#hopefully SOMEONE enjoys it

[waterfallofspace]

Tormented By Your Love.

The one in which S/uguru G/eto is given a lovely gift from his caring boyfriend S/atoru G/ojo, that he just so happens to be desperately allergic to. Cue him trying to hold back the attack long enough to get away from G/ojo, but the other is not so keen to be ditched.

Inspired by ~this post~, so the idea’s are not all my own, but the execution is. Also shoutout/thanks to @lycheeehehe for mentioning G/eto in that post because it totally got my mind RACING with this concept. (Hope you don’t mind the tag!! And if you read, hope you enjoy it~ <3) Same for anyone else, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy~!

Characters: G/eto, G/ojo, and a bottle of expensive cologne with a not-so-secret scent. Word Count: 2.6k 

(References to playful violence, and swearing, incase you don’t like either of those! Also features mentions of J/ujutsu K/aisen world concepts such as curses/techniques, so I don’t believe it’s spoilers, but just be aware!) 

~~~~~~~

“I got you a present~!” Geto looks up as Gojo floats into the room, hands behind his back, a deep smile across his cheeks. The sunglasses conceal his eyes, but Geto can say with certainty the smile reaches them. “It’s not my birthday… Did I miss an anniversary?” “Nooope~! I just felt like spoiling you!” The tone is light and musical, something Geto has grown quite used to. ‘And yet… the fondness rekindles itself every time I hear it.’ “You don’t have to do tha-” “Uh-uh, shush. I already bought it, and I want to see your face when you open it! Don’t you dare ruin this for me, Suguru!” He’s practically whining, letting his sunglasses slip down just enough to meet Geto’s eyes with his beautiful blues. Geto sighs, a smile slipping over his normally calm expression. ‘This is what I get for falling in love with The Satoru Gojo.’ “Alright, alright. Show me what you got.” “Tadaaa~!” Gojo holds out a bottle, beaming even wider than before. Geto matches the warmth with a smile of his own, letting Gojo delicately place the bottle in his hands. He examines it, finding no label or etchings on the bottle. His gaze falls back up to Gojo, who’s rocking back and forth, practically vibrating with excitement. “I- don’t understand…?” “In that case let me explain it to you!” His voice is as vibrant as his eyes, and he throws himself onto the couch next to Geto, letting his arms fall across the back of it. One leg crosses over the other, and he nearly shakes the couch as he bounces them. “This, my dear Suguru, is a special creation made by yours truly! See, I wanted a scent that’s specifically you, so that I can recognize you by a scent other than your cursed energy. However, as I said, specifically you, therefore I couldn’t use anything from the store, sooo~!” Gojo pauses, ‘For dramatic effect’ Geto reckons, letting his smile reach his eyes in the silence. Finally it seems Gojo reaches his limit, his tongue moving before his brain can even catch up. ‘That’s how he always seems to talk when he’s with me. It’s truly stunning, watching him just let go. He always has to be so careful in front of anyone else.’ “Sooo~ I made this at one of those specialty shops, that way the scent is entirely unique, and distinctly for you! This way not only can I always know your personal smell, I can also…” A blush forms across his cheeks, his words growing uncharacteristically quiet. “I can bring some with me when I need to be reminded of you. Like, a palate cleanser, I guess… just… something that’s distinctly you… that..-” He trails off, but Geto knows the ending. ‘That no one can use against me. If it’s a scent, no one has to know, so then no one will care.’ Without really meaning to, Geto finds his hand tracing down Gojo’s arm, brushing against his cheek, letting his chin rest against it. Gojo gives him a small smile, which quickly turns into a purr as Geto runs his hands through his hair, pulling him in for a kiss. He breaks it to glance back at the bottle. “Aren’t these expensive, Satoru?” “Ach, don’t worry about that. Just means you have to wear it often, I guess~!” Letting the cap tip open, Geto leans in to smell it, and has to fight to keep the smile on his face from wavering. ‘Oh shit-’. From the first whiff, he can tell this is gonna be a problem. “Can you guess what I added? Can you, can you, can yo-” “I- I think there’s some sage… M- maybe a hint of rosemary?” “Correct, and correct! But, can you guess what the secret ingredient is to make sure it’s uniquely yours?” Geto raises a hand subtly to swipe at his nose, nearly gasping at the way the reaction sparks from a simmering buzz to a full blown burning. Keeping his breathing shallow, he manages to avoid sniffling, but the burning feeling is slowly spreading down his throat. A light clearing of his throat sends it barreling up his nose, each inch of his sinuses alight with a tickle so furious he nearly chokes on it. “Pretty sure… Is- is it rose…?” “Ding ding ding! How did you manage to guess that, Suguru? When I had the workers at the shop guess, no one could get it!” The only response Geto can give is a light chuckle, the vibrations from it nearly sending tears to his eyes as his sinuses buzz angrily. He brings a finger up to rub at his nose, feeling it start to drip, just to bite his tongue hard as the feeling of the wetness rubbing against the tip brings a whole new wave of tickle. “hhiHh-!uhh… hhHUhh-!” “Hm? Sorry, didn’t catch that, did you say something?” Geto manages to catch his breath in his chest, sniffling once more to try and quell the building pressure, only to let a faint moan fall from his lips as it does nothing to relieve the itch. “N- no, didn’t say anything. It smells lovely, Satoru. Th-heHh-! Thank you.” “Oh, alright. I’m so happy you like it! Hey, I know, let’s spray it over both of us so we can both smell like it!” “Gojo wai-” The attempt is futile, Gojo already spraying the mist above their heads. All Geto can do is attempt to subtly shield his nose with his hand as he watches the allergen rain down on him. The very air seems to be tormenting him with its existence, his nose deeply aware of each particle falling around his head.  “hHIHhh-! G-god… heEHh- I can’t… hh’knnxxgt-! nnxgt’shh-!” Gojo is focused on the mist, spinning around in it and humming something about ‘getting soaked in the smell of our love’, but Geto’s too focused on his nose to pay any attention. The twitching has started with a fury, each movement sending new chills down his spine as the tickle begs to be released. “ihh’nnGT’shoo-!” “Oh, bless you!” “S- sorry just… just… heH’KNxxgt’huhh-! Excuse me, just a bit of a tickle.” “Bless you again. Ar-” “nnNGT-KNXXGT-iH’DTNGT’choo-!” “Jeez, bless you, are you alright?” Geto feels his face pale, all the colour rushing to his cheeks and nose as a pink tint starts to form. ‘I can’t tell him I’m allergic… he’ll be crushed, he bought this for us, he’s so excited. I can be strong, like him. I won’t be weak.’  “Yeah, I’m fine, just a bit dusty in here, I think. They don’t really clean these old staff rooms that well, since they’re not in use anymore.”  “Oh, why didn’t you say so? It’s a lovely spring day, we can head outside instead, don’t want you feeling miserable here, plus~ you know I love a nice spring breeze!” “Sounds g- hehHh-! good.”  They stand, Gojo playfully bowing, offering an arm to raise Geto from the couch. Geto can’t help but laugh, rolling his eyes pointedly, but accepting the arm anyways. He lets himself be dragged through the halls, using the unwatched time to raise a knuckle to his nose, scrubbing hard. ‘That just ma- haHh-! Makes it worse… the stifling isn’t helping either… this fit is gonn- hEHh-! Gonna be bad when it finally breaks free…’  Once the fresh air hits his face, Geto breathes an itchy sigh of relief. Which is quickly replaced by a watery glare aimed at, well, everything as his nose reminds him once more that this little war is far from finished. “Wow, doesn’t the sakura just look stunning, Geto? Why don’t I collect us some, we can make flower crowns! Have you heard of those? Some of the students were showing me the other day, I can make us some, here hold on-” ‘I must have upset a great many people to be cursed this badly.’ Geto silently complains, sniffling deeply as he weighs his options. Either let Gojo hear him break into a fit caused by his gift, or keep suppressing this until it kills him. ‘At this point, death sounds like a nice release. I just… need to…. sneeze…’ “Here you go~!” With that, Gojo places a sakura crown on Geto’s head, and suddenly, as if the sun had finally come out from behind the clouds, Geto sees an opportunity. Letting himself take a deep sniff, he nearly recoils at the way the tickle magnifies. ‘Okay, maybe a bit more intense then I planned on-’  “heHhH-! hAH’KNNGT’choo-! DNTT’shho-! knxxgt-ehnnxgt-mmNGT’choo-!” “Woah, bless you, are you okay?” “Y- hNGGT-! Yeah, sorry I thi- dtNNXGT-! think I’m a bit aller… alleerrgic- haHhhH-! hAH’INNGXT’shh-! aHNGT’choo-! Allergic to the sahhh-! hEH’ENNGT-! enxggt’choo-! To the sakura…” At the stunned look on Gojo’s face, Geto feels a wave of guilt wash over him. ‘It’s not actually a lie, I am a tad allergic to sakura. Even if it wasn’t for the cologne I’d be sneezing having it so close like this- granted, it wouldn’t be nearly this bad, but that’s just unnecessary details.’ “You’re allergic to sakura?! How did I never know this? Wow, Suguru, must be a bit of a masochist living in Japan when you’re allergic to sakura! How are you still alive?” Geto lets out a strained laugh, the best he can do with the tickle still spreading in his face. It’s grown from a study buzz to an all out hum, deeply unsatisfied with the stifling keeping it from releasing itself fully. “Mostly take medications, avoid the outside when I haven’t. Guess I just… forgot it today.” “Let’s go back inside then.” “You- hAH’ENNGT-! you like it outside, I can go back in alone.” “Don’t be ridiculous, of course I’ll come with you. And Christ, Suguru, take it off your fucking head!” “R- right, forgo-huHH’NGxxt-! Forgot about that.” He lets Gojo pick it off his head, nearly moaning as Gojo’s sleeve brushes his face, sending a new wave of prickles up into his eyes, allergic tears starting to form before he can stop them. “Should’ve known you’d be allergic to something like sakura. It’s so pink, and bright, and you are the king of black and darkness.”  “Hah, very funny, Satoru.”  Gojo once more offers his hand, which Geto takes, letting his other hand come up to pinch his nose as another sneeze threatens to break through, pausing only to wipe at his eyes to remove the tears before they can fall. “No seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever even seen you touch something pink. Hey! Maybe you’re not allergic to sakura, maybe you’re just allergic to the colour pink!” A laugh breaks free from Geto, his eyes crinkling as he bends slightly forward, only realizing his mistake when the feeling of his nose dripping nearly takes away his ability to walk. Had Gojo not had one arm wrapped around him, he would have fallen to his knees, the itch returning with a fury he wasn’t aware his nose could have. “heHhh-! iHhhH…. Guhh… don’t- hEHhh-!” He reaches up to rub at his nose, wincing at the way each brush of his fingers seems to hit a new ticklish spot, spreading the buzzing deeper and deeper. “hEH’KNGT’shhoo-! nnxggt’shoo-! hAH’IZSSHH’uue-!” Geto blushes as the last sneeze breaks through his stifling, raising a wrist to catch it as Gojo stumbles against the force of his body shuddering. ‘Come on, Suguru. Don’t let your control waiver, you have to stay strong.’ “Woah, bless you.” “Thank you, excuse me, that one… got away from me. nnxxgtt-! dnnzzxgt-! hAH’INNT-! ” “Seems you’re more allergic to the sakura than I’d thought… should I go get you some medication or something?” “No no, I’m alright, really. It’ll stop once we’re inside, away from the breeze.” ‘At least… I hope it will.’ His confidence wavers, his sinuses practically vibrating from the accidental release, desperate for more. ‘I should really try to get away from Gojo. I need to let this out before it gets any worse… maybe say I have to use the washroom, he wouldn’t follow me there, right..?’ Geto opens his mouth to try out his excuse, but all that he manages to get out is a faint gasp before he’s crushing his nose against his wrist once more. “heHH’KNGGT’shoo-! INNT’shh-!” “Bless you. Gonna live, Geto?” “I’m okay.” “If you say so~!” A slight groan forces its way out before Geto can stop it as he recognizes the room Gojo’s leading him back to. The scent still hangs heavily in the air, each breath seeming to scrape against his throat, bringing handfuls of allergen soaked air into his itchy lungs. “haHhhh… ca- heHhHH-!” “Oh, I had almost forgotten about this! Let’s spray it again, shall we?” There’s a tone in his voice that Geto can’t seem to place, but there’s bigger issues to attend to first. He tries to talk, to tell Gojo not to spray it, but his voice is lost in the whirlwind of ticklish breaths he’s desperately sucking in. Managing only to cast his watery gaze at Gojo, Geto suddenly notices the playful smirk the other man dawns, as he sprays the bottle right at Geto. “hEH’IZZSHH’UU-! hh’ETTZZSHH-huH’AIEZZSHH’OO-!” “Oh my~. Bless you. Whatever’s the matter~?” Geto doesn’t have to open his eyes to see the smirk painted across Gojo’s face, which is good, because he couldn’t open them if he wanted to.  “heHHh’ESSHHEEWW-! I have- have to- huHH’IZTSHEEWW-! iHH’KNNGT-! haHhh… hIHhhH-! hiH’ISHH’oo-! kezzshhh’uhh-! dttzzzshhh’oo-! hH’eSSHH’oo-!” “You should have just told me you were allergic, Suguru.” “H- how did- heH’AZZshh’oo-! huHh’aiiESHHhh’oo-!” “You’ve been fighting the urge to sneeze since you first sniffed it. You were practically vibrating with allergic need, even your cursed energy was pulsating with it. I’m a special grade jujutsu sorcerer, my love. I have the cursed technique six eyes. There’s not much you can hide from me.” Geto tries to form a reply, but all he can do is-  “hAH’AISSHHEEW-! TTZZZSHH’oo-!” “But even without all of that, I’d have known from the beginning anyways. I know you, Suguru. Every inch of your skin, every ounce of your soul, every fibre of your being. I know you.”  “I didn’t- mmMPFFZZSHH’oo-! didn’t want you to think I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to hurt you, Satoru. heH’MMTSSHH’oo-! I love it, because it was f- from- hhaHhh-! hH’AIISHH’oo-! From you… and I know how much it meant to you.”  At the statement, Gojo lets out a laugh that has him leaning against the wall, tears starting to form in his eyes, matching Geto’s, which are currently streaming. “I don’t care if you wear this specific scent. I’d rather my lover be alive, not sneezing his lungs out because he wants to ‘not hurt my feelings’. We can always go back together and find something you’re not allergic to!” “B- notagain- hH’AIIZZSHHEWW-! IZZSHHH’oo-! Scuse me. But it’s so expensive, I don’t want you spending that much on me.” The laughter returns to Gojo’s lungs, beautiful, and sucking all the breath that Geto had left with its light and airy sound. Something so pure, and full of joy. “I’m a special grade jujutsu sorcerer. I’m in unbelievably high demand. You think I couldn’t make that money back in a week easily? Money isn’t an issue, your health is all that matters, Suguru. The only thing that matters. You’re my one and only, after all.” Geto meets his eyes, the tears running down his cheeks not only from the sneezing anymore. “Satoru… I don’t know what to say-” Without a word, Gojo grabs his shirt and pulls him in for a kiss, their lips meeting with a burning passion, hunger dripping from every breath as Gojo lets his hands roam up to Geto’s hair, purring at the moan he gets when he grips it. Finally breaking away so Geto could get a breath in, Gojo lets his sunglasses dip so Geto can see him wink. “Don’t say anything. We’ve never needed words before, let’s not start now.” And with that, Geto takes his turn to pull him in for a kiss, reveling in the beauty that is his one and only, Satoru Gojo. 

[commander-writergirl]

Cuddles and Good Food

Synopsis: You get your period and Pedro comes home from all the touring. 

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Jewish!fem Reader (vague description. I mention her having curly hair)

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: sexual innuendos, cursing, talk of menstruation

Word Count: 1,717

Note: This is super self indulgent cause I just want to cuddle this dork. Also this wasn’t beta’d and please let me know if any of the Spanish is incorrect. 

------------------

I sighed and curled up on the bed as the next episode of Stargate started up. I didn’t have the energy to watch anything else and to be honest after getting the “I’m coming home” text from Pedro, I didn’t really want to put anything on that required my full attention.  

I looked at my phone as it buzzed again. I picked up and read the text from my friend.  

F/N: Did you watch the new episode of TLOU yet?

I sighed and turned my phone upside down. I had been working on keeping up with the series but had fallen behind when I met up with Pedro during his London premier red carpet.  

And of course, the universe decided to laugh at me and bestow my period on me the moment I got home.  

I groaned and curled up more as a wave of pain went through my back. PCOS can be a real bitch.

“Baby? I’m home.” When I hear Pedro yell, I realize I should have just put the Mandalorian on just to fall asleep to the sound of his voice. Or the video of interviews I had saved on YouTube.

“Bedroom.” I yelled out. I sat up and ran my fingers through my hair hoping to tame some of the curls.  

When he stepped into the doorway, I couldn’t help holding my arms out and making grabby hands towards him. It may have only been a few days since we saw each other last but I always got needy while on my period. He chuckled softly and walked over climbing into the bed next to me before pulling me into his lap.  

“What’s wrong with my sweet girl?” he asked as I nuzzled into his chest.

“My period started yesterday.” I mumbled as I felt strands of my hair get caught in the stubble of his beard.  

He hummed and gently messaged my lower back. I whimpered before sighing as the pain passed. He kissed my temple and nuzzled his nose against my cheek making me giggle. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

I turned my face to nuzzle my nose against his. “You’re already doing it,” I wrapped my arms around his neck.  

He held me close and fell back making me giggle.  

“I’ve missed that giggle.” He mused nuzzling his nose into my hair. “I’ve also missed this bed.”  

“Well, that’s what happens when you have two shows premier less than a month apart and have an SNL guest appearance and decide to meet up with all your friends while traveling.” I looked up at him.  

He sighed, “The price of fame.”  

“I saw your Graham Norton interview; I know you are enjoying the attention.” I smirked at him.  

He pouted, “Okay, maybe a little.” Pedro rolled us so he was hovering over me, caging my body between his legs. “Doesn’t mean I don’t miss you or our bed.” He moved my hair back.

“I did enjoy watching you break character... twice while watching SNL.” I grinned. “Oscar even called me the next day to ask about my thoughts.”  

Pedro dropped his head on my shoulder. “Of course, he did.”  

I cleared my throat and let my tongue settle on the bottom of my mouth. “Ya know,” he peeked at me as I mimicked the LA voice. “That LA voice, was the best.” I moved my jaw. “God how did you do that for that long.” I said in my normal voice.

He laughed and kissed my cheek. “Eleven months on the set of The Last of Us gave me great practice.”  

I hummed and pushed his hair back. “Yes, and I now get to have nightmares because my friends convinced me to start watching it.”

He hummed, “My poor bebe.” He kissed the tip of my nose.

I wrinkled it up and squirmed a little. “At least you make good eye candy.”

He smirked, “Is that so?”  

I hummed, nodding my head. “Tumblr is all about Joel right now.”  

“Anything good?” He asked settling next to me and gently messaging my stomach.

I bit my tongue to keep from moaning when he pressed on a specific spot. “Um a lot of smut.” He laughed at that and shook his head. “One account had polls of your characters of ‘who does it better’ and many are Joel vs. Frankie.” I whimpered and squirmed as he pressed down on another sensitive spot.

“Anything of interest to you?” he asked, letting his finger lazily trace the band of my panties.  

I knew his hand wouldn’t go further; he was simply trying to distract me. We both learned quick that sex on my period was a very bad idea. In any form.  

I hummed, “I’ve actually been reading a mix of your other characters. Joel just gives my brain too much horror.” I thought, “Some people have even written about your SNL characters which is quite interesting to read.”  

He chuckled. “Of course, why am I not surprised.” He kissed my temple before shifting me to my side with him tucked behind me. “I’m gonna guess you didn’t sleep well last night.”

“José,” I looked up at him. “Are you giving me permission to take a nap while you spoon me?”

He rolled his eyes. “Only person outside my family that even uses that name on me anymore.”  

“You didn’t answer my question.”  

He reached over me and grabbed the remote. “I’m going to watch my dumb shows while you nap against me, yes.”  

I hummed and wiggled into him. He grunted making me smirk before I settled against my pillow, feeling comfortable for the first time in the last 24 hours.

----------

I slowly woke to the smell of beef cooking. I sat up and stretched ignoring the cramping in my lower back. I climbed out of bed and walked towards the kitchen.

The sight I found was one I didn’t see often. I could hear Spanish music coming from the stereo and Pedro moving to the beat while cooking. He didn’t always cook but when he did it usually stemmed from a form of homesickness, he couldn’t place.  

I walked over and wrapped my arms around his waist. “What’s cookin’ good lookin’?”  

He chuckled and looked at me over his shoulder. The upside to being only a few inches shorter than he was. “Cazuela, though taking your advice I cooked the beef before adding it to the stew.”  

“That US versus Chile snacks got to you huh?” I’d watched the interview and having been dating Pedro for a few years now, I have tried each item that was set before him.

He shrugged and went back to cutting up the corn on the cob to make it more manageable. “You just make all these great meals from your childhood.”

I moved to lean on the counter next to him. “Pedro, I’m Jewish. My people learned to carry our recipes with us wherever we ended up.” I nudged his hip with my own. “If you want, I could message Javiera and see if she has any Balmaceda family recipes.”  

He gave me a soft smile. “I would actually like that.”  

I stood on my tip toes and kissed his cheek. “You do so much for me. From not eating bread around me during Passover to making sure I keep to my fast on Yom Kippur. The least I can do is learn some family recipes to make you feel as happy as you make me feel.” I stroked my thumb against the V tattoo on his wrist.  

He kissed my head before scrapping the corn into the pot next to him. He set the knife and cutting board down before grabbing my hand and pulling me to him and swaying us. “It may just be my age catching up with me, but I’ve been craving the meals I had as a kid more and more.”  

I wrapped my arms around his next as we swayed. “José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal, there’s nothing wrong with a little nostalgia.”  

He groaned, “I love when you say my whole name.” He dropped his head to my shoulder and rested his hands above my ass. I rolled my eyes. “Makes me tingle all over.”

I lightly shoved him away. “Such a weirdo.” I smiled as he gasped and laid his hands over his heart.

“I’ve been wounded mi amor.” He leaned against the counter.

“Aww poor baby.” I pouted at him.

He glared at me, “Alright Dinah Rachel--” I quickly covered his mouth.

“Okay, okay. No need to pull my Hebrew name into this.” I sighed. “You’re getting better.”

I moved my hands from his mouth. “Well, I did work with Gal, picked up a few things.”

I tilted my head at him. “You started learning to pronounce Hebrew when we were just starting out?” I felt my pulse pick up.

A light dust took over his cheeks and he rubbed the back of his neck. “It was important to you, and I know Spanish is much easier.”  

I bit my lower lip to keep from crying. “That-” I sniffled.

“Oh no,” he quickly moved and hugged me close to him. “I’m so sorry baby.”

I nuzzled his chest and gripped the back of his shirt. “That’s so sweet.” I whimpered out.  

He rubbed my back. “Aw baby.”  

I looked up at him. “You really are the best.”  

He smiled and I stood on my toes pressing my lips against his. He hummed kissing me back and gripped my waist. I wrapped my arms around his neck letting my fingers tangle into his curls.  

His tongue brushed against my lower lip and as we began to explore each other’s mouths, a sizzling sound pulled us apart. We looked over at the stove to see the broth for the soup overflowing.  

“Shit,” he reached over and turned the burner down. He shook his head and grabbed two bowls from the cabinet. “Let’s eat and then we can continue.”  

I hummed and grabbed the spoons as Pedro filled the bowls. “I like the sound of that.”  

He smiled and we walked over to the couch before settling in.  

It was going to be nice having him home, even if only for a few weeks before his next project.

[ladysapphire928]

Ok, so I’ve been sitting on this one for a year but here it is. The books I got through during 2022! Now, it says read, but I’m a busy college student so these were mostly audiobooks haha. Now, I only finish books that I find enjoyable so I guess this is my yearly recommendation? I have over 100 books on my To Be Read list and I’m always looking for more haha

Also, handwriting reveal???? I usually write in cursive so this was also my way of keeping my print up

[cassandracain52]

A canon compliant guide of Bruce Wayne’s officially adopted children

I noticed there has been some confusion about who all in the BatFam is actually legally adopted by Bruce Wayne so I thought I’d try and help clear some things up.

(Full disclosure you can of course headcanon whatever you like, I made this is strictly to help newer fans know what is actually canon💕)

Dick Grayson: Adopted

(Batman: Gotham Knights #17 and Batman #600)

Many fans argue over whether or not Dick is officially adopted, many saying it was never official and he is still just his ward.

Though he does admittedly usually spend the majority of his actual childhood as a ward, Bruce ends up officially adopting Dick as his son(as I have explained before here)in multiple timelines

Barbara Gordon: Not Adopted

(Batgirl and the Birds Of Prey Rebirth)

There was never a need for Barbara to be adopted because she still has a Dad. She is however still very much in the BatFamily and has trained under and with Bruce

Jason Todd: Adopted

(The New Titans (1988) #55 and Batman: A Lonely Place of Dying)

Now I couldn’t track down a comic where we actually get to see Bruce adopt Jason, but there are plenty of instances in which his adoption is referenced -including but not limited to these two- throughout several timelines and reboots

Cassandra Cain: Adopted

(Batgirl 2008 #6)

Now this one is a bit more debatable as aside from this one instance, Cass’ adoption is never really mentioned again even after the timeline gets rebooted. Still the general consensus is that Cassandra’s adoption is considered canon.

Tim Drake: Adopted

(Batman #654 and Red Robin #4)

Though Tim declines Bruce’s offer of being adopted at first, we get to see Bruce adopt Tim as his son about a year or so later. His adoption is also referenced across multiple reboots

Stephanie Brown: Not Adopted

(Batgirls #13, Robin (1993) #174, and Robin (1993) #126)

Now the main reason Stephanie is not and probably will not be adopted is because both her parents are alive. While her Dad is a villain and out of the picture, her mother is a nurse and fully capable of taking care of her.

Bruce does however train her during her brief stint as Robin and much like Barbara she is no less apart of the BatFamily, she’s just not in the Wayne Family

Duke Thomas: Not Adopted (technically)

(All Star Batman #1 and Batman & the Signal #3)

Now Duke is never officially adopted because technically his parents are alive just insane due to Joker’s toxin of which there is no cure. However Bruce does take him in and let him stay at the manor and it is heavily implied he becomes Duke’s foster parent so do with that what you will

Damian Wayne: Not Adopted/Biological child

(Batman and Robin (2011) #0)

Damian is Bruce’s one and only biological child -of the main canon- and therefore does not need to be adopted because you don’t need to adopt your own child

And that’s all of Bruce’s official and unofficial children in the main canon!💕🖤

[waywardstation]

Cloud Gazing

Ingo and Akari make out shapes of Pokémon in the clouds while taking a break from training.

This is a low-effort segment I had written to try and get myself used to just writing again -- just one simple interaction that can focus on dialogue! Nothing much goes on, just more uncle Ingo content ^^

OR read here on AO3!

Enjoy!

—————

“Hmm… well then, what about that one?”

Akari’s eyes followed Ingo’s finger as he pointed up towards one of the smaller clouds that had separated from the rest.

“That one-” Akari hummed for a moment, considering as she squinted against the sunlight. “That’s a grumpy Paras.”

Ingo’s laugh, while quiet, was one of surprise. “Grumpy? Why’s it grumpy?”

“It’s got angry eyebrows, see?” Now it was Akari’s turn to point, doing her best to try and guide his eyes to the details she interpreted. “There are its claws, and there are the mushrooms on the top.”

“I see,” He reassured her, though she suspected he couldn’t entirely make out what she saw.

The Fieldlands’ tall grass swayed as another gust swept across it, stringing along fallen leaves. The large clouds overhead covered the area in expansive traveling shadows, providing a cool reprieve from the sun — a perfect day to relax in between training sessions.

The two had opted to battle outside Jubilife’s gates today seeing as Freight, Akari’s alpha Shieldon, had recently evolved into a Bastiodon. He barely fit in the training grounds’ battle arena now, so Ingo had suggested a more open area for the sake of the surrounding buildings.

Now taking a break after several well-fought matches, Ingo’s Probopass — Freight’s battle partner — had joined the Bastiodon by one of the nearby streams to soak and cool down. Ingo and Akari had followed suit by lying down in the tall grasses. While Ingo had seemed content to just lie there and rest his legs, the break had only made Akari grow restless. It hadn’t been long before she began looking to the sky for something to find, and had started pointing out shapes of Pokémon she recognized to the warden.

“Ok wait, now it's your turn to do one. What does…” Akari scanned the sky for a moment, searching for a lone cloud. “That one look like to you?”

Ingo, who had taken the previous silence as a moment to rest his eyes, blinked up wearily; it seemed the idea of a nap was tugging at him. But he observed the cloud as it passed overhead, squinting until it graciously covered the sun from view.

“An upside-down Avalugg.” He concluded after a considerable amount of time, sounding rather confident in his answer.

“What?” Now Akari couldn’t help but blurt out a giggle, turning to look at him. “Why’s it upside down?”

“Its underside is completely flat,” The man reasoned, Akari's contagious laughter inflecting his own tone. “A perfect resemblance of an Avalugg’s back.”

Akari watched the cloud pass overhead until it once again revealed the sun from behind it. “Alright, I can kind of see it. Now… do that one over there.”

She pointed to a tall, splotchy cloud. Akari immediately thought it looked like a Hisuian Lilligant, but she wanted to know what Ingo saw.

The man gave another long stretch to ponder before he answered, though there was a certain expression on his face now, replacing the genuine thoughtfulness he conveyed earlier. “That one appears to be a Basculin with two long legs.”

“Hey!” If he wasn’t joking around with her before, he was now. “It doesn’t work like that!”

“Says who?” He sounded rather proud of himself for getting her a second time. “It’s what I see!”

“Oh fine,” Akari’s smile stayed as she returned her gaze to the sky, browsing for another shape. This time, she picked out the most convoluted, misshapen cloud she could find. It didn’t look like anything — surely this would stump him. “Ok, now do that one.”

“Two Mr. Mimes fighting over a chair.” His answer was immediate this time.

“Sto-op!” More laughter broke Akari’s outburst as she playfully shoved his shoulder. “You didn’t even look at it!”

“That is what I observed!” He insisted, keeping it going as she continued to push at him. “Look, there’s the chair in the middle, and over on the left, you can clearly discern a fist pulled back, ready to punch-”

“No you can’t!” Akari had to sit up now with how much she was laughing. By now the cloud had begun to separate at its thinnest areas, practically gone to the wind. “There’s nothing even there anymore!”

“You asked what I saw!” His gaze followed her up as he stayed where he was, lying in the grass with an amused smile in his eyes. “I am simply answering your questions!”

“Liar!” Getting up, Akari nudged him in the side with one of her legs. “Come on, I think Freight’s ready to train again. Can we do some more battles now?”

Sure enough, the overgrown Pokémon was lumbering back up the hill towards them, his own Probopass following behind — the two of them had probably been attracted to their laughter more than anything, but Ingo had to admit he was looking forward to getting back into battling too.

“Of course, Miss Akari,” The man sat back up with some effort, then got back to his feet. “Let’s get back on track with our training, then.”

[seoulmatez]

something short and sweet for samu :3 established relationship, osamu calls reader honey, ~700 words ❤︎

the morning air is clean and crisp, even more so on this secluded trail than it is on the city sidewalks. you usually wouldn’t find yourself here, surrounded by trees, pebbles crunching beneath the soles of your shoes, but when osamu had invited you to join him on his run—insisted that you accompany him—you couldn’t say no. while the scenery is unmatched, attempting to keep up with the man makes it difficult to enjoy the chirping of the birds and the cool wind on your face.

he’s ahead of you—far enough that you couldn’t touch him if you reached out to grab him but close enough that he’s still in your sights. with each stride you take, it seems as though he takes three more.

“w-wait,” you wheeze out, slowing to a stop to catch your breath. your knees bend and your hands come to rest on them as you suck in a deep breath of air. “i need a break.”

your words stop osamu in his tracks. he turns around to face you and a smile takes over his face. his eyes are partly shielded by the brim of his hat but you’re almost positive you’d see the humor swimming in the gray irises if they were visible. “already? it’s only been, like, fifteen minutes.”

“cut me some slack,” you tell him, standing to your full height with your hands on your hips. you’re still trying to steady your breathing but the stance is almost a defensive one. “you do this every week.”

you mean that he runs this path every sunday morning to start his day, that he’s familiar with the route and has perfected a tempo that works for him. he knows you mean that but he still can’t help but poke fun at you.

“what are you talking about? you run too.”

you laugh, more out of disbelief than humor. the curl of his lips is telling and deep down you know he’s trying to get a rise out of you but you can’t help but take his bait. “yeah, on a treadmill. at my own pace. keeping up with you is impossible—your legs are too long.”

the comment draws a chuckle from his chest that seems louder than it truly is in this hidden spot within the trees. the sound never fails to brighten your mood, though, you cross your arms and paint on a frown to keep from folding so easily.

“you told me this was going to be a ‘relaxing jog’ and it hasn’t been either of those things.”

despite your posture and expression, osamu can tell you aren’t mad. you’ve been together for years and he can count the number of times he’s genuinely upset you on one hand. he knows your tells—like how you refuse to look at him and how you go quiet. he’s glad he’s only brought out that side of you a select few times and even though he’s sure you’re joking now, he never intends to push you that far.

his legs move automatically, closing the distance between you two. when his arms open, you step into them and let yours drop to your sides as you let your forehead rest on his chest. you can feel his heartbeat, still elevated from the exercise. he encases you in the warmth of his embrace. it’s comfortable and familiar and you’re starting to think that you’d be content standing here forever when osamu’s voice rumbles against you.

“shall i carry you the rest of the way?”

you snort and smack his chest. the offer is unserious but you know that if you say yes, he’d be willing to do it. there’s something tempting about the idea of clinging to osamu’s back for what’s left of his workout, but you didn’t tag along to be a nuisance. you tip your head up to meet his eye. “how about i set the pace?”

he hums in agreement. “i can follow your lead.”

“and…” you start, taking a step back so you can see him better, “i want breakfast as an apology for your misrepresentation of what this would entail.”

your second condition is enough to make osamu laugh, although, this time you allow yourself to smile at the sound. his laugh is pretty high up on the long list of things you love about him.

he nods. “fine. but i was gonna make you breakfast anyway, honey.”

[writinghotchner]

fandom: criminal minds pairing: hotch x fem!reader (could be read as hotch x oc, i guess) rating: M (nsfw) words: 1,224

read below, or on ao3.

insomnia has once again webbed its way through her brain and shattered through her eyelids. it's nothing new, she's dealt with it most of her life. with an annoyed, tired sigh, she turns fully onto her side to face her boyfriend letting her eyes scan his sleeping face as puffs of his breath fans across her nose. she sighs again, frustrated that she can't sleep and that he can. just as she's about to fling the blanket off of herself and stomp to the living room to be grumpy on the couch, he cracks an eye to look at her. she immediately huffs out a laugh.

"did i wake you?"

he clears his throat and rolls onto his back, stretching his body a little. "i felt you staring at me." he turns to look at the clock on his nightstand. two a.m.

she laughs at that, reaching over to palm his cheek, it hits him with a soft unpainful smack. "i'm sorry. i was admiring your ability to sleep."

he rolls back onto his side, wiggling a little closer to her. "can't sleep?"

she sighs. "no, my brain won't shut up long enough."

he hums his response, his eyes slipping closed again.

"aaron..."

his eyes open slowly to look at her. "hm?"

"help me fall asleep...?" she studies his face as well as she can in the dimly lit room, but she sees him crack a grin, his eyes coming to life.

"how do you suppose i do that?" his voice is still rough with sleep sending shivers down her spine, igniting the fire already growing deep in her belly.

without saying anything, she reaches for his left hand and guides it slowly towards her already throbbing center. she lifts her right leg up a little to give him room and he automatically palms the entirety of her, the warmth of his large hand making the heat already boiling between her legs unbearable.

"god, baby, please.." she chokes out in a whisper, but he keeps slowly, lightly, running his hand over her.

"please what?"

she throws him a pointed look and he grins. "i want your fingers inside m-"

before she can even finish that sentence, he skims his fingers up over her mound, and then wiggles them under her panties, brushing through her trimmed pubes. he doesn't pull her lips apart like she's dying for him to, instead he rests his entire palm on her pubic bone and lets his fingers play softly at her opening, feeling how hot and wet she already was. she squirms under him, clenching helplessly at nothing. he chuckles. "already so wet, hm? were you planning on waking me up or were you going to take care of this yourself?"

she huffs out something between a breathy laugh and a moan as she reaches under the blankets to grip at his wrist. "you're killing me here, babe."

"oh, we can't have that, can we?" he says and then quickly presses his two middle fingers down and then up, pulling her lips open and then stopping to press the tips of them against her clit. she squirms against his hand even more, her bottom lip caged between her teeth.

"aaron hotchner, i swear to god," she pants, the grip on his wrist tightening.

he props his head up on his right hand so he can look down at her, the street light from outside barely shining into the room so he can see the shadows of her face. she looks up at him right when he starts moving his fingers in small circles. she licks her lips and lets them fall apart to suck in a breath.

he speeds up his movements, watching as her face as it contorts with pleasure, her chest rises and stutters, an annoyed yet pleasurable groan leaving her throat.

"baby, please," she nearly chokes out. he chuckles to himself, loving that he can do this to her - make her beg and moan.

a few more deep pressure circles to her clit and he slides his fingers down to her opening and presses inside of her slowly. "is this what you want?" his voice is low and teasing and she can practically hear the grin on his face through her now closed eyes. he uses the heel of his hand to press back into her clit and her leg twitches.

the grip on his wrist moves down to grab the back of his hand, her fingers over his, and she makes him push himself deeper into her. her fingers brushing against her own entrance with the movement.

"jesus, fuck, god," she cries out, squeezing her eyes closed. his fingers are thick and always fill her up the way she needs, especially when he uses two. he sets a slow steady pace, pressing them as deep as they can go and then drags them slowly almost all the way out of her before quickly sliding them back in to his knuckles. she squeezes her legs together, trapping their hands in place. she can feel the tendons in his hand every time he moves his fingers, and she grips his knuckles as he picks up the pace.

strangled moans fall from her lips as she moves her hips against him. he curls his fingers and holds it momentarily against the spongey tissue that makes her feral which causes her to immediately arch her back and release a guttural moan. when he starts to move his fingers again, picking up the pace even faster, she slides her right leg back so he can have more room to move his hand. he moves faster now, the wet slapping sound of his hand ramming into her and her strangled breaths filling the room.

it only takes a few more pumps and curls of his fingers before she's squeezing his knuckles tight. she presses her her own middle fingers into his, trying to push his fingers in farther as her orgasm sparks through her, her own two middle fingers slip in with his for a moment and she thrashes against him, her eyes still squeezed shut. he can feel her lower stomach spasming and it makes him bite his lip to stop his own pleasured sounds. her breath catches in her chest as her orgasm continues to static its way through her. he leans in closer to her, "breathe, honey."

a final strangled, broken moan leaves her throat and she sucks in a harsh breath, her body goes limp, and her hand falls away from his as she continues to breathe heavily. he doesn't remove his fingers right away, he leaves them buried inside of her, unmoving. she slowly opens her eyes and looks at him. "fuck," is all she can manage to croak get out.

"tired?" he asks, his voice strangled with his own wants now, but willing to go on if that's what she needs.

before she can answer he's pulling his fingers out of her and sliding them right back up to her clit. she can feel the gush of warmth follow his fingers out and it makes her moan again.

"are you?" she husks.

"wide awake." and with that he leans over and catches her mouth in a heated kiss as he moves his body on top of hers and settles between her parted, shaking legs.

[jodijadekat]

Day 4.2: Davekat doodles #1

[campingwiththecharmings]

Lazy Summer Rain

AN: Heyyyyy y'all. I'm starting 2024 of a lil slutty with my first fic for @moonknight-events' MK Bingo. 🙌 Hope y'all enjoy. 😌

You’d had other plans, plans to spend the day with Marc outside—maybe grab breakfast at the cafe downstairs or have a picnic at the park across the street—but waking up to the rain had quickly quashed them. Can’t say you’re too disappointed by that at the moment, though.

(Un-beta’d)

Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?) Prompt: Rainy Day Words: 943 Pairing: Marc Spector x F!Reader Warnings: pwp, kissing, morning sex, soft!Marc, praise kink (if you squint), cockwarming (please let me know if i missed anything) AO3

——————

The rain taps rhythmically on the windows, the sound of it soothing, just loud enough to drown out the sounds of the outside world. It makes you want to forget where you are, forget what time it is, what you had planned on doing today, makes you want to forget everything but him, everything but Marc.

He’s braced over you, forearms on either side of your head as he kisses you sloppily, deeply. He grinds into you, hips pushing you down into the plush mattress with every thrust, the slight squeak of the bed mixing with the soft pants and moans you exchange as you kiss. You get lost in him, running your hands lazily up and down his back, over his shoulders, up his neck, and back down toward his ass.

You’d had other plans, plans to spend the day with Marc outside—maybe grab breakfast at the cafe downstairs or have a picnic at the park across the street—but waking up to the rain had quickly quashed them.

Can’t say you’re too disappointed by that at the moment, though.

You break the kiss with a gasp as Marc shifts, his cock hitting that special place inside you. He grunts as you flutter around him, his warm breath puffing against your lips as he pulls your leg higher over his hip.

“You close, baby?” he rasps, jaw tightening as he somehow sinks even deeper inside you. “Gonna come for me? Hmm?”

You whine his name as pleasure sings through your body, his fingertips digging into your thigh as he holds onto you, his thrusts becoming sloppier, faster. Thunder rumbles in the distance, the rain falling quicker now, beating harder against your window. His nose bumps against yours as he leans in, searching for your lips, and you sigh just before he claims them again.

You’re close, so close, can feel the coil inside you tightening, about to snap, the heat building and building— 

Marc’s groan is choked as you come, your body bowing and shaking beneath him as you drench his cock with your release. The wet squelch of his thrusts is loud in your ears despite the rain now as he fucks you through it, prolonging it. 

He’s still hard inside you as you come down, his face hovering over yours as he watches you closely. You smile at him, reaching up a hand to cup his cheek in your palm, his dark curls tickling the tips of your fingers. He smiles back, shifting slightly to press a gentle kiss against your wrist.

“Okay?” he asks, eyes roving your face.

You hum, pulling his mouth down to yours for a quick, sweet kiss. “That’s one way to put it.”

He sniffs a laugh, stealing another kiss as he begins to grind into you again. You’re still a little sensitive, but the gentle stimulation is pleasurable all the same. You hold onto him as he works himself (and you) back up, smothering the soft little noises he makes with your lips. He groans, breaking your kiss when you begin to meet his thrusts, his brow furrowing in concentration.

“You’re doing so good, Marc,” you praise, running your hands up and down his back soothingly. “So good.”

He swallows thickly, eyes watching you closely for a moment before leaning in. His pace never falters, even as he shifts, bringing his hand down between your legs. You whine when he circles your clit with the tip of his thumb, the pleasure building inside you once more. He groans when you clench around him, pulling his lip between his teeth as he slowly pushes you toward the edge again.

“Please don’t stop,” you plead, pulling weakly at his shoulders. 

Suddenly he’s not close enough, not deep enough. You want to be covered by him, surrounded, you want to drown in him. He seems to understand what you need, shifting again so he’s draped over you, hands fisting in the sheets on either side of your head, his thrusts quicker, harder.

You moan, peaked nipples brushing against his chest as he presses in closer, resting his forehead against yours. Your hands slide down his back, goosebumps raising on his skin, as he continues thrusting into you. He’s so close, you know he is, can tell by his clenched jaw, half-lidded, almost black eyes—but he’s holding himself back, he’s waiting for you. 

“It’s okay, baby,” you breathe, your hands sliding down to cup the muscled cheeks of his ass. “Let go for me.”

Marc groans, burying his face into your neck, thrusting into you rapidly as you cling to him, as you whisper encouragement in his ear. Your breath catches as you reach your peak again, but this time it’s softer, warmth flooding your body, making your fingers and toes tingle pleasantly. The gentle fluttering of your cunt is enough to finally drag Marc over the edge, his moan smothered in the crook of your neck as he empties himself inside you.

You stay connected, entwined, for what feels like hours, the constant patter of the rain against the windows soothing, lulling you both back to sleep. When you wake again later, you’re beneath a plush duvet you don’t recall pulling over yourself, the afternoon sun streaming in through the windows. Marc lay on his belly, his face half-buried in his pillow, arm curled loosely around your waist. For a moment, you just watch him, smiling softly, marveling at how peaceful he looks in sleep, how content. Then you shift closer, doing your best not to disturb him as you burrow into his side, sighing as his warmth envelopes you, and you drift off again.

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

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[ofoceansandtombsanew]

heart to heart

cw. selfship-coded, childhood friend au, pre-canon, pre-relationship, slight angst, fluff, one piece spoilers

pairing. portgas d. ace x reader

notes. apparently it isn't enough for me to brainrot in private about a character i've been obsessed with for a decade, you guys have to be subjected to it as well. whoops🤪

It is not hyperbole to say that early mornings are the only time of day when the Dadan Family base is peaceful.

The sun has barely risen, the morning birds have barely begun their song and most everyone is still snoring away in their cots. Early mornings and late evenings have become Dadan’s favorite time of day, citing them as the only times she is ever allowed a moment of peace.

That peace is stalled whenever Garp visits.

“You sure you don’t wanna come with us,” you ask Ace a final time before you leave for your hometown.

Ace shakes his head with a small smile, “they’re more your friends than mine.” A true sentiment, in your six years of knowing each other, there is still a distinction between your friends in Windmill Village and your friends living among bandits on Mt. Corvo. “Tell ‘em I said ‘congrats’ though. We might end up seeing them later down the road.”

“As marines!” Garp calls over his shoulder gruffly, not waiting for you to catch up. He has one more year to change his grandson’s mind about becoming a marine before the two of you left Dawn Island for saltier pastures. If he knew that fact, however, you’re sure the marine would grab you both by the back of your shirts and drag you to the port in Windmill Village this second. “You should take after those boys!”

The boys in question are Demarius and Stacey.

They’ve adored Garp since before you knew Ace was his grandchild, constantly pleading for him to take them to a naval base. He promised to do so once they turned 16. The least you could do was bid your friends farewell before they lived out their naval dreams.

Ace rolls his eyes, “Pirate!”

“It’s too early in the morning for you two to start that old fight again,” Dadan grumbles, turning around to head back inside. This was enough kissing Garp's butt for her, tucking away her handkerchief. “I get nothing but headaches when Garp comes around.”

You snicker at the grouchy woman’s exit, looking over her shoulder. The door to the room you share is shut close but you can easily picture Luffy stretched out and snoring, limbs all over the place wildly. He’ll be adding to Dadan’s headache soon enough. “Alright, well, I’ll be back later,” you tell Ace unnecessarily.

“You should spend the night in town,” Ace’s disgruntled expression shifts into something warm. You remember a time when he seldom smiled and could only offer you scowls. It’s hard to believe how much he smiles now, your lips quirking instinctively at the sight. “You haven’t been in town for a while. Everyone probably misses you.”

You lean forward, wiggling your eyebrows, “aww, trying to get rid of me now? You’re just trying to get more of a cut at dinner.”

“Maybe,” Ace’s grin widens and you share a laugh before Garp calls after you, further away than he was last.

Damn for an old man he moves fast. “See you,” you nudge your freckled friend before turning on your feet, nearly tripping as you stumble after his grandfather. “I’m okay,” you call over your shoulder.

Garp is grumbling to himself as you approach him. You don’t need to hear his words clearly to know he is thinking about his pirate obsessed grandsons. “Those dolts,” he mutters. “You used to play marines all the time with those kids in town. Now they’ve got you talking about being a pirate. You’ll all be marines, mark my words!”

“I really only ever wanted to just sail on the seas,” you tell Garp truthfully. Even as a child when Demarius demanded you play marines because he always wanted to play marines, you never played because you aspired to be one. It didn’t have to be the marines, it didn’t have to be pirates, you just wanted to set sail on the ocean blue. Pirate merely became the subsequent medium you vowed to pursue. “The marines kinda seem,” you mull over your next words carefully. “Strict. I just wanna see the world, not be told what to do.”

“Discipline is a good thing,” is his rebuttal. He certainly was very strict in the training you unwittingly got pulled into once he discovered your true intentions.

Silence falls between you both but it isn’t comfortable, not like the silences you’re used to.

Silence in Dadan’s home is accompanied by snores or the movement of someone heading to the bath. Luffy mumbling in his sleep about the many adventures he and his dream crew are on causing you and Ace to share a look and chuckle quietly under your breaths.

It’s when you tell yourself ‘Today’s the day I actually do it’ and you count away in your head the number of Ace’s freckles until you inevitably mess up the count and have to start all over again.

It’s when it’s raining and you, Ace and Luffy sleep in an empty hollow of a tree, the croak of the frogs singing to the drops.

Silence with Garp is suffocating and the jungle is too quiet and your brain too full of anxiety-ridden hypotheticals to even think about your childhood friends you’d be bidding farewell to. Instead, the ones you wouldn’t be saying goodbye to were at the forefront of your mind.

Another minute of silence follows before you’re unable to stop the words from falling from your lips, “Mr. Garp?”

Garp hums gruffly, bark worse than his bite, “what is it?”

“Let’s say that, hypothetically speaking of course, Ace and Luffy do become pirates,” you begin nervously, wincing at how the older man’s eyes sharpened at the word. “Hypothetically!” You’ve been a recipient of many of the marine’s Fists of Love, despite not belonging to his family, you don’t fancy receiving another. “They hypothetically become pirates and end up getting taken in,” you lick your lips as you try to imagine the scenario.

To your discomfort, it is terrifyingly easy to imagine Ace and Luffy in shackles.

The spectacle the World Government would make of it all. The grand executions of the sons of Gol D. Roger and Monkey D. Dragon.

The vitriol of the onlookers spewing words of hatred and damnation. No one would know who they are, not the onlookers in the crowds or the marines holding the weapons that would end their lives. Devils, they would be called. 

There would be one marine who knew them, however. Who truly knew them and not what they represented. It only breaks your heart that in your many years of knowing the older man that you don’t know what end of the spectrum he falls on. No, that’s an incorrect assessment. What breaks your heart is that it has always been too easy suspecting precisely where Monkey D. Garp would fall.

In spite of your suspicions, you still part your lips and ask, “would you help them?” Uncharacteristically, you fiddle with your fingers, the index finger of your right hand being nestled by the thumb and index finger of your left. Clad in a tacky red button up with white roosters, the stocky man’s back seems broader than usual.

It’s the long pause between your question and his answer that sinks in your chest like a knife. “They,” Garp begins but you cut the man off with a laugh.

“Don’t be so serious,” you laugh so convincingly you almost believe you’re unbothered. “I was just messing around. I’m up in the air on the pirate thing but for all we know, Luffy’ll start talking about being the Marine King the next time you see him.”

The elderly marine laughs at the absurdity of your thought, “a king among marines, that’ll be the day.”

ー

“Your shadows not with you for once?” Stacey jokes lightheartedly as he leans his head over in mock surprise at the lack of people accompanying you.

“I’m pretty sure Mr. Garp would drag them onto that boat if they did,” anything to make those two follow in their grandfather’s footsteps. “Ace sends his congratulations anyways.”

“I’m still convinced that guy was replaced by aliens,” Demarius murmurs, squinting at the mountain’s peaks with narrowed eyes. You snort at the absurdity. You, along with your village-bound friends, had met Ace when he was more angry at the world and nearly all of the people inhabiting it. To say they’d been shocked when, the next time they met him, Ace was polite and all smiles is an understatement. Demarius’ suspicious glance lasts a beat longer before he turns his dark eyes to you, shoulders set back. “You can still come with us, you know.”

You remember being 10, running down these dirt roads playing marines with your friends as a rowdy quintet.

The battles you pretended to have against whatever made-up opponents Demarius decided you’d be fighting against. He’d always been the leader of the five of you ー him, Stacy, Pierre, Lisa Lisa and you ー would find yourselves on the tempestuous seas of the Grand Line, all odds against you.

“This is not a good day for battle but it is a glorious day to die,” you remember resolutely saying, words too heavy for someone who hadn’t been in a real fight her entire life until that point.

Real fights came after you met Ace and Sabo. When you began running amok in the capital and Gray Terminal. Real battle came when their angering the Bluejam pirates caught up with them. You couldn’t say you felt glorious fighting the Bluejam pirates in the flames of their hideout. Nor could you say Sabo’s horrifying end was glorious either. There is no glory in fighting but you will do what you have to to protect who you have left.

Pulling yourself from the memories, you shake your head, “you’ll see me at sea next year,” you vow with a grin. You lower your voice so the cantankerous marine behind you cannot hear what you say next. “It’ll just be in a way that pisses off the old man.”

There’s simply one more year to go.

You, alongside the other locals, wave the boys down until they become nothing but a speck on the horizon. Well, off their asses go. You sit on the porch step of what used to be the house that belonged to you and your grandfather. I think the last time I came here it was like, you purse your lips thoughtfully. Shiiieet, 3 months ago? You seldom spend time in the empty shack now. It is only good for your occasional visits and when you’re too lazy to head back up to Dadan’s. That is where home is now.

It’s wherever Ace and Luffy are.

Ace and Luffy who you know Garp loves but will always choose work first. He always has and he always will, so you will always choose them instead.

[amazinglyegg]

Featuring Fallout 4 characters

[jollyinmadness]

Of Canopies and Twines: Chapter 1, Solas | Azriel x OFC

Pairing: Azriel x Original Female Character

Word Count: 8.3k

Warnings: Minor Azriel x Elain. References to sexual thoughts. Very vague references to a genocide. Cursing.

Summary:

When an unknown curse starts spreading through the Night Court's lands, the Inner Circle is forced to seek help in the wisdom of Day's vast libraries. Among the dusty tomes, they are met with a mysterious female who wields magic that may yet be the key to their problem.

Kira, one of the few surviving Purifiers, will have to leave her reclusiveness on the shores of the Continent and learn what her ancestor's vow really means.

Azriel will be forced to reconcile his follies, step out from his shadows and push against his shortcoming with nothing but the scarred skin of his hands.

After years of lucky breaks, will the Inner Circle succeed one last time? Or will their fate rest in the hands of an outsider who has more to lose than gain in helping them?

Then again, the Cauldron is forever being stirred by the Mother and no one escapes the yarn on the embroidery of their lives.

Azriel’s hands were hidden under his armpits as he walked the empty streets of Velaris. The faelights in the Palace of Thread and Jewels still shone brightly, though many of the shops had their doors shut and signs turned to say ‘closed.’ 

He had just left a seamstress’s shop and regretted not accepting a jacket for the suit Rhysand ordered on his behalf. Despite having many in his closet, Rhysand noted that he only owned outdated ones and needed to, quote, freshen up. After a few adjustments, the seamstress had ushered him into the cold street with a smile, saying she was celebrating tonight and needed to get ready too. 

During the longest night of the year, even this part of the town closed down, its habitants retiring to dining rooms with their families. As Azriel passed by houses that hadn’t closed their blinds, he dared to peek in if even for the smallest moment. More often than not, he saw children running around a table while the adults prepared utensils and plates, scolding the little ones for not being careful enough. It caused the corners of his mouth to lift, seeing these people so free of worry that they didn’t even care to draw their curtains. 

His feet moved on their own accord, walking the familiar paths. Something unsettled and grew restless inside his bones as he thought of the estate he was heading to. This year, his own family was meeting in the River House to celebrate the Winter Solstice and the attendance was bound to be plentiful. 

He had already helped Feyre decorate, while Rhysand looked after little Nyx. This year would mark his first Solstice and everyone was eager to make it the most memorable one. Nyx put up the first decoration on the tree but when he was handed a garland from paper, he had torn it in half which elicited a laugh from Azriel and a gentle scolding from both his parents.

Considering he was Rhysand’s son, he was surely going to be a handful once he learned how to talk back and run away.

During it all, Azriel had noted Cassian’s lack of presence, though his brother was most likely hunting down some last-minute gifts before the shops closed for the evening. And last he heard, his mate was up in the House of Wind, preparing with Emerie and Gwyn. Emerie had been spending the last few days with her and Azriel could tell the Illyrian female felt out of place here even after months of daily training. The priestess, on the other hand, had promised Nesta she would spend the dinner with her, before returning to the Library for the evening service. 

Gwyn had shown so much growth since her arrival to Velaris and after the Rite, after she cut the ribbon, Azriel noted how she looked to the sky with a renowned longing. Some of the fear and reluctance had fallen off and in its place had grown courage and curiosity. Perhaps her trip to the River House was a stepping stone.

His mind shifted to the rest that were bound to be present and Azriel wondered what Elain was up to. Whether she was trying on dresses and picking out the ones Azriel would love to see on the ground of his private quarters. 

He hadn’t seen her since a few days ago when he had walked past the kitchen in the River House and beared witness to her gentle chuckles. Her hands were covered in flour and his two trusted shadow wraiths talked in hushed voices to her. Not even his shadows were quick enough to catch onto what was being said because when the three had noticed him, their words died down just like their laughter. 

Cerridwen and Nuala had sketched a quick bow to Azriel, much to his dismay but Elain only stared at him with those wide, doe-like eyes. It had made the air in the kitchen warmer and as she offered him a soft smile. He had disappeared into the shadows after nodding at her. Nodding. 

What a fool he was, pining after a female who was mated to another male, let alone allowing himself such a visceral reaction to simple things like smiles. Foolish, indeed. 

Feyre had mentioned in passing that Lucien was bound to make an appearance during the night. He didn’t let himself feel insulted. The voice inside his head was telling him that Feyre could see right through him and thought him fragile. He didn’t need to be notified of guests, especially Lucien.

Azriel sighed, blowing a white cloud into the biting air and hoped Rhysand had enough chairs for everyone. 

A shiver ran through him when, at last, the front gate to the River House appeared at the far end of the street. He quickened his pace, hands pushing the gate open. His dress shoes clicked against the stone walkway leading to the front door and before he reached for the knob, he pulled at his suit. His scarred hand ran through his hair, fixing and making sure he looked presentable before tackling the entirety of the Inner Circle. 

The shadows curled around his ear, telling him that everyone was already somewhere in the house except for Amren and Varian, who were Mother-knew where and doing Mother-knew what. Azriel didn’t care enough to know. 

With one last inhale, he braced himself for an eventful evening and opened the door. He followed the sound of chatter and bottles clinging to the decorated family room where everyone was gathered. 

The first person to notice his entrance was Cassian. “Az, brother, there you are!”

He came up to Azriel, stuffing a crystal glass full of aged rum into his hand and wrapping a shoulder around him. Cassian was already inebriated, Azriel could tell as their wings brushed on accident. Nesta sent subtle stares their way from the corner of the room while nursing a cup of grape juice and making sure he was still standing upright. She made some comment to the two Valkyries near her, making them giggle while watching.

Cassian and Nesta were still considered to be newly mated and Azriel avoided the House of Wind with fervor. Especially after Feyre and Rhysand had given it to them as a mating gift. He had been planning on vacating his room and moving to the Townhouse way before that but he dreaded packing all of the trinkets decorating his shelves. He would have missed the silence too hadn’t it been replaced by sounds of rabid fucking. Even the dining table wasn’t safe from their ministrations and a small part of Azriel grew jealous at it.

“You should stop with the drinks if you plan on participating tomorrow,” muttered Azriel, still cheering his glass with Cassian’s.

Cassian laughed, the sound joyous and open. “I will end your winning streak this year, spymaster.”

“No, I think it will mark my two hundredth win,” Azriel remarks absentmindedly, elbow shoving itself into Cassian’s ribs. Cassian didn’t take to that lightly and while balancing his almost empty glass, he put Azriel into a chokehold with a boom of laughter. He ruffled his hair while promising utter devastation come tomorrow morning. 

Cassian’s technique wasn’t sloppy despite being drunk but it took one smooth move for Azriel to free himself and knock back the contents of his glass.

“I would save the energy, Cass,” he told him, unfastening the button on his jacket.

Cassian grinned. “Or I can beat you now and eliminate the competition.” 

Before they could begin to play-wrestle, Feyre cleared her throat, staring them down. “No fighting in front of Nyx,” she reminded them. “Besides, Az just arrived and you’re already wrinkling his suit! Get off of him, Cassian.”

“A suit I paid good money for,” whispered Rhys from beside his mate, his ankle resting atop his knee. The tips of Azriel’s ears went red and once he pushed Cassian off, he heard a soft, female chuckle behind him. 

Without a thought, he turned his head, his shadows scattering at the sight in the doorway. Words escaped him like they always did in Elain’s presence and instead, he stared down at her. 

Her hair was done half-up half-down, decorated with little white flowers she was sure were grown by her own gentle hands. Baby breaths, he recalled her saying. As his face traveled from those brown eyes looking at him with mirth, his breath caught somewhere on its way from his lungs and to his mouth. A light pink dress made of the softest fabric adorned her curves, pooling and shimmering around her feet like a waterfall. The color and the design reminded him of that one time he stayed in the Day Court. Sun had just risen and painted the entire sky a brilliant pink and small puffy white clouds dusted the horizon.

At once, he willed his shadows to enshroud him again and stepped from the doorway, his eyes never leaving hers. His only thought was on that necklace in his breast pocket, still undecided on whether he should give it to her or not. Seeing her, he couldn’t help but notice that the little rose pendant would go perfectly with the dress. There and then, his mind was made. He would put the petite box on the pile later once everyone had gone to sleep. 

Somebody behind her cleared their throat and it was the only reason Azriel noticed the fire-haired male. 

Lucien’s stare softened considerably as the golden eye shifted from Azriel the moment their eyes met. The emissary chose to ignore him, instead put a gentle hand on Elain’s upper back that Azriel traced with his eyes. As they crossed over the threshold, it was all he could do once the scent of their unaccepted mating bond filled the room. 

Sometimes, Azriel thought to himself, the Mother had a cruel sense of humor. 

Azriel leaned against the wall, letting the murmur of his shadows take the attention from Elain and Lucien. He listened, ignoring questioning stares from Rhysand and focusing on the sauntering female making her way to the family room. 

He turned his head just in time to be met with Mor’s profile appearing in the doorway. She was holding a bottle of wine and smiling, love filling her eyes as they went over everyone present. The familiar faces and the new. Azriel noticed how she took a while to look at the Illyrian female next to Nesta and he noticed Emerie staring right back. He bit back the small smirk fighting to be shown. Though once she had her fill, the last person whom she graced with her glance was Azriel. 

They shared a knowing look and at last, it was void of any tension or anxiety. “Hey, Az,” she said, a gentle smile on her lips. 

He dipped his chin. “Mor.”

He saw a flurry of brown hair before a muffled “Mor!” was exclaimed into the female’s chest. Mor recoiled due to the impact and suddenly, Feyre was hugging the Morrigan, not caring for propriety in front of guests. 

Rhysand’s cousin had been spending more time in Vallahan than in the Night Court, forging alliances and still not succeeding in convincing the Queen to sign the peace treaty. She tried to visit as much as she could and sent many letters through Azriel’s spies concerning the foreign kingdom. He worried for her, hearing just how proud the people in Vallahan were and the schemes the court was prone to. 

“Feyre, please, don’t crush me before I can make it through the doorway.”

“I’m so glad you could make it for the dinner,” she murmurs into her chest before pulling away and taking in the red gown Mor had put on. It earned a hum of approval from her High Lady and Mor wiggled her eyebrows, whispering something into Feyre’s ear and making her laugh. 

Azriel stepped away, moving further inside the room though the wall was his preferred place. Feyre had handed off Nyx to Elain, who was rocking the baby on her hip while conversing with the Valkyries. Gwyn was wearing her usual priestess robes and cooed at the small Illyrian. The middle Archeron sister was smiling unabashedly, sending something warm trickling down Azriel’s chest. 

“Brother,” Rhysand greeted, breaking him out of the reverie and lifting a bottle to fill his glass. With a cocked brow, Rhysand poured the liquor and walked away from Azriel without another word, leaving the shadowsinger hanging in the air.

Rhysand stopped in front of his mate, kissing her temple without sparing Azriel another second of his attention after filling his glass. It left an unsure feeling behind but he brushed it off, convincing himself to have misread the slippage of his brother’s mask. 

— ✾ —

It was only after an hour filled with Mor’s complaining about being hungry and Cassian’s grunts of approval that Varian and Amren arrived. Azriel knew the moment Rhysand’s second had walked through the front door of the River House and his shadows notified him that Amren’s lipstick was smudged, and Varian was rubbing a handkerchief along his face.

It made Azriel swear up the Cauldron as he began rethinking his decision to come to this particular family dinner. It wasn’t often that he chose to, rather opting for eating by his lonesome in the House of Wind. The smell of people’s scents mixed in the aftermath of sex was something akin to strangulation and Azriel liked to enjoy his meals without the sensation.

Rhysand turned away from Amren and Varian, clasping his hands together and announcing, “It’s time we feast!”

Cassian whooped alongside of Mor, and they were the first ones on Rhysand’s heels. At the left-hand side of the family room were double doors, too, decorated with garlands and ribbons. Rhysand pushed down on each handle, leading the grand entrance to a refurbished dining room. 

Azriel’s shadows skittered around him as they watched everyone enter. In hushed voices, they began counting those walking through the threshold and Azriel fought the urge to roll his eyes. 

As much as everyone assumed he had complete control over his little shadows, they were sentient creatures fascinated by the simplest things. It wasn’t a coincidence that shadowsingers were oftentimes spies, because while the shadows liked talking, they adored observing and reporting everything to their master whose job was to pick out the important information. 

And so, Azriel had to ignore his shadows gushing about a new table that could now fit not ten people but twelve! Once they were sure their master knew of the fact his shadows returned to counting. 

There’s four, five, six. Seven. Eight, nine, ten and eleven, and twelve. 

Amren had taken the head of the table, leading Varian to sit next to her with their intertwined hands.

Mor chose to be the mediator between Lucien and Elain and ignored all the sideways glances the emissary sent her way as she laid a hand on the back of the chair. The little smile she sent Elain did not escape Azriel either. While everyone had chosen their seats, Azriel entered last, closing the door behind him with his back to the group. 

There’s the thirteenth. Such a lucky number. 

In all his years spent in Velaris, Azriel failed to remember a time when a dining room was this full. The new table added two extra seats and dwarfed the room in comparison to how it used to be. Everyone made themselves comfortable, shucking off jackets and laying them across the backs of their chairs. 

Azriel hadn’t had the chance to pick where he wanted to sit and as he turned to the room, he had come to realize with an odd mix of relief and disdain that his seat was between Nesta and Varian. Pick of the litter, then. 

The seats have been specially altered to accommodate winged individuals and while Azriel settled into his chair, he was at least grateful that his closest companions lacked any membranous monstrosities protruding from their backs. Were he sat next to inebriated Cassian, he’d have to focus his attention there and leave his shadows with filling up the blanks. 

As food started appearing one plate after another, Azriel took in where the rest of the people were sat. He was facing Feyre and Rhysand, Nyx placed into a tiny chair between theirs. Cassian was occupying the other head of the table and already spoke to Elain in hushed tones to the best of his abilities. To the General’s other side was Gwyn, then Emerie and Nesta. One of his newer shadows notified him that Emerie couldn’t take her eyes from Rhysand’s cousin and that she blushed when their eyes met. 

A table of this size offered a lot of variety and where there was space between statement pieces, candelabras and flowers, there was food or drink. Once the sound of cutlery filled the room, the conversation fell off and comments about the food were exchanged. The feast, as Rhysand called it, was truly one for the books. 

Oh, the beef. It’s delicious. 

Could you hand me more of the potatoes, Lucien? 

Is there any more wine on your end of the table?

We should do this more often. 

The exchanges appeared awkward to Azriel and the small talk he had to endure from Varian made him want to retreat further into his shadows. All throughout the main course he felt Rhysand’s eyes on him but when he went to meet his High Lord’s stare, he had already turned away. 

As the food dwindled and the fae lights dimmed down to a comfortable glow, many different conversations were going on. Feyre talked to Lucien while letting Rhysand feed their son and the Valkyries were explaining their training to Mor, who had been unaware of all the progress the priestesses had made. 

Gwyn was in the middle of explaining the new technique that she discovered while helping Merill with her research when she offhandedly mentioned a thing that elicited a groan from Nesta and Emerie.

Cassian, dragged out from his conversation with Elain, drew back. “What? What happened?” he questioned, brows drawn together in confusion. 

“It’s the long-lost kingdom again,” explained Nesta and Cassian ah’d with some recognition, nodding along.

Gwyn blushed a deep crimson. "I promised Nesta not to talk about it," she sent a glare to the mentioned female over Emerie's head. "So I won't."

Nesta rolled her eyes but it couldn't be taken seriously because as she looked down, one corner of her mouth was lifted up.

"To talk about what?" asked Feyre from the other end of the table, cutting her conversation with Lucien short. The male was already tilting his body towards the priestess, eyes straying to his mate before focusing wholeheartedly back on Gwyn. 

Gwyn met Feyre's kind gaze. "I've finally started my own research and these three hear too much about it."

Something struck Azriel's chest on the left-hand side as he realized he was not included in the explanation. His shadows stilled and watched Gwyn. 

"Oh?" mused Feyre back. She settled her chin on the heel of her palm, smiling gently at the priestess. “What is it about?"

Almost taken aback by the attention she was getting from her High Lady, it had taken her a moment to get the words out. "It's this extinct nation– or at least many think it's extinct. They just about fell off the face of this world five hundred years ago."

There were more blank faces around the table as even Amren drew her unsettling gaze to Gwyn. Now, everyone was listening to her and even Elain let her gentle and encouraging eyes rest on her small form.

What a kindness she thinks she’s offering, one shadow hissed and coiled around his ear. 

Gwyn’s hand reached up to play with a strand of coppery hair, continuing, "Truly, there are barely any records on its fall, some books on its existence and even less on their emergence."

"You do love a challenge, Gwyn," muttered Nesta, earning a gleaming smile from Gwyn. 

"That I do," she responded, almost sheepish. "The last scriptures go back to a few decades before the War. It's unheard of that a kingdom from the continent is not mentioned in writing."

Mor shuffled in her seat, holding the glass of wine in front of her with both hands and offering an inquisitive look to Gwyn. "Is it Severín, by any chance?" 

"Yes," she breathed out, the realization that many of them are as old as five hundred dawning over her. "You fought in the War, didn't you?" she asked, this time with more gentleness. She looked to Cassian who was pushing his food around and nodding lightly, the tone of the conversation still easygoing, edging on clinical.

"We all did," stated Mor, her mood growing more serious with each sip she took. "I went there once but decades after it had fallen to aid an old friend."

"You were there for the liberation of Black Land?" she inquired, earning a nod and a small smile from Mor. She had connected the dots fast enough that it pleased her. 

"I offered my help to Drakon and Myriam, yes. I would not be wrong to suggest you know who they were." 

The use of past tense didn’t escape Azriel.

"Could I—" she started but faltered before she got too ahead of herself. But before she could find better words or consider a better timing, Mor lifted a gentle hand. 

"You can ask any questions you want. I'll come to the library tomorrow for a few hours and I'll make sure to find you."

For a moment, Gwyn was left speechless before she stammered out a quick, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she uttered, before looking around the table. "We wouldn't want to bore these people with the recounting of ancient history."

"I, for one," said Feyre pointedly while fixing Nyx's clothes, "would love to hear more about this fallen kingdom. I don't get to read as much anymore."

Nesta bit back a grin, turning to her sister with a goodhearted smile. "Anymore? You were illiterate a few years ago."

A few reluctant giggles escaped the present and even Azriel had to hide his smile. Feyre gasped, resting her palms on the table and looking in feigned disbelief at her oldest sister. Rhysand looked to his wife, a smile splitting his face in half. "And whose fault is that?"

This broke the hesitance, light laughter echoing around the room and even Amren cracked a smirk.

Feyre hummed, letting her chin rest against her palm again. "But about the Black Land... Is it not the same as what Mor said? Severing, or something?"

"Severín, my lady," corrected gently Gwyn, letting Feyre copy the hard r's in her own time. She gave her an encouraging smile once she got it right. "But they're not the same, though they existed in the same place within Rask."

“I think I've seen it on one of the older maps, near where the Wall would be," wondered aloud Feyre and her mate gave her a nod, confirming her guess. "Is it close to that mountain range with a river? The northern one."

"Yes, the Vistula River,” she nodded at Feyre. “There’s a legend involving the Severínians and the river delta. Supposedly, before they ever settled in Rask’s territory, the region was surrounded by a desert and there was no vegetation unless you were close to the seashore. And even then it was only rocky ridges, not fit for cultivating crops.”

“But something changed,” muttered Feyre playfully, enchanted by the story Gwyn was gladly unraveling for her. 

“Something did change. ‘When the Severínians finally decided to settle, rivers sprang from the mountains and created a cradle for a new kingdom to rise from.’ It’s a quote from a diary of a Raskan traveler. The name ‘Vistula’ actually means to flow slowly and its roots are in the Severínian language.”

Feyre smiled at the little tidbit of information. “Do we know what urged them to settle there? If there was no life there, it must have been a hard decision to make.”

“I asked myself the same thing! We do know that they were a nomadic people, that their archetypal features were feathered wings. Individuals with pale hair were denoted to have powers. That actually created a new branching in the classification of magic. I saw some scholars give them the title of ‘purifiers.’”

Mor nodded along with the explanation as if everything that came out of Gwyn’s mouth was just confirmation of something she had already known.

“They had a so-called affinity for ‘life’ and it was sought after by many rulers at that time. They could grow crops within a few hours which would otherwise take months under normal circumstances. They made for very good healers and menders and no one had ever described them as violent. Actually, they were quite a docile people. One of their saying was something along the lines of ‘to live is to be gifted and to serve is to protect.’”

“Do you think they had never settled before because someone would have come to take their freedom away—simply because of what they possessed?” asked Feyre again with a thoughtful expression. 

“Perhaps,” agreed Gwyn calmly and judging by her change of expression, the silence around the table came to her with a force of a thousand bricks. Alarmed, she looked around at the present and realized that everyone, including Amren, was fully focused on what she was saying. Shadows notified Azriel that Varian on his right had sent Gwyn a smile before saying that he had never known anything about this kingdom. 

“Rask had never taken lightly to someone encroaching on their territory.  They might be the reason why this kingdom has been ‘wiped’ from the collective memory,” offered Rhysand. 

Mor scoffed, agreeing with her cousin. “Especially if they offered refuge to humans who could have been a workforce in their salt mines instead.”

“Refuge?” Feyre turned her attention to Mor, brows furrowed. “What do you mean by refuge?”

The blonde female looked to her High Lady, skillfully avoiding Lucien’s whirring gold eye. “Before their fall and before Rask had turned it into Black Land, they allowed humans to live side by side with them and even earn their keep. It was unheard of at that time since most of the Courts even in Prythian considered humans slaves.”

“The talks of human rights were nothing but murmurs within chosen circles,” concluded Rhysand, swirling the wine in his cup. “Shame, Severín could have made for good allies during the War.”

“They would not have fought,” spoke up Amren all of a sudden, surprising even Rhysand into stumped silence. 

He frowned, facing his second and declared, “You are right. They wouldn’t have but they were the only example of Fae and mortals living in peace together. That could have made a difference.”

“The fools were so in love with peace, they wouldn’t have sided with foreigners even if it cost them their lives. Which it did anyway.”

Azriel thought to himself that it was perhaps the biggest reaction Amren had given in the past year and since the day she crawled out of the Cauldron. It wasn’t often that this ancient female chose to speak her mind but something had grated against her at the mention of this long-lost kingdom. 

“Rask is a nation of conquerors,” said Amren, her hand playing with a ruby necklace adorning her collarbone. It twinkled in the candlelight of the table and the danger of her eyes. “They wouldn’t have given in where they didn’t have to.”

Mor sucked on the inside of her cheek before responding, “So they chose to sack a peaceful people?”

“Their feud wasn’t just some baseless thing, dusted over by centuries of anger. Those Severínians,” she had spat out the name like spoiled food, “had settled in Raskan territory, knowing damn well where they were.”

“They were the ones who created life there, not Rask,” argued Mor.

Amren’s ageless gaze moved sideways. “So the legend goes.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

She sat up, leaning on her elbows and zeroing in on Mor with a poise of a predator. “What I mean, Morrigan, is that not everything written in those books and scriptures is fact. It takes one desperate generation to rewrite what has truly happened.”

“Are you insinuating that those people deserved getting slaughtered?”

Amren bared her teeth. “All I’m saying is that I wouldn’t let someone with that magic anywhere near me. It’s not of this world and trust my word, I would know.”

Azriel’s shadows had stilled with the exchange, murmurs of questions and curiosity filling his ears. He just watched on as Mor and Amren exchanged heated glances, bared their teeth. Between them, Feyre massaged the space between her brows and when Rhysand laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, she had shook it off. 

“Please,” said Feyre, gaze still downturned. “Don’t argue. Not tonight and not over something meaningless.” 

Within the plead was hiding something more. It wasn’t often that Feyre could just sit down and dine with all of her close friends. She had a child to take care of, she taught children in the city how to paint and see the beauty of the world through the medium of the brush and when she came home, she was still a mother and a High Lady with obligations. The last thing she wished for was an argument—on her birthday, nonetheless.

On her other side, even Lucien had sent worrying glances her way. 

“I’m sorry, Feyre,” murmured Mor, though Amren remained silent. Azriel supposed that it was the biggest apology they would get from her, considering she had never once explained herself to anyone. All she deigned herself to do was meet Feyre’s eyes and nod as if she was heeding a command from her High Lady.

The Inner Circles and the rest had grown quiet, their eyes as if stuck to their plates. Only Azriel was still looking up and around, noticing how awkward it had gotten and wishing it was socially acceptable to winnow from this room. 

From the other end of the table, Cassian cleared his throat and said, “Varian, do you think I could visit this summer? I swear not to shatter another building.”

The laugh from Varian was a little choked and aware of the diversion Cassian had tried to make. “I don’t know if my cousin has lifted your ban.”

“Not even after everything?”

“I’m afraid not,” he sighed. “But Cresseida and I will put in good word for you.”

With a wink from Varian, Cassian laughed, exclaiming, “Atta boy!”

Elain, from Cassian’s side, leaned in and asked with a small voice meant for him only, “How did you get banned from the Summer Court?”

Those who already knew laughed along as Cassian dived into a dramatized retelling of that fateful day in Adriata. 

— ✾ —

The River House had finally fallen quiet after the eventful Winter Solstice dinner and the following party. The faelights had been dimmed to cast little pools of gold amid the deep shadows of the longest night of the year. 

Amren, Mor and Varian had finally gone to bed but Azriel found himself still lingering downstairs. 

He knew he should get some sleep. He would need it come dawn for the snowball battle at the cabin. After everyone had retired back to the family room, Cassian had mentioned no less than six times that he had a secret plan regarding his so-called impending victory. Azriel had let his brother boast, especially since he had been planning his own win for a year now.

Cassian wouldn’t know what was coming for him. And Azriel planned on capitalizing on the fact that Nesta likely wouldn’t let Cassian sleep much tonight. 

Azriel snickered to himself and the ever-restless shadows around him stirred, gazing out to the family room. 

Sleep, they had whispered in his ear and a sense of deep-set exhaustion crawled over his bones again. 

I wish I could, he comforted them silently. But sleep rarely found him these days. 

Too many razor-sharp thoughts sliced any time he grew still long enough for them to strike. Too many wants and needs left his skin overheated as it pulled taut over his muscles. And so he chose to sleep only when his body gave out, and even then only for a few hours.

Azriel surveyed the empty room from the hallway, the presents under the tree and the ribbons littering the furniture. There were two dirty glasses on the mantel of the fireplace, smeared lipstick on one and nothing on the other. 

Nesta and Cassian hadn’t reappeared in the house, though that came as no surprise. They were among the first ones to leave and Azriel’s shadows had notified him of his brother carrying Nesta to the House of Wind mere minutes after Rhysand had winnowed her friends out. 

He was elated for him and yet Azriel was never able to stop it—the green envy in his chest of Cassian, of Rhys. Cauldron, even of Amren. He knew he would be swallowed by that never-ending despair if he went to his bedroom, and so he chose to remain down here by the dying light in the fireplace. 

The room lacked the bustle and laughter it had enshrined for the last couple of hours. Now the silence grew heavy and the stillness of his bedroom began crawling between the walls and into the family room. He clutched his fingers around the jacket on his forearm, letting it dissolve into shadows.

Azriel removed himself from the doorway, entering the hall and walking soundlessly to the foyer. 

Soft steps padded from the stair archway and there she was.

The faelights gilded across Elain’s unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. Again, the image from the Day Court had appeared before his eyes and as she halted, her breath caught in her throat.

“I…” He watched her swallow. She clutched her fingers around a small box. “I was coming to leave this on your pile of presents. I forgot to put it there earlier.”

A lie. At least the second part was a lie. He didn’t need his shadows to read her tone, the slight tightening of her face. She had waited until everyone was asleep before venturing back down, where she would leave her gift among his other, unopened presents. Subtle and unnoticed, she wanted him to find it in the morning and after the snowball battle. Perhaps she had hoped he would pocket the little box, open it in the privacy of his room and away from the prying eyes of his family.

Elain closed the distance and her breathing quickened as she paused a scant foot away. “No trouble in giving it to you now, I guess. Here.” She extended the wrapped gift, her hand trembling. 

Azriel fought hard not to look at his scarred fingers as they took the gift. She hadn’t bought her mate a present, he recalled. When his shadows went over the gifts, they had divulged this precious detail to him. He hadn’t gotten one this year nor last but she went through the trouble of buying something for him. She had given Azriel a headache powder a year ago which he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind. Not to use but just to look at. Something he had done every night he had slept there—or rather attempted to sleep there. 

Azriel unwrapped the box, glancing at the card that merely said, You might find these useful at the House these days. -Elain, and then opened the lid. 

Two small, bean-shaped fabric blobs lay within. Elain murmured, "You put them in your ears, and they block any sound. With Nesta and Cassian living there with you..." 

He hadn’t had the heart to tell he was going to move from the House soon and so unable to suppress his impulse, he just chuckled. “You wouldn’t want me to open this in front of everyone.”

Elain’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Nesta wouldn’t appreciate the joke.”

As he closed the box and stuffed it into the pocket of his trousers, he returned her smile. “I wasn’t sure if I should give you your present…” 

He had left the rest unspoken as he reached into his shadows. Her mate was here, sleeping only a level above them and he had been present all throughout the evening, not once leaving the room before Elain had retired for the night. The scent of their mating bond had filled Azriel’s lungs and even if he had positioned himself to a far corner, it would still reach his nostrils, tickling something wicked that called for unfairness. 

Though tonight, here in the dark and silence, there was only the two of them and he supposed it was fair at last to give her this one thing. Despite wanting to give much more.

He pulled the velvet box out, letting his shadows open it for her. Once revealed, they scattered to the back of his neck in a moment’s time. 

Elain sucked in a soft breath that whispered over his skin and his shadow retreated even further, almost completely disappearing. They and their murmurs had always been prone to vanish when she was around and so did his voice of reason. 

The golden chain was unremarkable and the amulet tiny enough to be dismissed as an everyday charm. Weeks ago, he had escaped the House of Wind and found himself walking through the Palace of Thread and Jewel. A vendor had waved him over from the crowd, choosing Azriel to present his newest invention. When he told him to hold it up to the sun, Azriel was rendered speechless once the true depth of colors became visible and it reminded him of her. It was a thing of secret, lovely beauty, just like the female before him. 

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

Azriel watched her face tentatively as she lifted the necklace from the box. The fae lights shone through the little glass facets, setting the charm aglow with hues of red, pink, white and green. 

Azriel let his shadow swallow the box as she said softly, “Put it on me?”

The everlasting murmurs in his head slowed to a still. But he took the necklace, opening the clasp as she exposed her back, sweeping her hair up in one hand to bare her neck. 

He knew it was wrong but there he was, sliding the necklace around her. He let his scarred fingers touch her unmarred skin, letting them brush the side of her throat, savoring the velvet-soft texture. Elain shivered, and he took his sweet time fastening the clasp.

Azriel's hand lingered at her nape, atop the first knob of her spine. Slowly, Elain pivoted into his touch, until his palm lay flat against her neck. 

It had never gone this far. They'd exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching. 

Wrong—it was so wrong. The murmurs returned with fervor but he didn’t care. 

He needed to know what the skin of her neck felt like. What those lips tasted like, her breasts, her sex. He needed her coming on his tongue—

The fabric of Azriel’s pants began straining against his will. It ached so fiercely he could only pray she didn’t peer down. Pray she didn’t understand the shift in his scent. 

He would only allow himself these thoughts in the dead of night, when everyone had fallen asleep and when no one, not even his shadows, could bear witness to his selfishness. 

Elain bit her lower lip and it took every ounce of Azriel’s restraint not to free it with his own. 

“I should go,” Elain said but made no move to leave. She was still peering up at him with those big eyes.

“Yes,” he said, his thumb sweeping long strokes along the side of her neck. The gentle brush sent a shiver down Elain’s spine and as her arousal drifted up to him, his eyes nearly fell shut. If he could, he would drop to his knees in front of her, asking her to let him worship her body. But Azriel settled for stroking her neck. For now. 

She shuddered, drifting closer. So close, one deep breath would brush up her chest again his upper stomach. She was looking up at him, face so open and unafraid as if he could deliver her to the lands of milk and honey. Azriel wouldn’t put it past himself to try. 

Still, her naivety hadn’t escaped those incessant murmurs of his own. They scratched their talons against his reserve, reminding him that the hand brushing her neck had done unspeakable things. Who was he to touch her like this?

It should be a sacrilege for his rough, scarred fingers to rest on her skin, to taint her with his presence. 

He could have this, right?

Azriel wouldn’t admit it to anyone ever but he was a selfish bastard and he would allow himself to have this one moment of reverie. If only to drive away his curiosity. But afterward, he promised himself to keep a hold on himself, he would go back to restraint. This single occasion would be it for him. Something to keep, something to remember during those long, dark and lonesome hours.

“Yes," Elain breathed like she read the decision. Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them. 

Azriel's hand slid up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain's mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before fluttering shut. 

Offer and permission. He nearly sighed in relief as he lowered his head toward hers. 

Azriel.

Rhysand’s voice thundered through him, halting him mere inches from Elain’s sweet and awaiting mouth.

Azriel.

The unrelenting command was an undercurrent to his name and Azriel looked up. Atop the staircase, Rhysand stood with a clenched jaw and a glower pointed at him and only him. 

My office. Now.

Rhysand vanished into thin air and Azriel was left standing there, the prickle of being watched and observed still skipping along his skin. Elain who stood before him was still awaiting his lips on hers. His stomach twisted as he pulled his hand from her hair and stepped back so their breaths would mix no longer. 

He forced himself to say, “This was a mistake.”

Something had his throat in a vice, whether it was a need or the shame at being called on like a dog, he didn’t know. He was only aware of the strained sentence coming out and Elain opening her eyes. They widened, filling with hurt and confusion before she whispered a single, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t– Don’t apologize,” he managed to say. “Never apologize, it’s I who should…” He shook his head, unable to stand the bleakness in her face that he was the reason for. “Goodnight.”

Azriel winnowed himself into shadows before he could hear what she had to say if anything. He appeared only a heartbeat later in front of Rhysand’s study. His shadows whispered in his ear that Elain was already retreating upstairs. Shame washed over him and he ran a hand over his face. 

He pushed the dark, heavy door to reveal Rhysand at his desk, fury a moonless night across his face. 

He asked softly and only once, “Are you out of your mind?”

Azriel let the door shut behind him and didn’t even think of sitting down in the chair facing the monstrous desk littered with papers and memos. Azriel thinned his mouth at the question. He was always sparse with words and wasn’t going to stop the habit now. 

His brother looked at him in exasperation, as if not believing what he was seeing. Upon closer inspection, the lines on Rhysand’s face were longer and shadows lingered in the space below his eyes. But even despite the tired appearance, his power rolled around him like a dark cloud in an ominous reminder. 

“I asked you something, Azriel.”

Azriel joined his hands behind his back, saying, “What do you want me to say?”

Rhysand’s frown should have been an answer enough. “I want you to explain why I saw you about to kiss Elain in the middle of a hall where anyone could see you,” he snarled, pointing an accusing finger his way. “Including her mate.”

Azriel scoffed. Of course, he would mention Lucien. It wasn’t often that Azriel’s hackles rose and he allowed them to. But when he met his brother’s eyes with rage, he knew Rhysand could match him a thousand times over. His glare had crossed with its violet twin as the air grew heavier and heavier. The siphon on his chest that he kept glamoured vibrated in answer to the challenge.

Rhysand blinked. “What of Mor, Az?”

“Don’t talk to me about Mor,” he bit out.

“I’m going to talk to you about whatever I damn wish. Especially if you go about your delusions like that.”

Azriel chose to ignore that last bit if only to keep some of his sanity. This male before him had been his friend for over five centuries. They have bled, cried and laughed beside each other. He would never lie to him and never spare his feelings. And Rhysand was right, after all. The little voice in the back of his mind had always been right too and the way Rhysand was scowling at him was all the confirmation he needed.

He glared at his shadowsinger. “If Lucien finds out you’re pursuing her, he has every right to defend the bond as he sees fit. Including the Blood Duel.”

“That’s an Autumn Court tradition.” 

The duel had historically been enacted in rare cases and ended only when the other person was dead. There was no yielding, no three taps and out. There were only two fighters and no titles could help once the Blood Duel had been invoked. Despite being an outsider, Azriel had wanted to invoke it when he had found Mor all those years ago. He had been ready to challenge both Beron and Eris, prepared to kill them or die with them. But it was Mor’s right to claim their heads that had stopped him and he would never do her the dishonor of taking that choice away. 

“Lucien, as Beron’s son, has the right to demand it of you,” reminded him Rhysand. 

“I would win,” he stated, pure conviction lacing every word. 

“I know.” It was a bitter sense of acceptance that dawned on Rhysand’s face. “Your doing so would rip apart any fragile peace and alliances we have, not only with the Autumn Court but also the Spring Court. Jurian and Vassa, too.” Rhys looked up from where his hands were joined in front of his face. “You will leave Elain alone.”

Azriel neared one step closer to Rhysand’s desk. “You can’t order me to do that.”

The High Lord took in that step and thinned his lips. “I can and I will. If not to protect you three from a world of hurt, then to protect this Court. I watched you tonight and half the evening you had your eyes glued to Elain and the other half, you were lost in your thoughts. And if I caught onto it, then Lucien did too. You better mind yourself, brother. You’re losing focus.”

Azriel snarled softly against his best judgment. 

“Snarl all you want.” Rhysand leaned back in his chair. “But if I see you panting after her again, I’ll make you regret it.”

Rhysand had rarely considered punishment, let alone threatened it. It stunned Azriel enough to knock him out of his rage and into incredulity. His brother avoided his gaze, grabbing a pen and focusing on the papers on his desk. Even as he looked down, his eyes weren’t scanning the words written there. His hand with the wedding ring shook slightly when he ran it through his hair.

“Get out, Az,” he said, more gently under his breath but Azriel heard it all right. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

With no further words from Rhysand or himself, Azriel walked out of the study, pushing himself to keep a calm pace, though he wanted to storm out. He tucked in his wings, walked down the stairs and past the spot where his and Elain’s mouth had almost met. His eyes were focused forward, shadows swirling around him and sensing the distress of their master. Once he pushed through the front door and into the frigid air, he let it consume him. 

The white clouds escaping his mouth were the only sign he was alive because as he passed the gate, he stood still. Too still. The River House towered behind him and the light in Rhysand’s study went out. 

How his brothers used to fear being chained down by the ankles. They had joked with Azriel, saying he would be the first to settle and that their fleeing nature would never allow them to stay still for one female. 

But they had grown, changed over time while Azriel stayed behind, hoping that the relationship they shared would remain unchanged. 

As Azriel kept standing in the cold, he let it permeate past his suit. Down through his skin and to the marrow of his bones. There was no jacket to ward off the chill—all by his choice. There was no one to run to and Azriel wondered if that was his choice too.

Taglist:

this is being crossposted to ao3 so make sure to show some love there too, if you feel so inclined!

omg hi to whomever is reading this work ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

thank you for taking the time out of your day to sit down with this, be it on your commute, after a long day at school or whatever other downtime you have!! i am very honored and i hope i can entertain.

i'm very pumped to get this out and into the world. this oc has been stuck in my head for like over a year, i swear. maybe even perhaps when the bonus chapter of acosf with azriel first dropped ! the ideas of the plot and scenes just kept coming to me in random moments throughout these last 12 or so months. it felt like i was being shaken by my shoulder and someone was screaming into my face to, "write this one, goddammit!!!!!"

so here i am, appeasing some azriel-obsessed part of me.

since his character is very… open to interpretation due to the utter lack of anything (looking at you, SJM), i'm going to take certain liberties with his personality and motivations. so this might be slightly OOC, but i'll make sure that this is tagged on my ao3.

enjoy, my lovelies. i'll be grateful for any comments, tips or questions. if you think something could have been done differently, don't ever be afraid to comment on it. i am very open to criticism as bettering my craft is one of my biggest goals with this. my inbox is open (i think).

[benevolenterrancy]

mark your words, wei wuxian

(I have modern sports aus on the brain and decided that if we're taking away their swords we should at least arm them with sticks, so it became a hockey4hockey au)

[glacier-shrimp]

Done with our favorite Spider-Boy! Spiderling? Spider... What was his name again?

Avengers paper cutout 6/?

[shoku-and-awe]

This morning, I didn’t want to take my meds again. I interfaced with my brain and tried to unpack why, and it was this complicated miasma of

because the world is bad

to take them I would have to eat

I can’t tell if I’m hungry

I feel fat and I shouldn’t eat

I don’t want to make breakfast

You only get to have one breakfast and I don’t know what to choose

I have too much work and too much going on in my head so everything is impossible

If I take them I am somehow acknowledging that the world is still turning

Soon I will need a MyNumber card to refill the prescription and I keep forgetting to finish the application so I should be stockpiling them just in case

And hmmm. A lot of that is just life, but also a lot of it sounds a lot like executive dysfunction. And—stick with me here—maybe this is nothing more than a WILD coincidence, but executive dysfunction is a symptom that my meds are supposed to treat. *And* I haven’t been taking my meds the last several days because of Don’t Wanna. Hmm. Hmmm! What could it all mean?

Anyway. I still very much didn’t wanna, but I eventually formed a hypothesis with the potential to blow this case wide open. To test it, I had a glass of milk and my meds, and then I sat down and did what I had budgeted as two days of work (some of it while watching one awful horror movie and then another surprisingly fun one) and also some boring admin tasks, and also I made soup, washed dishes, made some ballot curing calls, hit and exceeded my word count goal, played a lot with Iggy, went for a walk, and even had a nice dinner out. Which is probably unrelated to the meds thing. But it’s funny how it turned out that way, right?

[yujeong]

Time was at a standstill. Vegas was holding his breath without noticing, and continued to hold it when he did - he was afraid of what would happen if he exhaled loudly enough to draw attention to himself. His gaze was shifting between Pete and the man who was standing before them in the doorway, blocking their entrance. Vegas had never seen him before, but even so, he recognized Pete in him enough to know who he was. A dangerous aura surrounded him. There was an edge to his presence that Vegas would only come across people of certain circles. He was a fighter. A muay khao. Pete's father. Shame coursed through Vegas' body, smearing his skin, settling in his lungs, rendering him speechless. I thought he was dead, he wanted to tell Pete if he could. He wanted to scream at him, I thought you killed him. Pete was the one who broke the stillness. As if awakened by something, he took a half-step back and made a motion with his arms, almost raising them to his chest, but not quite. In an instant, Pete reverted into the pet Vegas had been keeping at the safehouse, bound by handcuffs and afraid of his belt hitting flesh and drawing blood. A lump formed in Vegas' throat. "Have you stopped practicing? Your form is off." The uncanny similarities between Pete and his father appearance-wise didn't mean a thing when it came to their voices. Vegas shivered. Was this what Pete would sound like in a few decades? (Were these the condescending words he'd choose to spew? Was Pete going to embody his father? Was Vegas embodying his?) "What are you doing here?" Pete whispered. "They let me out for a few days, so I came here to collect some money. Imagine my surprise when I found out my offspring left the job someone found him worthy enough of doing to... do what exactly? Yaai didn't want to tell me." He crossed his arms, waiting for an answer. Vegas didn't know what he was allowed to say. If he was allowed to say anything at all. "It's none of your business." "I'd say it very much is my business, as well as yaai's business who was dependent on the money you were making being some rich asshole's human shield." A choked sound scratched Vegas' throat. He didn't like getting reminded of Pete being the main family's bodyguard, even though he stopped being one mere months ago. Especially like this. That was the first time Pete's father stopped looking at his son and turned his head to look at Vegas. For a moment, there seemed to be recognition in his eyes. Did he know who Vegas was? Did he care? A snort came out of his mouth. He leaned on the door. "Oh, I see how it is." He laughed, scratched his neck. "I never expected you to whore yourself out for money. Tell me, is it preferable to the path I carved out for you?" Vegas could sense the disgust in his voice. He could also see it on Pete's face. He was too astonished to share it, but not enough to be unable to speak. "Khun, there has been some misunderstanding-" "Don't bother. I can recognize a faggot when I see one." Pete's movements were too fast for Vegas to stop him. A direct jab to the nose; his father fell like a pack of cards, groaning like a wounded animal. Surprisingly, no blood - Pete held back. Vegas didn't know what to think about that. "That was a pathetic attack, even for you." "Get up." "We're not in the ring, son." Pete growled. Vegas could see his hands trembling as he was keeping them in the air, maintaining an offensive stance. "That never stopped you before." "You were too young to understand what I was doing back then. What I was preparing you for." Pete was silent. "The world isn't kind. It'll fuck you over one way or another." He got up, spat on the ground. "You still haven't learned a thing. You're too old to afford being naive." He turned around, and without sparing a look at Pete again, said: "Now get the fuck out of my house." (For @musictooth, whose posts about Pete's father have reignited my passion for this specific concept and for @wretchedamaranth, whose comments on my writing are always lovely and precious ❤️)