#one day... one day they'll realize what's up

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Eye Candy 🍬

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Jason Todd × chubby/curvy!reader

FINALLY. I've been wanting to get this out for forever but shit kinda hit the fan and I'm also sick right now lol

This is pure comedy. So much fun to write!! This is for all my thick girlies <3

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Jason wants you to meet his brother (Dick) and his best friend (Roy). As if that wasn't enough of a bomb, doubt starts to creep into your mind at the realization that your curves would make you stand out like a sore thumb in the Wayne family. Jason proves you wrong by taking you to a bar and letting Dick and Roy walk right into a trap.

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"You want me to what?"

"Hey, it's not that big of a deal-... yeah, no, it's... it's a big deal." Jason winced, brows furrowing while he flexed his hands around his mug.

Coffee- of course it was, though it was far too late in the day for even more caffeine, or so you'd scolded him once again.

You were staring at him, slack jawed, eyes widened just slightly as a brief huff of disbelief left your lips.

"Jay, you just told me you want me to meet your family. In what world is that not a big deal?!" You exclaimed, your tone a little more screeching than you'd liked.

He sighed, shoulders dropping ever so slightly, his eyes turned away as a frown etched itself onto his features.

"It's just Roy and Dick, s'not really meeting my family." He mumbled, toying with the handle of his cup, scratching his nails against the ceramic.

"Look, you don't have to, alright? I just thought-... I guess I don't really know what I thought."

Your heart ached. You've never seen him so defeated. So utterly downtrodden. His back slouched, head hung low while his gaze was focused on anything but you.

That heartbreaking glimmer in his eyes that never failed to make your own water.

Gently, you pried the mug from his grip and set it aside, taking his hands in yours.

The action made Jason avert his attention back to you, looking like a kicked puppy.

"I do want to meet them. I really, really do. Because they are your family, whether you want to admit it or not." You smiled softly, watching as he lit up immediately, a huff of relief making his chest feel lighter.

"I'm just nervous. And worried, I suppose? What they'll think, you know. I'm sure that I'm not exactly what they imagine when they think of your girlfriend." You chuckled nervously.

Jason, on the other hand, looked confused. Eyes narrowed, You-can-see-the-gears-turning-but-nothing-is-happening confused.

"What in the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

You cackled at the expression on his face and the goofy tone of his voice.

"Okay, let me put it like this. You're family is a bunch of buff, unfairly jacked and lean super geniuses. Not to mention how good the girls look. And Kori? She's a literal space princess! I just feel like I don't quite fit in. Can you imagine someone like me at one of those Galas? They would lose their minds-"

"'Someone like you? You mean a gorgeous, beautiful, stunning plump lady with a brain so big I sometimes wonder how your neck is still intact? You mean someone like that? Because we could use more of that, trust me." He chuckled dryly.

"Also, you're hot as fuck." He deadpanned, blankly staring at you.

You playfully rolled your eyes, tracing the space between his knuckles.

"A. I know, B. you're biased. I mean, they all probably expect you to date some super model." You explained, sighing.

You knew your worth. You knew that you were beautiful and perfect just they way you are, even beginning to love yourself.

But when challenged with a family full of hotties like the Wayne's plus Gotham's elite, it was hard not to feel just a little out of place with all your curves, bumps and pudge.

Jason's lips were pressed together in a thin line before he inhaled sharply and pinned you down with his gaze.

"Alright, first of all, they have no expectation of who I'd date because I was fuckin' dead, and when I came back my only interest was revenge and smashing peoples heads in. If anything they thought I would die alone."

The bluntness of his words and the expecting raise in his brows had you shell shocked, and pleasantly surprised.

"You're making problems for yourself that don't exist, ladybird." His tone turned soft as did his eyes, enveloping your heart in a blanket of warmth.

"So, respectfully, you don't have a point." He concluded for you, leaning back against the couch with a satisfied noise.

"Huh, I guess I don't." You breathed out, a smile spreading on your face while Jason already sported a wicked grin.

"There ya go. Now, can I brag about my hot, smart and curvaceous girlfriend to my dickhead brother and loser best friend? Because, sweetheart, you're one hell of a woman." He smirked, leaning in to get you all hot and bothered by his proximity.

You bit your lip, trying to act unaffected by his antics.

"Okay, fine," You groaned, feigning annoyance, "But only because I love you." You finished, failing to hide the smile on your face.

In one swift motion, Jason grabbed you and pulled you into his lap, your back pressed firmly to his chest. You let out a startled noise that morphed into a laugh.

"See? Just had to butter you up a bit, pretty girl." He nosed at your neck, a grin showing off his pearly whites while his arms were snaked around your middle.

"What can I say? You have a way with words." You smirked, looking back at him over your shoulder.

Jason chuckled and turned you in his lap, making you face him.

"I do have a very skilled tongue, as you know." He winked at you, kneading the fat of your hips in his hands.

You groaned and rolled your eyes before grinning and pinching his cheek.

"So, you up for tomorrow? It'll just be at a shitty bar somewhere. They won't judge you, I promise. And if they do, they can take it up with Fuck-" Jason raised one arm and flexed his bicep, "and You." With a wide smile, he lifted his other arm, and you watched as his muscles practically inflated.

You giggled, squeezing his arm with an approving nod of your head.

"I'll be there. I just have some errands to run, so I'll meet you at the place, yeah?" You replied sweetly, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose.

Jason's face scrunched up at your kiss, making him look like an adorable little bunny.

"Sounds good, ladybird." He replied, smiling.

There was something hiding beneath that smile, though. Something sinister. Mischievous. You squinted your eyes at him.

"... What are you up to?" You asked suspiciously, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Who? Me? I'm not up to anything." He replied sweetly, batting his lashes at you.

"Mhm." You hummed, searching for a hint in his teal eyes.

You could see his resolve cracking, his gaze breaking from your for just a split second. You continued to stare at him. Jason cleared his throat and gave you a tight smile before striking.

Quickly, he pushed you off his lap, making you stumble to the floor of your living room on shaky legs before he lowered himself to the ground, hooking one arm around your knees and hoisting you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

You screeched, digging your hands into his hoodie so you wouldn't fall.

"What the fuck! What are you doing?!" You screamed, cracking into a smile when you heard Jason cackle mischievously.

He moved quickly, rounding the couch and any obstacles with ease.

"Well, you see, I've been stumblin' over my words all day. Care to help me loosen up my tongue at bit, doll?" He grinned, hurrying to your bedroom.

"Jason!-"

Your voice burst with a laugh before you were interrupted by a loud crack when his hand met the back of your thigh.

You gasped, quickly followed by a slap against his clothed back.

"Remember that name, angel. I have a feeling you'll be using it a lot tonight."

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

"So, she coming?" Roy asked curiously, settling back into the deep-set lounge with his drink.

The redhead was seated in the middle, between the brothers, earning a shove and an annoyed eyeroll from Jason.

Dick snickered, taking a sip of his beverage.

"Why are you so obsessed with my girl, dude?"

"We just wanna make sure she's real. I'd hate to break you out of Arkham again, little wing." Dick grinned from behind the rim of his glass.

"Wow." Roy clicked his tongue, nodding along to the diabolical comment.

Jason only stared at his brother blankly, blinking once, then twice.

"Too far?" Dick asked, wincing slightly.

"Whaddya think, dickhead?" Roy sighed sharply.

"You should be so glad that I'm in therapy. Otherwise I woulda wiped the floor with you right now." Jason mumbled, taking a swig of his drink.

"It's the Piña Coladas talking." His brother chuckled awkwardly.

Jason just snorted, leaning against the soft cushions.

"To answer your question, yes, she's coming." Roy lit up, excitedly setting his beer down on the table.

"Really? So we get to meet the fabled ladybird, huh?" The redhead grinned, bumping his shoulder with Jason's.

He only shook his head and playfully rolled his eyes at Roy.

"Why didn't she come with you, then?" Dick asked, brows furrowed.

"Had to stop by the craft store." Jason replied simply, finishing his drink.

"Oh, so it's like that? You really did get yourself a pretty little thing, didn't you?" Dick smirked, watching as Jason chuckled in response.

"Dickhead's right. They not only make pieces of art, they are ones." Roy agreed.

Dick scoffed at the nickname.

"She's pretty alright. Looks like she belongs in the Louvre." Jason responded with a smile, then immediately regretting that decision when Roy and Dick began to look like the cheshire cat.

"Ooooo, Jay's in looooove." Roy teased with a chuckle.

"Did little wing find an even litteler wing? That's adorable." Duck sniffled, wiping a faux tear from his lashline.

Jason grumbled in response, flipping them off.

"At least I didn't cheat on my girl." He mumbled sharply, hiding behind his second -or third?- glass of the night.

Dick's smile fell and he was reduced to a muttering mess, pouting like a child.

"God, you guys are actual children. Can I have one night-"

they both glanced at Roy when he stopped speaking, his lips parted as he stared at the entrance of the bar.

"You're lettin' flies in, carrot top." Jason said blankly.

Roy let out a low whistle, loosely gesturing to the bar before a smirk cracked on his face.

"Look at that piece of Eye Candy over there."

Dick followed his line of sight.

"Fuck me." He cursed, eyes wide.

"Look at those hips, jesus-"

"Now that's a woman."

Jason was mid sip, uninterested in this mystery woman ordering a drink at the bar. But, he glanced up anyway, only to choke on his drink when his eyes landed on you.

He sputtered, coughing as he felt the alcohol go up his nose.

"Woah, she got you good, didn't she?" Roy teased with a laugh, patting his back.

"Yep.." Jason croaked out, holding back a laugh.

"I'm telling ladybird." Dick said quickly.

Snitch.

"When will she be here anyway? It's been a while." He questioned, pulling up his sleeve to take a look at his watch.

"Soon, soon.." Jason replied, clearing his throat.

"Man, she could sit on me, and I'd thank her. And that rack-"

Roy continued letting his eyes trail over your body.

As amusing as Jason found this little misunderstanding, he couldn't help but grind his teeth and clench his fists.

Meanwhile, Dick delivered a slap to the back of Roy's head.

"Pervert! You don't talk about women like that." He scolded the redhead.

"Says you! As if you don't wanna be suffocated by those thighs or-or knock out on that tummy, I know you do!" Roy said sharply, pointing an accusing finger at Dick.

"Of course I do, but I didn't say it out loud, now did I?" He replied in a condescending tone.

"You fucking-"

"Oh, look, she's approaching us." Jason said nonchalantly, leaning back into the cushions with a grin, watching as the petty bickering between his brother and best friend stopped immediately.

"I call dibs! I saw her first." Roy said quickly, straightening his posture and trying to look unbothered while you approached.

"God fucking dammit." Dick cursed, being left to grumble with his Piña Colada.

He looked at Jason, who was comfortably leaned back with a smirk.

"How are you so chill about this?!" Dick asked irritated.

"You'll see." Jason grinned.

You walked towards them with a smile, the drink you'd just ordered at the bar in your hand. Roy put up his most charming face and quickly cleared his throat.

"Hello there, sweethea-"

his entire face dropped when you placed a hand on Jason's shoulder and pressed a kiss to his lips. His hands instinctively went to rest on your hips, giving them a gentle squeeze.

"Hi, baby." You greeted sweetly.

"Hey there, ladybird." Jason grinned, glancing at Roy and Dick.

The redheads jaw was on the floor, speechless while his gaze flitted between you and his best friend. Dick was just as shocked, but quickly broke out of it.

"THAT’S LADYBIRD?!" He yelled, earning harsh stares from other guests.

Dick quieted down with an apologetic smile and leaned closer to Jason.

"You fucking asshole! Why didn't you do anything? You let us say all those things-" at the realization Dick went pale.

"He's gonna beat our asses." Roy mumbled, still staring at you and Jason.

"... Fuck."

You just stood there dumbfounded while Jason had a grin on his face that made a shiver run down Roy's spine.

"What things?" You asked, you brows furrowed in confusion.

Jason pulled you into his lap, resting one of his hands on your thigh.

"Don't worry about it, angel." He said softly, pecking your cheek.

"How the hell did you end with such a charity case as Jason?" Roy asked bluntly, slumped in his seat, defeated.

"Excuse me?" You sputtered with a scoff.

"That's a lot of nerve coming from someone looking like an affair baby." You shot back.

Dick burst out laughing, Jason cackling along side him while Roy only stared at you.

"And she's feisty? Fuuuuuuck.." He whined.

"Nice to meet you, ladybird." Dick gave you a friendly smile and nod, still wiping the tears from his eyes.

You returned the smile before leaning in to whisper into Jason's ear.

"Is the rest of your family also like this?"

"Like what?"

"Loudmouth assholes." You replied, staring straight at Roy who looked like you just slapped his mother.

Jason laughed, throwing his head back when he saw Roy's face.

"Ah, no. Some of them are quiet assholes."

Dick scoffed, immediately defending himself and his siblings with big hand gestures.

You chuckled as you watched.

"Don't be sad, carrot top," Jason began, giving Roy's shoulder a squeeze, "You couldn't handle her if you tried."

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Jason loves fat girls. Argue with the wall <3

Let me know what you think! 😚🩷

More of Jason and others -> 💫

《DC Taglist》: @allysunny @arkhamknightscxnt @gaozorous-rex-blog @hellonhells-x

Comment to be added 🐝🫧

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[azrielmasterlist]

His Shadows & Their Starlight

Storyline:-(Ver.2.0) Azriel is sitting next to Elain as you sit by the fireplace reading. You've been staying with Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand for the past two months in Velaris. You're a mortal but Rhysand says you have different abilities that no mortal should be able to have. For example, winnowing or teleporting. Azriel is in love with Elain Archeron even though Elain already has a mate.

Word count:- 1.13k

Warnings:- Insecurity, Lonliness, Jealousy, Angst.

Series:- Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Chapter 8: The Storm Within

Isla's POV

The storm began quietly, like most do—not in the sky, but in the depths of my chest, a swirling, tightening feeling that made it hard to breathe. I didn't need to look out at the darkening skies of Velaris to know something was brewing. I felt it in the air, heavy and charged with unspoken tension.

I found myself in the great hall of the House of Wind, my fingers brushing along the edge of the bannister as I peered out into the distance. The rain hadn't started yet, but the wind whispered its warning through the mountains, teasing strands of my hair loose from my braid.

Azriel was somewhere in the house, though I didn't know exactly where. I hadn't seen him all day, but I knew he was near. I could always tell when he was close—the shadows always gave him away.

I sighed, leaning against the cool stone railing. Ever since our last conversation, things had shifted between us, though not in the way I'd hoped. He'd opened up just enough to let me glimpse the storm within him, but then he'd retreated, more distant than ever. Yet his shadows still lingered around me, a silent contradiction to the walls he tried to rebuild.

"Lost in thought again?" Mor's voice pulled me from my reverie.

I turned to find her standing a few feet away, a knowing smile on her lips. She always seemed to know when something was weighing on me, and tonight was no exception.

"Something like that," I admitted, forcing a small smile.

She joined me at the railing, her gaze sweeping over the city below. "You know, Velaris has seen its share of storms. They come and go, but the city always endures." She shot me a sideways glance. "People are the same. We endure, even when the storms feel like they'll tear us apart."

I didn't respond right away, but her words settled in my chest, resonating with the storm I felt brewing inside me. Before I could say anything, though, the sound of raised voices drifted up from the lower floors.

I tensed, recognizing one of the voices immediately. Rhysand.

And the other... Azriel.

Mor's expression darkened. "Stay here," she said firmly, but I was already moving.

Ignoring her protests, I made my way down the winding staircase, my heart pounding with every step. The tension in the air thickened with each passing second, and by the time I reached the main hall, it felt almost suffocating.

Rhysand stood at the centre of the room, his usual calm demeanour replaced by something sharper, more commanding. Azriel stood across from him, his shadows coiling tightly around him like a living barrier.

"You can't keep doing this, Azriel," Rhys said, his voice low but laced with authority. "You're not just hurting yourself—you're hurting her."

Her. I knew he meant me, and the realization made my breath hitch.

Azriel didn't respond right away, but I saw the way his jaw clenched, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides. His shadows flickered wildly, betraying the storm within him.

"You think I don't know that?" he finally said, his voice rough, strained. "You think I don't feel it every time I see her?"

Rhysand's expression softened, but only slightly. "Then stop running from it. Stop hiding behind what you think you should feel and face what's right in front of you."

I wanted to step forward, to say something, but I was rooted in place, torn between wanting to comfort Azriel and respecting the space he so desperately clung to.

"She deserves more than what I can give her," Azriel said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm... I'm not whole, Rhys. I never have been."

Rhysand's gaze softened further, a rare glimpse of vulnerability in the High Lord. "None of us are whole, Az. We all carry our scars. But that doesn't mean we don't deserve happiness. It doesn't mean we don't deserve love."

For a moment, there was only silence, the weight of Rhysand's words hanging in the air like the calm before the storm.

Azriel didn't say anything, but I saw the way his shadows stilled as if absorbing every word. And then, without another word, he turned and walked away, his shadows trailing behind him like a cloak.

I stood frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do. Part of me wanted to chase after him, to demand that he stop running. But another part of me knew that this was something he had to face on his own.

"He cares about you, Isla," Rhysand said gently, drawing my attention back to him. "More than he's willing to admit. Give him time."

I nodded slowly, though it did little to ease the ache in my chest.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Later that night, I found myself standing outside Azriel's door, hesitating. I didn't know what I was going to say, but I knew I couldn't leave things as they were. I raised my hand to knock, but before I could, the door opened, and I found myself face-to-face with him.

His expression was guarded, but there was something in his eyes—something raw, unspoken.

"Can we talk?" I asked softly.

He stepped aside, letting me in without a word. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the small fire crackling in the hearth. His shadows lingered in the corners, but they didn't seem as restless as before.

"I heard what you said to Rhys," I began, turning to face him. "And I get it. You're scared. But so am I, Azriel. I'm scared of being in a world where I don't belong. I'm scared of these powers I don't understand. But more than that, I'm scared of losing you before I ever really had you."

He didn't respond right away, but I saw the way his shadows moved, reaching out toward me like they always did. It was as if they couldn't help themselves, drawn to me in a way that mirrored the connection I felt with him.

"I don't know how to do this," he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know how to be what you need."

"You don't have to be perfect, Azriel," I said, taking a step closer. "I'm not asking you to be. I just want you to let me in. To stop pushing me away."

For a moment, he didn't say anything. But then he closed the distance between us, his shadows wrapping around us both like a protective cocoon.

"I'll try," he said softly, his voice trembling with emotion. "I don't know if I can give you everything you deserve, but I'll try."

And as his shadows enveloped me, I felt something shift—a glimpse of truth, a promise of something more.

The storm within us hadn't passed, but for the first time, it felt like we were facing it together. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

Taglist:- @donnadiddadog@onebadassunicorn-blog@wintersquirrel@rcarbo1

[lsunstreakerl]

slinking out of my homework induced coma. darkbull! 1.7k words, carlos pov. (I'll be posting the "discipline" ficlet later today hopefully, but you guys get some insight into it with this one). once again: this is the darkbull universe. it's not as bad as the kidnapping ficlet but it's not great either.

Carlos breaths out a slow breath, fingertips grazing the cool metal in front of him. Wheatley watches impassively from a few feet away, protective headphones around his neck.

"Your father ever teach you to handle those?"

Carlos remembers being small, holding BB pellets in his hands, but-

That had been for fun. Not anything serious, just boys being boys, trying to see who had the best aim, who could hit the furthest can.

Nothing like this.

He wraps his fingers around the handle and lifts, feeling the weight in his palms. It feels heavy, but not as much as it should.

Something with the power to so easily take a life shouldn't be so easy to lift.

"He didn't teach me with one of these, no."

Wheatley nods, stepping closer and rearranging Carlos's fingers around the handle.

"It's going to have some kickback. I don't want you worrying about bullseyes yet. I want you making sure your aim is steady."

Carlos brings it up in front of him as Wheatley raises his headphones up, placing Carlos's over his ears as well.

He widens his stance a bit, steadies himself as much as possible. Wheatley had been telling him about this part- shoot on exhale.

He focuses on the target and lets his thumb flick over the safety.

This is not what he thought he'd be doing when he joined Formula 1- not even close. None of it is. He didn't think he'd be content in a "junior" team, he didn't think he'd end up entangled in part of a historical criminal empire, he didn't think he would be in a three way relationship where only two of them know what's actually happening.

At least- he thinks it's three way. If it's not now, it will be soon. Daniel has been circling him and Max, like the moon orbiting the Earth. He gets closer each pass, eating meals with them or doing workouts together, and Carlos knows Max is head over heels, so it's really only a matter of time.

Max wants Daniel, just like he'd wanted Carlos, and he gets what he wants.

Always.

Max getting what he wants is why Carlos is here in the factory basement, learning how to kill someone.

Max has no idea about the way the factory revolves around him. He's their guiding star, their perfect pet, their number one driver.

Carlos sometimes finds himself wondering if Max even realized what was happening when he was seventeen. Probably not- Carlos remembers Max at seventeen, angry and defensive. Nothing like the Max of now, fierce on track but happy to roll over for the team, let them do whatever they want to him.

If Carlos hadn't been present in the factory to watch the slow progression, he almost wouldn't believe it. He has to respect Redbull for their patience, but-

He's afraid of how long they're willing to play the long game. They'd been so careful with Max. They'd gained his trust, and they'd gone so slowly it's no surprise Max didn't notice.

Holding onto him just a bit longer in a hug than someone normally would, a hand slipping lower on his back or higher on his thigh, palms around his neck- the slow removal of personal space, of boundaries- the way there are always eyes on him. Max is so used to being observed he doesn't even register it anymore.

Carlos had pressed him against a counter the other day, because Max had been sweet and desperate and wanting, and he'd had a moment where he worried that someone could walk in.

And then Max had whined into his mouth and begged for his fingers, and Carlos realized he didn't care. Max's flat is bugged, there are trackers buried deep into muscle and flesh, the team has never had any grievances about drugging him- if someone walks in on them, they'll probably just be glad to see Max has his needs met.

Just like he'd feared, someone had walked in- gotten their drink from the fridge as normal, winked at Carlos, and then left.

The only change afterwards was that Carlos felt like the team approved of him more.

So. He's been proving himself right lately.

Carlos looks at the target in front of him. Max is so- Max is naive, about the whole thing. The team works very hard to keep it that way, and that responsibility now falls on Carlos as well.

He tries to imagine someone breaking in, trying to hurt Max, trying to kill Max-

Redbull would go on a warpath.

Carlos thinks of Max laid out underneath him in bed, curled up with him on the couch, running next to him on the track. Fierce, syrupy sweet Max.

He thinks of someone else getting that Max, someone who's not Redbull, someone who hasn't put in the work.

There's a sharp flicker of possessiveness through him.

Carlos fires.

------

Two weeks later:

Carlos has his back leaned against the headboard, Max asleep between his legs, head resting on his stomach.

Daniel steps back out of the bathroom, passing Carlos a washcloth.

"He out?"

Carlos nods, fingers absentmindedly running through Max's hair. It's been getting softer since Carlos convinced him to start using conditioner. It's getting longer as well- enough that Carlos can tug on it gently, enough that the ends of it curl at the nape of his neck.

"Yes."

Daniel pulls on a pair of sweatpants and settles next to Carlos, careful not to shift the bed too much. They're both talking quietly.

"Well, we know he likes that."

Carlos huffs a small laugh.

"We should keep a list."

He means it as a joke, but the way Daniel tilts his head, eyes assessing- it might not be a half bad idea.

Daniel reaches over to the bedside table, tearing out a piece of paper from one of their smaller notebooks as he snags a pen.

His eyes shift over to Carlos, and he sounds contemplative when he speaks.

"Wheatley's added evening meets to my schedule for the next two weeks- said I should ask you about it."

Well, that answers a question Carlos had been wondering about, if Daniel had been trained already or not.

"He's going to teach you to shoot. Also some knife work."

Daniel snorts, eyes crinkling over at him.

"Nah mate, seriously, what's it about?"

Carlos lowers his head a bit, eyes flicking back down to where Max is asleep between them.

"I am serious. We are around Max a lot- we should know how to protect him just as well as the rest of the garage."

Daniel's eyes are wide when Carlos looks back up at him.

"Oh."

He carefully folds the paper up before sliding it back in the drawer.

"When did they start teaching you?"

Carlos hums, lightly scratching his nails across Max's scalp. Even in his sleep he makes a soft noise, burrowing slightly closer to Carlos.

"Right after we got together. The team is very observant about these things."

Daniel nods.

"And he seriously doesn't know anything?"

Carlos shakes his head, but it's somewhat fond. How Max has managed to remain completely oblivious is a feat in itself, and Carlos has his suspicions that Max purposely ignores things that don't make sense. Ignorance is bliss, or something like that.

"No idea. I think maybe he gets suspicious when the team is mad at him, but it is hard to keep track during that time. He gets very lost."

"Mad at him- like a couple weeks ago with the Williams incident? The only thing I noticed was that he was a lot quieter and had a hard time staying focused. If anything, the team seemed nicer to him."

Daniel sounds confused, which is fair.

"Daniel, that is the punishment."

Carlos needs to think of a way to phrase this that doesn't send Daniel running for the hills, cultlike crime empire team bosses be damned.

Carlos had thought it was bad too, when he'd first learned, but he's since then seen the positive effects. Max really does do better this way, with the positive reinforcement, but sometimes they have to... wipe the slate first.

"The Williams thing, he was reckless, yes? Was not thinking of his own safety on that overtake, and it crashed them both out. He was not thinking of his own safety because the pundits that week were talking shit about him."

Daniel still looks confused.

"They were talking shit about the whole garage, yeah. That weekend sucked."

"So the most recent thing in his brain is the media, for that race. Makes him race bad. The solution is to,"

Carlos flounders for a second. Christian had explained this much better.

"The team 'wipes the slate', if that makes sense. When he is lost or unfocused, it is because they are trying to remind him of the actual priorities. You will hear them remind him often about how we want him to drive. The repetitiveness-"

Carlos spins his index finger a few times to mimic the motion.

"-it sticks with him. He doesn't remember specific things from that time if they only happen once, but if everyone is telling him frequently to look out for his own safety in the car... much easier for him to remember, yes?"

Carlos brings his hand back down. It really does make sense, if you skip past the questionable ethics.

"And he does not like to be confused like that, so he tries to do what the team asks and avoid it."

Daniel's brows are furrowed, and he looks concerned- but also deep in thought.

"How the fuck are they doing that?"

Carlos shrugs.

"No idea."

He lets the topic drop, because he does know. Had even helped with it, after the Williams incident, because it helps Max, but Daniel-

Daniel isn't ready for that yet. Might not agree to the group effort of slipping things in Max's food and drinks, keeping him unsteady and disoriented. Carlos doesn't like doing it, none of the team does, but it's a necessary thing.

Besides-

He looks back down at Max. He's so trusting of all of them. Eager to please, thrives on praise- none of them could bear actually being angry with him. It still hurts the heart of the team when he's confused like that, and it's upsetting to see the way he gets disoriented and lost, but he comes out of it better. It's the right thing to do for him, and it works.

Daniel will get looped in when he's ready.

[separatist-apologist]

Lying In Between The Memories

You could call it paradise but it looks just like hell to me

Summary: Following the blood rite, Gwyneth Berdara can't shake the memories of a life long-gone.

The shadowsinger can't seem to move on after five centuries of loving the same woman.

Together, they'll have to carve a new path forward.

Read on AO3 | Previous Chapter

[ongoing TW for Sexual Assault]

If Gwyn didn’t force herself out of bed, she’d never leave. 

In Gwyn’s defense, she’d tried to leave multiple times only for Azriel to open his eyes and drag her back. She must have wasted half the week that way, happy to forget the horrors that were waiting just outside the bedroom door. She didn’t want to deal with the Day Court scholar, with Gunnar, or anything else that had been plaguing them. Azriel was good at keeping her mind preoccupied—one slide of his hand up her thigh evaporated whatever anxieties she had.

Save for the ones that centered around him. Three times now, she’d offered to get up and offer him something to eat, and each time he looked like he wanted it before he pulled her back, claiming he didn’t want to see her go, even for a moment.

But surely he wanted to cement what shimmered between them? 

Gwyn was starting to think Azriel didn’t want that at all. The thought pulled her from her dream, lost to the darkness of his bedroom and new insecurities worming their way through her chest. Azriel was asleep, for once—softly snoring as he laid on his back, his wings splayed out beneath him. One hand lay on his bare stomach, and for a moment, Gwyn was tempted to wake him up with her tongue and teeth. 

He’d like it, she thought. Every time she touched him, he watched with open-mouthed wonder, which broke her heart a little. Before, she’d assumed that he didn’t feel like he deserved it, and she’d wanted to prove that he did, but now…

Gwyn swung a leg over the edge of the bed slowly, watching to see if the spymaster would feel her leave him. Azriel didn’t move, his naked chest rising and falling slowly. He needed the sleep—she did, too, though she wasn’t going to get it until she talked to Nesta. 

It was its own form of torture, leaving him in that bed so she could try and get inside his head. Why not just ask him, some more rational part of her mind screamed. She’d been trying, for whatever that was worth. 

Slipping a night dress over her head once she was in the hall, afraid the material would be so loud it would wake him, Gwyn made her way to Nesta and Cassian’s bedchamber. Cracking the door, she found the curtains pulled half open so a beam of silvery moonlight fell over Cassian.

Who was awake.

Knife in hand.

Staring straight at her.

Gwyn raised her palms slowly, but Cassian was already sliding the dagger back on the bedside table. “Can I talk to Nesta?” she whispered.

“In the morning,” Cassian grumbled, wrapping his arms around Nestas sleeping form. They’d woken her, though. Nesta’s head popped up from Cassian’s chest, blinking against the dark.

“Gwyn?”

“Tell her to go back to sleep,” Cassian grumbled as Nesta wiped drool from her cheek. 

“Is everything okay?” Nesta asked, pulling out of Cassian’s embrace while he complained into a pillow. “Oh go sleep with Azriel if you’re that lonely.”

“I might,” Cassian retorted, rolling onto his stomach. He wasn’t wearing clothes, Gwyn realized, though Nesta mercifully had a night dress on. “I’ll bet he’d hold me if I asked.”

“He’d let you be the little spoon,” Nesta agreed, shaking her head back and forth before they made their way back out into the hall. 

Cassian flung a pillow at Nesta just as she shut the door, causing it to thump softly against the door.

“Did they…?”

“Probably,” Nesta said with a shrug, answering her unspoken question. Had Cassian and Azriel ever done anything together. Gwyn would ask…in a decade, or so when Azriel wasn’t so guarded. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Azriel,” she whispered, following Nesta up the steps to the living area. They both flopped down on the little loveseat, Nesta yanking a knitted blanket from the back to cover them both. “I think…I think he wishes the bond hadn’t happened.”

Nesta, who’d been slow and sleepy right up until that moment, snapped to attention. All the lights in the room flickered on, the house responding to Nesta's mood and magic. 

“How could you think that?” Nesta asked, brow furrowed. “He is always with you.”

“The bond pulls us together, but I’ve tried…” gods, but the whole thing was so embarrassing. “I’ve tried to accept the bond, and every time I offer, he distracts me until I forget.”

Nesta’s frown deepened. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I thought he’d want to, but…he doesn’t.” Gwyn swallowed the lump forming in her throat. Mates were rare—so rare she’d never expected one, never given having one any thought until she’d felt the bond between them. To tell Nesta, who was mated herself and happy about it, felt like another miserable blow. 

“Fuck him,” Nesta said, resting her head on the back of the couch. “Like he’d ever do better.”

“Is there anyone else?” Gwyn questioned, heart hammering. Nesta’s eyes were unfocused for a moment, brow furrowed over some memory she’d clearly forgotten. Gwyn knew Nesta was never going to be honest if there was—but there was. Or, there had been before he’d left, anyway. She’d never thought to ask—and she should. Ask him, anyway. Right then, though, Gwyn would have preferred to be swallowed whole by the earth itself.

“He loves you, though?”

Gwyn shrugged. “He says he does.”

“But you don’t believe him?” Nesta probed, some of her anger shifting into an emotion Gwyn thought she preferred not to see. It was pity. 

“Why won’t he accept the bond if he loves me? There’s someone else—”

“It would be easier if there was, wouldn’t it?” Nesta commented, angling her body to face Gwyn. 

Gwyn paused. “Why do you say that?”

Nesta considered her words, nose scrunched. “If he doesn’t want the bond…you can walk away.”

“Why would I want that?”

“Why would you want that?” Nesta asked with genuine curiosity. 

“I don’t.”

“But you’re out here talking to me, when you could just ask Az himself.” 

“I can’t just ask, hey Az, are you in love with another female—”

“No. Just you.”

Azriel’s voice drew their attention, his presence in the doorway catching them both by surprise. He stood there, arms crossed over his bare chest, his expression unreadable. How long had he been there? How had he known where she’d gone?

His shadows swarmed toward her, slinking through her unbound hair all the while whispering what she thought were apologies. Gwyn couldn’t speak their language, though she thought some part of her understood most of what they tried to convey.

“Traitors,” she whispered, watching as his shadows recoiled ever so slightly. 

“Talk to him,” Nesta whispered loudly, throwing Azriel a wink. “Did Cass climb in bed with you?”

Azriel didn’t smile. “Not tonight.”

“He’s getting jealous,” Nesta replied, fingers skimming Azriel’s arm before she slipped out. She whispered something to Azriel Gwyn didn’t hear, and only knew was spoken because he turned his head to the side so he could listen.

“I won’t,” he murmured in response, hazel eyes falling on her again.

“Goodnight, Gwyn,” Nesta called over her shoulder. Neither Gwyn nor Azriel spoke until Nesta was gone, though only Azriel heard the sound of Nesta’s door click shut. He took a careful half-step into the living room, his expression betraying nothing that might help her.

“You weren’t in bed,” he said flatly. Why? 

“I couldn’t sleep,” she replied, her stomach twisting nervously. She’d wanted to talk to Nesta, to have her friend reassure her that everything was fine and she didn’t need to worry. Not Azriel, whom she’d never really had an honest conversation with. They were too new, didn’t know each other well enough to delve into the complicated and messy history of their pasts. 

“I’m not in love with anyone else,” he said when it was clear she wasn’t going to say anything beyond not being able to sleep. He’d have to make the first move. Azriel took another half step toward her. “Only you.”

“Then why…” she tugged a strand of her hair. “Forget it. Forget I said—”

“Tell me.”

“Az,” she half pleaded, but he wasn’t letting it go. She could see the shape of his will, the determined set of his jaw—he was going to make her tell him everything she’d thought, every confession to Nesta, and then…she didn’t know. 

“I’ve done something, and now you think I don’t care for you,” he said, his voice cracking at the edges. He was coming closer now, walking as though he were being pulled. His wings were tight against his back, which she understood meant he was nervous—protecting himself from some threat.

From her. 

Gwyn turned on the sofa to face him as he came around the side, sinking softly to one knee, and then the other so they were almost eye level. He’d placed himself at her feet, looking up at her with the same expression she’d seen priestesses gaze at the statue of the Mother. 

“Why don’t you want to accept our bond?” she asked, forcing the words out of her mouth. “You keep putting of off.”

Azriel’s eyes fluttered shut, head turning to the side as though he couldn’t stand for her to see him. Instinctively, Gwyn’s fingers found his chin, turning his face so he had to look at her.

“I do want that,” he managed, his voice hoarse. “I want it…I want it more than anything.”

“Then why—”

“You’re so young,” he said, the words falling out like a rush of water. “You have your whole life and I…I had that time. It’s wrong to leash you to me, and I…I would wait. I will wait—”

“Don’t you know me at all?” she interrupted, her frustration warring with a giddy sort of joy. She’d fully expected the opposite—for him to say she was broken beyond repair, that she was too damaged to love, too imperfect for the likes of him. He’d indulge in the bond, but he didn’t want a life.

Azriel’s eyes shone like moonlight. 

“I don’t want another male. I’ve never wanted any male—”

“The bond—”

“Merely strengthens what was already there,” she said, thumb sweeping over his stubbled cheek. “It was always going to be you, or no one.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You don’t get to tell me what I know,” she shot back. The corners of Azriel’s eyes crinkled though he didn’t smile. He wanted to, though, but was too comfortable denying himself anything that might bring him pleasure or joy. “I know that’s true, and with a century of space, it would still be your bed I crawled into every night.”

There was a beat as Gwyn imagined what Azriel was offering, a frown pulling at her mouth. “You’d let me sleep with other males?”

“Yes,” he agreed immediately, though there was a darkness in her expression. “But afterward, I might kill them for it.”

“How is that letting me find myself?”

“I’m not hurting you,” he replied, absurd and earnest as ever. 

“What if I fell in love with him?”

A growl slipped from his throat, his amusement gone, replaced by cold, unfeeling anger 

“See?” she whispered. “Why torture yourself when I’m here, and I want you?”

“And when you wake up in a century riddled with regret?” he asked her, cocking his head to the side. “What will I do, then?”

“Wake up from the terrible nightmare you had,” Gwyn shot back with a smile. “It’s not going to happen. I don’t like other males, Az. You are the only exception.”

Azriel rose to his feet, offering her his hand. “Come on,” he murmured. Gwyn followed after him, half tripping down the stairs though never once letting go of him. He took her to the kitchen, pulling open drawers and cabinets until he found was he was looking for.

A loaf of crusty, day old bread. Using a dagger he inexplicably had in his sleep shorts, Azriel sliced two pieces and set them on a plate while Gwyn protested that she was supposed to do it. 

“I want to,” he said, ending the argument swiftly. She let him slide that unbuttered piece of bread into her mouth, wishing something would happen. It seemed so unfair it had to be females, at least in this one instance. 

“Your turn,” he whispered, looking like a caged animal about to bolt. He didn’t think she’d do it—he expected her to back down. As if Gwyn had ever backed down from a challenge. She was slow, holding his gaze as she brought that piece of bread to his lips.

Azriel’s fingers curled around her wrist, holding her hand against his mouth, teeth gently nipping at the tips. 

“Do you feel it?” he asked, pulling on the cord between them. Of course she did, though before it had been a string tied around her rib with a knot she could have undone with some effort. Something that could be cut—snapped. Now, though, it was gold plated, firmly attached like another muscle she was only aware of when there was an ache.

Azriel kissed the palm of her hand. “Do you want a mating ceremony?” “No,” she said, the word bursting out of her with a laugh. “Do you?”

He shook his head back and forth. “It’s no one's business,” he murmured, though in truth, they simply didn’t like the fuss, being the center of everyone's attention. His friends would turn it into a spectacle because they loved him, and her friends would want the same. Gwyn was content with the bread, the dark, quiet kitchen, and whatever came next.

It was an eternity.

And she was glad for it.

—

Azriel knew Rhys knew the second he stepped into the room. Nostrils flared, eyes wide—there was only joy on Rhys’s face, followed by a flurry of unspoken questions. His friend knocked on Azriel’s warded mind, but Azriel wasn’t ready to share, yet. He was only at the River House because he wanted to ensure Eris Vanserra stayed far, far away from his mate.

Who was upstairs.

Sleeping.

In his bed.

He smothered a smile in favor of leaning against the fireplace mantle. 

“Where’s Feyre?” Cassian asked, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. It wasn’t even dawn, yet, and none of them wanted to be up, least of all Azriel who had foregone sleeping at all in favor. He’d put Gwyn to sleep—with his cock, no less—not an hour before. 

Was it strange to watch her sleep? Perching himself in the windowsill, Azriel had caught himself mesmerized by the way her hair fell around her face, how her chest rose and fall so steadily he could have set a clock to it. He wanted to touch her.

Gods, he wanted to touch her.

Once again, Eris Vanserra was in his way. 

“Asleep,” Rhys replied, eyes still pinned to Azriel. “She had a long night—”

“Can you please, just…” Cassian raised a finger to Rhys, looking as if he were at the end of his rope. “She’s like a sister to me.”

“With the baby,” Rhys finished, grinning sharply. “One day, when you have children of your own, you’ll experience a different sort of late night satisfaction.” Cassian mumbled something under his breath Azriel didn’t quite catch. He didn’t dare let himself imagine it—children, with Gwyn’s shock of cinnamon hair and teal eyes…and his wings.

The yearning he felt was so powerful it nearly brought him to his knees. There was time—infinite time, truly. It didn’t stop him from wanting, though. 

He smothered the thought as Eris strolled in, crisp as always, though this time crowned with the laurel leaves that marked him High Lord of Autumn. Even the air around him felt charged, causing the hair on the back of Azriel’s neck to stand on end. Eris deserved to be ripped limb from limb, and now he’d never get the chance.

Eris’s eyes swept over the room, his displeasure plain. “You know why I’m here.”

“I don’t,” Rhys lied, sitting in his chair, fingers steepled in front of his mouth. “I’m surprised you have the time, given the rumors of civil war…”

Eris’s amber eyes flashed. “Where is she?”

“Who?” Cassian questioned, but they all knew. They were here to play a role—the terrifying, brutish males of the Night Court that reveled in violence for fun. Eris ought to know better by then, but mates did something to a male. Made them less cautious, less careful, and Eris certainly wasn’t an exception. Azriel might have pitied him had he not kidnapped Gwyn. 

“Arina. I want her,” Eris declared, his hand inching toward the ceremonial sword hanging from his hip.

Rhys considered this. “I’m not familiar with her.”

Azriel shook his head back and forth as if to say, doesn’t ring a bell.

“I might have had her in my bed last—”

“Oh cut the shit,” Eris snarled, his temper already at the surface. “We can all walk away with something we want, or I can call all the other High Lords and force you to hand her over.”

“What do you think we want?”

“Knowledge,” Eris replied, holding Rhys’s gaze. “My father made several bargains that you might like knowing about. I might be willing to share them, even—if you produce Arina.”

“Last I heard—and I’m not saying she’s here—she was asking to return to Helion.”

“Fuck Helion,” Eris snarled, his patience shredding. He looked ready to start a fight, which caused both Cassian and Azriel to straighten themselves out. Rhys was their friend and their High Lord—another High Lord threatening him, especially on their soil, was unforgivable. “She’s a pawn to you, so use her.”

“I want to know the deal he made with Montessere,” Rhys replied.

“Swear you’ll give me my mate if I tell you. Immediately,” Eris replied. He wasn’t stupid—bargains were specific or they weren’t worth much. Rhys could agree and then keep her for the next six centuries and Eris would simply have to wait.

Azriel would have liked to see it.

Rhys stood. “Fine. I’ll return her to you this morning if you outline the deal.”

“There was no deal,” Eris said once they’d shaken hands, his expression triumphant. “Not with Montessere, anyway—Gunnar is merely an undead puppet.”

The room was utterly silent. “Undead?” Cassian finally asked. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“He’s dead.” Eris declared, as if Azriel hadn’t seen him with his own eyes. He’d been unwell, certainly, and perhaps paler than Azriel would have liked…but dead? Wouldn’t he have noticed that? “His soul has left his body, and he’s being moved around by the god of death.”

“He can do that?” Cassian asked when no one else spoke.

“Apparently so,” Rhys murmured, running a hand down his chin. “How do you know this?”

“Beron was paranoid—he kept notes on everyone. Every conversation, every interaction, every realization. I left his body there, and it's very likely Koschei has it, too. Beron seemed to think he could reach us on the wind, whispering promises and power in exchange for his bidding.”

Some small realization slithered over Rhys’s face, smothered before anyone but Azriel caught it. 

“What was the deal?”

“Power, of course,” Eris replied, holding Rhysand’s gaze. “High King of Prythian, his enemies destroyed and dead.”

“What did Beron give him for it?”

Eris only sighed. “I don’t know. He didn’t say, didn’t write it down…or it was destroyed before I found it. Some of the noble families ransacked his office while I was quelling a rebellion up north, and when I returned, things were missing.”

Rhys stood. “How are you dealing with them?”

Eris’ smile held no joy. “Death.”

“So the King of Montessere is dead, puppetted by a god, and at least one High Lord here is doing his bidding. How many others?”

“You read minds, not me,” Eris replied flippantly. “Now give me my mate.”

“The cipher remains here,” Azriel said, speaking for the first time. Arina had stolen it from Gwyn, and Azriel firmly believed only Gwyn could finish deciphering that book that might help explain what Koschei’s plan was. Maybe the Day Court scholar was smart—though, she was tethered to Eris Vanserra, which certainly didn’t lend any credibility to her cause. 

“Fine,” Eris snapped, unaware of its importance. 

“I’ll get her,” Cassian murmured, stretching out his wings. Cassian was likely the only one of the four of them on good enough standing with the scholar to convince her to let him touch her—

Azriel was pretty sure she’d claw out his eyes if he came within a hundred feet of her.

There was no love lost between them—she’d stolen from Gwyn and refused to hand it back, even after everything. 

Arina was brought down ten excruciating minutes later, disheveled and still in her night clothes. Eris looked ready to murder someone. 

“Did you touch her—”

“Of course I touched her,” Cassian snapped, shaking out his hands before plopping back to the sofa. “We had to fly down here. Unless you’d prefer I drop her—”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Eris managed, looking her over. Arina looked irate, turning from Eris to Rhys.

“You’re sending me with him?”

Rhys only shrugged. “He’s the only one asking for you.”

It was unnecessarily cruel, in Azriel’s opinion, though not a lie. Helion hadn’t been begging for her back, likely because he trusted Rhys not to hurt her. Eris didn’t, though. Eris looked like he wanted to touch her and though it was cruel, Azriel hoped she never let him. 

“The alliance between us stands,” Rhys called as Eris turned to leave, having shrugged out of his jacket to drape it over her shoulders. 

Eris glanced backward. “I don’t want to see our land ravaged by an unchained god.”

It was good enough, at least for the moment. Eris swept out a moment later, hand hovering against Arina’s back though he didn’t dare touch her. It was well deserved, seeing Eris suffer. For once, Azriel got what Eris couldn’t buy his way into.

Rhys waited until the front door slammed closed. 

“Where is Elain and Lucien?” Rhys asked, his voice just a shade too casual. Had Rhys told Cassian what he’d confided in Azriel a week earlier? 

“He was taking her to Spring with him,” Cassian told Rhys. Rhys filled Cassian in, leaving out the parts regarding the potential originations of Azriel’s magic. That wasn’t confirmed—they couldn’t prove it. All Azriel had was his suspicions and fears. He wasn’t sure he wanted Cassian to know until he himself knew for sure.

Cassian handed Azriel the cypher while Rhys asked them to leave, intending to call the pair back to Night. He’d ordered Cassian not to say a word to Nesta about it, admitting he hadn’t told Feyre the whole truth, either. The Archeron’s would circle around Elain, with Nesta and Feyre creating a wall of power they’d make the rest of them punch through in order to get to Elain, regardless if she was working with Koschei or not.

Azriel had never been more grateful to not be mated to one of the sisters as he was right then. They’d meet again once Rhys had his answers regarding Elain, and then…Azriel knew they’d be preparing for war. How did you kill an immortal god? Amren likely knew, but Azriel didn’t think he wanted to.

Not then, anyway.

He and Cassian made their way back to their respective mates, though Cassian’s mood was much darker. He loathed being told to keep secrets from Nesta, his loyalty between his friend and High Lord, and his mate constantly at odds. 

Gwyn’s cypher was on the desk in her room, put there by his shadows after Cassian had ordered Arina to hand it over. Gwyn would be delighted, which was all he cared about right then. Picking it up, he sat on the edge of the bed, intending to watch her sleep.

Gwyn peeked open an eye. “Come back to bed.

“I have something for you,” he murmured. She leaned upward, hair spilling over her shoulders like molten fire. She was so beautiful it made his teeth ache. Azriel handed her the slips of paper, unable to hold back a smile when her own expression lit up with joy.

“How?” she breathed.

“Eris made an exchange—this was part of the bargain.”

Gwyn bit her bottom lip, apprehension sliding over her features. “You let him take her?”

“It wasn’t my choice,” Azriel reminded her. “Why?”

“It’s just…I was going to teach her how to use a knife.”

“It’s not that complicated,” Azriel assured her, ignoring that he’d once given Gwyn dagger lessons. He simply couldn’t bring himself to care, and wished Gwyn cared less, too. He knew what she saw, though—a defenseless female being delivered into the hands of a cruel male.

How many people would think the same had happened to her? Many, if he had to guess. Most everyone outside of Velaris, even. He didn’t have a polite reputation, after all.

Gwyn set the cipher to the side table by the bed before reaching for his bicep to drag him back to the pillows. Azriel kicked his boots off quickly, wishing his clothes had fewer buckles. It would be a nightmare to get them all off—and he wasn’t going to use brute strength to tear them apart. High quality leathers were hard to come by.  

She let him strip down to his underthings before stopping him, fingers squeezing his wrist. “Lay with me?” she whispered into the dark as if she’d asked him for something costly—something he wouldn’t freely give her.

Azriel clenched his jaw, not out of anger, but nerves. Just lay? Propping himself against a wall of pillows, he stretched out his arm while she curled into his side, cheek pressed to his chest. Cautiously, Azriel ran his fingers through her hair, letting the silken strands drape against his skin like rivulets of water. 

“Are you afraid?” she asked him after a heartbeat of silence.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” Azriel lied. It seemed, lately, that he was afraid of so much. His fears had centralized, coalescing around the female cradled against his body. For the first time in

Azriel’s life, he had something that was his—something he could truly lose. 

“Well, I am,” Gwyn admitted, fingers splayed against his bare chest. Azriel took her hand, pressing a kiss to her fingertips. 

“You don’t need to be afraid of anything,” Azriel told her, thinking he could carry enough fear for them both. “I’m here.”

There was something to be said for resisting the urge to give in to the lust he felt for her, the instinct to sink into a frenzy. If he was intentional, he thought he could keep her in bed until she was with a child and—

Azriel’s throat constricted.

A child.

A family.

Not like the one he’d had as a boy, violent and angry and fearful, but one of laughter. For a moment it all stretched out before him—Gwyn, bright and happy, that smile illuminating the shadows clinging to the corners of the room. He could hear the sounds of children laughing, their feet pounding on the floors as they jumped from furniture. He could see it—his wings, her eyes. 

He wouldn’t yell, like his father had. Not at Gwyn, not at his children. Azriel exhaled a breath, lost in the fantasy. 

He’d need things—like a home, for one. If he told Feyre, she’d go about purchasing something ostentatious and close, but Azriel thought he’d like something smaller and outside the city. Something close to Nesta and Emerie. Cassian had talked about moving to Illryia, a thought that had repulsed Azriel at the time, but maybe…maybe that would be so bad.

He could move his mother in, too. He thought Gwyn would like her.

He knew she’d love Gwyn.

By the time Azriel returned to the present, Gwyn was asleep. That wasn’t how he’d wanted the night to go—he’d hoped she’d keep his ears warm with her thighs, if nothing else. Still, it seemed sacrilegious to wake her, even if Azriel was convinced he’d never fall asleep. 

He did—of course he did. He’d been sleeping more often since he’d met Gwyn than ever before in his life. Once he was asleep, Azriel was asleep—totally dead to the world in a way he’d never experienced, which caused him to wake a little after dawn with a sharp inhale of air.

Gwyn wasn’t there, as she so often wasn’t. Azriel hated the panic that rumbled through him, even as he heard her laughter floating through the air, sure as any of his shadows. They swarmed, save the one that trailed after her everywhere, murmuring that she was having breakfast with Nesta while Cassian went to retrieve Emerie 

She hadn’t left him. Azriel took another breath, trying to settle his stammering heart as he dressed casually, padding into the dining room where Gwyn and Nesta were gleefully heaping spoonfuls of sugar into oatmeal already laden with fruit. When she saw him leaning in the doorframe, she grinned up at him.

“Hungry?” she asked. A bolt of lust swam through him, causing Nesta to wrinkle her nose in disgust. 

Azriel ducked his head, embarrassed and pleased all at the same time. He knew they needed to figure out what to do with Koschei, with Eris, with the world itself. But right then as Azriel sat down at the table, he felt content.

Optimistically happy.

He didn’t think it would last.

[seyaryminamoto]

Scenes of a Peaceful World: Sokkla Saturdays 2024

Day Eight - Intuition

Rated: T

On FF.net//On AO3

"Do you ever get the feeling that mom and dad haven't told us everything?"

"Everything? What do you mean, Shun?"

"Well, it's just… I don't know. They have a lot of big friends, and they're all important people. Isn't it weird? Most my friends in school… their parents aren't like that. Ah, and all their parents know our parents, but our parents don't know theirs. Does that make sense?"

"I mean, our parents are famous. That's obvious, right?"

"But why?"

Hotaru bit her lip. She had no answers for that particular question… none that made sense, anyway. Shun pouted, sitting beside her by the fire, as Yuuna worked on some mysterious sculpture with a pile of ice, by Hotaru's other side.

"Dad's from the Southern Water Tribe," Shun said, glancing about himself, at the ornate, beautiful igloos, the strong ice walls, and of course, the beautiful fireplace they sat by. "This is where he was born. So why did he ever marry… w-well, someone from Fire Nation royalty?"

"Because they fell in love," Hotaru responded, simply.

"But how? Why? Are you sure it makes sense that they just…?"

"Why don't you ask them yourself?" Hotaru asked, with a wicked smile. Shun tensed up, cheeks heating up at once.

"B-because…! They're going to get all mushy and make fun of me for asking about that kind of thing," he grumbled. Hotaru chuckled. "See? You're making fun of me already!"

"You know, there's nothing wrong with admitting you're curious about romance," Hotaru said. Shun pouted, cheeks redder still. "If that's what you want to know…"

"That's not it! I've heard more than just… well, weird stories that make no sense about their relationship!" Shun exclaimed. "It's also about… how the war ended. Have you learned about that in school, Hotaru? B-because…!"

She had learned some things about it, certainly, but… not that much. Not at length. Hotaru frowned, eyeing her brother warily. He knelt by her now, careless to sink his knees in the snow.

"I don't know much about it. And everything I hear… doesn't sound real," Shun said, softly.

"I know," Hotaru sighed. "The Fire Nation lost and surrendered… Fire Lord Ozai was defeated. Our grandfather…"

"Mom doesn't talk about him much," Shun mumbled. "Everyone else says he was, uh, well…"

"A son of a bitch," Yuuna interjected: both her siblings winced.

"D-don't just blurt that out like that, Yuuna!" Hotaru said.

"We're not supposed to curse…" Shun swallowed hard.

"Nobody's listening. Doesn't matter," Yunna continued: the ice sculpture she worked on only continued to grow in size… though its shape still made no sense to her siblings.

"Either way…" Shun sighed, shaking his head. "I just don't think any of the stories we hear make much sense, you know? They're so… ridiculous?"

"But we have seen some of it ourselves," Hotaru pointed out. "Mom told us about the Spicy Ramen Challenge…"

"That's the only believable one."

"And the Spirit Library?"

"W-well, that's…! Very cool. I suppose. B-but do you seriously think our parents singlehandedly convinced a scary spirit owl that humanity wasn't that far gone and deserved a second chance?" Shun said, eyeing Hotaru skeptically. "We're talking about our parents here, you know? Just this morning they had an argument about the right way to pronounce 'leisure'… for twenty minutes!"

"They can take nonsense really far, that is true," Hotaru conceded. "But… they're really respected at their jobs, you know? People look up to them."

"That's what I don't understand. That's why… well, I want to know, but at the same time, I don't know if I do," Shun sighed, glancing towards the mountains. "Whenever we come here to visit grandfather… they always go on their own for a while and leave us here. Why… why do you think they do that? Are they keeping some big secret from us until they decide we're ready to hear it?"

"Thing is, Shun…" Hotaru sighed, folding her arms over her chest. "I have the feeling we've been hearing the truth since ages ago. You know… those bedtime stories they always tell us?"

"Oh, Princess Jing and her champion, Wentai?" Shun asked. Hotaru bit her lip. "What about that?"

"Don't you think it's weird how most people haven't heard of them? No one in school told us about those two great heroes of old…"

"U-uh, I guess not, but… I kind of figured mom and dad made them up?"

"They didn't!" Yuuna exclaimed, frowning. "Princess Jing and Wentai are a real legend!"

"That's what I think too," Hotaru said, with an awkward smile. "But… I just think their actual names aren't Jing and Wentai. And maybe they are hiding a thing or two anyway besides that, maybe they don't tell us the full story anyhow, but I think…"

"Heh? Heh?!" Shun's eyes widened, glancing between his sisters. "Y-you're not saying… Princess Jing is mom, and Wentai is dad? T-that's…! That's impossible!"

"You know, the more you believe it's impossible, the harder it will be for you to accept those secrets you're so worried about," Hotaru pointed out: Shun, however, was entirely beyond being reasoned with now.

"Wentai is so cool! He's like… the coolest non-bender ever! He fights and kicks so much, u-uh…"

"Ass!"

"Thank you, Yuuna, but… I mean, there's no way our goofball dad could be him! And Jing, w-well, she's nice, and she's the best firebender of her age, but I'm sure mom's cooler than her!"

"Well, I think they're both awesome," Hotaru smiled. Shun shuddered, shaking his head.

"There's just no way. There's just no way…!"

Hakoda smirked, witnessing the children's discussion from a safe distance – he supposed he'd have to report on Yuuna's curses to her parents, but he doubted it would make a difference, considering how the child tended to disregard any scolding that lacked logical, solid reasoning she could accept.

"So much intuition… and yet, always stopping just short of an uncomfortable truth. Sokka's son, that's for sure," he chuckled, dropping his head against the frame of his igloo's front door.

Should the kids sneak off now, following the tracks their parents left behind, they would be certain to find them in a whole different light right now. In the ruins of an old building, long demolished, by the bay where a dangerous battle had been won by the Southern Water Tribe…

"Still don't think this is the right way to go about this tradition of ours, love. We didn't have swords back then, remember?" Sokka smirked. Azula scoffed, raising her white blade in his direction.

"Humor your wife. What's the point of coming all this way without a rematch?" she smirked. Sokka laughed.

"I really shouldn't have put that thought in your head, all those years ago," he concluded. Azula chuckled, as he unsheathed his sword as well. "But it always feels right… coming back to where it all began with you."

"Just how far have we come this time, Wentai?" Azula asked, teasingly.

"Let's figure that out, Princess Jing," Sokka smirked. Azula huffed, twirling her sword in a teasing flourish before diving forth.

Their duels were never truly dangerous, if simply because they knew each other all too well, so used to sparring together that they would always be effortlessly synched. They moved smoothly, almost as though they danced, as though they were fire and water swirling side by side, never snuffing each other out, never clashing fully, only brushing together so lightly, causing sizzling electricity to bloom between them in consequence.

Their outcomes were seldom predictable, but this time, it was Sokka who found himself disarmed, with a blade by his throat. He smiled, raising his hands in surrender.

"Now… don't you dare yield," Azula teased him, stepping closer to him, without setting aside her sword. Sokka chuckled, basking in the tenderness and danger alike. "That would be no fun."

"I can think of a better way to settle this, then," Sokka teased her: Azula smirked as his arms slid around her body.

Her sword clattered over his once she dropped it, fully enticed into his embrace, kissing him deeply as the pale sunlight of the South Pole bathed them. Sokka pressed their brows together, nose gently nudging hers.

"Still think this is the right way to finish any arguments," he said. Azula scoffed.

"You're still pronouncing 'leisure' wrong."

"Am not!"

"Oh, please…!"

He dove in again, as though to prove his earlier words correct: Azula laughed, hands cupping his face first, then slipping around his neck so she could hug him tightly. Their careless laughter echoed across the pristine landscape, the place where so much had begun for the two of them, and where their ever-growing love never failed to find renewal and strength, providing the best warmth in a frigid landscape… highlighting the beautiful balance between fire and ice that the two lovers had long discovered by each other's side.

[shepherds-of-haven]

wish it was cool and acceptable to write fanfiction of your own work, especially before the original work is actually done 😂

[criscura]

I want to get to the good part of this blastvoid thing I'm writing but i do NOT want to write the part before it and I'm procrastinating so fucking hard

Like i know what i want and it'll be satisfying but it's like the reverse of eating beef jerky, where this is the tough gross part you just need to swallow before getting to the fucking SPPIUCCE

[jupiter--dream]

(cw vent, sorry it's just been A Couple Of Days)

Not really having many irl friends comes at the price of feeling so terribly lonely, I feel like I have no one to talk to because I'm not close to enough people, or maybe I am and I just haven't talked to them in a while and I don't want this to be our first conversation qwq

I'm honestly just. Tired, tbh qwq

[cloudd-nyne]

Bleh.

[acesammy]

being cyber stalked sounds insane, scary, and frustrating. hope you’re doing ok

thank you so much. I've had a really tough year and this situation has been a constant undercurrent of it... I've felt like I need to just get over it and deal bc this person was a close friend, but it's been fraying my nerves for a looooong time now. Like i said, I wish them the best in life but oof. I cant handle this anymore

[autumnhobbit]

.

[catboycumgutters]

it's 2025 how have we not come up with a way to manage dust indoors

[medicinemane]

I once was talking with my pharmacy manager about... democracy, about how while there's plenty of stupid people in the world we'd all probably prefer didn't vote, that it was very very hard to actually make a line that makes sure only wise people vote while keeping all the idiots out

And I basically said to him "think of all the doctors and pharmacists you know who are smart, well educated people, who you 100% don't think make good choices"

From the look and his face, I'd say that spoke to him (it's incredible how many smart idiots there are in the world, isn't it?)

Anyway, I make that point because it much more addresses the whole concept of... lets call it democracy of the fit

Like it sounds great till you actually take even one second to think about it. It's almost like trying to draw any line in the sand for who it's ok to disenfranchise is not only dumb and ineffective, but also super dangerous. Ah man, I'm sorry, you scored too low on this test which happens behind closed doors and is graded by my political ally... it's not like you disagreeing with me had anything to do with that

(I'd hope we don't even need to touch on why the idea that testosterone levels are a really stupid useless way to decide who gets to vote, cause if that's true then we don't even have to disenfranchise anyone, we can just give out steroids and have the best country in the world... or is it only naturally produced T that makes you a free thinker?)

oh hey just in case anyone who left twitter is wondering how things are going over there

last night elon tweeted a 4chan screenshot (with bonus antisemitic text in the OP image) advocating for only “high status males” in government and the implied repeal of women’s suffrage. Cool cool cool

[booasaur]

Something really amazing happened in France, and I think it'd help us in the US to learn about it. Forgive the long read, but I think this is genuinely great both because of what happened and how.

So as some of you might have seen, in a decision historians will debate for years (mostly to figure out just WTF he was thinking, even though he is alive right now and can be asked), the French president, Emmanuel Macron, currently in power and THREE YEARS before the scheduled election, seeing the far right rise in popularity decided to dissolve the assembly and hold snap elections.

577 seats were up for grabs. Remember that number. Since half of that is 288.5, 289 seats are needed for a majority.

The first round happened last week and boy, was it bad. The far right made HUGE gains. It won or was in first place in so many races. And Macron's party ended up third!

Overall, this is how things ended up after the first round:

Far right bloc: 33%

Left bloc: 28%

Macron's centrist party: 20%

Conservatives: 7%

The way the French system works is that if a candidate gets over 50% of the vote, they win outright, and some of the far right did manage that. But, many races went to a runoff.

Immediate projections after were that the far right bloc might win anywhere from 240 to 310 seats, a catastrophe.

A shameful swing to the far right leading to the first time they'll be in power since the 1940s? Yes, but maybe not??

This is where things get interesting.

Unusually, a lot of these runoffs are 3-way, instead of a simpler 2-way choice. And in pretty much every case, that helps the far right.

So on June 30th, the night of the first round, this is how things went down:

Immediately, the left parties put out the call: anywhere they were third, they withdrew and their voters would go over to whoever was running against the far right candidate. Their goal: form a "republican front" to block the far right. The far right cannot get 289 seats.

Macron's bloc was not so...motivated. Different people put out different instructions: in some places, if they were third, they should drop out, but only to help the center left, not far left, in other places, see how far you are, only then drop out, that kind of thing.

The conservative party simply said they won't drop out and won't give their voters instruction either way in races they're not involved in.

Late night developments:

More people in Macron's party are now beginning to realize the situation and starting to coalesce around whichever candidate can beat the far right one. Prime Minister Gabriel Attal, from Macron's party, says clearly the priority is to block the far right. BUT, some Macron spokespeople on TV say they'll form a coalition only with the center left and conservatives, splitting the left bloc if needed. Some individual Macronists still saying they won't drop out, even if there's no hope of winning.

Lol.

So, now July 1st:

Only half so far. In one race, where the sister of Marine Le Pen (the far right leader and the face of their movement) was leading, the third place Macronist refused to bow out.

Excellent quote from another Macronist:

Perhaps realizing the same thing, that Macronist in the race against the Le Pen sister now drops out.

In some places, third place Macronists are dropping out DESPITE Macron bewilderingly telling them NOT to?

Halfway through the day:

Of the 311 3-way or 4-way runoffs, the number is down to 135 because of these candidates dropping out: 121 Left, 56 Macronists, 1 conservative.

Oh, there was this, in case people had any doubts about how terrible the far right are:

And to show the selflessness of the left:

July 2:

The deadline to decide if they want to stay in a runoff is today.

A dozen new third place Macronists who said they'd stay in have now dropped out. One got a call from both the PM Attal AND Macron to drop out, signalling the dawning understanding of the importance of this moment.

Even some conservative party members are now backing the left candidate who faces the far right.

A Macronist who had 30.55% of the vote in the first round and came in third to the far right's 33.11% and left's 32.73% and who would have been tempted to stay has dropped out.

The deadline to stay in or not has now passed.

Look at these far right shenanigans!

Macron still being a freaking loser:

July 3rd:

In the end, of the 311 3- or 4-way run offs, only 91 left. Some polls come out that have the far right getting between 190 to 220 seats.

July 4th:

New polls say the balance of the voting itself isn't transferring between the left and center and predictions have risen for the far right, now predicted to get between 210 and 250 seats.

July 5th:

New polls again, left voters now predicted to do better transferring vote to the centrists, decreasing the far right projections again.

However, scandalous reporting emerges: while Attal was trying to fend off the far right, Macron was not only NOT taking the far right seriously, he was undermining efforts to defeat them. His team shrugged off the first round results and celebrated a BIRTHDAY as the results were still coming in?

July 6th:

A few runoffs happened yesterday, nothing much unexpected, some left and center wins.

July 7th:

The day of reckoning. At this point, the expectations are that the far right won't come close to that 289 number but could still easily have the most seats.

GUYS.

It's over and the left are in the lead!

A LOT of cases where a leftist or centrist was 2nd in the first round and now won.

Amazing:

SO many lessons to take from this.

First, you have to vote! You have to. You can't do anything without voting. The freaking French, who'll protest for anything, are showing up to vote. If you're trying to achieve any kind of result and it's not going to happen by January 2025, you have to vote now.

But just as importantly, the left and center (and even conservative) parties made very key decisions. They were all lucky that Attal, who Macron chose, saw the big picture, bigger than indeed Macron could. A stupid selfish centrist leader could have still ruined everything if it were up to him.

TL;DR: After a disastrous first round in the national French elections where the far right was on the cusp of taking power, the left and center formed a strong coalition and through the power of voting and unity, overcame the far right AND their selfish centrist president to win.

[lucybellwood]

Lemme tell you a gay little story about an eagle.

Our town (~9,000 people) has a couple garages, but there's a big one on the main drag. My family has been going there for decades. I drive past it every day.

There used to be a huge pine tree on the corner of their lot, but last year it became a hazard and had to be taken down.

Shortly thereafter I drive by and see they've hired a guy to chainsaw sculpt the stump into a bald eagle.

Birds own my heart, but nationalism makes me twitchy. I withhold outright condemnation of the eagle, but I'm skeptical. (The original owner—an objectively Good Dude—sold the business to a younger couple a few years ago, and I don't have any knowledge of their whole deal.)

Then it turns out someone on staff is really into making costumes for the eagle. Every holiday. Every month. Stuffed turkey, witch costume, menorah headpiece, bunny ears. These people love to dress their bird.

The changing of the eagle suit becomes a source of joy every time I drive through town.

Until June, when the eagle is bare.

Now look, maybe I'm expecting too much asking my garage to celebrate Pride. But this is a small town. Every time I drive by that stupid eagle—this thing that has previously brought me so much joy—I feel hurt. I feel reminded that there are plenty of people in my liberal bubble who don't consider my community worthy of celebration. I drive to work, I feel bad. I drive home, I feel bad. The eagle is mocking me.

Then my A/C quits working.

So I book an appointent to bring my car in—and realize what I have to do.

I pick all this up at a thrift store for under ten bucks. I print the shirt with some weird heat-transfer fabric crayons I find in a cupboard. I loop gold elastic around the sunglasses and pray they'll fit on the eagle's head. (It is also important to draw your attention to the price of the feather boa.)

(Nice.)

My reasoning is thus: if I show up with a complete costume ready to go, someone will have to look me in the eye and say "We don't believe in that," at which point I'll be finding a new garage. But if they let me dress the eagle, then people in town get to have the joy I've been missing since the start of the month.

I listen to a lot of hype-up jams on my way over. I hate confrontation. I also don't wanna have to find another garage. I want to believe that this decision isn't actively antagonistic, but I'm not particularly hopeful.

I talk through the A/C issue with the guy at the desk, hand over my keys, then take a deep breath.

"Who's in charge of the eagle?"

"Oh, that's all Dylan. Second bay from the end."

I walk down the row of hydraulic lifts and find a disarmingly smiley middle-aged man pouring fluid through a funnel. I introduce myself and explain that, since the Pride parade is this Sunday and the eagle seems to be missing a costume, I have taken the liberty of making one myself, and can I get his blessing to go put it on?

Dylan grins this absolutely giant grin and goes

"Oh hell yeah."

So that's what's up now.

Happy Pride.

[inbabylontheywept]

The Motherfucking Lizard King

No one at work trusts my boss. 

He's smart. He works hard. He's not trustworthy. He hasn't actually fucked anyone at work over, but he's ruined his last two marriages with affairs, and got dumped by his third fiance when he wouldn't sign a prenup. The fact that we all know this is just a hazard of working in a small town. 

Anyway: The thought process of the people in the lab is that if he screwed over his first wife, and his second wife, and was probably planning on screwing over his third wife, it would be insane for him not to screw us over. After all, what kind of idiot treats their employees better than their spouse? 

I dunno. His kind, I guess? He's had a few chances to fuck us over, and he hasn't taken them. Opposite really. When our parent company was doing furloughs, he stayed in the office almost a hundred hours, talking and talking and talking his way up the corporate ladder. And in the end, no one at our site got furloughed. 

He's pulled strings like that before. And it baffles me, right? Because it really does make zero sense. He'll move the heavens and the earth for us, but his wife and kids are afterthoughts. It feels like any moment, he's going to look into the mirror and realize how stupid that is. It feels like I'm betting on him making the same stupid mistake again, and again, and again - like it would be less cynical to believe he was, eventually, going to stab me in the back. But he hasn't yet, and as far as I can tell he's been making that mistake for close to fifteen years, and it's already cost him everything it can. If he was going to learn, he would have by now. 

So my position on him is that if he wanted to date someone I cared about, I'd warn them off. I don't trust him there. But I tentatively trust him to be my boss. Maybe one day he'll stick the knife in and twist, and everyone will say Ah, Babs, we warned you, but for now, I accept that he's doing a very predictable, very irrational thing, and I've made my peace with it. 

---

My job has glue traps. 

No one likes the glue traps, but we don't have a lot of options. Poison's banned by state law, spring traps are banned by company safety, and several non-lethal options tried in the past failed to work. The mouse problem can get pretty bad if it's ignored, and there's some real health hazards in that. Our site has never had a positive hantavirus test, thank God, but the big base about a half hour away has. That guy's gonna be on oxygen the rest of his life. 

If a mouse gets caught, we just euthanize it. But more than mice get stuck. Lizards can wander into those traps too, and the people working there have different feelings about the lizards. They don't pose nearly the same kind of risk mice do. They're chill little guys, and they keep the moths away, and they're just 

You know. They're friendly. There's something to be said about walking into a room, and hitting the light switch, and seeing two little guys on the wall start to do pushups as soon as they see you. 

People used to just euthanize the lizards too, but I had pet leopard geckos as a kid and I couldn't take that so I wound up googling how to free animals from glue traps. Now, when a lizard gets stuck in a trap - which happens once or twice a week - I get some vegetable oil from the breakroom, and a little plastic fork, and I'll spend fifteen to twenty minutes just kind of gently prying the little guys out. 

I have a team of technicians that help me operate one of the larger machines. They're real blue collar guys, ex-airforce, and they make me look like a little kid. Being an engineer means they'll look to me as a leader sometimes, which is a wild experience. And I started helping the lizards for my own conscience, but one of the crazier consequences of it has been that it seriously boosted my leadership cred. Because those guys see me, and they go: Hey. If he's willing to fight for a lizard, he's gotta be willing to fight for me. 

I cannot overstate how nice that is. Most engineers that want to make a change to a maintenance practice, or try an upgrade, they have to work their asses off to get the techs to buy in. But I can just ask. They already trust me to do good. They know I'm new, and they know I'm not the smartest engineer in the building, but they also know I'm the one who gets lizards out of the glue traps. 

And just because of that, they're willing to follow me. 

---

My boss has a meeting every month or two. It's typically basic house cleaning stuff - reminders about routines we've gotten lazy on, and updates on future projects. Maybe some warnings about problems coming from higher up in the company.

People are, in my opinion, a bit too cynical about the meetings. It stems from people not trusting our boss, which again, I understand, because it would make so much more sense if he wasn't trustworthy. It's a testament to the man's incredibly unhealthy priorities that he is. But as we made it to the end of the meeting, one of bullet points was: 

Do NOT mess with animals in the building. 

So I looked at my techs, and they looked at me, and when he got to the point, he was so scathing I actually just wanted to crawl under a rock and die. He said basically that he'd heard some reports about someone in the building handling animals that found their way in and got stuck, and that he just wanted to emphasize how insanely inappropriate that was, not to mention dangerous, and that if he needed to speak to anyone about it again, there would be severe consequences. 

I was willing to just take the shame and move on. I was. But one of my techs is old. Old enough he could've retired two years ago. And his actual literal goal is to one day get angry, yell at someone, and storm out. That's how he wants to retire. So instead of biting his tongue like everyone else, he stood up and said: I hate the glue traps. You hate the glue traps. We all hate glue traps. But we've all sat here for years, ignoring the little things that get stuck in them, watching them die, and then Bab's comes in, and he is the first person in decades to give enough of a shit to start pulling the lizards out. And I don't want him to stop. 

Get humane traps or shut up but we are not going back to the old way of just letting things starve. 

And my boss actually froze up. He got all wide eyed and stared at Marc, and then the other techs jumped in, and there was a very small but intense rebellion in the meeting and my boss kept trying to interrupt while getting absolutely bowled over by this gang of angry middle aged air force vets, and eventually he just went 

I will speak with Babylon about this afterwards! After! And then he will speak with everyone else, but I have more points to cover. 

So they went silent, and my boss rushed through the last five minutes, and we all adjounred. The techs really didn't like that I was going in alone - they thought our boss was going to try and shout me into compliance. Marc in particular was like, Look, if he tries bullying you, stand your ground, and if he threatens anything, just come get us, and we'll give him hell. 

So armed with that, I went to my boss's office. I sat in the chair across from him, and he kept his composure for maybe five seconds before just flopping back into his chair. 

I had no idea you were saving lizards, he said, but I'm glad you are. I always hated seeing them die in the glue.  

I wasn't expecting that. I was about to ask him what the comment from the meeting was about then, but he answered that before I even got the chance.

A snake got into the building last week, and - someone picked it up and chased a coworker around. Turns out that coworker was severely afraid of snakes, and now it's a shitshow. We're a small site, and now I can't ask those two to work together anymore, to say nothing about how the snake fared after all that. Being upset about that is a reasonable thing, right? 

And he gave me a look like he actually wanted an answer, so I said Yeah, totally, chasing a coworker around with a snake is a dick move. Especially if that coworker is already afraid of snakes. 

And he said Exactly! and then we sat there a few moments longer. He looked so incredibly tired that I did, actually, feel kind of bad for him. And then he somehow managed to sink even further into his chair, and said

Look, I know I'm not a good guy. But I'm not evil. I'm not some sort of crazy asshole that's going to demand that everyone watch lizards starve to death. When you go back downstairs, could you try to pass that on? That I'm not evil? 

I said Sure because it wasn't a hard request, and he looked relieved. I actually made it halfway out before I realized I had a question. 

Who grabbed the snake? I asked. 

Not supposed to talk about it, he said. But whoever comes to mind first is probably right. 

ThatGuy? I asked. And he looked me in the face, nodded his head yes, and said No. 

---

The techs seemed a little disappointed that they didn't get to storm the boss's office, but were otherwise in good spirits. They were actually a little bit embarrassed to hear about the snake story - apparently, it wasn't much of a secret. It'd just slipped their minds because it happened three weeks ago. 

We did maintenance after that, the same basic repairs we did every week. The meeting had been stressful and it was a relief to work with my hands. When the parts were reinstalled, everything cleaned and smooth and ready to go, Marc found me again. 

You know what the lesson of today is? he asked. And there were quite a few answers to that that I could have taken - from don't assume the worst of people to be careful with how you spend your trust - we all need it more than we think. 

But instead I said what? because I wanted to hear what his answer was going to be. 

That I got your back, he said. Then he clapped one very, very large hand on my shoulder, gave it a good squeeze, and walked back to dosimetry lab.

---

The next day, Marc gave me a package and told me to open it in my office. I was suspicious, but I followed the request.

Cardboard gave way to a small baggie, obviously full of fabric, which opened to reveal a t-shirt that read

"I Am the Motherfucking Lizard King."

I looked at it, I loved it, and then I got an idea. I went to my boss's office and knocked on the door. When he opened it, I asked him if he would be willing to allow something very unprofessional to happen for morale building purposes.

How unprofessional? he asked. I held the shirt up in answer. He gave the shirt a short look over and snorted.

You can wear it on weeks without customers, he said. Which just so happened to include that week.

I'll pass on that it came with your blessing, I replied, and he looked oddly relieved.

Thanks, he said. And then I went downstairs.

---

The techs were very, very happy to see the shirt. And while my boss's reputation remains in tatters, and probably will be until he moves (or dies), the next time there was a meeting, there was quite a bit less complaining about how mere presence. Which is, I guess, a start.

We'll see if he squanders it.