#i can count one a single hand the number of times i've ever gotten a snap from a different front facing camera angle. i'm serious. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

toshidou · 2 years ago

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woe to the deer who is courted by the wolf . . .

pairing // könig x f!reader

word count // 7.2k

tags // 18+ ONLY, afab reader, vampire!könig, predator/prey kink, mentions of blood and injury, minor elements of horror (very minor), slightly misunderstood lonely vampire könig, unprotected sex, stomach bulge, rough sex, creampie, biting, blood sucking, blood play

an // after battling with writers block for over a month, who would have thought it'd take a blood sucking giant to free me from the shackles of having no inspiration? anyway this is the most i've ever written in one day, which is only slightly concerning. bone apple teeth!

thank you to @erosology for beta reading this, and forever being my number one hype man ;-;

Pale moonlight peaks through a frame of eerily still clouds, reflecting off the polished black steel planted in the ground at your feet. You can hear the whispers of your friends behind you, a little too old to be snickering and giggling behind the palms of their hands, although you’re entirely too old to have taken their bet in the first place.

It started off as a simple reunion between old friends, a short trek into once familiar woods to the spot you used to set up base for the night, roasting marshmallows over a concerningly large campfire, sharing cliche horror stories whilst swaddled in blankets. This very night had gone about the same, until someone brought up the old manor. An imposing house that watches over the village that surrounds it, well kept and suspiciously pristine, withstanding the tests of time despite the fact that not a single soul has ever been seen to enter or leave the premises.

It had been a longstanding dare, an easy way to get someone to down their drink, ‘I dare you to jump the fence and knock on the door’. No one has ever been stupid enough to go through with it, a couple tried, but got as far as the black iron that surrounds the perimeter before they gave up. And yet, here you stand, too many years later, an individual who should be both older and wiser than to commit several crimes for the sake of a stupid bet and childish curiosity, staring at that very same railing.

You can hardly hear the whispered words of your friends from where they cower behind you, your eyes transfixed on the looming building that seemingly stares back at you from where you remain fixed at the bottom of the hill. Mahogany brick unblemished, barely touched by weather, towers three stories high, trimmed ivy crawling up the walls as though attempting to reach out to the moon that watches over it. Each window is blocked by scarlet wooden shutters, an old-fashioned touch for a house surrounded by new builds; looking at it now feels like taking several steps back in time.

Not a single spec of light leaks through any crack in the shutters, each room bathed in darkness, the same way it always has. Surely, you think to yourself, surely no one can possibly be in there. Your theory has always been that the house is long since abandoned, its previous owner having died, looked after by a previously employed caretaker who hated to watch a building they loved go into disrepair. And although that doesn’t explain the suspicious lack of activity, it’s the only sane thought that you repeat to yourself as your fingers curl around sturdy black bars, and you begin to haul yourself over the iron fence.

A moment later, and the dull thud of your feet hitting neatly trimmed grass breaks tense silence, your eyes meeting with several widened pairs through steel bars. It’s the furthest anyone’s gotten, and even now, you feel like you’ve gone far enough. It’s certainly not too late to change your mind, to do the sensible thing and throw yourself back into safety, and just as you’re contemplating backing out of the bet, you feel the hairs on your nape stand on end, a chill down your spine so sharp it causes a physical flinch. When you turn around, you’re met with the very same house, not a shutter or brick out of place, yet something, somehow, feels different.

It’s like a siren call, luring you from the safety of your friends that remain frozen on the other side, hardly breathing as though they daren’t make a sound, apprehensive eyes focused on your shadowed form as you slowly make your way up the hill. It’s more daunting up close, no longer a silhouette against a twilight sky, now you can see details the distance has never gifted you, the way the wood shutters that plaster the windows are carved with swirls and intricate patterns, how the ivy hides bloomed flowers amongst pointed leaves, speckles of pink and purple that ease the tension that coils your muscles, only bolstering timid curiosity. And now you’re standing within feet of the house, you’re left in awe by the sheer size of it. It never seemed particularly small, not even from the gate, but the front door alone has you gulping down nothing but frigid air. You take a few tentative steps, eyes raking over the magnificent details carved into thick black oak, the centrepiece that catches your gaze being the solid gold knocker that sits just above your head, halfway up the door.

Two hollow eyes stare back at you, a skull with two rams horns that curl from golden bone, and between its bared teeth lies a ring that rests against ebony wood. It stands out from every other detail of the house, a spine-tingling reminder of where you stand, echoes of the myths that surround this house whispered by your trembling conscience, and yet shaking fingers reach for the ring, curling around cooled metal before lifting it, preparing to knock.

But you never get the chance, because in true horror movie fashion, you’re met with the slow creak of old hinges as the very door you stand before begins to open, and in the void of black it reveals, you swear you see two pinpricks of red that greet you in the darkness. Your entire body goes stiff, still clinging on to the gold loop of the knocker as though it’ll somehow ground you, yet it does nothing to chase away the overwhelming sense of impending doom that screams at you to turn, to run, to get as far away from this wretched place as your legs can take you.

You turn just in time to hear the worried calls of your friends before the door is yanked wide open, dragging you over the edge of the premises with it and sending you careening onto the floor, sliding against wood and scrambling up only to watch that very same door slam in your face.

Frozen. Every single part of you remains stock still as you try to adjust to the darkness. Not even the moonlight dares follow you inside, leaving you alone to dart your eyes in the pitch black, searching for some semblance of light you can latch onto. Yet the house offers you nothing, and you can’t help but see red dots every time you dare close your eyes. In the moment of still you’ve been given, your brain reels as it tries to think of a logical explanation for the door seemingly dragging you into the house with no human in sight to operate it, and in your panic, you can’t help but pray that you’ve fallen asleep by the campfire, and this is all an elaborate nightmare you’ll be able to laugh about when you awake.

A creak from behind you sends you hurtling back into reality, a sure reminder that this is no nightmare, not one you can wake up from, at least. Your head whips to the side, terror freezing your muscles solid as you lock onto crimson orbs once again, so bright they can be seen even with the absence of light to reflect off them, your blood curdling in your veins as they remain fixed on you, unblinking. You scurry backwards, the sound of your back slamming against the solid wall behind you echoing through the dark, fingers curling against peeling wallpaper in a last-ditch attempt to find the door handle.

Your pathetic scrabbling is interrupted by the harsh sound of a match striking against rough material, your eyes drawn to the responding flame it produces, but moreso, the large fingers that dwarf the stick they clutch.

“What a curious thing you are.”

Each syllable rumbles through very walls, practically shakes the structure of the house, a low timber steeped with an accent you can’t quite place, but certainly isn’t local. You daren’t breathe, let alone move, not even when the ground creaks and shakes with every purposeful, creeping step the stranger takes towards you. The flame grows as the match is brought to a wick, the flame whittling away the wood until all that remains is twisted charcoal, before transferring to the candle, the dying fire roaring back to life, casting a flickering golden glow onto the one holding it.

You’re met once again with red, but now you can see bleached tear tracks running from shoddy holes cut into black cloth, a mask fit for the monster that wears it, and as they stalk ever closer, you belatedly wonder how they’re going to navigate the stairs that must separate the two of you, certain that even someone familiar with a house must need more light in order to not fall. But they never begin their descent, and it’s only when the flame lies mere feet from you, yet so far out of your reach, you realise there are no steps. You’re face to face with a giant.

Adrenaline douses you like a torrent of water, your widened eyes alert and stricken with obvious fear, yet you didn’t expect the gentle touch that encircles your wrist, lungs sucking in a stuttered breath as you stare into the hollow red of its eyes. Large fingers draw your arm upwards, moving your frozen limb with ease, until it’s stretched far above your head, your fingers bumping against the smooth wax of the candle the giant passes off to you. Your brain scrambles for words, screams against the shackles of your fear-addled mind, waiting to release a slew of incoherent pleas for your freedom, yet your lips remain firmly sealed.

You feel a weight in your trouser pocket, eyes darting down to see his fingers pushing a box of matches into the gap of the material, only for your gaze to snap back to him as he hunches down, the material of his mask flowing down as his torso towers over you. You’re left caged against the wall, nowhere to run as his face levels next to your ear. It’s silent for a few horrific seconds, until that same spine-chilling voice purrs one single word.

“Run.”

It’s as though all your body needed was the instruction, responding immediately as you tear away from him, feet slapping against hardwood flooring as you careen towards what vaguely resembles an entrance way. The flame flickers dangerously, threatening to leave you in the dark once again, your fingers curling around the candle, whispering prayers that it doesn’t snuff out, that it doesn't leave you alone with whatever stalks you in the pitch black.

You don’t stop running until you reach a hallway, sprinting down the claustrophobic corridor until you finally reach an open door, rushing inside and pushing hefty wood until it clicks in place, sealing you within, safe for now. You hold up the candle to illuminate more of the room, watching as the soft glow bounces off a glinting gold frame and painstaking strokes of oil paint. An obscenely large portrait hangs on the wall in front of you, the image of a handsome man draped in fine purple robes, shoulder length brown hair pushed back with a crown of golden leaves. He sits in a chair, grand and crimson, lined with bronze, legs spread over the expensive velvet, one large hand curled over his thigh, the other propping his head up, his elbow resting against the arm of the chair in a way that can only be described as unbothered, and unamused. But the thing that has you utterly transfixed are the two red irises that stare right back at you, playful and taunting, and hauntingly familiar.

Surely this isn’t the man under the hood, the one who dragged you into his house and watched you scramble out of his grip the second he told you to flee. Because why would a man so handsome hide his face? Why would someone who looks so young own a house that has stood at the centre of your small village for far longer than you’ve been alive? Nothing seems to make sense, not a single aspect of the past 10 minutes feels real, and you can only hope your friends saw what happened and ran to get help, because you’re not sure there’s a way for you to conquer this man alone. It’s as you’re floundering for answers that you hear a noise from outside the room, instincts taking over as you quickly hide under a small dining table and blow out the candle, praying you haven’t given yourself away.

You’re not entirely stupid, you know the meaning of red eyes, and although you could attempt to soothe your psyche with whispered lies about contact lenses and make believe, you know better. The thing that chases you is no man, and certainly isn’t human, at least not anymore. And as terrified as you are, there isn’t a chance in hell you’re about to let yourself become this monster’s dinner.

You sit in the darkness, clutching the smouldering candle to your chest, and wait. Ears alert as you listen for the slightest sound that might give away your hunter, a breath, a sigh, a scratch, you do little more than hope that your hiding spot remains occupied by you, and you alone.

After a tense few minutes, picking up on no other sounds than the thrumming of your own heart, your fingers slowly make their way to your pocket, gingerly plucking the box out and pushing the case off. Despite the lack of light, and the trembling that consumes your body, you manage to fish out a match, and strike it, holding the newly lit flame to the wick of the candle.

Bleached tears. Red eyes. Large fingers. Looming body.

“Boo.”

The scream rips from your throat before your brain can catch up, the candle abandoned as it’s flung towards him in a last ditch attempt to throw him off, knees and hands protesting as they’re dragged along grooved wood, leaving grazes in their wake. The momentary pain isn’t enough to stop you, however, lungs heaving as you tear out of the room, clumsily bumping into walls and ornaments, impeded by the dark, motivated by sheer determination to live.

Your decision to toss away the candle comes to bite you firmly in the ass the second you find yourself tumbling down a set of stairs, and in a move of sheer instinct your hands attempt to slow your fall, only for the skin of your palm to get caught on a loose nail, slicing the flesh and leaving you wailing as your body finally slows to a stop against the cold stone floor you now find yourself lying on. Every bone in your body hurts, aches, but is overshadowed by the sharp sear of white hot pain as you cradle your torn skin to your chest, warm rivulets of blood oozing down your wrist, tracking rivers of red down your forearm until you hear the steady drip, drip, drip of your blood hitting stone.

A light appears above you, a halo of pastel yellow emanating around black cloth, and within a second, the fight leaves you, slumping further into the floor as you accept your death, hoping none of your friends were stupid enough to follow you only to meet the same pitiful fate.

“Please,” You mumble, voice finally found, entirely too late, “Just make it quick.” You hear little other than a hushed chuckle in response, a cat toying with its food.

“I imagine it looks worse than it is, kleine maus.”

You pause at that, curiosity ebbing through once more. You may not have paid enough attention to languages at school, but even in your state, you know enough to recognise those words.

“You’re German?” You mumble, fear forgotten in your shock-ridden state. The man shakes his head as he crouches next to you, extending his free hand towards the injured one you have secured to your torso, tittering again as you flinch. But you have little other choice than to let him pry your hand away, watching with wary eyes as he examines your sliced skin. He holds the candle closer to the wound, a soft tut passing his lips before he holds the candle towards you, urging you to take it with a gentle nod.

“Austrian. But close.”

It all feels strange, foreign, as though you’re being lulled into a false sense of security just so he can tell you to run once again, laughing maniacally as he watches you bleed over his floor. The fear returns once you have the candle securely in your grip, eyes locked on the way his fingers curl around the material that hides his face, and begin to remove it. Inches of once cloaked skin is revealed, a defined chin melts away to pursed lips, a smattering of dark facial hair that frames his mouth and curls up his jaw, the material pulled further only to reveal a hooked nose, and two narrowed eyes that reflect the candlelight in a way not dissimilar to precious gems, rich and vibrant. Maybe it’s the shock, or limited blood loss, but you can’t help but marvel at just how pretty he is.

Of course, it doesn’t last much longer, not when survival instincts kick in, the realisation that your bloodied hand is now near the mouth of a creature that lives entirely off the thing that keeps you alive. But the grip on your wrist is ironclad, strong yet not uncomfortably so, a strange juxtaposition between monster and man as he cocks his head at your wound. With a nod, seemingly more to himself than you, you can do little more than cry out as you’re hauled over his shoulder, his arm secured tightly around your waist, the hood forgotten in a small puddle of your blood on the stone flags.

It’s mere minutes later that he places you down on soft sheets, your body sinking into a plush mattress, left to watch him as he ambles around the egregiously large room, muttering foreign words under his breath as he roots through an ornate chest of draws. You must be in a fever dream, unsure how you went from running for your life, to being patched up by the very thing you were certain would kill you. And yet, here you are, watching as he almost awkwardly sidles to your seated figure, and kneels in front of you, once predatory eyes unable to hold your gaze as he sets out various medical items by your feet.

“Your hand, may I see it?”

You present your palm to him, watching as his eyebrows knit together, giant hands placing tentative touches against your skin as though he’s concerned about hurting you, the thought of which does nothing to aid your spiralling confusion. But you say nothing, you simply watch as he takes a damp cloth and begins cleaning your cut, fixated on the way his eyes snap to you with every pained hiss and suppressed whine, picking up on the way he ensures each subsequent touch is a tad gentler than the last. It’s not too much longer until he’s wrapping your hand with bandages, making sure the gauze is tight enough to keep your blood in, but not enough to cut off circulation, the type of gentle care you never would have suspected from the giant at your feet. Your curiosity has increased tenfold, not a trace of fear left to lick at your nerves and render you speechless, replaced only by the overwhelming need to know more, to learn everything.

“What’s your name?”

It’s his turn to freeze, ruby irises briefly flitting to yours, rounded with surprise, before they snap back down, making himself busy as he gathers up a scattered array of bloodied cloth.

“I… I have had many. The one most people knew me by was König.” It’s strange, the croon of his voice sounds almost nothing like the one whispered to you in the dark, from low and horrifying, to gentle, almost timid. You’re nothing short of fascinated, leaning forward as you scan over the contours of his face.

“Why’d you drag me into your house and tell me to run?”

“Why were you trying to knock on my door?”

Touché.

Heat licks at the skin of your cheeks at his brazen reminder of your attempted trespassing, your uninjured hand coming to rub at your neck in lieu of a response. After a moment of silence, he sighs, deflating into the plush carpet below.

“It has been a while since I last had any visitors. Your arrival was… Unexpected. You caught me off guard,” He pauses for a moment, pupils dilating as his fingers curl around the rags he holds in his hand, covered in your blood, “It has been even longer since I have been around fresh blood.” It feels surreal to have it confirmed, that the creature that sits before you is one you’ve seen only in movies and read in far-fetched romance novels. Yet, you feel no fear, that emotion all but vanished the second he halted everything just to care for an intruder's wound.

“My friends dared me to knock.” He cocks his head at that, a single eyebrow arching, bemused at your admission. “It’s been a dare for years, no one ever actually had the guts to do it.”

“Until you.”

A pause, your head dipping forward in an unsure nod.

“Until me.”

He’s staring at you unabashedly now, your eyes wandering over the rich details of the bedroom you reside in as an excuse to save yourself from his piercing gaze, an unreadable expression swimming in carmine eyes.

“I am glad it was you.”

You hate the embers of arousal that spark at his words, perturbed by your body’s reaction to seemingly innocent words spoken from a man you were sprinting away from less than an hour ago, and yet his eyes do nothing to put out the fire, intense and smouldering. You can’t bring yourself to look away, nor to quash the way your heart flutters as his torso leans closer to your thighs that subconsciously part to make room for him. The action doesn’t go unnoticed, nostrils flaring as sharp eyes zero in on the way your legs spread against silk sheets.

“And why is that, König?”

It’s as though you uttering his name opens the floodgates, black engulfing vermillion until only a sliver remains, thick fingers circling your shins as he leers further into the gap your parted thighs created, that same ravening stare that once sent fear trickling down your spine now leaves you gasping for breath for an entirely different reason.

“Because I haven’t seen something as pretty as you for a very long time, and I don’t know if I have the strength to stop myself again, maus.”

You couldn’t prevent the whispered whine of his name if you had tried, eyelashes fluttering as you move to curl your fingers in his shirt, giving pathetic little tugs to the soft material of his silk shirt, eyes dipping down to where loose material tucks into black pants. Your back arches, a shameless display of desire as you slide your body closer towards the edge of the bed, and further into his touch.

“Who said anything about stopping?”

Your words remain suspended in the air around you, two sets eyes locked onto each other, blown black with barely-suppressed lust, and yet you don’t dare to make the first move, waiting, wanting for him to shed his timid skin and swallow you whole, become the beast that stalked you through rooms just to feel the thrill of the chase. His hands leave your legs, instead balling up into tight fists against his own thighs, the skin around his knuckles taut as though restraining himself. For a mere moment, you fear he may have changed his mind, that is until he utters the word you craved to hear.

“Run.”

You ignore the lingering ache in your joints, your thighs burning as you dash from the bedroom with renewed purpose, fuelled by the all-consuming thoughts of what’s to come, excited to finally be caught, a far cry from the unbridled terror that sent you scrambling before. This time, he makes no effort to prowl in the shadows, your heart beat soaring as the loud thuds of footsteps echo from behind, the floorboards quaking under your feet from the force of his steps.

You know there isn’t a chance he’s running at full speed, but even then he catches you almost embarrassingly quickly, built arms encircling your waist and crushing you against his torso, bringing you to the floor in an instant, leaving you to writhe helplessly between his body and the floorboards. You don’t give in, however, limbs thrashing, nails clawing against whatever they can reach, whether it be the arms that pin you down, or the wood underneath you, feigning an attempt to escape.

That is until you feel two sharp points dig into your nape, not enough to break skin, but the threat of it leaves you frozen under him, a doe caught in the wolf’s jaws. But you don’t fear the bite like wild prey would, somehow, you crave it, to feel his teeth sink into you, to let him lap at your blood and drain you near dry, anything just to feel like you’re his.

The pressure of sharpened canines begins to lessen, his teeth slowly peeling back from your skin, although anticipating your body to begin thrashing once again. But you remain subdued, the embers now engulfed by crackling flames that lick at your nerves and set your skin alight. It’s only when his hips shift do you feel the tent in his pants pushing against the top of your thighs, your eyes fluttering shut as you push your ass down to grind shamelessly against his cock.

“Temptress,” The word is almost incomprehensible through the growl that reverberates through his throat, a sound that gives away entirely how affected he is, rough and wanting. “You should be trembling beneath me from fear and yet…”

His words trail off, a stuttered gasp replaces your heavy breathing when you feel sizeable fingers trailing down your sides before sliding under your body, cupping your inner thigh. Your heart hammers against your ribcage from the chase, now bolstered by the scandalous touch as his fingers skim past your clothed core, only catching onto the way his fingers curl into the material until it’s too late, hardly leaving you enough time to yelp before he’s tearing you bare below him. The tattered remains of your pants are haphazardly discarded, joined soon by the threadbare silk of your ripped panties, one of your favourite pairs torn in half with hardly an ounce of effort.

“Yet here you are, schätzchen, quivering with need, dripping for the cock of the one that hunts you.”

The rough pad of calloused fingers swipes against your exposed cunt, unable to suppress the heady whine that leaks past your agape lips, your forehead meeting the hardwood floor with a soft thump. That single touch renders you limp, muscles going lax as you melt into the glide of his fingers as they tease your folds, slowing on every up-stroke to rub slow circles against your clit. It’s maddening, the pace in which he picks you apart, leaving you to grind on his fingers like a wanton whore just to feel the surmounting pleasure that builds in response to his touch. A tut sounds from above, heavy breath cascading over your nape as his head dips down, lips dragging from neck to the shell of your ear.

“What a desperate little thing you are, maus, you know what we call things like you in my native tongue?” Your head shakes, a breathy ‘no’ muffled into the floor, “Schwanzschlampe, cock slut.” Embarrassment mixes in equal measure with arousal, curling one of your arms under your head to hide your face, the action short lived as strong arms flip you onto your back, one large hand gathering both your wrists together and pinning them above your head, exposed before him in every way. It’s undeniably more intimate in this position, your eyes given little other option than to lock onto his as his other hand continues to tease your dripping cunt, carmine swimming with unrestrained desire pinning you to the floor as effectively as his near crushing grip on your wrists.

“You can’t hide your pretty face from me, liebling, I want to see how much you crave my touch.” He presses his forehead to yours, low candlelight from lamps that line the corridor walls glint off the two long fangs that peak past reddened lips with every word spoken. And it’s seemingly your turn to catch him off guard, your head tilting upwards to push your lips to his, swallowing his surprised gasp down greedily, arching your chest to push against his. The kiss is desperate, messy, a combination of saliva drips down your chin, moans and rumbled grunts creating a symphony that drifts down the winding halls of his home. With a nudge, you ensure his eyes are locked to yours as you part your lips, your tongue curling over his teeth before brushing over the point of his elongated canine.

With a push, you feel the sting as his fang just barely dips into soft flesh, a drop of blood beading at the surface before you push the muscle to his, locked onto the way his eyes roll to the back of his skull, the growl momentarily starting up again before his lips lock around your tongue, sucking at every morsel of blood that springs from the pinprick cut like a man starved. A man that has most likely been starved of blood directly from the source for more years that you’ve been alive.

If you thought that you’d unlocked the beast within him before, the taste of your blood brings out an entirely new side. His lips part from yours, the crimson in his frenzied eyes transforming before you, as though enriched from just a taste of warm iron. You watch as his pupils dilate and constrict, each push and pull between black and red prove hypnotic as his eyes slowly begin to refocus, the colour to his irises seem dull in comparison to the bright vermillion flecked with gold that peers down at you, still wild with hunger, driven by need.

The moment is broken mere seconds later when his head drops to your neck, sharpened teeth dragging along the throbbing pulse at the base of your throat, and just when you expect the bite, you’re left gasping for an entirely unrelated reason as your shirt comes apart against sharp enamel, shredded where it surrounds your naked torso, leaving you entirely bare. Yet all it takes is a singular glance to realise he remains fully dressed, not a single article shed.

“König,” Your voice comes out strained, practically whining as though prepared to beg, “Let me undress you?”

He pauses for a moment, eyes flicking up to you from under his lashes before the grip on your arms lessens, his legs folding under him as he rights himself into a kneeling position over your body. He suddenly seems unsure, maybe a little self-conscious as you lean up brushing your fingers over flowing pristine white silk, taking your time as you unfasten each button, never once letting your eyes stray from his. And despite the hint of bashfulness, he keeps his gaze pinned to you, a wary lion caught off guard by brave prey.

After the last button falls undone, you let the tips of your fingers trace up revealed skin, before pushing the shirt from his shoulders, and watching as it billows onto the floor, exposing a defined chest highlighted by a smattering of scars that tell stories you could only dream of hearing. He’s nothing short of ethereal, otherworldly in every sense of the word, a behemoth of a beast, with the face of an angel.

“You cover up a lot for a man as handsome as you are.” Your disguised question prompts a flinch, solid fingers clutching into fists at his side, but before you can rush to amend your words, he slumps, resigned to your curiosity.

“I have garnered a reputation I do not wish to catch up to me. It is safer to keep myself hidden, maus.” You make a mental note if you somehow find yourself in his company after this night to ask him more, a carnal need to know everything that makes up the being knelt above you. But you tuck them away for now, refocusing your attention to the waistband of his trousers, deft fingers wasting little time undoing the silver clasp and dragging down the zip until the front peels open.

“Good thing you don’t have to keep hidden in front of me, huh?” Your lips tug upwards into a playful smirk, your hands planting on the solid muscle of his chest before you’re pushing him backwards, letting his legs splay out either side of your now free body before easing both his pants and underwear down the corded muscle of his thigh, marvelling at each inch of skin revealed to ravenous eyes. His trousers join the crumpled mess of clothes that lay scattered across the floor, giving him no time to adjust to his new found nudity before your head is ducking down, tongue flitting out to lick a long strip from the base of his cock to the tip.

Your enthusiasm is immediately rewarded with a faltered whine, watching from under your lashes as his head lolls backwards, trembling fingers coming to cup either side of your face. He’s big, his cock twitching against the defined muscle of his abdomen, thick and long, and nothing short of daunting. Yet you choose to focus on the way your pussy clenches around air at the mere sight of it, overwhelmed by the knowledge that you’ll understand what it is to be split open by him, to be fucked by him. Your tongue darts out once more to press against the tip, the small cut on the surface only just healed over, your spine shuddering at the dulled sting that follows as you begin to take the head of his cock between your lips, mouth stretched almost painfully around the girth.

It does nothing to dissuade you, however, tears clouding your vision of his blissed out expression as you swallow him down deeper, hardly taking more than two inches before your throat spasms around him in protest, coaxing a throaty whimper from spit-shined lips that has your hand darting down to your clit, fingers rubbing desperate circles into soaked flesh.

The following whine that reverberates around his cock swiftly gives you away, crimson eyes focusing in on the way your hand disappears between your thighs, before flitting back to the way your watering eyes remain locked to his, hissing out several curses in German at the sight of your lips wrapped around his straining cock.

“Your mouth… Gott, your fucking mouth,” strong fingers guide your head off his cock, your lips separating from the tip with a lewd pop, strings of saliva and pre-cum connecting your lolled out tongue to his cock. “Need to fuck you, schätzchen, I can’t wait any longer, verdammte hölle—”

You’re not given any warning before he’s pinning your back to the floor, bringing your knees up to your chest and bending you in half, a feat you didn’t know you were capable of before his strong fingers moulded you into the perfect position to take his cock. Folded like this, you can’t help but feel like a doll in his hands, your height and weight rendered meaningless under the sheer size of the monster above you. Trepidation begins to simmer under the surface of your skin, trying to imagine just how your body could ever make room for him.

But he doesn’t leave you much time to fret before his head falls to your thighs, thick fingers twitching from where they hold up your legs as his nose buries into your pubic bone. Long strands of brunette block your vision, startling as you register the feeling of something thick and wet pressing against your folds.

“K-König!” Your cry prompts a responding groan from the man below you as his tongue licks firm stripes up the length of your cunt, glassy eyes drifting up to you as though intoxicated, drunk of the heady taste of your arousal. With a jolt, you’re left helpless to watch as one of his hands slides down your thigh, stuttering through another gasped moan of his name as you feel a single thick digit slide into the wet heat of your pussy, eyes watering at the stretch that merely one of his fingers provides.

He doesn’t hold up, his lips wrapping around your clit and sucking the second he feels your walls clamp around him, slowly easing your muscles into accepting a second finger, distracting you from the momentary pain by lapping his tongue against your engorged clit. But even so, taking two of his fingers feels like more of a challenge than any cock you’ve taken in the past, eyes rolling backwards as he begins to crook them within you, calloused fingers rubbing against the gummy walls of your cunt in a way that has you convulsing around him, warbled sobs hiccuping past your lips as you feel your first climax rip through your body.

“One more, maus, I need you to take one more so I know I won’t hurt you.”

Tears track down your face, still processing the intensity that just wracked your body, but you nod down at him anyway, rewarded with a gentle smile and whispered praise as he cautiously eases a third finger into you, pausing the second he hears a pained hiss after the first knuckle. He hums, placing tender kitten licks against your still throbbing clit, letting you push past tender overstimulation to help pull your mind off the burning stretch, refocusing your attention to the pleasure his mouth provides.

“Doing so well, liebling, almost there…” His words are whispered against your glistening pussy, eyes firmly fixed on yours as he guides you through, until finally all three of his fingers are pushed to the hilt, cooed praise following immediately after.

“König, need you, I need you inside of me, please.” Your sniffled plea evokes nothing more than a playful smile from him as he cocks his head to the side.

“Am I not inside of you right now, maus?” His tone is teasing, words accompanied by a wiggle of the fingers that remain buried in your cunt, coaxing a depraved moan from your already raw throat.

“Your cock, wan’ your cock so bad,” It takes a second to search for the word that sits on the tip of your tongue, your eyes sparking when it finally comes to you, “Bitte, König.”

It’s immediate, the way his fingers pull from your cunt and secure themselves back around your thigh, darkened rubies glinting with that same predatory stare you’re all too familiar with now. He wastes no time as the tip of his cock bumps against soaked folds, your fingers wrapping around his veined shaft as you guide him inside, mouth parting in a silent cry as the tip pushes past the first ring of muscle and leaves you breathless.

There is no mistaking that three of his fingers gave you a mere taste of the stretch, belatedly wondering how on Earth he’ll fit amongst the tight walls of your cunt, and the other organs that surround it. But by some grace of God, he continues to move, inch after thick inch swallowed by your cunt as though it were made for him, a perfect match, the monster and his plaything, the predator and its ever willing prey.

A rush of air finally fills your lungs once the dull slap of his hips meets your ass, unfocused eyes widening as you take in the protrusion of his cock, the bulge obscenely large where it stretches out your skin.

“S’big, you’re so fuckin’ big, what the fuck—”

Slurred rambles are cut off with a searing kiss, passionate and fiery as his hips begin to draw back, swallowing down frenzied curses as he slams back into you, setting a cruel pace right from the start. You never had a chance, you should have known, and yet you regret nothing as he pounds into your abused cunt, your cervix meeting the tip of his weeping cock with each forceful thrust, thick veins rubbing against the walls of your pussy and leaving you glassy eyed and cock-drunk.

Mindless babbles flow from drooling lips, your neck drooping to the side as you hope your eyes convey your needs without resorting to incoherent words. But it takes little more than exposing your throat to him before his lips latch onto the flesh, sucking a line of bruises into your skin before finally settling over your jugular, the only pre-warning of the oncoming bite being the scrape of fangs before they’re puncturing skin, flooding your veins with a venom that has your toes curling, fingernails digging into the muscle of his back and dragging thick red lines against shuddering flesh.

His pace never falters, hips still careening against yours as his lips suck around the two minute incisions, drinking down your blood with a thirst you’ve never witnessed. Whether it’s the subduing poison that flows through your bloodstream, or the shift of hips as his cockhead nudges the walls of your cunt in a way that has stars blooming behind your eyelids, you find yourself hurtling into another climax, whimpered cries and bloodied nails evidence of your earth-shattering orgasm.

His lips finally part from your skin with a slick sigh, lips painted the most beautiful shade of crimson that drips down his chin, a line that marks your possession, evidence he’s consumed by you, drunk on you. And it’s as you lean down, your tongue dragging against the bloodied stubble of his chin, lapping up what remains of your scarlet ichor, that he finally succumbs to the pleasure, his cock jolting within you as he releases seemingly endless spurts of cum against your cervix, buried as deep within your body as biology will allow.

Panted breaths intermingle as his forehead presses flush to yours, lidded eyes, now nearly entirely consumed by gold peers at you, an interesting mix of fascination and something that looks almost fond discernible in his gaze. You still have so many questions, intrigued and just a little bit obsessed with the man above you, yet it’s apparent that your feelings are far from unrequited, and one day, every question that burns at your tongue and begs for answers will be satiated. For now, you’ll bask in his looming presence and tender care, grateful to have found him in the first place, however unfortunate the initial meeting was.

Just as his lips ghost against yours, the distant sound of creaking has you both freezing in place.

“H-Hello? You still in here?”

“... Scheiße.”

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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 1 month ago

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Okay. This post has been a while in the making. Here is a screenshot of the spreadsheet where I have tracked all 65 shows from the Edinburgh Festival 2024, that I have gotten to experience in one way or another (seeing it live, NextUp streams, etc.). They're sorted by a ranking that I gave them out of 10, though it's actually out of 40 because I couldn't keep myself to just 10 numbers, so I started giving half points, and then quarter points and three-quarter points. But I drew the line there. No further decimals.

The rankings are very subjective, based on how much I enjoyed each show at the time, and may in some cases not line up with what a reasonably objective observer would think. Obviously, because of this, reducing comedy shows to numbered rankings and stars and things is fucking pointless. But on the other hand, I do like putting numbers in spreadsheets, so I've done it anyway.

And here are further thoughts about all 65 of those shows. It is... it's nearly 21,000 words. There or thereabouts, is the word count of this post. It's long, even by my standards. I'm pretty sure it's the longest post I've ever made on Tumblr. It's so long. It's too long. And it's not edited, because fuck that. I spent long enough writing it. So it might be unreadable. I know that lots of my posts are ridden with errors, but usually with the ones I spend more time on I do at least a quick glance to try to catch some, I'm not even bothering here. Sorry about that.

Also, Tumblr formatting appears to have made the whole numbers very large, for reasons I do not understand and cannot be bothered to try to change.

- Nish Kumar – Nish Don’t Kill My Vibe

It’s one of the best stand-up shows I’ve ever seen. I’ve been lucky enough to get to follow this show as it’s progressed over the past year, and it was still officially labelled a WIP in Edinburgh (but a WIP that he’d been developing since the previous fall and for a tour that was about to start, so very well put together for something with that label), I was blown away by how great the initial version was and then he just kept adding more stuff that kept being excellent. It’s a very rare show where I can’t think of a single bit that seemed weak or like filler. On the contrary, he was struggling to squeeze all his great material into only an hour. In the version I saw in Edinburgh, he overran slightly, and talked even faster than his usual breakneck pace, and managed to do almost every bit that’s been in the show all year, and every single part made me laugh.

If I hadn’t seen it the week before, I’d have wondered what part of it was a WIP at all anymore. But I can see he’s still playing with it because he ended on a different routine from the closing routine at the WIP I saw him do in London the previous week (I’m not… I mean… it’s fine, in 2022 I drove 8.5 hours just to see him perform in New York City and then a few months later drove 2 hours to Montreal to see him do that show that I’d already seen, in 2024 I got a two-week trip to London and Edinburgh and saw him twice, I like Nish Kumar a normal amount). I find that sort of thing fascinating, being able to see his workings as he tries to decide what tone of closer he wants to go for, and normally I’d have an opinion on it. But in this case I actually don’t know, they both fit the bill very well in different ways (do you want to close on a sensitive moving anecdote or a furious call to arms?), I just think it’s a shame that he can’t do it all. He’ll have to cut some stuff for the tour show, but I wish he could do a 1.5-hour version just once to film it and have this whole show forever.

His 2022 show, the one I saw live twice in a few months because he kept coming to North America, was one of my favourite stand-up shows ever. I think his 2024 show is even better.

9.75

- David O’Doherty – Ready, Steady, David O’Doherty

I came very close to giving this show a 10, knocked it down to 9.75 because I feel like I shouldn’t be able to give more than one show a perfect score (totally arbitrary rule that I’ve made up), and if I’m really honest, I know that my experience of this show was enhanced by the fact that it was the first time I’d ever been in a room with David O’Doherty, after several years of being obsessed with his entire career. In my subjective view it was a mind-blowingly wonderful masterpiece, while a more objective observer would – if they have any taste – call it a fantastic show, but not necessarily, you know, perfect 10.

It was so much fun. That’s my overriding memory of it. He played a big room – an Assembly Rooms theatre with a capacity of nearly 500, sold out the night I went, I checked and saw he sold out a bunch of other nights too despite doing a full month-long run, and good for him – but I turned up really early to get the front of the line and front-row seat, and I’m so glad I did. It was so exciting to be right up there.

This was a rare show in which I was totally unaware of the time. Usually for any kind of show, even if I’m enjoying it a lot, I do have it in my head how long it’s been since we started, and by the time they start wrapping up I’m ready for that. Not with DO’D. DO’D has done this thing for nearly twenty years where the second-last bit of his show will be that year’s “My Beefs” song, about all the things that piss him off that year, get something silly and fun with lots of energy in the room, and then he’ll do his more poignant closing routine. In this show, he built up to it briefly by saying sometimes things bother him, it took the whole room a moment to catch up and realize what he was introducing, and then there was a massive cheer all across the theatre as he shouted “My beefs 2024!” and started playing his keyboard, and that was the coolest fucking thing. I think I cheered out loud. I never cheer out loud. Not at a show. Maybe at a sporting event, but not at a comedy or music show. I clap politely and I see the people around me outwardly expressing their excitement, and I think “Oh that looks like fun, being a person who does that.” But in this moment, I got so caught up in the “Oh my God new Beefs song and I don’t have to wait until the MICF gala short videos come out to see it, I get it live, right here!”, that I think I might have shouted something like “Yes!” I’m not sure, any noise I made was drowned out by everyone else’s cheering.

It was fucking cool. I’ve joked before about DO’D being a rockstar to me, but he was in that moment, and it was so much fun, but also it made me realize we only had one more short song until the closing routine, and I honestly had it in my head that we were still in the first 15 or so minutes. But nope, and he didn’t underrun or anything, I was just enjoying it so much that an hour felt like half that time. I was nowhere near ready to be done when he finally did wrap it up, I could have stayed there forever.

The show itself was lovely. Classic DO’D, just him and his keyboard up there, standing to talk and sitting to play, this is the first time that I realized how much the variety helps him avoid any lulls in a show (just when talking starts getting old he switches to singing, and vice-versa). It was a sweet show about his parents, which he used to talk about bigger cultural stuff in how he was raised and how people view their own lives and affect each other, it had touching messages and it was so funny. A couple of the songs had better end up getting officially recorded at some point, because they were so funny. Brilliant show from start to finish.

- Jordan Brookes – Fontanelle

This was the first show I saw at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. I got there on Sunday evening, saw this show on Sunday night, and then went back to the Air B&B to sleep before I started my full days in Edinburgh. At the Air B&B that night, I wrote a post that said I was genuinely a bit worried I’d made a mistake in putting Jordan Brookes first on my schedule, because that was so fucking fantastic that it’ll set the bar too high for everything else. Jordan Brookes was waiting outside as we emptied the room, to hand out flyers and stuff, and as we walked by, the audience member in front of me told him, “I’ve been coming to the Fringe for twenty years and that was the best show I’ve seen here.” I thought… yeah, I’ve been coming to the Fringe for about 90 minutes, but I feel like I could come for 20 more years and wouldn’t outdo that.

They gave him the award too early, I’ll say that much. It’s a shame that this show wasn’t eligible for the Perrier Award, because he already won it, for a show that’s on NextUp and is very good, but isn’t as good as this one. He has a few shows on NextUp, I like them all quite a bit – that’s why I bought a ticket to see him live – but this was his best one.

There was so much going on in it. Costumes and props and music and lighting cues. Background dancers (including one of the guys from Crizards, whom I was pleased with myself for recognizing because I'm quite bad with faces). The premise was that he’d written a musical about The Titanic, and every time there was even the smallest risk of a lull, he’d launch right into something high-energy about a musical, before going back to intellectual ruminations on societal conceptions of masculinity. It went dark in places, but that never felt like it was for shock value, it was just seamless. It was this whole big production, but at the same time it felt intimate and personal. This had the feeling to it of a masterpiece, a magnum opus.

Fun comedian-spotting side note – Jin Hao Li was in the audience when I saw it, conveniently seated across from me in the seating that went along both sides, so I could very easily glance at his face any time. Which I probably did too often, because I was interested in how an actual comedian was receiving this, and I suppose because I was interested in the validation of knowing whether my favourite comedians share my taste in comedy. I’m pleased to say that every time I looked over, Jin Hao Li was dying laughing, probably enjoying it even more than the rest of the audience, which was a lot.

- Sarah Keyworth – My Eyes Are Up Here

I’d heard a few earlier versions of this show, but the most recent was when they filmed it for Access Festival in January, so it had a lot of time to grow between then and August. It’s been on some international tours, won the Champion of Melbourne Award, developed over eight months. And that showed. I thought it was a very funny show even in its earlier forms, but by August the routines had been polished, the narrative was more coherent, the jokes sharper and even more had been added, and it was a beautiful piece of work.

It is so funny. The joke rate is really high, they’re all good. There’s a big variety of types of jokes, from quick little gags to drawn out, well set up ones. I think that really sets this show apart from similar ones. I hate it when people say things like “Oh, comedy doesn’t have to be funny anymore, you can just be emotionally moving and people like that now.” Because lots of emotionally moving shows are also funny, otherwise they wouldn’t be good comedy.

But I will admit, sometimes, the really emotional shows are probably, overall, less funny than ones that focus only on humour. Which is why I’m so impressed when I see one like this Keyworth show, that had a really moving emotional arc and covered their personal experiences with significant political issues (ADHD and top surgery/non-binary identity, primarily, which I feel weird calling “political issues” because it’s someone’s life, but those are big contentious things right now where voices of lived experience matter), that spoke touchingly about the importance of family and inter-generational connection and had an appropriately emotional conclusion, and when I look back on what that show did to me, I remember it making me properly laugh almost constantly.

Okay, I have one tiny issue. There was one joke in earlier versions of the show (they did this joke when they streamed the show for Access Festival, so I assume it’s okay to refer to it, as they chose to film that joke, it’s not just some WIP that they later scrapped), where the target was Ricky Gervais. In the Edinburgh version, they kept the joke but made it about transphobic Netflix comedians in general, and cut the references to The Office. I would love to know why they did that, because I thought the joke worked much better the first way. But that’s the only thing that I thought changed for the worse. Every other part of the show got even better.

This show deserves all its accolades, Sarah Keyworth deserves all the accolades, it felt like a privilege to sit in a darkened basement and get to see it live. Also, fun comedian spotting: Jordan Brookes was in the audience with me. I didn’t realize he was there until after the show when I saw him in the crowd emptying the room, but I heard him talking to some people about how good it was.

9.5

- Amy Gledhill – Make Me Look Fit on the Poster

I watched the NextUp stream of this show on the day that Amy Gledhill won the Perrier Award for it (or you know, whatever, Champion of Edinburgh), and I could immediately see why. Actually that might not be quite true – I made the mistake of going in thinking “Wow, show me what made this one better than the other, like, thousand eligible comedy shows in Edinburgh this year”, and that’s not the right way to go into a show. The opening routine was funny but not instantly groundbreaking, which led me to wonder why this isn’t the best fucking thing I’ve ever seen. And then I caught myself thinking that, told myself to knock it off and stop buying into fake award hype and just enjoy a comedy show on its own merits. And then it got really, really good. It got better and better as it went along, I got really drawn into the building narrative, it all came together in a strong and emotional ending, and by the time it was over, I found myself saying, “Wow, I see why that won the award.”

I hadn’t seen her perform solo before this, but I’ve seen and really enjoyed all the Delightful Sausage shows on NextUp (okay, if I’m honest, I’d really enjoyed two of them and the third not so much, but I’d enjoyed those other two a lot), and I think those skills really came through in this. It was just an hour of straight stand-up, but it felt more theatrical that most straight stand-up hours. Her facial expressions, her act-outs, and just her stage presence. Her ability to keep a crowd’s attention, to be playful and interesting no matter what she’s talking about. Those felt like the things she does in sketch to make the narrative more compelling, and it was interesting to see it applied to stand-up.

- Dan Rath – Pariah Carey

Holy God, is he ever funny. Some of the material was recycled from last year’s show, I’m Not Doing Well Folks (which is free on YouTube and excellent), but I didn’t even mind because so much of what’s funniest about Dan Rath his stage presence and delivery. He does a lot of one-liner-type jokes, stuff that should get less funny when you know the punchline, but in his case I could watch him say this stuff over and over and it’ll still be funny because of how he says it. And the majority of the show was new, and also funny. Dark, fucked up humour, but the kind of dark humour where he’s the target of every joke (so, not that thing where edgy comedians just say racial slurs and then say “sorry you don’t understand my dark sense of humour”).

At one point he asked me my job, and I said autism therapist (which is true), and he’d just done a bunch of jokes about how very autistic he is, and he did a whole riff about how I’ve come to get him, and then he tried to have a further interaction with me but I was too awkward for it, and he asked “Do you have what your clients have?”, and I said “Yes” before realizing he meant that rhetorically, which sort of made his point.

- Kiri Pritchard-McLean – Peacock

Probably the closest any Edinburgh 2024 comedy show came to making me cry. It came so close. It might have… I might have had, like, one actual tear in my eye, near the end. Blinking it away so people wouldn’t see me cry in a big theatre. And it was a big theatre. Kiri Pritchard-McLean is too famous for this festival, she did three nights in the Pleasance Grand with her name in massive lights behind her and a blindingly sparkly dress, it felt glamorous and exciting.

The show’s topic was one close to my heart, about how to be an adult who raises kids and teenagers while not being their biological parent. It’s not exactly my experience, as I’ve never been a foster parent, and that’s what the show was about. But so many of the themes and messages resonated with me so much, from all my years coaching, about how to be a mentor a safe place for youth who need it and might not get it from their biological parents. How to find fulfillment in a rewarding experience like that even if you don’t want to do the biological parenthood thing. And I don’t want to do the biological parenthood thing, but a couple of weeks ago I went to the wedding of a guy whom I started coaching when he was fourteen years old, and now he’s 27 and on his wedding day he hugged me and told me he’d not have got here without my support and that I was his rock in his teenage/early twenties years, and I told him I wouldn’t be able to be any prouder of him even if he were my actual son, and it was fine that that made us both tear up because it’s a wedding, a normal place to cry, rather than a theatre where a woman in a sparkly dress is talking about the code name she used with her foster kids.

…This one hit me too personally for me to be able to talk very well about the show itself, rather than veering off into my own stuff that it brought up, but it was such a well put together show. The type of comedy hour that just constantly signals experience and professionalism from the person who wrote and delivered it. Polished, coherent, confidence. Took what could have been a really boring topic, the admin involved in navigating the social care system, and made it consistently funny. And took what was always going to be an emotionally affective topic, the reasons to work in the social care system, and hit all the right emotional notes without once feeling over-wrought.

I’m so glad that my 5 days (plus one evening) in Edinburgh overlapped with Kiri’s three, this one was worth taking the opportunity to see live.

- Marjolein Robertson – O

This was a rare chance I took on someone I knew very little about before this. I’d heard a few short sets that she’d done on mixed bills, and I’d liked them well enough, but little 10-minute things aren’t really the way to appreciate a comedian like this one. I’d read a lot about how great her 2023 stand-up hour was, so I figured I’d buy a ticket for her 2024 one and hope it’s true that she’s very good.

It was true. Whatever my expectations were, she exceeded them. I didn’t know the topic going in, so I was immediately surprised by (I assume this isn’t a major spoiler, I’m pretty sure the synopsis is easy to find) realizing she was going to spend the whole hour talking about menstrual complications (that seems like too small a term to describe some of the quite severe health issues she discussed, but she also discussed the issue more broadly). I initially thought, “Wow, you don’t hear much about that in comedy.” And then I thought, “Hang on, it was a stereotype for years that female comedians only talk about periods.” Marjolein even addressed that stereotype in her show, in a moment that got one of the biggest laughs out of me that I got from the whole festival.

But 1) Obviously that’s bullshit, some female comedians made a few jokes about periods and then they got defined entirely as that by misogynists who think even two minutes on the subject is too much, and 2) Yeah I’ve heard a few period jokes before, but not like this. I’ve never heard any comedian address it like this. This took on an incredibly weighty subject (not that menstruation has to be an inherently weighty subject, but it is when discussing a possibly life-threatening medical condition associated with it), and handled in a way that gave it its due seriousness while still being funny at regular intervals. I say “at regular intervals” because yeah, this show had times when it would go a few minutes without being funny. It had to, for the whole thing to work. But those few minutes would always hold your attention in some other way; they’d be interesting (giving me information I didn’t already know about medical situations, or Scottish legends), or scary, or sad, or occasionally heartwarming. And she used that brilliantly to highlight the funny parts. Playing with tension, turning it all the way up for the serious bits, and then getting an even bigger laugh for her next joke because she had so much tension to release.

I was captivated from start to finish in this show. Any time there was any risk of a lull, she’d launch into some mythology, and then bring it back around. I guess the mythology bits could maybe have been integrated slightly better into the main themes of the show – I could see where it was going by the end, but not always in the middle. I don’t know, that’s a tiny nitpicky thing because I felt like I had to find a flaw in it. It’s a very good hour of comedy.

- Natalie Palamides – WEER

Fucking brilliant, obviously. Should probably be rated even higher than this, really. It’s probably the most impressive display of talent that I’ve seen in the entire festival, one of the most impressive displays of talent that I’ve ever seen on a stage. It’s theatre, rather than just comedy (I don’t know where the line is between a play and a narrative comedy show, but this was definitely a play), but it was still frequently funny.

I wasn’t planning to see it until the last moment, because I enjoyed the two shows that Natalie Palamides has filmed before – Laid and Nate – but they also made me feel weird and uncomfortable with the nudity (entirely my issue, not anything she did wrong – I just do not have Theatre Experience to be chill about a naked person on stage), and creeped out by the puppets, and I was sort of glad that I watched those alone where I could curl up in a ball of discomfort, rather than in a theatre full of people. But a friend of mine gave this show a very high recommendation to me, and I figured this is the type of thing that’s better for a live experience, so I may as well take the chance to see her. I bought a ticket a few days before I arrived in Edinburgh.

Natalie Palamides plays both the man and woman in a romcom, half her body dressed/made up as one and half as the other, constantly switching which half of her is facing the audience so she can play one and then the other as they interact with each other, and that sounds like the worst thing in the world if done badly but blindingly impressive if done well, and this was the latter. Very much the latter. I was occasionally distracted from other aspects of the play, by just marveling at how impressive the situation was. I don’t really have enough Theatre Experience to have a proper informed opinion about this play, beyond “fucking hell, that was impressive”. She did get naked at one point but at least I was expecting it this time and I did not curl up in a ball. I’m so glad I saw it live.

9.25

- Ed Night – The Plunge

This show was not in a glamourous theatre. It was in a cramped, small, dark basement that smelled bad. And I don’t know how to make it sound like the high compliment it’s meant to be, when I say that is the perfect venue for Ed Night. It’s almost a shame that he’s so talented he’ll probably get too successful to play a room like that soon. But it’s only almost a shame. It’s not quite a shame, it’s actually a very good thing. Because I have now spent several years rooting for this guy to get famous.

I wrote this story out a few times during the posts that I hastily made from the festival itself, but I’ll write it again for this one. I first discovered Ed Night a few years ago, when I made the very ill-advised decision to watch every episode of Roast Battle UK, one of the worst guilty pleasure shows I’ve ever seen. “Guilty pleasure” probably isn’t an accurate term, because I didn’t even enjoy most of it. But there were a few that I found funny. And my favourite of the whole show was one with Huge Davies, a comedian I knew a bit, and Ed Night, a comedian I did not know at all. I looked up Ed Night afterward, and was disappointed to find he’s done nearly nothing else on TV or radio or recorded stand-up. I found a couple of really short sets he did on YouTube, liked those a lot, but there was no more.

For the next while, I kept trying to follow his stuff, and being annoyed that he wasn’t famous enough for me to see him from Canada. I could go see him in a club if I lived in the UK, but there’s an ocean. He started a podcast with Huge Davies and Sunil Patel, and I tried the first episode, but could not get through it. Maybe it gets good, I don’t know. I couldn’t get into it. And I hear it now involves making Ed Gamble read pornography on a podcast, as though someone else didn't do that 15 years ago, and do it so well that that idea's been burned. No one else could come close to matching that glory and shouldn't even try.

Anyway, Ed Night has that, and has a YouTube series about bad movies, but that is a topic that I care so little about. I just wanted to see his stand-up, to test my hypothesis, based on like 8 minutes of Roast Battle, that I bet I’d really like this guy, if I could see his actual work. That was the hypothesis, that I probably put way too much faith in, based on so little evidence. That he was both objectively good at comedy, and that his comedy would probably be the sort of thing that I subjectively like. I spent a couple of years rooting for his career to succeed as thought it were a sports team, hoping he'd get famous enough to record a special or something, but he didn't, so I had to go to him instead.

So when I got the chance to plan a trip to Edinburgh, one of the first tickets I booked was Ed Night, dedicating a whole primetime timeslot this guy I knew basically fuck all about. I nearly walked into him on the street outside the Pleasance Courtyard, a couple of days before I saw his show, and I had a moment of thinking… "Fuck, I had to cut so many comedians from my list of people to see, what if this guy is a waste of one of my precious few 7-8 PM timeslots? Can I really be sure he'll be worth it, just because I like that he referenced Pokemon in a Roast Battle?"

So after I actually saw his show, I was so fucking pleased to report that it turns out Ed Night is good at stand-up comedy. He could have been shit. Some people are shit. But he was so good. So good that I bet he’ll get famous soon, and then there will be more stuff by him that gets released in ways that I can see it from across the ocean, and that’ll be convenient. But I’m glad that before that happens, I got to see him in a small cramped darkened basement, where his style of comedy clearly belongs.

It was funny, and, as I’d suspected, the specific type of thing that I like in stand-up. Very dark, but not in a racial slur way. On the contrary, sprinkled with angry left-wing sentiments (I wouldn’t call it political comedy, but it was sharply opinionated and on the left side of whatever political issues did come up). Reminded me of Dan Rath, in some ways, with its level of darkness of his stand-up persona being extreme low status, but with Dan Rath it was more obviously a character, while with Ed Night… I mean obviously it was curated, but it felt more real.

It was about mental illness and physical illness and anxiety about the future and dangerous dogs and death and caregiving and the healthcare system and he found some time to talk shit about Tom Binns, a fairly left-field target but one that’s definitely worth shit talking. He got a Pokemon reference into a suicide joke, which is right up my alley. It was also surprisingly gag-heavy, they were constant and sprinkled around all the pessimistic rhetoric and you can tell he’s spent a long time crafting this show to get as much as possible out of every minute.

I think my description of this show has been longer than my description for any of the others so far, and I really have to start cutting these down soon because there are 65 shows on the list and if I continue at this rate, this post will technically qualify as a novella. But I needed a long time to explain this one, because I need one thing to be very, very clear: my decision to watch Roast Battle has now been artistically justified. It’s not an awful guilty pleasure, it’s the way I discovered a guy who turned out to be very good at stand-up comedy, so it was actually a good decision for my overall experience of art.

- Emma Sidi – Is Sue Grey

This is another one where I took a bit of a chance on someone I didn’t know well. I knew she was supposed to be good, she did amusing characters on YouTube, she did good acting on Starstruck, she hung out with Rose Matafeo so she had to be all right, comedians I like rate her. I was trying to expand my comedy horizons a bit, figured it would be a safe bet to go with her as a way to experience character comedy. Plus it was advertised as something political, and while I can’t stand it when people say “PoLiTiCaL cOmEdY iS dEaD nOw” as though Andy Zaltzman and his entire Bugle empire just doesn’t exist, it is true that political comedy’s not as common as I’d like. So I booked a ticket (booked it just before the Taskmaster season 18 lineup spoilers came out, which I’d like noted for the record so I get credit for jumping on the bandwagon before it was cool, if only just).

It was so much fun. From start to finish, it was huge fun to be in that room. I must admit that about five minutes in, I was thinking… “Okay, this is funny so far, but surely she can’t keep it up. Is it really going to be an entire hour of just this one character? She can’t have a whole hour worth of material on this.” But she did. It never felt, to me, like a sketch stretched thin across an hour (though I’ve seen some reviews that say it was, so I guess your mileage may vary, if your mileage is incorrect). It felt like she had more ideas than she knew what to do with. She took us through the history of Sue Grey’s career chronologically, which I liked. It gave the narrative a coherent arch. She threw in all these different things, water cooler audience participation and weirdly hilarious Spanish bits and this surreal thread with a dwarf, that kept it feeling fresh to me, like it wasn’t just the same stuff repeated.

And the ending really got to me. I’ll admit I’m a sucker for a good ending; I’ve probably come away from some stand-up shows thinking they were better than they really were, because the ending was better than the show and that’s what forms the lasting impression, and I will fall for that trick if it’s executed well enough. I don’t think that’s what happened here. It’s now been a couple of months since I saw the show, I have enough distance so if I was just taken in by a manipulatively strong ending, I’d have noticed by now, as I look back on the whole show. It was all good. But that ending did work on me.

I guess I’m not supposed to write the details of what she did at the end due to spoilers for a touring show (I’m not avoiding spoilers altogether here, but I try not to go too heavy on them), but I have to say, she brought it all together, she suddenly and really sharply brought home the way that these fun sketches represent real things and it’s affecting real British people’s lives, and it wasn’t long after the election when I saw this, and I’m not even British but I’ve been invested in their politics for long enough to feel the emotional weight of that too (and I can relate, Canada’s had its own struggles with long-term Tory rule, and alternatives-to-Tory that are weak centrist bullshit), and I thought that was a pretty powerful statement to make on this particular summer. Which is why I don’t understand all the reviews for this show that say it was a fluffy character piece but missed the opportunity to make any actual satirical points. Maybe Steve Bennett and I saw different shows.

- Laura Davis – Albatross

Okay, for real this time, I need to start making these commentary sections shorter. Laura Davis writes brilliant poetic comedy, and I need to apologize to them for using that term because they complain in the show about people who call their stand-up poetry, but they also complain about pretty much every way this show could possibly be described, they’re not leaving us much. I’m pretty sure it is, in fact, a show about loneliness. And it’s poetic as fuck. It’s atmospheric. It’s so atmospheric.

I think it might fall just barely short of being my favourite Laura Davis show, just a notch behind If This Is It, but God, that is a high bar. I think it probably surpasses their other stuff, and their other stuff is really good too, but Albatross feels a bit like the show they’ve been trying to write for years. The atmosphere. The brilliant, engaging atmosphere they create, with stories of walking alone at night and staring at the abyss in the ocean. It probably helps that I, personally, romanticize the ocean a lot. I’ve spent many of my favourite hours of my life staring into the abyss of the ocean, and Laura Davis perfectly captured how it feels to look out and feel like you could be swallowed up by it. By the ocean, and by the information in the world, and all these other themes that came together brilliantly.

The stories about their childhood were poignantly relatable. The stories about feeling an instinctive dislike for people who can have fun in public but then feeling guilt about that dislike and trying to understand it – that was poignantly relatable too. And the stuff about dead birds on the beach. Atmospheric as fuck. I want to live in the world that Laura Davis sculpted for me.

I try to avoid the temptation to just reflexively compare everything good in comedy to Daniel Kitson. Laura Davis is the person with whom I have the second most difficulty in avoiding the comparison. The person with whom I find that comparison most difficult to avoid is Alice Fraser, who unfortunately was not in Edinburgh this year. But the end of this Laura Davis show had me really thinking of some of the old Kitson shows that end on a bit crescendo, like Impotent Fury of the Privileged or even It’s the Fireworks Talking. I’m just big on shows that metaphorically take you to the ocean and throw it all at you.

And it was also funny. Okay? Things can be poignantly relatable and atmospheric and also funny. It made me laugh. Laura Davis is really good at this.

- Sheeps – The Giggle Bunch (That's Our Name For You)

This was another “take the chance to see it live while it’s there, and broaden your horizons beyond straight stand-up” gamble that paid off hugely. I had heard some Sheeps stuff before and found it funny, and I like Liam Williams a lot from his other work (Ladhood TV/radio, Pls Like, that one stand-up special he did for the BBC), but to be honest I didn’t know Sheeps well enough to expect this one to be a standout. Luckily, my expectations were significantly exceeded.

Every sketch was funny, which was a good start. I always think of that Mitchell & Webb sketch when I see sketch shows, and it’s pretty accurate, they’re almost never all hits, even the good ones. But I think this Sheeps show was. Obviously some sketches were better than others, but all of them made me laugh at some point, none felt like they were just filler.

There was a fairly ambitious one near the end where they were doing some sort of anti-humour thing about AI, which got deliberately unfunny at times and then got funnier again as they ran the joke further and further into the ground, and to be honest, I’m still not sure what I think of that one. It was either a genius bit of writing and the best bit of the show, or their only miss. Probably the first thing, I think. It’s hard to tell.

But aside from that one sketch, every other one was straightforwardly good, accessible, funny. There was a bit of political stuff. There was an emotional arc that had the twist being, as far as they presented it to the audience, true (I mean, I assume stylized for stage and stuff, the same way that truth gets stylized in straight stand-up, but it was apparently an accurate representation of their professional relationship, which isn’t something I’d normally expect to see in a sketch show). Whether or not the “true” bits were objectively real, that heightened the impact, I think. The result was a collection of (mostly) unrelated funny sketches, and an emotional throughline with a big conclusion at the end. The way all those things came together was amazing, I felt like I was watching something really polished and great. Overall, it was just great.

- BriTANick – Dummy

It was so fun! It was like high school! In the best way! Not in the way that the comedy quality was as though a high school student made it. In the way that it immediately brought me back to when I was in high school, trading memes and College Humour videos with my friends. Not that this was meme-quality humour either! It wasn’t, it’s the College Humour that it reminded me of. Cracked. That stuff. Their opening song was so much in that vein, it immediately put me in the frame of mind to enjoy that sort of thing and remember how funny that very silly style of comedy can be, and then they kept it up for an hour (well, 45 minutes).

It was another sketch show with an overarching narrative, though this one was entirely fictional, and absurd, to the point where it didn’t really work, but intentionally so. Like, the plot not working was the joke. And it doesn’t sound like that joke should be funny, when I write it like that. But it really was.

The individual sketches were also funny, they way they’d start out as one thing and inevitably spiral into the confusing messing of the overarching plot. This might be really specific to my high school experience of being into the types of comedy these guys did, but hearing this type of thing again made me feel like a teenager, and laugh like a teenager, and it was so well written and just enormous fun.

- Guy Williams – This Glass House Makes It Easy to See All the Cowards I'm Throwing Stones At

I have already established – long established, repeatedly – that as much as I’d like to be someone who says “I’m not into that shouty comedy, I just don’t think you need to be so brash to be funny”, my list of favourite comedians shows the opposite is true. I fucking love having my own political views shouted at me aggressively from someone who will cathartically give me a break from the relentless efforts I make to try to “be fair” to the other side. See the one person on this list whose show I rated a 10. See Tom Ballard, a couple of spots down from this part (same rating, just lower alphabetically, I sorted the spreadsheet by rating and then by comedian first name, I know how to make consuming art fun). And see Guy Williams. So they can be British, Aussie, Kiwi, doesn’t matter. As long as they will shout my own political opinions at me in a cathartic way. (They do not have to be men, either, but unfortunately Josie Long did not arrive at this festival until after I’d left.)

I think the most impressive thing Guy Williams achieves with this show is managing to be genuinely edgy from a left-wing perspective. There are so many comedians out there claiming to be edgy. Most of them are right-wing edgelords, saying “Sorry you don’t have a dark enough sense of humour to appreciate my racial slurs.” Some of them are left-wing people saying “Fuck the queen of England – oh, sorry if that’s too offensive for you,” while speaking to an audience of people who clearly are not fans of colonialism. Guy Williams is a very rare person expressing views that made me say – “Okay, if you start saying ‘Sorry this material might be too edgy for some people’, that would be fair enough, he’s earned that.”

There were some genuinely interesting ideas in this show, like some stuff about reversing the mathematical formula for comedy + time = tragedy – a bit that I wished had gone on longer because I thought he was on to something cool with that. There was also a bit about Cat Stevens’ music that probably went on for slightly too long, but he delivered it with so much enthusiasm that I stayed on board anyway. There was probably the best Ricky Gervais joke I’ve ever heard (as in jokes about Ricky Gervais… not by him), in a festival where I heard quite a few Ricky Gervais jokes (even though Keyworth cut theirs, there were lots of people referencing him).

This show didn’t feel nearly as polished as most of the great shows at this festival. I have tried to work this out, but I cannot tell how much of that was a master of the craft intentionally making his work look effortless, and how much was genuinely shambolic. Doesn’t really matter though, since it was all so funny.

- Mark Watson – Work-In-Progress Is Not a Cop-Out, It Demonstrates Respect For The Paying Audience

This was billed as work in progress, as per the title, and it was certainly more like an actual WIP than the other half of Wumar, who turned up with a show he’d been perfecting all year and stuck a WIP label on it. But this was certainly not an early WIP, as most of the material in it was stuff I heard Mark Watson do at Access Festival in January (though it’s improved since then). So it was material that he’s been working on for a while, but performed in a room with literally 37 seats (I counted them), and for not very much money, due to its WIP status. It was the first time I’d seen Mark Watson live, after being a huge fan of lots of his work for a long time (don’t think about the cheating on his wife thing don’t think about the cheating on his wife thing, we’re just trying to have nice things here), and it was pretty cool to see him in a room that small.

It was really funny. I’ve got to admit I’d kind of forgotten, by the time I saw that show, how very funny Mark Watson can be. I like Mark Watson a lot as one of the more intellectual comedians; he’s so good as an interviewee on podcasts and things, because he’s so thoughtful, speaks so insightfully about aspects of the human experience that I find really resonate. I find him inspiring, the way he talks candidly about even the less savoury sides of anxiety, like bitterness and envy and frustration, the way he talks about alcohol and mental health stuff that makes me feel less shitty about my experiences with that, if someone as smart and talented as him can describe those same experiences with it (don’t think about the cheating on his wife thing just let us have nice things). But in the midst of this, it had been a little while since I’d watched his actual stand-up, and I think I forgot how purely funny he can be.

I was very much reminded of that in this room of 37 people, around the corner from the actual Stand, upstairs in a weird room where you could hear all the traffic outside. I laughed so hard, almost constantly for a whole hour. I’d heard a bunch of it before from Access Festival, but there was new stuff, and the older stuff got polished, and there was more of an arc to it. I could see, during Access Festival, where this might be going – bringing overall themes about the disconnection in technology and AI. By Edinburgh that was even clearer, and I’m looking forward to seeing how it’ll end up once it’s all integrated.

For ages, he has been mentioning on podcasts and things that he’s scared of thunderstorms and thinks that should be considered a normal and reasonable fear, that it’s weird that people are considered an anomaly if they’re scared of explosions and fire in the sky. Which I have been saying for years, but obviously I haven’t been saying it in a way that’s as articulate or funny as the way Mark Watson says it. I even once cut out a clip of Mark Watson discussing this on a podcast and sent it to my mother, to back up my side of the argument that we’ve been having since I was a teenager, where she says “But thunderstorms are fun!” and I say “No they’re terrifying and it’s weird that not everyone thinks so.”

I’d heard Mark Watson say this on podcasts before, hadn’t heard him say it in stand-up, until this stand-up show. Where he asked the audience if anyone’s scared of thunderstorms, and I said “Yes” – I swear I wasn’t trying to draw his attention to me, but I assumed lots of people would say “Yes”, and my voice would be lost in the crowd. Instead, I was the only one who answered, because I’d kind of forgotten that there were only 37 people in the room. So Mark Watson pointed at me, said “Thank you” for being one of those few people to agree with him about thunderstorms, and proceeded to do a whole routine on thunderstorms, in which he kept pointing to me and saying “Me and this woman are the ones in the right, by being scared of them.”

And that was... look, I know we’re not supposed to parasocially put our favourite comedians on pedestals or else we’ll get all disappointed when we inevitably find out that they cheat on their wives and stuff. But that was fucking cool. Mark Watson looked at me and it was fucking cool. Okay? Let me have nice things.

- Tom Ballard – Good Point Well Made

I’d never noticed, before seeing this show live, that Tom Ballard is too big for a room. Too tall, shoulders too broad, he could barely fit onto that stage in the cramped basement. His delivery style didn’t help, waving his arms around, reaching up in the air, leaving forward to yell at people. I even saw him live in Montreal last year, but for some reason, he didn’t seem quite so larger than life at that time. I really noticed it this year, though. He was everywhere. Loud and relentless and in your face and all over the stage.

I have a friend who very much dislikes Tom Ballard’s comedy, and I’d wondered why someone would reaction with such a strong dislike to Tom Ballard, even if you’re not really into the material. But after seeing him live in that cramped basement, I get it. If you like that stuff, it’s great. If you don’t, it would be overwhelming dose of stuff you don’t like, and would be incredibly annoying.

Luckily, I love that stuff. Tom Ballard cathartically shouted my own opinions at me at top volume for an entire hour, but shouted them in a more articulate and funny way that I could manage. Took my opinions that I find exhausting day to day, to walk around carrying the weight of these frustrating fucking opinions that put me at odds with everyone I know, and Tom made them into something that could make me laugh, that made me feel connected rather than alienated.

He was furious, talking about a specific political situation in Australia, but putting it in a way that will be relatable to anyone who’s seen a vote by their fellow citizens make them realize what kinds of people they share their spaces with (not that it needs that broader relatability, really, as that one Australian situation is bad enough to deserve its own focus). But his underlying thesis was a broader one, about wanting the left to stop trying to moderate its opinions in the name of reaching across the aisle, about how fucking cathartic it is to say “Actually I’m right and your opinion does make you a bad person because it’s racist and racists are bad.” I don’t even realize how tiring it is to try to “be fair” and not say that stuff all the time, until I let a comedian take that burden off me for a bit.

This show recycled a little bit of material from his 2022 show, about how right-wing people aren’t listening to us and aren’t making art because they’re too busy running the world, so left-wing people should probably stop considering whether we listen to enough right-wing people when making our art. I did not mind that material getting recycled at all, because 1) it’s stuff I liked a lot and was happy to hear again, every time I lament the fact that I don’t live in this mythical “liberal bubble” that sounds like a great place to live, I think of Tom Ballard shouting about how the liberal bubble is actually great, and 2) it fit really well into the thesis of his 2024 show, he’s developed the idea a lot further than he had a couple of years ago, and I liked seeing that get developed.

The whole show was a great time. I even managed to stop and the end and briefly speak to him, something I almost never do because the thought of speaking to famous comedians terrifies me, but he was waiting outside the venue after the show with a bucket, and I was able to hang back so I’d be at the end of the line and wouldn’t hold up other people, I gave him some extra money even though of course I’d paid for a ticket, and I told him how I saw him live in Canada last year and loved it but I think this was even better, and it was a great time and he’s so cool and very nice to meet him! And he was so nice. It was actually weird, after the hour of high-energy aggressive shouting, how different he was out-of-persona outside, came across as really humble and asked me what my name was and thanked me for coming. It was cool. I was glad I did it.

8.75

- Catherine Bohart – Again, With Feelings

Well, at some point I’d started to succeed in keeping these commentary passages short, and then they got long again. There are 65 of these fucking shows, this isn’t sustainable. However, the ones I rated between 9 and 10 were the ones I felt the most strongly about, so those will mostly be the ones I have the most to say about. They need to get shorter after this. Like. Significantly shorter. I have a life to lead.

This hour was very funny. Catherine Bohart discussed topics that are not at all relatable to me, about long-term relationships and considering parenthood (even her stuff about being gay was not all that relatable to me, as most of it was based around being one of those gay people who actually has relationships on a regular basis), but that made it more impressive to me, because it made me laugh so much, and if someone can make me laugh with material I do not personally relate to,

- Chris Cantrill – Easily Swayed

I’m going to copy some stuff from a Tumblr post that I wrote right after watching this show, to save me a bit of time:

I didn’t know what to expect when I went into this show, given the offbeat Delightful Sausage, but this was straight stand-up. Stories about his life, told as himself, but he did wear a cape for much of the show, which made sense in context. It hit some themes that chimed quite well with me at the moment – depression and the loneliness of old friendships deteriorating as you get older. So it got a little dark at times, but it never felt very dark, and it ended on a note so hopeful that I may have been briefly, genuinely moved.

This was one of those stand-up hours where you can feel how competent and experienced the person who put it together is. It was paced really well, everything felt like it was in the right order and it really built up and came together nicely. I love how easily he could move between whimsey (there was some stuff about Medieval fantasy lands in there), straightforward storytelling, and occasional breaks to add something like a political opinion or a fact about history. All the different types of material flowed so well that none of the seams felt jarring. It felt honest about depression without seeming overwrought or overly emotional, which is pretty impressive.

He dropped little threads early on that I’d assumed were nothing but came back unexpectedly, and I always like that. He had so many little ways of describing things that I’ve found myself going back to in my mind, I feel like this is going to be one of those things where a year from now I wonder why I use a certain turn of phrase when I talk about certain things, and then remember I heard it in a Chris Cantrill show.

And I love how much care he took over all the people in his story, who were mainly his friends. That seemed like his skills as a sketch comedian coming out, he could make all these people come to life in the stories; I ended up sympathizing with everyone and getting really invested in all the different things that were going on. He’s spent all this time in Delightful Sausage making fictional characters seem real, and he continued that in such a lovely way when telling us about people he knew.

This show had, you know – heart, or whatever would be a less cheesy word to describe that.

- Milo Edwards – How Revolting! Sorry To Offend

More political comedy, in an era when supposedly political comedy is dead. I don’t know if this show is quite as good as Voicemail, my favourite Milo Edwards show, but that’s a fucking high bar. This one is certainly a close second for my favourite Milo Edwards show, it’s sharp and clear and goes into uncomfortable territory but deals with it deftly – all the stuff Milo Edwards does best. This is a weird comparison and I don’t know if it makes sense, but I sort of think of Milo Edwards as the edgy intelligent analytical comedian that Alfie Brown wanted to be, and maybe would have been if he weren’t such a dick.

This latest Milo Edwards show is almost entirely about class, a topic that frequently gets referenced in British comedy, occasionally gets lampooned for a few minutes, rarely gets truly examined. It has more explicitly political material than some of his previous stuff, the joke rate is very high, and they’re consistently good. Great show.

8.5

- Eleanor Morton – Haunted House

This show started a little bit slowly, I was slightly disappointed for the first five minutes or so. Because the room promised a lot – there was a funny and atmospheric ghostly recording playing as we walked in, there were candles and an intricate dollhouse on stage, Eleanor came out dressed dramatically in white. And then she started some somewhat conventional material, when according to the setup, she should have started floating through walls and stuff.

However, it started getting better very quickly, and snowballed that way until I was utterly captivated by about 20 minutes in, until the end. She had some really interesting stuff about being from Edinburgh and having her colleagues all descend upon her hometown for one month of every year, during the festival. I found that a really interesting perspective, and one I had been wondering about, how someone from Edinburgh feels about the festival every year (according Eleanor Morton: frustrated that her complex city gets reduced to touristy stuff like Harry Potter and ghost tours; according to an Uber driver I asked: nice to get the extra work; according to the woman who ran my Air B&B: incredibly annoying as there’s nowhere to park and too many people around to run errands in town).

She slowly brought in this other thread, about the sexual predators who are all over comedy, and I thought she came up with some really interesting ways to weave that around her theme of ghosts and haunted buildings. She said something that Guy Williams had also specifically mentioned, which is that everyone at this festival says we have to do something about predators in comedy, but everyone is also aware that there were comedians performing at that festival that month, and no one had done anything about it. She told a few specific stories but named no specific names.

It all came together really nicely by the end, the stuff about Edinburgh and about ghosts and about dangerous people, and I found the very end pretty emotional, as she talked about wanting to protect her city and her friends and her colleagues in her own home. I don’t know how well this show would travel outside Edinburgh, but performed in a darkened basement during the Edinburgh festival with the candles and the dollhouse and sort of surreal, outside-the-real world feeling of the entire festival (a feeling she addressed repeatedly), it was a very good show.

- Jin Hao Li – Swimming in a Submarine

Okay, I’m going back to keeping this short again. So short. Super short. There was really ambitious structure here that hit all the cool notes that he couldn’t have gotten to any other way. It was ethereal, mesmerizing, in a way that just enhanced the jokes because the laughs were bigger when we were all too mesmerized to expect them. Like an edgier Johnny White Really-Really, which is a fascinating thing for a person to be. I could listen to Jin Hao Li talk for hours. I want him to be my nephew, I think.

- Lou Wall – The Bisexual’s Lament

Blinding, lightning-paced show that really needs to be seen in person to have any chance of taking it all in. Dealt with some very heavy topics without ever getting over-emotional, jumped around from idea to idea, was consistently funny enough to distract us from how fucked up the subject matter was, though every once in a while they’d bring that back into focus, quite effectively. There should be no way to do a routine about Facebook Marketplace that’s at all interesting anymore, but Lou Wall managed to find it, I can’t believe I’m staying this but holy hell their Facebook Marketplace material was funny. All their material was funny, except the stuff that was harrowing, and that was successfully harrowing. Fun comedian spotting: Rhys Nicholson sat behind me during this, so you know it’s a cool show.

8.25

- Jonny & the Baptists – The Happiness Index

I saw them in a circus tent-like room, with about 20 people sparsely scattered across benches. I’d never seen them before (I bought the ticket on the strength of: 1) political comedy is not dead and I wanted to see as many people as I could who were out there proving it, and 2) Josie Long likes him so he has to be all right), but then since then I have bought four of their albums off Bandcamp, so that tells you something about how much I enjoyed this hour. It felt like a proper “experience the Fringe” moment to sit in a circus tent sparsely populated by about 20 people, and watch Josie Long’s life partner and his friend’s little brother (I also listened to their ComCom episode after seeing them, apparently that’s how Jonny Donahoe and Paddy Gervers met) perform what was ostensibly a musical version of Shakespeare, but was in fact a detailed, chronological, musical critique of how 14 years of Tory rule had dismantled the NHS and arts funding in Britain.

…The above paragraph is unnecessarily dismissive, reducing the whole thing to a twee novelty, when actually it was a well-written and well-performed hour with funny songs, touching moments of friendship, and a genuinely important political message/call to arms that was delivered well.

- Melanie Bracewell – Attack of the Melanie Bracewell

I’m vaguely paranoid to write her name here because she is one of the very few celebrities who are actually on Tumblr, but I’ve probably buried this enough so that it’s all right. I was sure what I was expecting from this, knowing Melanie Bracewell only from Taskmaster (though since this I’ve gone and watched her YouTube special), but I enjoyed this a lot. It’s almost all one story, which I generally like in a comedy hour, if they have enough material to fill an hour of one thing. In this case, the story of trying to retrieve stolen air pods. Which I expected to just a storytelling device, a story where the message is that sometimes you don’t get closure, so I was surprised and quite entertained when this turned out to be a full narrative with an ending and everything.

I won’t spoil more than that, I guess, but it was fun all the way along. The story had twists and turns and I was genuinely invested, in addition to enjoying the jokes and everything else. There was an underlying message about standing up for yourself and things like that, but it was mostly just an interesting narrative with solid humour and engaging personality. Good stuff.

- Pierre Novellie – Must We?

When I made a spreadsheet like this for the 2023 Edinburgh Festival (which I didn’t even attend in person, but some shows got streamed or otherwise put in forms where I could hear them, and those still had to be tracked, there’s no point to consuming art without spreadsheets), I gave Pierre Novellie’s show Why Are You Laughing? a 9.5, and it is still one of my favourite stand-up shows I’ve ever heard. This one had some of the same type of stuff that was so good in the previous show, it just felt slightly unfinished comparison. Pierre Novellie even addresses that within the show, saying he’s been writing a book and touring his previous show and had so much else on that it was hard to write a whole new hour at the same time. Which is fair enough – his book is great, everyone should buy it, but it was pretty dense in places and must have taken a lot of time and effort and stretched him pretty thin.

There were a lot of funny individual bits, but they didn’t come together as well as they have in some of his previous shows (not just his 2023 one, but the 2022 one on which he based his book). He had an ending routine with some deeper stuff behind it, and I thought that had a lot more potential than he actually got from it, it felt slightly tacked on. On the other hand, it made me laugh repeatedly, and he also said at the beginning, quite correctly, that it’s odd that “It was just a funny hour of comedy” can be an insult (or at best, damning with faint praise). This was a really funny hour of comedy, which is why I’ve still ranked it above most other stuff I’ve saw, I’ve just unfairly spent most of this description explaining why he’s come down from a 9.5.

This was a funny hour of comedy. No need to mitigate that. He had some good jokes about food, and I normally dislike jokes about food, but his were so good that I liked them anyway.

- Shenoah Allen – Bloodlust Summertime

These are getting long again, I need to curb that. This was an hour of trauma. There were frequent jokes within the trauma stories, and they were funny. I found myself thinking he could have gone further in putting some overarching meaning or analysis into the trauma stories, but as Pierre Novellie would say, what’s wrong with just telling a bunch of good jokes? This had jokes and happened to also contain a lot of trauma, rather than being one of those “here’s a deep analysis of how my trauma’s affected me” shows. Which I think sort of surprised me, as I’ve been conditioned to expect trauma-filled comedy shows to go that way, and this didn’t. But it was funny, and fascinating, a complex look into a certain type of life. It was definitely not what I was expecting from a guy I know from an improv clown duo. It was not improv and it was not clowning. And to be honest, as much as I want to expand my horizons and appreciate experimental comedy more, I enjoyed this stand-up show way more than I’d enjoy improv and clowning. It’s very good.

- Stevie Martin – clout

A show about internet comedy vs. live comedy, the arbitrary nature of algorithms, the changing nature of the comedy industry as a whole with the rise of social media. A topic I find very interesting, and I know I’ve got some prejudice against the social media comedians, so Stevie Martin was a great person knock through some of that prejudice by putting a great show about how sometimes you do what you’ve got to do, social media-wise, but live comedy is hardly perfect either, and surely there’s room for both. This was incredibly well put together, with slides and videos and some props, I appreciated the way she used this to what a really dedicated comedian can do with technology. It consistently set up expectations and then subverted them.

- Susie McCabe – Merchant of Menace

Another show that’s mainly about class, this time told by a working class Glaswegian, who had observations on a lot of different areas of life that get divided by class, like schools and hotels and grocery stores and travel. Sharp observations, captivating delivery, especially impressive for a woman who had a heart attack about ten days before the festival. I’ve been a big fan of Susie McCabe ever since I first saw her on Frankie Boyle’s New World Order, I liked her 2023 stand-up special, thought this one was better. It ended on a poem, a really unassuming poem delivered in an even tone so the quality of the writing could speak for itself, and I love stuff like that. A really funny hour of comedy., and I don’t mean that as faint praise.

- Judi Love (MC), Ivo Graham, Sophie Duker, Jin Hao Li – ITVX Presents Live Comedy from the Edinburgh Fringe, 1x01

The only one of the NextUp mixed bills, streamed from this festival, where I enjoyed every act. Judi Love was all right, had some stuff I liked and some that I didn’t, but all three main comedians were really strong. Jin Hao Li’s stuff breaks down into shorter sets surprisingly well, for something with so much structure to the full hour. Ivo Graham, whose shows I did not see in Edinburgh but I heard a preview of his comedy one (he had two shows in Edinburgh this year, comedy and theatre) and it was one of the most boring hours I’ve heard in my entire life, so my expectations weren’t high for him, but on this bill he didn’t do any of the boring story from his comedy hours, he riffed a bit about previous events of the night and it was absolutely hilarious. Sophie Duker was fantastic, she was one of the comedians whom I regretted cutting from my schedule because I just didn’t have enough day to fit her hour in, but sample form it that she gave us here was so much fun and I hope she films the whole thing eventually.

- Lauren Pattison – Big Girl Pants

Copy-pasting from a previous post again. That’ll speed up the process a bit.

It started a little bit slowly, I wasn’t sure about it at first, but she quickly picked up steam and started building on stuff. By the end, so many threads had been tied together, and she’d made me laugh so many times along the way, that I was totally on board for her powerful ending. She did the requisite 40-minute-mark emotional stuff, along with a requisite self-deprecating comment about how she knows it’s cliché to go into an emotional ending at the 40-minute mark, but I thought she also had a very good justification for why she introduced the sad bit at that point in the story (basically, she needed to do all that buildup to give it proper context and meaning), and I thought it worked very well.

Obviously this is also personal, her themes hit some stuff that’s familiar to me, with anxiety and alcohol issues. But I think this show was really well put together no matter who the target audience is. It was smart and funny at the same time (difficult to do), it was structured nicely. It was dark at times but overall hopeful.

- Two Hearts – Til Death Do Us Hearts

Enormous fun right from the first moment, I loved the opening song and then was impressed that they kept up that energy. Most of the songs were good, they did a pretty good job of walking the awkward line that comes from mixing their work with their personal life so closely. It was a show about a wedding and a marriage, which is really not my favourite sort of comedy show, so it’s fucking impressive that they made a show that I liked as much as I did. Objectively this show’s probably about a 9; a show about marriage has to be pretty fucking good to get an 8 in my subjective rating.

- Zoe Coombs Marr – Every Single Thing in My Whole Entire Life

I’ve seen/heard three Zoe Coombs Marr specials before – Dave, Bossy Bottom, and The Opener. They were all ambitious, brilliant, some of my favourites. This one I was not as into as I was with any of those, but still pretty fucking good. If the weakest (in my subjective opinion) show I’ve seen a comedian do still rates an 8/10, they are quite a good comedian. It also had a cool and ambitious premise, putting Zoe’s whole life into a spreadsheet and letting the audience pick stories, but that last part is where it seemed to fall down a bit, as it basically came down to whether the crowd picked funny enough stuff. Which they did sometimes, but didn’t at other times. I really liked the overarching stuff in the show, when Zoe would veer off from audience-selected stuff to discuss, mostly, non-binary identity, their recent mental health breakdown, ADHD, and their love of spreadsheets. I’d have liked to hear more about all those things, but it was still a lot of fun.

7.75

- Amy Annette – Thick Skin

This has something in common with the Two Hearts show, which is that it had to overcome being not my sort of thing, usually, and still became a show I really liked, just by doing it so well. It’s a show about being a teenage girl in the 2000s, but from the perspective of someone who spent those years reading women’s magazines and having crushes on boybands and trying to fit in as a girl. And when I hear comedy material like that, it immediately gives me the anxiety of remembering my time as a teenage girl in the 2000s, where my mother really wanted me to be that, and I wasn’t. And when people do comedy about it there’s often such a strong focus on the relatability of it all, the “the boys have dominated comedy for so long but now we girls get to talk about what our adolescence was like”, and because it wasn’t for me, that feels more alienating to me than hearing a male comedian talk about a male adolescence that I’m not supposed to relate to (though to be honest, male comedians talking about adolescence usually describe years spent being the nerdy kid in school and having crushes on girls who didn’t like them back, which is in fact relatable to me).

I don’t know how to write about this without coming off as a “Not like the other girls” internalized misogyny person. And I don’t mean to be that! I had a little while, when I was a kid, when I was like that. Because I’d see girls with the teen girl magazines, wearing makeup and shaving their legs and being into clothes and shopping, and part of me resented them for being the thing I was supposed to be, or even blamed them, like if they just wouldn’t do these things then my mother would stop expecting me to do them. By my late teens I got into feminist blogs and realized that that’s bullshit, obviously, and they didn’t have it any easier than I did. They were caught up in expectations too, they were navigating really difficult stuff, they definitely weren’t responsible for gender stereotypes. Some of them made fun of me for not wearing the right clothes, but lots of them were happy to get into buying particular clothes as their own hobby, and they didn’t give one fuck if I wanted to exclusively wear boys’ jeans and t-shirts that were several sizes too big for me, and if I resented them for that, then I am the dick in this situation.

I know that now, and in my twenties I made friends with plenty of girls who’d have intimidated me in high school, girls who wore makeup and wore girls’ clothes and shoes and read those magazines. But it did take me a while to get over my issues with them, and I really hate (I hate this about myself, that is, not that I hate the comedy or the comedians for it) the way when I hear a comedian talk about the “teenage girl experience”, especially if they’re around my age, it brings that back and I immediately feel defensive, like I need to justify that not all teen girls were reading Cosmo, even though obviously at no point has Amy Annette said that all teenage girls read Cosmo. She’s just trying to represent some experiences that were very common for many teenage girls and that don’t get talked about all that much (or at least, don’t get talked about in a way that really analyzes them and gives those girls agency and sympathy – they get talked about plenty by people mocking the girls for it), and that is a good thing.

Amy Annette does this thing when she comperes where she asks some woman in the audience what was their favourite teen heartthrob singer they had a crush on in school, and I always want to say “Well Amy, not every woman had a favourite boy band, some people spent their teenage years exclusively listening to Canadian folk music that was mostly made by people who were like 60 years old, and yeah I know that obviously if someone says that from the crowd they’ll sound like an asshole who’s ruining everyone’s by refusing to just play along, but this question puts audience members in a position where they have to either lie about listening to boy bands or ruin everyone’s fun, and it’s not like lying would be a big deal but being in that ‘lie or else you’ll ruin the fun’ position seems a lot like middle school, where I used to Google names of pop bands that I could say if people asked me what music I liked so I wouldn’t embarrass myself by listing folk singers, and I understand that this is cool and relatable for many women but it would be so easy to just ask them for their favourite singer as a teenager rather than making it so specific.”

Okay, those are a lot of reactions to Amy Annette that I have, automatically, due to my own baggage that has nothing to do with her, and isn’t fair to her, and it sucks that this tends to happen to female comedians more than to male ones, that they’ll run up against audience defensiveness because girls get pitted against each other so much that they have automatic defensive reactions to each other, in a way that can also happen with boys but not as often, and then I feel guilty for being part of the problem by having that automatic reaction. But anyway. Once I recognized that that reaction was happening in me again, and I consciously tried to stop it – I realized that Amy Annette’s show is actually a really interesting look at how things weren’t easy on any side, at school. Sure, some girls did not have their mother constantly asking them to start shaving their legs like I did, but they did have some horrifically toxic advice from magazines that they had to figure out at way too young an age, and with growing bodies that could be harmed by dangerous weight-loss culture. Most of them didn’t care what I was wearing because they were too busy trying to keep up with the expectations on themselves.

Amy Annette unpacks this in a way that’s deft, intelligent while coming off as playful and fun, and, once I got past the initial reaction, easy to understand even if it’s not personally relatable. The show is funny, it tackles important issues with a light and irreverent touch, it’s well done. And I’m sorry, Amy Annette, for the years of toxic baggage that meant I couldn’t just say that, instead of writing several paragraphs to navigate through all these other thoughts about some comedy routines on Cosmo magazine’s weight-loss advice.

- Dan Tiernan – Stomp

Okay, that last part was way too long. These need to be shorter. Dan Tiernan’s first hour, in 2023, was good and showed potential. I feel like his second hour develops that potential. Not fully formed, maybe, but more polished in a lot of ways, even while he’s still loud and jerky and way too intense (in a good, if you like that sort of thing, which I do). It matched the intensity of the subject matter, which managed to kick up a few gears from his previous show.

- Mat Ewins – Ewins Some You Lose Some

I should have enjoyed this more than I did. I enjoyed it, obviously, I’ve ranked it above lots of other perfectly good shows. But I know that objectively, as much as comedy can be objective, the thing Mat Ewins does is a extremely cool and exciting and should be rated as one of the best things at the festival. While for me, it was fun, and incredibly technically impressive, but I found that my most frequent reaction was thinking “Wow, that must have been difficult and taken ages to make.” I mean, I did also laugh. And it is my own fault for going to a show that’s known for audience participation, and then getting anxious about all the participation (I didn’t get asked to participate, which is good, but I also didn’t find that much enjoyment in the bits where others participated). It was good. But I didn’t quite get on board with the greatness.

To be fair to Mat, it was the last show I saw live in Edinburgh, and I was very sad about having to leave the next day, so I may not have been fully in the mood for this brand of silliness. I might have enjoyed it more earlier in the week.

- Paul Williams – Mamiya 7

I liked this. It was funny and the songs were fun. It was… I think I made the mistake of getting into this one right after Melanie Bracewell’s, as they were both about solving a mystery by tracking someone remotely, but her story had more to it, so his story seemed weaker by comparison. It doesn’t help that Daniel Kitson once did a show about coming across a camera and tracking down the person who owned it by the pictures in it. Not that the idea’s been stolen or anything – that Kitson show was only ever performed a few times in London and then for one month in the US so it’s very unlikely that Paul Williams has even seen it, and Kitson doesn’t own an idea that broad. The comparison just works out badly for Paul because you don’t want to go up against Kitson on any idea.

I feel like I should be really into Paul Williams’ work. He’s so very good on Taskmaster, and he does the type of nerdy, offbeat comedy that I like. I’ve tried to get into his music before, and that’s just stylistically not for me. While his comedy is… I liked his previous show, In the Moonlight, better than Mamiya 7. And I still liked Mamiya 7. I just don’t like either of them as much as I feel like I should. Mamiya 7 had all the good components, it had whimsical stories that came together nicely and were funny along the way.

I don’t know why I don’t fully connect with Paul Williams’ stuff. Mamiya 7 was good, but it did not turn me into a huge Paul Williams fan the way I’d hoped it might. I love him on Taskmaster, but when it comes to stand-up, to quote the latest NZ season, I prefer the touch of his brother.

- Stuart Goldsmith – Spoilers

Again I’m copy-pasting from a Tumblr post that I wrote just after watching this, to save time.

I like Stuart Goldsmith a lot, as I think he’s one of the best interviewers I’ve ever heard. Probably the best one I’ve ever heard, when it comes to entertainment interviewing. So many things make his podcast (the Comedian’s Comedian) so much better than other comedy interviews. He gets interesting stuff out of his guests because he’s so very informed, so knowledgeable about comedy in general and whomever he’s talking to specifically, so interested in what they have to say, so good at knowing when to add his own thoughts and when to shut up. He’s able to challenge them on stuff, to push back and ask for more detail or to call them out if they’re disingenuous, because he does his research so well. And he talks so insightfully about the processes in writing and delivering stand-up comedy, all the pitfalls and all the best parts. I figured a guy who knows that much about all that must be great at it. I was really interested, the first time I watched one of his stand-up specials.

And I was inevitably disappointed, because obviously that’s too high a bar for anyone to meet. It wasn’t bad. It was a pretty good hour of decent jokes. But I came away disappointed because he hadn’t managed to showcase all the greatest aspects of the entire form in a single set.

Months later I watched another one of his specials, this time with expectations recalibrated to a more reasonable level, and I enjoyed it quite a bit. He did have some good insights, in addition to a bunch of good jokes, he is good at comedy. He’s just not able to live up to what I’d imagined from his interviewing skills.

I knew this show, Spoilers, was supposed to be different from his others – he’d found a niche where he could stand out a bit, in doing a whole show about the climate crisis. I’d been curious for ages to see how he approached that, and now I’ve seen it. And it was… pretty good. Pretty good. It was a good show. It was much better than the many bad shows out there.

Once again, I realized my expectations were too high. Most stand-up hours are themed, but they’ll jump around for topic to topic. I figured a stand-up hour that’s so focused on one topic would have to go deep on that, wouldn’t it? I was looking forward to seeing how much research he’d done, how he’d managed to make all that funny, what new and interesting angles he had.

And that answer to most of that was, not much. I didn’t learn anything about climate change that I didn’t already know. I didn’t see a particularly new perspective. I did wonder if this might be one of those shows that was better in earlier WIP versions than the finished product. I’m thinking of Olga Koch’s current show, which I heard in a couple of early versions and I absolutely loved it, it was complicated and dense and fascinating, but obviously unfinished. I said at the time that once she irons out some of the thornier bits, it’ll be perfect. But then I’ve heard a very recent version, and I think it’s still very very good, but not as good as the earlier one. Because she had ironed out some of the denser stuff, but that meant simplifying things, cutting the more informative and nuanced bits where she couldn’t fit enough jokes. I think her current show, Comes From Money, is one of the best shows I’ve ever heard, in all its forms, and it probably deserves several awards. But turning something into a finished comedy show can dilute the most interesting parts, sometimes.

I have no particular reason to believe that’s what’s happened with this Goldsmith show, except that I feel like a few remnants of some early version might have been left in. Some references he made to how difficult he found it to make dry facts and depressing stats funny, how he’d tried to find quirky ways to make the research more palpable. Maybe this show did once have more of that stuff in it, and he cut it because it wasn’t funny enough. But I think that would make it more interesting.

I’m being unfairly harsh, again, because a guy who knows an incredible amount about comedy took on a very ambitious show theme and that set my expectations too high. It was a good show. It had a little more of what were my favourite things from previous shows I’ve seen him do – the parts where he goes deep into describing the experience of anxiety, and other difficult neurological things. I think that might be what he’s best at, in his own (non-interviewing) work. He’s great at talking about that stuff, finding angles from which to describe it that I’ve not heard before, despite how often it’s discussed in comedy.

7.5

- Caitriona Dowden – Is Holier Than Thou

Of the shows I saw in person, this was pretty much the only one where I took a chance almost completely “blind”. I’d never heard of her before I started looking up comedians who were performing around noon because I had that timeslot to fill on one day (because, to be honest, I heard a preview of Sara Pascoe’s show and decided I definitely do not need to use my noon hour seeing that live, I’ll watch something that at least might be good – nothing against Sara Pascoe in general, I like her stuff and that’s why I’d originally planned to see her in this spot, but my God, is her current show ever not for me). Caitriona’s show blurb seemed mildly interesting, so I looked her up, saw that this was her debut hour and she recently won a student competition. She seemed all right in one short YouTube set, and that was enough for me to put her on my schedule.

It’s probably the only show where I did the Fringe “properly”, using it to discover something totally new to me, rather than just as a chance to see Wumar in person (and I know I should have done more of that stuff rather than the Wumar, but the cross-Atlantic trip was a lot of money, too much money to “punt” on things that might turn out to be shit). I mean, I guess really doing the Fringe properly would be just wandering into something based on who happens to hand me a flyer, but every time I got handed a flyer, I cringed at the thought of being someone who plans a trip so badly that by the time I’m physically on the Royal Mile, there’s still room in my schedule for a flyer to make a difference.

Anyway. Caitriona Dowden was good. Not better than the well-established acts that I’m a big fan of, but better than all the shows that weren’t very good, and better than some shows that actually were pretty good. She had this really deadpan delivery that occasionally crossed the line into just seeming flat, but she was saying interesting enough stuff for that type of delivery to sort of work, a funny contrast to her material and she didn’t risk losing my interest. She had a solid premise, suggesting that she wants to get canonized as a Catholic saint and then going through how she could meet the criteria, which let her both weave in stories from her own life, and do esoteric material about Catholic doctrine. I enjoyed both those sides of the show, and how neatly the fit together. The whole show felt neat. They had a big thing of paper and marker instead of a projection screen, which combined with the small dark room behind a pub to give the whole thing a cool underground feel. I would be interested in seeing more stuff by her.

- Harriet Kemsley – Everything Always Works Out for Me

Again, I shall copy/paste some bits a previous Tumblr post:

I’ll be honest – I was a bit disappointed by this. I’d actually booked tickets to this one live because I had such high expectations for it, though I ended up skipping it when I learned that I could see it on NextUp instead (and by a nice coincidence, Harriet Kemsley happened to cancel the night I was going to see it so I got a refund). I was excited for it because I find Harriet Kemsley incredibly funny on panel shows, one of the funniest people they can ever have on. I watched her 2023 stand-up special Woman Child and thought it was pretty good, but I didn’t enjoy her as much as I do on panel shows. I found some parts of that show very funny, but other parts not so much, and the ones I enjoyed the least were the domestic bits about being married and complaining about her husband.

That’s not necessarily Harriet Kemsley’s fault; I happen to have fairly low tolerance for comedy about romantic relationships, unless they’re saying something really new. I think it’s very difficult to write an interesting or original show about that stuff when there’s so little that’s new to say. But I probably dislike that stuff more than is objectively reasonable, as it’s not relatable to me. I don’t do dating and hardly ever do relationships, and when comedians talk about that stuff, I usually have the same reactions as when people in my real life talk about it, which is – you know you don’t have to, right? Yeah, all those aspects to dating and relationships and weddings sound really annoying and frustrating. Just don’t do it then, if it’s that bad.

I have heard some great stand-up hours about dating and relationships, but they are far outnumbered by the shit ones. I tend to be more partial to their opposite. Breakup shows can be boring for similar reasons – it’s such a common topic that it’s all been said before – but at least those make sense to me. Someone tells me how much something in their life sucked, I think “Well stop doing it then”, and then they tell me they did stop doing it and here’s the story of how that happened. It seems like a reasonable course of action, so I can enjoy the show about what a reasonable thing they did.

So for all those reasons, when I heard some Harriet Kemsley material in early 2024 about her recent divorce, I suddenly became much more interested in seeing her in Edinburgh. It sounded much more fun to hear her complain about her ex-husband, than to hear her complain about her husband. And not just because I have also always found Bobby Mair fairly annoying. I’m always down for a breakup show.

And the breakup show parts of this were fun. A lot of it was fun, it was a good show. Just not quite as good as I was expecting, largely because there were so many dating stories. How do people have time for so much dating? I found those really boring, and there were a whole bunch of them. All the stuff about dating that needs to be said has already been said. People don’t need to say more stuff about it.

But some parts of this show, like the previous show, I liked a lot. The stuff about her own mindset, letting us in a bit on what’s behind the extremely daft panel show persona, was interesting and got very funny at times. There was some gossipy stuff about a book that I assume was the Seann Walsh one, though I don’t care quite enough to actually look it up, and parts of that were quite funny though other parts dragged a bit. I liked some of her stories about trying to awkwardly co-parent post-divorce.

So it was a good show, but it wasn’t quite the show I was hoping for. A lot of the most interesting threads, like what goes on in her mind to make her this way, or how her divorce might connect to those things, were sort of left hanging. And it’s her choice and totally fair if she didn’t want to go that deep into some of those things, but that did leave her show a bit more broad and not as compelling. But honestly, I think I’d have enjoyed the show a lot without the dating stories. As it was, I still enjoyed the show quite a bit, but there were too many parts that dragged.

- Rob Auton – The Eyes Open and Shut Show

I like Rob Auton; I’ve heard him do a few things that I found utterly brilliant, captivating, beyond whimsical and into immersive whisking me away through the worlds he created. There were several times times when this show achieved that, and it was wonderful. There were other, longer times when it was pretty good, not anything really special but nice, relaxing, whimsical humour. And there were a few times when it dragged for a bit and I had trouble maintaining focus on it.

This is a weird thing to be an issue, but – okay, I’m not good enough at parsing audio to be able to tell whether he happens to have the exact same specific accent as Alun Cochrane, or whether he has the same style of delivering material as Alun Cochrane. It’s definitely at least one of those things, and I think it might be both. I think it maybe has to be both, for hearing his voice give me such overwhelmingly strong “This sounds exactly like Alun Cochrane” vibes to actually be a distraction. Particularly because the material is so different from anything Alun Cochrane’s done (both pre-2018 Alun Cochrane, back when he was cool and quite funny, and the more recent Alun Cochrane, now that he sucks on a number of levels), so my brain is trying to enjoy the Rob Auton experience, but in this show he keeps telling us to close our eyes, and if I listen to him talk while I have my eyes closed, all I can think is “It’s fucking weird to hear Alun Cochrane be so whimsical.”

- Rosco McClelland – Sudden Death

This is one I watched just because it streamed on NextUp, as I’d never heard of the guy before, but I quite liked it. He certainly had an original angle for the show, discussing his very rare and likely fatal heart condition, and getting into some stuff that’s tough to even imagine having to think about, like how living with that condition affects his choices about relationships and potentially having kids. That's a fucking intense USP.

He also gets into some pretty hard-hitting political stuff. And yet, the show is funny. Dark humour, obviously, but not the racial slur kind, just the “I could die at any moment” kind. Puts all those racial slur-saying edgelord comedians to shame, with his level of dark humour. It made me laugh, it made me think, it made me uncomfortable, it covered some important issues. Good show.

7.25

- Stuart Laws – Has to Be Joking

I’ve felt for a while like I should like Stuart Laws. All the comedians I like rate him, he’s in the acknowledgements of everyone else’s stand-up show as a producer or whatever he does, and I got the impression that he’s the vaguely nerdy comic type I like, and he’s autistic. Because of this, I’d started watching some of his older NextUp shows a couple of times before, feeling like I should enjoy them. But for whatever reason, I failed to get into it, and never watched past the first five or so minutes. I’ve always assumed that if I gave his stuff more of a chance I’d probably like it, I just need to watch it at a time when I’m in the mood for something that might take more than few minutes to pick up.

So I watched his full show from 2024. And it was… fine. It was fine. Some parts were pretty funny. Some observations were interesting. It was well put together, structure-wise. It just… often felt like he had all the components of a good comedy show, and had put them together in a by-the-numbers way that worked, but never really took off. Which was the same feeling I got from his previous shows. I should really connect with his material, but for some reason I just don’t.

Maybe it doesn’t help that this was a show about his relationship? But most of it wasn’t even about that, it was mostly about going through life while autistic, which is obviously a topic that’s of interest to me. And I even liked what he had to say about it, this running metaphor about playing with all your cards once you know how your own mind works. I thought the metaphor worked, though it did feel slightly tacked on at the end, like he could have done more with it.

I don’t know what it was. Some of his jokes were funny. The thing as a whole just didn’t quite land for me. I still think I should try his older shows at some point, see if I can get into those more easily.

There’s some comedian gossip there too, as in 2023, American comedian Chloe Radcliffe streamed her Edinburgh hour on NextUp. I watched it, it was about how she cheated on all her partners because her dad didn’t love her. It was an interesting hour, I think, though I had to really work on the open mind thing to try to see that from her perspective (fair enough, some of my favourite comedians have cheated on their partners – realistically probably most of my favourite comedians have cheated on their partners and just choose not to tell everyone – though Mark Watson didn’t write a whole show trying to justify it). Though once I did that, it was an interesting show. In 2024, Stuart Laws wrote a show about how he also saw that Chloe Radcliffe show in 2023, and shortly after that, began a relationship with her, and wants to tell us about his new girlfriend and autism diagnosis. It was an odd perspective, the way he tried really hard to fuse those two concepts together. I guess it kind of worked.

- Elsa McTaggart – Caledonia

This was a concert of traditional Scottish music, not comedy; I’ve only included it in the spreadsheet for completism, so I can have all the shows I saw in Edinburgh on there. I mostly stuck to comedy on my Edinburgh schedule, but I was raised on folk music, particularly Celtic and Celtic-inspired stuff, have been a huge fan of Scottish folk music since I was very small, and I could not miss the opportunity to see some live during my first-ever trip to Scotland. This show was lovely, they played a few songs and tunes that I knew and some more than I didn’t, I liked them all. I nearly started crying when they played Dougie McLean’s Caledonia, as that’s a song that I’ve always associated with my grandparents’ house by the ocean in Nova Scotia. It was a nice hour.

- Judi Love (MC), Chris Cantrill, Huge Davies, Kemah Bob – ITVX Presents Live Comedy from the Edinburgh Fringe, 1x03

Chris Cantrill of course was good, Kemah Bob was great and made me wish I’d been able to see her full show (it was on my long list and I just couldn’t fit it into the final schedule). I was a bit disappointed that Huge Davies only did material from his 2023 show, even though I liked that 2023 show a lot, because he was another person who got cut from my schedule of people to see at the last minute (replaced with Natalie Palamides), and I was interested in seeing a bit of what he was doing this year, but he didn’t do that. I mean, what he did was funny – his 2023 show is on YouTube and it’s great. So overall the show was pretty good. I’ve rated it a bit lower than I’d rate any of the individual performances, because a cut-down set for a mixed bill is (almost) never as good as a full hour. But this was a pretty good show.

- Judi Love (MC), Colin Hoult, Josh Jones, Katie Norris – ITVX Presents Live Comedy from the Edinburgh Fringe, 1x04

I didn’t much like Colin Hoult’s set, though I might by biased by how annoying I find the Anna Mann character, so I was just predisposed to find Colin Hoult annoying too. Katie Norris I’d never heard before and I liked her a lot – that’s the sort of thing you want to get out of a mixed bill livestream, finding a new person to be interested in seeing more of in the future. Katie Norris definitely became that. And Josh Jones was pretty good, better than I’d been expecting.

- Elsa McTaggart – Hebridean Fire

This was another music concert, lovely Scottish traditional music that I’m really glad I saw live when I had the chance, included on the spreadsheet for completism.

- Judi Love (MC), Chloe Petts, Jack Skipper, Jason Byrne – ITVX Presents Live Comedy from the Edinburgh Fringe, 1x02

Chloe Petts was also on my list of people I wanted to see when I went into the festival, and I just couldn’t fit her into my schedule. So I was glad I got the chance to see her and I ended up liking her a lot, even more than I’d expected to. She was great. Jason Byrne was also pretty funny, better than I’d expected. Though I was basing my expectations on my previous knowledge of him, which is mainly from around 2006 (not that my previous knowledge of him made me think he was bad, just sort of solidly average), so it was nice to see he’s still fun. Jack Skipper brought the average down a lot, I could not stand that guy.

- Monkey Barrel Big Show – Garrett Millerick (MC), Alexandra Haddow, Micky Overman, Ed Night, Tom Ballard

Obviously I quite enjoyed Ed Night and Tom Ballard, particularly Ed Night, in this. I quite like Micky Overman and she made me laugh several times. Alexandra Haddow I found disappointing, I liked her 2023 show but this one wasn’t really for me. And I found the host incredibly annoying, which brought the average score down.

6.75

- Aaron Simmonds – Harry Potter or My Girlfriend... Who Do I Love More?

Now that I see this in the context of where I rated similar shows, I think I rated this one too low, it should be in the 7s somewhere. Because it was a good show and I had a good time there. It’s just that I went to see it because I’d enjoyed his NextUp special, Disabled Coconut, and then this show ended up being mostly recycled stuff from Disabled Coconut, with a few Harry Potter references tacked on.

He was open about that being a gimmick, and I think it makes sense. He said he was writing a show of new material that he’d do in the second half of the festival, after spending the first half doing a free show with the “Harry Potter” thing to draw in nerds who might not have heard of him but would like the “Harry Potter” in the programme and come check it out. And would hopefully use the exposure he got from that to bring in people for his new show later. It’s fair enough, especially since his first show was free (though of course I gave him some money at the end). I don’t know how that second show worked out for him because it started after I left the festival; I’d have gone to see it if I’d had the chance.

It's not a bad idea, probably, as a way to draw an audience if you’re not already really established. I mean, he’s not un-established, I watched his NextUp special because I liked him on The Russell Howard Hour, but he doesn’t have a lot of credits besides that. The Harry Potter thing was a gimmick but still used pretty well, he’d threaded the references throughout and tied them all together, rather than just tacking on a few mentions of it. And, as someone who was deeply obsessed with Harry Potter for several years of my childhood and knew all the trivia, I was pretty impressed by his knowledge of it; he wasn’t just using the popular IP, he had put in the hours on that. I was also pleased that he immediately clarified that when he says “Harry Potter”, he meant books, not movies. And of course I was pleased that he clarified quite early on, that when he says “Harry Potter”, he means intellectual property that he paid for years ago and the author in recent years can fuck off. That got a big cheer in the room, the crowd were clearly all on the same page as fans of the stories, not the author.

Anyway, it was a fun time to revisit my childhood in the Harry Potter fandom with all his references to it, and Disabled Coconut was a good show and it was fun to see that stuff again. He created a fun atmosphere in the room, and to someone who’s not seen his previous show, it would rank higher than a 6.75/10. I’d just heard the stories before.

- Bronwyn Kuss – Sounds Good

This was fine. There wasn’t a single joke in that made me really, properly laugh. But nearly every joke made me go “Oh, that was all right.” It was fine. I was pleased, however, to have further confirmation for my theory that there are no straight Australian comedians.

- Mark Silcox – Women Only

I wanted to like this one more, as he had an entertaining gimmick with the extreme deadpan delivery. He delivered this show like a lecture, where the joke was that it was presented in an intentional parody of a boring talk, with a slideshow. And there were times during this show when I found what he was doing quite funny. It’s just… maybe I wasn’t in the right mood for it, but he did such a good job of pretending to be boring that it was, at times, boring. When he had my attention, he made me laugh. A few times he got quite good laughs out of me. It’s just that much of the rest of the show dragged. It felt quite long and it was hard to pay attention.

6.5

- Tarot – Shuffle

I found a few of their sketches funny. I found a bunch of their sketches not funny. I wondered if my problem with it was just that I’m not into sketch comedy enough, but then BriTANick made me giggle like a teenage and I thought no, it’s their problem. It wasn’t awful overall, it wasn’t great.

Which is too bad because as I’ve said I like Kiri Pritchard-McLean a lot, and I know she writes on this sketch group. I don’t know any of the people who actually perform in the group, besides Edward Easton, who played James Acaster in James Acaster’s sitcom (and in Rose Matafeo’s sitcom). This particular show did not turn me into a fan of theirs.

- Thom Tuck and friends – ACMS

Thom Tuck was great fun. It was a cool thing in the middle of the night and it felt like experiencing the Fringe. Thom Tuck was great fun. Being there for all their little ACMS in-jokes was cool. Thom Tuck was great fun. Jin Hao Li came on first and he made me laugh so hard even though I’d already heard all his punchlines several hours before at his own show. Then a succession of other people came on, and a couple of them were all right but most I did not enjoy. I think that’s sort of what ACMS is supposed to be like, though, which is all right. I didn’t really mind the ones that I didn’t enjoy. Thom Tuck was great fun.

6.25

- Live from the Big Cave – Mark Watson (MC), Kate Cheka, Kate Hammer, Adam Knox, Oliver Coleman, Plastic Jesus, Aidan Sadler

I quite enjoyed Mark Watson. I’d never heard of any of the other performers. I liked a couple of them but wasn’t into most of them, I can’t remember which ones I did and didn’t like, and given how long I have already spent writing this post, I absolutely cannot be bothered to go back and check.

- Jessie Cave – An Ecstatic Display

Oh God, Jessie Cave. I’ve got to admit that I find both Jessie Cave and Alfie Brown, in some ways, annoyingly interesting, even though I do not want to. I do not watch reality TV, but occasionally being into the comedy of Jessie Cave and/or Alfie Brown is probably the closest I come to that.

…I nearly referenced Roast Battle just now, saying that being into their soap opera comedy is about on the level of Roast Battle in terms of stuff I’ve watched while knowing that this is shit, but then I remembered that they have, in fact, gone on Roast Battle together. And, fun fact, of all the UK Roast Battle couples (Sarah Keyworth/Catherine Bohart, Harriet Kemsley/Bobby Mair), they’re the only one that’s together now, so I guess they won Roast Battle. Good for them. Fucking hell.

I realized a while ago that if Alfie Brown were not a comedian, or some other public figure where we could recognize his identity, I’d probably assume Jessie Cave was a character. A young comedian who got her big acting break in Harry Potter, and then figured the best way to use that in her live comedy career would be to become her Harry Potter character on stage. She played Lavender Brown in Harry Potter – a character who’s been accused of being a misogynistic stereotype because she’s so over-the-top “girly”, and that’s connected to her being silly and airheaded, and the only time she becomes a major character is when she gets into a relationship where she’s a toxic possessive girlfriend. I would assume that Jessie Cave thought it would be interesting to just keep playing that character on stage, and to even give her love interest the last name “Brown”, as a little in-joke, that all she wants to do is marry him so she could have the same last name as her Harry Potter character. I think that sort of character comedy… it would get grating after a while, being a character who’s that annoying, but that could be funny for a bit.

But it’s not a character. I mean I’m sure it’s exaggerated and written for the stage the way any stand-up persona is, but it’s not a character. Because Alfie Brown exists and his stories match up with hers. I mean, I like the idea that Alfie Brown and Jessie Cave have been in a stable, happy relationship for ten years, and they’re just playing out this soap opera of a toxic relationship between two awful people, on stage/social media, because they realized it’ll generate no end of material for both of them. But that’s obviously not the case. It’s real, and that makes it seem like something that people shouldn’t just watch like it’s a soap opera.

So given all of that… I watched her 2024 show because it streamed on NextUp (I didn't actually pay money to see Jessie Cave of Alfie Brown in Edinburgh - when I say I find them weirdly interesting I mean I've occasionally spent a few minutes thinking about it, not that I'd ever actually choose to go see it, and in fact I almost didn't watch the Jessie Cave show when it streamed because I thought it would be bad, but I watched it due to my Edinburgh NextUp stream completism), and it was better than I expected. My expectations were very low, and Jessie Cave exceeded them. It had some interesting observations, some insights into why someone would stay in a situation like that. Some descriptions and observations that I find deeply unrelatable, but that became interesting in its own way, trying to understand such a person, as she opened herself up to show us what it’s like.

It definitely didn’t make me laugh at any point. But Jessie Cave is clearly a talented writer, performer, and storyteller, and that came through, even if the material was fucking bleak. It was interesting to watch. I think I might have enjoyed this a fair bit, if I’d thought it were fiction.

- Stephen Buchanan – Charicature

Scottish guy I’d not heard of before, who streamed his show on NextUp. It was okay. It had a gimmick where he kept switching between himself on stage and videos of stuff he’d filmed beforehand, with a “twist” ending in which it all came together, which was kind of fun. A lot of the material that got slotted into that structure wasn’t stuff I enjoyed much, but the structure was fun. I found him likeable.

5.75

- Seymour Mace – Seymour F*cking Mace You C*nts!

I wasn’t in the right mood for this one. I put it on my list because I wanted to try to expand my horizons and understand the alt-comedy clowning or whatever, but I also put it on the last day of the festival when I was sad about having to leave soon, and that is not the right mood for enjoying this extremely silly show. There was only one part that I properly liked, which was a game near the beginning that people played with the word “cunt”. That was the highlight, it was downhill from there. There were several puppets. I do not like puppets. The overall energy was fun at times, but I wasn’t into it.

- Tony Law – The Law Also Rises

Before he went right-wing, I felt like I should be able to enjoy his stuff, he’s the cool alternative guy that Stewart Lee likes. And I didn’t hate it, I sometimes found him funny, but other times I had to try to see what’s funny about it, because as I’ve said before, I am not a cool person who always “gets” alt-comedy stuff. Then I found out he’s in with the Comedy Unleased crowd and I stopped feeling bad about not always understanding his schtick.

If I’d been more on board with his persona from the beginning, I probably could have enjoyed this show. It only had a couple of references to how the woke cancel culture nanny state are ruining our lives, so I guess that could have been worse. I genuinely did try to watch it with as much of an open mind/lack of prejudice due to his political views that I could manage, and because of that, I did find a few bits of it funny. It’s certainly interesting, what he does. But overall, not for me.

4.75

- Anesti Danelis – Artificially Intelligent

A guy I’d never heard of who streamed on NextUp. It was a show about AI and internet comedy. Some of it he claims was actually written by AI, and even if he was lying, just making that claim (in a way that didn’t seem to be joking) was enough to knock my rating of the show way down. It felt like internet comedy trying to be live comedy – which, to be fair, can be fun. I did not find it fun in this instance.

4.5

- Kavin Jay – Unsolicited Advice

A guy I’d never heard of who streamed on NextUp. Did a lot of material that felt pretty hack to me, very little that seemed original or interesting in any way.

3.75

- Dan Willis – Cobra Kai, the Way of the Comic

It could have been good! I can think of so many ways that this show could have been good! There are so many ways to tie the themes in Cobra Kai into real life, in interesting and insightful ways. The inter-generational trauma, the complexities of interactions across socio-economic class, the role of sport in society, the transcendence of high school stereotypes, the way our past always shapes our future, the changing media and cultural norms that shows in the differences between the original movies and the TV show a few decades later, and that’s just for a start. But he didn’t do any of that, which made me mark this show down even lower than it maybe deserved, because I was so annoyed about the wasted potential. It was just a gimmick to get in fans of Cobra Kai, like what Aaron Simmonds did with Harry Potter, but unlike Aaron Simmonds, this wasn’t a way to advertise another show, and it wasn’t wrapped around a bunch of strong material. It was just the gimmick, wrapped around boring material. And, unlike Aaron Simmonds, he didn’t even impress me with especially in-depth knowledge of the source material.

3.25

- Takashi Wakasugi – Welcome to Japan

A lot of material that I’d expect to hear from a comedian who was doing a parody of the hack, overused observational stand-up comedy tropes from 30 years ago. Except this wasn’t a parody. There were so many observations about food, and I so don’t care about food-based comedy.

- Some Theatre Kids – NewsRevue

I found this as un-funny as some of the other shows to which I’ve given low ratings, but I’ve rated it even lower than them because I also found it frustrating that it tackled such serious issues so badly. It’s one thing to make boring observations about sandwiches or whatever, it’s another thing to do bad parodies of political issues that have ruined and cost innocent lives. I love political comedy, and I don’t know where the line is between “using humour to skewer bad people and policies and ideas in politics”, versus “treating serious situations like a joke”. But this felt like the second thing, and I really disliked it.

…I feel bad for writing that when it was just young people making theatre and I'm really not the target audience for it. I mean it streamed on NextUp so it's got to be fair game to critcize, but still, I'm sure there are people who like this sort of thing. Also, I really can't justify why I think it's all right for people to shout my own political opinions at me in a political stand-up show but it seems crass to display them in a musical, so, you do you, I guess.

2.5

- Michelle Shaugnesy – Too Late, Baby

I hated this, but now I sort of feel like I probably hated it because I’m too judgemental, and I feel bad that I was mean about the theatre kids before, so I won’t be mean again and go into detail about why I hated this. I actually also did go into that detail in a Tumblr post I wrote right after I saw it, no need to get into all that again. It wasn’t my thing.

- Bonus list: shows that are not on the spreadsheet because I haven’t heard versions of them that were performed at the Edinburgh Festival, but I have heard versions that were performed quite near the Edinburgh Festival, so no far off from were like in Edinburgh.

Shows that I thought were good:

- Olga Koch

Incredibly intelligent show about a complex issues that still managed to be packed with good jokes, criminally overlooked for awards this year, I thought.

- Greg Larsen

Some material recycled from his last couple of shows but I didn’t mind because that material was so funny, also lots of new stuff that was also funny, his usual level of dark and consistently hard-hitting humour.

- Fern Brady

Interesting and funny observations that make me laugh in autistic perspective.

- Patti Harrison

Wild, off the wall hour that did not slow down and made me laugh repeatedly.

- Guy Montgomery

Just enormous fun, observational comedy/wordplay, and describing it that way should mean it's conventional and boring but it's so much the opposite of that, so much fun, I really enjoyed it.

Shows that I thought were not good:

There are a few in this category, shows where I heard a preview and thought “I have no desire to see that again”. I’ve already referred to a couple of them, but I figure there’s no need to list any others, as I already feel bad for being a dick about the theatre kids and some of the other shows that I didn’t enjoy. So I’ll leave it at this.

8 notes · View notes

sayosdreams · 11 months ago

Text

Picture Us (Together Forever)

Word Count: 26,115

ACOTAR masterlist

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TW: mentioned past homelessness, mentioned past abuse, referenced death & suicide

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A/N: For @simpingfornestaarcheron, one year late. A huge thank you to @bookstantrash for all your help with everything from brainstorming to beta reading and editing! You're the reason I actually managed to complete this fic. Credit @vidalinav for the 'Cassian's love is loud' concept, which is so ingrained in his character for me that I always end up including it.

I know I haven't posted anything for over a year and a half — I've been busy with college and have gotten into other fandoms — but I hope this long, fluffy fic makes up for my absence. Honestly, it's probably the fluffiest thing I'll ever write of this length. Also, the number of blocks in this post exceeded the Tumblr post limit, so I edited the paragraph layout to fit. The original version is posted on ao3. Please enjoy!

Present day

“Hey, sorry I got a little late,” Nesta announced as she stepped into the apartment she shared with her boyfriend, Cassian. “I got held up at work because some people apparently think my job is to do everything,” she explained as she took off her coat and undid her scarf. “Eris now seems to believe that I’m a secretary and that it’s my job to deal with all the parents who want to sign their kids up for lessons or have questions about our hours. Can you believe that Vassa expects me to cover Eris’ class next Tuesday during my lunch break because he ‘has to be out of town to go apple picking’? And then, to top it off, Briallyn came to talk to me about how some people want the rehearsals for The Firebird to be at a different time. Just because I’m one of the principal dancers doesn’t mean I coordinate the rehearsal times! I don’t know why she doesn’t just talk to the director or choreographer, honestly. It’s so-”

Nesta turned around and fell silent, her eyes widening as she took in the sight before her. The living room was decorated with candles and flowers. Rose petals were lined up on the floor, creating a walkway that led to the coffee table, which was covered in a white tablecloth. Behind the table stood Cassian, wearing a wine-red colored button-down shirt, black pants, and a soft smile.

“Cassian?” she asked, her confusion evident in her tone. Had she forgotten some important occasion? Nesta quickly ran through the list in her head. But, no, it wasn’t either of their birthdays, or their anniversary, or Valentine’s Day… So why had Cassian done all this? Sure, he had given her flowers ‘just because’ or organized impromptu date nights before, but this was on a whole different level. “What’s going on?”

Cassian’s grin split into an open-toothed smile, even as intensity and slight nervousness swam in his eyes. “Nesta, we met five years ago in the line for tickets to the Bone Carver concert, when you yelled at me for letting my friends cut the line. I turned around to yell right back, and the moment I did, my life changed. You’ve made my life so much better, in so many ways I can’t even find the words to describe. Every day with you is like a dream come true. We’ve made so many fantastic memories together over the years.”

He pulled the tablecloth off the coffee table in a sweeping motion. Nesta inhaled sharply as she took in the collection of polaroid pictures, recalling different special moments in their relationship. The collection was decorated with small doodles that Cassian had clearly drawn himself.

She sank down to her knees in front of the table.

“Cassian…” Nesta whispered, “This is beautiful.”

Her eyes drifted across the paper, until they came to rest on a single photo. Her hand reached out as if she wanted to caress the image, but floated just a hair’s breadth away from it like it was too precious to bear her touch.

Cassian kneeled down too, and glanced down at the photo she was looking at. He laughed, “Oh, yes. The bookstore date, where you used me as a human bookshelf.”

The corners of Nesta’s lips turned up. “Listen, I just wanted you to know what you were really signing up for.”

Cassian chuckled.

__________

Five years ago

“Where are you taking me?” Nesta asked for the sixth time.

Cassian once again responded by shushing her, his eyes fixed on the road.

Nesta sighed. Cassian had somehow managed to drive without using a GPS (a novel feat for him) so she couldn’t even peek at it to figure out their destination. Cassian clearly hadn’t considered how impatient Nesta was when he’d decided to plan a surprise for her.

Nesta knew she should just sit back in her seat, relax, and enjoy whatever Cassian wanted to surprise her with, but she couldn’t. It wasn’t that she wasn’t excited — of course she was, and she was touched that Cassian had gone through all this effort just to plan a surprise for her. But Nesta couldn’t help but be filled with anxiety. She didn’t always react well to situations she was thrust into unexpectedly, and she wished she at least had a hint about where they were going so that she could prepare accordingly. She didn’t want to start freaking out and push Cassian away, destroying the tentative relationship they had just started to build.

She trusted Cassian and knew he’d never intentionally put her in a situation that made her uncomfortable. They had met about three months ago and he’d asked her out soon after. Although they hadn’t made anything official yet, Cassian was always so caring and kind to her, more than any of her exes. He always made her laugh and brought her Earl Grey tea with just the right amount of 2% milk. He’d given her his scarf when he’d noticed that she was cold and had never asked for it back. He loved to play with her hair, creating intricate braids as his hands tenderly massaged her head. His body was honed from ice hockey training and he towered over her, and yet he had never once made her nervous or uncomfortable, even when they had been two strangers arguing in line.

Still, there were many things that Nesta had yet to tell Cassian about. While his gentle sweetness was making her walls come down, bit by bit, she was struggling to open up fully. She didn’t want to risk scaring him away and ruining everything they’d created.

All in all, she knew Cassian would never try to make her uncomfortable, but there were many things that could set her off that he didn’t know about. If she started freaking out, and she lost him… It was stupid of her to get so attached to someone so quickly. He wasn’t even her boyfriend, for gods’ sake! Only her closest friends knew they were together. They weren’t keeping their relationship a secret, exactly, but telling everyone would put pressure on their relationship that they weren’t ready for.

Cassian’s best friend, Rhysand, was dating Nesta’s youngest sister, Feyre. The two of them had met on a dating app called Bond a couple weeks after Nesta and Cassian’s encounter. They’d fallen head over heels in love with each other, and had moved in together after just one month. Feyre kept texting the Archeron sisters’ group chat about how much she loved Rhys and how she wanted to marry him.

Nesta and Cassian needed to take their relationship at their own pace — meaning much, much slower than Feyre and Rhys. If Nesta and Cassian made it official and then broke up later… well, Nesta didn’t want to have to deal with gossip and pitying glances whenever they were at the same place together on top of everything else. Plus, she knew her sisters were nosy romantics who would start asking about going on double dates, planning Nesta and Cassian’s wedding, and making lists of their future babies’ names.

She couldn’t deal with all of that right now. When her last serious relationship had ended, she’d been left with bruises, a mountain of trust issues, and not much else. It had taken her a long time to put herself back out there again — to trust others with her body, much less her heart. Cassian had proved himself a worthy candidate, willing to be patient with her and put her at ease to help her let her guard down.

What it boiled down to was that she cared about him, far more than she probably should, and it scared the crap out of her. But she was even more afraid of losing him.

“Alright, we’re here!” Cassian’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. “Close your eyes.”

Nesta took off her seatbelt and did as he asked. Her heart beat erratically in her chest. She listened to the click of Cassian unbuckling his seatbelt and the boom of his car door shutting. A cold breeze hit her as her door opened. She felt Cassian’s large, calloused hand slide into hers, guiding her as she stepped out of the car.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked.

“Mhmm,” she replied vaguely.

A boom sounded, followed by a quick beep beep, indicating Cassian had locked the car.

“We’re almost there, I promise.”

He stood behind her and his hands came to rest on her shoulders, gently turning her to the right and then guiding her path. They walked in silence. Nesta was glad she’d thought to put on a sweater and a jacket as the chilly autumn wind swept past them again.

Cassian suddenly stopped her and turned her body to the left.

“Okay,” he said, leaning down to whisper in her ear. His breath was hot against her neck. She shivered. “We’re here.”

She opened her eyes, and gasped.

A blue sign with the words “Pegasus Book Company” hung above a blue-framed door. A bell chimed as she entered the shop. Pegasus Book Company was one of the hidden gems of Prythian. Despite being an independent bookstore, it was quite large and well-stocked in many different genres. They also displayed artwork from local artists, which they changed every season. Most of all, the owner, Helion Spell-Cleaver, was said to be amazing at giving book recommendations. Nesta had always wanted to visit Pegasus, but she’d never found the time to drive all the way to Hemera District just to visit one store. She had only mentioned it to Cassian once in the passing. She couldn’t believe that he’d remembered and done this for her.

“Cassian…” She whispered, her voice full of awe and gratitude. She turned to find him with an uncharacteristically shy smile on his face.

“Surprise,” he said softly. “Sorry that I made you wait to know where we were going. I wanted to surprise you, but I know I made you kind of nervous when I didn’t tell you where I was driving to. Is it ok? I’m sorry if it felt like I was abducting you. I just wanted to, uh, not ruin the surprise.”

Nesta couldn’t find the words to explain how happy his surprise had made her. Instead, she pressed her lips to his and let the kiss express her feelings.

When they finally pulled apart, her lips formed a smile that she couldn’t suppress if she tried and she added a quiet and genuine “Thank you.”

She hoped he could read the emotions in her voice and her eyes to understand how much the thoughtful gesture meant to her. His nervous ramble, while unnecessary given how fantastic the surprise was, just showed how much he cared about her. She didn’t know how to handle such affection and kindness. She felt as though she’d cry or melt or burst with everything he made her feel. He treated her as though she were precious and beautiful, worthy of compassion and care, like her company was a gift. As though she mattered.

Later, as he carried the numerous books she selected and listened attentively to her rants about different characters, books, and authors, she was overwhelmed by the pure joy she felt and some other emotion that it was far too soon for her to name.

Cassian was special — she’d known it since the moment they’d met, when her sharpness had intrigued him rather than pushed him away. He was so perfect and amazing, and yet cared about her so much that she was still in disbelief. The dread that he would wake up one day and realize that she wasn’t worth the trouble was constantly present, and made her hesitant to give him her all for fear of him shattering her completely.

But it was already too late.

She wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all herself, by not putting a label on things. It didn’t change how much she cared about him or how she didn’t want to think about him ever leaving her life. It was only hurting her, and more importantly, him. Nesta knew that her fears and her trauma often made her struggle to express her emotions. She never wanted Cassian to doubt how much he meant to her. Yet, it always felt like Cassian was the one doing things for her: he was the one who had asked for her number, the one who usually texted first and planned their dates, and the one who gave her meaningful gifts and surprises. He never hesitated to show or tell her how much he cared.

What if he didn’t know? She wondered suddenly. What if he genuinely thought that Nesta didn’t care as much — that their relationship didn’t mean as much to her as it did to him? The despair that the thought brought her was shocking in its intensity.

So as Cassian sat down in the driver’s seat, ready to turn on the car, Nesta blurted out, “Wait!”

He turned towards her, his face showing his surprise and concern. She acted instinctively, reaching over to pull his hands towards hers and then interlacing their fingers. She took a deep breath as she steeled her resolve. Cassian’s thumb slowly moved back and forth over her hand in a soothing gesture. He’d evidently noticed her nerves. His soft, silent support served to strengthen her determination that she had to do this.

“Cassian, thank you so much for today,” she began. “It was such an amazing, thoughtful surprise. I really, really enjoyed it.”

She paused, considering her next words.

“The past few months have been incredible. I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you. And I-”

“Wait! Nesta, please don’t,” Cassian interrupted. His body had gone tense and his eyes were dull in a way she’d never seen before. His hands had grown sweaty in hers.

Nesta felt her heart drop. It was too soon, wasn’t it? Oh, gods, what had she been thinking? She’d misread the whole situation. If Cassian had wanted to put a label on their relationship, he would have asked. It was incredibly selfish of her to assume that she was the only one who’d had hangups about it. He would also be put in an awkward situation with Rhys and Feyre. And really, she and Cassian had only known each other for three months. Why had she thought that she should do this? As usual, she was ruining everything by moving too fast and being too intense.

Cassian continued, his voice choking up slightly, “I know I can be- it can be too much, but I promise, I’ll- we can- this can be whatever you want. We can talk about it and I’ll- I can reel it in. I mean, I’ll respect your boundaries and, uh, wishes and, just. Please, we don’t need to end this completely, just- I-”

He cut himself off as Nesta untangled one of her hands from his.

“No, wait,” he rushed, his eyes widening in alarm, “if that’s what you really want, then of course I’ll respect it, I just wanted- but- I mean, can we at least stay fr-”

He was cut off again, this time by Nesta’s pointer finger pressing into his lips.

“Cassian,” she said, in a strong, confident, and reassuring voice, “will you be my boyfriend?”

His expression morphed instantly, shock and joy flitting over his face.

Nesta waited patiently, sitting in silence, awaiting his answer. She watched as Cassian’s free hand moved to his thigh, which he pinched more than once. Finally, he met her eyes. His mouth was barely curved upwards, as if he was too astonished and emotional to form a smile.

“Yes,” he replied.

Cassian’s hand came up to rest ever-so-gently on her cheek as their lips met for a kiss. As they continued to get lost in each other, kissing in the middle of the day in a car parked on the side of a street, Nesta knew that this was what all those fairytales and romance novels were made of.

__________

Present day

“I can’t believe you actually thought I was going to break up with you,” Nesta laughed, shaking her head. “Right after I complimented you, too.”

Cassian shrugged. “It’s a foster kid thing,” he said lightly. “If someone’s being too nice, it just feels like they’re trying to let you down gently.”

Nesta leaned across the table to press a kiss to his cheek in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture.

“I’m never going to leave you, stupid,” she said. “You’re stuck with me forever.”

Cassian smirked. “I sure hope so.”

His eyes moved left to the next polaroid and his hand followed suit, coming to rest right above the image.

“Do you remember that day?” he asked, tapping his pointer finger on the table. “I was so nervous.”

“What? Why were you nervous? I was the one performing!”

__________

Five years ago

“Do you think the tie is too tight?” Cassian asked, pacing in front of the bathroom mirror. “Did I do it wrong? Fuck, do you think it’s too colorful for a formal event? Maybe I should change it to black?”

“Breath, Cassian, breath,” Azriel replied, half-serious.

Cassian rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Az,” he pleaded.

“You look fine, Cassian. It’s going to go great. Don’t worry.”

Cassian was still fiddling with his tie. “And you don’t think the color is too much?”

Azriel raised an eyebrow. “It’s burgundy.”

Cassian continued to questioningly stare at Azriel.

Az sighed. “The color is fine. The tie is perfect.” He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. “Let’s get going.”

“Oh, shit, are we late?” Cassian scrambled to grab his suit jacket, his keys, and his wallet. Where were those flowers he’d bought? “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have spent so much time worrying about my fucking tie.” He could have sworn he’d left them on the dining table, but that was empty save for the collection of books, papers, and notebooks that Azriel had organized into neat piles. Cassian checked the kitchen counters, only to find them empty, too. Had he put them in his room? He really needed to get more organized. They were already getting late, and he was going to further delay them. “You know what, just let me- You go ahead, I’ll catch up with you later, once I find the bouquet.”

“Cassian. Cassian!” Azriel snapped his fingers. Cassian paused his frantic search to look at Azriel, who was carrying Cassian’s bouquet in his arms along with two others. “I’ve got it, see? Now, let’s go.”

Before Cassian could open his mouth, Az added, “We’re not late, don’t worry.”

As they entered Bryaxis Hall, where the performance was being held, Cassian expected to feel the last of his nerves disappear.

As soon as he stepped inside, he realized how wrong he was.

The hall was decadent. The ceiling was higher than a three-story house, the floor was marble with a simple yet elegant carpet running down the center, and Greco-roman pillars with intricate designs lined the hall. A chandelier hung above the grand staircase. The walls were decorated with high relief panels, each portraying a distinct myth or story.

He followed Azriel up the stairs in silence. He was too consumed by the message every piece of architecture and decoration seemed to be yelling at him: he didn’t belong here.

It wasn’t like he’d never been to a fancy party before: the NHL had plenty of galas, but even when he was surrounded by his teammates and friends, he always felt like a fraud in a suit.

Cassian wasn’t meant for luxuries and refinement. He’d grown up dirt poor, even when his mother had still been around. After her death, he’d essentially lived out of a backpack. He’d even spent a few nights out on the streets when he’d been placed in particularly bad foster homes. Until he’d met Shirina, Rhysand’s mother, he had never even eaten chocolate — at least that he could remember.

He’d only been to watch ballet once before. Shirina had insisted that they see the Nutcracker for Yule, as that had been a tradition in her family. Rhys, being the eleven-year-old that he was, had complained the whole way about being dragged there against his will. Ayla, Rhys’ younger sister, had grumbled about having to watch the Nutcracker again, instead of seeing something different like Swan Lake. Cassian had remained silent. At twelve, he didn’t want to admit that he was interested and excited, for fear of appearing uncool. Still, he was curious and was glad that Shirina had remained insistent despite her children’s protests.

The ballet had enraptured him. He sat there, amazed by the graceful movements, the silent jumps, the whip-fast pirouettes, and the perfectly synchronized motions.

Now, as he glanced down at the playbill, he felt completely unqualified to be here. He had no idea what La Bayadère was about — quite frankly, he wouldn’t even know how to pronounce it if Nesta hadn’t told him. He didn’t know any of the ballet terminology, either. How was he going to tell Nesta what he thought of the performance if he didn’t even know how to verbalize it?

He glanced over at Azriel, hoping to gain some insight. Azriel was close friends with Nesta and two of Nesta’s ballerina friends, Gwyn and Emerie, who were also in tonight’s ballet. Right as Cassian was about to ask, the lights dimmed and the audience fell silent.

Cassian worried whether he would be able to focus on the performance with all of his anxieties swirling around his head. Nesta deserved his full attention — she had been practicing for this for so long, and had poured her heart and soul into her ballet. There were so many times when she’d been late to dates, staying back in her studio to practice a move that she wanted to perfect.

But Cassian needn’t have worried. The moment the ballet began, he was completely in its thrall. All his thoughts fled. He sat there, mesmerized, as the ballerinas danced. When Nesta entered, his breath caught in his throat. She was radiant on stage, looking like a goddess, a queen, and a warrior-princess all wrapped up in one.

After the show, when he handed her the bouquet and told her how incredible she’d been on stage, her expression made it all worth it. Her cheeks, flushed with exhaustion, were rounded as her mouth split into a jubilant smile. Her eyes were awed, as if she was so grateful for his words and presence but couldn’t quite believe he was here. Despite all of his anxieties, he wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else.

And as Cassian drove home, he realized he couldn’t wait to see Nesta’s next ballet performance.

__________

Present day

“It really did mean the world to me that you came, you know,” Nesta admitted. “And I was so nervous about what you’d think.”

“Of course I was impressed! Anyone in their right mind would be.” His comment was light. There was no need to mention that Nesta’s ex, Tomas, had considered her job to be a ‘useless passion’ that ‘should only be a hobby’. Both of them knew Tomas was a hateful piece of shit who had done his best to drag Nesta down, and were infinitely grateful that she’d gotten away from him.

Nesta shot Cassian a small smile before turning back to the pictures.

“Oh! The snowball fight!” She snorted. “Don’t show this to Rhys and Az, we don’t want to remind them.”

Cassian rolled his eyes, grinning. “They’re big babies.”

__________

Five years ago

Nesta turned around, startled, as someone tapped her shoulder.

She had been shoveling snow for the last thirty minutes in the dim light of the rising sun. Normally, she loved lying around in bed on snowy days. She was content to sit inside, drinking hot chocolate, watching the world through the window and feeling as though she had been transported inside a snow globe. One of the few perks of living in an apartment was that she didn’t need to shovel snow.

Last night, however, she had stayed over at Cassian’s townhouse. Cassian’s roommate, Azriel, had gone out, presumably to spend the night with someone. Nesta considered Az to be a friend, but he was extremely private; she had no idea if he was seeing someone, let alone who that someone might be.

Nesta turned around.

Cassian was standing there, arms crossed, with one eyebrow raised. “Nesta, why didn’t you wake me up?”

Nesta rolled her eyes and turned back around to keep shoveling. “You’re sore.”

She hadn’t expected to wake up to snow piled up almost five centimeters on the ground. It was the first snow of the winter, and she wanted nothing more than to watch the snow fall from the warmth of Cassian’s bed, curled up against her boyfriend.

Then, she recalled the numerous bruises and cuts on Cassian’s body that she’d tended to yesterday. He had gotten thoroughly roughed up at his game, though when she’d remarked on it, he’d just laughed and replied that this didn’t even count as getting injured in ice hockey. Still, she’d seen him wincing as he reached to the left when he thought she wasn’t looking.

So when she’d seen the snow this morning, she’d decided that, instead of going back to sleep, she would shovel the entire walkway and driveway before Cassian woke up.

Clearly, she’d failed.

“I’m fine!” Cassian replied, just as Nesta had anticipated. “I’m not-”

Nesta cut him off by shushing him.

She had a little less than half the driveway left to shovel. She was adept at the art of ignoring someone trying to talk to you: after all, she’d grown up with two little sisters. So as Cassian continued to complain that he was not actually hurt and tried to convince her to hand over the shovel, she just tuned him out and focused on her task. She was making pretty good progress, in her opinion. Sure, her fingers were a little cold even in her gloves, but the desire to keep going and not let Cassian help at all motivated her. The spite kept her warm.

She was almost a third way done when she heard coughing. She stopped abruptly and turned to Cassian, who was wiping snow off of his face.

Her eyes widened. “Oh my gods! I’m so sorry!”

Cassian just laughed. “What, you didn’t mean to cover me in snow?”

He leaned down and grabbed a fist full of snow. “Let me show you a faster way to get rid of all this snow, sweetheart.” Nesta barely had time to duck before the snowball flew in her direction.

Abandoning the shovel, she ran away from him. Then, she made her own snowball, which she hid in her hand as she smiled at Cassian innocently. He smiled back and walked towards her until- Wham! Her snowball hit him square in the chest.

Nesta cheered.

He gasped “Betrayal!”

As she dodged his next snowball by a hair’s breadth, she stuck her tongue out at him.

Her cold dissipated as their snowball fight continued. The progress she’d made on the driveway and walkway had definitely been ruined, but she found that she couldn’t care less. Twenty minutes later, when they went back inside, covered in snow, both of them were grinning ear to ear.

It wasn’t until after they’d showered, changed, and were sipping hot chocolate that Cassian exclaimed, “Shit!”

His drink sloshed, spilling out of his mug. Nesta took a large sip of her hot chocolate — it really did taste divine with marshmallows — and looked at him questioningly over the rim of her mug.

“You can’t tell Rhys,” Cassian pleaded. “He wouldn’t understand. We need to keep this a secret.”

“What, that I had a snowball fight with my boyfriend?” Nesta answered incredulously.

Cassian’s face, however, was completely serious. “Yes.”

“I wasn’t planning on telling him,” Nesta said, struggling not to laugh, “but now I’m curious to see what’ll happen, so…”

“No!” Cassian’s eyes went wide. “You see, every year, when it first snows, Rhys, Az, and I have a snowball fight. It’s a tradition we’ve had for years. If they find out that I had a snowball fight with you first…” Cassian shook his head, as if the possibilities were too horrific to even consider.

“So basically, you cheated on them with me?” A drop of hot chocolate spilled over and ran down the side of Nesta’s mug. She caught it with her finger, which she then brought to her lips.

Cassian’s eyes followed her finger. His Adam's apple bobbed as her finger left her mouth with a pop.

“I, uh, yeah.” He cleared his throat.

She smirked. “Well, I haven’t told them, but I did tell Gwyn and Emerie in our group chat when they asked what I was up to, so Az is definitely going to find out.”

Cassian groaned, putting his face in his hands. Nesta just continued sipping her hot chocolate, laughing quietly.

__________

Present day

“They’re definitely going to hold that against us forever,” Cassian sighed. “They were so mad. That whole winter, I had to watch my back. They just kept pelting me with snowballs whenever they got the chance.”

“It was hilarious,” Nesta grinned. Then, catching Cassian’s look, she corrected herself. “I mean, it was very terrifying.” She tried for a serious expression but failed, erupting into laughter.

Cassian rolled his eyes, but she could see the smile he was trying to suppress.

“You know what else they’re going to hold against me forever?” Nesta pointed at the polaroid right under the one they’d been looking at. “This. I think I almost gave them heart attacks.”

“Oh, yes. Now, that was hilarious,” Cassian agreed.

__________

Four years ago

Vroom.

Nesta pulled up to the front of the lane, right as the light turned red. Sighing, she raised her face shield.

She turned to the right, glancing absently at the car in the lane next to her. It was a black Mercedes-Benz, the same car Rhysand owned. As she looked through the rolled-down driver’s seat window, she realized that it was literally the same car, because Rhys was the one driving.

She called out to him, and he turned towards her — then did a double take.

“You- wha- how are you driving Cassian’s motorcycle?” Rhys spluttered.

Azriel’s head peeked out behind Rhys’. They sported matching shocked expressions, complete with comically wide eyes, raised eyebrows, and parted lips.

Nesta smirked. “It’s quite easy, actually. I wasn’t sure how I’d do, since I’d never driven a motorcycle before but,” Nesta patted the handles, “she’s a smooth ride.”

That was not what they’d meant by their question.

Cassian had always dreamed of owning a motorcycle. After going through his finances and realizing that he could afford one now without stretching himself out too thin, he’d finally bought one last week.

The motorcycle was his prized possession and he was fiercely protective of it. He took the time to polish it after each ride, checking to make sure there wasn’t a single scratch on his treasure. Rhys and Az had been begging to ride it ever since he’d gotten it, but he’d starkly refused, claiming they were both too irresponsible. It was laughable, because Azriel was easily the most responsible member of their trio, but even he wasn’t allowed to do more than look at it. When Az had run a single finger across the paint, Cassian had pulled him away, declaring that Azriel was being too rough and that he clearly hadn’t thought about how the oils from his fingers would interact with the materials on the bike to shorten its lifespan. Azriel had pointed out that the motorcycle was meant to be ridden, but Cassian had ignored him.

Of course it made sense that Cassian would be so overprotective of his motorcycle. He had never had many possessions. He hadn’t ever owned more than one pair of shoes until he was thirteen, when Shirina insisted on getting him snow boots and dress shoes. He’d replied, “But my sneakers still fit,” confused, and grew even more confused when Shirina wrapped him in a hug in response.

A motorcycle was something he’d never realistically imagined being able to afford. He’d look at magazines and at the seniors who’d pull up to high school in the Harvey-Davidsons that their fathers had bought them, thinking about what kind of motorcycle he would have wanted if he’d been born to rich parents who were still alive. Now that his wildest dream had become reality, he would guard it to the best of his ability.

He knew that Rhys and Azriel would treasure it as well. They knew that he loved the bike and would never do anything to intentionally harm it. Yet, they had both grown up with money. They didn’t understand the instinct Cassian had to protect the little that was his, because they had grown up with so much to claim as their own. To them, possessions were replaceable. Despite the wealth Cassian had gained, he could never shake off the memory of being a child curled around a backpack as he slept on the street instead of covering himself with it for warmth because he was afraid it would get stolen.

So when Cassian had casually offered to let Nesta try riding it, she was shocked to say the least.

“Are you sure?” she’d asked about a hundred times, but his answer never changed. When she’d admitted that she had never ridden a motorcycle before, he had just replied, “I’m honored to be your first,” with a wink. He then took Nesta, who was blushing and rolling her eyes, outside to teach her the basics.

“Alright,” he said with a clap, twenty minutes later.

Nesta got off the bike, assuming he wanted to return it to its position in the garage.

“Want to take it for a whirl?” he said instead.

She spun around to face him. “Really? But I… I wouldn’t want to damage your motorcycle. I know how important it is to you and, well, are you sure you want me to ride it?”

Cassian just shrugged, smiling. “No pressure, of course, if you’d rather not ride a motorcycle, but I’d love for you to try.” Something shifted in his eyes as he said, “I’d love to share it with you.”

Nesta blinked. She had grown up very differently from Cassian. She’d been born into a wealthy, upper-class family that later lost its wealth when her father got laid off and her mother fell ill. The medical bills piled up as her father searched in vain for work during a recession, and once her mother passed away, her father fell into the arms of alcoholic depression. Luckily, Nesta had enough training and experience by that point to gain a scholarship to her ballet school.

So while Nesta had experienced poverty, it was never in the way that Cassian had. She could only understand Cassian’s desperation to hold on to his possession on an intellectual level.

She didn’t know why he would trust her with something so precious.

“Of course I trust you,” Cassian added, as though he’d read her mind. He kissed her on the forehead, as if to say ‘you’re precious to me’. Nesta closed her eyes.

“Um,” she whispered, then cleared her throat to continue in a stronger voice, “I’d be honored.” Then, she glanced down at the dress she was wearing. “Maybe tomorrow?” she added.

Cassian laughed that hearty, deep laugh that always made her heart clench. “Can’t wait, sweetheart.”

So here she was, the next day, riding Cassian’s motorcycle. She’d been sure to dress more appropriately in her leather pants, jacket, and boots. She asked Cassian to confirm that her outfit was ok, just to make sure. He hummed approvingly as she spun around.

He then sat her down, and put on her elbow pads and knee pads on her. If it had been anyone else, she would have complained incessantly about being treated like a child; because it was Cassian, who touched her so tenderly as he adjusted the straps, she couldn’t feel anything except gratitude and joy.

“Ready?” He asked as she sat down on the bike. She gave him a thumbs up as he took a step back, gazing as though he was an artist who was looking at the tableau he’d painted. Dressed all in black, atop a black motorcycle, Nesta felt like she cut quite the figure. She felt powerful, as though she could do anything.

She turned on the engine and was about to get going when Cassian shouted, “Wait!” and ran over to her. She paused, looking up at Cassian as he ran over to her and lifted her face shield.

He kissed her, hard, and she melted into it. When he pulled away, she sat there for a moment, dazed. She brought a hand to her lips and continued to stare at Cassian. His parted lips were dark red, stained with her lipstick.

She took a deep breath, blinking a few times to regain her focus and dispel all the images of a naked Cassian from her mind. She pulled down her face shield, revved the motorcycle, and set off.

“But- how did you get Cass to agree to let you ride his bike?” Azriel asked, astounded.

Nesta shrugged, grinning. “What, like it’s hard?”

She zoomed off as the light turned green, leaving Rhys and Az in the dust with their mouths hanging wide open.

__________

Present day

“I’ll cherish that moment forever,” Nesta laughed.

Cassian grinned back at her, then pointed to a picture in the bottom row.

“You know what I’ll cherish forever? This one.”

Nesta looked at it and sighed. “Great, now mine seems shallow. Why do you have to be so kind and thoughtful?”

“I’ll try to stop.”

“That would be much appreciated.”

__________

Four years ago

Cheers filled the rink.

“GO DRAKON!” yelled the girl sitting right next to Nesta.

Emerie, who was sitting on her other side, held back a hissing Nesta by grabbing both her shoulders.

“That was ridiculous,” Nesta said through clenched teeth. “Why isn’t the ref saying anything? That was definitely a foul!”

“It was a beautiful goal,” Rhysand corrected.

Nesta’s fiery glare turned to him and he withered as she snapped, “Whose side are you on?”

It was Nesta’s first time being at Cassian’s game. Of course, she’d seen his games on TV before, but both of them had agreed that she should wait before attending a game and being in the presence of all his fans and the media. Now that they had been officially dating for over a year, they’d both felt it was time. Nesta’s best friends, Gwyn and Emerie, had decided to accompany her. They had both claimed that they just wanted to watch the game, but she knew that they really were there to provide her with moral support.

Sadly, Cassian’s team — the Velaris Ghost Leopards — was currently losing 4-2 to the Adriata Sirens. Nesta, who never followed ice hockey closely until meeting Cassian, had been yelling up a storm as passionately as any long-time die-hard Ghost Leopards fan. They were about halfway through the third period and any hope that the Ghost Leopards could win was slowly disappearing. Especially as Jurian Zbirak, the Sirens’ center, passed discreetly to Varian Ulwandle, the left winger who was famously good at scoring.

“I can’t watch,” Gwyn grimaced as Varian got past the Ghost Leopards’ defenceman, Andras Lupo. The crowd held their breath as Varian took the shot and-

“Saved!” Emerie yelled as Rhysand let out a whoop.

Thesan Vu, the Ghost Leopards’ goalie, had managed to save it beautifully.

Nesta gasped loudly as Kallias Neve, the Ghost Leopards’ center, took the puck and skated forward. Unfortunately, the other team’s defense was extremely strong, and caught sight of him almost immediately. Kallias cut sharply to the left, but the defenseman Eris Vanserra quickly shifted positions to block him.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Nesta chanted. Emerie was biting her nails anxiously next to her and Azriel was covering his mouth with his hands.

Kallias tried to deke Eris by feigning left and then cutting right, but Eris had seen through his tricks and was about to steal the puck when-

Nesta jumped out of her seat. “Look!”

Kallias had managed to trick Eris after all. He’d drop passed the puck to Cassian, who was now zooming towards the goal. By the time Eris and Devlon Lyons, the other Sirens defenseman, realized and headed for Cassian, it was already too late.

Nesta held her breath as Cassian got into position, took the shot and-

“He scored!” Nesta cheered at the top of her lungs.

Her throat was definitely going to be sore tomorrow but she didn’t even care.

She watched as Cassian lit up with glee and his teammates congratulated him. This was why she cheered so hard, why she cared so much about the sport. It wasn’t as though she’d magically become obsessed with ice hockey when she’d met Cassian. No, it was the joy that the sport brought him and the way he put his heart and soul into it — giving it his all at every game, every training, every play — that made her passionate about it. Cassian worked so incredibly hard at hockey and it was such a big part of his life. How could something so important to him not be important to her, too?

Cassian’s eyes locked on hers. Nesta froze.

He brought his left hand to his lips and blew her a kiss.

The crowd went wild as Cassian’s fans assumed he’d blown it to them. But Nesta could only sit down, dazed. She didn’t know why she felt so shocked that her boyfriend had blown her a kiss. They’d done far more than kiss, for gods’ sake. Perhaps it was because it had been in front of everyone, like Cassian was declaring his affection for her publicly and showing that he wasn’t ashamed of being with her. Or maybe it was the fact that he’d thought of her in the middle of a game, as though he never stopped thinking about her, even when he was singularly focused on ice hockey.

Emerie elbowed Nesta in the ribs and stage-whispered, “Your face is red, you know.”

“Shut up,” was Nesta’s dignified response.

With five minutes left in the period, the Sirens held control of the puck.

“Are they just wasting time, trying to run out the clock?” Nesta huffed. “That’s fucking ridiculous.”

Drakon Aliyev — the Sirens’ right winger — kept passing back and forth with the Jurian and Varian, barely moving forward.

“C’mon!” Rhysand jeered.

Suddenly, with thirty seconds left on the clock, Jurian sped forward. He weaved between Ghost Leopards’ players, dodging and deking them.

Twenty seconds.

Andras closed in on Jurian, but Jurian back passed to Drakon right before Andras caught up to him. Drakon skated past them, zigzagging to avoid the other players who attempted to catch up to him.

Ten seconds.

As Lucien — the Ghost Leopards’ other defenseman — moved in to body-check him, Drakon made eye contact with Varian, who had skated forward and was completely open. Drakon turned towards Varian, leaning his left shoulder down to pass to him.

Five seconds.

Lucien shifted to guard Drakon’s right side, blocking him from passing to Varian.

Four.

Drakon turned his hockey stick, which was on the left of the puck, to position it behind the puck, and aimed at the goal. Lucien scrambled to move back to his previous position in front of Drakon.

Three.

Drakon’s stick hit the puck, taking a strong shot. It flew through the middle of Lucien’s legs, headed straight towards the goal.

Two.

Thesan shifted his stick and crouched down, moving into position to block the puck.

One.

The puck landed on the ice a hair’s breadth in front of Thesan and slid through the small gap between his stick and his foot, straight into the goal.

Zero.

The crowd erupted into cheers and shouts.

Nesta was chief among them. “What? That’s crazy! The puck was not completely over the line before the buzzer! Why the fuck are they counting it?”

“It actually was,” Rhysand replied. “Wasn’t it an amazing buzzer beater, Az?”

Nesta was fuming. “What? Were you even watching the game? About a third of the puck hadn’t crossed the line! Don’t you agree, Az?”

Az looked between them with wide eyes and then wisely chose to say, “Hey, why don’t we try to go catch Cassian before he has to go to the changing room?”

Nesta was still grumbling as they walked up to where Cassian was talking to his teammates.

Azriel tapped him on the shoulder and he spun around, his disappointed frown turning into a friendly smile. Then, his eyes landed on Nesta and his expression softened.

Nesta peered up at him and sent him a small smile. But a second later, she resumed her muttering, hissing under her breath, “I can’t fucking believe the refs don’t give a shit about the Sirens’ blatant cheating.”

Rhysand, who was standing right next to Nesta, groaned loudly. Cassian raised an eyebrow at him. “This one,” Rhys began, tilting his head towards Nesta, “hasn’t stopped complaining about the Sirens and the refs.” He rolled his eyes, exasperated. “They didn’t fucking cheat, Nesta. They won. Just accept it and move on.” He turned to Cassian with a glance that said ‘urg, can you believe her?’

Unfortunately for Rhysand, he was not met with the sympathetic backup he’d anticipated from Cassian. Instead, Cassian’s face split into a huge grin that only widened when Nesta retorted, “Well, it’s true! I swear the puck wasn’t fully over the line when I heard the buzzer. The refs were definitely biased, because they called the Ghost Leopards’ offsides in period 1 but not any of the Sirens’ fouls!”

He let out a breathy laugh as wonder and joy lit up his eyes. He enveloped Nesta with his arms, burying his smile in her hair.

Time froze.

Their eyes closed like camera shutters as they stood still, taking in the moment and committing it to memory. They were both silent, too overwhelmed by the intensity of their emotions.

An eternity later, Cassian broke the silence, whispering “Thank you” into Nesta’s neck. He let her go, but not before pressing a kiss against her cheek.

__________

Present day

“You know, it meant the world to me to see that you defended me so fiercely.” Cassian’s tone was sincere but still light, as one could only be with those whom they’d been vulnerable with many times before. “To know that you cared so much about me… well. It’s not like no one cared about me before, you know, obviously I had Rhys and Az and stuff, but I still struggled with really believing that people could care about me — that I could matter to people. That moment… Of course it didn’t completely ‘fix’ me,” Cassian made air quotes with his fingers, “but I think that’s when it really clicked and I realized that you felt the same way about me that I felt about you — that I mattered to you, too.”

Nesta swallowed, realizing that she was choking up, which was extremely uncharacteristic of her. The closest she usually got to crying was when she read about fictional characters, and even then she almost never felt tears welling up as they were now.

“I love you,” Nesta answered quietly. It was the truth, plain and simple. “You matter to me, and you always have.”

“I love you too,” Cassian answered. His hand reached out to cover hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

A moment later, he pointed to another polaroid in the bottom row.

“This one was next, right?”

“Yeah,” Nesta said, her eyes twinkling as she reminisced. “Those views were so worth it, but damn, I don’t think I’ve ever been as tired and sore.”

Cassian smirked. “Oh really? Not even-”

“Nope,” Nesta interrupted with a smirk of her own.

Cassian blinked, as though her reply had genuinely shocked him. Once he recovered, he answered, “Well, we’ll have to change that, won’t we?”

He winked.

Nesta rolled her eyes, but brought a hand to cheek to cover what she assumed was her rather obvious blush.

__________

Four years ago

“Are you sure you don’t need to drink more water?” Cassian asked again.

“Yes, Cassian, I’m just as sure as I was when you asked me two seconds ago,” Nesta replied, a small smile on her lips despite her slight irritation at his repetitive questioning. Nesta would never in a million years admit that she liked Cassian’s coddling, but in truth she did enjoy knowing how much he cared.

They’d decided to get away from the city for a week to go on the backpacking trip they’d been talking about for months now. Miraculously, Cassian’s off-season had aligned perfectly with Nesta’s and they intended to make full use of it.

Initially, they had considered inviting some of their friends and family to join them on a hike to a different location, but after Nesta’s argument with Rhysand over reproductive freedoms dissolved into an intense shouting match with personal attacks, Cassian had decided to limit the trip to just the two of them. He’d hoped to give them some space from each other to help them cool off.

There was also an additional reason he had decided not to invite anyone else — most notably Rhysand — that he hadn’t told Nesta. The day after the row, Cassian had gone to see Rhysand, hoping to help clear the air. Instead of being regretful and guilty, Rhysand had been stubborn, claiming that Nesta was the only one who needed to apologize. He called Nesta a “vicious bitch”, saying that he didn’t know why Cassian would want to be with such a “fucked up person who clearly had way too many issues” and “only wanted Cassian for the money and fame”. When he laughed, “The sex must be really good for you to put up with her,” spitting out the last word as though Nesta was the scum of the Earth who wasn’t even worthy of being named by Rhysand, Cassian had exploded.

He’d completely lost it, snarling and hurling insults at Rhys. He’d yelled that Rhys was clearly so insecure that he couldn’t accept when he was wrong and had to tear others down to try to fix his fragile ego.

“Maybe you want to pretend you’re perfect because you don’t know how to love people, flaws and all,” Cassian had hissed. “So yeah, Nesta might have some ‘issues’ but so do I. And guess what? That’s fine. We still care about each other, for real. Unlike you, we don’t feel the need to lie about who we are. At least our relationship is real and is based on honesty and truth.”

It had been a low blow, to allude to his previous relationships. Rhys had dated Amarantha, a wealthy actress and politician’s daughter, at his parents’ request back when Rhys’ dad, Hadrian, was still running the conglomerate called Night Court Corporations which was later passed down to Rhys. This had been both a PR stunt, which showed rivals just how strong and influential their family was and distracted the media from Ayla’s underage drunk driving, and a way to gain Amarantha’s father’s support in giving Night Court Corporations a tax break. Their relationship had been faker than Amarantha’s tan.

His only real relationship before Feyre had been with Carmella, a girl who worked at a coffee shop he used to frequent, although calling it ‘real’ was a stretch, as Rhysand had lied to her about his family and his past. They had dated for almost a year, and Az and Cassian had met the poor girl numerous times, but Rhysand had insisted that he would keep being ‘Reese, son of an office worker’ when he was with her in order to avoid ‘getting used’.

So yes, the comment had been mean and Cassian had felt slightly guilty about it, despite it being true.

But then, Rhys had retorted, “Real? Please, Cassian, I can’t believe that you can’t see through her! She doesn’t ‘care about you’ or whatever, she only cares about the money, just like everybody else like her!”

Cassian’s eyes had narrowed and he’d slowly bit out, “Like her? What do you mean by that?”

His eyes had flashed with rage and pain, because he’d known exactly what Rhysand meant.

His suspicions were confirmed when Rhys’ expression had twitched. He’d meant people who weren’t as famous, as well-to-do, as wealthy. People who didn’t have a trust fund or a summer house or extra cars. People who couldn’t take vacations or make big purchases without saving up first. People who couldn’t say ‘money isn’t a problem’. People like Nesta who had to have side jobs in addition to their main one just to be able to afford rent in a city like Velaris. And people like Cassian, for whom even food and housing and safety had never been a guarantee, let alone new clothing or vacations.

Rhysand had just implied that Cassian had never cared about Rhysand or Shirina or Ayla or Hadrian. That Cassian had only been with them for the money and that all the love he had for them was fake.

Rhysand stayed silent.

Cassian repeated, “What do you mean, Rhys?”

“Look, I didn’t mean to offend you. It wasn’t about- I’m just trying to help you! She doesn’t actually care.” At Cassian’s murderous glare, he amended, “And even if she does, she doesn’t deserve you! I’m just trying to rescue you, man.”

“Rescue me?” Cassian laughed, coldly. “I’m not some semi-homeless kid anymore. I don’t need a fucking hero to save me. Maybe you want to think I’m some helpless victim because you can’t stand the fact that I’m finally happy and I don’t need you anymore. How are you going to feed your savior complex now?”

Rhysand scoffed, glaring down at him as though Cassian were a peasant and he were a god. It only served to fuel the cold flames of Cassian’s anger.

“Or maybe you don’t like that I’m succeeding,” Cassian said, his voice quiet and dangerous. “You don’t like that I’m rich and famous and I did it all on my own. I worked hard and got here and I’m only gonna keep rising. Who are you gonna look down at now to remind yourself just what a special little boy you are?”

Rhysand rolled his eyes. “Rich? Please, Cassian, you’re doing okay, but you could never be as rich as me. And all on your own? Need I remind you that I gave you a house and food and clothes? I paid for your hockey gear and for chauffeurs to drive you to games. You worked hard, sure, but so did I. We’re the same, so stop trying to act like you’re any better than me.”

“Aww, did I hurt your fragile little ego?” Cassian pouted mockingly. “You know that you didn’t do any of that, right? Shirina and Hadrian paid for all those things. And yes, they helped me, but at least I got my job because of skill and hard work. You got yours because you were born a boy. We’re not the same and we’ll never be.”

“You’re right,” Rhysand replied coolly. “We’re not the same. I don’t know why I ever bothered to pretend otherwise.”

Cassian had stormed out, tossing a “By the way, it’s called a taxi, not a chauffeur!” over his shoulder as he exited.

Admittedly, it had not been his best comeback.

After that incident, Cassian had decided not to speak to Rhys for a while, let alone invite him on any trips.

As they hiked up the hilly landscape, Cassian was grateful he’d decided to spend this time alone with Nesta instead. Somehow, the whole trip felt so much more meaningful with her by his side, like this was a glimpse at the life they were building together.

“Gods, my legs are definitely going to hurt after today,” Nesta mumbled as they hiked up an especially steep section.

“Are you okay? Do you want to take a break- or should I carry you?” Cassian hurriedly replied.

Nesta just laughed, staring pointedly at his backpack. “Literally how?”

Cassian gestured to his front. “You doubt my strength?”

“Yes,” Nesta teased, sticking her tongue out at him before speed walking ahead.

“Wait up!”

Each night, they shared a tent. Despite starting out in sleeping bags on separate mattress pads, they always ended up cuddling together, supposedly for warmth. A couple nights in, Nesta figured out how to zip their sleeping bags together to create a single larger sleeping bag, whispering “Oh no, there’s only one bed!” as she did so.

Every morning, Cassian would wake Nesta up with a kiss to her cheek. She’d always scrunch her face and groggily mutter, “No, don’t do that, I’m disgusting.”

“You could never be disgusting, sweetheart,” Cassian would reply, prompting Nesta to open her eyes only to roll them at him.

When they finally arrived at Windhaven Overlook, their destination, they spent a day admiring the views and having a small picnic.

“Thanks for bringing me here,” Nesta said, resting her head on Cassian’s shoulder. “It means a lot that you’d want to share this with me.”

Cassian kissed her forehead in response.

He had been to this spot only twice before, but it was still one of the most important locations for him.

The first time, Enalius had brought him here. Enalius was a man close to Cassian’s heart. They’d first met when Enalius approached Cassian, whose face was glued to a window, watching an ice hockey team practice. Cassian had snuck into the skating rink for warmth and to use the vending machines and the water fountains, but had let his guard down, enthralled by the skaters.

“Are you spying on them?” were the first words out of Enalius’ mouth.

“What? NO!” Cassian had tried to run, but Enalius clasped his shoulder with a strong arm.

“Really? What team do you play for?”

“I don’t play hockey!”

At that, Enalius had frowned. “Really? That’s a shame. I think you might be good at it. Why don’t you ask your parents to sign you up for a class sometime?”

Cassian’s eyes had dropped to the floor. “No, that’s okay.”

“C’mon, now,” Enalius had tried again. “I’m sure you could be better than those boys in no time.”

“I’ve never even skated before.”

Enalius raised an eyebrow as Cassian furiously backtracked, realizing that he’d basically admitted he’d snuck in.

“Uh, I mean, I’ve never skated in, uh, hockey rinks with, uh-”

Enalius smiled. “Don’t worry, kid.” He looked Cassian up and down once more and sighed, “Are you sure you don’t want to give it a try? You’ll never know what it’s like until you give it a go.”

Cassian shrugged.

“Well, if you ever think you want to, just tell the lady at the counter over there that Enalius Ramiel told you to sign up for a lesson with him, okay? And get your parents to sign all the release forms and stuff.”

“Oh, they, uh, can’t do that.”

Enalius cocked his head. “Should I talk to them? Don’t worry, lessons aren’t actually that expensive, and I’ll give you a little discount.”

“No, um, you can’t talk to them,” Cassian mumbled uncomfortably.

Enalius took a step back. “Sorry kid, didn’t mean to pressure you. Lemme know if you ever want me to talk to your parents or anything.”

As Enalius started to turn around, Cassian was suddenly caught by a panic and blurted, “You can’t talk to them ’cause they’re dead.”

Enalius froze.

“Oh,” he said after a moment. “I see.”

He studied Cassian’s face for a moment and then grabbed his hand, power-walking towards the check-in counter. They cut to the front of a long line of people as Enalius flashed a badge.

“Hey, Val, can we book rink 3 for a private lesson?” Enalius asked the lady at the counter with a grin.

“Sure, when do you want to schedule it for?”

“Now.”

Val raised her eyebrows. “Now? Are you joking?”

Enalius shook his head.

Val just sighed. “Fine, but I don’t think the ice has been refreshed in a while. Also, it’s booked after 5:30, so you’ve got a little less than an hour.”

“Thanks, Val, you’re the best.” Then, he turned to Cassian. “What size are your feet?”

“Um… 6?” Cassian guessed, rounding up a size from his current too-small sneakers.

“A pair of size 6 hockey skate rentals, too,” Enalius added. “Put it all on my tab.”

Then, he leaned in to whisper something Cassian couldn’t hear, which made Val sigh, “Oh, Ali, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

The next hour had changed Cassian's life. He’d started out wobbling, barely staying vertical and walking instead of skating on the ice. By the end, he was gliding effortlessly, skating around and in between the cones Enalius set up. He fell in love with ice skating.

So Cassian returned, day after day, getting free private lessons from Enalius, and he soon became enamored by ice hockey, too.

Enalius became Cassian’s mentor, not only teaching him hockey but also buying Cassian snacks or dinner and making sure he got back safely. It was Enalius who later introduced Shirina, his childhood friend, to Cassian, further changing his life.

It wasn’t until much later that Cassian learned what a famous and successful hockey player Enalius was. Enalius remained Cassian’s coach right until he joined the NHL himself.

There were few people who were as important to Cassian as Enalius. And that was why this place that Enalius had brought him to years ago was so special to Cassian.

Shirina, Hadrian, Rhysand, and Ayla had decided to go abroad and travel alongside some cousins during fall break. Enalius had overheard Shirina hesitating about leaving Cassian home alone for the week and had offered to take him on a trip of their own. Cassian, who had never been on a trip as far as he was aware of, was ecstatic and it did not disappoint. It became one of Cassian’s best memories.

The second time he came to this spot was after Shirina’s death. Rhysand and Ayla had been inconsolable, each grieving in their own way: Rhysand never spent a moment alone, as though he could bury his feelings in the high of socializing and parties, while Ayla barely spoke or even left her room. Hadrian was trying his best to keep it together, but was clearly in way over his head — managing the children and their emotions had always been Shirina’s department, not his. Luckily, their extended family had flown into town to help them all. Friends and acquaintances had reached out, trying to find ways to support them through all the grief.

Cassian, who couldn’t really be classified as a friend or family to Shirina, had been overlooked. It wasn’t like he expected anything different, but watching everyone comforting each other and ignoring him hurt. It was as though he had no right to grieve — to be this hurt by her death — and maybe he didn’t, but she had been the closest thing he’d had to a parent since he’d been 5 years old. He’d loved her, too. No, he wasn’t her child, but he was something to her, even if it couldn’t be labeled so easily.

Now she was gone and whatever they had been was erased. It didn’t matter that he’d used his first paycheck to buy her a birthday present, or that she had attended all his home NHL games, or that they’d often go on walks together. It didn’t matter that she always knew when he needed a hug or that she’d taught him how to cook.

Cassian had decided to hike to Windhaven Overpass to get out of his own head.

The journey had helped him to process his emotions. The sunsets and the plant life around him had seemed far more beautiful that time, reminding him of how much Shirina had loved nature. At night, the stars seemed brighter than normal, and he recalled Shirina explaining to him that in her culture, stars were considered to be ancestral and guardian spirits looking down at you and guiding you.

Cassian felt like Shirina had been there, watching him from the sky and reaching out with a comforting hand as he struggled. That trip, he had gotten angry and laughed joylessly and sobbed. He’d felt empty and about to explode at the same time. He had gotten to be something different from the strong, smiling version of himself that he usually presented to the public. In the end, the trip had helped him find some sort of closure and peace with Shirina’s death.

Now, Cassian had brought Nesta here.

He had told her about his prior trips with Windhaven and what the location meant to him, but actually bringing her here was a sign that Cassian was willing to be vulnerable with her.

He had always feared people would leave him and that he was replaceable, and worried about tainting such a special place with memories of someone who would later leave his life.

And yet, Cassian had brought her here.

“This spot is important to me, Nes, and so are you,” Cassian said. “Thank you for coming. It’s my honor to be here, with you.”

He didn’t say: ‘I’m not worried about bringing you here because what we have is different — it’s meant to last.’

He didn’t say: ‘You’re the only person I’ve ever cared about enough to let myself be vulnerable like this with — you could destroy me, but I’m willing to take that chance.’

He didn’t say: ‘I love you.’

And yet, that was what they both heard.

__________

Present day

“I knew you were in love with me the second you invited me on that trip,” Nesta smirked.

“Sweetheart, I was gone for you way before then,” Cassian laughed.

“That’s true,” she grinned. “You had an embarrassingly massive crush on me for the longest time. And you must’ve loved me a whole lot to let me get away with making Rhys grovel like that.”

“First of all, get your facts straight: I still have an embarrassingly massive crush on you,” he replied. “And secondly, well, Rhys deserved it and also it was really entertaining to watch.”

The day after they’d gotten back, Rhysand had sent Cassian and Nesta a long message, asking them to meet up so that he could apologize in person. Nesta decided that they should talk to Rhys separately.

Cassian went first. Rhys apologized profusely for all the names he’d called Nesta, for all the things he’d implied about Cassian, and for all the insults. Cassian in turn apologized for his part, and the two of them had a chat in which Rhys admitted that he’d acted like an entitled prick and that he was genuinely sorry. They made up and quickly forgave each other, like the pseudo-brothers they were.

Nesta and Rhysand were an altogether different story. Rhysand apologized to her as well, but she answered that while she accepted his apology, she could not forgive him so easily.

She understood that he didn’t like her, and that was his right, but she also felt that he couldn’t try to make claims about her character when he barely knew her. She told him that she was perfectly fine with having a tepid relationship with him where they would only speak when strictly necessary or that they could try to get to know each other better. Rhysand went with the second option. From there, they went on to have many long discussions. Once they’d gotten a bit closer, Nesta returned to their original point of contention: reproductive freedoms. She made Rhys listen to podcasts and read articles and watch videos about what reproductive freedom really was and why it was so important. “You don’t have to change your opinion,” she’d said, over and over. “You just need to be informed before you try to make claims about what others should or shouldn’t do with their bodies and their lives.”

It was only months later that Nesta finally stopped putting him through the wringer and told him that she’d forgiven him.

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it, Cass. It definitely was all for your entertainment, no other reason at all for us to argue,” Nesta replied dryly.

Her eyes drifted to the polaroid in the bottom right corner. “Now that,” she pointed, “that was entertainment. What a show!” She licked her lips and batted her eyelashes exaggeratedly.

“It was completely staged, of course,” Cassian joked. “The whole thing was just for your pleasure.”

Nesta raised an eyebrow. “My ‘pleasure’?”

“My, my, what a dirty mind you have, Nesta!” Cassian fake-gasped. “A proper gentleman would never imply something so improper to a lady like yourself.”

“A proper gentleman? Where?” she retorted without missing a beat.

He clutched his chest. “You wound me, m’lady.” He shook his head. “And to think, I was your knight in shining armor that day…”

“More like knight in very little armor.”

__________

Three years ago

Plunk.

They watched, immobilized by shock, as the necklace drifted below the water’s surface.

It fell slowly, until it became only a vague shadow in the water.

“Nesta?” “Nesta, are you ok?”

Voices faded in and out of Nesta’s awareness. She tried to force herself to smile, to nod that she was completely, totally fine. Unfortunately, she seemed to have lost the ability to control her body.

It was so, so stupid. She’d been having such a wonderful day. And now, she’d ruined it.

Cassian and Azriel had prepared a group trip to Ravennia Park, complete with a lovely picnic lunch in the field of blooming daffodils. Cassian had even made sure to include all her favorite foods in the lunch. Afterward, they walked around the park, stopping occasionally to take pictures or listen to birds.

They had stopped on this small bridge so that Feyre could take pictures of the glistening lake and the paddling of ducks that had just entered the water. Nesta had leaned over the railing, chatting with Cassian as she watched the colorful koi fish swim.

Her necklace had snapped suddenly, tumbling into the water before anyone could react.

Her silver necklace, which her father had given her for her eighth birthday, disappeared under the surface of the lake. Gone, just like her middle school best friend, Clare Beddor, who had drowned herself in a pool. Gone, just like her father.

Until her mother got sick, Nesta had had an amazing relationship with her father. She would sit next to him, listening intently as he explained how trading and shipbuilding worked. She was always the one to run and open the door when he came home from work, enveloping him in a hug. She loved it when he read her bedtime stories and watched her dance around the living room.

Then, everything changed. Her illusion that he could do no wrong broke when her mother told her that the reason she wasn’t getting better from her illness was that they couldn’t afford good doctors and medicine since her father had lost his job. After that, Nesta’s resentment only grew as the misfortunes piled up. Her mother died and they couldn’t afford the funeral that she’d wanted. Her sisters had to change schools. They moved into a smaller house, with a bedroom that all three sisters shared. They struggled to put food on the table.

When her father decided to sell art instead of looking for another job, saying he couldn’t rely on others to give him work, Nesta fumed. How could he sit there, carving wood and drinking beer, while Feyre worked overtime at her job in addition to school and she and Elain did all the cooking and cleaning? Nesta had vowed to leave as soon as she could, and, it turned out, that ballet allowed her to leave the nest sooner than expected.

Still, she’d felt guilty leaving her sisters to fend for themselves in that house, and then felt even angrier at her father for not taking care of them and putting Nesta in a position where she felt guilty for following her dreams.

Suffice to say, Nesta had a difficult relationship with him — one that was made all the more complex when he died of a sudden heart attack.

It had taken Nesta a long time to process and make peace with his death.

She’d decided to wear the necklace her father had given her today, in honor of his birthday. Once upon a time, she had worn this necklace all the time, showing off the token of her father’s affection. By putting it back on, she felt like she was healing a teenage Nesta, who had violently taken off her necklace at her mother’s funeral and shoved it into the drawer of her bedside table.

And now, it was lost forever.

“Nesta?”

Cassian’s voice cut through her haze and she lifted her eyes to see his worried expression. He brought a finger to her cheek, caressing it softly. It grounded her, bringing her back to the present, but she didn’t react — couldn’t react — more than just blinking at him dazedly.

Cassian took a deep breath. He grabbed the back of his t-shirt and removed it in one smooth motion, his pants quickly following suit. Before Nesta could process what was happening, he climbed over the railing and plunged into the lake.

Nesta could only cling to the railing, shocked silent for a new reason as she waited, praying to all the gods she barely believed in that his head would emerge from the water.

She tried to dispel all the fears that swam around in her mind, taunting her about the dangers of the lake. The water plants that could ensnare even experienced swimmers’ feet and drown them, the animals that could bite and eat him, the sharp rocks that could injure him, the current that could pull him under — the possibilities were endless.

Cassian’s head emerged from the water and she felt her heart unclench, just for a second, until he disappeared once more.

This jerked Nesta out of her stupor.

“Cassian,” she called out. “Cass! What the fuck are you doing? Get back here! ” Her voice grew increasingly panicked as there was no response.

“It’s dangerous, are you insane? Cassian? Cassian!”

Her shouts only stopped when Cassian surfaced. His broad shoulders and defined abs glistened in the sunlight as drops of water rolled down his chest. The bun his hair had been in had come upon, and now his dark, wavy-curly mane was streaming down his back. His brown skin was slick with water and drops clung to his long eyelashes. She couldn’t stop herself from noticing that he looked exactly how she’d imagined a merman to be.

Her lips parted as he stepped out of the water. She forced her eyes away from his soaking wet underwear that clung to his body, defining every inch of it. Her gaze fixed on his chest instead. She knew she should be focusing on Cassian’s face or the necklace in his hand but he was so fucking distracting. Soaked Cassian was criminally delectable.

“Nesta?”

Cassian’s voice was worried, probably since Nesta still wasn’t speaking.

“Nes,” he whispered, gently tilting her head upwards with a finger under her chin.

Their eyes met. Cassian’s concern was wiped off his face and was instantly replaced by a smirk.

“Lost your tongue, sweetheart?” he teased.

Though she had indeed lost the ability to speak, she would not give him the satisfaction of admitting it. No, she would play his game and beat him at it.

She licked her lips slowly. She tilted her head back to expose the column of her throat while she swallowed sharply, knowing how it drove him crazy. Cassian made a low noise in the back of his throat, as though he was trying and failing to suppress a groan. Then, he put his arms on her shoulders, turning her around.

“Lift up your hair,” he whispered into her ear, sending shivers across her body.

She did as he requested. He put the necklace back on her neck, patiently working the tiny clasp. His fingers brushed her neck, and even the cold silver of the necklace couldn’t cool the heat that spread within her. When the necklace was securely fastened, she turned around, wrapping her arms around his neck.

She took a moment to look deep within his eyes.

She would have to yell at him later for risking his life for a piece of jewelry, but nonetheless she appreciated what he had done. He was one of the only people who knew that she had a fear of deep water due to its association with Clare, and was also the only person who knew what putting this necklace back on meant for her. Yes, it was only a necklace, but he had also saved her from reopening the wounds of her complex relationship with her father and her past self.

So she kissed him, knowing he would understand every conflicting thought and emotion that she pressed against his lips. And when his hand came up to support her neck, she knew that he was answering ‘I’m here for you, always.’

__________

Present day

“I knew you were objectifying me,” Cassian pouted mockingly.

Nesta nodded. “Oh, for sure. You’re nothing but a sexy hunk to me.”

She leaned closer to him. “That’s why I said I love you first.” She tapped the picture in the top left corner.

Cassian rolled his eyes. “How long are you going to hold that over my head?”

Nesta hummed as though she were seriously contemplating the issue. “How about… forever?”

Cassian’s eyes sparkled and his mouth twisted around, as though he were trying to hold back a grin.

“Urg, fine,” he said. His attempt to appear annoyed failed completely as he sounded more amused than anything else. “As long as you know I loved you first.”

It was Nesta’s turn to roll her eyes in mock annoyance, despite knowing that he was likely correct. “Sure, keep telling yourself that.”

__________

Three years ago

It was the final match of the Alfheim Ice Hockey Championships. If the Velaris Ghost Leopards managed to beat the Hybern Hydras, they would win the Fionn Cup for the first time in history.

The game was extremely close, with both teams tied at 2-2, though not for lack of trying. The Hydras were playing atrociously dirty by anyone’s standards. They had already received numerous green and yellow cards, but it didn’t seem to deter them from continuing to foul the Ghost Leopards.

Nesta cheered as Andras blocked Keir Hewn’s attack. Lucien swept in, stealing the puck from Keir, and passed it across the ice to Cassian. Cassian bluffed and wove his way through the Hydras’ defensemen.

“C’mon, Cass, c’mon,” she chanted, her hands clasped together.

Beron Falls raced to block Cassian, but Cassian passed the puck to Kallias just in time. Kallias dribbled the puck expertly.

“Please, Kallias, make this shot,” Rhys implored from the seat behind Nesta’s.

Kallias skated towards the goals, and lifted his stick to shoot.

Then, the ice erupted in shouts, the umpire blowing the whistle continuously.

“What just happened?” Gwyn asked but no one had an answer to give her. Nesta just sighed, dropping her face into her hands until she felt Elain tugging at her shoulder. Her eyes followed Elain’s pointed finger to see the jumbotron showing a replay. Andrew Amaranth, the Hydras’ left winger, had come up to Kallias from behind. He grabbed his stick and kicked the back of his calf with the blade of his skates, causing Kallias to fall.

“What the fuck is wrong with him?” Nesta shouted.

“He’s actually unhinged,” Azriel agreed.

The umpire called for a yellow and a ten-minute time out.

“It should be a red card,” Gwyn hissed and Nesta loudly agreed.

The game continued in such a fashion, with the Hydras playing as dirty as possible without getting red cards.

The game was still tied with five minutes remaining in the third period.

“We can’t go into overtime,” Azriel muttered to himself, “All our players are getting tired and they’re bound to actually get injured from these fouls.”

“Better overtime than a loss,” Rhys replied.

Nesta looked down at her hands. Her nails had been bitten down to the nub over the course of this game.

Winning the Fionn Cup was a lifelong dream of Cassian’s. He had worked hard for this. He’d given his life to this sport for years, training every day for hours on end, no matter how tired he was. He studied strategy, honed his body, and worked with his team to figure out how to play into everyone’s individual strengths.

But it was more than that.

In many ways, the sport had also saved Cassian. It had given him direction and a sense of purpose at a time when he’d felt lost. It had given him a team, when he’d only ever felt alone. It had provided him an alternative to the path he’d thought he was destined for — a path that led to nothing but more despair, where he would just get by, numbly passing through every day and surviving by the skin of his teeth. Ice hockey had opened up a whole new world for him and allowed him to dream of a different future for himself. It had given him hope, showing him a way out of the cycle of sadness that he’d imagined he would be trapped in forever.

The world had once branded him as useless, as broken, as less than nothing. As he was tossed around from foster home to foster home, sleeping on the street among the trash, the word worthless sank deeper and deeper into his skin.

Ice hockey was the hand that had reached out and pulled him to his feet, getting him off the ground, out of the shadows and the litter and the endless despair. It had dusted him off and pulled him into the light, where he could get warm and grow and sparkle as he was meant to.

Now, Nesta wanted the world to acknowledge that Cassian was a champion. She wanted the world to know they’d been wrong to ever dismiss him as anything less than magnificent. She wanted him to win the Fionn Cup and stand proudly in the spotlight, knowing the world now looked up to him. More than anything, she wanted him to know that he was worthy, that he was precious, that he was important.

“Oh, fuck, yes!” Azriel shouted. Nesta would have raised an eyebrow at him — the ever-brooding, silent and mysterious Azriel — shouting so enthusiastically, if she hadn’t been so caught up in the game.

Kallias had stolen the puck from Dagdan Maeve and was racing towards the goal. Just as he crossed the center line, the Hydra’s defensemen, Beron and Nolan, closed in on him. Nesta watched as Kallias attempted to fake them out, then made a sharp turn to get away from them, all to no avail. Beron finally caught up to him and moved to steal the puck. With Nolan guarding Kallias’ other side, there was nowhere for him to move, no space for him to pass.

“Oh, I can’t watch,” Rhys hissed, wincing.

Nesta pressed her lips together, hoping for a miracle, when suddenly the puck disappeared. Kallias had somehow managed to pass it through the narrow gap between Beron and Nolan’s sticks and had hit the puck with such strength that neither of them could move to stop it in time. Cassian received the pass and skated towards the goal. Beron, Nolan, and even some of the forwards moved to stop him, but Nesta knew they wouldn’t make it in time. Not when Cassian was speeding forward, moving like the wind as he skated across the ice.

Nesta leaned forward in her seat as a feeling swelled up inside her. It was a mix of anticipation, nervousness, hope, fear, pride, and something else — something that made her feel like her heart was in her throat and made her pray that Cassian would score but know she would be there by his side no matter what happened. She had been feeling it for so long now, but had never voiced it — never put words to the feeling for fear that it would shatter the precious thing they’d built. But now Nesta knew it wasn’t something that could be so easily destroyed. No, it didn’t matter if Cassian won or lost, or even got injured. It didn’t matter if Cassian got traded to a team in a different city or Nesta had to switch ballet companies. No matter what, through the ups and the downs, they would be there for each other, helping to shoulder the emotional load.

As Cassian's hockey stick hit the puck, Nesta wondered why she had been waiting so long when it was so clear what this feeling was. If she was being honest, she’d known it when Cassian dove into the water for her necklace, had known it when he’d brought her to Windhaven, had known it even the first time she’d sat in these seats, cheering Cassian on as he played.

Cassian’s love was loud. It was in the romantic dates he planned, the surprises and gifts and hugs he showered her with, the weekends when he could sleep in but woke up anyway to make her pancakes. No, he hadn’t said the words either, but his protective arm around her during dinner with his friends and the vulnerable look in his eyes as he prepared a fusion meal that combined their cultural cuisines said all that was needed.

Nesta’s love was quiet. It was in the fridge restocked with Cassian’s favorite foods, the ways she tended to his injuries after a match, and carefully planned meaningful gifts for his birthday. No, she hadn’t said the words, but she knew that he knew how she felt.

But now, as the puck flew towards the goal, Nesta wanted to love just as boldly as Cassian. She wanted to show the world how lucky she was to be with him, but more importantly, she wanted Cassian to feel how much she cared about him. She wanted him to know that she was proud to be his. For him, she’d shout their love from the rooftops. She’d give him the whole universe if she could, because the world had been so unkind to him and yet he’d still managed to become the most incredible person in it. She could only offer him her heart, however, and hope that he would find it worthy of keeping.

The puck grazed the goalie’s glove and Nesta held her breath. The goalie stretched out his fingers to grab it but it flew past him.

“GOAL!”

The entire stadium erupted into screams. Cheers of pure joy came from the Ghost Leopards’ side, louder than ever before. Nesta watched as Gwyn, Azriel, Elain, and Rhys jumped up and hugged each other.

Nesta could only stand up in silence, too consumed with her feelings to utter a single sound. For what sound could encapsulate this all-encompassing joy and pride? She looked down at the rink. Cassian’s teammates were all piled up around him in a massive group hug. And in the middle of it all, Cassian was there, beaming. His eyes lifted and met hers. She was grinning, wider than ever before in her life, and lifted her hands to make a heart.

Cassian’s eyes turned huge. He took a deep breath.

Perhaps he would have responded in kind, but he was obstructed from Nesta’s view as another teammate jumped to hug him and then the coach yelled at them that the game was restarting. Cassian shot Nesta one last, loaded glance before skating back to his position.

It was all a blur after that. The last few minutes of the match passed without any change. Both teams’ offenses and defenses were equally matched, and the puck passed between them with no chances to score. When the buzzer rang out, everyone sprung to their feet.

Nesta cheered, not giving a shit that her voice would be hoarse the next day with how loudly she was screaming. Azriel was jumping up and down like a child — she’d never seen him so overtly joyous. Rhys had tears of joy pouring down his cheeks. Gwyn and Elain were hugging.

After the awards ceremony, all the interviews, and a rowdy celebration with the team, Cassian finally joined them.

The second they caught sight of him, they rushed towards him. All five of them reached him at the same time and jumped on him, crushing him as they hugged him and showered him with compliments and congratulations.

Cassian laughed boisterously.

“I can’t believe it! I’m friends with a Fionn Cup Champion,” Gwyn gushed.

“Oh, so now we’re friends?” Cassian teased.

Gwyn answered with a playful shove that pushed Cassian back toward Azriel. Az wrapped his arms around Cassian, trapping him.

He pressed a kiss to the side of Cassian’s head as the latter squirmed.

“Sorry Nes, I’m keeping him,” Azriel joked, tightening his grip as Cassian tried to shake him off.

“Take him,” Nesta grinned. “He snores.”

“I do not!”

Cassian’s protest went ignored.

“Hmm,” Azriel pretended to muse. “But then I could have a real-life Fionn Cup Champion in my room. The price of the noise-canceling headphones will be worth it.”

Nesta shrugged. “I’d be surprised if he fit through your door, now that his ego is going to get even bigger.”

“True, true. I’d hate for his massive head to break my roof.”

“Hello? I thought you’re supposed to be nice to Fionn Cup winners,” Cassian pouted.

Gwyn laughed. “Nice? Cassian, it’s like you don’t even know us.”

“I can be nice,” Rhys protested.

Everyone proceeded to burst out laughing.

“Okay, fine,” he acquiesced. “I’m a demon just like the rest of you.”

“That’s right,” Nesta grinned. “Accept your true nature and join our pit of darkness.”

Gwyn laughed evilly, “Mwahahaha!”

Nesta lifted her left hand, which Gwyn promptly high-fived.

“Okay, anyway,” Elain interrupted, “Cassian, are you hungry? You must be tired after that amazing game.”

“Wow, thank you for being so considerate, Elain,” he said, extending her name pointedly. “I am actually pretty hungry and tired and sore after the game.”

He turned his head to glare at Azriel, who was still holding him.

Az merely rolled his eyes. “Aw, poor baby. Does the little Fionn Cup Champion have a boo-boo?”

“Maybe he needs Nesta to kiss them better,” Gwyn suggested, not bothering to hide her smirk.

“Are you gonna tend to his wounds?” Rhysand asked. “Nurse him to health?”

“I guess that depends on what it is that he’s hungry for,” Nesta replied with a wink.

They all burst out laughing a second later.

“Wow, you’re all so immature,” Cassian sniffed. “Elain is the only person fit for polite company.”

Rhysand glanced around. “What polite company?”

“Oh, no,” Azriel exclaimed. “We’re blaspheming! Now that Cassian’s won the Cup, we have to refer to him by his proper title: His Highness Sir Cassian of Illyrian.”

“I’m so sorry, my Lord,” Nesta added with a curtsey. “Please, forgive our disrespect.”

“Regency romance,” Gwyn fake-coughed into her elbow.

“Of course, m’lady,” Cassian winked, “you’re forgiven. Although you may have to be punished for your transgressions.”

Azriel pretended to gag. “Please, save the foreplay for the bedroom.”

“My poor, innocent ears,” Rhysand groaned. “I’ll never recover.”

Nesta turned to him. “Right, because you’ve never made out with my baby sister in public.” Then, she smirked. “Although, maybe you are innocent if that was too much for you. I mean, how vanilla are you?”

“Cassian,” Elain interrupted. “Do you want to go eat dinner at a restaurant or something?”

“That sounds amazing! How about the Greek place on 10th Avenue?” Cassian replied.

“Oh fine,” Rhys rolled his eyes playfully, “We’ll get food.”

“I am actually really hungry, too,” Gwyn agreed.

“Well, if Gwyn is hungry, then we gotta go eat now!” Nesta declared.

Azriel nodded, his expression serious.

Cassian sighed.

“I’ll meet you guys there,” Cassian called out as he walked towards his car with Nesta, “Or not. It’s also fine if you get lost on the way.”

Azriel responded by raising a choice finger.

The mirth was still in the air as Nesta closed the car door on the passenger’s side.

“I can drive if you want,” she joked as Cassian slammed his door shut. Nesta was a notoriously reckless driver. She hated driving unless she had to, and Cassian loved driving, so it usually worked out perfectly.

He laughed. “I appreciate the offer, but I’d like to live.”

The car got quiet as the laughter faded. It filled instead with an intimate intensity.

Cassian turned slightly to buckle his seatbelt.

Nesta reached over and placed a hand on his cheek. Cassian inhaled sharply and lifted his gaze to meet hers. Her thumb caressed his cheek.

“Cassian,” she whispered. She knew the look in her eyes said it all already, but it had said it for so long and she’d never once let her tongue speak it. But Cassian — brilliant, beautiful, splendid Cassian who had been hurt far too much by the world — deserved to hear them aloud. It scared her for too many reasons to count, but if ever there was anyone worth confronting that fear for, it was this man who sat next to her in all his marvelous glory.

His eyes were open — vulnerable, in a way he always was with her. Sometimes she wondered whether she deserved to be allowed to handle his precious heart that too many had tried to shatter. What if she dropped it or dented it with her harshness? But he entrusted her with it anyway.

She took a deep breath. Then, she let it out, alongside the words she’d been holding in for so long.

“I love you.”

Cassian’s eyes filled with tears. He opened his mouth to reply, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Not a single word escaped despite his attempts, but Nesta understood and just smiled, her eyes shining with joy.

“Don’t worry, you don’t need to respond.”

Cassian looked frustrated at himself as a tear rolled down his cheek. “But I- I do. I-” He screwed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath.

Nesta knew that those three words were not ones Cassian had heard very much in his life. Shirina had likely been the first to say those words to him in his memory, and that hadn’t been til his teen years. Cassian’s mother had most likely loved him, but Cassian’s memories of her were sparse.

Enalius certainly loved Cassian, but Nesta was just as certain that he would not say it out aloud. Enalius showed his love through his coaching, his cheering, and the letters he’d send from all over the world.

Ayla, Rhysand, and Azriel also loved Cassian and weren’t shy about it these days, although none of them were particularly vocal about it either. They preferred to show it through gifts and hugs and jokes and advice. When they had met, however, they had all been preteens who wouldn’t have been caught dead saying the words ‘I love you’.

Cassian had certainly had flings and girlfriends in the past. Nesta didn’t know the details of all of his past relationships, but she could easily guess that those words had seldom or, more likely, never been exchanged.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “You don’t need to say anything right now.”

And then, just because she could — because she now had the freedom to say it without being caged by fear — she added, “I love you, Cassian.”

Cassian answered with a kiss that said, ‘I love you more than words can ever express.’

__________

Present day

“I was such a mess,” Cassian recalled fondly. “Rhys and Az laughed at me for bawling so much.”

“I remember Gwyn saying that she could take the trophy if it was making you so sad,” Nesta added.

“Nah, I think I’ll keep it,” he laughed. Then, he added, “I love you.”

“Are you talking to me or the trophy?”

“Oh, the trophy, for sure.”

“Oh, good, just wanted to make sure.”

They grinned at each other.

“You have no idea how I felt when I saw you make that heart that day,” he said. “I mean, I was already elated because of the goal I’d just scored, but that couldn’t even compare to how I felt when I looked up at you. I think my heart literally skipped a beat.”

“Better visit a cardiologist then,” Nesta answered lightly.

Cassian flicked her nose. She shrieked loudly in return.

“You know what you sound like?” Cassian tapped a photo in the middle, which was surrounded by doodles of musical notes.

Nesta mock-gasped. “Excuse you, I wasn’t that bad.”

“You’re right, you were worse.”

__________

Three years ago

“What’s that?”

Nesta pointed towards a large, lumpy black bag resting against Cassian’s bedroom wall.

“Oh, sorry, I was practicing earlier and forgot to put it away.” Cassian moved the bag to his closet. “It’s my guitar.”

Nesta placed her hand on Cassian’s wrist before he could shut the closet.

“You play guitar?”

“Yeah, it’s something I picked up when living with Shirina. I’m not a pro or anything, but it’s a fun hobby, you know.”

“Wow, would you… could you play something for me?”

Cassian seemed surprised but nodded, pulling the guitar back out of the closet.

He sat down on the floor, his back resting against the bed. “What do you want me to play?”

Nesta sat down beside him. “Anything you want. Just play me something you enjoy playing.”

Cassian absently strummed the guitar a few times, deep in thought.

“Alright, sweetheart. Here we go. This song is called la rosa del principe.” Cassian closed his eyes and started playing.

Nesta watched him with bright eyes, mesmerized.

After a while, he started singing. His deep voice complemented the melody he was strumming. His singing was nice, but it was the passion in his voice that warmed Nesta’s insides.

“Wow,” Nesta whispered when the song ended.

Cassian chuckled. “Shirina loved that song. She’s the one that signed me up for some guitar lessons, you know. She taught me the lyrics to la rosa del principe when I told her I didn’t know them. She was always humming the melody when she was cooking or doing chores or whatever. I think it was a song her mom liked, so it reminded her of her childhood.”

“Does it remind you of your childhood?”

Cassian took a moment to contemplate his answer. “It reminds me of Shirina, and how kindly and lovingly she treated me. That wasn’t really a common theme in my childhood, you know, but I suppose you could say it reminds me of some of the best parts of my childhood.”

Nesta nudged his shoulder with hers comfortingly. He gently pushed back against her in a silent gesture of gratitude. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment.

Then, Nesta pressed a kiss to his cheek and whispered, “Could you teach me?”

Cassian swallowed roughly and nodded.

“The lyrics are kind of complicated, since it’s not in English, but I can just teach you the chorus for now if you want.”

“Sure,” she smiled.

Cassian spoke the lyrics slowly. Nesta tried to repeat after him, though she didn’t do the best job judging by Cassian’s chuckles.

“Close. It’s tramonto, not tremare,” he corrected.

“What do the lyrics mean?” Nesta asked.

“The song is a love letter to a rose. It’s a metaphor for loving something so delicate and impermanent,” he explained. “The song is from the point of view of this guy who is so powerful — he’s a prince, he can travel across galaxies, he can do whatever he wants — but he feels so powerless because he knows he can’t control what happens to this rose that he loves. And even though he’s rich and powerful, he gets lonely a lot and his rose is his only companion so he dreads the thought of leaving it or having it disappear.”

“That sounds kind of tragic.”

“I guess so, but it’s not sad per se. It’s more like a reminder of the importance of love rather than materialistic things, and not taking your loved ones for granted.”

He kissed her cheek.

Nesta smiled. “That’s beautiful.”

Cassian hummed in agreement. “It’s such a Shirina song. She loved songs with morals like that, that remind you to appreciate what you have. She was so down-to-Earth, even though her husband was one of the richest, most powerful people around here. It’s…” He trailed off with a sigh.

“I’m glad you met her,” Nesta said quietly after a moment. “She sounds like a great person and I’m so happy you had her in your life.”

“Yeah, me too.” He took a deep breath. “I wish you could’ve met her. I think… I think she would have loved you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They sat quietly for a moment. Then, Cassian grinned mischievously.

“Cas! What the fu-” yelped Nesta as he lifted her up.

He placed her between his legs with a huff of laughter. She leaned back into him, her back pressing against his front.

Cassian placed the guitar in her lap.

“Alright, it’s time for you to learn how to play this magnificent instrument,” he declared.

“Okay, but I’m just warning you, I don’t really have experience playing instruments.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m just here to help you learn some basics. Besides, you’re a dancer so you have some experience with rhymes and stuff. How bad could you be?”

Holding her hands in his, he demonstrated how to hold the guitar and how to strum a basic chord.

“You got it!” Cassian cheered as Nesta played a C chord that didn’t sound half bad.

“Ok, so then,” Cassian moved their hands to a different position. “Use your pointer finger to hold down this string. Good! Your middle finger holds this one and your ring finger holds this one.”

He continued his explanation of different chords and strumming patterns.

“So, basically, you just hold down different strings and strum up and down for different notes, right?” Nesta asked as he finished.

Cassian chuckled. “Basically, yeah.”

“Alright.” Nesta wiggled her hands free from Cassian’s grasp and took a dramatic deep breath. “It’s time. I’m going to play.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What are you going to play? I haven’t taught you how to play la rosa del principe yet.”

She shrugged. “I’m just going to let my imagination and inspiration guide me.”

“Uh, I’m not sure that’s going to turn out-”

A jumbled chord cut him off.

“Um-”

What followed next was the most chaotic, screechy minute of guitar playing Cassian had ever heard. The torture likely would have continued for longer, since he didn’t have the heart to stop Nesta, if they hadn’t been interrupted by the Cassian’s bedroom door slamming open.

Azriel yelled, “Cassian! I think a cat is dying in your ro- oh, hey Nesta.”

“Hey Az!” she replied, beaming at Cassian’s roommate until she registered his words. “Wait, what? You think I sound like a dying cat?”

Azriel took a step back, prepared to run away, as Nesta stood up and placed the guitar in Cassian’s lap.

“Well, you know, uh, it’s good to practice and all, but we don’t want noise complaints from our neighbors, or allegations of animal abuse so…” Az smirked.

“Wha- animal- Get back here you little-” Nesta sprinted down the hallway, chasing after a cackling Azriel.

Cassian was still sitting there, laughing, when the two of them ran back into the room.

“Save me, Cass!” Azriel pleaded as he tried to hide behind his friend.

Nesta smirked. “You really think you can use my boyfriend against me like this?”

“He was my friend first!” Azriel gripped his sleeve.

Nesta rolled her eyes.

“Please Cassian,” she said in an airy voice. She looked up at him through her lashes and gently tugged on his sleeve.

He followed her lead without even thinking, until Azriel muttered, “Traitor.”

“Hey, wait-” Cassian interjected, coming to his senses.

Nesta stuck her tongue out at Az. “He loves me.”

Whatever Cassian could have said on Azriel’s behalf dissipated when her eyes softened as they met his.

Even Azriel’s over-the-top gagging noises couldn’t ruin the moment as Nesta smiled at him and murmured, “Can you teach me how to play la rosa del principe later?”

“We’ll see,” Cassian replied with a smile, knowing full well that he’d cave into her demands, no matter the cost to his ears.

__________

Present day

“I love that you wanted to learn how to play guitar for me.” Cassian’s eyes were warm and full of mirth. “Even if playing music isn’t exactly your strong suit.”

Nesta placed a hand over her heart. “How dare you suggest such a thing.”

Her stern demeanor gave way to playfulness as she winked, “I guess you’ll just have to sing and play music for me while I dance.”

“Exactly. You see, Nes, we complement each other perfectly.”

“A match made in heaven,” she agreed with a laugh.

“Honestly, though, it meant a lot to me that you wanted to hear me play,” Cassian said when they stopped laughing, “and that you wanted to learn.”

“It meant a lot to me that you were willing to share such a personal song with me,” Nesta answered, “and that you were willing to be so open with me without prompting. It was like a sign, you know, that our relationship was actually real and meaningful to you, too. Of course I already knew that but, like, I guess it just hit home right then.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. In that moment, I also felt how easy it was to be open and talk about anything and everything with you.”

“You see?” Nesta winked, gesturing between them. “We’re made for each other.”

She glanced down at the pictures between them.

“At least I don’t need to put up with Az insulting my musical talents anymore, now that you don’t live together.”

“Talents?” Cassian coughed.

Nesta shot him a warning glare before continuing, “I’m so glad I don’t need to hear him complaining or interrupting us anymore. That was the real reason I asked you to live with me, you know — so I wouldn’t have to hear his whining.”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” he replied. He leaned closer to her. “It was all part of my plan, Sweetheart.”

__________

Two years ago

“Don’t mind me, I just need to get to the kettle.”

Nesta and Cassian sprung apart at Azriel’s words.

Azriel, with a bored expression, walked past the couple into the kitchen and filled water in the kettle.

Cassian hastily redid his fly, clearing his throat a few times. Nesta, blushing furiously, scrambled to hook her bra and do up the buttons on her shirt.

Azriel turned back around, leaning back against the counter as he waited for the water to boil. He reached into his back pocket for his phone, but noticed Nesta’s expression and rolled his eyes. “Oh my god, Nesta, chill. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Cassian furrowed his eyebrows. “What?” he growled.

Azriel shook his head in exasperation. “How many times have I walked in on you two making out — hell, how many times have I walked in on you two fucking in common spaces? At this point, I’m immune to all this.” He waved his hand at Nesta’s half-open shirt and Cassian’s bare chest.

Cassian slipped his shirt over his head.

“Really?” Nesta asked, arching a perfectly angled eyebrow and tossing her hair over her shoulder. Cassian elbowed her and she giggled, buttoning up the rest of her shirt.

“Az-” Cassian began, annoyance coloring his tone.

“No,” Azriel interrupted firmly. “If you don’t want me to walk in or interrupt you or whatever, go do whatever you want in your room. I’ve never once complained about the noise, even when I have to put up with your loud-ass moans and screams. But I have the right to make tea in my own house if I want to.”

Cassian narrowed his eyes. His stance changed unconsciously, gearing up for a fight. He opened his mouth to deliver a biting retort.

“You’re right, Az,” Nesta interjected before the situation could escalate any further. “We’re sorry.”

Azriel was silent, his eyes fixed on Cassian. The latter let Nesta pull him towards his bedroom.

About a week later, Cassian and Nesta were once again interrupted. This time, Azriel crunched loudly on his popcorn as he walked into the living room.

Cassian sent him a questioning glare as Nesta scrambled to cover herself.

“What?” Azriel replied, unfazed. “I was gonna watch TV, but, well, it seems like there’s a show right here.”

“Look-”

“C’mon, Cass.” Nesta sprung up from the couch, dressed in Cassian’s shirt, and took her boyfriend’s hand. “I needed to talk to you about something, anyway.” She winked at him and whispered, “I got a little side-tracked and forgot.”

Cassian shot Az a dirty look as he exited the room.

“Did you actually need to talk about something,” Cassian asked with a smile as he sat down on his bed and placed Nesta on his lap, “or did you just want to distract me?”

He leaned his forehead against hers.

Nesta laughed lightly. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t always lie to manipulate you.”

He widened his eyes in false disbelief. “Really?”

She shook her head with a grin. “Why would I when I can manipulate you just as well with the truth?”

“Ooh, you saucy witch,” Cassian joked.

They both laughed.

Nesta pressed a hand to Cassian’s cheek to stop him as he leaned in to kiss her.

“I do actually want to talk about something.”

He leaned back and cocked his head. “What’s up?”

The twinkle in Nesta’s eyes dimmed.

“It’s my apartment.” She swallowed. “My landlord is raising the rent.”

“Again?” he replied, alarmed. It had only been four months since the last time her rent had increased.

She nodded. “Yeah. And it’s not… I mean, it would be ridiculous for me to stay there, even if I managed to afford it. It’s definitely not worth the new rent.”

“So you want to move?”

“Yeah.”

Cassian seemed confused by her nervous tone. “Alright, well, don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll help you with all your stuff, and I know a guy with a moving truck. It’ll all be okay. We’ll find you a way better place to live.”

He gave her an encouraging squeeze and smile that she didn’t return.

“Uh, well, um. Actually, I was wondering if…” Nesta rolled her lips.

Cassian frowned, concerned by Nesta’s hesitant tone.

“Could I- I mean, I already spend so much time at your place,” she continued, “and I stay here a lot and we- um. Since I have to get a new place…”

“Of course you can stay here while you look for a new place!” Cassian replied.

“Oh!” Nesta sounded surprised. “No, I- I mean, thank you. But, uh, that’s not really what I was gonna…” She shook her head, annoyed at her own incoherence. “That’s really sweet of you, Cass.”

Cassian gave her a long look, trying to decipher her thoughts. “Are you trying to find a place on this block? I can try to get the inside scoop if that’s what you were asking.”

“No, no, that’s not what I-” She took a deep breath and then looked into Cassian's eyes. “Would you want to live with me?”

Cassian blinked. “Oh! Oh, I-” He started to grin. Then, he blinked again, and his face fell. “Oh, uh, I…”

“It’s totally fine if not!” Nesta quickly backtracked. “I know you already signed this lease and stuff, and I can definitely just move-”

“No, it’s- I-” It was Cassian’s turn to take a deep breath. “Nesta, I would love to live with you and I’m honored that you asked me and I’m- I’m so, so happy that you want to live with me. But, well, I just don’t know if it will work out, considering.” He shot a glance towards the door.

Nesta got up from Cassian’s lap. “Oh.” She looked away from him as she gathered her clothes off the floor, trying to disguise her hurt. “Um, okay. Yeah. I get it.” Her thoughts spiraled as she changed out of Cassian’s shirt.

“Nes! Nesta, I…” Cassian seemed to be at a loss for words. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah,” she replied half-heartedly after a beat.

“Nes, I just…” he sounded frustrated. “You know how things have been lately, with Az. As much as I… I don’t think it’s realistic to think that he’d be okay with it, and of course I’d talk to him beforehand but, like, it is his place too and…”

She gave a noncommittal hum in reply.

The room was drenched in tense silence.

“Can you just be honest?” Nesta said finally, puncturing the tension. “If you don’t want to move in with me, just say it. I understand you’re renting this place with Az, but he isn’t unreasonable. We both know that if you talked about it, he’d be cool with it. Maybe he’d ask you to wait for a bit, until the end of this lease or whatever, but he wouldn’t stop you. So just tell me why you don’t want to live with me, because I- I thought we were… that this was…”

“I am being honest,” Cassian frowned.

She gave an irritated sigh.

“No, really, I am,” he insisted. “You were there with me in the living room, weren’t you? Didn’t you see how pissed he was? I guess maybe it wasn’t- Az isn’t the type to yell or anything. That quiet, passive-aggressive type shit is how he expresses his annoyance.”

“So?” Nesta bit back. “If anything, I would have thought he’d be glad if we weren’t here as often.”

“Exactly! I don’t think we should spend more time here.”

Nesta paused. “What?”

“I know you and Az do get along,” he said, “but I really don’t think he’d be fine with you moving in here.”

“Here? Wait, you thought- Oh. Oh!” Nesta brightened visibly.

“What?” Cassian seemed bewildered by her sudden change in mood.

“Cassian, I wasn’t asking to move in here,” she laughed. “I was asking you to move in with me at a new place we’ll find together.”

Cassian’s eyes widened in realization. “Oh! Yes, of course, I’d love that! Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I thought- but- yes!”

Nesta grinned. “I should’ve been clearer, sorry about that.”

“No, no, it’s on me.” His face slowly spread into a grin. “Guess we’ll have to work on communicating better if we’re gonna live together, huh?”

“I guess so,” she beamed.

Nesta embraced Cassian tightly.

“We’re living together!” she whispered excitedly.

He hugged her back. “Yes, we are,” he replied just as thrilled.

__________

Present day

“I can’t believe we were so stupid,” Nesta laughed.

“I know right?” Cassian looked down at the photo once more. “No, but seriously, I was so elated when we moved into this place.”

Nesta smiled fondly. “Yeah, me too. I smiled for, like, 48 hours straight, even though we had to carry all those boxes and,” she paused dramatically, “unpack.” She shuddered.

“Ah, yes, unpacking — the harshest of struggles.”

“I’m so glad you understand.”

“Oh, no, I don’t mind unpacking, but well,” Cassian ran a hand through his hair suavely, “some people are just built different.”

Nesta flipped him off playfully.

“Aw, sweetheart, don’t be jealous,” he replied consolingly, “I have my own weaknesses. Like, I hate packing.”

She huffed. “Cass-”

“What? Oh, c’mon, what’s the point of my trauma if I can’t joke about it?”

She shook her head with a chuckle. “So you’re saying that all that trauma was just character development so you could increase your humor stats?”

Cassian pointed finger guns at her. “Cha-ching! Now you get it.”

Nesta laughed.

She looked around, still awed by the beautiful display Cassian had set up for her. She picked up a rose petal and admired its color and scent. As she fiddled with it, she was suddenly struck by a thought.

“Where are Ara and Lina?”

“They’re with Em,” Cassian said reassuringly. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean all this stuff up before they get back.”

“Oh, they love being at Emerie’s place. They get along so well with Siph, it’s crazy.” Nesta paused, struck by another thought. “Wait, but why did you ask her to watch them? I mean, why did you organize this whole-”

“Remember when we got them?” Cassian interrupted, pointing to another polaroid. “They used to be so tiny! It’s crazy how much they’ve grown.”

Nesta cocked her head, confused by Cassian ignoring her question. Before she could continue her line of questioning, however, her eyes landed on the photo he was indicating and she got sidetracked.

“Oh my gosh, yeah,” she breathed as she reminisced. “I can’t believe we thought we were going to walk into the shelter without adopting a pet.”

“I can’t believe we told the landlord that we didn’t care about the pet policy because we were never going to get one,” he answered.

“We’re so lucky we accidentally got an apartment that allows pets,” she agreed.

“I’ll never forget the look on Cresseida’s face when we told her,” Cassian added.

She replied, “She made sure we’d never forget. She was saying ‘I told you so’ for months.”

__________

One year ago

“We’ll stop by for a bit, but we’re not adopting any pets,” Nesta repeated for the fifth time in the past ten minutes.

“Okay,” Cresseida answered with a knowing smirk, “but it’s also okay if you change your mind.”

Cresseida, Emerie’s girlfriend, ran a pet shelter with her best friend, Nuala. She had invited all of Emerie’s friends to stop by anytime, saying that she and the animals enjoyed having company.

Nesta and Cassian had resisted at first, since they weren’t looking for pets and, in Nesta’s words, “weren’t the pet type”. Neither of them had ever owned a pet before. While they respected people who loved their pets, they also enjoyed making fun of those who dressed up in matching outfits with their pets for Halloween and talked about their pets as though they were their children. Also, while Nesta didn’t dislike animals per se, she also didn’t like them enough to feel any desire to live with one 24/7, let alone take care of one. Cassian liked animals well enough but he’d had some bad experiences with stray dogs when he was a kid. When they visited friends who owned big dogs who would greet visitors by pouncing on them or barking excitedly, Cassian would always plaster a fake smile on his face, but she’d feel him flinch.

However, when Emerie used her puppy-dog eyes and pleaded with Nesta to just go once to support her girlfriend’s work, she’d caved and agreed to visit. Cassian and Gwyn — both of whom had yet to visit the shelter — came along with her, saying they should all just get it over with together.

“This side of the shelter has dogs,” Cresseida said as they walked in, “and this side has cats. There are also some other animals in the back section. Feel free to walk around and ask me if you have any questions. Right now, most of the animals are in their individual kennels and the kennel doors are locked but let me know if you want to play with any of them.”

“Alright, thanks,” Nesta replied.

She and Cassian shared a look. Both of them wanted to humor Cresseida, who was a great person and also the best girlfriend Emerie had (at least in Nesta’s opinion), but they both knew they wouldn’t be interested in any animals. They would just wander around the shelter until an appropriate amount of time had passed and they could politely leave.

“Ooh, a kitten!” Gwyn exclaimed, grabbing Nesta’s hand and pulling her into the cat section.

Meanwhile, Cassian followed Cresseida into a different area.

“Oh my gosh, this baby is only 12 weeks old,” Gwyn cooed at the striped tabby cat. “Isn’t she adorable?”

“She is cute,” Nesta admitted, but Gwyn had already moved on.

“Wow, this cat has the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen! Oh, and look at this one! Do you see the face he’s making?”

Nesta laughed and followed her friend, nodding along to Gwyn’s excited commentary.

Finally, Gwyn came to a halt with a gasp. She kneeled down wordlessly in front of an orange kitten, who blinked back at her sleepily. Nesta kneeled down next to Gwyn. She looked at the kennel in front of her. A jet-black cat was at the other corner of the kennel, hissing and growling at the young boy who was trying to attract its attention. His mother pulled him away just as the cat attempted to scratch the child through the glass.

“Crazy feral cat,” Nesta heard the mother grumble under her breath as they walked away.

Nesta raised an eyebrow at the cat, who regarded her with an equally judgemental expression. Nesta took a step closer to the glass. The cat did the same.

She tuned out Gwyn mumbling something. Instead, she turned her focus to the tag on the kennel.

“Oh, wow, you still don’t have a name even though you’re eight months old, huh,” Nesta said. She had always thought it was a bit silly how pet owners talked to animals as though they could really answer, but now she found it to be the most natural thing in the world. Especially when the cat meowed in response.

Nesta cocked her head. The cat studied her for a few seconds. It stared intensely with its yellow eyes. Then, it tilted its head, copying her.

She couldn’t help but melt. How was it possible that such a sweet cat had yet to find a home?

“Nesta! There you are!”

Nesta jolted as Cresseida’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“I see you found little Miss Onyx over here,” Cresseida smiled. “I’ve never seen her be so friendly with any customers before.”

“Is her name Onyx, then?”

“Oh, no. We have tried to name her before, but she seems to hate every name we’ve tried, so we kind of gave up,” Cresseida explained. “We couldn’t keep calling her ‘the unnamed black cat’, though, so now we just refer to her by black object names.” Cresseida turned towards the cat. “Isn’t that right, Blackberry?”

The cat hissed and retreated to the corner of her kennel closest to Nesta.

Cresseida laughed. “See?” Then, she sent Nesta a knowing glance. “She seems to adore you.”

Nesta glanced back at the cat, who was now sitting with a paw on the glass.

“She is very cute,” she admitted.

“She is,” Cresseida agreed. “Sadly, she’s fierce enough that she scares away most customers.”

“It’s like she’s made for Nesta!” Gwyn piped up. “I mean, look at her spunky attitude, her fierceness, her witchy vibes — since, you know, she’s a black cat.”

“I don’t have witchy vibes,” Nesta muttered.

Gwyn ignored her. “Not to mention, she’s right next to Mer,” she pointed to the orange cat, ��who is my soulmate cat so our cats are destined to be best friends, just like us!”

“Wow, I didn’t- I haven’t said I’m adopting her yet,” Nesta protested.

“Yet,” Gwyn repeated, wiggling her eyebrows playfully.

Cresseida laughed. “Well, let me know if you are seriously interested in adopting Miss Obsidian. There’s a few things you would need to keep in mind for her that we should talk about.”

Nesta nodded.

“What about Mer?” Gwyn asked. “Any special care she needs that I should know about?”

“Not really. We did have her on a special diet for a bit because she was slightly malnourished when we found her but she’s at a healthy weight now.”

Nesta walked away as Gwyn and Cresseida continued their animated discussion. How was she going to convince Cassian to adopt a cat? Actually, Nesta knew that wouldn’t be an issue — Cassian would surely jump at any opportunity to make her happy. The real question was how she was going to put aside her pride and admit that she wanted to adopt the cat. She would also have to see if Cassian wanted to adopt the cat, too, and not just for her sake. It would be unfair to both Cassian and the cat to bring her into a home where only one person truly loved her. Not that Cassian wouldn’t be kind to the cat, regardless — it was just that Nesta wanted Cassian to adopt the cat because it made him happy, instead of doing it for Nesta’s sake.

Nesta was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she walked right into someone.

“Excuse me,” Nesta apologized. The man turned around.

“You’re excused, Nes,” Cassian replied with a wink.

“Oh, fuck you,” she groaned, holding back a smile.

“I know I’m hot, but you’re gonna have to wait til we get home.”

She replied with a soft punch to his shoulder. Cassian fell to the floor dramatically.

A bark sounded from the kennel right in front of Cassian. Nesta quickly examined Cassian for any signs of fear, but he wasn’t flinching. Instead, he tugged gently on her arm.

“Nes,” he said with a grin as she sat down beside him, “Let me introduce you to my new friend, Lina.”

Nesta turned to find a large golden retriever wagging her tail energetically. She was beautiful and friendly, but she also definitely weighed more than twenty kilograms and had a full set of sharp teeth. In short, she was exactly the type of dog that Cassian would usually be uncomfortable around.

Yet, here he was, saying, “Look, I know we agreed that we were just looking around and we weren’t going to adopt any pets but look at her! Her cute paws, that gorgeous fur, and those eyes! And she’s so happy to see me! Doesn’t it just make you want to keep her forever?”

His expression said it all: he’d fallen completely in love with this dog.

“Cassian…”

His expression dropped. “I know taking care of a pet is a lot of work. If we did adopt her, I would walk her and figure out her food and vet stuff, but she would be living with both of us, so I would never want to adopt her if you weren’t completely on board. And having a pet would affect our lifestyle and our day-to-day lives a lot, so I understand if you’d rather not adopt her.”

“Do you want to adopt her?” Nesta blurted out.

Cassian looked confused.

“I mean, she’s obviously a beautiful and friendly dog, but she’s in a kennel right now,” Nesta explained. “If we adopt her, she could jump on you or bite you or scratch you. Won’t you be on edge having a dog in our apartment all the time, even if you’re tired or having a rough day?”

“All the other dogs I’ve met make me nervous, either when they bark or pant or just by being close to me. They remind me of rough times in my childhood, when I was scared and in danger. But for some reason, Lina is different. I don’t get any of that fear or anxiety around her. In fact, it’s the opposite. She makes me feel relaxed and happy. I think she actually makes me feel safe.” Cassian ran a hand through his hair. “Weird, huh?”

Nesta smiled. “I’m glad you found her. I still want you to take her for a walk before we sign anything if we’re going to adopt her.”

“Wait, but- We don’t need to adopt her just because I want to. If you don’t want a pet, you shouldn’t agree just for my sake,” he added hurriedly. Still, Nesta could see the corners of his mouth tilting up.

“Yes, I want to adopt her! And,” Nesta continued, seeing Cassian opening his mouth to argue, “do you really think that I would ever agree to something I didn’t want to do, just for someone else’s sake?”

“Yeah, I do. I know you’re a big softie,” Cassian teased.

She laughed. “Well, trust me, I do want to adopt a pet.”

“Of course she wants to!” Gwyn interjected, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. “You should have seen her with that cat. It was like she’d found her twin flame! No offense, Cassian.”

“Wait, what cat?” he replied, befuddled.

Nesta attempted to wave him off. “It’s nothing-”

“It’s not nothing!” Gwyn interrupted animatedly. “It’s her cat soulmate! A little ball of anger and adorable-ness, just like our little Nesta here.”

Nesta sent her friend a flat look. “Thanks a lot for that description.”

Gwyn just shrugged. “What? You know I’m right.”

“Where can I find this cat?” Cassian asked.

Gwyn pointed him in the right direction, telling him about all the ways in which the cat represented Nesta while pointedly ignoring Nesta’s calls of “No, it’s fine” and “You don’t need to go look at the cat” and “I don’t have spooky evil vibes!”.

“Aww, look at her,” Cassian smiled as he crouched in front of the black cat’s kennel.

The cat hissed in return.

“You’re so beautiful, aren’t you? Yes, you are! Good girl!” cooed Cassian.

The cat abruptly stopped hissing. She stared at him unblinkingly before purring quietly.

Gwyn erupted with laughter. “Wow, she really is just like Nesta, huh? Everything down to the praise ki-”

Her words were cut off as Nesta covered Gwyn’s mouth with her hand.

“What the fuck, Gwyn! She’s a cat! That’s disgusting,” Nesta hissed in her ear.

Gwyn licked Nesta’s palm, and used the moment Nesta recoiled as a distraction to pull her hand off.

“I just tell it how I see it,” Gwyn declared. “And I have never once been disgusting.”

“Oh really?” Nesta replied, bringing the hand Gwyn had licked close to Gwyn’s face.

Gwyn screeched and ran down to hide behind Cassian.

Cassian remained focused on the cat. “Oh, you’re such a sweetheart. What’s your name, baby?”

“She doesn’t have a name yet,” Nesta supplied, before bringing her licked hand around Cassian to reach for Gwyn. The redhead let out another shriek and ran.

Nesta could see the moment Cassian melted. His posture seemed to go soft as his expression turned even more tender.

“You don’t have a name yet, huh?” he murmured. “I guess you need a family to give you a name and a home and some love.”

She placed her non-licked hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. She didn’t need to ask to know that he was thinking of his own childhood — when he’d needed a home and a family, too.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Cassian whispered, “me and your mom are going to give you so much love.”

“Cass, are you sure?” she questioned gently. She ignored how it made her feel to hear him refer to her as ‘mom’. There was too much to unpack there, and she would save it for later, after they’d finished making important decisions.

“Look at her, Nes,” he replied. “It’s like she was made for us.”

Nesta knew it was more than just about the resemblances between her and the cat that Gwyn had pointed out. It was about how this cat hissed and growled at strangers, putting her guard up, but really was just a sweet kitten who needed some love. Both of them could relate to putting on a tough face to hide how vulnerable and hurt they really were. She knew Cassian was thinking that this cat would be a perfect addition to their lives.

“But what about Lina?” Nesta insisted.

“You love this cat. Don’t try to deny it, I can tell.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I think,” Cassian said carefully, “we both love this cat and we should adopt her.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. “And what are we doing about the fact that we both love Lina?”

This wasn’t just about the animals, and they both knew that.

It wasn’t that Nesta didn’t think Cassian wanted to adopt the cat — she knew he really, truly did. But she also knew that he wanted to adopt Lina. She wouldn’t let him give up on his wishes and always put her needs above his. While she appreciated the sentiment, she also knew he had a tendency to discount his own desires. She needed him to know that what he wanted mattered just as much.

Cassian let out a big breath like a deflating mattress, the fight going out of him.

“I love Lina, I do. And I know it’s so special that I feel so safe around her — around a big dog with sharp teeth. But Nes,” his voice took on a different tone, “at the end of the day, she’s a friendly golden retriever. I’m sure a million families with white picket fences are lining up to adopt her. And this cat… I mean, she doesn’t even have a name.”

His Adam's apple bobbed.

“I know we could love either of them, and they’d be incredible. But at least with Lina, I know she’ll find someone else to take care of her. I don’t know if this cat will find that, and she’s too…” Cassian paused to search for a word. His nose scrunched in frustration as his vocabulary failed him. “She’s too precious for me to take that chance.”

He needed his kitten to find a home. He couldn’t risk her never finding a family — not when he had so much love he could give her.

Nesta contemplated silently.

“Okay,” she finally said, her eyes piercing through him as though she intended to read his heart. “If you’re sure that’s what you want to do, we’ll get this cat.”

Cassian smiled. “Look at us, being real adults. Can you believe we’re going to be parenting this cutie?”

“Parenting,” repeated Nesta with a snort. “Don’t say it like that. It sounds like we’re having a baby or something. People are going to think I’m pregnant.”

“Oh my god, you’re pregnant?” Gwyn exclaimed, reappearing next to Nesta from wherever she’d run off to. She had clearly only caught the tail end of Nesta’s sentence.

“Wow, I’m so excited to be an aunt! Do you know the sex yet? Wait, how far along do you need to be to know that? How many months are you, by the way?” Gwyn spoke too rapidly for anyone to get a word in. “I had no idea about this! How have you been hiding the morning sickness? Or does everyone know about this already? Oh, gosh, this is so exciting!”

Nesta stayed silent, trying to hold in her smile. Cassian just looked bewildered.

Gwyn gave Nesta a light hug. “Oh, wow, this is crazy! Am I the first one to know? Wait, is it ok if I tell people? You can tell me if it’s still a secret, don’t worry.”

Cassian blinked. “No, that’s-”

“Oh, perfect!” Gwyn squealed. She reached over to hug Cassian, too. “Oh, I can’t wait to tell Emerie! Oh my god, and Az! His reaction is going to be insane!”

She practically skipped down the hallway, her fingers already tapping away on her phone.

Cassian raised an eyebrow at Nesta. “What just happened?”

Nesta finally let out a laugh. “Just Gwyn being Gwyn, I suppose.”

“You don’t mind?”

“I’m actually curious to see how far this goes.” She leaned forward, pressing her side against him. “Do you think they’ll throw me a surprise baby shower?”

“Rhys is going to be so pissed I’m having a baby before him,” Cassian grinned. “It’ll be hilarious.”

“We could tell them we’re having a daughter,” Nesta added, jerking her head towards the kitten.

Cassian laughed. He stood up and stretched out his body, likely feeling a slight ache because he’d been crouching for several minutes. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “This is why I love you, you mastermind.”

His lips brought with them a wave of warmth that spread through her veins.

“Time to go tell Cresseida that we are going to adopt a pet after all,” Nesta chirped.

Cassian groaned. “How about you go tell her, since you’re the one who was looking at this cat first,” he suggested.

“But you made the final decision,” she countered.

“Well, no, I,” Cassian wracked his brain to find an excuse, “I think you would, uh, be better at filling out the paperwork.”

“Hmm,” Nesta tapped a finger to her chin and pretended to consider his offer, “How about… you do it?”

They were saved from their squabble when Gwyn reappeared with Cresseida in tow.

“So, can I take Mer home with me today or should I set up my place to be cat-ready first?” Gwyn was saying.

“Ah, Cresseida! Just the person we were looking for!” Cassian interjected. “Nesta wanted to ask you something.”

Nesta sent him a frigid side eye that would have sent anyone else running for the hills, but only made Cassian grin.

“We were thinking about adopting her,” Nesta said, pointing at the cat in question, “and were wondering what we need to do to make that happen? Is there just paperwork or something else we need to do?”

Cresseida’s expression changed completely. “I knew you would all walk out of here with pets!” she exclaimed triumphantly. Then she sobered slightly. “I’m so glad you’re interested in this cat, but like I mentioned earlier, there is something you should know.”

Nesta nodded sharply. The anticipation and anxiety started to creep up on her. Was the cat sick? Or disabled in some way? Perhaps she and Cassian, as first time pet owners, weren’t equipped to give her the care she needed.

“When we found her, she was only about two months old,” Cresseida explained. “We’re not quite sure what happened to her mother, since she didn’t seem to be with her family. But she had already bonded to another animal. They’re still quite close. Even though they’re generally kept in separate kennels, we usually let them play with each other once or twice a day, or she’ll start to get antsy. If at all possible, it would be best not to separate them. It may be possible for her to get used to living without her bonded friend, especially if she’s in an environment where she’s well-loved and taken care of, but it would be very difficult on both of them. So if you would consider adopting both of them, that would really be for the best.”

“Like, another cat?” Nesta inquired.

“It’s not Mer, is it?” Gwyn asked, looking worried. “If it is, I guess I’m going to have to move in with Nesta and Cassian.” Her face suddenly brightened. “I can be like a live-in nanny!”

“No, it’s not Mer,” Cresseida replied, “and it’s actually not another cat. It’s quite a unique situation. We’re still not sure how these two found each other and came to be bonded, but the other animal is actually a dog.”

“Oh.” Nesta felt her heart sink. She would hate to separate the cat from the one other animal that had been with her since she was a baby, but she also couldn’t adopt a dog. She wouldn’t allow Cassian to feel unsafe in his own home.

“We could adopt both-” Cassian began, just as she knew he would.

“No,” she cut in. She didn’t care if it made her seem like the villain in Cresseida’s eyes. “I’m sorry, we can’t.”

Her eyes shifted to the kitten once more. The cat truly was adorable. Nesta would miss her tremendously, even though they’d only just met. Still, she couldn’t separate her from the friend who’d become her family. She would have to let her go. It hurt, but she knew it was for the best.

“I don’t think we’ll adopt her after all,” Nesta said. Though she had once prided herself on hiding her true emotions from the world, she could tell that both Gwyn and Cassian instantly read the meaning behind her aloof tone.

“Yeah, you’re right, that’s probably the right decision,” Gwyn supplied. “Adopting pets and having a baby at the same time would be really hard.”

Cassian kept silent. She knew he was itching to deny it, to demand that she adopt the cat anyway, his feelings be damned. She was glad that he knew her well enough that she would not be swayed, and that his well-being mattered more to her than anything else.

Cresseida sighed, disappointed. “I understand,” she said, resigned. “Dogs aren’t for everyone, especially if you have a lot on your plate. This dog really is the sweetest, although if you are allergic, a golden retriever wouldn’t be the right breed.”

“Hold on, did you say a golden retriever?” Cassian interjected. “You’re not talking about Lina, are you?”

Cresseida looked surprised. “I am, actually. I assume you’ve already made her acquaintance, then?”

“Wait, you’re saying we can adopt both Lina and this cat? And they wouldn’t fight or hurt each other?” Cassian repeated, as though he couldn’t believe his ears. It sounded too good to be true.

“They do play-fight occasionally, but no, they don’t hurt each other and they get along great. But, I understand that you can’t adopt a dog,” Cresseida answered, slightly confused.

Cassian turned to Nesta.

“Did you hear that, Nes? We can adopt them both.”

He was beaming.

“They’re so perfect,” he repeated as they brought Lina and the cat home a week later, after they’d made all the necessary preparations. “It’s like we were made to find them.”

She felt like she was floating, swept up by the exuberance in his eyes.

When she watched the kitten curl up in Cassian’s lap while Lina sat beside them, a paw resting against the cat’s back, she couldn’t find a name for the feeling that bubbled up inside her. The only viable contenders — love and contentment — seemed too small to capture it all.

When Cassian later asked her what she wanted to name the cat, she looked at the life they’d built together — the bookshelves lined with hockey history books and romance novels, the kitchen counter where Cassian’s favorite chocolate lay beside her mountainous tea collection, the polaroid pictures of them stuck to the fridge with magnets, and the pets filling their home with affection — and replied, “Ataraxia.”

Peace.

__________

Present day

“I can’t even bring Ara and Lina around Cresseida anymore,” Cassian grumbled. “She always just talks about how incredible it was that we actually believed we’d leave her shelter without a pet.”

“She’s a menace,” Nesta agreed, though her words lacked any real bite.

They both adored Cresseida, and were delighted at how happy she made Emerie. It was only that Cresseida shared their friend group’s penchant for teasing their friend mercilessly.

“Her cooking is amazing though, so she makes up for it,” Nesta continued. “I had no idea vegan food could taste that good until I met her.”

“Speaking of cooking…” Cassian pointed to the last photo. It was labeled ‘cooking breakfast’.

Nesta leaned in closer to inspect the image. “When was this?”

“What? You don’t remember?” Cassian gasped in mock offense.

Then, he took her hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll remind you.”

__________

Three months ago

Cassian awoke to the birds chirping and the smell of pancakes permeating the air. He rolled over in bed, reaching out for Nesta, only to find her side of the bed empty.

He let out a small sigh.

It was a Saturday morning, and his favorite thing to do on weekends when they didn’t have anything planned was to spend lazy mornings in bed with her. During the week, both of them were too busy to linger in bed. Snoozing their alarms once was the extent of their indulgence.

But on weekends, Cassian liked to savor the feeling of Nesta lying beside him. He would lay in silence, taking it all in — the blankets warmed by their body heat, the way Nesta’s hair glowed in the morning light, the gentle pressuring of her body laying against his. Eyes half-open, he would breathe deeply and allow the peaceful contentment to fill his lungs. When Nesta woke up, there would be time for slow kisses, quiet conversations, and tender lovemaking. Their room would fill with soft but unbound laughter and playful quips. Later, they would make their way to the kitchen. One of them (usually Cassian) would cook brunch while the other did the dishes, swept the floor, or started a load of laundry.

This morning, it seemed that Nesta had broken their usual routine.

As Cassian rolled out of bed, his eyes caught the alarm clock on his bedside table. It was 10:05 am, far later than he usually woke up on weekends. Cassian was almost always the first to wake, generally around 8 or 9 am, and he’d lay patiently until Nesta gained consciousness around 9:30.

Clearly, he’d been exhausted last night. It had been a long day of training, and then they’d gone out for dinner with his friends. After coming home, he and Nesta had watched a movie and then spent an hour tussling in their sheets. He’d fallen asleep as soon as he closed his eyes.

Cassian pulled on a pair of dark jeans and strolled out of the bedroom without bothering to find a shirt.

He found Nesta at the stove, flipping a pancake. She looked ethereal with her long hair down and shimmering in the light that flowed through the window.

“Morning, Nes,” he said after taking a moment to appreciate the view.

Nesta’s long legs were bare. She was dressed only in his striped button-up shirt which ended right below her butt. As she turned towards him, he could see that she hadn’t bothered to do up all the buttons on his shirt. The V dipped deep enough that, had she been wearing a bra, lacy bits would have peeked out, but she’d clearly thrown the shirt on without it. Was she wearing any underwear?

She sent him a small smile in greeting.

“Can’t believe you didn’t bother to wake me up,” he teased as he pulled one of the hair ties off his wrist and put his probably messy hair into a neat bun.

“Well, it seems like I tired you out last night and you clearly needed your beauty sleep,” she shot back.

“Are you trying to imply that I didn’t tire you out?”

She shot him a smirk. “Well, I was up first, wasn’t I?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, even as he held back a smile. He loved this easy back-and-forth, joking banter. “I’ll have to remedy that tonight,” he declared.

“Aww, did I bruise your little ego?”

She moved the pancake to a plate, and poured more batter into the pan.

“There’s nothing little about me,” he joked before walking up behind her and gently wrapping his arms around her. He was careful to steer clear of her arms, so that they wouldn’t accidentally touch the pan or the stove and get burned.

He rested his head in the crook of her neck. “I missed you this morning,” he whispered.

“Couldn’t survive a few minutes without me?” she answered. He couldn’t see her face, but he could hear her smile in the warmth of her tone.

“You know I’d be lost without you,” he answered. His tone was light and humorous, but his words were no less sincere.

She let out a small, fond chuckle. “Good thing I was only making breakfast then.”

He inhaled deeply. The smell of her vanilla and jasmine conditioner mixed with the sandalwood scent that lingered on his shirt. His neck was at a slightly awkward angle, bent down to accommodate Nesta’s forward-leaning posture as she cooked, but Cassian knew he’d be happy standing like this forever.

He stayed there for a few minutes, until Nesta stilled in his arms. He knew she needed to move in order to put the pancake on a plate and couldn’t do so with Cassian wrapped around her, but she also didn’t want him to let go.

He waited for a heartbeat, then gave her a slight squeeze before unwinding his arms. Before pulling away completely, he pressed a light kiss to the back of her neck.

Then, he walked over to the utensil drawer to start setting the table.

When he sat down, his eyes flickered to Nesta’s figure, waiting for her to join him. He was itching to serve himself one of the pancakes in the middle of the table and bite into deliciousness. They smelled absolutely incredible.

However, Nesta walked over with the pan still in her hand. She plopped the pancake from her pan straight onto his plate. Unlike the other pancakes, it wasn’t shaped like a circle.

“It was misshapen, so it reminded me of your face,” she quipped as she sat down after putting her pan in the sink.

“Very funny.” He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t stop his smile. The pancake was shaped like a perfect heart.

As they dug into their food, Cassian felt the domesticity seep into him. He knew how the rest of the day would likely go. They’d wash up together, and then Cassian would head out for a run with Lina while Nesta curled up on the couch with a book. He’d come home and shower, then make her a cup of tea. Later, they’d change the bedsheets, make a list of the groceries they needed to pick up, and chat, before watching a movie or ordering takeout. They’d end up having sex on the couch or in the shower — anywhere but on their freshly changed sheets — and then fall asleep curled around each other with Cassian’s arm slung over Nesta’s waist.

Their lives had fallen into a routine. And Cassian loved it. This peaceful life they’d built together could never be boring — not when they always filled it with so much playfulness and their jobs were filled with drama by necessity. The regularity was a blessing, not a curse. When Cassian walked through the doors to this apartment, he felt the tension of the outside world fade away. He felt at home.

He loved the life they had created together, and couldn’t imagine anything better than having mornings like this one for the rest of his life.

The thought should have shocked him, but it did not. He’d known for a long time that this was coming, but it was only now that it had fully sunk in.

He looked across the table at Nesta and caught her eye.

“What?” she asked with a grin.

He reached over and laced his pinky with hers.

“Nothing.” He smiled. “I love you.”

She shook her head fondly at his cheesiness, but still replied, “I love you.”

He wanted to declare his love for her in front of the whole world, and then spend the rest of his life with her. He couldn’t think of a better way to spend his life than dedicating it to loving her.

That day, he started researching rings.

__________

Present day

“I love you,” said Cassian. His eyes shone brightly. “I love all the moments we’ve spent together and the memories we’ve made.”

He walked around the table where the pictures lay and grasped her hands.

“I do too.” Nesta, although still confused by their impromptu outpour of emotion, was always eager to remind Cassian of just how much she adored him. “I love you so much.”

Cassian smiled. She could see that a million thoughts were swirling in his mind, but he took a breath to focus himself.

“I love you,” he said once more, as though he couldn’t help himself, just like he had after he’d first said the words. He’d been like a child who’d never been allowed sweets who had just been given a box of chocolates — he marveled at the fact that he had love in his grasp and he gorged himself on it, basking in the delight that he could say the words whenever he wished.

“Every minute, every second I get to spend with you is precious to me,” he continued. “Whether we’re at a party, a restaurant, a vacation, a match, or doing chores at home, every moment with you turns to gold. You made my life so beautiful and meaningful and happy, Nesta, in a way I never even imagined was possible. Even in the harshest moments, I know I’ll be okay because I get to come home to you every night. You’ve helped me learn how to live, not just survive. Because of you, I can love openly. Because of you, I can be myself without worrying that I’m too much. Because of you, I can let myself feel joy, instead of constantly worrying that it’s going to be ripped away from me. I can only hope that I can make you half as happy as you make me.”

“You make me happier than I ever thought possible,” Nesta answered. She was certain there were tears in her eyes, but she couldn’t bring herself to mind. There were so many things that she could say — how the world had appeared cold and cruel, just like her reflection in the mirror, until she’d seen it all through his eyes. She would never stop being inspired by him — how was it possible for him to be so kind when the world had been so awful to him? How was it that he got wholeheartedly excited when it snowed, despite knowing the stinging pain of a cold night on the streets? His joy was infectious, and now she couldn’t help but admire the beauty in every little thing — children skipping down the sidewalk, the leaves changing color, and the birds chirping in the morning.

Yet, she couldn’t find the words. How could she express the magnitude of her emotions for him, and just how much he’d changed her life? All she could do was look at him.

He squeezed her hands gently and she knew he understood.

“You’ve made me a better man.” His voice was slightly raspy as emotion clogged his throat. “My life is so much fuller with you in it. We’ve made so many beautiful memories,” he said, gesturing to the pictures with one hand, “and I want to dedicate the rest of my life to making more. It would be the greatest honor to spend my life by your side. I want to fill that table with a million — a billion — more memories.”

“So, Nesta Archeron,” He released her hands. She blinked in surprise and found him kneeling before her, a small box open in his hands with something sparkling inside. “Will you marry me?”

Her gaze had gotten blurred with tears, but she blinked them away now.

Cassian cut a stunning figure as he looked up at her, rose petals and candles glowing around him. His outfit flattered his body — the wine-red shirt showed off his muscular arms without being too tight and contrasted his skin tone well, bringing attention to his soft blush and curved lips to highlight his joy. His long hair was as glorious as usual, half of it pulled into a bun.

Still, it was the look in his eyes that caught her attention. His beautiful hazel eyes, framed by his long, dark lashes, sparkled not only with love and joy, but also with breathtaking certainty. Unlike during that bookstore date so long ago, Cassian was secure in their love. She could see in his eyes that, even if she said no, he would not doubt their relationship for a moment.

But of course, there was only one answer she would give to this wondrous man. He had come into her life like a fire, warming her and brightening her life in innumerable ways.

“Yes.”

__________

Please tell me if you would like to be added or removed from a tag list! I haven't posted in a while so I'm sorry if the taglist isn't up to date.

Permanent taglist: @maastrash // @cass-nes // @notmewrongbitch // @verypaleninja // @courtofjurdan // @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter // @stardelia // @laylaameersworld // @thewayshedreamed // @thatsowlmazing // @meanceclosetohell // @jungtaekwoonie-is-life // @rowaelinismyotp // @bakingandbooks3 // @grandma-noob-lord // @awesomelena555 // @ bookstantrash // @ireallyshouldsleeprn // @illyrianshadowhunter // @swankii-art-teacher // @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks // @moodymelanist // @letstakethedawn // @nestaspegasus // @superspiritfestival // @perseusannabeth // @my-fan-side // @that-golden-lyre // @emily-gsh // @champanheandluxxury // @ simpingfornestaarcheron // @duskandstarlight // @ladynestaarcheron // @sv0430 // @nesquik-arccheron // @friendswithkevin // @dontgetsalmonella // @inkedstarlight // @arinbelle // @thegreyj Nessian taglist: @makainight // @nahthanks // @cupcakey00 // @nessiantrashh // @audreycressworth // @lady-winter-sunrise // @wannawriteyouabook // @shamelessdonutkryptonite // @julemmaes

#nessian #nesta archeron #nesta x cassian #acotar #acosf #tw homelessness #tw mentions of abuse #tw mention of death #this is critical of rhysand and doesn't portray him as a feminist #sayosdreams fics #sayosdreams writing #sayosdreams

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gaviicreates · 1 year ago

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FO: Desert-Inspired K+C Tote

Hallo friends!

You may have noticed I stepped away for a bit on this blog. Last time I posted, it was a couple days before Mother's Day in the US, and I had just had to frog over 10 inches of scarf due to an error. Learn from me - count your stitches. I got too confident.

So I intentionally took a bit of a break, partly because I was about to go on a trip for vacation, and partly because I was on a milestone long-term vacation leave for four weeks and I was intentionally trying to make the time disconnected from work to decompress and relax. I tried not to put pressure on myself to post. But I did try to stay somewhat productive with my crafting. Frogging was an absolute bummer, so I managed ... eh, four rows on that thing.

I regrouped by starting some new WIPs, and one of them I actually finished.

I found myself at the local JOANN (craft store chain in the US) during my time off, and even though I just needed a size up in knitting needles, I had wanted to give their K+C brand cotton yarn a feel, a try if I liked it.

For a quick reference: K+C Cotton - Category 3, 100% cotton, 180 yards, 3.5 oz.

I really like enjoy their labelling, which includes a knit stockinette image of what the yarn will look like worked up. It's a very nice touch, as yarns can evolve in their aesthetic from skein or hank, cake or ball, and in the final presentation of your piece.

As I was there, I was inspired by the colors to prepare a desert themed tote. My vacation in a few days would be to travel to a part of the country I've never visited including the Grand Canyon, Zion, Bryce, and the deserts in Arizona and Nevada.

Since I am home now, here are a couple shots from my trip, and you can let me know how well I managed to match colors before ever seeing these places in person! (note, all pictures taken by me - Canon Rebel T8i)

My JOANN had a selection of the colors, and Zion was not among them. But not all was lost. Though some of the names of the yarns are direct hits to the above, I chose four colorways for my desert colors.

For places I was going to visit - Canyon, Red Rocks For complementary colors - Santa Fe, Golden Coast

We're going oranges, reds, yellows, a scattering of grey.

I used the recommended 3.75 mm crochet hook throughout.

I knew I wanted the Golden Coast yellow to be my border, so to start I just started cranking out granny squares. Canyon became the consistent color in each of the squares, and I used either Santa Fe or Red Rocks with the variegated stripes as the main color scheme.

The granny square itself is motif #113 in Beyond the Square: Crochet Motifs, by Edie Eckman, and I love it for that extra bit of variety and those beautiful circle centers that truly show off the variegated yarns.

The layout you see above is a common structure for creating a bag. There are a few different graphics you can use, and this is a 13-square version, and you'll find it in a number of patterns. There is one more Red Rocks square than the Santa Fe, and as you can see I did some rearranging throughout the layout before I decided on the final in the left hand picture. I did some winging it with connecting all the squares together, but I knew I wanted the yellow to pop. So I used a single crochet border to connect all the squares. Since it's the front of the squares, the actually granny sits a bit behind. Some good 3-D flair, in my opinion.

If you've made it this far, thank you so much! I know the exciting part is the final piece, so here ya go!

I know I should have gotten a photo of her out in the desert wilds, but I am afraid I used this bag to hold all of my crafting items throughout the trip, so she was less portable than my purse.

I loved working with this yarn - the variegation was a constant surprise, especially since I worked it up in crochet instead of knit, and the color options give you a lot to play with even with the solids. It was a soft cotton that felt good on my hands. The pattern worked up quickly, both in the granny construction and final assembly, but I did work on it exclusively and for a few days in a row.

Now I just need to choose where to go next, and whether to bring her along or start a new one!

#Gavii Makes Stuff #Crochet #Crocheting #Granny Square #DIY tote #yarn craft #K+C yarn #cotton yarn #desert inspired

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making-use-of-a-brain · 9 months ago

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Cognitive Distortions (Long Writing/Vent)

I'm in my therapist's office. It's half-past-noon; the clock is exactly fifty-two minutes fast. I know because Kathy left to get a printout and in the thirty seconds she was gone, I frantically pulled out my phone and did the math, because I hate this place and I want to count down every single fucking second until I can be out of here.

I really fucking hate this place.

Kathy hands me the printout. COGNITIVE DISTORTIONS: MIND-READING. We go over it. Kathy reminds me of a teacher I had in middle school: "Here's a piece of paper you can read with your own eyeballs. Emotions are not facts. Read it. Read it again. I'll remind you emotions are not facts. Now I'm going to read it aloud to you in the most paint-drying, grass-growing voice God has ever given to someone. By the way, emotions are not facts. Now I'm going to reiterate every point on the page. Did I mention that emotions are not facts?"

I nod and smile and try not to say "I guess," because to me it's a filler phrase to diffuse tension but to her it's a sign I'm holding something back. In her defense, I usually am, but if I'm not planning on saying it, waterboarding couldn't get it out of me. Her repeated asking doesn't stand a chance.

Anyway, there's nothing on the page I haven't tried before. Besides, how am I supposed to know the line between being a decent person with some semblance of empathy -- emphasis on semblance, by the way, because I'm faking it, I think -- and COGNITIVE DISTORTION: MIND-READING. If you don't think about the little signals people drop to key you in to how they feel behind their polite façade, then you're an inconsiderate brat. If being considerate takes effort and you put in that effort, then you have Generalized Anxiety Disorder. A fella can't win, but I've made my choice: the latter seems less harmful.

Later, I'm sitting at my computer, idling in a group chat with two of my favorite people. They're married. And thirty. I can count the number of people who actually regularly text me back on one hand, and they're two of 'em. Except one of them has been quiet lately. I think he dislikes me. That makes two of us. I think he isn't telling me because his wife happens to want to keep me around. Her reasoning is beyond me.

I can't decide whether the idea feels like death itself or if I'm okay with it because I don't need either of them and if he has a problem with me, that's his problem and he can bring it up directly.

What I can decide is that the latter half of that dilemma makes me feel awful inside. He's my friend. Or, if my suspicions are right, he was my friend. Who gives a shit about past tense? He was good to me. He helped me. I wish I'd gotten the chance to return the favor. Maybe returning the favor looks something like leaving him the fuck alone.

Maybe returning the favor looks something like telling his wife we can't be friends anymore, because I'm a messed up person and I know it's only a matter of time before I mess up irreparably badly and cause more collateral damage than I can ever hope to make up for, and I probably won't even feel that bad about it. Now that I think about it, she's been quiet, too.

Maybe returning the favor looks something like going to sleep and never waking up.

Kathy would tell me that's all COGNITIVE DISTORTION: MIND-READING, maybe with a side of CATASTROPHIZING.

But Kathy's not here right now. My conscience is, though, and it's telling me that deep down, I'm just wired a little wrong. It's nobody's fault, but it is my responsibility to not be obnoxious. To not be a problem. To not be a crisis anyone else has to deal with. It's telling me that I have to earn my keep and, if I can't do that, then I have to take my leave and find someone else to go all parasite on until they can't take it anymore and the cycle starts all over again. That, or I could stop altogether, I guess.

Easier said than done, though.

#spilled ink #spilled thoughts #journal blog #night shift atticus #vent #vent tw #tw vent #social anxiety #anxiety #advice ok

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skittlesfics · 2 years ago

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name: the first kiss (just friends prequel) read part one

pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

word count: 790

summary: sometimes, friends can kiss. Or you think so, at least.

content/warnings: fluff, fem reader, weed smoking

author’s note: This is the (first?) prequel to just friends! I've gotten several requests for it, and was gonna shove a bunch of kisses into one fic, but I don't want to rush the other two just to get them out. Hope you enjoy!

You accepted the joint, fingers tingling when they briefly brushed the callouses on Eddie’s fingertips, and flashed the boy a sleepy grin.

You didn’t know the song that was playing from the record player in the corner, but you did know that it wasn’t metal and the bassline was making your brain feel all vibrate-y and heavy.

You held the joint to your lips, the tip slightly spit-slicked where Eddie hadn’t dried his lips before taking a hit. It might have been gross if it were anyone else, but this was Eddie, and so it made your heart beat a little faster and your chest feel a little tighter.

Eddie’s warm hand fell to your bare knee and when you looked up at him, he was leaning back against the wall, head bopping to the music, not even looking at the spot on your leg that his thumb traced so naturally. You pretended like it didn’t burn, forcing yourself to inhale slowly to stave off the tickle in the back of your throat.

You offered the joint back and Eddie took it with his free hand, leaving the other planted firmly on your knee. It was all you could think about as you shakily exhaled, that single point of contact spreading heat across your whole body.

It was a good thing Eddie was high, too. Some friend you were, letting a little touch get to your head when he was just trying to casually share a joint.

He offered it to you again and you waved it away, too awash in sensation to risk going even further.

“Eds, I’m so fucking high.” You admitted as he ashed the joint into the tray he’d stolen from Wayne’s smoking spot outside, a laugh bubbling unbidden from your throat. You covered your mouth to stifle the giggles, but Eddie grinned, scooting closer.

“’s that so?” He asked, his hand leaving your knee to curl around your shoulders, the other hand quickly taking its place so that you never felt the loss.

You nodded, laughing again even though nothing was funny, and Eddie couldn’t help but laugh with you. The sound was rich and smooth, like chocolate and honey and any number of delightful things you couldn’t think of right now.

“I like your laugh.” You said out loud, and then he stopped laughing, dark eyes falling on your face like you had just confessed something. Maybe you had, you couldn’t be sure when he was looking at you that way, all serious and intense.

“How much?” He asked. This time when his hand left your knee, it was to take your chin between thumb and index finger, and you couldn’t complain at that, so you just blinked up at him, unsure what to say. You wondered, vaguely, if you had ever noticed how nice Eddie’s lips were, the plump curve of them looking perfectly kissable with him this close. You wondered if he would let you try. Just to see. Just as friends.

You didn’t realize that you had forgotten to reply until Eddie was tilting your face up, smiling in that way he did when he had an idea that might be a little crazy, but would be worth it in the end.

“I said, ‘how much?’ Huh, princess?” He teased, but there was no heat to it. He was all laughs and thick lashes and soft touches that made you just want to melt into him.

“How much do you want me to?” you managed, still not sure what he wanted from you. You liked his laugh. You liked it a lot, but it wasn’t something you could just… quantify. It was a feeling.

“Enough to want to kiss me?” It was an answer, and a question, and a request all at once. Those brown eyes were on you again all big and wanting and warm, and how could you ever say no? Especially since you had been thinking about it anyway.

Your head was still pounding with the bassline, but it felt almost pleasant as you nodded, tongue darting out to wet your lips as you realized that Eddie was already leaning closer, eyes falling shut as he pulled you into the sweetest kiss.

His lips were just as soft as they looked, and his mouth was as warm as the rest of him. Which was to say that he was molten and you were finally melting into him, sighing into his kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep him close when he pulled away for air. You needn’t have worried, he was right there again, lips finding yours, kissing you until you both were too high and too tired to discuss what this was going to mean.

#Eddie Munson x Reader #Stranger Things x Reader #Eddie Munson Imagine #Eddie Munson Fluff #Eddie Munson Reader Insert #Stranger Things Reader Insert #x Reader #Fluff #500 - 1000

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lovejosephquinn · 2 years ago

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Hey I love your writing ☺️ Can you please do a Joe x Reader where you're both working in a scare attraction during Halloween season in the same room and customers are always trying to flirt with one or the other which makes the other jealous. But then one customer takes it too far and Joe intervenes to protect you. Then afterwards he has a private chat where he admits his feelings and the ending is up to you, smut or no smut 😉

Hello angel, thank you so much! I really appreciate the compliment :)) Oooo, I like this scenerio, it's something a little different! Thank you so much for your request x

Warnings: jealous joe and reader, mentions of inappropriate touching and basically just pure fluff

Word Count: 1.1k

Flirting Makes The Job More Fun.

The Halloween season was your favourite time of year, which meant your seasonal shift at the Haunted House at a local Theme Park had begun. You'd done this for a few years running, your co-worker always awkward and quite boring - you never knew what to expect, it changed every single time.

This year was a pleasant surprise, your new co-worker wasn't a lost cause after all, and you knew you fancied him pretty much from the afternoon he stepped into the attraction's operation room where you were introduced. It was just you and him that helped operate the ride and you'd gotten to spend the last couple of weeks together for 8 hours solid, giving you ample time to get to know one another and boy were you ecstatic about him.

His name was Joseph, he insisted you called him Joe, but you made it quite clear you were calling him Joseph just to add to the flirting, neither of you too honest to admit that there was a feeling in between. He donned dark blonde curls on top of his head which you found adorable; he had the most astonishing big brown eyes that you'd ever seen which always made his stare quite intense and left you like a pool of liquid on the floor whenever he eyeballed you when you were telling him something whether that to be to do with work or yourself. His smile and laugh were completely infectious, but his lips left a lot to the imagination which would be a lie to say you hadn't dreamed of.

You'd look after hundreds of people every day, some families, some friends and some couples. But there was the occasion that was happening more often than not where you'd have the creepy male stroking your arm just to thank you or they'd stay with you whilst their children rode round the haunted house. Safe to say you couldn't give a shit what they were saying, and your eyes always fell back to Joseph's, he gawked whoever it was at the time scolding them bluntly, you couldn't tell if he felt the same way as you, or he was just genuinely looking your way at the time.

There were times were Joseph got the attention and although he humoured the younger girl groups that would crowd him and ask for his number or flirt as innocently as they could, this would be the time you'd see him mouth 'Help!' at you and you would bark laughter at the poor guy. But there was also the fair share of women who would lay their hand flat on his chest when he hadn't even said anything remotely funny that would make you grit your teeth, and you'd have to turn around and take deep breaths.

You were sure the feeling was mutual as you and you'd make subtle hints to see if you were right. Quite often you'd squeeze past him in the box room that operated the ride in front on purpose, brushing your ass up against him and hear his throat hitching. One time he spoke up from you doing so, he was caught off guard when he was watching the CCTV inside of the ride. "There's plenty of room to the back of me Y/N." you let out your best modest giggle and replied with "No need to look all flustered Joseph, it's only little old me."

You even used the classic of 'Oh I've dropped something' and bending to pick it up right in his eyesight, there no was no way he wasn't taking a clear mental image of your ass.

The last shift came around quickly, it was Halloween night and you'd dressed in a shitty little witch costume, and you did admit to yourself it was probably a little too short, but all the more reason for you to flirt with your co-worker even further, whereas Joseph was sporting a Dracula cape and some fake fangs.

You were wiping down one of the seats where a child had left crumbs all over, bending down slightly to reach the edge, you felt a hand pat your ass and you quickly shot up to turn around. A man in his 40's stood before you with another man as he licked his bottom lip. "Don't be wearing such a thing if you don't want to be touched Missy, we saw you here the other day, pretty little thing like you shouldn't be left alone in a secluded area like this." Your face dropped, what a fucking pervert. You knew you felt like you could hold your all usually but before you could even muster a sentence a voice came from behind. "Please leave the attraction, sir. I don't want any trouble caused. You're old enough to know to keep your hands to yourself and especially off of my girlfriend." The man simply scoffed at Joseph who had puffed his chest out and pointed at the exit for him to go. "She's basically asking for it mate, be careful with that one." Joe didn't say another word and stood in between the two of you, grabbing your hand with his and stroking his thumb over it, your heart was racing at the disgusting male who had pretty much just assaulted you, but more so that the sensation of his hand on yours had you feeling like you could be sick. Girlfriend?! Eventually after the worlds shortest staring contest they left, and you ran to the operating room.

Joseph hastily followed you in and watched as you slumped down on the chair. "Has that happened before?" You nodded, placing your hands on your thigh and taking a deep exhale, looking at anything but him, pondering of the thought of what had come out of Joseph's mouth and the simple feel of his hand. "That's not on, if I didn't work here, I'd of punched his lights out, filthy bastard."

"Girlfriend?"

His face softened. "Had to get him away from you somehow, love."

"You could've just said colleague, I mean I'd be lying if I said I kind of- I kind of liked it though."

Joseph realised that quickly and moved closer to you, looking out to make sure no one was around before he lifted your hand back into his and swung it around like a playful teenager. Your heart was still racing, you were over the perverted creep, but you had a clear crush on the guy in front of you which was probably now apparent to him too.

"Maybe one day you could be, maybe I'll ask you on a date come the end of the shift."

"Maybe you should."

"Maybe I will." He mimicked back your playful tone of voice.

You stood up letting go of his hand and wrapped your arms around his neck, stepping on your tiptoes a little as he placed his hands around your waist. "Thank you, Joseph." You planted a kiss onto his cheek, watching the rest of his face turn a crimson red as he pulled you into a small embrace.

Pulling away to ogle his eyes at you once more "Fuck it, fancy dinner this weekend?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

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leahseclipse · 2 years ago

Text

2AM (Spencer Reid x gen!reader)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gender neutral Reader (there might be some very light fem!reader mentions)

Category: Angst with happy ending

Warnings: none I can think of!

Summary: The reader locked themselves out of their apartment out of the middle of the night, but a certain genius living down the hall might be able to help.

A/N: Excuse me if Spencer is OOC lmao it's been a WHILE since I wrote about him. Prompt is from @imagining-in-the-margins!! :)

Word count: 1.9k

There couldn't have ever been a day worse than this one, in my whole existence— not one that made me want to give up, go to my apartment and never go back to my workplace ever again.

First off- I arrived late. I didn't turn on my alarm the day before, and woke up at 8AM instead of 7AM.

One hour isn't a big deal, you would say. Well sure, for a high schooler.

I had to give that lame excuse, and well… they didn't believe it— everyone throws that one, so it gets old. I've had to work like hell all day to make up for the hour I've missed as if it was one week to my superior (the guy's a bit dramatic).

Second; on my way home, my car decided to stop two times. The little guy decided to play the old trick of the dying engine— turns out a bang on it is enough to stop that drama queen. It's really time I throw it away, I've had it since college. That car is lucky I wasn't on the freeway, I would have gotten yelled at for blocking the road.

Then— because the day didn’t stop there, one of the back tires ended up dying just as I found a parking spot. Here's to another-I-don't-know-the-high-price-of-it-repair off my bank account … as if I needed another bad event.

The finishing touch was when it started raining, and of course, I had forgotten my jacket this morning. Which meant that I had to walk in the rain because running would cause me to break an arm and end up in the ER with another-very-unknown-high-price.

By the time I got to the door of the building, it was around 2AM. I had to get up in 5 hours. Pretty great amount of sleep for the next day waiting for me.

I didn't even bother to check if the elevator worked. It worked one time out of two and could guarantee you a whole night of sleep inside if the doors would decide to not open.

I've already been there, except it was the afternoon. I watched at least two movies of two hours each before a technician even bothered to show up.

When I reached the fourth floor, and proceeded to put my hand in my left pocket where I always keep my keys— my hand didn't touch anything but the fabric.

That's… weird? Maybe it's in the others?

I plunged my hand in the right pocket, still nothing. I tried both of the pockets at the back— they were as empty as a bank account at the end of the month (trust me, I truly wasn't in the mood for jokes, but that just went through my mind).

I really started to panic after my unsuccessful attempts to find the keys in the pockets of my pants, they're always there! I haven't put them anywhere else in years.

I set my bag on the floor, took my flashlight and examined the whole bag— to the point of emptying it out on the floor out of despair, just in case I had missed it by whatever means— still no sign of them.

There wasn't any way I could have left it at work. I didn't open my bag a single time, all I did was re-organise files as soon as I arrived. I only touched my bag again when I left. It was in my locker, which was closed by a lock— so they couldn't have been stolen, lost, or whatever crazy scenario.

The only place left… right inside of my apartment. I had just locked myself outside at 2:30AM. Right when everything was closed. I could only hope my landlord could pick up, which wasn't 100% sure by looking at the hour.

Still, I took my phone again and dialed the number, just in case he happened to pick up.

I called once.

Twice.

Then soon, five times… all calls had gone straight to voicemail.

He wouldn't be answering until 8AM in the morning, which was impossible. I couldn't stay all night outside.

I started to get really upset, I had no way to get in, I've just had the worst day, I was really tired, I was cold and just wanted to change into dry clothes; this had to be a nightmare. I was cursing myself for forgetting the keys this morning as hard as I could, I couldn't believe I could have forgotten them, they were right there, on the table next to the door.

Right next to the door. And I didn't even see them.

More tired than anything at what was happening, all I found left to do was to sit on the floor, back against the door as my face took shelter in my hands.

Who could I even call at this time of the day? I hated bothering people, I rarely asked anything of them, so let alone letting me come to their place. That also included my neighbors, I wasn’t close with anyone.

I started to get frustrated as I was running out of ideas, trying to find something to do to not wander outside. I had left everything in my place, including my credit card, and if I had it, I wouldn’t even be there right now.

I took it out for some reason yesterday and didn’t think to put it back where it belonged. I. was. Out. Of. Ideas. Officially. If I didn’t care about putting on a show I would’ve called my landlord screaming until his voicemail would be full.

There weren’t even any locksmiths! No one was open at night! Not a single soul!

Not being able to hold my emotions anymore, I broke down on the spot, sobbing. My day had been full of problems, one after the other, without a single break.

I was there, a mess as I was sure that my makeup was ruined by all the tears and my hair out of place as I sat on the floor, against the door of the apartment I couldn’t get in.

Until my tears had calmed down, I hadn’t noticed the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. I completely forgot about the possibility of people coming in. Now I had to face someone in that state. Could anything else have happened next? Perhaps the roof falling on me? The whole building collapsing? What else?

“Are you okay?” A voice asked. I lifted my face from my hand to see one of my neighbors that I hadn’t seen in an eternity.

“I… hate to vent to people I don’t know but… not really. I could be doing better. I got locked out of my place.” I admitted, as embarrassing as it was to.

“Could I… be of any assistance, perhaps?” He asked.

“Are you a locksmith?” I asked as well, with a slight laugh.

“Nope. But I know how to be one.” He answered, which surprised me in weird ways.

“You know how to break in?”

“I do, but it’s well- you see, uh… for work? For you know, people that did bad things?” He tried to explain, nervous. “So, yeah, I know how to open a door, when it’s really needed, I don’t actually break into people's apartments for no reason at all to steal or… anything else.” He rambled.

“I… got it, don’t worry.” I reassured him, as I got up from the door. I opened my mouth to say his name, but my brain was completely empty. “Gosh… I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”

“It’s Spencer.” He immediately answered. “Spencer, yeah. And you’re… y/n?”

“Yeah, yeah.” I confirmed. “You’re making me feel bad now. You remember mine but I didn’t remember yours.” I said as I dropped my head down, looking where I couldn’t see him.

“You don’t have to feel bad! Please don’t, I promise you it’s okay.” Spencer said. “I barely come here because of work, so I wouldn’t be surprised if even the landlord rented out the place to someone else because it’s been ages.” He laughed at his words, bringing me down in his frenzy as I started to laugh along with him.

“Phew, that was… a good laugh.” He said after a moment.

“It was.” I answered, looking back at him.

“Yeah, yeah.” He repeated as he looked at me too, before looking behind. “I should get to that door.”

It took me a few seconds to get back to reality, I had some… trouble to draw away from his face. Strangely. “The door, right. The door.” I repeated, nervously, as I watched him get something from his bag.

“That… should do the trick.” Spencer said, as he held a bobby pin between his fingers, turning to the door as he kneeled down in front of the lock.

“Thanks again for… the unexpected help. Never thought I’d have someone that wasn’t a criminal picking my lock.”

“I can imagine it’s not something that happens often.” He answered as he worked on opening the door.

“Never did before.” I said, after a brief silence.

“And…” He said, as a sound emitted. The door had opened. “Here we are.”

“You did that with just a hair pin. Oh my god.” I looked at him, completely shocked.

“Yeah, just with that. I know that sounds crazy, but I didn't open it with anything else.”

“It does sound crazy!” I yelled back. “Oops, sorry neighbors.”

“Sorry.” Spencer whispered back. “Anyway, uh… the way is open, now.” He said, pointing his head to it.

“Yeah, it is. It is.” I said, looking at it as we just stood there. “You should get going, it took a while, it’s… probably way later than 2 now.”

“I should get going, yeah. I should.” He agreed, looking to his door that was just inches from mine. I watched him as he started to turn around, but he suddenly stopped in his tracks to look at me again. “Uh… can I ask you something?”

“Sure, go ahead.” I said.

“I know that… we don’t really know each other and I’m just a guy that lives across the hall and comes once a month because he’s busy with work so he can’t come but I…” Spencer stopped, hesitating.

“Are you trying to ask me if I want to hang out with you?” I filled in the blanks for him.

“...I do.” He answered.

“I accept, then.”

“You do?” He asked, in disbelief.

“Yeah. I do.”

“You do. Okay.” He said, still somehow shocked.

“I should probably give you my number so we can arrange a time and date… right?” I asked.

“That… would be a good idea. Give me a… second, or three.” He said, as he got out his phone, almost dropping it from his hands as he handed it out to me. I entered the number, saving the contact afterwards as I gave him back the phone. “You added a smile, that’s… nice.”

“I’m glad you like it.” I said, as I turned around to get my bag on the floor. I turned back to him as my hand reached the door. “Well… thank you for the help. Don’t hesitate if you need help… anytime. I’ll be happy to return the favor.”

“I’m glad to have been of help. No problem.”

I slowly stepped inside, maintaining contact with Spencer. “Thanks again. Have a…good night, genius.” I said, as I saw his face turn red when I closed the door.

Well, at least one good thing happened today.

Let me know if you liked this fic here! Thanks for reading :)

#no beta we die like men #cm fic #cm fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #cm spencer reid

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loverhymeswith · 3 years ago

Text

Holder Versus Love | Stephen Holder x F!Reader

Pairing: Stephen Holder x F!Reader

Summary: Stephen Holder doesn't believe in love.

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 1,714 words

A/N: Thank you to @babblydrabbly for this simply amazing request:

Reader is very optimistic and bubbly about sappy love, while Holder is a big old rain cloud/non-believer.

I've been saving this up specially for Valentine’s Day!

Joel Taglist: @weallhaveadestiny @a-reader-and-a-writer @skvatnavle

It happens every February.

For the last half an hour, Stephen has been sitting on this uncomfortable park bench during a brief reprieve from the Seattle rain, listening to you complain about the fact that once again, you’ve been dumped just in time for Valentine’s Day.

“I really thought he could be the one, you know?” You sniffle, staring down at the phone in your lap.

Stephen gives a non-committal shrug. He doesn’t know, not really. He met the guy once or twice, hardly enough time to form an accurate assessment. But as your best friend, he can confidently say that Dick – or whatever the hell his name was - is an ass for hurting you.

There’d been no hiding the devastation in your voice when you rang Stephen this morning, sharing the news of your break up and asking if he’d hang out with you today, but ever since he met you in the park at the start of his lunch hour, you’ve been putting on a brave face.

“Oh, and look. She’s sent me another one.” You show him the phone, a grimace spreading across your face.

As if your heartbreak over Dick isn’t enough to contend with, your older sister has just gotten engaged, and she’s been flooding your messages with pictures of wedding dresses. So far, Stephen thinks you’ve been doing a pretty good job of holding back the tears, but sooner or later he’s going to have to confiscate your phone.

He pulls a face at the white frilly monstrosity currently filling your screen. “S’all bullshit anyway,” he supplies, a half-assed attempt to cheer you up. “Valentine’s Day, marriage, love… fuck all of that shit.”

Shoving your phone into your handbag as you finally come to terms with the fact that Dick is not calling back, you twist to face him. “You don’t really mean that.”

“Hells yeah, I do. This whole fixation on romantic shit? I don’t get it. What’s the point?” As your best friend, Stephen is well aware that your opinion differs substantially when it comes to love. You’ve always been more of a head-in-the-clouds, glass-half-full, optimistic sort of person. Stephen on the other hand, is a realist.

Watching the way your nose scrunches as you frown at him, he has to hold back a laugh.

“It’s sweet.”

“S’corporate bullshit, is what it is.”

You shake your head, your voice a little less wobbly when you speak. “You’re only saying that because you’ve never been in love. But trust me, if you had, you’d feel differently.”

Stephen wants to counter this with the argument that perhaps neither have you. He’s seen you around the guys you date and you never seem yourself. In fact, he’s often thought you’re nothing but a shadow of his best friend when you’re in a relationship. Almost as if you’re scared to truly be yourself. Which is ridiculous -you’re one of the best people he knows. But common sense tells him now is not a good time to point any of this out. The shine of tears has only just faded from your bloodshot eyes.

“Told you before, I don’t do relationships.”

The pair of you have been over this time and time again. You’re always trying to set him up with your seemingly endless number of co-workers, but his answer is always the same. A big, fat, resounding no.

“I know, I know,” you sigh, leaning into him ever so slightly. “I just hate to think of you being alone.”

Stephen is about to point out the fact that he’s hardly alone, he’s got you. Rather selfishly - and he’d never admit this to you, certainly not right now - he’s glad you’re single again, because it means he’ll get to see more of you.

Before he can open his mouth though, you’re already continuing. “Just think of all the things you’re missing out on.”

He scoffs. “Like what?”

The sparkle in your eyes returns and Stephen knows two things. One: you’re about to begin one of your infamous tirades about how he needs to find himself a girlfriend. And two: it seems to be keeping your mind off Dick, so he'll allow it just this once.

“Like having someone to come home to at the end of a long day at the office. Like spending weekends on the couch, snuggled up watching your favourite movies. Like picnics in the park and walks on the beach. Like trying out new restaurants and visiting museums and -”

“Yo, I ain’t got time for any of that bullshit.” He cuts you off before you run out of breath. Even as a small part of him starts to wonder if this might not strictly be true. Because how many of those things does he already make time for... with you?

Between your string of failed relationships, you’ll often hang out at his apartment after work, sharing takeout and a couple of beers. He'll sit back and listen to you blow off steam with a steady tirade about your incompetent colleagues. And he doesn’t mind. Not one bit. Because you help to give his mind a rest from the horrors of his own job.

Aside from chilling after work, late night movie marathons have also become a regular event for the two of you over the last few years. Inevitably you end up picking the films – romcoms, always romcoms – much to Stephen’s feigned annoyance. Really, he thinks some of them are kind of ok, but he enjoys keeping up the pretence.

When the weather is nice, you’ll meet like this and take your lunch breaks together in the park. He’ll try to wean you off the fast-food MSG shit and feed you whatever his latest health food fad is at the time. It never works, but it’s fun to see your face screw up in disgust.

From everything on your list, he can safely say there’s not a single activity that he hasn’t enjoyed with you at some point or other. Except for the museums. Those, he was not a willing participant of. You had to drag his scowling ass around the whole time, with the promise that he got to choose what you did on your next day out.

When it comes to you, time has never been an issue. Just like how he dropped his backlog of paperwork to come and see you today, he always puts your friendship first. He just can’t imagine ever feeling that way about anyone else.

“That's rubbish.” You roll your eyes, distracting him from a dawning realisation. “If you found the right person, you’d be willing to make time.”

But Stephen doesn’t want to find the right person. Or maybe... maybe he already has.

“So – uh – we hangin’ tonight?” He asks, attempting to change the subject. Talking about this has got his stomach tied up in knots as he tries to piece together what it all means. Because you’re just friends. Right?

The buzzing of a phone beats you to answering his question. After a few seconds of fumbling around in your bag you pull it out, face falling at whoever’s name is on caller ID.

“Yo, who is it? If it’s that motherfucker lemme speak to him.” Stephen reaches for the phone, but you shake your head.

“It’s the restaurant I had booked for tonight.” Your bottom lip trembles. “That new one over on James Street. I was going to call and cancel but I completely forgot.”

Stephen surveys you for the briefest of moments as you hesitate to answer the phone. The pinched brow, the bottom lip caught between your teeth, the red rimmed eyes from crying too much. He hates that someone made you feel this way and he’ll be damned if he’s going to let anything else spoil your day.

“Tell ‘em to keep the table.”

You glance up at him in surprise. “What?”

“We’ll go together.”

“But... but you hate fancy places.”

He shrugs. “Guess you’ll just have to owe me one.”

After staring at him for a few seconds longer, you finally answer the call and confirm the booking for two. When you’re done, you turn to him with a raised brow. “You know you’re gonna have to make an effort, right? This place doesn’t allow hoodies.”

“Whatever. I own a shirt.”

“What about a tie?”

“Yo, don’t push it.”

A huge grin slowly but surely breaks out across your face and Stephen knows no matter how stuffy this place might be, it’s worth it just to see you smile again.

“You’re the best,” you tell him before wrapping your arms around his waist. “I would have been perfectly happy with take- out at your place.”

Stephen can’t help the smile that spreads to his own face as he lets his arms loop gently around you. “You best hope this place serves vegetarian.”

Later that night, after the meal and a semi-expensive bottle of wine, Stephen walks you home.

“That was fun, right?” You beam up at him, linking arms as you hurry through the rain-slick streets.

You’ve been smiling all evening, a vision in that little black dress he didn’t even know you owned. Stephen on the other hand has had a hard time concentrating on much of anything since lunch. That ache in the pit of his stomach refusing to fade as he considers what truth could be lurking beneath the veil of your friendship.

“It was a’ight,” he concedes with a faint smirk. “Bet you had more fun with me than you would’a done with whatever the fuck his name was.”

“Chris.”

Not Dick, then.

“Exactly. I still say he was a dick. You deserve so much better. When you gonna stop dating’ all these assholes, huh?”

You squeeze his arm affectionately, ignoring his question. “You deserve someone, too. It doesn’t have to be all about that cheesy stuff you know. Just find someone you can hang out with. Someone who makes you smile.”

He looks across at you, at the tiny speck of ice cream still clinging to your lip from dessert, and suddenly it’s like he’s seeing you for the first time.

The words escape his lips before he can stop himself. “And what if I already have?”

#Stephen holder #joel kinnaman #stephen holder x you #stephen holder imagine #stephen holder x reader #the killing #Valentine’s day #fluff

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darkfinch · 3 years ago

Note

i request ur thoughts on hardison taking his People to meet nana. nana taking one look at the 3 of them and telling them “welcome to the family”. eliot freezing up for most of the trip there bc “this is hardisons’ family you Cannot break something so precious“. parker freezing up bc “i don’t know what to do/say/act like and i want her approval but i don’t know Why” i jsut. hmmm. lots of thoughts here.

!!!! beloved concept. cherished concept i've read every "ot3 meets nana" fic i can find on ao3 it is SO compelling

i think hardison gives them a lot of really earnest sit-down chats leaving up to the visit about how they just have to be themselves, and he's told nana all about them, and don't worry she'll love you......but they get there and eliot and parker have both independently decided during the car ride there to run this like a con. let's go steal a familial approval

parker makes very careful eye contact for an appropriate number of seconds (she's counting) and smiles a little too much. alice white is present and accounted for. she loves cat videos and small talk. eliot's like "i am the smallest most unimposing cardigan-clad cowboy the world has ever seen" he is THIS close to wearing the glasses he keeps disappearing into the kitchen to try to convince nana to let him help chop veggies. let him fix the squeaky door hinge and let parker come with him to uh. uh. uh. SUPERVISE and Definitely not talk Strategy

hardison keeps trying to prompt them to like. say normal things about their real life hobbies and thoughts and opinions and every single time they give him the patented "why are you stomping on my grift" glare

it's deeply chaotic. nana sees right through absolutely all of it. at the end of the three day visit, parker's perched on the back of the couch teaching one of the foster babies sleight of hand and eliot's gotten a pat on the cheek for finally saying "nana" instead of "ma'am"

theyre gonna get good grades in Significant Other, something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve :)

#finchtalks #i also have a beloved Nana Meets Quinn scenario but that's a story for another time

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phantomspiderr · 3 years ago

Text

Calm

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x gn!reader

Word Count: 710

Summary: In a moment of calm sweet words are exchanged

Warnings: mentions of sex

･☆: *.☽ .* :☆

He hadn't felt this kind of peace since Wakanda, hadn't felt this safe in a long time. He doesn't know what he did to deserve it, doesn't think he does deserve it. The warmth of your body pressed against his side. His fingertips delicately trace the edge of your arm that rests against his bare chest, watching the way your chest rises and falls.

The sheets are crumpled on the floor along with a number of discarded items of clothing. How had he gotten this lucky? He'd never thought he'd have this, have you. You look perfect like this, the setting sun painting the room in shades of orange and yellow that makes your skin glow and he can't help but shamelessly stare at your naked figure, trying his hardest to memorise every detail. When he looks up at your face your eyes are shut and slower breaths are coming out of your parted lips and he smiles, genuinely smiles so much it starts hurting his cheeks.

"I love you," the words fall out his mouth before he has a chance to stop them. Your eyes open immediately, your head turns and you're blinking up at him. His brain goes into overdrive instantly, why had he said that? You'd had only been dating for a few months, an amazing few months at that but it was too early to say I love you, wasn't it? That was it he knew this was the point he'd lose you, you'd get up and leave him lying there alone after what was probably the best sex of his life.

"I love you too," your voice comes out small and you're sure he doesn't hear you because he's still frozen, staring at the ceiling now. You turn onto your stomach and this time when you say it, it comes out louder and his head slowly moves down, his eyes lock on yours and you can see the tears that threaten to escape. You raise your hand to hold his face, "I love you Bucky."

His brain goes blank now, he can't formulate a single word or thought, he never in his wildest dreams thought someone would ever love him. Too broken. Too fragile. Too much.

Your thumb swipes away the one loose tear rolling down the side of his face, then another I love you slips through your lips as you reach up to place a gentle kiss on his lips. I love you. A kiss to the cheek. I love you. His nose. I love you. His forehead. I love you. His other cheek. I love you. You pause just centimetres from his lips again, looking into his eyes. You know of the pain he's been through, read all about it in his files before he arrived at the compound. You can't begin to imagine the things he had to go through, that he still goes through every day.

"I love you," you press your lips to his, trying to convey all the love you feel for him. It may have only been a few months but there was just something about him. The way he took great care to make sure you were comfortable and happy or how he was always such a gentleman. You knew the moment you met him you'd fall for him, completely head over heels in love the second he said hi.

When you go to pull away his hand quickly comes up to hold the back of your head and he pulls you back to kiss you again, his other arm wrapping around your waist and holding you against him with an almost bruising grip.

"I love you," he mumbles repeatedly against your lips between kisses. You can't help the giggles that fall from your mouth as he shifts you both so you're on your back and he's hovering above you. "You love me?"

His voice wavers slightly, insecurity seeping in but you nod your head while you bite down on your bottom lip and he smiles and it must be contagious because you're smiling too. He feels his chest fluttering as he looks down at you like this, this beautiful person loves him for all he is and for once maybe he believes he deserves this.

A/N: This is one of the first things I've written in a while so I hope it's good. If I've missed any warnings or anything please let me know!

#bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x gender neutral reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x gn!reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky imagine #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x you #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes blurb #bucky barnes drabble

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melancholyink · 3 years ago

Text

AN ALLEYWAY CONNECTION.

» pairing // matt murdock x gn!reader

» pov // second person

» word count // 3.1k

» tw & cw // canon typical violence, alcohol, swearing, blood, catcalling/attempted physical assault (reader is not harmed!!! they kick ass!!!), spoilers for Stephen King's The Shining lol

» ao3 link // here

» note // part two is in the works!

"His smile was warm, cheerful even, considering what had just happened between the two of you and the seven thugs who were all knocked out around you. Despite the inconvenience, you were almost glad that the catcalling had escalated and led you to where you stood now. An Avenger--could you still call yourself that?--and a vigilante.

Talk about making a connection."

It was late into the evening and the busy New York streets were finally starting to clear. It seemed only fitting that another heatwave had the city in its grasp, even more so that Hell's Kitchen seemed to be getting the worst of it. There wasn't a single spot in the city where the loud mechanical whirs of air conditioners couldn't be heard from windows up above.

A sticky sheen of sweat covered your skin, it started accumulating the moment you stepped outside of your apartment. The light fabric of your tank top stuck to your skin everywhere it could. Even with dusk taking over the evening, the scorching heat remained. A bead of sweat ran down your forehead, and you wiped it away with the back of your hand.

"Jesus, Wade, these drinks better be worth the heat stroke I'm gonna get from getting there."

There was a loud bark of laughter from the other line of your phone, and you pulled the speaker further away from your ear, "Listen, babes, all you gotta do is get here and you'll be up to your tits in drinks, forgetting all of life's problems. Alcoholism solves everything, just ask ol Jack Torrance--all work and no play makes y/n a fuckin' killjoy."

You wipe sweat from your brow again and roll your eyes. Even if Wade couldn't see it through the phone, you hoped your tone conveyed the expression, "Really? A reference to The Shining? You know he tries to kill his family in the end, right?"

"Who doesn't love a little familicide now and again?"

You didn't really have an explanation for how you and Wade Wilson became friends, and, if you were honest, you were a little afraid to find out the exact details. All you knew was that it involved a ridiculous amount of whiskey sours and the worst hangover you have ever had in your entire life. You've avoided bourbon ever since. Even just the smell of it turns your stomach. But somehow, the friendship worked, and you were proud to call Deadpool your friend--well, most of the time anyway. A solid 85% of the time, at least.

"You're an idiot, you know that?"

"Maybe a little murder would've helped you out, saved the band from breaking up if you know what I mean?"

You sighed, frustrated. "No, Wade, murder would not have stopped the Avengers from breaking up, it probably would've made it a lot worse actually."

"Well, you could've at least tri--,"

"Okay, I'm not talking about this right now," you huffed, "I just--can we please just not talk about it? I've thought about it enough on my own and I'm pretty sure it's only a matter of time before both Tony and Steve figure out this number. I just need one night, okay?"

There was a pause on the other end as Wade got quiet. You could hear arguing in the background and the loud crash of a chair or table being smashed, just a typical night at Sister Margaret's.

"You have to pick a side eventually, y/n. You can't just disappear and act like none of it ever happened." Your stomach dropped at Wade's words, spoken calmly and as thoughtfully as someone sitting next to a bar fight possibly could.

Things with the Avengers had gotten complicated, to say the least. You could barely remember the last time you were all together, laughing and happy.

You frowned, "I know."

"Okay, good. Now that we've handled that Lifetime original movie moment," Wade began, his voice back to being flooded with a sarcastic tone. It was comforting to hear, and relief washed over you as he continued, "I'm three bottles in with no intention of stoppi—," Wade's voice stopped mid-sentence, the line cut off.

You laughed, slipping your phone into your back pocket with a shake of your head. It wasn't the first time Wade accidentally hung up on you mid-call, and it surely wasn't going to be the last.

The crosswalk light in front of you changed, the red hand-illuminated brightly in the evening darkness. A few cars passed in front of you as you glanced left and right, mulling over whether or not you were going to wait for the white light of the crosswalk to change or if you were going to jog across when you saw an opening.

Your phone buzzed, and you pulled it out from your pocket, a small yuck crossing your lips as your sweat had soaked through the fabric of your pants and lightly covered its screen. Thanks to the heatwave, there wasn't really any dry fabric left on your clothes, but you did your best to wipe the screen clean before unlocking your phone.

It was a message from Wade, of course. Almost unreadable thanks to the typos--god, you were going to have a lot of catching up to do at this rate--but you somehow managed to roughly translate it to: hurry the fuck up!!! Attached was a picture of Wade in his Deadpool suit wearing a maid costume. The following text read: oops, picture unrelated. but enjoy it anyway ;-)

You laughed deeply, your smile wide and infectious.

A gruff voice came from behind you, too close and too suddenly, "What's so funny, baby?"

Perhaps it was foolish not to be paying attention to your surroundings at this time of night with the streetlights buzzing above. Getting catcalled in the city was a pretty common occurrence, unfortunately. But, hey, you were an Avenger, for fuck's sake. You could take care of yourself.

The crosswalk light changed, and your stride didn't falter as you spoke calmly, not even bothering to turn around, "Sorry, buddy, not interested."

The voice followed, "Come on, don't be like that."

Their steps were heavy and matched your pace as you continued moving forward, crossing the street. Still, your steps stayed consistent, your heartbeat steady.

"I said no," you stated flatly.

You kept your head forward, but your eyes glanced to the right looking into the reflections of the store windows that you passed. The man was easily twice your size, with broad shoulders. His muscled arms were thick as tree trunks and covered in tattoos, his pale skin glistening from the sweat and neon lights from the shop signs you passed. He didn't seem to be armed, but you couldn't get a good enough look to be sure.

He was getting irritated now, all niceties left behind at the crosswalk, "Don't be a bitch," he griped, "I just want to talk to you."

"Can't say I feel the same, random guy. You know this is harassment, right?" You risk a look over your shoulder, glancing down at his belt--good, no gun--before you meet his eyes. "Look, I've tried to be nice. Can't you take a hint?"

His eyes narrowed, and his lips lifted as if in a growl, showing teeth that definitely could have been better cared for, "Listen here, you fucking bitch," he practically snarled at you. While you weren't necessarily scared--again, hello Avengers training--your heartrate did spike, "All I wanted was to have a nice little chat, maybe make a connection, y'know? But, I guess you're too good for me, huh? Guess you're gonna learn one hell of a lesson today. Ain't they boys?"

At the arrival of the henchman, you had to admit you were a little underprepared. You hadn't been paying attention to anything more than the man that was following you, thinking it nothing other than your typical catcaller, not some idiot street-gangster-wannabe with an entourage.

There were now three men flanking your catcaller as two more men hastily crossed from the other side of the street to meet your ever-growing group. You turned again, looking for some way to make a quick escape, when another man stepped out of an alley to cut you off, stopping you dead in your tracks.

There were seven men in total, and you were surrounded.

You didn't hate your odds, but you didn't love them either, but you wouldn't let that cat out of the bag. Your face stayed stone-cold, almost bored-looking, "Seven of you? Just to teach little ol' me a lesson? Gotta say I'm flattered," you said, a chuckle fluttering behind your words.

"Won't be laughing for long," Your catcaller sneered and reached out, gripping your upper arm like a vice and turning you to face him. You could feel his hot breath fanning across your face, and it took everything in you not to grimace at the rotting smell.

His henchman parted the way as he jerked you over to the alley conveniently placed only steps away from where you were. As a result of the push (more of a drag, really), your phone slipped out of your hands. Seconds later, you could hear the crunch of someone's work boots cracking its screen.

"Fucking, asshole! I'm not made of money, you know,"

you shouted before you were slammed up against the side of the alley, the brick tearing away the skin on your shoulder.

"Teach 'em a lesson, boss! Gonna wipe that smile clean off their face!" one of the henchmen egged on, his voice high and squeaky.

You smiled devilishly, "What? Gonna teach me to ignore consent and harass people on the streets? No thanks, I'm good."

You waited for The Boss to go in for the first hit. He pulled back a fist, his grip on your arm tightening. You could feel his nails tearing into your skin, drawing blood. Your heart was racing. You had to time your movement perfectly as things could quickly go against your favor. One misstep could decide whether or not you would be walking or crawling your way out of this alley later.

Something caught your peripheral, but you didn't dare move your focus off the fist ramping up to hit you.

Hopefully, none of the henchmen were armed. Maybe a knife or two you could handle, but a gunshot wound would definitely put a damper on your drinking plans for the night. You weren't a fucking super-soldier.

Again, you saw something move in your peripheral, but you weren't the only one this time.

"Did anybody see that?"

"See what?"

"You don't think it's that Dar--,"

"SHUT UP!" The Boss shouted, too loud and too close for it not to rattle your brain, "Would you all just shut up!"

The bossman's grip on your arm loosened ever so slightly, his fist lowered a fraction of an inch, and you couldn't hide your smirk. Any second now.

The fire escape at the end of the alley rattled. In the same instant that the catcaller and his crew turned to look towards the sound, the singular streetlight that kept the alley from being flushed in complete darkness was shattered, leaving only tendrils of light from the main street illuminating the pathway, effectively throwing the men into a panic.

You had to admit it made you nervous, far more nervous than the men, but you weren't going to question an opening as good as this one.

Without hesitating, you grabbed the bossman's raised fist and twisted, spinning yourself around and out of his grip. You grimaced as his nails ripped lines into your skin where he tried to keep his hold on to you, in a feeble attempt to overpower you as his focus had moved elsewhere, further into the dark of the alley.

With a swift kick, you knocked his feet out from underneath him and listened as his knees slammed against the pavement. You pulled his face down at the same time you moved your knee up, hitting it against his nose with all of your strength. You felt the crack of the bone followed by the warm, gooey flow of blood as he cried out in pain.

Upon hearing their boss cry out, one of the henchmen attempted to pull you off of him. He went for your hair, yanking you back--you were definitely going to need ibuprofen after this. You used the momentum from the pull to slam back into the man, pushing yourself harder against him by kicking off of the brick wall you had been held against just a moment ago. It caught the henchman off guard and he tripped over his own feet, heading for the ground with you on top of him.

Before you could roll off and get back up, another henchman, the one with the squeaky voice, moved towards you and failed miserably at sounding threatening as he squeaked out, "I don't think so!"

You were still down, trying to catch your breath and move as fast as possible, but you were outnumbered, and, god, did you miss your team. Yet, the squeaky-voiced henchman never made contact. Instead, you opened your eyes just in time to watch a baton fly and hit him in the center of his forehead, knocking him to the ground.

With wide eyes, you grabbed the baton midair as it fell towards the ground, getting yourself up just in time to use it to hit one of the others in the jaw. As they stumbled back away from the alleyway, turning to run, another baton slammed into the back of their neck. Both the baton and henchman fell to the ground.

You were breathing fast now. Your grip tightened on the baton before you turned, at the ready. But, the rest of the men were already down. Only one man stood in front of you now, dressed in black and red. Half of his face was covered; only full lips and a lightly stubbled jaw were visible in the dim light. But the mask… it had…

"Devil horns? Bit on the nose, isn't it?" you teased, slightly relaxing your stance as you recognized Hell's Kitchen's local hero, "Well, I guess I can't really say much. I do work with a Norse god." Or worked.

He tilted his head, his mouth remaining expressionless. God, you hated costumes sometimes; made it infinitely harder to tell if you've pissed off a local vigilante with your poorly chosen words, but he eventually smirked, "I get that a lot, don't worry. Are you okay?"

You looked down, giving yourself a once over. But aside from the scratches on your upper arm and scrapes on the back of your shoulder, you came out of the scuffle in good shape. "Little banged up, but nothing a stiff drink and a hot shower can't fix. Most of the blood on me isn't mine, which is both good and incredibly gross." You held out the baton in your hand, "How about you? You alright?"

He gently took the baton from you, placing it in its holster on his thigh with a smile, "You know I'm in armor, right? They didn't hit your head too hard?"

His smile was warm, cheerful even, considering what had just happened between the two of you and the seven thugs who were all knocked out around you. Despite the inconvenience, you were almost glad the catcalling had escalated and led you to where you stood now. An Avenger--could you still call yourself that?--and a vigilante.

Talk about making a connection.

"Oh, you've got jokes," you laughed, a smile of your own to match his. "Just wanted to make sure you didn't get your ass kicked by these Track Suit Mafia wannabes."

"No, these aren't Fisks' men," he said casually, catching you by surprise. Most wouldn't even dare to think Fisks' name, much less say it aloud. You wondered if Daredevil had a death wish, "Just your run of the mill scumbags."

You lightly kicked at your original catcaller, where he was passed out from the pain of his broken nose, and moved him onto his side to make sure he wouldn't choke on any blood as Daredevil ambled passed you. You watched as he bent to pick up his other baton and your smashed phone. He held it out to you and you took it, assessing the damage.

"Thank you for your help tonight," you said, quieter than you expected. "I'd say if there's anything the Avengers can do to help you out, all you have to do is ask. But, we're not exactly in the position to be doing favors right now."

"Don't worry about it," he spoke, his voice was soft, almost comforting.

There was a beat of silence between the two of you, although the hum of air conditioner units and the sounds of late-night traffic permeated the air.

Daredevil's head tilted, and it seemed like his focus was somewhere else. He licked his lips, hesitating before he spoke, "You know, if you're looking for someplace to take your mind off of things, Josie's off Bedford has great drinks for good prices, if you don't mind the sticky floors."

You wished you could see his eyes, but the top of his mask blocked them. Still, your eyes stared up into the empty red nothingness of the molded eyes on his mask. Your brows furrowed gently. How does he see?

You opened your mouth to say something, but your phone vibrated in your hand before you managed to get a syllable out, catching you off guard. You glanced down, almost rolling your eyes at your friend's poor timing. "Shit, come on, Wade," you sighed, silencing the call before moving your focus back up to Daredevil.

But he was already gone.

***

The doors of Sister Margaret's opened with a bang as you pushed through them. For a fraction of a second, every eye in the bar was on you before most went back to their drinks and petty arguments.

Wade called to you from the bar. His voice was laced with liquor as he spouted the brutal honesty you had grown to expect from him, "Holy fuck, you look like shit!"

You reached across the bar, much to Weasel's protests (that you and Wade both waved off), holding your empty shot glass up to the bottle of tequila Wade was drinking from. He poured you a shot and you downed it immediately. Wade filled the shot glass again before you switched the bottle in his hands with the shot glass in yours.

He whined before he ultimately shrugged and took the shot, looking at you eagerly, "At least tell me you disposed of the body on your own, I really don't feel like doing all that work."

With your belly sufficiently warm with alcohol, you wiped your mouth and placed the bottle of tequila between you and Wade. He grabbed it immediately.

"You will not fucking believe who I just ran into."

#oneshot #reader insert #matt murdock x reader #daredevil reader insert #daredevil #marvel reader insert #marvel #mcu #mcu reader insert

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serasvictoria · 3 years ago

Text

I've Got Dreams To Remember

Pairing: Incubus Hvitserk/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 8244 (yeah, I don't know what happened either)

Summary: A certain young man keeps showing up in your very x-rated dreams.

Notes: I fully realise that the contents of this might not be for everyone, so I’ll just say that according to some stories Incubi are capable of shapeshifting. A certain aspect of this has been inspired by @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie's absolutely brilliant fic, Take Me, so if you've read that you'll know what I'm talking about. And if you haven’t read it, what the hell are you doing? READ IT.

There is another moodboard all the way at the end of this to provide a visual for something that I describe in this so have a look at it at the end.

Tagging: @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @vikingstrash @quantumlocked310

He only ever came to you in your dreams.

The dreams were interesting to say the least and he always played a very big part in them. You often wondered what deep and dark recesses of your brain had conjured him up, because you would definitely remember if you had encountered someone like him in real life.

It first started about a month ago. You’d gotten out of a particularly nasty relationship a few months before. You were still trying to navigate your way through this new life that you now had and while your friends were busy with trying to get you back onto the dating scene, you persisted in that regard. You weren’t looking for a new man in your life, but you still had needs. Sure, you had your toys, but they were a somewhat poor substitute when what you really wanted was for someone to grab your ass, lift you up and fuck you up against a wall.

Maybe that was where he had come from. Because that was exactly the scenario that you got the first time that he showed up.

It was a fairly generic one where dreams were concerned. You were in a bar with some people, a wide assortment of people that you knew in real life, when you could feel someone’s eyes on you. You looked up and stared straight into the half shaded face of a young man whose eyes you couldn’t actually make out, but you saw the smile that graced his lips and boy was it hungry. You only glanced away for a second and when you looked back again, he was already gone. You’d resigned yourself to missing your chance, when a hand suddenly grasped your wrist, dragged you outside to a nearby alleyway and gave you exactly what you’d been thinking of during your waking hours.

When you woke up, you had never found yourself feeling so satisfied before. You threw the blankets over your head, rolled over and tried to fall asleep again, but sleep didn’t take you for a second time that morning sadly enough. Later that day, after getting out of the shower and glancing in the mirror before combing your hair, you stared at your reflection in confusion or to be more precise at your bare skin. In your dream, your mystery lover had bitten your shoulder and there, right there on your shoulder, were teeth marks. But that was impossible, right? Maybe the dream had been that intense that it had somehow tricked your body into believing that it had been real? Did things like that even happen?

You didn’t dream of him the next night. Nor the following five nights. Not that you were keeping track or anything. He eventually put in another appearance though. The setting for that dream wasn’t particularly inventive either and you were almost embarrassed that your mind was even coming up with stuff that gave you the impression that they should be storylines in bad porn movies. It was a department store this time and you were looking at underwear. Your fingers continuously ran over the lace trims of various bras and touched the silky panties that came with them.

Again, you felt eyes on you and it was the same young man as from your previous dream. Apparently, dream you was in a frisky mood so you held up various bras in front of your chest, most of which he disapproved of, until you came across a bright red lace number that he seemed to like. When he finally found you in the fitting room shortly after, you were wearing the set that he had wanted to see you in before tearing it off your body and fucking you up against the full length mirror.

That was the first time that you’d gotten a good look at his face. Frankly, you were impressed with what your mind had come up with. He had long dirty blonde hair that he wore in a ponytail and that you longed to see loose. His eyes were green one time and when you looked again they seemed brown. That was one of the parts about him that mystified you. That and the part where you constantly wanted to kiss the tip of his nose and his ears. That was definitely an odd experience to say the least.

He was tall and lithe of build, but with surprising strength in his arms. The way that he would hold you was intense, like he never wanted to let you go. When his shirt came off, you found yourself staring at the intricate tattoo that covered most of his left bicep and part of his chest. It was some kind of Viking design and it looked old, but it was probably meant to look like that. You found yourself tracing it with your finger a number of times, something that seemed to amuse him.

Whenever you woke up, you were annoyed that you had been torn out of this perfect little dream world. The dream world where you were fucked six ways from Sunday. You were so thirsty for this young man that you had created that he was in your nighttime fantasies pretty much every single night now. In your dreams he left you so satisfied that you had no idea why you ever wanted to leave. If only you could stay asleep and feel this bliss forever. What would make them even more amazing was if the fantasies were better. You always swore that you were one dream away from having him come round to your house so he could have a closer look at your plumbing.

“What are you thinking about?”

Rolling over on your side, you looked at the man next to you in the bed. Despite the fact that you had been dreaming about him almost every single night for the past two weeks, you had never actually heard him talk. You’d heard him moan and groan several times, but to hear his lips form actual sentences was a new thing.

“Nothing,” you replied with a smile.

“I can read your thoughts, you know.”

“You can?”

“Yeah, I never told you?” He grinned at you and ran his fingers up and down your bare arm. “Maybe I could have told you if you’d wanted to talk, but you only want me for my body.”

“What? I don’t… I never…” You were flustered and looking for words after being so brutally called out. “It was never like…”

“It’s okay,” he said with a laugh. “I don’t mind. It’s what I do.” Since he saw the obvious confusion on your face, he continued. “I’ve been feeding off you this entire time.”

“Feeding off me? But I never feed you anything.”

“Your orgasms.” A frown creased your brow and he started laughing again before leaning in and pressing his lips against your forehead. “It’s what I need to sustain myself. I can eat other food as well, but it never quite fills me up the way orgasms do.”

“So the reason that you made me come multiple times is…”

“Because it fills me. Not my belly, mind you, but on a deeper level.” He cupped your chin and brushed the tip of his nose against yours. “I don’t expect you to understand, but I suppose a thank you is in order.” His hand slipped down, gently gripping your neck, applying just the slightest bit of pressure, before moving down to it’s destination and plucking at your nipple almost idly. He was gearing you up for another round and you found that you couldn’t actually remember how many times he had made you come already. “Can I thank you with this body that you can’t get enough of?”

“Wait.”

“So now you want to talk?” He continued his ministrations on your chest as if you hadn’t been talking at all. You caught the playful smirk on his lips before he leaned in and started sucking marks on your neck. “What do you want to know?”

“You say you feed off me, but doesn't that mean that you want to eat me?”

“And why would I want to do that? I like to use my mouth for other things,” he said with a low chuckle. You hissed through your teeth when he sank his teeth into your skin suddenly and then licked the spot where he had bitten you. “Would be a waste to eat you anyway.”

“So the reason that you’re able to…”

He pulled away so he could look you in the eye. He grinned as he pushed his hand against your shoulder and he got on top of you as soon as you were laying on your back. “Are you getting shy on me now? After everything that we’ve done?” He nudged your legs apart and you could feel his erection pressing into your thigh. “But yes, that’s why my erections last so long. The aim of the game is not to come myself, but to make sure that you do.”

“Doesn’t it hurt?”

“I beat myself off when you wake up. It’s not like I can’t climax myself, but I can make sure that I stay hard for as long as I need to.” You could feel his tip pressing against your entrance, ready to slide in at any second. “It’s a dream. Anything can happen in a dream.”

“Anything?”

“Sure. Wanna see?”

You didn’t know what he had planned, but you nodded anyway. His eyes lit up, his irises practically glowing green right now, and he started grinning, eager to show you what else he could do. He snapped his fingers and all of a sudden you were sitting on a red velvet sofa in what appeared to be some kind of high end bar. Your legs were wide open with him on his knees in front of you, his lips already on the inside of your knee and slowly working his way up.

“So you can change locations?”

“Honey, I can change everything.” You felt his teeth on the inside of your thigh, nipping at your skin playfully, mere inches away from the top of your legs. “Is the setting not to your liking?”

“How did you even come up with this place?”

“Experience?” He briefly looked up at you and shrugged. “I’ve been doing this for a long time.”

“How long?”

“Not telling.” He stuck his tongue out at you and then dipped his head down to lick a stripe from your entrance up to your clit. “I can never get enough of how you taste.” He moaned against your core. He spent most of his time with his face between your legs in your dreams. With what he’d revealed earlier, about how he fed on your orgasms, maybe that was the place where he could taste it the best? “Not really.” You moaned loudly when he spoke, because his voice was adding vibrations to what he was doing. You’d entirely forgotten that he had mentioned that he was able to hear your thoughts. “You just taste real good.”

A single finger slid inside of you, your walls instantly clenching around him, trying to pull him in deeper. When he adds another, you start whimpering and you know that you’re going to come soon. If you could, you’d have him in this position all the time. There had never been anyone in your life who had been this good at eating you out and who was so clearly enjoying himself as well. Your last boyfriend had been a disaster on that front, more often than not he would skip foreplay entirely, but he’d still expect you to suck his dick whenever he felt like it. Figures that you’d only be able to find an enthusiastic lover in your dreams.

Guys like that simply didn’t exist in real life.

You reach down to thread your fingers through his hair. The gesture makes him suck at your clit harder and thrust his fingers in deeper than before. He was practically devouring you at this point, lapping up your juices and making sounds that told you that he hadn’t been lying when he told you that he liked how you tasted. It was almost as if he didn’t want to waste a single drop. You keened out a noise as another orgasm positively engulfed you. You’d push him away and close your thighs if you could, but he had wrapped his arms around your thighs and was using all his strength to keep them wide open. Your muscles were tight as a bowstring, your back arched and pushed you up into a position that would start to hurt if you stayed in it for too long. He was relentless though, ignoring your discomfort and continuing his assault until he had managed to pull yet another climax out of your shuddering body.

When he finally released you, you collapsed onto the sofa, your entire body sticky with sweat. You blinked a few times to stop yourself from seeing stars and when you heard him chuckle, you swatted your hand in his general direction without actually hitting him. It took you a couple of minutes, but you eventually managed to sit upright again when your lungs stopped burning. He was still on his knees in front of you with an incredibly smug impression plastered all over his face. You nudged your foot against his shoulder and he fell backwards dramatically. Your face twisted when you felt the velvet against your sweaty body. It had felt pleasant on your bare skin before, but not anymore.

“I can do something about that,” he said cheerily and snapped his fingers again. When he saw the look on your face when you noticed where you were, he couldn’t hide his amusement. “No good?”

“This is terrible,” you replied with a wide grin. “I mean. Honestly.”

The flashing light underneath you made you laugh. He’d pulled this one from your bad sex fantasies again. A piece of paper slid into the tray on the side. He picked it up, looked at it with a frown before turning the piece of paper over so you could see it.

“I think there’s something wrong with this printer.” He shook his head and pressed a few buttons underneath your leg. “It really needs fixing.”

“Think you can fix it?”

“I can try.” He pushed his hands underneath your ass just as the light flashed again and a few seconds later he showed you the black and white printout of your behind with his fingers shoved in between you and the glass that you were sitting on. “That’s beautiful. Think I might have to frame that.”

“You’re such a weirdo.”

“I think that it’s funny.” He pressed his lips on yours hungrily and you could still taste yourself on his tongue. “I got this from your mind, remember? I really think we might have to work on the state of your fantasies though. They really could be a lot more inventive.”

“Maybe I’m just not very original.”

“You’re just not giving yourself enough credit, sweetheart.”

“Maybe.” You nipped at his lower lip and then pressed a kiss on the tip of his nose which was probably a little too gentle considering all the other stuff that you’d gotten up that night, but you hardly cared anymore. “You can probably come up with something a lot better.”

“I can try, but you’re probably going to be disappointed.”

One snap of his fingers and suddenly you were in the dark. You could also tell that you were alone. The other two times, you could always feel him around you, but not this time. You hugged your arms around your torso, feeling cold for no reason at all. All of a sudden a couple of lights switched on, bathing the room in red light, and you realised that you were standing on a stage. When you glanced at the side, you could see a pole right next to you. You instinctively reached out for it, feeling the cool metal against your palm and you held it as you walked in a circle around it. There were full length mirrors all around you and you briefly looked at your reflection.

The outfit that you wore left little to the imagination which was probably the point when you took the location into account. You were wearing a red triangle bikini top and a black pair of shorts that half your ass was hanging out of. The shoes, the infamous stripper heels naturally, had plastic, see-through straps and the platform heels had a iridescent sparkle to it.

When you had done a turn, your eyes scanned the place and you could see him sitting on a chair right next to the stage, looking up at you expectantly. He obviously wanted a show so why not give him one? Holding onto the pole, you slid down until you were on your knees and then you started skimming your hands up and down your chest. He was completely enraptured and kept reaching down to readjust himself in his trousers. Given how he usually remained rockhard throughout these dreams, the skinny jeans that he was wearing right now were probably incredibly uncomfortable.

You crawled over to where he was sitting. When you had reached the edge, you reached out to grab him by his shirt and pulled him up out of his seat. His eyes widened for a second or two before he composed himself again. He couldn’t resist leaning in when your face came closer to his, but you merely ghosted your lips over his before pushing him back into his chair.

“No touching the stripper,” you chided and then wagged a finger at him. “Or I’ll ask security to kick you out.”

“But you’re allowed to touch me?”

“Are you trying to tell me you’d have me kicked out?”

“No way.” He leaned back in his chair, arm hanging over the back and he started sipping at a cocktail that suddenly materialised in his hand. “Keep going.”

The only problem there was that you had no clue what strippers even did. Sure you’d seen a video, but those women were a lot more athletic than you were. You’d also seen Showgirls once, but that movie probably wasn’t the best example about what to do. The only thing that you had learned from that movie was how not to have sex in a pool and that licking a stripper pole wasn’t particularly sexy, just incredibly unhygienic. You swung your legs over the edge of the stage and put your feet on the arm rests of his chair, practically daring him to touch you. Having caught your intent, he didn’t move and then he had the audacity to feign indifference.

Sliding off the stage, you climbed onto his lap instead and started gyrating your hips against his. You reached up to grab a handful of his hair, pulled his head back and dragged your lips down the column of his throat. When he grabbed your ass, you slapped his cheek with your free hand.

“No touching,” you whispered in his ear. “I’m not telling you again.”

“Damn, baby.” He sounded impressed by how well you were taking control of this new situation. “That is such a fucking turn-on.” You pulled on his hair harder and since your mouth was still close to his ear, you took his earlobe between your teeth and gave it a gentle tug. “Holy shit. You’re a fucking natural.”

“Oh yeah?”

You leaned back so you could look him in the eye. His eyes sparkled with obvious excitement and a deeper, more animalistic need. Like he could grab you at any moment, throw you onto the stage and fuck you right there if you pushed him too far. Very tempting. Reaching to the back of your neck, you pulled at the bow that held the strings of the halterneck together and when it was loosened, they fell down your shoulders. You pushed the cups down until they hung loosely around your chest. The only thing that was keeping the top on was the string that tied together around your back.

His eyes flitted down to your chest and then back up to your face again. You wanted him to touch you, but after telling him off a few times, you weren’t sure if he was going to. So you placed your hand on the back of his head and pressed him against your chest instead. You felt him smile against your skin and then his lips started moving, shifting in the direction of your nipple.

A shiver ran down your spine and you looked up suddenly. You had the odd feeling that there was another set of eyes on you, but that was impossible since the two of you were the only people here. Looking up at the bar, you saw a young man who was leaning against the bar and watching the two of you intently. He was smartly dressed in a dark blue suit, his long hair loose and hanging down over his shoulders. Even in this odd red light, you could tell that his skin was too pale, so white that it was almost translucent and when he grinned at you, you could see that his canines were too long, too pointy. Without realising it yourself, you had frozen entirely and the young man underneath you had sensed it, looking up at you in confusion before following your eyes.

“What the fuck, man!” He suddenly shouted at the other guy, anger flashing behind his eyes. “The hell are you doing here? Fuck off!” The man at the bar shrugged and disappeared just as suddenly as he had appeared. “Sorry about that.”

“Who was that?”

“My brother.”

“Your brother?”

“Yeah, he’s a dick,” he said with a deep sigh. “Our mother would keep tabs on us when we were kids to make sure that we didn’t get into any trouble. You have any idea how weird it is when your mother enters the dreams where you’re trying to get off with a girl? Fucking embarrasing.” He raised his eyebrows at you when he noticed that you were trying to suppress a laugh and pinched your side. “I don’t know how the fuck it works, but my mother taught the little shit how to do it as well and so he just… I dunno… shows up sometimes like the little creep that he is.”

“Does that mean that he’ll come back?”

“No. He just likes to remind me that he can do it from time to time.” He wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed his head against your chest. “But fuck that. I don’t want to talk about my asshole brothers.”

“Brothers?”

“Ah shit. No. Not talking about them.” He pulled at the string on your back, pulled the bikini top from your body and threw it on the stage. “So this particular fantasy is ruined now. Let's start again, shall we?”

“Can’t we salvage it?”

“I’ve got something better.” The look on his face told you that this had the potential to be really good. “Do you trust me?”

“How bad is this going to be?” He tilted his head to the side, that wasn’t the answer that he had wanted to hear. “Yes.”

“I don’t do this a lot so bear with me alright?”

Another snap of the fingers and the strip bar starts to fade away. You were sitting on a bed now and you were wearing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that looked old. The new location was just as red (he really did seem to like that colour), but it didn’t look that special to you. In fact, it looked like a fairly cheap love motel, one where lovers would retreat to so they could enjoy each other's company for about an hour before going their separate ways again.

You got up from the bed and walked over to a table by the window to look at what was set out on it. There was a big bowl of strawberries and a bottle of ridiculously expensive champagne right next to it. He’d really pulled out all the stops, even in a dream. You were giggling to yourself when the door to the bathroom opened and someone appeared in the doorway. It took you a short moment before you realised who it was, but when it all clicked into place your mouth fell open.

Because leaning against the doorframe was a woman. Her dirty blonde hair was loose and still slightly wet, hinting at the fact that she’d been taking a shower moments earlier. She was wearing a silk bathrobe that was tied together by the waist with a big bow and you could see her hard nipples quite clearly through the thin material. The smirk was damn near unmistakable however. When she approached you, you instantly got the impression that you were her prey, there was just something very predatory in the way that she moved. She came to a standstill right in front of you and her mischievous eyes flashed bright green briefly.

“Feed me,” she said with a grin. You took one of the strawberries from the bowl and when you presented it to her, she held her mouth wide open, ready to be fed. You felt her tongue swipe over your fingers when you fed it to her and then she let out a single moan when she started chewing. A few seconds later you felt a finger against your chin so she could push your mouth shut. “Surprised?”

“Very.” You looked her up and down. The bathrobe barely covered the tops of her thighs and she reached down to play with the hemline, to make sure that your eyes stayed focused on her legs. “I didn’t know you could turn into a woman.”

“It’s a dream,” she stated simply. “Anything’s possible.” She leaned in to you and you closed your eyes, anticipating a kiss, but then her lips brushed against the shell of your ear as she talked. “I don’t do this a lot though. So consider yourself special.”

“All this to make up for your brother interfering?”

“Guess you could say that.” She took your hands and started pulling you along to the bed. When you reached it you thought that she was finally going to kiss you, but then she spun you round and made you sit on the bed instead. She pulled on the bow that held the bathrobe together and brushed it open, revealing herself to you slowly, like one might unveil a priceless painting. “Like what you see?”

Your throat had gone dry and you found that you had lost the ability to form words. He was beautiful when he was a man, but now that he was a woman, his toned torso had given way to soft curves and skin that looked so smooth that you wanted to do nothing else but reach out and touch it. She took a step closer and stood in between your open legs, a sweet smile on her lips as she looked down at you.

“You’re not talking.” There was a slight teasing tone to her voice as she spoke. “That bad?”

“No.” She took your hand and moved it up until it was covering her bare breast. You gave a quick experimental squeeze. “Just surprised. Takes some getting used to.” Your other hand moved up of its own accord so you could cup her other breast as well. “I mean, I’ve never been with another woman before.”

“You can. If you want to.”

While you had only ever been with men, the thought of being with a woman wasn’t something that you weren’t entirely opposed to. Especially not with someone as beautiful and seductive as this. She shrugged out of the robe and dropped it to the floor. The tattoo that was usually on his left arm had changed into something more delicate and feminine, pink cherry blossoms with green leaves and branches in between them that curled up her arm and covered part of her clavicle. You moved your hand up and started tracing them with your fingers, gently caressing her skin, her green eyes following your every move.

When you heard a soft giggle, you looked back at her face and before you could say anything, she’d pushed you back onto the mattress. She was on top of you a split second later and then you finally felt her soft lips on yours. You could still taste the sweet strawberry on her lips and on her tongue when she slipped it into your mouth. Your hands ran down her back, following her spine and then settling on her ass. Whenever you squeezed, she ground her hips down against yours and you were suddenly overcome with the urge to see her on her back with her hair fanned out over the red sheets.

Grabbing her hips, you flipped her over and since she’d just read your thoughts, she reached up and made sure her hair was spread out just the way that you had just imagined it. She started pushing your shirt up and you almost ripped it off in your eagerness to get naked for her, even if she’d seen you like that many times before. She pushed herself up into a sitting position and shoved her hand into your sweatpants roughly. Her fingers started rubbing at your sex, finding you very wet and very willing.

Pulling her hand out, you leaned back and pushed your pants down, kicking your legs to get them off entirely without moving too far away from her. When you were completely naked, her hand settled back at the top of your legs, her movements more hurried and urgent now. With your hands on her breasts, you started licking and nipping at her neck, moaning against her skin when one of her fingers started circling your clit.

“I want to make you come,” you groaned into her ear. “Never made you… fuck… come before.”

“But you give me so many other things,” she purred back. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” You skimmed one hand down her stomach and slipped your hand between her legs. “Jesus Christ. You’re so wet.” You were rewarded with a moan when you tried touching her the way you liked to be touched. It was almost as if you were moving on autopilot, like you instinctively knew what to do. “Please.”

She didn’t reply so instead you pulled your hand away from her, making her let out a displeased whine, and you pulled your face away from her neck so she could watch you suck your fingers into your mouth. You twirled your tongue around your fingers, making sure that she could see exactly what you were doing and then moved your hand down again. You pressed them up against her entrance first, teasing her with the slightest bit of pressure and then slipped them inside. She started tilting her hips up against your hand and the way that her face contorted in pleasure really was something that would be etched into your mind forever.

“Can I?” You repeated the question since you still hadn’t gotten an answer. “I really want to.” Pressing your lips down on hers again in a searing kiss, you murmured against her lips. “Please say yes.” You pressed your fingers in as deep as they could go, all the way down to the third knuckle. Since he had seemed to like it quite a bit when you did it earlier, you tangled your fingers in her long hair and gave a forceful tug. She gasped into your mouth and you knew that you had her. “I’ll just keep doing this until you say yes.”

“Fuck.” She shifted underneath you and you reluctantly pulled your lips away from hers. “I love it when you do that.”

“I know.” A triumphant grin formed on your lips and she was so obviously into it that it was hard to drop this act. Dipping your head down, you bit her neck suddenly and she squealed with obvious delight. You decided to thrust your fingers into her harder and she was so wet now that you could hear your digits moving in and out of her. “I want to make you come so bad.”

“You’re pretty good at this,” she moaned breathlessly. “Want to take this a little bit further?”

“How?”

“I’ll give you what you want, but not like this.” She wrapped a hand around your wrist and gently pulled your hand away. She then brought your hand up to her lips and started licking her own juices off your fingers with such fervour that she could have been mistaken for a starving animal. Seeing that was so arousing that you couldn’t stop a moan from escaping from your lips. “I want you to do something else.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Check the drawers.”

You scrambled off of her, probably a little bit too fast, in your eagerness to see what was in there. You were expecting a vibrator, a buttplug even, but you must have pulled a particularly funny face when you saw what was in the drawer instead because she started laughing as soon as she saw your expression. You hooked your fingers in one of the straps and lifted it up, probably looking very much afraid to even touch it. Your eyes were wide as it hung from your fingers and you turned back to fully face her.

“You want me to wear...” You gestured at it with your free hand. “...this?”

“Well, yes, sweetheart.” She got on all fours and crawled over to your side of the bed. “That’s exactly what I want you to do.”

“Right.”

“You’re not sure.”

“It’s just… this is very much virgin territory for me.”

“You were doing fine just now.”

“That’s kinda different though, isn’t it?” You looked down at the strap-on that was still dangling from your fingers and she started poking at it playfully. It looked so silly that you couldn’t help but laugh. Truth be told, you were kind of curious about this kind of thing. “Are you sure about this?”

“Positive.” She pushed herself up on her knees and hooked her arms around your neck, pressing her entire body flush against you. “So. What do you say?”

“This is definitely one of the weirdest dreams I’ve ever had.”

“Yes or no.” She started kissing you, nice and slow, and then sucked your bottom lip into her mouth. Your hands snaked down her back and when she nipped at your lip, you gave her ass a hard slap. “Baby!” She started giggling, her fingernails digging into your shoulder blades when you grabbed her ass and squeezed her roughly. “I love it when you manhandle me.”

“That’s new for me as well.”

“I really am pushing your boundaries, ain’t I?” She pulled away suddenly and got on all fours again, turning her ass in your direction. She wiggled her hips and peered over her shoulder until you slapped her again. “Keep doing that and I’ll climax before you’ve shoved that thing inside of me.”

“Yeah right.” But you slapped her on the other cheek just for good measure. She pushed back until her ass was pressed against your hips and then she started moving backwards and forwards like you were already thrusting into her. “I need some help… with this thing…”

She faced you again in a flash, obviously excited by your willingness to do this. The harness was on you fairly quickly all things considered and then she lowered herself, gave you a quick wink and started sucking the large dildo into her mouth. So that’s what it looked like from that angle. You stroked her hair in very much the same manner like your previous partners had always done with you whenever you went down on them. Come to think of it, you suddenly realised that you had never actually had his cock in your mouth. That probably wasn’t all that weird considering this no climaxing thing that he appeared to have going on, but whenever you’d even attempted to kiss your way down his chest, he always stopped you.

You felt her tap her fingers against your hip and then she released the dildo with a pop. “You’re overthinking this. This isn’t about me. Never was.” Sitting up on her knees again, she stroked the side of your face almost lovingly and you eased into her touch for a few seconds. “Like I said earlier, the aim is to make you come.” She flashed you a big, predatory smile and then continued, “Speaking of. You do this right and afterwards I’ll push myself into you balls deep and fuck you until your fucking alarm goes off. How’s that for a tradeoff?”

“The way that you usually are?”

“Depends on what you want.” Her hand settled on your chest and she twisted one of your nipples between her fingers. “If you want me to wear that strap-on afterwards, I can do that. No problem.”

“You’ll probably be able to tell exactly what I want when I’m done with you.”

“You bet your ass, baby.” She winked at you and then a bottle of lube magically appeared in her hand. “I know that this is a dream, but I still need to use this.”

“Do you have any idea how weird it is when you do that?” She looked at you with her perfect eyebrows raised as she squeezed some liquid into her hand, applied it liberally to the silicone shaft and then the tube disappeared again when she was done. “Magicking things up out of thin air.”

“That’s what you think is weird about all this?” She rubbed her hands between her legs, applying some more lube on her pussy and started pushing her hips up against her hands. “I can change everything about this dream, even my gender, but when I make stuff appear in my hand that’s taking it one step too far?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.” She turned her back on you and pressed her ass against the sex toy. “Now get it over with and fuck me already.”

“That really wasn’t necessary.” You grabbed a handful of her hair, pulled hard and twisted her head back. She laughed breathlessly and pushed her hips back again. “I’m just going to have to fuck this attitude out of you.”

“Fuck yes! Teach me a lesson.” She was practically purring the words at you. When you pushed her forward roughly, she loudly voiced her delight. You pressed one hand firmly between her shoulder blades, making sure that her face stayed down. Grabbing her hips, you made her raise her ass in the air and then positioned yourself in front of her entrance. “I’ve been such a bad girl.” With one thrust of your hips, you slipped inside of her and she let out a long stretched out moan as you watched the dildo disappear inside of her. “You’re so fucking big.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at that sudden admission. For some reason she was playing the part that loads of women seemed to play in porn movies and when you started pumping in and out of her, she wouldn’t stop moaning about how good it felt and how well you were fucking her. This really was something else and whenever you glanced down at how her ass rippled whenever your hips connected with her, you couldn’t help but be completely fascinated with how it looked, practically unable to tear your eyes away from her.

Her noises started increasing and you kept slapping her already reddening ass in between thrusts. Pulling out almost entirely, you pushed back in so hard that her moans were starting to sound muffled. Never once pausing what you were doing on her, you slid one hand down over her hip so you could touch her clit. You ran the other one up her spine, tightened your fingers in her hair and yanked her up, pulling her against your chest.

“I wanna hear you,” you groaned in her ear and she started whimpering instantly. “You gonna come for me now?”

“Almost,” she mewled back. “I’m so close.” You speeded up the motions against her clit and she let out a loud cry, reaching back with one hand to wrap it around the back of your head. You were barely able to move your hips at this odd angle, but she didn’t seem to care from the way that she was bucking up against your hand and panting. When she started whimpering and rubbing her back against your chest, you could feel the muscles in her thighs constricting against your hand. “Fuck.”

A grunt of pleasure was torn from her throat and she arched her back, all her muscles going rigid all at once when her orgasm tore through her. You kept her pulled against you, absolutely delighted that you appeared to have done this right despite being slightly weirded out about it at first. When you released her, she dropped down onto the bed, completely out of breath. You lay down on your side next to her and studied her face closely. Her eyes were squeezed shut and you ran your fingers up and down her jaw as she caught her breath.

“Gimme a sec…”

You saw her swallow hard, her throat no doubt having gone dry. You got up off the bed and giggled when you looked down. Seeing that huge silicone dildo swaying about with every step that you took really looked hilarious. When you reached the table, you were ready to struggle with attempting to open the champagne before noticing that she’d already taken care of that. There were two glasses filled with the sparkly liquid standing right next to it.

When you turned back around, you saw that she was gone and that he was now laying on the bed in her place. You briefly frowned, sad that you hadn’t gotten a chance to say goodbye before realising that they were one and the same person. You heard him laughing from the bed when you walked back with the glass in your hands.

“What’s so funny?”

“You are.” You sat down next to him and waited until he’d pushed himself up into a sitting position before handing him the glass. He emptied the glass in one big sip. “Wanting to say goodbye.”

“I just forgot. Until earlier I thought that you were nothing but a figment of my imagination.”

“Oh no.” He threw the glass across the room and it bounced off the wall before rolling onto the floor. He looked down at your lap and flicked his fingers against the strap-on. “I’m very real.”

“Can you help me get this thing off?”

“Or you could keep it on.” He flashed you a quick and very dirty smile. “I’d let you peg me.”

You almost choked when you tried to imagine what that would look like and blurted out a quick, “One thing at a time please.”

“Spoilsport.” He tapped a finger on the harness and then it was gone. “You’d be pretty good at it, you know. Pull my hair a couple of times and I’m yours to do with as you please.” Before you could reply to that, he put an arm around your waist and pulled you back onto the bed. Moving you onto your back, he knocked all the air out of your lungs when he suddenly got on top of you and pinned your hands up above your head. “But I promised to do something else anyway. So I win anyway.”

He kept true to his word and fucked you with such ferocity afterwards that when you finally woke up the following morning, it was a damn miracle that you were even able to walk at all. And all that just because of a dream. In the many more dreams that followed afterwards, the woman made an appearance on more than one occasion. On some nights you would just get her and other times he would turn into her while he had his mouth on your pussy. You were never entirely sure about how the entire thing even worked. He wasn’t merely something that your horny mind had come up with one night. No, he was indeed very real.

A couple of months into this very odd arrangement, where he would satisfy your every desire while you were asleep, you were at the beach with your friends. They were convinced that you were seeing someone even if you always said that you weren’t. Maybe this little weekend getaway was a ploy to get more information out of you, but how could you possibly tell them that you’d met someone in your dreams? You’d sound like a bloody lunatic.

When the four of you were looking for a spot to spread out your beach towels, you passed two guys. One was sitting underneath a parasol, dressed in a black t-shirt and black shorts, making sure that no part of him even got out of the shade that was provided by the large umbrella over his head. He was scowling at another young man with long blonde wavy hair who was sitting next to him, strumming a blue ukulele.

Your small group settled down a couple of feet away from them and stripped down to the bathing suits that you wore underneath your clothes. You were wearing a red triangle bikini, somehow now also favouring the colour since your dreams were constantly bathed in it. Your friends headed down towards the water while you sat down on your towel and started reading the romance novel that you’d brought with you.

After a couple of minutes, you realised that you had completely stopped paying attention to what you were reading but were instead focusing entirely on the young man a couple of feet behind you who had started singing. You instantly recognised the song that he was singing. It was the song that the sirens sang to Odysseus in the Odyssey. You were so hypnotised by the song, that you’d completely forgotten about your surroundings. It wasn’t until something slammed into your upper arm that the spell was broken. Your head whipped to the side and you saw a frisbee laying next to you in the sand.

“My bad!” A voice called out to you and you picked the piece of plastic up to hold it out to whoever was approaching you. “I am so sorry! I should have caught that.”

“No problem. Not like I’m…” As soon as you looked up the words died in your throat and you instead stared at the young man who was now standing next to you with wide eyes. “Wait…”

“Well, this is a surprise.” He dropped down onto his knees next to you in the sand, a huge smile plastered all over his face, and he took the frisbee from your hands. “Definitely wasn’t expecting this.” For some reason, you reached out and poked a finger against his chest. You half expected that your mind was playing some kind of trick on you, as if your finger was going to pass right through him, but it didn’t. “See? Real.”

“Serk!” Another voice called out and he tore his eyes away from yours to look at whoever it was that had called his name. “Stop hitting on girls and toss the frisbee back!”

“I’m done playing!” He threw the frisbee back which the other guy effortlessly caught. “Tell Sigurd to play with you before he drowns someone with his singing.”

“Fine! But you owe me.” He winked at you and turned around to join the other two guys that you had passed when you had just arrived. Your eyes were drawn to his back or to be more specific to the long braid that swung back and forth as he walked away.

“Stop checking out my brother.” You blinked and turned your attention back on him. “You want me to introduce you? I mean, if you’d rather want to spend time with him than me…”

“What? No!” He chuckled when your words came out louder than you intended. “Not funny.” He ran a hand down your arm, mirroring the same thing that he’d often do in your dreams. “He called you Serk. Is that your name?”

“Short for Hvitserk.” He held out his hand to you. “And what’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you replied when you took his hand in yours. He repeated your name with a warm smile. “I erm… this is weird…”

“Is it?” He let your hand go and got to his feet. You panicked slightly, thinking that he might leave, when he suddenly extended his hand to you. “Come on. I wanna buy you a drink.”

“And then what?”

“I dunno,” he said with a shrug when he pulled you up off the ground. “Sit with me. Talk. I know you, but that’s the dream you and now I want to know the real you. That okay?”

“Sure.” He started pulling you along to the beach bars a short distance away. “I’d like that.”

*****

And this moodboard is based on when I described female Hvitserk coming out of the bathroom.

#vikings #vikings au #hvitserk lothbrok #hvitserk ragnarsson #incubus hvitserk #hvitserk x you #smutty smut smut #mar writes #mar moodboards

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