#look at her though. truly effervescent.

[majinie]

saw a snail today....... effervescent

[ellswritings]

I Knew You Were Trouble

Ex!Evan Buckley x reader

Eddie Diaz x reader

TW: Emotional and physical cheating (from Buck), heartbroken reader, 118 supporting reader, Eddie picking up the pieces, angsty fluff.

══════ ∘◦❀◦∘ ══════

Evan Buckley. The moment his piercing blue eyes showed up at the 118, Y/N knew she was in for it. His flirty smile, the forward flirting, it was hard not to fall for it. Y/N has never been the type to fall for a guy just because he flashes a smile, but something about the way his nose crinkled whenever he grinned at her, it made her heart flutter.

Y/N L/N has always had a strong personality. She was part of the LAPD for five years before going through the Fire academy. She was the best in both of her fields. Always professional, super playful, witty, reasonable, and always down for a good time. That’s why she fit in so well with the team at the 118 when she was placed there. Hen and Chimney were the first two she met, then Captain Bobby Nash came rolling in. He clicked seamlessly with them too. And then… Buck.

On paper, he was perfect. At least in Y/N’s eyes he was. Despite his constant need to go against Bobby’s orders, she could never truly dislike the boy. Did she think he could be irrational and dumb sometimes? Absolutely. But that’s one of the things she found endearing about him.

And that’s also the reason he fell for her. Everyone on the team treated him like some idiot kid who was just a ticking time bomb. But not Y/N. She treated him like an equal, like a partner. Even when he immaturely would flirt with her on shift, tease her, blatantly but playfully check her out, she still never once genuinely got irritated with him.

So when the two of them started dating, the team wasn’t necessarily surprised. It was around that time a new recruit came into the 118. Edmundo Diaz, or as he likes to go by, Eddie. He was the missing piece the 118 needed. It felt like a full fledged family when Eddie showed up. He and Buck didn’t get along at first, but Y/N, being the effervescent force she is, managed to make them get along.

The team was amazing. Going on calls was a breeze because they all just worked so well together. Even team outings were an absolute blast because everyone got along. They are truly one big happy family.

Of course though, Eddie, Buck, and Y/N always had a deeper connection with each other than the others. Perhaps it’s because they’re so close in age, but they truly just clicked. When Eddie originally showed up to the firehouse, he wasn’t oblivious to how genuinely beautiful Y/N is. Her infectious smile and booming laugh would catch any man or woman’s attention. He would have pursued her if Buck hadn’t already won that battle.

They were always relatively professional at the job. Out of the two of them, Buck seemed to have the hardest time keeping his hands off of her. Stealing kisses here and there, smacking her behind when he thinks no one’s looking. They were happy, and anyone with eyes could see it.

At least until Taylor Kelly came into the picture.

When they got the call that her news helicopter had a mechanical failure, no one really thought anything would’ve came out of it. Y/N was pretty much in the midst of all of it, being the one to pull Taylor out of the situation while the rest of the group helped her crew and got the copter under control.

However, despite Y/N saving her life, the redheads attention was solely focused on Buck. Something that not only Y/N noticed, but the rest of the team.

It only got worse when Taylor showed up to the firehouse, claiming she would be following the 118 crew around until she felt comfortable enough to go back into the sky. Not only was Bobby annoyed, but Y/N wasn’t too thrilled to be seeing her around. Especially with the way she’s been paying special attention to her boyfriend.

Now, Y/N has never been the jealous type. She knows Buck is good looking and that other people are bound to think so too. Whenever they go out, there’s always one or two drunk individuals that try to slip him their number, but he’s never entertained any of them. After the whole Abby fiasco, his eyes have only ever been on Y/N.

That’s why she tried her hardest to ignore Taylor’s persistent behavior. She also tried to ignore how much Buck seemed to enjoy the attention. She had to remind herself of how much she loves and trusts Evan Buckley. Still, some reassurance would’ve been nice.

Anytime she’d talk to Hen and Athena about it, they’d share a look before saying that it’s just Buck’s personality. He’s a flirty guy. But that he’s never been as committed to someone as he is to her. That was always nice to hear. Even Chimney and Bobby found small ways to tell her that she has nothing to worry about.

That’s why it stung so much to walk into her apartment, one that she asked Buck to move into to get him out of Abby’s, only to find him and Taylor naked on her couch.

Her entire world crashed down around her that night. Neither of them seemed to even hear her walk in as they were still mid action and didn’t look like they were stopping anytime soon.

Y/N being as quick witted as she is, snapped a photo of their dalliance before spinning on her heel and slamming the door behind her. Anger, hurt, frustration, grief, any emotion someone could think of, she felt it that night. As soon as she got in her car, tears started flowing freely down her face. She had no idea what she was going to do with that photo. Some part of her just knew she needed proof, a reminder of what she just saw. Because she knows as soon as Buck comes crawling back to apologize, she’d forgive him in an instant.

That’s why she picked staying in her car for the night over going back there. Even though it’s her apartment, her safe space, she couldn’t bear going back. Not right now at least. Every single call he made went without an answer, all the texts, emails, all of it. She didn’t even bother to read.

Sleep didn’t come easy for the poor woman. In fact, it didn’t come at all. She simply stared out her front window, arms crossed as she buried herself deeper into her hoodie. So when the sun came out, Y/N couldn’t have been more relieved. Work was the one place where she wouldn’t have to confront this. Maintaining professionalism is of the utmost importance to her, so for the next twelve hours, she can shove all of these issues to the side.

Y/N walked into the 118 station that morning with an air of quiet fury. Her normally upbeat energy was replaced by a stiff, almost mechanical demeanor. The shift in her mood was impossible to miss. Her jaw was set, her eyes distant, and the usual lightness in her step was gone, replaced by rigid, purposeful movements. She walked past the common area without so much as a word, heading straight to the locker room to stow her gear.

The station was never completely quiet, but as Y/N entered, it felt like the atmosphere shifted, as though everyone unconsciously held their breath. Bobby was the first to notice her as she passed by his office.

“Morning, Y/N,” he greeted her, his usual warm smile in place. But Y/N, normally quick with a bright ‘Good morning,’ barely glanced his way.

“Hey, Cap,” she muttered, not slowing her pace. Her voice was flat, a stark contrast to her usual chipper tone.

Bobby frowned, watching her as she moved further into the station. He’d been a captain long enough to know when one of his firefighters was struggling with something, and Y/N’s behavior set off alarm bells in his mind. She wasn’t being rude—she was too professional for that—but her unusually short response made it clear something was off.

Y/N reached her locker, tugging it open with more force than necessary. Her hands moved quickly as she shoved her bag inside, not caring that it landed haphazardly. She was wound so tightly that every movement seemed deliberate, controlled, like she was holding back a flood of emotions threatening to escape.

Hen, who had been watching from the other side of the room, approached carefully. She knew Y/N well enough to see that something was seriously wrong. Normally, Y/N would joke about the early mornings or make some witty comment to lighten the mood, but today, she was all business.

“Hey, Y/N,” Hen said softly, leaning against the lockers beside her. “You okay?”

Y/N paused, her hands gripping the edge of her locker door for a moment before letting out a sharp exhale. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she replied curtly, closing the locker with a loud clang.

Hen didn’t buy it, and neither did the rest of the team, who were now quietly exchanging glances from across the room. Chimney, watching from the doorway, nudged Eddie.

“Something’s definitely up,” Chim whispered. “She doesn’t look like she’s slept.”

Eddie’s gaze was fixed on Y/N, his brows furrowed in concern. She was usually the first to crack a joke, the one to bring energy into the room, but today, her whole demeanor was different. She was stiff, guarded, and Eddie could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she was holding herself together with an almost frightening precision.

“Y/N,” Eddie called out softly as he approached. “You sure you’re okay?”

Y/N glanced at him briefly before looking away, her lips pressed into a thin line. She appreciated the concern, but she didn’t want to get into it—not here, not now. “I’m fine, Eddie,” she said, her voice clipped but not harsh.

Eddie didn’t push, though his eyes stayed on her, worry etched in every line of his face. He knew Y/N well enough to know that ‘fine’ wasn’t fine at all.

As Y/N moved through the rest of her morning routine, the tension around her only grew. Her movements were brisk, efficient, but there was a hardness to her that wasn’t normally there. She didn’t engage in small talk, didn’t banter with the team like usual. The shift in her behavior was like a cloud hanging over the station, and everyone could feel it.

Then Buck walked in, his entrance loud and hurried, as though he was already feeling the weight of the guilt on his shoulders. He looked disheveled, like he hadn’t slept, and his eyes immediately locked onto Y/N.

Her entire body tensed the moment he entered. She could feel his presence without even looking at him, the air between them thick with unresolved tension. She didn’t want to deal with this right now—especially not at work. But Buck, clearly desperate to make things right, approached her anyway.

“Y/N, can we talk? Please?” Buck’s voice was quiet but urgent as he moved toward her.

Y/N stiffened even more, her back straightening as she turned to face him. Her eyes were cold, and her lips pressed into a tight, thin line. “Now’s not the time or place, Evan.”

He flinches at the cold use of his first name, “Please, Y/N, I just… I need to explain,” he said, his voice cracking slightly as he took another step closer.

Y/N tenses, her grip tightening around the locker door. She swallows hard, mortified that he’s bringing this up here, in front of everyone. She glances around and sees Chimney and Eddie looking at Buck with something akin to disgust. Hen’s brow is furrowed in confusion, and even Bobby has stopped pretending to read the morning paper.

Y/N hesitated, hating that he’s cornering her in the only other place she thought she’d be safe. The woman was trying so hard to stay professional, but he wasn’t making it easy. She could feel the eyes of everyone in the station on her, and the last thing she wanted was to make a scene.

“Fine,” she muttered through gritted teeth, motioning for him to follow her to a quieter corner of the station.

Once they were away from the rest of the team, Buck wasted no time. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

Y/N’s eyes flashed with anger, her composure slipping just a little. “You didn’t mean for it to happen?” she repeated, her voice low and dangerous. “You’re telling me you just accidentally ended up screwing Taylor on my couch?”

Buck winced at her words, his guilt written all over his face. “I—I wasn’t thinking. I was confused.”

“Confused?” Y/N’s voice was sharper now, her anger bubbling to the surface. “That’s your excuse? You didn’t know what you were doing?”

“I was in a bad headspace, Y/N. It just—” Buck struggled for words, clearly not understanding how badly he was making things. “It didn’t mean anything. You and me, we’re the real thing. That with Taylor… it was just a mistake.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, disbelief and fury warring in her chest. “A mistake?” she echoed, her voice trembling with the effort of holding back her rage. “No,” she scoffs. “No. No, a mistake is when you lose your keys. What you did was make a blatant choice without thinking of the consequences.”

Buck’s face flushed, and he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. Please, I can’t lose you.”

“You should’ve thought about that before you cheated on me!” Y/N snapped, her voice rising. The anger she had been holding back all morning finally erupted, spilling out into the open. Her words echoed through the station, drawing the attention of everyone around them.

Buck’s face paled as he realized the entire team had heard her outburst. He looked around, embarrassment flooding him, but Y/N didn’t care. She was too angry, too hurt to worry about how this looked.

“Y/N—”

“No, Buck!” she yelled, her hands trembling as she tried to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. “You don’t get to do this! You don’t get to stand here and pretend like it didn’t mean anything. You cheated on me. You lied to me. And now you want me to just… what? Forgive you because it didn’t ‘mean anything’?” She shakes her head, failing at stopping herself from making the situation worse. “You try to act like you’ve changed, but you’re still the same freakin’ playboy who had sex with every girl who paid him the slightest bit of attention.”

The station was dead silent. The rest of the team, though trying not to stare, couldn’t help but listen to every word.

Buck’s mouth opened and closed as he struggled for a response, but nothing came out. The weight of Y/N’s words seemed to hit him all at once, and the guilt that had been simmering beneath the surface came crashing down on him.

Before Buck could say anything else, Y/N shook her head, her voice breaking. “I can’t do this anymore. I– I just– I can’t. We’re done.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away, her heart pounding, her face flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment.

The silence in the station hung heavy until Hen was the first to break it, her voice firm. “What the hell, Buck?”

Chimney sighed, his disappointment evident. “You messed up, man. You don’t do that to someone like Y/N.”

Bobby, usually the voice of reason, stepped in, his tone stern. “You need to figure out how you’re going to make this right. But more importantly, you need to take responsibility for your actions, Buck. This wasn’t just a mistake. It’s a breach of trust. We don’t do things like that to each other.”

Buck looked around, his face pale as he realized just how badly he had screwed up. But it was Eddie who delivered the harshest blow. He stepped forward, his eyes blazing with barely concealed anger.

“You had something good, Buck,” Eddie said, his voice low but full of emotion. “And you threw it away. She deserved better than that. Better than you.”

Buck’s face fell, the weight of Eddie’s words hitting him like a punch to the gut. Eddie never spoke like that—especially not to his friends—but this was different. This was Y/N. And Eddie wasn’t just mad—he was furious.

As Buck stood there, looking like the ground had been ripped out from under him, Eddie turned on his heel and followed Y/N outside. He found her pacing near one of the firetrucks, her hands shaking as she tried to calm herself down.

“Y/N,” Eddie called out softly.

She paused, glancing up at him, her eyes red and glassy. “I’m fine,” she muttered, though it was clear she wasn’t. She won’t let any actual tears fall. Not here. Not at work. She can’t lose it.

Eddie sighs before taking a gentle step forward. He stops her pacing by grabbing her hands as delicately as possible. He can feel the furious energy buzzing through her skin. It’s a rage similar to his own. As he looks into her gorgeous (e/c) eyes, his anger morphs into pain. His heart aches at how broken she looks. She trusted Buck with every fiber of her being and he took it for granted. He took her for granted. How could he throw away such a beautiful soul?

“No, mariposa, you’re not,” he shakes his head. His deep chocolate gaze makes her shoulders slump. Her tense posture falls, knowing that there’s no point in lying to him. For whatever reason, Eddie has always been able to read her like an open book. She couldn’t keep secrets with him. He knew them before she even knew herself. “Everything that happened in there… that’s not fine. So please, don’t pretend with me.”

Y/N finally forced herself to open up. She exhales shakily, blowing a big puff of air out as she laughs brokenly. A small sniffle escapes her, “It just… hurts, y’know? I mean, I kinda picked up on something weird with them, but I thought I was just being paranoid,” she looks back down at her boot-clad feet. “I try not to be jealous, I feel like it makes me look crazy. But… I guess I should’ve trusted my gut.” She sends a halfhearted glare over at Buck who’s still standing in the middle of the fire station, trying to avoid everyone’s wrath. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Hey,” Eddie stops her, a serious look on his face. He moves one hand to cup her chin, forcing her to look back at him. “You are not the idiot in this situation. He is,” he nods in Buck’s direction. “He didn’t see the amazing woman he had right in front of him. He’s the biggest damn idiot in the world for losing you.”

Y/N feels like she can let her walls crumble around Eddie. There’s something about the way his strong presence grounds her, silently reassuring her that he’s there, that he’s supporting her. She relaxes into his soft touch, “I just… I don’t know what I’m gonna do now. I mean, he lives with me.”

Eddie hesitates for a moment before pulling her fully into him, wrapping his arms around her as she rests her head on his chest. “Well, the best answer I can give you is that you continue being you. And trust me, there’s someone out there who’s going to see how incredible you are and never take it for granted. Someone who would treat you like the gem you are.” He pauses before planting a soft kiss on her forehead, “And if you want, you can always stay with Chris and I until he gets all of his stuff cleared out.”

Y/N looks up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I think I might take you up on that.” She swallows, trying to keep herself together. “But… what if I don’t want to go through all of that again? Maybe I’m not meant to find anyone else. What if I’m just…done with relationships?”

Eddie’s expression softened even further. He knew how hard this was for her, and part of him hated seeing her in so much pain, especially because of someone like Buck. But he also knew she was stronger than she gave herself credit for. “You’re not done, Y/N. You’re just hurt right now. But you’ll heal, and when you’re ready, you’ll move on. And when that happens, you’ll find someone who’s going to love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

Y/N searched his face for a moment, her breath catching in her throat. There was something in the way Eddie was looking at her—something she hadn’t noticed before. A tenderness, an intensity that made her heart skip a beat.

She blinked, trying to shake off the feeling. Now wasn’t the time. “Thanks, Eddie,” she whispered, her voice shaky but sincere.

He gave her a small smile, his hand lingering near hers for just a moment longer before he stepped back. “Anytime.”

They stood in silence for a few moments, the air between them charged with something unspoken. Eddie wanted to tell her that he was there for her in more ways than just friendship, but he knew this wasn’t the right moment. Y/N had just been through hell, and she needed space to heal.

But he also knew that if she ever needed him—really needed him—he’d be there without hesitation.

Before Y/N could respond, the station doors opened, and Hen walked out, giving them both a look. “Everything alright out here?”

Y/N straightened up, wiping her face quickly and nodding. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Hen gave her a knowing look but didn’t push. “Alright. We’re heading out for a call in a few minutes, so just wanted to make sure you were ready.”

Y/N took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for the day ahead. “I’m ready,” she said, her voice more steady now.

Hen nodded and headed back inside, leaving Y/N and Eddie standing there in the quiet. Eddie looked at her one last time, his eyes filled with a silent promise. “You’ve got this.”

Y/N nodded, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. I’ve got this.”

As they walked back inside together, the weight of the day ahead still heavy on Y/N’s shoulders, she knew that it was going to take time to fully heal. But with Eddie by her side and the support of the rest of her team, she knew she wasn’t facing it alone.

And as for Buck? She wasn’t sure what the future held, but one thing was clear: she deserved better than what he had given her. And one day, she’d find it. But for now, she’d focus on what she did best—being a damn good firefighter and an even better person.

══════ ∘◦❀◦∘ ══════

Working a twelve hour shift on absolutely no sleep had to have been the worst decision Y/N could have made. It’s not that she isn’t capable of doing her job, it’s just her emotions were already on overdrive after seeing Buck, but now that exhaustion is kicking in, it’s not good for anyone.

She pulls the hair tie out of her hair as she grabs the remaining items from her locker. Her eyes travel over to Eddie who is already waiting by the entrance of the firehouse for her. He sends her a small smile and she returns it, a small flutter in her chest catching her off guard. Y/N internally scolds herself for staring too long. She’s always found Eddie attractive, but she just got out of a relationship with Buck. Now is not the time to be casting ogling glances to Eddie.

She slings her bag over her shoulder before heading out of the locker room. Thankfully, she has enough clothes in her bag for the next few days to bring to Eddie’s so she doesn’t have to go back home. She bids a proper goodbye to everyone, narrowly avoiding Buck who just walked out of the showers. He looks like a wounded puppy when he watches Y/N walk away.

He walks away dejectedly, trying to avoid the angry stares from the rest of the team. Y/N feels a certain level of safety as she continues growing closer to the Diaz man. To her dismay though, someone felt the need to disrupt her journey.

Taylor.

“Y/N, can I speak with you for a moment?” She asks, tilting her head in a way that makes Y/N clench her jaw.

“I don’t really think that’s a good idea,” Y/N replies smoothly.

Taylor persists, “I’m just asking for a second of your time.”

“To interview me professionally or to try and explain why you were butt ass naked on my couch?” Y/N raises a confrontational eyebrow, yet her tone remains collected. Taylor purses her lips, trying to fight off her own embarrassment as more people in the firehouse look over to them. Eddie takes a few steps closer, getting ready to intervene if needed.

“Look, you have every right to be angry–”

“Oh, I know,” Y/N nods, crossing her arms. “I don’t need your permission or you to tell me I have the right to do anything.”

Taylor sucks in a deep breath, clearly getting impatient. “I just think that maybe you’re being too hard on Buck. He really was in a rough place. I think you owe it to him to hear him out.”

“Really?” Y/N lets out a humorless laugh. “I owe him? Oh sweetheart, I don’t owe anyone anything,” she shakes her head, taking a step forward with a condescending smile. “He made his bed, or in this case, the couch, so now he can lay in it,” she shrugs nonchalantly. Y/N looks Taylor up and down before scoffing, “You two deserve each other…” she grumbles before shoulder checking the journalist and finishing her journey over to Eddie.

He watches her with an impressed look on his face, “How’d that feel?” He asks with a small grin.

“So good,” Y/N breathes out with a victorious sighs. “If I could’ve punched her without getting fired, I would have.”

Eddie chuckles, wrapping his arm around her shoulder as he walks her out of the firehouse. “You’re too professional for that.”

“Yeah… I suppose,” Y/N leans into his side.

“Hey, why don’t you ride home with me?” Eddie suggests. “Since you’re staying at my place, we could just carpool in the morning.”

“I can’t just leave my car here,” Y/N says logically.

“You can get it tomorrow,” he brushes off, guiding her over to his vehicle. “C’mon… it’ll be fun. I’ll let you play Hamilton on the way,” he grins, knowing that’ll get her to say yes.

Y/N sighs reluctantly but ultimately ends up hightailing it towards Eddie’s car. It makes her flush at the thought that he pays that much attention to her and the things she likes. She loves musicals and everything related to theatre. It’s a guilty pleasure she’s had since middle school.

The moment they walked into Eddie's house, Christopher came sprinting toward them, his excitement contagious.

“Y/N!” he called, throwing his arms around her waist. “Are you staying over?”

“For a little while,” Y/N said, ruffling his hair. “Think you can put up with me?”

Christopher grinned. “Only if we make cookies.”

Y/N looked at Eddie, raising a brow. “That okay with you, Chef Diaz?”

Eddie smirked, leaning casually against the doorframe. “I guess I can allow it. But don’t think you’re getting out of clean-up duty.”

Christopher grabbed Y/N’s hand, dragging her toward the kitchen. “C’mon! I already know where the chocolate chips are!”

Eddie followed, shaking his head with amusement as he grabbed an apron. “You’ve got him wrapped around your finger,” he teased.

“Oh, please. He’s the boss around here,” Y/N shot back, tying her own apron and bumping Eddie lightly with her hip.

As they worked, the kitchen buzzed with laughter and lighthearted banter. Y/N and Eddie stood shoulder-to-shoulder at the counter while Christopher focused on cracking eggs without shell casualties. Y/N nudged Eddie when she caught him sneaking a handful of chocolate chips.

“You’re supposed to bake with those,” she said, trying to snatch the bag away.

“You’re the one who ate half the dough at the station,” Eddie countered, leaning closer with a playful smirk. “Hypocrite much?”

“Someone had to test it for poison,” she shot back, their faces just inches apart. She realized too late how close they were, her breath catching at the warmth in his eyes.

Eddie cleared his throat, stepping back as he tossed the chips into the mixing bowl. “Poison control. Got it,” he said, his voice quieter now.

Christopher’s cheerful commentary broke the moment, and Y/N refocused, though her heart raced.

Later, as the cookies baked, the three of them sprawled on the couch with mugs of milk and plates of their handiwork. They watched Moana, singing along at Christopher’s insistence, and Y/N felt herself sink into the comfort of it all—a fleeting glimpse of a life she hadn’t realized she wanted.

By the time Christopher went to bed, yawning through his goodnight hug, Y/N felt exhaustion settle over her. Eddie walked back into the living room with a blanket slung over his shoulder.

“You take my bed,” he offered, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll take the couch.”

“Eddie,” Y/N protested, “don’t be ridiculous. I can sleep out here.”

“I wasn’t asking,” he said with a crooked grin, tossing the blanket onto the couch.

She hesitated, looking up at him. “I mean… we could just share. Your bed’s big enough, right?”

Eddie froze for a beat, his brows lifting. “You’re serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Y/N shrugged, trying to sound casual, though her cheeks burned.

He exhaled and nodded. “Alright, but if you snore, I’m kicking you out.”

Later, lying side by side in the quiet of Eddie’s room, Y/N broke the silence. “I thought Buck was the one,” she admits quietly, her eyes falling as she thinks about everything that’s transpired in the past twenty-four hours. “And, y’know, maybe he was… for a while.” She turned her head, meeting Eddie’s steady gaze in the dim light. “But I’d be lying Eddie if I said I never thought about you,” her voices comes out in a whisper, almost like she’s scared of how he’ll react.

Eddie didn’t answer right away, his expression softening. Then, before she could second-guess herself, he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. The kiss was slow, deliberate, and unguarded, carrying loads of unspoken feelings. When his hand slid to her waist and she deepened the kiss, Eddie pulled back suddenly, resting his forehead against hers.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice rough. “I can’t… I don’t want to take advantage of you. Not after everything with Buck.”

She nodded, her chest tightening with a mix of disappointment and admiration. “You’re a good man, Eddie.”

He smiled faintly. “I’m trying to be.” A small chuckle leaves his lips, “Believe me, it’s not easy. Not with you here, like this,” he gestures to the closeness between them. “I’ve thought about this more than I’d like to admit. Probably an embarrassing amount of times. And while I would love to continue what just happened, I can’t do that to you. Not when your heart just got broken.”

Y/N reaches over to cup his cheek, “Then maybe you can help me figure out how to fix it.”

══════ ∘◦❀◦∘ ══════

Over the next few weeks, their connection only grew stronger.

At the station, Eddie would appear beside her with coffee, their hands brushing in ways that felt intentional. Y/N’s laugh came more easily around him, and the team couldn’t help but notice. Hen caught Eddie sneaking glances more than once, and Chimney started placing bets with Bobby about when Eddie would make his move.

At Eddie’s house, Christopher treated Y/N like part of the family. She helped him with homework, played board games, and joined them for Sunday dinners. Eddie would lean against the doorway, watching them, his heart full.

Things finally felt good for Y/N. Like every single piece of her life fit perfectly. She was getting over Buck while still getting along well with the team. She’s been spending a lot of amazing time with Eddie and Chris. She absolutely loves the little boy. It’s like being apart of them and their routine was that little spark she was missing before.

One evening, after dropping Christopher off at a friend’s house, Eddie finally asked her out. “Y/N,” he began, his voice tinged with nervousness. “What would you say if I wanted to take you out for real? Like a date.”

Y/N smiled, her heart soaring. “I’d say it’s about time.”

Their first date was simple: dinner at a small Mexican restaurant Eddie loved, followed by a walk under the stars. They talked for hours, and when Eddie kissed her goodnight, it was everything she’d been waiting for.

Back at the station, their relationship became the team’s favorite topic. Hen teased them mercilessly, and even Chim couldn’t resist joining in. Buck, though initially uncomfortable, eventually came around, admitting that Eddie made Y/N happy in a way he hadn’t.

For the first time in a long time, Y/N felt like she was exactly where she was meant to be—with Eddie, with Christopher, with a future that finally felt whole.

[malleux]

performance anxiety.

-> lyney x fem!famous singer!reader

-> warnings: mentions of past bad relationship, anxiety, no use of y/n

-> words: 3.4k

[a/n]: this was not supposed to be this long but. not proofread, idk what universe this is in where all of these characters are friends but shut up. i just started writing, gun to my head i could not tell you what happens in this story

Applause. Roses. Adoration. Entertainment. 

You craved the effervescence of the spotlight. The thrill of being on stage. Millions of eyes are on you and you alone– coming together for the sole purpose of viewing you. 

It seemed a bit voyeuristic, but you couldn’t care less as the final notes of your song rang out across stages all over the country and applause replaced the roaring in your ears. People stood as they clapped, whooping and hollering. All for you. 

You stood before them night after night, baring the roughest edges of yourself on the stage for them all to judge. You were vulnerable to every attack possible– verbal, physical, emotional. Yet none occurred, save for the dozens of flowers that showered you every night as you completed a performance flawlessly once again. 

It was only after you made it backstage to your dressing room that you finally took a breath. A very shaky, very exhausted breath. Stagehands ran back and forth, putting up props and fixing light fixtures for someone else’s performance the next night, but they reassured you that nobody could possibly outshine you after you had christened the Opera Epiclese. 

Your first performance in Fontaine. In your hometown. 

“That was amazing!” Your manager burst through the door, a cup of water in her hands. She passes it to you. “One of your best performances yet– not that the others were bad! Quite the opposite, actually–”

“I get it. Thank you.” You chewed on your lip, gazing at yourself in the mirror. You looked frazzled up close with the stage makeup slightly smeared across your face. Not enough for the audience to notice, though. No, to them, you were perfection. “I hope they thought the same.”

“Are you kidding? You were amazing. I bet you made at least ten men think about leaving their wives for you tonight.” You cut your eyes at her, and she backtracked immediately. “I-I mean! Oh, that was such a bad analogy, wasn’t it? I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” 

It really wasn’t fine, but you weren’t going to make your friend-turned-manager feel any worse than she already does for bringing up the past. You weren’t married– Archons, no– but you lived a fast life that not many were equipped to handle, especially if they were staying home while you traveled Teyvat on a tour. 

Your ex couldn’t handle you and your lifestyle, so he handled others in bed instead. 

It didn’t sting as bad as you would have expected it to. You couldn’t take the time to grieve, not when there was a performance in Natlan the night you found out. Other performers and those who lived a more nomadic lifestyle had warned you about failed relationships and friendships with those who did not stay close or did not understand the busyness of traveling. You truly believed you were the exception, and now you realize that such relationships are impossible. You chose this life, thus giving up the idea of a simple love. Your friends were your manager and the crew that traveled with you, and that was that. You didn’t stay anywhere long enough to culminate true, meaningful connections with anyone. 

“Are you ready for the encore?” 

You swiped another layer of lipstick on and fluffed your hair in the mirror before turning back to your manager. 

“Born ready.” 

—---

Lyney sat on the edge of his seat for the past hour and a half and continues to do so, staring at the dark stage. 

His sister keeps a hand near his chair, just in case he somehow leans too far forward and falls out of it completely. She’ll never understand his infatuation with such a famous singer– it’s not like he had a shot with you anyway. Nevertheless, she made sure to surprise him with front-row tickets the minute she learned of your performance at Fontaine’s beloved Opera Epiclese. 

Lyney nearly cried in happiness and he’s nearly crying now, praying to every Archon above that you’re going to come out for an encore and that this isn’t the end of your show. The tears almost fall as the spotlight graces the stage once more and music fills the room. 

Everyone in Fontaine tried to get tickets for your performance and the most influential of citizens were sure to attend. Furina sat in the VIP box, leaning on her hand as she watched you step back onstage. She was quiet for once, enraptured by your voice. Clorinde was at her side. Neuvillette sat near the twins, seated but smiling. Charlotte and Navia were a bit further back, Charlotte furiously scribbling on her notepad to review the performance. She stopped writing halfway through, though, unable to stop herself from just enjoying the performance. Wriothesley and Sigewinne showed their faces from outside of the Fortress, the former succumbing to the latter’s pleas for tickets. Even Freminet was there, on the other side of Lyney, just happy to see his brother so happy. 

And yet there he was, sitting in the middle of the row, front and center. A perfect view. And there you were, in that jaw-dropping dress that sparkled perfectly in the lights, reflecting the same way the stars in the sky shined. Lyney was positive there were also stars in his eyes, but he couldn’t help it. 

And when the performance was over, Lyney finally sat back in his seat and exhaled a deep breath– one he had been holding since the minute you appeared onstage. 

Lynette looked him over as if to make sure he was okay and happy. She didn’t need any words to tell that he was over the moon. “Are you ready to go?”

“Just– just give me one minute.”

—---

“How long will you be in Fontaine?”

“Probably a week or two, at most.” You hummed, finally eating a snack left for you by the Hydro Archon herself. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been home. I’d like to stay a bit longer.” 

“Hmm,” Furina’s finger tapped her chin– a clear sign that she was thinking. About what, nobody could tell. “How about another performance before you leave? Many people didn’t get tickets to this first show. You’ve had so many supporters from here since you started. Why not give them a special thanks? Especially me, since I’ve supported you and been your friend for all these years?” 

You squinted at her for a moment, trying to decipher what she could be devising in her head. You weren’t a mind reader, and Furina didn’t necessarily all have it going on in her head, so you opted to just ask her outright. “What could you possibly gain from that?” 

She reeled back, feigning offense. “Nothing! It’s-it’s just that it’s great for business. And we’re having special visitors soon who may want to see. Totally not because I want to watch it again– heh.”

“What special visitors?”

“Why, the Traveler and Paimon, of course!” Furina clapped, “Yes, yes. They’d love to see your performance.”

“Hm.” You continued staring at her, unconvinced that the legendary Traveler wanted to see your performance. But, you did get to perform again and get a part of the profits. You didn’t see why not. “Fine.” 

The squeal that came out of Furina’s mouth was enough to almost break your glass of water– a feat many singers trained to do for years and could not accomplish. Yet, your friend was close to doing it without even trying out of sheer excitement. 

She grabbed your hand once you were done changing clothes and dragged you out of the dressing room. You had no choice but to follow as she led you into the main room, where the audience sat. It looked much different from before with the lights on and the chairs empty. 

Except for two chairs, three people still present in the opera house. 

At the sound of her voice, the three turned around. There was a pair of twins and a younger blonde boy. The twin boy made eye contact with you and seemed to shoot straight up, becoming entranced as he saw you. This was typically a normal reaction for fans, but there was one difference this time. 

You were entranced too. 

Furina looked at the three and huffed. “Isn’t it time for you to go home?”

“Sorry, Lady Furina,” The youngest boy spoke and motioned to the other boy, whose face was bright red. “Lyney just needed to sit for a minute.”

“Is he okay?” You tilted your head, gently shaking free of Furina and walking to them. Furina gasped and crossed her arms, almost angry that she didn’t have your attention anymore as your self-titled “best friend”. “Your face is hot.” 

The twin girl hid her mouth with her hand. “He’ll be okay eventually. I think he got overheated or something. Got all nauseous and dizzy.”

“Oh my Gods, I’m so sorry!” You felt awful– you had told someone that you felt the air was a bit too hot in the audience, but you were brushed off. This just proved that you were right. “You all come with me, there’s fresh water and everything in the guest house I’m staying in tonight.”

You ushered everyone out of Opera Epiclese and into the small building next to it. It was the guesthouse, built solely for performers without a place to stay as they traveled. You were given it for your time in Fontaine and couldn’t be more grateful, especially at a time like this when someone is in need. 

Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet– as you learned their names were– followed you and a pouting Furina into the house. You offered them all a seat on the couches and chairs before running to the kitchen and grabbing a bowl of cool water and a rag. You sat next to Lyney, who was silent the entire time, and neared his face as you put the rag on his forehead. You were a bit confused at Lynette and Furina’s snickering behind you, but you could only worry about the boy in front of you whose face turned even redder at your closeness. 

“Say,” Furina spoke up, “Lyney and Lynette here are performing at the Opera Epiclese tomorrow. Fancy a show?”

“Really?” You looked into Lyney’s eyes, “What do you do?”

He swallowed, and you wondered if he needed a glass of water. “Magic.”

“You’re magicians? No way!” You grinned, “I’ve always wanted to see a magic show live! Furina, I think we should go. I’d love to see more of these two.”

“I do too.” Lynette joined, “We can get you on the reservation list for front and center… unless you’d like to sit VIP with Furina?” 

“We’ll both sit front row. Neuvillette can have front row if he wishes to attend.” Furina grinned at Lynette, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were missing out of something as you cared for Lyney. 

“Wonderful.” Lynette stands up, followed by Freminet. “I think Lyney just needs rest now, but we don’t live far in the Court of Fontaine. We probably need to head out before it gets too late.” 

You nod and hold your hand out to Lyney, who takes a second of staring before taking your hand and hoisting himself up. You both definitely hold on a bit too long to be typical for someone you just met, but exceptions could always be made. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, Lynette.” You glance back at the boy at your side. “Lyney.” 

“Y-yes.” He speaks. You like his voice. “Tomorrow evening. I’d love to see you there.” 

After the three left, Furina stayed on your couch and stared. 

You sat across from her, staring back with a puzzled expression. 

This was the longest you’d ever heard her be quiet and it was incredibly unnerving. You couldn’t take much more of this. 

“What?”

Another beat of silence. “What do you mean ‘what’?”

“What do you mean ‘what do you mean’? What did I do?”

“You’ve never done that before.”

“Done what, Furina? I don’t have time for this–”

“Gotten all flustered like that. You don’t even dote on me like that and I’m your best friend.”

“Lynette said that he got overheated during the performance.” You defended, “I had to help him, I felt bad. I told the crew that it was too hot in there but they didn’t listen–”

“You’re stupid.” Before you could retort in offense, Furina leaned forward. “You haven’t been that open and nice since…” 

You’re glad she doesn’t finish that sentence– doesn’t let his name leave her mouth. Furina is right and you know it, but you definitely don’t want to admit that. Especially not to her. 

“I just felt bad.” She doesn’t believe you and you know it. “Fur, you know I can’t. People can’t keep up with my life. He’s cute, but I’m better off alone.” 

Furina looks away for a moment as if to think about what she’s going to say next for the first time ever. “He’s different.” 

“You don’t know that.”

“First, I know him better than you do. I’ve had my fair share of run-ins with that crew, and I’m the Hydro Archon. I know everyone in Fontaine.” She twirls a finger around her hair– a telltale sign that she’s desperate for someone to listen to her. You want to oblige, but your mind won’t let you. “Lyney understands the life of a performer. Has he traveled? No. But I bet he’d be more than willing to travel with you as like– an opening act or something!” She snaps her fingers as if this is some sort of life-changing revelation. 

Your anxiety says otherwise. 

“What about Lynette and Freminet?”

“They can go with you!” She says as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Lynette is Lyney’s assistant, so she has to go. Freminet would be good with helping with finances or something. Or if you happen to drop your wedding ring in the ocean, he can get it.”

“Wedding ring?”

“Yeah, for when you marry–”

A knock on the door interrupts her and you’ve never been happier. You give each other confused looks before you get up and open the door a crack. Behind it is a face all-too-familiar, and you open it wider. 

“I-uh, forgot my hat here.” Lyney, cheeks still rosy, rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. 

“O-oh, of course!” You stammer out, leaving him at the door and finding his hat in one of the other chairs. Furina stares him down in a way that makes him feel like he’s intruding on a very important conversation, but he tries to brush it off as one of her theatrics. 

Lyney’s smile returns when you appear again, his hat in your hands, and tries to ignore the jump of his heart as his fingers accidentally brush yours when he takes it. “Thank you so much.” You watch as his figure begins to retreat from the guesthouse, but he quickly turns around and waves. “And I do hope to see you tomorrow.”

—---

Lyney does, in fact, get to see you tomorrow. 

Peeking through the curtain, he sees you front and center, sitting in the same exact seat that he was in the night before. Furina is at your side, chatting with you happily and ignoring the questioning whispers of her citizens as they question why she’s on the floor instead of in her box. Their questions cease when they see you. 

A bit of jealousy hits him as he sees some citizens ask for your autograph or come up to talk to you, but he can’t dwell on it long before Lynette is behind him. 

“Is she here?”

“Yes.” He lets out a nervous breath. “Everything has to be perfect tonight.” 

“It will be.” She reassures, “And don’t worry about anything else. I have it all covered. She’s come to see you and you alone, so you just focus on being the best you can be.”

Lyney has never been more grateful for his sister than he is at that moment. Sure, it was one thing when she accepted his schoolgirl crush on a famous singer, but when she was actually here, at their show, watching him, she was the best wingman in Teyvat. 

He peeked out of the curtain once more, his breath catching in his throat when he sees you looking directly at him. You wave and send him a soft smile and Lyney can feel his entire body heat up. He’s determined and ready for this show to start. 

And with a short countdown, it does. 

In most performances, Lyney keeps his eyes above the crowd. It’s an illusion many performers learn– don’t look directly at anyone specifically, it’s easier to quell the anxiety of thousands of eyes being on you, judging your every move. He knows you do this tactic as well, getting to witness it firsthand last night as you wowed the crowd from the very stage he was on tonight. He wondered how he could possibly be equal to such a wonderful performance and his mind gets a bit louder as doubts start plaguing him. As quickly as they come, however, they disappear. 

Lyney looks at you. 

You’re dressed beautifully, hair and makeup done simply as if to bare the real you. Oh, how Lyney longs to know the real you. 

You think it’s a funny coincidence when the first rose comes to you. Just a chance that a draft happened to send it directly into your lap after Lyney throws it into the crowd. Same with the second rose, that he passed off to you personally as he walked by after doing his switch trick with the box. You realize it’s not just some happenstance when the performance ends and you are left with a bouquet of roses in your hands, your face hot as Furina teases you. 

“Rainbow roses have special meaning in Fontaine, you know.” She grinned. You swatted her away. 

“I know.” You huff, “He probably uses those in every show to make the little lucky audience girl feel special.”

Furina opens her mouth to speak, but a voice from behind speaks up before she can. “I normally use Romaritime Flowers, and only pull one out of my hat, but I thought tonight I could do something a little different.”

Lyney prays you aren’t uncomfortable when you turn around– the adrenaline of the show is the only thing driving him to speak to you steadily right now, and he didn’t know what he’d do if he got rejected. He’s pleasantly surprised when you do turn around and your mouth is slightly agape, your cheeks darker than usual. He did his job. 

“They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

“Keep them, they’re yours.” Lyney places his hands on yours to push them back when you go to give him back the bouquet, but he doesn’t remove them when you clutch the flowers to your chest. “This is my official offer– let me treat you to dinner.” 

You turn your head to give Furina a look, but she’s long gone. You make a note to curse her out later. 

“Lyney, I want to accept your offer. So badly. But I just know it won’t work.”

Seeing Lyney’s face fall almost makes you want to take it back, but you can’t. You can’t get hurt again. 

“Please,” His voice has gone soft, “How do you know that?”

“It’s happened before. I’m just protecting you. I’m going to be gone soon and you can forget about this little infatuation–”

“No!” Lyney blurts out but quickly composes himself. “You’re not protecting me, you’re protecting yourself. I’m not whatever man hurt you in the past. I’m a performer too, I can handle all the things that entails.” 

“Lyn… This is only my third country on my tour. I have so many more left, I’ll be gone for a very long time. It’s not fair to ask you to wait for me.”

“I think I get to decide what’s fair for me.” You don’t respond, looking away. Lyney takes your chin between his fingers to make you look at him. “And I think that me waiting for you is a fair trade if it means you come back to me in the end. Please, ma chérie. Consider it.” 

You took a breath, weighing the options as seriously as the Oratrice. You think back to your conversations– the ones with your manager, the ones with Furina. Finally, you meet his eyes fully. Lyney hasn’t looked away, a softness in his eyes that you were not expecting.

“Let’s go to dinner. I’ve been thinking of hiring an opening act for the rest of the tour anyways. How do you feel about that?”

[copaline]

WIP Wednesday is here!

It's that time again! WIP Wednesday is upon us!

@man--eater (Yeah I know you don't go here but you did it to me!)

@i-prefer-base-twelve (I NEED TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THAT KIDS AU)

@punedrr (Girl I know you got something!)

@ancharan (Loved your fic and your art!)

Besties, you have been tagged!

No pressure to share but I'd love to see what you have! And as always, if you see this and want to join in, please do! Consider yourself tagged by me! The banner is free to use!

Anyway! As you may or may not know, @punedrr and @mask-knife-is-scarecrows-girl straight up failed as my impulse control and I started a little one-shot spinoff of Horror Vacui called The Dealer and the Oracle!

It's a fix it fic that answers the question "what if someone had rescued a young 1982 Model Ford as he was being tortured by Bill"! Here's a little snippet of the upcoming Final Chapter:

It was surprisingly easy to get into a daily rhythm.  Fiddleford took to Jheselbraum just as Leaf knew he would.  Peace, calm, stability, that was the gift of the Axolotl. The Oracle was an extension of his will, a universal constant, a healer, a seeker of order, in a word: Unswerving. If Bill was a raging inferno, Jheselbraum was the ancient forest sheltering the lost and watching the centuries drift by. Her very presence was soothing, and the longer Fiddleford remained in the cabin, the more his mind healed and his real personality shone through. He was brilliant in his own right, but also thoughtful and given to manic creative bursts. Leaf often came back from her excursions to a new robot or mechanical creation built in the spur of the moment. Leaf now understood why he and Ford were friends. If someone could fix the toaster by making a tiny clockwork welder, and smile at you while presenting his creation like a little piece of sunshine, how could anyone resist?  Leaf had fully expected Fiddleford to hate Ford, or at the very least resent him. However, all the anger he had melted away when he saw the bruises under the bandages. Although Leaf did her best to keep to herself, she saw the worried looks and the softness with which he held Ford’s bandaged hand. There was something in those moments that felt familiar. It was the ache of a person mourning an echo of what could have been.  She was sure he was blind to it and didn’t have the words to describe it, but Leaf knew what it was. He was mourning a dead path, a possible future that no longer existed and would never come to pass. Leaf paused for a moment to observe them from the doorway, before walking away.  Possibility beckoned and they all had their part to play. Leaf had, of course, introduced herself to Ford during one of the few times he had been awake. He had looked at her blankly, without a hint of recognition in his blue eyes. Their effervescent dreams were truly forgotten. Moreover, he stared straight through her and locked eyes with Jheselbraum. His paths shimmered in the Oracle’s presence and Leaf had merely smiled before excusing herself without him noticing.  His attention was elsewhere. His muse now had a rounder face and seven eyes. Good.  It made it easier to fade into the background. And so every morning, Leaf woke up, walked by Ford’s doorway without disturbing him and fled down the hallway as though there were still a Neverwere snapping at her heels. The world was far more bearable once she put some distance between herself and that bedroom. The promise of a fresh cup of coffee certainly didn’t hurt. She poured herself a mug and breathed in the scent.

[llovelyclouds]

notes on cristabel oct

here's all the relevant info on cristabel i took note of during my tlt reread, in one place!

you can find the rest of the posts in this project here!

CRISTABEL OCT

titles:

Mercymorn’s cavalier, first gen, founded the eighth (with Mercy)

name meaning: in latin the meaning of the name Cristabel is: beautiful christian/follower of christ

notes from harrow the ninth:

The reason Mercy is the Saint of Joy (htn. pg. 177)

Mercy won't talk about her to Harrow, even though John thinks she would, and that her name would upset Augustine (htn. pg. 177)

Augustine doesn't mind talking about her though, and says: "A total delight. Effervescent. Kind to animals and children. A master of the sword. Did not have the intellect you'd ordinarily find in a sandwich or an orange, and was a sickening twerp into the bargain. The Eighth House will never see her like again." (htn. pg. 177)

“‘You know what I feel… you know I don't think she was the best influence on Alfred… you know I think they brought out the worst in each other, and I don’t think you disagree.’ God said, ‘They were very similar people.’ ‘No,’ said Augustine. ‘They weren’t, John. She was a fanatic and an idiot- yes, she was, Mercy- and he… was a man who regretted he wasn't. It took surprisingly little to lead my brother astray.’” - Augustine and John, discussing whatever happened between Cristabel and Alfred (double suicide, maybe?) (htn. pg. 274)

Augustine hated her for sure, but he’s ok with pretending he didn’t for dios apate reasons (htn. pg. 279)

"Cristabel always said I was tidy." - Mercymorn (htn. pg. 410)

"you picked the wrong man to enter a suicide pact with. I hate 'em. Cristabel might have undone all my good work with Alfred, but here comes the reckoning." - Augustine (htn. pg. 487)

notes from nona the ninth:

"The only other people I put through that damn trial were Mercy and Cris, because only Cris didn't mind being trepanned on the regular."- Pyrrha, about her and G1deon's trial at Canaan house (ntn. pg. 84)

Was Mercy's nun best friend pre-resurrection (ntn. pg. 128)

"I was worried I was going to get the Antichrist bit from her too, but she was just like: stop doing this! Read your Bible! This was Christ's whole problem! I was like, What are you talking about, Jesus cured the lepers and everyone was all, Hooray, thanks man. M-'s nun was all, Are you kidding, Christ never said no and never asked anyone to pay and got everyone to pay way too much attention and brought the heat down on everybody, Christ didn't keep to office hours, she said. Don't do that." (ntn. pg. 190)

“Me in my bedroom with a nun and a migraine, her thinking that if she pushed me enough we’d instantiate the Trinity and we’d all be saved.” (ntn. pg. 399)

“Eventually it was the nun who changed things. She knocked on my door and said very nicely, John, how are you doing? And I said, Not great, honestly. She said, John, how close are you to finding the soul? And I said, I can’t, Sister, It’s too big. I don’t understand why it’s so huge. I can’t find the soul inside the body, I don’t know where to look. I don’t know what I’m doing. She prayed over me, and then she went away for the longest five minutes of my life. [...] Then the nun came back and knocked on my door and said, John, I think I have it. I know you’re very scared right now, but I’m going to help you. Please let me in. He said: I let her in. She’d brought P-’s gun. [...] She just smiled at me. She said, John, don’t misunderstand. I want to help you. I truly believe that in our most terrible hours we don’t instinctively reach out to God; we push ourselves away from Him. Don’t feel bad for not rising heroically to the occasion right now, Fear doesn’t help us achieve a state of grace; it deafens the heart. John, I truly believe you can save everyone. So concentrate, please. She said, Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for our sinners, now and at the hour of our death. And she shot herself.” (ntn. Pg. 404)

[peachdues]

peach oh my LAWD phanta 3 was so good 🥺. Would you consider explaining the title a little more? i read the para at the end with it and i kind of got it, but i wanted to pick your brain a little too!

(I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to get around to this pls don’t hate me too much).

First, thank you!! Second, I love this question bc honestly, the Phanta brain rot is still real. More below the cut since I went off lol.

spoilers below.

Almost everything in Phantasmagoria is, well, a phantasmagoria — an exhibition of optical effects and illusions; a constantly shifting complex succession of things seen or imagined.

Nearly every part of the story — character interactions, perspectives, plot points — is distorted in some way, whether it be by Wisteria/alcohol, grief, or just individual stubbornness.

The Wisteria is probably the most obvious example, as it literally distorts Reader’s perceptions of both herself, her environment, and her interactions with others

I was particular with not describing the Reader physically (even beyond her clothing) past that initial scene in Part I when she goes to the Kizuki for the first time with Mitsuri. When she does describe herself, she speaks of herself as a “raving princess” and “effervescent” — but nothing truly descriptive.

Why does it matter? Contrast that with the comments Sanemi makes about how he “wouldn’t have known it was her” (which later we find out is literally true); he also tells her, point blank, she looks gaunt, and she has no reaction whatsoever — not even an internal reaction. That’s the wisteria distorting her self-image, until she finally looks in the mirror at the end of Part II and fully sees herself for the first time in a while — and realizes what it has done.

But the Wisteria distorts other things too, namely, the appeal of the club/rave life that Reader throws herself into. At first, she calls it a paradise — it’s her escape from both her heartache and from herself in general. The club then distorts her perception of others — namely, Sanemi, like when she describes him as “menacing” under the club lights, and yet the flashback that immediately follows is one of the saddest in the series — and it shows that Sanemi is hurting just as much as she is. But the wisteria distorts everything around her, so she’s only seeing what she wants to see. Yet, when the illusion starts to crack, what happens? She panics — she describes the Kizuki as too loud, too claustrophobic; the Wisteria quite literally leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

The other major example of a phantasmagoria in the story is its main theme — grief. Anyone who has been up close and personal with grief can probably attest to the way it quite literally changes how you view everything — even if that means it narrows your perception (I.e. distorts it). Both Reader and Sanemi are grieving significant losses, and those losses make them blind to the other’s suffering in return. It’s not so much miscommunication as it is two kids who were forced to bear the weight of the world way too fast.

That grief then continues to distort their reality, but not in the sense that they’re misremembering events. Everything they say happened, actually happened. Y/N was abandoned by Kyojuro and Sanemi; but she distanced herself from them first, and she also abandoned Sanemi when he needed her. Neither of the boys were there for her while her mother was sick and when she died; but they didn’t know until it was too late. Sanemi did return her feelings 100% at the train station; but he was so overwhelmed and reeling from Genya’s death that he reacted poorly. Sanemi did see Y/N that day at the crosswalk; he just didn’t recognize her. Y/N was isolated after her mother died, but Sanemi was desperately trying to find her the whole time.

Thus, everything happened exactly the way both Y/N and Sanemi said it did, but their grief prohibited them from stepping back and seeing the broader picture — so their interpretation, though objectively true, is still distorted. This translates into other things as well, such as Y/N constantly misinterpreting Sanemi’s motives and efforts to make things right between them, because otherwise, it wouldn’t square with the understanding she has of what happened and why. She thinks he’s using her for convenience; he’s actually letting her use him in any way she wants just so he can have a chance to take care of her. She accuses him of being possessive because he feels entitled to her affection, but he actually loves her (deeply), and is terrified of losing her, because she is quite literally wasting away in front of him. She says he doesn’t care about her, yet she won’t let him. He tries to talk to her about everything right after they start hooking up, yet she refuses to engage. She runs away. She’s cold, and she shuts him down harshly even when he tries to offer her bare minimum affection and care (this also is supposed to contrast with what we know as the Reader, which is that she is still very much in love with him). We also find out that Sanemi spent every other weekend taking flowers to her mother’s grave — again, shattering that illusion she’s created in her mind that he doesn’t care about her.

It’s not until they finally hash everything out in the kitchen at Tengen’s that both realize they’ve been focusing on one narrow part of a much larger picture, and that they’ve both let their grief blind themselves to one another. When Y/N finally steps back and looks at the whole instead of the part, the illusion shatters. Love is the final phantasmagoria. Y/N realizes that she’s mistakenly believed she was running away from love (and thus, Sanemi) only to realize that not only has she been running in circles, but Sanemi has been running opposite of her the whole time. They’re two sides of the same coin; they were bound to crash into one another at some point.

This is just like, a bird’s eye overview of the mind map that I drew out in my journal for Phanta, and I’m sure I’m leaving something out. If y’all have any thoughts, I’m always happy to hear them (seriously).

Thank you for the ask, and I apologize that I went off the deep end lmao.

[t4z-0n-p4wz]

First chapter of my book

So this is a work in progress atm, I'm not that far into writing it, but i have written the first chapter/ prologue. It is called "It's Just A Campfire Story". Hope you guys enjoy!!

Warnings: cursing, mentions of suicide, slight descriptions of warfare

Night had already been draped over the once pallid sky by the time the fire had become a roaring inferno trapped in a stone prison. The sickly sweet stench of caramelising, melting marshmallows writhed its way through the breathable air, consuming every spare morsel. At least everyone could tolerate it, it was appetising to say the least. Softly, the dancing scraps of ash pirouetted through the smoky mass erupting from the flames in the centre of a circle of tightly huddled beings, all of which seemed to be human.  Moss seemed to be pulsating under their feet, or was it just the lighting? The residents of this small camping trip would never know for sure, but it certainly looked as though the floor their chairs leaned oh so well on was alive. 

Stars twinkled between the effervescent clouds that glided effortlessly through the atmosphere. It truly was an almost perfect night, apart from the fact that the Forest nearby sat there in melancholy, waiting for its story to burst out of someone’s mouth and spill out like fresh blood. Everything about those woods silently screeched the word “DEATH” and accumulated negative feelings, swallowing you in an inky darkness of dread, suspense and lachrymose. Although it was there, simply wasting its own time in patiently waiting, our humans around the fire were more focused on their own business in camping, not the Forest’s. 

Taz was a smaller girl than the rest of her acquaintances, but wiser nonetheless. Her perfect brunette ringlets floated beside her ears and sat neatly on her shoulders. Quietly, she twirled her marshmallow over the crackling flames, charring the outside until it nearly turned a charcoal black. That was how she liked it, ever so slightly burnt so that the bitterness contrasted with the sugary taste, morphing into the perfect combination. Even though her friends thought it was quite peculiar, they found it better not to judge. After all, with a diverse group like theirs, everyone had their own strange traits to them, all more personal than eating habits. Taz was fairly attractive on the outside, but once you knew her fully, she was the weirdest person you would ever meet in your lifetime (in a good way, of course), although she had a sort of charisma that only appeared in certain people, a kind of welcoming attitude toward newcomers in her life- the sort you would figure out the meaning, only to find that it’s too late.   

“So, you all enjoy your mallows?” She asked, breaking the eerie silence. The 4 others around the fire gave muffled sounds of agreement as answers, their mouths filled with masses of the soft sugar candy. They were soon to swallow it - just in time for the fun to finally begin. Taz rubbed her hands and grinned like a lunatic, her forest-green eyes darting around the circle of her friends, the cogs in her brain grinding along, whirring and figuring out which one to put on the spot.

“Johnny - what was the war like, old boy? I reckon we need some stories now. After all, this is a campfire.” She asked, a spark of playfulness in her raspy voice.  John, on the other hand, was the oldest of the group - 53 to be exact, and he had endured a long war starting when he was only 17. At least he was one of the ones thankful to survive.

“Oh it was hell.” He chuckled, closing his eyes for a moment, taking in the vivid memories that whistled through his mind. “You would have your mates near y’ in the trenches, but no- one ever talked to each other, no no. It was impossible to hear anyone over the gunfire. Boy, was I glad when they announced it was finally over.” John smiled, a genuine gleam of relief to be alive. And whenever John smiled, everybody else smiled too, whether they wanted to or not. I swear, it was infectious (in a good way). “Right, there’s something I want to address.” exclaimed Rory, an energetic 16 - year- old with an eccentric sense of humour. Once he had successfully caught the attention of everyone around the roaring flames, he spoke up again. 

“How the hell can this be a PROPER campfire when we haven’t told any stories that scare you out’a your fuckin’ skin?!” he groaned, half shouting into the fire, which ominously reflected in his wide eyes.

“I was getting to that.” Taz grumbled, a sour expression pasted over her face. When Rory eventually did shut up, she could get down to business.  

“Be prepared, because you ALL will be unable to sleep peacefully after this.” She paused for an attempt at dramatic effect, but it failed, and she was met with awkward silence. 

“This is the tale of Two inseparable girls, a Tragedy, and one blunt Axe. On the way, we will find four serial murders, a suicide and unrequited love. What’s the worst that can happen, right?” Everyone’s faces lit up, both figuratively and literally, as the fire cast a warm orange glow to the surroundings and the organisms in the area, both human and entity, were all itching with glee to hear Taz’s story. The forest lurched, creaking with pure ecstasy.

[lorduller]

banter starter for @devanitoland

where and when: on route to the westerlands for the celebration being held there. the group traveling has stopped to rest for the night at a smaller lords estate.

it wasn't difficult to discern that something weighed heavily on devani toland.  over the years doran had observed her countless times with dante, witnessing the effervescent energy that enveloped her in her day to day life. yet now, there was a palpable shift in her demeanor, a heaviness that cast a shadow over her usual carefree aura. he couldn't help but ponder whether it was solely due to dante's passing, or if there were other underlying factors at play. he knew how close the two of thm were up until his death, so it would make sense if that was truly th sole reason. but somehow something was biting at the back of his mind telling him there was more.

despite their last unusual conversation, during which devani implored him to send dante to essos with her—a notion he staunchly rejected, knowing his son's true intentions to kill him and take over as ruler of hellholt— felt compelled to check in on her. it would be easy enough to leave everything be. let her be and just walk away. not when it looked like she had barely slept at all, or like she was looking for ghosts over her shoulder every second.

so instead he walked up to her, two glass of wine in hand, hoping this wasn't a poor choice. "it seems like you might need this," he remarked, offering the glass to her with a gentle smile. "i hope you don't mind the intrusion, though. it appears you've been standing out here alone for most of the night. thought maybe a little company might be nice."

[telomeke]

Thai QL Favorites Tag Game

Tagged by my Internet buddy and fellow QL fan @pandasmagorica! Thanks 🥰

Credit also: this game was created by @thatgirl4815 as Thai BL Favorites Tag Game.

So let's get into it:

Favorite Thai QL: Bad Buddy, still. After all this time it continues to hold up, I think because it packed so much intelligence into its short run of 12 episodes. I also have a soft spot for Moonlight Chicken, although it is arguably more queer cinema in episodic form and not classically a QL/BL.

Favorite Pairing: Umm, gonna leave aside the ships and talk about professional pairings for QL series. Ohm and Nanon as PatPran still top my list; they tore my heart to shreds in Bad Buddy and healed it too. But I don't need to see them as any other pair in another series also for that reason. MaxTul seem to bring it in any series they're in, so they get a mention too.

Most underrated actor: Have to agree with @pandasmagorica about Fluke Gawin Caskey. They need to use him more – he's doing a truly credible job in Be My Favorite plus wow he can sing really well. And I think Krist Perawat in the same series is also surprising all of us; he's certainly matured since his stumbly, mumbly turn in SOTUS.

Favorite Character: Eep. This is like trying to choose among your children. I love so many! Pat and Pran for different reasons (I'm very much like one, more than the other, but I love them both). But I also like Li Ming in Moonlight Chicken, maybe because of his confident self-knowledge, and all the hope he represents for the next generation.

Favorite Side Character: Arm from KinnPorsche for the wrong reasons; devastating combination of nerdy and also hot when shirtless. Also maybe Daddy Chan from the same show. And (odd/unpopular choice) maybe Dissaya from Bad Buddy; I'm just fascinated by her character and backstory, and wish we got told more of it. Also Manaow from Until We Meet Again and Yihwa in Together With Me for being the effervescent supportive besties I wish I had growing up.

Favorite scene in a QL: The opening scene in Ep.5 of Bad Buddy because it tells us so much, in so many layers, and upon the re-watch you can sense that something's starting to turn (though the closing scene on the rooftop is a very close second, for obvious reasons).

Favorite line in a QL: Pat and Pran at the end of BBS Ep.5 going "Do you want us to be friends?" followed by the softest, most gut-wrenching "No..."

Most Anticipated QL (& why): Only Friends – looking forward to something steamy for a change. Been too long since KinnPorsche.

Healthiest relationship in a QL: HeartLiMing in Moonlight Chicken. And PatPran in BBS, but only post-Ep.12 timeskip. They're so respectful to each other – but also a bit boring, so I'm not sure I'd want to watch them in another show because a drama with no drama wouldn't be a drama, now then would it?

Most toxic relationship in a QL: VegasPete in KinnPorsche? I'm still divided about their dynamic. Or TharnType in TharnType perhaps. That was just badly written.

Guilty pleasure series: KinnPorsche. Nuff said.

Most underrated series: He's Coming to Me really needs more love. Production values not the strongest but themes, acting, storyline are all top-notch (with some minor points only that I might want to quibble about). One of the earliest to deal with cultural themes in Thai QL and it was fascinating.

Tagging @airenyah, @dribs-and-drabbles, @waitmyturtles, @bengiyo, @twig-tea, @colourme-feral, @miscellar, @ranchthoughts, @chickenstrangers, @dudeyuri, @inventedfangirling, @dimplesandfierceeyes, @wen-kexing-apologist, @starryalpacasstuff, @kattahj, @lurkingshan, @neuroticbookworm...

...@theheightofdishonor, @dimpledpran, @silvercrystal1, @mineonmain, @sharingfandoms and anybody else I might have missed, feel free to play (or not!).

[beautifulsavagegarden]

❛ you’re as beautiful as the day i lost you. ❜

@operahouses

Lestat felt as though the shattered parts of his heart that he had somehow managed to glue back together had fallen apart in his chest. It was fortunate that he was not a mortal man else he would have feared that he had died. The words struck him, fast and hard and deep for a multitude of reasons but the most prominent one was, quite simply, that those were words that could well have come from him. Louis had always been beautiful and that night was no exception. He had never realised in the time they had been together truly how beautiful he was. Lestat had a part to play in that but he couldn't bear to think too heavily on the past, not now that Louis was standing in front of him, real. At least, Lestat thought he was real. He took a step forward, hand trembling as he reached out, his fingers brushing against the cuff of Louis' coat. It felt real as did the slight warmth coming from his skin. He'd obviously fed recently. Lestat felt that damnable wobble in his lips and he tried to prevent it, tried to stop the blood tears that threatened him just as the pain of every mistake he had ever made threatened him. If he could turn back time, if he could right the wrongs, he would. He knew exactly what point he would go back to, the moment that he would choose to live in forever. The three of them had linked hands and they had all been laughing and joyful and loving. Then, she had dropped away from them, flopping onto a chair, and watching as they danced together. Their dance lived on forever in his mind and it tortured him, the sounds of their laughter echoing in his lonely coffin as he had scratched his nails against the soft fabric of the lid.

So, this is what love looks like huh?

Her voice would float back to him from across all those years and every time Lestat would whisper into the dark, "Oui, real love."

Lestat took a staggering step back, the tears spilling down his cheeks. No, this couldn't be real. It was another dream, another vision to torment him and what a vision. Louis hated him. There was nothing left of love in his heart for Lestat and he knew that. Louis had made it clear and yet, and yet...

"You never lost me mon cher but," His voice wavered and a sob tore itself free from his throat, it's sharp nails leaving scores in the tender flesh as it clawed it's way out.

"I lost you." The words were filled with such a deep pain. Who was he now? Lestat de Lioncourt? Gentleman Death in silk and lace? A being of such effervescence that he had signed his own death warrant? The man who laughed and loved and played others like the keys of the piano that had comforted him but never tore into the tenderness of it's soul like the harsh strings of the solo violin playing an eternal funeral dirge for a future that could never have been?

A waste.

A husk.

That was who he was.

"I am so, so sorry Louis." He glanced down at the floorboards, looking at Louis' shoes as he once again delivered the apology that could never be enough.

[builtfromflowersandvines]

Teal Deer: I’m reviewing every historical romance author I’ve read in 2023 so that I can get recommendations.

Never Again:

Amelia Gray - I’ve got zero time for this conservative pick-me-girl bullshit. The male protagonist actually said, “I like a girl with spirit.” You can’t have your protagonist saying the villain line, that’s gross. This shit is for my amusement. If I can tell how you vote by how you write, you’ve got to be voting like me. Did not finish. 

Jillian Hunter - I just can’t care about these assholes. The men are loud, boorish, selfish, clueless. They are a frat boy stereotype dressed in Regency clothes. I don’t remember the female protagonists, I read her a month ago. That’s pretty forgettable. 

Maya Rodale - I don’t mind a little pop culture reference, here and there. However, writing a book that pulls *heavily* from Bridget Jones’ Diary (which is already referencing Pride & Prejudice) and Mean Girls? Really? When I saw the line, “On Wednesdays we wear pink” I threw the book across the room. I like light, effervescent, and fun, but this was dumb. 

Elizabeth Hoyt - Grimdark as historical romance? Nah. If you show me a dark, brooding, bad man as the male protagonist, I’m not going to swoon guys. I find that shit exhausting. “I’m so evil, and a little mean” ok, well I’m bored. I will never find a Pure Woman’s Love Redeeming A Piece Of Shit Dude even a little compelling. Babygirl, he isn’t worth *that* amount of labor. 

Rachael Miles - too boring to finish, too boring to remember. 

Sabrina Jeffries - Her series have a mystery at the heart of them. You learn a little more about the mystery in each book in the series. Unlike Lady Sherlock, which is a Mystery series written by a Romance author, these are romances that have an element of mystery. She can’t always keep my attention. The juxtaposition of light-hearted romance and gritty mystery doesn’t always work. Her characters also run a bit immature. Actually after reading what I wrote, maybe she has disappointed me one too many times. 

Eva Leigh - too boring to finish, too boring to remember.

Undecided:

Jayne Fraiser - Um… the story was alright. It was a little too focused on just the protagonists, the families and friendships are the reason I read these books. To not have many fleshed out characters was disappointing. Also, if you are going to have your protagonist have a career or a hobby, you have to know enough about that career or hobby. The book I read the female protagonist was a modiste. Y’all? I’ve read a fuck ton of these books and I have a degree in history and my history degree is mainly British history. She did not do enough research. That really does count against her. 

Minerva Spencer - Witty. Constantly, exhaustingly witty. Your characters don’t need to cut up at each other all of the time. 

Amalie Howard - I did enjoy this book. But. The characters and the slang are too modern. Progressive is fine. Actually, it is kind of necessary for me. To ignore the milieu, the culture, for the story doesn’t work for me. You cannot tell me that this Not Like Other Girls girl also gets zero flack for not being like other girls. It felt like there should be cell phones and social media and that is not what I’m looking for in a historical romance. 

Olivia Waite - Loved it. But I’ve only read one. I need more information before I can make a determination. As an aside; I skim the sex scenes, they are usually more funny than hot. I want to know if they do/say/feel anything germane to the story while they do the deed. Um, The Lady’s Guide to Celestial Mechanics has some hot scenes. Sophie Irwin - Have only read one. It was good though. The female protagonist is pragmatic and flinty, I enjoyed that. Will have to read a couple more before I can truly determine the ranking

Christina Dodd - She has flashes of good writing. However, I’ve read 3 of them and her male protagonists are interchangeable and so are the female protagonists. All the dudes are high-handed, imperious assholes and all the ladies are *so conflicted* Also, not enough showing us who the characters are. Those flashes of good writing are tempting but…. The downsides are pretty down. 

Shows Promise:

Johanna Lowell - If she fulfills her potential, she will be legend. She has something that not many authors have. How did they get so much story in so few pages?  Terry Pratchett has it. Eloisa James has it. Looking forward to the next one, I really hope it is as good as the 2 I’ve read. 

KJ Charles - Charming. Witty. There is often a mystery contained within the romance. Charles was the first m/m romance I’d ever read. It does approach sex differently than the m/f or w/w romances I’ve read. I was a little shocked at the pacing and the lack of tenderness. The only author that isn’t shelved in Erotica as opposed to romance that Charles reminds me of, is Susan Johnson. Her sex scenes also give me the same kind of whiplash. The story outside of the sex is amazing though. It is really taut, it feels more like mystery than romance. 

Emily Sullivan - She is another author that, if she lives up to her potential, will be amazing. I’ve read 2 and I can’t wait for the third. The characters came alive on the page. She shows the realistic conflict of being progressive in the Victorian era. She doesn’t pretend that things were better than they were. But she also doesn’t feel bitter and hopeless. (one of the reasons it would be very hard for me to write a historical romance is because I wouldn’t be able to have the optimism about the future that the characters do)

Cat Sebastian - I loved one! And I didn’t finish the other. Really, I just need to start another and see where it goes. Their m/m romance was so good. (and had some tenderness, that was missing with KJ Charles)

I Enjoy Them But….

Elizabeth Boyle - She can be amazing, but she isn’t always. She has maybe 4 books that are chef’s kiss no notes good. The rest of them need some notes. There are a few phrases she beats like a dead horse. I understand that language amongst the upper ten thousand was very homogeneous, but not all of your characters should have the same phrases and cadences. Her characters also run a bit immature. 

Kiernan Kramer - She is hit and miss. More hits than misses. The spying for the Home Office plotlines are fun, very fun, not at all believable. Which is fine. I don’t need it to get dark. It is something to keep in mind though because the cavalier way they are doing intelligence work would drive me insane in a more serious genre. These are light and fluffy and fun, she has never made me cry, but she has made me laugh. 

Julia Quinn - this one is gonna be controversial. She is a hits and misses author though, no matter how popular she is. The Duke & I has an infamous scene that makes me rageful. I wish they would just communicate, sex and procreation are BOTH things that have to be consented to. When she is good, oh my word, she is so good. When she is bad, she is boring. (or in that specific instance, offensive) There are books of hers I would highly recommend, but she doesn’t have an entire series that I can recommend. And that is what takes her off of Legend. I want the whole series to be worth recommending and worth re-reading. 

Julie Ann Long - She’s darling. Her books are so cute. They’re practically YA, except they absolutely have semi-graphic sex scenes. There is supposed to be Danger and Adventure, but I just think everyone is so adorable. I’m not sure I’m supposed to though. They aren’t very deep. They give me zero anxiety. I can’t remember any of her characters making me angry, maybe exasperated. Even the books I adore have characters I want to shake until their teeth rattle. Honestly having a good hateable character is key. 

Victoria Alexander - Sometimes she’s charming. Occasionally she has a female protagonist who has not figured out that Independent Woman does not have to equal I Need No One! And that’s exhausting. Sometimes her male protagonists are a bit… dumb. A little dumb and a little ineffectual. Look, I’ve read other authors writing less than brilliant protagonists both male and female. It doesn’t usually feel like a dig. I just want her to expand her idea of what women might find empowering. I don’t need the men in my life to be less than me. 

Liz Carlyle - Good character development. High drama. All the characters are so reactive. Fun to read, but I’m very happy that it isn't my life or my romantic relationship. She has had a few male characters who I just could not hang with. All romances will make you want to shake the protagonists and yell, “just fucking truthfully communicate!” Liz Carlyle has that in spades. You might stroke out from frustration with all the lying and secret keeping. 

Erica Ridley - I’ve only read The Wild Winchesters series. It’s really fucking good though. One of the books in the series is a sapphic love story. I’d love to put her on top tier or legendary status, I just haven’t read enough books by her to know if she is consistent in this kind of quality. 

Evie Dunsmore - I’ve read the 3 books she has published, and I have enjoyed all of them. The characters are complex. There is so much more than just a romance going on. I appreciate a well done subplot. I do expect to reread her. She has the hallmarks of my favorite romance authors; complex characters, the characters have an/a estate/career/hobby/passion, there are subplots, the friendships are almost as fleshed out as the romantic relationship. 

Vivienne Lorret - Light, good, fun, strains my suspension of disbelief at times (yes, even more than usual). I’ve read about 8 or so, they’re like m&ms. I’ve only given up on one of them, those aren’t awful odds actually. Great friendships and sisterhoods. She is another author that feels a little YA other than the graphic sex. 

Mimi Matthews - Lots of promise. Her research does need to get a little tighter, making a historical error really will pull me out of a book. She has not done anything as off-putting as the book that had the egregious error of having Bonnie Prince Charlie in the wrong century, but this is not the genre to write in if you aren’t going to get the details right. Her characters are charming! Her friendships are well-written. There is a lot of potential, the books I’ve read were really good. I just want a little more, something isn’t quite hitting.

Top-Shelf:

Sherry Thomas - Okay, to be fair, I haven’t read any of her romance novels this year. I’ve read her mysteries. She was a romance author first though so I’m including her anyway. The Lady Sherlock series  is the best mystery series I have ever read. And I love a good mystery; historical mysteries, cozy mysteries, I like them. Reading a mystery that was written by a romance author made a perfect pairing. I get all the details about the clothes, food, friendships, gossip, and I get an intelligent mystery along with it! Heaven. I have read her romances but it has been a minute. Go read the Lady Sherlock series, immediately. 

Sarah MacLean - Oh Damn. She is on her way to Legend status. Seriously. No notes. Her legendary status really is just a matter of time. She has been publishing since 2009, I have yet to read a book by her that wasn’t top shelf goods. Now I haven’t read her YA, she does write both. Her books intended for adults do not remind me of  YA. There is a fair amount of darkness. The graphic is pretty graphic. 9 Rules to Break is one of my favorite romance novels of all time.

Lisa Kleypas - See, this breaks my heart a little. If it weren’t for her first few books, Lisa Kleypas would be up on Legend. Those first couple books have genuinely repulsive male leads though. I stopped reading one of them on the fifth page, I was appalled. (I do not need the protagonists to be someone I would be interested in. I do need them to be someone I’d trust with an uncovered drink though). HOWEVER, starting at Again The Magic published in 2004, she has not had a miss. Genuinely she is one of the best! It just took her a decade of publishing to hit her stride. 

LEGENDARY:

Loretta Chase - one of 2 authors that I will read what they published before 1999. Look, when it comes to consent if it is not a “Hell Yes!” it is a “Fuck NO!” if the protagonists aren’t being crystal clear about consent that does not fucking appeal to me. Loretta does not ever have a problem with her male protagonists blowing past consent. That is really important to me. Loretta Chase has likable characters. She can make a character who I would hate in real life and make them an appealing person. I would never want to date any of these characters, but I’d love to be friends with them. Her Dressmakers series is the best example of a realistic idea of what would happen were someone in trade to marry into the upper classes. I’m a huge fan of the Fallen Women duo because of course I am. Her adventures genuinely feel like adventure, some romance authors never quite manage to get the light and dark to balance, Chase does so well at it. She has variety, some authors write the same couple every damn time just giving them different names. That is not a problem here. 

Jo Beverley - The other romance writer that I will read what she wrote before 1999. When it comes to action adventure, James Patterson has nothing on Jo Beverley. I have read every single book in The Malloren World, Company of Rogues, and Three Heroes at least 3 times. Three Heroes and Company of Rogues are linked. The villains are bad to the bone and scary believable. Actually that is why I rarely recommend her to others. Almost all romances will have a trauma to make the character more complex and deeper and such, most of that happens before the book starts. The characters' behaviors and motivations are informed by their trauma. In Jo Beverley books you might be there for the traumatic event. I love having action adventure where I get to know what people are wearing, and eating, and gossiping about. A lot of action adventure is really boring because it is all a lone man up against…. whatever, he is already boring me. In Jo Bev books there are often several people working together, women and men, to fight the good fight and I find that far more compelling. Again, I don’t want to be in any of these tumultuous relationships where the ladies are high spirited and the men are high handed, but damn are they fun to read. I do love these books so fucking much! They are well written, witty, smart, complex, fun, funny, but unless you can handle murder and sexual assault as plot elements I would not recommend them. There are other traumas too, but if you can handle the biggies, I’m not worried about the lesser traumas. Again, she is one of the best, she is one of my favorites, I hope if you read her you love her too. Just head’s up and be aware. 

Mary Balogh - the Queen of hobbit romances! Hobbit romances is a phrase Nathan came up with when I told him some of my favorite romances don’t have a big blow up of a conflict, they have people getting to know one another and figuring out how or if they fit in each others lives, there is usually like hurt feelings and miscommunication but no major dust ups between the protagonists. The trauma is usually something from outside and they face it together. These are my favorite kind of romances, they are the only ones where I maybe… might… put myself in the shoes of the protagonists. When I read I like to be an invisible demigod that is experiencing the story but not participating. Just like almost everything I prefer observation to participation. But the hobbit romances, those I might dip my toe in for.  Not all of her romances are hobbit romances, but most of them are. Her characters are more fully realized than the top of  Maslow’s hierarchy ok? I know them better than I know several of you. I could go gift shopping for these characters, I know them that well. Mary Balogh is a damn genius at fully fleshed out and perfectly formed characters. Her families are my families. I would (and did) start at One Night for Love published in 1999. The Bedwyns, the Dudleys, the Huxtables, the Westcotts, I love these families! They provide all the positive family feels without y’know actually having to interact with family. I also adore the simply series that is four teachers and friends who work together all finding love. I LOVE the Survivor’s Club!! I thought I was going to have to opt out because of my own PTSD issues but no. These are powerful moving books but they do deal with warfare and the aftermath. They weren’t easy to read, and I know this is weird to say about a romance series, but I think it helped me get past some of my own shit. It was hugely cathartic. Vincent and Sophia in The Arrangement, oh that might be one of the best books I’ve ever read. Not just one of the best romances, one of the best books. Mary Balogh is the Queen of hobbit romances and we LOVE her for that. 

Best In Show: Eloisa James

Look, if Mary is a Queen, Eloisa is a Goddess. I own a physical copy of every Eloisa James book. I mainly read historical romance, and I love it. I don’t own physical copies of any other romance author’s books. (I’d like all of my legends, but I made a point to make sure I had Eloisa) I’ve given away so many Eloisa James books. I made her a favorite author when I worked at the book exchange. No one writes like her. I love her characters more, I hate her characters more. She gets so much story into so few pages! She gets more out of me than other authors do. I’m more invested in her stories, I feel them deeper. My very favorite romance ever is between two of her characters, but they don’t have their own book, their story is told as a subplot to the books in her Duchess In Love series. Sebastian and Esmee is my favorite love story and I’m not even sure why, I’ve nothing in common with either character, but I adore their story. (damn, I might have to reread that series.) One of my favorite characters ever is in The Wildes of Lindlow Castle series. Lady Knowe, the Duke of Lindlow's twin sister. She is the maternal presence in the series, but she is not a mother. She is fascinating, she helps her twin run his estate, she is unconventional, but she knows what convention dictates and stays within the appearance of propriety most of the time. One of my favorites characters of all time, I want to be like her when I grow up. Eloisa James has the dubious honor of writing the only female protagonist that has made me seeing red mad at her. Don’t get me wrong, lots of the ladies make me super exasperated. But this was more Bloody Enraged. I think it is the mark of a damn good writer if she can get you seething foaming at the mouth angry at a figment of their imagination. Her side characters are so well fleshed out you guys! There is not one boring character. Reading her books is like being possessed in the best possible way.

[donvilaro]

New beginnings

Something Bri and I were chatting about, just Niccolo doing what he does best hahahaha @mrsgiovanna I think your new url needs to be @mrsvilaro

He would always get lost in her eyes- shimmering onyx gems that she didn't appreciate, but could bring a god to his knees. It was always like that with her, flitting about blissfully unaware of her own charm. It was both frustrating and endearing, because were she aware of how she had affected people, she might have been more wary of how she behaved. She had left a trail of broken hearts behind her, none worse off than Niccolo.

"Have you even heard a word I said?!" Bri asked, delicate hands gripped the sides of his face and brought his attention to herself.

"... something about... I'm sorry, could you repeat that, " he admitted with an embarrassed grin. He didn't want to remove her hands from his face. She sighed with a smile and released him from her grip and walked to the large glass door in his study to catch the last rays of the setting sun.

"It's so beautiful..." Bri trailed off, those pretty eyes never leaving the scenic view. He responded in agreement, his eyes fixed on her and the way her golden brown skin absorbed the sunshine, and how the ochre flecks in her eyes danced in the light. Her shiny raven hair framed her delicate face in thick waves that stopped just above her shoulders and in that moment, she looked as though she was illuminated from within. She looked up at him with a soft smile, and his heart raced from that action alone. It had been a few months since she had moved to Sicily to live with her father and twin brother, and her life had finally begun to normalize after her exit from Passione.

"How are you, Bria? Honestly,"

"Honestly... I'm okay, it's been an adjustment but I can finally say I'm over everything... I miss Naples, but I feel like I'm home here... truly home,"

"Have you spoken to any of them since?" She shifted awkwardly and looked down, her hair concealed the pained expression on her face.

"Everyone... except him. It's okay though, I know he's probably very busy... and well, you know the rest..." Niccolo lifted her face by the chin, and gently coaxed her to face him, only to see her teary eyes.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you... I-"

"It's okay," she said through a small laugh, " I don't even know why I'm reacting like this... I was stupid to think it'd last,"

"You weren't stupid, you were in love..."

"Same thing, no?" Another hollow laugh. It hurt him to see her this broken, trying to hold it in and keep her composure.

"Yes and no... we can do silly things when we fall for someone, but it's not stupidity..." Bria looked up at him and smiled politely before she paused to really look at him. The sun was in its last few moments and had cast a glow on everything in the room. Up until that point, she hadn't realised how strong his features were or how his eyes looked like molten gold. She had felt something effervescent in her chest which rose to heat up her cheeks when he turned to meet her stare.

"Is something wrong?" He asked, genuinely concerned by the way she shuffled beside him.

"I... no no, nothing... I just -"

Before she could finish her sentence, Bria was interrupted by Arturo, who had been set to join them for dinner. He had gaged the atmosphere in the room and tried to change the subject.

"Am I early?" Arturo had casually threw himself on the couch at the corner of Niccolos' study while Bria excused herself. Arturo waited until she was far enough before he spoke again.

"Be honest, what did I really walk in on?"

"Nothing. I was just asking how she was doing..." replied Niccolo, who couldn't help but laugh at Arturos' suspicious expression.

"Just... don't hurt my sister, it's hard enough watching her try to get over that freak with the weird hair-"

"By now, you should know I'd never hurt her, " Niccolo cut him off before he could continue. The tension hung in the air until Bri had returned, prompting the men to put their differences aside for the moment.

"Ava is making paella, so I hope you guys are hungry,"

"And I brought dessert- chocolate... something, I don't know, dad just asked Gabby to make it," Arturo got up from his seat and slung an arm around his twins shoulder, dwarfing her. Niccolo looked at the pair with a smile, for a pair of twins, they couldn't have been more different.

"All my favourites... I know what you guys are doing... you don't have to treat me with kid gloves... I'm okay," Bri had put on her most convincing smile and as the night had continued she found that her mood had eventually matched her expression. Niccolo had given Ava the rest of the night off and so when it came to putting the finishing touches on the desserts, Bri had taken the task upon herself.

"Would you like coffee or wine with your dessert? Niccolo asked, looking through his selection of wine when Bri and Arturo both answered that they had wanted coffee instead.

Niccolo chuckled and nodded. "Coffee it is, then. I'll prepare some fresh brew for all of us." He walked over to the kitchen counter and began grinding the coffee beans while Bri focused on the desserts. Arturo hovered nearby, offering occasional assistance and engaging in lighthearted banter.

As the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, Niccolo poured it into mugs and brought them over to the dining table. The desserts were laid out beautifully, tempting anyone with a sweet tooth. Bri had done an excellent job, and she took pride in her creations as she joined Niccolo and Arturo at the table. They sat together, enjoying the warmth of the coffee and the company of one another. The conversation flowed effortlessly, filled with laughter and anecdotes. Bri found herself feeling at ease, basking in the comfort of this newfound family. It was a stark contrast to the tumultuous life she had left behind.

Niccolo watched Bri with a mixture of fondness and concern, his eyes never straying far from her. He knew that healing took time, but he was determined to be there for her every step of the way. As the evening progressed, he couldn't help but feel a growing connection between them, a sense of understanding and shared experiences.

After dessert, they lingered at the table, not quite ready to part ways for the night. Arturo excused himself to take care of some errands, leaving Niccolo and Bri alone. The soft glow of candlelight illuminated the room, casting a gentle ambiance.

Niccolo leaned back in his chair, studying Bri's face, which now held a hint of tranquility. "You know, Bria, I meant what I said earlier. You don't have to pretend to be okay all the time. It's alright to let yourself feel and heal. And I'll be here for you, no matter what."

Bri met his gaze, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability. "Thank you, Niccolo. It means a lot to me to have you and Arturo by my side. I don't think I could have made it this far without your support."

Niccolo reached across the table, taking Bri's hand in his. His touch was warm and comforting, grounding her in the present moment.

"You're stronger than you realize, Bria. And I believe in you. We all do. Together, we'll create new memories, ones that overshadow the pain of the past." Bri squeezed his hand, a small smile playing on her lips.

"I'm starting to believe that, too. And I'm grateful for this fresh start, for the chance to find happiness again."

As they sat there, hands intertwined, a newfound sense of hope and possibility filled the room. The journey ahead would not be without its challenges, but with the support and love they shared, Bri knew she had found her home, not just in Sicily but in the hearts of the people who cared for her. As the conversation lingered in the air, a gentle silence settled between Niccolo and Bri. The connection between them seemed to intensify, their eyes locked in a moment of shared understanding. It was as if the world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them in that intimate space.

Niccolo's heart raced in his chest as he leaned forward, his hand still holding Bri's. The anticipation hung in the air, a subtle tension building between them. He could feel the warmth of her hand against his, her presence enveloping him.

Bri's breath hitched, her eyes flickering between Niccolo's lips and his gaze. Her heart mirrored his rapid rhythm, a mix of anticipation and uncertainty. The vulnerability she saw in his eyes sparked something within her, a desire to let go of the pain and embrace the possibility of happiness.

In that suspended moment, Niccolo closed the distance between them, his lips gently brushing against Bri's. It was a soft, tender kiss, filled with unspoken emotions and a silent promise. Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in the sweetness of that connection. Bri's eyes fluttered closed, surrendering to the moment and allowing herself to be carried away by the tenderness of Niccolo's touch. Their kiss deepened, a shared longing and the unspoken words of affection passing between them.

The world outside their embrace ceased to exist as they became immersed in the depth of their emotions. It was a moment of solace and healing, a testament to the newfound love blossoming between them.

Eventually, they pulled away, their breaths mingling in the air. Niccolo rested his forehead against Bri's, his hand gently caressing her cheek. They both wore smiles that spoke volumes, conveying a mutual understanding of the significance of that moment.

"I'm here for you, Bria," Niccolo whispered, his voice laced with sincerity. "No matter what lies ahead, I'll be by your side."

[cha-melodius]

15. Wild Card “Seeing your ex at the Christmas party and realising that you still love each other and the break up was over a huge misunderstanding” for Napoleon/Illya and au. or 8. “My holiday dish is better than your holiday dish.” and Napoleon/Illya or Napoleon/Illya/Gaby. Either canon or au idm.

(Thanks for the prompt! I have to laugh a little though since my original post was about writing holiday fluff, and this is fairly unrelenting angst until the end, but that's exes fics for you. I have to apologize because I completely missed the "AU" part of the wild card prompt, and ended up writing this in canon-setting. Sorry about that, I hope you still enjoy it!)

Love is a Deserter

Read it on AO3 (T, 3.2k)

It’s just a party like any other. Lift an invite (thanks to light fingers), case the venue thoroughly (especially for quick exits), work the room (laugh at unfunny jokes, flirt with septuagenarians, try not to get groped by the same), pocket a few valuables (that part’s omitted from the mission report), get the intel (another wealthy socialite dabbling in world politics—when will they learn?). It’s not first or fifth or even the fiftieth that he’s worked since things fell apart. It shouldn’t feel any different.

And yet it does. Blame the twinkling lights, blame the glittering tree, blame the jaunty carols, blame the mistletoe that he has to make sure he avoids getting caught under at all costs. Napoleon was always fond of Christmas, until last year. Now it’s all just kind of nauseating.

“Remind me why I have to be here again?” he mutters through clenched teeth into his earpiece as he extracts himself from another utterly mind-numbing conversation.

“You know you’re better at these things than me,” Gaby tells him, her voice distorted through the new comms. “And someone has to sit out here and document every person going in the door tonight, so here we are.”

“You’re not giving yourself enough credit, my dear,” Napoleon says. “I’ve seen you charm the socks off the most uncooperative mark.”

“I learned from the best.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Doesn’t have to get me anywhere. I’m not the one stuck in there.”

Napoleon sighs. “You could have taken pity on me. Tonight, at least.”

“I seem to remember someone saying, and I quote, ‘I don’t want anyone’s fucking pity,’” she counters. Then, “Ugh, that guy.”

“Who?”

“De Clare. He was at that thing in Monaco. Remember— oh.”

Napoleon had been sick in Monaco, a year and a half ago, and confined to a bed. He hadn’t worked the thing, which by all accounts had been excessive in the extreme. Illya had stolen a bottle of champagne and brought it back for him, pretending like the gesture didn’t mean anything. The three of them had drunk it that night, laughing with the effervescence of expensive bubbly, Illya crawling into the bed next to him as Gaby sat cross-legged at their feet; a few days later, Illya had come down with the same illness. Napoleon remembers little about the actual mission, and certainly nothing about some upper-class twit named De Clare.

“He won’t know me,” he mutters, because there’s nothing else to say.

He should probably do another circuit. See what kind of conversations he can eavesdrop on, what nuggets of information he can pull out of people eager to boast about their latest acquisitions. First, though, he needs more whiskey. When he asks for a triple the bartender gives him a look like he can somehow read all of Napoleon’s miseries on his face, and maybe he can. Bartenders are special like that. Napoleon ends up asking him to top up the glass with soda water, as if that will somehow make it better. The bartender clearly sees right through him.

Gaby is now babbling away about the arriving guests, filling his ear with snarky commentary on gowns and hairstyles. He appreciates the attempt at taking his mind off things, truly, but it’s not really working. Not tonight. Somehow, at this stupid party that should mean nothing, everything reminds Napoleon of him. So much so that Napoleon’s starting to actually see him, standing across the room chatting with a countess. Maybe he shouldn’t drink anymore tonight.

Wait.

“Fuck,” Napoleon swears emphatically.

His tumbler, slick with condensation, slips out of his fingers and hits the floor, shattering into a million pieces and drawing the attention of every pair of eyes in the room. Including his.

Napoleon ducks behind a passing earl and practically dives out of the room into the corridor. The soles of his shoes, slick with spilt whiskey, slip on the tile floor as he scrambles away, desperate to put as much space between him and the ballroom as possible. Not that he can actually leave, they haven’t gotten all the intel they need yet, but he needs a fucking minute.

“Solo! What the fuck is going on?” Gaby demands. She’s definitely been yelling at him for a solid thirty seconds now.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he accuses, and Christ, that can’t be his voice. It sounds too ragged. Too broken. “Why didn’t you tell me he was here?”

“What? Who?”

“Him. Fuck. What are the fucking KGB doing here?”

Gaby is silent for a long moment, long enough he thinks the comms might have failed. “If he’s there, he didn’t come in the front door,” she says finally, her voice oddly flat.

“Of course he didn’t,” Napoleon huffs. “What am I supposed to do now?”

“I don’t know, your job?” she retorts. “You’re a spy, Solo. You know how to handle an enemy agent.”

There’s a coldness to her tone now, unmistakable even through the static, which is fair. He didn’t just leave Napoleon when he left. Gaby was just better at hiding how it affected her, better at powering through and carrying on as if nothing had changed. It was Napoleon who had given too much of himself over to another person, been too shattered when their partner had walked away with it, and she’d been the only one with any hope of picking up the pieces that were left behind.

“He’s not an enemy,” he hears himself say, as if someone else has control of his mouth.

“Well you can’t be sure he’s an ally.”

“Gaby—”

“I know, Napoleon,” she says, more gently. “I wish it were me in there instead of you.”

Napoleon lets out a shaky laugh. “Not sure that’d be a good thing, for the mission’s sake. Or for his.”

“You’re not wrong there.” There’s a long beat of silence, and then she ventures, “How are you doing?”

“Not great,” he admits. His back is pressed against the wall in a small alcove, palms flat at his sides as he tries to calm his erratic heartbeat. “I mean, I knew this was a possibility. Thought I’d be able to handle it, at this point.” Napoleon drags a hand over his face. “I should be able to. He was right. I am a terrible spy.”

“Fuck that,” she says emphatically. “Stop feeling fucking sorry for yourself. You’re the CIA’s best. You’re UNCLE’s best. And you know I don’t blow smoke up anyone’s ass. If anyone can walk back in there, look his ex in the eye and fucking smile like it means nothing, it’s you.”

No one could ever accuse Gaby of being soft, but she had her own brand of tender tough love. It was the only thing that had gotten him through those dark months, and he’s pretty sure it’s the only thing that will get him through tonight.

“Besides,” she adds, “you know how much he always hated your masks. What better fuck you?”

She has a point. Put on a mask, bury the pain. Don’t let him know he broke you. Don’t give him that satisfaction.

He can do this.

Napoleon straightens up and smooths down the front of his suit, gratified that it’s a particularly fine cut. Apart from the dark circles under his eyes, the hollowness that lurks there that he hasn’t been able to shake, he knows he looks good. He can sell this: the story that he’s unaffected. That it never meant more to him than it did to his partner (which was apparently not much, in the end). He adjusts his tie, takes a deep breath, strides purposefully down the hall and through the door into the ballroom… and walks right into Illya.

“Cowboy?” Illya says, surprised, like he hadn’t seen Napoleon was there minutes ago.

Fuck, he looks good. Of course he does, he was always the most beautiful man Napoleon had ever seen, but Napoleon would have been lying if he hadn’t hoped to see some sign that Illya had been having a rough go of it. Some evidence that this had affected him even a tiny bit as much as it had affected Napoleon. Ok, maybe he looks a little thinner than he had, a little more worn around the edges, but that could be anything. The KGB are almost certainly running him ragged, like they always did before.

“Hello, Kuryakin,” Napoleon replies coolly. He’s not using nicknames tonight, and first names… well, it had taken them years to come around to those. That’s not what they are to each other anymore. Illya flinches subtly at that, though, which is definitely not what he expected. “I’d wager you’re here for the same reason that we are.”

“Probably,” Illya allows. He shifts uncomfortably. “I— how are you?”

Napoleon can’t believe what he’s hearing. How is he? How is he? Illya can’t be fucking serious. (It’s gratifying that Gaby also squawks about that in his ear.) “Are we really going to do this? Here?”

“Ok. Do you want to…?” Illya asks, gesturing toward the door Napoleon had just come through.

“I’d rather not do it at all, actually,” Napoleon says curtly. He moves to brush past Illya and rejoin the party, but Illya catches him by the arm and holds fast. “Do you mind?” Napoleon huffs, trying and failing to pull away from him.

“Yes, I do,” Illya retorts, scowling at him. “Can we not be civil?”

“Civil,” Napoleon scoffs. “I’ve been nothing but civil, Peril.” The name slips out, and Napoleon just manages to keep himself from reacting. He sets his jaw and glares up at Illya, hating every inch of their height difference tonight. “You’re the one who apparently wants to turn this into an altercation.”

That at least makes Illya let go of him. “I just want to talk,” he pleads.

“Tell him no,” Gaby hisses in Napoleon’s ear. “He’s just working you. Trying to figure out what you already know.”

“He can try,” Napoleon says to her, which makes Illya frown in confusion for a moment before he realizes what is going on.

“Is that Gaby?” he asks. “Is she here?”

“Tell him to fuck off,” Gaby puts in vehemently.

Napoleon almost smiles at that. She always fiercely protective of them. Until Illya got on the wrong side of it. However, there are certain conversations she doesn’t need to be party to, and this is one of them. “I appreciate the advice, Gabs, I do, but I’m gonna have to turn you off right now.”

“Solo, don’t—” she starts, but he reaches up and presses the button on the side of the earpiece, silencing the device.

“Does that mean we can talk?” Illya asks. He sounds almost hopeful. Napoleon tells himself he’s imagining it.

“I’m not sure what there is to say. You made things pretty clear when you left.”

“I did not choose to leave, Cowboy,” Illya grinds out. “I was recalled.”

“Which you didn’t fight,” Napoleon points out.

Illya’s mouth opens and closes again, his expression growing stormier by the second. He takes a step toward the door, then turns back and gestures impatiently when Napoleon doesn’t follow. Which Napoleon absolutely should not do. He should listen to Gaby, go back to the party, to the mission, and forget he ever ran into Illya here. He’s always been terrible at doing what he should do when it comes to Illya Kuryakin, though.

“How was I supposed to fight this?” Illya hisses when they’re standing in the empty corridor.

Napoleon throws up his hands in frustration. “I don’t know! I thought— I thought we’d figure something out. Fuck, Illya,” he says, his voice breaking over his name. “We always figured it out.”

“There is no figuring out KGB,” Illya snarls as he paces across the narrow width of the hallway. “There is only being hunted. Never seeing family, or friends. Running forever.”

“I would have gone with you,” Napoleon confesses, the words spilling out of him without his leave. It brings Illya to a halt.

“What?”

“If you had asked me to run away with you. I would have,” Napoleon tells him. Fucking might as well. Not like he has any more dignity to lose. “Whatever you chose—run, fight—I would have been by your side every step of the way, no matter what. But that’s not what you wanted.”

“What I wanted? What I—” Illya scoffs incredulously, his voice clipping off in a growl. He takes a step closer, nearly looming over Napoleon now. “You have no idea what I wanted.”

“Yeah, and who’s fault was that?” Napoleon snaps. He lets out a laugh—bitter, humorless—and pastes on an insincere and conciliatory smile. “Look, I was the idiot for thinking that you’d ever choose me over Mother Russia. That’s on me.”

For some reason, Illya looks stunned by that. “Is that what you think happened?”

“Yeah, because that’s what happened. You walked away without a backward glance.”

Illya lets out a frustrated huff and takes a few steps away again, dragging a hand over his face before he looks back at Napoleon. “I left to protect you. Because if I did not, you are first ones they would come for,” he says, which is as unsurprising as it is infuriating. Of course he’d try to play that card.

“Christ, not that bullshit,” Napoleon nearly groans. “At least have the decency of being honest. You can just say that you never loved me. Not like I loved you, anyway.”

“That is untrue,” Illya gasps, and he looks so stricken, so utterly horrified by the idea, that for a moment Napoleon almost believes him.

Almost.

“Well it certainly seemed that way when you left,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Illya takes a deep breath and screws his eyes shut, like he can’t quite look this admission in the face. “I walked away the way I did because I thought it would be easier if you hated me.”

A beat of silence stretches out, and then another, as Napoleon waits for something else that would make this statement comprehensible. Surely that can’t be all of it. Finally, he prompts, “How does that make any sense?”

Illya opens his eyes. With a start, Napoleon realizes that there are tears glittering in his long lashes, illuminated by the dim light of the hallway sconces. “I knew I would never stop loving you,” he says, his voice barely louder than a whisper, and almost inaudible over the sounds of the party from within the ballroom. “I could only try to bury it, knowing I would live with that ache for the rest of my life.”

Napoleon’s heart does something complicated in his chest as his breath catches in his throat. He wants so, so badly for it to be true, even if it can’t be. He did believe Illya loved him, once, but then Illya had pulled away. Put up all the walls that Napoleon had spent years tearing down, like what they had meant nothing. Then he left on Christmas Eve without even really saying goodbye, not in any way that mattered. The only way Napoleon could make sense of it was to assume that he’d read too much into Illya’s feelings all along, because surely someone who loved him wouldn’t be able to do that to him. To them.

“But you…” Illya continues, “you always had plenty of friends. Lovers. I thought… if you hated me, you could move on faster. Find someone who is more suited to you. Whose love does not put you in danger with every heartbeat.”

“That is the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” Napoleon blurts, because it is. How Illya could think he’d just get over him, like he was nothing more than one of the convenient strangers Napoleon used to entertain, he has no fucking clue. He cautiously crosses the distance between them, until he’s standing right in Illya’s space again, staring up at him. “Losing you didn’t make me hate you. It destroyed me,” he says. Illya flinches so hard at that that his eyes briefly close again. “If you think I could ever come close to loving someone else the way I love you…”

“Napoleon,” Illya breathes shakily. One of his hands comes up to hover near Napoleon’s jaw, almost but not quite touching him, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed anymore. “I am so sorry.”

“Why now? After all this time, why tell me?” Napoleon manages through the knot lodged in his throat. “Here, in the middle of a fucking mission?”

“Because I saw you here tonight and I had to know,” Illya tells him. “I thought if I could just see that you were fine—happy, even—I would know I made correct decision.”

“Well I’m not,” Napoleon says bluntly. He might love the asshole, but it’s going to take a lot more than one little apology for him to get over this. “Sorry I couldn’t give you the absolution you wanted.”

“What I wanted,” Illya murmurs, “was only ever you, Cowboy.”

“So fucking have me,” Napoleon insists. “Ask me to help you get out, and I will. We all will. Well, Gaby might take a bit to come around again,” he adds as an aside, “but I promise you, we’ll find a way.”

“You cannot promise—”

“I promise, Peril. We will. Ask me.”

He’s expecting more arguing. Even at their best, they could hardly do anything without a lot more back and forth than that. Instead, Illya’s hand finds its home on his cheek and he pulls Napoleon into a kiss. It’s soft and tentative, his lips moving chastely against Napoleon’s, but it somehow manages to be more breathtaking than their fiercest, most passionate embraces. Maybe it’s because Napoleon was sure he’d never have this again, never again feel Illya’s lips on his, never be held like he’s something fragile and unspeakably precious.

Illya pulls back from the kiss but presses their foreheads together, heedless of the fact that anyone might come through the door and see them. “I do not know if it is possible to get out,” he says, his voice thick, “but I do know that going on without you will eventually kill me. So I have no choice except to try. But I will need your help.”

“You have it,” Napoleon says immediately, emphatically. “Anything you need, it’s yours. Always. Just… promise me you won’t leave me like that again.”

“I swear. Not while there is breath left in my body,” Illya says, and this time, Napoleon believes him.

There’s no question that it will be a herculean uphill battle. There won’t be any easy answers, and it could be months, years, before they’re out of the woods. But right now, with Illya’s arms around him again, he feels invincible. He feels like he could take on the KGB singlehandedly and win (ok, ok, maybe that’s a bit far-fetched). It doesn’t matter. Right now, as he stares up into Illya’s eyes and Illya stares back with a expression of unfiltered, unrestrained, unconditional love, he can believe that anything is possible.

[1nksta1neddesk]

A Court of Readers and Dreamers

Chapter 11: Effervescent

I woke from soft dreams of starry nights and brisk winds to a silent house, servants still resting from long nights of partying. My legs and arms ached from the night previous, and as I pulled myself into the bathroom I saw the deep purple bruises in the obvious shapes of pressing fingers along my arms. I groaned as I drew a bath that I used to scrub the sweat from the night before away. I was slow as I lounged in the bath, I had made it to a major landmark in the story and had avoided the worst parts of the night. Self satisfied content made me lazy as I only left the water when it had gone cold and my fingers were pruned.

Slow movements guided me to the armoire and maybe it was that content that allowed my hands to drift to a soft, sweet, sundress. Maybe it was also the fact that I was too lazy to deal with the clasps and ties that all faerie clothing seemed to over complicate as I slipped it over top of me. Thin straps of white that flowed down to the powder blue dress. White lace hemmed it, and the new tan my skin held complimented it well. My eyes still stared at the dark bruises on my arms and I grabbed a sheer white shawl where it hung in the closet, just enough to cover but not draw attention.

While I did not have the agile fingers of Alis I was still able to do a simple plait down the center of my back. I looked into the mirror and felt simple, light. It was the closest I had gotten to being in my own skin since I had first come here, and I wanted to relish in it as I slipped on complimenting white slippers that were crammed in the back corner of the armoire.

I finally left my room, padded feet slowly sliding down the halls as I followed the smell of food towards the dining room, it having already become late enough in the day that lunch was served. I heard clipped conversation as I drew closer to the cracked doors and I slowed my pace even more as I crept closer, eavesdropping.

“-have been out, much less with him.” Lucien was saying and I heard the growl from deeper within the room, Tamlin. “I know, but she is becoming more suspicious. That’s why her lackies keep showing up.”

“We will not give them more reason to suspect, so if your worrying does us no good. I cannot change the fact that he saw her, that he probably told her, but we can make sure the patrols are more frequent.” Tamlin’s words were short and still held a growl like he had not fully repressed the beast beneath his skin.

“The men are already over worked with patrols, you cannot expect them to do more without some part suffering.” Lucien was pleading as I leaned farther in, trying to hear it easier as I got closer, careful of each inching slide I took against the tiles.

“What do you want me to do Lucien? I can’t fix this, or rush the girl. Feyre doesn’t need to be worried about this as well when she trains as though a war is coming already.” I stopped my breathing, I hadn’t realized word of my training had truly reached Tamlin, that he knew I was preparing for something.

“War will be coming, Tam. Especially if you get caught by her.” Tensions were building and if I didn’t step in soon I had a feeling something, or someone, would end up very, very broken. I shuffled back a couple feet, focusing on keeping my movements silent in a dress that I didn’t hear the next sentence of the conversation. I lifted my foot and set a casual pace as I made way for the center of the doors, pushing my way in.

Their conversation fell silent the moment I had taken that first step, and now both of their gazes were zeroed in on me as I took my seat. A plate and cutlery was already laid out for me as I started adding food to my plate. I smiled prettily as I looked up at the two of them.

“Did I interrupt something?” Innocent, I was so innocent as I asked, no hint of the words filed away to a corner of my mind to be sewn into my plans. Neither of them answered my question as Lucien looked pointedly at Tamlin, then at my dress. Tamlin seemed to get the hint as he slightly shook from his stupor, his gaze locking with Lucien’s for a moment.

“You look… pretty today.” It was as close to a compliment the socially inept high lord was going to get so I smiled brighter at him, all warm sunshine and murmured a thank you before I started to slowly eat some gnocchi. The rest of the lunch went quietly, smoothly before we all departed into our separate directions, normal.

I found my way into a nook of the library I had become fond of, warm sunlight coming through a small window just perfectly to warm a pillow I propped my slippered feet on. Some staff must have figured out I liked this bench as there had been a blanket there for the past week, plush and buttery smooth that absorbed the warmth perfectly as I drapped it over my lap. I had a small book today, images of flora and fauna of the Winter Court.

I had an hour by myself before blond hair was next to me. Tamlin had just walked into my periphery and I moved my stretched legs, tucking them up and under me. He took the invitation to sit as I closed the book and hummed a greeting at him. I had expected him to be angry at me for sneaking out yesterday, but his eyes were focused somewhere else, on my arms.

I had shrugged off the shaul once I came into the library, and now those purple circles were on display where my forearms were crossed over the cover of my book. I quickly tucked my arms behind the book, but the damage was done.

His hands were grabbing at my wrist, pulling them from where I had hidden them as a low snarl built in his throat. “Who d-” I didn’t let him finish.

“Some picts, they were dealt with.” I pulled my hands from his loosened grip and let them fall into my lap, “It’s my punishment for sneaking out last night. I’m sorry for whatever that is worth.” I tried not to think about the growling and scrapping that had woken me last night, not as burning emerald eyes found mine when I looked up.

“I was wild last night , the magic in control, not me. It tried to find you, but found someone else when it couldn’t.”A shuddering breath from him, “You made me crazy Freyre, but I do not think you need anymore punishment.” I pulled my legs back farther, skin pricking with apprehension at the admission from Tamlin. “I was coming here to see if you were interested in a music lesson but if my presence isn’t wanted I will leave.”

Now it was my turn to grab his wrist as he went to stand. “I would love a lesson, I think my mind is about to melt from my ears if I look at any more words.” A lie, I had just gotten to an interesting section of the herbaceous plants and their medicinal uses. But Tamlin seemed deflated as he went to move and I couldn’t leave the tension as it was.

We spent the rest of the afternoon in front of a grand piano, songs worming their way into my head as the keys fell beneath my fingers. If I started humming words to songs that did not exist in this world Tamlin did not make any comment about it. Dinner was fun, Lucien there and tension dissipated enough that we all cracked jokes at each other, me and Lucien getting into a small food fight with the roast potatoes and carrots.

_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_

Four days of peace where I fell into the usual routine, ignoring the pointed gaze of Lucien every time he saw my bare arms. Tamlin had been around more, and everyday I had practiced a new instrument. I joked with him that soon we could be a 2-man traveling minstrel pretty soon and he howled so much that a painting had rattled in his study and I had to smack his arm to shush him.

The peace was shattered when I woke one morning, softly rising from soothing dreams of nothing but warm dark rest. I had gone to the garden for my usual training and it was there, piked on the beak of a heron about to take off into flight. Blood soaked the front of the heron, gorey and ruby red, and I was silent as I stared and stared, unable to rip away from it as the empty eyes of the dead fae seemed locked with mine. His mouth was in a permanent scream as the tip of the beak protruded from his mouth.

Brown empty eyes swallowed me where I stood, and I shifted my foot back, sliding against the gravel. I was striding back into the house quickly as I saw Lucien and Tamlin rushing down the steps of the garden. They both stalled their steps as I moved between them, Tamlin moved forward toward the fountain the moment I passed between them, obviously on a direct path inside and away from those brown eyes that I could still feel bearing into me. Lucien hesitated for a moment more, a half step in my direction before following after Tamlin.

I hid in the library, half running down the long rows down the book shelves until I found a dark corner I could hole myself into until lunch or dinner. Lucien only came to me in the early night, telling me Tamlin was called to the border for the night and was still alive. I moved to my room when a servant came to light a candle near me once it had gotten to dark to read comfortably.

I was in my room reading for a couple more hours , physically not exhausted but metal facilities faltering as words blurred and shifted on the page. I grew frustrated as I shut the book I had and half tossed it onto my bedside table, throwing myself down onto the mattress with a groan. My eyes were burning as I relished in the dark behind my eyelids for just a moment.

It was late and Summer solstice was in the morning, Rhysand coming back to the manor the day after that and I could not sleep, even as I tried to drain myself by washing more layers of mental shields atop the ones that held near constantly. I groaned again as I lifted myself from the mattress, changing into night clothes and put out all the small flames that lit the room. Cold shadows ushered themselves in, shying from the silver moon light coming from the window.

I laid in bed for an agonizing amount of time where sleep did not come to claim me. I was left with my thoughts as I whispered to those shadows small memories from before, reassuring as I remembered them and kept telling myself it was real, that my family was still real somewhere.

_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_

Summer solstice was there when I awoke, merry music carried on warm winds as ribbon fluttered in the garden, the fountain clean of any ruby blood as bows of fluttering fabric now adorned it. Maypoles in the distance were being erected and fires set up, if the ones from Calanmai were ever even cleaned up.

Alis was there quickly, helping me dress in light tunic and pants despite her pleading for me to wear another dress like she had heard down the grapevine of staff that had come out of their quarters that day. I still heard the ringing shrieks of offense she had greeted me with the next morning when she found out I had finally worn a dress. Still I dressed in pants and an indigo tunic before I found my way into the gardens.

My time under the mountain was drawing ever nearer, and if this was to be one of my last days in the Spring Court I was not going to stall my training. I ate a large breakfast alone after I was exhausted. Still my fingers drummed with excess energy as my legs protested every step I took away from a chair, and I found myself in Tamlin’s study. My fingers roved across the multitude of instruments we had been cycling through during my weeks here.

I picked up the fiddle, and maybe it was the empty loneliness nestled next to the burning excitement that also had me pulling the bow across the strings. An old song that I used to sing with my father on road trips came from my fingertips. Minutes melted to hours as I cycled through old songs foreign to this world but weaved into my soul, comforting memories flowing with them.

Maybe tonight I would play with Tamlin, one last hurrah before I had him sending me away the moment Rhys was gone. My fingers stuttered at the thought and the screech the strings made had me wincing as I pulled the instrument from under my chin, setting it down gently. I couldn’t break the curse now even if I tried, I didn’t love Tamlin. The peace I had been relishing in for weeks was a facade to both of us and I had to die for his court to be free, for him and all of Prythian to be free. I was still staring down at where I placed the fiddle when a timbre voice came from behind me.

“I thought I was just about to catch a personal concert.” Tamlin was in the doorway of the study, having come back from whatever part of the border he had been at. Words caught in my throat as I stuttered over an apology for coming into his office but he waved me off, picking up the fiddle himself.

“Where did you learn those songs? I don’t think we went over them during our lessons.” It was genuine and I felt my ears burn as I came up with a lie.

“I heard them while in the village, when a traveling band would come through. Figured I could try to play them just a bit.” I looked at him and he was readying the bow against the strings, with the first stilted notes I raised my hands in front of me, waving them to try and get him to stop.

He looked sheepish as he looked at me and I sighed, the invitation clear as I started to teach him the songs. It took him an hour or so to get used to the tempos and structuring of them. We were about to move onto a new song, me leaning over a table while I scribbled on paper to explain the piece to him, murmuring the words to the song to remember it properly when Lucien came to fetch us as the sun set low in the sky, the celebrations about to begin.

“I am invited this time, right?” I joked as I straightened myself, preparing to go to my room and freshen up for a long night of partying where I could get rip roaring drunk for the last time.

“Yes, Solstice is for drinking and dancing, all safe for human participation.” Lucien leaned against the door as he spoke, casual as he seemed to already be dressed for the party, fine plum red tunic complimenting the gold jewelry hanging from his wrists and neck. I was only slightly disappointed that no jewelry hung from his ears as I bumped into him.

“Can’t wait to see your two left feet Luci, maybe you can dance with Tam to spare my toes.” I slid past him as I heard a chuckle from him and a laughing groan from Tamlin as he protested the noble sacrifice of his feet. I let joy swell in my chest, smiling so much my cheeks ached as I went to my rooms. One more day, then back to the mortal realms where I would brief my sisters and come back to Prythian, back to the manor to hopefully have Alis guide me.

I contemplated my specific plans as I let Alis braid my hair with pastel wildflowers, and let her put me in a pale gray chiffon dress, just shying into a light purple as I stood in the setting sun. I laced up boots under the dress, Alis allowing for the compromise even as she huffed as I did so. I hugged Alis tightly before I was trotting down the hall and stairs where Tam and Lucien were waiting for me.

A whistle from Lucien had me flushing as they looked up at me, “Cauldron above Feyre,” He nudged Tamlin with an elbow who was still staring up at me as I hit the bottom of the stairs, “She looks positively Fae, doesn’t she Tam?” Another hard jab in Tamlin’s ribs.

“You do look rather lovely, Feyre.” Tamlin still didn’t look away from me as he offered a hand to me.

“Thank you, both of you, but I do believe we have a party to get to that you are wasting away.” I grabbed Tamlin’s hand and grabbed Lucien’s forearm and pulled them towards the doors. I dropped their arms as we made our way across the property, foregoing horses as we came across a plateau where it looked like a small festival was set up. The sky was red and the fires were just starting to be lit as I surveyed the table of food lined against one edge of the area.

The faeries already lined up at the food table stared at me, half of them polite enough to quickly dart their eyes away and the other half turning to someone at their side to whisper into their ears. So many forms were lined there, male and female as the multitude of unearthly skin tones blended together where they all mingled in their finery. Tamlin’s warning growl had the rest of the gazes still ogling me turn away in a moment as I queued up in line. Tamil and Lucien disappeared somewhere into the crowd as I grabbed food from the Tables.

I ate mostly fruit, juicy and sweet from a warm growing season as it always was, as I weaved my way through the crowd. Music was coming from somewhere on the plateau but I let it fall into the background for now as I set down my now empty plate in favor of joining in with a group of smokey skinned females that were dancing around the maypole. I felt parched and made my way to a seperate table where cups of sparkling golden wine sat. I was reaching out for one of the cups when a voice drawled behind me.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you” Lucien was next to me, drawing my hand away from the table. I hummed an acknowledgement at him as I reached for a glass again. “You wouldn’t drink wine at dinner with us but you want to drink fae wine on a solstice? Crazy woman.” Still I grasped the cold glass and smelled the bubbling wine.

Sweet summer nights filled with fruit trees blossoming and cold rivers filled my nose and my tongue almost darted out to taste it as Lucien warned again. “I’m warning you, for real this time.” I glared at him over the edge of my drink

“Last time including you drugging me with forest berries.” I had been hallucinating for a whole afternoon when he offered me a hand of deep purple berries that reminded me of blackberries. They were pointedly not as Lucien howled at my ramblings of dragon clouds spewing a rain of ice, all until Tam pushed him into the reflection pool. I tilted my hand back deliberately to drink at the wine but Lucien reached out for it and I had to dance out of his grasp.

“I’m being serious Feyre, Tam would have my head if he saw you drinking that.” I shrugged my shoulders as I took long steps backwards, far from his grasp as I tilted the lip of the glass against my lips and gulped. The wine was gone in a moment as I tilted my head further back, licking for any drop of the liquid that was burning my veins with bright starlight.

I couldn’t breath as I dropped the glass from my mouth and howled in laughter as explosions rictoched across my veins. Lucien’s face had fallen the moment I had tipped the glass against my lips and now he groaned as he followed me. I skipped along the wind as I saw him again, the glamor he held over himself gone for me to stare directly at that beauty. Dripping embers formed his hair and his eyes burned with the same fire. I frowned at him.

“Why do you glamor yourself? You are far too pretty.” I crossed my arms as I looked up at him. He was turned from me,from apologizing to some fae male for some reason .

“Cauldron boil me Feyre,” but he was distracted for the moment and another glass of wine was in my hands and down my gullet. Another round of those star-flamed fireworks erupted across me. Where I had danced on wind with one glass, I became wind with the second. Wind and music as I flowed, gone from any mortal grasps of stress that had withered me for so long. I felt like a flower in bloom, for one long beautiful night I was in bloom. The jeweled colors of the sky was gone, bled into indigo ink that convinced me I could rest as one of the stars, swimming in the endless sky for eternity as I twinkled.

Rhysand’s eyes stared at me as I floated somewhere up, up, and up. I sang with the night, with the stars, and with the notes of music that drew me in like a moth to flame. Dancers joined me along the way, or I joined them, and I was singing loud lyrics to songs I hadn’t heard since prom, silted and odd sounding as they were on classical instruments. I was the atoms that rang with vibrations as an arm caught me, a hand at my arm pulling me from my path.

“Damn it, Feyre,” Lucien said, gripping me. “Do you want me to kill myself trying to keep you from impaling your mortal hide on another rock?”

I giggled at him as I swayed, grasses moving with me. He grabbed me and every nerve he touched felt like sparklers. My blood bubbled to the beat as Lucien swore at me and I mocked him back.

“Feyre, damn it” Lucien was chasing me as I was carried to the instruments. I could fall into it, disappear and leave this world for one of strings and wood, but mortal flesh tied me to the earth and I wanted to melt into that, become a tree that stretched high above heads as summer sun warmed my bark. I was weaving among the band, turning around them and letting the fabric of my dress flutter out like a cloud.

A fiddle was in front of me and my fingers stretched out, wanting to pour into the music that wrapped around me. Tamlin was above the fiddle, looking at me, every shade of green life swirling in his eyes. He was connected to the hands that were at the neck and bow of the fiddle and I grinned a cheshire smile as he played a song I had taught him. Glimmering sweat ran down from his brow, trailing down to his neck. His forearms flexed as he pulled the bow back and I decided to give up on playing the music myself as I gave myself back to the cords of the song.

There was a clamor of apologies from behind me before Lucien was pulling me back, pinning my arms to my side as I fought him. I was a coursing river and he was a rock obstructing my current.

“Sorry Tam, I left her for a moment and by the time I got to her she was drinking the wine and-” I squirming in his hands as I still moved my feet to the music. My hair that had escaped the braid was plastered to my flushed skin, and I sagged a bit at the cold wind that brushed against my skin, cooling the fire that sat just below my skin. My sagging let me turn in Lucien’s arms and peer up at him. His hair was frazzled and sweat dripped down from his hair where it was sticking to his skin.

I whined as he still held me, “Just dance with me Luci, stop being a buzzkill.” He looked over me, to Tamlin with pleading eyes and I heard a soft chuckle.

“I’ll watch her,” I turned back around as Lucien dropped his hands from my side and the smile that split my face reached my ears as I looked at my savior of the night, “Enjoy the party Lucien.” Lucien disappeared as I spun around in place, swaying to music that hadn’t paused as Tamlin still pulled the bow across the strings.

I barely heard the murmured reassurance of Tamlin as I disappeared into the thrum. At some point a tambourine had appeared in my hand and I was apart of the band as I hit it against my hip and shook it through the air. Another blinking moment and the tambourine was gone and Tamlin was in front of me, offering me the fiddle. My fingers did not hesitate as they took the instrument and played from a deep cavern of music I had longed for.

My eyesight was gone as I spun with the music, tilting and swaying to and fro as hands guided me through tickling grasses. Music for the heavens poured from me as I was a pitcher of wicked human feelings, and I opened my eyes that had closed against my knowledge. The moon was above me and I played for her, for eternity between those stars but tied to a rock filled with so much love and life, to look at but to never touch and never participate.

Heat burned at my back as I danced around a fire, a hand pushing me from the rocks I tried to leap upon that bordered the licking ruby and citrine. I was nights and days spent in the water and around campfires. I was laughing children and cheering adults at gatherings. It was summer and joy and I enjoyed the warmth that filled every aching space that had been hollow for years, for my whole existence.

Music dwindled off once the instrument was taken from me and I was no longer at the festival, no fae bodies radiating heat around me as cold dew on grass soaked into my boots. Still I danced in silence, danced to the chorus of the earth as hands guided me to a slope. I opened my eyes and the moon I had been playing to was kissing the edge of the sky, a blue-gray haze warming the sky for day as gasped in the last bits of sweet night air. I was soaked down with sweat, the feeling rivulets running down my back and shins causing my skin to prickle as I collapsed into the grass, but a warm body was catching me.

A panting high lord was in my ear as I savored the warmth against my quickly cooling skin, “Time goes rather fast when you are drunk off your ass on faerie wine, doesn’t it?” I frowned at him as I heard the beginning strings of music again.

“V’ry drunk, wanna dance, they’re playing ‘gain.” I pointed across the way ,accusatory as Tam dragged me away. The will-o’-the-wisps were already ringing out their song and while Tamlin tried to pull me back for a moment, probably to explain and invite me to dance, I was already trouncing through the grass to flow along with the flittering moonbeams that guided my feet.

Tamlin followed after me, grabbing me as I twisted in place. He pulled me into him and I had to crane my head up as he started the soft, easy steps of a waltz. He caught me everytime my feet faltered, righting me with an easy swoop or twirl as I felt the invigoration of the wine slowly trickle from me. We ended up at the top of a hill, away from the wisps, before Tamlin separated from me. I was starting to become drowsy as Tamlin dragged me down to the damp grass he had sat on, tucking me close under an arm as I savored the warmth of his body once again.

Petals fell from my hair as Tamlin’s hand took to fidgeting with the woven flowers that remained in my hair. The smoke of alcohol was clearing from me slowly, leaving me clear headed to watch the first sliver of gold tip over the horizon and gild the world in gold. The clouds lit with pale pinks and purples as I felt my eyelids grow leaden.

I fought that exhaustion pulling at my skin and mind just to see the picturesque scene. I murmured into the fabric of Tamlin’s tunic, seductive sleep coming for me.

“What?” Tamlin tightened his arm around me and I tilted my head up just enough to peer at him through squinting eyes. He was cast in that soft morning light, and if it wasn’t for the gold mask that still held to his face it would have almost looked domestic.

“I’m going to win.” Maybe it was too simple for the mix of emotions that fizzed in me as I closed my eyes again, content blanketing me as I let out a warm breath. I nestled back down and let the gold light of morning wash me away into a gilded blackness.

I did not feel guilty for the night of pure joy and revelry, nor would I ever if it meant I could cling to the memory of the feeling, even if it was all fictional when I returned home.

[spacebookettes]

Demon Crystals, part 2

Chapter 6

How to secure the secret mountain when so many people know about it, is a question Peanut had no answer for when she started her treasure collecting; she believed something would come to her eventually. Peanut is wandering her crystal tower, enjoying the finer finds of her collection. Shiny crystalline rooms with one way views over the forests surrounding Demon Mountains. The pearls rooms!

Giant silky balls on crystalline shelves line the crystalline walls, the oyster-likes of this planet are massive. All the silky silvery hues from all edges of the planet. The black pearls room!

Darker crystalline light in here, the silky black spheres crammed onto every shelf. Little obscured views across the forests and distant cities, like looking down from impossible moons. The decorated pearls room!

Exotic metals forged to fit all kinds of rarer mixed pearls. Some with small diamonds and opals, gold leaf. Ancient wooden carvings of hands impossibly clasping the spheres, from who knows where. The tiny pearls room!

Even rarer beads of wonder in wooden buckets, handfuls of silky spheres, cart-fuls of buckets, an army of carts. Diamond encrusted horse harnesses pulling them?

Peanut stops at the entrance of the useless talismans room. Such promise from these new supposed magical objects. She looks in toward a small deep purple head with rings of dull metal casting like scissored ribbons, amethyst eyes: Peanut had so hoped that this one would enchant in magnificent ways, alas. The useful talismans room!

Thick bleakers cork lines this room, no crystalline visible. Dark. Glowing hums. Effervescent sparkles occasionally. Low singing. Chattering wood. Small animated shadows.

Chapter 7

Mrs Gambledon and Peanut are playing magical practical jokes on the people of the city, from the height of a trouble tower. Mrs Gambledon is morphing water into crystal stars and the people are collecting them, believing they are real stars dropped from the galaxy. They are magically not cold. But they will eventually melt once the suns dip in the future. Wet shelves, draws and pockets will greet the people. It’s good for Peanut having someone to share her slight demon side with. And all sorceresses should embrace a little mischief Peanut believes... Mischief! she thinks.

The change to cooler weather and the half light is way off! But Mrs Gambledon's training is nearing sufficiency. Maybe the Great Peace this year?

Chapter 8

Can i come to your tower soon.

I don’t know, answers Peanut

Is it truly full of treasure.

Peanut smiles.

Its not full of beetles that’s for sure.

They laugh.

I would just like to see it once, i can’t imagine the sight.

Ok one day you can see the sights.

.... Peanut orders the massive crabs to dig deeper.

Chapter 9

Peanut and Mrs Gambledon are flying. The tiny dragonfly barely visible in the bright sunshine. A horde sleeping under the trees don’t even notice the giant lightning lizard flying over them. Lightning is good camouflage in a blue sky. Mrs Gambledon has not seen the forests this far away from her city. The occasional landmark spots into view as Peanut and Mrs Gambledon scout for new living. Of course Peanut has been here before, she knows exactly where to show Mrs Gambledon, the places with just enough landmarks to be memorable. They find lakes of pure clean water, warm crystal clear rivers. Mrs Gambledon's view is inspiring and beckoning... what a great place to live this would be.

Plenty of hordes along their journey. Always relaxing inside the forests or training. Relaxing and training. Relaxing and training. Mrs Gambledon admires the simple living. They have no houses though. Can’t just sleep under trees. Perhaps tree houses could be made. Mrs Gambledon has been shown so much lately. The forests always look so comfy from up here. And the critters are less trouble in the forests. I suppose the trees could be towers at least. And the lakes would mean plenty of water to create hydro elixirs, to stop any forest fires. Perhaps we could be guardians of the forest fires. Manage the forests. Regions with lakes could mass produce elixirs for trade. We could have treasures from every edge of the planet. A network of purple animals pulling carts everywhere. To protect the forests.

Chapter 10

A small blue wingless bird buzzes around the city, it has friends. Their beaks chatter as they run, darting between buildings. They are getting excited. The chattering beaks are becoming an assault on the buildings, vibration, dust, a bucket spins away from the small flightless birds as they careen at greater speeds, their chattering beaks are so loud that a tower collapses. Mrs Gambledon is above them in the air, she flies down to confront the birds. Her lightning eyes swell as she lands in the way of the feathery hyper marathon. A lightning toothy lizard mouth opens and static charged winds fly from deep withing the lightning body. The birds scatter, falling over each other they roll in all directions. Down side streets, retreating. Still no lighting Mrs Gambledon wonders.

Chapter 11

Peanut is missing. Mrs Gambledon has not seen her for weeks. The beginning of mischief days has started. The sky is dimming.

Peanut feels abandoned she is nervous. She flies around her local cities hoping to spot a tiny piece of lightning in the dimming skies. She doesn’t want to go to the crystal tower alone.

The first day of 20 Mischief days. Mrs Gambledon flies to the crystal tower. Mist demons have collected around the base of the tower. Mrs Gambledon hopes they can’t use steps. She flies to the humongous sapphire at the top. Behind it are giant crystal wings that she could maybe just squeeze between as her giant lightning form morphs into person and falls through the gap at the crux of the crystal roof. The rooms behind the sapphire are simple living spaces. A crystal library that Mrs Gambledon marvels at, though she is no big reader. A spiralling shimmering staircase descends into rooms of treasure. So many gold crowns. Mrs Gambledon descends the tower every room she wants to stop in, but she is scared. She reaches the near bottom of the tower... can see the red mist demons criss crossing in and out of the walls of the base of the tower. A black sparkling cavern descends beyond them. Mrs Gambledon dare not go further. Too many demons.

A RUMBLE. THE CRYSTAL SCREAMS. THE CAVERN BELOW OPENS WIDER. EARTH QUAKE. THE TOWER STARTS SLIPING INTO THE MOUNTAIN. MRS GAMBLEDON TRIES FOR THE STAIRS, THEY SHATTER. UP, A MASS OF LIGHTNING FLIES THROUGH THE MIDDLE OF THE FALLING TOWER. A GIANT LIGHTNING LIZARD BURST THROUGH SHATTERING GIANT WINGS. A HUMONGOUS SAPPHIRE DROPS SEALING THE ENTRANCE TO CRYSTAL DEMON MOUNTAINS. A MASSIVE EARTHQUAKE. THE GARGANTUAN PEAK OF THIS DEMON MOUNTAIN SHEERS DOWN AND Covers the sapphire.

Chapter 12

Mrs Gambledon flies back to her city. Its crumbled remains greet her.

Chapter 13

The sight of a distant lightning flying lizard visible in the half light skies as guide towards a new home for a walking people.

This is my only advice

By Peter Stringer

[axdently]

(Coco Jones, she/her human) to Harriette Charmworth, the whole world looks like an open page. with a leap of faith, their skills in SPELLCASTING grows a little stronger. for TWENTY NINE years, they have survived a world of magic with both their EFFERVESCENCE and SENSITIVITY. they work as a WAITRESS in her family’s restaurant, but if they could change their fate, they’d want to CREATE A HAPPY LIFE FOR HER SON 

FULL MUSE DOC ( IN PROG ) ⸻

harriette was born in the world with two other girls, Annabelle and Jodette. of the triplets, harriette was born last.  the two other sisters, it has been surmised, fought their way out of the womb ( to be first ), while Harriette, lost and scared, stayed behind for twenty whole minutes.

though mostly working as a team to thwart their fathers and school teachers, the girls would soon learn to fight for their own. harriette being the youngest, however, would always fall behind.

her kindness and naivety would always, it seemed, be taken advantage of. and only when others would pick on her did she have the support of her sisters.

and though mostly fighting over toys and attention, the triplets would grow older and fight over other things. harriette always wanted mirror time– so much so that her father, in his tinkering ways, would offer to enchant her one of marvel– something he’d never truly finish.

the finer things in life, of course, caused the youngest to obsess over her appearance. she wanted to look the best to get the best, and when boys were entered into that equation isolation would fester even longer to create the smallest wedges in the alliance between the sisters. 

Harriette grew into, to put kindly, a boy crazy nutcase. she loved romance– she loved expressing her heart on her sleeve and she loved being wrapped up in those tiny love spells her imagination would create. unfortunately many of harriette’s suitors would replace the pillars of support her sisters’ created.

her previous ex, Taja, caused a LOT of drama in her life and unfortunately nearly ruined her life.

her family is everything to her and it’s taken her twenty-nine years, becoming a single mother, and a shared family owned business to accept this.

still, the beaming smile on her face and happy go-lucky attitude contrast the alligator tears she often succumbs to in her bath time lounges and secluded feeding nights.