#it’s my bread and butter and I’m not afraid to admit that

[gotta-pet-em-all]

[An audio file is attached. Would you like to listen?

"Okay. So this is going to keep recording your voice while we talk," Pine explains.

"Fascinating," says someone, muffled slightly as if behind glass. "I’ve seen photography cameras that can preserve images, but now they can do the same with voices?"

Fluff gives a short laugh. "Yeah. You can even take videos. If you want, after this I can show you some of my little feather baby Cari! She’s a togetic."

"I see… I need a moment."

"Ah, sorry. Is it overwhelming?"

A pause where a shrug might be. "Not really. The ginkgo guild would frequently have us take time to organize, with only minimal local contact after we reached a new place. So I don’t mind the quarantine much, unlike my neighbors."

"Oh shit, we haven't introduced ourselves," Fluff realizes. The audio file cuts to elevator music for a moment.

"Volo Ward, merchant of the Ginkgo Guild. Typically, you’re supposed to introduce yourself by where you’re from, but I don’t exactly have that. So my occupation will have to do."

"So you traveled?" Pine asks, sounding excited. "What sort of places did you see? What kind of cultural differences did you notice?"

"The damned Kalosians, I swear. They have the best textiles, so we’d buy things wholesale from them to distribute, but they didn’t standardize their textile names. So you had to go to six suppliers and get seven names for the same fabric. We had to recruit someone to help us label them. Apparently there’s a general name, and then there’s the local name, and you need both. Ah, what else… in Paldea, the roads aren’t traveled much after dark, so the local kids will play on the roads outside of their houses. I was allowed to join in, once I’d finished my chores."

Fabric rustles for a moment before Pine asks, "Do you recognize what this is for?"

"Oh!" Volo sounds pleasantly surprised. "I used to play with those all the time as a kid. Why is it labeled a ritual object?"

"I think that’s something archaeologists do when they don’t want to admit that they don’t know what’s going on," Fluff says, with all the confidence of someone who knows only what she's been told about archaeology by people who are thoroughly pissed at the field but love it anyways.

"Not to be petty but I am going to demolish some of the ignorant old quacks in this field," Pine says, very quietly, with malicious intent.

"As you should!" A muffled thump. "It’s a beautiful field that’s been tainted by ignorance and racism from old men who think they know better than anyone else and treat it as a curiosity rather than giving it the love it deserves. Ah-- apologies. I didn't mean to get that heated."

"Oh, our partner would love to chat with you," Fluff says confidently. There follows a few moments of audible confusion before Volo seems to remember non-monogamy as an option.

"So, ah. I’m afraid I’ve never been up to date on the culture around me, so you might want to ask one of the sisters if you can get them to talk to you. They like gold, but they’ll take food too. Hm… I could tell you about my job?"

"With the Ginkgo Guild? What sort of wares did you typically sell?"

"Hm, lots of potions recently. Things are changing, and pokemon are-- were, ah, seen as beings to live alongside, rather than to fear and revere and only use for one’s own purposes. Medicinal leeks were the bread and butter of our trade."

"They’re endangered in the wild now," Fluff says, almost apologetically. "Overharvesting. They had to synthesize an alternative."

"...I see. You used to be able to find them wherever there was a shady spot under a tree. Near rivers, too. I’ll miss them. When I was a kid, I learned that if I got a cut, I could just snap off a little bit of the stem and rub it on, and it would keep the wound from going sour."

Pine makes a confused noise. "Wait, how old are you? Or is this a thing where the age of majority was different?"

"Twenty-six," Volo says flatly. There is an long pause. "I look about as old as your friend, I know."

"Wait, how old do you think I am?" Fluff asks. "To clarify. I thought you might be.... twelve?"

"You look maybe thirteen."

"Nineteen. Actually," she says tiredly. "Chronic baby face, I’m looking forward to getting grey hairs. My condolences."

A pause, as Volo searches for the right words. "The timespace distortion changed me. And my pokemon as well. If you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about it."

"Are you okay with talking about the Nobles and their purpose, then? If you'd rather not talk about yourself."

Volo makes a vague noise. "Rei would know more than me. Ah, but he and I aren't on speaking terms at the moment. I don’t really exactly have any desire to go back. All of us are here because we chose to leave Hisui behind, after all."

"Wasn't it... your home? Or, I know you roamed, but an entirely new era can't be easy to adapt to...."

"It won't be, no. But I’m looking for a fresh start. I suppose I was looking for the approval of someone who was supposed to watch over me and my family. But it never happened. I waited all that time, but I was never worth coming back for."

"…your dad?" Fluff guesses.

"No. A deity," Volo says dryly. "Ah, what’s the modern term? A deadbeat dad."

Pine makes a choked laugh. "I-- you're not wrong."

"Well, uh. Welcome to Pasio. I made bread?" Fluff offers.

"I saw that," Volo says, sounding amused. "Thank you. I'm likely going to wait out my containment in here, and then explore, see what this new world has to offer."

There's the sound of a door opening, and a new voice. "Hey, uh. Are you guys about finished up? I was going to visit my cousin real quick."

"That's all right. I think I was just finished here," Volo says. "Clover? Could you please tell Rei his cousin is here to visit?"

Video ends.

[ms-scarletwings]

I am sorry to bother you but I have to say, I feel Dib got treated too harshly most of the time. It's the point of the story yes but at times it just feels flat out sadistic for no reason.

It's why the Gargantis Array comic storyline sucks to me, it was just two issues of buildup to make Dib a gross fat joke and humiliate him across space. Jhonen just really seems to love torturing Dib more than anyone and it's rarely even deserved.

Oh, this is the opposite of a bother, friendo!

I actually have a lot of reading to still do on the topic of the comics. I’m woefully only really up to good knowledge about issues 46-49 and a lot of bits of pieces otherwise. If what you’re saying rings true, that is sad to hear, but pretty interesting still. I’ve always in the back of my head been a little afraid that Dib’s karma could be flanderized to the point of making him a butt monkey. Especially when we all know that’s supposed to be Skoodge’s job! (waka waka)

As for the show, honestly? I think they managed the balance just fine. It’s not so much that the show was specifically cruel to him, but that sadism broadly was one of its central themes and there were no efforts made to exclude Dib from that. And why should they have? He’s not an innocent woobie, and in fact is actually in the seat of a very ambitious antagonist against the real main character’s goals. Arbitrary events of misfortune and pain were the bread and butter of the series back then, and almost no one was spared. Jhonen (who cameoed himself in the show just to choke on a fish and die for a joke) also from what I hear injected a lot of his own qualities into Dib, so I imagine it probably IS very entertaining to him to give the boy the works.

From what I have seen of the comics, that looks like a much finer line to tow. And this more of an off the cuff ramble, but you know what I think??? I think they made Dib a touch way too sympathetic actually. There’s so much more focus on just him and Zim’s side antics, and the more time you take Dib off world and away from the rest of the Earth side characters, the fewer reminders they give you about how many of his problems are majorly self inflicted and how much of a disturbance he can be to society. And, for better or worse, a less dark overall tone in the comics means that the moments of overtly black comedy are going to stand out a little more against the modernized background by contrast.

And there’s another elephant in the room that kind of gets to me, personally. As well as I can put it well, the art style change kind of really affects the lens he can be viewed through. Maybe more than most people want to admit. And I’m not dissing the rounded down, brightened up change, it’s not a better or worse direction from the show… but it is a different one with different strengths and weaknesses.

Like, look at Dib’s early season model sheets for a base of reference.

Now compare him alongside the comic and Florpus interpretation of Dib Membrane. OBVS I am simplifying a ton here, there’s a ton of room for more range than these examples.

I’m not here to say he’s a better or worse Dib visually, he’s still Dib to me! But is notable how comic Dib actually breaks a ton of the “rules” of what kind of character they wanted Dib to be. To put it one way, they sanded down some of his edges and he’s not as apparently “skrungly” as he used to be.

What I like about the change is that it actually gives the better impression of him actually being the lil dorkass kid he’s always been. He’s got a slight aesthetic shift that shows off his unique interests and it definitely sets him apart from Zim, who actually retained most of his own show design. He’s still got some funny lookin’ qualities and he’s so much more endearing

One of the downsides of all that, however, is probably that he’s so damn endearing and as a default.

I dunno if you ever watched Little Shop of Horrors, amazing musical btw, but, it’s supposed to have this whole tragic ending where the main character’s, Seymour’s, long chain of mistakes catch up with him and he meets his demise. In the movie, they casted Rick Moranis for the character, and he played such a puppy-eyed, adorkable Seymour that it made audiences suddenly too bummed out to even appreciate the dark ending. They hated it so much that the crew actually just changed the ending completely so that Seymour gets a consequence-free happy ending with everything he ever wanted. Even though he’s literally a serial murderer of sorts. You were always supposed to feel for him, but not to the point where watching him fail just makes you feel horrible.

I think Dib works kinda like that on a meta level.

If there’s any ruling on what goes over that invisible line when it comes to handling his character, I think Florpus Gaz nailed it right on the head. Dib is never supposed to just utterly break under the weight of his world. Can he sometimes crack? Yeah totally, especially in the “brink of madness” sense. Or if it’s funny. The golden rule is not to give him more than he can handle, and Dib CAN handle a lot of bullshit. He may be a frustrated lil squirt but he’s been at this for a very long time, and it’s hype af watching how he’s not slowing down even in the face of that. Dib and Zim’s biggest POSITIVE shared trait is the strength of their spirits against a world that is ultimately callous and cruel at every turn to them.

Every second you write Dib where he’s wallowing in despair or feeling sorry for himself is a second you come closer to that line and it’s what you need to dish out in wary moderation.

So I guess the TL:DR of what i think I’m getting at here is… it’s all about perspective.

But I really should read more of the comics.

[maramontwrites]

Ducks

The first time I saw him, he asked me if I liked ducks. I don’t know why. I don’t even know why he started talking to me. We were just sitting next to each other on the bus, not talking, like people on the bus do, when he asked me.

“Do you like ducks?”

“What?” I responded, not entirely processing the question. At first I thought I must’ve misheard him. I couldn’t imagine a stranger asking me about my opinion on ducks.

“Do you like ducks?” he repeated, slowly this time. I still didn’t understand the question, but at least I knew I heard him right. “You know, those birds that hang out in parks and like to eat bread. Well, they shouldn’t eat bread, but they do like it. Those ducks. Do you like ‘em?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it”, I said. I expected that to be the end of the conversation, but he was insistent.

“Well, think about it now. There’s not really anything better to do on this bus.”

“I’m sure there are more important things for me to think about than ducks.” I thought that made it clear that I wasn’t interested in talking to him, or at least not talking about ducks. He was not good at taking hints.

“But you aren’t thinking about more important things. You are thinking about ducks now, aren’t you?” He smiles mischievously, now that I had fallen into his trap.

I will admit that I was, although I didn’t want to tell him that. So I didn’t respond, hoping that he would leave me alone.

“So, do you like ducks?” He was getting more insistent every time he asked that question, like it was really important for him to get my answer.

I gave in. “Yes, I do. I guess. There’s nothing really to dislike about ducks, so I suppose I like them.”

His face lit up. “Exactly! You get it! There’s no reason to not like ducks. They’re amazing! And cute. And fun to look at. And adorable. I really don’t understand how people can not like them. Some people are just too miserable to appreciate the little things, I guess.”

I let him ramble on, afraid that responding would encourage him to continue the conversation. The bus arrived at the next stop. He paused mid-sentence, jumped up and ran towards the doors. Before getting off, he looked back at me and waved. Out of reflex I waved back.

I thought that would’ve been the only time I saw him, but the next day, on the same bus, he sat next to me again.

“What about pigeons?” he asked, continuing the conversation like there wasn’t a full day between the last question and now.

“What about them?” I didn’t realize what the question was referring to. It even took me a while to realize that he was the same person I had been talking to the day before.

“Do you like pigeons?” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I knew not to argue that time. “Not really. They’re a bit annoying, to be honest.”

“No, they’re not!” He immediately launched into another rant, this time about the importance of pigeons. I let him talk, until he had to cut himself of again to get of the bus. Before leaving, he did manage to convince me that pigeons weren’t as bad as I had thought.

I haven’t seen him in a few days now. I saw him every single day for multiple months in a row, always on the same bus, always asking my opinion on various animals or household objects or other seemingly meaningless things. I even started looking forward to our meetings, ready to have my opinion changed about something I didn’t even know I had an opinion on.

And now he’s gone. He didn’t tell me he wouldn’t come back the day before he disappeared. He just talked about some unimportant topic, as always. That day our discussion was about peanut butter. He didn’t give any indication that I wouldn’t be seeing him again. I want to believe that nothing bad happened. Maybe he bought a car and doesn’t have to take the bus anymore. Or maybe he just takes a different route now. There are many perfectly innocent explanations for this.

But I know that’s not the case. He would’ve told me. Something must be wrong. I only need to find out what. Not that that’s going to be easy. I don’t even know where he lives. I barely even know anything about him. I only know which birds he likes and dislikes. But even though it seems impossible, I’m determined.

I’m going to find him.

[sacrificethemtothesquid]

Cut for random holiday-related blather.

My family is a cult, and I mean that is the nicest way possible. We’re like a cultural amoeba or some medieval royal house. My sister and I didn’t join our spouses’ families, the spouses joined ours. 

Amid a slew of smaller holidays, Christmas is the culmination of the entire year, the time when everyone returns to the mothership (ie my grandparents’ house) for a good meal and some well-wrapped presents. When you think of a stereotypical 1950s Coca-Cola-advertisement Christmas, that’s my family, frozen in time. It is an entirely secular event, although if someone is feeling a pang of religious guilt, they might say grace before dinner. That being said, there are two traditions that are completely sacrosanct, and cannot under any circumstances including death or natural disaster be skipped: Stockings, and [Grandpa Squid]’s Favorite. 

Upon marrying into the family, you are presented with The Stocking, a gorgeous item handmade by your future mother-in-law with your name embroidered on the top. (If you’re born into the family, you get yours at birth.) Names are drawn Secret-Santa fashion around Thanksgiving, and the contents are generally intended to be inexpensive and practical (post-it notes, pens, toothpaste, etc), useful (small toolkits, garden gloves) or edible (candy), but it absolutely must have a mandarin orange in the toe. All stockings must be under the tree by Christmas morning. You cannot cannot under any circumstance admit to filling a stocking, or be caught in the act of filling one; Santa fills the stockings. Santa has always filled the stockings.

The other tradition is [Grandpa Squid]’s Favorite, a custard-filled cardamon bread that is served on Christmas morning. (If it had another name, it was lost three generations back when Grandpa was little. It is, as the name implies, his favorite.) You start learning to make it as a small child so that when you are eventually released out into the world like a salmon fry heading for the deep ocean, in the tragic event you cannot make it home on December 25th, you are capable of properly marking the day on your own. You may make [Grandpa Squid]’s Favorite for other people, but you may not under any circumstances share the recipe.

This year, things felt particularly important. Dad was in the hospital for Christmas last year and things were disrupted to the point I don’t think he or Mom even got stockings. We all kept thinking he’d be released in a couple more days, just a couple more days, and we thought that right through January and February until he died. When we got together in July for Grandpa’s birthday, no one felt like decorating or doing more than making potato salad. It was depressing and sad and I swore that Christmas was not going to be the same.

Cut to last week. I’m not really a great baker, so I’ve been deconstructing the recipe for [Grandpa Squid]’s Favorite over the years so the vague instructions on my photocopy of Great-Grandma’s spidery handwriting make some scientific sense, and this year, I got hung up on butter. There’s a part where you repeatedly spread the butter and fold the dough, which doesn’t really make any sense. It doesn’t form layers like a croissant. It just seeps into the dough and makes it a bit slimy to work with. Maybe it had a purpose three generations ago, but it’s just one of the steps now, followed because That’s How It’s Done. 

So many of the things my family does are just because That’s How It’s Done and this year, I’ve busted my ass all month trying to make sure that everything that needs to Happen actually Happens. I did all the stockings this year because we didn’t get together at Thanksgiving. I spent all last week baking, cooking, and making [Grandpa Squid]’s Favorite because I was afraid if I didn’t, everything would completely collapse and we absolutely could not have anything collapse. 

Where am I going with this? I don’t know. Maybe I need a space to brag. Everything was a rousing success. The presents were beautiful, the food delicious - okay, the gingerbread was overbaked - and everyone was happy. Nothing fell apart. I worked hard and succeeded. I’m tired, but very very satisfied. 

I think maybe my point is that I’m at a place in my life where I want everything to be intentional. It has to be. I’m almost 36. Husbandthing is 40. We don’t have kids. My dad is gone and our elders are aging. If we want a tradition to continue, if we want to take something with us, it has to be a deliberate choice. One of my new year’s resolutions is to expand that to the rest of my life. I don’t think I’m having a third-life crisis (too old for quarter-life, too young for mid-life) but everything feels a little dramatic and stifling and I’m thinking some intentionality will make things more manageable. 

Maybe next year, I’ll skip the step with the butter.

[mychemicalrachel]

Thanks so much to @kelliealtogether for tagging me!

Rules: pick any 10 of your stories, scroll somewhere toward the midpoint, pick a line (or a few) and share! Then tag people! I’m gonna tag @we--are---not--afraid @avalonjoan @gigilberry because I haven't seen y'all do it 🖤

Magnetic  (Pynch/Rovinsky)

It would be easy to fall back into old habits, old patterns that he and Kavinsky had weaved together. The fighting, the fucking, the smoking. Part of that habit had always been hurting each other. Ronan put the cigarette out on the headlight. “I kissed Adam.” Whatever reaction he’d hoped to raise, Kavinsky disappointed him. He just hummed, a smile curving his lips. “And yet here you are. You came to me.” “You’re like a fucking hemorrhoid,” Ronan said. Kavinsky laughed. “A pain in the ass?” “Impossible to get rid of.” “Yeah,” Kavinsky said. “And, what? You thought Adam Parrish would be your personal brand of Preparation H?” Ronan didn’t want to talk about Adam. “I don’t like this analogy anymore.”

Greatest Hits (Pynch)

“I’m sorry my brother called and woke you up,” Ronan said. “I have to admit, he was not the Lynch I expected a booty call from.” Ronan snorted. He buried his face back against Adam’s shoulder. “Well, since you’re here…” Adam’s nails scraped down his back, from the top of his spine all the way down, and his laugh was a breath in Ronan’s ear.

Dizzy (Rovinsky) 

Last night, he wanted to fly. Now Kavinsky was waiting for the fall. He wanted to hurt. He wanted to remember the ache and the pleasure and the pain. He didn’t want to be soft, coddled, careful– he wanted to feel everything, all of it, all at once. He wanted the feeling to linger long after these few minutes were over. “I want you,” Kavinsky said plainly, “to fuck me.”

A Series of Unfortunate Events (Adam/Kavinsky)

“Adam Parrish,” Kavinsky said. Adam pretended he didn’t like the way his name sounded in that gravely voice, but if he rolled the memory around in his head afterwards, imagining other ways, other tones, other scenarios that his name would sound in Kavinsky’s mouth, no one had to know.

Not Death, But His Brother... (Pynch)

Adam took the grilled cheese from the pan and added it to the stack, then started aggressively buttering another slice of bread. “I came back,” he said, “because I said I would. Because I promised you. Because I fucking–” his jaw quivered, fingers tightening on the butter knife, “because I fucking love you. And you weren’t here, Lynch.” His reach was slow, deliberate, when Ronan took the knife from Adam’s hand. He took the bread, too, and sat it on the counter. “I’m here now.”

The Color Of Blood (Steve/Bucky)

As Steve watched Phillips stoically signing death letters to families back home, we saw the flash of gold on the man’s ring finger. He saw the brown grain of the table and the green strands of the grass. And as innately as he knew he loved Bucky, Steve knew that his soulmate was not dead.

The Long Way Home (Sterek)

Erica sputters unattractively a bit, struggling with words. “You’re okay with your dad fucking your best friend?” “Dating,” Scott corrects, accepting the mug of coffee Derek hands him. “My dad is dating my best friend.”

Just A Spark (Sterek)

Stiles doesn’t move until he feels Derek’s fingers intertwine with his own and he’s being tugged toward the door. When they reach the parking lot, Stiles sitting stiffly behind the steering wheel of his Jeep, he finally allows himself to breathe. And with that exhale of air comes forth a tidal wave of curse words he’d also been holding in.

Sing me to Sleep (Frerard) 

Skittles. Skittles taste like green!

Finally, Finally (Buddie)

For a long time after Abby left, that’s the thing he missed most. Not the sex or the dates. Just being friends, knowing that she was always there for him. It took awhile before he filled that hole in himself, that gaping cavity that she once had her home in. They didn’t fit the same, he thought, but other things melded together to fill that void. Having his sister back in his life. Spending time with Chris. Eddie.

[nanalacana]

Imagined territories

21:16  Istanbul Airport

Yahya Sinwar is dead. It is impressive. But only matters to the egos. Too many penises involved in this conflict. The Zionists war mongers among us are celebrating on SM. I scroll through their cynical posts, observing them with disdain. I refuse to celebrate the dead before I will celebrate the living. I say that in my head, but I don’t even finish the thought. It sounds like another empty slogan—something from someone’s Instagram account. My Israel and their Palestine are no more than a graveyard for the living. There will be nothing to celebrate on this land. The gap between me and the state is too vast, irreconcilable. I’m afraid the same will happen with its people. My people.

I’ll only return for those I love, then I’ll leave again. I’m not advocating for anything related to this place. It’s been a few days since I left, and I vowed as much while wandering the streets of the Exarcheia neighbourhood in Athens, looking for a shop to buy film for my old camera. I miss when things were simpler, so I purchase low-tech gear to reminisce.

But no, no land is worth that much pain and suffering.

I feel guilty saying that, mostly thinking of my Safta. She saw it in my eyes when I came to hug her up north. I love her so much, but I’ve lost all hope, and in doing so, forsaken her life’s work. She knows. She spent the whole afternoon trying to convince me, repeating the old ideals, the songs, showing me photos from the early '50s following our liberation war, their Nakba. But all I hear are lost fantasies of freedom turned into aggressive propaganda.

Armed Safta Nehama 1950. the hills of Haifa

I am no longer a Zionist. I must admit, it has come to that. I might even become an anti-Zionist this week. Maybe it’s a phase—my identity issues, or the anarchist vibes of Exarcheia—but I’m filled with resentment. I know too much about what we’ve been suppressing.

The grand TV screen at the airport gate loops footage of Zelensky walking with NATO representatives. There’s no sound, just the soft hum of the massive airport around me. I look at the faces of countless strangers, all commuting to faraway places. I like the sense of anonymity—lost in Babylon, so free—though there’s always a faint tinge of loneliness at the edges. I often wonder—walking among strangers, far from everything familiar, not understanding their languages, free of responsibility and ties—is this freedom, or is it loneliness? I keep asking myself.

Mark Rutte, on the other hand, is not one of those anonymous people. I see him speaking passionately to the Euronews interviewer. As the new head of NATO, he’s finally shining in the role he always wanted. I feel a slight sense of pride. After all, I am also a Dutchie. He’s a talented politician, though he was a mediocre prime minister. Still, he’s come a long way. You can’t take that from him. Who knows? He might play an important role in this world war that’s increasingly unfolding.

Kamala Harris comes next on screen, wearing a purple suit, trying her best to project bipartisanship. Though I can’t hear her, I sense she excelled in her latest Fox interview. But she won’t win. We’re all going to lose. It’s going to be a bloody tie, followed by insurrections that’ll only add more restlessness to this boiling pot we call humanity in 2024. We live in a time where what we fear today seems to come true tomorrow. Another slogan from a pessimist in the making.

Someone once told me that pessimism often comes from the paradoxical privilege of being extremely aware, conscious & objective. I’m not sure I can claim to be objective—postmodernism and Foucault have shaped me too much for that—but I am definitely aware, and consciousness is my bread and butter. So, as pessimistic as it may sound, I’ve come to accept it.

Still, when it comes to the people I love, I’m very much an optimist. I’ll try to celebrate life in the small things. Human interactions, the goodness I see in people, even in these eerie times—it’s all worth it.

I thought about the tears I saw in Aleka’s eyes every time I spoke of the conflict. Her tears overwhelmed me—I didn’t expect that kind of reaction from someone not personally affected by the war. It showed a level of care I rarely encounter. I felt seen, and I loved her instantly for her empathy. Most people no longer focus on individuals, instead perpetuating the usual identity politics surrounding the conflict. But Aleka seemed to actually care. She agreed with me when I shared my failed attempt at connecting with the Palestinians at the Athens community center.

"You can start by speaking their language," she said. "I agree. I should’ve said I come from Palestine instead of Israel," I replied. "Exactly." Her eyes were wise, wise and sad. I could see she wasn’t just agreeing—she understood the weight of those words, the history behind them.

This was their territory, and though I felt humiliated by the look in their eyes, and frightened by the aggressive, militant anti-Israel rhetoric that surrounded me, I was strangely comforted. Comforted because they had found small pieces of territory, even if only imagined. After all, that’s how we started too—as persecuted Jews in the Diaspora, belonging nowhere.

Ideas that once formed under cigarette smoke and raki in dodgy bars and old schools in Athens might one day spark a revolution. But I can only hope it won’t kill the people I love in the process.

[buckleyblueyes]

ahh that's amazing! thank you in advance. I got this idea into my head: what if there is this one time they're all on a call, and maybe it's something that hits a little too close to home for Buck, maybe it's playing on his fears and insecurities, but the moment Buck sees what they're dealing with he gets SCARED, and freezes, and subconsciously grabs Eddie's hand, because Eddie makes him feel safe. He is his best friend (who he's in love with, ofc) after all. Eddie is well. Surprised. Very much.

Anon! Thank you so much for your patience with this one! I know it's been ages since you sent it in. I hope it's worth the wait and that I did justice to your prompt! (CW: drowning)

Eddie feels Buck tense up beside him as soon as Bobby tells them where they're going: Splash Zone Water Park. They have calls to pools fairly often, and Buck always gets a little bit tense going into it, no matter how long it’s been since the tsunami. Eddie presses his knee against Buck’s in the truck, offering a silent comfort to his friend. Buck seems to push down his fears by the time they pull up to the scene, forcing himself to shift into Firefighter Buckley mode as they make their way through the park. Eddie lets himself be relieved, until they arrive in front of the wave pool.

Of course it’s the goddamn wave pool. Even worse, there’s a nine year old boy laid out on the stone patio next to the pool, dripping wet, brown hair plastered to his forehead. He’s unconscious, bleeding from the side of his head, and his chest isn't rising and falling like it should be. Buck freezes immediately at the sight, reaching out for Eddie with his right hand, and wrapping his fingers around Eddie’s left wrist. It takes Eddie a moment to realize that Buck is feeling for his pulse, grounding himself.

Eddie does his best to steady his breathing and heart rate once he realizes what Buck is doing. The sight in front of them is upsetting to him, of course it is, but he knows it’s worse for Buck. He’s not the one who walked around for hours not knowing if Christopher was dead or alive. He’s not the one who almost died himself (at least, not that day.) “It’s okay,” he murmurs quietly, so only Buck can hear. “I’m here, I’m alive. That’s not Christopher.” It’s purely a medical call at this point, so he makes no attempt to move away from Buck as Hen and Chimney begin administering CPR to the boy. His mother is crying, wailing, begging them to save him. His lips are turning blue. Buck’s grip on Eddie’s wrist is like a vice.

“We got a pulse!” Hen finally calls out.

Buck’s grip doesn’t loosen, but Eddie does hear him let out of a heavy breath. He twists his hand out of Buck’s grip just enough that he can slide his arm up, so Buck is no longer holding his wrist, but is holding his hand. He gives Buck’s hand a firm squeeze and finally hazards a glance up at the man in question. Buck is staring at their intertwined hands now, confused. At least, Eddie decides, he’s distracted from the drowning boy. He runs his thumb along the back of Buck’s hand, in what he hopes is a comforting gesture.

He knows they’re crossing some kind of line here, that hand holding in the middle of an emergency scene (even one where their presence turned out not to be strictly necessary) is not something that he’ll be able to brush off as strictly platonic. It doesn’t scare him like it used to, though. Maybe it’s because he watched Buck date Taylor, so he knows how much worse it would be to not have Buck, or maybe it’s all the therapy he’s been in since the shooting. Either way, Eddie’s not afraid anymore. He and Buck have been on the edge of something--or maybe everything--for months, so if holding Buck’s hand will help ground him, keep his mind from thrusting him back in time, then it’s a risk Eddie is willing to take.

Hen and Chimney are loading the boy into the ambulance--he is breathing again, still unconscious and probably severely concussed, but alive--when Bobby finally makes his way over to them. He takes in the haunted look in Buck’s eyes, and the fact that their hands are still tightly clasped together, and frowns.

“You boys alright?” He asks, but he’s looking at Buck.

Buck nods slowly. “I--Yeah. Just...Brought up some bad memories.”

“This was a rough one,” Bobby agrees. “I’m gonna take us off rotation for a while when we get back to the station.”

“Thanks, Cap,” Eddie says. Buck doesn’t say anything.

Bobby smiles in that warm, fatherly way of his, looking between them. “Take care of each other.”

As if there’s any universe where they wouldn’t.

Eddie doesn’t let go of Buck’s hand until they get back to the station, and only because he needs two hands to cook.

“I’m not hungry,” Buck says, still hovering in Eddie’s space.

“You were about to eat before the call came in,” Eddie insists gently. “You need to eat.”

“And you’re gonna cook for me?” Buck shakes his head. “I think I’ll take my chances with starvation.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, pulling out a griddle and a clean spatula. “I think I can handle grilled cheese, Buck.”

Buck’s mouth opens and closes in surprise. “Grilled cheese?”

“Maddie may have mentioned making it for you a lot growing up.” Eddie flushes slightly at having to admit he’s talked to Maddie about Buck. “I thought it would be comforting.”

Buck stares at him, eyes wide and mouth turning up into a tentative smile. “Yeah, it is.”

“Good,” Eddie smiles back. “Now, go sit down.”

Eddie bustles about the kitchen, pulling out the good buttermilk bread that Chimney always buys instead of the whole wheat bread that Bobby puts on the list, the pre-sliced cheddar cheese, and the butter. “After we eat, how about we video call Christopher?” It’s late in the afternoon, he’ll be home from school by now.

Buck lets out a long exhale. “Yes, please.”

Eddie flips the bread slices on the griddle and places the cheese slices on the toasted side. “Great.”

“I--” Buck starts. “I didn’t know how to ask.”

Eddie looks up from the sandwiches. “How to ask for what?”

“To talk to Christopher,” Buck draws patterns on the tabletop with his index finger. “I know I’m not--He’s not mine.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything at first, just plates up the sandwiches, brings them over to the table, and sits down next to Buck, who takes a small, tentative bite.

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“What?”

“You said Christopher isn’t yours,” Eddie picks up his sandwich, but doesn’t bite into it. “I don’t think that’s true.”

Buck is staring at him again, confused.

“Look, I don’t know what we are anymore, Buck,” Eddie admits. “Things are different between us now, and I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know that you love Christopher, and that he loves you just as much. If that doesn’t give you a right to call him, to reassure yourself that he’s okay, then I don’t know what does.”

“I…” Buck’s eyes fill with tears.

"It's okay, Buck." Eddie reaches over to wipe Buck's tears with his thumb. “Just eat your grilled cheese."

Buck does as he’s told, making it halfway through the sandwich in three bites. “You know, there’s no law that says we have to wait until we finish eating to call Christopher.”

Eddie raises a skeptical eyebrow, looking up from his own half-eaten lunch. “Will you actually finish eating if we call now?”

“Absolutely.” Buck takes a big bite to prove his point. “See?” He says, through a mouthful of food. Something so childish shouldn’t be so endearing, and yet, somehow it is.

Helpless, Eddie pulls out his phone. Carla answers on the second ring. “You better have a good reason for interrupting math homework.”

“I do.” Eddie assures her. “Can you put Chris on?”

Carla gives him a look, but does as he asks. Christopher is grinning--probably excited to have his math homework interrupted “Hi, Dad!”

“Hey, kid.” Eddie can’t help but return his son’s smile. “How’s the math homework going?”

Christopher’s smile falters slightly. “Oh, it’s good.”

Somehow Eddie doesn’t totally believe that, but it’s not important now. “Listen, I’ve got somebody here who wants to say ‘hi’, is that okay?”

The boy’s smile comes back even wider than before. “Is it Buck?”

“Yeah,” Buck says, loud enough that the phone can catch it. “It’s me.”

“Hand the phone to Buck, Dad!” Christopher is bouncing with excitement. “Hand the phone to Buck!”

He does, scooching his chair closer so he can still see the screen himself, and before Buck can even greet Christopher, the kid is launching into a monologue.

“Buck! Dr. Lassiter assigned us a big, semester-long project for science class, can you pleeeaaase help me with it? I want to build a model of the solar system, but it has to be totally accurate.”

The tension Buck's body has been holding onto since the phrase “water park” fell from Bobby’s lips is finally starting to fade.

“Absolutely. Do we want it to move?”

Christopher’s eyes widen on screen. “Yes!”

Buck laughs. “Well then, we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

Eddie smiles softly, as Buck and Christopher begin planning their project. He knows he must look like a lovesick fool, but to be fair, that’s what he is. He rests one hand over the crook of Buck’s elbow, and doesn’t miss the pink that appears across his cheeks.

“Alright, you three,” that’s Carla’s voice, “Somebody still has math homework to finish, and I’m sure you boys will have to get back to work soon.”

Eddie sighs. Carla is right, unfortunately. But Buck looks lighter than he has all day. “We better do what Carla says.”

“Will you come over after work?” Christopher asks. They won't get off until after Christopher will already be at school, so Buck will probably go to his loft after work. But Eddie doesn’t doubt now that Christopher has asked, Buck will manage to make it over to their house by the time Christopher is home from school. He wonders if it's too soon to ask Buck to sleep in his bed, instead of going to his loft at all. It's yet another line to cross, but at this point Eddie's lost track of all the lines they've crossed.

“You bet,” is Buck’s answer. “Now get back to your math!”

“Okay, dad,” Christopher says, rolling his eyes, voice dripping with sarcasm. It’s meant to be a joke at Buck’s expense, but Eddie can see the breath catching in Buck’s throat all the same, so he pulls the phone from his hand and takes over.

“Good-bye, Christopher! We love you!”

“Bye Dad! Bye Buck! I love you guys, too.”

Buck finds his voice again. “Bye Superman!”

“So,” Eddie says, putting the phone down. “Do you feel better now?”

“Eddie…” Buck hesitates, dropping his hand down so it rests over Eddie’s. His skin is warm and rough and unlike earlier Eddie can actually enjoy the feeling. “Thank you.” He’s thanking Eddie for more than just the grilled cheese and the phone call, and Eddie knows it.

His answer is simple. He turns his hand over, and interlocks their fingers. “Always, Buck.”

[ncssian]

A Favor: Bonus Scene Two (Gwynriel)

Masterlist

a/n: this picks up right after nesta leaves gwyn’s apartment in Part 24. warning for discussions of sex, obviously.

***

As soon as the apartment door shuts after Nesta, Gwyn releases a breath and turns to Azriel with a wide gaze. “Do I really have to teach you guitar?” she says.

“Of course not.” He rolls his eyes. It was a throwaway line meant to get Nesta off his back, and even she didn’t entirely believe it. He moves toward the kitchen to get a glass of water, still shaken from Nesta storming into Gwyn’s bedroom like that. Not that she interrupted much. Gwyn still has a long way to go before she can handle anyone touching her between her legs, Azriel thinks.

He never asked Gwyn what a twenty-seven year old woman was so afraid of sex for when she first suggested her proposal to him. She looked so scared that he would question her that he couldn’t bring himself to poke even a little bit. Not that he needs to poke. He’s not a fucking idiot, and Gwyn’s thighs had been trembling in involuntary fear under his hands earlier. She’s been hurt.

For her sake, he pretends to remain ignorant and incurious, but right now his grip on the glass in his hand is so tight it might shatter. His face remains cool as he pours himself water.

“Why didn’t you tell her the truth?” Gwyn hops up onto the kitchen counter and swings her freakishly long legs. “About what you get out of our deal?”

“I don’t expect you to teach me sex for free, obviously,” Gwyn blabbered the day after they got back from the ski lodge. “You can ask for something from me, too. Even money, if that’s your thing.”

Prostitution was not Azriel’s thing, though he wouldn’t knock it. The truth was that his brain had started turning as soon as Gwyn told him about her idea, and now it couldn’t stop. Oddly enough, this opportunity was perfect.

“Tell Nesta that I’m using you as a rebound?” Azriel nearly snorts on his water. “Did you miss the part where she almost cut my dick off and choked me with it?”

Gwyn hums noncommittally. “Being a distraction from your ex is better for me than it is for you. It’s insurance that you won’t get any funny ideas.” She narrows her teal eyes at him. “If you find yourself moving on from Nesta’s hot sister, you better tell me right away. I’ll end this whole thing quickly and cleanly.”

“Why?” He thought moving on from Elain was the goal, one he was unlikely to achieve.

“You know.” She crosses her arms in an X over her chest like she’s warding him off. “You might catch—feelings for me.”

This time Azriel really does snort on his water, hard. His laughter turns into coughing when it slips down the wrong pipe, and liquid dribbles onto his shirt. Gwyn just sits there and stares at him in vague disgust.

When he’s done choking, he wipes his mouth with the hem of his tee and gasps, “Even without Elain, you wouldn’t need to worry about that. Trust me.”

Gwyn wrinkles her freckled nose in distaste. “I would be offended if I wasn’t so relieved.”

He’s still chuckling when Gwyn says cautiously, “By the way…” She chews on the inside of her cheek. “Did you really ghost Elain?”

Azriel is no longer amused.

“When you said you broke up with her, I thought you actually broke up with her,” Gwyn continues. “I didn’t know you were one of those guys.”

Shame tinged with embarrassment floods Azriel, and he doesn’t have the slightest idea why. Why does it matter what Gwyn of all people thinks of him, especially when she doesn’t have all the details?

He thought he was making things easier for Elain by leaving without a word. He thought she would let him slip out of her mind after a couple of weeks just like he slipped out of her life, and that it would be better than having to hear him dump his insecurities on her.

He knows now that he was only making things easier for himself. Knows that if he had stayed and talked things out with Elain, she would have convinced him to stay. If he had called her at all in the past two months, he would have gone running back to Velaris like a sailor answering a siren’s song.

She’s always been a siren—which is why he can’t regret doing what would have happened eventually anyway. Even without that Vanserra bastard or some other man, Elain could never have been a permanent fixture in Azriel’s life. Little details sprinkled throughout their time together confirm that for him now.

That doesn’t mean Elain deserved it, or deserves it now. Azriel knows that.

But all he can think of to say to Gwyn is, “Yeah, maybe I am one of those guys.” He puts his glass in the sink. “You still want me as your teacher?”

Gwyn shrugs, looking away. “It’s not like I’ve got any other choice.”

Azriel would disagree. He says what he’s been thinking since they got back from Cassian’s birthday trip. “Wouldn’t you rather do this with someone you love and trust?”

“God no,” Gwyn snorts, providing no further explanation.

Azriel can understand being hesitant to admit sexual inexperience to a crush, but it doesn’t stop him from judging Gwyn’s new man. If this coworker of hers is so great, wouldn’t she be able to trust him unabashedly with her insecurities? Wouldn’t he readily accept her for all that she is?

Ugh, he’s been dipping into Nesta’s reading collection too much lately. “Alright, then.” He leans against the counter opposite Gwyn. “Let’s talk about learning. You clammed up in bed back there after ignoring my suggestions and shoving my head between your legs.”

“I clammed up because of my best friend barging into my room and catching us together,” Gwyn defends.

“Your pussy was dry as bread before that,” he retorts. Ooh, now he wants toast.

Gwyn turns a furious shade of red while Azriel starts looking around for bread. He finds it sitting by the toaster. “Can you not say that?” she hisses at him.

“What?” He looks up from dropping bread into the toaster.

“You know…” She glances around cautiously as if someone might overhear. “Pussy.”

“Pussy,” he says again, just to be annoying. Gwyn’s shoulders turn inward in embarrassment, and he has to hold back a grin. Yeah, she’s definitely not ready for oral.

He finds a butter knife and some peanut butter. “I told you to start easy and you ignored me. You tried jumping into the deep end without learning how to tread water.”

Gwyn scoffs. “And what does ‘treading water’ entail again?”

Azriel shrugs, plucking up his finished toast. “Making out, heavy petting, freshman-year-of-high-school kind of stuff.”

“I’ve done that before,” she mutters indignantly. “Maybe not in my freshman year, but I’ve done it.”

He wonders how long ago that was, or if it was before she was—hurt.

“Besides,” Gwyn goes on before he can push the matter further, “I’m not budging on kissing. I want to save that for the man I actually like.”

“You don’t like me?” Azriel raises a brow, slathering peanut butter over his toast. “You definitely don’t act the same with me as you do with other men.” Or at least that’s what he assumes. Up until a short while ago, he never would’ve been able to imagine timid Gwyn having the guts to ask anyone for sex ed. That’s got to make him special, right?

But then Gwyn waves him off and says, “That’s ‘cause you’re not a real man. I knew you before puberty.”

Azriel nearly drops his toast. “Wow, the nerve of this woman,” he mutters with wide eyes. If she keeps this up, he’s going to start regretting ever going to the same school as her. “That’s not what you said when you were going on about how attracted you are to me.”

“I said you were attractive, not that I was attracted.” Gwyn’s blush is more from irritation than shyness now. “You do the job, but you’re no Max.” She giggles at saying his name. Actually giggles. “I’ll only kiss Max.”

“What kind of stupid ass name is Max?” Azriel grumbles through a mouthful of peanut butter.

“It’s short for Maximillian.”

He chokes. “Jesus, that’s even worse.” He’s doing all this work for some guy named Maximillian. Maybe he should just go home and let Nesta give him the beating he deserves.

Except thinking about Nesta only reminds Azriel of what a coward he is, because he fears facing her again almost as much as he fears facing Elain. “By the way, could I…” he starts hesitantly.

Gwyn gives him a judgmental sneer. “You don’t want to go back to the cabin, do you?”

He shakes his head.

“You can’t stay here,” she responds, crushing his hopes. “I have plans tonight, but even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t let you be such a wimp.” She hops off the counter and comes over to him, surprising him by grabbing both of his shoulders. “Azriel,” she says somberly.

He swallows his toast roughly.

“You have to grow some balls,” she continues. “Not just for your sake, but for the sake of every poor woman in your life. Also, all this drama is personally a turn-off for me, which is detrimental to my sex education.” She wrinkles her nose. “Do better and all that, you know?”

Damn, okay.

Instead of standing there like an idiot, Azriel manages to say, “Fine, I’ll go.” He shoves the rest of his toast into his mouth and dusts off his hands, heading for the living room.

“Wait, you don’t have to leave right now—” Gwyn follows after him. Azriel is already on the couch, pulling a stray notepad and pen on the coffee table closer to himself.

He clicks the pen. “When’s that library guy planning to take you out?” he asks, starting to write.

Gwyn hovers near him, watching the notepad over his shoulder in confusion. “Um, this Saturday. Just a casual coffee shop thing.”

“Then I’ll see you on Friday.” He scribbles down some bullet points and labels the page LESSON PLAN. “Until then, think about a way to enjoy foreplay without kissing. Here are some suggestions so you can practice.” He tears the lined paper out of the notepad and hands it to Gwyn.

Her eyes skim over the page, brows rising with each point she reads. “Is all this really necessary?”

Azriel remembers how he barely brushed his lips against Gwyn’s core before having to pull away and kiss her quivering thigh instead. He can’t have sex with an unaroused woman, and he definitely can’t do it with a terrified woman. “Foreplay is absolutely necessary,” he says, getting up from the couch and stretching to his full height. Where Elain used to only reach his chest, Gwyn’s head almost reaches his nose. It amuses him for some reason.

“Do you like movies?” he adds. “I’ll take you to the movies on Friday.” Preferably something boring and played out, so the theater will be empty and she won’t be paying attention.

Gwyn’s eyes widen. “Is going on dates also part of foreplay?”

“It can be,” Azriel shrugs. It will be when he does it. He drops a hand onto Gwyn’s head and ruffles her hair. “I’d love to stay and help you study, but I have to go and grow some balls.” He mock-frowns at her as he heads for his shoes and keys. “See you later, Gwyneth.”

***

a/n: wait why do i wanna write the movie theater scene now… pls help me im just trying to finish this damn fic im getting too old for this

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[gripefroot]

A Court of Dusk and Shadows ❲7❳

Mor sat at the one end of the table, Azriel and Elain across from her. The twins flitted in like shadows as they brought dishes to the table, but Mor was watching the pair across from her with a great deal of interest crackling in her eyes, brows seeming to be permanently lifted. It was Elain’s soft thank you to Nuala, who poured the wine, that broke the silence. Azriel’s fists were clenched in his lap. He could still taste her in his mouth - the last thing he wanted right now was food. 

“So,” Mor said, swirling the wine in her glass. “How long have you two been...you know.” 

“Mor,” Azriel said in warning. 

“No one else knows, if that’s what you’re afraid of.” Mor smiled, something sweet and sly for Elain. But Elain, her face flushed from both what had happened in the kitchen and being caught, was looking at her lap. Azriel reached beneath the table to steady her shaking knee - her grateful smile as a burst of sunlight.  “It seems obvious to me,” Mor went on mildly. “But the others...see only what they want to see.” 

Steam curled from the supper dishes - but no one seemed to have any appetite. 

“It’s...complicated,” Elain whispered. 

“Oh, I know,” Mor said in a bright, kind voice. “But you aren’t alone, either.” A sip of wine, and after setting her glass back down she gave a sigh and reached for Elain’s golden pie. “Don’t worry,” she said, hefting herself a slice. Clearly still aware of the tenseness in the dining room. “I won’t tell anyone. I’m fantastic at keeping secrets.”

Azriel couldn’t help smiling. “I know. You’ve almost got me beat.”

Mor said nothing to that, but continued, “I’ll even help keep that Vanserra male off your scents, if you like. Cauldron knows that family has awful luck with mates, anyway.” 

“You don’t think I should - be with Lucien?” Elain asked in a small voice. Mor’s expression went sour, pinching at the edges as her fingers inched towards a platter of white beans swimming in butter sauce. 

“You shouldn’t be with anyone you don’t want to be with,” Mor said roughly. “Whatever anyone else says. Including the Cauldron or fate or the most powerful High Lord in history.” 

A pause as she filled her plate. Azriel jolted, and a few more daring shadows brought the steaming pie towards him. He served Elain first. She needed to eat - even if her hands in her lap still trembled. Concern wrenched through him as he saw the slump of her shoulders. 

 “It’s...not the safest, to choose him.” Mor glanced at Azriel, her expression unreadable. “But I think he’s worth it.” 

A smile at last bloomed on Elain’s face, prettier than the first flowers of spring. “He is,” she said softly. Eyes flitting to Azriel, and he smiled back as he clenched the spoon, a mound of pie splattering onto his plate and onto his shirt. But he didn’t care. 

“Oh, Cauldron,” Mor murmured. Another gulp of wine. “Keep up like that and everyone will know. Is this why you moved out of the river house, Elain?” 

“Not entirely,” Elain said. Managed to pick up a fork as Azriel watched out of the corner of her eye, poking around a few peas on her plate. “I - I was beginning to feel...like a doll. Feyre and Rhys mean well, but they - they never thought to offer me independence. So I decided to take it. No one’s watching over my shoulder here, waiting for me to have visions or mate with a man - male I’ve barely met.” 

Mor’s brows lifted. Looking at Elain in a new light. 

“I think there’s something wrong in her bond with Lucien,” Azriel admitted suddenly. Both females stared at him - he hadn’t even confided this to Elain, but he reached out blindly to grasp her hand atop the table. Mor, however, glanced again at Elain. Considered her. Azriel felt a hum of power, glowing like moonshine - and then it was gone. 

“You’re right,” Mor said quietly. “I hadn’t looked closely before, but…”

“A spell?” Azriel asked. 

“It could be.” Mor broke into a bread roll, mopping up the gravy from the pie. “What gave it away?” 

“I felt her,” Azriel said. Though he continued to address Mor, he turned to Elain, squeezing her hand as a sad sort of smile lifted her lips. “I felt her before she went into the Cauldron. Barely. But it was there. Enough - enough that I wondered. I wondered if it was a bond. And when she came out...and Lucien claimed her...something inside of me just went...empty. Silent.” 

Elain’s smile had faded. Deep, unrelenting sorrow lined her face as she covered Azriel’s hand with hers, the blue of his Siphon flickering as if in response to her.

“Well, you were bleeding to death,” Mor pointed out. 

“But I still felt her,” Azriel went on. “Still felt the pull. Like a phantom, remembering what should be there. I still feel it now.” 

“Fascinating,” Mor mused.

“I always wondered, too,” Elain whispered. Head tilting to the side, her curls spilling over her shoulder in a lovely vision as she stared at Azriel. “The night - the night I first spent with Grayson, I...I dreamt of you.” 

Mor gawked. And then hid a snort into a napkin as she struggled not to laugh - Azriel sent a snarl her way, but for Elain he used his most gentle voice, “You dreamt of me?”

“I did.” Elain’s cheeks were pink now, but her smile was lovely as ever as she gazed up at him. “I’d - I’d forgotten. In the dream, you were - you were carrying me in your arms. We were flying.”

“A vision?” Mor asked, but Elain shook her head. 

“I was still human. How could I have had visions?” 

“Stranger things have happened,” Mor said. Azriel privately agreed. “Have you spoken to Helion about it?” Mor asked next. “No one knows spells better.” 

Supper was slowly picked at as Azriel summarized his conversations with Helion and the High Lord’s experimentation and findings regarding a forged mating bond. Mor listened with a great deal of interest, interjecting with a question here or there, but Elain was silent. It worried him enough that he sent a shadow to stroke up her neck, to give some comfort - so that she knew he was there. That she wasn’t alone. 

“How could Lucien have made such a spell?” Mor was frowning as Nuala brought a tray of cakes for dessert. “I never noticed him having any magic beyond what a seventh son ought to have. Nothing unusual.” 

“He’s not Beron’s seventh son,” Azriel said. Mor blinked, and even Elain stiffened beside him. Weighing the consequences, Azriel paused for a moment - and knew he was safer sharing this information with no other audience. And so he said, “Lucien is the sole heir of The High Lord of the Day Court.” 

“He - ” Mor started. “He’s Helion’s son? But - but that - ” 

Brows pinching, her voice trailed off. As she worked through that, Azriel glanced at Elain beside him - her expression was beyond fathoming, though she gave him a smile when she saw him watching her. Azriel shooed away the shadow behind her neck, replacing it with his hand to rub the tense muscles there. Immediately Elain slackened, a soft sigh warming his soul as her eyes closed. Sore from being bent over the kitchen table, most likely. 

“I can’t believe I didn’t realize before,” Mor murmured. Rubbing her temple with her manicured fingers, face contorted in disbelief and amusement and confusion. “Then Lucien would have the power to do it - but he doesn’t know?”

“No,” Azriel said, continuing to rub Elain’s neck as she leaned closer to him. “Nor does Helion.”

“Lucien must be completely untrained! How could he make such a spell to imitate a mating bond? And to silence yours?”

“I can’t prove that I had one before,” Azriel said carefully. “And...he might not have done it consciously. Magic can explode without any thought or premeditation. He could have simply seen her...the way Hybern had her tied up and was dragging her into the Cauldron and...his frustration and anger threw out a spell. You were there, Mor - you saw the way Lucien broke free of Hybern’s spell. He has the power.” 

“But then,” Elain wet her lips with her tongue. “Then - Lucien wouldn’t be my mate.”

“Definitely not,” Mor said. 

“And I would be free.” This was whispered - just for Azriel. His heart thumped at the sight of earnest adoration shining in her face. 

“You are free, Elain,” Mor told her, voice cooller now. “Truly. Blood duel or not. Only in the Autumn Court or the Court of Nightmares would they force you to mate. And you’re in neither of those places. No one will compel you to accept Lucien - and I daresay, with time and the right handling, no one will complain too much if you choose Azriel, instead.”

“I love him.” 

He saw her perfect lips form the words rather than hear them, so softly she spoke - but quiet as it was, it sunk beneath his ribs to rest in that empty place. Not clanging, not echoing - but resting. Taking a place in the center of him to glow, soft and bright. Azriel held her gaze, fingers sliding into her hair as he twisted in his chair to draw her closer to him. Her head against his shoulder, and he breathed her in, unheeding of Mor as he kissed her forehead. 

“I think I’m being asked to leave,” Mor murmured. 

“It’s nothing personal,” Azriel said, casting her a smile. 

“Well, then.” 

But Mor was smiling as she stood, filching one last cake to disappear into her mouth as she glided out of the dining room, calling a goodbye for Nuala as she grabbed her thick blue cloak from the bannister. A few moments later the front door clicked closed, and Azriel released a breath. Stroking Elain’s soft curls as he felt her warmth seeping into his skin. 

“I love you,” he said. Her lips on his cheek, but he didn’t pull away. “I - I do. Elain, I love you.” 

“I know,” she whispered back. 

“Do you?” Azriel was frowning as he caught her hands in his, Siphons guttering as he stared into her lovely eyes. “Do you know I think of you every day? I ache for you, Elain. Every hour. Each moment I’m not with you is agony. It eats away at me, here.” He pressed one of her hands to the hollow place beneath her ribs. She was blinking fast as if to stave off tears, and he lowered his voice. "And every day I think of the traitor I am to my High Lord. And how I don't even regret it. And that if he knew, he'd feed me to the beasts of the Hewn City, and he'd be right to, and that even as I was being torn limb from limb I would not regret even just kissing you once." Azriel drew in a deep breath. “And you’ve given me so much more than a kiss, Elain.” 

Tears slipped out of her eyes, anyway. He caught one or two on his fingers, wiping her cheeks dry as she huffed a watery laugh. 

“I never thought I could have this,” Elain said in a broken voice. “I never thought I could have you.” 

“You do,” he said firmly. “I’m yours. Mating bond or not - I...I think I love you enough to make a bond seem like a paltry souvenir. I don’t care what fate says. I’m yours.” 

Another laugh, and Azriel kissed away the still-falling tears on her cheeks. Letting the salt soak into him as much as she had in the kitchen earlier as the legs of the chairs they sat in scraped against the hard floor. He stood to scoop her into his arms, her face buried in his neck as she pulled herself together - and he made softly for the stairs that wreathed themselves in shadows. 

“I’m so happy,” Elain whispered into his neck. “I’m - I’m so tired, and so happy.” 

In response he kissed her head again. “I’m taking you to bed,” Azriel said. Then, clarifying, “To sleep.” 

“Will you stay with me?”

“Yes.”

Elain slipped into the bathing room as he paused in the flickering light of the fire to unlatch and unlace the knives strapped to his body. It was Truth-Teller that he put on the bedside table, beside a vase of evergreens and a book Elain must be reading. He still hadn’t washed since sparring with Cassian that afternoon...it seemed a lifetime away, he thought, and strode to the window to push aside the curtain. 

But nothing was out of place in the dark garden below. Nothing unusual in the skies - stars obscured by thin, cool clouds that heralded rain. It would likely storm tomorrow. And as long as Rhys didn’t send for him...Azriel had no intention of leaving Elain. 

She was a soft vision in pale pink when she returned, yawning, with her curls braided over her shoulder. He watched with a tug in his gut as she paused, smiling at him from the foot of the bed. 

“Come lay with me?” A breathy request. As if he could ever tell her no - Azriel jerked his chin in assent. No matter how out of place he was amongst the silks and brocades of her bedchamber, as dark and wounded as he was - if she wanted him, he’d be here. 

Shadows curled in the corners of the room like cats. Cozy, warm, and watchful as he himself curled next to Elain in her enormous bed. She murmured her intention to read a few chapters before going to sleep, picking up her book and not remarking on Truth-Teller’s appearance - Azriel groaned at how lovely she smelled, how lovely it was to rest in this softness with her nearby...and rested his head on her lap. Fingers curled around her knee, just to hold her. And her own fingers running absently through his hair as his eyes began to droop shut. He hadn’t felt such heavy tiredness weighing him down in...in a lifetime. 

“I haven’t bathed,” Azriel muttered. “I’m sorry if I smell.” 

Elain breathed in then, and he felt her nose brush against his hair. The soft touch made his wings flare slightly before settling in, just as ready to rest as he was. 

“You smell perfect,” was all she said, and it was the last thing he heard before he fell asleep. 

⚘ ⚘ ⚘

Morning sunlight tried to startle him awake, but he ignored it. Then it was a cool, creeping shadow across his face, but at his frown it drifted away. Azriel felt heavier than he’d ever been, drowsier than he could remember - how long had it been since he’d sleep this deeply? A year? Two? Five? Fifty? Some part of him grovelled in annoyance that he wasn’t up already: some part that wanted to move, to return to his duties hunting down information and enemies for his High Lord. But mostly...mostly he wanted to go back to sleep. 

A warm body stirred behind him, the small hand that rested on his chest tightening slightly. He’d have a cramp in his wing for this, but it was worth it - worth having Elain curled up around him with her cheek against his shoulder and her arm snaked over it. Holding him like he was something to cherish - something she cherished. 

The only issue of sleeping so long and hard without moving was that he felt sore all over. Stiff. Weary. Tongue heavy, parched, and still saturated with the taste of her. 

“Azriel? Are you awake?” 

Her sleepy, soft morning voice was the loveliest thing he’d ever heard. And the way she said his name...Azriel clutched her hand and held it to his chest, humming in return. Still refusing to open his eyes. 

Then he felt her lips at the back of his neck. 

Arousal was as swift as a wave of foaming water, crashing against rocks - he hardened in his trousers, sucking in a jasmine-infused breath that coated his mouth and bones with her. Did she recognize the shift in his scent? Would it stop her from nuzzling against him, her hand on his middle, now?

“You snore,” Elain whispered into his ear, and he couldn’t help the snort that escaped him. 

“I don’t remember the last time someone told me that,” Azriel said. “Maybe Cassian, a hundred years ago.” A pause as he threaded his fingers through hers, pressing her palm more firmly against his stomach. “I don’t normally sleep well,” he admitted. 

“But you did last night?”

“Yes.” 

“Good.” 

“Good,” he repeated. Then craned his neck back to see her - her fresh, rosy face over his shoulder with a smile that was somehow brighter than the sunrise that crested through the window behind her. Crooking his elbow backwards was not pleasant, but touching Elain’s pretty cheek with the backs of his knuckles...it was worth it. Especially as her smile deepened. 

“I slept well, too,” she said. 

“Do you normally not?” 

The roses in her cheeks stained a deeper red. Something dark lurked in her warm eyes, but she shook it off with a shrug. “I think we all have nightmares,” Elain murmured. 

It was true - but Azriel frowned as he twisted in the bedsheets. Wanting to face her, to drink her in - it was awkward and his wings nearly got tangled in the brocade hangings, making her laugh - but with a grunt he was lying next to her, fingers gently stroking her chin as she smiled down at him. 

“I didn’t know you had nightmares,” he said carefully. 

Again she shrugged. “I’m sure they’re not as bad as everyone else’s.” 

“That doesn’t mean they’re not bad, Elain.” 

“I don’t wake up screaming or vomiting,” she insisted. “They’re not bad.” 

“Elain - ” Azriel started. But, shaking her head, she placed a finger on his lips. It quieted him, though he glared mulishly as she laughed. He nipped at her finger, catching it in his mouth and sucking slightly, dragging the taste of her off of her own skin - Elain blinked, and trembled, laughter gone quiet. 

“Oh,” she said, squeaking slightly. “I - I can’t decide if I hushed you or you hushed me.” 

He chuckled, twisting her wrist to plant kisses along the bluish veins that spidered beneath her delicate skin. Her pulse was faint here, but steady and brisk. And completely, utterly delicious. 

“Does that hurt?” Elain asked suddenly. Her eyes weren’t on him - but on the skewed collar of his shirt. He couldn’t see what she was asking about, but then her fingers were there pressing gently, and Azriel grunted with sharp discomfort. 

“Must have bruised from Cassian yesterday,” he said. “It’ll be better by tomorrow.” 

“But - you’re sore?” 

Azriel smiled crookedly. “Part of being a warrior. And sleeping so wonderfully for the first time in...years.” 

Elain’s lips pursed in grim determination. Sitting forward on her haunches, hair spilling over her shoulder like a golden waterfall as he stared, stared, stared, and she said, “Tell me where it hurts.” 

He was too surprised to protest. Gestured instead to his shoulder where he might have overextended it yesterday...and as soon as her hands were there, kneading the muscles gently, he knew that he had. A groan slipped from his lips as his wings shuddered behind him, but Elain didn’t stop. 

“I must not have stretched enough,” he mumbled into a pillow. 

“Your shirt is in the way,” Elain said. Then he felt her fingers on the buttons beneath his wings, and his fading erection tightened again. “Take it off and I’ll get some oil.” 

Cauldron boil him. Did she really intend to rub out his sore muscles? Her weight disappeared from the bed and he heard her footsteps disappear into the bathing room. Smacking his dry mouth, Azriel pulled off his shirt in a haze and threw it aside, rolling onto his stomach so that his wings could lay flat, drooping all the way to the ground on either side of the bed. Showing himself off this way...he wouldn’t have done it with anyone else. But Elain…

Her soft gasp when she returned sent a prideful trickle down his spine. She liked the sight of him - and when she came nearer and he heard the clink of a bottle on a nightstand, he smelled arousal sweetening her scent. At least he was face-down on the bed so she wouldn’t see how hard he was. 

The bed dipped as she crawled over him, mindful of his wings as she sat on his legs. The oil must have been scented with rosemary - the air was thick with it. 

“Is there...anywhere you don’t want me to touch?” 

“Nowhere is off-limits to you,” Azriel murmured. “Just...some parts might make me squirm.”

“And if I want to make you squirm?”

He went still. Barely breathing. “Then...you’ll have to find those spots, won’t you?” 

Warm, slick hands slid up either side of his ribs, and he shifted his wings upwards to accommodate her. But it was as far as she went, opting to press her palms into the sore muscles of his back, working him as if he were a lump of dough. Which - after this - he might as well be for all the bonelessness taking over him. 

“Your tattoos are beautiful,” Elain whispered, thumbs pressing against the base of his wings. Azriel had to swallow several times before saying in a raspy voice,

“Thank you.” 

“Is this good?” Around his wings, up towards his shoulders. He bit back a moan. 

“It’s perfect,” he managed. 

At her touch, she expelled more than simple soreness - it was as though she squeezed darkness from his very muscles. Not just darkness, but sorrow and longing and solitude. Days and nights where only his shadows had kept him company, when he watched his family laugh while he was shuttered to the side. His own nightmares that gnawed at him in the night, freezing him with icy fear that kept him up until dawn. When her fingers rolled up to his neck, and she scooted forward to perch on his lower back to better reach, Azriel could forget why he’d been so unhappy all these years. 

“Thank you,” he murmured over his shoulder. Not even lifting his head, but peeking open an eye to see her determined gaze on his back. 

“You should have asked sooner,” Elain reprimanded. “You’re covered in more knots than an embroidered cushion.” And as if to prove it, her thumbs pushed into his shoulders as he yelped at the pain. But she didn’t relent, and he gripped into the sheets to keep from thrashing until the pain softened, and slunk away faster than a sigh. 

“Cauldron alive,” Azriel grunted. His back felt about a hundred pounds lighter. “You have magic hands, Elain.” 

“Shall I keep going?” 

“Please.” 

It took at least a half-hour for her to work that magic on the entirety of his shoulders and neck, where the bulk of the soreness was. By the end he felt looser than an unstrung ball of twine, grinning sappily into the pillow as she worked her way back down between his wings again. He heard her hum, a considering sound. 

“And - and your wings? Should I?” 

“I would pay you in gold to touch them,” he said hoarsely. “Just - be gentle on the membrane.” 

Despite how small her hands were, they were infinitely skilled: even working the tough muscles of his wings, which Azriel was certain she’d never done for another Illyrian before - she could feel the knots and tenseness with her fingers. And then obliterated them with gentle firmness as he grew harder and harder in his pants. Still grateful she couldn’t see. 

“I remember when you came for me,” Elain whispered after a while, and he felt her knuckles brushing against the raised scars along the membranes - his hair stood on end, and he could only grunt in response. “In Hybern’s camp. I...I didn’t think you’d come.”

Azriel shifted slightly. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

“Because...I am Lucien’s.” 

“You are yours,” he growled under his breath. 

“I didn’t think you noticed me. Or cared enough to...to find me.” 

“I did. I do.” 

“At first I thought...Hybern was taunting me with visions. When you appeared out of the shadows, and your eyes were nearly gold with worry. Or that I’d dreamt you exactly how I wanted you - with me, seeing me. And I felt so...bare. Raw. And you were there.” 

Azriel couldn’t grasp her hand, not in this position - not with her touching those scars so tenderly. As if they were sacred. 

“I’ll always come for you,” he said roughly. “No matter where you are.” 

“Turn over.” 

With awkward difficulty, he did. Elain sat back, watching him with wide, soft eyes as he twisted around to sit forward, very aware of his bare chest and the obvious sign of his own arousal poking in his pants. But she was smiling as she motioned for him to lay back - he opted to sit against the pillows with his wings splayed out, better able to watch her. 

“When I realized you were taken,” Azriel murmured. “I thought I was going to fall apart. I - I don’t remember ever being so scared. Even when death haunts me, it doesn’t frighten me - but what Hybern was capable of doing to you - I was roaring inside. Here.” He tapped his ribs where the hollowness was, and her gaze drifted down. 

“You love me,” Elain whispered. 

“I loved you before I knew you.” 

Something sweet and aching took over her face, and she crawled forward to brush her lips against his - Azriel groaned at the contact, threading his fingers through her hair and catching on snarls. He’d comb it out for her later - 

Then her hands were on his chest, and before he could say anything, she was kissing his throat and shoulders, lingering on the whorls of his tattoos. And as he watched, wide-eyed, her tongue darted out to trace a swirl. 

“Does it - does it taste different?” he asked hoarsely. Elain huffed a laugh, shaking her head. 

“No. I just think they’re lovely.”

“You’re lovely,” Azriel said. 

“I’ve secretly always admired Feyre’s,” she went on. Replaced her tongue with her fingers, tracing the black patterns over his chest, his shoulders with a contemplative pinch between her brows. “But - they don’t belong on a lady.” 

“Your sister is a High Lady.” 

“I meant me.” A smile, eyes flitting up to meet his. 

“You can have whatever you want,” Azriel said in a rough voice. “And I’ll tear apart anyone who protests.” 

“I have no bargains to make,” Elain shook her head again. “Perhaps one day.” 

He went still as her fingers paused on his sternum, where the coils of black were parted by naked skin. His hand fell from her hair to rest on her silk-clad thigh. The pinkish nightgown had rucked itself up, baring her knees, but she didn’t seem bothered by it. 

“Why not today?” he asked. Again she glanced up at him, a baffled frown marring her features - but he lifted his hand to stroke away the wrinkles of her face, offering a smile. “I’ll make a bargain with you. Then you can have your own tattoo.” 

“Oh!” Elain laughed, but the lovely sound hinted at nervousness. “I don’t think we need to make a bargain.” 

“It doesn’t have to be anything dramatic,” Azriel told her. 

“Do you - do you think I should?” Anxious. 

Searching for reassurance. As if it were something she wanted, but needed to be told that it was acceptable...something in him wrenched to think of how she’d been made this way. Always worried more for others than herself. Elain’s care was as beautiful as she was, but at the cost of her own needs and desires? 

“If you want to, then you should,” he said softly. “What shall we bargain? Me to kiss you awake every morning, in exchange for that delicious pie recipe last night?”

Elain laughed again. “I can’t be optimistic enough to hope that every morning can be like this.”

She was right, even though he hated it. Azriel hummed in thought. 

“How about this,” she said suddenly, and straightened as she held out a hand for him to take. Heart thumping, he did so - riveted by the light and life in her eyes. “I promise, Azriel, to give you the first rose of my garden every spring.” 

Silver sparks were threading through his veins. Forcing himself to speak around the lump in his throat, he said, “And I promise to you, Elain, that I will always come for you when you’re in danger.” 

It was done. The silver sparks threaded, knitting themselves to his very bones as the skin across his body burned. An interesting sensation, he thought - their hands fell apart like the elongated, final fading note of a symphony. But Elain twisted her arms in front of her, frowning at the unmarked skin. 

“It could be anywhere,” Azriel said helpfully. 

But as she turned this way and that, he didn’t see even a peek of black on her - not on her back or her legs, but a shadow tickling around her breasts drew his attention there. 

“There,” he murmured. “I think.” 

Elain lifted her nightgown up to her shoulders, and her cry of delight was worth the raging desire forming in him. Along her ribs, right below her breast and up beneath her arms was a twining black leaves, shaded with murky shadows. Closed, sleeping buds of roses, too - completely, utterly her, and he grinned to see it, daring to reach out to trace the delicate whorls with his finger. 

“Perfect,” she said, dropping her nightgown again. Her cheeks were flushed.

“Yes,” Azriel gave a lazy smile. “You are.” 

“Can I - can I see yours?”

For his wasn’t on his ribs - a little searching showed that it wasn’t on his upper half at all - and Elain would have found it, eyes skating inches away from his skin across his stomach, ribs, shoulders and back. She even ruffled his hair to see if it was hidden in there - but as he laughed, she huffed and gave up. 

“I’ll show you when I find it,” he said.

“Promise?” 

“I promise.” 

Then her lips were on his. Warm and sweet and inviting, her hands on his face as he thought he’d be drunk on her before breakfast. And there was nothing better in the world. A slow, lazy, luxurious morning with the female he loved more than life itself. Even if she wasn’t his mate…

This was all he’d ever wanted. To love and be loved so thoroughly, as though she were part of his every bone and sinew. And he was part of hers. 

But it didn’t stop him from jolting when he felt her fingers on the laces of his trousers where his erection strained against the leather. “Elain,” he started, unsure of what exactly he was protesting - but she hushed him with a smile, one hand on his chest to keep him down. 

“You’ve made me feel so good,” she murmured. “So happy and loved. I want to make you feel that way, too.” 

“You already do,” Azriel rasped. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Honest, pretty eyes - he shook his head no. Not trusting his voice as even the brush of her fingers through the leather was enough to make him snap. To pounce, to press their bodies flush together skin to skin and bury himself in her - 

But that would be for another day. Elain was on her knees, fingers hooked into his trousers to pull them over his hips - he hissed as he sprang out of the leather and into the open air. Tense - for a hundred reasons - mostly wondering what would be her reaction. But, with her hair falling over her shoulders, she didn’t show even a flicker of discomfort. 

She smiled. 

With remnants of oil still on her hands, she touched him. Thumb beneath the ridge as she tilted her head as if in thought, and Azriel hadn’t breathed in several moments. He forced himself to exhale, but it was more a hiss as her small fist curled around him. Mostly. Her fingers and thumb couldn’t reach each other. Oh, Cauldron - 

Elain began to stroke him, and every thought fled from him faster than a gust of wind. Faster than a freefall, faster than a sword unsheathed - Azriel’s teeth bit down on his lip as his eyes rolled back in his head, limp against the pillows. It was just as undoing as the massage, but in an entirely different way. Heat built at the base of his spine, thick and swarming and clouding his senses. 

She didn’t use her mouth on him, which he wasn’t going to protest - even the thought of him disappearing between her perfect lips was…

He groaned aloud and she pumped him faster, fingers tightening around him. Between the way she’d touched his wings and how now, she leaned forward to kiss him - searing her lips to his in unimaginable heat - Azriel came with a ragged grunt. Hips bucking up as he spilled on himself, and her - when Elain pulled away with a mildly bemused expression, he saw white streaks on her nightgown. But he could only blink, feeling stupid.

“That was...messier than I expected,” Elain admitted. Between her fingers were webs of his seed. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever come that much,” Azriel said. “That was...I…” But he didn’t finish his sentence, riveted and tongue-tied as she brought her fingers to her mouth to suck them clean. Of him. “Elain…” he started, hoarse and taut and leaning forward as if to spring - 

“You taste different than I do,” she said as if in thought. “More salty.”

“Elain - ”

“I need a bath.” 

“Elain, you minx - ”

“Would you like to go before me, after me, or with me?” Long lashes, fluttering as a smile bloomed on her face as if she could sense every bit of the predator raging beneath his skin to take her, take her, take her - and as if she enjoyed it. Enjoyed playing a wily mouse. A minx. 

The moment thrummed. Thrummed as if a drumbeat was reverberating in the air, freezing them: Elain in her skewed, stained nightgown, beaming at him with her hair loose and her cheeks flushed, Azriel sitting forward on his fists with his wings shuddering outwards, drawing her attention - which way it would go, he didn’t care, just that he had to kiss her, touch her - 

A sharp knock rattled on the door. Before fear could surge in him, it was Cerridwen’s voice: 

“Elain? Feyre is here with Nyx to see you.” 

“I’ll go,” Azriel whispered to Elain. A kiss to her cheek, where her lips were tilting down in a frown. “Just - make sure you scrub yourself really well. And maybe use some of that perfume. I can...I can monitor from above for a while, if you like.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Elain murmured back. “I can handle Feyre.” 

Another kiss to her brow, cupping her jaw in his hand as he breathed in her scent to fill the entirety of his lungs. Wishing he could keep her tucked around him, not just for the rest of the day, but forever - he kissed her lashes as she clutched at his arms. 

“Just don’t show her that delicious tattoo,” he said into her ear. “She might get jealous.” Elain’s watery laugh washed over him, comforting him - though he already had her voice memorized, he tucked that one away for later, and reached for his discarded shirt. 

With only a cursory wipedown with a damp washcloth, Azriel bided his time circling Velaris after sneaking out of Elain’s window. Waiting for his shadows to report Feyre at the front of the house and distracted by her son before he leapt into the skies, and feeling Elain’s eyes on his back as she fastened on the earrings he’d given her weeks earlier. He didn’t want to leave. Not now, and not ever. 

But he had to. 

He flew west, after a time.  

[sunjaesol]

My BFB is the one for me!

juke | human!au + brother!reggie | title from BFB // victorious

If someone had to ask her who the one constant in her life was, she would have to say Luke Patterson. Which was depressing, cause the guy went through life pretending to be a 90s heartthrob and, even worse, that list didn't even include her own mother. 

Julie met Luke when she was five and he was six. Her brother Reggie befriended him on the first day of school and the rest was history. "Soul-brothers" they called themselves, which would be cute if they weren't so obnoxious together. Separate, they were somewhat manageable. Put those two in the same room? Chaos would ensue. 

He was there for it all. Weekly play dates, birthdays, the occasional holiday, her mom's funeral, band rehearsals. And when Luke had a month-long falling out with his parents, he stayed with them. 

Realistically, that should make him seem like a brother to Julie. But neither Carlos or Reggie were as infuriating as Luke was! With the stupid band tees and the stupid smile and the stupid, relentless teasing he lovingly bestowed upon her. She lost count how many times he "poisoned" her soda with salt or woke her with a heart attack by playing his electric guitar. At least she had some grip on her brothers, being their only sister, but Luke… 

Luke and her had this interesting, little relationship that she couldn't quite put her finger on and it unnerved her. Like it was an itch she couldn't scratch. (Or maybe he was just an annoying mosquito buzzing around her and should leave her the fuck alone. Probably.)

Hopping down the stairs for her midnight snack, it was no surprise to her to find the idiot gaping into the fridge like a goon. With a nudge of the hip, she pushed him aside. 

'Hey!' 

'Either pick something or save power,' she retorted, grabbing a bowl of grapes. 

He snorted. 'I don't think my indecisiveness is gonna kill the planet.'

She shot him a look, an amused smile tugging on her lips. 'You wanna say that in the cute face of a polar bear?' 

Luke stared at her for a beat, a smile crawling on his own face and shaking his head with a chuckle. The fridge fell shut with the pride of a won argument swelling in her chest. 

'So why're you still up?', he asked as she flitted around him for the bread and peanut butter. Maybe she could sneak up a butterscotch cookie too - her dad won't notice one missing, right? 

Unscrewing the lid, she sighed. 'Mendoza's class is murdering me. I really don't get why we need to learn calculus. We're an arts school, not like any of us are going to use formulas on the set of a movie.'

When she passed him to get the orange juice from the fridge, he took hold of the jar, sliding it between his hands thoughtfully. 

'Just don't overthink it,' he shrugged. 

She rolled her eyes. 'Easy for you, obviously.'

His mouth fell slack, offended, as Julie put the bottle on the island with mirth glimmering in her expression. After years of sparring with Luke, she knew how to press his buttons and took great joy in doing so. 

Suddenly leaning into her personal bubble, he sputtered. 'Are you… calling me dumb?' 

Her hand pushed his face back with a scoff. 'Don't breathe on me. All I'm saying is that you look like you have elevator music playing up there 24/7.'

When she went to grab the jar from his hand, he moved it away. 

'Uh, I think you're mistaking me for your brother.'

'No-' Tried again, moved away. '-I don't think I do.'

'You do.'

She crossed her arms, resolute. 'He's part of the gifted program.'

It unfazed him. 'Yeah. And it means shit.'

She held her palm up, exasperated. 'Just give me the peanut butter, Luke.'

Raising it over his head with an infuriating smirk, the other tugged on a curl. 'No.'

Gah! He was so dead! Did he forget she lived with three men in this house?!

Without a second of hesitation, Julie barrelled into him and jumped to catch it. Luke snatched her wrist before she could with a laugh, a hitched puff coming right after as her elbow jabbed his ribs. 

He set the jar down at lightning speed and grabbed her other wrist. Both their arms were outstretched as her foot kicked his calf, hard. When he yelped, her left hand loosened and dove for the jar. Right as her fingertips grazed the glass, a strong arm snaked around her waist and pulled her back. An "oof!" left her lips, the breath kicked out of her lungs. 

Luke guffawed in her ear victoriously, whooping the house together. Curse words rolled off her tongue as she repeatedly slapped his forearm to let go. She felt embarrassingly small with her feet hovering above the floor and this power dynamic was not doing it for her confidence. 

'The fuck are you doing?' 

Julie smacked to the floor before the last words were uttered, a flabbergasted Reggie staring at the pair. 

Luke stammered. 'Uh…' 

'Your bestie held the peanut butter hostage,' Julie replied sardonically. 'Did dad wake up?' 

He shook his head, a peculiar expression fixed on Luke. Her gaze shot between the two. Were they having… a silent conversation? With the way their brows quirked an lips twitched, it seemed like some "bro-talk" Julie wouldn't even like to understand. 

'Don't break your head too much over Mendoza, okay?' Reggie added, smiling at her this time. 'Just relax.'

She sighed. Relax. Because the fear of failure got eradicated with the snap of a finger if she just relaxed. 'Yeah. Sure.'

The boys finally left, silence descended, and Julie made her sandwich. For some reason, the quietude made her uncomfortable. 

***

Though Luke was annoying at times, the band he was in - Sunset Curve - definitely wasn't. Reggie, Alex and Luke created it when they were thirteen and overzealous. Reggie and Luke met Alex the same year and bullied him into a friendship, all bonding over cliché lyrics and overused chord progressions. They quickly got better though, earning a small following and a hopeful future in the LA scene. Julie was very proud of her brother. All those hours practicing the bass until his fingers bled was finally paying off with each new gig they rocked. 

And as the Molina's were raised to appreciate good music, Julie often found herself sprawled on the leather couch as they rehearsed. Reggie used to hate it, saying she was being "sticky" and "distracting", but eventually found her useful whenever they needed someone to bounce ideas with. She has co-written many of their songs. It was then that Luke was the least annoying, when he was so entranced and passionate about music that he had no time to pester her. 

(If she were honest with herself, she'd admit that song-writing with Luke was when she felt like herself the most, enjoyed life the most. But Luke was stupid and she definitely didn't feel a vibe when they wrote, so honesty was obsolete.)

'Or else you'll get,' Luke growled in the mic, music crashing together in their signature punk-rock sound. 'Crooked teeth!' 

They shot into an electrifying interlude. Alex headbanging the sweat of his forehead from his fast-paced drumming, Reggie bouncing in his heels as he heightened the bassline and Luke… was being Luke. Julie looked up from her laptop as his strumming came closer, that signature grin fixed on her as his fingers expertly glided across the neck. Her typing paused, amused. 

Why was he so adamant about "impressing" her with a riff? He knew she liked their music (and has caught her looking at his hands… ugh, fourteen year old Julie had bad judgement), he didn't have to prove himself or something. 

She smiled. 'You're going to miss your cue, idiot!' 

Ignoring her exclaim, he bobbed his head to the melody and wiggled his brows. Her eyes drifted to Alex, the blonde staring at Reggie and Reggie staring at the back of Luke's head. This has been happening a lot, Julie realised. There was this weird energy whenever they were all in the same room. For a bit, she thought it was her that was the problem, but if she was, Reggie would've told her by now. 

Now Luke was really in her face, pushing her laptop shut with his knee and making those stupid expressions he pulled whenever Grace talked to him in the hallway. Never one to back down, Julie abruptly stood up and pushed him back with a challenging smirk. The boy was seventeen; he was in serious trouble if he lacked the spatial awareness and common sense. 

‘Sing with us?!’, he pleaded over the crash of the cymbal. Behind him, Alex’ brows went so far up it disappeared into his snapback. A nervous tug knotted in her stomach at his request, like she was afraid to disappoint him, and shook her head. Keeping up the attitude she nodded at the laptop he so valiantly closed for her. 

Pulling it against her chest, she pointed at his bandmates. ‘Go sing about some fucked up teeth more!’

‘Crooked teeth!’, they all yelled in annoyance. Proud to have executed her role an irritating, little sister, she hopped out the studio. If she felt someone’s gaze burning in her back, she must’ve imagined it.  

***

There was something to be said about Grace and Luke. Though it wasn’t Julie’s business (or anyone’s, for that matter), the coupling has always intrigued her. Or lack of coupling, really. Every few months they’d find themselves at each other’s lockers flirting up a storm for everyone to see to then ghost each other again. This vicious cycle has been on loop since sophomore year. Julie felt bad for Grace, the pretty senior girl deserved far better than Luke. 

Last night, Julie couldn’t sleep. “Crooked Teeth” was blaring in her mind and haunted her dreams (and Luke’s stupid face) until she woke up in a sweat. Something was off. Like solving a math question and knowing the result is wrong but unsure where it all went wrong. Around four in the morning, it hit her. The bridge! It was all jumbled and clunky and she had far better ideas on how to craft it! She sat at her keyboard until seven in the morning, only to stop when a frustrated Carlos barged in, threw a pillow at her and yelled to “zip it!” Reggie and dad, naturally, slept through all of it. 

Now, a sleep-deprived, caffeinated and kind of manic Julie was bustling through the hallways trying (and failing) to find Luke. Sure, they butted heads a lot, but music has always been the glue. Temporary glue, but the fact remained that she and Luke were cut from the same cloth when it came to composition and lyrical prowess. (Not that she’d ever admit that. Ew. His ego was large enough as is.) 

And then she saw him. At Grace’s locker. Her breath lodged in her throat at the sight. It shouldn’t. God, it truly shouldn’t. But it did. Because Grace was pretty and Luke had one of those faces and they looked good together and it annoyed the fuck out of her. Like, who decided who went through puberty better. Julie knew she wasn’t unattractive, but she wasn’t Grace either. Tall and lithe and glossy black hair and a perfect nose. The ugly, green monster in the back of her head snarled about how her personality was probably off-putting, though Julie knew that to be untrue. Grace was, well, graceful. Genuinely kind. Gah! Since when did Julie hate on other girls? Pushing the voice down, she mustered back the previous excitement (the! bridge!) and paraded towards the pair. Luke saw her before Grace did.       

She rushed the last few steps and hastily grabbed the papers from the side pocket of her backpack. 'Luke! Hi, Grace. Okay, I know "Crooked Teeth" is finished, but I couldn't stop thinking about it and I had this amazing idea for the bridge.'

When he didn't react for a beat, stunned by her giddy attitude, her smile mellowed awkwardly. 'I mean… it's your song. You don't have to-' 

'No!', he shouted, frantic. Her brows raised in surprise. 'No, uh-' His hand flew to the back of his head, raking the ends of his hair. 'Yeah. D'you wanna go to the music room? To show me?'

Julie’s eyes flitted to a confused Grace. ‘Um…’

Luke caught on and shot the girl an easy grin. ‘Talk to you later, yeah?’ 

She shrugged. ‘I guess?’

Before she could say anything more, Luke snatched Julie by the wrist and dragged her to the nearest, open music room. The arts school was littered with them, though most had a reserved schedule. Luckily, one was empty. 

‘Okay,’ she said, tucking her hair behind her ears as she slid down in front of the piano. Luke sat next to her, expectant. ‘The bridge right now? It’s fine, but it’s not “wow”, you know? I was thinking about how the verses and chorus sound so visceral and loud, so the bridge should have something guttural. Like, primal. That’s a weird word to use, but, I don’t know, have it sound dangerous? Like - why’re you looking at me like that?’

A strange expression was plastered on Luke’s face. A half-grin and wide eyes, like he was scared he’d miss something, like he’d blink and she’d disappear. In other words: he looked insane. Then again, her exhaustion mustn’t look too appealing either. 

He shook his head, that smile falling away for something more timid. All the bravado he oozed while talking to Grace just moments before, was gone for shy eyes and fingers gripping the chain around his jeans. 

‘Nothing.’ He nudged her. ‘You kinda ambushed me here, Molina.’

Her words stuttered out. ‘I- I was just-’ Zeroing back on the keys with a frown, she said: ‘I’ll just play you the bridge.’

As she did, her mind was elsewhere. This wasn’t weird, right? They’ve done this before. Collaborated, gone to music rooms to bounce ideas back and forth, played until dusk. She knew it wasn’t weird. It was always just a matter of time before the next “ambush” came, as he put it. Soon, he’d barge into her room with half a melody and forced her to finish it. This was normal.

Then why did her skin ripple with anticipation from his intense gaze directed on her temple? 

When she finished, she kept her eyes on the keys. Suddenly, his hand appeared in her vision and softly patted her knuckles, urging her to look at him anyway. He had that strange look again, the sight letting the most peculiar feeling rush through her veins.   

Luke smiled. ‘I like it.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Wanna play it for the boys during next rehearsal?’ His brows raised with hope, head leaning her way as if he wasn’t already close enough. And he wasn’t close enough. 

Julie went on autopilot at this point, too enthralled by her emotions running wild. ‘Yeah.’ It came out breathy and foolish and if she had half a brain cell right now, she’d kick herself in the face for how dumb she sounded.  

His hand squeezed hers and then let go, that smile turning nervous. Oh God, did he notice how weird she abruptly got? ‘Cool. Sweet. Perfect. Your- this was perfect. I’ll see you, uh, -’

‘Yeah,’ she squeaked. ‘Whenever.’

When he left the room in a hurry, her face planted itself on the keys and erupted a harsh sound. Fitting, she believed. Her mind was a mess too. 

***

Then stuff began piling on and each time it did, Julie’s heart fluttered like the traitorous bitch it was. 

Like when Luke told her to tell calculus to “bite her” as a joke, but then she actually did during a test and somehow didn’t get a black out. She knew it was likely just a placebo, but the grin she earned later on when she showed him the B+ and he gave her the tightest hug was worth the pseudo-science. 

Or he found her in the hallway whenever they both had a free period and casual small talk turned to slamming each other into lockers or, more recently, pulled her outside to get boba from the place right across the street. Their boba hangouts were probably the strangest development of all, but it was… nice. Pleasant. If she ever secretly thought it was a date, then it must’ve been a sun stroke hitting her. 

Or she’d be doing her homework and he’d waltz into her room (because he was always at their house and that never changed) and randomly help her with a task or question. It was small and it usually slowed her down, but she hasn’t had the guts to turn him away either. She blamed his stupid smile. 

Or just yesterday they were all in the kitchen and she was peering over Reggie’s shoulder as he tried and failed to properly text his crush Kayla, when she said: 

‘Isn’t that weird? That you’re talking to a junior?’

Luke, who was looking over his other shoulder, scoffed. ‘Why would that be weird?’

Pointing at the emoji he should be using (the purple heart - duh!), she shrugged. ‘I don’t know. You just don’t see a lot of people date outside of their year. It’s, like, an unspoken rule.’

Reggie pouted. ‘Not helping, Jules.’

‘I am! Use the purple heart!’

Luke snorted. ‘Please, if you were asked out by some senior boy, you’d say no?’

The Molina’s looked up from the phone to shoot him a weird look. The boy shrunk under their stare, fingers nervously drumming island. 

Caution tinged her voice. ‘I don’t know… should I?’

The boys stared at each other for a beat. That “bro-talk” again, Julie presumed with a roll of the eye. Typical.

‘Yes,’ Luke trailed, unsure. ‘You should say no.’

A ball of disappointment dropped to the pit of her stomach at his words - hard. Oh. So he didn’t mean himself then. Julie froze. Why would she even want that? She was not returning to her fourteen year old self that gawked at Luke like an idiot. Nope. Not happening. Just because she felt flushed and ecstatic every Wednesday afternoon when they schedules lined up, that didn’t mean her crush has resurfaced. Totally. 

But then something even more maddening happened. It was Thursday afternoon, right before lunch, when Nick approached her by her locker. She’d been fervently texting a sick Flynn to get better when he started asking about dance class and how on earth he was supposed to master a calypso by Monday next week. He was clearly stressed and Julie gave him a hug. Just as she was going to offer her help (or redirect him to Kayla, as she was an actual dance goddess), a familiar arm draped around her shoulder and pulled her back. 

Julie was fuming. Luke decided to start acting like some jovial prick as he intimidated Nick with all these terror stories about his own dance assignments from last year and that “a calypso was just the beginning.” The poor guy was practically passed out from anxiety by the time his spiel was over. She couldn’t even yell an apology as he sped off and spun around the corner at lightning speed.        

The arm fell away, Luke stared at her ridden with guilt, muttered some half-assed “sorry” and rushed off in the opposite direction. A baffled, angry Julie was left standing there. 

If Luke thought he could be some white knight, he was dead wrong. 

***

She got lucky. Reggie mentioned beforehand Luke was coming over and knew that he, inevitably, would ascend the stairs. A pent-up Julie paced in her room, feeling that fever pitch come to a boiling point. Argh! Why was he so… infuriating?! (And attractive?! And charismatic?! Argh!) 

Then she heard it. His tentative steps up the steps. Like he knew. The fact that she was seemingly predictable left her cold this time, slamming her door open at just the right moment to snatch his wrist and roughly yank him inside. 

Before he could react, she yelled: 'What the hell, Luke?! Why did you do that?' 

Luke was a stammering, embarrassed mess. Good. 'Uh- I- I-' 

'You can't just act all overprotective or possessive like that! What's your problem with Nick? He's super nice and, you know, my friend. I already have two brothers, I don’t need one more!’

'I-'

'You don't get to decide who I talk with! Or save me or whatever fantasy you were living in! And-!' 

'I like you, Jules,' he blurted. 

Julie was blazing though. 'So? That doesn't mean that-' Until the words dried on her tongue, stunned. All else she had prepared to say flew out the window. The constant fluttering in her heart hitched. Did she… hear him correctly? 'W-what?' 

A beat went by, like he couldn’t believe he actually said that, but then word vomit spewed out. 'I- I like you? Like, on and off since I was eleven and I tried to not like you - I really tried - but you're just incredible and pretty and an amazing singer and you keep doing that thing with your lips when you have a thought and it's been killing me seeing Nick shoot his shot and-' 

Julie dove forward and pressed a kiss on his rambling mouth. Stretched on her tippy toes, she saw him freeze and stare at her in wonder. Slowly, her poor heart began to beat again, fast and fond and for him and oh my God, what was happening? 

'Did you just-', he croaked. 

Shit. Should she have asked to kiss him first? Her hands didn't leave his shoulders, alarmed. 'Uh… you just kept talking and-' She swallowed back her nerves and mustered a smile. 'If you wanted to be my boyfriend, you could've just asked.'

Luke blinked, completely in awe by her words. 'What?' 

Alright. Time to take life by the balls, Molina. 

'You didn't think I might like you back?' 

An incredulous laugh puffed from his lips, looking from her hands on his shoulders and then grabbed onto her waist. Jitters burst in her stomach at the sudden touch. This was actually happening. Holy shit. But God, how could she deny that bright smile and his warm smile and that giddy feeling that rippled her skin each time they hung out? 

'Can we try that again?', he breathed. 

His grin captured hers before she could fully nod, his hands slipping to her lower back and jaw without hesitation. Her arms slung around his neck, finally getting a feel for his soft locks of hair. Heat grew from her chest to her toes, curling from bliss. She felt deliciously empty and full of glee all at once. 

Her back fell against the door with a giggle. Just as he went back in, she pressed a finger on his lips. 

'Still doesn't make it right what you did.' 

'Yeah.' He kissed her again. 'Sorry.'

She tried saying more, but each word was muffled by another warm kiss of his intoxicating lips and all she could do was melt against him. The odd lyric that “heaven was his lips and larger than paradise” passed her by, hopefully reminding her of its existence in an hour or two. 

His fingers slipped under her shirt and dug into her heated skin. They became lazier, the kisses open-mouthed and smiling and already so amazing at first try. Julie has kissed a handful of boys before, but this? Unmatched. 

Two sudden knocks against wood. ‘Julie?’

They froze, Julie slapping a hand over his mouth to stifle his inevitable snicker. 

‘Have you seen Luke?’, Reggie continued, confusion lacing his voice. 

‘No!’, her voice squeaked, still affected by their make-out. Cringing, she tried to level it. ‘Uh, maybe he’s gone to the, uh-’ His lips grazed her neck, teasingly. She pinched his arm, but he didn’t lean back. Asshole. ‘-uh…’

‘Julie? Everything okay?’

‘Yeah! Yeah! I’m fine!’ Julie pushed Luke back again, this time the boy giving her some space. The wolfish smirk he was sporting was one she either wanted to slap or kiss away. ‘Maybe he’s in the bathroom? Annoying Carlos? The studio?’ Not my room!  

They held in their breaths as they waited for a reply. Her mind was failing to catch up to what she’s just done. Here she was, with flushed lips and tingling skin from Luke’s actions as her brother was meandering on the other side of the door. How did she end up here? 

He blew a raspberry. ‘Okay…’ They sighed. ‘When you’re done making out, can you force Luke to start our project? Kind of an important assignment.’

Luke’s face crashed into pure horror, mouth falling agape and skin pale as a ghost. Julie snorted despite herself, dropping her head on his shoulder in an attempt to muffle her giggles but failing horribly. Of course, Reggie knew. His dreamy nature made anyone forget how observant he actually was, yet here he instantly he had his pulse on the facts. Or he’s always known about Luke’s crush on her. Probably both. 

Her smile stretched against the fabric of his shirt. Luke had a crush on her. Luke liked her. 

Reggie’s footsteps faded away, his bedroom door falling shut. Their gazes met again. 

Luke gulped, green eyes wide and oh so adorable. ‘He took that surprisingly well.’

Her chin raised, haughty. She hasn’t forgotten about that infuriating face of his just one minute before. ‘You kissed my neck.’

That look returned as he hummed, edging closer. ‘I did.’

‘You’re an asshole, you know that?’

His face brightened at her words, weaving a hand through her and making her sigh just like that. She was gone and she didn’t even know it. ‘And you’re-’ he murmured, softly kissing her lips, ‘-into that.’

How desperately she wanted to keep this going, she has heard what Reggie said. An important project due. She shouldn’t trouble her brother like that, even if making out with his best friend was far more appealing than anything else in the world right now.

The measly words puffed out. ‘You have-’ kiss ‘-a project-’ kiss ‘-with Reggie.’ kiss.  

‘Hmm…’ Letting her stand between his legs to be even closer and consequently shutting down any rationale, Luke mumbled against her lips: ‘One more minute.’

In the end, Luke stayed for another thirty minutes before Reggie barged in, dragged the boy from Julie’s bed by the collar and wordlessly trucked back out the room. When later that night she received a text saying goodnight jules 💙 she knew she hadn’t been dreaming.

And when Luke kissed her square on the lips the next day for everyone to see, Julie had inkling this interesting, little relationship of theirs was the just the beginning.  

@blush-and-books @bluefirewrites @willexx @unsaid-emily @sophiphi @ourstarscollided

[honeypirate]

Sick Day

Bakugou x Reader fluff

Bakugou is a soft boy underneath it all and you cannot convince me otherwise.

Being a support student was fun for the most part, you did well in your classes so you got free reign of creativity. You were currently working on your final, a way to enhance food for heroes with food related quirks. You were able to use the kitchen and Lunch Rush even gave you your own corner if you kept it clean and would provide you with any food related ingredients. When you didn’t see Bakugou during lunch, which was a regular occurrence, you felt a little worried. You sat with him once on a dare and you guys became friends when he tried to pick on you and you easily matched his game, firing back witty comments with ease, he would never admit it but he thought of you as a good friend (and he thought you were gorgeous too but he’d never admit that either) 

“Where’s Bakugou?” you asked when sitting down next to Ochako at your usual table. “He’s sick so Mr. Aizawa is making him take the day off so he doesn't push himself and get worse” you nodded “makes sense” you felt a pang in your chest, you actually missed him. 

Which is why you decided to do something that you knew he wouldn't like but you had to do it anyway. You finished lunch quickly and made a quick run down to the university store, grabbing some cough drops and some Gatorade, and grabbing up some of his favorite candy that you always see him eating, Hot Tamales. 

After your classes end and you have your time to work on your final, you decide to first make some chicken soup, adding all the love you do for anyone you care about, making sure it is as delicious as you could make it before packing it up along with some homemade biscuits and a spoon. You brew some chamomile tea and put it in a thermos before putting it all in your backpack and leaving the kitchen.

You feel nervous as you walk into the 1A Dorm, it looked just like yours inside but still felt different. You had texted Ochako for Bakugou’s room location and were now in the elevator. You felt your stomach flip in anticipation as your nerves rapidly increased. 

You take a deep breath and knock on the door three times, you hear shuffling before a very annoyed and sick looking Bakugou opens the door. “What are you doing here?” his normally angry voice now extra nasally with an obvious sinus infection. He had his blanket wrapped around him and covering his head and he had dark bags under his bloodshot eyes. “Can I come in, Kacchan?” you shift on your feet with a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips, he lets out a big huff, then rolls his eyes, turning and leaving the door open and he shuffles back to bed. 

You can't help the small chuckle as you follow him inside closing the door. He sits cross legged on his bed hugging the blanket tighter to him with a shiver as he glares at you, waiting for you to say why you’re here. 

“Look” you raise your eyebrows and point at him “before I say what I'm doing here, I want you to promise me you won't say anything rude about it. I know we joke around a lot but I’m just being nice and I'm afraid if you say something mean to my face I will cry. Okay?” your voice cracks a little, obviously worried, but he doesn't want you to be worried, he would never hurt you and he can tell you’re being sweet. He scoffs, rolling his eyes, but nonetheless mumbles out an “I promise” without making eye contact.

You nod and smile, releasing the breath you were holding “good. okay. now, I know our friendship is just jokes and insults, and this better not make you stop being my friend either..” You send a pointed look at him and then pull out the soup and bread, the thermos of tea, and the bag of extra goodies from the store and set them on his bed. you clear your throat, your voice quiet when you speak “There is no one else I can be this witty with, everyone else I just end up accidentally hurting feelings. So the reasons behind me making you soup is very selfish.” you point out, hoping he doesn't think you’re weird now, you just want him to feel better. “so, you know, feel better and get back to business being my friend” 

You put your backpack on and then head to the door “wait” his soft voice stops you, your hand on the doorknob as you look over your shoulder at him “yeah?” he clears his throat, his cheeks and the tips of his ears red as he holds the still hot bowl of soup in his hands, his eyebrows are furrowed and his eyes sting from the tears he won't let fall. His heart is racing and he feels so cared for.

 After he spent his whole day alone in bed, hungry but sick and not having anything that would soothe his stomach, he missed his mom because at least she always took care of him without him having to ask. He was having an unbearably hard time being here and then you showed up, giving him everything he wished he had, he took a bite of the still warm butter biscuit and swallowed, hoping it would get rid of the tightness in his throat from the feelings he was having. 

He looked up at you then, his eyes holding a few unshed tears and all of the feelings right there on the surface, you see how vulnerable he is and you just smile warmly at him, dropping the doorknob and turning back and looking at him, holding your hands in front of you. He clears his throat and wipes the stray tear off his cheek, placing a half assed fake glare on his face as he says “thank you, y/n” his nasally voice making your heart squeeze “of course. I can be a pain in the ass but I like to take care of my friends. And don't worry,” you grin “I won't tell anyone how soft you are when you're sick” you wink and chuckle, smiling warmly when he laughs softly as well. “Text me if you need anything else” you say as you exit the room, taking a last glance at Bakugou as the door closes, smiling after the first bite of soup. 

[pixieungerstories]

Quarantine - 4

Nick had changed his tactics.  Now, instead of growling, howling and creepy laughter, he whispered.  It was like living in an ASMR app.  Somehow the lights were always dim and Nick was occasionally purring sweet nothings in my ear.

Someone came to inspect the wine.  They had questions I could not answer, I parroted back the approved line that Nick was the one selling and they would need to call or email him.

A week later, someone came and took away a box that Nick had packed and there was a hell of a lot of money in my bank account.

Which was just as well, I had my hours further reduced.

I lay in bed that night staring at the ceiling and listening to Nick whispering about how he was planning how to spend the wine money on the house.

I was dancing around asking if I could use some of it to cover my living expenses.   He wasn’t getting the hint.  I realized that was very nearly fair.  He had been very clear he was here for the house not for me.  It had been his wine.  Of course, I was the one who had the income from the wine sale to claim on my taxes.

“Nick?  Would you pay me to paint the place?”

That made him stop.

“And why would I do that?” he breathed against my cheek, making me shiver.

“I have no idea how long I will be without work and I’m afraid of running out of money,” I admitted.  “And of having strangers coming in, possibly bringing the infection with them.  We don’t know if people can get Covid twice.”

He didn’t reply.  In fact, there was no sign of him for the better part of a week.  That was a whole other level of creepy.  The house just felt empty.  There was no one to talk to and I hadn’t realized how often Nick would brush past me until that stopped.

I was soaking in the tub on Saturday night, wishing for a glass or wine or a beer.  There was still wine in the basement, but it was all the stuff Nick was saving for a special collector.  It had come as a surprise when the wine appraiser said that I had drunk a twelve hundred dollar bottle of wine out of my coffee cup the last time I had cracked one open.

No, the wine was wasted on me and deliveries from the liquor stores were booked for weeks if I wanted to schedule a delivery.

The lights flickered.

“Nick?” I asked.  There wasn’t any reply.  I pulled the plug with my toes and climbed out of the tub.  I had been avoiding the second floor of the house as much as I could but it was where the tub and shower were.  The lights flickered again.   There was a huge crash of thunder signaling the start of a summer storm, then the lights went out and the rain started.

“Shit.”  OK, I told myself, no need to panic.  It’s just a storm. I am just trapped in pitch blackness, in a storm, while naked and I have to not trip over my clothes and make it safely down steep and narrow steps by memory.  The thunder rolled again, a huge almost double crash that had to be really close.  My feet were wet and the tile was slippery.

“Nick?”  I tried.  “I could use a little help here.”  I bit back a scream as the bathroom door creaked open.  “Nick?”  I whispered.

I shrieked when something brushed my hand then tried to relax as I realized it was a towel.  I wrapped up and tried to feel ahead of me with my feet as I inched my way towards the door.

That familiar low voice growled in my ear, “it would be safer if I carried you down the stairs.”

I swallowed, then nodded.  I was scooped up and cradled.  There was no real sensation of movement until I was placed on my feet and he guided my hand to what turned out to be my bed.  Then he was gone.  The room was briefly lit by lightning and I swore for a moment I could see him standing in the doorway to the kitchen.  The thunder followed in an instant rattling the whole house.  I was glad I had gotten the roof fixed.  

Looking toward the front window, it looked like the street lights were out too.

I hate storms.  Objectively, I know that I don’t have to be afraid, but storms completely bypass the objective part of my brain and reach right into my fear response.  I sat on the bed, shaking with fear in a way that I hadn’t felt since Nick tried to lock me in the bedroom.

“Lift up your hand,” he whispered, near enough to make me jump.  “I can’t turn on your hedgehog night light but I can hand it to you.”

I tentatively held up my hand and he didn’t so much pass me the light as drop it into my hand.  I fumbled for a moment before finding the right place to press to make it light up.  It didn’t really help, but I slid back across the bed until I bumped into the wall and sat clutching it anyway.

“You are very afraid,” he observed calmly from somewhere to my left.

“I’m trapped in a haunted house, during a storm and I am only wearing a towel.  This is where the sound track plays the creepy music and the audience tenses up in anticipation of my imminent death.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, so that when he did speak, I made an undignified squeak and jumped.

“You can’t see me bring you clothes.”

“What?”

“I can’t bring you your clothes unless you turn off the light.”

“Why?”

“Because you can’t see me.”

I thought about arguing about whether it was that I physically couldn’t see him or if he just didn’t want to be seen.  Still, I had trusted him to carry me down the stairs.

I turned off the light and fought not to hyperventilate.  My robe was placed in my lap a moment later.  That raised more questions.  If I turned on the light to get dressed did that make it easier or harder for him to see me.  Was the dinky little nightlight really going to keep him away in the storm?

I turned it back on and looked wildly around the room as it cast strange shadows.

“I used to like that,” he murmured.  “The taste of fear.  Its smell.  All the little noise that humans make when they are afraid and trying to be quiet.”  He paused and there was a moment of uncomfortable lack of talking filled with the sound of howling wind and driving rain.  “I have never lived with one of you this long before.  Your fear is different.  You become afraid at times when I am unable to see the threat.”

“Like now,” I mumbled, as I scrambled into my clothes.

“No.  This fear I can understand.  Primal fear is very familiar to me.  It’s my bread and butter, so to speak.  You are afraid of when I am here and when I don’t answer and you are afraid of your job.”

I stopped for a moment and tried to understand that last one. “I am afraid for my job,” I countered.  “If I can’t work, I don’t earn money.  Without money, I can’t pay my bills.  If I fall behind in my payments, the bank repossesses the house and this is an even more shitty time to be homeless than usual.”

“Hmmm.”

I shivered and tried to pull the blankets around me.

“You can lay down,” he suggested.  “You would be warmer and more comfortable.”

“It would be easier if I could see you,” I muttered.

Nick snorted, “No it wouldn’t.”  The wall where his voice was coming from got darker, then a swirling shadow detached itself from the wall and drifted towards me.  It was vaguely humanoid but with soft wavering edges like ink dropped into water.  His eyes still shone in the darkness.  

“That’s a little scary,” I whispered “but I could get used to it.”  Then he grinned showing entirely too many teeth and I started to doubt my words.   The way he stalked towards me wasn’t entirely comforting either.  The bed dipped under his weight and I found myself pulled into his lap.  It was the first physical contact I had since he left.  It was weird to realize that he was the only other person to have touched me in months.  I tried to relax against him, he was warm and dry. 

I couldn’t hear a heartbeat.  It was weird.  “You could rub my back, if you want.  It was nice the last time you did that.”

Nick gave a low chuckle, then he began stroking me.  We sat like that in the storm until the wind died down and I drifted off to the sound of the rain.

[rphelperblog]

Bloodlines Rp Meme

“Takes a lot of tries before you hit perfection.” " did he bend the rules of time and space to get here so fast? He can do that, right?” “I had never thought I could love another person this much. I also never thought I’d live in such fear of losing another person. Was this how everyone in love felt? Did they all cling tightly to their beloved and wake up terrified in the middle of the night, afraid of being alone? Was that an inevitable way of life when you loved so deeply? Or was it just those of us who walked on a precipice who lived in such panic?” “My boyfriend was insanely sexy, vampire or not, and I couldn't keep my hands off him.” “Damn, you have no idea what I have been through today." "Actually I have a pretty good idea.” “A princess of her people has no business sitting off to the side while her people are in danger.” “you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen walking this earth. And you don’t even know it. You have no clue how beautiful you are or how brightly you shine.” “I was no better at reading people than I had been ten seconds ago.” “ Relax, having kids is years away. But can you imagine? Your brains, my charm, our collective good looks..”
“I'm on a date. Why are you here? On my car? ” “ Because I’ve got a lot more terms of endearment to use. Honey pie. Sugarplum. Bread pudding." Why are they all high-calorie foods? ” “ I won’t lie. Walking into a room and seeing your girlfriend reading a baby-name book can kind of make your heart stop.” “ You are an exceptional, talented, and brilliant young woman. Do not ever let anyone make you feel like you’re less. Do not ever let anyone make you feel invisible. Do not let anyone—not even a teacher who constantly sends you for coffee—push you around. ” “I’m not a warrior or a goddess,” “ You made your own jean shorts...with a butter knife? ” “ Everything's about my personal entertainment. The world is my stage. Keep it up- you're becoming a star performer in the show. ” “being charming is my hobby.” “ Too bad you got so bogged down in books. You've got the spirit of a warrior. ” “ I found the candles—atrocious air freshening ones that smelled like fake pine. ” “ Not everything about me is cute." "That's true, some things are cute. The rest are sexy. Astonishing, agonizingly sexy. It's a wonder I can get anything done at all, when all I ever think about is the way your lips taste or how your fingertips feel on my skin or how your legs are…” “i don’t get my hands dirty.”
“You’re too pretty to be useful.” “ I clung to that spark of hope, nurturing it into a small flame that chased some of the shadows in my heart away. ” "You already have, and that's why i've got the advantage. You've done your worst but you haven't seen what i can do yet. ” “ Love and Loyalty, run deeper than blood." “ History is important because it teaches us about the past. And bylearning about the past, you come to understand the present, so that you may make educated decisions about the future. ” “ As much as I hated to admit it, I kind of looked forward to seeing him. It made no sense, but something about his infuriating nature made me forget about my other worries. Weirdly, I felt like I could relax around him. ” “I’ve had love that burns in every fiber of my being, that drives me to be a better person and empowers me through each moment of the day.” “Sometimes you wake up from a dream. Sometimes you wake up in a dream. And sometimes, every once in a while, you wake up in someone else’s dream.” “I don’t care about anything except her and the way touching her drove me wild. even as her calm and steady presence soothed the storms that raged within me.” “Your eyes.. How have I never noticed them? When you stand in the light. They are amazing like molten gold.” “Sometimes, it’s worth lingering on the journey for a while before getting to the destination.” “As we grow and change, some things we’ve experience before take on a new meaning. It’ll happen to the rest of your life.” “Life, unfortunately. doesn’t seem to care what we want.” “if you wanted to remold people, you had to break them down first.”
“people who are crazy rarely question whether they’re crazy.”
“We can’t stop living because other people are dead.” “You can't force love, I realized. It's there or it isn't. If it's not there, you've got to be able to admit it. If it is there, you've got to do whatever it takes to protect the ones you love.” “Only a true best friend can protect you from your immortal enemies.”   “I’d said it before and meant it: Alive or undead, the love of my life was a badass.” “You will lose what you value most, so treasure it while you can.” “I know how devastated you must be to miss me, but leave a message, and I'll try to ease your agony” “There's nothing worse than waiting and not knowing what'll happen to you. Your own imagination can be crueler than any captor.” “Sometimes you wake up from a dream. Sometimes you wake up in a dream. And sometimes, every once in a while, you wake up in someone else's dream. ” “Dreams, dreams. I walk them; I live them. I delude myself with them. It's a wonder I can spot reality anymore.” “I've given up on you...Love fades. Mine has.” “Bound by Love, But sworn to Kill...” “If I let myself love you, I won't throw myself in front of her. I'll throw myself in front of you.” “A gun. I had been brought down by a gun. It was practically comical. Cheaters, I thought.” “Wait. You think I'm going to die? That's why you slept with me?” “There was a look of woe on his face that was almost comical. Raids, bullets, criminals...no problem. A missing duster? Crisis.” "Will you shut the hell up for five seconds?” “And I thought the whole point of my education was that violence IS the answer.” “I don't care if you say we can't be together. I don't care if you think I'm the most evil, unnatural creature walking on earth. You can think whatever you want, go whatever you want. I'm going to just go on loving you, even if it's hopeless.” “Do you want me to call you Celery Stick instead of Cupcake or Honey-Pie? It just doesn’t inspire the same warm and fuzzy feelings.” “Taking a deep breathe, I made one of the hardest decisions of my life. I walked away.” "I'll do things that'll make you lose control within seconds.” “Under normal circumstances, you inviting me to the bedroom would be the highlight of my day.” “Yeah, that's exactly what I want. To help my girlfriend get her old boyfriend back.” “You're beautiful in battle,like an avenging angel come to deliver the justice of heaven.” “Most fathers don't threaten to disembowel their daughter's boyfriends." "That's not true. And anyway, that's not what I actually said. It was much worse.” “I think you smoke them so you have something to do while thinking up your next witty line.” He'd written me up a proposal of why dating him was a sound decision.” “The greatest changes in history have come when people were able to shake off what others told them to do.” “Things die. But they don't always stay dead. Believe me, I know.” “I'm really not good with impulse control.” “We need to get inside. I think my hair gel’s frozen.” “You need me? You yell. You want to leave? We go. I'll get you out of here, no matter what.” “I didn't like having reasonable arguments thrown at me.” “Sometimes the greatest tests of our strength are situations that don't seem so obviously dangerous. Sometimes surviving is the hardest thing of all.” “I had a standing arrangement with God: I'd agree to believe in him—barely—so long as he let me sleep in on Sundays.” “I like him."

"Like or like?"

Oh, there's a difference?” 

“I had a standing arrangement with God: I'd agree to believe in him—barely—so long as he let me sleep in on Sundays.” 

“I'll just love you whether you want me to or not.” “Sometimes talking to you is like talking to myself: pretty damned annoying.” “She says you're not awake until you're actually out of bed and standing up.” “Don’t take the high ground and assume you already know what you’ll do. The truth is, when it comes to someone you love, you’ll find there isn’t anything you won’t do.” “You're my flame in the dark. We chase away the shadows around each other.” “Sex had been amazing, but it wasn't a magical cure for everything. Damn. Somewhere along the way, I'd picked up common sense.” “I'm like a fine wine. I get better with age. The best is yet to come.” "It's okay now. I'm here I'll always be here for you.” "Was there a sale at Khakis-R-Us?” “You can't fool me, comrade. You want to put on a cowboy hat and keep lawless bank robbers in line.'' "No time. I have enough trouble keeping you in line.” “He was too perfect, despite being one of the most imperfect people I knew.” “I realized I’m in love. It's always been right in front of me.” “You're better than this. Better than whatever it is you're going to do now.” “My cigarettes and I are going outside. At least they show me respect.” “You have an interesting set of morals,” “Good God. Men everywhere.” “The battle cry sort of gave you away. Try not to yell next time.” “even he—the poster child for "smartass"—looked grim.” “Love and loyalty runs deeper than blood.” "He just lost memerbship in the evil mastermind club. His brilliant plan fell apart.” “That's pretty weird—and when I say something's weird, you know it's serious.” “Impossible situations are our specialty.” “Love is rarely flawless,” “Humans delude themselves by thinking it has to be. It is the imperfection that makes love perfect.” “Maybe you don't need beauty sleep, but some of us aren't so lucky.” “Vampires. Honestly, they're like children sometimes. ” “Some people read books for fun.” “It was the most convulted, ridiculous piece of logic I'd heard in awhile... It was something I would have come up with.” “I bet you never thought the hardest part of finding your ‘saviorʹ would be getting her mom to let her stay out past curfew.”

[giorno-plays-piano]

The Paths We Take

Pairing: Fairy King!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, kidnapping, mentions of stalking.

Words: 2789.

Summary: As your little sister has been kidnapped by the fair folk, you have to set her free, exchanging your life for hers.

________________

"Remember, you shall not give him your name." The old woman told you, putting a little iron coin into your mouth. "Wait for him to give you his word. Unless he does, neither you nor your sister are safe."

You bowed your head to her, thankful for all her advices that could save your life - this woman was the only one to escape faerie ring and stay alive. She was a young girl when she got lost and returned when her hair turned grey, her skin wrinkled. Her scarred face warned the ones wandering the woods from going too far to the north.

"Do not be afraid." She said gently, caressing your cheek wet from tears with her rough, work-weary hand. "Your sister is still alive. Do everything right, and you will set her free."

You nodded and lifted a heavy basket filled with jugs and jars with wine, honey and butter, your offering to the wee folk to pass safely. If not your stupid, uncaring sister, you would never have to set your foot so far into the forest. But with no one to seek protection from, you had to go there yourself.

If only your sister didn't spend her days dancing in the woods despite all your warnings. You admitted you didn't raise her well, yet with no one by your side you spent all your time trying to provide for the both of you - life in this little village surrounded by woods had never been an easy one, especially for orphans.

As she had never listened to your pleas, no wonder one day your sister didn't return. The villagers had immediately gathered to start the search, but the only thing they found was a piece of your sister's dress hanging on a bush right near the faerie ring. Everyone knew then what had happened to her, and no one was ready to risk their life to save a silly young girl who didn't know better but enter the realm of the fair folk. People were helpless against the faeries, and many of the villagers had lost their loved ones to them. You could still find human bones if you went too far into the woods.

The basket was heavy, and you exhaled loudly as you set your foot outside of the elderly woman's hut, looking at the dark gigantic trees far away with worry. The woman told you that you wouldn't return - you would ask the fairies to take you away instead of your poor little sister.

"Wait, Y/N!" You heard someone's voice and turned around to see another woman, her hair all grey too despite her age - she was the one who had lost her only daugther to the wee folk a few years back. Since then she had aged faster than any other woman in the village. "I... I have something to help you!"

You blinked when she got close to you and reached out to your face, a little bottle in her hand. You closed her eyes as she rubbed a strange smelling salve into your eyelid, covering your eye with something that made you feel like someone poured a bucket of cold water over your head. Inhaling deeply, you opened your eyes and realized one eye was seeing much better than the other. The objects became sharper, the colors more bright as you stared in the woman's face with confusion. What was that?

"This is what one witch gave me when I was looking for my daughter." She whispered quietly as if she was afraid the Fae would hear her. "Now they won't fool you with their glamor. But don't show them you can see everything!"

"I won't." You assured the woman quickly and squeezed her shoulder gratefully. "God bless you for your kindness."

She nodded and hurried away, hiding the bottle inside her long worn out dress and never looking back at you. You knew she was scared. No one dared to come with you to the faerie ring, afraid to be tacken away by the creatures they feared and detested. Yet you were grateful to the woman - she knew how much it hurt to lose your beloved ones to the fair folk.

Turning to the woods, you licked the iron coin in your mouth and pushed it to the side, pouching it in your cheek. It didn't feel pleasant, but it was the least of your worries now as you went closer and closer to the gloomy forest, thinking of all the dangers it hid. Why did you sister go there? Why didn't she dance somewhere on the meadow, basking in the sun? What made her forget all the warnings every child was given?

Biting your cheek, you stepped inside the forest and clenched your fists, following the path an elderly woman had showed you. You stopped near the huge stump, taking a few pieces of fresh bread out of your basket and placing them on an improvised wooden altar for little forest sprites as an offering. Although you didn't need them to guide you, you asked them not to play with your path, twisting it such way you might end in the village again instead of the faerie ring. Losing their favor was not wise.

As you moved further, you sensed yourself speeding up despite feeling lightweight as if you were a little feather carried by the wind. For a moment you felt frightened, but then realized the sprites took a liking to the offering you brought them and helped you on your way. Did they know why you were coming so far into the woods? Maybe they did.

The further you moved, the more nervous you became, afraid to put your head up and look upon your surroundings - you saw elderflower glowing on your left and averted your eyes immediately, afraid to be charmed before you reached your destination. Then a few blue sparkles lit up the trees to your right, and you hurried further into the woods, wiping away your tears. You could make it. You could save your sister despite fairies' attempts to charm or scare you away.

Soon you moved to the left, leaving the path, and saw the ring formed by those little white mushrooms. It looked odd as the ring was the perfect round shape as if someone purposely made it.

Sighing heavily, you had doused your lantern and set it on the grass. Dear God, you were truly doing it. Licking the iron coin in your mouth, you pressed your lips into a thin line and stepped inside the ring, closing your eyes for a second. The moment you were past the line of mushrooms, your senses were clouded, your head light, your body almost flowing in the air - you could feel you entered the other realm as the forest lit up around you, and you heard the laugh and charming voices.

When you opened your eyes, you saw a great fire and many strange-looking creatures circling it. They danced, screamed, laughed and cried as they sat together, certainly celebrating something, and you stared at them in awe, blinking and unable to move. Your left eye showed you graceful fairies with their long curly hair laying on their shoulders, their faces strikingly beautiful, their bodies glowing warmly as they sat close to the fire. But your right eye, the one covered with that salve... it showed you ugly, revolting creatures with their fingers crooked, their faces dry and wrinkled, tree branches piercing their backs, their silky clothes being just some dirty rags. Not all the fairies looked distgusting, but many, many of them did. You almost flinched when they looked at you, standing in the ring with your large basket full of food and wine.

You didn't see the man sitting on what appeared to be a throne on the other side of the cirle, hid by the flames of the fire, but once he rose to his feet everyone fell silent. He was tall, well-built, looking stronger than any man in the village, his dress made out of pure golden threads. Certainly, his glamor spell was way stronger than the charmed salve made by the witch as both your eyes showed only one of his forms, unlike the other fairies.

He was the fae's lord, you realized as you bowed deeply, refusing to look him into his deep blue eyes. You didn't even see his face clearly as you stared at your own shoes, clenching the basket.

"What a lovely human I see." The man said, and you heard the wee folk chuckling at his words, whispering something to each other. "Will you give me your name, little one?"

You gulped and froze on the spot. You knew well you should never respond to the fae's question with your name as you would simply hand them the power over you with it, "giving" yourself to them. But staying silent was considered rude, nonetheless.

"Forgive me, lord fae, for I cannot. But I can tell you it is Acantha."

A thorn. It wasn't your true name, of course, as even saying, not giving it to the fair folk was dangerous and unwise. The lord fae knew it well, of course, and narrowed his eyes at you, smiling.

"My name is Steven, little one. I am the King of the Fae, and this forest belongs to me just like the meadows, fields, rivers, and lakes." Though he was smiling, it didn't reach his eyes - you didn't realize you weren't bowing to him anymore and stared at his pale face, glowing in the dark. "Why did you come here, little one? What are you searching for?"

As you heard nasty cackling to your right, you clenched your teeth, realizing these very creatures had trapped your poor sister for their fun. Now you saw many of them drinking not only ambrosia and wine, but also a dark red liquid that looked like blood.

Murderers. Ugly beasts banished by God himself to all the darkest places, unworthy of sunlight. Did they claim they owned the meadows and rivers and lakes? No, the villagers did. And they would drive out and kill all the fair folk with iron knives and pitchforks who would dare to come out the woods. The forest was the only place humans were afraid to enter.

Gritting your teeth, you bowed your head again and gently set the basket in front of the fairy's circle, taking a step away. You had to keep calm. You needed to get your sister out.

"I am searching for my sister, fae lord. She's a silly little thing, and I'm afraid she took the wrong path in the forest, disturbing your kind folk with her dancing." You said, choosing your words wisely and not looking at anyone, savouring the taste of iron in your mouth. The coin was muffling your words, but no fairy had sensed anything yet. "I came to plead you for help, fae lord. Please, bring her to me, let her come back to the realm she belongs to safely, and I will give you whatever you would like me to."

You sighed, squeezing your eyes shut. You said it. You just exchanged your life with hers. If he took your word, you would be trapped here, in this cursed place belonging to The Unseelie Court.

The King looked content with you being so courteous, your offering very generous for a simple village girl, indeed. He motioned to two forest sprites to bring your basket to him and pulled a jug filled with the finest wine you could find, setting it near his thrones while handing the basket to others. As they flew to it, ripping it apart and claiming whatever they could reach, you bit down on your tongue, feeling utterly disgusted. All of them deserved a pair of shoes made from branding iron.

"You have good manners, little one." The King smiled at you, and the next moment he wasn't standing near his throne made from gold and decorated with gemstones shining in the dark, but cupping your chin as he stared down at you, his warm breath tickling your skin. "You brought a nice offering. I will give your sister back to you, and sprites will escourt her to your people. I give you my word."

Your eyes went wide. He said exactly what you wanted him to, and it only took you an offering and a plea. How was it possible? You knew well how cunning, haughty, and treacherous the wee folk could be. But the King himself gave you his word. It was an oath the fae couldn't break.

Before you could bow your head again and express your gratitude, however, the King had suddenly put his warm palms on your shoulders and turned you around, forcing you to stare at the procession, several fairies leading your still dancing sister to the fire. You could see her feet bleeding, but she had that strange little smile stretching his lips and enlightening his eyes as she kept moving, laughing and throwing her hands into the air. Her clothes were dirty, her hair disheveled, yet she didn't see it, caring about nothing but dancing.

You realized you were crying only when the King gently wiped your cheek with his palm.

"Set her free once she steps out the ring." He said as fairies lured her to that little circle of mushrooms. "Bring her home safely and make her forget all that she saw. Do not ever let her come back."

You tried to make a step towards her, take her into your embrace, kiss her cheeks, whisper her to never set her foot into the forest again, and ask her to promise she would take care of herself, but the King still had his hands on your shoulders, and his grip was becoming tighter and tighter, forcing you to stay still despite all your attempts to run to her. He wouldn't let you tell goodbye to your own sister. You were made to watch as she was taken away from you, and your eyes were full with tears again. Dear Lord, why? Why didn't he let you approach her for a mere minute? You wanted to scream and cry, but realized you couldn't open your mouth. The Fae King had charmed you.

Once your sister disappeared inside the faerie ring, you had collapsed to the ground, your fingers buried into your hair, pulling at the roots in despair. You would never see that little girl again. Cruel laugh of the fairies surrounding you made you face wet from all the humiliation and pain.

"Shhh." You heard the Fae King speaking as he got down to you and caressed your hair gently. "It will be alright. She will live her life like all humans do, and you will stay here and forget all your sorrows."

You cried harder at his words, and an iron coin the elderly woman gave you slipped on your tongue. The King had immediately reached out to your face and opened his hand, looking at you patiently. Now he knew you carried a coin in your mouth.

Pausing for a moment, you realized it was meaningless: it was over now. You were in the hands of the wee folk, and no one would come to save you. You submitted, dropping a coin to the fae lord's hand - he hissed as it burnt his skin, but once he clenched his huge fist the coin disappeared as if you had never brought it in your mouth.

"See? It's easy, little one." The fairy murmured, dropping a kiss to the top of your head and making you turn your face up as he wiped the remains of the salve from your eyelid - he saw it, too. In the next moment the darkness became light, and ugly creatures surrounding you turned into the most beautiful beings you had ever seen. "You will forget. Don't you know you were born under the Milk Moon, little one? You shouldn't live the life full of hardships as a peasants' daughter. You deserve to be happy in my lands."

With me, you could hear his whisper inside your head.

He didn't tell you he had been watching you gathering herbs and berries in his forest close to the village for years. He didn't tell you he lured your sister into the faerie ring, knowing you would follow and try to save her, ready to trade your own life for hers.

You didn't tell him you kept an iron nail in the pocket of your dress, prepared to fight for your life till the very end. You weren't born to become a little doll of the Fairy King, and you were ready to prove it.

________________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki   ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin ​@void-hoechlin @abyssaint @heeeyitskay @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lovelydarkdaydream

[jonthethinker]

I imagine that, for most of her life, Beauregard Lionett has been the living embodiment of a clenched fist.

 The life she could have had, had her father not been the man he was, had he not lay the full weight of his expectation and vision and above all paranoia on the slender shoulders of his only daughter, is a question worth exploring. Beau in the present is full of energy and always craves activity and stimulus, and it’s not hard to imagine that’s how she was as a child; many a grass-stained dress, I’m sure, and I tend to think she was the sort of kid to dig holes just to see what she could find, curiosity unbounded even at an early age.

If her energy had been redirected instead of squashed, if her curiosity had been rewarded instead of reprimanded, if her cleverness had been sharpened instead of scolded, Beauregard Lionett may have been on the path to become the most renown vintner in all of Wildemount. But instead what her future held in store for her was white knuckles.

The picture painted by the wonderful Marisha Ray of the life of Young Beau is one of a desperate fight for agency, and denial and defeat in this quest at every turn. With her bright mind, she attempts to create a new path for the family brand to take, but is rejected outright by her father. So what does Beau do in response? In typical Beau fashion, she says fuck you and begins to bootleg the family wine right under her father’s nose. I think this was in part to obviously get one over on her father, but also to prove to herself that she could in fact sell the wine better. This is a feature of Beau’s personality that pops up over and over; her need to prove to herself and others her own value. I have no doubt that Young Beau tried so hard to impress her contacts in the small world of underground wine bootlegging, just to get some sort of validation or affirmation, and no doubt that this was used against her again and again, her nails digging ever deeper into her palms.

Of course her father finds out, and she is cast away; exasperated that his daughter isn’t planted firmly under his thumb like any good heir would be, he ships her off to the Cobalt Soul, where perhaps they can teach her some discipline, all the while believing that it was her that failed him and not the other way around.

In some respect, no crueler fate could have been bestowed on Beau than to end up at the Cobalt Soul, and I’ll explain why. Beau at her core is a bright, energetic, curious person. If Beau had been given the actual choice to go to the Cobalt Soul of her own will on the onset of her teenage years she would have jumped at the chance. Learning and fighting and exploring are the sort of thing Young Beau would have loved. But she is forced to go, after being ostensibly disowned by her family, all the while knowing that to all her potential mentors, the label of Problem Child is dangling from her neck; she was not sent there as a budding mind to be fostered and cultivated, but as a problem to be solved.

She pays attention to her classes, but she can’t afford to show any enthusiasm, or else she’s admitting defeat; Beau always loses on her own term, and at this point she was very used to losing. The tension in her shoulders builds and builds as she contemplates how poorly all the monks must think of her, her behavior getting worse and worse just so she has some sort control over her life; she can’t help but be the chained up dog she is, but goddammit you’re going to know she’s there. That she can do. And finally the thrashing against the chain causes it to break, and she realizes she can leave, and so she bolts, and doesn’t stop running until she slams full speed into the Mighty Nein.

Beau is my favorite character for many reasons, but a big one is that she plays into the archetype of “Character Who Cares So Much But Can’t Afford To Show It”, only matched in my heart by “Character Who Can’t Even Begin To Hide How Much They Care”, ironically also played to by Marisha Ray in the form of Keyleth.

From the moment we meet her in the tavern with Jester and Fjord, it is clear upon reflection that she already cares so much. She stuck to those two like peanut butter on bread almost immediately, and it becomes very clear when you discover how afraid she was that they were going to leave her behind. For her entire life, all Beau wanted to be was acknowledged and accepted, to not be so goddamn alone all the time. And here was her chance to have that, and so she held on like her life depended on it. In some ways, it did.

I don’t think the tightness of her spiritual fists really loosened until Nicodranas. Before that the Doubt was always there that the rest of the Nein would come to grips with how much of a problem she really was and get rid of her, and who could blame them in her eyes; she was just someone who didn’t fit, and that was her fate. But they didn’t. As time went by they just seem to pull her closer. And then the Iron Shepards happened, and that’s when she knew for sure; she loved these people, and there was nothing she wouldn’t do for them.

And then... Mollymauk dies, and it forces Beau to reckon with the ugly bitterness she had allowed to consume her mind, and that she had more options than breaking. She could be a builder. She could build something good. With the Mighty Nein by her side, she could do anything, even be good. They arrive at that beach in Nicodranas, the grief of losing Molly easing on her heart, and for the first time in her entire life, she feels safe, lightness replacing her usual heaviness, her shoulders relieved of their usual tension, and finally she can, for a moment or two, go to that place in her mind the Monks always talked about.

But after a long period of security, her hands form that familiar shape again at the prospect of her worst fear coming to fruition; slowly losing the Nein. Nott was going to get her body back, and was possibly going to go back to her family. Which makes sense; it’s why she is here in the first place. But it reintroduces the idea that the family she’s built for herself could slowly come apart as each of its members finish their quest and find their place. But the Nein is Beau’s quest, it is her place.

Suddenly they’re back in Kamordah, and her old wounds seem to get torn back open all at once, and Beau loses her footing, spiritual eyes clenched, shoulders tight, and fists balled up, bracing herself for what surely had to follow. They meet the Hag, an awful creature who preys on misery, who was feeding on Nott, Beau’s chosen sister, and she wanted a deal to free her, to replace misery with misery. And things began to click into to place. This is what this was all building up to, wasn’t it? This is what it was all for. Molly was there to teach her that she could do good, and here was her chance. All it would cost is everything. Everything she never deserved. She was going to go back to losing on her terms, just as it should have always been.

One unexpected Cupcake later, and that idea of martyrdom is entirely thrown out the window. This is the part of the movie where the record scratches. This was not at all how things are supposed to go. Things were supposed to fall apart. And now the newly returned Veth has her doubts about putting the Adventurer’s Life behind her. And Cad’s family is saved and home restored and he’s decided to stick around anyway. WHAT IS GOING ON?!! Here Beau was matching the pairs in hand thinking she was playing Poker only to be playing Uno all along.

I have no idea where Beau’s head is right now, but she seems to be sliding back into the Beau we’re so proud of. I don’t know if this is just the calm before Marisha rips all of our hearts out, or if Beau has just decided to enjoy the Mighty Nein for what it is while she has it. But I know her knuckles have some color again, and for that I’m grateful.

[jaehyunspeachparty]

daddy jaehyun

iv.l. (a)

Sunoh has loved banana bread with peanut butter lately. So you bake him the banana bread every few days so that he can eat his favorite breakfast. And you've been preparing it for him for weeks, also for Miga, but that day the smell made you sick. It was so disgusting that you immediately turn around and throw up in the sink. "Mummy, are you sick?" Asks Miga and came running towards you. You quickly take a glass and fill it with water. "Sweetheart, can you smell on the bread?” You point to the plate and Miga took the banana bread and smelled it. "Does it smell bad?" You ask her, but the girl shook her head. "No, it smells like every day. Super yummy!" She grins and still holds the plate tightly in her small hands. It was strange. Why did the bread smell so disgusting to you, but it was okay for Miga? “Oh,okay! Can you take the plates and give one to your brother?" You couldn't see the banana bread anymore and you didn't want to smell it. You drink water and rinse your vomit in the sink. You actually feel good again and didn't know why this sudden nausea was coming. "Are you all right, Mummy?" Miga looked at you worriedly when you sat down with her with the glass of water. "Yes, I was only sick for a moment." You smile and take another sip of water. The taste of the vomit was still in your mouth and you couldn't wait to brush your teeth. But Jaehyun was still asleep, as his hungover was more intense and he came home very late. But your dizziness was not good and you fear that you may have been sick after all. Until Jaehyun wakes up, you just decide to sit down with the kids in front of the TV. You don't really like the kids watching TV all day, but you feel so tired and dizzy. Jaehyun still wasn't awake and you were so angry. While Miga and Sunoh watched TV, Geon sat on the floor and chewed on his toys. Kiwoo was on top of you and you breastfeed your son. "Slow down my little one." Kiwoo was quite greedy and drank incredibly quickly. Maybe he had a growth spurt. "Mummy, is Daddy not here again today?" Suddenly, Miga wasn't interested in the television anymore, she missed her father. "He's still sleeping. He came home very late yesterday." You look at her and smile gently. "But he's always there on weekends." She looked at you sadly and you see more and more how the children miss their father. "You can go to wake him up," you suggest and you thought anyway that Jaehyun should now take care of his children. "Sunoh, come on let's go to Daddy." She pulled on his sleeve, but Sunoh shook his head. "No," he said pouting and crawling in your direction. "Don't you like to see your Daddy?" You ask him carefully and stroke his head. "I want to cuddle now." For Sunoh, having Kiwoo on top of you was more of a problem because he wanted your attention now. Sunoh always expressed himself differently with his feelings. While Miga always said what she wanted, Sunoh was more likely to say that he wanted more attention from you. Since Jaehyun was not home that much, his attacks of jealousy had started again. "Then I'll go to Daddy alone," Miga then said and hopped off the couch. "Mummyyyyyy ..." Sunoh started to whimper because he still couldn't climb on you. "Sunoh, I'm still breastfeeding your brother. You have to wait now." You speak to him more strictly now, but Sunoh didn't like that at all. He started to cry and didn't want to accept the rebuff. Geon looked at his big brother in amazement and then looked at you. You were now afraid that he would start crying too. Geon was more empathetic and usually went along with the feelings of his siblings. You were just exhausted. You had now reached a point where you were wondering if having so many children was a good idea. You think of Johanna, who was now a single parent. If you ever separated from Jaehyun, would you manage to raise your four children well? "Mummy ... cuddle with me ..." Sunoh continued howling and pulled on your shirt. "Stop it Sunoh. When I'm done with Kiwoo we can cuddle, but you have to wait now." You admonish him and look at him seriously. It hurt you to turn him away like that, but all you knew was that he was seeking Jaehyun's lack of attention from you. "NOOOO!" He kept crying and his whole face was red and wet. Tears rolled down his cheeks and snot ran under his nose. You lean over to the table and quickly take a handkerchief to clean him a little. But Sunoh didn't stop crying and now Geon, who was watching the whole situation, joined in. The 9 month old boy also started crying because his big brother was crying. Only Kiwoo was in a trance and continued to drink from your breast. He was so busy with his food that he didn't see the drama. Such scenes have happened a lot lately and you didn't know what to do anymore. You were glad that Miga was already so independent. "What's going on here?" Jaehyun came to you now and saw the whole catastrophe. Sunoh looked at him and cried again. "Mummyyyyy ..." He put his fingers in his mouth and his face was even wetter now. "Come on, leave Mummy alone now. We're going into the kitchen." Jaehyun was about to pick up Sunoh, but then the boy began to scream and clung to you. "NOOOOOOOOOO!" He was screaming so loudly that Miga covered her ears. "Come on Sunoh. Let go of Mummy." Jaehyun sighed and didn't understand why Sunoh had such outbursts of anger. "NOOO! I want to stay with Mummy." Sunoh screamed and screamed and you couldn't look at it any longer. "Jaehyun, just take Geon and go." After all, your little son was also sitting on the floor, looking at his older brother and crying too. You knew that he was only crying because Sunoh was crying and once he was gone he would calm down again. Jaehyun sighed and went around the couch to pick up Geon. Then he took Miga by the hand and they left the room. "My big boy, what's the matter with you?" You ask him worriedly and wipe his tears away. As soon as Jaehyun was out of the room, he calmed down again. "I want to be with you." Sunoh sobbed a little more, but he looked at you with wide eyes. "Okay, but no more crying. Okay?" You look at him seriously and Sunoh nodded. You open your arm and Sunoh lay down in your armpit. The boy looked back at the TV and Kiwoo slowly fell asleep on your chest.

After lunch, as always, Geon, Kiwoo and Sunoh took their nap. Miga sat in her room and played with her dolls. It was the first time you and Jaehyun could be alone. You are actually looking forward to this time, but today you are afraid of a confrontation. But nausea also contracted in your stomach. Have you been sick? "Y/N ... I'm sorry about yesterday." Jaehyun came up to you and looked at you with concern. So many emotions came up and immediately tears ran down your cheeks. "I don't know why I didn't called. I think I just needed an evening to myself." Jaehyun stroked his head and didn't quite know what to say. "Do you think I don't even need a break. My job is 24/7. I’m alone with the children and never have a break. I can only make the children sleep at the same time, like now, if you help." You got angry and couldn't control your tears. "Should we hire someone? Do you need help?" Jaehyun then asked, but that's not the problem. "No, that's not the point. I love our children and I am happy to be there for them 24/7. But what about us?" You look at him and press your lips together. "We just have to slow down now. It's only for a few more weeks. My job isn't forever and the children are just more important now. I don't have any more time." Jaehyun himself was desperate about the situation, but that was his only solution. But that statement broke your heart. He confirmed to you what you were afraid of. You weren't important enough right now. "You just decide to push me away?" You close your eyes for a moment and hope that you are just having a bad nightmare. "No, I don't want to push you away. But the job makes money and I can't neglect the children." "I miss you, that I can hardly bare it anymore and you make a list where you put me in. Apparently, drinking is more important than me too." You reach for a handkerchief to quickly drain your tears. "I really miss you. And it was so stupid from that I was yesterday out but...", Jaehyun said immediately, but suddenly you hear a voice. "Daddy, can we play?" Miga came down to you and you turn away because you didn't want her to see that you were crying. Jaehyun saw you pull away from him. He picked Miga up and kissed her cheek. "Of course, let's go play."

You have to admit that you weren't sure yourself if you were right. You feel selfish for soliciting Jaehyun's attention, but you miss him. And at the same time you were angry that he came home drunk yesterday evening and then argued this with "I need a break". You were in one back and forth. Your feelings were mixed up and you could hardly think clearly. You got that terrible nausea again. You notice how suddenly your body became so weak. Did you feel sick because of the psychological pressure? Why was your body so weird? But it didn't take long to think about it, because you couldn't hold the contents of your stomach in you anymore. You immediately run to the bathroom and throw up everything. Then you wipe your mouth and lean on the toilet seat. You didn't want any more, you were weak and hardly had any more strength. All of this made you so exhausted. Jealousy almost consumed you. What was wrong with you? You were now what you hated about Jaehyun. You hated it so much when he was jealous and now you're collapsing here because you didn't like him kissing another woman, that he was spending more time with this woman than with you and that she might be there last night too when Jaehyun had a drink with his coworkers. You pull your legs towards you and begin to cry bitterly. Your heart ached and you hate that side of you.

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