. Though, as I'm writing this, the reason you don't want to flirt with a guy as Dandelion could also be because men in general are straight and will reject you.

This is an idea I bring forth because for all my raising doubts about Dandelion having any interest in Elihal, there is, to my joy, a strong counterpoint to my words. It is Elihal's profile in the characters section of your in-game encyclopedia. The character profiles, of course, being written by Dandelion:

Rough translation of the first paragraph, emphasis mine: "Geralt misunderstood one of my notices and assumed that Elihal and I formed a pair. Alas, while anyone would be proud if they could count this extraordinary elf, wonderful discussion partner and a first-class tailor amongst their catches, there was nothing more than friendship and great wine between us."

Like, Dandelion?

Alas?

That's some intense... uh... wingmanning you've got going on there?

That's like the only heterosexual explanation to that, yet it feels like a stretch to me.

In the end, only the "If Dandelion and I didn't lay our cards on the table in the beginning, I'd suspect he had a history with the alchemist. He spoke like a lovesick beau." line points me undeniably to my first explanation. Others become ambiguous when laid next to the rest of things I said here.

But whatever. Even if this whole thing was meant fully no-homo (which I think, at the end of the day, it probably was), I think we can securely say there's enough substance, even ambiguity here for conservative Witcher bros to be unable to say there was absolutely NO incentive for making Dandelion queer whatsoever from the games. I didn't read the books, might be material there, too, I wouldn't know. But with how little I read nowadays, how many books are still on my list and the fact I'm going off to my first year at university soon... I'll see that in a couple of years.

"Jaskier wasn't gay/bisexual in the games!? Netflix can't make him gay that's woke garbage"

You did not just do Games "flirted with a straight cross dressing male elf" Jaskier dirty like that. I'm not making this up Geralt has to hunt down all of Jaskiers girlfriends to find him and one of them turns out to be a male elf who changes into female clothes and Geralt is like "soooo...... What did you guys-" and the cross dressing elf was like "we just talked after I rejected him cause I'm straight" I will find the book with all the poems about Jaskiers partners that he wrote. I'm sure the one about the cross dressing elf had a dozen sexual innuendoes

[pleasantanathema]

Santa Daddy | Jean Kirstein x Reader

Pairing: Jean Kirstein x Reader

Rating: Explicit 

Warnings: Daddy kink, dirty talk, thigh riding, mutual pining, friends to lovers (or, rather, idiots to lovers), lots of holiday fluff

Word Count: 6k

A/N: This is my Secret Santa gift to @whats-her-quirk​ 🎄💕 June, thank you so much for being a wonderful friend; I was truly lucky and privileged to get you as my Elf for Secret Santa! I hope this fluffy (and dirty) little fic with our best boi Jean brings you some holiday cheer! 

           There were only a few things in the world that made you happier than watching Jean Kirstein smile. Like most of your friends, you’d met him through work, but there was always something so special, almost magical, about seeing his darling smile and hearing his boisterous laugh. And you rarely passed up on a chance to see delight spread across his handsome face, which is why you couldn’t say no when he asked you to join him on a get-a-away with your friends for the holidays.

           The inquiry came after you mentioned how you wouldn’t be able to make it home for the holidays due to a winter storm blowing in. It would be the second season in a row that the weather kept you from visiting home.

           You could still hear his voice in your head, “alone? For Christmas?”

           He’d then insisted you join him and his friends at Sasha’s family cabin. It was tradition for them, a gathering of misfits finding communion together out in the wilderness for a few days before the new year. You had taken trips with your friends before to amusement parks, festivals, even to the beach at Armin’s request, but something about being invited to an intimate setting to celebrate holiday traditions had you anxious.

           So, there you were, swaddled in blankets, listening to Eren bicker with Mikasa while Sasha and Connie bustled in the kitchen to make eggnog and treats. Armin had declined to join, citing that he’d seen too many horror movies about young adults alone in cabins to feel comfortable making the trip.

           And, true to form, Jean was running late. He was always late, his mind constantly moving a mile a minute unless he consigned himself to much needed rest and relaxation. Though, this time, you felt a little lonely while waiting for him on the couch, like there was a small part of you missing as you watched the snow fall outside.

           “So, none of you guys go home for the holidays?” You looked over toward the modest, plastic tree that Sasha had thrown down from her attic to bring a little holiday cheer to the living room, a few poorly wrapped presents and bags nestled under the branches.

           “Well,” Eren cleared his throat, “we are orphans.” He pulled at Mikasa’s scarf for emphasis.

           “Oh fuck, yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

           “Don’t worry about, he just always brings it up to get sympathy gifts.” Mikasa sighed, jerking the red cloth from his hands and scowling. Eren only laughed, brushing a stray hair from his face that had come loose from the bun at his nape.

           You sunk a little deeper into the cushions, eyes glancing out the window in hopes you’d see headlights flash in the driveway.

           “Do you think Jean’s okay? He should’ve been here a while ago and the storm is getting closer.”

           “Jean, Jean, Jean,” Sasha trotted into the room, balancing a mountain of sweet-smelling cookies on a plate, “you’re always worried about him.”

           “Someone should be, guy’s an idiot.” Eren chimed in, green eyes shining from the low flames rolling in the fireplace. He and Mikasa were sitting in the floor, a game of checkers spread out before them, with more stolen pieces resting near the cunning Ackerman’s side of the board.

           Eren wasn’t wrong, but over the years you’d known your group of friends, you’d noticed just how much the man in question had grown. In his early twenties, Jean had been quite the bumbling fool, having literally met you by bumping into your shoulder while leaving work, only to look at you and mumble “god you’re beautiful,” before issuing a quick apology as he rubbed at his neck sheepishly. You’d never mentioned the moment again, though your stomach still churned with a slight thrill every time you thought about it.

           But over the years he’d managed to turn that puerility into something much more charming. He was more refined, almost infuriatingly suave, easily gaining attention from anyone and everyone. And though you sometimes hated to admit it, he’d captured your thoughts as well.

           You kept your budding crush on Jean Kirstein close to your chest, not admitting it to any of your close friends. You always figured he was out of your league, seeing that he had a new, more beautiful girlfriend just about every other month. But, despite your simmering feelings, you still allowed yourself to get closer and closer to him over the years—some might say he’s your best friend, but you might call him your most treasured vexation.

           Another hour or so went by, your time spent nibbling at cookies and reminiscing with everyone about another year passed.

           Then the door finally opened, cold air gusting into the small living room as Jean stomped his damp boots on the entry mat.

           “Have you guys opened presents yet?”

           You glanced over the back of the couch, heart tugging in your chest as you noticed snow dusted in his long hair and a sizeable red and white polka dot package in his hands.

           “No because Christmas is tomorrow, or did you forget that too?” Connie said it with crumbs in his mouth, feet kicked up on the coffee table.

           Jean laughed, running a hand through his hair before wrapping the gift in his arms like it was something valuable.

           “I know, I know, and sorry I’m late, had something important to go get.” He smiled, bright and cheery, hazel eyes bouncing between his friends and the carefully guarded box, “I ask because…uh, this needs to be opened kind of soon.”

           “Is it perishable?” Sasha perked up, already ready to go make room in the fridge if something delectable was waiting as a gift.

           “I mean…you could say that? It may or may not be alive.” He was laughing, that kind of infectious laughter that had everyone in the room grinning whether they wanted to or not.

           Jean didn’t set the present down to even take off his shoes, instead tracking snow in with him and plopping onto the couch with flurries still on shoulders. He nudged your knee with his, pushing the present toward you. You pressed your lips together, hands getting sweaty as you pieced the puzzle together.

           “Is that…?”

           “Yeah,” his grin was pulling at his cheeks, eyes so sincere and happy and it almost startled you, “it’s for you.”

           The top of the box moved, the green bow popping on top of the polka dots.

           You moved the gift into your lap, pulling off the top to find perky ears and green eyes peering up at you—a kitten, grey and striped, with long, white whiskers and a pink bow around its neck greeted you with muted curiosity. You just stared at it for a moment, and it stared back, like you were both wondering just how it got into your lap.

           “I just,” Jean was getting nervous, carding his fingers through his hair again as he waited for your reaction, “I wanted to make sure you’d never spend another holiday alone, you know?”

           You carefully picked up the little cat, watching how it stretched and yawned as you pulled it from the carefully lain blanket inside its temporary home.

           You smiled, pulling the warm little bundle to your chest.

           “Um, Jean, this cat has six toes on her paws,” you said, pressing your thumb gently against one of the extra appendages in question.

           “Six toes?!” Sasha was jumping up from her seat, bounding over to kneel in front of you and pluck one of the kitten’s paws into her fingers. The cat quickly pulled its paw back, little black toe beans curling to its chest.

           “Yeah, it’s what drew me to her. She’s extra special…” you could’ve sworn you heard him mutter something under his breath, a little musing of “just like you,” but any hushed murmur was overshadowed by the ohs and ahs of your friends gathering around to look at the adorable little creature.

           The kitten had been lulled to sleep by the car ride from the shelter to the cabin, content to just curl up in your arms as inquisitive fingers prodded at her little kitten mittens and the silky, white tufts in her ears. Even Mikasa was enraptured by the tiny animal, taking the time to retie the little pink ribbon around her neck to make a bigger, prettier bow.

           You noticed how your friends were whispering, cheeky grins pressed against eager ears as they looked between you, the precious kitten, and Jean on the couch. You were starting to feel like you were missing something, or maybe that you were at the end of a joke you hadn’t caught on to yet.

           “Thank you,” you whispered to Jean after the fuss died down, everyone returning to their seats and back to their previous fixations.

          You’d mentioned perhaps wanting a cat a few weeks ago; it was just a silly, off-hand comment you made over coffee about how you’d once read that people with cats live longer because they pick up on the nine-lives of their feline partner. You didn’t believe it to be true, but you’d mused about the idea of having a cute kitten of your own to snuggle up with on lonely nights.

           “I know it’s sudden and a lot of responsibility, so if you don’t want her—”

           “No,” you cut Jean off, bundling the kitten a little closer in your arms, your heart singing as you felt her start to purr, “no, I want her, she’s perfect.”

           Jean finally started to get settled himself, standing up and shrugging off his jacket. He was in a tight turtleneck, coal black threads stretched to their limit across his broad chest and shoulders, hugging his trim waist. You were careful not to stare for too long as he stretched his arms above his head to shake off the weariness of his drive through the snow.

           He always looked like he stepped out of a fashion catalogue, fresh and so put together that sometimes you were tempted to snap his photo when he wasn’t looking; he just looked that good all the time. He loved to wear designer clothes and keep up with the latest menswear trends, and tonight was no different, that beautiful black turtleneck (that was covered in grey fur) undoubtedly belonging to a designer whose name you probably couldn’t pronounce.

           “What are you gonna name her?”

           He sat a little closer this time on the couch, a brawny arm outstretched behind you as he leaned over to scratch at the kitten’s chin.

           “I don’t know,” you admitted, gazing down at the serene, sleepy face in your arms, “I’ll have to get to know her first.”

           “Well, I’ve been calling her Frankie.”

           “Frankie?” You smiled through your confusion, the name sounding oddly right.

           “She was pretty wild in the car and kept meowing when Frank Sinatra was on the radio.”

           “I see,” you laid the kitten down into your lap, sweeping your fingers through her fur and watching as she curled up into a tighter little circle, “well, I’ll consider it.”

           You felt warm, heavy fingers brush against the back of your neck, Jean absentmindedly painting figure eights into your prickling skin. Heat flushed to your face as you realized just how close your bodies had become—his thigh was pressed against your own, dark jeans tight and hot, the scruff of his cheeks brushing against your own as he toyed with the sleeping cat’s tail.

           There were voices all around you, the muffled sounds of your friends relaxing together falling almost on deaf ears. Your whole world felt like it just revolved around this couch, like nothing else mattered beyond the simple touches to your skin and the drowsy kitten beneath your hands. He never wanted you to spend another holiday alone, you replayed his words, the sweet sentiment finally settling into your spirit.

_______________

           You could tell everyone was starting to get a bit sleepy, a few hours spent drinking spiked eggnog and chasing the new kitten around with a feather toy having left you especially exhausted. Your head was a little swimmy as you bid everyone goodnight, the grey tabby cat following closely on your heels to your bedroom where Jean had already brought in a litter box and a bed for her to sleep in. Jean, underneath all the designer bravado and smiles, was perhaps the most thoughtful person you knew.

           But despite the heaviness in your head, you couldn’t seem to sleep. You tossed and turned in the bed, occasionally picking up your phone to scroll through it or just watch the time tick by. You had a lot of thoughts mulling around in your mind, most of them revolving around the man sleeping just right across the hall.

           Never in a million years did you expect Jean to walk in with a beautiful, perfect kitten as a gift. The little thing was back to sleeping again, this time curled around one of your feet, each exhale a little purr against your toes.

           You’d carried the weight of this crush around for too many years. You rubbed your palms against your eyes, sighing as you came to terms with your feelings for Jean for what felt like the thousandth time. Your pining was starting to take its toll, too, what with the sleeping giant so close yet so far away.

           And you still felt like you were missing something.

           Throughout the night, your friends had seemingly been playing coy, teasing Jean about getting you such a big, sentimental gift. Maybe they had all caught wind of your suppressed feelings and were poking at Jean for even daring to indulge you. Now you were just getting frustrated with your thoughts, sighing as you tried to squeeze your eyes shut and force yourself to sleep.

           But then you heard a little sound, the soft buzz of your phone against the wood of the night stand.

           Jean: You awake?

           Your heart skipped a little in your chest as you saw his name flash upon your screen. You texted him nearly every day, yet he never failed to send a little jolt of adrenaline down your spine.

           You: Yeah. Can’t sleep.

           Jean: Me either. Cabin is too fucking cold.

           You: I have a kitty asleep on my feet, definitely helps beat the chill.

           Jean: A warm kitty sounds nice right now.

           Only a few seconds passed before the next message appeared.

           Jean: Wanna come keep me company?

           Your thumb hovered over the keyboard for a moment, your mind not even thinking about the words in front of you. Instead, you were picturing Jean in his bed, hair tussled with his own phone in his hand as he texted you, light spilling over his bare chest in the dark. You wondered what he was thinking—maybe he just wanted you to bring the cat over to see him for a bit, or maybe his mind was wandering in the same place yours was, which was picturing him naked beneath his sheets.

           You set the phone down, momentarily starting to panic.

           You hadn’t prepared for this, hadn’t prepared for the possibility that Jean might be asking you to come get in his fucking bed with him. Thank god you took a leisurely shower earlier—and you still smelled good, you checked.

           You stood up from the bed, watching the kitten stretch and quickly fall back asleep on top of the blankets. You bent down to slip on your pajama pants, but then found yourself debating if you should just leave the flimsy material behind.

           If this was what you were hoping it was, walking in without pants would send the “I got the hint, I’m here to fuck,” message loud and clear.

           But if this was just “hey pal come keep me company, I’m bored,” walking into his room in nothing but a shirt and panties could be quite awkward.

           You decided to hedge your bets, stuffing your pajama bottoms back into your bag as that lingering liquid courage from the eggnog set in. If worse came to worse, you could always say you forgot to pack them.

           You carefully closed the door behind you, making sure the cat didn’t follow.

           Then, it was literally just a few steps to Jean’s room. Conveniently, his door was cracked. Did he get up and leave it open for you? Did he always sleep with his door cracked? Or had he planned all along to ask you to come over?

           You shook your head, taking a deep breath. Those inessential thoughts needed to be quieted.

           The door creaked as you slid past it, the old hinges signaling your arrival and making Jean’s attention whip towards you. His phone was still in his hand, like was watching your messages and too-eagerly anticipating your reply.

           “Hey,” you whispered into the darkness, wincing as the door kept groaning as you pushed it shut behind you. You leaned against it for a moment, too nervous to just waltz up to his bed and fall in. You chewed at the inside of your cheek as you waited for him to break the silence.

           “Aren’t you cold?” He whispered back, shifting in the bed.

           His figure was illuminated by the pale, grey light from window, the snow clouds still keeping the moon suppressed in the sky. Like you’d imagined, he was shirtless, all those hard-earned muscles on display from where he was propped up on his elbows, sheets low against his waist.

           “I thought you were cold, Mr. No Shirt.”

           “You’re not wearing pants.”

           “I’m not wearing pants,” you parroted back.

           You watched the smile spread across his face, that darling, infuriatingly pretty smile that made you a little too happy in this moment.

           He pulled his sheets back in invitation, revealing that he, too, was not wearing pants, only clad in blue boxer briefs that were sinfully tight around his upper thighs, etchings of Calvin Klein pressed against his lower stomach.

           His hands were on you before you even settled onto the mattress, warm and greedy and pulling you flush against his body. All those worried thoughts you had before vanished under his touch, the message you had been missing suddenly loud and clear: you weren’t the only one hiding your feelings. All those veiled emotions came alive beneath wandering hands, your fingers digging into the meat of his shoulders as his found the flesh of your thighs.

           “Was this what you were thinking about when you invited me here?”

           You breathed in the smell of his warm skin as you settled against him, notes of his cologne still lingering against his body.

           “This is what I think about all the time,” he confessed, nudging his thigh between your legs.

           You couldn’t stop the moan that fell from your mouth as the muscles of his thigh pressed against your aching core.

           “Me too,” you were pulling his face down to yours, thumbs against his cheeks as you pressed your lips to his.

           A satisfied sound rang from both of your throats, lips melding and slanting against one another hungrily.

           “Why didn’t you say anything?” His words were lost within the kiss, being swallowed down as you kept drinking him in.

           “Why didn’t you say anything?” You echoed back, gasping as his hands slid underneath your shirt and began to wander across your belly, reaching up toward your ribcage.

           You both knew the answer to that: you were idiots, too scared to admit feelings even though they were clearly on display for everyone around you. But now the question didn’t matter, all the answers you wanted about to be shared between your anxious bodies with starved kisses and touches.

           You shamelessly pressed yourself a little harder against his thigh, sighing as your pussy found relief against his leg. He groaned at your action, moving his thigh back and forth a little bit to see how you would react. When you whimpered, your own thighs squeezing around his, he smirked, repeating the motion of sweeping his thick, sturdy thigh back and forth between your legs.

           “You like that?” His head was tilting down, teeth nipping at your jaw and down your neck as your head fell back against the pillow.

           “Y-yes, feels so good.”

           His hands were still traveling, wandering across your heated skin like he wanted to map your curves into his memory. He groaned against your throat when he discovered you’d also forgotten to wear anything under your t-shirt, his thumbs lazily brushing the undersides of your breasts.

           You felt like you were burning beneath his sheets, like he was painting fire against your skin with every touch. His large hands engulfed your breasts, carefully kneading and rolling your soft flesh in his palms. He was eager to kiss you again, to slip his tongue past your parted lips and get addicted to your taste.

           Jean pinched and pulled at your hardening nipples, greedily taking your little mewls into his mouth. He touched you like he already knew you, pulling at your body like you were the perfect little sex doll on strings for him to play with; rocking you on his thigh, tugging at your nipples, tongue dancing in your mouth, his hair tickling your cheeks, his cock hard and hot against his stomach.

           Your panties were getting more and more wet by the second, the soaked material sinking into your folds as you rubbed yourself against the downy hairs and rounded, solid muscle of his upper thigh. His boxer briefs were bunching closer to his hips, pre-cum already staining against the fabric where his cock was imprinted into the threads. You slipped your hand down his impressive chest, fingers dipping into the elastic of his briefs.

           “Oh fuck,” he groaned against your lips, pulling back to suck in a breath as your fingertips brushed against the head of his cock, “fuck you’re so hot riding my thigh like that, so fucking wet.”

           “You did say you wanted a warm kitty.”

           Your words had him pinching harder at your nipples, making you gasp as he chuckled.

           “Mhm I can’t wait to play with your kitty, make you mine,” he punctuated his sentence by bouncing his leg up, sending electric pulses of pleasure racing over your nerves.

           You responded by pulling his cock from its confines, wrapping your fingers around it and tugging at the silken skin. God he was thick, barely fitting in your palm as you moved your wrist up and down. You suddenly felt so small against him, realizing that he was dwarfing you just by lying next to you in the bed. His long, thick fingers could spread across the entirety of your chest, the thigh sliding against your pussy was enormous, but it felt like it belonged there; you could get used to riding him like this.

          You both fell into a frenzied, delirious rhythm, your bodies bucking and panting as you found bliss against each other.

          His hands slid down your body, leaving your tender breasts and searching for a new home. He found your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he rocked you back and forth against his thigh himself, using the strength in his forearms to have your pussy pressed down against him in the most perfect way to have you seeing stars and whining his name.

          “Gonna cum, baby? Gonna cum just from riding me?”

          “Fuck, yeah, yes, please, make me cum like this.”

          Your hand had gone slack against his cock, your mind almost unable to concentrate under the waves of pleasure building and coiling inside you.

          It felt too good to have his rapacious hands on your hips, grip mean and tight as he basically fucked you against his thigh. You wanted to scream, your other hand clawing at the back of his neck for stability.

          “Baby,” he breathed, peppering a few kisses along your cheek, “could…could you call me daddy when you cum?”

          There was a hesitancy in his voice, like he was ashamed to ask such a thing.

          Your lower belly clenched, heat racing across all your nerve endings like he’d just poured sin straight out of his mouth.

          You nodded your head for him, uncontrollable moans and gasps getting in the way of your own words. The thought of calling him daddy, that sent something wicked down to your pussy, had your fingers squeezing and tugging at his cock again and your eyes falling shut.

          It felt like your sanity was breaking, like reality was splintering and this wasn’t real—you were dreaming again, weren’t you? But then you felt his cock twitch in your hand, felt your swollen clit brush against your panties and his thigh, and you were thrusted back into the actuality of your situation. You were with Jean, he was groaning in your ear, and you were about to cum all over him.

          “D—da…,” you were choking, so overwhelmed with a final cresting of bliss that you almost felt like sobbing.

          But he just clutched you more tightly, pressed you harder against him, whispering your name in encouragement to let yourself go for him.

          Then, you lost all of your sensibilities, euphoria washing over your body as you snapped and came undone with a little whine of, “daddy,” against his lips. You slowed the rocking of your hips, your heart beating out of your chest, your pussy pulsing and clenching as you rode out the last remnants of your orgasm.

          “Holy fucking shit that’s so hot, you’re so hot,” he mumbled, one of his hands smoothing against your cheek.

          “Wha—,” you smiled, shaking your head as you caught your breath, “what are you doing with a daddy kink, Jean?”

          He mimicked your smile, hands moving to slide your ruined panties down your legs and removed the rest of your clothing as he repositioned your bodies. You let him move you around like a ragdoll, so delirious in your afterglow that you barely even registered how he was hooking your legs onto his shoulders.

          “Do you not like calling me daddy?” There was a seriousness laced into his tone that told you he’d drop it if it made you uncomfortable.

          “I like it,” you fisted one of your hands in his hair, bringing his lips to yours for a slow, messy kiss, “just didn’t expect it.”

          “I’m full of surprises, baby.”

          You felt the head of his cock nudge between your wet folds, his hands back on your hips where they belonged. Your head fell back against the pillow as he started to push inside of you, stretching your walls and making your toes go almost numb from the pleasure. You felt like you were splitting apart, like a fissure was forming down the middle of your body, stemming from where he was spearing into you.

          With your legs on his broad shoulders, he was pushing you into the mattress, his hands urging your hips to relax and let him sink into your warm heat.

          “Ohhhh fuckkkk daddy,” you couldn’t help but to whine, all your senses suddenly overwhelmed again. You were drowning in him, falling deeper and deeper into the throes of heaven with every inch of his fat cock slipping inside of you.

          “God you’re so tight,” he presses his forehead to yours, keen eyes watching how your lips were falling apart and your eyebrows scrunching together in pleasure, “that’s right, daddy’s going to take such good care of you.”

          It felt like all your history with him was being wiped away, like this moment wasn’t about two friends fulfilling all their years of mutual pining, but instead about a new relationship blooming between two bodies full of lust and desire. This was about Jean fucking you senseless, about him taking control and finally having what’s belonged to him for longer than he probably even realized. You wanted to lose yourself to him, lose yourself to his appetite and just let him devour you.

          All the air left your lungs when bottomed out inside of you, your walls clenching and sucking him in. He stayed still for a moment, nearly lost himself at the feeling of your cunt wrapped so tightly around his cock.

          “So fucking perfect,” he groaned, dragging his cock out of you slowly before pressing in again, your cunt greedily sucking him back in.

          “I always have been,” you teased, one hand lost in his hair while the other slid down the expanse of his back. You bucked your hips in his hands, coaxing him to keep moving.

          “Oh fuck. Good girl.”

          His praise made you feel drunk, liquid heat rushing to your ears and between your legs.

          He began to snap his hips, repeatedly burying his cock into your depths, the angle of your body making him hit that fleshy patch inside of you. You cried out at the feeling of being so stuffed, your walls burning from the intrusion but that coil inside your belly tightening again, hotter and more intense than before.

          “Mhmmm, such a good girl, I promise,” you pressed your lips to his in reassurance, letting your breathy moans fall into his mouth as he started to get a little rougher. His pace was steady, solid, a hard motion of his cock thrusting in and out of you, each push and pull full of purpose and passion. Every plunge was making your lower stomach spasm, making pleasure burst across your body so forcefully that you felt that urge to cry again.

          “Wanted to fuck you for so long,” his face was tucked underneath your chin, mouth trailing across your throat between his words. A particularly hard suck against your neck had your back arching, breasts flattening against his chest and your nails clinging to him.

          Jean sat back on his knees, big hands smoothing down your thighs as he looked to where your bodies were conjoined, watching how your pussy enveloped his cock with every thrust of his hips, sweet skin encasing all of his length. He looked enraptured by the sight, groaning and hissing every time he pressed inside of you.

          Then his eyes were flashing up to your face, softening as he took note of your blissed-out state, your face flushed and your lip between your teeth.

          “So pretty,” he mused, a palm ghosting up to your chest to toy with one of your tits as he found a new rhythm.

          You were ensnared by the scene before you as well, eyes wide with delight as you admired the man before you. Jean felt unhinged, electric between your legs, like he’d finally let go and was pouring all his clandestine secrets into your willing body. His chestnut hair was swept over his shoulders, the muscles in his arms and across his body rolling, rounded and thick like he was marble come to life. And his face was smooth, pretty, concentrated, cheeks dusky with a dark blush as he found euphoria from within your body.

          Your hips began to match his thrusts, bucking up into him in order to feel his thick cock fall deeper into you. His strong hands encouraged you, gripping into the supple flesh of your thighs as he pressed himself into your wetness, faster and faster with every thrust.

          “Daddy,” you called out to him, having to bite back a grin as you observed how quickly you earned his attention, “you feel s-so good,” your hand was traveling down your chest, trailing over his fingers on your breast before snaking down to your clit, “p-please let me cum again.”

          You had an inkling that he would take over for you.

          His thick, long fingers hovered over your own, carefully aiding in swirling over your aching clit. You hissed, recognizing the buildup to orgasm pooling within your belly.

          Jean’s other hand slid higher upon your body, fingers lacing around your ribcage, framing the underside of your breast. He began to forcefully pull your body into his, sliding you upon and down the sheets and upon his cock. You cried out, legs tightening at his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, begging him to devour you and take what he wanted. His thumb was almost impatient on your clit, now circling so quickly that your body was shaking, lower stomach clenching and unclenching repeatedly like you were lost in a reckless tide.

          “Shit, I’m not gonna last with you squeezing me like that, baby.”

          Your mouth watered at the thought of him finding that ultimate pleasure inside of you. Your ears became tuned to the chorus of resonances between your legs, the sweet, wet sounds of skin against skin, of slick at the base of a fat cock, of Jean grunting your name like a lost prayer.

          The final chord of your sanity was threatening to snap, you could feel it again, like he was pulling the strings of your body too tightly and you were going to splinter and break with just the right swipe of his thumb.

          “I-inside,” you mewled, unable to keep your eyes open any longer as your thighs began to quake, “daddy—oh fuck, fuck—cum inside me, please,”

          God you were so fucking close to falling off the edge, and he could feel it, using his grip to bring you even harder and faster down onto your cock to get you careening and falling again.

          Your push into oblivion came when you heard him pleading, almost whining, above you, sweat dripping down his skin as his syllables flowed together, “please, please, please, fuck, cum for daddy, cum for me, please.”

          You could both feel it, how you creamed around his cock, pussy sucking him in so deliciously tight that it caused him to lose all control. His fingers dug a little too deep, his cock throbbing and pumping deep inside of you with his release. It was like the world went quiet, like a blanket of snow fell onto your bodies and hushed your sounds and cooled your skin. You could feel the heavy weight of him inside of you, like he was meant to be there. Your body relaxed, feeling like you were sinking into the mattress and he was the only thing keeping you from being lost.

          When he finally pulled his spent cock from inside you, he wasn’t gone long. His hands were back on you again, pulling you in for simple, affectionate kisses and rubbing tenderly at the places he’d perhaps explored too roughly.

          “Jean…” you cut yourself off with a yawn, fatigued limbs winding into his own.

          His thigh found its home between your legs again, both of you groaning with a mixture of lust and disgust as you felt his cum drip into a mess between your thighs.

          “Whatever it is can wait until morning, we need to sleep.”

          “Oh fuck, it’s Christmas.”

          He nuzzled your cheek, lips searching for yours.

          “Mhmm, Merry Christmas, baby.”

          You laughed, laying your head against his chest.

_______________

          You weren’t sure how long you slept, but it felt like you spent a small eternity in Jean’s bed before your eyes opened again. When you awoke, he was already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed with the kitten in his arms. She was ready to play, striped tail swishing as he dangled a toy mouse just out of her reach.

          “What time is it?” You stretched, suddenly all too aware that you were still very naked beneath the sheets.

          “It’s only eight, everyone else is still asleep aside from Mikasa who actually went for a run in the fucking snow.”

          Jean smiled, hair tucked behind his ears, and you felt your heart skip a beat as you realized just how madly in love with him you were. You always aimed to make him smile, to hear him laugh, but to see him gazing at you in the morning sun with pure adoration shining in his hazel eyes had you practically melting into the bed.

          “I meant what I said last night, you know,” he said, turning the kitten loose to run across the bed.

          “You said a lot of things last night, daddy,” you teased, watching his cheeks turn a pretty pink at the mention of that name.

          “I meant about you never spending another holiday alone. Because, you know, I’d like to…” he trailed off, rubbing at the back of his neck like he was genuinely nervous.

          You sat up, running a hand down his arm before kissing at his shoulder, momentarily getting lost in the smell and feel of him.

          “Yeah, I’d like that.”

          No one was surprised that the two of you, and the kitten, spent every single holiday together thereafter, mostly naked, and always smiling.

[thebadgerclan]

Nicknames

Pairing: Remus Lupin x reader

Requested by Anonymous

Summary: Remus discovers your new favorite nickname...

Remus Lupin had a litany of nicknames for you.  Sweetheart, sweetie, darling, my darling, love, my love, angel, pretty girl, my girl, baby, babygirl, it was rare that he referred to you by your actual name.  And you loved it, being the center of Remus’ attention, having him dote on you whenever he could.  Part of his adoring, doting nature was just that: it was his personality.  But the other part was Moony, wanting to protect his mate and make her feel safe and loved.  

You and Remus entered the Gryffindor common room, soaked to the bone after a quidditch match.  “I’m gonna go up and change, sweetheart,” he told you, kissing your temple.  “Do you want me to get you anything?”  “Well, I wouldn’t say no to one of your hoodies.”  Remus laughed, kissing you again.  “I figured you’d say that.”  The boys went into their dorm while you and Lily went into yours to dry off and get changed.  You pulled on a pair of leggings and a t-shirt before heading back to the common room and claiming your usual spot on the couch.

Your boyfriend came down a moment later, clothed in grey sweats and a maroon hoodie, a second hoodie draped over his arm.  “One hoodie, as requested, my love.”  You giggled as you pulled it on, Remus’ scent filling your nose.  “Thank you.”  He nodded, pulling you to rest tucked into his side, arms tight around your middle.  You cuddled closer, taking one of his hands in yours.  Rain lashed against the windows, and a house elf came in to light the fire and deliver you some hot cocoa.

James and Sirius soon joined you, James pulling Lily into his lap, Sirius taking up an entire couch on his own.  Remus handed you a mug of hot cocoa, kissing your cheek.  “Are you warm enough, honey?”  You felt your face heat up at the new nickname.  Remus hadn’t called you ‘honey’ before, and you didn’t know why this nickname out of the dozens he called you made you blush like this.  It seemed Remus noticed, and he smiled softly at you.

“Why’re you blushing, honey?  What’d I say?”  Your blush deepened and you buried your face in Remus’ chest.  He set your mugs of hot cocoa down, gently coaxing your face from his chest.  “Do you like it when I call you ‘honey’?  Is that what’s got you blushing so pretty?”  You nodded, not entirely sure why you were so shy all of a sudden.  Remus “awwww”ed, kissing you sweetly.  “There’s no need to be embarrassed, honey,” he said, no doubt using the new nickname for emphasis.  “You know how much I love calling you nicknames, but if you don’t want me to call you that one, I won’t.”

“No,” you said quickly, not wanting Remus to think you didn’t like the nickname.  “I love it, Rem.  I don’t know why it’s making me blush like this.”  Remus smiled, kissing you again.  “Well, I also love it.  It’s sweet, just like you, honey.”  Your face warmed even more, and you rested your head against Remus’ shoulder.  “I love you, Remus.”  He kissed the crown of your head.  “I love you more, honey.”

[loliwrites]

It’s Christmas time up in my house already! Actually it’s been Christmas time since September when I put my Christmas tree up -- but my mental health needed it y’all. But since Thanksgiving is cancelled. And it’s like not a great holiday anyway (in my opinion), it’s time for the Christmas spirit to infiltrate my body with reckless abandon. That basically means that I bake as many desserts as humanly possible just so I can taste them all, and if I really like them, not send them out to anybody and keep them all for myself 😬 

ON TODAY’S SCHEDULE -- Syltgrottor (lit. jam caves) and muskotsnittar (lit. nutmeg cuts). The syltgrottor are a personal favorite, but I’m making the muskotsnittar for the first time, so TBD. If you’re interested in my recipes, lemme know, I’m happy to share them so y’all can try them out for yourself!

BUT, this got me thinking of a little scenario for our 2 lovebirds. So as I head off on a great baking adventure, enjoy the little somethin’-somethin’ below 😌

No Warnings

•   •   •

I bet when Alex left for work that morning, he had no idea what he’d be coming home to. It had been the culmination of a lot of little shopping days, picking up things here and there, and stashing them away in the backs of closets. While part of him felt blessed to be shooting locally in New York, which meant he’d get to spend a lot more time with Addi, another part felt destroyed that one of his yearly trips to Sweden would have to be forgotten. He didn’t get to go back very often, and when he did, he didn’t get to stay very long. It was the part of his career that drained him the most. To that extent he was jealous of Gustaf, and even Bill, who always got to return for Swedish projects that drew them home. Alex didn't get very many of those offers anymore. And if he did, it was rare that he could actually take them. He’d never trade his career, he was proud of what he’d accomplished, but that feeling of home always called out to him. And often, he couldn’t answer the call.

He could smell it from outside the apartment. A scent that was vaguely familiar. He hadn’t smelt it in awhile; figured it must’ve been from something lodged deep in his subconscious. Then he opened his front door, and while his eyes were focused on the keys and pulling them out of the lock, his nose was bombarded by this spiced scent that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. And then without warning or time to brace himself, he was attacked head-on by the sight of what looked like a Christmas elf had thrown up all over his apartment. Alex never decorated his apartment for Christmas. It wasn’t that he was a grinch or even a scrooge. Usually he just wasn’t around enough to invest in things that would warrant a cheerful Christmas experience in his home. That was a lie. He did have one mini Christmas tree that he’d pull out of the box and set up on a side table. It had colorful plastic bulbs already attached for easy decorating.

But this -- this was... Nice. Jarring, but nice. She hadn’t gone overboard with color. A lot of the decorations were white or silver -- to go with the minimalistic Scandinavian style he already had -- with little spurts of red or green for emphasis. Tiny little fairy lights were strung up and twinkling, a terrifying little elf on a shelf was sitting on his fireplace mantle... She’d even bought a fake four foot tree and set it on top of an old side table. When he went to inspect that, he noticed it had already been decorated with vintage looking ornaments. And while they seemed sentimental and nostalgic, he’d never seen them before. He’d come to learn that she’d called home and asked her parents to send her a box of her grandmother’s ornaments. But that smell. It was still taunting him. Addi was nowhere to be seen, but based on the smell itself and the quiet crooning of classic Christmas carols in the kitchen, he made his way over.

She was there in a pair of her sweatpants and one of his sweaters. A bun was bouncing on top of her head as she rocked and danced to Bing Crosby singing about a Winter Wonderland. A slew of ingredients were displayed in a line on the counter beside her workspace. Her back was to him and she couldn’t have been more in her own world.

“Oh my God!” She screamed at herself. The bouncing and dancing stopped, but Bing kept on singing. “He’s not married because he’s a parson! They can’t get married! C’mon Addi!” The dancing continued, and so did the hunching of her shoulders as she stood on her tiptoes to be at a better angle for kneading the dough. 

“And also because he’s a snowman,”

Alex smirked and chuckled when she screamed again. This one of pure terror. A piece of dough even went flying out of the bowl. Addi shot a glare back at Alex.

“Skarsgård, I swear!”

He laughed a little bit harder and came up behind her. His arms barely had to move in order to wrap them around her hips. Her height, or lack there of it, made it the easiest motion. Alex even ducked his head to press his lips to her cheek. Ducking further, he pressed a kiss to her neck, then her shoulder.

“What’re you making?” He nodded his head forward, motioning to whatever was in front of them. But Addi just shrugged and shook her head. She was unwilling to give any information up. “The smell is familiar. Where’d you get the recipe?”

“Nowhere.” It was a strong answer, but she got weaker and weaker when Alex reprimanded her sassy tone with a nibble to the neck. Addi giggled and tucked her head against it to try and stop him. It didn’t work so she let out a frustrated yawp. “Just let the surprise happen,”

“Where’d you get the recipe, slugger?” He tried again. This time his hands tightened around her waist, holding her body tightly to his. Secretly, she prayed he’d never let her go.

Addi tilted her head back and put on a pout as she looked up at Alex. It earned her a playful, boyish grin from him. She pinched her eyebrows together. “I called your mom. And I think I caught her at a terrible time because she sounded exhausted. She probably hates me.” Addi paused and focused on that. Then with a slight whine, “Alex, your mom hates me!”

He laughed again and shook his head. “She doesn't hate you,” With a sincere kiss to the forehead, he lingered there. “You called my mom for the recipe?”

She smiled, a blush rising in her cheeks. “I know how bummed you were about not being able to go home for the holidays this year. So I called her to ask if there were any recipes you liked as a kid. Thought I could bring a little home to you.” She looked back down at the dough in front of her, “I don’t know how these’ll turn out, and your mom hates me now, but--”

Alex cut her off by cupping her cheeks, using his fingertips to tilt her head a little further back so he could plant a long kiss squarely on her lips. He let out a breath in midst of the kiss and Addi released back further against his body, relishing in the moment. He could easily be convincing enough to get her to ditch the baking responsibilities if he was so inclined. But he pulled away just enough to kiss the tip of Addi’s nose, and then her forehead.

“God, I fuckin’ love you,”

The pink hue in her cheeks got a tad stronger. “I fuckin’ love you, too.”

[odium-amare]

Romance and Redemption for Fëanor

(Disclaimer: This does not and should not apply to real life. No one can change anyone. Only they can change themselves. This is purely for fun and for my own imagination to run rampant. 

Also, If you’re a fan of  Fëanor x Nerdanel pairing, skip this.)

This little guilty pleasure analysis is a little foreshadowing for something I am going to publish on Silmarillion AO3 and Fanfiction soon.

Fëanor is a character I have not often talked about but often think about when it comes to Tolkien’s work. He’s a fascinating character in that he defies all of the traditional Elven stereotypes in Tolkien’s universe. But everyone knows that. He’s charismatic, magnetic, tumultuous, unpredictable, easily changeable, impatient, possessive, direct, virile and most of all, he’s extremely human.

He’s the most beautiful and greatest elf (according to Tolkien but Finrod can battle this) and yet wed to Nerdanel; someone not considered beautiful by Elven standards because like most elves, he loves beauty but in the unconventional sense. Which again, defies Elven standards. 

He sees Nerdanel’s beauty that others cannot and he values her character and talents as an artist and craftswoman. 

Fëanor gives me the impression of one who puts so much emphasis and rage into unfairness and justice whether it be rebelling towards the Valar because of power imbalance or feeling that it is his right to take back his Silmarils which he created. But at the same time, he’s unbelievably unfair and cruel to people who do not do anything evil to him with intention (Indis, his half-brothers and it’s safe to assume he neglects his nephews and nieces as well.) That is his paradox. Fëanor is changeable and a hypocrite. Only he can abide by his own double standards and no one else’s.  But that is probably one of the reasons why the Tolkien fandom loves him so much. He’s so flawed that it’s part of what makes him fun to write about and makes him utterly fascinating. 

He’s sexy to put it straight. 

He loves with all his heart (his father, birth mother, Nerdanel and children) and he hates with all his heart. There is no mediocrity or middle ground for Fëanor. You either have all of him or none of him.

And this extremity of his character is what causes so many tragedies, the dreadful oath that leads to all of his sons’ demise. The connections with all of the events that occur throughout Middle Earth’s history. 

Having said that, as a huge romantic and idealist whilst also a pragmatist, I will be one of the first to say I am not a huge fan of Fëanor/Nerdanel as a couple.  And this is not just because of my bias for not caring about Elf x Elf pairings.

On a purely superficial level, I like the angst of Fëanor x Nerdanel’s conflict and separation towards the events of the Oath and journey to Middle Earth. I like that she grows a spine and rebels Tolkien’s LACE of elves never separating and to willingly separate with Fëanor because he’s beyond saving.  I like the fact that it’s a rare case of the “hot” guy wants the “plain/ugly” girl and not the other way around which have been bombarded by media created by mediocre/ugly men living their fantasies of ending up with the hottest women entitlement.  I like the fact that Fëanor loves her for her accomplishments as her own individual artisan.

But what we hear about Fëanor x Nerdanel’s personal life before everything from Tolkien is extremely vague. The one that stands out to me is:

“... she was able to influence and restrain her prideful husband.”

Hm, in what way exactly? Fëanor x Nerdanel’s relationship may be vague in its descriptions, but there is much we can assume and deduct. While this line may sound nice to other romanticists that’s a fan of this pairing and like that Nerdanel is the only one “wise” and “kind” enough to calm Fëanor down, this line to me just sounds like another one of those kind/ sweet good girl tames the bad boy. 

It’s old and we all know, is a one way ticket towards a toxic and dysfunctional relationship. Nerdanel plays the role of the patient wife restraining her unpredictable husband and even towards the end of her leaving Fëanor, she could only beg him one last time to leave one of her youngest twin sons with her. There’s not much more to the dynamic or at least is written about. While she’s an accomplished artisan in her own right, she lets herself play the role of the patient and motherly figure of 7 sons. She acts as the female homebody to a charismatic but problematic husband and failed to the very end when the two are estranged.

She is lost in the shadow of Fëanor and there is nothing about Nerdanel that stands out to me. Even Haleth, a mortal woman, can stand to be equal to Fëanor to be inspiring.

I like to reread “Another Man’s Cage” by Dawn Felagund which gives us a glimpse into the life of the Fëanorians. While it is a fanfic and should not be read as canon, everything written there is pretty damn close to my own interpretations of each individual Fëanorians. The dynamic of Fëanor/Nerdanel in this fic pretty much confirms all of my beliefs about this couple and exemplifies exactly why I dislike it and why I don’t care for Nerdanel as a female character.  If we don’t have canon, we might as well have this so I’m going to play off of this fanfic. 

Fëanor x Nerdanel are a tumultuous couple and not in a sexy way. To sum it up short, Fëanor is someone who willfully acts on his own whims, does and says whatever he wants. Nerdanel is always the one to make concessions and appeal to him for the sake of her love for him, harmony and the children. She consistently plays the role of the doormat, matronly figure. Every time they fight, she will be the one to apologize first and accept “make up” sex when she shouldn’t. And it’s definitely not making up. It’s communication avoidance.  Other than being a matron role that takes care of the children, blindingly loving Fëanor and his mistreatments with a dash of artisan here and there (to remind us that she’s her own person I suppose,) she does not have much of an inspiring personality. She accepts the fact that Fëanor will always burn bright for all to see and she will be the one languishing in spirit. She’s incredibly muted as a person. 

So this, frankly, leaves me wondering. What is it about Nerdanel that Fëanor falls for exactly? Being a talented sculptor is not much of a reason to sustain love and a marriage. It is said that they were friends before they married. But why are they friends? She’s said to be able to stand up to her husband, but her version of “standing up” to him is more about barely scratching personal boundaries and common sense rather than actually talking sense into his extremities.  Then he fell for her because she’s the “wise” and patient woman who reigns in her terrible husband? 

What a flat and cliche trope of a patriarchal marriage. 

Which brings me to my last point and theory. His wife can’t do it. His sons can’t do it. His half brothers most definitely cannot do it. No matter how they show it, no matter the defiance - Most of the most important First Age figures in Tolkien lives on the whims of Fëanor and his pursuit. 

So who could redeem Fëanor? By the time of Dagor Dagorath and Arda remade, who could heal him while also being able to put him in his place so that he doesn’t scorch a burn with his fire to the point that it overwhelms?

A human woman.

Thank you. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk. 

[alittlebitgoofy]

Glass wings - chapter five (lemonjuice)

i'm back back back again with more gay fairies and this time we have a gay elf and another gay pixie, very fun!! i'm excited to finally get jan and rock into the mix >:)

thanks to my dearest @dollalpaca for betaing and putting up with my lack of commas. it's a lot to deal with

ao3 link

Time felt like it was floating; maybe it was the hazy morning air, or the warmth that was enveloping her, but Lemon had never felt so comfortable. She was somewhat aware of the body intertwined with her’s. Cracking her eyes open, she saw Juice still pressed into her side. Soft breaths tickled her collarbone, Juice’s head having not left her shoulder the entire time they’d been sleeping. 

Lemon couldn’t bring herself to move and risk disturbing her friend, she had a feeling Juice wasn’t the best at letting herself sleep, always opting to do things than give herself time to rest. It was an issue she couldn’t press for fear of making things awkward, only try to subtly influence. She looked calm, peaceful for once; the blonde showed no signs of waking up any time soon. Even when she was relaxed, Juice had a natural frown, her face never seeming fully happy apart from the rare, softer moments that happened. The night before was one of those, something where the air around them was different, things came out easier and it felt as if nothing in the world mattered, only their company. 

It surprised Lemon how easily she fell into the grasp of another person—she’d spent so long pent up, alone by her own choice but regretting it more day by day, powerless to stop the torment she put herself through. 

Then Juice came around, giving her someone to really connect with. Finally, a friend. 

Juice woke up some time while Lemon was busy in her own thoughts. She stayed still at first, melted into Lemon, not wanting to move from the comfort she offered. Her half-asleep brain could only process that the warm thing next to her was good and needed to be kept around. 

After pulling Lemon slightly closer than before, Juice didn’t budge. She set her claim, curled up in bed with Lemon, and refused to leave or even slightly mess up the current situation. Lemon was brought back to reality by Juice shuffling as much closer as she could physically manage, her affection not going anywhere any time soon.

“Morning, Juicy,” Lemon spoke softly, not yet ready for the day, still fighting off the sleep. The response she got was a soft hum, not having processed the greeting, however wanting to appear as if she had. 

“G’morning, Lem.” Juice’s tone was rough with tiredness, her words muffled by her head still burrowed into the pixie’s shoulder. Her speech was less annunciated, just about not slurring together in fatigue. 

It didn’t take too long for them both to fully wake up. Lemon, having already been fairly alert choosing to stay in the blissful state of Juice’s affection. (but enjoying Juice’s endless affection) The latter needed a few more minutes to wake up, before engaging in a conversation. Within a few more minutes, Juice moved her arms from Lemon, startling the pixie. She sat up, eyes still heavy with tiredness, though a lot more alert than before. 

Eventually, Lemon followed suit, the pair quietly preparing for the day ahead of them, a morning routine made easier with the company of another person. Juice stared at Lemon quizzically as she only ran a hand through her hair and shrugged.

“Do you not brush your hair a lot? Are you one of those people who don’t need to? Or is it just something you dislike.” Lemon paused, how did she explain that she despised brushing it until she had to, for no real reason? It just made her uncharacteristically angry.

“I don’t like it, I have too much hair and it’s a pain to brush it all out, so I don’t if I can get away with it, which I could have before you pointed it out.” She childishly stuck her tongue out for emphasis, while Juice struggled to hold back the laughter at her usual dramatics. 

Lemon wanted nothing more than to run when she saw Juice pick up her comb, glancing between it and her hair curiously. The fairy made her way to her side, nudging Lemon to see if she was allowed to do so. Lemon wanted to say no, but something about Juice’s soft expression melted her into accepting with no fuss.

It didn’t take long before Lemon grunted at the pulling of her hair with the comb to detangle it. It was a horrible feeling, all the more reason she despised that thing. Juice tried to be as gentle as she could, but she had to be more forceful to get out any knots. Lemon became more docile as they went along, her hair becoming a lot less messy, though still as fluffy as ever. Lemon found herself enjoying the soft contact of Juice, steadying her head with a hand leant against her neck, or running her hands through the hair to check she hadn’t missed anything. It made her body warm in an unfamiliar way, but something she would crave again all the same. 

Juice smiled proudly at the finished product and Lemon hummed in satisfaction. Running a hand through her hair, the pixie flashed a grin, happy with the result. The blonde took the opportunity to fluff up her hair like how it usually was, running her hands through it to check the neatness all over. 

That was the only reason, not that she enjoyed being in such close proximity with Lemon or anything. 

---

Although it had gotten easier, flying with Lemon was never a good idea—she would zoom off at a speed that Juice could hardly keep up with. Thankfully, the pixie had decided to rest on her shoulder, making herself comfortable as the fairy flew them further on.

“There’s something over there!” Lemon jolted, gesturing to the right, sounding uncharacteristically serious. Juice shot her a confused look, not sure what caused the sudden outburst or why her eyes were so trained on the direction she had pointed to.

“I can feel something, I don’t know what it is, but I need to go check it out,” Lemon said quickly, flying off of Juice’s shoulder and deeper into the surrounding forest. 

“Lemon! You aren’t going alone, slow down,” Juice sighed, following Lemon as fast as she could and hoping the pixie didn’t fly into anything in her sudden burst of energy. The pixie paused, fluttering her way back to the shoulder and directing Juice from there. 

They flew decently far out, to the outskirts of the village where a few people lived, who didn’t like living in the main town area for whatever reason. Upon spotting a house in the distance, Lemon’s eyes lit up. That was it! That was the thing she could feel. There was something inside that house that was drawing her to it, and she needed to find out. 

---

Jan sprung back to consciousness at an alarming rate. No grogginess, only a sudden burst of energy that startled the person leaning over her. 

Before her brain could catch up as to why there was a concerned elf in a cloak staring at her, something pulled at her. The sensation was willing her to leave the little cottage and venture into the surrounding woods, though that seemed like a bad idea. 

“Hey! Don’t just leave! You’re not really in the state to—!” The elf threw herself to grab the pixie as she jumped off of the bed, before stumbling to the floor atop the other girl, her voice failing as they collided with the ground.

“Are you alright? I know you fell quite hard, but you just jolted up all of a sudden and it was terrifying,” the other girl spoke slower, a lot quieter that time. She struggled to hold eye contact, seemingly scared of Jan. It was a lot to realise someone may be intimidated by her, but the pixie tried to keep herself as small and harmless as possible in response. 

“I’m okay, everything hurts, though. I’m not quite sure what happened.” 

“Well, you see. I accidentally shot you down from the sky with my bow, because I saw you and got scared, I thought you were a predator and defended myself before properly looking,” meekly, the elf mumbled out an explanation. 

Jan felt herself stifling a giggle at how adorable the person in front of her was. She looked too nervous for Jan to want to poke fun at her, but the way she blushed, the tips of her pointy ears turning pink, was too cute. Although the situation wasn’t good, the pixie couldn’t help but stare, taking in every aspect of the pretty girl.

Oh no. She couldn’t be—

Jan blinked a few times, shaking the thought from her head before it could finish. The idea of emotionally bonding with some random person who accidentally injured her was ridiculous. She was cute, it didn’t go any deeper than that. She also was the reason Jan couldn’t keep her balance right now, yet that seemed the furthest worry from her mind. 

“It’s fine, I’m not that hurt.” A skeptical look made Jan laugh, although being hit by an arrow was painful, she hadn’t had too many bad injuries. Minus the pain all over her body, but that wasn’t a problem when her attention was focused on something; or rather, someone else. 

Before their conversation could continue, a loud bang startled the pair. Jan felt the pulling sensation even stronger now. 

Something was demanding her attention. 

She had to follow it; her body decided that for her. She walked out of the house with the panicked elf quickly pacing after her. Jan idly wondered if she was always so panicky, or if this was something far too out of her comfort zone, leaving her almost unable to function. 

“Wait, it’s here! Her!” A high pitched squeak of a voice spoke far too loudly for someone of her size. In a flash of yellow, Lemon fluttered in front of Jan. 

Their expressions mirrored each other, shock and confusion soon morphing into excitement, upon realising their shared species. It was one of the first times Lemon had truly been left speechless. 

“So you’re the one who gave me that feeling? You’re a strong little thing.” Jan inspected the small creature in front of her. Lemon only shrugged in response, not too aware of exactly what was happening, intrigued nonetheless. There was something about the soft lilac eyes and hair of the girl in front of her, that made her feel comfortable. 

Lemon shifted into her human form, staring Jan down much in the same way she had just done. She couldn’t figure it out, but the woman had a comforting energy. It reminded her of something she hadn’t felt in a long time, but she couldn’t let herself linger on that thought. 

----

“So, you’ve never met another pixie?” Jan stared at Lemon in shock, the raw energy emanating from her being completely untrained was almost inconceivable. Lemon shrugged, not seeing it as a huge deal, despite her excitement to meet another pixie.

“Yeah, I mean, I grew up around fairies, so it’s kind of similar, but I don’t know much about pixies.”

“Well, we need to make up for lost time! I bet you barely know how to use your powers. You can teleport and levitate things, but can you feel emotions, or sense energy? You’re close enough with Juice to connect with her if you tried. I’m not sure how it would work between a pixie and a fairy, rather than two pixies, but it’s definitely possible.”

“Connect? How so?”

“It’s just a thing pixies do; we get close enough to someone and a link develops. It can be trained to sense general energies, but you’re tied to the energy of another person. So, you could be able to feel Juice’s feelings, and reach a deeper understanding of each other.”

“That sounds so cool! How do I do it? What else can I do? Can you teach me?” Lemon’s eyes sparkled with so much excitement, that Jan felt herself soften; Lemon was so earnestly energetic and eager to learn that saying no wasn’t an option. 

Juice watched on with a smile—Lemon finding another pixie was something she’d mentioned wanting to do in a passing conversation, since she knew so little about herself. There was something about seeing her so happy that made her heart squeeze, Lemon deserved so much more than what she got. 

Lemon was incredible, although Juice couldn’t find the words to communicate it. She wouldn’t admit how much she adored the little troublemaker, but she would never stop being thankful she met that idiot. 

Rock nervously approached Juice, feeling they had similar energies. The fairy jolted in shock at a soft greeting, but they soon got into a conversation about the pixies. Juice was happy to share what it was like to be close to one, as Rock realised that Jan was likely to stick around. She would find it hard to leave for the time being due to her injuries; the elf quietly hoped to herself that she would stay. 

Juice quickly found a kinship with the elf based on their shared awkwardness when it came to social interactions; her anxieties settled as she realised the elf had the same issues. Their discussions flowed surprisingly easily, as they waited for the two pixies to calm down their enthusiasm. 

“So, is the intense energy just a pixie thing?” Rock cocked her head, curiously glancing between the pair and Juice. 

“It must be, Lemon doesn’t know how to sit still—he’s always got to be doing something, or she’ll complain about being bored. It’s kind of fun, though; she keeps things exciting.” Juice’s eyes fell back onto an excited Lemon, her face growing into an involuntary soft smile. 

Rock noticed something in the way the smaller girl looked at her, but decided not to mention it. It wasn’t her place to comment.

“Juice! Jan’s gonna teach me how to use my powers, isn’t that cool?” Lemon giddily bounced back to her friend, eyes gleaming with such excitement, Juice felt her heart warm with how happy she seemed. 

Lemon deserved so much more than she got, and Juice was going to do everything she could to make sure that happened. 

[digitaldreams0801]

Musa Profile

Name: Musa Xinyi Qiang

Age: 16

Gender: Female (she/her)

Birthday: May 30

Sexuality: Pansexual Polyamorous

Magic: Music

Astrological Sign: Elf

Status: Commoner 

Occupation: Student 

Affiliation: Alfea College for Fairies

Planet of Origin: Melody 

Hobbies: Singing, composing music, writing, dancing, playing instruments

Family: Matlin Aimi Qiang (Mother), Bao Kai Qiang (Father) 

Position in Team: Implementer

Pixie: Tune, Pixie of Manners

Likes: Music, being sarcastic, alone time, warm weather, noise

Dislikes: Silence, pushy people, crashing sounds, sickness, the cold 

Appearance: Musa is the shortest of the girls, standing at 5’0” even. She has black hair with blue tints to it, a regular trait on Melody. She has dark grayish purple eyes. Her eyes are narrower than the other girls’ due to her heritage, showing that she is distinctly Melodian. When she first meets the girls, her hair is rather short, tied into two ponytails on either side of her head. Over time, she grows her hair out to keep it in twin buns before finally getting hair extensions that have her hair reaching her hips. With her hair extensions, her hair is just as long as the other girls’, but she continues to keep it in twin ponytails. Musa doesn’t get much taller despite her hair drastically changing in length. She often wears headphones over her ears or around her neck, and they connect wirelessly to her phone to play music whenever she wishes it to. Musa wears loose clothing, finding it to be the most comfortable. She doesn’t put much emphasis on appearance, instead just putting on whatever she’s in the mood to wear. Most of the time, this consists of loose jeans with a cropped shirt (she prefers sleeveless or short-sleeves) with a pair of headphones and loose, worn-out sneakers.

Personality: Musa is a free spirit, not caring much of what other people think. She’s relaxed and rarely gets upset, believing other people should be allowed to do as they please. Musa is a bit of a tomboy, expressing traditionally masculine interests, not that she gives much attention to such. She instead focuses on the fact that she enjoys it as opposed to what boys and girls should and shouldn’t be allowed to enjoy. She acts like she doesn’t care because she cares too much and struggles greatly with being judged by others since she’s much more sensitive than she lets on. Musa hides her pain behind a tough front, acting like it doesn’t exist. She bottles up her feelings, refusing to talk about her problems with anyone unless they force it out of her. Musa can easily grow confrontational when forced to talk about subjects she isn’t comfortable with. The source of her emotional issues is her mother’s death, which traumatized her from a young age. She’s a bit of a lone wolf, enjoying her alone time more than most others not only among the Winx, but among all the fairies of Alfea. Musa is an amazing musician, able to express her emotions through wordless music better than most famous composers, but she doesn’t know how to share her music with others. After years of being forced to suppress her interests, she doesn’t know who she can trust with her secret love of songs. Musa struggles, however, to show how she feels through words. She’s a strong poet and uses her poetry in her music to express her emotions, but serious conversation about her feelings isn’t a hobby of hers. Musa hides behind a front of being nonchalant and uncaring to detach herself from others. While she does want to reach out to others, she struggles with such out of fear that people will die and leave her as her mother did. Overall, Musa is a confident, tomboyish girl who wants to reach out to others and express herself but holds back out of fear she’ll lose those she holds dear.

Background: Musa was born on Melody to a renowned opera singer and a struggling composer (Matlin and Bao respectively). The family lived in poverty as Matlin’s career kicked off with Bao as her songwriter. Musa showed signs of being a prodigy in music from a young age, and she followed in her parents’ footsteps as soon as she was able to. Musa learned how to sing from Matlin, who also taught her how to play the flute and harp when she was young. Bao wrote songs for them all to perform. Bao performed with Matlin every once in a while onstage doing the music he wrote about their love alongside her. Musa longed to join them onstage one day, doing everything she could to earn their approval to perform with them. Matlin’s career began to decline after a while, and she fell ill due to an unknown disease that turned her magic against her. Matlin’s condition got worse quickly, and her powers turned on her, leaving her sick and unable to stand for much longer than a few minutes. Bao and Musa were forced to spend all their money on medication to keep Matlin alive. Research was being done to cure her and others impacted by this sickness, and a cure was eventually found. The medication was expensive, but Bao spent all his money to purchase it. Unfortunately, the medicine didn’t work as well as anticipated, and it wound up speeding Matlin’s downward spiral, killing her suddenly and tragically. Now bankrupt and without their main source of income, Musa and Bao were forced into poverty. Bao grew to hate music, not able to stand the career that hadn’t made enough money to fuel funding that could have actually saved her. He resented magic as well since Matlin’s magic turning against her caused her sickness to begin with. Musa and Bao grew apart from then out. Musa was nine when Matlin died, and she didn’t talk to him much over the course of the following seven years. The two isolated themselves in their grief, their relationship strained in their refusal to talk out their emotions. Musa got a scholarship to Alfea between her secret studies of music that impressed scouts from the school. Her studies of magic didn’t hurt her, giving her the final push she needed to get in. Bao wasn’t happy with Musa’s decisions to follow music and magic, and they got into a horrible argument just before Musa left for Alfea. As of the first season, the two have not worked out their issues, leaving Musa with a lot of pent-up anger towards him throughout her time at Alfea.

Other: Musa is a prodigy in music, being able to pick up a musical instrument and learn how to play it within a matter of days. She replays songs she performed with her mother as a child often, doing it as a way of coping with her negative emotions. Her favorite instrument is the flute, though she enjoys playing on the harp as well. Musa and Tecna grew especially close after traveling to Alfea since they’re both quieter characters who slowly grew to open up to one another despite their fear of connection. The two sit in silence in their room together often, doing separate things but still reassuring the other that she isn’t alone. When she gets a crush, she tends to let it take over her, easily becoming distracted since she wants the other person to know she cares but doesn’t know how to express it.

Position in Team:

Musa is the one who gets things done out of the group. Instead of sitting on her heels and waiting for something to happen, she goes out of her way to take care of business. She doesn’t let prior reservations get in the way of her accomplishments, and she’s the fastest to do things since she doesn’t hesitate on them. As the most productive one in the group, she tends to lead the charge into battle when the others aren’t sure if jumping in would be the right idea.

Dynamics:

Bloom: Musa and Bloom tend to bury their feelings quite a bit, hiding behind an air of confidence to keep from letting on how deep their emotional issues are. They keep secrets sometimes not because they don’t trust others, but because they don’t know how to express themselves properly. Musa and Bloom have a lot of inside jokes from late-night sessions where they scream and punch pillows out of frustration. Musa has also recently started teaching Bloom how to play guitar.

Stella: While Stella and Musa are opposites, they still mesh rather well. They tend to hide their feelings, bottling everything up since they don’t want to face their problems. While they clash every once in a while due to both being standoff-ish at times with a snarky attitude, they do love each other deep down. Their contrasting perspectives allow them to help see another point of view when they’re blinded by other things, making their friendship mutually beneficial.

Flora: Musa is the extrovert to Flora’s introvert. While Flora tends to hide away from most people because she doesn’t know how to talk to them, Musa fears losing them. They can bond over losing a parent from a young age, and they help each other out of their shells. Musa helps Flora to become more confident in herself (even if she struggles to take her own advice), and Flora helps Musa to open up about how she feels despite hiding it from most of the world at large.

Tecna: Tecna and Musa both enjoy having time to themselves, allowing them to come together over such. While they’re radically different, they do have common ground after spending years without any people to talk to. They get along well and go to each other first when any issues come up regardless of if they’re the best ones to approach. Tecna and Musa can respect one another’s silent moments since they enjoy the quiet, and they can communicate without needing to say a word.

Aisha: Aisha and Musa share the past of an oppressive upbringing from their parents. While Aisha was forced to be a perfect princess, Musa was pulled from her passions by her father’s wishes. They mesh well, both being performers by nature. Musa sings while Aisha performs if they ever wish to take to the stage. They bond over years of loneliness as well, able to connect with one another seamlessly. They spend countless hours working on new routines together to express themselves.

Roxy: Musa and Roxy have a similar sense of style as far as clothing is concerned. They both tend to act like they don’t care what others think as well despite caring a lot more than they initially let on. Roxy and Musa are both rebellious and grew up with single fathers too, though Roxy’s relationship with her father was much stronger than Musa’s was with Bao. Musa acts as a source of emotional support for Roxy when she needs it most. They enjoy the same music too and listen to songs from Earth and Melody together often.

Diaspro: Musa and Diaspro act as if the outside world doesn’t affect them, though Diaspro does it as a way of hiding what she believes to be weakness. Musa is happy to reach out to her and tell her that showing positive emotion isn’t a sign of weakness. While Diaspro is resistant to such efforts at first, she grows to enjoy it after a while. Musa helps Diaspro to kick back and find happiness outside of royal life as well, which Diaspro is immensely thankful for after years of hiding her true self.

Sky: Sky and Musa were overall neutral for most of the latter’s first year at Alfea. After a while, Musa grew to resent Sky for his involvement in the arranged marriage that hurt Bloom so much. It took Musa a long time to get over it, not wanting to let up her anger due to her bad habit of keeping grudges. It wasn’t until Bloom stepped in that Musa backed down on her hate of Sky, and even so, the two don’t talk much since they simply don’t have much in common aside from a friend group.

Brandon: Musa and Brandon have no interest in one another romantically, but they’re both the types to casually, platonically flirt with others. In both of these cases, it’s little more than a joke, but they do get competitive at times for how many times they can use pickup lines on their friends. This has become a running gag among the group as a whole. Musa has been most successful up to this point, leaving Brandon to act in mock jealousy when the subject comes up.

Riven: Musa and Riven share a competitive streak, not that it would ever lead to romance. They snark off at each other since Riven is the only one of the Specialists who can stand up to Musa’s sarcastic behavior. Riven tends to get protective of her because she has treated him with basic respect in the past. Despite this, Musa has no tolerance for his behavior and will always tell him when he’s getting angry. Riven is doing his best to improve with her help but understands it isn’t all on her.

Timmy: Out of all the Specialists, Musa gets along best with Timmy. He’s quiet and awkward, but he can be trusted with anything Musa needs to tell him. She grew to be protective of him after a while, not wanting the sensitive young man to be exposed to the horrors of the world. Timmy doesn’t seem to realize Musa’s protection due to his struggles with understanding others, but he appreciates the company she provides when hanging around with the Specialists.

Helia: Helia and Musa are radically different in personality with Helia being a pacifist who hates violence and hesitates often while Musa never lets her inaction get the better of her, knowing violence is sometimes necessary. However, they bond over their love of poetry. Every once in a while, Helia gives one of his poems to Musa to use in one of her songs. Sometimes, they splice their words together into a new poem, expressing their feelings without needing to talk about them away from the poetry.

Nabu: Nabu is the only one of the Specialists that can match Musa’s level of caring so little about what other people think about her. She and Nabu share a quiet, mutual respect regarding their similar attitudes, even if they don’t talk much. Nabu is kind to Musa regardless and offers to be there for her no matter what happens, and Musa offers the same to him. They bond over their care of Aisha, not having the chance to talk about much else due to how little they see each other.

Matlin: Matlin was the person Musa looked up to most while she was still alive. Even after her death, Musa longs to be with Matlin above all else, wanting to be with her more than anything. Matlin found Musa to be the light of her life while she was still alive, treating Musa as her pride and joy. Even years after Matlin was buried, Musa still performs her music as a way of feeling more connected to her. When singing Matlin’s songs, Musa believes her mother is watching her from beyond the grave.

Bao: Bao and Musa’s relationship was strained, to say the least. After Matlin’s death, they grew apart quickly. Musa followed her heart even if it led her away from the path Bao had set out for her from the start. They patched up their relationship while she was in her second year at Alfea, coming to a mutual disagreement about how they’re going to go on about their lives. Now that they’ve fixed their communication issues, they’re close, but it took a while for them to fully repair their broken relationship.

Tune: Musa and Tune are as opposite as can be. While Musa is carefree and lets loose often, Tune is organized and sticks to routine above all else. Even if they’re different, neither one of them tries to change the other. They know that they’ve got differing views on the world, but they don’t use it against one another at all. Instead, they bond over their different thoughts on things. They come together to celebrate music with Tune showing her happiest side while singing with Musa.

[cunninginstinct]

Sand practically felt the drow studying him from where he sat, a sensation akin to the awareness of a spider creeping up one's neck. The origin of which was not entirely a deeply-ingrained wariness of his underground cousins, but with dark elves he had no personal quarrels at least.

But for this one to take on as many men as he did? Oh, he had a right to take care in his presence. Who knows what more he could be capable of?

The drow's eyes darted to the side and Sand followed his gaze... only to find empty space, rather than new developments or perhaps even a witness, if there had been any. The moon elf drew back somewhat at the sudden motion of a raised hand but remained passive, awaiting explanation with morbid interest.

The mystery-elf rose to his feet slowly with apparent care and caution considerate towards a naturally leery surfacer outlook. The elf eventually resumed proper posture with a stature that easily surpassed the wizard's own. Subconsciously, he took a half-step back and allowed him the time he needed to gather his thoughts.

Sand listened intently, chin in his palm and forefinger idly tapping his closed lips as the colorful individual spoke. Having witnessed second-hand the charm and etiquette of the locals, it did not seem too far-fetched that several of these men would take exception to clearly-placed boundaries. Especially when set by a young woman more interested in going about her daily life than being ogled and groped at.

But why would a strange drow intervene on her behalf? Especially with the risk of being outed while in the midst of a tense situation?

Satisfied enough with the explanation offered - at least for the moment - the moon elf nodded.

"Well, I am not one to accuse commoners of the Neverwinter Docks of critical thinking," he remarked sardonically. "I would hardly say this display of mob mentality was your fault. If," he continued with his pointer finger momentarily brandished for emphasis, "that is, your story holds true."

"In any case, I am more inclined to believe that if you truly meant harm, you would have taken the opportunity to kill rather than simply subdue. Paired with present evidence, I feel it would be more productive to offer you some respite before the watch inevitably bumbles their way into some... half-hearted semblance of competence," he finished with a sustained rolling gesture of his wrist, paired immaculately with a sarcastic roll of his eyes to cleanly bookend his wit.

...If there were any watchmen at the nearby post at all, though he had a niggling suspicion that they had been bribed into calling an early night. It would not have been the first time, and it would explain the lack of response during the worst of the confrontation. And here we have a shining example of taxpayers' money well-spent.

Frowning, Sand cast his gaze about their surroundings and returned his attention to the ragged and brightly colored stranger. "It would be wise for us to take our conversation inside, away from the scene of the skirmish. The presence of onlookers may potentially exacerbate your less-than-ideal situation." He gestured over to a small building not too far off, christened Sand's Shop by a sign that appeared to have been vandalized and re-painted more than once. "My shop is practically around the corner, and I have the necessary supplies to prevent, oh I don't know, bleeding out or a possible concussion. It's your call.~"

Perhaps it was a foolhardy offer, and rarely did he ever trust gut feeling over logic, but the stranger's demeanor seemed anxious rather than scheming... and he still had more he wished to know, so if there was ever an opportunity to dig more into the mystery, this would be his best bet. One potion and some bandages seemed to be a fair trade for what ever information he could gather.

Incidental open starter

“Well!” The diminutive moon elf strode into view, hands clasped behind his back. His keen blue eyes scanned the stranger in acute scrutiny, paired with a curious tilt of his head. He sniffed loudly and quirked an eyebrow. “You certainly don’t see that every day. Dare I ask what is going on?”

[rainsonata]

A Day Off

Fandom/Pairing: Elsword; hints of VCBH Rating: K Word Count: 1,626

Summary: With no missions and chores to be done, Elesis was bored when she caught Raven walking back to the inn. Birthday fic for @blazingsnark.   

Edit: Oops, deleted original post and reposted to add a Read More bar.  Sorry for taking up space!

Shouts and murmurs overlapped one another, swords clattered against the blacksmith’s hammer, and wind chimes clang with the sea breeze carried over from the ports.  Foreign spices overwhelmed one’s sense, a mixture of everything that made it hard to pinpoint its components.  Even the air felt different, sharp and salty to the taste if one was to close their eyes and breath in.

It was hard to believe this was the merchant’s area.  Everything about the city was pristine, sculpted out of white marble with gold and blue stones decorating the exteriors. There were cracks on the floor and several of the buildings, but not many.  They contrasted against the ruined buildings in Hamel’s outskirts, where the demons’ influences had spread.  

Bouncing in her heels, Elesis stopped when she caught a familiar face among the crowds of merchants, civilians, and soldiers.  She pushed through the packed streets and waved with both of her arms, happy to see him.  

“Heya, Raven!”  

The Veteran Commander did a double take when she approached him, but gave a steady smile, “Hello, didn’t expect to see you.”

Why?  Because most of the group was out, there was no need to upgrade weapons, shop for equipment, or any of that because they were already completed on their last free day?  The redhead crossed her arms and twitched.  

“Shopping for dinner?” She noticed Raven holding grocery bags that could feed two or three households for a week, although with how big the Elparty had grown, it wasn’t an exaggeration. It was already hard to balance the party’s money without including living expenses like eating and resting at inns.  Would it be ungrateful to ask Aisha to conjure food out of thin air?      

“Yeah,” Raven chuckled, “Elsword ate the last bit of leftovers for lunch.”  

“Let me help!” The Blazing Heart didn’t wait for an answer and stole three bags to carry with both hands.  

There was a bounce in her footsteps when she almost skipped back to the inn they were staying at.  Elesis counted her lucky stars that their destination was close to the marketplace, a few minutes’ walk at most, but the extra weight made it feel longer when they stopped to take a breather.  

“Are you done with training already?” Raven asked.  

She shrugged, “There’s only so much training you can do in a day.”

He nodded in understanding, “It’s hard to stand still when it’s quiet, isn’t it?”    

“They’re missing out on the fun we’re having,” Elesis joked.  Her voice was steady, but was it convincing enough?  The look Raven was giving her gave her the feeling that it wasn’t.  

Although none of them said it out loud, the red sparks threatening to erupt from her fingertips seemed to express the sentiment the most.  Hamel was partially submerged because of the demon invasion, leaving their recent missions to involve investigating the depths of the sea.  Being fire users, that meant she, her brother, and Raven were for lack of better word, useless.  Even before she joined her brother and his friends, she was rarely alone because she had her men to think of and worked with them through many of the missions assigned to them.  It was unrealistic to think she would never stumble on obstacles that would block her ability to fight, but watching the party leave without them felt wrong.

“You think those four know how to swim?”  Elesis mused at the funny image: a mage, elf, nasod, and child wading underwater in search for clues to the El’s whereabouts.  Could nasods swim?  When she asked the nasod queen, she was provided with a long explanation she couldn’t make head of.  She was going to assume it was a yes if Eve had no qualms about going near water.  

“Chung and Rena should,” Raven said.  “I don’t know about the other two.  Do you?”  

“Of course!”  No child from Ruben grew up without learning to swim at Lake Noahs.  Among house wives’ whispers were rumors that the water had special property that could heal the tired and the sick.  “Do you?”

“Yes, but it would be unwise for me to.”

It took Elesis a moment to understand the statement until Raven waved his nasod arm for her attention.  Oooh, right, nasod arm.  Waterproof or not, the additional weight would slow them down.  

When they returned to the inn, the front lobby was packed with travelers and soldiers lined up at the front desk.  Squeezing past the crowd and making their way back to their rooms, it took them several tries to get the key to work so they could open the door.  Once they stored most of the food, Elesis followed Raven to the chicken to see the Veteran Commander wearing a pink apron.  

Was it already time?  Elesis glanced at the stove clock to see it was half past four, then turned her head to see the sun high up and gleaming down through the windows.  The sun here felt different too, less intense and cooler than Velder.

“They’re not back.”  The redhead rested her eyes on the empty main room connected to the kitchen.  It was a suite styled rooming with a hallway leading to multiple rooms for different people, perfect to house full parties such as themselves.    

“The enemy must be hiding the duke well,” Raven opened a bag of flour to pour into a bowl with a plastic cup.  He dug through the pantry for the paprika, salt, and pepper to toss with the flour to make the seasoning.  

“Some mission,” Elesis scratched the back of her head.  “All this to save someone who can’t keep his head above the water.”  She grabbed a knife from the drawer to open a bag of vegetables on the counter.  A number of questions spurred in her mind as she began chopping them on the cutting board beside raven.  Unable to control the panic from the demon invasion, going missing, being rumored to be kidnapped by mermen of all things… was Duke Rod Ross worthy of his title?

A smile tugged at the corner of Raven’s mouth at the play on words, “It’s hard to sympathize when his secretary said this wasn’t the first time.  Nobles in Hamel aren’t too different from the ones in Velder, it seems.”  

“It seems so,” Elesis laughed.

Despite the struggles she had when she was stationed in Velder, nostalgia overwhelmed her when she was thought of the people she met and the places she traveled to with her men.  Hearing Raven’s occasional comments about the army made her happy to see she wasn’t alone.  

“It’s hard talking to them sometimes,” she admitted.  “It’s like they’re talking another language!”

“They do say things differently than the common folk for certain things,” Raven agreed.  “Didn’t you live in Velder for a time?”

“I did, but it was mostly teaching my men how to fight more than talking to the nobles.”  

“We’ll have to cooperate with them more in Hamel,” he said.  “Are you okay with that?”  While he appreciated Elesis’ enthusiasm, he knew Hamel was different from the experience Elesis must have had with Velder holding less emphasis on nobility but was more military based.  

“Me? Nah, I’ll be fine!”  The Blazing Heart shrugged it off, but paused when she thought she heard someone walking down the hallway.  That must be Elsword, she noted.  

Raven must have heard the footsteps too and said, “Well, Elsword seems to represent us and I worry if we encounter someone who won’t be as forgiving if he accidentally steps out of line…”

Her expression wavered.  Elsword did use a Ruben slang a merchant mistakened as an insult when the Rune Slayer tried to make a bargain the other day.  Perhaps she needed to talk to him. She pondered on what to tell her younger brother.  

“You seem fluent in doing this sort of thing,” Elesis made her decision.  “Teach me how to talk to nobles then!”

“H-hey, I’m no expert!”  He made a choking noise she assumed as surprise…of happiness?  Raven coughed, “I wasn’t born with a silver spoon-”

“And that’s why you’ll be a great teacher!”  She beamed, “You tell me the common folk equivalence with the fancy talk and I’ll teach Elsword afterward!”

“Fancy talk?”  The older man blurted out a loud laugh before controlling himself and stifle a smile.  Raven finished mixing the eggs with water in a separate bowl and a bit of salt and pepper.      

She finished cutting the last slices of onion and bell pepper, stringing them together on a kabob and was pleased with herself.  It looked like Raven was almost done too with washing the chicken and covering them with the seasoning he made earlier.  All was left was to cook them on a frying pan and wait for them to cool.    

Elesis grinned, “I’ll pick it up, no problem!”    

Raven returned one and chuckled, “I’ll see what I can do then.  Tomorrow?”

She beamed, “Tomorrow, after breakfast.”  Elesis watched Raven heat up the stove in preparation to fry the chicken and had a gleam in her eyes when she offered to add extra paprika to the first piece.    

“Be careful,” he said.

“Hey,” she said with a wink.  “Just a little.”

Raven stared, “You poured at least two spoons.”

Elesis waved it off, “This isn’t for me.”

Color drained from Raven’s face before he realized when she meant when he caught her with a devious expression.  

“This is for Elsword eating the last sandwich,” the redhead cackled while Raven groaned.  It looked like Raven did have a soft heart after all as Rena claimed.  She couldn’t wait to tell the elf the good news tonight when the rest of them came home.  

Author Notes: Thanks being a good friend and going over my writing over the years!   I’m glad I found your fics long ago and got to talk to you u v u/.   Don’t let the hot summer melt you!    

[lyonface]

lionwolf with a snowflake on top “we’re co workers who hate each other but you had too much to drink at the staff christmas party and admitted your love for me i don’t know how to act around you now”

This one is er more tangential than I originally planned. Also longer. Also about a month later than it was meant to be. Thank you for your patience.

---

Hugging the wall of a community event seemed like a counter-intuitive place for Cullen to be, and yet here he was, willfully wedging himself between empty chairs not far from the food table, neatly set with pastries, finger food, and a large bowl of punch that had been spilled at least twice, both times by Sera. He didn’t much care for gatherings like this, he never has, but he understood that there were times where he had to suck it up and attend them regardless of his discomfort. Now was one of those times. At least he could choose his level of participation.

He could also be content, at least, knowing that a sharp look, even when paired with a festive sweater, could send anyone that may ask him to join in the group festivities spinning on their heels to face the opposite direction and avert their attention to more malleable targets. It meant that he was largely left alone while others were roped into doing ridiculous party games and dances, something he had absolutely no interest in being a part of, at last not after nearly stumbling into multiple intoxicated coworkers and his feet being stepped on far too many times.

He spotted a movement, smelling the sickly sweet, spiked punch far before he saw her. He pinned the lithe, tall elf with a look of calm disagreeableness but she was having none of it, meeting it head on with a wide jeer.

“C’mere, C’mmander Stickupyerarse…!” she grumbled, swaying on her legs as she made a swipe for one of his arms.

He moved easily out of her way, “Sera, no.”

Her tongue clicked against her teeth, irritated as she righted herself. “Yer no fun…”

Cullen pulled at his sweater and shifted on his feet. “I’m having plenty of fun.”

Sera wasn’t buying it, canting her hips and putting her hands on them as she scrutinized his knitted sweater. “Yew ‘n yer…” she reached for the word.

His eyebrows raised minutely as she scrunched up her face, failing to find whatever adjective or noun she was going for through the muddlement of alcohol in her system. Did she mean the pattern of his sweater? Surely not.

“Trebu–”

“Trebuchets! Who even gets that onna sweater anyway?” she said, perplexed, flicking her hand out with her wrists before turning to the punch bowl and grabbing a cup.

He opened his mouth to reply but it was too late, her mind now completely fixated on getting herself more inebriated. He let it go and lifted the rim of his cup to meet his lips as he heard her grouch from further down the table.

“Oy, back off a’right?!” There was a pause and her voice was renewed, amused, just barely audible over the music. “Wow, huh. I was gonna tell ya to getcher own but you’ve had plenty. Bad day Mr. Archowhateverlogy?”

An unamused, distinct voice replied in turn, “…Really? You had one more syllable, and instead you decide to mock it by making it more complicated?”

Cullen sighed at the cadence of the other man, recognizing him instantly. He was a consultant for multiple projects he had worked on since beginning to work in this city, and while he always had a fondness for his intellect and his confident and focused approached to his work, he always seemed to catch him in a bad mood as of late. Whenever he would approach him to consolidate on a mutual project, his rigidity and clipped replies made it a struggle to assess how he was, both professionally and personally. It wasn’t difficult to recall a time when he wasn’t always so cold, but Cullen had learned to live with it during these past few months.

The man emerged from the other end of the food table, donning a black turtle neck that hugged his slim, broad shouldered frame and slacks. Cullen was surprised to see that he was flushed in his face and ears and glanced at the cup in his hand, filled with something besides water. That was…unexpected.

When the irritated, inebriated elf met his gaze, he nodded agreeably and gestured slightly with his cup in hand, not avoiding eye contact.

“Solas,” he greeted.

Solas seemed to waffle a moment on how to react before deciding on courtesy, bowing ever so slightly in return. “Cullen.”

Cullen raised his cup to drink again and was surprised when Solas didn’t about-face back to thread through the crowd. Instead, he came to stand beside him, taking a short sip from his drink.

Well, no point in turning away the rare opportunity to speak with him. Cullen turned slightly to look back at Solas. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

Solas’s blue eyes flashed to look at him a moment before turning away, “I could say the same for you. This is hardly the sort of gathering I would imagine you attending.”

Cullen hummed and smiled a bit, looking back over the crowd as they started to dance to a song with a popular dance that he knew nothing about. “Not much anymore, I’m afraid. Still, they can be fun, given the right circumstances.”

A tilt of his head signaled his mild agreement. “Celebratory ones, I would imagine.”

“Are the holidays not a cause tocelebrate?” he asked, his small teasing smile quirking the scar carved in a slashperpendicular to his mouth and over his upper lip.

It caught Solas’s attention whenhe turned to answer back, his eyes flicking immediately to the man’s grinbefore he looked away again. The action was stiff, but immediate.

“I would imagine that it woulddepend on both the holiday and the person’s enjoyment of said holiday.”

Cullen responded with an airychuckle. “You are not a fan of Wintersend, I take it?”

A small frown drew Solas’s mouthdown for a brief second before it was gone. He was quiet a moment, long enoughthat Cullen was afraid he might have offended him. As he opened his mouth to seekan apology, Solas answered, “Sometimes it is enjoyable, as it is meant to be.Other times it only serves to bring up memories I would rather not recall.”

That news was concerning, but notnecessarily unexpected. Cullen pocketed his free hand as he hummed inacknowledgment. He was no stranger to bad memories; in fact, it could be easilyargued that the majority of his memories were either of poor circumstance orevents sprung from misery. Much of his life had been stained by those details,but for the last few years he has found some way to try to move passed them. Hethought of the team he worked with, people he could genuinely call his friends,and it made him smile. He may be awkward at these kinds of functions, but eventhe water he drank tasted sweet when mixed with good company. Solas...was good company.

“You could always make new ones,”he suggested, gesturing slightly to Solas as he said it.

Solas turned to him, his eyesthoughtful, even just a bit more interested.

At his unexpected silence, Cullenstuttered to continue, “Er— The best way to chase bad memories away is toreplace them with better ones, with the people you care about.”

“Is that why you are inattendance tonight?” Solas asked.

He glanced away, bringing hisfree hand to rub absently at the back of his neck. “I suppose it is. Is thatnot why you’re here, Solas?”

“I can enjoy the festivities onoccasion,” he answered, a small smile on his lips, “But yes, since you asked.”

Cullen chuckled. “I admit I’msurprised you haven’t yet cleared the sweets table.”

“You have not been there,” heanswered playfully, a slight crinkle to his eyes, “You can rest assured that Ihave done my part in alleviating the staff of some of their burden in theclean-up after the celebrations have concluded.”

It warmed Cullen to finally seehim donning an honest smile, and it was infectious.

Solas turned away from him tolook over the crowd after a moment, trying to suppress his expression. That wasunusual; typically he had no problem looking contented and stoic. Cullen notedthe flush on his skin again and decided that it was the drink affecting him.Come to think of it, despite how long they’d been acquainted, he couldn’trecall a time where he had seen the man intoxicated to a level that actuallyaffected him.

“How much of that punch have youhad?” he teases. “I could not drink it, not that I particularly wanted to inthe first place.”

“Neither could nor did I,” heanswered as he gestures with his cup, “This is from the open bar in theadjoining room. I would not deign myself to drink anything that smells of…” hetrailed off, glancing at the bowl filled with the stuff, “syrup and paint-thinner.”

“Don’t forget Sera.”

Solas chuckled, “Yes, of course.Syrup, paint-thinner, and loud-mouthed interns.”

He laughed at that.

The two men lapsed into a momentof pleasant silence as the song came to an end and there was a lapse betweensongs. The dancers and participants clustered in the middle of the room beganto move around, waiting in anticipation for the next song. This was what Cullenwas more used to, a comfortable silence. Although he’d be foolish to think thatSolas would be fine suddenly after all that time of being stiff before, hecould always hope that this was the first day of change for the better inregards to his demeanor.

Solas swirled his drink around inhis cup as he pondered a moment. “I wanted to…apologize, if I might.”

Cullen turned, looking at himquestioningly.

Solas glanced back at him and, uponmeeting his eyes, looked quickly away again, a strange air of sheepishness about his normal confident posture. “I have been…less thancompanionable as of late, and that has interfered with the work we have beendoing.”

At least he was aware of it; itwould have been worse if he hadn’t been. “I admit I have been…worried.”

A strange expression crossed hisface. His reply was immediate, “You’ve no need to be. It will pass, as italways does.”

He moved a bit closer, “Is thereanything I can do to help?”

“No,” he answered quickly, thenstopped and sighed. “I appreciate the thought, but this is something I mustwork out on my own time.”

He would never be so frank with anyone besides him. “It’s been months, Solas.” At Solas huffing through his nose and bringing his free hand up to rub between his eyes, he continued, “I don’t want to upset you. I--.” He stops himself and reorients, “I’m worried, is all. ...You understand.”

Cullen shifted his cup of water from one hand to the other. Solas turned bodily toward him, the black cotton of his shirt bathed in festive colors from the light fixtures decorating the area. “You do not upset me, Cullen. I--”

It appears they were both at a loss for words, and both suddenly awkward.

“I simply must--”

He flinches when a small batch of green is hurled from the crowd and bounces ineffectually off of his ear and on to the floor, hitting his elbow on the way down. Rubbing at the long arch of his assaulted ear, Solas pivoted with as much of a dignified air as he could muster, trying to find who threw it despite already knowing who it was.

“Sera,” the two of them say in unison, Cullen with a touch of affectionate amusement while Solas primarily with exasperation.

Fixing his blonde hair on the way back to his standing position, Cullen picks up the object and expects it. His ears turn slightly red when he realizes it’s mistletoe. “... Well...”

Where he would normally expect some quippy jest from Solas, it doesn’t come. Instead, the elf eyes the branch with a strangled look in his eye.

Unsure of what to do next, Cullen made a suggestion. “Shall we...throw it back?”

Solas glanced at his drink and huffs, squaring his shoulders. He seemed to have come to some kind of conclusion, or just gotten more stubborn. He turned back to Cullen now, looking at him thoughtfully, “Perhaps it is bait.”

His ears turned darker and he coughed, “Ah, b-bait?”

Solas nearly looked amused, and that did nothing for Cullen’s countenance. The elf tipped his drink back and downed the rest of it, his tongue darting to catch a stray drop on his lower lip. Well that was...hm...

Snapping out of his foggy trance, Cullen swallowed. “I will...throw it back.”

---

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