#even if it fails over and over we have to keep trying

[romanteacism]

A Butterfly and A Dragon’s Flight Chapter Eight

Chapter Summary: It's fun to play pretend. Word Count: 5,700 Warnings: Revalations, Lady Elinora and Prince Aemond Growing Closer, Daeron and Edward Protecting Elinora from Aemond, Aemond and Elinora Playing Pretend, Secret Rendezvous

“I heard everything,” Edward stated as he came to Daeron’s door at first light. The prince is still discombobulated from sleep. Silver hair was disheveled, eyes barely opened, and he was only clutching a white sheet to cover himself. “What?” Daeron questioned, overcome by sleep and his tired state did not differentiate if this was real or just a dream. 

“Last night, in the halls. I heard you and Prince Aemond.” Edward stated more clearly as he pushed himself inside the chambers of the youngest prince. Daeron sat on the edge of his bed, trying to comprehend the words of his friend, staring blankly at the stone floors whilst Edward waited for his response. “You… you heard everything?” Daeron uttered, piecing together and trying to remember the whole of his and his brother’s conversation. “I have.” 

“Then I suppose you now know that we are aware of whom Eli is betrothed,” Daeron said cautiously. “What?! I— What I heard was you playing a failed matchmaker between Prince Aemond and Elinora and how he only lusts after her— you know who my sister is betrothed to?! Even I do not know the man!” Edward exclaimed, and the booming voice of the young lord finally woke the young prince. “Do you really not know? We thought you knew! And you were simply doing your parent’s bidding and not telling Elinora or anyone who he is.” Daeron said as he stood and moved behind a divider to dress himself in a robe. “No! If I had known, I would have told Elinora the moment I knew! I do not agree with our parent’s decision to keep her in the dark when it came to her intended. I, too, wish to know who the man is in order to know if he is deserving of my sister!”

Daeron sighed as he stepped out, “It’s Jacaerys,” He revealed and watched as Edward’s wide, green eyes further widened. “A bastard!? They betrothed my sister to a bastard!?” Edward exclaimed in scandal, and Daeron quickly moved to hush his friend. “Imbecile! If the wrong ears heard you, your tongue could be cut!” Daeron warned and tried to make Edward sit back down, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. “But yes, Elinora is betrothed to a bastard… However, my grandfather reassured us that such a marriage would never take place. He had spoken with your parents, and a quiet agreement has been made that Elinora will not marry Jacaerys— he had gone to great lengths to ensure that whatever agreement or engagements are null and void.” Daeron reassured. 

“She can’t marry him… they cannot place her in such a position— Do not twist my words; I am not underestimating my sister, but you and I both know how Elinora is… she can’t even refuse meanless conversation from pitiful lords during balls even though she does not wish for it— what more when it is a band of small folk demanding her?” Edward said in great concern the same concerns that Daeron had when he learned that Elinora was bound to marry Prince Jacaerys. 

“I know, I know… I, too, had the same thoughts. But it is no use in fretting over the matter. Rest assured, no marriage shall take place. Jacaerys is already taken by the daughter of Daemon, and Elinora knows not that she is betrothed to him— in time, it was as if no betrothals took place.” 

“But what about your brother?” Edward then questioned. “I cannot in good conscience stay under the same roof as him, who had been sniffing around my sister! It is one thing to suspect what men think of Elinora— but to hear him shamelessly utter it is… I cannot stand for it, Daeron!” Edward began to seethe again. “I, too, cannot stand it, but what would you have us do? I have already warned and threatened my brother— and I know your manners nor station cannot warrant it. We cannot bring Uncle into this as it would spiral further out of control, and he will not hesitate to tell your parents, who will then undoubtedly lock Elinora in her cage.” Daeron rambled on. 

“Then what?” Edward questioned. “I do not know… but you are set to leave in a moon— we just need to watch over Elinora so that Aemond does not stray closer to her,” Daeron stated, and Edward could only nod with a grievous sigh, leaving his lips. His whole body was tense as he was proven right in all his accusations of the prince. “Go on then,” He stated. And Daeron frowned. “Go, accompany Elinora. I do not blame you fully, but it was your encouragement that managed for the two to grow fonder one another— now you must undo what you have done.” 

“Edward! You cannot hold that against me!” Daeron exclaimed. “I can and I will— unless you make certain that your brother shall not come close to my sister. Do you know what he did? He got her a cat! An adorable, fluffy little kitten whom Elinora is already smitten with! He has her in the palm of his hands!” Daeron groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. He did not know fully Elinora’s view on Aemond, but if his brother got her a cat— something she had been longing for since she was a child, it was safe to say that there was already affection blooming in her heart. 

“Very well then,” He muttered and disappeared the divider once more to dress. “Make haste; she will wake soon, and she will undoubtedly go to the pond to feed the ducks, and undoubtedly, your brother shall be waiting for her.” Edward sneered as he had grown to expect and know where Aemond waited to have his little rendezvous with his sister. 

“Daeron!” Elinora breathed out in shock when she opened her door only to reveal Daeron waiting at the other end of it. “What… why are you awake so early?” She questioned as she looked towards the edge of the hall to see that the sun was barely in its quarter, far too early for Daeron to be awake and ready for the day. “Oh… I just couldn’t sleep— and seeing you always wake so early, I thought I might accompany you today. I feel as if we have not spent much time these days.” Daeron quickly fibbed. 

“You slept poorly? Best to try some chamomile and lavender tea— wine cannot always aid you in sleep, Daeron.” Elinora advised as she and Daeron began to walk toward the direction of the pond. Elinora clutched a sleeping Peony in her arms. “I do not like tea! It tastes bitter and as if I’m only drinking the essences of leaves and grass— which I am!” Daeron reasoned as he felt that Elinora was on the verge of chastising him for his habitual glass or two of wine before bed. “But it’s good for you! It calms you down when need be and gives you energy if you wish— you cannot only drink wine, Daeron… I fear you might turn into your eldest brother,” Elinora whispered the final part, conscious of whose ears were eavesdropping upon them. 

Daeron paused in his tracks, a dramatic gasp leaving his lips. “You wound me, Eli!” He said theatrically, his hand atop his chest as if he were actually wounded. “You dare compare me to… to Aegon? Of all people?!” Elinora bit her lip to hinder her laugh at Daeron’s antics. “My, my… the capitol has truly changed you— has made you cruel! I think it best we return to the Reach, what has Kingslanding done to our Eli?” Daeron continued, and Elinora could no longer stifle her laughs. 

“I am still the same Daeron… I am just worried about you,” She sighed, a small smile still on her lips that seemed to lighten the mood of the rather dreary topic they were partaking in. Elinora had always had that gift about her, a lightness to make any dark or bleak subject find a sense of optimism in it. “I know, and I thank you for your concern,” Daeron smiled and linked their arms. 

“So…” Elinora trailed, wanting to hear a certain sentence to leave Daeron’s lips. “Fine, I shall refrain from drinking excessively, lest I become Aegon,” Daeron agreed almost half-heartedly. He had no clue that his accompanying Elinora that morning meant he would give up wine. But he supposed that it was a small price to pay to prevent Aemond from slithering his way to Elinora’s side. 

When they arrived at the pond, Elinora saw no other presence present, quietly disappointing her. She had thought that Prince Aemond would be there, waiting for her to feed the ducks and swans just as they did the previous days. Elinora traveled her gaze further around the pond, but the sight of silver hair draped atop black leather was nowhere to be seen, making her sigh and instead forge the thought of Prince Aemond and instead focus on feeding the birds. 

She tried to remove her thoughts from Prince Aemond, but as she and Daeron fed the ducks, she could not help but still think of the prince. She had noticed he acted quite differently when others surrounded him. He was more rigid and aloof, just as he was during the previous night’s dinner. There was an edge in his voice and tenseness in his movements, a stark difference from how he was when Elinora would encounter him alone in the gardens and pond. 

Aemond gritted his teeth as he predictably saw his brother with Elinora, accompanying her to the pond that Daeron fully knew was where he and Elinora spoke and encountered one another without the disturbance of other interlopers. Aemond breathed heavily as he watched from behind a bush as Elinora arrived by the pond's edge, her eyes shifting, looking as if she was searching for someone— searching for him. 

Aemond swallowed thickly at such thoughts and the disappointed look in her jade eyes. Could it be possible? That someone would miss him? Would anyone truly wish to be in his presence and search for his whereabouts, and when not found, would turn disappointed? Aemond turned cold at such realizations. It was a rare sensation and instance, but he would think he should grow to expect it because someone like Elinora was truly rare.

He had the urge to just march towards the pond and announce his presence to her, to wipe away the disappointment in her eyes and let her see that he was there. That he did not forget their custom of feeding the ducks. However, Aemond’s caution ruled his wants. The prince instead left the gardens and pushed away the thought of the girl to the farthest crevices of his mind and hoped by some gracious miracle, his thought would not stray to Elinora. 

“What in the name of the gods are you doing here? You should be watching over Elinora!” Edward suddenly exclaimed as Daeron entered his chambers and plopped down on his already-made bed. “Calm down; she is in the chapel with our mothers,” Daeron explained, voic muffled as his head was pressed upon the feathered bed. “By gods, it’s quite exhausting! Elinora does not run around, but we have walked along the whole keep thrice! Thrice, Edward! She had no actual place to go; she just walked around for leisure!” Daeron complained and settled further into the bed. 

“She’s not walking for leisure; she’s searching,” Edward explained as he tried to finish writing a scroll that his father ordered him to write. “Searching for what?” Daeron asked, but he quickly came to an answer. “Oh,” was all he could say as he realized Elinora’s sudden fondness for walking was because she was hoping to stumble upon Aemond. “How are you so certain that she was in search of someone?” Daeron asked. 

“Because that certain someone was doing the same thing as well. I was breaking my fast in the hall, and I saw Prince Aemond pass by five times, his eye clearly searching for my sister.” Edward explained. “Does she truly like him, or are we simply paranoid? I know he’s my brother and all… however, I quite find it hard to believe that someone would be fond of him in such a way… especially if it be Elinora.” Edward sighed and shook his head. “It’s quite plain…  I cannot explain it or fathom it, but I believe all our caution is reasonable. And even if she is not truly fond of the prince, we are both aware of how fond your brother is of her.” 

Elinora sat silently and alone in a pew behind her mother and the queen as they listened to a private service since it was proven dangerous for them to venture to the sept. “Seven,” A silky, cold voice suddenly whispered beside her. Elinora was momentarily startled, but as she turned to her side, she suddenly saw Prince Aemond sitting beside her. “What?” She asked, confused by what he had uttered. “I thought you were counting how many times he had said ‘tsk’ during his sermon,” Aemond said but quickly cringed at himself as he had no word of substance to say to Elinora. But he was quick to be absolved from recoiling at himself as a smile came to Elinora’s lips. “No, on the contrary, I was counting how many times he’s been saying ‘hm,’ and I believe it had been five,” 

Aemond bit the insides of his cheeks and nodded as Elinora moved to look onward once more as the Maester who was giving the sermon noticed that the two of them were distracted with one another. “Have you fed the ducks today?” Aemond asked quietly as both of them looked before the alter, discreetly having a conversation. “I have… Daeron joined me. Though I must admit, the ducks were skeptical of him,” She answered and ran her fingers through Peony’s fur. Aemond hummed and gave a small nod. 

Aemond was to speak again, read to utter another nonsensical thing just to keep his conversation with Elinora. However, they both saw as the Queen glanced toward their direction. “Aemond! I— what are you doing here?” Queen Alicent questioned as his son rarely ventured to the sept or any place of worship uncoerced. “Attending the sermon, Mother,” He answered plainly, glancing towards Elinora, who lowered her gaze and focused it upon her kitten that lay on her lap. Queen Alicent was still quite confused, but she gave a nod and returned to look onward. 

“What are you doing here, my prince? If I remember correctly, you mentioned the other day that you have no care for the gods,” Elinora whispered and leaned closer to the prince so that he could hear her. Aemond licked his lips as he followed along with Elinora’s movement and leaned closer to her, her scent invading his senses again. If he were a lesser man, he would give into his urges, bury his nose into her hair, and greedily inhale her scent of lilac and bergamots. 

“Such blasphemous words, surely I was not the one to utter it,” Aemond smirked, and once again, Elinora frowned in confusion as he denied an action that he clearly did. “But— do you not remember? We were in the pond and found the duck’s nest and were having a conversation about faith and how you barely have any,” Elinora explained, trying to make the prince remember. “Once again, my lady, I do not know what you speak of,” Aemond said and smirked further as an adorable pout came to Elinora’s lips. 

“Why do you do that?” Elinora suddenly questioned as she and Prince Aemond began to walk towards the pond once again. “Do what?” He asked as he inched closer to her side, letting their shoulders brush with each step they took. “Deny things you’ve done— they are not necessarily bad things, which is why it is confusing when you deny it,” Aemond felt a grin itching to come to his lips. “Well, first of all, it’s amusing. Watching you try to figure out if you had false memories or not. And secondly…” 

“You’re teasing me,” Elinora said, feeling heat come to her cheeks. “Exactly,” Aemond finally smiled. “That’s mean!” She protested as they descended the stairs, Aemond taking the initiative to hold her arm and assist her as she tripped upon the skirts of her dress. “Not quite… I do not do it out of malice… just amusement.” Aemond explained as they reached the end of the stairs. “So you see me as a jester then?” Elinora questioned, so consumed by how the prince truly viewed her that she did not bother to remove her hold on the prince’s arm, and Aemond did not dare to remove it himself. Letting himself enjoy and indulge in the warmness and touch of Elinora. 

“It is just harmless teases, Elinora. Surely your brother and even Daeron do it to you as well,” Aemond remarked as he led them to a path less traveled towards the pond just so they’d be out of the eyes of interlopers. “So if it was all just teases… and you were only pretending… then it was truly you who gave me Peony!” Elinora exclaimed and moved her kitten to be seen better by the prince. Aemond paused for a moment, not thinking that she would mention that subject once more. 

“Yes,” He finally admitted and felt his heart stutter as a wide smile overcame Elinora’s face— eyes crinkling in joy and an indent on the right corner of her lips appearing. “I knew it! I— I have not properly thanked you for the past days because I was uncertain, but… thank you, my prince— I never wanted anything more than a cat.” Elinora said gratefully as she clutched Peony closer to her chest, Aemond watching as the kitten snuggled itself further to her owner. 

Aemond could only blink as Elinora beamed upon him. The whole of it was overwhelming; with them under the shade of trees, hidden from the eyes of the court, and the image of her with a kitten in her arms and butterflies over her head, Aemond felt a sudden urge to hold her. Not kiss her, but just to simply have her in his arms. Nothing of lust, just something entirely pure. 

“You… you need not thank me, Elinora.” Aemond finally spoke. “No, but I do! You’ve given me something I will cherish and love forever! I could only hope I could offer you the same kindness. How could I ever repay you?” She said, feeling rather guilty. She knew there was kindness and warmth in the prince. She now regretted how she had viewed the prince before. She recoiled in her judgment and could only hope the gods would forgive her for her past opinion of Prince Aemond. 

Aemond was ready to speak no more of it, to tell her that she had no debt owed, but her words — no, the whole her was too tempting. “Very well then, if you’re this insistent… could you perhaps accompany me to the city tonight?” That made the smile falter on Elinora’s lips. “What?” She asked, a bit shocked by his request. 

“The twins’ name day is in two days, and as their uncle, I am expected to bestow them a gift… a gift that I have not yet acquired nor know what it will be. I shall need your help.” Aemond fibbed. He had already gotten the twins their gifts. Saddles for their dragons. But he only wished to be with Elinora, far from the eyes and ears of others in the court, especially her brother and his. Elinora was rendered silent, Aemond clearly seeing apprehension in her eyes. Perhaps he was too forward with his request, but he found little care. 

“Never mind, if you do—“ He began to speak, but Elinora quickly shook her head, her guilt already controlling her as well as her wish to please the prince. “No! I… I’ll help you,” she suddenly said. Aemond raised his brow in question, “You’ll come with me to the city?” Aemond questioned once more. “Yes,” Elinora answered, feeling her palms grow cold in nervousness. “I’ll come with you to the city.” 

When late-night came, Elinora paced in her chambers. Her fingers fiddled with the ends of her hair as she waited for the prince. She turned to the balcony of her chambers, a view of the city and the moon that was nearing its peak. It was far past her usual time of sleep, but even though she wanted to lay her head on the soft feathered pillow, she made a promise to the prince that she must keep. 

“Am I doing the right thing, Peony?” Elinora asked quietly as she petted her pet’s fur for comfort. It was daunting to do such a thing. It was filling her with nerves and guilt, but going back to her word would only fill her with more guilt. 

Elinora abruptly stood up as three knocks sounded out. She need not question who it was because everyone in her life simply walked into her chambers without announcing their presence. Elinora took in three deep breaths before she approached the door, and when it opened, she saw the dark figure of the prince, his face and hair hidden by a hood. “Are you ready?” Prince Aemond questioned quietly as she was dressed in a gown of light blue, a gown that would easily garner attention. 

“I don’t have a hood,” Elinora admitted. “I thought so… here, wear this,” Aemond said and handed her his spare hood, which Elinora quickly took and wore. The girl held her breath as Prince Aemond reached forward and secured the hood to cover her face. She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks as the prince’s fingers brushed the side of her neck, but luckily, the shadow of her hood hid the color blooming on her cheeks. 

“So… do you have anything in mind to gift the prince and princess?” Elinora asked as Aemond led them through the dark halls of the keep. “What?” Aemond questioned, temporarily forgetting the fib he offered her. “For their name day? I thought that is why we are going to the city,” Elinora stated. “Oh,” Ameond suddenly remembered. “Nothing, I truly have no idea what to give the twins.” 

“Where are we going?” Elinora questioned as she thought they would exit through the gates. “Did you truly think that we were going through the gates? Where guards could tattle on us?” Aemond questioned with a smirk as he pushed an inconspicuous wall that led to the secret passages of the keep. 

“There are a series of tunnels in this keep that leads to differing rooms, the shore, and the city,” Aemond explained as he took hold of Elinora’s hand in fear she would get lost in the tunnels. “Oh, we also have the same tunnels in Highgarden… but all of them just lead to the kitchen.” She informed, and through the dark, she could sense a question from the prince. “My ancestor was really fond of eating… especially during the middle of the night,” She explained, “Me and Edward often used to play there, but my father had it sealed off when I was eight because I accidentally got lost,” 

“Well, best stay by my side then. I’d rather not have you lost here and others discover these secret passageways,” Aemond hummed and smirked further as Elinora did as he said and further clung to his side. 

“I’ve never done this before,” Elinora admitted as they finally arrived at the city. Their bodies squished with the crowd, different sights and smells invading and overwhelming her. “Go to the city?” Aemond questioned as he moved his hold to Elinora’s waist to keep her by his side and ensure no danger would come upon her. “Yes, and sneak out without any of my family’s knowledge, leave during the night, and go about unescorted.” She rambled on, her nerves now taking hold of her, and Aemond was quick to sense it. “No one shall ever know,” Aemond reassured. 

“What is that?” Elinora questioned as her eyes caught sight of a group of people dressed in quite garish yet luxurious clothing. “Performers,” Aemond answered plainly, his eye keen for any danger that may arise as they were in the crowded street. Elinora chewed on her cheeks, a request wanting to be uttered, but she feared the prince’s response that she might be overindulging with her newfound glimpse of freedom. “What is it, Elinora?” Prince Aemond questioned, already aware that she wanted to speak of something, but she held herself back. 

“Could we possibly watch? Just for a moment, then we could return to finding the gifts for the twins.” Elinora asked shyly, already expecting the prince to deny her request. But who could truly deny Elinora? It was most certainly not Prince Aemond. 

“Very well, if you wish.” Aemond agreed and felt his heart stutter again as a beaming smile made itself on her lips. It should concern Aemond at how easy she was to please, was she truly that shut off from the world and kept in chains that him just humoring a small request could garner the most breathtaking smile and grateful aura? 

For years, he had been surrounded by courtiers who were given all the lavishness that the world could offer, but none seemed enough to quench their desires and wants. with Elinora… he was positive that you could simply bring her a pebble from the gardens, and she’d appreciate it beyond words and keep that rock in her care until the end of her days. Aemond breathed in deeply, and instead of smelling the rancid smell of the city, he could only smell her scent. Elinora was truly a breath of fresh air in the pollution Aemond had been brought up in. 

“They're quite amusing… perhaps you could have them perform for the prince and princess,” Elinora suggested, and before Aemond could reply, Elinora’s laugh filled his ears and symbolized him that all he could do was savor the laughs that came from her lips. 

When Elinora did not hear the prince’s reply, she ceased her laughs only to see the prince looking upon her intently, making her concious. “Or not— perhaps we should venture to the shops.” She quickly said and tried to be rid of her amusement as it did not coordinate with the deeply serious expression on the prince’s face. 

“No… we could stay— I was just thinking over your suggestion,” Aemond quickly said, not wanting to cut short Elinora’s mirth. Elinora was silent for a moment, forgetting their surroundings as she stared deeply into the prince’s lilac eye. She gave a small nod and returned to face the performers and could only hope that the prince was not simply humoring her. 

“What of toys?” Elinora suggested as they walked along an alley of differing shops to search for gifts for the twins. After Aemond had spoken with the performers, who were shocked to discover that the most mysterious and undoubtedly one of the more standoffish princes of the realm had watched their performance and now wanted them to entertain the court, he finally led Elinora to the shops. “They already have a myriad of toys— most of them are just gathering dust.” 

“Then… clothes? Perhaps a set of them where they could match?” She suggested once more, but the prince only shook his head. “Mother and Helaena had already seen to it that they are clothed in coordinated gowns and tunics.” He responded, and Elinora could only hum, deep in thought. 

“Do they have a specific interest?” Elinora questioned as she earnestly tried to think of a gift for the twins that Aemond had already bought gifts for. “I believe Jaehaera is fond of toying around with the abandoned harp in Helaena’s chambers, and I often see Jaehaerys creating doodles when he is set to learn the histories,” Aemond responded and observed as Elinora’s attention was briefly caught by a seller selling sweets. 

Aemond was quick to take a few coins from his pocket and handed them to the vendor, took a bag of comfits, and silently handed it to Elinora. “Oh, thank you,” She said in joy as she need not utter anything, but Prince Aemond was quick to notice what she wished for. “Should we then get a small harp for Princess Jaehaera and an easel for Prince Jaehaerys?” She questioned and nibbled on a sugar-coated nut and offered some of the sweets to the prince, who denied her offer. 

“Very well then, come, I believe there is a shop that sells music supplies by the end of this street,” Elinora nodded and happily followed the prince as she ate her sweets. “Do you often go here?” Elinora questioned. It was rather a silly question, seeing how well-versed the prince was in the alleys and streets of the city. However, she could not help but ask it because she herself lived in Highgarden but could only account for going to the city five times in her life. 

Aemond was silent for a moment, not wanting to reveal to Elinora the true reason why he would often venture to the polluted and crowded place. “Only business demands me to,” He uttered a half-truth. “What type of business?” Elinora continued to question, genuinely interested in the prince. Aemond felt his jaw clench at her questions because he did not wish to lie to her, but he further did not wish to tell her the truth. “You’re quite inquisitive, why this interest in my business?” Aemond then asked to keep Elinora away from the subject of his ventures to the city. 

However, his question and his uncontrollable tone of coldness quickly undid the progress they had made that day, as Elinora felt she had grown to be a nuisance to the prince. “I apologize, I did not mean to overstep, Your Highness,” Elinora said in remorse, and Aemond balled his fists as he felt that they were nearing retracing old patterns. 

Aemond sighed as they reached the shop. He opened the door for Elinora, who stepped inside and quickly situated herself where they kept the harps, and Aemond could only stand idly by the side as he thought about how to salvage the progress he and Elinora had made. That day was the most natural they had been. Gone was the cold, calloused edge from him, and Elinora no longer shied or cowered away. 

“Is the harp for you, miss?” The old shopkeeper questioned Elinora as she observed the harps they had. “Oh, no… it’s for a little girl,” She answered with a polite smile. “For your daughter, miss?” Elinora could only blink at the question. She remembered Prince Aemond’s advice earlier, that they must not be found and that they must be rid of any indications that they were highborn, so Elinora could only smile and nod. 

“Oh, what joy! I’m guessing it is for her name day, how old is she?” Aemond watched from the door as Elinora humored the shopkeeper and conversed with him a fake life. He watched her fiddle with her hair as the shopkeeper continued to speak, trying to learn more about the hoax of life she tried to sell, and Aemond could not help but be amused. 

There was a clear tell in Elinora when she lied. She could not hold the gaze of anyone, and her fingers would play with the ends of her hair. Twirling and coiling the dark auburn strands repeatedly as if to soothe herself. “So which harp, miss? So I could wrap it up, and you could be on your way,” 

“That one,” Aemond finally announced his presence as he stepped forward and pointed upon a small harp with carvings of flowers and serendipitously, ducks that Elinora had been eyeing since they stepped foot into the shop. “Oh, is he your husband, miss?” The shopkeeper questioned, and Elinora was rendered speechless. Cheeks so red that she was certain that she was the color of a poppy. “Yes,” Aemond answered for her, his heart beating erratically in his chest as he said the simple word. 

“Oh, very well then, I’ll have it wrapped and ready for you, sir.” The shopkeeper said, but Aemond shook his head. “I shall have it picked up later today, but we pay now,” He said, not wanting to carry around a harp in the city streets and most certainly did not wish to reveal that they resided in the Red Keep. “What name shall I have it saved for, sir?” 

“Peony,” Elinora was the one to reply, finally taking hold of herself as she had forced herself to be absolved from the redness on her cheeks. “Peony?” The shopkeeper questioned, and Aemond stilled as he watched the man try to take a good look at his face that he had hidden under the shadow of his hood. “Yes, it’s our family name— here’s the payment. Now, if you would, my wife and I must get back to our daughter. Goodbye,” Aemond hastily said and took hold of Elinora’s hand before rushing out of the shop before their true identities were revealed. 

“Oh gods,” Elinora breathed out, heart racing at the sudden thrill of it all. “You’re quite a good liar,” Aemond stated as he saw that there was turmoil running in the girl’s mind. It was as if she was guilty, but at the same time, she was thrilled at the sudden adventure. “I’ve never had to pretend to be another person before!” Elinora said in excitement, and Aemond bit his tongue as he saw a newfound twinkle in her light jade eyes. “Best get used to it, we still have to acquire Jaehaery’s gift,” Aemond said with a small smile as he and Elinora continued to play pretend that evening with just the two of them, hand in hand, in the streets of Kingslanding away from the eyes of the court. 

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[diamonddaze01]

고맙다

pairing: ljh x reader genre: hurt-comfort (kae im sorry) | wc: 1.4k warnings: none | rating: pg a/n: for my 400 follower celebration -> @ylangelegy lyrics lab + “i wanted to become your tomorrow so i lived in the today” (thanks) // this is a (kind-of) spin off to us, again (but can be read alone) // kae i am sorry dont hurt me it ends well i swear.

The rain was soft but constant, like a whisper that hadn’t yet learned to quiet down. The sound of it tapping gently against the windows filled the silence of Jihoon’s studio, his hands frozen mid-task as he watched you from the doorframe. You stood there, not quite sure whether to step inside or remain in the hallway, as if the space between you and him was more than just the width of the door.

It had been months. Maybe half a year? Jihoon had lost track of time the moment you’d asked for a break. The day he left your apartment was still a vivid blur, a moment he replayed in his mind over and over, trying to figure out where he had gone wrong. There were a thousand reasons why he’d never reached out. A thousand excuses he fed himself to make it feel like it was just something that had to happen. But in the deepest part of his chest, the place where he kept all the things he wouldn’t say aloud, he still missed you. He still felt your absence every time he walked into the studio, every time he poured a cup of coffee, every time he sat down to write music.

And now you were standing there, a few feet away from him. The ghost of what once was, the thing he’d never let himself forget.

“Can we talk?” Your voice was a little shaky, but you stood there with an open vulnerability, as if you had prepared for this moment even though you were uncertain of the outcome. Your eyes darted between his, as though you were trying to gauge how much of him was still the person you once knew, and how much of him had changed.

Jihoon didn’t respond right away. He didn’t know if he could, not without giving in to the feeling creeping up his throat. The one that said maybe, just maybe, you were still something worth fighting for.

“What’s there to talk about?” he finally muttered, his tone a little too cold, a little too detached. He wasn’t sure how else to respond. He had spent so long building walls around himself, convincing himself that you weren’t a part of his present anymore. He couldn’t afford to let that slip.

You took a step forward, your eyes soft with uncertainty. “I don’t know, Jihoon. Maybe... maybe I’m just trying to figure out what happened.”

There it was—the thing he never let himself think about too much. You asking what happened was like peeling back a scab that had barely healed. He couldn’t ignore the feeling of guilt that gnawed at him when you brought it up, couldn’t ignore the fact that he had failed you in ways he hadn’t even fully realized until now.

Jihoon looked away for a moment, unwilling to meet your gaze directly. He knew what you wanted—what you were hoping for—but he didn’t know how to give it to you. The pieces of him that had been holding onto you were all tangled up in regret. “What happened?” he repeated softly, almost to himself. “I don’t know. I thought maybe if I... kept my distance, kept working, it would get easier. But I was wrong. I guess we were wrong.”

Your face softened, as if your heart had just cracked open a little, just enough to let him see it. “I thought about it, Jihoon. About what we were, what we could have been,” you said quietly, stepping closer, just enough to bridge the gap but not enough to make him feel cornered. “And I thought maybe... maybe I wasn’t the right person for you, or maybe you weren’t the right person for me. But now, standing here, I don’t think I can just keep pretending that’s how it works.”

Jihoon let out a shaky breath, his fingers gripping the edge of his desk as he tried to find words that wouldn’t sound weak. The truth was, he hadn’t wanted to admit how much he missed you. How much he had wanted to fight for you, but had kept telling himself that time would heal everything. That you were just another chapter in his life that needed to be closed, but the more he tried to lock it away, the more it kept coming back.

“I kept thinking... maybe if I just moved forward, if I just stayed focused on what’s next, I’d stop wanting you. I’d stop thinking about you. But that’s not how it works, is it?” His voice was softer now, as if all the bravado had slipped away, leaving only the truth.

You shook your head slowly, the motion so familiar, so comforting, that Jihoon almost didn’t want to look away. “No, it’s not. We never really... gave ourselves a chance to be in the present, Jihoon. We kept thinking about the future, about what we could become. But maybe... maybe we should’ve just focused on today. On what we were, what we still could be.”

His heart thudded painfully in his chest. There it was—the words he had never been brave enough to speak. The ones that had been sitting at the back of his mind, waiting to be freed. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words feeling heavier than they should. “I never gave you the chance to be with me like that. I thought I had time, thought I had all the time in the world to make things right, but... now I don’t know how to do that.”

Your eyes softened, but there was something else in them, something deep that he couldn’t quite read. You took a deep breath, as though you had made up your mind about something, and it was in that moment that Jihoon realized you had never really stopped caring. Not even after everything.

“I was so focused on tomorrow,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the rain, “that I forgot to appreciate the moments we had, the moments that mattered right now.”

Jihoon swallowed hard, feeling like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “Maybe I did the same.”

You stepped closer, closing the space between you both, and this time, Jihoon didn’t hesitate. He reached out, his fingers brushing against yours, the touch almost tentative, as if waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, your fingers intertwined, and for the first time in months, everything felt... right. Not perfect, not neatly wrapped in a bow, but real.

Jihoon’s eyes dropped to where your hands held his. His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke. “Can I kiss you?”

The question caught you off guard, and a tear slipped down your cheek as a soft, incredulous laugh bubbled out of you. “Yes, you idiot,” you said, your voice breaking as you reached for him. “Please kiss me.”

And then his lips were on yours. The kiss wasn’t hurried or desperate—it was grounding, steady, and filled with all the things neither of you had the courage to say aloud. Your warmth, the familiarity, the way your hand cradled his cheek—it was everything he hadn’t realized he missed.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breaths mingling with your own. “I missed you,” he murmured, the words so quiet they almost melted into the sound of the rain.

You smiled through your tears, your hands still resting lightly on his cheeks. “I missed you too, Jihoon.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You simply stood there, the silence between you no longer heavy, but comforting.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Jihoon asked, his voice quiet, almost unsure. He wasn’t expecting an answer, but he needed to hear it, needed to know if there was a chance for them.

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with something like hope, but also like you knew it wasn’t going to be easy. “We take it one step at a time,” you said softly. “We don’t rush. We just... we just live in today. Together.”

Jihoon nodded slowly, the truth of it settling in his chest like a quiet storm. He had spent too long living in the what-ifs and the could-have-beens. Maybe it was time to stop looking ahead, to stop worrying about tomorrow, and just... live. With you. Today.

And as the rain continued to fall outside, Jihoon held you like you were something he didn’t deserve but would spend the rest of his life trying to. One step at a time, he thought. Today. Together.

[fromchaostocosmos]

You do not need to be white to be a colonizer so you not be white has nothing to with it.

That you keep calling Judaism a religion is a part of the problem. Because we are not just that.

Of course there is value is cultures and societies are no longer around. The reason that I brought them up is not to say that we Jews or more accurately using our actual name יִשְׂרָאֵ֑ל are more superior for surviving.

No I used those specific examples because all of them if you knew anything about the history of my people are all ones who tried to destroy us. They did their best to ruin us, to murder us, to rape us, to tell us what we could and could not do.

They enslaved us, they colonized us.

Each one of those examples I gave have to do with Empires that did Horrors to us.

And my point is even though they did those things we are still here and we have survived. And on top that there is an extra fuck you in that they are not.

It is the way we say fuck you to Arch Titus and to Hitler. It is a you tried to kill us and destroy and fuck you we are still here and you are not.

If you can not understand that I don't know what to tell you.

Like many of our Holidays can be some what summarized as "they tried to kill us they failed let us commemorate and eat and party"

Jews, יִשְׂרָאֵ֑ל are a tribe. We are a very old tribe. Judaism is the name that put onto practices and beliefs of said tribe.

We are not just a religion and that you keep calling us a religion shows that you are not getting it.

You do understand how we function. You think that we are trying to tell you how do to your stuff and that we are being party poopers.

That is not what is happening.

Christianity is not an off-shoot, branch off, evolution, etc. of Judaism. Christianity is some original ideas, stuff stolen from Judaism, and stuff taken from a whole bunch of various pagan beliefs as well from other religions such Buddhism and Hinduism.

All of that got blended and mixed and that is Christianity.

The thing about Christianity that you and lots of other people may not like, but this is just a fact of reality is that is foundations are built on antisemitism.

It set itself up by stating we are not the Jew and we are very different from them, in fact they killed our god.

When you look at the history and study it you see this. This whole thing is something gets studied by students of theology.

And this is something that we Jews have been discussing for a very long time.

Christians as individuals may not antisemitic, but Christianity the religion is founded on antisemitism and as an institution very much is antisemitic. That is just a fact.

I don't believe in Lucifer or any of them so you want to do whatever it is you do go and do it and enjoy.

My issue is and always has been when you and anyone else comes and takes that which is not for you to take.

My issue is the propping up of Christian Supersessionism (also know as replacement theology) which yes is what you are doing. My issue is the talking over Jews and thinking you know more then us on our own stuff and bringing in some sources and acting like you understand when you clearly do not.

I always find with pagans that it is either a very pleasant nice experience and the person is just respectful and the conversation is interesting. Like I enjoy it and can ask questions and they can ask questions and we both can learn things and come away with new information and understanding.

I always enjoy those and have had many of them. I always open to them and I enjoy learning so when I get the chance to understand how stuff works or why someone does something a certain that is great.

I've met many really wonderful pagans who are just very respectful of the many different groups with closed practices and want to learn and listen to those from those practices to make sure they are being respectful.

I've seen many a pagan who when asked certain questions will say that it is not for them to answer that question and then direct the asker to people from the correct community who they know are okay with answering those kinds of questions.

And I'm always thankful and appreciative that they understand the boundaries and limitations and respect them.

And then there are ones like these. And the ones likes these are always just the most exhausting, frustrating, and many times upsetting.

And the experiences like are never like slightly annoying or mildly irritating. No they it is always just the fucking worst.

And I see it happen with my fellow Jews and other people who have closed practices.

You either get a very lovely interaction even in cases where someone did something offensive or is appropriating and it is because they just did not know and they when given the information do better.

Or you get just the worst.

This for me has been one of the worst. I feel like I am talking to brick wall. Like everything I say gets taken out of context to be clear I not saying that means that everything I say is being taken out of context I just feel that way. (I do however think that there are couple things that I do think were purposefully taken out of context and/or purposefully misconstrued such my comment about us still being here while listing various empires that are not).

It is exhausting. But this is also something that I've had to do so many times before when dealing with anything related to being Jewish and Judaism and Jewish history and etc and correcting those who are not Jewish.

Because it doesn't matter what the topic might have been the refusal to let us Jews be the authority ourselves is something that goyim just seem to have in common pagan, monotheistic, atheist, or whatever.

The idea that we know better and best on us is something that can not be allowed and that is the common thread in all of those conversations.

Like maybe we are not the problem here, I know perish the thought.

And maybe for the 5 seconds you could just listen to us and like understand that I and other Jews in the comments are not trying to telling how to live your life all we are asking is for you stop taking from us, stop doing Supersessionism specifically in this case Christian Supersessionism, and like leave our things alone.

Hi, Shi! So, I saw your post about white saviours in the community and I wanted to ask about the Judaism one specifically. I am not white but nor am I Jewish, in ethnicity or religion, but I was also told that demonolatry spreads harmful ideas about Judaism. Because of that, I kind of stepped back from my demonolatry research for a moment. But your post did get me thinking. I guess I'm kind of just asking for clarification. Is it okay for me to practice demonolatry as a non-Jewish person or not? Sorry for the super long ask. Thank you, love your blog!

Okay, this is a kind of complex topic.

Demonolatry is the practice of worshipping demons. This can apply to any demon not just those with English names. There are people who worship the demons mentioned in Islam just as much as there are those who worship those with Jewish and Latin names, and there’s a ton of overlap.

The concept of “demon” can only exist if you conceive of some kind of supernatural divide between Gods and spirits. Many demonolaters consider all spirits including Gods to be “Spirits”; the distinction is not important and doesn’t have any real meaning. It’s rare to hear of demons in religions or spiritualities that do not have a dualistic philosophy, you don’t hear about Hindu demons often for example. And the word “demon” in English comes from the Greek “daimon” actually referred to any spirit or divine being. Pinpointing what is and isn’t demon, daemon or spirit is a matter of perspective.

The idea that you can only work with demons that have Hebrew names if you are a Jew is one that literally doesn’t make grammatical sense.

If you are a practicing Jew or hold an Abrahamic theology, to worship or revere any demon would be a violation of your theistic laws. It’s a sin, a big one. Every deity, spirit, God/Goddess from every other religion or belief is a demon to you because you believe there is only one true God. That means Norse, Greek, Egyptian, etc. deities are also considered to be demons.

Because of this theology, every time that people of Abrahamic religions (Christians, Catholics, Jews, Muslims) encountered pagans who worshipped other Gods, they were demonized. Aphrodite/ Astarte became Astaroth, Phosphorus became Lucifer who then became Satan, Cerberus became Naberius, and so on and so on.

It’s incredibly important to remember that just because a name is written in a certain language, Hebrew for example, that does not directly imply that the deity is closed to the religion of Judaism. Not all people who spoke Hebrew were Isrealites, and not every spirit that was described by them was closed to them. Lilith for example was a deity/spirit that was recognized by multiple groups of people before the Israelites existed as a definitive and monotheistic group. Lilith was described by the Sumerians for example, her strongest surviving name and archetype is that which was described by the Jews because the Jews themselves survived and the Sumerians did not.

Most demonic names you will encounter will either be written in Latin, English, or Hebrew, not because these demons are closed to those cultures but because their documentation was only ever really considered legitimate when it was done by the followers of Yahweh. This is one of the major effects of colonization in general. If I as a Phoenician pagan say that Astarte is kind and beautiful, that doesn’t matter to any Roman Catholic. If I as a Catholic say that Astaroth is a perverted demoness who tricks men into demonic sex, the church might actually listen and write that down. Us 1000 years in the future may look at that name and assume Astaroth is a Roman demon and not a Phonecian Goddess who was described by Roman people and documented in Latin.

We speak English, so the demons that are accessible to us are usually recorded from the Abrahamic religions that speak English- Christianity. Our demons are not cosmologically “Christian” nor necessarily have anything to do with the Christian God specifically (Lucifer is a Roman deity and would have had no biblical interactions or connection with YHWH according to their origins). But Christians gave them names and we use those names for the sake of consistency and to reduce confusion across languages. Many times, the original names have been lost and the infernal aspect and name is all that remains. It is the life’s work of many Demonolaters to restore their deitie’s cult to its glory, to discover these dead names or to ensure that the surviving name… survives.

There are a select few demons who’s names originate in the Jewish tradition, Azazel for example, was the scapegoat of the Isrealites who then went on to command the Watchers who became the fathers of the Nephilim. But these demons aren’t necessarily considered to be closed to Judaism- again, because no Jew is ever going to reach out to a demon before the big GOD himself. There is no theological reason why Azazel would only recognize Jewish or Christian people. If you acknowledge Azazel as the scapegoat and use that name, you are referencing his archetype as it was described by the Isrealites. Likewise if you use the name Lilith and consider her to be Adam’s first wife, you are also using her archetype as she was described by the Jews. But that doesn’t mean that Lilith herself is considered to be a sacred figure within the religion of Judaism any more than Aphrodite is. They’re all demons. There is only one God.

There’s a stronger argument to be made for the big three Jewish angels - Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael, being closed to the Jewish religion because they literally are the angels patroned to the people of Israel and they are majority involved in the actual worship of their God- although I don’t really consider them to be closed either because, according to their theology, they would protect any human being created by God (which would be everyone).

The thing that you actually need to consider is if the deity is:

1. Culturally tied specifically and only to the people inside that closed religion- Demons were said to fuck with everyone, all of humanity, not just Jews. The Wendigo was a culturally significant creature that specifically targeted the Indigenous peoples of Turtle Island.

2. Intrinsic to the actual act of worship/ practicing itself- No practicing Jew incorporates Lilith or any demon into their prayers in the way they might with Archangel Michael.

3. Conceived of by the culture itself- Lilith is far older than Judaism and they do not claim to have conceived of her, whereas Michael was literally created by the Isrealites and was always said to act in the best interest of Israel as a nation.

4. Is revered and considered sacred- If I call Lilith or Belial nasty little whores, no jew is going to flinch, they probably agree. If I even speak the name of their God which is considered to be so sacred that it should not even be said in prayer, that’s insanely offensive. If I use the Tetragrammaton or wear it frivolously, someone is going to call me out.

Many western occultists have certainly appropriated sacred things from other cultures, ESPECIALLY from Judaism. Rather than admit their clear inspiration they bastardized the names and essentially stole incredibly important spiritual concepts (Qabalah). As much value is there is in the Qliphothic tradition it is also majorly appropriated from Jewish mysticism which is supposed to be knowledge closed to specific Rabbis. That’s why I’m not the biggest fan of people like Aliester Crowley.

This doesn’t mean to say that you can’t learn about anything Jewish, or Indigenous or Muslim etc. I try my best to always learn from people who are actually of the faith and not asshats who try to take the culture out of the practice. Some things genuinely are sacred and should not be appropriated, I don’t think that demons in general are one of those things.

It’s also important to remember that practices and deities aren’t always synonymous.

The Loa sprits of Voodoo religions are closed because they are ancestral spirits specific to the people in that culture. I can’t invoke my Haitian friend’s great great great grandmother and expect her to do my bidding. I can’t invoke the ancestral spirits of the Indigenous peoples of America and expect it to recognize me. I can’t even pronounce those names.

Hoodoo being closed to the black community is due to Hoodoo being not only a practice,but a survival mechanism of the black slaves who were imported into America during the slave trade. It was the blending of African spirituality with the assimilated Christianity of their masters. But theologically, most black people who practice Hoodoo have a predominantly Abrahamic faith, with belief in the Bible (although usually an alternate version) and belief in the one true God. You cannot practice the act of Hoodoo if you do not have the context of your experience as black person and the unique familial/ancestral relationships and knowledge they possess.

Likewise, you cannot practice Native American spirituality, or smudge with white sage because you do not have any experience or context living as an aboriginal in this land. Due to … yknow, colonization and genocide, most aboriginal tribes have opted to keep their practices extremely closed and sacred. I couldn’t even do it if I wanted to because I don’t even know where to start, I would have to be taught by the people they have elected to know this sacred practice.

You cannot be a practicing Jew if you are not initiated into the religion. Working with these fringe spirits is not nearly the same as appropriating the closed Jewish practice. What I and other demonolaters do is not even remotely close.

Demonolatry is not organized, it’s a self actualizing practice. Sure we have priests and priestesses, but we usually operate in cults.

I don’t know how to explain the irony in this take because if demonolaters and outcasts don’t work with and worship these spirits … literally no one will. The left hand path is crooked for a reason, alternative subcultures are alternative for a reason. The cults of Phosphorus and Lilith have never been as big as they are now. For these fringe deities to have survived so long and somehow even entered the mainstream is honestly incredibly impressive lol.

People who are unconcerned with being outcasted from Abrahamic theology aren’t going to stop practicing with their demons because religious people think it’s bad. I’m already practicing witchcraft. I already don’t believe in monotheistic theology, and there’s an entire rainbow of other things I do that are unacceptable to Judaism, Christianity and so on. The thing I care about is not disrespecting the actual culture and the things that are truly important to them.

You won’t really catch me wearing crosses, referencing Catholic practices, or talking about my practice in reference or opposite to Christianity or Judaism. I don’t defile Jewish or Christian traditions or bastardize their teachings. My practice is not the invert of their doctrine. It’s a completely separate and individual practice and philosophy.

This is LONGER THAN I MEANT IT TO BE

TLDR: No, demonolatry is not antisemitic.

It can be antisemitic if you happen to be antisemitic and many antisemitic people have historically ruined the fun for the rest of us (thanks Crowley)

But no, practicing Demonolatry does not make you racist. Being a pagan also doesn’t mean you hate religion.

[lurkingshan]

The other day in a conversation about I'll Turn Back This Time, @troubled-mind asked me about my favorite dramas that show the same couple falling in love multiple times, in different iterations.

So of course, I am now here with a list! Takes on the fantasy trope that ITBTT uses--an alternate universe and/or time travel mechanism that sets up the protagonist to fall in love with the same person, or different versions of the same person, more than once--is actually not super common in dramas, but there are a handful of shows that do something like this:

Triage 

If you ask me what is the best QL with this trope, I don't even need to think about it: Triage is the answer. I love this show, and alongside its masterful suspense plot you get to watch these two try (and fail) to get the other to fall for them over and over again. It's a great time.

Someday or One Day 

If you ask me what is the best drama with this trope, period, I have to hand it to Someday or One Day, a Taiwanese drama that is probably my favorite time travel alternate universe romance of all time. In this one you get multiple versions of the same characters falling in love with each other and traversing time and space to find each other. It's so good that a Korean production attempted to replicate its magic. An absolute must watch for people who love this trope!

Every You Every Me

Now we're getting into some with asterisks. In this show you get to watch the same two actors play multiple different pairs who fall in love with each other in different universes--kind of. I can't say more or I will spoil it for those who haven't seen it yet! It's not a perfect show by any means, but it's a lot of fun.

4 Minutes 

This show is not a great example of this trope IMO, but it sort of gets at the experience, as you see a few different versions of the lead characters and their relationship through various narrative turns. I'm keeping it vague because saying much more would be spoilerific!

The Legend of the Blue Sea

A mermaid meets a conman, has a whirlwind romance, and then deletes his memory. But oops! They were already lovers in a previous life, her mermaid powers are not working quite as planned, and she can't stop herself from finding him again anyway. It's all a bit more complicated than that, but the point is you get to watch these two find each other and fall in love several times in multiple lifetimes. And damn did I love it every time.

Until We Meet Again 

In this drama, the story is about two souls who meet again in another life after a tragic end in their first. So it kinda fits here, but their reincarnated souls go into new characters played by different actors, so the experience of watching it is a bit different. This one is less about time travel and choice as it is heavy on the red string of fate.

Extraordinary You 

In this fantasy drama, our mains are side characters in a manwha who gain sentience and start trying to change their story together while an omnipotent writer keeps shuffling them back to where they think they belong and deleting their memories of each other. It's definitely a unique twist on this trope, and you get to watch them fight to remember and fall for each other and find a way to take control of their destiny over and over again.

In addition to narratives with a fantasy construct that resets or produces multiple iterations of the core relationship, I also thought about second chance romances where you get to see both the original and the second chance love story in full, giving you the experience of watching the same two people fall in love twice. Some noteworthy dramas in this category:

Lighter and Princess

This drama centers on two tech genius types who originally fell in love in college and started a company together before something went very wrong, resulting in his incarceration. The story picks up when he gets out of prison and sets out to reclaim his legacy, and you get to live both their first and second love stories in detail. One of my absolute favorites and permanently in the rewatch rotation.

We Best Love 

This story is told in two parts, with the first focused on their original enemies to lovers romance in college, and the second their reunion after a confusing and closure-less break up. It's honestly kind of a mess but I love it so much anyway, in no small part due to the actors.

The End of the World With You 

And now for something a little darker! This one is heavy on the toxic psychosexual vibe, and all the more fascinating for it. Two former lovers meet again at the end of the world, and we see what went wrong for them in college and watch them sort through the wreckage as adults and try to make something of the time they have left.

First Love: Hatsukoi

Two high school sweethearts get separated by life circumstances, and meet again twenty years later to realize they are still not over it. I was charmed by the teen love story in this one especially.

Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo

Let me end on a note of excellence and take this opportunity to again implore everyone to watch this beautiful show. Both iterations of this relationship are compelling and complicated and full of deep feeling; it's one of the most satisfying second chance romances I have seen, and after everything they've been through, it's so rewarding to see these two get the chance to fall in love again.

[cheerleaderman]

Yuya’s Answers for the No Yan Sim AU by @quartztwst

1. Does your OC have parents or family in the AU? If not, what is their current living situation?

I live with my Mama , 2 older cousins Yolonda and Desmond and lastly my cat Grim Reaper but we call him Grim!

DO NOT harm Yuya’s cat they will come after you and they will find out who did it ( John Wick )

2. What are their thoughts on Quartz?

Quartz feels like a blushing anime character. Does she have something for Azul and Idia???

Why does she keep taking pictures of Idia? I need to stay close to him since he gets weirded out

3. What is their thoughts and relationship with Azul? How did they meet Azul?

Azul ? He’s okay we met when I picked up Idia from club. I think He’s been trying to be my friend should I go for it?

4. What are their relationships with other characters/OCs?

Rizy ( @rizdoodls ) Rizy’s my best friend! Even though she’s popular she always makes time for me! I love her lots! ( Rizy wants Yuya dead for being too close to Idia)

Yuuki ( @theolivetree123 ): Yuuki! I really don’t mean scare them. I do cherish them as a friend though not that talkative.

Idia Shroud : Idia is one of my best friends! We met at a cat cafe a little after I transferred here last year. He was awkward at first but he started becoming more talkative after finding out I like similar things. That toothy grin of his when he wins! Like it’s his personal mission to provoke me!. ( Idia does see Yuya as a close friend and often info dumps on her)

Jovie ( @jovieinramshackle ): Jovie is strange but she doesn’t seem scary to me. One time Azul asked me to hang out and she asked me about it. Since I don’t really know him I asked if she could come with me or be in the area. The atmosphere got lighter after that.

Yuu Shi ( @boopshoops ) : Stay away from my Mom. We were talking about crushes and when I asked she said my Mom! Why do so many people have a crush on my Mama! ( know that Yuu Shi is a fellow person who has items if Yuu Shi turns a blind eye to Yuya, Yuya will take a blind eye to Yuu Shi

Shuu ( @oya-oya-okay ): ShuShu!!!! She’s so sweet! though I don’t pay that much attention when she talks about Azul. Oh! I found this orange octopus charm I was going to give her!

Jamil Viper : Jamil is my cousin! Don’t be fooled about our banter we do care for each other as family( Yuya hangs out with him twice a week) they are also found cooking re-enacting Hell’s Kitchen with each other

Yuubeni ( @bunniehunn ): I don’t really interact with her but she seems nice if not clueless

Evelyn ( @h0neybane) : I usually see her in the library and share pictures of cats with her! We don’t really interact outside of that..I wonder if she likes me ( Yuya has given Evelyn cat themed items)

5. What grade/year is your OC?

Yuya is 18 in their 3rd year

6. What is your OCs goal for the school year or in life?

Yuya wants to study culinary and Figure out her feelings for Idia

7. Your OC is being framed for murder of another student by Quartz, how does your OC react to that? Does your OC know it's Quartz?

Yuya will defend and will most likely prove their innocence. Depends on how high Yuya is suspicious of Quartz or Friend level if they find out it’s Quartz they’re going to bring her down fueled by anger.

8. Your OC notices Quartz carrying a weapon in her skirt pocket. That's strange since the female school uniforms don't have skirt pockets. Does your OC report this?

Yuya also has stuff in their pockets including skirt pockets so wouldn’t report but it will raise Yuya’s alarm bells

9. Where is your OC usually with or at during school? Classes? With Azul? Skipping class? Where do they eat lunch?

Yuya’s all over the place honestly

Library, classroom or less crowded places with Idia

Walking around with Jamil

spending time with friends

Yuya eats lunch with whoever they feel like and it changes constantly

10. How are your OC's grades?

Average ( Yuya is smart but putting in effort depends on their mood but isn’t failing)

[lynnieverse]

undertow // ripples

✰ third chapter!

✰ 2.7k words

✰ chapter song -> bubbly by colbie callait

✰ tags: morally grey, one-sided rivalry, mystery, mutual pining, tension, redemption

✰ a/n: Thanks for all the love so far! Enjoy!

Lennox was huddled over her desk, combing through all the notes and outlines from the site visit. She tugged on her hair in frustration, not because of the project—no, that was fine—but the man behind the project.

Rafe was…difficult, but she had to admit his ideas were good. He was serious about this, and that was something she hadn’t been prepared for. It was her first project, and she expected something much simpler. This was a lot more pressure. 

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

“Everything okay in here?” her dad asked, leaning against the doorframe. 

“Yeah, everything’s great, just working out some kinks for budgeting and stuff.” She leaned back in her chair, giving him her full attention. 

“You’re doing great, Len, I know you’ve got this.” 

“You haven’t even seen anything yet.”

“I don’t have to, I know you won’t let this family down.” He left her with that, not helping her anxiety at all. She let her eyes close and let out a deep breath. 

It was fine, everything was fine. 

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

She met with Rafe the next day at the site, wanting to discuss and finalize the timeline for the project. 

That’s when shit hit the fan. 

“You are so fucking irritating! This is ridiculous Rafe!” Lennox snapped, waving her clipboard wildly. “You want this project done by next summer, but don’t have the basic infrastructure in place. The permits aren’t filed, the environmental reports are nonexistent, and the marina’s foundation isn’t even structurally sound!” 

Rafe leaned casually against the side of his Jeep, a smug smirk on his face that only pissed her off more. 

“That’s what you’re here for, Princess, to figure it all out. You’re the logistics person, right? So…logistically handle it.” He inflected his voice a bit at the end, trying to be cute. Instead it made her eye twitch. 

“Logistics don’t just magically solve themselves! There’s actual laws we have to follow! If we rush into this it’ll be over before it even begins!” Rafe pushed off the car and stepped closer, his voice sharpening. 

“It’s not rushing, Lennox, it’s moving efficiently. You’re just too scared to take a risk, like always.” His blue eyes blazed, daring her to challenge him. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“You know exactly what it means. You’ve always been a little rule follower, terrified to do anything except what Daddy tells you. Too scared then, too scared now.” He was taunting her, and she knew it, but damn it if it didn’t work. Lennox jabbed a finger into his chest, jaw clenching in anger. 

“You know nothing about me. It’s not fear, Rafe, it’s called being realistic. You’re so desperate to prove you can do something on your own that you’re blind to how much work this actually takes. I’ve got the degree, and I’ve got more experience than you!” His smirk dropped and the tension crackled between them. All that could be heard was their labored breaths as they glared at each other. 

The construction crew had stopped to watch them, but she didn’t care. She was too angry, too fired up at his little entitled attitude. 

“You don’t get it,” he said finally, tone laced with frustration. “This is my chance to prove I’m not just a screw up.” His face was scrunched up, like he was fighting to keep his emotions from showing.  

“And you think the way to do that is by cutting corners and taking the easy way? If this fails, Rafe, it’s not just your name on the line. My reputation is tied to this too.” His eyes narrowed. 

“So that’s what this is about? Your perfect princess reputation?” 

“No. It’s about doing things the right way. Don’t be like your dad, be someone better.” This made his jaw clench and he looked away, clearly not enjoying that comparison. 

“Fine. Do what you have to do.” He stepped out of her space, and hopped in his car, speeding away without another word. Lennox knew she’d won, but something didn’t sit right in her chest. 

There was that damn pity again. She probably shouldn’t have thrown his dad in his face, but knew she was right. Cutting corners and being an asshole was what got Ward killed in the first place, and if he wanted to separate himself from that he had to be different. She had to tell him that.

Still, she didn’t like the regret that echoed afterwards. 

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Topper broke into her room later that night to invite her to yet another party. 

“Topper! Door plus locked equals don’t come in!” He just shrugged and flopped beside her on her bed. 

“So you’re coming right?” he said, poking her shoulder relentlessly. 

“Where is it?” 

“Kelce’s hosting this time, and no Rafe I swear.” He made a large “X” on his chest, pleading at her with his eyes. She dropped her head to the bed and groaned. 

“Fine, I’ll go.” Topper whooped and ran away, shouting something about getting shitfaced. She shook her head at her little brother, but couldn’t blame him. She wanted to get shitfaced too, especially after the day she’d had.

She quickly got to work on her makeup, hair, and outfit, opting for some cutoff shorts and a blue tank top this time. Strapping on her sandals, she grabbed her phone and skipped downstairs. Her parents were both at work, but she wrote a note anyway, just in case they ended up crashing there. 

Topper joined her a minute later, ushering her to the car so they could get going. 

“Come on! We’re already late.” Lennox rolled her eyes but listened, turning up the air conditioning and leaning her head back. When they arrived at Kelce's house, the party was in full swing. Lights were flickering, music was thumping, and there were so many people they spilled out onto the lawn. 

Lennox followed Topper up the driveway, her pulse racing in excitement. She loved parties once she got to them, convincing her to go was the hard part. As she stepped in the door she felt the energy pulsating around her. The faint smell of beer and sweat clogged up the dance floor. She needed a drink. 

“Come on Len, loosen up!” Topper called over his shoulder, already weaving through the crowd towards the makeshift bar in the kitchen. Lennox opted to hang back, letting her eyes drift over the crowd of familiar faces. Kelce spotted her from across the room, sauntering over with a solo cup in his hand. 

“Lennox Thornton,” he drawled with a grin. “Long time no see! Topper drag you out?” She smiled politely and chuckled a bit. 

“Yeah, but I like a good party every now and again.”

“Well, welcome back to Figure Eight chaos; grab a drink, make yourself at home.” 

“Thanks, I might,” she nodded once as he disappeared back into the crowd. She found herself drifting around from group to group, joking around with people she hadn’t seen in years. She ended up with a drink in her hand from Topper’s friend Grace, a nice looking girl with red hair and glasses. 

She felt the rush of being a Thornton for the first time in a long time—the status, the stares…it was intoxicating, but also exhausting. Eventually she did end up alone, silently nursing her fourth, or maybe it was fifth, drink. She let the music and chatter wash over her, completely embracing the buzz. 

Topper had disappeared once again, no doubt in the middle of some drinking game she didn’t understand, but she didn’t mind. One thing she learned being away at college was how to be content on the sidelines, and making your own fun. She stumbled into the kitchen, and braced against the counter. Maybe she could just chill there a minute. 

As she was idly scrolling on her phone, she felt a presence behind her. 

“Lost in thought or just bored out of your mind?” a smooth voice broke through the noise. She glanced up, startled, and found herself face-to-face with someone she didn’t recognize. He was tall, with sun-streaked blonde hair and a charming, easygoing grin. His basic outfit gave away his Kook-status, but he seemed to lack the pretentiousness she usually felt from them. 

“Maybe both,” she raised an eyebrow. “You know how it is.” He chuckled and leaned against the counter next to her. 

“Yeah, I do. All these parties are the same…can get brain numbing after a while.”

“Exactly,” she laughed. “And you are?”

“Elliot,” he said, offering his hand. “And you’re Topper’s sister, right? Lennox?”

“Guilty,” she smiled, shaking his hand. “I take it, you know my brother?” 

“Everyone here knows Top,” he gestured to the crowd. “Hard to miss the guy yelling about tequila shots at two in the morning.” She snorted. 

“Yeah, sounds about right.”

“What brings you out tonight? I haven’t seen you around much.” 

“I just moved back home from New York; I graduated college this past semester.”

“Oh nice! I go to Charleston—senior—and I’m home for the summer.”

“Do you like it there?” 

“Yeah, it’s great. No girls as pretty as you, though,” he nudged her with his elbow. Lennox felt a small flush rise to her cheeks and broke eye contact, taking a sip of her drink. 

“I’m sure,” she managed.

“It’s true, plus you’re the most entertaining thing at this party.” 

“Oh so that’s what this is? Entertainment?” she teased. 

“Not just entertainment,” he leaned closer, “I’d like to think I’m better company than the guy currently puking in the bushes.” Lennox laughed, the sound catching her off guard. 

“I’ll give you that,” she raised her cup at him.

“See? I’m already winning,” Elliot said, his grin widening. 

They settled into an easy conversation, the awkwardness of being strangers quickly fading. He had a natural charm that didn’t feel forced, and she found herself genuinely enjoying his company. They talked about the weirdness of coming back home, her family business, and even little things like surfing. 

As the night wore on she never left Elliot’s side, not even when some girls came over to recruit her for karaoke. She hadn’t felt this relaxed in weeks, and the way he looked at her—like she was the only person in the room—was impossible to ignore. 

“You know,” his voice dropped low, like it was some sort of secret. “I’m really glad I came tonight.” His face was hovering close to hers, and she felt his breath fan against her cheek. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, reaching up to tuck a flyaway hair behind her ear. 

“Careful, Elliot, you’re starting to sound like a flirt.”

“Starting to?” he joked. “I must be doing something wrong if you’re just now noticing.” She laughed slightly, eyes dropping to his lips. There was something disarming about him, a quiet confidence. She felt the tension melt off her shoulders the longer she spoke to him. 

Their faces inched closer and closer until their noses were touching. Lennox decided to mess with him a little, pulling back and looking him in the eye.

“Hi,” she smiled sweetly. He snickered, shaking his head. 

“Tease.” She smiled and bit her lip, waiting for his next move while playing with the bottom of his shirt.  

“Hey, you want to get out of here? Maybe take a walk?” She raised her eyebrows in surprise, definitely not expecting that. 

“You’re asking me to leave a party with you after knowing me for all of…what? An hour?”

“Technically, it’s been two,” he said, checking an imaginary watch. Lennox rolled her eyes playfully. “And yeah, I am. Unless you’re down to hear Kelce butcher another Taylor Swift song.” She glanced towards the living room, where a bunch of boys were already screeching into a microphone. 

“You know what? Why not? Lead the way.” 

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

He led her outside, the cool night air hitting her skin immediately. The noise from the party faded behind them as they strolled down the private dock Elliot found in the back. The moon reflected off the water, and the gentle sound of waves lapping against the wooden posts made the night feel quieter. 

“Better?” Elliot asked her. 

“Much. I needed a breather.” 

“Me too,” he leaned against the railing of the dock, looking out over the water. “Figure Eight is great, but it always feels like everyone’s trying too hard to prove something, you know?” Lennox nodded, moving to stand beside him. Her elbows rested against the wooden railing, wind blowing her hair out of her face.

“I know exactly what you mean.”

Elliot turned his head, studying her. “You don’t seem like that though, you’re different.” 

Lennox chuckled softly, gazing at the dark water below. “Different how?” 

“I don’t know…you just seem indifferent to it all–the image, the competition. You’re just you, unapologetically.” Lennox looked at him curiously, feeling as if he was picking apart her soul. 

“That’s one way to put it.” 

“Am I wrong?” he pressed, catching her eye and making her smile.

“No, not exactly,” she admitted. “I just don’t see the point, you know? The fake smiles and blanket of superiority some of these people wear…it’s not real. None of it is.” Elliot was completely focused on her, looking deep in thought. “Outside of this place, nobody cares. You’re just like everyone else. I think that’s what I liked about the city, the anonymity.” She pursed her lips, shrugging her shoulders. 

“It’s like a game, and if you don’t play you’re invisible,” Elliot murmured, a far-away look in his eyes. 

“Maybe being invisible wouldn’t be the worst thing,” she mused. 

He turned to face her fully, resting his side against the railing. “Not for someone like you. People notice you even if you aren’t trying.”

She raised her eyebrows, a small smile dancing on her lips. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” 

“I guess so, but don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” she teased, nudging him slightly with her shoulder. For a moment they stood in companionable silence, just listening to the sounds of nature around them. 

Lennox shivered, and Elliot immediately shed his button down, leaving him in a tight white t-shirt. He turned Lennox to face him, wrapped the shirt around her, and put her arms through the sleeves. Lennox blushed, watching him with wonder. He smiled at her, gripping the fabric, and using it to pull her into him. 

“Hi,” he teased, the corner of his mouth curling up. 

“Hi,” she smiled. Then he kissed her. 

Their lips met gently, as if they were asking each other’s permission. Lennox’s hand travelled to his neck, playing with the ends of his hair as she deepened the kiss. Both Elliot’s hands were on her cheeks, thumbs moving back and forth slowly. 

She moaned as he bit her lip, earning her a groan from him. Eventually they broke apart, breathless. 

“Wow,” he said, staring down at her in awe. She laughed, looking down, unsure of how to respond. It was a good kiss, not Earth-shattering, but very good. Her phone lit up before she could. 

“It’s my brother,” she said, unlocking it immediately. “He says he’s ready to go and the Uber’s almost here.” She found herself disappointed, not wanting the night to end just yet. 

“Well, we better get you back then.” Elliot offered his hand and she took it, letting them swing back and forth as they made their way back down the dock. 

As they approached the house, Elliot stopped. 

“So, any chance I could take you out to dinner sometime?” She hesitated, but pulled her phone out of her pocket, opening up a new contact. 

“Here, put your number in.” Elliot chuckled, typing in his information and sending himself a text before handing it back. 

“Done. I’m holding you to that dinner, Thornton.”

“Good luck, I’m not an easy person to keep up with,” she smiled. 

“Me neither,” he shot back. She left him standing there, hands in his pockets with a dopey look on his face. 

Topper met her outside, slightly swaying, but overall not too bad. 

“Have fun, Top?” she laughed. 

“Oh yeah, Len, great. You?” 

“It was alright,” she smiled, keeping Elliot to herself.

[everyone-needs-a-hoopoe]

palestinians on this website have been driving themselves out of their minds since october 2023, past the point of heads full of grey hairs in their 20s, past the point of multiple breakdowns, getting gazans' private documents to prove they're real people while exposing and driving off the very few actual scammers there have been. multiple organisations like operation olive branch and gazavetters have sprung up to try and alleviate the toll this takes on individuals while still saving as many people as possible. ahmed 90s-ghost had a news article written about his successful escape to egypt!

those lovely organisations you listed cannot help gazans right now because they rely on getting aid trucks over the borders, which are kept closed by israel (which is ordinarily responsible for letting the majority of aid through) and egypt. the only people who can help gazans are other gazans and people like us with our valuable foreign currency.

and we need to help! even with a ceasefire agreement, children are being splattered across gaza's few remaining walls because israel never honours these things. families are still starving and freezing to death. people still have to pay rent for apartments with no walls or sleep in tents made of blankets in the pouring rain. every hospital in gaza is a bombed out shell, while wounds go septic in streets running with sewage and lungs fail in air choked with the dust of a nearly flattened city. did you know that one of the terms of the ceasefire was that hostile aircraft are only allowed in gazan airspace for a maximum of 8-10 hours per day? can you imagine living most of your day with the incessant buzzing of death above you, never certain when it's going to come for you? can you imagine how bad it was before that this is an improvement that was fought tooth and nail for?

the people sending you asks use the little internet connection they can get per day on esim cards, and the little phone charge they can buy off anyone who's managed by some miracle to keep a solar panel intact through over a year of carpet bombing, screaming into the void in a language they don't know to beg for their lives. they don't know how tumblr works. they don't know who can help them. they need ANYONE to care that they're dying.

and you don't care, so yes, you are being callous. you would not be the people who sheltered jewish people during the holocaust. you are not a good person. by reporting these blogs without rock solid evidence - evidence actual scambusters like kyra45, mangocheesecakes and neeches work their asses off to find - you are actively sabotaging the fundraisers of dying people. i am not exaggerating when i say that kills people. it has killed people. it is killing people.

i really can't emphasise this enough, much less sugarcoat it: if you've reported multiple gazan fundraisers it's very likely that you've killed someone.

the least you can do is ignore them if you're not going to donate. if you want to be a little more than an everyday nazi with the radio up loud so you can't hear the screams from the concentration camp next door, you could start paying attention to what's on each blog. many have "vetted by so-and-so" on them, or "reblogged by 90s-ghost" who as i mentioned is a real palestinian who escaped gaza who can tell at a glance if their arabic is google translated like a scammer would do. you can check out these vetting blogs and see what they do and who they promote. maybe you could even toss a reblog their way! maybe even a couple of bucks!

it's never too late to start caring. my pinned post has a few links to vetting organisations. top of my blog (under this post now) is a fundraiser led by my best friend for a baby with a failing heart who needs treatment TODAY or he's going to die. one of my friends is even offering commissions for it if that makes you feel better! you know, if it makes a woman starving herself to try and afford treatment for her infant son less of a dirty beggar.

you can stop being callous if you want to. if you have followers or money you can save someone's life. i really hope you'll try.

I'm starting to feel callous for saying this:

Please, Please, Please, if you are in a situation where you need money or have a go-fund-me started, DO NOT send people asks about it.

Make a post with places to donate instead, spread awareness through reblogs, but don't go into strangers DMs or Ask Boxes soliciting donations. It makes you look like a bot, not a real person needing help.

The big scam one I'm seeing right now is individuals "in Gaza" asking for donations. Before Gaza they said the donations were because of an illness. Bots/scammers are using Gaza to pull at your heartstrings and scam you.

Donate to places you can trust. Like Amnesty International, Free The Children/WE Charities, UN Crisis Relief, Red Cross, etc. Places you know are credible.

I feel callous for deleting/blocking/reporting asks like that but just know it is a scam. It's using your empathy against you. Do not fall for those asks. Donate to causes, raise awareness, but delete and block those asks/dms because they are not real people. it's the same copy/pasted story on each one. Do your research before donating and be safe online.

[v0idwraith]

quite frankly idgaf what Luigi Mangione’s politics are, he actually did something to make a change and that’s more than most people can say

[lady-raziel]

hilarious that with each new day that passes a new bit of dirt from JD Vance's past gets discovered and plastered over the internet...it's almost as if this is why presidential campaigns have always announced their running mates well before the convention...so that if glaring issues with a candidate came to light quickly there would be time to replace them on the ticket before they were officially locked in...it's almost as if certain things in political campaigns were done for a reason, donald...because the very same critical failures had happened before...but no i'm sure you and your guys attempt to recreate a fantasy version of history while ignoring all the reasons that history was a disaster will work this time...because you are built different and the 10000th time trying fascism will work like a charm...

[saanphoenix]

Some insight to Saeris and why this is the conclusion she has come to.

Laidir backstory, by default, is "Former Tevinter galley slave." But Saeris is Dalish. She's got vallaslin. Which means that she had reached age, gotten tattooed, and shortly thereafter was taken by slavers. Because Dalish clans don't really go near Tevinter, right? And she's not a mage, she's just a hunter, so into the manual labor work she goes. While kind of inferring that her people are kind of the first on the chopping block when it comes to fucked up shemlen shit.

And, given her age in Veilguard, which I put at late 20's, she spends YEARS as a galley slave. (If you don't know what that is, it's the people stuck in the bottom of the boat rowing the long ass oars that propulse them.) It's not pretty. Not a good time. But she also has to do what she's got to do to not die. Or worse. There's some Not Great coping mechanisms that develop here. First and foremost, "What are emotions? Ha ha. :]"

And then lo! Pirates! Pirate attacks are quite common on galleys, really. There's generally fancy shit on boats using slave labor to get anywhere.

Except that it's not the normal pirate, it's the Lords. And you know how Isabela is about people aren't cargo, mate. So, the Lords get the fancy relics the Tevinters were trying to transport, and the slaves get to not be slaves anymore. And Saeris, having no idea where her old clan is, could be, if they're even still alive or not, and no sense of direction for the future, is just like, "...Hey, can I join you guys? I know how to Boat." And the Lords are like, "Yeah, sure! We get that a lot, actually."

Then comes the agonizing process of experiencing freedom again and the mortifying ordeal of having to remember how to be a Person.

That takes a minute. A very long one.

But what helps is, y'know, doing pirate things. Indiana Jones things. Ancient ruins, puzzles, treasures, arena fights. Anything to keep the mind off the Other Horrors in one's life.

For gold and glory becomes a motto for survival. The Lords become like her new clan. Through them, she learns how to move forward.

And then there's a job. It entails collecting an ancient relic. That a noble wants to hand over to the Venatori. And to keep that relic out of the hands of pure evil, and to protect the people who are her family now, Saeris does the right thing and kills the noble.

Right thing to do though it was, it was not the smart thing. So off Saeris is sent by Isabela...to stop Fen'Harel.

Being Dalish, she has her own preconceptions of the Dread Wolf. The tales Varric gives paint a similar yet different impression of the Trickster god. But all that REALLY matters to her is that his plan is to bring down the Veil, which will unleash demons all over the world. He has to be stopped just as that noble had to be stopped.

And just as she did with the noble, Saeris acts first to do the right thing. But this time, her entire crew pays the price. As does the world.

That's where the connection starts, really.

Sure, Saeris nips and barks at the Dread Wolf, tries to take the moral highground and justify her actions, but he bites back. And his bites are deeper.

D'meta's Crossing. Minrathous. Treviso. Weisshaupt. Well-intentioned decision after well-intentioned decision results in more blood on her hands. Because that's the price you pay as the leader. The responsibility. The guilt. And though she tells Bellara she can't blame herself for Cyrian's death, though she tells Harding that she can't blame herself for everything because it will destroy a person...she starts to fail to heed her own advice.

And by reenacting Solas' memories, by viewing his regrets, she starts to realize that, when she speaks with Solas, the questions he asks her... She is looking at her possible future. He is looking at his past.

From that point forward, knowing full well he will betray her yet not knowing how, Saeris resolves to make him stand down when the time comes. She has to make him see reason, just as Varric tried, though with far better insight than Varric ever had.

Because if she cannot get Solas to stop looking back and instead get him to find a way forward, then her own future very well may be a person who has come so far, through so much darkness, that she forgets what the light of hope looks like. That the blood on her hands colors her every deed.

She cannot become that, and she knows that she can. Because she's looking right at herself through his eyes.

So, there's data mined dialogue floating around of Morrigan telling Rook that few would react to the Dread Wolf's trickery with compassion and why would Rook.

And I've only seen one choice route, with no access to the others that might exist.

But I will say that, for Saeris, the answer would have been as simple as, "Because he's like me."

[basofy]

i think you can be as critical about the venezuelan opposition and maría corina and edmundo as you want but arent venezuelans allowed to choose for themselves even if the options arent perfect? are you willing to justify electoral fraud and police brutality, class inequality, bad management of resources, lack of maintenance of the country, breach of the law, lack of investment in health services and education etc etc just because the person doing it is someone you like or because you don't like the other option? are people at fault for wanting something different?

[trans-leek-cookie]

listen I'm not gonna be a Curly apologist he did Fucked Up as captain but I genuinely recommend ppl watch a playthru that goes thru the game in chronological order. It kinda helps clear up the events and gaps between them, bc even tho u See the times, you still experience it out of order.

The stuff Anya says definitely sets off alarm bells but it doesn't seem like he Fully Understands what she means, and I'm going to be 100% honest I think she was trying to repress it herself. This isn't to say that she is AT ALL "at fault" for what happened after and she should've gotten help even if she wasn't ready to fully discuss the issue but I genuinely think she herself was still coming to terms with things, so she didn't necessarily process the full impact before talking to Curly, and a lot of what happens occurs after they're laid off- like this delves into personal interpretation but I genuinely think Anya only registered Jimmy as a serious danger after his outburst towards Curly. Ofc my interpretation is limited bc of the limited pov in game and not having gone through what she has, but it personally reads more akin to coercion over time than a singular Obviously Violent incident (like. Not to say that Sexual Assault isnt violent in nature, just that coercion often specifically works to obfuscate the fact it is a form of violence.) The layoff is a Massive catalyst for her bc of Jimmy, in that she now has a very clear understanding of his capacity for aggression.

To extrapolate a little from the "Dead Pixel" conversation, she starts by saying she Likes The Screen (even though it's fake). While Curly has his quotes about the pixel "not ruining the illusion" which. Y'know is Symbolic Of His Flaws. She doesn't say the pixel ruins it, just that she can't get it out of her mind.

If we take the pixel to represent her Or jimmy, either way the way she talks about it kind of downplays things, like it's a Minor Thing that's Slightly Upsetting, but she's still okay with the big picture. Idk I could be 100% wrong but that is my take

Besides that, Anya tells curly she's pregnant 2 days before the crash, and it isn't until she outright states it that he starts Putting The Pieces Together. I want to note, he says "I'd do anything" and "this doesn't have to go on our performance evals" 1. Before he knows shes pregnant 2. Under the assumption she might attempt suicide, and I doubt he even thought about her using the gun on anyone else before she brings that up. He says literally before the line where she tells him she's pregnant that "being laid off isnt a reason to hurt [herself]". Like I've seen ppl talk about the performance evaluation thing like it's about her and jimmy, but I think he's referring to (his belief) that she might attempt suicide or similar which might genuinely be a consistent thing he's seen her struggle with, given she's able to go through with it. Also just to note: assuming their society is like ours (hellish) reassuring her he won't blab Abt her mental health is like. Genuine reassurance- lots of mentally ill ppl will Not Open Up bc it could have long term consequences (like. For example. On employment) ANYWAYS I hope it doesn't come off like "Curly never failed Anya" but rather "Curly approached this specific situation without the context of why Anya is panicking and (possibly validly) assuming she's dealing with a very different issue"

Also let me say again the time frame is 2 days. We don't Really see what happens, but we know Anya tells Jimmy without Curly knowing. I genuinely believe he maybe didn't do a Great Job in those two days (the fact he says Anya should've talked to Him before telling Jimmy is uhhh. Mm. 1. Your job to create an environment where she comes to you my man 2. Weird to tell her what she should do with HER OWN PERSONAL INFORMATION) but like.

I get a lot of ppl want immediate consequences but consider that they can't really get rid of Jimmy (co pilot. Which is. Y'know it's Own Problems) but also like. Curly knows Jimmy, and we know that Jimmy tends to lash out. Curly should probably Not Confront Jimmy Unless He Knows Exactly How To Keep Him From Hurting Anya. Like I'm not an expert but this is something genuinely important- when confronting an abuser you NEED to take into account the impact it can have on their victim, and sometimes for the victims safety you need to wait until you have a Solid Plan. It sucks but it's important.

And theres discussion to be had about Curly kinda going along with Jimmy saying "well what if we all died" and like. I do believe he Didn't Realize What Jimmy Said. Like he was just processing/trying to keep the situation under control (and failing because he underestimated how willing Jimmy was to hurt everyone including himself).

Like he's definitely an enabler but I would say his problems are mostly before he understands the gravity of the situation, in that he's friends with Jimmy and assumes the best of a man with abusive tendencies, and fails to create an environment that can keep Anya and the others safe. Like, he definitely doesn't handle in game events perfectly (psych evaluation for one- he does do it instead of Anya which is actually helpful, but he still treats it like. Weirdly.)

Idk I have a lot of thoughts about this game and I don't necessarily want to defend Curly but more like. Anya's situation is very delicate (and light on details) so sometimes the way ppl talk Abt it feels like they aren't actually focused on what she wants and what it means to prioritize her safety y'know?

Edit bc I just now figured out kinda how I want to word it: curly is an enabler and making things worse bc he doesn't put a stop to Jimmy's BS, but in the specific scenario we see in game I think he's trying to use his Skillset of like, people pleasing not for Jimmy's sake but for the crews (like "if I nod my head and say I sympathize he won't lash out and hurt them") which like. There are situations which that is unfortunately the safest option (on an individual level yes, but sometimes it's also necessary to prevent abusers lashing out in response toward ppl who are more vulnerable) but it was the Wrong Choice.

It's like. I think Curly was trying and had good intentions, and understood that he needed to protect the crew, but he didn't have the toolset/experience to realize he can't Just go along with things and that he needs to be able to set hard limits, even for ppl he likes and trusts. Like he failed but the failure was "for want of a nail", where it began way before what we see (for want of an understanding of power dynamics I guess.) Again, don't think this makes curly more forgivable or whatever, I just think he's a good example of trying to make the right choices when you never realized you'd have to make these kinds of decisions and therefore are unprepared and/or unaware

Second edit: personally I don't think you can really incapacitate jimmy without there being serious risk (again he's the copilot) but curly should've given Anya the gun when she told him Abt the pregnancy

[thedreadvampy]

it's been a strange arc so far

when I was 19-21 and having an extremely imbalanced relationship with someone in their mid 30s I was like 'we are both adults so the fact that this is fucking me up is my fault'

when I hit my late 20s and saw how young people in their late teens and early 20s seem now I was like 'oh wait I was so fucking young I didn't know shit about my own limits or about managing relationships and I don't know why someone in their mid to late 30s would be into that except for nefarious purposes'

the weird bit is now I'm into my 30s - not even that far into my 30s - and while I still wholeheartedly believe that last thing about how young (and self destructive) 20 year olds are, I'm also kind of like 'huh, actually nobody I know that age has their shit remotely together and frankly the reason this fucked me up is because NEITHER of us knew what the fuck we were doing it how to cope, for different reasons and at different life stages, and there probably wasn't any malice or intent to control as much as there was Blind Flailing.'

[fairytales-and-folklore]

Chapter Fourteen: New Year's Eve

The week in between Christmas and New Year's Eve rushes past in a flurry of snowstorms and strange phone calls, and come Tuesday evening, after five days straight of investigating supposed supernatural sightings and alleged hauntings that, nine times out of ten, turned out to be the mad ravings of Sleepy Hollow's overly-paranoid villagers merely imagining things as a result of random power outages, Abbie and Ichabod are absolutely exhausted. 

While most of her co-workers, save for those on the night watch, have already left for the evening, Abbie, ever dedicated to her post, is still hunched over her work desk, writing out a tedious, extensive report, while Crane perches in a swivel chair pulled up beside her, his normally impeccable posture a perfect impression of hers, with the side of his cheek smushed against the faux wooden surface, and his arms sprawled out in front of him as he dallies with the random assortment of pens, paper clips, and staplers scattered across Abbie's desk in an attempt to stave off his boredom.

It's nearly six o'clock when Luke Morales strolls through the main office, suit jacket and silken tie casually slung over his shoulder as he whistles a whimsical version of Auld Lang Syne, and comes to an abrupt halt in front of Abbie's cubicle.

"So, Abbie," he says smoothly, sliding his fingertips across the surface of her desk before plucking the twirling pencil out of Ichabod's hands and placing it back in its holder. "Have any plans for tonight?"

"Yup," she quips, popping the p as she licks the tip of her pointer finger and flips over another completed page, barely even registering the detective's presence at her side. "Got a hot date with this giant stack of paperwork here."

Luke lets out an amused chuckle, presses his palms flat against the top of her desk, and leans in close, his face mere inches from hers, breath curling into her hair. 

"Well, if you decide to stand him up, and I sincerely hope you do…I'm having a party at my place tonight. I trust you remember where that is?" he asks, his voice low and throaty, knowing full well that it never fails to get a rise out of her. With that last, teasing line, Luke gives Crane a surreptitious wink, only to be met with a dramatic eye roll in riposte. Abbie turns toward him, huffing out a laugh as she fixes him with an impatient, appraising stare, and Luke rolls his eyes, dropping the flirtatious façade. 

"And, I guess…you're welcome to bring your British bodyguard, if you want," Luke sighs, pulling away from Abbie's personal space and offering Crane a forced smile. 

"Seriously, though, do you ever get tired of this guy constantly hovering around you? He literally never leaves your side," Luke adds in a mocked murmur, curving a hand over the side of his mouth under the pretense of trying to shield his teasing jabs from Crane, though it's obvious, from Crane's sudden uncomfortable stance, that he'd heard every word. Abbie is about to protest, to verbally rip Morales a new one for constantly insulting her work partner, but Crane beats her to the punch.

"Though your invitation is graciously appreciated, Detective, I must, with immense regret, decline. As the Lieutenant has already stated, we have quite a bit of investigative paperwork that begs our attention this evening, and we may well be engaged for several hours," Ichabod lilts, each word dripping with sarcasm and cheeky condescension. 

Abbie bites her lower lip to keep from laughing, eyebrows raised so high they've all but disappeared behind her long, layered bangs. Abbie glances back and forth between both boys, their eyes locked upon one another in an all-out battle of thinly veiled sass and murderous glares.

"Thanks, Luke," she says, cutting into their territory-marking, ruler-measuring catfight before either of them can hurl another insult. "But we're good here."

"All right," Luke says, raising his hands in pseudo surrender. "Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me. Party starts at nine. Oh, and good luck with your paperwork. Don't have too much fun, now…then again, given your current company, I'm not all that worried."

With one last fleeting glance spared toward Abbie and a playful smirk shot toward Crane, Luke turns on his heel and retreats, before Ichabod even has the chance to form a reply. The moment the front doors click shut, Crane fixes Abbie with an incredulous stare, one eyebrow arched, expectant. Abbie rolls her eyes and launches into a hasty explanation.

"Okay, look, just…don't take anything he says seriously, all right? Ever since he and I broke up, it's just been…I don't know, weird. He sees you as a threat, as competition. He's acting out of jealousy, that's all. He'll get over it, and this'll all blow over soon enough," Abbie sighs, hoping like hell that it's enough to quell his irritation, because she is so not in the mood to talk about her ex. Not now, not ever. But, as her never-ending supply of bad luck would have it, Crane is.

"Whatever reason would Detective Morales have to be jealous of me?" Ichabod asks, his head tilted to the side in confusion.

"I don't know, Crane," she says, shaking her head in chagrin. "I mean, I guess it's probably because we live together, and we work a lot of cases together, and we do spend an awful lot of time around each other…people tend to assume certain things."

"I don't understand…is that supposed to mean something?" he presses, intrigued.

"Well, no, I guess not…but most people, particularly jealous exes, would probably assume that something is going on between us," she huffs, her words rushed and harried, wishing that they could change the subject to something, anything else.

"Something like what?" he urges.

Nope. Guess not. Abbie rolls her eyes and heaves a melodramatic sigh.

"Like a romantic something," she says. "Dating…or, courting…whatever you want to call it. That kind of thing."

"Oh."

Crane is silent for a few moments, and Abbie takes the opportunity of broken conversation to look away from him…picks up the pencil he'd been playing with earlier and starts to twirl it in between her fingertips, tapping the worn-down eraser on their remaining pile of paperwork.

"Well, I suppose he needn't worry, then," Crane replies quietly, almost under his breath, the tiniest hint of despondency and regret lacing his words. Abbie isn't quite sure how to respond, so she just says nothing, and turns her attention back to her paperwork. 

Quarter of seven rolls around, bringing Frank Irving through the main office in a heated rush, car keys jingling in one hand, the other hovering over the light switch, before he spots the two of them, crowded around her desk, heads lowered and voices hushed. Crane and Mills…as always, the last two to leave the office. He wonders, for a brief flicker of a moment, what they get up to after hours, when most of the staff have gone home, and then thinks better of it, shuddering in disgust at the very notion. The way those two look at each other, though…stolen glances and puppy-dog eyes and all of that sickeningly adorable romantic crap…he honestly wouldn't even be surprised. Ugh. Gross.

"Haven't you two worked enough overtime this week?" he asks, pausing in front of their shared desk. He should probably consider getting Crane his own, eventually, since it doesn't look like he'll be shipping back off to England any time soon. Should probably start paying him, too.

"Just finishing up some paperwork, sir," Abbie replies, straightening the ruffled stack.

"On New Year's Eve?" the captain scoffs. "Come on, live a little. Tell you what, the world isn't going to end if this paperwork doesn't make it to my desk until tomorrow night."

"You sure about that?" Abbie teases with a small curve of her lips.

"Bet my head on it," he jokes. "Really, though, take the night off, both of you. After the week you've had, you deserve it. Just…don't drink too much, okay? Trust me, you don't need a hangover headache on top of me bitching at you," he laughs, loosening his tie as he walks out the front door, waving a hand behind his back in farewell. Crane turns toward Abbie, a curious gleam in his eye.

"Lieutenant," he poses. "What is all of this talk I keep hearing about parties and drinking? Is this customary behavior on the final eve of the year's end?"

"Well, yeah," she says, a little taken aback by his ignorance. "I mean, sort of. Some people go all out, throw parties, get a little too drunk, find someone to kiss at midnight. Other people…people like me, just like to stay home with a bottle of wine and watch the ball drop."

"I'm not sure I quite understand. When you say ball…" he starts.

"I mean a literal ball…it's a New York tradition, broadcasted on television for the entire country to watch. They put this big, sparkly, lit-up sphere up on a lifting gear in Times Square and slowly drop it during the final countdown to the New Year. And then, at midnight, there's fireworks and confetti and glitter and streamers and balloons raining down from the sky, and it's…I don't know why they do it, really, but it's kind of cool to watch. It can be really fun, New Year's Eve, if you've got someone to celebrate it with," she says, sounding nostalgic, and just a tiny bit disappointed that she'll have to miss it. 

Crane cocks his head to the side, the cogs in his brain churning out a wonderful idea.

"And now you have. Come then, we haven't any time to waste," he says, rising from his chair and extending his hand toward Abbie.

"Crane, what exactly are you suggesting?" Abbie asks, hesitant.

"I am suggesting that you accompany me for a night on the town, as several of your era's films would put it. I tire of our workload…I daresay we have had more than our fair share of it this past week. Let us go and celebrate the end of this year," he says, smiling brightly.

Abbie laughs, glances back and forth between the dwindling pile of paperwork and Crane's eager expression, and within seconds, her mind is made up. With a playful roll of her eyes, Abbie places her hand in his and allows herself to get whisked out of her chair and pulled toward the front doors, laughing as Crane links his arm in hers and tugs them toward her car. 

When they get home, the two of them retreat to their respective bedrooms, quickly changing out of their work clothes and into something a bit more comfortable, more festive. Abbie dithers about in her closet for a good fifteen minutes, trying on dress after slinky red dress, before remembering that it's the end of December, on the east coast, and she'll likely freeze no less than two minutes after leaving her apartment. Instead, she opts for a stylish and cozy combo of snow boots, jeans, and a sweater, and when she comes out of her room and spots Crane leaning against the kitchen door, all dressed up in his jacket, patiently awaiting her, she's pleased to find that he has, too.

Their night on the town is a lot less formal than Abbie would have expected, and for that, she's grateful. They end up parking Abbie's car in a local lot and walking into town, through the village's lantern-lit lanes, fairy lights and garnished wreaths coiled around nearly every street lamp they pass, admiring Christmas decorations left up by their neighbors, by those stubbornly clinging to the enveloping warmth of the holiday season until the very last day of the year. 

A light flurry of snow falls from the sky, weaving into the strands of their hair and settling like miniature diamonds onto the fabric of their bundled-up coats. They walk the town until Abbie can't feel her fingers anymore, removed from the digits of her gloves and balled into her palms for a chance at warmth.

"Lieutenant, what time have you got?"Crane asks suddenly, teeth chattering, gloveless hands stuffed into his coat pockets. Abbie reluctantly reaches into her purse and pulls out her phone.

"Half past nine…why do you ask?"

"Oh," he says, unable to hold back a smug smile. "It would appear that we have missed Detective Morales' social gathering."

"Oh," Abbie says, mimicking his smile. "What a shame. I totally wanted to go to that."

"You did?" he asks, stopping briefly in his tracks.

"It's called sarcasm, Crane…keep up," she teases. Crane lets out a nervous chuckle.

On the way back to Abbie's car, far too cold to function, the two of them pop into one of the only open shops in the village. Of course, to no one's surprise, it's a liquor store. Abbie and Ichabod circle the shelves, pointing out their favorite drinks while they wait for their fingers and toes and the tips of their noses to thaw out. Abbie pauses in front of a row of lavish champagne brands, eyeing them up in appraisal before finally selecting the tall, long-necked, emerald glass bottle with the golden seal and the elegant scrawl.

"Lieutenant," Crane questions as she sets it down on the counter and waits for the cashier to finish restocking the vodka section. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" she laughs, waving off his concern. "Champagne is an integral part of New Year's Eve. It's been a long time since I had anyone to celebrate the holidays with, so I'm going all out, getting the good stuff. I'm being festive."

Crane nods, giving her a delighted smile as he plucks two pairs of plastic glasses whose frames have been molded into the shape of 2014, as well as two sets of silver and gold deeley-boppers from the impulse shelf, and places then down on the counter, dividing their purchases with a plastic marker.

"Then I shall join in the festivities," he says, eyes wide with conviction as Abbie laughs and fixes him with an are you serious? stare. "Costumes and decorations are on me."

Arms laced with shopping bags, Abbie and Ichabod head from the shop to her car, parked only a few meters away. Before leaving the shop, Ichabod insists on wearing his festive deeley-boppers, and Abbie can't help but laugh every time he nods vigorously in response to a question, purposely walking with an animated bounce to his step. 

Shrugging off their snow-strewn jackets and boots by the kitchen doorway, the two of them settle onto the couch, shivering under a pile of blankets and pillows, clutching Abbie's fancy, special-occasion-only glasses, filled to the brim with sparkling, citrine champagne. With the help of leftover Christmas cookies and holiday specials of their favorite shows, Abbie and Ichabod warm up almost instantly (though Abbie assigns partial credit to the steady flow of alcohol swimming through her veins.) At twenty minutes to midnight, Abbie switches over to the channel broadcasting the annual Times Square Ball Drop, and leaves the report, along with the sweeping view of thousands of cheering Americans, all dressed up in glitter and ridiculous hats, on in the background.

"And all of those people…are they there in Times Square currently, like a news broadcast, or has this all been pre-recorded?" Ichabod asks, leaning toward Abbie and nearly spilling his champagne all over the blanket. Abbie grabs his wrist and tilts his glass upright, unconsciously moving closer toward him.

"Nope, it's live…always has been, always will be," she replies.

"And do you wish you were there, among the masses?" he asks.

"Nah, not really," she sighs, curling into Crane's side and tucking her glass of champagne to her chest. For once, without hesitation, Crane lifts his arm to accommodate her, and carefully drapes it across her waist, overtop their shared bundle of blankets. "I mean, would it be fun, being there and seeing it all in person? Sure. But all in all, I prefer being home. It's warmer, and less crowded, and when it gets too loud, I can just shut off the TV."

Crane nods in agreement, takes a small sip from his third glass of champagne, and then purses his lips, willing his brain to cooperate with his mouth.

"And, if I may be so bold as to ask…would you prefer being in the company of a certain detective, rather than in mine?" he poses, a seemingly innocent lilt to his voice. Ichabod hopes that he's managed to play it off as mere curiosity, rather than as an attempt to gauge Abbie's affections. 

He knows that it's stupid and foolish, the moment the query leaves his lips, and he feels ashamed for having put her in a position of having to choose between the two of them, treating her like she's a prize to be won in their clandestine, puerile competition, rather than as a person who may very well not want anything to do with either of them. Thankfully, Abbie doesn't seem to notice his true intentions, the way he waits on bated breath for her reply, and instead takes his inquiry at face value.

"Definitely not," she says, huffing out a breath that's a cross between irritation and amusement, before downing the last of her champagne. "And, look, I know you're only asking because you're just trying to look out for me, and I get it, I do…it's really sweet, and I appreciate your concern, but I don't think I should need to remind you that I'm a big girl, Crane. I can take care of myself…and I can definitely handle anything Luke throws my way…even stupid little jealous jabs at you, because he's too damn stubborn and prideful to just come right out and ask me if you and I are together."

"Apologies, Lieutenant, I did not mean to offend. I am well aware of your personal strengths. Forgive me, it was forward, but I was merely curious, and, well…I do not wish to be in the way of your potential romantic rekindling," he admits quietly.

At this revelation, Abbie can't help but laugh, nearly spilling the contents of the bottle all over the coffee table as she pours herself another glass of champagne.

"Trust me, that ship has sailed. I have no intention of getting back together with Luke. And besides, I like my company tonight just fine," she says, snuggling back into Crane's side. Crane bites back a delighted smile, clinking his half-full glass against hers in cheers as they settle in to watch the final countdown. 

Ten. Nine.

Abbie lifts her head ever so slightly to peer up at Crane through a pair of sleepy, heavy-lidded eyes, catches the brilliant smile that dances across his lips, the one that lights up his eyes in a way she hasn't seen from him in days…not since Christmas, and not for several weeks before that night…a smile that, it seems, only Abbie can ever bring him now, and no doubt in response to what she'd just told him. It's amazing, really, now that she thinks about it, how easy it is for her to make him smile, and vice versa. It's amazing how often that seems to happen, even after everything they've gone through together.

Eight. Seven.

She'd never quite registered the self-satisfied little smirk that follows in the wake of her laughter, the one that he wears every time he'd managed to make her smile. She'd never put two and two together, until now.

Six. Five.

It's amazing how well he's come to know her, down to the very last detail and idiosyncrasy, even after only a few months of living in her presence. How, when others, mainly past lovers, had made it a seemingly impossible task to even remember how she takes her coffee in the morning, Crane had memorized the method in under a day, and continues to prepare it for her, expecting nothing but a smile in return. How, when she speaks, unlike so many others, Crane actually listens, and can recall, with perfect clarity, everything she had just told him. How, even though they're two lonely, would-be strangers, worlds and eras and ages apart, thrown together in this mad, impossible war against the depths of hell, they've still managed to find a home in one another.

Four. Three.

It's amazing how two unlikely people, with all of the earth-bound and otherworldly odds against them, could very well be a perfect fit for one another.

Two. 

Abbie snuggles closer to Crane, burrowing into the all-encompassing warmth radiating from every inch of his body, reveling in the comfort of it, in the familiarity of it, in the unnameable, enigmatic connection she's got with this man out of time, and releases a contented sigh, trailing her fingertips across the partially-obscured expanse of his chest. At the sudden contact, Crane glances down at her, his eyes filled with concern and an inherent need to make certain that she's safe, that she's comfortable…always putting her needs ahead of his. The moment he locks onto her gaze, his composure falters and he's frozen, held there by her dazzling smile, his lips parted in surprise and confusion and for a moment, Abbie could swear that he'd stopped breathing. 

One.

Without even thinking about it, all common sense having fled her mind in favor of liquored-up nerve aroused by the intimacy of the moment, Abbie leans forward, curling her free hand into the tendrils of his disheveled, light brown hair, and gently presses her lips against his. 

Jovial cheers and fireworks erupt around them as the Times Square crowd reigns in the New Year, but Abbie and Ichabod hardly take notice. It's nothing like those long-lost dreams she'd kept at bay in the back of her mind, none of that raw, heated passion, all tangled limbs and lips and teeth…instead, it's soft and sweet, and it only lasts for a few seconds before Abbie is pulling back, releasing him slowly, the ghost of her kiss lingering on his lips as she slides her fingers out of his hair.

When she looks at him, she expects to find a contented smile, perhaps even a hint of exultant complacency waltzing in his eyes, like the one she's grown so used to seeing in duo with his playful smirks and teasing jests…she expects him to pull her close, to wrap his arms around her and kiss her, properly this time…what she doesn't expect is for Crane to bolt upright, looking absolutely stupefied, his eyes wide with incredulity as he recoils from her touch. 

She hadn't misread the signs, she's sure of it…but this is the exact opposite of the reaction she'd been hoping for. Abbie feels her cheeks growing very, very hot, feels the boost of confidence from the champagne draining from her bloodstream, only to be replaced with a cold shiver that twists its icy way down her spine, and a rush of adrenaline that makes the surface of her skin tingle and buzz. She licks her lips, marveling at the way Crane's eyes closely follow the action, and tries, desperately, to reconnect her mouth with her brain.

"That was—" Crane whispers, his voice thick with a conflicting combination of lust, sorrow, and confusion, and Abbie can't stand to hear the rest of it…not right now…not when it's all too easy to run away from it instead.

"A mistake," she interrupts hastily, covering her face with her hands and looking anywhere but at him. "Fuck, I'm so sorry, that was stupid…like, really stupid, and I'm just…going to go…go to bed. Sorry. Goodnight, Crane."

Without another word, Abbie bolts from the couch and slips behind her bedroom door, shutting it a little harder than she'd meant to. Crane listens for the telltale thump that means she's slumped against the other side and is now slowly sliding down its length. He contemplates going after her, knocking on her door and pleading that she speak to him, that she hear him out…but he isn't entirely certain as to what he would say once he found himself outside of her door. So he just stays put, absolutely dumbfounded and struck speechless. 

He doesn't move for another hour at least, staring at the swirling patterns on Abbie's living room ceiling, at the bits of textured paint that have fallen down and left miniature patches in their wake. Finally, at half past one, he comes to his senses, shuts off the television, places the nearly-empty bottle of champagne in the fridge, and retreats to his room. He doesn't sleep well that night…in fact, he doesn't sleep at all.

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You Always Want What You're Running From

Sleepy Hollow » Ichabbie

Title: You Always Want What You're Running From

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: Sleepy Hollow (Masterlist)

Relationship: Abbie Mills x Ichabod Crane

AO3 Rating: Mature (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: When Abbie invites Ichabod to come live with her, the last thing she expects is for him to start feeling like home.

She'll tell herself, over and over again like a mantra, that it's because she feels indebted to him, that she feels bad for him, that it'll make their casework much easier if she can keep a constant eye on him, that it's convenient.  But really, it's because, in spite of everything, in spite of an impending apocalypse that only they, the unwilling witnesses, can prevent, he keeps her grounded, keeps her sane. For reasons she can't explain, she trusts him.  She hasn't trusted anyone like this since Corbin…and now, Crane is all she has left. In his company, she feels secure. Protected. Cared for. They've only known each other for a short while, and yet…Crane's company feels like home. Besides…how bad could living with a man from the 1700's truly be?

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[fruity-legos]

nova

[orcelito]

Ykno the suckiest thing about being broken up with for someone else is that like. Well I'm doing generally fine, all things considered, but I Am kinda sad thinking about the things I've lost and all the casual affection that I can't have now.

But she's out there having all the affection she wants from her coworker, and it's just like. Damn this feels so skewed and SO unfair.