#i only bought one sword book this month!

[demonslayedher]

I very occasionally venture out from under my Tumblr rock and am then reminded why I stay under it. This is your periodic reminder that I am but one nerd on the internet who tries to stick to canon (but has been known to get it wrong), and who also likes making silly non-canonical fanwork not intended to be confused for canon.

But this is more so a reminder to go back to re-enjoy the source material from time to time! No bad takes or misinformation can take that experience away from you! Let that gator rot your brain!

[velarisdusk]

Drunk on You

Azriel x Reader

summary: You and Azriel were just friends. Then came the dancing. The kiss. The night you stopped pretending. word count: 11.1k content: [ explicit sexual content (piv), oral sex (f receiving), grinding in da club (do i need to warn abt that??), explicit language, alcohol, VERY irresponsible consumption of alcohol, vomiting from drinking, FUI (flying under the influence) ] author's note: FUI arent i so funny lmfao as per usual with these, i know prythian doesnt have speakers/subwoofers , and prob also doesnt have strobe lights, but i write what i want so its ok yall can deal ✦ . 1k Celebration Apothecary . ✦ shadowed elixir infused with a dash of blaze enhanced with lover’s knot stirred thank you @wildfloweroutlaw for the request!! i've never written a fic specifically having friends to lovers in mind so my mental block gave me a bit of trouble with this but i had a lot of fun writing it! <3

Velaris hums with life around you, the midday sun painting golden ribbons across cobblestone streets. The air is thick with the scent of spiced cider and honeyed pastries, threaded through with the briny whisper of the Sidra. Laughter swells and fades between vendors calling out their wares—bolts of silk that shimmer like liquid light, books with gilded spines that promise adventures, trinkets that glint like they’ve been kissed by starlight.

“It’s the pacing that makes it brilliant,” you say, sidestepping a wobbly cart stacked with jars of something dark and suspiciously jiggly. “You’d love it if you gave it a chance.”

Azriel walks beside you, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark-wash jeans, his only accompanying shadow slinking along sun-warmed stones like it’s sulking. He’s a strange silhouette in the golden light—too dark for a day like this, like the night followed you out of habit. But he listens, quiet and steady, nodding at the right moments as you ramble about the last book you read. You’ve learned to hear the shape of his silences—how they stretch or shorten, the weight of them, what they hold back.

“I’m telling you,” you press, dodging a knot of children weaving through the crowd, “if you actually gave it a shot, you’d love it.”

Azriel huffs a soft laugh. “You say that every time.”

“Because it’s true every time. You’re just too stubborn to admit I have impeccable taste.”

The corner of his mouth lifts—barely. “You bought a book last month because the cover had a dragon making out with a sword.”

You gasp, scandalized. “That’s called intuition.”

“No. That’s called a gamble.”

You bump your elbow against his arm, grinning when he exhales through his nose. That small, hard-won sound. This—this is easy. Has always been.

As the crowd thickens, your attention snags on a jewelry stall to your left—slim chains catching the sun, gemstones winking in their delicate settings. At the same moment, Azriel’s gaze strays to a weapons vendor on the right, where a gleaming dagger is being turned over in calloused hands.

You both hesitate. Then look back at each other at the same time.

Azriel raises a brow.

You smile. “Meet you in a minute?”

He dips his chin in a slight nod, already angling toward the stall, fingers twitching like they’re itching for the weight of the blade. You drift toward the jewelry, drawn in by instinct more than intent. Your fingers trail over thin rings and polished charms, the glint of metal catching the light just right.

A pair of dangling earrings stops you—stones that shift hue in the sun, subtle and soft. Pretty. Eye-catching without being too much. The kind of thing that might go with the dress you picked up earlier while wandering the boutiques, half-killing time before the market. The one you hadn’t planned on trying, but slipped into just for fun. A little more daring than your usual. Soft in all the right ways, with a neckline you kept pretending not to think about. 

You’d stared at yourself longer than you meant to.

And walked out with your first shopping bag of the day.

You curl your fingers around the earrings, already halfway through justifying the purchase in your head.

It doesn’t take long to browse. After paying and a few lingering looks, you glance across the street to find Azriel still at the weapons stall, turning the dagger over in his hands. His expression is unreadable—calm, analytical, like he’s weighing something only he understands. The single shadow drifts across his back, restless beneath the unrelenting sun.

Your gaze finds him without thought. A habit carved over time. Familiar, even after everything, in that quiet, unconscious way habits become part of you. 

You blink and turn away just as he looks up. He’s already moving, steps unhurried, wings tucked in close, hands slipping into his pockets again as he falls into stride beside you.

“Anything good?” you ask lightly.

Azriel shrugs. “Steel’s folded differently—strong but light. Good balance. Sharp edge.” He huffs at himself. “It’s a good blade.”

You roll your eyes. “Careful—Truthteller’s going to get jealous.”

His mouth twitches. “There’s no one like her,” he murmurs, and his hand brushes the small of your back as he steers you out of the path of two shrieking children.

He nods toward the bag in your hand. “Let’s see it.”

You fish out the black velvet box and flip it open with a grin. “For the dress!”

Azriel snorts. “You mean that napkin you bought earlier?”

You snap the box shut a little too forcefully. “It’s a nice dress.”

“It’s barely a scarf.”

“Azriel.”

The full name earns you another twitch of a smile. His voice lowers, amused. “I still don’t know where you plan on wearing it. I’ve seen you more hesitant to leave the House in sweaters.”

Your cheeks warm. “Well, I didn’t feel as confident in those.”

His brow rises slightly, like he hadn’t expected that answer. Your voice is lighter when you add, “Maybe you’re just nervous you won’t be able to handle seeing me in it.”

“I’ll manage,” Azriel says dryly. “It’s your delusion I’m worried about.”

You bump his shoulder again, and this time he lets the smile break free. The two of you fall into easy conversation—Cassian’s most recent baking disaster (“explosive,” Azriel says without inflection), café gossip, a gentle debate about whether Velaris even needed the twelfth coffee shop to begin with.

At the townhouse, Azriel steps ahead to hold the door open, shadow trailing in behind him. The antechamber hums with warmth—laughter echoing from the next room, spices lingering in the air.

“I’m telling you, I found it just sitting there,” Cassian insists as you enter. He’s pacing like he’s testifying in court, hands gesturing wildly. “Brand new bottle of amber whiskey. Uncorked. Untouched. In a bush.”

“In a bush?” Mor deadpans from the couch.

Cassian gestures wildly. “In a bush! Behind the stables! What are the odds?”

Mor narrows her eyes. “Any chance you’re feeling lucky enough to gamble?”

They lock eyes, Cassian’s grin curling at the edges.

Feyre perks up from her place on the sofa. “If gambling means Rita’s, I’m in. I haven’t gone out in weeks, and I plan to be very irresponsible tonight.”

All three turn to you with matching looks—expectant and conspiratorial, like they’ve already know your answer but want to hear you say it. Feyre’s smile is the worst of them—sweet and smug and knowing.

You glance at Azriel. He’s already sighing, two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose like he can feel the impending headache.

“Guess we know when—”

“Yeah, alright,” Azriel mutters.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You lean in toward the mirror, smoothing a final sweep of gloss over your lips. Then you take a step back, letting your eyes rake over your reflection. Hair styled just how you like it—precise where it matters, undone where it doesn’t—and your makeup? Soft, glowing, and just sharp enough to slice. The kind that shines when the light catches your cheekbones and mouth.

Behind you, Feyre whistles low. “He’s going to eat his words.”

Mor, sprawled on the bed in a pose that screams practiced indifference, smirks. “And probably choke on them.”

You snort, reaching for the earrings you bought earlier. “It’s not for him.”

Feyre slides up beside you, linking her arm through yours as she catches your eye in the mirror. “Maybe not. But you wouldn’t mind if he looked.”

She’s not wrong.

Mor rises in a stretch, her plum dress catching every sliver of light as it hugs her curves like a secret. The hem’s scandalous, the neckline worse—and with her golden hair cascading over one bare shoulder, she looks like she could topple empires with a single breath. Feyre’s in a slate blue that borders on silver, cool-toned and backless, the color making her blue eyes even more piercing beneath  artfully smudged liner. And with her soft waves pinned just so, she looks like smoke made woman.

You fasten your earrings with a quiet click and smile at your reflection. You feel good. Confident. Not just in the dress, but in your skin. 

There was a time when what you felt for him lived quietly in your chest—soft, persistent, and patient. Over time, it faded into something else. Something easier. You let it go long before anyone knew you were holding on.

But it never disappeared completely. Not really. Not in a way that matters. Not in a way that would stop you, if he ever hinted at wanting something more.  

Downstairs, the low murmur of male voices curls up the staircase from the sitting room. That deep, familiar hum threaded with laughter. It’s comfortable and easy. The kind of sound born from long nights, drinks shared, and old stories retold—brothers teasing one another into comfort. 

Cassian’s laugh is unmistakable—loud and unrestrained over the clink of glass. Rhysand’s is more of a drawl, lazy and pleased with itself. And then there’s Azriel. Low, steady. A quiet current that runs beneath them all, silk wrapped around steel.

The sound of heels on the stairs draws their attention—Cassian’s first. He whistles, low and appreciative, as Mor appears at the top step, her dress catching the light with every step. Rhysand gives an exaggerated bow from where he’s perched on the arm of the couch. Even Azriel lets his gaze linger, just a touch longer than polite, before returning it to his drink.

Then comes Feyre, laughing at whatever wicked comment Mor whispered over her shoulder. Rhysand is off the couch and moving before she’s even halfway down, reaching for her hand like gravity’s got nothing on the pull she has on him. He murmurs something low against her ear as he takes her hand, earning an eye roll and a muttered warning that sounds suspiciously like a threat. He grins like a male entirely too pleased with himself.

And then—

You. 

The last to appear. Not intentionally, of course. But you’d be lying if you said the timing didn’t work in your favor. 

There’s a pause—just a breath—but enough. Enough to feel it.

Cassian is the first to recover. “Damn,” he says, voice a little rougher than before.

Mor beams, smug and delighted, as if she’s taking personal credit. Rhys gives a low hum of approval, already spinning something cocky to say—but whatever it is goes unheard.

Because Azriel’s gaze is already there, fixed on the landing, like he’d been watching the space just waiting for you to step into it. And when you do, he doesn’t look away. 

His stare lands heavy—enough to steal the air from your lungs. 

You wait for the usual—some sharp, clipped remark, maybe a too-smooth deflection. But instead—

“...Huh.”

That’s it.

A single, unimpressed syllable that cuts through the air like a blade dipped in ice.

You blink. Huh?

He doesn’t elaborate. Just turns back toward Cassian, nodding at his shirt—half unbuttoned, chest on shameless display as if confidence could count as tailoring. “Bold of you to challenge her like that. One of you’s going to end up hypothermic.”

Cassian grins like he’s been handed a gift. “At least I’m not stuffed into those jeans you’re trying to pass off as comfortable. One wrong move and we’ll be calling a healer.”

Azriel’s lips twitch, barely. He doesn’t rise to the bait. Just takes a slow sip of his drink.

Your eyes drop of their own accord. Those jeans are unforgivable. So is the way they fit him.

You force your gaze away, descending the final step with all the poise you can muster.

Cassian, with a mischievous grin, offers his arm like it’s second nature. “Guess we’ll be whores together tonight.”

You loop your arm through his with a grin that could make the Mother herself blush. “Fine. But I’m the classier whore. More expensive.”

He barks a laugh, delighted. “High-class whore. Got it.”

“That’s the spirit,” Mor teases, stealing the rest of Rhys’ drink without a shred of remorse (he mutters a tight ‘Hey’ through clenched teeth, swatting at his cousin as she ducks away).

Feyre checks the time with mock exasperation. “Stay any longer and we’ll miss half the night.”

“Then let’s go,” Mor cheers, grabbing you and Cassian like a female on a mission.

And then—chaos. Magic coils, wind rushes, the floor disappears beneath your feet.

A heartbeat later, you’re outside, blinking against the lights and noise of Rita’s.

Your stomach flips—like it always does. It never gets easier.

Music pulses from the open doors, thick in the night air, and faelights paint the pavement in deep gold and violet. Mor’s fingers slip from your wrist; she’s already halfway to the entrance, weaving through the crowd like it’s parting for her. 

The cool night clings to your skin, but the heat radiating from the club ahead makes it all feel alive, electric with possibility. The air is saturated with cologne, alcohol, and the faintest hint of smoke as you approach the bouncers. The low hum of the waiting crowd blends with the deeper thrum of bass that threatens to crack open the night. 

The moment you step inside, the atmosphere hits—thick and heavy with energy. The music is deafening, the bass a living thing that thrums through your chest, infecting your limbs with a restless kind of excitement. Faelights strobe in wild streaks—purple, blue, red—and for a second, it feels as though you’re in some kind of dream. 

Feyre pulls you into the crowd first, her grin wide and wicked as she leads the way toward the bar. Mor follows close behind, laughing, already calling out to familiar faces. The guys trail after—quieter, maybe, but impossible to miss in the way they cut through the crowd. 

Drinks are ordered. Jokes fly. Within minutes, your group claims a half-circle booth just off the dance floor. It doesn’t take long for the music to pull you all in. Cassian downs half his drink and drags Mor out first, the two of them already moving like they’ve danced together a thousand times—and they probably have. Feyre loops her arm around your waist, eyes glinting beneath the lights. “Come on,” she yells over the music.

You don’t need convincing.

Rhys just waves you off with a smirk, already settling into the booth like he plans to stay there all night. 

The next stretch of time blurs—song bleeding into song, breathless laughter and clinking glasses, the bass settling into your chest like a second heartbeat. The lights cast everything in hues of violet and electric blue, cutting shadows across flushed skin and gleaming teeth. You’re dancing with Feyre, the two of you falling into easy rhythm. Mor and Cassian egg each other on nearby, reckless and unbothered, like children left unsupervised. 

At one point, Mor grabs your hand and twirls you fast enough to make your head spin. You stumble into her, both of you breathless with laughter, alcohol making everything weightless.

Feyre slips between you and Mor, twirling with abandon, her hair catching the light like strands of liquid gold. Off to the side, you spot Cassian mid-charm offensive, working a pair of females with that lethal grin—the kind that guarantees more than they can handle. Judging by their reaction, it’s going well. Rhys lounges nearby, nursing his drink and watching Feyre with a crooked grin, content to let her shine. 

But a few beats later Feyre drifts away from you both, drawn by something only she and Rhys can hear. Across the floor, Azriel leans against a column in the shadows, arms crossed, the picture of cool disinterest. You throw him an exaggerated beckoning gesture—all wide eyes and mouthed dramatics. Mor mirrors you, adding a pout for effect. 

He doesn’t move, just shakes his head, unimpressed. 

You and Mor exchange a look—then stick your tongues out at him, childish and triumphant. 

You think you catch the ghost of a smile. 

Then Cassian appears beside him, clapping a hand on Azriel’s shoulder, mischief written all over his face. “Her friend’s cute,” he shouts over the music. “Be a good wingman.”

To your surprise, Az lets it happen. 

As he moves past, his arm brushes against yours—barely a touch, but enough to feel. He angles toward the other female—tall, elegant, with dark eyes and a laugh that rings above the music. She’s beautiful in a way that turns heads. 

Still, some stubborn part of you insists she’s not that pretty. Not compared to you. 

The thought surfaces unbidden—and you shut it down just as fast. Jealousy doesn’t suit you. And this? This isn’t that. 

To anyone watching, Azriel looks engaged. His smile is easy, even bordering on smug, and he leans in like he means it. But you know better. That’s your best friend. You see the signs: the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes skim past her, too fast and too often.

Which is probably why you keep catching him glancing your way. 

Or maybe you’re reading too much into it. Maybe it’s the alcohol, the lighting, the way this dress hugs your curves like a second skin. Still… you’d swear his gaze lingered. And not just on your face. 

The music shifts—louder, dirtier, the kind that grabs your spine and doesn’t let go. Mor’s gone to get drinks, and for the first time tonight, you’re alone. But with the alcohol warm in your veins, you don’t mind. You let the beat carry you, movements fluid and loose, like your body already knows the song by heart. The crowd thickens, lights blur, and everything becomes a haze of motion and heat. The tempo rises. You drift closer to the center, caught in the music, untethered. 

Then, during a rare lull between songs, you glance back toward the booth—

And spot Feyre in Rhys’ lap, flushed and breathless. Her hair sticks to her forehead as she lifts a tiny glass with exaggerated flair. Rhysand just raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, as she tries to coax him into a shot. 

He refuses. She pouts. Then she steals his beer instead, chugging it right there in his lap. He fumbles for the glass, shouting something you can’t hear. But she just twists away, triumphant, dodging him until the glass is empty. With a dramatic gasp, she slams it on the table and struts off—slightly wobbly—leaving Rhys with nothing but the small shot of dark liquor.

You laugh—can’t help it. 

But the sight of Azriel freezes your grin halfway between amusement and something more. Because he’s still talking to the female—who, from what you can tell, is more than happy to let him steer the conversation. But even as his words flow smoothly to her, his eyes are locked on you—piercing and intense, like he can’t look away, even if he’s supposed to be. 

And that gaze… it cuts straight through you.

Warmth blooms low in your belly. Not from the alcohol. Not entirely. You hold his gaze, and the rest of the room fades. The music, the lights, the crowd—they’re distant noise now. Because though the space between you is still wide, it feels like a wire pulled taut, vibrating with something that isn’t the music. 

Maybe it’s the buzz. Maybe it’s the bass still pounding in your chest. Maybe it’s the fact that his gaze is still on you. 

The music shifts again, and your body follows without a thought. You let the music guide you, every slow roll of your hips deliberate, every look daring him to match you. You aren’t sure why you’re dancing for him (because it is for him, isn’t it?), or why your eyes haven’t left his once, but the rush is intoxicating. 

His expression doesn’t change. Not at first. But then something flickers in his eyes—brief and unreadable.

For a heartbeat, you wonder if maybe you’ve imagined it all. 

But then he claps a hand on Cassian’s shoulder, leans in to say something. He nods once at the female—goodbyes, maybe? You can’t be sure. 

And then Azriel steps through the crowd. He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t smile. He just starts toward you, weaving through the crowd with that unhurried, measured stride you know by heart. 

He doesn’t say a word. 

He doesn’t have to. 

When he stops in front of you, the music swells again—and this time, it feels like it’s for you. Drunk enough not to overthink it, you don’t hesitate—you just reach for him, pulling him into your orbit. 

And just like that, you fall into step with him. 

Effortless. Unspoken. Like your bodies had been waiting for this moment—like they remembered each other from another lifetime. There’s no need for words, not when the music does all the talking. Not when the bass pulses through your spine and Azriel’s warmth curls in your blood like smoke.

His hands settle low on your hips—too low, maybe—and the contact short-circuits something in you. Through the thin fabric of your dress, his palms burn. You swear his grip tightens as you move, subtle but unmistakable, like he’s testing how far he can go. Like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

You move in tandem, one body split in two. Every step aligned. Every breath shared. The sway of your hips becomes a silent conversation, and even as the crowd surges around you, none of it touches you. All you feel is the slow drag of his hand, the brush of his chest when he leans in too close. All you hear is the rasp of his breath in your ear.

Somewhere in the haze, you wonder where Mor is with your drink. You hope—fervently—she’s seen you like this and decided to give you space. You don’t want to be saved.

Then Azriel catches your hand. Twines his fingers through yours. Wordless, he spins you out, guiding you around him with a kind of reverence that feels like worship. The fabric of your dress strains, hugging every curve as you spin. His palm stays anchored to your waist, steady and possessive. And when you slip behind him, your gaze catches—hungry—on the curve of his ass in those sinfully tight jeans. The stretch of cotton over his back. The muscles shifting under his shirt like a promise.

By the time you return to face him, breathless and hot-faced, he’s already watching you. And he knows. Cauldron, he knows.

His hair sticks to his forehead, dark strands damp from the press of bodies, the heat. His collar’s still loose, open just enough to hint at skin, at the strong line of his throat. A silver chain catches the light where it rests against his collarbone, the cobalt glint of his siphon nestled low—one of the simpler siphon pieces you’ve seen him wear, reserved for nights like this when the full set would only get in the way. 

And then there are his eyes.

Not friendly. Not protective. Nothing safe. They’re molten—dark and slow and unapologetic as they trace the length of you. They leave scorch marks in their wake. And when you meet that gaze, something primal shifts inside you. Something ancient and aching.

He pulls you in, flush against him, his hands spanning your back, scarred fingers grazing bare skin. The contact is searing. Your breath falters.

Still, you manage to play it cool—or try to. “What’s wrong, Az? You’re staring.” It’s meant to be teasing. Light. But it comes out quieter than you intended. Softer. As if even your voice can’t help giving you away.

His breath stutters. Just enough. “Don’t tease me right now.” His voice is low and rough, his eyes now dark enough to drown in. “It’s not the dress.”

And then—then—his thigh slots between yours and he drags you close enough to steal your balance. The dance shifts—slower now, hungrier. There’s something dangerous uncoiling between you.

The pressure of his thigh is subtle, maddening. The friction sets a slow-burning ache deep inside you, and without thinking, you move. Just enough to chase it. Just enough to make yourself feel something. He notices. Of course he does. His fingers press firmer at your back, holding you there, and you wonder—ache to know—if he feels it too. This tension. This current humming under your skin, magnetic and irrevocable.

Your hips move in time with his, a rhythm that no longer has anything to do with the music. You brush against him, again and again, and each pass stokes the fire curling low in your belly. His hand steadies at the small of your back—firm, coaxing, guiding the rhythm of your hips until you’re moving in time with him. Until you’re grinding slow and sure against the solid line of his thigh. He watches every flicker of reaction like it’s a secret he’s been aching to unearth. 

His shadows brush your skin—light as breath, bold as fingertips. They slip under the hem of your dress, past the dip of your neckline, exploring, learning, teasing. It’s not enough to satisfy, but it’s enough to tempt. To make you dizzy. 

Your breath stutters, and for a moment, his gaze dips to your mouth. 

You barely manage a smile. “Still not about the dress?” you murmur, your voice low, throat dry. 

Azriel’s eyes flicker—then settle on you like a storm about to break. “Not even a little.”

And when his nose grazes yours, it isn’t a kiss. But it could be. It’s the moment right before—the breath, the space, the choice. A thread pulled taut, ready to snap.

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s you. But the song changes, the spell snaps, and suddenly the room exists again. Someone bumps into Azriel from behind, and his hand drops to your ass to steady you. A reflex. But it brands.

You both laugh, too breathless, too wired, too aware of what just almost happened. And his hand is still on your ass. 

You need a second—a buffer, a breath of air before you do something you can’t undo.

“I need a drink,” you murmur, voice hoarse.

His hands linger but eventually fall away. Slow. Reluctant.

You glance up at him, give him a look you hope says this isn’t over, and slip through the crowd toward the bar.

The bartender slides a drink your way before you can even remember ordering one. You catch it on instinct, fingers curling around the chilled glass just as the condensation begins to bead. It slicks your grip slightly, grounding you in the present—the weight of the glass, the sting of alcohol, the echo of Azriel’s touch still humming beneath your skin.

You barely have time to take a sip before an arm braces beside yours on the counter—long, inked, and annoyingly familiar. Then the rest of Rhysand follows—tall, rakish, and far too smug for someone clearly on the brink of losing his balance.

“Well, well, well,” he drawls, voice syrupy and just loose enough at the edges to toe the line between charming and concerning. “If it isn’t our little heartbreaker.”

You blink at him over the rim of your glass, your mouth still parted mid-sip. “How drunk are you?”

“Moderate,” he says, with the blind confidence of a man absolutely not moderate. Then, solemnly: “I think I just tried to winnow to the moon. Cass said no.”

A laugh bursts out of you, sharp and surprised, catching you off guard. “You were supposed to be the responsible one tonight.”

Rhys makes a sweeping gesture with one hand that nearly sends a nearby cocktail crashing to the floor. “Fuck responsible. Do you know how hard it is to stay sober when everyone around you is glowing and half-delirious? Mor and Feyre have been spinning like drunk ballerinas for the last twenty minutes. Cassian challenged a table of strangers to an arm-wrestle for ‘honor and glory.’ And Azriel—”

He cuts off, lips twitching. That grin, slow and sly, curls like smoke.

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he sing-songs, turning away to steal a sip from someone else’s drink before grimacing and abandoning it.

Gods, you’ve never seen him like this. Loose. Unfiltered. Unbothered by image or control. You make a mental note to corner Cassian and Azriel as soon as possible, if only to demand every humiliating story they’ve ever collected on him.

“You were going to say something,” you groan, watching him closely.

Rhys gives you a beatific smile that practically screams I’m lying. “Me? Never.”

You take another slow sip of your drink, trying—failing—to will the heat from your cheeks. But Rhys, of course, is infuriatingly perceptive. Even through a haze of liquor, he clocks you immediately.

“Oh no,” he breathes, voice gone delighted and a little too loud. “Oh no, it’s happening.”

You arch a brow. “What is?”

“You’re falling in love with my shadowsinger.”

The words land like a match dropped in dry grass.

You choke, spluttering into your drink. “I’m not—”

“Sure, sure,” he says, cutting you off with a patronizing pat to your arm. “And neither is he. You two are just dry-humping in the dark, panting like—like you’re seconds away from devouring each other. All very normal friend behavior, I’m sure.”

You groan and let your head fall forward, forehead thunking against the bar top. The cool wood offers no relief from the mortification burning behind your eyes.

“Go away.”

Rhys props his chin on his palm, utterly content. “Can’t. Too drunk to move.”

You turn your head just enough to peer at him, face still pressed to the bar. “Do I need to find Feyre?”

His expression shifts to something like panic. “Please… do not.”

“Right.” You sigh, dragging a hand down your face and letting it rest there. “You’re impossible.”

Rhys smiles lazily, lashes low and smug. “And you’re glowing. All flushed and starry-eyed. It’s disgusting.”

You flip him off without looking.

That’s when the night starts to blur. 

At some point, you find yourself curled under Cassian’s arm, both of you howling over a story he refuses to finish because he keeps laughing too hard. He smells like sweat and cologne and a bad idea—not that you haven’t entertained the thought once or twice. When you reach for your drink, he snatches it just out of reach with a devilish grin. 

“You’ve had enough,” he slurs—then immediately downs his own.

You wait until he’s distracted, then snatch your drink back and down it in one go. 

Across the room, Mor is spinning Azriel in a slow, ridiculous waltz to music that’s far too fast. Her head is thrown back in laughter, one heel discarded, and Azriel’s grinning wide and unrestrained as she twirls herself dramatically beneath his arm. One of his shadows retrieves her fallen shoe and dutifully returns it. He pretends not to notice. 

Rhys, for some reason, decides the whole place needs another round—again. He’s at the bar holding up fingers in rapid succession—four, five, seven—gesturing to absolutely no one. When the bartender ignores him, he levitates a bottle of amber liquor off the shelf with a flourish and begins personally pouring shots into the mouths of nearby patrons like some deranged, drunken Father Solstice.

Cassian finds Azriel in the crowd and immediately throws an arm around his neck, dragging him close with a sloppy grin. “My brother,” he declares, far too loud, smacking a kiss to Azriel’s temple before pulling him into a one-armed hug that rattles both of them. “Do you know—do you know—how much I love you?”

Azriel just blinks. “Unfortunately.”

“Shut up,” Cassian slurs, already halfway into his next declaration. “You’re the best of us. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Except me. Sometimes. But even then—”

“I’m going to kill you,” Azriel says—quiet and deadly. But he doesn’t move to escape. If anything, he leans into it. 

Later, you, Feyre, and Mor vanish into the bathroom, which starts as a mission of necessity and ends in chaos. The line’s too long. The floor’s sticky. You all start yelling about how no one cleans the stalls in this place. And somehow, ten minutes later, Mor’s knees are on the tile while you and Feyre crouch beside her, holding her hair back and cackling as she curses Rhysand’s name for “making” her take that last glowing green shot.

“You’ll live,” Feyre says, patting her back with the resigned affection of someone who’s done this before. 

“Probably,” you add.

Eventually, the three of you stagger back to the booth—giggling, disheveled, makeup slightly smeared but still beautiful. Because drunk girls in packs always are. 

You collapse into the cushions, and for a moment, everything just is—a tangle of warm limbs, laughter, glitter. Cassian’s still trying to tell a story no one can follow. Azriel is methodically peeling an orange he must’ve stolen from the bar. Mor keeps interrupting to dramatically rehash her brush with death on the bathroom floor.

Somewhere between the fourth retelling and a new round of drinks, Feyre bumps into your side, giggling as she climbs— climbs—into Rhysand’s lap. 

“Oh my gods,” she breathes, burying her face into his neck. “You smell like night and sin and trouble.”

Rhys hums, stroking a hand up her thigh. “And you, darling, are my favorite sort of trouble.”

You try to ignore it. You really do. And, for a few minutes, you’re fine. But then Feyre whispers, “I swear to the Cauldron, if you keep touching me like that I will drag you into the shadows and make you beg to—”

“No,” you say sharply, holding up a hand. “Absolutely not. You cannot do this in the communal booth.”

Rhysand and Feyre both blink at you. Slowly. Like they’re just now realizing the rest of you exist.

“Oh,” Feyre says, blinking again. “I said that… out loud?”

Cassian groans and drops his head to the table. “Yes. You did.”

“We all heard it,” Mor says, looking personally offended. 

Rhys looks vaguely affronted. “We were talking through the bond—”

“You weren’t,” you, Cassian, and Mor all say at once. 

Azriel only sighs and catches your eye, mouthing, Every damn time.

And then—

Too much light. Too much warmth. Music in your bones. Glitter on your cheeks. Someone grabs your hand and drags you back to the dance floor. You don’t know who. Doesn’t matter. You let the rhythm carry you, laughter bubbling up like it’s been trapped for months. 

Azriel finds you in the chaos. Quiet. Solid. He takes your hand, spins you once—lazy, sweet—then pulls you close with that look. Like the world is loud but you are not. 

And then—

The night slips.

You and Mor, arms around each other, cheeks dusted with shimmer.

Cassian balances a shotglass between the clawed tips of his wings—a feat that’s nothing short of impressive—while Azriel leans in to drink from it for the fourth time and misses. Again. 

Rhys stumbling through a dance with Feyre, refusing to let go of her hand even as he trips.

Azriel laughing, loud and bright, shirt drenched in spilled liquor and clinging to him like a second skin. 

It’s beautiful, in the messy, ephemeral way nights like this always are. 

And when it ends—when the cold air bites and your heels dangle from your fingers—you’re walking beside him.

Azriel. Silent and steady.

Side by side. Arms brushing.

Still friends. 

Still not in love. 

Definitely not. 

Probably. 

… Maybe.

The others are a few paces ahead, their laughter echoing down the cobbled street, mingling with the night’s quiet. You’d all chosen to walk back to the townhouse instead of winnowing—mostly to spare Mor another tragic bathroom incident.

You glance at Azriel, his profile softened by the pale glow of distant streetlights, the sharp edges of him mellowed by the dim light. He’s quieter now, more anchored, like the buzz is finally starting to bleed out of him too.

For a fleeting moment, your eyes meet, and something shifts, an unspoken weight hanging in the air between you. It’s not just the silence—it’s everything that comes with it. He looks away first, but the tension doesn’t dissipate. It lingers, thick and undeniable.

“So,” you say, your voice light, but there’s a brittleness beneath it, a crack in the calm. “You get this fucked up before?”

He lets out a low chuckle, the sound familiar and warm, but with something in it that feels like the night itself. “Should’ve seen us three while we were training. You wouldn’t have recognized us.”

“Did you have fun tonight?”

Azriel smirks, eyes gleaming with something you can’t quite place, a mystery veiled beneath his calm. “I’ll answer that when I’m sober enough to remember half of it.”

A teasing grin tugs at your lips, unspoken but understood.

His gaze shifts toward you then, and the playful edge in his expression softens, ever so briefly. It’s a shift so subtle, it feels as though the air around you changes. His steps slow, just enough to bring him closer—his presence, steady and grounding, a quiet comfort against the coolness of the night.

And then, before you can fully comprehend it, his hand is at your back again—a subtle, possessive touch, just above your waist. It’s not new, this gesture. He’s done it before, but tonight, it feels different.

“You okay?” His voice is soft, low—barely above the city’s hum, but it cuts through everything else.

You swallow, suddenly aware of the weight behind the question, the way it settles in your chest. You nod, forcing a smile, though it feels less like a smile and more like a fragile shield. You meet his gaze through your lashes.

“I’m drunk,” you admit, a small giggle escaping, but the sound feels a little too light for the heaviness in the air.

Azriel huffs a soft laugh, warm breath brushing against your skin. “Yeah, I figured.”

The silence that follows is comfortable, in a way—a strange sort of peace between the two of you. The laughter and raucous chatter of your group fades further ahead, their voices lost in the night, leaving only the faint echo of their noise behind. Here, between you and Azriel, there’s nothing but quiet. His hand still rests at your back, the lightest touch, but you can feel it—every brush of his fingers against the fabric of your dress, like an unspoken promise.

You glance over at him, a playful glint dancing in your eyes. “Answer my question though. Did you have fun tonight? I know you don’t like coming out much.”

Azriel doesn’t look at you. His gaze remains fixed on the path ahead, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “Fun?” he mutters, his voice light but carrying an edge. “If I’d known the night would end with me trying to drink out of Cassian’s wings, I might’ve stayed in.”

You laugh softly, the sound laced with warmth. “Oh, but you looked like you were having a blast.”

“I was,” he admits, voice lower now, quieter.

His words hang in the air, settling between you, filling the space with something deeper, something more. You glance at him again, and this time, his gaze finds yours. Dark, steady, unwavering.

And in that moment, everything feels charged, like the next move is inevitable.

You stop walking.

Azriel doesn’t pull his hand from your waist. Instead he swings around, turning to face you with an abruptness that feels almost instinctive, like the idea of letting go wasn’t even an option. Like keeping his hand on you mattered more than keeping his feet on the ground. Now, he stands before you, close enough that the heat of his body bleeds into yours, the cool night air thick with the warmth of his breath mingling with yours. 

For a moment, there’s nothing—just the two of you, suspended in the quiet, the distance between you and your family growing with each passing second.

It’s like a pulse, something deep within both of you that knows this is the moment, one that’s been silently building, lingering, biding its time.

You feel it in the way his eyes lock onto yours, how his body shifts ever so slightly—so close now you could reach up, could touch him, but you don’t move. 

Then, as if it was always meant to happen, his hand slides from your back, cupping the side of your face gently. His thumb brushes across your cheek, soft and tender, a quiet, unspoken question hanging between you.

Before you can stop yourself, you lean in first. Your lips find his—soft, uncertain at first, like you’re both holding your breath. But the second they meet, it’s like something clicks into place. Like every unsaid thing between you is finally, finally speaking.

But then it deepens, the kiss turning more urgent, the gentle press of lips becoming something more, something full of warmth and heat. The taste of alcohol lingers, but underneath that is the familiar, the comforting—years of friendship tangled into something new, something wild. The world shifts, or maybe it’s just the two of you, with everything else fading away.

Azriel’s hands slip into your hair, finding the nape of your neck, the curve of your shoulder, pulling you closer. And the kiss is no longer just soft; it’s a quiet intensity, like something between you both has been building for far longer than either of you realized.

When you part, it’s only just enough to breathe, just enough to meet his gaze. Your lips feel swollen, your heart racing in your chest. But all you can think about is how desperately you want more. Not just his mouth, but all of him—his body, his touch. The press of him, hot and solid against you. The drag of his hand down your spine, the way his fingers splayed across your waist like he never wanted to let go. You want him closer. You want him everywhere. His hand between your legs. You want—

You blink, the haze slowly clearing.

As you lean past him, you finally take in the world around you again. The rest of the group is a fair distance ahead now, moving in a disjointed knot—Cassian with his arm slung lazily around Mor, Feyre pulling Rhys by the wrist as he slurs something half-laughing.

“Guys,” you call, breathless, voice a little hoarse, “we’re going to the… to the House of—” But you realize, mid-sentence, that no one is listening.

“Forget it,” Azriel mutters, and without warning, he grabs your hand.

He tugs you right, pulling you away from the main walkway and down a narrow side street, dimly lit by the soft glow of faelights overhead. You follow without hesitation, heart racing, your legs moving before your mind can fully catch up. The sounds of the city—music drifting from an open window, the distant clang of something dropped—feel muffled now, like they belong to someone else.

All you know is the heat of his hand in yours, the excitement blooming in your chest as a grin spreads across your face. And then, you’re running.

Laughing, breathless, borderline euphoric as your feet hit the cobblestone in time with his. His fingers are laced with yours, and he doesn’t let go—not once—not even when you nearly trip on a loose stone and bark out a curse through your grin. He just squeezes your hand tighter and keeps going. 

The wind rushes past, sweeping your hair into your face, and still you run, streetlights flickering overhead like stars caught in motion. You glance at him once, just once, and gods, it knocks the breath clean out of you.

He looks good. Stupidly good. His wings are tucked in tight behind him, shadows trailing in his wake like they can't quite keep up. There’s a flush high on his cheeks from the alcohol or the running—or maybe the kiss—and his smile. His smile is rare and wild and real, splitting his face in a way that makes something in your chest twist. His eyes find yours, dark and bright all at once, and the way he looks at you feels like falling without ever hitting the ground.

You’ve known him for years. Fought beside him, argued with him, trusted him more than you’ve trusted most. You’ve always thought he was beautiful in that silent, devastating kind of way. The kind of beautiful that hurts if you look too long. But this is new. Or maybe not new at all—maybe it’s just undeniable now. 

He slows only once the path narrows again, steps easing to a walk, his hand still firm in yours. You're panting, your heart racing in your chest like it’s trying to tell you something urgent, something important.

Azriel glances at you, still grinning. “Want a shortcut?”

You eye him, arching a brow. “A shortcut, or are you about to throw me over your shoulder?”

He shrugs, unbothered. “I could throw you over my shoulder.”

You snort. “You’re drunk.”

His smile deepens. “Tipsy.”

You tilt your head. “Drunk, and you think you’re in any shape to fly us home?”

He smirks, swaying slightly. “I could.”

You blink at him. “Could you even land us properly?”

He pauses—just for a beat—then looks at you with a glint in his eye that’s half mischief, half something far more dangerous. “I’m so fucking glad you didn’t know me growing up.”

Before you can ask what the hell that means, he sweeps forward. One arm wraps around your waist, the other slides behind your knees, and suddenly you’re airborne—held tight against his chest like it’s the easiest thing in the world. You gasp, grabbing onto his shoulders without a second thought.

“Azriel—”

But he’s already launching into the air, wings snapping wide, the wind catching beneath them as the city drops away below.

You press your face into the side of his neck, your laughter half-dazed, half-horrified. “You’re actually insane.”

He hums, voice a little smug. “Maybe. But you’re the one who kissed me.”

And gods help you, you’re already wondering when you can do it again.

Maybe he feels it—senses it—because before you can even finish the thought, he adjusts his grip just enough to shift you higher against him. Your arms loop instinctively around his neck, noses brushing, breath mingling. The wind whips past, cold and biting, but you don’t feel it.

You only feel him.

Then his mouth is on yours.

It’s nothing like that first kiss—nothing tentative or hesitant about it. It’s needy, open-mouthed, all tongue and teeth and breathless hunger. 

You moan into him—can’t help it. The sound is swallowed by the sky, lost to the night. But he hears it. You know he does. His grip tightens like he needs you closer, like there’s not a single inch of air he’s willing to spare between you. His shadows are stirring again, curling around you like they want in on the taste.

Your fingers tangle in his hair as your teeth graze his bottom lip, and he growls—deep and low and barely restrained.

“Azriel—” you gasp against his mouth. He huffs a laugh, sharp and wicked.

“Careful,” he murmurs, lips trailing hot over your jaw. “I might miss the landing on purpose.” 

You barely manage a breath. “We need to land,” you murmur, though it sounds more like a curse than a request. “Now.”

He lets out a sound that’s half-groan, half-laugh, and the next moment, he angles downward.

The house appears below in a blur, the lights from the windows streaking past as he descends fast and sharp. The landing is rougher than usual—feet hitting the balcony hard, wings flaring wide to catch the worst of it—but neither of you care. Not when his mouth crashes back onto yours the second you touch solid ground.

He walks you backward through the open doors, his hands already skimming beneath your dress—rough and hungry, like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you first. The fabric slips higher with every step, until it's bunched around your waist and you’re moaning into his mouth, your fingers gripping the front of his shirt like you might tear it clean off.

Instead, you reach behind him, fumbling at the slats that hold it together around his wings. The second you get the first one undone, he groans into your mouth, kissing you harder. His hands slip down your back, eager and sure, grasping for the zipper of your dress. 

You undo the next, and the next—moving fast, clumsy with urgency. By the time the last one comes loose, he’s all but panting against your jaw.

“Off,” you whisper, and he shrugs out of the shirt with a sound that’s damn near a growl.

He lifts you again like you weigh nothing, kissing you through the hall like he’s starving—stumbling a little, both of you half-drunk on each other and the leftover buzz of the night. His shirt falls somewhere by the wall, your heels were long since discarded on the veranda, and your dress slips off your shoulders as you reach the stairs, falling in a silky heap at your feet. You barely register the path, only the heat of his mouth on your throat, the scrape of his teeth at your collarbone, the low, broken noises he keeps making like he needs this—needs you.

The bedroom door slams shut behind you, and then you’re falling back onto the bed, and he’s following you down.

The mattress gives beneath your weight, cool sheets against your back—his body a furnace as it presses to yours, bracing on his forearms. 

His lips find yours again, slower now, but no less desperate. Like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, the way you taste, the way you sigh into every kiss like it’s the only one you’ll ever need.

His hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking gently over your cheekbone as he leans in deeper, tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that feels far too practiced for two people who’ve never done this before. But you have, haven’t you? In glances. In moments stolen in shadows. In the soft touches that used to mean nothing—until they meant everything.

You arch into him when his hand skims down your side, across your ribs, ghosting the curve of your waist like he’s still not sure you’re real. Like he can’t believe this is happening.

“Fuck,” he mutters into your mouth, breath catching. “You’re so—”

He doesn’t finish. Doesn’t need to.

You feel it in the way he lowers his head and wraps his lips around your nipple, warm and wet and slow. Your back arches off the bed, a gasp escaping you as he laps his tongue over the sensitive bud, sucking just hard enough to make your thighs clench around his hips.

You dig your fingers into his hair, letting your head fall back, eyes fluttering shut as his hands roam—one cupping your other breast, the other smoothing down the length of your thigh. He shifts, nudging your legs apart with his knee, sliding between them like he belongs there.

And gods, he does.

You open your eyes just enough to look at him—his dark hair falling into his face, his mouth wet and red from kissing you. He’s never looked more beautiful. Or more wrecked.

“Az,” you whisper, breathless, stroking your thumb across his cheekbone.

He lifts his head. Meets your gaze.

The look in his eyes nearly undoes you—like he’s never seen you before, not like this. Like something old has cracked open between you and there’s no going back.

“I’ve wanted this,” he says, voice low and raw. “Longer than I ever let myself admit.”

You don’t reply. Because his hands shake as they trail down your body, slipping under the waistband of your underwear. You barely have time to catch your breath before his fingers tug at the fabric, dragging it down your hips and past your thighs.

“Cauldron, you’re so beautiful,” he breathes, the words thick with desire, as he works your underwear off your legs. His eyes trace the path of his hands like he’s memorizing every inch of you. “It took everything in me not to stare when you came down those stairs,” he says, voice rough. “You looked like you’d strung up the fucking stars just to watch them burn.”

Your heart gives a traitorous flutter. He was looking. He did care. And knowing that makes something inside you ache. 

You spread your legs for him, a silent invitation. His gaze flicks back up to yours, hungry and wide, a dark promise in his eyes. But it’s not just hunger in those eyes—there’s something deeper, more tender, that makes your heart stutter in your chest.

He shifts, dropping to his stomach, his wings spread out behind him like a dark, protective shield. You gasp as his lips brush the inside of your thigh, the heat of his breath against your skin making you shiver. He’s barely touched you, but your body is already aching, already craving more.

Azriel hums as he presses his mouth against the soft skin of your inner thigh, the sound a low vibration that runs straight through you. “You smell so fucking good,” he murmurs, his hands gripping your thighs as he settles between them.

He can’t wait any longer.

His lips finally brush your folds, and you can’t help the needy whimper that escapes you. His mouth is hot—so hot, and as soon as his tongue flicks against you, your back arches off the bed, hands flying to his hair. He groans, low and satisfied, and the sound makes your chest tighten with need.

Azriel loves this—loves the taste of you, the way you tremble under his touch. It’s like he’s starving, and your pussy is the only thing that will ever fill him. He’s quick to bury his face deeper, his tongue lapping at your clit with the precision of someone who’s done this a thousand times, each movement a studied perfection. You feel him groan into you, his entire body trembling, like he can’t get enough.

And then, he starts grinding.

You feel the slow, desperate rut of his hips against the mattress—like he needs the friction, like it hurts not to be inside you. His cock throbs against the fabric of his underwear, and still, he doesn’t stop. He moans into your cunt, a low, broken whine of a sound, his mouth locked to you like you’re the only thing tethering him to reality. 

You reach for his hair, tugging him closer, hips moving of their own accord as you grind up into his face. He moans louder this time, his hands pressing down on your hips to hold you still just long enough for him to really feel you.

“Fuck,” he gasps, pulling away just long enough to breathe, “you’re so fucking sweet. Can’t get enough.”

“Then don’t stop,” you manage to say, your voice barely a whisper. “Please, Az—just—”

You don’t need to finish. He’s already back, his mouth pressing against you again like a man starved, devouring you with everything he’s got. Every flick of his tongue against your clit, every deep stroke, sends shockwaves of pleasure through you, building you up higher and higher until you can’t think of anything else but him—his tongue, his mouth, his need.

He’s lost in you, his hips still grinding desperately into the mattress as he eats you out like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have. You grip his hair tighter, pulling him even closer, rocking your hips against his face, each thrust of his tongue like a promise.

And when you finally let go—when you shatter, your body arching against his mouth and your vision going white—he doesn’t stop. He keeps going, keeps licking and sucking until you’re trembling, until you’ve been pushed past every point of endurance.

He pulls away slowly, his face glistening with you, and his dark eyes are glowing—feral, hungry. His lips curl into a satisfied grin, like he just won the most important battle of his life.

“Fucking perfect,” he mutters, voice thick, and then he crawls back up your body, kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. 

You can feel his chest press against yours, his heartbeat racing as fast as yours. He pulls away, and for a moment, you just look at each other—eyes locked, the world outside forgotten.

He brushes his nose against yours, a soft, lingering touch, and then lowers his forehead to yours. “You okay?” His voice is rough, still full of desire, but there’s a softness to it now, a care that makes your chest tighten.

You nod, breathless, a shaky laugh escaping your lips. “More than okay.”

His lips curl into a smile, and he presses a soft kiss to your lips, the kind of kiss that feels like a promise. You reach for him, your hands shaking just a little as you trail your fingers over the muscles of his chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat under your fingertips. His eyes close as your hands move lower, tracing the defined lines of his stomach. You want to memorize him—want to feel him, every part of him.

As your fingers brush against the waistband of his underwear, your breath catches in your throat. The tension in the air thickens, and for a moment, you hesitate, fingers trembling just above the fabric. His body is taut beneath your touch, but his eyes remain locked on yours—expectant, but still tender.

You pull them down slowly, the fabric sliding off his hips, revealing him fully for the first time. Your gaze flicks downward.

And gods, he's big.

You blink, your heart racing as you take in the sight. The soft glow of the room highlights the sharp, defined lines of his body, but it's him, his cock, that makes your breath hitch. Thick and hard, standing at attention, the tip flushed with need, and for a moment, all you can do is stare, wide-eyed and speechless.

Your stomach does this strange flip, a mix of awe and anticipation. You’ve seen his body before—shirtless, after sparring, sweaty from training—but this... this is something else.

It’s nothing like you imagined. It’s bigger than you thought, intimidating in a way that makes your cheeks flush.

The heat between your legs flares, but it's not just lust—it’s the overwhelming realization of how much he desires you. The connection. The intimacy. This is your best friend, exposed in a way you’ve never seen before. It’s more than you expected. Bigger, thicker than you thought—intimidating and... a little overwhelming.

A warmth starts to bloom in your chest, spreading down to the pit of your stomach. It’s not just lust, though there’s plenty of that. It’s a sort of quiet shock that makes your whole body feel electrified, like you’re standing on the edge of something you weren’t sure you’d ever have the courage to leap into.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest as you finally look up at him. He looks nervous—his gaze flicking down, then back up again, like he’s unsure how you’ll react. “I can handle it, Az.”

He doesn’t answer at first, just watches you with those dark, stormy eyes, searching for something in yours. His breath is shallow, his chest rising and falling beneath you.

“Are you sure?” His voice is thick, strained. The weight of his hesitation settles between you. You nod, pressing your hands to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

“I’m sure,” you breathe out. “I want this. I want you. Please.”

A shudder runs through him at your words, but he doesn’t move to rush it. Instead, he leans down, placing a soft kiss to your lips, his hand gently cradling your face as he deepens the kiss, his tongue coaxing and tender. He pulls back, his eyes searching yours again.

“I’ll never rush you, okay? Anything—you let me know,” he says, his voice low and filled with such sincerity that it makes your chest tighten. He slowly begins to ease himself between your legs, the tip of his cock nudging against you.

It’s everything you imagined and more—every inch of him solid and warm, the weight of him just right as he finally pushes into you. The stretch is slow, controlled, and you wince slightly at the initial burn, but it fades quickly as he inches in deeper, his hands gentle on your hips. He pauses once he's fully seated inside, both of you panting, your body adjusting to the sensation.

Azriel’s breath is ragged as he pulls back slightly, then presses in again—slow, deliberate, giving you time to adjust. “Fuck, you feel so good, (y/n),” he groans, his voice thick with desire.

You feel him everywhere, his every movement slow and deliberate, the depth of his tenderness filling you in ways you never expected. But as the heat builds in your belly, a need rises in you too—a need for him to give in, to let go, to stop holding back.

“I need more, Az,” you whisper. “Please.”

His eyes lock onto yours, a mixture of conflict and desire flickering across his features. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, his voice rough, but you can see the way his hands grip the bed, his muscles straining as he tries to hold back.

You reach up, hands sliding to the back of his neck, pulling him closer to kiss him again, more urgently this time. “I said I’m sure,” you whisper against his lips, fingers brushing the edge of his wing.

And that’s all it takes. He straightens suddenly, hands sliding down to grip your waist as he begins to move, his thrusts steady and sure. He’s still gentle, his rhythm slow but building in intensity with every movement. His eyes never leave yours, and in them, you see the same fierce desire mirrored back at you, mixed with something deeper—something softer.

Each stroke is powerful as he drives into you with growing urgency. You moan, fingers digging into his biceps, your body arching to meet every snap of his hips. 

“Azriel,” you gasp, your nails scraping down his back as the pleasure begins to build inside you.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice a breathless growl as he thrusts harder, the force of him filling you completely. “Always got you.”

The heat builds fast, that deep, aching tension curling tighter with every thrust, stoking the fire within you. His hands find your hips, fingers curling hard into the flesh—gripping you like he’s claiming you, like he can’t bear to let go—as he pulls you onto him again and again. He angles his movements just right, drinking in every sound you make and relishing each one more than the last. 

His movements are still slow, deliberate, but there's a hunger there now—something primal in the way he grips you, the way he pulls you closer, urging you to take more of him.

“Please,” you whisper, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, desperate for more, for him to push you over the edge.

Azriel responds with a low, hungry groan, his thrusts becoming a little quicker, a little harder. He can feel the way your body trembles beneath him, the way you react to him. He loves it, loves knowing that he’s the one who’s breaking through all the walls, all the restraint you both held before.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he growls, his voice rough with need, words spilling out in a rush as he braces himself over you. His forearms cage you in, hands on either side of your face, cradling your jaw, holding you there like you’re the only thing in the world worth seeing. He thrusts deeper, pushing you further into the mattress, and the room seems to spin. Your world narrows to just the two of you, your bodies moving in perfect sync.

Your breath hitches as you feel yourself tightening around him, your body winding up with a force that threatens to snap. You can’t stop the moan that escapes you, the pleasure building inside you, getting closer, almost overwhelming.

“Az, I’m—” you choke out, unable to finish the sentence as the pressure inside you becomes almost unbearable.

“Let go, baby,” he says, low and raspy, urging you on. “Let me feel you.”

You never thought you’d hear him like this, hoarse and hungry and just a little wrecked, and fuck, it’s the hottest thing you’ve heard in your life.

And then, it happens—the release hits you like a wave, washing over you, taking over every part of you. You cry out his name, your body trembling as your nails scrape down his back once more.

Azriel groans your name, the sound raw and desperate, and as your body contracts around him, his thrusts falter for a moment before he loses himself too, the intensity of the moment taking him to the edge.

He buries himself deep with a guttural moan—low and wrecked, like the sound’s been punched out of him—his breath hitching, hips stuttering as he spills into you, body trembling with the force of it. “Fuck,” he gasps. “Fuck, fuck—”

You’re both still breathing hard when he suddenly stills, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are wide. 

“Shit,” he pants. “I didn’t even ask—are you on the tonic? I’m so sorry, I just—fuck I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t mean to—”

You laugh, breathless. “Az, I am. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

He exhales shakily. “Okay. Good. Fuck, good… Just—yeah. Okay.”

For a moment, all there is is the sound of your breathing, the feel of him against you, and the pulse of your hearts racing together. You both just stare at each other for a moment, trying to catch your breath, the weight of everything hanging between you in the most beautiful, unspoken way.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, still hovering over you, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession.

You nod, your fingers gently tracing his jawline. “More than okay,” you whisper, your voice still breathless, a contented smile tugging at your lips.

Azriel presses a kiss to your forehead and slips out, easing onto the bed and tugging you with him until your head rests on his chest, your body draped over his. One arm wraps around your waist, and his wings wrap around you both like a blanket. 

You lie there in silence, skin sticky with sweat, limbs tangled, breath slowly evening out. You’d deal with everything in the morning—whatever this was now, whatever it meant. You’d figure out what to say to Mor, to Cassian, to Feyre and Rhysand. But for now, you just press your face into Azriel’s chest and let yourself rest, wrapped in him, wrapped in this.

[the-tarot-witch22]

What are some next blessing coming to you? - Pick a Shinchan

Pile 1/ Pile 2/ Pile 3

My Paid Readings | My insta | My College goal post | Paid Reading Feedbacks! | Pac Masterlist!

Liked my blog or readings? Tip me!

Hello everyone ! It's been a while isn't it! So, this is my another pick a pile or pac reading so please be kind and leave comment or reblog, and let me know if it resonated with you!

Note : This is a general reading or collective reading. It may or may not resonate with you. Please take what resonates and leave what doesn't. And it's totally okay if our energies aren't aligned!

How to pick : Take a deep breath and choose a pile which you feel most connected to! You can choose more than one pile, it just means both pile have messages for you!

I worked really hard on this pac please show some love by leaving comments, likes and reblogs!

Pile 1 :

(The cards I got for you - 6 of wands, ace of pentacles, the fool)

Okay so the very first thing I feel and heard is the very first blessing you winning a competition, or you getting selected in one of the exams, or you pass your exams with good grades, not only that, you might even celebrate and you might be offered to go on a trip, I am seeing this group might go abroad, in upcming years, I also feel if you save money and from somewhere might be a celebration or birthday you will be having lots of funds, so hold on to that, and see what it can actually help you with, I also feel this group is a bit naive, or just innocent a bit, it's also a blessing to be pure, but your guides and messages are saying don't just blindly follow what you see KNOW the intentions, there might be "wolf in sheep clothing", so beware, I also feel you might have a loyal friend who will help you through your tough time, or you could be making a new friend, and whatever situation you are in right now is gonna improve, I am also feeling more emotional health, like your guides gonna gift you with inner strength, I also feel you will be in upcoming months admired by around your classmates/co-workers/boss/ or even parents, I feel people being proud of you, I am also feeling there will be growth in your actions, I am also feeling start with your hobbies, very specific is someone here into boxing? but anyways! I feel you will reap the rewards of your hardwork.

Signs - Taurus/ Capricorn/ LIbra/ Virgo/ Cancer - Sun/ Moon/ Rising

So those, are all the message I have gotten for you guys!

Pile 2

(The cards I got for you - wheel of fortune, 8 of swords, ace of swords and king of cups)

Okay sooo this group its so random but do you guys have fish eyes? Or just look dreamy in general, like libra rising or pisces kind, i swear you guys are blessed with genetics, like very beautiful my pile, I also feel you guys have pale skin? but anyhow! Let's move forward with your reading I feel you guys would be getting a gift perhaps a book? or you buy or bought yourself a book recenly, I said this as a blessing since books are knowledge and truly makes us happy! I also feel your next blessing will shake you to your core, you won't even believe that you guys are getting it, I also feel you guys could buy or thinking to buy a car/house, for the first time for yourself, or even your family, I am seeing you guys could also get a dog/pet, for yourself, very positive shifts I am seeing is manifesting in your life, I also feel that this pile is very anxious, like in general or nervous, that IF you are good enough, I also feel you guys have to panic first even if you are capable of things to do, I think you will get better, and some of you might be working on it, so it's seema good thing, I also feel you will connecting with someone important very soon, and online, it could be your next romantic partner/or soulmate, and some of you are already in the know who are they even energetically, or being with them in "school", I also feel you will activate your throat chakra, and be able to express yourself easily.

Signs - Sagittarius/Libra/Aquaurius/Pisces - Sun/ Moon/ Rising!

Pile 3

(The cards I got for you - judgement, 8 of swords, king of wands, king of swords)

Okay so pile 3! I feel and hear that you're being blessed with confidence, like seriously guys, you guys might be the overthinker type, or just have low self esteem but i see you guys being blessed with more inner power, I also feel, you guys gonna be spiritually awaken and letting go of past traumas, emotional scars you have buried within, so if you guys find yourself being uncofmortable just know it's the last step before you step into your power, I also feel, you feel restrictive but you guys also gonna stand up for what you feel is right for you, so you loves, you deserve that, i mean to feel safe, in your own body and surroundings, I also feel your guides gonna give you a fresh start so it's upto you guys how you will all take it, It might also be you guys will have new startings, like you going out of comfort zone, I am feeling you gonna take more of a authoritive role in your life, you are also being told to use the skills you have to create a hobby, I am also feeling this group will be having a small business of their own very soon, this pile is very spiritual, so I am also seeing heightened intuition or psychic abilities, so try to hone it, accept what you are given and know you are deserving of more, I also feel you will, connect with nature and be in tune with yourself more, I also feel you guys are very sensitive in general, you might also, walk away from someone who doesn't serve you!

Signs - Leo/aries/Capricorn/Libra/Sagittarius - Sun/ Moon/ Rising!

Thank you for stopping by! Take care and remember you are loved <3

[ninja-muse]

Somehow, for being the shortest month, February felt long. This is partly work chaos and partly … current events. (I've just spent a lot of time staring slack-jawed at the news.)

Astute followers will notice I didn't post a review this month. That's because the only book I really felt like saying anything about—The Prague Cemetery—was excellent in many ways but also something I cannot in good conscience recommend, at least in this current political climate, to a generalized audience. It's a brilliant take-down of antisemitic, authoritarian, conservative, cis-white-male thinking (yay) but narrated by someone who is all of those things and simply in it for the money (urf). Not the funnest thing to have read shortly after a certain inauguration but probably good for me in the long run.

And sure, I could've reviewed the third Emily Wilde book (but how to, without spoiling?) or Tokyo Ueno Station (sad, doing some smart things within its genre) or My Kind of Trouble (gender-swapped Music Man!) or any of the others but there wasn't much to say about any of those and/or I didn't have the energy.

In more personal news, I've been writing again, at least a little! I'm maybe a scene and a half from being done the chapter I've been on since November and for one of those scenes I can cannibalize something I cut months ago. Then it's a matter of wrapping things up, so I think five chapters left, maybe less. This could be my year! I've done better blocking out all the current events stuff, which usually stymies my writing, on an emotional level than I usually do. I hope that can continue.

I've also been trying my best to boycott US products and companies, though I'm not doing so great with, like, social media and email and also I probably shouldn't have bought Aftermarket Afterlife but in my defense, Seanan McGuire is a good egg and deserves royalties. For whatever that's worth. I've been helped in the not-buying-of-books by having no other books in need of buying, and also library holds! So many! I have been spoiled, which probably means I'll have to wait another month or more before anything else comes in for me. (Have I added, like, eight books to my holds queue though? Maybe.)

How have your Februaries and your readings been? Let me know if you've got recs for me!

And now, here's what I read this month in order of personal enjoyment…

The Tragedy of Heterosexuality - Jane Ward

The social and relationship problems caused by heterosexuality and ways they can be addressed.

8/10

🏳️‍🌈 author

warning: deals with misogyny in all its forms

library book

Tokyo Ueno Station - Yu Miri The ghost of a migrant labourer recalls his life story from an encampment of unhoused people.

7.5/10

Japanese cast, Korean-Japanese author

library ebook

Emily Wilde’s Compendium of Lost Tales - Heather Fawcett

Emily and Wendell set off to take the throne of a faerie kingdom.

7.5/10

🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters (achillean), Afro-Irish secondary character, blind secondary character, 🇨🇦

reading copy

My Kind of Trouble - L.A. Schwartz Harmony has arrived in Brookville to promote a fake musical festival that will take down the mayor. But first she needs to win over the librarian she’ll “rent” the land from.

7/10

fat POV character, autistic POV character, autistic secondary character, 🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters (lesbian, sapphic), fat and autistic author

warning: homophobic antagonists

library book

Swordheart - T. Kingfisher

Halla has inherited an estate and a bunch of greedy relatives she needs to escape, fast. Fortunately, there’s a man—in a sword?—who’s happy to help her.

7/10

ADHD-coded main character, 🏳️‍🌈 secondary character (nonbinary)

warning: suicidal thoughts, suicide, violence

library ebook

The Last Sun - K.D. Edwards

Rune Saint John is hired to find a missing Atlantean scion and uncovers a conspiracy.

7/10

🏳️‍🌈 main character (achillean), 🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters (achillean)

library book

Rise - Mira Grant

Stories of the Rising and its aftermath that didn’t make it into the Newsflesh trilogy.

7/10

reasonably diverse cast (BIPOC, 🏳️‍🌈, differing abilities)

library ebook

The Prague Cemetery - Umberto Eco

A forger in 19th century Europe recounts the social upheavals he has witnessed and his hand in the conspiracies underpinning them. A polemic exposing the hypocrisy, contradictions, greed, and evil of antisemites and others determined to keep their place atop existing power structures.

8/10

warning: antisemitic protagonist and secondary characters, xenophobic and misogynist protagonist, homophobic characters, sexual assault and rape, murder

off my TBR

DNF

Love and Other Paradoxes - Catriona Spivey

Joe is dreaming of being a famous poet when he meets Esi, a time traveller on a mission. She agrees to help him meet his destined muse; he promises to help her save her mum.

Black British secondary character

reading copy

Currently reading

The Gilda Stories - Jewelle Gomez

A girl escaping slavery finds refuge in a bawdy house run by the elegant Gilda, and immortality in Gilda’s shared vampirism, allowing her to give witness to 200 years of history and Black American life.

Black protagonist, Black secondary characters, Lakota secondary character, 🏳️‍🌈 protagonist (sapphic), 🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters (sapphic, achillean), 🏳️‍🌈 author, Black author

library ebook

Spooky Lakes - Geo Rutherford

A sumptuously illustrated microtour of strange and scary lakes of the world.

library book

The Penguin Complete Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle

Victorian detective stories

disabled POV character (limb injury), occasional Indian secondary characters

warning: racism, colonialism

Monthly total: 8 Yearly total: 18 Queer books: 2 Authors of colour: 1 Books by women: 6 Authors outside the binary: 0 Canadian authors: 1 Classics: 0 Off the TBR shelves: 1 Books hauled: 1 ARCs acquired: 2 ARCs unhauled: 3 DNFs: 1

January

[quordleona03]

🍓 for the writer ask!

Writers Truth & Dare Ask Game

🍓 how did you get into writing fanfiction? 

On 21st December 1981 I stared at the television screen on which Paul Darrow had just grinned Avon's last grin, and credits were rolling and the theme music was playing, and I had just seen Blake and Vila and Dayna and Tarrant and Soolin all die, and I was - in shock, I guess, is one way to put it. I was overwhelmed and horrified and sad and shocked. I'd loved these people, I'd followed them on TV for years, and now they were dead, and there was literally no one in my known universe to whom I could explain what had just happened to me: the fourth season of Blake's 7 had just ended in the most shattering way possible.

Every single one of the "fifth season" and "Avon shot the clone", and other "here's how at least some of them survived" explanations was in the future. None of my family had even been in the room where I was watching. None of them were fans, in the sense I came later to understand the word. Even if I said "I am sad because everyone I loved in Blake's 7 is dead" they wouldn't have understood how devastated I felt. So I wrote about how I felt, at length, in the journals I kept then - hardback notebooks, handwritten. I have terrible handwriting. It was worse then. Less than a year before this happened to me, I had decided I was going to begin to fulfil an ambition I'd had from early childhood and become a writer. My first novel was entirely handwritten and exists only in hardback notebooks. It had, as I recall, a hero who fought villains with a sword and looked very dashing in a cloak and rode cat-horses with expert skill. (I liked both cats and horses, so naturally, my hero rode an alien creature which partook of both.)

In the 18 months or so after this happened to me, while I had embarked on my second novel, which was typed, and was about a group of mad scientists solving an archaeological mystery, and would probably have been better if I'd known more about either mad scientists or archaeology or even, dare I say it, both? I found myself playing with ideas about another Blake's 7 story. Except the series was definitively over, there would never be another episode, so what was the point?

Well, I looked up how to write an episode script and found a bit about it and then just winged it and wrote an episode of Blake's 7 where a mysterious alien kidnaps crew and ship for mysterious purposes - I had a lot of fun writing Enigmatic Dialogue - and for the first time I my life, I typed up my story with a carbon copy and sent the story to the BBC. I don't know what I hoped for, but as I didn't know enough to include return postage or a cover letter, what I imagine happened is that someone looked at the typescript, shrugged, and binned it. (Had I included a cover letter explaining how old I was and how much I'd loved Blake's 7, I'd have probably got a nice letter back from whoever at the BBC had the job of writing nice letters to teenage fans of defunct series.) And then, one day in 1983, I was in the Science-Fiction Bookshop in Edinburgh (that was what it was called, yes, and yes, it was also the only science-fiction bookshop in Edinburgh) and I found a book called Blake's 7: The Programme Guide. I bought it, somehow. It was, to me in those days, pretty expensive. In the back of the book there were addresses of fan organisations, to wich you could write, and if you enclosed a self-addressed stamped envelope and a postal order, they would write back. With fannish newsletters, which was initially all I was looking for: other people who felt about Blake's 7 the way I did! Except, as I found when I read the fannish newsletters, there was a thing called fanfiction. There were people who were writing Blake's 7 stories. And they were being published, in fanzines. I could, with a postal order and sometimes a completely misleading statement that I was over 21, have these fanzines posted to me. And, which I will not pretend was not an economic impetus for writing fanfic throughout the years of fanzines, if I wrote a story which they published in their fanzine, I got a free copy. And then when I was 17 (I had figured out about being a lesbian) I went to my first queer youth group and met RiK who loaned me Marion Zimmer Bradley novels, and met Ajay who loaned me K/S (I had found out that the stories I particularly liked were called "slash") and she wanted to read all of the slash I ever wrote (she still does). RiK and Ajay and I are still friends, though all of this was 40+ years ago - there are no friends like your first queer friends from your first queer fannish group. And that's how I got into writing fanfiction.

[piratekane]

june reading wrap up

it's that time of the month again, folks.

the mission: read only queer books the side mission: read more than just sapphic books the side-side mission: read something besides fantasy/romance mission status: sick

some stats for those following along at home:

- i read 19 books - i attempted one buddy read (but my wife quit on me, guys) - 100% OF MY BOOKS WERE QUEER - still no audiobooks but there's a freshly peeled month ahead of us

here's the reviews:

the bad: - Written in the Stars by Alexandria Bellefleur, bisexual rep people in the circles i've been traveling lately love this book, but i just... didn't. the characters did a complete personality switch about three chapters in. one of them was a manic pixie dream girl. the other was so flat i dreaded reading her perspective. also the brother had NO boundaries and i hate third act breakups due to miscommunication. 1 star - Something Wild and Wonderful by Anita Kelly, achillean rep people also loved this one but my struggle is that i don't think gay men are it for me and also there were some things about Alexie that i just didn't jive with. there was, yet again, another third act breakup that felt contrived. the writing was good and it was clear Kelly knows hiking and they have a love for it. so i enjoyed that part! 2.5 stars - The Prospects by K.T. Hoffman, trans achillean rep everyone and their freaking mother LOVE this book but it just didn't have enough baseball. like, for a book about the first trans baseball player in the professional league, this book was about his love interest's anxiety. gimme baseball!!! and gene straight-up backstabbed luis, i stg if no one else thinks so. 2.5 stars

the great: - The Skin and Its Girl by Sarah Cypher, lesbian rep this is lit-fic and you should know that going into it. once i got used to the writing style, i was hooked on this book. it's an interesting POV and the love story is really the complex love between a daughter and her mother, and the daughter and get great-aunt. like, my brain is still bending around this one. 5 stars - The Z Word by Lindsay King-Miller, queer rep this book emerged from a tumblr prompt and it's incredible. tons of rep (sword lesbian, motorcycle lesbian, drag queen, bisexual mess, nonbinary pizza delivery person) and just a fun fucking time. it's all centered around Pride weekend and begs the question: just what do you do when a zombie outbreak fucks up your festival? 5 stars - Here We Go Again by Alison Cochrun, lesbian rep two teachers go on a road trip with their terminally ill mentor and gosh, this is a specific setup but it works. i cried at the end like a little baby. the characters were fantastic (my favorite was their mentor) and the writing was superb. there's also really great ADHD rep in this and the growth of each character felt natural instead of forced. 5 stars - The Sunbearer Trials by Aiden Thomas, trans rep i knew this book existed and my cousin loves it but i never gave it a fair shake because i was like ONLY SAPPHIC NOVELS ONLY SAPPHIC NOVELS and was averse to reading anything but that but this one. this one is so good. the setting (a contemporary-fantasy latin america) is so lush and rich with detail. teo, the main character, had me rooting for him from the get-go. and the plot twist was so so good. i requested an advanced copy of the sequel through NetGalley and i'm hoping it'll come there. (i also bought Thomas' other novel, because now he is auto-buy author me) 5 stars.

honorable mentions: - A Swift and Sudden Exit by Nico Vincenty, bisexual rep also born from a tumblr prompt and just so much fun. i recommend purchasing this because it's just too good. time traveler meets and immortal (maybe you've seen the prompt). you won't regret it - Elatsoe by Darcy Little Badger, asexual rep an Indigenous girl who can see ghosts goes on a trip to hunt down her cousin's murderer. the writing is so punchy. i loved this one. - On the Same Page by Haley Cass, bisexual rep best friends become lovers through miscommunication. hilarious stuff. i will also read Haley Cass again because the characters were so funny and the plot was so good. - Lakelore by Anna-Marie McLemore, nonbinary rep this one was a mind bender in a good way. each of the characters were really fleshed out in a fun way. the timeline hopping was a little trippy, but i got my feet under me quick. - A Sweet Sting of Salt by Rose Sutherland, lesbian rep a selkie wife retelling. do i really need to say more?

okay this is long i am congratulating you if you got this far. now i need to go hibernate and slow down because i read too much and this month i want to write!

[baldursgat3]

we're slowly finishing things out here boys. companion piece to this one.

we got 4.3k more words of childhood best friend Tav (who I made a wizard because). act 3 edition this time 🎉

~*~*~

There it was: home. The city you had grown up in. How long had it been since you'd seen these streets? How many months had you been venturing across the Sword Coast with a mission to stop some gods? However long it had been, you were here now.

It was a bittersweet reunion, though. After your meeting with Gortash mere moments ago, no one was feeling particularly at ease. Wyll and Karlach in particular were half seething about the tenuous alliance you'd formed with the new archduke. You had no intention of making good on his offer, but safety from the Steel Watch was the only way you were going to get anything done.

Gale led the charge, his targets set on Sorcerous Sundries. He chatted away about the various books and baubles he'd found there over the years as you walked the busy streets.

Glancing back, you noticed your favorite vampire lagging behind the group. He stared up at the buildings and at the bushes that lined the pavement, all with stars in his eyes. They dimmed when he caught you watching him as he glanced away, awkwardly.

You slowed your pace to fall in step with him, leaning in to whisper as you walked. "You never look at me like that."

"Nonsense." He scoffed, waving a hand at you, dismissively. "Have you seen yourself after a battle? Half the time it takes all my focus not to look at you like you're my next meal."

"Half the time I am your next meal." You gently bumped your shoulder against his. "What's up?"

"Nothing, it's just… it's been two hundred years since I've seen these streets in the sunlight. It's all so… colorful." His gaze drifted back to a small pot of lovely blue flowers as you passed by.

It was so genuine, you couldn't help yourself. You reached down to link your fingers with his, giving his hand a soft squeeze. "Do you remember the last time we were here?"

"Oh, darling, of course I don't."

"That's all right, neither do I. Why would I have taken you to the magic trinket shop?" You tossed him a cheeky grin as he rolled his eyes and yanked his hand away.

"I can't fucking stand you, you know that?"

"I know."

"If you two are done flirting back there," Gale's voice stopped you as you both became aware of all the attention now of you. "As our intrepid leader and person with all our gold in their bag, I do believe Tav should be heading this mission."

"You just don't want to talk to Rolan." Shadowheart chided, continuing past Gale and into the magic shop.

He turned on his heel, following after her, his voice dropping to a hissed out whisper. "We don't want the person selling us things to be angry with us and I can't keep my mouth shut, you know that."

Every so often you forgot you were still on a mission. Sometimes, as you perused a bookshelf and your companions squabbled over who should get to use a certain magic item, it all felt so mundane. Like it was any other day out with some friends.

Astarion was stood beside you, flipping through a book absentmindedly as you debated whether the magical benefit of the boots you were holding outweighed the fact that they didn't really match your outfit.

"You bought me a ring here." He broke the comfortable silence between you, without looking up from the book. You glanced over at him, tilting your head and humming a curious note in response.

"I remember." He continued. "When you had first started learning magic. You brought me here and I didn't understand anything you were saying. I remember you being so excited, though."

He'd stopped turning the pages of the book, just staring at it like he was reading the memory off it's pages. "You bought me a ring, a cheap little thing, because you wanted me to feel what it was like, casting spells, and you couldn't get me to figure out how to do it without an item to help."

A wistful smile found it's way to his lips as he glanced up at you. "I'd entirely forgotten. I always kept it, you know. Even though I absolutely did not get what you felt with magic. It was a nice gift, though."

You laughed softly, reaching out to grab his hand again. "Well, I'm glad you liked it." He didn't remember much about the specifics of your past together. You couldn't blame him, he'd been through so much. Every so often though, something would trigger a memory for him.

He smiled at you warmly for a moment before pulling back to put his book away. "Don't get those boots, by the way, they're hideous."

~*~*~

It was a gorgeous night. There was a faint chill to the air that left your cheeks a bit flushed, but nothing unmanageable. It was comfortable and quiet. The stars were beautiful, twinkling like little diamonds in the sky. Perhaps you should've been a bard, with thoughts like that.

The rest of your companions had gone to bed, while you and your ice cold vampire lingered by the fire. He was laying on his side with his knees drawn up close. His head rested in your lap as your fingers brushed lazily through his curls.

Neither of you minded the silence, you just enjoyed the comfort of being next to each other. He was still pretty averse to taking your intimacy too far, not that you minded. He had plenty of reason to be and you felt no need to push it. These moments were more than enough for you. The two of you had centuries of quiet, lovely moments to make up for.

Of course, nothing lasts forever. Eventually he broke the silence, turning his head to glance up at you. "Can I ask you a… strange question?"

Well that could be literally anything. "Sure?"

He turned back to the fire, settling back in. "Do you remember what color my eyes were? I know they're red now, I've been told so many times. I've heard they're gorgeous." He drolled, sarcastically.

That wasn't exactly what you were expecting but it did melt your heart a little. You obviously knew, though you felt it was probably wise to pretend you didn't have that answer already nocked on your bow. "Oh, um…" Nailed it. "They were brown. Like a deep, cool brown." That was probably too much.

He just hummed in response, seemingly unbothered that you would remember the undertones of his eyes after two centuries. "See, I couldn't remember. I've tried to picture it but I always felt it was either brown or an icy blue. I think my mother had blue eyes like that."

"I think so." You could probably count the number of times you'd spoken to his mother since you moved out of her home at 20. You did not know the color of her eyes.

"It doesn't help, I really don't think I even know what I look like anymore. I haven't seen my own face since I became a vampire." You hadn't really thought about that, honestly. He'd mentioned being unable to see his reflection once or twice but you'd never actually grasped what that must be like for him.

"Oh. Get up, get up. Stand up, I have an idea." You gently pushed on his shoulder, getting an irritated whine in return.

"I'm comfortable."

"I know but get up."

He groaned, pushing himself off the ground with a huff as you quickly followed suit. Your eyes sparkled as you quietly muttered an incantation. Astarion tried to raise a question but was silenced as you finished the somatic component of your spell.

All of a sudden, standing in front of him, reflecting his shock, was a mirrored image of himself. Just as perfect and lovely as he was. He just stood there for a moment, staring at himself in the firelight. "Oh… Gods, do I really look that old?"

You couldn't help laughing at him softly as he reached up to touch his face. He stared intently at his copy as it mimicked his movements. "We are almost 250 years old."

"I look older than Halsin!"

"You do not. And I know you think he's gorgeous, don't even act like that's an insult."

"You never let me bitch the way I want."

"I don't let you pretend you're blind, apparently." You were so glad this went well. There had been a vague worry that he might be more upset at seeing himself as a vampire but he mostly just seemed fascinated by his features.

"Well, all I can say is gods no wonder everyone always said they were 'blood red.' Seems a little on the nose though, don't you think?"

"I think they're beautiful."

"Of course you do, you have to or I'll cry." He threw you a grin before turning back to the reflection. "Thank you, for this. I always knew supporting your studies would be useful to me some day."

You rolled your eyes at him, a warm smile lighting up your face. "I am ever at your service, my love."

~*~*~

If you were being honest, you wanted to be a little selfish. Astarion had told you enough stories of his time with Cazador that you could feel the ache to end his pathetic life deep in your bones. You knew Astarion had far more claim to the act than you did, but that didn't stop you from craving it.

It didn't help that there was a part of you that wanted to beg Astarion just to stay at camp. You would take the party and destroy Cazador without him being able to even look at your darling again, let alone hurt him.

But you also knew that wasn't what Astarion wanted or needed. He had to be there, he had to be the one to kill Cazador. Besides, ever since Raphael had told you the nature of the ritual, he'd been obsessed with the idea of stealing that power from him.

You didn't care for that aspect of things. It was a delicate subject and you knew how fragile Astarion was when it came to Cazador. You had to tread lightly every time the subject had come up.

As you stood there in front of the door to the ritual chamber, everything was coming to a head. The uncertainty of the situation gripped your heart, you had no idea what world you would be walking back into once you stepped through those doors.

Over the months you'd been together, you had gotten better at reading Astarion's body language and expressions. He was still difficult to pin down at times and, when he really didn't want to be read, it was like staring at a blank wall.

Now was one of those times. He was stiff as a board, staring at the door ahead of you all. His jaw was locked and his fists clenched so tight at his sides you could see them starting to tremble.

"We'll follow your lead." Your voice was gentle, as you covered one of his fists with both of your hands. "I'm here, I won't let him have you no matter what. We're going to destroy him."

He drew in a shaky breath, his hands stilling in your hold. "Make him suffer." Without another sound he forced the large doors open, drawing the attention of everyone gathered at this Black Mass.

After a moment of stillness that settled in the enormous chamber, Astarion began to move down the stairs. He held his shoulders squared as you followed directly behind, the rest of your party in tow.

"Can it be?" You'd never heard Cazador's voice before. You didn't expect such a slimy, petulant tone but, then again, it was so fitting for such a repulsive man. "Has our prodigal son truly returned to us?"

You watched with building pride as your love held his ground. As he spoke out of turn and insulted the man who had ruined his life. He deserved it, and you did your best to be an imposing figure behind him, though you suspected Halsin was doing a better job of it.

It wasn't until he threw a punch that you realized how dangerous this endeavor truly was. You saw how easily Cazador controlled his body, despite the parasite granting him some level of autonomy. It clearly wasn't enough as you'd hoped.

He was ripped away from you, thrown helplessly into this ritual. A countdown started, you only had a matter of moments before he would complete this ritual. You had to move. So why were your feet locked to the floor?

You stood there, staring in horror at Astarion, locked into this ritual, desperately watching you. Your mind flashed with images of him being destroyed right in front of you. The idea of losing him again, especially now that you were closer than you ever could've dreamed, it paralyzed you.

You felt someone push you forward, you heard Gale's voice. "Move!" He sent a bolt of lightning straight past you, directly into the chest of one of the creatures that fought to defend Cazador.

It was all you needed. Your mind snapped back to the present, a fire burning in your eyes as you and your party waged a bloody battle against the vampire lord. Someone had managed to pull Astarion out of the ritual, buying more time for you all to kill the monsters and bats that defended Cazador from your attacks.

You heard it before you saw it, a choked out sound as Astarion ran a blade through that vile man's chest. You watched him discorporate as he was pulled back to his coffin to regenerate.

Now that he was gone, you made quick work of the remaining threats, until the room was nearly silent. You could hear Astarion's footsteps splashing through all the blood that was spilled as he sprinted towards the coffin.

No one was doing well. It was a vicious, bloody battle that you narrowly managed to win. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Shadowheart pouring healing magic into a half dead Karlach. Gale had immediately collapsed against the nearest wall, clutching at a wound in his side. Halsin was the only one doing even remotely well and that was only because he could turn into a bear over and over. You knew this fight had wiped him of all his wild shapes, though, and he still was battered and bruised.

Astarion wasn't faring any better, but he didn't seem to care. He shoved the lid of the sarcophagus open, ripping Cazador out and throwing him to the ground. You saw a fury, a bloodlust in his eyes that you'd never seen before. It was terrifying really. He clutched the ritual dagger in his hand as he stalked towards the now pitiful looking vampire.

You didn't know what to do, honestly. You didn't know what Astarion was going to do. You watched as he threatened the man before him, as he taunted him with the idea of taking his place in the ritual.

It didn't feel great, but you felt a spark of hope in your chest when Cazador explained that the ritual would just destroy him if he tried to replace him. Maybe this would convince him he couldn't ascend.

That hope was dashed as he turned to you. "I need your help. I can use the parasite to look through your eyes, copy my scars onto him. I'll complete the ritual, then I can protect you." His eyes looked so gentle and hopeful. It was so sweet compared to what he was asking of you.

"Astarion…"

"Please. I know you think it's a bad idea but I need you to trust me. I'll be free. Powerful. Strong enough to protect you. To protect myself." He looked so desperate. "If I do this I won't ever, ever have to leave your side again. No one would be able to separate us again."

It was so rare that one could recognize a life-changing moment from within it, let alone have time to prepare. And here you were in that exact position, no more prepared than the moment you first learned what was to come. You had to respond to him and you still didn't know what you were going to do. "I… can't…"

You could see the heartbreak in his eyes as he stepped closer to you, still keeping his blade pointed towards Cazador. "My love… this is the only chance we'll ever get at this. Help me with this, we can be free forever. Together."

"Astarion, this isn't you."

"No." He hissed, his eyes darkening. "This isn't what you want me to be. You still want me to be the old Astarion. The best friend Astarion. Awkward little pathetic weakling Astarion. That Astarion is gone don't you fucking get that, after all this?"

He was so angry, you were so scared.

"I don't want old Astarion. He's not you, I know that. I'm sorry if I ever make you feel like that's who you have to be." You stepped a bit closer, reaching a hand out, tentatively. "I buried him 200 years ago, he's gone.

"But there's a new Astarion. Right in front of you. Whatever happens now, you're not going to walk out of here the same. I- I'm going to leave this room, hand in hand with a brand new Astarion. You have to choose right now who he's going to be." Your eyes filled with tears as you spoke. You'd made your decision. It didn't matter that you could feel the others hanging on your words with varying levels of disapproval.

Your voice was so soft, nearly getting lost in the vast, open chamber. "I love you, Star. I trust you. Whatever you need, I just want you to be someone you're proud of."

You watched his face flood with emotions that you couldn't begin to keep up with. Truly, you couldn't imagine what he must be feeling but you imagined it felt a lot like drowning. The hand that held the dagger trembled. His eyes flicked between it, you, and the cowering worm at his feet.

He was so obviously torn, split between a decision that would change him forever. Your heart thumped loudly in your chest, you hoped against hope he would make the right choice.

For a moment, as his face hardened, you feared he was about to choose this ascension. To destroy seven thousand souls and marr his own beyond repair. Then he turned, gripping Cazador by the hair as he rammed the blade into his chest.

Over and over and over, you watched as Astarion eviscerated his tormentor, coating his hands in Cazador's vile blood. Your heart broke, hearing the way he screamed. Two centuries of anguish ripping it's way out of his lungs and it wasn't enough.

He stopped gutting the man long after he had stilled underneath him, finally sitting back on his heels. The air was still and heavy, broken only by an agonized sob that struck you straight to the core.

In an instant, you were at his side, kneeling into the pool of blood that surrounded him. You weren't sure what to do, exactly. If you should try to comfort him or just let him get it out. You reached a hand out, ever so tenderly touching his shoulder, just enough to let him know you were there.

He didn't even look at you, he just collapsed into you. He clung desperately to your shirt as sobs wracked his body. Every emotion that had his heart clutched in their grasp bubbling to the surface and spilling over. It broke your heart to hear him cry like this, even if you knew the core of it was finally, finally relief.

After a minute or so of weeping into your arms, he pushed himself back. He swiped at the tears that stained his face, only succeeding in smearing blood everywhere. "Gods… you've got to stop letting me do that."

"I won't." You reached out to try to clean some of the blood from his face. You all needed a good bath.

~*~*~

The camp was quieter than normal. The battle has taken its toll on all of you. Everyone was dead asleep as far as you could tell. Save for you and your darling.

You were curled up together in your tent, he was practically laying on top of you, with a leg tossed over yours and an arm wrapped tight around you. His head rested comfortably against your chest as you ran your fingers lazily through his hair.

It was so soft and wonderful. You had been so afraid of what today would bring but you couldn't have wished for a better ending. Your mind wouldn't still, though. Replaying the battle, the choices you made, the choices he made.

"Your heart is racing, love." Astarion's voice shocked you out of your thoughts, pulling you into the quiet present.

"Mm… I just keep thinking about today." You kept your voice so soft, as though you could shatter the moment if you spoke too loud. "Do you think freeing all of the spawn was the right choice?"

"I do." That was shocking, actually. He sounded so confident, especially after being the one to initially raise the valid concern of how dangerous they could be.

"You're the one who made it." He continued. "Do I sometimes think you're too liberal with who you help and why? Sure. But… you've kept all of us safe. And we have so many allies that I would've never made on my own. Because you're so painfully nice. I trust your choices."

That was so much more reassuring than you'd expected. You didn't really know what to say. "Well… thank you." You absentmindedly twirled one of his curls between your fingers.

"That's not really what you want to talk about, is it?"

Of course you wanted to talk about the decision he made. You weren't exactly sure what you wanted to say and you hadn't planned on bringing it up but it was nearly all you could think about. "Only if you want to talk about it."

"I think we ought to." He didn't sound thrilled about the idea but it was kind of a big deal.

You hummed softly in response as the quiet night settled between you again. Neither of you were exactly sure what could even be said.

"Thank you." He whispered, finally, after a few moments of silence. "For… believing… in me. I don't deserve you."

"You deserve the world, Star."

"Maybe. I don't need it though." He sighed softly, his fingers tightening their hold on your shirt. "I was angry with you, at first, you know? I wanted you to say yes. I wanted you to support me with your whole heart. I needed that power so badly, and you wouldn't tell me that was okay. I was furious.

"But, and you do have to bear with me because it's horribly cheesy, but I walked outside with you. I was free, we were together and I just- ugh.” He sighed. “I really did realize that I didn’t need it.”

You dropped a kiss to the top of his head, tangling your fingers in his hair as you pulled back. “That was cheesy, you’re right.” You couldn’t help laughing as he let go of your shirt just long enough to flash quite the rude hand gesture in your direction.

“I mean it, you bastard.” The irritation in his voice was laced with so much fondness your heart ached. “Just because I’m mysterious and unknowable doesn’t mean I’m not capable of genuine moments.”

“You wish you were unknowable.”

“You’re making it so difficult to love you right now, you know that?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You laughed softly. “I’m done, I promise. I really am so- so proud of you, you know?” Your other hand came up to cover his, gently running your thumb over his knuckles as you spoke. “I would’ve followed you no matter what but… I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t hoped you’d choose this.”

He smiled softly, closing his eyes and just listening to your heart beating in your chest. Every nightmare he’d ever lived through, every night spent in agony, spent wishing for death - it was all over now. He was free, he was here with you, safe and warm and loved. He wouldn’t say it was worth it, there were so many horrors he knew he would never forget. But he was suddenly, perhaps for the first time, so endlessly grateful he had survived it.

Nothing would change the things he had done, nothing would change what had been done to him. He had been irreparably damaged by so much of it but it was finally, finally over. He could start to mend now. And he had you. You didn’t care that he wasn’t the same person you had loved as a child, you loved him now just as he was, broken and all.

“You made me want to be someone worthy of everything you’ve given me. It wasn’t much of a choice, really. I wanted it so badly because I was so… scared.” He gave a soft, breathy laugh. “You made me brave enough to do the right thing, I suppose. You’ve really made a hopeless romantic out of me.”

“Good. I like when you get sappy.” You grinned, giving his hand a squeeze. “Still. Thank you for choosing this.”

“My darling, I simply chose you.”

[sunchaserwings]

Incoming rant about The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, Herlock Sholmes from The Great Ace Attorney, and the BBC Sherlock (no major spoilers ahead I promise).

A preface before I begin; I was never a big fan of Sherlock Holmes or any adaptation of the stories. I've seen Elementary although I was very young so I only have the vaguest of memories of enjoying it, and my roommate had me watch a couple BBC Sherlock episodes when I was a tween/young teen. My mother claims she tried to get me into Sherlock Holmes but I'm rather skeptical. Anyhow, onto the story.

Back in March my boyfriend bought me the Ace Attorney games for my birthday which included the Great Ace Attorney Chronicles (or Dai Gyakuten Saiban for those who are still stuck on the pre-localization names ;p). I was on my flight home from my birthday trip after I got the news my manager fired my brother while I was out of the state and figured why not, I'd start playing the first TGAA game on the flight. I'd probably enjoy myself and I couldn't sleep.

Second biggest mistake of the year (first biggest was trusting Les Schwab to do my brake job). I. Was. Hooked. I played the first case and fell in love with Kazuma instantly (he's so Zero shaped!). I played the second case and realized that calling him Zero shaped was way too accurate. We all know what happened there. Most important to this rant, I met Herlock Sholmes (more on my opinions on him later). I could barely put the game down but I had to take a break due to finding a new job and getting adjusted. I ended up finishing the game in June or July, one of the two. I finished the final case of the first game in one long 12 hour gaming session it was that good (my back didn't thank me though).

Now, the man of the hour: Herlock Sholmes. I didn't think much of him initially. He was simultaneously charming and annoying in the second case but as I played more he grew on me. I cried when the start of 1-5 happened. He clawed his way up into like the top 7 favorite characters at the time. The ending of the game with him playing his violin made me bawl my eyes out. I. Loved. This. Game.

It took a few more months to start and finish the second game. In between Adventures and Resolve I played Skyward Sword, Minish Cap, and some others so I had a healthy break. I came back to play Resolve and finished it like two months ago. It hit me in the gut just as hard as the first game did although there are a great many things I'd tweak and do differently. But Herlock Sholmes... man, he's not my favorite but he's up there underneath Kazuma and Van Zieks.

Anyhow, I finished the game but the hyperfixation had started and would not let me go. I've never been one to go out and seek fanfiction due to... personal stuff but I had a feeling I didn't want to go probe the depths of AO3 yet for fear of crying. I started a graveyard shift at my job which severely limited my ability to talk with people about stuff and also there's so many major spoilers but very few people I knew had played the game. A thought occurred to me, however. What about Sherlock Holmes audiobooks? I have an auditory processing issue which has made listening to audiobooks hard but I decided to give it a go. Perhaps it would satiate the TGAA hyperfixation hunger.

I found the ones produced by Magpie Audio, expertly narrated by Greg Wagland. Go check him out, he has over 77 videos of Sherlock Holmes audiobook recordings and all of them are a minimum of 40 minutes, often times far more. I went through over 30 hours of audiobook in a few weeks listening to these. Sherlock Holmes is such a good character and I can understand how and why he took late Victorian England by storm. And you know what the best part is?

Herlock Sholmes is the most faithful adaptation I have personally seen as a character of the original Sherlock Holmes.

They got so many of Sherlock's little idiosyncrasies right and you can tell the entire team were genuine fans of the books. I listened to Mr. Wagland's narration *and I saw 221B Baker of the games*. Especially the jack knife impaling the communications to the mantle being referenced in the game? The sheer mess of the flat? It's so good!

My roommate (whom is also a Sherlock Holmes fan) noticed my newest hyper fixation that spawned off of TGAA and that reignited his Sherlock Holmes obsession. He was a fan of the BBC Sherlock and now recognizes it was not a very great show but it's a comfort media for him nonetheless. He just dragged me into rewatching it and... okay, it's playing into a lot of inaccurate Sherlock tropes I don't like but goddamn Martin Freeman carries the whole show. I love his John Watson because it feels like a reasonable version of a modern, younger Watson. He feels real in a way. I do like the fact that even in the first episode, it's established that John and Sherlock can make each other laugh and smile just like in the books. I don't forgive them calling Sherlock a sociopath, however (speaking as someone with a brother that has been diagnosed with being a high-fuctioning sociopath). He's AuDHD to the max and deserves recognition in that department.

All of this to say, I can trace my current Sherlock hyperfixation back to Mega Man. Finding Mega Man in 4th grade led to watching the Ace Attorney anime in late 2021 which led to playing The Great Ace Attorney and that led to listening to Sherlock Holmes. I don't know why I decided to make this post but maybe I might start live blogging this shit? All in all, this is going to be a wild ride.

[tiptoe39]

Fic Sentence Tag Game

Pretending @green-riot tagged me :D Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fics, and then tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don't be shy and share anyway.

Sunao ni Nare (Be Honest) - Junjou Romantica, Misaki/Usagi “We should tell Takahiro about us,” Usagi says, apropos of nothing, in the middle of an otherwise normal Sunday. Misaki is reading Za Kan manga on the couch and Usagi is floating somewhere nearby, alternating between pretending to do work and looking over Misaki’s shoulder. When he speaks, Usagi leans down and plants the words right into Misaki’s ear.

Everyone Has Vices - TGCF, Pei Ming/Yushi Huang/?? Shi Qingxuan really, really doesn’t like Pei Ming. So he is more than a little excited when the Rain Master starts appearing in the Heavenly Capital more often.

3. If Past Is Prologue - MDZS/CQL, WangXian with side ChengQing He bought the house the moment he found out it was for sale.

Lan Zhan had been looking for a home in Sandy Point for a while now. It was the first thing he wanted to do when the royalties started coming in bushels for Sizhui and the Ghost General, the second book in the Cloud Recesses series. Neither he nor his agent had expected it to do so well, but when Lan Zhan realized he had enough money to do just about anything he wanted, there was only one thing he wanted to do with it.

And to have this house for sale—the luck was unreal. 4. what i can't quite confess - MDZS, WangXian I. Xuanwu cave

Lan Wangji feels just about ready to explode.

He’s stuck in this cave, injured, unable to remove himself from the problem, and the problem is Wei Ying. The larger problem is they’re stuck in the cave and there’s a monster living here, but the more annoying problem is Wei Ying, who has first shocked the bad blood out of Lan Wangji in the worst possible manner and is now going on about how he took a blow from a branding iron for a girl he calls Mianmian and is awfully proud of doing so. 5. Eternal Youth (Is Worth a Little Suffering) - MDZS, WangXian

It isn’t that Wei Wuxian is dissatisfied with his golden core, really.

Well, Mo Xuanyu’s golden core. It’s weak and underdeveloped, and for the most part that’s fine: Chenqing and his talismans have long since proven themselves as worthy methods of night-hunting, and he doesn’t miss his sword.

But here’s the thing: Lan Zhan is an insanely good cultivator. And really good cultivation stops the aging process. He’s so good that he looks practically the same as he did thirteen years ago. He must have stopped aging entirely while Wei Wuxian was gone, because he’s not a day older-looking than 25, whereas Wei Wuxian himself is probably rounding 30 looks-wise. Mo Xuanyu’s core is not sufficient to stop time from taking its toll, and he can foresee in a distant future going grey and starting to have aches and pains, while Lan Zhan remains impeccably, eternally young.

He’s not afraid of losing Lan Zhan. That’s not the problem.

He just enjoys … how to put it? He enjoys being on the same page as him. Physically. 6. All at Once It's You - MDZS/CQL, WangXian

It is late in the sixth month of the year, the evening of the day before the Lan clan’s summer session begins, when the commotion happens. It is well into the evening, and the gathered disciples from a number of great clans are resting under the Lan clan’s roofs before the next day’s gift ceremony and the commencement of the cultivation seminar, when all of a sudden by the inner gate there is a clanking, as of roof tiles becoming dislodged; a long, tenor shout; and then a series of thunks and thuds.

Then silence. 7. falling through your trembling hands - MDZS, WangXian Is it a sin, Wei Wuxian thinks idly, to spend your lover's money to buy a gift for him?

No, he answers himself. The real sin would be to spend your lover's money and not buy gifts for him. 8. This Silence a Sanctuary - Word of Honor, ZZS/WKX

It happens late at night. The hall where they sleep was made for the training of many disciples, and as a bedroom it is too big for the three of them by far. But something is so fragile about the life they’re building here, so tentative, that finding separate rooms was just never an option. None of the three of them is free of nightmares.

Chengling’s soft snores sound in the corner of the room. Across from him, Zhou Zishu can’t sleep. Something is restless, moving along under his skin like a jagged bolt of lightning. He’s alert and awake, and his senses are sharp, free of that muted muffledness that plagues him by day and dulls him to sleep at night. He feels sure that if he were to lift a jug of wine to his lips, he might even taste it. 9. there's a world of love (waiting to warm him) - MDZS, WangXian All right, Wei Ying will have to give Nie Huaisang some credit - his blind date is gorgeous. Gorgeous, but he doesn’t have much to say. Wei Ying peeks over the edge of his menu and examines that unsmiling face.

This Lan Zhan appears to be engrossed in examining the wine list — probably a wine snob, probably a snob in general, Wei Ying thinks with an inner pout. Well if this isn’t gonna be a love match, at LEAST Wei Ying’s gonna have some fun with him before the night is out.

“Lan Zhaaan,” he says, drawing out the syllable. “What’s more interesting, me or the booze?” 10. Don't Touch - MDZS, WangXian “I have a game for us to play,” Wei Wuxian says.

Lan Zhan eyes him. “A game?”

“It’s a game for grown-ups,” Wei Wuxian says, his voice sober but his eyes dancing. “Do you want to play?”

If you would like to be tagged please go ahead and consider yourself tagged!

[rvllybllply2014]

So it’s my birthday. And I have incredibly mixed feelings about it. Let’s just say ever since I turned 23 my birthdays have been shitty*. Anyway older brackenwood (but they’re younger here). Uh lord Byron is Samwell and Willems father, Hullen is Humfrey’s younger brother. Samwell and Willems mother was half Tully half Bracken.

Willem really should’ve lowered his expectations when it comes to his name day and his father. His first name day after his mother died, Byron was at River Run arguing about the boundary stones. Thankfully Samwell was there to help Willem celebrate his birthday, Willem even managed to not cry until later that night when all of the day’s activities stopped. Samwell didn’t know how to help so he just held Willem while Willem had full body shuddering sobs.

Byron arrived back at RavenTree Hall a couple of days after Willems birthday. Byron decided that since he was away that he’d celebrate Willems name day with him. And he did, but not for long. Byron had recently started courting a woman and he wanted to spend time with her, while completely ignoring the fact that this was Willems first name day without his mother. Poor Willem only had his father for a couple of hours and then his father was off to see his girlfriend.

The next year Willem didn’t have high hopes for his name day, but Byron was at Raven Tree Hall and Byron had recently broken things off with his girlfriend. But Byron forgot Willems name day, thankfully Samwell was again able to make it special for Willem and Byron did make up for missing his name day the next day. Byron bought an expensive sword for Willem, while telling him that the sword would be handy. And it was the next month Willem was vying for Rhaenyra’s hand, and we all know how that turned out.

Willems next name day Byron didn’t forget or miss it. Willem got to spend the whole day with Byron and didn’t have to guard the boundary stones. Byron even ordered the kitchen staff to make Willems favorite sweets. So it was safe to say Willem was on cloud nine when he got to tell his new friend Amos about it.

Amos was excited for Willem, he’d heard about the previous name days and how Willem acted like it didn’t bother/hurt him but Amos could hear it in Willems voice and see it in his eyes. Amos also had a nice present for Willem which he shyly gave to him.

Amos explained that his uncle Hullen had heard about how Willems name day was coming up and encouraged Amos to find a book that he thought Willem would like, and even had the blacksmith at Stone Hedge make Willem a nice dagger. It was also thanks to Hullen that Willem and Amos could have a nice picnic at the boundary stones; he had packed a basket with meats, bread, sweet wine and a small cake. Willem was touched that his friend’s uncle cared enough about him to help make sure this name day was better than the previous ones.

Six months before Willems next name day, both he and Amos finally confessed that they had deeper feelings for each other. Amos had already planned a nice romantic evening with Willem, even before what Willem had told him.

Once again Byron forgot about Willems birthday. Willem was sent to the boundary stones, which was his clue that Byron forgot what day it was. Every name day Byron made sure that his sons weren’t sent out to the boundary stones, but here Willem was to Amos’ surprise. Amos wished Willem a happy name day, and asked why he was out there. Didn’t Byron like to keep his sons at Raven Tree Hall on their name days?

Willem tells Amos that Byron must’ve forgotten again but it’s fine. He’s used to it so it doesn’t hurt. Amos is offended enough for Willem that he decides to alter what he had planned for Willem.

Amos “kidnaps” Willem, Amos just grabbed Willem when Samwell came to get him and told Samwell that Willem was his “hostage” for the night. Samwell knew that Willem would be fine, and just shrugged while saying that Willem needed to be back here before dawn. Amos agreed.

Once at Stone Hedge Amos helped Willem off his horse and tied his hand together. Amos explains that it’s because Willem is his “hostage”so he has to look the part. Willem reluctantly agrees to being tied up but does make a comment about Amos being kinkier than what he thought. Amos just blushes.

Hullen is in the stables when Amos and Willem walk in, and he immediately knows that Amos brought Willem here to help Willem celebrate his birthday. Before Amos can even ask Hullen is grabbing his horse while telling Amos that he should run a bath for Willem, Humfrey wouldn’t want his guest dirty at the table.

Amos does as Hullen suggested and has a bath drawn for Willem, he even puts his most expensive oil in the bath. Amos also doesn’t object when Willem demands that Amos strip and join him.

After Hullen gets Amos’ horse settled in the stable, he goes to his room to write a scathing letter to Byron. In the letter Hullen mentions how severely Byron has been neglecting Willem. The Byron that he knew and loves would’ve never forgotten a single name day of Willems, and what would his poor beloved wife think? Has he no shame? This better be the last year that he hears Willems name day was forgotten by Byron.

With the letter finished Hullen goes to Humfrey’s solar to tell him that Willem is here as a “hostage” of Amos, and it’s also Willem’s name day. Humfrey immediately knows that Willem isn’t a hostage, he’s kept close tabs on Amos ever since Jerrel died. So of course he knows that Amos has been dating Willem. Humfrey thanks Hullen for the heads up about Willem and asks Hullen to tell the kitchen staff to prepare a cake for Willem.

Hullen does and then goes to knock on Amos’s door telling them that dinner will be ready in about an hour.

At dinner Raylon asks Amos why he captured Willem? Both Hullen and Humfrey explain that Willem’s father has forgotten several of Willem’s name days so Amos “captured” him so they could help Willem celebrate. Raylon thinks that’s nice of Amos, but still makes sure to tease him after Willem has left. The dinner went by peacefully and Willem even had several slices of cake.

Amos takes Willem back to his room telling him that he’ll keep watch over him, they don’t want to miss Samwell’s deadline. Right before Willem falls asleep Amos kisses him while telling him he loves him. That night Willem had one of the most peaceful sleeps since his mother died, and he felt truly loved even if it was by the Brackens who are his distant family.

True to his word Amos watches over Willem while he sleeps and wakes Willem with a kiss telling him that it’s time to get up.

At the border Samwell thanks Amos for helping Willem celebrate his name day and making him feel loved. Amos tells Samwell it was nothing, Willem deserves the best. Samwell agrees and as he gets ready to leave tells Amos that his uncle Hullen should expect a letter from his father soon. Amos thanks Samwell for the warning.

When Willem and Samwell arrive back at Raven Tree Hall, they find Byron in a terrible mood. How dare Willem willingly go with the Brackens to celebrate his name day? Did he really think the enemy was a better choice than him? Willem missed out on receiving his presents by going to Stone Hedge. Willem tells Byron that he doesn’t care about the presents he would’ve received from him, especially since he hasn’t bothered to properly celebrate his name day with him in a long time. Byron sends Willem to his room, he’s to stay there until he apologizes to him.

After Amos arrives back at Stone Hedge, he once again finds Hullen in the stables so he passes along the message of Byron having sent a letter to him. Hullen thanks Amos and heads to rooms.

The letter is waiting for Hullen in his solar. In it Byron challenges if Hullen ever loved Byron? Doesn’t he know that Byron loves his children because they are half his wife? How dare Hullen act like he’s better than him? How could a Bracken think that they’re better than a Blackwood? Byron also includes that if Hullen wishes to talk things out then he needs to meet at the boundary stones tonight after dinner. Byron also demands that Hullen burn his letter, he burned Hullens and besides there’s no need for anyone to know of their shared past.

Hullen follows all the instructions and meets Byron at the boundary stones. When Byron sees Hullen he stops his angry pacing and walks up to Hullen. Hullen braces for a punch to the face, so he’s completely shocked when Byron starts to cry.

Hullen pulls Byron into his arms while rocking them back and forth, he’s also patting Byron’s back while shushing him. After Byron finally stops crying Hullen asks what’s the matter?

Byron tells Hullen he was completely right in letter. He had been neglecting his sons especially Willem, it hurt because he sees so much of his wife in him. But he didn’t mean to hurt Willem like that, he’s scared that he’s ruined Willem and dishonored his wife’s memory.

Hullen tells Byron that it’s not too late to fix his mistakes. He also tells Byron that for Willem’s next name day he’ll help Byron plan the best day for him. That he’s here for Byron and his sons, especially now that Willem and Amos are together. Plus Hullen loves Willem like a son, since he’s an extension of Byron, and he’s sure that if he ever meets Samwell he’ll love him too. Hullen also confesses that he never stopped loving Byron, but he knew that Byron had duty to his family and he would never ask him to give that up. He’s also happy that Byron got to know love with his wife.

Byron thanks Hullen for his honesty and tells him that he too never stopped loving him. His wife knew about Hullen and the special place he holds in his heart. He asks if Hullen would be willing to try again. Yes he knows they can never truly marry, but if Hullen will have him then he’ll stop trying to date/marry others. Hullen agrees immediately while telling Byron that he’s the reason he’s never married, in his heart he married Byron.

Byron also holds Hullen to his promise to help him with Willems name day next year. And true to his word Hullen along with Samwell, Amos, Humfrey, Byron and Raylon throw Willem the best name day celebration he’s had in years.

Later that night unbeknownst to the other couple, Willem and Amos exchange vows to always love each other and consider themselves married even when their duty forces them to marry others. At the same time Hullen and Byron exchange vows to always love each other and to consider themselves married and to never marry anyone else.

*my mom died when I was 22 sevenish months before my birthday, my dad got into a new relationship right away. He was out of town during my birthday did call me to wish me a happy birthday, took me out for dinner which lasted an hour and then went to his girlfriend’s house the rest of the weekend. On my actual birthday my friend’s parents who are like a family to me helped me celebrate it. Then the next year he forgot until the next day, following year remembered a day later, forgot the following year, remembered the day of, forgot almost a week last year. But to be fair my uncle and his childhood friend died, and then his girlfriend had to have him make a shelf for her mini baskets. Also I’m his only child, his girlfriend has three kids two of them don’t talk to her the other does.

[jadechase]

Ten people i'd like to get to know better

Tagged by @simonthesneasnake

Last song: Winter Anymore, by critical role. I think we can all establish that Ashley Johnson is a natural treasure, and she nailed this song aswell. Yasha really hits close to the heart, and Ashley's voice makes it a bullseye.

Favourite colour: a kind of dark blue, but its not really dark. It goes a bit towards green. Idk how to describe it but its lightdarkblue

Last book: Thieves Gambit by Kayvion Lewis, i havent finished it yet, but i blame school. Break has started so ill probably have it finished within a few days. Im really in love with it already. After that i think im gonna read sword catcher, wich i have already bought, and maybe ill finish Percy Jackson and the chalice of the gods, but im kinda saving that for a sad day cause it just gives me that nostalgia giggles.

Last Movie: Bad mom's 2, its a Christmas movie and it was actually pretty funny. I watched it with my mom, since she wanted to watch a Christmas movie with me and this one didnt seem all too bad. If we're talking kind of movies i like: marvel and Disney movies, but basically anything fantasy with sparks of humor and trauma (yes Disney does trauma in their movies you just have to look for it)

Last tv-show: Does critical role count? If not i would bet it is the legend of vox machina. Yes im critically critical role obsessed, they have become a part of me. But anyways i really wanna watch arcane and even more so since some of my friends from the uk told me its really good and id really like it. I also watch a lot of British detectives, no im not from Britain, but i wouldnt know wich one i watched last+its something of a tradition with my parents so i didnt really count them.

Sweet/savoury/spicy: Sweet>Savoury>spicy,

I love spicy food but i dont really crave it, i would also say it really depends on the moment and what ive eaten already cause my stomach is very specific with what it can handle at a certain moment of my day...

Relationship status: Singleeeeeee. Isnt everyone? No i just tell myself that. Seriously tho i really dont mind it, its something i choose for myself as i believe i dont really have the time for a relationship. I do have the time im just not willing to sacrifice it wich i think says enough. (Also im pretty young so im good)

Last thing I googled: Sims 4 cheat codes, I installed the game a week ago and got some spare time on my hands yesterday so I decided to play a bit, the game however went a little too slow for my stress-powered brain so i decided to speed up the process.

Current obsession: Critical role/bg3, i am in love with the cr cast and they really feel like older siblings to me, as i am an only child. And bg3 just is an amazing game and the voice actors are also such a lovely community (i sense a pattern here, Hmm) I am Particularly in love with aliona and jen(iffer English) they are such a cutesy couple and are just warmth all around.

Looking forward to:

WINTER BREAK

It starts tomorrow and i already have so many fun things planned. Im going ice skating, watching my series and hopefully catching up a bit on critical role c2. I am also really looking forward to having time to get better at New skills, i have been attempting to learn blender but have been stuck on the same part of a tutorial for 3 months. My reading has greatly diminished aswell so im hoping the Christmas spirit will have me reading in the mornings from the comfort of my warm bed. Also gonna see some family over the holidays (i see them a lot but theyre getting older so i really like spending time with them, it brings me peace)

Tagging (no pressure)

@annemarieyeretzian @sleepy-insomnia-bear @mightypike @girldalf @greatnightbat @mollymauk-widogast @laurasbailey @imisskeyleth @laudnasmoon @youremypeople

[galadhir]

Well, I didn't expect getting a sword for sword dancing to be so hard.

I really wanted a sword like this A sword that looked like a sword - like you could sharpen it and then it would be a weapon.

Unfortunately the only sword that was in my price range and was available in the UK is aluminium with a paint coating. But I thought I could live with it, and the lightness of aluminium was a bonus considering my fibromyalgia. See the grey sword here.

So I ordered it and waited what felt like months for it to arrive. The receipt said that within 3-4 days I would get an email with a tracking code, but I did not get such an email. I waited for ten days, then I went on the website to see if there was a contact number and found their chat.

Someone on the chat told me that he would find my tracking number and that the sword would undoubtedly be with me soon. I waited a couple of days to see if it would arrive.

Then I checked the tracking code and found that the tracking number was linked to a Mr Ahmed Hussain in an entirely different county from me.

I tried to get back on the chat only to find that the chat box had disappeared.

This was beginning to feel suspicious.

Then I went on holiday with my family, and my son - on hearing the saga so far - dug around in the trustpilot ratings for this website (the only one that still had swords available out of every other sword retailer I had found.) He said that their ratings were abysmal and most people reported either getting broken swords or not receiving anything at all.

He then found a new sword on a site I had not discovered. It was 40" long and made of iron, which would have been very long and heavy, but what was I to do?

Their website said it would arrive in 3-4 days, and by now I was desperate. I figured I could stop the payment on the first sword, so I bought the new sword.

I got home from the holiday and the first sword was there on the doorstep.

Two swords! I thought. I suppose I can sell one of them on Ebay. Other belly dancers must also be desperate in the face of this sword shortage.

Then - while I waited for the real sword to arrive - I practiced with my horrible grey sword and developed something of an emotional bond to it.

It is in fact exactly the right size for me, and easy to balance, and relatively light on the head. I liked it, apart from the paint job.

So, more than four days passed. Eventually I began to wonder where the other sword was, and I went to look on the receipt for that too. With a more careful reading, I realized that it said that it would arrive 3-4 days after posting - with no promises about how long it would take them to post it. The receipt also said that they would send me an email to confirm when they sent it.

They had not sent me an email. Therefore they had not even put it in the post yet.

I leapt to my computer and sent them an email asking if I could cancel the order, and they replied the same day, re-listed the sword on their website and refunded me the price.

Good! I finally had a sword, and only one sword.

But the more I practiced with it, the more I came to hate the fact that it was silver like a silver car. There were even metallic sparkles in the paint just like metallic-finish auto paint. And the hilt was the same colour as the blade, as though the blade was part of the hilt fittings.

I wondered if I could paint over the blade with chrome effect paint, but further research suggested that there just isn't a paint that looks like metal. It's all going to be disappointingly matte.

Time to break out the gold leaf

I bought a gilding kit, a book of gold leaf and a book of silver leaf and did a hack job of covering both blade and hilt with thin layers of metal.

Result - behold the shiny sword!

This will certainly catch the light and flash as I dance. It isn't the sword that I wanted, but it is now a sword that I think I can love. And I bet no one else will have one like this :)

[thedepthsoffandomminds]

The lost Princess of the ocean - ten

Masterlist

The following day you stayed in your cabin reading through a book Nami had left behind. You could hear the men on the higher decks working with Buggy to get closer to Nami. You hear Usopp calling out for land. Relieved to once again be on dry land you decided to change into some simpler clothes, a pair of Khaki knee length shorts and a white linen shirt tied up at your waist. You pulled your long hair up into a twisted bun at the back of your head. Several shorter locks fell loose around your face before long, the five of you were walking toward a small village, the houses were barely more than sticks and straw. When Zoro tried to walk beside you, you quietly fell back to walk between Sanji and Usopp. He wanted so desperately to tell you how pretty you looked, to marvel in the confidence you were beginning to show. Zoro hated what he had done, his words wouldn't come out right. He hated that you felt safer beside the chef than him now. His hand clamped around the hilt of his white sword, trying to push all of his feelings down.

“Never seen that before.” he says looking at an upturned shack.

“What could have done this?” Luffy asked.

“Maybe I should head back, make sure the Merry's secure.” Usopp frets.

“Arlong did this.” Luffy's voice was angry as he stated the obvious.

“Hey, shit-hat!” Buggy called from inside Sanji's shoulder bag, “I think we can all agree that Arlong's a bad fish But why don't we quit lollygagging and get my body back?”

‘Pipe down in there.” Sanji bit back.

“Or what? You gonna whip me up a soufflé?” The clown head taunted him.

“How about you take him for a while?” He looks at Usopp.

“Ooh, new guy carries the clown head.” Usopp scuttled away. With a shake of your head you take the bag from the chef and hike it over your shoulder.

“Everyone! Please!” A voice calls from around a corner. ‘Please, everyone. We don't have much time, and we're short again this month.” The uniformed man spoke.

“Is it enough?”

“Do we have time to get some more?” The villagers asked.

“No. You don't.” Her voice cut through you all.

“It's Nami.” One of the women whispered. Luffy made to step forward but Zoro held him back with a hand on his chest.

“You've got a lot of nerve showing your face here.” A woman with Blue hair and tattoos across her chest and shoulders scowled at Nami. She spat at the latter's feet. Everyone in the village remembered the day Arlong came into town, bringing distraction and fear. Nami took the box and looked inside.

“You're short.” She says flatly.

“Nami, please. This is all we have. Arlong has bled us dry.” They plead with her.

“Then find more blood.” She turns on her heel, stopping when she sees you all.

“Luffy? What are you doing here?” She hisses at him.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He. Replies.

“This is where I belong.” She briefly glanced at the rest of you.

“ I don't believe that. This is not you.” Luffy feels his heart breaking seeing her this way.

“No. This isn't the me you want me to be.” She berates him.

“Nami if you need our help-”

“No, I don't need any of you. Arlong wanted the map, and I conned you into getting it for me and you bought it. I was never part of your stupid crew.” you can hear the break in her voice as she speaks.

“You don't mean that.” You step forward slightly. Nami looks at you, her dark gaze faltering for only a second.

“Take the rest of these clowns and sail away from here. I never want to see you again.” She spun and stormed away. Your hand found Zoro's arm for a moment. You both look at it, then to each other, your eyes meeting in sadness. Zoro brushed his fingers over your own. You didn't want to watch her walk away again.

“Okay, that went about as bad as it could.

So back to the boat before the fishmen find us?Sail the hell out of here? Okay."

“There's something else going on here.” Luffy mused.

“She was very clear she wants us to leave.” Zoro stated.

“You don't know women.” Sanji quipped, “They never say what they mean.” You gave him a pointed look.

“Tell me again why the cook gets a say.” Zoro rolled his eyes and stepped away from Sanji.

“Don't you guys get it? She's one of them. She's a bad guy. The villagers are terrified of her.” Usopp argued.

“Not all of them.” You say looking back to the villagers. Luffy smiles at you, showing his top teeth. He grabbed your hand and dragged you all towards them.

“Hey! Scar guy. Who was that lady? You know, the one with the cool hair?” He spoke quickly to the uniformed man.

“Who wants to know?” the uniformed man asked with a sigh.

“I'm Monkey D. Luffy. I'm a pirate.”

“Hunter. Pirate hunter.” Zoro interrupted. “We're here to collect Arlong's bounty.”

“You?” He almost laughs, “I've seen men twice your size and with twice your number

go into Arlong Park. None of them ever came back.” There is more than sadness in his voice. You had known men just like Arlong all your life; this would be more than just a fight.

“We just want to talk to her.” Luffy pressed.

“Trust me, you don't. But if it'll get you out of my town, try the house down that road, on the edge of the tangerine grove.” He waves you all off. Luffy still has hold of your hand as he marches away from the village. He is walking fast, you have to skip every so often to keep up. You curse your shorter legs when you see both Zoro and Sanji striding with ease.

“I think I got more of a boat body than a long-journey-on-foot kind of body. Anybody else missing the ocean?” Usopp spoke incessantly, “No? Okay. I could go bring the boat around if we don't want to walk all the way back. Whoa!” he's stopped by a gun pointing at you all.

“Turn around and leave. Now.” The woman with blue hair scowled at you.

“That's what I've been saying.” Usopp agreed, throwing his hands in the air.

“Hey, I saw you earlier. I think maybe you and I have something in common.” Luffy said.

“I've got the gun, and you're standing in front of it. What could we possibly have in common?” Her eyes were narrow and her grip tight.

“Let's start with Nami. Seems you know her very well.” He continued.

“She's a thief with no conscience and when there's no more left to take, she leaves and doesn't turn back. Now get off my property.” You catch the quiver of her lip, this runs deeper than she wants to show. Her fingers readjust on the rifle.

“Nami's part of our crew. She's our friend.” Luffy says hopefully.

“My sister doesn't have any friends. The sooner you realise that, the better.” The woman rolls her eyes.

“ Sisters. That makes sense. Both as beautiful as each other.” Sanji flashes a smile at her.

“ Give it up.” Zoro said to him.

“I can tell she really did a number on you guys. You're not special, and I can't help you.” She growled.

“How about a meal?” Sanji put in a last attempt. It peaks her attention.

“An exchange of sorts for your valuable time and information.” Sanji continues.

“You cook?” She asks.

“He's a waiter.” Zoro adds.

“Best cook in the East Blue. You never tasted anything better in your life. Usopp's word!” Usopp stated gleefully. The woman looks through all of you, her mind finally settling in words.

“Ain't got much to cook with.” she begins to soften.

“You'd be surprised how much I can make with very few ingredients. What do you say?”

She finally agrees and lets Sanji inside her house. You all sit around the small building as he begins to cook. Zoro sits beside.

“y/n I-” he began.

“Zoro, it's fine, don't worry about it. I won't be a distraction.” You get up and move across the room asking Sanji if he needs help. Usopp stifles a laugh with his hand in front of his mouth.

“You messed up good there.” He says. Zoro simply grunts, folding his arms over his chest.

“Wait. Nami's working for the pirate that killed your mother?” Usopp asks when Nojiko finished her tale.

Luffy's face showed every bit of sadness he felt for her as he stood up and walked out. You and Zoro follow him.

“She was just a kid.” he said looking up at the moon.

“She's not anymore. She made her choice.” Zoro said.

“I'm tired of hearing about Nami from other people.” Luffy grumbled.

“She told you to leave, Luffy.” Zoro reminded him.

“So did you.” Luffy looked up to him like a child looking for approval. Each of them recalled the day they met, Zoro had implored Luffy to leave him. He'd have to thank him one day for making a different choice.

“How do you know she's not one of Arlong's crew?” Zoro asks.

“Same way I knew you weren't gonna kill me

when I cut you down from that cross. Same way I know you want only the very best for y/n. Same way I knew about Usopp and Sanji.”

“Yeah, I don't know about that waiter.” Zoro quipped.

“I know Nami's good. She needs to know it too.” Luffy looked back at the sky. You and Zoro meet each other’s eyes once more.

The four men decide to go get Nami back by charging into Arlong Park, the pirates hideout. Usopp was filling his smoke bombs and arguing with Buggy. You stood outside, your shoulder pressed against the porch.

“Here.” Sanji handed you a cup of warm tea.

“Thank you” you sip the warm liquid, relishing the gentle citrus taste.

“You okay?” He asked you.

“I wish people would stop asking me that. I'm supposed to be free, you all keep telling me I am but here I am waiting to be killed by more pirates.” You huff.

Sanji wasn't sure how to answer you. He pressed his lips together.

“You know, if you want we can find you somewhere, when this is over we could…anywhere you want.”

“Yeah, imagine me living in a little cottage, I'd be back with the assassin's within a week.” You actually laugh. Sanji lifts his arms.

“I'm going to hug you now, okay?” He asks, taking a step toward you, you nod and rest your head on his chest.

“You know, I quite enjoy you giving Moss head a hard time, but I really don't think he meant to hurt you.” he says to the top of your head.

You pull back to look up at him.

“I'm not sure how I feel about him, he has been so kind and gentle with me, but the way people talk about him. The duel, he was a different person.”

Sanji pulls in his eyebrows, studying your eyes for a moment. He lets out a long breath when he understands.

“You're frightened of him?”

“In part I suppose. I was a princess of the ocean, then I was a prisoner. I knew how to be those things. I did as I was told but now, with him. I just…”

“I get it, Zoro is just a hard arse, he doesn't know what's best for him, but he does care about you. Everyone can see that.” He reassured you. You nod and replace your head to his chest.

“Luffy wants us, time to go.” Zoro's voice was harsh and angry.

At the edge of tha tangerine grove Nami drops to her knees, using her dagger to stab at the swordfish tattoo on her shoulder. Luffy gripped her wrist stopping her self attack.

“I told you to get the hell out of here.” She tried to growl her words.

“You did.” The captain said.

“Then leave. You don't know anything about what's going on here.” Her tears fell freely.

“I don't.��� he admits.

“Luffy. Help me.” Nami cries. Luffy takes of his straw hat, placing it on Nami's.

“Of course I will.” He agrees walking back toward you the others, “Of course I will. Of course I will!” He throws his hands in the air and you all feel that surge of confidence from him.

“Let's go.” He says walking last you.

“Right.” The men reply in perfect unison.

“What's that?” Usopp looks at the gunfire and flames.

“They're attacking the village.”

[camgoloud]

20, 18,24 :)

20. What was your most anticipated release? Did it meet your expectations?

I discovered Kelly Link’s short stories sometime in summer 2023, and thus unlike everyone else who is wiser than me and was reading Kelly Link earlier I only had to wait a few months rather than like 25 years for her debut novel to come out in February 2024. It was good! I do think on the whole I prefer some of her short stories (Valley of the Girls and Skinder’s Veil and The Summer People will never not fuck me UP) but the novel was also highly enjoyable. Would recommend!

Also!!! Maybe I’m cheating by mentioning two but. The Bright Sword by Lev Grossman!!!! Very very good book! I wasn't Anticipating this one far ahead of time in quite the same way as the Book of Love because I just heard about it on a sci-fi/fantasy podcast I listen to very shortly before publication and before I was familiar with Grossman's other work, and decided I might like to read it based only on the subject matter (it's an Arthurian story)... but then before I committed to dropping like $40 on this massive hardcover I decided to Get Familiar with Grossman's other work and read the Magicians trilogy and had a whole hyperfixation tangent about it (still ongoing, by the way, someone PLEASE talk to me about these books). And then went and bought The Bright Sword after all—which did not disappoint! Would also definitely recommend!!

18. How many books did you buy?

Oh God. Agh. So I actually did sit down in front of my bookshelf/assorted piles of books overflowing the shelf onto the nearby floor and go through them trying to figure out the exact answer to this question but then there were a couple where I couldn’t quite remember if I bought them this year or the previous one. Nonetheless. With some reasonable degree of certainty I can say the number is around… 21, plus or minus two or three. It’s too many! But about half of those were used and another couple were new but marked down for some reason or another, so… that makes it fine I guess?

14. What books do you want to finish before the year is over?

Another shout for Kelly Link here—I want to finish all the stories in Magic for Beginners! I’ve read about half of them at the moment. I’m also like 2 stories from the end of the Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy 2024 anthology, so I should get to finish that sometime within the next few days (assuming I get through my work at a reasonable pace…). I’m really vibing with a much larger percentage of the selection this year than I did for the last couple of years!

[end of year book asks here!]

[sinthedrinker]

Sanemi x F! Reader MDNI

The battle was over. His brother was dead. Sanemi now had no one, he had no family, he didn't even have a reason to be a swordsman anymore. He wanted to retire comfortably, but how could he when fighting was the only thing he could ever do right. He moved. Away from where demon slayer headquarters had once been to a small home several days walk away. In the mornings he would sit on his porch and watch the sun rise, and allow himself to cry. It seemed no matter how many mornings this happened, he always had more tears. Tears he had been holding in his entire life. 

One day as he did this, he heard a strange rustling noise and instinctively his hand went to the sword at his hip. He couldn't bring himself to stop carrying it for the comfort it brought him. He was surprised to see a large yellow and white dog bound towards him, it's mouth open and tongue lolling out, tail wagging furiously. 

"A.. dog?" He said, reaching out his hand as the dog approached him, barking a friendly hello as he nuzzled against Sanemi's hands. 

"Are you lost?" He asked. Around the dog's neck was a red collar with a bell and a name tag. 

"Hacchan, that you?" He asked. Hacchan barked in response. 

"Hacchan! Hacchan!!" A distinctly female voice cried as you came running up the path, chasing Hacchan who had broken away from you to chase an interesting scent. That scent had been Sanemi. 

"I'm so sorry sir!" You apologized, bowing deeply. 

"It's alright. I like dogs." Sanemi replied, scratching behind Hacchan's fuzzy ears.

"Did you just move here?" He asked, furiously wiping his face to make sure you didn't notice a single tear. 

"Yes, we did! Just down the road. Hacchan was friends with all my neighbors back then, I guess he's lonely now with just me.." You said sadly. 

"Why'd you move?" Sanemi asked. You hesitated to reply. 

"You don't gotta tell me if you don't wanna." He said, shrugging. 

"I had been engaged. My fiance imagined I was cheating on him, I wasn't, but he told everyone I did. I was shunned and we had to move." You confessed. Hacchan, sensing your sadness, came to press himself against your side. 

"He sounds like a cunt." Sanemi said simply. 

You were shocked by his vulgarity. 

"What about you? Why did you move out here?" You asked. 

"I was a swordsman. But now I guess. I'm just a man." Sanemi said. The sorrow in his voice was so heavy it made you want to cry. 

From that day forward Hacchan insisted on visiting Sanemi every morning on your walks, and you began bringing him gifts. When you made dinner in the evening you always brought him a portion the next time you saw him. If you bought tea, you bought enough to share. While Sanemi didn't seem to react one way or the other to this, it certainly didn't go unnoticed. And finally one morning when you were about to turn to continue your walk with Hacchan, he reached out and grabbed your hand. 

"Marry me." He said. It wasn't a question, more of a demand. He felt ready to begin the next chapter of his life, to take a wife, to start a family. 

You and Hacchan moved in with him shortly after. Though even after living with him for three months, he would never say he loved you and you still hadn't slept together. Finally you got fed up with this, wondering why he asked you to move in with him if he didn't intend to act like a couple with you. He was sitting on your shared futon reading and you settled yourself onto his lap. He looked up from his book, raising an eyebrow at you. 

"Sanemi, do you love me?" You asked. 

Sanemi didn't reply. He seemed to be thinking for a long time. 

"I don't know. I want to love you. I can't tell. The only people I have ever truly loved are dead. Perhaps if I let myself love you, you will die too. Or maybe, I am simply not built to love." He said, an edge of anger in his voice. You wrapped your arms around him, pressing his head against your soft chest. 

"Of course you are built for love, everyone is!" You said. Sanemi made a strange almost growl as he pushed himself away from you, tearing open your yukata. He ripped the fabric off of your shoulders, exposing your breasts and completely tearing your obi in half. You had never experienced strength like that, and you sat there stunned on his lap, almost completely exposed to him. 

"How can you say that? My hands are trained to kill demons and that's it, I'm not good at anything else, I don't know how to make them do anything else, I only know how to destroy." He said, his voice cracking under the weight of tears that wouldn't come. 

"You are made for love. You can do more than destroy." You said, quietly but sternly nonetheless. You took his hands, so much larger and rougher than yours, pressing them against your breasts. Your nipples, already hard, pressed against the palms of his hands and he groaned as he felt his cock beginning to harden. 

"You can be gentle." You said, leaning forward to kiss him as you moved his hands in slow circles on your breasts. Sanemi stared at your chest when you broke the kiss, flexing his fingers as he groped and kneaded you, pinching and twisting your nipples. 

"A-ah! Gentle!" You said. 

Sanemi grunted in reply and leaned down to take one of your nipples in his mouth, he bit it, but before you could scold him he was suckling and licking it with perfect gentleness. His hands slid the remains of your yukata off and then snaked up and down your body, rubbing your back, your arms, your hips and ass. He finally released your breast and looked up at you. 

"You're so damn soft. Squishy, warm.." He mused, hugging you so he could feel your breasts press up against his scarred chest. 

“Wanna know what you feel like in here..” he said, brushing two of his calloused fingers against your cunt. He pushed your panties aside, swirling his fingertips around your entrance.

“Already wet, huh?” he said, smirking at you. 

“Well I.. Love you a lot Nemi.. I’ve wanted to be with you for a while..” you confessed.

Sanemi looked up at you, placing a rough hand on your cheek. 

"I love you." He said. It hurt him to say it. The only people he had ever said that to were dead. You noticed how he seemed to become lost in thought, or dragged away from this moment by some painful distant memory. 

“Stay here, with me.” you said gently as you kissed him.

Sanemi tangled his fingers into your hair, kissing you deeply while he shoved two fingers into you, curling them against your g-spot roughly. You gasped and arched your back, and Sanemi held you close, pressing you to him.

"Tell me how it feels." he growled against your neck, reaching his free hand down to untie his hakama, reaching into them to stroke himself. 

"Feels good.." you managed between soft moans. 

"Your fingers are rough b-but, it feels good.."

Sanemi deftly flipped you over, pressing your legs to your chest as he kissed you gently. His body was so warm and strong, your eyes fluttered shut as you enjoyed the comfort of being so close to him, until he shoved himself into you in one hard thrust. You gasped as your eyes flew open. Sanemi fucked you slowly, painfully slowly. Dragging his cock out slow and pushing it back in all the way to your cervix. 

"N-Nemi, faster please!" you begged, holding onto his biceps tightly. 

"Faster? I thought you wanted me to be gentle." he said, his tone teasing and sarcastic. 

"Sanemi please, you feel so good-" you gasped as he picked up his pace immediately, ruthlessly pounding you into the futon. 

"You feel so fucking good baby.." he growled. 

"Tight, so warm.." he said, he grunted with practically every thrust, his eyes squeezed shut as he focused on the feeling of your slick walls around him. 

"I should've done this a long time ago.." he said, licking your neck before biting it hard. Any wish you had for him to be gentle with you was gone. 

"I-I wanted you to!" you managed, words becoming more and more difficult as your climax approached. 

"Yeah? Did you want me to just force you down and dominate this little cunt?" he asked you bit your lip, your eyes rolling back as the lewdness of his words pushed you over the edge. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to open your mouth. 

"Lemme hear you, you're gonna make me cum.." he said as he fucked you even harder, a punishing pace as you gushed around him. You were nearly screaming by now, unable to even continue holding onto his arms as your body trembled. The sight of you so completely destroyed because of him, and only him, made him finally climax. You could feel his release, his hot cum filling you up as he let out a feral growl. He stayed inside of you for a while after he finished, panting against your neck. 

"I love you." he said breathlessly, kissing your cheek gently. 

"I love you too, Nemi." you said, wrapping your arms around him and hugging him tightly. 

[nuzzy]

OKAY SO I WROTE A FANFIC !! ITS 2 828 WORDS AND IT TOOK 9 MONTHS TO WRITE (if you include the 8 months where i completely forgot it exsisted) !! AND I ALSO WROTE LIKE 1 400 WORDS THE LAST WEEK !!

Link in Teyvat, what shenanigans gonna happen?? - nuzzy - 原神 | Genshin Impact (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]

^ LINK (not that character)

actual fic below!!!! (i hope i got everything in it) (also can you tell that the first part was written around december? n before totk was released)

Aether was flying around in the Ashavan Realm looking for Rukkhashava mushrooms for Collei and the Wanderer. He had already bought some from Aramani in Vanara and 5 more from Ashpazi in Ghandara village, and while he was there he also got some from Farbod. 

“ Ugh, if I only had Tighnari right now… ” Aether thought. “... If only I had some shrooms so I could get more aquaints…“ 

Aether looked around, seeing if he saw some more shrooms. He didn't. 

“Welp, time to ‘port to Lokopala Jungle.” he sighed as he took up his map. 

As Aether clicked on the teleport button he remembered that he hadn't been in his teapot in a while, he made a mental note that after all the shrooms were taken, he would visit his friends there. And maybe he could put Collei and Scaramoose in there so they would get some friendship exp? Or are there too many people in the teapot? Or do any of ‘em have friendship 10? He has to check later. 

When Aether jumped down the cliff, releasing his paraglider in the process. In the few seconds he was in the air, he gazed around looking for the shrooms, he didn't find any, again. Maybe he had already picked them all yesterday? He didn't remember.

“Guess I have to farm some bosses...” He thought out loud with a sigh, completely forgetting the teapot plan.

“Maybe I can go to Mondstadt for some TCG?” he said to himself, he had completely forgotten about the TCG after it came out and he got jumpscared by Sucrose. 

Aether decided that it was a good idea to go to Mondstadt and talk to the people there. …And play the TCG of course. 

He took up his map again and scrolled to Mondstadt and clicked a waypoint there. Within seconds he was there, in the city of the Wind.

As he looked around in the city, he saw Jean sprinting to him.

“Oh, hello Aether,” Jean said, looking a bit nervous. “Perfect timing, we need some help and we were looking for you.

“Sure, what do you need?” Aether said.

“Come to the knights and we will talk there.” she said. 

“Well what do we need to talk about?”

“... I do not know how to explain it… also where's Paimon?”

“Eh, she's sleeping and I don't want to wake her up. She's also probably gonna sleep for a few more days anyways”

“Oh.” 

Jean and Aether walked to the Knights of Favonius building, they didn't say anything else while they walked there.

When they came there, which only took about a minute, as it was pretty close. 

“So what's the problem?” Aether asked when he walked in the building.

“Let's go to my office first.” she said as she started walking there.

When they walked into the office the first thing Aether saw was that he had not raided her office for books, and that there was an unknown boy in the room. 

“ Who was he? ” was Aethers first thought when looking at the boy, he had a blue shirt and golden blond hair. At a closer look, the blue shirt the boy was wearing had a white pattern that looked like a sword. When he focused on his face he saw that half his face was a giant scar, and one of his pointy ears, which reminded him of Klees, was completely destroyed. When he focused on his blue eyes, he saw that the boy was staring right back at him.

“This person is an outlander, like you,” Jean said while looking at the boy. “he fell down from the sky on one of the islands in the lake. We don't know how he managed to swim from there to one of the beaches with all those bruises he got from the fall.” 

“That's interesting, have you tried talking to him?”

“We have tried to, but he just looks at us with a confused look,” Jean sighed, she was way too tired to be dealing with this, she had taxes and paperwork to get through! “And before you ask, he doesn't talk either, we have tried to make him talk but he, once again, looks confused.”

“Well, what's your name?” Aether turned his attention away from Jean. The boy said nothing in return, but stared at him with a kind of confusion.

“That didn't work…” he said with a sigh. “Time for plan B!”

“You have a plan B?” Jean asked, a bit confused. “What is it?”

“I- uh, haven't gotten to that part yet.”

“Holy Barbatos…” she sighed, pinching the top of her nose, she was really tired of this. “Well what do we do now?”

“We could go out for a walk around Mondstadt and then maybe he'll talk!”

“Last time we did that he whipped out a bomb out of nowhere and almost blew up a wall, and tried to climb to the top of the cathedral.” Jean said with a disappointed look at the boy. “We were lucky that the sisters caught him in time.”

“And he didn't get put in solitary confinement?” he asked.

“Well, he was in solitary confinement for like.. two minutes, before he blew up the wall and escaped.”

“At least in the short while he was there, Klee was happy to have a friend.” Aether said. 

“I mean, that's true, but it still doesn't excuse that he blew up a wall .” she said, a bit irritated.

“Well, what are we going to do with him?” Aether said, all while looking at the boy again. “We can't exactly put him in solitary confinement again.”

“That's the problem, we can't let him go. And we shouldn't if he plans to blow up a wall again.”

Aether and Jean looked at eachother, both not knowing what to do with the boy. 

“Maybe we can teach him the language and then talk to him?” Aether said, not knowing what else to do.

“We can try, but we don't know what language he speaks.” Jean said. “So we don't know how to translate to his language.”

“Have you tried any other languages than Mond and common?” he said. “He maybe doesn't know them?”

Aether sat next to the boy and tried to make a simple conversation while switching between all of Teyvats languages to try to see if he understood any of them, unfortunately, he only got confused looks when he tried them.

“That didn't work.” Aether said. 

“Okay, but what do we do now?” Jean asked. “We have tried everything.”

“I think that probably the best thing to do is to take a walk? Maybe?” 

“Well, we can try again.” Jean sighed. “But please take him back here if he causes trouble.”

“Noted!” Aether said, as he took the boys armed and practically dragged him out the door.

When they were out of the Knights of Favonius building he tried to make some small talk, but having someone who didn't talk as a conversation partner made that the talking fastly died down.

As they walked onto the bridge, the boy took his bow out, the bow looked strange and he couldn't quite see what material it was made of, but it had weird glowing orange lights on it, nicked an arrow with a red arrow head and shot it right at Timmies pigeons. When he did that, there was a huge explosion with smoke. When the smoke cleared the pigeons were dead and the only thing that was left was fowl. 

“Nice shot dude” Aether said encouragingly, but the boy was still quiet.

“Why is everyone always shooting the pigeons?” Timmy asked angrily, Aether could see slight tears forming up in his eyes. “I'm gonna tell mom all about you!”

“I don't know man, they're very shootable.” Said Aether with a laugh as they walked away. “And your mom cant do anything about me.”

He and Aether wandered out in the wilderness, still not saying a word to each other, the silence was awkward.

They walked for maybe an hour and a half, during this time Aether had tried to make small talk multiple times but every time the boy just looked confused or ignored him. He was starting to get frustrated.

“Do you like food?” Aether asked, trying to break the silence.

The boy just looked at him confused, not seeming to understand the question. Aether sighed and opened his inventory and took out a tea-break pancake. 

“Food.” He said while pointing at the pancake. 

The boy nodded at the pancake and took a bite out of it, and got a small smile after he took it.

“Now when you're done, we can set up a tent and sleep a bit,” Aether said while starting to stand up and stretched. “Oh right, forgot you can't understand me.”

A few minutes after that “conversation”, if you can even call it that, Aether came up with a great idea. He thought that maybe he could draw an object in the sand and then the word! …But maybe he wouldnt understand the intention? 

Aether tried to push that thought away, it was going to work! Everything he does works! Even if its as stupid as challenging the shogun without remembering to lvl up his characters, or even putting artifacts on ‘em all together. Everything he does is great! He has saved multiple nations, killed a harbinger ,and fought and won against two others, he has also challenged gods, and won of course. He really was great, so why was he anxious about how this outlander thought of him? He was also an outlander, they should be able to communicate and help each other out!

“Sooooooo, you can't talk?” Aether asked, even if he felt like he had asked this 5 times already, which he probably did. “And you can't understand me either? Nod for yes and shake your head for no.” 

“...” the outlander didn't say anything, just looked up at him from eating his pancake.

“Okaaay, I forgot you wouldn't be able to understand that…” He said, feeling incredibly stupid for just confirming the obvious. “Soooooo, food, am I right?”

The boy looked at his pancake, and then pointed at it, slightly confused.

“Yes yes! That's food!” Aether said in excitement, while doing a thumbs up to show that it was indeed food. “Okay so we're getting somewhere! You can understand food, atleast! ”

“...” he looked up at him, face returning to a neutral expression. 

“Ahh, it seems like we still have some more stuff to get through before we can fully understand each other…” 

“.......” The boy started putting away the plate the pancake was on, then started standing up, all while maintaining eye contact.

“Okay… do you want to do something?” Aether was confused about just what the boy was doing. 

He watched as the boy threw some firewood onto the ground, then pulled out his bow and knocked an orange arrow with a flame tip, “ It's probably a fire arrow. ” Aether thought. When the arrow was inevitably fired and hit the wood, when it hit a small cloud of fire was there, for probably less than a second. The wood immediately fell into a triangle shape and started burning. Once it had burned for a few seconds the boy, who Aether realised he needed a better name in his head for, pulled out a few apples and put them on the fire.

“Whatcha doing?” Aether wondered out loud, but of course there was no reply.

He said nothing in return, just held out his hands, as if to say “ wait and you'll see ”. After a few more seconds of the apples were baked, or grilled, Common Teyvat really was confusing. He hurriedly picked them up and held one out to him.

After a few seconds of staring at the apple he took it, only hearing a few mutters from the boy. He thought he could hear something that was similar to the words “baked apple” but not really the same, the sound of the ‘a’ in the apple was off, like if you somehow merged a and e into one letter. It was strange, but maybe it was another language that's similar? 

“Okaaay, sooo that's an …. apple?” he said with half an apple in his mouth.

No response. 

They just stared at each other, it felt like minutes, but it was probably just a few seconds. A few very awkward seconds.

“......wha?” a pretty hoarse voice came from his mouth, with a heavy country accent, Aether thought that it matched Xinyans accent a bit, but with slight variations on pronunciation.

“OH SHIT HE CAN TALK?!?” Aether exclaimed, not expecting him to talk.

The boy mumbled something under his breath, something about that he shouldn't have said anything and just continued the act.

“So we can actually have a conversation now!” Aether said. “And what's your name? I can't keep calling you ‘boy’ in my head.”

“.... I am actually onehundred- and-seventeen…” he said, voice still hoarse, probably from disuse.

“WHAT,” Aether exclaimed, surprised by that age. “HUMANS DON'T LOOK LIKE THAT WHEN THEY ARE THAT OLD????”

“......what's a human??...” he asked, in pure confusion. 

“.. You don't know what a human is?” 

“... no? …” 

“Well, a human is what people are here.” he said, fumbling on his words because he had no idea he was going to explain humans to someone who apparently was an outlander like him. “except for maybe Klee, Albedo, … Diona too I guess.”

“... I don't know who any of those people are…” 

“I heard Klee was the child you were stuck in solitary confinement with,” he said. “until you blew up a wall.”

“... oh, right I forgot I did that…”

“Also if you're not a human, what are you then?”

“... I'm a Hylian?..." He said, slightly confused. 

“Well, what's that? I've never heard of it before.” he was really confused as to what a ‘hylian’ was.

“... I'm guessing it's similar to a human? But we’re kinda blessed by the goddess so our ears are long with magic stuff,” he explained. “I'm also guessing that humans aren't blessed by goddesses because their ears are so short…”

“Oh so you have a goddess?” 

“... yeah we have one, or it's actually four but Hylia is the main one that actually answers most of the time…” his expression changed a bit, Aether didn't really know if it was a positive or negative change because his expressions were really hard to decode. “like or at least she is supposed to, but she like, only talks to me most of the time, dunno why. She also ignores Zelda!”

“...What a nice goddess you have.”

“... yeah right! Zeldas is like her descendant too so it makes less sense with that!”

“What??” 

“... Yeah! Like way over 10 000 years ago, after the kingdom was founded again by ‘divine beings from the sky’ that made some … bond or something with the hylians?” 

“Wait wait, who did what and why are you telling me this?” 

“... I dunno to be honest, I just need someone to rant to, like a lot of stuff has happened to me and this kingdom.” 

“Well, take it from the start.”

“The start start or the start of the kingdom? Also I don't know all of the details because I have amnesia and forgot literally everything, Zelda has been trying to reteach me stuff but history is hard.”

“Let's take this from the start start,” Aether was surprised that this stranger had been willing to open up so easily, like this guy was rambling about everything, to a stranger. He didn't even want to speak five minutes ago! “Wait, you have amnesia?”

“Yea, yea, but that's not important right now,” he waved with his hands as if it didn't matter, his voice also getting more strained with each passing word, Aether was starting to get worried that he would get so hoarse he couldn't talk. “Okay so, it starts with the three golden goddesses who create the world and all that stuff, and they also create the triforce, which consists of three parts, power, courage and wisdom.”

“Why just those three things?”

“Take that up with the goddesses will you.” he let out a laugh. “So I hold the triforce of Courage, Zelda holds the wisdom one and some dude named Ganondorf holds the power one. Apparently Ganondorf is evil and stuff.”

“So you're… like chosen by the goddess?”

“Yeah yeah-” his ramblings was broken by him coughing a few times. How often does this guy talk actually? His voice was already raspy and hoarse from the start, and he faked not being able to understand him. He probably needed to at least know his name before his voice gave out. “And that is the basics of the goddess stuff.”

“Okay I realised I haven't asked for your name yet?” Aether asked as he realised he zoned out during his explanation.

“... "It's Link.” 

“Well I am Aether, I'm glad to finally know your name.”

/

is it cringe? yes

did i probably write everyone out of character? yes

am I GOSH DARNIT PROUD OF THIS?? YOU BETTER BELIVE ITS YES