#i will not be tagging this as anything else for now <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[buddierecs]

aly's recent reads pt3

here is pt 3 of my recent reads - i haven't been reading a lot of buddie fics recently, but here are some that i have enjoyed lately these fics are mixed rated, so please check the ratings and tags!

i'll tell them put me back in it (and i would do it again) by: paleredheadinascifi "eddie doesn't know how to make his listening history private. buck doesn't know what to do with the words in front of his eyes. chris cannot believe he has to deal with either of them." word count: 4.8k rating: teen and up important tags: idiots in love, fluff and crack, technophobe!eddie diaz, gay disaster!eddie diaz

slaughterhouse by: kithmet "eddie announces he’s leaving. buck, naturally, begins a slow descent to madness." word count: 21k rating: explicit important tags: codependency, possessive behaviour, unhealthy coping mechanisms, masturbation, angst, getting together, freak4freak the elephant in the room never forgets by: exvichan "secrets are spilled and truths brought to light when the 118 and their partners go on a camping trip. oh, and there’s malaphors. lots of malaphors." word count: 19k rating: teen and up important tags: crack, fluff, humour, getting together, camping hopeless, breathless, burning slow by: mostardent "after the coma, buck struggles to feel real and unofficially moves in with eddie." word count: 14k rating: mature important tags: getting together, codependency, mutual pining, light angst, idiots in love, hand jobs dearly beloved by: songbvrd "a story told across five years. eddie finds out buck is marrying someone else and reflects on what brought them to this - and what, if anything, he can do about it." word count: 66k rating: explicit important tags: emotional hurt, character study, second chances, jealous!eddie diaz, found family, adult!christopher diaz, explicit sexual content not even the memories are immortal by: allthatsleft "eddie leaves for texas. buck sees him everywhere." word count: 33k rating: explicit important tags: feelings realisation, codependency, texting, hurt/comfort, pining, first kiss, blow jobs, hand jobs, rimming, spit kink the sweetest apparition by: hyruling "eddie moves to texas. buck keeps accidentally telling people eddie's dead. it goes about as well as you'd expect." word count: 20k rating: explicit important tags: pining, love confessions, crack, angst, codependency, idiots in love, first kiss, first time, sappy sex i know you're gone now, but i'll still want for you by: roephobic "the one where buck leaves and eddie breaks down." word count: 32k rating: teen and up important tags: mental breakdown, angst, therapy, hurt/comfort, TW: mentions of suicide attempt & suicidal ideation, eddie diaz pov, love confessions the bunkroom fic by: exvichan "the station 118 bunkroom has witnessed a lot over the years. private conversations, spats, occasions of affection, joy, and anguish. it’s seen pranks, and games, and camaraderie. it’s even been privy to an unfolding love story or two. it holds the memory of each of these moments." word count: 11k rating: teen and up important tags: humour, fluff, firehouse 118 crew, love confessions, outsider pov all the ashes i've earned by: greenbergsays "spiraling about eddie's announcement, buck gets into a car accident and falls into another coma. this is eddie in the aftermath." word count: 22k rating: teen and up important tags: car accidents, coma, mental breakdown, codependency, TW: referenced suicidal thoughts, character study when you look at me like that, my darling (what do you expect) by: sungodlou "buck and eddie have sex, eddie freaks out. wash, rinse, repeat" word count: 35k rating: explicit important tags: angst, smut, internalised homophobia, gay!eddie diaz, sexuality crisis, anal sex, blow jobs, dom/sub undertones, bottom!buck, top!eddie

[adieutristana]

AHH UR WRITING EATS UP EVERY TIME🙏🔥🔥

anyways, low-key inspired by your Jinx-ring fix and got an idea. Reader makes jewlery for fun and her, Jinx and Isha all have some kind of matching jewelry w/ a little hex-jem in it

-thank youuu (take ur time n take care of yourself honey💜)

of course! thank you for the request <3

thank you for the kind words! also this request kind of reminded me of those dora and disney princess kid rings that used to be everywhere in the 2000s? i loved those please tell me i'm not crazy and you guys know what i'm talking about.

summary; reader makes matching rings for herself, jinx, and isha.

characters included; jinx, isha (platonic/familial)

tags/warnings; fluff, domestic, welder/jeweler!reader, mother/mother/daughter dynamic, i can't rly think of anything else

men dni.

"stay still."

you murmur, holding a thin strip of paper around jinx's right ring finger. you wrap it around once, using one of jinx's blue markers to mark just a millimeter below where the paper should end. just for safety, you think. jinx's gaze is fixed on you, before you straighten up and write 'J' on the remainder of the white strip.

“got me all measured now?”

“mhm. thanks, babe.” you smile, squeezing one of your girlfriend’s shoulders.

you'd told her what you were up to. you were an apprentice under one of the undercity's only jewelers, welding jewelry by hand and making custom orders for loyal patrons. wedding bands, engagement rings, promise rings, pendants, chains, charm bracelets- you'd done it all.

since taking in isha, once just a scared little girl in the lanes who insisted on hanging off jinx's pant leg, your life had changed for the better. you'd already been pretty satisfied with the state of things. you had a stable job, you loved your craft, you had a beautiful and loving girlfriend by your side. all of this combined was more than enough to keep you happy, but at the most unexpected of times, this girl had come into your life.

she was afraid, having seen firsthand the rigidity of zaun and just how violent things could become; especially in the climate of recent days. but she was also sweet, and both you and jinx could tell that she just needed someone to love her. communicate with her, play with her, make her feel important. rather, two someones.

yet after taking her in, she’d grown so much. always such a playful kid, so curious about the world around her and so fascinated by both you and jinx. you’d had endless adventures together, filled with laughter and anticipation. a kid-friendly version of jinx’s usual mayhem. though you’d also share quiet mornings together, when isha wants to help you make breakfast or wants you to read from one of the children’s books jinx had stolen for her.

and now, you wanted to do something for the three of you. a marker of your status as a family, and something you know both jinx and isha would love. with jinx’s possessive nature, matching jewelry was an immediate ‘yes,’ and isha would be delighted to receive something so personalized. and to be able to match with her moms? that’s the cherry on top!

though, both you and jinx had agreed to keep it a surprise for the girl. the look on her face when she received her gift would be worth having to keep a secret (as difficult as that was for jinx).

“your turn, ish!”

you call out, a sound which is soon followed by the pitter-patter of little feet. isha looks up at you with wide, curious eyes, before you crouch down to her level and reach your hand out for one of hers.

“give me your hand.”

you hum, your tone instantly becoming softer in the presence of isha. she holds up both hands, looking at you as if to ask ‘which one?’ a smile tugs at your lips, and you let out a light chuckle.

“either one. just give me a hand.”

isha then puts down her right hand, giving you free access to her left. you gently take the girl's hand in yours and spread her fingers out, slotting another thin slip of paper in. she tilts her head curiously, but allows you to wrap the paper around her finger and mark it- this time with a yellow 'I.' upon releasing her hand, you look up at the girl before you to be greeted by furrowed brows. a low laugh escapes you.

"it's a surprise, kid. you'll know soon enough, okay?"

isha frowns, looking over to jinx for some kind of backup or clue as to what you're finding, though she just shrugs in her chair.

"sorry, isha. this one-" she points her index finger at you. "made me promise not to tell."

the girl lets out a low yet adorable groan, keeping her little arms crossed over her chest. you could almost give in upon seeing her bottom lip poking out lightly, her leaning on one leg, and those yellow eyes narrowed; but you had a surprise to keep. isha would know soon enough, and she'd love it.

✧.*

it was challenging to find time between clients, but within about three weeks, you'd finally managed to complete the set of rings.

the rings you'd made yourself and your girlfriend weren't difficult. but you'd never made a ring for a child before, and making a piece of jewelry fit for isha's fingers proved to be one of the most daunting tasks during your time as a jeweler. engraving it had proved to be even more difficult. but you'd managed, and you were damn proud of the final results.

your girlfriend and isha sit in front of you, looking at you with expectant eyes. you'd just told them that you had a surprise for them both, and guided them to sit on jinx's torn leather couch. jinx knows exactly what you're planning, trying (and failing) to look unassuming in front of isha.

"close your eyes and hold your hands out," you say with a smile, giving both girls knowing glances while they do what you've asked. isha's hands out in front of her while her wide eyes slip shut, jinx wearing a slight smirk. you step back and take a deep breath in, before reaching into your back right pocket to retrieve the rings. two matching silver bands, the metal clinking together quietly as you try to separate them in your hand.

you place the rings in their outstretched hands, before reaching into your left pocket to take your own out and slip it onto your finger.

"now... open."

both of their eyes slip open, and isha instantly gasps at the sight before her. jinx's eyes widen, immediately wearing a toothy grin. she turns the ring in her hand, looking at how the shiny silver catches in the light.

"look at that."

she gasps, turning the ring in her hand. jinx's ring holds a blue hex crystal, glowing even in the dim lighting of jinx's hideout. on one side of the crystal, a cursive engraving of the letter J, and a simplistic outline of a monkey on the other side. isha's own is similar, holding another hex crystal. an 'I' is engraved into her ring, a bunny on the other side to match it.

and your own, the same silver band and hex crystal adorning it. though this one is engraved with your initial, and the outline of a cat.

"you like it?" you ask, holding up your right hand for jinx to see. her smile returns, and isha is nodding frantically. it's adorable to see- her wide smile and the way her hair bounced up and down while nodding. she's so enthusiastic.

"it looks great, toots." she muses, "but i still think i could've done better. i have scrap metal and a blowtorch."

you lightly roll your eyes at jinx's quip, but turn to gauge isha's reaction. she's already put her ring on where she remembers you measuring her, marveling at the sight. she's switching between gasping whenever she notices a new detail, and smiling wide at the fact that you made this for her. the fact that they're all matching and personalized isn't lost on isha, and you can tell it makes it that much more special for the girl.

a far cry from the scared child jinx had brought home a few months prior, and this is exactly what makes your job worth it. not the acclaim, not the positive critics' reviews, not even the money (though that was always welcomed). the fact that you've made an impact on this kid by using your craft makes you only want to push more, strive to be greater. give her both something to remind her of your love, and a positive role model to look to.

she's finally able to close her mouth, giving a close-lipped smile and bring her hand to her chin to sign 'thank you.'

"you're welcome," you breathe out, before sitting yourself between jinx and isha on the couch. you reach an arm out for both of them to pull them into your sides. "those weren't easy to make, you know."

"so you've told me."

jinx replies, and you shake your head in mock resignation. isha, though, is pressing closer to you, one arm haphazardly wrapped around you while she continues to 'ooh' and 'aah' at her new jewelry.

"these feel so personal, you know." jinx murmurs, suddenly a bit more earnest. she's looking at her own ring herself, her gaze flitting between the glimmering hex crystal and you. "i mean, they are. they were made for us. but i don't know. it's... nice."

isha makes a 'hm' noise in agreement, jinx taking a deep breath.

"i like that it's just us. we're the only people in the world who have these rings, and we get to show them off. i think that's a pretty damn good selling point."

you hum, gently brushing your lips along the crook of jinx's neck before letting your head rest on jinx's shoulder. isha situates herself to lay across both yours and jinx's laps, her little hands folded over her stomach.

"it's like we're some kind of exclusive club."

jinx chuckles, coming to card her fingers through fluffy brown hair.

"or a family."

the girl pauses, her shoulders tensing for only a moment. a family. she'd never necessarily thought of it like that, having let go of the idea of ever having a family again long ago. but it's the perfect descriptor of your group without a doubt, and it feels like the right word to put to the moment you're having right now. her shoulders relax, a gentle smile gracing her features. isha reaches to squeeze one of jinx's hands in a show of silent support.

"...yeah. a family."

[heshemejoshi]

i feel like if you look at my octopath tag for a bit it might be obvious which ships i’m drawn to AHAHAHAH so i would rather talk about a rarepair ship that’s technically not even possible in canon because one of them is already dead and the other is killed. but it kept me making up situations for a while and it was fun!

brace yourselves, it’s yusufa x gareth YURI. i imagine this happens in a timeline where, somehow, primrose managed to get yusufa help for her wounds and leaves her in the care of zeph in clearbrook. she leaves her because, as the ending in canon states, she wants her to be free. and by leaving her she’s giving her the freedom she never had. i imagine yusufa grieves this breakup of sorts for a while, but she comes to understand why primrose took that decision while her body recovers and she gets to talk to a man who doesn’t ask Anything of her, who doesn’t want her in the way she’s been used to.

i imagine she also goes on a trip across the continent, which is where meeting gareth comes into place. idk why, i always thought it was cute if she became an apothecary apprentice with a role akin to alfyn (healing people in need just for the sake of it) and in those travels she meets a wounded gareth left to die in a cave. they stay on that one town close to where that happens during his recovery which reminds yusufa of “home” but the environment is now significantly different to her. it doesn’t want to eat her alive.

gareth’s character is an obvious foil to therion who also went through darius’ brutal discarding. in canon he has to die in order for the plot to advance and he is the Only person therion has to kill across his 4 chapters. i think in canon he also is trapped in a cycle of violence because it’s clear by how he’s played as a pawn that darius also mistreats him but he has nowhere else to go to. while therion at this point in the plot has the other 7 travelers (or.. the ravuses if you choose a loner playthrough, but i think they’re narratively much much weaker than considering the other protagonists) backing him up, gareth has no one but darius. like therion before the fall.

in a sense both gareth and yusufa have been failed by the world they live on through sheer bad luck. though we know nothing about gareth’s backstory he is with darius for a reason and he is actively crushed by him. and yusufa was sold to helgenish as a child, leaving her with no other choice than to stay with him. when yusufa meets gareth in my timeline, i think they both recognize each others as survivors, and yusufa helps guide her through her newfound unexpected freedom as gareth also shows her new paths in hers. i also imagine gareth at first struggles with not returning to darius because in a twisted way her body still feels like she has to go back, miroring yusufa's grieving and letting primrose go in the beginning.

now ONTO THE YURI PART OKAY because gareth is canonically a man. i like to think there’s transgender things happening in my games you see. i honestly have not much explanation or justification for this other than i think that gareth stands at odds with existence itself and yet she chooses to live (extremely trans coded) even if she knows she’s only good at her thievery. i believe that both of their freedom is eventually expressed through breaking gender, as well. and through gareth, yusufa can also get a new meaning of womanhood, because she’s been sexualized for it for her entire life, but gareth helps her gain a new understanding that being a woman doesn’t have to mean she’s purely valuable as an object of sexual desire.

does this make sense? probably not. i’m admitting my secrets here ok. they’ve been hiding for YEARS i never talk about them but i have based some ocs around these concepts since they resonate so much. octopath helped me fuel my creativity as i developed as a teen (and also helped me find community at a time where i needed it) and i’ll always have a soft spot for that inevitably <3

I miss octopath yapping with people so uh yknow what! We’re gonna play a game!!

Explain in the notes what y’all’s favorite ships are and why you like them!!!

Only rules are

1) do not explain why everyone should think your ship is canon, as that is not the point of this post 2) do not put any other ships down bc that is also not the point of this post 3) ALL games are included (yes including cotc) 4) ANY SHIPS ARE ALLOWED!!! GO NUTS!!!!

[anystalker707]

I <3 making pretty boys cry

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x [gender-neutral] Reader Summary: Anakin cries when you blow him Tags: drabble / Anakin's pretty whimpers / teasing him / edging / dacryphilia

MASTER LIST

          The Jedi code was extensive, descriptive, and strict, but it never stopped exceptions, and Anakin himself was a great one, ever since the beginning. He was supposed to be many things, but none mattered the moment he was with you, away from prying eyes. Sometimes, when you were lucky enough, you would manage to slip away because spending nights in the Temple was too risky, within the sense of so many powerful Jedi that could sense your connection as easily as one could notice a sudden breeze.

It was a cheap motel in the lower levels of Coruscant, but it was more than enough if it meant the two of you could be together without worrying about anything beyond the closed walls of the bedroom. Not even ten minutes had passed since you two entered the room, and Anakin’s pants already echoed through it, punctuated by soft whimpers.

A pretty pink dusted Anakin’s cheeks as he looked down at you through half-lidded eyes and blown pupils, hands pressed to the wall, each by a side of his hips. Fuck it if the floor would stain your pants and leave marks on the knees, you just couldn’t waste any second by moving to the bed or the couch, much busier with continuing to mouth the outline of the bulge that strained his pants, keeping your eyes on his face as much as you could.

“You’re so hard for me, baby,” you mumbled, easily earning yourself an adorable whine. Anakin’s cock visibly twitched when your fingers grazed the waistband of his pants, so you took a few more seconds than you planned to start tugging it down, letting it grind along his length, and when you did the same with his boxers, he let out another breathy moan. “So pretty. Look at you.”

Pearls of cum glazed the flushed tip, enough to ease your hand’s motions as you wrapped it around his cock and pumped him slowly, feeling every vein, every pulsation. Your eyes followed attentively as another bead escaped his tip, rolling down your thumb’s knuckle.

“Please,” Anakin’s breathy plea cut through your thoughts, and you glanced up at him again, wishing you could swallow the moans straight from those soft plush lips, but you focused on busying your mouth with something else right now.

Anakin was sensitive, and you never had the opportunity to have him often enough to cure that sensitivity away, which was far from bad. He was responsive to every little touch, craving everything and anything from you, and who were you to deny?

The tangy, salty taste was more than familiar, spreading on your tongue as you licked a stripe from the base to the tip before going back down, tracing the vein. Up again, your tongue reached the underside of his tip, snatching a higher-pitched moan from Anakin as his hips bucked forward. You could only imagine how painfully needy he was after only being palmed and mouthed through his pants for so long, only now getting the friction and contact he ached so much for.

Your tongue swirled around the tip before closing around it, and Anakin’s breath fell completely out of pace when you finally took him in your mouth. First, deep throating, then bobbing shallowly. Even if he tangled his fingers in your hair, it was mostly for leverage than to fuck into your mouth, because he obediently kept his hips in place when you held them against the wall.

“G’nna cum,” Anakin whined, cock twitching, leaking more, thighs quivering. How adorable. A sound of frustration followed after you pulled away, and cold air replaced the warmth of your mouth; he almost folded over. He looked down, eyes glazed, as he observed you nuzzle into his crotch, in a way you mouthed at his balls lightly. It felt so good, but he didn’t want to cum like that, he needed you, he needed you to have every drop.

“Mmph, please,” Anakin repeated. He hoped he could hold back.

“What’s it, baby?” You raised your eyebrows lightly, heart fluttering when you caught the sight of a tear finally escaping his eye and trailing down his cheek. Your thumbs rubbed circles into his hips, soothing and demanding all at the same time.

“Need your mouth ‘round me,” Anakin babbled. The words ran one into another, his small voice breathy and whiny. He exhaled shakily, another tear escaping his eyes as his cock twitched painfully.

“Oh, poor little thing,” you whispered, kissing his tip while wrapping a hand around the base of his cock. “‘M gonna take care of you.” You took him into his mouth again, cock heavy on your tongue, throbbing even more when you hollowed your cheeks. Something similar to a sob escaped his lips, and it didn’t even take long before he came, salty bitter cum coating your tongue as you kept working your mouth around him, despite the soft sobs that still escaped his lips, muffled by his palm.

[empathizewiththemoon]

INTRODUCTION:33

Heya! I’m Moony/Artemis/Z(most ppl call me Moony.) Uh anyways! You can refer to me using pretty much any pronouns, They/It/He/She. Im an artist, so art is mostly what I post, I’m trying to keep the random reblogging down to a minimum. I am a MINOR so be aware of that. Requests r fine and very much encouraged, might not get to them immediately but I’ll find the time to!

INTERESTS/HYPERFIXATIONS(in order)

-Chonny Jash(mostly CCCC)

-Mouthwashing

-Murder drones

-FNAF

-TADC

-Undertale

WHAT I POST

I mostly post Chonny Jash stuff as right now that’s my biggest hyper fixation, though some MD oc art will be here. Not much of anything else though I do take art requests that aren’t CCCC or Chonny Jash. So go crazy with the requests(again, just keep in Mind that I’m a minor)

PPL YOU SHOULD FOLLOW IF YOU FOLLOW ME:33

- @themoonwithagun (if you wanna see some more digital art, my old acc)

- @thesunwhowasshot (My wife💜/platonic)

- @thestarwhowashung (my child chat)

- @egoisticqueerunderanydefinition (Freakazoid #1)

- @atlaseclectic (Freakazoid #2)

- @therewillbenoromance (change your name to thereWILLberomance)

- @thepeanutbutterno (POOKIE BEAR��💜/platonic)

Some of my favorite mutuals(follow them all NOW if you haven’t already)‼️‼️

- @bluestarlett

- @phantom-dancing

- @misternibbs

- @zundamind

- @kuro-is-silly

- @junommidnight

- @muckablucka

- @moonys-chaos

- @psilliguykai

- @love-3-crimes

- @angelno404

- @aleafylampshade

- @lionacuty

- @fishfrantic

- @locatedattycho

- @the-weird-artistic

- @chaos-reprisal

- @moonpie016

- @sunnydr0pp

(Not in a particular order🙏 also goddamn that’s a lot🙏🙏)

Sorry I keep adding ppl😔😔😔

Tags I use:33

- #dont empathize with this yapping (normal talking tag, totally normal)

- #the moons art (artwork tag)

- #chucking this in to the void (reblog tag, yes I know it’s weird but whatever, fight me)

(I’ll make more later)

Okay bye bye I’ll add more later💜💜

[ninupi]

Hello~I have a request about Hanma, how would he react to reader getting asked by someone as to why they like Hanma and she answers "well it's cuz he's a bundle of joy!" :D

sweetheart | s. hanma

₊˚⊹♡ tags; fem!reader, mentions of hanma being in a gang (obvi lol), readers friends assuming crazy stuff, lmk if anything else needs to tagged

₊˚⊹♡ wc; 900+

₊˚⊹♡ a/n; im soso sorry it took me so long to get to this but I hope you enjoy </3 also didn't realize it said HANMAS REACTION til like halfway through writing LOLL

"You'll pick me up after classes right?" you ask Hanma as you slide off his bike taking off the helmet he insists you wear when riding with him despite him not wearing one himself. He gives you an unimpressed look while fixing the hair on top of your head. 

"Have I ever not picked you up after class?" you can't help but laugh at the tone of his voice. "I just like to be sure. It would be easier if you just came to class, though. " You give him a hopeful look, hoping he'll finally stop skipping class for once.

He immediately sucks his teeth causing you to roll your eyes "You know that's not my thing babe, I've got other stuff to do anyway" You let out a soft sigh knowing he just means gang-related things "Whatever...it'd just be nice to see you throughout the day sometimes."

He lets out a soft sigh when he sees the way you pick at the strap of your bag and stare at your shoes "C'mon don't be like that y/n..." he says reaching for your hand, holding it firmly while you still refuse to meet his eyes. 

"I'll take you to that new cafe you wanted to go to today if you look at me" he can't help the grin on his face when you look up at him before he even finishes his sentence. "You mean it?" He fakes an annoyed groan causing you to playfully slap his arm. 

"Yeah yeah I mean it, I'll take you" he smiles seeing how excited you are by the news "Ok ok, you better be here as soon as the last bell rings then!" you say to him turning to head through the school gates when you feel his grip on your hand tighten. 

Turning towards him you give him a confused look but he only raises his eyebrows silently reminding you of what you forgot "You're such a sap" you giggle while pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his lips "Watch it or no cafe" he jokinglythreats. 

You only roll your eyes at the empty threat while he brings your hand to his lips and presses a gentle kiss "I'll see you after class" he reassures while starting up his bike leaving you to wave goodbye to him before heading into school.

Once you've made it into your classroom you notice all your friends surrounding your desk talking about something. "Hey guys what's up?" they all look at you a bit wide-eyed at your 'sudden' arrival "Hey y/n…we were just talking."

You give Mai an odd look, obviously, they were talking "Yeah I know…about what though?" at this all of them stay quiet not wanting to talk anymore it seems, you give them all a weird look when your other friend Ayase sighs out "We were talking about your boyfriend."

At this you get a bit defensive, why would they be talking about Shuji? "What about him?" some of the girls cringe hearing the annoyed tone of your voice "No, not like that!" Ayase immediately says causing you to give her a suspicious look.

"Then what?" you question getting annoyed at the shy glances they give each other "It's just…" you give her an expected look waiting for her to finish "I mean why are you with that guy? Seriously? Is he threatening you or something? We can report him-"

"What the hell, he's not threatening me! Where did you even get something like that from?" you question her angrily while your other friends try to do damage control "I'm just asking y/n! He's a well-known delinquent, I've never heard anything good about him I just wanted to make sure you're okay!"

The two of you are now somewhat yelling at each which has gained the attention of other students in the class "Yeah he's a delinquent but he's a good boyfriend, he's never done anything to me or let anything to me!" You watch as your friend tries to find the right words to say. 

"You don't know him Ayase, you just listen to what other people say! And yeah that other stuff is probably true but I don't know that Shuji, the Shuji I know is good to me and treats me right. So who cares if he's a delinquent, he's the greatest guy I've ever met!" 

You feel your ears get hot once you finish talking, not realizing how loud you actually were. Your friends stare at you a bit dumbfounded at your outburst, Ayase finally goes to say something the classroom door opens bringing everyone's attention to it rather than you two. 

"Didn't know you could get that loud babe" Your face contorts into an embarrassing scowl at Hanma's words "Don't mind me though, I just came by to drop this off" he's holding up your lunch that you seemingly forgot with a cheeky smile. 

He softly places it on your desk along with a red bean bun that looks like it's from the convenience store across the street "Also got you this, know how much you love 'em" he winks loving how embarrassed you seem to be. 

"Thanks, Shuji, you didn't have to though…" you mutter now hyperaware of everyone's eyes on the two of you "Anything for my girl, don't forget about the cafe after classes though! Don't want you to be too full to actually try anything" he teases ruffling the top of your head before leaving. 

You keep your eyes on the packaged bun on your desk too embarrassed to meet your friend's eyes "You were right y/n, he seems like a great guy" You look up to see your friends giving you teasing smiles. You can feel all your annoyance come back at once "You guys suck!" 

[spiritedstars]

Spirit Meets the Bones XXXVI

Genre: Angst/Romance/Drama Warnings: physical abuse/triggering language. Author’s Note:  Thank you for reading <3

thank you @riorsonxaden for always being my beta <3

tagging: @climb-the-mountian / @vanserrass / @positivewitch / @animezinglife / @zenkindoflove / @rosewood-cafe / @clockwork-ashes / @carnythian / @secret-third-thing / @runningwiththeoceans / @that-golden-lyre / @thedarkinmansfield / @readychilledwine / @goldenmagnolias / @mali22 / @readthelastpaage / @maidr-00 / @electromagnetic-waves / @eastofatlanta / @moobell55 / @bibliophiliaxvignette / @devilsfoodcake22 / @weesablackbeak / @ladywhilemia / @alohaangels / @feysandfeels / @corcracrow / @dawneternal / @gracie-rosee / @mage-neve / @illyrianvalkyrie / @saint-stella / @carolynmezzosoprano / @rainbowsnowflake / @queenoftheworld1998 / @wolvesnravens / @lalaluch /

Find it all here.

Iris tried to focus on her steps as she walked away from the one person who mattered more than anyone else. Tried to keep breathing, knowing anything could happen to him. 

She could sense Eris’s every emotion trickling through the bond as she stepped out of the ballroom and walked quickly down the hall. His panic became hers and as she ran a finger against her necklace in comfort, Iris knew better than to look back. If she did, she wouldn’t resist running back to him and he needed her away for his own sanity. 

With every step she moved away from him, her mess of a heart thumped how wrong it felt. She loved him. She loved him and should’ve told him anyway. She should’ve stayed —

Iris also realized she should’ve been paying attention when she collided with the one person she wanted to avoid.

“Iris.” 

She straightened at the voice of the High Lord and a strong sense of foreboding coiled in her stomach as she took a step back. 

Iris gave him a polite bow of her head. “High Lord.”

Beron tilted his head, giving her a sly leer that instantly put her on edge. “You usually say it differently, no?”

She worked not to let her expression shift from a pleasant smile and swallowed, bowing her head again, “How can I help you, my High Lord?”

“Better,” he said and took a closer step to her, his eyes tracing her body in a way he hadn’t openly done so before. He watched her with an almost morbid curiosity and it made Iris tense further. “Have you been enjoying yourself this evening?”

Iris’s jaw clenched but she kept her gaze even. “Yes, of course. It’s been a splendid night,” she answered. “Where is –”

“You’re doing better than I expected. I admit…I underestimated your capabilities.” Beron continued, ignoring her response as his gaze burned into her skin. “I am pleased to see that you can be taught whatever is necessary.” 

She couldn’t stop the slow blink at his words and the tone he said them, alarm bells ringing in her ears. Silence stretched between them and Iris knew by the way the corner of his mouth lifted, Beron could hear the rapid beating of her heart. His gaze shifted to her chest as if he could see right through her and suddenly, her mind took her back to the fight she had with Eris many moons ago about his father – about the High Lord’s particular interest in females. Eris didn’t believe his father would cross that one line to force himself on the females he wanted but…with the way the High Lord was looking at her now, Iris wasn’t as confident. Hating the way his gaze made her feel so dirty, she casually lifted a hand to rest it over the slight dip in the front of her dress, cold dread slinking down her spine. 

“I’m…relieved to know it was to your standard,” she said carefully. “But where is –”

The High Lord took another step towards her and Iris couldn’t stop her eyes from widening as he infringed on her personal space. She noticed too late how quiet the hallway was – how alone they were. How Oren, who was meant to be waiting for her, was nowhere in sight. “Where are you off to, without your husband?”

Cautiously, Iris backed another step with a tight smile. “I wanted to refresh before we continued with the dancing,” she said. “Where’s Mother?”

Beron’s face darkened and his demand was nearly a growl, “Stop calling her that. Do not concern yourself with her.” 

She blinked, her brows furrowing slightly and her free hand tightened in the folds of her dress. “As you wish…may I be on my way now?”

Instead of answering, the High Lord took another step closer, backing Iris against the wall and her eyes quickly darted to the empty hall they stood in again. Why was it so empty? And so quiet? Where the hell were all the people? 

“My lord –”

“My eldest son had always been my favorite of the children I sired. The most reliable. The one who followed orders.” he began. “Yet, since you appeared, he has challenged me more and more as the days go on. He’s become quite a nuisance.” Beron’s mouth curled in distaste as he watched her. “Every single one of them has become a nuisance but Eris…he has disappointed me the most. And I do believe it is all because of you.” 

Iris flushed and beneath the prickling anxiety at being cornered like this, anger pulsed under her skin. “I’m afraid I don’t follow, High Lord.” 

Beron snorted. “Do not pretend to misunderstand what I mean, Iris.”

They said nothing for a moment and Iris knew she had to tread carefully. Eris had suspected his father might be aware of something but she didn’t want to be the one to jeopardize anything else. 

“I think you are giving me too much credit, my lord.” she finally said. “Eris is a male of his own mind and has always…admired you. Strived to please you.” 

His brow ticked up at her words and Iris had to swallow as he leaned in closer to her. “And you, Iris? Do you strive to please me?”

Revulsion clogged her throat at the quiet, sinister tone he used and his choice of words. Iris knew he always toed this line with her, doing anything to piss Eris off. But this time…it felt different, more dangerous. 

This time, Iris wasn’t sure the High Lord wouldn’t act.

“I –”

“You and I haven’t gotten to know each other very well. I think that will be changing soon,” he said and Iris felt her stomach drop as he watched her with cruel amusement. “My son will not like it but I’ve let him slide without a more lasting punishment and he seems to be pushing his limit today. You will fit exactly what I have in mind for him.” 

Her face flushed deeply and Iris could do nothing to stop the disgust in her expression, that rage simmering beneath her skin. Did she dare pull out her dagger? Would she be fast enough? “W-what are you —”

Beron chuckled and Iris flinched back when he raised a hand to grip her face tightly. “In all honesty, you weren’t of any interest to me before,” he said, his voice as soft as a lover and Iris tried not to gag at how close his mouth was to hers. “My son and I had an understanding about you but the way he keeps you from me and hides you away…piqued my interest. I think it’ll be a very fitting punishment indeed for him to watch as I teach you all the things that do please me. He can watch you break until it shatters him.” That cruel amusement returned as he added, “And then I will slit his throat.”

The world slid out from beneath her feet and rage like none other scorched her skin. “How dare you –”

His grip tightened painfully on her chin and she hated the smile he gave her at the whimper that slipped from her lips. “You are aware your father offered you to me first, aren’t you?” he asked, his tone sharpening. “Your circumstances and level of comfort are rapidly changing and given how the rest of this evening will unfold, I suggest you watch your tone. Your husband will no longer be your shield.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” she breathed and a twisted smile curled on the High Lord’s face. 

“Do you think I’m unaware that my sons are trying to stage a coup? That my wife is a part of it?” he said, his voice low and Iris felt her lungs collapse. “They planned and planned and it will all collapse on their heads.”

Iris worked her throat, panic slowly unfurling in her chest as she thought about her next steps. This couldn’t be happening. “I don’t think –”

She yelped as the High Lord gripped her by the throat and slammed her body into the wall. “Do not even think to lie to me.” he hissed. “I know they will try to humiliate me tonight but I’ll be damned if I let them after everything I’ve done to get here.” His hold tightened and Iris wheezed as her nails dug into his hand. “You will get your share of the punishment as well but I promised your father he would get his turn first.”

Her father. Of course, that fucker was in on it. He must’ve come to them earlier on purpose, to rile her and Eris before disappearing. 

What if she pulled her dagger out now? Would she be able to gut him and run to find Eris? Her free hand twitched in the folds of her dress for the hidden pocket but the High Lord grabbed her wrist and pinned her arm to the wall, pressing his body against her.

Iris couldn’t breathe and she wondered if Eris could sense her panic – her fear. It was the last thing she wanted. She didn’t want Eris anywhere near his father right now and she tried to move but all it did was push her body against Beron’s even further. He smiled at her in a way that said he liked it too much. 

“You must have lost your mind. Let go of me.” she hissed, clawing at his hands but Beron only smirked, tightening his grip even further. 

“Do not give me orders, girl. Once I’m finished cleaning out the traitors, you will have the honor of being the first trained in the new ways,” he promised darkly. “I certainly don’t need four sons and can always find a new wife.” Much to her dismay, Beron leaned close to her ear and breathed, “I do have plans to keep you in the family, Iris. You and I can play then whichever of my sons survives…I’ll let him play with you too.” She froze, her breath stuttering as the High Lord pulled back and Iris looked at him with wide eyes, overcome with horror. “And do not worry, I’ll kill Eris after he has the privilege of watching his mate be used.”

Iris’s head emptied and she felt her body go slack against him. He knew. The bastard knew about their bond and Eris had been right – his father was going to make everything so much worse. 

She stared at him in repulsion and disbelief and so much anger boiled in her blood that she began to shake. How long would males like her father and Beron think to use her like bait? To keep finding ways to hurt her husband, the only male she’d ever loved? “You are a deranged bastard.” she seethed. “How dare you say these kinds of things? How dare you spit on something so sacred and try to twist it?”

Beron’s smile was one of her worst nightmares. “Soon enough, I will spit wherever I’d like.” he nearly purred and Iris fought back the urge to gag. “This isn’t the first time I’ve ruined someone’s mate. I will certainly enjoy ruining you as well.”

“You’re a fucken pig. Let - me - go.” Iris hissed and thrashed in his arms. “Eris will –” But Beron’s face darkened at the mention of his son, squeezing her throat tighter. 

And fight as she might, he was a High Lord — a vile, vicious High Lord that abused his powers in the worst ways and he would not let Iris break out of his grasp unless he allowed it.

He observed her for a moment, his mouth curling. “I do like your fighting spirit. We’ll see how long it’ll last when I’m done with you.” he mused then shoved her to the side hard enough, Iris stumbled and fell as she finally took a deep breath. “I plan to see how fast you can run, little gazelle.”

Iris blinked in shock, trying to breathe as she watched him casually making his way back to the ballroom – as if he hadn’t just stated his despicable plans to ruin everyone’s lives. Eris and his brothers had plans in place but the High Lord seemed to be ten steps ahead. How did he know? Who had betrayed them?

Iris rubbed her raw neck, noticing too late that her necklace had broken, and pulled her hand back, cradling it sadly. She tried not to take it as a bad omen as she shakily stood, torn in her next decision.

She would not think about the High Lord’s threats, shuddering through the ghost of his touch and gazing around the empty hall again. It was empty for a reason and she struggled to understand why Beron had let her go.

Did she run back and warn Eris? Would it be walking right into Beron’s trap and making it all worse?

Iris steeled herself, tucking the necklace into the pocket of her dress with shaky hands and finally pulling out her dagger. She would go back to Eris but not without some kind of support – Iris would be a help and not a hindrance. She would find Oren and hopefully, her mother-in-law.  As upset as her husband might be that Iris was still here, she’d be damned if she left him now.

Tightening her grip on her dagger, Iris carefully continued down the hall, wary of every sound she made. The emptiness of it was deliberate and as she took a few more steps, she felt her healer magic almost tugging her along. Iris did all she could not to run – not to draw attention to herself because the lack of people in this hall was not a good thing. She walked as casually as she could until Iris turned the hall and her body lurched as she came to a stop, her heart leaping into her throat.

“And where do you think you’re running off to, daughter?” 

Iris swallowed and her grip tightened even further on her dagger, observing as her father stood in the hall, alone. As if he’d been waiting for her. “What are you doing here?” she asked as calmly as she could. 

His smile made every inch of her tense. Running into the High Lord and then finding the male she hated most waiting for her was not a coincidence. 

In trying to avoid Beron’s trap of going back to Eris, Iris had walked right into another and it suddenly made sense why the High Lord had let her walk away. 

“I’m here to escort you to your next stop.” her father said with that awful smile and Iris steeled herself. 

“My next stop is to my husband.”

“Why, that’s exactly where I want to take you as well.” Aron said and took a step towards her. Iris took a step back. 

“I will not go anywhere with you. Move aside and let me pass.” she demanded and he raised a brow.

“Given your little stunt in the ballroom and standing here without your husband, I wouldn’t think you’d be brave enough to keep up with that attitude.” 

She felt anger flare in her bones and couldn’t help scoffing at her father. “When we shooed you away like the dog you are?” she mocked and his expression flattened. “I’m not sure why you get offended. You are the High Lord’s lapdog through and through, aren’t you? Willing to do anything and everything he requests of you?”

“Shut your mouth, you ungrateful bitch.” Aron seethed and Iris couldn’t help the small sense of triumph at riling him up, even as they stepped around each other, knowing his hands could harm her. “The High Lord and I have a mutually beneficial relationship that you and your stupid husband threaten to ruin.” 

“Ah, yes. The relationship with you on your knees for the High Lord doing all his dirty work and he allows you to reign free?” she dared to say. 

Aron's eyes narrowed and seethed, “And what do you dare mean by that?" 

And Iris knew should've stayed quiet. She should’ve listened to the part of her screaming to get away from him as soon and as fast as she could – the survival instinct that had stayed with her over the years of dealing with his fists. 

The other part of her, the one now thumping through her veins, was raging at her to keep going. She was a princess of this court. The mate and wife of the next High Lord come hell or high water and her husband was the reason she could stand her ground and know she was worth the fight. She had a right to fight for herself and not let this sorry excuse of a father keep diminishing her like this. So Iris channeled every ounce of arrogance she could muster and smirked, speaking in a tone of such uninterested boredom that she was slightly disappointed Eris wasn’t here to witness it, “Eris and I have often wondered if you get better rewards the better you suck his father's cock. I doubt we’re the only ones.” 

“How dare you!” 

Her father didn’t give her another chance to say anything else and Iris knew she was playing with fire taunting him but she’d spent her whole life dealing with him and his anger. She was sick of him and his jabs and his entire existence. She would fight fire with fire and consequences be damned. 

Aron lunged at his daughter and Iris barely dodged his grip, slicing her dagger up as she went. 

“You dare try to hurt me?” he seethed as he moved against her. 

“I will hurt anyone who tries to hurt me and you’ve been at the top of my list for years, you piece of shit.” She snapped and took a step back, her eyes darting around the hall for anything that may help her. Anything to stop him as he followed her, trying to corner her while she dodged him.

The hall was dimly lit, and that eerie silence of being alone with him had the shadows playing tricks on her senses as Iris continued to evade her father's advances. The bastard seemed to know her every move and each time she moved one way, he followed her with a snarl. She knew she couldn't quite match his physical strength; Iris had been on the receiving end of his blows for years and that small fear would always linger. But she had to remind herself that she was stronger now. Even if she couldn’t win, she sure as fuck could injure and this fueled her determination.

As Aron lunged once more, his sword now in hand, Iris quickly sidestepped him, her dagger slashing through the air and the metallic clash echoed in the hall as her blade met his. The sound vibrated through the room as father and daughter glared at each other.

“You dance this little number with me and yet, you couldn’t overpower me if you tried, could you?” Aron cooed mockingly and Iris’s jaw clenched as she shoved away from him and a gleam of silver caught her eyes from a nearby table. Backing away slowly, letting her father assume she was retreating, Iris darted towards it, quickly grabbing one of the lofty candlestick holders adorning the hall. The cold metal of the sturdy base felt reassuring in her hand as she held it, facing her father.

“This was always your problem, Aron.” she mocked and her father’s eyes flashed. “You always underestimated me.” 

Aron's face twisted with rage, and as he charged at her again, Iris was waiting. She feigned with her dagger and instead swung the candlestick holder with all her might, aiming for his head with a cry of rage, slamming into him as hard as she could. The impact sent him stumbling and she took advantage of his surprise to slam it into him again and watched with gruesome pleasure as her father crumbled to the floor. 

The weapon she’d brandished slipped to the floor with a loud clang and Iris allowed herself a moment of deep breaths, her hands shaking. She had knocked him out. She’d won. This round at least. 

The joy was brief as Iris remembered what she was originally supposed to be looking for and quickly hid her dagger once more. She glanced down at her father with distaste, grabbing his discarded sword and throat bobbing, Iris focused back on finding her family. She had no doubt her father would be coming after her with a vengeance once he awoke. 

Carefully glancing around the corner once more, ensuring she was alone and her father didn’t have anyone else waiting for her, she sprinted towards the guest wing that was rarely used, the only space she could think Beron had walked from. The buzz of her healing magic returned, almost urging her on and Iris focused on swallowing her panic, needing to keep a leveled head. 

They had a plan. She would find Oren then find Eris and they would be fine.

Lady Enya had to be fine. She had to be okay. She was finally leaving. Lucien was waiting – Her mate was waiting. 

And Eris…she would be by his side however the rest of this night goes. 

She skidded to a stop in front of the room, trying to control her heavy breathing as she glanced around the wing to find it deserted, the door to the main room closed. Her magic tingled at her fingertips and Iris knew this was the right place. Quickly, she knocked. “Lady Enya?”

A heartbeat passed and she knocked again, her tone sharpening. “Lady Enya?”

Nothing.

She heard nothing. 

Did that mean – had Beron –

Her grip tightened on her blade but Iris made herself take another deep breath and as she raised her hand once more to knock, she heard a pitiful groan. 

One of pain. 

Iris yanked at the door handle and groaned to find it locked. With a grunt, she threw herself against the door with everything she had once, twice, and by the third shove, her shoulders were aching and her hair had started to become disheveled, there was a small crack in the door. Mustering whatever was left of her energy, she threw herself against the door a final time and it finally burst open. Panting, her gaze swept the room until it fell on a body – three bodies and she nearly keeled over – Lady Enya, Emil, and Oren were bleeding out before her. 

Iris’s hands began to shake as she took note of each person and as if in a trance, slowly let the sword slip from her hands. Lady Enya lay face first on the floor, Emil on the ground with a chair toppled over him, and Oren slumped against the wall. 

Eris had told her what his father was capable of if provoked but it didn’t stop her from trembling at the sight of the broken furniture and speckles of scattered blood. 

“Oh gods.”

Quickly closing the door behind her, Iris rushed over and turned her mother-in-law, blanching at the paleness of her face. Her cheeks were marred with bruises, a cut to her lip and Iris made herself take a breath then another at the sight of the Lady of Autumn’s golden dress now stained with blood. 

The chaos had begun and the High Lord certainly knew where to hit.  

“Mother? Mother, can you hear me?” she called, trying to keep the frantic panic she felt at bay as her hand hovered over Lady Enya’s body, assessing her as carefully as she could. The High Lord seemed to have used his fists more deliberately with his wife, as if wanting to make sure his touch would haunt her forever and Iris bit her lip hard, sensing the amount of bruises across her mother-in-law’s body. A line of blood sat across her throat as if the High Lord had debated whether to slit it or not and Iris’s hands moved shakily, letting her healing magic find the hurt. 

Why hadn’t her body started healing itself yet? What had the High Lord done? 

“Please answer me. Please don’t be  –”

“Iris.” 

Her head snapped to the corner to where Emil struggled and her brother-in-law groaned lowly as he attempted to move. “Emil!” she said and froze for a heartbeat as her gaze flickered between the three bodies. If Lady Enya wasn’t healing, did that mean Emil and Oren hadn’t either? Grimacing, she focused back on her mother-in-law. “What the hell happened? Are you able to get up?”

“My father. He knows.” Emil wheezed and Iris watched him shove the chair off him with a shaky hand. “The fucker knows. Trapped us in here.”

“W-why is there so much blood? ” she asked, carefully shifting Lady Enya’s head to continue checking for injuries. “Why isn’t your mother’s body healing itself? Can you heal yours?” 

“No. F-faebane in the drinks he forced on us,” he said with a wince. “My magic is snuffed out.” 

“Try not to move, please!” Iris called out and glanced down at Lady Enya with a small sense of relief at the little bit of color returning in her cheeks. “Let me help you first. If you’re already hurt, movement will make it worse.”

With a final assessing hand over Lady Enya, Iris quickly shifted over to Emil, assisting him in sitting up and her brother-in-law hissed when she exposed the nasty wound to his gut. His face was no better than his mother’s and Iris winced at the way his arm was twisted. “The fucker saw me following him and Mother. I tried to make it seem like I wanted to walk her back to the dance but when Oren showed up, he must’ve known something was happening and called us in here,” he explained quickly, panting slightly as Iris carefully touched him. “He wanted to toast the evening and before we could stop him, he forced the drinks on us.” 

“What kind of weapon did he use?” Iris asked, moving her hands to scan Emil for further injuries and healing as she went along. “He must’ve –”

“His fists. His magic.” Emil said and moaned painfully as Iris set his arm back in place and healed the wound to his abdomen. “Then his sword. Oren got the brunt of it trying to protect my mother. H-help him, please –”

“I will, I will.” she managed and blew out a breath, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. “Eris – he’s – your father is aware of everything.” Iris helped him shift against the wall, handing him his discarded daggers. “He cornered me in the hallway and I think he has something up his sleeve. It’s going to get ugly.” 

“It absolutely will get ugly. He thinks he has one up on us because he knows we’re planning to overthrow him.” Emil seethed, grunting as he adjusted himself, carefully strapping his two daggers to his sides. “But he doesn’t know to what extent.”

“Don’t underestimate him,” she said quietly and Emil put a hand over hers, forcing her to pause but she gave him a tight smile and patted his hand. “I think he knows more than you think he does.” 

“What makes you say that?” Emil asked, his eyes narrowing and Iris shrugged helplessly. 

“He threatened me with all his ideas for the future out there. Whatever it is, you all must figure out a way around it.” Iris said then backed away from him; she had healed him as best as she could. Swallowing, she met his gaze, her eyes pleading. “Please don’t let Eris deal with it alone, Emil. I know your magic hasn’t returned yet but –”

“You��d be a fool to only rely on your magic in this court.” he rasped and nodded. “I’ll be fine. We’ll get back to him.”

Iris nodded and blinked back the well of tears that surfaced. There was no time for this – no time to dwell on things she couldn’t control. If they couldn’t heal themselves, Iris would gladly do it for them, helping in the only way she knew how. She quickly made her way to Oren and Iris couldn’t help but hiss as she ran her hands over him to find multiple fractures and wounds. 

Eris’s friend and one of his most loyal soldiers was bloodied and bruised, left for dead trying to protect their family. Anger boiled beneath her skin at the injustice of it all. 

The High Lord had been pissed. 

Iris let her magic work, panting slightly at the exertion of so much of her magic all at once. She looked over as Emil slowly began to stand, his hands trembling slightly. “You lost blood, you need to let yourself rest a little longer,” Iris ordered.

“There’s no fucken time for that,” Emil said and breathed deeply, bracing a hand against the wall. “Time will cost us and he’s too prepared. I need to find out how. I need –”

The Lady of Autumn made a small noise and both Iris and Emil glanced over to find her shifting slightly. “Lady Enya?”

Without a word, Emil approached his mother and Iris bit her lip, watching him stumble slightly as he walked. Even with her help, the faebane slowed their healing and they needed more time.

“Emil.” his mother breathed, reaching out a trembling hand as her son assisted her to sit up. “What happened? Where –” Lady Enya’s gaze found Iris, widening, and Iris was grateful to see the bruises on her face had somewhat lessened. “Iris! What are you doing here?”

“I came to find Oren and ended up finding you all together,” she explained, focusing back on Oren’s wounds. “Are you feeling alright? I’m healing everyone as best as possible but I’m a little nervous that –”

“I feel better, thank you.” Lady Enya reassured quickly as alarm crossed her expression and Iris’s brows furrowed, her gaze torn between Enya and Oren. The Lady of Autumn exchanged a look with Emil before her eyes returned to Iris. “You need to leave. Now.” 

Iris blinked, her hands flattering for a moment before she resumed healing. “What?” 

“Beron —” Enya grunted as Emil helped her stand. “He left us nearly dead on purpose. But you – you – he’s going to use you to ruin Eris. You need to leave.” 

“But –”

“Now, Iris. Before he sends someone to –”

“He already had my father waiting for me and I managed to get away. I’m not leaving.” 

“Iris –” Emil began but she cut him a glare. “You know he has plans –” “I’m not leaving.” she snapped. “Everything is already going to hell and if your father is going to hurt my husband – my mate, then I am going to be here and help in any way that I can.” 

Emil’s whole body seemed to lurch as he froze. “Your what?” he asked as Enya’s expression shuttered. 

“You heard me.” Iris breathed and her heart felt like it was going to explode in her chest. She would not deny him. Not now. Not here. And Eris may have been terrified for people to know about their bond but with things escalating so quickly, how could she worry about anything else? 

“I am aware that I promised Eris that I would get out but things have changed and I refuse to leave him now. You think if I tried to run, your father wouldn’t find me so he could keep hurting Eris?” Iris met his gaze and then turned to her mother-in-law, her eyes burning. “He’s the first thing that’s ever been mine. The best thing that’s ever happened to me and I’ve waited my whole life to have what I have with him.” Her lip quivered slightly as she glanced down at Oren whose breathing had finally evened then she turned back at them. “This is my fight too and should this end in fire, I will burn with him.”

“Iris…” Enya began and her mother-in-law’s lips trembled but Emil watched her with a look of calculated interest that Iris could’ve sworn had a flicker of pride in it. 

Deeming Oren healed enough, Iris carefully stood, glancing down at her stained hands, and fisted them slowly before she faced them once more. “I am not leaving him. He is mine and I am his and whatever may come…we will face it together,” she said and rolled her shoulders back, her tone offering no room for argument. “I hope I have made myself clear.”

It was silent for a moment and Iris’s shoulders tensed, wondering if they’d argue with her or force her to leave — if it was the smartest thing to do but then both Emil and Lady Enya nodded.

“Then I hope my brother trained you well, sister,” Emil said solemnly and her shoulders dropped. “It’s going to be a hard fight.” 

“Then a hard fight it is,” she answered and felt nothing but grim determination. “Now tell me, how much of the faebane was in the drink? Do you think the effects will last long?”

“I have an antidote on me. So should you, Mother.” Emil said and ran a hand over his clothing until he found the small vial that somehow hadn’t shattered in the beating he’d gotten then turned to his mother. “We should’ve taken it sooner. I miscalculated and now it’ll cost us –”

“I don’t have it.” Lady Enya said and her face was grave. “He took it from me and crushed it right before you came in.” Her shaking hands fisted in her dress. “He took it and crushed it like he crushed everything else in my life.”

Iris’s throat tightened as Emil’s expression shuttered before thrusting a hand out to his mother. “Then take mine. I’ll be fine to fight until my magic returns.”

“No, Emil, you must –”

“I have an additional one.” Iris cut in, her hand sliding into the hidden pocket of her dress and quickly handing it to her mother-in-law. “You need it more than I do. I will take no argument on this either.”

Lady Enya’s shoulders dropped and Iris hated to see her lip quivering as she slowly closed her hand around the vial and huffed out a weak laugh. “Iris, I –”

The door that Iris had deliberately closed behind her swung open and they all tensed. Emil immediately slid in front of his mother, hiding the antidote and Iris froze when she saw who was standing there.

“You truly thought you could get away from me, daughter.” 

Aron stood in the doorway, a smugness mixed with anger in his expression, and was now flanked by three sentries who bore no mark of the Vanserra brothers. 

“Do you not know when to give up?” Iris asked in exasperation, her hand immediately sliding to her hidden dagger once more. “How many more times must I humiliate you for you to be gone?”

Her father snorted and the sound had her stomach coiling as that familiar anxiety flared again, not daring to take her eyes off him as she shifted closer to Emil and Lady Enya. He was angrier now and Iris had dared to hurt him. His revenge was coming sooner than she had predicted and she couldn’t help glancing at the bruise still prominent on his temple. 

“We’ll see who shall be humiliating who, you stupid bitch,” Aron sneered quietly, his mouth curled in distaste. Iris flushed angrily to be demeaned like this in front of her family but it was that quiet threat in his tone that put her on edge again. Her father’s eyes narrowed as if he could sense her hate, sense her raging heart but he jerked his chin to his soldiers and they began walking towards Iris.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Emil snapped and stepped forward but Aron only gave the prince a cursory glance as Iris backed a step, then another with her father’s soldiers still approaching her.

“You’re still alive?” her father merely said, unbothered by the prince’s reaction. “Your father will be disappointed.”

Emil drew his two blades, a rage she hadn’t seen before cut through the usual calm demeanor he presented, and an invisible barrier went up between them and her father’s soldiers. “You all take one more step toward her and I will cut you where you stand,” he said, his tone lethally calm. 

Aron scowled and Iris clenched her jaw, her fingers tight around the hilt of the hidden dagger, the air in the room thick with tension as Aron glanced at them with a tilt of his head. “Now, now, prince. This doesn’t concern you. I’m here for my daughter and nothing else.” he said and gestured with a hand. “Should you and your mother choose to flee, I will grant you a headstart before informing your father that you still draw breath.” 

“You dare stand before the Lady and prince of this court and behave this way?” Lady Enya said, her expression filled with cool disdain as she stepped towards him and the lord had the nerve to lift a brow, glancing over her.

“As far as I’m aware, you won’t be the lady of this court for much longer,” Aron replied then added with a small, mocking smile. “Per your husband’s support, I do dare. My lady.”

Emil let a breath pass then another, the room beginning to heat as he scoffed in disbelief. “My brother was right. You certainly are too bold for your own good.” he spat and without warning, threw a blade, landing it in the throat of the soldier on the right with a thud. “Stand down or the next step you take will be the last.”

Aron grimaced at the fallen soldier to his side then glanced at Emil. “That was uncalled for.” he tsked. “Are you sure you want to behave like this, prince? Don’t you know what your father has in store for you?” 

“And what do you know about my father’s plans?” Emil asked, taking a step forward. 

Aron smiled in a way that triggered every terrible memory Iris had of him. Every bruise, every hurt he had given her always started with that smile and her grip tightened on the hilt of her dagger. “I am your father’s hand. I will execute them as he wishes,” he said. “My daughter is the final piece of the punishment he plans to unleash on you all but do you know who else will be part of it?” 

Emil’s eyes narrowed as Iris shifted a step over, her eyes on her father. “Considering you seem to love the sound of your own voice, I assume you’ll be telling me.”

Her father chuckled and it made Iris’s skin crawl. “I do believe you know her quite well,” Aron said and Iris watched Emil’s body tighten, her gaze caught between him and her father. “She’s a pretty thing. Gave her quite the fright when we yanked her from her hiding place.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“No sense in denying your lover, Emil. It’s Cosette, isn't it?” Aron said, making a show of consulting his lapdogs behind him and Emil seemed to stop breathing. “You can imagine how fun it was to watch her succumb to her fear as she was blindfolded. Especially when we popped out that little earpiece and she could no longer hear clearly what was going on.” Aron gave a nasty laugh and Iris felt her stomach drop, watching as color leached from Emil’s face and his hands started shaking. “It was delightful.”

“You can’t be serious.” Iris breathed and Aron spared her a look of disdain before his eyes went back to Emil. 

“Henry Adler’s daughter is a bold move for you, boy. Your father will relish in breaking you with her in company.” 

“Tell me where she is right now you fucken piece of shit.” Emil snarled and Aron tsked again.

“I would watch that tone,” Aron said and wagged a finger. “Your father gave me free rein to do what I must and we barely touched her. It would be a shame for you to bring her further harm should you continue to be disrespectful.” her father said and Iris felt bile rise in her throat.

Cosette was supposed to be long gone alongside Theo. If they had Cosette, did that mean they had him too? How long had they had her for? How had they gotten their hands on her? Eris had said the signal had been clear this morning. Her eyes met Lady Enya’s and they seemed to share the same thought: how had this happened?

“Stop this at once.” Lady Enya demanded. “Do not bring an innocent girl into this.”

“She’s the daughter of a traitor and the lover of one. None of you are innocent.” Aron crooned. “And I will do as the High Lord has requested of me whether you wish to see it or not. Maybe if you give up her father, we’ll do a trade.”

“Tell me where she is right now.” 

Aron only snorted. “And what would be the fun in that?”

Without warning, Aron and his remaining soldiers lunged forward and chaos erupted in the room. Iris swiftly moved, her training kicking in as she dodged her father’s grip. She couldn’t believe he was challenging Emil and Lady Enya so openly. Had they all lost their minds? Had the High Lord really allowed him such leeway? Then again, he had left part of his family to bleed out in this very room and if had his hands on two of them, what’s to stop him from killing their significant others as well? What of Helene and the baby?  

“Stop this madness, you fool.” Iris demanded. “The High Lord is –.”

Aron didn’t even spare Emil and Enya a glance as they took on his sentries, continuing towards her. The bastard wasn’t even using a weapon. “Worry less about the High Lord and more about how your husband will be paying for his crimes.”

Iris faltered for a moment. “My husband committed no crimes.” 

“No?” he said with a smile full of malice. “Treason isn’t a crime to you?”

“Save me your bullshit.” Iris snarled. “The only criminal here is you and I am so sick of your shit.” 

“When you’re with the High Lord, nothing you do is a crime,” Aron said with a chuckle then lunged forward to grab her but Iris dodged, her fist flying out and connecting to her father’s cheek. 

He blinked back in surprise and almost absently touched his face. “That is the second time you have laid hands on me.”

“And I will do it again if you even think about touching me.” she promised.

Her father watched her and Iris hated to see the curiosity in his gaze. “So it seems you have truly learned to fight.” Aron mused and the mocking tone grated on every nerve in Iris’s body as she moved.

“My husband taught me well.” she snapped and her blade sliced up as Aron reached a hand for her. Her father hissed and the scent of fresh blood filled the air as Aron glanced down at his bleeding hand and then back at his daughter. Iris swallowed, her heart in her throat as rage clouded his expression but she stood her ground. “He gave me everything you tried to deny me of.” 

“Then it’s a shame you’ll end up being his downfall, won’t it?” Her father hissed and lunged forward, slamming her into the wall. Iris yelped but refused to go down without clawing at him, anger and fear fueling her every move. She sliced her dagger again, meeting flesh when her father backhanded her and she grunted, trying to step out of his reach again. But Aron was angrier than she’d ever seen him before and when she tried to move out of his reach, he shoved her back against the wall, his elbow digging into her throat. “I’ve had just about enough of you.” 

“Then get the hell out of my way.” Iris snarled but her father ignored her and instead, yelled over his shoulder, “Now.” 

Iris’s gaze quickly shot to Emil and Layd Enya still fighting but the look cost her. Her father now had a small vial in his hand and with a nasty smile that had her hackles rising, Aron crushed it in his hand. “Say goodnight, daughter.” 

“Wait –” she gasped but her father only smirked then blew the powder in his hand into her face and a wave of nausea washed over Iris, blind panic unfurling in her chest as the last thing she saw was her father’s smug face before it all went to black. 

——

He had made a mistake. 

As Eris watched the people enjoying the ball around them, he knew sending Iris away before his father returned was a mistake. He didn’t know where the High Lord was, Emil and his mother were missing and with Emil missing, he didn’t know if Mikel was in place to take his mother away. 

The longer he stood there, the more quickly his lungs were shrinking, and if Eris didn’t force himself to breathe, he’d likely have a stroke on the spot. Everything in his body was shriveling at the sense of wrongness surrounding him, and doubt began to fester in his mind in earnest. 

Something was wrong.

Had they been stupid enough to think they could take his father on? Should they have gone about this differently? Could they have tolerated him a little more and snuck their mother out on a different day? 

Too many variables were out of his control now and the one person who had ever settled him was gone and still, Eris regretted not sending her away sooner. 

His fists clenched behind his back and when Izak and Finn casually slid up next to him, Eris already knew it would get worse. He quickly shielded them from listening ears. 

“We’ve lost communication with some of the soldiers on the outside,” Izak muttered, running a hand over his beard. “And there seem to be more sentries we don’t know in the room.” 

“Mikel hasn’t checked in again and I’m starting to get fucken antsy,” Finn added and Eris’s gaze sharpened on his brothers.

“What do you mean he hasn’t checked in?” Eris said. “You haven’t heard from him about the others?”

“I heard from Lucien.” Izak confirmed with a frown. “Helene is fine.”

“Nothing about Theo? Or even Cosette?” Finn asked. “Where the fuck is Emil?” 

Eris scowled then rolled his shoulders back, feeling every inch of him tense. “I need to find Father. You two figure out what’s going on and try to stay together. I don’t trust a single person in this room.” 

“We’ll go with you,” Izak said but Eris shook his head.

“You both can’t follow me. People will notice.”

“Where’s Iris?” Finn asked and Eris felt the question snatch his breath. 

“I sent her to find Oren and get out before whatever is about to happen does.”

Finn and Izak shared a glance that had Eris tense further. 

“I was going to tell you that Oren’s been too quiet for a while. I – I can’t get a hold of him.” Finn said tightly and Eris felt his stomach drop.

“What.” he snapped.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything –” Izak quickly said but Eris’s glare shut his brother right up.

“You know it means something.” He hissed. “You haven’t heard from Mikel and now Oren is missing. I sent her — if he’s not — and your father is still –”

Eris made himself take a deep breath and fisted his shaking hands tighter. “Do as I told you. I need to find your fucken father and find out where my wife is.” 

“Let me find Iris and make sure she’s alright. Maybe that’ll lead me to Mikel as well. You and Izak focus on Father.” Finn said and Eris met his brother’s gaze. 

“Finn.”

“She’ll be alright, Eris. You trained her to handle herself, didn’t you?”

“You know Father is a different kind of beast and I –”

The words died in his throat as his father casually strolled into the room and all the air in the room was sucked out as he made his way over to them. Slowly, as if deliberately giving them time to note each step.

Eris swallowed once then nodded to his brothers. “Get out. Get out now.”

“And leave you here?” Izak demanded quietly.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure being here with him alone is wise?” Finn asked. “Eris, if he’s already –”

“Whatever the damage is, it’s already done. Find the others,” he said and spared them both a glance. “Go. Now. Before he gets closer.”

A heartbeat of silence passed and the grim determination he found on their faces matched his own. His younger brothers. How different would their relationship have been had they grown up anywhere but here? With any other father? Who could have they become? What kind of lives would they lead instead of this?

The question that plagued him all his life rose to the surface as he turned to watch his father again: what would it feel like to finally take a breath without worrying about his father’s hand choking it out of him? 

The three of them said nothing and Eris only nodded once before the two of them scattered. 

He kept his eyes on his father as he walked toward him, his brothers steering clear of the High Lord. Even as his Father addressed his guests as he passed them, his eyes never left his eldest son and every inch of Eris tightened, winding up for battle. Whatever his Father thought was happening, Eris knew deep in his bones that he would be taking the brunt of it all.

His heart was a ticking time bomb and Eris had a feeling it would explode any minute with each step his father took toward him.

Time seemed to slow as father and son met, standing before one another. The music was drowned out and the glittering lights did nothing to stop the darkness that sank into Eris as he stared at his father. 

Even as they stood in a room full of people, Eris heard and saw nothing else but the male in front of him. The one person who had ruined his life and those he cared about in every way possible. 

“You seem to be waiting for me, son.” 

The High Lord’s tone was conversational, almost light and Eris clasped his hands behind him, matching his father’s tone. “Your absence was noted, Father. I was coming to find you,” he said. 

The High Lord gave him a faint smile. “Did you miss me, son?”

Eris’s smile was thin as his thumb tapped against his hand. “Always.” he lied. “I see Mother isn’t with you.” 

Beron shrugged an elegant shoulder, the corner of his mouth curling up. “She’s decided to take a break from the evening. She doesn’t seem to be feeling well.” 

Eris’s eyes narrowed, his heart thundering in his chest. “Oh?” he asked carefully. “She seemed fine earlier. Where is she now?”

His father didn’t answer right away and instead, let silence dance between them. The High Lord said nothing and Eris felt his slowly magic start to thump in his veins again. Loudly. Enough that even the dagger at his side seemed heavier. He wondered if his father could sense it as he watched him.

“You seem to be implying that I am lying to you,” Beron said in that same conversational tone and Eris made himself take a small breath through his nose.

“Of course not. I am merely surprised at how quickly she seems to have fallen ill,” he replied. “I will go check on her. Bring a healer to examine her as well.”

Beron hummed and the disapproval in it made Eris stiffen. “Your concern for your mother isn’t necessary, son.” the High Lord said and gave him a smile that didn’t reach his cold, dead eyes. “She will be fine. I need you here, dazzling the guests.” Eris’s brows flattened and before he could object, his father turned away and demanded, “Walk with me.” 

The tension in the air thickened as Eris hesitated a beat and then followed his father, the echoes of their footsteps drowned out by the thrumming beat of his heart. The continued casualness in his father’s demeanor grated on Eris and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking towards the beginning of what felt like the final act.

As they moved through the splendor of the ballroom, Eris scanned the faces of the guests, both relieved and anxious that he saw no signs of his brothers. The uneasiness continued to grip his chest, thoughts of his mother and Iris making it difficult to focus on anything else. The laughter and music felt insulting as the weight of impending doom hung heavy around his neck.

He followed his father until the High Lord reached his throne and took a seat, leaving Eris standing before him. Beron gestured for him to move closer and Eris took the two steps up the dais until he was facing his father. Beron said nothing, merely snapping his fingers for a server to bring him a drink and a muscle feathered in Eris’s jaw at the deliberate waste of time, praying to whatever gods were listening that he didn't shove the whole glass down his father’s throat. 

As if reading his thoughts, Beron’s mouth curled and he finally broke the silence, his voice low, ominous. “You've always been intelligent, Eris. It's a trait that I had hoped would serve you well, but it seems to be backfiring on you lately. Causing more trouble than it's worth.”

Eris shot his father a sharp glance, his jaw clenching again. "And what trouble might that be, Father?”

Beron chuckled darkly, and the sound sent shivers down Eris's spine, tension lining every muscle as he stood there. But the High Lord only sat back on his throne, his finger tapping on the flute of champagne observing his son and for once, Eris let his anger flare.

“Are we really going to play these games right now?” he said flatly.

“Interesting you should say that, son,” Beron said lightly. “Considering you’re the one who is playing a very, very dangerous game.”

Eris straightened, his fists clenching behind his back. He let a beat of silence pass, slowly breathing through his nose again before he spoke. “Am I?”

Beron hummed, his gaze burning into Eris, his eyes calculating his son’s every breath. “I understand you’re used to insulting my intelligence given how much control I’ve given you over our court.” he mused then made a discontent noise. “One could even say it was my fault that I let you be so unchecked. That I…trusted you.” 

Eris's stomach churned at the tone in his father's voice. He tried to maintain his composure; he usually relied on his father avoiding a public spectacle but given the circumstances, Eris wasn’t sure it would stop the High Lord this time. The knot of anxiety tightened in his throat and he cleared it before he continued. “Father, I would never –”

“Do not look me in the face and lie to me, boy.” Beron threatened softly. 

The High Lord’s gaze raked over Eris with that signature distaste and every fiber of his being was on high alert. With his father, that could mean anything. Eris was a busy male, he had been up to many things but didn’t dare let any emotion other than feigned confusion slip through. 

“And what exactly am I lying about, High Lord?”

“High Lord.” he spat and Eris bristled. “You mock the title with your deceit.”  

Squaring his shoulders, Eris forced himself to maintain a sense of calm, refusing to let his father get under his skin. “I’m sorry to hear that even tonight, I have managed to disappoint you, Father.” 

Beron spared Eris a glance before looking back at the guests. “We’ll see how sorry you’ll be as the night goes on, son.” the High Lord managed and Eris’s confusion wasn’t feigned this time, trying as he might to keep the beat of his heart steady. 

He ran his tongue over his teeth and said, “Is there something you wish to tell me?”

His father chuckled and the sound sent a shiver down Eris’s spine. “There are many things I wish to tell you but it will have to wait for the show later.” 

A beat of silence. “What show? We have nothing planned.”

“You don’t have anything planned,” Beron said and it was the predatory gleam in his father’s eyes that made the thumping in Eris’s chest quicken. “I most certainly do.” 

Eris struggled to maintain a facade of calm as a storm of prickling anxiety and rage boiled beneath his skin. He almost wished his father would outright say whatever it was he was up to and let the cards fall where they may so Eris could rework his plans. 

Steeling himself, he decided he would find his mother first and ensure Iris had made it out. He was too tense to tell if the thread that tugged on his ribcage was because of him or because of Iris but either way, he didn’t want to wait too long to find out. 

Eris needed to get away from his father. 

“Well.” he finally forced himself to say. “I will…entertain our guests until your show begins. Send a healer to mother and –”

“No. I don’t think you will.” Beron said with a hum and before Eris could brace himself, his father’s magic locked on his body, holding him in place. 

He couldn’t move. His body wouldn’t budge. 

Panic unfurled in his chest as he glanced at his father who was eyeing the room again, with no care in the world. “Father.” Eris hissed. “What is the meaning of this?”

The High Lord glanced at his son. “You don’t need to go anywhere just yet. I like having you by my side.”

“But I –”

“Did I tell you?” His father asked with a small smile. “I saw your pretty wife in the hallway. She too, was looking for your mother.” Beron’s tone was nonchalant. “We had a lovely chat.”

Eris didn’t get a chance to even appear confused when the High Lord seemed to drop the glamour around himself and he felt the world tilt as Iris’s scent washed over him. 

Eris took a breath. Then another.

He felt his soul leave his body at the smile his father gave him. A smile that meant more than it should. For Eris knew his scent mingled with hers and with an ironclad shield settling around them, his father knew Eris would not receive this news well. 

“What did you do.” he breathed and fear like he’d never ever felt before spiked in his heart. He fisted his shaking hands and tried to move, demanding again, “What did you do?”

“Do not take that tone with me.” his father said quietly, observing him. 

“Then answer my question.” Eris hissed. “Did you touch her? Did you hurt her?”

Beron’s chuckle was sinister and every morsel in Eris’s body filled with rage. “I only touched her a little bit but…perhaps that will change later tonight.” 

“Father.” he snarled and Eris knew it was only because of his father’s shield that the whole room hadn’t heard him. “Do not toy with me.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Beron said with a small smile. “But your wife? I shall certainly enjoy toying with her.”

Eris felt the world slide from beneath his feet as his father’s gaze remained on him and Eris tried his everything not to let his expression shift – not to give the fucker any satisfaction but his lungs had lost air and he wasn’t sure how to –

A choked noise slipped from his throat and Eris hadn’t been imagining it – his father’s magic was choking him.  

“You seem so worried about her.” The High Lord mused. “I haven’t done anything to her yet.” His father’s gaze bore into him. “With your scent all over her, I’ll need to wait a little while before I have my fun.”

“Father.” Eris choked but the High Lord merely tsked, his expression almost bored. And Eris realized at that moment just how well and truly fucked he was. If his father was hinting at his mating bond with Iris, he had to know about other things. His eyes sought out the blur of people for his brothers but he had sent them out of the room and Eris was forced to stand there – forced to remain locked like this in his father’s hold, glamoured so that no one would see anything unusual happening. No one would be looking at him. 

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me, son?” the High Lord asked, tilting his head as Eris struggled. “This is your chance to do so before things get exceedingly worse for you.”

Eris’s throat bobbed. How big of a spectacle would his father make this? He could break out of this but too many people were missing. Too many fucken variables he didn’t control. Could he unleash himself without setting the whole room on fire? Without harming everyone else? 

Did it really matter as long as he took his father out? Would it be justified if, at least, the High Lord was extinguished?

But no. He was not his father. He would not harm for the sake of harming.

He let his expression neutralize and slowly calmed his raging heart. He wasn’t sure about his mother but if Beron let Iris walk away maybe it would be fine. 

His brothers were on the prowl. He would give them a little more time – just enough that when he exploded, Eris would know they would be alright.

So he met his father’s gaze and said as conversationally as possible, “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Beron let a moment of silence pass then sighed. “I’m disappointed by that answer.”

The High Lord’s magic tightened around Eris’s throat and he made a wheezing sound as his father forced him to take a step forward, forcing him to kneel before him. 

Beron’s hand reached out and if Eris could have, he would’ve flinched back as the High Lord’s hand brushed his son’s face. Had anyone been watching them, the gesture would’ve been loving but his father’s hand was anything but as he gripped his chin and forced him to look up at him.

“Remember that I gave you a choice.” the High Lord said, his voice full of violent promise. “I gave you the chance to confess and you decided to continue lying to me.”

“I have nothing to confess,” Eris said, his tone strained and his father’s grip tightened painfully.

The High Lord shoved him back with a snort. “Then do not complain when it all comes crashing down on your head,” he warned and raised his glass. “I hope you and your brothers enjoy the consequences of your actions.”

And every lick of fear he had ever doused – every prickle of anxiety he had fought off in the last few weeks crashed over him and Eris was helpless to do anything but wait for whatever hell his father was about to unleash.

[27dragons]

Hiii I‘ve been loving seeing you more on my dash lately, been following you and reading your fics for like six years now and truly no one else’s works have filled my bookmarks as much as yours (and Tisfans of course).

One of yours was the very first winteriron fic I ever read and it had me fall in love instantly, haven’t found anything else like them since. I love that you found your writing muse again, and I know it’s been a long time and a lot of the fandom has fizzled out. But I just wanted to pop in an ask if maybe one day you could see yourself writing MCU again?

In any case, it’s been a lot of lovely years with your writing and you’ll make (and are making) a lot of other new people incredibly happy with your amazing skill and talent for words, worldbuilding and characterisation <3

Hey there! I'm so delighted that you've enjoyed my fics so much!!! It really means a lot to me.

The tldr is that yes, there's at least a slim chance that I might write winteriron/MCU again one day. There is a whole stack of partially-written WIPs still in my writing folder that I can't bring myself to archive and retire.

I'll admit that my enthusiasm for MCU faded a lot when they killed Tony off. And then a massive surge in my depression (thanks in part to COVID and then tisfan's death and then my mom's) all but extinguished my ability to write. I had a creative burst for about 3 months in 2023 with Sandman and the Dreamling ship that resulted in about a dozen fics, but the one fic that I managed to write in 2024 (which was winteriron!) felt like pulling teeth to finish.

But I'm still reading some winteriron fics (and the occasional stony), so it's not entirely dead to me. (For that matter, I did quite a few winteriron/MCU ficlets with my Countdowns here on tumblr in both '23 and '24 - check my "countdown to 2024" and "countdown to 2025" tags if you missed those.)

It's just that winteriron is closely tied to tisfan for me (even before we were writing together, she was always my beta reader), and it's hard to think about it without her. (Also, I've written SO MUCH winteriron, it's hard to come up with any scenarios that I haven't already done, lol)

The Arcane/Jayvik bug has bitten hard, and it's such a relief to know that I can still write, but I'm still waiting to see if this will fizzle out again after a few months like the Dreamling stuff did.

If I do keep writing, there's a pretty decent chance that I will eventually come back to winteriron, at least occasionally. If nothing else, I'd love to one day finish the fic that tisfan and I were working on when she had her stroke.

But I expect it will take a while. If you asked because you're considering unfollowing/unsubscribing so your inbox and dash aren't cluttered with notifications for a fandom you have no interest in, then I promise I won't be offended if you want to do that and just set yourself a reminder to check back in a year to see what happened. I've made that decision myself a few times, and I know it comes with a sliver of heartbreak and guilt. But I understand that not everyone will want to follow me everywhere that I go, and that in no way diminishes my appreciation for the love you've given my fics in the past, whether you just clicked kudos or left a comment on every chapter.

Thank you again for this very kind note. I'm so happy to have given you something you've enjoyed so much.

❤️💛

[a-man-in-the-crowd]

Pluto Is Trans (in my humble opinion)

okay so as far as i'm aware this is a pretty common hc in the fandom (i lurk in the tumblr side of the fandom mostly and i haven't taken the time to go through the pluto tag simply bc i wanted to make this post first), BUT i just wanted to add my two cents into it bc i love pluto and need a reason to yap about him

i'm mostly going to be focusing on him in the maze arc, simply because i think his character has remained pretty consistent since then, as well as his flashback. if i ever noticed anything else in later (or even future) chapters i might come back to this but for now i think i basically have everything i can think of down

of course most of this is still pretty much projecting ☠️ i'm pretty well aware pluto isn't like ACTUALLY trans. this is just a headcanon based on things we've seen of him, not like an actual theory or anything

1. His Appearance

so the first thing that really got me thinking about how he has major trans vibes is his design

comically oversized coat that covers up his actual figure, he's slouching (to hide his chest, mayhaps??), and his hair gives me major trans vibes for reasons i'm not sure how to explain but like let me try anyways

maybe i'm digging too deep into this, but his hair feels VERY different from the other male characters (montresor with gorgeous shoulder-length hair is an outlier and shall not be counted) and again i have no clue how to put words to this but it has the vibes of someone who's too nervous to cut it too short bc 'what if it looks bad' (re: what if i look like i'm trying too hard to look like a guy). but that might just be the projection talking.

oh yeah, he's also the shortest male character as far as i'm aware. basically every male character towers over him (so, so real, i fear) and even will is taller than him (though apparently will is 5'10??? idek anymore 😭). now, does being short make you afab? no, obviously not. but that + the fact he's wearing and oversized shirt gives me some major trans vibes

most of this stuff is incidental, but honestly that's definitely the most actually concrete thing i have to explain myself

fear not, though, i can and WILL read too deep into things and i will read things however i wish

2. His Agoraphobia

the only 'level' of the fear maze that he has a big reaction to is the agoraphobia level. why?

now, could this very reasonably because he's paranoid? yes. but you can be paranoid AND trans. in fact, i think the two frequently go hand-in-hand, especially in areas where being 'caught' as trans can be dangerous.

perhaps he's scared of being stared at because he fears they'll figure out he isn't 'really' a man. and what then, when they figure it out? what'll they do then?

i wouldn't be surprised if pluto had some sort of traumatic experience while being in a crowd alone. this doesn't necessarily have anything to do with my hc, but it very well could. we know he's very small and frail, it doesn't seem like he had many friends when he was alive, and the neighbourhood he lived in doesn't seem particularly safe. he has plenty reason to be terrified, even ignoring my silly lil hc, but i think this particular debilitating fear implies he has genuine experience with something bad happening in a crowd.

3. He's Physically Affectionate

something something you can be a cis guy and be physically affectionate something something this is just a thing to consider in relation to literally everything else i'm talking about something something

anyways

he's my emotional support animal actually ❤️

obviously we've seen other male characters be physically affectionate (like duke), but this is definitely a trait i'd ascribe the most to pluto. now, does this mean anything in isolation? of course not. he has trauma, he could've just been desperate for affection when he was alive and therefore in his afterlife he has this overwhelming need to aggressively hug his friends (which is a completely fair interpretation and i think most of the the things i talk about are a combination of trauma and being trans)

but like just let me say my piece. what if he's more physically affectionate because he was raised with, let's say 'feminine rules of socializing' — which is to say, hugging your friends is extremely normal and in fact encouraged.

this is one of those things where like if it weren't for everything else i wouldn't be saying anything, but BECAUSE of everything else i feel the need to scrutinize a bit more. i think it's definitely one of my weaker points but like. i don't care, ngl.

4. His Flashback

sooo funny story i can barely ever read this scene for multiple reasons (i feel so bad for pluto i want him to be crushed by the weight of all his friends' hugs and love he deserves it) but i will try my best to recall it and get like a semi-decent photo in for reference

i think this scene is kinda what confirms in my head that this shall remain a hc, because pluto's dad refers to him as a boy and by his name (which i will get don't worry i could never forget about how incredibly transgender it is to be named fucking PLUTO). but, consider: i am delusional and a professional bullshitter.

so here is my absolutely nonsensical take based on nothing but vibes and some unfortunate personal experiences 🎉

this is gonna be my biggest 'bear with me yet', but plzplzplz bear with me. obviously by no stretch of the imagination would pluto's bitchass dad be supportive of him being trans or whatever word they'd use to describe pluto when he was alive (i've seen people theorize around ww1? idk man i don't have the knowledge on time periods required to rlly theorize about that).

but, just because someone calls you the right name and pronouns and terms doesn't make them an ally. this specific line from pluto's dad absolutely REEKED of that weaponization of gender dysphoria that at the very least i have experienced. taking every opportunity to tear down your gender identity because you're not stereotypically [gender] enough. someone like pluto's dad definitely feels like someone who would, instead of trying to deny pluto's identity, use it against him to make him feel shitty.

after all, having a son has its merits. pluto can work with no problem whatsoever, and something tells me that pluto's dad is a raging misogynist anyways. but that doesn't make him care any more for his kid, just make him more useful. and in reality, pluto's dad probably thinks it all one huge joke.

but yk that's just me yapping

5. HIS NAME IS FUCKING PLUTO?

okay so judging by pluto's comment to eulalie about his name, i think it's pretty safe to assume that he was specifically named after the roman god. and from what we've seen of pluto's dad, there is NO WAY he was the one who named him. unless pluto's dad for whatever reason had an admiration for roman mythology of all things. maybe autism runs in the family who knows.

now, i don't want to discount the idea that maybe his mother was the one who named him, but like i'm not even sure what the hell happened to his mom. so like. idk.

the name pluto in general definitely gives off the vibes of 'i named myself at twelve' (/affectionate, if your name is pluto you are beautiful and loved). it's nerdy but also mildly edgy. not exactly a common name, either. and the fact he knows his greek mythology implies interest in this sort of thing.

now, could his interest in greek and roman mythology be because of his mother, who could have named him pluto? yes, of course. in fact, the idea of a woman who was presumably living in poverty naming her son after the roman god of riches makes me teary-eyed. but so does the idea of a little trans boy living a shitty life with his shitty dad (who probably drained most of their money on booze, let's be real) naming himself after the roman god of riches.

also, the way he responds to eulalie gives off the vibe of 'well, i literally named myself after the roman god pluto so'. but that could just be me.

and last, but certainly not least...

6. His Spectre

this one is the cherry on top for me personally

he wants to escape the binds of society? go beyond what humanity deems admissible? YK LIKE BECOMING A DIFFERENT GENDER???

i don't have anything much else to say about the fact he's a cryptid, but yk what i do have more to say on?

6.5 So, like, wtf does it mean to be a 'domesticated cryptid'? — A Theory

now i am fully operating under my trans pluto hc, but i think this idea might be able to make sense with the canon of him being probably cis.

ms poppet says that cryptids are people who wish to 'go beyond what society deems admissible' — hence, they're generally wild animals. perhaps the reason pluto is a housecat is because the 'inadmissible' thing he wanted to do was live his life as he is; a normal, regular, cisgender man — or just like in general a normal dude, something he couldn't do for not-necessarily-trans reasons (like, maybe, being able to escape life with his shitty father).

he's not a wild animal because he didn't want to live outside of society, he wanted to be fully integrated into it as a normal person but he thought this impossible because society has already deemed him other. he could never be more than the role he was assigned — not the same way he could were he a normal, cis guy.

—

so yeah that's the end of my little ramble, if you read all the way thank you very much for letting me yap bc honestly i think the more i wrote this post the more genuinely convinced i was that pluto's trans. like idc if canon 100% proves me wrong it's too late i will simply ignore it and invent my own canon.

[deejadabbles]

Hello, friends. I know it's been a while. I've been meaning to make and post this for forever. Below I'll go into a bit more detail about what's been going on, but the tldr is basically: Life has dealt me some not great hands this past year, and during that time I lost my muse for the fandom.

I wanted to let everyone who followed my works know that I will no longer be updating my fics. At least not for the foreseeable future. My brain likes to cycle through fandoms, so I might cycle back around (its happened before!), but for now at least, I probably won't be writing/posting anything.

Thank you to everyone who read my fics and continue to read them, you mean the world to me and I'll still be around if you ever want to chat 💙

tag list: @sev-on-kamino (@returnofthepineapple ) @starrylothcat @sinfulsalutations @commander-sunshine @dystopicjumpsuit @littlemissmanga @wings-and-beskar @freesia-writes @idontgetanysleep @523rdrebel @moonlightwarriorqueen @briefartnaturewolf @kimiheartblade @littlemissbshine @chubbyhedgehog @ladytano420 @trixie2023 @wizardofrozz

There's a bit more detail about personal stuff under the cut, but you absolutely do not have to read if you don't have the spoon to <3

So, I won't go into graphic detail, but over the last year I had several life upheavals. Including losing my job, my mother falling ill, and several other deeply personal things. Thankfully, my loved ones and I are managing, and for that, I'm thankful.

I've been struggling with my mental health during all of this, too, and I don't think I realized just how bad it was until I saw how poorly my physical health had gotten as well. I'm currently taking steps to better both my mental and physical health, so don't worry <3

In fact, taking some of those steps this week is what really made me realize that I probably won't be writing for the Star Wars fandom for awhile. It looks like my rolodex brain is choosing to fixate on comics again right now lol (BTW I do have a comic themed side blog if anyone wants to follow it)

I'll still be around on this blog, of course. SW is and always will be a huge part of my life, I just wont be interacting with fanfiction on the same level. Not to mention that I've met so many wonderful people I've come to cherish in this fandom, I'm still just a message away if you ever want to chat! I've missed you guys a lot over this last year

Thank you, if you've read this far. I won't lie and say I'm doing okay (especially with the state of america right now) but I'm at least surviving and trying to get better. If anyone else want to come chat and catch up, please feel free to. In the mean time, keep fighting and ily💙

[twiceeshy]

3% [Chapter 1/?]

Read and view tags on ao3.

Summary: Three percent was the chance that suppressants would fail to protect from pregnancy, if a fertile Omega had sex with an Alpha during heat. It was non-negligible, but low.

E, rosquez, 6.7k words.

--

Marc held a baby in his arms. Nurses bustled around to make sure everything was alright, but he knew he didn't have to worry. She was tiny and pink. He loved her, he realised, stunned.

He was, perhaps, blessed that a pandemic had befallen them so he could have her safely. His abnominal muscles hid the bump for months. In another world he might have trained and crashed multiple times out of complete ignorance and lost her. Would he be happier that way? It wasn't worth thinking about, and nobody would ever hear about these doubts except his brother.

Still, he had considered the prospect of not keeping her seriously before making a choice, knowing what a commitment it would be.

Deep his heart, as much as he fretted and feared and did not actually want to do this at all, he couldn't bring himself to lift a finger to do anything else. Not when the child would be a combination of himself and someone he once loved. He would never have this chance again.

When a surreal health crisis laid their season's schedule to waste, he was vindicated. All the stars aligned for him to commit to this tough choice instead of the other.

"I think she'll look like you," Alex said cheerfully, as though he hadn't been awake through the night. Labour lasted thirteen hours.

Marc thought that Alex made good company in lieu of a husband. In fact, Marc was fairly certain he would have kept his brother and kicked the actual father of his child out of the room about five minutes into delivery, if he happened to be around. He couldn't stand the thought of anyone else watching through this specific vulnerability, which was why he made his parents stay at home. He was filled with a complicated mixture of love and loathing that would be horribly unpalatable to anyone else.

Marc had squeezed his brother's hand to bits and tried not to make noise even though it hurt. Alex made no complaint either. Marc probably played too heavy a hand in raising him, but Alex turned out perfect so it was hard to feel guilty.

He was going to be the best uncle in the world. And Marc was determined to be a good mother.

He held her out to Alex, who took her carefully. She was tiny. If she was anything like him, she would be tiny for a long time. He wondered if he could make her take more after him out of sheer willpower.

"Do you think she looks like a Laia?" Marc asked. Laia Marquez Alenta. He'd drawn the name from a list of popular Catalan baby names, and still thought it fit. He enjoyed having the most common name for decades running, and there was an edge of rebellion in naming her as Catalan as possible. Her name carried ties to home, and the freedom to shape her own destiny.

Alex smiled at her with the warm fondness. "She looks like whatever you want."

Marc held his brother's arm appreciatively. For the millionth time since he found out about his pregnancy, he was unspeakably grateful for his brother. His family's love was a panacea to his unquantifiable amount of despair, as his body stretched and his toes disappeared from view. He used to easily bend down and touch the floor with the palms of his hands. He would get back there. He would get back on a bike too - soon, maybe even tomorrow - and he would return to winning again.

A few short moments later, a nurse took Laia away to measure her height. Something animal and new surged within him. He wanted her back, he didn't want her to smell like someone else. He controlled himself.

Alex dabbed stray tears from Marc's eyes with his sleeve. He hadn't realised he had been crying. His head was a mess.

"Congratulations," Alex said.

Marc gave him a wobbly smile. He felt unfit and horrible, and he regretted taking a break from his career from every fibre of his being now that the deed was done. But he'd done it, he was a mother now.

A thousand or so kilometres away, the paddock was just over a week away from their second race in Jerez.

--

Marc could pin down the day of Laia's conception to precision: 17 November 2019, when he had capped off a year of glory with a win.

He had been on the verge of a heat. It didn't matter - he'd raced through them before. When riders had their heads covered by helmets, scents were scarcely a distraction to everyone else. The only inconvenience was for himself, because his body temperature felt hotter and his stomach was prone to cramping, so he needed to ensure he had a different balance of water and electrolytes to keep the averse effects at bay.

It should have been a handicap for everyone else, and yet, he won with some margin. He simultaneously felt invincible and mortal, battered by the chronic weight of past and present injuries magnified by his heat. It was a terrible, foreboding mixture.

He was on top of the world. He was boiling alive in his own sweat and leathers.

He dragged himself to the afterparty anyway. His head was killing him. No matter how much water he drank, he couldn't shake off the dehydration. Once the adrenaline of the race had worn off, his dislocated shoulder throbbed painfully. He needed surgery soon to fix that again, as his arm felt to be one tough whack away from falling off.

After an hour, he bowed out. There were tests to be done in two days. It was early still, but there wasn't any reason to torture himself when his heat was surely already setting in. He only hoped he'd be able to get over the worst of it the next day and be fit for the tests. He couldn't imagine being off suppressants and having to suffer through three-day, full blown heats. This was bad enough.

He made it to his motorhome somehow. While trudging there, he caught a whiff of something forbidden through an open window. Despite his exhaustion, he ran.

During his two and a half years with Valentino, their heats and ruts had never coincided. Although couples' cycles tended to sync up with greater proximity, they hadn't been together long or frequently enough. And well, "couple" was a generous term to describe what they were.

He'd only been through two of Valentino's ruts before. Marc shared only one heat with him. Scheduling didn't permit anything else. They'd both been out of their minds for all three of those occasions.

Marc wasn't usually stupid in heat when he was alone. Impulsive and slow perhaps, but nothing like the mewling, horny mess he'd been reduced to during that one heat after his home race. He and Vale had been one-two on the podium in Montmelo, and he felt top of the world, untouchable. Hours later he was knocking on Valentino's door with his brain fried. There had been an embarrassing amount of whining involved while Valentino teased him. The memory was precious. He had been trusting and vulnerable then, but floating from his winning streak (how many in a row had it been by that time? Six or seven? He wasn't even done yet), and Valentino had taken care of him kindly. He couldn't believe his hero would take the time to do this for him. It had been so good, beyond a dream.

In contrast, ruts were bordered on violent. Valentino was brutal. He'd barely been able to speak before the knot formed, and when he was that way, it was impossible to reach him. Marc silently let him, let him, let him, because he was used to pain and he could cope with it, could be the perfect Omega if he needed, so what if it was too intense?

He was bruised by the end of it all, his limbs and his back and surely his insides, not wet or stretched enough to comfortably grip a knot in absence of a heat. These were the only times Valenino had ever offered him apologies, but he didn't need them. He had been kissed gently in compensation when Valentino came down, once the knot was in place, and he'd felt loved. Beautiful, brave, he remembered, and a soft kiss to his sweat-damp eyelid. Kisses all over his face until his cheeks were warm. He kept the compliments close to his chest.

This time, his body would be able to take it. Years ago, the thought of a cycle that finally synced up would have excited him. Now he hid and shut the door behind him. He wished again that Alex was around to stop the inevitable from happening. He hoped that Valentino was as desperate for self-control as he was, because this couldn't happen.

But even while he thought that, he knew it was not to be. He was on a knife's edge himself, and Omegas in sport were accustomed to containing their baser tendencies, both with their minds and medical interference. Alphas meanwhile, were encouraged to let it out, to be possessive and aggressive and greedy. It was good for the competitive spirit.

If Valentino smelled him at all, he'd be there soon. The rare sight of him at his best and his worst, fully unrestrained. Marc feared and yearned, and knew it was not to be denied.

Then came a knock on the door. Marc watched the knob twist from his vantage point in his own sitting area, unmoving. He could smell it through the gaps around the door - his Alpha, however long ago it may have been, and the other half of a mating bond that was broken before it could take hold.

He's should have thought to lock himself in. But he had gone stupid, and subconsciously he didn't want to spend another heat alone. He got to his feet to rush over and twist the lock shut. It was too late.

Valentino let himself in. The full brunt of his scent in rut punched Marc up the nose. It was pungent and human, mixed in with sweat. He shouldn't have been searching for it, inhaling it like he needed it. If he had clarity of mind, he would find that the scent was not pleasant, and he wouldn't want it all over him like a perfume. This wasn't the protective, sweet mating scent it once was.

But it was Valentino, and his body reacted. His hole clenched around nothing. He was wet already, and so hot it was frightening.

His eyes traced over the other man, tall and older and thin. Marc could take him in a strength fight, he knew, but there was no fight to be had. The heat wanted to be sated.

He refused to beg for it. Self-control was a deep well he could draw from even when surrender was nigh.

"Maybe you should go," he suggested quietly, the last barrier he was able to erect between them. It was flimsy, so Valentino acted as though he never heard it. It hurt Marc as much to voice it out as much as it stung to be ignored.

Valentino came to him (he was so fast - how was he so fast? How was it fair that ruts did this and heats made Marc dull), held his face, gripped his jaw, kissed him. Marc let it happen, fists clenched by his sides, teeth biting into the flesh of his own lower lip to keep the silence. The heat was unbearable. His palms were sweaty and searing in his own grip. Even the soles of his feet were burning.

He could tell that his lack of reaction frustrated Valentino, who made a noise of annoyance and maneuvered them onto the small sofa. His weight sank above Marc's, hot and heavy. He had sweat gathering on his temples and his nose.

In heat induced haze, Marc could still appreciate him. His lovely curls, lines on his face that showed his good humour, and his intense, light eyes. Marc swallowed a whine as Valentino clawed at the fastenings of his jeans, and felt his eyes flutter shut.

He knew he was wet. When Valentino tugged his jeans and his briefs down, he couldn't open his eyes out of shame. He had never felt shame over what was natural before, but his scent was overpowering, and unlike Valetino's it was still sweet. This was an admission he didn't want to give. The saving grace was that Valentino was too far gone to notice, lost in rut and years of anger.

Valentino didn't take the time to undress Marc or himself fully. Marc had his shirt and shoes still on (Alex would laugh so much about having shoes on during sex, he realised hysterically), and the jeans that pooled around his feet were too tight for him to move comfortably. Kicking in the air, he shucked them off - shoes, jeans, socks that caught on the rest - as Valentino worked on his own clothes.

It was easy for him. He was in an tracksuit with yellow stripes. Wildly, Marc wondered why he wanted him so much. But he did.

The thought crossed his mind that he really should have found some way to fuck Vale when he won in Misano back in September, so he wouldn't be in this situation. He had made it halfway to Vale's box in his unzipped leathers and his heat dildo in a bag before he caught himself acting like a prowling animal and turned back. He had been driven by the taste of victory on Vale's soil.

It would have made everything between them irrevocably worse. He should have done it anyway to gain a mental edge over this. Marc had the most unbearable urge to top that day and he was crystal clear that he would have succeeded, novice or not.

He would torture Vale one day. When he wasn't weak and pathetic in heat, he'd show Vale what it felt like to be held out on. He'd ruin him, he'd never let him come. He'd show him why it was so good, why Marc still waited and waited for him, and why Vale would never have this with anybody else. Anger and want mingled in a primitive corner of his brain.

Then Valentino freed his cock, and he crowded himself on Marc, and the complicated regrets flatlined temporarily. The heat demanded submission.

It was already happening. He should just enjoy it, given in to nature.

He couldn't.

He was supple, but even he found that the cramped sofa was less comfortable than the bed he was accustomed to. He didn't suggest to move.

Valentino pushed him down, so Marc's spine was curved awkwardly in the crook between the seat and backrest. He pulled Marc's legs apart and folded them back such that his knees were against his shoulders. Marc was flexible so it didn't hurt, but he didn't like it.

He was so wet, almost dripping before Valentino' eyes. There was no way he could sit back and allow this to happen. To do so would be pathetic, and Marc had never been pathetic.

He needed control. It was always certain that the person who kept their wits better had control if they played it right. It would be marginal victory in a war of attrition, but he was good at holding on to the winning edge in those.

Valentino held his cock and it looked like a fucking weapon. The lust of a rut was something to behold. His cock was swelling, not yet a knot, but red and painful.

Marc wanted it.

He didn't want it at all.

He twisted around to lie down across both seats. If there was a damn cushion somewhere so he could rest his head, he would be better off. It didn't matter - there was no position he couldn't fold himself into as needed.

With one swift movement, he kicked his legs up and bent wound his thighs around Valentino's shoulders, them forced him down with his strength. The Marc of 2014 would never have done this, but he was no longer so willing to roll over. Valentino was on his knees, head in proximity of Marc's weeping hole. It was a completely novel position to both of them. A smirk tugged the corner of Marc's lip. Surely Valentino would come to his senses soon and he would fight back, but by then he would realise that he had lost himself to his rut far more completely than Marc had allowed his heat to control him.

He still wanted Valentino to fuck him, knot him, have them fused at the front for hours, show them off to every other Omega who had stolen Valentino's ruts from him, scratch his fucking name bloody into Valentino's back so that Vale could feel how much he cared.

Time slowed down to molasses, which was a strange contrast to the acrid desperation in the air. Marc felt that he had a brief moment of time in control. It was like being on a bike, lining up a clever overtake while slowing down from 350 kilometres an hour. There was nobody better than him at this.

Marc quicky pushed himself up on his elbows so he could lean forward and watch. He swiped two fingers through his slick and touched them to the tip of his tongue, just to make sure that it was the same saccharine taste, sweet with affection, that Valentino used to go crazy for.

It was. Marc had always known that deep inside, he did not change easily.

Then he shoved his fingers into Valentino's mouth to remind him of the taste, and laid back to reap the benefits as Valentino attacked his hole with carnal hunger. His nose brushed against the hairless expanse of Marc's skin, his warm breath lit up every one of Marc's nerve endings. He pinched Marc's swollen, traitorous clit. Marc panted, his eyes fluttered shut, on the tenuous edge of control as Valentino stretched him out with his tongue, greedy for slick. Good, stay there, do it properly. Marc wouldn't hurt more, not today.

Marc moved a hand to the back of Valentino's head to hold him there, but it was slapped away with an impatient sound. He fisted his hands into his own shirt, grasping for purchase.

"Va-le," the name snuck itself out of his mouth without his permission.

His voice brought Valentino back to brief lucidity.

"You're the fucking devil," he said hoarsely, and it might have been true, but the words cut like a physical weapon. His lips were coated in a shiny sheen, and his hair was messy and sweat-damp. He looked throughly debauched. He would never have wanted this.

Marc should have defended himself. He could only whine and bring his thighs closer so Valentino would shut up with his horrible words and continue to stretch him out.

Valentino pulled himself free, scissored Marc's hole roughly with two fingers, and - too quickly for Marc's heat-weakened self to resist, he hauled himself up and sank his growing knot into Marc's swollen heat.

Marc felt tears well in his eyes and hated himself for it. It wasn't the pain, he knew pain like an old friend. It was the intensity of being fucked and being hated.

Under the heat of Valentino's sweaty, heavy body, Marc refused to buckle. He met every movement, grind for grind. He refused to look away. He stared without blinking. Let Valentino see him suffer. Let Valentino see him detach himself from this. Maybe Valentino would understand him better if Marc could haunt him in return for all of their past years.

He controlled his expression into something stoic and defiant. It was all wrong, so let it be obvious. Let him maintain his dignity when all other control was stripped from him. Let him come out on top.

The knot, heavy between his legs, pushed obtrusively into his slick cunt. There was no point in fighting it, as it would only hurt more. This was like crashing - if you tensed yourself defensively, you would die. If you accepted it and let the momentum take you, you might live.

He felt his slick change in consistency, turning grippy. He hated the body chemistry of an Omega in heat. Hated that when the knotting was supposed to take place, his body acted against him. This was new to him, with the heat and rut cycles syncing up.

Valentino continued to fuck him clumsily, his thickening knot going through the resistance of Marc's body, piercing back inside over and over again, until Marc locked him in for good, gripping the knot in a vice, the intrusion almost the size of a fist. They came in tandem, and while light behind his eyelids stole Marc's consciousness for a moment.

He was aware again shortly, and all of a sudden, the sound of their breathing was too loud. Their faces were too close.

The magnitude of how awkward the situation was revealed itself. They couldn't even run, locked into each other as they were. His cunt ached dully. His clit was oversensitive and wanted for attention it wouldn't receive. His scenting gland throbbed, but he was unmated. Marc felt cold, despite the heat they shared. He didn't feel beautiful or brave today, and his body felt worn.

His shoulder was crying for mercy, trapped between Valentino's weight and a sofa that didn't provide enough support. He wanted Valentino to flip them over, but he refused to ask. Could Valentino not smell that he was distressed? Was he distressed? Or was it that he had been distressed from the start, so Valentino couldn't tell the difference? Normally, he was at least sensitive to Marc's pain. It was only Marc's head that he wanted to mess around with.

What had they done? Valentino didn't even want him anymore. Marc didn't have to stop him from making the mating bite this time, as he had every time prior. The desire had evaporated.

Valentino spoke first. "We didn't use a condom," he said.

The world fell away beneath Marc. He gathered himself in an instance, anxiously. "I'm on suppressants. Three percent," he said, repeating an oft-mentioned statistic. Three percent was the chance that suppressants would fail to protect from pregnancy, if a fertile Omega had sex with an Alpha during a heat. It was non-negligable, but low.

Valentino accepted this with a nod. He looked tired, each of the fourteen years between them highlighted vividly. So unhappy was the occasion, so spent was his body, that Marc almost felt as though he was guilty of something. But of course, he was not.

They didn't attempt to converse. Marc remembered when Vale used to talk, and make Marc laugh through the tears.

The moment Valentino's knot had decreased enough in size, he wrenched himself out and put on his ugly trackpants. Marc gasped and clenched over nothing, but all he saw was the sight of Valentino's tense back as he took brisk strides away. Valentino let the door shut with a violent slam. Marc didn't call out for him.

Valentino was still in rut, despite the lull. Alphas in sports didn't take suppressants. Marc's heat had broken but where was Valentino going? Who was he going to? Marc couldn't help but wonder, thoughts spiralling into useless directions.

He tried so hard, but he didn't think he won this round.

Empty and hopeless, Marc dressed himself. He ignored the mess of fluids collecting inside his briefs. As a distraction, he made himself clean the sofa. The smell of antiseptic drove his heightened senses crazy.

It didn't matter. Alex and his father knew the moment they returned home. An incompatible mating scent was impossible to hide.

Marc hadn't even considered the possibility of pregnancy for more than a second. He cleaned himself out throughly with his fingers in the shower, unable to tolerate the thought of the remnants of Valentino in him. It was easy, he was sore but he was was still loose. That should have been the end of it.

--

The cruel irony was that Marc had highly specific plans for becoming a parent before any of this happened. He always assumed that he would become one in the future because he liked children and they liked him, and he was willing to temporarily give up his athletic body for that pursuit. However, the assumption also caveated that it would be a post-retirement affair.

He intended to collect all the accolades humanly possible first, then he would retire as late as he could. He wanted to be racing deep into his thirties, maybe even his forties. It was the most passionate love of his life, which he would cling to with bloodied fingertips until he couldn't. He gave his childhood and his life to it, so it needed to give back to him. He wanted to keep having fun and winning.

Somewhere in the middle of this illustrious career, maybe when he was in his early thirties, he would have enough wisdom to pick a good person and fall slowly in love. He knew, after years without Valentino, that it would not be him. A part of Marc would always feel affection for the Alpha that first laid claim to him, but he trusted that his heart was big enough to love again. He just needed more time to get over the hurt. Besides, Valentino would be far too old to become a new parent by the time Marc was ready.

Ideally Marc would find a gentle person who was proud of his accomplishments, and patient enough to wait for him to finish earning them. Marc wouldn't date a competitor - their ego would protest, and he understood completely. He couldn't stomach dating someone who made a habit of beating him either, when he eventually grew too old to be competitive. He would rather retire than face that reality, and maybe one day when he started to decline, he'd consider his fertility when he made his decision to leave. He would finally get to experience a three-day heat and carry a baby for the nice person he was going to find. Maybe he would be with a nice girl, for a change, and his mother would enjoy her company. His worry used to be whether he could catch this window in time.

He wanted someone good for him, who he could be good to in return. He'd always been capable of being generous and tender when he loved. It was just on track that he couldn't, which was why it was inadvisable to start a family with a rival. As a younger person, he lacked this foresight.

He knew that there had to be someone else out there for him who was perfect, and would want to be out in the open with him, cheering him on and waiting patiently for Marc's career to run its course. When he was done, they could be married, and his partner would follow Marc back to Cervera to have a good life together.

In the meantime, Marc hadn't been in a hurry. He was too young for any of this.

--

Two days after Laia's birth, Alex drove them home.

He wasn't in the most talkative mood. They both were tired, having squeezed onto Marc's bed to sleep while he was warded. Marc didn't care about the rules, he paid for a private room and his brother wasn't going to sleep in a chair while putting aside his life and his career to babysit him.

They then faced the conundrum of trying not to wake a newborn who only knew how to communicate by crying. The easiest ceasefire seemed to be staying silent.

Marc was free from holding her because she had to go into an infant carrier at the back, but he was fidgety. If he had to deal with awkwardness from the only person he had never been awkward with because of the baby, he was going to do something unpleasant.

Thankfully, Alex always knew what to do. "Open the glove compartment," he said, apropos of nothing.

Marc turned to him, puzzled. "Why?"

"Just open it," Alex said, so Marc did.

He found a folded paper bag, and pulled it out. It contained something soft. He emptied the contents onto his lap.

There was a soft onesie that looked like a bee, and a red ant plushie that was cuter than any insect had a right to be.

"I thought you wouldn't want her to be an ant, but she can hold you," Alex explained.

Marc looked down at the items wordlessly. He hadn't thought so far about what a baby girl would like. He was busy thinking about what she would need, and placing an insane number of online orders for baby things, thanks to the fucking pandemic. He had twenty milk bottles nozzles stockpiled now.

Alex smiled softly. "She'll be a bee if she's like you. Noisy."

"Of course she'll be like me," Marc said without really thinking. He fidgeted with one of the ant's fluffy red legs. It was soft, and felt more expensive than any of the toys they used to share. Or maybe this was what new toys felt like.

"She's very quiet now," Marc remarked, registering what Alex said.

"I think she likes the engine sound," Alex said.

Marc did too. A quiet hum. It had nothing on a bike of course, but it was calming. A balm of steady sound to keep the thoughts from crowding his mind.

He felt a longing that he blamed on hormones. An Omega on his lonesome, left to raise a child on his own, could only feel small and tragic. His chemistry wanted him to cower at the altar of his Alpha and lure him back so his baby would be well cared for. His mind tempted him with the echoes of strong hands against his thigh, fingertips pressing confidently under his briefs, whispers of reassuring warmth against his body that he no longer had access to, and no longer truly wanted.

Funny how it used to feel as though they had so much, when they always had so little. Stolen moments between commitments and no plans for their future.

It was sacrilegious to yearn for any of that in the vicinity of Alex, given that Alex hated Valentino with a cold fury. He harboured all the difficult feelings that Marc couldn't convince himself to sustain. All of that emotional labour, for Marc's sake. He was much more important to Marc than Valentino could ever hope to be, even if Valentino came to his senses and delivered himself with his metaphorical tail between his legs. And he wouldn't, so.

He centred himself on the sound of the engine humming. It was like what he was taught to do when his heats overwhelmed: focus on the other senses. What did he see? What did he smell? The soft brush of his fuzzy shirt against his bare skin. A plush ant in his hand. Sunlight in his eyes. The clean scent of their air freshener. Instrumental music in the background for the baby's sake, mingling harmously with the engine. Steady. He grounded himself.

Maybe he was being childish, but he placed the ant on Alex's hand that was holding the gear shift, then made it do a few hops to crawl up his arm. He just liked the contact. The ant was soft.

Alex laughed softly. "What is this, Marc?"

"We have a baby, you have to get used to it," Marc said loftily.

"She can't be worse than you," Alex said.

Marc turned his head to watch his daughter for several moments. She was too special to be worse than anyone. The blood of seventeen combined championships ran in her veins - which wasn't worth everything obviously, but it was worth something. And she carried a bit of the the other people he loved too; shared the encoding of his parents and his brother and his grandparents before them.

He wondered what Valentino would think of her. Marc was going to be the one who would take care of her all her life - clearly - but he wondered if Valentino could find it within himself to love her, even though she was Marc's. He wanted a family once, with a long-time girlfriend even before Marc came into the picture. Then with Marc, they never had a serious conversation about it. It was obvious that it was impossible, until it wasn't.

Laia was Valentino's family too, and Marc supposed that Valentino could love her.

He would love this girl. Marc just needed to work harder to make it happen. Valentino was constants and variables in an unpredictable fashion, except when it came to the people he called his. He didn't let them go.

"Are you thinking about him?" Alex asked plainly.

"Thinking about how to tell him," Marc lied, leaving out his doubts. It wasn't a complete lie. He now was thinking about how to tell Valentino. "I don't know what to say. I think I'll just send him a picture."

He decided to do just that during the car ride. The message was a simple photo of their daughter without a caption, reviving a chat that had been dead for two months. He picked the best photo, where she was sound asleep, dressed in baby blue and sweet little mittens.

Before that, there were only short exchanges. "Are you healthy?" from Valentino, who thought of him at two in the morning.

"Yes, don't worry," from Marc, who never knew what to say anymore, and always hated texting anyway.

Months before that-

"I'm pregnant and I'm keeping it. You don't have to do anything. You can't stop me." Followed by five missed calls, and a voice recording that Marc downloaded and replayed over and over again when he could bear to.

Every message mattered so much, and this one the most of all. Marc watched the file upload, and a single tick appeared in the corner. A second tick didn't show up. Maybe Valentino was busy.

When Alex pulled into their driveway, Marc finally locked his screen.

--

Marc's mother, Roser, cried when he came home. They were happy tears, she said.

She hugged him gently, the baby in his arms between them.

"I'm so lucky," she said, stepping away to wipe her eyes with a tissue. "I lived to be a grandmother."

"Of course you were going to be a grandmother," Alex said from behind Marc, carrying both their overnight bags. "Unless you thought none of us were going to have kids? I understand thinking that about Marc, but I always wanted a family."

"And where are your kids?" Marc scoffed. "All talk and no results."

Roser laughed wetly. "Boys, not everything is a competition."

Alex sighed with an air of long-suffering. "You tell him that."

"We know how Marc is," Roser said peaceably. She held out her hands towards the baby, who had alarmingly started to whine. Marc didn't know what he would do if she started full-on crying. This was why they had nurses at the hospital, even though he started freaking out inside whenever they took her away from him.

"She's beautiful. Let me see her," Roser said, and Marc was only too happy to comply. Laia was wailing before she left his arms.

Marc watched intently as his mother rocked his daughter gently from back and forth to calm her. He had so much to learn.

"She might just be hungry, darling," Roser said. "I made a nest for you on your bed. Why don't we take her there?"

She carried Laia for him, until Marc got into bed and she tucked the covers around him with one hand. It might have been approaching the height of summer but he didn't mind. Having parental care was nice.

They were her covers, he realised, and sank deeper into the scent of them. Her covers, and Alex's bolster, and his father's pillowcases that she must have driven over to retrieve for him. His parents had separated, but they made it as painless for their kids as they could, and Marc was always appreciative of it. His bed was a clutter of soft possessions of the people he loved.

He was surrounded by family. Family plus one more, who was experiencing the familiar walls of his bedroom for the first time. She would grow up around these scents, as he did. They had always been a comfort to him. What was familiar to him would become familiar to her, and she would feel the love of a Marquez Alenta through and through. It was a profound realisation.

Roser kissed his forehead and passed him his fussing daughter. "Shall I leave you two to it then?" she asked softly.

Marc nodded. He took his shirt off when his mother left, and held his daughter to his chest. She sucked on a puffy nipple, and he just-

He found it unsettling to be a food source. His body was made for different things; stalking his prey and hauling around a bucking beast of a bike more than twice his weight. He was horrifically far from his fighting physique. He didn't want to know how many kilograms of muscle he had to rebuild.

It hadn't fully sunk in yet that being a parent was a permanent state of affairs, that he would never not be a parent again. He kept realising the same thing, bit by bit.

He itched to check for Valentino's response, but he wasn't prepared to hear from him yet. He wasn't being a coward, so much as he didn't have the energy to spare.

It would have been nice for Valentino to like him enough to be here with him, maybe hold their child for him so Marc's wretched shoulder could take a break. Too much unnecessary risk to be under general anesthesia for non-emergency surgery, the doctors said. He'd pushed back his recovery by nine months. He would take even longer to be strong again.

He let the physicality of his exhaustion wash over him. He had known pain, but he had never been so tired before. The birth sapped his muscles and drained marrow from his bones. His insides felt out of place. His chest was sore. He wanted to go back to normal.

He closed his eyes and pretended to be twenty again, with these sensations. He would be happy, disbelieving, and in love, with the rest of his life ahead of him. And maybe he had a child who was an accident, maybe he felt too young to know what he was doing, but it was a happy accident. Back then, he would be young enough to be confused and cry about it, and seek refuge in his Alpha's loving arms. Vale would not let him think of himself as dairy cattle, he used to be able to say so many nice things.

Marc would have kept her even at twenty, he was certain of it. And maybe everything would have been different; maybe Vale would have kept him.

Since it made him feel better, in private, he gave in to this moment of weakness. He imagined that everything was perfect - that he had an Alpha who was out winning important races, but he would come home to be a family man. An Alpha who would never sleep with anyone else ever again, now that he was Marc's.

His daughter's small weight rested against his chest, swaddled in soft fabric. He exhaled slowly as she fed, trying to keep calm for her. He still felt like a cow - or no, perhaps a lion - caged and restrained in a place far too small for him. He still thought of the races and felt deep envy because there was no way for him to do what he was meant to do.

But this had to be worth it. If there was one seed of truth in to be harvested from his illusion, it was that his daughter had been made with his love.

[capricioussun]

The reason i say i have like seven different versions of UF on rotation in my brain is because there are several different Styles of UF that i really like and can never really decide on which I'd consider my Main one, on top of also Lore, which i have a few different ideas for, too.

So like, we have the one i talk abt most often probably, which we'll call AngstFell, because. I'll be honest i love angst and i love doing terrible things to characters. This is the one where they have core issues, supply issues, food shortages, LVlost culling, very complicated and sort of miserable relationships between just about all of the characters. No One is having a good time pretty much, but despite everything, there is still hope...

Then there's how i often mentally refer to it as SillyFell, which is basically just like. If everyone in UT decided to try to be mean and was mostly really bad about it. In this one, things are still generally worse, but having LV is still somewhat uncommon, mostly only guards would have it, and people are generally more sad than they are mean/angry.

And then we have what's probably """closest to canon""" as far as my understanding of it goes, where it's sort of somewhere in between the two prior ones, in that there's definitely still silliness, and their UT selves aren't too far removed from them, but it still can get pretty heavy, and problems aren't as surface level as Silly.

Then we have my """fanon"""fell which is essentially something I've done for most AUs, where i try to imagine circumstances that could possibly, believably (by my own standards and interpretations) make the characters behave more in line with fanon portrayals. This one's way more difficult to summarize since the changes are more character specific, but generally, as far as "seriousness" goes, it falls in a similar place as "Canon"Fell.

And then there's Tale to Fell (v.1) which is essentially based around the idea that UF kind of started as UT, but slowly became UF due to Circumstances like core trouble and slightly different events going down with the humans, both during the war, and with what happened to Chara and Asriel. (End results are similar to "Canon"Fell)

But there's also Tale to Fell (v.2) which is based on the premise of UT slowly becoming UF after Frisk has fallen into the underground due to waaay too many resets and gradual code fuckery. (Opposed to v.1, this is actually a concept I've never seen explored before! Not to say it isn't out there somewhere, but i have a rough draft layout of a potential fic abt it that will...probably never happen bc it would take a lot of commitment lol)

So we have those bad boys, but then there's also differences depending on Lore. Like there's one version i think of sometimes where Papyrus is the older brother, or a version where Gaster didn't make Sans and Papyrus but was actually their adoptive uncle, and another with Gaster Papyrus where, as it goes, the incident that "shattered" Gaster created Papyrus, one where Undyne knew the bros as kids briefly, one where Asgore's just Terrible for like, no real reason, like. There are a lot of ways to think about it!!

And that's not even taking into account all of the Fell based story ideas like the psychonauts one, the one where the bros are gb shifters, one where Papyrus is [redacted], one where there's a zombie like plague outbreak that can only affect monsters with LV, one where Frisk winds up living underground with them all for a Hot Minute, and then of course there's the AUs, like Vesselfell, Horrorfell, Heartfell, Lovefell, Invertedfell, Orangefell, that mysterious one I've been mulling and have not talked about at all with Albatross-

Clearly i am very normal about this 👍

[secriden]

This line. God, this line! It has been eating me up inside for 2 days now, because let's not forget, this line isn't about love, it's about trust. And that has implications that make me want to scream.

It's a direct reference to this moment earlier in the episode:

At the start of this discussion, Style and Fadel still have a kind of playful air about their conversation:

Style: Oh? Not even me? Fadel: You're at 80% at best. I feel like you're hiding something from me in the 20%.

In this exchange, though, there's a sense that Fadel is issuing a challenge, like there's something specific which Style can do to gain Fadel's full trust. And while Style knows there are things he cannot (yet) reveal to Fadel, I think a part of him is determined to be as honest as he can be, which is why he issues a challenge of his own by asking for more specificity:

Style: What do I have to do to gain your complete trust?

Part of this question is a simultaneously inquisitive and deflective - What (and why) do you think I'm hiding (something) from you? - but there's also a moment after Style finishes speaking where he stills and goes quiet that feels... genuine, weighty. Or, as @airenyah has pointed out in her meta on Style in episode 4, the "grounded[ness]" in Style's demeanour is a signal that Style means what he's saying in the moment. Maybe about his own desire to be worthy of Fadel's trust, maybe about how he genuinely does want this relationship to be real in whatever way that matters to Fadel.

I think Fadel sensed that too, because the moment looses all the lightheartedness it had before. Fadel pauses, and then gets a look on his face that just... breaks my heart. There's a sombreness there, like he knows he's going to have to say something that makes him sad. Fadel looks away, and then down, before he seems to steel himself and says:

Fadel: It'll never happen. No matter how much you love someone, I just don't believe that you can completely lay yourself bare in front of them.

Fadel says this like it's fact. Like what he's expressing is something foundational and true and irrefutable. It's not even about his doubt in Style's honesty, because this statement has no qualifiers or conditions put on it to connect it to Style. Rather this is what Fadel fundamentally believes about relationships and trust: he finds the very concept of being fully known and still accepted an impossibility.

Sure, maybe this is because of the falling out (or betrayal or disappearance) associated with the former lover; but I also think it might be because Fadel is acutely aware not only that he's hiding a rather big and dark secret (not to mince words, but: actual literal premeditated murder), but also about what it implies about Fadel. Because being able to kill another human, coldly and clinically and without remorse, takes a certain type of person. Because, yes, Fadel has lived through an absolutely harrowing and traumatising event (his parents' murder), but it's also undeniable that it changed him. Because there's something about Fadel that twisted dark and which he never quite got back. There's an anger, a hurt that colours every moment of his life; that enables him to look a man in the eyes, smile politely, and pull a trigger.

And at this point in their relationship, Fadel's understanding of Style is that he's... well, kind of innocent. Especially in comparison to Fadel and Bison, and even Kant.

Style, who easily reveals facts about his life which Fadel already knows (winning a car tuning competition), making Fadel doubt his own instincts about Style hiding secrets. Style, who also reveals the things Fadel doesn't know, like the tender and secret pain of a mother lost to cancer (which, now that I think about it, Fadel may also know) and his worries about a father who "lost his bearings for a bit" (which he probably doesn't). Style, who tries to comfort Fadel in his own loss by offering a safe space and a sympathetic ear.

Style, who doesn't just see Fadel for his tragedy, but is asking to be given the chance to accept all of Fadel as a person. Style, who not only wants but has the capacity, to be the only person Fadel needs to rely on. Style who, despite the sea of differences between them, understands Fadel on a level that is so very foundational.

I'm going to slightly segue and mention something that may not resonate with everyone, but really hit me in the gut this episode: because I lost my father when I was 16 after he battled cancer for 2 painful years. And this revelation about Style has totally shifted and coloured everything Style has done in a new light for me. Because not only does this totally explain Style's sometimes almost stubbornly childish demeanour (it's common in adults who've had to 'grow up' too early), but also why Style shows seemingly random flashes of insight and maturity when they are most crucial. Notably, Style has this almost instinctive sense of when he needs to back off a sore point with Fadel that I couldn't quite put my finger on until this episode.

I've seen a few jokes about Style's awkward subject change, but I've actually got a friend who I hold very dear to my heart who was one of the only people to give me a sense of normalcy and comfort when my dad was on his last few days and then at his funeral. And part of that was the instinctive way she would know when I needed to just. Not be a grieving daughter for a few minutes. To get a small respite from the overwhelming hopelessness and sense of impending loss. To get a moment to breathe and gather my strength, because knowing I was never going to see my dad again, or hear his voice, or hold his hand was tearing me apart back then. Sometimes she'd talk to me about college drama, sometimes she'd introduce a new kpop video to me, sometimes she'd just ask me what I wanted to eat and take me to go have a meal with her. And sometimes there really just isn't anything else to say other than "I'm sorry." Nothing you say - nothing you can say - is going to ever, ever make this grief go away, and in most cases, it was better when people (especially those who couldn't really understand) didn't try.

And I think if you look at Fadel very closely, there's a moment of genuine surprise (Fadel wasn't expecting the subject change at all) and then... something that looks like fondness mixed with exhausted relief. Because I don't think Fadel was ready to talk about his parents yet. This was honesty he wasn't ready to give Style, mostly prompted because Style himself had willingly been so vulnerable that a part of Fadel wanted to reciprocate. But further down that path lies not only his darkest memories, but also the connection to the part of his life he is not willing to share with Style yet. So this subject change is a relief, it's a blessing, but it's also Style knowing when he shouldn't push any further with Fadel's fragile heart.

Which brings me back to how well the episode's theme of trust (both deserved and undeserved) was woven in this episode. This is true on multiple levels and characters but I'm not even going to attempt to touch Kant in this post because... Lord, that is beyond me at the moment. Someone else needs to do that, pretty please, so I can reblog it and scream.

It starts, somewhat unexpectedly, with Fadel asking for entrance into the intimate spaces of Style's life.

So, this episode was not about Fadel's fear of his own feelings, desires, or even affection for Style - that appears to be fully addressed in episode 4. I think that's why we see Fadel be so physically affectionate and indulgent of Style in this episode. He's come to terms with his lust for Style's body (hence his comfort in initiating sex), he's accepted Style as his boyfriend and so can enjoy Style's playful teasing (still reluctantly, but Fadel is still an introvert even if he's mostly enjoying Style's rambunctious nature), and give into Style's (and Bison's and Kant's) cajoling with relatively little fuss.

He's even comfortable toying with the edges of revealing his darker and more sinister side by reminding Style implicitly about how violent Fadel has the potential to be. Recall that Fadel knows Style knows some of his capacity for violence; he just doesn't know how very thoroughly Style is aware of the full scale of this truth. It does help that Style evidences no actual fear and, in fact, looks positively euphoric. Like, buddy, pal, dearest one... please control yourself.

And yet something very, very telling is the way the show makes it a point to depict Fadel very deliberately getting drunk during the double date. Even before the date has started, Fadel looks to be about half a beer in and we see him constantly drinking, drinking, drinking during the whole date. From the conversation about trust he has with Style while Kant and Bison are being off key and adorable about it, to after Kant leaves and Bison gets worried. And we've seen Fadel cope with emotional and mental distress with alcohol before, so we know that Fadel is internally fighting some kind of very intense battle even as he is also very clearly enjoying moments with Style on this date (most notably when they're dancing by the bowling lanes and when Style asks him to go home with him).

So here's my take: rather than being about love, this is about Fadel fighting to hold onto his own philosophy on relationships and trust. Because as much as I do believe Fadel believes he's telling the truth when he tells Style that 100% trust is "impossible", I think it's clear that's not what he wants.

What he wants is to finish this last job so that the only thing he can't be honest about with Style will finally stop being a factor in his life. What he wants is to fully and completely reciprocate the openness Style seems to be giving Fadel. What he wants is to switch off his brain and let his heart lead for once, to stop fighting a battle he has no desire to win anymore, only he can't. Trust (not love) is Fadel's final frontier, and one which he can't quite give up in spite of himself.

Which is why I think Fadel intentionally gets himself drunk here. Because he wants to let his guard down around Style. He wants to open himself fully, he wants to "lay himself bare" for Style, he wants Style to know the full truth and accept him anyway - and he gets so close, but can't quite get there - because he doesn't know that Style already has.

When Style says this, Fadel thinks it's empty words, not knowing that Style has long passed the bar Fadel thinks is insurmountable. And just like Style was able to offer safety and reassurance to the vulnerability Fadel was showing in episode 4, Style instinctively gets to the core of Fadel's darkest fears again:

Style: One day, I'll be your 100%.

This isn't (just) a promise that Style will wear Fadel's stubbornness down, or that Style will be worthy of Fadel's 100% (which, already, has me in tears, ngl). Beyond that, this is Style promising Fadel isn't ruined for this; that it isn't too late, that whatever hurts and wounds Fadel has can be made whole again. That the kind of honest and all-encompassing and unconditional trust which Fadel says is impossible can, in fact, be his. That Fadel still has the capacity to trust and be trusted the way he so desperately, painfully longs for.

I know a lot of people have said Style in this episode is writing cheques he has no ability to honour, but I think it's more layered than that. Because in a very significant and profound way, Style is wholly deserving of Fadel's trust. Because in all the ways that Fadel has ever known he should want, Style actually IS worthy of his trust. Style knows the truth Fadel is hiding, knows what this man is capable of, knows the danger of being in his arms, knows the likely nonexistent future Fadel has to offer him -- and wants him anyway. Style is a man who would stare into Fadel’s darkness and reach out first. Strip away the complication of Kant being blackmailed and dragging Style into his mission, and Style is literally perfect for Fadel. He is exactly what Fadel wants (and possibly has wanted for a very long time). He is, in fact, exactly what Fadel needs to ever experience anything beyond the shadow of a life he's had so far.

But oh, the cruel narrative means that Style is also, simultaneously, painfully undeserving of Fadel's trust; and this is something Style is very much aware of. I think that's why he's trying so very hard to be worthy in all the other ways he can be. Style's awareness of what Fadel is hiding enables Style to (counterintuitively) be completely honest about his feelings for and about Fadel even as he cannot reveal his motivations. So he gives Fadel as much honesty as he can: offers the vulnerability of his own pain and hurts; the comfort of his true understanding and acceptance.

And just as Fadel's vulnerability in the abandoned factory was met with Style choosing a form of physical connection that prioritised Fadel's pleasure (it's made very clear that Style is jerking Fadel off and that all his focus in that moment was on Fadel, not his own pleasure), so too is this moment met with Style very intentionally choosing to worship Fadel's body with all the tenderness and genuine emotional weight that Style wanted Fadel to have in their first time in the storeroom.

Because, crucially, this was Style giving Fadel the chance to lay himself at least physically bare. This is the closest either of them can get to full honesty with the secrets they both are keeping. It's why Style tries so very hard to show the care and adoration and genuine feelings he has for Fadel. Why he makes sure that the vulnerability of Fadel getting himself as drunk and as relaxed and as trusting as Fadel can allow himself to be is tied only to gentleness and tenderness and pleasure.

Because Style actually knows that Fadel can't (and shouldn't) trust him in the way Fadel truly wishes to.

And as much as I believe that Style genuinely means this from the bottom of his heart, the horrifying full truth is that it is Style that has the metaphorical knife hovering over Fadel's chest. He is the one with the capacity to actually give Fadel a new scar that would truly matter. He is, in fact, the only one Fadel wants to fully trust -- and this, along with Style's compromised heart, makes it so that the circumstances will doom them both.

[jasontoddsmommyissues]

To be honest, I would let Cassandra Nova do unspeakable things to me.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

[<==PREV PAGES] [NEXT PAGE==>(not out yet.wait a year.or maybe more.imagine.]

saw alot of comments on prev pages; saying 'i HATE that mean teacher! im gonna FIGHT HIM!!' & i LOVE the energy!! it WOULD be nice. to have that catharsis. but the story of young tidestrider is Not one of catharsis. it is a story of being so small and so special and sucking so bad.

[kaiserouo]

sometimes its weird to think of ordis as ordan karris