#i say Kinder SURPRISE EGGS

[hundredpoundsofsassyandunstable]

I will never, and do quote me on this, never, forgive society for destroying kinder surprise eggs.

[gayarograce]

god every time i read a post about an american who says or does something just... really fucking stupid when in a foreign country i feel the need to apologize on behalf of the rest of my country like i promise we're not all this stupid😭😭😭

[maxriss]

✮⋆˙ FOR THE LOVE OF KINDER MAXIS — LN4

College!Lando Norris x Reader / library

Syn. Lando Norris has been sneaking you some sweet treats begging you please to answer his one question — will you go out with him?

It was the morning of a Tuesday, I had a family law class followed by a penology class for the day before getting a break. It was just one of those days where life seemed to be giving me a break from the constant noise and cha—

“Hey love, miss me?” Lando Norris breezed past me, turning around to leave me with a wink. The crinkling of the plastic in my hand suffocated as my grip tightened over the treat he pushed into my palms.

Kinder Maxi.

From across the hall, Lando watched with barely concealed anticipation. “Would you smile this time? Would you—” I stuffed the Kinder Maxi into my pocket without even looking at the note. He groaned, smacking his forehead against the locker. This is getting ridiculous. My smile remained hidden behind my pursed lips.

It’s been the same since last month really, Lando surprised me with kinder maxis everywhere I could least expect it.

It started with the barrage of kinder maxis falling over from my locker with a note —

“U up for dinner? - LN”

Which I crumpled and pocketed with a small smile. Counting the 4 chocolates and looking around finding Lando a few metres away leaning against the pole looking at me. What a sly chap.

The next kinder maxi was on my laptop which I’d left in the library to go get some water. Attached with a note again —

“U can’t ignore me forever. Say yes? — LN”

I sighed at his antics. Although undeniably enjoying watching him deadpan seeing me simply bagging the chocolate and the note. It was cute.

The third kinder maxi hit home. Lando placed it outside my dorm door having knocked and dashed.

“I swear I’m not a stalker. Just very determined. - LN”

My roommate found it hilarious. I found it cute. Again.

Since then it has been bags of kinder maxis — sometimes he’ll even throw in a kinder egg — for me to find them scattered across the area of my existence. He would sneak them into my tote or have them neatly placed on my designated desk or on the hood of my car or in one of my gym shoes or on my doorstep after having rung the bell and run off or throwing it through my window.

My favourite happened to be when he would get slightly frustrated and come up to me himself, hand stretched out with a lone kinder maxi with the same words he’d write on the note he’d stick to the chocolate — will you go out with me?

It’d always end up with me grabbing the chocolate and taking a bite out of it while smiling at Lando from wherever he peeks — and he always does — at me. Leaving him confused. His nose scrunched up comically leaving me in a fit with chocolate down my throat.

This Tuesday tho, after having pocketed the chocolate and left Lando flabbergasted yet again, I skipped to my lecture as the bell rang. I had a sweet treat up my sleeve today as well. I reached the class spotting a kinder maxi on my desk again. How much money does this guy have, I thought to myself. These things weren’t inexpensive. However, I happily grabbed it ripping the cover off as I read the note.

“For the love of kinder maxis woman. I know you like these chocolates. Might as well like the delivery guy. — LN”

What a cute guy.

The bell rang again finishing the lecture, I was up in no time rushing to penology. The lecture I shared with Lando. Opening the door I found him hunched over his desk in a green hoodie, hands at the back of his head as talked away with Max. His laugh was so cute to my ears that I felt like melting right away. Especially when he says “Uh huh”

Lord I’m definitely not your strongest soldier.

Max saw me and nudged Lando who glanced at me as he sat straighter looking at me with hopeful eyes. I decided to sit right next to him today. Surprised the lad. Before he could say anything the professor came in. The poor guy spent the entire lecture shocked and happy. Restlessly fidgeting staring at me and playing with the drawstrings of his hoodie.

It was like watching a puppy trying not to be excited.

The bell rang soon enough and Lando was quick to turn to me. I placed a kinder maxi in front of him this time. He gawked at the chocolate and then at me. He looked up again — his beautiful eyes searching mine. I looked up at him with my face resting on my palms.

Staring at him freely this time letting the smile I would bite on show. Hoping my eyes would say everything I was dying to show him. I beckoned at the chocolate with my jaw pointing at the pink little note I had stuck to it.

Lando slowly reached for it, still not believing this was happening. Picking the note —

“Fine, you win. But only because my self-control crumbled faster than a Kinder Maxi in my hands. Pick me up at 7, loverboy. — Y/N”

Before Lando could react, I closed the distance between us, kissing his cheek as gently as I could — my hands cupping his jaw. Lando was too flabbergasted to respond. He turned his head towards me. A bashful smile adorned his face.

“The kinder maxis are fucking magic.”

reblog and follow <3 all rights reserved ©maxriss please do not copy, save, or translate my stories. this is no place for hate and violence, kindly maintain love and peace.

[tkingfisher]

I have had a WEEK.

First Hound got into some chocolate. Ok, this happens to dogs all the time, it’s not baking chocolate, and I know perfectly well that it is not INSTADEATH. Online calculators by weight are like “Yeah, that’s nothin’.” This dog has eaten rotten toads, hardback books, cigarettes…she is a canine garbage disposal. She has also never been sick a day in her life.

Then she starts eating grass. Except Hound does not know what grass is, so she is just in the garden tearing off Random Leaves. I end up chasing her around going “That’s an elm! That’s sticky germander! That’s a rare Himalayan salvia! What are you DOING?!”

Obviously this happens at one AM. Because of course it does.

Then finally she makes a noise like a murloc having an orgasm and all the plants come back up.

Fine, I think. That’s that. Nature takes its course.

Which just proves that I am, in fact, staggeringly naive. The next morning, Hound is breathing shallowly and lethargic. We drive her to the vet school ER an hour away. We explain about the plants and the chocolate and the murloc noises to a nice young vet with a manbun who looks about fifteen years old. They take Hound back, and discover Hound is having severe arrhythmia. Which is a chocolate toxicity symptom. Except we all agree that the quantity she got hold of absolute should not have done that, but hey, maybe she has developed an unexpected sensitivity. They keep her overnight. I leave a large deposit on my credit card. We drive an hour home.

The next day I come pick her up. A nice vet who actually looks old enough to drink gives me a list of symptoms to watch out for, including extreme lethargy. They give me back some of the deposit. Hound comes home.

The next morning, she is extremely lethargic and furthermore, Not Eating.

In a hound, loss of appetite generally happens several hours after all clinical signs of life are extinguished. I drive her an hour to the ER. A nice vet who appears twelve says her heart is working perfectly fine, and suggests pancreatitis. Let’s do an ultrasound. Err…in a few hours, they’re kind of slammed. I go to a coffee shop and attempt to work.

The ultrasound fails because they can’t see around Hound’s stomach, which is enormously swollen. They do an X-ray. There is something weird in there. Foreign body, it looks like. Not blocking anything, just sitting there. “Foamy mass” is the term being used. It has air bubbles. Chocolate wrapper? Weird mass of leaves? (Oh god, was she eating frog eggs out of the pond again?) The vet decides to induce vomiting to get the prize out of this particular canine Kinder Egg. I sit in the waiting room and attempt to work.

An hour and a half later, the vet comes out and says, in awestruck tones, that they have given Hound two doses of their strongest emetic and she will not vomit. “This dog has an iron stomach!” she says. I explain about the toad and the cigarettes. She asks if they were at the same time. (They were not.) Hound stays overnight. I leave a second, larger deposit on my credit card. I drive an hour home.

The next day, the vet calls me, says “So I wanted to give you an update—oh crap! STAT TRIAGE! I’ll call you back!” and hangs up. Some hours later, she calls me back. No, the foamy thing is still there. Stomach is less swollen, though. They’re still hoping she passes it. By the way, did I know Hound has erhlichiosis? I did not, but at this point, nothing surprises me. Hound stays overnight again.

The next day, Hound is transferred to Internal Medicine. Her protein levels are weird, but she is not retaining fluid. (Yay?) If the weird foamy mass is not gone, they will have to perform surgery tomorrow. I leave a third, even larger deposit over the phone. Hound stays overnight again.

The next day, a new vet, of indeterminate age, but with a strong desire to make sure that I understand every single aspect of every single test begins explaining to me about blood protein levels and that they need to do a targeted ultrasound to make sure she doesn’t have a GI bleed. I am so deep in the hole at this point that I’m just like “Yeah, whatever, do it.” Hound stays overnight again.

He calls the next day to say that she has no bleed and no pancreatitis. What about the foamy mass?

What foamy mass?

The…the one that was…I saw the X-rays…?

Well, there’s nothing there now. Maybe she passed whatever it was. No blockages anywhere. They went over her innards with a fine toothed comb. She’s eating like a horse, incidentally. Would I like to take her home tomorrow?

I drive an hour. I get Hound. The vet’s working theory is an erhlichiosis flare-up brought on by chocolate shock. She gets antibiotics, anti-nausea meds, and special bland food in case her appetite decreases. I receive a tiny amount back on my deposit. We drive an hour home.

Hound, cognizant of her delicate digestive state, immediately attempts to break into the litterbox and eat cat poop. I deliver a lengthy lecture on the evils of dumpster diving. Hound gazes at me with great earnestness, then belches gently in my face. Learning happens to other people, not Hound.

The face of a canine garbage disposal who cost me more than my first car

[calware]

homestuck tumblr dashboard simulator PART 2 (warning: not screen-reader or light mode friendly)

s-descendmp3  🔁  t3r3z1owns  Follow

🐍 neverreadthecomic

good morning everyone it’s hal orb haturday

#inventing new days of the week now i guess

Because you follow #homestuck

🌸 talentedartist  Follow

One of the drawings i made back when i was a homestuck fan. Don’t judge me for my past please

#Homestuck #PLEASE I’M NOT LIKE THIS ANYMORE I SWEAR #Don’t take this as me saying that Homestuck is good. You shouldn’t read it it’s not worth it

unabletoexitabode  🔁  everyonein-theoven  Follow

🍳 everyonein-theoven

What if we lived in a world where people could like homestuck and be normal about it

#sounds unrealistic

sburbanypercent  🔁  homestuck-lover5  

🚈 homestuck-lover5

hi guys i just want to say that i find june as a trans girl to be a really interesting exploration of her character through a transfeminine lens and adds a new layer of dimension that fans can expand on with their own interpretation of the preexisting character

🌌 john3ggdork  Follow

omg me too i love egbert because theyre like trans in all directions. like they can be transmasc and transfem at the same time. boy? girl? they make equal sense within the framework of the story! and if theyre genderfluid? a great compromise that makes everyone happy <3

🫧 sussy-shrimp  Follow

What happened to the other 4 homestuck lovers?

🚈 homestuck-lover5

hello? can anyone hear me? it’s so dark in here

midnight-crouton  🔁  mr-mango-jr  Follow

🪩 midnight-crouton

carapacian fans are the most oppressed members of the homestuck fandom

🦎 kinder-eggs-surprise  Follow

please, you think you have it rough? most people in the fandom can’t even name all the members of the felt without referencing the wiki. at least they know the names of the carapacians 

🥭 mr-mango-jr  Follow

Guys… We shouldn’t fight. Our only path to victory… is through solidarity! We need to work together!

🦎 kinder-eggs-surprise  Follow

you know what, you’re right. I love you mr mango jr.

🥭 mr-mango-jr  Follow

I love you too

🦎 kinder-eggs-surprise  Follow

Do you want to run away into the sunset with me… forever by my side?

🥭 mr-mango-jr Follow

To be frank… I don’t know if I’m ready for this kind of commitment. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to trust someone this way. But… I want to take this chance… for you…

🪩 midnight-crouton

hey what’s happening on my post

everyonein-theoven 🔁  burgergirltakeout  

🍔 burgergirltakeout

me: if we are to take the sword imagery to be the phallic symbol that it is (and by extension dave's habit of breaking swords to be representative of emasculation) then we can only infer that dave would be a bottom because if she tops then her dick would snap in ha-

sigmund freud, who i've kidnapped and locked in a basement: you said we went to the moon?

me: yes but that's not important. anyway, as i was saying,

freud: the moon? in the fucking sky?

#i hope the inclusion of freud in this post properly signals to everyone that this is a joke post and not a 100% serious train of thought # <- prev tags #no you're right. and you should say it. don't be afraid to speak the truth

[blues824]

Reader with the first year having friendship love? like they could flirt or call each other a 'slut' or whatever and just laugh about, not having any romantic feelings!

Let’s play a little “Bro’s the Type”, shall we?

Ace Trappola

Bro’s the type to respond positively to being called ‘slut’

Bro’s the type to call you ‘hoe’ in response

Bro’s the type you call at 1 am just to annoy

Bro’s the type to call you in the morning to say “What up baby?” in the raspy morning voice just to make you laugh

Bro’s the type to quote different Magicam memes with you

Bro’s the type to have a ‘girly middle school’ sleepover with you just because

Bro’s the type to pull pranks on you at every single chance he gets

Bro’s the type to egg your ex’s house/dorm if the douche canoe cheats on you

Bro’s the type to send you memes even if you are both in class

Bro’s the type to give you a look of panic when you have a test, but that panic doubles when you’re giving him the same exact look

Deuce Spade

Bro’s the type to not react positively to being called ‘slut’

Bro’s the type to not come up with a nickname for you and just call you by your name

Bro’s the type to be there for you

Bro’s the type you would call in the case that there’s a creep

Bro’s the type who you could put down as a reference to anything

Bro’s the type to try and help you on homework, but not know what the fuck he’s talking about

Bro’s the type to not let you do all the work but rather divide it evenly

Bro’s the type to consult you whenever he’s uncertain about something (PTSD from the egg situation)

Bro’s the type to leave you on delivered for hours and even days on-end

Bro’s the type to say ‘oops. didn’t see this until now’ as an apology smh

Jack Howl

Bro’s the type to not react at all to being called ‘slut’

Bro’s the type to roll his eyes at any corny pun you throw at him

Bro’s the type to partner up with you if you want to start working out and exercising and hold you accountable

Bro’s the type to be a gym bro

Bro’s the type to push you far so you can discover your true potential

Bro’s the type to actually accidentally leave you on delivered, and has a valid excuse

Bro’s the type you call when you can’t sleep and he’ll tell you a story about his siblings

Bro’s the type to text you before he puts his phone on silent

Bro’s the type to roll his eyes when he sees that he still has 69 missed calls and 420 unread texts from you

Bro’s the type to prefer texts rather than calls

Epel Felmier

Bro’s the type to shout at you when you do something stupid

Bro’s the type to scratch the back of his neck when he does something stupid

Bro’s the type to throw hands when you call him ‘shawty’

Bro’s the type to throw hands that you can’t catch when you show up to his dorm and say ‘SURPRISE SHAWTY’

Bro’s the type to do the late-night workouts to try and get stronger and taller

Bro’s the type to try and prank you

Bro’s the type to fail in pranking you, and scream when you rat him out to Vil just for trying to prank you

Bro’s the type to let out his Southern drawl around you because he’s comfortable

Bro’s the type to ask you to help him reach a balance between masculine and feminine because Pomefiore has made its impression on him

Bro’s the type to ask you ‘if I was a worm, would you still be my friend?’

Ortho Shroud

Bro’s the type to act like a kinder younger brother

Bro’s the type to watch Big Hero 6 with you and take inspiration from Baymax

Bro’s the type to go around waiting for you to get hurt just to ask you to rate your pain on a 1-10 scale

Bro’s the type to be confused when you say ‘I like the pain’

Bro’s the type to research memes so he can understand what you’re saying

Bro’s the type to help you with your homework, but not give you the answers

Bro’s the type to try and recruit you in a huge plot to try and get his older brother to walk outside for an hour at least

Bro’s the type to not be surprised when you end up chucking Idia outside and yelling ‘THIS BITCH EMPTY. YEET’

Bro’s the type to ask Idia ‘how would you rate your pain’

Bro’s the type to greet you with a ‘smile’

Sebek Zigvolt

Bro’s the type to yell at you for calling him ‘slut’

Bro’s the type to yell at you in general

Bro’s the type to not know how to be a good friend

Bro’s the type you have to teach about friendship because he has dedicated his entire life to worshiping Malleus and therefore never had the time for normal friendships

Bro’s the type to ditch you for Malleus

Bro’s the type to leave you on read, and for days at a time

Bro’s the type to have the Twisted Wonderland equivalent of an Android (no hate, it’s just that blue>green in my not-so-humble opinion)

Bro’s the type to not see the problem with the green text messages

Bro’s the type to yell at you for being unprofessional when you were ‘flirting’ (platonically) with him

And finally, bro’s the type to really cherish your friendship, even if it doesn’t seem like it.

[therobotmonster]

Let's talk about Toys in Cereal

This is a part of several posts of mine that have gotten big, but I figure it's best to address the phenomenon itself in a new post.

If you want to just browse a ton of cool old cereal toys once we're done, go to: www.cratercritters.com. It's a neat site.

Cereal toys are a long-standing American tradition. Some tag-questions asked if they went away because of greed or because of regulations, and that's complicated.

There are food regulations that complicate things. You may have heard that Kinder Eggs are not legal in the US.

This is usually framed as a "fear the stupid American Kids will eat the toy" kind of thing. This is not the case.

The actual regulation that blocks the Kinder Egg is about food safety from bacterial and undisclosed allergen contamination. Inserting a baggie with a toy into that exposes everything in the cereal bag to the outside of the toy package, and that's a no-no in the US market. The rare thing we're more strict about than the EU.

But that doesn't affect cereal toys, because they can get around it by having it in a separate package outside the food bag, between the inner back and the cardboard box. Much easier on the parents to find when you open the box, too.

Kinder has, themselves, addressed the US Kinder Egg problem the same way, with the Kinder Joy.

Splitting the package. into two sections that are individually sealed.

But a big blow to the practice was the end of the Australian R&L Toy Company.

R&L made tons of simple pack-in Premium toys from the 60s through the 80s. They were the primary supplier to Kelloggs, and made everything from simple one-piece figurines to little build-yourself-action-toys.

For instance, these "Wacky Walkers" worked by tying a string to the figure and the weight, then dropping the weight off a table. The figures would hobble forward on their feet, pulled by the weight. Neat-o!

Then there's stuff like these Toolybirds. I'd sell any one of you to the goblin king for a set of these, because I sure can't afford them at $25 apiece or more. I'll probably just make some dinosaur-knockoff version or somesuch to 3d print, eventually.

R&L went out of business in the 80s and its molds were sold to a toy manufacturing company in Mexico that produced their stuff as bag toys for awhile, before everything just faded away.

Meanwhile, the cereal market was forced to contract elsewhere without a devoted company doing essentially just that.

Liscenses came to the rescue. Fun fact, if you wanted toys from most of the Disney Afternoon, your only hope was Kellogg's.

As time went on, you started even getting software in cereal.

Chex gave out a free, PG-version of DOOM for free. Not a couple of demo levels, a whole game, run on the doom engine, with aliens you zap with a spoon.

But as time went on, companies got less and less into the idea of enticing with freebies, and parents started objecting to the marketing of sugar cereals with toy surprises, because given the opportunity, most parents will blame the company for making something the kid wants for their unwillingness to say "No."

The eternal conflict:

Cool thing the kid would enjoy that you might have to put your foot down over because enforcing moderation is a parent's job, verses unobjectionable conformist mush designed to increase your kids' "goodness levels."

I think the banning of cartoon mascots for snacks in certain countries is also ridiculous.

Thing is, any company could bring them back at any time.

The Monster cereals did figurines of their mascots in cosplay in 2021. Of course, they did it as a limited edition bullshit thing where the actual monster cereal mascots were chase figures, but they made them, they could do them at any time if they wanted to.

They could bring the magic back. Nothing is stopping them.

'cept there's no room for joy on the spreadsheet.

Gotta hit you with a little ennui. It's that ambergris stink that makes the perfume truly sweet.

[dino-boyo-agere]

I send a birthday present to my lovely sibby @ourson-polaire!!

Tummy Dolphin, a dolphin plush I up cycled to hold a heating cushion, as well as a scented sack. The vanilla scented sacks are in the plastic bag - also handmade.

Friendship/ sibby bracelet. Mine says cub and us in my favorite color 💚 and it's says Nate and is in his favorite color 💙.

Badger plush, dolphin plush, mini whale plush and a polar bear finger puppet.

Many little trinkets! A dolphin water pistol, a dolphin fidget toy, a little robot cat toy, a little dog figurine and three kinder egg surprises (Orca, blue whale and Beluga)

Vanilla cupcake scented candle.

Fishie snacks.

I'm really happy you liked ur gift!! I love you, Cub!!! <3

[kindercelery]

Can u keep hating on twink richard

MAAM YES MAAM!!! (Rant below 😖😖)

My name is Kinder S. E. (Surprise Egg) Celery, and I went to Hater University and got my degree in Professional Hating, where I went on and got my degree in Hating When Historical Figures Are Misrepresented! And let me say this, I HATE ROTRK RICHARD!!!! I can say for certain, Richard was NOT a twink, he was NOT emo, and he was NOT a hermaphrodite.

The way the ROTRK fandom, manga, and anime, portray Richard PISSES ME OFF!!! It is highly disrespectful to Richard and his legacy, and as far as I’m concerned, Richard did not die for this. He did not get his ass kicked at the battle of Bosworth (and later his ass stabbed iykyk) just for this. I hate ROTRK, I hate Bungo, and I commend the person who made Eikou no Napoleon and War and Peace because they look MAGNIFICENT!!! I barely know a damn thing about the Napoleonic Era, but they look WONDERFUL!!!!

[mariaofdoranelle]

Look at Us Now - Easter Outtake

Fic masterlist

HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY TO LAUN!!

SURPRISE!! I’m late to my own party, and I 100% apologize for that

But!

I can’t believe LAUN is a year old already 🥹🥹 they grow up so fast!! I don’t think an Easter celebration is canon compliant at all, but I couldn’t let the opportunity slip away when LAUN’s 1st anniversary came right on Easter 🥹🥹🥹 I’m so emotional 🥹

I’m also aware that not everyone here celebrates Easter, but honestly this was just an excuse to write fluff and chocolate gift-giving. I hope everyone finds a way to enjoy it!

And I feel like we all deserve a post-epilogue glimpse after an entire year of these two idiots heheheh

Warnings: cranky teenager Maisie, sibling fights (lots)

Words: 3k

Every time Aelin mocked Rowan for spoiling their kids too much, it completely lacked the awareness that she was the one he spoiled the most.

Or at least that was on Maisie’s mind as she strolled down the supermarket’s aisles with her little brother, because Mom wrote in the family group chat that she wanted pasta for dinner, so Dad asked Maisie to buy the ingredients after school.

“Finn,” she called her unrequited companion, “do you remember which olive oil Dad likes?”

“Uh…” The boy hesitated without taking his eyes off his Nintendo Switch. “I dunno, that green one?”

Maisie slapped her brother’s forearm with the back of her hand. “Are you being for real right now?”

Startled, the boy raised his head to see row after row of different green bottles of olive oil. They all looked exactly the same, but she knew better than to grab the first one they saw, knowing how fussy her dad could be sometimes.

“Gods! Just call him—that’s why you have a fucking phone,” Finn said while rubbing off the sting on his forearm.

Maisie rolled her eyes. “I’ll tell him you dropped a F-bomb.”

“And I’ll tell him you slapped me.”

“He’d be on your side,” she said while texting Rowan about the olive oil. “You’re so much shorter than me—he’d say it’s not a fair fight.”

“Take it back!” He ran towards Maisie for a second, since she was on her way to get tomatoes now. “When I get taller than Uncle Lorcan, you’ll wish you were less mean to me.”

Well, that would be a problem for future Maisie. At ten years old, Finn was so short, taunting him about it was almost too easy.

“Yeah, whatever.” She tapped her brother’s shoulder and pointed at another direction. “Go get the parmesan cheese.”

Finn turned to leave, but swung back to her. “Can we have ice cream later?”

Ice cream that she would have to pay, because she couldn’t report to the parental unit about illicit ice cream before dinner, let alone request a refund.

“Fine, just—“

“Alright! I’m there!”

Ever since Maisie got her first job, her brother started acting as if she was a millionaire. Sometimes, she wondered if he believed that her salary was the same as their parents’, which would be highly inaccurate. Despite the age gap, her parents never asked Maisie to act in any way that resembled a parental role—still, she liked to treat her siblings once in a while, give their jobless selves a taste of freedom, let them see what it’s like to have ice cream before dinner just because you can.

Before she knew it, he was back with the cheese.

“Can you buy me that Kinder Easter egg?” He pointed at a cardboard display filled with them. “The one with the dinosaur.”

Maisie narrowed her eyes on Finn. “You told Mom you wanted another one.”

“Yeah, because she only let me pick one.”

Her eyebrows shot when she came closer and saw the price tag. “Hell, no. I’d rather pay for a new haircut.”

“Hey!” Finn protested, running a hand through his newly cut hair. “Mom said she likes it!”

“You look ridiculous.”

“I’m so gonna tell her you said that.”

“Do it. Deep down, she agrees with me.”

˜˜

When she arrived, the house was calmer than usual.

“You aren’t magic!” Eamon shouted to his smirking, completely unfazed sister. “You’re not!”

Maisie walked past them towards the kitchen, where her dad prepped dinner as if the twins weren’t about to rip each other’s heads off in the living room.

“Hey, Maisy Daisy,” he called without looking away from the onion he was chopping. “Did you get everything?”

She put the bags on the counter as an answer, then her dad kissed the crown of her head in thanks and promised to repay her later.

Things didn’t seem to progress at all in the living room—actually, they did, if one could count Eamon getting angrier as progress.

“You don’t fly! You don’t control fire! You don’t teleport!”

Enid giggled. “I know how, I just don’t want to.”

“NO! YOU CAN’T!”

Maisie cut in, “I mean, she could.”

That made the boy stop and narrow his eyes on her, begrudgingly hanging on to whatever she was about to say. Since she was more than twice the twins’ age and the wisest of them all, sometimes her siblings actually listened to something Maisie said.

“I mean…” she shrugged. “We don’t know where you two came from, so maybe she really does have magic.”

Enid crossed her arms. “What do you mean?”

“FINN!” Maisie shouted and waited a moment for her brother to come out of his room. “Do you remember when we found Enid and Eamon in the trash?”

“That’s a lie!” Her ever-so-cool little sister yelled, her green eyes welling up.

“Oh, yeah.” Finn said after taking a moment to process the information, acting nonchalant—if he laughed, it was game over. “That day was wild.”

Eamon stood frozen in shock, while Enid bellowed an ear-shattering cry.

“Maisie! Finn!” Rowan yelled from the kitchen. “Stop telling your siblings we found them in the trash!”

“But they need to know the truth!” Maisie shouted back, wondering if her dad heard her over Enid’s cries.

“What on Earth is going on here?” Her Mom showed up, wrapped in a towel with her hair wet.

Eamon ran to hug Aelin’s middle, his eyes teary. “Are you not my mommy?”

Maisie rolled her eyes. Mama’s boy.

“Of course I am, honey.” She frowned. “What’s going on?”

With a sigh, Dad was finally able to join the rest in the living room. “Finn and Maisie told the twins they’re adopted.”

Aelin sent them her classic Are you kidding me? mom look, as if Maisie was to blame, then proceeded to soothe the seven-year-olds.

If they fell for it, it was their fault for being stupid. There’s a picture of Dad as a kid on Grandma Rory’s hallway from when he was Eamon’s age, and they look like the same person in there.

“The only one adopted here was Fleetfoot,” Dad said.

“No, she’s not. I gave birth to her.” Mom sent him a mischievous look. “I went into labor for her.”

“Um—“ Maisie cleared her throat. “Fleetfoot’s mine.”

Dad sent Mom an apologetic smile. “She really is Maisie’s.”

“I want a dog too!” Enid cut in.

“Yeah, me too!” Finn joined.

Maisie hummed. “We could give them a country name…”

“Like Eyllwe,” Eamon said.

Rowan’s eyes widened. “No! Fleetfoot’s everyone’s,” he said, completely contradicting himself after the threat of more poop for him to clean.

˜˜

From the looks of it, dinner would be ready on time for breakfast.

To be fair, her dad was never late to finish dinner, but his desire to make this a special one and the boiling tomatoes in order to make the sauce from scratch led to this.

It was kinda cute, how Dad conjured something special out of thin air just because his wife hinted that she was feeling like it over text while they were at work.

Maisie saw a glimpse of her parents canoodling in the kitchen on her way to her bedroom, but almost ran to the toilet instead. They were so adorably disgusting, all that love made her want to throw up.

Her parents were no better than any PDA-addicted straight couple she saw at school, except that while the average high schooler couple lasted about three months, her parents have been at it for a little over a decade.

At least, a light peck was the furthest they got in front of their kids—or ever. For all Maisie knew, she and her three siblings came from artificial insemination.

A savior from her thoughts, Finn knocked on the door.

“We need to talk,” he said, looking crestfallen.

“C’mere.”

Maisie sat on the side of her bed, and tapped the free space beside her for him to sit. Instead, he sat on her lap. Weird.

She was about to ask him what was going on when a low, rumbling sound coming from him filled the air.

The little bitch had just farted on her.

Finn ran away, giggling, while Maisie screamed the most irate shriek ever known to man.

He locked himself in his bedroom, but her quickened pulse only energized her, aiding tense upper arms to pound against his door.

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU,” Maisie shouted at her hiding brother.

He’d get out sometime, and when he did, she’d be there.

On the kitchen’s threshold, Aelin peeked her head into the hallway. “What’s going on here?”

The teenager slowly turned to her mom, jaw tight, and seethed, “Why. Was. He. Born?”

With a sigh that came deep from her soul, Aelin fully stepped into the hallway. “What did your brother do now?”

Maisie pointed at her closed bedroom door. “Smell it!”

Her mom stepped in and out of the bedroom, coughing. “Gods, Finn!”

In a feeble attempt to fix the situation, Aelin opened Maisie’s bedroom’s window and sprayed some air freshener inside—one hand on the bottle, another clamping her nose. Still, the girl didn’t trust to go back into her room for the next hour or so.

Aelin knocked on Finn’s door twice to get his attention. “That was way too stinky, honey, I’m cutting off some of your junk food!”

“Come on!” he complained from the other side of the door.

Too bad Finn couldn’t see her triumphant smirk. It’d rile him up beautifully.

Two taps to her shoulder. “Dinner’s almost ready. Come help me set the table.”

“What was that?” Dad asked when Mom got back to the kitchen, focused on the stove.

“Finn farted in Maisie's room and she threatened his life.”

“Oh,” was all he said, mixing something on the tomato sauce.

She desperately needed to meet whoever taught her parents how to live this peacefully amidst chaos.

“On my room? He farted on me.” She flailed her arms, trying to explain her brother’s audacity. “He sat on my lap, his butt to my thigh, and farted.”

Aelin snorted. “I told you the kids shouldn’t spend that much time with Aedion.”

Rowan’s eyes lit up. “You did tell me some awfully similar stories from when you were younger.”

After the table was set, Mom was back to her occasional glass of wine, and all was left to do was her dad’s finishing touches to dinner.

Maisie cleared her throat. “I was thinking…”

Her dad immediately turned around and pointed a spoon at her. “If it’s about that party, don’t bother.”

“Not a party!”

“Money, then.” Aelin smirked behind her glass of wine.

The girl crossed her arms. Her mom’s grin turned smug.

Maisie groaned. “Fine! But it’s good, I promise.”

“Go on,” Rowan said.

“I want to buy Easter eggs for Finn and the twins, but I can’t afford the cool ones.”

“Aw, honey, that’s so sweet.” Her mom melted right on spot. “I’m sorry we can’t help you with that.”

Maisie’s face fell. “What.”

Even her dad seemed a little confused, though he tried to hide it.

Aelin sat straighter to explain, “You see, if we help you with this, your siblings will ask to do the same, and it wouldn’t be fair to say no to them after…”

Maisie rolled her eyes. Her parents and their “equal treatment”—

“Do not roll your eyes at your mother,” Rowan warned.

Aelin continued, “Next thing we know, we spent our entire paychecks on chocolate, Finn is farting on our faces all day, the twins will never fall asleep again from the sugar rush, and your dad will be shoving food down your throat because of some crazy diet you saw online to get rid of the Easter weight.” She raised her brow in that infuriating mom way of hers. “Did I miss something?”

“Fine!” Maisie held both arms up in surrender. “You want me to buy your kids lame chocolate, is that it?”

“If they can’t appreciate whatever you can afford, I’m not raising them right.”

“Ugh!” Maisie groaned, and sat facing away from her mother.

A moment later, Dad sent her off to tell her siblings dinner was ready, and soon everyone was at the table, ready to attack the food that took ages to be ready.

Except that, when she asked for the parmesan cheese, Enid took it and kept waving it in front of her instead of just passing it over.

After seven years of Enid, Maisie was unimpressed. “Are you trying to tease me?”

The little girl giggled. “No, you can have it, but I want to see your eyes light up first!”

With a sigh, Rowan took it from Enid’s hand and passed it over to Maisie. “Can we just try to be rational for once?”

“I was rational once,” Eamon said, frowning.

With his mouth full, Finn said, “I want the next special dinner to be at one of those fancy pasta places with two forks.”

“Manners,” Aelin warned the wild beast she called a son.

“Mom and Dad never take us to fancy restaurants for a reason,” Maisie said while giving a pointed look to Finn, who was by her side.

The boy rolled his eyes and mimicked in a high-pitched voice, “MoM aND dAD nEVer tAkE uS tO fANcY rEStAuRaNts FoR a rEasOn.”

Maisie slapped her brother’s forearm, and that’s when her parents lost patience.

Rowan lifted his pointed finger, “Do not—“

“Maisie, Finn, for Mala’s sake…” Aelin started, pinching the bridge of her nose.

˜˜

Later that night, Maisie was scrolling on TikTok before sleep, but two knocks on her bedroom door stopped her short.

It was Finn, holding his blanket. More often than not, he slept in Maisie’s room—she wasn’t sure why, but it’d been this way since he was little. Already knowing what was about to happen, Fleetfoot moved to the foot of the bed to give him space. Her bed might look big, but it didn’t have nearly enough space for two people and a person-sized dog.

When she was taking off her many pillows to find some space for her brother, a bulky-looking folded paper caught her eye.

Maisie hid it back with the pillow and said, “Go get me some water.”

Finn complained, but complied.

Quickly unfolding the paper in the little time she had, Maisie recognized her dad’s writing and a fuckton of cash—not too much for an Air Force major, but enough to make a teenager who had a minimum-wage part-time job feel like a billionaire.

Groceries refund + your delivery fee

Don’t mention it—ever

Maisie’s grin grew wicked. She fucking loved her dad.

˜˜

Finding a reason to get out of the house on Easter was tough, but she managed it.

Maisie had already picked her dad’s sushi-filled Easter egg at the restaurant, since he hated chocolate, and the other ones had been retrieved from its hiding place at Uncle Aedion’s.

Inside her house, Finn was the first one to greet her.

He eyed her bags suspiciously. “What’s all that?”

Without a word, she took one Kinder egg that fit in her palm, and handed it to him. Finn took it in his hand, contemplated it for a second with a silly half-smile, then hugged Maisie tight, squeezing her waist.

“Gods!” She lightly slapped his head. “You’re so dumb.”

Before he processed what happened, Maisie got his actual Easter egg, the Kinder with the dinosaur he wanted.

His eyes lit up and his mouth hung open, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Then, her brother crushed her into a hug that knocked her breath out of her lungs.

“Thanks, Mais.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She took a second to take it in, than wiggled out of his hug to hand the twins’ ones.

They looked so happy, it didn’t even look like Mom and Dad gave each of them giant Easter eggs three hours ago.

Her parents were watching them from afar, wearing one of those weird, sentimental parent smiles.

When she took out her dad’s from the bag, Rowan finally looked surprised—which was easily detected by his wife.

The “shell” part of his Easter egg was just nori and rice, but it was filled with seafood. Dad twirled his sushi egg in his hands, mouth ajar. “Honey, I didn’t think you’d get me something too. You didn’t have to.”

“Too?” Mom asked, lips quirked up. Her eyes sparkled, darted between Maisie and Rowan, then landed on her daughter. “Good to know you found a way to afford it.”

“I’m my father’s daughter.” Maisie shrugged. “Of course I know how to save money.”

She also knew how to spend it like her mother, but it wouldn’t be smart to mention right now.

At that point, Maisie knew Aelin figured out that Rowan gave her the money, and Mom knew Maisie knew she knew. Neither of them would say a word, though, and it was best this way.

She handed her mom’s next, a chocolate hazelnut Easter egg the size of Aelin’s head.

“I didn’t know Dad bought you the same one,” Maisie said with a sheepish smile.

“You won’t hear me complaining, honey.” Her mom kept intense eye contact with her Easter egg, likely unwrapping it in her mind as if she didn’t have a half-eaten identical one in her bedroom.

Aelin put her gift on the coffee table near them and hugged Maisie. “I love you, honey,” she said before kissing her daughter’s head. “Thank you for the gift. You’re such a great big sister.”

“I know, right?”

However, their hug was abruptly broken by shouting coming from the other side of the living room.

“Stop. Being. An idiot!” Enid shouted at Eamon for whatever reason they decided to bicker over this afternoon.

“We’re both idiots, but you’re the bigger idiot!” he fought back.

Maisie tapped her mom’s shoulders. “Go tame your evil twins.”

“Don’t call your siblings that!”

She sighed, not surprised by how quickly their moment of peace—a rarity in her home—was broken.

Weirdly enough, her parents seemed to enjoy it.

A/N: In the plans of this outtake I have deep into my notes app, Aelin mentions that since her husband doesn’t like chocolate, her Easter gift to him would be given “later tonight”. I thought you’d like to know *wink*

2nd A/N: Yes I left Maisie’s exact age in the dark on purpose heheheh this one spoiler I’m not handing out like this.

You can get notified when I update by either turning notifications on for @mariaofdoranelle-fics or entering my (sometimes glitchy) tag list!!

TAG LIST

I couldn’t tag the people in bold, sorry!

@aelinchocolatelover

@autumnbabylon

@bookcide

@booksandteaonarainydayislife

@cookiemonsterwholovesbooks

@courtofjurdan

@dreamer-133

@elentiyawhitethorn

@elizarikaallen

@emily-gsh

@empress-ofbloodshed

@fangirlprincess09

@goddess-aelin

@gracie-rosee

@leiawritesstories

@lululululululuop

@renxzs

@rowanaelinn

@s-uppertime

@sarahjswift

@staghorn-mountains

@superspiritfestival

@swankii-art-teacher

@thegreyj

@throneofus7

@violet-mermaid7

@wishfulimaginings

[rosehippiefield]

My assumption is that as a kid you collected ponies. :3

Interesting but nope!

I remember having maybe one pony toy, there's a chance there were none at all. My memory is very vague in this regard because I stopped playing with toys in around 12-14 years because I once (or twice ) took them outside, then worried that they were dirty and never revisited my collection of toys ever since. I have a tingling feeling that there was a horse but my mind could just play tricks. So I didn't collect ponies and I can't even say for sure if I had them lol

Although I kinda liked collecting things, like different prizes from kinder eggs (kinder surprises? Now I don't even remember how it's called). I have little snow-white figurine and I wanted to collect more Disney princesses but there were different toys so she's still alone

[canirove]

Broken Hearts Football Club | Chapter 18

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Masterlist

"What are you doing up and answering the door, Maxwell? Have you gone mad?"

"Ben?" June said, frozen in place while looking at the man in front of her.

"You should be resting, you had surgery a few days ago. C'mon" he said, lifting her in the air and carrying her to the sofa.

"Ben!" she laughed. "I can walk, you know?"

"I know you can, but you shouldn't."

"The doctor said I could move around the house. He actually encouraged it."

"Well, Dr. Chilwell doesn't agree with that. Is that comfortable?" he asked after leaving her on the sofa and putting some cushions behind her back.

"It's ok."

"Now?" he said, sitting down next to her and putting her legs on his lap, the injured one on top of another cushion.

"Now it's perfect" she smiled. "Thank you, Ben."

"You're welcome" he smiled back. "How is it going?" he asked, his fingers caressing her thigh but never getting close to the bandage. 

"I'm managing to not bore myself to death and it isn't hurting too much, so we can say that so far so good."

"Good, that's good. Is that how you are getting yourself entertained?" he said, nodding towards the table in front of them.

"Yep" June smiled. "I used to knit and crochet when I was a kid, my grandma taught me. The other day when she came to visit me she brought me some yarn and said that I could give it another go, so now I'm planning on making the girls some beanies for the winter."

"Can I get one too?" Ben asked with a cheeky smile.

"Seeing you wearing a beanie I myself made would be a dream come true to be honest, because no one wears them like you do. You look so freaking good." 

"I think this is the first time someone has complimented me by saying I look good wearing a beanie" he laughed.

"It is what it is" June shrugged. "Thank you for coming, by the way. And for the flowers."

"Did you like them?" 

"I loved them."

"Is that why you posed with them?" he asked.

"It was one of the reasons."

"May I ask what were the others?"

"Well, I… I wanted to you to see them to show you that I still think about you. That I regret everything that happened that day between us and after."

"You mean when you slept with Mason."

"Yes. I'm sorry, Ben" June whispered, looking down. "I'm surprised you are here, to be honest. I thought you would be mad at me and act as if I didn't exist like he is doing."

"Oh, I was mad. When he told me what had happened I got so angry… We both were angry. I don't know how we didn't end up hitting each other if I'm honest."

"That bad it was?" she asked.

"Yep. But then we cooled down, talked about everything properly, and things have kind of gone back to normal between us."

"Kind of?"

"He doesn't understand why I've forgiven you" Ben shrugged.

"You… you have?"

"I have, yes. I spoke with Lauren and she explained everything to me. About your ex, about how he broke your heart, and about how all that has affected you. That made me understand you a bit better, and even though I still am disappointed about what you did with Mase… I don't know. I can't be mad at you anymore."

"That kind of is what happened to me when you explained why you bullied me. Once I knew the reasons behind it, hating you was more difficult" June said with a shy smile.

"We can't change the past, but we can work on not making the same mistakes again."

"Yeah" she whispered. 

"Anyway, I brought you a present" Ben said, giving her the bag he had been carrying.

"You didn't have to."

"I know, but I wanted to. Open it" he smiled.

"Ok" June said, sitting up. Why were her hands shaking so much? Why was she so nervous? "Chilwell!"

"Do you like it?"

"A Kinder egg the size of my head? Of course I like it!" she laughed. 

"Just try not to eat it all in one go, ok? I want you at the World Cup."

"Do you think I'll make it?"

"I already said it on the note that I sent you, June. If there is someone who can make it, that's you" he said, giving her thigh a little squeeze. 

"Thank you, Ben. For everything. The flowers, the note, the egg, coming here today… And for forgiving me after I fucked up. Big time."

"Of course" he smiled. 

"Can I give you a hug?"

"Won't you hurt yourself?" 

"Maybe… I guess you'll have to come here and hug me" June shrugged, biting her lip to avoid smiling.

"Ok" Ben chuckled, laying down next to her on the sofa and hugging her from behind. "Are you comfortable like this?" he asked, putting his arm around her waist and pulling her closer to him.

"Very" June replied, interlacing her fingers with his. "Just don't let me fall, ok?"

"Never. I've got you, Maxwell." Now and always, Ben said to himself.

[hurlingsupport]

(Casey Jones x Villain! Gender Neutral Reader One-shot)

A spark of pink electricity escapes from under your mechanical claw, the crushed skull of the alien's fake body crumbling under the pressure. It makes a wonderful crackling noise. And just like a surprise egg, once you break the shell, a toy comes out.

The alien screeches as soon as its mechanical body sparks for the last time. Its bulging eyes focus on you only for a second before it's squealing to get away. But before it can wiggle its way out of your sight, another claw of yours grabs it with crushing force. The poor thing can only let out a pathetic whine as you close in, a wicked grin spreading across your face at its misery.

"You guys keep bugging me." You begin, crouching down to be at eye level with the pink creature. "You're like roaches. How many of you are there again?"

You pretend to wait for a response, knowing full well it has no ability to do so once its human disguise is destroyed. Despite this, you revel in its helpless squirming. At least, until it becomes annoying. Once the screeching starts to hurt your ears, you release the small alien. It spares one last glance at you before it's scurrying off. Well, that's what would've happened if you were just a bit kinder.

Instead, as soon as it's turned away from you, one of your titanium arms squishes the alien without a second thought. Gunky bio-matter splatters across the concrete ground of the alleyway you're in, and you grimace at the idea of cleaning your arms later from the substance.

Shaking the mechanical arm in an attempt to get some of the gunk off, you pause once footsteps fill the air. Glancing behind you, you find that the footsteps belong to none other than the Jones kid that's always bothering you.

A smirk makes its way on your face, almost involuntarily. Jones was fun to mess with, so you couldn't help but feel some joy anytime you see the boy. However, it seems he didn't feel the same, considering the way his lips stretch into a snarl once he spots you. His expression only serves to make you happier.

"Jones!" You smile, gunk long forgotten as you make your way towards the punk.

He tries to dodge your outstretched arms, but with the help of your mechanical ones, he has no escape from you. He grunts in distaste as you squeeze him, eyes wandering across the alley.

"What did you do this time?" He asks, gaze locked on the pink viscera stained concrete.

"I helped! Those pink aliens are your guys' enemies, aren't they?" You squish your cheek against his own, and surprisingly, he doesn't push you away. You're not sure if it's because he doesn't mind or because your titanium claws are hovering in a threatening manner, but you'd like to believe the first option.

"Uh, thanks." He mumbles, still staring at the ground below.

"Y'know, maybe I can start working with you guys." You ponder, tapping your fingers against his back as your grip goes slack. "That'd be more fun than this whole solo act."

"Really?" His head almost hits yours at his surprise, dark eyes surveying your face. "I mean, there's gotta be a better reason than that. Are you trying to spy? Are you working for those other ninja dudes?"

As his questions go on, your face continues to brighten. Your arms move to wrap around his shoulders as you lean against him.

"Maybe I just want to work with you?" You grin. Your noses are just barely touching, and Casey seems momentarily distracted before snapping out of his stupor.

"You're messing with me." He frowns, pushing you off of him forcefully. "I told you to stop saying stuff like that. It's weird. Can't you do normal hero-villain banter?"

"But I like you!" You laugh, grabbing at his hoodie.

He slaps your hand away, pulling out a hockey stick from his bag.

"I said to stop doing that." He commands, sliding his mask on. "Now shut up and fight me."

Your smile falters slightly at his words before reverting back to its previous state. Your robotic arms splay out behind you, fully prepared to take advantage of the boy's novice fighting skills. Of course, you'd never tell him how much he sucked at fighting, but you'd like to push him in the right direction. Plus, you couldn't decline a fight from Jones of all people. So, you ignore the slight burn the feeling of rejection ignites in your chest.

Jones is fun to mess with, but sometimes it feels as if he's the one messing with you.

[bots-and-cons]

*Not a request. Just a chaotic ramble*

I saw the TFP x Pokemon Trainer asked and I couldn't help but share this with you. The amount of shenanigans to occur as neither faction has no experience when to comes to these magical creatures nor Trainer!Reader's profession.

I will go for Rescue Worker example since mundane occupations feel more interesting plus chaotic neutral who doesn't side with either faction. They rescue those in need, not join or have their Pokemon fight an actual war. Any combat based training is to deter and restrain rampaging 'mons so they won't hurt themselves.

Megatron is most likely to encounter Trainer!Reader first with obvious hostile attentions. Optimus follows close behind as his rival is too much for his Autobots. The amount of surprise from both as Reader just shrugs Buckethead off and sick a Trevenant on him.

(I chose this Pokemon for an example cause the Pokedex entry will cause concern for the Autobots but interest from the Decepticons since it says to lethally attack those who harm the forest aka is very dangerous. Plus it's a ghost type so there are questions on how it's even alive and can force someone like Megatron to retreat. https://bulbapedia.bulbagarden.net/wiki/Trevenant_(Pok%C3%A9mon). )

Trainer!Reader comes and goes as they please there's always a Pokemon who can Teleport them away if needed. Questions don't really bother em nor any requests for a spar with their team. Once trust(or relationship) is set then my favorite shenanigan is asking a bot to look after a Pokemon Egg.

A simple task that immediately goes awry when the item hatches and the newborn thinks their bot caretaker is their parent. The image of a little Pokemon following Predaking, Soundwave, Bulkhead, Starscream, Ratchet or Optimus like a lost duckling is hilarious to me. TFP Sounders would be over the moon about it though while Ratty pretends he's annoyed but spoils the little 'mon rotten.

It's what I think anyways.

Good thoughts in my opinion. Megs definitely needs to learn to be kinder to the trees or he's gonna get the reader's Trevenant on his aft, and I feel like that might not end very well for Megs. I'm not saying he would die, but he'd get what he deserves. I also like the idea of the reader being neutral and just sort of saving Pokemon, keeping them safe from the fighting that's going on and not really involving themself in the war.

Bee would be absolutely terrified to look after a pokemon egg, since he's seen how fragile chicken eggs are. Of course pokemon eggs are much sturdier, but he doesn't know that, so he's incredibly careful with it. When the pokemon hatches, Bee is over the moon and relieved that he doesn't have to care for the egg anymore. Now he has a pokemon to look after, and he finds it to be a lot of fun.

I feel like Soundwave would definitely also spoil the Pokemon he comes across or the ones that take a liking to him. He's always got some treats on him. I imagine him just sitting in the middle of the woods and some Pokemon approaching him cautiously, and he gives them treats and just lets them climb all over him.

[separatist-apologist]

The Other Side Of The Apocalypse

What would you trade the pain for?

Summary: One last grand adventure. Rhysand had promised his father that after this final journey, he would take a wife and resign himself to inheriting his title. As it turned out, Rhysand had other plans, and so did the huntress he'd encountered in the village.

Note: @the-lonelybarricade and I have a surprise inside! This chapter is like a kinder egg- illegal in some parts of the world.

Read on AO3 ・Previous Chapter

Chapter 5/10: Nowhere Left To Go But Heaven

There was no looking at her as she said her goodbyes. Rhys kept his eyes on his boots, dry thanks to Tarquins gratitude and generosity. Rhys fingered the leather pack slung over his back and tried not to think too hard about the new, dark leather conforming to his body. Made by Fae hands, of Fae materials far nicer than anything he could have hoped for. Feyre, too, wore a similar piece of clothing that hugged her like a second skin.

He didn’t want to look at that, either. Rhys cleared his throat as the white haired High Lord came to him, hand outstretched. Rhys took it, surprised when the bare chested High Lord pulled him into a hug.

“For everything you did,” he said, sliding something into Rhys’s palm. Looking down, he found a small, bright red ruby nestled against his skin. “A token of our gratitude.” Feyre was watching, eyebrows raised when she saw what he held. Rhys was tempted to gloat, if only a little—The Faerie likes me better than you.

He didn’t, if only because he didn’t have it in him. Maybe it was all the killing or how little sleep he was getting…or how often he was forced to confront his own mortality. Hell, maybe it was the oppressive fucking heat sapping his desire to torment Feyre.

“Thanks,” he said, flashing Tarquin what he hoped was an appropriately charming smile. 

“Back to Autumn, I presume?” Tarquin asked, still looking at Rhys. Rhys nodded, cutting a glance to Feyre. If it bothered her, she gave no indication of it. 

“Thank you for your hospitality,” she told him again. And this time, when Tarquin came toward her, hand outstretched to cup her cheek, Feyre gently turned her face to avoid his touch. There was no pretending that didn’t please him, though Rhys didn’t outwardly show it. Rhys merely had to be grateful Feyre couldn’t hear the slant of his thoughts. Otherwise, she’d realize he’d developed some manner of feelings for her outside of just raw attraction.

And she’d likely kill him for it. Violently…with her bare hands. Fuck, what did it say about him that the though of Feyre straddling him, even with violent intentions, made his body achey and tight? 

Rhys shoved those thoughts away before they betrayed him, gritting his teeth when Tarquin winnowed them back to the door that would bring them to Autumn. Assuring them Eris would be waiting on the other side—as if anyone was looking forward to seeing that bastard again—Tarquin flashed them one last smile before closing them in the dark.

Neither he nor Feyre spoke, the only sound their boots shuffling against the dirt, occasionally kicking an errant rock that would ricochet off the walls. Was she thinking about Eris? They’d been so familiar, so…so close. It was on the tip of his tongue to demand she tell him what she really knew about the new High Lord of Autumn when the door swung open and the hated male himself was right there.

He hadn’t come empty handed, either. 

“Well,” he said in a smarmy voice. “You survived.”

“Don’t sound so pleased about it,” Rhys snapped, stepping into the glittery jewel tones of Autumn. After the shock of heat, Autumn was a lovers caress against his skin. Feyre nodded at Eris, who held two heavy, fur-lined capes.

“Are these for us?”

“You’ll need them,” he replied, eyeing their clothing with distaste. “Leather isn’t very warm. If you wanted to stay another night, I could–”

“No.” Like hell was Rhys going to subject himself to Eris Vanserra’s brand of hospitality. Feyre, too, didn’t seem too upset he’d declined so quickly. 

Eris’s amber eyes slid to Feyre, waiting for her to give the final say.

“I think it’s best if we keep moving,” she told him, her tone far softer than Rhys’s had been. Fine. If she wanted to be the good guy to the Faeries even after everything they’d done to her, far be it from Rhys to stop her. It certainly made things easier, not that he wanted to admit that. Eris handed over the cloaks, hesitating ever so slightly when Feyre took hers.

“I’ll talk to him,” she finally said, reaching for Eris’s hand. “I don’t know where he is.”

A muscle jumped viciously in Eris’s jaw, leashing all the things the Fae so clearly wanted to say. Rhys nearly pitied him for it, though he’d never admit that aloud.

“He’ll come when he can,” she added, dropping Eris’s hand. It was clear Eris did not believe this mysterious he would be coming, and frankly, Rhys wouldn’t blame them if they didn’t. Eris didn’t seem the sort that anyone cared about. 

Eris exhaled a noisy breath. “Good luck in Winter,” he told the pair of them before lunging. There was no gentle, strawberry scented winnow. Once again, Eris ripped them from their place in the doorway, depositing them in a heap just outside another. In the distance, snow capped mountains rose high into the moody gray clouds overhead, dragging an icy wind with them. Rhys clasped the cloak around his throat, throwing his hood up over his head. 

Eris looked like there was more he wanted to say, words he couldn’t quite manage. Feyre pulled at the icy handle, hissing against the cold. She had enough manners to say, “Thank you, Eris.”

Rhys had no manners at all. “Drop dead,” he added, following after Feyre.

“When this is all over, maybe she’ll let me put you on a leash,” Eris retorted with a sneer. “I doubt I’ll be half as–”

Rhys slammed the door in his smarmy face, grinning with pleasure. “Ass.”

“You shouldn’t goad him,” Feyre chided, standing just at his elbow. “He likes getting a reaction.”

“Oh? And how do you know him so well?”

“I knew his brother,”

“Are you going to tell me how?” Rhys replied. Feyre, it seemed, knew everybody in Prythian.

“He was friends with that lord I was telling you about,” Feyre whispered, arms wrapped around her body. Whether it was from the chill or the memory, Rhys didn’t ask. “He was my friend, too.”

“Is he dead?”

“No,” Feyre said, her voice heavy with regret. “And I think, when we find him, he’s going to be very angry with me.”

Rhys couldn’t explain why that made him so angry. Not at her, for once, but the Fae male that would be angry with Feyre for…for what, exactly? For being fooled by his friend? A friend who, as far as Rhys could tell, had no business spending time around a human woman to start?

Clearing his throat, Rhys said, “Well…fuck him, if he’s mad at you.”

He swore he heard her smile. 

“And you?” she asked him, fingertips brushing the back of his hand. Rhys nearly stumbled over the air in front of him.

“You’re welcome to fuck me anytime you like, darling,” he forced himself to say. Forced himself to sound nothing but amused though in truth, Rhys’s heart was pounding. Was she asking him to? Winter seemed an odd place, but—

“You idiot,” she hissed, withdrawing the feather soft touch. “Are you still mad at me, too?”

Right. Of course that’s what she meant. Rhys opened his mouth to assure her he wasn’t, but what came tumbling out instead was, “The sooner we’re finished, the sooner you never have to see me again.”

It was the wrong thing to say to her. “Right.”

But Feyre offered no emotional vulnerability herself all the while demanding he offer up too much. If she wanted to know how he truly felt, maybe she could start by being generous with her own feelings for once. All the scowling, the snapping…it was wearing on him, too. After all, he’d done everything she’d asked, hadn’t he? When was it enough for her? Rhys wasn’t after gratitude, not really? But fuck, maybe some kindness? Or appreciation that he was still with her, when he could have forced her to drag him along like dead weight. 

Or worse. Rhys could have killed her any number of times by now and freed himself, a fact she seemed determined to ignore. Maybe he still would. Maybe he—

Feyre yanked open the door to winter, dragging in a screaming blast of cold air and a roar of fury from something just outside. 

“Get back!” Rhys snarled, reaching for Feyre’s shoulder, but he was seconds too late. The creature outside swiped a paw the size of a house  against Feyre, sending the two of them flying through the air. Rhys scrunched his face, scrambling wildly for anything that might break his fall.

He couldn’t keep Feyre’s delicate body from crashing against the solid trunk of a nearby pine tree. Collapsing in a heap in the knee deep snow, Rhys wasn’t given even a second to see if she was alive. 

Not her, not her, not her—

He withdrew his sword a breath later, forced to face the massive, white furred beast from where he stood. It galloped toward him on four legs, rising onto two as it approached the treeline.

“Feyre,” Rhys hissed over the howling wind. “Feyre, please get up.”She remained where she was, unmoving. For all he knew, not breathing. Rhys slung a leg over her body, protecting her as best he could against a creature he was fairly certain would kill him, too.

What a joke, to come so far only to die here in the snow. At least they’d paved the way for the next group, assuming anyone else was stupid enough to try. Rhys drew a frigid breath, sidestepping the beast when it crashed artlessly into the forest. The snow broke his fall, allowing him to gather up Feyre’s lifeless body in his arms, if only for a second.

A line of blood trickled from her pale pink lips but cauldron bless them, she was still breathing.

“Good girl,” he whispered into her hair before setting her back in the snow. It seemed sacrilegious to leave her like that, but he couldn’t fight this thing and hold her. She’d understand, he told himself. 

Forgive him, even.

But from now on, Rhys would be going through the doors first. 

The only advantage Rhys had was how much smaller he was. The creature, for its size, was clumsy and artless, relying on little more than its seemingly endless rage and brute strength. More than once, it swiped one of those giant, talon tipped paws hoping to end him quickly. Rhys didn’t know where to begin. The beast was as big as the one in Summer, with no High Lord to explain how he might pacify it. 

“Death it is,” he grumbled. Despite the cold, sweat clung to his forehead, dripping down his back. It was miserable dodging that beast while trying to keep it from trampling Feyre. And his own fear that she was slowly suffocating in the snow was making him too rash, too foolish in return.

“End this, you miserable prick,” he snapped, swearing he could hear Feyre yelling it at him. Rhys got lucky. When one of those paws came sailing toward him, he’d thought to raise his sword just at the right second. Truly, it was a lucky stroke that severed that paw—and a miserable stroke of luck at that, given he was immediately showered with stinking red blood. 

“Cauldron fuck me!” Rhys snarled, advancing on the beast. Yellow eyes stared back at him with hatred, cradling the stump it had once used to incapacitate Feyre. The roar of fury it offered filled the air with the stench of rotting meat. Putrid and far too hot for the snow crunching under his boots.

Rhys had the advantage now. Down a hand, the beast both didn’t want to go too far and leave the pair of them, given what an easy meal they must have seemed, but didn’t want to get too close, either. Rhys was able to plunge his sword into the beast's gut and rip, pulling out innards like candy from a children’s party. 

The beast moaned, spilling forward hard enough to rain pine needles against Rhys’s face. He roared his fury, raising his sword with aching muscles, and just for good measure, brought it down on the beast's neck. He had to chop a couple times to sever it, but Rhys didn’t care. Anything to ensure they weren’t attacked again.

In the aftermath, as Rhys went to Feyre, it occurred to him that this might have been just another Fae animal that wandered the wilds of Prythian. He might still need to battle a High Lord, still. 

He didn’t care. Sinking to his knees, Rhys pulled Feyre back into his arms. Her fair skin was a near match for the snow beneath them, blue veined and stark against his own golden skin.

Without the urgency of imminent death, Rhys was able to examine her better. Her cloak was torn and her leathers ripped wide enough snow had been pressed against her bare skin for the duration of the fight. He knew he wasn’t much better, given the beasts once warm blood was now freezing against him.

“We need to find shelter,” he said, lifting her gingerly. 

Obviously, he heard her sneer in his head. At least she was still with him that way—apparently she’d become the voice in his head. Deciding that was better than utter silence, Rhys stumbled forward, readjusting his posture now that she was cradled to his chest. 

It was misery. No matter which way he turned, the wind seemed to blow against him, while in some places the snow was so deep it came to his chest. More than once, Rhys stumbled into a drift and Feyre tumbled from his arms, unaware of what was happening. He’d dig her out frantically, whispering apologies into her hair, for all she noticed or cared.

“Just don’t die,” he whispered.

Over and over, like a mantra. Just don’t die.

Not her.

Just don’t die.

There was nothing but snow and trees. In every direction, Rhys either found that forest he’d killed the snow monster in, or an endless desert of snow and wind. Wandering aimlessly was going to kill them both. Night had begun to descend upon them, and he didn’t think they’d survive once the temperatures fell further. He turned for the forest, deciding the trees might provide a small amount of cover from the constant biting wind. Rhys’s bones seemed to ache from the cold, his steps sluggish as he began to traverse uphill. 

The snow was less dense beneath the cone shaped pines and he’d been right about protection—his face was still raw, but at least he could see again without the wind blurring and freezing tears against his lashes.

They were going to die. With each miserable, crunching step, Rhys became more and more convinced there was no surviving this place. How did anyone manage to live here? Maybe that creature was the only living one, and all the other occupants had fled before the borders were sealed. 

He couldn’t breathe as the realization crashed around him. Lost in that wintry hell, Rhys had to stop moving, body braced against the rough bark of a nearby tree. He held Feyre’s trembling body against him, shrugging off his cloak to try and keep her warm. Maybe she’d survive, he thought wildly. She’d wake in the morning aching and sore but mostly fine. He’d be dead, of course, but…that was what she wanted, wasn’t it?

Closing his eyes, Rhys thought of home. What would his father say when Feyre returned and told the village the lords son had died in Prythian. She wouldn’t be able to bring his body back, which meant no true burial. No gravestone, no one to mourn him. If anyone even would, to start. His mother and sister were already gone—they’d left him, first. 

Everyone he loved left him.

Moments from collapsing to the ground, Rhys remained on his feet by the grace of the cauldron—and Feyre, who moaned softly in his arms. “Rhys,” she rasped.

Not Rhysand.

Rhys.

“You’re fine,” he lied, unsure what else to tell her. “Just stay with me. Feyre, stay with me.”She moaned again, prying open her eyes to blink up at him. 

“I’m with you,” she whispered, reaching her hand up. He didn’t know what she’d meant to touch, though in his frozen brain, he swore she’d been about to touch his face. She was alive, even if she went limp in his arms again. Alive enough to tell him she was with him—that he wasn’t alone.

Not yet.

And that was enough to propel him forward. To convince him to keep his eyes open, to keep walking up that miserable, snow crusted hill. Rhys ignored his screaming lungs and his protesting limbs, holding Feyre tighter. He knew he was addled when he thought he should have listened to Eris Vanserra about the warmer clothing. He was miserable by the time he reached the top of the hill.

“Feyre,” he said, blinking against the icy wind blowing around him. The trees had parted, giving way to mountains in the distance, and nestled just at the base—a cabin. Rhys’s knees wobbled with relief at the sight. Four walls were better than none. Rhys stumbled toward it, half laughing, half crying at the sight. It was undamaged by the elements, sturdy with its brick face, a solid wood door, and a chimney rising against the steepled roof. To the side, Rhys saw a shed and prayed there was dry kindling just inside. 

He could light a fire. They could sleep off the horrors of the monster, could rest and heal before trying to figure out their next move. Surely the borders were open, now? Which meant three more courts, three more beasts or curses or whatever hell was waiting for them.

He had to break in. Of course whoever owned it had locked it, and it hadn’t occurred to Rhys the cabin might be occupied until he’d busted in using brute force. Thankfully, it was empty, and from the dustmotes floating in the air, he’d guess it had been so for a long time. 

It was small. One bed, wedged against a windowed wall, that seemed barely big enough to hold them both. A small bathing chamber, close enough he was pretty sure he could bundle Feyre beneath the blankets and make it to the bath without having to drag her along with him.

A stove, with an oven for cooking—not that he had anything but the rations in their pack—and a small fireplace that, once lit, was likely to warm the entire cabin nicely.

Still holding Feyre, Rhys went back outside into the screaming wind to examine the shed. He kicked it in, splintering the rotting wood doors beneath his boot.

“Oh, thank the mother,” he whispered when he saw all those neatly stacked logs of wood. It took far longer than it should have, dragging in enough to keep them warm for the night, all while holding Feyre. He assumed she’d forgive him for placing them against her body, given she was unconscious and couldn’t exactly help him.

And even if she didn’t, well—Rhys had fire, now. He could have kissed her when he saw those orange flames lick against the brick, smoke curling toward a star filled sky.

Rhys turned the tap on in the bathroom, ignoring the slight smell of sulfur as the tub began to fill with tepid water. He couldn’t get into bed reeking of blood and guts.

“Don’t kill me for this,” he whispered, as he set Feyre into bed. She was still so, so pale. Bloodless, blue lips were cracked from the wind, slightly parted as she drew in shaky breaths. Rhys very gently peeled the clothes from her body, determined not to look at her with anything but clinical interest. 

Anything else felt like a betrayal.

He was so afraid he’d find an oozing gash, a wound so deep he’d have no choice but to watch her slowly succumb to death. He found bruises—dotted along her collarbone, blooming purple and green over her ribs, her spine. Rhys was hardly a healer, though he knew well enough what a broken bone felt like. Probing her, he was satisfied that somehow Feyre had managed to avoid a life-threatening injury.

The Cauldron must truly love her, then. Blessed, he decided. Feyre was blessed, by the mother herself given this was the worst of things. Running a finger over her cheek, Rhys let himself exhale with relief before bundling her tight beneath the still cold sheets.

The water never warmed. He supposed decades of frozen pipes would keep the water just a shade warmer than the snow outside. Still, water was water and he was desperate. Arm taut from the leash around his wrist, Rhys had to fill the tub, scrub himself of the blood, drain it, and wash himself again.

Through gritted teeth and shaking muscles, but in the end, he was himself again. Himself, with a tattoo that now swirled over his hand, up his elbow, and against his shoulder. Stretching out the limb, he traced the strange, swirling marks with interest. What did they mean? He wished he’d asked Tarquin to translate for him before they left. He doubted Feyre knew. 

Feyre. 

Wrapping a moth eaten towel around his waist, Rhys padded back to the bed where Feyre remained, her teeth chattering hard enough he could hear them from where he stood. The room was warming, defrosting the ice from the glass windows.

He didn’t hesitate. There were a million things for her to yell at him about in the morning—undressing her, to start. He fully expected her to rake her nails down his face in the morning. Maybe she’d gouge out his eyes, too. She could try, he supposed, slipping beneath the heavy, furlined blankets beside her. But he’d kept her alive, which was more than he thought Feyre ever would have done for him. 

Swallowing how that wounded him, Rhys wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into his body. Feyre whimpered, twisting with a pained expression.

“I’m dying,” she chattered, pressing a frigid cheek to his chest. Rhys yanked the blankets over them both, blotting out the orange firelight and bathing them in darkness.

“You’re not,” he responded fiercely, holding her tight. He was stupid—so, so stupid—and still Rhys refused to let her go. “Sleep, Feyre.”

“Don’t leave me,” she whispered. Rhys buried his face in her hair.

“Never.”

Rhys woke to the most peculiar sensation. Someone was rubbing his cock— “Feyre!” he gasped, angling his hips backward before he remembered where he was. Light flooded into the frankly over hot cabin, revealing a cheerful, wintry morning. Rhys was soaked with sweat, his cheek pressed to the top of Feyre’s head.

And Feyre was flushed, her cheeks bright red. They’d adjusted sometime in the night, leaving him on his back and Feyre sprawled over the top of him. Her thigh—it had been her leg rubbing against him and Rhys was painfully and embarrassingly hard. 

She was going to kill him. 

Feyre was thankfully still asleep, unaware of what she’d done. Gingerly, Rhys pushed her leg from between his own, trying to ignore how heat radiated from between them or how acutely aware of it he was when she’d been plastered to his hip. Nor did he allow himself to think about the smear she’d left against his skin. She was hurt and he was—well, he was a fucking bastard for reacting at all. Rhys forced himself to relive the day before, thinking of her broken, bleeding body and the way the monster's innards had spilled hot against the snow.

It was enough to cool his erection. By the time Feyre blinked open a bleary eye, Rhys had one hand behind his head, and while he might have been flexing his biceps just a little, his cock was politely flaccid against his thigh, which was the best she could hope for, given the circumstances.

“I’m not dead,” she whispered, eyes sliding to his face. There was a beat in which she looked down his naked chest, her gaze snagging on the tattoos curled against his shoulder.

Any other day Rhys might have asked her if she liked what she saw. He didn’t, though he caught how her lips parted ever so slightly.

Ever brazen, Feyre lifted the blanket to look, perhaps truly not believing they were both naked. That made him laugh, turning his head when she jerked back and yanked the edge over her chest.

“Did you undress me?” she demanded, outrage and embarrassment coloring her words.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, his voice rough from sleep. “How are you feeling?”

“I—” she took a breath and Rhys braced himself for her condemning fury, her cruel, cutting words. “Thank you.”

“Thank you?” Maybe she’d hit her head harder than he’d thought. But Feyre merely turned, so she was laying on her stomach, and brushed a piece of hair from his face. 

“Yes. I—you could have freed yourself.”

Why didn’t you? Seemed to be her unspoken question. Rhys was too distracted by the way she’d so casually touched him and how her breasts were squished against the mattress to offer her anything but the truth.

“No, I couldn’t have.”

Feyre’s eyes seemed brighter in the sunlight, her freckles warm against her flushed face. What would she do, he wondered, if he just kissed her? Would she stop him? 

As if in response, Feyre’s gaze slid to his mouth. They were closer than he thought, her leaning over him just enough that the tips of her unbound hair grazed his naked chest. All he had to do was reach for her, to pull her three inches closer and he’d know what she tasted like. Hell, maybe she’d let him do more than just kiss. 

Maybe he’d get to explore the wetness between her legs with his fingers, his mouth, his—

“Hello?!” A muffled voice, punctuated by a pounding at the door, pulled the two of them apart. Feyre twisted, pulling the blanket up to her neck while Rhys leaned forward on his elbows. “Did you survive the night?”

“Where is your sword?” Feyre mouthed. Rhys could see it, propped just beside her own right by the door. Stupid, not to have it within grabbing distance.

As if he wasn’t naked, to start. Was he supposed to run into the snow, cock swinging, and fell this new intruder? 

The handle turned and Rhys rose up, one arm shielding Feyre’s naked body as the male entered. More Faeries, though this one seemed…friendly enough. Unarmed, as far as Rhys could tell, and just as icy as the world around them. Pale, silver hair was cropped close to his equally fair skin, while moonbright blue eyes seemed to sparkle with amusement as he looked at them. 

“Eris Vanserra sent me,” he said, his voice light and easy.

“Kallias,” Feyre said with a mix of reverence and what he swore was irritation. “High Lord of Winter.”

“At your service. You did me a favor yesterday,” he told them, flashing a gleaming, sharp smile. “I figured you two would need some things. I saw what you did to the beast. Who disemboweled him?”

Neither of them moved, though Feyre glanced to Rhys with an equal mix of surprise and admiration. Rhys could do little more than glower, frustrated that she was finally looking at him like he’d always imagined and he couldn’t do anything about it.

“I brought clothes,” Kallias continued, closing the door behind him to toss them both heavy, fur-lined pants and tunic. Kallias’s own clothing was perhaps the finest he’d seen so far in Prythian.

Gleaming black boots and a navy set of pants and tunic embroidered and buttoned in silver. He looked like a High Lord, though without being as showy about it. “Once you're dressed, I’d be honored to host the pair of you.”

“Maybe for breakfast?” Feyre suggested, not moving from her place beside him. 

“Whatever you need,” Kallias agreed. “I’ll be waiting just outside.”

“You ah—” Fuck, Rhys was so dumb for offering to let this Faerie stay with them, but… “You don’t want to be out of the cold?”

“It doesn’t bother me,” he said with another pleasant, easy smile. “I’ll give you two some privacy.”

“Great,” Feyre grumbled, sighing heavily. Whatever he heard was the cause of Kallias’s laughter, trailing behind him as he left them to change. Rhys pulled back, suddenly unsure how to navigate. He was used to their back and forth, they’re bickering and open dislike. Now, though…

“I uh,” Feyre began as Rhys pointedly looked up at the ceiling. “I’ll get dressed first.”

Gods, he wanted to look. Though he didn’t, Rhys did let himself imagine a scenario in which she invited him to. Where he wasn’t undressing her with trembling fingers, certain he was about to confront her death. 

When she shuffled toward him, dressed in form-fitting, hunter green and silver, Rhys had to keep himself neutral. Was there anything that looked bad on her? Anything that might dampen the lust he couldn’t shake? 

Rhys looked at her, waiting for her to speak. She looked as though she needed to, swallowing as those starlit eyes bounced from his own eyes to his mouth, over and over until he was dizzy and desperate.

“Feyre—”

“I should use the facilities,” she said, her words tumbling from her lips in a rush.

Skittish, he thought with no amusement. She vanished, leaving him to dress himself, pulled taut by the chain between them. He was going to ask her to take it off once they were alone again. Surely she could trust him now, given she still had her wrist, her life, and her dignity? Hadn’t he proven himself to her by now? He was going to finish this, chain or not and the least she could do was offer him a modicum of privacy during the last three courts. 

He was tired of waking up erect beside her. 

Feyre returned with freshly braided hair, a clean face, a smile that made his heart stop. Had she ever smiled at him before? Not like that, he decided. Not like…not like she was happy to see him. Rhys could only stare, fingers halting on the button of his tunic.

“Here,” she said, coming toward him. Rhys was certain he wasn’t breathing when her hands gently pushed his own away. “Let me.”

Rhys could only watch Feyre finish buttoning his black tunic, making quick work of things. He hadn’t needed her help and yet now Rhys was certain he never wanted to dress without her assistance. Would she help him take it off later that night, too? Feyre ran her hands over his chest, cheeks still bright red and warm.

“There,” she said, letting them drop to her side with what he swore was reluctance. “Ready to go.”

“Ferye—”

“Ready?” Kallias, interrupting again, drew the softest groan from Rhys’s throat. The world was conspiring against him. All he wanted was to kiss her, and at every godsdamned turn he was thwarted. From the gleam in the High Lords eye, Rhys was certain the male knew, too.

“Ready,” Feyre said brightly. 

Belatedly, Rhys realized he hadn’t had a chance to ask her how she was feeling. He didn’t want to draw attention to her injuries, fearing the Faeries might take advantage knowing they were wounded. And what, he wondered, would they do with him and Feyre when this was all over? Would they let two humans live knowing the threat they posed? That Rhys and Feyre could presumably come back to Prythian any time they liked and dispose of any High Lord who displeased them?

He’d need to talk to her about that, too. Not here, and not in front of the High Lord, but when they were alone and ideally after he’d finished kissing her and she was perched in his lap. Feyre glanced up at Rhys, amusement sparkling in those eyes.

“What?” he asked, realizing someone must have been speaking. 

“Ready?” she repeated. Ah, yes. He’d heard her say that and had immediately forgotten.

“After you,” he practically purred, placing a hand on her back. Feyre didn’t stop him which only served to delight Rhys. Kallias, too, for reasons Rhys wasn’t interested in untangling. He held out a ringed hand, 

It was a gentle winnow, colder than Rhys might have preferred and far better than the ripping of time that Eris was constantly subjecting them too. Eris, who had to begrudgingly admit, had probably spared them starving to death in the middle of Winter. If Eris wanted a thank you for it, he’d be waiting an eternity. Rhys had nothing to offer Eris but his fist in the Faerie’s smug, stupid face. 

So lost in thought, Rhys didn’t wholly realize they’d landed inside a grand, sweeping palace until a bellowing, “FEYRE!” drew his attention toward the grand hall. There, beneath a chandelier, stood two hulking, winged creatures were stalking toward them. Rhys lunged for Feyre, one arm thrown out as he reached for the sword at his back.

“Cassian,” Feyre breathed, slipping around him before Rhys could stop her. She knew them. Of course she did. Feyre, it seemed, knew everyone in Prythian. Rhys swallowed his jealousy as

Feyre flung herself into the warrior named Cassian’s arms, weeping softly at the sight of him. The man, in turn, sank to his knees rather than tower over her.

“You’re alive,” he whispered, holding her face in his large hands. “We thought—gods, Feyre, for so long—”

“We just heard,” the other man added, eyes flicking to Rhys. 

“Did you really kill Tamlin?” Cassian asked, laughter coloring his words.

“Good riddance,” the other added cooly. Blue gems flared from the back of his hands, as though in agreement. Beside Rhys, Kallias watched for a moment.

“Consider this my thank you for ridding my territory of that creature,” the High Lord told Feyre. She didn’t pull her face from Cassian’s shoulder, body shaking beneath her soft sobs. 

“Where were you?” she asked, hitting Cassian roughly in his armored chest.

“The Middle,” he replied with a grunt. “Completing a task on behalf of Night. I…” 

Cassian’s hazel eyes shone with unshed tears. “I haven’t seen her. Have you…is she…?”

Feyre disentangled herself from Cassian’s arms as Kallias discreetly turned for the hall behind them, giving Feyre privacy. Rhys wasn’t about to, though. He wanted answers, and it seemed

Cassian, by virtue of how casually he spoke, might offer some up. Who was she? 

“No,” Feyre finally said, eyes cast downward. It was shame that colored her expression and disappointment that was etched over Cassians. “But Autumn is open.”

“Open?” that second, blue gemmed man asked. “And the High Lord—”

“Dead,” Feyre whispered. “Eris Vanserra has— Azriel, wait—”

But Azriel had turned on his heel, those massive wings flaring ever so slightly.

“Let him go,” Cassian dismissed, not bothering to look behind him. “I’d do the same, if I were him.”

“I have questions,” Feyre said, allowing Cassian to help her to her feet. Cassian looked over his shoulder to Rhys, grinning wolfishly. 

“So do I, Fey. Who’s the guy on the leash?”

Feyre spun, her cheek splotchy from her tears. Quickly dashing them on her shoulder, Feyre came to Rhys without any of the anger or revulsion he might have expected. 

“This is Rhysand…from my village. He killed Tamlin.”

There was an edge to her words, a look in her eye practically pleading him not to ask what she must have known he wanted to know. 

“Who is Tamlin?” he asked, eyes sliding from Feyre to Cassian. 

Cassian hesitated. “The High Lord of Spring.”

And of course, Rhys had known they’d slaughtered that male. He looked to Feyre, again, and asked, “Who was Tamlin?”

She closed her eyes. He knew. Fuck, but he should have guessed when she’d told him of loving the Faerie who’d ended up betraying him that it wasn’t just any Faerie. How else did she know all these High Lords? How else did she have friends like Cassian, who was obviously no common grunt?

“Rhys—”

“You,” he breathed, ignoring how taut Cassian went behind Feyre. How the red gems, a match for the ones Azriel wore, flashed in warning. Rhys counted seven in total, laid against the winged warriors armor.  “You lied to me.”

“I know,” she gulped, reaching for the chain between them. Rhys jerked back, but Feyre was quicker, holding the silver in her fingers. She unclasped the manacle around his wrist and for the first time in days, Rhys was free of her. 

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“So you could look at me like that?!” she demanded, her eyes sparkling again. “You, who hates Faeries—”

“You knew that when I met you!” Rhys snarled. “I’ve kept no secrets from you! I’ve told you no lies and yet at every turn you…you chain me to your body physically and you keep secrets and you talk to me like I’m worse than trash and the whole time you knew I’d slaughtered your former lover?!”

“Rhys—”

“I wouldn’t have cared,” he breathed, the truth of the matter. Because he still would have killed that beast simply for daring to touch her when he shouldn’t have. For his willingness to damn the entire world over a woman who didn’t want him, even. And it was a lie, at the same time because Rhys was so jealous he was drowning in it. Jealous of that dead male, jealous of Cassian, hell, jealous of Eris fucking Vanserra who had a better claim to her than he, a miserable human, did.

Maybe for daring to want Feyre, who Rhys wanted so badly he couldn’t even hate her properly. She’d freed him of the chain between them, and he was still standing in front of her, begging her to tell him the truth rather than driving his sword through her chest. 

“Rhys,” she pleaded, reaching for his hand. Rhys pulled back, shaking his head. 

“What would it take?” he asked, looking down at the woman he’d spent every waking moment with. Rhys struggled to remember a time before Feyre. “For you to trust me? What would it take, Feyre?”

“Rhys, I—”

“Do you drink?” Cassian cut in smoothly, arms crossed casually over his chest. “Winter has a brew that once fucked me up for a week.”

“I could use a drink,” Rhys said curtly. Cassian had saved him from saying something he would have regretted. He’d been so close to telling her to go fuck herself, to accusing her of letting him die in the snow, had their positions been reversed. That, he thought, hurt worse than any lie. 

Not that he’d admit it. 

“Couldn’t we all,” Cassian half laughed. He was doing Feyre a favor and they both knew it, but Rhys still went with him. He let Cassian clap one of those big hands on his shoulders and lead him the way Kallias had gone. Let him leave Feyre standing beneath that crystal chandelier, holding the silver chain she’d used to bind him.

Freedom, if he was courageous enough to take it. 

Was it freedom without her anymore? Rhys had thought so, once. Had believed he could be free so fiercely he’d been willing to defy even the gods to have it. And now…and now he caught himself looking over his shoulder, just to see if she was looking back.

She was.

“How do you know Feyre?” Rhys asked the moment she was out of ear shot. 

“Would you believe me if I said her sister?” Cassian replied, a wolfish grin on his face. That, Rhys thought, explained the her. 

“How old are you?” Rhys asked, thinking this man—this male—likely had no business around another human woman. He remembered Nesta, vaguely. Rhys tried to recall her exact face, but he couldn’t. All he remembered was her name, and the general outline of her. Tall, severe—sharp, much like her younger sister.

“Old enough,” Cassian said with a laugh. “How old are you?”

Probably too old for Feyre, if he was being perfectly honest. She was, what? Twenty? Twenty one? Rhys grunted, a non-committal sound that Cassian read all the same. 

“No judgment on my end,” Cassian assured him, rounding a moonstone corner for, mercifully, a small nook that held two cups and a crystal decanter filled with amber liquid. “About any of it. I know the Archeron sisters can be…difficult.”

“An understatement,” Rhys muttered under his breath as he dropped gracelessly into his chair. Cassian joined him, elbows on the white wood. He was grinning and though Rhys desperately didn’t want to, he liked Cassian as much as he could like any of the Fae. Cassian lacked the pointed ears and their general aura of smug dumbassery, besides. Without the wings, Cassian could have been human. 

Maybe that was what Feyre liked about him, too. 

“To answer your question, though, Feyre and I met while she was with Tamlin. She needed help out—I was all too happy to oblige. That guy…fuck him,” Cassian swore softly, his gaze darkening. “What you did was probably a mercy.”

“Did she love him?” Fuck Rhys for asking that question and double fuck him for being afraid of the answer. 

Cassian only shrugged. “You’d have to ask her—and I wouldn’t, if I were you. There are things that happened…” Cassian drew a heavy breath. “Leaving him cost her. It cost us all.” 

“I’m a fool,” Rhys told him, if only because he needed to tell someone. Since he’d agreed to help Feyre, his life had been reduced to just her, scowling at him and snapping and sniping. There were High Lords who didn’t care if he lived or died so long as he freed them.

And then there was Cassian, passing him a drink of Faerie wine with a grimace. Like he knew all too well how Rhys felt. Maybe the elder Archeron had put him through the ringer, too. At least Rhys didn’t have to worry about Feyre outliving him—though she still might, based on nothing but her own tenacity. 

“Tell me,” Cassian said.

And Rhys did. It all came tumbling from his lips before he could stop himself. Everything he could remember and everything that had happened since he’d walked from his bedroom. He left out his attraction to her, just in case Cassian turned around and told Feyre what he was thinking. Let her guess—let her find out when he told her, and not because of anyone else. 

Cassian and Rhys were on their second cup by the time Rhys finished. Whistling softly, Cassian reclined back in his chair. 

“Four courts,” he said with a mixture of admiration and awe. “You liberated four Fae courts.”

“With help—” “You’re human. You might be Enalius reborn,” Cassian said thoughtfully, those hazel eyes glazed. Reaching for a leather strap on his wrist, he pulled his dark, shoulder length hair from his face. “I don’t know that I could have done that.”

“What’s waiting for us? What happens when this is all over? Will the freed High Lords turn on us, will—”

“Don’t worry about that,” Cassian said with an easy smile. “Worry about getting through Dawn and Day before you start worrying about High Lords trying to kill you.”

“And Night?”

Cassian bit his bottom lip. “That’s my home. A creature of nightmare has taken over the throne of Night. It’s selfish, but I hope you take it back. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m coming with you.”

Rhys didn’t, truth be told. A buffer between him and Feyre might be nice. “For Nesta?”

“Partly,” Cassian agreed with a lopsided smile. “I am looking forward to seeing her face when you and Feyre break the curse. Truthfully, though, I think it might be fun watching you and Feyre trample through Dawn and Day. And I have a score to settle with the prince of Day Court—he owes me a lot of money.”

Rhys took a breath, unwilling to admit he was relieved. Cassian sensed it, though.

“Let her stew a bit, but…you shouldn’t hold it against her for not telling you. I’d have kept it a secret, too.”

Of course she would. Rhys famously hated Faeries…would he have helped her if she’d told him the very first Fae they needed to kill was a former lover? He might have turned around and killed her, too.

“How many secrets do you think she has?” Rhys asked glumly, swallowing the last of his drink.

“Feyre? Thousands, if I had to guess. And a thousand more, by virtue of being an Archeron. They make up for it with that beautiful face though, don’t you think?”

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Knowing she’d never truly be honest with him was made easier by how much he liked her. How beautiful he thought she was, how badly he wanted…wanted more than she’d ever give him. He was asking all the wrong questions, wasn’t he?

What was Feyre going to do when this was all over? Because it certainly wasn’t going to be coming home with him. Not if she and her sisters were entangled in this place, in love with males who weren’t human. For all Rhys knew, there was someone else already, someone she was trying desperately to get back to.

He found her that night, waiting outside the room Kallias had provided for Rhys. She shouldn’t have known where it was and yet she did, the snoop. Rhys intended to ignore her and try again in the morning, but she caught his wrist and before he could say a word, surged up on her tiptoes to press a kiss along his cheek.

“I didn’t get to say thank you,” she said, another lie. He was pretty sure she had. Rhys didn’t dare turn his head, watching her from the corner of his eye. If he faced her, he’d grab her by her slim shoulders and slam her up against the smooth green and silver papered walls and kiss her until he forgot how angry he was. “You could have let me die.”

“No, I couldn’t,” he replied honestly. “Don’t you know that by now?”

“I’m starting to,” she admitted, looking up at him with eyes he swore cut straight to the heart of him. It was as though he and Feyre didn’t need words to speak to the other—like somehow, Feyre just knew. 

“And you?”

He heard her swallow. “Don’t you know by now, Rhys?”

She slipped off before he could make good on those words. Before he could kiss her like he’d wanted to all day. 

And for once, he missed that Cauldron cursed leash.

[gayarograce]

OK, I keep seeing people get this wrong, and it really irks me, so I'm making this post:

Kinder Surprise Eggs are banned in the United States. A lot of you probably knew this already, and this fact is indeed true. What is not true is the assumption I see almost everyone then take: that we did it intentionally, i.e. we banned Kinder Surprise after they were invented due to safety concerns. This is then (anecdotally, I admit) usually followed by some claim that either American children are too stupid to keep themselves from choking on the toy inside or that adults are simply too worried about children potentially choking and decided to then ban them. (Bonus points if the person also mentions our lack of gun control or school shootings in the same breath!)

Except, the second part of that claim, that we intentionally banned Kinder Surprise after they came out, is simply false.

The Federal Food, Drug, and Cosmetic Act (FFDCA) of 1938 bans confectionery that "has partially or completely imbedded therein any nonnutritive object" (21 U.S.C. § 342(d)(1)). You will note, as stated above, that the FFDCA was passed in 1938. Kinder Surprise was released by Ferrero in 1974. Kinder Surprise came 36 years after the FFDCA. I don't think it's much of a stretch to say that the small toy inside Kinder Surprise Eggs isn't nutritive, and therefore when they were launched, they were already by default banned by the FFDCA.

So no, we don't have some sort of special vendetta out for Kinder Surprise Eggs, they were simply already illegal in the US from the start. There is, however, a country which has specifically targeted Kinder Surprise Eggs since they've released:

Chile, in 2016, banned Kinder Surprise, along with a multitude of other sugary foods in an effort to curb Chile's rapidly growing childhood obesity rate. Their specific issue with Kinder Surprise was that the toy is, as they called it, a "promotional gadget" (source). According to Ley 20606, "La venta de alimentos especialmente destinados a menores no podrá efectuarse mediante ganchos comerciales... como regalos, concursos, juegos u otro elemento de atracción infantil" (Ley 20606, Artículo 6, Párrafo 3, source in Spanish). Or, as a rough translation, "The sale of food specifically intended for children may not be carried out through the means of commercial hooks... such as gifts, contests, games, or other elements intended to attract children."

I'm not really sure how I want to end this post. I guess the main thing to take away is whenever you come across any claims similar to the one I addressed in this post, maybe do some research into why what they're making fun of is the case. (Another example I could talk about is how lots of people just assume someone randomly decided there should be 5,280 feet in a mile through the means of, in the words of one notable Tumblr post, "a drunk mathematician rolling dice." The short answer to this is there's 5,280 feet in a mile for the same reason there's exactly 2.54 centimeters in an inch.)

I think that's about it. End post.