#fae!claire

[claire-ashe]

Babysitting a chaotic fae child, what could go wrong?

"Playing Cowboy" feat. @dinky-dinky

[acrosstimeandspace]

some references for my (reworked) a3 s/i, clair driscoll! he’s the choreographer for the mankai company, part time ballerino, and full time baker. more details about clair are under the cut!

(clair uses he/him pronouns)

clair and izumi were in college together which is how izumi comes to ask clair to be mankai’s choreographer/teach the guys ballet. after graduating with a culinary degree, a friend offered him a job at their bakery as a baker/chef, and that’s where he’s been since! he lives near the mankai company in a small house, where he’s got a pet cat named truffle, and she can sometimes be spotted in the mankai dorms as well (she’s parrot friendly)! aside from teaching the mankai actors ballet, clair does work at a with troupe where he helps teach others, as well in some of the ballets. the troupe is female lead, so he ends up getting a lot of the “male” roles!

[a-dream-seeking-light]

grimes fanart by somnenije ( @somnenije on tumblr )

[julevanwilde]

@magioffire

[feral-fae-writes]

As The World Caves In || Follow Tongue and Hold My Breath

A/N: This chapter is arriving a bit delayed due to personal reasons, but it’s a longer one. Hope that makes up for it in some way, and I hope I remember how to do this. Tissues may or may not be needed for this one; though it’s quippy and cute, it’s a bit sombre, as well. References to the film abound, see if you can spot them all. As always, like if you like, the support is very appreciated.

Fandom: The Gray Man Pairing: Courtland Gentry x Gender Neutral!Reader, Sierra Six x Gender Neutral!Reader Wordcount: 4,902 Type: Multi-Chaptered. Read Chapter 1 here, Chapter 2 here, and Chapter 3 here. Chapter Summary: Mutual revelations allow our reader to finally come to terms with their past, at least in some respect. Behind the banter, the two of them unfold, not complacent, but finally beginning to tread fallow ground. However, 99942 Apophis is getting closer and closer, so Six decides it’s time to move on. It’s only after following his intuition -- after letting go under the cleansing rain -- that everyone finds respite.

Follow Tongue and Hold My Breath

“This is your file,” Six said, holding up a thinly-filled manila in his right hand, “and this is mine.” The second folder was completely empty. You frowned. “I thought you were going to to tell me--” “I didn’t say that.” “So, you were just going to let me think you were?” “Probably.” “Were you going to tell me if I didn’t call you out on it?”

“Probably not.” 

“You’re mouthy for an asshole.” “I’ve been accused of worse. Can you toss me some gum?”

You threw the gum at his face. He caught it as easily as a lie between teeth, one manila folder still in-hand, before giving you a wink, like it was nothing. “Thanks,” he replied, already unwrapping his catch. Popping it in his mouth, he crumpled up the wrapper, put it in his pocket, and then met your glaring eyes. You were focused on burning a hole right between his blue-grey gaze. “What?” He asked, voice muffled around gum. “Nothing, I just…” You trailed off, mildly caught off guard as your gaze fell apart, but managed to focus on his right hand. “Can you toss me my file?” You asked, echoing his quip. “No, but I’ll hand it to you.” 

You spluttered for a second, indignant, eyeing the file that he was now offering out. You weren’t sure if you wanted to take it, but if you didn’t, you’d never be able to know anything at all. And while you weren’t sure if you cared to know about yourself, you knew you definitely wanted to know about Six. There was a smile in his eyes; he was teasing you. “What’s your problem, dude?” “Don’t have one, but you seem to have one with me. What does my kiss taste like?” He mused, countering. “Not answering that,” you replied immediately, half without thinking, half-scathing. A beat of pause, and then you cautiously took your file for yourself. Tearing your eyes away to glance at your own buried secrets, in the back of your mind you resolved to thank the man in front of you. It would happen later, at some point in the future, if any of the above ever became true: when pigs flew, when wishes came true, or when you knew who you were. As much as you’d gotten frustrated at him— with him, earlier, you couldn’t blame him now. You opened the file, bracing yourself. 

And then you closed it again.

"You know what? No. I'm not doing this shit. You found out about me, now you're going to spill." You looked up from your file to see him staring at you, brows raised somewhat in disbelief. Were you really going there? Yes. Yes, you fucking were. “Why do you ask? Besides quid pro quo.” He asked, tone mock-distracted as his eyes roved over the file in your hands. “Because--” You broke off, took a deep breath. You glanced around the room, eyes looking for an escape route. Everything suddenly felt like too much; the lights of the hotel room across from you morphed into a garish white that seemed to haze instead of shine. You couldn’t look at Six anymore, instead refocusing on your hands. You didn’t know what to do with your hands, besides hoisting yourself off the balcony railing. The crickets were the only sound between you two. He certainly knew how to give you space to speak yourself into oblivion. Like hell you’d take the bait. Instead, you mentally ran in circles.

You hadn’t even looked through the damn thing. So why did you feel the need to explain? It’s not like you were in confessional. But this felt like a betrayal all the same, because even though you meant the words you were about to say, they weren’t just for him. They were selfish, blanketing your feelings so you didn’t have to face them for what they were. It was the truth though, and you weren’t going to shy away from being honest with him.

Swallow your pride, c’mon. Say it!

“Because it doesn’t matter. I want to get to know you. Not… not a number. You’re not a number to me.” You finished. Your voice came out more steady than you expected but you still felt yourself floundering in the ensuing silence, desperate to get your thoughts across. But you weren’t going to fold. Yeah, you were conflicted as all hell, but this wasn’t about you. You knew you could look at the damn file later. You knew he knew that, too.  

He sighed, then looked up at you with those puppy-like blue greys. He sounded so resigned, his voice dropping an octave in disagreement, as if his very veins were refusing this emotional bloodletting. It made a cool, coppery shiver go up your spine. “What do you want to know?” 

“Everything. What’s your name? Your history? Your favourite colour? Genre of music?” You were aware you were barraging him with questions, but you didn’t really care. Answers felt long overdue, and honestly, all you wanted to do was hear him talk.

Six fell silent at your eagerness, expression looking burned when you said history. It occurred to you, distantly, that there were most likely multiple reasons for his reserved nature, and in that same second that it took you to connect the dots, you felt very, very ashamed. But he didn’t outwardly react — for a second, you worried you went too far — either that, he was thinking about how to approach the situation of being poked and prodded for information he didn’t want to give. “Gentry. Courtland Gentry. Not as smooth as James Bond, but we’re in the same line of work, so…” Six trailed off in amusement, chuckling bitterly almost to himself. It sounded smoky and hurt, as if he were hiding himself away at the same time he gave his own name. “Don’t have a favourite colour. Jazz. Vinyls over digital, or Claire would kill me,” he said, shaking his head in amusement. “How’d you meet her? I’m guessing you’re not family.” “She’s the closest thing I’ve got to it,” Six -- Courtland -- replied, expression turning sombre. “Her uncle was the closest thing I had to a father. He was also the one that recruited me. And now he’s upstairs.” 

“Recruited you?”

“To work for the CIA, as Sierra. Value add.” His reply was short. He blew a small bubble, snapped his gum; it punctuated the ensuing silence with a pop. “His words, not mine.”

“You seem almost… sarcastic about that last part.”

“Hah, he said the same thing: ‘I get it. You’re glib.’” Six said, letting out a dry bark of amusement. You watched as he sat down, almost preparing himself for what he was about to unpack next. You didn’t need or want to say anything else -- you were just following tongue and holding your breath. You hadn’t missed what he’d said about Claire’s uncle, but now wasn’t the time to inquire further about that. Six had enough to comb through for you to ask more than you really deserved to know.

“Your mother?” You asked softly, knowing you were already treading ground he wasn’t comfortable with.

“Died when I was young.”

“Right,” you replied, sensing he didn’t want to talk about her further. You hesitated to press further about his other parent. “Should I ask?”

“You’ve already started the conversation,” Six pointed out. “No point in stopping now.”

“Tell me about him. Please?” “Okay.”

Six let out a growly sigh, dragging one hand down his face in exhaustion. It seemed like this had happened before, just a moment of deja vu that wasn’t yours, but he shook it off. “My father thought he was tough. Fancied himself a real macho man. He was hell-bent on turning me and my brother into the same, and… And, one day, I realised--” Six broke off, to  steel himself to continue. When he spoke again, it wasn’t to you. It was to the cigarette burn peeking out of his sleeve. “I realised it was going to be either my brother or him. I decided it was going to be him.” Six let out a sniffle, eyes following your gaze. Almost in response, the burn went back into hiding as he continued. His voice covered for it -- a distraction, a wingman against prying eyes. “I thought, ‘how noble of me,’ and everyone else thought I should be in jail.” He finished, and though his voice was steady, you could see it in his eyes. 

He was clearly in pain, even now, and there was nothing you could do to help it. You could see why he felt like he was Sisyphus: he’d never been allowed to heal-- the gods kept punishing him, and punishing him, and punishing him, and he deserved none of it. You wanted to say something, but didn’t know what you could. It wasn’t about you. It never was.

“Anything else you wanna know?” He asked, eyes on yours. It was like he was looking for answers, as if the question was more for himself than you, but he said it so nonchalantly you’d think nothing was wrong. “How many years?” You asked, voice a whisper. “Eight,” he replied. “Fitz found me eight years into a thirty-six year sentence. I would’ve been out at a cool fifty-one if not for him.”

You fell silent, swallowing the lump in your throat. The math meant that he was incarcerated at 15. He had to have been tried as an adult, there was no other way to explain why the sentence was that long. You supposed he could’ve gone to a juvenile correctional facility, but he would’ve aged out within three years… that, and you had no idea when he was born, just the year. You felt guilty. And stupid -- so very stupid. All you could do was shake your head; you wanted to say something but all that came out was a strange little gasp, and then you felt wetness on your cheeks. “You’re crying.” He said, a robotic observation, softened by his tone. “May I?”

No shit, Sherlock. 

You never cried. Then again, you’d never had a reason to cry before the events of the past few months. You really weren’t cut out for this, you realised, as you stood there, trying to breathe, trying to get yourself under control. You didn’t know what he meant by the question, but nothing he could do would upset you -- it was how he was treated that upset you -- but you knew he knew that. Still, he was asking permission. He’d been through so much, and he was asking you permission for the simplest things, and that stabbed you through the heart. You finally let out a shaky breath. “May you what?” You croaked, voice hoarse. “Wipe away your tears,” he replied, closing the gap between you two in one stride. He took the manila from you and set it aside; you’d forgotten it was in your hands. He was so close now, emotionally and physically, and you swore no one would ever see you like this since the first time, but Six had seen both. “Please,” you whispered. The word came out without even thinking.

“You’re too beautiful to cry,” he replied, his voice just as quiet. “Not over me. Don’t cry over me,” he chuckled, shaking his head. A hand rose to cup your jaw, his thumbs ghosting over your skin, his touch as light as a feather as he brushed your tears away. You couldn’t look away from him, and looking into the grey, you felt all your walls finally fall. You’d been lying to yourself, telling yourself that this was just misplaced affection. He’d saved you, so, of course, you’d be infatuated -- but everything you felt was unconsciously growing like weeds, tangled and confused, all-consuming if you didn’t keep an eye on them. And you’d allowed your weeds to grow, encouraged them, even. You couldn’t hide from yourself anymore.

At least your weeds were made of wishes. 

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You wondered, on some level, if Six felt the same, if his mental garden had gotten the best of him, too — if weeds he thought he’d eradicated suddenly reappeared between cracked lines of stoic concrete. You knew better than to ask. He knew how to disappear, and if he felt the need, he would. You stared down at your file, and the dandelion in your hand. It made you want to disappear, too.

You weren’t supposed to be outside, but you needed the air. You needed to think. “You’re not supposed to be out here,” Six chirped. “I know. Just… Looking at the folder.” You turned around, only to meet his eyes, lifted the dandelion, and without blinking, blew it into his impassive expression, getting no reaction barring the slightest rise of his right brow. He spat out a few dandelion fuzzies from between his lips in annoyance, as more than a few settled in his hair. 

“I’m guessing you haven’t opened it yet,” he said.

“Nope,” you replied. Like hell you were going to crack, but you couldn’t help but bite your lip. He hadn’t noticed. “I almost don’t want to.”

“It’s there if you do. Regardless, we have to keep moving.” He said, already turning back towards the hotel’s automatic double doors. “We’ve stayed here too long.”

“I know— wait, what?” You grabbed his shoulder. He froze, then turned back towards you with a sigh. The fuzzies embedded themselves further into blonde. Leaving the hotel room you’d been in for the past several months felt like a type of treason. Even though you couldn’t quite name it, you felt the anxiety flush into your system — but you’d done nothing wrong. You found yourself at a loss for words, his right brow now further up his forehead like a wannabe elevator. You could tell he was frustrated at himself, that he wanted to say, ‘You heard me,’ but was biting his tongue.

Needless to say, you wanted to change the subject.

“May I?” “What? “You have, um, dandelion wi-- seeds in your hair. Can I…?”

He just nodded, eyes on yours. “By all means,” he murmured. You reached up to run your hands through his hair, cautious and tentative. You didn’t expect it to be so soft, and paused for a second. All the fuzzies in his hair, scattered around, looked a bit like a flower crown, and it made you smile. “Sorry, I… You look like you’ve got a crown.” His lips flinched into his signature smile, and for a moment, he seemed shy. You noticed that his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

“That’d be a novel concept, wouldn’t it?” He asked.

“I guess so,” you replied softly, gently running your fingers through his hair, combing out dandelion seeds along the way, before ruffling his hair back into its signature dirty-blonde banged fringe. It almost looked like rusted gold in the sunlight, and as you stepped back to admire your work, dandelion seeds in your right palm, you were tempted to blow them back into his face just so you could do it all over again. “There,” you said approvingly. A second passed; you wanted to say something more, but wasn’t sure what.

“Thanks.” A beat of comfortable silence, before he thumbed back towards the entrance. “Shall we? Claire’s already packing.”

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You walked in on Claire rolling her clothes up, still holding the dandelion seeds. She looked up at the sound of the door closing. Seeing her confirmed what Six had said earlier, and now that the information had time to settle, you couldn’t disagree it was the right move. You’d stayed in the hotel for far too long, practically speaking, and it was time to move on. “Hey, the lovebirds are back,” she quipped, voice just mildly sarcastic. “Took ya long enough. Remind me what’s going on?” Her eyes drifted to the dandelion seeds in your hand in curiosity, but she didn’t prod. “I already told you: we’re dropping you off at Agent Miranda’s,” Six replied. “At least until I get this situation sorted out. I don’t want you in danger we can avoid, if I can help it.”

Claire’s face flickered with frustration, turned to betrayal, and then hurt all in one breath. But she didn’t voice her feelings, not at first. Even she knew there were bigger fish to fry. And it was all because of you. Then the dam burst.

“Why?! I didn’t think you were serious, Six! And you know I didn’t mean that,” Claire finally said, affronted. “I’m not just gonna leave you--” “I know what you meant and you’re not getting an answer. It’s not mine to give. You’ll have Dani with you, okay?” Claire’s expression crumpled, turned slightly desperate, a ghost of what you guessed she’d experienced in the past. She didn’t want to lose him again, that much was obvious, and you suspected she’d said those exact words before. Claire looked away from Six, who’d already started packing, to you. You hadn’t moved a muscle since you’d heard the words Agent Miranda, but took a breath and headed to the closet to pull your clothes down -- both to think and collect yourself. There wasn’t any time to feel hurt, and it would be childish to feel hurt in the first place over something like this. And you’d already hurt Claire, stolen her only family away from her -- even if it was a temporary arrangement. It only made sense to stay quiet, hold your breath. You didn’t hold anything against her. You just weren’t sure how to feel. You scattered the dandelion seeds around the floor of the closet. They’d be swept up eventually, but at least, for now, they’d bear witness to the wishes in your head.

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After checking out, the three of you surreptitiously made your way to the hotel’s parking garage, under the dim light of early morning the following day. You were both surprised and unsurprised to see your getaway car was a military-grade black van. It was hidden away from most, if not all the cameras, in a corner near one of the exits. No one would miss one black car out of hundreds, or so you hoped.

The trip was surreal and silent. Six was driving, Claire was asleep in the backseat, and you were passenger-side, watching the trees speed past, as if they were running like the wind blew. “Something on your mind?” The question surprised you. Six wasn’t the type to ask questions -- and you were usually the one asking him questions. Pestering him, really. You looked away from the side window to focus on the road, and as you turned, you caught him watching you curiously.

“Why do you ask?”

“You’re not usually this quiet.” “You don’t usually ask questions.”

“Touché,” he replied. More silence. “What’s she like? Agent Miranda?” “She’s a friend of mine. You can trust her.”

That told you nothing. His tone told you everything else, that he’d already known what you were thinking about and simply wanted to confirm, and, to be honest, you were pretty shit at hiding your emotions. Something told you this wasn’t up for debate, and you hated that.

“How do I know that for sure?”

“Because she saved my life,” he said, his tone coming out sharp, a dog’s bite without the bark. 

She’d saved his life, and he’d saved yours. You had that in common. Kind of.

“That’s a fair point.” You fell silent, mollified for now, but you were also undeterred. You’d just have to talk to her yourself. It was almost funny how you could trust him and Claire so easily, but the minute anyone else came in the picture, your hackles raised. You shrank back against the window, averting your eyes toward the rising sun through the trees. “Hey, what’s going on?” Claire asked, mid-yawn, her arms dangling over both of your seats. You jumped in your seat, not enough for her to notice in her half-awake state, but definitely enough for Six to give you amused side-eye. He answered for both of you. “Nothing. We were just talking to keep me awake. Gum, please?” “Sure thing,” Claire replied, with her usual disbelieving, sarcastic tone. “You want me to sit here and stare at my shoes while you two pantomime communication, too?” You noticed she still handed him a stick of watermelon Bubblicious. As always, she was unfazed by his gruff and grumpy demeanour. It made you smile. “You should go back to bed. It’s 7 A.M. and another eleven hours before we get to Dani’s,” Six replied, voice muffled around watermelon gum. He stuffed the crumpled up wrapper into his pocket. “Nah. Can we get ice cream for breakfast?” Claire asked. 

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You finally arrived at Agent Miranda’s apartment the following day, sometime around 6 P.M. under a light shower of rain and mist. By that point, you were too exhausted for much of anything, despite the fact that this was the first time in a long time you’d gone outside for more than five minutes. You were not at all surprised to see the cameras near the front door, nor the intercom, but you did want to stay back just in case. However, Six didn’t give you that option. “Let her see your face,” he’d said, an asleep Claire in his arms. He’d sheltered her from the rain; consequently, both his bangs and his beard dripped with rainwater every so often. “Ring the doorbell. I’ll do the talking.” “Okay,” you’d replied, feeling like a fish out of water, which was rather ironic because you were getting mildly soaked. For a few long minutes, there was nothing but the soft pitter-patter of rain.

When the buzzer went, you jumped. “Yes?” Her accent was thick, but not unintelligible. Something about her voice put you at ease, despite her direct tone.“Have you tried aluminium siding?” Six asked. You could tell it was a code. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. You glanced nervously between Six and the blinking camera. “I prefer filigree.”

“Hey, at least you don’t have to paint,” Six replied, tone mildly amused.

“What is it, Six?”

Six let out a long breath, glancing down at Claire for a second, before eyeing the camera. “Mind keeping an eye on the kid?” “No, but for how long?”

“Just until I get something sorted out.”

A few minutes passed, before you heard a few clicks and beeps from within. The door unlocked. “Get in.”

“As long as it’s not the trunk,” he chuckled, weary. You gave him a confused look, but he didn’t answer, instead stepped inside the opening door. Dani’s hand was only just visible. She took care of her nails. You followed Six meekly, a pace behind, and as soon as all three of you were out of the rain, she shut the door. It locked itself.

“Shoes off, please. Tea? Coffee?” “Hot chocolate,” Six replied, already barefoot by the time she was done with her questions. He headed towards the nearby mauve couch to lay Claire down and took off her shoes, one Nike off after the other. “When Claire wakes up, she’ll want some. Blankets?” “Closet,” she replied, not looking away from the bright red kettle of milk on her gas stove, cocoa powder and four mugs on the counter beside. Her hair was a dark brown that rested a bit past her shoulders, straight but curled at its ends. The kitchenette was varying spots of red and black and white and chrome, and you got the sense that Agent Dani Miranda was one classy woman, a take-no-shit-for-answers type. You decided that you liked her.

Setting your shoes beside Six’s, you fully stepped into the semi-open concept apartment. You passed him on his way back to set Claire’s shoes down, now similarly barefoot and chilled. His fingertips alighted on your shoulder. You stopped in your tracks in response, a drenched Pavlov's bitch.

“Do you want a blanket, too?” You only nodded, shivering. Dani’s apartment wasn’t cold, but moving from being outside in the rain to indoors was apparently a difficult transition. You stood there, at the threshold between a shut door and an open room, unsure of what to do, before Six came back a few minutes later. He put a soft white blanket around your shoulders, which you pulled in closer. For his part, he had just a towel around his own. His hair was still damp, but no longer dripping. 

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“You grew your hair out,” Six quipped. “I did.” Agent Miranda -- Dani -- went quiet. She had a heart-shaped face, and big brown eyes, and if it weren’t for the sharp mind behind them, you’d have thought her a doe. You knew that look: it was filled with annoyance, calculation and curiosity, all at once. Six took a sip of his hot chocolate, both hands around the warmth of his cup, but kept his eyes on hers. It was like he was trying to read her thoughts.

“What are you thinking?” Six asked. 

“I’m thinking about what to do with you.”

“Think about it this way: Claire didn’t ask for this, neither did I. And neither did--” “Get comfortable,” Dani said, cutting him off with a raised hand.

“‘Get comfortable’ like we’re making a plan, or… or, like, ‘cushy prison cell’ comfortable?” He asked, tentative. Agent Miranda rolled her eyes. You couldn’t help but snort at that, which prompted a look from the newly met agent. “You and I need to talk. Tell me what’s happened. I want to hear it from you,” she said softly. “I don’t bite. Unless you’re Denny Carmichael.”

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About half an hour later, you were in Agent Miranda’s tiny self-renovated home office. She’d been kind enough to sequester you away from Six and Claire, both to give you a breather and them some time to recover from the long drive. She’d put marshmallows in Claire’s mug, the jumbo ones, at Six’s request. She’d taken your mugs with her, and was now reheating them in the microwave. You sat in one of her fuzzy office chairs, knees pulled to your chest. It was white, and you sunk into it. There were shelved files on the opposite wall, and a sleek silver laptop on her desk.

“Careful, it’s hot,” she warned, handing you your mug.

“Thanks,” you whispered, wrapping your hands around it.

Agent Miranda walked around her desk, sat down in an identical chair. For a second, she just observed, and it made you want to squirm. You merely gripped the mug tighter, stared into its dark chocolatey depths.

“Who are you?” She asked.

“I can-- I can tell you. Or, um, show you. One second.” You placed your mug on the office desk, opened Six’s jacket -- he’d made you wear it because of the waterproof pockets on the inside -- and took out your file. You slid it in her direction. “I haven’t read it myself yet.”

“Okay,” she replied cautiously. She took a sip of her hot chocolate, lifted the file off the desk, put her mug down, then began to read. You felt like a misbehaving student in front of the school principal. You picked your mug back up.

It took her a few long minutes, eyes scanning the page. She’d forgotten her hot chocolate in favour of whatever was in your file. You kept sipping your own. By the time you were finished, she was, too.

“I see,” she murmured. “Why haven't you read it?” “I don’t want to anymore. Apparently my entire life has been a lie, so… why should anything on those pages matter?” You asked, shrugging. Her expression turned from curious to one of sympathetic understanding, and she went quiet for a second. You continued, glancing down at your empty mug. You couldn’t look her in the eyes. “I was kidnapped, held hostage in a basement for months, Six saved me, and now I just wanna start over. I wanna lose myself. Is that so bad?”

“No, it’s not.” She didn’t say anything after that — for what felt like a very long time. You could tell she was thinking things over. Maybe she was thinking about what to do with you, too.

“Can I ask you something?” You asked, tentatively. “Of course,” she replied, her head tilting slightly. She hadn’t expected that from you, as far as you could tell, but she wasn’t showing it. “Did you really save his life?” You whispered. You had an inkling, slightly, that he’d been telling the truth, that he wouldn’t lie about something like that. But you wanted to confirm for yourself. “Twice,” she replied. A faint, flinching smile appeared on her expression, before she let out a small breath, collecting herself. “I need to talk to Six, if you don’t mind,” she said, taking up both of your empty mugs.

“Okay,” you replied. “Thank you, Agent Miranda.” 

“You can call me Dani, if you want.”

“Okay.”

And then she was gone, and you were left staring at the black wall divider. There was only silence on the other side. You couldn’t tell how long it’d been, but eventually, the wall divider opened again, and Dani peeked into the office — only one eye was visible. When she spoke, her voice was painfully soft.

“You can come back into the living room now, love. Claire’s awake, as well. We’ve made a plan.”

[staciass]

My December TBR ….

A Court Of Blood & Bindings By Lisette Marshall

//* continuation from my November reads.

Lord Of Gold & Glory By Lisette Marshall

//* Next book in the “Fae Isles” series which I already own so assuming ACOBAB ends as well as I think it will it’ll probably be the next book I pick up.

From Blood & Ash By JLA

//* I’m going to need to re-read this as I plan of reading through the FBAA series before reading the “Flesh And Fire” series. /sigh

A Kingdom Of Flesh And Fire by Jennifer L. Armentrout

//* next book in the FBAA series book 2.

What Lies Beyond The Veil by Harper L. Woods

//* I really want to try and finish this book as I’ve heard some great things /feedback about this so hopefully I’ll pick it back up in December as I already own this book.

Savage Lands by Stacey Marie Brown

//* I’ve been meaning to pick this book back up after I DNF this book in September/October.

A Touch Of Darkness By Scarlett St. Clair

//* Hades x Persephone. It’s supposed to be really good if you like that kind of thing and I can’t wait to read this!!

Rhapsodic by Laura Thalassa

//* The Bargainer series book 1. I did DNF this in October but I really want to re-read this as I’ve heard it raved about so much and yeah I’m ready to re-try this book!!

Dragon Actually by G.A Aiken

//* The first book of “Dragon Kin” series. This would be a re-read for me because I read this a couple years ago and I love this book just sfm !!! ❤️

[nuclearforest]

For Claire and Briar ;)

blood: what would your OC would sacrifice everything for? what does “everything” entail—their life, or something else? how far would they go? fake: has your OC ever been lied to? what was the lie? how has it affected them?

idol: has your OC been in a position where a lot of people were looking down on (or up to) them? how do they handle the pressure of fame? of criticism?

Howdy Athena!!! Ty for the ask--I'm sitting here sincerely debating how or if I could ever draw Claire and/or Briar, but know that I want to. Also know that I want to do like. Full timelines and character bios for each and this just reinforces it lol.

blood:

Claire is a tough nut to crack here. Above all else she's come to value preservation of the human condition as a thing of beauty and inspiration; but she's also hella possessive over adopted son Schrodinger and mate Hans. So either thing she could readily burn herself out for, although there's yet to really be a threat significant enough to humanity to warrant pushing herself beyond her limits and finding out if there really is a way for that inner wildfire to burn itself to nothing. [Although her little completely non-canon power trip story results in the complete derailment of the Major's London plot when she outright murders everybody in Mill, if that event had gone down there would've been another competitor flying in after settling what happened in the states. Think "crashing the first jet she found that could make it to London into the Major's zeppelin with a cup of Starbucks" kind of deal.]

Briar, on the other hand is easy. She has nowhere near as much (literal) firepower as Claire but, similarly, would happily give herself up for mate Barrett (thanks, @rotten-hearts-sharp-teeth!) or the family she'd inevitably go on to make with him. Valued as a food and vitality source, she'd even offer herself up as a fae "pet" if that's what it took to keep him safe--which is pretty much the epitome fae nightmare of endless servitude and bloodletting. [Would Barrett let that happen? Never. But it's sweet that his little bunny is out there getting protective of him.]

fake:

Claire has been lied to plenty. As a young girl suddenly coming into immense strength with about nobody looking out for her in an age where she wasn't really given any credibility (even after she grows up), she's taken a lot of shit from the men that used to run the early anti-supernatural programs in the colonial states. Even, at times, the pre-Alucard Hellsings in British colonies responding to threats. But it hasn't been anything big, usually, because she's got a hell of a nose for bullshit.

The biggest overall lie is what drives her plot to go down to Brazil on a little sabbatical, merk all of Mill, and kidnap her mate: (at least in my verse) the CIA was getting involved with the Major and ended up trading weapons and intel for the catboy recipe. Needless to say Claire prevented another catboy situation early on, but had to find out a lot of things and bully a lot of people to get the information she needed to learn about the deal, especially given that nothing was on paper. In the end, she makes that trip for Murder in the late 80s and early 90s and gets a mate out of it. Not too bad a deal TBH.

Briar, on the other hand, hasn't really been lied to. She's sheltered. Grew up in a large fae family with 10 siblings (two older brothers only) and four parents. She still had to parent her younger siblings a lot (her brothers weren't expected to) but there wasn't really a lot they could get away with. She's too sweet to lie to and doesn't really dole out punishments. And outside the home, Briar has a very good lie detector coming from a fae background. So there's been nothing earth shattering, but part of her appeal is in how soft and squishy she is.

idol:

As the supernatural acting leader (and yes, there are human ones over her head for bureaucratic / organizational reason) of the US supernatural institution (I have not yet conceived of a name; probably Department of Something to match the trend that already exists), Claire is idol to a lot of folks. Even moreso because she has strong mentor vibes and can (and will) adopt anybody she comes across. TO that end she has quite a few understudies that are significantly less fleshed out as OCs. Overall, their relationships are positive and Claire is a good, if not mildly violent, influence.

That said, the pressure of operating in her position is no issue, even if she wished she got some of the lighter field missions, too, and didn't sit doing paperwork, reading reports, and sitting in meetings on most days. At least the supernatural research is entertaining? Anyway, the criticism side of things doesn't bug her and she's pretty impervious to most insults. Some is even considered good feedback so she can adjust herself. Generally speaking, her only sore point is related to her selection of Hans as a mate, which she usually shuts down before she gets pissed (because for as many complaints as there are about his origins... she also kidnapped him. And hosted him without setting him free for a long time until he outright settled with her anyway. So that is pretty damn sus).

Lastly, Briar was looked up to by her siblings. And it seemed normal at the time for her to carve away parts of her life to live for them (and she naturally falls into a very similar role at first with Barrett). So the pressure of mock parenthood and later literal parenthood feels natural, but any criticism on her handling of things or on her choices isn't usually well met. She'll get surprisingly upset being told she's wrong, or being yelled at and told the teen angst "I hate you!" or other stereotypical phrase. It's unfortunately easy to make her cry, and anybody who does had better hope that her lucky werewolf isn't around.

There's a bit more than this (see the looked down on, instead of being looked up to) but I'm not about to spoil shit on that end lol.

[catsconflictscopicsandchamomile]

I have. convinced she's not dead (anymore)

Have you thought about Emma Winchester recently? You know, Deans amazon warrior daughter from season 7? No? Sorry then. Still immeasurably infuriating me.

Anyway, Happy Father’s Day 🥲 from her and the dozens of kids Dean adopted along the way

Have a nice week 🐝🌻

[trollamulet]

happy pride none of my team trollhunters trio are cis or het!!

[bergamotmandarin]

[viktoriaashleyyx]

One retcon from ACOFAS that I don't see talked about enough is when Feyre got her "fae period" RhySAnd could do nothing to help her.

RhySAnd. The one who *claimed* to take away Claire Bettors pain UTM to get Feyre to forgive him.

Can he actually take away pain or not?

If this was a better author, I would suggest this is a little foreshadowing Easter egg to imply a revelation that RhySAnd is actually the bad guy, but alas, this is the Queen of Retcons we are dealing with.

[acrosstimeandspace]

looking for a spooky battle brain to challenge! well, hopefully if geeta will let him put up a battle frontier in paldea!

this is clair, a hopeful battle brain and former coordinator! he’s the younger sibling of fantina and tucker, and like their siblings originally from kalos!

gâteau, their banette, is their partner pokemon and he can mega evolve.

(clair uses he/they pronouns)

[acourtofthought]

What they say about Jamie:

What they say about Lucien who was based off Jamie.

From this:

He’d always had a casual grace about him, but here, tonight, with his hair tied back and jacket buttoned to his neck, he truly looked the part of a High Lord’s son. Handsome, powerful, a bit rakish—but well-mannered and elegant.

To this:

Like Rhys, he usually opted for words to win his battles, but I’d seen him and Tamlin in the practice ring. He knew how to handle a weapon. How to kill, if need be.

Lucien, just like Jamie, easily transitions between both worlds. Gentlemen to warrior.

"Whisperer of fish, fowl, horse, and lass"

Lucien:

He waded into the stream, boots off and pants rolled to his knees, and caught one with his bare hands. He’d tied his hair up, a few strands of it falling into his face as he swooped down again and threw a second trout onto the sandy bank where I’d been trying to find a substitute for fishing twine. We remained silent as the fish eventually stopped flapping, their sides catching and gleaming with all the colors so bright above us. Lucien picked them up by their tails, as if he’d done it a thousand times. He might very well have, right here in this stream. “I’ll clean them while you start the fire.”

“Autumn Court males have fire in their blood—and they fuck like it, too.”

"Paying attention to every little thing about Claire, making him possibly the first feminist of Scotland"

Lucien with Elain:

He knew without demanding clarification that she was aware of what he was to her.

She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen.

Her eyes were the brown of a fawn’s coat. And he could have sworn something sparked in them as she met his gaze.

“Take her to the sea. Take her to some garden. But get her out of this house for an hour or two.”

“No—I didn’t have time. I felt her, but …” A blush stained his cheek.

Lucien just stared and stared at my sister, as if he’d never seen her before.

“I heard you made the killing blow,” he said.

Lucien with his female friends:

“Would you like me to teach you how to wield a blade, or do you already know how, oh mighty mortal huntress?

“No,” Lucien said quietly as I reached for a foothold in the next boulder. “That was all you.”

“I have an old friend at the Dawn Court. She’s skilled at tinkering—blending magic and machinery. Tamlin got her to craft it for me at great risk.”

“Not for long—not if Vassa has anything to do with it.”

Just like Jamie, Lucien is a feminist and constantly paying attention to all the details of his mate.

"Sexy, gorgeous, and perfect"

Lucien:

The brutally scarred face beneath was still handsome—his features sharp and elegant.

Perhaps you’ll get a handsome Fae lord as your mate, too.”

I studied the broad, tan hand wrapped around my elbow.

Our dispersing party watched as he braced my waist in his broad hands and easily hefted me off the horse.

I threw my arms around his neck, burying my face against his warm, bare chest.

Lucien loosed a heavy sigh and slid an arm around my waist, the other threading through my hair to cradle my head. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.” He held me, stroking soothing lines down my back, and I calmed my weeping, those seawater tears drying up like wet sand in the sun. I lifted my head from his sculpted chest at last, my fingers digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders as I peered into his concerned face.

She slid a hand over the broad panes of his chest, his stomach.

“You should kill Beron and his sons and set up the handsome one as High Lord of Autumn,self-imposed exile or no.

Lucien’s scarred, handsome face appeared,

He had to give Lucien credit: the male was somehow able to move between his three roles—an emissary for the Night Court, ally to Jurian and Vassa, and liaison to Tamlin—and still dress immaculately.

Lucien, just like Jamie, is the King of Men.

@lucienweekofficial

[feroshgirlsims]

Villareal Household 1.2

Part two of this Halloween-y and fun side story using this gorgeous cc and build by @surely-sims and @doctorsimcraft! If you get an invitation to Magic Town, make sure you go 😈

PREV | NEXT

TRANSCRIPT

Luna: So…what’s it like working with Akira? I mean, you two do jobs for my dad, right? And–

JJ: Don’t do that.

Luna: Do what? Cheat at chess?

JJ: Fuck chess. Akira is not good for you.

Luna: Why not? The fae are truthful, right? I heard my dad say it: they can’t lie. JJ: That doesn’t mean they don’t lie. And anyway, Akira is supremely fucked up.

Luna: I’m not afraid of that! My dad is the head of La Cosa Simstra. And he’s the…you know.

JJ: I do know. And you can’t even say it. That is a huge ass sign that you and Akira would never work.

JJ: Listen, I’m just saying he’s cruel. All fae are. Even when they’re pretty or say nice shit, they won’t think twice about slitting your throat.

Luna: I thought werewolves got along with everyone but vampires.

JJ: We do. This ain’t about that. Akira is a friend, but I’m trying to help you.

Luna: Fine. Whatever. I get it.

-----

MEANWHILE...

Gemma: And my 8th great-grandmother was a gardener. Her name was Constance, and she believed in good manners. She had—

Siobhan: You know what? I think I’m gonna go find Luna. You wait here. 

Gemma: Finally. 

-----

Mr. Mysterio: Lady, for the last time, this is a magic show, not a concert. The bit is over. 

Sofia: It’s never over! I think the audience wants to hear more of me! But you won’t let them.

Sofia: But you know what? I don’t care. I QUIT!

Mr. Myserio: You don’t work here!

-----

Luna: Look! The Fortune Teller is finally coming back to her tent. Let’s do that! And Luna and Siobhan are walking over, too. 

Sofia: Can you tell me about my future, but like, in a chill way?

Siobhan: I’m not paying for this. 

Luna: Um, sorry about them, we really do want our fortunes read.  

Claire Voyant: It is not even a question. I have been waiting for you three. 

[sonicaspeed123]

PRIDE MONTH 2024 LET'S GO

-These are based on our headmates, not headcanons, do not argue with our identities-

Zephyr (🌪) is holding the progress pride flag, plural flag, and then our personal system flag. She has a bigender earring, a bisexual flag necklace, and the bisexual flag colors on their soap shoes.

Nvidia (⌨️) is holding the trans flag, has the transfem flag colors in her hair, and is wearing an objectum pride crop top and a polysexual bracelet.

Amy/Briar (🌹) is holding the genderfluid flag and wears a hairtie with the bisexual flag colors and a necklace that is half bisexual flag and half heteroromantic.

Shadow (🌘) is holding the aplatonic flag and has rainbow streaks in their spines.

Claire (👽) is holding the aroagender flag and wears necklaces with the nonbinary, aromantic, and lesbian flags. Fae also has a bracelet with the greyace flag.

Quinn (⚡️) has a bracelet with the aroace flag.

[feral-fae-writes]

ITS CHEKOV’S GUN. ITS ALL THE CALLBACKS. ITS THE BANTZ. ITS THE GRUMPY MAN BEGRUDGINGLY ADOPTS CHILD TROPE. ITS THE PRACTICALITY. ITS THE QUIPS AND THE WINKS. ITS THE TRANQ IN LLOYD’S ASS. ITS DEUS EX DANI MIRANDA. ITS THE FRENCH SONG AND MAGGIE BEING A BADASS. ITS THE GROWLS. ITS SO GOOD THE MORE YOU WATCH IT.

(its the watermelon gum!!!)