#i’m ashamed to even admit this but i was attempting a nail shape i saw on tiktok

[fingertipsmp3]

Accidentally fucked up my nails by cutting them too short (again) hahahahahaaaa

[chibistarlyte]

it’s okay (to not be okay)

Todoroki nodded and pursed his lips. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration as his mismatched eyes focused on his own hands as they tried to move in an unfamiliar pattern. If Katsuki were the sappy type, he might have admitted Todoroki looked cute when he was concentrating.

But Katsuki steered himself away from that train of thought, watching Todoroki’s hands sign a very simple, very loaded question.

“Are you okay?”

hi i’m here with some todobaku hospital fluff because the manga didn’t give us any :(

spoilers for up to chapter 302!

you can read the fic below the cut or here on ao3! you can also find a masterlist of my bnha fics here!

.

Katsuki felt a weight land on his shoulder. 

It was enough to rouse him out of his fitful, pain medication-induced sleep. He forced his heavy eyelids open and stared into the darkness of his hospital room, his eyes adjusting to the lack of light. Katsuki tried to tilt his head down to see what was on his shoulder, but something prevented his movement. He felt bandages and soft strands of hair tickling his jaw. His muscles tensed on instinct, causing a throb of pain to ring through his abdomen.

"The fu—"

A bandaged hand entered his field of vision, coming closer until it rested atop his own mess of hair, awkwardly patting his head. 

"Didn't mean to…" a raspy voice began to say, but the short phrase was cut off by a dry cough and a small, pained whine. "...to wake you."

Katsuki felt himself deflate a little, his own voice hoarse with sleep when he spoke. "Stop talking, you moron, or you'll lose your voice for real."

Todoroki grunted in response, scooting himself closer to Katsuki on the bed. He pressed his left side, his warm side, against Katsuki’s right. A soft heat pulsated in the air and made Katsuki relax even further. 

He hadn't gotten to see Todoroki much during their stay at the hospital. Most of what he knew, he learned from Kirishima when he visited his room earlier that day. He told him that Todoroki's mother, brother, and sister had showed up to his room. Then, the entire family had disappeared to Endeavor’s hospital room for a good, long while. 

Considering everything that had happened—everything that had been revealed just a few short days ago—Katsuki wasn't surprised about the Todoroki family meeting.

But the fact that Todoroki was here, in Katsuki’s room in the middle of the night, could only mean one thing. 

"Your family's not here right now, are they?" Katsuki asked softly.

He felt Todoroki shake his head against his shoulder, the other boy’s hair wisping against his skin in such a way that Katsuki unconsciously shivered. 

"They left," Todoroki croaked, his words barely audible.

Katsuki let out a shaky sigh, pain creeping in at the edges of his awareness. One cursory glance at the IV bag hanging next to his bag told him his current dose of pain medication was almost up, and he'd need it replenished soon. But until then, Katsuki did all he could to focus on the physical pain so he could ignore the storm of emotions swirling in his bruised, battered, burned chest.

"Are you—" the question was cut off by a sharp intake of breath, followed by a series of short, strained coughs.

Katsuki rolled his eyes, blindly reaching his hand out as far as he could with Todoroki squishing his arm against his side. He patted what he hoped was Todoroki’s leg. "I told you to fucking stop talking," he chided, though his word lacked any real heat.

Todoroki wheezed and ducked his head a little, settling it on Katsuki’s chest. But he avoided the areas that were covered in bandages.

It was quiet between them for a little while. The only sounds taking up space in the silence were the quiet, steady beeping of Katsuki’s heart monitor and Todoroki’s even quieter, raspy breaths. Katsuki wanted to go back to sleep, but the steadily increasing pain prevented him from drifting off. He idly wondered if Todoroki had fallen asleep already, until he saw Todoroki’s hands moving.

"The hell are you doing, half-n-half?" 

Todoroki didn't answer, which was probably a good thing since he couldn't talk without hurting himself. He shifted until he was able to sit up, facing Katsuki. Once again, he started moving his hands.

Katsuki recognized the motions as a very unpracticed, very clumsy attempt at signing. Todoroki’s hands were shaking a little, though whether it was from nerves or injury, Katsuki wasn't sure.

"Sign that again, but slower," Katsuki instructed when Todoroki’s hands stopped in mid-air. 

Todoroki nodded and pursed his lips. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration as his mismatched eyes focused on his own hands as they tried to move in an unfamiliar pattern. If Katsuki were the sappy type, he might have admitted Todoroki looked cute when he was concentrating. 

But Katsuki steered himself away from that train of thought, watching Todoroki’s hands sign a very simple, very loaded question. 

“Are you okay?”

Another haggard sigh brushed past Katsuki’s lips, a sardonic smile tugging the corners of his mouth upward. "Un-fucking-believable," he said, leaning his head back on the pillow and staring up at the dark ceiling. 

Todoroki made a questioning noise that Katsuki almost missed because of how quiet it was.

Katsuki glanced back down and saw Todoroki looking at him curiously with his head tilted to the side. Cute crossed his mind again, but he shoved the thought away with as much mental force as he could muster. "Your entire family's dirty history has been broadcasted to all of fucking Japan, and your not-dead brother is a mass murderer who tried to kill you, and you're asking if I'm okay?"

He didn't mean to raise his voice, but the way Todoroki flinched and averted his gaze made Katsuki bite down on his tongue. He wrenched his eyes shut and blew out a frustrated sigh through his nose.

Katsuki felt a light tapping on his sternum, right above his cummerbund of bandages. He cracked his eyes open again to see Todoroki's finger lightly poking at his hospital garb.

Todoroki sat up again and brought his hands back up after getting Katsuki’s attention. He paused to think for a moment, then motioned the sign for “ hurt.” He paused again, a shadow descending over his bandaged face as he more cautiously signed “ die.”

And hell , if that didn't bring up another thought that Katsuki had been trying to avoid since he woke up. 

Because Todoroki was right. He did almost die. Todoroki had almost died. And Deku…

Goddamn Deku .

Todoroki tapped Katsuki’s hand this time to get his attention. Katsuki watched as Todoroki struggled to sign out “ Mi-do-ri-ya .”

"What about him?" Katsuki growled out, hoping his anger would hide his worry for his childhood friend.

"…Coma," Todoroki said, sounding like it took every ounce of voice he had left to say it. He wrung his hands together, fingers interlaced tight enough that Katsuki watched his knuckles turn white.

"Yeah…" Katsuki said, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. "He hasn't woken up yet, the fucking asshole."

"You saved him," Todoroki said, falling into a small coughing fit after squeaking the words out. Even though his eyes were watering from the exertion, the sheer admiration and pride that Katsuki saw in those crystal-colored irises when Todoroki looked at him…

"It wasn't enough," Katsuki said, gritting his teeth. He punched the mattress, but there was hardly any fight behind his fist. "He's still…he might…"

Todoroki lightly touched the back of Katsuki’s fist, holding his fingers there for a few moments. Then, he reached his other hand out and gently took Katsuki’s wrist. He slowly turned Katsuki’s hand until his fist was face-up. Then, his fingertips aligned with Katsuki’s fingernails and Todoroki slowly unraveled Katsuki’s fist until his hand was lying limp on the sheets.

The sensation of Todoroki’s blunt nail lightly scraping against his bandaged, calloused palm made Katsuki shiver. Todoroki’s finger traced shapes into his palm that Katsuki only barely put together. 

It was hiragana. “ Go-me-n.”

Katsuki raised a brow and looked up to Todoroki in surprise. "Sorry? What the hell do you have to be sorry for?" he asked a bit harsher than he intended, genuinely confused at Todoroki’s apology.

Todoroki took Katsuki’s hand in both of his and squeezed it tight, staring down at their joined fingers instead of at Katsuki. "I couldn't…" Todoroki tried to clear his throat, but it only brought on more coughing. He wheezed out, "I couldn't save him…or…you…"

Katsuki felt a punch to the gut that hurt almost as much as Shigaraki's tendrils piercing right through him. "Couldn't…are you insane ? You stopped me from plummeting to my death after I was fucking stabbed and bleeding out all over the goddamn place."

Todoroki shook his head. He let go of Katsuki’s hand to sign at him, and Katsuki couldn't help but miss the contact. Todoroki pointed at Katsuki before signing Midoriya’s name again, a little faster this time, and again signing “ hurt.”

Katsuki genuinely couldn't believe what he was hearing…what he was seeing . "Well, yeah, we were hurt, but you saved us both , Icyhot. We would have been goners without you. You know that."

Another shake of his head had Todoroki’s two hair colors mixing together at the part. "My fault," he croaked out, ducking his head low as if ashamed. His hands fisted the sheets, and his knuckles turned white again.

Before he could think otherwise, Katsuki leaned forward and placed his own hands on top of Todoroki’s. He ignored the stab of pain in his abdomen as he jarred his wound. "Stop," he said firmly, perhaps angrier than he intended. And wasn't that always the way, his emotions manifesting themselves as anger to the people around him. "Nothing is your fault, you fucking hear me? Your dad's a shitbag, and he's the one who fucked up and has to answer for that, not you. Never you."

Todoroki looked up at Katsuki, tears streaming down his face and soaking into the bandages wrapped around his cheeks. He seemed...surprised.

Katsuki narrowed his eyes. "Look, Deku isn't awake to make you feel better, so it's my job right now," he said in his own defense. His glare turned more intense as he lowered his eyes to the sheets. Unconsciously, his hands tightened around Todoroki’s. "He better fucking wake up, or I'll kill him."

Something that sounded suspiciously like a laugh came from Todoroki, and he masked it behind a cough. 

Katsuki glared up at Todoroki. "What's so funny, you bastard?"

Though there were remnants of tears dripping down Todoroki’s face, he smiled softly at Katsuki. "You care…for Midoriya," he rasped.

As much as it was his reflex to deny any kind of emotional attachment to the nerd, Katsuki fought down his instinct and nodded curtly. "Wouldn't have jumped in front of him if I didn't…"

Todoroki continued to smile at him, sniffing his own tears back and nodding. "I care…for you both, very…" He swallowed, a strained whine escaping his burned throat. "Very much."

Flutters ran rampant in Katsuki’s stomach, hearing those words from Todoroki’s mouth. It was too much for him to handle, the pain in his gut piercing through the kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering about his insides. 

As soon as a pained hiss left his lips, Todoroki’s hands were on his face, cupping his cheeks like Katsuki was someone very dear, very precious to him.

“Pain?” Todoroki asked, the very same sensation mirrored in his own voice.

Katsuki nodded shortly. “Damn meds are wearing off…”

Keeping one hand on his face, Todoroki reached around Katsuki with his other hand and grabbed the nurse call remote from the side of the bed. The little button illuminated red, reflecting off the stark whiteness of Todoroki’s hair. 

“Nurse’s station. What do you need, Bakugou-kun?” one of the nurses asked through the speaker on the remote.

“New IV bag,” Katsuki said through gritted teeth, trying as hard as he could not to start hyperventilating from the pain. He didn’t need to pass out, especially with Todoroki still on the bed with him.

“Okay, we’ll be there shortly,” the nurse assured him from the other end of the line.

“Todoroki, you should leave,” Katsuki said, in too much pain to relish in the surprise on Todoroki’s face that he’d used his actual name and not some witty moniker. “Before they catch you out of your room.”

Todoroki bit his lip then shook his head, telling Katsuki without words that he intended on staying right where he was. He ran his gentle fingers through Katsuki’s hair, a soothing motion to help dull the pain even a little.

Katsuki was grateful for the distraction.

When the nurse arrived with a new IV bag full of medicated fluids, she didn’t say anything about Todoroki being there. She just set to work on replacing Katsuki’s medication, and once he could feel the cold sensation of the fluids entering the vein in his arm where the needle stuck, he began to relax a little.

Todoroki was still sitting on the bed when the nurse finished up and left the room, running his hand through Katsuki’s hair. But once they were left alone again, Todoroki withdrew his hand. 

Katsuki wanted it back.

Todoroki exhaled before signing “ go,” at Katsuki, nodding his head toward the door.

And really, Todoroki should be in his own room, resting.

But Katsuki shook his head.

Todoroki tilted his own head in question.

Katsuki didn’t answer.

A beat of silence stretched between them, and Todoroki’s hands began moving again.

“Are you okay?”

Katsuki blew out a ragged breath, deflating against his angled mattress and shaking his head. His eyes slid shut, if only to stop the burning tears from daring to fall down his cheeks. “No…I’m not.”

Something warm pressed against Katsuki’s side. Something familiar, something comforting. Katsuki felt a weight land on his shoulder, and a tear slid down his cheek.

“It’s okay…” Todoroki said, his raspy yet gentle voice coming from right below Katsuki’s chin. “To not…be okay.”

Katsuki let out a watery laugh, trying to sniff back his tears to no avail. “That sounds like something damn Deku would say.”

Todoroki hummed, the soft noise interrupted by a whine. He didn’t say anything as Katsuki continued to cry quietly, and really, nothing needed to be said.

Katsuki appreciated Todoroki’s quiet company more than anything right now.

After some time had passed, and Katsuki’s tears finally ceased, having left dry and salty tracks down his face, Katsuki let out a tired sigh. 

“…Thanks, Todoroki.”

“…Shouto.”

Katsuki blinked, his heavy eyelids slid open, staring down at the mop of red and white hair on his shoulder. 

“Call me…Shouto.” A cough, a wheeze. “Please.”

The butterflies were back in Katsuki’s stomach, immune to the medication that numbed his pain. 

Wordlessly, Katsuki tapped Shouto’s arm to get his attention. The other boy sat up just a little, turning his head to look at Katsuki. Katsuki felt his breath catch in his throat, having Todoroki’s eyes fixated on him so earnestly and curiously.

Katsuki lifted his own hands, wiggling his fingers to draw Shouto’s gaze to them. Once Shouto was watching, Katsuki began signing.

“Ka-tsu-ki.”

The pure happiness in Shouto’s tiny smile nearly killed Katsuki on the spot.

“Ka-tsu-ki,” Shouto repeated aloud, his damaged voice cracking on the final vowel. His hands also mimicked the motions Katsuki had shown him to go with each syllable.

Katsuki then signed Shouto’s own name, going through the motions slowly and carefully so the other boy could catch on.

They practiced a few more times, with Shouto signing Katsuki’s name and Katsuki both signing and speaking Shouto’s name, until Katsuki grew drowsy from the medication. He settled back down to sleep, and Shouto curled up against his side with his head on Katsuki’s shoulder once more.

“‘Night, Ka-tsu-ki,” Shouto whispered, letting out a content sigh against Katsuki’s chest.

Katsuki let out a content sigh of his own, his eyes sliding shut. “G’night, Shouto.”

[amethystpath-writes]

This might have been done before but could you do a story of a princess in a tower and a dragon. But the princess is the dragon. Maybe she stays at the tower cause she has no where else to go. Knights hurt her trying to get to the supposed princess inside.

It’s been a while, but I finally got to sit down and finish this one after starting it forever ago!

******

It began as a wish- a wish for the patience required to withstand the life of a royal. Witches were just as rotten as genies, and perhaps the princess should have known that, but in several days’ worth of desperateness, she hadn’t thought of it.

See, the princess, Killah, had only wanted a reprieve- a break from all her royal duties. She was tired of lessons, tired of practicing posture, tired of identifying which spoon to put in her tea versus her soup. It was stupid, all of it. More than stupid, it was meaningless. So, Killah sought a solution.

Everyone in her kingdom, and those bordering, knew that the witch lived in the marshlands. It was a disgusting region, and the princess almost regretted going, but then Killah spotted a wooden structure and felt a beam of hope.

Not long after she spotted the structure, the princess was walking into it. The hut was small at first and Killah had to duck in order to avoid hitting her head. As she continued to walk in, though, it opened up- ceiling reaching up as far as the sky, walls further than the ends of any ocean. It was magic.

The ordeal went by quickly. The princess saw found the hunchbacked witch, said hello, and, nearly immediately, the witch asked what Killah wanted.

“I need patience,” the princess said, and she wasn’t ashamed to admit her absence of such a trait. It was a fact that she didn’t have it. Having worked on it before only to make zero progress, this witch was her only option. Would her father be disappointed? Of course. But he’d be even more disappointed if the princess ran away from her duties altogether- something she considered doing many times.

The witch was willing to help under one condition. She didn’t want Killah’s money or her voice. She wanted the girl’s appearance.

“But my kingdom won’t recognize me.”

“You will have the royal seal, my dear. You will have your voice. You will have a personality- even if it’s a bettered one; it is only one small change. You will be recognized,” the witch assured Killah.

It took no more than that for the princess to come to an agreement.

The witch got to work, swirling her hands, casting light here and there, walking around the room in odd shapes. Killah almost wanted to snap, “Can we speed this up any? I’m tired of standing here,” but she stopped herself. Maybe that meant the spell- or whatever witches dealt in- was working. Maybe she was becoming more patient. Or, maybe she was still impatient, but knew not the offend the witch- as if it would have mattered.

So, she waited, watching as the witch took her own appearance. It was like looking into a three-dimensional mirror- if there could ever be such a thing. Killah asked, “What do I look like, then?”

In the next moment, the princess felt her skin being pulled, like someone was pinching and tugging at her- mostly in her arms and legs. They itched, and as Killah went to scratch one of her arms, she squealed, seeing the way her nails were…they were different. They weren’t her own. They were blackened, like she dipped her fingers in tar and it got beneath her nails. But it wasn’t just below the tips; it was the whole of the nails.

“What’s happening!” The tar was spreading beyond Killah’s nails into her actual fingers. The black was fading to a grey as it travelled up her arms. She looked to the witch- or to herself as it seemed. “Stop it! Stop…stop this! Whatever this is. Oh my gods. Oh my gods.” Not only was she itching and scratching an absurd amount, but her nails were sharpening, too. Sharpening and sharpening and they wouldn’t stop, just like she wouldn’t stop itching. “Stop!”

“It’s nothing outside of the deal we made. You wanted patience, and I wanted your looks. We are both getting what we want- and a little extra. I think I hear the prince.”

While she spoke, the black-grey was becoming worse. It was growing, staining every inch of Killah’s skin. Looking at her hands now, it was horrific. They were developing bumps- scales, ones that were almost…glossy.

“The horse is getting closer. I can hear it.”

Killah ran to the nearest window- one she hadn’t even seen before now, and looked outside to see the prince, her brother, was indeed riding on horseback towards the witch hut. The itching was decreasing as the prince neared. She’d look down at herself- to inspect her nails, her hands, her skin, but her focus was on her brother. He was so close, and she could feel herself ready to sprint out of the witch’s hut, but then…

A heavy weight filled Killah’s chest, and she sat. A bit awkwardly, but she sat right on the floor, waiting for her brother to arrive. The urge to run to him disappeared. Patience, she said- or tried to say. What came out instead was far from human.

The princess felt foreign to herself, arms feeling weightier than usual- legs and head the same. She thought to bring a hand to her head, at the split of her lips where strange sounds emerged, but as she lifted her hand, it was wrong. It was so, so wrong, and a whine was released from her throat. With the whine came a spew of…of spit. A long string of saliva was spread across the floor and window.

Panicking, Killah hit one hand- one reptilian hand- against the other, beating it, trying to beat away whatever curse this was the witch gave her.

“I am not sure what you think that is accomplishing, but I can tell you for certain that it is nothing.”

Killah opened her mouth- if she could even call it that now. It was more of a snout than anything, and it was growing, lengthening before her very eyes.

Having sensed the question the princess was going to ask, the witch answered, “A dragon. Well, almost.”

In the next moment, the princess’ back ached and she cried out with yet another unwilling transformation. Wings- she knew. Killah laid down, waiting for the pain to eb down. Her brother would be here any minute and when he arrived, she could show him how her ring was still- she gasped, in whatever way a dragon could do as such. It was a guttural noise, one Killah would have curled a lip at if she could.

There was no ring on her finger. Of course there wouldn’t be. It would have broken with the great stretch of her body as it changed from human to reptile. As she looked for it, though, there was no gold ring to be seen. Killah looked to the witch.

“Now, that’s a shame.” The witch pouted.

Is that what I look like when I do that? Killah thought to herself. She was a prudish thing, wasn’t she? No wonder her mother scorned her features so often. Albeit beautiful, the princess’ human form expressed a constant state of annoyance and want.

“I looked so forward to wearing this. No matter”- a knock sounded at the hut’s door. It seemed so long ago that Killah ventured through it. She wished she could venture out, but it was too narrow now. The princess would never be able to leave this hut being in the wild form she was now.

“Killah!”

The princess roared- on accident- meanwhile the witch screamed for the prince.

In a matter of seconds, Killah’s brother was running into the forever expansive room. He drew his sword with a holler, causing Killah to raise her hands- claws- in defence. Without a word, the prince was swinging, slicing metal into scaled skin.

The witch screamed all the while, pretending she was the one being sliced to bits while the real princess cried in pain, backing further, and further, and further away. Where was the wall? Where was the wall? Killah didn’t think it’d ever end. Still, she tried with every piece of her dragon being to convince the prince it was her. It was his sister he was attempting to kill.

“Stop it, stop it, stop it!” the witch screamed as she scurried passed the two locked in a match of Hurt & Avoid-Being-Hurt. She grasped the prince by the shoulder and yelled at him as he continued flashing his sword, “It’ll kill you! It’s already killed so many. We have to run!”

Killah looked in horror at the rest of the room as it warped into a stingy cave, one littered with human skeletons and crunched armour. “No! That wasn’t me!” the princess tried to tell, but with no use. She only roared and shot out more disgusting saliva. She tried sitting, tried staying as still as possible to prove she wasn’t a threat, but before her brother would even consider her vulnerable state, he ran away with the witch.

Chasing after them perhaps wasn’t the most brilliant idea, but what else was Killah to do? The witch was the only one who could change her back, but here she was, running away with a false image and taking the princess’ only alternative hope of escape with her. What would the witch do to her kingdom?

***

Years followed and the princess dragon waited, and waited, and waited, surprisingly- though maybe not so surprising at all- without irritation. Someone will come, Killah thought, someone that will see passed this spell. And they’ll reverse it somehow. They’ll take me home. It was these thoughts that kept the unfortunate princess going.

Patience was hope, and hope was patience. They relied on the other in order to co-exist.

[snelbz]

Shape of You

I’m a firm believer in the fact that we need more smut in this fandom. I’m also a firm believer that we need more Elorcan. So I decided to help remedy both of those little issues with my first ever attempt at smut.

If you like what you see, please visit my page over on fanfiction.net. I’ll be making an account on AO3 by the same user name soon! Reblogs are appreciated!

https://www.fanfiction.net/u/7479281/snelbyshyder

As the silence enveloped their room and heavy pants turned into even breathing, Lorcan wrapped his body around Elide’s slim build. Even in her sleep, his body called to hers, and she inched ever so slightly further into his embrace. With one arm wrapping around her body under her neck and the other resting on her hip, Lorcan settled into his pillows, nuzzling into Elide’s hair. The smell of cinnamon and elderberry clung to her, the sweet and spicy scent that fit the love of his life so well. The hand on her hip grazed up her body until he reached her head, wrapping a lock around his finger. He smiled, recalling the first time he’d spoken to the demure girl who was now the center of his world years ago, and how she’d wrapped him around her finger just as easily as he’d wrapped her hair around his own.

As a senior, everyone knew who Lorcan Salvaterre was. As a member of the Cadre, he basically ruled the school, alongside his five closest friends. Teachers loved him, his teammates looked up to him, guys wanted to be him and girls wanted to be with him. Lunch had just ended and he now had a study hall between him and freedom for the day. He swung open his locker and started pulling out the notebooks he’d need to study for a killer anatomy exam he’d have tomorrow, stuffing them into his backpack before swinging it onto his shoulder. The hallway was buzzing with conversation as people headed off to their final classes of the day. Occupying the locker next to his own, Rowan pulled a calculus textbook out of his meticulously organized locker and dropped it into his bag, before leaning over to give Aelin a kiss on the cheek as they went to their respective classes. He turned around and saw Chaol brush a kiss to Nesryn’s forehead. Adjusting the strap on his bag, he shut his locker and turned around to lean on it. Across the hall, Aedion was holding Lysandra’s hand, playing with her manicured fingers, and Dorian gave Manon a quick, chaste kiss before heading in the opposite direction of his girlfriend. After seeing Fenrys press Asterin up against a locker and knot his fingers in her blonde braid as she giggled and pushed him off, he sighed and rolled his eyes. With a quick nudge of the elbow to Rowan and a “See you in class”, Lorcan left his friends and headed down the hallway towards the library.

Lorcan had never felt so alone until now. His friends had always had girlfriends, while he’d always been the single one, and it had never been a problem. Until now. He had always been the loner, but he’d also preferred it that way. Sure, he’d been with his share of girls, and there had been plenty that had wanted to make it more than a fling, but that’s just not how he usually operated. He’d never been with anyone that could keep him interested for more than a hookup. He’d decided he just wasn’t made for relationships. So as his friends prepared for college, making decisions with their significant others, he had no one but himself to worry about. And that thought made his chest feel physically heavy.

He pushed open the glass door to the library, checking in with the librarian for his study hall and made his way to the table he, Rowan and Fenrys usually occupied. He stopped a couple feet from it, deciding to sit by himself today, and headed into the rows and rows of books. Sitting in an armchair, he opened his bag, pulling out his anatomy notes and crossed his ankle over his knee, flipping a few pages in. He heard a strange noise, but ignored it and dove into his notes. After a few minutes of studying, he realized the sound wasn’t the rustling of pages turning as he’d originally thought, but sniffling and quiet sobs. He looked around, trying to determine where exactly the sound was coming from. He grabbed his notes and made his way deeper into the shelves.

He found a girl, her knees clutched to her chest, dark hair falling around her like a curtain. He debated on just turning around and going back to his seat, it was clear she wanted to be alone. A quiet sob left her body and he found himself taking a step toward her. He cleared his throat and her head shot up. Lorcan was met with familiar, dark eyes and a tear-stained face.

“Are you okay?” He asked, quietly, not because he was in a library, but because he didn’t want to frighten the girl. She looked young and he figured she had to be a freshman. Her large, onyx eyes never left his own as her jaw trembled and she nodded, fresh tears sliding down her face. With her confirmation that she was okay, he should have gone back to his studying, regardless of the fact that she was obviously lying. Yet, he felt like he needed to be here, with her. He just felt a pull to her, and he didn’t even know her name, but somehow, he knew her. He took another step closer and inclined his head to the floor. “Can I sit down?” Her eyes shot to the spot across from her own that he’d indicated. They returned to his own and she gave a slight tilt of her head that he took as a ‘yes’.

It wasn’t easy to fold his 6’4 frame up to sit on the floor between the rows of books. His feet were pressed against the shelf next her and his knees were bent, but he noticed the girl let go of her own knees and straightened her legs out. Her feet didn’t even reach the shelf. He asked softly, his voice rough, “What’s your name?”

She cleared her throat before saying, “Elide Lochan.”

Ah, that’s who she was. She lived next door to Aelin and often rode to school with his best friend’s girlfriend. “I’m Lorcan,” he said, slipping one of his legs underneath the other.

“I know,” she whispered. Lorcan’s eyebrows shot up and Elide’s cheeks darkened as a blush spread across her face. “I- I mean,” she stammered, looking down at her hands, that dark hair curtaining off her face again. “Everyone who goes here knows who you are, I mean.”

She didn’t look back up as she continued to pick at her nails. Silence fell between the mismatched pair. Before he realized what he was doing, Lorcan reached across and tucked her long, dark hair behind her ear, exposing her face to him once more. The tresses felt like silk between his fingers and he relished the contact a bit more than he’d like to admit. Elide looked up at him, surprise taking over her features. “Can I study here?” He asked, indicating the spiral notebook he’d been holding onto. Elide nodded again and they fell into a comfortable silence.

This became the norm for Lorcan. He’d come into study hall, find Elide in the same aisle of books and sit down on the floor across from her. Same days they didn’t say a word and did their own studying, others, they didn’t even open their bags talked quietly the whole time. And Lorcan realized study hall had become his favorite part of the day.

Tucking the piece of hair behind her ear, Lorcan pressed a kiss to the delicately curved shell. He let his hand run back down her body, over her full breasts and her tight stomach, resting back on her hips. He let his fingers prod into the soft flesh. His hands had memorized the curve of her hips a long time ago and he chuckled to himself as he thought back to the house party that changed it all for him.

It was a typical Friday night. They’d won the football game and were headed to a party to celebrate. He just usually didn’t know the person whose house they were at.

Aelin’s parents were out of town and had told her she could have a few friends over after the game. So that’s exactly what she did. She just also had her friends invite a few friends as well. By the time Lorcan had showered from the game and got a ride with Fenrys, the party was in full swing. There was a keg in the middle of the kitchen and he helped himself to a red cup that looked relatively clean. He finished his first beer, then his second and refilled his third before making his way into the living room, the music humming throughout the house. He found Rowan on the couch with Aelin on his lap, so he took up the spot next to him. Aelin smiled as Lorcan sat down, her cheeks and delicately pointed ears flushed from the alcohol she had very clearly consumed. She hadn’t even bothered to take her cheerleading uniform off. “Thanks for making my man look good with all those catches, Salvaterre.” She winked at him as she said a little louder than before, “At least someone can catch a complete pass.” Chaol glared at her from the beer pong table before giving her a vulgar gesture. He’d dropped two passes Rowan had thrown his way tonight and was still moping about it as he nursed his beer.

“Yeah, sure,” Lorcan said, taking a sip of his own, “I caught Whitethorn’s passes to make him look better and to fuel your own ego, bitch quee-.” His words trailed off as he glanced at the door and saw who had just walked in.

Aelin followed his stare and practically jumped off of Rowan’s lap, launching herself at the small girl. “Elide! You came!”

Lorcan had never told his friends that he was with Elide during study hall, not because he was ashamed of his friendship with the vivacious sophomore, but just because it was something he wanted for himself and didn’t want anyone to ruin one the few good things to happen to him in a long time.

Their eyes locked across the room as Aelin handed the girl a red cup identical to his own. He took a drink and she did the same, her tongue darting out to lick the foam off her lips. Heat flooded throughout Lorcan at that action and he didn’t find himself worried by that reaction at all. After spending time with the spirited girl the past few months, he’d come to care for her, something he’d never admit. Her laughter had quickly become his favorite sound.

Rowan awkwardly coughed next to him, and Lorcan dragged his eyes away from Elide to look at his oldest friend. He waited.

“Dude,” Rowan started, unease in his pine green eye. “That’s Elide.”

Lorcan looked back to where Elide had just been standing, talking to Aelin, only to see that they had disappeared. He took another drink. “And?

“She’s practically Aelin’s younger sister, and she’s only a sophomore,” he said. “Don’t even go there. She’s not a ‘hookup’ type of girl. Not to mention,” he paused, taking a sip of his own beer. “Aelin would actually kill you for sleeping with her.”

“Who said anything about sleeping with her?” Lorcan said, getting up and heading into the kitchen to see if he could find anything aside from beer, but not before he glimpsed the shock on his best friend’s tattooed face.

After finding a bottle of whiskey stashed in a cupboard and a bottle of soda on the counter, Lorcan leaned on the doorway leading into the living room. While he’d been gone, the beer pong table had been pushed to the side and the room had turned into a makeshift club. He watched the small girl dance with Aelin and her friends, arms raised above her head, laughing and singing along. One by one, Aelin grabbed Rowan, who was reluctantly dragged into the middle of the room, Lysandra pulled a much more willing Aedion and Asterin didn’t even have to go find Fenrys before he joined her on his own. Before she knew it, Elide was the only one not paired up on the dance floor. She looked at her friends and slipped away, heading to the kitchen, where she found a bottle of whiskey and coke on the counter. Mixing herself a drink, she tried to sneak back into the living room, but found one of the doorways basically impassable, thanks to a hulking figure with long, dark hair tied back into a short ponytail at the nape of his neck.

She poked him in the back and he spun around, eyebrows raised. “Hey, you,” she smiled. The heat coursing through her body from the alcohol had darkened her cheeks. Lorcan gave her a feral half smile.

“Hey, yourself,” he said. She scooted through the doorway, her shoulder brushing his forearm folded across his chest. It was the first physical contact they’d had since that first day when he’d tucked the hair behind her ear. And it felt like electricity shot through Lorcan’s skin. “No more dancing?” He asked, tipping his cup towards the group of bodies.

“Why?” She asked. “Were you enjoying the show?” She winked and took another sip of her drink. “Why aren’t you dancing?”

Lorcan made a face and emptied what was left in his cup. “Not my thing.”

Elide just nodded. They stood there in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, watching as their friends danced and enjoyed the freedom they had for the night. He was sure every single one of them would be hungover as hell the next morning, including himself, but it would be worth it. Finally, Elide said quietly, “I just don’t have anyone to dance with.”

He glanced up at his friends and noticed that, indeed, everyone was paired off as a couple. He looked down at her and saw a sad look cross her face as she watched the frivolity before them. Before he could decide it was a bad idea, he set his cup down on the table next to him and took hers, doing the same, and took her hand. The electricity shot up his entire arm this time and she looked up at him, onyx eyes full of question. He pulled her toward the dance floor. “Come on,” he said, flashing her a quick smile.

She followed and they melted into the middle of the bodies, just becoming part of the crowd. At first, they kept space between them, Lorcan’s awkward, tight movements bringing a smile to Elide’s face. After a moment, she took his hand again and turned around, pressing right up against him. She placed his hand on her hip and his other followed suit. She began to lean back into him as she moved to the music, and he rocked with her. After a song or two, his fingers tightened on her hips, the feminine curves feeling soft and sensuous under his touch. Her hand reached behind her and she rested it on his neck, electricity shooting throughout his entire body. That combined with the fact that her body was pressed right up against his own sent heat down, low. He let out a low growl as she pressed her backside into him and could feel his arousal. She laughed and he pressed his face into her neck, but continued to dance with her, fingers digging into the soft curve of her hips.

Drawing small swirls and paths with his fingers, Lorcan trailed down and back until his hand was cupping that firm, glorious backside that she used against him, literally, whenever she could. She loved to torture him by rubbing up against him in public, doing anything she could to get a rise out of him, and quite literally, his cock. He cupped and kneaded her ass, and in her sleep, she squirmed, trying to get his hands where she really wanted them. He pressed another soft kiss to her ear and stopped his ministrations. She settled and he slipped his arm around her taut waist. His knuckles brushed slow strokes on the underside of her full breasts and it wasn’t long until he was cupping them as well. Lorcan didn’t try to hide the fact that he loved Elide’s large breasts. He worshiped them every time they had sex, nearly making her cum with nothing but the feel of his teeth on her nipple. As he thought about it, he slipped his fingers up and began to roll the dusty peak. He felt it harden beneath his fingers and kneaded her breast in his palm, his arm under her neck reaching down to palm its twin. A low whimper of pleasure left Elide’s sleeping lips and at that noise, Lorcan’s cock twitched back to life. As he continued to tease her with his hands, he trailed his lips down to her neck to press open mouth kisses over her skin. He allowed himself to think of the first time he got to see her beautiful breasts for himself.

True to the plan, Rowan, Lorcan, and Fenrys got an apartment together after graduation, less than a mile away from campus. Adarlan State University was about a thirty-minute drive from their hometown and Elide made the drive nearly every weekend to stay with him. With Fenrys staying at Asterin’s apartment and Rowan and Aelin back in Rifthold for the weekend, Lorcan and Elide were truly and completely alone for the first time since they started dating. Over a year later, and they’d always had someone else around, whether that be their friends or families. So when Elide arrived with takeout boxes in tow, Lorcan locked the door immediately and didn’t plan on opening it for anyone, even the gods themselves.

After a dinner of General Tso’s chicken and fried rice, they were lying on the couch, watching a movie, when Elide’s dainty fingers slipped under the hem of Lorcan’s shirt. He glanced down at her, her head laying on his chest, but her attentions stayed on the TV, as if she hadn’t just pressed her fingers to his bare abdomen. He looked back to the TV as well, until her fingers started drawing lazy circles on his abs. A light shudder ran through his body at the contact and he felt Elide’s small body shake with a quiet laugh as she stilled her hand.

Being together for over a year, he’d never pressured her into anything. He loved her. Sure there had been some pretty heated make-out sessions at both of their parent’s houses, including a good bit of over-the-clothing groping, but they’d never really had a chance to do much more. Elide was only seventeen, and he didn’t want to pressure her into anything she didn’t want, especially when he knew she’d never been with anybody else. So he did his best to ignore the straining in his pants, hoping Elide wouldn’t notice either. He was in the middle of thinking about abandoned puppies and old women in bikinis, successfully killing his hard on, when lithe fingers popped the button on his jeans and pulled down the zipper. He tried to sit up. “Elide, I-.”

Any attempts he had in mind to persuade her went out the window as she cupped him through his jeans. His breath caught in his throat as he looked at her, onyx eyes darkened to pools of liquid night were fixed on him.

He started, “We don’t have to-.”

“Shhh,” she hushed him.

He swallowed thickly. “Love, I don’t-.”

“Lorcan Salvaterre,” she said, sitting up so that she was kneeling on the couch in between his legs. “We have been together for a year and a half. I have been waiting for you to make the first move, but obviously, you can’t take the hint. I love you, but,” her voice softened a bit, but her dark eyes were filled with a primal need he was sure was reflected in his own. Her last words came out as a breathy whisper. “I need you.”

It was all the confirmation Lorcan needed.

He pulled her face to meet his own and his lips crashed against hers. His hands couldn’t seem to settle on one place. Her hips. Her hair. Her breasts. Her ribs. Her ass. Knowing he was finally going to get well acquainted with each, he ran his tongue along Elide’s bottom lip, asking for entrance. She obliged and the dance began. Nothing tasted better than Elide. Her taste, her scent, everything about the girl in his arms drove him crazy. He trailed kisses down her jaw and made his way to the junction where her neck met her shoulder. He nibbled lightly before kissing the tender skin and Elide straddled his hips. He wrapped his arms around her slim waist, holding her in place as he ground up against her, letting her see just what kind of effect she was having on him.

She moaned loudly at the feel of him and Lorcan almost came then and there.

Elide pushed back slightly and sat up, Lorcan watching her intently. He held onto her hips but shifted them so he was sitting up on the couch, with his feet on the floor. Her knees dug into the cushions next to him and she kept licking her kiss-swollen lips. Her hair was falling out of its messy bun and Lorcan didn’t think she’d ever looked so beautiful. Elide ran her fingers back under the hem of Lorcan’s shirt and lifted it, pulling it off with his assistance and throwing it to the side. She lazily dragged a finger between his pecs and down the rigid lines of muscle in his abs. Lorcan shuddered.

Without any hesitation, Elide grabbed the hem of her own shirt and lifted it over her head, leaving her in nothing but a pair of tight, black leggings and a black, lace bra.

He could feel the heat radiating from her core onto his bare stomach. He could smell her arousal, practically taste it. His cock twitched in excitement.

Lorcan licked his own lips now, his eyes darting between Elide’s eyes and her heaving breasts, before growling, “If you don’t want that to be shreds of lace in a few moments, I suggest you take that off, rather than me.”

Elide smirked, Wyrd help him, she smirked, before reaching behind her and unclasping her bra. She dragged each strap down her arm, so gods-damned slowly before she let the piece of clothing fall between them.

The breath was ripped out of his lungs. Lorcan had never seen anything more beautiful than Elide, straddling him, messy hair, swollen lips, topless, in his entire life. He’d imagined what she’d look like for so long and he hadn’t even come close to the perfection that she was.

He knotted his fingers in her hair and kissed her hard, teeth clashing, pulling on lips, lingering down necks, the only sound in the room the movie in the background and Elide’s quiet sighs and moans.

Eventually Lorcan flipped them so Elide was on her back on the couch, he hovered above her, one hand pressed into the cushion next to her head, the other playing with the hem of her leggings. He had never wanted someone so badly in his entire life, but still he hesitated. Glancing up at her, he said, “Elide, we really don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

She stared at him flatly before hooking her fingers in her waistband and shimmying out of her leggings, taking the black, lacy panties with them.

Lorcan decided then that they would never leave this apartment again, because Elide was never allowed to wear clothes another day in her life. He brushed a soft kiss to her jaw and began leaving a trail down her neck, when he felt her tugging at his jeans. “Wait,” he said, his voice rough. “I want to take care of you first.” She pouted her pale, pink lips and Lorcan couldn’t help but imagine what they would look like wrapped around his cock.

But she obliged and stopped trying to undress him, quickly forgetting how to even breathe as Lorcan’s lips closed around a peaked nipple. His hand slid up her stomach as he palmed the other breast, rolling her nipple in his fingers. He gently massaged her with his wet tongue. He flicked his tongue over her tight nipple, gently pressing it between his tongue and his teeth. Her hand knotted into his long hair and she made a crying sound that nearly had Lorcan coming undone. He bit down and tugged lightly on her nipple with his teeth, running a finger over the pebbled skin, relishing in the gasps and sighs he drew from Elide’s mouth. He moved his mouth to her other breast and grazed his hand down until he felt the mess of dark curls in between her legs.

He gauged her reaction as he ran his hand up and down her thigh, coming closer and closer each time. With each pass of his hand, she opened her legs a bit wider, until finally, his fingers came into contact with her hot, wet center.

Lorcan ran a finger up her slick heat, eliciting a gasp from Elide. Gods, she was already so wet. He leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “I love you,” he breathed, Elide’s eyes flickering open and locking with his own. The hand that had been knotted in his hair caressed his cheek.

“I know you do.” She smiled and kissed him again.

Lorcan slid a long finger inside of her and Elide groaned. After a moment, he added a second, pumping in and out until Elide was grinding onto his hand. His thumb pressed against the sensitive bundle of nerves and she let out a short moan, her nails raking down his bare back. He kissed down her chest until his mouth closed over her breast once more while he rubbed small circles on her clit. He continued to finger her, rub her, listening as her moans got quicker and quicker and he knew she was about cum.

She clung to him as if he was the only thing keeping her on this planet. He felt her walls tighten around his fingers, clamping down on him and he could only imagine how tight and wet she’d be around his dick. She rode out her orgasm, Lorcan swallowing her screams in a searing kiss. He removed his fingers and looked at the juices coating them. He wanted nothing more than to lick them clean, but the first time he tasted her, he wanted it to be direct from the source.

Elide sat up and, breathing heavily, stared at Lorcan. “Sit,” was all she said, the fire in her eyes shone brightly enough that Lorcan didn’t question her. He sat on the couch, so hard that he was starting to get physically uncomfortable. Elide spread his legs, kneeling on the ground in front of him, reaching up for his jeans, and the sight of his girl on her knees in front of him had a deep growl resonating in his throat. Elide just smirked as she tugged at his jeans. He lifted his hips, helping her undress him and as soon as they slid away, he sprang free.

Elide had felt him many times, cupping and rubbing him through jeans, sweats and basketball shorts, but she had never seen just how big he was. Her mouth dried up and she honestly worried if she’d be able to take all of him. Sensing her nerves, Lorcan ran his thumb over her cheek and pulled her lip out of her teeth where she had begun chewing on it. “I’ll be gentle,” he whispered.

And she knew he would. This man loved her more than anyone else on this world had ever dared. And she loved him just as fiercely and she wanted to finally prove that to him. Reaching out, she carefully grasped him in her delicate hand, carefully working him up and down. Lorcan’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he tipped his head back onto the couch. Elide was amazed at the feel of him. He was absolutely rock hard in her hand, yet soft as silk. She watched, fascinated, as a glistening drop of precum oozed out of the tip. She glanced up at Lorcan who was watching her with a hungry expression on his face. His pupils had dilated, his eyes almost wholly black.

“Is that good?” She asked, indicating the small pearl starting to slide down his shaft.

“Very,” he grunted out. “Run your hand over it.”

Elide did as she was told and found her hand slid much easier. She ran her thumb over the head, getting what was and Lorcan let out a whispered curse. She twisted her wrist slightly trying to spread the wetness as far as she could.

When Elide twisted his cock, Lorcan thought he was done for. She was doing everything right and at this rate, he’d never even be able to bed her because he’d be too busy cumming into her hand. He was about to tell her to stop when she pulled her hand away, spit into her palm and began to work him from his balls all the way to the head, effectively cutting off any thoughts he’d been having. With the additional lubrication, he couldn’t help wrapping his own hand around her smaller one. He showed her exactly how he liked it, what he’d done to himself every time he imagined his hand was hers. When he couldn’t handle it any longer, he stopped.

“I’m about to cum,” he growled, looking down at her. He thought she’d understand that that was their cue to take this into his own room instead of the living room, but instead, she continued pumping up and down, harder than she had before, just like he’d just been doing for her.

“Elide,” he grunted, trying to keep his hips from bucking into her hand. She looked up at him, licking her lips and leaned her mouth towards his cock.

Then the deadbolt clicked and the door swung open.

Now, Lorcan laughed about the interruption, but at the time, he’d never been so frustrated with his best friend. Before Aelin and Rowan could come around the corner, Elide had run directly into Lorcan’s room, slamming the door and leaving him to quickly jerk his pants back up from his ankles and readjust his raging hard on. They had walked into the kitchen, glancing up at a shirtless Lorcan, breathing heavily and asked if he was okay. With a throat clear and a quick “Yes,” they began unpacking the groceries they’d bought. After about 30 seconds of small talk about how they’d decided to stay home this weekend, Aelin stepped into the living room to set her keys on the table. She scanned the room and saw the small scrap of black lace Elide had the audacity to call a bra draped over the side of the couch. Aelin then profusely apologized and ushered a smirking Rowan into their bedroom before Lorcan could even say a word.

Fueled by his memories, Lorcan’s member was pressed firmly against Elide’s back and he said to hell with it. He continued rolling her nipple between his fingers, but pulled her tightly against him. Her body was flush with his own and he slipped a hand down into the dark hair at the apex of her thighs.

Even in her sleep, she was ready for him, though it probably had something to do with his roaming hands. He slipped a finger between her folds, coating it in her juices and began to circle her clit. After a few minutes of quiet moans and sighs, Elide rolled on her back and sleepy, lust-filled eyes looked up at him. Before she could even mutter a question, his mouth claimed hers. She wrapped an arm around the back of his neck as he slipped two fingers inside of her and began to pump in and out. Kissing and nipping at her lips, Lorcan moved until he was hovering over her, rubbing his cock at her entrance and over her clit. She whined and bucked her hips up against his, needing him inside of her.

Lorcan sank inside her to the hilt, filling her up so completely that she had to remember how to breathe. Locking eyes with her husband, she tried to convey her feelings of love through just a look, but she was so addled with lust that just looking at him made her insides tighten. Something Lorcan also felt as he pulled out and slammed back into her with everything he had. This would not be the gentle lovemaking that he had given her years ago when he claimed her and took her virginity. No, this would be much more primal, and he could see Elide needed the same thing.

Lorcan began to thrust harshly into Elide as he laid over her, kissing a trail from her neck to her shoulder, listening to her moans and sighs quicken with each stroke. Without warning, he bit down her shoulder and felt her walls tightening around his dick as she cried out, cumming.

Working her through her orgasm, Lorcan continued to kiss the tender spot he’d bitten. He felt a delicate hand on his chest and next thing he knew, he was on his back as she lowered herself onto him. As she rode him, Lorcan kept his hands on her hips. He let her have complete control, but couldn’t resist the feeling of her body. Watching her writhe above him, he slipped a hand between her legs and ran his thumb over her clit. With a buck of her hips, she was both fucking him and grinding into his hand. She began to chant his name as if it were a prayer – Lorcan, Lorcan, Lorcan – and he found himself pumping up into her. She was crying out with every thrust and he felt her pussy quivering around him.

When he reached up to tweak her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, Elide fell over the edge, crying out and clamping down on Lorcan’s cock. Her orgasm triggered his and he spilled everything he had into her as he growled her name. Afterwards, they lay there, her on top of him, his arms wrapped around her back, drawing lazy shapes down her spine as she kept her cheek pressed to his strong chest, their breathing returning to normal. She rested her chin on his chest, looking into his face, he moved a few stray hairs behind her ear, smiling as he did so.

“What brought that about?” She asked, after he pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

“Just thinking about how we got here, from where we started.”

She smiled, love and adoration pouring from her gaze. “It’s been a long journey, hasn’t it?”

Lorcan kissed his wife again. “But worth every minute.”

Elide crawled off of him and to the edge of the bed where she stretched her arms high above her head. The small defined bump in her stomach grew a little more every day and soon, they’d no longer be able to hide their news from their friends. Lorcan scooted to the edge of the bed, pulling his wife to him so he could kiss her growing stomach.

Elide ran a hand through his long, messy hair and smiled down at him. She pulled away, throwing one of his old t-shirts on. “Come on,” she said. “You worked up my appetite and now, you have to fix that. Mama’s hungry.” She ran a hand over her small stomach lovingly.

“Yeah, what do you want?” He glanced at the clock. It was 2:45 in the morning and he hoped she didn’t want anything too crazy. Her cravings were already bizarre enough during the day, gods only knew what she might want in the middle of the night.

She slipped out of their bedroom and he heard her feet softly padding into the kitchen as she called back, “I don’t know why, but I’ve just really got a craving for General Tso’s chicken.”

Lorcan’s eyebrows raised, recalling the memory he was just deep in. The next six months were definitely going to be interesting if her appetites, both physical and sexual, stayed how they were right now. He laughed to himself as he threw a pair of sweatpants on and followed after his wife.

[ellenembee]

The Revelation of All Things - 33. In which old habits find new meaning

Read the full fic here on AO3.

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Sometimes the fight itself exhausted him. After morning exercises, he drank tea. After looking over final plans for the Western Approach, he took a draught. After drills that afternoon, he took another, higher dose of the draught before sitting down to go through reports. Each time, the ache dulled for a time. And each time, the pounding came back stronger than before even as the itch in the back of his brain grew more insistent. The lyrium song told him he could be well, be strong again - for her, for them all. His eyes drifted to the wooden box on his shelf, but he growled and turned away again. An unfortunate messenger entered his office at that moment and escaped a few minutes later shaking in his boots - but with the requested report in hand.

In an attempt to work through the pain, he'd turned his attention to the ball at the Winter Palace. Blueprints of the building were strewn across his desk, and he'd already drawn up several possible routes and methods to get the soldiers and their weapons in the right place at the right time. But as the guard called out the eighth hour, he simply couldn't focus anymore through his blurred vision.

He leaned his head against the back of his chair and closed his eyes. In the past few months, he'd disciplined himself not to think of Evana outside of Inquisition business because his thoughts tended to turn... inappropriate. But now they were together, he allowed his mind to linger on her from time to time. And right now, thoughts of her were infinitely better than the insidious need that would otherwise overtake him.

Everything about the last two days had been nearly incomprehensible. He'd woken up this morning certain that the previous day had been some sort of lucid dream. Only the shy but knowing look in her eye as she'd walked into the meeting had convinced him otherwise. After that, he'd had trouble waiting until the end of the meeting to wrap his arms around her and kiss her senseless.

Yesterday was no dream, today had certainly not been a dream, and he was forced to admit he couldn't have dreamed such an amazing reality anyway. He'd have never dared to.

The pounding faded to the background as his mind wandered over the thousand little things he'd tried to memorize as they held each other the previous evening - the softness of her skin, the feel of her hands and lips on his body, the tiny gasps and sighs she'd made as they kissed... He groaned softly as he remembered the feel of her body pressed against him, the feel of her skin under his fingers. It had taken all his discipline and willpower to prevent their passion from taking its course. Maker, how he wanted her...

Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, he forced his brain to focus. He didn't just want her. He loved her. And they both had things they needed to work through.

A deep shudder ran through his body as he thought of the ways he could hurt her if his withdrawal worsened. Men had gone mad from this. He couldn't be sure he wouldn't eventually follow. On the bad days, he could almost feel his grip on reality bending as the vivid memories arose and pulled him back to the Ferelden Circle at Kinloch Hold. What if he one day began seeing things that weren't there? Or thought he was someplace else? What if he thought she was someone - something - else? He'd rather the withdrawal killed him. She might mourn him, but at least he wouldn't be able to harm her.

Which brought him to his other, more pertinent reason for taking things as slowly as possible - eventually, as their relationship progressed, he would have to be more open about his past. He would have to tell her about what happened to him - what happened there in the Circle tower. Every part of him rebelled against the thought, but if things progressed in the way he hoped, he couldn't - he wouldn't - keep anything from her, especially not something that had so fully shaped and directed his life to this point. To truly understand him, she would have to know the basics at least. After all, it was only fair that she know what a broken man he was, only fair that he give her the opportunity to come to her senses and run as far from him as possible before they did anything she would regret.

Maker, I am so incredibly unworthy of her. It nearly made him want call it off. But he was too weak for that. He'd allowed it to begin, and if it were to end - if they were to end - it would have to be her choice. He could not conceive of giving her up voluntarily... which made him even less worthy of her if possible. If he truly wanted what was best for her, he never would've admitted he cared for her in that way. Because someone like her could do so much better than him - a man who had been complicit, knowingly or not, in the abuse and murder of innocent mages.

He lifted his head from the back of the chair, buried his face in his hands and growled in frustration. No! No, no, no. Those were the old thoughts. Dark thoughts. The thoughts that dragged him ever back to Kinloch and haunted his dreams. Thoughts that had kept him isolated from others and locked in his own, self-inflicted hell. He needed to move past them. He was here because he wanted to make things right. Or at least make an attempt at atonement. He would work to be worthy of her, and perhaps when the day came to tell her of his past, she would see who he'd become instead of who he'd been.

Or she would leave him and find someone better. Someone worthy. Someone whole.

The dark thoughts caused the war hammer in his brain to increase in intensity, driving specter nails into his temples and eyes. His muscles briefly tensed in apprehension as his stomach roiled for a moment then settled again.

Move on. Think of something else.

Eager for a reprieve, his brain gravitated back to Evana. Since she'd told him of her marriage - her bonding - he'd picked up several hints that perhaps it hadn't been the best relationship. His first clue had been her statement that they'd been happy in their way with a healthy dose of hesitation on the word "happy." She never mentioned her bondmate, Hanir, being an exception to her clan's general ambivalence about her. And she'd often talk about something as a new experience that he assumed she'd already... that someone with a partner should have experienced already, such as her admission last night that he looked at her in a way no one ever had before. He knew that couldn't be true. But even if she were too self-conscious to recognize it in others, if she could see it in him, shouldn't she have been able to see that from Hanir?

Unless Hanir had never looked at her with appreciation or desire. The very idea boggled Cullen's mind.

Even her admission that she'd never been happier in her life than she was with him - while flattering - made him uneasy. He knew where his own happiness came from. His life as a templar had been one disaster after another, and the Inquisition had given him a new chance at life and, quite unexpectedly, love. But for her... the small things were beginning to add up, including the feeling that he'd struck some sort of nerve by stopping their progression last night. He understood she might be confused, but based what he knew and had experienced of her, her reaction had been atypically emotional. He didn't want to assume the worst, but...

How could he ask about it? Would that even be appropriate? Should he wait for her to bring it up? After their initial conversation, she'd avoided any mention of that part of her life. He only knew that she blamed herself for the deaths of Hanir and the other clan members. Did she feel the same about that day as he did about the events in the Hold? If so, he felt slightly ashamed that he had yet to open up about his experiences when she'd already told him so much about herself. He just couldn't talk about it... not yet. He dismally wondered if he'd ever be able to move past it.

Suddenly, a small boyish voice whispered in his ear, "They didn't hang you there. You can walk away."

Cullen whipped around to see Cole hovering beside him. Unsure of what to make of the cryptic words, he fell back on his natural response.

"Cole!" he gasped, his voice filled with irritation and pain. "What are you doing here?"

"Uldred marked you, but didn't make you. You stayed you. The center never changed - safe, like the coin in your pocket."

Cullen's eyes widened. Uldred? How did he know...?

A knock on the door as it opened interrupted them, and Cullen suddenly found himself wondering what he'd been doing. Had he been talking to someone? A soft voice he knew well followed behind the knock, and he forgot about everything else. She'd come to see him. She pushed the middle door open enough to slip in and then closed it with her foot.

"Good evening, vhenan. I didn't see you come through the hall, so I thought I'd bring you a little bit of dinner."

He noticed then she was carrying a plate of food. However, instead of increasing his appetite, the aroma of food that wafted toward him as she approached sent another roiling wave of nausea through him. Oh, please, no... not this... not in front of her.

"Good evening, Evana. I appreciate the thought, but I'm afraid..."

He tried to think of an excuse, but his pain-muddled brain wouldn't cooperate. The look on his face must have given him away.

"You're not feeling well today."

He sighed. "I can endure it, but the food... perhaps we could leave it and walk the battlements instead? Fresh air might do me good."

She smiled and set the plate on the far edge of his desk. "Of course. Whatever you need."

He stood gingerly from his chair, careful to not jostle around too much, and he saw her try - and fail - to hide her worried expression. They stepped outside into the dim torchlight, and the pain behind his eyes lessened slightly. Cullen inhaled in the crisp mountain air and brushed the back of his hand against hers as they walked. The next wave of queasiness barely caused him any distress, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Feeling a little better?"

"Yes, thank you. How has your day been?"

"Full. Cassandra made me practice escape moves for two hours this morning in the armory. And I practiced dancing as well as how to fake being a snobby Orlesian noble with Josephine and Leliana." Cullen snorted in amusement but said nothing, so she smiled and continued. "Leliana also passed me those reports from the scouts in the Emerald Graves. If there's time, I'd like to stop by on the way back to see if I can find anything about the red templars. Which brings me to the little bit business I needed to discuss with you..."

He chuckled. "I suppose that's why Cassandra originally brought me here, after all."

He saw her smile in the dim light. "I wanted to ask you more about what you know of Samson."

Cullen held in a sigh. Samson wasn't exactly a pleasant topic, considering the reason for his former bunkmate's removal from the Order. However, Evana needed information, not details about what he'd allowed to happen in Kirkwall under his watch.

"As I've told you, we found that the red templars were coming from Therinfal Redoubt. The knights there were fed red lyrium until they turned into monsters. Samson took over after their corruption was complete."

"How do you know Samson?"

"He was a templar in Kirkwall until he was expelled from the Order. I knew he was an addict, but this... Red lyrium is nothing like the lyrium given by the Chantry. Its power comes with a terrible madness."

"Yes, the red templars we faced in Haven were proof enough of that."

"We cannot allow them to gain strength. They still require lyrium. If we can find their source by investigating the caravans being smuggled along trade roads, we can weaken them and their leader. But please be careful. Anything connected to Samson will be well guarded."

She nodded and then paused as if considering her next question. "If you don't mind me asking... you and Samson seem to have a personal history..."

It wasn't really a question, but he knew what she meant. Apparently she did want details.

"When I arrived in Kirkwall, Samson and I shared quarters. He seemed a decent man, at first. Knight-Commander Meredith later expelled Samson for 'erratic behavior.'" Cullen debated whether or not to be more explicit, but decided against it. The pounding in his head reasserted itself as if in silent punishment for his cowardice. "He ended up begging on Kirkwall's streets. He committed further crimes, but managed to evade the Order's justice. Now he serves Corypheus as his loyal general."

"Why do you think Samson chose to serve Corypheus? It seems like a pretty big leap."

"He had a chronic lyrium addiction. He spent every last coin buying it from local smugglers. Perhaps Corypheus flattered his vanity, gave him purpose as well as lyrium? Perhaps that's all it took."

Evana shook her head. "It sounds like Samson had a miserable life."

Cullen couldn't be so sympathetic. He could regret the reasons for kicking Samson out of the templars without condoning his affiliation with Corypheus.

"The Order expelled him, but he had choices. He could have found another path. What I don't understand is how he became so powerful. Even with red lyrium, Samson's glory days are long behind him."

She shrugged. "I don't mean that I excuse his behavior - nothing could - but sometimes when people are in desperate situations, they can't always see the way out. Even if it's right in front of them."

Her understanding and capacity for empathy never failed to amaze him. Cullen took her hand and pulled her gently to a stop. He faced her and gave her a hard look before speaking again.

"You are right about that. Sometimes I... have difficulty feeling sorry for people like that."

She moved in closer to him, placing her free hand on his breastplate. "That's because you probably never take the easy way, do you?"

He reached out to rest his other hand on her hip, pulling her even closer. "Maybe not, but I'm fairly certain you don't ever take the easy way either, and you are still far more sympathetic than me. I'm just a callous old man."

She laughed at him, and he heard a murmur go up from the guards on duty. If they hadn't been watching before, they would be now. He realized they were close to the same location where they'd shared their first kiss, and all thoughts of red templars and Samson and guards on duty flowed out of his brain. Lifting his hands, he pulled off his gloves, and the slow, seductive smile she gave him in return sent goosebumps racing across his flesh.

This morning in the war room, she had shyly shared with him her mini obsession with his hands. He had returned the favor by explaining - while kissing her repeatedly - how her lips drove him to distraction.

The gloves fell to the stone with a soft thud, and he greedily threaded his fingers into her hair as he cupped her face. His other hand returned to her hip to pull her closer to him. He rubbed the pad of his thumb across her lower lip, and it suddenly became a bit harder to breathe. The reality of her there with him - that she had truly chosen him - was finally beginning to set in, and he knew instinctively he should share this feeling, regardless of how poorly he'd likely manage it. Bending his head down, he brushed his lips across hers before moving to whisper in her ear.

"I- I need to tell you... I must tell you how lucky I feel to be with you. I'm in awe of the way you try to see the good in people, even when they do horrible things - in awe of your unfailing faith in your friends... in me... I don't deserve it... don't deserve you."

Before she could respond, Cullen dragged his lips back across her cheek and captured her mouth in a full, hungry kiss. She sighed and leaned into him, her lips molding to his, somehow softer and sweeter than he remembered. His hand curved from her hip around to her lower back, fingers deftly finding the edge of her tunic and moving underneath to slide along her waist as he pulled at her bottom lip with his teeth. She trembled under his touch, and his own hand trembled to feel the smoothness of her skin again. The silk under his fingers could easily become an addiction. He already ached to touch more of her.

He pulled her back into a darker corner of the battlements, his fingers swirling around the small dimples in her lower back, then caressing her spine, then kneading into the muscled flesh of her back. As his mouth left hers to trail kisses down her neck, the thought of her journey - that she would likely be gone for a month or more - made him hold her that much more tightly. She clung to him in return, gasping softly into his ear as he kissed his way across her neck.

The appearance of a guard on their section of the battlements finally forced them to part, but he took and kept a firm grasp on her hand as he reached down to pick up his gloves. They walked hand-in-hand back to his office, but as they entered, the brighter light caused waves of pain to wash over him again. He stumbled slightly as he closed the door and then turned around to lean on it, giving her a wane smile. At least the smell of the food no longer made him want to vomit. The candlelight felt like daggers to his temples, and he closed his eyes against the yellow glare.

"Ma vhenan? Are you alright?"

He opened his eyes to find her standing next to him, her face awash in concern. She reached up to put the back of her hand against his forehead.

"You're burning up, Cullen. Are you ill? I mean... more ill?"

"I don't... think so. I've never really paid attention to whether I had a fever or not. I suppose it could be normal."

She stood awkwardly for a moment. "Can I get you tea? Or a draught? Or I could... I mean, I've been practicing healing spells..."

Cullen's gut wrenched involuntarily and not because of the symptoms. She was offering to help him. He knew it. How could he really say he trusted her if he didn't even give her the opportunity to try? The idea sent a shockwave of anxiety ripping through him.

"The teas and draught haven't worked well today. I... I suppose..."

He struggled to get the words out. He needed to show her he trusted her. He needed to get over these old fears. He did trust her, didn't he?

"I suppose we could try it."

She smiled reassuringly. "I promise I will use as little magic as possible. In your state, though... you should probably sit down."

Cullen walked over and sat down in his chair with as much grace as possible under the circumstances. She moved to stand behind him, and he tried to push away his burgeoning fears, working furiously to keep his breathing under control.

"I'll cast a calming spell first, just to help with muscle aches."

He closed his eyes, and suddenly the bodies of his friends from the Ferelden Circle, mangled and broken by the abominations, flashed through his brain. His eyes flew open, and panic rose up in his chest. Just as he was about to stand up again, a feeling of utter peace covered him like a soft blanket. It felt much like the effects of a full mug of her calming tea but without the sleepiness. The tension in his muscles eased considerably, and though the fear still lurked in the corners of his mind, the calm helped him see it for what it was - an overreaction. A justifiable one, considering his past. But still, an overreaction. She wasn't an abomination. She was Evana... first his friend and now his lover. She wouldn't hurt him. He closed his eyes to the glaring candlelight once more.

"Now I'm going to do a simple heal spell that should at least reduce the symptoms. It will take some time, so...um... try to relax."

As if he could do anything else. Soon, he felt the war hammer pounding on his skull turn into a dull hum at his temples. He opened his eyes and found the light didn't bother him as before. He even felt cooler. She appeared in front of him looking hesitant and rested her hand on his forehead as before.

"Any better?"

He smiled warmly. "Yes. Thank you. The headache has dulled quite a bit."

Suddenly, his stomach growled, and they both laughed weakly. After filling and placing his kettle on the fire, she retrieved the plate of bread, cheeses and cured meats she'd left on the corner of his desk.

"Luckily, it's nothing that will be worse off for having waited to eat it."

He made short work of the plate while Evana sat on the edge of his desk looking through a few of his half-finished requisitions and recommendations for the Crestwood and Storm Coast agents and soldiers.

"I take it our troops in Ferelden are doing well - maintaining stability?"

He nodded as he chewed and then swallowed. "Except for the loss of our patrol on the Highway, we've had little trouble in those regions after you put the fear of the Maker... errr... Creators in them."

She grinned at him. "I thought it was the fear of Andraste?"

His smile turned lopsided. "Maybe so."

She looked back to the reports for a moment and then set them down again. Her eyes turned to watch him, gazing at him pensively. Finally, she leaned forward.

"Would you mind singing me a chant?" One corner of her mouth quirked upward slightly. "I know you can sing. I remember hearing you with the others after Haven."

Cullen stopped mid-chew and just looked at her. Is she serious? She smiled shyly.

"If you're feeling up to it, that is. And after you're done, of course."

After swallowing his last bite, he took a drink of water and slowly scooted his chair until he faced her as she sat on the back edge of his desk. She leaned back on her palms and crossed her ankles as he looked at her warily.

"What sort of chant do you want to hear?"

"Maybe one that you think would help me understand why you follow - why you believe?"

He felt a bit embarrassed by her request, but then he remembered the night in Haven when she'd sung to him. Perhaps she simply enjoyed songs. And she'd always seemed at least open to his religion, even if she didn't really believe in it.

"I don't know if it really adequately describes why I believe, but this is one of my favorites..."

He began, hesitant at first. However, as he moved through the verses describing those faithful to the Maker, his voice strengthened but remained soft and low. After all, he was singing this just for her. Their eyes locked, and he couldn't help singing as much for her as for Andraste.

"Many are those who wander in sin, Despairing that they are lost forever, But the one who repents, who has faith Unshaken by the darkness of the world, And boasts not, nor gloats Over the misfortunes of the weak, but takes delight In the Maker's law and creations, she shall know The peace of the Maker's benediction. The one who repents, who has faith Unshaken by the darkness of the world, She shall know peace."

When he finished, she drew in a deep breath and then exhaled as she jumped off the desk to grab the kettle. "That was beautiful. You have an amazing voice, Cullen."

He blushed but nodded to acknowledge her compliment. "Ah... thank you. Here, let me help you."

Standing up tentatively, he noted with surprise that his normal muscle aches were barely a twinge. He felt the underlying desire for lyrium and knew it would amplify once she left - it was always worse when he was alone - but she had truly done a marvelous job with the outward symptoms. She opened one of his tea pouches to pour leaves into a couple of mugs.

"Better add a little extra to mine. I think I'll be turning in early tonight. I'd like to be up to see you off in the morning."

A pleased look crossed her face. "I'd like that... not that you don't usually." Her expression turned thoughtful. "Have you ever missed seeing me off on a journey?"

His brows furrowed in thought, and then he shrugged and looked down as he poured water into the mugs. "Not that I can recall. It's almost a tradition at this point."

"Well, it's a nice one for now, but I hope... I hope eventually we won't have to be parted quite so much."

His breath caught in his throat at the implication in her words, and he slowly raised his eyes to meet hers. He tried to maintain an even tone as he responded, but his heart raced wildly. Such words from her made it easier for him to speak the truth of what he felt.

"I hope for that as well."

Her cheeks flushed pink as she took the mug he offered her and resumed her spot on the edge of his desk. He sat back in his chair, gazing at her lovely face as she stared into her mug and bit at her alluring lip, and tried to avoid thinking of how much he wanted to pull her into his lap. Someone could walk in any of the three doors to his office at any moment, but he almost didn't care. Maybe a conversation with Harritt was in order. Surely no one would blame him for wanting to secure his office with a few locks. There were, after all, Inquisition secrets just lying there on his desk for anyone to see.

He hummed softly at the thought, remembering the would-be assassin in the tavern. Perhaps there really was reason to install those locks beyond his desire to retain some privacy with Evana.

"Something wrong?"

He shook himself from his thoughts. "No, I was just thinking about..."

What could he say? That he'd been thinking inappropriate thoughts about her and at the same time worrying about Inquisition business? That was certainly romantic. He took a large swig of the tea, then, thankfully, remembered his request to Josephine earlier that day.

"... About a few adjustments I might make to the office before you return."

"Adjustments?"

"Yes. You should have a place to sit besides on my desk. I've asked Josephine to get me a nice, comfortable chair for any guests I might have."

"You already asked her?"

Cullen tried not to let the anxiety show through on his face. "Should... should I not have?"

"Oh, no... I mean, it's fine. I mean, it's your office, after all." She closed her eyes and let out a small huff of amusement. Then, she took a deep breath and opened her eyes once more. "What I mean to say is... I'm not used to people spoiling me like you do. You seem to anticipate my every thought. Are you reading my mind, vhenan?"

Relief cascaded through him as he chuckled and shook his head. "No, I don't believe so. I'm glad it pleases you, though."

"I just think it's amusing. You keep saying how you're not very good at all this. I'm not seeing much evidence of that so far."

He gave her a wry look, complete with sarcastically raised eyebrow. "Give it time."

She just laughed at him and drank her tea, and he marveled again at the turn his life had taken. How in the Maker's name did I get so incredibly lucky?

 **

 Cullen pulled a little more violently than normal on the final buckle of his vambrace as he exited his office and took the stairs down to the stables. A messenger had interrupted their quiet night with an urgent message, and they'd been forced to take their leave of each other in a rather chaste manner. Now, he could only think of the weeks ahead without her. It had always been difficult to watch her leave, but now more than ever, he wished he weren't tied to his desk. If she had to go - and he knew she did - at least then he'd be able to follow and protect her. He envied her companions in that. The only comfort his job offered was the ability to bury himself in his work. It would make the time pass a little more quickly.

In the pre-dawn light, he could see Bull and Varric had already saddled their horses. They sat against the stable wall chatting softly, waiting for the others to join them. He nodded at them as Evana came out of the stable with her horse. Without a word, he took a bag from her and walked around to attach it to the other side of the saddle. He could just see the top of her head from that side, and he was reminded again how small and seemingly fragile she appeared. He forced himself to remember all those reports - the ones in which she immolated entire groups of bandits at once. She only looked fragile. It helped, but only a little.

When he finished, he joined her again on the other side and found her still trying to adjust the bag on her side. Standing behind her, he reached his arms around either side of her to help with the buckles she couldn't quite see. Then he wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in her hair. It hung past her ears now, the strands smooth like silk against his cheek. All the things he wanted to say passed through his brain - I love you, I will miss you, come back to me - but he couldn't seem to force them out.

"Be safe," he whispered instead.

She turned around in his arms, and in the dawn light, he saw her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I will."

He didn't care who saw. He reached up with his ungloved hand and gently cupped her face. In the dim light, his eyes raked over her features, trying to memorize every line, every curve, trying to say with his eyes what he couldn't seem to with his voice. Then, leaning down, he kissed her slowly, a farewell and silent plea for her to come back to him well and whole.

[adventisttoday]

Article by Adventist Today editor Loren Seibold. _____________________________________ The pastor I worked with during my ministerial internship was one of the most brilliant people I’ve ever known. I came to ministry lacking, I think, a natural aptitude for the job. Even after a college degree, I was mostly clueless about how to be a pastor. Bob was my first role model. He was an excellent preacher, planner, writer and communicator. In the days before computers made audio-visual easy, he created amazing presentations with multiple slide and movie projectors synced with music and narration. He had an uncanny grasp of congregational dynamics: I remember him telling me before an important board meeting exactly how it would go, which member would say what and who would raise what objections—and he was right! (After pastoring nearly 40 years, I now can occasionally do the same thing.) And he had a wicked sense of humor that he unleashed when away from the church members. Yet what everyone remembered about Bob was not his brilliance or his talent, but his size. Bob was not just pudgy. He didn’t just have a stomach overhanging his belt. He was massive—well over 400 pounds. Even to me, his young assistant, church members made remarks. The kinder of them tongue-clicked and mumbled “Isn’t it a shame? And such a brilliant man…” Sometimes there was no attempt to be kind: “How can this man represent our health message?” and “Clearly, he can’t control his appetite.” To these Bob’s corpulence wasn’t just a health problem, but a spiritual problem. They didn’t have the tackle to say it to him directly, but their intention was pellucid: being as fat as he was was a sin. He should not only be ashamed, but feel guilty. Which he did. To a degree they could never have imagined. He didn’t require their behind-his-back scolding to feel bad about his body. I felt defensive about Bob, and I still do when I run into someone from the old days who knew him. (He — predictably — died younger than he should have.) Bob was good to me. He defended me when a foolish administrator was giving me a hard time. He was unselfish: he pushed me to try every pastoral task that he did. He was praising and encouraging. His friendship and mentoring meant the world to me. Of course, his enormous size was a handicap. He strained to get up out of chairs, and at least once, I remember, broke one to great embarrassment. He wore special industrial-looking shoes, and had to get his suits at special stores. Getting into and out or cars was a chore, and riding with him in my compact car wasn’t pleasant: he filled his space and intruded into mine. He moved slowly, and sweated heavily. Whatever his natural gifts, they often seemed eclipsed by what people saw when they looked at him. I thought that his size should be worth overlooking in deference to all he had to offer. But Adventists aren’t known to hold back a criticism if we think we’ve got a good one, especially if we can nail it into the sinner with a Bible verse or Ellen White quote. Those who grumbled to me about Bob weren’t exactly ideal specimens of physical culture themselves. They just weren’t as fat as he was. Their scolding, it seemed to me, covered up the relief they felt in seeing someone more out of shape than they were. We can agree that being fat isn’t healthy. But is it a spiritual problem? The Bible isn’t as clear about this as some suppose. It was written in a time when people worked tremendously hard to get food, yet average people had fewer calories available to them than we have now. There are only two people described as being obese in scripture: Eli in his old age (1 Samuel 4:18), who was a beloved priest to Israel in spite of it, and the Moabite king Eglon, whose shape is noted mostly for the disgusting detail that when Ehud stabbed him, the sword was completely buried in Eglon’s fat (Judges 3:12-22). But in general, being fat in those days wasn’t a bad thing: when the slaves in Babylon are praised for the outcome of their healthful kosher diet, they’re described in Hebrew as being nice and fat (Daniel 1:15), which in thatworld meant they were healthy. The Bible does address gluttony, and when people make a spiritual matter out of being overweight that seems to be the deadly sin they’re referencing. That’s a questionable interpretation, for several reasons. First, biblical gluttony is almost always about selfish rich people who satisfy themselves at the expense of others. It usually appears not as a condemnation of health or self-control, but selfishness and lack of empathy (1 Samuel 2:29, Jeremiah 5:28, Psalm 73:7). Second, it isn’t clear that gluttony is as simple as overeating. The Torah, Jesus, and the Proverbist all link it with drunkenness: “Be not among drunkards or among gluttonous eaters of meat, for the drunkard and the glutton will come to poverty” (Proverbs 23:20–21). Health isn’t the issue here, but shirking one’s responsibilities. Thomas Aquinas thought that besides eating too much, gluttony included gourmandism: obsessing about finding the perfect foods, involving elaborate preparation and expense. That would make those of us who are infatuated with vegetarian or vegan diets (I have been in groups of Adventists who talk about little else) as guilty of gluttony as those who eat to gratify their tastes. (I am constantly surprised at the number of fat Adventists who speak boastfully of their strict diets, as though we’re supposed to believe they got that way by eating carrot and celery sticks. Come to one of our potlucks and watch everyone digging in, and only then assess our collective self-control.) Third, the glutton is proud of his gluttony. He doesn’t hide it. His appetite for quality and quantity of comestibles is apparent. That’s not true for most unhealthily fat people I know. They feel bad about their weight, and castigate themselves for lacking self-control. It is this last point that Ellen White speaks when she writes about appetite as a sin. She goes so far as to characterize Eve’s eating the fruit at the fall as a function of appetite, which is why, she says, Jesus’ first victory had to be over appetite (when Satan asked him to turn the stones into bread.) “The fall of our first parents was caused by the indulgence of appetite. In redemption, the denial of appetite is the first work of Christ” (God's Amazing Grace, p.162). These interpretations may be forgivably eisegetical, considering the teachings about diet that she was then expounding. Granting that self-discipline is surely necessary, I have a hard time thinking, as Ellen White seems to, that appetite is the original sin. Unless that tree grew KrispyKremes powdered with cocaine, I’ll go with the sin identified by Genesis: disobedience. I’m not defending being unhealthily overweight. I am insisting that self-control is difficult, and very few are as successful at it as you might suppose. Genetics and upbringing, not conscious decision-making, has much to do with what our bodies look like. Let’s also admit that a not inconsiderable factor in our preoccupation with weight is vanity — also a biblical sin. I’m fairly sure that if our culture valued large bodies (as some cultures do) we’d probably figure out a reason to make spiritual judgments about slim people. I‘m not fat, and I don’t gain weight easily. A few have erroneously assumed that that shows marvelous appetite discipline. I was blessed by genetics with a great metabolism and an adequate but not exceptionally vigorous appetite. (The same gene pool that blessed me with some less admirable qualities, by the way, that I don’t have to mention.) It would be dishonest for me to take credit for my frame: I was born this way, like someone would inherit natural artistic or musical talent. I deserve no plaudits for self-control. My overweight friend, on the other hand, was constantly trying to lose weight. He didn’t succeed in keeping it off (not many people do) but he exercised more self-control in one week than I’ve had to exercise in my whole life. If self-control is a measure of spiritual strength, who had more? Which reminds me to note that Christians occasionally take credit for spiritual victories they’ve not actually had. Old people scold young people over their sexual behavior, because they’ve forgotten what it’s like to be young and horny. You might call it righteousness by age and infirmity. Poor people criticize the greed of the rich, sometimes because they’ve never had enough money themselves to be as greedy as they’d like to be. Some people’s righteousness is only a lack of opportunity or skill. After a lifetime of being a pastor (which means occupying other people’s heads a bit more than the average person does) I know that many Christians harbor sins of self-control. Some sins they can get away with longer than the person who eats too much, because it doesn’t show as readily. Your body size may be a function of genes, metabolism, upbringing, self-control, and habit, but it fiendishly displays your trespass in the very thing that houses you and carries you around. And you’re stuck in it. Bob undoubtedly had a metabolism that easily turned food to fat. He was also a compulsive eater. I’m not enough of a psychologist to explain why, though I suspect there was some emotional aspect, maybe a way of comforting himself. Perhaps the fatter he got, the more he sought the solace of food — a vicious cycle he couldn’t escape. Jesus said, “Do not judge, or you too will be judged.” (A conditional statement sadly false in its latter part: I’ve seen no evidence that not judging others means that others won’t judge you anyway.) I am quite certain (because Jesus said so to the Pharisees) that the prohibition against judgment is more significant than how you eat. As for good health, it is mentioned only in passing in the Bible, and by Jesus not at all, which makes it surprising that so many of us have moved diet to the top of our spiritual to-do list. Our bodies, let’s remember, are of this corrupt old earth — what we occupy before the moment when, in the twinkling of an eye, this corruption puts on incorruption. Storing up treasures in heaven means that character development takes precedence not just over possessions, but over the state of these mortal bodies, too. It’s lovely to be healthy. But no one will be saved by a good diet or a trim figure. No one. The question for us is how we, as people who claim to exalt good health, are to assure unhealthy people that they can have full confidence that they’re saved. ___________________________________________________________ Loren Seibold is a pastor in the Ohio Conference and the Executive Editor of Adventist Today. The full article is at http://ift.tt/2pt35uK http://ift.tt/2pzIl4u