#hopefully someone reads this and enjoys this

[brainfuzz]

Agreed.

First, assuming ramencel took a traditional path to college, she's at most 22, and more likely hasn't reached drinking age yet. That in mind, I say this as gently as possible - Child, perhaps you should grow up a little before you start making judgements.

Second, I did not take a traditional path to college, and when I started my undergrad at 35, it was in library science. One of the things that got hammered into my head was that any reading is good reading, and there is no such thing as "trash" in books. There are badly written books, but there are no bad books. If someone tells you a book is bad, you need to seriously question why they say that.

In my child lit class, we discussed the merits of the Captain Underpants books vs. "real" kid's books, like Little House on the Prairie. One's a graphic novel with questionable humor, and the other is a beautiful retelling of a child's life in the mid 1800's. You know which one kids should read? The one they find interesting and will enjoy. That's it.

Third, the important thing is that people read - what they read is irrelevant. Even the smuttiest, trashiest novel (or fanfic for that matter) has merit. 50 Shades of Grey? Got people comfortable with kink, started discussions about it, and hopefully showed people what bad BDSM etiquette looked like. The Sound and the Fury is generally accepted to be great classic American literature, but I hated it with a passion - it was the only book I've ever used Sparknotes for instead of reading it - and I will never read another book by Faulkner in my life.

And lastly, reading anything will open your mind to other possibilities. Someone may read only romance novels, and pick up the first in the "Quilts and Kilts" series. They may read all nine of them. Reading them may spark their curiosity about quilts, which leads them to start the "Elm Creek Quilts" series, which is not a romance. One of those books is centered around quilts and the underground railroad, which may inspire them to pick up a book about Harriet Tubman, and so on and so on.

Reading anything is learning, and the only people who don't want you to learn and have an open mind are people who want to subjugate you. Censorship in any form is bad, it doesn't matter what the topic is, or who the audience is. You start censoring romance because its porn, and you start sliding into things that aren't porn, or aren't romance. We end up banning PD James' Adam Dalgliesh series because he has a girlfriend that he kisses on page.

People like to say that's ridiculous, nobody is going to ban mysteries because people kiss in them. Yeah, well nobody thought Roe v Wade would get overturned either.

tldr; all reading has merit, even shitty books like 50 Shades of Grey. No book should ever be banned, and you should question the motives of anyone who wants to control what you can read.

It's all fun and games and laughing at BookTok until you can't get on AO3 anymore, as someone who likes both romance and fanfic.

[alexturnerisbrat]

Old-fashioned men always want a mistress.

Part 1 - Exactly the wrong time in exactly the wrong plce

A/n: this is my first time writing and for register English is not my first language so i apologize for any mistakes. I mostly just read but i liked how it’s turning out. That’s just a proper introduction but hopefully it will be a serie. Hope someone enjoys it!!!

Warnings: unspecified age gap, alcohol, cigarettes. (This part has actually nothing it’s just foi context lol)

*May 13th 2022*

It’s just another rainy night in London, you loved how melancholic the city has always made you feel. As someone who always had a weak spot for those romantic moments where you just caught yourself lost in thought staring at the rain drops in the car’s window, living there just fitted you well

As your cab arrives at the pub you had picked to meet your friend, you glance at your phone. A couple missed calls and a text saying she couldn’t make it and a desespere apology voicemail asking for you to not hate her.

It didn’t bothered you that much, In the rough times you were passing by it seemed just like the cherry on top. “Typical” you thought in front of the pub. You were between just going away or having a shot first till the scent of cigarettes just filled your nostrils, you haven’t smoked for ages and you just missed the comfort nicotine could provide you right now.

You followed the smell and you saw him, blue jeans, white shirt, gold chain round his neck and an expensive looking brown leather jacket. You could tell he was a considerable amount older than you, his dark brown curls that seemed perfectly messy without any effort. The kind of guy that didn’t needed to try hard to look good. He was just there, near the entrance, his back against the wall for support, smoking his cigarette.

You walked closer to him, awkwardly shy, his strangely familiar face, his big brown eyes lingering you as if he was expecting something. Then you just casually asked for a cigarette.

He gave you a soft smile and handed you a brand new cigarette from the box while his rested on his mouth. You thanked him and he gently held his lighter for you. After taking some drags of it, you looked up, meeting his gaze. He was a little bit taller than you but a little bit short for a man, it was just kinda cute. Then you finally broke the silence by thanking him again as a failed try to start a small talk.

He nodded, not any word, he just nodded with his shy teeth almost showing off. When your were almost in the middle of the cig, you couldn’t help but think the feeling of knowing him from somewhere were starting to bother you a little too much, so you finally gathered some courage for asking.

“It may sound weird but… i know you from somewhere?” You said a bit hesitantly but the tension was cut off by his shaky chuckle, you looked at him with a confused smile as he shook his head holding a laugh.

“No we don’t… at least i don’t know you”

You get a little confused but you just play along, after you two had a small talk about where both lived and those kind of things.

When you grew more comfortable around the stranger who you felt weirdly attracted to, and you finally presented yourself properly and he did the same.

After some minutes chatting he asked if you were up to a drink and obviously you accepted it. Entering the unknown random pub with an intimate low orange light and jazz music playing softly in the background, you both sat down and asked for the drinks. You asked a martini and he laughed.

“What?” You asked confused but amused by his laugh.

“You’re a classic, got it.” He looked at you playfully rolling his eyes and you couldn’t help but chuckle. With a light smile in the corner of his lips he looked at the bartender and ordered a bottle of beer.

He found cute the way you didn’t have recognized him and he could just be a random guy you were having a drink with.

[rainbowsky]

Good Morning Rainbowsky, hope you are well. I am just wondering with these latest songs..."the drifting "Life of Us" is no longer protracted"... in essence, do you think this is hinting at possible significant changes coming soon? Like millions of their fans, I love the MVs, they are so well produced, it would be grand if ggdd move forward in that direction to produce more MVs, movies and so on. Hopefully they will start recording their songs in English as well, they would be so well received with the international audience.

This is in reference to a previous post.

Hi dottie911, I'm well, thanks! Hope you are too. 😊

That's just an imperfect translation of something that makes more sense using the Chinese song names. The phrase using the Chinese song names reads:

孤舟上的「夜行人」，望着《灯塔》的方向，《漂流》变得不再漫长

The "Night Walker" on the lonely boat looks in the direction of "The Lighthouse", and the "Drifting" no longer seems so long.

vs. the one from my post, which read:

The "Night Person" on a lonely boat, looking towards the "Beacon", the drifting "Life of Us" is no longer protracted.

It looks to me like an attempt to tie all the song titles together into a little story that flows along with the themes of the songs. It's just that you can't say, " the 'Life of Us' no longer seems to be long" because that sounds weird in English. "Drifting" makes more sense in that sentence, but it doesn't simply translate using the English song titles.

The translation I used in that post comes from the official fan club, and they've chosen to write it as 'protracted' to imply 'neverending/tedious' rather than simply 'long'. Everyone would want a long life, few would want one that feels protracted - drawn out, tedious. As you can see they threw drifting in there too, to try to bring it together more, but it just doesn't work fully in English.

Perhaps a Chinese speaking reader can chime in here and do a better job of explaining this than I have.

I wouldn't read anything too dramatic into this. Let's not get carried away and over-interpret everything GG and DD post.

As I've said before, it's unrealistic for fans to expect anything earth-shattering from them. They're both into a groove of focusing on living their best lives and working on the kinds of projects that make them happy. It's highly unlikely they're going to be making any big public announcements or changes, or do anything that will destroy the equilibrium of their lives or disrupt things for the stakeholders connected to their careers.

Re: singing in English - both GG and DD do sing English songs fairly regularly. However, their audience is primarily Chinese-speaking and Chinese is their native language, so it makes sense that most of their work is in Chinese. It's also better for GG to be seen as a Chinese artist appealing to Chinese audiences - particularly with his debut album - rather than as someone who's singing for/appealing to foreigners. If he appeared to be appealing too strongly to foreigners he'd face backlash.

There are still more songs coming, one of them might be in English but I'd be surprised. This album is very personal, and GG is Chinese. His thoughts, ideas, concepts will all be in Chinese.

As an international fan I love it when I can understand what GG or DD is singing, but I enjoy the Chinese songs just as much.

[em1989ts]

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏

𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒘𝒐

five hargreeves x reader

word count: 1.8k

book summary: five hargreeves gets lost in time and your father forces you to go after him, leaving you to get lost in a completely different kind of solitude. after decades, you meet at the hands of the handler, except you're not exactly happy to work with him after what he did. the two of you agree to put your differences aside until you save the world. how hard could that be?

author's note: these first two chapters were mostly backstory but now i'm getting into the good stuff lol, not proofread, this is being written mostly for wattpad but i'm posting it here as well so more people can read it, comments and feedback is super appreciated! enjoy!

When you spend a majority of your life in darkness, there’s no harder challenge than adjusting to the light. All you see is glare. Your eyes feel like they might burn under the softest light, relieving you from your sense of sight once again. 

As they walked through the bright hallways of the Commision, Number Eight held her hands over her eyes to block the fluorescence. The Handler lent the elderly woman her personal pair of designer sunglasses, allowing her to see as well as stop her from walking into the other agents. 

Eight watched carefully as several people scurried through the corridors. 

Some carried weapons, some carried files, few carried briefcases. All were concentrated on their current assignments and missions. 

She tried to take in as many of her surroundings as she could comprehend, not wanting to overwhelm her brain with the increasing information, yet she wanted to be aware of the kind of establishment she was being brought into. 

The Handler held the woman by her shoulders and turned her towards an open door. 

“We’ll try to get you adjusted here as quickly as possible, hopefully this gentleman here can help.” 

Still holding onto her shoulders, the Handler gave a wink and cheeky smile to the old man in the room before turning on her heels and walking out the door. 

It took Eight a few moments of blinking repeatedly before the person she was left with came into view. He however, recognized her immediately. The cup of steaming black coffee in his hand fell to the ground as he lost feeling in his fingers. 

“Eight?” 

He sounded taken aback. Completely, and utterly shocked. Like he’d never thought he’d see face again. But who exactly was he?

Still unable to take the sunglasses off, Eight squinted until her sight became clearer, and she could distinguish a man, probably around the same age as her. 

A feeling in her gut told her this was exactly the boy she'd been looking for all these years. The face of the boy she resented. The face of the boy she had grown to hate for what his actions caused her to live through.

Now, the face of that boy who had grown into an old man stood before her.

The bitter aroma of espresso filled the air as she took the sunglasses off, submitting to the light. 

“Five.” 

He could barely move as he heard his name fall quietly from her lips, lips that had spoken few words in the last few decades. Lips that have only responded to the voice in her head and the voices in the shadows. 

He knew little about what happened to her. He only knew what Vanya knew and chose to expose to the world. Apparently, after he ran off, she had been forced into that chamber in the dark basement they all hated as kids to try and find him through her shadows. It obviously didn’t work, and she went missing too, subtracting yet another child from their numerical family. 

He didn’t even think of the possibility that the Handler would have found her along with him. 

He didn’t want to even think of what she went through because of him.

 He couldn’t fathom it. 

Before he could conversate with her, she turned around, found the door handle, and left him to deal with the puddle of coffee. 

~~ 

Five knew exactly what the Handler wanted from him. She needed someone with his power, his intelligence, to eliminate threats from the timeline. He was sure she wanted the same thing from Eight, why else would she bother finding her. 

The Handler let them both get settled into their new lives, their new apartments and place of work, before they started any training. The two of them haven’t been around another human in far too long to adjust smoothly. 

Once she felt they were somewhat ready, she brought them together once again. She found it hard to set up a meeting between the two of them, mostly due to the fact that Eight would refuse to show up if she even suspected that Five was involved. With the help of Dot and Herb, who Eight had become acquainted with quite quickly, to lure her into her office before inviting Five. 

Once Five walked in and sat down, the Handler quickly discussed her plan with the two of them. 

She wanted to assign the two of them as partners. 

“You two have quite the history together, as well as powerful abilities that I think would work together quite nicely.” 

The two elders looked over at each other from their seats, making uncomfortable eye contact as they considered her plan. Of course it made sense in her eyes, but they didn’t exactly want to put up with each other. 

“I believe you two would make a proper team here, especially since the conditions are far better than what you both are used to,” the Handler slyly referenced their previous unfortunate living situations to persuade them into agreeing. 

Five didn’t want to mess around. Anything would be better than the apocalypse, it only made sense to work with her, even if she was the last person on Earth he would have chosen to partner with. 

He stuck his hand out in an attempt of camaraderie, he always considered himself to be the bigger person. 

Eight didn’t protest. With no emotion visible, she took his wrinkled hand in hers and shook it firmly, officiating their partnership. 

~~~ 

They had been partners for a few years now, and everyone at the commission could see how productive they were together. The two were incredibly efficient, taking out their marks with ease and agility.

With several successful missions, their names were praised by all personnel at the commission. Everyone took note of the impressive team, often announcing their praise as they returned to the Commission and made their way to the Handler’s office to debrief. 

Of course the two of them knew how well they worked together. As children they both would be forced to work together on missions by Reginald, and even though they despised each other, they knew their powers worked well when put together. As adults, they obviously matured and had grown independent, but that didn’t stop the constant bickering and disagreements during stressful missions. 

At the current moment in time, the two assassins were on a mission in Dallas, Texas, although their minds had been drifting from the current task at hand. They were sent to confirm the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, which almost evoked a reaction of excitement for Eight when she first received the file. When she was a child, she spent a majority of her free time at the academy reading, and a majority of the books she enjoyed were focused on the life and death of J.F.K. Five knew this, having teased her about her fascination several times. He also knew how she would have loved to witness this important moment in American history. 

As they stood together behind a fence with a clear view of the grassy knoll, Five flipped through his book of mathematical equations he had been working on for the last several decades. He hadn’t discussed much of his plan to return to 2019 and stop the apocalypse from happening, afraid that someone at the Commission would overhear and report them to the Handler. He didn’t want to risk the two of them to be seen as a threat, becoming the next targets for elimination. 

Five looked away from his notebook to see Eight kneeling, fiddling with her gun, preparing to make the shot of her life if needed. He sighed as he contemplated, before clearing his throat. 

“I can get us home.” 

Eight looked up, she had been smiling slightly to herself yet that quickly turned into an expression of confusion as she looked up to question Five. 

“What are you talking about?” She asked him skeptically, standing up to match his level. 

He lowered his voice, afraid he was being watched, and lifted his equations into her view, “I have been working on these for countless years. We can go back and stop the end of the world from ever happening.” 

Eight hadn’t heard much of the apocalypse, it wasn’t something he often described in detail. She obviously knew it was inevitable, and the Handler did not want anyone attempting to prevent it. 

Eight eyed him, wondering whether or not he was asking her permission or only offering to take her along if she wanted. She did miss her family, never getting to say goodbye to them hurt her, and the thought haunted her throughout her time in the void. The look in his eyes seemed sincere, like he had been waiting for this moment his whole life, and genuinely didn’t want to face everyone alone after all these years. 

The Handler would come after them once she found out they abandoned the mission. She would probably send people who will stop at nothing until they are dead, but that was a risk Eight was willing to take. No agent was as good as her anyway. The only downside was if they leave before this mission was completed, she’d never get to see J.F.K. 

She sighed as she took one last longing glance at the grassy knoll. 

“Alright,” She looked back at Five, “Let’s do this.” 

Five let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He couldn’t believe he would actually be going home. 

He handed off his notebook to Eight to hold as he held out his fists which started to glow a blazing blue. A glowing portal began to open before them, with the courtyard of the Umbrella Academy coming into view, and the adult versions of each of their siblings. Eight quickly jumped out of the way as a bright red fire hydrant came flying through the portal. 

They exchanged an odd glance before Five shouted, “Let’s go!” 

The bright forces of the portal pushed against them as the two tried to push through with all they had. Eventually, they fell through into 2019, hitting the muddy ground in the courtyard a few meters in front of their siblings who watched the scene as if they were witnessing an alien invasion. 

“Does anyone else see little number Five and Eight or is that just me?” 

Swimming through oversized business attire, the two assassins stood up to find themselves in their younger bodies. They weren’t as young as they had been when they’d disappeared, they looked to be about eighteen years old. 

Eight brought her hands up to her wrinkle free face and felt her hair which was no longer gray and aged. Five looked down at his smooth hands, no signs of his many years physically visible. 

They looked at their siblings before looking at each other with wide eyes. 

“Shit.” 

☂︎

author's note: thank you for reading! i appreciate any feedback, i love to hear from readers :) again not proofread but once i have more chapters out i'll go through them all and edit

tags: @groovydazephantom

[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).

[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.

[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)

[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 ❤️)

[leek-inherent]

My designs for the characters from We Object To Fear :) I love this show a lot and have watched it many times.

In order they are Matthew and his mum, Brian and Clark (prosecution), Alicia and Spencer (defence), and Xander and his unnamed friend (pre-trial).

[rebornrosess]

A WORLD OF NOISE: THE ZABAJABA JUNGLE

ZABA by Glass Animals is 10 YEARS OLD TODAY.

A poem/stream of consciousness I wrote about ZABA on a rainy September night in 2022, one month after seeing Glass Animals live. ZABA was the album by which I found Glass Animals in 2018, and its abstract yet visceral nature continues to fascinate me. The more I listened, the more I felt I could understand the imagery drawn across its 11 tracks.

Essentially, I believe ZABA can be understood as a Queer reading and apologue of Plato’s allegory of the cave. There are many lines that allude to a (Queer) awakening from perceived societal constraints such as in Walla Walla (“it’s a ruse, all these creatures are a lie” & “i clap my hand and they’re gone into the night”), likely referencing the shadows projected by the puppet showmen in Plato’s allegory. Thus, the anguish expressed in songs predating ZABA’s release such as in Golden Antlers and in Exxus are symptomatic of a speaker trapped in a cave, unable to escape a deeper feeling of unease because they are only seeing the reality projected to them by a cisheteronormative system. It is only when the speaker escapes this metaphorical cave in Flip, the opening track of ZABA, (“I’m gonna shake my fetters / I’m breaking loose”), that they finally enter the confusing, overwhelming, but beautiful and fluid “world of noise” mentioned in Pools (and sonically created in Intruxx). Over the course of ZABA, the speaker wrestles with their preconceived notions of reality (Walla Walla uses a ton of imagery from The Matrix), relationships, gender, and sexuality, while simultaneously feeling betrayed by their family and society (Hazey and Toes).

The B-Side of ZABA dips into existential dread, as the speaker mourns the time they lost to the incomplete reality they had accepted in the cave, and the effects it had on their mental health (Wyrd), climaxing in Cocoa Hooves, as the speaker (or someone else), confronts them(selves) and the changes they have undergone in the ZABAJABA jungle. The speaker must choose if they wish to stay in the confusing yet euphoric jungle, or self-destruct (“set [their] wings on fire”) and return to the cave after flying too close to the sun and after indulging too deeply in their primal instinct. However, just as the freed prisoner in Plato’s allegory, the speaker runs the risk of never being able to live in blissful ignorance again, as their eyes may never re-adjust to the incomplete, crafted reality of the cave.

The last track of the album, JDNT, presents a conclusion as ambiguous as the title Dave refuses to explain. It is possible the speaker is accepting their doomed fate as prophecized to them by the antagonist in Wyrd, or radically accepting their outcast status, enjoying the “life untamed.” And perhaps, in the end, they triumph over their internal turmoil by recognizing it only has power over them if they allow it to, as it cannot “breathe without [them].” And thus, they return to the Earth, unfettered and born anew.

[gautiersylvain]

lamentable is the autumn picker content with plums ¤ a fanmix for romanced spawn astarion spanning the events of the entire game

also a special thanks to @astarien and everyone who contributed to #baldur's gate radio play as those posts were a huge inspiration

[daily-keyboardsmasher]

Day 2000

IT’S HERE

Happy 2000th day :)

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[rainingincale]

.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

I'm very excited for more content of your lights out au, I'm so eager to see just how good you can get at writing/creating angst!

oh babey. thats where i Shine.

[nekodere07]

Can someone recommend me Team ZIT fics? + technically fic recommendations also for those who want to read them

Preferably completed and platonic but if it's not, its ok as long as it's not obvious enough that I can still convince myself that it's /p

They can also be either Tango, Impulse, or Zedaph-centric as long as the 3 of them are there I'm ok with it

Team ZIT fics I already read so far to avoid repetition (and maybe people might also want to read them):

The Call of the Void (my most fav Zedaph centric fic so far)

Labs Were Not Made For Littles

Your Message: Come Get Me Please

cura te ipsum

The TIZ Team

What is a Tango?

When You Wake Up, You'll Be Forgotten.

Here is Home

My Behaviour’s Crazy, Can’t Phase Me!

Time Travel Zedaph

Repulse

Don't Go Pretending You're Okay When You're Not

Everything or Nothing

Furious Cocktail AU

Arctic Blaze

Lava is Thicker Than Water

Even in Death

Tapping on the Glass / Falling in a Forest

Home With Me / Home From You

Hunt the Haunt

When Everything Burns (I'm There To Calm The Blaze)

Camp ZIT

magic misfits au

Wax Covered Eyes and Void Filled Mouth

“I’m a blaze hybrid.” (my most fav Tango centric fic so far)

Magic (We All Need a Helping Hand)

Team ZIT Intro (Working Title) (DBH au is pretty interesting)

Maybe I've done enough

impulse you idiot please take a nap

Chicken and Man (No Alfalfa Here)

Tell Me I’m Frozen, But What Can I Do?

potholing

Bite Tongue, Deep Breaths

here was a man mourning tomorrow, who tried but finally drowned in his sorrow

Everything Moves (in which Team ZIT experiences the laws of motion)

Colors- aka nearly 3000 words of the author having no clue what she is doing

The Strange Being That Is Zedaph

Location Unknown

stomach bugs and self-care

Achievement hunter

Fulfilled

Omen of Death Tango

A Guide to Urban Exploration and Animatronic Repairs

Stressed Till Regressed

Losing Face (my most fav Impulse centric fic so far)

The Sun Could Go Out, We're Gonna Be Okay

i can't carry the weight

A Crack In The Egg (not a platonic fic but it's not obvious enough that I can still read it as /p, surprisingly I also loved it)

ZITS Oneshots

a little help from my friends

Lava goes "sloosh sloosh," people go "AHHHH"

I’ve Got You (ZITS angst)

Sliiping Lately

Crystals and Candy

Security Breach (my most fav non HC au fic so far)

Hocus Pocus, Zedaph’s the Focus

Broken Red Line

friends in odd places (my other most fav non HC au fic so far)

✨ UPDATE ✨

Trapped in Paradise

count your blessings, not your flaws

Cause We Are Whole (Robot Tango for the win!!!!!)

Out for slaughter

You’ll Dig a Grave With Me - 00FFFF - Hermitcraft [Archive of Our Own]

Another One Bites The Dust

Character Building with Tango Tek and co

Team ZIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT

Armour Makes the Man

Automaton Blokes

Chocolate and a Miracle or Two

You Called?

Toil and Trouble

And your just a burden.

Phasmozits au

Grade-A Pranksters

Parare Ad Convivium

It’s Just a Jump to the Left

These Hands Are All We Have

At Least You

Holes in Judgement

Swallow Your Fears

[theshadowrealmitself]

You live in a crummy apartment, you don’t talk to your family anymore, you don’t have time for friends, you mostly just go to work then go back to the aforementioned shitty apartment.

The only people you really talk to these days is your rude coworker you’re pretty sure has been stealing your lunches, and a neighborhood kid that has “behavioral problems”, but it’s obvious that he just doesn’t have a good home life.

He’s actually a pretty sweet kid once you get to know him. He shares his snacks with you (seriously, you’re gonna kill your coworker one of these days) and tells you all the neighborhood gossip. He’s just a bit impulsive, honestly

He has this fluffy dog he lets you pet, and him and his dog go around searching for aliens. (Kid is obsessed with them.)

You share your food with him on the days you actually have it and keep an eye on the little guy, since it’s obvious no one else is.

It’s not long before he sees you as some kind of big sibling, and you’re proud of it, this is your little brother, you’ve decided, and you’re gonna keep him safe, no matter what.

—

One day he comes in and swears he’s seen the aliens, claims they’re hiding as humans who’ve just moved into the neighborhood.

Now, you haven’t actually talked to them, and they did seem…odd when you passed by, but they’re definitely not aliens, that much is obvious to you.

Still, you don’t wanna upset your little bro by not taking him seriously, so you just ask him why he thinks that and listen to his reasonings.

After a bit, he holds out a walkie talkie towards you, “just in case,” he says, so that he’d have a way of calling you in case something goes south.

You really don’t wanna take it, worried that if you do you’ll just be encouraging him to do something stupid, but this feels…significant. You can’t explain it, but something insists that you take it, so you do.

Eh, you figure that he’d probably get in trouble either way, and now he can get ahold of you.

Just in case.

—

Yelling wakes you up a few days later, it’s coming from the walkie talkie.

You jolt out of bed and grab it, your little brother’s panicked voice calling for help through it and feeling your body with ice cold horror.

You try to get him to calm down and get information out of him.

He’s at the new family’s house, in their basement, he’s injured and crying that they’re going to experiment on him, before his voice cuts out.

You cuss, slip on your shoes, and grab the bag that holds everything important to you, stuff like your mementos and your wallet (just in case this shitty place falls apart and you need to leave quickly), thinking that you might have a first aid kit somewhere in there since it is your emergency bag, and then you book it.

—

Soon, you’re outside that house, about to knock on their door and explain everything, but there’s that feeling again, that feeling that this moment is significant and you don’t wanna take that action, so you jog around back and find a window leading to a basement.

You’re still not sure if you actually wanna break into these random people’s house, but you can hear the kid quietly sniffling, and it drives you to force yourself through the tiny opening.

You land softly on your feet and when you look around you’re entire worldview shatters.

The room is filled with…test subjects.

It’s the only way to describe what you’re seeing. People, at least what you recognize as people, not that they look completely human, passed out in clear tubes, suspended in weird liquids.

Your eyes eventually land on your little brother and his pet dog, locked in a contraption of some kind, and it knocks you out of your stupor. You don’t know what’s going on, but it’s not going to happen to him, you promised to keep him safe and you’re damn well gonna do that.

You break them out of it, and shove the both of them through the tiny window. He begs you to climb out now, and you just demand that he runs off, to not wait for you, it’s gonna take you longer to pull your way through the window.

And besides, you can hear the door opening behind you, you already know it’s too late for you.

—

You wake up. Eventually. Apparently a thousand years later. The people who grabbed you are long dead.

And so is your brother.

Turns out, he was right, they were aliens, going around abducting people off of different planets.

Their fucked up research vessel eventually got discovered, and you were woken up.

It’s not so bad, the future. It’s…an adjustment, for sure. But not bad.

You have friends now, and a job you don’t hate. On a spaceship of all things. And you get to see the stars and have dreams now. It’s new and it’s wonderful and some days it’s so blindingly optimistic that it…hurts.

You eat 3 wonderful meals everyday and think about stale chips being offered to you by a scrappy young kid with a loving stray who looked up to you like you were their hero.

—

You see those eyes again one day.

“An alternate universe,” your captain breathes out with excitement. But all you feel is pure shock as you see your brother. He looks healthy and cleaned up, and so does his dog, still loyally by his side you note, as they throw themselves into your arms.

You’re both sobbing as you hold onto each other like the other one’s going to dissolve any second.

Meanwhile, his pup is giving doggy kisses and trying to knock the both of you into the ground.

An alternate universe.

One where you didn’t accept the walkie talkie and he couldn’t call anyone from the basement.

He sobs and apologizes for breaking his promise to you about not being reckless.

You sob and apologize for not being there for him when he needed you.

He has to go back, sooner than either of you wanted, but it’s better that way. It already feels like your heart’s breaking, it’ll just be worse if you get more attached.

You let him know you’re proud of him, and you love him, and to just focus on being happy, and you see something in his shoulders loosen, and know that this trip was cathartic for him.

Then the transporter fizzles and you’ve lost your brother again.

—

You come to find out that your brother being the one to end up in the future is the default.

You keep running into alternate versions of the ship you’re on and meeting him.

Sometimes, it’s that you don’t take the walkie talkie.

Sometimes, it’s that you do, but you don’t check the basement, just knocking on the door of the house and believing them when they say he ran off.

You’re the anomaly.

It makes sense, a young boy with a dog at his side having space adventures. That sounds natural. It sounds correct.

You don’t know if it’s better this way. If it’s better that you’re the one being abducted instead of him. You know his home life was shitty, but you don’t know if having universe hopping adventures after getting kidnapped is actually good for him.

You don’t know what you left behind, if he’s okay in the past after you’d been taken from him. But you can’t change it either way.

So you just hold all these new versions of him tightly for as long as you can, and let them know you’re sorry that you didn’t believe him, and that he’s loved.